Two beings on either side of a glass wall.
He-half mad with desire, pain and loss. She- serene, beautiful,pure...
dead.
He reaches for the wall.
His fingers touch the glass.
They keep pushing.
...
My beautiful wife, Athena, died exactly a year ago...today.
To say that i went mad with grief would be putting it lightly.
For hours he would sit there, staring at the wall-without moving, without eating. I would leave him for days and would return to find him exactly as he was. When he slept, he dreamt of her. When he was awake, he still dreamt.
The neighbours all said what a tragedy it was.
Such a brilliant mind, they said.
So young, they said.
He was barely twenty seven.
...
I would see her standing before me, dancing; and when I stretched out my hand...nothing.I touched only air.I hated life, and all that it had robbed me off. I wished to reach into my still-beating heart, tear it out and give it to her.
Take it.
Take it, and bring her back.
...
The glass shatters against him.
His bloodied hand reaches in, for his wife.
She is confused for a second. She reaches for him.
His face...his face...a visage of pure longing.
Their hands meet.
The scene fades away.
...
My beautiful wife, Athena, died exactly a year ago...today.
I brought her back.
Can you imagine how happy I was? Can you even begin to imagine?
Like a child,like a mad fool, I danced around the house. I laughed with random strangers on the road. I had brought the only woman ever to have lived, the only woman I had ever loved, back to life.
You think I'm mad, don't you?
I AM NOT MAD.
Look at her. Look at her I say! She's standing in front of us.
Joy returned to my house that day. I was ecstatic.
...
A month passed.
...
I'd made...a mistake.
Even as i write this, I know that the end is near. I know that i have ...done wrong.I have ...done wrong..in going after the only thing that ever mattered to me.
I leave this world with a message.
Whoever you are, wherever you may be-listen to me.
We all do love. I have loved more than any man I know.
"...In sickness and in death..."
I crossed death in the pursuit of love. I brought my wife back to life.
And it was Athena, again with me!
But as the days passed, I realized what i had done. It was Athena, but at the same time it was not her.
She would sit on my lap, just as beautiful as she ever was, and yet she was not there. Her eyes, would cloud over. Her hands would tremble. She would sit silently for hours.
When I spoke to her, she would respond. But at other times...nothing.
Nothing.
I could not stand it. Having a dream come to life, and life..becoming a nightmare.
Touching everything, feeling nothing.
Comprehending nothing.
I who had lost my mind at gut-wrenching loss, now began to lose my mind at unrequited gain.
Do not force love, it is akin to crushing a rose.
It is like expecting a dove to fly after it has been bled dry;
living a lie.
As I take this dagger for myself, I must tell you, dearly beloved, not to grieve for me.
Those that work against God often find that He has been working inexorably against them...drawing them home.
...
He said he'd brought that which was dead, to life.
Funny man.
The dead are not meant to live.
...
In a glass orb on my desk, the couple dances. And the sonata plays on.
...
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
A shoulder to cry on
Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on.
You know how it goes; it's been a crap day. Nothing seems to be going your way. You want to just crawl under your bed and cry.
Yes, I've been there.
Everyone has, actually.
...
Rhodes was a tough cop; one of the best they said. What struck me as remarkable about the man was his sheer....level-headedness. In the six months I've been on the force, I've stood and watched him shoot seven men. His hand never wavered. I've seen him look on crime scenes, on what's left of people after crime scenes; corpses so badly off you can't tell if they're man or woman, old or young...he never said a word.
September 16, 1989:
It had been one rough week. Three people were dead already. Scratch that, they weren't dead,they were worse than dead. Charlie "the artist" Sheen was in town. He didn't just kill his victims; he made paintings on the walls with them.
It was around midnight when I got a call; another victim. My hand shook as I called Rhodes;
Charlie...another one. 54, Second street.
That's all I needed to say.
He was there before me. As I pushed the door open, I saw the man standing there. Tall, angling, a man in his late forties, already greying around the temples.
He was standing very still, looking at the far side of the room, at the north wall.
I followed his gaze.
...
This part of the narrative is left out.
Grace Kimberly, aged ten, died on September 16th 1989. It took a Med team eighteen hours before the parents were even allowed in to see her body.
,,,,
I will always remember Rhodes' expression that night. His eyes were looking at the wall, but they didn't seem to be seeing it. I was standing next to him, but he didn't seem to be aware of me, either.
It is a terrible feeling...arriving too late.
He raised his gun and fired a shot straight into the ceiling.
Then he went home.
....
Of course, he caught Charlie.
And Charlie was hanged.
But I swear to God, I do not know how Rhodes made it through that night.
It took me several hours to clean the vomit from my walls.
...
When Irene heard her husband come home that morning; she went to him at once. They had been married long enough; she knew when something was wrong.
They stood there for a moment, in the hallway, looking at each other.
He, the tall, powerful city cop.
She, his wife- so small and frail against him.
And suddenly, John Rhodes seemed to fold. His mighty frame crumpled, and he slumped against his wife.
So young...so young...So bloody young, Irene..
Hush, baby....it's alright. It's alright. It's going to be alright.I'm here now.
It's okay.
I'm here.
Great, powerful sobs racked through thr grown man's body.
It's okay.
Honey, you hear me. It's okay. I'm here.
It's okay.
He let out a cry of pure,desperate unhappiness then, of inhuman pain; of the lion that had arrived too late, of a heart torn apart by grief.
The cry went on.
She held him tighter.
Baby, I'm here.
They held each other for hours.
....
In my time of need, I will call you. Be there for me.
You know how it goes; it's been a crap day. Nothing seems to be going your way. You want to just crawl under your bed and cry.
Yes, I've been there.
Everyone has, actually.
...
Rhodes was a tough cop; one of the best they said. What struck me as remarkable about the man was his sheer....level-headedness. In the six months I've been on the force, I've stood and watched him shoot seven men. His hand never wavered. I've seen him look on crime scenes, on what's left of people after crime scenes; corpses so badly off you can't tell if they're man or woman, old or young...he never said a word.
September 16, 1989:
It had been one rough week. Three people were dead already. Scratch that, they weren't dead,they were worse than dead. Charlie "the artist" Sheen was in town. He didn't just kill his victims; he made paintings on the walls with them.
It was around midnight when I got a call; another victim. My hand shook as I called Rhodes;
Charlie...another one. 54, Second street.
That's all I needed to say.
He was there before me. As I pushed the door open, I saw the man standing there. Tall, angling, a man in his late forties, already greying around the temples.
He was standing very still, looking at the far side of the room, at the north wall.
I followed his gaze.
...
This part of the narrative is left out.
Grace Kimberly, aged ten, died on September 16th 1989. It took a Med team eighteen hours before the parents were even allowed in to see her body.
,,,,
I will always remember Rhodes' expression that night. His eyes were looking at the wall, but they didn't seem to be seeing it. I was standing next to him, but he didn't seem to be aware of me, either.
It is a terrible feeling...arriving too late.
He raised his gun and fired a shot straight into the ceiling.
Then he went home.
....
Of course, he caught Charlie.
And Charlie was hanged.
But I swear to God, I do not know how Rhodes made it through that night.
It took me several hours to clean the vomit from my walls.
...
When Irene heard her husband come home that morning; she went to him at once. They had been married long enough; she knew when something was wrong.
They stood there for a moment, in the hallway, looking at each other.
He, the tall, powerful city cop.
She, his wife- so small and frail against him.
And suddenly, John Rhodes seemed to fold. His mighty frame crumpled, and he slumped against his wife.
So young...so young...So bloody young, Irene..
Hush, baby....it's alright. It's alright. It's going to be alright.I'm here now.
It's okay.
I'm here.
Great, powerful sobs racked through thr grown man's body.
It's okay.
Honey, you hear me. It's okay. I'm here.
It's okay.
He let out a cry of pure,desperate unhappiness then, of inhuman pain; of the lion that had arrived too late, of a heart torn apart by grief.
The cry went on.
She held him tighter.
Baby, I'm here.
They held each other for hours.
....
In my time of need, I will call you. Be there for me.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Talents
Is he dead?
What happened? What happened?
He's dead. No, he's not.
What happened to him?
Look at his eyes.
What's wrong with his eyes?
What is wrong with his eyes?
Oh my God.
...
13 “Therefore stay alert, because you do not know the day or the hour. 14 For it is like a man going on a journey, who summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them. 15 To one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey. 16 The one who had received five talents went off right away and put his money to work270 and gained five more. 17 In the same way, the one who had two gained two more. 18 But the one who had received one talent went out and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money in it, and the worms ate at the talent 19 After a long time, the master of those slaves came and settled his accounts with them. 20 The one who had received the five talents came and brought five more, saying, ‘Sir, you entrusted me with five talents. See, I have gained five more.’ 21 His master answered, ‘Well done, good and faithful slave! You have been faithful in a few things. I will put you in charge of many things. Enter into the joy of your master.’ 22 The one with the two talents also came and said, ‘Sir, you entrusted two talents to me. See, I have gained two more.’ 23 His master answered, ‘Well done, good and faithful slave! You have been faithful with a few things. I will put you in charge of many things. Enter into the joy of your master.’ 24 Then the one who had received the one talent came and said, ‘Sir, I knew that you were a hard man, harvesting where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed, 25 so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. See, you have what is yours.’ 26 But his master answered, ‘Evil and lazy slave! So you knew that I harvest where I didn’t sow and gather where I didn’t scatter? 27 Then you should have deposited my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received my money back with interest! 28 Therefore take the talent from him and give it to the one who has ten. 29 For the one who has will be given more, and he will have more than enough. But the one who does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. 30 And throw that worthless slave into the outer darkness, and set my demon onto him.
30 There will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth’” (Matthew 25:13-30).
....
A terrible scream broke through the night.
No ! Please. No! Who are you ? What are you? What do you want from me?
Speak ! Why won't you speak?
There was a deathly chill in the air.
The figure removed his hood.
The boy gasped, and fell back, horrified.
He began screaming again.
The figure raised his hand and flung his scythe.
The screaming stopped, abruptly.
...
Nathaniel 25:13-30
You want to know who I am?
I am the boy who watched you grow up; the one who watched as you excelled in everything you touched; who gasped with wonder and amazement at the smallest of your feats. I am the sister who stayed up all night, doing your work, while you slept.I am the brother who stood by; and watched with a pride that knows no words, as you climbed higher and higher. I cried Ben, and I gave thanks to God, for the wonders that He had bestowed on you.
And as I cried, I wept.
I am the father who cut out his arm so that you may have whatever you wanted. I am the one who wept as he saw his only son, the son for whom he would die, turn into the worst sort of abomination possible.
I am Nathaniel.
Your father, has not known proper sleep for the past three years. Your mother cries herself to bed every night.
You disgust me.
Pathetic excuse for a soul;
you disgust me.
He gave you everything. Everything!
Who are you to throw it away?
So much of talent, so many gifts; you were like a prince, like a God-His favourite child. And what did you do?
What did you do?
You squandered it all away like a filthy, ungrateful animal.
You drank. You smoked. You did weed. You shacked up with every wench that would have you.
Have you no shame? Have you no honour?
What right have you got that entitles you to fritter away that which is not yours?
Who are you to decide that that which He has given you is fit only to be used to get your next whore into bed?
No man has the right to choose to waste his talents. They are not his, to begin with.
No such man deserves to live.
I pity you Ben; you had it all, and in a few minutes, when I carve out your heart and leave you here- you're going to wish you were dead.
You are dead to me now,
brother.
The master does not forgive.
Ayin tachat ayin.
What happened? What happened?
He's dead. No, he's not.
What happened to him?
Look at his eyes.
What's wrong with his eyes?
What is wrong with his eyes?
Oh my God.
...
13 “Therefore stay alert, because you do not know the day or the hour. 14 For it is like a man going on a journey, who summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them. 15 To one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey. 16 The one who had received five talents went off right away and put his money to work270 and gained five more. 17 In the same way, the one who had two gained two more. 18 But the one who had received one talent went out and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money in it, and the worms ate at the talent 19 After a long time, the master of those slaves came and settled his accounts with them. 20 The one who had received the five talents came and brought five more, saying, ‘Sir, you entrusted me with five talents. See, I have gained five more.’ 21 His master answered, ‘Well done, good and faithful slave! You have been faithful in a few things. I will put you in charge of many things. Enter into the joy of your master.’ 22 The one with the two talents also came and said, ‘Sir, you entrusted two talents to me. See, I have gained two more.’ 23 His master answered, ‘Well done, good and faithful slave! You have been faithful with a few things. I will put you in charge of many things. Enter into the joy of your master.’ 24 Then the one who had received the one talent came and said, ‘Sir, I knew that you were a hard man, harvesting where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed, 25 so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. See, you have what is yours.’ 26 But his master answered, ‘Evil and lazy slave! So you knew that I harvest where I didn’t sow and gather where I didn’t scatter? 27 Then you should have deposited my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received my money back with interest! 28 Therefore take the talent from him and give it to the one who has ten. 29 For the one who has will be given more, and he will have more than enough. But the one who does not have, even what he has will be taken from him. 30 And throw that worthless slave into the outer darkness, and set my demon onto him.
30 There will be much weeping and gnashing of teeth’” (Matthew 25:13-30).
....
A terrible scream broke through the night.
No ! Please. No! Who are you ? What are you? What do you want from me?
Speak ! Why won't you speak?
There was a deathly chill in the air.
The figure removed his hood.
The boy gasped, and fell back, horrified.
He began screaming again.
The figure raised his hand and flung his scythe.
The screaming stopped, abruptly.
...
Nathaniel 25:13-30
You want to know who I am?
I am the boy who watched you grow up; the one who watched as you excelled in everything you touched; who gasped with wonder and amazement at the smallest of your feats. I am the sister who stayed up all night, doing your work, while you slept.I am the brother who stood by; and watched with a pride that knows no words, as you climbed higher and higher. I cried Ben, and I gave thanks to God, for the wonders that He had bestowed on you.
And as I cried, I wept.
I am the father who cut out his arm so that you may have whatever you wanted. I am the one who wept as he saw his only son, the son for whom he would die, turn into the worst sort of abomination possible.
I am Nathaniel.
Your father, has not known proper sleep for the past three years. Your mother cries herself to bed every night.
You disgust me.
Pathetic excuse for a soul;
you disgust me.
He gave you everything. Everything!
Who are you to throw it away?
So much of talent, so many gifts; you were like a prince, like a God-His favourite child. And what did you do?
What did you do?
You squandered it all away like a filthy, ungrateful animal.
You drank. You smoked. You did weed. You shacked up with every wench that would have you.
Have you no shame? Have you no honour?
What right have you got that entitles you to fritter away that which is not yours?
Who are you to decide that that which He has given you is fit only to be used to get your next whore into bed?
No man has the right to choose to waste his talents. They are not his, to begin with.
No such man deserves to live.
I pity you Ben; you had it all, and in a few minutes, when I carve out your heart and leave you here- you're going to wish you were dead.
You are dead to me now,
brother.
The master does not forgive.
Ayin tachat ayin.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Flaunt
The element of flaunt.
There is a small part of us that wants to be noticed.
So we laugh a little louder than strictly necessary.
Especially true of women.
Coming soon.
There is a small part of us that wants to be noticed.
So we laugh a little louder than strictly necessary.
Especially true of women.
Coming soon.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
1.15
It's a quarter after one.
You all know the song.
It's funny isn't it? How you can have a lot of things going your way one minute and the next-
this.
You're stuck at home watching romantic comedies on your computer, going to bed every night drunk on regret, among other things.
....
It was a nice house. Anyone who saw it would tell you that. It had a lawn, and a pool, a cozy porch. A lot of the house bespoke a woman's touch.
"Bespoke", nice word. It's a verb actually. Only problem is- it's in the past tense.
Hey, it's me; again.
I was um... thinking...about you, and thought i'd give you a call, just to-just to sorta check up on you.
It's amazing the kind of lies people can come up with, and sometimes rather desperately hope for everyone else to believe.
Like she wouldn't know the truth.
I thought someone told me that they wouldn't call
Her tone was icy. He hadn't expected much else.
Yeah well...I just was feeling a bit...
Pause.
Ok.
Pause.
Oh well, he'd called now.
So,er, how are you doing, beautiful?
A memory;
The sound of laughter.
Do you think I'm beautiful.
Of course da.
You're lying.
The sound of a person unsure-wanting to be reassured.
I'm not.
Ok.
I'm doing alright. How you doing?
Alright, I guess.
So...
So.
Listen, I've been meaning to tell you some..something.
Pause.
Babe, have you been drinking?
She could almost hear the guilty shifting the other end.
Well..
Babe?
Ok, a little bit.
A little bit?
Yeah, just a little bit.
Promise?
Promise.
Hmmm.
Look, I had a real rough day alright? Cut me some slack.
He could almost hear her pursing her lips.
Alright.What happened?
Mumbling.
What happened?
Just sorta...some...stuff. People...annoying me.
Some...stuff?
Yeah, stuff.
Another memory:
You're an uncommunicative, crazy man.
Yeah, I guess.
Don't you grin at me. You're not getting off that easy this time. How am I supposed to help you if you won't tell me what happened?
Umm..You could tell me you love me, give me a hug and buy me some chocolate.
Very funny.
No, seriously- chocolate-
Ahem.
Yes dear.
Don't you "Yes dear",me.
Yes dear.
Sigh.
Annoying, he was; and also slightly adorable-slightly.
That's bad. What can I do to help?
Through the mumbling the words, "Come home" were audible.
What?
Nothing.
Ok.
So..yeah. 'k, I'll call-I'll call later then?
There was a slight breaking of the voice.
Ok.
Bye.
Bye.
Of course, he never told her what he'd really called for. He didn't tell her that he was sorry for what he'd done. That he had thought that pushing her away was the only way things would ever work out. That he'd been a bloody idiot. That he'd messed up.
No.
How do you explain to a woman that her affection had been considered a needless luxury? That her heart had been the first casualty in an inhumano process of de-humanization? That all the brilliance in the world hadn't stopped a man being an utter fool?
And now?
And now, when he had jumped freely into the pit of his ambition, he found that he had no wings to carry him; no hands to catch him as he fell; and no joy to make the work worth living
You won't know what you've got till it's gone, they say.
They were right, of course; whoever "they" were. 'xept it wasn't much help now.
Nothing was, really.
He'd like to put down every cliche that he'd ever seen or read. That if he had a chance to turn back time and do one thing right in his life-it would be the decision to call it quits. That she should take him back, even though he didn't deserve it.
That things would be different, this time around.
Of course, he never told her all this. He kept the phone, and slumped back into a stupor.
.....
The beautiful part of it all,
is that she called back.
.....
You all know the song.
It's funny isn't it? How you can have a lot of things going your way one minute and the next-
this.
You're stuck at home watching romantic comedies on your computer, going to bed every night drunk on regret, among other things.
....
It was a nice house. Anyone who saw it would tell you that. It had a lawn, and a pool, a cozy porch. A lot of the house bespoke a woman's touch.
"Bespoke", nice word. It's a verb actually. Only problem is- it's in the past tense.
Hey, it's me; again.
I was um... thinking...about you, and thought i'd give you a call, just to-just to sorta check up on you.
It's amazing the kind of lies people can come up with, and sometimes rather desperately hope for everyone else to believe.
Like she wouldn't know the truth.
I thought someone told me that they wouldn't call
Her tone was icy. He hadn't expected much else.
Yeah well...I just was feeling a bit...
Pause.
Ok.
Pause.
Oh well, he'd called now.
So,er, how are you doing, beautiful?
A memory;
The sound of laughter.
Do you think I'm beautiful.
Of course da.
You're lying.
The sound of a person unsure-wanting to be reassured.
I'm not.
Ok.
I'm doing alright. How you doing?
Alright, I guess.
So...
So.
Listen, I've been meaning to tell you some..something.
Pause.
Babe, have you been drinking?
She could almost hear the guilty shifting the other end.
Well..
Babe?
Ok, a little bit.
A little bit?
Yeah, just a little bit.
Promise?
Promise.
Hmmm.
Look, I had a real rough day alright? Cut me some slack.
He could almost hear her pursing her lips.
Alright.What happened?
Mumbling.
What happened?
Just sorta...some...stuff. People...annoying me.
Some...stuff?
Yeah, stuff.
Another memory:
You're an uncommunicative, crazy man.
Yeah, I guess.
Don't you grin at me. You're not getting off that easy this time. How am I supposed to help you if you won't tell me what happened?
Umm..You could tell me you love me, give me a hug and buy me some chocolate.
Very funny.
No, seriously- chocolate-
Ahem.
Yes dear.
Don't you "Yes dear",me.
Yes dear.
Sigh.
Annoying, he was; and also slightly adorable-slightly.
That's bad. What can I do to help?
Through the mumbling the words, "Come home" were audible.
What?
Nothing.
Ok.
So..yeah. 'k, I'll call-I'll call later then?
There was a slight breaking of the voice.
Ok.
Bye.
Bye.
Of course, he never told her what he'd really called for. He didn't tell her that he was sorry for what he'd done. That he had thought that pushing her away was the only way things would ever work out. That he'd been a bloody idiot. That he'd messed up.
No.
How do you explain to a woman that her affection had been considered a needless luxury? That her heart had been the first casualty in an inhumano process of de-humanization? That all the brilliance in the world hadn't stopped a man being an utter fool?
And now?
And now, when he had jumped freely into the pit of his ambition, he found that he had no wings to carry him; no hands to catch him as he fell; and no joy to make the work worth living
You won't know what you've got till it's gone, they say.
They were right, of course; whoever "they" were. 'xept it wasn't much help now.
Nothing was, really.
He'd like to put down every cliche that he'd ever seen or read. That if he had a chance to turn back time and do one thing right in his life-it would be the decision to call it quits. That she should take him back, even though he didn't deserve it.
That things would be different, this time around.
Of course, he never told her all this. He kept the phone, and slumped back into a stupor.
.....
The beautiful part of it all,
is that she called back.
.....
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
The Hunchback
Don't read this post if you can't stand sad things.
There was once a Hunchback. He was a real beast-ugly, deformed, crooked,bent. Picture Quasimodo from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. No, not the Disney version.
He lived in the ice, this Hunchback. He killed what creatures he could find. He ate them. He did not bother with a fire.
He survived.
Several years passed this way.
One day, as he was making his way back to the hole he called home, he spotted a strange light in the distance. That was odd. He hobbled towards the light.
As he neared, the light became exponentially brighter. Shielding his eyes, he hobbled on.
When he finally found the source, he could barely see. Pawing at his streaming eyes, he cried out in anguish. He shut his eyes, and then slowly opened them again.
He stared. His skin began to burn.
He saw a strange being lying on the ice. It was taller than the Hunchback. It had slender limbs, dark, black long hair and pale almost translucent skin.
The Hunchback stared harder, transfixed.
It was a woman. But the Hunchback didn't know that.
He just stared, struck dumb.
Picture the scene then, if you will: The strange woman lying, apparently asleep on the snow; and the Hunchback. She-a creature from Heaven-ethereal, angelic. He-a creature from the farthest depths of Hell-a face that even a mother would have difficulty loving.
The Hunchback howled. How he howled! The fish in the sea heard him, and they dove deeper. The creatures of the ice heard him, and they lay still.
A cry of pure, inhuman pain tore through the Tundra.
He howled because he had nothing. He howled at the inequity in creation- that bestowed on him the form of the lowliest wretch that crawls in the mud, and on her the form of a God. He howled because the purity of her loveliness seared at his skin like a burning flame-scorching, throwing into sharp relief the shadows that marred him.
.....
She's so beautiful.
She's so beautiful.
She's so bloody beautiful.
Drunk, bereft of all reason, a beggar clutched at his chest and howled at the moon.
He clutched as if to tear out his heart and give it to her.
...
Take it.
Take everything I have: all that i am, all that I will be, the worlds i control. All i ask is that you give me a chance to be with you.
...
Who the F&^k is he? He knows nothing. Nothing of who you are, of what you deserve.
And yet, I know that you may never be mine.
...
I don't need to know how much.
But-
I don't need to know how much. I don't care. Take the money, just make sure she's happy. Anything she wants, anything she needs- she should have.
But-
Don't Argue.
Yes, sir.
And understand this, she should not know that it's me. Never. Let her think that she did it, or the Gods did it, or that he did it- I don't care. But she should not know it's me- understand?
Yes, sir.
....
And I knew, that he knew, that he could never have her.
...
There was once a Hunchback. He was a real beast-ugly, deformed, crooked,bent. Picture Quasimodo from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. No, not the Disney version.
He lived in the ice, this Hunchback. He killed what creatures he could find. He ate them. He did not bother with a fire.
He survived.
Several years passed this way.
One day, as he was making his way back to the hole he called home, he spotted a strange light in the distance. That was odd. He hobbled towards the light.
As he neared, the light became exponentially brighter. Shielding his eyes, he hobbled on.
When he finally found the source, he could barely see. Pawing at his streaming eyes, he cried out in anguish. He shut his eyes, and then slowly opened them again.
He stared. His skin began to burn.
He saw a strange being lying on the ice. It was taller than the Hunchback. It had slender limbs, dark, black long hair and pale almost translucent skin.
The Hunchback stared harder, transfixed.
It was a woman. But the Hunchback didn't know that.
He just stared, struck dumb.
Picture the scene then, if you will: The strange woman lying, apparently asleep on the snow; and the Hunchback. She-a creature from Heaven-ethereal, angelic. He-a creature from the farthest depths of Hell-a face that even a mother would have difficulty loving.
The Hunchback howled. How he howled! The fish in the sea heard him, and they dove deeper. The creatures of the ice heard him, and they lay still.
A cry of pure, inhuman pain tore through the Tundra.
He howled because he had nothing. He howled at the inequity in creation- that bestowed on him the form of the lowliest wretch that crawls in the mud, and on her the form of a God. He howled because the purity of her loveliness seared at his skin like a burning flame-scorching, throwing into sharp relief the shadows that marred him.
.....
She's so beautiful.
She's so beautiful.
She's so bloody beautiful.
Drunk, bereft of all reason, a beggar clutched at his chest and howled at the moon.
He clutched as if to tear out his heart and give it to her.
...
Take it.
Take everything I have: all that i am, all that I will be, the worlds i control. All i ask is that you give me a chance to be with you.
...
Who the F&^k is he? He knows nothing. Nothing of who you are, of what you deserve.
And yet, I know that you may never be mine.
...
I don't need to know how much.
But-
I don't need to know how much. I don't care. Take the money, just make sure she's happy. Anything she wants, anything she needs- she should have.
But-
Don't Argue.
Yes, sir.
And understand this, she should not know that it's me. Never. Let her think that she did it, or the Gods did it, or that he did it- I don't care. But she should not know it's me- understand?
Yes, sir.
....
And I knew, that he knew, that he could never have her.
...
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Savin' Me
There's a room.
The room is like a cell in a prison. There are bars, and grey light, lots of it, shining dully through. Everything is grey.
...
He stood in one corner of the room; with his back to me.
I called his name.
There was no answer.
I called his name again, louder this time, but still hardly louder than a whisper.
He did not turn.
Babe, look at me.
Suddenly, he turned; he hurtled across the room and hurled himself against the bars. There was a terrifying crash.
The lady did not draw back.
Prison gates won't open up for me
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'
I reach for you
I'm terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can't hold my soul in
All I need is you
I did not draw back. I did not draw back because I knew that to do so would break his spirit. I could see his soul. His knuckles whitened.
He had been inside for over a month now; thirty days. Week on week of trials; of being dragged to court had corroded even him. I died inside every time I came here.
You'll never make it past forty. son. They'll assassinate you before that.
A joke.
I'll let myself be assassinated then . I'll make a dramatic resurrection.
His own sense of humour.
Only, when I make a resurrection, there will be no angels singing. There won't be too much forgiving either.
Aw, not your style, eh?
Nope.
Bad press, son.
I'll reword that: There will be angels singing, and a lot of forgiving. Only, some people won't be able to hear too well by then.
...
Heaven's gates won't open up for me
With these broken wings I'm fallin'
And all I see is you
These city walls ain't got no love for me
I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth storey
And all I scream for you
Come please I'm callin'
In the early years, I used to be curious about his beliefs.
Do you believe in Heaven?
Yeah, i do.
Do you believe that you'll get there?
I don't really care too much, to be perfectly honest.
That's crazy. How can you not care?
Where are you going?
Well, I want to go to heaven...
Then I'll get there.
Doesn't it bother you that some people don't like you? I mean, I know for a fact that she doesn't. she hates your guts, actually.
Thanks, babe.
She'd pretty much plunge a knife into you, given half the chance...
Uh huh, Charming.
I mean..
I got it.
Yeah, so, doesn't it bother you at all? Not one bit?
Do you love me.
Of course, but she-
That's enough for me.
...
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
She knew that he had done it for her: that he had acted against his will. And she knew that she was the only one with the power to make him do that.
She treasured the gift;
but knew that it was not one to be used often or lightly, lest it break against him.
The room is like a cell in a prison. There are bars, and grey light, lots of it, shining dully through. Everything is grey.
...
He stood in one corner of the room; with his back to me.
I called his name.
There was no answer.
I called his name again, louder this time, but still hardly louder than a whisper.
He did not turn.
Babe, look at me.
Suddenly, he turned; he hurtled across the room and hurled himself against the bars. There was a terrifying crash.
The lady did not draw back.
Prison gates won't open up for me
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'
I reach for you
I'm terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can't hold my soul in
All I need is you
I did not draw back. I did not draw back because I knew that to do so would break his spirit. I could see his soul. His knuckles whitened.
He had been inside for over a month now; thirty days. Week on week of trials; of being dragged to court had corroded even him. I died inside every time I came here.
You'll never make it past forty. son. They'll assassinate you before that.
A joke.
I'll let myself be assassinated then . I'll make a dramatic resurrection.
His own sense of humour.
Only, when I make a resurrection, there will be no angels singing. There won't be too much forgiving either.
Aw, not your style, eh?
Nope.
Bad press, son.
I'll reword that: There will be angels singing, and a lot of forgiving. Only, some people won't be able to hear too well by then.
...
Heaven's gates won't open up for me
With these broken wings I'm fallin'
And all I see is you
These city walls ain't got no love for me
I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth storey
And all I scream for you
Come please I'm callin'
In the early years, I used to be curious about his beliefs.
Do you believe in Heaven?
Yeah, i do.
Do you believe that you'll get there?
I don't really care too much, to be perfectly honest.
That's crazy. How can you not care?
Where are you going?
Well, I want to go to heaven...
Then I'll get there.
Doesn't it bother you that some people don't like you? I mean, I know for a fact that she doesn't. she hates your guts, actually.
Thanks, babe.
She'd pretty much plunge a knife into you, given half the chance...
Uh huh, Charming.
I mean..
I got it.
Yeah, so, doesn't it bother you at all? Not one bit?
Do you love me.
Of course, but she-
That's enough for me.
...
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
She knew that he had done it for her: that he had acted against his will. And she knew that she was the only one with the power to make him do that.
She treasured the gift;
but knew that it was not one to be used often or lightly, lest it break against him.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Dragon's Heart.
With blood shot eyes I watch you sleeping
The warmth I feel beside me is slowly fading.
I place a hand on your face.
And I wonder,
Would you hear me, if I call your name
Would you hold me, if you knew my shame.
You would?
Hold me then, and know my pain.
I am different inside. I am like no one I have ever met. Ever heard people say, the brighter the picture, the darker the negative?
It was written for me.
You know how bright my picture is;but do you know how dark my negative is?
You cannot begin to imagine.
Here's a story.
There was once a dragon. He was good, mighty and strong. There was none like him in all the land. He flew over the villages by day, protecting the villagers, helping those in need, maintaining law, preaching the good news, being the hero.And by night..?
No one saw him.
The dragon flew into the forest, and the villagers saw him not from sunset to sunrise.
Now, there was one little girl who fell in love with the dragon. Everyday she would wait for him to rise, and every sunset she would watch sadly as he flew away.
He flies away far too early, she thought.
This happened for a year.
And then, one day, she decided to follow the dragon.
....
As the sun began to set, the girl followed the dragon. How she managed to keep pace with a flying beast is not told.
Love gives you wings, they say.
She followed him deep into the forest, past the bog, the cold, and past all manner of forest creatures
She followed him, until finally, she came upon a big cave.
She went in.
.....
The girl spent five nights in the cave. And then she ran from that place, never to return. What she saw there she refused to tell anyone.
.....
When i finally tracked down Isabella, she was quite old. I heard her story, as I have put it down here. And then I asked her the question I am sure she must have been asked several times before,
What did you see?
I can't tell you that.
Why not?
Why is it important for you to know.
Silence.
I told her.
I've been married for a year now.My husband is a wonderful man. In fact,I would go as far as saying, he is the epitome of a perfect man. But after a year of being married to him; I am convinced that there is something he is not telling me. He speaks openly enough. And yet, at times, it feels like he's speaking in code. I tracked down every woman he's ever been with:they all told me the same thing.
He keeps secrets.
Finally, unable to take my pleading, he told me (what he sincerely believes) is the reason he will not, cannot, share.
The brighter the picture, the darker the negative.
...
That's it?
That's it. That's all he said. And that's all he would say.
And what makes you think my answer will help you understand what your husband told you?
Call it a woman's intuition, Isabella.
There was silence after that.
...
There are things in this world dear, that people hardly speak of- but are aware of all the time. Among these is something I call Aura. It is the image of a man-that which enters a room before he does, and that which fills the room when he unleashes his spirit. Have you ever seen an artist grow to fill every pore of the space he performs in? The dragon had the strongest aura I had ever seen. Far greater than any man- but then again, he was no man to begin with.
Our auras make us likest Gods.
Now, what these auras do is this- they ensnare people. They spin out, through whispered conversations and overblown exaggerations, until they ensnare everyone. And the person they ensnare most of all-
Is the one to whom they belong.
They ensnare the person so much that that person starts to fear, with a terrible and uncontrollable fear,the smallest of things that will tarnish his aura, and expose that which is human beneath.
Everyone hates to find that their idol has clay feet. But my child, think on this, every idol has clay feet.
You husband has nothing terrible to hide from you.
He is afraid of what you would say should you see beyond his aura.
That's bullshi*. My husband cannot be afraid of sharing things with his own wife.
Perhaps dear child, he has shared before, and the little girl ran away when she saw the dragon's heart.
Two things I will tell you-
The first is this;
Even the Gods bleed, but they prefer to bleed in private. Or in the company of those that will not run when they see the blood
The second is this:
Your husband wakes up sweating in the night, often.
....
I said nothing then,
It was true.
The warmth I feel beside me is slowly fading.
I place a hand on your face.
And I wonder,
Would you hear me, if I call your name
Would you hold me, if you knew my shame.
You would?
Hold me then, and know my pain.
I am different inside. I am like no one I have ever met. Ever heard people say, the brighter the picture, the darker the negative?
It was written for me.
You know how bright my picture is;but do you know how dark my negative is?
You cannot begin to imagine.
Here's a story.
There was once a dragon. He was good, mighty and strong. There was none like him in all the land. He flew over the villages by day, protecting the villagers, helping those in need, maintaining law, preaching the good news, being the hero.And by night..?
No one saw him.
The dragon flew into the forest, and the villagers saw him not from sunset to sunrise.
Now, there was one little girl who fell in love with the dragon. Everyday she would wait for him to rise, and every sunset she would watch sadly as he flew away.
He flies away far too early, she thought.
This happened for a year.
And then, one day, she decided to follow the dragon.
....
As the sun began to set, the girl followed the dragon. How she managed to keep pace with a flying beast is not told.
Love gives you wings, they say.
She followed him deep into the forest, past the bog, the cold, and past all manner of forest creatures
She followed him, until finally, she came upon a big cave.
She went in.
.....
The girl spent five nights in the cave. And then she ran from that place, never to return. What she saw there she refused to tell anyone.
.....
When i finally tracked down Isabella, she was quite old. I heard her story, as I have put it down here. And then I asked her the question I am sure she must have been asked several times before,
What did you see?
I can't tell you that.
Why not?
Why is it important for you to know.
Silence.
I told her.
I've been married for a year now.My husband is a wonderful man. In fact,I would go as far as saying, he is the epitome of a perfect man. But after a year of being married to him; I am convinced that there is something he is not telling me. He speaks openly enough. And yet, at times, it feels like he's speaking in code. I tracked down every woman he's ever been with:they all told me the same thing.
He keeps secrets.
Finally, unable to take my pleading, he told me (what he sincerely believes) is the reason he will not, cannot, share.
The brighter the picture, the darker the negative.
...
That's it?
That's it. That's all he said. And that's all he would say.
And what makes you think my answer will help you understand what your husband told you?
Call it a woman's intuition, Isabella.
There was silence after that.
...
There are things in this world dear, that people hardly speak of- but are aware of all the time. Among these is something I call Aura. It is the image of a man-that which enters a room before he does, and that which fills the room when he unleashes his spirit. Have you ever seen an artist grow to fill every pore of the space he performs in? The dragon had the strongest aura I had ever seen. Far greater than any man- but then again, he was no man to begin with.
Our auras make us likest Gods.
Now, what these auras do is this- they ensnare people. They spin out, through whispered conversations and overblown exaggerations, until they ensnare everyone. And the person they ensnare most of all-
Is the one to whom they belong.
They ensnare the person so much that that person starts to fear, with a terrible and uncontrollable fear,the smallest of things that will tarnish his aura, and expose that which is human beneath.
Everyone hates to find that their idol has clay feet. But my child, think on this, every idol has clay feet.
You husband has nothing terrible to hide from you.
He is afraid of what you would say should you see beyond his aura.
That's bullshi*. My husband cannot be afraid of sharing things with his own wife.
Perhaps dear child, he has shared before, and the little girl ran away when she saw the dragon's heart.
Two things I will tell you-
The first is this;
Even the Gods bleed, but they prefer to bleed in private. Or in the company of those that will not run when they see the blood
The second is this:
Your husband wakes up sweating in the night, often.
....
I said nothing then,
It was true.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
The Human Spirit.
Why was the boy so different. What made him so special.
.....
I had been asking myself this for a while now.
He looked normal.
In fact, if he sat in a crowd of people, and he was trying hard not to be noticed (which he usually was), you would not notice him.
He was sitting by himself when I first saw him. Which in itself was odd, I thought. I somehow expected to find him surrounded by a crowd of cronies, sycophantically applauding his every move.
And again, he looked quite...normal. He was staring at the performance on stage with a rather faraway expression on his face.
I gave him a closer look.
No, there was definitely no "air of greatness" that was radiating off him; no "superhuman levels of intelligence".
In fact the only thing that I could pick up was..well...a sense of...solitude-of wanting to be left alone.
Strange,very strange.
Mike called for me then, so i went; and the strange boy slipped to the back of my mind.
......
A few days later I chanced on him again. Again...he was alone. And again there was that same air about him.
I remember wondering if he had any friends at all.
I did not speak to him.
This happened thrice.
....
Don't you ever talk to anyone, I asked him, finally.
He seemed surprised.
Nope, he said. I'm anti-social.
Yeah right. Dude, you're the President of the college. You campaigned, you won. You have a thousand friends on Facebook (Oh alright, I admit it-I was curious). You have a million fans all over the place. You can't be anti-social.
He turned to face me then.
You see me talking to anyone over the past few days you've been watching me, miss?
Hey! (I was stung). I wasn't watching you!
He grinned.
Ok, if you say so.
I decided that this would be a good time for me to leave.
I left.
.....
Alright, I believe you-you are anti-social.
I hadn't seen him talk to anyone the next day either.
Yes, I am. He didn't seem quite so happy today though.
Care to talk 'bout it, I asked.
No. Curt.
Rude bum.
Alright, fine-suit yourself.
I turned away.
His face clouded.
Look, I'm sorry, I just have a lot on my mind right about now.
Care to talk about it, I asked again.
He looked at me, strangely.
Let's get a coffee, he said finally.
....
We went to Hot Breads.
He didn't choose CCD.
Don't like crowds, he muttered when I looked at him quizzically.
This from a boy who routinely addresses two thousand odd people.
Stranger and Stranger.
He walked straight in, without a sidewards glance at anyone else. The waiter recognized him. He came here often apparently.
He ordered an espresso. I ordered a chocolate muffin.
...
By now I was starting to get comfortable. I smiled.
He, by contrast, looked like he was sitting across the Grim Reaper.
Um...so, i said.
Ah, he said.
Look, I'm not really used to doing this. I don't usually take people out. I don't drink coffee with people. You'll have to excuse me if this whole thing turns out to be a disaster.
He blurted this out at top speed.
So definitely not a player then.
He genuinely looked distressed.
Hey, relax. I won't eat you. And I can talk for both of us;don't you worry. I will not blame you if this turns out to be a disaster.
I smiled again, just to enforce the point.
He looked marginally relieved.
Relax, I said.
What shall we start with?
I have a list of conversation topics, he mumbled.
I laughed so hard, i nearly spilt his coffee.
We spoke for three hours.
.....
Here are the thoughts I wrote down in my diary that night.
"....he is arrogant. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind about that. He is incredibly arrogant. And still....he is quite humble as well. There seems to be a curious mix here. He is at once, both unemotional and quite passionate. He speaks quite plainly of death, and destruction. He was also incredibly fascinated with a baby that was in the next table.
He is at once, both a gentleman and a rogue. He opened and held every door I walked through. He also spoke so shamefacedly about how he was once almost defeated in a debate by a woman (no less), that I almost throttled him.
He is an accomplished liar. And incredibly honest. He can lie so easily, and so convincingly that you find yourself wanting to believe him.
He is plain. He is complicated. He is kind, he is brutal.
What is beautiful, and here I finally realized why people are drawn to him, is his...intensity.
There is no other word for it.
As I write this, I imagine him to be a rock-steady, solid yet plain and unremarkable.
But beneath that rock- there a fierce and riveting beauty. A force that he seems in control of, most of the time
It manifests itself when he makes speeches, when he acts, when he argues, when he makes music, when he looks at you
...and grins"
When I look at him now, stretched out on the sofa, asleep- I am both incredibly proud, and incredibly amazed.
The human spirit has not died.
It is just harder to find, these days.
.....
I had been asking myself this for a while now.
He looked normal.
In fact, if he sat in a crowd of people, and he was trying hard not to be noticed (which he usually was), you would not notice him.
He was sitting by himself when I first saw him. Which in itself was odd, I thought. I somehow expected to find him surrounded by a crowd of cronies, sycophantically applauding his every move.
And again, he looked quite...normal. He was staring at the performance on stage with a rather faraway expression on his face.
I gave him a closer look.
No, there was definitely no "air of greatness" that was radiating off him; no "superhuman levels of intelligence".
In fact the only thing that I could pick up was..well...a sense of...solitude-of wanting to be left alone.
Strange,very strange.
Mike called for me then, so i went; and the strange boy slipped to the back of my mind.
......
A few days later I chanced on him again. Again...he was alone. And again there was that same air about him.
I remember wondering if he had any friends at all.
I did not speak to him.
This happened thrice.
....
Don't you ever talk to anyone, I asked him, finally.
He seemed surprised.
Nope, he said. I'm anti-social.
Yeah right. Dude, you're the President of the college. You campaigned, you won. You have a thousand friends on Facebook (Oh alright, I admit it-I was curious). You have a million fans all over the place. You can't be anti-social.
He turned to face me then.
You see me talking to anyone over the past few days you've been watching me, miss?
Hey! (I was stung). I wasn't watching you!
He grinned.
Ok, if you say so.
I decided that this would be a good time for me to leave.
I left.
.....
Alright, I believe you-you are anti-social.
I hadn't seen him talk to anyone the next day either.
Yes, I am. He didn't seem quite so happy today though.
Care to talk 'bout it, I asked.
No. Curt.
Rude bum.
Alright, fine-suit yourself.
I turned away.
His face clouded.
Look, I'm sorry, I just have a lot on my mind right about now.
Care to talk about it, I asked again.
He looked at me, strangely.
Let's get a coffee, he said finally.
....
We went to Hot Breads.
He didn't choose CCD.
Don't like crowds, he muttered when I looked at him quizzically.
This from a boy who routinely addresses two thousand odd people.
Stranger and Stranger.
He walked straight in, without a sidewards glance at anyone else. The waiter recognized him. He came here often apparently.
He ordered an espresso. I ordered a chocolate muffin.
...
By now I was starting to get comfortable. I smiled.
He, by contrast, looked like he was sitting across the Grim Reaper.
Um...so, i said.
Ah, he said.
Look, I'm not really used to doing this. I don't usually take people out. I don't drink coffee with people. You'll have to excuse me if this whole thing turns out to be a disaster.
He blurted this out at top speed.
So definitely not a player then.
He genuinely looked distressed.
Hey, relax. I won't eat you. And I can talk for both of us;don't you worry. I will not blame you if this turns out to be a disaster.
I smiled again, just to enforce the point.
He looked marginally relieved.
Relax, I said.
What shall we start with?
I have a list of conversation topics, he mumbled.
I laughed so hard, i nearly spilt his coffee.
We spoke for three hours.
.....
Here are the thoughts I wrote down in my diary that night.
"....he is arrogant. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind about that. He is incredibly arrogant. And still....he is quite humble as well. There seems to be a curious mix here. He is at once, both unemotional and quite passionate. He speaks quite plainly of death, and destruction. He was also incredibly fascinated with a baby that was in the next table.
He is at once, both a gentleman and a rogue. He opened and held every door I walked through. He also spoke so shamefacedly about how he was once almost defeated in a debate by a woman (no less), that I almost throttled him.
He is an accomplished liar. And incredibly honest. He can lie so easily, and so convincingly that you find yourself wanting to believe him.
He is plain. He is complicated. He is kind, he is brutal.
What is beautiful, and here I finally realized why people are drawn to him, is his...intensity.
There is no other word for it.
As I write this, I imagine him to be a rock-steady, solid yet plain and unremarkable.
But beneath that rock- there a fierce and riveting beauty. A force that he seems in control of, most of the time
It manifests itself when he makes speeches, when he acts, when he argues, when he makes music, when he looks at you
...and grins"
When I look at him now, stretched out on the sofa, asleep- I am both incredibly proud, and incredibly amazed.
The human spirit has not died.
It is just harder to find, these days.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The Days of Chivalry
This is an excerpt from "Mill on the Floss", by Elliot. This excerpt is for Miss Srunika Kannan. I call her attention to the last paragraph.
One afternoon, when the chestnuts were coming into flower, Maggie had brought her chair outside the front door, and was seated there with a book on her knees. Her dark eyes had wandered from the book, but they did not seem to be enjoying the sunshine which pierced the screen of jasmine on the projecting porch at her right, and threw leafy shadows on her pale round cheek; they seemed rather to be searching for something that was not disclosed by the sunshine. It had been a more miserable day than usual; her father, after a visit of Wakem's had had a paroxysm of rage, in which for some trifling fault he had beaten the boy who served in the mill. Once before, since his illness, he had had a similar paroxysm, in which he had beaten his horse, and the scene had left a lasting terror in Maggie's mind. The thought had risen, that some time or other he might beat her mother if she happened to speak in her feeble way at the wrong moment. The keenest of all dread with her was lest her father should add to his present misfortune the wretchedness of doing something irretrievably disgraceful. The battered school-book of Tom's which she held on her knees could give her no fortitude under the pressure of that dread; and again and again her eyes had filled with tears, as they wandered vaguely, seeing neither the chestnut-trees, nor the distant horizon, but only future scenes of home-sorrow.
Suddenly she was roused by the sound of the opening gate and of footsteps on the gravel. It was not Tom who was entering, but a man in a sealskin cap and a blue plush waistcoat, carrying a pack on his back, and followed closely by a bullterrier of brindled coat and defiant aspect.
"Oh, Bob, it's you!" said Maggie, starting up with a smile of pleased recognition, for there had been no abundance of kind acts to efface the recollection of Bob's generosity; "I'm so glad to see you."
"Thank you, Miss," said Bob, lifting his cap and showing a delighted face, but immediately relieving himself of some accompanying embarrassment by looking down at his dog, and saying in a tone of disgust, "Get out wi' you, you thunderin' sawney!"
"My brother is not at home yet, Bob," said Maggie; "he is always at St. Ogg's in the daytime."
"Well, Miss," said Bob, "I should be glad to see Mr. Tom, but that isn't just what I'm come for,–look here!"
Bob was in the act of depositing his pack on the door-step, and with it a row of small books fastened together with string.
Apparently, however, they were not the object to which he wished to call Maggie's attention, but rather something which he had carried under his arm, wrapped in a red handkerchief.
"See here!" he said again, laying the red parcel on the others and unfolding it; "you won't think I'm a-makin' too free, Miss, I hope, but I lighted on these books, and I thought they might make up to you a bit for them as you've lost; for I heared you speak o' picturs,–an' as for picturs, look here!"
The opening of the red handkerchief had disclosed a superannuated "Keepsake" and six or seven numbers of a "Portrait Gallery," in royal octavo; and the emphatic request to look referred to a portrait of George the Fourth in all the majesty of his depressed cranium and voluminous neckcloth.
"There's all sorts o' genelmen here," Bob went on, turning over the leaves with some excitement, "wi' all sorts o' nones,–an' some bald an' some wi' wigs,–Parlament genelmen, I reckon. An' here," he added, opening the "Keepsake,"–"here's ladies for you, some wi' curly hair and some wi' smooth, an' some a-smiling wi' their heads o' one side, an' some as if they were goin' to cry,–look here,–a-sittin' on the ground out o' door, dressed like the ladies I'n seen get out o' the carriages at the balls in th' Old Hall there. My eyes! I wonder what the chaps wear as go a-courtin' 'em! I sot up till the clock was gone twelve last night, a-lookin' at 'em,–I did,–till they stared at me out o' the picturs as if they'd know when I spoke to 'em. But, lors! I shouldn't know what to say to 'em. They'll be more fittin' company for you, Miss; and the man at the book-stall, he said they banged iverything for picturs; he said they was a fust-rate article."
"And you've bought them for me, Bob?" said Maggie, deeply touched by this simple kindness. "How very, very good of you! But I'm afraid you gave a great deal of money for them."
"Not me!" said Bob. "I'd ha' gev three times the money if they'll make up to you a bit for them as was sold away from you, Miss. For I'n niver forgot how you looked when you fretted about the books bein' gone; it's stuck by me as if it was a pictur hingin' before me. An' when I see'd the book open upo' the stall, wi' the lady lookin' out of it wi' eyes a bit like your'n when you was frettin',–you'll excuse my takin' the liberty, Miss,–I thought I'd make free to buy it for you, an' then I bought the books full o' genelmen to match; an' then"–here Bob took up the small stringed packet of books–"I thought you might like a bit more print as well as the picturs, an' I got these for a sayso,–they're cram-full o' print, an' I thought they'd do no harm comin' along wi' these bettermost books. An' I hope you won't say me nay, an' tell me as you won't have 'em, like Mr. Tom did wi' the suvreigns."
"No, indeed, Bob," said Maggie, "I'm very thankful to you for thinking of me, and being so good to me and Tom. I don't think any one ever did such a kind thing for me before. I haven't many friends who care for me."
"Hev a dog, Miss!–they're better friends nor any Christian," said Bob, laying down his pack again, which he had taken up with the intention of hurrying away; for he felt considerable shyness in talking to a young lass like Maggie, though, as he usually said of himself, "his tongue overrun him" when he began to speak. "I can't give you Mumps, 'cause he'd break his heart to go away from me–eh, Mumps, what do you say, you riff-raff?" (Mumps declined to express himself more diffusely than by a single affirmative movement of his tail.) "But I'd get you a pup, Miss, an' welcome."
"No, thank you, Bob. We have a yard dog, and I mayn't keep a dog of my own."
"Eh, that's a pity; else there's a pup,–if you didn't mind about it not being thoroughbred; its mother acts in the Punch show,–an uncommon sensible bitch; she means more sense wi' her bark nor half the chaps can put into their talk from breakfast to sundown. There's one chap carries pots,–a poor, low trade as any on the road,–he says, 'Why Toby's nought but a mongrel; there's nought to look at in her.' But I says to him, 'Why, what are you yoursen but a mongrel? There wasn't much pickin' o' your feyther an' mother, to look at you.' Not but I like a bit o' breed myself, but I can't abide to see one cur grinnin' at another. I wish you good evenin', Miss," said Bob, abruptly taking up his pack again, under the consciousness that his tongue was acting in an undisciplined manner.
"Won't you come in the evening some time, and see my brother, Bob?" said Maggie.
"Yes, Miss, thank you–another time. You'll give my duty to him, if you please. Eh, he's a fine growed chap, Mr. Tom is; he took to growin' i' the legs, an' I didn't."
The pack was down again, now, the hook of the stick having somehow gone wrong.
"You don't call Mumps a cur, I suppose?" said Maggie, divining that any interest she showed in Mumps would be gratifying to his master.
"No, Miss, a fine way off that," said Bob, with pitying smile; "Mumps is as fine a cross as you'll see anywhere along the Floss, an' I'n been up it wi' the barge times enow. Why, the gentry stops to look at him; but you won't catch Mumps a-looking at the gentry much,–he minds his own business, he does."
The expression of Mump's face, which seemed to be tolerating the superfluous existence of objects in general, was strongly confirmatory of this high praise.
"He looks dreadfully surly," said Maggie. "Would he let me pat him?"
"Ay, that would he, and thank you. He knows his company, Mumps does. He isn't a dog as 'ull be caught wi' gingerbread; he'd smell a thief a good deal stronger nor the gingerbread, he would. Lors, I talk to him by th' hour together, when I'm walking i' lone places, and if I'n done a bit o' mischief, I allays tell him. I'n got no secrets but what Mumps knows 'em. He knows about my big thumb, he does."
"Your big thumb–what's that, Bob?" said Maggie.
"That's what it is, Miss," said Bob, quickly, exhibiting a singularly broad specimen of that difference between the man and the monkey. "It tells i' measuring out the flannel, you see. I carry flannel, 'cause it's light for my pack, an' it's dear stuff, you see, so a big thumb tells. I clap my thumb at the end o' the yard and cut o' the hither side of it, and the old women aren't up to't."
"But Bob," said Maggie, looking serious, "that's cheating; I don't like to hear you say that."
"Don't you, Miss?" said Bob regretfully. "Then I'm sorry I said it. But I'm so used to talking to Mumps, an' he doesn't mind a bit o' cheating, when it's them skinflint women, as haggle an' haggle, an' 'ud like to get their flannel for nothing, an' 'ud niver ask theirselves how I got my dinner out on't. I niver cheat anybody as doesn't want to cheat me, Miss,–lors, I'm a honest chap, I am; only I must hev a bit o' sport, an' now I don't go wi' th' ferrets, I'n got no varmint to come over but them haggling women. I wish you good evening, Miss."
"Good-by, Bob. Thank you very much for bringing me the books. And come again to see Tom."
"Yes, Miss," said Bob, moving on a few steps; then turning half round he said, "I'll leave off that trick wi' my big thumb, if you don't think well on me for it, Miss; but it 'ud be a pity, it would. I couldn't find another trick so good,–an' what 'ud be the use o' havin' a big thumb? It might as well ha' been narrow."
Maggie, thus exalted into Bob's exalting Madonna, laughed in spite of herself; at which her worshipper's blue eyes twinkled too, and under these favoring auspices he touched his cap and walked away.
The days of chivalry are not gone, notwithstanding Burke's grand dirge over them; they live still in that far-off worship paid by many a youth and man to the woman of whom he never dreams that he shall touch so much as her little finger or the hem of her robe. Bob, with the pack on his back, had as respectful an adoration for this dark-eyed maiden as if he had been a knight in armor calling aloud on her name as he pricked on to the fight.
One afternoon, when the chestnuts were coming into flower, Maggie had brought her chair outside the front door, and was seated there with a book on her knees. Her dark eyes had wandered from the book, but they did not seem to be enjoying the sunshine which pierced the screen of jasmine on the projecting porch at her right, and threw leafy shadows on her pale round cheek; they seemed rather to be searching for something that was not disclosed by the sunshine. It had been a more miserable day than usual; her father, after a visit of Wakem's had had a paroxysm of rage, in which for some trifling fault he had beaten the boy who served in the mill. Once before, since his illness, he had had a similar paroxysm, in which he had beaten his horse, and the scene had left a lasting terror in Maggie's mind. The thought had risen, that some time or other he might beat her mother if she happened to speak in her feeble way at the wrong moment. The keenest of all dread with her was lest her father should add to his present misfortune the wretchedness of doing something irretrievably disgraceful. The battered school-book of Tom's which she held on her knees could give her no fortitude under the pressure of that dread; and again and again her eyes had filled with tears, as they wandered vaguely, seeing neither the chestnut-trees, nor the distant horizon, but only future scenes of home-sorrow.
Suddenly she was roused by the sound of the opening gate and of footsteps on the gravel. It was not Tom who was entering, but a man in a sealskin cap and a blue plush waistcoat, carrying a pack on his back, and followed closely by a bullterrier of brindled coat and defiant aspect.
"Oh, Bob, it's you!" said Maggie, starting up with a smile of pleased recognition, for there had been no abundance of kind acts to efface the recollection of Bob's generosity; "I'm so glad to see you."
"Thank you, Miss," said Bob, lifting his cap and showing a delighted face, but immediately relieving himself of some accompanying embarrassment by looking down at his dog, and saying in a tone of disgust, "Get out wi' you, you thunderin' sawney!"
"My brother is not at home yet, Bob," said Maggie; "he is always at St. Ogg's in the daytime."
"Well, Miss," said Bob, "I should be glad to see Mr. Tom, but that isn't just what I'm come for,–look here!"
Bob was in the act of depositing his pack on the door-step, and with it a row of small books fastened together with string.
Apparently, however, they were not the object to which he wished to call Maggie's attention, but rather something which he had carried under his arm, wrapped in a red handkerchief.
"See here!" he said again, laying the red parcel on the others and unfolding it; "you won't think I'm a-makin' too free, Miss, I hope, but I lighted on these books, and I thought they might make up to you a bit for them as you've lost; for I heared you speak o' picturs,–an' as for picturs, look here!"
The opening of the red handkerchief had disclosed a superannuated "Keepsake" and six or seven numbers of a "Portrait Gallery," in royal octavo; and the emphatic request to look referred to a portrait of George the Fourth in all the majesty of his depressed cranium and voluminous neckcloth.
"There's all sorts o' genelmen here," Bob went on, turning over the leaves with some excitement, "wi' all sorts o' nones,–an' some bald an' some wi' wigs,–Parlament genelmen, I reckon. An' here," he added, opening the "Keepsake,"–"here's ladies for you, some wi' curly hair and some wi' smooth, an' some a-smiling wi' their heads o' one side, an' some as if they were goin' to cry,–look here,–a-sittin' on the ground out o' door, dressed like the ladies I'n seen get out o' the carriages at the balls in th' Old Hall there. My eyes! I wonder what the chaps wear as go a-courtin' 'em! I sot up till the clock was gone twelve last night, a-lookin' at 'em,–I did,–till they stared at me out o' the picturs as if they'd know when I spoke to 'em. But, lors! I shouldn't know what to say to 'em. They'll be more fittin' company for you, Miss; and the man at the book-stall, he said they banged iverything for picturs; he said they was a fust-rate article."
"And you've bought them for me, Bob?" said Maggie, deeply touched by this simple kindness. "How very, very good of you! But I'm afraid you gave a great deal of money for them."
"Not me!" said Bob. "I'd ha' gev three times the money if they'll make up to you a bit for them as was sold away from you, Miss. For I'n niver forgot how you looked when you fretted about the books bein' gone; it's stuck by me as if it was a pictur hingin' before me. An' when I see'd the book open upo' the stall, wi' the lady lookin' out of it wi' eyes a bit like your'n when you was frettin',–you'll excuse my takin' the liberty, Miss,–I thought I'd make free to buy it for you, an' then I bought the books full o' genelmen to match; an' then"–here Bob took up the small stringed packet of books–"I thought you might like a bit more print as well as the picturs, an' I got these for a sayso,–they're cram-full o' print, an' I thought they'd do no harm comin' along wi' these bettermost books. An' I hope you won't say me nay, an' tell me as you won't have 'em, like Mr. Tom did wi' the suvreigns."
"No, indeed, Bob," said Maggie, "I'm very thankful to you for thinking of me, and being so good to me and Tom. I don't think any one ever did such a kind thing for me before. I haven't many friends who care for me."
"Hev a dog, Miss!–they're better friends nor any Christian," said Bob, laying down his pack again, which he had taken up with the intention of hurrying away; for he felt considerable shyness in talking to a young lass like Maggie, though, as he usually said of himself, "his tongue overrun him" when he began to speak. "I can't give you Mumps, 'cause he'd break his heart to go away from me–eh, Mumps, what do you say, you riff-raff?" (Mumps declined to express himself more diffusely than by a single affirmative movement of his tail.) "But I'd get you a pup, Miss, an' welcome."
"No, thank you, Bob. We have a yard dog, and I mayn't keep a dog of my own."
"Eh, that's a pity; else there's a pup,–if you didn't mind about it not being thoroughbred; its mother acts in the Punch show,–an uncommon sensible bitch; she means more sense wi' her bark nor half the chaps can put into their talk from breakfast to sundown. There's one chap carries pots,–a poor, low trade as any on the road,–he says, 'Why Toby's nought but a mongrel; there's nought to look at in her.' But I says to him, 'Why, what are you yoursen but a mongrel? There wasn't much pickin' o' your feyther an' mother, to look at you.' Not but I like a bit o' breed myself, but I can't abide to see one cur grinnin' at another. I wish you good evenin', Miss," said Bob, abruptly taking up his pack again, under the consciousness that his tongue was acting in an undisciplined manner.
"Won't you come in the evening some time, and see my brother, Bob?" said Maggie.
"Yes, Miss, thank you–another time. You'll give my duty to him, if you please. Eh, he's a fine growed chap, Mr. Tom is; he took to growin' i' the legs, an' I didn't."
The pack was down again, now, the hook of the stick having somehow gone wrong.
"You don't call Mumps a cur, I suppose?" said Maggie, divining that any interest she showed in Mumps would be gratifying to his master.
"No, Miss, a fine way off that," said Bob, with pitying smile; "Mumps is as fine a cross as you'll see anywhere along the Floss, an' I'n been up it wi' the barge times enow. Why, the gentry stops to look at him; but you won't catch Mumps a-looking at the gentry much,–he minds his own business, he does."
The expression of Mump's face, which seemed to be tolerating the superfluous existence of objects in general, was strongly confirmatory of this high praise.
"He looks dreadfully surly," said Maggie. "Would he let me pat him?"
"Ay, that would he, and thank you. He knows his company, Mumps does. He isn't a dog as 'ull be caught wi' gingerbread; he'd smell a thief a good deal stronger nor the gingerbread, he would. Lors, I talk to him by th' hour together, when I'm walking i' lone places, and if I'n done a bit o' mischief, I allays tell him. I'n got no secrets but what Mumps knows 'em. He knows about my big thumb, he does."
"Your big thumb–what's that, Bob?" said Maggie.
"That's what it is, Miss," said Bob, quickly, exhibiting a singularly broad specimen of that difference between the man and the monkey. "It tells i' measuring out the flannel, you see. I carry flannel, 'cause it's light for my pack, an' it's dear stuff, you see, so a big thumb tells. I clap my thumb at the end o' the yard and cut o' the hither side of it, and the old women aren't up to't."
"But Bob," said Maggie, looking serious, "that's cheating; I don't like to hear you say that."
"Don't you, Miss?" said Bob regretfully. "Then I'm sorry I said it. But I'm so used to talking to Mumps, an' he doesn't mind a bit o' cheating, when it's them skinflint women, as haggle an' haggle, an' 'ud like to get their flannel for nothing, an' 'ud niver ask theirselves how I got my dinner out on't. I niver cheat anybody as doesn't want to cheat me, Miss,–lors, I'm a honest chap, I am; only I must hev a bit o' sport, an' now I don't go wi' th' ferrets, I'n got no varmint to come over but them haggling women. I wish you good evening, Miss."
"Good-by, Bob. Thank you very much for bringing me the books. And come again to see Tom."
"Yes, Miss," said Bob, moving on a few steps; then turning half round he said, "I'll leave off that trick wi' my big thumb, if you don't think well on me for it, Miss; but it 'ud be a pity, it would. I couldn't find another trick so good,–an' what 'ud be the use o' havin' a big thumb? It might as well ha' been narrow."
Maggie, thus exalted into Bob's exalting Madonna, laughed in spite of herself; at which her worshipper's blue eyes twinkled too, and under these favoring auspices he touched his cap and walked away.
The days of chivalry are not gone, notwithstanding Burke's grand dirge over them; they live still in that far-off worship paid by many a youth and man to the woman of whom he never dreams that he shall touch so much as her little finger or the hem of her robe. Bob, with the pack on his back, had as respectful an adoration for this dark-eyed maiden as if he had been a knight in armor calling aloud on her name as he pricked on to the fight.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Do you think your vote makes a difference?
That was the question they asked me.
And wouldn't you know it, I had a position all picked out for me to defend. I had to go on air and tell people that their vote didn't make a difference.
Now ordinarily, I would shoot myself before I did something like that.
But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea
Mathew 18:6
Yes, I've been brought up a Christian; and my mother, bless her, made sure I knew the Bible.
Now, I believe I have a gift. It is the ability to convince people, quite well, of a stance that I currently hold. I once wrote that I could come up with arguments both supporting and refuting the existence of God, and both of them would be good arguments. I could, and can: But the question is- do I want to?
Quite frankly, no. If there's one thing I despise- it is destroying someone else's faith. You see faith, and the hope that it entails, is one of the most precious gifts that a person has. And if you shake that...
then good job, my son, you've just killed a soul. See you in Hell.
And so, I thought I'd take some time out and write this note; more to ease my conscience than anything else.
So, does your vote make a difference?
In a word, no. It does not. Before you pin me down as a cynical old loon ("Armchair Critic", I believe the word was) take a minute and think about it. If you, successfully, go and cast your vote, which in itself is a big achievement, do you think you're going to bring about a difference? You, sitting there in your air-conditioned apartment, comfortable, fed and watered. You. Not the public, not the "People"; but you.
Yes? What difference, pray tell.
The common understanding of the word "difference" is a change in outcome. In this context- if a person is to win on account of your vote, he should win on account of it. Then, apparently, tomorrow will be a brighter day filled with sunshine and daisies.
Quite.
Let me tell you something, friend. for every vote that you cast from your velvet-covered hand, there are ten other louts who will vote any which way they please for a packet of Biryani. My maid tells me that she took five hundred rupees to vote for a particular person. So, quite a lot more than a packet of Biryani then.
And yet, we still vote. What is the difference?
The difference Mister Cynic, is not out there, it's in here.
The only difference worth making, is the difference to yourself. If you change the world and you have no feeling of satisfaction, then that is no difference at all. If you give a million people television kits (and Air Conditioners and Refridgerators if modern trend is anything to go by) and you do not feel a sense of having made a difference, then what is the point?
The bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see.
And all that he could see, and all that he could see, and all that he could see,
Was the other side of the mountain, was the other side of the mountain,
The other side of the mountain, was all that he could see.
You know what?
In the bear's heart, he feels that he has made a difference;
and that, is the only thing that matters.
Why should I vote?
Because I can.
Because if i do not, someone else will vote for me. And no one, No one, does anything in My name without My express authorisation.
Yes, I have God-like delusions sometimes. Sue me.
Will it make a difference?
Yes, it will.
To whom?
To the only person who matters,
Me.
Addendum:
So why did I do it? The same reason I refused when my mother told me not to read Dan Brown.
If your faith is so pathetic that you let it be shaken at the first sound of contradiction, then you do not deserve to have faith at all.
A trial by fire, is the only trial worth having.
And wouldn't you know it, I had a position all picked out for me to defend. I had to go on air and tell people that their vote didn't make a difference.
Now ordinarily, I would shoot myself before I did something like that.
But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea
Mathew 18:6
Yes, I've been brought up a Christian; and my mother, bless her, made sure I knew the Bible.
Now, I believe I have a gift. It is the ability to convince people, quite well, of a stance that I currently hold. I once wrote that I could come up with arguments both supporting and refuting the existence of God, and both of them would be good arguments. I could, and can: But the question is- do I want to?
Quite frankly, no. If there's one thing I despise- it is destroying someone else's faith. You see faith, and the hope that it entails, is one of the most precious gifts that a person has. And if you shake that...
then good job, my son, you've just killed a soul. See you in Hell.
And so, I thought I'd take some time out and write this note; more to ease my conscience than anything else.
So, does your vote make a difference?
In a word, no. It does not. Before you pin me down as a cynical old loon ("Armchair Critic", I believe the word was) take a minute and think about it. If you, successfully, go and cast your vote, which in itself is a big achievement, do you think you're going to bring about a difference? You, sitting there in your air-conditioned apartment, comfortable, fed and watered. You. Not the public, not the "People"; but you.
Yes? What difference, pray tell.
The common understanding of the word "difference" is a change in outcome. In this context- if a person is to win on account of your vote, he should win on account of it. Then, apparently, tomorrow will be a brighter day filled with sunshine and daisies.
Quite.
Let me tell you something, friend. for every vote that you cast from your velvet-covered hand, there are ten other louts who will vote any which way they please for a packet of Biryani. My maid tells me that she took five hundred rupees to vote for a particular person. So, quite a lot more than a packet of Biryani then.
And yet, we still vote. What is the difference?
The difference Mister Cynic, is not out there, it's in here.
The only difference worth making, is the difference to yourself. If you change the world and you have no feeling of satisfaction, then that is no difference at all. If you give a million people television kits (and Air Conditioners and Refridgerators if modern trend is anything to go by) and you do not feel a sense of having made a difference, then what is the point?
The bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see.
And all that he could see, and all that he could see, and all that he could see,
Was the other side of the mountain, was the other side of the mountain,
The other side of the mountain, was all that he could see.
You know what?
In the bear's heart, he feels that he has made a difference;
and that, is the only thing that matters.
Why should I vote?
Because I can.
Because if i do not, someone else will vote for me. And no one, No one, does anything in My name without My express authorisation.
Yes, I have God-like delusions sometimes. Sue me.
Will it make a difference?
Yes, it will.
To whom?
To the only person who matters,
Me.
Addendum:
So why did I do it? The same reason I refused when my mother told me not to read Dan Brown.
If your faith is so pathetic that you let it be shaken at the first sound of contradiction, then you do not deserve to have faith at all.
A trial by fire, is the only trial worth having.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Dream on
I spoke to K first, for no other reason than he is most used to my mad schemes.
Poi saavu da.
That’s what he said, when I told him of my plan.
Here’s a translation of the rest;
I’ve my practice, I’m established; I’ve worked hard for this da and now you come in here (Just like you always do) and lay your idea on the table. No chance. Pick another guy. There are plenty of others in the city.
The rest ran on the same vein for a while.
But one thing I know about K, is that, like me, he likes a show.
Here’s my plan, I said. I want to start…..
And I want to do a series of them across the country. We will change the way this country sees entertainment. We’ll have them in every city. Every city will have one. They will be places where people can go to forget….and perhaps remember.
Money is no object. We will make a lot of money. I have a little money with which to start off with. And believe me, we will make a lot more. But I need you. You’re the only one who’s worked with me before. Heck, you’re the reason that the union ran for a year. Remember that? You know I need you.
We spoke for over three hours.
In the end, he agreed.
I knew he would in the end.
I think he knew it as well.
….
With K convinced, I knew I had done it. There was no possible way it could not work after that.
I spoke to the Snowman next. He’d had some experience of processes. I needed him to ensure that my organization ran smoother than a kid’s bottom. That’s what I told him.
Actually, it wasn’t strictly the truth. I needed the guy because he worked as hard as anyone I knew: harder, even. He was reliable, straight-forward; and he helped me see the lighter side of life.
I could also see a possible future venture for him to take up. I knew what he really wanted to do. It wasn’t that hard to figure.
I’m a genius, sometimes.
Oh alright, he told me. There, happy?
Biryani and beer, my friend. Biryani and beer.
……
What did I do after that?
I believe in fate. I seriously do. I believe, in the end, that I cannot lose. I Believe that God, or whatever it is you’d like to call him, brings people into our lives for a reason. And that everything, everything, fits together.
We started off on 2nd April 2016. There wasn’t any looking back after that.
I pulled in the Walrus for PR.
Go jump, son; he said. You are not doing this to me again. I did it in college, but I was younger then. I will not be a victim of your megalomaniacal tendencies, again, You can go rule the world, I’m happy designing good, clean ad material.
Remember Vox Populi, I said.
Typical.
See that’s precisely what I’m talking about. If I work for you, it will be the same thing all over again. You wanted a lion then, and you’ll want your face now.
Fine, Alright then.
Fine? You’re letting it go? Just like that. You’re losing your touch, son.
Look, I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.
Sigh, take back what I just said.
I’ll invest in your company. I’ll put in this much of money, you run your company, no problem- just do my designing free.
The raised, skeptical eyebrows;
Exactly how much are we talking about here?
I told him.
I think Ben phrased it best, when he said later- Macha, Pradeep just wants to stand in front of a burning hoop and make lions jump at him, while he effortlessly swats them aside with his huge arms.
Right.
….
It was inevitable that I’d have MJ somewhere in there. One of the most promising kids I’ve seen. Smart and beautiful- What’s even worse, was that she knew it. And she knew how to use it too. Bugger her.
She’d just started off her company by then. Of course, she didn’t have the advantage of being born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Or maybe she did-xept that mine was bigger. I’m talking ‘bout the spoon of course.
She was however, making good progress. Fine, I’ll admit I was following.
I offered her the same thing I’d offered the Walrus. She, of course, refused. But she did design the line I’d asked for at a fair rate. Let’s be honest, for her work, I’d pay that much.
Eventually, when I came back to her a second time with my offer that she couldn’t refuse, she didn’t. But then, that was a lot later.
MJ will make you work for things, remember that.
….
I told Dharma, when I was in college, that I wanted to start a school for the blind. Naïve me, then had this idea that I’d start a school, that I’d spend a good portion of my earnings on it. I wanted to even the scales, you see.
And when I met Numa,again- after a pretty long time, that’s what I proposed to her. How did I meet her again?
I have this vision of you, and it’s always in rags, surrounded by little kids…and you’re helping them, and you’re happy….and they’re happy. You can try corporate for a while, but I bet that that’s where you’ll end up.
I know that child; it’s just that I feel that I’d like to see this world first. But don’t you worry, when I finally turn social, I’ll come to you, and you better help me.
You know I will, Numa. I always will.
And like she said, she came. And like I said, I helped.
Much later when I put the idea to her, she accepted. And she got a group of brilliant people together to do it as well. She didn’t actively head the school, mind. I didn’t expect her to. Eventually, she did though.
That is something I am incredibly proud of.
…….
And the rest is history really.
Oh wait, there was the kid. The kid was special. The thing that I’ll say about her, was that she was incredibly talented at seeing things in me, that I could not; in all honesty, I think those qualities don’t even exist in me. But still, she saw them.
And, whatever quality I may lack, the one quality I cherish, is that I don’t let down the people who have faith in me.
She was a business partner, and what she made possible was one of the biggest and earliest collaborations I had. It was incredible, what that little thing could achieve. As always I am grateful.
I am grateful to each one of them, actually; Individually and in infinite measure.
…..
Addendum 1:
Naturally, the guard saluted when the car passed. It was an impressive church, always had been; always will be. I was made more impressive by the hill that it rested on; perhaps God’s own way of raising His own.
He’d restored the church; and he’d done a lot more. The parish priest had received a proposal for renovation of the site. He’d refused at first. The church rejected the proposal as crass commercialism. A few years later, the arch-bishop changed; and the place had fallen to ruin by then….
The entire area stood transformed now. Music floated in the air. Families flocked there every Sunday; and while the elderly spent the day in prayer; the children played on the beautifully landscaped gardens. As I said, music floated in the air.
When I looked down on his family spread out on the lawn below, I couldn’t help but remember the words he’d said to me when we first met;
And departing leave behind us, Father,
Footprints in the sands of time. …..
Addendum 2:
You wouldn’t have liked it cos you’re so uptight.
Why are you always so…..reserved?
A self-imposed prison of control, eh ?
I had a closed fist in front of me, and suddenly, one day, I felt a small hand upon mine. Slowly, and to my surprise for I was quite strong, I felt little fingers work at my own, trying to open them.
It took a while; but, in the end, there were two hands- palms facing each other-
One large, and one….
Really tiny.
This last part was for you, you know that.
Poi saavu da.
That’s what he said, when I told him of my plan.
Here’s a translation of the rest;
I’ve my practice, I’m established; I’ve worked hard for this da and now you come in here (Just like you always do) and lay your idea on the table. No chance. Pick another guy. There are plenty of others in the city.
The rest ran on the same vein for a while.
But one thing I know about K, is that, like me, he likes a show.
Here’s my plan, I said. I want to start…..
And I want to do a series of them across the country. We will change the way this country sees entertainment. We’ll have them in every city. Every city will have one. They will be places where people can go to forget….and perhaps remember.
Money is no object. We will make a lot of money. I have a little money with which to start off with. And believe me, we will make a lot more. But I need you. You’re the only one who’s worked with me before. Heck, you’re the reason that the union ran for a year. Remember that? You know I need you.
We spoke for over three hours.
In the end, he agreed.
I knew he would in the end.
I think he knew it as well.
….
With K convinced, I knew I had done it. There was no possible way it could not work after that.
I spoke to the Snowman next. He’d had some experience of processes. I needed him to ensure that my organization ran smoother than a kid’s bottom. That’s what I told him.
Actually, it wasn’t strictly the truth. I needed the guy because he worked as hard as anyone I knew: harder, even. He was reliable, straight-forward; and he helped me see the lighter side of life.
I could also see a possible future venture for him to take up. I knew what he really wanted to do. It wasn’t that hard to figure.
I’m a genius, sometimes.
Oh alright, he told me. There, happy?
Biryani and beer, my friend. Biryani and beer.
……
What did I do after that?
I believe in fate. I seriously do. I believe, in the end, that I cannot lose. I Believe that God, or whatever it is you’d like to call him, brings people into our lives for a reason. And that everything, everything, fits together.
We started off on 2nd April 2016. There wasn’t any looking back after that.
I pulled in the Walrus for PR.
Go jump, son; he said. You are not doing this to me again. I did it in college, but I was younger then. I will not be a victim of your megalomaniacal tendencies, again, You can go rule the world, I’m happy designing good, clean ad material.
Remember Vox Populi, I said.
Typical.
See that’s precisely what I’m talking about. If I work for you, it will be the same thing all over again. You wanted a lion then, and you’ll want your face now.
Fine, Alright then.
Fine? You’re letting it go? Just like that. You’re losing your touch, son.
Look, I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.
Sigh, take back what I just said.
I’ll invest in your company. I’ll put in this much of money, you run your company, no problem- just do my designing free.
The raised, skeptical eyebrows;
Exactly how much are we talking about here?
I told him.
I think Ben phrased it best, when he said later- Macha, Pradeep just wants to stand in front of a burning hoop and make lions jump at him, while he effortlessly swats them aside with his huge arms.
Right.
….
It was inevitable that I’d have MJ somewhere in there. One of the most promising kids I’ve seen. Smart and beautiful- What’s even worse, was that she knew it. And she knew how to use it too. Bugger her.
She’d just started off her company by then. Of course, she didn’t have the advantage of being born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Or maybe she did-xept that mine was bigger. I’m talking ‘bout the spoon of course.
She was however, making good progress. Fine, I’ll admit I was following.
I offered her the same thing I’d offered the Walrus. She, of course, refused. But she did design the line I’d asked for at a fair rate. Let’s be honest, for her work, I’d pay that much.
Eventually, when I came back to her a second time with my offer that she couldn’t refuse, she didn’t. But then, that was a lot later.
MJ will make you work for things, remember that.
….
I told Dharma, when I was in college, that I wanted to start a school for the blind. Naïve me, then had this idea that I’d start a school, that I’d spend a good portion of my earnings on it. I wanted to even the scales, you see.
And when I met Numa,again- after a pretty long time, that’s what I proposed to her. How did I meet her again?
I have this vision of you, and it’s always in rags, surrounded by little kids…and you’re helping them, and you’re happy….and they’re happy. You can try corporate for a while, but I bet that that’s where you’ll end up.
I know that child; it’s just that I feel that I’d like to see this world first. But don’t you worry, when I finally turn social, I’ll come to you, and you better help me.
You know I will, Numa. I always will.
And like she said, she came. And like I said, I helped.
Much later when I put the idea to her, she accepted. And she got a group of brilliant people together to do it as well. She didn’t actively head the school, mind. I didn’t expect her to. Eventually, she did though.
That is something I am incredibly proud of.
…….
And the rest is history really.
Oh wait, there was the kid. The kid was special. The thing that I’ll say about her, was that she was incredibly talented at seeing things in me, that I could not; in all honesty, I think those qualities don’t even exist in me. But still, she saw them.
And, whatever quality I may lack, the one quality I cherish, is that I don’t let down the people who have faith in me.
She was a business partner, and what she made possible was one of the biggest and earliest collaborations I had. It was incredible, what that little thing could achieve. As always I am grateful.
I am grateful to each one of them, actually; Individually and in infinite measure.
…..
Addendum 1:
Naturally, the guard saluted when the car passed. It was an impressive church, always had been; always will be. I was made more impressive by the hill that it rested on; perhaps God’s own way of raising His own.
He’d restored the church; and he’d done a lot more. The parish priest had received a proposal for renovation of the site. He’d refused at first. The church rejected the proposal as crass commercialism. A few years later, the arch-bishop changed; and the place had fallen to ruin by then….
The entire area stood transformed now. Music floated in the air. Families flocked there every Sunday; and while the elderly spent the day in prayer; the children played on the beautifully landscaped gardens. As I said, music floated in the air.
When I looked down on his family spread out on the lawn below, I couldn’t help but remember the words he’d said to me when we first met;
And departing leave behind us, Father,
Footprints in the sands of time. …..
Addendum 2:
You wouldn’t have liked it cos you’re so uptight.
Why are you always so…..reserved?
A self-imposed prison of control, eh ?
I had a closed fist in front of me, and suddenly, one day, I felt a small hand upon mine. Slowly, and to my surprise for I was quite strong, I felt little fingers work at my own, trying to open them.
It took a while; but, in the end, there were two hands- palms facing each other-
One large, and one….
Really tiny.
This last part was for you, you know that.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Lady That Owns Tomorrow.
Who shalt stand ‘fore flame.
Who shalt play my game.
Sing me a lullaby.
Who shalt be my verse in song,
Who shalt right, my every wrong.
Of tone, bought -sweat,
Of silence, death,
In God, I trust.
I must
Of tune, in set,
Of indrawn breath,
In her, I trust.
I shall.
She shall laugh, in summer;
Behold, there is summer;
She laughs.
From the end –behold,
Beginning, There is truth;
She knows.
White, a colour- ceasing never,
Till doth from bone, soul sever.
A slice of heaven, revel together,
To bare my soul, now forever.
Take my hand,
Lead me on.
Shield me, I pray,
Take my hand,
Lead me on.
Shield me, I pray,
From night to morn.
I will wait, and live,
I will wait to live, what's mine to give
All i own, all I am,
All I will be.
All i can.
Lying in this empty hollow,
Lying, un-won,
Still lying in this empty hollow.
For the lady that owns tomorrow.
Who shalt play my game.
Sing me a lullaby.
Who shalt be my verse in song,
Who shalt right, my every wrong.
Of tone, bought -sweat,
Of silence, death,
In God, I trust.
I must
Of tune, in set,
Of indrawn breath,
In her, I trust.
I shall.
She shall laugh, in summer;
Behold, there is summer;
She laughs.
From the end –behold,
Beginning, There is truth;
She knows.
White, a colour- ceasing never,
Till doth from bone, soul sever.
A slice of heaven, revel together,
To bare my soul, now forever.
Take my hand,
Lead me on.
Shield me, I pray,
Take my hand,
Lead me on.
Shield me, I pray,
From night to morn.
I will wait, and live,
I will wait to live, what's mine to give
All i own, all I am,
All I will be.
All i can.
Lying in this empty hollow,
Lying, un-won,
Still lying in this empty hollow.
For the lady that owns tomorrow.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The Cottage on a hill
It shows us what we want? Whatever we want?
Yes, and no. It shows us, nothing more nor less, than the deepest darkest most desperate desire of our hearts.
It was an empty room. And there was a mirror in that empty room. The mirror, of course was the Mirror of Erised. And as young Anna stood in front of the mirror, she saw…
She saw a man. He was tall, you could see that, though he sat in a chair by a fireside. He was reading a book. Anna could make out the title- it said” The Mill on the Floss”. There was a window by the man, and through it you could see lovely views- the most beautiful hill sides ever imagined; lush flowing, rolling greenery.
A dog barked in the distance.
Anna could see the warmth emanating from the man; he had such a lovely smile. And such a lovely, deep booming laugh. He laughed as she watched him; probably at something he had read. His smile was perfect, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. His hair was beautiful as well You could see he took pride in his appearance; his clothes matched perfectly-highlighting a perfect frame.
All in all, a perfect man.
She could almost imagine a life with him; he’d take her to dinner-he’d open every door for her; he’d be courteous, warm and dignified. He’d take her to the movies; he’d take her all over the world. He would be smart, intelligent, funny. He’d have a job (She didn’t really care too much what he did) that would earn him a lot of money, but wouldn’t keep him employed for too long. He’d be oh-so-talented(she was sure). He would play several instruments, he would sing a beautiful mellow-yet-strong bass, he would write her beautiful poetry and be ever-so-romantic and gentle. He’d never leave her, nor ever let her down. He would never harm her; nor ever let her be harmed. He would lay down his life for her.
She could see that he lived in a beautiful castle.
He was the man she would marry.
…
Of course, she never married him.
…
When we were young; we held so many beautiful dreams. We believed that they would happen too. And often enough, the world “teaches” us “better”; the world “teaches” us to temper our dreams with reality.
….
I wonder….is this a good thing?
I don’t intend to let go of my dreams.
Omni ope atque opera.
Yes, and no. It shows us, nothing more nor less, than the deepest darkest most desperate desire of our hearts.
It was an empty room. And there was a mirror in that empty room. The mirror, of course was the Mirror of Erised. And as young Anna stood in front of the mirror, she saw…
She saw a man. He was tall, you could see that, though he sat in a chair by a fireside. He was reading a book. Anna could make out the title- it said” The Mill on the Floss”. There was a window by the man, and through it you could see lovely views- the most beautiful hill sides ever imagined; lush flowing, rolling greenery.
A dog barked in the distance.
Anna could see the warmth emanating from the man; he had such a lovely smile. And such a lovely, deep booming laugh. He laughed as she watched him; probably at something he had read. His smile was perfect, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. His hair was beautiful as well You could see he took pride in his appearance; his clothes matched perfectly-highlighting a perfect frame.
All in all, a perfect man.
She could almost imagine a life with him; he’d take her to dinner-he’d open every door for her; he’d be courteous, warm and dignified. He’d take her to the movies; he’d take her all over the world. He would be smart, intelligent, funny. He’d have a job (She didn’t really care too much what he did) that would earn him a lot of money, but wouldn’t keep him employed for too long. He’d be oh-so-talented(she was sure). He would play several instruments, he would sing a beautiful mellow-yet-strong bass, he would write her beautiful poetry and be ever-so-romantic and gentle. He’d never leave her, nor ever let her down. He would never harm her; nor ever let her be harmed. He would lay down his life for her.
She could see that he lived in a beautiful castle.
He was the man she would marry.
…
Of course, she never married him.
…
When we were young; we held so many beautiful dreams. We believed that they would happen too. And often enough, the world “teaches” us “better”; the world “teaches” us to temper our dreams with reality.
….
I wonder….is this a good thing?
I don’t intend to let go of my dreams.
Omni ope atque opera.
Eleanor Rigby
Algorithm:
What do you want?
….
(Store in A)
Why do you want it?
….
(Store in B)
What are the consequences?
…
(Store in C)
Is B>C
Then A.
Else
Screw this whole exercise. You’re wasting your time with A.
All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
We are all afraid aren’t we? Afraid of society; afraid of rejection.
Who among you has the courage to bare your heart? To go up to the person you love and say so? I do. I did too; and it locked me in a happy, self-imposed prison.(Author’s note: Not really. But its funny and at times convenient to say that it did. In reality- it sets you free; really) Now, you try.
But…no. There’s convention; there’s ego (there’s always ego);; there’s fear, there’s insecurity.
I’ve advice my friend- take all that and stuff it where the sun don’t shine.
Life’s way too short to sit around waiting for something. Take a shot. Yes, you may fail; yes you may bleed for a while; but you’ll recover. It’s not about how many times you get hit and fall but how many times you get back up. I think Rocky said that.
If you want something- go out and get it. If you want someone- go out and get them. Show me the girl who goes after what she wants and I will show you my kind of woman. Do not live in the hell of a friendship-in-the-hope-that-someday….
Someday won’t come.
Take my word for it.
Someday won’t come.
But what if I’m not good enough?
Never let anyone convince you that you are not good enough for the person you love. I saw that in a rather silly movie once.
What if she says no? Well good then, yeah? Least you’ve got that out of the way. Tell me, do you particularly enjoy doing drugs? ‘Cos that’s what you’re doing now. You’re living in a happy haze; because you are too afraid to live, to love. Here’s what’s going to happen to you:
She’d always been there for him. In all his pictures, you could see her. Standing in the corner; standing along with his friends; smiling her slightly-sad, fake little smile.
Five years later:
She’s still there in all the pictures; only she’s marginally closer now; marginally.
Another five years later:
She’s pretty close now; only two people between him and her in the picture.
Five years later:
It’s his wedding picture; she’s there.
Only, she isn’t the wife.
….
You want to know her name eh?
I don’t really remember.
….
I think it was Eleanor Rigby.
What do you want?
….
(Store in A)
Why do you want it?
….
(Store in B)
What are the consequences?
…
(Store in C)
Is B>C
Then A.
Else
Screw this whole exercise. You’re wasting your time with A.
All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
We are all afraid aren’t we? Afraid of society; afraid of rejection.
Who among you has the courage to bare your heart? To go up to the person you love and say so? I do. I did too; and it locked me in a happy, self-imposed prison.(Author’s note: Not really. But its funny and at times convenient to say that it did. In reality- it sets you free; really) Now, you try.
But…no. There’s convention; there’s ego (there’s always ego);; there’s fear, there’s insecurity.
I’ve advice my friend- take all that and stuff it where the sun don’t shine.
Life’s way too short to sit around waiting for something. Take a shot. Yes, you may fail; yes you may bleed for a while; but you’ll recover. It’s not about how many times you get hit and fall but how many times you get back up. I think Rocky said that.
If you want something- go out and get it. If you want someone- go out and get them. Show me the girl who goes after what she wants and I will show you my kind of woman. Do not live in the hell of a friendship-in-the-hope-that-someday….
Someday won’t come.
Take my word for it.
Someday won’t come.
But what if I’m not good enough?
Never let anyone convince you that you are not good enough for the person you love. I saw that in a rather silly movie once.
What if she says no? Well good then, yeah? Least you’ve got that out of the way. Tell me, do you particularly enjoy doing drugs? ‘Cos that’s what you’re doing now. You’re living in a happy haze; because you are too afraid to live, to love. Here’s what’s going to happen to you:
She’d always been there for him. In all his pictures, you could see her. Standing in the corner; standing along with his friends; smiling her slightly-sad, fake little smile.
Five years later:
She’s still there in all the pictures; only she’s marginally closer now; marginally.
Another five years later:
She’s pretty close now; only two people between him and her in the picture.
Five years later:
It’s his wedding picture; she’s there.
Only, she isn’t the wife.
….
You want to know her name eh?
I don’t really remember.
….
I think it was Eleanor Rigby.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Protected
I loved what he did, although I never told him that.
We'd been out for a year when it happened. It was a normal enough monday- just like any other day. I reached college around eight. As i made my way to the room, I could already see him there in my mind. He was always there at 7:50 in the morning;always. He'd be at his table, texting on his phone or looking at something on his laptop.
And sure enough, there he was.
Hey beautiful.
Hey you.
He was looking at something on his laptop. He didn't look up as I entered..
Lots of work?
His brow crinkled.
Isn't there always.
It wasn't phrased as a question.
The day went on pretty much as usual. That is, until break.
To be perfectly fair- I think he started it. He'd been having a bad day since morning and it looked to be getting a lot worse.
The argument started as most arguments seem to start between men - over who had the bigger penis. He wanted X to do some work for him, and X had refused; citing (in his opinion) a rather silly excuse. The usual verbal sparring began from there.Various expletives were used and various insults were thrown. Parentages were questioned.
"All so that you can spend your blasted time canoodling with that annoying and flat-out ugly whore of yours!".
Everything went still. I turned cold. X had forgotten that I was in the room as well.
What did you say.
You heard well enough.
The world stopped for a microsecond; poised on the edge of a cliff.
He fell on X. And when I say fell, I mean in the most basest, and primal sort of way. He wasn't a big boy; in truth X was a lot bigger. But I don't think X had fully appreciated the ferocity of the attack that his words would bring down.
He rained blow after ablow on the poor fellow, By the time X had mustered enough of his senses to mount any sort of defence, he was already on the floor with a bleeding lip, a black eye...
and a broken arm.
It took three of the others to pull him off X.
But by then the damage was done.
And that was that.
......
Of course, he spent several days in detention. I daresay how he wangled his way out of that would make for an interesting story. (He usually does, you know. Wangle his way out, I mean).
And of course there was a huge hoo-haa about it all.
Did i like him the more for it?
I still can't quite make up my mind.
Yes, every woman wants to feel protected, but there was a ferocity there that was almost scary.....
and there was the broken arm.
We'd been out for a year when it happened. It was a normal enough monday- just like any other day. I reached college around eight. As i made my way to the room, I could already see him there in my mind. He was always there at 7:50 in the morning;always. He'd be at his table, texting on his phone or looking at something on his laptop.
And sure enough, there he was.
Hey beautiful.
Hey you.
He was looking at something on his laptop. He didn't look up as I entered..
Lots of work?
His brow crinkled.
Isn't there always.
It wasn't phrased as a question.
The day went on pretty much as usual. That is, until break.
To be perfectly fair- I think he started it. He'd been having a bad day since morning and it looked to be getting a lot worse.
The argument started as most arguments seem to start between men - over who had the bigger penis. He wanted X to do some work for him, and X had refused; citing (in his opinion) a rather silly excuse. The usual verbal sparring began from there.Various expletives were used and various insults were thrown. Parentages were questioned.
"All so that you can spend your blasted time canoodling with that annoying and flat-out ugly whore of yours!".
Everything went still. I turned cold. X had forgotten that I was in the room as well.
What did you say.
You heard well enough.
The world stopped for a microsecond; poised on the edge of a cliff.
He fell on X. And when I say fell, I mean in the most basest, and primal sort of way. He wasn't a big boy; in truth X was a lot bigger. But I don't think X had fully appreciated the ferocity of the attack that his words would bring down.
He rained blow after ablow on the poor fellow, By the time X had mustered enough of his senses to mount any sort of defence, he was already on the floor with a bleeding lip, a black eye...
and a broken arm.
It took three of the others to pull him off X.
But by then the damage was done.
And that was that.
......
Of course, he spent several days in detention. I daresay how he wangled his way out of that would make for an interesting story. (He usually does, you know. Wangle his way out, I mean).
And of course there was a huge hoo-haa about it all.
Did i like him the more for it?
I still can't quite make up my mind.
Yes, every woman wants to feel protected, but there was a ferocity there that was almost scary.....
and there was the broken arm.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Kids these days
There are very few people in the world that I'm actually fond of. Most people I tolerate; and most other people don't register on my radar.
Now, my ten- year old cousin is one on the list of people I'm fond of. And it so happened that i called her yesterday- it being her birthday.
Here's a rough excerpt of our conversation:
Hey Nina.
Hey.
Happy Birthday.
Thank you.
So...um...what did you do today?
Nothing much.
Nothing Much? Didn't you cut a cake?
Yeah. i did.
And...? Tell me about it! (People who know me must be staring in wonder right about now. I rarely ask questions. i missed the "Socials" class while growing up).
It was a chocolate cake.
That's the only kind worth having isn't it? So .... what shape was it? Barbie Shaped? Robot Shaped?
Nope.
It was square-shaped.
Hey- why didn't you have a cake in a shape? i love cakes in shapes!
Pause.
i'm ten years old.
Right.
Um. Ok
Kids these days.
Oh and by the way, I grew out of barbies a long while ago.
Right.
Now, my ten- year old cousin is one on the list of people I'm fond of. And it so happened that i called her yesterday- it being her birthday.
Here's a rough excerpt of our conversation:
Hey Nina.
Hey.
Happy Birthday.
Thank you.
So...um...what did you do today?
Nothing much.
Nothing Much? Didn't you cut a cake?
Yeah. i did.
And...? Tell me about it! (People who know me must be staring in wonder right about now. I rarely ask questions. i missed the "Socials" class while growing up).
It was a chocolate cake.
That's the only kind worth having isn't it? So .... what shape was it? Barbie Shaped? Robot Shaped?
Nope.
It was square-shaped.
Hey- why didn't you have a cake in a shape? i love cakes in shapes!
Pause.
i'm ten years old.
Right.
Um. Ok
Kids these days.
Oh and by the way, I grew out of barbies a long while ago.
Right.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Shakin Hands
I was already a few drinks down when I saw her. She looked least thirty; I learnt later that she was twenty four
.
Beautiful she was, in that dangerous sort of way that a black widow is beautiful. A perfect body, a child-like face, pouty lips and straight black hair- a fallen, dark angel I’d see her in Church on Sundays..
Anise, her name. At least that's how everyone knew her. Everyone knew Anise.
She'd appeared in town a year back, and had forced herself into the hearts and minds of the townsmen. In some cases, she'd forced her way in further.
Amanda Stewart, born 25th December 1984 was the only child of Bob and Martha Stewart. She studied at Lakefield High, from where she was sent out over rumoured sexual affairs with several of the members of the school's staff. Public humiliation followed. Her parents engaged a private tutor, Jonathan Wendel (See The Lakefield Backroom Scandal). When the tutorship ended Amanda left home and her parents heard no more of her.
She had her eyes on the prize as the girl next door
You grow up quick when you grow up poor
It's the only way to LA that she knows
The Hollywood pose: teeth, tits, and drawers
It didn't take her long to leave the boulevard
So many Five Star friends with black credit cards
She'd try anything once
Cause anything goes
It never comes easy when you're digging for gold
She caught me looking at her, pushed off the anonymous A-lister pawing at her clothes, and walked over.
Hey handsome.
Hello....Anise, isn't it?
She didn't bother answering. She took the cigarette from my hand.
Smoking ain't good for you honey. She inhaled deeply.
She took the double I held next.
What's your story cupcake?
Me? I'm a reporter. I write for the Herald.
You've a name cupcake?
Mike. My name's Mike.
Mike.
Mike Shandle?
I nodded.
I like your work. I've been following it.
Thank you. I was surprised. My pieces in the Herald were mostly excerpts from the papers I delivered at the University.
I've always wanted to know you...a bit better.
The music was really loud now, and the alcohol was starting to get to my brain.
She had her hand on my leg.
I'm married, I muttered; rather feebly.
Giggle.
I know.
She took hold of my hand and led me into the darkness.
Well she ain't no Cinderella
When she's getting undressed
'Cause she rocks it like the naughty wicked witch of the west
Far too pretty to be giving it cheap
That's why she's making six figures working three days a week
Yeah she'd even break a promise in the promise-land
She didn't make it this far by just shaking hands
She’d take your money make it twice as hot as anyone can
She didn't make it this far by just shaking hands
You're quite fascinating , I told her later. A fascinating story.
Uh huh? You know my story honey ?Think you know me? She asked me, rolling up a smoke.
I told her what I knew.
You don't know squat munchkin.
I doubt she’d even let the devil buy her little black book
City Hall would probably fall off if anyone got a look
Every a-list player is a favorite friend
Since they all taste the same in the back of the benz.
Congressman Phillman?! You must be kidding me.
She showed me the red checked skirt.
A congressman would call her every once in a while
Got the school girl skirt on the top of the pile
She’d done everyone once
And everyone knows
You got to get a little dirty when you’re digging for gold
Do you regret any of it?
Nope.
I’ve my ways and I want what the next man wants.
Who are you to judge, cupcake?
…….
Well someone spilled the beans and now her name’s in the press
Tough to keep it all a secret when you’re one of the best
I didn't break the story. I was fond of Anise by then. We spoke rarely but I remember each time vividly. She'd call when she had a problem with something I'd written.
The case came up up on the 17th. I walked into the court room with more than my fair share of trepidation.
….
But, of course..
The judge is going easy because he paid for her chest
Yeah he loves his naughty wicked witch of the west
So do we all Judge Spalling. So do we all.
.....
She shook my hand; I remember that clearly.
.
Beautiful she was, in that dangerous sort of way that a black widow is beautiful. A perfect body, a child-like face, pouty lips and straight black hair- a fallen, dark angel I’d see her in Church on Sundays..
Anise, her name. At least that's how everyone knew her. Everyone knew Anise.
She'd appeared in town a year back, and had forced herself into the hearts and minds of the townsmen. In some cases, she'd forced her way in further.
Amanda Stewart, born 25th December 1984 was the only child of Bob and Martha Stewart. She studied at Lakefield High, from where she was sent out over rumoured sexual affairs with several of the members of the school's staff. Public humiliation followed. Her parents engaged a private tutor, Jonathan Wendel (See The Lakefield Backroom Scandal). When the tutorship ended Amanda left home and her parents heard no more of her.
She had her eyes on the prize as the girl next door
You grow up quick when you grow up poor
It's the only way to LA that she knows
The Hollywood pose: teeth, tits, and drawers
It didn't take her long to leave the boulevard
So many Five Star friends with black credit cards
She'd try anything once
Cause anything goes
It never comes easy when you're digging for gold
She caught me looking at her, pushed off the anonymous A-lister pawing at her clothes, and walked over.
Hey handsome.
Hello....Anise, isn't it?
She didn't bother answering. She took the cigarette from my hand.
Smoking ain't good for you honey. She inhaled deeply.
She took the double I held next.
What's your story cupcake?
Me? I'm a reporter. I write for the Herald.
You've a name cupcake?
Mike. My name's Mike.
Mike.
Mike Shandle?
I nodded.
I like your work. I've been following it.
Thank you. I was surprised. My pieces in the Herald were mostly excerpts from the papers I delivered at the University.
I've always wanted to know you...a bit better.
The music was really loud now, and the alcohol was starting to get to my brain.
She had her hand on my leg.
I'm married, I muttered; rather feebly.
Giggle.
I know.
She took hold of my hand and led me into the darkness.
Well she ain't no Cinderella
When she's getting undressed
'Cause she rocks it like the naughty wicked witch of the west
Far too pretty to be giving it cheap
That's why she's making six figures working three days a week
Yeah she'd even break a promise in the promise-land
She didn't make it this far by just shaking hands
She’d take your money make it twice as hot as anyone can
She didn't make it this far by just shaking hands
You're quite fascinating , I told her later. A fascinating story.
Uh huh? You know my story honey ?Think you know me? She asked me, rolling up a smoke.
I told her what I knew.
You don't know squat munchkin.
I doubt she’d even let the devil buy her little black book
City Hall would probably fall off if anyone got a look
Every a-list player is a favorite friend
Since they all taste the same in the back of the benz.
Congressman Phillman?! You must be kidding me.
She showed me the red checked skirt.
A congressman would call her every once in a while
Got the school girl skirt on the top of the pile
She’d done everyone once
And everyone knows
You got to get a little dirty when you’re digging for gold
Do you regret any of it?
Nope.
I’ve my ways and I want what the next man wants.
Who are you to judge, cupcake?
…….
Well someone spilled the beans and now her name’s in the press
Tough to keep it all a secret when you’re one of the best
I didn't break the story. I was fond of Anise by then. We spoke rarely but I remember each time vividly. She'd call when she had a problem with something I'd written.
The case came up up on the 17th. I walked into the court room with more than my fair share of trepidation.
….
But, of course..
The judge is going easy because he paid for her chest
Yeah he loves his naughty wicked witch of the west
So do we all Judge Spalling. So do we all.
.....
She shook my hand; I remember that clearly.
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