deewana huya baadal
speed running to the other side of this year
Richard Howard’s foreword to Sartre’s Nausea mentions how the French say deceived when they mean disappointed. Perhaps it is indeed the same thing; betrayal at the hands of love often leads to disappointment, and sometimes it is directed towards the wrong lover, oneself, perhaps unjustly so. This makes me think of Kafka in love, or Frank O’Hara, or a farm boy who saw the most beautiful traveler at the village pub who carried the scent of solace and sexuality. Something cruel always coiled around their feelings, making it impossible. Weren’t they deceived too, by time, place, others? Isn’t that tragic? But because I feel like I am the saddest little prince in the world, I want to lie down on my bed of misery and let you know about me. The biggest tragedy is when the betrayal stems from within you both, bludgeoning and eradicating the God that is supposed to exist between you two. Ultimately, anything less than dying inside of each other is ill-fated, but to have known love’s breath so close to your own even if just for a night is life justified.
Time is a mirror ball, fragmented. I am inside of it, and the shards are too close. It has a badly made interior, the gaps direct beams of memory right on me, cigarette burns on thighs and chest. Last December feels at least three winters ago.
I fear one day I might run out of things to write about, but it is a fleeting fear because I am stitched with hope. There’s always going to be another sunrise, another life running parallel to mine. When I say always, I mean it in a way that is contained inside my own lifetime. When I say I will love you, always, I mean it. When I’ll die, it will die with me and perhaps the finite-ness of this concept is what makes it genuine and bearable.
Getting back into writing is hard. I know the process but being mechanical will not help. I feel guilty about not doing enough, or writing enough, and it's all covered in a layer of one question - why is it not good? I have always thought writing is all I have got, so if I seem to fail even at this, then what's the use of anything? I can look at the stars and step into a new day, but what am I supposed to do with my feelings?
I have turned into a full fledged performance. I have a woman in me who is a man who wants to be a porcelain doll who has a beating heart, fast like a rabbit. I am being perceived and people ARE wrong about me. People Are Wrong. People I Love Are Wrong About Me and I Could Not Care Less.
It is so freeing to not think. About what you do, how you do it. About how you look. All my spots and marks and scars are here. They will leave with me. Ash and dust and dirt. Is there any way I could be a pockmark on your heart?
It's not too cold where I live now. The city lights are visible from the terrace, and so are the stars. I stand there at night listening to songs. I may be bad at routines but I do find things I like to stick to. One of them is the night sky, and the other is sitting in the sun in the afternoon, after everyone is done with lunch and milling about. The roof is mostly empty, so I feel like it is mine in a way. Nostalgia creeps up on me, and memories start coming forward; my naanighar, and the freedom her terrace carried for me, unbound like the sky. Speaking of memories, I do miss the crisp winters that engulfed us in Delhi, and it matters even more right now because I won’t be able to experience it this year at all. Growing up means going places, and home is a fickle concept you carry with you everywhere.
I wanted to do so many things this year. I wanted to read two hundred books and watch hundred films and listen to all the songs that are made for me. I did not get to do it all but I did get to do a lot of other things. I think that is what matters ultimately, that you are doing things, despite it all. I feel like the statements “I am living despite it all,” and “I am alive because of it all,” can exist inside the same person. Sure the world beats you and breaks you down every day but it also paves the way back to your place where you can build yourself up again.
Things I have learnt this year include how terrible I can get, and how I am not going to stop. I have learnt that this heart is a beast and I am a small boy. I have learnt that food will always end up tasting bad when the season ends. I learnt people will always have something else going on for them. I learnt that I can travel miles to hear my heart crack in the middle of the night. I learnt that I need to be a better person but I forgot the handbook when I came here, to this world. I read books that became my friends, and that reminded me of life when I was fourteen. I learnt that I am trying to betray memory and I am trying to drink up every moment I can. I learnt that I take up projects and I take up people and I end up clawing them off me, losing a bit of me in the process. I learnt that the world is a spiral that is moving downwards and we are all descending to hell, steadily. So get kissed, fucked upright and turn sideways when you see a tree, the car crash is worth it.
One of my favourite songs is “Bheegi Si, Bhaagi Si,” from the movie Rajneeti. Written by Irshad Kamil, it is a personal song, inside of which the lovers sit. It has everything that you could want from love that blooms softly and engulfs you in its scent. Sung by Mohit Chauhan, who has the voice akin to morning light on your kitchen table, something like Leonard Cohen, it also has Antara Mitra on the track with him. She has a raspy, honey like voice, something like a dream. It is crazy how people have such voices, and it’s crazier how we remember them and let them talk to us, and it all goes straight to the heart.
While the entire song is poetry, one of my favourite parts has something to do with language. Of course.
There’s a certain stanza which goes like -
तुझे देखा तो खिला हूँ, तेरे चाहत में धुला हूँ
मिले मंदिर में ख़ुदा जो, मैं तो तुझमें यूँ मिला हूँTujhe dekha to khila hun, teri chahat mein dhula hun,
Milein mandir mein khuda jo (yun), main to tujhmein yun mila hu
When I see you, I bloom / I am washed with a want for you
The way one seeks god in temple / I have been residing in you
While I am still not sure whether he says “jo” or “yun” or the unrefined version of it, which is “jyun,” it spins the song into something else.
The Hindi word “mila” means “to meet,” or “to get mixed.” So when he says milein mandir mein khuda jo (yun), main to tujhmein yun mila hu, he could mean either - the way you meet god in a temple, I have met myself in you, or the way temples and god cannot exist without each other, you and I are mixed into each other similarly.
Picture two people, and when you put them through sunlight, you see them veriegeted into each other, towards each other.
I think about this a lot. And then I get back to my day.
long time, no see, right? I wish you very well, I wish you a lovely year ahead. more money, more friends, more love. I will see you again and again and again. I am trying.
love,
heera
the line "growing up means going places, and home is a fickle concept you carry with you everywhere" resonates with me so much, you write such beautiful things and i can't wait to read more in the upcoming year <3
this was so precious as always thank you