The Gypsy and The Caged Bird

It was a beautiful bird, and so was the song. It was a beautiful day, and so the bird had sung.

The wanderer came to her side, enthralled by the zest of her voice, lost in the music of her making. He stretched his hand to touch the lovely bird- alas, he couldn’t. A cage of glass kept him from the warmth of touch, the truest of all our senses. The cage was of crystal glass. The cage was beautiful. A cage, it still was.

And now our bird looks his way, and notices the man the cage has kept at bay. A wandering gypsy, she thought, surely a man not to trust. Long locks of hair, bearded jaw and a light so deep in his eyes. Still she likes him, and so she sings once again, in a voice of silk, laced with raisins of laughter, as sweet as honey and milk.

He asks her,” What a song cometh from thy lips, how it changes my little world!” She laughs in pleasure, with a silent guilt. He asks again,” Would thee come, in my hands? Together we shall fly in fairy winds, and see oceans blue, winter lands afar, sing to the sweet delight of many a misty mountain night, wander through grass so green, drink blessed water from a sparkling stream.”

The light in his eyes so shone, that her heart skipped many a beat and tone. Yet she spoke, in pleading notes, more for herself than for him- “ I am bound to this cage of glass, and its master too, and I must be loyal to his love.  Thou are full of life and brightest hope, with many a word silky smooth. Yet Stranger, I cannot break this cage of glass, nor can I break my master’s heart.”

The wanderer sighed, then smiled. With a last look at the lovely bird, he turned around. Only then did the lovely bird see the wings of mighty white. He flapped them once and off he flew, the angel , or the wanderer as we knew..

Of love and loss

All those who wander are not lost.

All that you love will be carried away.

All those who wander, for lost love, will be carried away, in time.

All those who love, all those who lost, will be carried away, in time.

All those who loved, all those who lost, and not,

All those who fought, all those who dreamt, and not,

Will be carried away, in time, by time.

-Special thanks to J.R.R Tolkien, Alfie Zimmer, and Gopikrishnan Nair

Epiphany

We are tall walkers, proud of ourselves and our skills, our achievements and our triumphs. And yet, there comes a time in our lives when we realize that all this eventually meant as much to us as a broken web meant to a spider. Turn around, and what do you see? No, not the skyscrapers you built, not the sculptures that you made. Just a smouldering, burning wreckage of what might have been, had you chosen differently. In hindsight, life is a perfect journey that went wrong at so many crossroads. Many a right turn you have ignored. Many a wiseman's word you have pretended not to hear. The legacy that we left unseized, the treasures that could have been so rightfully ours, lost .Plundered by that unseen yet seemingly invincible adversary, which some call fate. Hindsight is of course, a mirage. Instead of the oasis you see much ahead of you in the desert, this one is far behind you. You think that there had been a lovely green patch, with a cool flowing stream waiting for you and you had ignored it. It is but a mirage for the misfortunes that have besieged your soul know not the fights that you have lost.

The world laughs at the plight of a lost man, for a lost man is filled with doubt. These carrion eaters laugh at the carcass of your dreams, feed through the maggots that infest the rotten meat of your failures. Burn them away, drive them aside. He who laughs at your state now shall laugh tomorrow, but to merely please you. You should know that more than anyone else. You long to tie these creatures with barbed wire-chains onto an electric chair, beat their bloated, stinking, fat guts out, and at the end throw that damned switch on. Burn in hell. My version of hell. Hell is not on a distant planet. Its right here, right next to us, right within us. In a corner of the mind, when someone throws a seed of doubt. The seed that grows in to that wicked plant that strangles and chokes the breath out of your self-belief.

It is then that we need to find ourselves. Look deep into the reservoirs of strength, and hold out. Park the bus, so as to use a certain figure of speech. Stand your ground. Take out the broadsword of your resilience, and plunge it hard into the flesh of the adversary. Never mind the splashes of red that will be tattooed against your soul. For some treasures cometh at a price. Such as inner peace.

Nemesis

The following lines are a tribute to one of the masters of English literature,William Blake, a legendary visual artist unrecognized in his time.Through "Nemesis", I seek to explore the depths of fears of the metaphoric protagonist from his most famous work, "The Tyger".



Tyger, tyger burning bright
In the forests of the night,
Which creature puts true fright
In thine heart of rock granite?

Is this form a forest beast?
A ghost or a poltergeist?
Doth it boast of a wicked claw
To rip away a flesh so raw?

Doth he own a heart of stone?
Mercy, hath he ever shown?
Doth he pleasure to bring thee strife?
Would it dare to take thy life?
What the fuel?What the fire?
What the reason for his ire?

Are its muscles forged in steel?
Doth he even fear or feel
The lightning from the skies above
Or the mighty final foe?

Tyger, tyger burning bright
In the forests of the night,
Which creature puts true fright
In thine heart of rock granite?

A wall, and beyond

You see the brown wall, and the man leaning on it. It is but an illusion, for the real wall is within him, and he is holding on to it with all his might, for dear life. None of us are born with an invisible wall in our minds, to protect us and keep out the ones it deem dangerous to our inner peace, and along with it some loved ones, of course. We are born wild and free, we laugh with our heart and cry from our souls.

But after a while, somebody comes along and changes your world. The beautiful wind of change kisses the sails of your ship, with unsaid promises of a distant shore, where love and warmth awaits you. You play along with the wind, opening yourself up, believing everything the wind whispers, and sometimes hearing words that the wind may not have spoken at all.

In your fool’s world, you are but a happy man, for the fool does not know what the future holds, and takes all delight in the moment. The fool is not one to notice the subtle shifts in wind, until the salty air is as still as a dead man’s eye, and he is stranded, a lonely man in unfamiliar waters, with his self sinking slowly into an ocean of despair, into a sepulchre of solitude.

And then He wakes up to the real world, thanks to some kind creatures. He is no longer the foolish soul that once roamed the seas. He is a wise man now, wise with the knowledge of perils and traps the capricious waters of life have to offer.

But everything comes at a price, and so does wisdom.

Now he is rich with the knowledge that love shall hurt, yet it is wealth that he would have been better off without. For this wisdom, this new light shall force him to lay in place, brick by brick, a wall of separation, a wall of distance. Some twisted mind may call it a monument, to lost love.

No more shall he open up, to seductive winds that pass by, to the occasional wayfarer who might otherwise have stayed a moment, a night or a season.

Yet he does not lose hope.

He dreams that someday, an angel would come; daring to soar above the heights of separation he has made for himself, forgetting the fact that there are no angels or demons in this world, only humans with their infinite myriad of imperfections, desires and complicated emotions ranging from guilt through hatred to love.

He dreams that a person strong enough to break open these walls, brave enough to explore what lies within is on her way; forgetting the simple fact that explorers of the world need not the dirty, dark corridors of his soul.

Yet some miracles have happened. Some have come, who had cared enough to scrape away a little of the moss on the wall. Some have persevered, enough to make a crack in the wall, an infinitesimal window of light for the man within. Yet before he could tell them how desperately he needed them all, before he could reach a hand to them, they had left in disappointment.

It was never truly a solitary confinement, within. There were a trusted few, the few in whom you could confide your deepest secrets that you would know they will not use it against you. But even these kindred souls cannot stay forever, and they are flying away, one by one. I rejoice in the fact that they leave out of necessity, not out of choice. Yet I weep, for I know that they are the ones who always truly cared. In my wait for angelic winds and brave explorers, I had forgotten to show these rare foul weather mates how much they meant to this prisoner of his own mind.

Now the shackles that hold him are rusty and falling off. He prepares now for a new voyage. He does not know what the journey holds for him, or how this new travel would change him. Yet he cannot run away and he will not. But he knows that when he returns, only one thing shall remain eternally constant- The wall.

An evening breeze

It was her gaze into the deep blue of the ocean that caught his eye, as he strolled inside the café called lovingly by its owner Luigi as “The Shack”. As a rule, evenings in The Shack were thronged by beautiful women and men, some of whom came for perhaps a midnight companion, while the others preferred a quieter Latte. The curious mind of our protagonist, Stephen, considered this for a moment as he studied the profile of that exotic member of the female species seated comfortably ( and fortunately alone) in a table by the side, just next to the railing that separated The Shack from the azure waters of the Mediterranean.

But heroes of life do not worry over minor matters as this, and quite confidently he walked upto her table and spoke, in his deep voice, “Good Evening, Signora. Would you mind if I took the freedom of having this empty seat?”

She shifted her gaze, from the azure blue of the ocean, into the deep blue of his eyes. She was only stirred, not shaken, by this good looking stranger and she replied, “Why not.. After all, it is an empty chair, and it is a beautiful evening.. “

With the smile that Captain Ahab must have worn when he spotted antagonist Moby Dick in his pursuit, Stephen sat into the chair that overlooked the splendor of the Mediterranean in it’s side and the sensuously dark skinned woman across it. With the tried and tested expertise of a skilled gambler, he began to pull his first arrow out of the quiver. Stephen spoke , “You have been looking at the horizon quite a long time , Signora. What did you lose in the seas? A diamond ring, perhaps?”

The woman’s gaze shifted to the sea again. And for a moment Stephen thought he saw pain in her eyes, but quickly she re-wore the mysterious smile that he would soon have etched into his mind for a very long time. Slowly she looked at him and almost in a half whisper, she said, “Yes my friend,. Love.. Love is what the ocean has stolen from me.”

He was taken aback and his senses screamed at him WRONG MOVE. But before he could pick up the reins of this curious game, she spoke again in her husky voice, “What is it that brings a good looking Signor alone into this beautiful place? Seeking diamonds to keep, when you return home? Or just a little pleasure, searching for warmth?”

He smiled, the smile that had fell innumerable beauties in his hometown and replied,” I am always free, like a ship on the high seas, my friend.. Am not one to tie myself to anyone.”

The woman, lets call her Selena, leaned forward and spoke , “ Really.. But for how long? Not eager to know the safety of a shore? The warmth and assurance of a shelter?” Stephen winked, and the object of his attention giggled once again, he felt that indefinable feeling radiating from this unknown woman, overwhelming him, as the evening breeze played with her luxurious black hair. Her deep brown eyes were becoming too much to handle for Stephen’s senses. He spoke, “The safety of the shores is but a mirage. I prefer the salty winds and the capricious waters any day, to the stillness of the land..”.

Selena smiled, and there was a lusty hint in her eyes when she started to speak again, “I see, that mermaids have a chance to board this precarious ship..”

His face turned impassive, as he considered her again, the last rays of dusk lending an artists touch to the frame of her figure. He said,” Mine is but a lonely ship.. and I have nothing to promise the mermaids, but the cold of silent nights..” Selena leaned back and smoothed her hair. It was turning out to be an interesting evening for her, with this juggler of words by her side. She replied, “Don’t be so sure.. I’ve heard the mermaids like nothing more than the promise of a silent blue night in the company of a brave man of the seas.”

Stephen could see that now was his chance, and he laid his cards on the table. Wearing a serious smile, in the deep lustful voice that many a girl would love to hear, he spoke,

“Are you a mermaid, dear ?...”

Selena looked into his eyes and she could see where she wanted to be for a very long time in her life. She said,

“For tonight, I’d love to be a mermaid..”

Stephen rose from his chair, and extended a hand to the woman we know as Selena, and her soft fingers clasped around his. They walked together, holding hands, out of The Shack, into the sands by the Mediterranean.

The old man Luigi, owner of the Shack and the proud grandfather of the 5 year old Paulie, patted the kid as he lay comfortably in his bed. Paulie’s grandfather may have been known for making lattes that even the Pope couldn’t resist, but he was a talented storyteller too. Luigi caressed the young boys face and started his story for the night.

“Once, long ago, in our pretty little town, when I was a little baby, there was a beautiful couple in town. Juan and his woman were known all along the coast of Mediterranean as the prettiest pair to get paired ever.. In the beaches they would walk, hand in hand, with the silent promise of love holding them together like a magical string. Once in a December evening, when men and women from all around would flock into our beautiful town, Juan decided to ask his woman to tie the knot. He asked her to wait in the sidewalk by the seas, in a bench, and he did a disappearing act, with meticulous plans to bring the diamond ring that he had bought from his friend in Brussels. She waited in the beach, the evening turned to night and night made way for the day. The cool nights of December moved on, summer followed.

Juan was never seen again after that evening, and Selena, his woman was found hanging from a street lamp.” Legend has it that her spirit still continues to walk these sands, and in cool December evenings, more than a young man have disappeared into nothing, tempted by a seductive spirit. So my boy Paulie, before you go out with any woman, you have to stop by your old grandfather and make sure she is not gonna take away my Paulie from me!”

Luigi broke off into his ancient laughter, and the little child joined in, for children learn only to laugh, sadness being fused into us from the time of birth.

Stephen arrived at the Lounge of the Panaji airport, with a briefcase full of his dusty clothes, and his heart full of emotions, unexplainable to a common man, unspeakable to anybody, least of all his young wife who was waiting quite eagerly for him ever since his business trip to the Europe.

Luigi continues to sell Lattes and pastas to the tourists who come looking for the beautiful beaches, and his grandson Paulie is old enough to see the lonely woman who sits by the table, next to the railing, seemingly invisible to the throng of the men and women who enjoy their evenings in The Shack.

The impossibility of hope: part 2

p.s- For all new readers, this is the 2nd part of the tale published a few days back..please try the first part: http://ofblackandgrey.blogspot.in/2010/06/beach-of-calicut-is-timeless-beauty.html before you start with this one..

Near the shore, a young urchin was playing his flute, with the hope that some stranger would give him enough to buy a morsel, or at least a snack that he may call dinner. Baggy may have had many sour experiences in his life, but he was a noble man at heart. He felt his back pocket and though the wet purse was half empty, he remembered there were two hundred rupee notes kept carefully in a plastic pouch. The pouch he had kept, to return to his once beloved friend when Baggy would confront him, and the 200 rupees would settle all of his debts with the bastard. But the bastard had left with a little less than two lakhs, leaving the contents of the pouch as the last trinket of money in his tired hands.

He decided there was no need for a dead body in the ocean to carry cash for travel expenses and started walking back, freeing himself from the tentacles of death the water had twined around him, at least temporarily. The little musician was shocked at first, though soon shock gave way to gratitude. ”Sahib, If there is a god, he will bless you..” the urchin mumbled. With a pained smile, he turned around and once again began to walk.

This time, the very first step was interrupted by something distinctly soft and small hitting him on the back of his legs. He looked and he saw a child, a 2 year old, giggling feverishly even as she lay down after the collision a few seconds back. The child sprang up, with an unfathomable burst of energy that only children are gifted with. Once again, she giddily ran around our man Baggy and finally careened off in some direction. Exactly one and a half seconds later, a man wearing the same facial expression as the kid shot past him, chasing what was in all probability his child, while behind him a woman came smiling.

These trivial incidents would have made no impact on a casual bystander, but Baggy was no ordinary observer. He was a man who had given himself a death sentence and only some instants short of executing that order. In his mind, a transformation was taking place. The sheer energy of the entire encounter shook him. The cogs and wheels of his brains suddenly decided to turn in an unknown direction. The child, to him, was the embodiment of the true human spirit, unrestrained, untainted with the seeds of doubt that the society sows. No setback would hold it down, and if something, someone could bring it to its feet, the next instant it would soar high, laughing at the hurdles it just jumped over. He realized he ha been a fool to even contemplate throwing his life away. His life!! This was his only chance at this game, and he could come this far, nothing could stop him from reaching the touchline. With a wicked smile, he slipped his hands in to his shirts pocket.

The outdated phone in there may have been cheap, but as its manufacturers proudly declared, it was truly made for India. A little bath in the water had certainly not hampered its working, and on its screen, there was just one message, from an unknown number-

“sry.V had2. tk cre. ”

On another day, he would have broken into tears and mayhap thrown the phone away. But today, Bhagyesh Dev was an enlightened man. Walking past the sands, he stepped on to the sidewalk, typing away a short yet immensely measured reply. Smiling derisively, he stepped on to the roads, his eyes locked on to the send button.

Mohammed Shareef was a god fearing man. He did namaz five times a day, spoke with compassion to his fellow creatures and never touched liquor in his life. It was these qualities among lesser mortals that made him a mini hero in his village near the ancient sands of Kappad. Returning from a grueling road trip to the northern states on his sturdy, reliable truck, he had earned enough for the month. As his vehicle sped along, his thoughts wandered to his home where his family would have made him a delicious dinner and his eldest daughter would be there to welcome him back. His mind faltered for an instant, and he did not quite see the man in the middle of the road. It is queer how a single instant can change everything, make a living man with a beating heart into a bloody pulp, with nothing recognizable of the erstwhile Bhagyesh Dev, save the mobile flung from his arms the moment the truck took his life away, and his soul was returned, to whom it was offered and withdrawn sometime back.

The impossibility of hope: part 1

The beach of Calicut is a timeless beauty, offering solace to the thousands of souls who seek its company every evening- lovers who want some moments in the salty breeze just to themselves, families who wish to escape the monotonical notes of the week that was by, grand old men reminiscing their more colourful days-she enthralls them all without any prejudice, any haughtiness. One among the thousands that day was Mr. Bhagyesh Dev. Lets call him Baggy, for that’s what he was known in his young years in college.

“Ah,college…”..Looking back, it seemed unreal, like vignettes from a stranger’s album, a glimpse into a life that will never return . He did not know it back then, but his college life would be the happiest periods in his life. Ever since he arrived there as a wide eyed first year, he gained much. The friendship of Rashid Umar a.k.a Razzie, the sworn enemy-hood of the thugs in the final year, and at the expense of a little spilt blood and some well planned coincidences, the love of his life, Rekha kamath. Then one fine day college was done, its gates closed to them forever, and the boys realized they were men now, men on the road. Without a job in hand, but with more than the usual foolhardiness that youth tends to inject to the brains of men, he bid adieu to his parents and married Rekha.

The flashback was cut short,as he felt the waves kissing his feet He watched the white waters from the shore retreat back, into the blue and in the distance the blue of the ocean met the sky. He had made his decision and nothing under the sun could persuade him to change it. He began his walk to oblivion, in to the dark depths of the ocean. The first step was the most difficult to take, and the rest came easy. The rhythm of the water matched the rhythm of his footsteps, and to his forlorn ears they were music- plaintive, poignant yet exquisite, for he was sure these would be the last notes that he would hear in this life. As the salty waters began lashing at his chest, it started to throb, however from within. Once again his thoughts drifted wantonly to his past.

The marriage was difficult from day one and the lack of blessings of mammon made matters all the more difficult. Then like a playful mid afternoon dream, Razzie popped out of nowhere, with money in his hands and ideas to die for. Together they started a business, which would “one day conquer the world”, according to Razzie. Once again there were smiles as our protagonist, Rekha and Razzie enjoyed many a day with old jokes, wisecracks and optimism about the future, some of those sunsets on this very shore. Rekha soon got a job, with some strings pulled at the right places and the uncertainties in their investments seemed somewhat mild.

Somewhere along the way, the journey started to become confusing and treacherous. Razzie would disappear on business trips to improve the worsening financial status of their brainchild and sometimes when he needed his wife’s support the most, more often than not, she would be supposedly lost in the quagmires of her job. Baggy was a little slow to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but when he did, no mistakes were made. His wife was cheating on him with his only friend. In a flurry of rage, he set out to confront them, only to learn that they had left a day earlier with whatever was left of his life’s savings.

The waves started caressing his face as he realized the end was near. With a few more steps, there would be no more sand under his feet and the steep incline underneath would ensure that his bones would rest in the sea bed. In the two thousand strong crowds that Friday evenings bring, not many would notice a man disappear in the sea, and certainly no one would be in time to rescue his damned soul. The evening sun was at its dying glory, filling the evening with a crimson radiance, as it sank slowly under the horizon. Bhagyesh Dev was nearly neck deep in the water and occasionally the waves would dance over his head, giving him a sad farewell. At that moment he looked back, not into his life, but at the shore behind, and what he saw changed his life, or what was left of it.

<..to be continued..>

Click here for Part two- http://ofblackandgrey.blogspot.mx/2010/06/impossibility-of-hope-part-2.html

Winter rhymes

My love is cold,
The embers of a fire
frozen in time.
The flowers in my hand,
a dull grey,For colours are meant
for spring,much less for winter.
My kiss is the cold touch of mist
On her cheeks,
the warmth of the heart lost,
Left along the boulevards we walked.
Dreams,once wild and vivid,
now left just as frames,
in black and white.

Buona fortuna- Part 2

“As a matter of fact, there is something you might be able to do for me.”, I managed to say, at which the object of my attention widened her doe like eyes even more. " I’m cold and wet, and I wouldn’t mind a coffee. And I certainly wouldn’t mind company ". Of an angel , I desperately wanted to add, but I was in partial control of my senses now(finally!). And as I watched her face, from an expression of initial surprise, it slowly gave way to a slightly embarrassed smile.

Oh, the smile! There are, according to Rahul Krishnan, many kinds of smiles- the simple childlike smile, the devious business class one that they use to cut your throat with,… But this was as yet an unclassified discovery, with a touchy mix of the childlike innocence, and a warmth that came straight from the heart, a warmth that can assuage the bleakness of cold, rainy Monday mornings, and at the same time give that little jump to your insides. Yes, to speak in the technical terms of my friend Bennet Gerald, a.k.a ,jojo, I was wholly,totally bowled over.

She agreed and off we went to the little cafe near the station. There was this cozy spot near the glass wall, with a cute view of the sidewalk. She was a bit hesitant at first but then again, I’ve got a knack for disarming people with my inherent stupidity and all, and to cut a long story short, I could see she was enjoying herself. Twice, I caught her looking at me, and twice I found myself lost to the world in her eyes. The air around me had a precious feel to it, a sweetness that I had felt only once before in life, before I messed everything and lost the people who mattered.

No, no sad thoughts, I told myself and it wasn’t quite hard if you had an angel sitting across you, reaching for your heart. And when the vulgar part of all such evenings, i.e. the bill arrived I reached for it slowly, with a timing that would have made Oliver Kahn proud, I managed to hold it, but the feel of soft fingers was unexpected. In a slow, graceful motion she slid her hand back, and I caught a glimpse of red on her cheeks as she looked down.

It was time to part and I tried to look composed, with not much of success,I should add. The rain had ceased, and the cool misty afternoon was turning out to be immensely pleasant, more so with the faint tugs of the strings in the heart. I could already hear the music inside, but a little voice in my mind was whispering , asking me not to get over excited. But its easy to ignore the little voices in one’s head when your senses are on a high, and no amount of negative vibes would be enough to ruin this day. Or so I thought. And then, finally we bid each other adieu , with a promise to meet on the same place the Friday evening.

As the auto rickshaw came to a noisy halt in front of my gate, my mind was aimlessly wandering in wanton dreams, dreams that tend to make you smile at odd occasions, such as when the driver ask for his fare.” Oye!! Are you short of money,man? Like I said, its 20 bucks”. I smiled apologetically, and took a crumpled rs.20 note from my pocket. Inside, I made myself a quick coffee, and while sipping in the warmth, I took the newspaper and started sifting through the pages. Sachin Tendulkar had copped another achievement to his not so small collection, and a certain ex chief minister had supposedly cheated 3000 crores in liquid cash. And then did a quaint little article catch my eye. “Pick Pockets Thrive in the City”. As fate would have it, I began to read through. A spate of recent incidents was causing many complications for the police force. A group was reportedly at work behind the scenes, and their modus operandi were very delicate. One of them would distract the intended victim with a well directed push, or by some other means distract him enough so that their leader has the time to pick the pocket, or bag of money as the case may be. And then the strangest of thoughts crossed my mind. Instinctively, I reached for my pocket. Where a purse laid with Rs 3,455 was, only a void remained. And as my brain registered this appalling discovery, I began to see what happened, and quickly the void spread, but to my heart. The glass slipped off and shattered, but I heard no noise ,nor did I feel the pain of a couple of the shards finding bloody solace on my body. There must have been 2 of them at work on me, I detachedly observed, the boy who ran into me first and that beautiful serpent. I am not a man of great internal strength, and is easily moved to tears. Even more so, when my ego is hurt, as it was in this case. I wept like a mere child for 25 minutes straight, and I got over it.

Footnote 1:The pickpocket

He was drinking the 6^th peg, in under half an hour of entering the bar. But he was still in full control of his senses, at least to the extent humanly possible after consuming a not so little quantity of alcohol. "But what the hell, today was a day to celebrate, with the best loot I’ve had in a month’s time..",he thought. Rs 3,455. He liked paying attention to the details, and go over them with sweet scent of success. The Kurt Cobain in his T-shirt would have died a second time, with the mere scent of the volumes of intoxicating liquid he was taking in. He would soon be home, and since he’d started operating alone, life had become way easier for him. Ofcourse, he wasn’t missed by the former members of his gang, of that Ajit Tyagi knew. But then again he was a talent on the rise, a prodigy of sorts. He laughed to himself on his little semi joke and once again was lost to the world.

Footnote2: The beautiful serpent

She took her seat in the bus, and got lost to the world in seconds. Today had been extraordinarily good. The man she ran into, quite literally, was hard to keep off the mind .She did not know that the next Friday evening she would wait in vain for that man to arrive, or for that matter it would become a ritual for her to spend Friday evenings in that lonely table in the busy café. And the puppet master, the big man they say who watches everything would pull the strings that her table would remain that way, for a very long time.

Buona fortuna - Part 1

I put on my signature black shirt, took the day’s newspaper, the certificates, and the prized letter and set off, for what was to be an eventful day .Or so said the horoscope-“lady luck smiles upon you today, and don’t be surprised if you run straight in to her”. Mysterious, I’d thought, given my recent run-ins with luck weren’t the stuff that dreams were made of, especially so with a certain young lady I’d given my heart to .A little dove fluttered her wings somewhere and once again, that familiar pain ,pain I’d been so much used to that it shouldn’t have hurt at all. In the mirror, I saw a confident young man, not handsome, but definitely not bad-looking, but with the faintest whiff of despair in his eyes. Running late, I thought, better not miss the train, and off I went.




The road near the station was as crowded as ever, and .The throng of people moving to and fro was unsettling enough, and to add on to my woes, there was a steady downpour as well. I started walking down the side walk with my briefcase, and in a moment of impulsive ignorance, a.k.a, utter tomfoolery ,I decided to take another look at the letter, which would have been the foreword of a typical Indian success story, if it wasn’t for the lanky kid in the nirvana t shirt . Wide eyed at the prospective salary, my common sense had taken a backseat, and the kid who was probably in dope tripped me and in a tangle of legs and arms I fell on someone else walking down the road. The object of my attention, the interview letter flew from my arms and before I kissed the ground,I saw a gust of air first lifting it off to the edge of the side walk and then taking it on a one way ride down to the sewers.




Slowly, with all the time of a man whose last chance to redemption just sank in the dirty drains of Calicut, I got up, on my feet. There’s this funny thing about life, just when you think things just cant get any worse, they definitely do. In a wet, angry, dazed state I tend to roar, with tears filling my eyes simultaneously, and the result is a hideous creature, who definitely wouldn’t win “The Indian Gentleman” award. The first thing I did after my crash landing on the pavement was to analyze the scene ahead. Well, nothing different really, people going about on their business, after all what does it matter for them, if a certain Rahul Krishan’s dreams just shattered seconds before, like a streetlamp gutted by crazy urchins? But somehow, my mind was falling it to an abyss, a black hole of negativity, when I first heard that sweet voice behind me, as someone just started playing the violin, to soothe my wretched nerves. ”Are you all right? was that paper something important? I’m so sorry..”


I turned, only to find an angel of a girl standing by the sidewalk, an umbrella in her hand, concern in her eyes. She smiled sweetly at me,and at that instant, I forgot everything that was causing my heart to beat like an overworked rock singers’s drums. As a matter of fact, for what seemed like an eternity, it totally quit working. Important ? paper ? Ofcourse not! ”Well, it was an interview letter, but nothing to fret about .And it definitely wasn’t your fault either, miss”, I managed to mutter, taking in her full beauty. Beautiful would have been an understatement, I thought, with the fair almond shaped face, the brown eyes which were already fiddling with my senses, the rush of hair swaying in the breeze so typical of our beloved kerala monsoon. Pink salwar, and the pink umbrella, perfect with the slight pink of her cheeks, and the wild pink of her lips. On a rainy day, in a dirty street with total chaos, she made people stop and stare, jaws dropping. Probably she gave heart attacks, when the sun was out.” Oh my god, an interview letter. I just ruined everything for you! Is there anything I can do, sir, to make it right? Maybe I can call the company and tell them?” At that instant, a loud siren went off somewhere and through the fence, I saw the train on the first platform begin to rumble along noisily. I watched helplessly, as the train chugged away with my hopes of the dream job.” There it goes. Ah, no matter lady. By the way, the name is Rahul Krishan. And you?” She shifted nervously, “Its ....”

At the gates..

I'm back and what a time to be...Its been pretty long and, i don’t wanna make any excuses. The deal is, plain and simply I couldn't bring myself to the task of sittin down here and type away. But now that part is actually over, the stone has started rolling down the hill, and the cog wheels are clicking, settling in to the rhythm they should be following…

I’m a person with an image memory, now this is not to be confused with the photographic memory which, gott sei dank, I do not possess. Its just that I’ve pictures or really short clips in my mind for anything worth keeping in there, rather than full length movies. To put things into perspective, here’s a little example (Boy, Do I sound like a science teacher!!!).. like my first ever memory of school. I think they’d hung balloons all over the class to put the newly arrived crying, puking, screaming bunch of midgets, yours truly included, at ease.. And I remember the balloon bursting, and me breakin into tears with a time lag of 2 micro seconds..

Ah, school, good clean fun it was. If the devil appeared in my room and start a business talk about my soul(as if the devil has nothing better to do than bargain for that),I’d definitely ask him for a machine that you can go back in time for.. I think there’s not a single guy or girl out here who, at some point of time or space, who haven’t wished for undoing something they have done...But of course, life is a one way turnpike, and as somebody’d said,”fun is fun and done is done”..

Yeah,talkin about images,some of them just stay in your mind and refuse to go away. Trivial things it maybe, nonetheless, sometimes they make you think and think.And some of those images, I feel are to be shared among people.Thats what I think I’ll be doing here,till I get bored and move on to something else.O’course,guys get bored with anything and everything,and some of my female friends may well testify on that behalf..but ofcourse,there are a select few who actually hold on to their normal lives so hard,like sailors in a sinking ship.

I have absolutely zit to do these comin days, and if some of you are actually interested in reading all these silly rambling tales, stay tuned. And don’t forget, feel free to post your comments,ranging from downright insults to heavenly praise. So until tomorrow,alvida,my unknown friends....