If you find someone who is extremely happy, giving, kind, flexible per your needs, ready to sacrifice, wiling to go out of the way to help you;
Give some of love back to them.
They are failing to help themselves.
©kanikachugh
Author: Kanika
November Dialogues
“Did you see that?”
“What?”
“How drastically the weather changed. It’s getting colder with each day passing by.”
“It wasn’t that sudden. Took it’s sweet time. Like always. Like last year. And the year before that.”
“But it feels different this time, isn’t it? This sudden chilliness. I don’t like it. Just like people, you know.”
“Umm, No. Maybe yeah.”
“Like they change drastically in one night.”
“Well, I don’t think so anyone changes overnight. There is always a drenched ruthlessness and crispiness in their voices, like leaves. You’d see dew drops of undisclosed emotions, dampness of their second guesses. A chilly reminder of their unintended forecast for future.
Just like weather, people drop enough hints, sometimes even them being unaware so.
A clear sky into the clouds of unapologetic behavior. We just don’t want to notice it. We think it’s a phase but it’s time for an entire season to change. Before we are ready we are thrown into a blizzard of no-answers. Henceforth, the shivering reaches our bones. And in the end we accept it. Voluntarily or involuntary.
“Hmm… But I still feel winters are hostile intruders. I’m never enough prepared for it or for any coldness whatsoever.”
“That is why we come to watch the sunset more often. To make the most of what we have :-).
So do you like it?”
“What?”
“This! The new sunset point I discovered for you.”
“Geez, all sunset points are beautiful. This one too.”
“C’mon! I know you wanna thank me a hundred times for this one.
What would you do without me?”
“Haha!! I can do better without you.”
Try and you’d know.
“Wait! I have gum. We can eat… Oh!! Where is it? I think I forgot on the park bench :(“
“You keep an extra one in the inner pocket of your bag.”
“Wow! Thanks, ya.”
“Yeah! You don’t need me”
“What are you mumbling?”
“Nothing, let’s move now. It has started to get chilly.”
“Yeah! I’m hungry too. Let’s grab something to eat.”
“Seriously! We ate before coming here. You know, the devil inside you keeps hovering over me for food.”
“Shut up and walk. I don’t….Ow!”
“Careful! That’s another devil that makes you keep stumbling at little stones or inconveniences. I won’t be here always to protect you from falling.”
“Ha ha! Why don’t you shut your devil-mouth for sometime.”
“Naah! Never. As long as you are around”
“Want do you think we should eat. I found another small eatery at the corner of……………”
Excerpts from my journal’s characters
©kanikachugh
A disguised red flag?
I’m a walking white flag covered in blood. So, if you don’t mind some chronic wounds and bruises, I am pretty much what you always asked for.
How are we not talking about the hands anymore? Loudly?
You know when I sit beside you I, purposely look at your hands, leisurely rolling on the table. Half of your expressions are conveyed before the eyes or lips move. Like those hands hold the unasked love of the entire world or the description of your last vacation you try to tell in boomerang finger movements. Long, slender, enchanting fingers that melts me in the wall.
It mesmerises me madly how every body-part dances in some subtle excitement but then there are hands to show how far one can go from north pole to another through the extended arms giving everyone a giant hug. You make me believe I stand on the balcony of a fancy hotel overlooking Eiffel or getting ready to snowboard in alps and you there to catch me in your competent, certain hands if ever I fall.
They way your warmth-caked palms bang the table at a joke, the way those fingers brush against the glass you are holding, the way the tips caress water droplets, sliding your thumb up and down like its you who’s quenching its thirst not the other way round. It’s a revolution against boredom.
I’d love to get lost in those hands for hours, days or at 3am in the morning. Those arms, wordless and pouring of love. And the hug, warm countryside cottage on a chilly winter night. I’d love to give myself in in your fireplace.
©kanikachugh
Hello November
A timeless tale it is.
November went out to buy some flowers for his little brothers. The waterfalls had started to freeze. The untimely rain had begun to pour. Sky went dim and alleys dark.
But November knew where to march to. He was bewitched by the sound of his brothers’s joy. He walked and walked wearing his utopian smile with an innocent bucket.
Leaves, he all could see. Fallen, crushed, wilted, dying. Leaves asked November to take them with him. He shrugged. ‘My brothers only deserve beautiful flowers’, he said. He made leaves fly along the breeze as ‘Wind Monath’ (wind month) he was called.
He marched forward. Pass the graveyards, pass the deep wells. All the bad signs he thought. ‘Never should I look at the omens while in search of the flowers’, he thought. The Deep Well heard and cursed him.
‘Fool you are to ignore your end. But mind it, you’d never find an end yourself.’ November grunted again and disregarded the words. He moved ahead but then halted. The Death was in front dancing. He saw a typhoon of dried leaves crushing all the flowers and a rage of red, orangish disaster with their emotions speaking volumes. Leaves demanded of November
‘You could have accepted us for we are beautiful too. Not a flower, not a pollen but we are broken too’. A destructive outburst swirled around and caught November in its bosom.
November stayed there in the cyclone of their anger forever, never meeting his end.
It’s November. Always an inch away from the end while the last leaves settle on the ground.
Because the last leaves fall down in November.
©kanikachugh
Welcome to my Layer 3
I’m telling you, knowing yourself is the most typical and a complicated shit.
One day I wish add a particular dress into my wardrobe and the other day, just seeing my wardrobe stacked, makes me wanna puke.
The malls, the stores are filled with so much of stuff. Things that we don’t even need.
There is so much junk that it leaves me gasping for air. Then I think what is it this for? For whom?
A few days pass and an urge shoots up ‘oh I want this’. Instantly regretting about what I said.
It’s not easy being honest with yourself. There are so many levels. Humans are no less than onions. Layer after layer. Masks after masks.
And I am scared going to a level to comprehend my verified needs and wants. What if I want to withdraw from this world I’ve barely been connected to.
I dream of romanticizing with this life and own things, fame that makes me feel happy. And the other time I consider myself a hypocrite for wanting it. There is so much happening in the world. There are people who have nothing and I have so so so much. Beyond my need. I’m grateful but this imbalance upsets me. More, when I wish for sometime new.
The world is tilted because of an imbalanced proportion and I struggle to keep everything inside that I’ve ever used.
And I keep looking for the ways to give it back. Not because of someone else or it could be a good deed but because I want it. {Sigh} Here comes the wants again.
©kanikachugh
- Micro Poetry
- ...
The extremes one goes to…
Get me a thinnest stick,
So, I’d keep breaking my crutches
to show you I can be helpless.
I have set up a wrong example
by holding myself pretty well.
That you got to use your favourite
phrase again, slapping me right where it hurts,
“You are strong! You will handle!”
Time to ponder
Normalise other people’s choices and opinions. The world is already suffering because of non-acceptability.