Heterochromia
Blue and green
At odds, mismatched
Together but blind
Offbeat
But with the beat
Flickering sunlight
Untold stories
Withering silken
Love in soft fur
Surreptiously
Slithering
In sunshine
Till I see
The eyes
In the ice
The golden glare
Of the glaring disguise
Teetering
and toppled
Tethered
And teased
Shuffled
Wrung out
Tweezed
And freed
Psychedelic sanity
In sunshine shade
Suede skin
Silver stares
Fantastic swagger
Swaggering flair
Flaring love
Naked and bare
Throbbing longing
For
A united dream
All undreamed
A satiny blur
Far away
Away for long in a
Stormy night.
That cold, distant
Glaring disguise.
29 December 2009
5 December 2009
Another one coming your way..
School's coming to and end.. practically it has but the full stop's still hovering on top of it all. Three months of back breaking studying then three months of back breaking fun. Then new beginnings. I hate new beginnings. I love new beginnings :D
Being away from certain people makes me shudder. While the mere thought of stepping a few feet away from some unfortunate, unfortunate people.. it makes me feel a hundred pounds lighter. Life plays games. Cliche but true. Roles reversed in an almost movie-like fashion. I am repulsed. And I am relieved.
Pre-boards going on and here I am blogging. With a history book in my lap and this big headache materialising out of nowhere. I really really dislike Modern History.. if it ain't ancient.. it ain't history. Adding insult to injury, my subconcious starts blurting out stupid theories and widely incoherent logic. And holding it no longer I share it with my brother.. and he likes what he hears. "But it's not that EASY.", he says. True.
To pen it down for future retrospect, I figure I could type it down without expecting too much, or caring too much harsh criticism:
I think economies need not exist. Keep in mind I don't give a shit about progress and I absolutely hate capitalism. Socialism all the way for me. Though how it is possible to incorporate certain freedoms is out of my intellectual capability. Which is certainly VERY limited. And this is entirely hypothetical.
As I can deduce from my limited (again) economics knowledge, developed countries put in a lot more money in social development and on the people than defence(or conversely, if one needs to be labelled "developed", it ought to). As in the case of India, we need a lot of money for defence due to the apparent political instablity and intra and inter religous disagreemnt which often than not turns typically violent. So with our limited and scant money, we put a greater part in the defence equipment. Other countries do too.. but the money is large, the same percentage represents more quantity. More often than not these countries do it to, as we call it casually, "to show off". To be in the top ten.
Actresses being in the best dressed list can be considered synonymous.
These are entirely my views and need not adhere to the exact definition and what the "people" say. This is a fiction blog after all, not one with brains involved. SO..
My ultra unreal and fantastical theory was to abolish, remove and end wars of any kind. Which comes with the removal of "economy". Well, that's what the traditional meaning of "peace" is. John Lennon's Imagine can be said to be my patriotic "anthem". We remove the words related to wars from our dictionary, the military- air force, navy and the army. About a thousand or more years ago, it would've been cavalry, infantry, and the works.
It all starts with men and ends with men. And the primeval instincts and urges. Land and women were two indicators of the status in society according to my history book. And of course we do include modern history here.
Invasions and captures. And dirty filthy politics. What I don't get is that now that the boundaries are set and the urge lessened, though perhaps artificially, why don't they just stop. Do they still have to fight over it. Is it like an essential to being alive.
With an absence of economies I refer to the total absence of countries and boundaries of any kind. Regional, religious, linguistic. But the problem arises when we look at the multitude and the behemothness of it all. In a utopian state of mind it exists like everything else. In it's perfect, fantastic form. But to implement it is the impossible in another world. The one we live in.
But they say anything's possible.
Although the idea that countries exist in the normal state with a mere absence of defence. Passive or aggresive. When we advance to the imlementation stage, I advise they all do it at once. But there's shrewdness involved, as I've been told. And if they have to start all at once, it is not possible. And we have skipped the "talks and discussions and conferences". Action is required here.
And if they start at once, they won't end together. And one of them will conveniently not agree. That's the drawback of this mostly democratic world. Or a part would do it and the other half would take advantage. How I wish there was someone to think of being a World Dictator today. Someone powerful enough and intelligent enough to do what's required.
Like parents say it.. spare the rod and spoil the child. A LITTLE bit of strictness here and there and there you have it. What you need to save the world today. Tweaking it a little so that we can conserve the earth and can live on it. If every country can't do something to stop global warming, they have to be forced to do. Politeness does nothing, I have seen in my tiny 17 year old life.
A new type of state has to grow and people have to forget about everything material. In my world, you produce, you spread it out. You offer your services. Your grow, you let them eat. And you just live. For a world is there to live. And not ignore and carry on with business.
Money sucks. I think there would be a significant decrease in the greed factor if it weren't for money. But even if we equate things and ensure that everyone has eveything. And only the bit everyone needs and not everyone wants. There's still the bit on how not everyone works hard enough to get what he wants. And some work too hard and get too less.
I'm not against betterment. There would be plenty of that.. plenty of development and the rise in the standard of living and quality of life. But every good deed and invention and progress anyone makes, anything they sacrifice or contribute will be in return for gratitude and feeling of human love, not the sound of crisp notes. We subtract a big amount of fortune from the fame and fortune.
But human emotions are not incentive enough for anyone.. and even if for someone they are.. they won't sustain the feeling for long afterwards.
But if I were living in a world that's equal and right. There would be someone blogging it out asking themselves why the world is so equal and why can't they get more than their neighbour.
It is just not possible to wire everyone's brains into what I think it should be like. A thousand apologies if I'm giving away on any latent mental disease I many be harbouring. But the smell, taste and sound of Utopia sounds good. At least to me, even if it isn't as perfect as I'd like it to be and has a hundred loopholes that I may never be able to remove.. it's still in my narcissictic mind.
Being away from certain people makes me shudder. While the mere thought of stepping a few feet away from some unfortunate, unfortunate people.. it makes me feel a hundred pounds lighter. Life plays games. Cliche but true. Roles reversed in an almost movie-like fashion. I am repulsed. And I am relieved.
Pre-boards going on and here I am blogging. With a history book in my lap and this big headache materialising out of nowhere. I really really dislike Modern History.. if it ain't ancient.. it ain't history. Adding insult to injury, my subconcious starts blurting out stupid theories and widely incoherent logic. And holding it no longer I share it with my brother.. and he likes what he hears. "But it's not that EASY.", he says. True.
To pen it down for future retrospect, I figure I could type it down without expecting too much, or caring too much harsh criticism:
I think economies need not exist. Keep in mind I don't give a shit about progress and I absolutely hate capitalism. Socialism all the way for me. Though how it is possible to incorporate certain freedoms is out of my intellectual capability. Which is certainly VERY limited. And this is entirely hypothetical.
As I can deduce from my limited (again) economics knowledge, developed countries put in a lot more money in social development and on the people than defence(or conversely, if one needs to be labelled "developed", it ought to). As in the case of India, we need a lot of money for defence due to the apparent political instablity and intra and inter religous disagreemnt which often than not turns typically violent. So with our limited and scant money, we put a greater part in the defence equipment. Other countries do too.. but the money is large, the same percentage represents more quantity. More often than not these countries do it to, as we call it casually, "to show off". To be in the top ten.
Actresses being in the best dressed list can be considered synonymous.
These are entirely my views and need not adhere to the exact definition and what the "people" say. This is a fiction blog after all, not one with brains involved. SO..
My ultra unreal and fantastical theory was to abolish, remove and end wars of any kind. Which comes with the removal of "economy". Well, that's what the traditional meaning of "peace" is. John Lennon's Imagine can be said to be my patriotic "anthem". We remove the words related to wars from our dictionary, the military- air force, navy and the army. About a thousand or more years ago, it would've been cavalry, infantry, and the works.
It all starts with men and ends with men. And the primeval instincts and urges. Land and women were two indicators of the status in society according to my history book. And of course we do include modern history here.
Invasions and captures. And dirty filthy politics. What I don't get is that now that the boundaries are set and the urge lessened, though perhaps artificially, why don't they just stop. Do they still have to fight over it. Is it like an essential to being alive.
With an absence of economies I refer to the total absence of countries and boundaries of any kind. Regional, religious, linguistic. But the problem arises when we look at the multitude and the behemothness of it all. In a utopian state of mind it exists like everything else. In it's perfect, fantastic form. But to implement it is the impossible in another world. The one we live in.
But they say anything's possible.
Although the idea that countries exist in the normal state with a mere absence of defence. Passive or aggresive. When we advance to the imlementation stage, I advise they all do it at once. But there's shrewdness involved, as I've been told. And if they have to start all at once, it is not possible. And we have skipped the "talks and discussions and conferences". Action is required here.
And if they start at once, they won't end together. And one of them will conveniently not agree. That's the drawback of this mostly democratic world. Or a part would do it and the other half would take advantage. How I wish there was someone to think of being a World Dictator today. Someone powerful enough and intelligent enough to do what's required.
Like parents say it.. spare the rod and spoil the child. A LITTLE bit of strictness here and there and there you have it. What you need to save the world today. Tweaking it a little so that we can conserve the earth and can live on it. If every country can't do something to stop global warming, they have to be forced to do. Politeness does nothing, I have seen in my tiny 17 year old life.
A new type of state has to grow and people have to forget about everything material. In my world, you produce, you spread it out. You offer your services. Your grow, you let them eat. And you just live. For a world is there to live. And not ignore and carry on with business.
Money sucks. I think there would be a significant decrease in the greed factor if it weren't for money. But even if we equate things and ensure that everyone has eveything. And only the bit everyone needs and not everyone wants. There's still the bit on how not everyone works hard enough to get what he wants. And some work too hard and get too less.
I'm not against betterment. There would be plenty of that.. plenty of development and the rise in the standard of living and quality of life. But every good deed and invention and progress anyone makes, anything they sacrifice or contribute will be in return for gratitude and feeling of human love, not the sound of crisp notes. We subtract a big amount of fortune from the fame and fortune.
But human emotions are not incentive enough for anyone.. and even if for someone they are.. they won't sustain the feeling for long afterwards.
But if I were living in a world that's equal and right. There would be someone blogging it out asking themselves why the world is so equal and why can't they get more than their neighbour.
It is just not possible to wire everyone's brains into what I think it should be like. A thousand apologies if I'm giving away on any latent mental disease I many be harbouring. But the smell, taste and sound of Utopia sounds good. At least to me, even if it isn't as perfect as I'd like it to be and has a hundred loopholes that I may never be able to remove.. it's still in my narcissictic mind.
14 November 2009
So here I am experiencing yet another reader's block. Boards are to start in about 3 months time and I'm listening to songs.. actually, situational songs. Very useful and crying my eyes out. A good example is November Rain.
At least something to be happy about. Ironic I know. A particularly windy day four days ago. Stormy nights three in a row. Wow. And now I'm sitting outside and unfortunately the sun's come out. And now there's a game of hide n' seek with the clouds. Pleasant. I always liked my room but now it's just some other room.. I didn't think it would be this way. Just the walls are different and the house is. The windows and the doors. It feels kind of weird acutally, to say the least.
There's not that sense of comfort I had in being on my bed, night and day. Doing something or the other. Now I get up however late but get to the bus stop on time. Just another proof on how I'm not attached to my room anymore. It's way too artificial for my taste. Old houses have that certain character, that history behind it which lends the air of mystery and me being the perpetual story-weaver think about what must've happened here before I was born.
In this house we're the first ones, which is kinda disappointing to me. The old house had its charms. This one just has clean walls and well it's functional and economical. Not much scope for repairs and paint jobs. No leakage and cracks. But if we ignore the goodness virtue, I would like to go back to the old one anyday. Even just to see the words etched onto the whitewashed walls. Destructive behaviour of mine. The letters painted on the white door with dark pink and purple. The phone numbers on another. The cupboard with french words on it and I could even gaze for hours at the time weathered floor, darker with the years, lighter when we remove the bed and the table and whatnot. The un-uniformity of it all.
Waking up in the morning to get out on the balcony, blissfully almost always mine and looking at the wilderness outside, ahead of me. Never thought I'd miss not having a neighbour out front. Just wild wild wilderness. A grey-black road with absolutely no-one on it in the mornings, stronf sunshine enducing nostalgia and the fresh breath of life if it was shadowy and cold. The garden with the white swing..
The backyard with the hot stones of the afternoon, the one which defined my summers when I was tiny and naive. The comfort and coziness of life as I knew it. The lack of something called tiles. Stone and cement everywhere and anywhere. Mud and soil.. the garden with it's swing and the many coloured roses. Now there's not much garden to speak of, though there still are roses. But now the thorns are much more obvious to the sight.
I would always remember how the gardener used to hand me a small bouquet of tiny flowers from the garden every year on my birthday. Way to logically it seems.. 'cause when afterwards I used to go out there none of the flowers seemed missing. Too much thought put into it. Hugging the trees and sitting on the backyard stairs, reflecting to memories back when we used to play.
Play we did even as late as just two years ago. Or maybe a year and a half. Lucky me always experienced beginner's luck and then the reputation led me to win half the time. And the other half of the time was helped by the team-mate who was inspired.
Morning sunshine and the dew-drenched grass. Mostly overgrown and the jasmine tree. The terrace. Where I remember learning about the three parts of the Himalays while my mother put out clothes to dry, or later where I used to read, I remember Oscar Wilde, in the shade of the tree from afternoon to the evening till when there was not enough light to go by. The shade of the blackcurrant tree..
The blackcurrant tree that showered upon us in summer and lay waste the terrace in the early days of monsoon with the purple-black overripe currants all splattered and squished onto a good part of the place. Which when cleaned left a faint purplish tinge on the ground, which remained for quite some time and a faint smell wafting through..
Now here the trees and identical copies of each other, those which are not are far away and are mostly eucalyptus. Or just plain bush. Thorny bush. And grass. No hide-outs here. No secret places and nooks and corners. No corner room library across the backyard. No smell of musty old books and warmth of a hundred pages of remembrance.
I am happy that I will be leaving this place for sometime atleast next year, coming back would be fine, that's just how much I know this is my home and would love to come back and sleep in my bed for a change. But well it's kinda fortunate that we did move or I wouldn't have had the heart to leave the city for all I know if I had to go away.
All's for good maybe. And I've gone on with too much rant and the laptop's riding low on the battery. I think I'll rant about something else later.
At least something to be happy about. Ironic I know. A particularly windy day four days ago. Stormy nights three in a row. Wow. And now I'm sitting outside and unfortunately the sun's come out. And now there's a game of hide n' seek with the clouds. Pleasant. I always liked my room but now it's just some other room.. I didn't think it would be this way. Just the walls are different and the house is. The windows and the doors. It feels kind of weird acutally, to say the least.
There's not that sense of comfort I had in being on my bed, night and day. Doing something or the other. Now I get up however late but get to the bus stop on time. Just another proof on how I'm not attached to my room anymore. It's way too artificial for my taste. Old houses have that certain character, that history behind it which lends the air of mystery and me being the perpetual story-weaver think about what must've happened here before I was born.
In this house we're the first ones, which is kinda disappointing to me. The old house had its charms. This one just has clean walls and well it's functional and economical. Not much scope for repairs and paint jobs. No leakage and cracks. But if we ignore the goodness virtue, I would like to go back to the old one anyday. Even just to see the words etched onto the whitewashed walls. Destructive behaviour of mine. The letters painted on the white door with dark pink and purple. The phone numbers on another. The cupboard with french words on it and I could even gaze for hours at the time weathered floor, darker with the years, lighter when we remove the bed and the table and whatnot. The un-uniformity of it all.
Waking up in the morning to get out on the balcony, blissfully almost always mine and looking at the wilderness outside, ahead of me. Never thought I'd miss not having a neighbour out front. Just wild wild wilderness. A grey-black road with absolutely no-one on it in the mornings, stronf sunshine enducing nostalgia and the fresh breath of life if it was shadowy and cold. The garden with the white swing..
The backyard with the hot stones of the afternoon, the one which defined my summers when I was tiny and naive. The comfort and coziness of life as I knew it. The lack of something called tiles. Stone and cement everywhere and anywhere. Mud and soil.. the garden with it's swing and the many coloured roses. Now there's not much garden to speak of, though there still are roses. But now the thorns are much more obvious to the sight.
I would always remember how the gardener used to hand me a small bouquet of tiny flowers from the garden every year on my birthday. Way to logically it seems.. 'cause when afterwards I used to go out there none of the flowers seemed missing. Too much thought put into it. Hugging the trees and sitting on the backyard stairs, reflecting to memories back when we used to play.
Play we did even as late as just two years ago. Or maybe a year and a half. Lucky me always experienced beginner's luck and then the reputation led me to win half the time. And the other half of the time was helped by the team-mate who was inspired.
Morning sunshine and the dew-drenched grass. Mostly overgrown and the jasmine tree. The terrace. Where I remember learning about the three parts of the Himalays while my mother put out clothes to dry, or later where I used to read, I remember Oscar Wilde, in the shade of the tree from afternoon to the evening till when there was not enough light to go by. The shade of the blackcurrant tree..
The blackcurrant tree that showered upon us in summer and lay waste the terrace in the early days of monsoon with the purple-black overripe currants all splattered and squished onto a good part of the place. Which when cleaned left a faint purplish tinge on the ground, which remained for quite some time and a faint smell wafting through..
Now here the trees and identical copies of each other, those which are not are far away and are mostly eucalyptus. Or just plain bush. Thorny bush. And grass. No hide-outs here. No secret places and nooks and corners. No corner room library across the backyard. No smell of musty old books and warmth of a hundred pages of remembrance.
I am happy that I will be leaving this place for sometime atleast next year, coming back would be fine, that's just how much I know this is my home and would love to come back and sleep in my bed for a change. But well it's kinda fortunate that we did move or I wouldn't have had the heart to leave the city for all I know if I had to go away.
All's for good maybe. And I've gone on with too much rant and the laptop's riding low on the battery. I think I'll rant about something else later.
9 November 2009
Shadow.
I watched intently the thin wisps of steam wafting up from the hot cup of coffee that was placed a few inches infront of my book. Tapping my fingernails a few times on the table, acting as if I was trying to figure out an apparently hard mathematics problem, my hand moved slowly towards the cup and jumped back a little at the sudden heat of the cup, the teacher looked at my hands, distracted from reading his newspaper, during which I managed a glance at the clock on the far wall on the other side of the room. Still about half an hour till this prick leaves.. still, a lot of time, a lot of problems, and still about six months that I will have to bear with this madness.
My distracted, bored brother sat opposite me, at disadvantage that he couldn't see the time. He compensated his rather ill fate with trying to peer into the tutor's watch, his head reclining comfortably, rather too comfortably in his palm, his elbow resting on the groaning table. The teacher straightened his watch hand away and folded his arms. Little brother looks up at him and then grins and presents him with another unsolved query.. "how.. ?". Rather than answering himself, he turns to me and points, do YOU know, you SHOULD know this, however else will you do THAT. Tell me tell me. Tell me.
I don't know. I'm stupid. Wy don't you just go home to your squeaky-voiced little wife and to your brand new son and eat dinner, which you have been thinking about for the past hour, anyway. Do not on any condition use your brain and solve the kid's problem, for god's sake. Do I not have a life other than wasting my time away at something I couldn't do for a million dollars, atleast you do it, if only for two square meals a day.
I glared and chewing my fingernails took a look at the ragged, beat-up looking, tired mathematics book, which was the most used object in the house and the least usable. Tapped the book with fingernails again and sat deciding if I wanted to stop pretend studying after all, because it was getting pretty boring, or maybe take a break, go to the washroom and on the way see what's on TV. Or maybe just take a peek on my scrapbook and see what's new and if someone loves me still.
Banishing all the thoughts I tried to concentrate on the work at hand and finally I'm getting it.. and then there it was. A faint shuffle and scratch outside the main door. There, again. And every one of us three turn to look. The wooden doors are shut, mum enters the scene, curious to see who's up with the disturbance, listening to a growing scratching at the doorstep, a faint shuffling and beating on the doorway, she stands there looking about. And then down at her feet.
There it is.
A glossy black puppy. A stray. Coal black, big-eyed and tiny. Whining a little sadly, shivering and looking in with very sad puppy-dog eyes. My hands let go off the pen and the papers, my heart feeling as if it's about to burst and a very vivid feelings of how it must feel when one meets a long lost son, who they've never even met.. and who, by the way, in fact, was very, very in need of her.
I get up with a start, a very audible aww materialising in my mouth, pouting, hands outstretched, I'm coming to baby, no no, don't you cry. Come here, now. Mommy's here, don't worry. I rush to the door just to be pulled back very firmly and asked what the heck do I think I'm doing. Well, he'll die there in the cold. Let me do something. SOMEthing. Another pouty expression, apparently a very cute one at that and that's why it actually worked. Can I go and at least find out where this bundle of joy came from. And could I at least return in to his mommy. Well, I am his real mommy but you know what I mean.
Reluctant okays, at least take your brother. Don't go out alone. A ghost of a smile. Like mother like daughter is all I hint at. Stepping out of the door I don't even feel a tiny bit cold. Passing through the gate and looking down at his chocolate brown, wide-eyes, feeling his tiny body in my arms, the complete bliss in it, I hear an eager "Can we call him Shadow? I always wanted a dog named Shadow.." Well, why didn't you name your dog Shadow then? "He is NOT all black." My brother's very clear disbelief at how my brain works so irrationally.. he catches up forcing his way into his jacket and shouting the dog's name, coming up and stopping he scratches behind the pooch's ears.
We stop and hear faint excuses coming from the house's direction, mum talking to the teacher about the weather etcetera. "Can we keep him?" Yeah.. can't even take care of two, you want another one, who'll feed him everyday, you can't even take yours out for a walk two times every day, blah blah, I tell him mocking at you know who. He nods his head agreeably and we start on our quest on finding where this guy's mother is. He probably ran away from her scoldings as well. And we laugh.
Not too far away, just the next bend in the road we find that's where he's supposed to have escaped from. A seventeen-year old guy, at least that's what he looked like, leaning on the gate, with a hand on his bicycle. He says there were more of this kind. Yes, and a mother. Will probably return. So we put him down and walk a few steps away, looking back longingly at the little black bundle.
I run back and cover him with this torn rag some kind soul probably left from them in this chilling cold. I bid him goodbye and we half run half walk back to the house, to our mother telling us not to waste any more time.
And I return to my sums while the door is shut and I look to see that about 10 minutes are left of this cruel torture. So when finally he leaves, I heave a sigh of relief and run upstairs, leaving the books behind me open, and mum screaming at me to close them and put off the lights. And come down for dinner just this second. These kids, no manners.
I run upstairs and up to my room and slam the door and wake up my laptop and log in.
Hey all done studying? I missed you. Yep, me too. Guess what. And I tell him everything about Shadow and he tells me how nice I am. And how I'm a good person and how this makes me and how in turn that makes him feel. Yes. I tell him we'll go check up on the doggie tomorrow. ASAP. In the morning, as soon as we wake up.
Dinner is a usual affair and the same "sweet dreams". And yes, it is true I have noticed that when people tell me to have sweet dreams, they are and when they aren't meant to be, they aren't.
I wake up feeling, under the sheet an utter happiness that's so hard to define, a warm comfort I now pine for and a completeness that's now obsolete. I stretch out and think of incomplete things to say, to do and am aptly reminded. I slither out, go to the next room and shake the hell out of a sleeping brother.
We step out into the groggy winter sunshine, without suitable footwear, the roughness feeling just right to my bare, naked feet. And the grass with just the right amount of softness. It's all so nice. I walk up to the bend in the road, ready to be welcomed to the sight, the smell and the wide-eyes wonder of pure, unadultered love. I stare.
And there's nothing except the green rag that we lay him on the night before.
I look back at the sleepy form running up to me and he stops in his tracks. Oh no, she's going to cry, he's thinking. But I don't. We look for the cycle guy and he's there inside, sitting on the stairs, with a toothbrush in his hand. Where'd he go, we ask him. He said he watched him get up and follow this guy on the morning walk, probably. He says, this fat guy walked past on the opposite road, he got up and ran to him and then he followed him. And then he took his toothbrush and went inside. Shouting, don't worry, he'll find someone there. More of his kind on the main road. And even his mother would be there. Dogs are like that.
And he shut the door behind him.
We sullenly walked back the way we came and went about our own ways and never mentioned him again. A light flicked off for a second and turned back on again, full glare. Everything went back to normal.
And normalcy was happy, then it was sad, then it was normal.. and then there started the vicious cycle, well, it had gone on since I was a day old I guess, but sometimes nothing seems real until you think about it.
In retrospect, I feel that it was brief but it was beautiful. Just like everything else in my life. Just as I now know that almost everything is short-lived. Relatively short-lived compared to the life we live. Happiness is real. End is real. And everything else is just stupid make-believe.
Feelings fly swish infront of our eyes and hardly ever do we catch it. Even when it's possible.. and instead we suppose that it would last forever when nothing does. Nothing. Ever. Never.
My distracted, bored brother sat opposite me, at disadvantage that he couldn't see the time. He compensated his rather ill fate with trying to peer into the tutor's watch, his head reclining comfortably, rather too comfortably in his palm, his elbow resting on the groaning table. The teacher straightened his watch hand away and folded his arms. Little brother looks up at him and then grins and presents him with another unsolved query.. "how.. ?". Rather than answering himself, he turns to me and points, do YOU know, you SHOULD know this, however else will you do THAT. Tell me tell me. Tell me.
I don't know. I'm stupid. Wy don't you just go home to your squeaky-voiced little wife and to your brand new son and eat dinner, which you have been thinking about for the past hour, anyway. Do not on any condition use your brain and solve the kid's problem, for god's sake. Do I not have a life other than wasting my time away at something I couldn't do for a million dollars, atleast you do it, if only for two square meals a day.
I glared and chewing my fingernails took a look at the ragged, beat-up looking, tired mathematics book, which was the most used object in the house and the least usable. Tapped the book with fingernails again and sat deciding if I wanted to stop pretend studying after all, because it was getting pretty boring, or maybe take a break, go to the washroom and on the way see what's on TV. Or maybe just take a peek on my scrapbook and see what's new and if someone loves me still.
Banishing all the thoughts I tried to concentrate on the work at hand and finally I'm getting it.. and then there it was. A faint shuffle and scratch outside the main door. There, again. And every one of us three turn to look. The wooden doors are shut, mum enters the scene, curious to see who's up with the disturbance, listening to a growing scratching at the doorstep, a faint shuffling and beating on the doorway, she stands there looking about. And then down at her feet.
There it is.
A glossy black puppy. A stray. Coal black, big-eyed and tiny. Whining a little sadly, shivering and looking in with very sad puppy-dog eyes. My hands let go off the pen and the papers, my heart feeling as if it's about to burst and a very vivid feelings of how it must feel when one meets a long lost son, who they've never even met.. and who, by the way, in fact, was very, very in need of her.
I get up with a start, a very audible aww materialising in my mouth, pouting, hands outstretched, I'm coming to baby, no no, don't you cry. Come here, now. Mommy's here, don't worry. I rush to the door just to be pulled back very firmly and asked what the heck do I think I'm doing. Well, he'll die there in the cold. Let me do something. SOMEthing. Another pouty expression, apparently a very cute one at that and that's why it actually worked. Can I go and at least find out where this bundle of joy came from. And could I at least return in to his mommy. Well, I am his real mommy but you know what I mean.
Reluctant okays, at least take your brother. Don't go out alone. A ghost of a smile. Like mother like daughter is all I hint at. Stepping out of the door I don't even feel a tiny bit cold. Passing through the gate and looking down at his chocolate brown, wide-eyes, feeling his tiny body in my arms, the complete bliss in it, I hear an eager "Can we call him Shadow? I always wanted a dog named Shadow.." Well, why didn't you name your dog Shadow then? "He is NOT all black." My brother's very clear disbelief at how my brain works so irrationally.. he catches up forcing his way into his jacket and shouting the dog's name, coming up and stopping he scratches behind the pooch's ears.
We stop and hear faint excuses coming from the house's direction, mum talking to the teacher about the weather etcetera. "Can we keep him?" Yeah.. can't even take care of two, you want another one, who'll feed him everyday, you can't even take yours out for a walk two times every day, blah blah, I tell him mocking at you know who. He nods his head agreeably and we start on our quest on finding where this guy's mother is. He probably ran away from her scoldings as well. And we laugh.
Not too far away, just the next bend in the road we find that's where he's supposed to have escaped from. A seventeen-year old guy, at least that's what he looked like, leaning on the gate, with a hand on his bicycle. He says there were more of this kind. Yes, and a mother. Will probably return. So we put him down and walk a few steps away, looking back longingly at the little black bundle.
I run back and cover him with this torn rag some kind soul probably left from them in this chilling cold. I bid him goodbye and we half run half walk back to the house, to our mother telling us not to waste any more time.
And I return to my sums while the door is shut and I look to see that about 10 minutes are left of this cruel torture. So when finally he leaves, I heave a sigh of relief and run upstairs, leaving the books behind me open, and mum screaming at me to close them and put off the lights. And come down for dinner just this second. These kids, no manners.
I run upstairs and up to my room and slam the door and wake up my laptop and log in.
Hey all done studying? I missed you. Yep, me too. Guess what. And I tell him everything about Shadow and he tells me how nice I am. And how I'm a good person and how this makes me and how in turn that makes him feel. Yes. I tell him we'll go check up on the doggie tomorrow. ASAP. In the morning, as soon as we wake up.
Dinner is a usual affair and the same "sweet dreams". And yes, it is true I have noticed that when people tell me to have sweet dreams, they are and when they aren't meant to be, they aren't.
I wake up feeling, under the sheet an utter happiness that's so hard to define, a warm comfort I now pine for and a completeness that's now obsolete. I stretch out and think of incomplete things to say, to do and am aptly reminded. I slither out, go to the next room and shake the hell out of a sleeping brother.
We step out into the groggy winter sunshine, without suitable footwear, the roughness feeling just right to my bare, naked feet. And the grass with just the right amount of softness. It's all so nice. I walk up to the bend in the road, ready to be welcomed to the sight, the smell and the wide-eyes wonder of pure, unadultered love. I stare.
And there's nothing except the green rag that we lay him on the night before.
I look back at the sleepy form running up to me and he stops in his tracks. Oh no, she's going to cry, he's thinking. But I don't. We look for the cycle guy and he's there inside, sitting on the stairs, with a toothbrush in his hand. Where'd he go, we ask him. He said he watched him get up and follow this guy on the morning walk, probably. He says, this fat guy walked past on the opposite road, he got up and ran to him and then he followed him. And then he took his toothbrush and went inside. Shouting, don't worry, he'll find someone there. More of his kind on the main road. And even his mother would be there. Dogs are like that.
And he shut the door behind him.
We sullenly walked back the way we came and went about our own ways and never mentioned him again. A light flicked off for a second and turned back on again, full glare. Everything went back to normal.
And normalcy was happy, then it was sad, then it was normal.. and then there started the vicious cycle, well, it had gone on since I was a day old I guess, but sometimes nothing seems real until you think about it.
In retrospect, I feel that it was brief but it was beautiful. Just like everything else in my life. Just as I now know that almost everything is short-lived. Relatively short-lived compared to the life we live. Happiness is real. End is real. And everything else is just stupid make-believe.
Feelings fly swish infront of our eyes and hardly ever do we catch it. Even when it's possible.. and instead we suppose that it would last forever when nothing does. Nothing. Ever. Never.
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