Tuesday, September 25, 2007

The Said.

She stopped. A hook in the darkness pulled her back. Trembling a little, she retraced her path to a safe escape that lay dead now.
The eyes met blankness, not a muscle twitched on his watchful face. Was she doing what he wanted her to do?
The cologne again. She clenched her fist to allow the unsteadiness pass. Gradually, it became her friend.
She knew not when her finger tips touched his brow. His eyes spoke nothing. They were still like glass; hers, fluid like a stream.
Phwatt! It sounded like a burst balloon, it felt like a knife. The pain fogged her mind for moments she couldn't count. She felt the redness on her right cheek become eminent, the traces of his fingers leaving their indelible imprints on her mind.
As the blur cleared, she saw his back disappear into the inky blackness, the silence shaken only by his reverberating footsteps, walking away.

Tears never came.
The Unsaid...........

When his arms went around, they locked together more tightly than usual. She felt the heat. The cologne stole its way up her nose and she had a blissful moment. Lips travelled down her cheek, bringing fire to the skin that the coldness had mercilessly whipped. She waited for him. He for her.
Then she ran away.
You! in the dark!

A faint throb in my head. Thoughts cartwheel and somersault in the immobile space. The sound of the energising "Rookmani Rookmani" enters the inlets in my round, not so bald head. Yellow light watches itself on the surface of the steaming, placid water in my olive green mug, stirred occasionally by the hand of the breeze.
This kind of drunkeness needs no intoxicant to give it birth. It's generated by a feeling - exhaustion. All work and no play makes R a drunk. A bee buzzing about inside. Inhibitions at their lowest. I can say the shocking and do the adsurd without batting an eyelid. Nothing matters! Who cares what'll become of it tomorrow?? Tomorrow's still a distant possibility. I might be stabbed in my sleep.
I did something bad while the bee buzzed. The "buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" drowned out what the conscience whispered. Like I care! Ha! Everybody deserves to be bad sometimes, without angels breathing down your neck! Damn! It's a free country.


The dark side smiles. It's secured a lawyer now. Me.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Playing with Light & Colour
They made us shoot roses in a walled classroom. Yuck! I loathe roses. They're ugly. And to waste film and focus on them is worse. Then we had to shoot each other. Some have the knack of shining before the lens, natural, glowing, beautiful. But it doesn't seem to awaken interest. It's monotonous. The same countenance, scarcely varied expressions. Dull!
The authorities took us far out and flung us into the arms of nature. "Go. Click whatever you want. Anything that seems amazing to you." And we went, the weight of the SLR a familiar friend by now; notebook and pencil ready, to scribble aperture and shutter speed details. The freedom felt like five pegs of vodka. I stole for myself the colour of leaves, the formation of petals, the bark telling its own story, the terrified chameleon, the swirling clouds, the stream snaking its way through the emerald carpet, the innocence of the young, the raw power of water, the lone wooden idol, the laughter on wrinkled faces, the fowl couple cosy in a corner, the shades of fibre, the bright red and green of freshly washed chillies, the potter's hands shaping life, the blacksmith's hammer poised to beat the docile metal, the forsaken wheel resting by a hut.
I stole it all. And everytime I go out there, I'm never disappointed. I always find something new that galvanises me to pull out my weapon and capture, for the human memory is hungry. The orange leaf penetrated by yellow rays, the tiny red beetle scuttling about the forest floor, the glistening grandeur of the ghost tree. How can one not stop, gape and click?

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Scars
He followed her soundlessly into the room, with a faint hint of a swagger. She took off her earrings and wrenched away the band that held back her locks, unaware that she was not alone. Tired of the inertia caused by the intoxicant, he sprang into action. A cemented hand struck her smooth cheek and hurtled her backwards. Shell-shocked, she barely had let out a cry when he struck again, this time hammering his fist on her head. His hands held on to her skull and pressed as if wanting to compress it into nothing. Locks got entangled with his fingers and if her eyes weren’t sightless, she would have seen the silver glint of mad power in his pupil. His fingers clasped her hair and pulled. Her pleading screams went unheard into the inky night. When he released her, strands stuck to his palms. She fell back onto the unsteady bed, clutching her head, oblivious of the tears that sprouted from an agony worse than the one that had just consumed her body.
All this while, he had yelled, “You’re getting out of hand. I’ll teach you a lesson that you’ll never forget!”
His words buzzed in her ears. The comforting words of the inept, passive women, witness to this usual drama of life felt like snow.
The choked throat made way for the voice of rage. She looked into the faces of the others, despising them as much as she did him. “Cowardly wretches! He would’ve slit my throat before them, and they wouldn’t have moved a finger to my aid!”
She talked about leaving. The others hushed her. It was unheard of. They feared that he might return, or worse, that she just might act upon her words as she had done before.
“I will get out of this hole someday! Someday I’ll just run away and I’ll never come back!” she sobbed, as arms wrapped themselves around her.
“If you want to do that, don’t run away. Earn your living, stand on your own feet and walk out with honour.” The woman said it quietly, and in spite of the rebellion roaring in her chest, it made sense.
As her body weakened, so did her present resolve. She put her head in the woman’s lap, hiccupping a little, trembling a little at what the mind shall remember forever, even if the body forgets. The eyelids felt weighed down, as if mourning the loss of precious tears. Darkness seemed closer every minute. Then, when they thought she had escaped to slumber to heal, she murmured sleepily,
“How could he do this to me? He’s my father...”