Melancholy Strain

Shadows reigned beneath her eyes,
Her hair spread in tight knots of pain and lies;
Life had been a labyrinth of broken dreams
Nay, broken hearts of those she leads…

Solemn along in life’s relations,
Yet, solemnity, now doubted with revelations,
No longer, had she strength to devoir,
Memories hovering, heartbreak’s painfully noir.

Heart buried somewhere along the path,
Yet the pain, the chamber in her breast still hath;
Eye lids clenched, for the pain she gifted to another,
Unknowingly, yet; believed she, she must suffer.

My eyes watched for her, for she could sleep,
My heart bet for her, for she could leap,
To the realms of happiness, one in a thousand dreams,
To lands of fantasy, laugher in springs and streams.

Bore I, the weight of her eye lids and heart,
For more shall be, if she was apart,
Draining her tears into the abyss of mine,
How would she know, her smile made my life shine.

Wings spread, too fragile to flight,
Wrecked, yet, She held on, like a quarter of the moon’s last might;
Maybe a day, when she must leave,
She needed to know, In her broken wings , I did believe.

A thousand miles and infinitely more,
I shared the hurt that she bore,
I dwelled, I fell out, I lost myself in the lane,
Amongst the shadows in her melancholy strain…

Gust...

She flaunted herself amongst the leaves,
They, dazed in the graze of her hair...
She held a warmth of purity to touch,
Yet, cool beyond fathom as much.
She wove tender dreams,
for those in slumber, by her sweetness
And enchanted the rest with,
Breaths of breathlessness...

Nay she cannot be captured,
Nor be forced under will,
For shall she flow soft,
As a slow embrace, warm and then wither away.
She returns pious and prayerful,
Noble and gaunt,
Jolly and juvenile,
Yet rough and relentless.
She cureth all , cuddle and caress,
Yet shall she in her wrath, rogue the sea,
Leave no dexterity...
And yet, shall she be,
An angel in a moth's life in paradise,
A tear of memories in an old man's eyes,
A whiff of anger amongst caring men,
A reason, an omnipresence
And yet sometimes, a mere vibe of existence...

They call her the wind,
I called her, Love....

Everything...

The noise was stifled amongst the crowd

Blaring horns and sirens of the city night

Yet, silence seemed to disturb my ears. 

You were there, a ghost, a memory

Striving not to be seen, but only

Your face an unfading memory.

Grayish and blurred, without a colour of your own 

Blending and merging past, a mere shadow

Past buildings and vast unheeded creations

I followed you, nay, the memory of you. 

Flashing signals amongst the caverns
Of a rule bidden world,

Forbid me to not follow thou, 

Yet, I pass them unheeded;

Cold and brash in the night air, 

Along along in this mechanical misery called life, 

A fool was I,  in this jaded sense of attachment. 

Soon, or late, my soul  i searched, 

For a reason, to stumble along this path outstretched;

Upon a starved heart and a broken memory

And the drowning wilderness of lone...

I realized, let go, yet shall it never leave?  

Peace, love, and a faint memory
A lone glitter of cognizance in this little something,  

That you're my purpose, you're everything...

Untitled

         A narrow beam of light spread across home as the sun came out from the caverns of darkness. It passed through the windows illuminating shades of motionless dust. A set of open books lay unattended on the table along with a broken pair of spectacles, a rusted kerosene lamp and bottles that held garlands of cobwebs and torrents of dust. They cast long shadows on the long, aged, oak table.

      She tossed around in her bed trying to catch those last few moments of sleep before it would fade out to her daily routine… She’d never been able to sleep at night. She had never known why. “This isn’t home for me”, she thought like she does every morning, pushing aside her bed covers and wiping the sleep out of her eyes.

         It was still quite early in the morning as she stood outside home, ready to go for work. The home was pretty well placed upon a hill top, rocky, yet, the steep was gradual. From behind the hills still covered with fog, at far sight the sun stood gleaming. She walked down, staring about absent mindedly at the colourful flowers that grew aside the narrow path. The world was beautiful from up here. The violet, the yellow, the blue… The colours were endless… On and on they swayed and rustled in the wind as she continued to walk downhill…

        “Where had she to go?” She had to constantly remind herself. She had been lost in a world of her own. She walked all the way to her office, bracing herself for the hustle and bustle of the day. It had always been an irksome job to be an insurance provider company clerk. She’d wander away when people would go on blabbing about what all they didn’t get. That it was no benefit at all. She was used to all sorts of people: angry, agitated, miserable, uninterested, over enthusiasts and lots more. She was so used to being thwarted at, never even expecting a bit of gratitude from anybody…

          She had been late, yet no one was at the office. Twisting the keys into the lock of the front door, she picked up the morning newspaper. It had been tattered and several pages had been torn off. "Great" She said to herself. The door creaked as if it hadn’t been opened for decades. She walked the narrow corridor down to her seat. Seated at her chair, under a forever rattling fan she turned through the rest of the pages of the newspaper; Politics, accidents and never ending advertisements… Why had life become so useless?

         She went back to her usual absent mindedness; roaming far down her memory lane. Her childhood, her schooling years had been so beautiful. Her parents and her annoying brothers, she thought of them. Her dad had always been her best pal, yet, among the family she always kept a happy, strong face on the outside. She hid the softer side of herself from them.

         Those were things years ago… Every weekend had been a party… Uncles, friends, cousins, nephews, neighbours, everybody used to join in to sing, play card games, caroms and the children had their own set of games. Even those group prayers were so wonderful. It would be birthday celebrations, farewell parties or just warm get-together’s on Christmas Eve’s. “Why had they all loved her so much?” she thought. Her brothers were such big pests, running around pulling her hair, kicking her and beating her up. She would do nothing in return except scream to mama. Mom, she’d always been lovingly stern.

        Her friends at school, the way they’d loved her for bossing them around. The boys who had always been big brats, always into teasing and senseless talk, they would often turn up with reasons to simply say “I love u”. They would just do anything to see her smile. She wished she could be there again; back where she knew how it felt to belong to someone. Back where she could hear her brother’s fighting, back to where she could hug on to her friends, back to where she would always be kissed goodnight…

        But she’d been living for them, her parents, working for them now. She reminisced the moments when she had to leave. Her ever fighting, quarrelling, yet loving brother’s stood speechless. Mom had been stern or was she crying? Dad? She didn’t even know how he felt. Her cousin sister, her really good pal had hugged her goodbye. Her uncles stood at the bus stop waving, one of them had not been there; he had left them all years ago. But he was always around in their hearts. She thought she’d seen him too, waving at her as she waved back until the clutches and gears of steel of that cruel bus carried her away.

She missed them; she missed them all so much…

“Madame…?”

She snapped out of her day dream, finding it hard to even find her voice.

“Yes…?” At last she managed.

It had been the security guard.

“Madame. Today is Christmas. Why have you come?”

“Err… I had some urgent letters to pick up to check them at home.” She blurted out suddenly realizing that she’s walked in to office on a holiday. The man nodded and walked away. He stopped half way down the corridor, smiled at her and said, “Merry Christmas Madame. You should go home.” She smiled weakly in return. She somehow felt thankful to this speck of kindness. After he was gone, she silently stood up from her desk, flinging the newspaper aside.

         Her home, her life had been so lifeless, so terribly aimless, and so lone. Memories broke over her again as she walked on crying, past long streets, past homes with large Christmas trees past mom’s guiding little children through the busy street…

       As she walked uphill to her home, she took notice of the pleasant sky, the beautiful flowers, and their modified colours in the setting sun. “Its true that it’s the mind that colours the eyes”, she thought. Everything felt like a dream. She seated herself below a tree; the air had been so sweet. Silently, she lay down on the cool ground, her head resting against the flowers. She stared up at the sky and a large tear drop fell from above. She continued to stare above her as it started to drizzle. For a moment, she felt like she had gone back several years, to the good old times.

        A few moments later she stood up, comfortably wet but not yet drenched. “This is nature’s love for me”, she thought. Walking back, she opened her door. She sat down on her bed wiping her face in a ragged towel. The sun cast a dusky saffron colour into the room. The windows glistened in the light. It lingered for a few more minutes as little by little the light pulled away and it went all dark.

       She walked over to the wardrobe searching for something in the darkness. Grabbing something in her hand, she silently walked over to her table. Moving out the cobwebs and rusty utensils, she placed the candle she’d found, onto an overturned jam bottle. In the silence, it sounded more like an explosion as she lit a match. Lizards, spiders shifted away noiselessly. She wanted to wake up from the sleep she’d been in for years. Gingerly, the candle’s wick caught fire. Staring at its bright light, her face broadened to a smile. She was beautiful. She looked at herself in an age tinted mirror; her eyes twinkling with tears… She whispered to herself, “Merry Christmas…”

The Survivor's Tale...

           They say rules are just guidelines, not mandatory. I think so in my country, India, but I follow the same rules when I’m in some other country. We just get used to things here.

Every morning I’m driving to work and I have no road to drive on. No it wasn’t an earthquake but just the monsoons! I’m used to taking my car around the gutters. The signals posts don’t work. Jesus, they just fixed the damn thing! No problem, we’re used to seeing hand signals from the good old traffic guy anyway. And he vanishes at lunch time with no one to take his place till a few hours. Nah, that’s ok. We’ll manage pal.  I see people hanging onto an overloaded bus. They enjoy their morning ride talking to their regular friends. They just got too used to it to complain.

Oh and yeah, the buses are the “best” I’ve even seen a driver needing an umbrella inside the bus during the monsoons 

                I’m driving on, we have over filled auto’s with school going children, 4 people on a single bike rushing like it’s the end of the world, we have people spitting pan and stuff on the roadside, we have traffic blocks caused coz of two people fighting over something probably silly like “you didn’t put the frigging indicator before turning. What was I supposed to do?” We have some bikers who are weirdly shaking their bikes staring into their tanks as though to look if the bike’s used every last drop of fuel. Not that he didn’t have cash to fill it up, he ain’t used to doing it till it gets over and he has to push it to the pump. 

                I get to the office. It’s 10:30. Oh, I’m not late. Office time starts from 10 to 11:30. Lunch time? 12:30 pm sharp! The power leaves as I come in. Aaah, don’t we just love the electricity board guys? Their power always fit the caption, “I came, I saw, I went” Oh yeah, I had a power failure last night at home too. I’m just used to sleeping without complaining all night and not even trying to call up the board guys. Some poor guy who drank 3/4^th of his brandy bottle and who chewed up some fuse wire for the side snack, would probably be asleep there. If I wake him, he’ll have to drink more to fall asleep and probably won’t have any more left to start his day the next morning. We care! 

                Don’t know if you have managed to be at our government offices. We just love doing things the hard way. To enter a page into a file on the table and give you a receipt, we ask you to come back a week later. “Hey, rules are rules, you know the drill.” Unless you have some extra pages (Rs: 500 plus) attached. We don’t accept credit” 

                Hmmm…  Now, was I missing something? Aah yes, we rip off foreigners. Overly charged taxi’s and auto’s, at clothes stores; you name it, we ripped you there too. Yes, that’s why we call ourselves being from the land of the Kama Sutra, We could screw you in more ways than you can possibly imagine! 

I am the Indian who watches on TV when something bad happens at some other corner of the country and thinks, “Oh, it didn’t happen to me”. I’m the Indian who keeps liking posts on fb about supporting Anna Hazare and “being proud of being an Indian” and “righteous Indignation”  and oh hey dude, “who was Anna Hazare btw?” :P

Are we done with the list of miseries?

Nope. This is the just the beginning…

But, I’m gonna stop there… 

Coz when I still think of my country, my chest swells with pride. Coz we’ve seen a harder life, we’ll thrive over any situation. We get by in life without depending on 911. Though we have riots and all sorts of stuff occasionally, I see my neighbor is not of my religion, but we get along well. I haven’t ever seen an army man all my life, except maybe on TV. But I have a sense of pride when I think about our army, not coz we can boast about borrowed technology from Russians or so. But because however they are,  I know they will keep us safe come what may.

                I cheer along with the others for India only on a cricket match. I woke up at 12pm on Independence Day coz my boss gave us the day off. All I did was stick a small flag on my bike that day.  I'll tell you "I hate this country" 24/7, but I still love my country.  Everything is slow in our country, the technology, the PWD, the modernization, transport development (dead old buses and trains), urbanization… Almost everything is slow…  Just seeing the crazy buses, driving on the bumpy roads (gutters), waiting in line in offices, paying bribes, sleeping without power at night (oh I bought a generator), we’re just used to it…. Alongside all these things, we’ve learned to live on, learned to still be happy, aren’t we? We’re not right, we know that,  but we’re in the process of making it right. I’ll tell you this; it ain’t easy being an Indian. We just know that life is too short to spend complaining...  If you aren’t happy here, you don’t have to stay. Be happy elsewhere, that’s what really matters right?   

You tend to tell your mom that she’s old fashioned, that she’s not smart with the computer. You quarrel with her for nagging you about things; get mad at her for not being modern… Sometimes she never changes, she never understands, but you still love her don’t ya? It’s the same for us with India. She ain’t the best, but we belong to her… 

From the heart of an Indian, Jai Hind…!

     

The need manifestation...

A mother sits alone staring blankly at the television. Her children in far off countries are busy in their lives. She calls her best friend after her husband goes for work. The other side of the call is a similar mother. They talk for hours everyday about old memories, about how life had changed; for at least a few hours everyday till late afternoon when she had to go to the kitchen and make something for herself. Then she'd get to televisions serials to fill the emptiness of her life...

Who said happiness resided in a settled life, a two storey home, with kids in good positions somewhere...?

***

A girl calls her childhood friend every now and then. Hiding behind a pretext of sisterly feelings, she can't really explain what she feels for him. Persistent text messages and sweet wordings, something about him filled a void somewhere in her life. Along the years she cant remember having laughed out heartily... A broken heart somewhere along the way, an always complaining mom to prove herself to... Memories of a dad lingering on... A fiance who always suspected her of being with someone else...  She was out to right the labyrinth that had befallen her, trying not to follow her sister's footsteps into divorce, trying to hide from everyone, her perfect life...

She calls him again for some attention, love, care... She knew it wasn't right.

Is it any good trying to tel her that she needed to get a grip over herself? 

***

A guy walks along the sidewalk... The rain drenching him but he doesn't notice the sun going down in practiced bravado, the cars rushing by in herds of confusion... He remembers his girl, every face reminds him of her. Random things in conversations brings her into his mind. He loved her, he had a million reasons why. He tried to treat her right, tried to care, tried to love. He was probably clingy as she was all he had had. He made a few mistakes so she turned and walked away from his life... He goes flirting with others, jumps into relationships, just to fill the void that she's left him with...

Would it be enough to tell him to forget her and move on, though that's the only choice...?

***

A father reaches home after work. There's a grimness about his face. His life was settled, his future secure. He loved his wife, but they never talked more than necessary. They sat by the television, rarely talking or even noticing each other. They never joked or had discussions over the dinner table, even when their children were at home.

What was missing? What was this emptiness that engulfed him as he sat by the tv, puffing a cigarette. 

***

A girl sat by the window sill watching the rain outside. She had parents worried about her marriage and future.  Almost so much that she could feel them breathe down her neck. She never had the freedom to decide what to do, all her life. Someone always drew the line for her and she just walked on abiding to it. The same fate followed her here. She was tired of being single though, with a lot of guys trying to hit on her, all the while being scared that she might fall for someone and be hurt later. She knew she wasn't ready, she never was... How was she gonna find that right person? What if everything went wrong after she got married?

Would someone call her as being overly thoughtful? 

***

A new student walks into the classroom. He tries his best to mingle with everyone, to be frank and open. All the while, the girls brand him a flirt and guys call him a wannabe. He came home everyday over the years wondering why he had to be the odd one out... All the while, all he wanted was just some acceptance...

Would you too say the words that "It takes two hands to clap and make the sound", in a way that something about him was wrong too?  

***

You've probably been there somewhere, along the paragraphs above. We are all needy in our own ways, though we have never been able to bear the needy one's in our life. We often blame people for what they failed to do in their lives, sometimes we just don't understand. Sometimes we just won't try... I guess we've all felt similar things, needed someone to talk to, wished we were someone else so that we could have done things differently, wished that somehow things were different from what it turned out to be...

Does it suffice to pat yourself on the shoulder and say, It's just gonna be alright...? 

                                                                               ***Motivation: Rajiv C. K. Menon

The miles bygone...

           The rain was mighty. But it wouldn’t dampen the spirits of the children running home after school. The elderly stood by the bus stop trying to talk sense into the tiny tots, their cheery faces contorting in reply.I was headed home, after a long while. The home coming of a warrior, or so it felt. I took a few moments to fill my heart with the happiness around me. Buses passed in the lightning speed, yet the kids took no notice. They prefered walking, a single umbrella only partially sheilding a herd of them rushing with glee. The songs they sang weren’t great ones but it seemed like the rain rhymed along, the smell of the freshly wet earth blended in and the cool breeze that made earth just feel like heaven.

                There I was, at a coffee shop, sipping coffee while iron clad asbestos kept the rain from coming in and a warm kerosene lamp birghtened the darkened interiors. I watched the thoughtful elders around me, each in their own world of thoughts, of wants, desires and unfulfilled wishes, of races to win, of families to feed… They had come a long way in life, onrounte to the seven ages as Shakespeare had said…

                Home seemed more than welcome, the rain had stayed all along my journey. I stood by the gates, breathing in the fresh homely air.  Memories hung in from the interiors of home, waiting to cling to me. My presence was known, I could feel it. I could see things left outside by my bro’s little baby who had just recently learnt to walk and loved to hide things in lonely corners of home. I remembered how my dad would take her out to the veranda to show her the rain. She would chuckle as the little drops of rain fell into her hands. She would then look at my dad and smile with glee. And like children, they both would walk around the house, with their own languages to communicate and her tender fist cozy in the warmth of his age hardened hand. She would be delighted in the colour of a leaf, or the smell of a flower, the brightness of the sun shading light into her room in the morning. Sometimes I wonder, over the years as we grew, all that’s happened is that we’ve stopped finding happiness in small things...

The raindrops now bounced around like little rubber balls trying hard to reach me as I sat by the threshold of my home. It was fun to play “catch me if you can” with them. Nothing ever lasted forever, like the rain, like childhood, like the wonderful flowers that brightened my day…

Brevity… Life was always full of it. Maybe because dreams once true lose their charm, maybe because somethings are best left unsaid, some wishes best left unfulfilled…  I thought to myself, as the rain echoed away behind me, “The miles were eternal, not just the miles to come, but the miles bygone… “

We'll meet again...

The asphalt shivered nervously as cars sped away. The moon was a mere echo of itself tonight. It was cold, steam rising from the sewers grates like all of hell lay beneath it. After almost two years in Saudi Arabia, I was finally going home to India for vacation. It was weird, for people usually go for vacation to places other than home. But we expatriates had that luck. Two months in a year or a couple of years, pack up, go home... Saudi had always been another home too...

I had promised my nephew that I'd get him an mp3 player. Though it felt like something that happened in my last life or so, I still remembered telling him I won't forget. It had to be the night before and past midnight for me to remember it. There I was standing by the pavement for a cab to come along. Not every cab guy could be trusted at that time of the night, I could be robbed. Secretly I wished an Indian came by.

It started raining as I thumbed down a taxi and just jumped in. To my relief he was an Indian. He started off with a decent Hindi asking me where I had to go. I told him the need of the hour and we were cruising through the night, talking. Though my hindi wasn't so great, I could communicate and we got in quick rapport. It was important for me to get what my nephew wanted and he treated it more important than I did. We passed by most of the malls near my place and all of them were closed by the hour. We sat thinking about where to go next. He suggested another place but I was short of cash to go that far. He said it I could pay him the rest someday when we'd meet again. "Duniya bahut chotti hain saab..." (The world is really small sir). Hoping I could adjust the money buying a cheaper player, I agreed.

It was about a half hour drive. He kept mentioning that the mall we were headed too had everything anyone could possibly want. ("Duniya ki har cheez jo hain, vo aapko vahan millega") He was keen on trying to understand what an Mp3 player was or what it did. When I mentioned my nephew, he showed me a picture of his wife and a year old baby boy. He had come for work 13years ago and never seen them since. He told me there was some new thing that you could sit in front of a screen and see people who are far away. Though I knew he meant video chat, I pretended to be someone who didn't know much. I guess I wanted to get his picture of the world...

We talked a lot. About corrupt politicians... About riots.... About the Indians winning against Pakistan in a recent cricket match.... About how Pakistani's were wrecking peace in India.... I wasn't ever so patriotic, but I guess, going home the next day and having an Indian guy nearby inspired some spirit. We finally reached where we were headed. Yeah, he was right, you could probably get everything you'd ever want. He offered to shop with me. He looked about in awe at all the gadgets. We kept talking about things, like we were friends for ages. He seemed to like the Mp3 player, saying he would take one for his son when he got the next chance to go. "Kahin jayenge to bore nahi honge"  (You won't get bored if you have one when you're going somewhere), he said. I smiled at his innocence.

He was silent on the way home. After a while he said, he wanted to take a ticket and go back to see his family. Adding in an undertone that he would think the same every day all these years, worrying if something would happen if its late. ("Har din yeh sochtha hoon ki ghar jaaoon... Agar der hoga tho kya hoga") I didnt know what to say. He feared the wars and worried about their safety. They will be fine, I tried to tell him.We turned a corner and we were minutes away from home. I opened my purse and counted what I had. I had compromised on the player so I had enough to pay him. I figured I had little extra.

I stepped out of the car, handing him the money which he pocketed without counting. He said it was fine. We shook hands and I told him I was from Kerala and in an after thought asked him where he belonged. "Pakistan", he said with a smile and departed. Standing by the pavement, I wondered why our countries fought wars and were at each others throats when we regular people never felt any differences from each other.

I walked home with a smile, happy that I had paid him the little extra I had.

Lost...

                The gate seemed wobbly, wanting to submit to gravity as he pushed it open. The soil was moist from recent rains. A small pathway led to a courtyard. The courtyard held the remnants of a fountain and the flooring which was once marble, now betrayed dirt and undergrowth. The dilapidated remains of a home gleamed in the faint moonlight. The front door didn’t seem to be locked. It simply fell off its hinges as he opened it, crashing into the ground. The smell of rot was prominent. “This was home to someone once”, he thought.  

                He lit a match, watching the darkness shift away from where he stood. Finding a candle on the mantelpiece, he tried to light it. Gingerly the wick caught fire. Placing it on a small table, he sat beside it. The light in the room shifted as the breeze disturbed the flame. The darkness was like flowing water, shifting and flowing, hither and thither. The shoes that lay beside a gnawed welcome mat indicated that a couple lived there. He could hear soft voices, past conversations echoing in the hallway. He related to the voices instantly.

                The staircase led upstairs. The ebony handrail seemed to hold remnants of her soft touch as she would come down the stairs welcoming her husband after work, her feet slowly imprinting itself on each stair. The side walls held photo frames that were no longer clear. Carrying another lit candle along, he walked up the stairs. The bedroom still held remains of a livid chandelier and a huge bed. Her favorite teddy stood on the bedpost, holding a heart that said “I love you”. It was his gift on their anniversary. A mirror held a small picture of them stuck to a corner, her eyes were still a twinkle, he remembered. The wardrobe held their favorite clothes, now torn and moth eaten. A fallen cradle lay to a corner of the room, amidst broken, scattered toys.

               He remembered how he had hugged her every day before leaving for work. The smell of her hair filling his heart, the smile on her face while they kissed, the cute frown on her brow when he said he might be late. The late Sunday afternoon’s when they spent their time walking in the courtyard below, when the afternoon sun would glow like her pretty cheeks every time they kissed. It was all lost. Was it a mistake, was there something he did wrong, he did not remember. But he had loved her, forever.         

                This was his home once. He remembered. This was their dream once. This was his family. She was his love. They had lived years in this beautiful dream. Sometimes when you wake from a dream, it simply is dark and bare. Sometimes your life can take the color off your dreams, can crush beautiful flowers to lifeless nothingness; can change beautiful homes to dark dilapidated structures rotting in the undergrowth…

                                The thunder roared outside as he began to descend the stairs. He felt as though he was not welcome anymore. A million memories dragged his mind like photographs under those garlands of cobwebs. The Dry leaves crunched under his feet as he trod away from home. The gate didn’t seem to want to protect his dream home anymore. The rain got heavier but he walked on, looking back at home every once in a while. He had nowhere to go, no paths to follow, and no dreams to hold on to…

              It was not just about living forever. The trick was about living with oneself forever. The roads stretched on to fearful eternity, the rumble of the shifting gravel under his feat, echoing away into the distance…

Love...

Sometimes we don’t know why. Why we do the things we do. Why we say the things we say… Sometimes it’s not the big things but tiny things that make a difference. Like telling her that you love her every once a while; like travelling in a bus and telling her almost everything you’ve seen in the way; like her falling asleep on the phone and all you can hear is her deep breathing but you still don’t want to hang up. After a grueling day, admitting to her that throughout the day, you just waited to get back home and give her a call. When the rain splashes against your car wind shield and the cold is rising, you wish you had her to hug on to. You make a million mental notes to remind you of things to say… A million words aren’t enough to speak what you feel sometimes. But a few soft words from her are enough for you to know what she’s feeling. Every day you feel like you have something to look forward to, her…  

You listen to the song you both heard together in the bus on that rainy day, it’s still on your favorites coz you never get tired of it… You both fight and cry over small things, simply coz there’s a new meaning to it that someone’s there to listen. You love it when she whines about the little things that upset her, love it when she treats you as the final solution to every problem she has. You love it when she gets angry if you call someone else ‘sweetie’.  You talk about the things that are least important, sometimes after long conversations, you lie down wondering what was it that you talked about the last few hours. Simply a text message from her can brighten your day like a coffee can never be able to. You don’t wanna wake in the morning if she’s away and she can’t call. You try and tell her not to do something, not coz you don’t want her to do so, but coz you love it when she listens.  Sometimes you can’t give up fighting even if you know you’re wrong. You hang up in anger and then call back in a few minutes and say sorry. And sometimes you act like you’re angry, till she goes on saying sweet things and sorry’s and you finally burst out laughing.

After a fight and you both feel sad, a hug simply speaks volumes…  When you hug her, her fragility makes you feel strong about her.  Sometimes it isn’t so important to say a lot, but maybe say less and feel more, hear less and understand more. Sometimes even silence and gestures can speak a lot. Sometimes it’s important to worship the weak, for there’s no strength if there wasn’t weakness. Sometimes we don’t realize what she’s worth until she’s not around. For, what would be light if we hadn’t known darkness.

Sometimes we don’t know why. Why we do the things we do. Why we say the things we say. I think we can call it, being in love… 

Virtual Paradise...

Far too many times in my childhood have I seen those electronic 'virtual' pets. For those of you who haven't got the slightest idea, a virtual pet is a small electronic device called the 'Tamagotchi' (created by Japanese) that allows you to take care of a 'virtual' pet on screen. You can feed it, play with it, put it to sleep, clean up its poop and what not, with just the press of a few buttons... Outdated it is now though...

Along the years I always wanted one and when I finally got one, it seemed boring in a few days. But somehow, I seemed to like the concept of "virtual". Like you don't have to really bother about it much like you had to with a real pet. You could play with it when you wanted. You could ignore it for a few days, it will get sick and die. You can always press "reset" and have a new pet. Or if you got sick of it entirely, you could probably get a new device or forget it altogether.

Something that's really not there..."virtual"...  Like our "friendship" and "relationships" these days. Well they aren't all virtual I should say. But so many of them are and some of those that weren't, end up being that way. We are all selfish. We don't have time for anything (that's what we tell ourselves. You would always find time to text back to a call from an unknown number with the cliched "who's this?", no matter how busy you are.) The boom of the social networks is just coz it allows you this virtual world (alongside keeping in touch of course, but who was so interested in just keeping in touch until it was nice to have their comments on pics, the attention from strangers, entire conversations on walls, relationship updates etc etc.) A touch of anonymity, quite a lot of privacy (most people dont think so, but you in fact get more privacy online than in real life) and a hell lot of freedom. How? Read on!

Its about, not being in the best clothes, not disclosing your identity or hiding behind a fake one. Covering up your insecurities and troubles and being someone else. A lot of people wish to be someone else. Besides, how is anyone gonna know its you? Even bill gates's windows cant expose you until you switch on the webcam right? There you sit right in front of that computer screen, whiling away time in chat rooms (again virtual) or ogling at pictures people have uploaded and so fourth. You tend to find some person interesting and you spend hours chatting. You lie about yourself (saying "He/she's a stranger, how can i disclose my identity") make up stories to impress or say sad stuff to get some attention, live your fantasy at least in front of someone who believes its real and things go on. Oh! and not all of us lie, some of us find the comfort of telling them everything true coz they're probably far away and can in no way interfere with our daily lives... The anonymity provides a certain sense of comfort. All you have to do when you smell trouble is "close the chat window". You don't have the hassle of feeling guilty over what you said or did. Coz it wasn't a relationship/friendship you shared over the last few months with whomsoever it was or seemed it be. It was just a 'chat window...'

It's not always clear why such a second life... Its fun. Meeting and getting to know new people. Hear their lies, feed them with ours. (Nope, not all of us are that way. Just mentioning the majority). At least you find someone to believe that your fantasy is real, besides yourself of course.  Maybe we need to be our true selves at least once in a while huh? Like the old school proverb, "Your character is what you do when you think no one is looking"...  But a little bit of fun is good as long as you're not hurting anyone and as long as you're not addicted. I've made some of the best friends of my life, meeting them on fb first and then in person later on. So I wouldn't tell you its totally bad, though i havent done all the faking with anyone... Sometimes its fun. I give it to you fakers :)

And in this context, I'd like to quote a dialog from a computer game I've played...

"It isn't as easy as they tell you in grade school. But it is good to have strong values, and to maintain them, always and everywhere. It's important to have a balance in things. Yeah, balance, thats the right word. Coz a guy who wants too much from life, risks losing everything. And a guy who wants too little from life, might not get anything at all..."

The things that I want, by Max Payne

I felt the rise of an old familiar feeling... It twirled around my head like fumes rising from a chemistry class test tube. The feeling was panic, fear of rejection, being lost... Again...

I heard sounds of something moving, like I had all these years. From passerby's who pitied, to backstabber's and opportunists, to people who knew only to mock, I had seen them all. But her footsteps were faint. It didn't want to wake me. It just wanted to let me know she was coming. She had ventured in through the abandoned labyrinth to reach where I was, ready to just lie there and die. She held the sign that said, "I'm here for you" It was like a dream, one you never wanted to wake up from. The warmth filled my heart and my eyes. Something somehow felt right in a damn long time...

I didnt know when I'd given in. The battles in me subsided as I rested my head against her shoulder, as her arms pulled me into a hug. I pinched myself as we walked together, for I didnt know if it was a dream. I had my own list of loss and things I'd wanted back, like great old Max Payne (cynical character in a game) did...

"The things that I want, by Max Payne... A smoke, A whiskey, for the sun to shine, unlimited ammo and license to kill..."

Simply battling among losses and hurting but keeping myself sane... Hoping against hope for a better life... For someone to come along and pull you out of the wreckage you're in... There I was, fighting to fall asleep and dream. But for once, some dreams do come true. And when they do,  all you have to do is open your eyes... :)

Mom, I'm leaving...

She held my hand tight when I finally made it home. There was this sudden energy and happiness in her eyes than I had remembered. She had a knife in her other hand, which she had forgotten to leave in the hurry to see me. Had it been someone else they would have been freaked. She seemeed to be talking a lot as she dragged my heavy bag into the house. I wasn’t listening. Or nothing was registering. I was back home to see mom and dad after a whole 2 years.

She hurried away to the kitchen to make me something. Whatever it was, it smelled good. I sank onto the couch and took a deep breath of pure homely air. The result was tranquilizing. A few minutes and mom brought food onto the table. For a few moments, I remembered sitting in an old god forsaken, fly clad hotel where I would order some chappathi and some kinda curry that had only water and chilli powder in it. The guy at the hotel would drop the plate right onto the table like he was giving fodder to the cattle. I felt someone tickling my ear and snapped out of my vision. “You started off dreaming in front of the plate? You’ll never change will you?”  Two mins I was home and my mom was gonna lecture me. “No ma. I wont change. I don’t want you to change either.”  I was somehow glad she didn’t pick the emotion in it. I couldn’t help smiling as I chewed the first class food.

All the years I was with her, I never found time to talk to her while having food. I was busy watching some dum movie I had seen a hundred times. Today, well, I had all the time in the world. I was never a mom’s kid kinda guy. I grew up being rough with her. At least till about teenage when I seemed to be developing some senses. As a child I suffered from acute bronchitis. I never could run around like the other kids of my age. And my temper tantrums had something to do with my health. I was always sick and alongside, angry. Angry when I couldn’t do anything other kids did. Angry that I had to take the same medicines for years, they tasted sick. Mom would have to sit with me in her arms all night coz I couldn’t lie down and sleep with the breathing  problem. After 8^th grade, I seemed to get better.

Me and mom used to fight a lot. Once when I was in 4^th grade, I sprayed glass cleaner solution into her eyes when she was coming to beat me. Given my health I was never beaten much at home. I guess it was something I needed :)  One of our fights one day ended with me throwing away her gold bangle  from the balcony of my house. She found out later on and was really upset. It was her dad’s gift to her before he died. I remember promising her a whole jewelery set on my first salary. It’s still pending though and she keeps teasing me with it. :)  Along the years, she became my friend. I didn’t know why but I always would end up telling my secrets to her no matter how much I resolved not to. Only thing I couldn't tell her was love matter. She always would tell me, you should love the girl you marry and that should be your first love. I still manage to tell her about girls I like and she goes like "Viji" with the typical "You're- never- gonna- listen- to- me" kinda look.Viji is my pathetic pet name by the way, my parents and bro find it cute.

 I always loved bugging her in the kitchen. I loved pinching her softly on the arm while she had her hands full and couldn’t do anything back. I Would go up behind her and freak her out. Once I freaked her so much that her reflexes used the frying pan she had in her hand on my head. In my 12^th grade I would go and cling to her from behind and bite her gently when she was making chappathi. (Pssst.... I still do that.. dont tell anyone :P ) I was always called a bug but I knew she loved the attention.

It was somehow my way of making up for the rogue I was as a kid... And yeah, am not saying this coz she’s my mom, she’s a strong woman. Never seen her cry much in my life. Maybe once or twice. Even when I was leaving for higher studies it never seemed to shake her. Though I knew she would be lonely. Dad would be away for work almost the whole day. I would just meet my parents once a year when I would come back home to Saudi Arabia (dad works here), maybe share just about a week or two and have to leave again. Over the years, she seemed to have developed the art of talking to herself while cooking, while shopping, almost everywhere she went...

                I felt a soft hand ruffling my hair as I slept off on the couch. I lazily got up and unpacked my bag showing her the massaging oil and stuff that I had bought for her. She's been suffering from arthritis since I  can remember... Applying the oil to her leg was the fun part, it was the best way of making her sit somewhere and talking. Or she would always be running about the house cleaning or doing the laundry or cooking. We had one of these sessions almost everyday when I was at school. Now it was once a year when I would get to come home...

                Days went by... A month has almost passed and I’m getting ready to leave again. Just a handful of days now. By the way, dad is equally close to me but I just wanted to write about mom this once for the hardships and pain I have put her through. I guess all the mom’s reading this would probably be thinking, “Trouble? That’s what kids are for!”  Kinda true when I think of it. Hehe :)  I haven't ever said ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’ to mom. I don’t remember having told her that I love her either, though she sure knows I do. I’m always this hard guy who never shows what he feels to her. Sometimes its for the good. She knows I can handle life.      

          

                I don't understand why I can’t tell her. Maybe I’m simply not built that way. Or maybe I will do so someday… But I guess when I leave home this time, I’ll make sure she reads what I’ve written about her…  :)

Forgotten Moments...

           The exam was dreadful as usual. As I scribbled in “Chronicles of Narnia” on an electronics exam, filling up as many pages as I could. The silence was irksome and the heat was scorching and with three students on each bench, it was really steamy. The only little noise that echoed in the hall was a rattling old fan at the back side of the classroom. I felt a small bump against my arm. I looked to the right, finding her head against my arm. But she quickly got back to writing. I concentrated on more of Narnia when I noticed her head drop almost onto the paper. I looked at her writing and it was all twisted and off the lines. I concluded, she was damn sleepy…!

I gave her a nudge in the arm to make her wake up. She looked frantically at me, trying to find out what the hell I wanted. She probably hadn’t realized that she had fallen asleep. I whispered asking her not to sleep, she nodded and got back to writing. I rewinded from then to a couple of days ago, a similar exam when I had seen her the first time, but she was in the bench ahead of me. My junior Vipin sat beside me then. He talked to me about an article I had written earlier and we connected into friendship. This was our first exam together and to my delight, he was as blank as I was, in terms of answers. We looked at each other and I encouraged him to copy from some girl sitting next to me, offering to give him some answers. But he seemed a neat fellow, didn’t want to write that way. We talked, laughed, talking about supplementary exams and stuff. I persisted on asking who the girl in the first bench was, she was his classmate but I decided to put it for later.

Now watching her nod off was fun. I’d never seen a girl sleep off in the exam hall. All too soon, the 2 hours for our internal examination ran out. It was leaving time. I left her a word saying “Do sleep well at night”. She smiled as I walked outside the exam hall. I hung about with Vipin, getting to knew her name. Let’s call her Sarah (for safety reasons). I had only a memory of her face and a name to keep in my heart. No, I wasn’t in love! I knew nothing about her. But there was something, something I didn’t want to tell anyone. Life had been a rush. Last year in college had its toll to take. But I remembered always trying to get a glimpse of Sarah every time I walked along the melancholy corridors. Somehow, chronicles of Narnia seemed to vaporize and I started writing proper answers, when she was around in the hall. She seemed a good luck charm.

I would see her rushing along the corridors sometimes, probably coz she had loads of programs to host or something. I went into an essay writing competition to just get to look at her. I would sometimes hang out by her class to see her. Sometimes watch her from the window of her classroom, standing at the Milma canteen  nearby.  :) Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t stalking her. There was something about her. Her soft spoken voice, her pretty  smile, the bold looking face, the neatly plaited hair, the pretty eyebrows and the never give up attitude that she portrayed; all added to her beauty. Looking past just her beautiful eyes, it reflected her struggle to become something in life, along the struggle and tension stricken path to excel. The calm composure and polished mannerisms that she carried with her was heavenly. Sometimes her eyes were tired, sometimes upset, tensed or weak of running herself rash in the race of life, she would walk around slightly looking down. I would watch from a distance, wishing I could tell her it was going to be alright... Her smile would brighten my day, would lighten my life. She was down to earth and respected good friendship. She would care for her close buddies and be there for them. No one ever told me, I simply knew. What I knew, her eyes told me…

Time pushed by, I saw less of her. Sometimes just batting of eye lids when we saw each other in corners of exam halls, or smiles exchanged across the corridors... Sometimes she was nowhere to be seen... I didn’t want to bother her or anyone related to her, with a conversation. I believed that somethings remained beautiful when left unsaid. But it was a face I couldn’t probably forget. I never had a reason to express my feelings, for I could never justify them. The gates were closing behind me and the rest of my batch as we were leaving college. Some were relieved, some of us were sad… Our shirts bore the signatures and best wishes of friends and well wishers. I looked around for her as I got on my bike and drove away from the campus. We all had our ways to go, there was no probable meeting again. A bus pulled in right in front of me which I almost collided into. I realized I wasn’t concentrating. I wanted to see her one last time. I looked around the bus stop and into the bus... At the ladies seat, I caught a glimpse of her talking to her friend. She was beautiful... A smile dawned on my face.

Past exam halls and classroom windows, past assignment submissions, canteen and library visits and rushing along crowded corridors where I no longer belonged, she had become so special to me. Invariably, a part of me…

Smiling to myself again, I rode off, memories shifting in a blur in my mind, revving my bike to my journey home...

                                                                                                               (Images Courtesy: Raiden aka Vineeth A.C)

The Noise...

There is a sound of a violent chainsaw blaring into the room. It seemed a bit distant but now it grew louder. I closed my eyes tight trying to brace some impending danger. Something soft touched my hand. The sound was still loud but the touch was so soft and warm, I had to open my eyes and look at who it was. She smiled at me, still holding on to my hand. She was my cousin’s one year old daughter. Now wide awake, I realized the source of the noise was the kitchen blender. Alongside, the pressure cooker seemed to be huffing and puffing like the old steam engine and my cousin's wife seemed to be watching the worst music program on earth and to make matters worse, she was singing along. (Now that could wake the entire neighbourhood!) Giving the little one a small pat on the head, I looked at the time. It was just about 6 in the morning. The blender and the accompanied noise seemed to silence behind me as I walked in to the bedroom to use my cousin’s parent’s bed. Luckily they wake early.

The world goes out of joint. Everything vanishes as I curl up in the soft bed that was so much more comfortable compared to the sofa set in the front room. There is a sound of the door handle being twisted. And even though I’m fast asleep, my eyes brows crease and far more than ever, I have been made fun of the next fact that I am to do; putting the pillow over my head instead of under my head. Though it addled everyone as to why I did that, I have never tried counseling them the fact that no one likes the tube lights switched on when hanging on to some dear sleep! Grrr!!!

I’m still asleep but there is a lot of brain activity and speculation about what is gonna happen next. Why has the subject arrived in the room? Since eyes are an immediate sense of the five, its sealed and will only open when I want it to. What you say is not gonna open it! Got it? There is a sound of water dripping. Hmmm… No one uses  this bathroom coz there are 3 other bigger bathrooms in the house. Ha! Got ya. The subject is trying to operate the washing/dreadful machine. Though the machine is not very noisy and a good make, it’s got a retarded buzzer indicating the maximum of 15mins on the tunable dial is over. So for the next 15 mins, sleep is definite. The person leaves but forgets the tube light. Pulling on the bed sheet over my head, I block out as much light as possible. Oh God, they are gonna tell me I sleep in weird positions… Before I can even consider the awkwardness of my sleeping position, I flow into a higher level of sleep. The unregistered one!

Boohooo!!! There is the machine crying out saying its done what it had to for an entire minute. If I cried out of my sleep, it would have sounded louder than the buzzer. The retarded machine stops. Hours slip away. I am not woken for breakfast since they know I need to sleep. But the washing machine is a pre-requisite even if they had the entire yesterday evening to do it. 10:30am… Jesus! What will they think of me? Oh no! I jump out of bed and walk out to the hall finding the baby girl sleeping with uncle on the couch (not exactly a couch by the way! More like a hinge bed with the hinges right at the centre and pokes ur ass when you try to sleep at night and if you move too much to a corner it won’t hold your weight and will topple you on to the floor).

A smile dawns on my unwashed face, trying to hide the embarrassment of sleeping till late. Luckily uncle is napping. I walk back into the room and in another 3 minutes, I have washed my face and cleaned my teeth (The duration seems very less to them. Yes, I do not disagree. All the while, growing up in my locality back home, I have seen people walking around the streets with the brush in their mouth or sitting by the gate with the newspaper and even talking with the brush in their mouths to people who are on the way to their work. I’m sorry, but it takes just a few minutes to clean up my teeth and I do brush well! OK?).

Lord! I exclaim as I see uncle waking up from his nap. He looks at me with disgust. Aunty is sweet, she brings tea and breakfast for me. I hog as fast as I can so that I don’t feel embarrassed for eating breakfast at 11. :) (its still morning though!  Buhahahaha!!!)  A few more minutes and I’m done. The little one wakes up after her nap as well as uncle switches on the TV. She is gorgeous. Aunt takes her away to feed her. I set myself down at the computer in the hall. Time to do some “studying”. (Yes! Its studying!)  I take a few minutes brushing up with what I studied till 2 am yesterday. And uncle seems to ask something, “Don’t you have anything to study? Why do you spend a lot of time in front of the computer?” 

                “LORD!” There goes my second exclamation. How do I explain to him that I am learning HTML and CSS at the moment and learning theory from a book ain’t gonna cut it. I need to use the pc and practically work things out? My dad used to think the same, “Computer is a play thing. Anything more and it’s a type writing machine! And with no printer, its no use typing on it” Disclaimer: (I am not insulting the older/elder generation. You are the best and our guides for life. Only that something’s are new. Pls understand) I sit silent and have a smile pasted on my mouth coz I had nothing to say. Uncle clearly takes it as me being a disobedient spoilt brat. The TV blares into my ears as I’m trying to make some sense out of the document scribbled in front of me. “Uncle! Please reduce volume na?” I add the “na” in the end so that it won’t sound rude. He follows suit but unfortunately each channel has its own volume on this TV and uncle is an awesome channel surfer! That anyhow disables me from even taking a peak at the TV coz I am not a fan of channels being changed so fast. Anyways, I ain’t a TV freak!

Time runs and the volume is unbearable. I fancy superman who had laser light thing (whatever they call it) in his eyes. He could sit here and blast the TV and no one will understand what happened! I walk back into the bed room and look around in my bag for earphones. I stuff it into my ears and the buzz of the TV disappears. Somehow the music is not very disturbing though I enjoy silence while reading. “When the going gets tough, the tough gets going!” LOL! I push a few pages and do some studies and its about 12:30pm. The little girl comes around my table looking at me. She seems to find the screen amusing and laughs when I show her pictures which I had clicked earlier. She loves the funny cables that are running behind the computer and wants to give them a nice bite! Or the cell phone charger that’s got my phone plugged in. One pull and my sony xperia will be sony expired!  I love her so much though. She is such a sweet kid. A few more times she comes closer and I want to carry her. I cant stop myself. I grab her and walk around the hall, take her to the kitchen where she loves pulling things down. Aunty is busy making lunch. A few more minutes and I glare at the watch thinking it should stop working! It’s 1pm! Now that’s time for my classes. (Yes! Probably the institute knew that I am a dreadful sleeper, they kept classes for me from 1pm to 6pm- Java programming! ~which is the reason I am staying at my cousin’s house!)

I rush to class after a hastily eaten lunch and aunty always says I have lost weight after coming here. She’s a sweetheart. Always the perfect homemaker and though she isn’t the very educated type, she is one dedicated and loving person. A lot of love flows along her, just like my mom.  I manage to tell her that I would probably sleep off in class if I eat too much, which is true. Rushing and sometimes taking an auto even though I know that’s a purse ripper. I reach the class and say hi to my friends. The guys Jeeju, Vishnu, Bimal, Jeffin etc are already settled for some fun! The only girl, Asha, out of the total 16 students smiles and greets. There is a good feeling seeing her face. She always seems fresh and happy and she’s always before time, at least before the time I arrive! Lol! Time goes on… We all push through the time. We do some quarelling with our sweet teacher and she comes over and explains again. We push in some other topic once a while and we’re all talking about something else sometimes!  :)

I am drained by the time I walk out of the class. With the music on, I walk home twisting and turning in my way to the house. I sometimes do an occasional dance step to the music, though I really don’t know any step. I just feel free. I watch as people walk on, rushing past me in cars and bikes and on foot! Thousands rushing home... My pages have been like any of those people who walk past me. A spurt of the age, and enough laziness to go along; the lack of acceptance to common belief’s and traditions; a heart dying to prove myself; a mind that seems to convince myself that I have seen pretty much of life but of course you always learn new things no matter how much you have seen (mind you, am way past teenage!); memories of tragic love; a heart that tries to return as much as love as I get from my parents; a heart that never tends to tire, never ceases to believe in myself and people around me. Sporting a personality that I would not blame, not coz its mine, but I believe I am not bad.  I have seen enough  to fret or cry over small things.  I do sleep and wake late. I do not have a specific timetable. I do not have lines drawn for paths to follow. I have wasted money.  I have been naughty at times. I do stare at girls. I have a million crushes. I have loved unconditionally and cried uncontrollably when I have lost. I have walked a million miles alone. I have known what it takes to step over the line. I have done all those things I’d wanted to do. I don’t know, like the so many around me, I simply just am… myself…

The night set in as I walked home. Uncle opened the door for me. I was more than sure he didn’t seem to like me much. He had his points, I had mine. He was spending days and months locked at home since they had to take care of the baby while her parents were away. The only freedom he had was to watch some TV. And to a person with not much experience on a computer would probably consider it equivalent to a TV. That would explain why he didn’t believe I was studying. I smiled at him as if I had some heavenly realization in my head. “I had an awesome day today…” I said to him as I walked towards the baby girl. Studying was left to midnight when everything in the house would go silent. I lay down by the sleeping little girl and held her close. Her breathing seemed sweet and peaceful. The rest of the night went as routine and we all joked and laughed as we always did. My days here were coming to a close soon. They are a great lot, I should say and I will miss them while I am gone… For what they have been to me...  

The next morning, my sleep deprived eyes were partially closed and taking as little light into my eyes as possible, I sat at the table for breakfast at 8:30am... A smile dawned on my face as I heard the washing machine blare its buzzer from the bedroom. My cousin asked me why I was smiling.

“Nothing… Being awake at this time feels special…!”

 Uncle looked at me and smiled…  

I'm Busy...

            DISCLAIMER: This article does not refer to those who are really busy working their asses off! :P  Yet, read on…

            The heroin is tied up at the chair. The villain stands next to her with a gun to her head and waits for the hero to arrive. A heroic rhythm follows the hero’s footsteps as he arrives and there’s a sudden sound “Pling”. And his next step and there’s another “Pling”… “What the??  Oh damn, facebook chat, again!” You pause the movie and glare into facebook. “Oh this guy eh?” You hate facebook chat for two things, it doesn’t have a ‘busy’ status (as far as I know) and it’s totally retarded sometimes. The blessed “X” at the right top corner is clicked and there facebook plummets away… You hastily go over to gtalk and put the status to “busy” avoiding further irritation…

It’s fashionable to open up facebook and gtalk the moment you jack into a pc connected to the net, though you are in just to edit a word file or watch some movie. And, it’s equally fashionable to put up the status sign “BUSY”  Reminds me of people wasting a ‘bit’ of the expensive food they buy when they go to big restaurants. It’s simply ‘fashionable’ not to finish the entire thing.

***

Ok ok… coming back… There is someone who argues “I don’t want to be pinged while I’m doing something” Yes, I could agree with him. But why not simply log off instead? The guy gets pissed, “It’s my wish!” 

***

A good old classmate goes “I’m busy” on his status and I believed I had enough freedom to ask what he was busy with, since I was pretty sure he was jobless at home. He doesn’t seem to reply. I bug him and bug him and he goes, “Hey @#$%^, can’t you see I’m busy?”  I swallowed the jibe and asked him what he was busy with, “Farmville” (For those who don’t know, it’s an online game on facebook).

***

“I waited all this while thought you would ping. What are you doing?” And there she goes, “Ooooooooohhhhhhh... I didn’t see you… Sorry” And for those who use your own pc, you have the excuse that gtalk loaded itself with its saved password. If you plan to lie to someone that you were busy and didn’t notice that gtalk (oh that lil devil!!!) went online, you should consider that he/she might have noticed your change from ‘Available’ to ‘Busy’… Well anyways it doesn’t matter coz you really don’t care.

***

“Hey” from a girl who has never seemed to be able to shift off the busy status and has never bothered to reply.  I take my time giving a ‘hi’ trying to give an impression that I was least interested. “Ummm.. Could you do me a favour?”  Yup, I knew that was coming and I ask what she wants. “There is this guy stalking me online, Can you talk to him and ask him what his problem is?” I agree almost as soon as she says it but I ask her for a little favour “Can you remove that busy status and make it available so that I can see it just this once?” She gives a “hahaha” and then changes it to available. (My mind goes “yippee”) 

(Hmmm… That’s very friendly. See how opportunist people can be?) Then I go,  “You know, I kinda have better things to do… Oh btw, I added you to increase the number of friends on facebook… Not coz I wanna talk to you! Sheesh! Guess you’ll look better in my blocked list. Next time bother to get friendly before asking a favour! BYE B****!!!!” :P :P   

 Somewhere in the back my mind there is an evil laugh and a dialog that goes, “Stand up so I can kill you again!”

***

            The net has always inspired us to be fake, hooded behind a screen. It definitely cannot be ruled out that there are really busy people busy with other conversations or some of us like some privacy online. But how many of us just put the status “busy” to show off we have things to do when you’re just almost snoring away in front of the screen waiting for something extra ordinary to happen? How many times have we simply got irritated and went offline instead of just telling the guy, “Dude, I really don’t want to talk to you now or anymore” We find an excuse for not being direct, saying we’re busy, we don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings etc etc... If there are strangers bugging you, you probably let them into your friend’s list in the first place! 

            It is customary for us not really bothering about people we do not know or who are far away from us. As the old saying goes, “Out of sight, out of mind…” Things can be solved by a block button or the simple status that goes “Busy” Nobody ever did question your freedom to do what you feel like, simply, you question yourself, for being fake… A prompt answer would be, “Simply, coz that’s the way everyone is…”

 It’s funny the way things are. We have status messages and buttons like ‘like’, ‘poke’ etc to speak for us… We hide behind them, as we devoid ourselves of expression… The problem of stereotyped stuff is that they express only a part of what you feel and rest is left for the other person to guess and sometimes even misunderstand… Say, someone you don’t know ‘poked’ you on facebook. You probably poke them back out of no interest but just to get rid of the thing. Bingo! They get a different meaning there.. 

 Time would probably come when we’d be busy or rather sometimes lazy enough to employ buttons that store whole big sentences, simply coz its fashionable…

            Again, reminding you of the escape clause I left for you in the beginning of this article. You may be included in the list of the really busy people or you may continue to convince yourself and everyone you’re busy. It’s all yours…!!!

 :)  Keep reading guys!!! 

This is Vijay Velayudhan Signing off!!!