A night to remember

I waited outside the door for her. She was late as expected.

Cosmos Concious

A structural organisation at multiple levels, there is

The levels are only be fathomed but not seen

The levels in this continuum we are incorporated into

Our role in this order is limitedly defined

Carried out consent with or without

Minor disturbances which we think are the cause and the effect

Which probably is of little concern to the overall picture

Who oversees the structure and monitors the direction is little known

Probably no one probably everyone at different levels oblivious

Of the presence of the other levels

Probably some know or a few are aware of the non-apparent present

Others are deluded into believing that their part is whole and sole

There is no ultimate purpose no cause and effect

No beginning or end and no interim to pause and proceed

It goes on… like a bent arrow flying on itself, retracing its path!

Consciousness however magnificent or minuscule 

Connected may be with each other

Or may be totally disconnected yet living on each other

Our limited role as an individual of collective species within us

Have a choice of an attempt to conceive the overall structure

Or have a choice not to acknowledge the overall

And yet live life filled with short-lived purpose
And a rare speck of dust that comprehends the overall
Becomes so valuable to the structure that 
It is retained in the consciousness without destruction
That speck attains immortality gets referred to as a Demi-God
That immortal being is claimed as sent by God and worshipped!

Droplets of water!

Unfocus the water-drops on the window

Barber shop

“How long have you been in this profession?” I asked.

“One and half year now” he said.

“You are pretty new, then” I added, addressing his reflection in the mirror.

“Hmmm. Maybe. But, there isn’t much to learn in this. It is very simple job, actually.”

The reflection in the mirror was more interesting than the conversation. The dexterity with which he cut my hair was impressive. It made me believe that he must have been a fast learner.

“How long were you in your previous job in your home country?” I asked.

“3 months.”

“that s not much” I said.

“Well, the first day on my hair cutting saloon as a worker was memorable. My employer told me ‘that s your customer. Go ahead and give him a good hair cut. Fear not. I am here.’ ”he chuckled.

He went on with his work of cutting hair for sometime.

The large mirrors spead out all round the wall in front of me and covered most of it leaving a few bits for the top shelves which housed various lotions required for a barber shop. On my left side was another barber doing his job of clearing his customers. Both the barbers shared the same mirror space.

Along came a little boy drawing with him a doll by its arm and turning all the drowsy faces in the barber shop. Along came behind him his mama clutching her bag filled with his requirements for the next one hour of his stay. The gloom and sense of hopeless waiting within the shop seemed to end momentarily as the boy entered. Older men with week long beards seem to get attracted towards the little boy who reminded them of their own grandchildren, in various stages of development and to others the much awaited little ones from their sons and daughters, who had found no time to create a baby, amidst the busy routine of a city life. The left over youngsters, whose hair or beard didn’t bear a streak of grey amused themselves by ogling at her round breasts which made her tight dress hug her around all curves. Even the barber stopped his melancholous clp-clp, to acknowledge the change in the mood inside the shop.

And so the barber said ‘next’ as he finished the man on the chair and pocketing the notes paid to him in return. The small impatient to wait for his turn or never taught to him anything about it walked to the chair as though, next was his name. The man whose turn it was rose and started walking towards the chair only to realise that the little boy was already climbing on to the seat. The mother rushed apologetically to get the small boy back to the seat. The old man smiled and so did the barber, and they both decided to give the little boy the hair cut out of turn. The old man returned to his seat without a word and a smile on his face that extended from ear to ear. The mother apologised to the old man for her son’s insolent behaviour. The hair cut was finished in a moment and the mother and the son disappeared out of the door, much to the disappointment of the rest of ht occupants of the shop. The only person without any disappointment was the barber who continued his lazy clp-clp, pocketing the notes given to him by the young good looking mother.

“Thank you” said the barber to me as I left the change with him hair cut plus shave and left the barber shop.

Stained football boot

The bus was moving now, and he recognized outside the window the person with the white T shirt with no 7 written on it, as his friend whom he had waved good bye a few minutes earlier. He peered outside the window, watching the back of his football comrade, who had pulled him down during a tackle and gave him a bruise on his right knee on a practice match the previous day. He put his fingers on the glass window and tapped silently as though tapping on the friend’s mind asking him to look at him and wave. He strained his neck as he continued to look at his friend in the hope that he would look back into the bus, but in vain.

As he settled back in his seat, he unfolded the ticket and looked at the timing he bought the ticket at 5 minutes past the noon, which reminded him of the sandwich which was still left uneaten in his bag. He folded the ticket and stuffed it back into his pocket and unloaded his backpack from his shoulder and heaved a sigh of relief. He pulled open the zip and fished into the bottom of his bag to find the sandwich, which had now softened a bit due to pressure and the heat of his back. He remembered he was hungry. He opened the sandwich and bit into it, looking outside the window, lost in the thoughts as he gathered the events of the day’s match. He smiled to himself. They had won the match and were through to the semis. The sandwich, he felt was delicious and he was surprised how fast it disappeared. He cleaned his hands with the tissues and stuffed it into the bag. He zipped it back and pushed the bag to the empty seat nearby and once again allowed himself to be lost in thought.

Something caught his eye in the middle of his chain of thoughts, pulling him back into the reality. It was an insignificant stain on his football boot which was otherwise neat and clean and shining. These boots were a month old now, he thought to himself. Yet, they were white and clean. Did it show how much he played with them or did it represent how clean a person he was? He wondered. He let go of one more sigh. He wished for a while he was the star of the team without whom the match wouldn’t have taken place. His shorts were clean too apart from the lonely stain on the left side which represented the few minutes he was on the ground running just before the close of play. All the practicing and exercising, physical and mental strain before the match, team preparation, team dynamics – left him wondering whether it was all worth it. All the cheering and jumping for the goals scored by his team from the subordinate’s chair left his back side sore. He was however happy for himself as he got to run into the field at least 5 minutes before the whistle, to be rammed by the opponent striker that sent him down on the ground and knocked him off for a few seconds. He was a hero within himself. He expected his comrades to come and cheer him for his brave effort. But, nothing happened. Maybe, his effort was not up to the mark. He pulled himself up and continued. He continued to run with the ball and with other players. Unsure at times whether he is supposed to shoot the ball to this side or that. He sometimes wished he was more alert and less absent minded.

The bus pulled to a stop and a couple of passengers got onto the bus and a few others got down. He wondered which stop it was. He looked at the name of the bus stop and realized that he was supposed to get down there. He made it just in time before the bus doors closed shut behind him annoying the driver, who drove off with a puzzled look.

He had missed the direct bus earlier to attend the team meeting, he thought to himself. The team…Which team? The team that always considers him as an add on to fetch the ball? Well, that s the way it was, if it had to be. He hadn’t had much choice anyway. Someday, he would show them all, that he too could be a star player. He was capable of achieving anything after all, if only he could concentrate on what he was doing. And some day he would find out how to do just that.

It was cold outside the bus stop and inside the stop was no better as the doors were non existent. He pulled out the jumper from his bag and covered himself into the warmth inside the woolen coat which he found welcoming. He remembered the sheep which had so dutifully donated it s wool that comprised this coat and was thankful to it. He even gave it a silent blessing. He recalled the nursery rhyme as he strolled on to the board to look up at the bus time table to find out about the bus number and time for the next bus to take him home. “One for my master, one for my dame…” that reminded him about his dame and wondered what she might be upto? She would be all excited to listen to his stories of how he tackled the opponent striker to save the day. She would be all ears at the edge of the bed to hear him talk about the tackle that gave him the bruise on his knee and a stain on his white shorts and white boots. If only she was there on the ground? She would have laughed at him, he thought.

He watched bus come into the stop and open the door. Was this the bus he was supposed to take? He was unsure and it was too late to refer the board with the bus timetable. He thought it was better to ask the driver and decide. And so he got onto the bus and was for once thankful for his forethought of purchasing the day rider earlier during the day which gave him unlimited travel until midnight. And on he walked proudly to the last seat, amidst kiddies and babes who ogled at his stained football boots and shorts, and wished if only they could be like him.

Ashwin

19/3/11, 04 45

STUPID LETTER

The stupid man walked on the stupid road,

looked around aimlessly wondering how stupid the world was!!

Stupidity of which struck him in the eye and the mind alike..

But so stupid were his powers and objectives that he could do little!

He walked ahead in the purpossless blazing Sun,

Wind whipping the stupid dust purposslessly about his face,

With every footstep taking him purposslessly towards the other end of the road.

He looked at his potbelly which had protruded beyond his body making him look more stupid.

He recalled the misery that awaited at the end of the road which would start the moment he reached the house

The silly children asking for the money he didn’t have

The silly habit of his which had made a rich man like him into a street dweller;

The stupid habit to risk everything he had which now seem so very purpossless

The stupid horse that ran aimlessly round and round without realizing its stupid act

Had the stupid ability to turn a rich man into a poor and the viceversa

Once in a while he could feel the stupid horse smile sarcastically before it decides to run his doom and he had this sarcastic smile on himself when he felt his OCD eat him.

As he opened the door of his silly house he saw his kids running towards him as he expected with hopes of a cookie or two, fighting amongst themselves

But he has nothing much to give, apart from the last penny which was not worthy of gamble

He looked at the shabby house and his wife who sat in the kitchen without a sound

Somehow they all knew the reality now they didn’t ask anything he couldn’t answer

The stupid world continued to rotate without a visible button to pause.

Another day ends and another begins, stars and sun - rise and fall

‘Tears or laughter come and go, what is the purpose of my life or my stupid gambling desire

Do I like to see my loved ones unhappy? What is the mystery of this world which doesn’t run on my logic?," thought he.

The wind blew the door wide open, carrying the dust, sand into the house, taking with it, through the kitchen window, every cry, every emotion, leaving all equally and uniformly bland. The stupid wind was a regular guest in the house, moving in and out, as a shameless intruder, leaving the stupid man wondering whether the emotions belonged to him or the blowing wind.

25-02-09

aSHWIN