The Discontent Butterfly

These days I am a constant hauler of monotony, frustration. I cannot speak, walk or even laugh without boring someone, turning stale, withering away in a trail of clichéd desperation, or performing my favorite art – I (we) call it cribbing. Ah art it is!

The familiarity of conscious despair is often back, but the dryness of my throat has lost all meaning. By itself the constant intonation of this world has not served to elevate me to any glorified pedestal of absolution. As I think about my problems more, and how little I have grown in the past few years, I feel indefinitely disgusted, rejected by myself.

I look at myself in this mirror of gross introspection and see a pathetic little caterpillar deluding itself into thinking melodrama and anguish more and more. This will transform it into a pretty but scared and discontent butterfly. Observe - I cannot even ridicule myself without resorting to hackneyed metaphors!

Platitudes, platitudes all of them. I fool myself into thinking I am anxious about my future, miserable about the way I live. I'm so good at lying to myself I have perfected the art of excuse, forgiving mortal sins against myself without the flinch of a stomach muscle, deliberately sabotaging some of the (potentially) better negotiations in my life.

Am I really that hopelessly self-destructive, or do I just like the attention? I do not know.
It feels as if the desert wind has already sucked my life clean of energy, passion and even dreams.

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Perfect Strangers

A stranger, she looked as if my soul was clear to her, my deepest feelings lay bare in front of her and she could control the most subtle of my behaviors.

“Tanya”! I called… and the rest of the words refused to emerge.

It’s almost over four months. I waved her ‘bye-bye’ at the Mumbai airport, having spent few of the most precious hours of my life – amidst an unfortunate and adverse episode though. (Not worth mentioning here).

All appears just like yesterday to me… her intriguing eyes seem innocent, yet notice my relentless stare. In the effort of ignoring the gaze, she laughs at my face; I just smile in return, dismissing the awkwardness. After a few hours of insipid and wishy-washy talks, while everyone is busy cursing Lfthnsa and their inhumane way of operations, my eyes are asking questions. Hers are answering. Hundreds of crazy souls surround us; still it looks as if these moments belong to me. More often than not, those who see us together ask - ‘you-guys’r-married?’ Intermittent discomfiture shows on her face, I get keyed up, but mask the excitement with a wary chuckle… “No no!”

‘You aren’t married, right?’… I ask.

“Nah” she giggles and continues… “It’s on the cards though”. And then follows a description. I too divulge the piece about seeing someone currently. I maintain my composure… somehow.

Later, in the flight as we approach our damned destination, sitting next to her, my heart starts to sink. I am poignant; strongly feel like kicking someone… hard. Huh!

Suddenly, there are tremors, without any warning or alarm. Initially, everyone is calm presuming ‘yet-another-bad-weather-day’. But, it is different. The craft starts to bounce as if it had hit a mountain. We are almost upside down. The next two minutes or so are breathtaking. The bravest close their eyes, atheists start to pray, and strangers hold hands.

I hope it was “The End”, but reality continues to wreck my life. More and even more!

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