Just Another Day.....

Did we meet before? I asked the old man at the bus stop.

Yes we did. You live in the corner house down the last lane.

Yes. But what did we talk?

Oh nothing much. The weather and the usual politics I think.

Hmm... And what did I say.

You said nothing. You just stood listening to hard rock.

But you said I spoke of politics.

Well that's what you would have spoken if you did say anything.

But did I?

How would I know...? You were the one who spoke.

But you listened right.

No you listened... to hard rock.

But you said I spoke... Did I? Then who listened?

Why missie there’s always the raw wind, the old walls, the rough pitch and the broken street lamp.

No there is no pure form of the word love.

Love is all flesh and blood.

Love is carnivalesque.

Love was not born in the church.

Love is deceit. Love is conceit.

Love is not the smile but the snarl within.

Love is not in sweet lilies and or tender poems.

Love is tactile and severe.

Love is in duels and stains.

Love is in creaked doors that open nowhere.

Love is not in sandy beaches or moonlit walks.

Love is the three dots that killed Mansfield's fly.

I sneaked in. No there was no one looking. So what? What if there was somebody looking!

I took the air into my lungs. Lungs? Yes. Yes, Yes, Yes! I have lungs that pumps the air in and out. Why don't you? How do you live then?
hmm... I always thought we lived with our heart.
You still believe in that sentimental shit?
Yes. Why? Don't you?

Did I? Do I?
'believe'? that sounds like a long lost friend from the trenches.
We stuck together though the stone pelting and the mud, through the muscle writhing winters, migraine strewn summers. Then the war was over. I came out met the rest and left belief hung on a rusted pin in our chilly trench.

I was a romantic once but now I smell romance selling in the dark alleys i find in old moth ridden photographs packed in plastic packets on a shelf in my back drawing room.

False Alarm???

A Response to Mr. Calvino

At times I look here and there for the flash. And then I recoil back to my seat, all the time carefully keeping a watch, "No one's noticed me i hope!"

Then there are times when I take a deep breath, and with my teeth clenched I peep out, scared that its there!! Right there around the corner!! But after a few minutes of eye-popping-out anxiety, there inches in despair when a grey cat runs around brushing itself on the glass bar.

Then, there are times when I just missed it. Walking in a crowd I sense it right behind me. I turn around furiously fast as if in fear of a tactile sensation. But I missed it. I quickly recoil, putting right my white collar, hurriedly brushing away my sweat and feigning as if a stupid bee just bumped on my shoulder.

Then there are times when I just long to see it... I wait and wait and wait as the taxi comes across to me throbbing, engulfing me in its air. "There's nothing out there missie", he hits my attention. And as I enter I can still see the shards across the dirty pitch, straining for a glance of the blue sky.

Then there are times when I dont see it at all, but I am restless. It cant be. Its out there. It has to be out there.

It was the first time I went around my dear little garden.

As I woke up in the morning I had jitters. All the time, I had spent getting the best seeds, setting the water supply, mixing the fertilizers, getting them delivered on time, training the gardeners. And finally the day had arrived. All my sleepless nights would finally pay off.

I drove into the fields dreaming of the beautiful utopia I had so long spent building. The scorching sun was already trying to rinse my spirits.

Finally, my car drove up to a small field. I heard sounds rattling the air. I could not wait to run in and feel the shade within.

I was amazed. This could not only be my garden, I wish I could slosh the blood out of whose it was. "This wasn't mine!!! This could not be mine!!" My existence tried to console myself. These were carcasses playing about with their defecated ruins. Yet the seeds, the clogged up water supply seemed to remember me, and so did the earth wretched by the gardeners.

And yet the carcasses seemed to love me. They came and clung on,

Thank you, they said.

When are you going to visit again?

When are you building other gardens, asked the care taker. I must say they have a place to play!

We must do this again and soon.

I came back, collected the ruins. The stench was still there. Beautifully framed it and set it on display. Then the others came with the same phrases:

Thank you.

When are you going to visit again?

When are you building other gardens asked the care taker. I must say they have a place to play!

We must do this again and soon.

Claustrophobia

A strange word... the very pronunciation makes you want to inhale through your large mouth. One that will make the person in front, look you through and through in to your acidic stomach.

The air becomes heavy. Its flowing stealthily like filth in a mud pit.

Your stuck. You know it wont last and fighting will make the muck more heavy. Yet, you cant wait to fight in it. Nothing happens. The filth makes way to your face. You are disgusted. You've become a part of the muck too.

How did you get into it in the first place?
Ah... you were building sand castles. You added too much of water to get the flow steady. Before long it got stuck in your throat refusing to make you throw up, refusing you to gulp it down.

the little things of life go unnoticed i see. i hardly hear anyone singing in the shower nowadays. No one stops by to look at the kid smiling when he looks at an amusing stranger. Even the roses that are sold on valentines day have no smell. i wonder what happened to the little things of life.

yet i still believe as unnoticed as they are, they still rule the world. why else would the cm stop to have tea with the commoners, why else would there be industries that thrive on showing that people can actually live happily ever after? why else would balloons be sold and people spend hours kicking pigeons on FB?

the little things go unnoticed and yet its ubiquity guarantees it the security that it promises our life.. its decision to lose faith on us even when time and again we have failed them. it is nothing we are to be proud of.... if at all we should be proud of our ignorance of them that saved them from a bonsaied existence.

we live for we have failed to reach at the core of our existence... we live in our ignorance of it.. we live for we have failed to spot the wooden door under the huge spot lights of ostentatious grandeur.