Nothing

When someone calls me a photographer I am embarrassed there are so many out there equally bad and worse. A lady once called me a painter and I showed her my paintings ... she stopped the reference. I could write scripts but they don't have an innate flow. I could draw graphic novels but my style can be connected only by a few.

So that makes me a nothing. "NOTHING"

Suddenly I am surrounded by a lot too many 'nothings'. A 'nothing' in design and I went to drink coffee and we spoke 'nothing'. The restaurant  guitarist took his guitar out but played ‘nothing’. A friend actor came to meet me but there was 'nothing' left to perform. I saw a 'nothing' performance artist and a 'nothing' painter in a nowhere tea stall.

Then I met a ‘something’ stranger in a ‘nothing’ museum.  A man with clarity. He was neither a researcher nor an artist but both and ‘nothing’. But he was something. Something was different. I told him ‘nothing’ about me. He listened. He asked me to stop trying hard. He asked me to relax. I told him “you are something “. He laughed and said “that’s nothing”. We said goodbye to each other and he left with ‘something’ and me again with ‘nothing’.

Hanging

“So this is the deepest pit of hell”, he thought to himself as he descended down the deepest pit of hell. The walls seemed medieval and the scent of freshly burned oil reassured him. The harness was fastened to a sturdy rock somewhere above and all he could see now was the tunnel above and below. Perhaps he will never be able to see the entrance of the tunnel through which he climbed down.

The gas mask has to be used once the toxic level goes red in the digital belt. A loud scream echoed from somewhere down the pit. “Perhaps that is the devil himself”, he smiled and dangled down the rope. He felt the carabiner which held his life line.

The pit seemed to get narrower as he climbed down the rope. The gas mask was now indispensable. The temperature was getting unbearable. The saturated halogen glow was filling the tunnel from somewhere below.  “Maybe it is not greener on the other side”. He took of his gas mask. He could hear people talking feebly somewhere far away lost in the clicking of a life supporting machine.

“Should I let go or climb back” he thought as the loud scream

echoed through the tunnel.

Destinations

On that hill it feels like you are in control. The wind seems to be moving the big boulder towards you but soon afterwards it has gone back to where it was. "Why are you on this hill ?"

A distant wailing bus appear on a valley far away. It is gone now. Soon it will climb up the hairpins to reach you. "Will it stop ?"

Its cloudy and you hear a temple bell. You walk through the elephant grass to find that its a church in the distant valley.  YOU see the cross standing out amidst the black green moss. You smile at yourself. "Why don't you believe ?"

An old lady walks towards you. She has a lantern and big bunch of firewood. The distant city is a galaxy glimerring with shining stars. The lady stops near you and asks ,"where are you going ?" You smile. Its dark she can't see your face so she lifts up the lantern.

You light a cigarette and look  at her disappearing light round the curve. The hills have started whispering. "Do you want to listen to them ?"

The bus arrives. You put your backpack inside. The conductor asks, "where are you going ?"

Coincidence

The lights went off as she sat by the balcony. He went close to her. She didn't flinch. The moonlight was on her face. He was in the shadow.

"Can you see those fireflies" she asked him, his shadow nodded.
"Can u hear the river" he inquired, she ignored.

He lit up a cigarette. She saw a shooting star. He heard a distant grey owl. She heard his stomach grumble.

"Why were we born ?" she smiled. His face was stern.
"because we could stare at the stars' he replied. She wasn't convinced besides there were no stars.
"Coincidence ?? " she postulated.
"Coincidence !!" he mumbled.

The lights came back. She didn't flinch. He could see the fireflies now.
"lets eat something" she said.
'Finally" he smiled.

Mermaids in Kochi

I can tell you the story of an oldman who lived by the backwater.
             Who is this oldman ?? How old?? Where does this take place ???
Let me start the story first. So there was this old man whose grandfather was a jew who lived in a jewish street.
              A jewish street in india, I don’t believe this.
Do you believe in ghosts? Ghouls? Ghost pendulums ?
              I do, but a jewish street?
Will you let me complete my story?
              It’s a story then. Is it based on real life ? Inspired from it ? or maybe a book ? tell me where you learnt about it ?
I saw it happen.
              So it’s not a story. It is real life.
I will be including twist and turns to real life to make it interesting.
              So it’s not real life but inspired from it. I see.
So there was this old man who is claimed to have seen the mermaids that dwelled under the cochin harbor and surfaced late in the night.
              Mermaids? Sea cows? Are mermaids real? Has he really seen them?
It’s a story.
              But it’s inspired from real life? is it not?
Yes
              So he has seen them. In Cochin, mermaids. Insane..
No… the mermaids part is fiction. It’s a splinter of imagination.
              But there are mermaids.
Maybe.
      So people have seen them.
Let me get back to my story. So one morning he gets up early in the dimlight of the neon lamps and walks through the embankment of the massive backwater.
`      Do mermaids harm Humans???
I don’t know.
             But you wrote the story …didn’t you?
I haven’t written it.
             Are you making it up as we speak..
Not really…I have the structure however. So I fill in words around the structure.
             So you made mermaids now. They were not actually a part of your story.
Hmmm … 
            Continue.

Traffic Signal's

Some say nothing is happening in their lives. For most  life is boring TV show. They fill petrol in the Easy Monthly Installment cars, Wear their branded clothes and proud Sunglasses and go to work. They spent an hour in the Traffic cursing their fellow men and some biker scratches paint of their  rear view mirror. Its normal, the smoke, the heat and the loud honking of horns. A paleness of noise, dust and of men trapped in metal.

 Perhaps a sweat drop traversed between her Bosoms and lost itself in the confusion of flesh and clothes. She looked into the rear window which said that objects in the mirror were closer. She could see herself in the mirror. The cold winter morning had gnawed on the edges of her lip.

She looked outside casually on either side. A man on a vespa scooter whispered something to his wife on the pinion and his kid got squeezed in the venture. Perhaps a sexual joke.  Maybe even an unfinished conversation about their son's future. A plump lady spoke on her phone. If one observes her mouth closely they would find the sources of all the honking. A kid crossed between the traffic with some books in his hand. 'The kite Runner ', he shouted. 

She lowered her side windows and waved at the kid. the kid looked happy. She never read books but suddenly she wanted to help this desperate kid. His charred brown shirt and a never ending trouser reminded her of her son. He ran towards her dodging vehicles.

She asked him, "what's the price ? " He replied, "75 Rs but for you 50"

She opened her big fat purse. In between the medical prescriptions and bills she found a 500 Rs note. She took it out. He looked surprised. He didn't have the change. The traffic signal changed all of a sudden. The vehicles in front started moving. There was a loud honking from behind. She released the clutch. "I will buy it some other time ". She moved forward as the kid kept staring at her. 

In two minutes she will reach the next traffic signal.

Surprise

Salman Khan died in car accident on the wall mounted t.V  and the lady on Versace perfume hoarding went into an orgasm face. An Air India jet hauled at the doorway  as the Merry Xmas song kept repeating on the speakers.


''How are you feeling ?" an sms popped on my cell phone. I chose not to respond. I wanted to say, "I am batman...."


A passing airliner made a pattern on the window. The silhouette of a cleaning staff against the bright window with an airliner beyond made a perfect Hollywood frame.
He mopped the floor in the slow rhythm of a music composer nonchalant about the hullabaloo of the passengers, the planes and the monophonic Merry Xmas.

"Where are you ? " another sms. I want to reply that I am flying back home. I wish I could record a John Denver 'leaving on a jet plane' and reply the message. i chose to ignore again because if I did i would spoil the surprise.

  Vigorously I took out a novel from my bag to read but I  knew I cant focus. The music in the lobby changed to an epic movie theme. The cleaner had vanished as I looked up. Salman Khan is a ghost now.

Once on the streets of Muhammad Ali Road a kid tried to sell me 'Attar'. A strong smelling homemade perfume. I brought it then since it was cheap. I suddenly remembered the scent. Out of the blue a random street scent filled the lobby.

"Please respond" i got another message on my cell phone.

The monotonous lady made an announcement unclear yet crisp. A Marathi woman kissed her child right in front of me. A tamilian blasted his wife on the phone. Another airplane made a pattern on the window.

"I am coming home :-) :-)" i responded to the message, switched off my cell phone.

To hell with surprises.