Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Thank God for Words!

Over the years, in my search to find the true me, I have been forced to look outside of me. Shifting my focus from watching myself to watching others. Like a poem I read on Face book. Where the poet says, the inside me stepped outside of me and watched.
Not in a rude obtrusive way. Not judging or studying. But then paying attention to people around. Trying to hear the words that gets caught somewhere between, their thought and their tongue. Or maybe the unfinished sentence. Or maybe the ominous silence that screams.
Then I also try hard to understand that sideways glance, the twitch of the eyelid that betrays disappointment when the lips part to smile. Sometimes it is sheer joy that comes in a second and disappears, and you wonder if you saw it at all. Then there is the eyes trying to look away, trying not to get caught between a stare afraid to reveal too much.
But that is not all. Then you have your body bending over. Hands reaching out to hug, same time pushing the body away as far as possible, from any real contact. The gesticulating arms trying to replace words. The touch that says everything. When a hand is placed gently on a shoulder when the occassion doesn’t demand it. The gentle pat. The harsh grip that loosens almost immediately, but alas the damage already done.
As my astral body roamed the streets of silent thoughts. I did wonder. Do we need words at all? Will words qualify your thoughts and put that legal stamp which confirms that yes that what you thought you saw in my eyes is exactly what I have to say.
And like the poet scurries back to his inside. I did too. Feeling safer. Inside of me than stepping outside.
The jungle of pregnant thoughts and straying glances. The traffic jam of flaying hands and pursed lips. The hideous shouts and screams of silence and the chocking of the unspoken words....Thank God we have words. It just makes life easier. Camouflages all that intensity which renders us breathless and rushing for air.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Fred Quimby, How could you?

There's a rat in my kitchen. and I need brilliant suggestions to exterminate the rodent. I am open to all kinds of devious, cruel and inhuman (oops! we are talking about a rat here) I mean inrodent methods. I just need to kill it. Whatever you suggest has to guarantee instantaneous death.
Between. I have tried RAtol...the rodent's too smart. It just runs past it. It has sneaked away, everything I have delicatley placed on the rat trap. Ranging from cake to banana....and considering Jerry's craving for cheese, I tried Cheddar as well. Believe me that is a just a myth propogated by Fred Quimby. Rats liking cheese is a big fat lie. As big as the rat in my kitchen. They don't like it. To make matters worse, my five year old son looks at me in disgust, each time I suggest the rat's assassination. Thanks to TOm and Jerry. Jerry and everything that resembles Jerry is a hero. Though he doesn't say it, I can see it in his eyes, 'My mother is a witch. Rat killing witch.
Fred Quimby! how could you?? My son thinks i am the worst! and all because of you.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

A gooey yellow monster called lacking.

Some days you get off the bed just because you have to. And I have wondered how my day would turn out if I decide to stay in bed. In all of my 34 years on earth I have not tried that. Something as simple as staying in bed, even when I want to, seems like such a luxury. And every waking moment is spend wondering, would I rather be in bed, than doing the laundry right now. Would I rather be under my blanket than wash the dishes? Would I rather dream my impossible dreams than sit here and write blogs.
The phone rings incessantly. I let it ring for some more time before I decide to pick it up. Even that seemed like an effort today. Every task at hand turns out to be Herculean. I just had to get out of this terrible feeling that was there in the pits of my stomach...or somewhere deeper. But it’s inside somewhere, can’t get a hold on exactly where it all begins....but as it rises the feeling turns into a physical presence, and I begin to taste it. It is bitter. So bitter that saliva gathers and it seeps through, my lips. I run to nearest basin to spit it out. Its nausea, I realise. I linger on near the basin. The dark presence starts small from the pits within...and rises up slowly gaining momentum and turning into this fluid monster. When it reaches the tongue I taste the bitterness. This time, it does more than seep through my pursed lips. It forces my mouth open wide. And out comes the yellow mass of fluid, bitter and sour. It’s bile.
With all of it vomited, I assumed that would be the end of my melancholy. Unfortunately it did not stop there. Though, the feeling does not turn into the yellow liquid monster I could still feel its looming presence. It was down there somewhere, bidding time. Waiting for the opportune moment to let its ugly face show.
I had to get to the bottom of it all. And get out of this wretched lethargy, pointlessness, and boredom. I was kind of sure the looming yellow monster was nurtured by these very same emotions. And benign as it would seem initially, it grew into this large liquid mass that couldn’t be swallowed. It had to be vomited, taking with it every small ounce of energy and optimism I had left.
So I had to put on my miner’s cap (the one with torch fixed on it) and a spade and got into the lift that miners use to get down to the bottom. So I did as well. As I went down, down, on either sides I could see the events of the day, week, month, as if, on a big screen. Actually it was quite an interesting ride. It was like one of those novel joyrides in Disney land perhaps. I looked hard and clear to find the hitch the root of it all...then there hidden behind all joyful facades was the stain of the yellow monster. Like a small yellow spill on the ground it lay....I am lacking!!! lacking was the yellow fluid, and it just grew bigger and bigger.
Some days the lacking is so conspicuous. Like today. On other days it’s forgotten. Like the days I am busy, overwhelmed with the volume of tasks at hand. Weighed down by guilt that accompanies working mothers. Like a loyal friend. There to remind you promptly of all your errors, shortcomings, absentmindedness, and most often selfishness. Beset by guilt it is interesting how I can forget my lacking.
But like once a dear friend read out to day on the phone...the lacking is not a bad thing. It is this lacking that urges us to seek and probe....this lacking is our birthright. This lacking is what makes us human and hungry.....
But the challenge is to understand that there is an inherent lacking. It is just there. And not to try and fill it with wrong things rather, seek for the only thing that can fill the vacuum.
Do I make sense???