Greesha Gupta

i have lived vicariously through every person with the minutest relevance in my life.
i have seen people cry at the crack of dawn when their twelve-year-old dog whimpers and limps his way across the living room.
i have seen people walk away from three-year-long relationships and get into bed with strangers the same night.
i have seen people say they hate the restrictions society binds them by and i have seen them rebel.
i have seen people yell in anger when their favourite pair of sneakers run out of stock on the internet within seconds.
i have seen people squeal with excitement when they get offers from top-tier universities they worked all their life to get into.
i have seen people wait, anxiously in anticipation for their lover to respond to their proposals.
i have seen people bite their nails, lose control in fear of what their mother will say when she finds their secret stash of alcohol.
i have seen people isolate themselves after getting heartbroken, i’ve seen them be reluctant to let anyone in again.
i have seen jealous girls cry in bed over their boyfriend at a party.
i have seen jealous boys clench their wrist in anger while someone feels up their ex-girlfriend, and moments later i’ve seen them sigh with helplessness.
but what i have barely, numerable times seen is anyone cry in front of me. anyone expressing and embracing sadness. sadness is a complex and nuanced emotion, one that affects our growth more than most emotions do. it forces us to introspect, to be resilient, to learn.

i have seen how ostentatious people are, how they bottle up their emotions. how they don’t realise the impact of that in life. i have been one of those people.

and for as long as i can remember, every relationship of mine, i’ve always heard them tell me to be strong, to not cry, to be fierce and powerful without letting my emotions get to me. and my whole life, i lived in that conundrum. i always wondered why being strong and emotional were words we didn’t associate with each other. perplexed by this concept of superficial strength, i found myself wearing down my emotions. trying to hold back tears. trying to scream more. be more angry than sad. because anger made me feel powerful and sadness made me feel weak. until i woke up one morning, realising that every single thing i feel and express, is an emotion. that just because society told me that anger is what made me strong doesn’t mean it held any value in reality. being powerful and fierce has nothing to do with the emotions i express, or the emotions i feel even. and then i changed. not into someone that ran from her emotions. but into someone that embraced them. because being aware of yourself, your emotions, your mind is so much more fierce than putting up the pretence act of being emotionless.

– g/ (20.03.21)

you say, “primal instinct”
and we think of blood and guns
and holding a knife to someone’s neck.
we think of women in burgundy dresses,
being looked at with lustful eyes that
allegedly can’t stop themselves.
we think of hunger and bleakness
and the snake in us that
wants to wrap itself around piles of gold.
we say “primal instinct” and inevitably,
think the worst of ourselves.

but the first thing a baby does is
an impulsive, non-reflexive action; a “mimic.”
it will hold up its minuscule hands as you lift your palms into the air.
it will blink as you rapidly shift in-between blinking and gazing.
it will yawn as you yawn and laugh as you laugh.
humans have been around fires for millions of years,
telling story after story,
singing song after song.
humans have been gathering rocks
and creating pyramids from stones that shouldn’t move.
they have built monuments from scratch,
and watched the same buildings crumble to dust.
and the first thing you will ever do
is see another human
and immediately,
try to act as they do.
your first instinct is to connect.
it is to belong.

we have befriended carnivores,
that hunted us with canines and piercing yellow orbs in the dark.
we created robots that we weep over
when they fall into Jupiters killing clouds.
we find strangers on a bus
and smile at them
with empathetic eyes
for the sake of taking some,
any,
weight off their enervated shoulders.

you say you care
in a way meant to hurt,
and
you say we hurt others because
it’s how we’re built.
but things wouldn’t hurt if you weren’t made
to feel,
to exist,
to care — through enormous brains
that want to tell you a story,
that want you to create a tool,
that want to hear and sing songs,
that want to connect with
everything it has ever seen.

so be human,
be human with me.

– g/ (15.01.20)

He does this thing with the people he loves and it’s scary because he loves only a handful of people. People of all sorts. He loves people that yell and shout and retaliate when someone hurts them. He loves people that do nothing but smile and laugh and make sure everyone around them is happy. He loves people that pour out their hearts, that are so full of emotion. A part of me wonders if his heart feels this immense amount of love because he sees himself in these people if he loves them this much because he can resonate with their actions and it’s fair to say that this boy is the purest soul I’ve come across. But more than just loving these people, it’s the way he lets them in. Just a little bit at a time. And you don’t even notice it until suddenly you know everything about him. You know how he likes his breakfast, with proteins and just the right amount of fats and how he sleeps with his head just slightly tilted to the left with his hand under his pillow. You know everything about him, his likes and his dislikes, every scar on his body and mind suddenly makes sense. It stops being a question of whether or not you’d follow him off a cliff and it becomes a fact of life that you’d hold his hand on the entire way down. And all of a sudden, you’re a part of him, like another limb and you don’t think there’s a need to question it until you realize that you treat him the same way; like he’s your heart and lungs and your blood would freeze in your veins without him.

You stop being two distinct beings with two separate minds. You’re still a different person but ‘you-and-him’ becomes ‘we.’ And it scares you, how when he’s not around, your entire body aches. You’ve heard of phantom limbs, when amputees feel an agonizing pain in limbs that aren’t there anymore, and you wonder maybe that’s what this is. But you slowly come to a consensus that without him, you’re walking without a heart, with half your body numb and slowly you realize that the thought of not having him by your side is enough to make you feel like you’ve forgotten how to live.

So you do what any sane person would do, you hold on to this boy with your dear life. You try with him more than you have with anyone, you love him unconditionally and fearlessly.

As paradoxical it might be, to be this in love and this dependant on him, your heart is at peace knowing someone like him is out there loving someone like you. And you know that fifteen years down the line, you’ll be walking around and about with your heart and lungs and all limbs intact because a love like this only comes once in a lifetime and you are forever so lucky to have had this.

– g/ (21.04.19)

 

not just because

you make me want to

dive into the ocean

that i’ve always been so afraid of.

 

and not just because

you make me want to

get on my knees

and

thank every star

that shines as bright as i’d like to imagine we could have.

 

but because my mind knows what

i’m hoping my heart will soon enough.

a lifetime by your side would be too less, 

for you and i, 

we have unfinished business that goes past

what either of us could ever imagine. 

 

but the ache

and want

and need

in my heart

to call you mine

hasn’t subsided.

perhaps, it never will.

-g/ (24.09.18)

last month

i realised

how my feelings overpowered me.

how i let them.

how it was mind over matter.

how i felt like i felt too much.

 

but today,

i’m here to tell you

that

although my feelings

might have

overpowered me

back then,

the power you have in my life

will remain

at it’s highest.

 

but when you realise that

you care

and love

for me as much as you did at the start,

don’t come back.

 

scream

and

shout

and

throw things if you must.

 

but don’t you dare

walk back into

my life.

 

because

by all means,

love me less

each second

minute

and hour

of each day

but never,

love me at your convenience.   

for the longest time,

you’ve been my safe place.

my heart seems to quicken pace whenever you’re around

and

my mind feels at peace when my eyes meet your brown orbs.

 

for the longest time,

i’ve considered you a piece of me.

at 8

my mind knew addiction was nothing

but cigarettes and alcohol.

for when i asked my father to quit

all he could say was,

“it’s a bad habit, i know

i don’t think i’ve been addicted to anything like this.”

 

at 16,

i can say

without a doubt

that,

cigarettes and alcohol

are brought to shame when you stand in front of me,

for all my mind knows now is,

nicotine seems addicting until

i’ve kissed lips that taste

vaguely of vanilla 

and that’s when my mind knew,

that the most dangerous drug of all

wasn’t nicotine,

but

the feeling of your

body pressed against my own.

 

for the longest time,

you’ve turned every weakness of mine into a strength.

you make me fall asleep

and at this point,

i don’t know if that’s a good

or

a bad thing.

but you’re the only one who could throw me

into a deep deep slumber

that i’m starting to wonder if you’re my sleep personified.

you throw my body’s homeostasis

into awry whenever you’re around

and

my body’s circadian rhythm seems to be at your beck and call.

and i still don’t know if that’s good

or

bad.

 

what i’m trying to say is,

i deserve to get what i want.

i’m greedy

and

i want all of you.

give me

your low whispers,

your growls,

your possessive mood swings

and

i’m yours.

give me knees apart

and

i’m yours.

fight with me all day

and come back at night,

i’m yours.

give me neck kisses

and neck bruises

and

a hundred times again,

i am yours.

 

for the longest time,

you’ve seen me grow

and stumble.

you’ve seen me

dressed up in

your favorite black dress

with my hair straightened, just like you like it,

at 11pm.

you’ve seen me

in my batman pajamas

and my oversized sweatshirt,

at 6am

when we went

to see the sun rise above the horizon.

you’ve seen me undressed,

naked,

with stretch marks and cuts,

you’ve seen me naked.

not just my body but my soul too.

perhaps, my heart has always been too heavy for you to hold on to.

 

after all, for the longest time,

you’ve seen me,

observed me,

found my looks appealing enough to want your hands down my pants,

it’s a shame i’ll never have you hold my heart for,

when you wanted me,

i didn’t.

and when i do,

you don’t.

i’d say karma’s a bitch but in all honesty,

there’s no one to blame but ourselves.

you’ve always been lightning,

and me, thunder.

our timing was always just slightly off.

-/ g (02.03.2018)

“Ironic, isn’t it? How we find it so hard to practice what we preach?” she looked up at me and whispered. “It baffles me. How we pour our heart and soul into someone with the constant fear of not being enough to fill them up,” she mumbled. “It’s so pathetic to love someone that doesn’t love you back,” she said under her breath.

I look at her. 

“You’re right,” I said, “You’re right, it’s ironic how we teach everyone to love themselves but find solace in blades and knives ourselves. It’s ironic how we tell them they deserve better but settle for the worst. It’s ironic that we can barely practice what we ever preach. But my love, haven’t you heard? Along with winter comes spring and summer. And along with spring and summer comes winter. Each interdependent on the other. How must we grow if we don’t learn that sometimes we do wilt too? And how will we learn that just like plants and trees, we’re all we need,” I continued, “That a plant doesn’t depend on another for its growth and neither will we. That with every falling leave and petal, we’ll grow twice the amount of leaves and petals. When will you learn that at the end of the day, no matter how broken that heart of yours is, only you can fix it? When will you learn that your heart is your own, no matter how broken it is, it is your damn heart. Cherish it, it is keeping you alive, not him. So, don’t you ever tell me that your heart is his. Your heart is your own and you, you’re all you need.” 

-/ g (12.01.18)

On our first date, I mentioned that I was impatient. Easily bored. Mercurial. That I didn’t like shopping because trying on clothes required more patience than I could imagine. That I hated going for haircuts because the salon always cut it too perfect. That I’d much rather sit on the floor of my room in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors and a picture of a new hairstyle on my phone. Maybe I’m indolent, maybe I hate being like every other human, maybe I’m just oblivious to the world we live in or maybe I’m just waiting for someone to walk up to me and tell me how to live.

But there are days I eat ice-cream for breakfast and cereal for dinner. There are days I sleep with a bottle of Belvedere in my hand hoping that when I wake up, all the tear stains will be justified. There are days I walk around the city in six-inch heels making the narrowest lane my runway. There are days I forget that I’ve been listening to the same song by the 1975 consecutively, on repeat, for the last 37 minutes. There are days where I walk past book stores wondering how we’d rather make paper than oxygen, how we’d rather have our thoughts written on paper than save a life. There are days I wonder if people think wearing ultramarine blue and crimson together will deteriorate their image in society. There are days I wonder about people who wake up everyday at seven am just to go spend their entire day in front of a desk. I wonder if they think money will make them happier than other humans. There are days I wonder about how the souls that have lost their best friend get through the day, there are days I wonder whom they call when their date stands them up and there are days I wonder who buys them their favourite meal from Taco Bell.

I don’t like eating pizza that isn’t cold, I told you. I don’t like listening to a new song that’s just come out, I don’t like wearing the t-shirt everyone has been wearing and I don’t like painting my nails the colour black. I hate kissing strangers, for knowing that someone I met less than seven minutes ago will have tasted me, I hate remembering that someone I don’t have feelings for can feel the satisfaction of having his tongue down my throat. I stay up for sixteen hours and spend the rest eight hours knowing that the world would rather have people kill themselves than blame the education system.

On our first date I told you that I hate how I can’t sing. I told you that I love playing the piano but I quit because I’d have to cut my nails to play and getting my nails done boosted my confidence. I told you about the guy that cheated on me and how I gave him a second chance. I told you about how I trust too easily and that him cheating made me want to trust more people, that he made me believe there were better people out there. I told you that if you didn’t stay, I’d understand. That if you’d leave, I’d understand. Because nobody stayed and I never blamed them. For, I was too busy wondering how white had a calming effect on everything and how running at 6am helped broken souls and how something as simple as hazel brown eyes could destroy wrists and break hearts. So, forgive me, for opening up to you on our first date, I’m afraid that’s why we didn’t have a second.

g/ (06.05.2017)

She looked at me and yelled, “I’d never quite understood the power of love. Not until I had my heart-break for the first time at least. I knew then that pain you thought you would feel is nothing compared to what you actually do feel. I knew then that feeling your heart shatter into pieces was not exaggerated,” she looked at me, threw her glass that was filled to the rim with nothing but whiskey, across the room. “I loved her, I really did. You don’t understand. She saw me cry at 5am and stayed on call with me till my breathing was in sync with hers. She chose to stay with me after seeing how broken I was, after seeing how needy I was. She stayed and explained to me that what him and I had wasn’t love, she taught me how I had to put myself above others. She came back to me after I left her for him, because I was so blindly in love with him. She came back and now what?” I didn’t quite understand where this was coming from, she’d ended her relationship with him 9 months ago, “But he left 9 months ago. Didn’t he?” I mumbled under my breath, loud enough for her to hear me. She laughed, loudly, and screamed, “That’s the damn problem with this world. The power of platonic love is given no heed to. I don’t care about him. He’s gone his way and I’ve gone mine. But how am I expected to go my way when my best friend was my guide? And what am I expected to do when the thought of her makes my heart feel at home but her presence makes my body feel like I’ve walked into my ex-lover’s house by mistake? How am I supposed to tell her that ‘I don’t need you as much as I thought I did but I do want you in my life?’ How am I supposed to tell her that she can’t treat me like this, that I’m not someone who she can claim is her first priority and pretend like I’m just someone she knows?”  I looked at her face, red and blotchy, glistening with tears.

She’d always been like this, a paradox of a human, filled with contrasting emotions, none that ever made sense to me. She’d say she hated red but then you’d see her look at everyone that was dressed up for Christmas in awe. She’d say she was a firm believer that love didn’t exist, but then you’d see her pour her heart out to every second person she cared about. She’d say she had trust issues, but then how does someone that’s been treated like she has, learn to love again? How? None of it ever made sense to me but I stopped trying to understand who she was a long time ago.

“It’s alright,” I started off, “you can’t make homes out of people, someone should have told you that. You can’t make people want to stay. And sometimes, you know this best, leaving is all you need to do,” I said.

“She’s beautiful, she really is,” she responded, “irrespective of her hair that always looked better in a bun and irrespective of her smile that always made her eyes squint. I’m glad I had the pleasure of meeting someone like her. She’s strong and what I’ve learned from her cannot be taught by anyone else. But I’m glad, more than ever, that I left because eventually, homes become houses and while they are synonyms, let me tell you, they aren’t the same fucking thing,” she mumbled. She’s falling apart and this is going to break her but I will make sure she will be okay. Her best friend loved her, of course she did, but I will too. In a fathomless way, the kind that can’t be forgotten. I will prove to her that platonic love is given heed to. I will love her and love her and do nothing but love her because we’re friends and this, me loving her, isn’t some declaration of love. It‘s just a promise I’d made, to her and myself that if she needed me, I would move the earth to be there for her.

g -/ (17.12.17)

A cigarette hung loosely from his lips. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the same poison she knew filled his heart too. He turned his back to her and exhaled. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his hands shaking while the coffin nail stayed fixated between his fingers. He could never quite smoke around her.

“Remember when you told me you’d stop smoking?” she asked, laughing satirically while pulling her hair into a bun. Her eyes weary, her lips pursed and her breath caught up in the cloud of smoke he blew out through his mouth.

Of course, he remembered. He pretty much remembered everything he’d ever said to her. Drunk or sober, he remembered it all. But this one, he remembered best. Because it was the night he wanted to kiss her for the first time. He told her he’d quit because he knew what he wanted, it wasn’t something that killed him slowly, it was something that would make him want to live, it was her. He wanted her. He wanted a new addiction and what better than her lips?

He remembered how she was standing in front of him that day. In her white dress and her gorgeous brown hair in a bun, just like it was right now. He’d noticed that she tied her hair up into her cute little bun every time he smoked. Probably because the smell of the smoke got everywhere, polluting and contaminating everything like he thought he was doing to her. He remembered how her lips looked soft and pink and he’d never wanted anything as bad as her lips on his. He remembered how she said, “I can’t stand it, the smell of smoke.”

But this time, it was over. The want and need and ache in their hearts for their lips to meet. He could’ve thrown the cigarette away, grabbed her waist and tucked that strand of hair behind her ear. He could’ve kissed her and made it all right. But instead, he took another drag. He hadn’t changed, he wouldn’t. The truth is something he knew deep down inside, she was too good for him, always had been. He hoped she knew. So he looked at her, with fumes escaping his mouth and said, “I don’t remember.”

-/ g (17.10.16)