Dream #1

I have been reading The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera lately in my nights. I am in awe with the character of Tereza whose love for Tomas is borne out of fortuities. She does not really love Tomas but loves her love for him. I do not like it when there are other reasons to love a person than the person himself but a strong belief in fortuities sometimes makes life seem more meaningful and aesthetic. So, whatever floats your boat.

I dreamed a dream in the morning today.

My brother and I were looking for some good food in the crowded streets of some foreign country (perhaps Tokyo or Malaysia). He was driving a red scooty and I was riding pillion. Our sister was waiting in the hotel and parents were gone somewhere entrusting us to eating the free hotel meals. But we craved some adventure. Since what an ass my brother is, he kept texting somebody on his phone while driving, almost never looking forward. I was irritated as fuck but I did not reprimand him for being so reckless. I would only yell at him to watch out when he needed to watch out. We finally arrived at a hotel building and we entered the elevator only to see that there was a girl sitting in front of me with a lady. Three extremely restless kids were on the left side, always moving here and there or standing over the seats. Yes, there were seats in the elevator. I sat myself near the door and my brother sat beside me. I wanted to talk to the girl and the lady but I hesitated. Suddenly, we all started conversation. We started introducing ourselves. I came to know that the lady was the girl’s mother and the kids were the girl’s siblings. Two boys and a girl. The lift was going down and the hotel was on some floor above. The lift would stop every now and then and the kids would stroll in and out. The lady was very beautiful. Her skin was glowing white and she wore a red lipstick on her plump lips. She was dressed in various colours and was forever smiling and talking shyly but talking all the same. She was always the first to answer whenever I asked a question. She told me that one of the kids’ name was same as mine, the one standing on the seats. I looked above at him and he looked below at me and we smiled at each other. I turned back to the girl sitting next to her mother. She had let her hair hang loose over her shoulders and she wore orange lipstick, my favourite colour. Her lips were quite thin, the way I like them. She wore blue and white and some other colours as well. She was not talking much but she would never fail to steal a look at me at regular intervals. She asked me how old I am and then I told her my age and my brother’s age. I told her I am 22. When she heard me, she paused for some time, as if chanting the number in her head while she looked sideways at the ceiling sad, as if she was expecting me to be her own age. Then she told me that she was 16, laughing and feeling dejected at the same time. I got sad as well because she looked beyond her age, tall and mature, and I was expecting her to be as old as me as well. We both sat there with our heads drowned in a hundred thoughts and she suddenly said – “I do not want to be depressed.”. A sudden pang of grief hit me. I wanted to tell her looking at her beautiful face – “You can never be depressed. What are you talking about? I am here. And your mother is here. She is so beautiful and understanding. She will never have you be depressed.” But a hand behind me grabbed mine own and started pulling me towards itself. It kept pulling me outside, through the door of the elevator and I started flying as if the gravity had just ceased to exist. My eyes rolled here and there, above and below, to comprehend the present situation but I was out of the world, engulfed by darkness and then suddenly, I woke up.

I realised that her mother had been forever smiling indeed and not taking care of her children who had been running in and out of the broken lift. She perhaps had not been understanding our conversation either and, just pretending to understand by nodding. The girl’s final words hung in my head heavy while I was going through a post-dream phase when we try to piece the dream puzzle all together. I was in love with her, her orange lips, beautiful brown hair jumping over her shoulders and her slender legs. I could see love for me in her eyes as well and that soothed me like a cold drop of water on a burning face. I ached for more. I thought of a silent conversation in my mind with her, something telepathic, where she was sitting beside me in a wooden park bench, her head resting on my shoulder on a sunny day with a clear sky. We were surrounded with green and yellow grass. We both were in love but she was only 16. I told her I could wait for her two years before she was 18 and then we would be together forever. She didn’t say a thing. She just nodded and hugged me tight as if I had just read her mind and said the same exact words she wanted to hear. We both smiled concealing pains we each suffered from. But we felt a huge hope in our hearts and that made the world bearable.

The girl, for a change, did not have a face I had been dreaming for quite a while. She seemed far superior and understanding than the one I had been in love with. She seemed the one I would long to be with forever. And so, I began the search.

The Salt Cellers

A pair of cream-coloured salt cellars with abundant little black dots painted all over them rest in the middle of the dining table in my home. They are painted light blue inside, a shade darker than the colour of summer sky. The blue is visible from outside as well, though only at the rim of the cellars where there little and adorable pawn-shaped lids hold their places, waiting eagerly to be picked up and examined. This pretty pair of cellars oddly makes me feel calm, to forget everything and just stare at them for hours, their smooth curvature that blesses the rarest of angels.

But I did not acknowledge their beauty with words until one of my sisters visited my house recently and did the honours. I nodded to her claim and stood quiet and motionless for a minute seeing the pair of cellars and thinking how did I miss what my sister did not.

How could I? Every beautiful thing has to be appreciated. Otherwise, you are a disgusting person, a horrible person who does not deserve to come across any beauty ever again. Wait. Read what I wrote once again. See the horror? If you do not acknowledge beauty, you deserve to go blind. Period. I loved looking at the cellars and you may say I have been doing my fair share of the deed but no. I consider using display of affection for beauty important, as much in front of people as I do alone.

But right now as I write these words, they are coming after a second long stare at the pair of cellars. And this time, I realised I may not be a bad person after all. Because way before my sisters visited my home and carried out the cruel act of appreciation by unknowingly shattering my pride of never failing to acknowledge beauties crossing my life, my subconsciousness had done its work.

The salt cellars have been in my home for quite long, for as long as I can remember. And when I had started developing my website (which was around a month ago), the first wallpaper that I had given to it was the same pattern that covered the cellars – the abundant little black dots on a creamy background. And there you go! You may call it a coincidence, I call it beauty. Why else would I have stared at the cellars for a long time today again and written about them? It’s God’s work, my friend. Amen!

Phew! I , weirdly, feel an odd sense of accomplishment right now.

My Highness

I sat on my bed with my upper back resting to a wall behind, bearing the brunt of its coldness and harshness. My lower back lay hanging in mid-air due to a gap between the bed and the wall, uncomplaining and procrastinating its screams of pain for the morning ahead. There was darkness all around me but I could repeatedly glimpse the interior of the room in a white flashlight blinking out of my phone that lay upside down on the other side of bed. My head was dancing to the music the light played, the silent vibrating wire of rhythm that brought a surreal mix of calmness and noise whenever it touched me. And when it would, I would spin my head like a slow spinning ballerina in sync with rapture.

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Getting high was nothing new. But this time, it was a different world, a shift from the utopia I was used to entering. My back was stiff with cold and my eyes were constantly following the light playing over me, as if a devil lay there with burning eyes and a smirk on his face, juggling me between hell and heaven. I felt claustrophobic. My brain was heavy as if it was soaked in tar. I grew a dire itch to be free again, to gain control again. So, I let it all go. 

I let whatever thing I had consumed, capture my brain. I surrendered and let my nerves be relaxed. I hoped for my superpowers to come out in open, to stop hiding from me inside me, to stop testing my capability to handle them, to be friends again. But then I realised my eyes hadn’t blinked for a long time and they were burning. They were burning and aching. Burning and aching. Burning and aching. I shut them.

I shut them but slowly, consuming the pain, rejoicing in it all the same. After the pain had faded out, I opened them again and saw water all around me. I was shit high, lost in probably a vast ocean. I quickly swam my way to the surface. There was fog above and fog below. The water was moving. I was tired and fed up of the game. The only seemingly plausible option was to lay my head back on the surface of water, let my body float, sway with the feeble waves and get more lost. The water took me to sundry lands but my numb mind was still struggling to cope up with a thousand thoughts knocking it over every now and then. Like a thousand fishes surrounding me, each whispering its own story in my ears. I felt helpless. I felt moronic. I felt perhaps this time, I was in the right place but those thousand evil fishes were injecting my brain with a familiar poison. “Fuck it. Fuck, fuck it.” I shut my eyes again and imagined them gone.

The water took me some places more.
And it threw me off a cliff.
My body felt free.
And my mind, captivated.
The burning devil was gone.
The fishes were gone.
And I floated mid-air.
With my eyes closed.
In a quiet sleep.

The Lobster

It is more difficult to pretend you have feelings when you do not than to pretend you do not have feelings when you do.

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The Lobster is a sci-fi movie based in a dystopian era where single people are disregarded and sent to hotels where they are allowed 45 days to find a partner or they would be turned to animals and set free in woods.

There are not many movies as unique as The Lobster in concept and narration. While the theme is bewildering and grows more and more absurd with progress, the movie has funny bits as well that remind viewers not to take the movie too seriously but enjoy it for its imagination and creativity. Unlike movies that portray a more or less probable future of mankind, The Lobster does not fall in that category. Rather, it selects not-so-prevalent ways of present reality and twists and moulds them and turns them it into an indigestible abomination.

*spoilers ahead*

I loved the movie. It kept me up for a good two and a half hours in the middle of the night trying to figure out what the hell I was watching. It is a very intelligent one. The narrator speaks the story ahead of time and so, the viewer knows what to expect and sees the story that way focussing more on how than what. The movie demands a careful watching for the viewer to pick up hundred percent of the story bits and pieces of which can easily slip from attention otherwise. The first half of the movie is about the rules of the dystopian world, the hotels, their contempt for singles and animals and their inhumane ways of dealing with them while the second half shows the opposite side of the coin, the illegal life of singles, which is equally grotesque and appalling. True love has lost its meaning somewhere and the nature of relationships is forced. The screenplay of the movie wonderfully captures the low intellectual levels of the people with no sense of humour whatsoever. The causality of such an era is difficult to obtain because it has not been really shown in the movie except that the leader of singles goes about proving every now and then that true love is a myth which is supported with the end of the movie. The actors did a beautiful job in creating something that is so depressing yet so funny sometimes. And wait, that background music, Jesus!

Anyway, The Lobster is a one of a kind movie which I absolutely loved and I am sure everyone else will as well. It is a roller coaster of emotions. You will go through shocks, laughs, cringes and doubts and at the end will be left with something out of the world to think about.

10 Cloverfield Lane

*spoilers ahead*

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I was in a semi-sleep state by the time I was halfway through the movie. It was the dead of the night, around 1 am, when I woke up from the chills. The chills that went free flying away piercing my flesh from John Goodman’s unshaven heavily disappointed I-have-been-betrayed face while he stood near the heavy iron door in darkness.

10 Cloverfield Lane is a sci-fi thriller that grows with its characters. Viewers are as clueless as two of the three major characters in the movie and that makes the movie captivating. The movie begins with a girl Michelle meeting a car accident. She wakes up and finds herself in a closed dimly lit dingy room chained to a pole and being supplied with fluids. Has she been kidnapped? She tries everything she can to free herself from the confinement but to no avail until when her confiner shows up. He lifts the bar of the heavy locked door scaring the shit out of us and reveals himself.

But there’s more. There is another character, another piece in the game. Michelle finds a guy, Emmet, just outside her room. So, three people living underground somewhere with various possible stories running in our minds about why they are there .. away from the world. Now, that’s a good way to play with you, isn’t it?

Howard spills the beans. He shares the truth. He tells Michelle that the air outside is toxic and everybody out there has died. Maybe it’s world war, maybe it’s aliens. Who knows! All that is known is there is no other option than to live in an air proof underground bunker built by Howard with the help of Emmet. But why should she believe him? Why can’t he be lying? Emmet said he saw the world go uninhabitable with his own eyes and ran to Howard’s house for shelter. But what if he is lying as well? Are they kidnappers? Is Emmet lying too or is he a victim just like her? Is Howard crazy? What if he is some nerd suffering from some of kind of disease, living in his own world of imagination, and pulled a few people out of reality to live with him and have them doomed forever? He sure looks like one though.

Scene by scene, minute by minute, Michelle’s doubts multiply. She attacks Howard and tries to escape from the clutches of the insane and lonely dwelling in search of truth. And when she reaches the door, she sees a lady dying from wounds banging her head to the door begging to be let inside. Scared and gasping, Michelle pulls herself away, crying from helplessness and shocked from revelations. She is half convinced with Howard but her suspicion about Howard takes a new road when she discovers some of his new lies, about his daughter.

Michelle teams up with Emmet to make an air tight suit with a plan to run out and look for help. But Howard finds out. Emmet takes all the blame on himself and Howard shoots him in the head. So, Emmet was innocent after all. And thus, air is toxic outside or at least something is wrong outside after all. And Howard sure is crazy. Some personal grief related to his daughter, Megan? Trauma? He sure confined Brittany two years ago and kept her with himself. Sees his daughter in girls? Needs social outlets? He knew that some kind of apocalyptic disaster was approaching (how?). So, maybe, he had been looking for a right person to hold on to underground. He tried the first time with Brittany using unknown means but we know Brittany wanted help. Second time, he saw an opportunity in saving a girl’s life by exploiting her gratuity to his advantage. Maybe that is why Howard repeatedly kept telling her that he saved her life so she would start feeling apologetic and grateful that he saved her life and start enjoying her life with him which interestingly puts into perspective his guilt for the way things went with Brittany. He removed Emmet out of the picture but always let Michelle go even though she attacked and plotted against him multiple times.

But Michelle was smart. She found her way out by hook or by crook and now we know what the matter is with the world outside.

Well, I love the movie. The actors did an incredible job. Even though everything is a good thing about the movie, I especially liked that a movie with aliens in it showed so less of it and relied on human psychology for thrill and horror. Only three characters (and a dying lady) and boom! We learn the truth slowly and slowly with Michelle going through turns of suspicions and uncertainty. 10 Cloverfield Lane makes for a riveting watch.

Eagerly waiting for the sequel.

The lady in the park.

I look for her with eyes restless
moving to an unknown song.
Look, here she comes, with concealed stories in her upright bun
I can only imagine.

How her dress flows in the still warm air while I sweat.
My eyes slide down to her feet that wore sandals yesterday
but today she wears running shoes
and yet her walk is the same
like she steps on white clouds unseen.

How does she do it?
I cannot just pace her and turn to see her face? No.
But I did it, I did it and oh, that pink lipstick glowed in the dark
like her sandals once,
and a swift skylark.

Her hands hang straight while she walks
save when a tree comes bold in her way to feel her touch.
She lifts one hand to graze the trunk
till the last inch of her fingers leaves the tree
and me.

That beautiful, beautiful figure covered in pink and yellow silk
slithers through grass like a serpent hypnotising.
Her eyes transfixed at nothing.
Her hands, her lean sharp hands graze burning trunks and leaves
again and again, ah!
My heart aches while she sings a shaky tune.

She does not even know
what a cruel game she plays every day.
How she captures me and I forget everything of my life hollow.
She walks the path
round and round
and I follow.