Tag-Archive for » Life «
“Hey You Ok?â€
Steven called out to her, that little squirmed figure by the road side.
“Lost your dog? Or lost yourself?â€
She sat there, still.
“You look sad.â€
Steven just presumed so, her eyes gave way more than that.
“Want some ice cream?”
And then, she rose up. An attractive woman, in her late twenties or may be less. She had been crying and he had to ask. He knew an ice cream parlour two blocks away. She wore Blood Red shoes, which was funny in the afternoon summer.
“What’s your name, little red riding?”
Steven thought it was a funny name to call her, but it was more on the spontaneity of the Redness of her shoes. She wanted the Old fashioned Butter Pecan ice-crean, which was funny for her taste. Or for her shoes. The Butter Pecan ice-cream was more of a man’s thing.
“Do you like your ice cream, little red riding?”
She was a pretty girl, pretty more so as she did not talk much. Steven liked those kinds. He did not believe himself, cheering up a stranger with an Old Pecan. And he did not seem to mind it as this was not his first time. She was a real feast for his eyes, and she didn’t have much to say. She was very gloomy and self-obsessed.
And they sat there, he could not get her to talk to him or say her name. She sat there still, her only life rolled  in the layers of her ice-cream.
Steven was beginning to lose his interest. He was late for his routine poker game and rounds of beer at his friend’s place. He thought about dropping her off at the bus station on the wrong side of the road.  But the way she crossed her legs on her stool at the ice cream stand brought his attention back into focus. His attention was back to her shoes, that looked now pleasant and not so Red.
She enjoyed her ice cream cone ever, oblivious to Steven or anyone around her. For her, the world did not seem to exist. This was the end or beginning to her. And she flashed her sad eyes on him, as if she was trying to thank without showing any joy whatsoever.
She was a real drag.
He asked her where she lived. She did not seem to listen to him. And Steven felt morose in missing his beers and being stuck. It was over thirty five minutes now.
“Would you take me back to your place!?†She spoke as slowly as if eating her every word.
He wanted to take her back to his place. But she seemed funny and drugged. This should probably would help him in some ways. He could use her in his nights of loneliness or as a home keeper. He had been staying alone and she seemed pretty enough for a company or for being his mistress.
A life, or its sort formed in his mind as she let another tear fall from her eye. Â This made him re-think his plan, he did not want a whiny, depressed wreck in his house. He convinced himself that he would not get his life disheveled in her emotional breakdowns.
“I would, I guess I could use some help around the house. Do you feel better now, little red riding.”
She seemed to appreciate what he had done for her and timidly asked if there was anything she could do to repay him for his kindnesses. He figured a thousand man ways for repaying him and he thought he would get them all sooner. He grinned and said he would like to read his poetry to her. Â He didn’t have any poetry , but he knew there were three drug stores along the way. They would offer the dreamy words of literature he needed for the perfect seduction.
Once they were in the car, she took off her red shoes. Depressed people always spend a lot of time polishing their toenails and hers filled him with a borderline sensation of awe.
He lit a cigarette and offered her one. He liked the way she blew the rings of the smoke. He knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. He just needed her to make the world go away for a little while. And may be she needed him for exactly that. And may be that’s why they met that day.
Her name was Marcia.
She was born in a cheap motel.
Her mother sold herself for drug money.
She never saw her father.
The church in her neighborhood was burned down.
The minister retired and took her God with him.
And her favourite color was Red.
Steven had a dog named Capricorn. He had built a shrine for his ex-wife in the backyard of his house. Â His wife died after something horrible happened to her white blood cells. They told him she would be happier where she was going. Steven tried to believe she went to Vegas. His wife was a saint amongst sinners, but right now he was just trying to get himself a little something going with Marcia to kill the time that passes too slowly between birth and death.
Somehow it seems that everyone needs a little help, or maybe someone to carry them over the finish line- in their Red Riding Shoes.
The hospital alley was as swarmed as ever. There was a flood in the town, bad relentless rains for last three days. The people were brought in, rushed as many in one room, with doctors doing their shifts all day long. Children crying, big old men dying and there was no less of sorrow in one hollow room. People lost, only to be found dead in the mortuary which had no land left to burn their pyres.
And the merciless rains poured on.
It was 27th May or sometime around then.
In the midst of this cacophony, her daughter was born. As pretty as a pearl drop shining in the rains. She felt her best just holding her little fingers. She was blinded to the world coming to an end outside, her own world beginning to be born. It was raining still, it looked like a 7PM sky at noon. They were coming home today, mother, father and the little girl.
Their two year old son was restlessly waiting outside in the patio; getting drenched in the rains, his restiveness matching the skies above. He ran after every car crossing the streets and came back dripping in his own disappointment.
And they finally arrived.
The boy ran to the car and came back holding his momma’s little finger. He was more than happy with her mother back home, he missed her.
And then he asked them: Can I spend some time alone with my little sister? This surprised his mother. “Oh Darling, your little sister. Needs some rest, she has just made most amazingly tiring journey. Let her sleep for now and probably sometime later you can play with her”.
A few days past, he again asked his mother if he could spend some time alone with his sister. The mother was worried leaving the baby with a two year old. So this time she got him an ice-cream.
Next time, a toy train and another time it was a huge ball.
A few months past, the little child again asked if he could spend some time alone with his sister.
The parents agreed, and the child was left alone with his sister for a few minutes, while the parents stood by the door, listening furtively.
The little boy holds his sister’s finger and asks her-
“Tell me what GOD looks like, cause I am starting to Forgetâ€.
Why there has to be the blues.
There has to be the blues because
Some kinds of sadness are as good as being happy.
Or misery loves company.
Why people have to die.
People have to die because
There has to be room for new people.
Or living forever would be boring as hell.
Why loneliness is fundamental physics.
Loneliness is a universal constant because
If you took every person who ever lived
And gave them their own galaxy
There’d be a lot of galaxies left over.
Or because you’re far from me.
Why there has to be Antarctica.
Antarctica has to be so there was somewhere close we could go
To see what the rest of the universe was like.
Or because God forgot to put something at the bottom.
Why it has to hurt.
It has to hurt to remind you everything has a consequence
That ripples through everyone else’s life.
Or it’s sympathy for exploding stars.
Why I smile when I look into your eyes.
I smile when I look into your eyes because
I’m happy I’m close to you again.
Or I remember you from my dreams.
“Oh Dammit, we are not having this argument again!!” He screams at her, with all his acrimony carved out in the lifeless room. Her eyes were glassy, she wanted to cry, she almost was, but stood on.
And it made him livid!
He had been missing for last two nights. A business trip kept him away as much as she saw him as seldom as his other friends. He had been long gone; she kept herself busy with her paintings.
She just looked at the newspaper, edged out on the corner table.
He slammed it on her face, a murky picture of melancholy and grief.
And he walks out of the room. His cell was ringing unobtrusively and her sight made him sick. He loved her, but that was seven years ago.
She looked at him walking away. Picks up the newspaper and tidily folds it up to the table. The paper read her Name in Bold; she was awarded the KAVA award only yesterday for her art works. She looked pretty in the picture; her dark aura was conjured well with the portrait in her paintings…abandoned and solitary.
She swabs off her eyes and walks to the room where he was smoking up in the dim corner. She walks up to him, stretches her arm with the newspaper in it. He glances up hesitantly, and reads the paper.
He hugs her “Darling, I am so proud of you”.
Yes, he loved her and that was seven years back.
Its the cracked ones That let Light into the world
Diffused, punctuated with rainbows of tears
Sadness is just a crack in my life
That I fall into, sometimes
Sloppy, clumsy, and weary
not watching, unaware and tired
Misunderstood, arranged to be pushed
Sadness is just a crack in the sidewalk
a space inviting, and dark
I’d rather not stay, just step over the gap
It’d feel like a walk in the park.
A painful reminder of imperfection
My habit to step in harm’s way.
This sidewalk, the smoothness ends shortly
A new route wont come up today.
Or ever…
Sadness is just a crack in my life
That I fall into, sometimes…
Give it up baby,
a whimper would be fine
Some kind of clue that you’re doing time
Some kind of heartache
Honey, give it a try.
I had to call her because I wanted something more than her letter. It was so clean, so therapeutic I couldn’t let it go. We had been through so much together I could not believe that she could be so banal; so simple. It was not enough that she “felt bad”. Or if “she was sorry” That wasn’t even close to the feeling I had; the feeling I wanted her to have.
What did I want? What did I want her to say? How about Lost, how about slaughtered, betrayed-. We were together for as long and she talks about it like it was just a phase, as if we were a bad haircut or part-time job.
It’s not enough that I am now on my own. Not nearly enough. We were one, one mind, one soul. I think the least she can do is join in the misery. Share and feel alike.
Â
Could you cry a little?
lie just a little,
pretend that you’re feeling a little more pain?
I gave, now I’m wanting something in return
So cry just a little, for me?
Hey , You Open?
Yes Madam, Come on In. We are open for another twenty minutes. You just in time.
Oh am glad, Really!
So what can I help you with today? We still have our Christmas Stock lasting for SALE and with Valentines and Presidents Day round the corner, deal cannot be any better.
That’s nice. But I am not in for anything fancy. I just need..umm…
Ummm..?
Yes, you see I need a ..Mmmm….MASK.!!
A Mask? Hmm and that would be …As in?
Yeah the Mask, the one that can hide your true-self from the World and show the world what they want to see.
Hmmm..! I guess, we all need that kinna stuff.
So..? So..would you have any such thing?
Wait, lemme think. I guess you might just be in luck.
Is it? I am ready to pay any price for it.
……………Uncomfortable Silence……………..
Wait a minute madam, let me take a quick rush to the store. I would be just back.
Alright, I would.
………….15minutes Gone. Uncomfortable but soothing time passing By……………..
Uhh…Uhh….I am sorry Madam. I took longer than I expected. But here I got just what you need.
………Takes a huge bag out with all the different shapes and sizes of MASKS falling out one by one…………
Here.. This one is real “Sunny”. Can bright up the light in the room. You wear it and you are always Happy to the World. Lifting the World, by your Smile and Joy..!!
And here, this one is my favorite. “Inspirational”, I call it. You got this one on and the World looks UPTO you. I guess it has a magic aura to itself, gives a glow to the eyes. Intrigued..!!
And here…this one is the HIT with the KIDS, Joyful and playful. Brings the kid out dancing in your face. You must have one of those in your kitty too..
Umm I like it..!
And here, your collection cannot be complete without this- It’s the most magnificent of all-”Sympathetic”. That’s what OUR World really needs, Lotta sympathy with listening ears. You put this one ON and people would be magnetized to you, venting all the sorrows out like you are the Mother Mary. It is a huge success in the psychological profession.
And this is all I have Madam for you right now. But I would Order in more if you would like something more than this. I know we can fit in more like GREED, PASSION, SOBRIETY, MADNESS in there. But that may take in a while..
Oh Yes, but you are forgetting something here, We may need something more than that.
What is it Madam? Pl. enlighten me..
We need Sadness. No emotion is complete without it, no day, no life is untouched without …Sadness.
Yes you are Right Madam, so right. But we never make Masks for those.
Oh, why is that??
Coz for Sadness, you really do not need a Mask. All you need is your true exposed self.
Hmm….
I would take All of these. Please I should get going, and yeah keep that “SUNNY” MASK on the Top. Thanks, you have been much help.
You dreamed for peace and quiet, and it is here
Arrived at your doorway on Northerly zephyrs,
Not gradually, but all at once,
but the chill does not stir your idle furnace .
So many days you have longed for the immobility of an empty room
So many hours of rushing lives in the Crowded Bus
And sweaty grocery store aisles ..
And now
You have the four walls to yourself
No shrill nags in the hallway
And your couch has plenty of room
plenty
Why are you dreaming of a Lemonade in March?
and Why does this taste like a hot chocolate in July?
Could the timing have been any worse?
Tonight you will sleep to the sound of barking dogs outside.
And think why the neighbor could not get theirs’ tamed
And look at your own life going wild and forlorn.
You’ll leave the bathroom light on and the door a little ajar for no reason
And tomorrow you’ll raise the shades to a mother of pearl sunrise
And orange light will shine on your face
But you won’t say
Look at this!!
Because you don’t like talking to yourself
You’ll just get dressed
And run to the bus
And hope that it’s very very very
Crowded
The Old Man walked slowly on the deserted Road. It was 5’o clock in the morning and his Morning walk marked the dawn of his day, everyday. He felt a little forlorn; he had overheard his son talking to his wife, mentioning plans of an old age house. He felt a pain in his knees, a throbbing of a shifted heart. “Changed Timesâ€! he sighed
His blurred eyes, spotted it. It was lying by the side of the road, squashed. The paper attempted to catch up with the float of the breeze, but the gravity pulled it a little harder then.
Piqued, the old man bent down to pick it up. The paper aeroplane, a child’s flight of fancy, a work of Art of Wright Brothers with a touch of Fall of Icarus. Gingerly, he rind open the craft, careful so as not to slash.
On one side, he found a raw sketch of a woman and a child. Hand in hand, purple hued. A speech bubble above the child said :
                 ”Is this why we can Never Fly like that Birdie! Mom ?”
The pain felt better in the knee. The Old Man, kept the paper inside his pocket and strolled further to the rear end of the road.
7 AM and he was seated contentedly on his arm-chair. His morning cup of tea was missing, a forewarn of the likeness of times ahead. He found Yesterday’s newspapers with highlighted Old Age Homes classifieds.
“Peace for your after-years, Longing for its yesters†said one of them. It was the farthest, an overnight journey would disconnect his bonds with his Home and his family.
His fingers ruffled the pockets and felt the creased aeroplane. He took it out clumsily. The sketched child looked familiar but he knew that familiarity bred contempt.
 On the reverse, there was a crafted depiction of a small cottage. It was complete with white besieged fence, colorful marigold, lacy curtains and a Locked door. To one side, was a garden a green bean teepee in the center. Blueberry bushes and Raspberry plants to the left; ivy trailing up along the brick chimney, framing it in green splendor. The Garden Paradise!!
Above the house was a white puffy cloud the kinds that caste no shadow. Upon it sat a man, an ANGEL complete with his wings and halo, smiling to the earthliness below.
The old man stood up. He carefully refolded the paper back into the airplane it was, sharpening the creases and opening it up like new. Then, he launched it into the air toward the sky, watching the wind carry it away higher and higher-once again on the breeze as it should be.
Faded memories, wait beside me.
The tips of your fingers reach inside and touch my memory. Long after, the fingers are gone, long after the memory is frigid.
The reminiscence that’s are made by us, but not necessarily for us:
The man who could not hear the tweet of birds anymore- The valley filled with the chirps all over, following a gun shot. And his best friend, laid there with the gun in his hand- Bleeding and smiling.
 The little girl, who never ran to the honk of a car outside- She always did, in keenness of her grand mother coming home. But the grand mother had abruptly stopped visiting her, she was dead long before. Now the grand mother only visits her in her dreams.
 The boy who could not stand the hotdogs anymore, Could not stand the sight of it. His friend and he were sitting in the courtyard, eating the hotdog, when his cat went running after the truck. The truck ran over the cat- Stupid cat.
She could not listen to Duran/Duran anymore. She had made love to him on that song on multiple occasions. Now he was married to someone else, and Duran/Duran seemed as spiteful.
These ashen memories, linger beside—– long after you’re gone.
