Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Angels of the Apocalypse

Send me an angel.Just any goddamn kind will do. A recount of all the angels I've seen, makes for good introspection.Or is it just me again under the influence feeling like Alice falling through the rabbit hole,waiting for the black pit at the other end (with my karma it can't be anything else but that).
So,tally-ho and here we go!(I approve hounding small furry cuties to their death, I eat babies for lunch.)

The Angel With The Curls. TIMELINE:3 years past the event
She was the first human the Sandman remembers to have spilt the milk of human kindness on him.Some FSOBs pushed the Sandman(they knoweth not the wrath they have unleashed,chun-chun maroonga) who fell over some flowerpots grazing himself.The Sandman looked up into the eyes of an Angel,a face with curly locks veiling the Kindness.A hand reached up,though the hurt to find another.(I know too mushy goin, more mako later)

The Angel With The Brand. TIMELINE:4 years past the event
Sandman remembers this one particlarly well.Why not since this contact goes back the furthest and has played the part of a finely poised fulcrum.
A sunny day ;the Sandman plays in the dust n grit of the arid Indians plains(not building sandcastles thank you, thats for more mature introspective years).The Sandman sees the slide in front of him as a shimmering peak and in that tender age when you are only afraid the guy who picks lil kids and sends them to drama school(yeah, the progenitor said that.Explanations have not been asked ....yet).However inspite of his awe ,the Sandman proceeds to get on its top step over step;he can see the wind making the leaves swirl and the cracks the earth and those little tufts of grass fighting as Life against the white hot sun.The ground feels so far way ,the crystal heart of the Sandman misses a beat as he sees the smooth polished surface of the slide with the sunrays of an unblinking sun glinting off it. The slide seems to stretch to infinity ,the small patch of sand at the landing seems to be a shimmering mirage in the horizon.
*dream theater guitar solos in the background,make for an even better memory*
And then she gives me courage to make that slide of faith .

Angel with the Golden Voice. TIMELINE: 5 years past the event
Do you remember the first time you were wrongly hurt? Do you remember the first time you had ice cream or the first friend you made on your way to school?She was the Sandman's Jenny.
The Sandman cannot forget the first sight of her, when one shimmering evening the Angel with the Brand took him to her friend's house past the garden with the purple dahlias.The Sandman opened the door to find an Angel in white coming down the stairs. Sometimes, when the Sandman retires into his mind he can still see her walking down the stairs towards him in slow motion ,her dress moves in snow white ripples contrasting with the strange stillness in her eyes.

Fast-forward 11 years;a news reel flashes 5..4..3..2..1... dusty dusks spent indoors as partners in crime, running after her as she sped away on her bicycle, spending hours arguing over Barbie and GI Joe, getting hurt in kabaddi matches only to find her tending me,sleeping dog-tired on the sofa together after a tiring Durga Puja party, listening to her riyaaz , showing off a newly picked up tune on the keyboards,getting into fights over silly things and making up, staying at her house for days when shifting,going to high school- walking back together,
finding she's grown up into the prettiest girl in school,finding she has no time for Sandman, resenting it,accepting it,getting separate interests n drifting away,
bumping into each other and being awkward,the first crush and it can only be she,
the angel goes away for a year,making up again and finding that they still bond,
The Sandman being told he has to move and she already knows, crying together, the last party and the last walk together down her lane...................

The Dark Angel:404 error

I've been searching for you
I've heard a cry in my soul
I've never had a yearning like this before
All of my life where have you been?
I wonder if I will see you again

Monday, September 18, 2006

The Abyss and The Rose

Float.Hate.Place.Expanse. A few words I "saw" when I woke up today to the strains of Jim singing about the end.My perception changes every moment of how I feel about them.
An explanation eludes me as I search,sometimes the search itself becomes the answer.
So,I stared into the abyss and sought the rose but only the abyss stared back at me.

FLOAT:An instant replay.A beach in goa.Letting myself go under a wave for a minute,feeling the sea calling back the sand like a mother to her child.I open my eyes through a curtain of water ,sea shells floating beside me as I see the sun breaking through the clouds.My surroundings have the volume button turned to mute.For a split-second. I let my head back thinking that perhaps my dark side too will be washed away.Then the water lifts me I float,the sea calls back her own.I strike out and surface,water dripping down my ears and sand in my trunks(it really is uncomfortable).To the voice going in my head "break,break,break,break on through to the other side" and the screams of a friend who thinks she's drowning in the sea for now.

HATE:Like jim said,"When my fist clenches crack it open before I use it and lose my cool".A feeling much more useful than love ,it has really changed the world.How do I see the world?How do I know where the thin edge is between hate and love?Isn't it just easier to simply easier to cease to care.
Funnily,I didn't see Himesh reshammiya or any of the buggers in class(I'm allowed to be crass)or any lost loves or my mess food.
What do I hate? Is it just like something bad I have n then spit out?( but even that tends to linger)Do I love to hate or hate to love? I close my eyes and I see a cracked white wall oozing blood.Dunno whats that all about.

"Hazaron kwahishein aisi ki har kwahish pe dum nikale
Bahut nikale mere armaan par phir bi kam nikale"
My place.I'm not talking about the current urban jungle that my room looks like now or my place in the grander scheme of things(cults are nice but can't seem to find any local ones).
What I am writing about*feverishly-stoned-sloshed-dreamily* is about the place in my head where I commune with all the voices.The one where I talk with me.The room with the white walls.The beach with the shining stars .The river patrol boat (I only have three places, they do get overcrowded).

It is a curious incident of which I tell you about.On a trip to rajasthan ,we went to ranthambore. Its 5 o'clock in the morning and the forest is like nothing I have seen before. Not the dark mysterious sunderbans or the wet duars.We are in Tiger country ,my guide follows the calls and the open-top jeep follows his directions.We wait for the king/queen of the jungle keeping a silent vigil(my stomach does growl setting off a false alarm, thats what you get for not getting me any breakfast).An hour passes by and we go to another spot along the trail.The sunbeams crisscross the path .A few dips and then we come up behind the fort on top of the valley. I see it then.I'm in a Technicolour dream ,every shade attenuated and every image in sharp focus,the grass is golden and the trees are geometric designs of nature,the earth is a mottled crazy palette of red,magpies fly overhead.And everywere I look it becomes even more beautiful.

P.S.:I did get to see a tiger .

This is the end ,beautiful friend.
Of everything that stands the end.
No safety or surprise the end.
I'll never look into your eyes again.