100th post - Can I be her ?

I started Monologues around the same time I started Backpacker. But while the traveller in me was quick to share, the persona living inside me was not always in a mood to write. Despite that, 99 posts have been written and I feel compelled now  to write my 100th , although I have no thoughts or topics in my mind .

Monologues is not really a monologue...it is actually a conversation . It is between her and me and we share  a bond. We wrote whenever we felt an impulse to say something. It has always been impulsive and personal to a large extent, except that it is often not me , who is speaking .

I created a persona inside me , a " She" who said a whole lot of things and somewhere within her was a bit of me as well. My first post on the blog started with her and initially it was always her, pushing her voice through my fingers, eager to be heard until she vanished inside me. She observed, she dictated, she ranted, she cried . Then one fine day she disappeared, leaving me to deal with my own emptiness .

I continued trying to express my thoughts and feelings, but could never find her..And the thoughts seemed rather forced and deliberate.

I look for her in vain. She is silent, dormant and will not raise a voice. Cold, and indifferent to the world around her now, I wonder if I can possibly recreate her. Until then, I am left with neither monologues nor conversations.

Pretence

She looked at the mirror and smiled. But she saw the tear stained face, the emptiness written all over it. She saw the broken pieces of whatever was left of her reflecting in the mirror, crumbled and powdered , stamped and flung around. She reached out into the deep abyss inside her and saw a crushing emptiness, a block of negativity that pushed her against the wall . The mirror showed her the truth. There were no doors, no windows, not even a keyhole of hope and happiness . She took a kaleidoscope and looked inside her and she saw pieces of her rejected and thrown. She stared hard at the mirror now. It smiled back at her. Reality is harsh. The whole world celebrated. Beside her was one part of her world, oblivious to her pain and hurt , snoring in the dark. She typed in the white screen. Happy New Year. The mirror chided her. Stop pretending, it said.

The Pandora Box

She leaned against the window and shut her eyes tight.The present seemed to ebb into the past. Time, she told herself is an illusion.The night lay threadbare as she unlocked her mind.

The images blurred. But she heard those words .They spoke to her in a different voice. The monotone of the fingers tapping the keyboard, the murmurs, the laughter..they all merged .

It had rained a bit. They told each other stories the entire night.Dont go,he had said then.The rains formed a pattern on the glass . She retraced her steps back in her mind.

The pitter patter dogged her as she let the sound of rains drown those voices but the murmurs grew. They merged with the words that emerged now in front of her. Were they just words, or were they emotions?"Leave," he had said then. He had the last word always.

She reached out to herself. The words stirred in her dead mind. A long lost emotion frozen somewhere in the depths ..She was lost in a timewarp. Time she told herself is not a healer.

She had flung them in the recesses of her mind, as they became fossils. But no body told her that fossils will not disappear. He brought them afore again. The words had a different meaning, but they chased her. The Pandora box had just been opened. Memories flew out. With them came the dead embers of her mind. But the wounds were still fresh.She couldnt feel the pain though.

The rains fogged the window. She stood there still for a very long time, listening to the pitter patter, long after the rain had stopped.

Broken

Was it a toy or a relationship that just broke ?

Shadows ...

She looked at their long thin shadows that drew a pattern on the sand. They were distortions, an exaggeration of their relationship, she thought. Shadows can never be real .And yet, they are an extention of the self as they can never exist by themselves.

Her mind flitted through the various shadows of the past that merged into the present. The shadows of relationships, the murmurs of conversations, the echoes of laughter ..she carried them with her. And yet, as every relationship faded into another shadow, she wondered why she hadnt learnt from them

Where do you draw the line ? Questions punctuated her mind. There was a conflict of emotions. The feeling was too strong to shrug it away and yet, it was just a shadow of an emotion that flitted in and out of her mind.

The shadows of the past interrupted her . The vulnerable moments, the emotional dependency ..she wished she could let go, feel a sense of gay abandon . And yet, she wondered whether she had let her guard down .

The sun changed directions and the shadows diminished . Were they for real, she asked herself or just empty emotions to fill the void ? She walked into the mind of the shadow..did she really feel them or were they just shadows of her own feelings.

They were delusions like the shadows she pursued .Her dilemma continued. Should she step outside the shadow and see the real world or step outside the shadow and let them see the real her ?

Silence spoke to her..

She heard the voice of silence calling out to her. It spoke to her in a calm, soft tone. Touching the deep recesses of her mind, drowning the murmurs of whispers that rose , it reached out to her, reassuringly.

Her mind lay swollen like a flooded reservoir unable to contain the barrage of emotions that drowned her thinking. She looked at the static sky and wondered about the dynamics of life. The night was quiet, veiled in a thick blanket of clouds, shutting life out, lulling the energies and presumably lost in a deep slumber.

She looked again and the night sky opened up its mysteries to her. It lay naked but potent . She saw a certain brightness in it, a vibrant spirit , a wave that swept her and gently washed her , cleansing her .She wondered at the energy the night sky concealed within its fold. The momentum thats hidden, that one doesnt see and feel- the tiny stars that twinkle, the thin layer of clouds that move, the waning moon that shines, the gentle breeze that touches your skin.

The emotions left her, leaving her with a sense of nothingness that made her feel complete. Her mind was like a seive that filtered them out while the vacuum filled her. She could feel her thoughts empty her being, passing through her self like wind blowing through the surface of waters causing gentle ripples but not affecting the flow . She could feel the rhythm , the slow rocking of emotions that filled her with a passion that gently released itself from her clutches, unlocking her .

It was a feeling that she could identify with - a sense of being lost,to be a microcosm in this entire universe doing its little bit to be a cog in the wheel.

She felt a sense of ablution . The thoughts bathed her down,leaving her empty and yet full. She embraced this vacuum, it filled her with peace .

She started to unthink . Let go said the voice of silence and she just stood there watching herself being released .

How are human beings valued ?

Two separate incidents that happenned over the last few days have got me thinking..How are human beings being valued ? Is it purely on their utility value or is there a respect for age, emotions, relations , bond, past achievements ? The incidents by themselves cannot be compared as we are looking at oranges and apples here, but they tell a common story.

The first one was narrated to me by X. In their office, a top management personnel who was once responsible for putting in strategies and systems in place was probably asked to leave as he was now redundant. In the days of recession, his CTC was not working out. He was probably a mentor to a few, but now there was no use for him in the organization. That apart, he had burnt bridges and could not handle politics.

Being in the corporate world, we have always learnt that everything comes with an expiry date and we are as good as our last assignment and we must learn to look at the writing on the wall, long before it is too late. So, for most of us, this is just another day in the corridors of power and another casualty on the block. And the survival is always about the fittest, recession or otherwise.

The other incident was much closer home and was straight out of a saas bahu serial, except that it does not refer to the women folk. A recent marriage ceremony threw enough light on who is wanted, who is respected, who is of use (the word being " help") and who is redundant . Respect and redundancy go hand in hand. You are given respect if you are not redundant and are of use to the families . A senior couple, well past their 60s and a bit unfit health wise due to certain ailments found themselves cold shouldered in a wedding they had attended in a city as they could not be of much use to the wedding party. They were not from the city and the reason attributed to the indifference was many - many people to look after ,there was "family" to take care of the couple and the couple themselves were part of the wedding party and they should probably take care of themselves .

I will not go into details here , but the long and short of it was that the two stories brought out one common thought..how are human beings being valued ? Is there an emotional bond, respect for seniority and a value for your past achievements and success or is it the sheer usefulness of an individual that is being taken into account. In corporate life, it is probably taken for granted...but in families too ... ?

I think I can read the writing on the wall..what do you say ?

Plunging..

The blue green waters beckoned her. She moved towards the wave, wondering what it will be like to be caressed by it. Her head bobbed..she floated for a while before traces of her became a ripple. The voices were a distant mumble. The fish surrounded her.The oceans swallowed her only to open out new depths ..But this is a world that she will never know

Musings..

Go with the flow..the inner voice said..I am, I am she replied, wondering if there is a flow at all ..

The winds of change

The winds of change were blowing - hot, humid, strong and powerful - right in her direction. She stood her ground, but they swept her off her feet. In their grip, she was as light as cotton, swaying like clouds, mesmerised by the blue sky of opportunities that lay in front of her. A brave new world lay right in front of her as she danced to their tune , losing her body, will and mind ..

And then they dropped her as she dangled precariously from the sky refusing to hit the ground , rudderless with no place called home..and then she realized the clouds were just vapour, the sky didnt exist ; it was just a vacant space that looked blue sometimes .And so she dropped on to the ground with a thud ..gathering her limbs, her wit and mind and holding on to her own ..

Many years passed. The sun shone brightly from the sky. The earth grew warmer and warmer.Days followed nights like slices of bread, identical pieces filling up the entire loaf, the void called life. Time stood still. She was wrapped in space. The seasons changed. The trees looked down on her as she gazed at them fondly, expectantly every morning . She watched every movement in the trees as a gentle breeze shook the leaves, rocked a branch, lifted a bird ..a tender touch here , a biting nip there . But the breezes stopped after a while..She continued waiting..The stillness, the routine, the silence - She longed for the winds of change..would they ever blow in her direction again..for good or bad..she needed them to live again !

She ..

Her eyes looked vacantly into space. The world no longer embraced her. It stared right back at her, almost accusingly . She stood transfixed for a moment , paralysed.

She could almost feel the silence, cold and oppressive engulfing her .The skies were no longer blue- just harsh , blinding her. There was something more than silence. She felt it, but did not know what it was. The murmurs had begun. Something crept on her arms .Its out to get you , the voices said . She shivered a bit, turned abruptly. There was nothing.

She was incapable of thought or action. The air grew thicker. She closed her eyes tightly . She tried to hear her own mind.There was silence ..she opened her mouth to scream . A sigh emerged. A weak voice from inside. She pressed her ears hard, turned inward ..concentrate , she urged . Deep breaths. A beating heart. Silence . She gave up.

The vacuum had sucked her out. Life, energy, thoughts. She was breathing . But not living .

Eyes

She couldnt get over those pair of eyes. They haunted her . Cold, glassy, harsh. ..She averted her eyes as the gazes met . Sharp and steely they pierced through her almost cutting her insides.

It was a beautiful, innocent face ..Soft, fair and childlike. But a face that you wouldnt give a second glance , a face easy to forget amongst the millions that we face everyday..Yet those eyes made the face unforgettable ..

Something told her that the eyes did not belong to the face . The lips curved into a smile, but the eyes burnt like fire . A glare that almost burnt her face as she looked into them .

She closed her eyes and lay back ..thinking about the day, people who have made her day and those who didnt ..And only the eyes stared back..Was there a hurt she saw , an anger that spoke through them , a cruel act that was witnessed ? She would never know because she had never asked ..And the face became faceless except for those eyes..

Sleep beckoned .

Tagged - Why I write what I write

Rusty has made my rusted grey cells think a bit ...so here I am asking myself why I do what I do...I am supposed to put my thoughts on writing ...so here goes .Ive tried to be as spontaneous as I can be .

Why Write ?

Its like breathing ..It makes me feel that I am alive . I write as its the most natural, spontaneous thing to do...It eases a clogged mind..Its instant gratification , like ice cream ..above all its an addiction . It helps me keep in touch with my core self and gives form to the various facets within me . It creates a picture that exists only in my mind ..Its like a waterfall , where words just burst forth creating a sequence , sometimes drawn by an invisbile force ..Its like what Keats said - That which is creative must create itself !

When to write ?

In the loo, while asleep ...no, I am not joking. Writing is just not putting words to paper or screen ..its also putting words to an abstract thoughts that keep raising their heads . I believe that there is no fixed time to write ...just keep your mind awake and let the words flow

What to write ?

Truth is stranger than fiction ! Sometimes its the truth thats hidden deep in the subconscious thats more interesting than stories.. Yet , I write about life ..the frailities and the foibles, the small ,insignificant experiences , the joy of discovery , people who matter and who didnt, memories that refuse to go away and places that are etched forever in our mind and opinions that you want others to hear .. I paint the picture thats in my mind at that point of time ..

How to write ?

Spontaneously . There is always a better word for every thought and expression , but sometimes the joy of writing goes away in just searching for the right word. Its like a dream man or woman of your life ..they dont exist ..I like words that have a feel about them, that create imagery ..that evoke feelings . Mere adjectives dont mean a thing ..Keep it simple and short .

Who to write for ?

For myself ideally . But sometimes you need readers and therefore for all those who appreciate my thoughts and my writing ...

Do I tag ?

I dont know...maybe there are readers out there who may want to pick this up..but I dont feel like forcing it down anyone

Locked..

locked in concentric circles
I'm a frozen idea
a magnet without its force
a routeless road that leads nowhere
a corpse forced to breathe

buried by the dust
my mind caves in
layer by layer, my zest erodes-
a speck, a hollow identity
lost to the world.

tossed by the wind
i lie in ur grip
a dusty dot, a dead weight
hanging onto u
seeking the essence of life.

wrapped in this fold
i cling onto ur shoulder
a possessive grip, an unfelt emotion-
a bond that frees me
but holds u captive.

caught in this web
u shrug me off
a chaff, a burden
a thin thread of emotion
that breaks, freeing u
but i lie, a slit kite

Celebrating the ordinary

This is the story of a dull day. A day which is not good or bad, but just dull. A day bereft of emotions . A day which has indifference written all over it .

A day which breaks at 7 am and ends at 11 pm . The maid walks in 8.30 am and leaves at 9.30 am. The husband leaves at 9.40 am and the door closes on me at 10.10 am .

It’s a day where nothing changes. The same roads, the same noise, the same files, the same names . It’s a day where everything is always the same .

It’s a day where work happens without you knowing it, without you doing it. A day dedicated to patterns .

It’s a day where the punctuations are there at the right places and the cycle rotates by itself. It’s a day I don’t see the clock ; for time is neither ahead or behind me. It’s a day with no memories , no thoughts ,no feelings.

To many others, it may well be an ordinary day, but to me, it’s a day that keeps me going. It’s a day that lets me feel that there are good and better days in store. It’s a day that shelters me from bad days.

It’s a regular day that brings in its wake more such dull days , like a loaf of bread with identical slices .

An ode to the simple mechanics of life – to be consistent and uniform, without even trying to be .

And that to me, makes every dull day a special day

Delusion

The coin keeps spinning
It can never lie on its side
Rotating on its rim
It just cannot stop .
You tossed me up too
And I fell into this mire
Deluded, I'm caught
In a maze with no routes
I see a harsh shaft of light
Your shadow falls on me
As unreal as my pursuit
Its chasing me .
Questions punctuate me
Your reply is my escape
The chase is finally over.
I am where I am.
Maybe I was dead within you
But life has caught on with me.

Moving on ..

A silent scream ripped her throat . A scream that was soaked with her suppressed anger, hurt and misplaced affection . The scream ended all that loud cacophany of voices that were thundering in her mind. There were no coherant thoughts or words that could express them . The scream . It was voiceless . Her world was encased in silence .

The anger - she directed on herself . A lack of judgement after so many years . The world she realized was divided into two kinds of people - hypocrites and fools ; the manipulators and the manipulated .

The distant hum of rain grew louder in her ear drums drowning her own thoughts It had created quite a pattern on her window pane . Drops of water flowed down , washing the dust that had etched their mark on the glass . She looked outward . The cars were going in different directions . A new perspective , a cleaner look . She picked up the jigsaw puzzle and realized that it was not worth solving .

She and I

She tried to sleep .It was a futile exercise .She closed her eyes and she kept hearing her own voice

Everyone was around her …and yet she felt alone . She was loved and cared for and yet she felt lost and lonely , weak and vulnerable, confused and hurt

She felt like screaming aloud. The silence ripped through her throat , She screamed silently – again and again

I could hear her screams ..I tried reaching out to her … She has everything and yet she is on the verge of losing everything

She needs a grip. I am still trying to hold on to her

She ..

The candle flickered . Like her mind. She looked inward for a moment - a captive of her own emotions and actions . …is she answerable to anyone ?

She looked at herself again – another persona emerged. Someone she could not recognize, understand or condone .

The choices were in front of her .She knew that she had to kill the other to live her life again .

Love is a conflict between reflexes and reflections . She had read that somewhere . She read it again in her life now .

She made the choice. She now needs to live with it - to live with herself again

I wonder if ...

I wonder if
I will wake up early tomorrow
my day will be good
there is no traffic on the roads
I'm doing the right thing
I will say the right thing
the bud will bloom
I have a good sense of humour
I am missing something
I am good
I am considered good
it will rain tomorrow
I can control my emotions
My judgement is right
I will laugh tomorrow
there are no cribs
I will get a migraine
the book will be read at all
I have friends
I'm weak
I will lose weight
I can actually start learning to trust people
My laptop will work
I will get the right people
I am pretending
I can control myself
I believe in myself
I'm taken for granted
My plans will work
It will be cold
I'm focussed
I am overreacting
I can stop SMSg
Sleep well tonight
I will stop feeling the way I am feeling
I can ever get over it
there are solutions
I'm fighting the battle alone
I'm happy