The World Says Move On And I Ask , How?

When a relationship fails—especially between two individuals—unexpected events unfold. This is so because when a relationship is blooming, neither of the two parties bother to prepare themselves for the period when either of them would have to do without the other person in question.

That scenario is never entertained. In fact, a mere mention of the possibility of such a happenstance is considered a jinx. The fear of a relationship breaking up at seams is so high that when it actually takes place, we are scared beyond reality and scarred beyond imagination. It's quite palpable that not both the parties would have the same inclination towards each other. One of the two would very well—like they love to say nowadays—"move on" in style although that's something I'm yet to grasp.

How can people move on? Especially when you've invested time, energy and the potion called love into one person for an interesting amount of time. Especially when a piece of you is left in that person who has apparently moved on and you're supposed to move on from. Especially when it felt so real and eternal.

Maybe that's why it hurts one fine evening when you weren't expecting the memories to flood in. Because you thought you were done. Surprise, surprise! You never were and you never will be. That's not how a human heart works. We are animals, yes, but we are not the kind that takes a life for granted. We are the ones who look into each other's eyes and synchronize heartbeat. I shudder to imagine how it'd feel like when two heartbeats are out of sync.

What An Idea Sir Ji .... But It Will Ruin You

Love is a funny thing. It fills you with hate sometimes. For yourself, not others. You see, love is an idea. Being a warm blanket of your own creation, the badass L-word tricks you into believing that you’re a needy creature. Consequentially, all the arrogance that you once so openly manifested goes into the drain. As quietly as possible—if you’re lucky enough. Your former belief that you’re emotionally sovereign doesn’t stand true either. Throughout, every idle second, you’re seeking a moment of respite with your beloved. Since accommodation and distance are issues you can’t fight anymore, you get a room for two in your head. You don’t do much though. Just lie with the side of your arms touching each other and stare at the ceiling. You can almost hear yourself breathe. You don’t even wish to say anything or whisper sweet nothings. Words can not only have a mind of their own but also deceive. It’s lot better to shut up and soak. You just stay put. This is the closest you get to becoming a film director!

It’s a warm place to be. The only trouble being you don’t want to leave it but you’ll have to. If not now, then. Which will also mark the precise moment you’ll be hurt by the cold realities. Over a period of time, you'll be immune to the grief that this solace eventually presents you. As a result, you’ll continue to escape to that magical room with no walls or windows but only a ceiling to look up at.

Don’t worry. Your sanity won’t be affected. Only your insanity is at risk. In the grand scheme of things, you fell for someone only to lie down again and again. It's obvious that you are addicted to the idea, sweetheart. You’re officially ruined.

Incoherent Rambling...

Please let me be cynical. That's the least you can do for me. In fact, you don't have to do anything. Just don't be yourself and nag. Is that too much to ask for? I guess not. And i hope you realize sooner (if not later) that we are alive not because death is difficult but because we somehow find excuses to breathe a bit longer. Our pursuit of happiness is just a trick. We don't really understand why we're glad about things that most probably won't matter after a certain period of time. What's the point? All this chasing the impossible dream and everything that comes in between. What i can posit is we kill time as long as we can, before getting massacred by it. Even philosophy can't keep us from falling into own own dungeon. Now, once you are in such darkness, everything else seems bright. And you start learning to hope. It's called reflex. Like the jerking seconds hand of a clock. Time manifesting itself into yesterdays, today's and then tomorrows. Oh, yes, tomorrow is always going to be brighter. In our head. You know why? Because we are natural born procrastinators and the only living creatures who procrastinate. No other being can afford to procrastinate. Apart from all these theories, cynicism prevails hand in hand with your nagging skills. But then I let you win because i'm cynical for a reason.

Bus-Stop

Your destination is approaching and you're peeking out of the window. You know you've got to get down. But you somehow don't. You stay immobile as if you're protesting against yourself. You don't have the will to move your ass and leave the bus for good. Maybe you're too elated to have finally 'earned' a window seat and you don't want to relinquish it. Moreover, you don't even care that if you fail to act within the allotted 30 seconds, you'll have to get down at the next stop. And commute back home. However, the countdown begins. Kolkata’s bus service, like time and tide, stops for none. You keep looking out of the window, staring into the nothingness that makes you travel between this point and that. You don't even know anymore what is nice and what's not nice. You don't expect anything interesting to happen to your existence. Your friends from school are yet to stare out of the window. Or maybe they are better off in some other place where humanity is not humiliated in overcrowded public transports. You are one of the zombies now and you've accepted your future. You're probably never going to walk and explore or stand and stare. You've learnt that your life is going to rattle on the public roads within the periphery of this godsmitten city. You'll never escape the loud throes that engulfs everybody on this island of chaos nor will you ever travel alone again. You'll always be in the company of strangers who smell worse than you. They'll be called your co-passengers and they shall fight for those imaginary seventh seats that lie in front of them. With such fellow-morons around, perspiration will become your act of silent defiance. You must surrender yourself to make it or else you'll be left behind. On the bus-stop. Outside the bus. The city is not to be blamed nor are its inhabitants. If you really wanted to break free, you would have. By now.