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.

Faux Peacock

He had been in a foul mood all day, kicking up a storm, cussing his heart out. I had no idea, what it was that had him twisted in a knot.

Poor pup dopey had gotten kicked a few times already; the next kick and Shraaz would lose a chunk of his foot. I was very sure. Any more cussing and a snapped head, that’s what he would have. Of that I was doubly sure.

Shraaz went to the cupboard, it had been in the family through many generations, seen many a skeletons. When one has lived so long, nothing really ever shocks. He pulled out an old tin box, it held candy once, the fading print last of its memories of better, sweeter days. Shraaz now pulled out a tuft of fuzz, a five strand hair piece. It looked like something the cat brought in. It was his prized possession. The men in his family, up until four generations before him had worn the bit with great pride. It had seen better days, days when the strands were many more.

With his preciousness held gently in the palm of his hands, Shraaz pulled out a can of silver spray. Like an artist working on his masterpiece, he sprayed across the strands with utmost precision. Out came the tube of glue , “ Stick ‘em up Pardner”, the energies looked like they were brightening up, all ready to cut through the gloom set by the Shraaz-ness all morning.

The glue went onto the fuzz... he slapped it onto his scantily clad head. The foul mood was all magically gone. The furry silver crown had brought out the peacock in Shraaz. With his silver fringe, the shining glory, he strutted around in circles, arrogance dripping all over.

It was a difficult choice, didn’t quite know what I liked better, his crass or the royal, pain in the rear end arrogant version.

Shraaz was in all surety the last who would use the head piece.

A silver crown is all that’s required to change the drama? A piece of magic ... did it do the exact same thing five generations in a row?

How can a harmless piece of nothing become a piece of program so vital to ones existence? I wonder... I wonder about my own program peacock, that vestigial bit of my psyche which has overstayed its visit. Time for the faux peacock hunt!

Peacock Man by John Coulthart

Mighty Cherokee

Voices streamed from the room outside, sounded like visitors, a friend. It sounded like her.

I thought she had been haunting my dreams, but this one wasn’t a dream. Every time I sensed her presence, she left me shaken. The experience, with time, had become less emotional, but I was yet to figure why she was always around , that bothered me.

Well, think about it, if she wasn’t around for a reason, she would have disappeared into the scenery, I would have never noticed her. But this one, yes, she was always there, standing around silently most times, being the devil’s advocate the other times. The chink in my link, who I knew would never harm me, but still bothered me. I am annoyed. I have to figure this out.

I am Cherokee , the mighty Cherokee. I cannot be bothered. I should never be bothered.

My room was dark.

How did it get so dark? How long had I been asleep, I wondered

I felt around for the light switch, turned it on... No illumination... I hit the button a few times hoping that it would work. No such luck.

Why do we always believe that hitting the button a gazillion times will make the broken work!? I still haven’t figured that one out.

Maybe she could help. Is that what she was here for? ...To be my oracle!?

The light was out for now. No one ever gets anything right around here . I would have to tackle this too on my own . What would happen to this place if I wasn’t around... sigh!

Sounds like a job for Miiighty Cherokee... Cherokee will save another day! Cherokee Powerrrrrrrr!

What was with all the darkness anyways? Why could I not see? My eyes were wide open , I knew it. But not a peep, could I see.

I got up from my low bed, crawled some, stumbled some, as I felt my way around – A carton, table... no chair...SQWACK!..Oops...squeaky toy. Where am I ? Where am I going?

I tried walking towards the voices. It was all suddenly very far away. What had happened!? Had I gone blind?

This wasn’t right. I couldn’t see, but I could see - A silver, lining the darkness, kind of surrealism.

As I stumbled about, I don’t remember a speck of fear, a kind of peace had set in.

I found my spot and settled myself in . At that very moment, there she was. Right behind, I could hear her breathe.

I reached back for her hands, brought her arms around me. As her hands rested by my side for the shortest while, I knew I was safe.

Her arms my shield from the darkness around, I knew at that moment that I did not need to do it all on my own. Somebody had finally got it right.

I didn’t care about being blinded anymore, and the voices from the distance were gone. Her work here was done ... she blended into the dark.

I, Cherokee, went freefalling into the black...Mighty Cherokee finally learnt to fly

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