Guys its been a while since I wrote something over at pure pursuits, and here I put to paper some thoughts which had been over my mind from last couple of weeks.
He sat there on his chair pulled up right close to the wall, just besides the open window. Two large portraits hung on the wall just above the window. As he looked outside the window, with his face pressed to it, he could almost smell the rusty odor of the iron bars across the wooden window. His room was dark, with his tube lights off, a faint light from the nearby street light fell on his slightly pale face, the droopy old bald guy seem to have a glowing face with eyes behind a pair of almost thick glasses. The light coming into the room cast a shadow of diagonal parallel bars on his otherwise straight face. He sat there in the darkness of his own room.
“Amit” his mom screamed, “Will you open that stupid window of yours, it stinks in here, where will the air come from if you always keep the windows closed?, I hate to enter your room!”.
Amit shouted back at her “Who asks you to come in, you need not. You can leave all my stuff at the door, and I shall pick up, this is my room”
Amit’s mom walks back still continuing to vent her frustration for her highly disobedient son.
As he sat there gazing upon the far horizon, with a face as calm as an innocent lamb, scenes from his youth flashed before his eyes.
His line of sight slowly lowered, and fell upon the people walking by on a not so busy street. He saw people of all ages, making their journeys through life. Some animated self talkers, some calm and slow sloggers, some who seem to have hit the jackpot of happiness, and others who seem to consider themselves to be the personification of sorrow if there ever was one. He was having an amazing time, letting his imagination go crazy, with the possible stories of anyone who walked passed the street, Even with all the excitement, he sat there almost expression less.
“Amit, Why do you keep yourself shut in that dingy room of yours?, and why do you hate socializing so much?, you got to get out, meet people, if not outside house atleast the ones who come visit us”, You could see that Amit’s mom was really angry this time around, the green vein showed up on her forehead.
Amit had never been a people person, no he was not an introvert, nor did he suffer from anthropophobia, but still he never enjoyed meeting people, the earlier days where he preferred himself to other people, flashed before his eyes, as he continued to enjoy the one way interaction with thousand of faces, and a lovely imagery journey his mind was undergoing at the moment.
The power cut which seemed to have caused the darkness in the room ended, and the lights came on, he could see a shadow of his wife walking up to his room, with a cup of coffee in her hand. He took the coffee from her hand, and began to sip it. A little cold, a little too sweat, and a little too light to his taste, he sipped along as he remembered his days from youth where he would have shouted at his mom for making the coffee just the way he didn’t like. Amit finished his coffee, stood up and walked out to his usual walk.
Guys its feels just yesterday I brought good number of books and published this post Eventful sunday, but sadly I am almost done with the last of the books I bought.
Its an emergency right now, I need to quickly form a list of books to buy, so all I have are you guys, please do suggest some books so that I have a good list to pick from.
btw guys…I am planning to try a new genre..so any suggestions?
I have had just two jobs till now, the first one lasted for a period of 10 months, and I have been in my second job and my present one for last 4 years. In fact I haven’t done much of voluntary weekend jobs too, except for a day of forced voluntary work at a medical camp in one remote village. So pretty much all I have to say is about my current job.
How different a software engineer’s life can be?, well that’s a misnomer which I realized later, its not the job/profession which shapes up a life, its more of what we want, that shapes it.
I am one of those guys who are born to worry. I have always found my mom worrying for things which we have no control about, or does not affect in least bit of way, but still she worries. The bad part is that I am exactly like her, no I am not blaming her for what I am, I know I am solely responsible for all the worries I get into, but then she was an example for what I did not want to become, and then I just became the same thing.
When I was in college, one thing which more or less made me forget my worries was my studies, I mean I really had no time to worry about anything else, all my worries were focused on a chapter I am studying, or yet to study, an exam coming up, or the year ahead. I really was always busy, with something or the other to worry about, so all these petty things always slipped of my mind.
Like a natural progression my job took over what studies was to me at one time, all my worries started to get focused on the problem I am solving at work, the things I need to do tomorrow, the project I need to finish this quarter, and so on. I think I am so used to work worries [in most of the cases just as insignificant as my mom’s worries] I hardly get time to think and worry about other stuff, Job has become an escape point for all other things.
I don’t want to be the other Manuel “Manuel needs to be busy. If he is not, he thinks that his life has no meaning, that he’s wasting his time, that society no longer needs him, that no one loves or wants him.”, I really don’t want to be him you know.
I hate it when I am loaded lightly at work, that means my mind is free to think about things which is of no use, things which complicate more things, things which in a way affect me or people close to me, I hate it when I have a lean period in between tasks. So are the weekends, even though I don’t prefer to work in the weekends, there have been numerous occasions where I have thought how nice it would be if I had work to bother about, instead of this stray thought which I know is going to leave me sad at the end.
I am hoping as my life changes, and I get involved into deeper things in life, I no longer would need the escapes that’s provided by my busy job.
I have missed haeds or tails two weeks in a row now, and I must apologize to Barb for this.
The topic over at skittles for heads or tails this week is “Job or jobs you have had”, even though it does not fit the prompt aptly, I thought I can just push it through.
The story behind the superman,
Existence of Santa,
The haunted mansion across the street
Toothless, tattooed, scary granny at the end of the street.
Unsolved mysteries from my childhood
A curios me
A mysterious world.
I wondered, is this the end?
The end of, the curious “Me”?
Riddles of the relationships,
Cobwebs within people’s minds,
Baffling boundaries between materials and spirituals
Puzzling clues of a dreamy damsel,
Deeper the mysteries of life,
The return of the curious “Me”.
The prompt over at writer’s island this week is “return”, here’s my attempt
Here’s a typical Saturday evening at Rambler household in chapters.
Poor old rambler, [hmm let me correct not so old rambler], in his room trying to alternate between the TV and his laptop, and also trying to throw in couple of pages of the book he has been reading.
Trrrrrrrrr…the door bell rings
Rambler to himself.
“Oh not now, the book was getting interesting, why did they have to come now”
Rambler’s mom from the kitchen, “Rambler! Open the door”
Rambler sulking-ly walks up to the door and opens it.
Two people, whom Rambler has hardly spoken to, but can recognize from face and damn his good memory, can remember their names as well. Rambler as usual has his fake smile and let the people in.
As always, the two people start. “Oh you are home!. didn’t think you would be, its been so long since we saw you, last time we were here, you weren’t home.”
*Rambler thinking, Oh no!, dad’s not at home, this means I need to sit in the leaving room till these people leave, and not only that I need to try and strike a conversation too*
Rambler trying to be nice, “How are you people [Chhannagi idira], when did you come last time, I am generally home.”
“We had been here last <weeday>, you were not home”
Rambler Thinking *whose home on weekdays, don’t you know that there is something called work????*
Chapter 1 :Introduction
Picking up the conversation the couple would start “Oh you have grown so much, we almost could not recognize you, it must be years now. You look so much like X now.”
[You can substitute X here as follows, if couple is from my mom’s side, I would appear to them as if I am so much like my mom, or her brothers, if X is a relative of my dad’s, I am a carbon copy of either my dad, or his brothers], If I ended being like every one I am supposed to be like, I would have ended up like a family album of portraits, and all morphed together into one face.
Rambler settles slightly into the seat, when mom has to rush to kitchen to prepare coffee or tea.
Now this is the worst part of the whole scene, the couple obligated to speak to me, with not knowing what to talk about, and me trying hard not to be alone in the room. So the couple begin
Chapter 2: work [used to be education till very recently]
So Where do you work?.
Rambler, trying to be as inaudible as possible, “M*”!
Oh, You should have tried in Wipro/Infosys, with your marks and talent you would have got in for sure.
Rambler not knowing how to react, *yeah may be, may be I should jump there next time*.
Oh yeah you software guys never stick to one job, we people served a single company all our lives.
Alternate2: [slightly hep couples]
So are you still with M?
Oh really?, we thought you would have switched companies
As though it’s a crime to stay with the same company for that long, you are a software engineer, than you should behave like you are unfaithful husband and your company is you’re an year old wife, you got to stray now, this is the time
Chapter 3: Weekend
The focus shifts to their almost shocking discovery that I am home on a weekend
So, why are you home, not going out with friends?
Rambler thinking, didn’t you complain just now that you are not home on weekdays..
“Yeah, I prefer to stay at home on weekends”
Oh my son/daughter never stays home on weekends, they never take rest
Rambler thinking, when would we stop complaining ? ..oh wait am I not complaining too
So, why are you home, not going out with friends?
Rambler: “Yeah, I prefer to stay at home on weekends”
Oh you should not stay home, you should go out, make new friends, may be visit some relatives
Rambler thinking, somehow they want me to get out of my own house, phew
Couple turning to my mom, who is now in the room serving coffee.
“When are you getting rambler married, he looks old enough, shall we spread the word around”
My mom, getting the much needed support which she otherwise wouldn’t
You guys only ask him, he never listens to me, we are ready
Rambler thinking, oh not again.
What are you waiting for?, good job and all settled, you should not delay, its tough to find girls later.
Rambler trying to not sound harsh. “No another year or two maybe”
Couple becoming all excited trying to help rambler out “So tell me, if you have found a girl friend already, we will make sure your parents get you married to her only?
Nowadays people have no respect for religion, specially girls always trying to trap good boys like you..
Rambler thinking,, trap aha that would be fun, may be I should carry protection from now on, just in case.
Rambler mumbling out: No, nothing like that, no girl friends
Oh we knew that, you are a very good boy. As if they know what I am doing everyday.
I have never been ashamed of being a “good boy” until now.
Chapter 4: Good bye
We should be going back now..
So Rambler, why don’t you come home, my son/daughter have not seen you from such a long time
As If I am some celebrity who their children are waiting to see
You should make some time and come for lunch
Rambler trying to smile, and let them guess the answer as Yes/No whatever they feel like
And that’s an end of yet another weekend story at Rambler’s
I think I must be the dumbest blogger ever. I just realized that from the time moved onto wordpress I have unknowingly used email id with my real name, while comment on any of the other wordpress blogs. How dumb can I get?.
stupid..plain stupid me.
I have been smiling for no reason today,
I don’t need an excuse to be happy today,
For once life has been so different today,
I have been smiling for no reason today.
Amidst dirty droplets of life, its been a rainbow today,
All I Wish for, are more days, just like today,
I don’t need an excuse to be happy today,
I have been smiling for no reason today,
Its been a long time since I participated in Totally optional prompts. Prompt today over their is triolet, its a kind of poetry which follows the rhyme patters ABaAabBA, its an eight line poetry where 1,4,7 lines are same, and also 2,6 are same. Thought I should give a try. You can read more about triolet here Poets.org.
I was in 8th grade when I had to deal with death of a close one for the first time. She was not a close relative in terms of the way she was related to me. She was my grandmother’s sister in law, in simple words my granny. I say a closed one, because she lived next door, she was paralyzed completely below her neck, and with all the pain in the limbs she saw me grow up with a smile in her face, gave me the scolding when I deserved it, and praised me mouthful when I did something worth of the praise. As my both parents used to be at work, and I alone at home, I used to spend a lot of time talking to her, and she telling me many things. If I try to remember what it was she talked me about, I can’t put my finger on any topic, infact it looks a little strange the conversations a 12/13 year old could have had with a 60+ year women, who hasn’t left her bed long before even the boy crawled onto the earth. I don’t know what we spoke about, but just she sitting on her bed unable to move, and me sitting somewhere in the room, and she talking to me is what I remember.
One day when I was in 8th grade, it was a Saturday I came home in my white uniform, and I saw the symbolic fire in front of the house, and I really did not have to be told, and I was sure it would be her. I just walked up to my room in the first floor, there were many people at home, and emotions running high. My cousins crying, and me for some reason wanting to look cool without tears in my eyes, I knew I was about to cry but did not let the tears roll down, I was asked to go see the body, which was now all wrapped up, and all my aunts and cousins pushing me to go see her for the last time, I refused, point blank, I did not step out of my house. I still remember the reason I gave to them, I want her picture to stay the way I have known her, I don’t want that to change.
This was the first time in my life, I turned my back to Death, I chickened out in accepting the death.
When I was in 2nd grade my paternal grandfather passed away, I never realized what I missed, all I cared was, I was allowed to take off from school, my cousins too were at our old house, where once we all stayed together, that meant a lot of fun, and free time to play with them. Even today when I do something, and my paternal grandmother is proud of it, she never forgets to mention “nimma tata irbekittu ivattu”..[Your grandpa should have been there today], but the fact is i would never get to know what it would have felt, with him around.
I was in my 11th grade, in the middle of my teens, growing up, becoming a man, biologically as well as mentally, I was in my class when a guy who is vary farly related to us, and also studying in the same college as me, walked up to me in between classes and asked me to go to my maternal grandmother’s house immediately, my grandpa was not well. I was this studious person, you know, I never missed classes, nor did I that day, I waited till the lunch and then went to my granny’s house on my bicycle. The symbolic fire yet again in my life, in front of the house, My mother told me grandpa is no more, he had a cardiac arrest when he went to sell old newspaper off to the store. This time I had tears in my eyes, but again I refused to see the face, I lied to people who asked me if I did what I was supposed to do, as per the ritual take a round around the body and throw raw rice. I told them I did it, and no one bothered to find out if I really did it. His dead body was placed in the veranda, and I did not even enter the house, within minutes I took my bicycle and went back to national college, within the lunch period. I was back in class for the afternoon sessions, and really I did not feel any awkwardness. I did listen to the classes in the normal way, only on the way back after college it stuck me, how it would be without him around.
I remember my grandpa as this strict man, always very serious, hardly smile on his face. He looked very much like my mother, ,rather she looks very much like him. He was from this old school disciplinarian, and I hated it. He would never allow us to watch TV more, he would always try to show us reality, make us study during vacation, and made us travel in Bus. I hated all of it. He used to tell me, I am like the big horse in the stable, which always has its own mind, never listens to others, and tries its hand in doing things which it can never accomplish. I really hated this joking comment of his. But one thing I admired in the man was his financial planning, and the way he lived us post retirement life, with the little pension he received. Once I called him up after my 10th standard board results were out, and I had topped the state. He listens to my excited mom telling him the news, I never spoke to him freely, I was always afraid of him. He then asks her to give me the phone, and he says “Appi,[Only he used to call me that], congrats, this should not be the end”. I was just floored with composure he had at that age. Grandparents are supposed to pampering, always excited and trying to make you reach cloud 9, my grandfather was different, the old man with an occasional smile, teaching me how one needs to be , how one needs to plan. Today when I spend every penny wisely, I think of him, and whenever I waste money, again I think of him. Wouldn’t it be lovely for him to see that I am not that horse anymore, even though I have my own ways with dealing with stuff, till I have never become the “doddu kudure” he thought I was.
Second time in my life I turned my back towards death.
Why am I talking of death now? You might wonder. One of these nights when I was laying on my bed with no sleep, I had a question in my mind, Whose death would affect me more, whose death I fear more, My own death or death of my close ones.
I would not like to answer that right now, I want the reader to ponder over the question , just the way my mind did that night.
Today I have two grandmothers both past 80 years, I know some day I need to deal with the death again. I am not sure If I am ready though, I am not sure if ever anyone is ready to accept death. My paternal grandma has been around from the day I was born, she has taken care of me for years, she has hit me like my mother used to on occasions I was being stubborn ass, she has also shielded me from my parents like the way grannies should. She has been very attached and so am I. She once told me couple of years back, of all the people the person who would cry the most when I die is “M****”, and that might or may not be true, but look at the way she is preparing herself for the inevitable.
I really can’t imagine when people have to deal with their parents death when they are young, after a long time I felt really fortunate to have had my parents all along, like our safety net, like ATM, for anything and everything. Look at how much we are emotionally involved with them, can we ever imagine what we are gonna do without them?.
I realized that we are not gonna have all of them forever, I just wanted my childhood back, where you never feared death, specially not your closed ones’. Today when I look at it, how badly it might affect me, the death. I sound stupid sounding this weak. I should be the man of the housel, I am gonna have a family some day soon, I am gonna protect my wife, my kids. Can one do that if they feared death?.
Just the very thought makes me think, so its not a simple answer to the question I had. I mean I could have easily said I fear the death of my close once more than of my own. But just think of it, how you death can affect your loved ones.
This week, everyday I have woken and seen my parents, I am somehow thinking of the day when I have to loose them, and believe me I am not liking it.
An impulsive dragon,
Spitting fire onto the world,
I was told its extinct,
I was told its a myth.
You know what,
I truly believed,
I really trusted.
Kashmir, Mumbai and now Jaipur too.
The guy up above.
Please don’t make our days
A cruel impulse of terror.
Hey guys, I am back after a short self imposed exile.
The prompt over at writer’s island this week is “impulse”.