Off the top of my head- 6

Three years can change a lot of things in one's life. It can change cities, perspectives and life itself.

When I first walked down the pigeon path in college and got pooped by those ever diarrhoea-ic pigeons, I came back to the room and shampooed my hair clean! Today, after three years, I walked all the way back to the room as a matter of fact, understanding that where there are pigeons, there would be poop, and simply washed that part of my hair and my hands and went back to my routine.

At times there is no time to shampoo. All we can do is remove the crap from our heads as quickly as possible and go on with our lives. Off the top of our heads, literally!

Off the top of my head-5

Times change swiftly. Before you can blink, an era has ended and another one begins. I have always had my struggle with such transitions. Much as I like them for the growth they bring...or wait...let me rephrase that...much as I have grown in those phases, and hence, grudgingly learnt to accept them by sheer lack of choice, I have not been comfortable in them.

Vulnerability and questions hold hands together and trap me in between their arms. I walk with them flanking my sides every place I go. Most of the times, I try to ignore them and learn to live with these two shadows instead of one. But sometimes, just sometimes, the space gets too cramped. Like when I lie on my small cot that can't fit three, I feel suffocated for breath, for reason and for truth.

Little did I know that this day shall come again and make me start again. For the thousandth time. Or maybe it is the zillionth... I have nearly lost count and too tired to try to begin from the start.

There is an attic I am building within the house in my head. The house is a cosy small one to fit just me. The attic, however, is beginning to look like a palace! So much to store. So much to keep away from my daily routes and encounters. They cannot be thrown away. I don't even wish to discard them, ever. They still have the sweet fragrance of a preserved rose between the pages of a favourite book.

There is clearly just one path to take. A path of go-where-it-takes-you! Not like there is a choice. Sometimes I wonder, where exactly do I fit in, in my own life?

Am I the protagonist who courses the tale? Or just a mere extra who fills the screen.

Sadness and depression are not buckling feelings. They are like a bunch of thieves- hiding and waiting to pounce on you with stealth. And they do. Everyday. To steal from your treasure, one more of something you treasure- a smile, romance, a happy thought, a thrill... Sometimes, they steal the truth, and you don't know anymore what is right and what is wrong. What is real and what you imagined!

Off the top of my head-4

I spend half my days sipping chai in the chai gate, looking at passing traffic. Bikes, cars, cycles and all sorts of vehicles pass by and sometimes in such fast speeds that I cannot comprehend what they are. Sometimes while sipping sweet cups of "bina-adrak waali" chai- over and over again, songs begin to play in my head. And keeps afloat the hope to finish a film I've wanted to make for the last six months.

Progress is such a cheat-word. It traps us into becoming lazy. It mutates our being by making us run around in circles.

Long walks in the mornings. Chai again. The lovely calming lawn in the night. Me and the monument. A book to write. Somewhere in these, I forget myself, my film, everything. Somewhere there is a calm.

Why do we grow up and become sane?

Off the top of my head-3

There was a moleskin notebook I eyed in the Hyderabad airport the other day! Rs.1360. For film critics. Not that I am one, although I wish to be one someday! I am working towards it. Hopefully. You can never be sure of these things, can you?!

Anyway, about the moleskin notebook. It looked delicious. I wanted it. To cradle it in my arms. To scribble in it meaningful words and, like a kid who's tasting ice cream for the first time and it tingles her mouth- to give that rapture-look!

Soon. I will earn it! 

***

This time I wanted to learn to fly. Somehow, from when I was in sixth standard, flights fascinated me. They still do. There's something about them; those cottony clouds that I can almost taste!

It would be nice to forget everything earthly and float amongst the clouds. To be in the sky, at dusk, seeing the stars wake up one after the other, expecting a 'pop' sound when they appear! 

To be able to see the world like a scaled model below you and wonder at how small everything looked from above!

***

They looked like pink swabs of cotton that a girl used to dab off the extra blusher from her cheeks, and threw haphazardly, just before she hurried to meet her love waiting by the stairs. Those clouds...they smelt of the dreams of that girl!

I saw them yesterday when I went for a walk. Clouds, me and my music. A bunch of random songs I often hear. It was twilight. Slowly the pink turned indigo, as deep as the hands of a playful kid who spilt ink all over them!

A lazy wind tossed about. And firecrackers burst without a warning, like a shower of golden sparkles from the sky. Sometimes there were purple stones raining. Maybe, an angel broke her string of pearls.

There was something around that could not be seen. Something like the laughter hidden in the crinkle around the eye. You know it was there. Like an elf it sneaked upon me and made me smile. That moment I didn't care. Mid-song, I lost myself to it!

***

I borrowed words from him. His name was Michael Ondaatje. He was a writer. I was jealous of him. I hated him. He knew the song of my heart. He split it into a million different pieces. With every piece, he wrote paragraphs. He made books out of it. Every time I read anything he wrote, I feel the pain of a heartbreak. I hate him for knowing me so well. Who told him my secrets?

***

Sometimes, to be idle is to surrender. To let time bathe you. Allow the world to play its video, as you lounge in the easy chair without a remote. Once in a while you get up as your legs ache with inactivity. But mostly, you sit in the chair and watch. Restless-Lazy. Happy-Sad. Brooding-Calm. In opposites, you slowly let time get the better of you and speed up without giving you a chance.

Whatever you feel, you just don't complain. That was in the old times. Now, you know you can do nothing but wait. And hope someday, that video has you playing the protagonist.

***

Words are syrupy today. 'Pandemonium' is a cake that has gone crusty on top. 'Myriad' is a cocktail that is green and glistening. 'Chateau' is a cheesy lasagne.

Such like.

***

On Writing

Writing is my self-defence. It is my way of making peace with myself. Somehow, when you see words shaping your thoughts and insecurities, everything seems lighter.

I don't write for anyone. I know a few people read me. But I don't write for them either. I write to send a fragment of me into the cosmos. To get rid of that excess baggage of thoughts or emotions that can't seem to be held anymore in my pea-sized brain.

I'm glad I can write to vent things out.

*phew!

Thoughts-5

Potatoes.
deep fried.
like the feet on hot summer afternoons.
slaking thirst with lemonade.
bottled as a drink.
wine is something I should try.
Bunjee jumping.
With an umbrella?
Mary Poppins and her frilly skirts.
Vintage thoughts.
Ball dances with Prince Charming.
Anastasia.
Things I yearn to remember.
thoughts.



Thoughts- these are how mine are fashioned. This is an attempt to shape them on paper.

Check out my art work on Behance Network:

Click here on the Project name: Cobweb Crawls

Or type the following on your browser window:
http://www.behance.net/gallery/Graphic-art/633672

Thoughts-4

Certain thoughts,
I tuck between the lines
It is my escape route
of having said, and yet
left things unsaid.

I may
shimmer clear like crystal to you
in dazzling white tones
little do you know
there is a vein of rouge
in undertones, running through.

Look between the lines
under the sheets
things are hidden
meanings are laid thick
stashed away.

Thoughts-1

ratiya kari kari ratiya
ratiya andhiyari ratiya

The voice dug holes into her spirit. Her eyes announced a vacancy!

raat humari toh
chand ki saheli hain
kitne dino ke baad
aayi woh akeli hain

She looked around at the colours that invitingly asked her to crawl within their swirls and strokes. Thick enamel stuck with obstinacy on white washed walls. Walls, oh yes, she knew she could colour walls; but...

andhera rootha hain
andhera baitha hain
gumsum sa kone main baitha hain

A little hole in the wall was what she wanted- to crawl into. It would definitely not make her feel restless.

andhera Pagal hain
kitna ghanera hain
chubhta hain, dasta hain
phir bhi woh mera hain

In the sadness she found love. A love that was hers and hers alone. Romance layering itself thick and falling like a shroud over her. An envelope of sorts. Where she needed no postage stamp to travel. It was the destination in itself for once!

uski hi godi main
sir rakhke sona hain
uski hi baahon main
chupke se rona hain

Tears betrayed her by refusing to give attendance when they were sought. Their stark disobedience built up the rebellion within her. She could learn to make conversations with pain in the absence of tears. After all, a stone had crept within and built a fortress over her heart.

ankhon se kajal ban
behta andhera aaj

Black swirled in her cup of tea. Layers of dust magically had inked the water in black. Black. black. black. The more she uttered it loud, the more thick it tasted in her tongue. Thick like the hurt that festered within. Like a thick undergrowth carpeting the floor, daringly questioning the entire existence of the floor below!

samjho ki baati bhi koi bujha de aaj
andhere se jee bhar ke karni hain baatein aaj

She had made a tryst with pain when she decided to be born into this world. She had kept happiness as a hostage back there.

Short Story-4

"I love you, Harry. You make me feel like a person. Like I'm me... and I'm beautiful. " Marion slurred in the film.

She rewound the disc and replayed it.
"I love you, Harry. You make me feel like a person. Like I'm me... and I'm beautiful. "
She flung the remote and walked away from the room and into her study.

"Lies", she wrote, "Films are lies. They make us believe in something that does not exist. They are like little 'how to' programs that try to tell us what life, love, truth, expression, sadness, happiness etc should be. The writer's ideals of these concepts are what we see fashioned on screen and what we, religiously look for in our own little lives. And that is the reason why all our love seems stale, our happiness too less and our sadness overtly dramatic. And this is why I have decided to stop watching films. I have ruined my life enough by aping everything that comes on the screen. And I shall no more. "

And she broke the nib, as if having declared a death sentence!