Saturday, November 12, 2005

Thank you

I remember a road.


Which led home during the magical days. Days when I was not a kid, and not a man. And now whenever I think of it, I smile. Its beautiful to have something as simple as that bring a smile to your face. It was plain, just like any other road you've seen, narrow, bumpy and packed with potholes, nothing special... Except for the fact that today, two and a half years after leaving that sleepy little town, I still remember every gentle twist and every jarring pothole. I remember how the road would look in every shade the weather in that town had to offer. I remember how the rays of the sun filtering through the foliage in the late afternoons would cast tiny spotlights on that road.


I remember running on that road, being late for a class. I remember sitting by the side in the lemonade shop, with friends I've drifted away from but never forgotten. I remember crying alone on the walk back home. A quiet thursday evening when I thought I wasn't enough. I remember flying over the tarmac on my brand new scooterette yelling out loud the name of a girl I'd fallen for and consequently running over a chicken because my eyes were not where they were supposed to be. I remember slowing down one sunny sunday evening and gliding over the quiet empty road with nothing but the hum of the engine and the wind to keep me company. I remember getting a backache after running over a pothole with a particularly heavy buddy riding behind me. I remember smiling as I sat on the ledge of a little bridge that was part of the road, on a silent july night with a brother that I wish I hadn't left behind, throwing stones into a brook.


I remember the first time I saw the road and wondered how I'd live happily so far away from what was then my home. I remember watching nervously as my parents drove away leaving me to fight my own battles. I remember learning to ride a bike on that road. I remember falling in love and driving back on that road after my first kiss. I remember driving away after saying goodbye. I remember.


I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you to every inch of brittle tarmac, every breath of air around that road, every leaf that made it what it was and every person that was there, when I grew up. Thank you.


And thats all I have to say about that road. A road like so many others. The road I'll never forget.

Happy Birthday to the Pi-zza delivery boy

Senti and cliched, but I'll still say it. You've been the big-brother that came out of nowhere. Thanks :)

And I'm an ass. I'm sorry I forgot.

Happy birthday brotherman.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Still waiting for Godot

Vladimir: Dumb... Since when?

Pozzo:
(Suddenly furious) Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time. Its abominable! When? When? One day, one day is that not enough for you? One day he went dumb, one day I went blind, one day he'll go deaf, one day we were born, one day we shall die, the same day, the same second. Is that not enough for you? They give birth astride a grave, the light gleams an instant, then its night once more..



Vladimir: Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now? Tomorrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of today? That with Estragon my friend, at this place, until the fall of night, I waited for Godot? That Pozzo passed, with his carrier, and that he spoke to us? Probably. But in all that what truth will there be (Vladimir looks at Estragon.) He'll know nothing. He'll tell me about the blows he received. (Pause.) Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave digger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. (He listens.) But habit is a great deadener. (He looks again at Estragon.) At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying, He is sleeping, he knows nothing, let him sleep on. (Pause.) I can't go on! (Pause.) What have I said.

These lines are taken from the play "Waiting for Godot" by Samuel Beckett. These lines are my personal favourite. We did this play for our inter-hostel dramatics competition. We came second, which considering the quality of the script is proof that we didn't do it justice. But it remains a beautiful piece of literature and I highly recommend it as a great read for a quiet evening.


You may read the full text of the play over here. I'll end with another of my favourite lines.


Estragon: We're all born mad. Some people remain so.


P.S: I was Pozzo. Cheers!

Saturday, November 05, 2005

Time

I walked out onto the corridor...

The favourite part of my day had just passed. Distant cries still rang out below me, they were still playing, in the yellow light created by four floodlights placed on the corridor ledge. Somebody missed a pass and I smiled, I could smell the air, smell the scent of oncoming rain, like a moist and cool shiver running across the air I was breathing. I slowly stuck my hand out into the open sky, knowing it would come any moment. I heard the clouds hum and groan and then a silence punctuated by a trembling breeze that whistled in my ears...

I looked up and a drop struck my eye, blurring my sight and making me giggle. Feeling like a kid, its such a precious feeling, really. My open mouth waited and watered at the prospect of tasting those fresh light first few drops, and it floated gently onto my lips. Like a kiss from a teasing lover. Another drop slid slowly onto my tongue, so light, so... ethereal and yet at the same time alive, like a soft white wine, intoxicating and at the same time full of a certain colour and life.

I looked down at the floodlight on the ledge, it was beautiful. The rain and the lamp were having a conversation. The rain persistent and the lamp angry... The light lively droplets would hum on the hot metal skin and disappear. Each successive droplet staying for an instant longer. The lamp wouldn't listen... not just yet. The drops began to form alternating rosettes, coming and going. The metal going dark and shining in an alternating rhythm, each beat slightly out of tune from the previous one. The smoke would rise in wisps, straight and fast near the skin and then pirouetting out of control, mingling with the vapourized droplet nearby and singing in patterns.

The air around the lamp became a turbulent and glowing smoky grey... Patterns like kaleidoscopes would dance, just for me. The rain would sing and glide along my skin touching me, the air would dance and tingle my sense of smell, and the lamp would slowly relent.

I just watched, smiled and wondered. This is what time must look like, turbulent, gentle, persistent and and... beautiful.


"Gravedigger,
When you dig my grave,
Could you make it shallow,
So that I can feel the rain"

- Dave Matthews Band "Gravedigger"


 

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