LETTERS FROM PAST

to a distant stranger...

After so long I am back to my own self today...back to my own self, like when I was in my school days...in my teens...in my college days...i am back to my own uncaring self...I dont know if u ever take a portion of your time to read whatever bull shit i write...but I am happy that I can still write to an unknown person who won’t judge me for "whatever reasons!" (even though it goes unread...ultimately the god has left the human being to live with hope)...hence this letter tonight.

It’s been a "Day" for me...

It would have been great if I was hit by a BMW...It would have been my pleasure...but by an "auto rickshaw"!! That too in a city like Delhi! Kismat hi kharaab hai..!! 

Anyway being hit was alright...because I was worried about more serious things then...But my test results came negative...Hurray!! According to those complicated X-Ray machines, all machines in my body are doing their job pretty well...

"Lungs, Kidney, Heart…all well" 

And to get that X-Ray done...I had to forge a signature...

And still I am here in my rat hole unable to diagnose what exactly is happening to my body!! 

God…! Okay...if at all there is somebody out there by that nomenclature is pretty complicated man...By the way how can you say that He is a Man…That person could be a woman too...the language is also patriarchal ..Trap of words....I am scared to even utter a word...the moment a person is born...he/she falls into the trap of words first…Words I feel is a trap which you can hardly escape...but the rapture of being trapped in words always gives me a kick...

Just that I am drifting away with my thoughts...it’s been a long week and these doctors out there are not able to diagnose what's wrong with me..! Losing 6 to 7 kilo grams in a month would have been great had I been one of those typical "diet freak dudettes" over here in Delhi...

Ohh by the way, I saw one of your status updates in FB, 

"Job opportunity in India for hangmen...476 convicts on death row & after today's SC dismissal of Bhullar plea ,the gallows will be busy!”

I think that’s a damn good job...I can give it a try...to "Kill" people...I always had that killing instinct in me, the raw animal instinct and I get goose-bumps every time I watch a Quentin Tarantino movie..."Kill Bill" is my all-time favourite...and "Pulp Fiction"...What a wonderful way to kill...I think the traditional "hanging system" should be changed... The Indian government should be more innovative while killing the convicts...a more sophisticated and an easy method...may be Katju will have a better idea I guess...

This reminds me of a Malayalam movie which starts with a crisis...a police station is in need of a hangman, since all the hangmen get killed by the convict's gang on the day he is supposed to be hanged. The police and the government post pones the date of conviction just because they are unable to find a hangman...and finally they arrange a hangman from Tamil Nadu who also gets killed on his way to the police station on the day of conviction...the story goes on like that...An interesting movie....So I think, taking life and giving life is something great...in fact that is the power of the Powerful...

I think I am becoming an "absurdist" in my life…bitter truths...thank God the Truth is not singular...Your truth...My truth...mamma's truth...dad's truth...truth and truths....

Ohh...how desperately I wish I could get out, see and talk to people out there....but no...the poet still echoes in me…

“The "UNREAL CITY"....and there lie the corpses...

"That corpse you planted last year in your garden,  

Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?  

Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?  

Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,  

Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!"

...with his nails he'll dig it up again...!!!

And now the clock ticks...and my eyes are heavy...

Regards

N

LETTERS FROM PAST

to a distant stranger...

Hi...

This happened years before. But now when I look back I feel that that was just yesterday. At times there is a great need to comprehend with circumstances and a great demand to define oneself with time. Today when one of the interns in my office said that he hasn't even seen a telegram, I was wondering, "Do I belong to a different era altogether?" I felt so distanced, odd and I don’t know how to explain that feeling.

**** 

I was in 8th STD if am not wrong. It was not rainy season; still it was drizzling on that day. Physics class were always boring for me. In fact the subject was not boring but the teacher was. He was short statured with hairs like barb wires ready to snarl at anyone, the hair was as scary as that of Einstein's but without his innocence. Even when he wrote E=mc square on the black board, one could see his impish eyes protruding out through his spectacles thirsty to catch someone acting naughty during his period. I still don't understand what kind of heavenly pleasure teachers attain while throwing a piece of chalk at somebody's head! He was as thin as a stick, in fact he resembled some malnourished uncle from Somalia and who can forget the fresh droplets of saliva spraying out of his mouth every time he said his masterpiece dialogue, "whaaat is your pRobLem!!” with a strong mallu accent, with a special emphasis on pRRoBBLLem...!! Problem's BLEM came like the "BLLLUUUUM" sound when you throw a piece of stone into river just like that! So I was literally "enjoying" his class trying to solve physics proBLems..!

The physics period was about to finish and then it was lunch time. And it was my favourite day of the week- Monday...the only day when we get fish fries for lunch. I was dreaming about the yummy crispy fish fries, praying to God ardently, that I get the biggest piece of Fish. I was even wondering if I will get the middle part, head or the tail of fish. Even the memory of Fish made me forget about all pRoBLems of my Physics teacher. So there I am dreaming for the biggest chunk of fish and here comes my house master. She interrupted my physics teacher and they had some discussion after which my Physics teacher calls out my name and declares "Neethu ElDose(with special emphasis on D, again his masterpiece), you have a telegram" !! BANG!! on my ears and I woke up from my "fishy dreams" and looks up! Did he really say that I got a telegram! Or was that part of my fishy dream! Reluctantly I got up from my seat and slowly walked towards the door. My house master says, "Follow me"!

And i walked behind her with my heart pounding so hard that I could hear it in my ears! I didn't know much about telegram then, but one thing was for sure. Nobody sends you a telegram for fun. Ohh! Somebody died! I had seen it in films and read a lot about that in fictions! People get telegrams when they lose their jobs or somebody is dead or critical! OMG! Who will sent me a telegram! That too to my residential school! My granddad's is still not bed-ridden and why would they sent me a telegram! They should send it to my mom and dad! Who on earth will sent me a telegram, that too to my school address! My heart pounded so loud as ever! ohhhh! my mom! my dad! who died! How could they die so fast? I have learnt in biology that human beings have a life span till 80 years or so...and they are not that old! an accident! Did they have an accident! I was reminded of Oliver Twist! Will I become an orphan! OMG! I was going mad! 

Finally I gathered all my courage and asked my house master, "Are you sure that it is for me! It might be a mistake!" She was as arrogant as ever! I felt like banging on her head! Still I controlled myself and went up to the post man. Even while I was signing on the papers my hands were shivering. And finally there it was! A telegram! Finally like all those desperate heroines in Television soaps, with all drama, I gazed on it...there was a single liner at the bottom of that printed piece of paper, all in caps,

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOLU**...! with love Papa"

A zillion emotions rushed inside me...I don't remember if was crying or smiling...And yes, It was my birthday....

****In memory of my first and last telegram to my distant stranger...also in celebration of period when mobile phone was just a figment of imagination

** MOLU in malayalam means Bitiya...Daughter...

Regards

N

LETTERS FROM PAST

To my distant stranger...

There was a time when both the the God and man lived together. Soon after His first creation of mankind, the God gifted him a box. It was closed. And the God had only one condition. "Never open the box!" The man was happy but remained curious all the time about the box. He had an itching desire to know what was there inside that mysterious box. He couldn't resist himself from opening it. After numerous sleepless nights one day he decided to open the box when God was away. Finally he opened that mighty box....There you go...and in a wink of an eye, everything inside came out one after the other and man realized his mistake and suddenly closed it...But alas!! Suddenly there was the Voice of the God. "I warned you not to open that box"! The man stood with his head down..and the God said..."now you have lost everything. Love, Wealth, Wisdom...etc. ! And now there is only one thing left in that box...HOPE!" Rest all disappeared into thin air the moment he opened the box. God punished man by sending him to earth to live with Hope..And that's how even when the last string of Hope disappears, he still Hope's...hoping for a miracle till  the last iota of life sustaining molecules refuse to hold his life.

So what happens when the Hope refuses to Hope...What happens when even that final trump card slithers through your fingers and you are destined to watch that helplessly. What happens when you are even denied that option to Hope! What happens! What happens after that!!

My grandmother passed away when I was 7 years old. I hardly knew her since we lived separately. It was at midnight. Our land phone started was ringing endlessly. Dad picked up the phone and then there was a 'hush-hush' situation. Mom's eyes were as red as a blood. We started at midnight from Palakkad. Ernakulam was 4 hours distant. I did'nt understand what was happening but knew that something was wrong. That was when I first saw a death. I didnt know why all was crying and I was wondering why my granny is sleeping outside the home and that too with her thick black framed spectacles still fitted perfectly on her face, and tears in everyone's eyes...pin-drop silence...religious hymns in the background gave the whole scene a sober touch. After some I also started to cry, not because my granny passed away just because my mom was crying so badly...

After that I have seen so many deaths. My neighbour who used to play with me ended her life infront of a running train just because she failed in the 10th class examination. Another young girl in my neighbourhood got killed after she was hit by a truck while returning back home from her tution classes. That was not even her fault. And in my residential school,I stayed in the room where a 9th class student committed suicide. Her parents were divorced and she was traumatised with all that was happening with her in life. One of her parents came to school to meet her during parent's day(That's the d-day on which we can spend some time with our parents in the school premises for a stipulated time...sigh!!). Her voice still echoes in that room...and that room's door still remain un repaired, even after all these years...its a wooden door and the door still has the scratches which she made during her final moments of her life...when she was gasping for her last breath after the noose got tightened round her neck...did she cry? Was there tears in her eyes? Did she think of her mom? her dad? but why? why? why did she have to end her life? Had she been alive, she would have been 10 years elder than me.

I dont know why i am talking about death this time...may be I was always enchanted by the mystery of death...and I love it when Plath says..."Dying is an art...and I do it exceptionally well...."

Regards
N

LETTERS FROM PAST

tO a diStanT stRanGer...

Hello...

A good day to start writing a letter to an 'unknown' person...Locked up in my rat hole for three days...breathing and devouring antibiotics...missing all fun and busy work at RS...glued on to the internet...my only source to watch all the squinted eyed anchors throwing questions like a piece of bone to anxious tamed carnivores out there and end up leaving a trail of dust and vanish into thin air with a sigh once again! (aside: ohh that was another wilderness created by me! sigh! sigh)


Waiting for a miracle to happen...figuring out the contours on my wall which will nicely pass off as an African or an American map...thanks to the summers and all these cheap brick and mortar buildings in Delhi! 

When you said on the other day with a deep grave look..."start writing letters to me!", I was trying hard to read your eyes beyond spectacles...Did he really mean that!! or was he just kidding? Does he sound like my dad who always wanted me write letters for him every single day!! This man seems to be CRAZZY...(sorry that I am frank at times...without even thinking about the dire consequences)But I like your idea...You are not that crazy...



Okay...Now I am even trying to forget the statement that you made..."I will judge you from your letters!" I always wonder...is'nt there a predicament awaiting there when somebody make such a statement...May be..and right now I intend to forget about that too (still realizing that I am willfully falling into the trap of words) ...Because I can hardly pretend, however hard I try....I am a simple village bred girl with a trace of innocence still left in me (that's what "I" think and may be not by many of "them" out there)


Still remember those days back in my school when I used  to write compulsory letters to my mom, dad and my brother...thanks to my residential schooling...in fact 7 years of voluntary confinement,...i like to call it that way...I accidently qualified an entrance examination while I was barely 12 years old after which I ended being a part of the Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya...a place where one will be leisurely tamed and brought up with the tax payer's money... But then I used to write in post cards so that my house master could censor all 'un-parliamentary' stuffs that I wrote in that letter, before she dumped it in the common letter box in school...I cherished writing long letters to my friends and my teachers...and of course I loved receiving letters back too...So now here I am...writing letter to a person whom I have just met once and not even know him personally, writing all these horrendous stuff...in fact a verbal diarrhea...


I remember...you said I could write about butterflies...ohhh! wish I could...but butterflies are not made for this pretentious Delhi...and then I thought of a plethora of options I could write about...cigarettes, alcohol, news, politics, wine, myths, culture, yakshi, cinema, music, food...and least...my own egoistic Self! But nothing prevails now expect the predominance of medicines...i reek of antibiotics...and may be my blood reeks of antibiotics...and wish I could just pull up myself so that I could get out and get some fresh air...meet people and listen to them....I wonder whether you will have the patience and time to reply back for this letter...But I enjoyed writing this to you...

Regards

N