A giant biscuit tart the size of a large pizza, first with a layer of fresh sliced bananas. Then a layer of fresh cream, followed by a layer of farm fresh strawberries and fresh cream after. Now a layer of butterscotch cake and ice cream is added and topped off with a generous amount of caramel sauce. The tart would feel like winter finally arrived.
A bite of something this delicious and sweet is required because it finally hit me. The fact that I’m going to be leaving, I’ll be gone and wouldn’t want to come back has arrived. It’s sad, slightly painful and just a little cold (but the cold never bothered me, anyway). I’m not depressed, I still want to leave and go ahead but I can’t seem to shake off the little sad feeling lurking around in the dark.
Where the hell can I go find such a huge tart? And why aren’t I satisfied? I just want to be able to move on without being held back or caught in a spider web.
“It smelled like green and I thought Vinay will like this description” he told me as we sipped lemon tea at Chai chowk. He was in Madekari district last week and when he reached Abby waterfall, there was a strong vegetal aroma that he could only describe as green.
“What does green smell like to you?” He asked me. Green smells like freshly cut grass (I know how clichéd that sounds) but it wasn’t the first thing in my head but after I contextualised it made more sense and the grass was it. But the mental image was far more different.
I did see and smell fresh cut grass but it’s early in the morning, the dew on the grass is still cold and stepping around there is petrichor in the air but only subtly. This still feels inadequately described and that’s when the argument that was made in the book “The illicit happiness of other people” by Manu Joseph hits me. Language is a limited device, it can never completely help describe many things and that might just be a means to hinder human evolution. This feels like a conspiracy theory but honestly there are many things that sound or seem simple till I start describing it to another person and feel the incomplete.
This inability to describe is something I fumble into when I’m describing or talking about nature, smell, visuals, shadows, light or sometimes just how it feels to touch an object and how that feels against the skin.
Things I relish needs to be listed, because I live to make lists and eat. So here’s the list:
Home made Food.
Mark Rassendren’s lunch box
Papad // Hapla
Sex and cuddling
Ice cream and Desserts
Late night phone calls
The list would go one but stopping at the first 30 that came to is a good plan. It’s a things that felt current, things that make everyday a joy, living easy and help through life. These are things that make my heart jump and bring a smile on my face. I guess simple pleasures are the key and answer for healing.
I can’t remember why we’re fighting. The yelling makes me want to cry but I don’t want to anymore; it doesn’t feel real.
I haven’t been able to feel anything or I’m choosing not to; honestly, I don’t remember. My memory being fucked up is finally coming in handy.
I crib, complain, and indulge in melodramatic, attention seeking, shit; stupid, silly twenty one year old nonsense- all of that an excuse to justify my behavior. I don’t know what happened, don’t know why there was an argument.
I only felt frustrated that nothing seemed to register in my head; except for the mind numbing headache -that was killing- my grey cells.
I’m in a hole of self pity. Constantly cribbing and complaining, can’t stand being alone with my thoughts; it scares the shit out of me. I slide out of fights (verbal, mostly) by saying I’m fucked up; like that’s an excuse.
I can’t figure a way out of my troubles or simply my thoughts. Just going around in circles till I don’t have the strength to take another step, because then I don’t have to worry about doing anything stupid.
There is a humming in my head, cut cut cut cut… It’s a very annoying alarm that won’t shut up, atleast till I do what it says; I think.
I want to down that little bottle of rum hidden in a corner under a lot of crap; then get a blade and start slicing.
*Slice slice slice*
Or take those pills in my drawer, down it and see what happens. The headache might stop, I might start feeling again or everything could stop for good; both sound really good.
I could never convince myself to take that last step. The number of times I’ve thrown a scarf or something like that around a fan to make a noose for myself. Each time the image of my brother hanging from the noose or his wife or the stories of our older brother hanging from a noose flood into my haed. I guess it runs in the family -hanging from a noose- Gawd.
*So much Meleodram*
Every time something goes wrong in life, I keep going back to my brothers death, or that I was touched inappropriately, or I have issues or that I don’t have something or some shit.
It’s tiring; I really want to stop being tired, exhausted and stressed from all of this. But saying it, is not as simple as doing; it’s FUCKING frustrating. Gawd there is only ranting I do, like every fucking day.
Beautiful day, butterflies, Sunshine and pretty clouds; come back home and I feel shitty. I feel terrible, fucking terrible. I want to cry, break something, hit something and hurt myself or JUST DO SOMETHING.
“Ha ha ha, everyday you act happy and then go home and cry about something…”
“What are you going to cry about Tonight?” Laughs hard and thinks it’s funny.
Does he realise it’s not okay? Is it that easy to just stop being sad, just stop feeling things. I’m constantly told I’m in a hole, but I don’t see a damn hole.
Am I doing something wrong? Is it easy to just stop, like I flick my fingers and everything just stops.
Am I flicking it wrong?
“It’s been over fifteen years and mum still has the bite mark on the back of her shoulder” said my first cousin Kavitha at a family lunch.
A month ago we were at my dad’s cousins house for lunch for the first time since they moved into it. There was a lot of food, enough to drown in and die of satisfaction.
We started the meal with Ragi muddhe (hot Ragi balls) and nati-chicken (local protein rich variety of chicken) curry, and there was a plate of sliced onions and cucumber in the centre and another plate of deep fried chicken – that we call kabab- was served to each of us, along with the spicey chicken gravy.
The second course of the meal was chicken Biryani, a raitha (curd salad) and a plate of fried goat intestines (boti). The goat intestines are boiled to softness first, then fried with onions, tomatoes, garlic, salt, home made chicken masala, fried corriander seed powder and all of that in refined vegetable oil.
Taking a bite of boti feels like a tapori song in my mouth, after each bite the music gets faster, the juices fill my mouth and Jyothi Lakshmi is inviting me to join her.
There was some -plain or white- rice, rasam, curd and few more things I didn’t have space for. I don’t remember if there was dessert because my brain took a nap.
My family has a weird habit, at family lunches we gang up to discuss family history, scandal’s, and end the evening with jokes and humour. It started with a session of bitching, talking about an alternative future and moved on to sharing anecdotes. Kavitha had shared the story of me biting my aunt (her mom) when she was holding me back from tagging with my relatives, who I’m being told were heading out on their honeymoon. To be fair, I was only two years old. Then my mother retold Kavitha’s favorite story, ‘the biting game.’
“Vini started screaming loudly all of sudde; it was the night after Kavitha’s wedding, her parents had taken vini and Renu (my sister) home from the wedding and I was with Kavitha at her in-laws (Brides family members come along and stay a few days with newlyweds family, some custom). Renu asked him to play ‘the biting game’ with her and took the first bite. The screams got Kavitha’s mom who smacked Renu and this one (me-vini) says ‘aunty my sister only know, it’s okay don’t hit her.’ This pissed her off and she smacked him instead” said my mother.
“Aunty once, just before I got married, Babu (my older brother), Vini (me) and I were on our way home. Vini was about two or three years old and he was sitting on the carrier; that old cycle Babu would always take to go see grandma. And we were on that road next to the Shiva temple near the lake” said my older cousin when she was having a conversation with my mother; who was telling her I give people dirty looks, unnecessarily.
I gave a dirty look to an auto driver who almost hit my scooter while I was getting my mother home from the grocery store. She thinks I didn’t have to do that and I think he deserved both the look and yelling from me.
My mother and cousin have this habit of sitting together every other day discussing life, then they compare the present with things that have happened in the past and discuss about a future we may never have.
My mother is in her early 40s, my cousin is in her early 30s have shared a lot of history. Both of them know all the relatives, cousins, history and gossip, therefore they usually trade information.
At one of these transactions I was around and it was lunch, they were discussing the extra marital affair of a cousin thrice or four times removed and how she left the husband to love with lover. The next person on the minutes was her older sister who was by her side through this and how she’s rumored to have a lover. The conversation came to a pause because we had to clear the empty plates, but it resumed when both my cousin and mother had washed their hands. Now my cousin remembered she had paused on the story from before lunch and went back to it.
“So we were heading home I think, it was the afternoon, maybe evening or something like that. There was some guy standing on the side of the road, but Babu and I were too busy fighting over something I don’t remember anymore and Vini was staring at him for a while” she began.
“Babu asked him, ‘why are you staring at that fellow?’ ‘He has been looking at Akka (older sister) from that time’ and went back to staring at that fellow. Babu whacks him on the head and says ‘come along, quietly’ and even today this incident makes me smile” she said. I have no recollection of any sort with it, but I like it very much.