There is an image. There is a memory. Well, that is pretty much all I have. There are many roads and there are many destinations, but I have lived long enough to realize that they are all virtual. All roads end at an image. All destinations leave you with a memory.
The neighbor knocks on the door with her toddler. The kid has developed a liking for me. I suspect he knows that I need his extra affection. He jumps into my lap and drags me towards his favorite corner of my house. The terrace. It opens into nothing. An image from a far off billboard stares at him. A memory from far off stares at me. Both of us stare at nothing. This is our favorite pastime.
From 8 floors below, an ambulance blares its horn. The cup of silence is broken. The kid groans. I console him,"It is nothing." He smiles. Pure angel! I smile, more out of compulsion than choice. But it seems to be a stretch. The taxing smile reminds me of a song penned by Gulzar. The song reminds me of.......well, nothing. There is a memory and that's that.
The mother walks into the terrace. The chill of the winter breeze fills her with concern about her kid. She fits his small round face in the straitjacket of a monkey-cap. The kid has agony writ all over his face. I want to tell him," Here's a lesson for you kid. Never ever fit somebody in a straitjacket. Some might not show their agony before it is too late." But I am afraid he will hate my philosophizing. Silence is everything. Philosophy, nothing!
The kid looks at me with a silent plead in his eyes. I can't offer him any solace except easing the cap from the edges. He grunts. It is not enough. Nothing is, I want to say. A pigeon flies across us in the dead of the night. His attention is diverted. I like the way his face turns along the trajectory of the flight. The bird, the kid and me form a domino. This is the thing with dominoes, when one falls, all of them fall. And once the spectacle is over, nothing is left standing. The kid looks at me with mild rebuke. Bring me that pigeon I say. I smile sheepishly.
The mother comes back. Time to sleep, baby. The kid hides his face in the sleeve of my shirt. There is an ostrich inside me too. Just that the kid is more honest. He protests. The mother persists. There is a thing with mothers. They are so patiently persistent. They know that they know better. Kids hate it. The kid hates it. But he knows he has to give in. He holds on to me tightly. Somewhere inside his small curious temples, there is a knowledge that it is of no avail. Yet he tries. He knows he is buying time. But he didn't expect that I'll hand him over finally. He looks shocked. I should not have given up on him. May be, we could have together stayed still on the terrace forever!
The mother feels glad to have him in her arms. She mumbles sweetly. Say Goodnight baby. The baby turns his face away. He has a right to feel cheated. I shake my hands in a goodbye frantically, to have his attention for one last time. They are gone. I stare out of my deserted gate. The eye grapples with the idea of another sleepless night ahead. The mind sits still like a monk - there is an image, there is a memory, but most importantly, there's nothing!
The neighbor knocks on the door with her toddler. The kid has developed a liking for me. I suspect he knows that I need his extra affection. He jumps into my lap and drags me towards his favorite corner of my house. The terrace. It opens into nothing. An image from a far off billboard stares at him. A memory from far off stares at me. Both of us stare at nothing. This is our favorite pastime.
From 8 floors below, an ambulance blares its horn. The cup of silence is broken. The kid groans. I console him,"It is nothing." He smiles. Pure angel! I smile, more out of compulsion than choice. But it seems to be a stretch. The taxing smile reminds me of a song penned by Gulzar. The song reminds me of.......well, nothing. There is a memory and that's that.
The mother walks into the terrace. The chill of the winter breeze fills her with concern about her kid. She fits his small round face in the straitjacket of a monkey-cap. The kid has agony writ all over his face. I want to tell him," Here's a lesson for you kid. Never ever fit somebody in a straitjacket. Some might not show their agony before it is too late." But I am afraid he will hate my philosophizing. Silence is everything. Philosophy, nothing!
The kid looks at me with a silent plead in his eyes. I can't offer him any solace except easing the cap from the edges. He grunts. It is not enough. Nothing is, I want to say. A pigeon flies across us in the dead of the night. His attention is diverted. I like the way his face turns along the trajectory of the flight. The bird, the kid and me form a domino. This is the thing with dominoes, when one falls, all of them fall. And once the spectacle is over, nothing is left standing. The kid looks at me with mild rebuke. Bring me that pigeon I say. I smile sheepishly.
The mother comes back. Time to sleep, baby. The kid hides his face in the sleeve of my shirt. There is an ostrich inside me too. Just that the kid is more honest. He protests. The mother persists. There is a thing with mothers. They are so patiently persistent. They know that they know better. Kids hate it. The kid hates it. But he knows he has to give in. He holds on to me tightly. Somewhere inside his small curious temples, there is a knowledge that it is of no avail. Yet he tries. He knows he is buying time. But he didn't expect that I'll hand him over finally. He looks shocked. I should not have given up on him. May be, we could have together stayed still on the terrace forever!
The mother feels glad to have him in her arms. She mumbles sweetly. Say Goodnight baby. The baby turns his face away. He has a right to feel cheated. I shake my hands in a goodbye frantically, to have his attention for one last time. They are gone. I stare out of my deserted gate. The eye grapples with the idea of another sleepless night ahead. The mind sits still like a monk - there is an image, there is a memory, but most importantly, there's nothing!
Loved this one.
ReplyDelete@Aditya: thnx!
ReplyDelete