Tag: Pain

Killing the unborn!

~ Soumya ~ 2 Comments

I don’t know if she even existed. Like, I don’t even know if she were born. But I’d just love to see her dead. Rather, with my own hands, strangle her to death. She who personifies all that I am not. She who desires all that I dont. She who destroys all that I would never. She who creates all that I couldn’t ever. She who wants to stop me from writing this. She who puts a leash on me being me. She who claims to be a twin of my soul. She who disrupts my life. She who destabilizes my hold on life. She who kicks in when no one’s around, and makes me unreasonable. She who wouldn’t just let go of me until I sneeze her away. She who hunts me down, day in and day out. She who scares me. She who I despise to be with. She who I hates to have known. She who wrecks my inner peace.

“Hey, its high time we broke up. I am so tired of you hanging on to my neck. You want a parasite? Go find someone else. I am so done with you. Just so you know, you’ve done enough. To wreck me and my life.” “I am sorry but I didn’t know. Like , I always thought you liked things this way. Weren’t we perfect this way? Life was getting much..” “Duh! Look at who’s talking about life. What do you know about life? When have you gotten outta your little fantasy world, to even acknowledge there’s a real world and life going on out here!” I tell you I am breaking up with you. But you know what’s it I am gonna really do? I am gonna kill you. Finish you off and wipe you off the surface this world. I wanna wash my sins away in your blood. May be you’re a total piece of crap. But your intangible blood has such marvelous charm. You won’t see another sun rise. Go to a calm and peaceful sleep tonight, and you’ll never wake up from that eternal peace.

P.S. Lately, I have been contemplating metamorphosis. And this is how I see it in me. Went through some past autographs from school. And the one constant line, in every page, even the ones written by people who don’t know eachother, matched so perfect and identical. They all said just one thing. ‘Never change from what you’re. Your attitude stands unique.’ However fancy may that sound, do people really do this copy-cat thing in autographs as they do in tests? Or is it that they all planned on making a fool outta me, by writing out the same thing to freak me out? Or is it actually that, they all thought the exact same about me? Oh mother of god! Where the fuck is that attitude of mine then! (The one that I too loved! Where am I!)

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Superannuation!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

“Dad, how do you spell rimpersement?” “Dear, I thought you knew. Make daddy proud about his little girl! Don’t be silly and stupid like this. Anyway, r-e-i-m-b-u-r-s-e-m-e-n-t.” “What’s VRS and CRS daddy?” “Where did you hear them now! Voluntary and compulsory retirement from service.” ” Why don’t you take them dad! That means you’ll no more have to work and can stay with me at home. You could drive me to school, we could come back in the evening and pick up mom. And you know the best part? I could skip the after-school nursery! That lady is so…” “Dear, that’s not gonna happen now. If I quit, who’s gonna get you all the stuff you want? How will we pay your school fees? The books..” “Oh daddy! I am so stupid. I’ll study and get a job, and then you take the VRS thing then?” “My sweet little thing! It’d be time for my superannuation then!” “er..your what?” “Honey, let’s keep that for a while later. Now walk fast, so that we don’t get caught in the rain.”

….

How much time passed by, after that one little conversation! Nobody ever knows. Nobody ever knew what happened to that sweet little girl and her daddy. Over the years, things changed. Drastic, dramatic, diplomatic. All kinda changes had come over people, places, things, but memories. Next to change, I think memories are the one other thing that doesn’t change. It either stays or doesn’t. So her memories, or his memories, were now lost in the deluge of the new striking events, that has brought their lives to this moment.

So now is when he retires. Filling out the PF forms, he had obvious difficulties. He didn’t care enough to ask for help, she didn’t bother to offer help either. As he was filling them out, the moment of silence loosely hung on a thread. And the thread was so broken, and words so came flowing in, when the mother and the rest of the family joined the father and the daughter. He was almost done with a nominee field left out. And he asked, “Sudha, what’s Bhavya’s DOB?”. Her world just crashed right in front of her. Why was he asking mom about her sister’s date of birth? Is she going to be the nominee? Why not me, she thought. It wasn’t about the money. Now that everybody earned shitloads of money, nobody cares. It wasn’t about the authority either. But didn’t she and he have a pact? A superannuation-slash-VRS pact? When he finally promised to be with her, spending more time with her. And when she could finally reach out for her dad, at all points enroute being daddy’s pride! And now, all of that’s gone? Misunderstanding? Miscommunication? Mis-what? She just missed that one pact she had hoped to exist. The one that she was sure would be kept. Why do people change like there was never a past? Like, there was no history that they shared with the others in their present! She died a little inside, but casually sat there, right opposite to him, with no emotions.

….

Could Sudha be right? Did I unnecessarily make a fuss about the whole retirement thing by calling the return-back party at home? She seems too burdened with the chores. But then, did I have a choice. I so wanted my little girl to be here with me, while I retire and step out of my office. I have finally made enough space and time for her in life. Perhaps, Sudha was right. I shouldn’t have wanted her to come. She seems so uninterested. She’s right about moving on, from daddy’s little one to the woman she has become now. You make me proud, dear. But I would have been a lot more happier, if only things were slightly different. And if we could still get back to our old VRS pact! Or did that already slip into our cold mask of oblivion!

Kalaaba kaadhalan!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

Iravin madisernthu
irulil marainthu
uruvam yeranthu
udalum pirinthu
unnil sera thudikkiren
unnodu kalara yaasikkiren.
Oruvalukku oruvan endra
sattathai naan indru arukkiren.
En kalaaba kaadhala..
Neeyennai avanai vida
anpoda aravanaikkirai.
Un nesathin soozhchiyil
naan avanayum marakkiren.
Unnodu ondraaga yengukiren..

Intha ulakin sodhanai
ennai vittusellumendraal.
Intha vazhakyain verumai
nammai theendathendraal.
Un manathin thavippu
en maranathil theyumendraal.
Vidaikal naan kekkavillai unnidam.
Vidaivaanga mattum azhaikkiren.
Ungalirunthu en puthu thozhanudan sella.
Selkiren naan…
Intha mutrupulliyin mudivil
yaavum mudiyumendraal.

P.S. Every blogger has those days when you have the nerve to attempt on ANYTHING, just coz you don’t wanna stop blogging. One such day here!

In the going!

~ Soumya ~ 4 Comments

So now finally, when 2012 is in the going, what’s more important to me? Welcoming the New Year and stepping into 2013 with grace and certitude are all part of my schedule. But, as I said, what’s the most important thing? Its actually winding up 2012 in as good a note as possible by me, for myself. 2012 was a nightmare. Don’t take me for a person who whines this at every New Year Eve. The past year was that bad. 2012! This is what I want to do. Guess I just did it and I am so much more at peace with myself now. The past year must be wrapped in a box, tight and secure. I don’t want it to ever repeat and seep into the future, that begins in less than an hour.

I have a lot to say about 2012. I can list out the points, where I failed, how I lost, what I lacked. But I am sure that won’t help improve my New Year. They were tough days. And tough lessons. And tougher punishments, everytime I failed to assimilate them. I’d rather not take such a rigid course! There’s nothing I carry over from the past, into my future. There are no big anticipations. No ceremonious beginning of the year. No hopes attached anywhere. Its just another night. To wake into another morning. Nothing changes with the sun rise. Change is a matter of more substance than dawn and the light. I am not pessimistic here. I am not expecting the worst out of tomorrow, or the days that follow, making 2013. I am being the realist once again. The one that I was, before the onset of the mishap called 2012. I can deal with life, without fancy dates associating to it.

This year. This day. This moment is what I feared I’d never survive. I am thru with ’em all! What more to stop me! I survived. I stood thru today. And that inspires me to live thru tomorrow. Today is the day I feared yesterday! And today turns out to be just another, and over before I even knew it. With a handful of decisions (resolutions sound silly beyond tolerance) to revamp LIFE, I stil claim, ‘No hopes attached’! Hoping to stay detached from hopes. 😛

Poornathrayeesa!

~ Soumya ~ 3 Comments

I’m no atheist. I dont say I’m not a theist. Does that make me a believer of God or a non-believer? That’s tough question, though it basically is simple. I dont want to prostrate myself in front of the Almighty and show my submissiveness. (Looks more like I’m never so!) But that doesn’t mean I dont appreciate the wonders in life and marvel of this world. I’m grateful for my life. And I am spellbound by the nature’s bounty and the universe’s vastness and on and on. All appreciated and acknowledged. But those aren’t enough reasons I bow to someone everyday and let them know how huge a fan of them am I!

But somehow, there’s this one person, Poornathrayeesan, who totally gets me bowled over that I wouldn’t mind always bending low before him. (Not that I’m a regular visitor, but he knows.) The temple, the shrine, the very premise of the temple and my Poornathrayeesan. Everything feels so warm and soothing that I always imagine coming down till here and catch up with him once in a while. I so much love him. But I dont carry around his photo. Nor do I cry out his name in peril. I dont expect him to solve my problems. Now does all these make me an atheist? Looks like it!

Had gone to the temple. After something like very long. Not willingly, but had to join the family. And as ever I dont regret going to the temple. Nothing was the same, with respect to my lack of attention to the temple premise, though I cross it multiple times every weekend. The temple had two new entrances, by both sides of the main entrance, which, as a matter of fact, looked very awkward. But yeah, they had it for some purpose, may be for the elephants during the festival. The banyan branches were brutally chopped and made the tree look like some dry lifeless structure. Again, for some technical reason of convenience, may be. The inside of the temple remained more or less the same. But the first few minutes were strange as I couldn’t spot a single familiar face. (I usually walk into some of my old schoolmates or teachers.) Soon enough, I gave up that exercise and things were better. Familiar faces popped up alone and in groups. And it is only then that I realised that I really didn’t want to meet anybody at all. Sitting down on the sand, by the ‘pradakshina vazhi’, (the outer path circling the shrine), I felt like I’m at Shangumugham. Instead of waves kissing my feet, it was eyes locking with mine. Too many of them. Familiar faces. New faces. Strange faces. One after the other. It wasn’t soothing. But I got accustomed to the situation, almost started loving it. Playing the game that filled my childhood temple days, I was wondering how I’d forgotten it all these days and how I instantly remembered it as I sat down there. I wasn’t playing it as good as I used to. I couldn’t even consider the idea of running behind my sister, chasing her down, like those days. (She wasn’t there anyway. She was in search of her friends. So was dad.) Nothing was the way it was. The ambience is changed. The comfort has been damaged. The sense of possession is lost. It’s not ‘my’ temple. It’s not ‘my’ shrine. I see things I dont wish to see. Hear things I dont want hear. But still, the lord is mine. Or may be, within every mind, there’s a fence of possessiveness that doesn’t let anyone see what’s inside. May be the lord has split himself into pieces, and be present in every mind. But as long as I dont see that, I’m obsessed on my possessiveness. And claim my divine right!

I dont know of miracles that God does. I dont even know the wonderful sagas praising Poornathrayeesan. But I believe in his unquestionable power in making me write again. I never thought I could write so blissfully again, this soon. It’s indeed his charm that I write endlessly about miracles and theism and faith and fate. I’m a believer. No matter I go overboard expressing it or not. I’m definitely bound to my Lord. Taking a last glimpse of him, through the Pancharimelam, only to see him again and again, a million times.

Nightmares.

~ Soumya ~ 2 Comments

Some dream. Some dont. Some good. Some bad. Nightmares. People scream out in fear and wake up gasping for breath.Struggling to come out of what they saw in the dream, reassuring it to be just a nightmare. That’s all common. Very common that almost all of us have had unforgettable experiences with nightmares. I’m not claiming it’s different with me. But yet it is. I have never screamed or even woken up. That’s not much strange. But this fact that, everyday, I’m having the same strange gripping fear as I go to bed, and the very same fear coming true in my nightmares, and waking up exhausted beyond measure. That is strange. Strange enough to be considered so.

I dont know how to describe what I see. It’s hard. It’s private. And it’s complicated. The same repetitive thought that’s pushed down into the subconscious that resurrects in my sleep. I dont know if that’s the right way of defining nightmares. But that’s how the case is with me. I just dont want it again. And if I writing it down like this helps,I’d be the most glad.

I dream often. Strange and scary. I once dreamt. I was walking. Slow and steady. Gradually growing up in pace, as if I’d acceleration under my foot. And at some point, I was losing control over my acceleration. The road was suddenly inclined. And I was now speeding downhill. Unable to stop. Without brakes. High on acceleration. And the obvious wasn’t much far. I trip and fall. I hurt myself beyond repair. The dream end there. And I continue to sleep unaffected, only to find myself afraid to walk fast ever since, for a long time from then. I hope none of my readers are dream interpreters. Please dont look into me, so fierce and sharp. 🙂

Amaidhi! (Peace!)

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

“Naan ithellam naraiya parthachu. Irappum athin vedanayum ennai asaikkathu. Moondru maranangalai arukil irunthu parthen. Avai thantha sakthi alavatrathu. Aayulneelam adayum varai vazhven. Munnal ellam udambu othozhikkamal irunthu. Manathin uruthi mattum vaithu ippothu veetuvelai ellam izhuthupottu seyya kooda mudiyarathu enakku. Ennava irunthalum thaangikolkira thembu irukku ippothu.”

The above isn’t the exact words. But the exact content, in a way I would say it, from what an eighty-something lady told me. A vague translation could go like this :

“I’ve seen them all. Death and it’s pain does nothing to me now. I stood by three deaths and the strength they gave me is tremendous. My body is old and weak. But with my will, I now manage the household chores too. The power to strive and strength to live help me through reaching the end.”

Is the speaker relevant here? She’s an old woman. But not the ailing and dying kinda. She was ailing and dying when I saw her years back. But right now, when she looks into my eyes and utters these words of sinew, she has grown. From the weak old woman to a firm bold remnant of the existence. I’m not counting upon her as an inspiration. But she definitely did something close. Like a grip of assurance. Like a glimmer of purpose. Like a split second truth. Like an all-is-well hug.

Relieved!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

Feels like something heavy has been lifted off my shoulders. Or may be off my heart. I find the lightness at my head though. Light headed! A sudden revelation that could relieve my entire body and mind. Manoeuvring through the life entanglements,
I’ve finally found space for myself. Time for myself. And a life for myself.

I’m in a hurry. I dont have time to rest and relax. I’ve just found a way not to rust and perish. I am yet to walk it’s length. One fine moment, I feel like Vivekananda. “Awake! Arise! Stop not till the goal is reached!” And in some other undefined moment, I feel like Murphy. “Spend sufficient time in confirming the need and the need will disappear.” And then I’m dropped into limbo. Abandoned and lost. In the company of cast aside existence. Into the oblivion. Without decisions. Without reasons. Held into an indefinite confinement.

Where do I go? What do I do? Why would I do? How do I do? When do I do? Back again, What! Dont answer me. I’m not expecting answers. I’d even strangle you to death if you hint on answering any of my questions. I’m in constrained privacy. And over that, I find it cumbersome to carry a pen and a paper wherever I go. That’s the reason why things that should have been cosy in a hardbind diary have ended up here on wordpress hosting. But that doesn’t let anybody to walk in and judge. This is public. Come. Read. Enjoy. Criticise. Appreciate. Judge. That’s it. That’s where I draw the line. Dont step across.

P. S. To all my readers of sound discretion, I’m sorry if I appear like I’m building fortresses across my ramblings. I really am upto it. Intelligence reports say that an internal insecurity attack is around the corner! Confessing my insecurity.

The moment of death!

~ Soumya ~ Leave a comment

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!

Writing on..

~ Soumya ~ 7 Comments

Why am I not sticking to my new year revolution? I should be posting something everyday. But I am not. Not alternative days. Not even once a week. This is absurd. I should be writing often. I have readers. And I have things to write. Why not then! Recently, I’ve been pushing my friends into blogging as well. And what they keep telling me is something like, writing always demands a drive. Something like a strong and extreme emotion or mental state that stirs the uneventful existence. They tell me nothing of that sort happens in their lives and hence they cant write. In a nutshell, they tell me they aren’t as sorrowful and as pathetic as I’m right now.

Is my depression mode the drive to my writing spree? I dont assume so. I always wrote. And I always will write. The past was successful and the future is promising. It’s the present that I’m uncertain of. I dont know if I actually want to write this. I dont even know if I’m actually writing this or just imagining that I’m typing this. Was I not just discussing about file pointers and object oriented programming a while before? But now am I writing? Or typing? I’m confused. It cant be me writing. I am not supposed to be writing. Writing needs a drive and at the moment, I’ve none. I’m not crying my heart out. Not laughing my heart out either. I’m not particularly at the height of my emotions. Practically feeling nothing other than the stink and damp in the room.

Looks like I can still write. Feeling ecstatic about the idea of not feeling anything, I can still narrate a million stories and sing a million verses. I’d never grow enough to grow tired of them. I may go blank. But never emptied. I may be out of my mind. But never out of words. I’m on with writing. Writing on..