I am that last little piece in the jigsaw puzzle that finally makes sense.
If it weren’t for me the picture you behold would definitely be a picture but would you live up to see or make sense of the whole even if your imagination has given me away, pulling you away to a side to show you the complete picturesque without me being fitted into my place? I am that last piece that makes sense and over the years I have been told to fit in, curve myself, lean forward, submit a little, stoop very low and let the rest of the pieces take control over my sides so we could fit rather well in unison and stay put for a long time, at least for a while. For the longest time in my entire life I was submissive, let the picture oppress me, to stay, to make sense and be the final one that brought the “Whoa” in people. Didn’t I like all that attention when people picked me to fit me in? Didn’t I possibly enjoy those moments when I and only I could finally make sense? Didn’t I enjoy the privileges I was offered, the fact that looking at me for the first time I didn’t make sense as to where exactly I could be placed but only could when finally everyone were placed, smoothed and settled in? Didn’t I come to relish that ultimate moment when I was scrambled for and fitted in with all pride and dignity? I did. I did a million times. It’s been so long, 22 years to be precise and I am bored, I wanted spice, some aroma, some mystery, something different. I wanted to be that piece that went missing under the table, that caused all the trouble, that was the sole reason the puzzle was left incomplete and the piece that had broken sides so as to be replaced, changed and maybe even thrown away so I could somehow see the backyard, lie in the pile of junk that went to the junkyard to be recycled, smashed and transformed to something else- maybe a flat piece of plastic or just a stupid piece so I could lie there in the yard and watch the world go by. If I had bad sides, too obstinate to fit in with the rest, the picture on my face faded and insipid I would be the change won’t I? I would probably be the reason why “they” thought it was high time for a change of jigsaw puzzle and tried a hand at scrabble or chess or simply gone to get a life outside of jigsaws, puzzles and pieces.
I was told to fit in but what if I pushed myself to the edge of the table to fall down and roll under the table to lie there dusty and unpicked for a long time I would be the resistance that brought change won’t I? I could give jigsaw some time alone, I could be the reason why jigsaw had to be locked again in little Joe’s cupboard for a long time, maybe for another 22 years. Maybe I could lie beneath here, swept out very soon into the backyard and be gone for good and for Resistance and Change. Just a little Resistance and Change from my rather boring fitting-into-the-jigsaw-puzzle life. And to simply be gone to get a better life. Something a little better.
Some evenings feel like forevers, the nostalgia of something from the past lingering on the clouds and the colour of happiness clinging onto the face of the skies though deep inside my head hangs down a pale, placid and insipid screen of cloth that now projects nothing but Nothing. Just nothing. Those colours in different shades of pink, blue and orange sloshed across the skies in no style and perfect way remind me of my empty life that was once splashed about with colours vivid, that hardly made sense but made it messier like never before. These colours did not go with each other. Wasn’t blue a little too calm for a fiery bright orange or wasn’t pink soft and simple to be set against blue and orange with clouds too big and soaring birds going home? Life had a different way with me too when it decided upon chaos mingled with tiny bits of love, hate with masses of confusion and black standing out against white backgrounds. The colours fading away now, blue now turning dark blue and pink and orange giving way to darkness, like when the painter decides to go darker at the corners and come clean of anything light and mild, it’s a new world now and so be the milieu in my life. Chaos did give way to peace, love did give way to hate and a lot of other things changed because the painter simply decided to change the whole picture taking it away by it’s eisel.
Dusk creeping in now.
In the evenings I sit watching the skies, realizations dawn on me, wounds that healed open up and some tears do flow down and sometimes hopes are put out. I have no choice but isn’t there something mesmerizing in the colours on the skies, the fading away and darkened shades of some colours that really get you thinking and somehow gets you into adding some colour in your rather skeletonized life that so desparately needs some stuffing,colour, a little magic and a gentle touch of love.
On September 25 Notion Press, India published my debut book “A Little Spark for Living” and I cannot possibly contain the joy and gratefulness filling in my heart. Since I am a first time author, the book is only available in the Indian market. You can order my book from the Amazon store, it would mean a lot! https://www.amazon.in/dp/1636332560
As much as I am glad I could finally reach a milestone, my heart fills with gratitude towards God for the hardships He has led me through and the wonderful people He let stay in my life to walk confidentally. As a look I remember in undergrads when my mind had a personal cloud of negativity and a little too much of neuroticism hanging over my head I was a terrible person fearing for the worst at simple things like “What if I don’t do well in the University exams?”. At such a time I told a friend that I would someday get over pessimism and write a book on Positivity and Life and my friends laughed at me (no offence because I gave them reasons to).
I wouldn’t say I have come a long way but in my own neurotic ways I have been devastated, lonely, depressed, hopeless, most times stupid and very often degrading myself. But every time I lost a friend to selfishness and heartbreak, loved ones to misunderstanding, families to sickness and unfortunate incidents, the only guy I ever loved to clash of opinions and societal concerns I learnt a new lesson and again I wouldn’t say these lessons were Herculean but in my day, in my ways they did revive me, add a little sense into my head and help me walk forward though at many times I have walked forward aimlessly and broken in mind and soul.
In school, in every slam book, in every class, to every teacher I said my ambition was to someday become a Professor in Literature and an Author and yeah I have come to reach one milestone and I am glad I did. I did it but everytime I know I did it I know there have been hands that pushed me forward to see the good, the potentials, the strength and the calibre that lay soft behind my vulnerable self.
I am ever grateful to my parents and my brother Justin for the motivation and the positivity they emitted through the whole process. I thank my father who took time out of his schedule to edit the book as to present it in the best way possible, my mother and my beloved brother for constantly motivating me and believing the fact that I could do the impossible if I set my heart on it. I have to be grateful to all my friends for being there when I trampled down on myself. My friend Meera for sticking close for 11 years, Shalom for reviving and praying for me for the past 8 years, Pranav for being a wonderful friend and brother in Alva’s when things started shaking all around me, Nikhil for teasing away all my troubles and tensions by simply writing them out in our rather inactive page, Souparnika for being the most wonderful friend who believed I could do anything and Adarsh for ever so patiently listening to all my relationship crisis for the past three months. Thank you for believing I could get out of whatever mess I had landed in.
I love you all.
This is genuine.
Were you by any chance an addictive drug I consumed when I was on the highway of life with the wind and rain lashing against me?
Were you by any chance my battle field where I began something so stressful and draining as this?
Why am I still writing about you when I was supposed to budge and walk miles ahead from where I was stranded?
Was there any chance that if the sun on our skies was brighter we would have possibly seen through each other’s worthfulness?
There are high probabilities that the mist was stronger than ever and the fog filled in my eyes I could hardly see through. Or was that in your eyes?
Why am I standing here when I was supposed to have walked miles into my rather placid days ahead?
Why am I still tick tick writing down on my phone when I have hardly figured out ways to text better and store well in my new phone because I had to give up that other phone. It had memories that tore me apart every morning when I woke up?
Why am I still thinking about you when all I did was to get you out of my damn head?
I changed a phone, a lifestyle, a complete personality…..why then haven’t I changed my rusty mind that has clinging pieces of rusty memories of you all over that I hardly put the singlest of efforts to move it out for the new ones to take its place?
Why am I unwilling to stop writing about you when I know I have erased every trace of you from the walls, corners and shades of my heart?
If I were to stop writing, maybe I would run out of words and ideas for my journal,page or blog. You stayed in the racks of my mind like a dictionary full of words and biblichor that I somehow loved to smell every time I opened it. Redolent in its own addictive sense.
This is a dramatic play with words. I jotted this down when I sat ruminating about something that triggered a little pain and frustration.
So I was being dramatic?
And what did you have to care to term me “Dramatic” and my ways a little too “Neurotic”. Get out of my way when you feel that pulling urge to judge, churn and term me in ways Oh Boy you have no idea you are causing hurt!
I was being dramatic?
Weren’t you the one who in ways messy and tangled messed up in my territory having the audacity to give me labels of all sorts, colours and styles? Why do you barge in here to examine my ways and draw conclusions?
I was being dramatic?
You never know, I will never know. You called me dramatic when you yourself was dramatic about the mess I was caught up in, painting yourself bold and tough beneath your rather plain dramatic self. Why would you think of it if you hadn’t had it in mind which quite explains why you see me “Dramatic”.