Dedicated to: ..shuvro; who never read my posts!! :(
"I wonder whether he sat down on his knees.."
"Oh yes! He did", Jiah chuckled, "He was always like that. You wouldn't believe it, ..there were so many people at the Railway Station that day; ..and they all looked at us! It was so embarrasing!"
"What happenned next?"
"Oh nothing! I told him to be a proper fellow instead and to get me a ticket, my train was getting late." She paused. "And then I told him to cross the main roads properly while he would get back home, ..he was in a daze, ..you'll never believe it, all his chivalry vanished", Jiah chuckled again, "He nodded like a child!"
"And did you never feel bad about turning him down?"
Jiah blew a ring of smoke. "I never turned him down. I asked him to get back home properly. I never say a 'no'. It hurts people." She paused again. "And now I wonder, whether he at all knew that I smoked", she smiled, "But I remember having cried that night."
"Why?"
"You and your silly questions", she said, almost in a scolding tone, "Imagine what he would have gone through!"
"You didn't love him Jiah, did you?"
"Not at all! But how could that stop me from being a human and feeling for another? ..I never saw him again. Hope he is all right."
That was Jiah.
We had met two years ago. She had mailed me once regarding a few paragraphs of one of my short stories that had got published in a daily. And since then, she have gradually grown into a very close friend of me and my wife.
She was always there to help you out of an emotional trouble, to offer you a support whenever you needed it. ..To listen to your problems.
But she was terribly messy with her personal life. She lived alone. But almost always was attending to a thousand peoples' problems. She knew when the milkman's son would be needing money to buy his school books, she knew which girl had had a break up and how the situation could be handled, she even knew when the neighbours' cat was expecting.
My wife would laugh at the fact whenever I told her that Jiah needed to improve her lifestyle.
"Why don't you men leave us as we are?", she would laugh and remark, "You'll never understand why we are the persons we are!"
She'ld always validate Jiah's point.
True.
Who were men to understand women?
Even trying to solve Goldbach's conjecture was easier..
Maybe, women like Jiah had no anchor in their lives, ..they floated on! It was as if they preffered remaining unhooked by a commitment.
"Why don't you marry?", I'ld ask her.
"Marry whom? You?", she'ld casually remark with a wink.
"Well, ..there are so many men waiting out there for you!"
"They need a wife", she would reply, "Not me!"
"Don't you feel lonely?", I would ask.
"Oh, you see, I've so many things to do", she would jumble up her words.
And then she would suddenly grow silent and would cry...
During her solitary hours, she would sit down and dream. Her eyes would be carrying a vague, distant expression, ..signifying as if they looked at a place far from the cries of this ailing world.
She painted beautifully.
And I'd also seen her write short lyrical poems of one or two lines, in her personal diary, ..which she never showed to anybody.
When I had once asked her whether she had ever fallen in love, she looked at me and smiled.
"Well, I would have told a lie straightaway, ..but as this is you who's asking me, I'ld preffer to remain silent."
And that was Jiah.
She even slept with men.
People who knew this, called her a prostitute. But she always shrugged her shoulders. It was as if, somehow, she knew what she was doing and why!
You just had to go and ask her. You just had to tell her that you needed her for a night; ..that you needed a companion to cry to and to share your pains with.
First she would hit you back. Next she would avoid. Then she would try her best to make you understand and see reason. And finally, when you've got her convinced, she had no way out.
"I don't think you do this for personal pleasure?", I would ask.
"Oh yes. Absolutely. How can you stand seeing a person in pain? And that too because of yourself?
I am happy. And I am happy about the fact that I make others happy.
There's no rulebook to follow when you live your life, is there any?", she would sarcastically remark.
And thus she moulded herself to minimize a thousand peoples' pains; ..she gave away her lunch to a beggar, ..she carried grandma's basket to her doorstep, ..she managed to refuse a hundred marriage proposals with a sweet smile and without saying a 'no', ..she gave away her body to a hundred alcoholic men...
And thus, she was nobody.
A non-existent entity, ..lacking any defined shape; the spontaneous flow of Life, lacking any perticular direction.
But she was also the ocean to which all the rivers in this world emptied themselves; ..blue-green waters. That sucked you in and drowned you if you dared to fathom its depth.
I had slept with her, too, once!
I was heavily drunk. And was perticularly tense owing to a personal problem. My wife was out of station. And I went to her apartment to speak out my pains, ..I needed somebody who would simply listen to me.
And I never knew when I had broken down crying.
And she took me in.
I cried. At her lap.
She nursed me, all night. Without even asking what had happenned. As if, at her depths, she knew exactly what was disturbing me. And make no mistake, I saw tears in her eyes too. She was just pained to see a human being crying so helplessly!
And I never knew when I'd got physical!
The next morning, when I apologised heavily, ..she smiled and cut down my embarrasement by saying that it was all a dream that I had dreamt.
That evening, she visited my house to dine with us. She chatted the whole evening with my wife in the kitchen. And completely ignored me, due to some odd reason.
"See!", my wife would jokingly remark, when I would try and talk to Jiah, -- and she would grow irritated at that, -- "How you men disturbed us when we would care to spend time together!"
"Absolutely!", Jiah would chuckle, "All of them are so disturbing", ..without even caring to look at me!
And when I would grow frustrated at her floaty lifestyle, as she was one of my closest pals for whom I cared so much, she would cuttingly reply, "Stop penetrating at my private affairs. That hurts." And her eyes would suddenly moisten up, and she would grow all quiet.
And then suddenly, after a brief pause, she would laugh and say something like, "Actually, to tell you the truth, ..I am quite callous and brittle; ..and I am confused and indecisive too; ..in most of the cases I don't know what to do! And think about those good men whom I have brutally refused all my life...", she would gurgle up laughing..
...But never did I fail to see a shimmering teardrop, at a corner of her eye, when she ever did laugh out like that!
And thus, the list of her negatives went endless...
She knew each of them.
And what would strike me was whether this simple and apparently brittle girl knew her positives!
..that she was a perfect friend, a fantastic listener, a great nurse; ..a girl who was so blessed with such deep understanding of the human nature and its pitfalls...
..somebody whom everyone around her loved; ..a woman whom some of the most dissatisfied men in this world hated!
..the Giver,
..of Satisfaction and Happiness to a thousand Seekers,
..that she was Venus,
..the Eternal Symbol of Love, Beauty and Wisdom,
..of Tolerance and compassion;
..of The Feminine;
..that she was the eternal symbol of The Mystery.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Memories last forever
In this journey of life ...you meet with so many people...some stay with you forever ...some you leave behind...some disappears suddenly......but all these people make you truly what you are.But as they say memories last forever......
When I was a kid, I had for company all the books I could possibly read then...my dreams...my superheroes....And oneday I met with this skinny girl .....she had boy's cut hair with specs ..and looked just like me...scared...She was our neighbour sort of...her maternal Grandma lived besides our apartment.Though she was 1year junior to me ,we stuck up this unusual friendship....we both of the same kind chose to visit each other's Neverland together.
I still remember they had this huge mango tree in their garden and we used to climb up that tree to show heroism to others.Everyday we used to play together.....and eventually our mothers had to literally drag us back to home....
The best thing we liked in our make a believe plays was that of Dark room- it was this abbreviated version of Haunted houses.And this was somewhere we would be best at.All we used to do act as if it was this stormy night and we two,along with her baby brother went to take shelter in a house,which would eventually turn up into a haunted house....We would be sleeping and then there would be disturbances...Ghosts would chase us...one of us (usually the baby brother would be the bali ka bakhra) would come under the spell of spirits and turn one of them...and we bravehearts would finally save him and us.This paly was so realistic that one night while playing this we really thought that there was someone in the room!!
We would be culturally inclined too and we had arranged successfully twice a Rabindrajayanti programme in our respective home.We did two plays of "Hassya koutuk"of Rabi Thakur "Chatrer pariksha " and the other's name I've forgotten but it was about stealing of eggs.we even made two little boys dance to rabindrasangeet(it wasn't Rabindra nrittya by any chance)
So we had this beautiful childhood together but somehow after I passed out from school I lost touch with her.All I knew about her that she was studying in Shikshayatan college.But a few days back,a local friend of mine told me that my first friend's life has been destroyed by a motor accident in Bangalore...she went there for reviving her life's aspirations...but it was shattered by a man made machine......she's no more now..................all that remains is the ugliness of her death...the opain ,the tears and some memories..................I wish like we played in the Darkroom game,I knew some magic to shatter the spell that has separated her from our world......
Her name was Dorothy Bhattacharya ,my first ever friend ,forever and eternity........................
When I was a kid, I had for company all the books I could possibly read then...my dreams...my superheroes....And oneday I met with this skinny girl .....she had boy's cut hair with specs ..and looked just like me...scared...She was our neighbour sort of...her maternal Grandma lived besides our apartment.Though she was 1year junior to me ,we stuck up this unusual friendship....we both of the same kind chose to visit each other's Neverland together.
I still remember they had this huge mango tree in their garden and we used to climb up that tree to show heroism to others.Everyday we used to play together.....and eventually our mothers had to literally drag us back to home....
The best thing we liked in our make a believe plays was that of Dark room- it was this abbreviated version of Haunted houses.And this was somewhere we would be best at.All we used to do act as if it was this stormy night and we two,along with her baby brother went to take shelter in a house,which would eventually turn up into a haunted house....We would be sleeping and then there would be disturbances...Ghosts would chase us...one of us (usually the baby brother would be the bali ka bakhra) would come under the spell of spirits and turn one of them...and we bravehearts would finally save him and us.This paly was so realistic that one night while playing this we really thought that there was someone in the room!!
We would be culturally inclined too and we had arranged successfully twice a Rabindrajayanti programme in our respective home.We did two plays of "Hassya koutuk"of Rabi Thakur "Chatrer pariksha " and the other's name I've forgotten but it was about stealing of eggs.we even made two little boys dance to rabindrasangeet(it wasn't Rabindra nrittya by any chance)
So we had this beautiful childhood together but somehow after I passed out from school I lost touch with her.All I knew about her that she was studying in Shikshayatan college.But a few days back,a local friend of mine told me that my first friend's life has been destroyed by a motor accident in Bangalore...she went there for reviving her life's aspirations...but it was shattered by a man made machine......she's no more now..................all that remains is the ugliness of her death...the opain ,the tears and some memories..................I wish like we played in the Darkroom game,I knew some magic to shatter the spell that has separated her from our world......
Her name was Dorothy Bhattacharya ,my first ever friend ,forever and eternity........................
Coffee talk
A group of alumni,highly established in their careers,got together to visit their old University Professor.
The conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work and life........
Offering his guests coffee,the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups-porcelain,plastic,glass,crystal,some plain looking,some expensive,some exquisite -telling them to help themselves to hot coffee.
Offering his guests coffee,the professor went to the kitchen and returned with a large pot of coffee and an assortment of cups-porcelain,plastic,glass,crystal,some plain looking,some expensive,some exquisite -telling them to help themselves to hot coffee.
When all the students had a cup of coffe in their hand ,the professor said:"If you noticed ,all the nice looking ,expensive cups were taken up ,leaving behind the plain and cheap ones.It is but normal for you to want only the best for yourselves,that is the source of your problems and stress.What all you really wanted was the coffeee,not the cup,but you consciously went for the best cupsand were eying each other's cups.
Now if life is coffeeand the jobs,money and position in society are the cups.They are just tools to hold life ,but the quality of life doesn't change.Sometimes,by concentrating only on the cup ,we fail to enjoy the coffee in it.So don't let the cups drive you.....enjoy the coffee instead....."
Removing Myself
I'm very sorry to declare that, I'm removing myself from SFTH...as I don't wanna be a part of this blog anymore.... I'm really running short of time for blogging these days... & I don't wanna be a passive member.....but I won't stop giving comments...
Sorry to Vivek & Subhro....
Sorry to Vivek & Subhro....
Monday, February 26, 2007
I am My Happiness
Unfortunately, one of the biggest relationship mistakes also happens to be one of the most tempting things to do if you are in a relationship: Making your partner responsible for your happiness and blaming him or her when you are not!
It is a little scary to listen to many of the most popular songs on the radio. So often, the message is: You make me happy; I’d be lost without you; you are my world, or other, similar types of messages which take away all the power and responsibility to make yourself happy and put it on someone else. Wow! If you think about it, that’s an enormous amount of pressure to put on another person. It’s like saying, I can’t always be happy myself, but if you're going to be with me, you’d better make me happy!
On the surface, this concept seems rather obvious, but how many of us really do take full responsibility for our own happiness? How often do we say to ourselves, ‘Why can’t my wife be different?’ or ‘It makes me so mad when my husband acts that way’, or ‘I’m stressed because my husband works too many hours’. When you examine these (and thousands of other) very common statements and thoughts, it becomes clear that they suggest, however subtly, that somehow, someone other than you is responsible for your happiness. The thinking is like this: If only he (or she) were different, I’d be happy. They have to change. Not me, no way. It’s them! We’ve found that if you believe that the answer to your unhappiness lies in someone else’s hand, you’re in for trouble. Even if they manage to accommodate you with occasional changes, you’ll come to rely on these changes for your continued happiness. Eventually, you’ll be let down and will be discouraged. You’ll be left with that helpless and dependent ‘It’s his/her fault’ feeling.
It is a little scary to listen to many of the most popular songs on the radio. So often, the message is: You make me happy; I’d be lost without you; you are my world, or other, similar types of messages which take away all the power and responsibility to make yourself happy and put it on someone else. Wow! If you think about it, that’s an enormous amount of pressure to put on another person. It’s like saying, I can’t always be happy myself, but if you're going to be with me, you’d better make me happy!
On the surface, this concept seems rather obvious, but how many of us really do take full responsibility for our own happiness? How often do we say to ourselves, ‘Why can’t my wife be different?’ or ‘It makes me so mad when my husband acts that way’, or ‘I’m stressed because my husband works too many hours’. When you examine these (and thousands of other) very common statements and thoughts, it becomes clear that they suggest, however subtly, that somehow, someone other than you is responsible for your happiness. The thinking is like this: If only he (or she) were different, I’d be happy. They have to change. Not me, no way. It’s them! We’ve found that if you believe that the answer to your unhappiness lies in someone else’s hand, you’re in for trouble. Even if they manage to accommodate you with occasional changes, you’ll come to rely on these changes for your continued happiness. Eventually, you’ll be let down and will be discouraged. You’ll be left with that helpless and dependent ‘It’s his/her fault’ feeling.
Source: The Times of India
Date: Sunday, 25th March
Friday, January 05, 2007
Parole
Every time I insinuate your head from my shoulder,
I quiver.
Parts of me juddered to a halt.
And almost immediately, I resent the insinuation.
In your lambency, I coerce my eyes to drown themselves
In the tempests of people
Far from your eyes,
Which I will not see for a few moments from now.
I filthily institutionalize my love,
That namelessly arose nascent
And slid secretly into a void in me.
When you and I can love without a care,
I will even marry you.
I will smother your hair with love.
Afternoons and evenings will never malinger.
There will be things to do.
I will never need to lie.
You’d never need to pucker your face.
I will even kiss you,
Even think of making love to you.
And on the trail of fluid fast,
In an iridescent, unbearably light tear,
We will paint auroras and cycloramas,
And daub our paper hearts with flimsy crayons.
Let’s go there, you and I…
I quiver.
Parts of me juddered to a halt.
And almost immediately, I resent the insinuation.
In your lambency, I coerce my eyes to drown themselves
In the tempests of people
Far from your eyes,
Which I will not see for a few moments from now.
I filthily institutionalize my love,
That namelessly arose nascent
And slid secretly into a void in me.
It is as if
I am growing a plant of love on you.
You would take care of it, yourself;
The blood, bones and light, you’d give these all.
And yet, I believe,
As if my entirety was growing on you,
I tend it in ways that I believe will help it grow.
And when people come by,
I drape it with an opaque cloth.
I’d be scared;
What will they make of the light?
When you and I can love without a care,
I will even marry you.
I will smother your hair with love.
Afternoons and evenings will never malinger.
There will be things to do.
I will never need to lie.
You’d never need to pucker your face.
I will even kiss you,
Even think of making love to you.
And on the trail of fluid fast,
In an iridescent, unbearably light tear,
We will paint auroras and cycloramas,
And daub our paper hearts with flimsy crayons.
Let’s go there, you and I…
Monday, December 25, 2006
Monday, December 18, 2006
ILLUSION???
Once
On a evening
Indolence hold my hand
And took me
To a dark land….
It asked me to believe;
And I saw
Flowers in a dozen…
In my mind
All of a sudden…
And
I started my journey…
Leaving my root…
Behind…
So free
From mind…
But not blind…
With trust
In my heart…
With chances
Of getting hurt…
I……
Saw a spin on path
Lights gone…
Lighter…
Closed my eyes…
No roses were there
Only another twist
On the path…
I……
Left my desires
Only dreams came
With me…
On desert…
On lonely path…
In search of light……
The search did seem
Meaningless…
Suddenly…
With a fragrance
I found a pathway
With a new beam of ray…
You….
Were standing there
With stretched arms
Full of warmth…
As if you crave
All my pain
On you like rain…
That moment…
Mesmerized my thought…
When I felt no hurt…
And found my head
Resting…
On your shoulder…
So happy
Felt like dying
I couldn’t…
But crying…
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Host is a ghost
Ok guys, I'm not telling a Horror story...but this thing that I'm going to tell you is ultimately lead ro a Horror story and I know that very well.
Well we the 3rd year Psychology hons student of Gokhale college are going to do a seminar on the"Methods of Abnormal Psychology" and my dear friends wanted me to have a taste of the "bamboo" and they have chosen me as the host for the whole thing.Now my friends those of you who know me very well knows that , I've got a very bad habit of laughing all the time,as I'm in any "Great Indian laughter Challenge" ,with the most awkward bodylanguage one can have!And of all the people me being chosen as the Host is nothing but a sign that the show is either going to turn into a circus or a Laughing club!
I requested my friends so very much but they are such a "dhabba"in the name of friendship that they are unwilling!So there's not much option for the Host,but to turn into a Ghost on that day!Aye!If I find anyone just smiling at me,do you know what will happen?I would burst into a bout of laughter madness and everything would be worse than the messes made by Uncle Podger!
Oh I do hope that Mamata di saves me on that day and call for another Bandh or else .............My last rite is all that will be left!Oh do pray for me!
Well we the 3rd year Psychology hons student of Gokhale college are going to do a seminar on the"Methods of Abnormal Psychology" and my dear friends wanted me to have a taste of the "bamboo" and they have chosen me as the host for the whole thing.Now my friends those of you who know me very well knows that , I've got a very bad habit of laughing all the time,as I'm in any "Great Indian laughter Challenge" ,with the most awkward bodylanguage one can have!And of all the people me being chosen as the Host is nothing but a sign that the show is either going to turn into a circus or a Laughing club!
I requested my friends so very much but they are such a "dhabba"in the name of friendship that they are unwilling!So there's not much option for the Host,but to turn into a Ghost on that day!Aye!If I find anyone just smiling at me,do you know what will happen?I would burst into a bout of laughter madness and everything would be worse than the messes made by Uncle Podger!
Oh I do hope that Mamata di saves me on that day and call for another Bandh or else .............My last rite is all that will be left!Oh do pray for me!
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Surrogate Mother
Come dusk,
I slither out, bloody and new,
From ruptured umbilical cords,
Thrust out of vaginal walls.
By chance,
My infantile senses
Are intact and enthused.
Naked, I am fed
With shapes, smells, sounds, swarms and sensations
From the juvenile night’s bosom.
And every sense grows
Into a child’s sense.
Prowling into the night,
My meandering feet and childish fingers
Feel the bodies
Of fellow creatures of the night;
Other moonlit children.
I search each eye,
Each body
For a similar mark.
Flaccid, I stumbled into loneliness.
Shards of pain appear in my pubis
Curled, blackened and clustered.
Char my face, in pencil mats
Muffle my voice, low as night’s humdrums.
My masculine senses
Heave windows open.
Naked bodies sway
To the song of the night,
Emanating new shapes, new smells,
New sounds, new swarms and new sensations,
A strange new dusk spawns
Inside a warm bowl.
The possibilities in a strange new dusk
Smiled on my naked body,
And upon my genitals.
Ungarbed, I quivered in the cold.
I need a bosom
And a shield of hair.
Sexually excited, I masturbate
Into a stranger’s bowl.
I masturbate.
As I unfold myself,
I shrink.
Every span of skin
Forbears growth.
Every breath coalesces.
Every tress of hair
Sprawls a tiny sheath.
I coagulate into a new, cold sperm.
Quivering in the cold,
I swim up
To a stranger’s egg
Waiting to divest myself off my senses.
By
I ripple into a stranger’s womb.
In the day,
I float in saps,
Inchoate and unmade.
My body sprawls itself
Into an unrestricted expanse
And I grow without a center.
My fetal heart feeds
On strangers’ day dreams.
I collect the waves of myself
And prime them into an infant
With new skin.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Friday, December 01, 2006
Walking on the dark Side of moon
"Breathe ..
Breathe in the air"
The air is thin in my moon
Its hard to breathe..
A long day of lost paradise
I live amongst you
I die in the absence of moon.
So , I keep walking on the dark side of moon..
There is more to me than you see
A eclipse of thoughts echoes through dusk
Anonymous glow beneath my eyes
A surprise gone wrong
May be , there was more to it
Than you and me walking ..
There was more to it ..
The noon may not speak anymore
But the midnight will surely do its part
Midnight moon shines on you ..
"Shine on you crazy Diamonds
Now there's a look in your eyes , like black holes in the sky"
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
~BACK TO MOON~
Clouds
In the sky…
Floating
Mind…
A river
Flowing…
Or,
Flying high!!!
Unworthy
Oh you!
Says brain,
See life…
Stop
Taking pain…
Heart laughs,
“I……
Have seen pain…
Still
I laugh…
I get wet…
In rain…”
Brain laughs,
“You…
Are here
To live…
Not to shed
Bloody tear…”
Clouds
Black…
Hides sun…
It says,
“Don’t cry…
I will
Come back…”
Life
Mortal…
Possessions
Material…
What we feel
So unreal…
It is real
It’s night…
When
We dream…
We desire…
We…
Close eyes
Pain dies???
We search
Eldorado…
A journey
Never ending…
Destination
Seems pseudo…
World
A stage…
Clowns
Are we…
So free
But
Inside a cage
Distorted…
Colorless…
It’s death?
Oh you
Don’t die…
Close
Your eyes…
Fly…
There is
A sky…
Afternoon Sun…
On it’s high…
Look at it
And
Close your eye
Inside you…
See the moon
Even
In afternoon…
Duality - A reality!!!
It's easy to forget failure but not hurt
and between happiness and pain, does life oscillate
i's shot when i was at my sincere best
when i wanted the freedom back i myself lost
i was wrong that i did expect
as i wanted to rediscover my space, at the most
naive was i, i have to admit
then the warmth i had felt was an illusion but
Thank god!!it's not bout hate but hurt
and the prayers and secret promises guarded a lot
else everything the blazing fire would have burnt
reducing me into ashes and everything that's a part
Luckily what does not change is past,a cold dry fact
but the river full of iife,it could not obstruct
Now that everything i have blurted out
i ve to complete it else ll be called an opportunist
never had i ever thought
hurt can also lead to fulfilment
for what lovely is a heart without any hurt
and what beautiful is a moon without the blackspot
if this little hurt can make my dead words live
and make me more compassionate and live
i would undergo many like this
and more eagerly thinking of this as bliss
but it's easy to forget failure but not hurt
and between happiness and pain, does life oscillate
and between happiness and pain, does life oscillate
i's shot when i was at my sincere best
when i wanted the freedom back i myself lost
i was wrong that i did expect
as i wanted to rediscover my space, at the most
naive was i, i have to admit
then the warmth i had felt was an illusion but
Thank god!!it's not bout hate but hurt
and the prayers and secret promises guarded a lot
else everything the blazing fire would have burnt
reducing me into ashes and everything that's a part
Luckily what does not change is past,a cold dry fact
but the river full of iife,it could not obstruct
Now that everything i have blurted out
i ve to complete it else ll be called an opportunist
never had i ever thought
hurt can also lead to fulfilment
for what lovely is a heart without any hurt
and what beautiful is a moon without the blackspot
if this little hurt can make my dead words live
and make me more compassionate and live
i would undergo many like this
and more eagerly thinking of this as bliss
but it's easy to forget failure but not hurt
and between happiness and pain, does life oscillate
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Wine
Love or no love, my wedding with words is falling apart. And I fear that I have no courage to envisage such bereavement. But it is not as I wish. Eloquence takes its toll and pain drones on stinging me; it pains to salvage the cost I must pay. I’m merely afraid, afraid that my eloquence will dissolve. Perhaps I am not even maimed. I have never been beaten up. And as I write, I constantly reassure myself that there is nothing to be proved, no judgement to be respected.
I took to a long drive. Photography. Music. Arts. Women. Coffee. Cynicism. Emptiness. Blood. The fear still swivels around the winding annals of my mind. Nothing, nothing in 19 years has swiveled away that fear which grips my mind. I used to measure men with eloquence, and now as I indulge in this orgy of repetition of cumbersome spoonfuls of language, I wonder if I can stop this unlearning, this gradual evaporation, and take to a pseudo intellectual status. I wanted life anew, knowledge slit open and rendered impotent, in a rage for orgasmic freshness. And now I can no longer bear to stay adrift from my haven of words. With seared skin, empty eyes, a loveless beard and bone dry hair, I crave for a revitalizer.
How could I not be in love, now that I have fallen in love with the need to be in love? How could I unlearn words and measure familiar terrains with coffee heaps which I swore never to use?
A I read this piece to myself, I savour less and less of the emanating pain, less of the depth and the eloquence in those vials of chided volatility. I even smile at some lines. None of the exquisiteness and beauty seems to matter. Words aren’t life.
Through curtained windows, I see the child I love engrossed in play. There are days I wake up to see his face. And now, as he wipes sweat away, I laugh a happy laugh. A happy laugh of abandon. I move down to the playground, to watch him from proximity. He waves at me and I smile a smile of love. I pretend to be entangled in a book, a book that I said I love and wouldn’t mind rereading, throwing smiles, parts of which will be visible well outside the book’s geometrical life. Antithetically, I hope to ensnare; I came enchanted. Oh, how I laugh! I haven’t yet learned to love in the open. Watch the child who silhouettes my own childhood in a way not very far from how it should be done. I seem to be certain about many things when I’m around with the child. I seem to know the one way in which my childhood could be silhouetted. The one child I could ever love. A woman who claims to love me calls and I don’t attend the call. I can not slit open this moment of trance. She calls up over and over again. I switch off my mobile phone. I seem to be certain about love. Certain that she doesn’t love me, for I could certainly not love her. I must prepare an excuse to give her, for I lust her. And I don’t wish to go hunting. She fell into my cave, charmed by the little eloquence that I could conjure, and from the very beginning, I have been honest. At least in patches which matter.
Or perhaps it is just that I am more eloquent than he is, generally, or with the passing of those few years that would take him to my own horizons. “Child” I call him. Perhaps it is just those few years in vacuum that I love. Those few years, which will now elapse, along with my own years. Side by side. I will live two lives.
I take him to the nearby restaurant and he doesn’t demur. I sit far away from him, asking him to make the orders, sending him of to the waiter and everything else that would create a crevice of distance. A proximal distance, from which I can watch him and live him. Once I took him to a beach and I scribbled on the sands, quite legibly, to the lady I love and the one who claims that she could never love me, one and the same, “Wish you were here”. She loves Floyd. I had him take a photo of it so I could email her that. He probably suppressed surprise and asked me for who the photo was written. I told him what I thought, without channeling my thoughts to the maze of roads my mind is. Mindlessly, I said what I thought. Perhaps it was what I felt about the woman.
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