On the days when my words fail

On the days when my words fail, I sit solo, in an empty corridor,

Abandoned by the rationals, Hardly visited by wayward bonkers, And seldom by random lost souls like me.

A canvas left blank hang lifeless in my one hand, partly due to the raging fire burning inside that tends to keep me busy, trying incessantly to bring it down;

Remaining by the scattered thoughts that have run around all the directions of my mind, I call them lost thoughts, the little sheep lost in the woods, unable to find its way back to the shepherd.

A pen stay idle on the other, bleeding tiny droplets of ink, the blue shade had turned into red; like tears of a widowed women, bleeding out the last drop of her innocence, blaming none and not even fate, losing her love to a war fought between unreasonable tyrants.

Similarly, my pen witnesses, a raging war between my reluctant mind and my obdurate self.

The writer in me writhes in pain, ruptured by the heavy chains that locks it down,  Reaches out to me with a hushed cry, pleading to be freed , of the endless misery.           My autocrat mind refuses to listen, fixates its blurred vision to the infinite,            Nothing but the concrete wall at the end of the corridor and my eyes well up.            Bereft of tears, I yearn to cry, remembering the days of grandeur,

a happy coexistence of the writer and the tyrant.

 

DANCING WITH THE DEMONS

“I had seen her demons, Dad.” She wanted to tell him. “Her demons would never hurt her, maybe not like we did, ignoring her existence. They would never take her granted like we did, Dada. They would always treat her like the queen of the world that she created for them all.” She never told him though. All she did was to listen to his endless rant ,”I never helped her, Gauri. I was never there for her. I took her for granted and now you both have to pay for my sin”.

Grey hairs and a handful of Cashews-2

Handbook of life and a story on beliefs

Link to previous part: /https://myscribblessite.wordpress.com/2020/05/06/grey-hairs-and-a-handful-of-cashews/

“How often do I come in your memories?”, she asked me.

I lifted my head and looked at her annoyingly. I was finally feeling relaxed at the moment and the question was so inapt for the moment.

“Why are you getting upset? I know that you don’t miss me every single second.”

“That is true. I don’t miss you every single second. But there are times when I do. The memories pop up all of a sudden and leave you still for a long time.”, I said and she nodded in agreement. “It is just that there is a huge baggage of memories that we all carry around in our life. We don’t feel any weight , neither do we remember its existence until some moments happen. Certain things around us or certain situations bring back those memories and make us feel the emptiness of not having those someone around with whom we had a fond memory attached. It can be anything, a small object that belonged to them, a situation where we wish if they were there, or it can be even the food that we eat that may bring back he beautiful moments we had with them.”

“Ah, the food! “, She interrupted my free flow of thoughtful words. Another moment of annoyance for me. But I pretended to be patient enough to let that slide away.

“I bet then that I am remembered most of the time, right.”, She asked, her sound filled with a lot of hopeful notes that somehow synced in harmony with my lost emotions. I looked at her confused, my mind restless, waiting to find the right words to fill the silence, that was widening as each second passed.Somehow, she knew the hesitance in me and took my both hands and put something inside and closed it and pushed it towards me.

I brought my hands towards me and opened it. What was inside of it was the key to the locked words that were wrestling in my throat, waiting to get out, slightly choking me in between.

“You are remembered most of the time”. I finally managed to say it out loud.She started laughing hearing it, probably the cracks in my voice had let her lose control of what was supposed to be a very sentimental moment. Hiding my embarrassment, I too joined her, clenching my fists tight, holding the treasure she had handed over to me. A handful of cashews-It was as if I was holding onto the million memories associated with it and with her, than anything else. The memories of summer holidays, rains and the scent of the burnt cashews.

Grey Hairs and a handful of cashews

“Do you miss me?”, she asked, her voice quivering and broken.

“I do. How long has it been?8 years”, I asked.

She didn’t say anything but looked at me as if trying to figure out how much had I changed since then. I was not the same person when she left but looking at her closely, she looked the same, maybe better.

“You don’t look old and your back is not bent now. It is straight. I mean, you should’ve been 99 by now right.” I asked.

“That’s what happens when you die, Dee. Somethings cease to happen and some wonders do happen”

“But your hairs are still grey”, I said. Her hairs were still grey, the million shades of grey as I used to tell her. She smiled at me and came and sat with me.

“You are a mess, my child. What happened after I left?”

I didn’t say anything. I wondered if I could be angry at her for that but it seemed futile. People eventually have to eave, she only taught me that.

“Tell me”, she insisted.

I smiled weakly at her. After all, it was her, the one woman who understood me when no one couldn’t, the one who listened me when no one did, my safe haven. I leaned closer and rested her head on my shoulder.

“I learnt a lot from you, Grandmother. Just that you left out some important part. Maybe that’s why, the mess you are seeing right now.”

She pulls me closer towards her and she brushed through my cropped hair. Tears started welling up in my ears and it fell on her other hand. She wiped my tears with the end of her white veshti.

“It is okay Dee. Let it go” she whispered. I closed my eyes and snuggled deeper into the comfort I had lost long time back. I could feel the warmth of her on my face.

“Sleep Dee”, she whispered again and I slept peacefully for the first time after a very long time.

Window to my World-Part1

“Time and again, I have sat here and watched people come and go. They have also seen me but never noticed. I have lost the count of the number of days I have confined my world into this single room. It might have been days or weeks or months or even years. That was exaggeration because I know exactly how long it has been. And through this single window that overlooked the one room kitchen house and terrace of the neighboring building, I stalked people without them noticing me. A few had waved at me or smiled, but it was a pain to respond back. I was tired of these charades and preferred to keep people away from my world. Even my parents. After all that has happened in the past, this was safe. A single room with everything I love and just me and the haunting memories that kept me awake even when I sleep. Everything was going good. Everything felt perfect, until the day she moved in…

Chai Coffee-Part 1

“There are three things to do in my life before I die”, retorted her. He couldn’t help but let out a hysterical laugh that echoed throughout the bistro. Everyone around instantly turned around towards their table and she was embarrassed. But he seemed to enjoy the sudden attention of the crowd and waved to one or two. She got annoyed by his attitude.” That was a  publicity stunt and I am ignoring it”, she said angrily.

After sometime

I have been silent for quite a while now. With the blog idle and waiting for me to pen something.

It is not that I have run out of stories to tell. Believe me, inside my head, a number of stories are piling up, different stories with different characters, all the protagonist and antagonists, all of them residing in the same house now.

It is confusing though, for them. Each of them see every other person irrelevant to their story and they are interacting and evolving. Maybe, it is high time I should separate them and direct them to their respective stories.

I honestly don’t want a revolutionary movement to begin inside my head. After all, I just have only one head.

But keeping all the lame jokes apart, I have decided to start blogging again, maybe begin with a conversation like this and later on talk about the stories and my characters and some stories later on.

The writer in me has been in hibernation for long. It is time to wake her up. The reader in me is pushing herself and so will share about what I am reading too. The pen has rusted a bit and I need to maybe remove the rust and then shake myself up and get ready.

Don’t know how many of you are reading, but hey, if you do, please do post your comments and maybe anything you want me to write about. I will happily try.

Right now, sitting with a cup of coffee in hand, I am trying to get caffeinated and ready for some action, psyched action.

See you in the coming days with more relevant scribbles and stories.

Love

Durga aka caffpsy

PS :caffpsy or caffeinated_psyche literally

THE NEW DAWN

In the darkest hour of the night, between the closure of the four concrete walls, with none other than her solitude to keep her company, she opened the laptop that was laid on table and turned it on. The laptop was a newcomer to her room but it was a familiar one Like a lion unleashed from its cage, light raged out from the laptop and spread around her.

“Enlightened”, she mumbled, laughing at herself. She waited, listening to the music which accompanied the start of the operating system.

“Music soothes”, she said to no one.

IRONY OF MY IDEAL LIFE

I haven’t written anything for a while now…

And I feel lost. Somewhere, I have lost my balance between pretending what I am and what I want to be;

Now I am lost in the mirage of the pretense: the world where I am fully accepted.

The place where I live according to the rules and regulations set long before,

by someone I don’t know but every other being believes is right.

But do I? I don’t know…

THE TALE OF US……(The beginning)

“So what will happen now?” she asked.

The candle on the table was in its last lap, the wicker burning exasperatedly, flickering at instants, the wax spreading out unevenly on the candle stick and he holder beneath. For a second, I watched in curiosity, my attention turning to the further details of the candle, forgetting the presence of the gorgeous lady sitting in front of me ad also the purpose of our meet.