WISPY MEMORY

He walked down the almost empty corridor, his steps challenging the resonant silence with its resounding echoes…. His quick gait, his hands clutching d bright green folder, his downwards tilted face, all betrayed the carefree expression that he worked so hard to perfect… His destination was the second last door at the end of this endless corridor, the thought of which made walking a bit lighter…

He reached the door, hesitated for a tiny bit, then entered… Covering the distance from his house to the door took him half an hour, but covering the distance from the door to the chair by the window… it took an eternity, or so it seemed to him… He did not know how to address him, the bald, old man in the chair, staring out to infinity… A few years ago, such a thought would never have entered his mind, but now…

He went near him and stood there for a while, but the old man showed no signs of even being aware someone else is there besides him… So he pulled up a chair and sat down, facing him… Still the old man sat, staring out, entranced, as if Utopia had shifted base, right in front of his window….

He cleared his throat, and opened his folder… He extracted some dozen white sheets, clutched them tightly till his knuckles were as white as the sheets…. His mind hurled a million questions at him, questioning his sanity… Then on an impulse he started put them one by one on the window sill….

They were sketches, random sketches, of random objects… There was a house, a vintage car, a dog, two children playing with an older man, a bench, a shiny green bench…. He placed them all, watching him intensely, waiting for a sign, something, a flicker of interest, of recognition maybe…

But he saw nothing… The old man saw them, his face a blank map, illegible, unemotional, vide… He closed his eyes for a long painful moment, giving up hope on his nth idea… He reached out to collect the fragments of his disappointment, when the old man suddenly reached out too, picking up the sketch of the shiny green bench…. A bench that stood somewhere, in a park he can’t remember, on a street he can’t recall, seating people he can never identify… But the bench touched a chord in the unsettled chaos, a faint whisper of remembrance…

He got up, leaving the rest of the sketches behind… He knew that the unruly wind would probably blow away most of the sketches, but  he could hope now that it won’t blow away the tiny wispy memory that had come back at last…to his grandfather….

HANDLING WITH CARE

It was like I was split into two... I was the audience and I was the protagonist... It was oddly surreal....

I watched me struggle with the mere act of walking, placing one foot in front of the other seemed like a terrible ordeal.. I wanted to help myself, but I couldn't...one of the disadvantages of being a part of the audience, you can only watch, never participate...

So I watched myself sweating and hauling a big heavy box... I did not know what was inside it, but it looked very cumbersome even from a distance.. I got a bit closer and the the legendary phrase on top of it "FRAGILE, HANDLE WITH CARE"... So, it was glass, lots and lots of it...

As I watched, she or rather me... I stumbled... I regained my balance, then I stumbled again, this time I could not stop myself and down I went....to the rhythm of a faint tinkling sound... The horror I felt was mirrored exactly on the face of the fallen me... I got up, without bothering to check my wounds, fumbled with the box...and extracted the splinters...

And I bled... The fragments of the glass broken tore through my skin, my flesh, my veins, and blood flowed...almost as much as my tears.... Then I saw a change in me, as I got up and re-examined the box... I took out the remaining glass and wrapped them all up...in layers and layers of cloth and paper... I wrapped them up so much that it was un recognizable, the shape the size, the essence of what it was, the original glass artifact... It wasnt glass anymore. it was over protected lumps, without any entity of its own...

I knew it would not work... As I thought that I saw me trip, yet again, my over burdened, stressed out, suffering self... I did not even try to regain my balance, just went down with a resigned sigh... then i brushed myself, opened the box, and emptied out the shards again...but I did not bleed as much this time... There was anything left of the glass much, it was all smothered under the layers I had stifled it with....

I could not stop myself from shrieking out, "Let it go... You will never ever manage to carry them all till the end.. They are gonna break, and more you be careful about them, more you will fall, and bleed over them... Let go..."

The me on the road looked around, searching with wild eyes for the unknown voice (strange how my own voice sounds like a stranger when it is tinged with reason or common sense). Finding no one, I picked up the box again, with a pondering expression... There were only some pieces left in the box, the ones that endured the falls, the shocks, the tremors.... I picked them all up, collected them in my two hands, hugged them to my chest and started walking.... And I watched her, my other self as she walked with confident steps, knowing that even if she falls, the glass wont break again....

IRONY

No one can stand a foggy glass

Foggy mirrors are even worse

So he thought as he wiped

His soiled sleeve across

The broken glass

Peering so close that

His nose almost touching

He finally made out

His grimy visage

In the snowy mess

He winked & smiled

As he identified himself

In the unclear shadows

And he glanced back

The irony eluding him

At the dark corpse

Whose identity he'd removed

Forever...

EVOLUTION OF A F.R.I.E.N.D

You know, there are things that you know are important and you treat them thusly, and there are things that you deem pretty unimportant and therefore give them no significant attention... And then there are things that you know are very important for you, for your well-being, for your existence even...and yet at times you tend to treat them as Chunkey Pandey in an award function, ignored to the point of being ridiculous...

The subject of my super long prologue is friends. Friendship is a much hyped concept, where you end up putting in so much thought that if we did half as much in a particular topic, we'd all be Ph.Ds. And yet, after the prelims are over, the first excitement of hanging out together kinda fizzles out, where does your new friend come up on the friendship parameter?? Now that is a question so wickedly uncomfortable that we prefer to reroute it to the Dept. of Blissful Ignorance and leave it at that.

Before any of you starts getting all sniffy and injured, let me clarify... I do not mean that after the first excitement is over, you stop being good friends... It’s kind of like being married I guess. You have a honeymoon period, where lust is the topmost priority that needs to be fulfilled at all times, at all places. So we have one in a new friendship, where you simply can’t do without the intellectual stimulation...at all times, at all places...  

Married people move on next to the smug era, flaunting their new relationship with an obnoxious glow and millions of anecdotes, new discoveries, bonding with the second family et all. So do you quickly move on to the smug friend phase, where you flaunt them in front of your other friends, showing off the newest accessory of your life. Millions of anecdotes, check...bonding with their friends too...check....obnoxious glow...check.... you know you are in that phase when almost every alternate sentence of yours starts with, "you know my friend XYZ..." 

And then there's the third phase where you get more settled into the relationship, get more used to the fact that you are now part of an institution (no, not the asylum, marriage is called an institution too...), and just bring out your special marriage expertise if and when the occasion arises...

And so you get used to your friend, as you and he/she transform from being in a euphoric BFF state to a "hey what’s up, watchu doin, it’s been a while, wanna meet up??" You know, much more comfortable, much more at ease, and much less psychotic... And you never know....if your new friend survives the wear and tear of time....then well he/she gets to be one of the lucky dudes who gets to know of your marriage or your super cool new job or your first kid, personally and not via...well Facebook!!!

A DEATH ORDAINED

Where do these doubts come from?

The silent questions that break out,

Tormenting you with misgivings

So was I tormented

As I watched him leave...

Not the first battle fought,

For a warrior, for a warrior's wife

So why the trembling heart?

The premonition of doom,

Of death, despair and evil...

I did not fear his death, I knew

I had faith in him and destiny

What did I fear I could not be sure

But I somehow knew

Something dark was coming our way...

I waited in apprehension

As days turned to weeks, months

Then suddenly the news

"He's come, the messenger,

Bearing tidings from the master"

I walked slowly, my feet leaden

Unsure of what the writing bore

As I took the parchment from his hands

I could feel the weight of the letter

And I knew it was the dictates of Fate

The words swum before my eyes

As he wrote of his glorious victory

Smashing through the enemy ranks

And of his march of triumph...

His and his comrade in arms, Banquo

Then he spoke of his return journey

And their rencontre with three wise hags

The prophecy, oh the fateful words...

Duke of Cawdor, King of Scotland

The future, nay the predestined doom

Did it end at this unfortunate oracle

No, Fate had more games to play

They talked of the future heirs

Sired by Banquo, even though

His was not to accede the throne

The paper fell as I fought not to

 Dread took over my senses

As I went over the words

That rang as the knell of doom

On him, on me, on our destiny

For I could not shy away from it

The truth, what lay in wait for us

I knew it would overcome us both

Haunt our dreams at night

and poison days of wakefulness

I picked up the letter again

The seal of the Duke of Cawdor

With a sharp breath I realised

It had started, the games

The first prophecy fulfilled

I could not stay, I could not sleep

I waited for what lay in wait for me

Then the most vicious of tempters

Came to visit me in the dark

It was ambition, with his honeyed tongue

King of Scotland, Queen of the realm

How grand it sounds, magical

What could harm a seigneur so powerful?

What could damn a dynast so puissant?

It was our glory, ours to seize

And so I eagerly awaited the return

Of my lord, my master

The new declared Duke of Cawdor

And soon to be crowned

The King of Caledonia

The news preceded the arrival

As the yells echoed through the streets

"The lord is back, radiant victor

He's back with the enemy's head on a stake"

Hailing him all through the land

I rushed to meet him when I stopped

For the man I saw seemed a stranger

His visage feverish, his eyes wild

Its like he's seen a terrible,

Yet fascinating nightmare

I could not speak, I could not walk

As I saw him coming towards me

What ailed him I wondered

The hero of immortal honor

Should not, ought not look so ill

Then I glanced at my reflection

In a small puddle gathered at my feet

It mirrored my husband's absolutely

I understood his ailment then

It was the fever of torn desires

That night was a night momentous

Of decisions and of avidity

We drunk the wine of desire

And the potion of fear

An talked of what is and what could be

The potion stung and burned

And the wine intoxicated and blurred

The burning sensation, and we knew

That the intoxication will win

And we smiled, a smile of triumph

Just then the messenger entered 

And informed of the monarch's visit

The stars were moving

The fates were cackling

As we got ready to greet,

The king and our future...