The sound of Amtrak

I have never minded the quiet.

The deafening silence which feels like a vacuum.

Sometimes you can hear your heartbeat from the inside. It is a strange feeling too. I wonder what it would be like when it finally stops. Lub dub lub dub lub dub without a break for over 30 years, feels like quite alot.

And then the amtrak blows its horn... and I feel my heart dropping to the pit of my stomach. 
The horn almost sounds like a guttural cry - for the dreams shattered, the plans destroyed, the love - not lost, but tender. Have you ever known the kind of love that hurts because there is so much of it but it has nowhere to go? I hear that's what grief is - a lot of love with nowhere to go. 
And I think if you have known it, you should consider yourself lucky. Nothing in this world lasts forever and that in itself is often a mercy. So be grateful for the experiences and good memories and take life as it comes - one day at a time. 

Shehr-e-Khamosh

 The first time I stepped foot outside of home, to be on my own, was when I left for Medical College. My Mom and Dad drove me to Jammu, helped me with paperwork, helped me set up a new bank account, and dropped me off at the hostel where they asked me to spend a night while they stayed a mile away to get me acclimatized to my new life for the next 4 and a half years. For the most part, I was excited. 
Gradually I started getting homesick. Mainly because of some mean people who thought it was mandatory to show freshers their 'place'. After the abuse hit its peak and I broke down in my bathroom, crying to my Dad over the phone, it was over. My Dad, my rock, and my shelter had told me that nothing would harm me and I believed him. As long as I had him by my side, no one could do anything to me. With that confidence, my life in Medical School truly began. I stopped entertaining stupid demands from seniors. One time someone was upset that I would never talk about my dating life, I politely asked them to get out of my room and that it was none of their business. For someone who has been a people pleaser all her life, it seemed like quite a feat. I learned that standing up to bullies, shuts them down.

After I left home at the age of 18 to go to medical college, I don't think I was ever fully home. Going home was a series of goodbyes. And with every goodbye, there was a new ritual I got used to. 
First I would hug my brother if he was around, kiss him on the cheek and get a kiss back. Then ask grandma and take her blessings. She would find some fault with my clothing or the way I tied my hair or didn't tie it, and blow prayers at me "Gas khodayas karmakh hawaal, khoda karnaye kamyaab t'e kaamran, khoda deenay thad t'e bad' kursi" (Go, I send you in the protection of God, may you be blessed with great success and high status). She would be unable to see me off till the gate outside due to her bad knees.
After that I would go and kiss my grandfather, my Daddy. He would insist on coming outside no matter how cold it was, no matter if his knees or back hurt. He would tell me that God knows how much time he has left but he will pray that we meet again. It would always break my heart. I would think "No way! I will never lose you, Daddy, I don't think I would be able to take it". I would say a quick bye to the helper.
I would hug and kiss my mom multiple times, and she would say prayers for me. I would joke with her about her lack of tears and she would laugh saying she can never cry when the situation demands it.
She and Daddy would wave at me till the car was out of sight. 
At the airport, Papa would carry my luggage and I would keep telling him he will hurt his back but he would never listen, he still doesn't listen. He stands there and watches me go till I am inside the airport. I look back multiple times to see if he has left, but he never leaves. He keeps waving and sending flying kisses whenever I turn around.

I had never imagined a life where the people I love the most would not be in this world anymore. It was simply incomprehensible. When Mom got sick, I just had this faith that Allah would not take her away from me. My mind had blocked whatever medicine I knew. I was a layperson who believed in miracles. If she didn't deserve a miracle, then who did? Till the very end when she stopped recognizing me and my brother, I had this feeling that she would wake up, that the cells that had gone rogue and were eating her up from inside would stop. That she would miraculously get cured. It did not happen.
I stayed up most of the night, by her side in a chair, sobbing. Wishing she would say my name just once. When we tried to pull allnighters in medical college, my friend would succumb to her sleep and say "Neend to suli par b aati hai" (You could be in the gallows, about to be hung and still fall asleep)
And she was right. Despite the agony in my heart, I did fall asleep, only to be woken up by my panic-stricken grandmother who had been holding her daughter's hand. I saw her breathing her last breaths, my mother, my heart.  Don't go, don't go, don't leave me here but all I could say was Papa, please come.
Soon the cries died down.  And then a deafening silence. A void, a gaping hole, a vacuum, a sense of turmoil, an unacceptance, that refuses to leave me, and I, refuse to let it go. I refuse to accept it. I refuse that everything that happens happens for the best. I refuse that good things happen to good people. I refuse to believe in miracles. I refuse to believe in karma. 

When I left home after it became a house, there was no one to walk me to the gate. No waves. No kisses, no hugs. On the way to the airport, soon after you leave our house, there's a graveyard to the left. When you walk in, the sign says “Shehr-e-Khamosh”, a quiet city- the final resting place. Even if there is a faster way of getting to the airport, we need to pass by the graveyard. That's one good bye. Then we drive to my uncle's place to say goodbye to my grandparents. They don't live with us anymore. My grandfather is now too weak to walk me to the gate but he showers me with love and prayers. Grandmother had gone mute. She would stare blankly into space. I would kiss her hand and leave. And then there's my Dad, waiting till I vanish.

The next time I went home, a year or so later, my grandmother was in the same graveyard now. I would drive to Uncle's place to meet Daddy. Sometimes you don't even know this is the last time the person you love so dearly has hugged you and looked at you affectionately. I am going to come back Daddy, I am going to come back in my vacation and spend time with you, listen to your complaints and stories. I am going to make that creme caramel that you love so much. But the next time I went home, it was one less good bye. One less prayer, one less person to shower me with love. So much of my heart now lives in Shehr-e-Khamosh.

There are so many blessings we don’t even count. They unfortunately weigh on us when we have lost them. Everyone is hurting, everyone is hiding something in their heart that no one else knows about. Then why do we not forgive? Why do we hold grudges? Why do we judge? Why don’t we look at the fleeting nature of life and decide to live and let live in peace? Why do we wait for someone to die to tell them in our prayers how much we love them? Why is life so complicated? Or why have we complicated it so much? 

You cannot change the world around you, but you can choose to change your perception. You can choose communication over holding a silent grudge, you can choose learning to mind your business over making someone’s life hell, you can choose acceptance over judgment - the acceptance that you cannot understand every person and that’s ok, you can choose peace for yourself, you can choose to disconnect mentally from the toxicity there is or just cut it out. You can choose to be kind no matter how much you are hurting. No one owes you anything, the world doesn’t, even if you are good. We can try to be good anyway.  It’s not going to be easy , but the hope is - it’s going to be worth it. 

 

Breathe

Don't blame yourself. I know you do. For wanting things that not everyone wants. For not wanting things that everyone wants.

Don't blame yourself. For the choices you made. That everyone disagrees with. They never walked in your shoes. They didn't know what it felt like. As long as your intentions were right, you didn't want to harm anyone - you tried to make the best of the options left for you. You did not know how they would turn out. Neither did anyone else. Everyone was guessing based on what life has thrown at them, based on their experiences.

Don't blame yourself.

Don't blame yourself - for whom you loved. You saw something in them in a way that no one else did. Even if it was a mirage, it was yours. You swallowed that poison without letting it poison you. Wear your scars boldly.

I know it hurts. I don't know if gets better. Based on what life has thrown at me - it doesn't. But don't let that hold you back - from hoping, from dreaming, from aspiring and desiring. One day it will all come to an end anyway. Don't live waiting for that day. One day at a time - just breathe.

Finding home

What do you think of on hearing the word home?

My mind wanders to the noisy Polytechnic Lane with children playing in the school across from our house, reciting poems and math tables. Funny how I found it so annoying then but now sets the backdrop of my beautiful memories. I think of my Mom, in the kitchen, cooking our favorite meals, instructing the helper on his next tasks. I think of my Dad returning from work, his brows furrowed, the helper runs to open the gate. We quickly check his hands, what has he brought today? Bakery? Ice cream? Any new snacks that we could nibble while Mom asks to save some for potential guests.

Arguing with my brother and not wanting to talk to him but not having any other option and bonding over a good head massage from him. Grandfather scrutinizing the newspaper, grandmother making phone calls to keep herself uptodate on what's going on in everyone's life, hollering for the helper to get her snacks or a cup of tea all the while playing loud kashmiri songs or news on the TV.

Me, in my room, reading a book or watching a TV series not wanting to interact with anyone. Wanting to get away from the noise... I did get away. And the noise stopped. That home, stopped being the home I remember. It stopped being a home at all. 

Sometimes I think if it was just one person holding it all together? How could we not see... 

Is there a home in the people we know? Do some people become home to us? 

I think the answer for me is yes. When you leave the home you grew up in and the idea of the home that existed for you does not match the new reality that has slapped you in the face and knocked air out of your lungs, you look for it elsewhere. It will never be the same again. But you'll start finding many new homes. Small pieces scattered all over the world. And it's not necessarily a bad thing. Someone's arms, that spot by the ocean where you watch the waves splash against the rocks on the shore, that apartment with the lousy couch on which you crash when you are exhausted, that place in the library where you always go when your mind is racing, that friend you can call at any time of the day or night... You can live with this, until something triggers your memory of what once was and you feel your gut clenching. Terrible pangs of grief wash over you leaving you paralyzed.

But you are an adult now and need to function so you suck it up and move on.

Home is a feeling. It's a feeling of safety and comfort. It's the space to unwind. Where you put your guard down. Where you can be whoever you want to be. Home is peace and you may even travel miles to find it... Or you may have to find it over and over again... Just know what you are looking for.

Your zest for life and its little joys

There are days when I feel like everything is pointless, nothing really matters, we are insignificant specs in this giant, ever-expanding universe, that 100 years from now no one will remember us, or care for what we did or didn't do, what choices or blunders we made. And then there are days when I forget that one day we have to die.

Then there was you Mamma. With this zeal for life, yet so aware that one day it will end. Did the ardor come from remembering that our time in this world is limited? That even though people won't care for us 100 years from now, do we really have to care about that? That our life needs to be defined for us, it needs to be meaningful for us, that everyone is different and what others want may not be something we want and that's ok... as long as you are not harming anyone in the process. 

I miss the way you would live vicariously through me and celebrate my joys or success that no one else seems to care about. I miss the songs you would sing out of excitement, your beautiful smile that would light up my world. I also miss your obsessive worrying that annoyed me when you were around. Sometimes when I am alone in my apartment, I wish you would ask me every night if I locked all the locks on the door. When I walk by the ice cream aisle, I avert my gaze from the snickers ice cream that you so loved. It is the little things you enjoyed that constantly remind me of you. And it is those little things that I can't appreciate anymore... Please know that I am trying like you said I should.

"Mehak, what is the purpose of my life? Is it only to serve others? Maybe God has made some people in this world who do important things or live a happy and healthy life. Maybe He made people like me to serve those people."
I remember not knowing what to say. I remember asking God if He would give me a chance to change this perception. That I would spoil you with comforts and everything that you ever wished for.

I also remember my last trip home when I knew it would be goodbye. What could I get for you that you would like? There was nothing but my presence that I could bring to you. I made promises that I don't know how to keep.

Now that you have left, I want to tell you that you were 'the' life and all the joys in it. That you were home. That since you have gone, all we do is exist. 

I hope you have crossed over to a beautiful world on the other side. Where there is no pain, no sorrows. Where you don't have to care for anyone else but yourself. Where the cool breeze plays with the gorgeous locks of your silky hair. I hope angels come to keep you company and that the tinkle of your laughter echoes through heaven. I hope you get to eat all your favorite things and that your footsteps light up the hallways of paradise. I hope that you will look for me when my time here comes to an end. I may not be worthy of paradise, but if you just come visit, I will feel like I am in one.

Comfort Space

You know what it feels like to be lonely in a crowd? It feels like being me.

A swarm of well meaning people with good intentions and poorly framed questions that prod and poke and bruise you... sometimes make you bleed. Why are people so stupid?

I once read somewhere that if you run into assholes all day, maybe you are the asshole. It makes me think that if I am unable to make that deep connection with anyone, if I can't fit, maybe there is something off about me. Maybe something went wrong and shaped me into this being who keeps distancing herself from  almost everyone.

Yet, it is me, excusing their bad behavior, their insensitive remarks, their accusations, their disappointments. Swallowing my caustic come backs, smiling, apologizing, yet holding my ground. 

"Talk to us" they say. I feel dissociated from myself, a part of me is observing my interactions with the world and it laughs till it can't breathe. It's like talking to a wall... if you stare hard enough you can see your words bouncing back. You can talk all you want, they will never understand. Or even try to understand. Your perspective. What made you so bitter. What made you so inert. What made you so fragile, so sensitive and what made your heart turn to stone. 

 I think I found my comfort space. It's that world that you blur into where no one can reach you... zoned out. You nod yes and no, but don't comprehend. They obviously don't understand you. You pretend to understand them. You wear your best smile, try to be the ideal girl from a brown household. They don't know how dead you feel. After a painful few minutes, you have your apartment to yourself... your things strewn all across the floor. The chair with a mountain of clothes piled up that threaten to topple over if you add as much as a sock to it, stares at you. Your blinds are shut and the sunlight begs to come in, it flirts with the horizontal gaps between the slats. You turn your back to the window and toss in bed staring at the phallic stain that rain water left on your roof and chuckle as tears wet your pillow. After the heart numbs again you will plan how to make your upcoming week productive. You'll make a task list on your phone. It's so comforting to check boxes off and hear the phone go 'ting'!

You close your eyes and slip back to nothingness. Silence. Peace. You'll make it through today and 'live' another day.

A blurr

 Do you ever feel like your life is on hold... Things around you are moving fast, progressing. In the big picture, you are evolving too, things are changing for you too - but in a way that makes you feel like they are spinning out of control. Does it ever feel like your heart is stuck in this vacant place where no one ever visits - or you don't allow them to visit.

Why me? Why anyone else? Why ... why ... why... The existential dread sets in.

Sleep knocks my eyelids, begging them to close. Sleep is a friend I need, a spell of nothingness, like dying without there being heaven or hell, or angels waiting with questions. I embrace it, it envelops me back.
I pray we meet again in my dream and I pray that I remember it when I wake up.
A glimmer of hope, before the descent to oblivion.