As I perched myself on the couch with the regular latte, I knew today wouldn’t be similar to all other days. Sometimes you have those instincts, don’t you? Anyway, I sat down and drank to the slow
Sufi playing in the background.
My mind was all over the place. Like always. Trisha would say, ‘Feet on Mars and mind in Venus’ if she’d see me now, like she always does. Sometimes, a pattern in every day things can be a beauty. You almost crib when they’re missing, those dialogues that are rather expected, even if they’re sarcastic.
The coffee tastes usual. You know what? Weed or
alcohol or even coffee, none work on me anymore. Yes, its almost unnatural. I call it getting accustomed. I overfed by body, I played with it, ruined it and now it is numb to all the three.
Weed doesn’t produce colors ahead of me, alcohol doesn’t give me the same high and coffee, I think I start blinking to sleep the very moment it enters my mouth. It is astonishing that as humans we can get used to almost anything. We get used to living a meaningless existence, we get used to pointlessly quarrelling, we get used to anything under the sky. With time, of course.
Randomly my eyes drift to the scene before me. Its Fall. My favorite time of the year. It amuses me, probably because nature holds out a message, Viva la Vida. (long live life) The leaves fall, and new ones bloom again.
When these dead leaves were green, love,
November's skies were blue,
And to us, wandering hand in hand,
Life was a fairy scene,
That golden morning in the woods
When these dead leaves were green!
But .. ever noticed that a dead leaf serves no purpose? It lies there. Solitary. It perhaps implies a crude reality. You bloom, you fall too bad, and its hard to get back.
I am still deflecting between thoughts. There’s no stillness, there is nothing that has grasped my attention so bad that I’d never lose it, no, not yet. I move, like the drop into the ocean. Philosophically, I joined the greater force, realistically, I lost my essence.
Who had I followed? Why had I lost my real identity? No one knew. No one ever would. Nah, not even me. I had friends, and yet I didn't connect. I had an identity, and I didn't use it.
I forgave, moved on. Did I really want to? I only thought it was easier to forgive and move on. Have you ever thought that perhaps forgiving half-heartedly and holding onto it is worse than holding onto a grudge?
Marley says, everyone is going to make you suffer, just choose the ones worth suffering for.
I chose a lot of people. Why doesn't the suffering seem worth while? Is sensitivity subjective? Do you have to shed copious tears to be called sensitive? I beg to differ.
The song has changed to Backstreet. They say, 'and then my heart did time in Siberia .. waiting for the lie to come true'
I have learnt things. Lies do come true. Your words play on you. Your sins come back to you. Your lost identity, it comes back to you too. Karma, or whatever. I call it life. And as I said, my thoughts were all over the place. Still are.
And I am still staring at the dead leaf. Thinking, philosophical or realistic?
. She told me there were strings of days with no electricity, no television or any media exposure. That’s how she lost her eyes. Even public transport ceased for a while, and she lost her feet then.
