Vera

                                                                                        

Father pushed my hand and I looked into his eyes. Usually they were playful and vivacious. We were leaving the din of the city. Lights traveled by, blurring every moment. When I looked into his eyes, the world blotted out. We would sometimes venture into the peregrinations to the shore when he would want to make love. We would walk down through the city scum, us alone hand in hand, to our beach of the loners. The path was tortuous.  A stranger could never penetrate into our realm. It is only by practice that one can begin to understand our path. Father always said that only we could take this journey, no one else could submit to it. I followed him, like an obedient child. Today was another one of such journeys; and so we set out for the sea, hand in hand.

Father was a little pensive today. He had a worrisome brow. From time to time he left my hand and put it on his temple. I could not comprehend his presentiment. His dark eyes were tired; maybe that is why he thought of making love today. Sometimes, when overworked, he would come to my room with an air of melancholy. He always said- that my sight was all glitter and he drew strength from this very dust. I engulfed him in my dust and made him stronger and weaker- he was there to take it all.

I touched his shoulder but he kept walking on. At some distance we saw a looming figure. He was a boy, about my age with aquiline nose and eyes as dark as mine. He seemed as if he was standing there for quite some time. He kept making marks on the ground by his shoes; he kept drawing some illegible patterns. His eyes met my father’s and at once they held the knowledge of recognition. Father saw him and left my hand altogether. Suddenly he started towards the direction of the distant boy. I was rooted to my place, all incomprehensible. Who was this boy, I thought. Father went up to him and took him by the shoulder. They sat down on a broken tree bark. I kept my distance. It was hard for me to cope with strangers and estrangement.

They were talking and listening. I could not hear any of them. I did not try hard. I had a looming sense of jealousy. Father was with him by the shoulder and not with me. I started for the shack. I kept walking with sand in my foot. I reached the destination in sometime. The landscape was overwhelming, as always. It was dusk and the sea was deep blue. Our shack was on the cliff which overlooked the sea. In the distance there was civilization; the people of the world. I thought of how I could compel father in my own way. Maybe a candle would be mystique with aroma of roses. I would need some preparing for that.  I took a chair and sat facing the sea.

Sometime later, I heard a someone walking down. It was father with his slow steps. He sat down beside me and took my head on his shoulder.

‘Who was that boy?’, I asked.

‘He was my mistake.’, he answered.

We were silent for a long time. He kept stroking my hair, stroking my wet cheek. I started sobbing and he took my face in his hands. From the back, we heard voices of women. We looked around and saw mother and sister coming towards us. My father disentangled himself, and embraced mother. I saw my sister in all her glory, with her tallness and feminine charms. She was always so beautiful, with long silky hair, bright eyes and charming face. She was so tall, twice as tall as any one of us. She wore white all the time. When she walked, it was as if a stallion was gracefully racing against the wind. She was a celestial nymph.

 She bent down to kiss me on my cheek. Oh, how difficult it was for her!! We all moved to the other part of the shack where she could stand without difficulty. For her, we always had twice as much things. It was difficult to accommodate her sometimes. I put my head on her lap and heard mother singing.

Sometime later, I stood up and walked over to the edge of the cliff. I sat there. The family was singing tunes. I thought that now there would be no love.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my hand. I turned and I saw Vera. He had come again test me.

‘Why have you done this?’ , he asked.

I kept looking at him, hating him with all violence.

‘I have not done this.’

‘It’s ingrained in you. It’s in your being. Every time you come to this brink, I see the futility. Why? Why? Why?.....’

He kept ranting. He kept ranting. He kept ranting.

Suddenly I felt a rush of heat. I opened my eyes to his and shouted-

‘It isn’t me!!! It never is!’

He stopped in between his words, as if my words struck him. He was heaving. His heaving died down. He looked into my eyes as if the knowledge finally penetrated him that it is never me. It never was.

He took my hand and we started off for the Neverland. 

The Excess of Silence

Descartes said- ‘I think therefore I am’. I wonder to how many people he could truly explain this. I wonder how many people have truly understood what he said. ‘Saying’, grown to ‘talking’ is a bit of a problem. Thinking is fine; it has a limited domain. But talking is difficult. Talking requires an effort of construction- and that too an appropriate construction. We’re all builders; we try to build our lives. One block after another, piece by piece- we try to make our places. But building sentences needs deliberation. I can think, I can think in my sub-conscious. But when it comes to engaging basic faculties of another human being, I am at a loss. I lose myself to the idea that I don’t have the capacity. It’s like traversing the unknown grounds with invisible pitfalls. One doesn’t really want to fall in the holes so one resorts to reconnaissance. It’s as if I project myself elsewhere- like radar to know what rocks I might encounter. I am always pulsating to find, to search but with equal derision for myself, my being.  The derision foretells the story of rejection- the rejection of my being from an unchartered context.

Let me tell you the story of the time when all this started. It was a time of great impacts and great distinctions. The theory of ‘single child’ is appropriate; it causes great harm to be alone- for it leads to distorted speech, dehumanized bedrooms and play areas full of imaginary friends. Now the great thing about the imaginary friends is that they know you- so you don’t have to explain anything to them. It is through one’s soul unknown to oneself that a child alone fabricates his universe. The communication is in whispers, in countless lost moments of togetherness. One may talk- and the other may listen. Here, in the bedroom of the single child- one may talk and everybody may listen. Everybody is present by their absence. The child has the sun to talk to in the day and the moon to talk to in the night. Certain wind may carry his words elsewhere- but hardly to any place where they are not misconstrued. The friendly chatter is too much clamour and too much clamour is excess of silence and silence is the infinity. Like Simon and Garfunkel said-

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never share

And no one dared

Disturb the sound of silence

So yes, no one dares disturb the sound of silence. Silence and the being exist in singularity. Vaguely do I remember the song of other voices but hardly have I forgotten my own melodies. Vaguely do I recall touching hands all the time but never do I forget my own complicated being. It’s what I call the internalized form- and what they think is a melodrama. It’s what they call confusing and what I call ambiguous.  I don’t think I exist in the binary logic of nature – culture. Neither have I had a stand of a Unitarian rejecting the trinity. I look forward to form a perception; I close my eyes for a moment or so. That is where I encounter the countless moments of solitude.  The reconnaissance is only for the well being of my faculties. Reconnaissance is to know that something beyond me exists. And here fore, I begin my construction of sentences to tell you the relatively true story of silence in excess.