wayside blur

I looked up from my morning cereal and tea and saw her outside. She woke up and stretched, a small dark lithe waif of a girl-woman. Then with a few lightning hand waves she coiled her hair up into an expert coiffure, that would probably have cost thousands at the salon Sarika patronized. Sarika is my girlfriend, a vision of expensive perfection, poetry in measured motion.

I wonder what this waif-child would look like if they stuck her in a salon for hours. I shuddered at the thought. The waif-child-child woke up and started toddling around. He was around one and a half and he never cried. The most philosophical infant I have ever seen, he took things as they came. He smiled at everyone and made friends with man and beast alike with an endearing lack of his own consequence. If his dad showed up, he was happy, if he didn't, he still managed to get by smiling.

Waif-child and her family caretook the property next to ours. There was another girl that waif-child had apparently also borne, around three and precociously outspoken. It was amusing to watch her as she lorded the whole land around, her little tummy stuck out, an expression of permanent supercilious disdain on her face. The little terror was still asleep.

Waif-child turned to see me watching her, and threw in a few more stretches for my benefit, that I duly admired. Then Sarika came in, trailing waves of nightcream into the tiny living room with a bright good-morning and I dropped my eyes abruptly to the newspaper. Sarika did not like the family much. The husband ran an auto during the daytime, and came home some nights and disappeared others. There was some woman who used to keep coming there to yell at them to return her money.

I always felt bad for waif-child. She did the caretaking, and raised the kids when she was only a little more grown than them, did a few odd jobs for pin money, and got yelled at regularly by their various creditors. The bastard she married had gotten himself a nice deal. He seemed like a okay guy otherwise, but somehow I couldn't quite like him, he had a face that didn't look like it had been etched from a lifetime of good deeds.

Apparently the family was in debt to the tune of Rs.50000 and sundry. Husband made a decent living and thankfully didn't beat waif-child or the kids, but they always had loud cash and other problems. And Sarika hated anything loud, it gave her migraines, and then me. Besides she sensed my fascination for the waif-child. I imagine she caught me staring sometime and women always manage to produce a seventh sense for these things.

Thankfully, we never discussed it, Sarika knew how to pick her battles, she was really as ideal as it got, I have no idea why she threw her lot in with a dickweed like me. I made a happy survey of her body, everything was intact and magnificently assembled. I smiled at her and thanked unseen providences for my luck

Waif-child had disappeared. Sarika and her were like Superman and Clark Kent, you can never see them together at the same time. I broke my reverie abruptly as I noticed the ticking clock. I was late. I kissed Sarika hurriedly, threw on a shirt and the cleanest pair of pants I could find, laptop, deo stand-in for bathe, breath mints. I hoped Carrisys Connections, the company I was going to make a presentation in, had air-conditioning

Palki, our pet pomeranian, came by as I was putting my shoes on. She growled a little at me and pranced straight to Sarika. I am not fond of her, to be absolutely frank. My idea of a pet is more a menacing wolf-hound or a Doberman than this dolled up abomination. But Palki and I grew to tolerate each other as we fought for Sarika's attention.

I turned to Sarika

"Should we lend some money to the neighbourhood family? Yesterday those two kids had barely anything to eat, and that foul woman was yelling again for her money at them all afternoon. It would have an unhappy influence on the kids" I carefully refrained from making any case for the waif-child

Sarika's poise cracked a little and a little furrow appeared between her eyes "Those people make enough money, they just waste it. If we lend them money, they will never return it, simply spend it and keep preying on us for more"

"But we have enough, whats the big deal? We can afford to give away a few hundreds, at least help send the kids to school?"

Sarika's eyes softened patiently and I knew the battle was lost. She stood up to fetch biscuits for her coffee and said with finality "It is better to give to the needy than to these parasites. They should simply learn how to manage their money better, a little hardship will do them good"

Sarika bit into a perforated Marie biscuit, and arced the rest to Palki. I watched entranced as the biscuit spun in the air one way, and Palki the other. The dog caught it neatly mid-air and stood with it in her mouth, waiting for us to appreciate the feat. Sarika made the due fuss, and Palki growled between bites as I snorted a little in the back of my throat. I felt an unaccountable rage and an urge to growl back and kick at the damn yappy narcissistic thing.

Sarika stood up and gave me a hug and a bonus kiss. I returned it absently and took off.

----------------

It had been a brutal day. There was one long meeting all day with different departments, each with only a vague idea of what we were offering, with the exact same questions. It was tiring to think how every person is so like every other. Give them a little information and the obvious dawns on them in a brilliant flash I could practically see. They have to share it immediately to whoever is around. Which happened to be me, their paid admirer. I loathed myself by the end of each day, but hey, it paid the bills

I caught my train in a rush of relief and started to walk home, declenching all the frustration as I looked forward. I barely noticed my surroundings in the falling dusk, I had already reached the comfort of home and Sarika, warm and waiting, with a drink in one hand, and a magazine in the other. Then I noticed a vaguely familiar shape in front of me. It was Waif-child, sans the kids, talking to a couple of guys in the street, labourers at the big apartment house being constructed a few streets away from home. They were having some kind of back and forth, when Waif-child noticed me coming along and her manner became abruptly constrained. One of the guys tried to put a clumsy arm around her, but she sidled away, throwing me a blurred look. I was suddenly boiling mad, I wanted to knock their teeth in, but this is a civilized society, I can't do that and last a day here.

I settled instead for turning my head and glaring at them as I walked by. The other guy made an elaborate show of taking out a wad of money in hundreds and counting it. Waif-child avoided my eyes and gestured to them to follow her as she walked away. I stared irresolute as night fell on their retreating backs for a second or two, then swallowed them whole, Then I continued on my way. Tears prickled and my head curved down. All I saw was gravel from then on.

Mancase

A showcase of The Man
naked and not alone
in all his shuddering splendor
crawling along on all fours
dragged and dragging unseen woes
deafen muted in discourse
begging indisposed
all one towering blear in the night
zigzagged twisted bouncing rooms
gaily tripping round the scene
fits of stillborn giggles
and ravaged edges of throat
hoarse marks of the sitting duck
almost missing discordant cues
returning bowed to sit again
impatient not eager
patiently beleaguered
don't touch, why would I?
turned away ready to sprint
get a hint
hell is undercontrol
what the ....

Keeping Secrets

I am not much of a fact fan. I believe in what Sir Arthur Conan Doyle said, "I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose"

I'll extend this gratuitously to assume he meant women too. The computer and internet are my favorite inventions of all time, because they free the mind from the necessity of enormous quantities of fact storage and allow it vastly more interesting worlds of existance. The fact pride parade need not intrude anymore in the garden of possibilities.

My idea of ideal life is more like a video game than a Hun conquest. Moving from virtual region to region in a leisurely stroll or liquid dance, uncovering every secret by sheer exploration, regularly saving the most precious ones in my mind, then relinquishing all possessions and moving on.

Secrets are the only things in this fleeting life I call mine, they will stay and go with me. I don't collect stuff or money or even experiences. I collect little fragments of time that are the most interesting and mysterious, and treasure them. Little glimpses into forsaken lands.

There is something about a secret I just love. Memories and thoughts saved as passing whispers of songs and spells, never shared, never forgotten. Secrets are another dimension of my psyche, that walk alongside me, laughing delightedly at things everyone else has failed to see or is busily pretending not to.

I keep secrets like a museum keeps masterpieces, I love and preserve them, guard them closely, and display fakes for the viewing public. It is not a conscious thought process that allows me to be secretive, it is a primal pleasure. I love everything about mystery.

My favorite secrets are those flashes of ideas that emerge from passing thoughts. They come to me in fleeting imagines of pure magic. I am afraid of even articulating them for fear of taking something away from their perfection. I hug them to sleep with a delicious joy of existence, grateful for being allowed them

I try to invest every spare inch of my mind in a reality I found, far richer than the hologram of ourselves projected to a parched world, Clear vast quantities of room to allow the free rush of an uncensored river of consciousness to flow where it will. There is so much room for error in everything that they all join together to form a seductive parallel world. I thrive on these various illusions mistaken for solidities and vice versa.

I don't ask for trust, it is not easy to trust keepers of secrets, they are the unknowns of a paranoid world. I understand. But it isn't cheating or lying, that is misdirection. I simply don't direct, its not my role in life. My role, it is a secret. I love that

Yet Another Conversation with God

Me : God, I don’t see the way ahead. I am afraid. Help me!

God : Forget everything else and look at me, child. Follow my finger and I will guide you to safety

Me : What is safety?

God : Safety is whatever it means to you

Me : How do you know what my safety is?

God : I am omnipotent. I know everything.

Me : Why should I trust you? How do I know you won’t lead me false?

God : Because I am leading you only where you want to go. How can that be false?

Me : Why do I need you then? And what if I change my mind?

God : You called me because you were afraid. When you change your mind, I will change your path. Omnipotent remember?

Me : How does it work? How do you allay my fears?

God (laughs) : YOU should tell ME that. It’s because I show you only one finger to follow and block out other needless worries. I also don't pass judgements about your character or value based on what you tell me. I am a figure who loves you no matter what

Me : So you give me focus and self-esteem?

God : In a way. And also freedom from being overwhelmed by your burdens

Me : But aren’t I supposed to be carrying my burdens?

God : You are anyway. I am just helping you not worry about all of them all of the time

Me : So you are a tranquilizer really?

God : In a way. I am also a handy explanation for the unexplainables

Me : You mean like wars, disease, Bermuda Triangle and stuff?

God : In a way. Wouldn’t it be much more comforting to you if it all happened for a grander purpose that only I know about and I am capably responsible for?

Me : Yes. Does it?

God : It does if you believe it does. Or if you believe in me.

Me : Is that the same thing?

God : Not really. The GRAND PURPOSE goes by many names – Nature, God, Evolution, Alien Farm. I am just one faith

Me : And if I don’t believe …

God : Then you are forced to face the possibility that humans are just another species in a crowded planet, created by happenstance, battling for resources and survival. While humans are the most evolved at the moment, that still doesn’t have to make human life any more important than that of an ant or a crocodile by any scale of measurement. Your importance could be just as random as an earthquake or an ice age. You may simply lose respect for your existence and any significant will to live or make an effort

Me : Is that the real truth?

God : That is “a” truth. Your real truth is mostly unique from anyone else’s and constantly changing

Me : Is that your purpose? To paint the world in a color that people want to see? So you are responsible for providing clarity and motivation and blocking out unpleasant ideas?

God : In a way. For the sake of your sanity and well being, you need to believe your life is precious and has meaning.

Me : So it isn’t really precious?

God : YES it is. What am I trying to tell you?

Me : WHY is it precious?

God : Because I said so.

Me : And if I asked you what YOU thought of life?

God : I would say Life is like Art. Life is for Life’s own sake

Me : We are anyway wiping out many species on the planet and our species is now the biggest. Does that not mean we are winning the race for survival?

God : Yes.

Me : Is that a good thing?

God : In a way. How do you think humans became the biggest race in the world?

Me : Evolution? The Sixth Sense?

God : How does that help better survival?

Me : We think and plan for the future?

God : Exactly. The animal kingdom survives on instinct. They don’t manufacture bomb shelters during a nuclear peace talk

Me : So does that mean we will succeed because we planned ahead?

God : Plans are made for success. They are likely to fulfill their destinies

Me : And what is human’s destiny?

God : It doesn’t matter. Just focus on my finger

Me : Did the humans of the past have more answers to these questions?

God : How does it matter to you? What you are, no one ever was, no one can ever be. The odds against it are astronomical. So why not just enjoy what you are and how much you know? The sixth sense is a two edged sword, just like everything else. You must choose which edge you want to see or not see. I am only here to help

Me : I don’t have enough faith in my race right now. I am afraid.

God : Very well. I will provide the faith

Me : Truth is, my parents are splitting up. I was suspended from school today because they found some LSD’s in my schoolbag. My parents have refused to send me back to school, blocked out all my friends. Now I am at home and I have to hear them fight all the time. It feels like my life is over and I don’t know what to do.

God : And how does that make you feel?