Something of Myself
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
I will come back. I just do not know when. Half of the day is over. How much can I travel in the remaining half?
The mind is tiring. Commitment lies in two unequal halves, on the mozaic floor. I picked up one half of it and asked - 'Where do you belong?' I got no answers. I turned. I cursed. There was still silence in the air.
Uncertainty,
Masks,
Doubles,
Fragments,
Unequal halves,
Fractions,
Hyphens,
Points,
Disjoints - how long will it define my being?
Tell me how many hours I have to put myself through this morbid existence?
The mind is tiring. Commitment lies in two unequal halves, on the mozaic floor. I picked up one half of it and asked - 'Where do you belong?' I got no answers. I turned. I cursed. There was still silence in the air.
Uncertainty,
Masks,
Doubles,
Fragments,
Unequal halves,
Fractions,
Hyphens,
Points,
Disjoints - how long will it define my being?
Tell me how many hours I have to put myself through this morbid existence?
Friday, May 18, 2007
Memories are whores of our times.
Desires, mere pimps, selling us for one cent each.
Desires, mere pimps, selling us for one cent each.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
I just want to go up to her and say, 'I still miss you.' I want to buy her favourite flowers; tell her that I read all her emails today and yet again realized that at times, it is not individuals who are responsible for parting ways, but circumstances and blindness that throws us in different directions.
It was a thought that dawned on him tad late. She was gone, in a flash. He had lost her. She did not give much of a chance anyways! It was a eight minute conversation, and the moot point was to get it over and done with.
Roses remained buried in the yellowed copy of Dickens' Bleak House. The page on which Jo dies.
As he was driving back from his night-shift, he thought of her and smiled. She infused life in him. Herself, an embodiment of life's brightness, she too was pained after they had broken off. It was tougher on the parents. They found this couple so perfect that they had never imagined a distance, let alone a permanent closure. But that's the way it was meant to be.
Today, after six years, he still logged on to his old email address and checked his archives. The romance, the laughter, the arguments, ego wars, stubborn decisions, apologies and then finally the snap. Even the snap was recorded:
I will try my best to not be the way I was. I am sorry for everything. I did not mean to. I know I hurt you and I will never want you to be the same with me. I know I deserve it. But please, do not stop me from loving you.
He wondered if she really meant what she said. Did she even know what she was saying? Did she understand the infinity that she was promising him? Did she understand the permanence that she was looking for?
Perhaps not.
He was called at her marriage. He went with a bouquet of flowers and slipped a short note to her when everybody was busy posing for the wedding day photographs. The note read:
Congratulations on your big day! Shan is a great guy! I am happy for you. Just one request - please do not contact me anymore. For I can live with your absence, I can negotiate my past, but I cannot live knowing that there is someone else who will be writing poetry for you, and carving a slice of the moon, just for you. I'd rather do that myself. In your absence.
It was a thought that dawned on him tad late. She was gone, in a flash. He had lost her. She did not give much of a chance anyways! It was a eight minute conversation, and the moot point was to get it over and done with.
Roses remained buried in the yellowed copy of Dickens' Bleak House. The page on which Jo dies.
As he was driving back from his night-shift, he thought of her and smiled. She infused life in him. Herself, an embodiment of life's brightness, she too was pained after they had broken off. It was tougher on the parents. They found this couple so perfect that they had never imagined a distance, let alone a permanent closure. But that's the way it was meant to be.
Today, after six years, he still logged on to his old email address and checked his archives. The romance, the laughter, the arguments, ego wars, stubborn decisions, apologies and then finally the snap. Even the snap was recorded:
I will try my best to not be the way I was. I am sorry for everything. I did not mean to. I know I hurt you and I will never want you to be the same with me. I know I deserve it. But please, do not stop me from loving you.
He wondered if she really meant what she said. Did she even know what she was saying? Did she understand the infinity that she was promising him? Did she understand the permanence that she was looking for?
Perhaps not.
He was called at her marriage. He went with a bouquet of flowers and slipped a short note to her when everybody was busy posing for the wedding day photographs. The note read:
Congratulations on your big day! Shan is a great guy! I am happy for you. Just one request - please do not contact me anymore. For I can live with your absence, I can negotiate my past, but I cannot live knowing that there is someone else who will be writing poetry for you, and carving a slice of the moon, just for you. I'd rather do that myself. In your absence.
