Mein Ausdruck

I’m a bad talker. I accept that. And hence I try to keep my trap shut. Well… but that is not always possible you see. And talking is fun. It is spontaneous…unadulterated. You hardly get time to really much before you speak. And you feel good after you have spoken…even if it lands you in trouble. And that is how real expression should be.

I have tried writing too. But it’s never the same. When you write something you have a purpose; an audience. And so you make yourself a barbed wire fence. Then it does not remain fun anymore.

Something else I absolutely desist is typing out my work. I always write with an ink pen or a pencil on a piece of white paper. It’s good to see the instrument form the beautiful letters as they dance on the pearl white dance floor shaping your creation right in front of your eyes; not some surrogate machine doing the magic for you.

I sometimes try to get myself to write all that I want to…convincing myself that it is not meant for public viewing. I do the editing when I have to make a soft copy (Yes! Even I have to. It’s an evil world my friend!). Editing a piece of writing is more like trimming your favorite plant. It might come out better …but you never stop loving the original one. And perhaps that is the reason I still preserve the first drafts of all my pieces.

The Girl Next Door

I moved ever so slightly, casting a seemingly oblivious glance at my surroundings. For a fraction of second, our eyes met; and I immediately retracted them to admire the beauty of my fading shoe polish. But resisting all my attempts my eyeballs again moved towards the corner of my eyes and I caught a glimpse of her. “Oh my God! She’s coming towards me?” All kinds of scary thoughts crept into my mind. I could feel her coming towards me with an angry look asking “Hey mister! Who do you think you are staring at?” and then…

“Excuse me!” said a soft voice from behind, “Do you know which bus to take for Chandni Chowk?” I did not know! But I was desperately searching for words. All those witty remarks so carefully scrutinized and crafted into my vocabulary during my formative years suddenly seemed to evaporate.
“N...no! I do not know.” I stammered back.

I immediately regretted the statement; for, she turned with an “Oh!” and started; perhaps in search of a wittier person. But even as a halfwit I couldn’t let her go. I had fantasized myself in such a situation. I could not let this dream turn into a nightmare. I just had to do…

“You do sing really well!” The words came out of my mouth but the voice was definitely not mine. As if my throat had grown a mind of its own. “Do you take music classes?” I could not believe I was asking her that. “Shut up! Just shut up” I was telling myself. She turned with an amused look on her face.

“I don’t think you ever heard me singing? Did you?”

Ok. No more speech. I’m dumb.

“Didn’t you sing at Sheila auntie’s party?”

I really am dumb.

I imagined my face turning redder than a tomato. I wanted to run, to hide behind one of those buses; get lost in the labyrinths of shops. Why was I talking? I could just shut up let her go. And perhaps I would confront her some other day with better dialogues; and better nerves.

“You didn’t attend Sheila auntie’s kitty party?” She had an amused look. But she had turned fully towards me again. I felt stupid.

“You know…I kind of…. I was just passing by and heard it by chance.”

“And how much of it?” I was unsure of the look.

“Well! Sort of… You know…Full.” I replied meekly.

Both of us started laughing aloud. She had a deep sounding laughter somehow sedimented all my fears. We laughed for a long time I guess. At least it appeared so. When we stopped, she asked smiling “So did you really like it?”

“Yes! It was lovely.”

“What was lovely?” she asked mischievously.

“Well! The song of course!” I felt stupid again.

“Thanks!” She said softly.

A deep rumble indicated the arrival of another bus. “Oh! My bus is here. Can we talk sometime later?”

“Sure!” I said.

“Call me! Byeee!” she said rushing to her bus. I kept staring till the bus disappeared round the corner. It was then it struck me.

She knew which bus to take after all.

I Want To Breathe

It is surprising how,
I get lost in my loneliness
In the milling crowd

I’m shoved, I’m dashed,
Carried to the corner; and stashed
Searching myself in the dark
I am kicked back
In the middle, right in the middle of the sea of people.
And this sea
Flows and churns, tosses and turns,
Until I’m choking, grasping for breath
But I can’t.
‘Cause somebody has been strangling me all the while.
I don’t even know who.
He has no face, no soul, no name,
Only a pair of hands holding my throat.
And I am powerless and down on my knees,
The faces around me blurring; fading away.
I want to fight, but my limbs won’t move.
My body defeated, long before I give up…

It is surprising to know how,
Standing on the shore
I get lost in my loneliness
And trying to find myself
Die a new death
Every day.

What are the different emotions you have finished a book with.Amazement! Thrill? Sadness?
Difficult to catalog. Eh! Yes it is a whole spectrum merging into one another through indistinct boundaries.

Last night, I finished reading "The Financial Expert" by RK Narayan. The book is typical of his style. No twists and turns, no suspense, and nothing you can call a climax. It is a flat narration of the story of a man from rags to riches to rags. A story of brilliance of a man coupled with his rustic mentality. The thoughts, life and wrongdoings of a man.

Sounds boring doesn't it??

But the way Narayan puts it on paper is sheer brilliance. His honest and straightforward style of writing makes the story flow so smoothly that you do not dare disrupt it. The writing is so natural and close to your heart that you could actually smell the earth of malgudi in it.
In all! A beautiful book!