I closed my eyes and I saw him.
He stood there looking at his classmates laughing at him, his vision blurred by the tears in his eyes. He was angry and ashamed of himself for not knowing the trivia of how to be. How to mingle with people, how to make friends. Ashamed of the that he was afraid of every damn thing in the world.
The air was cold and even though I was fully dressed I could still feel the cold creeping inside my skin, slowly, like a blob of ink spreading through a piece of parchment. Probably, it was not the cold in the wind that was chilling my bones but the realization of the vast nothingness that lay below the protruding piece of rock I was standing on.
I suddenly realized that my legs were shaking. Just like it shook for the boy, whenever it was required for him to show even the tiniest bit of courage. Just like the time when he saw his father lying head down on the steering wheel of the wrecked car with smashed windscreen. He should done something, he should have called someone, but there he sat, frozen and shivering in fear.
I took a step forwards towards the edge. Just one more and then I’ll be free. Free of the fear, free of the remorse. Free of the shivering and sweating skin of mine, for however hard I had tried my fear had never left me. It has only amplified with each of my failures.
There was no point living like this. No point at all.
I could see the river below, far below. I seemed serene. I knew if I did not do it know, I will never be able to do it.
It took one moment of insane courage and I do not know from where I go it.
I opened my arms and fell. Fell face down towards freedom.Today I end. And I begin.
It was not until the altimeter had started to beep angrily that I broke free of the trance and finally pulled the chord.
Came across this piece after a long time, was hidden ‘neath layers of years.
Quite a conversation it is between two sides of a same person, each paragraph being a reply to the previous one, (except the first one of course 🙂 )
Today, I sat down to dissever
in a kingdom by the sea.
Crystal ice from red glowing ember,
of a dreamless, frozen me.
To discern my own delusive facade,
denude the me, hidden within me.
And swiftly I realized that the smoke I envision,
Has no fire but one in me.
Neither am I different from the things that I make up,
Nor am I unlike the things that I see.
Ah, the smoke, the slick soupy smoke.
Bred to birth by solitude and me,
but me, the erring despondent soul,
is such, O’ seraphs, only due to thee.
Seldom does it happen, unusual does it seem,
Inapt and impractical-it appears to be,
But, apart from all distrust and for every truth,
Interned by itself-is the one who is free.
Ah, the freedom, the fragrant foreign freedom,
Thou art different for he, different for me
An ant can always walk around,
In a cage for a man that never had a key.
Discernment of freedom is different from freedom,
It comes with a price, comparatively.
The man is in prison, the man has a choice
The ant has no choice, the ant is not free.
Ah the choice, the chaffy cheap choice,
Has burned the fire, lifted the smoke,
Its not free that comes with a price,
For its after, that I always choke.
Since all illusory dungeons are created by me,
The shackles are mine, mine is the smoke,
Despite all the haze, it’s duty to see..
Despite all the dismay, it’s a choice to choke.
Ah, the duty, the dreary damned duty,
The duty to see, the duty the breathe
the breeze filled with putrid smoke and smile
shackled I am again, for I have a duty to keep.
The first paragraph was written by me followed by the next paragraph by Yash -one of my philosophical friends (I hope you don’t read this 😛) and then me again and then him again as it continued to its demise.
Deep down I had always known this is how it would end. Like a dream which merges with reality. Like a fading musical note. Like the smell of the best perfume ever. And as I lay there, watching the setting sun glistening the road ahead and the small pool of blood almost resembling the cotton clouds in the clear evening sky slowly getting hazier, I knew it was the end.
I had often heard people saying, that the moment we die our life crosses in front of our eyes like a quick movie reel, but I was too tired, too powerless to even see that. I guess everyone is.
It felt okay, nothing special, just a feeling of summer afternoon silence. As if my mother was tucking me in for the afternoon siesta and I, after resisting for a moment, for I did not want to lose the time in which I could have grown my origami collection, finally giving in to her caressing, sleep inducing fingers.
I then remembered my collection. I had a boat, a basket, a plane which made a couple of flips before falling on the ground. I also had an owl which opened its mouth when I pulled a paper strip attached to its neck, Which I called, the tie. It was an ingenious price of art, and I was proud of it. Like everything else. Like all of my other achievements. And like everything else, it was immaterial now.
And there I lay, feeling sleepy,feeling those fingers in my hairs. My eyelids closing as the sun was nearing the horizon.
It was peaceful.
Its not the feeling of achievement or finality that seeps in your heart when you visit this small town proudly sitting on the head of our magnificent India, but strangely, its just peace that settles all around you making the beats of your heart rhythmic, almost like playing a background score to the moonlight lullabies sung by the mountains to the fast flowing rivers.
But this, is just one face of Leh, the capital of Ladakh. The other face promises you a running vibe of adventure through its veins as Enfields rush around the city carrying the thumping hearts of the leather clad adventure seekers.
It could be very difficult and physically painful to reach the city by road, but finally when the roar of the Enfields struck the ear drums of me and my friends and the tires started to roll towards to the world’s highest motorable roads, it all seemed a very meager price to pay for the feeling, for the ecstasy of the blood in our veins.
The following words/posts would be the account of what four sets of eyes (and a couple of cameras) captured in the unending beauty of Ladakh- the land of snow, Enfields and apricots.
of your open arms,
On,the simplicity of
hiding wind in your pockets,
and the stars in your eyes
And he would,
tell you how he should,
not sleep, not blink
for he might then sink,
to the depths of desolated blue,
in just one moment
When time and distance
Will finally set us apart,
And million new stars
Will adorn our skies
Some teeny ticks of time
Would still be when
A strange smile would come,
And curve your fruity lips
For no reason,
That reason, my love
Would be me.
There was a time when I used to read books in which the writers used to write about a single moment in which they lived their lives.
I never believed them,its not that I did not like them, it liked the feel, the feeling of love from my very childhood gave me goosebumps and made the world a prettier sight than it really is. But, I never believed them.
But then there came a moment in my life. the moment in which two infinitely different kinds of people stood looking at each other for the last time in their lives. Not the whole time, no, just the last moment when they shook hands and as one hand slipped over the other so as to maximise the time of contact and stayed in touch for a moment longer than it was necessary, and that moment, was my moment.
sometimes the desire for something grows so strong that the world world starts spinning around it. there could be no question of a yes or no, for that no will lead to a void which simply engulfs one’s full existence, making him someone or something completely different.
I wish, there was something around me and not this void. I wish I had not ceased to exist. I wish she had come back that day.