The Unstable Atom

Reflecting over life through weird, crazy, ever changing, euphoric, absurd, confused and at times impartial lenses -a journey of curiosity and questions with my two alter egos.. as I try to fall out of the stagnation of instability.. or the desperate attempt to remain..

There should be one.
A way out.
So that we can remain whole.
A way out of a heart-break or before it actually breaks, or even after its broken before we end up breaking our souls.
Even though they say something better can come after something breaks.
Or atleast there should be a way out to be able to patch ourselves up without the melancholy.
A way out so we can heal.
Because no matter how much we think we have healed and moved on. Those broken parts always stay. Because there is no way out.

"Everyone is sad, if you can just watch. Everyone tries to find their little corner of paradise. Help each other. Let’s make life and the world a little better. Let us be gentle with the hearts and the souls. If anything they are the ones who need the kindness. We are all bruised." I wrote this one in French waiting for a metro in Paris, slightly tipsy from some wine/beer I can't remember. I can’t remember where we were going either but I do remember seeing people around me, and for me people everywhere look the same. They have the same look in their eyes. Everyone is waiting for acknowledgement or acceptance and yet they don’t want to be obvious about it. Maybe they are shrouded by assumption and conditioning of not letting their weaknesses/desires show. And for good measure too. Not everyone is kind, sadly, even though our souls know the truth, the unkind ones are also under illusions or conditioning which leads them to be unkind. Most of the times they are the ones who have never seen kindness offered to them in life. They are probably the ones needing it the most. The more I travel, the more people I meet or see, the more this belief gets stronger: we are all the same, give and take a few traits.

I’m struggling so much conditioning and pressure of social constructs right now in life and I cannot imagine what people must be going through. I think i can now look at an emotion and recognize the root of it. But the people who don’t recognize these things, and those who aren’t strong enough to fight these things, I wonder what they must be feeling. Maybe nothing? Cause they go with the flow, thinking that's what they are meant to do or that its the right thing to do. Its always easier isn’t it. To fit-in in the already molded life. Everyone knows the ropes, help is at hand even if they go to any new place with new people. Everyone will know how to handle pre-set social constructs. For people like me, it’s a thin line, specially at the stage that I’m at. A very thin line of falling over. If the pain gets overwhelming people will choose to escape. This is where your strength, your person, your respect for your individuality comes into picture. When I argue about this, people tell me this is what they wanted to be a part of pre-set notions. But how do you know? You haven’t tried or even given anything else a thought, let alone a chance. You have always been afraid! Yes it’s a gamble to go on the path less traveled, but isn’t it worth it? To be your own person, to not be a slave to anything whatsoever? If nothing else you will atleast have made an informed choice.. Some people behave as if they have no choice. Even i have some times. But thats not the case. We always have a choice.

So, I got a new bike last year. A proper bike with gears and the works. It has been my dream since I was in college, rather it was budding since I was in school and hormones had started coming on. I’ve been riding a moped, a 110 CC non-geared model since 12 years. But hen right before i turned 30th i had this brainwave and decided I have to get a bike before i turned 30th, and I got this one right one day before my 30th birthday! This is a 200cc, 23 bhp and all that, which is basically a big jump from the approx. 8 bph baby I had. This was my first ever time to properly be able to use a bike, navigate city traffic etc, it felt a bit daunting to do something like this at the age of 30 when you are mostly all set in your ways including the way your muscles function! But it was thrilling nonetheless. Then I realised that no matter how much I felt like revving it up and bursting full throttle I was a wee bit scared of losing it. Its easy to let thrill and adrenaline let you get carried away. But then I got wiser.
One day I was riding my new baby back home from work, the road wasn’t too crowded and I was cruising at a standard speed. Then this moped overtakes me riding zigzag full speed, for a minute I thought they would just slip and crash but thankfully they didn’t. I’m usually very easily indulge in road-rage and I ride my non-geared baby like crazy (maybe even just like those people who overtook me) however, in that moment there, I was not tempted one bit. I knew I could’ve easily overtook them in a display of domination which I used to do as a kid with a new bike. But somehow I didn’t feel the need for it. It was as if having a bike with higher power and knowing its power, was enough. I didn’t need to display it. It was for me to indulge in when I wanted to, not when I was provoked. I think the same goes with age. As you age or “gain numbers”, you do become wiser (of course if you let the experiences and knowledge seep in and make something of it). Cause for most of the things, you’ve been there done that. You will still have that old you with you, the carefree one, lesser responsibilities (read power) but you will now know what greater responsibilities do if not handled correctly. Its interesting to dabble in power and realise the responsibility it brings on your own. I wonder how is it that people get so drunk on power to ruin everything for themselves and/or others. For me, having that power is good enough, the show of power is unnecessary, unless required.

His eyes were of molten khaki with a ting of green.

They crinkled a little bit when he flaunted that broad patent smile of his. It was even more bright tonight. They had met like that only the second time. This time around too they were surrounded by people.
She looked at him fondly. He wasn’t really her type, but she indulged him. He brought her some kind of peace. A very different kind than she craved or ever had or ever even wanted. There was warmth in his eyes, that of innocence, though he was a grown man. Not boyish, just innocent, untouched. These were the eyes that hadn’t known the ravaging of love. Perhaps that’s why they brought her that kind of peace and she didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t feel like running away nor did she feel like possessing it.
They didn’t need solitude, they didn’t need each other’s bodies, neither to touch nor to possess. The eyes were enough and then there were words and beyond that there were silences.. The much loved silences.

--

It was a year after. They had gone their separate ways, as was always intended. And then they met again. He insisted. Almost exactly a year. It was nice to see him, he loved seeing her. But something had changed. He was the same, and he always will be; maybe she wasn’t anymore. Over the growing years he had made peace with himself, with the kind of person he was. Maybe that is where his eyes got the sheen that they always had. But she was still struggling, still exploring herself and surprising herself with each new thing she found. It made her wonder how were people so satisfied with themselves or had they already found everything within them? Do they never change, rather do they not find new things or perspective even about the same old things? She wondered. She wondered if her eyes showed this mad struggle she underwent each moment. Now that she was robbed of the peace she got from him, she wondered how he looked at her eyes. His touch didn’t excite her anymore. Somehow she could see through the witty remarks that had so attracted her to him earlier. His eyes however were the same. They still shone and sparkled. She smiled in wonder. She tried to indulge him but couldn’t. He probably noticed it. It was hard not to notice things she wanted you to know, cause she made them very obvious. Here however, she wanted to be gentle. She didn’t want to be the one who would strip those molten khaki eyes of their innocence. Though thinking about it later, long after they had said their goodbyes, she thought maybe no one will be able to do it. Because, probably, it was there knowingly. Maybe with a lot of effort. The choice to view the world with innocence, wonder, freshness and unbiasedness. They may not meet again the same way but she smiled as she felt the same kind of peace washing over her once more. He was the one with those molten khaki eyes, with a ting of green.

A tea stall
Small, on a small street, opposite an office building
There are few more small offices around
But just the one tea stall
It was winter
Bang in the middle of December
Cold and chilly in that part of the country.
He stepped out with his “tea buddies” for a cuppa after the daily morning meeting
After all the machine coffee didn’t have the taste of tea boiled and toiled for.
There were many people out and about..
It was quiet, as it generally is in winter mornings in this part of the country.
There was some chatter and scattered laughter.
The fog was settling, just then he saw her.
As if a vision in blue, his favourite color too!
She stood there, in a small group hands on her hips, smoking on a stick.
He noticed her hair tied in a ruffled messy bun
She listened intently to what her friend/colleague was saying
Then he noticed her eyes drift away..
There was a brief draught of wind and she looked up right at him!
Butterflies erupted inside him with a jolt!
She went off balance just a bit, looked like it had hit her too.
She hurriedly looked away, but he stared on, a bit aghast.. He never felt them with such strength. He never knew butterflies were supposed to be strong.
He continued to look hoping she would too
But she didn’t, or atleast he thought she didn’t as he made his way back to work..
Years later, he came back looking for the tea stall.
There was grey in his hair now, and specs too..
He located his first office, it didn't belong to the same organisation anymore.
He looked around for the tea stall but it wasn’t to be found.. there was a pang of sorrow, for he longed to see the place again and taste the same tea.
“Oh no! Where did he disappear?!” the winter wind carried her voice loud and clear.. years later, the tea stall remained alive in their memories. Their lives meshed together by the hot boiling sweet tea.

A rip here, a scratch there.. spilling black and blue..
A slap and a strangle painted red..
White skin blotched with colors.. All but that of love..
Or maybe this is love, a love so profound it goes beyond gentle..
A love so strong it has to be violent..
A love so deep it needs to dig deep into the flesh with nails till it draws out the blood flowing in veins..
A love that wants to see for its own eyes, the truth in the other's by gauging it out..
Its a love with all the shades of all colors, not just grey, so much that it has turned pitch black.
A torn pink lip here, a bruised blue hip there.
A gash on the creamy back here, a pinch on the murky sack there.
There is no pleasure without these colors now, they ought to flow.
A grip of the neck, a twist of the wrist.
A stone cold bare floor is what they look for, not a bed of roses.
A love that is naked and stripped to the core of existence, not just some mushy words on the surface.
They see each other through and through, robbed of any masks and labels they ever had.
They see one another in each other, as if one is possessed by the other.
They lay crumpled embracing long after, licking each others wounds, and the thirst boiling, barely beneath the surface, ready to pounce out and spew its colors, any moment.
For he is a sadist.
And she a masochist.
A match made in heaven?
One would think so, since opposites are meant to attract.

Alcohol helps ease the pain so that it can flow out freely.
Like a swollen up pus filled wound is bled.
Its needed sometimes to cut a wound open and drain it. Otherwise the pain just boils up to the throat and stays stuck, unable to find an escape.
Then it goes bad.
It hurts and it becomes bitter. Then it becomes hard to get it out, clinging on, becoming a part of you. The thorn goes deeper inside, making it harder to locate and extract. Many times it lays inside forgotten.
The pain eventually subsides, in most cases, but the wound is there deep inside and one fine day due to some blow close to it, it bursts out. Sometimes, alcohol helps ease the pain and helps it flows out. It may not help heal the wound but helps bleed it as much as possible. Just some times.