Single and Writing

30^th October 2008

Day 1: Potentially Prepossessed Prose.

I’ve just received potentially devastating news. But that’s what I like about the word ‘potentially’. It has a deceptive sense of dynamism like when the teacher used to tell anxious parents at those dreadfully morbid PTA’s—“ though he lacks basic discipline, is detrimental to classroom decorum and his attention span is the size of a shrivelled pea, James has achieved perfection in nose picking and is a potentially good student.” There it is! The perfect way of saying that your child needs to make some drastic changes if he wants to be anything significant in life. The automatic positive connotation attached to the word is a psychological aberration, which when simplified would be called ‘wishful thinking.’ You could either soar to fame, success, wealth and all those words that make you wake up and tend to your monotonous life OR you could plummet into an abysmal hole, forgotten and alone. But judging by they way we love to throw around verbal rays of hope, ‘potentially’ is a laudable prediction that makes you believe that you can reach an invisible but desirable plane in the future provided you make the right the right choices in the present. So in the spirit of keeping things ‘potentially’ favourable, my out-of-the-blue ultra sound posits an array of choices that I need to make in order to steer upwards away from an erasable existence.

Before you begin erecting your stonewalls and push me away as a character not worth getting to know, I should burst the bubble and say that I’m not dying. I have been diagnosed with anything that might become the emotionally charged foundation of this book but I won’t refrain from including tear-jerking moments that I might come across n my life. After all this is a journal in progress and I didn’t opt for a one-way medium for nothing! I’m spilling the beans without the risk of burning them with the fierce judgemental eyes and heated tongues. I was scared, for the first time in my life about being alone, like someone lying semi naked on the sterile bleached hospital sheets with no outstretched hand to hold, no reassuring eyes to look into. It was a definite void that could only be filled by someone to have and hold. And not having a phone number or a face in mind, the uncertainty of ever finding that special someone frightened me. So now I write until I find a reason to babble incoherently and giggle incessantly, rarely making sense to anyone except the one babbling right back at me.

I’m single and I’m waiting till I find butterflies that won’t leave my side. Just like the tattoo embedded on my left hip—committed and totally worth it!

Babel

She shuts her mind, closes the blinds.
She's had enough of playing Interpreter:
to a tongue, that's young.
Unable to speak a clear and steady voice.
It's finally over but she can't find a reason to rejoice!

He's tried too much, in a rush
Pushed her to believe he could deliver.
Tugged her about, now he wants out
But chose to say nothing about his change of heart.
Packed his emotional baggage to depart.

They're together but in different worlds.
They're searching for something that never appeared.
The words they spoke were never able:
To undo what was unleashed in Babel!

Nothing Lasts Forever!

I must have hit the snooze button a record breaking four times this morning! I'm not one to engage in battle with the alarm clock usually,especially since its greatest allied force is my mother! Perhaps it was something about the way the sun rose today, tilted slightly to the right, flickering red...then orange...then crimson...unable to take a stance and in the process, become the envy of every ambitious cocktail maker.

Perhaps..... no! It can't be...or can it???



Of course I did not realize that philosophical proverbs came with Catch 22's embedded in them and the saying "The more, the merrier" backlashed..as the more I hit that button, the later I got for college. And if you knew Professor Upenderan, you knew that "later.. is not the least bit merrier!" The smell of fried eggs and sausages distracted me, stirring my senses, shaking off the morning lull. Its been a while since my nose woke up before me considering how busy the Verghese clan is at 7:00 a.m but today was different. Mom was home from school and when she has free time, she cooks..or defrosts and beats at least!

Perhaps.... no! No way...

I my favourite cotton T-shirt from the cupboard, spray on some Raspberry body fragrance and was probably temporarily blinded by the mist cause I put my T-shirt on backwards. Mom said it meant good luck...but honestly can you imagine walking around with outfits worn inside out, or backwards and god forbid ...sideways! Since when is reversing the natural order of things good??? Michel Foucault would be content see the possibility of change but I certainly am a fan of Stability! Good luck...that's redundant!

But maybe there's a slight possibility...Shake it off!! Move on!!

I run down to the car, jump into the front seat and just as I'm about to let out my usual string of watered down curses at the Mr. Inconsiderate, who loves playing bumper cars everytime he parks in the next slot, I see no new additon to the painful collection scars on the once flawless blue bumper! I wonder if that complaint to the RTA finally went through and they came around to verify his driving skills!

I guess there must have been something that rang true with that fashion faux pas superstition. This has turned out to be a morning of no complaints, a beginning that is actually bright, a rise with no fall....Maybe good days do exist. The pessimistic myth has been shattered... I can hope for better tomorrows, sun shiny starts...I'm a believer!



Exactly eight minutes and 32 seconds after that epiphanic revelation, a speeding scooterist crashed into the front of the car, smashing both the headlight and my hopes of making it to class within the "frowned upon" one minute grace period. It's highly ironic that Bono was singing "Beautiful Day" on the radio!

Nausea

I never thought I'd make it through that night,
Without shedding a tear.
I didn't think I could bear the sound of emptiness
that responded everytime I called.
The tarantula like thoughts in my head,
Yakning me in eight directions at once
Began to get the best of me, ripping apart my urge to fight being impulsive.
There were no brightly lit metaphors to give me hope
Just you, your lies and gimmicks.
No wonder the quest for those abstract qualities is so much more rewarding;
Than the possession of a tangible but hollow casket.
I gave everything, and gained nothing except knowledge
Monogamy is a myth. Sensitivity fossilized. Communication lies barren.
If only words meant something and actions didn't decieve.
If only mental wavelengths were clubbed together at the start
without the risk of a mismatched collision.
If only Time came with a manual and a full refund.
I suppose there's a reason why rollercoasters start off slow,
Chuggin its way to an accelerated descent only to propel the riders into a freefall of no promises.
I should have started slow, long enough to find the eject button in the darkness you projected.
But now that I'm on the ride, I carry my own paper bags to nurse the nausea!

Reflections of a Lonely Mind

The emptiness of a four walled closure,
Washes over her, calming her nerves
Only to build pressure within that boils and bubbles
Temples throbbing, Fists clenched, Teeth gritted
Anger inside mounts to the heavens
And bangs those pearly gates.
She'sTurned down even by the angels that promise guidance

Lost and unafraid, too proud for submission
She makes her way through life
Struggling with the silence
That haunts her everyday, that smiles as she cries
That deafens as she screams
There is no point in fighting it,
For lonliness is a revered space .
It provides a peaceful retreat for the tired mind.
It is a haven for the restless soul.
And yet she's had her fill.

She craves interception that disrupts her natural order.
She wants to be stirred until her defenses are shattered.
She's ready to trade her quiet bliss for the voice of concern.
She's lonley and has faced that fact, despite her rigid independence.
It's time for a change. It's time for a change. It's time for a change.

Biology has been known to have become any humans portal to the living world, ecosystem, cells, reproduction, genetics and all. And though The Maker, Almighty intended for us to benefit from the scientific discoveries that constantly open new doors and oppurtunities, once in a while even the most well oiled machine tends to backfire. In Nature, such a disruption comes in the form of the dreaded... Menopause!

I'm a woman. and every month I ovulate like all the other normal and sometimes hopeful females do. The menstrual cycle unleashes upon the world a dreaded conglomeration of moods, emotions and hormones that are usually( and almost always) accompanied by an extremely colourful palette of insults and threats. In a nutshell both men and women suffer a painfully horrific week of eye-rolling and ceramic breaking! But every now and then you run into one woman who takes the cake and manages to ruin an already painful experience. These women belong to a class I fondly refer to as "The Menopaused".

"The Menopaused" are bound together by a tragic anatomic condition, the details of which I will not provide for all the male readers out there. As for the curious, Go Google it! Returning to the point, these unfortunate women take upon themselves the weight of the world to compensate for what they are suddenly lacking namely Ovaries! However, on a metaphorical level, the ceasing of egg production also means a severance from the normalcy in Womenhood, and so they crib and cry and yell and gush and mush, and cook and bake and hug and stich and paint and boast and berate, sometimes in quick succession which leaves a very confused audience incapable of reacting appropriately to such rapid mood swings. "The Menopaused" if angered can be the worst of all forces never to be reckoned with. They display bizarre levels of strength, revealing a facet that up until then was dormant. I haven't personally crossed paths with a "Menopaused" but I have caught a glimpse of a "Menopausling"(one that is on the path to Menpause), and might I assure you, the fledglings are just as unpredictable and frightening.

I wish to quickly enumerate certain survival tips in case one encounters a "Menopaused":

a) In case an object that possess the power to inflict severe damage to the receiving body is hurled at you, assess the option to dive either to your left or right , and in the worst case scenario, fall straight to the floor. But watch out for the shards on the rebound!!
b) If the "Menopaused" is terribly angered, she could and probably would extend her arm to slap you straight in the face. Now this is tricky because any reflex action on your part that results in safety could only anger her even further because of the wasted effort. Which in turn unleashes a violent slapping spree. The solution therefore lies in accurate judgement. In the time that the" Menopaused" raises her hand, one must assess the force involved. If the punch seems tolerable then step to it and turn the first cheek. But if she is bound to pack in a punch that could get you admitted to the fourth floor of a hospital then make a sharp turn and take one on the back. It's not as bad as it sounds because according to laws of Physics, the greater the area, the less if the force!
c) The hardest part in dealing with a "Menopaused" is the Verbal Encounter, which unlike the Physical Encounter, is continuous and extremely dynamic. I cannot dispense information that has been proven successful by trial and error purely because I am yet to taste my first victory in this field. So far I've realized that aiming to predic tand systematize the behaviour of a "Menopaused" is impossible. She has mastered the art of misdirection so perfectly that you are almost always sucked into her inviting visage only to be bombarded by insults and criticisms that draw from past experiences and will undoubtedly extend to future debates. Ultimately, I've learnt to be a passive receiver and my theatrical skills have been sharpened to a point.

So having enumerated certain guidelines to cope with the dreaded "Menopaused", I wish everybody the very best of luck! I'll see you at Drama Club!

Horse..you can have your Blinders Back!

There are certain things in life that we can predict. Although some would certainly beg to differ ..well screw all you fatalists! I think we should read signs more often and listen to that voice in our heads more often. Why I say this is only to stress on the fact that today we humans are completely smothering an ancient art that is on the brink of extinction now because of the continous need for us to PLAN, ASSORT, PRIORITIZE and MANAGE our lives beforehand. We are extinguishing the greatest part of being alive by forgetting what living in the moment feels like.

Why is it that people so often use the phrase "Stop and smell the roses!"? Probably because in today's chaotic existance, the roses have to be torn off their beds , processed, packed and delivered to your match box apartment for you to even realize that flowers still grow. I am not suggesting a renunciation of all material, worldly traits to blindly accept a Bohemian lifestyle. History has shown us how that turned out for the Hippies. But why must we feel guilty about cutting out a sliver of the day to satiate the heart rather than saturating the head? I should be able to pick up a damn guitar and sing my vocal chords dry at 3 A.M if that's what it takes to feel like myself once in a while.
I should be able to provide results without being hounded about what means I took to get there.
I should be able to experience mistakes rather than observe them to know what life truly is.
So why do we spend all our lives in the safe, packing in soft coushining for a possible fall? Where did all the free spirits fly to? Should we classify "Chance:" and "Risk" as mythological characters alongside Hera and Prometheus?
Was Pink Flloyd right when he said we dont need thought control?
How ever will I find the answers to these questions if I'm meant to be somewhere else, doing something socially productive in the financial, educational sense of the term?