Moving On

The picture you see used to be the bookshelf at the foot of my bed, in my room, in my house. Now it houses my mother's crockery.

My wardrobe, which used to be stuffed with my clothes now has other clothes that look strange and out of place. I look around me room these days and feel a sense of alienation. I can't complain. I now have a house that will be personalised and made my own. But that doesn't cover up the inevitable sadness of being separated from my childhood.

Consciously walking into a dream

I woke up feeling disoriented, again. It's still dark. Everything is very quiet. The bed feels strange. And yet I could hear the alarm ringing on my phone from some distant space. I spread my palms across the bed and started looking for it. The further my finger inched, deeper the disorientation.

And then I found it. The menacing, monotonous beepbeepbeep - beep beepbeep. And yet it was the relentless beeping that made me realise, I was to give a test to the grade 7 students today; carol singing practices were to be organized; I had to meet the Head Of School to discuss my leave in January.

My leave in January! Weren't the rings suppose to come today? What happened to the bag I had to buy for the trip? Have I called my college friends and confirmed if they have received my invitation?

More than the alarm these thoughts woke me up, nice and alert. I looked around. People were stirring around the house. I was walking to the bathroom door, when I happened to look at the time. 7AM! I'm supposed to be in school in half an hour! And so I scamper around, brushing teeth, picking out clothes, packing my lunch. All the while, mom would probably be rattling on about this and that that needs to be done. Half listening, and half praying that I reach on time, I step out of the house with half worn shoes. I usually finish wearing it in the lift.

Now here I am, sitting in the car with the slightly chilly morning air whistling through my ears and wondering if I'm going to wake up from this dream.

"First you dip your brush lightly in water and make light confident strokes on the paper. Then you dab your brush in colour and follow the water strokes." Your brush caressing the paper like a tender lover; colour swirling on the canvas, dancing to your tunes. I watched as your large fingers guided the small brush around with such dexterity that I thought your hand was shivering.
I watched as the colours trickled through the path you made for them. I gazed as shapes began to appear unwittingly.

I wondered how it would be to be the colour at the tip of your brush; to be gently guided across an empty dance floor. And then I'd dance. And when I'm tired, I'd rest. And as I rested, I'd become part of a beautiful landscape.

General State of Affairs

She sat with her feet crossed in front of her, staring at a blank wall. There was a lot to be done but this blank wall was too attractive. She decided she deserved to stare at the blank wall for everything that was done. Little did she know, the blank wall was built wrong and had been tilting all this while. She doesn't know it yet, but that wall is going to fall. And she won't know what hit her.

PonyTale

Bright round dark globes outlined by long curling lashes stared at me, transfixed. When I looked at them, lush pink lips parted into a smile that melted my heart. I couldn't help but smile back. Hands started flapping. The little pony on top of the head bobbed, resembling a silken water fountain.
"Hi!" I said, instinctively turning on the coochicoo lingo. "whoozis little girl! Such a pwetty fountain you have on your head. Wassyour name, baby?" The mother came into my line of vision.
"His name is Aakash. He's a boy." She smiled at me radiantly.
"Oh!" I said, "but he's got a pony."  "Yeah. It's a genuine mistake."

Talk about gender stereotyping.

A little Reminder

I'm still alive. Recent life events, that took place over the span of two years, have kept me from putting pen to paper...

Ok you know that's a lie. I've just been extremely lazy and moderately self depricating, to be able to write anything. And as always, unless it's perfectly beautiful and absolutely brilliant (in my own opinion of course) I won't put it out there for anybody to read. As a result, I gave up writing altogether because I couldn't begin to write (or complete writing) anything worthwhile.

So as punishment, or practice, as reprimand or redemption, I'm going to write crap. Everyday. Until I'm able to produce what I want to. I'm going to make myself write every little thought I have and read it; torture myself by putting my thoughts out there for everyone to read.

Wish me luck.

Not Just Another Day

They had to shield their eyes from the scorching sun as they walked out of the college building. They headed towards the bus stop. It had become their latest hangout place.
“I’m not hungry.” She said as she tried to prop herself up on to the railing of the bus stop. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to sit. But it gave shelter from the sun and it was breezier than the stuffy canteen they had just walked out of. There were trees all along that side-walk that swayed in the hot summer breeze.
“When did you eat last?” He took her hand and helped her on to the railing. She noticed beads of sweat outlining his face and realised she was sweating too. Her hair was frizzy and unkempt because of the humid weather.
“Do you want to go sit inside? It’s really hot here. You’re sweating like hell!”
“I’m fine. You tell me why you’re not eating anything!”
“Arey baba, I ate a lot in the morning. Plus, it’s really hot! I don’t feel like eating now.”
They looked at each other and grinned. The sun was burning down on the street. The recess bell hadn’t rung yet, so there weren’t many people outside the college. He kept his bag between them on the railing and held it there with one hand.
“Do you want to eat my dabba?” he asked.
She threw her head back and laughed, “So this is what this is all about! You don’t want to eat your dabba so you want me to finish it, so that you can take home an empty dabba.” She wagged a finger at him and smiled mischievously.
“No, re! I’m just saying I have my dabba, so we can just sit and eat here. We don’t need to go anywhere. And also, yeah, mom will yell at me if I don’t eat it all.”
“And why can’t you eat it all?” She asked rolling her eyes at him, giggling all the while. She couldn’t stop shaking with mirth. It’s really not that funny! She told herself, stop giggling!
“Because it’s too hot. Ok? There. I said it. Now you can stop laughing.” They gave each other a knowing look and started laughing again. They laughed together till they were both breathless.
“You’re so stupid!” She said, punching him on the arm.
“Hey, I made you laugh. Is that so bad?”
She smiled, “Yeah. It’s horrible. You crack the world’s silliest jokes and I don’t understand how I can laugh at them.”
He smiled at her, bearing all his teeth and blinked at her innocently. He thinks he’s so cute.
“But I make you laugh no? That’s enough.” He said.
“Randolph! What you got in dabba today? I’ve got super boring cabbage bhaji yaar.” A thin voice emerged from behind them, along with a strong scent of perfume. “Hey, Kriti, you didn’t attend Maths this morning?”
“I was sitting right behind you, Pooja” replied Kriti, with a hint of malice in her voice.
“Oh right! Yeah, I forgot.” Pooja turned to Randolph and said, “Anyway, so show na, your dabba!”
Randolph looked at Kriti and shrugged. He took out the dabba from his bag and opened it up.
“Bhindi! You didn’t tell me you’ve got bhindi. Now I want to eat.” Said Kriti. Without waiting for a response, she reached into the dabba and picked two rotis.
“I didn’t know you liked bhindi” said Randolph. He was a little taken aback and yet amused at the sudden hunger Kriti had developed. She polished off the two rotis and half of the bhindi before Pooja had the time to settle down and open her dabba.
When she noticed Kriti gulping down the food, she commented, “Whoa! That’s fast. When was the last meal you ate, Kriti? Last month?” Pooja and Randolph laughed together as Kriti chewed on a mouthful.
She struggled to swallow as she tried to smile and seem aloof. But alas! All that food, all too quickly caused her to get hiccups. She tried to hide it, but it was too strong. This only gave Pooja more reason laugh and Randolph joined in. Kriti glared at him.
“OK, sorry... sorry. That’s not funny” Said Randolph. He looked at her with his eyes wide and said, “Water?”
“Yes” she said, trying not to sound too upset.
He held out his bottle for her with one hand and his dabba for Pooja with the other. Kriti quickly drank some water and returned the bottle to him. She watched as Pooja ate out of his dabba. She was sure Pooja had a crush on him. She was just that type. She smiles too much, Kriti thought. And she pouted too much. I mean, we all know you wear lip gloss everyday to college. You don’t need to take such trouble to show it off.
“Last bite, you want?” Randolph asked Kriti as he offered the dabba to her. She directed her attention back to Randolph. He was holding out his dabba to her. She smiled and reached out. Just as her fingers reached the dabba, Randloph’s finger slipped, inadvertently closing the lid on Kriti’s finger. She pulled it back, instinctively. Randolph stood up in fright.
A small scratch appeared on her finger. He took her finger and examined it, holding it close to his face. “I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?” He pressed the finger, to check if it bled. When a tiny dash of red appeared, he panicked. He involuntarily drew in his breath. She was a little shocked at this reaction and pulled her finger away to examine it herself.
She shook her head and smiled as she looked at it, “It’s just a small cut.” She blew on her finger. “May be I’ll go hold it under water or something. It’s burning a little bit.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Oh don’t fuss over it so much, Kriti. It’s not such a big wound.” Pooja looked a little disgruntled.
“It’s burning a little bit, especially because it’s just below the cuticle.”
“Yeah, you should hold it under water in the basin.” Randolph picked up his bag and took Kriti by one arm and started walking towards the canteen. Kriti did not resist and went along with him.
After she had held her finger under the faucet for a while, she said “I think it’s ok now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll bleed to death.” She said, and laughed.
Randolph wasn’t amused. “Ok, if you say so. But listen,”
“What?”
“I’m really sorry.”
She looked into his eyes and smiled. He was so tense. He looked at her with big, concerned, light brown eyes. She felt a warm thrill run down her spine. The recess bell rang and suddenly there was commotion in the canteen. They stood there in silence. Kriti tried to suppress the thrill she felt, as she took a deep breath and said with a slight shrug,
“It’s ok.”