To myself...

I could thankfully greet him with a smiling face today. Fight and successfully pretend to be the same person till now.

Only if I could have refrained those tears a little longer..till our meeting came to an end.

But thank goodness today; he could see only parts of myself...

For he saw those tears and missed the struggle behind to keep them from coming.

Watched me smile but failed to fathom the pain suffered to do so.

Gave consolations but didn't realise that they won't work.

And saw that red scar on the left hand fist, while the clawing of the right hand nails onto the victimised fist, to fight back a few tears, went unnoticed.

For he could say.."You are my strength. Not the one to cry and break down. You have to stay strong as always. Its you from where I draw encouragement".

And couldn’t hear me saying.."I have been your strength since the couple of years you have known me. Till then I had been brought up like the girl I am from within. Delicate, sensitive, vulnerable."

Sounds of rain, and music...

It has been a tiring day to no end. And one utterly wronged.

Right since I opened my eyes to another half-sunny-rest-cloudy morning..only to realise he's not in Cal. Well..he'd be here mext morn only..atleast that's what had been his word before he left. Or that's what can give me an immediate consolation. But its true you can't cling to forcibly imposed beliefs for long. And I shuddered to think that a few days from now every morning would be like this one. I'm not crying a bit just because I'm not supposed to. And I seriously hope the next time I meet him, I'd be able to greet him with a smile.

The dizzy morning made me, quite unlike myself, feel reluctant to drive. And I'm again late in waking up. I feel sorry for it everyday. Not only while getting verbally thrashed by mom, but truly from within. Mom doesn't know this and I guess she'll never believe that. Only this morning, I wished to sleep a little longer.

College timings were late today, thanks to a few reluctant professors. For I could atleast watch the drenched roads patiently drying up. The verandah floor was still enveloped with water, maybe about a quarter-to-quarter-inch. Quite an effort towards perfection, but I'm sure I failed again.

And sitting in the verandah I heard the kids having a tough time spelling Thiruvananthapuram correctly. Meanwhile I kept up my endeavour towards finding the slightest hint of the stars concealed by their some big fat brethren by the end of the night.

I wished in the least to go to college today. Grossly speaking, step out of home. And still more, walking all the way to BCL, alone. I guess I had to. That's why baba had been indifferent today. And the auto-rickshaws made the people wait for what seemed like eternity. It has been I think the longest queue till now. It frequently happens these days. I guess they too want their share of fare rise. And by the time I reached the metro station, buckets of rain were at the helm of trickling down.

The maidan metro exit was a tad overcrowded today. I wondered how in the world people can step out of home during monsoon without an umbrella; and then crowd at the station gate to keep from the rain. I squeezed my way reluctantly through some sweating backs and stinking armpits, out into the blinding rain. I got half of my jeans wet..slipped my foot once on the road..and missed my first class. Walked all the way to BCL, alone, quivering in the cold.

I don't know why I wanted to be in the rain. Fever was creeping in..I could understand. But still didn't feel like moving out. I don't know why I picked up the "Let it bleed" CD from the rack. Maybe it was all to hide those bleeding scars which can only be concealed by the rain.

And then in college staircase, I met the other him. The only thing about him that caught my eye was the blue he was wearing. It reminded me of some bluish conversations and fights..requests and remarks. And a blue furry overcoat he wished to buy for his twins. As for this him, I seriously do not care meeting him every single day. But I feel him hovering around me as a nemesis..for all those crimes I did by hurting him. Or a litmus test to prove myself, to myself, while he's away. I felt confident to go through it and show him the results when he comes back after four years.

I hated the attitude of a lot of people today..as I usually everyday do. And again bit the lips to keep quiet. The only soothing element while leaving college was the sound of a distant flute played by a classmate at one corner of the evening-sky-laden-college ground. And I wished I could play the flute too. Only to allure somebody to stay back.

And I came back home in the jolting and scorching interiors of a 5 o’ clock train.

I guess somethings I’d never be able to fathom. For why those somethings happen and how are they scheduled to happen with oneself. Like why I left my cellphone home today..or what was so special about today’s rain..why I had to try to be happy with friends..or why that flute made me cry like never before.

And why I couldn’t gather just anything to tell him tomorrow…and make him smile…and smile myself…and greet him all over again, with a counterfeit smiling face.

My crumbling piano...

Quiet and desolate,
bared..
uncared..
stripped off all its tunes,
it lied in one corner of my room..
Unperturbed.
Unperturbing.
scathed by the memoirs of its bloom.
As the pages battled recklessly
nesting on their bosom
some void, hollow tunes
crowding against each other...
In their tryst with survival.
As the threads of hair raked my brow
in a feat to match the northern wind
and I opened my eyes to the broken glass door..
Remembering my pianist.
The moment I recalled
my walk deep down
trickled from his eyes, onto the mind.
The lashes concealed from me..my piano defied,
And in his music, in his eyes
my music did I find.
I kept swaying with the tune...
strummed by his stroke..
fondled by his fingers..
with the prayer to sway
all the ages to sprout
on the bosom of my piano,
unless we got trickled out.
And I stare through the broken door
this monsoon, uncalled for..
groping through the northern wind...
searching my music once more.
as I watch my piano crumble down
with tunes falling into pieces
strewn over the floor...
and memories blurred by the mist
Tunes and touches
along with me...
Waiting for my pianist.

Silhouettes...

If I were beauty, I'd be- Love
If I were a book, I'd be- The Old Testament
If I were a season, I'd be- Winter
If I were an feeling, I'd be- Repentance
If I were a cosmic element, I'd be- Saturn
If I were an invention, I'd be- The invention of Light
If I were a time, I'd be- The last hour of life
If I were an age, I'd be- 40, a viable die-able age
If I were a piece of history, I'd be- The fall of Rome
If I were a date, I'd be- The 1st of May
If I were a subject in school, I'd be- History
If I were a river, I'd be- Euphrates
If I were a sight, I'd be- The eyes of Proserpine
If I were a month, I'd be- December
If I were a word, I would be- Sorry
If I were a game, I'd be- Dart
If I were a start, I'd be- The advent of free-economy
If I were an end, I'd be- The end of superpowers
If I were a form of art, I'd be- Murals
If I were a personality, I'd be- Charlie Chaplin
If I were a habit, I'd be- Covering the mouth while a cough
If I were a fruit, I'd be- Satan's apple
If I were an animal, I'd be- Horse
If i were a leaf, i'd be- A fallen Maple
If I were a tree, I'd be- An old Willow
If I were a support, I'd be- An old man's stick
If I were a help, I'd be- A baby's walker
If I were a belonging, I'd be- A canvas
If I were a confusion, I'd be- Parallax
If I were a miracle, I'd be- The Divine Proportion
If I were a colour, I'd be- Transparent white
If I were an addiction, I'd be- Wine
If I were a monument, I'd be- The Roman Colosseum
If I were a tool, I'd be- The sculptor's chisel
If I were a distance, I'd be- that between the eyes and the mouth
If I were an expression, I'd be- The MonaLisa smile
If I were a body part, I'd be- The hamstrings
If I were a mountain, I'd be- The Alps
If I were a piece of land, I'd be- The Kolkata Maidan
If I were an essence, I'd be- The smell of a new painting
If I were a building, I'd be- The Louvre Museum
If I were a play, I'd be- Troilus and Cressida
If I were an author, I'd be- Oscar Wilde
If I were a clause, I'd be- Punishment to male gaze
If I were an amendment, I'd be- Change in perspective
If I were a creation, I'd be- Madonna of the Rocks
If I were a movie, I'd be- Hamlet
If I were a character, I'd be- Liz Taylor in Cleopatra
If I were a wonder, I'd be- The Hanging gardens of Babylon
If I were an pain, I'd be- The pain to bow down
If I were a part of the face,I'd be- An eyelash
If I were an instrument, I'd be- Piano
If I were an inspiration, I'd be- A Candle in the Wind
If I were an element, I'd be- Neon
If I were a song, I'd be- Sacrifice
If I were a place, I'd be- Oblivion
If I were an achievement, it would be- Being human
If I were a promise, I'd be- A true one.

Being insane...

Its time again, I suppose, to wander back to old times. And as you rightly guessed...I AM getting nostalgic again. But I can rest assure....to whom it may concern....that this one isn't going to be another account of some morbid yesteryear moments as it has been a number of times so long. For, this diversion from my usual and known-self is due to the sheer optimism presently administering my days. And this really reminds me to laugh out loud in memory of some hilarious incident which happened sometime back in my school days.

We were currently at the 8th or 9th standard and it was a physical training class then, which we mostly, if not always, used to spend giggling and chit-chatting among ourselves...without performing the least hint of any sort of physical training in the literal sense. Hence it was just another so-called-P.T. period to sprawl and laze in an effort to spend the next thirty minutes. But for some forgotten reason, I was too engrossed in running around hither and tither that day and was quite surprisingly on an adventuring spree...unlike my usual lazy self. Now adventure usually referred to hide-an-seek in our case (yes,we were in class 9 then!) , that too specially in a very unconventional place, for a tinge of adventure again. That "special" place had been a hideously bushy area, approximately two-feet wide and about seven yards long, terribly dirty with dense undergrowth, banana trees fouled with betel-leaf spits (yak!), bird droppings, sewage wastes and dung, between the row of darwan's houses and the school boundary just behind. That place used to be one-of-my hot favourites since I loved to and could spend hours running from the basketball ground to that foul place behind the houses, step over all those rubbish and proceed towards a locked gate on the other side of the ground, climb it up and jump onto the basketball ground only to run back and repeat the feat again.

Now that day we were having our regular P.T. class feats, when there came along a tall, belly-protruded old man, clad in pure white dhoti-kurta and carrying a stick, his trademark attire he seemed to have worn all my 13 years in school. We supposed him to be some bigwig of the school's trusty and our awe knew no bounds as we saw him proceeding towards our secret and treasured hide-out between the bushes. I was the first to give out a loud giggle, as I assumed him to share the same attraction for that place like us, and pictured him trying to cross over the locked gate, making a total mess of his dhoti and himself. Not being able to keep myself from witnessing such hilarious incidents, I ran right after him to observe his feat, not paying heed to my friends who were desperately trying to call me back. In fact it surprised me to see their reluctance in missing out such an experience. And as you might have guessed, to my utter dismay, as I peeped in to have a sneak-peek of his activities, I saw that rogue dirtying our hideout ever more, by disposing his loo out there. I was horrified to realise myself watching that man coolly 'performing his feat' in his peaceful 'lavatory' without the slightest hint of someone watching him with horrified eyes, as if he had suddenly turned a monster. I ran from that place as fast as I could, some faint sounds of laughter reaching my eardrums...as I felt too ashamed of not having understood his mission beforehand as my friends did...and resolved not to step into that once-beloved place ever, ever again.

Growth curves...

I'm entirely and outright a jobless person as of now...and possibly that's why such strange things are cropping up in my cerebral lump and crowding all at a time. Just last night I dreamt about something quite weird; not really absurd,but weird enough to be the substance of a dream...all owing to the utterly vague and pointless thoughts taking advantage of my idle mind. I may well frame the name of my book as "Worhless Thoughts Of A Redundant Mind" , quite understandably, its contents not being taken into consideration.

All right, so returning to my inane dream...I guess for all those faces reading this, I can afford to bring across a smile out of the realisation of the unfathomable stupidity ruling me now. As a matter of fact, last night I dreamt about my purse(Ya,again as a matter of fact...yes I AM weird). Its the same old, bulky off-white purse I bought from shopper's stop and the one I used to hate...that has been claiming my dreams now. I remember how I deadly wished to throw it when every time I had to take it out of the bag for punching the smart card, being already late to college...and had a hard time gripping it within my little palm for paying the auto fare while sitting in the front right vulnerable seat of the auto-rickshaw. I wished to tear it down to pieces of no use...As it is it seemed quite cumbersome to carry all the time. So this quite-obviously-unawaited dream surprised even myself to no end, but there's a bit of history behind it which may well serve to explain this contradiction. ..

It was just last weekend that mom decided to acquire the shopper's stop first citizen membership card and henceforth designated me as the associate card-bearer. And due to fathomable reasons, chose me to keep both the cards in my purse...since she might not be able, or interested, to have access to the shop as frequently as I do. Now that's it...that's all of the history behind my dream. But mom's decision was influential enough to give me a mental push towards adulthood, my new unseen craze after being eighteen. My concious mind prided itself with the thought of acquiring a card only meant for those 18 years and up...having conferred with the first taste of being adult, while the subconcious psyche had already started picturing the metamorphosized facade of an already hefty purse. I dreamt of my purse having become bulkier, brimming and bursting out of its contents, some indespensable requisites of a modern century grown-up woman. It filled me with a sense of pride rummaging through the numerous pockets of my purse containing my college ID-card, cyber card, driving license, debit card, BCL membership card and citizenship cards of some top shopping outlets of the city. It seemed to overflow with all that it housed inside and for the first time I felt blessed to possess something such cumbersome. Not taking into account the style and sophistication quotient, it was a wholly novel feeling to sense myself growing up...which rightly geared me to admire and gratify my hideous-turned-delightful possession, coz all that matters at the end of the day has to be my thing's utility. And, not to forget, how strong a catalysing effect it can exert on my growth and me having its timely realisation.

So cruel...So far

Its all born from the sense of disgust this cursed year has burdened upon me now.I tried my best to accept it with a smile...bt regrettably everything has gone to vain.

Beginning like all the other seventeen years I have survived, I won't believe it to be my fault to think this one belong to the same sort. Again a pawn of destiny.....I feel cheated over and over my this deceptive first-sight impression.Is it such ruthless a mistake to pay heed to the first call of intuition? I earnestly passed the days so far...in the elusive search of optimism. But darkness hovered over and over.Yet again, many a times, I ran to get blinded by the gloomy fate brought for me by this year. But every time hit upon a solid, promising rock..clutch onto it hard..and hopscotch through the odds with the hope of retreiving back with some flying colours.

I fail to behold,that colours have left me quite long ago...leaving some long meticulously-nursed memories awashed in the colours of despair and gloom. I knew I've been fooled again; for I've only learnt to birth them, rear them up...and never did I harness the zeal to pull them off before the world, eagerly waiting to pull me down again...render false consolations...and again get me bathed all over in the colours of defeat...in black and white.