We’d spontaneously decide to have a stroll in the Zoo. That’s how we were, impulsive, irrational, with a tad of insanity. We’d reach the gates of the Zoo and as always we’d mock the city’s inability to create a better establishment, we’d discuss the pathetic state of the walls, and we’d finally compare it with other Zoos that we’ve set foot in during our lifetime. We’d walk in and start with the flamingos. We’d watch them for a few minutes, and then you’d make a comment about the beauty of their feathers. “ They look like watercolor paint” you’d say. I’d remind you that their beauty is supposed to lie in their ability to remain still on one leg, and you’d shrug it off as a “cliche”. We’d walk towards the birdcages, and watch them flutter desperately from corner to corner. You’d make a sad comment about how a bird’s existence depends on its freedom and I’d remind you that you had a parrot at home. We’d then move to the Ghazals, and we’d be stunned into silence for a few seconds, mesmerized by the golden creatures, and then you’d say “ It’s been said that my name holds the meaning of a “ Ghazal””. We’d stop for a snack, sit on the bench, and talk about the future. You’d look me seriously in the eye and ask me if I had decided where my passions lie. I’d know then the purpose of the outing. “ I am indecisive!” id says. And then you’d do what you always do; underestimate yourself at my expense. You’d tell me all about the opportunities you’ve missed; all about the dreams you’ve wanted to attain; and finally you’d tell me that it all lies within me. And then, I’d feel it. You’d make me see it all. The future, I’d own it, and tomorrow, I’d soar.
.....
That’s how I’d imagine it, because that’s what’s really left. Shreds of memories, shreds of imagination, and shreds of the “now” that doesn’t include you. But, I certainly hadn’t soared, and I’m scared. I’m unable to make the right decisions; and all I’m doing is in the realm of “ appropriate”. You used to tell me that I was the one who embraced the word “ crazy”, and that people would envy me for my ability to stump fear.I can hold snakes and tickle spiders; but what about that damn fear that resides within? What about that?! I can’t hold time, and every day I’d tell myself “ Today, I’d be”, I’d find myself at the end of the day with a promise for tomorrow.
It kills.
That’s what I get for flying higher than I am capable of.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
"But then, I'll remember the courage of a child who knows he can't fly. But never stops trying.” Thorsten Kaye
As I look at you, nestled on that couch, trying to show me how the stripes in your school uniform can actually dance if they’re pulled apart. I wonder.
Who will you be in the future? An astronaut, tearing that universe wide open? A vet ,delving deeper in those miraculous anatomies that had always fascinated you? A pilot? An artist? A president? That imagination of yours; that limitless field of creation; where would it go? Would you be that Superhero you’ve always idolized? Its not so hard to envision that,; for you had rescued before. You’ve healed with that magical laughter of yours, and you’ve certainly mended many broken hearts with your out-of-this-world stories.
But then when I asked you, “ What would you like to be, when you’re all grown up?” and you answered with a fierce determination, “ I’d be the largest sticker in the world”, I knew, that no matter who you become, or what tomorrow brings; it’ll all be Extraordinary, because of you. You wont be the author, you’d be the book. Not the violinist, but the music. Not the historian, but the history. You’d be the world’s biggest muse.
Monday, March 15, 2010
I’d be that girl, sitting on the subway train. A notepad tucked in her pocket with pages as fragile as rain. It’s all she was.
Her purple iPod, her untangled strands of hair, her pale cheeks, dusted with fallen wishes, an eyelash,and an eyelash, and an eyelash. And she was a blur.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
It was right in front of "borders", on that tilted sidewalk at the heart of Singapore. Orchard Road, thats what they called it,We stood there sipping our iced-coffee, tucking the books we bought underneath our arms. And we planned, and we planned, and we planned. You bought stacks of cooking books, foreign languages, a mixture of exotic cuisines, Its funny how permanent that image became now, i can almost see those colored spines you were holding, in their right order, orange, teal, brown.and that creased piece of paper in the middle.
“ you don’t cook” I had said.
“ I can imagine I do,”
Like you imagined piloting those planes in the airport instead of merely stamping passports; like you imagined painting that old house by the corner of the street on a room-wide canvas instead of doodling in a blue-lined notebook; like you imagined circling the Olympics stadium instead of trudging on that treadmill.
Yeah, you mastered that; the art of always being in two places at once, doing what you weren’t destined to do, and skillfully too. And you’d always say “ Just because”
I miss that, the just because.
And I miss you, terribly.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Story 1
It was about a boy. Green T-shirt. Yellow Shorts.
He had a dream. And it was the moon, nothing else, just the moon. Not astronomy, not outer space, not Pluto, or mars. Just that white glow up there. “Its mine” he’d always say, “ the moon is mine”. But as always in her stories, things ought to be broken; everything, and everyone, was just so fragile. The boy. The moon. The dream.
Story 2
It was about a girl. She saw the future, behind her eyelids. The ghosts of upcoming days, resided with her thoughts. She captured her loved ones, before they fell through the cracks; she was one strong protagonist, that girl. But as always in her stories, things ought to be broken, The girl. The sky. The future.
Story 3
It was about a beggar. Living under an abandoned bridge. He met a stranger, who showed him the wealth of wishing fountains. But the beggar was pained by the wishes dwelling underneath that water, and decided “ no wish should ever be abandoned”. But as always in her stories, things ought to be broken. The beggar. The water. The wishes.
Story 4
It was about two fraternal twins. They waited for the night to come, and sneaked out of their mansion, looking for somewhere to call home. By the end of the night, they found themselves leaning on a lonesome willow, looking at that blanket of stars stretched upon them. And the willow embraced them, “ I’ve been looking too”. But as always in her stories, things ought to broken. The girls. The willow. The stars.
Story 5
It was about her. But as always in her stories, things ought to be broken. The life. The heart. The memory.