Findings

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“The living don’t wait to die alphabetically, nor do the dead want to be arranged in an order”, I penned down, half amused by this discovery of mine. I sat beside a small obscure grave marker , hidden behind the grand gravestone of another famous person. My headache didn’t show any signs of leaving me , nor did the weather look like it was going to let the bright sunshine seep into the grey Parisian sky.

“What are you searching for? ” He asked while finding himself a place beside me. Wearing a brown bowler hat and carrying a cane , he looked like he had walked out of  a  Rene Magritte painting albeit with a face and not an apple.

” I don’t know” I replied to the vague question with the most evasive phrase coined in English language.

” Nonsense! you obviously know what you are looking for, else your eyes wouldn’t be darting around like that of a madman seeking his sanity” he declared.

I laughed, a nervous laugh afraid as ever to say things out loud lest they become real and heavy with words that I possibly cannot take back. ” I guess I was looking for some alternative life altering mechanism over here” I said. “I guess I was searching for a person who died the same day as I was born” I continued. “I guess I was searching for an everlasting connection with the obscure in a way that I can never find otherwise”

“Hmmm” he grunted. “A bit lonely aren’t you?” he asked a few minutes later. ” No, not really, but sometimes I wish I had a legacy to carry or perhaps a cross to bear, so to speak. There is an innate satisfaction in knowing a piece about a stranger that could be polar opposite to who you are , but it also sets the roots for an identity that you have been running away from” I said.

“And what maybe that you are running away from?” he asked “These findings about myself.These words to be precise” I said without thinking.

“Clever one , you are, aren’t you” he patted my head in a avuncular manner and walked away into the labyrinth of gravestones, cane not making a sound, bowler hat not blowing away despite the storm brewing and wind hissing a warning.

“Insane might be a better word” I mumbled  to myself and went back to searching and not finding anything significant or at-least deluding myself about it.

Findings

Findings

Room No. 2710

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The room was quite with the bulbs flickering. The humidity in the room demanded every ounce of fresh air from the unopened window. Only two voices reverberated through the room, they seemed indistinct at first but when people do not have much to do, they sit down and listen. They begin to listen to the nuances that they probably forgot to hear before. They see the texture of the grainy voice that spoke something to them, about them, about the times they forgot they even had. They breathe the air laden with faint hints of happiness and disappointments. They echo their feelings with words like these….

“Why is it that he is remotely important to me? Does it matter that his existence in my life is only through a fragment of my imagination? Knowing that the reality will be a parallel life to that of my daydreams. There is a part of me that’s a fool for this romanticism for somebody who never deserved to be a part of it. Agreed that life is never fair, and what you get is never what you want but in a moment of complete honesty I haven’t ever got what I wanted. Knowing that it has all been in my head, this attachment towards him for over year seems so much more than a disgrace. I feel like my mind has been screwed up beyond repair. And the worst part is there is nobody to blame. I often wonder if I could play the blame game, to get to hate him such that this agony would be solved. He puts me at the risk of sounding like an immature 13 year old, even though the reality is far placed from it. It has been a year today; will every September that goes without him put me into this agony? I sure hope not. This is something I never want to deal with again. That fact that he doesn’t see me in the same light makes me want to end his existence, but alas! Last year I wrote a very prim and proper letter to myself to get over this benign addiction of him, then why do I still feel this void? He isn’t important to me, not now, not ever. I don’t want him to be. It’s my choice right? These attachments were unwanted anyways. Then why does it sadden me to know that, there isn’t an attachment. Why am I put into this tangent where I never wanted to be?”

“She wormed her way into a conversation. And I couldn’t stop talking to her. I decided long ago that I wouldn’t be the same guy again, wearing my heart on sleeve and being out there. But there she was, without even being physically present, making me crave to talk to her without even thinking. I didn’t know where this was headed; it only seemed fair that she shouldn’t either. Time and again, I would try to pull away from her. Trying to give myself some breathing space from her overwhelming and all-consuming presence. I still can’t seem to breathe, with or without her. I guess I am a person who strives for melancholy while my circumstances keep spinning me in tangents, never getting to the real person. I hate that she is aloof and cold even. Like my presence in her life doesn’t alter her day, whereas even a message from her would spin me off my game. She forces me to be the person she would chose to talk to, while a group of men would be fawning over her giving her the attention she knows she deserves. I need to ignore her, only to be with her, to save myself, to be alive. It has been over a year now, her self-depreciating humor, her sarcasm is something I know I will never get from other women. Her eyes haunt me and so I run, knowing it is pointless, that I would give in sooner than later.”

“He makes me want to buy into a life of romantic illusions, when all I wanted to be was live without a complication is more than fucked up.”

“She makes me want to mess her up, break her down, until the point where she seeks me out. It is fucked up I know! But I have no idea how to deal with such a volatile novelty.”

“I hate playing these games with him, this hide and seek of real and fake emotions we put out there for each other. One minute he is all I want, and then there is another side of him which I don’t understand. I don’t expect a lot out of him, I just expect him to solve this puzzle for me. I don’t want this two-step dance of being there and yet unavailable, as per his convenience. I like him far too much, so much it could transform into a hate. But then again my liking towards him is biased as hell. We probably met for 10 times and had mere 500 conversations. How did it end up to this stage, where I’m fucking dependent on him emotionally? I know I could never fit into a normal relationship, but this is not normal, this is messed up beyond repair. To the most of my knowledge, I think we are circling around the same but in different tangents all together. We want to use each other, where he uses me as a temporary fix for sex and I use him for the delusion of a relationship. I’d like to go on believe such a notion, but then he’d say something strange so out of the blue, that I’m tempted to question my belief system. This is what isn’t fair. These game rules that he keep changing on me.”

“She keeps me on an emotionally oscillation, so much so that I want to believe her sarcastic remarks to be true. I want her to say things that are normal, and thus begins the challenge. She would always rise up to the occasion and destroy me. I don’t know how to tell her that I can’t keep this poker face long, that she has to eventually accept the insecure person I am bound to be. I started this charade and now I hate to keep up with them. I know if my timing was right, I was bound to fall in love with her. I am only glad that my timing is wrong, how can I be in love with her, when she is so in love with herself? What can I offer her, which she wouldn’t get from another person? I can’t count the times when I have awaited to meet her or to talk with her, she keeps me on my toes. The sex is beyond anything I have known before and I keep waiting for her to draw some strings, to make things solid. But I know she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t block her escape routes and who am I to ask her to? Her confidence and narcissism belittles me but she must know by now that more than anything it’s her potential to be vulnerable that shatters me.”

“I wish I could just get up one day and forget this attraction I have for him. Where I could not know why talks with him just entertain me, even though I could have a hundred of these talks with a million interesting people out there. Sometimes I wish I never knew him even, but then again I don’t. And that’s what this all boils down to, this unreasonable curiosity that I have for him. To want to see through him, to peel away all those masks that he parades so well. He interests me and that’s daunting, and I’m too much of myself with him, which is even more so terrifying. I was happy in my own ignorant cocoon and now he makes it hard to go back there and pretend like nothing has happened.”

“She’s ordinary and that’s why it’s so difficult to let go. On the days that I am overwhelmed with my life I like to reach out to her. Live life through her adventures and then go back to mine. Every time I meet her my whole real life is at standstill and I am in a limbo. She doesn’t understand the effect she has on me; that I can’t afford to be enamored by her. I am so happy that half the time I am terrified of the times when I won’t get to be with her. I can’t ask her to be with me because the moment I do she will never look back at me. I need to keep her with me, at a distance but close at the same time. I have bad days, weeks and months when she is content with another guy. How can she be in such a setting when I can’t stop imagining the misery of having to be with another nameless woman?”

“I love him but I’m waiting for it to pass. There is so much I want to say, so much that I have felt for the first time. I can’t bring myself to put him through the same pain I am going through. I hate to say it out loud, but I had to. The reasons are all wrong for me to feel this for him, but they are reasons nonetheless. He might not be worthy, but it’s me who puts him on a pedestal of worth for me. I wish I could let him read my mind, but I’d rather choose to jump into a pool of sharks. If love is this unbearable heaviness that I keep dragging around, trying hard to unshackle the weight; then it’s there for him as a constant. I have become a train wreck of clichés and it is painful to look at a passing reflection of myself. Well, thank you and goodbye and may we never cross paths again. This discomfort is something I can’t bear to repeat again. I hope we never say good bye but I hope we never see each other again. Unfinished lines are our Memorandum operandi and that’s where we part and go.

“I loathe her. I loathe the fact that she can be a different person with merits, It annoys me immensely that she has secrets that I am not privy to. I don’t want to tell her this, not when I can see the cracks and the lies she keeps hidden behind that smile. I keep my distance from her, only because I realize that this attraction that I have for her will one day fade away. When she breaks years from now, she would perhaps see the reflections of what I admired her for-her tarnished images. I meet new people every day only to confirm that she’s a basket case. That nothing could or would alter her and I only want to hate her, while failing miserably to do so. I do not know when I bid her goodbye, but somewhere between meeting her and kissing her the last time, it was already unsaid.”

I gave it time to let all the grimness wash away from the transitions to wash away. I said it out loud to you and then moped for days. It made me irate and distraught that you fancied others. Every instance that occurred between us up until now all boiled down to this one solid belief, that if I lose you now-if by some instance you are wiped out from existence I could live. For reasons unknown I am thankful to you for this feeling. I learnt to love you, at least the idea of you so much in my mind that your physical presence doesn’t matter. I could have conversations with you, or with silence that seems so enriching and crazy. And I like it this way.

“Sigh! She loves me and I feel numb. The greatest dream built up without a climax.”

We both know that this non-relationship of a relationship is doomed and it sort of makes it easier to bear everything else. It also makes me much more clear headed that I want you in a more sexual way than I ever imagined, even though you are an atrocious kisser but I am assuming that this is also a passing phase for me. I never have associated anything permanent with you and that will never change. I know I am the restless kind who couldn’t stand the conventionality of a relationship, but with you I wanted to try it anyways. I wanted to test the waters with you because I thought that you were the kind who wouldn’t bore me to tears in the process, but I guess what we want never happens. So I let whatever we have, be. I have conversations in silence and I bottle up all the unsaid for another lifetime where we both will look at each other in a different light. Or perhaps not, but it doesn’t matter. If this idiocy comes to an end, snapping all the strings of connection in a single stroke I know I would crumble , but it is this slow alienation that you do to me is an unintentional gift ,probably the only one that you give me.

“I can’t seem to remember her face. She reminds me of nothing, just makes me feel hollow. Are goodbyes this easy always?”

It took time, two years to be exact but slowly I replaced the shattered bulbs that couldn’t withstand the fluctuating electricity. I put the light in the room back in order. The storm swept everything underneath the rug and now I do not even have to clean a mess. Sometimes when I open this room, it’s so eerily clean that it seems like we haven’t been there, but then again, he was never here and everything happened without him anyways.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Open and Shut

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Here, is where you shouldn’t be.

Sneaking upon my senses,

Clouding yourself with my vagueness,

Withholding all your pristine thoughts.

 

You don’t share here,

In this one-way street,

I need you to leave,

Before you witness me bleed.

 

I can’t see you here,

Flaunting that ugly smile,

Overwriting my fears with your witty thoughts.

 

I shut my eyes to make you disappear,

Your shadows remain,

Snaking through the voids,

That I had no knowledge of.

 

I need you to go,

I need you to close everything,

Just,

Leaving the door of memories ajar.

 

Barter

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She said “I keep drifting in and out of spaces. It keeps things from getting stagnant.”

He said ” Don’t you like to drown yourself into the intricacies? ”

She said ” I simply accept the fact like water is water and then I plunge to discover, to be bedazzled”

He said “So it isn’t about patterns but it is about movement of them?”
She said “Your assumptions are so fulfilling, they are like a leap of faith to see God”
He said “Don’t you have that one moment which you identified only with hope in your actual life ?”
She said “No. You just like to look for the nuances in the ordinary.”
Words exchanged is the only barter that seems valid, otherwise it all vanishes into clouds of uncertainty. Obscure,abstract and distinct only in the most distant way. But then again uncertainties are factors which find the existence of mind, so why ponder!
Silence on the other hand makes you a person that you wouldn’t want to live with. It’s the spotlight you evade to be content in your own darkness. It’s what creeps into your thoughts and even dreams and destroys all illusions. It is your sole companion, the last resort  even before you begin the adventure.
She could have said that she missed him, but that would have been a well-practiced lie that she used often to along with people. Silences are refreshing, so much so that she hadn’t even realized its existence.

Whose Thoughts are these?

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The liquid was turning the right shade of purple , was it more of  mauve or violet I wondered ,but then again I couldn’t really point out .The clump of a vague substance at the bottom of the bubbling liquid began to take a form. A gradual transition from a dog’s turd to a squishy Jell-O form.

There was a sense of happiness that bubbled inside me just like the liquid in the jar. A sense of promise that was restored from within as I stared at the ethereal glow of the clump.

I slowly reached out for my pocket watch, but the darkness that made me see things usually, closed out on me .This in turn made my watch stop ticking abruptly. There was a moment of dead silence that echoed in the darkness. The heart that was etched on the cover of the pocket watch thumped faster.

To be in pace with the heartbeats that resonated in my pocket ,in a panic I reached out for the incandescent purple liquid and let it warm my hands until the heat burned .Very slowly and very methodically I put my burning hands into the bubbling and picked up the squishy clump that exactly replicated an intelligent brain. But then it slipped from my fingers, bounced on the floor and just fixed itself on top of my sheared off skull. Prettily perched like a cuckoo over a nest.

The ticking of the etched heart finally stopped but by then the darkness swallowed me, leaving behind a faint lavender smell. It reminded me of Her and for a minute I thought like Her before everything inside me broke down to reality forever.

Doors.

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Camera360_2013_5_29_05354820130531203823It starts slowly, this need to travel, the need to escape, to leave that idea of you behind which was being lugged around. Unneeded yet attached to you by a strange umbilical cord that is difficult to cut off . The idea then builds up pixel by pixel until it becomes more than your being.This is exactly how the tables turned for Alice.

At first she shrugged away the idea thinking of it as an inconvenience, in the way of getting to all her stone clad plans of life . She ignored to see the pixels together , but then one day she just turned around and all she saw was that her plans were crumbling down and just that  ‘idea’ was breathing down her neck. The next thing she did was to run home or the illusion of home, packed her bags  or rather a duffel filled with the bare necessities and just leave.

When she stepped out of the door she didn’t see the need to say a goodbye but rather a thank you to her boyfriend of 8 years. Mostly thanking him for bearing with that person who had no inkling of what or who she was. She contemplated on leaving behind  a post card explaining everything that was going on in her mind but it felt like a slap on her face than his , so she just hastily scribbled “I LOVED YOU” on the postcard that she got him five years ago while she went on that trip to Crete. She turned it upside down,maybe like a symbolic gesture  and put it on the refrigerator. When she stepped out of the door, for the first time in all her adult years she didn’t take her keys along, not because there was somebody waiting for her to return home but because she knew that things would have to come to a full circle with her ideas before she even considers to knock on a door that she closed.

Her first step faltered, a part off her was holding her back, but she took that first step for the guarantee of an uncertainty , for a madness that wasn’t her. She probably signed up for a death wish or she just saved herself from an eternity of boredom that would eventually overtake. The curiosity to drink on something that wasn’t her first choice or was remotely even placed in her list of choices took over and she walked. For the first time she walked towards nothing that she knew of yet she walked and not rush about, her gait had a secret to tell but everything was hushed up,buoyant with the hope that she could reach the place that she never thought she could.

Timeless way

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Somewhere not long ago there existed a place Mind of No Mind ,in which on a cold winter day ,a Timeless Way was born. This timeless way had a way too ordinary. She would weep too often and would wander around the claustrophobic streets mocking the other little girls just as ordinary as her.  Timeless way was extremely curious, so she would push and prod the other children until they would scream “GO AWAY!”

One such angry girl who screamed nothing at Timeless Way was unimportant. The girls’ mother had never given her a shower and also named her Lulu. Lulu had no peculiar tastes or no selective thoughts (but that was understood since she was still a young girl of eighteen.) Lulu also wore her clothes inside out because her father had told her to do so.

Her father ,who was also always known as “the father” not just to her but the entire village and never had anybody questioned it. The father also wore his clothes inside out because he owned and always swore to own only two pairs of clothes, one of which was his Sunday best. He refused to wear his black suit that was considered his Sunday best even at the funeral of his own mother. He complained that it wasn’t a Sunday  or even at the remotest a rainy day ,his only two excuses to wear the Sunday suit .

Lulu on the other-hand now always carried a miniature harp after her grandmothers death but did not know how to play a single note. When the Great Flood washed over the Mind of No Mind to cleanse the souls of its people , the harp without the musical note kept everybody afloat but this was not known to Timeless Way. She stole the harp from Lulu and broke the harp. When the strings of the harp became unstrung and the frame of it unbound, Mind of No Mind never again had a mind of its own, When the great flood washed over No Mind again twenty years later ,Timeless way by then had already lost her ordinary way .