Skeletons in the Closet

The house creaked on its very foundations. Almost having come to a life of its own; it appeared to him that dark blood was now throbbing through the veins of the house. He could hear the house resound with the thump of an old and ravaged heart still pumping it on and on, with a renewed vengeance. The play of shadows, of darkness and of sudden light made the crimson marks on the walls look like wounds on the very being of the house. Still bleeding.

The wooden boards underneath his feet creaked and gave away. There was urgency in the air, something told him to leave. To run. To not look back again.

The house had given him shelter for the last thousand years of his being. From the night he had come running in from the forest, wounded and still human. It had appeared as suddenly in front of him, as it demanded to be left alone today. He had found solace in the room with the ornate golden mirror, the one on the closet door. The figure that stared back at him from the mirror was him in his glory days and not the faint shadow he had become now. It always smiled back at him. This room was his haven. There was an unspoken understanding.

The person in the mirror always stayed the same. The meaning of time was lost on him over his transition to the suspended state of existence he was now in for so many centuries. Now it was back. Now he had to hurry. To gather whatever little belonged to him over the years and to find another safe haven for the night.

He dare not go out into the night. The night was inhospitable to creatures like him. The forest would engulf him in a split second. The others were eaten up centuries ago; he had never found any trace of them despite having looked far and wide. He had survived in this house for until many centuries later. Today it had turned on him.

Mingled with his smell of fear, he could almost smell the presence of the others. Like they were back from the beyond, helping the only one of their kind left, in his frantic struggle for survival.

He ran. The creaking took a vicious note. He ran through the rooms. The house swayed and groaned. The bleeding from the walls was not a mirage anymore. There was blood trickling on the floor. A blood pool formed around his feet. He rushed outside. The well that had been dry for the last thousand years was filled with menacing dark waters, He ran. He saw islands in between those waters. Supposing he hopped on to those? He had to survive. And then crazily, his mind refused the idea. He kept running. The garden merged with the forest. The old banyan tree at the boundary swayed wildly in the wind. He ran.

Twigs snapped in the distance, something snapped inside of him.

He continued running. Only now he was running back to the house. It was almost suicidal; He had an irrepressible urge to go back. To question the insanity that had let him stay, those innumerable years ago. That had treated him as a fortune’s child. He frantically wanted to find the heart of the house and come face to face with the evil that seemed to grip it. He didn't want to let go. He was to die in the house. With it. He had made up his mind.

The mirror. He had to get back to the mirror.

The shadows played again. With him this time. The house melted away. There were no hallways left, the giant paintings of lost glory dripped to the ground. His eye caught a painting of the mirror with the closet door slightly ajar. He hadn’t seen it before. Maybe he overlooked it. Maybe he was imagining it.

The staircase that led to his room was covered with thicket. It looked like it was a part of the forest now. The throbbing sound of the ageing heart no longer came from a distance. It enveloped him, a deafening hum in his ears. A subconscious realization filled him. He was no longer searching for the heart. He was inside it. The house was the heart of the forest. The one that had devoured the others and left no trace. No remembrance for him to mourn them with.

The smell of the others became stronger and nauseated him as he went up the crumbling staircase in a daze, clutching at the foliage and the roots which now replaced the steps and made his way up.

The room was still there, the walls a dark crimson, the throbbing veins clearly visible, originating from where the mirrored closet was, feeding the forest with darkness.

The mirror had cracked. The figure from within smiled at him differently this time. He reached out to open the closet door. He now saw from where the blood came that fed the forest. He now saw what his fate was to be.

The smell of the others filled the room. The skeletons tumbled out.

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~Kiran, 25th January 2009

At an arm's distance please!

Remember assembly time in school? When the teacher asked you to stand at an "One - Arm Distance"? In my opinion one of the most valuable lessons ever taught at school!

Now there are so many people who somehow never caught on to this all important concept. Its sometimes a necessity to step hard on peoples toes in a line just to make them realize they are imposing on your personal space. An elbow or an umbrella comes handy too! ;) Manageable so far.

But then there are people who just don't know where to draw the line. You really don't have to come right up to my face to speak. My hearing is alright and I am sure I can hear you from 5 feet away!

If I am polite doesn't mean you get to poke your curious nose into my life. I am not your new found best friend... I have my friends , thank you and guess what, they know how to respect personal space too! It makes you cringe to tolerate their over enthusiastic friendliness, the obvious inability to decipher or just an intentional overlooking of the subtle and not so subtle 'back off' hints! Whatever happened to minding your own business? So infuriating.

Then there are the kinds who want a minute by minute live update of everything in your life. Like a twitter feed into your day. Always, always an intrusion! Master of Art, Specialization: "Getting on people's nerves"

Boundaries are important. The more you respect that, the more respect you are bound to get!

On forgetfulness!

Seems like age is catching up....and I haven't even touched a quarter century yet! :|

How else do you explain things like forgetting names of people you went to school with, the song you heard in the morning, the name of the place where you gave your first college party and the weirdest of all - words!!!!

It was always a task to be able to remember by dinner what I had for lunch..Now that happens with most of us. I am sure even you don't rem what you had for lunch yesterday!... You do it without being aware of it but this is a whole new level! How can you forget words! Its almost comical filmy Paresh Rawalish... when you remember the concept and forget the bloody word :|

Too much dependence on google for everything you can't remember? Just Plain Distraction? Overwork? Beginning of Selective Amnesia? Information overload??? (!!)

Exaggeration? Well. Okay, Somewhat.
Worrying? Definitely!

The Futility of it all!

Such are times when words fail you. The shock of the situation is mind boggling. So is the stupidity. And then there are the reactions. The buffoonery of the media and the bottom of their heart felt concern of the 'leaders'. They could well be thrown down a bottomless pit.

So what do we do? Put up status messages saying "What is happening?" and " Can India ever put an end to terrorism?" and some say "We should kill the terrorists". Great Idea. Are you going to kill them?

Our heroes go in ill-fitting bullet proof jackets and helmets and are soon declared martyrs. While the terrorists tote AK 56's and hold the nation hostage. They are 'sophisticated' terrorists...We on the otherhand like to keep stone age weaponry and technology. The tax payers money can be put to better uses... You know we the politicians have a whole generation of our families to look after , after all!

The journalist shoves the mike up a newly released hostages face and wants to know how he feels. The Dim wit politician sitting in a studio discusses the political fall out of the situation. Oh look! the UPA's image is going down a notch. Oh and those English people being held hostage.... what would happen to the England India match now? Woe be us! :| Oh they have grenades, we are using our "fair share" of grenades too... Don't you worry! All terrorists are flushed out. Oh look there is one more! Must have been playing hide and seek.

Hey what was that 'we will stomp out all terror...' statement we issued last time to the public? Was a good one...change the date and issue it again. Keep it handy. We might need it again you know!

What else do we do? Discuss it over lunch and dinner? Sit glued to the TV, Blog about it? So its just one way of expressing yourself. Nothing against it. But the futility of it all is exasperating. Express your self all you want but what do you do about it? What am I doing about it? The answer is none of us have a clue. We could all debate endlessly about what needs to be done. I for sure have my ideas and you yours. So we debate. What then? What could or would a common person do about it?

The Charade continues and then we forget. The indifference is appalling. Its scary on how far the indifference can go. Maybe the only time we would be concerned would be when the bullet would come and hit us. Too late for concern then.

Numbing.

You know you are back in Chandigarh when...

Oh boy!
Back in Chandigarh after 2 years..... Saw the things I earlier took for granted about the City Beautiful in a totally new light!

• The place is like one big overextended family!
  The small world experiment would lead to just One Degree of Separation in Chandigarh! Everyone knows almost everyone else. You were either at school together or at coaching or in College or are related! :O
• It sure is a very small city.... You can get from one end to the other before you can clock 40 mins!
  
• You are bound to get challaned in the month of March or whenever the Chandigarh police runs short on money! (And in my case in the Month of August and that too twice!!!)
• Any one new enters a place and everyone else "checks you out"... the eyes go from your face to your shoes in 3 secs flat!
• The favourite past-time of guys is following girls! .....If you are a girl and out alone post 8pm, you are bound to be escorted back to your place by atleast 1 car with blaring loud music!
• Big cars with loud music and even bigger bumper stickers adorn most of the roads!

But the City Beautiful is beginning to take on a new flavour... letting go of its reputation of predominantly being a city of the retired or the spoilt neauvue rich kids.

The superficiality and irresponsibility have given way to a fresh vibrancy.With 50 years to its history, this young city is attaining a semblance of maturity, beginning to show signs of developing a culture and character of its own.

With all its idiosyncrasies... feels good to be back :)