party blues

its seven o clock in the morning of a bright sunday and im still feeling giddy from yesterday's late night caustic junk food, drinks, heavy metal and all that dancing. i think i must go for a quick jog. that ll make me feel better. or maybe not. what about a soothing hot salt-water bath for my sore feet? nah..who would want to walk all the way to heat water.wait..where am i? oh yea, the familiar divan bed covers and my heart pillow! Im at home alright :) i examine my current state. messed up hair, the night dress that i had worn inside out in a mere fumble last night, heavy eyelids, one big lazy chunk sunken into pillows, not out of bed yet..last night's party was a sheer blast! one in a lifetime i could say..umm..on second thoughts, one in a week's time probably.i recollect the magical moments of the party and ruminate on those for sometime, thereby giving myself an essentially lame excuse.i muse on how unique and dashing, people thought, i had dressed myself up and more on how many cute heads i had made to turn(ofcourse towards me!). but there are still these regrets about how slimmer i would actually have looked, especially in that outfit,if i had managed to lose those 3 extra pounds as per last month's plan.and again, how was i ever thinking i could lose weight by following a 'strict' diet if there were so many mischievously tempting parties on my way. alas, i fall prey.i give myself an excuse again: 'live for the moment' and cant help rolling my eyes instantly.ok, no more parties for atleast a month. honest..(pause).. okay! who am i kiddin? give it up dudette, you cant keep your promises. fine. forget it. first things first. let me first get out of bed and get ready for the day, its already sunny enough. and probably finish my work at the bank, buy the folders that i have been wanting for almost a week to get those loose document papers filed, enroll for the workshop,return the library books, have a relaxing session at the spa and probably work out later in the evening....(long pause)...or i should first try cleaning the remains of my mascara that i had put on last night. will someone get me some cotton? hello anyone?

the sprout

A sprinkle of cold water on the tilled soil and the chillness shakes me up from one weary doze off. the water, rather too cold, now turning brown on touching the humus-laden soil, reaches the tip of my tender root, causing tinges of pain, forcing fluid flow through my frozen numb body -frozen due to frustration and fruitless trials. i lift my dreary eyelids, that feel heavy due to boredom and fatigue. the long shadows of the plants around me, swaying eeriely in the night breeze add up to the creepiness of the flickering lamp on the concrete stone-wall. i cower into the tiny seedling that i am, half-burried in the soil, fully submerged in fear and insecurity, squeezing my chlorophyll-drained eyes shut. i recollect in darkness, my tiresome efforts to break into a plant, leaves sprawled over the now-vacant space, branches stretching beyond boundaries, roots reigning over the under-world, flowers blooming into magnificient blossoms. i fantasize myself being the monarch of the flower-lit garden. my dream and my one desire- to fulfil the objective of my being.

i yearn for it. i strive for it. but all i manage is a millimetre of a root. a gradual apprehension swells up at the bottom of my heart. the more i yearn for it, the more intangible it becomes. those seeds that were sowed around me have now reached uncanny heights,belittling my fragile hope, their shadows smirking at me smuggly. those, i knew, were seeds that were aimless, unaware. they just grew; never lived through the beautiful process, but 'just' grew. never did they appreciate the process of growth eruption. but now, here i am, waiting for the divine impossibility, cherishing the beauty of the unattainable.

i remember waging my sight through the impeding plants, upward, towards the clearing, to catch glimpses of the serene night-sky. the warmth that the peices of star-strewn sky offered was soothening. the one bright star that always used to show up directly above, every night, had some soft magnetic suction. every time my feeble body wanted to give up, my mind got prompted of the heights i wanted to reach. i had often told myself that i wanted to grow up to reach that star. as silly as it sounded, it made me as much invigorated. now, i visualize the star in my mind's eye, feeling its warmth and brilliance, letting myself go lost into it.

suddenly, a thought or more a realization. the star. may be that is where i wanted to reach. may be that is where i am supposed to reach. engulfed in an avalanche of thoughts, overcome by a mixed feeling of fear and awe, that of one while experiencing the ultimate truth, i freeze in my position, unable to sink in the reality. partly expecting what i was going to see, i open my eyes slowly and look at the star. with a brilliant glow, it beams at me and as i look on, the light grows brighter, bigger.....and nearer. yes, the star is where i belong to.

a plethora of colors nearly blinds me as the space-shuttle zaps across to the earth. a radiant beam of magical light falls from the shuttle on this tiny seed. as i am withdrawn from the soil and pulled toward the shuttle, i feel eternal bliss in having found the truth of my being. i was different from those plants; had a different reason for living. and to think i was only foccusing my complex brain on growing into a plant...

i witness clarity. i see the clouds of frustration disappear in front of me. i see those dark nights dissolve. i tell myself, now also, that i shall fulfil the objective of my being, only that it is a different one now. i see the earth that i have left behind, a waning dot. i know, in one corner of my heart, that i would not have made it without its soil. i see the speck of soil that i managed to carry with me and smile.

Excuse me boss, you have a text message

A lotta times when i activate my keypad, the two lanky legs wearing blue socks, the shiny bug, the chocolate cake or any other freaky wallpaper effortlessly goes unnoticed and my thumb, as if in love with the joystick button, gets drawn towards it in a flow. With every centre-button-pressing giving a silly satisfaction for a fraction of a second, in no time i'm facing the main menu of my mobile. I look. It's the same old menu that i've been looking at for months, only that the theme/background is different each time dependin on my mood (not that it made any big difference). I study the icons once again: media player, entertainment, camera, vodafone live! etc. But there is this yellow envelope that has been lying obliquely across the centre of the menu, likr someone had cast it rather carelessly aside. Yes, the same envelope that pops up right at the centre,every time you enter the main menu. It happens that my envelope icon pops open when cursored, to reveal a white paper with the unwritten side facin me. I'm more curios now. I quickly enter the inbox. Any new messages for me? Sometimes 'yes' ; sometimes 'no'. If it is a glad 'yes', I read them all and I am.. well.. glad . Be it a forward, vodafone alert, conversational message, 'goodmorning's, 'goodnight's, it is always welcome by my inbox without any little fretting. But most times what amuses me is the message from that very special yellow envelope miles across, letting a smile bloom on my face.I wouldn't say I'm addicted to smsing, but most often I'm proud of my mobile with its inbuilt inbox mainly because it is with that that I'm in touch with those very few special yellow envelopes.
I retrace my path back.Alarms that are set and ever put to snooze,music player that's updated with new tracks every fortnight, notes that are typed and long-forgotten, camera full of funny pictures, gprs with free downloads that could cost upto hundred bucks in no time and more.
I smile unkowingly at the thought that the yellow envelope still continues to amuse me.

Red

Dried, brittle leaves,

helpless, 'unprotesting', dead

washed away recklessly

by ruthless imprudent wind

withering on the way,

giving up to decay,

living up to debris though;

leaving midrib to tell a tale;



well, this is not my tale.

i am

a red kite, alive.

feather-like weightless paper screen

striving against formidable wind

that fills space and beyond

and a string that weighs even less.

but no distress,

because

it's a string of hope and perseverance.

the harder the wind,

higher the flight.

but knowing within

that it would be an end

without the wind .



my eyes close

letting soul to surface.

a beating heart

that pumps blood and truth ,

gives me a red dye coat.

pure, bright red

in contrast

with the grey dust of the 'uninnocent' world.

as the wind bombards ,

my mind records

that my red fades

and a grey shade

slowly forms a facade.



i peruse the space around, afraid :

a grey pool of red kites indeed

but not all of them still red

but that will not retard

my flame and my red.



the closed eyes open from below

from the earth valley

and i see myself flying far above

telling a short never-ending story.



my eyes fixed on to me

immobile, straining to perceive

i try to realise my ground,

which is now a misty cloud.

i look down

a yonder.

i see myself -

a protesting red raft

fighting against

the fierce grey sea.

raft , borne by the sea ,

yet torn apart by the very sea ;

but will not be thwart.

waves engulfing the wet wood ;

raft unyielding;

noisy ,

never-ending .



the restless raft protests .

the picture mutes out .

the promising note remains .



i see myself

closer

in silence

that speaks sense.



i am a thick drop of oil paint

in a palette

whose bottom is unseen

due to the overflowing, dilute, impure grey

that is labouring its way

into penetrating the homogeneous red

from top

sides

and all around.

the red shines

its last shimmer of hope

faintly through

the puddled way to the observing eyes ,

knowing that somewhere deep down

the inevitable grey has taken reign ;

yet, does not refrain .



my eyes disapparate ;

and apparate into myself

only to close again.

now, they open to face the grey world,

as the real me .

the kite, the raft ,

the oil paint.

but never a dead leaf, waft .

though sometimes letting life to push ,

pushing back at life , undeterred,

preserving the red .







----------------------------end----------------------------------