The Mirror

I'm constantly struck between yesterday and tomorrow losing today. I'm struck between the old me and the future me not knowing what I am now. I'm struck in this vicious circle getting lost everyday and try to find a way out through small things everyday....

A long ride, Sufi songs and a lot of people brought this thought out on a moonlight night....

I'm glad I got to read the script first before the world could..

https://youtu.be/dQsjAbZDx-4

I love this song. So one day I was thinking of the lyrics and saw potential for a short story. Here it goes:

On he went. The snow was hard to distinguish from his hair. The steps were exhausting, each one. But still, it was a special day. He was almost there. Crosses and more crosses. It was hard to find a specific one, since they all looked the same. But it wasn’t his first time. He knew the way.

There it was. The flowers of last year had disappeared. The dog tag was still there. Fernando. What a war freak. He asked for all of it. To be buried with soldiers. To have nothing but a wooden cross. For the tag to hang on it. But not for the visits. That was on him. But how could he not? The whole war, and the fact the he came out alive, he owned it to him. To his bravery. To the hero he was.

“Hello Fernando? Enjoying not going gray, you lucky bastard? Here, I brought you your favorite.”

As he said that, he put down a red label bottle. How many memories. How many times they had fought for the last shot of one of those. Youth well spent.

But there was more. There was the war. And no one, in the whole world, was as proud to have defended freedom as Fernando. He had convinced everyone he could to join. He had fought until his last breath. Still, at the end, he survived. His smile was probably the largest on the night they celebrated the victory. They had to go on with their ordinary lives, but Fernando was forever a soldier. He died speaking about the honor of being a soldier.

Yet, not one person would remember him as a Nazi killer, but as the most inspiring, amusing and friendly figure to ever live. Except for that one soldier friend, visiting his soldier grave, to pay him a friend honor.

“Do you remember that night Fernando? The fireworks, the drinks, the women? How did we enjoy being young, being heroes, even though we would never touch a rifle again. Guess that’s what it’s all about, Fernando. Having the one story to be told on the grave.”

He laughed, far too much for the state of his lungs, until he coughed. Blood.

“Oh, my Fernando. Looks like I’ll be joining you quite soon”

Hot summer days are the worst time to go on a drive, but I still decided to go on one. I thought maybe the AC in my car and the sunny sky would be a better change in comparison to my cramped room with humidity hitting the roof.

It was one of those days where I was eagerly waiting for the summer rains to drench the soil and let out a cool breeze.

As I keep driving, without a destination, nor a map to guide me through, taking turns as my brain tells me to and my heart wants me to.

I stop at an empty road, waiting for the 30 seconds on the signal to pass so I could head to the place I didn't know of.

That's when it came, the thunder, the lightening, the wind the breeze the dark afternoon and the darker clouds.

The radio tells me it's some cyclone, my heart tells me it's the first of summer rains.

I pause, I don't move an inch. The clouds starts pouring, the heavy water droplets on my car roof hits my ears, I scroll the window pane, and let the rain drops fall in.

My face now wet, my head filled with a hundred thoughts, I make a U-turn and head home.

I play loud music to shun the voices in my head. I stop at a tea shop, ask for a strong filter coffee and lit a cigarette, the radio yet again tells me of casualities due to the cyclone and my head tells me it's just the summer rains.

Image from @a-small-startup

I've always been alone. Especially at nights. The loneliness strikes hard on nights I cry, screeming into my pillow. In those pitch dark nights the one gleam of light that fills my room slowly and beautifully is the moon. Irrespective of how it is, where it is, the moon comes to me. Through my window the comfort I get is the warmth of a mother and the company of a friend. On moonless nights it's as if the moon hands me over to the stars, they shine so bright and I wait for the moon to come to me. I wait for the moon to come to me.

The crying man in the train

I travel a lot, not because I love to, but because I have to. When I was young I used to travel from Bangalore (where I used to live at that time) to Palakkad (which is my native place). And the best of entertainment which I used to get were the rush in trains, the tea and samosa hawkers, the announcements, everything was just wonderful. And being young all I did during those journeys was sleep. (I am a person who can sleep anywhere, anytime).

After my fifth standard the train journeys all came to a halt as we settled in Kerala. And then after seven years or so, my journeys came back again. I went Mangalore to do my graduation and with that I started travelling a lot.

Sometimes I used to travel with my friends while otherwise alone. And during all these times my only company were my books. I always stay away from my co passengers. I don’t like talking to strangers for no reason at all. Most of the time, I travel by unreserved ladies’ compartments and hence neither is there any entertainment (As there are no boys) nor am I interested in the co passengers with whom I travel. But once I travelled by a general compartment and that is where I met the crying man.

That time I was travelling from Vellore to Palakkad and since there was no direct train I had to get down in Coimbatore and board a different train to Palakkad. I got down at Coimbatore and there was a connection train to Palakkad which left in just about five minutes.

My train was in platform no. 4 and my connection train was in platform no. 3 for which I had to go all the way down and climb another bridge and there was very little time left and so I had to literally run, still by the time I reached the other platform with my two heavy bags and my sling back the train had already started moving hence I had to board on to a general compartment.

And there I met the guy. I was sitting in a semi empty berth. A lady was sitting to my left, and on the berth opposite to mine also only a lady was sitting.

And after around 2 minutes or so a guy came and sat opposite to me. He was tall, dark, and was in almost his late 30s or his early 40s. A good looking guy for that matter. But what caught my eyes was not his charm but his moist eyes. Well the matter that he was crying was not strange as it is a natural human emotion. But what was strange was the fact that he was crying in public, now that is not common especially in a country like ours where from the beginning the boys are thought not to cry especially in public.

At first I just let it go because it’s a free world and anybody can cry anywhere, but he was just not stopping it. He went on and on, and he was wiping his tears with his sleeve and shirt and so out of courtesy I gave him my handkerchief. He accepted it and started wiping his tears and blowing his nose.

“Hey, are you all right?” I asked

“Actually…. no” was his reply

“I know I am a stranger but sometimes talking to a complete stranger helps the most"

“Maybe, it will…. But I … I don’t know you”

He was right why should he tell a stranger the reason for his sadness.

“Ya you’re right.” Was all I could say.

But after around five minutes he talked to me again

“I am sorry for being rude I know you were just trying to help”

“It’s ok”

My curiosity to know his problem was now at peek. But I dint want to intrude again. So I just kept quiet and waited for him to open up himself.

“Well my wife is returning today”

“Returning from..?”

Well asking that was a mistake because now he started crying again

“Why are you sad if she is returning, shouldn’t you be happy?”

“Well if she had left for her parent’s house then I should be happy but she had an extramarital affair with my colleague and now since he got bored with her she is returning”

“What??” I exclaimed

“I know it all sounds strange, but you won’t understand, I don’t even know why I am explaining my whole story to you, maybe because as you said, saying everything to a stranger may help or maybe even because there is no one to whom I could tell all this

I had a best friend in office, he was my only friend. And he used to come home a lot too because I used to insist, maybe that was the biggest mistake I ever did. He was a bachelor and he always wanted to have home food and all, so I thought maybe I could help.

His character was also not that good; he changed his girlfriends every now and then and engaged in a lot of one night stands. I dint judge him for what he did because it was his life and he could do whatever he wanted to do.

But I dint think that this character of his would ruin my family life. My wife is very attractive. And instantly my wife and my friend became good friends and I dint think there was any harm in it, I was not among those husbands who have problem with their wife having male friends.

And within no time my wife and my friend were having an affair, well they managed it well because I dint have even a slightest doubt about them.”

I had to ask, “How did you know then?”

“I came to know about it when my wife ran away with him. She dint even explain things to me she just sent me a text saying “I’m leaving” and just left”

I gazed in astonishment. “Well do you have kids?”

“Yes a girl studying in class II”

I dint say anything, as he was saying it so he can be relieved I dint want to make it awkward for him.

“Well it’s been two weeks now and my wife called me yesterday and said sorry. She is returning today, I am going to pick her up”.

I was amazed, I was out of words, a guy was going to pick his wife who left him for two weeks, god I have never seen a guy like this, I wanted to ask a lot of things, but again I was just a stranger...

Maybe he read my mind or something

“I know you would be wondering what a guy I am. Maybe she just felt it as the heat of the moment and now she regrets, or maybe worse he is not a commitment guy, I don’t know what happened and I don’t want to know either, I just love my wife and my kid and I want my kid to have both her mom and dad to be with her when she grows up.

By then his station came, he bid me farewell forever, thanked me for listening to him and went away. I don’t even know his name. And I won’t meet him for the rest of my life also, but he left me with a heavy heart. I was speechless. I have seen a lot of couples in my life, my parents, my uncles and aunts, and a lot others like that.

My own parents were divorced. They have two kids but they dint think of any such thing. In fact no man’s ego would allow him to do such a thing.

The crying stranger was one of world’s best fathers I have known.

Home?

Everytime I go Palakkad (my native in Kerala) I have always felt butterflies in my stomach. I get goosebumps travelling there. Well thats the place I have spent the major part of my life in. Thats the place where I grew up, made friends and had fun. But that isnt my home. No it isnt. I know every nook and corner of the town. I know which way to go to and I pretty much know my destinations. I have a part of my family there but it has never been my home. Well where is my home I seriously do not know. Everytime I go there on my vaccations I feel wonderful. A feeling of content strikes me just by the sight of the station. The journey in the autorikshaw from the station to my home brings in an adrenaline rush that I am reaching somewhere I belong. This sunday I am going home. I am more than happy, I am eager, I am excited and anticipating the day to arrive as soon as possible. But then out of no where the question pops whether that I really belong there. Where that is my real home. Whether that is it or my destination named home is far far away and I am yet to find. I do not know and so does the question of home remain unanswered.

Faith.

Why am I so attached to strangers and detached from people who are mine? A question that has been haunting me for a while now. I have opened up so much to a completely stranger giving him the key to all my secrets making myself vulnerable.

Yes, my social network friend. We became friends a little while ago and now I have become quite close to him. Inseprable.

But having told him all my secrets I feel vulnerable. I feel weak. I do not know how to overcome this fear.

Having been stabbed in the back by people I have trusted, now I feel telling unknown people is much more safer than telling the known one.

I hope you wont stab me like all the others did. You wont leave my hand when I hold on to with all the trust I have. The faith; if shattered again then I would never be able to gain it back nor will I trust anyone ever again be it known or unknown.

“Giving you pain is not the only way life knows to make you suffer. Sometimes taking the pleasure out of you will suffice.”

lsr

I came home late and found Mike sitting on the couch very disturbed

Me : what happened Mike, you seem upset, everything fine at work..?

Mike : everything is fine at work, I just have to attend a wedding reception tonight, I just got a call.

Me : what's wrong in that? you tired?

Mike : no, Mary is getting married, remember.... my ex.?

Me : It's fine baby, since she is fine why do you worry..? Go, wish her and come back.

Mike : *sighs* ok, I'll go, can you come with me, please..?

*my phone rings*

Me : hello, yes, oh, how are you.?

what.?

Congratulations..... when..?

Today! I'll try

You won't believe this, Mark got married today and he just invited me for his reception, like now...!

Mike: what..? You're ex, Mark..? What a fucking coincidence..?

Me : I guess we both have to go and congratulate the couple, I wish I could have with you...

Mike : It's fine, get dressed.

We got dressed up and we both headed out, he took a cab and I took the car, I walk in to the reception hall and turn around to find Mike

Both of us were upset as shit. It was over, we could have not gone, but we had to, we had to tell them we moved on...

Mike : what the fuck, wait... really.

Yes our ex were getting married to each other, which means their ex got married to each other, which was fucking crazy. We dint invite them for our wedding, so they have no idea...

We walked up, posed for a pic, him next to her and me next to Mark. It was the worst situation I was in...

We walk out hand in hand...

Mary & Mark : that was my ex, deal done of inviting them to our wedding...

Now, more than us they were fucked up exactly on their wedding day...

The outside word is harsh and cold

That’s why we keep our doors closed…

My mom told me this the first time I asked the reason behind closing the door.

Then another question arised as to why we keep our windows open

And she replied “to view the world.”

But….

Wait…!

Why see the harsh world

If we close our doors to it.

Why have windows if we want cocoons…

It was then I realized lately

That we dont close our doors because the outside world is harsh and cold

But because we are scared of the outside world

Which consists of our “own”

And we still have windows because we are anxious to know whats happening out there

This lie we tell

The blame we put

Its all an escape

To the fear within us…

The fear towards us.

We close our doors

Because we fear the outside world

19:03:18