Mute moors of morning

Tick .. Tick .. Tick .. Tick .. I can hear it, the sound of the second’s hand in my borrowed – Thanks Rachit! – yeah, the borrowed table clock. Now, Why doesn’t the alarm ring? Isn’t it time yet? Another of those sleepless nights, when you ponder over a what-would-happen-if, and just keep on … turning sides, drinking water, checking-if-the-sun-is-out … stumbling over to random sites at the internet, and stuff. Impatiently, I got off the bed, and checked the time. It’s still 6:00 … two hours for the alarm to go off, one and a half hour for the mess, I have slept for an hour only. I feel strangely fresh. I look for the slippers and finally find them in the bucket – way to go. Once done with the morning chores, I still have an hour to wile away. The Morning Walk.

I can almost hear the gladiator music in the backdrop as I put on the socks. Attired suitably, I left the bhawan with a feeling of pride and self-congratulation. As I hit the road, the bucolic essence of wet earth captured me. The world seemed to be entirely unworldly and then it happened.

The morning air, the earth, the blue sky, the chirp of birds … and the insomnia junkie is high again. In a dreamy walk on clouds, I just breeze with the breeze, enraptured by the scenic marvel of nature to the outskirts of Roorkee. And the feeling that it evokes … overwhelmes me. I realize why it is called Mother Nature. The ease with which you can talk to the earth, the sky and yourself. A self-confessed soliloquist that I am, I just keep talking to myself, about all that has been and all that will be, about culture and animals and thought and mind and relationships and friends and incidents and future life and family and … love.

How petty is love, does it destroy creativity, is it natural, is it a figment of our imagination, is it .. real. To all these questions, the twos in me, ‘the rationale’ and ‘the true’ thought over. Repelling and rhetoric, though heart-felt, these were all that I could think of. And then I realized how meaningless language is for it cannot express thoughts and how patient are thoughts to burn inside till eternity. That was when I reached The Ganga Canal, the river the nature’s thought .. flowing … I felt love for the first time, a love for being. It is selfish, but I was happy for being and being here and being alone and yet with her. I realized that however true love maybe, however dear the loved one. The first and eternal love is for self, for being, for nature, for humanity.

And then there she was, free as the river, loving as the nature, rusty as the soul, being as I. The sole soliloquist had found company!

Does she think the same way as me? I never know and I will never find out All I have is
Thoughts …

To the blues ..

The watch just kept ticking. A desperate stare at it again. I looked at the glass door pretending to be in deep thought.

A female silhouette – alright, a white jacket – she loves white, the light .. come into the light.!!

She returns the utter What-You-Staring-At look. Someone else. How many times, How many. I look at the watch once again. The lines from our chat running through my mind. It was __ PM. ______’s. 31st .

2006.!! Godammit yes. !! So, what was it. The waiter comes around again.
W : Anything else for you, sir.
I : No, I am waiting for someone.
Oh No, it’s the thoughts again. As if he is playing mind games with me. Yes, the crooked smile. Why doesn’t he ask. Why the hell.
The red appareled monster walks away returning the hostile stare.

A birthday party at the table in front. Oh, how mushy she seems – The girl in red top and black denims. Is she going to look like her ? or Her friend in black pullover? The one with the grey bag? Oh, how I hate it ? and them. So happy .Go celebrate at your home. I still manage the unfelt smile as the birthday girl looks at me. The nod – ‘Happy Birthday, unknown girl’. She nods too – ‘Buzz off, bugger’.

And that is when I realize how different how different .. just leave it. When will she come? And goodness, it’s been just five minutes I’ve been here. And that fat woman has eaten 3 pastries. Yes, the fat lady with the cute kid. And goodness gracious me, how blue are those pastries. As if all the blues that I can feel have been baked and served cold. Cold-hearted. Will she be fat? Is there a she?

I just avoid the cuddling-cute-couple with utter disdain, again. A total ab-use of time. I mean, what are you talking about. What on earth, that you haven’t looked up in .. in .. in the five minutes that I have been here. Me and the Red-Clothed waiter, I bet the same thought runs through his head too. And he threw a smile at me. I just ducked away. The hostile look is back.
I prepare for the speech and the look, that would save me the embarrassment – what would I say ? should I even go back home? Do I have enough money to make a living in Bombay? Aunt shelly would keep me till eternity? – staring past the window into the horizon. Have I been stood-up? Is this … is this oh, just leave it.

She smiled and said Hi. I could just muster the wave, the wave of the hand that blew the blues away. The fat lady, the birthday troupe, the waiter, the couple .. all smiling. The world is wonderful.