Dear Life,

Yield point is the maximum amount of load a material can take before fracture and Elasticity is the ability of the material to regain former state of being after load has been removed. In any situation, if you are able to remove the load before the cracking and consequent snap, life will go back to it's former state of being.

But there are times, more often than not where you take it just that little too far. And by the time you realise, the damage has been done, y'know? Done, donna done. Wipe the blood off your hands and run. The damage has been done.

Fatigue is when the material is fractured before the yield point due to constant load that is applied. Or in simpler terms, everything has a shelf life. Basically, say you're really smart. You're not like the other idiots who go that one step too far, you know where the line stands. So every time you apply a force, you stop JUST before this imaginary red line. And in you're head you think you think you're genius. What you don't know is that a point will come where it won't be able to take it any more and it will snap prematurely. So, again. Done, donna done. Wipe the blood off your hands and run. The damage has been done.

Recently I have faced two very similar situations, both of them involving women screwing me over. And I felt like a beam, if you may. A dark brownish, polished teak beam supported at it's two ends. In mechanics, it's referred to as a simply supported beam. God, I really wish it was simple. With you, I think it is safe to refer to it as a fucking complicated, mid air suspended beam.

So, I am a beam. A beam with emotions. A beam who is confused when it feels new emotions. I feel anger. I am furious. And it's an emotion that is completely alien to me. I don't know what to do with it. And I just know. I know I am so close to breaking. I just need that little more and Kaboom, I will explode.

I should have exploded a long time ago. I keep telling myself, Oh suck it up big boy, you can take just a little bit more, right? But this time I'm fatigued. I'm going to break before I'm expected. And when I do, just please don't say I didn't warn you.

You probably won't know I've broken though. I'm not one to make a huge racket. It's when you come to load me once more with your utter bullshit and I won't take it anymore, and you wont have any support, you will realize I am gone. So, just please. Tread carefully for a while and give me time to heal.

Thanking you,
Fucked up beam.

I lie atop a hill, stretch my arms out, press my legs together and smile inwardly, marvelling at the prefect contours of a perfectly streamlined machine. With the comfort of a bulging stomach to cushion my fall, I press the imposing red button in my head and prepare for flight.

 Altitude 20 metres, temperature 22 degrees, fasten your seat belts ladies and gentleman and prepare for landing. Descending, 1,2,3. Ouch. I cocoon myself in layers laughter, it is my protection from the world that has enveloped me. I'm not ready to break out and yet my hysteria is short lived. 

I climb back up in silence. It takes hours, and by the time I reach I'm drenched. Perhaps it's the sweat induced by the harsh sun that beats or perhaps, tears of the sorrows that weigh me down? Uncertainty grips me as I prepare for flight once more. 

And so, there we go again! Hahaha. Smiles and laughter. Jack and Jill went up the hill and came rolling down with laughter? Wait, that's not right. Or? I don't know. Uncertainty, It's everywhere. Shh. Enjoy the ride, yaar. Roll, roll, roll. Haha. 

And, with that I hit rock bottom. But, everything is uncertain. Can I go further down still? The highs are always well defined, it's how low you can go that you never know. It's all a hill, isn't it? In this silence, ignorance is almost wondrous.

Questions surround my existence. Hope this is as low as it gets.

Jaane kyun log pyaar karte hein?
Jaane kyun woh kissi pe marte hein?
Jaane kyun?

The radio on the black marble kitchen slab throws at me a series of question and waits for my reply as it is disturbed by static. I fiddle with the knobs on the side, adjusting the frequency, wanting to progress with the interrogation but the static only rings louder in my ears. I slap the noisy plastic, hoping whatever it is that has budged will hear it's calling and make it's way to wherever it is meant to be. For it too, is destined for greater things than to sit in an odd corner of a box and rust. But I guess, today is just not it's day.

I rub of the orangey-yellowish stains of last nights butter chicken, the clitter clatter of my fidgeting around the sink drowns out the static and the music that decides to make guest appearances in between. I smile as I put the last of the dishes to dry on the sill and make my way towards the living room, stopping only to stare and admire my beauty at the mirror that hangs on the parting wall.

I roll my eyes in the mirror and smile. He used to love it when I rolled my eyes at him. It would light him up instantly, as if he were a bulb and I was the switch. He would laugh and clap his hands in approval, all the while struggling to sit up straight, in the way young babes do.  But that was years ago. 40 years at the least.
He's all grown up now, with a French beard and a French wife and their little French kisses. I wonder if he ever remembers how I rolled my eyes, or if he ever remembers me?

I can't help but stay at the mirror a little longer, and cover my eyes, cover them with my hands only to strip them the next minute, with a countenance of total surprise and mouth Peekaboo! My memory brings to me fresh wafts of his laughter, and I let out a little laugh myself. It doesn't really hurt to be silly does it? Besides, his laughter was always infectious. It would ignite the whole room into fits.

But he's caught up in his web now. He doesn't have time to laugh for me any more. Oh, well. I don't have much time for him either. I'm a busy woman. Last night I cooked his favourite sort of chicken and sat beside him and he laughed and again the whole room was in fits! And today I'm going to make mutton biryani and raita, and sit next to him again. There is so much I have to do! He's going to be here any moment.

And with that I make a Ding-Dong sound in my head and rush to open the door. Oh, Mama! He says, the kitchen smells wonderful! Oh lala! I smile inwardly at his frenchness as I sit him down as I sit next to the void beside, and ask about the wife.

Today as I find myself in the solitude of my room, I find myself passenger on a train of thought, of new and old, of thoughts I wish to retain within me, thoughts I want to be mine forever and of thoughts I wished I never had. As I cast a glance around my 10X10ft abode, the gutka stained walls and the storm of Desi sharab bottles strewn across are a painful reminder of a reality I wish were a nightmare from which I could awake. In all honesty, the room I call mine is shared between the 5 of us. Allow me to enlighten you about my happy family;

I am the youngest sister to 3 alcoholic brothers and toy to a sexually frustrated father. The woman who brought me among you was lost in the process and took with her the comfort of her arms that never held me, her breasts that never fed me, her love that never warmed me and a myriad of memories which I can only imagine and wish to experience. It is in these circumstances that I have aged into a young girl of 13 and into a woman much beyond these years.

The glass factory I toil in has done little to aid me in my beauty, but that's a small price to pay for the meals it has earned me, and of course every now and then the set of occasional bangles I am provided and allowed to decorate my now built wrists. Their clinking as I muscle my way through my chores helps pass the  time. Today, I've been let off work early and been allowed to remain solitary in the 4 walls I have for so long now tried to accept as my home.

And, so on my train of thought I am lost. Today, I am Queen to a palace. Master of my own will. Yet, I cant help but wonder, if there is another palace in the world where the Queen is famished because she is duty bound to feed all the men that reside in her compound? Is there a another palace where the Queen is touched and tortured by the very men she shares her blood with? Another palace on this Earth in which the Queen herself is slave? And with these thoughts I glance at the clock that has aged with me and watch the seconds tick by. The passing of seconds has brought with them tears, for these thoughts pang my heart and plague my existence. Yet, I comfort myself in my palace and smile at the clock that has been a faithful companion through the years, never failing to remind me of my impending imprisonment.

As the first of the occupants walks in, his breath screaming of filth, I retreat to corner in my cell, and glance one last time at the clock on the opposite wall and plead for the rays of the next mornings sun. Till then I will sell my body to my father and to my brothers if they so please. And when they are done, I will lie in this very same corner, wipe my tears and with my thoughts I will build my palace. Brick by brick, I will build it. For thoughts are all that is mine in this world.

Okay! Lots of things to tell you. I have discovered. After transcending miles of forest and miles of desert, I have discovered. Here's my problem though, I'll be frank. I am unsure of the discovery I have made, unsure of the ramifications it holds and unsure still of what it truly means. Yet, there is something, deep inside the depths of my soul that tells me of an importance. An instinct, let's call it. And instinct that comes from the pit of the far right corner of my smaller intestine. Yes, that's how deep I mean. Perhaps even deeper, but the unpleasantness of what lies beyond has compelled me to not go pay to heed to instincts of the anus.

This discovery I talk of has the power to change the world, and to this I swear to the mole cushioned in my armpit hair. I have unravelled a secret, an answer, a power. Call it what suits you best, use it as you like. But, believe you me, what I have found is a panacea. What I've found is a paradigm of contentment. I'll share it with you because I know you need it, and because I want you too, to be as empowered as I have become.

Ah, lets inert that incessant need for an answer before the question has been asked, first, shall we? Slow down, take a dee breath in. Relax. I need you to let go of all inhibitions you hold, let go of all worries you hold within you, let go of all the negativity you encapsulate, let go and be free. And once you're done, once you've breathed out you'll be prepared discover what I have discovered. 

One last thing. They're no free lunches in life and I'll be damned to feed you your first. So, with you I shall make a deal. I'll share with you what I've found and you in return will share this with someone else. And in this way, my travels to the mountains and the deserts will become worthy. 

What I've found is something you hold within you. What I've found is nothing new, nothing out of this world, nothing you wouldn't already know of, no, this isn't water on Mars. What I've found is so simple, yet so decorated. I travelled only to return full circle, to find what I seek was in my possession all along. And thus, I discovered. I have discovered the beauty of simplicity and with this, I have discovered happiness.

Go now, find your happiness and go further, go share it with somebody. 

I will run away and in my leaps I will find my dream. With every step, I will hit the ground harder and my heart will beat faster and I will be closer to my dream. I will chase like I chased the horizon hoping to find the end of the world, I will chase like I chased the beginning of a rainbow. And somewhere, in that ignorance I hope will lose my way and find my dream.

My heart beats a drum in my quest. A quest and nothing less, a quest for me to find myself in my dream. And as I hit the ground harder still, I find it hard to lose my way. For a road unobstructed only seems till I hit an end. And every road is the same and has been, for the horizon only seems further as I make my way and the rainbow only higher.

I want to be lost and find my way back. I want to be lost and yet I am trapped. To be lost is to be free, to be lost is to let the world lose you but have the world at your feet. To be lost is anything you want it to be, to be lost without boundaries. But I am trapped.

I have run to lose my way and now I will run to trip and lose a pretty face. I will trip and lose myself, and as my blood runs, and as I lose my pretty face I will a find a new world. I will find a world that will want to turn in disgust, a world incapable for taking me without my mask, I will find a world that is not afraid to lose me. I will run away to trip and find myself and in myself I will find my dream.

Ah. Finally, the road unobstructed is actually so. Finally the world bleeds all it true colours. Blacks and Browns mixed to disgust. I am far away from where I was, into my dream that I have found. The worlds cruelty is mine and in this cruelty I have found the world that has lost me.

I know what you hide, the pain and the sufferings, I know the secrets that you have very carefully curtained. You can fool the world but I see through you. I see through that little gap you have left while you drew your curtains, so don't fool me. I see enough from this opening.

I am not one to catch a glimpse while rushing past to where I am headed. I am not one to be disappointed with a stubborn weed, one that will move on to the next,  to one far less divine but far more easily obtained. For you are where I am headed and so I will not rush. For if you are stubborn, let me too be just as stubborn.

Let this be settled then. Let this be war then. Let this be fair though. Let this be honest in everyway. And let this be final. And in this war of words that we play, I and the deep rooted weed, let the opening widen, let me in to your workings, let me know you like you know yourself.

In your silence I am happy. And in your words that wrap me in a world of my own making, I am happy. In your laughter and the smile that follows, in your laughter of my own doing, I am happy. With you in tears and in the comfort of my hug, I am happy. With you, I am happy. So, please give me what I want, give me what is mine and yours, give me my happiness.

I asked you to play fair, but you are dishonest. You refuse to let me see beyond that teaser of an opening. Oh, well, I have reached where I am headed, perhaps your destination lies elsewhere. However, I will wait on this very spot. For if you ever decide to move on and come back in search of me, you will find me without trouble. Trouble for you? Now, we wouldn't want that would we? 

I had my footwork, it was all there, just as I was taught.

Shift onto your right and jab, to your left and block, duck, rise, punch. Wait. Block. Let him hit you. Block. Take his punch. Block. Protect. Wait.

I waited. I took every punch. I blocked, ducked and rose. I did as he said. I was the strength in his dead arms, I was the hope in his blinded eyes, I was the voice of his absent tongue, I was his fighter and he, he was my corner. He was there, after every round, to sit me on my stool, to stop the bleeding, to put a bone back into place, to do whatever it took, for me to fly. And fly I did.

For every fight I fought, for every time I stood up on my own two feet, for every punch I threw back, for every duck I made and for every time after, that I did rise, for every time I hit the floor and for every time I stood. He was there. Stronger.

I was his fighter.

I kept my arms up, shifted my weight and put all into every punch I sent. Right hand, right jab, left hook. I was careful, I was observant. Waited on the other end, waited on a mistake, a drop of arms, an opening. Punch.

I was his fighter.

I play that fight over and over in my head. Every move I made, it's all in my head. I fell a punch short, I waited a second too long, I missed an opening, an opportunity. I missed it, and then it wasn't mine to miss. That's all it takes. One punch from the other side, one on an already cracking rib, or a half cut eye, and there is a broken rib and a bleeding eye.

I did him proud, he said. The rib will heal, the eye will clot, he said. There were more fights to fight, more to win and more to lose, he said. In happiness there is no happiness, he said.You have to know pain, you have to feel it in every bit of your blood, to know happiness, he said. For there is no silver lining on a clear day, for there is no light at the end of a lit tunnel, he said.

I was his fighter. I was his strength. He ought to have counted till ten.  He ought to have protected me, he ought to have stopped the pain. I knew that day, this was not about his dead arm, or his blind eye or his absent tongue. He wanted that pain for me, he wanted it for me so I would know happiness.

He didn't count till ten. Maybe if he had, I wouldn't know the difference between pain and what I felt. That day, I became my fighter, he said.