Thursday, December 15, 2011
There is no forgetting the bare tree right in front of the balcony. She was lean but strong, proud of her slim sensuous body. She was not ashamed. Instead, she displayed her nakedness with a sense of liberation only a free spirit can harbour. However, one evening it seemed like she was dressed to kill. She wore the perfect little black dress. She was seductive, the self satisfied air around her adding to her charms. It seemed like she wanted to light a fire with her presence, on that perfect chilly evening. I stood there, soaking in her aura. And then all of a sudden like the final act of a celebrated exotic dancer, her robe came off with a grand gesture; and away flew many beautiful black crows; I simply stood spellbound on the beautiful wooden corridor.
This is a letter to you, though it shall never reach you. Words define relationships but sometimes the nature of the relationship does not allow us to say them out loud. I shall never say these words to your face but I must say them nonetheless and hence I chose this medium of secrecy. Friends ask me what I feel for you now. I tell them I don’t know. My response is not entirely untrue but I can’t help but wonder whether it is the lack of knowledge that plagues me or my inability to comprehend what I do know. This is a sort of confusion that creates an uneasiness which though not as devastating as the feeling of helplessness at having lost a loved one, is slightly unnerving. The thought of you; or us, does not make me dizzy with joy as it once did when you were mine neither does it make my head reel in despair like it did when you walked away. It is different. I am not overwhelmed with pleasure or grief. This feeling is not in the least disturbing, instead it is calm. Any interaction with you does not overpower me as it used to. I happen to be experiencing a new found control over myself. It is not half as exciting as having found someone to love or as nerve racking as heartbreak but whatever it is, it’s new and that always leaves room for some confusion. “Is it over then?”, I ask myself but the old heart does not answer in the affirmative. Of course I still love you; how can I not? Every imperfection of yours’ is dear to me. However I find myself no longer bound to you. For the first time since the day I met you I am standing on my side of the street, unwilling to cross over at the slightest instance; my love not seeking to tend to you instead basking in the comfort of how I perceive it should be. Whatever I am, However I intend to be, it is all in the moment. Finally nothing is predetermined; I have no answers to any questions that might arise in the future. Standing at these crossroads I can only wish us well, whether our paths decide to intertwine or go their diverse ways.
Friend (If that is what I am)
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I read it somewhere. I did not know who Montaigne was. But he just made sense. Now I know who Montaigne was. And he still makes sense. I wish I could say the same for “him” though. I suppose I know “him” better now. But it makes no sense.
‘Love’ might just as well be another four letter word; but we all know it’s not. Atleast our ancestors could have spared us the trouble and approached it more scientifically than to just hand it over to the brooding artists and the starving poets as their Rumpelstiltskin. Love definitely did weave gold for them but look what it did to us mere mortals. How simple things would be if someone had taken the pain to define it, list in alphabetical order the symptoms, characteristics, preventive measures and cures. But clearly no empirical study was ever conducted. At this point of time I do not know what my ailment is – am I lovesick or am I simply sick of love? But either way, some amount of sickness remains. Since nobody possesses the degree to treat such a condition, and I can hardly trust the quacks on radio stations, televisions and in gypsy tents in the neighbourhood fairs, I have resorted to the next best option - Self medication. It is imperative to mention here that all the advice given by friends, relatives and well wishers have been paid adequate heed to. Nothing has worked so far. The knot in my throat has not loosened, the nausea is still intact and the queasy feeling in my guts is definitely not the result of irritable bowel movement. It is also at this crucial juncture that one falls prey to severe hypochondria and starts to imagine all the excruciatingly painful ways in which this could end. If I could, I would have definitely employed Allie Brosch to draw the images in my head. But the truth is I can’t afford her and I can’t draw; hence the rest must remain untold, left to imagination. Go crazy. You have my permission.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
You lie, chemically altered and snippets from various trips flash before your eyes. You wonder. You hit a replay button, day my day, moment by moment. What was the turning point; the beginning of the end? Is it still ending or is it a new beginning already? Going through the motions- people say that’s what it’s all about. But what happens when you keep going through someone else’s motions instead of your own? The strange lingering fear of there actually being no motion of your own at all; Just the horrid lull. No you, only a stupefied version of what you used to be.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Days come and days go. Sometimes it’s sunny, sometimes it rains, sometimes it’s cold, sometimes hot and sultry; But mostly it’s just perspective. There are incidents, feelings, emotions that change our perspective, change the weather every day, every moment. But the strangest thing is that in retrospect, it all seems bright and happy. That is the unique aspect of negativity; new troubles nearly always dilute old ones that had seemed so heartbreaking in their prime that it didn’t seem like life could go on; but then it did. Sadly, that is not the only distinctive feature of sorrow. The more important trait therefore is the fact that it makes us forget the first one and thus never allows rational thought to take charge.
Life here is a lot like that. After a point of time, it’s mostly about getting through each day. Hence, the weather is mostly depressing. Lately, for us manic depressives, it has been humid and oppressive like something out there wants to stifle the life out of us, but to those who are happy, appreciating the oft outbursts of heavenly sprinklers has been keeping them busy. A close study of my own life and people around me has led me to firmly belief that it is not difficult to understand the pattern of life in our beloved university. It maintains a symbiotic balance. At all times the university can be evenly divided into ecstatic, blissful, moderately happy, indifferent, sad, very sad and suicidal people. But the interesting aspect is how the same 500 (I have failed to observe post graduate students) people manage to play musical chairs within these broadly classified groups.
It is unfair to say that there exists only a unilateral relationship between the state of being and the weather. There has been evidence to the contrary as well. The weather has had a most profound influence on our behavior and viewpoints. Take for example, the effect of the current weather situation on couples; the older complacent ones have been clashing, the ladies bickering and the men sulking. They can easily attribute it to the excess moisture content in the air. On the other hand, the newly bloomed romances are taking heart from the occasional downpour and blooming further. So the weather and we are clearly in a successful relationship based on the classic tenets of mutual peace and co existence. It has passed the test of time and endurance and has shown all signs of a healthy, stable marriage. So take heart, fellow sufferers because this is the only lingering liaison that is not under threat.