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Tag: Dependence

In the company of..

“Avasanam njanum unnikuttanum mathram aayi. Njan pinne avante koode maari oridathu irunnu.” (In the end, I was left alone with Unnikuttan. So, I went on with him to sit down at some corner.) My friend complained about her loneliness in a family trip to a relative’s place. The man of the house engaged her dad in a conversation, parallely as her mom was comforted by the woman of the house. The newly wed sister was given company by the husband. So my lonely whiny friend was left alone with Unikuttan, the cat of the house. The imagery of her description was utterly hilarious. But that doesn’t diminish the intensity of the emotion. Walking alone, and being left alone in a group are totally different things. The awkward fitting in is a miserable fate.

To be there always and to be stopped being cared for. To be replaced. I no longer call it people’s selfishness. Once I did. But now I know. People change. So do demands. Situations change. So do priorities. Life has always been a tiring hunt of the priorities. Ever changing and never lasting. For now I think from both the ends. To be ignored by someone and, to ignore someone. Both quite doesn’t seem easy. People still do both. Unfailingly. For that’s how life has taken people thru. Being there forever doesn’t count as much as being there when most wanted. I’s never the duration in time, but the depth in impact.

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The yellow glow!

She turned to his side of the bed. The spread was wrinkled and still had his warmth. She rolled over, awake the rest of the night. When did he leave? Did he say anything? She couldn’t think straight, still caught in the unfulfilling sleep. Wasn’t it obvious he’d leave anyway! But somehow, she wished otherwise. It has been a tough time thru this. And she couldn’t handle it anymore. The yellow light shimmered.

She loved the light. The yellow light. The dim flickering filament bulb. And the yellow glow. The best part, as she saw it, was that, when you shut your eyes close, the light just stays off. It doesn’t penetrate thru eyelids and poke your retina to acknowledge its presence. Unlike what the fluoroscent tubelights do to your eyes. And when you open your eyes, it still stays there, causing no difficulty to your eyes, adjusting to the brightness. The yellow light shimmered.

When was the last time she had the yellow light? Was it way back at home? The only apartment her parents rented was so dimly lit. She could recollect faint glimpses from there. Everything had a yellowish hue. The glow of the yellow light. And the yellow flame of the candles during the ‘power-cut’ hours! Again. The yellow light shimmered.
She never liked the yellow frock her parents got her. The only one they bought together. She despised the pineapple jam coz it was yellow in colour. She adjusted with the mixed fruit. She didn’t like yellow coz her aunt died of jaundice, all yellow and pale. She didn’t like the sun, coz it was yellow and hurt her eyes. She loved the moon. Is that how she turned into this night person? But at all times, she loved the yellow glow and the filament bulbs. The yellow light shimmered.

What did he wear last night? Was it a yellow shirt? And the same yellow pants? She doesn’t remember. It needn’t matter anymore coz the night is over now. The yellow sun had risen up. But it still bothers her. Did he actually wear those yellow things for her? The yellow sun disturbed. She pulled the blanket over her head and went back to the slumber. The yellow light shimmered.

The yellow sun gave up and the moon came back, welcoming the yellow glow. The bulb was turned on, once again. The yellow glow spread all over. The room had the yellow charm back. And she silently sneaked out of the blanket. He was at the door. Wasn’t he better looking than the guy from yesterday? Rather, wasn’t he the most good-looking, of all the men who stood at that door? She was mesmerised by his glow. And she let her hands open in a huge embrace to welcome him into the bed. Before he could move, she let her hands go asked him to leave. His head hung in apprehension, he turned away and walked in silence. He didn’t wear yellow. His glow wasn’t yellow. She wanted yellow. She embraced only yellow. She kissed only yellow. She could please only yellow. She loved yellow, perhaps. The yellow light shimmered.

She closed her eyes, taking on last glimpse of the yellow glow, before she drifted back to her sleep. The yellow light glowed even brighter, noticing her looking at it. What colour would be the blush of the yellow light, you may ask her. And she’d say, what you see as flickering, that one moment of fading away, is my yellow glow blushing at my gaze! The yellow glow beamed. And she slid under her cover. The yellow light shimmered. And flickered. And faded. And was putoff.

She wakes up into the new red glow. She fits back into the routine. But this time, she doesn’t filter out the non-yellow-outfit men. All are welcome. All are accepted. The room no longer glowed in yellow. The charm was lost and the glow was stolen. The yellow absence filled the room. And her soul. She hates light. She is in love with black. Her face no longer seen in the dark. The glow disapperead into the abyss. And, the red light flickered at the door. Not blushing, but annihilating. The red light doesn’t shimmer.

Yet another marathon!

All geared up for yet another 30-day blogging challenge! This time with a friend, with whom I shared all of my school-days writing passions! Like, only I’d understand what she was attempting to say to the world and vice versa. We both sucked in what we did. But funnily enough, we never got tired of trying again and again, to improve and prove to the never-pleased critic in both of us! Is it too common to find people who’d put in infinte literary activities in their New Year to-do resolutions? And actually take the pain of cross-checking with eachother, if the literary ‘resolutions’ are being kept! Well, you just found us. Its like, we’re good at almost nothing else but playing with words. The not-yet-pleased critic says, we’re not even good at this. But as ever, we aren’t tired of trying again and again. To you all, who are supposedly the ‘vivid readers’ of my blog, check out my blog-mate here. Read, comment, criticise. (Compliments are also welcome!) 🙂

Hope the co-blogger does the same, as a token of forgiveness to me for sharing the link and publicising the blog! Seriously, why would someone have a blog if there aren’t any readers!

Official flag off to the marathon!

Over|Protected!

Yet another train journey. Yet another set of co-passengers. Yet another episode of effortless conversation. This time with a kid, much younger than my little sis! Meaning, I have no experience talking to such small kids. So as anyone could dare, I started off the conversation with a casual smile which she returned, and we held on it. She was an easy person to talk to, despite her age. Forgot her name already, rather, I quite didn’t understand the name when she told me. A less heard unique name. But her life, in the quite two hours of acquaintance, seemed usual to me. Typical parents, asking her to do that, not do this, take this, not take that, look here, not there, sit straight, not clumsy, oh my, the list goes on! The kid was being instructed about how to place the water bottle on the holder, as upto how to adjust her legs for the co-passenger (which was me!)!! I grew embarrassed looking at the child. At her untold apprehension. And inexpressive mannerisms. She was asked to wash, she did. Eat, she did. Wash again, she did. Take hands of the window sill, she did. Fold her legs to keep it neat, she did. Holy crap! Did they just stop by giving birth to the kid or did they go upto even teaching her to breath, giving lectures on pranayama!?!

I don’t share a similar childhood. I have had a much free and liberal days of growing up, when I got to mould myself into what I genuinely cherished and totally desired! My life is my decisions. And that’s the best thing that anyone can look at onself and say, at all odds and evens! And may be, this realisation is why I so much pitied the child. The parents seemed too unaware about how protection of their has outgrown the requisites and grown into unfathomable levels of obssession and over protection! All I could was to smile at her, making her feel done-it-all-seen-it-all aura, that I earnestly cooked up!

Show off!

“Oh yeah you’re overdoing it. Yes ofcourse that much of it was not necessary. Show off! It was so uncalled for. You really needn’t be that sincere to it. Ah come on, don’t be so nice lest they use next time too.”

A bunch of euphemistic ways of putting it right on your face, that you are showing it off a bit too much and its high time you shut it! Sometimes, people don’t understand when should they be stopping to try and stop the fruitless efforts. And also, at times, people just don’t understand when to stop the pointless comments on others’ sincere efforts. All of us, take our own turns, at both sides of the desk. You go perform, just too much, that judgement itself turns indefinite. Or you always sit back, never performing, never realising the worth of performing, discouraging every source of usefulness!

However at this particular moment of my life, I’d rather choose to believe I belong to the second class now. Iget criticised, often penalised, and overly commented upon, for things that I do out of my willful sense of virtue and morality. “Ninte karyam aalochikkumbo chiri varunnu. Nee enthina ithra involved aavunne?”!! [Its funny thinking about you. Why are you even getting so involved?] That was a senior’s comment on my over – anxiety about certain stuff from college. More and more of it is what I keep getting, from teachers, classmates, friends, loved ones! Why am I being so overly commented upon, if all that I do is over-react and over-do things!

I think here’s my point. The subtlity of mind is what we often lack, when thinking on a broader perspective of things! But the expression of the mind and its inifinite complexity demands to walk over every other hurdle.

P.S. Anyone inspired may stop the accusation episodes of ‘Enthoru showedei!’ [Show off!’]

The 22fk movie!

After long, saw a movie. And perhaps the right movie to see. Twenty two, Female, Kottayam. The title was promising. So was the whole movie experience. This cant be seen as a movie review. Dont set your expectations high.

We decided to go in a group. Cousins and friends and friends of friends. But finally at the eve of going, I could see my cousin’s little cousin missing. The reason that I got really took me aback! The movie wasn’t “suitable” for a girl of her age it seemed! I grew nervous and sweating, wondering if I’m finally all set for an adult movie. What would I tell my parents? Is this what my friends advocated for? I couldn’t find answers for any of those. Then came a more disturbing question. Wasn’t that girl just two years younger than me? And nobody thinks it is inappropriate for me. She had a brother to stop her from it. Nobody actually bothers with me? Well, that should have been rejoicing for me. It’s that sense of freedom that I always ever wanted. But yet, the question was as disturbing as it initially was. I couldn’t let go of my insecurity.

The movie began. We were late but had reserved seats. So the only difficult part was walking through the aisle in the dark, without tripping. (The most scary part of cinemas, actually!) Settling down at my seat, I didn’t know what to expect. I was prepared for anything and everything. Everything was smooth and running. I rationalised that it cant be an adult movie. It wasn’t to be on show. Ofcourse, there’s a censorship. I was relaxing. Intermission. I was at peace. Not about the movie. But about the initial disturbing questions. I had answers to all of them.

The movie was inappropriate for the girl not because of its sexuality. Censorship cannot be exercised over the inappropriate content either. There wasn’t anything explicit. It’s the theme what shouldn’t be exposed to “kunju manassu”(innocent minds, quoting her). Betrayal and it’s effects are what should be kept away from a child’s innocence. Not sex or sensuality.

Are you a mentally stable and normal person? Or do you scream in the public road? Do you yell out of desperation?
Do you find it difficult to distinguish between pain and no pain? The movie is a normality test. If you can manage to retain as much peace of mind, after the movie, as you had before the movie, then you are probably a very normal person. But any exception might imply otherwise. Lol. I’m not scaring anyone. But reality doesn’t seem far from it.

The fear of being violated. The gripping insecurity. The irreplaceable trust despite the betrayal. The willingness to forget and move on but never forgive. Nobody would define these as normal. And btw normal people could never define abnormality. Vice versa holds too!

Seasoned!

I may not be a seasoned writer. Ah! That’s never the point here. That was so randomly stated just to go along with the title.Seasons are just so praised and so visualised as if they were the nature’s most true essence. Truly though, they indeed are something so. Poetry and literature, as I’ve always seen dearly embraced seasons and the change they symbolise. From summer to monsoon. To spring. And to winter. (I bet I got the order wrong!) The transition has been ever so slow and steady. The blunt curves of temperature and drooping scale of humidity. Seasons always mesmerise, with the awesome relativity we tend to establish with human lives. So much so, I’ve fallen in love with the word ‘rithu’ (In Malayalam, meaning season). Seasons are long. And take large radius curves to never let us feel the abrupt change. Truly a process of gradual transition. And hence it feels awkward human lives are compared to seasons.

People dont change so gradual. The sharp edges of moving on with things pierce everything around us. People are like weather. Short lived, miniature of seasons. The transience is so much similar to people and their contrasting thoughts, that change over an year, a month, even over a single night. Ah! That’s why you have fair weather friends and not fair seasoned ones!

These are a lot more about seasoned. I am really loving those yummy yummy seasoning over my double cheese pizza. I’m planning on making it something like my staple food or so! Rotflol. But idiotically, the primary seasoning that I was referring to, here, was the one that I caught recently in Hindi soap operas. However though, I dont follow the language and yet the ‘season’ was so obvious! Well the season was just about how romance blooms between the protagonists and how that ends up in the usual Indian style dimming of lights and kissing dolls!

The swing!

I aint a child anymore. I very well get that. But then, as in everyone’s life, there could be something in mine too, that can bring out a bit of a child in me. It kinda contradicts my own theory that I never felt child enough. Life was always very pragmatic and rational to me. Excuse the past tense. It still is so and will as well continue so. Eventually, I reckon that my losses are something that I lost in the mad rush of articulations. Knowing it to myself, that none was intentional, I assume I can live through the losses. Ironically, despite the whole missing of sweet naughty memories, I do have occasional reminiscences. Of a past that I never had.

My nostalgia and longing have always been mocked upon. I dont blame anyone. Nor am I particularly sad about being laughed at. I honestly understand that all of them have a point. For my nostalgia is ridiculously dwelling on a past that I never had. It’s difficult to fathom and empathise with me. Very so often, I fail at that all by myself. My birth and raising up was completely in a city, that’s continuously pacing to the “Metro” status. My life is pivoted around the city and the normal urban middle class scale. But every time I visit my dad’s native, something changes in me. From my very first visit till the current one,(typing from the very same home’s sit out), I have increasingly fallen for this place and the old ancestral home. I connect perfectly to the village, the temple nearby, the temple pond, the home itself, the extended backyard, the cramped bathroom, the dimly lit ambiance, the ear-bursting loudspeakers. Not to forget the dusty attic and the rickety ‘monuments’ and  the ‘priceless treasure’ that I dig out of them, in every single visit.

I wish I could write more and relate my existence to something worth the survival. But instinctively, I believe that somethings are better unsaid. The aura that this place radiates, is amazing. I am spellbound by it’s charm. I am surprise how I am urged to write about one particular thing. The swing of my life. The only one that I truly admired for its rhythmic oscillations. As I sit on it and rock myself, it feels like the entire world is striving to do away with my sleeplessness and cradle me into a peaceful sound sleep. My swing!

 For the first time, there was actually a choice to not rock myself. Somebody else did it for me. I am glad. Blissful.

Update : I guess the reference to the swing was very vague. But have a close look at the image just above this. Its an open gate with another opened gate within it. That’s where I sit and rock! 😛

Have faith!

Lately, I have been thinking a lot. And hence, writing a lot less than ever. As always, thinking is tiring. Exhausting and depressing. But yet, thinking never stops. For thoughts are such loyal friends who never leave your side. In sorrow. In bliss. In exhilaration. In solitude. In crowd. They always remain. Staying close, yet distant. Such are thoughts. Those tiny little things of life that give you the abundant clarity that you search for. With the magic of turning loneliness into solitude, anger into spirit, happiness into peace, tears into acceptance. I have been through a lot. A lot of intense thoughts. Intensified occasionally, instinctively simplified as well. And finally, I reach to the same ever relaxing or rather relieving point. Trust. Or faith, as I’ d rather advocate.

Trust sounds too specific. Relativity in trust is too humungous to be hidden by mere attempts of word magic. Trust, is, was and always will be specific, oriented and particular. So lets keep it aside. Coz I am no more particular about things. So would I choose to believe atleast. Broadening my thought spectrum, I call it faith now. A very general idea. Vague, yet so much more powerful and inviting. Unlike trust, faith is never lost. (Never is trust a lost commodity. Its just a general misconception about ‘broken trust’. But I aint gonna talk about trust anyway.) Faith is irrational. Quite obviously and very ironically, I never had faith in faith. Faith is so misleading and confusing. You’d never know when to pause or when to stop. Pausing faith sounds ridiculous. But its very much a neccessity. At times, faith should be held. Withdrawn and reserved for a better decision. With faith, its very difficult to be sensible.

Ah, I deviated a lot from what I should have been writing. I had totally different things in mind. Strangely odd things came out though. But then, I guess it is okay. To be out of your mind once in a while. And blabber a little. And smirk a bit. And poke yourself. And laugh to yourself. You dont call it insanity, do you? You shouldn’t be doing it. Coz you know it for a fact that I am not insane. But yet I do a little of all of them!

Finally, I found an answer. To the million dollar question that always freaked me out. Whether to have faith in something or somebody or just rather live a life as plain and as straight as it can get. Well, I guess I should have faith. Name him God. The Big Bang. The Supreme. The Highest power. The Ultimate. Paramatma. Parashakthi. Whatever it is, (ignoring the gender), I am yearning to find more reasons to have faith. Its a relief atleast. Somethings are beyond your hands or all the other wicked hands around you. Somethings fall into place with a slight magic. A little miracle. Marvelled by life. I am a believer.

Shrinking mind!

Do I look like a ‘shrink’ from any angle? Do I actually look like some human god who can curb away all your sorrow? I find it ridiculous people confide in me. Not irritated. Just amused at the very idea. When I say people, the list is sufficiently wide and endless. I dont know if that’s even the reason why I smile so less to people and frown all the time.

She’s on her way back from Bangalore. Its extreme cold there and she was shivering and had to see a doc there. One cant get out of home till ten in the morning coz its snowing all the time. Its her sister staying there. Her sister is working and hence busy. So she goes around to meet up once in a while. Her husband is also busy. So she goes around all by herself. She was too afraid to travel alone. But once everybody started teasing her, she pushed away the fear and began to travel alone. She lost her kid. Life is more or less empty now. Vidya is her name. Except for the last sentence, all the previous ones were her answers to the questions she might have wished me to ask. The five hour train journey was intermittently and effortlessly made engaging. I should have known better to maintain my indifference and never take away the headset from my ears.

I’m not callous. I’m not insensitive to others’ grievances or pain and agony. But being pricked doesn’t feel good. Everytime someone talks to me, I am itched to talk to someone too. Someone atleast! Thinking of the fact it is, I lack an ear. That’s too valid a prick as well!

First time, I’m regretting something that I wrote. I shouldn’t have written this. I really shouldn’t. Most of you who read this, have talked to me and I perhaps helped you vent. I’m not counting back and seeking redressal. All that I meant was, I need someone to talk to. The way I stood for you is not a comparison. Its just a prayer!