Paper planes

Light and ridiculously blithe,
Paper planes in the classroom sky.

Scissor scores on the folds,
Clumsy fingers' prints of ink.

Messages in the seams,
Hieroglyphics of over-imaginative minds.

Surreal

I am obsessed with that word. It's comforting. My drug of choice.
I like taking holidays from reality.
Reality is confusing, lacks reason and is not satisfactory.
Unlike the control surrealism gives.
My laptop becomes my soulmate of no flesh and blood.
My windows turn into cinema screens.
The cursor is my fingertip gently cruising along a cold, steely skin.
The streetlights are my suns, shining without hydrogen, not blocked by any clouds from reality.
The Pangea forms again, and home is on the next street.

Wings

I am at many places at once. I live in a room with no great view currently except for the sliver of an old pub, scrawny rose bushes below my window and two dull green trailer boxes stacked up in front of it. I have another window, to use the cliche, this one.

I exist in India, Germany and US through this. I have the times put up on my screen. It's 19.33 and 15.04 now. At the same time. I feel like in some kind of continuous motion back and forth through time-space. One moment I am at lunch, the next, having breakfast.

Just before I wake up every morning I think I am in my bed. I wake up and realize this is a rental. My waking moments are filled with regrets and longing for familiarity. After making my self go through the motions of cleaning myself up, I get acclimatized to the here and now. Only to put on the computer and sink into the grey area between there and here.

I have travelled quite a lot in my country. Gone for journeys which have taken me a thousand kilometres away. But I never felt like this. I can picture the globe when I am trying to place myself. It's like a GPS zooming out and going westward from my home every time I try to find out where I am. It always tells me how far I have moved. I never gave much thought to physical distance, now I can feel every inch which has been put between me and home. Anything south and east will be like the direction of my Mecca. I bow my head in reverence and realize, I am lucky to have roots and now sprouting wings too.

Rambling

I sit in a white-washed building. There are no windows. There are password-protected doors giving access to a few. The air is conditioned, pumped inside spending loads of electricity. A gentle breeze might be blowing outside.
There are a thousand tube-lights. They illuminate and put everything into a spotlight. The sun shines brightly till evening. The ceiling hangs low. People move about suppressing spontaneous laughter. Business-like, busy.
Thousands swarm into these precincts every morning. A human ant colony. Working on set instructions, following rules.
Where do we draw the line? Human instinct or pursuit of something higher, less tangible, more ethereal. Do I need the support of cold, hard-earned paper money or the joy of doing what I like? Can these spheres intersect? Should they?
Why do I feel like I wrong people who, along with me now, are a part of this worker-ant-like colony? I look at them condescendingly sometimes. Sometimes, I just envy their happiness in the materialistic. And wish I was never this ambitious. I wish I could belong.
The metrics, the statistics, I am a part of, demean me. They cast their all-pervading shadows on my uniqueness. My sense of my own indispensability. I will struggle to break through. I hope to win. I don't know what I will lose. Hope the spoils are satisfying enough, if not, I will have my peace of mind, I tried.

Uphill

[again, an old one :P]

We started early. My over-enthusiastic sister hauled me out of bed. I woke up and peered through the window hoping for overpowering rain.

“We are late. We are so late!” Shweta kept on her scolding ramble as she tried to hurry me. I cared a damn.

There were eight of us, fitted in two cars. Dressed in comfort-wear, we tried a few stretches before we got into the cars. On our way, we stopped to parcel some vada-pavs as breakfast.

“I want five of ‘em.” That was Tanvi. “ What? Don’t stare at me, I need to treat myself after all that exercise!”

The rest of us- Shweta, Niket, Shamika, Mandar, Manish, Kedar and me- settled for two each. With the steaming vada-pavs in our knapsacks, we sped on to the base of the mountain. All the way, I was hoping for a massive traffic jam, which would send us back home.

After the cars were safely put in the parking zone, we obtained our entry passes- to climb. I kept hoping for a “No entry on Sundays” sign to pop up from somewhere.

The weather was horrible. It had rained the night before and the whole of yesterday. But now, it has stopped. Summer was trying to overwhelm monsoon and the humidity was making us sweat rivers.

The climb started as soon as we crossed the gates. There was no prelude of a lazy walk through woods. Sticky, gooey mud covered much of the path. The mountain was steep. There were mud-coated stones and boulders everywhere. Scattered like after a landslide, slanting along. Strange buzzing mosquitoes and dragonflies ruled the air. Mounds of mud on the ground were teeming anthills. Dense foliage overhead made the atmosphere hotter and steamier.

At the point of a rivulet-crossing, my sneaker-clad foot stepped into the water. (Eww!) My overweight flesh and lazy bones were definitely not a big help for limbering upwards. I was panting like an asthmatic. Left behind by everyone, I was cursing myself for having come. I guess I kept on trudging only to avoid the ridicule of my friends if I did not.

It was some 30 minutes onto the mountain when I saw that these guys had stopped at a ledge. The canopy of trees was absent at this spot. The sun had reluctantly buried itself in woolly blankets of grey. The light that resulted made the world seem surreal.

“I cannot. I will not go ahead!” Shamika had a shrill voice. Her anemic skin was glowing pearl white in the surreal light making her seem like a wailing zombie.

“Thank God!” I thought. “Now I can go back with her!” I did a mental “Whooppee!!” But…I joined everyone in reasoning with her why she should go ahead. Unfortunately, she complied.

“How much time more?” I asked Mandar who had been on this trek before.

“Till we reach there….” He pointed to a black stone fort, far far away. “About 15 minutes more.”

“Cool.”

Mandar had lied. It was already 20 minutes and I could see no signs of reaching the fort anytime soon. I was tired of breathing violently and my legs pleaded for a rest. I kept on walking.

Soon, we took a slight turn and found ourselves on a thin, narrow plateau. Here, the trees thinned out. I looked around. The neighbouring hills and mountains were crowned with dull white clouds. You could see for miles around. The hills sloped down gently into plains with paddy fields. Everything was green. Moss, leaf, sap, viridian, vulgar. Green. I tilted my head up. Grey clouds stared right into my face. A slight rain began.

I was suddenly ecstatic.The rain washed away sweat and mud. I put out my tongue to drink it all in.

The fort could be seen now. Veiled in grey and white wisps of vapour. I started forward. Onward.

The last leg of the trek was the toughest. But now, I was prepared. I wanted to go up there. Small stones gave way to huge boulders. Brown mud had disappeared leaving only glistening black basalt. Putting fingers in crevices and feet in gaps, I hauled myself up. We helped each other on the difficult parts. One slip could have lead to at least a month in the hospital. But, the journey was not scary anymore. The boulders were just a step to the summit. The adrenaline rush made it worthwhile.

The fort on the top was hammered by weather. Half walls of stone, cracked steps leading to nowhere and blades of grass everywhere the earth could allow. We found a small cliff which had its beginning at one of the black walls. It was a patch of soft green grass overlooking the steep mountain and offering another breath-taking view of the hills and clouds around.

I sat down and spread my palms on the wet earth. Grass blades caressed my hands. I felt more happier than I had been in a long time.

We then munched on our vada-pav breakfast. Everyone ravenous and fighting for the extra vada-pavs Tanvi had. The food was warm, spicy and filling. Contentment spread. Eight of us laughed, joked and sang till we were hoarse.

The descent was faster than the climb. The way was still splattered with stones and mud; now, more familial than repulsive. I smelt fresh scents of crushed grass and weeds and mud. Heard the gurgling, tinkling rivulets hurrying downward. Sunlight filtered through leaves on my arms and faces of friends and the adventurous path.

I reached home muddy, sweaty, tired and happy. Then, sped past my sister into the bathroom, peeled off my clothes and stepped into a hot shower. Relief surged through me. My mind relaxed and wandered to the task at hand. I had an exam coming up next month. A listless and faithless mind had prevented me from studying for it. I thought of the piles of books and papers towering on my study table. Now, no mountain is too high.

Crossed Roads

[another old one; luckily, stopped the gym-going 5 months back :)]

It was one of those dreary days when you curse the hour your great grandfather was born. Overcast, humid and with a 4.00pm, post-lunch gym appointment. Life can suck, and how! I dragged myself (duty over mind and matter) and pushed my being into the huge red tin boxes which pass for as buses. It carried me as slowly as possible, not missing any potholes, to my dreaded destination. The grueling 40 minutes of the bus left me with a dust-caked face and a runny nose (my allergy to particles floating in the air). As I moved ahead with the small crowd, a small mite of a girl, came up to me and asked me if I could help her cross the road ‘cause her tution classes were on the other side. She had sharp cut hair, framing her face in a square, pierced nose and shiny skin. She had worn a loose salwar kameez which hung on her bones and billowed in the air. She had a rectangular backpack. I said “hmmm.” And we walked to the crossing. I reached for her hand and at the same moment, by some deep seated human instinct, she put her tiny hand into my palm. We waited for the vehicles to pass. Me awkwardly holding her hand, she confidently grasping mine. We crossed the road and the tiny hand slipped away before I knew it. She quietly walked away in haughty tip-toes, then, prancing, as only a child can. I smiled, as only an adult can, with regret for my own lost childhood; and remembering the pressing matters at hand now. I went to gym.

City Lights

(An old one really; posting it now)

Gel Electrophoresis, protein structure elucidation softwares, nitro-cellulose strips, references, coffee, guffaws. Then get into the car and get home. After she got home, there was the usual channel surfing. Then the long debate with self of “what-to-cook”, ending with a 2-hour adventure in the kitchen. Smell, measure, cut, mix, heat, taste. Cooking for her was pure passion, unlike her job. She would spend hours in the kitchen deciphering the kind of alchemy that set aside a tomato salad from tomato gravy. This journey satiated her more than eating the food. Food just found its way into the mouth somehow, when eyes were wrapped with TV and ears glued to some music. Once the food found its way to the gut, came the real bites. Gnaws in ears to hear familiar voices, not just familiar noises.

And then, sometimes she would sit by the telephone and try the numbers of some ten people; for work, for self. She felt herself intruding privacy when she heard the sounds coming from the other end of the call. Disturbing their routines, upsetting their chores. She knew their reassurances that it was not so, were genuine, but then….

Sometimes, she just sat at her wide window, looking down at the city lights. Yellow, red, orange, neon. And fell asleep wondering why they never burn out before sunrise. Why there was never complete darkness. Cursing the lit-up, smoky, city sky.

The sun seldom failed to wake her up. A few stray birds would dutifully chirp at her window too. That morning, she woke up before the sun did and waited at her seat till he did, wondering what else she could do. It was her birthday. It pained to think that she had not received any of the customary midnight birthday calls. She heaved a loud sigh and moved on in her daily act of getting ready. As she drove to work later, she forcibly hummed with the radio. She wished someone would call her.

Once in the institute, she followed the regular trail- up two flights, turn right, get in the fourth door to the left. As she turned right, she noticed that the glass paneled doors were not emanating light as everyday. Fearing a power breakdown, she pushed open the door. Suddenly, lights flooded the lab and people swooped on her hugging and singing “Happy Birthday”. A cake was wheeled in on a lab trolley and was ceremoniously cut. They gave her kisses, wishes, cards and a T-shirt.

Later, as she was leaving the lab, a call from her mom instructed her to come directly to Hotel Renaissance. Family, friends had all gathered. It was a grand party. Food, drink and bunting flew all around. A smile would not leave her face. The celebration lasted long and she hugged everyone before breaking out. Gift-laden and a little tipsy, she sat in the car with the last coffee shot her sister forced in her hand. The car started with a slight jerk and she cruised on. As she climbed in the lift, the alcohol had begun to wear off. Happiness faded away under the stark loneliness of her flat. She put on the new CD her parents had gifted. Took up the book her sister had given and curled up at her favourite seat by the window. Her eyes watching the city lights and wondering why they never burn out before sunrise.