The Story Of My Life

If all the stories you wrote, if all the words you said, came to life, what is the story you would write? Would you be frozen, like the deer in the headlights, incapable of any action, or would you act on the power, and write for you a life story you truly deserve?

If someone asked the question to the me that was eight, of the story I would like to live by, the answer would have been quite a prompt & effortless one. I would have liked to run that ice cream cart, so I could have ice cream for free all day, or would have liked to paint the gaudy walls with trees & birds, a backdrop to my faux kathakali. Add in some Indiana Jones adventures to the mix, kick some ass and look for the ancient hidden treasures of the world. They’d make us very rich, I had heard. Being rich like that was the best thing that could happen to anyone, we would discuss, as we dug into the dirt with our little plastic spades, wide eyed excitement over every shiny crystal we found. With all that money, we could eat all the candy we wanted, and own a dog called dollar. How exciting would that be. So rich, and so much fun.

I like to believe, in some parallel universe, I am that child living the enchanted life I wrote for myself. A child, happy sprinting through neck high grass, like a little wild horse, with not a care in the world. The peals of laughter reverberating through the beautiful summer days, of chasing butterflies, building kitchen gardens & bird houses.

It would be great if an answer came as promptly & effortlessly now. For all those days of dreaming about powers that would be great to have, I find myself dumbstruck, just at the thought of a power so significant; the ability to live the story of my choosing and be the person I want to be, every person I want to be. It’s overwhelming, the responsibility that comes with a power like that, when the only person responsible for every twist & turn in the tale, would be me. What does one do when there is no one to blame? Scary thought that.

Looking back at the time that went by, the careless words, the unspoken ones, words that were meant to hurt, those that hurt, words that created, and those that destroyed what seemed like a complete lifetime; I have a new found respect for the power of words. The energy each one carries, the words that are written, those that are voiced, they are like pieces of a magical spell that one should never get wrong. We all know how bad a spell gone wrong can be.

The continual effort to find words that do justice to the way I feel. The uncomfortable screech of the wheels in the head, when the words don’t seem enough; the overbearing feeling, that if they were said aloud or put on paper, they would instantly turn to dust. Those times when silence says more, than any word could.

How easily they could become of a limiting nature, those words actualized, and yet each word carries within it the power to actualize all , no limits. It brings to my mind Midas’ dilemma, the realization that gold is not all that I may want.

What is that story I’d write. I wonder.

Teleported

Sultry summer day, as I ride down to work in a super rattle of a rickshaw… I catch on the air, a whiff of greens from the vegetable market, below. The early morning market by the flyover, with the freshest of peas, spinach and all things green.

The cars whizzing past, from the opposite direction… Miles Davis playing in the ear phones …This could be a wonderful shot for a new age documentary... a fast paced stylish thriller maybe!

Jump scene ~ there I was, dressed in a white linen blouse and a beige skirt; a wide brimmed hat, and beige stilettos that also worked as a back up on the ammo front. And the super stylish Jackie Kennedy shades of course. How can any picture of the Mediterranean thriller be complete without that piece of gorgeousness .

Sitting at the street side cafe ... in a shaky hand held camera frame... I waited for that message. A note on crisp white handmade paper, embossed in gold the words "the Alpha & the Omega". I waited for it to surface from the mugginess of the air , a clue to what was in store for me ahead.

Restless... sitting in a shaky frame can be as disturbing as watching the rain come down on a bladder ready to burst. "Tap tap tap ", my heels added to the rhythm of the wobble ... the Miles Davis thrown in, I could see the order in the chaos now. I could feel myself getting ready to drop the act in the Moroccan drama and get back to the rickshaw sans the exotic. Maybe break into a dance on the roof of the rickshaw even.

How do I get back to reality though? Which one was my reality anyways!? Whatever happened to the message, I wondered. Messages are supposed to come easy. Easy & Effortless.

Waiting for the "sign".... still waiting... some more.

I decided to spend my time waiting, over a cup of kahwa. I took a tiny sip of the dense bitterness...a tiny sip is all it took & the world around me collapsed...a tiny sip, and all the pieces fell into place right away. As quickly as I jumped from the rickshaw to the exotic Moroccan tale...I was transported back to the mundane.

In my hand, I held a folded piece of handmade paper. My heart skipped a beat, at the sight of the message that surfaced out of thin air, I carefully opened the folds to read the message it held.

"The Alpha & the Omega" ... is all it said. That was all it was, all this while, easy & effortless. Truly, the beginning & the end.

The Great Britannica

The Great Britannica is shutting its gates forever”, she said.

“This is our last chance to go visit... the last 80 days”

I sneaked a peek into the schedule in her hand. The yellowing paper broken at its edges, the old school cursive script a tint of brown- It all looked like it belonged to another time.

Why a shutdown?, I wondered

I don’t have a visa to get there, be part of the last 80 days. The line outside the consulate will be a long one. How will I get there? I want to be there! London!, My mind rambled away.

Wait! I grabbed the schedule off her hands –

“Flying trapeze artists, Fire eaters, the bearded lady and talking lions”, What is this all about?

Uh Oh! A jumped scene. Accidental tap of the Kaleidoscope ONCE AGAIN. Ugh! I need to stop doing this ever so often. It is very confusing to my reality.

The Great Britannica - The circus was to stay in town for two weeks. Twenty years later it was still around. It ruled our hearts and washed out our brain all yellow.

Everyone loves a Circus, we loved it too. We clapped our hands and shrieked in Joy as we saw the Jesters hit each other with giant hammers and cannon ball themselves to faraway places. We sat astounded as the magicians painted us illusions of another world. We loved the oasis of colour and joy, all things wonderful, we would never let it go, never ever.

We plotted and schemed to make them stay, and the circus soon spilled over the town. For twenty years while we stared in awe at all that was vibrant, we lost our own sparkle within. Every day that passed, we clung on tighter, for fear of losing that which was dear.

Soon, the town itself was a circus, with a string of aping monkeys, and folks jumping through loop holes for fun. When that stopped being the fix, we moved to human cannon balls. More brutal, much more entertaining.

Ho hum! All this sadism is not much fun anymore, so we took the toxic to another level. Our hearts soared as blood founts spurted all over; we had finally reached that state of pure joy. This must be what they call Nirvana.

The last of the Magicians lay in the circus tent, the final act by the troupe. Only that he wouldn’t conjure up rabbits and doves out of the hat this time, it was his time to go. As the axe fell to a grand finale, he whispered, The Great Britannica is shutting its gates forever. Last 80 days. The circus is moving to another town

For us the circus ended that day. We were satiated, in a state of bliss. Little did we realise that in the absence of the others, the circus was now us.

The aping monkeys had no one to ape now and soon gave up the ghost, the absence of loop holes made our everyday life more and more tedious...

We had to find our peace; he had to hunt once again. In the midst of the new found realization that the circus was still not dead, we started hunting for that piece of peace, we turned against ourselves.

True to the words of the master illusionist, The Great Britannica shut its gates forever. 80 days, a town painted red, the circus had moved to another town

Day of the Ogre

Aaargh! So the anti hero is back. For all the excitement over brilliance, and the moment of epiphany when everything made sense, the day after has been the day of the ogre. Too many questions. Demand for specifics. Trend Reports. Analysis. Blah!

“You are headed for brilliance”, that’s great! Care to explain what this brilliance is all about?

Now only if I could explain brilliance to the buffoon.

If I could I would.

I cannot. It’s personal. I decide I don’t want to explain. I don’t want to explain it to the alter ego which is me and I don’t want to explain to anyone else who doesn’t get it.

My buffoon is going nowhere, it will hang around for a while, sulk in some corner hoping for an answer, and head out to find another raw nerve to trigger. The others who aren’t restricted within the confines of my cranial cavity will also stick around or go. Such is life.

And that’s the reason why I work alone.

The line is worn thin from all that use, and I finally get it. A different story, for a different day. For now let’s just assume I am one of those superhero snoots who don’t believe in sidekicks.

My life has turned into an eternal dance – 3 steps forward, 2 steps back, half a step forward, back. Every time I holler in joy for a cipher cracked, the course produces a new set of codes. The closer I get to the treasure, the obstacles bigger, tower over me. These supposedly bigger obstacles however, are not very menacing any more. It’s either a purpose, now not too far from being unveiled that numbs out the fear and pushes me to march on, or I have played this game too long, worked my way through the glitches and the maze is now just a predictable set of pieces that instinctively fit in when one has worked on putting them together, too often, for too long.

Faith and a few tricks is all you need to get through. An ogre who plays devil’s advocate is a nice pet; mine does the Polly parrot perched on my shoulder calling for crackers and some things inane, as I find my way through the last of the patches on my eye.

Sometimes he’s your plain old defence mechanism, the other times an echo of the self desecrating rouge program designed to disillusion you, but most of the times he is an alternate point of view, one that keeps you from stagnating, brings you closer to you.

End of the Maze. End of the story you think? This one maybe. But surely the beginning of a newer , more exciting one. Race you to the cup .... see where the portkey takes us this time.

Electric Whips, Iron Man and Me

This isn't a movie review. Just a lowdown on what it did for me.

Don’t understand how anyone can wake up early to go catch a movie. It’s just a movie for God's sake! I did wake up though, yesterday was my first - the first show of a movie on the first day of screening, and what a first! I walked out of multiplex, with a skip in my step and a wide grin pasted to my face. Don’t remember the last time I was exhilarated by a movie like this. Don’t remember the last time I was ecstatic about anything like this.

My senses are all cranked up as I hear the whips crack in my head. Iron Man 2, with its brilliance and its flaws has left me very inspired.

I have seen creative genius before. Many films out there, alternate universes, trailers of the potential that is, a life that can be. A book is probably a better trigger to my imagination, it gives me the creative liberty to do what I want with the story, go as big and loud as I want to and I am not restricted by another’s vision. A film like this once in a while however does more than it was meant to do. A visual treat with its double dose of brilliance - the brilliance of a reality created by special effects you want to be a part of and the brilliance of characters. Characters that you cannot take your eyes off, characters that leave you wanting for more.

Whip lash aka Ivan Vanko aka Mickey Rourke leaves me stunned. A genius of a character and very misunderstood, at that. Like many geniuses out there, gone to waste over an inane lost cause. The grace of a man of that bulk cracking his electric whips to a beautiful dance. I want to play the whips like him. Feel the power, be one with it.

And of course, then there is the Oh so narcissistic genius of Tony Stark aka Iron Man aka Robert Downey Jr. Very few people who can be narcissistic like he is, and be loved for it. Anyone who recognises the brilliance within is allowed to be proud, he better be proud. I do not understand humble brilliance. Well, I do understand it, but it’s not for me.

I am a borderline narcissist and I don’t know how to say that without the pejorative hue that comes with it, but I am very proud to be one. Don’t know how one evolves like that when the programming is to live modestly, be humble, and stay within limits. But I am probably one only because of the program. To never forget the humble beginning, but to also not believe in limits anymore. Not made to be mediocre.

Ever felt power that left you overwhelmed, scared and in awe of the brilliance all at once? I am in search of that exuberance. In search of the electric excitement, triggered by the whip lash, I want to crack along and feel that power every moment of my existence.

I know what I want to be when I grow up Mommy... I want to be Tony Stark and I want to be Whiplash, all rolled into one. I want Brilliance.

I'm the super hero just out from my coma. Struggling to remember my super power. Learning to be the super hero I want to be.