The month of exams. The month before the Semester ends. The month when the workload’s at its worst. The month when you can give it your all or give up. Shape up or ship out.
Bring it on, I say before going back to sleep.
[INT. CARNATIC VIOLIN CLASS- DAY. The violin teacher’s voice can be heard in the background at random intervals (she’s talking on the phone) GIRL1 and GIRL2 are seated opposite each other.]
GIRL1: Which class are you in?
[GIRL2 fiddles with her violin and smiles shyly (though it looks more like a grimace)]
GIRL2: Which school are you in?
GIRL1: Caliber Academy. You?
GIRL2: Do you know D?
GIRL1: Yeah, she’s in my class. Oh wait, you guys are in the same flat, right? She’s told me about you.
GIRL2: Yeah! She has a twin brother, right?
[The conversation grows slowly and steadily till- FADE OUT]
– The beginning of friendships in this small, small world.
(I actually did witness this quasi-yet-not-all-that-quasi conversation. It made me smile. I miss seventh grade!)
“Once upon a time there lived a girl. She slept in a lovely little cottage made of gingerbread and candy. She was always asleep. One morning she woke up, and the candy had mold on it. Her father blew her a kiss and the house fell down. She realized she was lost. She found herself walking down a crowded street, but the people were made of paper, like paper dolls. She blew everyone a kiss goodbye, and watched as they blew away.”
“Once upon a time there was a girl.
She lived in a house of gingerbread and candy.
One day she woke up.
She woke up.”
-*A FABLE (written by Angela Chase, in My So-Called Life)
I miss My So-Called Life. If only we’d got to watch Angela grow up with us! I remember the episode featuring the piece A Fable (written by the character) making quite an impact on me.
A lot of superficially significant things happened today, which I don’t want to blog about. So I shan’t blog about it.
Instead, I shall talk about oranges. Oranges are orange. Naming a fruit after a colour is kind of awesome. I wish I were so aptly named. At least, that way, I’d know who I was. You know, on a superficial level. My name means “Prayer”.
When people try on clothes that don’t suit them, it looks weird. I mean, obviously. It’s very mannequin-ish. Obviously, you have to try on different kinds of clothes till you find the ones that suit you. But what if nothing does? What if the space-y and aloof label is the only one that does, and you don’t like that? What if you force yourself into tight, professional looking Prada shoes with high heels? Because that‘s what you want to be… I mean, wear. Even if your foot gets sore and it’s really hard.
Even if you look like a fool in Prada heels.
If you like something, shouldn’t you be- I mean, wear- it?
…I’d be at the edge of my seat by now because NOTHING. IS. HAPPENING.
And that does mean something is going to happen, right?
At least in a movie, it would.
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
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?
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
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
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).