Tag Archives: death

The Phoenix.

What started with me drowning in the depths of the eyes of Patrick Verona, the ‘juvie’ bad boy with his manly charm and brown curls never really ended, even though it’s been almost 12 years since those eyes lost the light of life.

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By the time I saw the Dark Knight, little did I know Heath Ledger was already dead or that he was the same 19-year-old who had stolen my heart in ’10 things I hate about you’. When I did put two and two together, it was too late to share the grief of his loss – people had numbed to his death by then while I was suddenly dealing with fresh punches to the gut, re-watching his films, reading the news pieces of his death with a face to it now, a face I recognise, a laugh I can’t seem to forget, and that wide smile that just melts me into a sloppy mess on a hot day.

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I sat to watch the Joker today, recreated by Joaquin Phoenix and team – still in two minds as the opening shots rolled in. I didn’t want to betray Heath’s memory but I wanted to know what the hype was about. As the scenes played, there were places when I imagined Heath in place of Joaquin or how Heath would have handled the scene or how different the body language would have been. Obviously, all of this is just mere conjecture of Heath’s image in my mind but isn’t that what fans do – juxtapose our idea of a celebrity onto their persona?

By the time the film ended, I had forgotten about both Heath and Joaquin – the character had taken over my senses, making me jump in my seat, spout expletives, rub off the goosebumps lining my arms. That itself speaks volumes about the absolutely stunning work the team has done! Maybe the film wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

But. Is Heath Ledger the Phoenix or is Joaquin Phoenix the one?

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Call it what you may – my fondness for Heath, or my first taste of blood being the Joker from Dark Knight, or a soft spot for the dead, or the relentless anarchist Heath’s character was, or simply blind fanaticism – but I’d still turn to the Dark Knight to watch my share of creep. Maybe Joaquin’s Joker seems too real, too close, too human? Or maybe Heath’s Joker explains the mania all of us have but are afraid to explore?

Never mind what I feel, the Joker is here to stay and go down in the rolls of history once again, for sure.

Graciously Yours!

Them.

While I sleep, the world around me is awake. Not today though. I am awake too. But only in the body, not in the mind. But then was I ever?

These people, the ones out here – they know something I don’t. They look at me and exchange glances. They stare me down. I look away. But for how long? And where? They are everywhere. They point towards me when I don’t look. I can feel it. Or is it my imagination? They pause while I walk by. I walk faster. Rushing along, not sure where I am headed. The road is straight, lined with concrete on both sides. Trees grow from within the concrete. The people – they’re all moving in the opposite direction. Only I walk towards the horizon, the horizon where the Sun didn’t rise from.

They don’t look at me. They stare through me and yet their gaze is piercing.  I look away too fast. I can’t read their eyes. Is it pity at my ignorance? Anger that I don’t bother? Or is it angst at how I am spending my life? Caution that I want to join their tribe? Or are they curious? Do they not see me as one of them?

I know I am different from them. My necessities are luxuries for them. They might have lesser than me but their smiles reach their eyes. They build a life while I simply redecorate. I have all that I want and more than I could ask for. What do I do with these though? Why are we really living? Or is it death that we await?

Graciously Yours!

Pulled Apart.

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I’ve come a long way,

From that fateful day,

Where all I could think of was

Getting you to stay,

While all you did was push me away.

Now and then, things would sway,

Giving me hopes that you would stay,

But alas that wouldn’t happen,

Not how I wanted, anyway.

“For the baby’s sake,” I would say,

The little brown eyes would see your way,

But you would turn away,

Tears welling up in your eyes,

The battles you faced were bigger anyway.

There were days, when you were happy and gay,

And others when you would look out at the bay,

I would sit beside you all day,

Waiting for you to let me in on your thoughts.

Worse became the passing day,

Your smile was a needle in a stack of hay,

All day home we made you stay,

Afraid you would fall prey,

To the darkness we pulled you from.

But you fell into it, day after day,

Too late for us to mend the way,

“You deserve to be happy,” I’d say,

And that “together we would slay”

But you got addicted to the pain.

When I found you that day,

On the floor as you lay,

To you I wanted to say,

That to be weak once a while was okay,

But it was much more than you could take.

With your life you chose to pay,

To rid yourself of the darkness of the day,

In our hearts you still stay,

But not the way I wanted anyway,

The guilt of failing you still noosed tight.

Graciously Yours!

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest

 

The House That Wasn’t. Part 0

Continued from

5 years, 2 months and 19 days ago – 7:30 PM.

Pankaj was trying to close shop as fast as possible. The skies were overcast. He’d decided to leave this town too. He wasn’t sure how safe it was for Tara now. The residents were getting suspicious. Tara was his daughter. He’d lost her mother to a witch hunt three years ago. He was afraid of Tara’s fate too. She was nine but her thoughts hadn’t progressed accordingly. Just like her mother’s. The ‘doctors’ said she was mad. He didn’t believe them. But he didn’t tell anyone about his daughter either.

He made the last sale of the day and hurriedly cycled down to his place. He couldn’t figure out why he was a nervous wreck. He felt something ominous would happen. He shut the door behind him.

Tara’s voice was drifting from the floor above. She often spoke to her toys. “Tara, I am home,” he called out.

She didn’t answer. He walked into the bedroom, onto her toys strewn all over the place.

He could see his daughter hiding behind the bedpost. Walking towards her, he kept asking, “Where is Tara today?” She giggled. He happened to glance outside the window to see a group of people walking towards his house.

Picking her up gently, tickling her so she didn’t protest, he explained to her slowly, “Daddy and you will play a little game now. I’ll hide you and you will keep quiet for five minutes. Okay?”

The bell rang.

“Did Tara understand?” he asked hurriedly.

“Yes, Daddy,” she answered softly.

The bell rang again.

Hoping she had actually understood, he put her down behind the bed again.

Now they were banging on the door.

He hurried down.

There were some kids hiding behind the men. Questions rained down on him. “What have you done to the house? The children say they hear voices from the house. The house throws stones at us, they say. Our children are afraid to come to this part of the town.”

“No, there’s no one in here except me. I am sure your kids must be mistaken!” He sounded confident but didn’t look the least.

Just then, he faintly heard Tara’s voice. He hoped the others hadn’t! To douse it out, he began, “Now if you’re done, excuse me, I have to make my dinner.”

But they had. “Wait. What’s that?” He prayed, she would remember he’d asked her to be quiet! But as fate would have it, she spoke again. This time louder. It spooked out the men. The children ran away to a distance.

“That’s nothing. Just the skies perhaps.” He tried shutting the door, but they were quicker. They barged in. Two men pinned him to the door.

“There’s nothing to fear. Please leave me alone,” he pleaded. He looked at the children standing a few feet away. They looked frightened – of the house or the brutality, he wouldn’t know.

The men split up to search the house. Some took out knives, some had hand-held pistols. Hearing all the commotion downstairs, Tara peeked out of the room. The little child thought they were playing hide and seek with her! She ran to another room laughing!

The laughter spooked them. The men rushed upstairs, each scared but none admitting. The peals of thunder and flashes of lightning were not helping!

“If only Tara would sit quietly in one place,” Pankaj thought. But as soon as she saw a pair of feet coming up the stairs, she braced herself to scare her father. Giggling, blissfully unaware of the danger looming on her and her father, she jumped out of her hiding place, peals of her joyous laughter pulsating through the house! She wanted to scare the man whose feet she’d seen, but death scared her instead.

Screams were followed by thunders outside and cocked guns inside! One of those bullets hit the child and it was the last time laughter was heard in that house.

Until… 5 years, 2 months and 19 days later when…

“She had stopped laughing but the house hadn’t.

Fear crept in her eyes too.”

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Graciously Yours!

If only you’d…

I tried to reach out,

But the answers to your questions

I have, I doubt.

 

I tried to help you

Get up and around in this world of lies,

But do you really wish to?

 

I waited for you to see me,

The moon waned and waxed,

But all alone you wanted to be.

 

Days went by,

Turning into months and each time

I see you, I sigh.

 

You wanted a friend,

That’s all I wanted to be,

But then life happened.

 

Some day you will

Get your answers from death,

I wish you smiles until!

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Graciously Yours!

Wheeling towards life.

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“You see that man down there who’s cycling?” said the Creator to the little baby beside Him.

The soon-to-be-born gurgled, “Yes” in baby lingo.

Soon, even his mother would understand it as well as God did.

“That cyclist doesn’t have ambitions. He hasn’t made plans on how he wants to spend his next five years. He saves much less than he spends. He helps his neighbor, an old lady, with rations every month. He gives kids, he doesn’t know, candies to eat. The world will tell you it is wrong to be him. They will tell you to think about yourself. They will mock you if you don’t plan. They will chide you for being ambition-less.”

The baby looked up at the peaceful soul beside him. He looked puzzled. Saliva dripped from the corners of his parted lips.

Chuckling, God took the baby in His lap, wiped the drool and continued, “I want you to be like him. I want you to live one day at a time, one moment at a time. I want you to dream but I don’t want you to become so blind with ambition that you forget why exactly you were living. I want you to respect the beauty of my creations and find your strengths, hopes and solace in them. I want you to always believe in yourself and in humanity. I want you to appreciate life much more than fear death.”

“Will it be easy?” the baby asked, looking down at so many unlike the cyclist.

“No, it won’t. And when it isn’t, remember that God did not bring you this far to abandon you.”

And saying so, He let go of the baby, whose head was now visible to the doctor as the mother screamed in pain.

Graciously Yours!

P.S.: What according to you is life?

Picture Credits: Ishita Shah.

The Wait.

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She was worried. A month had passed since he’d told her about the death. A month and he was still to write another word. He was magical with words. He made you feel the pain of his characters, the joys and blessings of their lives, the romance of the scenes left you feeling the heat and his disgust made you scream in helpless terror. At the end, he left you craving for more. He’d left her spellbound every time he’d written for her. She waited for him to write again. His words completed him. She’d never met another like him. He matched her passion for words.

But then he lost a loved one and the words went away. He forgot to grieve. He felt direction less. He was numbed by life’s cruelty. Determined, he sat with a pen and pad. The ink flowed, but no words formed. His hand moved but the thoughts blew around like wisps. He clutched at straws but they fell through like sand. He knew she waited. And he tried. Until he couldn’t any longer. He cried. Until he couldn’t any longer. His body became numb, but the pain didn’t.

As she slipped her hand through his, he wanted to tell her that he tried. But she knew. She already knew. And her eyes said she’d wait with him. For as long as it would take.

Graciously Yours!

Blank colours on the canvas.

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Some days I have a smile on my face. Yet inside I am breaking apart. Sometimes that trophy is all I want. Yet when I get it, it was not the rosy picture I’d painted. Some days the world doesn’t make sense at all. And other days I think I’ve found the missing puzzle pieces. Somehow, somewhere he meant a lot to me. And yet he never did. Most days I believe there’s a God. Then religion strikes back at my faith. On days I help a poor fellow, the papers print how another looted millions. Some days I want much more than all the colours of the rainbow. Then there are days when even black and white are too much to handle. There are moments when I am the centre of my universe. Then there are times when I wish I could replace an atom. Some days solitude is all I want. Other days I crave to be around people. Some days I wish my dreams came real. Other days I want my reality to become a dream.

And in all of this confusion and clarity, dejection and joy, devastation and creation there’s  life. And that itself is reason enough to celebrate. I may not yet know what my purpose of life is, but that’s okay. As long as I keep walking, the road will become clearer and things will begin to make sense. I will as long as I can. Until I can’t. Life’s uncertain. Death isn’t.

Life’s simple. It’s complicated too.

 

Graciously Yours!

 

P.S. : We’re all each but one piece of domino. Insignificant we may seem, but just one missing piece can ruin the domino fall.