I am not that sort of person , nah just to show anger towards a man , I will not find another man. My love is never an expression of anger. Besides I get angry very intensely. I am like a volcano I burn the one who caused anger. I close that chapter. Not that there is blood shed or anything……. it is truly over. Then I live in that ruin. I wait to feel again. I am not an echo , I do not rebound. I am a whisper that you wish you had listened after you lose.
You made mistakes , you never knew how to handle the situation at all, I did not know my own self nor my value. In that suffocating bed I had to create a song,even if it was in the springs of the cot or wooden legs. I had to find an imaginary companion, it could not be a stony God. I tried even that. I searched with in, there were songs I had to suppress, dances I could not dance, I had to tie up my legs. Drama was so real.It was not drama at all. Why was I not enough? I had this expanding concept of loneliness, so I searched for a twin. You made it so sexual. I had to reaffirm that it was a mind. You made it so physical , I had to say it was not a body just a soul. Now, you lost my soul. It is in my poem.
No , that child is just another ordinary child with her mother , she is not playing at the drama of a gifted child …No….not all the inspirational quotes on these walls were designed specially for you ….. No… glass is a plain surface that reflects you , it can be broken and it can be used to slash your wrists , it can mean a ceiling beyond which you can not go , it can contain wine , it is not all of this at any given time , it is just one of these at this juncture. Wake up , mirror on the wall is not always about who is the fairest of them all. It is just a piece of reality that makes no claims. River reflects the moon but does not make the claim of being the one who contained the moon , it is simply a phenomenon. Transparency is often just a state of being … only then you are with truth. Thought is a story to explain perception, your eyes are not fooling you…. your mind is…..Stop building a story in your head about everything that you see… I know he devalued your thoughts , deconstructed your reality hence you are building an alternate reality. Nope.That is not the way … reality is your mother weeping there…. it is that father wanting to burn that man who stripped you of all your values , made you doubt the very process of thinking…… you are creating fantasy to escape that awful reality in which he made her say you were a dramatist, you are split…. no .. dear you broke….. I am gathering the pieces…. each piece has you. Each piece is beautiful. You will be whole again…. this is not drama…..
Give me the phone at the traffic signal
Why don’t you skip the signals ?
I am not driving the ambulance , I am merely giving him the directions to reach the house. If I get stopped by traffic police I will be delayed further.
Oh… Mam , are you sure it is a heart attack ?
Yes. She said he was drenched in sweat and said it was an attack. I had explained her the symptoms , no crying wolf I had told her. He will be accurate.
Here , take the phone.
Yes, go to that medical shop and ask for Mr. S , he knows the house , he will take you.
Listen , if there is no ambulance when we reach the hospital , we have to drive to the house. So I will park here.
They are here , emergency ECG shows anterior wall infarct, total blockade. Mother’s hands shaking , I can not sign … I will sign… angioplasty .
30 minutes later ….. he wants to see her.
Mom , your husband wants to see you …. Mom cries….
Mam , you never cried…
Why ? I was not going to let him go…. not now …. never ….First hour after attack is the golden hour….
Mom smiled. You would crawl as a baby holding his leg when he left for work . He had to avoid you… there was no other way of going…….
No way ….. I whispered…..
I can leave …. He can not.
My breathing is strained , bronchi clogged ...a needle in the throat ... fever rises in my blood , eyes burn ..... bones are felt in side the legs.. muscles are sore...head is heavy with your thoughts...back aches of a time when I was fighting invasion.... someone plucked out the pink flowers... Why ? For a God who roams the graveyards , wears ash and conquers death ? I hear the distant chants ...like your songs.....winter ended last night with your dreams. My body is missing the dream ... wanting more fever ..missing you is better than forgetting .... ah it must be delirium.... lucid intervals....
I always knew that we could speak like this , we could speak anywhere , a language that only two of us could understand. Or after sometime we could be convinced that only the other understood a language or any language. In an ocean we could make shells like oysters , patiently hoping that one day the other would find the pearls. Like a child lost in an unfamiliar house of a distant relative , yet seems to know the staircase as a stair case , begins to climb not knowing where it would lead suddenly gets frightened. Does not know if language is better or silence…. I am there between language and silence…. All these pearls are yours. There are many categories of silences… this is the kind of silence patience has… inside the earth.. the silence after prayers…the silence of intimacy when I know you are near. It did take you too many light years to reach me….. you wanted tears ? Not words ?
She never thought it to be a power to attract a man nor a weakness to be attracted. Men chased the one who ran. And sometimes one man pretended to be many. At other times too many pretended to be the one. They tried the same strategy, blaming her for the run as if she had suggested a chase. Being louder than words, no one spoke to her they merely guessed her. In their guesses they revealed themselves.
It was a seminar on whether antidepressants had to be given or not to a suicidal person. I was tricked to attend it by a teacher who wanted to prove that I was suicidal. Was I? Nope. I was beginning to see that rage was deserved by others not me. All guilt was raped out of me. This teacher wanted to prove his innocence after using a group to flood me with reminders of trauma….He colluded with a hacker and was offended by an independent thinker struggling to retrieve a buried self , quietly writing at midnight amidst violent interrogations, unaware of Trojan Horse virus in the wires. What was more violent? Explicit interrogations or implicit mind meddling? Here I was, refusing to split Dr.Jekyll and Actor Hide…..
So you think that you froze because you became a child when he began to unbutton?
In retrospect. But I felt guilty because I did nothing to stop it….
So you went back to find out why you did not resist?
Yeah …sort of….I felt nothing but disgust….
How could you doubt your own mind?
My body betrayed me….by passivity.
Were you convinced by the disgust that replaced fear?
The first man, to whom I told that I went back to find out if it was rape because I did not resist, slapped me.He was in love, he said(I believed it was love, since someone finally was at least trying to understand the truth ! Truth was so important to me) he said a woman who could freeze can she later muster enough courage to go back to find out?How truly impossible!
Yeah …. Impossible. That means I must have wanted it?
Actually I wanted to believe that I wanted it.
The perception of self towards an act in which I did not participate, yet it happened to me. I wanted to know the truth. About me…..
Error of omission does get misinterpreted as error of commission.
Now there is clarity. How?
I desired someone, years later. Then I knew the difference.
So, did you do it?
I had spent a life time in guilt, all I valued was innocence.
But you always were that, guilt was imagined.
Desire was also imagined.
I asked her “Because you do not know to read, nor write, you want me to write this letter?”
She said “I do not have a mobile number or anything else and my handwriting is so bad. I could be a doctor for that one reason, a teacher said…”
I persisted “How did you let him go, if you loved him and did not know how to contact him?”
“It was too soon. We were catering food to the children, we spoke about some things, and He was very kind and gentle”
“So, you know his name and the label of caterers where he volunteered?”
“What do you want me to write?”
“I do not know you; I want to know you ” I laughed.
“What sort of response do you want?”
She was defiant “He will know”
She looked worried “I don’t know. I did not think that far”