So you enjoy watching trigger-happy people blow up the place (for good, of course) and intense passion for nothing but being oneself? And people who live for love? Then you’re going to love this movie. Don’t… More
Enslaved by internet speed and storage-space in mobile phones and devices such. That’s what life has come to. Office got over a while ago but here I am waiting for In Which Annie Gives… to buffer. Yes, that’s what its come to.
So, I thought I’ll visit the space I’ve been meaning to but not getting time (mind frame, actually) to attend to. There’s 8 hours of office and two hours of travel along with 7 hours of sleep. To add to it I joined a short play with well-meaning friends some of whom are serious thespians and actors. I’m just learning, really – experiencing, rather. I was always drawn to the theatre- well, now I’ll really get to know if I make the cut or whether theatre makes the cut for me.
Well if you happen to be in Chennai (or live here) – come catch us live at 7pm (be there on time because we perform first) – Alliance Francaise, Nungambakkam. Its made with love, really – the other kind, you know. It has a lot of laughter and goof-ups, bajjis and lemon tea behind this play being performed. For me, maybe because of the people I’ve been around with – architects and writers (of sorts) – the Process is always more meaningful than the end. Well that’s what I believe in, for now, because I haven’t really completed anything of importance. Perhaps if I ever get a project (writing, art, audio or whatever) done – I’ll tell you.
Damn, the internet is slow. I’m still here. The office is almost empty.
Well, I hope to see you at the play should you drop by – do say hi. And, I miss my leisurely days, really. And I long to go back to my hostel-mates and do the things we used to do. I miss my single-bed and the best room-mate, ever who loves cats, books and strangeness alike. We could exist parallel-y, peacefully and interact at a comfortable wavelength without any awkwardness and in these times, that a real miracle, you know. If you happen to read this : I miss you Gurangutan and all our erratic, crazy and lovely times. Making videos, playing with Peter, walking walking walking, eating together, watching favorite movies. You will be my best friend forever – without definition. I hope we stay in touch like our mothers and their best friend in college did. I hope to come there and meet your cats and little brother – go with you to all the places you mentioned. Someday. I have another set of special friends apart from my classmates – the Chicchar Gang. No, I will not translate. Its best left like that. They hailed from Meghalaya, Ranchi and Jamshedpur. And they were my closest friends by the end. I can’t even start telling you our stories. Because, well, not all of them are mine to tell.
Ah, well, Dad inquired why I’m still in office. And its getting dark outside. I must leave now and leave you with patchwork-memories.
‘Life is as infinitely great and profound as the immensity of the stars above us. One can only look at it through the narrow keyhole of one’s personal existence. But through it one perceives more than one can see. So above all one must keep the keyhole clean.’
Found this quote in Sakshi Nanda’s most recent post : Ordinary. Extraordinary!
Deserving affection is
now a thing of the past.
What ties we make,
for long, don’t last.
Its not because we cannot
Love to our heart’s content.
Its not that I’ve reached
an exhaustion in feeling.
Its the prejudice and pride
the malice in our mind.
Its the worry of a future
That is incomprehensible.
Its the voices of the people
whom you’ve been allowing
to have a say or at least have an
opinion, in your life.
Its the suffocation of distance.
The pangs of jealousy
The fading of the novelty
that alas, never lasts.
Its the stories of the past
of crisis and betrayal
that keep you from
taking the leap of trust.
I don’t blame myself
for feeling the need for
unstrapping Myself from Us
because it was holding me back.
I knew I couldn’t give back
what I’d taken from you:
the reassurance, the trust and
the implicit love (that I never trusted)
For I know, if both the ends
of the bridges don’t meet
then the two of us
are headed for a fall.
I never stop hoping
for a zesty romance
but it doesn’t have to be a
person, necessarily, it can
be a Passion or a Chance.
The story so far :
- A Haunted Memory
- Three Strokes of Red
- The Red Saree
- Black Heart
- Who’s next???
- 3 NUMB3RS
- I Watched You!
“Roses are red and Violets aren’t blue
When your body aches and your day ends
Where memories will be your only friends’
‘Catherine, where do you live?,’ asked Steven as the three got into the Jeep.
‘Why, are you taking me home?,’ she asked.
‘Yes, we need to let your parents know you’re safe,’
‘Will I be a part of your team? Or will you drop me off?’, she asked, dreamily, opening her sketch-book.
‘What do you want to do?’ came Prakash’s voice from the backseat as he tried to position himself in a way that didn’t hurt him too much.
‘I want to draw and not go home yet,’ she muttered. Steven peeked into her book from the driver’s seat as he started the engine to see lines emerging from the ends of her pencil as she drew over the paper, furiously with a cold smile plastered to her face.
‘Go to Annie’s, Steve. Something tells me we’ll find something there. If she is, indeed, alive then she would have tried to tell her parents. She cared about them too much to keep them believing she is in danger. Or maybe she is in grave danger. Any which way I will find out,’ said Prakash.
A light rain had picked up as dusk began to settle and the three drove to Annie’s residence. Prakash explained to Steven and Catherine that Annie’s parents were both meta-physicists and sometimes acted weirdly but otherwise they were really good people. Annie’s parents had met in a research camp at Dartmouth and moved to India when she was just a little girl in her Mother’s ancestral home. Annie was half South American.
Samantha, the mother, answered the door – her grey hair frizzed up and tied into a bun, she welcomed Prakash with a warm hug.
‘Tell me, any news?’ she asked, calmly. Steven was almost suspicious at the lack of worry in the mother’s voice. Prakash nodded a no and inquired about Aberto.
‘He’s stopped talking, completely, son. He’s always locked up in our office – with his readings and charts. He believes she’s sending him clues from the multiverse. He believes she’s found a way. She left to see you, I keep telling him but he believes she escaped into Another Else.’
‘Another Else?,’ mumbled Catherine as she appeared before Sam from behind Steven’s hefty self.
‘Lissy!,’ gasped Samantha as she almost fell back.
Catherine’s face displayed no emotion. She tugged at Prakash, who had gone cold at the mention of Lissy’s name from Samantha’s lips, and handed her book to him. His hands shivered as he took the blank sheet to see two women under a tree watching over two girls sleeping on the grass and a note.
‘Roses are red,
Violets are turning blue
Their fates entwined,
The ends are due.’
‘Its me! Who is she, Prakash! Where did you find her?’ exclaimed Samantha still holding on to the wall and peering into the picture he held.
‘She’s Catherine, Samantha. Why did you call her Lissy and what do you mean that she drew you in this sketch?’
Samantha fell to her knees and cupped Catherine’s cheeks in her palms.
‘But she is Lissy. Her mother and I were the best of friends. I had heard that their father had deserted them after getting caught for grave acts of fraud and a business that shut down but I could never locate them. Oh, dear!’ she wept.
This post is a part of the “Tagged” Contest by writer Kaarthika and The Chennai Bloggers Club. Kaarthika’s book is being released on May 29.
Two quotes you need to chew on by two people who have really proved their worth and come up in life :
“You become what you believe”
– Oprah Winfrey
And to add to that is :
” I always thought I was powerful, since I was a kid. ”
You’re lost amidst echoes.
Blood’s pumping into your head.
Crickets sound like people calling out.
Someone’s clapping from afar.
Its dark, your thoughts are falling in place.
The broken signals are harmonizing.
You were running away from something.
Work, love, hate, separation, reality, responsibility?
Your eyes got fixated upon the sunset.
And your mind was far away
Thinking of the evenings you spent
colouring books and eating with your face.
Days when you weren’t actually smiling
for the camera but were just smiling.
Days when you made up stories
about the smallest of incidents.
Days when love came naturally.
And people lifted you up with joy.
And you stole extra pieces of cake
and hid under tables, giggling.
And somewhere you got lost.
You stopped telling stars stories.
You forgot about imaginary friends.
You don’t feel excited when the sun’s up.
You don’t paint your face green.
Yo don’t make paper boats
and set them afloat in drains.
Or write notes to your parents.
These memories turned into music
Your footsteps became beats
and suddenly you’re living your past
in your head, like a movie and laughing.
You lost your way
while you found yourself.
You meet someone for the first time.
Filled with words that you think to be wisdom.
You hear with utmost curiosity.
You make notes and click mind-images.
You’re bubbling with excitement
waiting to froth all over the place
with appreciation (and flattery?)
but you’re sitting cross-legged.
Weeks turn into months.
And by now all your friends and neighbours
know of the person’s glory.
It tops Sunday-night-dinner-discussion.
As all pumped up things fizzle out
so did your bottle of coca-cola.
And now its nothing but flat sweetness.
The novelty wore off.
Now the person is just someone
who used to make a lot of sense.
And now you don’t even care
to attend gyaan-sessions.
You’re just working by yourself.
A warm bottle of flat coke.
Wondering where your judgement
drove off the hair-pin bend.
Masters you’ll meet many
But who eventually quenches your
intellectual and artistic thirst
is who’ll keep your fizz alive.