The cold, stark reality of life lies in its end – Death. I sometimes find myself wondering why death is associated with so much grief?
I think it’s not what death takes away with it that causes as much sorrow as what it leaves behind. I think the loneliness, poverty, shock, terror and a myriad of such circumstances that those living find themselves in is what makes death grim. Added to that is the knowledge, which can be disturbing yet encouraging, that the end is certain. That death is waiting for you, somewhere, sometime. But can any one be prepared for death, one's own or some one else's?
I can often see humour in most things in life. I would like to believe so. But the humour in death eludes me. Can death be viewed from a detached perspective?
What scares me about death is not that I am going to be in its claws someday. I often say, sometimes even believe it to be true, that if I were to die tomorrow I wouldn’t care. I don't know how many would. I seriously joke though that if it should happen, I be told before so I can tie up some loose ends. Like get that hair cut I always wanted, or take a quick trip to that one place I absolutely want to see, or have my favourite foods, drink myself silly. The list is endless.
What really scares me about death though is when it is going to take away some one close to me. I know that life would move on. But even the thought of the inevitable scares the heck out of me. What scares me even more is what if when it happens, I have a detached reaction. What if it fails to move me? What if I move on with my own life like nothing ever happened?
Life is unfair, we have all complained at some point I am sure. But is death any fairer? What about when death eludes someone who is suffering, waiting for it? What about when death snatches away someone who is happily looking forward to living?
I think death serves a far greater purpose to life than life itself. It teaches one to value life. It teaches one to live for the moment, in the moment. It prods one to live every moment of their life like that might be the last moment!
But when am I going to wake up to death's call ...I wonder!! What if I never do? What if death picks me up before I have that hair cut???
Friday, 22 February 2008
Thursday, 14 February 2008
Aphrodite
This must be one of her early morning dreams, she thought. The time when her dreams are so vivid they seem real. But she remembers dragging herself out of the bed and going through the everyday routine before running to the bus stop. Yes, thats where she was, the bus stop and this was no dream. In front of her stood a guy, the likes of someone she has only seen in her dreams till then.
She knew all the regulars. The scrawny bespectacled girl, the cartoonish asian chap, the weird hat man, the school girl and her fagging mom. She doesn't remember ever seeing him though. And she could never have missed or forgotten him. He must be new. She had a good look at him. Oh yes, the perfect height - not too tall, not too short; she put the final figure at between 5.10 & 5.11. He was lean without being overly thin. She noticed his sharp features, the light wheatish complexion, his unusual but attractive gait as he disappeared into the crowd. She spent the rest of the day thinking if he was in fact what she thought he was.
As she hurriedly got on to the crowded bus that evening, she knew the Gods were smiling on her. She could pick him out from any crowd. But from where she stood, she could only see his back. She wasn't complaining as she stood soaking in every bit of its detail. Her concentration was rudely broken as he got off at the next stop. But his stop was not supposed to be until 2 stops away?! Catching the last glance at his profile, he looks every bit she thought firmly.
Over the next few weeks, her luck Goddess seemed to be working over time for she started seeing him more frequently. Each day as she observed him more minutely she got less discreet. He was what one could call handsome. Properly handsome. He reminded her of Al Pacino in Godfather 1. Not that he resembled him, but that was another man she found handsome. She was sure that when he smiled, there would be a hint of crookedness. She hadn't seen him smile even once. But she was sure of how exactly his mouth would curl when he did. She liked this picture of his smile. She liked his hair, the right length and volume. Its color - Not very blonde nor too dark, just the right shade of golden brown. Above all, she liked the air of arrogance he had about himself. Was it the knowledge that he was bestowed with such good looks or his genuine lack of care about it that gave him the confidence, she couldn't decide.
One day, quite unexpectedly she came face to face with him. She was getting off the bus while he was getting on. She saw a glint of recognition in his eyes. Was it complimentary? She chose not to answer the question, just yet. Later that week, when she was sitting quite carelessly in a stop, not her usual one, he once again caught her unaware. He walked up to where she was seated, her face sinking down into the book she had stopped reading the second she caught sight of him. As she looked up, in what she hoped was a casual way, she found him staring at her. Too stunned to react in any other way she gazed into those surreal eyes, for the first time. It might have lasted only a few seconds, but to her it seemed like eons. She knew it was time she asked him the question. But her courage failed her again. Besides she wouldn't be able to hear a no, not after having come thus far.
Days, weeks, months went by. He would sometimes be met in their usual bus stop and other times he would take her by surprise by appearing from nowhere on the road, in the tube and once even in a pub. In some of these meetings he would glance at her, more than once, and in some others not even acknowledge her presence. It didn't bother her. The only thing that bothered her was the question and more importantly the answer!
That morning he chose the seat next to hers in the bus but she didn't look at him even once. She couldn't bear to. She needed the answer before she could proceed. Her rational mind told her time and again that the answer was not important. It did not matter if he was or not. But she knew that thats not how it worked. Her imagination had to be perfect. And the answer had to be what she was hoping it be, to attain that perfection.
How could she imagine his beautifully sculpted body being draped in the pure white toga, the pleated end of which would fall down gently from his strong broad shoulders; the jasmine tiara adding the extra charm. No she couldn't do it without knowing if he was Greecoroman or not!
She knew all the regulars. The scrawny bespectacled girl, the cartoonish asian chap, the weird hat man, the school girl and her fagging mom. She doesn't remember ever seeing him though. And she could never have missed or forgotten him. He must be new. She had a good look at him. Oh yes, the perfect height - not too tall, not too short; she put the final figure at between 5.10 & 5.11. He was lean without being overly thin. She noticed his sharp features, the light wheatish complexion, his unusual but attractive gait as he disappeared into the crowd. She spent the rest of the day thinking if he was in fact what she thought he was.
As she hurriedly got on to the crowded bus that evening, she knew the Gods were smiling on her. She could pick him out from any crowd. But from where she stood, she could only see his back. She wasn't complaining as she stood soaking in every bit of its detail. Her concentration was rudely broken as he got off at the next stop. But his stop was not supposed to be until 2 stops away?! Catching the last glance at his profile, he looks every bit she thought firmly.
Over the next few weeks, her luck Goddess seemed to be working over time for she started seeing him more frequently. Each day as she observed him more minutely she got less discreet. He was what one could call handsome. Properly handsome. He reminded her of Al Pacino in Godfather 1. Not that he resembled him, but that was another man she found handsome. She was sure that when he smiled, there would be a hint of crookedness. She hadn't seen him smile even once. But she was sure of how exactly his mouth would curl when he did. She liked this picture of his smile. She liked his hair, the right length and volume. Its color - Not very blonde nor too dark, just the right shade of golden brown. Above all, she liked the air of arrogance he had about himself. Was it the knowledge that he was bestowed with such good looks or his genuine lack of care about it that gave him the confidence, she couldn't decide.
One day, quite unexpectedly she came face to face with him. She was getting off the bus while he was getting on. She saw a glint of recognition in his eyes. Was it complimentary? She chose not to answer the question, just yet. Later that week, when she was sitting quite carelessly in a stop, not her usual one, he once again caught her unaware. He walked up to where she was seated, her face sinking down into the book she had stopped reading the second she caught sight of him. As she looked up, in what she hoped was a casual way, she found him staring at her. Too stunned to react in any other way she gazed into those surreal eyes, for the first time. It might have lasted only a few seconds, but to her it seemed like eons. She knew it was time she asked him the question. But her courage failed her again. Besides she wouldn't be able to hear a no, not after having come thus far.
Days, weeks, months went by. He would sometimes be met in their usual bus stop and other times he would take her by surprise by appearing from nowhere on the road, in the tube and once even in a pub. In some of these meetings he would glance at her, more than once, and in some others not even acknowledge her presence. It didn't bother her. The only thing that bothered her was the question and more importantly the answer!
That morning he chose the seat next to hers in the bus but she didn't look at him even once. She couldn't bear to. She needed the answer before she could proceed. Her rational mind told her time and again that the answer was not important. It did not matter if he was or not. But she knew that thats not how it worked. Her imagination had to be perfect. And the answer had to be what she was hoping it be, to attain that perfection.
How could she imagine his beautifully sculpted body being draped in the pure white toga, the pleated end of which would fall down gently from his strong broad shoulders; the jasmine tiara adding the extra charm. No she couldn't do it without knowing if he was Greecoroman or not!
She stared long and hard. It was the weirdest piece of earring she had seen anyone wear. She was sure she hasn’t seen anything weirder than that. Not even that spiky hair style that leaves no more than 4 strands of hair standing out in four different directions. It was huge, plain black, going all the way up from the hole in the bottom lobe of the ear, through the back and finally arching down through a hole in the upper lobe. Overall, it looked like some sort of cornucopia. From a certain angle it even seemed like a natural (and rather ugly) appendage of the ear. Technically it was an ear ornament - it just wasn't serving its exact purpose - that of ornamenting the ear. The sudden jerk put an end to this inner monologue. This is where she had to get off. She threw one final glance at the man with the weird black earring to confirm she wasn’t dreaming. After all, wasn’t she used to seeing weird stuff only in dreams. Her own ‘real’ life was anything but weird - it was ordered and imperfectly perfect.
She preferred her dreams. She dreamed of living in her dreams - where randomness was the order of the day; where there were no real or imaginary constraints; where life was time & spaceless; where she could have seen the same man with the same weird earring and not found it weird. But, what if she already was? What if her real life was just a long and repetitive set of dreams, lucid dreams? What if she was flitting in and out of these sets of dreams; the ones she calls real and the others - dreams?
Yes, it has to be that! Life has to be a series of dreams tacked together. That fits in with her belief that nothing is real or everything is! She suddenly caught her reflection, smiling. The thought that she herself must be ‘the weirdo’ in some one else’s pattern of dreams, turned the sly smile to a grin!
She preferred her dreams. She dreamed of living in her dreams - where randomness was the order of the day; where there were no real or imaginary constraints; where life was time & spaceless; where she could have seen the same man with the same weird earring and not found it weird. But, what if she already was? What if her real life was just a long and repetitive set of dreams, lucid dreams? What if she was flitting in and out of these sets of dreams; the ones she calls real and the others - dreams?
Yes, it has to be that! Life has to be a series of dreams tacked together. That fits in with her belief that nothing is real or everything is! She suddenly caught her reflection, smiling. The thought that she herself must be ‘the weirdo’ in some one else’s pattern of dreams, turned the sly smile to a grin!
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