The dream job

He hung the puppets back on the wall, no strings attached. It had been a long hard day. Yet He longed for satisfaction. It was meant to be a stop-gap arrangement, but He never managed to move out. Sometimes, He figured, it’s not a question of options, it’s more about inertia – an innate tendency to let things stay, unruffled. A deep exhale marked the end of yet another day. He looked at the fogged window pane with a tinge of bitterness and wrote His name on the droplets with a finger. As He looked outside the window, there it was – the usual humdrum going on, a world that never slept – the lights flickering, the hum of the traffic, slow but moving, moving towards another day, at a rummaging grumpy confident pace of a giant.

It had been a long time, and yet He never got used to being a part of the usual goings on of His world. It felt strangely apprehensive to be on the top, alone, working odd hours, hours and hours of mind numbing repetitive work day in and day out. Sometimes, He wondered aloud, whether anything He did made any impact, and there was not a soul in the vicinity to hear His musings. That led Him to make indistinct maneuvers to make it interesting, subtle and yet endearing. He felt needy, mildly depressive and yet in control. Another one bites the dust .. played in His walkman. His beeper read in gold font, A.G, blinking, on the desk, signified the end of His break.

The hand written ‘Almighty God’ on the window slowly melted away as the street light lit up the room for the next shift.

P.S Even the dream job is not that dreamy after-all, playing god is tough and I bet He feels feel underpaid, and overworked !

Disclaimer: I have all creative liberty without being blasphemous. In my defense, I have used, or at-least tried to use, a capital ‘H’ for Him everywhere. And finally, I am sure I would have loved Him if I had faith.

Ballmer Peak

If you work in programming, or your second cousin’s first cousin is a software engineer, the following picture will interest you

Credits: cartoonchurch.com & xkcd.com

Cross-Roads

It dripped down the car-window, slowly.The drop of water, unholy.

It was reminiscent of a day passed, of roads and ways she crossed.

There was pain, a sob, a sigh. And yet, no voice out loud, no cry.

The baby at her breast was starved, but a cover to nakedness it carved.

All she wanted was it to survive, and all its life to strive,

for a drop of water, a piece of bread, for this she bore being stared, marred, feelings tied, emotions cried.

It dripped down the car-window. It was stubborn, outloud and slow.

A wail in the air conditioned, a whim of the youth, loose and bored.

All she wanted was everything. And that was all she had.

And their eyes met, for a second though, each had its own flow.

Its own love its own pain, both hearts bore a stain.

The tears shed tasted the same, sour.

There’s a tear on both sides of the window, but does the window cry.

Or it just bears witness to the life’s finesse.

The unhappy pair and destiny fair.

He just groped his bag for the ID badge, it was time to go.

My Grave-Stone

I did not like the feel of metal against bare skin. It felt naked and vulnerable. And yet, it was the way of life. The flesh, the cold stern touch .. the bruise it left for life .. a grudge that slowly subsided away and gave way to a pain .. a slow revelation of brutal heart ache.  I could never get over the tearing away of flesh, the sudden impact of leather and iron. And I ran , I ran hard till my blood turned acrid, throat arid and my heart pumped iron clad fists at my chest. I ran …

I hated the feel of metal against bare skin, and yet I had to endure. With cold metal in a casing and a trigger tucked under your shirt, you felt safe. There is a false sense of security with death tucked at your waist, how ironical it seems. Amidst the smoke and the dirt, I could see his face. He strained to get a look at me. I felt his stare driving me to the wall, nailing me down. And yet, it felt familiar. His stare, the attitude, the cold sudden hatred, it was all painted on my heart. And I ran … Panting .. sparing no breath … But he was always there. It was like living an eternal paining truth .. running from it and facing it yet again, it its gory glory time and again. Life was not easy.

The feel of metal against skin was unforgiving, tortuous. I was hidden from the tiger, crouched on a tree, sweating .. keeping my heart beat slow, for there was an eternity yet to endure. And that was when I saw the branch slowly bending its way down, down to a dead dark well .. I could almost touch the slimy hissing snakes .. There was no hope, no purpose .. and so no fear. I bent down further to lick water drops off the leaf .. and then ..

“Died of a heart-attack, pupils dilated, nightmare probable cause, found dead on arrival” – said the doctor’s report.

The dark feel of metal against skin is fatal. The coffin touched my bare hands. I felt the same. Life was no different than death. I still hate the feel of cold bare metal .. and I ever will, and that’s what my grave-stone reads.

R.I.P.

Sheep in the big city

The third chord C major ended the orchestra, or was it the applause that seemed to mingle and merge with the music. There was bach in the air all around. The audience seemed to gather around his focal persona.

He reflected back on all the years of solitude, misery and hardships he had gone through for this day. A subtle music was playing in the background. Everyone seemed to be at ease, a calm had descended over, draping the world in a gloomy silence. He couldn’t figure out why the gloom, the dire dark overloomed despite the occasion, the success. Maybe, with success comes the fear of failure, with height comes the sense of falling down. But he wasn’t afraid, he was just apprehensive, suspicious that all this was not real. Maybe just now, the bubble would burst.

He walked across the breadth of the room. It felt like walking across the world. Here it was apreciative of him, yet ready to pounce on him, awaiting with bated breath … his fall. And over there, he could see his nest, the abandoned abode of sanity and inspiration. He felt her hand on his shoulder, a memory when he played for her, for the sheen .. the glow on her face. And now, here she was – glass bound, beautiful yet unmoving – where is the poignance, the touch, he wondered – almost aloud.

” Did you say something sir”

” No, no .. no.”

The phoney … oh well, just let it be !

He felt a drop drizzle down his back. It was raining. The drops reminding him of the surge of passion he felt with her – and the shallow love he inspired now. Was it inspiration or desperation? He could not figure out. He, as if by an invisible force, impulsively picked up the violin and headed to the rain. Will and grit, that is all he had started with, that is all she loved him for, that is all he felt drained of now. It was chord IV spint quintet, mozart. The rise and the fall .. on his drenched shoulders embarking on a journey, long , ardous – waging a lost war. She was nowhere, not even beethoven could get her back.

” Whats the matter with him? Why is he so .. so .. eccentric?”

And he could not endure it anymore. He stood there till his heart froze into a trance in symphony, it was beethoven’s quintet in a deafening silence. He could hear no more, he could see no more. A drop of red on his chord ….

The greasy pole

” But what is it then that you want ?”

” I don’t know.”

” But you have to do something, you can’t just let it be.”

” Why? I am nursing my dream, that is just the way I want to live.”

He just sat there, underneath the greasy pole. It was a chaos up there, he knew it. Boot-in-face, legs on shoulder, prying eyes, creeping ambition .. and the grease on the pole, that was all he could see. Everyone wanted to be on the top, and those there kept greasing the pole. It was an addiction .. this life. A vicious circle. This was not the life he dreamt of, this was not what he wanted. He took another gulp .. glurggh !

” But how would you survive, how would you go on , To win in the rat-race, you ought to be the cat.” A smile on self-wisdom.

” I am in no rat-race and I don’t want to be. Why don’t you just let me be. “

He remembered the first day he had been there. Crisply dressed, calm, confident and assured. It was like a dream .. but that is not what it proved to be. It just proved to be a greasy pole .. on which he had no intention to climb. He did not want to scale new heights, he did not want fame and fortune. He did not want greased hands ..

” Dont be a child , Roh.. , be practical , realsitic , you would be hand-to-mouth, what else do you have in life ?”

” but what is it that I want ?, Do you know “

” It’s all just bookish crap, good-for-nothing ramblings , it won’t get you anywhere.”

” But, I dont want to be anywhere.”

“God, you are impossible.”

He watched him go back to the greasy pole – boot-in-face – shoulder-climb – …

He puffed hard at his cigerette again. He felt shallow .. unable .. a madening rush of insanity … he took a long gulp again, it would last no long. He called out to the waiter again.

” One more .. repeat the last one rather.”

The sun was setting far away, it was rising in him !

The alchemy of desire !

He could feel the evening chill settle down on his torn back. He covered his legs with the damp blanket. It was not that cold in there, but his bare body could take it no more … his head fell back .. deep into thoughts ..

She sat near him, he could hear her breathing … strange thumping sound .. His own back was drenched with sweat. He felt the need to talk to someone .. he wasn’t used to all this .. he had never even ….

“Hey … where are you heading ?”

She looked at him .. her eyes were soaring red .. and intent .. he felt the determination in her eyes .. a will to do something. He was shifty-eyed as ever .. could not make eye contact .. guilt remorse fear …

” Running from life ” she said .. and then chuckled ” and you “

” I guess we are together in the journey ” he wondered aloud at the storming thought of running fom life .. in his case .. towards death. He felt the plug inside his jacket.

” But this journey, we all have to do alone .. ” and he again felt a stinging pain in her voice .. but yet she had a charming gleam in her eyes .. with a yearn to live .. entiely contradictory to her expression .. he was bemused by how well she concealed her thoughts behind a chain of words .. he could hear the voice of command in his head .. you have to do this today .. you have to blow up the bus … he felt the fuse again

” Yes, it is true .. ! ” he felt strangely in love with her … he looked around the bus anshe was eveywhere .. the old lady with the kid … the kid .. the youngman and his wife .. the little girl and her father … she was everywhere . in the form of a will to go on.. to not give up … he felt weak in the knees .. he could not do this now … she was too .. too … he coudn’t say it

He surrendered to fate .. he wanted to live even if ..

“Live bombe surrenders .. red alert in the city”

happYness

He felt the need for a smoke .. It was 5 in the morning .. It had been a fitful night .. he felt a little limp on the left. He looked around for water .. there wasn’t any. As he stepped down from his bed, he could feel the damp, squib earth beneath his feet. He headed to the kitchen to get some water. To his dismay, the tap fetched nothing except a slushing sound. He desperately needed a puff .. and some water before that ..

He headed out. It was a strange morning .. he felt choked. A sudden sadness engulfed his entire being .. his dependence on nicotine – his inability to sleep – his skewed thought-process .. the limp on the left side was back. He was estranged in the whole world .. a solitary being with nothing to share .. he felt nothing .. no happiness no gratitude no love .. it was a numb heart ! Selfish .. !

He reached out for the lite .. aaah ! A sudden lightness crept in, he was able to think again

It was then that he saw her … She was standing bare-feet on the road … pained and thoughtful. It was a bare face .. reflecting nothingness. He just kept watching her .. awed by the resilience her face showed. He felt content and free. He went ahead after what seemed like an eternity .. and dropped a one-rupee coin in her hands

As he walked off, away from her, he reflected a thought upon his state … he felt happYness but that was not what he thought of .. what he thought of was .. the selfish base nature of happYness .. the narrow-ness of it ..

The Y-Why of it ! and then he realised why happiness was spelled with an I and not a y .. because it was unreasonable, devoid of why .. it bred on dismay of others and the selfish him … and he felt parasitic all over again !

..As it rained

And I glanced at the tick-tocking Ajanta wall clock again. The green shining radiating hands shouted blatantly at my face

4:55 ..

And another pang of insomnia .. amidst all the snoring sleep-oholics, I stand apart. I wonder .. what keeps me awake as the mind is unusually numb .. thoughtless In a meek voice, I ask if anyone else is up .. and Harshit is .. and a slight movement on Samar’s side. Hmm, atleast I have company …

But the moment I realize the awake human presence in the room, both of them as if by a stroke of cosmic conspiracy, got up in a breath and blink and were ready to leave … with a slightly-senti last-goodbye !

A bleak light coming from the crack of the ajar-door .. blurred by the rain drops .. intermittently caressing the light as they fell .. woke me up from a fitful slumber. And I glanced at the wall again .. in a hope to have spent some time sleeping .. but its hardly been twenty minutes.

Perched on the couch browsing through the channels .. .. hunh .. !?

Who is the old man .. what is he doing in all the blood ..

He just sat there .. thought-less .. gnawing absently at the piece of bread .. drops of blood dripping from it .. was he a cannibal .. was it a sin .. the human blood drenched piece of bread ..

I was there too .. I could feel metal .. taste the bittery acrid cold .. metal in my system ..

And I see myself as if in a mirror or a separate world .. with the finger on the trigger .. the death the finger tip ..

And whamm !

I was drenched with sweat .. even in the Conditioned Air ..

Shivering with fear ..

It was just a dream .. Was it ?

Smoked away ..

He puffed at the last cigarette desperate for nicotine and solace. He could not comprehend it. He should have been happy. It was the achievement of his life and yet he felt .. alone .. sad and weighed down. He should have been out, partying with friends, having the time of his life to commemorate the rise, the fulfillment of his ambition. But he was here, cowed down, cornered. He had avoided company all day, kept friends at bay, stopped life. He wished the day to pass, the day whose becoming he had wished all his life.

And yet, today he just remembered her. How different, how special this moment would have been for her. It was a dream they had watched together. It was an ambition for her as it was for him. He watched the smoke rise up … as it rose, it spread its wings, it lost the density, the cohesion, the togetherness, it lost her. He felt indifferent to all success. Nothing mattered once it had been achieved. What matters was whether it gave him the satisfaction he pined for, and it did not. This was the way he had remained alive, walked past the successes for more and more. And here he was today, at the top. The sun was setting behind the river .. a river which lost its flow to amass .. spent its steam on itself. Was it a life desired, a life that felt burdened by happiness, by success … he didn’t think so.

The blade flashed in the air and he slashed it across his wrist. The cigarette butt lay there in the dripping blood, dampened, the smoke died down and so did the spread … it was all together now. His eyes were open , his heart was closed.