Suspended

She’s melting away in the white room,

Turning to stone while the quiet grooms.

A sole hammock hangs in a white painted room. Stark white and devoid of everything with the exception of the white hammock and a thick white carpet that covers the floor corner to corner. The carpet and the white walls are so perfectly match that at first sight you are unable to decipher as to where the floor ends and the walls start. There are no windows and only a single door. The room is efficiently illuminated by light bulbs such that there is little shadow play to hinder the dream like reality.

A pale hand hangs down the edge of the white hammock that seems to be floating in the air. The frail motionless figure whose weight presses down on the hammock is not asleep, rather absent from reality and dream altogether. She stands at the mutual edge of the both; confused as to where the reality ends and imagination begins much like the story of the carpet and the walls of the white room she lays in. There is no hurry though; she’ll stay until a state pulls her either way.

For now, everything is peaceful. Somehow right even though incomprehensible. Carelessness assaults her mind. She hasn't moved from her place on the white hammock in the white room. She has been there for a long while and she’s there to stay for a little while more. 

It gives her a feel of floating, her state and the hammock. Of drifting without moving, of defying gravity with logic. Or logic with insanity. Time lapses away; seconds, minutes, hours. A crazy energy drives her, fueling her with the strength to stay. To hold on; to her peace, to this incoherent mix of reality and dream that she is enjoying right now. To not be happy or sad but peacefully satisfied. This is her middle ground.

In the depth of her mind wild blooms,

There is red on the floor of the white room.

-Momina.

I Have Enclosed Myself In An Infinity Of My Own

It comes down in an even sprinkle, falling straight; gently beating the ground. I watch quietly as each drop falls on my clothes and gets sucked up by their fibers leaving nothing but a tiny dark patch. It would have been nonexistent if it wasn't for the rest of the rain drops slowly soaking me up. My clothes gradually turn a shade or two darker than their original color, my hair dampens and water droplets slip past my face and my half bare arms.

I had dragged a chair to the center of the driveway where there is no overhead shelter, now I sit on it with my feet up, the rain water swishing around the legs of the chair. The heels of my feet rest on the very edge of the chair, my arms around them and my fingers intertwined so my feet won’t slip due to the wet tension. Hugging my legs, my face turned sideways so that I can feel the rain on my face and dousing my carelessly knotted hair.

For a moment I had considered making myself a cup of coffee but I opted against it. So now nestled in the pocket, in the arm of the chair, are several rain-sprayed jasmines that I’ve picked from our garden. Their scent floats all around me, fusing with the smell of the rain. It is so incredibly, crazily beautiful, this moment, sitting enveloped in a self-embrace with nothing but the mingling scent of rain and jasmines and the occasional tweeting of the birds shattering the silence. My far vision blurred for I have long abandoned my spectacles in the wake of this morning rain, hence, I am enclosed in a tiny bubble of my own. It’s so personal, as if the rain falls down for me, only.

It comes down so silently, getting lost amidst the whir of the ceiling fans and the hum of the air conditioners. Nobody wonders how they manage to sleep so soundly when the heat otherwise woke them up every day, every hour. The perks of being an insomniac include experiencing these exquisite early morning rains, whenever they come; earlier than the early risers. You connect with the silence and the beauty because it’s only you.

I've been sitting in the red canvas chair in the center of the driveway, in a sleeping neighborhood with the breeze playing with the hair that has come loose from my bun and the rain drenching me, for the past two hours. I got up only once to encase the sheer ecstasy of these blessed moments in the fold of my words; adding another piece to the plethora of such captured moments.

I am sneezing and slightly cold but it doesn't matter. I've waited for quite long to feel numb like this as I

cherish the rain, silent and lone.

-Momina.

Crazy Rambling #10

Lately I’ve been finding extreme fascination in withering flowers, roses, to be specific. I pluck them off from our garden a little before they are about to shed their petals, and arrange them into an oasis. Eventually they become limp and flaccid and dry out in their dropped posture. They are incredibly fascinating if you take your time to look at them, to really see them, not just a glance. They are untold stories, incomplete, yet they hold a charm far more precious than all the finished stories, all the happy endings. Even though they dry out, they are pretty, worth saving. 

I've never understood why people press roses between the pages of a book; there is little beauty in something you are forcing to die. And personally, I find nothing interesting in looking at a rose flower that is pressed until it’s flimsy and lean. It’s a full blown rose that darkens in color, that closes upon itself as it dies and dries that holds my attention. It’s beautiful, still intact. Somehow still living and fragrant. It’s the incomplete story of those roses that fascinates me, and I've always been a sucker for unfinished stories.

-Momina.

Faceless Existence

She gazed back at me dryly with a piercing gaze that seemed to penetrate right through mine. Everything about her appearance was flawed; her weary eyes, dirty clothes that were badly creased, bits of nail varnish stuck to her nails, most of which had been chipped off. Her long tresses had once been in what looked like a braid, her cheeks were stained and swollen red. She stumbled on her tiny steps but her eyes were as piercing as before, unfaltering. The disturbing thing was that her eyes were as powerful as they were empty, there was nothing in them, no pain, no fear… no hope.

So I didn't knew why they had me smiling, we were like two strangely different people, connected in the crowd of unseen faces, through dots. No, I didn't know her, neither did she know me. We were strangers, unrelated yet somehow linked, something put us apart…together, but distant. As I smiled at her, a faint smile touched her dried lips, only for split second, after which it turned into a grimace; her eye brows knotted together in worry, her face distorted into anger. And within that very second she ducked her head and disappeared into the throngs of people.

She left me there, though, paused and alone while strangers blurred past. They were faceless, for me. I didn't search for her in that crowed space, but I stood there and wondered what I hadn't before, in the sole minute that I had felt a connection with her. I pondered about her unknown past and future as I stood there, alone, while she blurred past me. This time unknown. 

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #8

I rarely like the fizz. It makes me feel weird and it tickles. I like my drinks flat. I mean, it’s pretty senseless since they are called carbonated drinks for a reason and normal people like to drink them when they are fizzy. Normal people; who are they really? Is it being distinct in our own way? Because, no matter what we all are unique in our own sense.
I don’t think there is a normal. It’s an exotic jungle out there, with every distinct specie possible and they are all last in their own way. An exotic jungle of endangered species is what it is. There’s no normal, no average. Never is, was or will be. You are special, but so is every other person. You can’t judge that because you have no right to. There is no limit to how different you are no degree to your specialty. But, you are the one, the only and the last you. There won’t be any like you to follow. You are special.
You can be the one for fizz or the one for flat, or you might like them mixed up, there are endless possibilities but you are something extraordinary. You are special.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #7

I love staring at the clouds; they fascinate me for various weird and crazy reasons. And lying in the sun, gazing at the white cotton like wisps of clouds is very peaceful, or at least I find it so. Also, I find it beautifully deceptive. Like cotton candy. It seems as if a pure white silken thread is being spun in the clear blue skies, yet when we ascend it’ nothing but a fog like thick illusion. Illusions; isn’t life filled with those. If our fate and destiny are written, then aren’t choices just a delusion? Like common sense, said to be so common, but lacking in every other. Illusions we believe in and take them for granted. But what is life without these illusions? Nothing, they are the reason that we construct so many thoughts. And without them, it’s like staring at a perfectly cloudless blue sky, nowhere to look with something different. No choices to make. Clouds, they are important.

-Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #1 | Crazy Ramblings #2 | Crazy Ramblings #3 | Crazy Ramblings #4 | Crazy Ramblings #5 | Crazy Ramblings #6

Stagnant in emotions

We are caged from within, by ourselves; our ways of life, our morals, our personality. We cannot change that. No matter how brutal the fall or how hard we try, how many coats we plant on. We always remain the same at our core.  We always fall prey to ourselves. Even the strongest of us breakdown, once in a while, from the pressure of it all.  It’s there, pulling us down, drowning us whilst we try to breath in the stuffy air. Is it wrong, is it really, to want from others at the same degree? Are our expectations really pointless? Do we not deserve the same? Or are some of us just here to look after and not be look-after-ed? It makes us want to change, we make promises to ourselves but in the end we are the same, the same we were yesterday; probably with another layer that is supposed to harden us, but is really just pointless. We are there for others, standing there suspended in waiting while the others have already moved on. They are too far to notice us still standing there stagnant in emotions and morale. They've changed, found another somebody to rely on, to look forward to. It doesn't matter to them, but to us.

And at the end of the day, those little unsaid words of appreciation are really what break us down. It makes us wants to stop caring when we can’t, to stop expecting when we can’t; because we our bound by our ways, our principles, our personality. Whilst they… they've gone... moved on. 

Momina.

Unanswered

The weather is gloomy and dreary; oppressing as heaving mist so everything seems monotonous. Dull. Unexciting. Yet, in this colorless environment, today I hum like a ball of energy, ecstatic. There’s no reason to it in general, but I am content, satisfied; the type of content that comes after venting out something that you've long kept with yourself, the type of content that brings utter joy, even with all the questions still unanswered, even with the future a puzzle.  Why? Because it’s suppose to be that way, not all questions are supposed to be answered there and then, sometimes you just give them time and they  just unfold themselves into answers. And the future, of course is always a riddle. Even when it’s all planned and set for you, it’s really just wobbly. You can see through it, but you can never be sure of how stable it is. A split second, that’s all it takes for the ground to disappear from underneath you. The insurance and protections, they don’t matter then.  We stand, but we really might just drop down any second. Not a single minute is predictable, well… maybe some are, but most aren't.

‘Live in the moment’, they say but every moment we live, we are planning the other. It’s such an intricate web of events. The one moment that you are living this minute is turning into your past by the same rate. And in that very moment you are also planning your future, yes, it could be something as simple as ‘I gotta tell this to my friend’ or ‘I’ll make that for lunch’, but it’s happening.  I said that future is a riddle; well the present and past don’t seem to be such a simple case themselves. 

-Momina.

Such serene moments...

She lay there, among a cascade of sheets, hands behind her head and ankle carelessly crossed; Days old red nail-polish chipping off.  The fan whirs above too loud for the quiet that surrounds her, the lights too harsh for her seemingly serene moments, the atmosphere to formal for her casual posture. She sits in a place too unlike herself… too formal. Her mind is another place to be, nothing like her posture or the décor around; it’s mayhem of thoughts, a turmoil of ideas replaced every moment, flipping out of grasp, exploding volcanoes of colors, rainbows of events, chaos of recollection. Such serene moments.

-Momina.

picture source : http://www.facebook.com/Urbah.V.Photography?fref=ts

Crazy Ramblings #3

I have had the pleasure of having a couple of brilliant friend, each unique in a distinct way and some exceptional than the rest (and I am not even being modest). They have been there and always there for me, for quite some time now, so much that I seem to have forgotten how to make friends. I guess it comes naturally but I have been having this craving to let someone to know me; someone who knows who I am but doesn’t know me. I restraint myself to a certain level of frankness but this time I am willing to surpass the barriers. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I want someone to come up to me and tell me they want to know me. Again, I am not sure why.  I know it's useless since it will be up to me to open up to them and that is a very difficult task, for me at least. It's not that I am not at ease with my friends, I am, but I have this weird craving to know someone better. I am probably crazy. I know I am.

Momina.

Crazy Ramblings #2

Sometimes when I get too angry or tired or sad or just unsatisfied, I go in the kitchen and I open the door of the freezer and stand in front of it. I just stand there and make an effort to not think and concentrate on breathing. And at one point I realize that breathing in the cold freezer air is difficult because it hits your throat in a weird way. I don’t know why but it happens every time and the thought just hits me. Even when I know it's going to pop into my mind when I stand in front of the freezer, it still strikes me. And when we are angry or tired or sad or just unsatisfied, we just need these type of weird thoughts to tell us that it doesn’t matter. Everything is a random silly thing that somehow makes sense and it isn’t really important to understand it. I think I get high on the cold freezer air. I am probably crazy. I know I am.

Momina.

Yellow!

I bought a new toothbrush, it's orange and white and it has a bit yellow on its bristles. It's pretty.  I have also been wearing a yellow necklace for a regular three days now, it's not extraordinary just simple. It has a sequence in its beading two small ones follow a long one then two small ones again. I like it, I like the way the long ones catch the light and show rainbow hues on them. I am wearing it on my bun now. It's funny how I am attracted to the color yellow whereas when I was a kid I used to detest it. It would get dirty soon and it felt too bright. But I like it now, it's vividness. I look out for it now, I want it now. It seems we need the brightness in dull days right now. I got a bright yellow bag almost a year back, our car is yellow and the only shampoo that suits my hair is yellow; it used to be the jhonsons baby shampoo now it's the yellow Sunsilk. Nothing else suits my hair. It's not my favorite color, that’s blue, but yellow seems to lighten up every place, attracts attention, and puts a smile on your face; that’s why smileys are yellow. At times I wonder why people don’t use yellow make up that often. A yellow lipstick would sure make everybody laugh out loud. There are so many shades to the other colors! Jade, dark, grass, parrot etc to green. Royal, sky, navy, baby etc to blue. Blood, rose, dark , wine to read. But to yellow there is none. No fussing over a specific shade, just yellow. I wanted to get a wall in my room painted yellow but my mum denied it. But nothing brightens up a room like yellow. Nothing lightens up a mood like yellow, such a happy color! 

Momina.

Of LOL-ness, High-ness & Lame-ness

Me and U talking about all the random crazy things we want to do!

U: live a good pious life and then do all this stuff in heavens.

Me: or do this all now and rot in hell.

U: WHAT?

Me: what…? We can't sit around eating grapes!

U: so you'd rather burn in hell over and over again?

Me: no! I'd rather sit around eating grapes. But I don’t like grapes  so I'd prefer mangoes and strawberries!

U: you get all those in heavens too

Me: yeah…

____

Me: right now math is driving me mad!

W: and economics is cycling me coconuts!

____

Me: don't mind me. I have taken the leave of my senses. While you take the leave of the chatness
chatness reminds me of chaat. You know chana chat fruit chat
I hate fruit chaat!

Me: comeback. Lets run to the moon lets smile like the stars and stay in the vacuum
cuz there we can jump and still stay in mid air!

A: yes I like black dresses too

____

U: ITS AN IDIOTS PARADE THIS WORLD!!

Me: i want to wear red clothes while parading while everyone else wears black

____

ME: .

M: I know right!

Me: indeed! And did you see the dinosaurs?

M: haan!

Me: gosh I love time machines!

M: yaar wo tou sex hai <3 , mera fav tou iron man hai!

Me: no! Barbie fairy topia mermadia! \m/

M: haven’t you seen the inception wala avatar?

M:  it's too much love yaar! Ab mainay usay dekha tou pigs k cubs ki bearish honay lagi! I felt Barbie from hell!

Me: I know right! Friggin' weird!

M: kasmaaay

Me:  I my, red and blue

M: cockroach and bull?

Me: i shall get the wings! i shall have my chance to fly!i will, i will

M: but what about sting on my lap to kiss

Me: dude, you feel as if they'd never foget! But they do and you regret it!

M: haan waisay!

Me: i knows. Catch the colors. HURRY! You lost them silly!

Realisation strikes.

'She is scared. Yes. She shudders thinking about the near future, she cries silently in the darkness of the late nights…'

I stop and stare at the words I have written. My words. Words describing my feelings yet I make them anonymous.

"You are a coward" a voice from deep within my mind rumbles.

I shrug; I know so, of course.

"A COWARD" the voice is much more blunt and stabbing this time.

Despite myself I quiver suddenly with fear. I know I am one.

"What are you afraid of? That your friends might read this? They are friends! They'll know it! There is nothing to be afraid of, leave that hiding place of yours. Come up front, show yourself, there is more to you than you think, let people know. Come out! " 

I don’t know if it was a lecture, an order or a mere speech. I sigh, I feel something, a little confidence.

"Believe! Start over!"

I do as told. I write again, once more.

'I am scared. Yes. I shudder thinking about the near future, I cry silently in the darkness of the late nights… I am not sure if I walk alone or are all those I love beside me. I am not sure if my steps are steadfast, I do not want to stumble I know I'll bruise. I want support; I want them around me together, because together we'll manage. I know so.'

I can! I smile, I write on. It's me this time.

Momina.

unresolved mystery

There are so many stars that it seems imaginary. So many clouds;so many funny shapes that it looks fake. The moon is a perfect circle of gold, forged? After all those years of learning the cycle of the sun, the moon and earth I still wonder where exactly the sun hides and yet still provides us enough light to see in the night. It's never too dark for you to not see a thing (unless you get a lunar eclipse that is) a sigh escapes from the depths of my thoughts. And how is that one night you can see all the stars that are possibly there and the next you can barely see a few of them. I bet they are little illusionary things. I shake of the desperation and look at the long shadows that the murky night throws around me. Ridiculous they are giving people a reason to believe in creepy ghosts. And why is that the rustle of the leaves is always sinister in the dark? Everything seems phony to me in the dark, artificial. The voices go hushed, the lights dim, the wind seems to make your neck-hair rise in a disturbing dreadful way; why? The unresolved case of the mysterious alien nights…

Momina.


picture:  the starry night by Gogh, Vincent Van.

For who *I* am

Too close yet too far. You never realize its importance unless it's kept away from you. It not useless, you know that. It close to you and its significance is great but it can be gone. In a flash. And then you'll be gone of it, it wouldn’t be coming back, not even anything close to it. And then it will all be left in shatters of pain and memories, at least you have those with you, you think. But seriously, for how long? How many of it can you keep for yourself and yet guarantee it won't be washed away by new ones. Sure it will be still there, you'll even feel its presence, when someone calls on a memory it will ring a bell. And then you'll strain your mind knowing it happened, you knew it, it was right there up in your head!!! It would be drastic, as it'll bring back the pain; modified this time. Yet going through all that pain, there'll be a time when you'll remember the time gazing at a photograph and smile; at least you and the chance to have it so close to your heart, to experience it.  It won't be like you are over it but rather it'd be the fact that you have learned to live with the fact that it's gone, it's aim in the world achieved. Because you know, nobody comes or goes from the world without an aim. Not even a looser. Because if that'd be it there would be only a handful of people remembered.  So keep in mind that it's not important to do one great thing. I'd rather do random and small good things for many people. It may not make be a big person in this life but I'll know that people will remember that I did a good deed from them. They may smile thinking of me, they may say a prayer for me… and I'll be happy as I am whether a looser but I am a winner and a hero in the hearts of those close to me.  I don’t want people who fake around me. Instead I'll wish for a few good friends who are true to me. Who remember me for me!

Momina.