A murderer would not own a bludgeon to strike someone to death; neither would he need to conspire with the tasteless potions to poison the object, all the time. A sick mind and the streams of evil thoughts would be enough to make his mark. Disguised in an innocent and heart throbbing smile and words of gold, the murderer will get his job half done.
And the killing would not have any victimized body with blood splashing all around or the last words drawn erratically with blood on the walls or body parts slit in numbers and kept in a travel bag, all the time. The victim would be a HEART...Oozing out the warm and innocent feelings, in pain untold and a wound, left unattended.
To nurture and care for the feelings and emotions of someone, is like rearing a small Birdie, so fragile and unaware and innocent. Feeding her and keeping her safe and warm and giving her all the care and love that is needed for her to fly one day. She feels her claws strengthening, her muscles flickering, the wings aching to take off with her hopes sky high. She flies, she flies to the summit, filling her chest with the air of conquest and in her flight she remembers you to be her God, to be the home she will come back to and she comes back. She comes back not to her God but to her death. You kill her…
Friday, July 1, 2011
Monday, October 26, 2009
March 24th.2009Tuesday
“Complications may arise if we wait for long.i think we should make up our minds for the surgery now. May be we can wait for couple of days more. Then will we induce the contractions externally”. The doctor says.
“Oh! Okay. But can we make it on the weekend. My husband will have an off and will be able to take the flight on Friday night.” I question holding my hands which are sweating already, hearing the word EXTERNALLY.
“Yes we can do that, but you need to get admitted by Friday evening and Sundays we entertain only emergency cases. Is that okay with you chetna”? She asks, unaware of my apprehensions.
“I think that is pretty okay with me.” I smile, receiving a smile which is more professional than a personal one.
Another day is ahead of me, when I come out of the cabin. I have another 72 hrs before I can lay myself in the hands of fate. How difficult yet so soothing, how uncertain yet so composed is every moment for me.
I take my usual calcium and iron dose and try to ignore the fatigue which comes up just by sitting and getting up on several occasions today. I don’t want to have anything except for the oranges that has filled my refrigerator as if they are evolving speedily, lying there.
And I do not know what to do with these abrupt movements that at times shake me up from head to toe. I have been listening to all kinds of opinions that comes naturally to me, whenever any women whom I know looks at me. At times those who hardly know me take pride in passing me the information which I have already trashed.
A major snag of this whole phase is that everyone wants to invite me to have lunch or dinner with. I perhaps should not say that, but isn’t it a bit rude to do that??? I mean to feed somebody, at least a foodie like me, with the best palatable stuff, when actually I cannot have it.....!!! I think that is mean.Better I do not write about it, already I feel like throwing up right now. A sound slumber should help me I guess.
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“Complications may arise if we wait for long.i think we should make up our minds for the surgery now. May be we can wait for couple of days more. Then will we induce the contractions externally”. The doctor says.
“Oh! Okay. But can we make it on the weekend. My husband will have an off and will be able to take the flight on Friday night.” I question holding my hands which are sweating already, hearing the word EXTERNALLY.
“Yes we can do that, but you need to get admitted by Friday evening and Sundays we entertain only emergency cases. Is that okay with you chetna”? She asks, unaware of my apprehensions.
“I think that is pretty okay with me.” I smile, receiving a smile which is more professional than a personal one.
Another day is ahead of me, when I come out of the cabin. I have another 72 hrs before I can lay myself in the hands of fate. How difficult yet so soothing, how uncertain yet so composed is every moment for me.
I take my usual calcium and iron dose and try to ignore the fatigue which comes up just by sitting and getting up on several occasions today. I don’t want to have anything except for the oranges that has filled my refrigerator as if they are evolving speedily, lying there.
And I do not know what to do with these abrupt movements that at times shake me up from head to toe. I have been listening to all kinds of opinions that comes naturally to me, whenever any women whom I know looks at me. At times those who hardly know me take pride in passing me the information which I have already trashed.
A major snag of this whole phase is that everyone wants to invite me to have lunch or dinner with. I perhaps should not say that, but isn’t it a bit rude to do that??? I mean to feed somebody, at least a foodie like me, with the best palatable stuff, when actually I cannot have it.....!!! I think that is mean.Better I do not write about it, already I feel like throwing up right now. A sound slumber should help me I guess.
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