Thursday, April 28, 2005

Surreal and ephemeral

The sky was painted with shades of crimson and tangerine, indicative of a twilight that was fast approaching and threatening to engulf the shore with darkness. Quite oblivious to this stunning sunset were two shadows sitting in their deck. The last gasps of sunlight defining their presence as the only witnesses to the play of the rays and clouds. The rays seemed to soften the clouds and the horizon, the twilight colors muted and subdued in awe of the larger than life personas of the two shadows. Her head lay on his shoulder and perfectly fitted the gully between his head and shoulder and his head on top of hers. Like two pieces of jigsaw puzzles they perfectly fit each other. They held each other close lest the sea breeze occupies the space between their physical beings and forms a rift of separation.

Through troubled times, they would shoulder each other. Each giving thousand words of courage for every word spoken and another thousand words for those they did not. His face, wrinkled, each wrinkle a testimonial to the trials and tribulations at the hands of a harsh and unrelenting society. His face showing the pain of hiding his troubles from her. But often, to show that love shores up the fraility of the being and self, he would drop the facade of courage only between themselves. Emphasizing his vulnerability to the outside world but taking courage from her physical and emotional presence. No words yet spoken.

Their hands held together, fingers entwined, like a ball of wool, they formed an intricate pattern, its beginning at the root of their heart. Each gentle and responsive to touch, always on the verge of engulfing each other in flames of passion, yet never held tightly that would make them conscious of it. It would be hard to tell for the dispassionate that the shadows had any beginning or end. The air around them froze, keeping their distance, not wanting to intrude their presence.

He was looking out into the horizon. His gaze unfocussed, his mind not taking in anything other than the her presence beside him. He didnt have to look at her to know that her attention was focussed on him. She reached out to him. Her hand drawing an imaginary crease along the sides of his face, fingers taking the path of his features. Her forefinger coming to rest beneath his chin and the thumb on the chin, urging him to look up. He was resisting her silent request not wanting to move a muscle lest it shall alter the alignment of the cosmos and destroy the tender moment hanging in the balance.

But, he slowly gave in and did something that he would regret for a long time to come; he looked up and realized that she had no face.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Whaaaaaaaat....

I open my dreary eyes, each eyelid weighs a ton, every miniscule muscle strains, such rebels these tiny muscles are, thinking they could rise against the all conquering mind. They are crushed with the brute force of the mind, rather they are lifted; slowly the eyes take in the vista. Blurred in the beginning, the focus goes wild, slowly the eye tweaks its focusing mechanism, the vista before me comes into focus. Im inside a room a small 8 feet X 8 feet room. A section of the room is partitioned from my view by a glass sliding door. The room itself is hardly inviting to my presence inside it. The ventilator fans, above my head whirrs in protest against my presence, the fan blades provides the only source of sonority inside the room.

With measured steps like an underwater diver walking on the seabed, I come face to face with the sliding doors. Its actually glass but Im unable to see my reflection in it. Now it seems that my hands are tied to the sides of my legs. This is proving to be a physically draining activity so far inside this room. I was weak when I found myself inside the room, I wasnt sure of the time, but atleast half a day would have passed without any nourishment. The strain on the body and mind was showing. My fingers grip the doors handle, in an instant my body and the muscles convulse to the feel of cold metal against raw skin. With every ounce of energy I pull the sliding doors to the right. First it doesnt budge, then with a concentrated effort, I channelise my energy and pull the door to the right.

My senses are assaulted, too much information to assimilate in the alien area so far and the partitioned area makes the mind take in more information. The color is dull and uninviting, the is a distinct smell though not given to any particular odor. Yellow tiles, criscrossed with cream tiles on three sides, the fourth being the sliding doors. The shape of the tiles and the smell reminds me of a hospital, a morgue both of which is hardly endearing at the moment.

I look inside to my right and the wall in front of me. Nothing distinctive to capture my attention so far and nothing threatening or intimidating. Slowly I turn to my left, I suck in my lungs instinctively and unwillingly Im forced take in the smell of the room, my senses are frozen. I forget to exhale and with my mouth agape, stare at the alien being jutting out of the wall on my left and high above my head. It appears to have one eye in its circular gray cranium. The most shocking thing was yet to come, around the singular eye, there seemed to be tens of small pores. Their function, was yet unknown but there were far too many to be misinterpreted as a mouth or nostrils. Waiting, with my breath held against a screaming pair of lungs that yearns my mind to give the command to exhale, I expect the alien being to make the first move.

After what seems to be aeons of microseconds, it is true when they say sometimes the smallest time period seems to be the longest, knowing that the alien being is not going to make the first move, I step into the room. Not one moment did I take my eyes off the dormant being. Only when I was totally assured that the alien being wasnt going to do anything, did I look about the area surrounding the alien being. Thats when I noticed the crazy looking dials that somehow seemed to be connected with the "higher being".

With trepidation, my hands slowly reach out for the dials. In fact, my hands are slowly pulled towards the dials. My thoughts are muddled, yet Im aware that this is probably the defining moment so far and something is about to transpire. From all accounts so far, something sinister, something surprising and shocking is about to happen. My hands have a life of their own, they turn the dials clockwise, suddenly the higher being spews out through its tens of pores, first it freezes my bone to the marrow. The next instant with more tweaking from my hands, my skin scalds. Finally, the higher being takes advantage me, it has been studying me all along. Straddling in half asleep and brain at its tired existence the shower head takes its revenge for squeezing out its life everyday.


Whats so special about the shower? you ask. Laziness, sloth, procrastination, dirty dishes, dirty laundry, smelly socks, unmade matteresses, half cooked meals......naah these dont belong to the exclusive set of single guys. Ablution!!! What is it about guys that makes them take long showers the moment they step into a bathtub and turn on the shower? No dont get any mischievious ideas. Im not saying it doesnt happen, there is something else too that entices and hold guys back.

Exam or not, late or not my shower takes me a minimum of 20 minutes. What the hell am I doing in the shower for 20 mins everyday? Soaping and lathering, you may think. Nope, Im too lazy to soap and lather, I just stand under the shower for that long. Insane, you say, I plead guilty and I most definitely would agree anyday.

What do I do under the shower? The sound of the water hitting your body, your hair, the water hitting the shower screen and the bathtub, it never fails in its metronomic accuracy, everyday its the same sound, but everyday it never fails to soothe me. I think, I chew, I plan, I dream about the past, the present, the future. I think about the past, the time when I had lots of hair on my head. I relish the present, how many more years will it be before I lose what I have now, how thin the hair gets with every passing day. Blame the lead content in the water, blame L'oreal, Vive, Dove, the thickening shampoo never thickens. A future without any hair!!! a hairy nightmare indeed.

I plan my day, go over the previous day. Every single day that I start, I plan it beforehand. Nothing irritates more than an unexpected surprise, an extra piece of responsibility or work. I never shy away from work or responsibility, infact I crave more responsibility but I like to have a control over what I do and I hate plans going awry. As I way saying, I plan the day in the shower, I plan everything I do, but my plan about rationing the time under the shower has never succeeded. One of my lifes funny ironies.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

About love........

In truth I should be the last person to talk about love, my preception of love has always been immature, muddy and preposterous. In fact, I dont think I have still grasped the entire spectrum of feelings collectively termed love. My first understanding of love was from movies, confused between reality and commerciality, I could never paint the big picture, there were far too many dark areas. Imagine looking at a Van Gogh in candle light, the details were just not there for all to see. In fact, like tourists appreciating the Van Gogh for being a Van Gogh more than anything else, "love" seemed to hold a charm without understanding what it meant.

From celluloid love to hormones-working-overtime-adolescent love, dreams are invariably centered about the perfect girl. Like playboy centerfolds, the perfect girl or the perception of the perfect girl changes every month or even faster. The perfect girl can be just about anyone from the girl next door to the girl in your class to the senior girl who works with you on a school project. The girl next door? Does it even exist or are all the beautiful girls housing next to Hrithik Roshan? Believe me even if a beautiful girl moves ostentatiously next door and throws a wild party every week, I would need a cardiac arrest to wake up to the fact.

What about love after marriage? What about love after arranged marriage? Some claim that love after marriage is the true love. For some others arranged marriage might be the easiest option towards unconditional love, no strings attached. Still others are cynical, boorish and antagonistic towards arranged marriage.

But, what is it about love, exclusive of physical love, that makes it so complicated. Why does it happen to a few and for others it is as real as the lochness? But when we bond with someone special why does it become difficult to get away from the attachment. Still, compromise plays a great part in love and marriage. So, if you are compromising with the one that you love, then could you say that the partners are not truly tuned in. After all, if two people who are in love and understand each other so very well, there neednt be any compromise at all, does it? It gets complicated as we grow and build a definition of love and how ones love life should be.

Truth is, sometimes we want to love so much and be loved so much, we are not too choosy about who we love. Other times we make love such a pure and noble thing no poor human can even meet our vision. But for the most part love is recognition, an opportunity to say 'There is something about you I cherish'. It doesnt necessarily entail marriage or even physical love. There is love for your parents, love for the nation, love for people and love for the simple pleasures of life.

Some love comes like wind off the sea; while others grow slowly from the seeds of friendship and kindness. Which one is yours? Which one do you prefer to be yours?

P.S: To all the people who know me personally, this is just an offhand opinion about love. So please hold onto our horses and rein in your imaginations :)