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Saturday, September 23, 2006
The RecluseThis is a monologue that I had written some tens of months ago. There was a monologue competition at the english club here last month, and I sent my entry. I won a prize for this. My faithful old readers might have read this on my old blog.
I never lost friends untill recently. I lost a friend a couple of weeks back. As in, I opted to unfriend myself for us to be happy. Today lost another friend. Was at the recieving end this time. I guess im meant to be a recluse, all my life. A recluse in a whirlwind. Read on....
With roof on top, he sits on the steps to play a game with the pillars. They say you sit, I would run. This is our game. What's there in a game? After all words. He picked up the straw and whipped in the air through the words. Little did he know that there were swords? What was he doing there when the baton of word symphony had twirled? I think he was sitting on the creaking chair and trying to rhyme with the howling wind. A cup of courage, twenty six letters, two hours and an inch of confidence is all you need to win a war. There is at-least more than one letter every minute. When he steps his foot on the ground, he quivered finding his quiver empty. The inch missing. Like a ball of hydrogen burning itself to death, burning itself to darkness. And no re-birth. Long walks, Meditation, Pshychedelia, Venting and Isolation. He has tried everything, every trick. Nothing has worked. Its not that here is no translation, it's just that there is absolutely nothing to translate. From Krypton to Xenon, he was robbed of his periodic table, also the tunes of jingle bells. Trillions of words scribbled on paper, etched on the rocks, painted on metal. He could jab only six. Why? Why did you take away those words? Rather why didn't you give me those words? Which gods and holy spirits reverted a due? He closed his eyes to imagine a closet when he had kissed victory. He saw darkness. He sieved the sand through his eyes. Pitch black. He gapes into it, searching for pinch he can bisect his prayers and rip apart his doom befallen in darkness. He bumps on the darkness, strangles it, kicks it to bust it. He opens his eyes, he gets busted. The darkness had rescinded the light. Standing by the mirror he sees the truth. He hates his eyes for what it sees, for what it has done to him. Withdrawn he wandered, terraced and drowned in a lake. He stares at his reflection and this time feels better. His image shattered he thinks the ripples have hidden the truth. The giant truth led him into the darkness, left him in the darkness and swallowed him in the infinite darkness. At his fate, he waits for the baiting sound of a knife cutting through a kraut in a vast expanse of infinite silence. He thinks that sound echoes one note, and the only one to the the pillars that have ceased to refuse. Drooling pessimism, I ask him to burn. Is that a only was to burn darkness? Little by little, bit by bit, even the tiniest bit of shred he burns to abandon the black, darkness encroaches him. He had shunned the world and built a roof with four pillars. Now raved in confusion he breaks the pillars, stands alone roofless. He rots anyway. Let him rot alone.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
A Love StoryNote: I have been pushed by a couple of bloggers (u know who you are) to write stories after they read The Meeting- II which I wrote for Viewer. I´ve tried to change my style here. Have made it more Karan (Gay) Johar type (though I hate his genre of movies). And dont tell me I didnt caution you. It might be a little romantic, senti, blah blah. The story is fictional but some instances and characters are quasi-true. Dont ask me who are the characters and what are those instances cuz imnot gonna tell you. They are highly confidential and demands secrecy to be conserved.
Deeply buried sometimes underneath the sheets scribbled of dynamic chemical catalysis that shelled organic equations which extended beyond lines and carelessly drawn valence triangles and acceleration charts that intercepted these equations, he sat hunched on his swiveling chair moving his right thigh up and down rigorously. He shrugged for a gentle tap on his shoulders, turning his head around elevating swiftly. His eyes light up and eyebrows popped stretching themselves. It was her. He jumps out of his chair, “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” he bewilders.
“Watch your clock dear!”, she exclaims with in her Malayalam accent while he rolls his eyes to the right bottom corner of the monitor. “15.47!!!? I’m so sorry, didn’t keep a count on the time” he says astound. Gathering all the scatted sheets, he stacks them up randomly and hurriedly amused of having forgotten a date, puts them on the corner of the desk, shuts the computer down. “I’m really sorry”, he apologizes. She acknowledges with that broad smile of hers, batting eyelashes.
Locking the door behind him “Who let you in?” he asks again. “Knowing that you are the sole species who works on a Sunday, your watchman was safe and generous as well to let me in”, she teases him ruffling his hair.
“So where are you taking me”, she sounded excited as they step into the car.
“I want you see this place, a thirty minute drive from here. A green mile. Away from the Bistro’s, the marble floored metropolis, and the mankind. Do you mind?” he gurgles the benzene into the engine igniting it. “That would be wonderful. This is our last date, and the greenery would leave us all for ourselves. Im sure we would have lots to talk” she wonders. He slips his favorite CD into the system, “Night Swimming” plays. Neither of them talk, they know they want to but waiting for each other to give in. She knows it’s the last chance, the last hope, she knows she is miles away tomorrow in an alien land learning international media and communications from and with the race she doesn’t know. She is worked up for the moment, not for what tomorrow has in it’s devour. She feels the inertia, opens her eye and turns around. “Here we are” he smiles at her.
Snapping the door behind and walking through the pebble road, “Were you encountering life shunning the surroundings when I knocked at your door earlier? You never responded till I tapped you”, keen know what he saw under those sheets.
“If you term sequencing the amino acids and extracting the chemical structure of the p53 proteins as life, yes life had embraced me out of consciousness” he sounds semi-conscious.
Now they stood at the point, and as far as they could see, stretched the vast and empty lush green steppe. The shimmering stream of air kissed her cheeks pink. Covering them with her bare hand she was astound at the sight, unable to thank him for the moment and the scenery. They settled down on the grass, sitting beside each other they wanted to talk the evening off etching it in their memoirs forever.
“Isn’t it strange? We know each other from a month. And in this short span I yearned for you, your love and admitted it to you many times. I know you don’t love me. I still yearn for you. Here I am sitting with you for the last moments. Isn’t life strange?” her lone tear fell prey to gravity.
He felt crude. Without her permission he laid his head on her lap and those tears passed off into the thin air and her fingers clawed into the grass at the touch of skull on the gentle flesh. She wanted to cradle his head in her arms.
“Life is quite itself, its we who make a hell out of heaven or a heaven of a hell. At the end of the day everybody wants to get back to the Valhalla. Life is Silence, loud, deafening, cold, tired, horrid, torrid, pleasant, wavy, naïve, bitch, I would term it as white noise. I don’t love you but right now life is us, live for the moment” she smiles at her.
Picking up courage, she runs her fingers through his hair as though lulling him to sleep. Career in media had poked her personal life pins and needles, had punctured her relation with her ex-boyfriend. She had slept with him and he knew it.
“Even when you are not around, your memories linger in my mind and creep into my persona. Its hard to escape you. The pain of the heart, naïf yet hurts so deep that I scream out loud and I weep in silence. Sometime I imagine moments that never happened and cling on to memories the never exists. As you said there is more to life than this strange obsession, beyond this horizon there might be a dawn. But I don’t want to see beyond this horizon. I don’t want the sun go down today. Why is that I cant escape loving you?” her tears flow crushing into his forehead, into his cheeks. He doesn’t move an inch.
“Love is a mask of light. It needs two hands to remove the mask so that the light comes in. Its darkness today. I’m sure you will find that hand that would join yours and remove the mask. When that moment in time shall come, the arms of the clock will unwind, time shall stand still, the moment will encapsulate a lifetime in its arms. Love doesn’t have a dimension, love is life, love is death.” His heart goes out for her love, yet helpless.
“What do you know about death? Death is dimensionless too” she wants an answer.
“Atleast in my case, death has a dimension. My mother was allergic to certain carcinogens. She had an enzyme missing which broke those carcinogens. I’m allergic to them too, especially salts of hydrazines and hydroxyanisoles.They are mutantly toxic to me.” He said enthusiastically.
She laughed back and forth, “Thank you for entertaining me with those names you big brains. I know that you are one of the leading bio-chemist-research engineers at the NCL. Accepted. Death may be dimensional. Can you kiss me to death this last evening together? Please, kiss me to death” She sounds desperate and her lip thirsts for the touch of his.
He knows she really wants it. She knows how hazy her tomorrow at the International school of media is, and he knows how transparent his tomorrow beckons him. Raising his head he reaches his palm behind her neck, pulls her close to him and gives her the deep passionate kiss she yearned for, sucking her lips, chewing them to bleed, that kiss that is bound by life, love and death. After delivering the desired kiss, he lays his head back on her lap and closes his eyes. He knew he had poured life into her through the kiss. What she didn’t know was her red lipstick had butylated sodium hydroxyanisole. He never opened his eyes. Blood spew from his mouth. It wasn’t him, it was she who had just kissed him to death.