Skip to main content

Enchanted

Why do I do it? I ask myself at the end of every fight. When the night seems like all mine to fight as much as I want, I throw goodbyes like papers to the bin, I keep hurling the choicest of abuses and I wear the super bitch look. And it never ends because I won’t give up the fight easily and I won’t relent, won’t forgive for the next 5-6 hours. I want to make life hell for the don. I succeed.

“You just lose it over silly things.” “Well, do I? What about you? You are no less”. “But I didn’t say this.” “And I meant this.” For the next few hours, you explain, don explains. But the hurt continues to nag. You have a heavy head and when you finally hit the sack, there’s a feeling of not enough, of whatever. Like a typical chick flick, fight, goodbye, fight, goodbye, fight... and make up. Sometimes, the nights are long.

It’s funny how fights can bring out the worst in us. I hate to even recall what I am told during these insane moments. For a moment you think, “Am I like that in reality?” Like someone has just placed a mirror in front of your face and shown an ugly side of you, you react and there’s a royal comeback. “Oh, you’ve no class, after all”. “I know what the future will be like.” You didn’t want to hear that. "Go, get lost forever," you add. Time to end. You get all quiet. I think I screwed up bad. I fuss and fume and fret. No sorry yet! You wait… It sucks that so much energy is spent here.

We nearly ended up splitting. And nearly sometimes is as close as almost. Like a hair breadth distance. It’s not fun when it happens too often, once in a while it feels like living… We lose the sidelines of our lives in the process.

But I continue to be enchanted by the real us…

Comments

Anonymous said…
You feel enchanted but I on the otherhand feel alive...
Shanti Thokchom said…
u seem 2 enjoy only fights or what? or kuch nahi hai kya karne ke liye... apni speedo pahen lo or jamuna ya ganga mei ek dubki lagao....tera sar clear ho jayegi..ha..ha..ha...!happy fighting.

Popular posts from this blog

A Mad Man Or A Boor

What does one do when one encounters a mad dog? Or what does one do when one encounters a man with pre-fixed notions about everything in life, most specifically of women who live alone and give him some importance? The two are equivalent to me and basic intelligence says avoid the paths they tread like plague. But I chose to tackle them head on. I almost got rabbies. The mad man said [sic] " You sound like a very desperate person. A single and frustrated woman who is looking for anyone to leave a comment on your blog so much so that you wouldn't even spare a spammer ." Spammer being, the first comment on the previous post is apparently a spam, an advert for T-shirts. Bummer! I thought it was a handsome Spaniard or Latino, so I had replied "Hi Rodrigo", hoping to take the conversation forward offline. Anyway! All this the mad man found out. I didnt. Sure, I dig comments because I love the spontaneity and intelligence of my friends. And I didn't invite the ma

O-B-A-M-A

Two million people at the National Mall in Washington alone. The world watched too as Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. So did I. I rudely cut roomie's soap operas and switched to CNN to witness history being created. Some day I may live to tell the tale of how Barack, the much touted Afro-American President of the United States, stumbled with his swearing-in oath. I was a bit disappointed as I watched the man who had run the most successful of election campaigns, the man who Americans were pinning their hopes on, take his oath. Clearly, he was under too much of a pressure to be the best. So before Chief Justice John Roberts could complete the first sentence, there was Obama abruptly breaking out into his first names... " I Barack Hussein Obama.." and then waited for the judge to complete the sentence.. The next line was even taxing. He stopped short after two words... " That I will excute ..." and then Justice Roberts cont

Good Girls Don't Drink?

I have been disturbed by the news coming out of my region – the northeast of India - where a teenage girl coming out of a bar at 9:30 pm was molested and beaten by a group of 20 men. The news has even found its way down under for the shocking nature of it. Tabloids and even TV have carried the news. I have always prided myself in belonging to a region that is known for its high tolerance and where women are generally safe and independent. But I have always felt a bit squidgy about Guwahati unlike the rest of the seven sisters. The place is so like the rest of India in many ways, dirty and claustrophobic. That explains why bars are looked upon as sleazy places and women going there beaten up as with the recent case. Just 150 km away is Shillong, the place where I grew up. Night clubs thrive there and till date there has been no case of attacks against women. Reading the news, I am appalled by some of the reactions. “But the girl was drinking,” or “only prostitutes visit that