Ode to a dear friend

It all started on a boring, rainy December evening, some six years back. I was stuck at work doing some maintenance and monitoring tasks. Lots of free, undisturbed time on hand and I had nothing better to do. So I decided to while away the remaining time by sharing some tit-bits about me and my views on few arbitrary things to her.

My neighbor!

My reasoning was ‘All my friends have one such. Why not I?’ Like pen-pals. Like rayil snegham, believing it to be almost ephemeral. For one, I had no intention of maintaining much contact. Or for that matter neither was I counting on sustaining interest (either ways) much longer. Sensible or otherwise, I told her what I wanted to tell, only in the way I wanted to tell and only to the extent I wanted to tell. Succinct hints and elaborate exaggeration were how I made her see me.

My Ego!

But we, she and I, have come a long way from that point on, together. What started out as a mere acquaintance slowly steadied itself to become friendship which later solidified as the most dependable confidant I ever had.

My Diary!

Ah! What all had we seen and felt. She had been my cheery mate when I was exuberant; had patiently held against my rants and angst; had, as well, bravely endured my nonsense for most part; had stood by me and mourned with me for my losses and failures; had been, and is, my identity, for some people; had seen me lonely, high, depressed, boring, unashamedly happy, secretive, dysfunctional, naughty, blank, vile, in and out of love etc; been part of my greatest joys and memorable seconds; been a medium of communication, an undelivered letter, when what is being said is too much to be shared in person. After all that, she has stuck with me, like a dear that she is.

My Conscience (sort of)!

Through her I can see the passage of time and with each turn I’m glad she was there to be part of it, to share with me and support me. I can clearly see, through her, the changes in my heart, the maturity of my thoughts, my sincere doubts and my unfulfilled dreams.

My Pensieve!

Sadly, for most part of the time I ignore her. Like routine. But when things tilt a little from that routine, I rush to find her waiting to listen and comfort. Once I divulge all my fears and anxieties and secrets, I feel a huge burden has been lifted off of me. Like with the belief in God, the need intensifies when I’m feeling powerful emotions and when I’m helpless and in want of something anything to help me out. I know it’s too selfish to be so, and I have tried to confess and promise I will ‘mind’ more regularly, but only to have the promise broken. Again!

Nevertheless, I’m really thankful for this friend. Just for being there for me!

This blog is now officially 200 posts old. A momentous moment at Pensieve!

But I want to commit. I want to be able to be regular. I need to finds avenues to enjoy indulging. I want to experiment, learn. I want to be prompted. I would like to be supported. I want an audience.

My Passion!

I never have. I never will.

The door swayed ever so lightly and faint light slithered noiselessly inside. The movement brought a fresh draft of air into the room and I opened my eyes just in time to catch the familiar retreating figure of the help. I gave attention to her only long enough to think ‘I will ask for water the next time she peeks inside’ and was about to close my eyes when something else caught my attention. Someone was behind the door, almost motionless like a shadow. Whoever it was, caught the swaying door before it could snap shut. But the shadow did not advance.

I was, by then, used to having the help check up on me to make sure I was comfortable, which I was far from, though of course she didn't need to know that. But that shadow was an addition to the familiar mind-numbing routine.

Even in the gloom there was no mistaking the shadow. If my thoughts had a voice it would have yelled in joy. If my heart was not already erratic it would have stuttered from the ecstasy. She stood in the doorway studying the room. And from what I could see of her expression I imagined that she was hesitant to enter. I raised my right arm ever so slightly to motion her inside. She was still undecided so I left my hand hover for a few seconds (with every effort that I could garner) to make her understand that I wanted her to come near. The image of the unacknowledged raised hand brought back into memory another vivid one, though then the roles were reversed and I was the one who was hesitant to take the hand. I wondered if she remembered that time from long ago. She left the door half parted and walked in slowly and deliberately ignoring my raised arm, came to stand by my other side. She was close enough now for me to see her properly. Time had had no influence over her. She looked exactly like from my memory.

"Hi" I tried to say and was surprised to hear how cracked and hoarse my voice was. I definitely needed some water.

She was watching me intently, with something besides worry in her expression. Her eyes roved everywhere about me, about the room too but not quite meeting my gaze. I had no mind for anyone, anything. Had the room been suffocating-ly full with people and their talks, I wouldn’t have noticed at that point, and that wouldn’t have surprised me.

She slowly asked "Couldn’t you have at least watched where you were going?" Like always, I was surprised by her choice of that as the first question. Everyone who saw me would be either empathetic or patronizing or easily repulsed. But no one would dare to have put such a question to me, at least not on face and definitely not then. But I had to give it to her to ask the weirdest of questions at the weirdest of times.

Apart from the surprise my mind also lingered on the tone of the voice. The voice held the same magic I was so used to. It had the same lilting quality that had appealed to me, and it made my thoughts flutter. But right then it was tainted with just a bit of exasperation.

A weak chuckle escaped my lips. And that was when she finally looked at me, in the eye. Innocent, questioning, soul searching look was what I remembered most of her eyes. But the eyes that looked at me from behind the swollen lids appeared weary and tired, with barely any hint of the former naughtiness or warmth.

Had she been crying, I wanted to ask. But the way our eyes connected I completely forgot about it. She tilted her head to the left smiled ever so lightly at me, and I could see some of the warmth creep back into her eyes again. She started at me for a long moment her face full of question and the anticipated nervousness at the answers I might provide. I wondered again if she was recalling the ancient grief of our last meeting.

I tried to shrug, an unadvisable thing to do, for the spasm of pain took me over. I concentrated hard not to wince, not to betray my weakness in front of her. I had to act, as I have always had to when around her. She was not one to be fooled and her eyes rarely missed the insignificants as she diverted her attention again to the state of me. Wherever her eyes touched my body it was like a warm caress and momentarily I could not remember any burning agony.

I could see tears forming at the corners of her eyes though she fought hard to swallow it. As always I tried to ease the hurt she felt because of me. I attempted to talk, but my voice was barely a grunt from want of water. I mumbled, "You look the same. You haven’t changed at all".

I heard her sigh and a genuine smile spread across her face.

I took heart and asked her "How are you?" I instantly regretted the emotion that crept into the simple question. She replied very softly "In a lot of trouble" with a small smile. I needn’t have to ask any further for what she meant by that. Again, I was sorry she was troubled on account of me. I sighed and I was once again over-powered by my want of water. Ignoring that I searched around for what to say next, to make her comfortable, but she did not seem to find my silence disturbing. Rather she sat there as a warm comfort to me, with her fingers entwined in my left hand.

I relaxed at the touch and just lay there almost as still as my body would let me when many pains and flashes of memories and anger and dejection and regret washed over me. It was like yesterday when we…

I felt, rather thought, the hair brushed back from my face with the gentlest of a touch and felt a warm pressure on my forehead. Slowly I opened to my eyes to see.

Someone was behind the door almost motionless like a shadow. Whoever it was, caught the swaying door before it could snap shut. But the shadow did not advance.

But the familiar scene from moments ago (was it just moments?) was blaringly different.

She was not coming for me. She was retreating from me. The lingering warmth of the soft pressure on the forehead and the tingling at the point of the contact were the only real thing. I wanted to cry. I wanted to call her back. I couldn’t find my voice. I wanted something for my thirst. What was that?

I don’t remember what. I just couldn’t care more.

I turned my head to glance back at the place where she had sat and tried to imagine her there again. To find comfort in the seconds that made me peaceful, albeit momentarily! There in the chair she had sat, within my reach, was a warm sterile bottle of drinking water.

I hated the sight of it.

But how can I hate something for which I crave the most? Can I?

Hey, what do you know?

This template seems more me than the previous one, doesn’t it? Happened to come across this beauty while I was following a few blogs on Bharathiyar. Liked it much and so after enormous amount of googling, here I’m produly presenting the newer version of the Pensieve. Think I will add some really cool gadgets too.

Another reason for the make-over is, this blog is very near to acheiving a significant milestone. Being as alive as this blog is, the When part is rather unknown. But for the same reason, the What part is very significant.

When or what, who cares. It's sure going to happen some day and in (advanced)celebrating that day is this change.

Just 2 more to go. Watch this space for more!

Ciao, until then!

A farewell

The haunts of the ebb,
a new tide washth over. Yet,
resonance of this echo'll last.
Some fondness!

Some thing I wrote a long time ago.

This was something I wrote a long time ago. Intended to be a testimony, with some hidden meanings denoting events that were of great significance at that time. Now it’s all irrelevant (not the testimony though. That still stands). It's amazing, that what once meant something very huge,as time progresses, seems to fade in importance

A heart that's sweet 'n sincere;
Faces the charades and remains unscathed;
Lilies and thorns; rainbows and scratches -
it takes the storms and lull alike.
Alluring and agonizing - as waft of air.
Vulnerable, amicable, sassy and unique,
Such a heart is truly a rare find.
Before you know, crunching the gap that was vile,
the medley of images is purely magical
Those times, in essence, means all and null.

Says the operator..,

I reel life, part of reeling in own.

Its fun to roll with slides, that

Offers a spectacular view of life -

Pictures of coherent moments.

I'm part of love; I witness war.

One day I'm a beggar.

In the next, I'm God

Some days overwhelming, loud;

Party and crowd

While some others are lazy;

I'm lonely and bored

Staring at foot prints,

Left behind in wake

I live the life in my head.

Well, what do you expect?

I'm just an audience!

Remember something?

Memoirs of a Promise:
On a bright blue Tuesday,
I was conceived -
of tales of “Robin” and like
And assuredly, I became.
Since then it’s been
weeks a many.
Feels shorter than one
For the prospect
was rather pleasant.
I saw no summons
Yet, I held belief
Now, - I, Promise – surmise
was on water writ.
Oye, idle Promiser,
do, insinuate,
and dissolve, me shall.
The ball and the court is yours~

M(ar)ooned

With nothing for company
(reflection, an exception, of course)
It is sad, that there’s
no one alike - to share,
to wisely ponder or just for banter,
to lean on, to believe,
to conspire, perhaps swap stories,
to humble and be humbled,
or simply to be with.
Sigh!
The Moon feels lonely sometimes

Heart over mind~

Listen carefully,
both - you and I -
here 'm screaming this silently.
I say you are just another.
Immaterial.
Then I retrofit.
Some introspection!
If you are inconsequent,
why do I keep remembering you?
If you are a Nobody
why do I ache for your approval?
You matter because I mind you?
Tell me, if I don’t mind you,
would you stop to matter?

Loud quietness

I can talk all I want
unabashed, un-maidenly words.
Even smile, blush and giggle.
Condemnatory hushes and
eyebrow raised - naught.
For the words and smiles
are with you!And only you;
Only me.
That’s why I prefer
to like your silence best!

I want to be able

I want to be able to write, anything, when I want, where I want and however I want.

I should be capable of writing exactly how I think.

I wish I could put all the emotions I envision on paper, exactly in the same way.

I want to be able to strike a balance between the way I want to write and what I want to write and be able to stick with it, through the time I struggle to pen down what I want to write in the way I want.

I would really like to write in such a way, my friends would love; would talk about and would come back to read more of it.

I want to think and put forth my ideas independent of the style of the authors I read.

When people read what I write, they should feel and be the thing I had written about.

No subject of a matter should be a problem to write about for I should be able to put in words.

The need to be anonymous should no longer exist, for I should be able to disguise all identities with my words.

Never a draught, never a surplus, but exactly right should be the point of my style.

A hint of self, hint of personal memories should not pepper my work.

I crave to be able to write, anything, when I want, where I want and however I want.

In the background: Tune