Translucent sheets on the table in front, top view. Fat grumpy fingers mark out a square that's supposed to be the missing plinth line. Clean well-cut nails scratch the surface along every individual plan. Two fat cheeks, a mouth that disappears between them, shriek about how one who doesn't know the basics shouldn't be trying anything this fancy. Anger, and its enough just to start and end on the silly order of those nails and why they would not belong to a hardworking fellow. Plinth lines are obvious. I wish the plinth under me would just grow and take me through the roof.
A whiff and something reminds me of a day in summer during school. The butter sheets, of course. I'd seen them before. The brook by the road, trees on its sides. Me lying in between, Elina and Rahul on either side. A tissue whirls in the eddie under the bridge. Translucent with the oil we didn't eat during supper. The tissue opens along the folds. Rays of sunset come beneath the bridge and through the paper. Elina: "You know, if all three of us are one and you're lying in the middle , it makes you self-centered."
Yes, yes fat cheeks as my mom said I am self-centered and because I still think of her I am immature. But, I'll always be.
Monday, February 19, 2007
The World through Her Eyes
Bless it's Pointed Little Head
- Jefferson Airplane, 69
A stare should really not be unnerving. It is appreciation, gratitude for the most pristine work of art known to man. Every human body is craft, its unique, its a masterpiece. Primordial biases, some choices and there are a few more appreciable than the others.
Wilde was wrong, whatever is underneath, does show up on the surface. Everytime that a predicament offers a choice between hurting the heart thats in that body rules and thoughts bend the other way. Left to themselves, eyes are two-way. The world's seen the same way, as the world sees you. I want to share in that view. It's this sharing that makes beauty worth the pains even after the lights go out.
White Sugar
There's one routine for days that start very early & end close to mess timings. To drown my milk with aplomb & sugar. I try not to shake it. Not that it'd matter much but such evenings are always slow. Part of it dissolves but that which doesn't stays on a layer at the bottom, as always. Tilt the glass high enough and it flows down to the plate. Confess, these are rare times, I don't favor unflavored milk and i don't like it now either. Tried just soaking sugar in milk but it isn't close enough. The sugar that stays on behind is different, unique. Character, i guess. A crude selective filtration process, if you may. That sugar doesn't realize or can't or will not dissolve. Has a distinct flavor. It gives me hope. The world that looks down upon us white and brown pieces of sugar in blue milk would learn to live with me the same way.
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