And What Remains in the End - 2

" Speaking with you on the phone, from this room, at this time of the night... brings back memories, you know?"

" Sorry to keep you up this late" you say, polite as ever.

"No, no its not that. I'm happy with you. Its just that... this reminded me of my days in college, when I used to spend every night on the phone till darkness melted into the early hours of the next day. Now it all seems so far away, you know.. The habit of speaking on the phone for hours is gone. This room; I dont live here anymore. My college life is gone. The people I spoke to, those bonds are mostly gone. That life, one of many lives I've had, has been washed away by time. The old die and from their corpses grows life. Yet some things are remarkably resilient."

" Have I ever told you it would be a shame if we never got together?"

" We've spoken about how things are, how things could be, how they should be.  We've spoken of alternative universes, universes of possibilities,  ever since ours began"

Depravity

Depravity. The steady slide  .The slow, uneven growth growth of stubble, the tangled  clumps of hair , some of it falling in patches, the greasy attire, the squalor of your space. The coarseness of voice, of speech ; the freedom and scope for brutal honesty that it offers. The mind numbing boredom of having nothing, being nothing, with nothing to look forward to, nothing to desire. The dimming of your intellect, the dull aching sense of being, the yearning for escape. The desire to seek oblivion. The scorn for the people around you, the bitterness their presence entails. Their sly whispers and their mockery, the derision and ridicule. The lack of food, the reluctant scavenging. The shedding of your last remnant bits of ego . Scavenging. Existing. Eking out a living, struggling on for you know not what. The atrophy of muscles, the  protruding ribs.The tattered clothing, the smell of piss and shit. Human, sub human, worse till the mongrel looks better in comparison. The exorcism of the zeitgeist, the rejection of contemporaries. Of country, family, kith and kin. Of name identity and the other million strands of existence  . Of life as defined by others . People . Utter rage and dejection. And rejection. A middle finger to their face and a jerk off for their values. The smug satisfaction of it all. The rejection of and the scorn for everything conventional. The negation of them. The allure of decadence.The freedom  of depravity.

And What Remains in the End

" We are meant for each other, you know that? " She asked, looking him in the eye. They were sitting in his car, under a tree nowhere, as was their wont. They never knew where to go.  Most of their time was spent inside that metallic capsule with leather seats, their cocoon against the world.

" I know", he said , holding her gaze. " We are two jigsaw pieces that fit,each complementing the other" .

" You also know this may not be right? " 

 " I know".

"Takes a lot of courage to accept that. Even more to acknowledge it"

" Thatss the truth isn't it? And its you " he shrugged. " I dont know whats in store for us Ananya. We may be or we may not, both equally likely. We may laugh at this conversation, looking back with fond remembrance , while our kids scream for our attention. We may have other lovers, wonderful men and women, changing our lives ,shattering us. We may marry others, move to other places , become different people until 

what we were becomes mere memory, another thing in our cupboard of recollections- to be taken out, dusted and put back in once a year."

" But within us , in some small crevice, underneath careful layers, there will be the person who is here today. And in that part, wherever it may be, however small or distant, what we have will still be" .

To See the Universe in a Grain of Sand

"Shyam! Shyam! Did you see that? " she asked, barely concealing her excitement. " That butterfly there. Its a pale translucent white. If you see it from one side, it looks white, if you see it from the other side, it looks green, the colour of our wall. its so pretty ". The joy was evident on her face.

" Its nine ma. Only moths fly at night, not butterflies" I thought. " Moreover the lack of patterns and bright shades indicates its most probably a moth" .  As soon as these thoughts flashed, I realised something.

My mom may not know the minutiae of flying insects but she knew something far more valuable. She could see beauty in everyday things. She could share joy.

Kindered Spirits

Where you are from, whom you are, what your interests are, what your views in life are do not matter much to me. What matters is do you think or do you not. Do you try to make sense of your life? Do you have a core set of ideas and a worldview? Do you have a morality and a sensibility that is not merely inherited but also honed and shaped by you with utmost care? Are you open to ideas ? If so, you are someone I would love to know. For we are kindred spirits, you and I.