The Red Brick

It is nothing much really. Just a brick. A red brick. A big red porous brick. It catches your attention, yes, it does tend to do that. It's porosity renders its surface uneven and scruff. If you look closely you might find and entire terrain resides there. Maybe it does. A terrain for those huge red ants that look so terrifying, but the locals swear they are particularly harmless. 

Because it is a brick and because bricks are building materials, this particular brick too finds its purpose in building.Comfortably nestled between six identical members of it's clan the bricks are held together by a mix of mortar to hold the structure. They form a wall. The walls form a house. The bricks have a mischievous quality to them. In their porosity lies their ability to deceive. One might think that the once upon a time bubbles might provide a glimpse through and through. As far back in time as one's memory can stretch, one will know that mankind built walls for thing and one thing only. There fore it highly unlikely that the mankind here would build walls for any other reason. But the porosity holds other truths. This rock most like was quarried and borrowed from the nearby hills that surround the town. A natural wall one might say. 

What story could one brew to understand the birth of these porous stones. They might be called once upon a time bubbles as they have been earlier on in the essay. They may be called this because they look like the fossilized version of what might have been once upon a time live and luscious bubbles. But it has to rest at that speculation really. What one can know for certain is that these blocks are no good to a peeping tom but they seem to take kindly to cool winds. If you gently run your fingers on its surface you will realize this fact. The surface though rough is extremely cool playing a good role in keeping the house cool. It has a nasty talent of doing this even when the mercury outside only seems to rise up. One would think in absence of raw material the bricks will fail in showing off its prowess but one may think wrong, because it is exactly then that they do. In winters on the contrary they seem to have an automatic lock down mechanism. 

Fascinating!

It is nothing much really. Just a brick. A red brick. A big red porous brick. It catches your attention, yes, it does tend to do that

How I broke up with Sherlock Holmes

Dear Sherlock,

This is a difficult letter. I scavenge my mind to best convey my thoughts, but find myself unable to do so. It is hurtful, that is a sentiment Sherlock. I felt I should mention that just in case your mind didn't deduce that. After all you are the cold unfeeling kind, or so they say. Not that I agree but sometimes, most often actually they are right. I write this letter to say it is finished. Us, we, this, it's over! Whatever we had going on here- our little understanding.

Let me put together a brief explanation of why. We met under unassuming circumstances and you grew on me without me having the slightest idea. I found myself, in pertinent situations asking, "What would Sherlock do?" You were my eyes to see the world, my hero! I was so immersed in your methods I did not, I could not see the flaws. I find myself asking even today what they are. I don't see them Sherlock, but the world does, and the world is right. The world is always right. Watson and I share a kindred bond. We both understand the need to worship a genius such as yourself. Watson dedicated so may texts to you. I say Sherlock  that is not enough. Nothing ever will be.

The fault is mine Sherlock. I let the world in. There is no space anymore.

Goodbye.

Wishes,Horses and Tomorrow

“How is one supposed to ...you know react, or...or respond the shock of it is one thing but the...the I don’t even know the word ford for it”

Here is what had happened. Ralph after twenty years of his seemingly “normal” life had found out that he was in fact adopted.

“The worst part of it is to keep it a secret for 20 freaking years. I get not wanting to tell a kid like the concepts to difficult to grasp and all but a twenty year old... I mean I had the right to know when I was ten or twelve...Okay maybe fifteen it is a pretty hard hitting fact to ones identity and well basically existence.

A warm summer breeze blew over the two as they lay on their back at the edge of the cliff, feet hanging several feet above the ground. Adele continued to pluck out on the dried grass of the land and twist it between her fingers. She gazed at the light blue sky as the delicate clouds glided by. The view was interrupted by the intermittent appearance of Ralph’s hands that were aiding as gestures blatantly displaying his discontent.

“I mean here I am making big plans for my future charting out every course of action trying to make my “parents” proud and all only to find out that they’re not really my parents at all. What does all this mean? Where do I stand?”

Adele now turned her gaze sideways. Red blazing hair, Light freckled skin, this boy by whose side she grew up and had known forever. “Right here, beside me” she replied as she sat up. She said it so he would smile. She loved to see him smile. The way his eyes shrunk as the rest of the face was just invaded by the smile. She knew that it would make him smile.

He knew she didn’t mean it.

“It doesn’t mean a thing you know” she continued “nobody knows who they are, nobody knows where they stand. Yes when you have a family it gives a place to start from but that still remains just the beginning. Where you go from there is up to you, entirely. Being with family is what it means to us. Whether it’s a place we want to keep going back to or wish we never have to go back to it still us as individuals. You have a family Ralph, a mother and a father who love you very much. That’s why they really never saw the need to tell you. You always were a part of them and they a part of you. They could have told you earlier but at this moment of your life you are ready to face the world on your own as a young man. They know how important they are to you and why it means so much that you make them proud. This is why they are sending you into the world with no strings. If you believe that you don’t owe them anything you can follow heart with the least consideration of what happens to them or you can come to terms with the idea that your heart simply looks to make them happy.”

“Are you justifying them” Ralph enquired

“Tell me I’m wrong” Adele replied quickly

He stared hard at her trying to come up with something, anything. He hated how she was right always. Her eyes were strong and determined and the rest of her body seemed to sway with the breeze.

“You’re not. You never are. But I am late” Ralph said looking at his watch.

“Dinner at Victoria’s parents” he said as he sprang to his feet and dusted off his trousers.

“Good luck” she smiled and said in a shaky voice.

As he walked away she sat with her body turned watching him make his way.

“Hey Ralph” she shouted behind him shading her eyes from the sun.

He threw his hands up in the air gesturing to know what she wanted to say.

“Are you going to go look for them?”

“Who?”

“Your real parents?”

Ralph sighed. Then placed his hands on his hips and asked “why would you bring that up just as I was leaving?”

“Because I know it’s troubling you...”

Adele stood up and walked towards him. Placed one hand on his shoulder and said “and because I want to see you again tomorrow and because I love you and because I’m sorry.”

They both stared at each other.

The sun was fast setting in the west. The cliff in the east blazing golden with every last rays it could catch. In that sun Ralph walked away hastily to Victoria’s and Adele walked home still staring at the sky feeling the breeze, watching the birds and Smiling.

Q&A

“The intricacies of life I don’t expect you to understand” Zoe said, her slender figure wrapped in a gold yellow linen dress and stretched out on the floor. Her head rested on the pink satin cushion as she gently stroked a piece of ribbon with her slender fingers.

“And I do not understand, not the intricacies just the stupidity” Stella shot back. Zoe turned her eyes upwards. Stella’s sturdy figure towered over her. Her arms fiercely crossed and her dark eyes firm and furious as she stared at Hannah. “Once. Twice. Thrice. I get it. How does a perfectly intelligent human being like you managed to get screwed over seven times” she continued.

Hannah shook her head and dried up her eyes as she huddled further on the couch with her legs outstretched. Beside her feet lay the Virginia Wolfe novel bookmarked somewhere at the start of the book.

“Have you seriously been counting?” Zoe asked as she sat up and curled her legs on the carpet. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. Three years, in which I’ve worked on fifteen assignments, you’ve had three jobs and Hannah’s had seven breakups.”

“seven in three years is a little too much  you know” Zoe spoke as she lifted herself next to Hannah wrapping her one arm around her and pulling away Hannah’s brown hair from her face. “First or seventh she has gone through a break up, it hurts just as much you know” she said to Stella. This was a calming gesture for everyone. “Promise me” Zoë said “promise me that you will consciously stay single for some time, at least a month”

“Six” Stella retorted plunging herself on the chair besides the couch.

“One month” to begin with Zoë said her voice firm and calm

“Fine! but by the end of the month you’ll be having so much fun you’d want to extend the offer for sure” Stella said as she rose to her feet and walked toward the kitchen. She put on the kettle and pulled up three mugs and sat them on the platform. As the coffee boiled Stella stared out of the window wondering how Zoë did it?

“How did she do it? How does she do it every time? For more than an hour I had been yelling at Hannah and Hannah had been weeping away to glory. All she did during that time was fiddle with that stupid ribbon lying prostrate on the floor. Was she even listening to any of our conversation and Hannah that stupid stupid stupid girl just lay there snivelling like a schoolgirl? So weak. How could she? That girl has no self respect whatsoever.”

“I should get changed” Hannah said to Zoë, “this dress is killing me”

Of course sweetie” Zoë said as she lifted her hands from around Hannah.

As Hannah undressed herself and shamefully looked at her flabby body she thought “Promise me? Promise me my ass! How is being single going to help me in anyway? She doesn’t understand that Zoë. She’s beautiful she actually has to decide who to go out with doesn’t she get it doesn’t she know I have literally to live off her scraps. Who in the right mind would want to go out with me?” she pulled down the wrapper dress with all its might “This area it’s the toughest to lose around here the stomach is fine it’s the thighs that store the stubborn fat and that just give me the appearance of a stuffed turkey. I should really go running with Stella. I mean I know I’d never be able to keep up but it’s for my own good at least that way I don’t have to diet, am going to do that starting tomorrow.

Zoe lay on the couch and returned to fiddling with the ribbon. “I wonder how she does it?” she thought “every time she gets her heart broken, cries her eyes out for weeks and before you know it she’s out there dating again and within a few days she actually has a tangible relationship. She’s brave that Hannah! Nothing like myself healing from a heart break I had in high school. Such a sad pathetic loser of me, but then again Stella’s single too. She hasn’t had a boyfriend since I can remember. Maybe she is a lesbian after all or just insensitive or maybe she’s just so focussed on her job she doesn’t quite see anything romantically? Ironic you’d think for a photographer. I wish I could have a teeny bit of that focus so I could have one steady job.”

Outside the sun shone brighter. The day had just begun.

Biscuit Race

A random memory crossed my mind the other day. Seemingly lucid at the time it actually presented itself with a very important life lesson.

When I was about five years old our parish organised a little Christmas get together or was it Easter? My memory fails me there. A get together it was, and like most of these events there were various activities for all age groups. For that age I was a pretty athletic being and running races was a matter of sheer delight. So when I heard that the event for my age group was a race of sorts I could have fist pumped the air. I should have paid attention to what sort of race it was though because that was going to be the beginning of my dismay. It was a ‘biscuit eating’ race. One of the most ridiculously juvenile races and I don’t say that out of contempt. This was the only race where at the start line you saw the fat kid smiling. To analyse the objective of this race, what do you intend to tender upon the young and impressionable minds? That apart from the major rat race you are eventually going to be part of you must also learn to gulp down your meals. Whatever happened to chew you food slowly and then swallow. It is important that as mature adults we rethink a lot of hand me down ideals.

Ceasing to whine about the race and getting back to the events that transpired or rather that did not transpire that day. It was at the start line the ground that played host to the race was a rectangular one with a polished tiled surface. I cannot begin to evaluate the things wrong with the arrangements. Firstly it we were made to stand along the length of the floor instead of the width which by virtue of geometry meant lesser distance to run, secondly it was a POLISHED TILED SURFACE. At the end of the race or rather an insult of a race was plastic chairs upon which sat plates and in them clumps of biscuits. From that distance and with my eyesight it was pretty clear what biscuits they were. The worst kind. The kind you see your grandparents dip into a sugarless cup of evening tea. I hated those biscuits from the bottom of my heart. Naturally I panicked. All the same when the whistle blew I darted towards the finish.

As I approached the plate the biscuits grew larger and larger. Their dry surface searing into my skin like blisters on a cold day. With an absolute heavy heart I lifted one and stared at it. Mustering all the courage I had I bit it. Dry and tasteless the biscuit crumbled in my mouth sending smaller pieces flying into the air. I chewed and chewed for what seemed an eternity. Then with a life long struggle I swallowed it. The next thing I did surprised everyone watching and continues to surprise me to this day. I gently put the biscuit down and walked away.

You see I clearly hated the biscuit. I knew I was a good athlete so winning was of no dire consequence. Whatever the prize at the end of the finish line, it could not have been worth the price to pay. So it has been with life no matter what the end result I have tended to avoid things that don’t suit my sensibilities. It has been tough sometimes and like that day the onlookers gasp in wonder as they try to comprehend why or how I would just walk away. I could try to sit and explain but that would ruin the whole thing really. There is hard work and there is passion, hard work got somebody the prize that day passion gave me the courage to walk away.

Freed

Am I ready for the rains,
No. I barely soaked any of the sun
I scavenged through the last scrap of rays.
I want a land with sunshine
Not too much of it
Just enough to warm the breeze.

Now the sun scorches
Burns, sinks its teeth into me
My head reels ,seething pain.

Am I ready for the rains?
Yes. I want it pour
Pour down and wash away
Wash me, cleanse me
Free me.

SUN

The rocks toppled over and crashed into a million bits,
the abyss was deep.

It drew its long slender claws around the edge of the cliff firmly gripping on.
A gust of smoke spat out as it drew its breath.
The warm summer breeze blew over its glistening skin.

The desert with its red and golden sands
stretched as far as the eyes could see.
Looking for an escape
could lead to an unlikely build up of despair.
No matter what the escape.

In the distance the Red hills stood majestic,
Its crevices weeping to tell the tales of time gone by.
The time gone by, alas the rocks do not speak.

The tales are but heard in the lore.
The stories of old women who sing around the fire.
They sway and sway,
to trust these tales from them?

They sing of a dark summer night,
the night which their fathers awaited
the night when the moon mother would give birth
that night the moon mother gave birth

Birds with wings of the strength to pull the earth away
their eyes glistened like gemstones
plucked out of the womb of the moon
Their skin glistening in the pale moonlight
The red hue unmistakable

These birds neared the Fathers
as they waited in anxiety
These birds
Their breath, warm
Their breath ,fire


It drew its long slender claws around the edge of the cliff firmly gripping on.
A gust of smoke spat out as it drew  its breath.
The warm summer breeze blew over its glistening skin.
With one mighty leap the bird darted off

It soared
and soared higher
the old women watched
their sons watched
and their sons
all in anxiety
for the dark summer night
was here again.

It soared high till no eye could witness it.
Then all was plunged in darkness
The bird was hungry
Its breath drew Fire
It hungered for more fire.
It went after more fire

The untamed beast could have known no better.
The dark summer night was here again

the night which their fathers awaited
the night when the moon mother would give birth


The night the bird fed
fed on the sun,
The dark summer night was here again,
here to stay,here for good.