The Crimson Cat

  He was everything she could ask for. The true yin to her yang. He was not the fire that would burn her passion or her soul. He was not the wild horse that she would tame. He was not the hunter that would hunt her down. He was this mildly scented stream in the woods that flowed peacefully through seasoned, leveled grounds. Slow, joyous, calm, and familiar, with the power to heal just by being around with countless caresses and deep, deliberate, wet kisses. He was everything she could ask for.. She felt respected and cared for. He lived in a universe diametrically opposite to hers and that helped. There were no wildfires or passionate episodes and resulting bloodshed. But there was so much unexplored, so much to learn, so much to ease into and let grow on each other, like those vines on the walls of the house outside her window. But…… But she felt trapped in a bubble. She felt alienated from him, them and all the beauty. She felt lonely. She felt sad. May be, it was the pills...

Foreword:  My story is no different from that of a lot of people out there. It is not as special as I think it is. This is a page from my journal. I hope at least one woman going through a similar phase reads this and finds solace. “Hello You! I understand your struggle. I understand your pain. This too shall pass and you will rise again”. Returning from a stressful workday with a terrible headache that put death to shame I realized there was no reason to hurry to get back home. It was anyway just an empty space that drank the last few drops of my passion and hope. There was no little D to welcome me with an endless tight hug; there was no Amma (mom) to apprise me of each minute of the day I missed. This place was a scary skeleton of what I had imagined my new home would be. I kicked my shoes off, dropped the bag right in the middle of the room, and threw myself on the bed with a sinking heart. This had become me. This is it-this is what ‘rock bottom’ would feel like. There is no ...

Oh, the Crimson Cat — all bright on the outside, a soft bundle of joy, a kitten, a roll of tenderness, the apple of everyone’s confused eyes. Fast-forward a few years to when she is a cat. The Crimson Cat. Fully formed. Slightly feral. Mildly unhinged. Cats are supposed to be sober, composed, calm, lazy and dead slow. That’s what it takes to be a good cat. But nobody warned her that growing up also came with existential dread, chronic overthinking and the unique talent of smiling while internally combusting. Who birthed the Cat?? Well… to the best of my knowledge, she is the baby of longing, ardent passion, nostalgic ecstasies, and a smile gifted by the tug-of-war between inexplicable emotions from a distant past and the inconvenient drama of the present, generously seasoned with a Malayalam song playing somewhere in the background for absolutely no reason. WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF THE CRIMSON CAT. Reality, inconsistency, confusion, uncertainty, anxiety, fear, dejection and a tiny, stu...