A soliloquy

Solitude is an art form.
It requires a good amount of virtuosity. Perhaps more than PR personnel. Among people, you simply respond to external conditions- their actions, reactions. There are no dynamics externally. Just you. You are the sole passenger, the lone driver on an beautifully enigmatic labyrinthine road.

It requires no pretense. It is not forced. There is no hesitation. Every stroke, every word thought is free, bold and most importantly, original. There is no censorship. There is no criticism. It's like free speech. Just the way it's supposed to be. Just the way you are supposed to be.

Nothing as mellifluous as silence. Or should I write the absence of human voices. Yes, that's more appropriate. You can fill it with anything you like. A song or a scream. It's magical in the sense that you are altering and controlling reality.
You jump on the bed and shout your lungs out for real if you want to. You don't imagine doing it while you're actually sitting among your family members doing something you're not even remotely interested in.

I fell in love with solitude in middle school. I have been floundering in this need for pain and loneliness as much as I savour being with anyone.This deep relationship between my self and my self has brought something to light. I guess I'm fortunate to realise this earlier than people usually do. Sooner or later, you'll come to appreciate that alone is not a choice. It's a fact. We're all alone, in truth. There's no one by you all the time, but you. Even your most loved, most trusted ones will betray you, sooner or later.
But not you. It's not about being incapable of doing things by yourself or "together we can". It's about not trusting them more than you trust yourself.

It's also about defending your space. Every war fought so far since the beginning of time has been about space. Not giving space to others' perceptions or forcing your will and beliefs on them without regard for their space. Don't ever let that happen. Reclaim it, if it does.
Because you are not a fragment of a jigsaw. You are the jigsaw. Because you are not discontinuous or disconnected. You're probably more in continuum with the universe and more connected by being with yourself than anything else.
Because alone is not a synonym for incomplete.

More Drabbles

She walked as fast as her nimble feet could carry her and halted instantly, to avoid crashing into the person in front of her and froze. Her colleagues walked past her, giving her stares as she didn't budge.

"Move," said a voice.

She continued to stare at the person in front of her, unaware of the scurrying people around her who didn't see the person she was seeing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She stood on the ledge of the 42nd floor of the skyscraper. Instinctively, she drew a long breath. She let out a laugh of the irony of it all. And slowly, she stepped back. If she could find humour there, she wasn't done with life yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her gurgling laughter as he tickled her, before rolling downhill still echoed in his ears. His jeans still had the grass stains on them. He dragged himself out of bed these days, with borrowed hope. He wondered what she would be doing that moment. Chasing her mischievous son, trying to stuff him with some food? or perhaps giving a presentation to her clients? He walked slowly toward the memorabilia wall filled with his child's photographs and wondered what she would have looked like after these two decades.

That's it for now. Hope to improve upon this. But you keep the comments flowing and do spread the word. Thanks! 

AttemptsAtDrabbling

Micropoetry is here. Why not microstories? So here are a few, for starters. Do let me know how they are. (If anyone at all is reading this, that is)

This one is not exactly creative. Cliched, with the salt water thing, but here it is:

Salt water summed her up. Sweat, tears and the sea. A tragic birth that orphaned her, a life soaked in sweat. A final, befitting finale when the sea drifted away with her body.

That night, the cold gray sky sent a rain that wasn't very salty.

AttemptsAtPoetry

This one was an attempt for a Haiku Challenge. The word was 'nimble'

Nimble Samurai

strikes death

Mortification

And this one was for the word "on". Pretty vague, I know. 

The "on" vacillates

so many times on her mind

that it becomes "no"

AttemptsAtPoetry

The following is a compilation of Micropoetry I've composed during my local train commutes, at office for Twitter. I'm pretty bad at this but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it and hope to improve.

The sea sucked in

her limp body 

With an empty sky

that lone witness.

------------------

Under the cold

grey skies

her body drifts away.

------------------

Warm raindrops

Falling harshly

a cold, still body

------------------

On the carpet

green moss

unsettling dew drops

------------------

She lives

inside

his touch

that lingers

on her skin

------------------

Deep sighs and dreamy eyes

------------------

That deafening silence

a requiem

for the absent

breath held

------------------

His stoic calm,

obduracy/

Her varying moods/

The sky

and the sea.

------------------

Troubled waters

That resolute ship

Waves

the flag of victory.

------------------

All the wonder suffused in those widened dewy eyes.

------------------ 

Collecting rain drops/

for the/

Kaleidoscopic view/

in them

------------------

The rainclouds and her distress-clouded brows-

The thunder stifled the soulless silence - 

Dark clouds looming the sky and her reasoning-

A torrential downpour of emotions

And a flash of lightning -- natural self-destruct.

------

The sky

burns ruby

the color

of her

flushed cheeks.

-------

Ships being tossed

by the bullying waves

The mocking, still

moon

mischeif maker

-----------------------

AttemptsAtPoetry

The mind
Lies awake
Cycling-recycling
Memories

That girl in yellow boots

The movie ‘That girl in yellow boots’ lives up to its publicity line of being a ‘shocking story about twisted relationships.’ In the movie hall I went to, the audience was, a little shocked. I was shocked too, initially before accepting it. I’m guessing by the silence (reluctant acceptance?) around me that the audience is finally warming up to themes like this. Anurag Kashyap, known for his films about controversial themes and depiction of tabooed topics, has dished out something that can’t be stereotyped, unlike his earlier works which could be slotted into dark themes. You can’t quite classify this movie as anything. There are a few instances which make one laugh and give one a feeling this is going to be a dark comedy, but deep down, you know it’s false because the movie is painfully realistic. Kashyap himself quotes ‘I hope you feel the film, because you won’t enjoy it.’ Well, all I can say is, aim fulfilled. The movie does get to the viewer. Although there are a few aspects of the movie that de-rail it from its track, other factors like Kalki Koechlin’s brilliant performance, the cinematography, the choice of colours make up for them.
The movie's beginning starts with a montage of Mumbai in dark colours, suggesting what the movie will be like. The entire movie, shot in narrow, unclean places, crowded streets is, I think, a major factor contributing to the unease among the audience in addition to the close range shots. And it works! The title of the movie evokes curiosity and suggests that the movie is about a random person who, uncharacteristically wear yellow boots. One look at her gets your mind reeling about something being different about her, but you don’t know what. More like you know, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, but can’t express it. It’s frustrating, in a way.
The music, not by Amit Trivedi for the first time, is one thing one can enjoy and has an ‘It happens only in India’- ness to it. All actors' performances engage the audience, convince about the realistic setup of the movie. Koechlin is very convincing in her role and antics. Her questioning glares and body language that suggest protest/ denial/ condemnation during the movie have a straight, yet buttoned up appeal about them. Characters are perfectly portrayed, with their idiosyncrasies and accurate reactions to that of other characters.
Despite the predictable behavior due to the realism, the movie has its twists reminding the audience about the highly improbable at work, thus affecting lives. Although a positive ending would, without doubt be less disturbing, the ending chosen works best for achieving the desired effect of influencing the audience. It’s not a tear- jerker, but a harsh reminder of the kind of world we live in. Considering Bollywood’s current scenario, the movie is a litmus test to check if Indian audiences are ready for a movie of this type. I do not know how the movie fared in the BO, but, the Kafkaesque appeal of the movie is definitely innovative and positively good for Bollywood.