Suddenly, I'm running.
In circles, it seems. The building are whizzing past, and all the things around are just a blur.
A moment of immense agitation and confusion takes over me and I lose all senses of judgment in a matter of seconds. Nothing seems to be able to catch up to me. So much so, the wind can't get to me. It's like I'm in a vacuum. Where all hurt, all pain, all senses have been sucked out through this one tiny little orifice at the edge. It's magical. So freeing. So singular and yet so well designed into this compact structure filled with piercing questions aimed at my conscience.
Suddenly, I'm tied up.
In this web of desolation. The stickiness of the web, makes me shudder. Just then I realized I hate spiders, with more conviction than ever. I keep taking virtual cobwebs off me but they seem to be multiplying at umpteen speed. And then I lose focus. All I can see are millions and millions of nimbus black spiders, crawling their way to me. At one point, I actually thought one of them sneered at me. As if they knew how terrified I had been. The web gets stickier and engulfs me into it. I feel like I'm being sucked in.
Irony.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
What is truth? The opposite of lies.
What is right? The opposite of wrong.
Why do we spend endless minutes of a rapidly discriminating life, trying to determine empirical convictions?
I sit at this seat, contemplating yet another triviality, wrapped in wit. I say yet another because it seems to have become the presentation of the startling profession which is soon to be mine.
Mine, because I have chosen it how it is, 'different'. Not for me is the mundane jobs with their mundane cubicles in mundane buildings, dressed in mundane suits. I am different, I tell myself.
I am a dreamer, a thinker and in moments of narcissim I hide even from myself. I am a visionary. I feel pity for the mentally downtrodden, moving in temporaltimidity, never knowing the sheer fight that the mind can take.
I'm free.
What is right? The opposite of wrong.
Why do we spend endless minutes of a rapidly discriminating life, trying to determine empirical convictions?
I sit at this seat, contemplating yet another triviality, wrapped in wit. I say yet another because it seems to have become the presentation of the startling profession which is soon to be mine.
Mine, because I have chosen it how it is, 'different'. Not for me is the mundane jobs with their mundane cubicles in mundane buildings, dressed in mundane suits. I am different, I tell myself.
I am a dreamer, a thinker and in moments of narcissim I hide even from myself. I am a visionary. I feel pity for the mentally downtrodden, moving in temporaltimidity, never knowing the sheer fight that the mind can take.
I'm free.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Just.
The Question-
How does a girl who jumps into a rabbit hole, plummeting into chaos come out unchanged?
The Answer-
She doesn't.
Every plan she had goes horribly wrong.
She still believes in happy endings and is convinced that her happy ending is somewhere too close for comfort.
She's bruised, humbled and smarter but it came to her in some cosmic sense of enlightenment when she least expected it.
The bottom line-
People don't change. They only evolve into higher versions of themselves.
How does a girl who jumps into a rabbit hole, plummeting into chaos come out unchanged?
The Answer-
She doesn't.
Every plan she had goes horribly wrong.
She still believes in happy endings and is convinced that her happy ending is somewhere too close for comfort.
She's bruised, humbled and smarter but it came to her in some cosmic sense of enlightenment when she least expected it.
The bottom line-
People don't change. They only evolve into higher versions of themselves.
Somedays I just don't want to wake up. Stay in bed for as long as I can and then when I finally decide to wake up, the whole day has just passed me by. That is when I regret not waking up earlier. It's funny isn't it? How one minute you want something and the next you live to regret it.
Amongst everything else, regret had taken over most of my thoughts. It had clouded my judgment for most things and yet in some bizarre way it brought about clarity in various spheres. But are we really qualified to make the distinction between what we deserve and what we get? In some parallel world where everything is happy and mellow, is it conceivable to have everything that one deserves. Life would be a little monotonous won't it, if we received all that we want everyday of our lives? It would be like Christmas the year around. And yet, none of us would dare wish for things to turn around, because, [un]fortunately it would happen. It's quite scary even to imagine it.
I feel like I'm sitting for an interview most days. Wherein every twitch of a muscle, every batted eyelash reflects something about me. And those days that are good, I feel like a untamed animal, free to do whatever, say whatever, be whatever. But do I wish for everyday to be like that? No. I like the binding. It is in many ways disciplinary. It has taught me so much. Respect, responsibility, faith, justice, all of that. It's not military school, it's just what I had written for myself. And I have learned also to enjoy it. I love my safety net. It is something I like to call Home. I could go hide in it and even then I would be just the right amount expose, just the right concoction of vulnerability and nakedness. Just the perfect mix of fear, anger, security and relief. Where does one find so many things?
Sometimes, when I feel like the safety net is about to break because, let's face it there is only so much safety that it can provide, I take a sedative so that when I do fall, I fall in my sleep without having to wait for the cold hard ground to strike my face. The blood and the hurt can all wait till I wake up. It an enchanting feeling, like a jolt that goes through your body without you even realizing that it had happened. Like when you have get a paper cut, you can feel the sting without being able to see where the blood is oozing out off. Quite an experience.
But you know, I don't worry about all the trillion things that can go wrong. It doesn't make me feel good. As it turns out, no one likes anyone who cannot take care of themselves. Everyone has their share of baggage, and no one want excess baggage.
It's a hard learned lesson, indeed.
But I did learn it. Maybe not sooner but later.
Amongst everything else, regret had taken over most of my thoughts. It had clouded my judgment for most things and yet in some bizarre way it brought about clarity in various spheres. But are we really qualified to make the distinction between what we deserve and what we get? In some parallel world where everything is happy and mellow, is it conceivable to have everything that one deserves. Life would be a little monotonous won't it, if we received all that we want everyday of our lives? It would be like Christmas the year around. And yet, none of us would dare wish for things to turn around, because, [un]fortunately it would happen. It's quite scary even to imagine it.
I feel like I'm sitting for an interview most days. Wherein every twitch of a muscle, every batted eyelash reflects something about me. And those days that are good, I feel like a untamed animal, free to do whatever, say whatever, be whatever. But do I wish for everyday to be like that? No. I like the binding. It is in many ways disciplinary. It has taught me so much. Respect, responsibility, faith, justice, all of that. It's not military school, it's just what I had written for myself. And I have learned also to enjoy it. I love my safety net. It is something I like to call Home. I could go hide in it and even then I would be just the right amount expose, just the right concoction of vulnerability and nakedness. Just the perfect mix of fear, anger, security and relief. Where does one find so many things?
Sometimes, when I feel like the safety net is about to break because, let's face it there is only so much safety that it can provide, I take a sedative so that when I do fall, I fall in my sleep without having to wait for the cold hard ground to strike my face. The blood and the hurt can all wait till I wake up. It an enchanting feeling, like a jolt that goes through your body without you even realizing that it had happened. Like when you have get a paper cut, you can feel the sting without being able to see where the blood is oozing out off. Quite an experience.
But you know, I don't worry about all the trillion things that can go wrong. It doesn't make me feel good. As it turns out, no one likes anyone who cannot take care of themselves. Everyone has their share of baggage, and no one want excess baggage.
It's a hard learned lesson, indeed.
But I did learn it. Maybe not sooner but later.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
ViewFinder.
I see a hole in the wall. I place an eye on it. For a few seconds I see nothing. My eye lashes flutter for a second, my eye ball adjusts for another and then I see.
It is a room like any other, but a thick cloud of smoke engulfs one area. I see the silhouette of a what looks like a boy. He makes his way out and stands in the middle with his hands on his hips. He looks around for a minute, shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair and resumes his position. All this while, his back was towards me.
He turned around, he looked vaguely familiar. He came towards the wall and looked upwards. He ran his hands across the wall in a running motion from the left of the hole upwards. Not once did he stop at the hole. He did that once more, and then went back to the exact spot he had stood before.
This time, he looked up to the ceiling. I think he saw an insect, for I could see him moving his head in odd directions. Soon he got tired, and squatted himself on the floor. He sat for a long time, mumbling to himself. Giggling at times. Drawing circles on the dusty floor and finally, tired of all of it, he quietly crouched himself and slept.
I got tired of peeking through the hole and decided to walk away. I did. But the image of the sleeping boy wouldn't leave my head. After a few hours, I went back to the wall. I peeped through and I saw him again, his back to me, sitting in that exact same spot. I reckon in the same position too. He was talking to himself. Angry. It seemed as if he had a lot to get out of his system. He screamed real loud this on time. I shuddered. And then he was silent. I couldn't even hear him breathe any more. And then suddenly, he sniffed. Before I knew it, he was crying like a new born baby.
Baffled, I bellowed through the hole,
"Hello! Turn around. Look towards the wall, into the hole"
His crying stopped almost immediately and he raptly turned around. His eyes was blotched, he cleaned his nose like a dirty 5 year old boy, and looked around trying to locate the source of the voice.
"The hole in the wall.", I repeated.
He spotted the hole, and ran his fingers by it.
"Talk to me.", I said.
He settled himself next to the hole, resting his head on the wall, cleaned his face and said,
"I thought you'd never talk to me."
Perplexed, I asked him what he had meant.
I think it was a smile that I saw just then, he said,
"I knew all along you were watching me. I just hoped you would talk to me."
"I have been waiting a long time, you know."
I don't remember saying anything. All I could hear was an incessant banter that went on in my head. I pushed it all to one side and asked him:
"Do yo even know who I am?"
The corners of his lips twisted, he said:
"Of course I do. You're the girl, who cries every night and sings the most soulful song one would ever hear. You scratch the insides of your hands and stay hidden behind your tuft of hair just so that people don't see your swollen eyes.
You look at your phone every second minute hoping it would ring and when you realize it wouldn't you just turn it to silent mode and throw it away. Some days you jump into bed and talk to yourself. Making plans about the future. Playing scenes and conversations.
I know you."
I couldn't believe my ears. Who was he? He knew things that nobody but I did. I was scared.
"Don't hurt me.", I quivered.
He got up from his place and turned towards me. He placed his hand next to the hole, looked me straight in the one eye and said:
"I could kill you with all that I know, but I like the look on your face when you suffer."
"Do you want to know why I cried?... I couldn't take it myself. Knowing so much."
"Do me a favor, fix the hole in your wall."
.____________________________.
For the most part, I know who he was.
My farishta.
It is a room like any other, but a thick cloud of smoke engulfs one area. I see the silhouette of a what looks like a boy. He makes his way out and stands in the middle with his hands on his hips. He looks around for a minute, shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair and resumes his position. All this while, his back was towards me.
He turned around, he looked vaguely familiar. He came towards the wall and looked upwards. He ran his hands across the wall in a running motion from the left of the hole upwards. Not once did he stop at the hole. He did that once more, and then went back to the exact spot he had stood before.
This time, he looked up to the ceiling. I think he saw an insect, for I could see him moving his head in odd directions. Soon he got tired, and squatted himself on the floor. He sat for a long time, mumbling to himself. Giggling at times. Drawing circles on the dusty floor and finally, tired of all of it, he quietly crouched himself and slept.
I got tired of peeking through the hole and decided to walk away. I did. But the image of the sleeping boy wouldn't leave my head. After a few hours, I went back to the wall. I peeped through and I saw him again, his back to me, sitting in that exact same spot. I reckon in the same position too. He was talking to himself. Angry. It seemed as if he had a lot to get out of his system. He screamed real loud this on time. I shuddered. And then he was silent. I couldn't even hear him breathe any more. And then suddenly, he sniffed. Before I knew it, he was crying like a new born baby.
Baffled, I bellowed through the hole,
"Hello! Turn around. Look towards the wall, into the hole"
His crying stopped almost immediately and he raptly turned around. His eyes was blotched, he cleaned his nose like a dirty 5 year old boy, and looked around trying to locate the source of the voice.
"The hole in the wall.", I repeated.
He spotted the hole, and ran his fingers by it.
"Talk to me.", I said.
He settled himself next to the hole, resting his head on the wall, cleaned his face and said,
"I thought you'd never talk to me."
Perplexed, I asked him what he had meant.
I think it was a smile that I saw just then, he said,
"I knew all along you were watching me. I just hoped you would talk to me."
"I have been waiting a long time, you know."
I don't remember saying anything. All I could hear was an incessant banter that went on in my head. I pushed it all to one side and asked him:
"Do yo even know who I am?"
The corners of his lips twisted, he said:
"Of course I do. You're the girl, who cries every night and sings the most soulful song one would ever hear. You scratch the insides of your hands and stay hidden behind your tuft of hair just so that people don't see your swollen eyes.
You look at your phone every second minute hoping it would ring and when you realize it wouldn't you just turn it to silent mode and throw it away. Some days you jump into bed and talk to yourself. Making plans about the future. Playing scenes and conversations.
I know you."
I couldn't believe my ears. Who was he? He knew things that nobody but I did. I was scared.
"Don't hurt me.", I quivered.
He got up from his place and turned towards me. He placed his hand next to the hole, looked me straight in the one eye and said:
"I could kill you with all that I know, but I like the look on your face when you suffer."
"Do you want to know why I cried?... I couldn't take it myself. Knowing so much."
"Do me a favor, fix the hole in your wall."
.____________________________.
For the most part, I know who he was.
My farishta.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Passive.
As a 5 year old, this one time I fell off the slide and bruised my knee. It bled for a long time. I cried. It hurt. But then Mum put a bright band-aid on it, kissed it and I was okay.
This time, I don't think I can put a band-aid on my hurt or have some one kiss it and make it alright.
"It's no big deal" they say. What do they know? How big a deal it is for me. No one could see what I had seen months in advance. I'm a lunatic. Why'd anyone believe me?
I feel ashamed of myself for thinking the way I do. For wishing for what I wish. For wanting what I want. But what am I to do? How am I supposed to react? No one tells me that.
I'm not supposed to complain. I made that promise to myself and believe me, I've been holding so much in. It hurts. There hasn't been one night that I haven't cried myself to sleep. Not one single night.
No one sees the hurt in my eyes. No one hears the pain in my voice. No one except Mum, I guess. Who still wishes she could kiss my boo-boo and make it okay. I secretly wish so too.
It's a mirror. It follows every thing. The way we are. I can't deal with this. But wait, I'm 19 years old. I shouldn't act like a baby. I should accept it. Just live with it. Let it invade me and take control. But I shouldn't binge. Not question. Not express.
Just stay pre occupied in my ephemeral happiness. Count days till it appears again.
Somedays I just wish I could erase everything. Just let it all fade into the dark. It will happen won't it?
I can't see it. Perhaps because this eternal film of tears is blindsiding me.
I can't be like this.
I just want to express!
Somehow.
This time, I don't think I can put a band-aid on my hurt or have some one kiss it and make it alright.
"It's no big deal" they say. What do they know? How big a deal it is for me. No one could see what I had seen months in advance. I'm a lunatic. Why'd anyone believe me?
I feel ashamed of myself for thinking the way I do. For wishing for what I wish. For wanting what I want. But what am I to do? How am I supposed to react? No one tells me that.
I'm not supposed to complain. I made that promise to myself and believe me, I've been holding so much in. It hurts. There hasn't been one night that I haven't cried myself to sleep. Not one single night.
No one sees the hurt in my eyes. No one hears the pain in my voice. No one except Mum, I guess. Who still wishes she could kiss my boo-boo and make it okay. I secretly wish so too.
It's a mirror. It follows every thing. The way we are. I can't deal with this. But wait, I'm 19 years old. I shouldn't act like a baby. I should accept it. Just live with it. Let it invade me and take control. But I shouldn't binge. Not question. Not express.
Just stay pre occupied in my ephemeral happiness. Count days till it appears again.
Somedays I just wish I could erase everything. Just let it all fade into the dark. It will happen won't it?
I can't see it. Perhaps because this eternal film of tears is blindsiding me.
I can't be like this.
I just want to express!
Somehow.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
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