Caught in Life's Web

Each passing hour was the same, Bleak and monotonous. All around me was as dead as a grave. The buzz of a fly would've been welcoming to break the grey silence. I sat looking at the decrepit wall. There were days when flakes of paint and dust would fall on me and I would not care to shake it off. I just wished I didn't have to wake up to see the horror and pain of another fellow being. His silent agony seemed to be absorbed by the walls around me. And I could almost hear the excruciating screams echo from the grey walls. I felt old, I felt lost.

Suddenly I heard a knock. I looked up hoping that it was my visitor. I let out a sigh when I saw Him on the entrance. It’s been a long time since I have seen Him. I’m sure getting old because I can’t remember when was the last time I saw Him. I looked at his tired face as he slowly made his way to his bed. I prayed with all my heart that he would silently fall asleep rather than go through his usual routine.

I still shudder when I think about the first time I saw him go through the torture. Even after these many years it’s painful to see him inflict so much pain on his own body. I looked down at my dark bristly arms and wonder, would I ever be able to self-destruct myself the way he does. I shook my head to erase that thought from my mind. Looking into his masked eyes, my heart would try to reach out to him, but then I see the invisible wall that stands between us. I felt helpless. I felt lost.

I closed my eyes to the suffering that was being unleashed before me. But I could not close my ears to the screams that ensued from his severed skin. Each bristle in my body stood up in anxiety as I heard the tearing apart of a beautiful entity. It always shocked me to see how one can endure so much pain without sounding a single scream from his mouth. He looked spent, he looked numbed out. Questions unasked were choking in my throat.

I silently looked at him as he slowly crawled into his bed and tried to cover his scarred body with his discarded remains lying around him. I saw him take down his invisible wall and placed it by his side. Tears brimmed in my eyes for the umpteenth time, and like magic darkness engulfed us. I looked down at his closed eyes that concealed so much agony and was showing a brave face to the world around him. It seemed as if God has forgotten one of his entities. So I said a silent prayer to ease this Man from his suffering. Giving him one final look I went back to my corner and started to weave a larger web. If I’m lucky I may catch up with a fly or two tomorrow.

Thoughts of a confused spider, about the eccentricities of watching a Man change his clothes before sleeping.

Paradise Lost

The waiter brought my coffee and he gave me the most quizzical of expressions as I politely declined the little sachets of sugar. I quietly smiled to myself in answer to his unasked question. I could never forget the One who gave me this habit. Every time I winced while drinking His Bitter black coffee, He used to be amused with my futile attempts to imitate and impress Him. Me in my innocence believed that this was one way to show how much I loved Him. I was yet to realize that all would be in vain.

Holding the warm cup, I closed my eyes; feeling the heat seep into my fingers. This was the same feeling I had so long ago when I held Him for one last time, knowing that whatever I say or do would never make Him change His mind. The expression on His face as He left me will forever be imprinted in my mind. I let out a sigh full of regret, as my mind traveled back in time.

I remember towards the end of our relationship, we were like two people living in two separate worlds even though we shared the same roof. There was no bad feeling yet our love was fading with the last rays of the setting Sun. The only thing that was binding us was the memory of the warmth that we once shared.

I swallowed my coffee to help me hold back my tears which were bitterer than the coffee. I tried to shake off the memory as I reminisced how He held me close as I stood in mortification when the whole world seemed to have looked at me with revulsion. I could smell the faint smell of cigarettes as He kissed my tear-stained face and promised me that He would never leave my side.

Two years back, I decided to go home earlier than usual to surprise Him, hoping to stir a spark in His eyes that had nothing left but indifference for me and the world. But I was too late; He had already made up His mind to leave. In one desperate effort I held Him tightly hoping what words failed to express my embrace would. I could sense Him muster all the love He had for me in one final attempt to console me. I could feel His love and care ebb into me. As I tried to hold Him closer, He just vanished. All that was left was the Bitter coffee, wafts of cigarette smoke and the memories he gave me.

But for all the abandonment I felt that day, there was never a moment where he abandoned me. He will always be my First Love, the only one who unconditionally loved me for all my flaws and fantasies. For I would always remember the day when I was 5 years old and had puked all over, but my Daddy had picked me up and instead of scolding me for the mess I created He just kissed my vomit speckled face and hugged me tightly.

(This post is based on a true incident of my life. I was just 10 minutes away from giving a surprise to Daddy when I got a call saying that he expired. He was still warm when I hugged his lifeless body. I never got my chance to bid farewell , but then truth be told I will never say Goodbye to Daddy.)

Man of a Million Hues

It was with a lot of excitement when my friend Sharika invited me to meet her Grand Uncle, the respected Artist K.V Haridasan. I wasn’t sure what I would say or do in the presence of such a distinguished personality. Within the confines of the Chola Village we were facing a tall gate on which was carelessly scratched K.V. Haridasan. I almost felt like I was back in my home in Kerala, where trees hug close to the house and whatever space is available is scattered with flower pots and medicinal leaves kept out to dry. It was like a small speck of Kerala transported into Chennai Coastline!

Once inside the house, we were chatting with his very cordial wife. Like most elderly people, he was very friendly and was busy catching up with his granddaughter about friends and family. As usual I made a beeline to the kitchen bustling over with tea making and stuffing myself with fruit cake :D As we were sipping our sweet tea, I couldn't help but notice a canvas that was carelessly stashed away in a corner. I was so tempted to touch the bold strokes that seem to try coming out of the canvas as if imprisoned within the confines of the material world. When I asked how he would explain his work, I was admiring his patience in explaining. Here was I, an ignorant fool trying to understand the emotions, experiences and imagination of a Man who spent his whole lifetime in a world of Colors.

Our artist was courteous enough to let us into his workshop where he keeps most of his finished and unfinished works. The whole place was scattered with discarded brushes, paints, broken crockery, old statues of wood and clay. I found the place was comfortable and cluttered (I only feel in peace if I live in a mess; clean houses always make me feel like I’m in a hospital.) There was a whole assortment of furniture including wooden doors, pillars that might have been salvaged from old houses. There were even glass topped tables that were supported by wooden buttresses, which once might have held up roofs. Even item had a story of its own, an identity to be revealed, and all those secrets was locked within the Artist's mind.

Strewn all across the place were specimens of rocks, all varying in structure and texture, which he was happily caressing with his wrinkled fingers. There was love in his touch and a glitter in his eye as he told from where he got them. When asked about the theme of one of his pictures, he was in a dilemma whether to explain or not. But then isn't it hard to express one’s innermost feelings. There is something so sacred and divine when connecting to one’s heart. Even though one may feel the need to communicate, there are so many things that stand at the tip of ones tongue. The moment it is uttered; the meaning, the exaltation of the feeling is completely lost. He just told us – “Art is not a profitable venture. But its important for us to bring color to the world in a way that we can. That’s all I do.”

As he escorted us through the Chola Art Gallery,I don’t know for most people; but for me when I look at a Painting or a sketch, its not the imagery as such that moves me. When I see the varying colors and curves on a canvas, it’s the mind behind the picture that captures my imagination. Each stroke on the canvas must have been triggered by an emotion of the artist, whose collective effect is what we see framed behind a sheet of glass. The Frozen emotion, a crystalized idea, a crescendo of sensations that reaches its climax. The ghost of that hand still lingers in the strands of the canvas, reminiscing in the mood that brought out Beauty in a life of the Mundane.

Check below link for more about a Man who painted his world!
http://mulledink.blogspot.com/2012/05/art-k-v-haridasan-tantric-circle.html