A Picture of Words
In truth I have nothing to write, and am giving way to my fingers which can travel the course of any letter and word, conjuring sentences as they please. For once my fingers can be masters of their own destiny--the destiny deigned for them on paper.
The mystics move to a tune (sometimes of God and sometimes the lover) and somehow words dance to the touch of the fingers, much like a choreographed dance, where the participants know the steps but do not know where the chemistry of the dance might lead them to. Different paths? A shared bed? Or just some simple, plain old dancing.
Deviating from this somewhat sensuous and dangerous course these word and fingers (in collusion I believe) are painting, lets away to the realm of reality.
Ah, but no fun lies in trying to talk in real terms.
…………….the sun has begun setting early nowadays. It too marks the end of a long year with some early time off. Characteristic afternoons spent in the hammock—languid strokes of the foot, gentle swinging—in the garden offer the kind of memories that one can turn to fondly tomorrow in places that are not here and times that are not now.
I planted flowers in the garden, much to Yasmin’s amazement. Found it hard explaining that they were to please myself even though we leave the premises in two months time. She laughed at how I spend money on something I will not see blossom. Literally.
I reckon, life is too short. Get your pleasures......alas, not pleasure—too fleeting and short lived…get your happiness now.
Flowers make me happy. And so flowers it is.
Recently I to India went and amidst a lot of people proved I too have something to say. Something of value. Something that stems from intelligence….which one tends to assume, on and off, that one has lost. There is something about India that is familiar in a haunting way. The same kind of disgust at lowly humanness, the same blips of humanism. A strange juxtaposition. It is not the same here in the Middle East. Our misfortunes unite us in the Subcontinent. If only we would realise that somehow and unite in our miseries.
A sad clarion for hope eh? Misfortune.
The trip was also humbling. I realised the extent of my luxurious life. The spoilt manner of my ways, the indulgent means of my existence. And somehow wearing a ‘socially acceptable badge’ of humility (the congratulatory pat on the back from ‘my like’ for sticking it out only made me despise myself more).
Sadly, however, all such self revelations are short lived. For when the cravings hit—shivering, stumbling, defeated (a simple hot-water bath, and a four-door car instead of a rickshaw would have done)—I succumbed to my old ways. Perhaps the only salvation (and I do live for just the little things) is that I appreciate it more. Well at least I do for a little while.
…………………….nightfall, and there is a steady breeze outside. Should really have been outside in that hammock instead of sitting in front of this garish light of the screen. Even when trying to recreate beauty here, I sacrifice the real thing for a cheap imitation. Such is the infliction of the profession. An overwhelming desire to capture the moment on paper, while losing the experience in person.
Like I said, I have nothing to write.
The mystics move to a tune (sometimes of God and sometimes the lover) and somehow words dance to the touch of the fingers, much like a choreographed dance, where the participants know the steps but do not know where the chemistry of the dance might lead them to. Different paths? A shared bed? Or just some simple, plain old dancing.
Deviating from this somewhat sensuous and dangerous course these word and fingers (in collusion I believe) are painting, lets away to the realm of reality.
Ah, but no fun lies in trying to talk in real terms.
…………….the sun has begun setting early nowadays. It too marks the end of a long year with some early time off. Characteristic afternoons spent in the hammock—languid strokes of the foot, gentle swinging—in the garden offer the kind of memories that one can turn to fondly tomorrow in places that are not here and times that are not now.
I planted flowers in the garden, much to Yasmin’s amazement. Found it hard explaining that they were to please myself even though we leave the premises in two months time. She laughed at how I spend money on something I will not see blossom. Literally.
I reckon, life is too short. Get your pleasures......alas, not pleasure—too fleeting and short lived…get your happiness now.
Flowers make me happy. And so flowers it is.
Recently I to India went and amidst a lot of people proved I too have something to say. Something of value. Something that stems from intelligence….which one tends to assume, on and off, that one has lost. There is something about India that is familiar in a haunting way. The same kind of disgust at lowly humanness, the same blips of humanism. A strange juxtaposition. It is not the same here in the Middle East. Our misfortunes unite us in the Subcontinent. If only we would realise that somehow and unite in our miseries.
A sad clarion for hope eh? Misfortune.
The trip was also humbling. I realised the extent of my luxurious life. The spoilt manner of my ways, the indulgent means of my existence. And somehow wearing a ‘socially acceptable badge’ of humility (the congratulatory pat on the back from ‘my like’ for sticking it out only made me despise myself more).
Sadly, however, all such self revelations are short lived. For when the cravings hit—shivering, stumbling, defeated (a simple hot-water bath, and a four-door car instead of a rickshaw would have done)—I succumbed to my old ways. Perhaps the only salvation (and I do live for just the little things) is that I appreciate it more. Well at least I do for a little while.
…………………….nightfall, and there is a steady breeze outside. Should really have been outside in that hammock instead of sitting in front of this garish light of the screen. Even when trying to recreate beauty here, I sacrifice the real thing for a cheap imitation. Such is the infliction of the profession. An overwhelming desire to capture the moment on paper, while losing the experience in person.
Like I said, I have nothing to write.
Comments