Utopia : The Land of My Soul
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Memorabilia
‘Cool, mossy ways with entwined creepers kissing the feet of the dainty,
Wheat-hued Sunbeams meandering through the foliage and caressing the auburn tresses,
Starved, dreamy eyes lost in the gossamer dream of a filigree world,
Light and darkness are coalesced in the gauntlet of the cheeks….
a chiaroscuro image’
Wheat-hued Sunbeams meandering through the foliage and caressing the auburn tresses,
Starved, dreamy eyes lost in the gossamer dream of a filigree world,
Light and darkness are coalesced in the gauntlet of the cheeks….
a chiaroscuro image’
Memories or the reminiscences of the once sporadic, once true slices of life run riots in our brains as if they are possessed entities. From the days when conscious mind became a known figment of our being, memories became mementoes of our past- now shadowy and smothered in thousand after-thoughts. Sometimes they recur in our dreams as pageants of such recollections from the storehouse of oblivion. It happens to me frequently. Some fragment of incidents that shaped up aeons back, visit my dreamland with blurred faces and stranger identities.
One such dream bubbles up and plagues me even when I am fully awaken, out of the outskirts of the dreamland. I feel as if I’m in a trance, staggering in the limbo of dreams and reality. The sensation that I have just now slipped away from the web of a world whose images, sounds and string of events have had me arrested in them, lingers even when my eyes are widely open and my sense perceptions are back from the stupor. When I was about 3 to 4 years old my family used to stay at Diamond Harbour, a place that roughly takes 3 and a ½ hours to reach by train from kolkata ( by a local train of course). I was admitted to a Montessori there as a part of my Kindergarten learning process. My parents were working and I was left in the expert charge of a maid. She used to gird me up for the day Montessori and dispose me off to the Paradiso – a full house of toddlers of my age.
The way to the Montessori house was a skewed and loopy path that wriggled through a small expanse of field. I have a remotely faint memory of the curvaceous way and all that my childhood camera-eye permits me to flash on is – the field was a barren, shrubby land left for the tiny-boppers to play hide and seek. And there was a stranded thatched mud house, almost dilapidated. Sometime during the Spring when the field was flooded with “Kaash-phool”, ( a special kind of Spring-time shrub with creamy white cottony flowers resembling outstretched feathers of birds) I remember having played hide and seek with ‘God-only-knows-whom’ as even an ilk of their faces and names appears mirage like. I remember cooing some forgotten name from the desolate hut, my hideout. Then…I don’t have even an iota of event to ruminate. The rest I have to fantacise to add bones to bones to build up the skeleton.
Mom, though, has staved off the idea about the existence of the field anywhere near the place of our dwelling. She has had called it the creative work of my imaginative mind. But I never was and till date am not convinced. The tattered images flicker in my dreams cock-crowing that they had a lively existence. May be the sub-conscious realm of my mind had captured it and eluded it somewhere whose door only opens up in dreams.
One such dream bubbles up and plagues me even when I am fully awaken, out of the outskirts of the dreamland. I feel as if I’m in a trance, staggering in the limbo of dreams and reality. The sensation that I have just now slipped away from the web of a world whose images, sounds and string of events have had me arrested in them, lingers even when my eyes are widely open and my sense perceptions are back from the stupor. When I was about 3 to 4 years old my family used to stay at Diamond Harbour, a place that roughly takes 3 and a ½ hours to reach by train from kolkata ( by a local train of course). I was admitted to a Montessori there as a part of my Kindergarten learning process. My parents were working and I was left in the expert charge of a maid. She used to gird me up for the day Montessori and dispose me off to the Paradiso – a full house of toddlers of my age.
The way to the Montessori house was a skewed and loopy path that wriggled through a small expanse of field. I have a remotely faint memory of the curvaceous way and all that my childhood camera-eye permits me to flash on is – the field was a barren, shrubby land left for the tiny-boppers to play hide and seek. And there was a stranded thatched mud house, almost dilapidated. Sometime during the Spring when the field was flooded with “Kaash-phool”, ( a special kind of Spring-time shrub with creamy white cottony flowers resembling outstretched feathers of birds) I remember having played hide and seek with ‘God-only-knows-whom’ as even an ilk of their faces and names appears mirage like. I remember cooing some forgotten name from the desolate hut, my hideout. Then…I don’t have even an iota of event to ruminate. The rest I have to fantacise to add bones to bones to build up the skeleton.
Mom, though, has staved off the idea about the existence of the field anywhere near the place of our dwelling. She has had called it the creative work of my imaginative mind. But I never was and till date am not convinced. The tattered images flicker in my dreams cock-crowing that they had a lively existence. May be the sub-conscious realm of my mind had captured it and eluded it somewhere whose door only opens up in dreams.
Labels: Looking back
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Tagged and Hooked
Overboundary: lining up the weird things about me, Amrita!
Was literally running out of ideas to jot down and was at my wit's end, chewing up the cud of whatever was left. It only needed a thrust, like being tagged, to come up with something to scrabble down. Not that I'm happy about being picked and pitted to finish this task. But thanks to shakhi anyways. At least she has shown me there is light at the end of the tunnel (that I can still carry on blogging).
Ok. Now the mammoth task lies ahead. The 6 most weird things about me. As it is i have a 'bad reputation' of being a little more on the weird side. Each one of my friends feels contented to add this feather of weirdness on my cap. And given a chance to uncork their mouth, they will spill out a hundred adjectives to ascribe me with. But now, when I am trying to mull up on the "madcap-py" side of me, I am lost. Don't know how to charge the brigade of thoughts reeling into my mind. Anyways will try my best to give it a shot.
Was literally running out of ideas to jot down and was at my wit's end, chewing up the cud of whatever was left. It only needed a thrust, like being tagged, to come up with something to scrabble down. Not that I'm happy about being picked and pitted to finish this task. But thanks to shakhi anyways. At least she has shown me there is light at the end of the tunnel (that I can still carry on blogging).
Ok. Now the mammoth task lies ahead. The 6 most weird things about me. As it is i have a 'bad reputation' of being a little more on the weird side. Each one of my friends feels contented to add this feather of weirdness on my cap. And given a chance to uncork their mouth, they will spill out a hundred adjectives to ascribe me with. But now, when I am trying to mull up on the "madcap-py" side of me, I am lost. Don't know how to charge the brigade of thoughts reeling into my mind. Anyways will try my best to give it a shot.
Numero uno: Right from my budding days, I developed this queer habit of thinking expressively with the use of appendages- from head to eyes to limbs to shoulders. Yes, swaying heads in a jittery, rolling eyes and unfixed gazes at vaccum, writing in air with fingers and a cock-like bent neck is a sure mark that my wild imagination is mowed loose. My thinking takes up external forms and renditions and the dominant mood of the thought calls up a relevant action. For example, if I'm thinking about a gaggy episode, I generally oscillate my head much like a parrot does. If I am dissecting memories, I usually use my fingers as instrument to write in air. Not to speak about the stuff I write, usually they are keywords of the thought. Sometimes though, my tongue finds a way out and I end up uttering out to myself,"hmmm .....", "YES!!!" or a strong "Exactly".
2nd: This one is a real nutty one. So all the lovers of ANTS should refrain from reading this, coz a lot of ants were harmed brutally while I carried out rampage with them. Frankly speaking, those liliputian, six-legged freaks manage to drive away my rationality. Those red creatures of some Lesser God (that's how my logic works when it comes to them), tempt me to play Pan, the God of mischievous fun, with them. If I find them marching in a queue as if they have to meet a deadline, I'm sure to splurge water in their way, or put a bar to stop them from heading forward. their confusion and bewilderment satisfies me to no end. Sometimes I catch hold of a couple of them and make them swim in my self-made small puddles of water. The more they swim, the more water I add on. (Its not that, I have got away with it. Mom has twitched my ears severly for flooding the floors. Good that didn't ever notice the floating carcasses of the ants!). Wait! I still have to doll up the tip on ice-berg. Some years back, when I would have had spells of boredom playing so innocently with them, I used to mutilate their lower abdomen with nails and left them on the mercy of God!!!
3rd: Each day, even till date, I have to dream about a dream that I would wish to dream before sleep overtakes me. The idea of falling asleep with an empty mind, gliding like a straight line of a graph without crests and troughs, doesn't really fascinate me much. Not that every day I ferret out new topics to invest my mind in. But sometimes I choose past events that can be fabricated and simulate them into a nice scoop to act as a sleeping pill. And this is necessitated with certain hard and fast rules - no noise, no light and no interruption. By chance if there is any obstacle, I make it a point to re-boot the dream process right from the scratch.
4th: I'm not spiteful, neigther vindictive. None of my die hard enemies can ever frame such allegations. So I never scheme or screw up. But if I am seriously cross with somebody, I feel the urge to lock them inside a stingy toilet. The idea is, the worst palce to be in will size them properly beacuse to stay in the such a forsaken place for long will be a punishment in itself. The desire possesses my mind for a bit of time and then slowly, the feeling that I have tormented and prosecuted the wrong-doer evenly takes over. And this pacifies me. Eventually the picture of the face, badly bashed by the murky place, forces up ripples of laughter from me. I simper and I forgive, all in good jest.
5th: This one would really testify that I'm mad north north-east. Like every other girl (or should I say women?) of my age, I, too, want to hog attention and care. It won't be mean to say that I secrectly enjoy the flash of thought that I am kept in a protective cocoon . Every woman does that (swear by the honesty). But its always a trouble in Paradise if I get it. Attention, care, screening -sounds utopic to me as long as they are miles away from me. But the moment they make an entry in my life, i feel suffocated; I feel I am being scrutinised and all my actions, every expression is captured and I feel like freezing to statue. I really don't know how it acts like a Midus' touch of wand and converts me into a person who is aware of the fact that he is a midget tied to a string, and the end of the string is in the hands of the watcher. so i always end up being lost in the maze- want to have something that I can't bear to have. A prudish confession!
6th: In the morning, after I wake up I'm a complete deaf and dumb person. I will not utter a word , no matter what. Only after brushing, I feel I have the power to speak up. If I have a call in the morning I curse the caller under breath. I have this notion that the stale breath would make me vomit. I have tried all means to wipe away such thoughts. I have brushed every night before dozing off to sleep, I have tried not to let that thought creep into my mind and cripple my desire to talk. But all means failed. So now, under strict instruction at home, no calls are handed over to me until I'm done with brushing. Forget outsiders, even Mom is an alien to me as long as i'm not brushed. Since, there is no need to interact, so spontaneously my ears don't function. I hear nothing as I say nothing. I call that temporary 'Coma', but i know people will term that insanity.
So here I have succesfully piloted my job. Its time for me to pass off the baton to others. So I tag Hazel dream, Velu and whoever drops in for the first time to my blog and leaves a comment! Ha that will be fun!
2nd: This one is a real nutty one. So all the lovers of ANTS should refrain from reading this, coz a lot of ants were harmed brutally while I carried out rampage with them. Frankly speaking, those liliputian, six-legged freaks manage to drive away my rationality. Those red creatures of some Lesser God (that's how my logic works when it comes to them), tempt me to play Pan, the God of mischievous fun, with them. If I find them marching in a queue as if they have to meet a deadline, I'm sure to splurge water in their way, or put a bar to stop them from heading forward. their confusion and bewilderment satisfies me to no end. Sometimes I catch hold of a couple of them and make them swim in my self-made small puddles of water. The more they swim, the more water I add on. (Its not that, I have got away with it. Mom has twitched my ears severly for flooding the floors. Good that didn't ever notice the floating carcasses of the ants!). Wait! I still have to doll up the tip on ice-berg. Some years back, when I would have had spells of boredom playing so innocently with them, I used to mutilate their lower abdomen with nails and left them on the mercy of God!!!
3rd: Each day, even till date, I have to dream about a dream that I would wish to dream before sleep overtakes me. The idea of falling asleep with an empty mind, gliding like a straight line of a graph without crests and troughs, doesn't really fascinate me much. Not that every day I ferret out new topics to invest my mind in. But sometimes I choose past events that can be fabricated and simulate them into a nice scoop to act as a sleeping pill. And this is necessitated with certain hard and fast rules - no noise, no light and no interruption. By chance if there is any obstacle, I make it a point to re-boot the dream process right from the scratch.
4th: I'm not spiteful, neigther vindictive. None of my die hard enemies can ever frame such allegations. So I never scheme or screw up. But if I am seriously cross with somebody, I feel the urge to lock them inside a stingy toilet. The idea is, the worst palce to be in will size them properly beacuse to stay in the such a forsaken place for long will be a punishment in itself. The desire possesses my mind for a bit of time and then slowly, the feeling that I have tormented and prosecuted the wrong-doer evenly takes over. And this pacifies me. Eventually the picture of the face, badly bashed by the murky place, forces up ripples of laughter from me. I simper and I forgive, all in good jest.
5th: This one would really testify that I'm mad north north-east. Like every other girl (or should I say women?) of my age, I, too, want to hog attention and care. It won't be mean to say that I secrectly enjoy the flash of thought that I am kept in a protective cocoon . Every woman does that (swear by the honesty). But its always a trouble in Paradise if I get it. Attention, care, screening -sounds utopic to me as long as they are miles away from me. But the moment they make an entry in my life, i feel suffocated; I feel I am being scrutinised and all my actions, every expression is captured and I feel like freezing to statue. I really don't know how it acts like a Midus' touch of wand and converts me into a person who is aware of the fact that he is a midget tied to a string, and the end of the string is in the hands of the watcher. so i always end up being lost in the maze- want to have something that I can't bear to have. A prudish confession!
6th: In the morning, after I wake up I'm a complete deaf and dumb person. I will not utter a word , no matter what. Only after brushing, I feel I have the power to speak up. If I have a call in the morning I curse the caller under breath. I have this notion that the stale breath would make me vomit. I have tried all means to wipe away such thoughts. I have brushed every night before dozing off to sleep, I have tried not to let that thought creep into my mind and cripple my desire to talk. But all means failed. So now, under strict instruction at home, no calls are handed over to me until I'm done with brushing. Forget outsiders, even Mom is an alien to me as long as i'm not brushed. Since, there is no need to interact, so spontaneously my ears don't function. I hear nothing as I say nothing. I call that temporary 'Coma', but i know people will term that insanity.
So here I have succesfully piloted my job. Its time for me to pass off the baton to others. So I tag Hazel dream, Velu and whoever drops in for the first time to my blog and leaves a comment! Ha that will be fun!
Labels: Tags
