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Anatomy of a Forbidden Giggle

When its all hush hush,
Trying to explode out of you that rebel
that deviant little giggle,
Like wild hair which hasn’t met a brush,
You try to tame it but,
Plans of its own it has
You are going to get into trouble lads and lass,
You  feel through your stomach it will pierce out a shortcut.
Before you know it, its gushing out of you,
That horrible feeling of embarassment,
with a relief so pleasant.
The stares in lieu.
The anatomy of a forbidden giggle,
quite magical.

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Painkillers for the Heart

Pain. Doesn’t it hurt. It actually is just pressure. I don’t think neurons go running to the brain screaming youch.
Pain is just a sensation that our bodies can’t take it anymore. What is this mental pain? Too much pressure on the mind? How do you deal with this sort of pain? I don’t know. Unlike physical pain you can’t even diagnose it to accuracy. Imagine a doctor coming in and telling you, you are suffering from the broken heart syndrome or lonelyvitis. You can’t even attribute a cause to it. You can just forget about having a remedy. Psychologists say having somebody to listen helps. But I am sorry 50$ an hour is not listening to me. Unfortunately listening is not a skill for a common milieu. Atleast not the milieu I have been amongst.
Tears have a job similar to blood.  Cleansing. But unlike bleeding, crying does not form a protective scab over the wound. In fact it might open the gates for new vulnerabilities. Sometimes it let’s us be pushed around by someone we care, sometimes it makes us watch as the person we love falls out of love with us, just because we feel too weak to finish the war within to be able to control our environment.
People attribute emotional pain to people. Personally I feel it’s not the person, it’s the situation. It’s not that your best friend is insensitive, it’s your vulnerable condition inflamed by the insensitivity of that moment. Insensitivity in isolation is quite harmless. I don’t know whether letting go is a remedy or whether keeping on trying is. But I wish there were painkillers for the heart for the process in between just as much as I wish people never changed.

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Metaphorically Me

Very few people actually try figuring themselves out. Most accidentally run into themselves. Those who dare to find themselves. There are very few of them. I am not  part of either I would say.But I do have some glimpses to myself. Like a trailer to a hopefully not boring movie.So here it goes. Me

Smile

Toothy and dimpled. Miles is not the kind to get lost in a crowd. He is the kind, you notice in a crowd.  He makes it look that its easy. Miles recalls the times when it was easy. He took it for granted. But then he came across a dark period where he was unable to stretch even a little. He learnt some things that time. He is better now. Even when it is really bleak, he knows he has to give it all. And he does. No he is never fake. Even when it is difficult, he just enjoys it. Not because its a great day, great week or even a great year. It is because it doesn’t have to be great to smile. But the smile can make it great. Miles can.

A Broken Flower

Busy , busy, everybody looks so busy. But well Lily has to be bright and vibrant regardless of whether anybody notices or not. That is just who she is. But oh boy that man on the cellphone, he looks occupied and he is headed straight towards her.

There was no noise when he banged into her. He probably thinks its just a bump. But she is broken. There is barely any of her left. He turns back, gives an unconcerned apology and rushes off. Her cries of pain are muffled by her small frame. If a flower cries, but nobody sees, did it even cry? Lily knows all too well. She wishes the fellow some luck with whatever it was that made him so. She says to herself.

”I barely have a petal or two left, time will heal me. But I am going to be me and well maybe nobody will notice my wounds.”

Till this day. Nobody has. Lily will never be known as a victim. She will always charm you out of that disposition.

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An Unread Book

Charlie has been on the bookshelf since he was bought. When he was leaving his other friends at the bookstore, they all wished him luck. They said, have a full life! Stretch yourself out! Lose a page or two! May you be all dog eared and torn!

But Charlie is still in the cellophane cover he was wrapped in. Every time somebody comes towards the bookshelf, he was praying to be picked. One day he was picked. But only to be kept back.  He lost most of his self esteem there. ”Am I not worth it?” He thought. However now he prays that someone would read him and not just pick him up. Its not like he is one of those fat dusty books, then why does nobody want to read him? He fears that there is algae formation on his back. But atleast that way he will break from his cellophane cage.

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Movie Stub

Eric loves the movies. He knows everything about them. Today he is exceptionally happy because he is finally going to enter the movie hall. Today he gets to be a movie ticket. He had been safely kept in a drawer just for today. He is transferred into a wallet. As he gets closer to the cinema, his heart beats faster. He is being taken out. His heart might just leave his chest.

Eric spends two amazing hours in sheer awe. But good things come to an end.

”Wait a minute?! You cant just dump me like that.” Eric is anxious. Then another movie ticket tells him, “Kid the show is over. Now you are just a stub. You didn’t expect it would go on forever did you now? ” Eric does not respond. He doesn’t want to admit its over yet.

The Earrings

Delilah and Layla, they are the quite some girls, these two. Little old school but not left behind in any sense. When they are on an ear each, they make people turn and look. Some days they just lie around listless. They say its worth the wait. When they do finally get to head out they take in all that they can. They are peppy and sassy these two. Don’t let their old world look fool you. These sisters will have you all wrapped up before you even know it.

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Shoes

Jen and George. Don’t let them start talking. you will never hear the end of it.They can never stay still. Always in search of a new adventure. Thus they always have way too many stories to tell. It is quite a chore to put these two to rest.

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I am but only a metaphor.

I will not be something someone has already become,

nor will anyone ever be what I am.

I am more than what I can say

and less than what I will be some day.

I am what you see,

I am what you didn’t see.

I am but only a metaphor.

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Home of the Nomads

There is no place like home. A phrase used quite often. The United Nations Human Rights Commission stated that around 100 million people in the world have been classified as homeless. This homelessness is based on the parameter of having a roof over one’s head. For all those children and adults suffering from abuse and domestic violence home is not where they live either.

There is no place like home indeed. But what is home is left to one’e own personal definition. It cannot be restricted to walls and roofs or any other tangible structure. Then what is home?

For me its a manifestation of utmost comfort. Some don’t realise they were home until they leave it. Others don’t realise they were never home until they leave it. Home is a state of mind then. The shade of a lonesome tree becomes home and the safety of a fortress ceases to be one. What is worse is when the home you had once loses its homeliness.

In that context I think I would rather be a nomad or a gypsy who live as they go. The road is their home . It doesn’t matter if things don’t turn out that good, they can always find another home. Are they escapists? No. They are just adaptive. They might not let their roots grow deep, neither do they let setbacks stop them.

Maybe we should all be nomadic. Harness the camels of our imagination and set out and find that elusive peace of mind. If nothing else we will always have the road.

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Rain me not

Its raining. Toopie and I are looking gloomily at the day outside. It’s all dark and we don’t like dark. We are lovers of the sun and this gloomy wetness does not fare well with us. A naughty burning sun sending heat waves to irritate us or a warm hug from a romantic ray is our idea of a day.

Why does it have to rain? Other than the obvious, precipitation. As a kid, I used to think that rain meant that God is crying because of all the sadness he sees. Thus rain made me very awkward. Soon enough I learnt about the sun and the clouds. However the rain always fell in the awk.

Sigh

Well here we are staring out of the window, hoping the rain would wash away the old. That the sun would beacon a new day. Not that what we have now is bad. But we have grown out of it. Familiarity is unfamiliar to us. We can’t make a home at these shores. But the rain has made us park here more than we intended to. We feel like sunflowers today.

So God, we hope you get better of your sadness.

Babes will die,

Helpless we’ll lie,

The rain washes away no sin,

Just the stupor we have been in.

Cannot stop,

The road is all we got,

Have to go, have to go, have to go,

With our grief on tow.

Have to go, have to go, have to go,

The sun, we follow.

Have to go, have to go, have to go

Away from these wet blows.

Have to go, have to go, have to go

Now.

“I went to bed and woke in the middle of the night thinking I heard someone cry, thinking I myself was weeping, and I felt my face and it was dry.

Then I looked at the window and thought: Why, yes, it’s just the rain, the rain, always the rain, and turned over, sadder still, and fumbled about for my dripping sleep and tried to slip it back on.”
― Ray BradburyGreen Shadows, White Whale: A Novel of Ray Bradbury’s Adventures Making Moby Dick with John Huston in Ireland

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Preface

Pets. Most of us have them. It might be a regular cat or a dog or it might be chattel of a dangerous kind like a reptile. Given the regular functions of a pet, even some humans are known to carry out the same. Some of these humans are called spouses. This does not imply that all spouses are pets neither are pets, spouses.  But it is a practice all the same.  A friend once told me she would gladly swap places with the pet of the house. Oddly love thy animal said no religious text ever.  Take care, yes. But love. Nope. Then what is this strange bond that binds interspecies?

My first pet, a dog named Remo, was gifted to me on my 3rd birthday. I don’t have any memory of him. Pictures suggest that we were close. My mother states to the contrary. Apparently Remo was often spotted hiding under the dining table to evade my tyranny. Remo didn’t stay my pet long. He gladly shifted to another home soon enough. He changed two households after that. I wonder whether he missed my benevolent monarchy then. My feelings at that point are unrecorded.

My second pet was a kitten we named Bilquis – An utterly boring feline in comparison to those owned by my friends. Maybe the fact that she was a few days old was the reason. Her mother left her in our balcony and we took her in from there. I was just beginning to get a sense of pet-ownership when her mother claimed her.  My brother scares me by saying that the cat who took her was probably going to eat her. Not a consoling thought. I had nightmares for some time.

Staney was my aunt’s dog. He stayed with us for a month. But in that one month I probably made the strongest connection with any animal I had come across including my brother. From the annoying bully at school to my best friends and our fights, I told him everything. He was the most patient listener I have ever come across with woofs in appropriate places. I wish I could keep him forever. He had to go back home eventually. But I am never going to forget him and I know neither will he.

So I had never had a pet successfully for over a month. I doubt any human would want to take up the opportunity either. So Toopie was born in a Bistro in Koramangala, Bangalore. I would name the bistro to those who ask me personally. He is purple, yellow, green and orange. He is the easiest pet. Only scary thought is if he breaks. He is made of clay you see. But I carry him with me wherever I go. He seems like a new chapter in my life.  He loves to travel, eat, listen to music and he thinks he needs to lose weight. I was recently asked whether he is a personification of me. All coloured on the outside and hollow inside. Maybe. But then aren’t we all glazed colourful turtles. Painted in colours of the visualiser and born with hollows which we fill with our experiences. Toopie isn’t hollow either. He has adventures and he might just share.