A series of thoughts and events

I don't like sitting through meetings. Meetings have too many people talking for too long on matters that don't deserve that much time. I once asked a professor why he chose to be a professor. He responded "I guess I like to hear me speaking". That is true for people who speak regularly during meetings. I once wrote about a person who starts speaking 5 minutes before the planned end time of the meeting and went on for 20 minutes. I guess he was obsessed at having the last word. Unfortunately his last word contained too many words and most of us did not listen to a word of what he said. It gives me great happiness to say that I no longer work with him. 

This write-up took birth in a meeting. As is usually the case, 10 minutes into the meeting, boredom set in. It was an event where emotions were flowing around profusely and it would have been rude for me to look at social media on my mobile. So I opened the small notepad that lay in front of me and scribbled some words. This usually is good tactic as people end up thinking I am noting down points from the meeting itself. I have used this technique successfully for many years. At the end of the meeting a friend looked at the writing pad and said "What is this? This does not make sense. I thought you were noting down point for your own talk". She did not realize i did not need pen and paper to talk in front of a disinterested audience who had no choice but act interested in the nonsense I spoke. But that is not the only mistake she made. The words on the paper did make sense. I tried and the words in such a manner that they made sense. Well, you can check it for yourself a little later. 

I wrote those words down in the form poems. Here, I think it is good to make clear my definition of a poem. It's a piece of writing which does not involve sentences or grammer and has a fair bit of jumbling of words. After writing it, I review it and modify it by chanting or singing it in some rythm. When the rythm satisfies me, I declare that piece of written work as a poem. I have written many such poems to no acclaim!

The first two poems were written on the writing pad during the meeting. Of course, they have changed a bit since as a result of the review process mentioned above.  The thought behind this first one is the frustrating repetetiveness of life. 

When the sky learns

That it can't fall

It starts looking up

But what does it look at?

It can't be the sky

For how can the sky

Look up at the sky?

But think about it

Maybe it is the sky

That the sky looks up to

For what exists above?

Isn't it the sky?

So what can be concluded?

Even if it is the sky

Only sky exists above

Sky above sky above sky

That is how it is.

I wanted to play around with words that sound the same but have different meaning. I think this poem is inspired by Crazy Mohan's line about meen/mean in Michael Madana Kama Rajan. I wrote 7 lines of this poem in the meeting, the last 3 of which was absolute nonsense. So I removed them and filled it up with other lines later. I referred to the internet to find the set of words that sound the same. Such words are called homophones.

Maybe it is not right to write

Words that mean mean

For it can be seen as a scene

Best avoided to not lose a piece of peace

Best avoided to not find yourself fined

For you might end up feeling the fare is not fair

Similar to the the pain of walking through a pane

Where the rain of glass bring a reign of terror 

Making one to pray to not be a prey

And bear it all with bare guts

Till I wear a "where am I" look

For I can only see a sea of glass pieces

As I peek down from the confusing peak

Turning my face red as I read

All that I write that's not right

I better stop this course in coarse

Everyday, I drive by an open graveyard as I go to and come back from my office. I love graveyards. One of my fondest memories from my school days was walking through a graveyard on my way home. This one is not that memorable but driving through that road in the night always gives me ghostbumps. I once wrote a story about meeting a ghost during a ride back home. I am hoping that would be the climax for my first novel. This small poem is dedicated to the freshy laid road by the graveyard.

The road through the ghost land

Is laid fresh and black

Reflecting darkness of the ghosts around

White lines adorn the road's sides

Reflecting light go keep the ghosts at bay

For reasons beyond my comprehension, I am considered to be a person of immense intelligence by many around me. For reasons beyond my comprehension, I am annoyed by this. Out of this annoyance was born this poem.

I realized suddenly

That I am bright,

Profusely intelligent

As a result I thought

A thought about the moon

I am considered to be so bright

That if I were to say

That the moon

Is made out of butter

And not cheese

Everyone would agree.

They would say

Cheese! Please it's not cheese!

If it were cheese

Moon would be 

The house of mouse

But it's known to all

That no life exists

On the buttery moon.

But I would never say so 

For if I do, people would believe it

Causing confusing

A big problem

For on a sunny day

When it's really hot

They would wait

With buckets in their hands

For the butter to melt

And pour down as ghee

So, I play it down

Stay below the radar

Linger near earth's surface

Avoiding notice of people

To avoid being identified

For my brightness

And my intelligence

Yet not being identified

As unintelligent

Just existing by being invisible.

There is an element of suspense in the next poem and so I have decided to introduct the poem after the poem. In this case, I guess I have turned the introduction into a post-production!

Should I say yes

or just say no?

Too late to ask

I said yes, many years back.

Was it a mistake?

Should I have said no?

Maybe yes but maybe no

Floor 12 could have been worse

Maybe I would have jumped

Instead of wondering if I should 

Stop that cat

Let it not cross my path

But no one did anything

No one was listening

No one could hear me anyway

For I did not say it aloud

It was running in my mind.

That cat is not black

But its white with black

Or maybe black with white

Either way, it's got black

Is any black unlucky 

Or should it be all black?

Should I turn around?

I can't afford bad luck any more

But it just got worse

It's not a cat or a dog

Nor a mouse or a bandicoot

I wish it was a bird

Or a simple earthworm

But it was none of that

It was that wriggly creature

Moving across my path

As a sequence of S's

No wonder they are named ssssssnake

This small one wriggled

Right in front

Escaping from the folds of here

To the greens of there

In search of what I know not

But a question rises

Is a snake crossing my path

Considered lucky?

If not, how unlucky is it?

Will I survive the day?

Will I survive the humans?

Will I be able to write this?

Will I be able to publish?

All question and unsurety

On this day, this morning

When a small snake 

Crossed my path

Most unexpectedly

I go for a walk around my complex everyday. At two places, the path lies between the entry/exit of the basement car park on one side and plants on the other side. I always walk through that path nervously, wondering what I should do if a snake appears in my path. One morning, that snake appeared a couple of feet ahead of me. But before I could jump out of my skin the snake slid away into the bushes to my right. I can't help but mention here that it is the snake that usually jumps out of its skin and yet in this case I jumped out of my skin or didn't. Anyway, the snake crossing my path made me wonder if this too is considered to be unlucky like a black cat crossing my path. I mean, I don't care but I wonder still.

ULLULLULLULLULLULLULLU…

She walked into the new apartment happily. Unlike the earlier ground floor apartment, this one provided a bird’s eye view of the world from the balconies. The apartment had three bedrooms. The third bedroom, a spacious and well-lit room, became a guest room kam TV room jyada. It seemed like a perfectly secluded space for her to chill. To make matter perfecter her own room was opposite to it. 

This was not her first visit to the apartment. She had visited it many times with her mother. Many of the ideas and colours within the apartment came from her head. So it was not all a new experience and yet this day was different. On this day, the apartment became her home. 

She walked into her room and looked around it. It was almost perfect. She only had one complaint. She wished the bed was wider. But a wider bed would have made the room seem smaller. Besides she did not need a wider bed and yet it would have been good to roll around in her sleep on a wider bed, though she was not much of rolling around in her sleep kind of person… She stopped the thoughts in its track. She tightened her fist and told herself “You have to stop this habit of finding problems where none exists. Though a wider bed would have been nice, I don’t need a wider bed and now the room has enough room around the bed. So why are you cribbing? I am not cribbing. Yes, you were. I was just thinking. Don’t think. You think this room is perfect? Yes, it is. You don’t find issues with it? No, I don’t. Ok, ok! I won’t too. Just stop. Ok, stopped. Thanks!” 

She stopped talking to herself and turned around to see her mother staring at her from the doorway. Her mother asked, “Are you talking to yourself?” She smiled sheepishly “The devil in me is finding faults in the room.” Her mother asked “… and what fault did the devil find?” She responded, “Should I have got a wider bed?” Her mother asked, “You planning to get married anytime soon?” She retorted “OK amma, I get it. I will stop.” Her mother did not let go of the idea though. “Hmmm! Maybe you will get married when you are in this house. But at that time, we can get a wider bed for the two of you.” She retorted again “Amma. Stop it. I am not getting married. Not now, not ever.” Her mother walked away saying “We will see. We will see.” She gave herself a slap for having let the conversation lead on to the topic of marriage.

That night at the dining table, after dinner, her mother asked “So, you ok with sleeping in your narrow bed? Do you want to exchange rooms with us?” She looked at her mother angrily and said “Amma, stop it! I was only thinking. Actually, it was not even me. It was Phaedrus.” Her mother did not understand “Fedroos, who is Fedroos?” She waved her hand and said “Does not matter Amma. I am talking nonsense.” But by then both her parents became concerned about the existence of Phaedrus. Her father persisted “Who is Fedrus? Should we be concerned about this fellow?” She cursed herself for having uttered the name Phaedrus “Acha, Amma, it is a character from a book. I don’t know any Phaedrus.” They continued to look at her suspiciously. She got up from the table and said “I am going to sleep. Good night”. Her father called out “Why are you running away?” She turned around, looked at him and said “Acha! I will get that book tomorrow, but you have to read it fully. To ensure that you are reading it, I will have a viva session with you every morning.” Her father waved his hands and said “Ok, ok. Never mind. I trust you. I am not in a mood to read any crazy books.” She felt offended but did not bother to continue the discussion. 

When she walked into her bedroom, she realized that her parents’ bedroom was at some distance from hers. In the earlier apartment, the two rooms were right next to each other. She turned around and looked through the door at the TV room. It was dark and empty. She shook away the dark thoughts in her head by closing the door of her room. She looked around at the room and felt safe once again.

She sat at the edge of the bed and looked around. She decided again that she liked the room. It seemed large and cozy. She looked back at her bed and thought it was just the right size; not too small, not too big. She switched off the lights and lay down on the bed. She looked at the glow-in-dark stickers of the moon and stars stuck on the ceiling. She had hoped to grow out of fascination for these stickers as she grew but it did not happen. She spent a good two hours planning and sticking these stickers on the ceiling two weeks back. At that time, she had wondered if she was wasting her time sticking these stickers but now looking up at the ceiling, she understood that it was well spent. 

At some point, she must have fallen asleep because something shook her out of her sleep. She sat up and looked around at the unfamiliar room. It took her a moment to realize that this was her room in the new apartment. Other than the hum of the AC, the night was quiet. She wondered what had woken her up. She wondered if she had a nightmare. She did not remember. She lay down on the bed and tried to go back to sleep.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

She remembered what had woken her up earlier. She shivered in fear. When quietness landed back into the night, it did not last for long. The faint sound of a bell ringing broke the silence of the night.  Her fear increased. She gave out a small scream and covered her head with the blanket and closed her eyes. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

This time, she jumped out of the bed and ran out of her room screaming “Ammmmmmaaaaaaaa”. As she reached her parents’ bedroom, her mother opened the door and called out her name. She asked “Amma, what was that?” In a voice drenched with fear her mother responded, “I don’t know.” Her father called out from the bed “Switch on the light”. The mother and daughter responded together “No!”. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

The three people in the room screamed in unison. When they stopped screaming, they heard the faint ringing of a bell. She said, “Its coming from outside.” The mother said “Wait! Let me check from the balcony.” She held her mother’s hand and said “No!” Her mother said “Come on! We have to find out what’s happening.” The two of them walked towards the balcony door. Her mother unlocked the balcony door quietly. As she opened the door, the hinges of the door complained.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

The mother and daughter held their mouths shut to keep from screaming. The ringing of the bells was louder now. They crouched and walked towards the parapet wall. When they reached the wall, they raised head slowly and looked down. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

A woman decked in a red saree with a large red dot on her forehead let out the series of screams. Her head looked up at the sky and her eyes were opened wide. The mother and daughter nearly fainted on seeing the intensity on the woman’s face, but they held on to the parapet wall. The ringing of the bell came from the other side of the road. The spot lay hidden behind a tree. Four similarly dressed women walked behind her. They gently swayed to the rhythm of the bell. The mother and daughter watched the women intently. 

The mother and daughter started swaying their heads to the rhythm to the bell too. They watched the women in trance. They waited for the woman in the front to let out the series of deafening screams. A good dose of anticipation mixed with the fear that they felt inside them. The two of them looked at the woman at the front intently. Inside their heads they were egging her to let out the screams that had terrified them a few minutes back. 

But that did not happen.

Instead, the five women turned to their left and looked up at the mother and daughter and let out a deafening “ULLULLULLULLULLULLULLU…”