Another of my several attempts to sketch...

 

.........meet.............. Christian... Bale :P

The Depths

I never felt the need to try to understand the vicissitudes of life because I was always surrounded by people who I knew would handle if there ever was fallout. A sense of tacit security, a blanket of unconditional assurance that I needn't worry, prevailed. But, life is a good teacher; it teaches all that you ought to learn. I am only twenty-one, and not old enough to say that I have experienced all that life has to offer. But, I will still say what I have seen, understood and imbibed of life --

When there are new sights, sounds and feelings every day; you say life is an adventure. Whenever, there is a betrayal and only one question comes to your mind- "Why is this happening to me?”; life seems a conspiracy cooked up by a Higher Power. When someone you spent more than half your life with, someone you loved, suddenly departs never to return; life becomes a joke. When events unfold quite unlike expectations; you come to believe that life is nothing, but an illusion. When every venture you undertake is a success; life is a party. When whatever you do is not enough; life is a struggle. When you look around and see a competitor in every person; life is a race. When you can sense someone not telling the truth; life is a drama. 

These are a few shades of life. Life is an art. We are the artists. We may not have the freedom to choose colours but, beautiful picture can still be painted.

CHILDREN, ye have not lived, to you it seems Life is a lovely stalactite of dreams, Or carnival of careless joys that leap About your hearts like billows on the deep In flames of amber and of amethyst. Children, ye have not lived, ye but exist Till some resistless hour shall rise and move Your hearts to wake and hunger after love, And thirst with passionate longing for the things That burn your brows with blood-red sufferings. Till ye have battled with great grief and fears, And borne the conflict of dream-shattering years, Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife, Children, ye have not lived: for this is life. Sarojini Naidu

A Bumpy Road

The road on which the wheels of our relationship turn,
Has been a bumpy one.
Lots of ups and downs;
At one time it’s high-spirits
And in another collisions.


Every time I begin to feel that I understand you,
That there is not an iota of detail I am unaware of;
You somehow manage to surprise,
How you do it or where it comes from,
I surmise.

That is Your Specialty

Things that could be expressed simply,

Were woven into an intricate web of words.

Took long for the meaning to surface,

The world had moved,

Was too late to reply.

That is your specialty, my dear friend.

You took all the bullets shot at you,

Silently, never uttering a single curse,

Without an option,

Had to do it for the one you loved.

That is your specialty, my dear friend.

The truth about myself,

Was so gently spilled into my ears,

My eyes open,

Now, I can see clearer.

Again, your specialty, my dear friend.

You embraced me,

When everyone had turned faces away,

That is your virtue, my dear friend.

Unaware

Climbing up the Rope of Life,
My grip grew stronger as I progressed.
All those memories behind,
Were left to crumble down,
Disappear.

Signs of you,
Were in my thoughts no more...
But, the feeling,
Still,
Survived.

"Now, I have a firm hold on it."
I said.
No more damage can be done,
You can shake me?
No, not anymore.

And just when I say this,
Why do I lose my grip, again?
Why can't the hollow you created be filled?
Why does it affect me still?


Why does the pain not go?
Yet, no one to answer my pleas,

And you lie somewhere,
Absolutely Unaware!

The World of Oblivion

A gust of wind had hit her face as she was lying comfortably on her bed, when she opened her eyes. Her bed was placed right in front of the window. It had rained throughout the day but things had settled down now and all was peaceful. The night-sky was rubicund (for all the rain). There was no trace of stars. A pleasant breeze made the night more enjoyable. The clouds sailed by just the way waves of music float in the air. These clouds were not like the thunderstorm-clouds which one is scared of, but were the tranquil ones that one has always fancied touching. It was so serene.

She wanted to go away from all the madness just for a little while. This made her climb up on the window sill and jump high to catch the tail of a passing cloud. She wanted to fly away with it. The cloud was moving at great speed and her body hung to it, dangling. She grappled but managed to reach the top of the cloud. Every step that she took got buried into the cool, cottony substance. The wind was stronger. If it were not for the clouds holding her feet, she would have found it difficult to maintain balance. She had to wade through it.

She felt the clouds, the wind and the whisper of the wind blowing. The world seemed beautiful from here. No madness. She now stood in front of a mountain-sized puff of cloud. It was so high, that she could not perceive where the top was. She sat down with her back against it. The clouds were carrying her away, somewhere, and the thought of going back did not pass her mind. Her thoughts moved from one subject to another.... all random.....all muddled up. She got transported to her dream world, the world of oblivion.

Black

It was a cold and windy day, the kind of weather that can extirpate all one's strength, if one were to stay out for some time. The old woman's demeanor did not suggest that she could bear to be outside in such a harsh weather and yet she sat, with her head down, on the wooden bench in the park, without complaining, without a groan. She was dressed in black all over: black shoes, black trousers, black shirt, black overcoat and a black hat.  It was a gloomy day, not a soul in sight, as if all life had been wiped out from the face of the earth. Her presence added to the day's obscurity and her black attire to the effect created by the dark clouds.

Every now and then, my thoughts went back to the wizened old woman. Maybe she was waiting for someone. Maybe she will go back when she can take no more. What was she thinking? Why was she alone? Is there something I can do for her? What had caused her to look so shriveled?

Was it old age?  

Maybe she had nowhere to go.....

It Was a Blowfish...

They sailed past the island and were now somewhere in the middle of the archipelago. At the horizon, one could see that it was almost time for the ball of fire to get submerged into the waters and relinquish all the vigour with which it had burned during the day; this was considered one of the best hours of the day to try a hand at it. Everybody on the boat had a rod in their hands. Everyone was patient except one little girl. She had seen how Tom catches fish in her favourite cartoon and this always kept her under the impression that it was not a hard task. One just had to sit with the fishing rod in one’s hand, bait attached to its hook and it was only a matter of a few minutes before you see success; little idea did she have about the amount of force required to pull a fish up and that her lean arms were not apt for the job.

Her father was the first one to catch. It was a blowfish she had seen for the first time. They put it in one of those old-fashioned iron pails. It had a shiny black exterior speckled with white dots; the lower part of its body was white with yellow lines running through to the tail. The girl could see its gills throbbing.  It was jumping and bouncing; trying to do something that could get it back into the water, so that she can live a few more days, a normal life, so that it could be with its little ones for whom it had come in search of food. But, how could it survive when everything it was surrounded by was against it. The girl watched the fish flutter; something inside her, urged her to save it.

 Her watch ticked by, the fish had stopped all movements and was still, even the sounds made by it could no more be heard. The sun had gone down, the light from the tiny CFL under the boat’s shade added even more gloom into the atmosphere and a quaint silence prevailed all around.

Collective Stinging

Yes, it required immediate attention so I ran into mum-dad's room last night at 1 o'clock and quickly prodded dad out of slumber. After I came back to my room, I started examining my face again. There was nothing I could do right now to cure it. I had taken the medicine, but it won't go. It looked as if three bees had collectively stung different parts of my face. One on the upper lip.......one on the upper right eye lid....and the third on the lower left eyelid. I mean how would you feel if you woke up one fine night (or call it morning, if it suits you) to relieve yourself and instead find out that something more troublesome has happened? Your face has ballooned out; it has become swollen and started looking ugly with rubescence all over. You can't help itching. You don't even know whether it will ever go or not, leave alone the uncertainty about the amount of time it will take. So, you go off to sleep in a state of dejection; next day is a big day for you (Every day is big, so what if you are on a vacation?) and you are left with no other choice.

Next day, mum tells you that you look pretty and makes your situation even more arduous. You spot dad smiling secretly at your predicament. "Wow! Things couldn't be better than this.....What a life?!" You would say.
It is true that life is like that, so move on. Live your Big Day. Let nothing stop you!

PS: - The disease is called Urticaria in which red, itchy welts appear on the skin; and when on eyes and lips it is called angiodema ( and trust me it doesn't look very pleasant).

An Unexpected Loss

From somewhere in between the mountains a voice called out her name. The voice told her to go back and finish things she had left undone. She had been away from home for almost three weeks now and still did not want to return. She was running away from her own past. She was not the kind who has the courage enough to face hard times. Her loved ones had always told her that these escapist tendencies in her are signs of a weak soul inside. Not that she, had never tried to get rid of these bad qualities. At some point or the other in our lives, all of us have realized what is wrong and needs to be set right but have failed to correct it. It becomes a part of who you are, a part which requires great force to be pulled out.

She tried to divert her mind. She went to places absolutely unheard of (one probably sees them only in ones dreams), she saw things she had never seen before. But, nothing, no horse- rides, no walks through the orchards, no sipping of coffee on a cold morning, no feeding the birds, no sun setting behind the mountains, however fine the weather may be, however pleasant the breeze, nothing could make her forget. 

Every half hour she would be reminded of the good times she spent at home. She could hear the laughs and cries of her family, enjoying, calling her back. She would see people dancing on her sister’s wedding. She would see her mother telling her all the time to dress up well. Her father would pamper her. But when she would return home there would be no one there…. The house would be empty.

Why Do You Serve Us?

He was holding the tray tightly when he entered the hall. He had a red t-shirt and a pair of dark-brown trousers on, hair oiled and neatly combed in a side-parting. While he walked along the benches or served water to us, he remained expressionless. Every time he would see us communicate in English, his mind would be filled with all sorts of questions. It must have taken a lot of effort to learn a new language? He would try to make out what we were talking but without any success. He barely knew two-three words in English. He would also wonder what we wrote in exams or what they taught us in schools. Why did we study so much? What is the point in writing exams? Why did he never get the opportunity?

My first encounter with him brought a frown to my face. While I was engrossed in writing my paper he went around the hall, holding the tray in his hands. I had only momentarily lifted my head to look at the wall clock when my eye caught a glimpse of him. His presence made me uncomfortable and at the same time ashamed. This was not the place for him. The difference between him and me struck me. It was as if there is a huge valley between me and him, to cross which, would be a formidable challenge for him.

He was hired to serve, by people who claim to be committed to doing their best in imparting education!

I Miss You

They allow me into their world every time I open a book; and every time I do so it's as if my actual surroundings are sucked into and metamorphosed into the surroundings of the characters inside the book. I keep standing there and all the action takes place right in front of my eyes. I go slow, letting every detail sink in. I come to know the characters all too well and get a welcoming response. The more pages I turn, the closer we get. It gives a feeling that they are comforted by my presence; there is someone who is interested in hearing all that is happening; someone so impervious that all the emotions can be shared; someone who wants it to be a happy-ending for them.

I give it several days before I finish a book and so each day some small part of my life is spent with them. The credit lies with the writers, pouring in their chimera, that readers like me want to go back to a book.

If the mood is sunny; it is sunny for me; if it’s dark, it is dark for me. The days I don’t read, a gap is created. Someone goes missing. It feels so important to meet that person again. The connection that has already been created must not be severed. I will miss you Winston. I miss you Mellors, Scout, Jem, Connie, Julia.

Why then, do I always say I don’t have any friends?

If One were To Compare?

A Sketch of My Profile Picture

An Attempt to Sketch Nelson Mandela

Life is Short, Act!

We share the same birth-date. Perhaps that is why I can connect to her so much. I feel that we think alike. I see my childhood in her. The same long, dark hair; the same smile; the same eyes. Even though the age difference is vast; she seems to be much more mature. She can give answers to difficult questions. She can give simple solutions to complex problems. She is one of the smartest kids I have ever met.

That day we were sitting facing each other. She asked me whether I remembered a sketch of hers that I had made. I didn't but she did. Not only that, she has also preserved it. Never knew she valued it so much. So, I asked her whether the sketch resembles her. She at once told me that it actually does resemble her. I felt elated. I have some talent. She made me promise that I would resume sketching.

Why in the first place did I abandon doing it? I had all the time in the world; but I always thought that there was none. I promised. If I don't do what I like doing now the when will I? Life is short. Act!

Don't Let Go

She was walking towards him. Her walk had a rhythmic flow in it. It was bouncy and happy.
He had his back towards her and was engrossed in reading the newspaper.
She wanted to look her best today. After all, they were going to go out after so long. She wore a smile on her face. She was excited.
 He turned and noticed her coming. The look on his face was rather cold, not something she had expected. Never before had he been so withdrawn, she wondered, but continued walking. With movements of her hand she signaled that she would come and her happiness knew no bounds.
He gently nodded her away and just at this point the expression on his face turned to anger.
She couldn't believe it. Her eyes dropped. She turned away in dolor. Was it because of the other day? But that was because of no fault of hers. It was a mere misunderstanding and she had thought he would understand. She didn't feel the need to explain. He should trust her.
 And just as she had started to walk away, he ran towards her with full speed and caught hold of her arm. He wouldn’t let her go!

"It's no good! It's no good trying to get rid of your own aloneness. 
You've got to stick to it all your life.
Only at times, at times, the gap will be filled in.
At times! But you have to wait for the times.
Accept your own aloneness and stick to it all your life.
 And then accept the times when the gap is filled in, when they come.
But they've got to come.
You can't force them." 
 -D. H. Lawrence

A protective shell is what is needed. It has started to develop already. The shell will reflect back all the negativity, negativity that can sear the heart. It needs to grow all around, all around. So used to it does one have to get that it doesn’t make a difference anymore and that is what should lead to the shell developing. But it has to reflect back negativity coming from all quarters not just one or two. So it needs to develop more, all around and grow stronger with time. The job isn't as easy as one thinks. Each time a new bond is made, the shell will have to renew itself and start the process of making itself stronger all over again. Inside it one will be all alone. One will be so brittle that one won't be able to do without the crust outside. One will have to be strong. Very strong!        

Running for the Unknown

I woke up in the morning and started running. If you were to ask me, I really can't say where. For what?

It's a race, I am bound to run. Because everybody is? What's the prize? The good of it all? I don't really know. None of us do. So, running. I am Running. I have lost all sense of time…. emotions…..  people ….or even myself..... all I can see, and all I can think is that I have to run. I am running in an empty space, no ground under my feet, no gravity at all. My speed is supersonic, but no air, can I feel, hitting my face. Or so I feel. I don't want to stop to look around. There is no time to waste. There is darkness all around. I can't see clearly. I need a guiding light. I need a direction.

 I want more of that world where there is some adventure every day. Where I get to explore new avenues, where I can stop a moment to hear the birds twitter and play, and see the flowers blooming. Where I can sit on the sand, on a beach, waves wetting my feet and I can watch the magnificent iridescence a sunset creates, where I have a whole day to spend with loved ones. Where I can laugh my heart out and say what comes to my mind. I crave for more of that wonderful world.

 I need a TIME-OUT, to resuscitate myself. Then, probably I will come and run again.

Everyday Woes of Every Girl

So, I was eating out, as I have a strong penchant for it, when this man entered. I didn't notice him at first. While I was busy eating, he came and sat at the table right in front of mine, perhaps so that he can get a good glimpse and he was looking at me continuously from that moment onwards. He was middle-aged, clean shaven and had an elephantine figure. The way he was looking at every movement of mine, it made me conscious.

Just for the sake of safety, I decided to leave after he did but to my disappointment he didn't budge even a little from his position. I couldn't sit there the whole evening, so I got up and rushed out of the door. The guard pulled open the door again and I knew that it was for the man. I became so sure of his intentions now. He was definitely after me. I was walking on the pavement and he was walking along the chain of cars that were parked along the road. I was taking small steps allowing him every with every opportunity to take me over. But when I slowed down, so did he. I was scared to the core now. “How can I dodge him?” I was trying hard to think. I turned and started walking in the opposite direction. I crossed the road.

Walking past a few people waiting for the bus, feeling safer, I stopped to have a cola candy. The ice-cream vendor had his mini television on. He obviously couldn't miss his duty for the World Cup Finale, but watching India win was no less important. And just as I tore open the wrapper, a silver car loomed in, next to the vendor's establishment.

"Oh ****! This is the same man." I exclaimed.

He pulled down the glass window, bought a brick of an ice-cream and paid the vendor. He was waiting. I was chewing (because I like to chew my ice-cream not because I was scared). The ice-cream vendor was wondering why the man was still waiting. I moved a little towards the vendor and there was more waiting, chewing and wondering. I pretended to watch the match.

The man finally started the ignition and drove over only to halt the car a little distance away. I saw the rear red lights of the car blinking, with my heart was pounding inside me. I couldn't walk on and I couldn't stay. What was I to do? There was a fear that if I will go the man will somehow catch hold of me and he wouldn't spare me, and then don't know what he will do. Tears were about to roll down my cheeks before which I gathered up the courage to make a move. My home was two minutes away. If only I could reach it without any hurdles, I will be safe. I crossed the road again. I walked on. I had to be quick. The car was still standing. The lights were blinking. I walked on. I reached, slammed the gate behind me and turned to see from in between the gates if the car had followed. There were no signs of it. I breathed a sigh of relief. I made sure the man wasn't there.

Friends scolded me for having gone alone. Maybe I shouldn't have, even though I like it. The man must have been a real pervert. This is what we girls face every day. The place has nothing in the name of security for us. This wasn't the first time I came across such a situation. There have been several such occasions, not just for me but for every girl in town. Even though I can't understand the psychology behind such behaviour from men, I know that we cannot stop. We have to go on with our lives without letting things like these affect us.

Hope

It was 1.30 in the morning. Lying on the bed with one hand under her supine head, Melissa was looking at the ceiling. The walls were pink and white. Pink never went with her personality and she had never wanted it. But, something made her like it at that point of time. It was adding some colour to her insipid and dull life; it was bringing an inexplicable relief to her senses. She lay wondering about her life achievements. She lay, thinking for several minutes. There were cobwebs on the ceiling corners. The ceiling fan was crying out for some cleaning. A lot of things needed to be changed. A lot of things needed to be reformed.

Melissa got up and sat cross-legged on the bed; her head bent down and her back crouching. She sniffed; looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Her face had thinned down; she had dark under her eyes. Her eyelashes were moist. In spite of all the sorrows, her eyes were refulgent.

What does she hear all of a sudden? There's a knock at the door!

Who could it be at this hour of the day?

"Who is it?" Melissa asked softly.

"Melissa!" She heard a familiar voice say, although she could not locate the voice.

She reached out to the door knob and opened the door.

It was............ "Her hope"............ "Her light"........ standing there; right across the door.