Letter to A

Dear A,

I would like to believe that like the lovely, flowing, starkly different notes gushing forth from an antique piano, love too, is not bound by uniformity, despite stemming from one beating muscular source- a tangible-yet-intangible source. And yet, no one object is more bound by clichés than is the object of love. Vision tinted by the calming essence of rosewater, autumnal leaves singing orange melodies, hearts pounding unto arrhythmia, vows of the hallowed ‘forever’, holding hands… is it possible that clichés are the undoing of your generation, a young generation, seeking true love?

One day, and maybe that day has come already, you will decide to set out on that lifelong quest to ‘be in love’. But I advise you to stop wanting to be in love. Instead, set your mind on understanding love, discovering it. There will be questions galore. How do you recognize love? How do you know you’re in love? How much is too much? When such dilemmas are faced, I recommend you resist the temptation of turning to one of those numerous badly-informed rulebooks which liken love to flushed cheeks and a wildly beating heart- if such is the feeling you require, a bout of high fever is what you need. These rules have been written by generations of semantically-blessed, lovelorn fools. And they are lapped up millions of lazy love-seekers who’re too lazy to discover the feeling for themselves. You must dare to be different. Learn your own lessons. Remember, there are no rules in love. If at all you need a rulebook, pen it down yourself, guided by your own experience. And if you feel your rules are nonsensical, tear them up, and carry on with your journey anyway.

You might beg to differ, because at your age you are no doubt highly idealistic, but there might be no such person as ‘the one’. Love is not about you or another person as individuals. It is about your dynamic as a couple, as a working unit. Yes, ‘the spark’ does exist, and you can find it with several people. But after a certain point, it boils down to how much effort you put in. Strive to better yourself as a person. Respect yourself and your partner. Sacrifice might be involved. Fight fiercely but sort things out with just as much passion. Compromise is inevitable, so be open to it. But if your happiness is being compromised too much, have the gumption to get out of the relationship. You will be doing everyone a favour. Be a rebel. Be a little selfish. Be a little selfless. Be practical. Be impractical. Keep with the times. Go retro. Move forward. Take a step back. Be philosophical. Keep it real. Trust implicitly. Be wary.

As is the unfortunate case with your entire generation, you too are matured beyond your age. So, I don’t need to stress on the need to be careful. Experiment all you want, if you must, without compromising on your ingrained morals, because that will kill your spirit one little grain at a time. You were brought up on the basic principle of ‘live and let live’. Never, and I mean never, attempt to destroy another for your needs. Never, ever cheat. Don’t go down the path of debauchery, because that is meant for the crude and sickly. Learn to care, truly care. Make your partner the most important person in your life, but don’t build an altar for him in the centre of your universe. Don’t make him your world, your everything. Have your own life. Don’t ignore your friends; they’re the ones who have your back all the way. Let your family have a say too, but no, theirs need not be the final word.

Love is not without heartbreak. Don’t be afraid of it. You’re human and you’ll get over it soon enough. Yes, people have killed themselves over heartbreak, but they were weak and lived for love. You mustn’t live for love. You must love to live, that’s more important. You were created so you could contribute some measure of beauty to the world, and you must do your bit even if it only requires you to be yourself. Have fun with life, with love. Keep smiling, stay in touch with your inner music and poetry cultivate the habit of laughing heartily. Chocolate helps too.

I can’t put an age to when one must fall in love. It comes down to maturity. I naturally still see you as a baby, and will worry myself sick and nag you till you tire of me. But, when you do find love, the kind of love that you believe is real, cherish it, nurture it, nourish it and most importantly bask in it, until you’ve tanned a content shade of scarlet.

Love,

Me

soul travel

As I drop down to my knees, my dreams rise above me, attempting to force-lift my captured spirit- carefully, letting not my throat graze against the shame-coated dagger of that dreaded, dreadful enemy- Surrender.

At that moment, when my spirit is mid-flight, my searching Soul looks within, into a miasma of past presents, presentable futures and futuristic pastiches. In this diaphanous vapor, quasi-illustrations of my life play out. They coil and recoil, fading down a path paved by a multitude of grand decisions- wise and unwise.

Past the haze of memory and yearning, Soul spots a great pool. One side of this strange lagoon is a bright turquoise blue, and is helmed by the mighty Foolish Hope, who has captured the Spring Sky to be his warrior in waiting. The other side, manned by a muscular Foolish Confidence, is a brilliant yellow, dyed no doubt by the essence of Sun- his trusted servant. The two liquid camps thrash and crash into each other, fighting as they always do. Foolish Hope has the unending sky on his side, but is crippled by the inane knowledge that sky is limit. Foolish Confidence, invigorated by the golden potion brewed by his magnificent servant, shuts his eyes and languorously splays his fingers across the expanse, marking his territory. And then, quite suddenly, he feels something sharp grip his fingertips, and realizes he has not been edging into Foolish Hope’s territory, but, in fact into the hellish, fire-ridden colony ruled by Cruel Reality.

Evaporated thus, by contact and association, the great dry basin now reveals a mass of soft, yielding sand. In it, Beautiful Temptation and Beautiful Deceit have formed a handsome tag team, and are flexing their chiseled muscles and issuing forth buttery smiles, seducing Soul to lie down, take a nap. My tired life essence is only too happy to oblige. But, the moment she touches the talcum totality of the expanse, she is sucked in by a powerful quicksand of Inner Turmoil. When she tries to lunge upwards, her conniving captors only wrap their sinewy arms tighter around her, taking her down.

Soul is convinced she is dead.

However, after a few seconds of sandy suction, she lands with a thud in a kingdom that has plastered all over its walls the rage-filled visage of Emperor Big Trouble. Into a tick-filled prison Soul is thrown, surrounded by Greater Wrongs, White Lies and Not Guilty. Things look up momentarily when the echoes of redemption breathe words of encouragement through the grimy walls. One night, with her three companions, Soul plans a great escape from the dungeon. They use a hammer called Resolve to beat away at the wall. Only the heavens bear witness to how they manage the feat. But they do.

Yet, Lady Freedom proves slinky and unwilling to be won over by mere criminals, one of them who now wields the hammer of Resolve, like a Thor in training.

After days spent in a dangerous forest called Terrible Confusion, they wander, quite by accident, into a peculiar employment agency. To Soul’s surprise, the pristine candidates, dressed in their Monday best, are waiting to be picked by none other than Soul herself. In line, looking eager and smart are virtues like Inner Beauty, Goodwill, Intelligence, Honestly, Temperance and Kindness. They vie. Soul weighs. But, without the employ of Clear Thinking, things are getting nowhere. ‘I want you all!’ Soul cries in anguish, Resolve starting to weigh rather heavily upon her shoulders.

‘Then, you’ll just have to choose me,’ replies the calm voice of Inner God. 

Running from thought

Thoughts swirl; twirl slowly, beautifully, poisonously

Coil prickly thorns of unrealised dreams

Around my throat

They smell of fragrant herbs, taste like unpolluted pain

Feel like the tears that might have been; had they not been sucked internally by the parched soul

Achy reflections chase the mind

Lassoing it with languid, smoky exactitude

In their clutches my essence lies, limp

Straitjacketed in the thick drapes of darkness

Loneliness, once an ally

Now, a folly

A moment of quiet

Is not to be

The mind rages with angst, yearning

Bitterness at the sorry, black pool

In which the spirit writhes like a fly drowning in snake’s venom

Longing for that calm

A dream that drifts farther every day

That dreadful orchestra of thought

Draws my core in, whole; spits it out in ravaged bits

The thick sap of contemplation coats them

A thin layer, for every passing day

Slow imprisonment 

Its amber my spirit will be, one day

Its slave in death