A Writer's Life

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Thursday, November 3, 2016

Coping with the Death of a Loved One

Nobody can be buried to an extent that they become a memory, a fragment of our memory. Isn't is ruthless? That the person we loved so much and who loved us, even more, is no more…what is ‘no more’ when they were alive were they ‘any less’? then whats with this thing called death…where does it take our loved ones?

What is the purpose of this life, in which, we come from nowhere land and disappear back there, after living half a dozen decades…yes, that’s how meager it is, as it sounds…’half a dozen decades’. What do you want me to call it? LIFE? Isn’t that like giving too much weightage to these years…nothing but an experience for the soul, perhaps? Then why does it feel so much? Why does the pain exist…what I can see is nothing but the face of my loved one and her voice is all I hear. The care, the love, the presence of her cannot just go away. Her scent, her motherly care, her affection is all is left of her…this world, this planet doesn’t need her? Is she a star? Why do we always look up when someone passes away, expecting them to be there somewhere when actually we left them on earth.

Is a person’s life equal to only some tear droplets? An entire lifetime of love now only a few tear drops. How can we just move on when all the person, once alive, did, was to remember you, think about you and love you. Their full-stop is nothing but a small comma in our life sentence. That’s it? Well, a life sentence it is, like in the jail terms…because all your remaining life, you will have this vacuum left that nobody else can fill…and it is a life sentence for it is full of loving memories that now give you pain.

RIP Nimu Maasi…Is all I have to say…and the things left unsaid are too painful to express…a knot in my heart…a knot! I miss you and I wish I told you I love you, before you left us. I wish you a life that is full of life. Your journey with us doesn’t end here…I will live your memories every day.

You recited the dohas and narrated the Ramayan epic to me…but I don’t remember any of it, just your face all lit up when I answered your question about the moral of the story…all I remember is the way you gave meaning to this epic and brought the characters alive. The bhajans you sang in your melodious voice was not a prayer for me, but an opportunity to hear you sing in trance for your diety. It was always about you, Maasi…ALWAYS! You may have forgotten your acts of kindness and love but as a child, all got imprinted on my mind and I know, what a beautiful person you were…I think the RIP is not for the ones who are gone but is even badly needed for the people whom you leave behind. It is the souls of the living that are in pain and I cannot rest in peace without that lump in my throat and sorrow in my heart.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Never too Old, I Suppose!

If I were to sum up my life in a day...imagine! all the total years that make a human life...say 70-80; I am currently in the early evening stage of my life: with childhood i.e. the morning gone, and the early youth of 20s behind me (the afternoon), I am in my early evening...and don't parties begin in the evenings? ;) :D

Thursday, October 6, 2016

Shh! The Walls Have Something to Say too!

Everything in this house is beautiful, everything! But the walls, they're mysterious!!! The walls seem to hold a story unsaid. When we occupy a house, we start building new stories for the walls to hear, experience and record. Ever wished the walls could speak to us and tell us about the numerous stories? Well, if you have, DONT! The language of the walls is not that pleasant to hear. It's ghostly! Sarah knew it. But she could never get the mystery of the world out of her head. She always wanted to know how would it be on the other side. She pondered over questions which others did not have the time to think or maybe the others just brushed aside such random thoughts that may have erupted in the fast working brain to instead occupy it with ways to pay off the bills and celebrate with bread and ale. But Sarah had all the time in the world to amaze herself with the little secrets of the universe. Always in search for books of that kind, she was an explorer so to say, but not really. It was all playing in her head. She never took any pains to discover the truths of the universe herself. Well, that's all about her to start with. Now, Sarah resided in this new house of hers, once a home to Mrs. Mason...the infamous Mrs. Mason, who committed suicide in there..or so it was believed. A lady, known to have troubles and create trouble in public. She was depressed and all knew it. The local newspapers covered a story on her personal life and Sarah was more and more inclined to her story as if it were her life. Intriguing, thought Sarah. Everything of such nature was interesting to her. 

Sarah’s father was a priest and so he never hesitated even once to occupy this house and make it his home. Sarah was never home alone even when her father left for the church, her thoughts always gave her company. Good or bad, I’m not too sure. That’s when this thought occurred to her...what if the walls could tell her the story of Mrs. Mason...After all, such a well-off lady committing suicide was not that easily bought by our Sarah here. If only...she thought with a sigh. She looked at the walls, touching them, striking an emotional connect. She felt sympathy for the walls there, who saw it all but could not scream...who bore the agony of Mrs. Mason and endured it all. Just when she went back to sit on the couch, back to her reading...she saw the wallpaper peel off from one of the sides. The beautiful yellow wallpaper with red flower prints! She wondered if it was already peeled off or was it her imagination that she saw it happening right now. Anyways, there was not much need to pay heed to something so trivial..but wait a sec! It happened again and she heard the slight creaking up of the wallpaper...as if someone were tearing the sheet off the wall. What was this? No, not leakage! Had it been that, there certainly would be some water dripping off. Sarah ignored and tried to relax on the couch with her book. Hardly 5 mins later, she saw the wall and muffled her scream with both her palms clasped onto her mouth. She saw the wallpaper was just peeled enough to make a picture of a face, a crooked face of a female with her hair all loosened up. She could see now, clearly, that the outline resembled that of Mrs. Mason on a noose. The picture in the newspapers was fresh in her mind. Sarah stopped right where she was, glued to the place and wasn't thinking straight and definitely wasn't sure what to do next.
A moment later, Sarah rushed out of the house to call her father, the priest but when she did reach the door to get out...she felt a slight nudge on her skirt. She looked down and saw the woman on the wall...crawling right next to her...making circles and holding her skirt.
A passerby heard a shriek. When his eyes followed the sound of the shriek, he saw a beautiful house, just perfect with boxes yet to be unpacked, lying outside and it was calm. Just one shriek..maybe a figment of his imagination, he thought and passed by.

The priest was summoned to a home. The Father paid a visit to the house that was supposedly haunted. While on his way, he tried to coax the owner of the house, a hysterical man, Gerald, that everything is going to be alright. No soul that unrests has the power beyond that of the Lord. Saying so, he stepped out of the car to exorcize the house. At one glance, he knew the spirit was powerful. Nevertheless, he seemed prepared or so he thought until he got into the house with the holy water flask in his hands. At the entrance, he heard hysterical laughter...he saw blood on his robes...he felt a strong feeling, a certain heaviness in his heart and tears filled his eyes, without his knowledge, involuntarily as if in reflex to a strong emotion he felt but couldn't name. Just when he sprinkled the first drop of holy water onto the entrance, he heard a scream...” no Father, please don't”!!! He knew at once that this was not a call to Father the Priest but Father the Dad!!!

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Meant to Meet, Met to Mate!!!

I could see the reflection of the dying sunlight above me. It sparkled the water and I saw it from the
bottom of the lake, as if the color of the setting sun had the lake water as its palette and it just got mixed up with the colorless water, giving it some hue.
They say a dive is refreshing and so it was! Is it just the oxygen in water or the purity of oxygen in water that gives this energizing a feel, I wonder! Happiness, love, lust, nothing on my mind...I just love to live by the trees, and the beautiful lotus flowers on the marshy lands are a sight to watch. I don’t see and don’t wish to see anything beyond nature. Deep, lush green! Is all I can think!

I fell asleep...and when I woke up, I saw the same dragon fly whizzing over the lake...the mountain next to the lake, right at its place, where I left the image of it before closing my eyes...it’s amazing to see things as they are, when you look again at it. It gives stability...an indefinable trust and security that certain things never change. And then I see something and behold my breath! Someone so attractive, I immediately felt my life was just another until then...this was it! The purpose of my life! The reason I lived to this day! Nature had beaten its own record in creating this beauty, I see right in front of my eyes. 

I let it go...the feeling passed...the pressure built on my genitals was now released and I saw the eyes of that beautiful female shy away and she too released her approval in the form of an egg. It was raw love...the purest, natural form of it...I am now a proud father of several of my offspring and we are now a happy FROG family...why? What makes you think we don’t fall in love? We just don’t complicate things like humans do.

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Never Knock at Your Neighbour’s House at Night!

Some people like you never change, do you? I once knew you as a reader and now I know you as a person, a mischief-maker! It so happened that you were once reading my book and I happened to see through the pages and at you. The way you looked at me, the words in me got a unique meaning, the meaning you gave with your understanding of the text in me. Yes, I am your book. But beware! What you’re doing, I am writing in me. I am seeing you, the world around you and most importantly, the things you do!
So hi there! You seem to be quite pleased with yourself, I see! Nice! I suppose that’s a good start for the day. I peek a little more out of the book and I see you with suspicion. You aren’t your usual self, or should I say that you are. They say a person’s eyes say everything but the dark bags under your eyes are saying even more that you were awake the night before. Now, what is this new game you are upto? I wonder.
I have decided I am going to stay awake tonight to keep a check on you. You finished your dinner and are entering the room. I can see that you are pretending to sleep, as you know mom will check on you. The activities in the drawing room, I ignore as I focus on you and only you. Those activities are fast forwarded: the chitter chatter, the noise from the tv, everyone laughing at something funny Kapil said today on tv. Now, its all over…the soiled dinner plates are piled up in the sink, thereafter, the maid rings the bell and is now washing the dishes…all the chores of the house and the usual evening life has now finally come to an end and everybody is switching off the lights and preparing to sleep. I still see you waiting impatiently for that dead silence. I too grow impatient to know what is this all about. You are no more in your teens and have celebrated your 22nd birthday. So, I wonder if it’s a girl that’s keeping you awake, are you planning to sneak out of the house in the middle of the night to keep up with your promise of a rendezvous with someone special. Hmm…that’s good thinking on my part. I have dealt with such subjects before and they say, we books are actually the mirror to the world. We hold in us not just travel experiences, info, but also emo.
Ah-hah! So, you are sneaking out eh! You tiptoe to the hall room and then slowly open the main door. But whats this, you are carrying something in your hand. Wait a minute, are you kidding me! That’s a remote control car. And hey, whats it that you plan to do with it in the corridor at 3 a.m. ???
You control the joystick and direct the car to the next door neighbour’s house and knock the door by slamming the bonnet of your remote car once, then reverse, then twice, then reverse, then thrice and then move away your car behind the pillar that is the way to the stair case. After a moment’s silence, you quickly bring the car back home and close the door, now peeking outside the window to see if the lights in the opposite house are on and for some reaction, whatsoever, to confirm if your prank was successful.
And now, I see a glint in your eye as you are able to see some silhouette appearing on the curtain, a glimpse you may say, of the happenings in the house. With some insane satisfaction that you derive out of this stupid mischief of yours, you come back to the bed and giggling to yourself, you fall asleep in minutes.
Yawn! I too am sleepy. See you tomorrow!
The morning is the usual and nothing important to mention about it. The night falls again and darkness falls on your mind, with your evil plots coming alive again. You repeat what you did last night. But just when you are about to enjoy the silent happiness, you hear a soft knock on your door. You freeze. Oh shucks, you exclaim! Hiding your mouth behind your hands, you are dumbstruck. What would follow next? Has the neighbor come home to complain? If so, why is he knocking so softly…I should be expecting hard blows on my door…and a lot of tamasha…but no, this is something I don’t comprehend. But before you continue with your confusion, a second knock followed and then a third! And then, none! Terror is all over your face. You muster courage to open the door, after a thousand afterthoughts, and you peep through the keyhole first. Nothing! No one! You’re scared and so you rush into your room, shut the door and try to catch up on lost sleep, driving aside any thought about this entire episode.
The next morning you wake up all dizzy and tired but a whole lot worried. You manage to refresh yourself and take your seat at the breakfast table. No sooner do you start nibbling at the omlette, served hot on your plate that the bell rings. Now anything that’s got to do with the door, excites you and you turn around suddenly. Your mom opens the door to greet Mrs. X, welcomes her in and asks her to join your family at breakfast. You stood there staring hard at the saree-clad woman with nothing but pure fear. You recognize her as your ex-principal, at a glance. Just that, she turned out to be your neighbor was no cause of fear but the fact that she was dead 6 months ago and you recently shifted to this new flat of yours, unaware she was not just your ex-principal but your dead ex-neighbor too, dried up your eyes with panic and your face was the color of a stale frozen fish, blue with horror.
Mrs X greeted you and mentioned to your mom that she was once a principal of your school. Your mom was surprised at this piece of news and became even warmer with her hospitality, also nudging you to greet and welcome her appropriately. Your principal looked straight into your eyes and said, “I will teach you how to welcome guests and most importantly, to not disturb them when they are asleep in the DEAD of the night.” Your mom was in the kitchen by then. The mention of the word ‘DEAD’ made your spine shiver. You were dumb-founded and were unable to get a grip of yourself. That night things changed. 3 a.m. was no more a time that you eagerly awaited for. It was the time when fear knocked at your house: 3 times…the once soft knocks now sounding like hammer blows in your head.  You learnt your lesson:

Sunday, May 1, 2016

Possibility - Supernatural Experiences

I have begun to think about ghosts lately…
and I have a feeling they are just images of people who lived there caught in the fragments of time.

It’s when a person is in their most vulnerable state, where he or she wants to understand the intricacies of nature, it is then that the images hidden by time are seen. It doesn’t mean the people or so called ghosts exist there… it is just that we tend to experience or live their lives and the reason the temperature drops as most people say, it could be because we are time travelling. It’s like in the same background, someone has lived there, experienced emos and feelings and now when we are sharing the same background, we are re-living the stories only if we wish to, when we sit silently for hours, gazing at the place around..wanting to know the history of the place…or when our eyes are seeing but we are lost.

I think it is then that we tap into our yet-unexplored intelligence, some hidden part of it, where we are able to see what happened there or who lived there but in the form of a reflection in water..like watermark or something like that. It’s a superpower to see history with our own eyes! It’s like a recording…a visual that we experience, we see it as it was, at that point of time. The person is gone but the image exists. Its like the actors are gone but the video recording still plays the act, only when you want to see it and press the start button. Quite possible, don’t you think so? 

A projector sort of!?!? I am still wondering if my assumption could be true!