Thursday, March 31, 2016

The Broken Home

Not long ago there used to live a family which seemed good when it came to material comforts but none of the family members were really happy. The trouble started off when the husband started suspecting his wife of some extra-marital affair that didn’t exist. A so-called ‘innocent’ suspicion is what it takes to make a romantic relationship troublesome.

Whenever I saw that family making public appearances, there was never a hint of discomfort among them. I knew of their disturbances because the youngest person in their family was my friend, her life and her choices made my childhood an unforgettable one. May be, because of the madness she acquainted herself with or the melancholy, I could not put my finger on anything specifically.

She was a loner from the very beginning, though I was her friend and we would talk and have lunch together. She was always detached, no matter what nothing in this world made an impact on her mind. As far as my memory goes her elder brother was an intellectual lad and unlike her he always passed his math test.

One thing that I liked about her was her story telling skills, only if she is in a mood to talk. Her mind would perhaps run like a wild cheetah, a trillion thoughts all coming together perhaps because she would wince at times complaining of a headache.  At times way too calm making me shiver!

I have had her companionship till third or fourth grade I do not remember, it’s her stories which I was stuck with, stories ranging from ordinary to extraordinary. At times I feel that I’m close to her by reliving a memory wherein there is something related to her or anything remotely connected to her. 

She brought in the tragedies of her life by way of creating a stimulating mental picture. Pictures of monsters waging wars while pair of flowers look upon with tears flowing, in turn these tears are the source of their growth since the monsters very often forget to water them.

When I was in my teens living in a different country, I got an opportunity to visit my school. I was more than excited to attend and that’s when I learnt that she hanged herself a year ago, the cause was unknown. Though many claimed it was psychological, some said it was her eagerness to taste death for she always sounded ghoulish to them, in her talks, in her entire personality it was everywhere DEATH.

No one knows how she caught that fancy but it has resulted in some inexplicable things. Not only in that area but in my life as well, after that visit I began dreaming more. Studies got affected, hence resulted in my poor performance and my uncanny interest and extreme obsession with reading stories reached its zenith. I have currently five library memberships and I feel they are inadequate; the stories which I read have now become my dreams. A mystical merging phenomenon!

In my dreams I see her, sitting beside me letting a new story unfurl.

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Being Productive....

I have quit my job and sitting at home doing nothing is making me more frustrated and lazy. I have become an unproductive person, of course with limited or no interest at all in anything. I feel like my mind is now imprisoned and wants to break free, to feel the freedom and smile in joy. It has always been conflicts all in my life, not necessarily with people but within my mind.

My moods have mostly determined how well I can be in say next 24-hrs or a few minutes. Even as I write there is a thudding sound in my head which wants to come out and scream. I’m writing after a very long time, of course I missed it but now I’m missing my job. I don’t want to return to the former job but want to explore more opportunities, may be in different domains as well.

At times I feel I can be productive by sitting at home, that is by writing stories or penning down some write-up’s but then who would read my stuff? They are mostly wrongly punctuated and the vocabulary part isn’t as impressive as people would want it to be. Damn…with all those expectations!
It’s all about experimenting and re-inventing or mostly you could say re-writing your work. The first draft is more of a rough picture; it needs to be polished further by enhancing it by way of adding tiny, minuscule elements which bring in a charm.

Today I have completed reading “A Book of Simple Living” by Ruskin Bond. It just took me to the hill side with the wild flowers blooming and birds singing sweetly, he is someone who writes with his heart and soul. He doesn’t really deal with the gargantuan things like world wars but brings the reader close to the world he is living in.

This book is a must read and one has to have a physical copy of it so as to touch and feel the book, and even smell it sometimes.

Even the smell of a book can transport you to another world, where you will be greeted by wild flowers and birds. For that is what our ultimate destiny would be to merge into the universe which created us.