Thursday, July 31, 2008

The wound

Once the tears had accumulated to form a wet patch on his pyjama, he could begin to see towards the direction from where it was all emanating. It was hard to accept; and even to acknowledge it required immense courage so that one could raise oneself from emotions to reality.

The journey had been a challenging task which had taken up a lot of time, consideration as well as emotional trauma. The foremost thought to have struck his mind was one of promiscuity of the bond shared between humans. For it could only be that, and it alone could lead someone, anyone, to do as hideous an act as this.

Raising that piece of wood required tremendous effort; under which even his muscular body had to yield. The toil of what was going on in his head was making every inch of his flesh and soul difficult to bear-existence had been demanding its lieu from life. That moment demanded grief too, but from where he stood it was still eons away. In order to summon it, meant that the vicinity of his very existence had to be dealt with. That task was unfathomable, for he was lost in the wails and cries of a hard core society. How could they be what they were pretending to be, how could the pretence forgive their dark lonely nights and leave them unquestioned?

The desire to shout had been overwhelming, a loud scream, and uproar would wish it all away; drive away the maniacs who were challenging him towards action. Action was a sublime version, a sweet word-too subtle an expression to be used.

The priest’s hand had touched his elbow to produce a wave of unfettered electricity which flowed through every nerve of his body resulting into small bumps on every inch of his skin. It had been told to him that this was “karma”-his duty, “dharma” and “moksha”. What about sin? Every neuron of his brain was pulling his head apart with this single question. What about sin? Sin, sin, sin....”paap”. The need for an answer was overpowering, he looked around, the log of wood in his hand, the weight of it on his mind. A crowd of faces known, unknown as well as those who qualified to be called ‘his own’ looked back. The centre of their attention was that one man who was standing next to where the pyre would be burning. How could he waste such auspicious time? Their eyes seemed to question him menacingly.

At last the baton of wood was raised, the skull had been cracked.

The unholy stood there contemplating the holy act.

Sitting now, in his room with the spoils of life, love and tears shed he realized that the act had been a means to moksha, not as much for his father as for himself. The means had indeed shown upon him the wisdom that the way evolved by mankind was one of redemption from contemplating, it was a way to redeem him of attachment, to free him from fantasy; to set him free in the world of reality where he would forever know that his father had been consumed in body by that holy pyre where his head had been cracked by his devoted son.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

A conversation

knocking: u know puma, at one point i really thought i figured you out
and then you put up this bitchy scoundrel who wouldn't mind mouthing fuck alls without reason,
this made me go numb and still, even now am putting as non insultingly as i can
cuz i fear your mindless aggression
i simply dont understand why i was , (more than one made the poor victim of your lambasting
Sent at 12:34 AM on Saturday
Anupama: ok cool it. I DIDN'T MEAN IT. and thats the way i am. i get mad at people cause i can without meaning it or without meaning to hurt them. thinking that they will take me for a bitch without getting hurt. I AM SORRY
knocking: civilized people, specially like you who are supposedly into such a noble profession tend to use their diction to mudsling friends
Anupama: hunh?
knocking: but not to such horrendous proportions
Anupama: i hope we are solved and lets make a truce i don want to start a new fight
knocking: well
i dont want to start wither
Anupama: good
but I'm sorry
i was messed up badly
knocking: but like the bloke i am , i have this rather irritating habit of poking my nose everywhere, and anywhere i think my friends need my advise/help
Anupama: yes they do
and thats not a bad habit
knocking: and i do think, Puma i should know why
why did it all happen
what was on your mind then?
Anupama: nothing just crap
i was mad at everyone
knocking: frustrated ?
academic pressure?
Anupama: no mad. like i was going crazy. like i still am. but with this internship i hardly get any time so i'm sober and also alone so thats keeping me cool
knocking: hee
Anupama: living through it isn't as interesting as it sounds
and don u hehehe. im serious
knocking: living through what?
Anupama: my craziness
knocking: their must be some specific reason.
for your craziness
Anupama: not really
u can say life
knocking: well, i guess i got one antidote
here's how it works
Anupama: ?
knocking: for the craziness thing
u go, start your laptop/pc/dvd player and watch your fav movie
it helps
tried and tested
Anupama: i tried
it works rarely
knocking: Anu, i seriously hope you didnt get into some kinda dope during your "crazy" time
Anupama: i was about to
but my doping buddies refused to share it with me
knocking: wow
Anupama: so i get high on drinks
knocking: you talked about it to your parents ?
Anupama: and my parents found out
knocking: about the craziness or about your dope buddies?
Anupama: about my drinking habit
and about my craziness
knocking: hmm
hope it wasn't unpleasant
Anupama: well them finding out bout my drinking habit wasn't as unpleasant as my acts of crazyness
recently they removed all latches of my room
room's door and all
knocking: oops
Anupama: lol
yeah but since the past three weeks i've been in del
knocking: so it seems they were understanding
Anupama: and now ill go straight to hostel
so it ll be ok i guess
knocking: hmm
Puma, tell me , whats your dope ?
Anupama: love
nothing can beat it

knocking: well Anu love is surely the biggest dope, for it works like an elixir for some , and a catastrophe for some
Tolstoy said
" the magic of first love is our foolishness in believing that it can never end "
Anupama:but then again nothing lasts forevetr
knocking: yp
Anupama: except for sadness
knocking: hmm
thats precisely the point
moving on
i asked ,
whats your poison?
Anupama: as in/.
knocking: ur fav wine/beer/ alcohol
Anupama: i don even care about the name, once im having it, im done only when i forget which one i had had
knocking: thats pretty bad way of consuming liquor
but then to each his own
Anupama: lol, i know
knocking: u seem like such a wreak
Anupama: i am . seriously
knocking: but then Anu have you ever felt like taking professional help?
Anupama: yes
but ive given up on it now
knocking: r u ?
Anupama: no i never consulted anyone, but i don think anyone can help me
knocking: u r being foolish
Anupama: im serious
life is a screw up-you cannot figure it out. its a dillusion so no one can help anyone out
knocking: sweety thats what happens when you stop believeing in the concept of god, and think listening to Rock is giving instant Nirvana
ANu , dont crapp all over your life
you have been a wonderfull person all this while
Anupama: how do u know im an aetheist? and i don listen to rock all that much. i prefer blues now
knocking: why giving it alll up?
what i mean is
you dont wanna help yourself
Anupama: no one wins in life. everyone is a loser in the end
knocking: when you know your life is in a rut
Anupama: its not
knocking: yaieks
thats a shipwreak speaking
but then its your life

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Internship Diaries-2

A man prays, pendant in hand, eyes shut.... The mighty court's in play

Another cries, red handkercheif in hand, no ground to stand....staring at backs in dismay

A lady sits-a lawyer in tow, no better seat than books kept in a row...

And so the saga goes of friends and foes

who travelled aboard on a visit to the Supreme Court...

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Internship Diaries-1



Thursday, July 10, 2008


A bird could be heard chirping excitedly, perched on a branch in the courtyard.
The water was gushing out of the tap to an overflowing bucket. The pot of tea was whistling incessantly. Shama rushed to open the shutter to an irritated milkman.
The newspaper was lying behind the open door. She picked it up to get back to her work.
Her eyes were burning, each part of the body was seeking comfort, one soft cushion, a quilt to swathe her, or just five minutes of peace where she could cease to exist. It had been three days of sleepless writing. Although it had provided much turmoil for her grey matter thinking, enough to pen down the best of her frustrated thoughts, but it had also created a rift in her body and her will.
The story was still incomplete yearning for an end, much in the same way as her. Shama got up suddenly, rushing towards the pot. Thankfully she had had only a hall for a home; demarcation with walls would be too cumbersome, too time consuming.
From the kitchen window she looked outside. At a distance kids were rushing towards a waiting school bus, waiving fervently towards their concerned mothers.
Her schooling had been a tragedy. She had not wished to leave home although that had been one place which she had most detested. Probably then, her whole life had to be like this, where she happened to loathe potential recluse and imbibe herself in the seeming comforts of an ill-fated life.
As she sat in front of the screen once again, she wondered why she was doing this to herself.
After all had she not been fired from her job in wake of lack of interest as well as efforts that were meager owing to the present turmoil? Her life was being consumed in something of a black-hole of empty spaces and vacuum.
She had wanted to be on her own, to shove the world around. People had been a menace; she could not bear the torture of introspection of her world, her life, her acts, her words, her attitude or her presence. The axiom of man being a social animal had been true in her case too, but the concept was just too utopian. There were times when she would be harsher on herself, much more than what the society could ever be.
It had been this speculating analysis of others versus her when it came to seeking shelter which left her more bemused. She had been living on the edges of tragedy ever since she could remember. As a result her life was a constant struggle with intermittent seconds of joy which had been forced by her mind as a defense system to her anxieties. She wished for a dead mind. Then, she would not have to contemplate on anything, her blessings, the everlasting gloom nor life itself.
Shama poured out her cries in her writings. Those were her only attempts at seeking comfort. But most of what she wrote was never advanced for the public and the little which she did allow to be delivered out of the domain of her own reach was highly complicated and confusing.
Taking a sip from the glass, she wondered whether access tea could ever kill someone. She laughed mockingly. Perhaps destiny would have a strange way of introducing her to readers, making her name appear in headlines across national newspapers with the following caption adduced to a naked body lying on the floor,
“Naked girl found dead owing to tea overdose.”
She even figured out what the news item would read.
“Yesterday the body of a girl was found lying naked in her home. She was a resident of a rather peculiar showroom which had apparently been bequeathed to her by the deceased father. While neighbors are certain of the case being one of suicide, police is still investigating into the causes. Talking to one of the high officials who are in charge of the case, our correspondent found out that they are not over-ruling murder or even rape. Most of those who live in the society have divulged that she might have been a lunatic. It is said that she never appeared in public except for the monthly round that she made to the shops nearby in order to buy huge bags of tea. Once or twice she was also seen at the grocers buying vegetable that would not last more than a week. These estranged visits to the grocery were witnessed every six months. Some even speculate that she might have had a job sometime ago. Even at those times, the girl who was in her twenties dressed more than what was required, covering herself from head to toe. This revelation seems rather interesting and peculiar to the way in which her naked body was found.”
Shama would not let her thoughts go astray.
It was true that she had preferred staying in the showroom. Many people told her that it had been an unusual residence, but to her it was the most comfortable surrounding for her tired self. Unlike home, where she had grown up, this place did not witness the noise from apartments nearby. Nobody shouted in the middle of the night, there was no cheer too-on time when she was desolate. People did not knock on her door intruding in her life; ominous windows were absent too.
Shama maintained a small wardrobe. There had been two over-coats one black and the other purple. A pair of pants (grey and black striped) was present along with a couple of shirts and three baggy over-sized t-shirts which had been torn from the base in order to be of the appropriate length. She never wore any of these pieces of clothing at home. She neither wished nor felt the need for them. They had been her magic robes, things to be used when facing the outer-world.
Her mother had used the place as a beauty parlor when she had been a child. As such the corner cubicle that had been specially built at the time now served its purpose as a bathroom. Tara, Shama’s mother had lost her life to cancer when Shama had been only eight years old. While she could not completely remember how she looked like, she still got glimpses of her sometimes. She remembered her mother being content with whatever little she had had at that time, devising methods to add to the family’s meager income but always appearing welcomingly warm. She had been the perfect dash of sunlight in everyone’s life. Michael, Shama’s father, was not able to cope with the loss of the only support in his life. He looked after Shama for another eight years, making sure that she could sustain when he was gone. One evening, while she was coming back from her evening classes at the college, fairly happy about the piece that she had written she saw her father walking across the road. Shama called out excitedly and began at once to move in his direction, traversing the busy road. Michael, concerned over the safety of his child attempted to move in his direction, shouting at her to stop, that he would cross the road to reach her. Intoxicated about the flights of her fantasy which she had successfully penned down that evening, she rejected everything other than the man who was moving in her direction. Soon she realized that he was paving his way from the footpath to the road and in order to outdo him, she rushed more enthusiastically. A speeding car which was approaching her steered in the opposite direction, preventing an imminent collision. Instead it struck a van which was heading in its way.
In a few seconds time ceased to exist. The turmoil on the road came to a halt. A child was wailing in a distance. People were rushing in from all directions. Shama forgot to breathe; her body felt numb. The flutter of birds flew away to some distant place. She looked ahead unable to grasp the intensity of events. Soon people were blocking her view. It was then that her senses surfaced and she found the will to order her limbs into action. Pulling at the crowd, she made her way forward. It seemed to be a jungle of not only people but of voices, reactions and questions. It had been too noisy and suffocating; yet she wished never to emerge in the centre. She simply didn’t wish for answers or reality.
Michael’s body lay on the floor. It seemed to be of a stranger; covered in a pool of red liquid it appeared to be a huge mass of highly dismantled limbs.
Taking off her gown, Shama sipped away the tea which was left in her glass. She attempted to write more. However her will to continue ceased to allow ventilation for her dead mind.
Suresh was talking with the doctor when a nurse entered the room with the reports. Dr. Kamal explained that Shama’s condition was similar to her mothers. Both of them were suffering from multiple personality disorder. Since Mahima’s syndromes had been discovered too late she could not be saved once she realized how desolate her situation was.
Even though it had been the same centre where Mahima had committed suicide, Suresh was sure about Dr. Kamal’s excellence. What had happened with Shama’s mother had been a mishap.
The doctor explained that Shama’s condition was peculiar since her alternate personality was being carved out from her reality somewhere down the line. With the passage of time, she had accepted the hospital room as her home. At times she would imagine looking out of the window which was otherwise completely covered by black paper on her request; at other times, she would neglect it as a part of the wall of her showroom. On hearing birds chirp outside she would often imagine them as being from her own courtyard, neglecting the fact that there could have been no courtyard in a lane of showrooms. A small kitchenette had been made in one corner of the room when the doctor assured everyone that Shama would not hurt herself till the time she was confronted with her own truth.
Shama did remember the sad farewell from her father. The only exception was that she remembered the nurses and the staff as people on the road, who had been present as a block between her father and herself. That was the day when Michael died for her.
Apparently she thought herself to be out on grocery shopping when once in six months, she was allowed to venture out to the vendor who had been present in the compound of the hospital. She did not allow herself to be out for long, in fact she was very quick in her transactions since she did not like the way nurses and patients looked in her direction.
Suresh who was a very successful business, tried to steal away time from Shama’s own world. As soon as he got to know that Shama was writing regularly in her room, he had found a sudden urge to read all that she wrote. At times Shama came to deliver her piece of work to the doctor’s cabin, acting as hastily as she had done while buying the vegetables. On realizing that it was doing her no good, the doctor decided that her job should be terminated, that she should be left alone. Suresh too realized that he was intruding in her privacy by mischievously reading all that she had to offer.
Wiping the tear mid-cheek Suresh thanked the doctor and left the cabin only to return as the milkman who had appeared meticulously on Shama’s doorstep every morning.