Tuesday, March 13, 2007

five things most people don't know about me

Karthik's tag -

1. I had a huge crush on Daniel Vettori.
2. I make lists for lots of things. From groceries to things to do. If there is no reason, then I will find one.
3. Sandman makes me truly sad. At times I simply couldn't read further. I had to stop reading, take deep breaths and think about something else.
4. I talk in my sleep. Its truly scary. Or so I am told. :-)
5. I absolutely loathed messenger clients during college. I couldn't fathom how a person can sit for couple of hours in front of a PC and have a decent conversation without any human touch in it. Neither voice nor face. :-)

Posted by Sookie :: Tuesday, March 13, 2007 :: 1 Comments:

Post a Comment

--------------------------------------- Fly with me

I inspected my apartment for one last time. I am not sure if I am going to miss it and I am not sure if I am going to remember any of this at all. I didn't bother to lock the tiny apartment. I decided to ditch elevator this time and take the stairs. I whistled all the way down and started walking towards my destination. I had all the time in the world and there was no hurry. Two weeks ago I had celebtrated by 34th birthday. Alone. In my apartment. I have no special someone nor a close knit family. I am an ordinary looking guy with an ordinary job and ordinary attitude. There was nothing special about me or was there anything different. Just ordinery. Plain and simple.
I reached my destination. It was a run down place. A building that was left to ruins because of some legal hassle but currently home for drug addicts, prostitutes and sheleterless kids. The thing that attracted people like me to this building was the stunning view of the city from its terrace and a damn fantastic place to jump. Yes, thats the reason why I am here. You know after some years it kind of gets boring. Doing the same thing, being alone; such a bummer. Its not like anyone is going to miss me if I end my life, would they?
I slowly make it to the terrace drenched in my own thoughts. Once I reached the top, I saw that someone had already beaten me to that point. I saw a girl, perhaps in her twenties sitting on the ledge, her back to me.
"It's a beautiful view from here, isnt it?" I was never the one to start a conversation, but today nothing ever mattered. And then, she looked at me. It was truly beautiful. Her mascara had merged with her tears was running down her cheeks leaving a black trail at its wake. Her lips had the reddest of the red lipstick which was smudged on her chin. Her attire was truly atrocious. She had these fishnet stockings which had holes as big as my life, a cheap dress and unkept hair. She smelled of cheap perfume, cigarettes and alcohol. Her eyes, I could get lost in them. She was so beautiful. She was broken.
"You are beautiful." If there wasn't such a ruckos in this building, she would have definitely heard me mentally slapping myself. Can I get any lamer? Really!
"I know what I am. But thanks anyway." I gave her a tiny smile. I was full of bravery today. I know how people think that its only a coward who can think of giving up his life but then why is everyone so damn scared of dying? Mustering up with whatever courage I had, I told her.
"You are imperfect in every imaginable way. You are a hooker, with no family, no home, no education and no respect in society. The men you see in your profession have reduced you to this. The scars on your body is nothing compared to the scars on your mind. You have been reduced to this bundle of pain and mess. Every cell in your body screams of imperfection and being an outcast. Then again, I have never been a fan of perfection. There is a beauty in everything that constitutes to your imperfection. There is a fragility in your stance that gives you a vulnerable aura that many girls practice in front of a mirror. And those eyes of yours are truly windows to your soul. Pure and unblemished. If you put life back into your smile, then perhaps you can give all the broadway models a run for their money. You are like a beautiful broken porcelain doll."
"I actually have come here to make that final jump. Thanks for your kind words. You have a wonderful poetic heart."
"Poetic heart? Thats so....Byronic. Its more fucked up heart. I am here for the jump too. Say, why dont we fly together?"
"Fly where?"
"Anywhere from here. Anywhere you want to. As long as I can tag along with you." I can't believe it. I am flirting with this girl and my life is almost over. Almost, but not quite.
"I always wanted to see the sunset from a beach. Shall we go there then?" We were both smiling by now. I was unnaturally calm and serenely happy. I took her hand in mine and we smiled at each other.
"See you at the beach."
For the next few minutes all I could feel was the chilly wind wafting through my hair, her warm hands in mine and a sense of release. We were flying!!!

Posted by Sookie :: Tuesday, March 13, 2007 :: 1 Comments:

Post a Comment

---------------------------------------

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Monsoon evening

Maybe redemption has stories to tell; Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself? Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here.
- Switchfoot (Dare you to move)

I lazily gaze at the clientèle spread in front of me. Well, in the front I can see the rich bastard and his snooty wife, next to them are middle aged working couple – their faces tired with the days work or was it because of life in general? And then there is that vegetable vendor from around the corner, an old woman who looks like she is from a respectable family, a retailer from the shop that’s right across this temple and the local Romeo and Juliet. Of course this being a temple there is a priest humming something incoherently (I seriously wonder how much of that is correct) and doing some rituals (again subjected to suspicion). It’s a chilly monsoon evening sky ready to burst with yet another fiery span of rain. I like this temple and I have always liked being here. I have a job to do and I like my job. The priest puts a Tulsi garland around my neck. I see a box of sweets kept in front of me and my mouth waters. I like the fresh smell of the plant and look at my clientèle wondering who got this exotic garland for me. I am a God after all; this kind of worship is expected!

I am a God with a capital G and underlined. Technically a goddess but then again calling actresses as actors is supposedly a new fad and I am known to be always ‘in’ with the in thing.
It turns out that the garland was got by the snooty wife. Maybe it was an offering to remind me to forgive his pathetic-wife-beating-corrupt-son-of-a-bitch husband. Yeah, like that’s going to happen! Keep trying for next two millennia or so sister, may be then I will change my mind and forgive him. I look at the middle aged couple and the only thing I feel is guilt. I have all the powers in the world to change their lifestyle in a heartbeat. But there is annoying little thing called as Fate, that incidentally has taken up permanent residence in my head. It stops me from doing these so called “irrational” things. If I didn’t have that thing living in my head then maybe there would not have been any natural calamities, no food shortage and no poverty. So I had to resist the urge of wringing the little neck of rich bastard or waiving off all the worries of middle aged couple and give a little bit of confidence to our Romeo. Really, I am getting sick of watching Romeo and Juliet making ga-ga eyes at each other.
The crowd disperses quietly and a calmness settles in the temple. The priest has already packed up for the day and pays one last respect for the day. I have this sudden urge to start dancing. I idly wonder if it would be covered as a breaking news on TV that is if the priest didn’t die of a heat attack first. I rolled my eyes at my own thoughts.

They came with the rain. The young couple must be in their late twenties. It didn’t take a genius to tell that the guy was an atheist. But the girl, well the girl was different. She simply looked at me and prayed for good health and peace. Her voice was clear and tone was calm and collected.
I heard (Ok fine! eavesdropped) their conversation

“You know I don’t believe in god. God doesn’t exist”. Maybe if I started dancing then he would know the truth! Or should I wink at him, he is not bad looking.
“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean that they don’t exist. It’s your choice though.” Good girl. Hmm…I must add her name in my favorite people list.
“Gods are characters in our legends, mythology and bed time tales. We celebrate the birth of god and mourn of the death. But in all technicality gods are immortal.” Not bad. Good looking and rational too.
“We don’t celebrate the birth and death of god.” What? What? What?
“No?” It looks like his face is mirroring my puzzlement.
“We celebrate the birth and death of a Point of View” Oh. I am speechless. And that’s an understatement.
“How can god be a point of view?” My question exactly.
“From the beginning of the human race, there has been god. The way the god is perceived changes from person to person, region to region and time to time. In the end after all these years we ended up with millions of them. It’s an essence of something that has always been there. Both, that thing and the Time began their existence together. And once everything in this universe ceases to exist, they are going to hang up their towels, lock the registry and close the shop.” Smart girl. Even though she just gave me an existential complex.

For some moments there was only sound of rain. I looked around and saw that the couple had already left. I idly wondered about the girls words. Nothing had changed. But somehow, everything seemed different. And with that last thought I logged off from the mortal world.

Posted by Sookie :: Tuesday, January 09, 2007 :: 9 Comments:

Post a Comment

---------------------------------------

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Rich snobby guy + Poor innocent girl + Minor complications = Best seller!!!

"I think the tale of Shakuntala is highly overrated."
"But it was one of the most noted works in the history of Sanskrit literature. Not to mention the most famous poet/author of all time-Kalidasa."
"True. Still, I believe it is overrated. The story itself is a famous legend and here comes a guy who narrates in his perspective making the King look like a bad guy. Seriously, one would think King Dushyanta as a liar-who-got-a-girl-pregnant-and-walked-away-on-her."
"But that's exactly what he did!"
"That's exactly what Kalidasa said in his works. No one really knows what really happened thousands of years ago. There are bits and pieces of facts lying here and there in various sources. All he did was compiled it, edited it and drew an outline. Wherever there were blanks, he filled it with too many details of the lady, valor of king and nature and used a flowery language. If you ask me, it is must be the absolute commercial pulp fiction ever written. And the most popular plot for a story to boot."
"You can't really talk like this about the most famous and most read literature by any student in Sanskrit or any Indian Language. Calling it that????"
"The King is made to look like a loser and a spineless man who cannot accept the woman with whom he had an affair. Look at the era in which he ruled. Those were the days when kings stuck to their oaths and vows till the very end. And Dushyanta was no ordinary man. He was an emperor who ruled most parts of India that time. I believe there was more than that."
"But there is this curse on Shakuntala which made Dushyanta to forget all about her! That can’t be untrue."
"Maybe. But I believe he was more scared of a scandal."
"A scandal???"
"Think about it. We are talking about an age where Gods visited earth as often as we visit our backyard. And some mortals visited Gods' abode too. Dushyanta was a popular king. He was wise, just and treated his subjects fairly. Even history accounts for that. Also he was the future of Hastinapur. Men tend to make these kinds of guys as their role model. It’s just not this century where popular rock stars, politicians, dynamic businessmen are considered as role models. Those days the Kings, queens, soldiers, princes took that spot. And Dushyanata belonged to the most famous and oldest clan of monarchy with roots that dates back to some eons. The oldest among this clan were some Gods. The scandal could cost everything that was earned over the centuries. He knew that people could tolerate a tyrant king, an evil king or an unjust king. But he knew that things with his people would never be the same as he would have lost the credibility of his character if this ever came out. You can tolerate people looking at you with fear, awe or boredom with your eyes. But never an eye that is judging you. That’s why he didn’t accept Shakuntala when she visited him in the castle."
"It’s logical, but...."
"It’s not a literature material. People would not read it. They need something to talk about, grieve about, bitch about and in the end be happy about. Logical, analytical explanations wouldn't leave you wanting to read literature again. It would just be a simple story of a simple boy and a simple girl with usual complications of life."
"But you see a simple boy becomes a spineless coward because of his passion. The simple girl becomes the victim because of her innocence and vulnerability. And the usual complications of life become the turning point of the entire history. Shakuntala and Dushyanta's son was Bharata, the name our country carries. No matter what the reasons behind their actions were, Kalidasa kept their names alive even after so many millennia."
"So your point being...."
"He made a stupid story damn popular."

Posted by Sookie :: Tuesday, November 21, 2006 :: 5 Comments:

Post a Comment

---------------------------------------

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Morning Star

And if I wish upon that Star
Someday I'll be where you are...

--- Bryan Adams (Back to you)

I look at my bloodstained and beaten up body and wonder what kind of monsters they were to do this to me. I don't remember how I ended up in this place nor do these surroundings seem familiar. Sometimes, I welcome the torture as I would hope that death would be my ultimate punishment. Every time I have tried to embrace death, it was whisked away from me, leaving me feel disappointed and hollow. I feel my eyes pricking, tears threatening to spill out. I console myself and then I feel this sudden crave for human touch. It seems like a lifetime since I have felt the warmth of a touch, sound of laughter and companionship. Before I realize what is happening, I collapse and start sobbing uncontrollably. My body rocks as cry harder and harder. And then suddenly, I sense something fly over my head. For the first time since I am in this place, I am intrigued. I see a man with snow white wings landing graciously on top of a small hill. I start my trek slowly towards the hill wishing to talk to him. There is a smile on his face and is looking towards the sky. It looked as though he was talking to the morning star. Morning star is bright and shining and looks like she is sharing an intimate conversation with him. Looking at him, the sky and his glorious wings almost takes my breath away. Seeing him gives me a strange sense of calmness and pure happiness. Suddenly I realize that I have stopped breathing. I start choking and gasping for oxygen and get this dreadful feeling in my stomach that I am going to die. At this moment death was the last thing I wanted. Not when I had a shot at happiness.

I see him hovering in front of me his feet barely couple of inches from the ground. I look at his beautiful face and his smile comforts me. His eyes sooths me and seems to tell me that everything is going to be alright. I stop my struggle for air and start to feel things around me. I could feel the breeze gently caressing my bruised skin, grass underneath my feet soft and cool and finally a calmness that I felt in his presence. I heard him saying something. I was too lost in this new sensation that was going on in my mind, body and soul and completely missed what he said. He repeated his words, this time slowly, which were like rustling of leaves on a cool autumn evening.

"Welcome to Hell"

Morning star shone brighter.

Posted by Sookie :: Wednesday, August 23, 2006 :: 9 Comments:

Post a Comment

---------------------------------------

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Forgotten Melody

Now that i know what i'm without
you can't just leave me
Breathe into me and make me real
Bring me to life

- Evanescence(Bring me to life)

I look at him sleeping on his stomach a newspaper cutting clutched in his hand. It’s hard to take my eyes off the serene scene in front of me. I remember the day when we first met. It was a few years back in an old music store. I was there looking for a melody which I had listened sometime back. He was there in that store tuning a violin. I didn’t find that melody in that store but I had a new friend by my side at the end of my search. We shared a coffee, then some lunches, dinners and then an apartment. I move around the small studio apartment where we lived. I can make my way through the apartment even with my eyes closed. I see too many things strewn on the floor. I smile at his sleeping form fondly. I start clearing things off the floor and keep things in their right places. I can see records, sheets filled with music notes, cigarettes, CDs and newspaper clippings on the floor. I clear the room and get up from the floor satisfied. I wonder why he has suddenly become so disorganized. Apartment is not clean, trash is not taken out, and his violin seems to be neglected. I search for its case and find it under the bed. A sheet of paper flies towards me. I look at the sheet of paper and everything around me disappears. It’s the melody I've been searching for some years now. The elation is so great that I jump on the bed and start shaking him. The newspaper clipping falls from his hand and lands on my lap. I am surprised to see a picture of myself on that clipping. It was my obituary that was published 25 days back. I closed my eyes and let tears fall.

The melody lay forgotten.

Posted by Sookie :: Tuesday, June 20, 2006 :: 10 Comments:

Post a Comment

---------------------------------------

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

.....

Nothing is as beautiful as watching someone declare their love even if it was done so in a dim lit dingy room filled with cigarette smoke and smelled of cheap perfume. The sentences were short, clipped and the words almost drowned in the noise of the busy traffic. They promised no companionship or any idyllic romanticism but they did allow those two to dream of an endless oblivion. They were people with out names, walked in alleys with labyrinths of twisted turns and torturous pathways. Sun rarely shone in those alleys helping them keeping their anonymity intact in the dark.

And they preferred their lives that way.

PS: Sometimes some words strike you so much that you simply fall in love with those words. And of course everyone else will start thinking that you are losing it. And this happens to me every time I read first 20 lines of the movie script ‘Sin City’ or Kafka or Sandman.

~ Sookie

Posted by Sookie :: Wednesday, May 17, 2006 :: 7 Comments:

Post a Comment

---------------------------------------

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

The Orchestra

I don’t know which one is the brightest. The lamp she is lighting or the happiness in her eyes. I looked away as she turned her face to look at me. I had somehow managed not to make any eye contact with her through out the day, for I feared my eyes would betray my sadness. I ignored the stabbing pain in my chest at the thought of her leaving me, my house and my world. I could still hear the melody that her anklet made whenever she ran around the courtyard. Her laughter and the sound made by her bangles completed the orchestra. I remembered the time I had bought her bangles enough to cover her arms from the village fair. She had made it a point to wake me up from my siesta by clinking them right next to my ears. I smiled at these memories. I felt something soft on my shoulders.

“Appa (father), I have to go now.”
The tears did betray me this time. I hugged her and let my tears flow. She sobbed hard on my chest and I just held her. I whispered all the best wishes a father can wish for his daughter, all the happiness in the world and all the blessings I could think of. She looked up to me and smiled.
“Appa, my tears mixed with mascara has left a stain on your clean white shirt.”
“I hope the stain is permanent.” I choked.
“I’ll call you as soon as I reach San Jose, Appa.”

I stood outside the gate till the dust raised by the car in which she left my home had settled and the clarity on the road restored. I dragged myself towards courtyard. I closed my eyes and I could see her performing her orchestra with – anklets, bangles and her laughter.

Posted by Sookie :: Tuesday, May 02, 2006 :: 5 Comments:

Post a Comment

---------------------------------------