Saturday, March 20, 2010


"Evenings were never so melancholic", scribbled on her tiny red notebook which had red floral designs. She always carried it in her handbag. It was gifted to her along with a gold tipped pen by her younger cousin.

"The sparrows competed to get into the tiny holes of the withered wall of the park. Their squeaky cries filled in the atmosphere. They borrowed my evenings."

It has been not so long since she left her home and parents. They seldom called her for she dared to do quite a few things which was outside the limits decided by the society. She couldn't tolerate to live in between the tailor made decent human beings. People at times found her in a gang of guys, sometimes at pubs with few tequila glasses set on the table. It was quite hard for them not to bitch about her. But they din't dare to utter a word before her.

"Its not the moustaches and beards which make a man." She had her own definitions of gender. "I often dream Shiva, the grace, the masculinity....the stone paved path and the dancing sculptors. You know dance is of two types, Nritha and Natya. Nritha is masuline while Natya is feminine." Exuberance set fire to her words when it was about dance. She was guided by a couple of fantasy filled dance compositions, her dream project. But she really gets irritated when in the wrong crowd, and that was the reason once she decided to quit her corporate job. But she couldn't do it till now." A lot talents are stuck here. I often come across entries in the bulletin. I wonder why the don'y quit. It can be called avarice of the human race. Even to build up a career in art, we need money. Artists can't always be so poor as read in old stories."

" I can't understand why life is showing a greater tendency to be monotonous everyday.At times my watch appear stagnant to me. Is time dead ? This is suffocating. I take a different path to home everyday to escape from the sameness. These parts of the city are not that depressing, but at times it wore a strange face."

"Am I selfish? I never felt so bad being termed a cynic. The air around is so saturated that I can't vent out. I want to confess. Where are you my sparrows? I want to confess."

"They say I am confused. Am I?"

** end **
It is for the first time I am writing on a female perspective. Qualities borrowed from a few female friends I admire.

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