Aftermath

Seems like somebody is angry with me because I am as happy as before. Now I am more happy because they are angry with me. How much I was troubled with his indifference! His being angry is at least better and comforting. But I have to admit that I am constantly feeling guilty for being so proudly expressive at the cost of a rare friendship. May be, I wouldn't have expressed my love, if only I knew that it would be considered so big a crime.

My well-wishers, thank you for the concern, but don't talk of who deserves what. That hurts me more. I'm not in teens to find solace in the lies you tell.

It's only a wisp of straw

I am a fool. I called you blind. Now I realised it is me who is blind. I couldn't even make out a straw wisp from tree trunk. I lived in my own dreams nurturing a folly. Forgive me for my rudeness, which was the outcome of my misunderstanding of our relation. I thank you for the suggestion "To ignore and move on".

Nashi, I need a hug. I am coming to you. Then you can laugh at me and take your revenge for the nasty things I said. Don't say you don't want to, because that pains me more. Praveen, you too can laugh at me and have yourself satisfied. Yes, Yes, I still believe in the balance held by the magic man. My guardian, I stopped the clock. You can call me anytime. I'll tell you how to decorate my coffin.

I am going to the prison, I am fated to. I am not unhappy. Even if I am, I am happy to be unhappy. I relish in the misfortunes of others. Sometimes I disintegrate myself to the point I treat myself a rival, a someone-else. Today, I am enjoying when doom falls on my special rival.

Waiting

When my mood swung back to singing, I've confessed my feelings brushing away the lessons I learnt from the experience of rejection. You see, it was not an easy thing. One foot ahead and the next backwards. Sometimes, I surprise myself. I didn't know that I can be so timid. I remember, I even prayed at that moment. But to whom? I cannot recall. I felt very weak in the limbs and arms. It was not physical weakness but looked like my action nerves are broken. I felt drowsy and laid on the sofa. I took rest for few minutes and suddenly woke up telling myself 'It shall be done now or never". I would again begin from the beginning but by the time shovel was ready, I would feel weak and fall asleep. After so many failed attempts, I have done it closing my eyes and accumulating all the courage at one place for a second.

PS: I cannot guess in which mood I would write my next post. Whatever it is, it will be thunderous and I may not even want to write about today. That is why, I scribbled this to re-read whenever I'm vainly proud of myself.

Sighing

Nenu paadutunnanu..
Padaale leni ee paatani.
Prema lothulloki jaarina koddee..
Ningini antinanta aanandamga.

Love is such an itchy business. I keep scraping myself till the skin is cut and blood is out. Though it heals soon with a stitch to forget everything, injects a disgusting impression with the poisoned lance. See me through, I'm like a patient badly stitched all over and running in and out of ICU. I'm irritating to myself for hoping the ambiance will change back to 'Singing'

I know, you are sure laughing at my analogy. Enough. I haven't written it for your entertainment. I will kill you, if I see you laughing.

Singing

Nenu paadutunnanu..
Padaale leni ee paatani.
Prema lothulloki jaarina koddee..
Ningini antinanta aanandamga.

Translation:
Hey! Do you listen? I am singing
the wordless song of love.
But the anomaly here is the more I slide into the perilous depths of love,
the high I fly in the merry clouds and the joyful I sing.

Freedom from Freedom

I always had done things in my own way crushing the hopes of my dear ones. "I" am the only most important one to me. Though I generally hate myself, there is that unabated and probably extending love for myself deep within. It has grown up like a mountain and now I am not able to perceive anything beyond me. It has become a block that broke the transparency between you and me. I need a guide for sometimes I doubt my little rascal for the highs and lows it takes me to. Enough of the play! I'm tired and need some rest. So I seek that guide who would probably set the child in me to its discipline. But then it pains me to prefer the guide to my rascal, who is no one but me. I am suffering from narcissism. I know my disease but not the medication except that utter humiliation I shall be put into. This is the problem of having excessive freedom but I am scared to give up my freedom, which had come so easy from my family. That is why, I keep postponing the task of relinquishing my freedom to an uncertain amount of time. This time, vexed with me, somebody set the clock for me. A month from today! Probably, I am going to be a puppet. See, what a fool am I? I thought of making you my puppets and you turned me one even before I am on my job.

A month to live, as I want to. I'll be freaky and will be doing things one on another, for I don't have much time to waste on the formalities. I am in hurry and please run along with me if you care a piece of me.

Con Game

Why this fistful of heart never gets ashamed of it's mischief? It's a rascal. Though I order it not to move about for it is sick and bruised, it would slip through quietly limping on the sly. It tells me bunch of extrapolations and exaggerations of truth and would force me to believe them till I give in. Finally, I give in for I, myself can't do otherwise. Yes, I'll be happy but soon I see you all from no-where. I see Hamlet in each of you. I see Santhi, Rakesh, Praveen, Cnu, Sowmya and even Anna. I am scared to see you sighing at me in rage "Frailty, thy name is woman!" I hide my face and would hurriedly look for that little rascal who put me to this humiliation. But it is not again in it's place. I mumble to it peeping through myself "I plead you to come forward. I am not here to punish you. This time, I beg you to play your tricks and tell me all your sweet and absurd stories to save me from this moment of disparage. Please do stand by me.. my sweet little thing. I lack the courage, of which you have plentiful." But it leaves me to my misery without an answer.

Drowning...

I keep up my insanity irritating the people around for no reason as if I have a long-lasting grudge on them to be unloaded. Every time I do something to them, I suffer acutely, but then.. they too would suffer and that is a sheer pleasure to me and it would even out-balance my suffering. I love to see them notice that I am not just nothing, but could inflict them in the worst way and spoil their day if I want. I know, I am falling down morally but I don't care, if it can give me the pleasure of suffering.

In-spite of all this, life has suddenly become interesting and I curiously watch it every moment with my chin in the hands. I think, I am dangerously in hope. Perhaps, I'm hoping on this hope like that Dostoevsky's drowning man clutched at a straw thinking it to be the branch of a tree. :)

Deceived

Chichikov is annoyingly chuckling at my disposition. How could I be tricked so easy? Till now, I only found myself with such a degree of variance in temperaments. Here the point is.. I never hide it and consider it a defect in me, which I cannot correct very quickly. I need to hit myself and practice for the evenness in my countenance. May be, because of that, I'm impressed with the people of orderly demeanor. Guess! Somebody, who impressed me like that, made me blush with his miens. Though his airs were apt for the location, I'm hurt. I think, I am deceived of his placidity.

PS: If it seems, it is you, don't ask me for the confirmation.

Old Women's Network

This was the first time I had ever celebrated Holi. It was very fun. Specially, I loved taking revenge on Harpreet. If only I knew, it would be like this, I would have joined Bhavani and Sujana in the Hostel 5 years ago and have had some practice. Though it was tough to get rid of those pink patches later, the trouble was nothing compared to the time we had. After an hour of violent holy celebration at parking place, I cleaned myself and changed the dress. I was well prepared for the evening.

Nashi called me as I invited her home in the morning. I almost forgot about that until she called me as it was not fixed but was only a vague plan. We planned to meet at Panjagutta. I left at once and went to Odyssey for Anna Karenina, Classic Library Edition. as Kafka's America is finished. A few days before, I made a call to Odyssey to find out if they have the CL edition. It feels good to read in those well bound books in brown covers. That anonymous receiver of my phone call said, they had it in Jubilee Hills branch and he would follow me up when they get it from there. That was a week ago. But I haven't received any call. I have checked it myself. They don't have it. I tried for any of Dostoevsky's and found none. "What! Not even one? Vikrampuri Odyssey is much better than this. They have at least few of Dostoevsky's. They play good music too. The boys at the counter were also obedient and not like this fellow whose is giving me nasty looks every time I squeeze my nose.." I thought.

I went to Himalaya Book Centre. Nashi joined me after sometime. I searched for AK, CL edition. They also don't have it. Then I instantly changed my plan of reading AK and wanted to read Notes from the Underground. But pity me! They also don't have Dostoevsky. Nashi consoled me saying that they might have arranged the books with first name and searched for 'F'. Nashi went to a lady who looked like who knows where everything is and asked for Dostoevsky. After many requests to repeat the spelling, she ran away somewhere completely unmindful of our presence. So we did her work and searched in the catalogue for Dostoevsky with both first and last names. He is nowhere to be found. I hate them all not for only not having Dostoevsky but upon that for having each book of Robin Sharma, John Grey and Sidney Sheldon and so like..

We went back to literature shelf in the corner with disappointment. Then I convinced myself, why do I care if the cover is brown or blue until the letters are always black on white? I picked up an Indian edition of AK and went for a last stroll along the book shelf.

Then Nashi took me little farther from the guy who was browsing at our shelf. She asked me "How is he? Did you like him?"

"What!?" I asked her to repeat though I have heard it clearly.

This is the effect after my mother had a private talk with her. She tried to talk it over, but I refused to listen to anything in this matter. Later, she sent me a very lengthy mail, must have spent at least 2 hours to compose that. But I cruelly left it half-read. That time, I told her that anybody who could appreciate Dostoevsky is fine for me just to escape further counselling. Now I found out, she took it seriously!

She hurried me asking "Tell me, If he is OK for you, I would talk to him.. Quick baby! He would leave."

I said "But he is not looking for Dostoevsky!"

She replied "That I will find out. See, he is there and I think he will mostly pick up Tolstoy first and know about Dostoevsky and appreciate him like you did".

"That's very less probable! he is not even picking up Tolstoy. Let's get out from here before you make me embarrassed." I sighed at her.

We took 49M and got down at Patny. Then she asked me something I am afraid of what she would ask me someday. Because two of my close friends have already caught me at it. I am happy for she asked me that. Of course, friends are the real mind spoilers at it, but I longed to be happily spoiled.

PS: Title means a network which spreads secrets and personal status of a concerned person to the whole world. (ade telugulo.. Gaali vaartha antaaru kadaa..) With this network, Nashi and me hoped for a day when everybody knows Dostoevsky better than Chetan Bhagath.

Error in connection

I hated her on our first meeting because she refused me to try her sandals as if she was a Cinderella. But she loved me all the time, may be because she knew that she'll be involved in the cause of my pain and took pity for me. While I started getting symptoms of my pain, I rejected her affection and hurt her as much as possible. I just wanted her away, but even after all the trials, she never left me.

I took a special day, to feel this pain completely and get off with it. I felt it in my tears, flowing uncontrollably onto my cheeks soaking my pillow. I believe, wet cheeks are the best way to exert the coldness. We shall not carry the resentments forward, they spoil the mental health. Then she came. She bent over me brushing the hairs (that fell on my forehead) backwards with her fingers. She forcibly made me sit, not considering the repulsions I posed and hugged me caressing my head with affectionate patting. This humiliated me very much. If I had not accepted her love and ask for forgiveness then, I would have treated myself a heartless now.

I rested my head on her shoulders taking her as my best friend and resumed to weeping. This was continued for a while. When she thought she gave me enough time, she took my face in her little arms and wiped off my tears telling me 'everything will be OK'. Then I saw her eyes suffering more than myself not even having the comfort of tears or a caring companion. I replied her 'Yes, everything will be OK'. I kissed her and she paid it back.

The next three days were just crazy. All the day, we sticked to each other. Talked restlessly about everything. Ate together. Neglected everyone else. We even shared the bed and continued talking till the eye-lids were tired and sent us requests to shut our mouths. Our friends gossiped we might have turned lesbians. It reached us soon. We laughed at the idea. She looked at me asking impishly 'Are we ..??'. I answered her pretending to take a serious tone 'Aren't we..?'

Though we brushed it aside laughing, I feel we would have been proved lesbians unless we got the stopping signals in the form of scary gossips.

Lonely Together

At this time, my confession is utterly useless for it doesn't know it's target or it's objective.

I'm a woman and of 42 years old with two kids. Yesterday was our twentieth wedding anniversary. Our kids insisted us to have a small gathering with common acquaintances and we had the party. A grey haired gentleman in the neighbourhood, whom we invited for the dinner said, we were the ideal couple he had ever seen. Me and my husband looked at each other and thanked him trying to look flattered. We know what we are not. His comments (probably compliments) heavily perturbed me. I slept very late and woke up early for this confession.

A long time ago, before I got married, I was attracted to a person, who was equally attracted by me I suppose. But for the cautiousness of people in the early stages of love, we didn't talk of it and later we never talked for we were so similar even in our bad qualities. We used to carry ourselves with excessive pride, showing it whenever necessary to wreck the other as if we were weighing on our shoulders the hatred for each other from generations, forgetting that we were actually in love and it is love that is to be shared.

Before we could move an inch in this affair, I got married with another person. It was an arranged marriage but not a forced one. For about four months, I hadn't known what was happening around me. Probably, most of the time was spent in travelling and receiving new people. When we two were left alone to live together, I came back to this world. First day, I didn't cook. He didn't complain and brought some food from outside. I didn't eat. He hadn't asked me to eat.

I convinced myself that it was me who was guilty, who was to take the punishment. So I decided not to trouble this poor man with my childish behaviour. We voluntarily shared our responsibilities to run the home. We started talking to each other about money, food and the home and readily agreed with each other. We made love for the irrepressible craving for the sex, without attraction, without passion, without love. We had kids but never had been really attached to each other.

I guess, he was also punishing himself for something through this marriage. Otherwise, we would have been divorced on the first day, we were left alone. One good thing is, we don't have any qualms about each other and are socially comfortable. We never fight because we never talk more than that is necessary. We don't walk together. We don't hug. We don't care for each other and never shed a tear. But still we will be called an ideal couple at the price of our lost dreams.

Perhaps.. a passing infatuation

This time, I hesitate to write down my feelings, as I feel, if they are within my mind, I am not bound to accept them and I think, I can suppress them with little effort. But now, it is out of my control and the moment awaits few words that may possibly express what I feel. I cannot promise to reveal everything now, because I may feel like dying of humility and can either give an abrupt end to this post or just delete it before publishing.

I have been infatuated at this old age and I am not sure if it is passing off or going to take away my peace. I wish, it will pass off, otherwise I wouldn't like myself.

I expected, I would take more words to say that, but now I understand, I cannot make it better, without being concise.

The Final Door

There was a maze of doors, all of them looking more or less identical and seemed to be concealing the most enthusiastic things and the best opportunities one can ever find. When I entered this maze, everybody was cheerful making merry passing through each door. But I observed almost everybody taking a pause of few jiffies before knocking on each door. When I asked my mother, why it was so, she said, "There is a particular door dreadful, dangerous and there is nothing beyond that door. That one sucks people, whoever knocks on and vanishes them to air". She also instructed me to wait for somebody else to knock on any new door to be safe. May be that was the reason, people roamed around in mobs, where only one was leading them all the way. But I couldn't swallow my mom's precaution. I thought, she was indirectly asking me to be lame, to be handicapped.

From the day, I knew about this door, I felt joy in exploring this maze. Whenever I heard somebody knocked on that door, I didn't feel sad, Instead, it built up respect for them for leading the mob. I took inspiration out of every loss. I loved exploring the new ways. Sometimes, I was lost and took time to get back to hope. All the while, I knew, if I go on with this pace, I might knock on that door very soon. But it didn't scare me. Moreover, I felt, there was something else in that door, which these ordinary people failed to understand. I met few like-minded people, who were willing to accompany me my way. But I deliberately restricted them not to do so. For I couldn't bear the loss of any of them for the relation we share and couldn't cause them pain loosing myself. I felt comfortable in solitude.

One day, I reached the final door, but I didn't notice anything unusual. I seriously felt this one certainly couldn't be that door. I was even thinking of the future, making some plans to meet a very best friend of mine and to give her the sketch I was working on. And I suddenly remembered that I promised another friend to give a call. That particular moment completely erased my thoughts of that door. I knocked on it, rather in hurry to finish it all and to keep the promises I made. A blinding light glared into my eyes and somebody pulled me in with a force that even ten times of me couldn't resist, I was thrown into water, but I saw, the door was still open, I struggled to breath. I tried, but couldn't float, as I didn't know how to swim. I tried one last time to get out of the water. The more I tried to resist the invisible force, the more I was put to pressure. In this duel, I was pushed away. A sharp edge of a rock hit my head in the back. My head started bleeding. Soon, all the water got the color of sanguine. I wondered, if my head contained that much amount of blood. The door was closed before I lost the transparency because of the blood.

I was feeling weak and my body temperature was falling down. I tumbled down with forlorn hope. I closed my eyes, as there was no use for keeping them open. In that last moment, I wanted to remember the best thing that happened to me. It occurred to me that knowing of this final door could be the best one, otherwise I wouldn't have felt happy, every time I knocked on a door and checked my vital signs. Last thing I remember was the the smile I had given for the way I could convince myself for my fallacies. I think, I lied there forever and I still lay there buried under the rocks.

Author's note: I was inflicted with march madness and wrote this story which is neither meaningful nor the one that makes you responsive.

Sources of thought: Monsters Inc. , Mr. Nice Guy, Raj's death and me.