The Hat Story

So the legend goes like this....

He was drunk. Too drunk. In fact in a state of being so drunk that he didn't know that he was drunk.
But he may be pardoned. It was his first time being getting drunk. Really drunk.

At the heights of meandering hallucinations, somebody whispered in his ears it would better to get a hat for his balding head. Though he was not averse to idea of disowning his family hairloom, he thought a hat might be good shopping. And since he had not idea about hat, he presumed he could ask a help or two from the shopkeeper.

So off he went to a shop on his four legs, oops two.

Hats, caps, capes and everything else for the shoulder and above where stacked in different colors and sizes. In the dizzying white light, he saw a fine woman walk up to him. The next thing he remembers is trying out a flurry of hats as directed by this woman. At some point he got bored and stopped trying and chose one.

The last memory, that he had from that shop was putting his credit card pin into the machine. And then walked back into the streets as a happy man ; a proud owner of a hat.

None of this made this humdrum instance a legend. However, what made it a legend was what happened two days later; when the natural sober state shinned upon him.

He noticed that he had bought an American hat, this made him curious. You see, it would be impossible for him to buy an American hat in the country of fashion. But then, he did have it. His curiosity made him open his bank account to remind him how much he paid for it.

And when he saw the entry for the Hat, this story became a legend.

99 Euro for a simple hat!

Yet another dream...

He would like to have a baby girl.

So that he could answer those queries  she would ask about the mundane things.
So that he could braid her hair in different styles before she goes to her school.
So that he could listen to her stories about her day while he feed her snacks.
So that he could watch her make sand castle on the beach.
So that he could see her learn to dance.
So that he could see her paint  his face.
So that he could read bed time stories to her.
So that he could listen to boys she like.
So that he could listen to her dreams and her career.
So that he could solve the worries of her life.
So that he could smile when she flies high.

So that he could wait for that everyday call till his last breath.

Someday, he would like to have a baby girl.

Pages to read

It is a different feeling when you read a book.

Right from the fresh smell of paper that was printed and packed before drying till the last page where you see THE END with a graphics you would soon forget, it is a immensely joyful experience. No less than an orgasm, if you ask me.

In between those two cover pages, you see a world without breathing a single whiff of air.

I remember being at the great battle of Marathon when Greek fought the Persians. From there I found myself to be listening to Krishna speaking to Arjuna about Karma. Yet, again I got shocked when Hal replies to Dr. Bowman in the most cunning way ever. Then, I almost touched the Bamboos through which Amitava Ghosh showed Sunderbans. I could smell each cigarette Fusun lit in Museum of Innocence.  And I was everywhere where my author took me. Sometimes hidden, sometime out in open.


I wish I could live in between the pages. Lost among words and punctuation.



PS: After a long time read an excellent book - Cutting for Stones by Abraham Verghese

Road ahead....

When?  She asked.

When you were leaving the other day with your backpack.
When you looked into my eyes to say a good bye or sort of something. He replied.

He wished he could say more. But sometimes words don't express what eyes wish to say. And most often he wouldn't have looked back into those eyes which would have told beautiful stories of the future.

But not this time. Not with her.

Let me tell you story, in this story you choose the ending. Shall I ? He tried to sound funny.

Oui!.  she said which was like a tessitura to him.

And thus he began.

"When he met her he thought she was just another girl. But soon he realized, she is possibly the only friend in that unknown land. Of course he had many other friends but no one whom he could converse so easily. He thought it is because they speak the same language. No, more than that it was something else. He might have told her more than what he would have told his closest friends. He knew her, or lest he thought, well. He loved the animated way she tries to explain her day. He loved the conversations that happened during the cooking about life, love and everything. Oh yes, he did love her dancing which reminded him of vivacious kids making merry with their friends.

He thought he could be a good friend to her.

But some where on this way, he wanted to be more than a friend. So he asked her what role he should play. Whether it be

a)  A more than a friend role where he could be guy who would make  breakfasts with random games designed in the morning to make her smile and run around.  He could be the guy who would learn guitar and play the song "Let me sing you a waltz.." after roaming around in the streets of venice. He could also be the guy who would try to tell her to calm down when her adrenaline rushes due to anxiety. And yes, he could be also the guy who would read her stories if she can't sleep.  And he could be many many things more....

b) A  friend shoes mode where he could alternate the days on which they would cook. He could be guy who would watch movies and tv shows with her, over an ice cream while being défoncé . He could be guy with whom she could tell about which guy to choose for a date: a Rastafarian with dreadlocks or a famous journalist.  And he could me be many many things more...."


He stopped abruptly.

Now tell me  how should  the story proceed?; You want option a) or b) ? He asked.

She went into a deep thought.

He waited for the answer.

There....

Let me fly,
into cold wind and sweet silence,
above clouds that drifts below,
over green meadows.


To unknown,
devoid of memories,
a melancholy calm,
immersed in unlacing fragrance.

Into arms of Satie and Sartre,
me not me but yet me,
a time stopped in past, present and future,
for it stays there.

there forever.



PC:http://janetgrosshandler.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/clouds-below.jpg

Tucking it away....

I am not coming. He said in a soft tone.

Why? it would be nice. We all are going. There was a persuasive tone in her voice. 

He was not tired but he was lazy to walk out into the cold. 

May be you will find your future wife in this party. She said, now with a  persuasive smile.

He smiled. And thought " What happens if I don't go - nothing much, I sleep and another day gets over and What happens if I go - may be something, like seeing an UFO in the sky or meet my wife?"

Yay!.. That was another sound of approval. 

He dressed up and off they went.

-------

As soon as he opened the door, the loud music hit his ears. It was hurting.  

In dimly lit discotheque light, he could see many dancing and making merry. 

To enjoy this party, he needed to reduce his senility. So he went in search  drinks. Yes, he believed that was the only solution. He found many bottles which he didn't care to read. In a disposable glass he mixed few and added coke. Gulp. 

After 2 minutes, he lost  3 years from his age. 

Process was repeated twice to land himself at an age of 20. 

Slowly his hands started to follow the music and  his legs to the beats. And he danced till his legs ached. 

He didn't meet his wife. He had already met her long ago. Now she was somebody else's wife.

Another set of memories added to the castle of memories. This one sits in the eastern block of the 4th floor. 

PC:http://snapshotsandneedledrops.com/2013/02/05/dancing-in-the-dark/

Monsoon

Drops that didn't stay on the leaves fell on to the asbestos sheet down below. Together it created a music.  And that music still reverberates in his ears after 15 years. 

Monsoon rains in kerala is different. It is an experience which never ceases to surprise him. And surprisingly, he got drenched in rains from around the world but none of those could etch a castle of rainy memories in his heart as the one from kerala on that day. 

May be it was her, in those rains, that didn't let that memory fade away. Like a black and white piece of film stuck in the projector, he tried to escape. Again and again.

Yet, he vividly remembered that rain. The smell of the warm earth cooling down on those first  drops of monsoon of 2000. 

Those anxious eyes, perplexed, was looking for something.

And 15 years later, he realized it was not him those eyes were searching for.  Though, those eyes got transfixed in his eyes forever. 

Unable to close and forget, his eyes still told the story of that  monsoon day.