Friday, November 21, 2014


I felt them both look at me. Him, scruffy, with a frayed shirt and his mate, with his shirt hanging loose, a cigarette dangling from his lips even though smoking was prohibited in the metro. Both of them conversed languidly, exuding an air of indolence and emanating waves of casualness like the exhalation of smoke from the second one's cigarette.
When they desultorily interchanged i breathed a sigh of relief but such relief was momentary and short lived. Their glances, frequently directed at me, suffused me with unutterable terror. They seemed to be thugs who would, at any moment, as soon as i disembarked rob me of all the cash i had and leave me beaten up and senseless, by the roadside. And they are glancing at me rather more frequently and i sense, in their dark, smouldering eyes, a calculation and guile that is unendurable to witness.
My pupils dilate, my heart beats fast. I feel chasms opening up beneath me, vertiginous. My knees are weak and wobbly. At any moment i might collapse and fall apart, sagging down maladroitly as my knees give way beneath me. I feel my teeth beginning to chatter. My tongue pushes out and retracts and i feel, uneasily that my teeth are shaking, that all my teeth will crumble into powdery bits. I am shivering uncontrollably. And strangely it strikes me that the more they witness my discomfiture the more resolute their decision to waylay me and attack me.
So i try to establish a modicum of control. I hold my nerve, try to breathe in deeply and convey an impression of imperturability. But even when my glance strays away from them i feel their malevolent gaze locked into me, boring into my haplessness with their calculating, penetrating resolve. Until it seems that not looking and looking merge into one wherein looking is equivalent to not looking given that my aegis of terror subsumes me and not looking coterminous with looking because their spectral presences insist on being acknowledged.
The metro , as a entity, crowds in on me. My senses expand, incorporating the immensity of the entire metro, the people who inhabit it and the two who haunt me. This entire tableau, inrushes into my consciousness with disembodied forcefulness until my mind expands expands expands and then bursts, as my growing terror reaches its peak. Everything atrophies around me, a conglomeration of disjointed images flash before me. I feel faint and nauseous and claustrophobic.
As soon as the doors open i lurch out blindly, five stations before mine and make a dash homewards.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014


Upon seeing these words on his facebook page i was heartbroken. Having secretly nurtured hopes for a realization of our putative bond, given the caprices of time, had seemed a possibility that could be fulfilled. Now the above mentioned post dashed my hopes to the ground.
I scoured her profile, with whom he was now enmeshed, with great trepidation. While her unremarkable features palliated my misery somewhat the glaring fact of her being a part of his life consumed me with bitter jealousy. I realized that i was undermining her factuality by imbuing her with grotesque associations. At any moment reality , which was in any case established by the post, might discomfit me further. By making of her a funnel through which i filtered out my anger i felt, momentarily, great self satisfaction. But it was illusory.
The chat space on my right hand side, studded with greenish dots, betokens a space where i can pour forth my predicament to sympathetic friends. The post option, from which i will naturally exclude him further intensifies the desire for expression . But time has demonstrated that such avowals, couched as disavowals, concealed under a patina of guilelessness actually evince a hunger for attention that is insatiable. And the more empathy is proffered the hungrier will my desire for self exoneration be. Ultimately all i'll end up with is an indiscriminate show of my pitifulness while the world will move on.
Wan't such a similar process the ground of my disenchantment? We had exchanged pleasantries initially followed by, at least from me, an honest account of one's life. I believed him,believed in the fortuitousness of our intersection to bring about the desired apotheosis and i was proved wrong.
Was my expectation of our togetherness precipitate? Or downright unrealistic? I must have projected, imagining him as enthralled by me as i was with him. And in all honesty he did demonstrate verbally, on many occasions, the authenticity of his regard. Were i face to face with him i might perhaps divine the truth beneath his self proclamations. But who knows, even in real life, he may have dissembled impeccably. The hope of a good outcome renders the prospect of scepticism precarious. It crystallizes self doubt and  blunts judgement.
Ultimately all i am left with is the spectre of my naivete, my foolish, ingenuous building up of a hope that was predestined to be foiled. I could either brush off this incongruous episode as a learning curve or be steeped in misery for the near foreseeable future. All i know is that, in some imperceptible way my idea of myself has undergone a metamorphosis.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014


The hall of mirror ripples
My reflections manifold
Multitudinous refractions
Across space and time testify
To the fluid center of my being
And the evanescence of time
Time present dissolves into time past
Where, conjoined, they anticipate
A future which, tempered by both
Peregrinating the interstices of
The has been and the can be
Becomes a congealed should be.
Metamorphoses of consciousness
Traverse metempsychosis realms
Through which, interweaved temporalities
Siphoning off contingent intimations
Amalgamate, the penumbral incertitude
With incandescent plenitude
The hall of mirrors is merely,
A hall of mirrors, with its
Dotted spots slotted, their
Impersonal causality but what
Has altered, dramatically
Is how i now see myself and life.


When the narcissist, which is how i refer to the man who shattered me, left behind him, as an indelible imprint, the deep hurt he gave me, i collapsed. Left with nothing, not even a shred of self esteem, i foundered for months, oscillating between a desparate desire for a resumption of my tortuous predicament, however dire and the need for restitution, for vengeance. But feelings like this, unsustained by the principle of unmitigated realism, are going to collapse into nothingness. Where they lodged, as inalienable fantasies, which diminished in intensity with time.
While i was with him i was in a non negotiable, tenebrous space of emptiness. It seemed as though by suspending disbelief, or rather suspending being i could inhabit the tangled skein of our togetherness. I abdicated not only my self containment but my intuition. And it cost me dearly.
We lived in a surreal atmosphere of irreality where we were, to each other, spectral apparitions who fulfilled a function of furthering the narrative of life . To him, i realize retrospectively, i was expendable,dismissable. He relinquished his hold of me when my slumbering defiance, anesthetized by complicity, exacerbated by my idea of love, surfaced. I represented to him a reality of himself that he was unwilling to accept. I was ,in the mirror of his consciousness, a reflection turned inside out, revealing to him, not his habitually recurrent placid self complacence but a disfigured, grotesque factuality, the exactitude of which he willingly and precipitately suppressed and repressed, fearful that its terrifying intimations might reveal the obverse of narcissism, i.e utter nihilism of non being.
Sometimes i think to myself as to whether his narcissism was his sole defence. I do not intend to absolve or exonerate him of the hurt he gave me but the thought does arise as to whether he need this carapace of solipsism to assert himself in an existence where the only other possibility ,to him, was self annihilation. Was he entrapped by his psychopathy and there was no way out. The discomfiture i almost inflicted on him, which he adroitly and seamlessly circumvented, might have been a breaking point, a point of breaking through. Conversely it might have brought out the worse in him as immanent propensities, latent, as yet unactualized, sparked off into conflagaration through provocation.
But ruminations such as these are unprofitable. As i sit here lonesome, the chequered whorls on the carpet form agreeable patterns on my retina, the teacup with its exhalation of steamy warmth consoles me, the iridescent indentations of a new love i'm currently nursing in my mind suffuse me with a warmth that dapples and irradiates my heart. I need circumspection and observance to pragmatism to proceed hereon. But with sufficient perspicuity, i think i can manage.