NatashaFiled under: Uncategorized | Tags: Daydreamers, Dreams, Illusion, Infidelity, Life, Love, Sanity-Insanity, Thoughts, Time
He came in without knocking.
The harsh afternoon sun was reflected in his eyes. The shade of ageless Mara trees, cool and dominant, was dancing between his lithe fingers. There was only a moment, a moment of hesitation, when he saw her sitting on the ground of the mud hut, trying to put the baby to sleep. There was always that moment, where uncertainty chewed at its claws, re-thought, re-designed and re-arranged desire.
Uncertainty always lost that battle.
He was stunning, even at a time when everything was supposed to look jaded. Fearless and independent. She was fearful, dependant and faltering; postponing her want and finally giving way. But always, imagining an inevitable knock on the wooden door. Inevitable discovery. Total revelation.
Whispering, of trees to one another.
The river, to the smooth sand.
Smooth sand, to the craggy rocks.
The clothes-line danced provocatively to a rhythm of the wayward breeze. A red sari flapped this way and that, in vain attempt to hold on to the blue nylon rope. A white bed sheet was thrown off the line and was tainted, in a tangle with the red-brown earth.
But all things were still. All things, in place. Or maybe hideously out of place, unnoticed by untrained human eyes. Somehow, everything seemed arranged. Premeditated. By the hands of careless gods, or the eyes of unknown strangers.
…………………
He always came in without knocking.
She knew he would come. Was expecting him, like a frangipani waiting for the rain. Deep-seated mistakes were indulged in; timeless blunders made by man recurring on a stage of maddening illusion. It was unfaithfulness of an otherwise ordinary act.
The mud walls absorbed her guilt and radiated it to the sun-struck verandah. It was evaporated; the guilt. It got blown away by the breeze, only to return at night, when she cooked, fed the baby or blew off the oil lamp.
Faithful everyday activities, of an otherwise unfaithful woman.
Only the merciless sun knew her secret. The unpredictable monsoons, they discerned nothing. Her existence between the two seasons, struggle of co-existence, and pain of non-existence were endowment of being born woman. It was recklessness of nature, thoughtlessness of the creator.
………….
He came in without knocking.
The trees were already whispering.
The clothes-line danced provocatively to a rhythm of the wayward breeze. A yellow sari flapped this way and that, finally gaining grip on the blue nylon rope. The white bed sheet was washed. It lay on the mud hut ground, creaseless.
All things were still. In place.
She was in place.
Filed under: Life, Love, Musings, Thoughts, Time | Tags: Creatures, Dreams, Life, Love, People, Sanity-Insanity, Time
The secret is laid carefully, over the Formica topped, tea stained canteen table; like dew drops laid early morning on the sleeping grass. It’s spoken softly, delicately, even lovingly. The secret; it’s brutal. Traverses the tunnels of the ear, reverberating on the hard white bones and melting into soft pink flesh. Its sweet brutality soaks into the crumbs of bread on his plate, making it toxic. Contaminated. Useless, like wilted flowers on a hot day in June.
The secret giver and the secret taker. Bound by words spoken. Seated face to face on hard wooden chairs, with the world dissolving into a murky shade of red around them. Red, of love and blood; result of the mistakes of love. Words unspoken hang in the air, to be spoken later. Or not; because to never speak again is a bliss people understand only when they are faced with utter wordlessness. Utter callousness.
She looks into his eyes. Straight. There’s no regret. No remorse. The unspeakable said. It’s the moment before everything crashes onto the ground; and the moment before the moment before. All those moments before that moment, merged into one silent eternity. And looming ahead is a future of cold nights.
A fly sits on the crumb of bread, sucking on its stale uselessness. Oblivious to the secret and its dangers. Oblivious to the silent struggle of people; to the smells and garbage of the universe. He swats the fly away. The fly flies away, flying away with the poisons of the secret in its intestines. Still oblivious.
Then he gets up to leave. She gets up because he gets up. Two people united, only in the act of standing up. Only for two seconds of purpose. Time stands still. Lives stand still. Around the secret, everything revolves at breakneck speed. Ignoring this, he turns to go home; her face is passive.
The fly settles on a fresh piece of bread.
Filed under: Life, Love, Musings, Thoughts, Time | Tags: Creatures, Daydreamers, Fantsy, Life, Love, People, Thoughts, Timelessness
I walk through a blur; a paintbox full of colours.
The smell of people, stuffed with thoughts, dreams & memories.
The smell of garbage, of ciggarettes & of blood.
Induces me into a stupor, of wonder. Of joyousness. Addics me to that electrifying pleassure of love.
Addict. Addicting. Addicted.
Filed under: Life, Love, Musings, Thoughts, Time, Uncategorized | Tags: Creatures, Daydreamers, Dreams, Fantsy, Illusion, Life, Love, Myth, Thoughts, Time
Are you dreaming again? Playing with people’s lives, in your head. Imagining in ethereal jargon, a life without war. Life without hate.
You think, of thoughts you can’t speak. Thoughts you can only whisper of, very softly, to the dying embers of twilight. Thoughts that could consume you, if you thought just a fraction too much.
Are you the daydreamer? Are you the gold spark I see in the sunset, a second before darkness blinds the world? The wind that blasts through my room scattering paper, all over the floor; Scattering my feelings and good sense, into nothingness. The fire that ravages through the woods, leaving nothing, but more fire. The ability to invoke dreams in people; the best part of god everyone left behind…
Filed under: Life, Love, Musings, Thoughts, Time, Uncategorized | Tags: Daydreamers, Fantsy, Illusion, Life, Love, Musings, People, Thoughts, Time
Filed under: Life, Musings, Thoughts | Tags: Creatures, Daydreamers, Dreams, Fantsy, Illusion, Life, Love, Myth, People, Thoughts
Oh, and by the way, I had a strange dream last night. I got bitten on my palm by a fat yellow snake. Yeah, a ssssnake. I was on the fourth floor of a building and for some weird reason I stepped off the balcony after getting bitten. So, for a while the snake and I were floating, with me trying to pry it off and he trying to bite me harder. I might have died after that, on mid-air. Hmmm, that’s really not a bad way to die isn’t it? On mid-air, minus the snake of course.
The significance of dreaming a snake;
Madhubhasha says snakes in dreams signify sex. So what does that mean? Well, that’s over to the readers imagination!
The significance of getting bitten by a snake in a dream;
This means you have a deadly enemy somewhere. Like Voldermort or Hitler or something. So does that mean I should pack up and go into hiding?
Filed under: Life, Love, Musings | Tags: Daydreamers, Dreams, Life, Love, Musings, People, Sanity-Insanity, Thoughts, Time
“My life. You electrify my life,
So let’s conspire to ignite,
All those souls who would die Just to feel alive” - Muse
It’s a beautiful day. A little overcast and a little sunny. A shadowy sort of day. Seems an utter waste to spend this day cooped up in office. ‘So, how’re you?’ I want someone to ask me. And I will tell them I’m feeling fabulous. I’m elated, and joyous. That’s all that matters isn’t it? Isn’t that all we ever strive for; to be happy and content? Yesterday, I met a three-wheeler driver who didn’t take the cab-fare from me because he was going the same direction as me anyway. He was probably going home. So, you get people like that too. Like tiny wildflowers in between craggy rocks, you find them. And it makes me happy, that there are people who still care. And these are the little things that connect us, as people. Insignificant? Yes, we are.
Didn’t meet him in almost a week. Since last Thursday, to be more accurate. But maybe I prefer not to be accurate; to be inaccurate. Makes it more romantic. Somehow time just lags, chugs and churns on, through the murky, almost-rainy days. I get sleepy; then I wake up. I get hungry, and then, not. Somewhere in this timeless, clueless, voiceless country, he breathes. I guess I’m thankful for that.
Corridors; long ones, short ones, wide and narrow. Corridors with light. Corridors without. Corridors with laughter, Corridors without.
And that is, irrelevant.
Filed under: Life, Love | Tags: Dreams, Life, Love, Sanity-Insanity, Time, Timelessness
Sleepy silence
Creeps up on my skin;
It goes through my veins.
Runs with the red cells
Of my blood
This is silence;
Deadly afternoon silence.
The frenzied heat conspires,
With the wilted trees
Taunts homesick birds;
It conspires
In whispers
Of faithless love.
To create chaos
Out of silenced beasts
To breathe life,
Into faded ghosts.
The heat conspires…
With the mud-cracked earth
Silencing the world
Into sleeplessness of insanity.
A loaf of bread was exactly five rupees when I was eight years old. My sister and I used to run across the road, to The kade to buy bread, where all sorts of fascinating eatables and non-eatables glared from their glassy jars. Fizzy Coca Cola hopes, disgustingly smelly dried fish jars and chocolate dreams in paper wrappers with Tin Tins face on it; carefully collected, and thrown away only when an army of ants have claimed their ownership to it. An open-mouthed, goggle-eyed, innocent world that still sleeps, somewhere deep within us.
All sorts of fascinations were indulged in and forgotten within a decade and a half. All sorts. Now, a loaf of bread hovers somewhere over forty rupees and we can no longer run across the road in our pajamas the way we used to. It’s just not possible. One reason being that we have come very far – geographically speaking – from where we were ten years ago. And then, we have crossed an evanescent line which can never be uncrossed; we grew up. Frilly dresses were thrown out in shame, in exchange for blue jeans. Nursery rhymes forgotten, to make room for Pop music. In a blur of spaghetti strap tops, Alsatian dogs, and Backstreet boys, the children in us died a silent death. Inevitable. Yet somehow, unbelievable.
Now I’m here. But here, is something I can’t yet define. Somehow, I’m here. In body. Sometimes in mind. The people I know are mostly the same people I knew then. The things I do and the places I go to are not. It’s amazing how things have changed, and how these things have changed me. Amazing how I am the same and yet not really the same person I was when I was eight.
When the sun rises tomorrow, in all its pink and orange glory, the world will have changed a little more. And I, a little more with it. But tomorrow is not today, and today is nothing that yesterday was. I think it took a little while for me to come to terms with that. So I am content with today, and live for the here and now, because it has been quite a squeeze through the sandglass, for me, and the rest of my generation.
But did you ever stop to think, and realize that coke doesn’t taste the same way it did when we were children? It really doesn’t. It tastes adult-ish now.
