LETTERS TO BUBBA- Final Epistle

...In the battle between Love versus Ambition, either is doomed to erode and fade. One cannot thrive in the presence of the other; fate only favors the one that is more persistent. My father keeps telling me, "You can't have the cake as well as eat it" and I find that fitting in this case.

Some may say that it is the choices that we make, and in the end, it all works out. Perhaps. But whose side of the story are we telling? 

I for one, strongly believe, that we take refuge in anything and anyone, that is comforting. All our actions, likes, dislikes and fear is the consequence of this idea of comfort. Motivated by reciprocation, love persists. Failed by disappointments, love gives way to grey; from hereon, there are two paths- one of doubt, and one of greatness. For its only in misery, that a revolution is born. 

But, it's not wise to suggest that all of us were born of love, good or bad. Some of us are made of ambition - I think it is a variation of love-  a love for self-awareness (but for convenience of reference, we shall call it ambition). It's also the conqueror. And in all sense of honesty, it is also easier. Love, on the contrary, is truly for the resilient. 

Our mortal nemesis is not so much death...as much as it is the fear of the unknown. We are deeply vested in the anticipation of the future, tormented with the ceaseless possibilities ( or lack thereof) and the seeming rhetoric - how will our stories be told? 

Yes, if you ask me, I don't think we fear dying. We fear not being remembered. That, according to me, is truly ceasing to exist.

And as in all times of conflict, we are known to do, we will turn to believe in the representation of the Beyond, and for convenience I call it God. God, is my answer to all things inexplicable; a billion questions, which perhaps our race was never meant to ask. Yet we are here. Living. Evolving. And I need to know. 

Enter Science. Science has very reassuringly resolved the origin of species, yet, it is, like every other definite, a didactic.

Removed from all knowing-ness, simply put, we all want to be in memories, in books, in arts, in literature, in history- in mourning , in wonderment or in obscurity. 

I now, therefore, wonder, is ambition so different from love? Or do they harness a placebo effect for each other? 

I don't know which is truer; we choose the one we love, or love chooses us. But in defying to do so, or being refused the choice itself, ambition is comfort for now. 

For while Love eludes me, my person functions with ambition better. Open yourself to love, people say. I defer to add; open yourself to love 'of any kind'. 

Because, while the manifestation is different, the objective remains one and the same- to be forgotten Not . And as singularity is nature's favoured offspring, one will need to perish for the other to succeed. 

Forgive me Bubba, for it is the only kind of love I know. And that someday, I hope, you will understand and we will both, each,  find what we are looking for. 

" ...That you are here—that life exists, and identity; 

That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.” 

- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

And until then,  the heart will burn... 

Remembered always,

A! 

LETTERS TO BUBBA - Epistle #4

Dear Bubba,

That ache is back. It sprung on me and caught me unaware.

I thought I was done; but in truth we never can escape the past can we? Somewhere there is a trail that leads right back to us.

'Loss' is such a tumultuous word; it excites so many different emotions at the same time- confusion, fear, anxiety, sadness, anger... yet, today, I feel nothing. The only knowledge I am familiar with is the awareness of  an absence. A constant, that is so empty that its silence is deafening. Imperceptible to the world, it is slowly eating away leaving nothing in its wake.

Except that in all its capitalization, realization has become very heavy, and it is tiring to carry it around. It aches.

I do not know what I would mourn. There seems to be nothing that has me to. But, there is, something still.

I lie awake in my listless dreams. I stare at the drawings of past, and what cannot be.

Everyday, I teach myself to live, remind myself of the pretty things around me; I regale myself with tales of love and hope, of a happiness that would be. I lie. For how long, can self-taught resilience last?

And time is behaving very sluggishly. I pray I near an end to something I don't quite see, or understand. I pray that the last chord of string remains.
...I need to move urgently, for I am afraid, that when I will catch up with myself, I may not like what I see.

It's okay to be weary of the ugliness that the ceaseless unknowing brings, you said.

But is it crazy to be afraid of yourself, Bubba?

I know now, I am.


-A! 

Chit-Chat

Butterflies and bees chat along their way,
Flowers left with little honey.
But who is the 'lone gardener,
Who walks along the trodden path?
Picking up what is little left
Of once a blooming garden.

People pass by, every now and then
Talking among themselves of that gardener;
Some pity, some curious , some just notice.

With love and care he nurtured the garden,
It's butterflies and bees, the bloom enjoyed,
Along with them were pruned ,
The silent graves which now beheld-
Happiness, sorrow, disappointment and success
All enfolded into one eternal sleep.

But strange enough, did anybody
With the gardener chat?
Ask him whether he slept alright?
" Mind joining for a cup of tea or something?"
"The summer is pretty this time of the year, ain't it?"

The winds blow and tickle your senses,
While the gardener sits alone
Talking to the epitaph under the Gulmohar's shade.

People pass by, every now and then
Talking among themselves of that 'lone gardener;
Some pity, some curious, some just notice.

She watched him from her window, for years.
Every twilight she saw the gardener alone,
Humming to himself, a yearning chord-
She wondered if she should stop awhile,
Lend a face to share a smile.
For a little chit-chat for the miles?

People pass by, every now and then
Talking among themselves of that 'lone gardener
Some pity, some curious, some just wonder......

Don't just stop listening yet.

This World is no place for Idealism. And how do I know this? Because, I read it on Buzzfeed! (If you are not already smiling, then the joke's lost on you! ) 

Also, because I think I am entitled to a little wisdom - given my life and the sum of my experiences, which  ironically  is very short-lived  (Yes, I convince myself from time to time that I am much younger than I think).  

However, science states that no Hypothesis can ever be discounted. Yes, we will go with science , and logic. 

Do you smile more often than you are smiled back at?  (I thought as much)

Are you often heard saying "I think I am taken for granted!" ? ( Why do you event try?)

How do you like your egg?  ( Okay that was completely irrelevant! ) 

Let me re-frame that question- does your partner prefer the style of cooking the egg to your taste or just assumes it's scrambled or sunny side-up ? ( what? You are vegan?!! Whatever! ) 

Do you offer to help out more than you receive a thank-you? 

Do you remember to wish people on their birhtdays and I mean all 7hundred of your FB friends? 

Now, how many of them remember to wish you back? ( Do the math) 

How many of your ex-collegues and acquaintances and yes, friends  (of some time ago) call you to ask for help  and if they have to return the favour they ping you back on whatsapp to say - "hey missed your call, whats up!"( feel like punching a wall? don't! it hurts!) I, for one, could swear a good pair of Louboutins for every penny I collected everytime somebody called me to ask me for help or CONTACTS. Hah! 

Have you been judged, for being the spoilt or the privileged kid because your grandparents/ parents dote on you ?  (Oh yes, because they assume you are being spoilt . And oh yes, because they were such Samaritans fending the big bad world all by themselves. They are all such Self-made men and women!)

Are you surrounded by hypocrites who talk about changing the world, criticise governemnts and society and often neglect that poor man/ woman/ home-help who needs that money more than they do? ( yes, they could spend it on ZARA or OLD MONK)

Have you been pushed  back in queues , because there is a girl/ lady/ woman or some plain -ass jerk who demands to be accomodated?

In your relationship does your partner keep telling you that you don't give back? ( the expectations never end, my friend) 

Oh and humour me, do you have a Boss or Landlord? 

If the responses to all of the above are an affirmative, then you are closer to - peace. Awareness, Buddha, told is the step closer to enlightenment. 

And while we still fight our battles of spirituality, individuality (write about all of the above:-P) and other shenanigans, I have learnt to Ignore. " If you really care for me, you will shut-up!" 

Up untill recently, I believed that one has to fight back- if one needs to survive. Unfortunately, that means you'd have to fight 6 billion versions of you. Futile. 

A simpler and more effective solution is to realise what you could do / should do rather than what should be done, or what should be. Focus on your path. Just yours. 

Thanks for listening....

In awe of a Labourer

Sways, Staggers, Limps and Falls,
It plays not, cries not, laughs not, but Works;
A laborer from dawn till dusk,
Its tawny colored body
Gleams in the light.
The little Man goes on and never complains!
My eyes enthralled, watch it in awe,
As it climbs and falls and never says "Can't!"
When God thought of earnestness, he thought of an ANT.

Let's colour the sky Red

Let's color the grass blue,
The trees orange, and the Earth pink.
The flowers all lavender, because that's my favourite colour.

i  don't want magenta, crimson or scarlet running wild anywhere.
It is terrifying to see the brown earth coloured in them,
It makes me want to run to momma and hug her tight..
Only that momma is no longer there......
Neither is papa, with his arms around me,
Nor my sister or my brother to soothe me as i cry.

Mrs. Hastings with her cat precious is no longer our neighbour.
Daddy said she moved away in a big machine that had many others like her.
The street looks so colourless today; it looks pale.
People everywhere say they are either white or black.
But I don't want to be black or white,
i  want to paint all their faces with the colours of the rainbow...

"Let's colour the sky Red", i said.
i want everybody to be under it, it's the colour of our blood.
It spoils the Earth when strewn with it.
High up, it reminds me of a red glass, like the one i  once saw in church.
i could see God through it and i  like it in the sky.
i  called out again.
Daddy didn't come with the paint brush. Momma didn't move.
Everybody is just quiet. Nobody is listening to me.
i  don't think i  like colouring any more.

Melancholy for a Lover gone

Clairvoyance, you fill my heart with relief
Is it that knowing, gives you peace?

Yet, there is a silver storm I fear
In distance, dark, but somehow near

In my reverie a creature stands ashore
Yearning, in the direction that the wind blows:
It hopes, in innocence,
Hopes in faith,
Hopes that praying shall heal all pain

I catch myself and wake up to find,
A clock, some papers and an old file behind

Yes, I ape that life taught smile
Yes, I pause that awkward cry
Yes, I  left those flowers to dry
No, I did not,  break down or cease to try

As I inch closer to the harbor
I hear a deafening clamor

I freeze mid-step, as the fog clears:
I see, I listen, and retreat in tears

I meandered the streets that night
With rains that cut short my sight

Elated, did not, that moon look
Nor did that night, silence took

The resounding of seen, the calling of what is known
Will give you resolution but never any more hope

And what was gone the morning, come
Was my lover, my friend and my favorite rum.

Ramble-oodle !

A very very stupid, and a plaguing-ly common existential FAQ; yet, this seems to have taken roots in my head. And the closer I get to the day I turn a year older or in my case twenty-seven years older, I really can't laugh it off or sleep upon it anymore. Chocolate or no chocolate, I honestly want to know - what the fuck am I doing? No, like really. 

I know I have a job, I pay my bills, I guess you could say I socialise. 

But here's what else: I don't even like my job, I don't have savings, I don't get to travel as much as I'd like, I don't earn as much as I think I should be earning ( no, not think. I definitely do not earn), I don't have a car, I don't have a parent/ guardian to co-sign a loan application, I don't have an MBA, and I don't have a ring on my finger, I am also not 20 Kgs lighter like I had planned. 

Oh, and that conceited assumption that I went around the whole of my life with- that I am creative, well that's colossal balls too. Turns out, I am not. 

I guess there is a latent gene of creativity in every human being, and therefore, by default I could be creative. But I am Lazy, no matter what the tarrot-cards' lady says. I AM.  I have never bothered giving a fart towards honing/ exploring whatever this creativity within me was all about. But, like they say, Ignorance is bliss-  I assumed I was creative, because when I was younger, I could sing (without a clue about chords or notes), I could dance (like I din't have two left feet) , I could speak (I can really faff, without blinking an eye), and what I could not communicate orally, I could write . But please,  for every 100 people out there, 98 really write well. The remaining two can do their math well. Not to mention days of my school years spent on art and craft projects- truth be told, I just have a colour sense. But then, again, these are colours. Who doesn't? Even a toddler knows his colours basis what visually appeals to him.

In a recent turn of events, when I was asked to sketch, with a certain set of artists - I produced a sheet of paper with Doodle scribbled over it.

I go to music festivals, and I kick myself for not knowing how to play an instrument. 

Being multi-lingual , knowing 4 languages, is pointless if all the languages are spoken within the country  and on a larger scale, by a 0.2 percent population, worldwide. 

I say to a friend, " I am in an 'eh' mood. Going through an existential crisis kind of a situation but only in a more worldly sense. If I make sense at all. Do I?"

Friend responds, " LOL" 

He then adds, "Twenties are difficult no matter what." 

Great. Does that mean I am going to have it all sorted, when I am thirty? If so, can I time travel to three years later? 

SHIT. I am OLD. Already??? Where did it all go? What did I do!!! 

Shhh....Ommmmmmmmm .....*breathe*...Ommmmmm 

Someday, someday....just that today, is not that day. 

P.S. My peers/ colleagues/ friends all seem to be doing really well. Is it just my imagination; or am I cosmically a target??? 

LETTERS TO BUBBA - Epistle #3

Dear Bubba,

I have not been sleeping too well, lately.

There is this cloud of moist that seems to engulf me, constantly, and even if I dare to breath, I am left gasping for more.  I imagine a cloud of dark, black, inky threads, creeping surreptitiously along the corners...Could it be a manifestation of the jumbled web of thoughts; a state of  my mind, perhaps?

What do you do, when you realize what you want? Where you'd like to be? Where you don't want to be. The idea is so clear in your head; and you even know what you need to do to get there. ONLY, you don't have the means to get it.

I could perhaps dwell over it more, but then I instantly recall that feeling of pure and raw pain that follows immediately after knowing what you could have and seeing it becoming someone else's. My mind recoils.

I cannot bring myself to admit it... but in my heart, I know I feel, defeated, Bubba...

I found myself crying one night... you would comfort me, if you were here. But you aren't.

I want to hope that there is another dream that I could chase, but until I fight to get that strength; I am living with a shadow of myself.

Will you please come and wake me up?

-A

The Harlequin's Fool

*****
DISCLAIMER: Issued in strict fictional interest. And some laughter.

*****

Mercurial. IF there is a better expression, I wouldn't know. But for now, this sums it up. 

Take it from someone who has worked her share in the 'armadillo's hole'; with no respite. Writing seems the only cathartic release. 

I hope to figure it out, as we go along. 

What? 

Women. Women Boss ('es' in my case). 

I am honestly at a point where I am fumbling through days. Everyday, you tread carefully; assess the weather of the workforce; work-out a strategy to approach the said workforce; second-guess your guess about the mood and then say a prayer and start the day's work. 

Capricious as they come, my kind, isn't my favorite pick of the day when it comes down to living or working, really. I would even go as farther to say, that my preference to share a bedroom or document would be; 

1) A Man- any man

 2) An alien 

3) that goat on the mountain-top

4) a toddler 

5) a spoon

...100 to the power of infinity) XX chromosome-d 

I do not doubt for a second, the matter expertise or the qualifications or the experience that you hold. No Dear Lady, I think evolutionary, women are more intelligent, emotionally and in cognitive sense. We are also intuitive. More mature even, most of the times. 

No. My contention is with your work-in-progress moods, a strange attachment to read-in-between-lines, a predicament with assuming every criticism as an attack to your worth, dignity, work, etc. And I have not even begun with the insecurities and the many emotional charades that follow. 

Confusion? Yes. Erm No. What? Why? What did she say? When? BUT...Good lord, can you decide already. 'Patience', please slap her. 

Now  I am not going to generalize and say, women are prone to creating more chaos, but there is some truth in the saying: 'Too many cooks, spoil the broth'. And God save Logic, if those cooks be Maidens. Cacophony, would be ashamed of how somber it looks, given this theatrical manifestation of 'discussion'. 

Here's an interesting D.I.Y. You thought space defies gravity?  Place 5 women directors with some fancy prefixes, a bureaucratic manipulation, in a board room. Tell me how you levitate? 

Oh, and here's how fun we can make the 'blame game'- Ask the women involved! She said, who said?! A Classic whodunnit. The lesson will reverberate, hereof, through-out your Life. For the rest of your Life! 

If you are a cosmic fool; as in, the universe loves playing pranks on you then you will be blessed with one of the either types, enlisted below;

• She, who shall love making your life miserable because she can. Defy her, question her, and she goes aggressive-Panda on you. Never mind, you may just be placing a point-of-view, different maybe, but being objective is not the KRA here. 'You are my slave, bitch!'. 
• She, who is a one-man army. No sorry, one-woman army.  There is 'I' and then there is the 'team'. Go figure your life. What you may miss is an occasional mentor, but for the lack of that, you come out self-trained and maybe perhaps a bit confident. OR. You just fade and die. Your call. But wait a minute; for the management's record- "I am always available, but the team does not ask for help". You maybe in for some serious derogation. Subject to occasional sarcasms
• She, who expects your CV to have telepathy as one of your many attributes. Did you say something? Super-sonic prowess was something I had written in the Job Description. She would have definitely told you a yard-long story about a certain assignment, given you a detailed load-down on your tasks and jobs; but you must have forgotten to make a mental note of them from her brain waves!  FYI '"I am right, and you are wrong. Always!" And mind you, she will change her mind several times. Like s-e-v-e-r-a-l. 
• (This is my recent exploration) She, who looks at you like this lamb coated in Blonde. No, you are seriously dumb. Do not touch anything, do not breathe;  IT's going to bark stupid. You will be taught how to spell. You will also be trained in how to train yourself to be a perfect sub-ordinate. Touch-me-not, common sense, because I will wither and die. You have to be apologetic if you have said/done anything remotely better than a one-thumbed ape. "Did you just accidentally spill some good work on me?"  
• A 'quick one' this is - She, who is slow and contained. No, let me think.....hmmmmm....zzzzzzz! Wait, don't move an inch,  you have not been allowed that luxury yet. In the meanwhile, you can doodle. You will get your Green signal, but at the penultimate moment. In good humour, maybe your speed and aptitude is being tested. Book of world records- "who can write me a proposal with the works, enough to impress Zuckerberg, within the time-frame of my fart!" Shazam!!! 
• And SHE, is the aberration. Cool, whimsical, super-talented, and super nice. Only a bit loony. There had to be an anti-climax. 

If by some grace, you have survived the above many manifestations, then my friend, you have an incontrovertible sense of humour. 

The only thing that keeps you from turning into ONE of THEM. 

Be Still

There is a madness about rejection
An aftermath; or perhaps, a quiet contemplation
An age to an eon
What is lost, can never be found

Be still, dear child
Soon those winds will stop with the wild
The storm would have passed
And all that remains will forever last

Steel yourself with numbness;
For Pain will only endure it's own

The flailing will not yield you gain
Sunny weathers do not promise rain

Be still, dear heart
Do not say those words, or let those sobs apart
Fallen, broken, spoken when
They never bring harbor, only echoes again

Yesterday, has come to whisper a sigh
Listen, for you will be reminded well

The land where blue meets blue
Is only a horizon, that the sight pursues

Beloved flower of mine, seek not the love shunned
Let the thorns teach you, what the gardener did not tend
Grow strong and patient, and graceful and tall
And so shall you slowly embrace the fall

Distant as the rejection you feel, better you Be Still...

LETTERS TO BUBBA - Epistle #2

Dear Bubba,

Spring was here. But like everything that lives; it was born and it has died. 

The pain from yesterday has stopped, and 'Singer' has her new litter. I do terribly miss you, every time, I smell the new born hay. With the onset of the monsoons here,  it pours neglectfully, but the air is impregnated with promises. 

I smelled a daisy yesterday; there is a wild foliage growing behind our house. At first, I couldn't believe my sight, but just as soon as I felt the surprise I couldn't help rush towards it. They are just the prettiest aren't they? Friendly and unassuming. You will be happy to know, I am now tending to them. 

Remember the Gonners? Our neighbors from across the fields. They are packed up and gone, now. The Mrs., I heard, got a scholarship in the city, and Mr. Gonner also got a job looking after some rich man's plantation off the city roads. They miss their first-born, dearly, but it feels good knowing that they are moving on. 

It just got me thinking; whatever, were we passionate about, Bubba? I can't seem to be definite about my passion. I don't even recollect having one. I liked a lot of things; painting, perhaps. Cooking? As much as I enjoy it occasionally, I don't think I have the discipline to pursue it. However, liking isn't the same as passion, is it? I would like us to travel some day. 

Blessed are those, whose hearts are known to passion; for their life will know dreams, joy and contentment. 

The tireless days, yield no sleep-full-of-dreams; night has ceased to exist and flows ceaselessly into a continuum of time. No distinction. I will remind my unborn to teach itself a passion. 

It has started raining again, and I will need to go and arrange a shelter for our daisies. Maybe I will start gardening.  You would like that, wouldn't you? 

Love for now, 

A! 

TOPSY- TURVY

This happens to be the only Novella I ever wrote. Dates back to my graduation years...

Characters bear no resemblance to real life people, unless its just co-incidental ;-). Inspirations come form the likes of Mil Millington, E.B. White and Nicholas Sparks. Thank you! 

CHAPTER ONE

INITIATION

So this is it, I guess. This is how much my life will be worth. Few words and a few pages. It took me twenty-four years, seven months and six days to finally decide that this is what I wanted to do with my life. Write. I have been contemplating over what I would jot down when I finally poured down my thoughts, but I haven’t come up with anything concrete yet. I will just let the crescendo of emotions flood the following pages.

It is weird how thoughts refuse to materialize the moment you want them voiced. Even more stranger than that, is that just two minutes before I sat down with the pen, I had the perfect plot to go about my life, in so and so exact words. But now that I am attempting to write it is only with great strain that I can define anything at all, for that matter. I am staring at the blank walls, kicking the footstool next to my leg and balls of crushed paper arch all the way to the bin behind my door. What was I thinking? I can’t write for nuts. Not even if it was the end of the world and I was Earth’s only saving grace!

I see an ant crawling up from my windowsill. Its been climbing up that wall dexterously again and again for quite some time now. For a second there I almost felt I could hear its panting through its short-lived breaths. I meditated on it for so long, I think I almost helped push the poor creature over the top of my windowsill and into my room. Huh! I heaved a relieved sigh. It did make it to its destination. And now I think I can make it to mine as well. I have been finally hit by a brilliant stroke of ingenuity. I now know what I want to write about. I rest the pen between my thumb and fingers and bray to a discordant tune while the pen lies there, as snug as a gun, firing sparks of what I wisely call an episode of misfortunes in my life.

CHAPTER TWO

LIFE IS A FARCE-I’ll Tell You That For Nothing

I’ll tell you that for nothing. To choose my words wisely, my life has not been the rip-roaring spectacle I fancied it would be, but neither have I burrowed around with the gophers. I am nothing special; of this I am sure. I am a common person-with common thoughts and I’ve lead a common life. However, there are things in this universe, which cannot be explained, and one of them is that even common lives have some inexplicable phenomenon to relate. That surprises me though. I never had anything interesting at all yet I am writing accounts of the same. Sometimes I almost believe that in fact it’s the very banality of my life that urges me to concoct a fictional adventure in the ordinariness of it all.

He said, “Yeah you see the plain far below is for lower mortals like you. But for people like us, we live in the far above plain of the transcendentalised…” he added with a smug smile and a twinkle in his eyes that made me suffer from a transitory hysterical blindness. What? I muttered to myself quizzically. I was thinking aloud to myself whether he just rambled a whole line from the thesaurus, when all of a sudden the soul sitting next to me shrieked into my eardrums and almost made me jump. “God, Herbert, you are just too smart”, she said coquettishly. Wait! A momentary blankness. Blink. Blink. I admit my memory span is that of an ant but did she just bat her eyelashes at him? Quick replay-my best friend Sarah is actually flirting with my boyfriend. But then that’s how things always were.

All these years of deceitful belief that I could hog a guy all to myself only to be dumped by each and every one of them, came flooding back. I had been jilted in love not once, not twice but four times, on each occasion he reason being my super gorgeous, hot and blonde best friend Sarah. It happened once in 7th grade, then in 10th grade, all the way up to high school. Even my playmate, James, in nursery couldn’t get his eyes off her. Yeah, I had a crush on him but sad enough it was one way. I may have been too young but that still counts as love. But now, that I was in college, and I met Herbert who professed his deep love for me on more than occasion, I thought things would be different.

And what about Herbert? He was smart, intelligent, loving and…. also happened to reciprocate Sarah’s unsaid intentions. Uggh! What made me think that would work out? I could see a whole life-time play itself before me with them snogging, snuggling together, loving kids…As much as it disgusted me, I couldn’t refrain from cackling at the thought. Life is a tale told by a fool. While I was deeply occupied with my introspection, I heard Herbert say-“So you think I am a jerk eh? Debbie? Using big words to charm my way through beautiful ladies?” he winked at Sarah. A half-hearted reply came out of my mouth and I found that voice unfamiliar; it felt as though the words weren’t even mine. “I am not the one who uses words like desideratum and diaphanous, and what not? I was just being modest!” I said. And then before I knew it Sarah butts in and says retorting- “Awww! C’mon Debbie! Give the guy a break!” she smiled at him and I saw a spark light between them. I knew what was to come next. But just for the record, even after all these years, ironically. Sarah is still going to be my best friend. Yeah! I know. Dumb. But I happen to have an eternal signboard stuck over my head, which reads –“Torture me! After all I am dumb!”

CHAPTER THREE

POST BREAK-UP BLUES

The anticipated ‘break-up’ must have delivered a thundering shock to me, deadening my recollection because now I have the dimmest memory of what happened next. I faintly remember, embarrassing myself before an audience which constituted a bartender, two couples from my college, a flamboyant waitress in skin-tight clothes, and a shocked nerd in the corner. I must have hurled abuses for an hour, or at least I’d like to think so, at the two of them. Somewhere, I also fancy reducing a WWF wrestle between Sarah and me to something more decent, and puke-inducingly more pansy.

I must have wallowed in self-pity for over a year. I took this as a serious sign of remaining a spinster for all my life. My social life came to a halt and started rotting as stagnated water. Gee…I must have really liked that guy Herbert. Sarah and I resumed normalcy after she discovered that Herbert and her were to stay for an overnight hitch.

Yeah, he came back groping me and begging me to take him back. But I was hurt and how could I re-date an ex who slept with my best friend and decides to come back to me the next morning, because he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Kids borne through him might be serious rapists for all I know. So that was the end of the story with him. And honestly, I don’t think I will ever regret my decision. His capacity to fabricate an electric selection of half-truths and deep pockets full of quick fire mendacity rightly earned him the title of an “insensitive, pig-headed, self-proclaiming, quintessential jerk”!

CHAPTER FOUR

OLD FLAMES NEVER DIE

Life moved on, and the eternal fact finally sunk in- that life isn’t a fairy tale. I grew tired of the campus,and my misery, for some odd reason, kept multiplying. Every corridor I turned into lead me into this gloom of longing and I felt alienated; ostracized by my own figments of imagination. I wanted to belong somewhere, someplace, home. I got a call from Dad who kept giving me hints that something big was going to change his life forever but every time he would lead me to the disclosure and abruptly leave me clueless and hanging there with curiosity. I decided that I desperately wanted a break. So I went back home.

New Orleans had been my home ever since Mom had passed away. Its gothic buildings, misty air and surreptitious weather made it all the more intriguing. Unaware of the blow that was to come next, I leapt to hug my dad the moment I saw him in the New Orleans airport. During the car journey home, he decides to drop the bomb on me. “Honey! I think you have grown up beautifully even without your mother. Your mum would have been so proud of you, if she were alive today,” he smiled at me incandescently. “Still, I think that a young girl always needs a mother”, he paused and then continued “Now I know nothing can take the place of your mother but I think you have grown up enough to understand that at my age you need someone to walk with.” He finished with a solemn face and waited for me to say something. I grew impatient and casually remarked, “Where is all this heading to Dad?” He replied sheepishly, “I am getting married darling!” Wow! My chubby, bald, short, cute little Dad with another woman-and at the brink of his middle adulthood? Silence loomed in the car. Finally, breaking the silence, Dad asked, “So what do you think darling?”

“Gee, Papa. What can I say,” fighting for words in my head, “I am happy for you!” I added sycophantically. We chatted cheerfully along the rest of the journey and finally when we were approaching the driveway of our home, I commented teasingly “So how come Dad, you have abandoned the enigmatic you, the one that chicks loved?” I winced at the word chicks. Daddy replied, turning off the engine, “Ahhh, I don’t need to invest in such cheap ornamentations anymore. I’m out of the market. There’s just Ursula and me growing old together.”

“Is that better?”

“Yes, its more efficient. With Ursula you get to grow old much quicker,” he replied in his usual mock-sultry manner.

Ursula, so that was the name of my father’s new found love. I met her, a pleasant, jovial, funny woman she was, and I took an immediate liking to her. But no, that was too soon for a happy ending, Fate! The culprit. Takes you by your hand, fondles with you and drops you like a hot tamale.

On the eve of the wedding rehearsal, a friendly face walks in to the living room. James, my playmate from nursery on whom I had a silly crush. From being a freckled, lanky boy with big spectacles he had transformed into a tall, dark hunk. I kept gaping at him, not being able to believe what my eyes were seeing. He looked at me and waved and smiled. Then in an embracing gesture added, “You look beautiful, old girl! Evolved I see. Do you even remember me?” Our eyes clicked. The inside of me was yelling! Was I falling for him again? “Of course I do! How can I forget?” I replied flirtingly. Stars were dazzling in my eyes. Could love find its place in my life again? I was sure this was it.

CHAPTER 5

BACK TO REALITY

I wouldn’t say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind. The rest of the blissful days I spent with James, I had almost begun to fancy having kids together, a house by the stream, a pet dog named Spanky, and a lifetime together. Every time I saw him, I felt butterflies in my stomach, my knees would go weak, and I fumbled with my words. When I think about it now, I feel embarrassed and an urge to kick myself for going that far…

The fateful day of the wedding arrived. I was rummaging through my dressing table for the past half hour, avoiding rupturing my stomach muscles. Daddy had crept into my room and was staring quietly from behind. I almost jumped at seeing his reflection in the mirror. He was weeping. I was touched by this sudden outburst of emotion on my dad’s behalf and the best thing I could think of was hugging him. As I withdrew from him, I was sniffling into some tissues I had in my hand, looking away from my Daddy when I heard him call out, “Son! Come in here!”

From the corner of my eye I could see James walking in. My head went dizzy upon seeing the sight. James hugged my Daddy and said, “I feel glad that Mum and you have finally decided to get married. At first, I didn’t know how to take the news, so I didn’t talk much with you or anybody, for that matter, about it.” He then added nudging, “So, are you nervous, soon to be Dad?” They both chuckled. I must have looked like death warmed over, seeing this reunion. I could hear my voice frail away like the Holy Ghost of Holocaust. “What?! You are Ursula’s son?” The next statement changed my life forever. James took me by his arms and said, “Yes, little sister. Aren’t you excited about the whole thing?”

I didn’t know what to say. I fell into my “Zen’d” state. The fact is I find thinking about nothing enormously easy. It is not something I’ve had to work on either. Achieving a “Zen” state for me is practically effortless. So, as my synapses slowed down, everything around me blurred. 

The marriage must have gone well, even in my ‘switch-off’ state, as I haven’t heard anyone complain about it. Or it could just be that they are being nice.

However, we are a happy family now. We meet every once in a while. Every Christmas, when I meet James, he bugs me about the episode. Things have moved from being awkward to a common family joke that we share. And now, as an aspiring writer, I have officially finished my first piece. I think I am going to call it “Topsy-turvy”!

LETTERS TO BUBBA - Epistle #1

Dear Bubba,

I am honestly quite over mending and fixing things. They are broken. It hurts when you say it out loud. But the fact remains- it is. 

You spend days and days trying to think of ways to save it, to repair it. All of your waking hours, you calculate, you devise ways to make enough, save enough , so that you can get it fixed. It becomes an obsession. And then, very soon, this very obsession takes over in the form of depression. You chide yourself, you blame everything and everyone: you are reminded of all of your failures. All the things you couldn't have, you gave up on, you lost. It's a vicious cycle, this one. It is! 

And many a times on account of all the things that are broken or lost, you forget to notice the things that are around you, Here. 

I have therefore, learnt to let go. It's a self-taught discipline. Nobody tells you how hard it is. You will just have to find it out for yourself. 

I suggest you do the same, Bubba. If your favourite vase is chipping, endure till it wears out. It has run its course. And until it does, buy some of 'em really pretty flowers and fill it. Don't place it as a master-piece no more, but don't abandon it either. The flowers will help you remember just how pretty it was even when it was breaking... 

Don't hurt. Just, let it go. 

Yours truly,

A! 

UNCLE KRACKER

" ...You´re better then the best
I´m lucky just to linger in your light
You make me smile like the sun
Oh, you make me smile
Oh, you make me smile
Oh, you make me smile...  "


HE smiles that UNCLE KRACKER smile....

A year. That's my comma-phase from writing. Clearing that attic of all biases was necessary. 


Some moments I can visualize Sam Uncle, as though we were in the same room, smiling his mega-watt smile and teasing "Aish..". A person's so real one day, and a distant memory the second day. 

We lost him. Yes. And that's the depth of it. 

Loss comes with so many realizations. It took me a while to grasp, but  I am finally piecing them together. I don't want to get too maudlin. I couldn't. Because, that smile inspires so many brilliant sun-rays, it's tough not to smile back.

He loved life and all in it with a passion:  he loved his sweet-heart feverishly, his family with reverence, his friends loyally, his colleagues un-grudgingly. And he has imprinted that part of him in that silent determination, that is, his loving daughter, my dearest friend and sister- Manita. 

I couldn't come close to feeling the pain and loss she went though. I can't pick out all the thoughts, all my reflections that I have had over the year, a muddled yarn. But, I have had my moments, where I have found clarity, an understanding which has eased me, calmed me of smaller storms within. I had so many questions, but with his final fight he taught me the most important lesson of all- One life, and fight to Live it. Jut fight, dammit! It's your duty to live it well.   

It's not easy, agreed. And the Truth we all try to hide behind is, our  one constant and inevitable LONELINESS.  It really is a fact. We all are, beneath it all, truly utterly alone; when we live, when we die. So what makes us? Our memories. We need to build and make memories. Don't love someone else, for them. Love them for yourself. It's a feeling that will comfort you, crack that grin on your face when you are on your death-bed. Travel. Make mistakes. Be foolish. Be stupid. Get hungry for more. Never settle. You will need all of that to hold on to, when you are making your move in  the end. How peacefully you die is how lovingly you remember life. 

I am a devout believer of never regretting something; because at some point it is exactly what you needed. I embrace pain easily as a part of what makes me stronger. That scar reminds me where I have been. Hell, I need some drama and tragedy- so much so that I create it sometimes. 

And if it  is so difficult to make your living worthwhile, then live it for the fear of death. It's not a finality, but a conclusion, a summary, and wouldn't you rather have a good one? 

This is what I have learnt. I  wake up  to the challenge of each day; restless to cram so many different things, eager to learn, observe life. I pray. 

And I am not saying I get it right all the time. I struggle but then I get my bearings about. It always feels  uncomfortable and strange to be knocked out of your comfort zone. Then I hope and feel a bit exhilarated too. 
HE reminds me. 

I  wanted to write him an ode but I think he is remembered well, when we mirror his attitude towards life. We'd rather remember him fondly, by seizing the day! 

He is scored in our hearts forever, but for a closer look, I turn to you Sonu...

There are people deprived of a life of fearlessness; but you have lived boldly every day.  Introduce yourself everyday to who you are, as Uncle is loved and cherished, for it, and you are a piece of him. 

SAM UNCLE

WORKING at 0,0.

Have you worked on a graph? Remember the co-ordinates indicating the vertical and horizontal integers? That dot is such a convenient and forgettable point, thing, form. 

But when placed against the digits of value it implicates so much more; countries' populations, regressing economies, world hunger, poverty, a person's aptitude, his/ her heartbeat.

And what is the significance of the dot at 0,0 (X,y) co-ordinates, you would ask? 

Nothing. 

Or maybe something, depending on how the next values choose to take it forward. 

0,0 is the most vulnerable state of existence. There is this insufferable anticipation on how the graph proceeds forward. In a company, you are the dot. The graph is your career. And the company, your management, your leader, I believe has the power of writing you down against the values. 

I am often greeted by people who claim that the 'power of change is within you'. Some say that 'you can create that growth for yourself'. I am not saying anything to them. I am not debating them. All I am saying is try explaining that to the DOT. 

Funny thing our world is; it calls itself Liberal. Well, almost all of the world. Then, there is the capitalist sense of liberal. A democratic sense of liberal. And those who are confused about both types, there is the communist sense of liberal. An intelligent man/ woman, centuries ago, coined a term- oxymoron. What a visionary I must say. I would like to congratulate him / her on foreseeing our current state of affairs from so far ago. And here we have our government of the greatest nation of them all , with its bevvy of uber qualified bureaucrats and economists, analysts are yet to figure out the status of our GDP over the next few months. 

Frankly, I border on 'WTF' sense of Liberal. 

So when people talk to me about empowerment, potential and growth, learning and time; I look into my neighbor's graph to compare notes.  So here's me, the DOT, waiting at 0,0 wondering where I am going to move on the graph. And that other graph has had 7 imprints of the DOT. I wonder. 

Should I break into a song of delight and kiss the hand, expressing my gratitude for giving me this prolonged opportunity of so called learning? Or should I pray upon the heavenly fathers for strength, endurance and patience to take me through this stormy phase?

Experts will come with their P.O.V. and that's that. 

Here's my version of the story. The pause is unnerving. It's also frustrating. Most importantly, it's probably because your brains are not wired to take decisions therefore delay in the motor movement. 

Whether it's towards the quadrant on the right, left, below or above; the dot is meant to move. If it isn't the graph is stagnant, the DOT is rendered incompetent and hand is dysfunctional. This spells 'GET H.E.L.P!' 

Look it up- A dummy's guide to read signs. 

Time lost is life lost. I believe so. 

Now I have lost exactly thirty-seven minutes writing this really silly comparative, when I could be, let's see, drafting this really comprehensive excel sheet charting out my job status for the week. How fulfilling *yawns*

Oh, and there walks in 'the hand'. oxy-MORON-ed it again! :-P

DOT and I, we have a therapy session soon.