Robbed Emotions

I want to tear out the voice inside,
Bring into light those screams that hide,
In the deepest depths of a forgotten mind,
Lies scattered thoughts, that I hope to find.

I realize I hope far too much,
But wait around and no nothing as such,
To awaken that passion that frames me,
Into this unqiue person for the world to see.

Maybe it has to do with my decisions,
To cast out the past and reoccuring delusions
In 'hope' for a sorrow free life, I chose,
And ended up removing that part of me that everyone knows.

Yes, its true for I haven't written in a while,
Because my emotions have been thrust into exile,
And with them robbed, I feel no more,
The things that inspired me to write before.

So it all comes down to this,
And truth hurts, thats how it always is,
Without my depression I am no one,
And if this I choose, the days I write are done.  

Every Waking Dream

When little Ani opened her eyes, the sunlight bathed her pastel blue room in warm tones.

‘Wake up sleepy eyes’ Ani stretched like a cat within her covers and blinked. Her father was by her side like every other time urging her to start her day. He had salt and pepper cropped hair, a loose T-shirt and a wide smile that made his eyes shine.

‘Good morning Papa’ Ani slipped out of bed and into her slippers making a bee line for the staircase.

‘Uh-uh… not so fast. Go brush your teeth” Ani slowly turned her head back scowled and dragged herself into her bathroom.  This scene played back every-day and though she knew well, she still attempted different. After getting ready she skipped down to the kitchen where the delicious smell of pancakes wafted towards her.

‘Pancakes!’Ani squealed throughout the time that she climbed up a chair to the cupboards and hunted out the maple syrup. Her father watched her with awe.

‘Yes, it’s Sunday. So pancakes for my hungry monster!’ Ani chuckled as she made faces pretending to be a zombie. 

‘Are we going fishing today again?’ she asked once they were halfway through breakfast.  She crossed her feet under the table, because her hands were busy, hoping he’s say no. She drew a breath, of course he’ll say yes.

‘Yes Ani, Uncle Gary loves to see you  at least once a week. And why don’t you try, you might turn out to be a really good catcher.’ He nodded towards her plate and Ani resumed her breakfast.

It was like every other Sunday. Uncle Gary bought her crayons and blank sheets of paper which she optimally utilized while they fished at the pond behind Gary’s house. After that they packed luncheons and the whole family made it to their private creek. Now this part, Ani liked. The smell of barbeque while the sun set, wading in the shallow bed and collecting pebbles… it nourished her for the next week. Finally they all sat around the campfire and talked for hours. Ani huddled into her father’s jacket listening to her cousins stories about high school. It seemed scary. Later on they’d say their goodbyes and her father would ride her back home in the big jeep.

‘How did you like the day, Ani?’ he asked.

‘Boring… Why can’t we go elsewhere on Sundays?’  She hid the part about the creek.

‘Because, these memories matter. I want you to look back on these days and realize that Sundays couldn’t have gotten better.’ Ani pondered over his words the entire way back. She did like some fragments about the day, but she didn’t see how it mattered.

She was still thinking of it while he tucked her in bed. The moon hung outside, and a fake on inside as well.

‘Don’t think too much.’

‘Are you saying that Sundays in the future will not be the same?’ asked Ani bewildered. Her father laughed.

‘Of course, times change. But you don’t need to worry anything for a while. Now; my little princess, close your eyes. It’ll be a better day tomorrow’ he said as Ani closed her eyes slowly.

The minute little Ani did, Aniston opened her eyes wide awake in her white walled room and drew a deep breath. She was not little anymore. And it was not Sunday. She did understand now what he meant by times changing. Oh well, it changed enough to take her happy life and turn it all around. But it was true about the memories of that one Sunday. She held onto it every time she needed hope which came in the form of her father. Every time she closed her eyes for the night, in-between her busy days, she had the same waking dream, urging her to start with the next busy day.  As she headed out of the house grabbing the keys to her anytime-breakable car,  she paused to look at the frames. ‘Memories become waking dreams dad, I get it now’. And she exited.

The Grand Finale

Looks like the grand finale is around the corner and the spectators are mildly aware of the scenario. Sony PIX seems to be big on the event and is broadcasting 2012 movie on the 21-12-12 at 12:00 am.  NASA reports that if not the end of the world, due to Nibiru, a black out from 21^st to the 24^th December 2012 is assured. And furthermore, 17^th December; that is today is said to experience no night. Which simply means; we’ll be witnessing sunshine for 24 hours. Is all this inevitable? Most probably so. But what if it is just a matter of time? What are we going to do with our last few days and hours on earth?

The telephone lines are bound to be down, and electricity is a doubt; so calling loved ones is not an option. And if we are faced with the END, wouldn’t you want to make sure that your messages are expressed to the people important to you? It would also be the best time to talk it out, sort out differences and leave with closure. But most of all, we need to be prepared. Not in the way like charge your batteries, fortify your catastrophe cellar and backup your energy with canned foods. More like be prepared for the fall, and brace yourself in case it might just happen.

I, for example, am hoping to get an iota of the action and be a part of the survival, just so that I have something adventurous to say about my life when I grow old. To be a part of history, (if life exists after it), and make a heroic bibliography. Nothing big, maybe a flood or earthquake, whatever fate deems fit. When I voice out this agenda, my mom says it’s better to be a part and die than to stay and have one or both legs taken away or my eyesight blocked for eternity. That makes sense. And there’s no point in fasting and praying that it does not end. Because if it is meant to be, it will be.

Renewal is a part of life. We see it in nature, when the snakes shed; we see the forests burnt down to give better growth. So why can’t earth do something for herself after all those years of destruction we’ve caused it. It’s almost similar to formatting the PC. Sorry for the comparison; and it is pretty sure that life will begin again, and when we see ourselves in comparison with the entire universe, our life is not even molecular. Even after seeing the bigger picture behind the predictions, man is man himself and does not pause to think about nature. Bank statements, new customer policies, product launches and movie openings are arranged and decked for another year ahead. So why should nature pause to think about us, the greedy pigs?

The point I’m trying to bring home is that, the end or not, brace yourself for it. Say goodbyes, take a moment to look through the materials and stick by your loved ones on the destined day. The grand finale inches closer and even though it might not happen it’s good to say we’ve lived in that time, signed our name and moved on into the future.

The Maniacs on Roads

When I take my bike out for a ride, I realize the world's out to get my 'steed' in some way or the other. Living in the country known for its population, its hard to avoid the number of people on the roads at any point of the day. Consumerism has somewhat contributed well enough to litter the roads with specks of shiny vehicles. And the people?... I'd categorize them as sane and maniacs.
                    I started this segregating business when I learnt to ride. First was the encounter with a rickshaw guy who was driving in the opposite direction and even though there were dividers between the two directions, he steered right into one intending to magically pass over to the other (that story ended up with me falling off my bike). The second time after a recovery period of two months, I rode again only to face a similar maniac. A guy froze in the middle of the street and blinked like a goat. I thought better and slowed down to a stop. But there was this biker guy ( I know because he had a helmet, jacket, spiked gloves and backpack) to whom the goat person appeared too late to apply effective braking. He braked and skid off his bike, landing squarely over the pedestrian.  My mouth was open wide but not too long because the bike wheeled and hit mine leaving me with my helmet to save me. (all knees and elbows damaged with that.) As luck would have it, I didn't stop for recovery but rode on...I did fall off a lot, but now I know the ways of the road maniacs.
                   Sometimes they put the left indicator and turn right... or they don't turn at all. Sometimes they honk at you when they're the wrong one in the one way street. Then there are old aunties who neither can hear the indicator or see the hand signal and they try to overtake from left. A few come in the wrong way and signal with their heads for us to pass like they're doing us a favor. I hate the tiny motorcycles that give honks like a heavy truck only to snigger when we give way foolishly. There are impatient ones waiting at the signal inching over the zebra crossing inspiring others to follow.Some slow at a green signal, Some freeze at a speed brake and some... think they're Batman owning the road. Whatever the deal may be, the maniacs shove off the sane ones and screw up the mood for the entire day. And by the time you feel like the roads gotten rid of a few, people will point at you as the maniac.
                So before you go out tipping people off, and bruising a few, ride with disciple and switch over to the sane side of the road runners!

The Last Goodbye

A few years back in the autumn sunshine,
I thought I said my last goodbye to you,
As the memories faded of everything I knew,
I hoped one day it'll all be fine.

But next winter was just too cold,
And when the tears became too much to hold,
I broke that goodbye and bounded back,
Hoping to heal a heart full of cracks.

As Spring came around,
New love was found,
And there again I said my "last" goodbye
Swearing it'd be the last; I crossed my heart and hoped to die.

But like the seasons changed,
Flames and fires of emotions raged,
Soothed by winter's cold,
And lit by summer's heat three-fold

It wasn't untill one monsoon did I realize,
That even rain couldn't hide my tears,
But I dreaded bounding back,
For your heart had their own cracks.

But then again, here I am again,
Walking with you down an autumn lane,
Because we've said our last goodbyes,
Never to say them again; we cross our hearts and hope to die...


 

The Grass on the Other Side is Grayer

We often say- "The grass on the other side is greener"
But like most things in this universe, there is an opposing statement as well to make sure that there is equilibrium attained. As much as we judge to see everyone's life better than our own, we also like to have preconceived notions that what others do is utterly wrong. Gossip away to glory on what decision they take and how its so sinful that karma has it out for them in their next lives and all such superstitions. Well, its time to bring that opposing statement into play.
"The grass on the other side is grayer"

I'm not contradicting the first phrase, but merely highlighting that what seems a sin doesn't necessarily have to be in reality. There are things that one says they'll never do in their lives; against their morale. But, put yourself in some "gray" shoes and you'll end up doing the same. At that point of time, it doesn't seem sinful at all. Why? Because, not only was what you thought just an assumption, but also, you never want to deny that you are wrong. So you end up saying- ''I had to, it was my only option out". You turn into the one thing you dreaded of becoming all because you've turned prisoner to the times. You accept it beautifully supporting it with a number of reasons and go on with your life. And then it hits you when someone says your field of grass is grey.

I'd reflect a bit before doing anything about those trying times.
If your morals are truly high strung then you'd find an alternative way out, but if the situation has the upper hand, you will bend it to it. There's nothing wrong it doing so for we all aren't a "yes" man. That's why its wrong to judge anyone's life. One can never let out all their secrets and let the world see them as they really are, so why judge something that's incomplete?  Let it be green or grey, the future is unpredictable and so are we at circumstances. Don't look at someone and treat them low because they don't meet your morals; don't sigh that you haven't been blessed enough. Stay on the border of the fence separating the two field of grasses and all will be right on track.   

Reins of Happiness

The chariot of your life must have the right rein holder....
I beg to differ... its not about the right rein holder. It has to be only you for a number of reasons. The sole one being that you cannot feel anybody's happiness but yours no matter how compassionate and understanding person you are.

Its a simple logic that we fail to see... obscured behind the "ideal" and order, even the most simplest facts turn twisted. Live for yourself, live with yourself, and life will live with you for long. Some of us see happiness in what we achieve, some see it in what others achieve because of them, and some just are happy if everyone around them is happy. There's nothing wrong in existing that but that's all you'll ever do... EXIST. If you want to stretch your limits and break your own records then you have to prioritize yourself first. Your happiness, your work, your relations....YOU. Put it in someone else's hands, and it becomes theirs. You can't really blame them either for keeping their own head above the water, or letting you fade out of their days for a while just to get their work done.

So don't go around putting all your happiness in somebody. Don't expect that they'll fight your battles, run a race along with you for at the end of the day its each man for himself. He's bound to run past you and reach the finish line. Keep the reins of happiness clutched tightly under your palms and direct it to where your dream dwells. For a while if you are too low, give it to someone who is not taking over, but one who safeguards whats yours till you're back. Never to one whom you're most attached to because this is another mistake that we tend to commit. Keeping your hopes up high, expecting a person to live up to those expectations is a fall back of your emotions. They rise like the tide and the dams break under the pressure if they don't meet them and soon before you know it, the city you've built your whole life is flooded with those emotions. It then starts eating away every beautiful thing created, and you lose happiness in what really matters. So pick up those reins soon, and be the master of your own life.
The chariot of life must have you as the rein holder..... 

Blog or Book?

Recently, while rummaging for topics to write in my active blog, I kept going to the book I've already structured. What I really wanted to do was get that book going. But jumping to a publisher as a fresher is way too risky and in the creative world once its out there, its no longer yours. Blogs have their own advantages:
1) Allows readers to comment
2) Posting pages, bits of thoughts.
3) Checking the response and tracking it.
4) Building a gradual image in the writing world.
5) Freedom of expression and target audience.

Well, I thought 'All this is a safer way to see if my book is going to do well'. That's when I began constructing a new blog- Etched to Reality. This is my way of trying to bring the book reading experience to blogs. The different pages of the blog are my story lines. The posts are my numbered pages. So its like an e-book, but you have to wait to read every page. The story lines will come together, events created and characters introduced to give rise to a story.  A page on the blog lets the readers communicate with each other about the turn of events, what they dislike or like. This gives me the opportunity in reforming my book after a careful study of my audience through the blog. And when the story ends, the book ends and so does the blog. It shall be viewed like a complete book then.

With this idea, I've launched my blog today. http://portalstowords.wordpress.com/
Many contradict that blogs should be maintained as blogs not books, but I don't see the harm in getting the best of both worlds. Look it up, and let me know what you feel is just.
Thank you!

Fleeting Moment of Freedom- 2

Missing some facts? Click here

I smiled and pulled my lips straight when his expression didn't change one bit. I looked back at the man and he sympathetically gave the chit back. I left the dais where the buffet line was set and walked down towards him.
'Pass it here' Rahul motioned. He pushed it into his front pocket.
'No! Farheen will find it! Let me knot it back' I lurched forward so much that I tripped and stood inches from him. He didn't say anything in the awkward silence that filled between us. He just walked ahead, towards the exit doors making me follow him.
            Outside, dusk was browner than I pictured it to be. And a lot louder as well. Sigh, the world had gotten badder inside and outside the theater. It was hard to follow Rahul, he was like an agile fish swimming through the crowd, leaving me behind to fend for myself. Myself. Something within my reach. Independence? Not quite...but it still felt good. Soon I lost him and trotted off like a distracted lamb, stopping at all pretty shining things at the small stalls. Felt better. While I was immersed in my new found freedom, a little bit of fear crept. Much as I longed for this day, I didn't know what to do next. Wasn't sure if I wanted to in the first place.  The Grand Theater was the only place I knew. And Rahul was the only person I knew out here. I stopped in my steps and was instantly pushed about by the people bustling around me. The sky was turning dark and I couldn't see with the poor lanterns in the stalls. My eyes began to search frantically for his green shirt, his black hair, his brown shoes....it surprised me at how much I had observed him. And just then when the street lights came on in a row, I saw him beneath one of them. A message for help and his face produced the same effect. Then, again, his eyes bored into mine. And again, I smiled. Again it felt like someone had undid my corset. Again I could breathe. But this time, he smiled back.
             I could've turned back and fled. I could've tugged at someone and accused Rahul. I could've gotten my dreamed freedom, but I weaved through the people and took his outstretched hand.  He said nothing as usual, but he held it tight and walked me through to the jewelry shops. Rahul picked up a blue, chunky earring and kept it near my ears. I didn't understand what he meant by all this, didn't know what Farheen would do if he found out but at that moment I didn't care. He'd point to different ornamnets and all I'd have to do is shake my head in response. At one point, while he was buying stationary for the sets, my eyes spotted an anklet. I fell in love with it the second I saw it. It was studded with smooth pearls like the ones that Farheen rented out. I lifted my skirt a bit, and imagined them there. When the trader peeked at my scarred feet, I crossed them and covered it. Sigh. Rahul held my hand afterwards and once all the shopping was done, we walked back to our home. We stopped at the entrance and collected the bills, counted the change and then headed inside.

Right before we passed through the black curtains that cut off my gloomy world from the glittery world, Rahul pulled me back gently. He spread out my curled palms and pushed something brown into them. As my fingers clutched it, I could feel the minute bumps of pearls. It was the anklet. He didn't say what it meant, but I understood. It was my hope that I could hold onto, till his help came. I could've done a lot more with the fleeting moment of freedom, but I couldn't have found this love then ...

Fleeting Moment of Freedom

               That particular night, Farheen rushed us into the set of 'expensive' clothes and doubled our makeup. We knew someone special was coming to see us, otherwise rags were all that he could afford off stage. As for Farheen; all 6''2  of him was dressed in an eloquent sherwani with ebony embroidery. The kind that matched mine, or it was meant to be the other way around, I was not sure. Hell, I was never sure why he dragged me like I was a complimentary gift that came with him or why he had to coordinate our clothes. But I was sure like every other time that they'd praise him, for getting such a beauty by his side and other things I'd make my ears deaf for. And yet I was the envy of the girls surrounding me; they wished to be in my shoes. Fact was, they wouldn't dare want to once I removed those shoes outside our 'home'.
             We had 2 hours before the show was scheduled to start but my act had already begun. I smiled through the ache from the bruises that Farheen absently revisited while he introduced me to the guests of our grand theater. I imagine they'd be potential sponsors in our upcoming shows as talks on money surfaced and my mind drifted off everywhere but there. Not too long after I was in my dream world, he snapped me out of it by deliberately taking my arm around his. Posing to be his muse was the most disgusting thing and that thought throbbed throughout the show. While the cheers and applause died down, I ran my fingers over the warm velvet fabric that I had just worn. A deep sigh and I let go of it along with the ornaments that made me look like a princess. Ready to face reality, I looked into the full length mirror backstage and saw the real me. Another sigh.
          'Wow brother! Our collection is just off the charts today!" Zavier exclaimed counting the cash, one sly eye at me. I pretended to dust the files in the office whereas I secretly viewed the names of people locked up in different dressing rooms. There was no point, the security was too tight and if I opened a door I'd probably set off an alarm, yet checking it was a habit that kept me alive.
         ''Eh.... Didn't you eat yet? Go... Eat" Farheen said pushing an empty plate towards me. I politely nodded and walked up to the half eaten trays that he and his boys had left behind. I shoved it all onto the plate, and segregated the portions to make it look as if someone bothered to serve me well and then stared at the plate. There was hardly enough. I looked out the window that connected the office and the huge hall. The caterers were packing up, but it was still worth a chance. Not at getting food, but at getting a fleeting moment of freedom. I inched towards the door.
"Where do you think you're going?" said Farheen as he breathed his cigarette down my back. I pushed my hair back and replied.
"There's not enough food. They might have some left overs." He considered it for a while; chuckled.
"Haan haan, go. I wouldn't want you making me look bad. Eh Rahul, go with her." Rahul, one of his silent boys got up, rubbed his hands over his shirt and walked ahead of me.
"And listen! Get some shopping done for the show on Friday night" he said pushing some crumpled notes into my palms. Rahul took them from me almost at once.
              Out there the caterers looked at me like I had faded to grey in my early 20's already. Of course they didn't recognize me. I undid the knot of my skirt where I hid my hope - a scrap of ticket paper with scribbled letters pleading for help. I scanned for Rahul ... he was chatting with the caterers, hands in his pocket. I quickly moved to the man who was putting hot steaming leftovers on my plate and dropped in into his basket of rotis. At first he was puzzled, but then he grabbed it and inserted it into his pocket in a hurry. It felt like someone had undid a tight corset. I could breathe. I hid a smile as I looked at Rahul again. This time his eyes bored into me like black beads.

Click here to read on.

Etched to Reality

A million eyes in a crowd,
The ring of my name and applause so loud,
As I walk down the velvet carpet,
My life is one that only a few will get.

Before my path was set,
I was just a murmur in a melody
And yet did they all bet,
With my every step, I'd create my own identity.

Every word etched, I'd try to turn to reality,
Every dream dreamt, I'd hope to become history,
And every precious tear shed,
Transformed to strength for what the critics had said.

Lunging behind the common fence
Did they not know about my past tense,
Said I had the world at my feet.
But who doesn't have the demons of life to beat?

For a girl who walks to an empty home,
Only the forbidden garden does she want to roam.
And for that girl living in a fantasy,
Skipping down the road of normality was easy

But I was not that princess in a palace set,
No, I didn't take my fantasy to be fantasy,
I penned my world to paper and turned it to reality,
Yes, my life is one that only a few can get.

True Independence

In a nation where true leaders led,

And into that same soil where they bled,

We wake, we live, and we've fled…

Leaving our pride for our soil withering dead.

Leaving prayers of gratitude and hope, unread.

Of the bonds that bound us into brotherhood,

Comes another day of pride in Gandhi’s nation.

Of the decades that slipped in mutiny unheard,

Comes every day, a chance for transformation.

And so, from prince to pauper,

And from royalty to peasantry

Have the same blood when it comes to us as a country.

So why bar with differences our caste, creed and birth proper?

The heroes in jail did not picture this,

When we as a nation now point at ourselves,

For the hindrance to that dream they dreamt,

Or our hibernating capabilities that we refuse.

It’s time we acknowledged our past,

The tragic yet triumph weaved into such irony,

That the reoccurring history’s pain still lasts,

Lasts in every grievous or glorious battle won and song sung.

So today, paint the hearts with the colours of dreams,

Fill the air we breathe with words of experience immense,

Feed those hungry eyes not with mere hope, but promise,

So that we carry each other into the gates of true independence

In every man, with the ring of the anthem,

Floods thoughts of that written history,

And soon our deeds shall merge into them,

And when it does, be sure that they merge with splendid glory! 

Forever Friendship

On then wake of friendship day, Chris burned his midnight oil making an intricate friendship day bracelet for his soul friend Anaba. His family held that these friendship bracelets carried extreme powers. It was foretold that any wish made while tying one would come true when it withers and falls off on its own. Chris didn't know any other way to say that he had given his heart to his best friend other than to do it Anaba's way. And so, he begun foraging for yarn weeks before, on the banks of Kalamazoo, where they dyed yarn and weaved it into clothes. Chris didn't weave, he formed the bracelet by knotting, sealing a wish within every knot. And when Anaba laid eyes on it, the fate of the two best friends was tied forever.

              Years later, when Chris and Anaba had grown out of their teens and gotten into the recruited army, thoughts of that tradition seemed petty against what they battled with everyday. There was just too much anger, greed and confusion for Anaba to hope that wish he made to come true. The bracelet frayed a little each day, each day they spoke less of the good times. It was not long before they separated ways and got posted to different regions for battle. But still, they would post letters checking on their families and kids and speak of a day when all this would die and they would go fishing with bare hands. One fine day, the letters stopped. Anaba replied no more, and no matter how much Chris tried to reach him, all the trails ended in despair. He waited patiently but at the tipping point he burst. He caught the train back to Michigan and stormed into the town he grew up in. Things had changed, the town no more wore the cloak of earth and it felt as though a part of him had been erased as well. 

           As he made his way to Anaba's house, a bad feeling crept over him. The air was too still, the river too silent and Anaba's breath too slow.  Anaba was ill with the pox and the priest didn't expect him to recover. 

''It would take a miracle to have him back with us'' Chris, by now in his mid 30's laid a warm hand over his friend in bed. Anaba's brown eyes shone with wisdom as he smiled back. Chris felt something under the covers and lifted it up to see his own work of craft. His friendship bracelet. He had almost forgotten about it, and now looking at it he felt his hope raise.

''Anaba, what wish did you make on the bracelet?  Surely you wished to live forever? Isn't that what a man wants?" Anaba smiled with a tint of sarcasm before his lips spoke. 

''What's eternity when a friend like you lives barely a century? No Chris, I didn't wish for immortality." Chris wore a puzzled and eye glazed look.

"Well then? What did you wish for?" 

"To not run from my life in fear or greed.'' came the answer. 

"Is that all Anaba? Did you not desire anything for our friendship?" Chris slightly felt disappointed but it wasn't his right to wish. 

"My dear friend, if I could I would wish to live beside you till you live, but this body gives up too soon. It cannot outlast the plans health has for me." 

Chris looked deep into his eyes... he had to understand the art of letting go now. And though it was expected of him, he couldn't master it before Anaba drew his last breath. 

            A situation shook the whole river bank the next day. The next dawn, his widowed wife walked into Anaba's room only to discover that Anaba's body was missing. But in his place was a wood carved soldier lying on two letters. One for his family and the other addressed to Chris. The letter read only a few lines, but it brought untold joy to him. 

''Chris, 

          Like I said, my body cannot win the trials of fate and be with you forever. But yet I long to. You have been there when no one was, and it feels as though you were made just for me to live in peace. Friends are, you are everything. That's why I wished my soul to be cast into this wooden soldier when my body gives up. So that you may keep me with you forever. And to repay what I cannot to you, may you pass this down to your sons and I will stay a guardian and friend for eternity.

Anaba"

         Many summers later, Chris rowed his canoe onto Kalamazoo against the sunset. The setting rays picked up the traces of greying hair as he rolled up his pants and waded into the shore. He placed Anaba on the crevice of the rocks and fished bare handed like they always wished they would. 

"We finally did it Anaba. Even though you gave up too soon, we still did". 

A Clean Slate

I didn't know if it was a bane or a boon, in fact I didn't know anything at all. My memory was erased, and my identity was only what everyone claimed...I just didn't feel it. They said I could swim, do gymnastics, write and sing...but I never had done any of them, according to me. So what was I? I was a recovering coma patient.
              A bunch of flowers near my bed, a crowd of spectating doctors, and the sun the only thing I recognized among them all. If there was one thing I remembered, it was that look of sympathy splashed across the faces of every soul that walked into my room. And I didn't hate it, I dreaded it. It was just too much confusion to process, yet I hoped to everyday. Random faces used to sit by my side for hours, offering stories that obviously held the plot of my own life. Did they think I was both ignorant and empty to not know what their objectives were? I wished I could look into the reoccurring faces and tell them that it simply was not coming back to me. Because unlike movies, life has one thing different...reality. And if it didn't feel up for it, there's no negotiating in that. The way I looked at it? Well, if these memories they spoke of, was never close to my heart, then one- they weren't regarded great enough for my mind to register deep. Two- that life wasn't worth carrying with again after memory returned. I decided to lie low for a while.

           By now, I knew my mother, for she and I already had a great relation. And some of these faces though very very young to be my family, pursued that they were. And another set of people, ones whom I bore resemblances to, just vanished after a few months. I wasn't ignorant. It was deeply saddening to look at your own life like a third person. I sort of felt pity for the old self. God knows what neglect I had to endure just because I was bound by blood to souls that cared none. One night as I lay awake to reflect what was in my hands I smiled a bit. They say God works in mysterious ways, and maybe this was one of them. Maybe I asked for deliverance from my family and he gave me a clean slate to paint my life. So how was I going to take it with the negatives?
        I turned it all to positives. I started hanging out with my mother's friends; they were like uncles and aunts that I dreamed of. And my own friends were the brothers and sisters I never had, soul sisters that meant much more and guardians evermore. By the end of 6 months, the doctors declared I will never get my memory back, but along with it I had built the best family for myself. I mean who gets a chance like that in life? I knew that the real people were somewhere gallivanting unaware that they'd been replaced and yes that hurt me a little, but I'm glad I didn't have to fake 'Oh I remember now!' dialogue and try for my whole life. Glad to know God can bend the rules and give us a second life... a clean slate.
          

Dressed in Love

Lend me an unsinkable boat,
One that, in my tears, can float,
And while its sails remain unfurled,
Slowly lead me to my unseen world.

Find me those invisible spectacles,
Ones I can see reality with
Where the light of mortality dulls,
There, my kingdom awakens from a myth.

Some choose love like a puzzle piece,
Checking all their boxes to make sure he's
The one before they step into love,
But sometimes love doesn't teach us how.

Sometimes, this world vanishes,
And from it, him and me it banishes,
Because we'd never last together in it,
Because our lives can't be coaxed to a perfect fit.

And so we'd fled to that kingdom,
Drop an anchor to rock bottom,
Dress down in love while it lasts,
Wrinkle a wee bit to witness time run past.

You see, some don't step, they fall from the brim,
Some etch memories instead of bask
And some find no answer when people ask,
'What is it that you see in him?' 

The Enlightened Driver- 3

Sounds like blabber? Click to read the previous pages!

No matter how much the police guard insulted and ripped down his dignity, the driver stood still, like little kids at school waiting for the teachers to get tired of yelling. And so it did work here too; the guard with the help of his subordinates pulled apart the heavy barricades and let the bus pass through. Right after we joined the highway, the bus was submerged in awkward silence. I imagined that everyone was digging through their dictionary of bad words, without much luck. That's when a comic relief occurred.

               A few aisles back, a hefty man woke up from his sleep and sighed. He marched to the driver, took a deep breath and -- Out came a string of 11 dirty slang curse words in full tilt and pitch. I counted because I never saw this man do anything in our 12 hours of travel till now. After that ended, he marched right back, settled in his chair and went back to sleep. I glanced sideways at the driver. Yup, he still sat motionless; that wise expression of serenity spread across his face. Sleep tugged at my eyes and I left it to the driver to hopefully go in the right direction while I dozed off in the few hours before morning. 

When I did awake, I frantically pushed across the curtains at a 'Mooooo' sound.  Sure enough, I was greeted with the sight of chickens flocking around aimlessly, old grandmas hurling broomsticks at our bus, and my own window grazing the edge of a hut. 

"What are you doing!!" Is this the way?" I asked, surprised at the break in my morning voice. 

"A drunk guy pointed the way down this lane... I'm following his instructions" Now it was my turn to smack my forehead. 

"Great... do whatever you want" I muttered as I walked back feeling sick as ever. I should've reached a long time a ago, sitting in these seats made my knees hurt.. Then I switched over to watching the video outside without the audio and whiled away time.

                    Eventually we made it to Kumbakonam, one stop away from the destination where everyone got off the bus except me. The old man made sure all of us filled out a complaint and had us sign it as well. The driver obliged by giving us his name.Then, the old man handed it to me.

"Since you're the only one going all the way, please give this back to the Bangalore office. This body of mine can't fight against this idiot and his actions anymore.'' Saying so he cursed the driver a bit more and caught another bus. After everyone had gone, the cleaner boy looked at me with pity.

"Mam aren't you leaving?"

"I paid to get off at Mayavoram and that's the only place I will get down at! Do you get that?" I raised my voice and then started dishing out directions to the driver. 

             If I said right, he'd turn left, if  I asked him to check the sign boards, he'd do so after crossing the sign itself. I ignored it all and made a call to my brother beforehand to save the time he'd waste on finding the office again. Finally my stop came, but he went the same loop again and again trying to get the office. I got down gave him directions and watched as he did the direct opposite. Some things never change.... 

   

 When it was time to get back to Bangalore, I asked the guy at the desk a million times if I was going to get the same driver. 

"Hahaha no mam', he's not our permanent driver."

"But he said he drives to Palazni?" I defended without knowing why. 

"Well did you ask him from where he drove to Palazni?" Uh oh I thought as I shook my head. The guy laughed more. Seems like the joke was on us, for the poor driver used to pick people up, four stops from Palazni and drive them there. A straight road, then a simple U-turn and back again. The guy never knew a highway, or exits, and never really had the need to go more than 40km/hr because he never drove out of the village!!!! Ha! I thought. For all the screaming and yelling we showered on him, the driver was sure enlightened enough to take it all in and still do his best to get us to our destination!