Tastes Like Cotton Candy

Tastes Like Cotton Candy

We were all born equal. We had equal chances of screwing up and equal chances of miraculously “making it big” and all of us dreamed of making it big.

We were happy growing up and talking about the future in which we were all amazing writers and presidents of the world or “made a difference” or clichedly “made people cry when we died.”

And here we are. Some of you did have these amazing stories of falling in love and getting so much by taking chances. Some of you did turn pretty one summer and with the prettiness came the sense of humour and the will to live. Some of you ditched the dreams and yet kept the big circle of friends. Some of you worked hard and got what you’d always wanted while Fate grew silent and morose.

I grew quieter and quieter as the one big leap I’d made caused me to fall flat on my face. The dreams which once hung around me like a halo were now all I had. They moved inward and melted with the fabric of my heart. I couldn’t see or think about anything connected to it anymore- but I felt that feverish glow emitted by it. I’d say “If only” or “After I do something amazing” and I’d be one with the clouds.

Dreaming can be dangerous. I didn’t have a plan anymore. I just waited patiently- waiting for the blur to fade and for both the worlds I was a part of to unite. It didn’t.

Verbally, stringing words together became a difficult task. I’d forgotten how to say what I wanted to say. Sometimes, I didn’t think there were words that could describe what I felt most of the time. I listened to music and clung to the stories I wrote. I lost all the fair weather friends while the ones who had always mattered did stay. But now we hung out in twos instead of hanging out in packs.

I was the girl who stared at her shoes when she walked. I was the girl who stared at you so intensely but looked away when you’d turn to meet her eyes. I was the girl who wasn’t always like that and you probably knew that as I was the girl you grew up with.

I heard about how you fell in love for the first time. I heard about how she put up with all the rumours and bitchery and how everything made her stronger. I was the one who kept track of all of your stories and built it up in my head. Sometimes, I write about it.

The nameless, faceless poem I’d dreamed of.

I.

Man with a funny accent says,
“One of you will be dead-
shot in the head,
before the  day is spent,”
and then invites himself to dinner.

We get ready,
paying attention to the trinkets,
but keeping a tighter hold on the money.
The crumpled hundreds and tens greet me-
as I open the bag of savings-
I’d had since I was a little kid.
I’d spent a lot of it-
but lately I felt the pinch…
Preferring, now, to borrow from the parents,
and merely looking at these bills in its pristine form.

My mother joins me
and smiles.
You could call it a moment.

Over plates of rice
and plates of naan
and buttery side dishes-
the dinner conversation grows,
man with the funny accent included.
It tastes like five hundred bucks.

Outside, a chocolate store
comes into view.
I am still laughing and keeping pace
with The Man With The Funny Accent.
For if he does control my fate
I want to control him.
So why does he suddenly disappear?

II.

I felt a bit of my soul recede,
as I looked around,
trying to spot the Man.
Trying to ignore the pangs
of emptiness that suddenly seemed to surround
every.
inch.
of.
me.
Like a dust covered ring.

My thoughts shifted to Saturn,
as I giggled and giggled,
I cracked myself up
Till tears leaked down my cheeks
and the wounds though unseen
did bleed.

Where was he?
I needed his words
that felt like the warm hugs
I’d never got.

I felt a chill
as I looked ahead
and all I saw
was the candy shop.
The colourful chocolate bars rippled in the sun,
Dairy Milk next to Mars,
Lindt next to Hershey bars.
My serotonin levels rose,
as a gunshot tore through the wind-
and emerged from the core of my skull-
putting an end to my last thought.

NOTE: I had this dream a year back… which involved a weird man and my own death near a chocolate shop. When I woke up, the dream was still in my head (and I could remember every detail of it)… mainly because I’d died in my own dream.  Something I’d thought was impossible. I googled it and according to several sites, such dreams indicate an “emotional transformation”.

Either way, what I’d really wanted to do that day was write down my dream, and as I began to write it down, it seemed to flow better when I wrote it in verse form (I guess that was probably because we were studying S.T. Coleridge’s Kubla Khan, at that time).

I found the notebook in which I’d written it down today. I hadn’t finished writing the entire poem that day (what I’d written that day was the whole of I), but I could still remember the rest of the dream sequence (probably coz I’d told almost everyone I knew about the dream)… making me want to finish the poem and post it here (which I finally did).

dreams.

dreams are pretty weird things, aren’t they?

it’s filled with so much crap you’re like what?! and obviously, they’re never full of stuff you want to happen. even more fucked up than reality in a way. the minute, stupid stuff you thought about or mentioned in passing some how worms its way in and the crappiest fear of all gains the center of attention. the cute, amazing things that make you smile? no, of course they’re not in. they’re not weird enough.

i’ve been puzzling over the dreams i’ve been getting a lot lately as the psychology student in me wonders if freud was on to something and it does indeed mean something. but the only way to describe them is random.

but in some ways, maybe it makes a lot of sense. maybe it’s life personified. maybe it’s one way to sum up everything – a messed up, overlooked blur. i can’t help but think of panic!at the disco at this moment.