A Blank sheet of paper

(First published in ‘The Indian ruminations’)

Being in the prime of my youth, not able to think and contemplate vividly, never was I to be blamed for this. All day locked up behind the doors of my room, trying to discern and comprehend the words of my text books, mistaking information to be the genuine knowledge concomitantly mindful that knowledge transcends the very brim of human reasoning! Knowledge never ends, thus I closed my books and reclined against the back of my revolving chair. Some kind of inner call resonated within, all day long, all night long, while I worked, while I slept, while I dreamt.
Some abstract and intangible questions were tolling my mind over and again. Perhaps thinking; a departure from me would pave the way for the arrival within myself. Being a recluse, demanding constant solitude, sitting alone in the crowd of millions was of no avail, until a journey was to be taken up within the depths of the soul, yes it was like jumping into an abyss without any solid end that my apparent insensibility would land me into!
What baffled me even more, not generalizing though, was the question that will this ever tangled materialistic world, spinning in disarray allow the extraordinary ambience to unveil the ordinary mind. Ambiguity grows in a journey without a preset destination that could ravage the very human existence, which is akin to more of a deep sea oblivious of the treasures hidden in its depth.
Self-contemplation, self-introspection, self-realization; perchance are the concepts of high philosophy, not meant for a child who has not even learnt to walk properly, but closing the eyes, just to believe that, what you see is not there is like a trick devised to delude the illusion itself.
Sitting all day long, not being able to focus and yet focus on something that hardly exists, staring at the walls, cramped up in the chair, hearing the tick-tock of the wall clock trying to douse some invisible fire all in vain, transcending the mediocrity of information crippled in the definition of “knowledge” might be of high relevance and aesthetic sense to some, will yet suffice to spark the excruciating pain, making me to scream helplessly but in the language of silence, if only someone would just listen, someone would just help…..I let the seconds slip into minutes and minutes aggregate into hours. With the gradual darkening of the room, at dusk my eyes open to find myself cramped up in the same surroundings, those same books that I left untouched, that concrete sturdy wall, that peculiar sound of the wall clock indicating something that is running out, connecting the bridges of my identity, explored if not today then tomorrow, I let out a wistful sigh!
With the first light the next morning, those same questions haunt my soul, pounding against my mind as I somehow manage to leave for the jobs of the day in my vehicle for a short journey to my work-place, well mindful of the actual long journey that I am in, a tiring yet a refreshing journey in a way.
To the people I confide in, I ask them those questions that perplex my being, even though knowing that none would be able to satiate my wants, no one can quench this thirst of mine which is not known to them. But yes- the only thing they could do was to distract me from the distraction, may be that was the best thing to do or may be that was the only thing left to do! As the day progressed, I searched for my answers on a map devoid of directions and the best answer I found to my question came just before the closing hours, from one person that led to the articulation of this narration, not accurately forced upon the hearts yet in a way imposed upon human minds, not a piece of blasphemy yet challenging some faith yet to be established, to which we all have reconciled with, incorporating it as an integral part of the answer-seeking temperament of humans.
To all my queries that answer puts an end, yes; she bluntly said to me, “Stop thinking so much for a while!”

Hence I reflected upon……….. I, in a half absorbed bent of mind walked to the main library, believing that all the questions would end if only I would stop thinking for a while and start writing in that while and was I not pondering about my identity, thus my question reduced to only one line: WHO AM I?
And as I entered the library, on the reading table I found before my eyes- a blank sheet of paper!

(For someone who has taught me that over thinking at times will kill you and on my own I realized that it might kill us at times but ironically it might be of help to others. ;) )

--SANA SHAH
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The meeting with his director

He walks in the air conditioned, deluxe room of his opulent apartment again, that stands tall in the soaring building in one of the posh areas of the country. Slamming the door behind him, he halts in the centre of the room, his gaze keenly scanning every corner of his plushy bedroom. He nods, as his glance passes over the oak ledges that circle the textured walls of his room; and adorning those ledges are his numerous trophies, medals, accolades and shields that stare at him perpetually, somehow reminding him that he had everything, yet deserved more and more. He habitually feels that inexplicable uneasiness on realizing that he is being contritely stared at by those typical, familiar eyes, which unravel his concealed, voracious plans under illumination of the dimly lit up room, reflecting his gorgeous looks and elite grace, which the world craved for. He murmurs to himself that if he looked so stunning, then why did not his mirror compliment him ever; and are those dim gaze that stare at him, set to shatter his pride tonight and break his heart to a million pieces again, just because he is impelled not to break it. The parallel image, which is so known to the world outside still, was unfamiliar to him. If he waved the right hand, why did this man waved the left hand against his will, if he was alone, was this man in front of him also lonely, deep down in the heart...or wait- Did he have a heart? If he was the hero for the world, was he then a villain for this man? With the brightness of his eyes, will this man perceive a world of grim darkness...or wait- Did he have a vision at all? Through his moist blue eyes, did this man plot to flood the world? When he did not ask any questions to this man at all, then why did the man impose his answers on him, he never wanted to listen at all. At the junction of fates pretence vanishes, so did that mean he lived in pretence, so was this man original? Did he not once encourage him to rule the world or was he trying to cage him in himself? But he did physically exist and this man did not! He had no dilemmas at all, he was at once decisive, so then was this man confused? The world eagerly awaited his arrival and this man in front of him always loved his departure; Then why? Then why did he always return to this man? Perchance this man was innocent, and he was his criminal, yes- he, a criminal, whose crime can never be proved in any court of justice and no court could ever summon him, let alone convicting him. This man had his own laws, own rules to shatter his existence again. How could this man shout at him like this, when he did not utter a single word? How could he allow this man to summon him, when the rest of world yearned for his appointments? How could this man keep him wide awake the entire night, when the guards outside his room kept a watch for his peaceful slumber…peaceful?
No, peace was a word so alien to his soul now. But he had everything for an ideal life, for his utopia! That is what all kept on telling him, then why did peace evade him. He had a huge bank balance; he owned grand estates in almost every continent, his wallet was invariably ballooned with cash and cards, in the garage he was greeted by the stretched line of lavish cars of all types; he felt he had everything and did not wish for more. He had a job fetching him fortunes, but he wanted to retire, he had friends in outlandish taverns to cheer him up, but he had none to console his miserable instincts. He had a small family across the oceans to make him feel cared for yet could not make him feel missed or loved. And may be that is why peace continues to play ‘hide & seek’ with him.
Hence, this man glaring at him, continues to antagonize him, with his sinister smile…Oh, why on earth, did he not talk to him properly, settling the accounts once and for all, what else should he provide him with, he thought. He never liked to quarrel, but this man instigated that demon in him, when he had entitled himself to the faith of humanity.
Was he an envious lover? But this narcissism irked him and not fascinated him. He was confident enough to conquer the world, then why did this attractive man created barriers for him. Did this man envy his success, or did he envy the peace this man had. If he made this man, then why did the man wish to ruin him? With a broken heart, he was already grief-stricken, and now the little that remained will be shattered to shreds soon, by this man who plotted to bury him alive…alive? Everyone said, he lived the life on his own terms, but he never had any terms or conditions…or they fooled him for the ‘business clause’. And enviably this man, unlike him, was free of any conditions, not expected to follow any ‘business clause’; he was not alive and yet he lived like he never could. With the incinerating sensations, did he not feel his pain?
So what should he do, given that his surroundings, the smothering crowd that flocked around him, the limelight thirsty monsters around him and the snobbish soothsayers entering his house freely, will never allow him the chance to satiate the needs of this man standing in front of him; they will never ever allow him to be driven out of the glum whirlpool. Does that imply he is helpless? No, how dare this man pen down such a mutual consensus without his consent; how dare the man reflect, what he did not emit?

No, no, never…no, no, nooo…noooooo!!! And CLANK, then CHINK!!! A light clattering sound filled in the room
Oh- he again allowed this man to be multiplied to infinity, now he shouts at him from every corner of the room, from every direction possible. He contrives to meet his eyes from everywhere; the peace of the man increasing a multifold- he had a heart, now he reflects the heart; stop, he must. He was everywhere, while the man was nowhere and now, he is nowhere, and this man is everywhere! Just when he was about to finish his meeting with this lean man forever, damn! He hears the creaking of the door. He turns around.

“Sir, the director is waiting outside in the foyer, it is time for the meeting, sir”, his stout and meticulous secretary informs. He slightly nods his head and charily moves towards the closet in the room. Heaving out the designer leather jacket from the wardrobe, he then collects the keys and documents lying on the polished teak-wood study table in a corner of the room and starts advancing towards the door. Reluctantly he walks, lost in some deep contemplation, at the same time well mindful, that he will never be able to end the meeting with his director. His secretary holds the door open for him, as he steps out of his room. He pauses for a moment, looking at his wary secretary, “As soon as I leave, ask the management to send in the sweeper to sweep up the scattered shreds of mirror, all over the floor”, he flatly orders his secretary. Giving a brief nod, the secretary slams the door shut behind him, as he sprucely walks away to meet the director.

                                                                                -BY SANA SHAH

Moments and Memories — A psychological narration

               
“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand that, this too, was a gift !"

                                        -Mary oliver  

Up in the middle of the night ,being unable to sleep,I stand near the  window of my room.I see the full moon coruscate in pride,as the fluffy clouds put forth their endless effort to cover up for its faulty spots,perchance no matter what , this night will never cover up for my faults like those sympathetic clouds up in the vast night sky. Also I could take the duvet for cover while the tick-tock of the clock lulls me to sleep,somehow tonight this lullaby won’t sing me to sleep, instead it will lure me into that old trap of memories that will act as the salt on my wounds, failing my wit with the freshness in my wounds as I reacall the fateful night.
Yes , it has been a year now and I must reconcile with this deceitful night that will sing me the melody of pain. Was this not the night that had kept me awake the previous year in excruciating agony! And will that agony return tonight to safely set ashore those lost memories of you as I feel that connatural aura weave the air around me as I let open the window to perceive that aura of pain again, to hear that melody of pain yet again, thinking with a tinge of hope that you too would,if not for me then for your own soul that lives in the lane of my memories , let open the gates for this journey, circumstantial particularly for tonight.I was never afraid to end my life after you walked my exit but I did not hold my breath just because I could not dare to let your memories , not a single memory to slip out of my soul integrated with your beckoning heart
Hence I am living but with the wish to die,with the curtains of your endearing face before my brooding eyes.
Hopeful of your return, well mindful that you would never look back, I wait in vain. The reflection of the self hurts when I spot out the moist eyes,but I resist!
And as I see now, gently the dense clouds enshrine the luminosity of the moon, with beseeching eyes,I hear the spatter of the rain against the verdant field of my house, as I inhale the redolent odour of the clammy mud. As I let the moments pass I do feel the night taking toll of my heaviness. And now the incessant showers rhythmically lash the vale. Till now it looked as if only a few clouds were mocking at the inability of others to burst but all of a sudden , this excessive deluge bespeaks the sympathy each cloud has for the other which suffice to spin an alluring environment to give vent to the emotions without being ashamed as I feel the crystal beads line my lashes,all set to drown my existence, satisfied that each time I drown my existence a part of me rests with your heart and with each attempt to expunge myself, this night reminds me that you shall never allow me to lose the purpose to live. Tonight as I try to iron that wrinkled page of your life that you left with me, I know God must be smiling at you and you must be smiling softly back at Him, trying to suppress that boiling volcano of tears that steams to burn the memories there and flood my moments here.
I let out a wistful sigh , confused whether this will relieve me or console my miserable direction of thoughts that fail to impede the moisture to wet my smouldering cheeks . Defying  the curfew of resistance I allow my emotions to overpower me as the struggle with your treasured memories will severely defeat me tonight , hence I try to be at peace in recollecting your words once spoken out of deep bonding and affection, I am forced into an abyss of reminiscence with the black hole of night dissecting and dissolving every second that now shall be history. With such intense nostalgia pain would soon be heard as a language in words written with the translucent ink of our tears. Oh! You have somehow set the wheel frantically twirling into a scintillating flashback of time in my mind that reels in the radiance of those but un-noticed moments that tonight hold a consequential relevance in your heart and in my heart too!
Not readily but tonight I shall accept my laconic and curt temperament to be your criminal, hence I feel deliriously tempted to walk to  this altar that you have laid for me so that I might acquit myself of those allegations , indictments and accusations that ruthlessly jab my conscience every moment. Not that I do not think of you the other days and nights but I have set this night exclusively to acclaim the right to be convicted in your court of eternity as this night marks the holocaust not put on any records but permanently carved out on the two cloistered hearts in a veined rough texture. And before any decree is passed , I shall find myself imprisoned behind the bars of your memories again , a chastiment good enough to shatter my resistance shown. As the minutes crumple in hours , my bones out of fatigue crave for comfort and I drag my weary body to be laid back on my velvety and warm bed on which as I rest contradicting my nobility feels bleak and prickly tonight to deprive me of any comfort and I keep on tossing from one side to the other just when your radiant ,ochre eyes meet my sleep deprived, tired eyes and your lovely face greets me warmly as you smile at me in peace easing me of my listlessness,but alas! Frozen in that captured moment caged in this intricately designed wooden frame on my side-table, accentuating under the illumination of the table lamp as if violently blazing to challenge me to remove this last remain of yours which I have held dearer to my own breath since a year. Taking the wooden frame in my hands ,I stare into your deep eyes as if they would just now twinkle to let out a drop of tear to skim down your florid cheeks. Yes this face once would comfort me of all the prosaic distress and I would float into a state of awe as I recall your dulcet voice that once would call after me, the curve of your rubicund lips that would blossom into a gentle smile making the wilted flowers to bloom again, your angry grimace on my senseless natter, your sweet fragrance that would dazzle my senses and of course the radiance of your deep, ochre eyes as if inviting me to jump in to assess its depth……..all but is now a delusion I visualize to betray my current state of helplessness for if I remember those cherished moments of  delight and ecstasy, I also do not forget this melancholic night when I stood traumatized at the doorway like a mute spectator watching you leave my world forever!
The outcome of such a vacillating bond after some more time is this:- Tired and heavy eyes thirsty for tears and a heavy, reticent heart lamenting the flood of my inexplicable grief that washes away my sensibility.
They say that a broken heart is the hardest to repair…uh! But to repair a heart that does not wish to be saved is an impossibility which tonight I realize after floundering tirelessly for a year now watching the days unfold their vagueness, there is a void without you in my life and the special place that I have devotedly assigned to you can never be engrossed by anyone else,not in life!
But as I ramble on with myself this night, squirming from side to side clasping this wooden frame close to my chest I wonder do you ever yearn to return back to me, do you ever hear me scream just to repudiate  the voice of silence you have gifted me with? Do you ever feel this intense longing I have still and will this ever fade away? Are things ever going to get better? Or with the accustomed life I will have to delude myself with the abstraction of “destiny”. As these questions pound my head, with great care I place the wooden frame back on my side-table and I push the duvet aside. Getting out of the bed, I stand on my heels but with difficulty, I drag  myself to the window again. As I peep out of the window nothing but a stretch of darkness awaits me as I feel the rain drops trip over my cheeks,perhaps a temptation for my eyes!
Although with remorseful decisiveness,I must find a panacea to cure my contrition as I look around, this has to be done but tonight! With an impulsive movement of my arm I twitch  to bolt and close the window firmly and then I draw the curtains over, ambiguous as to why I did it.

With an air of protest,I fight my own quixotic self as I manage to crawl back into my bed and pull the warm duvet over my head as I give in to my helplessness and submit to some unseen force,hopeful that this cursed night will after all now bestow some mercy and cradle me to sleep,thus I close my heavy eyes…..

With the first streak of light entering my room through the crevice between the curtains ,my eyes open to the harmonious chirping of the birds. The rain must have stopped as soon as the tryst with that fateful night must have ended. I rub my eyes to wipe away the doleful giddiness of the previous night, stretching my arms I heave away the duvet and turn to get out of the bed , as my gaze shifts to the other side, my eyes meet the stillness of your eyes in the wooden frame and I freeze again……….!  

       Num Hai palkein teri aey mauj-e-hawa raat ke saath                     

       Kya tujhey bhi koi yaad aata hai barsaat ke saath? 

                     -Parvin Shakir

Moist lashes lined with crystal beads oh the spurt of gale as night dawns upon

To you, also, does this rain recoups the distant memories of someone long back gone?

       -(Transcreation) Sana Shah

 .                               -Sana shah