Of shattered Dreams

And thus another dream ends; waking up to the Harsh reality. Lets face it. Its You only who thinks that you deserve more in Life, that you are worth something more. They don't think so. You are not destined for greatness; and thus another of your hopes are crushed. Some broken shards of glass, Kohl smudged eyes, a half burnt cigarette and another name added to your list of compromises, your growing list of Compromises. Another day and you try telling yourself , Some people are born Lucky. Life is easier for them. You are not one of them.May be you will get what you want , but the hard way; and then something inside you screams Why Me? Out of all the Six billion people (lets narrow it down to the 180 people) , Why it has to be Me? Why can't I be on the other side?? The happier side, the luckier side, the side with "worked out" things.

You try shutting that voice, play some loud music, gulp down some vodka, watch some TV. But does it? It retaliates. Yes, You failed again.Yes you compromised again. You lost something that you wanted badly again.You can't shut it down. Then, you start ignoring it, you start moving on, carrying on with your Life, trying to remind yourself of things you have achieved; and somehow everything you have achieved seem so gnomish, miniature in front of all those broken dreams and crushed hopes. 

Another night, you spend trying to make up your mind, thinking about "what happens, happens for GOOD". Consoling yourself with those so called good things that this compromise of yours has served you with.A small thing and you feel that similar lump in your throat.Broken dreams, crushed plans and shattered hopes. 

Run away. You end up wishing to run away from all of it; from the nights spent thinking about "what next"? From those solitary hours spent trying to Compromise again. People call you an Escapist. They say "You can't deal with failure, You can't act accordingly." "Actually you didn't work hard enough to achieve it, n now no point crying over spilled milk".

If only they would have realized how much broken you are within, how much tired you are of fighting back each time and most importantly how much badly, You for a change want to be happy. 

If only Life would have been a bit easier for me too.. If only my dreams and hopes wouldn't have been crushed and shattered for Once... If only the last Resort , the Last Hope wouldn't have gone away with the Wind../

For that Someone who could never understand me...

Dear Someone,

.... and I am in Love; as always; may be more than ever. Have been in love with you for a long time.Never told you though.I don't think , I ever will.

Do you know at all? Do you even deserve to know? Maybe you do deserve to know coz, You are  the subject over here; or maybe you don't coz somewhere deep down you just don't care and even if you do, you are not man enough to show it.

I have been there by your side, supporting you, helping you, in my own little way.See, that's the shortcoming of being in Love. You just cannot stop yourself from being selfless , you just cannot stop yourself from going beyond, crossing the line and doing that extra bit with a singular desire of comforting and maybe making that person Happy.

And today I know I need you more than ever.Not much, but a few words of support would do. A "Don't worry things will work out. They always do" will surely do the job. Maybe, for once you could just reach out to me and let me hold your hand for awhile or simply let me sit by your side and hear time ticking away.

If only, you would have heard my silence speaking; the way I did for you. If only you would have understood how much broken I am within. If only you would have felt how a single "hi" from you lights up my day.If only you would have realized How much I need you.....

The Lady with the Broom

I see her everyday; well almost everyday. She comes to my room almost everyday; sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon when we (me and my room mate) would be lost in our own fantasy world.During such times, that one loud rough knock on the door and we would be assured that its the Sweeper Lady or the Akka (as everyone of her kind is popularly known here) on the other side of the door. A couple of curses and either one of us will get up from our peaceful afternoon nap, open the door and tell her "Akka.!! No cleaning. Tomorrow come, Not today". "Ma.! Madam Titta.." "Okay Akka give.; will sign the list". Room no. 414 cleaned at 2 30pm.She would always try to tell something , but by then the door would have been slammed on her face.

It all began with a birthday party. A party which suddenly went a bit high on the drinks , well enough for me to return back to my room and puke.Gosh, the stench that persisted even when the room was washed and mopped, was in one word un-bearable; not to count the hangover. Damn it.!! The first thing in the morning , am calling the sweeper lady and asking her to mop my room properly.

She came to the clean the room next day like always and this time I rather welcomed her. She cleaned the room, moving the chairs , arranging the stuffs strewn around , clearing the mess , just like the way she would have done for her own room, much to  my own dismay. I stood there captivated as I saw her cleaning every nook and corner of my room , arranging my books and stuffs with care. But, the smell still persisted. After she was done with her one round of dusting and mopping , she came upto me and asked in Tamil "Did you happen to puke yesterday?" All I had to say was a yes; and she went off , to return with a bigger mop ,a bottle of phenyl etc. Another round of cleaning, dusting and mopping with increased gusto and then "Ma ! come inside. Is the smell gone? Should I mop one more time"? 

I was bewildered. She didn't have to do all of this for me. I was not even going to pay her. Who was she? This woman , this ordinary woman , roaming around the hostel corridors with a broom in one of her hands , waking up people from their peaceful afternoon nap and cleaning their mess as if it was her OWN. 

I talked with her that day for the first time, thanked her for cleaning up My Mess. She told me how her husband beat her up last night. She showed me her scar. All I could manage was a sad face and an equally pathetic advice to go see a doctor and get some medicine. I felt horrible for puking , for making her clean my mess, and for not being able to talk to her.I felt helpless for not knowing Tamil. I wanted to speak to her, wanted to comfort her.

She went. This time; the door wasn't slammed on her face. I stood there at the door , seeing her go. She turned once and said something in Tamil; which meant something like "Ma.! you puked yesterday, you are not well. Go and take rest." All I could manage was a mere "Thank you Akka"!! 

If only she could have cleared the Mess out of her Life.........