Angry mother

My mother is angry. I think she is angry with me. Because of something I did? I do not know. But I know she is angry.

She was smiling when she sent me off to school. She had also packed dessert today. It was a surprise and I did not share it with anyone else. It was a regular day at school. I got a "star" for my homework. I did not even stay back to play with my friends. My shirt was clean and my tie was in my bag. My shoes were only a little dusty.

She did not smile when I came back. She took my bag and asked me about the test. I got a B in it. She asked me why I made a silly mistake. Did I not know the difference between the addition and multiplication symbol?

She did not sing when making my dinner. And when she took me from the front patio, her hands dug a little into my arms. It hurt a little. But I did not cry.

She did not sing the fuzzy-wuzzy song while feeding me dinner. She kept slapping the food into my mouth and did not let me talk either. She constantly kept looking at the clock. It was not even nine.

She told me to go to sleep. She did not tuck me either. She did not shoo away the monsters under the bed. She told me to shut my eyes and go to sleep. I felt like crying, I did not know what I did wrong. I wanted to hug her and kiss her but she switched the night light on and left.

I shut my eyes tight. I sleep.

I walk into his room. I have been angry today. Some people should mind their business and not mine. I love my son and that should be enough. I can make him the man he should be. He will study well.He will get all that I can afford, short of giving up my life. I love him.

I peep into his room. He has tears flowing from his eyes. They have wet the pillow. My heart breaks. Never again...I go in. Brush his hair, tuck his sheet and look under the bed for any monsters. I kiss his forehead. Sweet dreams, I whisper.

I close the door gently on my way back.

The belief

I see a few boys torturing a chameleon. I just fly into a rage. I can not stand by looking at this atrocity. I go over and give them a piece of my mind. They have tied the poor creature to a string and have been dangling it about. I let it go. For a few seconds it just sits there trying to collect its wits. And then it runs away as fast its short legs can carry it. The boys kick a few stones in anger. They eye a stray dog and glance furtively at me. I shake my fist at them. I know the dog is in for a hard time.
I have always had a soft spot for animals. I always fed the strays that came home. I named the dogs alphabetically. The cats were numbers. My mother always ran out of biscuits and milk for guests because of this. I got thrashed by my father. And I always thought I would grow up to be a veterinarian. Or at least a worker in care of animals.
I reach my office. It is a huge building. I see workers scurrying about. I go to my locker. Get my scrubs out. My employer insists on hygiene. They are almost fanatic about it. You see, the least discrepancy will get them locked out. I put it on. My gloves are clean. I change them every four hours. And I go to work.
I work in the meat and chicken factory. My job involves checking the meat and chicken is free of skin and feathers. I worked earlier in the de-feathering department. Dousing the birds in hot water to remove their feathers. I asked for a transfer after a few weeks. It was this department or getting the sack.
Beliefs are nice. I believe that everyone should be treated kindly. But when my father is dead, my mother ailing with cancer- treatment so expensive that I take loans, the wife and I have to work with whatever we find to make ends meet for our children too.
I only hope the dog was not stoned too badly.

A lazy afternoon

I decided to contemplate on the mysteries of the universe. I had nothing better to do. The sun was scorching so bright, that it seemed to soak up any underwater reserve that we had unknowingly left behind.
There was no school for another 2 months. My friends had left to their grandparents' places for their vacation. Those that did not go enrolled in special classes. I chose not to go to the same classes and instead decided to contribute to the betterment of mankind and waste something useful- time.
So here I was embarking on a mission that could change the face of mankind. I picked the guava tree with its multitude of branches for this task. There were also a lot of fruits close at hand and I would not go hungry. And I lay on the branch which bore my weight without the least protest.
Thus I began...My first contemplation was on the sun. How would people have treated their first sunset? They would have been surprised that the light they had throughout suddenly dimmed. How would they have treated snow and rain throwing their regular lives into panic? Did they make a sport of ice-skating? How did they deal with mosquitoes and flies? Did they have a special weapon against them? Do mosquitoes sleep? Can we kill them all when they sleep? What alternative did they have for paper towels in the early days? Was hygiene even a point to consider?
Were the name of the nine planets the same on all the planets? If there was life on them were we ever portrayed as infectious beings out to take their world? Have we ever been the good guys? Did they have Men in Black on the moon and mars?
I paused to take a few bites of the guava. Continue... Aren't the pipes these days astonishing? When did they invent pots..is it patented?
I could have gone on. I felt I could think better with my eyes closed. Hmmm..yes indeed. It was better. The light was not as bright and I could concentrate better. Now where were we..
How many guavas did I eat? I think I ate one..no two..no  no three?!! I...ate..
......
......
.....
.......
10 guavas. And I open my eyes with a startle. Oh no! I dozed. And the mysteries are still intact. It is almost sunset with the smell of jasmines wafting in the air. I decide I will continue tomorrow. After all noone is going to really find the answers....are they? 

Happy Birthday

There is a cake in front of me. White and round with pink flowers on it. Candles on top..a lot of them. It almost looks like the sun has descended to the earth. And in the darkness it illuminates the smiles of those around me. My  family, my friends and a few strangers..

There a hundred candles. They sing the happy birthday song and clap. They tell me to make a wish and blow the candles. I do not know what to wish for. And I am not able to quite blow out all the candles. They help me do it. Then they cut the cake and give everyone a piece. I get a piece with a pink flower and a letter on it. 

I don't feel the hundred. I feel normal. I try to think of a few previous birthdays..I can not. So this is how 100 feels like. I try recollecting a few incidents and I draw a blank. Most of my memories are from the recent years. I panic, my breathing grows shallower. What about the other years of my life?

Slowly they come to me in snatches. My mother cradling me on her lap when I was in the clutches of fever. My father taking me for a walk along the beach. My brother stuffing his socks on my nose. Playing on the streets with my cousins. Side way glimpses of my husband during our wedding. My daughter opening her eyes for the first time. Decorating our new home and falling down the ladder trying to make the awkwardly-hung picture straight. Running to meet our new puppy. My daughter crying because the boy she had a crush on did not even know she existed. My son walking his first of many steps. The school runs, the graduations... The happy happy weddings of both my children. The trivial detail of dropping my dinner plate on a new carpet. The paper-pressed roses from the bouquet my husband gave me for our first anniversary.The arrival of my grandchildren; the pride I felt on being a granny. The memories of those grandchildren bring a smile on to my face. Their stick drawing of granny with black hair and a red smile.

I don't feel a hundred.I feel normal.Yes, my eyesight is a little blurred; yes, you have to speak louder in my presence; yes, you have to walk a little slower. But I feel normal. And my years are intact with me.

I finally wish- for a strong memory- to hold on to the tiny little synapses, as long as I live.

Happy birthday to me.

The acceptance speech

My mind kept thinking about the time. At the corner there was a chant- Faster, faster, faster! The words came out in a rush. I thought the sentences were clear, but to my own ears they sounded a foreign tongue.
My heart swelled with gratitude at this life. My mind was finally accepting the truth and that made this all the more special.
"I think of the times that I spent rehearsing this speech. Now I finally get to thank all of the wonderful people who have been a part of my life and made it beautiful. I thank my parents- mom and dad for bringing me into this world, for showing me life is viewed with two pairs of eyes and one heart. For the courage they taught me. I thank my wife- so beautiful and strong. The most feminine woman in the world who taught me love. I thank my twin daughters, they have been my light ever since I knew they would come in 9 months. It been 4 yrs and I love them more everyday. They taught me to enjoy the smallest of things. I thank my friends, who have been there for me even before this journey began, who have been with me each step of the way and when my relatives could not take the brunt of my obsession over this, they were the light and oil to guide my path. To the strangers who have smiled at me when I was at the lowest. To all the ships that sailed past me at night, I saw you and I was glad for your company. To my Maker, thanks for the prosperous and rich life that I have had so far..
And finally to the unknown..here I come! "

Fond farewell

My cell phone is now switched off. I could not tolerate any more calls asking me why I had made this decision. I had made it spontaneously in the press conference.I am never going to sing again.There were a lot of questions about the reason. One of those spur-of-the-moment things. But the more I think of it, the more I like it.

My manager is banging on my door. My housekeeper had to let him in after he threatened physical damage! I refused to talk to him after the press conference. He has been my friend throughout the years, I owe him an explanation. I take a deep breath and open the door. I see anger, disappointment and betrayal.

I tell him to sit down. " I can not sing anymore. I can't write.I can not sing anymore."

A spark of understanding. I go on. "When I was a child, I wanted to please my parents. When I was a teen, I wanted to please my friends. When I got married at 20, I wanted to please my husband. I drank, I got high, I got arrested, I served time. I did all this. I craved attention and care constantly. I was a child even at 25. I was never content or secure. And I was depressed on top of all this. And this made me write. This made me sing. I could write when I was at the depths of despair. People loved me. I was their picture of a lost soul.The more adulation I got, the more I went down. I kept spiralling out of control.It was a vicious and dangerous cycle. Last week, I woke up and decided not to drink. Just like that. Everyone appreciates a good story. I had no story. And I sat down to write a song. Nothing. Blank.Nix. And I thought it was temporary. But a few moments at the press conference yesterday was all I needed to know. I am never going to sing again. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the coke. I am never going to sing again."

He understands. He hugs me tight. "There are so many shows that want to sign you on a judge. Everything will be great", he reassures me. He leaves planning his commission and thinking of the lights he will want for his new home that he will build with the money.

I look at the mirror. I never want to drink again. I never want to be someone else again.
I am never going to sing again.

I open the drawer. I see the gun. Just one of those spur-of-the moment decisions. I press it against my temple. I exhale slowly and squeeze gently. I am never going to sing again.

Elusive dream

You know of me, I am a myth.Yet I am reality. The elusive dream.
You get up in the morning with a vaguely satisfied feeling and a feeling of content. You can barely remember the complete details. There are a few ideas though. You first think that your best friend was in it, then you think it was maybe your bitchy colleague. Or was it the next door neighbor? Maybe they were all in it, or maybe no one was in it.
You wake up fresh from your sleep. You know there were a few incidents that happened. However as time passes you forget them and are confused. Did they really happen? How was it that you were one minute talking to a dog and the next minute you are floating in the sea. Maybe you have the sequence wrong. Or maybe your brain does not quite know what to make of illogical things connected by barely sane consciousness.
I am the elusive dream. You know of me, you have dreamt of me many many times. Yet when they question you about me you are left stuttering. A few have a grip on me, lingering and slippery it becomes.
You have a deja-vu when your girlfriend is wearing a dress that you have seen somewhere. You feel it when you utter words that you already have spoken. You know you have done it all somewhere and you think of me.
I am the elusive dream. I come once, I come at all times. You know me, sometimes you choose to ignore me. I exist and that is the joke.
I am the elusive dream...

Casual Pedestrian

I am the casual pedestrian.
When you are in a hurry to catch the last bus home and you walk hurriedly while looking into your purse for change not wanting to miss the bus, you bump into me. I am he, the casual pedestrian. When you are indignant and angry, I look at you as if it is your mistake. Of course, I was just loitering around, of course I saw you, of course I recognized your haste and of course I did not move. And so it is your mistake.
I love window shopping. I love moving slowly along the shop windows admiring my reflection on the glass and matching my reflection to the dress makes me think I almost bought those clothes. So even if you want to enter a shop you will have to go around me since I am window shopping. I am that casual pedestrian.
I am also the one who takes the leisurely stroll around the shop..I am going to buy nothing. I know it, you know it and the sales girl knows it. But I still insist on being in your way of reaching  the thing you most definitely are going to buy. I take pleasure in it.
I am the casual pedestrian.Not content with standing in one place and finishing a phone call, I choose to walk up and down the walkway to the restroom. I walk in the center so you will have to wait for me to move to one side or you can choose to go somewhere else.
I do not care for anyone but me. I do not indulge any other requests. The roads are made for me, I pay the taxes and I walk on the road.
Hate me..I am the casual pedestrian.

Love

Love don't cost a thing! JLo sure had it wrong.
The scene at the courtroom was sombre. There was a buzz in the air. Although everyone was silent, I could hear the thought loud and clear. The media was silently capturing the expression on each and everyone's face. I knew they would milk it for all its worth and at this point I truly did not care. My mind was on something higher.
Your mother was holding my right hand. How I love her. She has been so generous to me over the years and treated me like another son. Your father- never the one to really show his emotions has given me his class ring for the day; he thinks its going to be lucky for me.  Your ex-wife constantly smiles at me from the front row. I can understand how you fell in love with her.
Your brother stares at me from across the aisle. His face reads hate. Pure and unadulterated hate. I have seen it on many faces in the past few months. This battle  between him and us has a nation wide impact and people have been divided and I understand it too..I think.
When you died, I automatically resumed the work you were doing. The management also turned to me. Your home- that we lived in for decades became my home too. To me it seemed natural to continue in your path but apparently what I did was illegal. Negotiations with your brother failed. He wanted total control. Not having children was our greatest regret, yours till your last breath and mine every minute!
"The state recognizes the work the defendant has done in the name of the deceased and acknowledges the goodwill they have generated. But the law does not recognize the union."
The judge smiles benevolently. The media is in a frenzy. Flashes strike constantly. Their darling son has lost. Your brother is gloating and is addressing the media. Me..I am being hugged by your mother. Your father pats my back and your wife- she just flipped your brother off. Again media captures it all.
I am enlightened. I am surrounded by love. And it feels wonderful. While I will miss the comfort that I had the work that we did will speak for itself and I stand tall.
I miss you everyday and I love you more.

Humor

Have I told you how much I hate your humor? I do..a lot. I hate it more because you are my mirror image. Where you find laughter, I find the hearty guffaws annoying. Not that I don't like it, but I hate it. Does it make sense? I suppose not.
Am sure you will find a kick out of making a joke of what happened. To me it is the most horrifying thing I have ever done. It even tops that excuse of a practical joke you pulled on me on my graduation day.
I have been a cautious driver. You even call me a bicycle with four wheels when I drive. And to think I crashed head on to the car in the front merely because you faked a heart attack. I should have known better.   You were just talking about how your girlfriend's parents were going away for the weekend. Your heart would refuse to beat only if you forgo the opportunity!
And I screamed even more when I saw you bleeding. And then there was blackness.
I woke up a few minutes ago. I was planning my best strategy to avoid looking at you, talking to you. I couldn't forever pretend to not hear your flirting with the nurse who had originally come in to check on me and has been holding my hand checking for my pulse. I wonder how she is able to find it with the amount of laughing she is doing.
No way out! I fake pretend moving my legs and arms like you do when you don't want our mom to scold you for getting up late. I flutter my eyes like I have seen in movies. I see you. My mirror image.
"You scream like a girl you know!". I knew it. You heartless swine. I should have tried something when we were in the womb together and you hogged up all the space.
I hate your humor.