Another Page From Life’s Diary

14 04 2006

He will have to tell it. There is no other go. After 23 years of earthly life, there are rare chances left for him to tell it any time after. He knew it well. Perhaps, his friends knew it better. This is the strangest aspect of romance. The one fully intoxicated by it rarely feel the social circumstances from what is called a realistic sense. Their opinions mattered for him too. And when he is drunk, he usually gave more ear to their thoughts. It happened so that their words bruised his eternal heaven of illusions once again. He fell down from the could nine of happy hours to the universe of chaos- real world. He was wounded. The heart piercing prospects of his inactivity, the height of cowardice, was in front of him lying stripped bare. He felt his nudity. The filth of the life wasted by abstinence and hallucinations about love.

The idealism in love is at times dangerous. Especially if it devours the self of an individual to extend of being overwhelmed by the narcissist pleasure in the feel of a loving somebody. He was probably at an extreme of it. May be there is some time when most men get into such an addiction. Most overcome from it quite easily. But for him it has been dragging him for the past five years. It was a dreadful period which might cost some other aspects of his later life.

We not going into his future. Let us go through his present state alone. “I know exactly what you think now. I have been through this phase. You will feel a sudden chill, like the whole throat getting dry and heart getting frozen, when you hear her voice after this long and because of the consciousness about your proposal. I used to call my first love despite getting rejected just to feel that chill. And still, I feel it whenever I call or talk with her. May be, its intensity has subdued a bit because of time.

You have to get over it. Maaan, you need to and think if there is something positive. You will have new dreams. We need our dreams to live. We desperately need.” – the advice from the wisest man came through. The words had such a power that he had to yield. He got into a sense which never occurred to him so intensely. The feel for expressing his love- come whatever may.

The day chosen was April 14th. The ‘Meeda Sankranti‘, the festival of Vishu in Kerala and new year according to the regional calendar. The day in which the length of day and night becomes equal. It was ‘Good Friday’ all over the world. The day on which physical torture to death of Jesus Christ began and ended in the Crucifixion- the death of yet another prophet. Or will it be for him too? He is never someone resembling the prophetic charisma nor the revolutionary who could arise from the ashes of his perish. Just mortal. There was something else too. For the first time in his life, he will be eating non-vegetarian food on a Vishu day and that too prepared in that bachelors apartment. An experimental ‘Chicken Biriyani‘! The day came up. He could hardly sleep even hour after getting to bed early morning 4:30.

The preparation of Chicken biriyani was in full swing. Hectic activities around and a tense hero. He is preparing to delivering the message. What words should I choose? How should I tell her? A lot questions are nagging his thoughts. Those questions comes like waves of a sea-they approach and recede but never lets the shore to be calm. So is his mind- turbulent with words and phrases.

Next question is her number. He did not possess it. “But there is somebody who can help”. The thought became fruitful. The number was right front of him in. Now it was the time to taste the food. Wow, it tasted great. A satisfaction about own (combined) culinary skills! But his taste buds were too doped by the thoughts that it rarely occurred to him then. The tension was mounting up. He need to overcome it- that moment. He need to dial the number and tell her out. Can he? Yes, he said to himself. And the mobile phone connected his voice to her home phone.

He calls her. The deadly moment of silence although quite brief was an eternity for him. “Hello” from the other end gave a chill inside his heart. He was totally frozen for an instant. Still, he could regain the senses and initiate a conversation- a casual one. It was time for the words he prepared for that moment. The most shocking moment in life so far and also the most intimate. “I have been haunted by something since more than four years as I told you and its a new year resolution to solve it. The next thing I say might be a shock to you ….. I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU EVER SINCE. ………..(silence) ….. I felt so and this is not to convince you to respond now. But I think it will be a great injustice to me and you, if I continue to hide it from you. So I tell you with all sincerity I possess.” Those were just a few sentences but he told it almost in a breath, especially the words “I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU”. He felt a pleasure of having released a huge burden from heart. …….

There was a brief silence.A killing pause when the whole world appeared to have gone stand still. Then she replied . She was shocked but regained the senses to act with normalcy. Calm words poured out in a stammering voic. “It is ok that you felt it and said it …… well, ….. just ignore ….. and …. may be we shalll stop here …… ………..”

A bomb dropped was in a house mourning the Crucifixion of Jesus! May be just for her and even that too might be quite a momentary shock. He do not know, what she might have thought . Perhaps that it was a misconduct or over expected remarks; perhaps that he wasn’t worth her love or that the barriers of religions make even the thought a taboo.

Or was it that he just wasn’t the person she could think about being a life partner…… I can’t tell ….. The mystery surrounding a woman ‘s thoughts make even such an analysis impossible…… The next moment after the phone call he remembered the quote- “you have to overcome your first love to be free in life.” Husky voices from inside camouflaged the rustle of dust in the wind.

He should have thought about Balachandran Chullikkad’s words about the nostalgia of the girl who teared his words of love written with blood. No he did not. Perhaps he must have grown above the teen age’s intense reverberation of love to a more ‘mature’ concept. So he did not weep and was calm outside. The coal that burned inside glowed as a flame. Flame has its beauty and visibility while the burning coal will only make bruises inside unseen by other yet dying from inside. He still isn’t free. May be never will he be. Or may be after years he might be smiling at the most sapping moment in his life. Perhaps then writing about it with a philosopher’s smile of having seen the life. Who knows, Isn’t it? But yes, he love her and doesn’t know why!


The City at Dawn

7 04 2006

My cigarette tip has burned into nicotinous flames

And the morning is creping out with a blushy smile.

This is the best time for ‘crazy’ thoughts.

Thougts that breaks in like the dawn after a drunkards merry.

Back to senses, as people say.

In the darkness crushed by the neon lamps,

The footpath tredded by the tiring steps of prostitutes,

When the silent rickshaw drivers hopes for the next bread,

I am walking through this asphalt floor.

There are no odd hours for a metro.

For the galies flooded by poluted water is awake.

And their numbness makes the city agile,

As a bottle of rum for the dwellers,

As a shot of marijuana for the dopers

And as a cup of tea for the walkers.

The whores, they say, live up on the dirt.

But from which eternity did that come in.

At hours when the glossy life style pages,

Cannot be read in the foggy street lights,

And concrete jungles perspire after night’s intercourse, I

t is easy to sleep at the break of a dawn,

Avoiding the vision of paralysed and stinking streets.

The tonnes of sweatting vegetables in the mandi.

The fumes of cruising wheels.

Let us not awake at dawns,

Let us blame the vampires in galies who rob us in day light,

And let us make more metroes……….

But please, atleast allow them to crawl with their life in the filth.