Pray, listen to me, dear

It has been so long a summer,

Can you not spare me a yellow evening, or a

Night below the stolen stars?

I long to spend hours talking of the world with you, under

Candle-light eating cherry tarts.






One day they will be convinced that you do not exist. One day they will know for sure that you cannot be.

And hence they will think that I am mad, Pam, crazy as a bat to know for sure that you are and that you will be.

They will drug me, and electrocute me.

They will penetrate syringes within me.

As if it is no crime Pam. As if it is no crime to separate Romeo from Juliet and lover from loved and friend from friend and dreamer from dream.

It is a crime. They must know. It always has been.

They will be certain that the cage of your persona keeps me from being free.

But that cannot be. For isn’t a dream the part of a dreamer as much as you are a part of me? You are indeed.

But how will they free me from the drug within my mind, you?

How will they detach me from the worm that curls within each cell?

How will they erase your memories, Pam, when they live in me and flow in my blood?

One day I will think I am delirious. For believing in your existence. I will know one day that you are no realer than the air. You are yet aren’t there.

But my love for you wouldn’t change Pam. I will know in a subconscious corner of my heart that I had a friend who loved me, who held my hand when the night skies were pink, and the ground was hazy, and lived with me through locked doors of asylum. I will know Pam, I will know.

I may not remember but I will know.

Do not leave me then Pam, do not go.

Stay where you are, within my mind, inside my body and in my soul, and we will survive the drugs and toil through, but stay put Pam, do not go.

Stay in my brain, even if that truly is where you always have been, and like a secret I will keep you there.

I promise, no one will know, no one will know.

Leaving [Behind]


It would be fair to call today’s piece’ title fugitive or inconspicuous for that matter. Underneath however is an exploration of truth. I am no defeatist, yet I often come to terms with the understanding that people do always leave. The separation is of course tough, like the pain instilled by the insertion of a strong syringe. But it is not their leaving itself which hurts as much as idea of what they leave behind- memories that imprint themselves on the mind’s eye- which stays with one like the shadows of an immortal scar.

Sometimes, when people enter your life, they gradually gain importance and claim space. Certain things become bounded rituals, to be shared with only particular personalities. They help us create our own stories, and a treasure chest full of personal jokes. It is with the people we meet in our lives, that we paint memories and live moments that we later come to recollect, smile and weep instinctively at the thought of. Secrets get filtered, and the darkest ones are reserved for sharing with a few closed ones. We break our walls, we trust them with blind faith, we save the currant on our priced pastries for them. Had we known, that distance will grow us apart from those whom we are closest to, I wonder how different our respective paths of friendship would have been.

At times, when people leave they leave behind spaces that are probably too large to be filled. The time we spend with people – friends, family, strangers- is the strange leaf from the oak tree. It dries with passing time and weakening roots, but it never leaves the branch it hangs on. It stays there, the shade of mud, to remind you in pensive stroll of the times you still have with the people you have lost.

I wish people came with statutory warnings. That would have made things so much easier, but I guess it is this difference which makes us all human, causes of each other’s suffering, and fragile in our own way.   

People always leave, they said. I kept my head high, and like mice to the piper’s tune, followed the beat of my heart. I wept in heartbreak, and struggled through rejection. I stumbled and stuttered when people left, yet I believed I could go on. Not everyone leaves; the ones who are supposed to stay always find a way to, I told myself. But more than once on occasions of separation I have inwardly doubted my own optimism.

Yes, we all would agree that it hurts when people leave. There is deep sadness when people go away from our lives. But for me, there is no pain greater than that of realising once and for all what it is that they have left behind.

So then, are people who come into your life nothing but impersonators? Are people always meant to leave?  And do they deserve the space we give them? Do questions even make a difference?

I have to tell you, I do not have an answer to any of those. But then, I am afraid of finding these answers myself. The possibility of their not being to my likes troubles me. So for now, I choose to believe in a version which makes me happier. No, people do not always leave. But when they do, they always leave something behind. And that bitter truth is the only consolation we can afford.