Living with a Funeral

I cannot plan for my birthday without thinking of you. Yours would come just two days before mine.

And I can only be grateful that on your last year, the three of us childhood friends could finally celebrate each other's birthdays and exchange our gifts - something we had planned every year of our childhood years but which never came owing to the summer vacations.

I can only be grateful that on your last year, you spent so much time with me- something we had missed for many years before that owing to the locations, as well as our own differences. I can't believe we didn't talk over some simple exchange of judgements towards each other.

If we were alive, you'd probably in the room next to mine, with Aunty, planning a road trip to either Coorg or Kochi, or discussing a business plan with that sitting amount in your savings account. Or maybe just spending my money on food. :-D

You know I don't interact with your ex-girlfriends anymore. They caused you a lot of pain. And all the boys who ignored you the year before that, I haven't really made an effort to meet them too. Something stops me from interacting with them as freely as I used to.

I remember everything, as usual. When we were in class six, and she proposed to you after discussing with us. And then you both sang the song Tera Chehra in a class and it was the highlight of the day. And then we were in class seven, and I borrowed the latest Bryan Adams album from you. A cassette of Room Service was the name. The song This Side of Paradise fits perfectly now.

The telecom service has given your number to someone else now. It feels empty to not see your whatsapp dp. My previous phone has broken and I don't find our last exchange of messages anymore. It feels emptier. I had written a note for you on Facebook and I can't find it anymore. It's on my Instagram for sure - Sanhita Baruah on Instagram: “Maybe words do immortalize people... I hope they do. I have heard enough about the calm before the tempest to believe in one. Happiness…”

I hate it that I have never seen you in my dreams. So I question the ones others have seen.

I hope you are happy now, wherever you are. This is not even a eulogy- just a lot of emotions pouring out of my eyes and finally through my fingers to this record.

I can only be thankful for the summer of 2017. I don't know how I would have taken your loss without it.

Thanks for the tears. I needed it. I hadn't cried like this in months.

Happy Birthday in advance. You'd be 32 this year. Rest in peace. You have my love and you know it.

Remnants of a smile on a stone-cold face

And maybe you can fool everyone again

That death isn't as painful as we make it to be...

Some tears bottled up from months gone by-

You'd say judge not how one deals with loss...

Dying dreams like drops of dew under a rising sun,

You'd laugh they don't chain your ankles anymore...

We'd cry for we wouldn't know any better

And make stories of your new whereabouts, 

Playing MJ songs and laughing at your own jokes...

Or in a make-believe world of hope,

Somewhere in peace in a dreamless sleep...

(Poem written on 14th September 2017)

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“Are you a lesbian?” A friend of mine once asked me mockingly when we were discussing about my aversion from some (“some” not “all”) kind of men. “No. But does it matter?” I asked her scornfully. No, I wasn’t bothered that I was asked a question about my sexuality. But what I didn’t understand was that is being a lesbian a matter to be jeered about? What if I was one? Wouldn’t I be hurt and embarrassed that my sexuality was just mocked at? Why are the words “gay” or “lesbian” used as slangs? Another incident, that took place a couple of years back, was when I was teasing two girl friends of mine, accusing them of having an affair. I considered it as normal as teasing a guy and a girl. One of them found it so disrespectful that she, instead of simply denying the fact, chided that she isn’t of such “third class” standard. I later discussed the small argument that we had, with her, trying to make my point that being a lesbian or a transgender doesn’t define anyone’s cla...

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When I stepped out of my cocoon last year, I wanted to create a beautiful life... for myself and for other people like me - smart, intelligent, but unhappy, unfulfilled, unsatisfied, their potentials never tapped into, their hearts smashed every time they typed on their laptops and looked at the clock. Time passes by for them and nothing happens. Or everything happens but just by the clock. Money buys them expensive shoes but where was the time to step out? Every conversation was a game of poker where you bet or you call but you can never fold. It's been a year now. I fear I may have failed. I didn't create the world I promised myself and my invisible readers. What am I doing? My life only got worse. There were places to go to but where were the expensive shoes? Fear, trapped me in an invisible cage I carried with me everywhere I went. My neck strangled by a stranger's hands of expectations. How could I stand up to his expectations when I can't even stand up to my own? ...

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