Shrivelling

Maybe it's just me trying to explain my insecurities through others. I'll lash out, accuse, scorn, dismiss. I'll be brutal because I'll be scared. Scared to let lose the hatred that stays, ready to spring forth, desperately restrained. There's a sick feeling in my stomach that wants me to throw up. It's venomous, it shouldn't be there, it screams out. It's not you, it's the thing you drink religiously, everyday, with chemist like precision. Its what that tastes almost sickly sweet in it's quality. It's slowly poisoning you, smoke filling up would be better. This is sly, it creeps up on you. You're shrivelling up, every day, your eyes hollowing, your breath shorter, as you rasp out nursery rhymes. Can't you feel your hair grow rough underneath your touch?

Concentric Circles

Balconies aren't given their due. Someone's ac drips and the steady drumming on the green roof that covers windows that hide their own secrets is almost black and the yellow light light up patches that are nondescript in the day. A stream of water makes its way lazily to my toe while someone's shoulders shake. It is chilly here, someone wraps a blanket around our bare legs where the mosquitos have left their mark several times in the last hour. Strange, we never noticed. Silence comforts, minds drift in different directions while someone absently hums a familiar tune. The air is colder than usual, but inside they want the ac. A stool in the most inappropriate of places seems to be the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes things consume us. Balconies always need a railing.

Will wonders never cease??

Ma bought a laptop. For herself. I never really believed that she'd actually buy herself an expensive piece of equipment until I actually saw her writing out the check. Then not until we were walking out of the electronic showroom and hailing an auto did I realise she's taking it home with her! Okay, backtrack. My mother is a hard-worker-who-struggled-her-way-to-raise-her-seven-younger-siblings-on-her-own-passed-her-MA-with-a-first-class-first-and-refuses-to-take-an-auto-when-there's-a-bus-refuses-to-travel-in-a-rickshaw-when-she-can-walk-it-okay-you-get-the-general-idea. She once reprimanded me for going to GK everytime I had a free period and when I asked her what I'm supposed to do, she suggested the library as if it was the only sane place one could ever think of. She refuses to let me buy her a cord for her glasses and makes me make them out of wool for her. I've never thrown away a piece of crust because it's blasphemous to even want to do so. She will make me get her shoes mended and re-mended until they're held together only by the thread and nails the cobbler uses and then grudgingly buy new ones. She'll swear by her ancient floaters and wear them to the university, the local market, the party at the five star hotel her authoress friend shall throw and give you an extremely surprised look if you gently ask her if she wants a new pair. She will sew and darn her apron but not use the brand new one that has been forcefully bought for her. She will hum and haw a million times before getting a haircut just because it means spending a hundred bucks on herself. Meanwhile she'll buy me new clothes, new shoes, new memberships and increase my pocket money with only an appeal to spend it wisely. She'll exclaim how worn my brother's trackpants have become and secretly hand me money to go buy him new ones which he'll never wear. She'll suddenly buy my father new sweaters and explain to a very surprised baba, you dont have many. She'll exasperate everyone around and go on with her ideas about right and wrong and never, NEVER deem it necessary to buy herself anything. So now do you see the gravity of the matter?? She bought herself a laptop! Of her own accord!!

Sigh. Now she's working on it, typing nonsensically to 'increase her typing speed'. I was just called to explain to her the complex workings of the shift and caps lock keys. An excited ma wanted to show thakurma the new laptop. An apprehensive me waited for the anticipated digs at how much she had spent on herself and how things used to be different in thakurma's time. A very delighted me witnessed something completely different. Readying myself to start speaking vehemently on ma's defence about how she needs a laptop, and how she earns more than enough to deserve one, and so on, I came on a complete stop and had to take a double take when thakurma very timidly asked, Nandita, aamayo iktu dekhiye debe, aikdeen? (Would you teach me how to too, one day?). Ma grinned and thakurma grinned and now a Microsoft Word intermediate is teaching a computer-barely-beginner how to work the machine. Life is good.

Midnight blue

Up and down. Every reason to be down, and we buzz. Time to bob up, a deep plunge down. Hurried steps, a promise to come back. The promise vapourises, something missing, something we left behind. Sudden remonstrances, the skies don't cover you today. Belafonte and rain, throw in a few analgesics. Retch a little, hold back what you can.

Split second

Live for the moment. I am unafraid. Not a coward, these rare moments. At that moment, i feel. Forget consistency. For I feel. Consistency can be a lie. A prolonged moment, don't hurt, don't promise. Hush.

A proud toss of the head
Unafraid
The stride is surer
Unafraid
The truth, easily asserted
Unafraid.
I live. I breathe. I exhale.


Triumphance is usually short lived. Enough. Carpe Diem. As long as it's only you. Otherwise you don't have the right. Responsibilty, selfish ain't good.

To the nearest extreme.

I wish you a thousand nasty things. I hope you burn and twist in pain. I hope your skin peels away slowly. I hope it hurts. I want you to bow down and scream in anguish. I hope your scream pierces the air to resonate clearly across the sky. I hope no one listens to your cries. I hope you honestly do despair.

I wish you a lot more spiteful things, too profane to pen down here. I hope the blades pierce your body and you scream with every drop of blood that shed like my tears. I hope it hurts. I hope I see it all, and manage to laugh. I wish I could laugh, but it hurts.

The weirdest things

Good angel. Bad angel. It's cool to be evil. You have all the fun. Good always wins in the end. Scale dips this way, and that way. We're back to good angel, bad angel. What will you choose? Dippity dip. What do you want badly enough? Everyone else as a choice too. Good angel. Bad angel. Throw up the dice. Sly.

Which colour you wa-ant??

Too perfect. Sugary sweet. Funny how people thirst for something desperately, knowing that they're not worthy of it. And then, if by some bizarre twist of fate do get them, they forget. How desperate they were. So many ways of ruining things. Let's take this for granted too.

Expecto Patronum. Poof.

Do I dare hope? You press it in a little more, does it hurt? Trickle trickle, black, almost. Someone hits the nail on the head, but she's crazy, she says stuff, who'd actually take her seriously *they roll their eyes and laugh*. But she's still right, I cant laugh, I pretend to look busy so that so one notices that I don't join in. The most observant one catches my eye and I give her a thin smile. My patronus ain't working today.

Coming undone

She watched, fascinated, as the tightly wound plait slowly loosened. The ribbon that had been so firmly holding the strict matron like hairdo together had slowly begun to unfurl. The slender thread was delicate, but had seemed strong enough while tied around the thick clump of her hair. It was strange, watching the hitherto average head of hair to become undone. The strands of hair quietly blew sideways, slipping out of the vice-like hold of the plait one by one. And then suddenly, a gust of wind blew her hair wildly, and with a start she suddenly realised she was undone. Hastily she pulled it back and ran for cover, as the rain began like it sometimes suddenly did.

Swirling around, round and round.

Cynical me finds cynical you. Two mirrors, opposite each other. Endless reflecting, where did it really begin? 24 hours, 1440 minutes, 86400 seconds. 86400 seconds, 1440 minutes, 24 hours, the day. Wind up the alarm clock to fall into slumber that the mind needs, and the body snatches. I paint today, and snip with scissors bits of red and green. Bits of cotton fly in the air, innocent weapons that make it unable to breathe. Cynical me finds another cynical you.

Travesty, today; forever.

Oh you can pretend to fill a room
With three great artists’ paintings,

Straighten the plush Turkish carpet
On your marble topped floor

You can stroke the red mahogany desk
And arrange your Mesopotamian relics
Stack Kurosawa films
In your brand new DVD floor
Decorate your wall covering bookshelf
With hard bound names
Live a finer life
Away from the mundane.

But you cannot take me in
Where puddles have no names.

Push the right buttons
Hum the right tune
Beat in steady rhythm
Assembly products fume

But you cannot envelop me
In this endless ruin.
But you cannot expect me
To believe the farce soon.

Ice, Spice and everything nice

I ate raindrops today. Frozen drops, each a different flavour. The sparkle in the air was diamond dust today. We flew with the glass pixies and smelled freshly cut grass when the gnomes threw it in the air. Blue was my colour, our colour. Gentle realisation that it would rain. Wild laughter and today was green again. Why do I see double today? Maybe seeing double is good. Double fun. What's life without a little make-believe.

Forever

So many things. So many things. Deep within this whirlwind, there is always this central calm. They worship this thing. This thing they cannot name, cannot feel, and cannot touch. This thing that is too pure for them to approach and they shield their weak eyes against its blinding glare. Its happy, this thing. The naked ones play with it, jumping around it for it is their home. They're unaware of the lookers-on, for they're surrounded by the light and gurgle at each other happily everytime one of them shows off another trick. The raw ones keep catching glimpses of them dancing inside, and they grin at their glee and weave the whirlpool closely around. They extend their hands to the timid ones further away; they're afraid, and need encouragement. Some of the timid ones suddenly turn weak and greedily shove their hands into the light. They're immediately thrown back, they cry in agony and join the wretched ones who cry unhappily at what they've lost. The fair ones keep walking impatiently in concentric circles waiting for a chance. They perform complicated calculations, rub vigorously at the one error that seems to undo all their previous maneouvres and put their heads together to come up with new and fast ways to work towards an end they cannot want. A few lie unaware; the wind is a constant occurence, and they don't seem to notice it too much. They're happy; they've learnt to play poker well and laugh at each other every time one of them fouls up. They're well in their own world now to notice when the wind picks up or dies down, when the light shines brighter than it ever did before and beckons them in a momentary glimmer. They play poker well, and they're happy, and it is good. Because they're satisfied, and isn't that ultimately what all of us are striving for? Today there are newer ones, they dance with timid ones, yet look down at them with the strongest of contempt the minute their backs are turned. They drink to the health of the poker players, lech at the timid ones and encourage the futile attempts of the fair ones while bating their breath everytime they shade their eyes towards the light. Sometimes the whirlwind stops, everything gets rattled; the fair ones seem to slide towards one end, along with their chalk dusters and slates. They cling on to the surprisingly stationary timid ones, and the moment the wind sets to normal, they shudder when they see who they've been clutching and let go and abruptly scramble to collect their scattered pencils. The poker players, momentarily disturbed, look up, and then go back to their game. Very rarely one of them get up to ask for a light from one of the raw ones, and don't come back. The raw ones are proud and also somewhere scared. Scared to become one of them. And they ultimately do become one of them if they're weak enough to tremble at the possibility. The wind goes on howling and sometimes things change. But its rare when the wind actually stops. A hush falls then, and depending on what happens, the wind howls or moans.

Vicious Circle

People believe what they want to believe. She suddenly went cold. She needed to go back home. The wind was strong and she'd forgotten her muffler again.

Over coffee they talked about things. Things were calmer inside and if you concentrated on your cup, you couldn't hear the windowpanes rattle. The water was seeping in from the verandah. Strange, she had always thought the house being on the second floor would prevent this danger. They quickly stuffed rags underneath the doorways, which were instantly soaked. They would do for now, anyway. It had been a pleasant day, before the storm began. They had giggled at the first fat drops of water that splotched neatly on top of their noses. The skies had warned them before they set out, but they'd ignored the clouds and proudly declared it sunny. It's strange how people believe what they want to believe.

Button A Button B

Things happen. One minute you're up, and the sun shines and the next you dive into a cloud, and everything’s dark and wet. The sun's still shining for someone else and you're struggling to get out of the cloud, but you can't see anything. Then as suddenly as before, you're out, it's hot, the sun is in your face. Everything's perfectly panned out for you; the going is good, you're lucky. It's the swinging sixties for you and you're too deaf in the music to stop. Brakes screech and you've hit the car you didn't see coming. It starts raining suddenly and the angry driver is forced to retreat hastily to his car. Reverse, reverse left reverse, first gear, reverse, reverse, first gear. And the moment you step out you're drenched. To the skin. And you run with the six year olds in the rain, pretending to look for shelter when you actually aren't. Sometimes I wish I could multitask again. Sometimes I feel freer this way.

There comes times when you need to clam up. There are times when you need to do your own thing. It’s unfair to people around you. But they seem to understand. There are times when the right thing to do and the thing you want seem to be as far away from each other as possible. There is no compromise, and you have you choose this way or that. Is it okay to lie if it’s for the good? If telling the truth would just complicate matters for others and make them more miserable? If things you say cannot have a consequence and it’s better to lie resolutely to make things better?

Sometimes, while walking back from a game, there are people standing silently in corners. You pass by them, deep in your own world, and they quietly look on. When you were scoring a goal, they screamed the loudest, except you didn't hear their shouts. When you high fived the jumping figure in the stands, all you heard were their words and all you saw was their smile. Everything else was blocked out. You're tired, and they come forward to smile at you, except you look through them. Their smiles falter, and they relapse back to standing alone, near the same bin that you carefully aimed your used towel to. You fumble with a bag, they run towards you to help, but you're already up and sprinting towards home, and they're left back to walk alone, again. They call out softly to you sometimes, but you're listening to the cd that was just burnt for you and can't hear. You sleep, you're exhausted, but you still run out eagerly when you hear the honk you've been waiting for. You spritz on your favourite cologne and look self consciously into your mirror before meeting your love, and yap excitedly about everything that you did to one of your team mates. You walk out groggily in that shirt you slept in and brush past the silent figures. You look up, you have nothing to do, you recognise them, you say hello. They talk about things you never knew existed and when you walk back, you wonder. And then you remember that you have to finish a friend's work and hurry back home. And you forget them, again. Why do they still stand there, when you walk out next? Why do they still care? Why don't they find their own pool, and make you miss them instead? Why do they still stand, those silent 'friends'?

Memory, tonight. Sometimes.

Everything comes back now. That evening, when you wore that dress. You sparkled, every time you laughed. We played that song over and over, while everyone around us laughed. You dazzled that night. You laughed while I whispered words only meant for you. You punched me on my chest, and I held your hand there, until you self consciously snatched it away. We pledged forever that evening, even as you walked away with him on your arm. I knew you, I loved you. You blew me a kiss while he started the engine. I was left wistful as my guests walked away, throwing me secret smiles. They all knew, they all saw. But you chose to walk away. Now I shiver. My forever was you.

I hum the same tune now, except it’s for someone else. I still think of that evening, until she screams from the waves and asks me to come to her. I shake my head, and jog to where she stands. She taught me to love the water, and now it laps up to my ankles while another wave sprays me with the fresh fragrance that I have come to love. The rocks are slippery, and we hold each other’s hands and gaze at the miles of water in front of us. It is getting late, and we should get back, but I can’t leave now. We stand silently, until she turns to me and asks softly, what were you thinking right then, back there? I’m confused for a moment to be found out like this. Like a guilty child, I try covering up with awkward explanations. She shushes me with a gentle stroke. She looks towards the water again, and I look at her. She knows nothing. And yet she does. I lose her, eventually. Now I come to the water alone. And think of nothing.

Rarely

Some things are more important than anything else. Some things are worth fighting for. Some things change the way you decide to live. Some things need to be believed in and no amount of rationale can really rattle your determination. Nothing that you have said, or done, or thought can be compared to these things. They exist on their own, and drawing a comparison kills these things. Some things are too independent and important to work on them with old tried and tested methods. They slip out and you're left clutching air. These things come suddenly, without warning and stay only long enough for you to recognize them. They disappear if you try to allot a room to them or chew it like you always have. These things don't stay. Unless you embrace them without caution. These things are risky, but every bit worth it.

Green

Look around today. You went to the amusement park. You met your friends. You met them. You didn't expect them, but on the spur of the moment you decided to go say hi. They looked at you, half quizzically. And smiled. A delirious group screamed as their roller coaster suddenly plunged downwards. The spectators laughed, some anxious parents looked up with tight nervous smiles and waved to their twelve year old. As you talked, you discovered something had changed. You spotted Barny and clicked pictures together. Instinct made you climb onto the new ride you hadn't wanted to try. You were with them, and you chattered on. You laughed and held on to each other as your hair blew wildly. You held on to each other as you walked off, groggily. They bought you ice cream, and you commented on how thin they have grown. You remembered a foolish inside joke but kept silent. And heard them crack the same joke a few seconds later. You looked up, and looked away. As you walked back home, you were silent. They talked, and you nodded. Then it rained. Just like it should have. You smiled.

You still have the picture framed, alongside the other pictures. You decided to put it in the new wooden frame he had given you. You are laughing at the camera, and Barny looks silly now. But they changed the picture for you. Things change.

It’s raining here. Come out, if you won't catch a cold. Don't come if you shiver at the thought of the sheets of rain slapping your skin. Each time it hits you, you can’t wince. The wind has whipped up and come if you can survive. Come if you won’t be blown away, or if you don’t have to bow your head against the wind in order to pass. You can’t run for shelter, you can’t cover your head with your hands and shrink within yourself in apprehension. If you come, come with your head uncovered, with your heart light and your senses awakened. You can’t come here if you whimper when the hails fall. The skies have opened up today and the gods test us. We need the bravest and the strongest. You all, who are weak, you know. Stay away, and let us win this.