Mortifying Consciousness

I’m unwilling to do anything, to even write, but I force myself to grip the pencil and scrawl across the gleaming pages of my pristine notebook, throwing methodical mannerisms to the wind as I have no patience to bear with a forcefully elegant fountain pen.

…And yet again, I focus on the trivial. But that how is my mind works, my thoughts run. For it is my belief that it only takes a few words and an encompassing perspective to breathe life into the most mundane of things. And so it is – I spend every waking moment trying to create such scenes, in a vain attempt to appease my insatiable desire to feel…well, touched, even inspired.

A mammoth task for someone in the grip of disillusionment.

Disillusionment: a perfect word for describing the very void which everyone faces at some point of their lives and subsequently tries to escape. That vacuum which I’m currently face to face with. The void which speaks of nothing but the bitter, unchanging truth – reality is merely an illusion and this world, our lives are equally transient, expendable and perishable. We who are entangled in the charms of this world are only too aware of the ephemeral form we inhabit and gaze upon everyday in the mirror. And we, as always given to fear, run away, seeking to distract ourselves from our impending certainty – with what, I think I hardly need to illustrate.

It is through such existential ponderings that I have been stripped of all that I have ever known about myself – feeling nothing, unable to relate to anything.

How does it feel to wade through mechanical, repetitive actions merely meant to ensure your survival in the society, knowing you have absolutely nothing to look forward to?

This merely scratches the surface of this limbo-like condition.

However, enough of this morose stuff. My purpose to write was – as a person does during times of crisis – to try and create something that I could revel in, hoping meanwhile it will last long enough to take me through this dark tunnel of a phase to see light at the end. For my being is trained to respond to stimuli and my mind, as fickle as ever, always craves for the unexplored. It must be something profound enough to negate this state of nothingness that I’m presently caught up in.

But then again, what do I even write about? 

Essence

You were always there, standing

Not by my side, but behind

Lurking in shadows, lest

You come in my way.

Even though I was never fulfilled,

Going further and further, in vain

Seeking to be completed.

Yet did you not ever think

Of making me realize

That what I sought was so ephemeral,

Fading at the slightest touch.

How foolish I am, despite

Crawling back to your embrace every night;

You were my own to call, my very refuge,

Always reminding me of the knowledge

Not yet turned to wisdom: I am nothing

And will return to nothingness.

Till the journey ends, you shall remain.

For even if I may call the shots

As the illusion fades, I will be

Just another creation, another lifetime.

A Glimpse Of Fulfilment

Note: This was originally written as a fanfiction of Ayn Rand's We The Living. For readers not acquainted with the novel, think of it as original fiction, with Russian names, of course. :)

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“Because we often love the man whom we torment,

 You, you, now you, only it should be the luck of my soul

  Come, follow me in the wonderland,

 Your dark eyes shine by the night!”

The song continued to grow hypnotic and mesmerizing as a perfectly pitched voice sang as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Rising in rhythm, it seemed to blend with the surroundings – the heavy fragrance of newly bloomed flowers lingered in the air and the soft breeze was laden with the refreshing scent of water – all of it as if taking me into a trance. For a moment, I had forgotten that I stood on the shore of a sprawling lake which disappeared into thick woods all around,

The breathtaking scenery however did not match up to the intoxicating effect that the voice had, so taken I was with it.

…So much that I couldn’t look away from the vision of beauty that Kira Argounova was – who merely stood feet apart from where I was.

And I, Andrei Taganov, stood frozen at my place. To think that I would meet Kira again…unimaginable.

The song ceased and life returned to my senses. And yet it seemed as if I had been seamlessly merged into the environ that Kira had created. She stood tall and slender, gracefully draped in soft pastel shades of crepe that fluttered in the breeze. Her tousled brown hair fell on both sides of her delicate neck that was stretched like a swan’s, as if she was laughing, rejoicing in the eternal bliss of the universe – adding to a demeanor so alive and carefree. Her grey eyes were full of joy and masked beneath them was an everlasting understanding of life and its mysteries. The lit sky was beyond her, giving her an almost angelic appearance and the shifting shafts of sunlight that streamed through the overlying foliage made those very eyes…glimmer.

…She did not smile. Her lips were set in a firm and yet yielding line. She did not move – time seemed to stand still , if only to immortalize the magnificent splendor – gentle, elegant and giving – that stood in the form of Kira.

I couldn’t bring myself to speak. However, that was exactly what she wanted me to do.

I would have been content to simply gaze into her eyes and relive the memories, the only happy memories of my life that I had shared with her. But as my eyes met hers, the impending storm beneath the calm startled me out of my reverie.

She raised her head in a long-drawn, mocking laughter.

“Oh, Andrei…do you even realize why you’re here?”

I was taken aback. However, I chose not to show my surprise. “Kira, I…”

She raised her hand. “Don’t bother. We both know why we are here.”

‘Here’. What did it mean? We were not in Petrograd. Hell, we were not even ‘abroad’ – the mystical place which partly accounted for risking our lives

Then where were we?

To see Kira before me…the fact in itself…

“…Kira! You don’t, you certainly don’t mean…”

She looked away, whispering. “I wanted to meet Leo again.”

She looked at me as I slowly approached her. Placing my hands on her shoulders, I tried to be as gentle as possible. “It’s all right. One doesn’t give up on loving even when it is no longer requited.”

Her eyes closed, Kira murmured. “It never was. Oh, Andrei, I…I couldn’t see...”

I tenderly held her in my arms. “Loving you was enough in itself. I willingly chose to make the sacrifice.”

She did not move. Her stance rigid, her head against my shoulder. Tears had begun to flow but I withstood the fact that they were not for me.

They never will be.

The scene rapidly changed as the light changed it colors and Kira seemed to be fading from my hands. Her purpose here was fulfilled.

As the light enveloped me, I held on to Kira, before letting go.

I took but a moment to reflect. All that we had done, sacrificed…resulted in nothing.  I gave up my position in the Party, only so that Kira could be with that wretched Leo Kovalensky again. I loved her but she loved him. Was it worthwhile in the end: going to all extents, giving up our lives, dying in the unfulfilled hope of being loved?

I knew the answer to my question as well as I knew how Kira would answer.

“Kira…I always have, do and will love you…my highest reverence…”

A fading smile was all that I got in response.

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Another note: The opening lines are the translation of ‘Song of Broken Glass’ – Kira’s favourite song in the novel - which is actually an operetta called Die Bajadere by Hungarian composer Emmerich Kalman. Yes, I can go to such extents for being original. ^^"

Flight Of Volition

“I wish I could fly like that.”

He turned, letting only his hand doing the work of flying the kite. I couldn’t see beyond his dark glasses but I could detect amusement nonetheless. 

“What makes you think you can’t fly?” he asked lightly.

I sighed. “In retrospect, I think I don’t want to be like a kite. No one wishes to be torn apart by those dreadful threads.”

Quiet laughter met my response and he turned towards the task at hand. I stopped myself from gritting my teeth in frustration. Uttarayan was always annoying for me – I could never learn how to fly a kite. And while I could understand the sheer pleasure that came from taking down another’s kite and the competitive spirit that marked this day, it was of no use to someone who was rendered only holding the firki. Or so as I thought.

“Here,” he gestured for me to come closer. The light blue kite was way high up in the sky, so much that I had to squint to look at it. “Hold this and answer your question yourself.”

“Even up so high, it’s still bound to the earth. You call that freedom?”

“You’re contradicting yourself. Sometimes, even a taste of it is enough. For if the kite were to be completely free, it would never come back. And that is not what it’s purpose is.”

I looked back at him, astonished. In that moment, I let go of the string and the kite swerved wildly, careening down.  It almost fell to the earth till he grabbed the string from my hands and stabilised it again.

“If you let go of the string, you don’t fly away; you fall to the earth instead.”

The lesson was learnt. I reached for the firki and stepped closer to the parapet. “Let’s spare the poor kite our philosophical repartee, shall we?”

I didn’t need to look at him to see his eyes crinkling with mirth. 

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Again, I wonder if this makes sense. Oh well.

Happy Makar Sakranti, everyone!

Unfulfilled Wishes

Fireworks lit up the sky. Cheers and yells resound through the air.

She’s sitting by her window, gazing at the revelry all around. Cold and alone, she wraps her arms around her knees, sighing.

Memories flit behind her closed eyes.

I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand

The place glimmering with candles, she twirls around, her flowing red dress glowing in the dark. She spins and he catches her, drawing him to her, whispering the promises of a lifetime.

A year ago. Seems like another life altogether.

This fire burns
I realize that nothing's as it seems

Oh, how she loved that song, and still does. She was never for dancing, but that night…aroused in her feelings she couldn’t have expressed through words.

Her back arched, supported only by his strong hands and he leans in to kiss her as the fireworks set off.

Happy New Year, my love.

She could have lived forever in that moment, but, isn’t it just another human weakness to try and attempt to make something so transient eternal?

The memory of that beautiful New Year’s is not enough to see her through this one.

But you knew I loved you,
We could have shown them all,
We should have seen love through

The sky still glitters and shimmers. She couldn’t be bothered with wishing people at this very hour.

The silence is just too overbearing.

It is with sheer willpower that she resists from calling him, not willing to further shatter the illusion. The illusion that it’s still the same, that any moment he would come home, greet her and everything will be all right again.

Strange that I was wrong enough,
To think you'd love me too.
I guess you were kissing a fool,

Why didn’t they dance to this song?

You must have been kissing… a fool.

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Most of my New Years' are spent alone, but not in this depressing manner. Oh well, but creativity finds its own way.

Hoping that everyone's had a good beginning to this year. :)

Lyrics credit: Sting's Desert Rose and George Michael's Kissing A Fool.