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. 🙂
I dont mind if you didn’t trust anyother post of mine. But this you must trust. I beg you trust this. Without the sparkle of my imaginations, without the innate exaggerations. Trust me when I say I had the most enchanted (in)sight of life just now. Two hours before typing this, I was enchanted!
Train and rain together isn’t rare but still beautiful. I just discovered the scary part of it today. Rain wasn’t calm and gentle and soothing. It was penetrating into me like needles. The wind was violent. In the lightening background, I could see criss cross lines of rain. Each drop visibly travelling at a different speed than the others. Hitting the moving train and scattering into a tremendous splash of freedom. Amazing was their dispersal, redefining all the discipline and pattern, beautified by a poet’s imagination. But it was just today that I saw the reality. Without order. Chaotic. Unpoetic. That’s what rain is all about.
The most scary thing about rain, and or or, train is the lightening. The silhouette of the dark river beneath the shaky bridge. The eerily and sparsely glowing structures in the patternless lightening. The abyss that shimmers below your feet as you lean into the gushing air. Scared to death. But I want the sight back again. Like the godly raindrops in my hand and wind that stroked my hair.
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!
So what’s koothara? For a very long time, koothara was a malayalam slang which could simply imply anything from naughty to nasty. I could never bring myself to bother much around the implications, coz there were too many more such incomprehensible words in my expanding colloquial vocab! But suddenly, koothara makes sense to me. Very much enlightened kinda sense. May be it was always meant so only. But just occurred to me that, may be, it is something like “koodiya thara” – Very cheap.
Did you just think that somebody called me “koothara” or very cheap? Or did you even think that I am so cheap to be even writing about this? Seriously. I dont care what you think. But ultimately, its thoughts that matter. So I would like to clarify thoughts here. I may or may not be addressed so..(Yeah, I have no intention of disclosing such info!). The point is…well do you see any point here? Guess not. I can hardly make sense, let alone any point! Why are you still reading? There ain’t any point here. Nothing at all. Its just one of my usual blabbering. Would that have been a better title than “koothara’? I don’t think so. This is absolutely about the ‘koothara’ that I am, or anybody else is. You think otherwise? Like hell it matters!
Adieu! To all koothara-ism that was entertained till moment. I am so fucked by this and that and the umpteen implications.
People are dumb. I’m dumb enough to accept it as an eternal truth. With my acceptance, let people remain so, with their ever long competition to win the dumbest of all dumbasses crown! Kids with explosives. That’s what people are, with their venomous tongues and out of control mind, all owing to their innate dumbness andsenselessness. Threatening eachother has become a new way of getting things done. Topped by how dumb you are, insanity level shoots up all around!
Right from kindergarten kids, to those with wisdom teeth and to the toothless generation, everybody believes in the abundant power of threats.Surprisingly yet. It works! Works with all. Worked out by all. That’s the sad thing about threats. They are too mean to be used by people whom you look high upon. When unexpected people come up with unorthodox demands and impossible threats to meet them, it is pathetic. As pathetic as to be shot by a toddler with a toy gun! People know eachother’s weakness. Too much knowing makes you weak and vulnerable. Even more, the fragility makes you play cheap tricks and degrade the righteousness of one’s existence.
As always and as everything, there do exist exceptions. Plenty that I’ve seen and a handful that I’ve had first hand experience from. Those with high held virtues and theories as a measure of abundant caution against all threats and trials. What could it be, that shields them from all the exposed tricks of a human mind? Insensitivity or satiety are too far fetched answers. It could just be a sensible mind’s impeccable rationality. Or a subtle ignorance rooted in crude knowledge.
Threats, if ever worked, are always at a cost so indispensable called love and compassion. Triumph fails to replenish. For the cost you pay is never expendable!
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.
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!
Fears aint numbered. Huge in number and immense in impact. I wish if I could count mine. My fears have never ended by any of my lamenting. Everytime I lament, I wish that’s the last time I cry about my fears. I guess my fear is afraid of me, to abandon me and face my wrath. Lol. Fear all around. Life is so frightening to me now. What happened to the bold courageous me? Well, who said I ever was one! People make mistakes. People misunderstand. 🙂
But then, personally I never knew I was so much of a scardy cat. Afraid to move. Afraid not to move. Afraid to talk. Afraid to be silent. Afraid to sleep. Afraid to stay up. Afraid to help. Afraid to not help. Lol. This sounds like Kamal in Thenali? Reality is not much far from that. ‘Ellam sivamaya enparkal. Aanal enakku ellam bhayamayam!’
The latest added to the list is…ah stop there. Just as I typed this, I got a notice from a group of women. “Soumyanjali”. (Respect to Soumya, mourning her death) The recent controversial tragedy of a girl Soumya, brutally raped and killed in train. So does that count to be my fear too? That somebody is following me, day in and day out. It has been there for somedays, resurfacing often.
Back to where I stopped before reading the notice. My latest fearlist member; sleeping in an air conditioned room. That sounds ridiculous. Even to myself. But then, yesterday, after long I slept in an AC room and I was shivering of the fear and not of the cold. May be its the eerie silence. Or may be the buzz of the AC. May be its the presence of the chill. Or may be its simply the absence of my favourite rickety fan and the soothing lullaby it sings for me. I cant sleep without the fan.
More than the presence of something, its the absence of that thing that frightens me. I had typed this sentence once. But connection failed and I lost all that I typed. Cant type again. I’m afraid to lose again.
So what do you get of the title? That I had a wonderful awesome date with some ‘you’? Or just a pleasant calm day with somebody special? Lol. Its none. Its just a morning with ‘u’. Or simply, mourning! What am I mourning though? I dont know. Do you actually need a reason? Well, I do. I should have reasons. For anything and everything. Coz I’m rational beyond any rationale! Irrational rationalist! Sounds cool? Or weird? Or disgusting? I dont know. But I know how it feels. Just slightly better than crap and that’s it.
Why the heck am I still holding on to something that makes me feel like crap? Coz somebody occasionally compliments me. About how bold I am to have the guts to face things as they are? How reasons and parameters dont frighten me? No way! The compliment doesn’t complement the shit feel. Despite them, my reasons and rational thoughts, by themselves be the reason for my existence. At a moment like this, feeling like the entire world is closing upon me, if I can still write, I owe something to my rational brain.
Nonchalance. No way near solace. But yet, it gives me a feel of triumph. Victory over myself. The feel of having the reins back again in your hands. I’m beginning to savour this moment. Of nonchalance. Of peace. Of solitude.
Got a set of three books last month. Voraciously read and finished the last book today. Its strange. Just so strange that I’m like this. Finding meaning to everything and symbolising everything to something. But trust me this was different. I wasn’t merely symbolising with the book. I could relate. Perfectly. To every single line of it. I thought I’d write a biography before I die. Atleast a personal diary which will be let public after my death. But not anymore. After this book, I just dont have anything more to write. Its all said. Straight and precise.
If there’s one thing you’d like to do for me, please dont read the book. (if at all if you get to know the book title by ANY chance.) Dont ever. But I really want someone to read the author’s note. Or do I? May be not. 🙂