Introspect-2015 Part I

2015 was full of happiness and sadness. Extremeness . I learnt so so much and I had so many different experiences. This was by far my most fruitful year, I got closer to my family, to my mother. I understood the value of friendship, what being  a friend meant and thankfully removed some toxic friends completely out of the system.

I could write a book for all the things I went through in 2015. There were and are a lot of problems. I’m standing on the steps of choosing my entire life, my career and I can’t help but think if 30 years from now I’ll curse this year or smile fondly at it. Choosing my profession has been the hardest decision of my life, because there’s just too many choices. I understood that I’m actually good at a lot of things and there’s nothing bad in accepting that. I like a lot of things too. I’ve always worked great under pressure and am always up for a challenge( sounds like I’m trying to impress some interviewer).

In a world where all my batch mates seem pretty focused and gasp when I say I haven’t decided on what to do, I have crumpled too. It might be easy for me to perform under pressure, but it’s clearly not working when it comes to making a final decision.

I like to think that the guy up there is thinking of a minutely designed plan for me, and that when I finally look at the larger picture next time this year, I’ll get it. I’ll finally understand  why I was so indecisive, why I wanted to be everybody, and what exactly am I made of.

But until then, I need to work for it. I need to work for whatever is my destiny.

Introspect-2015 is a 5-7 part series that I’ll be doing towards the end of this year, realising sharing and analysing all that I’ve lost and I’ve gained.


Of wants.

I wanted pretty lilacs and orchids I

Could sway away in lakes but

You wanted big red roses with

Thorns that paint my hands

In the colours of deep crimson reds.

I wanted exquisite nets, and chiffons

And silks, but you

Like polyesters and cottons and threads

Entwined with golds and beads in steps.

I wanted a dark maroon, or a

Beautiful mauve, yet you gave me

Peaches and lime and a kind of

Green I could never really explain.

I wanted grapes and mangoes

We could eat on a hot summer’s day but

You gave me melons

And pears that were far too big for

My fragile hands to hold and share.

When I wanted you, and solely you

You gave me everything else instead.

Of Observations.

“I only observe” I’ll inform you. You’ll think it’s a funny habit. Then you’ll shyly ask what I observed about you .I’ll say nothing. I’ll try to distract you by entwining and twisting my fingers, or I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear you. When I see an expectant look still plastered to your face, I’ll resign. “Nothing” I’ll say simply.

And then a year later, when we are walking on the beach all alone, you’ll catch me looking at you and you’ll ask “what did you observe about me,” I will just shake my head. When we are angry with each other, you’ll see a look of deep remorse etched onto my face, and my wide open eyes gazing intently at yours, you’ll think I am observing you. You’ll smile deep inside, and moments later it will creep onto your face, because you are still waiting. Waiting for the compliment I’ll never give you. Waiting to discover something new, but you never will. At least not from me.

The thing is, I do observe keenly. I have scrutinized everything about you. But my eyes won’t decipher beauty the way yours can do. My brain isn’t accustomed to look and marvel for long periods of time. It works, perhaps way more than necessary, and it keeps working. Then it moves on to the next fascinating thing you have to offer. It’s like a machine working overtime, with an inbuilt sense of urgency. And when it has completely scanned you, and seen you, and perceived you, it will stop. You’ll be reduced to a mere object it has already viewed, already judged, and already moved on from.

Five years from now, when we are sitting at your front porch sipping our evening tea, and I’ll have that look on my face again and I haven’t spoken in an hour, you’ll ask me. I’ll still not know how to answer you. I don’t really realize what I’m doing, until I am finally done with it. So I say yes. Yes I’m observing.

“What have you observed about me?” This time you won’t be shy. Your voice will be sharp, and your tone will be accusing, and your face will be expressionless. You’ve asked me this question a million times and I’ve contemplated the answer a million times. I look away, and you know I have avoided the question again. I have never told you what I saw, what I see, and even though you kept asking me, I was pretty sure I never will.

And finally, when years from now, when the look shows up on my face again and you see it too, you don’t bother to ask. You look at me, with part amusement and part loathing, you gaze intently. There’s a certain kind of fire in your eyes.

“I only observe” I proclaim to you, and to the universe.

“I know,” and then you won’t have anything else left to say.