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..

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.

Mumbai.

He says he has someplace to be for work. It was a last minute thing. The place he talks about is almost an hour away from where I am. My face falls. He probably senses it on the phone but doesn't say anything. I tell him its OK and to go home once done. We hadn’t planned to meet anyway. I go about doing my thing when my phone blinks an hour later. He has messaged to say he is done with work and tries to joke saying he will go home if I want him to. I tell him that I know you wouldn’t be able to come and I don’t want to hear a no so its better I don’t ask. This way you are also under no obligation to come and I don’t have to hear a no. It’s a safety net. For both, so neither feels bad. Or to rightly put it “no one feels any worse”. He applauds me for my logic. I reply with the one thing I always feel that wrings my heart - when there is no option words are all you have.
Some stories last for a precious few moments. Precious moments being the key words here. They touch you in places no one else had or ever would. They remain to be a part of you, till always.

Kisses, moments, stolen.
Stolen from the unsuspecting.
Stolen glances, words.
From the fabric of time, from the wraps of the universe’s elaborate, seemingly perfect plans.
I steal these withering threads and weave myself a blanket.
A blanket to lie beneath on cold lonely nights. A warm blanket with colorful stories stitched into each weave, to sing me a lullaby every night as I watch the stars twinkling far away.
I steal their dying light and build myself a fire to go with the blanket.
Stolen. Everything. Never owned, always stolen.

I write this as i sit on a terrace with couple of friends who have gone to attend their separate calls right now. There is chatter all around, music and sounds of desperate traffic floating up.. there was a reason for this time out drinking tonight.. it stands as below..

It feels so weird. As if a distant lifetime, not even the immediate previous one. Its not been a very long time yet its ready fading away.. was it even a bond? Or just something flimsy that hook winked me into believing it was solid? Looks like the latter.. there are some memories but only just.. the tag stays of course not that it bothers me. Maybe what bothers more is that there wasnt a lot of pain of losing the person.. that i invested myself in an image an idea instead of the actual person.. that i fooled myself into believing it was love and something that would last a lifetime atleast let alone 9.. but then there it was done.. n now dusted.. the remaining memories would fade away too probably... But i hope i will have something left in my vault cause i did believe in it when it was alive n thriving.. these will be the only memories i would fool myself in believing i think.. after all it was the first time..

This is from today, as i sit in office waiting for the call and see night fall around outside.. Its beautiful, winter nights have their own charm..

I like nights.
The way they slowly cajole the sun out and caress the moon in.
The way the sky softly sheds its cloak.
The way the breeze dances to its tune.
The way something changes deep within people’s hearts.
Some notice it some don’t.
The masks melt as the darkness lingers on.
Unknowingly, the darkness within leaks outside and sometimes a brightness shines.
I love nights. The quiet allure to come out, to be true.
The velvety darkness, the silent promise of easing out all pain, the gentle caress of an unseen hand wiping out unshed tears. The night is a promise.
The night is love.

This one is from my many solo outings trying to explore Delhi.. as with each place i visit, i left a part of me back in that part of the country.. missing it terribly..


“I make sure to sit at the balcony whenever I visit this place” she said. “Oh, the balcony is nice.” he said without taking his eye off of her. “Did you sit here when it was still light outside? Well, you should” she persisted when he didn’t react. He just smiled. She looked away, outside towards the sun fading in the pink evening sky. Street lights shone bright just outside. People milled about on the narrow winding street just below with a drink in hand, eyes wandering around, chattering and laughing. She looked beyond the immediate brightness, beyond the ruins of the old fort, around which this café and the other places of entertainment were set in this side of the town. She looked at the dim lights glimmering in the distance. It reminded her of something she held close to her heart. She couldn’t put a finger on it but it was a warm feeling. Something akin to home. A splash of a drop of water brought her back to the little café. Water had condensed around his beer bottle and was now dripping. She realized he hadn’t touched it for all the time that she was lost in thought at a distant place. She looked at the table and smiled at what she saw. He had removed the label of the bottle and stuck it to the wooden table top. He reminded her so much of her old self. And yet she knew he was very different, much more in control of himself than she ever was or ever would be. He always managed to astound her with this quality. Many of his habits matched hers but not her temperament. Her habits sprouted from her free-spirited nature, she never wanted to be bound. He lived and let go at times too but he knew where to draw a line, where to stop, and did it- she knew too, but didn’t stop. He was always grounded. He never let all the success go to his head like many young men his age with his success would. She knew him since a long time now. She had wanted something more to happen of this acquaintance, since all the qualities he possessed were the ones that appealed to her, but he always maintained a safe distance. They talked. Always talked. The way he looked at her always made her feel that he wanted something more too, but he never made a move and always averted her moves when they had initially met. Now she didn’t bother. She just took solace in the fact that he was there. An unwavering support.
There were times when they would be out of touch for days or even months at a stretch. But each knew that the other was just a phone call away. Both counted on each other for comfort or to just be the presence that we all need. He was unattached, and she dated casually. She thought she couldn’t live alone. And more than that they was never a time that she had had to be alone or unattached for prospects kept pouring in, one after another. Each time she called him after a period of silence, albeit brief, the first question he would ask was- “so whats his name?” She would laugh heartily and tell him all about it. They never called each other best friends. They were two people who genuinely liked each other for the people they were. It confused her about why he liked her! There were so many like her out there and knowing his position he could find anyone to be with him. She asked him this on many occasions, his only answer was- “I’m not interested. Atleast not at the moment”. Sometimes she wondered if he was gay. But she knew that he wasn’t. She never got that vibe from him. And also because she hoped he wasn’t!
She smiled looking at him.. His face was confused at first and then he knowingly smiled back. They seldom needed words to be able to converse.. As the sun finally set, and the stars slowly started glowing brighter, the cafe was bookmarked somewhere in her memory for today. And not far from her, but without her knowledge so was it in his.


So another old friend of mine made me do this!! one of my older blogspot turned into an audio.. haha.. bear with it.. Do let me know how you find it. :)

https://audiomack.com/song/stoned-ravan/ti-kavita-prachi-mp3

The blogspot is this one: https://unstableweirdness.blogspot.com/2014/10/blog-post.html

Empty new houses. Just on the brink of finishing. I look at them. The tall sky scrapers, the shorter apartments, they won’t know yet who is going to own them, who is going to get their walls painted or torn down. I wonder if these houses too wish for the perfect owners, like the buyers are looking for the perfect house. We surely expect and hope for all perfect things, even perfect human beings for that matter. But do we give it back? Let alone to human beings can we give it back to inanimate objects? Can we treat them with respect? I’ve seen so many people treat things with disrespect, throwing them around, not cleaning up etc. I've been guilty of it too on many occasions. Maybe the things also lose respect for us? Only because science hasn’t prove it who is to say they don’t have a soul or some kind of a spark or spirit or energy? After all matter cannot be created right? It only changes form? I’m sure they have wishes too and perhaps so strong that they make us like or dislike them or call us unto them to possess them! Ahh wouldn’t it be great to possess such power? It is possible ofcourse through a variety of means not everyone has the patience to pursue. And we perhaps won’t, since we are given other senses and organs that these inanimate things haven’t been given. And just as well, let there be some mystery and something left sacred..

This one was conceived in Noida, one cold winter night as i stood having tea with a close friend near my home at that time, looking at a new construction taking shape.. The friend who beyond distance still tries to keep in touch and still calls me VVSPJ.. :) Thanks for the lovely times back then... you are special too, always will be..

So, this a bit off topic right at the start of the year, though the first quarter is drawing to a close. Since I got some time off at work and not in the physical state to pro-actively pick up a task, i thought i wold write something, and something not too heavy (health not permitting too much overthinking :P). Past few years have been something of an unexpected phenomenon. Zooming out, none of the things that life threw at me were something i wanted and hence never foreseen. Though each led to the other in some way. This one is about new years. All my new years till 2015 had been spent with familiar people in the same way, almost always craving the company of a particular someone, and I did get it too only to find it was all a sham. So, starting with 2015, I found myself spending that day with new people and at different places! Its been 3 new year's eves spent away from home, with new people/complete strangers. Almost each time was by choice and not due to circumstance. It just led me to wonder what this new year would have in store.. I turned 30 this year. Of all the years of running around, and a brief illusion of thinking things would settle, I find myself repeatedly thinking this over. They say if you want different results then change what you do. I've done it all. Changed all sorts of things. One thing i refuse to change is the person I'm at my core- someone who gives. I am a giver and that i stubbornly guard. It keeps me sane. It is who i am. So lets see what this year does.. And that's about it really. :)