My Short Little Random Muses of U-N-D-O Growing U-P

I have this funny weird problem of not remembering things in a normal sense. As like when you are asked to do something, you just remember it to do it or you may write it down somewhere so that you remember it later. However, with me, it never worked like that, because I found it boring. I found this whole process of remembering boring and dead. Therefore, in my childhood what I did was to just make up random stories of everything I see, I heard or when others spoke so that I could remember. So naturally, alphabets were easy to learn. It sounded like poetry to me. I can manipulate the alphabets to words to sentence to paragraph to an essay and eventually to stories. I found this whole process fascinating. It was a different world together; just me and my alphabets. The problem was always with Maths. Till date, I can never understand numbers, why the number 1 is 1, I mean how do I manipulate it. How do I create stories around it? No matter what story I create, it is always being 1 apple or 1 pencil or 1 car. Well, there were geniuses like Pythagoras a revered mathematician and philosopher for who mathematics was music and poetry. Each one has their capacity. And perhaps I chose not be a genius. This may sound arrogant but again the term genius is defined in a small box, too narrow to fit in people like me. Most of the genius work has never been visible, unheard, unknown, unsung, unspoken and in fact never noticed and realized. Something like Sun, I am not getting into the technicality of our huge fireball. But all those never-ending sun-rise and sun-sets which may look like monotonous process, but then it does such miracles from a simple peeking and spreading of its blanket of its rays of aura and fuelling the humanity with silver light of hope. The melting of our emotions at sunset and rising of humane spirit with every sunrise. The solace one could feel while sitting in a park during the cold shivery winter seasons, the sweet innocent nap during the winter noon’s lap. The blooming of flower with such beautiful accents of elegance, heart filled hues of orange, pink, red and blues, draped in the layers of its velvet pleats, the buds blossoming with such pride. Aren’t those simple invocations of emotions a genius’s work? Well, then who really cares about simple sentiments as long as it doesn’t involve complicated technicality.

Anyway, coming back to my beautiful elusive mind, so I used to create stories for remembering things. And that further pushed my imagination for every random thing.  Once long time back I remember trying hard to sleep in the night, but the sleep refused to comply. So I wondered if I had to visualize sleep, what sleep would look like. Na, I cannot imagine someone sleeping in her or his bed. But literally, I wanted to visualize ‘sleep’. Is it just about being dark like when we close our eyes? But then we see dream too, we still can see dreams with closed eyes. So how would I visualize Sleep? Perhaps, entering a dark room with this huge torch or a flickering torch? However, here is a twist may be entering the room with this life-size torch and a vulture clutching me in his claws and while I dangle from its claws and may be floating, who knows? Yes, it can be vultures. The only thing we notice is vultures are flesh eater.  Well, of course, they do eat flesh, it is their food. Besides that, let us also notice the heart it has which lab dabs like for us. Let us notice the power, strength, the beautiful sharp curve of its beak, a swan-like neck of it and lastly the beautiful round restless eyes of it. So that’s how I imagined sleep then. And I went on making stories out of stories until the sleep caught hold of me. 

And about remembering things. Once. my dad when asked me to get some stuff from the market. Knowing me, he specifically gave me a list of things written down on a piece of paper to be bought. But then what is the fun in remembering things that way. So I created a story out of this. The list contained detergent powder, deodorant, shaving kit and a body lotion. So here goes the story of these combinations: Once the detergent and deodorant both went to take a photo as they were the best buddies. They tagged the photo as “Before Wash and After Wash”. When the Shaving kit and body lotion heard about their photos together, they both felt jealous for being the left out ones. When once detergent and deodorant were sleeping, the body lotion squeezed out the bit of its lotion and mixed it with the detergent and so the detergent became unusable. The shaving kit took out a blade from its kit and cut out the knob of the deodorant and thus the deodorant also couldn’t be used again. And so the story served the purpose for remembering what I had to buy- detergent powder, deodorant, shaving kit and a body lotion. The story was fun too.

I already see and hear the weird looks and sounds from you. But then this is how my stories and I are wired. Once my elder sister asked me to buy her a long earring for a function that was coming up in our house. She said, “Strange, you better remember this, buy me a dangling earring and not a small ear stud. The small ear stud makes me look fatter”. Before I get into that, yes my name is Strange, why can’t this be a name. People have been calling me strange since my childhood. I told myself this is such a perfect name, it sounds sharp, crisp and short. So my name at home is Strange. I insisted on changing my name to Strange officially, but then I could only negotiate for calling me Strange only inside the walls of our home. So now back to my sister’s earring. It is beyond my comprehension how an ear stud can make anyone look fatter. Neither I have ever understood why when we grow up getting chubbier become a taboo. I remember when babies or little girls or boys were chubby, people literally drool over their absolute cuteness, but then the very same term becomes obsolete when we grow up. I guess when we grow up we cling to more confirmed and accepted terms of ‘slim, thin, beautiful, sexy, slender, fair’ so on and so forth. Suddenly the term, ‘cute’ confuses us. I have often heard from my sister, now what does cute mean? Is it being chubby or slender, beautiful or just some looks? And I have no answers for it either. And anyway no one ever understood my views as I was the Strange one. So the earring story was; this pair of earring, absolutely adored each other. They loved to be in each other’s company always. It was more as if they were inseparable. They always dangled and sang in a tone of more like squeaking. Once this disturbed a sleeping witch. However, she was a sweet witch. The witch lightly cursed them, “Thou shall be inseparable, ironically the beholder’s beauty would separate thou. Once one is lost, the other one will always be abandoned for eternity”. This curse doomed the entire earrings. Therefore, it lies with the one who is using the earrings, once they lose one of it, the other one can never be used again. Again, I have never understood why the earring cannot be worn only in one ear. These days we see this fashion trend famous among men than women. The earrings too assumed gender roles. Therefore, that’s how I remember getting the danglers for my sister.

So I was gradually growing up (only in terms of number as in age), with such imaginations. And along with these fascinations, I began writing. As I could only talk out my imagination to a piece of paper and now to my Khayal my beautiful red laptop. Khayal is the Urdu word, which means, thoughts and imaginations. She is always ready to cater and feed my imaginations. So I have been writing for living my life. Please note I said Live and not Survive. Again if I visualize to Live and to Survive I ended up writing this poem for a magazine:

What' s the time, I peeked

to return back on the mundane lane.

I wondered how can I sneak

into the Alice in Wonderland?

The rabbits are not like white rabbits,

they don't seem to get late ever.

whether is there any such land,

where one can ponder and wonder?

Will it be splendid to walk miles or

To fall in the rabbit hole or 

walk through a wall or door, and

find a world with different paradigm?

Where there is no perception,

no misconception, no beauty, no ugly,

no woman, no man, no night, no day, 

no light and no dark.

Coffee with the fairies in the woods,

served honey by the bees, and

brunch with the elephants,

dinner under the wisps of stars

Talking through silence, 

if only the bibbity, bobbity, boo,

and abraka dabra, works

if only the clock never strikes 12.

Alas! the clock did strike,

not midnight 12 but 5 in the dawn,

holding the mane, sun in the vain.

Oh, returning back to the mundane lane! 

My mundanity never existed, this is what I believed. But then over the next years, I was bitten by this bug called growing up and without me realizing it the monster mundanity like a snake sneaked into my life. When if sometimes I felt overwhelmed with all this grown-up stuff, I find a bizarre sense of serenity while sitting under the tree shade in an utterly sunny day. The sun looked so heartless, literally burning out with full force. Likewise, I would fume too. Today in the morning, I carried my laptop Khayal and my diary, banged the door shut and dashed out of the house. I have this deadline tomorrow to submit a writing piece. I guess I am going through that what people call it as ‘writer’s block’. This creativity breakdown was getting on my nerves; why am I so blocked. The left-brain seems to over-dominate the right brain, it seems to in fact outgrow the right one, saying, “who is the king, baby”.

I lied on the pricking and chilling grass, the trees and its lanky huge branch, lazily dangling leaves, brightly lit flowers seemed bending over me and felt like looking inside my head. The filtering of the sun rays through the gaps of the branches and leaves felt like sugar-coated chili on my skin. The squirrels mindless chasing of each other, the gingerly pecking sound of wood by the woodpecker and the ants gently crawling through the slim branch of tree diverted me for few minutes. One particular ant was carrying this huge leaf for its tiny size, slipping away after every few inches and still, it tenaciously kept dragging the leaves. My mind wondered what the heck is this writer’s block, a blank space or carton or … and with that last thought the long pending nap overtook me.

I happen to wake up in this dark place. Oh, is it already night? Nope it isn’t, it seems to be pitch dark and I don’t feel the grass, rather it is a chilly floor below me. Oh no, have I been kidnapped? Where the hell I am. I tried recollecting and like a flash I remembered about the sun, tree, flowers, leaves, squirrel, the sound of pecking and the ant and yeah I was on writer's block phase. “Damn, woman, open your damn eyes. It is not dark; you are dreaming with your eyes closed”. At that moment, I don’t know why I remembered my childhood imagination of ‘Sleeping’ and ‘Dreaming’.

I jerked out with that voice. Oh, yeah how stupid of me, I rubbed my eyes and now I see the light. “Who the hell is it and where am I?” I screamed out of fear.  “Finally, you woke up from your deep slumber. I am your Block, the Writer’s Block, now help me to unblock you”. I squeaked, “what”? I couldn’t believe what I am hearing. “who are you kidding with”. The Writer’s Block had a smirk and said “LOLed”. I asked again “what”? “Well,” it said, “I just laughed out loud, so LOL, this is what you guys call right. Now listen Missy, I don’t have the whole day with you. It was you who asked what the heck is this writer's block, so here I am to show writer's block”. My mind went blank, is Alice in Wonderland happening to me? Did I fell inside a rabbit’s hole? Oh my, I need to write it down later and I heard it “Yeah you can do it later” My heart skipped a beat. I heard it again. I thought my imagination and fascination is on fire today.

I looked around, it was a weird place with unusual lightings and a broad lane with a decent view. The lane was not a smooth, but rickety one. A huge leaf of life-size was falling down; I ran like crazy. The writer’s block looked back and said “do yourself a favor. Stop overthinking, that’s a tiny leaf”. And it was right indeed, the leaf looked tiny.  I wondered, is something wrong with my vision?” and damn Writers Block seems to read my mind, it replied, “no, you just over think”. I cleared my throat and asked, “so what do I unblock, as I don’t see any block here?”. It replied, “keep walking”. I rolled my eyes, how bossy of it to talk to me like that. We kept walking for a long time. And sometime later, I see us entering in this huge pipe, I wondered oh it looks like I need to unblock this pipe and then I can start writing. I happily stepped in as I thought we are closer to the end of this weird Alice in Wonderland ordeal. While walking inside this huge drainage sort of pipe, at one point my mouth dropped. Because I was seeing these alphabets and words all leaning lazily against the wall of the pipe, like standing in some sort of queue. I rubbed my eyes again, oh dear these are real alphabets grown with eyes, nose, and mouth. I hear them saying, “shh shhh, oh here she is. Dude listen up can you just write down quickly I am really tired of standing here.” I stepped back and bumped into this weird words, “AAAHHHHH”, I shrieked, I spelled those words F-E-A-R, P-A-N-I-C”. Wow, the word FEAR PANIC we believe is such a distress but when seen alive looks damn funny, it is literally holding itself together very hard so that it doesn’t disintegrate. It was looking so funny that I couldn’t hold my laughter and I was rolling down laughing.  In fact, soon I see it vaporizing and vanished into thin air.

It again went dark and I felt something sticking into my nose, pricking my eyes and mouth. I took it in my mouth and it tasted so raw or maybe grass. Is it grass? Why on earth I am chewing grass. I tried looking around for Writers Block which was leading my way and all those alphabets. But again it was all dark, I thought oh wait a minute am I closing my eyes? Indeed, I was. I opened my eyes only to find white and yellowish blanket blinding my eyes. I rubbed my eyes only to realize that was the burning sun. I lied down there for some time chewing a strand of grass in my mouth and reminiscing what I saw whether a dream or my imagination. So that’s what Writers Block looked like. There was literally nothing to unblock. Last I saw two words of F-E-A-R and P-A-N-I-C. I laughed so hard that I scared away a flock of birds sitting on the branches and a dog almost choked on the water he was licking. Well, I don’t know if it choked, but what is the harm in imagining that. And that moment I chose to go back to my roots and write down my musings, imaginations, and thoughts into stories as a process of U-n-d-o Growing Up .

Inspired by the Story The Little Prince

Faith

I wonder whether Faith is some old furniture at home, not willing to throw away but at the same time not willing to embrace it as it is.

Sitting in a corner with dust, a ray of the sun filtering through the window reflected on the couch. We are aware that the old couch exists, we make sure to dust it often and the other day we bought cozy cushions to go with it. Not just some cushions, but made sure to get multi-colored one. And added a cover but only to one foam. We do all we can to fit the old couch with our current trend in our living room. We often talk about its age-old legend of been used by our great-grandfather, that the quality of its wood is eternal and so on, proving it's antique as often we can. 

But do we really sit on it and feel through its ancient old stories? Whether do we really hold through Faith when needed the most during the time of disillusion or does it lie around like a old furniture, that we keep wrapped up in some kind of distant illusion and working up to get it fit in with the Vogue?

Dear Me...

It is a weird day. I feel so out of place, so out of context about my own life. I wanted to do something, but it turned out to be something else. I fought with my family to take up this course. In fact, I am good at this. Then on the way, I do not know what happened. Nothing turned out to be as I thought. I lost my faith. I am not even sure if I really want to do this now. I thought I have sorted it out, but when I see people around me settling down, I am wondering maybe I should do the same.  Sitting near my window, with my camera I tried to focus nowhere, the dark grey cloud and my mood and thoughts along with my black coffee looked perfect partner in crime. I flushed the black coffee in my kitchen sink, as that is the only thing I could throw away. Wish I could flush all my thoughts, forget everything, and go back to where I started. Declutter, yes that is what I used to do earlier, when I am not sure what I want to do. So, I went cleaned my room, book shelf, wardrobe, kitchen and store room. And, I had a surprise in my store room. As I was cleaning the shelves, a box fell on my head. I almost shrieked and felt that the sky above me telling, "None of this will work, lady". I shouted, "shut-up". However, when I looked for that stupid thing which fell on my head, I was intrigued with that box, as I noticed it does not belong to me. I stay alone in this apartment, though my family and friends visit me sometime. But, none of them carried this kind of box. Who is it then? When I sat down to open this, I saw lot of photos, film negatives and a note with a tinge of yellowish, brownish coloured. Evidently, all these contents are very very old. Perhaps, belongs to the owner of the house? I was absolutely thrilled. I know it is not my box, but I convinced myself that this the most eventful thing happening in my life at this moment. So I need to open it and go through the contents. I took the box, made myself hot chocolate and sat on couch with this treasure box. I kept the film negatives safely, which I thought that, I will develop these, first thing tomorrow in the morning. This person seemed to be a photographer or at least someone interested in photography. I thought, ‘what a coincidence’. Then I opened the note, which read:

You see, what I have being wanting do is something totally out of the context of the world I belong to. I was expected to get the degree, get a job, which is by the way is equivalent to settling down in career, and then of course get married and have children, which is equivalent to settling down in life. To have a partner was important so that we do not feel lonely in our old age. I do not know about what they said, but I was sure I could not settle down with such notion. I have a different version of settling down. For me to be on move is settling, I am a gypsy at heart. I keep moving and steering through various emotions within me and of course people around me. I always liked to put myself out of that comfort zone. Frankly, at first, it was unsettling but then I got addicted to that pattern. I pushed myself to be stranded in the middle and find my way out. I surely knew that what exactly I do not want in life and that in fact made my life simple. You see directly to ask whether I know, what we want in life is much more complex. However, knowing what we do not want is quiet easy. I cannot promise I will succeed; I may fail again and again. That is ‘failed’ is what we are made to see, but for me, I succeeded in finding one more opportunity for myself. This was all so against to my social context, I never thought of leading someone or something. I never had a desire to keep building up and sustain it. My idea has always been to document and document whatever I come across in some or the other form and pass it on to everyone. And once people get it, it doesn't belong to me anymore. It belong to people, the world, to universe.. They all will sustain it. I consciously avoided the 'I' in all what I did. It will be, always will be We. What is ironic is when 'We' start working, we first realize our I.                                                                                                          --To Dear Me

The grey cloud almost went black now and the dusk creeped in. Holding this letter in my hand, I felt the other Me in the parallel world just wrote this letter to me. Or, that Me few years back who was so passionate about the life she wanted to create. How is that one failure can define me. Perhaps, I documented that one phase and may be it is the next journey with new documentations at hand. I just could not contain myself anymore. From that Me, I have a journey to fulfil with the I. The realization of the ‘I’!

The (not so) Solace Tree

For a long time It thought It Faced it; It thought perhaps It was Brave to do that,

not aware that It Buried it; not aware it was not the Past that was Buried.

But the Seed that was Sowed and now that has Grown into a huge Tree;

Oh have the root taken into a harder form?

The Charm of Fantasizing is similar to teleportation; concealing the temporal and spatial plane.

Building the nest with the birds, hiving along the bees, trekking the Mt Kilimanjaro, rafting against the water, cycling through Alps, skiing through Mt Everest.

But the fantasies of Teens were unconsciously Filtered out; whether concealed or buried or perhaps never existed?

The Beautiful intimacy shared with That One; the sweet nothings, the late night pings, silly well thought memos; that rushed in tones of butterfly in depth of the gut;

with an icing of bizarre emotions as well.

Alas! The intimacy did not last for long; left with the drippings from the honeycomb.

The Grief was not about the Split; In fact niether rage nor remorse, but a confusion about Lacking.

Suddenly the Hidden lay Bare on the Ground; the green algae sticking out.

The Past came down Stripping the Muses; fused with a frozen allay.

The one Sowed, now awkwardly blows with the hurricane, but the roots stubbornly holding the earth.     

It believed that it was Reflected Courageously; perhaps eroded to the depth.

Instead unknowingly It took refuge under the tree of Its past hauntings.

The long withering branches; the strings of dried leaves; the trunk bloating out of the bark,

reminded It of Its kinder intimacy that took a brutal turn.

What was a mere childish innocent play with a lark; but its claws turned out to be of the Vulture.

The Grabbing, the innocent thought was part of the Game; like a squealing squirrels jumping around the branches.

but the Fondling and Touching looked like Gambling; like a whirling worms feeding on the leaves.

The roots peeking out, the vain attempt of bark to shield.

It felt the heart cringe; a weird shallow ditch of emotions in Its stomach.

Its breathe almost muffled; eyes welled up in a pool of water; It smelled like toxic.

Desperately holding the mane, It ran away from the monster.

It took sometime to gather Its pieces to figure out that encounter.

After ages It realized It is still holding the pieces together; in fact now the roots prop in support of the tree’s base.

Finally It caught Hold of the Root; whether firm or lose.

It have stopped Watering it anymore; Stripped it off, as happens in the autumns.

It took a Step Away from the Tree; surprisingly the Root began to Lose its Ground.

Well, at this moment it looks hazy long miles, may be a mirage.

But It carries hope to Rise from the Ashes; to Avenge the Brutal Wishes.

It sees the Wings of Fire flies bare; such sights are often rare.

Oo! the Solace Tree; the turf now swell free.

The Heart, hushed a joyous leap; pausing for fruits to reap;

flowers to bloom; fairies to loom.

Mithiya

Mithiya while lying in the bed, he smelled his whole house with those beautiful memories. For last eighty years, he is living in the same house, earlier with his parents, grandparents, cousins and later with his wife and an old aunt and now it is just Mithiya living in the house. In fact, today, either the old neighbors have left or most of them have passed away. His family technically withered away like the leaves during the autumn and by winter burned in the bonfire, their reminisces trailing away in smoke, however, by the time of spring it grew back with memories hanging like fresh new flowers and leaves from the tree. They left their marks and footprints for all seasons in all time and space for Mithiya. He could smell the pillow, mattress, curtains, furniture and every nook and corner of the house of memories with all the members of his life. He has always been a homely body like his father. His father loved to sow a seed, nurture it and see it grow all his life. He was proud of his family home, which he built it up along with a backyard with a kitchen garden, where he used to grow vegetables and fruits, and till date Mithiya maintains it. His mother was a free soul who could not bind herself to one place for a long time. Although for some time, she did for her family. His father knew about this, in awe of his mother’s free spirit he often took her for short and long trips and later in life, his father fulfilled his mother's wish to live by the sea where she could hear the waves crashing on the stones, feel the piercing breeze, smell the sultry salty sand of the beach. And his father was happy holding his mother’s hand while walking alongside the beach. Mithiya carried his mother’s free spirit as told by his wife, in a sense of holding and giving as much space to everyone in heart and home. The day before he thought of this girl as his partner in crime, she commented, “you are just like your mother, an independent, free soul”, he was surprised, thinking, “She doesn’t know me at all”. His wife was this hippy as he used to call her; she did her studies and internship from different countries as well as continents. He loved to hear all the different stories and perspectives from her. “What you don’t agree”, she asked. “This is the first time someone said, otherwise I agree with people who often say that I am more like my father, as I am more bound to home rather than get up and look for another space”. He still smiled thinking of that day, she laughed saying, “You silly, why an independent free soul cannot stay all their life in one place? For me, an independent, free soul is someone who has a huge space in one’s heart and mind”. For the first time, he learned to see the other side, perspective and what followed next was the girl becoming his girlfriend forever.

“Thud”, he heard the noise of the garbage van pull up, he thought now it is time to wake up! The garbage van has been his alarm clock for almost last fifty years. He is so used to his neighborhood that he does not need a clock to look at the time. The sound of neighborhood’s daily activities helped to manifest his own daily chores. While brushing his teeth, he smiled thinking, “Come on, Mithiya, this eavesdropping”, his wife would say. “Tring”, Mithiya went out to collect the newspaper, he can hear the young boy’s cycle from next lane “Good morning Mr.Mithiya, as always on time”, the boy flipped the newspaper while cycling. “Careful”, Mithiya told the boy, “yes Mr.Mithiya, as always”, he waved back. He checked his post box, as he forgot to check for last two days. He found two letters from Tang in China and Orisis from Dublin, “here our children write again” he thought with a huge smile. He prepared the coffee and one toast to go with reading the letters and newspaper. Earlier he used to have cake too, his wife loved this little morning session with him. He would lovingly prepare the coffee and a toast. He has always been the first one wake up before his wife. Even during his childhood days, he used to wake up before his parents. He would go out to their backyard garden and pluck the flowers and some fruits. He would then neatly arrange flowers in the vase for his mother; fruits freshly washed and laid down in the basket. Then he would rush to get ready for school and came down smelling the fresh brewed coffee and breakfast and the cake prepared by his mother. He loved sharing his cake with his imaginary friend that his mother too respected, who suddenly disappeared in his backyard garden while Mithiya waved to his friend. Perhaps, a childhood illusions he thought. “You have to stop taking the cake Mithiya, you know your sugar level, don’t you?”, his wife used to tell him. Sometimes he promised to take half and most of the time his wife used to snatch away from him. “You should not have learned baking cake from your mom and Milton too spoiled you”, she would say. Today, he stopped having cake, as there was none to remind him about his health. Thinking about those days, he wondered maybe he loved his wife lovingly chided for the cake, he loved hearing the concerned voice of her. His breakfast and newspaper sessions used to be a great start for the day. They both could hold the conversation about every issue in the newspaper for hours. Every time he loved listening to some passionate views and arguments of his wife on some of the issues. Once he remembered, there was an opinion piece, which did a sting operation sort of a thing, about how many libraries a locality has which had a large number of people turning up for a library, but very less issuing of books. One of the reasons they see is that most people end up watching movies on their laptops, instead of reading books and some plan to meet their friends in the library. It did some calculation and laid out that only about thirty to thirty-five percent people used the library. The piece questioned the need for funds for the public library for every locality. “Oh, well”, his wife, commented, “And how can they say they are only watching movies, it could be documentaries and those people might be discussing books, movies, and so many other stuff. “Of course, it is the State’s responsibility to provide a place like a library even if it is to cater only ten percent of people. Those ten percent may inspire the rest of the ninety percent in some way”.

“Come on, come on”, snapped from his daydreaming, he heard the distinct voice of parents and grandparents rushing the children to the school, his next alarm for, “Ah, walk time”! He took his hat gifted to him by his wife’s parents for his promotion in office. Taking his walking stick, he went out to stroll. “Good morning Mr.Mithiya, the bread loaf is ready”, his usual bakery shop boy Milton waved. “Also your children from India, Vietnam, and Cambodia have emailed you. I have taken the printouts of the letter”. “Wonderful! Thanks, dear” Mithiya replied. Sweet boy, he remembered Milton as a young guy, who hated studying. He was adopted by his friend, the owner of the once small Bakery store, but loved spending time in experimenting with new recipes to bake cakes and bread. His friend wanted him to study and get himself a job. Once such a bad argument ensued between the two that the young boy left the house. Once Mithiya and his wife got to know, they looked for him along with his friend. After three days, around 11:30 pm, the boy knocked on Mithiya’s door. His wife rushed to prepare dinner for him first and next morning both of them sat down to speak to him. There seem to be some study course in a bakery, which he wanted to join and his father did not allow him. His wife took the initiative to loan him money for the course and both of them let him live in a small room in their backyard, of course after speaking to his father. His father refused to let him stay with him. During his free time, he helped Mithiya’s family with cleaning the backyard and gardening. And, when Mithiya’s parents visited him, he would come around help them with driving to a nearby place. Sometimes he would quietly sneak a slice of cake to Mithiya, a little secret that they shared. Soon Milton moved out, opened his small bakery store just like his father, and soon it became the talk of the town for his excellent savory of bakery stuff. People later talked about how it is because of Mithiya’s family that Milton could do well. However, for his family it was no big deal, they believe it is our duty to be there for each other, to open up once heart. That is what he saw his parents doing for people who were in genuine need and that’s what Milton did for a young girl who needed financial support for education. He felt this chain reaction when someone is been helped. That time, the couple decided not have children of their own. His wife who had been to many parts of the world suggested him about sponsoring children in different countries for their education or for some start up job. They both decided to sponsor as many children as they want from all over the world. All those children until date have been in touch with Mithiya. Few of them came to attend the funeral services of Mithiya’s wife. He remembered his wife’s funeral services were, in fact, a joyous one. While walking he remembered the number of letters which came by from other children who had written a heartfelt gratitude and that they were there for him.

Aah! Autumn time as he saw the clear sky, flowers, and leaves lazily hanging, standing on the edge of a lake. Nature as if waking up, stretching every limb of its body, idly splashing yellow and orange hue at the sky, Mithiya always smelled the certain kind of freshness of newness during autumn. Some may feel the ushering in of rigid cold sheet of the season in coming months, but for Mithiya it is as if the earth and sun made a pact to tilt on its axis to let the South Pole get some sun. That is what his parents told the children in the family when his cousins used to visit their place long time back. Mithiya and his cousins did not prefer the cold winter, whenever autumn arrived it reminded of the wintertime. “Uncle, autumns, and winters are so depressing time, look those trees, stripped of their leaves”, the sun is so late in rising, and this is so depressing. Then Mithiya’s parents explained about the sun and the earth’s pact. Mithiya almost had a smile; he could almost see and hear such age-old conversation. “Horn, Horn” almost made him jump, the dairy van was here for the supply in the nearby grocery store and his alarm clock to get back home.  He reminded himself to save up some woods he may need during the winters. He went back home, not forgetting to buy his freshly baked bread by Milton. After showering he got back to his routine of cleaning his backyard, checking on the fruits and vegetables, checking on the bird’s water pot and finally sat down in his small library space to go through books. He heard a sound of a creek, “Aah, it must be 1 pm, seems like Mrs.M, has opened her windows shutter for sunlight and thus my lunchtime”, yes this was his another alarm clock which called for his lunch. Mithiya just loved this synchrony. He would always say, ‘I am in verse with the Universe, in rhyme with Mundanity”, he found such a solace with nature as well as human nature’s prose with daily life. He was at a stage of life, where he was wholly content and happy. Although most of the neighbor thought that, he was a lonely man who always seemed to smile without reason. Some commented, “What a sad life to live alone”. Mrs.M thought, “poor guy, I have seen him growing up, they decided not have children which we advised him was a wrong decision, all his family died, now look at him living all alone”. Except for Milton, no one really knew Mithiya or his family. Milton and his family would visit him some time for lunch or dinner. “Creek”, Mrs.M must have closed the window and yes it was 7 pm, dinner time. Milton with his family visited him that night for dinner. Pasta with meatball, Milton’s children jumped on Mithiya, screaming joyously about their favorite dish for dinner. “Mrs.Mithiya (M) taught me this dish, remember uncle Mithiya,” said Sarah, Milton’s wife. They all had a hearty laugh while the two children animatedly talked about their lessons in the school. Milton asked, “Don’t you miss, Mrs.M uncle Mithiya, why don’t you come and live with us for some time? For which Mithiya just smiled. Milton continued, “Well, the other Mrs.M seems to worry about you for being lonely”, Mithiya replied, “Really?” Sara replied, “Well what does she know that uncle Mithiya’s lunch and dinner depends on her opening of the window, they all laughed after few seconds of silence. “Yes, I do miss my wife and family, but I remember all of them and all the moments with so much of happiness. I see all of them through your love and affection and through the letters/emails sent by other children. Just imagine how many of you remember us each day. I consider myself so fortunate”. Milton and Sarah smiled, “that’s true uncle Mithiya”. Sarah continued, “We live in a strange world, you know. Our neighborhood thinks you are the loneliest man here, but one can feel lonely even with ten people around”. That night Mithiya looked outside his huge French style window that his wife designed it, for the view of the sky, especially at the night. He imagined each star as his family members and thanked each of them for leading him to live such a purposeful life. The moon, which initially seemed to be hiding away in clouds, as if in agreement waved to him riding in the clouds.

“Thud”, Mithiya heard the garbage van, his alarm clock to wake up. He felt his heart to be light and uplifted with such peace that he failed to describe it in words. He felt like a long dream, he thought that last night he felt strange, he saw the full moon beaming luminous light after a hide and seek with the clouds; the stars too came too close. The curtain seemed to be drawn over the French style windows. He got up to brushed his teeth and smelled the freshly brewed coffee, toast, and cake. It smelled so similar to his mother’s cake, “Ah, Milton must be here, can’t believe he has become so good with baking cake” he smiled. Sometime Milton would come over to his place early in the morning to help Mithiya prepare breakfast. As he strides towards the kitchen, he got a shock when a strange little boy jumped, “mom, my friend has finally woke up, pls give him your delicious cake”. The mother replied, “Yes dear, this is for your imaginary friend”. Mithiya wondered about these strange people in his house. “My house? Everything looks different here, he saw two more people in his living room. He was so confused and worried more, as no one seems to notice him. The doorbell rang, the man in the house opened the door, and Mithiya followed him. “Here are some letters for Mr.Mithiya, Milton. People from all around the world have written for him. He seemed to be a good human being that we missed to meet him”. Milton replied with a smile, “Yes, he and his family took care of everyone”, Milton continued, “With your permission can I plant this small plant in the backyard garden, Mr.Mithiya wanted this plant in his garden”. The man replied, “Of course, do come in and don’t you worry we will take care of the garden very well. We will maintain exactly how Mr.Mithiya maintained it”. “The backyard garden” Mithiya remembered, he rushed, only to relieve to see all his vegetable, fruits, tree plantation intact. He sat down near the tree, which looked in the direction of his dining space window. He saw the little boy happily waving at him. “Indeed, you seem to have led a meaningful life”, he heard his wife and mom saying together, standing behind him. That moment Mithiya realized, after all, the imaginary friend was real indeed. He waved back at the little boy, giving him a flying kiss and turned back to his mom and wife.

An Affair with Long Cold Dark Nights

I absolutely love the mystery of the Darkness. The few One Night Stand with the verses heightens the senses. That one led to other and the other led to further and the further led to Many. The many different beings involved in this endeavour adds to this ecstasy. I wrote many few verse after reaching the state of trance to toast my climax.

The essence of life, bit strange

climbing the big mountain range.

Wisps in the twists,

loosing with the mist.

The evasive raves, remorse, rages, wraths, furies, madness of the soul. The touch and whirling of the tendrils with a tinkling. The tickling of the trace and scratch. The muddled signals. The abstractness of the trails, the illusion of the myst, the magic behind the ‘deception’ often losing the sight, all in darkness.

A sound guiding the lane,

anxiously grasping the mane.

An innocent evil smile,

weighing on an elusive mile.

A walk on the frail lumber, the sound of the creak with every step. And bang it came with a flash. The same old familiar essence. The bottomless void in the guts. The muffled tinge in the breath. The tasteless dribble swallowed and stirring the gullet. The antsy enmeshed smile, the charm of a stroke of tucking behind.

Getting laid with the lark,

iffy pleasures derived in the dark.

A sudden dawn to reality

realizing the futility.

The highs and low, the peaks and valley carries the depth of innocence. The beauty of unabashed nakedness of that curves. The crescent beauty in the dusk. The fullness of the moon. Oh! The murky and lurking move with synchronicity. Perhaps, it is just an illusion, perhaps a mirage in the parched land. After all a darkness, a darkness since the invisibility.

Or Perhaps a serendipity! A walk to meet the Dark, the Black to see the Light the White?! How is that Dark and Light coloured? Or perhaps an abrupt awareness of the Grey.

This long-drawn affair with the darkness, a series of secret affairs with the other side. It sounds abstract, immaterial. Often a cryptic, a code, a reverse verse of poems. It is that space that to be held close to heart. That moment of vacuum, blankness, bareness that transcend to Awareness. Let the Darkness allude itself, let it be the quilt to the coldness, let it brace and embrace!

Happiness

As I was walking down the street during the New Year’s Eve, I was reminded of those simple ordinary moments of Happiness of my childhood days. How simple things were, like hearing the bell sound of our favorite ice cream man made us excited and rushed to have one stick of chocolate ice-cream with all those chocolate chips and cherry toppings. Or, the time when we used to buy clothes for an occasion. We were happy, excited, thrilled and most importantly content with those few frocks.  Never cared about whether we are repeating the same frocks for some occasions. When the whole family huddled in one van with etc seats to visit family and friends for New Year greetings. Or, the time when I used to wake up early in the morning and secretly rushed to our garden to pluck flowers. Or, finishing school homework quickly to run to park to play. Or, when a small chocolate bar was shared amongst eight family members. Or, when grandma used to pamper us with our native delicacies.  That was the one inch of peace and happiness looked like. That is how simple one inch of life used to be. That immeasurable Happiness!

I read somewhere, a known person said (I do not remember who said this), intelligent man can never be happy. Really? Perhaps not happy in a conventional sense, when she cannot find happiness by following the boring societal norms set centuries before, perhaps by not following and understanding certain shallow emotions of the Society. Perhaps by not dressing up for a friend's or family's marriage occasion, (and chose to go in office formals, as she has to rush directly from office) as she truly wanted to meet family and friends and celebrate the happiness. Perhaps she is not interested in make up or wearing heels. Or may be, she emotionally connects with her job or follows her heart. Or may be she is not scared of 'being Single'. We complicate happiness as we grow up. May be this world does not understand Happiness in its literal sense. And, I guess the fault is, as per our society, Intelligent people take Happiness in all its Literal and True sense. Without concealing all of it under many masks. Intelligent people manage to stick to their roots of Happiness from where it all started.