Screechy Echoes

What's your story today? Did the freak show from many days away come to visit you? Did you hurt like the day you were to hurt then? Did it chop off some beloved injuries from your loving heart? Or did it spill your guts on a broken tarp? Did you feel the daggers pinching your old stab wounds? Or was it digging its heels into your ardent blues?

What's your damage today? Did you let go of yourself enough in the wind? Or did you tuck yourself inside for the hurt to just rescind? Did the thorns up your ego for you to bolt and run? Or did the tinted flowers trick you into sitting out this one? Did you face it with a lively face and land inside a ditch? Or did you stroll away, closed throat, to not make a glitch?

The vague lines in your forehead screech a thousand ways. Echoing their way through each of your days.

Mulch

There came a time when he was calm, collected, and reassured of himself. It all went into splits and rearranged to form a vent of sorts, running smoke like clockwork.

One day, it poured heavily. The smoke, mixed with the big fat drops of bliss, seemed to create a ruckus on the roof. Like a thinly spread layer of gloom mixed with gladness, it hovered till the sun came out. He stayed inside, working to figure out why he was suffocated.

Over a decade or two went by with thicker layers of mulch on the roof. He waited for it to pass. Slowly and painfully.

And then what happened, you may ask of me. He decided to look outside. He saw that the sun had come out. It had actually been a visitor for years, but he just wasn't ready for it.

He stepped on to the roof and saw that a layer of sunny wisdom covered the strange mulch. Everything went quiet for a while. The roof was still filled with mulch, but a quiet mulch. He hadn't felt that quiet in...what was that? Decades.

It was not long before the storm arrived and cleared the roof. Suddenly, he could breathe again. He could see the smoke exiting his home, like clockwork, again. It dawned on him how oblivous he had been to the fact that the mulch was clearing every now and then.

Then why has he been feeling so suffocated all this while? He resigned to his fate and waited for it to pass, yet again.

He was hopeless and dull. For days and days and days.

He peeked onto the roof one day and discovered the bliss of a clear night full of stars and calm. From the roof, he looked at the night sky and went into a sudden trance with white light and melodies. He felt the presence of the mulch and looked around to find it.

It was a moment of revelation for him to find that the mulch that was no longer on his home, but still in his being. He let the white moonlight flood him with peace, and then something died a slow, peaceful death. The imaginary mulch inside of him was let gone, one piece at a time.

He blissfully coexisted with the many seasons of mulch and tranquility happily ever after.

Cushioned

She held on to her words with a sense of numb relief. The relief that she wouldn’t have to take the brunt of his words that overpowered her warm, snuggly self. She rose from her chair and began walking toward the door, gasping for air that she did not share with him.

Don’t get me wrong, he was not the reason for her plight. His innate magnetism would charm anyone in the room without a miss, to the extent that even she swung from end-to-end before falling into his arms.

So what was that speck of doubt she had in her mind? Well, let’s just say that she was not conditioned to fall in love like the other people in her life. Everyone falls in love differently. She was unmistakably nonchalant for an audience that really wanted to sway with her every move. Hold her, but only for the support she would give back. Smile at her, but only with lies on their lips. Love her, but only for the wisdom she would spell out.

Feeling sorry for her yet? Don’t. She doesn’t.

Then what made her move from this amazing self to a breathless baboon in seconds? Was it something that had been inside her all along? She possibly let go of those grey areas from her healing book, but who was to say new greys didn’t grow?

After all, her life had been several shades of darkness before a few stripes of yellow, red, blue and green showed up. Heck, she even pulled off the darkness with class. Imagine what she would do with those damned colors.

She finally reached the door and dove right into a free space of utter indifference. A firm believer of her ruminations, how could she be held responsible for what gets tuned into her vivacious brain? On normal days, it would just make some fine moves to receive an applause from souls similar to hers, and make them less deserving souls cringe from an insight into their own flaws.

She just wanted to let go of the darkness that resided in her eyes to pave a new path of indifference that would cushion her positivity around and within herself. 

There he is!

There he was – there! I could see him clearly. I was happy to see him. I can’t emphasise enough on how much!

Do you know why people leave? Do you? Because it’s how nature works. It steals some, it floods you with others. Options, miracles, lessons and experiences. Nature really sucks sometimes. It makes you go through hell to just help you see the one thing that should matter to you in life. The one thing that you lost. The one thing you’ll probably never get back.

It’s stolen, lost, been distorted, forever. Nature should really suck to be playing mind games like that.

But what if he comes back? It’s the one thing I probably would cherish the most in life, and the one thing that probably is in my wildest imagination. It’s far, unreachable, untraceable. My fingers try to retrace the path where I lost him. Will I ever be the same?

What if he sings me that song that kept us bonded? I would probably die of happiness.

There he was – there! I could see him clearly now. There he was in a clouded ounce of memory I have, that is my happy place. There he was – smiling at me like nothing had happened.

Who’s To Say Who’s Happy

He sauntered on the streets, enjoying the slight pitter patter of the drizzle on his skin. Tuning out almost everything from his thoughts, he began walking towards his door. Slowly placing the key in its place, he paused for a minute, thinking about how his whole apartment, with his life, was about to go back to normal.

He turned his key and stepped inside to turn on the lights and just gaze into the emptiness. But there was more than just nothingness keeping him company that night.

“I was beginning to worry you’d lost your way home,” a familiar voice broke into cliché.

There she was, curled up on the couch with a glass of red wine. Celia wore a crimson bathrobe matching the color of her drink.

Taken aback by her audacity, Joshua replied, “We’ve been over for a long time. What brought you here tonight? I don’t remember even wishing to see you!”

She turned up the minute he thought that she was gone. They had been in a bizarre situation of love for a long time.

“Relationships come with complications and consequences,” she said; “and this is a complication, not a consequence.” It was as though she had waited for this moment a long time.

Therefrom, he chose to ignore her completely and headed towards the bedroom, where she followed him. Without changing his clothes, he turned off the lights and went to bed.

“You’ll catch a cold,” said Celia, and began undressing him. His clothes were damp and has the essence of his perfume mixed with the hint of fresh rain that he had chanced to catch and capture.

Without a second’s delay, they were exactly back to where they had started. Their bizarre story of love took the longest halt of a month this time, only to resume their carousel of guilty pleasures and pains. Who’s to say who’s happy!

I'll Deal With It..

It’s that dreadful lull in between a long conversation. It takes you to places you never wanted to think about in the course of the dialogue. It also forces you to step back and re-think the impulsive decision you made after heartbreak. You’re scared that you’ll burst if you speak a single word. Then, trying your level best to not lose control, you open your mouth to spell out your anxiety. But you feel the words dissolve in your voice; it that has grown strong over these months. All the right things to stay are stuck in your throat and you hear yourself say in one single breath, “Don’t worry; I’ll deal with it.”

To the Best and the Worst...

There are some losses you grieve, a few incidents you rejoice and a number of feelings you get high on. The culture of a city can make you feel all of these things. Of course, it is affected by the nature of people, weather, lifestyle, or even the traffic of the city.

Everything is incomplete till it all falls into place. When I was unhappy with my life, I asked myself, “Which part of my life is falling out?” I struggled to change and adapt, over and over again, till one day, I knew that the worst I could eliminate given my limited powers against that of life and fate is over. I grieved, rejoiced and got high. Of course, it was dependent on the mood I woke up with - Some days, feeling like shit and others, looking forward to my work.

Yes, I love my job. One of the few things that I’m glad about is that at present, I love what I do. It involves waking up really early but it’s a job I never knew I wanted so bad till I got it. I never dreamed of becoming a writer when I was a child. It just happened despite of all the other things that I tried. Travelling in local trains and buses gave me an actual insight into the grief, joys and sorrows of the people living in the city. I have seen Lamborghinis passing by footpaths with people living on them – breathing, eating, working and sleeping.

The breeze that hits an outsider to the city on entering the boundary is equivalent to a high that can keep them going for days. There is no time limit to when you should go home and no compulsion to sit outside with friends after daylight hours, scared of the cops. No one is judging who you are, who you hang out with or where you hang out at. Best thing is that nobody gives a rat’s ass if you’re hanging out alone. People who are not from the city find it disturbing; I feel that they are too insecure to be by themselves even for a bit.

I miss my hometown at times, for the very few luxuries and memories that it offers. But I’m glad that I don’t have to be there all the time, as independence can never find you when you’re covered in pamper sauce.

Whimsical...

When is it that you know something is over? There is no button that you push that makes you stop feeling, and there is no such thing called closure. Similarly, there is no specific point at which something begins. It just starts, and before you know it, you're in too deep.

Layla went to bed that night, not even the least bit exhausted. Yet, she wanted to get a good night sleep as she was vacationing with some of the people that she had moved on from, and some who were still in her life. Precisely for that reason, she chose a single occupancy room. Time alone was needed... so bad!

She curled into a ball, fighting the pain of seeing the emotional drama that day. First was a confession by an old friend, that he had screwed up her short romantic relationship with someone she was in too deep with. Complete cut-off after total dependency. The first time, it took the life out of her, and then she just got used to people leaving. It had given her a few jitters to hear that after three years of her not talking to either of them, and she stormed out of the room. Apologies followed.

There was a knock on the door, which was weird as it was 2 am, and she was the last one to go to bed, as she was the only one to stay sober through the day. Layla's best friend from 7 years back came to check up on her, slightly tipsy. He sat by her side and talked to her about whatever happened that day. It was a little relieving to have a normal conversation after hours of going crazy.

They talked about the tantrum that she had thrown after the confession. It was mostly about apologies. She had screamed and shouted things like "what the hell have I ever done anything to either of you to have been screwed over again and again", over the littlest apologies. It all came down to the series of wrong people in her life, at the most vulnerable time. There was probably no 'right' time for it, because vulnerability knew her by name now.

"I'm glad you're here, of all people", she said to her friend, adding that she will probably never be able to take anything anyone says on face value anymore. After an hour of good conversation, he left the room, and she thought that she was ready to sleep.

Next, she woke up at 4 am and saw someone sitting next to her, watching her sleep. It was a guy she had fallen in love with once, loved and cared for him with all her heart. It had been months they hadn't spoken, which had taken a toll on her, but she convinced herself its all for the best. The world was scary without him, and ironically, that night he scared her by being on her side at that hour.

He left a picture of them both next to her. She recognized the picture. It was a gift she had given to him when they met the last time before things went wrong. The gift was being returned as a token of closure. He kissed Layla's forehead after she gave him a puzzled look, and left.

She lay there with the picture in her hand, thinking of the many more encounters that had taken place. She wanted to wallow and die. Apologies are too easy, she thought. They will probably never know what she went through on getting to know the incidents that brought upon the apologies.

The Opposite of Hate...

There was once a girl, who always wanted to make new friends. She thought that every person who came forth offering a friendly hand had good intentions. Walls were nowhere to be drawn. Well you can imagine the unknown vulnerability.

One day, such a friendly hand turned out poisonous. The venom of his words spread throughout the girl's being and began to break her. She withdrew with an inferiority complex about her looks and deemed herself unfit to be dated. She learnt the meaning of building walls around herself.

She was a good kid. Good daughter, good grades, good friend and an okay looking average child. She sure withdrew into her igloo, and surrounded it with hard walls. Somehow, a few people got through them. They only needed to know the simple yet special way inside - be genuine.

The girl grew up to be a good judge of character. She was still vulnerable, but really got people on different levels. The old and ugly memories still gushed up on her up every now and then, but she learnt to pass them.

Soon, with time, the wounds healed. She gained from that. A look at the better things in life helped get through the itch of the healing time. As luck would have it, she fell in love with a marvelous guy.

Again, as luck would have it, the guy's friends turned out to be the venom spreaders. Not great friends, but the socializing side of it. She thought it was OKAY. She decided to be an adult about it. It worked.

Two years later (about seven years after she learnt how to build walls), she got to know that the venom spreaders were still at their work. Calling her names in front of the guy she loved. The guy, however, knew better. He always stood up for her. She never knew for the two years that they dated, that the venom was being spread. When she did find out, it drove her into a great deal of sadness for a while.

The only thing that helped her move on this time was that she was way successful in life than the venom spreaders, who probably always planned to remain a liability on the planet; the ones who never planned to move ahead from criticizing her. Most of all, she had people who stood up for her, even if without her knowledge. And she learnt that the opposite of hate is never love.

Funeral Song...

When I came back from the hospital, somehow, everything had changed. My room wasn't the same, and my things were gone. I huddled into the backyard, just to find an additional room, which had replaced my beautiful garden.

I had lived in that house for 5 years. The memories attached to it were more precious than the ones I built in my childhood home. The first time I left home to rent that house. The first lease signed in my name. My first pay check. My first house loan to buy off the property. The property, which I turned into a beautiful home. My independent life. Tens of firsts came to my mind, and I smiled woozily. The thought occurred to me then - It wasn't mine to keep anymore. I wasn't alive anymore.

I scurried towards my parents' house, and witnessed a sullen looking crowd. I had been in the hospital for about six months, when they sold my house to pay the medical bills. If I ever woke up, they thought, I would have to move back in with them. Ventilator support does not really leave much energy for maintaining a house of your own. It hardly leaves you alive at all.

I always visualized what it would be like, to witness my own funeral. Who would come see me the last time? Who would be crying? Who would be handling the situation well? Who would break down and not be able to look at my corpse? Who would not show up at all? Would I be burnt or buried?

I saw the eyes of all my loved ones, together at once. Funnily, there were some people I barely knew, barely talked to. It was a good feeling, even if it felt a tad sadistic. I was genuinely happy to see them turn up. I just prayed that they didn't cry. They would stop, eventually; that I was sure of. After a while, the misery from watching them cry grew stronger, and I wished I had never died.

That night, I visited each person present at my funeral, in their dreams. I said all the things I longed to say, heard them say things I wished to hear all my life. I vowed not to walk away with words unsaid, unheard; all the while ensuring that they don't cry for me anymore. I could always meet them in their dreams, I told them, just the way I was.

That was the first time I felt the remorse of making people go through all that hell, just for the sake of witnessing their love. For the first time since my accident, I wish I hadn't died.