Aathira Jim's Blog, page 3

Childhood sweetheart

I have seen you as a wobbly kneed boyAs you ran behind me pulling my pigtails Throwing little stones far into the middle of the pond Seen you climb trees, taught me to ride my bicycle 
Skipping classes together, muffled gigglesSharing lunch boxes, snatching away what was already yours But somewhere in the middle, we lost each other I moved across cities, you stayed behind 
The next time we saw each other, the boy had gone In place was a man, with a deep voice and scruffy voiceI felt intimidated, distant Drifting apart was only natural, hurting was all the more so 
Today once again, you are there by my side Rushing in when I needed you the most Holding my hands, tightening your gripOnce again, I saw a man in you And no, it wasn't love, it was kindness that drew me back to you 
Not just for me, but for the whole world Your ability to empathize with others Feeling their pain, making it yours As for love, it would come later
Creeping in between phone conversations And late night strolls Through the books exchanged A new story that I had begun to write, but the beginning always remains the sameA childhood sweetheart... 

The woman who worshiped Serpents

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She was the woman who worshiped serpents. Some called her a witch who practiced dark magic. Others claimed to have seen her walking naked near the serpent shrine some nights. I had seen her only from far, she looked the same now and many years earlier when I had seen her for the first time as a boy. Her skin was dusky, her flowing hair swayed with her hips, an unruly mass of oiled black curls. She was seen placing milk near the shrine at twilight, for the snakes to feed on. 
Vasugi. The woman who held mystery in her eyes and the only one who enticed me with her charms. Dark magic? I do not know. Nor do I care. In many ways, we were both misfits, sticking out like a sore thumb in a small village of like minded souls. I was married for a short while, till my wife decided to run away with an old lover. They said it was because I couldn't give her a child. Impotent. The jibes continued to follow me wherever I went. 
That night, I don't know what led me to her hut. Was it the rain that threatened to drown out my entire village that led me to seek shelter near the shrine? I like to call it destiny. There she was drenched to the bone, petting a snake that lay crawling by her feet. What happened next is still unclear to me. She got up and went, after one look at me, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Was she so arrogantly sure that I would follow her?
The inside of her hut was sparsely furnished. A tiny cot at the corner, some vessels in another. A few placed strategically to catch the rain water leaking from the thatched roof. She took my hands and placed it on her bare skin, skin that should have been cold, but was burning like fire. I traced the contours of her face, the hollow in her neck, her closed eyelids. I kissed the raindrops in her hair. 
That night, in her, I lived. In her mystique depths, I finally felt like a man. A year later, she gave birth to my daughter. With her curls and my toothy grin. We still attract looks and hushed whispers wherever we go. But I was no longer termed impotent. There were others who said that the child was not mine, but a boon that was bestowed upon her by the snakes. As for her, she turned a deaf ear to them and continued to worship the serpents, the only God that she believed in. For me, she was no longer just the woman who worshiped serpents. She was the air that I breathed. 

The writer who couldn't write

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Words. They run around on the inside of her skull. Random. Haphazard. The moment she tries to string them together in a pearl necklace of a sentence, they scatter all around. Silently. Some run under her bed, some go into hiding behind her bookshelves. She knows there is no use going hunting, they were stubborn. Much like her. They would reveal themselves only if they felt like it. 
The cursor blinks on the blank screen. She feels claustrophobic, her hands grow clammy, slick with sweat. She shuts down her laptop and tries to drown herself in her books, in the faint hope of finding some form of inspiration. But again, they escape her, the words going above her head. 
Is this the writer's curse, she wonders, that when the muse disappears, along with some memories, her words would betray her as well and leave with him too? Or was it her punishment for loving too much too soon? For now, the only option that she has in order to make a semblance of her life is to go back to where it all started. To go back home...

Rendezvous

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Her hair is shoulder length, she wears a backless lemon-yellow dress. He's dressed a little more formally, in a full sleeved shirt. Are they on a first date? But the way he cuddles up to her, gently caressing her already smooth hair, kissing the strands, tells me otherwise. 
He clicks her picture on his phone, finding a reason to scoot over closer to her to show it to her. Are they colleagues ? Having a fling? My mind rules out the possibility that they are married. 
I wonder what the future has in store for them both. Will he be the one to do the dumping later on? Will she be the broken one nursing a broken heart or vice versa? Will there be ego clashes and betrayals in the near future? Or will they perhaps have their happily ever after? 
And the hopeless romantic in me wins, over the realist. For once.  

Z - Zahra

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I see your condescending look When you see I'm still childless at thirtyI see the pity in your eyes When you are quick to judge 
I may decide to have a child or I may notI may be fighting my own battles Or I may be childless by choice But your opinion is the last thing I need
Next time you ply me with details of your offspringPlease know that I'm only being polite When I listen to things that I can't relate to That makes me want to stifle a yawn or two
Sure, it's a miracle of life that you created That doesn't mean I have to agree Rather than creating miniature versions of youMake them better, best versions 
Give them the freedom to think Of their own without imposing your thoughtsGuide them, but don't stifle What does she know, she's not a mother 
I can almost hear you think Well, it doesn't matter, does it?Just like how I never asked for your opinion, Yet you still gave me yours

Linking this post to the A to Z Challenge.

Y - Yasmin

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Her hands are wrinkled and gnarled. There are more streaks of white than grey in what's left of her thin hair. She walks with a slight stoop, a result of too long hours spent bent over the kitchen floor. 
Each day, she waits, for a glimpse of a loved one. Every day she wakes up in hope, never giving up no matter how many days pass by alone in the old age home where she spends with other people her age. People who are discarded casually after use, when looking after them becomes a burden for the children that they love more their life. She does not hold any resentment in her heart, she knows they will come. 
For me, she is beauty; she is strength. She is a warrior, a mother, a grandmother. She is the universe. For me, she is love. 

Linking this post to the A to Z Challenge.

X - Xenia

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The day you made me yours, I gave you everything. Body and soul. I never held back. Love, illogical, stupid, can't-live-without-you love, did that to me. My grey world was suddenly pink. The flowers smelled a little sweeter, the rain drops on my windowpane told me stories, my words turned into art. 
And when you left, a part of me went missing too. I searched for it everywhere; in the scent of your clothes that you left behind, inside your tea mug, on the couch that still carried the imprint of your body, the books that still bore your handwriting.  
It was only later that I realized that what you robbed me of. It was innocence. I would never trust again. And even when I discovered love a second and even third time, the ghost of your betrayal held me back. All it took was years of tear stained pillows and months of therapy and a bunch of friends that I now call family to feel a little bit like my old self again. 

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W - Wren

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my words roaming freely no italics no punctuation no rules in this game what an eye sore you are thinking yes I can feel it but just this once let me be unconventional what I have been scared of surprisingly it feels good to be raw I don't know if I will ever attempt this again just like how some things in life must not be experienced twice it always loses charm the second time you see just like how some books must never be attempted a second time the magic you felt coursing through your veins is maybe a distant memory but one that refuses to fade in a world that follows rules to the dozen let me break free for now at least and in this moment I feel invincible I feel free


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V - Vaidehi

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I want to print out the words you have sent me. And allow my fingers to roam freely over them, the way I will never be able to do on your body. I want to feel the ridges and callouses, the indentations and mystery on them, discover it all for myself. For this is probably all I will ever have. Your words on a page. 
But no, I can't even risk that. What if someone sees those words and realize it's all you? That it has always been you. I mustn't. Like so many of secrets that are floating in this world, rocking in coffins, some rotting, shattering like bones, ours too must die a painful death. You have never been one to take risks, playing it safe, not once letting your mask slip. 
Calculated moves. 
We belong in different worlds, hoping to cross over the boundaries seems to me like wishing for the moon when I was a little girl. Our love is forbidden, after all. 

Linking this post to the A to Z Challenge.

U - Udipta

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Instagram followers - 2,384, Twitter followers - 4,982, Facebook page likes - 20,438. 
Likes and comments in hundreds. Thousands of wishes on her birthday, virtual hugs and kisses. Tap, tap. Moral support for each of her status updates, ego boost for her profile pictures. 
Yet when she lay in the hospital bed, physically hurt and mentally bruised, not one of them turned up except for the couple of people who were not even active on social media. 

Linking this post to the A to Z Challenge.