Wee Fiction #2


“Why are you so kind to me?!”, I asked him. 

He lifted his face to look at me, then smiled and he said, “I should atleast be generous in being kind, isn’t it? Whatelse we have – that is to give genuinely to justify being a supreme species.”

I nodded my head.

“But.. why me?”

“Favour is not about what, but to whom; I think”.

I pulled his hand into mine and said “Thank you!”, that didn’t spell out.

Wee Fiction #1


“I have a short life, I wanna enjoy, live it to the fullest, you see..”, I told him with zealous, “I do not have time for sympathy, empathy and external miseries”. Laughed.

“Alas, an inexplicable humane life seems misplaced on a cheap host.” he mumbled.

“What do you mean?”, I couldn’t avoid turning blue.

“Oh! I meant my dog.” he said.

Profound


It was that one hour just after an hour of swim – where you would feel you want to eat twice your stomach’s capability. I knew, that the lunch I would get in A2B wouldn’t even half settle my hunger then. Nevertheless, I stopped my bike there of scarcity in options on a Sunday. If one wanna go for a swim in mid of a day, one has to plan a little, atleast I need very much. Swim for atleast two hours after food isn’t good for stomach. Food immediately after swim is a craving – body will make one feel that very explicitly. 

Anyway, I got a South Indian meal in A2B. Rested myself at the only available table there and started displacing all the cups – having everything from Salt to pickle, from the plate to the table; to make place for various mixes of taste, color and smell I was about to enjoy. I started, as I always say, to feed my hunger; fingers mixing, hands displacing food from plate to mouth, mouth chewing, mind thinking of what to get next after completing the meal.

“Is anybody coming here?” asked a female voice, pointing at the two chairs opposite to me in the table I was sitting. 

She was carrying. 

“No”, I said, “you can sit.” 

There was another one beside her carrying a plate. They both sat opposite to me, with a North Indian meal. 

“Even you have.. hmm… take..”  She told him.

“No. You have, I will have later..” he refused. 

They both looked to me like a couple who don’t quite come to such hotels unless for a special reason. Simple, ordinary, daily waged Indian class. I presumed, he wanted to get his pregnant wife a special food.

Somewhere in middle of their conversations he said “we should have taken that”, showing my plate, “It has more varieties..”. She tapped him a little firm, asking to pull his hand.

I saw them both, they smiled, I smiled back. He was himself – didn’t hide behind etiquette. 

When she was almost to be done, he asked her, “Whatelse do you want to have?”

“No no, nothing more, this is full”

“No, tell me, I have thirty more rupees, we can spend that..”. For thirty rupees one can’t get much there in A2B, that would make you feel as enough food.
“No, have it for your lunch”, She said. 

They seemed generous for each-other, amidst all deficiencies. I started my bike, remembering about the food I wanted to buy after the meal. 

***

Pause & Pass – Feb ’16


I was the only outsider dwelling in the shore in Kodiakkarai (Point Calimere), in that afternoon of Feb 2016. It was a sea shore without waves. Apart from me, there were two other fishermen on a fishing boat stopped at the shore; where they were untying the fishes and other aquatic animals caught on their net.
 
Sea shore without waves; many flocks of seagulls flying around like – kites all tied to a pivot – raising and raising and round and round, finally landing and raising again; wet sand shore holed and carved with architectures of crabs; a fishing boat with two fishermen on it plucking the fish from their net. It sounded to me as a backdrop enacted there just for my presence.
 
I reached to the fishing boat. Just stood there to see what they did; Didn’t talk or near them very close for sometime; they didn’t talk to me either. A young boy and his grandmother(atleast I assumed so).
 
“Can I take a photo of you two?”, I asked.
 
Grandma looked at me, then his grandson.
 
“No, don’t take”, boy denied without looking at me.
 
“Why?”
 
“No, don’t take”, he denied again.
 
“ok, I won’t”, I respected their refusal. Didn’t picture them.
 
But it affected me thought, not because I was refused.
 
I somehow felt that, he denied and acted to me like that because he was not happy to be captured by a well fed someone and who are not bother of his life at stake for his daily needs; like How a not so happy sibling would deny a sufficiently supplied sibling. Kodiakkarai, if you don’t know, is twenty five kilometers away from Srilanka. Kodiakkarai fishing community is one of many others who are neglected by central government and tortured, boats damaged, sometime shot at, by Srilankan navy.
16938688_1448371675193972_3154866631102457660_n
 
***
 
Next day, when I was in Pichavaram – chidambaram, second largest marshland in India. People were fishing in rowing boats.
 
“Anna (brother), will they say anything if I picture them?”, I asked the boatman on who’s boat I was in.
 
“No no.. don’t mind to..” he told me and he shouted at them – “hey.. You.. Pose for the photo here…. nobody is going to eat you if you smile…. Show your teeth….”
 
I smilingly took the photo and showed them the thumps up.
17190740_1448371668527306_5414361592975443352_n
***

​A Slice of Time


We both – a second person and I, spoke hearts out.. finally, atleast I did for sure, on how it was for each-other in the slice of time that was saved for us to be together; as we will have to depart from each other soon.. for sure, forever. We speak out only when we know “not anymore”, unlike when we were actually through the relationship; don’t we? even though what spoken out would not help but just be mere a memory. Even if we were outspoken during the journey of the relationship; we speak out the unspeakable only towards the end or at the end; I mean, like confessions, regrets and remorse. Atleast I’m concerned, that is the case always.
I expected it to be a dialogue, rather it ended up more as my admission. Perhaps because, I was the one who had gaps to take it all and the second person had nothing new in me to learn for the self. I say ‘second person’ because I don’t know what pronoun to use.. ‘He’ or ‘she’ would not particularly suit the subject, I’m afraid ‘they’ or ‘them’ would alienated my relation with the subject and ‘It’ would be disrespectful. So, we will agree mutually to understand the other subject – other than me, in the dialogue as “Second person”.

                                —-

“It is bit weird and embarrassing”, I said sitting on a chair, not so lied down – respectful posture.

“Go on.. we are running out of time already..”, said the second person in gesture that won’t allow you to take for granted. A caring tone with slight pinch of authority, for which I got used to for a while now. 

I held out a painting.

“What?!”

Painting depicted a fishing boat among waves in a ocean, a fisherman on the boat caressing a fish – that he caught, within the water. Fish had a facial expression of a belly rubbed dog. Fish hooked in its mouth, hurt, but not much. String from fishing rod, in his hand, is left uncut to the hook in fish’s mouth. It looked something like – fisherman training a fish for something, rater than fishing; Fish was hooked for it’s good, not for his need.

“So, you are the fish? And I’m the fisherman training you?”, I saw the second person radiating a blissful smile, for the first time since I get to know the second person. 

“Yes”, I smiled back bright, “whereas, since the start from a know shore of the ocean, hooking to some or the other fishing rod is a known happening on this ocean with other shore – invisible. I was hooked to your’s eventually. At initial part of time, I thought you were sweet. But only later I got to learn, that the initial sweetness was the string you unrolled to get me to your way, by keeping the string uncut. Down the stream, I had to endured through the hardness imposed. Was displeasing in unexpected ways. I hated you like a teacher whose classes I always wanna bunk. But I had no choice, you see”, I heard a chuckle, “But.. But.. now that I strangely feel, as it is going to end for sure forever, I may see you now like a teacher whom I have hated for their authority and rigidity, but years later I would be glad that such person was once my teacher; for I may realize only then that, without whom I would not have learnt things that are subtle, without whom I would not have learnt to learn. I’m glad, I was hooked to your’s at a right point in time. Thank you for being hard on me.” 

I held out my hands to hug. We had an awkward hug. 

With reverence, I again said, “Thank you much, Two thousand sixteen.” 

I heard the second person say, “I only did my job.”, I was caressed.

“Oh.. Here you are.. “, I heard Two thousand sixteen calling someone loud. We both saw Two thousands seventeen nearing.
                             ——–

​I desire to seek


​I desire to seek –
Serenity over joy,
Endurance over retaliation,
Healthy over tasty,
Kinship over reactions,
People over emotions,
Solutions over complaints,
Learnings over sufferings,
Departure over bothering,
Comfortability over sophistication,
Quality over quantity,
My roots over fancy modernity,
Love amidst patriotism.

Voicemail 


​On shore, I stood,
Gazing at the sky-

Blue of all shades.
Clouds of all patterns.
Light from only Sun,
Jumping and dancing
Like a rigid beauty,
Making all –
Patterns and shades
Equally worthless
Of concealment.

Infinite sea shouldered
Innumerous loveliness – Sky;
While sun hovered
As calm fish out of sea.

Home, I returned.
To find salty voicemail,
Of the waves and shore,
They left at my limbs,
For ceasing to find their grace.