Priya was confused. She always always filled with questions. Questions that weren't particularly important, but questions nonetheless. Thoughts would always zoom in her head and she sometimes thought everything was going to burst. She wished that she could just stop thinking - that her brain would stop processing information. But all in vain.
She had once been told that a question worth asking is a question worth answering. And she had made that the axiom of her life - she asked questions and made sure that she received the answers. She couldn't wait to ask this one.
"If you could choose, how would you want to die?" Priya asked.
Shreya replied "Silent, maybe painless. I don't think about things I can't control."
There was an awkward silence after that, like the times when you ask a question only so that the other person would ask you the same; when your answer is more important than theirs. Without waiting any further, Priya responded on her own.
"I think a biggie will take me down. You know cancer or tumour. Most of all I think my heart will fail me. I just hope I don't die in a crash."
"Why would you even want to think about this? Think positive, follow the secret!"
"No, it's just like a thought - nothing to bother about. I asked you just like that." Priya tried to defend herself.
"Cool," said Shreya taking the high moral ground.
Shortly after that conversation, they left the coffee shop; almost as if God had designed that setting only for that conversation. That the relevance of the coffee shop was only if this conversation existed - without which it had no meaning or independent existence.
Shreya was walking alone - she lived nearby. Her eyes alternated between the sky and the street ahead. She thought to herself, Priya is so silly. She just wants to die fancy. She thinks that would be her legacy, that's how people would remember her. That even if she lived a life no impact or meaning or consequence, then her death would compensate for that. A huge tombstone or memorial would bear her name, the victim of the world's evil. How can one live the life of a victim? How can you die a victim?
She sat down in the park outside her home and stared endlessly at the night sky. She always admired the night sky, its endless depth and the multitude of possibilities that it promised. What if each star was the sun to a set of planets - each of them a promise for alternate life.
She thought of the weather and the mild breeze. She had once read that the weather is the world's most common conversation starter. Even though mundane and boring, the weather is what all of us dream of. Those living in the mountains want sunny and shiny weather; those in the tropics want the snow and those in the desserts want the rain. So much of our life depends on weather, she thought.
Snow is what she always wanted. She imagined the stars falling down as snow crystals, illuminating the whole world. Snow white - that's how she always wanted to see the world. She sat there looking at sky, blood rushing to her head imagining the things she couldn't control, but could dream of.
Soon enough she decided to she had to go home. Like it happens so often in the morning when you want the dream to continue, but you have to wake up. She entered home and found her 1 minute younger brother reading a book.
"You know there is a real world outside," Shreya said.
"Of nail polishes and mini skirts. No thank you," Rahul said in a joking tone.
Rahul stared into the book and wished he could stop reading. There is enough misery I see around me and now I am even reading about it, he thought. He wanted to change the world but he could never figure out where to start. You take care of the economics and the politics fail, you take care of the politics and then the society fails, you take care of the society and then you fail. You just never know here to start. You can't change the world without a plan, but can't also have a plan to change the world - it's not just your world.
He had once heard that sleeping is an escape. That you could run away from reality and that dreams will be your safe haven. They would become your chosen reality and that would be a world worth living.
And then the white dog jumped at him, savagely aiming at the human flesh. Rahul woke up almost gasping. What do you do when the dreams start behaving like reality? When it's hard to tell the difference between reality and dreams? When it is sleep that you are trying to escape from.
Rahul got up and looked aimlessly in the dark for the bottle of water. As it happen always, when you try to be very cautious and do everything possible to not make noise, you end up hitting something and the noise just emerges. Rahul dropped the steel glass and wished the world would explode this instant.
Meera, Rahul and Shreya's mother entered the room.
"Are you okay, Rahul?" she asked.
"I'm fine Mumma, just need some water," he responded.
"You should really sleep, it's getting late," she said.
"Yeah Mom, just going."
Before Meera went to bed, she decided to check on her father who was sleeping in the other room. All these years, he had taken such good care of her and now it was her turn. He was this tall tree that had protected the whole family - his siblings, their children, her siblings, their children. Everyone was welcome to relax in the shade of the tree. A man so tall and so wise, was alone now. But loneliness is a state of mind, what can you say about those who've lost it?
Meera's father had started forgetting things a few years ago and was now losing all bodily control. It pained her to see him like this - watching your hero crumble in front of your eyes. She thought of the times when he brought home fruits, when he would drop them to school, when she got married and when she brought him home.
There is no way forward from here, she thought. It's all downhill. She had no expectations, but would always hope that he remembered her name. What's in a name? she had once been told. Maybe it wasn't the name, but the association with it. That Meera was her daughter, that she was taking care of him, that he was with family. That would be her reward - a father recognizing his daughter.
Sometimes he would get it right and she would be filled with happiness. Like the times when we win a card game by chance, and we think we have conquered the secret of gambling. And she wishes those moments come sooner, even though she knows they are only going to get rarer.
In the morning, Meera sat down and to read the newspaper. She hated the grim headlines - nothing was happy in the world. In the corner was a small news clipping that read :
"16-year old girl commits suicide"
Priya was always full of questions. And she had once read that the greatest question a man faces is that of suicide. Whether life is even worth living.
Song : Mai Ni Meriye by Mohit Chauhan
Happy Birthday Blog. You're 5 now! :D
BamBam and Pebbles :
She had once been told that a question worth asking is a question worth answering. And she had made that the axiom of her life - she asked questions and made sure that she received the answers. She couldn't wait to ask this one.
"If you could choose, how would you want to die?" Priya asked.
Shreya replied "Silent, maybe painless. I don't think about things I can't control."
There was an awkward silence after that, like the times when you ask a question only so that the other person would ask you the same; when your answer is more important than theirs. Without waiting any further, Priya responded on her own.
"I think a biggie will take me down. You know cancer or tumour. Most of all I think my heart will fail me. I just hope I don't die in a crash."
"Why would you even want to think about this? Think positive, follow the secret!"
"No, it's just like a thought - nothing to bother about. I asked you just like that." Priya tried to defend herself.
"Cool," said Shreya taking the high moral ground.
Shortly after that conversation, they left the coffee shop; almost as if God had designed that setting only for that conversation. That the relevance of the coffee shop was only if this conversation existed - without which it had no meaning or independent existence.
Shreya was walking alone - she lived nearby. Her eyes alternated between the sky and the street ahead. She thought to herself, Priya is so silly. She just wants to die fancy. She thinks that would be her legacy, that's how people would remember her. That even if she lived a life no impact or meaning or consequence, then her death would compensate for that. A huge tombstone or memorial would bear her name, the victim of the world's evil. How can one live the life of a victim? How can you die a victim?
She sat down in the park outside her home and stared endlessly at the night sky. She always admired the night sky, its endless depth and the multitude of possibilities that it promised. What if each star was the sun to a set of planets - each of them a promise for alternate life.
She thought of the weather and the mild breeze. She had once read that the weather is the world's most common conversation starter. Even though mundane and boring, the weather is what all of us dream of. Those living in the mountains want sunny and shiny weather; those in the tropics want the snow and those in the desserts want the rain. So much of our life depends on weather, she thought.
Snow is what she always wanted. She imagined the stars falling down as snow crystals, illuminating the whole world. Snow white - that's how she always wanted to see the world. She sat there looking at sky, blood rushing to her head imagining the things she couldn't control, but could dream of.
Soon enough she decided to she had to go home. Like it happens so often in the morning when you want the dream to continue, but you have to wake up. She entered home and found her 1 minute younger brother reading a book.
"You know there is a real world outside," Shreya said.
"Of nail polishes and mini skirts. No thank you," Rahul said in a joking tone.
Rahul stared into the book and wished he could stop reading. There is enough misery I see around me and now I am even reading about it, he thought. He wanted to change the world but he could never figure out where to start. You take care of the economics and the politics fail, you take care of the politics and then the society fails, you take care of the society and then you fail. You just never know here to start. You can't change the world without a plan, but can't also have a plan to change the world - it's not just your world.
He had once heard that sleeping is an escape. That you could run away from reality and that dreams will be your safe haven. They would become your chosen reality and that would be a world worth living.
And then the white dog jumped at him, savagely aiming at the human flesh. Rahul woke up almost gasping. What do you do when the dreams start behaving like reality? When it's hard to tell the difference between reality and dreams? When it is sleep that you are trying to escape from.
Rahul got up and looked aimlessly in the dark for the bottle of water. As it happen always, when you try to be very cautious and do everything possible to not make noise, you end up hitting something and the noise just emerges. Rahul dropped the steel glass and wished the world would explode this instant.
Meera, Rahul and Shreya's mother entered the room.
"Are you okay, Rahul?" she asked.
"I'm fine Mumma, just need some water," he responded.
"You should really sleep, it's getting late," she said.
"Yeah Mom, just going."
Before Meera went to bed, she decided to check on her father who was sleeping in the other room. All these years, he had taken such good care of her and now it was her turn. He was this tall tree that had protected the whole family - his siblings, their children, her siblings, their children. Everyone was welcome to relax in the shade of the tree. A man so tall and so wise, was alone now. But loneliness is a state of mind, what can you say about those who've lost it?
Meera's father had started forgetting things a few years ago and was now losing all bodily control. It pained her to see him like this - watching your hero crumble in front of your eyes. She thought of the times when he brought home fruits, when he would drop them to school, when she got married and when she brought him home.
There is no way forward from here, she thought. It's all downhill. She had no expectations, but would always hope that he remembered her name. What's in a name? she had once been told. Maybe it wasn't the name, but the association with it. That Meera was her daughter, that she was taking care of him, that he was with family. That would be her reward - a father recognizing his daughter.
Sometimes he would get it right and she would be filled with happiness. Like the times when we win a card game by chance, and we think we have conquered the secret of gambling. And she wishes those moments come sooner, even though she knows they are only going to get rarer.
In the morning, Meera sat down and to read the newspaper. She hated the grim headlines - nothing was happy in the world. In the corner was a small news clipping that read :
"16-year old girl commits suicide"
Priya was always full of questions. And she had once read that the greatest question a man faces is that of suicide. Whether life is even worth living.
Song : Mai Ni Meriye by Mohit Chauhan
Happy Birthday Blog. You're 5 now! :D
BamBam and Pebbles :
5 comments:
loved reading it! seems like you enjoyed writing it :)
but DUDE! you make priya'as questioning sound stupid! All questions are important. pffft. if we didnt ask all sorts of questions, we wouldn't know which ones matter.. and then we'd never get ANY answers.
and then where would we be?
yeh, there are some typos though.
i didn't intend it that way. but again, that's not my business. people interpret different things from the same piece of writing.
The entire piece seems to be about unfinished business. And in this absence of closure lies the longing of the characters. There is some exhaustion closely associated with hope. One feels choked hoping against hope, searching for absent answers.
There is some exhaustion closely associated with hope - what an honest and accurate observation. thank you for reading - I hope you liked it :)
I can very strongly associate with the hazards of hope. I once made a spontaneous painting that was stimulated by this very exhaustion that you talk about so subtly - http://karanvohraart.blogspot.in/2011/11/hazards-of-hope.html
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