Rya Ray

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Rya Ray (The Broken Clock)

I write sentences.

www.facebook.com/TheBrokenClockBlog

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Rya Ray
Fingers, hungry for homes between the ridges of yours, visit your palms but don't stay, just like a guest who knows when to leave. Your fingers know passageways, to the strings in my heart. Of you, I spin the yarn. Of you, I become.

Katiya karoon.

4 APR AT 19:58

Rya Ray
Someone looks at you and then you feel songs being poured into the emptiness between your ribs.

Symphony?

2 APR AT 22:21

Rya Ray
Time is slipping like sand from our hands And I'm still willing to sing a song to you in the middle of the desert, hoping that maybe the wind will awaken the same song someday, only, with a different sandstorm.

Voices in deserts and you.

28 MAR AT 20:04

Rya Ray
In a poem and a song both short and long, in a life well-lived or dragged along. I like how no matter how time gets spent, there is always this silence in the end.

Zabardasti rhyme karaya.

24 MAR AT 0:25

Rya Ray
Growing up, we've been learning how to lie. Like taking airplanes and saying we can fly.

Yours truly?

21 MAR AT 7:58

Rya Ray
The last time I wanted to hold a hand, I did not. I've seen how that went. So next time I feel like, I will. Maybe, to find out it'll go the same way.

Chit bhi teri. Patt bhi tera.

17 MAR AT 1:10

Rya Ray
Honey, I think all that people like me try to do, is tiptoe out while there's still time, in the hope of becoming memories that don't hurt much.

Risk management.

16 MAR AT 0:36

Rya Ray
Truths twist when they change hands and mouths. Be careful, from where you receive them unto yours.

True or False.

13 MAR AT 21:13

Rya Ray
"Don't tell me it doesn't matter. I just told you how much it does." I chronicle 24 years of being fat. Link in caption.

It’s taken me a lot of time to be able to write this. I don’t know what I seek to achieve by writing this. Maybe this is a selfish rant. Maybe this is an attempt to make people understand what goes on the receiving end of all the weight-related bullying. My first memory regarding discovering I am fat is that from my classroom when some boys thought it was a good idea to use wet chalk to write ‘MOTI’ on my chair when I’d gone out for recess. I tried rubbing it off with my palm. It didn’t go. As a child, you do not understand shame a lot. I did not understand what was the big deal about me being overweight than other girls in the class. I came home and asked my mother if it makes me ugly. She told me what any mother would have. She said, “Not at all. It’s the inside that matters.” The next few times I brought a question home, I was met with different responses like “It’s all baby fat. It’ll go away.” and “You should not listen to them.” It gets really difficult to not listen to people when they are saying things into your ears. I had got on the school bus a little late that day and all the window seats were taken. So I went and sat next to a guy from my class after asking him if I could. He was asking something about class from that day when another classmate looked at him and said “Koi aur mili nahi bagal me bithaane ko? Iske saath baithega? Utha moti ko!” Next thing I remember is being pulled by my arm off the seat. I resisted. I didn’t get up. I looked at the friend and when he began to push me off the seat, I resisted harder. I welled up after a while and got up myself. By then everyone around me was laughing. I don’t even remember crying after getting home. I just grew quiet towards them. I understand that we were kids back then. Maybe if I were to meet these people now, they’d probably have learned not to behave the way they did. I am certain they’d be nice to me and slightly embarrassed about their behavior. I hope they are reading this. Read the complete note here: https://m.facebook.com/notes/the-broken-clock/chronicling-24-years-of-being-fat/1988011114673603

12 MAR AT 18:02

Rya Ray
Dear Girish, I've been meaning to tell you that I think you've ruined the part of me that could invest efforts in any man. My reaction to affection is to run. My reaction to indifference is to run. It's been weeks since I've been waking up more tired than I was when I went to sleep. There's so much grief that's spilled over in fits that I can't tell the difference between wanting to scream and wanting to stay as quiet as possible. Someone told me yesterday that I'm too available. I think he's right. I'm out there, ready to heal what seeks healing and love what seeks love. I've forgotten the last time someone touched me out of love. It's always felt like people were looking for a release, a cure, while they crushed me with their hungry palms. I've forgotten the last time I wasn't scared of beginning to like someone. So yeah, that's how I'm really doing.

"You're too available."

11 MAR AT 6:38