Random Acts

S left early morning and I overslept. Got up. Saw the time..***t! informed boss and rushed with the routine. Nice and fresh stood on the damn highway only to be ignored by damn autowalas for thirty minutes. A lost soul finally nodded in affirmative. The rest before him deserved eggs splattered on windshield. Losers! Man how I hate them. Anyway, was on the way lost in my own numbing thoughts when noticed the presence of a feeble old man standing at the intersection begging. In pouring rain the man had nothing covering his upper half. A sudden impulse and I yelled at the autowala to stop but he couldn't since the light had turned green and the horns had started blaring. Damn the impatience of everyone on roads. I had one apple. To break the fast in evening. Wanted to give it to that old man. Don't know why but was almost desperate, yelled to the old man and he tried to get closer but the auto was already pulling away. In a split second I took the decision to throw the packet with the apple inside at the old man. My last glimpse of him was his scared effort to retrieve the apple packet from the road while vehicles blared.
I had to close my eyes. Food is not supposed to be thrown. Food to others when given is never to be thrown. Its unforgivable. I don't know what went through me but it was unbearable. Maybe the thought I was not able to offer help in a fashion that I desired. Somehow this seemed bad. Flinging food at someone much older and much hungrier.

From madness to madness

I fought with S. I am not talking to her. Turns out when I don't talk to her, I can't talk to myself either. Sad! Some fights are good. The blood rushes, you exercise your brain to cooperate with your tongue to get the right words out. And then there are serious fights. Ones that scare the hell out of you. You think, Oh shit! now what! Did she really think that, does she really mean it. Oh man, what will tomorrow be like.

Namaz during ramzan is must. All those years of watching dad pray five times a day. Watching him, give up all his fears and problems to the almighty to solve everyday. All these years, I never followed him. But now its different. Offering namaz reassures me that I am my fathers daughter. He never asked me to follow. And then there is that conversation with god at the end of every prayer. Where I talk, ask, reveal, realise. Where god says - Hmmmmmmmmm..... And I can hear that. It means someone is watching. Every small detail is watched. There is no hiding. You go to god with your conscience and say what you did. My dad is a lucky man, he knew all this for a long time. He never told me. Never forced. Perhaps he wanted me to find out on my own. A window to escape the madness.

screw it!

There is something terribly wrong. All screwy dreams of late. Waking up with terrible images. A few days back, saw a jet crash right on its bloody nose in a big field. Got up and described to S who promptly suggested a head examination. I wonder if they'd find anything at all .. :-)

Then another one in which am living in a dilapidated grey building that is crumbling in pouring rain! Weird, I even had guests over.....

Anyway anyway!

Was watching Sex and the city. Surprising how they cover a lot of what women think across the world. There was this scene where a mother announces that her son is a god and that she tells him that everyday. The red haired woman (one of the lead four) then says to SJP - "Thirty years from now what are the chances that some poor woman can make Charlie a happy man? I think I will go with zero" ... hahhahahaahha The world is same same ... everywhere......

Anyway anyway!

My window and my god

I sat by a large window
The world at large
Sunlight and kids running
Worried mothers
Busy dads
The usual hum of silent progress

And the window grew
And engulfed me whole
Spit me out on the other end
And Its difficult to get back
Everything is unknown
Scary
All i use is instinct

Struggling to put across all that is going on
Not really succeeding
The melody is not fine
Its not music
Not yet

Which means that the link is not complete
the bridge between feelings and thoughts is not good enough

So often lost
I speak with god
And ask shamelessly
For that that seems outside the grip

God gives me a patient hearing
For I am the child that often returns