Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Post Script
It isn’t as easy as it appears, to add an extra topping to an already ‘a’ masterpiece. If Tejaswi isn’t continuing to read; no doubt, he’s on his way to bash me up for adulteration!
Many times; I did request people to allow me one chance to be a ‘hero’; oh well, I used to ask them to drown, or if they can; atleast pretend to. Everybody would laugh over and I would join them. It never happened.
Besides the beauty of Jog; subtle water slipping down gigantic rocks; like amorphous snow dispersing into the thick air; carrying along the lustrous colors of the rainbow, more magnificent than the finest sparkle of laser created on the screens of water at the Songs Of Sea, Santosa Islands, Singapore and the 15083 steps we took on the back trek minus 198, if shortcuts taken [I remember; believe it or not, because the return seemed more tiring]; I felt something which not in a million years I can forget. I wondered, why, even though I never repeated my stale joke during our long journey, he was ‘inhaling water’!
Its hard to picture; anyone; in fish; sprouting from nowhere; yell help and gulp help. I couldn’t think of anything; doubtless there wasn’t anything to think. I jumped. I almost reached than I realized I was drowning too. I must admit; he was quite heavy for me and the water was ultra cold, just shy of freezing. I wanted to call for help; but thought it would seem ridiculous . . .
Moments later; as I was sitting beside him staring into his tired eyes through my tired ones. I saw things were different; things inexpressible, best told as a strange experience. It didn’t seem heroic to me. I will never want it to happen again.
Besides watching the cunning water at the origin seemingly so calm about its existence; like a lion for its prey; fiercely stabbing the air and carving rocks as it roars through the heights; and having my soma under it; I had something more to take home.
As I laid down on my bed; watching the voluptuous full moon suspended in the dark; my roomie asked “Hey, how was your trip?”. Then, I guess, the remnant energy wasn’t perhaps sufficient to make the word incredible sound ‘Incredible’, but I had a great time. Obviously because it is the best time to visit Jog or probably its this wonderful group who took me along or may be I just want to think it is.
END POINT
dedicated to the beautiful sun of the East
[ACT 1]
Falling from the greatest heights, under the spell of the divine nature, ‘it’ hit the ground, shredding itself for unknown glory. ‘It’ unveils the fragrance of ecstasy hidden beneath. It inspires life. The rumbling of a distant thunder shook off the lethargy I wore. It was a weekend. The drizzle prompted fun.
A jog to the End point, come back drenched, bathe, and then a hot cup of coffee would make the perfect evening. Fastening shoelaces with one hand, I call for company ...."I know it would be fun, but.....hmm...the road's bad..." ; "Hey sorry, I got to attend a party"; "leave this shit man! why not join us in a computer game...." chuck ! beep..beep...
The lazy bones creaked as I stretched myself. I gazed at the sky, ready to tumble. Unexpectedly, the murky skies turned bright. A catastrophe!
A mystical cerebration swarm into me. The sweet 'salad days' took over my existence. I simply lived in them. They are beyond narration. Of the millions, one surfaces calling for attention.
[ACT 2](scene 1) NOSTALGIA
I was 8, then. I was breathing the air of 'Bheemili'; a heavenly abode. I visit here once in every year but then it was my second cousin's marriage. We were getting into the little mischief we could with our ball. I was all into it. We needed a six to win, I focussed. It came straight into my face. I gave it all; the bat into air, and it struck the bride's head. Everything stood still. All hypnotized, stared. My eyes flooded. I began to explain but it wasn't me they were staring at ! Two shadows sprouted behind me, a thick and a thin; the labyrinthine world of opposites!
[ACT 2] (Scene 2)
I was knocked to the ground by a middle aged, dark, fat lady who entered the hall. Before I could even realize what happened, high pitched cries swept the scene. Fear gripped me and I ran into my mom's arms. Carrying loads of attention, the lady continued to speak. I questioned ; "Who is she? What's going on?" The answer seemed weird; "She is a far relative, they believe that she is possessed by her 'late' parents..." I jumped down and wanted to be a hero. "This is a drama" I shouted. "Nobody is interested to hear us, just enjoy the show.." mamma whispered and winked. I stood and listened to a bed time story.
The lady (credited to be 'possessed') spoke of everything that occurred in the parents absence and unbelievably predicted the future. It ranged from the matters of conceptions , marriages to business matters & all one can find on an astrologer's incessant list. It was occasionally intervened by moans and hugs. Each seemed to exhibit the working of a magnificent 'limbic system' but no signs of 'neocortex'. At first, the so called mother spoke and then surprisingly, unannounced as if switching over a telephone, the father began. I remained there, flabbergasted, jaw-dropped with a half eaten laddu ; I was deprived of, since morning. The portly lady was the star of the day. After the 'spirits' left, she was still in a delirium, while the superstitious crowd comforted, massaged and worshipped. I still stared....
[ACT 3] RETURN
The sky camouflaged. The pitch blackness interrupted by twinkling stars trying desperately to convey something from the cosmos; the incessant questions unanswered. A distant laughter slowly fading away in the subtle air brought me back. It's almost 10 years, since then. Anybody would be astonished to hear, this possession happens every year, since then, no more as an accident but a celebration awaited.
Those memories we cherish 'now'; what's 'now' is laters'. I did not go to end point. I skipped dinner. Another regular weekend at Manipal.' Point ends'.
From the writer's desk;
* Based on a true life incident
* 'It' in the 1st paragraph of Act 1 refers to a 'rain drop'.
* Irony - A point has no beginning ; therefore no end. (Oh! Of course, you haven't mistaken the title. It's our end point)
* End Point in Manipal is famous for its panoramic views and wonderful lush green landscape overlooking Swarna river. It is one of those quite, scenic places where time comes to a stand-still.
From my 5th intercostal space, 1.25 cm medial to the left mid-clavicular line (the apex/bottom of the heart). . .
[ACT 1]
Falling from the greatest heights, under the spell of the divine nature, ‘it’ hit the ground, shredding itself for unknown glory. ‘It’ unveils the fragrance of ecstasy hidden beneath. It inspires life. The rumbling of a distant thunder shook off the lethargy I wore. It was a weekend. The drizzle prompted fun.
A jog to the End point, come back drenched, bathe, and then a hot cup of coffee would make the perfect evening. Fastening shoelaces with one hand, I call for company ...."I know it would be fun, but.....hmm...the road's bad..." ; "Hey sorry, I got to attend a party"; "leave this shit man! why not join us in a computer game...." chuck ! beep..beep...
The lazy bones creaked as I stretched myself. I gazed at the sky, ready to tumble. Unexpectedly, the murky skies turned bright. A catastrophe!
A mystical cerebration swarm into me. The sweet 'salad days' took over my existence. I simply lived in them. They are beyond narration. Of the millions, one surfaces calling for attention.
[ACT 2](scene 1) NOSTALGIA
I was 8, then. I was breathing the air of 'Bheemili'; a heavenly abode. I visit here once in every year but then it was my second cousin's marriage. We were getting into the little mischief we could with our ball. I was all into it. We needed a six to win, I focussed. It came straight into my face. I gave it all; the bat into air, and it struck the bride's head. Everything stood still. All hypnotized, stared. My eyes flooded. I began to explain but it wasn't me they were staring at ! Two shadows sprouted behind me, a thick and a thin; the labyrinthine world of opposites!
[ACT 2] (Scene 2)
I was knocked to the ground by a middle aged, dark, fat lady who entered the hall. Before I could even realize what happened, high pitched cries swept the scene. Fear gripped me and I ran into my mom's arms. Carrying loads of attention, the lady continued to speak. I questioned ; "Who is she? What's going on?" The answer seemed weird; "She is a far relative, they believe that she is possessed by her 'late' parents..." I jumped down and wanted to be a hero. "This is a drama" I shouted. "Nobody is interested to hear us, just enjoy the show.." mamma whispered and winked. I stood and listened to a bed time story.
The lady (credited to be 'possessed') spoke of everything that occurred in the parents absence and unbelievably predicted the future. It ranged from the matters of conceptions , marriages to business matters & all one can find on an astrologer's incessant list. It was occasionally intervened by moans and hugs. Each seemed to exhibit the working of a magnificent 'limbic system' but no signs of 'neocortex'. At first, the so called mother spoke and then surprisingly, unannounced as if switching over a telephone, the father began. I remained there, flabbergasted, jaw-dropped with a half eaten laddu ; I was deprived of, since morning. The portly lady was the star of the day. After the 'spirits' left, she was still in a delirium, while the superstitious crowd comforted, massaged and worshipped. I still stared....
[ACT 3] RETURN
The sky camouflaged. The pitch blackness interrupted by twinkling stars trying desperately to convey something from the cosmos; the incessant questions unanswered. A distant laughter slowly fading away in the subtle air brought me back. It's almost 10 years, since then. Anybody would be astonished to hear, this possession happens every year, since then, no more as an accident but a celebration awaited.
Those memories we cherish 'now'; what's 'now' is laters'. I did not go to end point. I skipped dinner. Another regular weekend at Manipal.' Point ends'.
From the writer's desk;
* Based on a true life incident
* 'It' in the 1st paragraph of Act 1 refers to a 'rain drop'.
* Irony - A point has no beginning ; therefore no end. (Oh! Of course, you haven't mistaken the title. It's our end point)
* End Point in Manipal is famous for its panoramic views and wonderful lush green landscape overlooking Swarna river. It is one of those quite, scenic places where time comes to a stand-still.
From my 5th intercostal space, 1.25 cm medial to the left mid-clavicular line (the apex/bottom of the heart). . .
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