Wednesday 22 May 2013

Where the sun smelt loud.





He chased the sound of wind chimes.
  He ran against the wind.
    He rode past clouds of fog, ringing the bell on his adult-sized cycle.
      He caught butterflies, feeling life go limp between his fingers.
        He stood beneath early April showers, arms outstretched, the warm rain scalding his skin, searing his insides.
          He collected quaint little wild flowers in red and yellow growing by the shrubbery in school.
            He counted stars stars in the night, and when there were none, he always had fireflies.



Rio inhabited a world of his own.
Where the sun smiled upon him, the rain cleansed him.
  Where the stars, quivering in the dark, were where fairies resided.
    Where light dispersed in red and blue and green on the surface of soap bubbles against the frosted glass
      (the warm bubble bath Ma prepares before school).
        Where distant bells ringing from up the valley brought the news of advent travellers.
          Where flights of birds flying towards north showed him his way homewards, when the sun went down.


A house built of stone.
Wooden floors, wooden table-tops and fireplace.
An old armchair.
A bare window-sill essentially unadorned.
But for an old flower-vase, a few wild flowers clumsily tossed into it with prying hands.

A gigantic tree as ancient as Dadai, lonesome, 
Stands in a nook,
It's bare arms outstretched towards heaven.





                                              -------------------------------------------------





"What's this, Rio?" the little girl in red asked, bent over the queer shaped kite.

"A dragon, Tatin. That's a red dragon. A red, angry dragon." the little man in blue smiled through a gaping hole in front of his mouth.

"Can i help you draw the eyes out?" Tatin grins innocently, revealing her missing buck tooth.

She sat beside him.

"I  want to help you. For i think you are my friend". 

"Your friend?"  Rio's quetion drifted across the clouds which had stayed behind to eavesdrop on  their conversation.

"Why, Mum told me anyone who has been visited by the Tooth fairy is my friend!"  her eyes danced in glee.

"Come, hold my crayons for me.
Hand me the ones I ask for."  Rio shifted to make place for her.





Red stacked against the blue.
The blind spot conquered the red.
Two beady eyes gazed at hands clapsed over laughing mouths.
Prying fingers pull open the red ribbons and laugh out in amazement.
Little fingers flung out the blue cap out of reach, laughing out in glee, starlight in her eyes.

Red and blue crayons, sprained and bent, rolled out of their way.
Pink and yellow, lay still, cold, their hues fading fast into a powdery nothingness.
Colours curled around where they sat, losing their colour.





                                          -------------------------------------------------------






Sweat gathered on his eyebrows. 
This was not how it was meant to be.




The string, he intertwined around his finger, before drifting of to the land of his Dreams.
The red kite soar high against the blue expanse.
Crayons ringa-ringa-rosed around them, red and blue, staring wide-eyed at their kite.




The string felt taut. The white turned red against his fingers. 
He frowned.




The red against the blue. Free. Light. The negation of gravity.
He moves in his sleep. Turns around.
Little fingers tighten it's grip around the string.
He evenly breathes against the pillow.




Bird fly across the sunlit vista. 
It's almost dusk.
Time for Rio to pack up.

Time for Ma to call him in.
But Ma is late today.




The dew brushes against the pairs of feet. 
The red frock dragged itself along the bushel of edelweiss.
The little toes followed the sky, now adorned in a bit of red.
The pairs of eager eyes looked up at their creation, together, as it floathed by a flock of birds.
The little man in blue sighed in his sleep as little hands clasped each other in elation.




No, it just won't fly. I made it wrong, thought Rio. 

"Rio, run down, kid!" Ma call out.


Evening settles down on hills like dust on an old, creaking armchair.

Two beady eyes watched through hapless tears.
Eyelashes flickered. Nostril twitched to stop it from running.

"Rio, won't you say your goodbyes?
Where are your manners?"   Ma rebukes.



Feet scurry down the valley, breathless, and stop before the red car.


Two prying hands pass down the beady eyed dragon to the girl in red in the big, red car.


Mist invades their space.
Eyes red, watch watching eyes.
Big hands arrest the little man in blue.



Prying fingers wave behind the dust left back.






                                            -------------------------------------------------------







At supper, Ma tells Baba, "Tatin was a quite kid. Good company to our Rio, right?
The only one of his age in the neighbouhood."

Baba absent-mindedly replies "Yeah, but you know how it is with the Army. You keep getting transferred all over the country. Quite the rolling stone, you have to become, that way."



Rio turned quiet too.






He retreated back to his world.
He resorted to his counting stars.
Teary eyes complained to the starlight people.

Little eyes looked down at the prying fingers under the moonlight.



Crushed red powder stared back at drooping eyelids from between broken nails.





                                        -----------------------------------------------------------







Epilogue: 
In every aircraft
In every camera
There's a wish that
Wasn't granted

What was that for?
What was that for?

[ "Take me somewhere nice" by Mogwai ]




Sunday 5 May 2013

Learn to dance in the rain




When it thunders deafeningly outside, you won’t think of her anymore.
Or how she used to love the storms.
You’ll push the rotating glass door of her favourite cafe, her favourite Paisley number will greet you inside.
The aroma of THAT cafe au lait will hit you as you take your seat in THAT corner. The smell of those Mocha Caramel Pecan cookies will waft through the clustered confinement. But the smell won’t choke you.
For you will have already forgotten all that by then.
Details.
Unnecessary details elude our lives.
She will be sitting at Flurys, right across the street, facing your cafe.
Glasses on her nose.
Wearing an intent look.
Flipping through her paperback.
Meaning to keep an eye on you?
Is it?
Suddenly her lemongrass perfume.
You can’t forget that. Nay.
You haven’t.
It’s raining outside.
You notice it.
NOW.
Slowly.
‘A woman not yet seen, but whose perfume accumulates on the horizon like a storm cloud.’
( Fernand Dumont)

Holding Up The Sky, till it all but pours over me.





The dust walks by me.
The feet kisses scraps of unhindered paper.
The wind grazes against the skin roughly.
And, I walk ahead.
Unmindful of what I leave behind.
Among the butchered silence.
My destiny was never bound to any place.
Any name. 
Any memory.


For there comes a time, once in a while, when the whole world outside is quiet, in waiting, and the only sound in the world is your heart pounding in your chest.

Don’t let the sun go down on you


He stops, looks up at this window, and I can see the white oblong of his face. We look at each other. I have no rose to toss, he has no lute. But it’s the same kind of hunger.

 Margaret AtwoodThe Handmaid’s Tale


“You’re coming at six, then. ” She smelt her hair.
I’m ready.
“I will try to. ” The tenor voice was still unruffled, unyielding.




The staccato clicking of heels on the road, irregular.
A brown paper bag wearing a hideous face, laughing peek from behind her skirt.
The screeching halt of a black convertible.
Bobbing young heads giggling.
Deafening honk of the bus behind her.
“Ma’am, care to step aside?”
The heels protest, stumbling across from the road to the pavement, now crowded.
The evening has arrived already, once more, unannounced.


Liar. Liar. He never ‘tried’ to come. 
Why would he?


You bin the brown bag in the trash.
You buy your groceries instead.

“How much will that be?” She tried to smile. In vain.
Oh, wait! I need that paperback! Latest in the Tom Thorne series! 
“Add this one too, to all that stuff.”
She smiles now.




You drift away far from the world you so love.
You let yourself realise, in a positive way, for the first time, everyone is alone in this.
And everyone’s in it, for their own selves.
You don’t have anyone to hold your hand when you wake up in the morning and say:
“Please don’t die. 
For tomorrow’s another day.
When I wish to see your auburn hair glow in the sun like this, again.
You don’t, for you are in this life for yourself.
And so’s everyone else.

We live alone. Fight alone. Perish alone. For ourselves.
Not necessarily bad, innit?

Humans are the only kind cursed with the knowledge of their perpetual solitude.
Humans are also the only kind blessed with enough things to keep ourselves occupied with, all our lives, so as to fight ‘being alone’.

Till, once in a while, we come face to face with our own selves on a mirror.
And the myths you so carefully contrived, crumble down. And you wallow in unprecedented grief.
But that’s only once, every winter.


For now, she knows, ‘being alone’ is a human condition.
Loneliness, however, is a choice.

As for now, she’ll run off to check her To-do list to add ‘Grab the latest copy of “Inferno” ‘
She digs in time-defying, scintillating thrillers.
Don’t you too?