Passing by

I sit sipping acidic black coffee in an overpriced coffee house. Gazing outside, a book lying idle on my lap. It is fun looking at life pass by through this huge plate glass. A series of snapshots in a frame. Sometimes, an entire lifetime. New age hippies with weird hair and branded footwear. Office-goers, hard pressed for time, in their discount store, over laundered formals. Fading at creases. Happy and ignorant college kids wearing the latest off Linking road. Infatuated eyes and dreams of movie-like endings. A couple clutching each others waists. Proclaiming love, demarcating territory. An occasional ragamuffin. A limbless beggar. An umbrella seller balancing four rainbow-coloured ones. And then, a person I recognise.

You walk in. We smile. I notice the subtraction of plastic in it. My smile fades. I was hoping for some pretense. That is a lot easier to deal with. You order the latte. We are fumbling over the weather, prices and distant acquaintances. Away from the mutterings, in our heads, twenty years loom. Tormenting us, daring us to touch them.

It is unlikely we open the Pandora's box. But, your lack of pretense today is making me expect the worse. Slowly we move towards the box. It is full of knots. We begin to unravel.
Tears don't come easily. I wonder why not. I am far too removed. I am with worse pains. This one was so distant until now. I understand it is so for you too. Then why this tete-a-tete. I hit upon an answer. It involves childhood, and confusing adolescence; a history.

We never shared dolls or trinkets. Or played rowdy games on bicycles together. It was about the thoughts, the dreams, the books. Of competitions in gaining favour in schools and in groups of friends. It was about the music; the little darts of taunts. It was as real as the world around us now.

The knots were always there, we did not realise that they would make our leashes smaller. We would become more impatient to get away. Time does this so often. There is no one to blame.

I have called you here today. I want to clear the air. I need you to know I have moved on. I know more than I did three years ago. I can see why you take some decisions you do. I can see the clockwork of your mind, even though I chose not to be a part of it. You should know that even if I may not agree with you with you, I can see what calculation, emotional and otherwise, led you to it. I can still support you. I am going to be there.

We will sit in more comfortable silences now, I hope.

Now, you get up to leave. I wave you out with a happy smile. I think I will order one more cup of coffee and watch the people passing by and you, as you go.

This year has been like none ever before. In the 23 years of my existence, since the time I can remember, years were clocked with changing school standards 1st, 2nd, 3rd...... June mingled with the scent of fresh paper of new books and May was best remembered for being at home or some vacation spot on a mountain far away. The rest of months were fused. Classrooms, friends, teachers, sports days, assemblies, exams....
Then college came. Nothing much changed except for the lack of a school uniform and compulsory attendance.
Then came June 2007. No new paper smell greeted this month. I spent most of it in the house, helping my mother who had torn an ankle ligament. I tried to enter new pursuits in the months that followed: joining a gym, enrolling for a correspondence coaching course for those mgmt. entrance exams, making plans for catching up with friends. For the first time ever, I felt the months making their presence felt. An August which led to September, September to October, October to November.......It is May now. 11 months of random, structureless life. Nothing like the lovely ordered study and work patterns I was so familiar with.
My schedule has been disrupted. This is not done. I am free-floating. Not enjoying the feeling. I now treasure routine, love planning. I want to know what is in store for me tomorrow. I want the power to change it. I am a victim of the moment. I want to conquer it.

Lemontree

This one just fits so well!

I'm sitting here in the boring room
It's just another rainy Sunday afternoon
I'm wasting my time
I got nothing to do
I'm hanging around
I'm waiting for you
But nothing ever happens and I wonder

I'm driving around in my car
I'm driving too fast
I'm driving too far
I'd like to change my point of view
I feel so lonely
I'm waiting for you
But nothing ever happens and I wonder

I wonder how
I wonder why
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue blue sky
And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon-tree
I'm turning my head up and down
I'm turning turning turning turning turning around
And all that I can see is just another lemon-tree

I'm sitting here
I miss the power
I'd like to go out taking a shower
But there's a heavy cloud inside my head
I feel so tired
Put myself into bed
Well, nothing ever happens and I wonder

Isolation is not good for me
Isolation I don't want to sit on the lemon-tree

I'm steppin' around in the desert of joy
Baby anyhow I'll get another toy
And everything will happen and you wonder

I wonder how
I wonder why
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue blue sky
And all that I can see is just another lemon-tree
I'm turning my head up and down
I'm turning turning turning turning turning around
And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon-tree
And I wonder, wonder

I wonder how
I wonder why
Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue blue sky
And all that I can see, and all that I can see, and all that I can see
Is just a yellow lemon-tree

Days go by

We met when we did not yet know the meaning of that word. We stuck because, there was no one else more suitable around. And we were stuck, together, for years. Without need, out of habit. You could never point out what was wrong, though you always knew something was. (or maybe was not, I will never figure that one). Had our own strange equation. One's complex fed another: superiority, inferiority. Saprophyte and its host. But, both, symbiotically happy. (I cannot figure that one out too).
Days, months, years. Kindergarten, primary school, puberty, heartbreak, love. We saw it all together. I cannot say we stood together through all this, though we did share words. Some hollow, some well-worn. Summer treks, Monsoon umbrellas, in winter; steaming Maggi. This was where we were together. Sometimes studies, sometimes pranks, some stupid notes passed during class. An escape when parents went mad. Great songs, to be listened and sung. That's all that ever was. Or will be. ( I cannot still figure that one).
Lately, we tattered away, like some worn-out rag. PR exercises replace comradeship and formality disguises boredom. Faith is an illusion.

I fear to tread here

I fear to tread here. Everything becomes real. In script, in ink, hopes become goals; ideas, advertisements. I fear treading here.

I fear to tread here. Fear my writing, just prefer some brave one's book. My scrutiny of theirs haunts me when I write my own. I fear treading here.

I fear to tread here. Everyone becomes a bit of virtual space. The one thing I am running from; meaninglessness. I fear treading here.

I fear to tread here. My footprints will be washed away. Am strong enough to make them, but not quite to create an eternity. I fear treading here.