Desolate Bloom

Over and below, the butterfly did flutter by
Down the bright flower bent as if shy,
Hesitant to face the lovely eyes of the winged one.
"Pray! Look at me, O red one!"
Your petals call to me, your nectar sweet in scent
Open up to me; let me revel in your essence,
For nowhere else do I feel such unearthly pull
To taste, to relish and bask in your warm embrace."
"Tarry, O lovely one! Be wary; for 'tis a spell,
There's nought but grey behind this crimson;
And abyss beneath the nectary. Away, my love!
Hark not on this quest. Your loveliness
Lies beyond these petals."
Stubborn and spunky, the lovely wings
Swooped deep into the bosom of the crimson bloom.
Mist slowly formed on his face,
As she drank deep from him;
He trembled as she was wrecked with tremors
Feeling the gentle tug of life
As it ebbed away, limp and cold
She fell to the earth, poetic even in death.
"O woe betide! Paid you not heed
To my fervent prayers! She dies!
The incomplete picture, the unfinished song,
The unspoken word, the bated breath,
All stalled forever! Did I not warn you,
Behind the smile lies the evil glee;
There is mercury in this honey!
Now will I ever sojourn on this stalk
Waiting for the unshed tears!"

Eight Hours

I remember sitting there in the hospital, staring at you hooked up to all those machines, and realizing that I did really love you. It had taken me so long to admit that to myself. Because of all the negative pressure from my family, I had tried to convince myself that you were someone that would just bring me down in life. But the more and more I spent time with you, the more I realized I had been lying to myself. I realized I was in love. When I finally accepted that, my heart broke. Staring at you, I realized I was setting myself up to be hurt. You were going to die.

Your lungs were weak and your heart was failing; your body slowly shutting down. I watched you hang on to life support. I remember the doctors and nurses getting the forms together for me to sign. I was your only family so I had to
be the one to do it. It hurt me so much. I asked them, begged them for another way, but there wasn't. As I put the pen down I thought back to when you had first come into my life. You were really the first man to love me. At first I didn't see it. At first I just ignored you and tried to pretend that you didn't exist, like maybe if I did you would just go away.

But you persisted. When I was at the store or watching TV alone, I shift my gaze and suddenly see you there... and I always smiled. Even when my parents talked about how much you were going to destroy my life, I'd still smile. I knew it wasn't true. You would have only made my life better. Maybe that's what gave me the courage to put my foot down and tell my parents that I wasn't going to let you go. In the short time I did know you, you completely changed me. I could only imagine who I would have become had we been able to live the life we deserved.

My grandma always said, "God gives us just enough -- never too much and never too little." She was right.
That short time I knew you was just long enough for me to know that someone loved me. I think that was the thing
that changed me most of all - knowing that someone had unconditional love for me. And that was what made me finally able to let go and love myself.

Sometimes at night I think about the night you died. I cry every time I remember the look of finality on the nurse's face,
when I knew the end was near. She came in and pulled away the tubes. Then the doctor came, and they turned off your life support. I closed my eyes as I heard the rhythmic sound of your heart monitor shift to a single sharp note. I still hear that in my head sometimes when I close my eyes. I don't think it'll ever go away. But what I'll remember even more is what happened just before all of that. They stepped out of the room to let me say goodbye. I ran my fingers through your thin hair and choked out words that I had thought I would get to sing to you every night for years. But this once would just have to be enough:

"Hush, my little one.... Mama's gonna sing you a beautiful song tonight..Mama's gonna sing about birds and butterflies and flowers..and the moon..and the stars... Hush, little baby..Don't say a word.. Mama's gonna buy you a songbird... If that songbird doesn't sing...Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring... If that diamond ring turns brass...Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass... If that looking glass gets broke... Mama's gonna buy you a billy-goat... If that billy-goat won't pull...Mama's gonna buy you a cart and bull... If that cart and bull falls down... Mama's gonna buy you a dog golden brown... If that dog won't bark... Mama's gonna buy you a horse and cart... If that horse and cart falls down... You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town."

At first I used to say I fell in love with you in the eight hours you were here on earth. But now I know that's not true. I fell in love with you over seven and a half long months. Seven and a half long months of watching my belly grow and feeling you kick.

But in those eight hours after you were born prematurely, I grew to love myself. I saw the look in your eyes those few times they opened. I could see your fear and pain, like you knew what was about to happen. But, then you would look up at me and all of that would go away. You knew I was there, and that was all you needed. And today when fear and pain creep into my life, I just look up at you, and that's all I need to. I know I have you. You live in me and I live in you.

I feel a sense of desolate emptiness. Dark night of the Soul? Darkness within the Soul? Or lack of a Soul?

Acceptance

Inspired by Joey from "Friends" and "The Seventh Seal" by Ingmar Bergman)




O, GREAT MASTERS WHO RULED THE STAGE!

MAY I CONVEY MY HEARTFELT SALUTATIONS TO YOU ALL!!

WHAT WOULD I BE IF YOU WERE NOT THERE FOR ME?



Tommy Houston fidgeted and groaned slightly in his sleep. He tried to pull up the blanket above his aching head but it was too short and left his feet exposed. Shivering, he tried to cuddle up like a baby but it was too uncomfortable on the threadbare mattress. Unshaven and ill, his pale waxy face reflected the existence of one unfortunate soul.

Finally he turned to lie face up. Wiping the feverish sweat collecting on his forehead, he opened his eyes, with heavy eyelids. He blinked and focused on the clock on the wall. Sunlight was faintly entering the sparsely furnished bedroom through a closed window. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes again. In the distance, a phone rang a few times until someone picked it up. Disturbed, Joey opened his eyes and stared at the mould growing upon the ceiling. He made an effort to get up but fell back groaning in pain and coughed slightly.


*****************************************************


“He really struggled financially,” Stanley Duscemi, the acting instructor told the investigating officer. “He could not afford to hire the graduation gown nor the photos. The first time I saw him I could not help feeling sorry for him… he was one of those people who existed in a world where luck was a mirage…It was heart- breaking to see him struggle with his lines. He could never remember them however hard he tried.”

“He was not at all the type who looked like he had a future,” said Mariah Clancy, a classmate. “That was my impression when I first met him… But he was determined and put his soul and heart in his work. I heard he worked at night but was always in class on time. While the rest of us missed a few classes, he made it a rule to attend each and every session.” After a pause, she said, “He always looked pale and tired, as if he needed a blood transfusion. I was very surprised he managed to remain for three years to complete the degree.”


*****************************************************


After waiting almost an hour for the headache to subside, Tommy finally pulled himself up and walked to the bathroom. “Hi there” he said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He noticed how his hairline was receding and his face looked almost skeletal. Shaking his head, he went around with his ablutions.

The next fit of coughing lasted for ten minutes. He went paler and had to sit by the kitchen counter to get his breath back. “Got to get some more pills” he thought looking at the empty pill bottle. But his wallet was empty. He was surviving on tea for the last three days. If only he could get another audition. His agent had not contacted him for the last two weeks. Food…his medication ....his father’s medication… His eyes hurt as he looked bleakly at his neat and tidy kitchen.



*******************************************************


Larry Peabody stared into his coffee as he spoke. “He did not fit in at all. His poverty was pathetically evident. I sometimes saw him gaze hungrily at the hotdog stand across the street. But the guy was good-natured. He was regularly the butt of mockery among the studs in class.”

Rod Clark Jr. said, “Good attendance was not everything. His performance was simply mediocre… but perseverance was something deeply rooted in his heart. He used to hang on to every word of the instructor. I look back at those days and…yeah… now I give him his due.”


*********************************************************

Tommy was not sure since when he wanted to be an actor. But he knew that it was his biggest ambition. Rubbing his forehead, he fantasized how he would enthrall audiences with his passion and brilliant emoting.  But he was also getting painfully aware of his inability to make it real. He had spent many nights stealthily enacting lines during his night job of cleaning transport buses. But all the passion froze and he became dead meat during auditions. He just could not prove he belonged to the stage or screen.


He had spent three years in acting school. It was difficult….and hard. Keeping up with those thespians was cruelly demanding. He continuously forgot his lines. Verbal taunts and insults were common. But the pull of the stage was too strong to turn him away. He did not want to disappoint his father who believed in his son’s dreams.  The old man was struggling with arthritis but did not think twice about using his pension fund for Tommy’s classes.  Tommy had told him of a bright future and a life of happiness.


***********************************************************

 “He graduated all right,” continued Stanley Duscemi. “He was happy… he was a formally trained actor… at long last. But then… there was the problem of employability. Sadly, his prospect was quite bleak on this front….”

The talent agent spoke, “The kid couldn’t afford my services after a while. He had come here once begging, ‘Please Ben, you have to help me. I am an actor; I have done three long years of training. I cannot afford to… I need to work, that’s all I need… work… work! I am already trained. My father relies on me. He is old… I have not worked for four years now, I am an actor. That’s what I can do! Please, please… give me a chance…I need a break really badly!’ So I even worked for him free for a while. But then I started getting calls from producers and casting directors asking whether I was onto some practical joke by sending him to them. Hey, I have a reputation to protect in this business. So I stopped calling him. But he had heart, I must agree.”

 ***********************************************************

Tommy tried to stifle the coughs as he wrote:

“Dear Dad,

                  I am doing very well here. Sorry couldn’t write to you for a long time
 as I had been very busy. Things are looking great Dad. I have recently signed a
 contract with a ilm studio in the city. They were quite impressed with my audition…”
 

He remembered the words of the producers and directors during his auditions,

 “…This won’t do… not at all! You call yourself a trained actor?... And can’t even act out a simple speech from “Titanic”? You’ve wasted three years of your life…”
“Don’t ever waste my time again… I did a favour to someone auditioning you. Had I known…”

“I would like to offer you the part Tommy…you are employable. I…. I have to… I need to talk to my Associates… I would advice you to do some further training…But we’ll get back to you..”


He had then begged for a role - even as an extra…or a light technician…or a clapper-boy…anything.


He continued:

“The producer was enthusiastic about me and has advised me to change
 my name to THOMAS HASTINGS.  That’s my artist name now, Dad

and I have been paid  in advance for my role.  I posted a cheque for you yesterday.

It’s going to take care of your expenses at least for a month…..”


Tommy looked at the bank statement lying on the table. It read: “Closing balance: £1.24p”.

“…….I hope you’re keeping well. I am sorry I have not sent the overcoat yet…
  can you give me your measurement again? And also which colour would you
 prefer? I will be moving house soon, but please keep sending mails to this

address. My landlady is only too happy to handle the mails of a famous actor.

I have recruited a real estate agent to find me a bigger apartment. And you are

moving in with me in a matter of weeks…”


His eyes welled up.

“ …..Dad, your prayers are about to be answered. Dreams do come true…

I will be very busy but we will always have breakfast and dinner together.

You will be by my side at all time.  A promise is a promise, Dad. I am the
 happiest man and so should you be…”


It took him some time to take notice of the changes in the weather outside. It was getting bleaker and colder. The skies turned darker and he heard a bang outside his door. Surreal noises followed it and when he looked up, he saw a bright light outside his door. As he looked on, it grew brighter, blindingly brighter that he had to blink and cover his eyes, dropping the pen from his hand.


When he opened his eyes, he saw a silhouette in the door frame.


As he tried to focus harder, the silhouette slowly materialized into a man, tall stature, expensive black suit, with a white shinny shirt and an impressive tie –all of exquisite material.


Dusk complexioned, he had a distinguished look. He smiled a broad smile.

Tommy, though uneasy, smiled back - a genuine, rather naïve smile…Then he stuttered unintelligibly, “… How’s… How did you… Who are you?”


The man stood there looking at Tommy… smiling good-naturedly … then he opened his arms and spoke:


“Your miseries are over Mr. Hastings!”


Despite his breathlessness, Tommy smiled – a happy, bright smile, for once. “How did… you know I was to be called Hastings??”


Still smiling, the man answered, “How do I know? You wrote it down there… didn’t you?”


As the man’s words sank in, the smile faded away from Tommy’s face. The man reassured him…


“I know everything… come now… I am here to take you…”


Tommy looked confused, lost… his breath grew shorter as he started to worry. Sweat beads appeared on his forehead. He wanted to stand his ground, he was willing to fight back; but this man was not here to attack him; he was the friendliest man Tommy had ever seen. With newly-found courage he spoke, “Where? Where to?”


Laughing out loud, the man said, “Where to?? Hollywood! That’s where you belong my good friend… Everything else is history!”

There was a pause. Tommy stared at the man as he spoke again, “I am too ill, sir… I can’t.”

“Nonsense…come on…You are not coming with me like that. A shower at least, is welcome!”


He slowly moved towards Tommy. Tommy looked at him tired and resigned. The man’s smile faded as he looked around the room as if he was purveying an audience. Then he began to speak with the eloquence of a stage actor in a dramatic role.


“Heaven, Mother Nature, even the hardest, indifferent man with a heart as tough as a stone, cannot bear to see such injustice that you have been subjected to. Life has given you a raw deal, my friend. Your waiting is over and your carriage waits. We need to leave now.”


Tommy was stunned. He opened his mouth and tried to say something. But he froze, as usual.


“You know who I am, don’t you? You don’t need any coins to be placed on your eyes or underneath your tongue. As far as I know, you cannot afford it. I would not accept it from you anyway… never from you!”


His words started to echo:

“Don’t feel sorry, whatever you are leaving behind is simply misery… misery…misery…”

Tommy noticed the razor-thin smile on his face.

Soon, Tommy found himself cleaned up, shaved and wearing a dark suit, white shirt and a black tie. He was still very ill and breathless as he sat on the chair and the man came to his side.

“I can hardly walk…” said Tommy. “I cannot come today…maybe…tomorrow..”

The man looked at him with compassion and said, “I will carry you. Here we go… and please don’t be sad! LET’S CELEBRATE!”

Saying this, the man pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses from his coat. Filling both, he handed one to Tommy who took it with trembling hands. The man lifted his glass and toasted jovially, “To Thomas Hastings, who has finally found acceptance!” and drank up.

Tommy cringed at the words and took a sip. He slowly looked up at the ceiling as the silky wine flowed down his throat.


A sense of quietness came about him as the man walked towards him and held out his hand. Both held their gaze for a while as Tommy lifted his hand and gently grasped the offered palm. Tears flowed from the corners of his eyes and towards his ears as he took a shuddering breath. His eyes started to glaze as deafening sounds of thunder flourished outside…


*******************************************************

It was the neighbour who first saw the opposite door ajar. He took a peek inside and informed the landlady who then called the police. When they came, they found Tommy sitting on the chair looking at the ceiling, and his head drawn back and hanging back over the back of the chair. There were dried up channels of tears from his eyes following the law of gravity, towards his ears. He had vomited some milk which has poured out of the corners of his mouth… His one hand still clutched a half-full glass of wine. But his face had a beatific smile- one of peace...and relief.. and acceptance...

Stone, brick,glass and sill
Bathed in silver and deathly still
Behold a figure leaped so high
Flashing past in the wink of an eye
With the wind blowing in your mane
...And the blood throbbing in your vein
Become the beast on the nightly prowl
Leaping up to give a chilling howl
Blind speed covered in a grunt
Eyes agleam with the thrill of the hunt
Your mind swaying to a haunting tune
Ah! To run under the full moon!

 

Long has the moment passed..but linger does the pain -
Cold, stinging and metallic..ripe and raw and heavy;
As the ears start to see... and the eyes listen,
I live and die in every breath...Becoming and unbecoming;
Your incomplete portrait with my heart's dye...fades into a void;
Memories haunt me...seeking sense of your absence.
Tired of meaning...my words seek silence
You and I shall not be but you alone...
For I'll be in the plane without a surface.

He stood watching the "Just Married" sign fade away into the distance. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned around to walk, only to see his room mate leaning on a lamp post and watching him closely. With a razor-sharp smirk the latter said, "Failure is not as frightening as regret."

Tears, idle tears.
Long has the moment passed
But linger does the pain -
Cold, stinging and metallic.
I now live and die in every breath.
Your portrait with my heart's dye
Lies unfinished. Memories haunt me
Seeking sense of your absence.
Tired of the meaning, my words seek silence...

It happened one night..

The darkness only added to the pain of running over sharp stones and pebbles.
Judging by the dampness and slight slipperiness underneath my feet, I knew they were bleeding. Sharp stumps thrashed my legs and thick branches thrashed and cut my face and shoulders in the darkness. But the fear and grief in the heart were like whiplashes which kept me pushing ahead.

My chest was starting to burn like a cold flame - or was it like a blunt knife sinking slowly into the skin- fatigue, fear and memories of horrifying scenes blinded the senses. For how long I had been on this steep climb, I knew not.

A few moments later, the general placing of the stones on which I stepped indicated that I was moving towards a less steep and less wooded place. The climb soon turned to a slope. Peering through the scant general skylight, I made out the faint contour of a lake or a marsh. The surroundings were also not entirely invisible. The water was mostly covered in mist; yet it had an eerie bluish glint in the haze. Darkness in the form of trees was a littler further away and the sky took the shade of grayish blue. I finally felt soft grass underneath my torn slippers. Almost immediately, my knees bent and I plopped on the ground, exhausted.

Taking time to calm my breath, I tried to make sense of what I saw around me. There was deathly stillness all around with no animals growling, no owls hooting, no insects chirping and no wind blowing. Nothing but my labored breath was to be heard. But the silence could not calm my mind.

It was like a cyclone in my head. It was pure agony. All hope was lost. We lost the Great War. The white men crushed us mercilessly. No one survived the attack on our platoon and neither did I expect myself to be alive. This would have been worse as there were stories of how the captured prisoners were being tied to the mouths of cannons and blown away to parts. The plains were full of bodied of my compatriots and awash with their blood. Playing dead here and there in the midst of the wailing injured to escape the roving eyes of the firangs was not easy.

Running away from the battlefield was cowardice but then why stay if the outcome was already decided? Our commander did not seem to be fazed by the slaughter all around. It was evident the enemies had bought him to their side earlier. Traitorous pig! We were the soldiers of the great Rani, whom even children looked upon as Durga incarnate, and we were her leonine forces. Well, not I, for I was just an ordinary cook in the army. I never even got to see her or any of her exploits but she was always the Destroyer of Evil for me.

When I heard that she had fallen dead in the battlefield, then I lost all hope of victory and then decided to escape. On the way, I heard that her body was missing and no one knew where it had gone. How was that possible? Maybe they have cremated her body before it reached into the hands of the alien rulers. Doubts still lingered, and despair seemed unending. If she was dead, then why live?

Suddenly, I heard some movement in the water. The splashes were distant but were quick and came near very soon. Through the mist I then made out a huge animal trotting forward. Immediately recognizing it as a horse I also saw a ghostly figure wrapped in cloth riding it. The horse chortled and agitatedly stopped near me. The figure was sitting upright and motionless with head and face covered but the eyes shone with an unearthly light that transfixed me to the spot. I could not move a muscle as terror had overtaken instinct. The eyes looked at me and I could not remember whether I was alive.



“Are you from the plains?” the figure suddenly asked in a female voice.

Surprised at the somewhat anticlimactic turn of events, I was still cautious and ventured to reply, “That depends. Who wants to know?”

Immediately, the figure pulled away the cloth covering the face and the head. Through the faint light, I saw a cascade of jet black hair tumbling down to the shoulders. The face was bloodied but the eyes were still shining intensely.

The voice then responded with an unmistakable touch of royal authority.

“Don’t you recognize your own Rani?”

“Of…Of course, yes, yes, Your Majesty!!” Life soon clumsily pulled me up to my feet and I stood in attention, with bent head, folded hands and downcast eyes. I had let her down.

It was an electrifying moment.

Surprise, incredulity and excitement had robbed me of my breath and my pulse was throbbing like war-drums. I felt numb. The surreal moments passed by as I apprehensively looked into those regal eyes. They spoke unknown mysteries.

I could see the color of the sky slowly turning lighter. Dawn was approaching. But the radiance of the bloodied face only increased. Suddenly, her hand flew up to her neck. In a flash, it came out with a string of shining pearls. Bending down she pushed it into my folded hands before I could react.

“Speak not of this night” she said with a razor-sharp smirk which lit up her face and galloped away into nearby darkness. Stillness returned.

Overcome with goosebumps, I stood trying to comprehend what had happened. Dawn was slowly approaching. I saw the past and the present merging with the future. The future may be uncertain, but history was being created at every moment.

But then why was I feeling this shaking of my shoulders? It was getting more vigorous. I could hear my name being called out as well.

A sudden jerk and darkness turned to light as I found myself sitting on a chair at my study desk. Vinod, my roommate, was bemusedly looking at me.

“Studying late last night, eh? And History too...Bookworm!” He gazed into the book and then at the drool coming out of my mouth and grimaced. “Ewww!! You were drooling at Rani Lakshmi Bai?? You’re crazy, dude! Get a life in the present! Time for breakfast. I’m hungry!” He walked out of the room closing the door.

Still groggy, I looked back into the book and saw the picture of the great Rani. Though just a painting, she still looked hauntingly mysterious and also had that cryptic smirk So that was all a dream then. Shaking my head, I pulled myself away from the table and stood up when I felt something fall off my lap to the floor. I looked down and the whole world before me turned dark when I saw:

Karan gets the budget... (With due apologies to a certain Pranab Mukherjee)

There was bickering that morning and hissing
In the Finance Ministry; for the budget plan
For the country was suddenly found "missing"
From the Minister's computer."Without the plan
What will we do?" the Officials shrieked,
"Where will we go?" the secretaries screeched,
While in all this midst, the peons stood afroze.
Though Roy and Paul and Bunta and Feroze
Pulled their hair and boiled their juice,
The budget plan proved to be a recluse.

Gloom spread in the office when suddenly,
The Minister Babu walks in nonchalantly.
Digging inside his nose he says, "Don't stress.
It's true that without the budget plan the country's a mess.
But I'm calling Karan to the office.
Take heart; with computers he's a whiz."

The peons stare at the tattoo while the typist
Winces at the studded lip; There's a collective hush
As Karan walks into their midst
Twirling his i Pod and sipping Orange Crush.
Though barely sixteen his credentials are impressive.
He boasts of a degree from Powai, and one more
From Princeton; so nothing's gonna give.
His skills are the stuff of folklore
From IBM to Google to Commodore.
They sing about his genius and traits
From Pyongyang to United fucking States.

Staring at the screen, cracking his knuckles
He sits down to deal with the obstacles.
Moments pass as he types an array of commands
And algorithms to search for what he demands.
Sitting back he says,"the budget plan's gone nowhere,
It cannot escape and I'm gonna search inside there."
There is magic in his fingers as he works the board,
His toil and focus on the job striking a chord.
When up to screen comes an election manifesto
Showing the smiling Minister waving hands with gusto.
A few greetings cards, a song now and then
And a soft porn video of a fully loaded siren
(While the Minister sheepishly hides behind the curtain).

There comes a shout as suddenly Karan jumps
"I've found the plan!" he cries out with goosebumps.
Cheers and Shouts of joy fill the room,
All are relieved to escape from doom.
The Minister dances and officials shake with laughter
While the typist slaps a peon who happily hugged her.
All is well until Karan's elbow accidentally hits the key "Erase"
And the budget plan finally vanishes without a trace!!

Oh, there are some nations which plan right,
And some nations which fuck up outright.
Call me rude but I ask the Minister polite
"When are we ever gonna get it right?"

In the waves...

He went to the pool that evening at 7. He preferred that hour by when all the loud-mouthed college kids who played water-polo would be gone and only a few office-goers come to swim away the day's stress. He preferred the quiet atmosphere and quieter waters. He was pleased to see that the pool area was empty except for the pool instructor. I'm gonna love this, he said to himself. He was still an amateur in swimming but was eager to hone his skills (not to mention to reduce his stubborn tyre around the waist) and relished his regular pool sessions.

Later, when he descended into the pool, he remembered the pretty lady who had swum the previous day. He smiled as he recollected her lithe form gliding across the pool like a fish. He was lingering at one end recovering from his pathetic attempt of two laps as he counted her completing eight laps non-stop. I've a looooooooong way to go to swim like that, he thought. Reminding himself that one day he too would be doing the same, he put on his earplugs and dived underneath.
Water went in and bubbles came out of his nose as he strained his eyes against the sting of chlorine. He stared into the blue nowhere and lazily took in the throbbing silence...

Tham tham thaka thaka thum tum tha thum thum....

What was that?

Sounded like the beats played on a tabla..

He forgot to swim and slowly looked around him in the immense blueness..

Tham thaka thaka thaka tham tham tham....Tha thi thaka thaka tham tham tham..

Again those notes...This time the tabla was joined by the mridangam too..

Surprised and unsettled, he came up to the surface, removed his earplugs and looked around. No music was playing. Not another sound or musical note.
He looked at the pool instructor's desk. The pool instructor sat there reading a newspaper.
Then where did those cymbal notes come from??
Chuck it,he thought. My mind must be playing tricks on me. He put on the earplugs,took a deep breath and dived in..

It was blue and misty,he thought. It was moderately cold and dreamlike,he thought. And closed his eyes.

Thaka thaka thaka tham thathajam thathajam thakida thaka thathajam tha..

This time it was louder and clearer. The unmistakable sound of table, mridangam and some other cymbals.
His eardrums throbbed with the notes.

What's this?? Why was he suddenly feeling the rush of something like an electric current through him?? In the cold water, he suddenly felt a searing heat up his spine. The beats were now becoming more haunting and enchanting. They were first like dewdrops on a flower making it fresh. They were now becoming louder, faster and stronger..He felt goosebumps and his spine tingling with the rhythm..He shook his head and kept still; lying suspended in 7-foot-deep water.

Whence does this music come?? He thought about it along with how long he could be underwater holding his breath.
Just for assurance, he went up and looked around. It was quiet once again. Only the pool instructor to be seen. No one else.

Going down again, he looked around and saw everything was suddenly white.

Snow white. Like a mountain peak.

He looked down to see a stream starting to flow down the slope.The slope stretched down to eternity into further whiteness.

Thunder rolled as the the water flowed down with the rumbling of drums and jingles. The surroundings reverberated with the robust strums of sitar and Spanish flamenco guitar.

The rhythm possessed a certain power, a force that was strong in its combat overtones, with a feel of a great current that was about to sweep down everything in its Olympian rush...

He felt the sudden rush rising up his belly, the sudden flash of exuberance...

The next moment, he moved.

He dived into the stream and into the abyss..

The music now grew louder and almost took physical form with its magnificence. He suddenly could see that the whiteness was slowly morphing into more concrete definite images. He felt a little fear, but he did not stop as he was moving with the stream.

More things became visible- rocks, peaks, clouds, trees....The stream cut deep gorges and he saw the trees on the banks dancing in the the haunting rhythm..

He could not resist and plunged head long.

He did not feel tired. He felt like Superman. He was cruising down and forging ahead like a torpedo. The stream had by now grown into a mighty river..

He saw the large waterfall coming ahead..He did not stop..

He surged..

He pushed..

He plunged..

From the edge, he flew into the calm depths down deep..

The water was then turning blue. He marveled at the giant mixing of the white and the blue. It looked like smoky clouds in the sky.. Only they were shifting and wave-like. They were a like gyre... Like a vortex.. And the haunting beats pushed him through the vortex.

There was neither here, nor there. Neither then, nor now. His eyes grew tired.

After what seemed like eternity, he saw through his droopy eyes a brown shape floating towards him. Though he felt tired, he also felt happy as he waited for the thing to come nearby. The shape soon morphed into a face. Then everything changed while he closed his eyes to embrace darkness..

When he woke up, he saw the pool instructor looking down at him with concern. "Are you alright??"

He turned to his side. He was lying on the poolside.

"What the hell were you doing there? You think you're some Olympic swimmer or what?" The pool instructor was scolding.

He slowly rose and sat up. Where was the river? The peaks? The white, the blue?....

Where was the music??

"What happened?" He asked out loud.

The pool instructor looked amazed. "What do you mean by what happened??" You were swimming non-stop and almost fainted in fatigue. I counted at least 12 laps by the time you slowed down. You looked too weak and senseless in the middle of the water and so I had to jump in." He wasn't letting up.

"You're still an amateur. Don't overdo it,okay? Take it one step at a time. Was that stunt really necessary?"

He thought about the tabla and mridangam.About the snow-white peaks and the stream. About the combat guitar and the upcoming waterfall...

"The music was good." he mumbled and smiled weakly.

When am I me???

5.00 am - 9.00 am - Age 95
9.00 am - 9.30 am - Age 27

9.30 am - 1.30 pm - Age 60
1.30 pm - 2.00 pm - Age 13
2.00 pm - 4.00 pm - Age 3
4.00 pm - 9.00 pm - Age 60
9.00 pm - 9.30 pm - Age 27
9.30 pm - 11.00 pm - Age 95
11.00 pm - 5.00 am - Who knows?? (I sleep coz I'm still single).

So how long do I stay my age in a day??

The elementary me...

Think I'm getting addicted to Paintbrush...a momentary surrender to vanity.. :-)

Next one..

Yet another painting..This one is a representation of a painting which I had seen on the cover of a twenty year-old Readers' Digest Magazine.. Don't know what the title is..

Two at the same time..

Gave in to the amateur painter in me.. A work in paintbrush on a lazy day in office...

The one burning in the pyre and in floating drowned in the stream are the same.. How it is possible? It's a koan in paint..so..

The night closes in..

Lights go off here and there
Chopin stops playing.
No more flourishes.
T'is quiet.
The table catches my eye.
An orange peel, a burnt candle,
Loose change and Eliot's Wasteland,
A fallen beetle wanders over the folds
Of the table cloth, trying to soar
But falls down and lies still.
The candle lies still, the peel lies still,
The change is frozen still, the images.
The room is still.
The steely light bears down in the silence.
As the organ takes in its last whiff of air
Waves come in and all creation starts swimming..vanishing
The shutters slowly come down without choice,
T'is still again;
Still.

Happy Birthday!!

Tomorrow, I take one symbolic step closer to Death..

The gift

The only gift that true love can give is tears-simple, pure and pristine.
Stop them not. Let them flow incessantly.
They will take you to the ocean of oneness; where no dualities exist.
There is only suchness, stillness, fullness...
Peace, unadulterable peace!!

The..

Through the evening air, I hear a soft prayer from a woman,
Which pulls me to a score years behind now, and I see
A child sitting peacefully in his mother's lap, immersed in the voice of her simple prayers,
And she smiles as he smugly looks up at her.

That the hard-nosed philosopher now I am, worshipping logic and slighting "faith",
The mellow prayer makes me weep to return,
To the daily mornings at the old prayer stand, the mother's lap,
Her knowing, smiling faith, and the silence around us.

So it happens that the "wise" self can no longer spew cold fire,
As the warm, tender scent of childhood shrouds me,
Tears away my adult stench,until down on the floor I lie
And weep like a child for the days that past.