…That is how it looks on the inside, a partially frozen river that flows through this heart with snowflakes, hovering, floating, and a few drenched. These are memories that chime between the rocks. Some are carried forward; some are held back for a while and then eventually carried forward. But none of them has been quite like me, not yet. I may be just another snowflake in this crazy blizzard, but I’m different, painted in a unique color, violet. I’m silent. The temperature of my skin is lower than any of my white friends. And to this heart, as I dive in, I’ll be a memory, colder, sharper and longer.
Me and water, we’re gonna have a fight. No matter who takes the last stand, the heart where this river flows will be the one to suffer. No matter if this river carries me forward, or if I hold it back, it won’t be transparent anymore, nor will I hold my color. No one will ever be able to see through it anymore. And I’m about to leave my mark, about to haunt this heart forever, no matter how far it flows.
But right now, I’m descending deep, barreling through this thunderous sky. With absolutely no trace of the beginning, I’ve been propelled up to this point. It’s not the rattle on the outside, but the silence inside that empowers me. Those around me are staring, frowning, and a few ranting. I’m indeed the strongest of them all. I didn’t choose to be. I’m, no doubt, different than them all, even different than what I could have been. I didn’t wanna be.
I’ll be the one to make a difference, the only memory to cause this heart to feel surprised, obviously in a wicked way. I can’t help it, THAT is what I’m to do. I wonder if I will be strong enough to freeze my dominion, just the way it is for eternity. Though I can see it beginning to grow aware of my arrival, the currents are sharper, the river, agitated. Honestly, I don’t wish to hold a higher ground. Even I want to fade away, dissolving, melting slowly, and leaving behind a trail, a memory of a memory. But that is not the way, it’s going to be. I can see now, I’m stronger than this panicked, frantic and… well, transparent river.
Right before the touchdown, I realize it’s not just me. The river, it’s different, changed not like ever before. I begin to think I caused it to change, even before touching it. It’s pride of victory, and a fear of the final war. But it’s not fighting. The river, engulfed in denial, has refused to even touch any of us. A warrior afraid of defeat and still more afraid of victory has fallen on his own sword. It can’t have me hold it back, nor can it afford to carry me. It’s too scared, too scared of the unfamiliar color.
As I’m about to touch the surface, it retreats, further and further more. The deeper I go, the deeper it gets, the higher the walls become. And after a while they close in, from the top. I didn’t know it could do that. I’m trapped in a bubble with transparent walls. With my strength, sealed in with me, I’m a memory that this heart will touch no time soon. I’m gonna have to wait, wait for this heart weaken, wait for the current to slow down, wait for the walls of this bubble of denial to fall. And I’ll strike again with all my strength. I’ll freeze this river, seal it with its own sorrow. And even if I melt away and dwell in, I’ll change it forever. I’ll drive every last perfectly transparent drop into imperfection, into translucency, into violet.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Loudest Whisper
This year was pretty damn crazy, and probably, by far the best in my life. Now that said, it’s not because I got everything I wanted, ‘coz first thing, trust me I didn’t and second, it really doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s more about what changed, and still more about why it changed.
…Too much has changed. Too many minutes have run anticlockwise, skipped seconds, and awaited hours on an incomprehensible clock. Too many things labeled ‘new’, which I would have swore never to crave or cling to, lie untainted in my secret closet. Too many places from “where I’ve been” were unknown, and are unfamiliar. Too many of verbs built up and broken, too many words fluttered half-spoken. Too many seasons shuffled themselves in a day; too many days splashed themselves in a single rain.
I defined, redefined, and re-redefined myself, and am still nowhere to be found in the dictionary. There were times when I made a conscious effort to get distracted from the empty depths of melancholy, and then beat myself up for an inadvertent arrival of an overfed shallow wave of sanguinity. I night-walked the same roads over and over again with friends, with acquaintances, and sometimes, alone. I still am uncertain of the reality behind images that I hold in my head. Do I remember them for what they were? Did I imagine them for what they were going to be? Were they in fact what they were?
There were times when I couldn’t wait to see the end, and then were those when I could have given anything to go back to the start. I made choices that I couldn’t live with, and I lived through choices that I thought I could never make. Well, I guess, that’s how it works, that’s what time does right? When you make a choice, it just inevitably makes another choice for you, the choice for you to live with your choice.
I was flying, and sometimes drowning. If you’d ask me, I’d swear to have never touched the ground until now. Shadow boxing with the curiosity of fate, I made discoveries. With long talks, in monologues, I stumbled upon creations. I probably answered the few imperative, the “may sound stupid” questions.
As I sashayed through, I read too much into some stuff, and the rest, apparently I didn’t glance at. I was, at times persuaded of being precisely where I should have been, and moments later, convinced of being lost. And the best thing, no one else knew about it. I was nowhere to be found.
The things that I missed, I found in the partial reflections on the other side of the mirrors. Only when they held something in the top left corner, something that I didn’t have in my top left corner, I was scared to look to the right. What if something was missing there too? What if everything I wanted was a mirage, a nuance of an unattainable desire, something that the person behind the mirror already possessed.
‘Coz in the end it’s like this, if you call darkness as the absence of light, it’s fair enough to define brightness as the absence of darkness. And THAT is indeed as it should be defined, ‘coz at last THAT is what we remember, the opposites of what things are, and rather what they could have been. And someday everything will be different, everything will then be remembered for what it is right now, not for what it’s going to be.
…Too much has changed. Too many minutes have run anticlockwise, skipped seconds, and awaited hours on an incomprehensible clock. Too many things labeled ‘new’, which I would have swore never to crave or cling to, lie untainted in my secret closet. Too many places from “where I’ve been” were unknown, and are unfamiliar. Too many of verbs built up and broken, too many words fluttered half-spoken. Too many seasons shuffled themselves in a day; too many days splashed themselves in a single rain.
I defined, redefined, and re-redefined myself, and am still nowhere to be found in the dictionary. There were times when I made a conscious effort to get distracted from the empty depths of melancholy, and then beat myself up for an inadvertent arrival of an overfed shallow wave of sanguinity. I night-walked the same roads over and over again with friends, with acquaintances, and sometimes, alone. I still am uncertain of the reality behind images that I hold in my head. Do I remember them for what they were? Did I imagine them for what they were going to be? Were they in fact what they were?
There were times when I couldn’t wait to see the end, and then were those when I could have given anything to go back to the start. I made choices that I couldn’t live with, and I lived through choices that I thought I could never make. Well, I guess, that’s how it works, that’s what time does right? When you make a choice, it just inevitably makes another choice for you, the choice for you to live with your choice.
I was flying, and sometimes drowning. If you’d ask me, I’d swear to have never touched the ground until now. Shadow boxing with the curiosity of fate, I made discoveries. With long talks, in monologues, I stumbled upon creations. I probably answered the few imperative, the “may sound stupid” questions.
As I sashayed through, I read too much into some stuff, and the rest, apparently I didn’t glance at. I was, at times persuaded of being precisely where I should have been, and moments later, convinced of being lost. And the best thing, no one else knew about it. I was nowhere to be found.
The things that I missed, I found in the partial reflections on the other side of the mirrors. Only when they held something in the top left corner, something that I didn’t have in my top left corner, I was scared to look to the right. What if something was missing there too? What if everything I wanted was a mirage, a nuance of an unattainable desire, something that the person behind the mirror already possessed.
‘Coz in the end it’s like this, if you call darkness as the absence of light, it’s fair enough to define brightness as the absence of darkness. And THAT is indeed as it should be defined, ‘coz at last THAT is what we remember, the opposites of what things are, and rather what they could have been. And someday everything will be different, everything will then be remembered for what it is right now, not for what it’s going to be.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
…Anything, anymore…
…And as I land my first step, as my left foot touches the very first grain of this red sand on this very ground, my mind is flooded with innumerous believable names for this place. But of course none of them stays too long. Each one fades into a more complex, and grows into a more erudite one.
There’s snow on the leafless trees, trapped within crystals of ice, but none on the ground. The sun is just over the horizon shimmering like a fireball, refusing to go down. Something real paranormal seems to be holding them off the ground; something or someone, probably that silhouette that I’ve been pretending not to have seen, since I got here. What else would explain its motion precisely symmetric and conflicting to mine, fastened hard to the sun, which sure does look like a halo behind it?
I remember being told that whoever steps in here, steps in a world of his own, invulnerable and impenetrable to anyone else from the outside. So I continue to ignore that figure, I walk on in search of what I came for. But how long did you think I could go on? It’s a glass wall, a freakishly tall glass wall, extending endlessly. As I touch it, I realize that its ice, weirdly dry and transparent leaf of ice. And after all this, the figure, the silhouette didn’t stop this time, it continued to walk on with me stuck behind the wall.
Well, what else was I to do; I locate something bulky and strong enough to consume the wall. I bolt it up against the wall, and no different than my expectation, it fractures, but holds up straight. Everything on the far side appears to be broken; it’s like looking out to the world through a shattered windscreen. But the figure holds on, and walks back to where it should have been, had it not kept moving forward. Well, the wall, it crumbles into splinters of ice, which once again do not touch the ground are blown away indefinitely by the wind. I stop to wonder if I could call it snow, but no longer could the thought keep me from noticing that everything on the far side still holds its cracks embedded. Everything, including the figure is still fractured.
The figure leans back against a grey brick wall. Does it expect me to follow? Yes, I do hesitate, I do try to betray my own instinct, seems easy for a while. There’s a war raging within me, a battle between the two longstanding rivals for prudence, my instinctive nudge and my experienced, incorrigible self. Another time, another overflow of thoughts, another overspill of feelings; does the figure see my world as fractured too? Why is it still waiting? What is it waiting for? Does it want to fix it? Do I appear broken too? Is it just me or someone else really there? And a few million more like those… I stay, I wait to wonder, and then contemplate the irony of the wonderment. Is it too late now, too late to walk, too late to talk? I feel jammed for some reason, unable to think clearly and with no desire to let go, unable to leave, and not wanting to stay.
The figure starts there, and I take my first step for the second time. I start to feel cold for the first time, but somehow manage not to care, not now! It has started to snow again. The pure white flakes touch the ground to turn red, and then melt away. This place confides in me for the first time, it beheld white sand all along, tainted by the blood of everyone who had ever been here. But I ain’t gonna bleed, not now! I brush against one of the trees in rush and find it not cracked anymore. Everyplace I go, everything I touch is not just unbroken but also tells me that even if, on any level, it’s a dream, I am not to wake up yet.
The dissonance, with a flicker, with a touch dies away to dwell into a deep silence instead. I remember having heard that inspiration always comes cloaked, and tantalizing like this, but I don’t remember being here before. This is different. I’m not looking for anything anymore, but something, I hope, is looking for me.
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Masquerade - A scene from 'Miracles'
[Don't wanna reveal names yet. Bear with me please.]
She was cold, choked in the pungent air that filled the miasma. A feeling that had silently perpetuated over the past year deep inside her subconscious was all geared up to surface any moment. She was trying too hard, too hard to shove back the mere thought of losing control. If only she could figure out the precise moment that led her there. Though she had walked down her blurred memory lane, driven through M’s glib and vivid dreams and glided up the myriad of possible futures, the present or anything tangible for that matter seemed to have left her with nothing but uncertainty.
J had caught a glimpse of this saturnine look on E’s face, the last time, right before she vanished into thin air, leaving behind a musty bubble of air.
“Don’t you think this party is a little too low profile to admire your paranormal performance of disappearing? Or going invisible… what was that again?” He said, as he sashayed up to her.
She was always annoyed by these subtle sarcastic comments that J instinctively made. But right then she could use some reconciliation. Her demeanor, by then, had grown too mercurial to pull off a consummate pretence.
“That certainly is disappearing, going invisible would cause people bump and crash into me. It’s a party, your party, remember? And anyway, nothing is further from mind as of now.” She grew defensive and stood on her toes as she spoke.
“Wearing masks as a theme doesn’t seem such a bad idea now. Does it?”
“Not bad, just stupid enough. I don’t understand why you would want to wear masks in a party. Isn’t the entire concept about celebrating, and getting to know people?”
“It indeed is. And I’ve given my guests just that, an opportunity to be themselves and get to know people as they are, not as they would have been. By making them secure of their identities, I’ve given them a chance to leave behind their mundane expectations and apprehensions.”
“That’s not true….”
“…Not everyone can read minds, remember?” J interrupted.
“I wonder if a mask would have taken my mind off M’s untimed visits.”
“I’m sure, you’ll grow habitual. After all, it’s a perpetual masquerade, you see, the kind where everyone is the architect of his own disguise and even the genius of his own malaise. It’s Life.”
[I'm gonna leave you at that.]
She was cold, choked in the pungent air that filled the miasma. A feeling that had silently perpetuated over the past year deep inside her subconscious was all geared up to surface any moment. She was trying too hard, too hard to shove back the mere thought of losing control. If only she could figure out the precise moment that led her there. Though she had walked down her blurred memory lane, driven through M’s glib and vivid dreams and glided up the myriad of possible futures, the present or anything tangible for that matter seemed to have left her with nothing but uncertainty.
J had caught a glimpse of this saturnine look on E’s face, the last time, right before she vanished into thin air, leaving behind a musty bubble of air.
“Don’t you think this party is a little too low profile to admire your paranormal performance of disappearing? Or going invisible… what was that again?” He said, as he sashayed up to her.
She was always annoyed by these subtle sarcastic comments that J instinctively made. But right then she could use some reconciliation. Her demeanor, by then, had grown too mercurial to pull off a consummate pretence.
“That certainly is disappearing, going invisible would cause people bump and crash into me. It’s a party, your party, remember? And anyway, nothing is further from mind as of now.” She grew defensive and stood on her toes as she spoke.
“Wearing masks as a theme doesn’t seem such a bad idea now. Does it?”
“Not bad, just stupid enough. I don’t understand why you would want to wear masks in a party. Isn’t the entire concept about celebrating, and getting to know people?”
“It indeed is. And I’ve given my guests just that, an opportunity to be themselves and get to know people as they are, not as they would have been. By making them secure of their identities, I’ve given them a chance to leave behind their mundane expectations and apprehensions.”
“That’s not true….”
“…Not everyone can read minds, remember?” J interrupted.
“I wonder if a mask would have taken my mind off M’s untimed visits.”
“I’m sure, you’ll grow habitual. After all, it’s a perpetual masquerade, you see, the kind where everyone is the architect of his own disguise and even the genius of his own malaise. It’s Life.”
[I'm gonna leave you at that.]
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Drops of Coincidence
Call me crazy, should you now for I am here, and I don’t know how.
Two drops of water, not too far away
chimed through the rocks, got stuck in the way.
Two 'strangers' slipped on the damn 'nuisance'
And for all they knew, this was just a coincidence.
Talk, they could for they had a lot to laugh at.
But then, they thought, “Where’s the fun in that?”
Like glaciers, they could melt away, leave behind this moraine
And they did try, it’s just that they slipped again.
Call us crazy, should they now.
For we are here, and we know just how.
Friday, October 29, 2010
The Face of True Emotion
It was a face, a face of the feeling, an emotion that exudes from the rest of the body in slow motion, deceptive as a hologram, and convincing as an incorrigible fact. The face was placid as the whites in rebellious piece of art, but evasive as the skipped words of a love song. Defied, denied, thrown away and then picked up. Caressed, embraced, and with a mask then covered up.
There was an unidentified, unfamiliar, exceptionally rare power, a magic abiding beneath the mask. The mystery, an insatiable black hole as it seemed, collided with the brightest comet. Another face, the one sure of itself went right through the mask, crashed into the face, and with a flicker in the top left corner of its left eye pulled the eyelids closed.
As the eyes opened, the mask disappeared. It’s envied, the face of emotion, that particular deceptive, convincing one. What has remained is the power, the now identified, familiar, still rare power, the magical face, the face of true emotion, the face of true feeling.
There was an unidentified, unfamiliar, exceptionally rare power, a magic abiding beneath the mask. The mystery, an insatiable black hole as it seemed, collided with the brightest comet. Another face, the one sure of itself went right through the mask, crashed into the face, and with a flicker in the top left corner of its left eye pulled the eyelids closed.
As the eyes opened, the mask disappeared. It’s envied, the face of emotion, that particular deceptive, convincing one. What has remained is the power, the now identified, familiar, still rare power, the magical face, the face of true emotion, the face of true feeling.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Her second 'first encounter' with confusion : A scene from 'Miracles'
As the day broke, she imitated the smile effortlessly as her dream wryly smiled at her memory. The memory that had conceived the dream last night, and had rolled the ball too far to return, was not ever to fade away. Her mind, the cradle for both, the dream and the memory, was in fact a little too preoccupied to be called awake or even to fall back asleep.
Not just preoccupied. Entangled, as a matter of fact, in a wreath of thoughts and feelings. Thoughts, that were transparent, some invisible and others impenetrable. Feelings, that were vivid, some incomprehensible and others inexplicable.
Her ears could still hear a melody, a euphony rather, having more words than music. Like the shell that carries along with it the sound of ocean, the air had held on to their words. Everything in that room ricocheted one or two words towards every other thing. Everything fell in place, in time, in order. She could virtually touch the dominoes falling around her to complete the mosaic, her life.
The thought scared her a little. A world beyond her own but she was there, a momentary stay where she never wanted to be, and an unforgettable memory that was once forgotten tantalized her. She had been unknowingly dwelling on the things, that she was convinced could never be.
Leaving would be easy, but then she never had a knack for the easy things. Staying would be just as hard, but would it be worth the effort? It was her first encounter with what others recognize as ‘confusion’, for the second time.
Not just preoccupied. Entangled, as a matter of fact, in a wreath of thoughts and feelings. Thoughts, that were transparent, some invisible and others impenetrable. Feelings, that were vivid, some incomprehensible and others inexplicable.
Her ears could still hear a melody, a euphony rather, having more words than music. Like the shell that carries along with it the sound of ocean, the air had held on to their words. Everything in that room ricocheted one or two words towards every other thing. Everything fell in place, in time, in order. She could virtually touch the dominoes falling around her to complete the mosaic, her life.
The thought scared her a little. A world beyond her own but she was there, a momentary stay where she never wanted to be, and an unforgettable memory that was once forgotten tantalized her. She had been unknowingly dwelling on the things, that she was convinced could never be.
Leaving would be easy, but then she never had a knack for the easy things. Staying would be just as hard, but would it be worth the effort? It was her first encounter with what others recognize as ‘confusion’, for the second time.
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