Posted in Prose

A little honey on my chilli flakes.

(For Marcia, Mark and Melvin)

Perhaps I would like to have a teeny bit of honey on my chilli flakes simply just to mellow down the rush and roar of the heavy spiciness that would linger on my tongue for God knows how long. I love the spice that excites my slithering tongue but it is long and I am weary of this monotonous spice and hotness. How long and how much more of this spice? Can I have a little change in the normal way of my things? Perhaps, honey on my chilli flakes? They say your flakes you have earned and all that spice and fire in your tongue you deserve for the works of your life. But can I please have a change of my menu here? A little honey maybe on my chilli flakes? I have had this spice for years now- on chicken, sandwiches, burgers, curries and fries. I am forgetting to mention but I have had flakes on sweets as well. Inevitably they land everywhere and whatever I eat as if flakes were salt on a normal basis of my life. While they have made my life a big era of boredom they have tired me, frightened me to the depths of the oceans and made my senses go haywire. I am done with these chilli flakes dawdling my life with no ultimate cause or reason yet messing my life in all the ways possible. Trust me, I try hard to sweep my life clean from all these chilli flakes that lie scattered all around and in every nook and cranny after a horrendous argument, unpleasant disagreements and harsh walkaways of people-spicy, spicier, spiciest and sweet, sweeter, sweetest. I try hard to keep me clean of these flakes that add an extra amount of madness in my attitude but they stick close, closer than ever.
Well, now I yearn for a little honey on my chilli flakes for the flakes refuse to leave so a little honey might calm down the rush and roar of flakes on my life and my poor tongue. I poured out a little honey on these flakes that stayed intact and they seemed to have silenced themselves now. I see the thick honey roll down the chilli flakes, embracing them together, passionately falling over and under each of them they hardly could flaunt their spiciness anymore. The honey trickling down and all over, smoothing out the rather ferocious attitudes of the flakes that for so long messed with me and bored and roared on my taste buds, I now wonder- “Why in the whole wide world didn’t I possibly not think of honey on my chilli flakes? ” I like it this way, the honey and flakes have embraced themselves and made love they can’t separate themselves from the beds of my tongue. As for my mouth, it gives them all the privacy in the world to love, look into each other’s souls and lose themselves in the intimacy that never happened in their lives. Why didn’t I think of honey on my flakes? The boredom I talked of earlier is far gone and the weariness and tiredness have walked a long way away from me now. It was honey that came to my rescue and that mellowed down the spiciness of the chilli flakes that specked on the pastures of my life. The redness of the chillies seem to be humble and quite when I pour out a little honey on them every time they mess up and roar on the grounds of my life and bang hard on the walls of my mind. The honey does the magic now, it soothes, spreads out its sweetness all around the madness and somehow melts away the havoc rising in me. So now when the chilli flakes roar at me, I simply order a teeny bit of honey to be poured all over. For when they meet, they seem to have a special way of calming down each other. It’s good you know- A little honey on the chilli flakes.

Posted in Prose

Hard days

Some days are hard you know,
To pull myself out of bed and sit up to bring myself to my senses and motivate the dull me to see through the blinding morning light and somehow listen to the music lost in the cacophony of the world beneath the four walls of my house is just so exhausting. Very exhausting.
Will you ever understand that?
Some mornings are torturous, I wander away like a shadow in the dark, absent to my mind and lost in the horrors of my thoughts.
I have lost myself to the uncanny pain that built up in me a while ago when I lost myself in the highways and by lanes of my rather messy life. It’s been a while. A really long while since I became a vagabond in my streets and a stranger within myself who lost herself in the hundred streets stretched out all before her and the millions of people walking away cooly- in and out.
Some days life feels like walking down a deserted street, lined with broken lamp posts and crooked roads stretched all before me this way and that.
Trust me, some days have been hard, harder than I can possibly explain to you. Do you really wanna know-how how hard it has been or are you no different like the millions of people who have crawled in and out my life like ants all over a strewn away candy?
I will never know and I am not giving it a chance.
I am far away from home, where the lights shine bright and the birds sing a song of melody. I am far far away in distances that I cannot possibly measure yet tell you that it will take me forever and ever to walk back home if it isn’t for a miracle.
Let me look around….
I am somewhere distant, you wouldn’t find me even if you set out in the morning to come in search of me. Or would you?
……..
Some days have been hard, I drag myself to the window to pull back the curtains and let a little optimism sink into the parched grounds of my mind.
The birds here sing a song of melancholy it makes me want to shut away and melt away into the pain that bulges in my mind and disappear into the thinnest wave in the air.
Posted in Musings

Feelings of Nothing-ness

Have you been there?
Days when all you do is look forward for that one something that might whisk away the bad air around you and possibly put you in a better mood and largely give you reasons to be hopeful and happy for another day? All you do is wait for that one something, marking the days on your calendar and counting hours and minutes to somehow live in the happiest moment you think it will be. Somewhere deep, deep down you kind of know, maybe hope that this something that you so much look forward to might possibly, hopefully enough fail your depression, defeat your sluggish mind, like dementia make you forget your past and all the unfortunes that you have had for a prolonged period of time and somehow inject some energy within you. A little ounce maybe.
Well, it’s not like your unfortunate-ness has given you away this time but you did get that something you looked forward to, maybe that one competition you looked forward to win, a new job that you hoped to get, that article you wrote last week getting published in a well known newspaper today or simply just getting a new dress or sweets from the best shop in town. But now that you did get your most looked forward something you feel nothing. Just nothing. Simply nothing. Where was all the joy that you thought would brim up in you? Where’s all the contentment you thought might fill your mind by this time and where’s all the hopes and sureties of defeating your depression and anxiety for once by looking forward to get this something? Did it all flow away even before you delved into it? Or did it just not come to you? What was it? Why wasn’t that feeling of excitement and joyfulness not flowing in and out in rushes? Why?
But why?
Posted in Prose

I resisted.

For Abhirami

I was born as free as you were.

I wonder why I should possibly straighten myself out, brush away the flaws and smoothen the wrinkles from out of my life when I have to present myself in the society. I wonder why in the world I have to dance to the tune of the typical aunties in my society who tag people as good, very good, bad, hopeless and okayish. I wonder why in the wide world we have been told to act a particular way, behave in a way and talk yet another way. Some days I wonder if I was ever born free or if my life was based on the people in the society who label, tag and expect the world around to dance to their tunes and fit well in their picture frames. Some mornings I wake up to think, “What if I like a different tune to dance to? What if I want a slight change in the music and a different genre of everything altogether and you out of the band? And what if I am not in the mood to fit into your picturesque and fit myself into a frame that I am not proud of?” Some days I wake up to step out of the boundaries you set for me, break through the hedge you made for me and the thorny fence you fenced around my dreams, plans and wishes. On some days when I try to fit in with you, dance gracefully to your tune and fit pretty well in the picture frames you put up for me I hate myself for being the slave, for being voiceless and letting myself be trampled down to nothing and caging my dreams and passions to the stigma of the society and the line of restriction from my strangely pious family that simply believed in class and dignity in terms of the jobs I take up, the clothes I wear and the life I lead.

On most days I have been told to shape myself, carve out my insecurities and fit in well in the jigsaw puzzle. I have been told to fit in, curve myself, lean forward, submit a little, stoop very low and never even think of falling down and go missing. No matter how hard my days got and how pathetically my dreams washed away in the sea, I was told to stay put and give in myself to the wrath of the waves and the cheekiness of the little kids stomping on me all day and night. Most days I dance to your tune and let you shape my desires and my ways but oftentimes I wish to be the crack on the pot that gives you away, that spills the soil onto the garden. I wish to show my resistance by simply leaning forward a little too much and down to the ground. I do wish to be that cranky shred that pushes forward a little too much so as to fall to the ground, let the soil spill out, the water to flow out of place and the roots to stick out. On some days I wish to be the reason this pot was changed and the cactus/chrysanthemums on me be plucked out to be planted on the ground.

I wish to be the reason for change, a difference, an obstinate resistance.