Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Being deep

A silent self-loathing
A love-hate relationship with myself
A testing of new waters
A hope of new endeavours
This is (selfishly) about me.

My life, my hurt
My pain and my joy
An umbilical chord with my family
Parents I warred against
A brother I want to die for.

An obsessive desire for independence
An ache for 'true' liberty
Swallowed by dreams for a homeland dispossessed
Her rape is mine
Of sun, sand and sea.

Shut the Pandora's Box of life
There are others worse of than me.
Surface the quiet desire to be hurt far, far more
To render me strong
And unyielding.

Monday, July 28, 2008

A surprise visit

This is a funny place for a restaurant. Oh well, Mangalore's a quaint place anyway. Upstairs.

Huh?!? No way. I'm not going to the doctor. That's ridiculous. One silly cold that refuses to part with me and you behave like I'm dying? You can't do this to me. Why didn't you tell me; I could have at least prepared myself - the wait outside, the sick, the questions, plastic smile, thanks a lot doc.

Fine. I'll shut up. Won't talk. Ever. Half-wet from the rain. Probably get a cold for this and nothing else. What about dinner, huh? Bare feet on cold tiles. I'm not used to that anymore. Yea, yea, we can keep the raincoats anywhere. Not outside, you idiot! Under my chair.

There's that hospital smell again. Reminds me of grandpa's death. One day I see him, unable to talk, but still there, invincible. The spot of blood on the floor. Next day, he's gone. Just dead. Looked like he was sleeping. Except for the smell of phenol. And then Nan's operation. Different hospital. Same bloody smell. Fist-sized malignant tumour and 50% chance.

Annoying kid. Hospitals are meant to be quiet. Why are you looking at me like that? Freak, yea, I know. Most everyone thinks so anyway. Don't give a damn shit. Go play skipping tiles. Wish I was a kid again. No worries. I only ever come to the doctor with Mum. I never know what to tell a doctor. And anyway, Bhatkuly is a family doctor. Deep fatherly voice - "Hellooo0, Dielle isn't it?"

Mai-gaa-bla bla. Medicine names in Hindi. Weird. I wonder what he keeps in that fridge. Home pregnancy tests? I should ask him for one. Loudly. Just to see the reaction. When we went to buy one for her, the guy at Spencer's never flinched. Good. I like that. What's their problem what people do with their lives anyway.

Next, me? Finally. Hmph. Message. Jesh! He better get me in Battle of the Bands for free. I better delete all these old ones, and those phone numbers I don't need. I hate waiting at the doctor's. No ants to follow here either. Just great.

Arthritis? She's so young, what 45, and she's got arthritis. Shit! She better hurry up. I'm sick of waiting here.

Ha, good. "I suffer from a constant cold. I'd been to a homeopath and she told me I had sinusitis, but I never finished the treatment, so it's kinda stuck with me I guess.

"No, no. No fever. The whole sneezing fit I used to get in the mornings has gone too. Occasionally, yea, but otherwise I'm fine."

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Same bloody shit. Sinusitus. Pharynx something. Mild inflammation of the left tonsil. Where the hell did those two come from? Whatever. Back in 7 days, a whole truck load of medecines to take.

"Not studying, I'm working. With P.... A.......... at Mphasis. Not Infosys. Mphasis. I work with a newswire agency." Or so, I like to call it.

Pink and white. White. Blue plastic. Syrup. Stop, enough. Morning, afternoon, night. Morning, night. Night. Forgotten already. S'okay. Wow. A whole month's 10 buck lunch. On pills. I feel like a junkie. Only there's no high.

I still owe him a cake and dinner. Even though he said it's cool. Poor guy. I really make him suffer. Thanks. I wish I could wipe that face off him. It's horrid when he puts it on. I don't like it when he's mad, or upset. I don't like it when anyone's mad or upset. What am I supposed to say? Sorry? It's been said so many times before. But I really do mean it.

Wishful memory

I'd like to be a memory. A nice one, one that is remembered with fondness, leaving a little ache where I'm missing.

I dreamt of my funeral - lots of people, open casket. As I've always instructed, no black allowed. I want bright colours. I want lots of "Remember?". White flowers, but no roses. I can't smell them. And a party for afters. Where everyone can eat resois, just like I ate at grandpa's funeral. He is the perfect memory. "When you're in my house, you can do whatever you want." Sock slide across the floor, eat in the bedroom and feed the fishes until we eventually killed them (though he didn't endorse that).

I don't want pictures anywhere. I want them in people's minds. With Eric Clapton as my background score - Tears in Heaven. And then, Metallica's Nothing Else Matters as my message to Jonathan. I requested that song for his 21st birthday. We heard it at home on Worldspace. They said his name and mine, and they got the pronounciation right. I was so happy I stopped eating.

Finally, only family. Every last member together at the beach. The sunset and the shack. Shorts and slippers and chutney sandwiches. The salty breeze whipping around. U Rui and his piano, U Bosco and his mouth organ, the bongos and one of the kids shaking the tambourine as they run across the sand laughing. A strumming guitar and beautiful voices, a little tipsy and getting higher, singing songs I know and those I don't. And A Queenie's soulful Ave Maria, a prayer for me.

And I will sing with you. In the breeze, the clouds, the whispering sands, the trembling leaves. I will sing, and never be scared again.

Do not miss. Remember.

Monday, July 21, 2008

My first love

He could have raped me and torn me, so I could hate him.

He could have been there for me and kissed me, so I could love him.

But he loved me and left me, so I ache for him.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

In the depths...

Blank your mind out. Completely devoid of emotion. Think yourself friendless in a hostile world. Believe you can do nothing right, that anything you do is flawed. You are Flaw.

Dust the cobwebs from the corners of your memory. The past means nothing. Feel abandoned by your family and used by friends. Love is hopelessness; a complete and utter tragedy. Distance is perfect.

Refuse to cry. Think of a burial in an empty yard - a simple mound with a marble cross. No tears, no goodbyes, no rememberances. Discover how much it means to be spurned by all.

Remember the groups of laughing friends as you stood watching from the shadows. The pain at being the only one, the heartache of emotional failure. Surrender yourself to sorrow.

When you hate yourself this much, remember Sigmund Freud. There is the real self and the ideal self. Try as hard as you can to meet the ideal, even though you know it is impossible. If you think you can meet the ideal, make it impossible. Fight back from the depths despite the miserable knowledge that it is your fate. With the power of an Infinite Grace, defend your soul from the most cowardly notion - giving in. Paradoxically, succumb to a will to fight.

If you must go down, go down fighting. With all your heart, soul, mind and body.

Friday, July 4, 2008

Thoda think, please..

Vikas and Namitha want me to learn Hindi. Why the choice of Bollywood where there's more Hinglish than anything else beats me. I tagged along for fun!

Thoda Pyar Thoda Magic seemed like a teenage meal - too many rights make a wrong. I began to see allusions from the start. It was a terrible imitation of Mary Poppins. The magical nanny who befriends all and helps them see the light, the little kids who want to do things their way and the uptight father figure who needs breaking in.

There was a Morgan Freeman'esque' God replete with the white suit and common man persona. And the birthday party just had to be a trip to the museum where things come to life a la Night At The Museum. Oh, were they thinking of The Fast and The Furious series with the speeding taxi and the scene where the parents die?

The same 'gyan' about forgiveness and loving is spewed in high flung Hindi; probably the only scenes where Hindi is spoken fluently. The song they keep playing in the cafetaria (naturally the one with the least clothes on) sticks out like a sore thumb. Little animated figures keep popping up everywhere - from poop dropping gulls to ninja spiders and trigger happy lobsters. It jerks you out of your slumber to wonder whether you sleep-walked into Screen 3 instead.

The movie is not worth a visit to the theatre and if you really want to find out, rent it out. That way you can crib as much as you like, take your smokes as soon as the craving arises, and watch it in 10 minute bits. Fast forward the songs and keep another movie at hand. Be bored.