Probably, what's more important than anything else is to believe.

A red phone rings
Echoing through the halls
That loneliness had taught to rest
The walls strain their ears
To listen to the disturbed silence
The sound vibrates
Across the rooms
Across the covered furniture
The rooms shall be used
The dust will fly up
The silver shine
There are guests to come.

Old blankets shall be tossed away
To make room for the new buys
Doors shall be oiled
Creaking shall cease
Floors shall shine
With newly acquired polish.

The curtains are drawn
The sunlight filters in
Air the rooms!
The musty odour gone.
Sparkling glass
And clinking china
New voices
Fill the rooms.

It is fun. When you reach the edge of the big circle of light and all you see is darkness, and then someone strikes a match and suddenly there are a dozen dazzling lights that click on to suddenly make the world appear much bigger. It's such a high to know that there are more jam flavours you haven't tried, and you actually like. When you think you have so much to be grateful for, and couldn't possibly be given more, and then there's more piled onto your share. Maybe it's called being young. I dunno. I'm just glad :) :)

Vicious Serpent

Coiling, it slithers free
Slowly, it flicks the tail.
The serpent's sly
Menacing eyes
Turning, moving
Round and round.
The day's dark
The air still
Something hangs
It's ready for the kill
Slowly, surely it turns around
Wraps itself, the victim's bound
The hiss I hear is almost pleasant
A slight breeze seems to have picked up.
The rain's arriving
The grass is fresher
The mud slippery
Under my feet.
The wind whips up
A thousand bird cries
The serpent droops it's hood
And a sudden flash
Everything goes black
And I relate the tale when I wake.

And I called you my twin.

Give me a break. No, seriously. Give yourself a break too, while you're at it. So you think that you didn't deserve it. That you are stabbed, and beaten, and wronged? Who are you deluding? Do you really think that you deserve better? That given what you want, what you 'deserve', you wouldn't turn around and do the same that you rant about now? That things would be perfect, and all lovely in this perfect world of yours. Where you shall reign, with them lapping up every word you say, and loving you for it. That they should stand naked in front of you, shivering, defenceless, at your mercy. And you think you would caress them and make them feel loved. You would take care of them. You would nourish them, fondle them, and then send them off to their respective cages while you amuse yourself with the current favourite.

You pretend to feel. You say a lot of things, in your grand tongue, a thousand metaphors and tortured imagery. You pretend. You feel nothing. You display the nothing. And your crawling insects come and peer into the nothing and marvel at the depth.

You rave and rant about how you have had a bad bargain. How you have always loved more than what you have got. That you have been cheated, betrayed, hurt. People don't open up enough. They don't recognise your love. Have you ever halted in this never ending string of complaints and reflected? To look for a possible reason? Why on earth would they open up to you?? Do you even realise how little trust you inspire? How dangerous they perceive you, you with your sugarcoated cooings and never-ending 'earnest' declarations? I listen to you and try to look sympathetic. I offer comfort, for I still like you. Unfortunately for me, I like you. Maybe it's because I see it. The facade. And the complete lack of realisation. It's incredulous how much you delude yourself of. You think you're any of what you expect from others? That you actually deserve to be treated like you think you should? Sometimes this short laugh escapes me when I'm listening to you. You look at me questioningly and I brush it away. I can't tell you all this. Not because I don't want to. But because you are lost to me, when you're like this. You have to decide. For yourself. All I can do is hope for sanity to someday reach you. When you would be human again. But there's a sinking sensation that tells me that you're forever lost to me.

Cocoon. It's safe, protective, a shell. Tender inside, hard outside. You are safe. You need protection. Somehow, the idea annoys me. What cocoon? What protection? Are you really that weak? Crap, I think. You need a cocoon to survive? When my mind goes blank, and thoughts are all dulled, I can't speak. I'm thinking, and its almost absent-minded in its activity. I'm grateful to be allotted work, there's something I can do, something productive. I'm approached for help, do you know which train I take? Fat finger points towards a map, questioning look in harassed eyes. I smile and nod. Then walk down an extra flight of stairs just to feel more useful. The brief moments over, I relapse into walking impatiently in front of Cafe Coffee Day. I hate waiting. Sometimes, all I can speak about is what I'm thinking right at the moment. Shove it to make space for other thoughts, maybe small talk. I can't. One-track mind, an especially difficult math sum that I have to solve. I'm still trying to understand the damn question. This is no examination, no warning bells, no time limit. Figure it out on your own, just do it correctly. It wasn't meant to be this way. There are some questions that never need to arise, some problems never meant to befuddle. It wasn't meant this way, we weren't prepared for this. Especially when it's the last thing that could've ever happened. If there's anything worse than trying to convince others of something you believe in passionately is trying to convince people of something that you completely don't believe in.

Rickshaws are comfortable vehicles. The streets in Chandni Chowk are narrow and our rickshaw waalla swerves expertly dodging humans and vehicles alike. This is like a joyride. Yeah, somewhat. Check out the colours!! Through my glasses they are warmer, rose-tinted, she said. I take them back and put them on again. Forced laughs, pretense. I know nothing. I know something. Do I really know anything? Clearing the table mechanically, some lines of my favourite Bengali song play on tv. I start humming it, I want to. Broken tune, the singer on tv is a man. I look down at my hands, the table is already cleared.

Drifting, like smoke. Constrictions in my throat, absent mindedly pick up a smiley that I once gave to dada. It's frozen smile grins back at me, and I squish it. Contorted smile. As soon as I release my thumb, it resumes it's grin. There's much to plan for the next day, a lot to decide. It's her birthday and we have to come up with presents. Dial, call, decide. Simple. Put the receiver quietly back, someone's called out to you. No pudding? Why not? The same way he looked when I didn't want mishti doi that day. And wanted it when it was over. The day has a lot left, finish them, you haven't earned your rest yet. Stay up till midnight, you have to wish her. Extra chirpy voice, birthday laugh. Special order. Insistent voice brings me back to reality. What's the plan for tomorrow? Remember. Remember. Some more nodding, back to mechanical catering of other people's needs. Sometimes, you just have to... go back.

Just this and that

Sometimes everything makes so much sense. When your head is completely clear and you just amusedly review what you had been thinking important. You brush all of it aside thinking how silly you’ve been. Nothing really matters except that one important thing. And that’s all there is to it. It’s you. Funny how advice comes back to you, when you need it the most. Amusing how it catches you by surprise. Crazy how you never thought of it. Relieving that you gave it to someone else. Who threw it back to you. Sometimes life is too cool. Dum dee dee dum.

It’s funny how people remember promises made in ’92 and ask you fifteen years later if you remember. It’s slightly sad how something uttered by a person off hand, can be treasured for so long and held precious. It’s strange how a silly memory can make someone’s day and make them want to live differently. It’s surprising how things that seem to be lost forever seem to come back to life in an afternoon’s time. It’s pissing off to know that what you may have held on to for years may just be nothing at all. And the fact that you don’t care make you wonder who you actually are. Fascinating how things fall into place in a very different way than you ever thought they would. Pleasant how they seem just perfect the way they are. Bizarre how you catch the scent you liked in the most unlikely place ever and how glad you are that you found it. Weird how you look forward to things you also dread. Disappointment that you don’t fall down when you expected you would. As much as you dreaded that scratch, it would’ve been a pretty cool thing to say to yourself that you could fall and still laugh. Because it really didn’t hurt too much and you’re super man. Comforting how seemingly arbitrary things bring to you as much happiness as you could’ve ever hoped for. How different things make a complete day. How every one of them was important to make the day complete. How you can’t solve everything and there’s lots more to learn than you possibly could have. How breezes seem to be timed perfectly and cars honk to rudely interrupt your thoughts. How control isn’t really an issue at times. And how things make you smile in the stupidest way possible. Especially when the sources are from the most unlikely quarters possible :)

Anduu

"No no no NO! I shall call... I feel sad that you feel sad... I hate you for that... Idiot girl... "

I always get more than I deserve.