Wednesday, August 31, 2005

"....Its been a very punctuated day today. With that slow sense of impending disaster, that makes you invisible in the familiar throng of extended family, and before your own silent reflections in car windows. Something in my mind promises defeat, and I can feel the longing for the numbness of right now, even as right now is here and not in the past. Some where, I can feel the rythm of a last chance, beating, disguised with the final laughter of my thumping heart before I sleep tonight. I can feel it, right now. A nostalgia for a moment I am still breathing in. Absurd how utterly completely I can sense the movement, even of the thought as it flexes, in my gutt. And yet there is an apt disconnection, between what I am reaching to touch and what I feel when I touch it. There is the divorce of senses, and my lungs breathe what my chest does not fill. My eyes see with a comprehension of their own, what my mind does not think. And I am sitting, in the middle of a hundred pieces of me, a little broken, and very amused. I think I can understand some how, what happens in these short bursts of abnormal activity. But I do not think I can articulate it. Just for the record, I'm not stoned.

I felt awake today, after a long time. There was a rusty thought in the back of my head for a while. I broke it. And it felt like a shove in the face. A good one. I'm up now.

I went to amiji's house, and thought like i always do, that things fall into transitory places, where they sit and look at you, but dont fit. Theres a swing thats been hanging in her garden since Maryam and I were little. The ropes used to be ugly when we were small. They were rough, like jute, and would scratch a child's palm. So abaji called the gardner one time. Gami mama. He called Gami mama and he told him to get the ropes changed because they cut my hand. So gami mama got the ropes changed. And the new ones had rubber on them, easy for little hands to hold, for abaji to assure himself with. But even now, so long after I cut my hand, after Gami Mama has lost what strength he had in him to change ropes and kill cats, so many years after abaji has died, I sit on that swing and I think to myself, "Be careful with the ropes. They cut." Only they don't. The green rubber sits as ugly and comfortable as a fat cow on cud, and the swing swings as high as ever, and the dust flies like it always does when my heels kick it, and I survive it all, with nothing more than red hands. Its unsatisfying. It doesn't fit. Its been years, but the rubber's in transit to becoming rough, like jute, and until it does, it just doesn't fit. It won't, till my daughter laughs at the ultimate thrill of swinging a swing, makes the dust fly and then screams to go tell her grandfather that the rope she held made her hands bleed. It just wont fit, till i tell some one to fix the damn rubber so it wont injure children any more. And if that day wont come, and if the swing dies, and the house dies, and the moment I can still see dies with it, then it will all have died in transit. And thats a sad way to go".

A few magical lines from Amal's blog....she's unaware of my existence btw.

I've got my Macroeconomics final on 1st Sep....studying 9 hours a day...all my secret admirers out there :p :p ....pray for me!

1 comment:

  1. lol at the 'secret adm..' ! hahaha bohat 'duaaen' milli honge i bet! lol..anywayz...u want her to know bout ur existence? :D i can do the honors! haha :P