Change

It’s like taking off a band aid from a hairy chest. Picture that for change. One of the most important decisions in the universe slowly melt into the funnel of the human consciousness to bring about 1% of change in their lives.

Think about change for one moment and think. Are you comfortable where you are right now? Are you wise enough to realise that the comfort that you posses is leading you to a dying land that you will have trouble escaping from. It might seem morbid at first but to live it is a totally different experience that one does not necessarily have to choose.

There we were about to make a difference for ourselves. Trying to make a name for ourselves. Where did we go? Did we lose ourselves to some unwanted grave and just give in to the pressures of the world’s misgivings?

I think more than that or anyone’s agenda. The world is a stage and it’s time you played out your act just the way you want it to. Because at the end you want people to clap just for you.

I’ve thought about change and I’ve decided that it is time to move on and it is time to change. Great things are coming but the question is when and how? We’ll know when we do it I believe after all their not hanging up in the clouds.

– Roy

Chapter 4: The Perfect Son

It was hot so it obviously made sense that we should have chocolate milkshake before we reached home. I mean who wouldn’t want to have sweet thick milky goodness going down their throat on a hot day?

The answer was no and to cover my mouth because the dust would cause an infection. I found this part always painful. I wondered about this part of denial a lot. It was never about the money, it was never about distance but it was something else. I would see other parent’s kids get what they want. I’d just have to suck this one in and find out for myself.

We reached home and I picked up the plastic bag which were hanging in front of the scooter. It was heavy but since I was upset I wanted to feel something that would help me channel it. I’d pick up both bags with my fingers. It hurt a lot but after putting it in my room I’d let it go. Then I’d feel this electric shock kind of numb pain and my two fingers which I used to pick it up went red. I liked it.

I pulled out the disgrace that was the chocolate given to me by the store owner and ate it. We’d usually leave the books naked in the bags until it was Sunday. Book wrapping day was meant for Sunday’s.

I was not the kind of kid to take naps everyday! It was only when I was seriously tired or satisfied with the meal I had. Afternoon time was playing time. I didn’t have friends in the colony we lived in. No there weren’t any kids I grew up in childhood riding bikes together, exploring the world, coming across aliens or solving crimes like in the Enid Blyton books. I lived in my own universe.

The world was changing really fast. CD players were getting extinct and a new device called as the iPOD was taking over. How did I know about this? Cousins. At that time we had access to channels being broadcasted in America but never commercials by Apple. Music without a casette or a CD? That was totally unheard off.

When I realised more of what music was through the movies and television shows. It struck me that we had it at home too. There was this movie which kept mentioning the word “Beatles”. I saw it in the cabinet where parents would keep all their music collection. I didn’t know we had every single great artist that was mentioned in the movie and TV shows right in our very home! Parents just became cool!

Chapter 3: The Perfect Son

It was book buying day, as I’d call it. Dad would call it “let’s start early before the crowd gathers”. Apparently there was only one book store which supplied textbooks to the three major schools in the city.

I was excited. I loved going to the book store. We started the scooter and head on to the city. It was prickly. The fact that the sun was blasting like a furnace didn’t strike me as I wore a thick cotton t-shirt. It was all up hill and down hill during the journey to the book store. We’d pass by many famous attractions such as the university which I loved and as we descended we were about to approach the centre of the town which hosted the best bakery in town known for all sorts of confectionery.

We would take a round about turn at the junction and climb our way up to the road which mainly consisted of malls and shopping complexes. Finally, we arrived at the book store. We parked the scooter and were immediately greeted by a large man who was actually one of the main partners of the store and knew my dad really well because they studied together in school. He’d always shake his hand and my dad would respond in the same manner. I liked him and disliked him for one particular reason. But we’ll come to that later.

The smell of books, sweat, dusty carpets all blended with the slow moving fans in the summer heat heightened my senses. My dad had a list of books to buy and I had a wonders to explore.

It was a drill. We’d start with the English section. It was his favourite. We’d spend more time there as he would take out the grammar book and answer some of the questions. He was critical of the falling standards in textbooks as they focused less on standard and more on catering to people who could do with similar exercises that would just make the cut. He disapproved of such decisions. He was very English when it came to such things. Tradition and duty.

I loved the social sciences section. It was Gandhi this and Gandhi that. I loved the man. He was like a superhero to me obviously because I watched Ben Kingsley’s Gandhi. We wouldn’t purchase the autobiography as I had to settle for 4 chapters about Gandhi in my history book.

As we made our way to the billing section. An office boy of sorts took the trolly away from my dad and a couple of uncles invited my dad over to the billing counter for a chat. They were his friends too. They caught up with some of the topics that were happening in the city and around the world. This was when I’d explore the shop.

I had my mind on one particular section. The fancy room with glass cupboard cabinets filled with Parker pens and vintage diaries. As much as I loved smelling them I’d often love looking at them. Black, brown, olive green, camel colour, and orange leather diaries. My favourite was the black one. I’d gently remove it from the cabinet, untie the leather strand, and open the middle page. The smell was exotic. I could sniff in ages of history from the time the British took over the country to the time they left. Heaven.

The office boy would come and tell my father was waiting for me at the exit. I’d carry the diary in hopes that we would take it home. Alas I had to hear the heavy tone of disapproval and the infamous line of “we’ll buy it next time”. A thing about the physics behind that decision. It was not that we couldn’t afford it. It was pricy but not out of our budget. It’s what I’d do with it and write on it. It was not the kind for studying.

So as I gave it back to the office boy who grinned at me like always we head to the exit. Again the big man shook my dad’s hand and as my dad went to get the scooter he looked at my droopy face and gave me a chocolate from his pocket. He’d have it because he was diabetic. But that’s the part I liked about it. The part I didn’t like was the fact that it was a local chocolate which tasted horrible.

So as they heavy books dangled in the scooter carriage. I’d sit behind my dad and watch as the sweat on his back dry because of the burning sun.

To be continued…

Chapter 2: The Perfect Son

Dad came home. My body woke me up with the sound of the scooter engine making that familiar halt, a bit of screech at the end of a motor stopping it’s blade. That was the first warning. The second one was when he would step inside the house smelling of leather and coffee at the same time. That was the second and final one.

I was up as a daisy and I stretched myself just to shrug off the last bit of sleep that was remaining in my body.

He kept the black leather bag on the couch, untied his shoes, and kept it in the shoe rack. He would ask me to change and freshen up. I would do so. I changed my clothes, slip on a t-shirt and shorts, wash my face, and sometimes when he’s in a good mood, slam my wet face into his belly and taking it off to see if I could see my face impression on his shirt.

It would annoy him and he would push me away but I could never quite understand the shape that was imprinted on the shirt. It changed everytime.

After finishing his coffee he would ask me for my report card. I’d show it to him and sit quietly on the other sofa. He’d look into it like reading a big book. He’d close it, look at me with his glasses almost slipping of his nose, and frown.

He’d lecture me about the value of education and how important it was to get good grades. He’d then come to conclude that I at least passed and got promoted by “god’s grace”. Yes, although my father was an atheist, he went to the extent of thanking the supernatural creator and accepting his existence for this very moment because I got promoted to the ninth grade.

He’d take the report card along with him upstairs and probably fight with mom. I get a lot of things from my dad. As he would unbuckle his belt, remove his pant, and take off his shirt, he would look to the back of the collar to see how brown it was. If it was too dark it would mean that it was too hectic and if it was light brown it would mean that the day was alright. It was light brown.

I’d open my old books and start reading as a result of the remnants of my father’s lecture. He’d drop by after exercising for a glass of lemonade prepared for him and he’d catch this rare glimpse of dedication. He’d simply remark “you can do this once I buy your new books tomorrow, unless you really enjoy reading that”. Sarcasm was a trait I never inherited neither did I understand how to use it.

He knew that my comic books and novels were waiting for me. The next day would be the best. Buying new books. I went there for a totally different reason compared to the other kids and it was probably the best part of going to a book store.

To be continued…

Chapter 1: The Perfect Son

It was in the eighth grade that I finally got a D+ in my annual report card. I was elated and petrified at the same time. It was uncharted territory for I was Neil Armstrong taking the first step on the surface of the moon.

To my surprise the teacher who handed out the report card had no emotions for she didn’t care. I on the other hand had a lot of things pinging on the evaluation of how well I understood different subjects. As the final bell rung and as the sun started to set on the warm benches which by the way still reeked of adolescent sweat were about to go into hibernation until a new lot of misfits, achievers, and future sheep of a civilized world would sit.

Heading home was the best part – I would march into the bus and sit near my favourite spot – at the rear window of the bus which was huge like a plasma screen TV. You could see everything with such clarity compared to sitting on either side of the bus with grill laced windows. It felt like time travel seeing people go by, watching their still faces almost mediating and so focused while driving their vehicles. I’d hang my butt up high in the air just stuck to the glass.

My stop was the last and no one liked the back seat as they were not comfortable anyway so the chances of frantically racing towards the bus to get the best seat were the least of my worries. Once the bus stopped it took a couple of seconds for me to come back to my senses as everything started falling back into place. My head would hurt a bit because of motion sickness and being stuck to hot glass but it would go away. As I looked at the bus it was empty as usual and quiet. I liked it quiet. I’d stamp my way as I exited the bus because I liked how I could shake the entire bus with my feet. The driver didn’t like it so he’d purposely start moving the bus which scared me and I’d immediately hop off.

I’d open the gate which was like unlocking a treasure chest because the Aldrop was so heavy, noisy, and clumsy. I’d leave my shoes at the door but before taking them off I’d press the quarter of the shoe with my heel just to wrinkle it and it felt good for some reason. It would always rise back up and if it didn’t I could fix it in a jiffy with my heel again.

I’d go into my room, throw my bag, take out my socks, and smell them. My mom would look at me doing that and ask me, “so how was your day?”. After having scented my socks I’d reply basing on how the smell was. If it smelt too salty along with a sweet mango scent that means the day was bad but if it smelt like morning toast that means the day was alright. It smelt like toast.

I’d head up to the dinner table to find my favourite red mutton curry and rice and I also happened to be wearing a white uniform that day so it was like a match made in heaven for all those clothes commercials in between the cartoons that I would see after lunch.

I’d watch my shows, and lay there on the sofa taking a nap, I could feel the afternoon getting cold and my feet would start crystallizing because of the sweat and I would curl up and wind down.

I’d wake up in an hour or two hearing a familiar sound that would drag me out of the deepest ocean or the busiest street in the world. Dad had come home.



To be continued…

Akhuni and the turtle that tried to fly!

I smelt a refreshing fragrance after ages. After a year of exile trapped in a bowl of pollution and cigarette smoke, here comes a very random Sunday, where I met my friend to give her the first accessory for her brand new camera. Unfortunately, the accessory didn’t fit the camera, but instead I was introduced to a culture and people that are so positive and pure. It was great meeting them and talking to them about fish, food, shoes, life, and movies; that sums me up, and boy, is that a crowd I’d like to be with.

It’s like a Sunday that was meant to be. Here I was making lunch, washing my clothes, and playing my guitar and all of a sudden while rummaging through my camera equipment I realized I had gear which I’m not using, so better give it to someone who could.

So after having a nice Chai (tea), I had a conversation with her friend and was super excited to find out that she was a Star Wars and LOTR buff, I mean, people usually stop caring when you go into the details of world building and the way they made the Death Star and the Battlecruiser move through camera illusion, she didn’t blink an eye or shifted her gaze, she was listening and imagining while I was explaining with my hands. It caught my attention. It felt like a turtle trying to fly and for a second it did.

I’m confused for the fact that my mind is very clear, it’s never been this way before. Such a strange feeling. It’s peaceful because how much sorrow can I take? It’s good to see the world this way. Such a pure spirit covered in an aroma of Akhuni. That’s how best I can describe her.

It’s through the scents of life that mysteries of the universe unfold.

All I can say is that it’s good to be back.

-Roy

Thrust in the heavens

Indian Navy Seahawk trainers fly into the evening sky. 

Breathe, it’s easy.

Far away, in the distance,
In his watery grave lies a man,
He’s twisted, wrapped and sold,
Cold in his prison,
This all knowing man,

Breathe, It’s easy,
Nothing to understand,
Hold on, Where ya going?
Close your eyes,
And just let it go…

Waiting, Always seems so hopeless,
Time waits for none,
The rivers change with the seasons,
Whilst wondering,
When is my turn to fly?

Breathe, It’s easy,
Nothing to understand,
Hold on, Where ya going?
Close your eyes,
And just let it go…

-Roy

As Darkness Falls

Can you tell me where to fall?
Can you lead me to it all?
That pool of watery grey,
Those trees in the desert,
Every time I pray for redemption,
I get cast back to hell.

At the slopes of bloodstained gates,
I see the marks of ruined fortunes,
The greed of every taste,
The dreams that now lie in waste,
In chains, I gallop into darkness,
No torture drum beats,
No goblins in the shadow,
No burning fire heat.

Who is to say that all men pray?
In this dungeon of solitude,
Where light shines in the dark,
In dungeons of their own,
Where mighty heavenly angels lay.

I look into their primordial eyes,
They change with every soul’s gaze,
As I look deeper to see the color,
I see rage and a color red ablaze.

Oh mighty angel, why are you here?
The angel not speaking, conveyed through thoughts,
I am here for you are here,
Your hell is my hell,
For humanity needs a guardian,
As all children do,
Look closer young one,
A prison of your design,
I am with you in your suffering,
When all you are with rage or benign.

Roy

 

 

The tree that lives on

A sea of surge and currents
An epiphany of dreams
As calm as the mystic moon at night
My freedom struggles inspite,
The road is filled with love and despair
Laugh at those who are pansy beneath
Whilst parading their nonchalant might,
A tall man’s shortcomings,
Are a small man’s virtue,
For it is when we crawl
That the test of time dawns on us all,

Behold, the midnight lamp,
Shining into the dark hearts of some,
Do you like misery my friend?
Do you feed off what you dwell with?
Take it all, take it all,
For you, it is free,
For any man so pompous with the greed for sorrow,
Is nothing but a bark, empty and hollow,
One day, it will wither;
Until that day, persevere,

With what strengths you pull,
All hail the man, who pulls nothing but air,
For all those moments where whispering souls,
Whimper to get poisoned to wake up in the morn,
Wondering, are all the ghosts gone?
The reflection pulls you in,
No memory of the lark,
No joy of smiling into a reflection,
Vexed and effete,

Fear not little bird,
For broken wings mend, as hearts do,
Feathers will grow back, as your will to survive,
For sorrow goes hand in hand with joy,
You are in between, keep looking on,
Frowning rejoice,

Roy