In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Reward.”
This is my greatest reward. To place an unknown human being in my sphere of trust. To let her know she’ll never be alone again. The connection to Shiva though, is something only she can explain. 🙂
The weather has been lousy as hell for the past two nights. Raining when it should be Spring with cool winds and new shiny leaves on trees, locking me up inside my house. Not only does the rain snatch my sleep but (I have a tingly feeling about this) also gives the Delhi government a reason to brag about how we, the end users are getting reduced electricity bills when actually, there is no electricity to use at my home 🏡. 😉
The reason why I’m having to post from my mobile!
I would dearly love to give something like this a try but I’m so damn lazy and confused 😕!
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”
A lot has changed. From the time when a tiny boom box painted the rainbow of sounds across our home, as it churned out melodies after melodies on the radio and cassette player, to today when I have my sound at my fingertips. The smell of food that filled my heart will forever remain attached to the sounds I heard then. I see my mother in the kitchen, now and then. One ever so busy mother, with a job at hand, making sure all’s in order for lunch while me and my brother freshen up and change into regular clothes.
The table cleaned, waiting for a flurry of dishes be placed on it, to embrace them, to taste the curries that filled them. The table loved us. While we dearly waited for my dad to arrive, on his scooter, “Priya”, the sound of which got everyone into action. The table, all dressed, invited the hungry ones. Hungry ones always found the way. What would normally start out as lunch with sun-filled eyes ended in a blur. Somehow I don’t remember a single thing I did after lunch, probably clean the table and sleep was all I did till my pretense of being grown up finally showed through – then I studied, had to, never knowing why.
Today, while I wait for my maid to ring my doorbell and prepare what SHE calls food, I recall those afternoons, for I took them lightly, for they may never happen again. Such sweet memories and each one has a song for it. Like a straw that flows, I’ve seen a lot along the way, things appalling and shambolic, things that make me hum tunes, from the distant past. Tunes I won’t forget. Some Things change and how and Some never can!
Here is one of those tunes that reminds me of those lunches, the siestas and the pretense I now call “Studying” –
This is a dream. My mother and I land in US from an early morning flight on 14th January 2015, only to be greeted by the greatest news a ‘to-be’ uncle and a ‘to-be’ grandmother on a foreign land could have – the birth of an angel in our family. My brother and his spouse have made an incredibly beautiful baby – a 6.7 pound miracle. If I ever said anything about the loveliest thing I’d ever seen – then let me scratch that ‘coz this is a sight to behold. Let me present to you the latest addition to our family – Sara Mishra!
Our joy knows no bounds!
I totally second your opinion and a Happy New Year!
Many lament what they describe as the decline of hip hop and more specifically it’s being diluted in the interest of broader reach and higher profits.
First off duh. That is what record companies do. They are profit driven and care little, if at all, about the art of music.
Secondly as my wife points out hip hop will survive no matter what is thrown at it. Additionally I offer that hip hop has grown to the point that it can hardly be contained as one category. For a long time I have contended that what I hear on the radio that is labeled hip hop is in actuality often hip pop. Hip pop is what I have dubbed that which was concocted as a more easily distributed, controlled, less offensive hip hop derivative having been stripped of originality, authenticity, or any semblance of sociopolitical relevancy. Admittedly catchy, but not…
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This is where I stalled. The best I can describe my absence with, is I’ve been on a journey for a while. A journey to self-destruction and resurrection. A journey to see my ends. A journey to know the truth and self-worth, to live a tale worth telling. And it has come at a price. I’m lost. I’ve lost.
The burden of responsibility now forbids my senses to feel again, see again, hear again, think again. I fail to see how I got here. All that I am is truth. This is all I can be and yet I fail myself and others. The pain of understanding the world and people around me has got the worse of me. It’s becoming difficult to embrace myself for who I am. Because it’s dark. I’ve seen it. Something that’ll swallow me whole. I can feel things building inside me and they are a lot of weight to carry. The days are heavier and nights are sullen. I’m a ticking time bomb and time is close when I’ll explode. An explosion that will blow up their happiness to pieces and no one, not even me, knows what that’ll do to KING “ME”.
The ingredients of goodness inside me are depleting fast. I’ve got to come out. For inside me is burning anger. Case in point are these sudden urges to beat myself up. These urges occur when I’m happy about something specific or when I’ve sated myself. It’s not uncommon for me to feel bliss in pain but earlier, these feelings had a time and place. Not now. They just take over me and then possess me for days and days.
I’m different these days – angrier, surprisingly vociferous and scornful. I’ve always been different. My interests were different. I enjoyed pain and this is something I’m particularly proud of. I intentionally venture into the darker side when I’m aware of joys in brightness. But this tendency is at it’s peak now. I’ve started keeping myself on the edge. I break into moods I’m very unaware of. Life has become a game of hide and seek. Seeking while I’m hiding, in plain sight, yet creating thunders for myself and enjoying them.
I’m trying to find the psychology behind my actions that sometimes seem downright foolish. I’m forgetting more, trying to remember less and yet my dreams play out the drama for me, every night. Libation seems fruitless. So I tried exercising, trying to burn out all my excess energy, so I can remain calmer. It worked for a while, while the pain persisted. Once that went, so did the workouts. And now I’m free again with all that unburnt energy and no pain. It’s all like Forrest Gump. I do things without knowing why I’m doing them. Like these orders were etched inside my brain to be carried out now.
The song above describes me aptly. King Me – try looking for it’s meaning and you’ll get a number of absurd and pervasive results. I have my version too and it goes something like this – It’s a state of a narcissistic mind. One that’s trying to indulge for itself. It’s keeping yourself so high and untouchable, that a connect is almost impossible. It’s destructive. It makes you see and feel things, makes you sway from your path.
Why does King Me kill me? It’s because the world functions on people. People and things are the world. And when I can’t see beyond myself, I hurt others. Only in my case, since I have no one else to hurt, and so I hurt myself. I put myself through paces that are laid on death bed. And it burns. I have the marks – deep and unforgiving. People often tell me that I need to talk more but with what I have and what I do with it, my words fail me too.
That’s for a post later. Right now – Merry Christmas!!!! I’m looking forward to a new year filled with a lot of fresh opportunities and pain, because without pain, there’s no gain!
The way I am, I prefer to consider that everyone is struggling and are unhappy in their own right. They got lemons and failed to make lemonade out of it, just like I failed on umpteen occasions. Now here’s why I do that:
This way I never mean to do any harm to another human being, at least knowingly. And still there were times when I was made a complete jerk off. My home has often been a shelter for some people who’ve fooled me into believing in their plight. It’s only later when I’ve had time and space to explore their side that I’ve come to know how foolish I really was. But I don’t throw them out, just try and resolve their concerns with me, if any. When they find out, that I know about their truth, they automatically leave out of guilt.
Even then, I believe, till the damage can be repaired I won’t mind sheltering people for I have, in my own right, done a good deed. I also feel this is one way to live stress free, by taking satisfaction in the fact that you’ve done a someone some good and forgetting about it, than pulling the heartache of the betrayal along in life, which eventually is a baggage not worth of our time and energy.
I can’t really recall if what I’m going to talk about was my summer vacation or the start of long Dussehra holidays in October.
What I remember clearly though, is the sweltering heat, the yellow iron gate guarding our yard, my brother who had playfully climbed on top of the gate while me and my mum stood by the front door watching him play.
Now let me describe that yellow gate – it brought a unironed symphony to our home. It was a pale yellow, sturdy, 2-flanked metal structure that opened directly out to the beauty of the world. When it opened, the hinges creaked in a staccato rhythm. The 2 flanks hinged on iron rails on both sides, upholding the fence on either side. Looking from where I and my mom were seeing it, the left flank of the gate was lower than the right, leaning in from the top edge where they met (or should’ve met). Which meant that when the gate was shut using the latch on the top, it left ample gap at the bottom for stray dogs to wander in and out of our lawn, absolutely unhindered, an opportunity not many dogs missed considering the ginormous mango tree in our yard for the shade. Not that they really needed a gap, for the gate had rectangles cut out inside it, ones that made the gate, a practical sham!
Why am I talking about the gate? It’s this gate that I often dream about. One that opens to someplace unknown. Having yet to feel and cross it, the gate seems like it’s built of grey smoke only to fool my eyes. The fear of everything covered in orange haze/smoke on the other side, numbs my legs like I’m magically flying. When I look around, I find myself on an abandoned railway platform. The trains chugging pass fast and in huge numbers, watched only by a pair of eyes waiting for a trigger, but nothing happens. Nothing ever happens!
I often wonder what the dream means? Am I scared of abandoned railway stations? Am I scared of orange smoke? Do I love my legs so much that I fear for my life having no sensations in them?
Or is it my place of zen where I wish to be all the time?
Have you discussed ‘Beautiful‘ with people? I haven’t and I don’t know what beautiful is. No one taught me what beautiful is and I believe no one can. For what’s beautiful for a gazillion, may not be for me and it depends on my mood.
I am not untouched by nature or beautiful people and I’ve seen beauty in few of the rawest and most memorable forms but sometimes I don’t stand even by my word about someone or something being beautiful, leave alone others. Ergo, beauty is subjective to opinions and can never be clearly defined.
What’s beautiful though is this song –
What’s beautiful about the song? The voice and the picture it paints, the strings brush up the picture and the bass fills the colors. So true and clear, here’s what I see:
A girl enters a train with her beau brushing by our guy, revitalizing his senses already dead from the men rubbing him and their smell while he stands by the door. A few minutes later when a jerk from the sudden brakes makes the girl turn around when our guy lays his first sight on her face, and he simply melts, and the song ensues.
I know it’s cheesy but I am in the mood for cheesy!
Let me know your version of the picture this song paints.
There’s a saying among us – “Surplus of anything is wrong”!
And I agree to all its versions. It stands true for everything we touch or feel. And as the prompt is about information, I’ll talk about information and how it depreciates all our prior understanding of the topic. And this happens around me all the time. While it’s paramount to understand every aspect of everything that we deal with, over-indulging invariably reduces its charm and often times, its enigma. It’s no longer fun to deal with or indulge in, rather an already boring and mundane task.
But then, some people are built that way. They love discussing and to such an extent that they’ll discuss, till the rubber comes off the tyres, about things that really don’t even blow air on them. They believe in the saying – “All Information is Useful”! Think about the chatter that these morons can make, scares the crap out of me… TRUST ME!
Now think about the pitiable souls (Yours Truly, in this case) that have to hear their discussions day in and day out, about such things. Here’s an example:
Think about discussing properties all day long or stock markets. Both of them deal with your money directly, money that I don’t have and yet have to hear about. I’m buying so-and-so-stock or how about the property on the east wing of a god-forsaken-piece-of-land-that-may-someday-spew-gold!
Trust me, my world revolves around certainty. If it isn’t certain, my interest drops off a cliff. And think about the 100 million worth of properties or 10 million worth of stocks that I don’t have and may never have, and yet have to hear about all day long like senseless crows cawing in my ears. I just can’t care lesser for them.
So please, spare me of the information I don’t need. When my time comes and it definitely will, I may seek you for advice but till then, JUST BACK OFF and leave my ears alone!
Death? Think about it and it feels rather strange. I don’t worry about the aftermath, why should I? I’m dead, aren’t I! But I do have an aging fear of the moment when I meet it. Right when I’m closing my eyes, I think I want peace!
Peace in the thought that I haven’t harmed someone, that the world won’t miss me when I’m gone and the knowledge that the people I loved, loved me back. I think I won’t live very long and I don’t want to, and yet I want to be cared about by the people and things I cared about after I’m gone. I don’t want people to cry around me when I’m dying. I hope the best people of my life get to be around me when I’m dying unless it’s on the road to office or back where all there’ll be are strangers.
Just some thoughts!
It’s become a regular occurrence now. My office installed a set of XBOX 360 and our team is usually the first one to hit it right after lunch. So there we’re sitting having a nice little FIFA 14 session when someone who’s just finished his lunch comes in and asks for a remote. Well HELLOOOO!! Everyone who’s still playing just keeps looking at the screen like the new guy will somehow magically find a playing remote and the other person still has his hands held out like we owe him to let him play.
You see I’m normally the giving type though and I hate situations that make me uncomfortable. So everytime this happens, it’s me that yields and hands over his remote to the new guy. Now all this is fine with me but mustn’t it be courtesy to at least let me know when you’re done playing?
Also there are morons who when not given a remote to play, turn off the console and return to the seat while others are still playing, holding their remotes in their hands, and made to look like complete jerks.
Try working in such hostility and you’ll know what I mean!
There is a slew of items I want to get done right now and why I’m not getting them done – NO MONEY! It’s not that I’m poor but past few months have run my accounts dry. Here are the items:
1. Move my current blog to the domain I got registered for myself – http://www.viewsplash.me.
2. Buy a computer table and a proper ergonomic chair to go with it.
3. Buy myself a tablet to keep a regular tab on my WordPress feed.
4. Join a gym or buy a treadmill.
5. Get the air conditioner in my hall repaired.
Now how would these affect me if I get ’em all done?
My new website will be a larger motivation for me to blog regularly. It was always a wish of mine and it’ll be a huge burden off my shoulders to start blogging on a website owned by me.
I need to buy a computer chair that doesn’t let me fold my legs beneath it. I also need to buy a computer table that accommodates my PC better and leaves enough room for books around it. So I can create my own corner in my home, something that remains undisturbed.
I need to buy a tablet so I can start blogging on the move and don’t sit idle when I have time to spare. My current gadget for reading blogs is a 4 inch screen that delivers some real stress on my eyes and a very small touch keyboard for my rather large fingers, also the reason why I don’t text a lot.
I need to build a gymnasium at my home. Something that motivates me to rise early. The place where I live isn’t very ideal for early morning cycling or running, and ergo a gymnasium at home. My health requires some serious attention as my parents are teaching me to be.
I also need to get the air conditioner of my hall repaired. The switch blew off a month ago and I haven’t used it since. But I love my sofa and as it provides some open space for my thoughts, a cooler hall won’t do any harm to me and my dog.
It’s been 2 years. 2 years of learning, numerous sleepless nights, spinning of the head. 2 years when my mind learned how to write about anything I get my hands on. I can’t care about the start any more, it’s the journey I care about now. For I see no end to this association between me and the words, fingers and the people that use them.
Thank You all for being with me when it mattered the most!
The Greys in me, teach me to,
Start putting my happiness first,
Give life my best,
Take life as I have,
Drink coffee when I want.
The Greys on my head, remind me,
That time is luxury I don’t have,
That I still have the world to see,
That I’ve learned a lot,
And yet nothing.
The Greys in me, remind me of the,
Twinkle lost from your eyes.
Smile that once washed your face.
Joy that you sprinkled with every step.
Touch that fluttered my heart.
The Greys in me, tell me,
I’m guilty of robbing that twinkle,
I’m wiping the smile,
I’m trampling the joy,
And I’m now, missing that touch.
A friend of my father’s gifted me a puzzle of a picture taken from a similar angle, in my childhood… Took ages to figure it out and when perfected, could be done in 10 minutes! 😀
Someone is sure to get this one from me and I know just who! 😀
Ask someone these questions if they think there smart!
Question 1: There’s 500 bricks on a plane, drop 10 outside. how many bricks are left?
Question 2: What are the 3 steps for putting an elephant in a fridge?
Question 3: What are the 4 steps for putting a deer in the fridge?
Question 4: Its the lion kings birthday, all the animals are there exept one, which one?
Question 5: How can an old woman cross a swamp filled with crocodiles?
Question 6: In the end the old lady still died, how?
Answer 1: 490
Answer 2: Open the fridge, put elephant in, close fridge.
Answer 3: Open fridge, take elephant out., put deer in, close fridge.
Answer 4: The deer, because it’s still in the fridge.
Answer 5: She just crossed it normally, the crocodiles are at the lion kings birthday.
Answer 6: She died because she got hit by the 10 bricks..
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Quoting from the prompt –
“There is beauty in truth, even if it’s painful. Those who lie, twist life so that it looks tasty to the lazy, brilliant to the ignorant, and powerful to the weak. But lies only strengthen our defects. They don’t teach anything, help anything, fix anything or cure anything. Nor do they develop one’s character, one’s mind, one’s heart or one’s soul.”
– José N. Harris
Trust me, liars get my attention the quickest. Somehow, I smell them but this fickle mind believes that a liar is doing truth the justice when he lies and hence, belies the lie into a truth. It’s his responsibility to lie else truth won’t exist.
The sweeter the lie, the more painful is the truth that reveals it.
Just today, I got talking to a friend and he started with how when we get angry and yell at someone, we invariably feel sorry and yet end up choosing between revealing our guilt or no. He also pointed out the mental process that goes behind the anguish caused by the act and how it invariably lays the foundation to cover up the same angst in future. He was very clear in keeping the anger and the guilt it caused on a balance and how after we first choose the act, we invariably run for the other side – the guilt to keep up a balance derived from nature. And it happens really fast inside the brain, and yet never fails to leave an impression inside. He said that the choice is always clear but the brain, as it is trained to run for an excuse first and think logically later, comes up with a lie.
Guilt, ladies and gentlemen, has a tremendous power – it makes humans look and feel incredibly foolish which means embarrassment ahoy! To escape this, mind has to have plans ready and it thus, keeps a track of everything we do inside our subconscious, so we either don’t act that way altogether or be incredibly nimble in conjuring up a LIE! Not that Your’s Truly isn’t a master at the art, but doesn’t it need a thief to catch another?
Why do we lie? I say, we start to train our mind to hide the truth (guilt in the case above) and consequently lie from a very young age. It doesn’t come naturally to us. Parents never knowingly teach us to lie. Schools impart the correct wisdom, then where is it that liars are born? It all starts at home. We learn from our company. It’s a misconception among parents that their children can’t pay a heed to their lies because they are either too dumb or just don’t give a rats ass. These things are very small, so small that they in fact, must be forgotten and yet leave an impression lasting forever on a child’s mind.
“Hey Jo! Tell the man at the door that I’m not home yet” a boozing father says – Jo learns alibis that he’ll use against everything forever after.
“Hey Jo! Tell your dad I fell on the bathroom floor today and we’ll have to order food from outside and you can go buy your game DVD tomorrow. Here take the money” a lazy mother funnily tries to buy his son. Jo learns to disrespect his father.
“Hey Jo! You can tell your dad that you lost your ball and get money for another one, which we buy burgers with” Jo learns to lie to his parents for a burger that he would’ve anyways got, had he asked for it directly to them. Jo learns thievery.
In all the above cases, lies covered every evil. It seems like a lot of fun working over people to get things done, but this breeds dishonesty and knack for hurting people without knowing it. Lies destroy us – from inside. A lie is livable. It’s a world created in fantasies, bravado, and shining liveries. It hides the pain of the inside but instead of strengthening the soul, lies hollow it eating us everyday. It’s so lucrative and easy, some of us take permanent refuge in the deluge, forgetting that truth makes the soul lighter, stronger, and appreciable. Lies are a façade to our weakness. This mask though, is rotten from the inside. The longer you wear it, the more it disfigures the original identity. Every lie only moves you to away from the truth, truth that is you.
Hate is a strong word isn’t it? Especially when it comes to things you do or get done in a day. I hate none of what I do. I love my job. I like the people around me who work just like me. We have a fun time. I love my home or whatever of a ‘Home’ we’ve made it into. I love my dog. I love my wife and doing stuff for her.
The only thing that ails my soul and which I think is entirely a waste of my time (some may argue it isn’t) is driving to and fro my office. I feel that hour and a half is the least productive time in my day and the best period I can use for my writing if someone drives my vehicle. It isn’t fruitful to my health for all the smoke and dust that enters me, sticks to me, and makes me look like a villager on either end of the journeys. It doesn’t exercise a single muscle of my body and if anything raises my blood pressure.
And therefore, I want my robot to be a car that drives itself. I know they are still building on this technology and I may never be able to afford one for myself for it may never turn cheap and I know I’ll end up driving my car for my whole life whenever I own one, I want to nurture this dream. I know a lot of you may argue against me sleeping late and waking up late but because we’re talking solely about my comfort, this will be the pinnacle of the technology I wish to own.
The entire commute must get reduced to small phrases – “Driver, drive to my office” or “Driver, drive to my home”. Something voice activated and startable only using a password and it then does all the work itself while I commute hasslefree inside a clean cabin, undisturbed to write all I want. This way I’ll get a thousand other ideas to write about too by simply looking out of the window.
Some may argue, why not take a bus instead which will be cheaper? I say, I hate being around people. Crowd and bad smells simply tick me off. This when clearly, people are my best source of inspiration for thoughts and writing. Every living body feeds my brains with things and teaches me stuff that no books or internet can.
Sometimes I wonder what attracts you more to me, a love for the unknown? A love for the hatred I have for the world? Curiosity for the time unknown? Unseen acts of horror, unprecedented valor, or kindness?
I feel you touch a piece of me everyday but never whole. The tingle that wakes up my sensations, often leaves my soul wanting for more. I get you one finger pore at a time and with each touch, the yearning for wholeness turns my skin inside out. Why can’t I have you more? Why don’t I get you more?
Can’t blame you though, my readers, for we are all travellers in the same boat. Kids, wife, parents, office, home, horrifying relatives, and time killing neighbors – they consume so much of our time and brain that there’s none left for us to use at the end of the day. Still we are motivated to do what’s right for us – write for ourselves, it’s an obligation to the inner you, isn’t it? You reach the desk at the last hour of the day, pick up your pieces of thoughts and right when you are about to hit the keyboard, you lose power. People with laptops can still work for a while but not desktop users like me. Our day just got pushed into a dark oblivion when there’s no option but to sleep, the thoughts still currying inside, the flavors dying to spill out on to a writing pad or a web page. But luck is having none of it!
I’ve been under such a spell since past 3 months. Everyday is a struggle – to stay awake, concentrate, be healthier, see certain things the way I would a few years ago, keep focus on the future all the while learning from the past and (the one that tops it off) yet, be fun.
My irritability around this time of the year isn’t a new phenomenon. From an early age, I found June, July, August and September – the hardest to deal with. Whether it be my bone crushing accidents, to hysteria among the people around me, diseases – it’s like a kill-switch turns on. People die, there are terrible news all around and concentrating is the last thing my brain does. This is also the time I wish, time should just fly by never concerning me with its nitty-gritty. These are easily the most non-productive months of my year. Do you have any months that particularly seem to concern you – ones that freeze your hands, swell your feet, numb your mind for the world around just picks up its frantic pace and tries to drag you with it?
It is these months though, I expect my dear readers to show me some love and be kind enough to keep this space engaged. And how well you’ve done it, BRAVO! You’ve read and read my stuff, appreciated it, hunted down my errors even when I wasn’t there for you…
“You Cooked My Blog“!
And now it’s time for me put some dishes on the front burner and stir the pot to see what comes out next.
Run around and shout all you want. Raise your volume to decibel levels that make me shut my ears up. All lies are caught. Actually, the louder you are, the faster you run, the more things you throw around, the greater your lie is.
Lies just kill you – everyday. The more you keep your brain occupied with lies, lying, and remembering them, the lesser it thinks of better things. Keep lying and one day you lose all smile, all charm. Plus the constant fear of getting caught by the people who you may actually love and the wrath and indignation that go with all lies. A lie is never alone. A lie comes in groups and serious numbers. So weak is a lie, that it can’t survive without another. And this is only what you are doing to just yourself. Think of what you doing to others! Giving false hopes, false personification, false egos, and falser intelligence – you are not only destroying someones life but probably even robbing them of eventual pride in themselves of making better decisions and making them sulk in self-pity.
The power of truth though destroys all lies. Truth not only makes you a beautiful person, it makes your head clutter-free. You don’t have to remember all that you’ve said before because truth never changes. Its harder to swallow and get your head around but a simple realization and some acceptance turn all gloom to smiles. It makes you stronger. It lets you stand in the crowd and never lets you doubt your ability. You may fall in some eyes for being cruel and heartless but the confidence you impart to others is absolutely critical – both to you and them. Not only will people look up to you for advice and support but the respect you earn doing this is priceless.
Not that I haven’t ever lied to preach so much about truth but I’m changing and these are my first few steps to realize that self-respect is above all respects. This is my attempt to mend my reputation and gain further trust. I’m being brutal. I’m letting it all rip out from my heart always remembering that hiding the truth too is a form of lying and yet, not everyone needs to know everything about me. Sharing does relieve your heart but it also reduces the value of some of your cherished memories.
Speak the truth, for none can embrace you like you can.
I was lost. I had gleefully claimed to have found light never knowing that even darkness has disguises. It nearly consumed me. My passivity had had it’s versions but this was one of its most glorious forms. I am now very well aware of who I am on the other side. The other side of me is like the other side of Hulk. Hulk has just one motto – SMASH.
My darkness has one motto – HURT! It was a revenge. A revenge on this world for having treated me so bad. And I never could have enough of that revenge. We never can, can we? Sometimes I feel it is so cruel to feel such delight in someones agony caused by your revenge. But this sudden will to hurt others simply drives us to the pit that we thought will accommodate the world. But No. I made a journey down this endless pit I had dug up, this abyss, and back, and I now feel cured. The dark undertones of sound in each ear now make me pity my other self every moment. How weak and pathetic was I?
My blood toxicity reached a peak after 17 years of blithe ignorance towards my body. The marks on my face, the fat under my skin, the cry for attention underneath the happy façade – all have had their moments of crest. In trying to hurt others, I hurt myself so much, pain became the shadow to this darkness, a friend I always called for distraction.
I needn’t look any further than myself to know what pessimism means. Not anymore. As I complete a month of sobriety, the only promise I can make to myself is that the promises I make to myself again, will never feel the need for a call. Action and not words will lay the foundation for my course. Not that I’ll stop writing, rather writing will determine my actions. Actions that make me win each day in some way.
No more shaky start to my days. No more blurred visions and no more dreadful dreams. No slouching, no taking shit from anyone. If you’ve got the guts to try to knock my confidence down, my guts will not hold back either. No more being scapegoat-ed. No more cries for attention. If its my past that encourages my present, so be it. It’s the only book that teaches me. An unforgettable memoir of pain, humiliation, bad tastes in the mouth, knock outs and some love when I least expected it.
“Did someone just POOP?”.
I dreaded/dodged this question for an awfully long time during my childhood. Well let me just admit it – I had weak bowels! I suffered disasters when none expected them and hence, the QUESTION. Those, who’ve borne witness to those grotesque scenes will admit that my primary school days weren’t very kind to me, and to them.
The issue as of today stands CORRECTED and hence, no qualms exist!!!
However relieving this embarrassing announcement is, announcing “IT” isn’t the primary aim of this post. But then, it also isn’t the aim of this blog, to find old classmates. In a rather surprising turn of events, Hina, my classmate from one of my primary schools, dropped me a warm message a few days ago and I couldn’t help but let you people in on it. I haven’t felt so thrilled in ages. You can find her comment in the link below –
She not only remembers the characters in the post but she also was kind enough to let me know, how great our school really was during those days of limited resources and how exactly she stumbled upon my blog. She was searching for the name of our school and that’s how she came across Views Splash. Not only does the search thing on Google work, it actually provides my blog in search results too – amazing, isn’t it!
What I do want to share with you today though, is how I cheated for the first time (that I can remember of). It was nearing evening when our school decided to hold games for all the classes the next day and a messenger announced it in every class in those email-less days. I can’t recall clearly but think I participated in a couple of events, one of which was the “Lemon Race”. After being told to bring a spoon for the race, I was explained how the race is run. The contestants hold their spoons in their mouth using the handle and place the lemon on the curve and run without dropping the lemon. Whoever crosses the finish line first, wins!
I went home and told my mother about it. We sat for dinner when I saw my brother suckle at his favorite spoon and an idea struck the dead neurons in my brain. The spoon you see was quite broad at the handle and had a rather deep oval.
“This will definitely suffice my need” and so I thought.
After the dinner, I picked the spoon, placed a lemon on it, pursed the handle of the spoon between my lips and ran. The lemon fell after a few steps. I ran again and the lemon fell.
“This isn’t working”.
I tried again to check my fault and it turned out, the oval was doing its job correctly at the front but the lemon jumped ship from the back i.e. the handle end. So I worked with the spoon a bit and lifted the oval of the spoon to roughly 165 degrees with the handle which further deepened the spoon and gave the lemon a resting arm. I ran again and this time the lemon didn’t fall off. Now I happily awaited the next day to check out my competition and see how everyone else was faring with their spoons and whether there were any tricks used like I had.
The next evening arrived and the event-o-clock struck. As I went around casually checking everyones spoons, I found they hadn’t tinkered the slightest with the spoon. I started feeling guilty the moment I hit the finishing line in the first place. I saw everyone and only one other boy had managed to finish with rest trying to figure out where their lemons scurried to.
I won a plate, with a rather uncomfortable conscience, and yet I was still proud, not for winning the competition though. I was proud for I tried something different with my brain, something I wasn’t really used to. Regarding the guilt, I guess I was so small then that, it was better I left the guilt at the finishing line.
The reason for this post is 2-fold –
1. Weekly Writing Challenge – Memoir Madness. I now proudly say that –
“When life gave me lemons, I won a lemon race”.
2. The link between my confession in the first part of the post and the second is the friend who found me. A lot of school memories came flooding back and I shared two of those with you, the ones that really turned some of my early ways. It shows how embarrassment and guilt are some of the ingredients I’ve dealt with in my recipe called Life.