Someday...

Someday...I'll become what you became to me.

In Time

Let's start again, I think to myself.

I tear out a page from my lockwire journal. I crumple it with all my might. And then I hurl it at the bare, resolute walls of my room. It barely makes a sound; the lowly scraping of the page against the wall was utterly pitiful considering the force with which it was flung.

 The wind  comes rushing in to cushion its fall, as if to say: there, there...it's not your fault, honey. She tends to do that sometimes; don't take it personally. 

And she carries the crumpled ball of wasted pulp to a far corner, where it could sulk in peace.

I am disappointed. What did you expect? A voice asks me, its tone bitter and patronising. 

Did you expect that ball of nothingness to create a dent in the wall, to blow up the place into shreds with that herculean throw of yours?

Yes! I scream out to the ridiculing voice in my head. Wait...no! I didn't want the paper to create a dent or blow up the place. Only just the words in it. I wish...I just wish... 

I stop thinking. I realise I don't even have the energy to dwell upon what it is that I'm pining for, what it is that I want to get out... but can't.

 I look at the vast expanse of white before me, twirling the pen in my hand. Like a painter before his majestic canvas, I see possibilities. Colours and shapes, forms and frames, patterns and structures, scenarios and landscapes come rushing into my head, but they don't last- not even one  of them. Like a flash of lightning, they're gone before I can recover from the blurry haze clouding my eyes. 

Traitors! That's what you all are! 

I rest my back on the easy chair. I take my spectacles off and fling it carelessly onto the dark wood of my study table; it lands next to my pen, dismissed and disposed of a long while ago.
My fingers come to the rescue; they pave soothing trails of comfort through my hair, their touch consoling, relaxing and...elevating, even.

I look at the blank pages before me, waiting to be filled. I close my eyes.

In time.

It'll be filled in time. 

No pressure.

The chair scrapes against the granite floor when I get up for a full, well needed stretch. 

I close the journal without even looking at it.

I was lost in some reverie for a full minute before I came to realise what a mess I'd made of the place. I pick up the bits and scraps of paper and deposit them in a hamper under my table, brimming with sister pages.  I could use the remains of the paper sometime to scribble an idea, record some amusing word I'd discovered. They could be salvaged with ease in time. 

The balls of paper sighed as I shoved the crumpled pieces in, shuffling amongst themselves to make space for burying one more brave warrior who'd come back unsuccessful- and barely inked. 

In time, I chant as I switched off the lights of the study, passing a numb look at my table.

Just give it some time.

In Prostration

I close the door

Draw the blinds

Spread out the prayer mat

And plunge straight in for prostration.

My forehead presses hard against the floor

Hot tears stream down my cheek 

And fall, with full consent 

Onto the prayer mat

Softening, moistening 

 The smooth velvet of the rug

And the stiff, arrogant, cold fabric 

Of my heart.

SubhanAllah!

Glory be to Allah.

SubhanAllah!

More fervently this time.

SubhanAllah!

I just can't seem to say it enough.

Alhamdulilah!

All praise to Allah.

Alhamdulilah!

For blessing me with everything I need and more.

Alhamdulilah!

For loving me despite the wayward mortal that I am.

AllahuAkbar! 

Allah is the Greatest.

AllahuAkbar!

Everything in this world will one day perish, except for Him alone.

AllahuAkbar!

Verily, to Him do we belong and to Him do we finally return.

Feel like you're losing focus in your prayers? Then this is for you!

Glowing in the Dark

It's hard to put up a brave front when everything around you is crumbling into a depressing pile of debris. It's even harder to stand and stare at the dark, serpentine road of nothingness and NOT breakdown into spasmodic fits of tears. But when you've come to that unexpected fork in the road- where you're confused beyond your own good- you know things just got a lot more worse.

Sometimes it feels like there's no hope. It feels like there's just no way out of this confusion, this madness. It feels like death- only there's no resolution, no peace, no justice. It's as if a thousand maggots are at work, gnawing at the seams of your sanity, slowly loosening the sedge that helps you keep your sunny side-up. It feels like you're drowning in a sea of despondency, and the weight of your despair pulls you down deeper, deeper into the unknown, into the nameless- despite all your efforts to keep yourself alive.

And it seems like it's so hard to keep up the fight. It seems like you're losing your grip with every step you take. And it's so much more harder when your biggest fears are right there in front of you, taking tangible forms in reality; a bunch of bullies that have you thrust against the lockers, laughing right at your face, the spittle on their lips evidently mocking you and and your hapless, hopeless struggle against them.

And when all I hear around me is the thrashing of a tempest-struck sea against the fragile shore, when all I see are a gazillion hurricanes sucking the life and blood out of everyone's name and property, when all I feel  is the excruciating pain of my deep, rubescent wounds, I take a final look at the One who is up there- guarding, protecting, overlooking me and every speck of creation in the universe- and I passionately fall down  prostrate before the Magnificent Lord of the Heavens and the Earth.

 In the darkness around me, it's only me and Him. I call upon His glorious name and pray- pray for the wayward, for the damned, for the lonely, the lost and the confused- till a feeling so powerful empowers me, overwhelms me and which allows me to rise above my pain.  And then I do. I rise, hopeful, elated, enlightened and jubilant that though there seems to be no way out of this labyrinth, His light will guide me, you and everyone else to peace and resolution soon enough- as long as we hang on tight and don't give up on our fight.

Beautiful  is the soul that lights up the lives of everyone around her when her own world is falling apart. Beautiful is the soul that can smile through her burning tears, the soul that fights adamantly against her vices and fears, the soul  hopeful of a brighter, beautiful tomorrow even though today looks a lot more scarier and confusing than yesterday.

Beautiful are these souls-the ones that truly
glow in the dark.

Friday Morning Musings

What happens to the world right before the crack of dawn?

Magic. 

And plenty of it.

If you live in Kerala, or in any other part of the world where Mother Nature dances to the tune of her own song, you're in for some treat. And if you live in a metropolitan city and wake up to the sound of traffic or the cooing of pigeons like I did all my life before being settled here, don't worry. I'll try to recapture the magic in the only way I can, through writing, though I will never be able to do my sense of sight justice. 

The world as we know it is completely something else at dawn. Everything that's under the serene gaze of the night sky- the trees, the birds, the wind, the earth- is at peace and committed to complacency after twilight. Calmness reigns over the subjects of the earth with her powerful trident, poking into place anything that seems to be teeming with life. For the remainder of the night, things are as still as a picture. 

But when it's an hour or two before the sun is scheduled to rise, things start changing slowly, imperceptibly. 

The earth regains its moist, russet texture. Soft winds start to gently tap the creatures of the earth as if to awaken them, to remind them that the Great Lord wants them up and full of life, so that they become manifestations of signs, miracles for the intellectual human to reflect and wonder upon. 

Before the call to azaan (early morning prayer for Muslims), the birds open their beady eyes and start chirping, praising, glorifying, exalting the honourable name of God. Trees start nodding in agreement, and the tallest and most magnificent of them in stature, the Coconut tree, raises her head in praise of the glorious Master of the Heavens. And then? Then the world waits for the magic to happen.

And it does. The first light of dawn breaks open across the sky, like a firework of bright light, and  it illuminates, irradiates the world of sorrow and darkness and transforms it into a morn of new beginnings and hopes. Roosters crow in awe at the sight, calling out encores so loudly that the world might be informed of the magical transformation taking place all around them. Birds start to chirp and sing songs of bounty and praise, honey bees buzz around, butterflies mill about blossoming flowers and eagles glide across the magnificent sky as the world breaks into a cacophony of beautiful sights and sounds.

 And with that final stroke of magic, the Lord reveals the lush greenery of the trees and the verdant fields, the azure sparkle of the rippling streams, and the grandeur of His creation that was veiled in darkness and mystery all night long. But alas! Caught under the spell of slumber the livelong night, we wake up to find that we'd missed out on all of that magic, all of that splendour and all of those finishing touches on the final glossy picture we wake up to. 

But I've got a solution. :D If you're guilty to have slept out on all the magic that'd happened out there, keep calm. Just buy a ticket for the Dawn Special that's screening tomorrow, and sit back, relax and prepare to be bewitched! 

Have a great morning and a wonderful day! :)

  

A New Flâneur in Town

I've always been engaged in people watching. I've tried to trace back and place this particularly amusing- if not entirely peculiar- avocation in some formative part of my childhood, only to have failed miserably. Perhaps it's one of the perks that comes with the whole package of being a reserved person, someone who'd keep herself amused by watching the quirky ways of her human counterparts. Whatever the case maybe, all I know is that there's no greater source of pleasure for me (apart from reading and writing, duh!) than catching a glimpse of the everyday lives of strangers, if only for a little while. 

And that brings me to the title of this post. One of my favourite words from the ever-burgeoning lexicon of the English language and recently discovered title for yours truly, 'flâneur' is an awesome term for a soulful urban wanderer. Your average Romantic soul, someone who strolls the streets of cities to savour the sights, the sounds and the ragtag crowd of bubbling, bumbling common folk. I fell in love with the word the moment I heard of it in Phil Cousineau's article for the Huffington Post. And in case you're wondering, yes, I'm a self-confessed geek for anything literary. Gotta love words! :D

Well, what makes this title so endearing to me is the unassuming nature of the flâneur. The guy doesn't want to be savoured by the city or be recognised as one set apart from the crowd. He wishes to savour the city in all its artificial glory instead,  wandering around town at a leisurely pace, taking in breaths of life from passers by and wondering what it's like to walk in their shoes for once. 

And so it is with me. When I'm walking in the over-populated streets of my district in Kerala, that's all I do. Walk miles and miles on my own two feet but with different slippers provided to me by the distinct faces in the crowd every other mile. I am a lady in a long, flowing abaya bargaining with the street vendor once, and then I turn into the bony, frail man stooping like a sandstone arch over what little he has to offer in a makeshift shop with a shattered, tattered tarpaulin for a roof. I become different entities, different souls as I wander the streets of this place where everyone is really just trying to secure a space of their own. 

And as I identify with random strangers trying to make a living, trying to push through the jostling crowd to meet their personal ends, I become one with the crowd, one with this mass of people I have never seen and will never see again in life, and yet it feels just right, like I fit in perfectly somehow, like a clasp on button on a vintage purse. 

 Flâneuring (who says you can't make up your own words?) my way through the streets, I realize I love the smell that the wind carries of floral fragrances, scents of delicious Keralite cuisines floating above the people as invisible but just as existent as the smog around them, the incoherent chatter of people as they whiz and trail about to meet their materialistic destinations , and the very essence of a world of differences living together in comfortable harmony. 

Watch out, folks. There's a new flâneur in town and she's not afraid to stroll about, seeking pleasure and inspiration  in the mundane activities of a vague, crazy crowd. :)