Chalte Chalte – a twist in the tale

So… I got back to the habit of walking and I had chosen a sylvan, serene park for my attempts at keeping fit this time. The park was filled with all kinds of people (What a rare observation! Really!), and every day I seemed to find a new story I could tell. Like a few weeks ago as I was walking a young boy of 11 walked up to me smiled and ran past me, he started waving out to me every round he passed me by after that. I smiled back a couple of times and continued “huffing and puffing and blowing” fat down! I used to meet the little kid everyday and every day I would notice him carefully choosing fallen flowers, neatly stacking them, bundling them up into a bunch and leaving it for me on my ‘rest pause’ bench after my fourth round of the park which is when I took the break. I would take the bunch put them in my pullover pocket and continue my walks.

While it was a pleasant park - it did have its share of imbeciles – there was this dastardly looking middle aged moron who would visually letch n feasting on women who were passing by his so called yoga zone and that particular day - every time I passed by he’d lift his legs up in a rather obscene fashion and let out a cry – idiot!! Three rounds in a row I endured the nonsense gave the ‘he doesn’t mean it’ theory a fair consideration but the fourth round I lost my calm – just when I was in a mood to ask him to mind his own business and spare people a visual treat of his goods the little kid who waved at me came scuttling along and said “hey – is that guy irritating you – don’t you worry! I will protect you” and before I could respond, he ran up to the middle aged moron - eyes screwed, face in a frown, feet full of purpose and hands ready for a war - and in an instance pulled the yoga mat from below him and the guy fell with a thud! I was thoroughly amused. The entire lot that was practicing yoga came to the rescue of the man or the boy I don’t know, my phone rang distracting me for a moment and it was a certain someone’s message and I had to give it my complete attention. Before I finished responding to the message the contingent had left the park. I looked around for them a bit and since I hadn’t yet made friends in the park whom I could gossip with or enquire about an incident such as this – I couldn’t find them.  “That’s that” I thought and I hurried along to finish my walk.

A couple of days and a change of walk area later – I was on my new walking road – I missed the young boy and wondered where I would see him again. Now, as had become my routine in this week’s walk-path I stopped by at the lady who sold flowers outside a school and I exchanged meaningless friendly banter with her. That morning, as I was paying her for the flowers I bought, my eyes suddenly spotted a familiar figure – why it was the middle aged moron indeed! And holding on to his protruding belly for dear life as he track-raced other dads was another familiar figure – “daddy faster! Faster!” pleaded the voice from behind him – as they passed by me I realized, quite to my horror, the dastardly looking middle aged moron who was feasting on the visuals of women passing by in the park was… The kid’s dad!!

I now walk to work in black overalls.

The Firefly Manoeuvre

If he looked back far enough, he saw a benign friendship developing. She promised jovial company, and an enthusiastic intellect for his starved mind. He wanted those, found her intensely stimulating in conversation, and knew he liked her in an instant. So what if she claimed to be a woman from another dimension and they happened to meet through a break in time that revealed itself through the seasoned teak table of a coffee shop? So what if the only way they could communicate was through those words and verses and carvings? So what if they could never meet in a quaint sylvan place where they could feel, touch, and hear each other like regular lovers did? So what if he was in love again? So what?

Time went swiftly by yet when they did meet it always felt like no time had passed. He found her surprising. Surprising not because of her vivacious and outgoing spirit; but because he wouldn't, even in his unnaturally wild imagination, think of her joining him in a random escapade; an escapade that might lead them beyond that alternative, nameless dimension. Yet, here he stood, wondering if she was serious in asking him out… she did, he went, and the rest… had to happen.

He gazed at her with all the tenderness he could muster… she quickly looked away… he looked again with pleading eyes… “Don’t fall in love” she said candidly, he gasped, softened his gaze and responded “I already have. I can comfortably say that I love you. You have given me the rock I can anchor our relationship on. “Can I just say thank you and leave it at that? I don’t think I'm ready – I'm not clear in my head, I don’t know…” she fluttered. “Shhh… -I love you not as in I want to make love to you types. This is I Love You in the way only you and I understand.
I say I love you, when I believe I've met a mirror, of certain key aspects of my life. I don’t know where we’re headed given the certainty that this is bound to head a direction which has such unnerving pitfalls, but I simply can’t not say it or feel it” “physical, platonic, childish whatever … I’m just not sure. There’s a lot of fear and fear is not good for life” she said, rather meekly.

There they sat, two people helplessly imprisoned by time and circumstances and dimensions. They belonged to two alternate dimensions. Why they met and how, is the last thing to worry about. They met, they laughed together, they pondered about the paradoxes of life with the same lens and now they were in love. If the sheet that separated them was anything tangible, it could be torn apart and they could ride into the horizon together – but the sheet that separated them was time – lifetime itself. She was a musician and he – a teacher, and both of them carried the burden of doing, saying and standing up for the right thing – but was this fantastic fable right? Was this sojourn practical? Is this something they can explain to those that look up to them?

It was the day that they were about to meet and as he sat waiting for her at their coffee bench and wrote to her he wondered: “What kind of painter wakes up before dawn, and creates a masterpiece, knowing that s/he will have to rend the canvas before dusk?” “The kind of painter who is passionate and paints for the sake of painting – not worried about closure, fame or possession” came her reply. He couldn't counter that argument – not that he wanted to.

It was painful not to be able to be in touch with him as often as she would have liked to, what with the need for a solitary place and the specific breaks in time to all come together… when she couldn't take the pining any more she would leave random things on the coffee table or messages on paper napkins to indicate she wanted to talk to him. It was very unlikely that he would find these yet she wrote what she had to. She didn't know what was more painful – being away from him or the impossibility of this relationship.

“Why are we doing this to ourselves?” she asked him as he held her with one hand and drove the car with the other. “Doing what?” he asked. “I mean look at us, we know this is impossible, we know this is headed for a fall yet… what is it that you want from me? What is it that you seek? Say what you have to honestly.” she said in a pleading voice. He pulled over, drew her close to him and in a gentle and earnest tone he said “Conversations! This is what I want – this is all I want. In fact, just being able to hold you, with no burdens or shackles, lose myself with you and in you, exist without the physical realm, share dreams and live them with you for as long or short as the ethereal selves allow, that alone would be the ultimate. But if it was just to remain as conversations – I would consider myself lucky”.

I HATE REALITY

Realm now here... realm now not!

He - a façade of confidence, eye for detail, inquisitive, unapologetic, go getter with a new found freedom and a devil may care attitude

She – bewildered, wondering if…, beautifully uncertain, well read, poetic, elegant and outspoken.

He is on his way out and she suddenly says “I’ll take you out for coffee?” And that’s the way the story begins rather that’s where I would like the story to have begun. It is amazing how two people, who at the very core of their selves are the same but pretend to be just the opposite, can actually discover the similarity and without much forethought decide to take a walk together. Well a narrative has to unfold and how will it if they don’t take that first step on their first walk? Or are these things pre-decided?

The night was young and they found themselves a warm coffee shop to just be. A few laughters a few meaningless exchanges… but I can only tell you her side of the story because the trend is that any 'his side' hardly has listeners or maybe I don’t know his side of the story – not that I don’t want to. She thought, “it’s just a coffee how forbidding can it be? He’s leaving , I’m saying bye, we’ll talk and that’s it.” But the devil’s advocate argued – then why did you spend that much time in front of the mirror this morning, why are you feeling those butterflies tear you up in the tummy?, why are you stammering and stuttering? Why are you scared? Why on earth are you blushing for nothing at all? In truth both of them had heavy baggage they carried He – unperturbed, she- full of words, he- posing like it was perfectly normal, she- wishing he shared her anxieties. When suddenly he said “it’s okay, we’re two people who like each other and are both nervous because at the back of our mind there is reality, social moors, responsibilities, vows and billion other things. But what the hell!?” And so the journey began, she smiled, sighed, wondering where this was going and why – they walked as the conversation built up into a self sufficient world of exciting possibilities. “I was attracted to you even before.” he quipped rather charmingly. They're always charming aren't they?” “In the beginning. Yes!”Conversed voices in her head. And suddenly, he took her hand as if he knew what was happening and with just the right amount of warmth held her a brief moment. She shuddered at the fact that she didn’t want him to let go. The night continued to weave it's tales and they sat around, giggled happy banter. Then there were the stars – through the glass and the lights – real and imaginary ones - to evoke dead passions, they spoke of story tellers, and norms, and love and affairs - he knew the names she knew the pattern! - it was all exceedingly poetic, free and weightless up to the point where he reached out to her waist dragged her close and said "What? I'm just enjoying the physical contact and would like to get that much more time with you if I get to drop you off". She fluttered within like the clichéd leaf in a storm. This can't be good, after all there is a whole real world they have each left behind and have to go back to once this nerve wrecking, exciting, rejuvenating, stirring, soul-filling journey was over. She didn't resist his touch, he was a total stranger and yet she couldn't think about anything else save how she would react if he were to kiss her. And then they talked some more. Blush and guilt and joy and moments of discoveries kept alternating their minds and the space that was left between them in the physical realm. She held him now and then let go. “What on earth are you thinking? You are no teenager who can be wayward and reckless and deal with the pining and possessiveness and emptiness that would follow the journey” said the voice – she had things to take care of, broken threads to weave back home and this journey was meant to break the monotony and stress of her life not add to it. But she also felt great much poetry conjured within her. He spoke about others and other sides and she did the same. He looked at his watch and she said “we must leave right?” “Well! At some point in this realm we have to leave. But I do wish that someday there would be a choice given to us where we could choose a specific point in time and just stay there…” and there she was dangerously close to falling in love.

A few glances, a few heaves, a few beautiful exchanges of thoughts and a surprisingly unceremonious – helmet-in-the-way- goodbye later… they rode into a new world with arms open and eyes star struck. She sat and wondered why she said what she said and if she really meant the whole grown up talk about not complicating things. As for home… right now it’s a fluid thought. 

And after the din had died... silence, she looked for him, he wasn't there. She saw it coming. Lucky it wasn't yet anywhere - and as she mindlessly surfed through channels on tv... a film poignantly notes, "what is most painful is not even being able to say goodbye!"

Let me go...

Am I ungrateful for all my blessings? Is that what this is all about? Why cant I be all I can be and still be loved. I have long asked myself this question and it remains a rhetoric. I don’t think this is about belonging or freedom I think this is sheer apathy towards the need for acceptance. 30 years of my life have gone by and so many of my dreams lay buried and some even undreamt. It's no one's fault, I just didn't have the resilience to be me, I allowed myself to go adrift. I am the only one who is responsible for the me that I have turned into, the me that I have buried. Today more than ever I know I don’t want to be here. I want to go away to discover myself, live life without the things that bind me and make me believe that I am any lesser than the inner, radiant, real me that I am. I have to go, I have to start walking towards my next destination… I don’t know how I don’t know where I don’t know when but I do know why.

Among all the relationships that I have had the one that has stood the test of time and mistakes is the relationship I have with myself, I cannot let that relationship bite dust. I want to go away to understand what I am capable of, I want to go away to regain the confidence I had in myself in others and in life itself. No one will understand my 'why', in fact I'm beginning to believe that no one has to. I am beginning to rot and decay, I have to sharpen the axe, I have to start laughing out loud, I have to write till I stop caring who's reading, I have to start dancing in the rain and stop feeling guilty when I do these things. I need a space within and around me so I can shake off the cobwebs that are beginning to foul my personality. I need to read and read for the sake of reading. I have to opine and I have to revive the child that lies forgotten and abandoned. You are right child - I don’t want to be the person who remains just that "someone who makes awesome capsicum bajji…" I want to travel. I want to touch other lives more than by simply being someone who doesn’t know to keep the spoons in their right place. I am tired of living the yardsticks of someone else's life. I want to say "to hell with the world!" and be okay with it, and not have to choose my need to be me over someone else's need to have that ideal teacher, writer, woman, wife, daughter, worker, friend. Let me go! Let me be!

Faith

Faith is just a word - but its consequences are mighty, endless and ever expanding. Just the other day we were discussing about how faith is such a comforting thing...and not having faith is a shot in the dark. For every person who loses faith - nature provides hundreds of serendipitous moments - or so I would like to believe. The conflicts in the world the way we care to see it arise when we go all out to fuse faith with religion, names and rituals. How wonderful it would be if one is allowed the space and freedom to have faith sans form, sans name, sans the need for a physical entity, sans evidence! Wait! What do I mean by "allowed space"? I mean - we almost always have a choice right? 

The point of poetry and music?

Whats the point in poetry? I cant understand poetry. Poetry is not for me. I don't see the purpose in poetry. What can you make in poetry, the money is in fiction right?. These are a few quips to which I had absolutely no answers to when my book of poetry was published around the same time last year. But one morning on a ride to work, i found my answer. It was an absolute bugger of a morning. Heartaches, lost feminist battles, uncouth co-inhabitants - life was a bore. All I could think of was singing a long lost poem. "Ambigai pennea anandam paadida vaa.." as I sang those lines... each line filled me with joy, laughter and a firm belief that some of the lines were written exclusively for me, one song led to another I kept singing my favourite songs and with each song every line that was well written lifted a veil of depression that clouded my mind. When the poems spoke about life - I saw my life reflected in them, when they commented on a broken heart - i could feel the catharsis taking place within, when the refrains were on the inevitability of situations - my shortcomings made sense, when they proclaimed wonder - i could see a spark of divine in all forms of life. Only poetry can allow a person to cherish a stray word in isolation without any context whatsoever - contexts however explicit are immaterial to poetry and that is the beauty of a poem, it could be written for anyone for any reason but the way it speaks to you changes constantly based on your own needs - a poem doesn't require a context - it is the context that requires a poem - to give it meaning , to  make it bearable.  And that my friends is what poetry can do to you if you could just let it. Every song, every poem is an expression of a person's innermost desires, passion, beliefs, and inadequacies. Every thought in every poem can help you and me in making sense of all the chaos that clouds life if only we can see beyond the what's the point of poetry perspective. Yes! I don't make money out of poetry because poetry is not meant to be a money making exercise, in fact I don't think it is even meant to elicit a response - it is meant to feed a spiritual need which people who measure everything with the yardstick of input vs output will never understand. In the vicious cycle of beginnings and ends the only eternity is love and poetry seeks to serve that love and no one else.

ek bheegi shaam

 

HISTORY repeats itself… there's hardly any reason to believe otherwise. I had given up hope of finding a someone, I would grow to love, who would say 'please stay - a few more minutes" and mean it. But - I did. Out of nowhere he walked into my life. He was this endearing, happy, peaceful human being, the likes of master Shifu. We met at a guest house, in sylvan surroundings. It rained the proverbial rain and we spoke into the night. I sang, he listened, we spoke about books and poets and snow and sun… oh yes and lost track of time. Suddenly, "Oh, time for you to leave I suppose? Let me walk you to your bike, better still, I'll come with you on the bike and get off some place, that way I will get a few more minutes with you." My mind voice "WHaaat? Really? Did I hear you right?". Why was this so important to me? I didn’t know. I guess I was just used to people saying please leave, your choice to stay or leave… a little too often and here was someone who wanted ten more minutes with me. I felt 17 again. That’s just a number.

 

I left … he said we'll meet again. I believed. I smiled. In all my joy, I called him - silence, messages - silence. he didn’t respond - I was disappointed - end of story everything else written above doesn’t matter. History repeats itself… there's hardly any reason to believe otherwise.

 

But then history may also add a few pages to its past while repeating itself right. Make do for the errors, right a few wrongs. Despite all my ego and heartache – I called him one last time. No response. He called back. "we're very simple people, we lead a very simple life, nothing can go wrong. Good you called. Was just held up with something new and haven’t had time to breathe. Been wanting to call you" He said. Nothing else mattered and I… well! We'll meet again he said and this time we did.

 

I was riding back from work across the lake and suddenly the phone rang, "ennamma kuzhandai eppadi irukkae?" awwwwww… that endearing voice, that child like abandon, that disarming smile all at once. "Hey… what a surprise!" I said and hid my excitement. "So where exactly are you now?" He asked, "Right next to the place I dropped you off last time." (Poetic Justice) I replied. "Oh good! Just take a left turn and meet me at the west gate, I'm here" "You're here? Really when did you land? How long are you here?" I enquired. "Areh… How does it matter, I am here, I want to see you even if it means we're spending only half an hour together." I smiled, I cried, I felt warm. I went, he was there waiting and then… well! The rest as they say is … HISTORY.

and suddenly...

It is strange... what they say about friendships! I have heard him say often "true friends are those that stay close even if they are away.. so much so that even if you meet twenty years later without having had a single conversation, you can pick up from where you left" hmmm... I used to grunt and brush off the thought. Recently an apparition proved me wrong. I call it an apparition only because it is yet to sink in. I was having the worst day of my life and I was pretty sure I was headed to a railway station to run away to the lands of yonder or just sit in the darkness and wait to vanish. For some reason I decided I would go to my tailor instead for a trial of the clothes that were due a week later.

I hate it when I have to park when the work at hand is hardly a few minutes and the feeling within is to vapourise... so as soon as I reach the tailor's - strangely named 'the middle shop' I look at him and gesture if I can just leave the bike out until I'm done trying the sample clothes, he reluctantly agrees, I set the bike to stand and take my bag out, thrust my helmet in and am about to turn around and enter the shop when at a distance I see three chirpy figures walk towards me... wait! is that... no! really? I see N... a good friend from college with two others . Others? No! that's S n A. OMG!! really it's been  years since we met. I run to towards the three of them, feeling 17 again, shouting "Am I having a dream or are these strangers?" a doesn't quite get it and grunts to herself "Who is this mad woman" N quickly recognises and we hug each other share pleasantries. I just want to hold on to them, go wherever they're going and not come back yet I ask them in as formal a tone I could muster "If you girls have planned some quiet time together, I'm okay, I can see you'll later, i was leaving anyway."  - I lie. "What rubbish" S quips, "come along, we're just headed to the store to collect a few things,we'll do it together." I happily trod along, chattering, happy banter like no time had passed.

I suddenly realised that time has its way of reminding you about the joy that you were capable of, the blessings you are given and the simple fact that life isn't about the aches and pains, the unpaid bills, the everyday falsehoods, the heartbreaks, the selfish MANkind the bickering and the nagging of - you know who- but about these coincidences, these reassurances from a beautiful past. Thank you girls for showing up from I don't know where and why - it made me smile and go back home and pick up life with renewed joy. I guess I'm turning 30 and it shows but I dont care as long as I can revisit the time when I was 17 and smile - all eezz well.

I go home - all three of them msg with the same question "Are you ok? You seemed hassled?..." I smile and say it's ok, everything is ok! :-) and suddenly... Everything is OK.