the devil in my head
as infectious as gremlins
a bat of an eyelid
and its jumping in yours
i say i am angry with me
u hear i am angry with you
you ask again
no
the distance widens
you cant see a thing
eyelashes try to brush away
the darkness
till you realize
that its caused by your own hands
i leave you
and your hope
to fight the devil
who has now become yours
posted by goldfluke @ 8:00 PM
6 comments
my eyes open to see stuff i thought would always be, fidgeting to go away. the mind kick-starts on emergency mode: tries to figure out this anomaly: look for other people, see outside… i look out of the bars, the rest of the world’s the same: nobody cared before, nobody cares now…
i fall back, into my armchair, the vines leaves the upholstery. creepers squish the contours of my body and weave into my skin. but poison ivy can’t enter my head: her pain can’t reach me.
i déjà vu on novocaine: “prior to the discovery of novocaine, cocaine was the most commonly used local anesthetic. novocaine (like cocaine) has the advantage of constricting blood vessels; without the euphoric and addictive qualities of cocaine.”
disengage! disengage socially! the slow, slurred voice screams, the world outside goes dark and light… the phone glows… i listen: worlds far away, people i will never see: i speak: on the right cues, in the right tone, staying at the right distance…
the interval ends and i fall back.
i know and yet i don’t feel the fear as i sink down the abyss. thick darkness takes hope and squelches her eyes with his fat, hairy thumbs… tracy chapman kicks in with ‘the thrill is gone’…
the minds eye takes over. it goes back to what i have already seen, cause there is nothing ahead: fleeting pieces of heaven, fallen dreams, empty stars and absent faces…
posted by goldfluke @ 1:18 PM
13 comments
Peaceful. An ideal introspection generator. A place where every one is literally and figuratively left alone. I know I will end up there at some point. What I am dieing for every day will only stay for so long. Including all the memories of me in the 17 friends I have. A place where you get shook up enough to stop and reexamine your status as rat and feel the desire to be human instead. Where all the superficial stuff is claimed by the waves of the essential...
A freshly dug grave waiting for its occupant. A motley crew of 15 people stood around singing hymns, before throwing some mud on the coffin and symbolically start the process of forgetting the person: the process of healing.
A few meters away on the perimeter of the grounds are dumps of burnt bones and skulls. The remains of the people who had been evicted after exhausting their 18month grave lease. Space is always at a premium in Mumbai. In the memory of the people who had run out of grave time, rectangular slabs had been put up on the perimeter wall. Like stacked up coffins. Rectangles through which the ones who still remembered could reach out. With pictures of the deceased on tiles, which in turn were attached to the scripted plaques. The dead watching over their own.
Some of the graves were well tended, you could recognize the fresh ones by the flowers on them, some just overgrown patches of shrubbery. Two twins in 2 foot long spaces, next to each other, under a cross calling them ‘our angels’. Next to a 2 feet space whose occupant died the day he/she was born…
A strange odour hit my nose: was it the stench of the nullah right next door… of was it the smell of the burnt bones? The place was started getting to me. The brain couldn’t handle the jolt. This was a place of death. You go there when people die, it is NOT a park. I don’t want my ego to be shattered. To be told that I am not in control.
posted by goldfluke @ 8:37 PM
3 comments
So we waited. baba, ma, space cadet younger bro and i. And her dad. For S, the potential bahu to join us. Truth is, she wasn’t just joining us casually, she was being presented. Finery, best behavior, spruced up living room: every word and action big on symbolism: a semiotic-ian’s dream. Baba and mr.m had morphed into news channel anchors: the recent elections, misappropriation of funds, the stock market movements. Ma and the bro were muttering amongst themselves about some Darjeeling holiday he wanted to go on.While I waited to be judged: got microscope, got bug. crew to take off stations please.
As if on cue the mind plummeted into self doubt: Will I cut the grade? Am I worth experimenting? Do I have the potential to provide: materially, emotionally, in fun, in troughs? Could I become the person, she looks forward to? The reason which inspires belief in matrimony. And vice versa.
How long before we get our answers to the above? How long does it takes to decide? Is ‘blink’ true? What if the room doesn’t start burning the minute I see her? What happens now? Who can really see the future?
And then she walks in, with her mom, sits next to me, our eyes meet and lightening doesn’t strike. No dramatic rise in awareness caused by beating hearts. No widening of the pupils in attraction. Zip. Blank. Nothing. The pilot didn’t even need to retract the wheels, flight over. We did speak, something inane, about the weather and for some strange reason hazaar khwaishen aise… and then we stopped. Very nice samsoas, from some place in Park Circus. Awesome abar khabos. Dead air.
I smile at S, she smiled back and both of us realized that we wouldn’t be meeting each other ever again. The proposition had too many wholes. The presentation bombed.
Next…
posted by goldfluke @ 8:07 PM
3 comments
I hear a soft, woozy voice, almost like a lullaby, loaded with a kindness, which makes you want to let go of worry, allows trust.
A ricocheting sound pierces through my brain: a screeching hi pitch tone in a hollow space accompanied by a feeling of being drilled into… the mirror shows me shot-gun splattered with reckless desire.
We head down a stairwell, away from the elevator, an adventure minus the rest of the world. Just us…
The mind wanders: what if spontaneity flunks the audition? What if I can’t capture ‘natural’? What if the ego gets shredded further? There are trips and there are trips…
I light up against doctor’s orders, stare at the darkness and welcome you to me.
posted by goldfluke @ 2:19 PM
9 comments
last evening whilst loitering around bandstand i noticed this old-ish structure, one of the few on the street, with all the doors and windows open (nothing to hide or secure), with frail figures ambling around… the bandra bandstand old age home… a few of the residents were sitting on the promenade, huddled together, i tried to make eye contact with them, only to find a vacuum in their eyes: staring blankly at the sea, as if waiting for the ship of deliverance to come in.
starting from my grandmom in cal to other old people in the family, the aged have constantly been a source of curiosity to me: not so much the solitude but the fact of having been in the thick of the action, how the same heroes and heroines got relegated to extras. without the pressure to do things to fill time, the pressure to do something constructive, the pressure to have a purpose in life, and so on, their very existence is almost… spaced out… the race over, sitting in the sidelines, seeing the next crop do their thing, commit mistakes and celebrate victories, some giving all they have for that bit role, some waiting in quite resignation for the next life stage, most just waiting…
posted by goldfluke @ 5:59 PM
17 comments
this is about the writing, not about the writer...
