WHAT SHE, COULD'NT SEE

She lay there. In waiting. Of sleep to consume her. 
She welcomed the darkness. In it, with her demons, she felt at home. 
She wanted to shut her eyes and not see. Not feel. Not be. 
She wanted to not wake in the morning. This morning, a distant place, shrouded in haze and smoke and unpleasant; a pungent smell, a distant dream mornings always seamed. 
She craved this oblivion, this calmness between the storm of her life. 

She wanted an emptiness, her soul to float in the uncertainty of existence. 

She, who was made of magic dust and sparkle, she who shined bright like polished charcoal, she wanted to be one amongst the stars, the faintest of them at the least. Somewhere far away from the pain, from the fear and the disappointment and the sorrow and grief of surviving. 
She wanted to be enlightened and to uplift those she could. 
She wanted to beam down from far above and not look upto the heavens for guidance. 
She wanted to be one with the winds, fly around lifeless like a feather full of exuberance. 
She sometimes felt she was a bundle of wants and wishes and seldom about needs, for her needs were simple and small.
She wasn't the fear that she was taught to believe in. 
She was strength, stronger than a gale and stronger than the crashing waves. 
She was strong, stronger than the wrath of nature and the heat of the sun's glare and stronger still than gravity's pull.
She was a force, a mountain blanketed in rain clouds, a hailstorm in a parched desert, a fireball running through a snowfield.
She was chaos, an endearing complexity, porous like a brick, a swaying field of wheat.
She was created to soar in the night sky and she wouldnt let anyone tell her otherwise.

THIS

This. A different feeling, a mood beyond comprehension. New. A pain, begining deep down inside, seeded in the darkest crevices of the barely beating heart. Struggling to come to fore, bubbling somewher, waiting but unable to breakthrough. A stillness, menacing in its inactivity, a calmness on the surface, an antithesis. One before an intended storm?  Thoughts that chill the bones, rippling up the spine, spilling from the pores. And yet, that troubling calmness, that inability to emote, to break, to shatter. A mind that needs it, a body demanding, but a heart that refuses to care. Hardened on the outside, or broken beyond repair? A cause to be scared, terrified. Tht person in the mirror who looks like me, that person inside, anything but familiar. A withdrawal, from the known, from the self. A feeling prevails, a million dead. 

This world, a world and a half away from reality, or was that the dream? 

This. Illusion. Stuck, wrapped around an organ, running through the veins. Illusion, spreading rapidly, clouding the vision, the now. Refusing to disembark, to let go, stifling in its power, that pressure. I take a gulp, to breathe, to be. yet it evades, that essence of life. 

This. A loneliness not just in solitude, a loneliness in crowds, amongst the known and the unknown. Then, a mind knowing, a heart wanting, a hope lingers, refuses to fade. 

This hope, a return, to the beginning, the end, the anything. This hope, a reason, a direction, salvation. This hope, for tomorrow is another day. 

This, is all that remains.

THE DEMONS OF HER DREAMS

The sun sparkled out the deep blue yonder, clearing the haze, its rays like vigorous beams of freshness. She saw them beams enter through the window, saw the dust mites dancing in the splendor, resplendent in their misplaced joy. She sat there thinking to herself; a day of this beauty, this magnificent clarity, this warming glow; could only usher in a night of felicity, of rapture. Paradise.

The euphoria of the day perpetuated into the evening. She persevered. They were a corporeality of the past. Anterior. Forgotten. Extinct.

Ah! The night of abandon, free of restraint, free of those voices, of the chase. Free of the demons. Yes! the demons, the very demons of her dreams; they were defunct today. Annihilated by the blinding dazzle of the day. Complacent in her belief, she slept.

She was running. Running too fast, running too slow. She thought she could leave them all behind but she knew that they would catch up. They would soon tire she thought, they ought to. They cast their net, she was trapped and butchered. She was made of thicker skin, the knife couldn't surely cut through her. They used the cleaver to slit her throat. The faster she ran, the closer they got; the farther she got, the bigger they loomed. She was starting to hurt, could feel the trickle of blood, drenching her, soaking through her clothes, it was surely the sweat, her leg starting to give way. They were stripping her off. She was starting to like the pain, the shame. There was pleasure in it. She got away, she knew inside and they carried her off on the harpoon. They were, the demons that resided in her dreams.

The desolation tossed her all over the bed, so she crawled under the covers and slept with her demons instead.

THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

"Kissi ne punja paaniyan vich ditta zehar mila,

 Te aunaan paaniyan ditta dharti nu ditta paani laa"

It was as if the five rivers of Punjab, its source of life, were mixed with the venomous poison of religion.
That same water was then used to irrigate the Earth and hence, the Earth was poisoned with the colour of bloodshed (Translated)

- Amrita Pritam, on the state of Punjab at the time of Partition.

Our view of the Partition is, at the most, sketchy. We were not present there and we did not witness the brutality. Our memories aren't the ones tarnished with the images of the debauchery. Our little knowledge comes from the various texts, movies and reminiscence we have come across, 67 years into the massacre.

It was a time of loss. Loss of love, life and land. Loss of belonging and that of humanity. We, at present, cannot begin to fathom the grief and bereavement that must have engulfed the living beings at the time.

Normalities of everyday life were uprooted, as were the homes and families. People; men, women, infants alike; were driven to the streets with three clothes, no food, nor shelter. It was a hard struggle, which some survived and others succumbed to. It wasn't just a division of two countries, religions or communities, it was a division of hearts and minds as well.

To conclude, I cannot begin to comprehend the harrowing experiences lived and those that continue to haunt those who survived. Such, was the violence of Partition that the scars are still alive.

WHAT WE LEFT BEHIND

For what are feelings but an array of snippets etched in memory...

It rains outside. Yes, it rains. The leaves awash, the roads a muck and over flowing sewers. But, it rains. Buildings flood, cars shut down, activity comes to a halt. And yet, it rains.
I look at it through those huge glass panes that adorn the wall next to me. Bringing back memories, of times long gone, of times just lived, of times forgotten and of times yet to come; all this while, it rains.

Glum bored and lifeless. The craziness seeming a world apart, a long forgotten past. The weather mocks my mood. The joyous rain splashes against the glass, the clouds roar and growl with their unleashed powers, the plants dance in their happiness.

Once, in a different world, I'd have danced along with the greens, played and splashed in the puddles of heavenly waters, content in the ecstatic thinking of the times. We were young, we were happy; oh! so happy, we were a few years away from the torment(ous) reality, a few months away and a few days away.
Its in these times that memories open their floodgates, flow in their unrestricted state into a mind soaked and strained.