It was just another saturday evening...there was music which seemed the only difference...there was no cricket mania, or football mania, or tamil chick mania...
I was not high on anything, was just feeling plain. Was not feeling like going back to the humid room of mine, just lie in the hall with three of them reciting stories about their college days, and how the songs took them to a hyper state..."I thought you never liked it, da..." "Yeah, I don't, it does not match my ideals...".............
Then, When Tigers Broke Free, I saw,
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A full womb, I was struggling to get out from it, on that day I just had to come out.
She cursed me when my head popped out. I twinkled, and she said that she didn't want to see my face. The maid took me away to a room stacked with boys and girls like me, little ones, whose mothers would have kissed their foreheads when they were born, father would have had tears seeing them...grandmas promising to light candles in their names and grandfathers with a proud heart that finally, a heir has arrived.
I felt sad between them...
Nobody had kissed me, nobody had tears in their eyes, nobody lighted candles for me, nobody felt proud...I felt so plain that day...
Then on the third day, a woman of 35, her friend and nephew took me away from there, giving the maid a 100 ruppee note...
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I had tears in my eyes, it flowed down, I knew I had lived a long way after it.
I didn't know whether to cry or to laugh, I was between lovely people, who loved me for whatever I was...
But can't take that hauting womb from my mind,
Can't stop thhinking about it,
When I walked back to my room, I thought...
Good that She Didn't Get To Kiss Me!
And that Is what Happened When Tigers Broke Free...!
June 14, 2010
Onions
For no reason, because Bubbles told him not to peel onions. She would have done it herself. She loved cooking, and she did her love with at most interest.
Bubbles scolded him; she doesn’t like him too drunk. Bubbles doesn’t like when he blabbers after too many drinks. Bubbles knew it was only beer. But still she didn’t like it…
He sulked, expecting a hug. Bubbles walked out of the kitchen with the peeled onions to cut them…to the one room of their home, to the computer turned TV…to the west indies Vs India match…not that she understood cricket, but she was willing to like it, for his sake…and his friend’s….
He came out of the kitchen, and on his way to the bathroom, he caught the smile on Bubbles lips!
As if seized by some beast, he sat on her shoulders…Bubbles hadn’t expected it! Bubbles cried…! It was hurting her…her bones, her stomach, everything seemed to crush under his weight! Bubbles screamed…then she cried…
He was over 85 kgs…and she was a puny creature compared to him…
The bones in Bubbles body are still cracking and her right leg feels weak…Can bubbles call it assault?
It was onions…only onions and a smile, which he loved…that is only what Bubbles did!
Epilogue: He apologised to Bubbles, then sometime at night, in his unconscious self, he was mumbling loudly, Bubbles told him that she wanted to sleep...he tossed her into a ball, she kicked him everywhere for defence...he hooked her in his hands, spit on the wall and screamed at her. Bubbles got scared and moved to a corner of the room. She slept there till he called her aside. Bubbles went to him, but got up and roamed around the room...
Bubbles scolded him; she doesn’t like him too drunk. Bubbles doesn’t like when he blabbers after too many drinks. Bubbles knew it was only beer. But still she didn’t like it…
He sulked, expecting a hug. Bubbles walked out of the kitchen with the peeled onions to cut them…to the one room of their home, to the computer turned TV…to the west indies Vs India match…not that she understood cricket, but she was willing to like it, for his sake…and his friend’s….
He came out of the kitchen, and on his way to the bathroom, he caught the smile on Bubbles lips!
As if seized by some beast, he sat on her shoulders…Bubbles hadn’t expected it! Bubbles cried…! It was hurting her…her bones, her stomach, everything seemed to crush under his weight! Bubbles screamed…then she cried…
He was over 85 kgs…and she was a puny creature compared to him…
The bones in Bubbles body are still cracking and her right leg feels weak…Can bubbles call it assault?
It was onions…only onions and a smile, which he loved…that is only what Bubbles did!
Epilogue: He apologised to Bubbles, then sometime at night, in his unconscious self, he was mumbling loudly, Bubbles told him that she wanted to sleep...he tossed her into a ball, she kicked him everywhere for defence...he hooked her in his hands, spit on the wall and screamed at her. Bubbles got scared and moved to a corner of the room. She slept there till he called her aside. Bubbles went to him, but got up and roamed around the room...
Room No: 27
I was thinking about a hospital room.
Room 27 of the children’s ward. It was the last room in the corridor. There was a window just outside the door from where I could see the sea, the sunset, the moonlit sky…In the room, there was a bed, a bench, a cupboard and a body, which had tubes on it.
The body was mine and I was alive. There were people who came and went. There was pain that was constantly there. There were friends who supported me. They knew I wouldn’t die.
I fell sick one day; I was put in a general ladies ward. Achan didn’t like it. He said he wanted to shift me to a room. I was. Room 27 of the children’s ward. I read The Godfather there. I re-read Mid Summer Night’s Dream there. I listened to my favorite songs there. I was just there…
There were syringes going in and out of my body. There were multi scans taken for my head. There was blood that oozed out when they tried finding a vein in between my groans. There were pills to sedate me. There were nursing students who came to see the seriousness of the patient. There were new, old, naive and experienced doctors who talked at length about my disease.
Doctors diagnosed my disease. They said I had migraine. I knew it was a hole in my heart. For my friends it was the sudden emptiness in my heart. I decided to keep quiet and so did my friends.
I left the room, still a patient. I decided to start filling up the hole with books and music. I spent hours in the college library. I had lost interest in dance and the innumerable forums I was an active member of. I hated myself for being so tired of having tried.
I got out of it all…and now, I don’t want to go back to Room 27 of the children’s ward.
I am still alive...!
Room 27 of the children’s ward. It was the last room in the corridor. There was a window just outside the door from where I could see the sea, the sunset, the moonlit sky…In the room, there was a bed, a bench, a cupboard and a body, which had tubes on it.
The body was mine and I was alive. There were people who came and went. There was pain that was constantly there. There were friends who supported me. They knew I wouldn’t die.
I fell sick one day; I was put in a general ladies ward. Achan didn’t like it. He said he wanted to shift me to a room. I was. Room 27 of the children’s ward. I read The Godfather there. I re-read Mid Summer Night’s Dream there. I listened to my favorite songs there. I was just there…
There were syringes going in and out of my body. There were multi scans taken for my head. There was blood that oozed out when they tried finding a vein in between my groans. There were pills to sedate me. There were nursing students who came to see the seriousness of the patient. There were new, old, naive and experienced doctors who talked at length about my disease.
Doctors diagnosed my disease. They said I had migraine. I knew it was a hole in my heart. For my friends it was the sudden emptiness in my heart. I decided to keep quiet and so did my friends.
I left the room, still a patient. I decided to start filling up the hole with books and music. I spent hours in the college library. I had lost interest in dance and the innumerable forums I was an active member of. I hated myself for being so tired of having tried.
I got out of it all…and now, I don’t want to go back to Room 27 of the children’s ward.
I am still alive...!
Hair...lines...
I woke up with a start, to the sound of water…thought it might be one of those rainy, shadowed days. I then saw the trail of ants on their regular bootcamp sessions...I stared at them for a long time,they creeped out to the open window from my greenish bedcover. Black and Brown Ants. Suddenly caught with an urge to destroy, I killed two of them. Poor souls departed into the shadowed day...
My mobile cried loud, it is 6:00. I tossed back with negligence, it was a sunday. Not to bother the wails.
On the wall was a line, a not-so-thick black line. On the cream paint, it shone. Of course, Sunsilk Black makes hair shine...but I thought they die when they fall off. So that was it. Hair. I pulled it from the wall and dropped it on the floor. Another broom session and baby, you end up in a rotten namma bengalooru garbage bin.
I picked up a book. Collection of Poems by Anita Nair.
There again, I saw dead cells scattered. A entwined mass of hair. Black, Red and Brown.
I sighed as the image of Kareena Kapoor and the hair colouring ad whisked its way in my mind. I made a mental pledge not to colour my hair again.
I picked the dead lovers from the pages of the book, flew them off to the floor again. Somewhere between the lines, my eyes gave up and I fell into a mass of entwined coloured hair.
I tried blowing them away. Years of Sunsilk and Years before of Coconut Oil had made them strong. They refused. They stuck to me, like green fungi on old bread. I pulled them away from my body...they were sticky now...
I cried. My project manager came and told me to concentrate on pulling it apart. I tried. This effort, will this be recorded in my timesheet??? I wondered. No, I need to concentrate...I jumped on the heap and they jumped with me.
Suddenly water drenched me, I felt cold. Now for some shampoo, on the dead cells, I poured, Sunsilk Black with sunflower extracts...to make your hair bounce, shine...the TV was turned on and I kept trying...
It was hair...and hair...
My mobile cried loud, it is 6:00. I tossed back with negligence, it was a sunday. Not to bother the wails.
On the wall was a line, a not-so-thick black line. On the cream paint, it shone. Of course, Sunsilk Black makes hair shine...but I thought they die when they fall off. So that was it. Hair. I pulled it from the wall and dropped it on the floor. Another broom session and baby, you end up in a rotten namma bengalooru garbage bin.
I picked up a book. Collection of Poems by Anita Nair.
There again, I saw dead cells scattered. A entwined mass of hair. Black, Red and Brown.
I sighed as the image of Kareena Kapoor and the hair colouring ad whisked its way in my mind. I made a mental pledge not to colour my hair again.
I picked the dead lovers from the pages of the book, flew them off to the floor again. Somewhere between the lines, my eyes gave up and I fell into a mass of entwined coloured hair.
I tried blowing them away. Years of Sunsilk and Years before of Coconut Oil had made them strong. They refused. They stuck to me, like green fungi on old bread. I pulled them away from my body...they were sticky now...
I cried. My project manager came and told me to concentrate on pulling it apart. I tried. This effort, will this be recorded in my timesheet??? I wondered. No, I need to concentrate...I jumped on the heap and they jumped with me.
Suddenly water drenched me, I felt cold. Now for some shampoo, on the dead cells, I poured, Sunsilk Black with sunflower extracts...to make your hair bounce, shine...the TV was turned on and I kept trying...
It was hair...and hair...
Hello!
Yeah, another blog, another try!
I realise that I needed this...as much as I try staying away from writing down, it just happens that I end up making another blog, another background image, another template, another choice of font, colours...but, the person who types it, remains the same!
Can I write, this time, about love, books, music, and recipes? Did I get inspired by little things around me?
Like I read in a book recently, the protagonist maintains a diary because she is scared of suddenly dissappearing from the planet! Yeah, in a sense, I am too.
The other day when the earth trembled in Bangalore, I was scared too...for leaving without leaving a mark. Is that why people have children? To leave a mark? Maybe.
But for now, I need let the things flow out of me, my constant ramblings to self need to be jotted down. I might lose my words sometimes - that scares me!
I realise that I needed this...as much as I try staying away from writing down, it just happens that I end up making another blog, another background image, another template, another choice of font, colours...but, the person who types it, remains the same!
Can I write, this time, about love, books, music, and recipes? Did I get inspired by little things around me?
Like I read in a book recently, the protagonist maintains a diary because she is scared of suddenly dissappearing from the planet! Yeah, in a sense, I am too.
The other day when the earth trembled in Bangalore, I was scared too...for leaving without leaving a mark. Is that why people have children? To leave a mark? Maybe.
But for now, I need let the things flow out of me, my constant ramblings to self need to be jotted down. I might lose my words sometimes - that scares me!
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