Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Poles



There is a Garden where hinges a part of life and the number of directions it can be entered through are infinite. Within and around it, apart from its flora and fauna, are doors and windows. Felicity is a Window made of pulpwood. Though it stands fragile it never ceases to receive layers added to it. Solitude—a Door made of oak—needs no favors. It stands, though weary, strong – sore hands constantly scratch its thickness.


Once again, and not for the last time, the sky poured its clouds out. In the Suburb of Dom—also known as the Garden of Doman Delights—an arrow’s shot from a Window named Organized Chaos stood bathed in cloudburst Café Chaos. This café, made by a thousand hands of imagining out of smoke wood, never lacks customers. Today, however, it lacked. It is easy to assume most of them went a-hunting in the Garden. The dampness in the air wears thin…the sky snoring overhead falls asleep…southern breeze brushes the atmosphere. Today isn’t a day like any other—not for those who go a-seeking—or...there’s no today.

It was low noon when the café found her entry. The hubbub she was told it is was absent. There on the mirror she caught her reflection which to her was pristine but for her hat that with a tilt was put to right. ‘Merry must it make my suitor,’ she mused. A few steps in on the marquetry, she found a few stags and does, either with or without the other. Out of nowhere, the Maze Door found its way to her. Like many distractions in the café, you don’t seek a door, it seeks you out. She cautiously avoided entering it by taking a U-turn...and found the exit door. Bemused, she stood rolling her eyes around and found herself further bemused for the Maze Door, before she lifted a foot, had found its way again to her. This time, she took her time knowing precisely where she ought to go. To her left, overhead was the Window of Want whence dangled a ladder. She walked sideways all the while fearful the Maze might find her sideways. It did not for it had found another victim backwards. She climbed the ladder and it took a little while before she entered the window.

Sat upon a swivel, she orders a Diet Future with organic straw. The barmaid quizzes ‘New here, lady..?’ She blurts ‘Knew who…oh! New, yea…,’ clears throat and sips Future one sip too many and asks the desk ‘It’s ground here…hmm! It’s supposed to be up, you know…I see the exit door just like it was…!’ The maid says from across the desk ‘Says who…! You oughta know you aren’t talking here to a shrink…you dear kids and your perceptual aberrations...it’s a bar, I’m a maid…I work here, don’t belong here.’ She says ‘I see’ and hands across a Suitor Descriptor and asks ‘Seen a like lad around…?’ The maid studies it:  Shoulders so-and-so…biceps, thighs, endurance, member (stiff and un-stiff), complexion…so-and-so's and exclaims ‘Yea, right over there,’ and adds ‘Except for the member, nubile…! He had me serve him a Cocktail Contemplation, just so you know,’ and chuckles.

A little past Liar’s Couch to the left she sees her alleged suitor stood on a foot legs crossed. She hears:  “Yeah! I love you but that doesn’t mean I only love you” and doesn’t believe what she just heard. It must be a Lover’s Couch, she postulates. She presents herself to the young man. He stands one hand resting on the desk, the other holding his drink, switches his crossed legs to a stance. She hears from a distance “...it’s because I can.”  ‘I used to be Harli, now I’m Bhoomi’ she introduces and adds ‘You would be…!’ He gulps his cocktail and ‘Lemme guess’ she says.  “I work...I’m independent…that means...!”  ‘I’m only guessing, okay’ and says ‘It should be…No…Would it be Pariah…?’ He says ‘That’s something I will be and smiles.  “…That means you can’t fuck around...!”  ‘I’m Bramh’ he says, ‘It’s great to meet you, Bhoomi.’ ‘His pepper scalp I like’ she says to herself, ‘A little mud facial would do good…a pepper mustache would be sinful…the scar on his nape (could the mirror be lying) where did he get it…he can’t be suicidal…his pelvic tilt (yea! I know it now).’  “It’s not like I’m not trying…all I’m saying is you just can’t too.”  ‘The maze is near empty for an uproar,’ he says, ‘and these liars would be silenced were it full.’ ‘Lawyers are they…! I thought lovers’ she says. ‘They’re, Hah! A bit of all those’ he says. ‘I like how his glances connect,’ she thinks, ‘from my bosom to a distant graffiti behind to my eyes and to my bosom again…it must make a perfect imaginary fell triangle.’  “Not hard enough…! I can if I will…I really won’t…so there you have me at odds…and so.”  ‘It’s time for me to make my move so…,’ she thinks and says, ‘I’m a bundle of attributes, you see – nature’s…! A force, an insectivorous, I nourish and am selfish. I’m good and I think...hmm! Am basically bad.’ She pauses to reflect on her own proposal. And wonders meanwhile who it was that told her not to tell truths about oneself to one that’s seemingly a mensch. She waves the barmaid and snaps ‘I ordered a Diet Future…did you by any chance serve me a Diet Past…!?’  “...and so what…? you ‘lil mutton.”  She turns to Bramh and adds ‘Ahem! Weren’t you gonna say yes to me…?’  “So I sever you is what, you ‘lil bastard.”  ‘No!’ he says and says it like he means it and shifts his—. The café finds its regulars enter rat-a-tat-tat in a pack huffing and puffing. Lightening strikes its banner poles overhead. Café Chaos jerks a little too much. ‘We’re time jerked…!,’ announces the barmaid, ‘Days...perhaps...or weeks or months…and into the past...!!’


Chaos – a Door of smoke. Beside it is Organized Chaos. In the front is Order a Window and its vicinity has Boredom a Door. Harli climbs, jumps a Window, bruises her knees, and enters a door. A window forks into a door. It’s easy that way. Who would want to climb a window of pain when pleasure deserves that effort? Walk right in and don’t even know where it is until it aches. Once in, it’s not a door to exit but a window overhead. Gather trash of rusty tins, pins, needles, forks, flat sponge, and smashed metal plates. Make a stand. Out she goes...a work of lifetime in the making.



4 comments:

  1. Hats off to your creativity.
    "Solitude—a Door made of oak—needs no favors. It stands, though weary, strong – sore hands constantly scratch its thickness." That line is the best description of solitude I've come across in a very long time.
    The Maze Door that finds the person... :)
    Too much can be read between the lines, "Diet future", "liars couch". For me, a dark, yet strangely humorous perspective on er... "time jerked" lives.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ruhi Thanks so much, Ruhi.

    For your patience with reading a Writerly Text--that it at least marginally is--and for your detection of implicit but intended humor I bow in reverence.

    And your appreciation to me is invaluable..

    ReplyDelete
  3. WOW! really quality stuff...you are a discovery for me. many wishes! nice, sharp humor.Unashamed , edging on the dark.Succint and inviting, reading this has been refreshing.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Nishkam Razdan  It's very nice to hear it's been refreshing, too, on top of all those uplifting remarks.
    Thank you for visiting and reading

    ReplyDelete

Your thoughts are invaluable

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