A Letter To No One.

Dear You,

The March winds have been kind to me and have brought me new words and thoughts and a lot to think about. I can hear the evening settling on my city because the birds are loud as ever as the Sun is handing over the reins of the day to the night. I've been happy, by the grace of God and I've been able to soak in colours. The yellow of my bed-sheet, the chocolate brown skin of a friendly stranger that smiled at me, the brand new white paint on my wall. And most of all, I have not wanted to be a part of it, to melt into a rainbow and be eaten up by the big, brown earth. I've wanted it to be a part of me so that I can give it away and keep some for myself. And use in doodles when I sit down and draw in a dark class-room with a friend that I love and a friend who'd like to see what I draw. And what I write in a notebook that helps me collect colours.

And I have learnt not to underestimate Moments. They hold together a string of words or a gaze or a brilliant sight and hand them over to me gently, so I can take it, and keep it safe. So that it becomes a part of me. And what I do and how I think. And you and I, we've been part of Moments. And we could go on creating them if we say what we mean and learn to Look. For the good. In people and things. You and I, we are full of wonders. Wonderful.

It never ceases to fascinate me how brilliant people are. And can be. We are part of stories we have not written and part of tales we do not know of. And without us, there'd be a gaping hole in a plot we did not build. God works in strange ways, and I have faith. That somewhere out there, a story book, were it written, it would not be complete without me. Have faith. There is magic in the air. I could reach out for it and it would grasp me. And let me know that I am worthy of being part of this brilliantly intricate memoir called life. You and I, we're worthy of being part of God's fable. I am grateful.

There will be good days. I believe in them.

For wonders, for people who see greatness before it is noticed, for the moon and for ceiling fans, I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.

Thank You for listening.

Love,
Me.

A Letter To No One.

Dear You,

I've managed to stay awake for the most part of the day and even though this sand storm has made me retreat into bed, I am grateful that I have managed to make the most out of the day. But there is always time to day dream. To think of finding refuge in dripping, red telephone booths in the glorious London rain and of pressing my nose against the cold glass with foggy breath and seeing the world and seeing the city and seeing the melting colours as the rain wants me to see them. But I'll open my eyes and thank God that there are things that wait for me. The smell of freshly baked bread that holds the noise together on a street in Istanbul. The pitter-patter of flip flop-clad feet finding adventure in a dingy street hiding in a corner of Bangkok and the wonder in the eyes of a garland-selling boy resting his head in front of the shop nearby. And sights and sounds, come as they may, I will collect them and I will keep them safe and let them melt in the spaces between these words and somewhere, someday, someone might come along and realize that there is Wonder. And we will follow it, you and I. And it will cater to us words of hope and of love and we will bask in every bit. I will smile, and you will too, because we will have, as we always have, wonder to take and wonder to give. And wonder to search for all over again.

And you know those little fragments of obscure memories? A diminutive remain of a forgotten conversation, a blurry vision that still lingers, a little sound you just happen to remember. Maybe those fragments are what Strangers are made of. Seemingly insignificant thoughts that belong to someone else, some place else. But they live with us, you and I. So I sit and think about whether we've left our marks without meaning to, too. You and I, we could have spoken so that it was remembered and we could have Done what we have always Done, so that it was seen by people who we did not mean to show. And it makes me think. But to remember that what I speak and what I do, a wandering gaze or a listening ear could take in and carry for the rest of their life - it makes me want to do good, to be good.

It's that time of the year again. My books are slowly piling up beside my bedside as finals approach. And I have also grown too big for my blanket, so you must believe me when I say that I am slowly making progress and before you know it I am going to be glared at for laughing too loud. But I like laughing, it is the most alive of all the sounds that I can make. And I feel good about how I have been wanting to laugh, that I have been wanting to do things. And most of all, I've been able to let it sting for only a while, and then let it go. And hum 'Allah is enough for me' while I get ready for prayer. It is nice for a change and I do not mind it one bit.

The television is making a racket outside and I hear laughter so I think I will go sit with everybody else outside. And for family, for wonderful souls, for an old picture that I know the story behind, and even for a horribly flavoured chocolate that I could not finish, I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.

Thank You for listening.

Love,
Me.

A Letter To No One.

Dear You,

Friday has been loud as it always is and I am home alone for a while which I am not used to. It's quiet and I can sing as loud as I want to. But there's something that has been weighing me down. It holds me back from the strangest of things and the things I love and the people I love. Most of all, it holds me back from words that I want to give away to you because I do not want them to belong to me. And I could have sat on the stairs staring at the garden and heard the lazy whines of a lawn mower and closed my eyes and envied the sun pouring it's heart out to the rest of the world. Instead I choose to be still. To stand in wake of a journey that I know I could make. But I choose to be still.

It has been strange. It is like I am seeing the world through a black and white photograph. The kind that I am not a part of. A quiet, serene photo of seemingly purple vines crawling up the walls and some very happy people standing beside it or hugging a tree or giving the grass company while it stares at the sunlit skies, some squinting in the sunlight, but smiling. A photo that is tearing on the edges and fading where my eyes scrutinize it the most. A picture of people. Still. Standstill. Smiling. And sunlight. And fading yet. Like seeing the secrets of what Used to be smiling wryly through the present. It is strange. But whatever it is, I do not feel like a part of it.

And most of all, I have been wondering about things and people that I have seen. I have seen things. And people. Upclose. I have seen life and words and people wearing down other people. And I have seen the strongest of facades because I have known the fragility trembling behind them. And I have known exactly what people's lips have moved for in a silent prayer, and I have known their prayers by heart. I have known people's tears closeted in prayer, in prostration. The breaking voice of a burdened throat. And I have known it through people, not through myself. Maybe I will, eventually, because I am to grow. I am to feel. But more than anything else, I have known that there is relief, that prayers are answered and that God lets you know that He is watching. In one way or the other. That there is hope and I promise you, that there is happiness. And I believe in it, because I have waited on it with other people, for other people. And it has come good. For a moment. And in time. But it comes. And I am grateful.

People shouldn't be afraid of giving away. Because when the best of things are given, they find themselves back to you. In different shapes, in different colours, through different people. But they will return. If there is one thing that I am sure of is that God will not forsake me. Have you ever bowed down on the cold sand holding the orange sun on it's horizon and felt the wind bow down with you? Have you started a prayer and felt like you could not stop, that your prayers are infinite? I have. And through them, through the calls of prayers that sound through my neighbourhood and the purple skies that cannot decide which colour to melt into next, I know I am not alone.

I hope people know that they are brilliant. Because they have words and hands and ears. And at any given moment, at any given time, they could speak a kind word, they could smile a kind smile or invest in the Good inside them and everybody else. For brilliance, for greatness - I am infinitely grateful. I am infinitely blessed.

Thank You for listening.

Love,
Me.

i will open my eyes to 

the sounds of summer and 

the drilling heat will pierce through my sleep 

and unfinished dreams -

but i will curl up and close my eyes inspite

and let it sting inside, because i will know then

that the winds do change and the trees,

they learn to smile again

but i, i've learnt by heart with unnerving ease

to trace the breeze

right back to you 

then let me be, and let me stay

let me build with air, but you may

stop by and tilt your head with a frowning brow and wonder, too

upon breathing in a thought or two that belonged to me

but found you instead -

until then i will swirl fingers through the orange of a candle light 

and let the rhythm of the flicker speak to me 
with quietude 

with hushed tones

about everything 
i have never known

A Letter to No One.

Dear You,

There is a beautiful breeze wafting through the window like a long lost friend that does not need permission to barge in with a broad smile. It is calming me down and letting me hear the whiny roars of a rickshaw and somebody humming a ridiculous tune near the water tank. The feel of braided hair lazily twirling to the sounds of the wind makes me smile. And forget for a while. That there are things that have to be done and soon. I do not like confinement. Not one bit. I'd rather run free, through daffodil fields in the rain and let me be washed away. Because I love rain because it does not question. It is mine and I am her's, and she washes it away and does not ask why or if or what. She just washes it away.

And I pulled open a drawer and the sight of untidily piled up letters made me smile. So I stood there and read and I read them all until I was sure that they belonged to a different time, that they were permanent paper-stamps of moments of miscellany, but they are Mine as ever. A victory, it feels. Because time is always in a hurry to take Moments away from me, and here I have proof that I have lived them. But you and I, we can never defeat Time. It can whisk away people and places and it can, quite easily, whisk away their traces too. But that's alright. Because that is what hearts and minds and love is for. To hold on to things that cannot materialize and to keep in view everything that is out of reach.

It is strange. It is very strange. To think of sounds you know by heart, of a familiar laugh or a string of familiar words that you have not heard in quite a while. It is strange to almost hear them. To almost see them. Almost-feelings. But then they slip away with a quite cackle. And even though it makes you feel quite helpless, it does not make you sad anymore. A half whimper, a half laugh. And you let it be. I let it be. And I walk past these thoughts like I am being sent away. But not with resentment. Rather with a wise word and a telling look that urges me to keep walking and know, that if I ever need a shade from the heat of the Now, I could always find it in those almost-feelings. Maybe that is why it doesn't make me sad anymore. Because they are only almost-feelings. Those almost-feelings that someone else would call a memory.

I think I will go inspect the kitchen for a bit, then step outside with whatever supply of food I can find. It's been a nice, quite day and for peace and what it is brought by and what it brings with it, I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.

Thank You for listening.

Love,
Me.

A Letter To No One.

Dear You,

The Sun is still up and I feel strangely content. Whatever it is, I am grateful for it. The sunlight's crisscross patterns on the paper lamp have been still as ever, and on my way back from college, there is the blurry sight of a picturesque lane, with a tree stooping forward as if to say hello and an adorable little Volkswagen waiting right underneath it. It reminds me of autumn, shedding colours, even though the spring breeze is here and alive. Sounds and sights and scents, they matter. Things matter. If not their presence,then their absence certainly does. What could we do if the evening sky decided that it would rather have the heavy sound of gnawing cranes accompany it instead of the cheerful birds? What could I do if a monotonous, black car replaced the Volkswagen? Because I could not imagine a Land Rover smiling at me. I should be thankful, really.

And there is something else. People have been abrupt. I have been told to control my Thank Yous, I have listened to an unexpected outburst of someone explaining how they liked how someone else held their hand tightly, and I have looked up from doing work to see blatant tears, just on the verge of sliding down. It has been strange, but it made me think. People really do crumble behind smiles, and you would never know. I would never know. And I am determined now, to listen and to see, and to inquire occasionally if a given person at a given time is doing alright. You and I, we can feel. If not for others, then for ourselves. And to look at a person, and to sit and think, they've known anger and ache and silence just as well as I have. To know that they need forgiving just as much as I do. To know that they could stutter a list of reasons just as well as I could, if only I would listen - it is astounding. I want to understand and most of all, I want to be kind. I really do. Lord help me.

There is a lot of Taking going on. The night takes away the day and the day takes away the night. Ammi sometimes comes in the room and takes away a little tear and this pack of crisps is taking away my hunger. But if I look close enough, things give themselves away, too. The March winds, for instance, because they let me hear what I want to hear. And they let themselves be happy when I am happy and they let themselves gasp sometimes when I am a little down in the dumps. I can hear what I want to. But people usually do.

And in my notebook right now, there are two people having a candid conversation. One of them said, "I thought you'd sense I want to know Why, not If." The other replied, "Then ask what you mean to." I like these people. For love and for the oceans and the flowers and the starlit sky that sing it's songs, I am infinitely grateful, I am infinitely blessed.

Thank you for listening.

Love,
Me.

i am not made of brilliant dreams

of shining lights, of big, bold screens

that scream at you whilst you traipse the big, bold city

on a rainy night, with your head hung low

and how the colours will twirl in an occasional puddle 

and you will walk through all the muddle and how things 

will cease: the day, the breeze

but not the dreams, and not the show

but what i am, i shall present 

for there are chances 

i may earn your consent 

for i will dream with you on a starlit night 

(i will look at the stars and back at you

 and tell you how)

there is only a semblance 

of difference, quite a striking resemblance

and that you twinkle just as well for me 

and maybe even more 

i am not made of brilliant dreams 

but i can keep Yours safe for you

4-3-2012.

"I will be great again.

I will look directly into the fierce gaze of the orange Sky, still harbouring the remains of the Sun even when it is forsaking it. I will watch the sky hold it still, hold it closely. Until it struggles, dips and falls into the arms of a horizon I cannot see. And then.

There will be darkness.

I will not be alone.

But have I learnt from the sky? To let it go and let it come back to me again. Again and again."

A Letter To You.

Dear You,

Where are you? I know how you are. I know what you were. But I do not know where. Because you did not walk into the class this morning. But you do not know. You do not know that everyone was shaken. That the teacher's voice went funny after leaving your name out during Attendance on purpose. You do not know that there was a strange kind of silence. How everyone was breathing in remorse, and breathing out regret. The air was heavy.

I remember. I do, believe me. That you wore different coloured clips every day. And your red backpack and the wry smile. I remember that people, a lot of them, they were not kind to you. But you, you're not here to see that they cringe at the thought of hurting you now. Because even though you've left, you've taught me something I will not forget to remember and that is to never to be unkind to anyone. Because I did not know. That I wouldn't be able to see you smile ever again. And I could've, would've made you smile if I had known. But I know now. That there is might in absence. That no one could ever have known the light, if they hadn't known the dark.

But death is a beautiful tragedy. How it whisks us away, you and I, and leaves our traces in our loved one's wakes. Like a cloth of satin gathering dust in between worn out bushes and a rough trail of footsteps leading to nowhere. There is great mystery in being infinite. And the could've, would've, should've-s? They count for something. The sting of memories and the wavering Sepia, stored somewhere that I have to reach, that I need to reach even if I do not want to.

I'll pray for your forgiveness and that God grants you a place in the most beautiful parts of heavens. You were loved, Aurooj, because your mother cried and your friend cried and every one was staring blankly at each other today. And I promise to you that if I remember, I will think of you when the things people say hurt me, and be strong. Because hurt is temporary, just like you and me.

You've begun your journey to infinity, and I do not know of mine. But when Fate leaves it traces in classrooms and homes and old clothes belonging to old cupboards, I am reminded to prepare for it because people you've left behind might have no time left.

Rest in peace, Aurooj. Thank you for remembering my birthday weeks before anyone else did.

Love,
A Friend.

i've known the steady song of rain

and the steady sway of the coconut tree

shaking it's head and smiling at me

and we've known life as it is

perhaps the rainbow grew tired 
of smiling upside down

and rained on you and me

and we've let it even out, my dear

in blobs and carefully patterned fear

and now our souls are works of arts 

and the scents and sounds we've grown to love 

have been bleeding words on our paper hearts

here, take mine, give yours to me 

so we have just enough to read 

when the smiles have died away on

a rainy day
hold it close and keep it safe, do not let it blow away
- my paper heart

A Letter To No One.

 Dear You,

I didn't want to run out of words. I wouldn't want to. So I dream of strangers and places and black, iron bars and the air around me is moist with ache that is not mine, that does not belong to me. And of all the words I could stutter, I can only think of it as kaleidoscopic. Kaleidoscopic ache. And when I dream of strangers wrapped in white, I feed them loneliness on their creaking floorboards. I feed them, I break them down, I give them a momentary spark of peace and take it away from them. But they have lives of their own, my dreams. Some vivid, some blurred by the intensity of not-knowing but wanting to know. They are alive as I am.

And there is something else. There is much peace in surrender. Because you float back down to the surface, landing lightly on your feet and there's nothing quite like it when you've put up a good fight and landed on a shore with the skies waiting on it's edges, of pearly white sand and nothing but the waves quietly letting go off the shore again and again in remorse for what you have done. And you smile a smile of madness and you walk away, staggering in ragged trousers and ripped off Tees. And there is nothing there to greet you, just the horizon while you walk. Because to winners belong shining lights and glamour, to losers belong sympathy and pity, to give uppers belongs a strangely peaceful and quite walk, and whispers speaking not to you, but about you.

Let me be, then. Let me stay and walk around on silent, unknown streets that have recycled Life. I want to belong. Just like everybody else. So if this is not my place, then let it be as well. God gave me strength to wander and if I cannot belong to places, I'll let places belong to me. I rise and I fall and I? I am for myself. Just like everybody else. Because I can be alright if I want to be. I will be alright.

And courage is from God, and I will ask for courage. And for Courage? I am infinitely grateful. I am infinitely blessed.

Love,
Me.