I dont know if I could actually call myself a Metallica fan. I’m not a hardcore fanatic who goes behind everything about Metallica. I hardly know their band or the songs they made wonderful. But then, I still assume I could be considered a Metallica maniac for my inexplicable liking for their masterpiece, “Nothing else matters.” I dont know how long has it been since I developed a liking to English songs. But ever since I liked them, I’ve loved “nothing else matters”. It rings in my soul as though its MY theme music that plays in the background, everytime something substantial happens in my life. It kinda sounds funny, but true yet that I think so much about the song that I can keep essaying about the wonders this particular track does to me. To all you people who had anything at all to do with this song and me, just know I owe you a lot!
Exaggeration is too small a word to describe what I’m doing right now. But I’m liking this. Beyond measure, life attains worth when small things get cherished and valued priceless. Tiny things always fascinate people in general, not specifically me. But the fascination is too short lived that it’d have been too late when you finally accept your fantasies. They’d just never seem like anything more than exaggerations or boasting.
I’m a simple person with complex perspectives and lucid expressions. Transparent imagery and elegant exemplification flow to me peacefully. Symbolisms coexist with me, as in symbiosis. I’m incomplete without every single one of them. Nor is perfection achieved in them without the ‘my’ touch! Comment. Warn. Threaten. Plead. Do whatever in your power to leash my thoughts and seize my existence. Just be known though. Nothing changes anything about me or my ways of life. Plain and simple. Nothing matters at all!
Change is difficult for me. For change is never complete to me. It’s partial and segmented. Change is oriented and specific, limited and bounded by constraints. I have never changed anything about me completely. Exceptions held onto me like vicious inescapable traps. I always fell for people, things and places and the goodness and promises that they hold. I always did. I’m trying. To change my exceptions. All of a sudden, it sounds perfect to believe it never was people. People are fake. Every single one of them. I cant spot a single face of genuinity among all the faces that I ever have seen. Not even in the mirror. That makes my point crystal clear.
A revamping change is frightening me. I’m afraid. But I dont cry anymore. Never again do I stay helpless. I dont see a hand to save me. All is fake. Nothing is real. No one is genuine. I am fighting. Not against the disgusting cheat. But the exceptions of my change. People as a whole are kept away. Nobody is worth my trust. I have learnt it the hard way. I was afraid to change as a whole, coz the exceptions ruled over my changes. Nothing ever got changed coz my exceptions were strong. Not anymore.
My nostalgia continues. About places. About the rooms. About the setting suns. About the moonlit skies. The dine outs. The second shows. The aimless wandering. My nostalgia stays with them. The change doesn’t change them. But people. They are more than merely irrelevant. I’ve learnt. The hardest way of life. Betrayal.
My mom is constantly worried ever since I told her about my blog. After seeing it for herself, she’s not yet confident that I can make sense in my writings. She assumes I’m nuts and I might blabber around things that I shouldn’t be talking about. My assurances about my readers aint soothing her. Paavam amma! But then, I think she’s a point. So I’ve come to the point of not letting her read my blog. But instead, just tell her what I write. So then, I can conveniently decide what to say and what not to say. This probably is one such post that I wouldn’t let her know.
Came home after a strenuous journey yesterday night. Was tired and slept pretty soon (after the night’s post obviously). Somewhere in the middle of the night, I woke up and there was no returning to sleep. Thought about the unthinkable. Expected the unexpected. Craved for the impossible. Yearned for some sleep. Finally, slept by around six in the morning. But now I wish I hadn’t gotten sleep at all. Do early morning dreams actually come real? I was talking to someone in the same room that I slept yesterday night. Suddenly the conversation turned wild and I went out of my mind. Next thing I see is the person screaming in agony and my left wrist bleeding and right hand clutching to a blade. I saw my hands for a second more in the mirror and then my dad knocked the door. The dream ended there. But the knocking didn’t stop. My dad was actually knocking at the door. I took out my phone to see the time and it was six thirty or so. I was not sweating in shock. But I’m kinda disturbed. Why would I dream of suicide? I dont have such ideas. But then, why did I dream of dying? Rather, killing myself. Do early morning dreams turn real? Hope not. 🙂
An old thought of mine was returned to me by someone. That taking photos is such a waste. The moment happened for you to see it and cherish the sight forever in your memories. Not to be shot and stored as *.jpeg or *.gif in your disk. You never go back to it except when its time for a photography contest. Things aren’t cherished but judged.
What I said is just a general case where people compete with extraordinary cameras to an ordinary element of sheer talent and taste to photography. Photography is an art. Truly an art with a lot of passion and so much less of talent, to put it more correct. As any other art, it demands a drive. A spirit to make it worth knowing. Nothing matches that gift. But amazingly, it’s not something you are born with to be called an innate thing. It roots out of a deep desire of sharing the sight you had with someone else who deserve to have enjoyed the charm. It’s a craving to show the world through a different perspective that’s unique to the photographer. What you see would have been missed by others and that’s what makes you exceptional in taking photos. It’s a story you say. A symbolism you develop. An impression that you make. With the marvel of colours and elegance of light and audacity of darkness.
The wind blew harder. Never hard enough to mar her vision, yet hard. Her loosely tied hair was now let open, gently caressed by the moving air. The flowing dupatta made her happy. Thanks to all those less womanly days of formals and jeans. She truly enjoyed the femininity bestowed upon her by the curves and in-shape tailoring of her salwar. After years, she remembered to pin the shawl and cover her bosom and the deep neck line. She was wondering yet how long she took to dress up for the casual meeting with him. Why would a cup of coffee demand so much of touch up? May be its not the coffee. May be it’s him. May be it’s him after so many years.
“The conversation was pretty short, wasn’t it?”, she asked herself. May be I hurried to break the ice. I should have given him a chance to start the conversation, atleast now. For every time in the past, he wanted to talk and win me over. Poor thing. I never gave him a chance. Or may be, he wouldn’t have wanted to talk at all. After so many years of silence, may be he forgot to talk anymore. Perhaps, he’d have been too worried to choose the right words and lay the perfect situation for talking. I’m usually right. And almost always right, about anything vaguely relating to him.
The phone vibrated in the leather pouch, held tight in her hands. She would have always yearned for somebody to call. But now, the vibration seemed to disturb her. She didn’t want to feel anything other than the chill of the wind. She took the phone, to turn it off. The call ended as she took it. She glanced at the clock. She was way late. It’s almost turning six. She should have been at Ann’s at five. Dialling him immediately, she cursed her tight schedule. The laburnum laid pathway was so welcoming that she didn’t want to walk back. The drooping laburnum bunches and their yellow glow were mesmerising. The evening sun could be the most unforgettable sight of the day. She craved to make it to the beach. But the choice was between him and the sea. And it didn’t take a second long for her to decide. She turned and looked around for a taxi to reach Ann’s. Perhaps, she missed something. She waited and went back to the laburnum. She disconnected the unattended call, and clicked her mobile camera. That was the best shot of her life.
Turning back, she got into the next taxi that came her way and sent him a text apologising for the delay, begging him to wait.
Gotten close enough to a Matrix Bilt note book? With elegant black cover, and the problem free wiro binding, as they name it, it’s classic and executive. Always had an eye on their 5 subject note book. Considering the price and the number of pages, I reached at the obvious conclusion that’s not worth my ‘lecture’ notes. However, as things always happen, a Matrix three – partition book came to me through a cousin.
Ever since I got it, I was confused what to write in it and hence just kept it aside. Until recently, I assumed nothing worth to be written there. Now though, with my most cherished and chaste Parker, I pen one liners and multiple liners in them. They may be not extra ordinary. But the pen and the book got something of my satisfaction to be engaged with. Upon some ‘elderly’ opinion, those ramblings will also find room in my blog, right here.
More to write. Later.
What I wanted to write on the book and the pen was simple. I was always intrigued by the ‘pen holder’ they offered with the Matrix. I was wondering what on earth did they actually mean by this amazing offer? It took a long time for me to notice the small hole at the back cover of the book! That was disgusting. They present it as though its some additional effort that they took to make the product more attractive. But what do I see instead! They should have given us something ‘extra’ and what they do is actually take away portion of the back cover which should have been our rightful possession. But you know what? I am stupid. Dumber than dumbu. It was the perfect ‘pen holder’ I ever had. The page size and the spacing of the hole was so perfect that my Parker glided through the hole and peacefully held on to the Matrix. That was one fine thing the book and the pen taught me. Taking away of a portion of the back cover was such a brilliant idea. Sometimes, all we need is that. Take away a bit of those things that needn’t be there in life. It will make room to accommodate all those indispensablities of our existence. Look around and learn. There’s a lot to learn from everything, every moment.
“Nandan, have you ever thought of the possibilities of killing yourself?” Her question was more than just troubling. I instantly knew where this conversation would lead to. Wanting to wind it up, I gulped the remaining drink in my glass and mumbled an inaudible cry. I wanted to leave. She just wouldn’t budge from her stand. Her thirst seemed to grow beyond getting an answer. As if, only my blood could quench. For the first time, I saw through the bitch in her. The blood thirsty vampire. Not a second long, and I was filled with guilt. Wasn’t she my princess? The love of my life. She still is. There cant be another woman I love more than her. But then, look at us now. Not loving would have been fine. But the hatred that’s filling our gap is incinerating.
She woke me up from my thoughts with her vicious laugh. I wanted to cry. For help. For mercy. Here she is, laughing at my helplessness and all I want is just an escape. This running away is tiring me. I’m shunning her stares away. Shamelessly, they are returned more intense and deep. When would this accusation stop! She broke my thoughts again. She held my hand over the table. “Have you hated me so much? Answer me please. What’s come over us? We used to be so much happier.” I wanted to yell at her. “Yeah, we were so much at peace and harmony. And now we are not. So what? Why the heck are you always pointing at me?”. I wanted to ask. But I kept quite. Arguments dont hold a chance. Not with her. I silently pulled my hands away and rose to leave. “I’m starting to office. Half an hour late already. May be we can catch up in the evening.” Surprisingly, she just nodded, and said, “May be we can. Evening sounds perfect to me too.” I wanted to stay for a while more and see her yell at me as usual, as I ended every conversations. Today seemed different. She was blankly staring at the phone’s screen. I couldn’t take my eyes off her and bring myself to leave her. I was worried if my eyes were welling up. But I saw hers first. After years, she cried in front of me. All those things that she said blared in my head. After everything, she’s crying! I should have been feeling nothing. But I was shook by her tears, the impact of which dawned upon me, unforgivably late. She looked up at me, with her proven skill of holding back her tears. “Didnt leave yet? I’ll be there at Ann’s at five.”. I was pulled back to my senses.
“Yeah, I was just waiting for you to say something. Bye then.”, I managed. She assured, “Its okay. Bye.”. Its okay? What? Me leaving the conversation is okay? Or me staying for her to assure me is okay? I didnt have time to answer all those questions that popped. I walked out of the restaurant, away from her. The way she did it to me. Ann’s was assuring. I knew she’d come. Definitely to Ann’s.
Team India just won over Aussies by four wickets! And I’m so happy and proud! Obvious question. When did I ever start being a cricket maniac! Let me explain.
Its not about cricket. Its all about my stupid symbolic triumph. My victories always remain rooted in my symbolisms. Was watching the match with my uncle and cousin, the one who always make predictions about how things are impossible. As ever, he declared India lost the match. Twelve runs in six balls was impossible for him! Based on his run rate calculations and whatever other probability that the game of cricket gave, he should have been right! But my point was simple. One ball can give you a maximum of six runs. Six balls naturally can give ya thirty six runs! Yeah, I know I’m talking about the rarest ever and seemingly impossible happening. But yet, its still plausible aint it? And it did happen! Last over’s first ball was a six! Second one was a No-ball and they ran for three runs. And the third ball was another six! Hurray! India just won! Impossible turns possible, in a split second!
I dont know of cricket. I dont know of the match. (Is this the Common Wealth thingy?). I dont know of No-balls. I dont even know the implication of ‘winning by 4 wickets’. But yet, I’m the happiest person that India won today. It feels like my victory. My symbolic triumph of making the impossible, possible! I dont know much cricketers. I dont know of their history and trackrecord. But then, Dhoni is god to me. His last three battings, changes my life! Symbolism rocks. Only with me!
Preface : www.thelastraw.wordpress.com/2012/01/31/disclaimer/
Me and baby? What relativity eh? Seriously, I’m wondering too. Eventually, it seems like there’s a lot of relativity though. Not that I’ve, out of nowhere, started loving all those ‘cute’ baby photos or all those pink ‘n blue things of life. But things have definitely changed between me and the babies.
My bro always pulls my legs on how I used to check if the diaper is on before getting anywhere near my cousin’s child. I dont think anybody believes him on that now. It seems a near impossibility now coz I’ve gotten that intimate with the kid. Back then, I had told only him about how I used to do that. Nobody else holds a reason to believe it now. I dont even realise how much has change swept over me.
Its a wonderful kid. I cant say the ‘best’ coz I dont know many kids to make a comparison. She’s the only one I’ve ever known. Known the best! Tending to her, reaching out to hold her hand, coaxing her, yelling at her. I’m loving it all. Love the way she calls me ‘athey’. Amazingly, I kinda even miss her when she’s away at her grandma’s. For people who have known the callous me, aren’t these ‘interesting and new’ developments? Lol. Hell they are! And I cant even bring myself upto believing it.
With all the preconceptions of people around me, I’m very much disturbed by their assumptions and notions. Its so much a relief to see her and believe atleast she knows me only the way I’m to her; nice but easily angered. I wish if things could remain that way with her forever. With someone atleast, let me sneak out of all the prejudices. She’s growing, soon losing her innocence. Life and its prejudices aren’t far from her. And I’m worried. Ironically, I crave to see her grow up into a pretty girl, yet staying the apple of everybody’s eyes. She’s one such whom I’ve loved so much that it causes envy. It might even asphyxiate her. Worry gets recursive! (Read the previous post to make some sense of the last sentences)
She’s growing. Already at the computer! Lol.
How much can you like something or someone? It is only as much as making somebody else jealous of your like. I have liked a lot of people in my life and still like a lot more of them. But then, now it feels like I’m on the nth degree of it. How plausible could that be? Can ‘like’ or ‘love’ have a saturation point? Seems like they can. Do not confuse with satiety. At the nth degree of love, (like replaced by love, coz all references herein are made to people and not to things), I am not done loving anybody. But the love feels saturated. Like, more of love can make no difference. Being so intimate to someone that moving any closer will only crush the person’s soul. As though, a bit of gap wouldn’t harm, but instead give us some air to breath. Loving people so much makes it really hard to let them take a step away from you. Taking a decision for themselves, missing out on wishing you on your special day, unexpected delaying of a scheduled meeting up. Every single one of them makes you feel like your entire world collapses there! Don’t label this obsession already. I am not talking about how obsessed am I with people.
There’s a state in between. Between love and obsession. Between hatred and falling apart. A stupid crappy state! You don’t budge. You want it done implies you WANT it done. No matter how much you push yourself into the realisation of things as simple as they are, it always seems complex and ciphered. You dont read along the plain lines of life and complain how bleak it is between the lines. As ever, simple things get complex in frail fingers like mine. Its not easy to understand straight aspects of life, when you struggle to define its implications symbolising lives! Not catching up often, missing to reciprocate wishes, forgetting to look back and failing to notice are not things that ends the world. But then, knowing is not enough. Never enough.
I love people. Have always loved them and will always do. Loved enough to make others jealous. People envy my love!
P.S. I am not in ‘love’ as in ‘love’. So please don’t ring me up and yell at me, “Why didnt you tell me earlier??”, “Dont you have the sense to keep things private?”, “Tell me who who??”. Lol. Dont do that to me coz its not what you think it is.