Naming life !!

Every life has a unique tale to tell. It scripts itself as life meanders on—staggering in aspirations and desperations, enamoured of passions and illusions, armed with name and fame, induced with dreams and deeds, and inspired with wills and nerve—in wealth of ripening. Numerous bends on its course—some meaningful, some memorable, some forgotten or some tragic—are testimony of its conciliation with the circumstances for sake of securing own existence. Yet, it presents a sheer bafflement in defining itself with an identity—an identity that establishes, who is who, which is which and what is what, in the mirror of the world around. It raises an awkward question, “Do I exist sans a name?”

What is in a name? Even an elementary scholar knows what Juliet expressed in her soliloquy. The name binds the bond, tears apart too. But, does it deny the existence too. It raises my perplexity and I carry it for so long.

Once I met a little girl and her brother (I wrote about them a decade back on my blog too) who did not have any name. Is life such meaningless that we presume that they don’t exist at all? Nameless is not faceless, yet the story of a life seems suffered when it is exposed to social scrutiny. But, is such an average assessment defines existence in life ?

In peaceful settings of Manderley, second Mrs Winter didn’t have any name. She narrated the tale of her life—her dreams, seclusion, haunting shadow of Rebecca, indifference of her husband—the killer of his first wife, and gradual accession to confidence. All without name in the entire novel.

Jane, an orphan raised at the home of her aunt, when was asked by Mr. Rochester, “Am I hideous?”, replied affirmative with certainty. She was the governess in his house, love him, he didn’t disclose about his earlier marriage and it all surface when she was about to get married with him. Rochester had a name and fame too. Yet, his real face is hidden. He was still bearing a faceless identity before Jane, and with certainty. They got married and the novel had a happy conclusion. Neither name nor fame nor its suppression was a matter of rejection in life.

Meursault was enraged and brutally killed the Arabian. The glimmers of the sun on the edges of his rapier generated so much irritation that he couldn’t resist himself from such crime, and without any future remorse. Was it the Sun, or the Arab man or the knife or the hatred or the intent of crime to be blamed; or the namelessness of the Arabian? The killer had a name and pride of race, but the Arabian didn’t. The novel of Camus evolved around the life who was nameless native and justice was faceless. The stranger remains a stranger so long life doesn’t attempt to know it. Knowledge is, perhaps, also something which exists when known. Does life have similar existence? I exist only when you know that I exist and get attributed by a name to be known? My confusions have grown up with me since childhood.

Jeanne’s life unfurled itself in exploration of delight in everything and died in disillusionment of its staleness. She tells her life through the events of her life. Nothing more than that. Yet, the existence retained itself without her professed identity in social mirror. She spent her end days forsaken—the dreams dried, emotions died and prospects baffled. In concluding sentence, she tells Rosalie, the maid and the mother of her husband’s son, “The life, you see, Rosalie, is not so good or so bad, what people think.’

Life, perhaps, is an impression. An impression has complexity of explaining the truth and value. We run after it without knowing, and leave it when experience. Our pride confines us only to its grave.

That’s what man needs

It was through a few turning of pages of days and nights, they were neatly woven in friendship. In an unusually underdeveloped semi-urban environment, moments of togetherness led two distant sailors to unite and discover an island of seclusion in an lazy expanse of bucolic ocean…to breathe in the way they were taught, to express the way their wishes were wrought and to renew life the way its meaning was sought…through their childhood, and adolescence and youth.

Robert headed straight from picturesque IAS Academy in Mussoorie to a shabby town of district headquarter and was happy enough to be soon remitted to a shabbier environment to complete last phase of his training. He was indeed happy for it offered him an opportunity to get rid of those unusual guests dropping in unusual time with unusual purposes in their folds only to perturb tranquil pool of his mind. He wasn’t sure if it would ruin him more, yet was content to get out of eddy he was caught in for the moment.

The vehicle sped fast…faster and faster…almost with an intense urge to toss him out of it; but it finally slowed down to glide through a wide green field passionately embracing a two-storied red bungalow. He was impressed for the first time in last a couple of weeks.

When he met Kelden, a bright lady—well clad in deep blue jeans perfectly married to a lemon top—with a wide innocent smile drawn upon her chubby face, he found himself in a grand luxury of joy. She was senior to Robert by two years in service and elder to him by a couple of years more. He enjoyed to learn a few more things, took active interest in learning more and devoted full time and vigour to mature himself in administrative job for deep impressions that the Sub divisional Magistrate left upon his young mind.

It was soon a usual scene that they would sit in the terrace overflowing the rooftop of Bungalow through moaning evenings—smoking, talking, debating, joking, laughing and at times enjoying music of silence in between—till it would be a time when moon and stars whispered, “Goodnight!” They would break…leaving the moon, the stars and the night to play with their dreams upon the vacant terrace.

It was a dream that came true for Robert. For long he missed sweet company of a sister and cursed his own fate for not having one while everyone else had…one, two and more ! He was delighted to have one…so late, yet so more compassionate than of his friends and neighbours. He didn’t mind—rather loved—to be rebuked by Kelden for not getting up early in morning, or for not taking care of health…. not eating properly….smoking too much….not polishing the shoes…and what not. Those nagging “nots” were slowly weaving a splendid texture of his mind with of strong threads of respect and love for her newly-discovered sister.

It went for weeks and months; and the summer slowly sheathed into mantle of the monsoon, and the monsoon into that of sacred autumn. It was another full moon. The twilight had folded its magic canvass to leave vacuity to a relaxing moon to soon rise and shine the evening sky. They were together on the terrace—holding long mugs of coffee—with molten wishes bubbling beneath secrets of silence.

Robert told her about most events of his life…his mom, his dad, his friends, his school, his passions, his dreams and so on; but never spoke about the girl—his love—for he could never gather enough courage to speak about love with someone whom he regarded in so high esteem. But he felt…he must...one day...sooner...before the winter broke news of his marrying the girl.

Upon flowing steam of silence, he struck the oars of his sailing thoughts. In a single lash of moment, he was bare to the core of his heart. It was a breathless spree…uninterrupted gush of hidden pleasure…and he could only stop when an image of his beloved was broadly laid upon Kelden’s pebbled soul. Unknowingly, he smiled…felt himself foolish at the end and he drew a curtain with just a concluding sentence. “It is she who’s turned me what I am, led me to explore threads of my life and took my dreams to a space where they could have tryst with just goodness.”

There was a long deep silence. The golden moon had, by then, risen. Peeping through long dancing leaves of coconut trees, it had started playing with dark shades of night upon faces of two young islanders. And, the silence spread its wings as widely, as intensely as it could.

“So, you’re in love?”

Her tone was comforting, yet somewhere missing the chord. Robert was anxiously enduring that long pause only to hear something…anything….being sure of either a few explosion of laughter or stern displeasure on his bringing down Kelden to a level of fun and friendship from revered space of elder sister; but he did not expect such an indistinct reflection. He stretched himself to discern between lines and shades crafted upon her pensive face—somewhat veiled under brown smokes of cigar.

“It’s a great revelation…great for me, Bob! It’s so enriching for me to learn about someone who chiselled you out into a truly loveable personality of a block of ordinary self! It’s indeed enriching…to feel why every stone doesn’t shine as a gem….a long tale of its becoming is more astounding than all dazzles of its shines. Okay, what’s her name?”

“Deepshikha”

Another long silence followed. Robert was still searching to read her face while the moon slipped its golden gown to wear a silvery white…and it rose…beyond those lofty wishes of coconut leaves, and poured in gentle drops of soft glow…here and there and everywhere. It shone an half-turned face—smooth silk of pink, adorn with a pressed monogolian nose suddenly halted before relief of narrow lips, a pair of deep eyes tucked under faint eyebrows and a beach of temple broadened over to sacrifice itself before leisurely ripples of a tranquil bay of neatly combed hairs. She was pretty, and it was such a long phase of silence that Robert could bathe in its vastness to explore more beauty than he could find in time and opportunity ever before.

His gaze stupefied….in those eyes…glistening elegantly in showering moonshine.

“Are you crying?”

“Yes, I’m. Well, never mind. Bob, I have something to say to you. I wanted to tell it before, but I couldn’t….Yes, in so many nights, alone I gathered words, perfected it and held them pressed inside to express my feelings to you next evening; but I could not….Bob, I love you and I wanted to tell you that loud and clear; but I could not. Well, it would be another new world for me now…yes, without expecting your love. It’s not a fault on your part…it has neither been on my part…you are the finest man I have ever met in my life and I could not simply abort the embryo of love that went on growing—deeply connected to chord of my inner self—and growing, kicking, moving…all inside me. I’ve loved you…in every moments of being with you…in every word shared between us…in every dream of mine to be with you. I couldn’t just stop loving you. It grew and I loved every moments of its growing....flourishing in its natural contentment. I love you so much, Bob! Hey, never mind. I’ll take care of myself. Look at me, surely I will. I would have…er... I would have…I would have urged you to accept me in your life…I dreamt of such bliss of life, Bob! Still, I won’t urge you so...because I know it’s not to be in this life. Bob, don’t feel bad…I will surely take care of myself…please don’t feel bad.”

Robert did not speak a single word. He could never realize that Kelden loved him so dearly, so passionately. He had no fault indeed. He did never express anything that might have impregnated Kelden’s soul with such intense feeling of love. Still he felt bad. He had no words with him for either to express him or to lay a comforting touch upon her ravaged mind.

It was almost midnight. Never before had they spent night, for so deep, so long time. Robert was indeed in deep agony for carrying his defenceless entity through a long lane of corpses of Kelden’s dreams. After a long while, Kelden rose, had a few quick puffs and handed over the half-spent cigar to Robert. She gazed on...beyond the horizon of eastern sky...firmly holding wooden railings and turned to Robert. And, she drew herself near to him and smiled...wide smile danced from the eyes to lips while tears still rolled down. Softly she whispered.

“Forget my craziness, Bob! The tale ends here...yeah, just this night. None will know of its seedless birth and endless death...it will only flow like a stream without any banks to confine its destined journey... let this feeling....let this love live for just this dying night. We will just be friends from tomorrow. Bob, I love you so much....I just want to hug you, kiss you....just for this one night...just once.”

Kelden walked as near to Robert as her trembling feet could carry her. Robert held her drooping existence and put a gentle kiss upon her temple. For a while, she stood motionless within ease of his embrace. She lifted her face, her light arms encircling around him and drew him closer and closer till it erased all margins of distance between them. And, she showered him with kisses all over his face, eyes to eyes, lips to lips—kissing, weeping, kissing, embracing and kissing.

The night flew away riding upon wings of newly born dawn, so had the tale. They were seen as usual in the terrace next evening ...and the next, yet they were just friends...just friends—smoking, talking, debating, joking, laughing and at times enjoying music of silence in between—till it would be a time when moon and stars whispered, “Goodnight!” None could know of a tempest that swept over the terrace in an autumn night...wildly playing with fallen leaves of dreams...of wishes...twirling emotions to chase a silver moon...and it died gently to be buried in unseen graveyard of soul.

After a few more weeks, time had ripened enough for the autumn to share its last fall colours...all over the field and the forest and the sky....and in the island. Some yellow, some red, some brown fallen leaves were awaiting white blanket of the winter to be laid upon to sink in smooth sleep for ever. The last autumn moon smiled over the terrace to drench the last night of union of two islanders with its passionate shiny shower. Kelden and Robert sat over idly....in silence...smoking cigars...one...another...many.

“So, you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“Hmm...yes.”

“Don’t know if we will meet again...may not have a chance to meet Deepsikha...it’s for her.”

A small wooden box...fine craft of soft yellow. Deepsikha opened it. A piece of golden paper neatly folded in a velvet...fastened around by a golden chain with a perfect heart of ruby lying loosely over its soft bed. Robert watched on while she unfurled it. Not a long letter... string of wavy words...deeply drawn in Chelpark blue. Tears rolled down her cheek...streaming down to reach nowhere. She folded it, held it close to her heart...and silence reigned. After a long while, she dropped it softly between folded palms of Robert.

“Deepsikha, my dear,

We may not have met...may never...but, I have seen you through eyes of the man whom I loved. It had just been a secreted brook that took birth in me, flowed within me and met its finality in me without having privilege to drench the vales of his soul...the roots of those wild flowers that bloomed only to shine in smiles on your face. We have never talked to each other, yet I have known you through every word he had shared with me...in every bits of being loveable for your sweet presence in his life. I loved him...yes, with dreams on my eyes to be with him forever. It all was till he revealed a grand portrait of you...the lady who made a perfect man for me to love. It was the moment that confided in me that he was born to yours only...for I would lose the man forever if I robbed him out of a soul who’d turned him a man whom I loved….I didn’t want to dream to lose the man I’d loved while enjoying every loss within. I enjoyed every bit of losing him for I knew my man...my love...would be in your company. I still love him...will love him....secretly within my suppressed cries, hidden emotions and its subterranean flow will keep me alive. The candle will burn...without expecting to illuminate around. Yet, I dream of its fallen rays finding recluse in your soul..Deepsikha, the flame of the lamp...yes, I dream of just such peace in you for to be in eternal embrace of the man of my love. I wish you grant me this privilege.

I love you, my dear. I love to see you together...bound in one self...forever.

Kisses,

Kelden”

Robert folded it...wrapped it in velvet—as neatly as it was—and put it inside the box. Her beloved was still sitting muted....through her wet eyes he traversed to the deepest core of heart—as elegant as the pendant of ruby—and he remembered Kelden...of those moments...of that night. His thoughts were soaked in tears of those two women, love of those two women, dreams of those two women...and of just those two women, who never met each other, yet were far more closer to soul....in honouring love, in feeling about its sacred sense, and in keeping its flame undying for to bless life. That’s just woman. Robert felt lack of such sacred power within...the best of him could not even touch that ribbon. He felt and wondered powerlessly that his life would await another life to let him be a woman...just a woman.....if not for a whole life, but for just a single moment. He whispered to his own soul, “That’s what man needs.”

The honeymoon station

Consciously, they did not think of touching a new ribbon of silvery togetherness—so fast and so long in one content self. It all happened in course of time turning moments into events and events into memories. But, without essentially entering into valuation of what has there been and what not, the flight upon four wings has let them float and fly through abundant expanse of life in unison.

The morning dropped from the smiling lips of rising sun. They were awake with steaming mugs of black coffee in green backyard lawn enclosed within beds of chosen flowers and an orchard of tall old trees—alike an emerald eye elegantly cradled in curves of long dark lashes. Birds whistled on, butterflies spread its colourful wings to gather warmth of morn and dew drops swung upon needles of grass; and they did so as they did a day before and in every other dawn of the past. Amidst all usual tunes of nature only different note that softened the chord was hidden in long speechless moments. They sat for longer than usual. And, she smiled. And, she spoke to break silence too.

It was that day!

Yes, it was that day! And, the night…the first night together? Remember?

Yes, twenty five years ! Pretty long, yet seems to have just come across, no?

Let’s go there…spend the day and the night too…would we?

The train stopped. Everything had changed so much that they could not believe it was same place. They searched for without exactly knowing what to and what for; yet they walked along the platform, from one end to the other…once…twice…thrice…and met the banyan tree—only bond to the past. They missed those two broken iron benches, and that tiny red tin-roofed railway office; and they remembered that lone hand pump too idly lying by a narrow path leading to horizon. The lean platform had gained all shines of health over the time. Its bare body had now been draped in colourful tiles…digital clocks, speakers, drinking water mounts, cemented seats and a new office with busy people running, walking, talking, and adding proud presence of civilization. There was no space for them to keep apart—to feel about being alone. Their souls travelled fast to the past….to that warm noon…and a colder night.

The dawn accompanied her to the threshold of a home for last nineteen years and the liberation erased all evidences of her root while the doors were firmly shut behind forever. He did not bring the bride home for to stay. Yet, it turned them absolutely unwelcomed for even a night. He did never dream that his own home could turn him homeless for marrying a Hindu girl against wishes of the family despite expecting not-so-happy expressions for the rebellious couple. They knew that neither of their families would love to see them together for life, but had not thought of losing access to it even as a distant guest. He just thought of spending a single last day in own known space…and to introduce his beloved to that space. They had ticket for the next day. The marriage did not get blessings of the past, of the space that took care to transform him from an infant to a kid, a kid to a boy and a boy to a man. In one moment, they were transported to a society of romany in the city abundantly saturated with old friends and relatives.

They lost luxury of spending one of the most memorable moments of life. They still had one complete day and night before boarding in train to Bombay. He had a decent job, decent accommodation and a decent amount of money in his purse to idle away the interval in decent hotel. But, the feeling of losing own space and denial of access of his wife to his own space on the marriage day was so intense that it not only killed his softer soul, but also punctured all assumed pride of being born in a liberal Christian society. They climbed down the stairs—straight to the street—and walked on with bagful of belongings---some memories, some wishes, some rejection, some losses, and some emotions martyred in pursuit of love and its honour. They walked together, holding hand in hand, for long hours—without speaking to each other.

Suddenly, he whispered something. She heard not, but nodded yes. And, they headed straight to Howrah Station and bought two tickets—for a honeymoon trip on the marriage day.

The shabby local train swam through passages of both idle noon and ever changing pastoral images. It stopped at one desolate station, and it had no urge to move on.

Warm winter noon had its sweet companion—a narrow platform with just a tiny red office…two broken iron benches, a few trees and a hand pump. Evidences could not still be enough to let one believe that it had ever heard footsteps of life. It was lying lifeless alike a statuette awaiting some special moment to arrive when someone would drop in to bless it with new life in a single touch and the pursuit would be fulfilled. There would be nothing to seek beyond that.

They looked at each other. The train left soon leaving behind two aliens—far from another galaxy—in that deserted island of solitude. They sat beneath a large banyan tree. Sun sailed through sky from above to far in the west. A few more passenger trains came and went; yet they did not see anyone boarding or alighting. They were so emotionally carried in deciding to get down there that they thought not of buying anything for long winter night. It was late evening, when the last train too departed. A middle aged man suddenly appeared from nowhere. He was the first human being they met. His husky voice had an unmatched compassion in its exchange.

What do you people sit for? The last train has gone.

Er… actually, we are not waiting for any train. We are homeless for tonight…yeah, we got married just this day.

Oh, I see. Just fled home…love marriage? I’m the Stationmaster. If you wish, you two may come to my house …just in the village, a couple of miles away.

Okay, thanks! But, we don’t want to disturb you. We would rather spend honeymoon here.

Ha..ha…nice. It is indeed a nice place for honeymoon…a perfect full moon. Okay, as you wish. But, after I left there will be none here till I come again in the morning. Have you eaten ?

No…we will manage, sir.

The fat wild man said no more. He brought out something from his cloth bag, handed the paper pack to her and walked away slowly. Their glistened eyes followed the figure…from platform end to railway office….riding on a bicycle….and finally fading into misty veil of darkness.

She opened the packet…some baked rice and a few pieces of boiled potatoes. They did not realize how hungry they were until they had finished it all.

The golden disc of moon had risen, by that time, behind silhouetted towers of trees…some closer, and the most afar. Its warm shines could not wipe chill of February night. He took her on his lap, stroked softly upon her wide temple neatly stretched between two closed eyes and braided hairs. And, he stooped low to put an elegant kiss. She was already asleep after long ruinous day of joy and betrayal. He pulled out a towel and placed it upon her curled body. The Eden was all set for two loving souls in its wilderness.

They traversed back from memories…from dreams. It was all new. They fought to believe it was where they had their first honeymoon…and they believed and failed to believe in rhythm of time. Being caught in dilemma, they remained speechless for hours. And, it was almost a state that brought them to brink of losing expressions when she whispered.

Home…let’s return…own home.

Long years….long lane of memories….slowly lifted them to a new globe….enclosed in a new blue sky…and they sensed something anew….the space that favoured a home for homeless had turned them homeless again.

They packed up, and looked behind to seek again for something unattainable—the permanence of luxury of peace confined in dungeon of space—and failed utterly. They felt for the first time in life that a space turned into a home only to be immortalized by moments of glory—love, reliance, trust and truth—it had been through expressions of life fastened to it.

They faded into new sphere of moments. The honeymoon station stood motionless as a milestone in a path connected by two unknown ends—the beginning and the finality—embracing stolen images of emotions of those evaporated souls.

Tale of a copycat.....

Dear readers,

I received interesting information from an unnamed reader this morning. It is in my comment box of my February 18, 2010 post, “The Barman’s string”
http://saibarman.blogspot.com/2010/02/barmans-string.html
and when I checked the link provided therein I was shocked to find its contents...you may check yourself too at
http://mkalkunte.blogspot.com/2010/02/barmans-rant.html
And, on further scrutiny I found two more posts in that blog—one being
http://mkalkunte.blogspot.com/2010/02/tormented.html
 copied from one fine contribution of “Shas”
http://wwwscribblingsonthewall.blogspot.com/2009/04/tormented.html
and another one
http://mkalkunte.blogspot.com/2010/02/memories.html
copied from what I wrote in the comment box of “Memories” written by “Shas”
http://wwwscribblingsonthewall.blogspot.com/2009/11/memories.html
I have requested the blogger to search for conscience....

What I write on my blog are just to share expressions, and they never go for publication elsewhere...blogging and publication are two distinct categories for me which are well classified, both in content and context...and, I don’t mind even if someone wants to use any of my blog-posts for any academic or personal interest so long it bears an honest intention...

I still believe that time is never lost...maybe, only delayed...for to learn to renew trust in truth...and I wish the person finds comfort of a guileless space of soul.

Let us hope that this turns out to be the last tale of a copycat....yes, of the last copycat !

Blowing in the wind.....

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I met her long back when my eyes were blue. Together we walked through some unsaid moments. The slender path that was never trodden before bared all passions of her soul to welcome prime of a youth. And, before it was time to be, we parted with whispers flowing from trees to sky ... “Will there ever be another tryst?”

The boy had another path to tread on...but, she had nowhere to go, none to comfort and her passions slipped into hardened shell of life, ignored and unnoticed, for to row it on through an endless journey.

Years after, an old man walked back as leisurely as would make time furious of his neglect and he went on retracing beaten tracks of life only to reassure himself of that life hadn’t been just a dream. He met her again...still lying alone, ignored and unnoticed. Nothing had changed much...except that she had outgrown with weeds around and his eyes had turned gray. The moments sped by.. muted by resurrection of those gone by and promises of those would ensue. He gazed on ...savouring pleasure of immaculate presence of someone whose creation had buried all its essence in his vision only. Within brim of his dim eyes he could only explore some frozen moments so passionately treasured into a string of silent footprints of memories upon her ruptured soul....

They parted again....but, this time neither she nor he had anywhere to go....only driven to destiny through life’s inevitability....answer was blowing in the wind...

I enjoyed your pages, but preferred to leave some reflections here only to tell you an untold tale of an innocent path....

Wish you would meet her some day, somewhere in your life too.

This is one that I had long wished to share on my blog, but your post has inspired to put it here instantaneously...maybe, it will now feature on my page too.

Regards,

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This is just another page of those tousled leafs on my table that floated in a blowing southern breeze of new-born Spring to touch down the comment box of a blog post by Alex at http://philososphyofalex.blogspot.com/2007/01/short-story.html before it finally settles down here.