All of Nothing

Delhi has always been my city, my sanctuary, where I always belonged. It brought me a lot of joy and a lot of pain but it has never brought me a sense of detachment. Until now. No matter how convoluted my life felt and how many heartaches and mind warps this city gave me, I felt it was mine. This time around, the city felt strange and distant. Changed for the worse, trying to be something it has never been. Pretending to be something it is not. My visit to Delhi this time was for an extended duration. And what I intended to be a warm embrace turned into a long cold stare. I felt I have not known this city. As if it didn’t caress me at my lowest, as if it didn’t cheer me on at my accomplishments, as if it didn’t watch me give everything I had to my goals and loves, as if I wasn’t its black sheep child. I don’t know where did the familiarity dissipate and how the connection got distorted. I have been away for a long time but every time I appeared, Delhi and I got along without fail. Ev

Closures are painful portals of new beginnings. They tumble you in the spin cycle of the emotional washing machine and wring you into this battered yet somewhat new existence. Closures are tough, unpredictable and often ugly. When done right, they can be be helpful for emotional growth and healing. When done wrong, they lead to wreckage and devastation. When missed, they become powerful anomalies.  The closure that evades time sits and becomes powerful in its tiny form. It condenses so much energy and emotion in its little space that it goes undetected until it's approached. It has now become massive and as all of its mass exerts this fiery pull on everything that exists in my emotional realm, I burn in its ever-expansive zone of influence. It gains energy, momentum and destroys what it contained in its tiny form, way before it was touched.  The pain it brings feels right. I mourned what was destroyed long time ago and I grieve again. But grief is even more unpredictable than closu

  It has been 8 years (minus 1 day) since I wrote my last post. What a strange coincidence that I was pushed into finding my blog on this day eight years later. Eight is a critical number for me for many reasons. My life can be defined most simply as highs of highs and lows of lows. I rarely find anything in the middle, anything mediocre, anything that doesn’t come with extremes. Maybe it is not my life really, it is how I am, how I view it and what I have made of it. Eight is also, what they call, indicative of infinity because of how it’s written and when rotated 90 degrees represents the mathematical infinity symbol. I think that’s how I see my life now. Infinite pain, infinite hopelessness, infinite darkness, infinite wreckage. One could argue I must see the possibilities of infinite hope, infinite beauty and wonder, infinite love, infinite happiness. But we all know that all those highs are followed by devastating lows. And lows are the events that stick to me irreversibly. I let