>> Saturday, June 30, 2007

It rains off and on and I don’t have much to complain. When the clouds gather, full of thunder, and hang low over the city, the view shines out in a clear golden light, an enamored domain, free of the storm and darkness of night. Only that when it rains, the asphalt full of ditches and pavements with puddles of water reflect pieces of my own self. In a myriad of reflection – a myriad of mirrors. The remains of the carnival called life, is a heap of rubbish but for me it is still a holiday – the private holiday of a hedonist. The way I live, makes me feel, I’m slowly committing suicide. You may not ask for death but sometimes deep within yourself, you long for an end. We keep existing in time, building and rebuilding on its ruins, but for how long can one afford persistent abandonings? I’ve commenced to imagine that there is a sweet smell of decay in my room. Even when all lights burn, my room remains in an unremitting shadow. I can only endeavor to resemble outside it, an imperfect copy of what I’ve already lost somewhere. I stand pure in this decay because our emotions are the rulers. They assail us like robbers, they mock all our resolutions. I’d rather say, I sense deficiency of a land, of a sure terrain, of a sort of permanent landscape of the heart. I'm trapped in my own complex feelings.

Day before when it drizzled, I peered out of my balcony into the coherent and unbroken vastness from horizon to horizon and detected only a void into which I hunted for distance and relief from the mirage of mountains that quivered around me with visible heat. It seemed that the shadowed passes around me could not lead out to those remote and sunlit azure hills but only look down on them as if on fabled kingdoms, across the barrier of possibility. The wind that breathed past me and moved the banal wind chimes hanging everywhere in my living room brought phantasmal sound of bells, and expired again, tired as life. In the patter of rain I could listen sober tenor of expectations reduced, desires blunted, hopes deferred, chances lost, defeats accepted and griefs borne. The progression of sound going from lyrical to even quaint to even harsher. I’ve armed myself with patience and resignation, which is always there in me ready to immunize my failures and curb any desire. Beneath all this is a passive, unmoved repose, the will underlying all personal emotions, my inheritance.

What lingers in some of us, in me is a child but without any childish joy- a pampered, angry little girl, ready to pout if something interferes with my whims. Blandishments and promises will not lure me. I'll sit down expecting the worst. What is worst, is beyond me, but I bet life can devise something. I can not tell whether my reticence expresses coolness of feeling or suppresses happiness that probably I’ve just discovered. In posterity, 'the past', which only scratched old wounds on a tranquil morning, is now, ‘a present’ healing itself and pursuing me into innumerable depleting dreams. The worst injury, the worst betrayal is the knowledge of it. I betray myself, everyday.

So many incredible things have happened that I have become completely blasé. I’m no heroine of a romantic novel and it never was my ideal to die of romance but I try to delve into the worst of suffering, convincing myself, it is pleasure. Every morning I wait for the twilight when the sky turns deep blue with a wide purple channel through it for the night to come flowing in. I hear memory – voices quarrelling. And the talk too is nearly the same. The kind of things said before, repeated now; chewed swallowed. At times, I strain my name in the clamor, the spirit of the abyss calling me to join them in their nocturnal dance. I hate myself for being back again, from where I’d fled with a bruised forehead, all purple and gold. Those pages are yellow from age, spotted with droppings of ashes and traces of tears. I keep coming back because I’ve held those memories as a beloved locket; inside which is preserved a tiny distorted image of happiness. Perhaps, I need a deeper melancholy, a renovating anguish, an intolerable pain, a dark cave where sensation is drowned in the enormous, which wangles to rouse me, from the approaching langour of death. I might be buried but I’m fiercely alive and so I require a stroboscopic image pulsing to reassure me by subliminal tricks that though I’m nowhere, I’m home.

I keep pouring, not knowing whether I’m thirsty or to buoy my spirits.. I might be immersed in the vainest of passions but I’m only drunk with emotions.. I want to fall asleep quickly, into a place beyond sleep, deep and silent... grappling in the vague gray that transforms into a hollow blackness inside my head. Hmm .. I’ve had one drink too many, but I’m only a little exuberant, not drunk.


Nash July 1, 2007 at 12:37 AM  

You can write like this when you are drunk? I am amazed !! As usual, so beautiful. You have made this night somber for me. No worries. It is naught.

Inconsequential July 1, 2007 at 2:41 AM  

Nice imagery.


Hands off the knife though!

Equivocationalist July 1, 2007 at 8:08 AM  

Very moving, Aria. You have a gift for capturing emotion by the aigrette and encasing it in words.

"I try to delve into the worst of suffering, convincing myself, it is pleasure."

This, I can relate to, but in truth, it is far from it. It's merely a wall to distance yourself from the world. As much as I adore reading your description of such melancholia, I hope the wall does not stand the test of time, and that when it is broken down, that you will regale us with such beautifully poetic prose from beyond its boundaries. Until such time, I shall delight in the opportunity to read the heartfelt words of such a gifted, if troubled, writer.

aria July 1, 2007 at 1:29 PM  

Nash .. me drunk ? I'm a teetotaler ;) Heh! thank you :) and sorry for making your night somber :( Btw try scribbling something after a couple of drinks.. you gonna surprise yourself :D

Inconsequential .. Thanks :)
I want yours @ knife. I've assumed it cuts really deep. :D

Equivocationalist .. Thank you! :) That was your hallmark eloquent comment.. which I often feel.. reads better than my post.

AakASH!!! July 1, 2007 at 10:56 PM  

'...but I’m only a little exuberant, not drunk.'

I wonder how will you write when you cross the threshold of exuberance and step into the maudlin stupor.

Beautiful post, it's palette full of colrs like giant tufts of pregnant clouds gathered on a dusty summer afternoon.

Just one hitch, did you really mean 'Azure' hills, like the blue mountains? Or was it some shade of green that you wanted?

aria July 2, 2007 at 12:28 PM  

Thanks :) After a drizzle if you look out.. (coz the view is clearer after) and there are hills in the background .. far far away outlining the horizon.. they appear lazuline and surreal. At least that is what I'd noticed in few trips to hill stations during summers. I was intrigued by that sight and it seemed to me that you can't reach there.. you can only look at them and wonder.. so yes I meant blue.. not green.

The Hermit of Wandering Thoughts July 2, 2007 at 4:45 PM  

funny i too was writing about rain..

cheti July 3, 2007 at 1:36 PM  

Aria !

I left a comment at Vi's blog on writer's block. Perhaps, it was you I had in mind. Just Perhaps.

"I'll sit down expecting the worst. What is worst, is beyond me, but I bet life can devise something"

Life definitley obliges when we sit down and expect such things ! Like I have said earlier, inspite of the selfish pleasure of reading such beautiful poetic prose, I wish you dont find the reason and motivation to write such stuff !

vi July 3, 2007 at 5:19 PM  

Ditto to what Equivocationalist wrote the only thing is I can't put it so eloquently!

Btw, read comments to your previous post and as long as you write I will read :)


The Hermit of Wandering Thoughts July 3, 2007 at 5:43 PM  

Oh that post is on my MSN Blog.. sorry
heres the link!70AF0E8D7E855912!8360.entry

nice template it looks good

AakASH!!! July 3, 2007 at 9:43 PM  

Pardon me for the doubt, Aria. Yes distance does bring in different shades.

But being from the hills itself, I always saw them in different shades of green. Though I know of the Jamaican Blue Mountains, and the coffee from there. =)

Read it again, and i simply love your writings.

asuph July 3, 2007 at 10:43 PM  

This piece reminds me of your poetry. I liked it, yes, but I think you've flushed it out too fast. Maybe you should've let it ripen a bit, taking control of you, and made it into a largish piece. A ramble kind of blog seems like an under-sale for thoughts like these. Just my humble opinion.


aria July 4, 2007 at 4:36 AM  

Zofo .. Will check it out! :)

Cheti .. *sigh* what can I say that was touching. Thanks :)

Vi .. Me too. Thanks :D

Aakash .. :( @ pardon me. I'm giving wrong expressions everywhere. I didn't mean that. I can count on my fingers, how many times I've seen hills and forget jamaica, I haven't even been to Nepal. So you could be right. Perhaps they are neither green nor blue. They seem the way you see them :D I thought they were blue maybe coz of the blue skies .. chuck it.. and thanks a lot. :)

Asuph .. It was both good & bad. I was genuinely rambling .. and coz you thought it was worth more .. it makes me happy coz it was so .. and regretful coz I didn't give it much time. You seem to grasp almost everytime . .when I post in a hurry :( Thanks for your comment :D

AakASH!!! July 4, 2007 at 7:03 AM  

Expressions need no apologies, only perceptions do. And they too are personal. Thus let us get over this.

I researched my mind and the internet, and i remember seeing the blue mountains on misty winter mornings, and this was confirmed by a google search on Jamaican Blue Mountains. Maybe that image particularly lingered on your mind.

And you are always welcome!

asuph July 4, 2007 at 10:24 AM  


When I said you didn't give it enough time, I did not mean in the sense of hurrying while writing, but the very fact of "using" it. You know, you could have jotted it down somewhere, just so that you won't lose it, and then let it simmer, till it morphed into something that was beyond personal -- and that you're capable of.


aria July 4, 2007 at 1:17 PM  

Aakash .. hmm you searched THAT on internet? :) Ok! Honestly, I saw 'blue mountains' only recently on tv, during the world-cup. I did not mean blue mountains. Hills are mostly full of vegetation, perhaps that's why you are insisting on green but in all my trips to shimla and mussoorie and nainital whenever I looked out in the morning, the really far off ones, outlining the horizon, appeared blue to me but I think it's trivial.

Asuph .. yes .. I'd understood, what you meant. I "flushed it off" without an after-thought like that whiskey-soda poem, is what you'd said and so it was pretty clear :)

AakASH!!! July 4, 2007 at 9:51 PM  

You are right Aria, they do appear blue. :)

In my last comment i meant the image of distant blue mountains, and not 'THE Blue Mountains', but;

Blame it on the absence of sound
simplicity is, but words confound.

Aadaab arz hai!

aria July 5, 2007 at 10:21 AM  

Tasleem :D

AakASH!!! July 8, 2007 at 9:56 PM  

My My, what a template! Erudite!

aria July 9, 2007 at 7:36 PM  

After juggling with a dozen templates.. I think I've finally settled for this one :D Glad you liked it too.

Alok August 13, 2007 at 7:50 AM  

Extremely well written ... there r several lines that I can quote but the constraint of space wldnt permit that but let me quote just one ..

"I keep coming back because I’ve held those memories as a beloved locket; inside which is preserved a tiny distorted image of happiness. Perhaps, I need a deeper melancholy, a renovating anguish, an intolerable pain, a dark cave where sensation is drowned in the enormous, which wangles to rouse me, from the approaching langour of death. I might be buried but I’m fiercely alive .....

I can read this post again and again


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