I’m going back in life. To a point I never wished to return. I’m back there, where I think so much and look like I’m always in dreams, rather reverie. I’m so much lost in dreams that I so much lose my words and the wonderful stories that I wanted to share. Recursively, I think of something, think of writing it down, think of the opening sentences, go back to thinking and then think all that I want to write. Writing turns so pointless then!
Recently, I had found a solution to it. I had thought of adopting the typical ‘bulletin’ style of writing. I wished if I could sum up a week’s eventful events and in turn, write something beyond just thinking. And it’s then that I noticed one amazing aspect of my recent life. I had only amazing things to put up on my bulletin. My recent life has no sad stories or huge drama. And I almost can’t believe it’s my life. Pushed a friend into writing and saw for myself how awesome she writes. Stayed at my native and came to college from there, like it was my home. Broke a cold war and now it’s a hot war. Ended another cold war, and now I’m all cosy about it. Hugged my grandma and slept, after long years! Unplugged my headset more often, and listened to more unknown people and became a part of more unheard stories. Small things with infinite implications, happened in my life. Recently. And finally, the last straw is back. Like it was never broken. How much less depressing can my life be!
Has been ages since I wrote something. I so much miss me! So, where was I all these days? Thought I’d have to ask the question and frame the answer, all by myself. But fortunately, I’m elated by the fact that people actually were following me and they did notice my absence. Never have I been so sad that I haven’t written for so long either. Now that I don’t have a satisfactory answer or atleast an excuse, I choose not to answer that question that was thrown at me by people. I am here. Always around. But when I don’t write, something is just not so okay. Something might have just happened, you know. Like, a new semster might have started. Or may be, a relocation might have happened. A friend might have kept me busy. A health issue might have triggered my laziness. Or may be, I might have just lost my words for a while. Then again, what was it this time? No, don’t ask me. It should have been a mix of all of these or some of these, or may be none of these. Now that I’m back, I’m planning to hang on for a while more. An indefinite while. For I have things to share, talk, comment and elaborate. About college, the sober days, the ‘not just another’ days. There’s stuff to write. Once again.
Colgate toothpaste people once offered jigsaw puzzles as free gifts to their bulk buyers. My grandpa was a buyer and he got one too. It was made MINE by me unconditionally! That was my first jigsaw. The map of India, split into a hundred pieces. That was hard. Just too hard. Me and my little cousin, (I was little too, back then) sat down for hours to solve it. And if my memory doesn’t fail me, she lost interest half way and I took my precious jigsaw home and sat with it till I finally solved it. It was step by step. First time, I matched the colours and filled the voids. Then started linking letters and connected broken words. With the big picture in my mind, I associated the bends and curves with the geography and location of the states. Everytime I solved the puzzle, I was devising a new way to solve that brain teaser. Beginning from the middle, and growing in all directions. Finishing the border rectangle and shrinking inwards. Ways were many to reach the big picture. Never satisfied with the techniques, I gathered the pieces and timed my setting up of the puzzle. I was fast enough for me to be proud of myself. Every other jigsaw that my little sis was gifted, was less than a minutes business for me. After all, they were 6 – 10 piece puzzles meant for kids!
Jigsaws vanished. Sudoku and Minesweeper are better mind games, topped by jumbled words. With their varying difficulty levels, time is never enough to finish them. There’s almost no time for thinking about jigsaw, that I’ve already mastered with glory. Today was an eye opener. The puzzle below. Hardly a twenty four piece jigsaw and I couldn’t solve it in three big minutes. I can explain. I was not thinking proper. I was absent minded. I was not taking it serious. Ah cut the crap. I couldn’t solve that god damn puzzle. The one that I thought I was an ace at! Forget it. It’s just the disintegration of molecules from the the brain. 😀
Ammu, ingu varu. Vellathina entha thanuppu!. Varam. Thirakal enne vilikkan varum ippo. (Ammu, come over. The water is so cold! – Yeah, coming. Let the waves come welcome me.)
She waited. With her overpowering adamance, she willed the waves to come kiss her feet and grace her path by their transient silvering. The sea shimmered out of defiance that she failed to notice. The yellow glow was mesmerising and the sun turned a bright red of anger. She was obsessed by the sea and the sight that adorned her evenings. Little did she know to care about the uneasiness that her adamance created in the sea and the waves and the sun and her evening bounty! “Ingane anangathe avida thanne nikkano nee beach ennum paranju njangale koode kootiyathu?”. “Aswadikkan ellavarkum oro karanangal. Ennalle?” (Did you bring us over to the beach to simply stand by the shore? – Everybody have their means of joy, don’t they?) She said, laughing out to her companions. The turbulence always took out a calm facade over her, thoughts buried at abysmal depths. The sea has now turned a charming red. She inched forward to the sea and stared at the waves killing eachother to reach the shore. Jumping over one another, slowing others down, rising high in the air, they are rushing to hit ashore and lick the feet of umpteen adamant bitches and bastards, washing away their sins and ignorance. She was composed for one moment, and the next moment saw
her dashing into the waves to thaw in them. Death was charming; as much as the red evening sky and the expanse of the water and waves. She was so drawn into death that she’d let him ride on her. As if shaken from a trance, she crawled backed to the shore. Waving at her awestruck companions, she was whispering to herself. An inaudible utterance from the brain to the conscious self. “This is the moment of death. And he’s arousing me!”
“Amma, aa phone ingedukkuvo?” “Enthinappo ammu! Athinoode pani pidippikkano?” (Amma, could you get me the phone? – Why now? You want to make it sick too eh?) Bathing in public is too far fetched a desire for a girl of her age. But getting wet in the rain doesn’t seem too wrong. Relishing every drop of rain that hit her face, she went on a dancing spree, forgetting the warning stares from her dad. Splashing water with her legs, it was a coming back of her childhood, heralded by the cheer of the downpour. Craning her neck upwards, she was looking at the beginning of the silver threads that came down from the white expanse above. The fine drops at the end of every silver line, caressed her cheeks and kissed her lips, melting into her. The wind was blowing hard shaking every tree she could see. “Current povuo entho!”, (Would there be a power cut?) “Thamassalle sughapradam achamme” (Wasn’t darkness always the better company grandma?). She wanted to say but her mom was quicker. “Illamme. Inverter undallo.” Yeah. There’s an alternate source. More questions popped in her mind. How long would the inverter last? What if the power never returns? What if the sun fails or the earth stops to rotate? Darkness would prevail all over; omnipresence! Eyes were shut close as something was thrusted against them. She felt them to be heavy rain drops and willed to open her eyes. Water was still showering upon her, forcing her eyes to be shut. Fear engulfed her as death lingered in the corners of her shut eyes. She feared to move. She feared to touch anything. She feared death. The moment of
death. His powerful embrace that could rape and banish her existence. The moments count down. Till the moment of death!
I’ve grown. I dont know how big. But I do have grown. May be a bit. Or a bit more. Or a bit less. It doesn’t count as long as I actually have grown. Growth is gradual. Biological, mental, psychological. Whatever may growth be relative of, growth is slow but irreversible.
How to define growth here? Sleeping in between parents and then moving on to sleeping alone is growth to me. Moving on from us to me. From home to ‘my’ room. From tv to computers. From mail to chat. From friends to ‘a’ friend. Dosas to pizza. ‘Boost’ to coffee. Salwar to jeans. From reading to writing. Crying to yelling. Truth to lies. Trust to betrayal. Living to existing. Memories to reality. Orkut to Facebook.It’s all growth to me. Moving on is growth.
Did I get confused between change and growth? This was all about change. So much about growth too. May be it suggests growth and change coincide. May be. May be not. Growing to change and changing to grow. From what you are to what you should be. From what you want to what you deserve. That defines it. I’ve grown. And changed. From a calm docile creature to a woman who can reap comments like, “Ee penkutti entha ee cheyyunne!”. (What the heck is this girl doing!)
Growth from sleep to sleeplessness.
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!
A change in my perceptions is the least of my expectations. But surprisingly, I’m through with a very drastic change of opinion. Not specifically about someone or something. But generally about everything, about everyone. All things trace back to a reason. So does this sudden change. I cant pinpoint any particular incident. But yet, vaguely, it’s all related to my recent family get together. Falling back to the land of my dreams, walking around the source of my spirits, what I gained back could be partially termed as my sanity. Out of the blue, people turn more transparent, and life seems so much more clear if not plain and simple.
I am afraid this post might be very specific since most my readers precisely know about the instances and incidents that I am hinting at. I am a person with very strong opinion and sense of discretion. Atleast, so does people around claim about me.I am shook by one such judgment of mine. The moment I hated being so judgmental!! Ironically, I cant even judge if this is like being judgmental. I always thought ill of this person. I am not wrong. The ‘ill’ feeling hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s there. As strong and as deep as it were. But yet, something is topping it up now. A sense of strange change in perception. For the first time, I could see there’s a point why the person could be so. I could think of accepting the way things are and live with it, without complaints or regrets. I could think of justifying the person’s actions, after years of struggle to cope with the harm it brought on me. I could actually forgive. Nobody asked for forgiveness. Nobody even knows I could have had such a wound in me. But yet, in that flick second, the person opened up and I could see myself crying. Standing by the dimly lit corner of our home’s entrance, I wished nobody saw both of us. Talking, rather whispering. I held out my hand to hold the person’s hand. I expected my hands to be held too. But it was not to be. I didn’t withdraw nor did I pause. I went on to hold hands, with all that it takes for my pride to oblige. Hands entwined, I saw somebody’s life unwinding in front of my eyes. Treading the same path, feeling the same agony, laughing at the same joke, fearing the same fate. I could finally topple my
ideologies. I could let go. I forgave the person. Begged for forgiveness too. Within myself.
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.
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.