Breathing Blues

- Tara

"I will", I shouted back.

"Also, Naushad Bhai wants to discuss something so call him too. Did your phone run out of battery again?", he yelled back.

"Yeah, no, whatever. I'll call him in a few minutes", I said.

It was a bracelet, a mens bracelet, looked handmade. It was nice with a paper folded alongside a tea bag and another paper note except the folded paper was white and the paper note was blue in colour.

Classic Tara.

I held the note which read: 'I live; I die; the sea comes over me; it's the blue that lasts.' - Virginia Woolf

Smart.

I put it down and held the white paper. It was big. More words though I felt like yawning but I wanted to read too.

It started like:

'Dear Darshan,
though you're not so dear but anyways -- Dear Darshan...I had a couple of things that I'd wanted to address but they've slipped my head as I'm writing this. I'm aware you do not like to read but bear it, you ass.

I gave it a brief thought about what to give to you which stays with you even if I don't on your birthday and there's nothing better than a handwritten letter and a handmade bracelet, hope you liked it.

Of course, you did.

It's better than the fancier things you would've received that you could've bought easily. Even if you didn't like it, don't tell me. Lie. I know you'd prefer this on WhatsApp but what's aesthetic left about it then?

You said, only you and I will know how stupidly we met but I want you to know I'm glad that I did met you.

This letter is specifically to the artist in you which we haven't talked about ever. Don't put any contents of this letter in actual conversation with me. I'd not be able to talk about it there as much nicely as I can here.

You know, I once asked someone which art is bad art according to you and she replied, 'There's no bad art'.

I kind of thought it again and again until I realised what it meant. I'll save you time and tell you right here what I figured out: she meant, there's no bad art. There's art which makes you feel something on a persnol level and there's art which doesn't.

Yours is pretty much like what makes you feel something. If we ever reach a point where you and I are free enough and mentally prepared to hear each other's sob stories, I'd like you to tell me what makes you write what you write, sing what you sing, make what you make.

I feel you're too burdened sometimes, I don't know, can be wrong, is wrong probably, but you fake it so much and I have to tell you this - there's a lot of unspoken pressure to keep liking the things you like, the people you love, the way you behave but if you ever feel like not doing it, don't. It fucks you up and you'll regret it on your death bed. Don't die ridiculously.

You're thrilling, you're messy hair, denims jackets, loud music, summer nights, competitive, loud laughs, always up for a party, don't stay around for too long, passionate. You're an adventure.
I have no idea why you disguise it with quietness, the soft things and gentle moments but not to make it sound like a lecture, do what you like and be comfortable with it. Don't die ridiculously.

You've a gorgeous girl who's with you and you're so lucky and she's lucky, you both are. God forbid, if anything at all goes wrong and you find yourself in a place you didn't expect. I'll try to be there, at 3AM or 3PM in your fucking luxurious car with a sunroof. Feed me ice cream as you cry by the way. You don't always need love to fill you up you know?

Nature and the universe is linked to your mind so if you take a walk alone you'll get off through anxiety, sitting and observing will ease your anger, looking after some plants will keep you distracted. You live in an ugly world with thrilling nature and beautifully dark universe, use it.

I repeat, do not die ridiculously.

If you do, I'll haunt you forever. Trust me, you don't want that.

I don't trust myself with things and people and places so if I ever hurt you or stop talking to you abruptly trust me I fucked up and I'm probably sitting squeezed in between the shelf of Title Waves. Leave me be.

I absolutely love love love you for the memories you've given me in this short period of time. I'll never understand what made you want to have me as a part of your life. I'll never know. I don't want to but I'm happy that I'm a part and I'll keep annoying you, someone has to dude?

I had put minimum insults and sarcasm in here because this is a heart-to-heart. Appreciate it.

There's beauty and melancholy in everything Raval, in an old oak tree, in stars, flowers in the rain, blues of the ocean, abandoned castles or forts, pressed flowers in a book, the whole damn universe but there's beauty in you as well - the light in your eyes, the logical thinking, the insanity, the new ideas, the tired eyes, the complicated past, the overthinking, the beats and the melodies, the looking at sunsets and everything you're yet to understand.

- Tara'.