ocular humidity


that, i suppose, could be the new cool, scientific, dispassionate way of saying you’re about to cry. “honey, that scene was so moving. my ocular humidity level is way up there…” or “i was laughing so hard at his joke that my ocular humidity increased to precipitation levels”. who knows, it might just catch on.

sometimes when i’m talking to you my ocular humidity level increases to the point that i am in danger of being disqualified from the alpha male persona i keep trying to assume. not that you ever fitted me into that stereotype but then you get the picture. yeah old memories make me want to cry. sometimes. most of the time they make me want to kick myself for giving up on a good thing. and that might just be the understatement of the year.

why did it have to end so badly? i don’t know. there is, of course, the argument that all things end badly otherwise they wouldn’t end. so why in hell did things have to end at all? i don’t know. if they had to end why did they ever start? i don’t know. i remember a ramzan day eons ago when i was asked if i could carry this through to the end. ” – warna abhi khatam ker do.” when i couldn’t why did i say yes? i don’t know. what good is anything if it has to end in grief? is it really worth it? i don’t know. i don’t know. i don’t freaking know.

it was awesome. every last second of a doomed relationship. one which took away all that life had to offer but still left us richer in its loss. ok that’s a brutally honest admission. a thousand different yesterdays could have made a thousand happier todays but i wouldn’t give mine up for anything. so whatever it was: temporary insanity, miscalculations, masochism or divine intervention it doesn’t really matter in retrospect. the end remains the same. juliet pretended to die and romeo killed himself. only in our case it was julio who did the pretending and romiette who took the poison.

god. make me move on.

na paa lena teraa aasaan, na kho denaa teraa mumkin
musibat mein ye jaan-e-mubtila yun bhi hai aur yun bhi
(jigar muradabadi)

but thats me. and then there’s you. the stories go on but the curtain dropped a long time ago. finita la commedia. makes sense actually. after all nothing really ends, does it? a man is born. he lives, he dies. then there is nothing. bullshit. he lives on in the millions of places his name existed. in the cancelled reservation at that family restaurant. in the yearbook picture no one belived was his. in the hotmail account microsoft closed down three months later. in the meories no one will ever be able to close down. so harsh though the wind is, the flame is still there. or maybe “flames” states it better. two candles lit with the same match. the legace of that match exists in both flames and in every other fire kindled by fires kindled by fires kindled by fires kindled by those flames.

even if they burn up the wax of different candles fighting different drafts of wind.

bulleh shah says,

heer ranjha de ho gaye melay (heer and ranjha are already one)
bhuli heer, dhundendi belay (but confused heer still searches the forest)
ranjha yar buhkal vich khelay (her ranjha is with her)
maenu sudh rahi na saar (and she doesn’t even know it)

stop thinking. life goes on. i remain, yours forever.


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