The Idea-smithy

I’m getting psychic by the day
Every time I call you, I wonder
What reason will she have today?
Or
What circumstance will be conjured
to prevent me from talking to her?

Every time it’s an interesting one
However, geniune it might be, an excuse nevertheless.

Answering that would be drama. Not poetry.
Thank you.

A day in 55-word notes…

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
Last night

It was madness
I’m not afraid of madness
It’s the thought of being locked away for it that holds me back
That madness hasn’t left me; Oh joy!
One moment, one blink…is all it needs.

Love is madness, a screaming, hysterical madness.

I fell asleep last night with that thought.
And I dreamt all night.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
The Dream

Missing the lift everybody took
14-floor sprint in pitch blackness
Stumbling over sleeping dogs
Sliding into the lift, just as it shut

Made it!

Realising I was on the wrong bus
With my group
But no one was going my way

When I woke up
I wanted to go back to sleep and dream more.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
The Conversation

And then, later this morning

I can’t believe you’re doing this..

I am doing it.

I can see that but I can’t believe it!

Don’t be melodramatic!

But I’m not! I’m being myself for a change.

But I didn’t say that last sentence; I didn’t let the madness overcome me.
The dream lingers. Madness hidden.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
Finale

Never realized till now
That I recognized the same madness in you
Each time, it stabbed me
I didn’t want to cry out
So retreated to sanity
Would you suspect, recognition would draw a cry of joy?

Yet I acknowledge
Your hysteria, not for me
Joy and rage would join
In my cry of madness.

Hold my hand and fall with me!

I might have, had you asked

But you didn’t
And I thought you wanted to fly

When I said I was leaving,
All you said was,

Goodbye!

If we had jumped,
Maybe you’d have discovered wings
Or I might’ve taught you to swim

Maybe we’d have crashed anyway….together.

She proposed. He declined.

You’re too intense for me.

He said then.

A few years later, they met.
He was older, she wiser.

He frowned,

I don’t like what you’ve become.

You didn’t like me the way I was!

She wanted to cry when he said

I did. I miss who you used to be.

I’ve discovered that the only way to survive Monday is to charge at it like you’re on a roller-coaster. Eyes closed, hurtle into it at top speed. It will be over before you know it and what’s more you may even have had fun.

You can count the broken bones and dead bodies on Tuesday. 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~ 

I kick-started with a Hallmark-cheery post complete with a Kodak moment from my Thailand trip (shut up Brad, I’m allowed to pull out from my favorite memories, I don’t get to see a clean beach through the fog every day!) 

Lunch-time and I headed out for a cold sandwich. Yeah, yeah, yeah I had to step out in the hot sun but white-blind sunlight has a way of charging me…I must run on solar batteries (which explains my moody blues in the monsoon). Hmm, I did spend most of my lunch hour traveling to and fro and a short 10 minutes wolfing it down, but what the hell…the break in routine was worth it. 

Sensorcaine called ‘just’…and also because her darling hubby was out of town. “How interesting” smirked SNC…”Looks like the two of you will have fun”. Got to her place only around 2000 hrs (does anyone other than the army and I use the 24 hour clock?) after fighting and haggling with various auto drivers. I was greeted by Sensorcaine’s wicked as always grin with a puzzled Pickwick baby balanced on her hip. 

Damn, damn, damn…I’m being a good employee but a bad daughter, a bad date, a bad friend and now a bad auntie as well. My darling neffy-poo is growing up and I haven’t seen him in months! Resolution: More time to those who matter. Maybe I should quit running after the 20-somethings and concentrate on men under 2 feet, aged 1 or less.  Now Pickwick baby showed off his papa’s smile and his momma’s cunning. Which makes me fear for the pretty young things 15 years hence (who are probably in the process of being produced as I write). Sensorcaine comes with a “Slightly evil. Watch out” look that all her friends have learnt to recognize. Her husband on the other hand, has the sweet amiable look of someone you instinctively like and trust. Now put the two together….tadadada, move over Casanova, Pickwick’s here! Talking to Sensorcaine is sooooo much fun always. And so satisfying. She reminds me of clichés (time flies when you’re having fun) and newer thoughts (you don’t make friends, you only recognize them) alike. We discussed my love life, her mommy life, our respective sets of parents, Indian perceptions of beauty, homosexuality, bloggers, hand-writing analysis, Pickwick,….and umm, various other things that are ‘not to be  mentioned here’ (to be whispered in a conspiratorial undertone). At 2330 I finally staggered out, drunk on her evil jokes and my silly ones and a damned fine conversation. Which was terminated abruptly as the lift doors started to shut. I jabbed the open button and then she impulsively stepped up to give me a hug. Wherin the lift doors started to shut again, pressing me into a group hug.  

And I went home to The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

It isn’t always a difference of opinion. Sometimes it’s a difference of being.
And that can’t be ever be bridged.

It’s exciting to try however. Like standing at the edge of a precipice and trying to touch the other side. Until one falls into the crevasse.

Then it isn’t exciting. But the thrill never fades.

It’s raining on the first of October. I’m depressed.

Deleted one of my blogs and ended the sweet pseudo-relationship I’ve been in. Exactly one month from our first conversation. With one single SMS.

I’m thinking of a movie scene.

She : “I get sad when it rains”.
He : “Baby, it rains because you’re sad.”

……………………………………………………………………………………
This post linking back to you is my parting gift to say thank you for a deliriously wonderful month.

Hi,  

Remember I’d told you about my uncommunicative phases? I wouldn’t feel like talking. I’m having one of those. 

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I remember saying I go through those too. Over-work causes mine. That’s why my reply is late. 

Hope you’re feeling better and that it stops raining in Mumbai cos’ then I’ll feel better.  

Later….

I’m not an instant reactor
I’m a brooder, a ponderer  

Some things deserve only instant expression
Like ripples breaking the surface and vanishing in minutes
They die out with the wind 

But undercurrents
Stirring within
Churn and pound
Quietly, rhythmically, powerfully
And build up to release 

A tsunami is just a gigantic ripple after all.

One folly
Just one time
I wanted to know the taste of pure surrender

It was curiosity, ill-fated
But so tempting, I just couldn’t resist.

There’ll be the world to pay.
I will.
And keep the memory and the metaphor

“As beautiful as sin”

I was Eve for a day. And Paradise, my temporary stop.