Twisted tales

Like I said, I am free all day. Well! I hope you haven't presumed that it's going to be the same drab account which I spill on you , every time you come here . Kiddos! I am not here to frighten you. I am a great fabulist. Although forthcoming stories have been cut short by you-know-what but still there are tales from the past-- crying out loud to be heard. The prospect of a story being recited has Pikku's eyes all lit up, he shouldn't really be that excited. He is a bit old to look for pleasures in make-believe anecdotes and events now. But I surmise he would take anything light that is going to be thrown at him. Hospital is a boring place after all!

I am however finding it difficult to begin. Save a few major incidents, every thing is spewed on the floor. If I were to write a history book on myself, anachronisms would be a cliche. I have conspired. I have suffered. I had my moments of success and defeats. I have erred. I have hurt others. I have also been on the receiving end. Like every one of you, I have had a life which has never allowed me to sit( don't read : sleep) and ponder over the vast intricacies of my life's tapestry.

There are a few confessions I have got to make. Still I have to mumble my unsaid prayers. I have to mend somethings I have changed forever. I have to undo things that should never have been done in the first place. The clock might beat me. I might die with regret. Not a good way to cross over, I tell you.

Perhaps Pikku would have to wait for sometime. Details are sketchy. Thoughts are as round as a doughnut. He is heaving a sigh. Looks disappointed. May be I will trick him into talking about his latest crush in college or about Barcelona-ManU match which had him on the edge of his seat some days back.

P.S: I should have cut the crap. Rather could have scribbled it in a line. Or would have went on to say it in one go ." I wanted to tell you a story. Somehow never figured out which one I should tell first!".

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Saturday here and Pikku is having no classes today. He is gasping and still trying to collect his breath. In his absence, I was only rolling my fingers and moving here and there in the park. Many a time, I had an irresistible urge to write but my frailty held me back. It won't be a lie if I said that I was impatiently waiting for Pikku to turn up and help me empty whatever feelings I had stashed for the occasion in my leaky bucket.

The hospital is in a frenzy this morning. Through my glass I can see a flurry of activities. Everyone seems to be in a hurry. This is time to administer the first dose of the never-ending sequel of pill popping. Today being Saturday, relatives have finally found sometime to visit poor chaps like us. Minutes ago, nurse had come in and made me assume uncomfortable postures. Why? She was doing my bed and removing things that were hiding beneath the bed-sheet to pinch against my back. She would have sung the cleanliness song if I had asked her to stop and leave me unperturbed with my thoughts. But even now, situations have not tired from stopping by, every once in a while to make things difficult for me in their inimitable style. Pikku has brought me a chocolate, for he knows, I have always loved it. So much so, that on my pyre, I might be seen munching on it. Sit for once in adulation and then sleep forever. Who knows? Strange things are expected to occur after I have had enough of everything.

Do you think the details of my ailment are really that important? It would take him ages to understand what abstruse piece of shit all of this is. He won't be able to spell it for the next ten years. Pikku gives me a glare for underestimating him. Come to think of it, would you bother to nurse a hand that has scourged you since the dawn of time? Pikku doesn't like to hear the name of the disease. As it stands, it is hell-bent to snatch me away from him.

My parents make countless visits to my place. So that I never feel that I am left to my own imbecile, rusty devices. They are the perpetual springs of love. I have always wondered how they generate this endless forbearance to love someone even when he has never reciprocated it in a way he should have. We never pause and think how good our parents are when we are going strong. But somehow now, I have come to believe that even in the most turbulent of times, when even "you" desert yourselves, the faith and love of our parents anchors us to something so immovable that adversities fall like flies in front of it.

Pikku sighs. There is a tint of smile on his lips. I like to think he is smiling because of the same reason as I am. Perhaps not. Because I started beaming first. And seeing it, Pikku gave me the widest smile he has ever sported. I pray that nothing crops up to steal that glimmer in his eyes. So why did I smile? I was thinking how even the most rockiest of people thaw at the thought of death. How all our principles which we have looked down upon all our life return with unconquerable force and we kneel and embrace them happily.

I am going through some of your blogs. They smell of life and hope. Well! to an ailing man, life, hope and love are his drugs. He loses even the last shreds of his immunity whenever he encounters these three musketeers . I would comment and they might seem dispirited and lackluster. Excuse me people for that.

There is a hint of pain in Pikku. Looks afraid. I have so many things undulating out of me! Looks like there is a flood that would take everything in its control. Pikku knows he would grow tired at the end of the day. In bits and pieces, intermittently , he would write, all through the weekend, under the annoying noise of an eternally slow fan. There is a little channel of sweat that has appeared out of some invisible pore in his visibly ( read understandably) pallid skin and is gradually sliding down. I believe when you love someone very much, it cuts both ways. I feel sorry for him. Indeed.

I sound like a cannibal. I feel like I am trying to push him off the cliff. But then my eyes have issued an apology to him and he seems to have forgiven me.

P.S:: For the record, I am strolling in the park and would handpick anyone who catches my fancy. Lets say if you give me a reason to smile, I shall hold you tight , to the point that you may suffocate. I have this knack ( so characteristic of perishable organisms)of clinging to people and things that give me hope. A reason to live.

Underlying mathematics is simple . I like you, I blog-roll you!

Ciao.

Unwrapping the shroud

Life is funny. Perhaps because you discover good things at the very end. Or choose to look deeper only when you haven’t got much time left with you. I have been spending every hour since last three months , trying to enjoy every little thing that life is throwing at me. Lying on my bed, with not much room for body movement, I feel so claustrophobic. With every little part of your body turning stiff, there isn’t much you can do but recollect. Think. Of all my hits and misses. Why I was here and what really did I manage to accomplish. Wonders me how I have never ceased from evaluating myself through my inner eyes. It makes me sad to think that I am all set to lose the lengthy conversation sessions I used to have with myself.

I have my cousin , Pikku, who would do all the writing for me. Young that he is, he used to spend quite sometime in front of his computer– before my illness chipped in to cramp his indulgence. I reckon he cares for me. It is so funny and awkward when people praise or pull your leg right in your face. So while I narrate to him all this, in broken sentences, I can see his eyes gradually swelling up with tears. He has been a tough lad, all this time. He has been holding his guard against all debilities ever since he started making his rounds here. This is more of a soliloquy than anything. At least, I intended it to be like that before a thought rushed through my mind, forcing me to change the whole philosophy behind this business.

One thing I have realized is that when your end draws nigh, you have got a lot of things to say. You can go on and on, and yet the river of thoughts refuses to stay behind the shaky walls of your mind. I am sure Pikku would find it difficult to wade through my wordy discourses. He would have given in but it is one pretty favor he has decided to award this dying man. Perhaps some divine design has intervened to confer him with more strength and pity!

I am not going to disclose who I am. For reasons more than one:

1) Death confers anonymity. It’s my dress rehearsal before I enact my final scene. A touch of Shakespeare here, but it is so difficult to preclude his effect from my school of thoughts.

2) I don’t want my final days to get all the glare and turn into a jocoserious melodrama.

3) Because my views are more important than my name.

Every one around me here, sitting in and outside my room know who I am. I admit that the thought of death is a bit discomforting. Some days , I have seen people from my locality come in swarms and mull over my inevitable, impending demise. I must say that it feels good when people want you to live and enjoy your stay. It gives a whole new meaning to your very existence. It evaporates all your vexed notions in thin air.

I would try to remain regular. But I was never the one with the gift of the gab. Illness has further impaired my fluency. I am speaking from last 45 minutes or so and yet the thing is far from complete. Pikku writes slowly and finds it difficult to discern some of my words. Also I must not be heavily numb or else everything can go all awry. Medicines taste bitter. They induce sleep which lately I have come to hate like anything. If Pikku gets embroiled in college chores or something, then posting would be impossible. But then, he looks at me( as I say this) with a complaining eye. He seems to assure me that he would keep everything on the back burner, just to let me speak out to you. I am giving him a telepathic vibe of heartfelt gratitude.

P.S :: I won’t really employ any jargon to hide myself. Partly because I am incapable of applying any jugglery anymore. And also because Pikku is a teeny wee small in age to even know how to counter-attack the artifice of computer wizards. If you really look hard for me, you would find me if I have yet not exit the scene. But I wish I could masquerade into someone so invisible that he could only be heard but never seen. I have always regarded invisibility to be the closest kin of oblivion. And death is pure oblivion.

Pikku is pestering me to allow him to garnish this blog a little. He wants to put up a few pictures. He wants my epitaph to look presentable. Doesn’t matter much to me anyway! If he violates some copyright rules in the process, blame me. Look for me in the dark with your torches . But find me not before I am dead.

Also, the whole coherence of thoughts might be missing. I am having Pikku write everything , as and when something appears on the canvas of my mind. Also the grammar can make you all dizzy . But then, Life ain’t got any grammar either!