Wednesday, August 09, 2006

The letter that was never sent

Dear God,

I have no clue why I am writing this letter, especially in a public forum. But sometimes there's safety in numbers, even among strange numbers. Among the myriad faceless whispers and shouts, I hope you'll read this and I wish you would respond, however far-fetched it may sound. We both have our quirks; you like to play deaf and I write letters that you barely scan.

Ours wasn't/isn't exactly an ideal relationship. We had our troughs and crests and though I prefer to blame you for all those troughs, I do understand I have my share of responsibility in a few of them. Ok fine, most of them. Still, considering the world's definition of you as someone more than just a friend, one wonders why you let those troughs exist. Please don't say it is to make me appreciate my moments of happiness coz that is complete hogwash.

I care two hoots about my happy moments when I can distinctly remember the tear stains on my pillows. Have you ever sat on a beach, with your feet covered in wet sand, closed your eyes and let yourself go? And in that moment between complete relaxation and fitful restlessness, the first image that you see is that of a bird with broken wings; of unfulfilled desires. And that is what I hold you responsible for. That moment in space and time continuum, when my heart forgets to rejoice in the bliss of silence and longs for another world.

I know you've been trying to reach out in the past one year but I have rudely pushed you away. Your room in my home is dusty, filled with cobwebs and if you do visit, you might have to make do with those dirty seats. And I know, if Amma was to see it, she'd feel hurt and want me to trust you more. I do trust you and I do love you but I don't want to talk to you no more(And no, two negatives do NOT make a positive). Not till you give me a sign that you indeed listen to me.

That you know what I told you as I made egg biryani two days back, that you remember what I whispered on the way to school 10 years ago, that you do understand why I smile in the few moments before the alarm shrieks. Yes, I want you to repeat all those conversations back to me. Verbatim.

I am not asking for much. Just a sign. Any sign. Please.