The Gospel According to Natasha

The toxidrome, a state of toxin inundation in the body initiates disorientation, oscillopsia and nausea often stimulating mass protoplasmic apoptosis, or in other words death. Toxidrome - it’s implications do not merely lie in therapeutic attribution, but rather is indicative of the affectionate’s maladministering of emotional affairs.

A stimulation in the most psychological of ways, love is a condition of intoxication. The word that is so often denied it’s existence yet thrives within the very entity of human phenomenon. Erotic, pragmatic, maniacal, ludic - affections that impersonate the characteristics of deadly narcotics, very much likened to the simplest of addictions. The cigarette. Ten seconds upon the inhalation of smoke, the nicotine reaches the brain prompting a slight euphoria usually acting like a mild depressant. Ten minutes later, the nervous system arouses the dopamine receptors in the white matter, thus activating the pleasure centers of our bodies Excess leads to addiction. With addiction, dependence is developed, a lack of which leads to craving. An overdose that leads to abnormal multiplication of lung tissues. Metathesis. Cancer. Death? Quite similar to love? 

Love, quite contrary to the economical law that defends an idea of decreasing utility for every increase in monotonous consumption, does not “sicken and so die” when in overdose. Upon the realization that one has been overcome by human instinct, there is a cognitional acceptance of what one feels, followed by a plethora of emotions that are seldom inexplicable. By eliciting the object of desires, one grows dependent on the beloved’s presence, an absence of which results in the feeling of incompletion. Too much time spent with the beloved leads to addiction. With addiction, dependence. With dependence, craving. With cravings, possessiveness. An overdose that leads to assumptiveness. Jealousy. Emotional death? Quite similar to a narcotic?

Toxidrome. The state has been attained. 

Half a pack, a couple shots and 50 grammes. I wondered for long, the existing conjunction between one’s fair share of vices and momentary bliss, and I realized how indeed the nefarious seldom experience scantiness of sanctity. Half a pack, a couple shots and 50 grammes - contentment? With every gaiety came a price tag, yet I wonder; how often do I cover this cost? 

But why is this? Why do men ALWAYS want what they cant have? Be nice to a guy and he takes you for granted, gets bored, and you eventaully break up. Be mean, bitchy, and uninterested and he’ll chase you until you get a restraining order or sprain your ankle…whichever comes first. And then men complain about girls being bitches!!! 

You drive us to it, boys! We’re not born like this naturally - we’re NICE we WANT to do nice things we WANT to show affection WITHOUT it coming back to bite us in the ass! Ugh - maybe that’s my problem. I just need to be in bitch mode 24/7. 

I meant to write about you. I swear I did. Only I didn’t know when and how for you were far too deep at the back of my head. You were already dead and I guess I buried you twice. I’m sorry, I guess I just needed to have blurred you out of my mind. I just couldn’t stand the pain. The pain of having lost you.

But now I am writing about you for all the years I didn’t remember your death anniversary or rather didn’t want to. But you were always ever-eager, weren’t you? Throughout your life, you had been a source of joy in the lives of everyone you were a part of. Even now as you’re dead, there’s that pulse at the back of my brain that’s constantly reminding me of you, of what you had been to me, to all of us. Just a pulse I’d say pretending not to know what it is, but I think I know.

For long we wanted to have a brother. Mom had a miscarriage, we never knew the gender of the foetus, but we wanted to have a brother is all. Who knew you’d have stepped in to become the brother we never had?

I hated you the first time we met. It was that jolly, playful thing about you that saw life at its utmost positive. I was a prefect back then and you were a year senior. I just needed your name in the logbook of the misguided and improper students. I recall we lived in the same neighbourhood and we’d go to school in the same van. My bitterness towards you gradually decreased and we started going up the hill as opposed to going downhill. That’s where it started, where our friendship began to bloom – the school van.

Time passed and before we knew it, we were the bestest of friends. My dad adored you, my mom always packed you the extra lunch. My sis and I, we just loved being around you. Times were very hard back then, but you always put up a smile on our faces. The bicycle rides and kite flying. The ono card sessions and boardgames. The badminton, cricket and football matches and my whining about how good you were at everything. My aunties – they knew you. They loved you! Practically everyone did. You were family. You always were. Will always be.

It’s hard writing about you. I’m not gonna lie. All the memories, they engulf me in darkness, they cloud me with sadness and I wish that time can go back so we could change things, like never having met each other. You wouldn’t have died on us then and you wouldn’t have left us with years of denial and most unbelievable pain. Your loss shrieks and wails, it claws at my eyes and tears at my lungs. You have no idea, what it is that we’ve been through. You were a part of our lives. An important chapter that had a magnificent brilliance to it, but an equally tormenting ending.

Remember the playstation games we played? We did not have a computer back then, we’d always bug Daddy to buy us one, but our money-tree was bare at the time. Nonetheless, we had so much fun leveling up and cheating off turns. Just so you know, we have a laptop now. We had also had a computer. This thing they call the Internet- it’s magic! We can play games all day on the computer for free. You loved Tekken didn’t you? And Streetfighter? Haha! They have that! With cheat codes and everything! And once we’re done playing, I’d show you Facebook, a social network miles better than Hi5 and Orkut. And then there’s Twitter which you can access through your cellphone and that allows you to upload status updates anytime of the day. And Skype is the new MSN! But you wouldn’t understand would you? You were gone before Hi5 and Orkut and our Nokia 3310 could not access the net with the technology they had back then. So much has changed, and so much that you’ve missed out on. And I will gladly get you back on track, if only you were here. Here with us.

Do you remember my obsession for collecting cassettes? Ofcourse you would! You were a diehard fan of RnB that defined 2002 and 2003, not the shit they play now. I collect CD’s now. I have an entire collection. But you know they have this software called Limewire that allows you to search for any song you like and downloads it for free! Haha, check it out! People no longer have to pay for music. They rip it off the net. But I heard they’re shutting it down. Serves them right. Copyright infringements you see; artistes need their money.

Do you realize how guilty I still feel about our fight? A fight over Eminem’s Without Me. I thought it was thrash and you overplayed it too much. I’m so sorry. The thought still eats me. Makes me feel like a bitch, but it would, wouldn’t it? Fighting with you a day before you died, before you left us for good, all for some lousy cassette.

Remember how we spent every holiday together? 2003 was no different. We had moved to Islamabad, but you came all the way from Lahore to spend your winter vacations with us and boy were we excited and pleased! Christmas and New Year were spent in absolute delight. The parties at the Convent were something. Sr.Gilda and the RVM Sisters loved you very much and Convent saw to it that you enjoyed your stay while you were here. And how could you not? Remember Rachel, Carmella, Danish and Sachal? They were your friends from here. They had so much fun with you. They miss you, you know.  Just like we all do. I remember how much you loved talking about videogames and cars and bikes. I remember your hunting adventures with Uncle Marty and Bunty. I still remember how you thought that girl in Kaliyon Ka Chaman was a fatass and I also remember you glued to Oh Hum Dum Sohniyo Re. And yes that girl in Sajna Hai Mujhe is the same girl in Kaanta Laga. Speaking of which, Bollywood has become so lame since you left. The movies no longer have any originality and the songs suck. Old Bollywood was something! Now it’s all westernizing of India and everything so clichéd.

Remember snow? And how you had never seen it before? Not until the trip to Murree and Patriata the day after New Year. It was freezing cold but we couldn’t care any less what with the snowball fights and chicken tikkas.  Remember the chair-lifts? I was shit scared but you made me feel secure and safe. You always had that gift. We have photos of our last trip. I don’t look at them anymore. I can’t bring myself to. Remember Aunty Irene? She’s got your picture enlarged and framed. She’s married now. She even has a son and guess what? She named him after you.

On the 6th of Jan 2004, something about everything was so different, so weird. LOTR 2 was a great watch, but we could sense your sadness, your hesitance in going back home. Dad was leaving for Lahore and so you had to tag along. If only you didn’t.

You left home after having pasta. The phone rang a few hours later. Dad was on the fone. Apparently there had been an accident and the police said nothing about you. Mom rushed to Dina with Aunty Vicky and Uncle Simon. The hours were long and heavy and our insides kept turning over. And then the phone rang again. This time it was about you. You had died on the spot they said. I went nuts upon hearing that. I turned the whole house upside down; I swear I’m not even exaggerating. Aunty Irene and Aunty Gloria they had to restrain me amidst their own defiant tears. Natasha was a fighter, but you could see her breaking this time. You were gone forever. No one could accept that. No one could; even today we struggle.

Dad was brought back home. He had multiple fractures to the pelvis, arm and foot. He hurt his head real bad too. You were there besides him, unable to move, unable to say or do anything. Lifeless. And seeing you like that - it broke our hearts.

Then your parents arrived. Your mum- seeing her state, seeing how she wept her eyes out and beat her chest; your dad- seeing how he tried to be strong for her, yet choking on every breath he took – that very sight continues to haunt me, continues to torment me even today.

You were taken back to Lahore. All your classmates and friends and neighbours- they were there for your funeral. Obed, Anil, Abraham and everyone else in Grade 9.

6th January 2004. You were 14 years old then. You’ll be turning 21 today, the 8th of Dec, but you’ve been gone for six years now. Six years is a very long time. A very long time that we’ve been separated. But we just want you to know that we love you so much! Sorry if we couldn’t stay strong for you always. You were always family. Our brother. And for that we thank you, we love you. RIP.

HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY TEMOOR! 

Me: Can I hug you? 

Osama:  Yes u can hooker. And where are u right now?? Describe the weather, the room and everything. What did u eat ??

Me: This hooker sits on the floor, a laptop upon her lap. Though it burns her thighs, she cannot resist the temptation. Her world is her screen. She could perhaps go out and dally in the street, beneath the starry night, along the path saturated with xmas lights. But no, she must stay in her dim lighted room and make the most she can with a screen.

You like?

Osama: You drama-queen. 

ofcourse, you’re not alone. whatever you have to go through, i’m right beside you. i just want you to know that our frienship is not just a college thingy, i want it to last longer than that. be strong, cry it all out then be strong.

It means so much that you are around. I cannot thank you enough for keeping up with my constant whims. I love you lady.

To envision you as the little strip of nicotine between my fingers; to suck out the very essence of your existence and blow you away with the million trifling particles that befoul my air. To see you fade away at the very tip of my finger. Fade away now love, and be gone.

For Samantha