Friday, 12 July 2013

A Conversation Over-heard.

A Conversation Over-heard.

I was on my way back after a long day at work. It was one of those inconsequential days, days which you don't seem to remember. Days similar to many others which are easily forgotten. I call them 'filler days', days that exists to fill up the calender between days you tend to remember. It was that point of time in my life when filler days had become mainstream days. So now if someone did ask me when this particular incident, that I'm trying to recall here, happened I would be lost. 
For the sake of argument, lets say somewhere early 2013 or late 2012 ( Post the Mayan-calender-inspired apocalypse). 
As always, I am seated in the last seat of my '40A' (In those days it went by the name '210A'). It was a pleasant evening, the sun not out yet. My bus had reached a traffic signal. It had stopped. I was lazily gazing around, ear plugs taking care of the outside world commotion. It was then, that I spotted them.

A man and a Women. Lost deep in a conversation.
What had made me sit and take notice of them, was the fact that they were having a very animated conversation. They both seemed consumed by it. There was a lot of hand movements involved. 
I sat there in my bus dumbstruck, looking at this middle-aged man and woman, having this wonderful conversation. It seemed to amuse them. They were happy. They did not care about the rest of the world. And the World in return, drowned them in its chaos. 
The same Chaos the rest of us tried hard to keep out. Noises that were avoided with earplugs that went deep into our heads on either side. I looked at my fellow passengers in 210A, hardly a few who chose to endure this genre of music. And them standing there, on the footpath nearby, cheerfully lost. 
They were standing near the signal that stopped the evening commute back home for rest of us. There were more vehicles than the road could take. The ever so present 'honking' song by these vehicles, each contributing to it. These was so much noise that I found it hard to hear myself. 

I looked into their world from outside. I wanted to be a part of this world they created. I wished I knew how to break this barrier. 
But I did not. It was a world of their own. They did not notice me, nor anybody else. 
Nothing else seemed to make sense to them than the person opposite. Nothing else mattered. 

I was 5 feet away and I couldn't hear them. It was not because of the vehicles or the commotion.
I couldn't hear because I wasn't meant to. The harder I tried to listen in, the farther I felt. I knew I couldn't hear them even if I was standing right next. 
I couldn't hear because they weren't communicating through words. 
They were speaking through hand-gestures. They were Deaf. 

In these times when our words falter to convey our basic feelings, I find them screaming out their's without it.
Sound did not seem like a necessary medium if you really wish to speak. 

I felt happy for them. 
In that frame of time I was even jealous of what they had. 
I wished someday I could have a conversation so deep with someone else that nothing else seemed important anymore. 

And I knew I wouldn't.

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

All awaiting eventual doom

Gloom fills this cheerful room
spinning its webs on an ancient loom
swept aside by a hopeful broom
All awaiting eventual doom

Friday, 28 June 2013

Death Song

A shade lurking
Not in past
Your future coming
Cherish your last
I plague this earth
Since time dearth
As a sly sloth
A bothersome moth
You owe me a dime
A dime of nine
A dime in time
A dime forever mine
No man no beast
Nor kings in the East
Lived through my treacherous claim
Escaped my terrible name.

Tuesday, 25 June 2013

Day 37

I do not know if today is the thirty-seventh day. I do not know if I have counted upto thirty-seven or I am counting down and I have reached 37. I am not a big fan of counting days.
The numbers either represent the days I have tried not being myself or the days I have to wait to be. So why resist the natural order and count? Why do I try to unbalance my reality?

Maybe its the undermining self-belief that I am a far cry from perfection.
Or a subtle sign of my insecurities.

I am myself.
I am as proud as I'm arrogant. And egoistic. I despise losing and everyday life is a battle. I tear up when I'm sad. I'm filled with rage when angry. I procrastinate more on days I shouldn't.  I make promises to myself everyday, which I seldom keep. I cannot find order. I am messed up.
I embody the seven deadly sins, I might be the eighth. 
I have been moulded so and cast to be.
I am myself and will be.

Note : This was an attempt to create something random. A post from a name. I wonder if it makes sense at all. Ah! One of my early morning attempts to escape boredom on the way to work.
And of course to catalog my thought process at the not-so-young-but-matured age of twenty-three.

Thursday, 13 June 2013

Lavender

That girl in the bus.
She took the last unoccupied seat, the one in front of mine. She looked at me, I stared back. We spoke through our silent stare, mine asking her name and hers asking me to shove off. I sensed that i might not have been the first to acknowledge her presence, and that i wouldn't be the last.
So we begin our journey together from Point A to B. The only obvious contradiction in the plan was that i was expected at Point C. She would alight at Point B, i wondered if i should change my Point C to Point B.
I watched her look out of the window trying to keep track of the places along. I saw that she had red ear plugs muffling my heart's screams with a genre of music which I would never know. She had brown hair, the wavy sort, trying to cover her face with the wind. I remember the sunlight filtering through her hair, it justified her image i was busy creating in my head.
I kept looking, hoping that she would turn any minute and talk to me. I wondered if she'd ask my name, if my name was good enough to be asked. I promised to myself that i would not call her for 3 days, if i got her number. I tried hard to think of a quirky conversation starter, i was never really good at starting a conversation.
I heard her hymn a familiar tune, and i knew it then that the same almost-got-it tune which would haunt me forever.
I saw a tattoo sneak a peek at me from her back. It was a part of something strange, it gave her an air of mysticity.
She had Brown hair, Red ear plugs, a part-butterfly looking tattoo, a yellow bag and an eye colour that i would find hard to recollect later. That was all i knew about this person sitting right ahead of me in a bus filled with people who had more detailing features to offer.
I looked outside the window as this enchanted bus came to a halt. I saw a tree on the other side of the road with bright lavender coloured flowers. The flowers highlighting the tree in all its glory. I felt happiness seeping into me. With a gradual motion the bus started moving again. I turned away, shifting my gaze from the tree which was now moving past to the person I was longing to speak to, but she wasn't there.
She had got off at her Point B, and I had missed my point C.

I would travel by the same bus sitting at the same seat for many days to come, but I wouldn't see her again. I wondered if she would have looked back that day before she got off hoping to catch my name or tell me hers. I wished the tree was never there, but every journey I took from A to C reminded me it was very much there.

And then one day, many months later, I saw her again.
She got on at Point A. She smiled, I sat there dumbstruck. I noticed the exact same features that had become so familiar now. It was me and her slowly inching towards the lavender tree. I promised myself that i would not look away this time, but accept Point B as my Point C. Time stood still as the same tune played in my head again, I wouldn't remember it this time either.
The bus stopped at Point B/C. She got up to get off, I had my heart in my mouth. She went to the door, and ever so effortlessly she turned back.
She had brown wavy hair, and an innocent face. She looked at me as though she had been planning for this moment for a while. She raised her eyebrows, smiled and hinted towards the door.

I smiled.

Many years later, I took the Bus again. Youth was in my past and Old-age a distant future.
I waited for Point B as I tried to remember the first day I met her.
My hair was Oiled and combed to perfection, hers was messy and allover in the wind. I had freckled skin, hers was clear as the cloudless sky. I wore spectacles and she was the spectacle to see.
I got off at Point B. I crossed the road and went over to the tree. I sat on a bench by the tree and wondered, whatsoever happened to that girl who had made this place so familiar to me. The girl who had brown hair, maybe a butterfly tattoo and an innocent smile.
The Girl who bought a smile on my face with every passing thought.
That Girl whose name echoed "Lavender" to me.

Tuesday, 11 June 2013

Big bang

And I wait. I sit on the Brown stripped comfortable sofa in my father's office. He seems busy. I wait for Mr. X. He is one of my father's colleagues. Young and just into the service. I wait to learn if he holds the magical spell that is going to change my life forever. I wonder if today is the day it begins. If today is the big bang I have been waiting all along for.

Monday, 10 June 2013

Village bard

  Its only words,                    
And words are all I have,
To take your heart away.
These lines play in my head over and over again. A song long forgotten by its masters. I hide beneath this song, for it makes more sense to me now than before.
I am seated in the last seat of the 40A route bus. I look out and see the world go about its daily routine. People going places, Places meeting new people. I am  apprehensive of the person I'm sharing my two seater with. I do not like strangers getting too close to me.  And she switched places, I spread my legs and hog the seat again.
It is a bright beautiful day, a Monday. I sense bangalore's morning yawn, I too contribute to it. My bus snaking its way through the undergrowth. A Sea of people in rectangular boxes engulfs 40A, we wait for the signal to turn Green.
I continue to stare at the world passing by through the dust strewn eyes of the bus. I see the exact same places I have been seeing for the past 23 years pass by, with the exact same curiosity. I am stuck here. I have grown roots into the undergrowth, I am part of it now. This city has been my life so far, I feel it's trying to consume me. I want to escape. My 40A is stuck too, on a road too narrow for giants together. Slowly its master trying to untangle the knots. And we're free again.
I talk too much. I am the village bard. I sing along about the merry times and make valiant plans. But I'm too drunk to live it up. A drunken stupor that I call life, too intoxicated to walk. Will I ever make it? Self doubt hangs around my neck, a dead weight.
Give me an hour each day
The guitar I shall play
One of the many promises I make to myself. When will I ever stop.
My bus continues to haunt smaller streets, and I myself. Do ghosts ever feel haunted?
I shall stop now.
Stop.