Prose before hos

It hits you at 1:35 am on a Saturday, that was a frustrating Friday earlier, but was a promising Monday just a few hours before. 

It hits you when you go on your first date after a long relationship. The morning after break-up is considered tough, nobody thought to acknowledge the first time you meet someone new, and how it hits you in the face when they're nothing like your ex. Or, when a man does something you begged your ex for or when a man doesn't do what came effortlessly from you ex. It hits home. 

It comes out in a call after meeting. Your colleague says, "I'm working extra so I don't have to deal with my breakup," she sniffles between the call. You want to tell her it gets better but instead, you choose to let it pass. She needs a moment to cry and you're quietly listening to her, carrying the pain for both on the call. 

It comes out when you've spent long days and nights working non-stop, your brain is begging you to stop but you know, to sit with the vacuum of staring at your phone that hasn't shown his name in a while isn't easy. 

You want to meet your friends but they're sick of you; talk to another man but that's not him; you want to cry to your journal but how many times again? 

Instead, you let one out after telling your friend after a long week at work, "I'm like 60% detached, healed, I don't care now. I'm okay" 

But, are you really? 

A year ago, on 27 September, my recent ex indicated (for the first time ever) that he felt off. Not from us, he insisted, but from his life. He couldn't describe beyond that. Previously (many many years ago) I'd had an ex who expressed something similar only to cheat on me so my radar kept warning me to be wary, to lookout and instead, I double downed on the empathy and care. 

I don't usually shit on my exes or make it a point to splash sordid details here but I also don't usually have a break-up sequel in the same year with the same person twice; unique problems require unique solutions. 

On 27th September, this year, I cut all ties with my recent ex. Favourite ex, nice guy, kind, puppy dog eyes— you get the drift. We had broken up earlier this year, and I'd pulled all the cords out. However, a combination of many reasons and matters of the heart compelled both of us to look at each other again, albeit differently. 

It also didn't help when we ran into each other on a weekday morning when neither of us expected anything of the sort. What followed were real feelings of care, trust and all that. I gave "friendship" a shot with my ex, going against my idea of working things out with someone I've been in love with. 

It was something that he had pushed for. It was something my closest friend had pushed for. Against everyone who had seen me cry, dip mentally, be upset about the course of events since 27 September last year, I went ahead and opened the channel of communication for us to talk. Naturally, things didn't flow. 

Until one day in August this year, when he came forth. Said the nicest, kindest, real words of affection. Said he's erasing boundaries between us and that there's hope, among other things. I saw the man I had briefly fallen in love with. It was everything and more, the words poured from both our sides, and while our understanding of friendship was very different, we were clear on our affection for one another. 

From that point onwards, his aim at sexualising the relationship was a part of our equation, and mine to de-escalate that was a promise at honouring the friendship. Both of us failed at it. 

My birthday rolled in and I had been a mess emotionally and physically. I was way too anxious, unprepared for my vacation. It did not help that he picked a fight with me over telling him that it was surprising he rememebered my birthday (he dislikes them) and that I don't hold the same space in his life (he had accused me of being sarcastic when I was honest). In addition, I shared a major life update with him, to which he had no reaction. He was cold-ish, unwelcoming of my presence for two days including my birthday. We warmed up by the end of the day because I made an effort, I apologised. I owned up. 

At 38,000 feet in the sky, on my birthday weekend, period and mood swings hit me hard and I decided to come clean to him. In vulnerability, I told him what he meant to me in terms of importance and how I would have just looked out for his wish in a sea of presents and everything else. A few hours after the landing, he hit me with a monosyllabic response and a hug emoji. That was it. All of my outpouring with one word and an emoji followed by it. 

Through the next 4-5 days, when I didn't hear much from him (except a tech support query- how to move WA widget tray for emojis). I realised he wasn't all that into me. I was clear— this is as good as over and I just had to call it out. I could have, alternatively, asked him where he stood with me, but his actions revealed his answer. I knew for a fact that this was long done, and we are conveniently tugging at heartstrings. 

I had prioritised resolving the work crisis in the short-term future, so my relationship (more like situationship, this time around) took a back seat for me. I was convinced this man and this crisis is not a priority to be picked right now, and when time comes around for us both (we had a lot of shit at work we were dealing with and I didn't want to push), I'll initiate the chat on where we stand and where to next. My friend had forewarned, "You better be the one to move on first because if that's him, you'll be fucked in the head."

I didn't pay any heed because, remember, my work, took priority, and I knew where I stood in his life (label friendship, and actions all over the place). And again, he was in a state of transition at work so it didn't seem like a good time to push him or me in that direction. 

The first week of return at home and at work hit me harder than a 30 kilograms checked-in luggage. Things at work were high-pressure and I was still recovering from jet lag. Nearing the weekend, and at this point we've not spoken for a while, I caved in and initiated a conversation. He was sweet, attentive, asked questions, remembered what was up in my life professionally as per our last conversation.

Everything was smooth. 

The next day, when my body and mind were protesting to take a break from overworking and underresting, I asked him if we could meet for coffee. He was allegedly at work at 10:30 pm and naturally, that wasn't going to be a plan that he could join in on. In anyway, he lacked spontaneity and I had known this would be a tough call.  

Saturday morning began with inquiry on why I wanted to meet for coffee. Realising clearly I didn't want to do a chat like this on call/text, I brushed off. In the same conversation, middle of what I think was flirting, he spat the cold truth— he is dating again— and apparently that changes nothing between us except the sticky stuff. 

For the first time, in a rather long time, I felt a rage familiar to the kind I'd felt when my previous partner(s) had cheated on me and I had found out. I realised I didn't want to carry out anything, no explanation, or question, no curiosity. Just wanted to bolt and leave the situation. 

I told him I can't do it and he tried to shortchange me with "Friendship" repeatedly. I had point-wise rebuttal for every line he threw (and there were not as many, except a fair amount of gaslighting and manipulation). All I could gather was, "I've a lot of feelings" and that I have "tried friendship". It did not work for me. For his sake and our sake, I gave it a shot and now I had to leave the space. 

The conversation ended abruptly. 

Last time, the breakup lasted 10 days in February and 2 continuous days in March. There were pleas, reminders, sweet-nothings, frustrations, affection; there was weight in it. This time, he had one foot out the door and had established that he's taking the other foot out of our intimacy. 

I don't need to be reminded twice where I'm not needed, so if the week leading to my birthday was any indication, I was fucking done. I was done when I wrote a heartfelt confession to him mid-journey in an aircraft and when I didn't hear back anything concrete. I was done when I realised I was never going to be it. He was always looking to bolt and infact had acted like a complete coward in leading me on days until he broke the news to me. 

 I was just the fallback convenience, a fact that my friends had individually told me over the course of a year and a half and I'd chosen to ignore them all. 

Love is so potent that it drives you to insanity. 

So, naturally, after the conversation ended, I did what any sane person would do— went to watch a movie alone. 

One Battle After Another at an IMAX near me. 

Two things hit me en route home after the film: one of the earliest memories I have of us talking and getting to know each other, he had texted me relentlessly throughout Killers of the Flower Moon (last Leonardo DiCaprio film) in 2023. I was flirting and giggling through the film in the theatre at an IMAX and texting him. My attention was largely on him and it was then I knew that a man compelling enough to draw my attention out of this film was going to be a permanent fixture in my life. 

During One Battle After Another, I had texted a close work colleague, my therapist for a slot and re-read our break-up sequel chat over a thousand times. I'm pretty sure the folks behind me could see the unhinged behaviour but I was out of fucks. 

The other thing that came out so clearly was the date. It was exactly a year since my relationship with him turned into relationshit and he had moved out of my orbit into god knows whosoever else's. I was sure he was not into me, but the crumbs, the sweet nothings sprinkled in pennies on the ground, had a chokehold on me that was hard to explain. 

I remember howling like a baby when the breakup went through on that day in March this year. I cried like I had never cried before and my life looked dark as hell. I don't even remember how did I go back home and how did I come to the office, but the folks at work could see something was wrong and asked me to take 10 days off to recover. 

I invested that time in myself and put my pieces together. 

This time again, I've to bring myself up again, but in a true sequel way, the road is set and I'm ready to rock and roll. 

This end-of-a-cycle with Leo's film and 27th September were incidental. I had anyway planned to watch the film alone at the same showtime and I had been thinking of telling him that there's a lot of water under the bridge. His disdain and lack of empathy towards the end reminded me why I should have never gone the friendship route and how, what I learnt at age 17 from Seventeen Magazine was the holy grail of all things relationship then and even now. 

I hope our paths may never cross and that I don't have to go through the misery he put me through with any man or woman ever again. 

Here's to being single for the second time after a break-up with the same man. 

Please embarrass me in person if you ever hear that I entertained a text from him, let alone allow him back in my life in any capacity. 

What now? 

I had that on my mind the entire last year.

I had it through three ER trips just with rash, a debilitating break-up, two soul-crushing appraisal cycles, one pet dog's demise, and through many other near-death encounters (Flu, Viral). None of that could stop me from using that on my birthday. 

Right down to the beat, the next day after the birthday was ER run again. Injection meant a day's worth of sleep. In daze. 

I am supposed to leave in a few hours for my annual pilgrimage. It couldn't have been worse timing. I'm bleeding, there's a rat in my room. I have not packed. I have not done my nails. I've not taken a shower. I'm a mess. A stinking mess at that. There's work stuff that's exploding through groups. A couple of lazy colleagues mentioned this is great timing. Nobody seems to remember that I've been fervently here since January, nowhere else. 

GPT is begging me to stop. My anxiety is spiralling at a point of no return. The rash? It's all nerves. It's all the love I can't showcase to the man, so I spiral alone, I end up in the ER, and I watch my life crumble. 

There's work-related stuff on embargo. I'm in for a spin, a 180 spin again when I return. I have never been more checked out of my life than now; when I'm forced to reckon with all the change in a short span of time. 

I just want to be able to go for my walks and be in good health. Neither of the two is happening. I just want to be able to pursue my hobbies without thinking of my ex and wondering what is it that I'm doing wrong, months after having broken up, because he's being hot and cold to me. 

It is liberating to be truly out of fucks and put words down. All that's on my mind, now here. 

People around me have been more excited about my vacation than I am. I'm nervous. Hands are shaking while I'm typing kind. I'm parched and water is next to me but I'm fucked in the head. I'm really shaking out of nervousness. Is it because of my ex? Is it because of my work? I don't know. I wish I could talk to him and ground myself but a wonderful self-help activity suggested I ask myself, "What is it that you want, dear?" and give myself exactly that. The reason I'm feeling so hopelessly alone is because I've not spent enough time with myself. If I can't pour in my cup, how can I expect someone else to pour into mine?

I had a win in my life recently after a very long time. The kind I used to take for granted in the past. The kind that made me into the person I am. It was the greatest thing that has happened to me this year, thus far. Even momentarily, I felt like I was glad I'm alive and I'm here. None of that has happened in a long time. 

I miss my grandparents daily, more than ever. When your confidence takes a dip, their hype would really help, and I guess I needed that. Not having my ex in my corner despite having him in my DMs has been a different kind of experience. I never thought I'd be foolish enough for that but here I am, wearing a dunce hat. I should have known better but I never do. 

The nervousness will fall flat if I take a nice dump, make a list of items I need to pack, take a shower, do my nails and just generally feel more regulated. Clearly, outliving Jesus wasn't enough. 

More, when I survive two AI flights. If I don't, tell my mom I love her. 

A big red candle, two thin pink candles and one medium-length powder pink candle— all worth rs 60, just to show I'm grateful. 

I cried, not because you hadn't texted me in almost a day, or that we hadn't had another heart to heart exchange since our first, but because my Instagram feed is weighing down on, "have some self worth"

I didn't come to you; I didn't knock at your door twice. 

You chose it. Maybe, it was a moment of weakness or irresistible pull to see if I still care and whether you still matter. You still do. But, I'm not an object to be played with. 

Here's the thing, I should not have taken my pre-period feelings seriously. I should have been cerebral on Friday morning, and yesterday. Instead, watching back-to-back, "know your worth" and "have some self-respect" videos are gnawing at me. 

I'm biting into the crumbs you're feeding me from the palm of your hand. Crumbs are over so now I'm licking your palm and you're getting the ick. I'm getting the ick. I can feel you flinch and withdraw. My heart feels weaker, I can't take another heartbreak with you. I cannot have you tell me to fuck off. 

I want to tell you to not hurt me. I want to tell you to be real, gentle. If this is you being real then I want to understand, who was that man who lovingly showed up everyday, how is it that the care is gone? I miss our tender moments, I miss you being there for me in silence, I miss feeling you, your protection. Instead, I see a man who is not here for me. He's here to feed himself. 

I feel like a liar. I'm walking, smiling, talking, and I feel broken. I can't tell anyone you reached out. More like, I don't want to tell anyone. I don't have the heart to listen to "well-wishers" and their sermons. I want you to call me out lovingly, like you once did, like you used to. I want to be able to call you by whatever names I thought. I want to be able to tell you all the things I couldn't. I got new earrings, I got new perfume, my work is sucking balls, I have bought outfits for the family wedding, I discovered new burger places, I know where to go the next time we meet, I want to be able to meet you without overthinking life. 

I want to be grateful. I lit a candle for you. I think the purpose of this life is to be grateful and keep repeating until you die. I can't wait for life to cease to exist for me, for I'm grateful for you, even when you've come as a lesson I am failing to understand. I lit a candle for you. I want you to be happy,  I want you to see through your fear. I won't hurt you. Just hold me softly. Don't let me go, you're going to be fine. I may or may not be fine but who cares for me. I'm a bad bitch, I'll see through it. 

I lit a candle for you, when I could have lit one for me. 

And then what? I forgot?

Nah, I just stopped. 

I measured my break-up in a jewellery savings plan that I initiated 2 days before we proceeded to end it;  in a pack of medicines that I'm advised to take once in two weeks and I'm down to the last tablet now, due on Thursday. I took the advise of friends and started new hobbies, picked up old hobbies, allowed a drummer to convince me to get to bass playing at a wedding where I knew exactly four people including the groom and I wore a new saree to it. 

The wedding— oh shit. I wanted to write about it. Something about overlooking the lights in a balcony on the first floor in the night outside of your work building and filling your lungs with second hand tobacco, "Careful, don't let the brother see it, he gets paranoid."

There were chats, oh enough to make me bawl over days intermittently. "Everything I am, it's because of my wife and I have to tell my son to build his life forward so someday a woman can enhance it further. My wife and I grew up together. We built a life and my empire together. So, when you get someone, make sure they invest in you and your life equally. If you look after her, she'll do the same for you, so be good. Choose good. I know she loves me but not more than I love her."

I wondered if anyone would ever talk about me in the same way. I wondered if he means it or if he's cheating on her in private and comping his feelings in a performative way in public over many cocktails. Maybe, I'm so gone that even a genuine admission of love got me overthinking, maybe I've seen a lot of Hacks and Ava Daniels' writing all at once over this weekend. 

This weekend. 

Where do I begin? What do I say? Is it gonna hold? Is it gonna last? I've attended a wedding, a funeral, a massive fight, a day without food, two long days and nights in Gurgaon, a love so close yet so far and a life infused in me. 

I want to write, but I'm scared. I compensate by eating extra, maybe my feelings will be buried under carciogenic carbs and maybe I'll feel bloated by non-essential fats instead of the urge to talk my heart out. Why am I expected to be mysterious? Should I be mysterious? My sister needs a make-up artist, we go over the list again. It feels mechanical, "ask her for natural light photographs and tell her you don't need lenses or fake lashes." My cousin and aunt try to talk me into getting an artist, "it's minimal," I nod and think of him. I think of him this entire weekend, it ebbs and flows but my back is stiff and cough is back. My back is hurting and I think of him when we were good. I'm comparing the bygones to where I am. You're expected to get out of your feelings for your significant other after 6 months of breakup and 7 months later, I'm trying to move but stuck in the same seat. I have adjusted for comfort. I have enough work and hobbies and my life's nothing like what it was when he was here but still, something in me sees it all. 

I've adjusted, I'm adjusting but there is little wiggle room. I wonder what will I do after this wedding is over? I think of my dog, I dream of my grandfather, I dream of my ex— a very specific picture from his childhood he had shared early on when we had started dating— I dreamt of him in the same outfit and he wanted to get me suspended from my school, it checks out because there was my HR and boss as Principal and Teacher respectively, not listening to my part of the srory and him? He got out, as he did, as he always does. I am and I will be in trouble. 

Why was I so fucking angry, over my breakup, despite seeing it coming my way. I wonder today, on my period, months after it went down. 

Anxious, I open the chat window and search for one bookmarked message, from the break-up conversation. It lacked an apostrophe, I remember, so I searched again and got it this time. It's not an ordinary text; it's a cry for help. It's a bleeding reminder of two individuals who didn't want to let go. 

I don't know why but I revisit it today. I don't ever want to re-look at things that have hurt me this way. I don't even want to think about the memory again but I do. I place myself on the same chair and area where I was seated at work and begin to read. Anxiety worsens, I can feel it in my fingers and stomach. 

I reach the point where I see the issue. What did he do to deserve my anger? I can't recall. Yes, he'd taken a leisure trip with his pals around Valentine's but was it all so bad? Yes, he hadn't met me on his birthday and neither on mine, but really? Was that a cause for an argument? 

He said we were not operating like a relationship. Truth be told, neither of us put that effort in order to preserve our hearts. We were walking through it so carefully that we eventually dropped the ball. Both of us, with our respective mistakes, piling them on to each other. 

But I still don't understand the cause for anger. I can see my texts. I've written them in agony, in misery and anxiety. I remember my state, a wreck, just hoping that he could get up and ask me to, "come here," an instant balm to my anger.