Half baked moment.

Symmetry, window panes, two doors and a cot.  A view opening up to a civilization ever growing..non-stop.
A pillow, a pillow over a pillow, a human, a human over a human, a blanket, a blanket over a blanket, two eyes, two eyes over two eyes, inside-out, outside-in, chill, sweat, questions, answers, silence, darkness, dreams and reality. Its all in here, its all in there. A room, a bulb, a filament, a fly, some air and lots of thoughts. Its crazy, its inhuman, its authentic, its fallacy, its fate or its misery. No, its just time and people or no people. No, its just mind and its tricks. Its hunger or satiety. Yes, its only hunger and no satiety.

Maya cooks in this room, she reads, she sings, she draws, she paints, she captures, she dresses, she undresses, she loves and she hates. She misses, she cares, she longs, she weeps, she sleeps, she dreams, she screams and she writes. 'Its all in here', she exclaims. She, after running from everything and everyone possible has found something to rejoice. A small corner in a big world. She always knew she is capable of doing justice to her tormented soul someday and that day is here. 

Today is the day she recalls 'important' for reasons. She hasn't forgotten them, for they were not mere events but made her what she is. This was the day, she knows for sure that made her dependent on art. She started fondling with colours and she became a slave to the empty canvas as she says. She met the man today long long ago. She never fails to look at the sharp contours of the colours connecting to her immediately, when she wakes up from a slumber, a happy one or a sad one or may be just a pretentious one. This day reminds her of the color red. She has a different meaning for 'Red' now which doesnot matter anymore. She is happy, not because she found her day, her colour or her man! She is happy because she has filled her walls with colors, transformed a small corner into a vivid world of craze and vulnerabilities. She is happy because she now understands the anxiety of a hollow human.

Maya and Shubham did brush pass each other many a times but not until one midnight, when they decided they wanted to be friends. Oh yeah, when they meant friends, they actually didn't mean it at all.  It was something different. Something parasitic looked like, later commensals and even later looked like absolute symbionts. They just had to admit it to themselves first and then to each other. It happened, like a sinusoidal wave, high, low, high , low and then I don't know what form it took-unexplainable and undefinable. Life as a form looked more like a book, emotions, drama, 'get-get no want', 'want-want no get' , bla bla. Maya started wirting things about her encounters, her new image in her old mirror, her new pen and old notebook, her new body and old clothes or sometimes new clothes and old body. She didnot know how the hell the world turned upside down in the presence of one man or absence of one man and many thoughts! 

Maya wanted to end her life, a strange feeling isn't it? I thought she was happy or may be her joy wanted to take her life or may be she was still lonely amidst so many appealing views and a mysterious man. Her mind started playing tricks. Shubham may be enjoyed it, may be wanted it or may be he didn't know what he was going through all this time. It wasn't new for him but it was unexpected and that's how he lived his life-unexpected.  Maya died the day he left her in search of answers to questions he created for himself. She died a silent death on the same cot, blanket on blanket, pillow on pillow, chills, sweat, anxiety, tears, darkness and smile. She was not made for 'a Shubham'!

Today I see her in a corner and I am glad that she lies there quietly. I know she is living for the sake of her premature death. She is living to question all her questions. She now knows that there is no 'Shubham' who is the 'only' purpose in her diary. She knows an inside-out has a different context too. She is lost in the symmetry, she tries to grab her cup of peace without any addiction. She always hated addiction. She iterates the words of hope in her heavy head. She is beyond shamelessness, lust or bondage. For her, its a death ceremony, its a thought far fetched, its a distant dream and a life in another world. She desires and she will...