Monday, December 8, 2008
the apparition
the apparition stopped coming ot my dreams, as it had warned me so, but i never believed as i had never believed that it was an apparition after all.
the purple dust settled on her feathers and her lovely fish eyes, her voice breaking the silence as if a tray of twinkling wine glasses just hit the floor and her footfalls coming like hustling of wind chimes. the wind chimes lay still near the window, no morning breeze ever cares to pay her a visit anymore, nor are the gusts in the afternoon able to move them. the purple dust blew away and so she disappeared. she had warned me, but i would never believe her. the apparition stopped coming to my dreams.
..a normal day at office
She started off with the morning ritual she performs everyday, touching the invisible feet of idols kept on the right corner of her cubicle, adjusting the fone among other things which is kept on the left, taking out her notebook and placing it at the center, fixing a few cables and dragging her chair to the right place and finally dumping herself into it with a sigh!. By this time, my eyes rolled back to the screen in front of me and i wait for one of us to break the silence. mostly it is she, asking me to look at some forwarded emaiil which is supposed to be good or funny in general sense. most of them are ok and a few horrible.
but i was not waiting for all this. aha! it came now. first sneeze of the day, followed by a burst of incessant sneezes which i never tried to keep count of. i just imagine all the tiny particles swarming in the air all around, creating a musky cloud which grows bigger as the day advances. i imagine the beautiful butterfly princess who moved around her garden with butterflies surrounding her wherever she goes. probably a slight deviation here.
arms wide open
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
reasons...for what reasons?
"..there was a man who built a railway track. for some reasons he built the tracks in a straight line, without any curves in it. i dont know for what reasons he built it so. reasons are easily forgotten..".
Friday, August 29, 2008
damn cards...
Monday, August 25, 2008
magic flowers
as the sound of sweeping from the house beside hers is heard, she leaves her hut with the pot filled with fresh yogurt on her head. filling the streets of the village with her own meloncholic sound. children would come out of their homes, run after her, call her names, throwing mud pebbles at the pot on her head, missing all the shots, and she would never mind. as she walked from door to door, her steps growing slower and slower, million thoughts filling her mind, until she reaches the last of the house on that village street where her feet felt heavy, her eyes tired and only a small was left for the cat, she would rest. she would rest under the old gullar tree, laden with flowers of all colours, blue, purple, magenta, white, yellow and colours that they had never seen before. the most beautiful of all the trees in the village and villages around it. they told stories about it, worshipped it, lighted incandesence at its roots, tied threads around it and she always rested in peace after a tiresome day.
one day, she was resting under the shade of that tree and the day was sunny. there was no breeze and no rustling of leaves in the tree. everything lay still and barren and she slept under the tree, her pot lying beside her, containing little yogurt for the cat. It was a sunny day and nobody passed by for a long time, all the dogs on the street had taken shelter in some shade and there was no sound to be heard. A purple flower broke off from the branch of the tree and fell in the pot.
The next morning when she woke up, said her prayer with closed eyes and looked at the pot beside the foot of her bed. there was no feather left by the cat that day and the small amount of yogurt which she always left for the cat lay there at the bottom of the pot. she felt worried and left for the day's work. that day when she returned after selling, earning a little extra from what she earned everyday till now, she found her pot still filled to the same level where she had started. no matter how many extra doors she knocked that day, she was not able to sell whole of it. she was worried and she could not stay longer under that tree. she left for home and slept, waking up next day with the hope that everything would be same. but it wasn't. no cats came by and she had no feathers to add to her treaser. she sat under the gullar and weapt her heart out. but nothing changed. day by day her earning increased but she never returned home selling whole of yogurt which she had made. she mended her house and made two windows in the house with the fortune she earned, but she lived worried and grew tired of those worries day by day. one afternoon, when she was sitting under the tree, she remembered the day when she had dreamt of a flower dropping in her pot from the branches of that tree. she cursed the tree for that day and for that flower, she cursed it for bringing her sorrow and worry. she cried out aloud, " o unworthy and charismatic tree! were you ashamed of my ugly but happy life? or did you want to see the whole world as beautiful and rich as you? but you forgot that your beauty is incomplete if there remains no ugliness as me. your kindness has no meaning without my curse. your beauty has marred your mind and made you insane. you want to see everything good and fair and rich and beautiful. but you have sacrificed my contended self. you have brought me great sorrow. you have killed my beloved cat and stolen his feathers. i wish you will never bear any flowers upon you. i wish you be laden with ugly fruits. like my pot of yogurt which never gets empty now, but earns me no satisfaction, no one will ever see your flowers now, but you will be always full of fruits."
the children on the streets remembered the tree thereafter as a haunted tree with no flowers, which lay there barren and deserted, asked by no one, watered by no one since the day it was cursed. no one in the village had seen a single flower on that tree and they left it deserted because they considered it ugly without flowers, covered only with small berries like fruit, infected by the curse of demons of ill luck. The old lady would still rest under the same tree and no flowers fell in her pot thereafter. And they would share their solitude for a while. she, always tired and the tree always watchful and meloncholic with no flowers on it, only fruits.
Friday, July 25, 2008
.....hope of the fish eyes
the wind had stopped, so had rain and the last vehicle on the street had passed before dawn broke, leaving the fluttering leaves dead still on the road, when i dropped my last drop of tears, when i decided to drop no more, when i was tired of sobbing, when nobody heard me cry out the sorrow of a fool, when the drops of tear dried and left a tar sticking in the bottom of my heart, when i inhaled the longest breath i had ever breathed. probably i was thinking of drowning the parchment of an unheard love in the tears i shed, probably i was thinking of blowing away the torn pieces of the parchment of an unheard love, probably i was thinking of burying the parchment of an unheard love in the secrecy when the last of the vehicles had passed that street. tears stopped and i breathed in till i could take no more air inside, unaware if everything was as i was thinking them probably. i had not the faintest of idea if i was going to sleep a little or wake up and brush my teeth which felt saline by morning. i had not the faintest of idea that i was going to live after that in the fog of that improbability and heedless ceremony of living. every new attemp to shatter things meeting a glimpse of hope, hope of those fish eyes which had trapped me inside the sphere of the sorceress. that hope didnt have the slightest of the novelty to take pity on my aching stomach and my limping brain. and so i trudged on, i trudged on, not knowing that if the hope of the fish eyes will let me drop out of that sorceress sphere and see its beauty for once and admire it, love it, kiss it, hate it, fawn it, hold it, hold it forever so that it could never entrap me in that sphere again
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
...another paradise
...an old memory
it takes almost a quarter and an half of an hour to cross village to village and reach, where papa teaches kids like him. it was his special day. he was taking him to the place he works. mom had prepared parathas that morning and wrapped them in old newspaper and then put them in plastic bag, so that oil do not drip out and stain the bag. it was there lying fresh in papa's bag, swinging loosely by the handle, his eyes swinging along with that while he watched it.
he had woken up early for this day. took shower and wore clothes which mom keeps safe only for special occasions. he waited for papa to get ready and asking him all this time to hurry up while he got ready. he had made this an special day for everyone in the hut. to his relief they were ready to depart. he took out the bicycle from the verandah, where it is kept in the night. he dusted it with a rag, then sat himself on the seat and lifted him up to sit in the front. his first reaction was to press that round shaped 'ghanti' fixed on the handle. it gave a sound, trin! trin! and he imitated that with another trin! trin! mom kissed him on his forhead and bid them farewell. she was standing there waving her hand till they disappeared on the next corner. he kept saying something all the way. sometimes asking something. sometimes singing song. and all the while his voice sounded like ba ba ba ba when the bicycle went over from one puddle to another in the village road.
sun had kept himself off for the day, for him to enjoy the day under a cloudy sky. they stopped for tea on the way. more because he was crying that his legs have started paining. they took tea and biscuits, stood on the either side of the bicycle's carrier and he asked many questions while papa finished tea. it was difficult for him to keep up with his questions. they started off again. he remained silent this time. less because papa was not answering him, more because he was tired and feeling sleepy. it was more than half an hour now, they were close to their destination. he could see more vehicles passing them as they reached the town's outskirts, but nothing interested him by now, while he folded his hands and rested them on the handle. and he was lost in some other world of his. where there were no vehicles, no trees, no schools, no puddles on the road, no wind, however there were fruits and chocolates there, which he had seen on the way, and parathas too, wrapped in that newspaper, now unbundling before his eyes. the bicycle stopped and papa said, "we have reached, chimpu.", while he rested his left foot on the ground. he lifted his head up and saw a board which read, "barbigha uchh vidyala".
Friday, May 23, 2008
..in the habit of saying hello
It was
Minutes later a man in his late thirties came there for tea or something. I didn’t notice that. But I saw that he was nicely dressed and well trimmed hair and mustache. He might have taken bath as it looked from his appearance. Who knows he might have applied simply water on his hair. He had a matching pair of brown shoes with the color of his belt. And like the most Bangaloreans was carrying a identity badge in his front pocket. As a part of my habit I was so lost in analyzing his appearance that I almost missed him staring at me too. Probably because of smoke. Pollution is really a big problem in
caged
...an old one...thankfully it was saved too from my habit of deleting everything....i guess one day i ll delete the blog too :D
_she_sells_sea_shells_
i guess it was neither the moon nor sea waves that was making that beach beautiful. it was all her solitary presence. it of course was her solitude but it was filling that evening on the beach with life and colours.
..an empty thought
Thursday, May 8, 2008
no..not about anyone specific...had written it randomly..i think in my freshmen year....
you dont make my heart cry any more
laying back with my pillow on my back
i still think about you sometimes...
i wonder those memories are good or bad...
it all just passed by...
you dont make me smile any more
but your thoughts still make me sleepless
when it all just passes by...
probably it does not just pass by...
it just stays and stays a little longer
i sit back and light a ciggarette
in the hope that old memories just
come and go by
only to find that it stays and stays a little longer..
you dont make me smile anymore
you dont make my heart cry anymore
....silly thoughts (an old one again)
an old one...somehow it was not deleted by me..
team bonding
say...amazing. It was 4:30 am in the morning when we reached the
place...everyone dispersed to their rooms for a short nap. I had slept an hour or two
in the bus...so was not feeling sleepy at all. I lied there on a cemented platform..I
could not recognize that in the dark. I closed my eyes for sometime. It was
cold...not so cold..but cold enough to give a slight shiver. Murmurings went down
as people settled down in their cottages. When I opened my eyes I could see more
clearly...and I went deep into thinking of the scientific reasons behind it, that we
studied in primary school. I took a long breath..held it for sometime and exhaled it
slowly.......The thin line differentiating the mountain was not so sharp. It gave an
appearance as if something darker merged into something lighter. The later without
any stars. Probably it was a cloudy night. i don't remember that either. I lost myself
into one thought after another. Sometimes my thoughts turned darker...as was the
night sky...probably still darker....things lost..things hated...things loathed...things
never able to take hold of....some unknown things...mostly known things....or faces
perhaps if they like...when my wandering mind could no more hold the filthy stench
of that darkness...i shook my head...n scenes of merriment tresspassed my
mind...the lights began to crawl in the space around me...the thin line between the
mountain and the sky grew sharper....and rustling of air and whistelling of birds
began in the nearby bush...it was time to get and get inside the cottage...the crowd
will be out soon...i must hide myself before that...
high drama dark clouds of suspicion!!! a must read!!!
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
..roasted honey and steamed ginger
it was 3 am in the morning or late night(because there are different takers of this as well)...i drank water and looked at the bottom of the glass in my hand...it showed my twisted face...it was not his fault...i dont know if i will be able to identify my real self....i didnt know what to do next...there were pieces of cut ginger kept near the tea pot...unwashed since last two days..when i had a similar mood swing..or fit..or whatever u call it...i poured water in it and put the ginger pieces too....and kept it for boiling...dont ask me what i was thinking...atleast after all that lecture on reasons and emotions...it fucking kills all the fun...it gave a bitter smell...and a bubbling sound...accompanied only by the sound of fan..which lay hanging from the ceiling...whirling since a long time....there was a spoon kept on the side of the stove...left unwashed since last two days when i had used it to take out honey from the jar...no...there were no ants around...i took it and kept it on the flame....the smell was defying..aptly suited to the bitter smell of steamed ginger....and my bitter mood....i switched off the stove....that was the only source of light in the kitchen...it was dark after that...i had my hand holding the spoon...i took if off the stove and the tea pan too...kept it beside the stove...probably for another such night to come...i left the kitchen and lied down on my bed....my thoughts wandered from the smell of ginger to roasted honey...to purple sky...to diving in a purple space....before i was lost