Metaphysical dark

Shadows aren’t flat at all. The part you see on the ground is just their skin. There’s cerebral depth in their steps and stillness. Careful now, nothing worse than when you aren’t afraid any longer, for the night becomes a person to you; it’s not sunlight that brings love.

Simply put there’s nothing worse than having to stop when you to try to get a hold of your higher self, while chasing things you should be running away from, only to have your eyes close on you. You should get dressed, we’re going nowhere and the stars are always out.

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Apologies

I’m sorry, really I am. It was never my intention to steal your glass eye. I saw it by the darkened desk side as you dozed a cyclopes, and if Sinbad was anything to go by this was my time to strike.

What a treasure it was! Iris as green as an emerald sky, pupil black as the charcoal you draw with. I thought it might be something nice to remember you by, it had great potential for decor back at home. It might go great by my teal painted door. How it would gleam by my first edition Guide to Shogunates, a bust of mazdak, broken china and burnt feathers.

Yes, something to remember you by, an eye for an I! Surely the flowers I left should make up for it. It’s a fair exchange! In the land of the blind, all you need is an eye.

The real Ella

I knew the real Ella M.

A face on the wall, the plaque in the hall

The great dame of corruption

A legendary center fold.

But I knew the real Ella M

Her wit quicker than a whip

And deep seas of doubt that haunted

Her iron clad pronouncements

I knew the real Ella M

Her dark eyes hiding

Our shared​ happiness

A great moon over an ocean

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And I killed her.

The run

He ran as fast as he could. Quickly down the street and sharp on his turns.

He sped up and they sky got darker. The air in his lungs cut like glass and his feet threatened to buckle.

He leapt over a fence and broke into his own house; ran into his room as fast as he could. He woke himself up so he could stop dreaming all this.

How people find my blog

Most of the 1000 vistors I got that this year are people who know me in real life, follow me on social media or on WordPress.

However WordPress has a “search term” feature that tells you how some lost souls came across your blog.

Here are the more interesting search terms that took people to my blog:

  1. Story of peeing of with mother others in paddy fields
  2. My poor malalala
  3. My poor malayalam.com
  4. Smelt strange
  5. Cume side rijhul
  6. www. How to make a ballal side
  7. Rat flower
  8. Public Press Word
  9. Window stories

Waiting so long

 

Look back while the morning comes,

Find your face on the mirrors edge,

Ride the moonlight rays,

It rains while you hide in shade.

 

 

What’s that, that stays the same?

What’s in playing with your crown?

I’m staring through glass,

So wear the grey before you fade away.

Hansel and Gretel

While  Mom-Dad where at hill station, Hardipur and Geetu, had gone wandering around the neighbourhood.

Annu antie would have watched then like a hawk [or an obese parrot], nothing like gossiping about chootu children. Can understand parents full genealogy.But poor Mom-Dad didn’t account for latest serial played on full blast on brand new Ultra, Ultra HD Plasma curve, super sonic TV bought by NRI son.

Hardipur and Geetu, who preferred Hansel and Gretel, had never gone around their neighborhood, slum area is too close by. They were picked up by AC school bus and went to international school named after a random phirangi [probably Richard or Jacob or someone, as long as he has white skin and blue hair why does it matter?], and went to kids section of overpriced club #24 after they reached home and finished googling homework.

Hardipur and Geetu went up and down, left and right, here and there, like they smelt 3 tons of chocolate. They can to a strange lane where everything smelt strange, dogs weren’t on chains and people wore lungis-sarees, full traditional get-up even though it wasn’t ethnic day.

Hansel-Gretel or whatever you call them, ran up-down making their white, white uniforms brown and bought some pani-puri. It was better than canteen version. They went to small park smaller than their front yard, where other kids played. Other kids looked at them, they looked at other kids. Hardipur wanted to discuss Pokemon gen 40 and new super-duper, ultra evolution, but they didn’t understand him. Hansel-Gretel/Hardipur-Geetu played on their phones. Everything was very nice they noticed, it was nice to be out they said and sat awkwardly on the benches.

It was soon night and they were scared.Google maps doesn’t work when your phone has expired. Hansel-Gretel were very sad, scared even when a nice dark old lady came along and offered to take them home. She took them to her home first, asked them a few questions, but they just smiled awkwardly in response. She looked like a witch working on magic brew when she made them dinner. She ate little, and kept smiling as they ate.They decided she must be a cook .

She wasn’t smiling when sirens screamed and neighbors came out to watch as police took her away. Parents said hi to Hansel-Gretel/Hardipur-Geetu, police looked everywhere and some random case was booked. Hansel-Gretel/Hardipur-Geetu noticed the house was dust covered and looked a little like chocolate as they taken back home in their tinted window, AC car. They looked at each other and felt a little guilty, but Mom-Dad said she is not a nice lady. She had forced them to cancel vacation.

Probably kidnapping she was trying. Don’t go to the slums again they said. They could hardly stop huffing and puffing when they realized that Hansel-Gretel/ Hardipur-Geetu must have eaten meat. Later they discussed what caste the old lady must have been and what purification ceremony they would have to perform. Hansel-Gretel shrugged were happy to have Wi-Fi access again and everyone called it a happy ending.

Collected Stories:Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Where do I start with Marquez? The first story is about a corpse[?] describing his long draw out decomposition.

Nearly 300 pages of bizarre, strange stories that baffle you with ever line. When Marquez had a normal story halfway through the book I was certain I was reading the wrong book.The book will be really hard to follow for the uninitiated but if you stick with it and try to figure out what Marquez is doing with every line, story and idea that he throws at you, you’ll be amazed. You’ll still be a little dazed and lost but it’s worth the effort.

The reading experience is mystical. The various sections of the book  seem disconnected, like surreal images from forgotten dreams. Now and then a few… ideas [not characters, ideas] in earlier stories, within a section, make a cameo in the most random places in another story and you are left wondering what just happened. Once you’ve picked yourself off the floor and try to figure out what happened, you realize everything makes sense even if you can never explain it with words.

I worry that this little write up isn’t long enough but in my defense Marquez needs to read to be understood, it’s hard to describe the  sort of  literary wizardry Marques puts on display. Describing a ghost ship that makes no sound the first time it  crashes and hides for half a life time is like a lamp. Functional but not crafted with passion. Reading about Marquez just isn’t as reading Marquez.  If you don’t mind having your brain tossed around like salad the book is definitely worth picking up.