Monday, 17 December 2012

Letter 6- Leap


Dear Lord of Darkness,

It was my first date today. Not one of our play dates where you dressed like a clown and I like an elite British woman. It was a real people’s date. Yes, I spent 3 hours selecting my outfit and still felt a little under-dressed for the occasion. I put on some make-up and tied my hair in a neat ponytail. I even tried on heels, but then settled for wedges. I even checked if my breath smelled fine and asked Mom for her perfume.  It was new and exciting. Like it was my chance to break out of my years and be someone else. Someone I might be, sometime in the future.
So, I waited for an entire hour on my shut door, waiting for the doorbell to ring. And then I heard the sound. The sound that woke me up from my childhood long slumber. I waited for a minute before opening the door, to pretend I’m not that anxious. And then suddenly felt weird, for I've never manipulated the display of my feelings. Maybe I had grown up already.
In that minute, I pictured my date and me, dancing to a slow ballroom waltz, a clown and a duchess. We confessed our love to our families, who disagreed.  And we held hands and ran up the cliff.  And then we decided to jump off it, making our love eternal, and then I saw you sitting on the cliff, and suddenly didn’t want to die any more. But my date had jumped already and so, I jumped anyway. I suddenly woke up from the trance and realized I must open the door, or else my date would think I’m disinterested. So anyway, I straightened my hair, dishevelled from all the running and opened the door.
There he was, dressed in a black blazer and a cute bow tie. I thought he looked funny, dressed up all fancy. But then I realized I looked just as ridiculous. He must have spent hours to look like that too. We smiled at each other and went on. Date was nothing the way I’d pictured it. I did not have the time of my life, as promised by my enthusiastic classmate. In fact, time kept changing pace. It went too soon when we danced and ate at my favourite restaurant. The one, you and I had discovered. But all our ways of spending the date had been spent, it just stopped moving.  My head began to hurt and I wanted to open my hair, he kept tugging on his bow tie. The dress was too short and my legs started getting numb with cold. His perfume started getting mixed with a flavour of fresh sweat. By the end we ran out of things to say, and sat quietly staring at the sky. He kept his hand on mine, and even though I tried, our fingers didn't entwine. We finally bid each other goodbye and shook hands. No, we didn’t kiss like I had thought. He was too shy and I was too uncomfortable. But we did fix a second date. Because, next time we’ll have this date to talk about.


Princess of the Winter Snow

Friday, 31 August 2012

Letter 5- Settling In

Dear Princess of the Winter Snow,

Remember that one spot on the edge of the cliff, where I loved to sit with my legs stretched on the two rocks right below it? You always asked me what was special about that spot and got annoyed when I didn't explain, because you hated sitting next to my spot on the slightly uncomfortable rock, with me almost blocking your wind and your clouds. Now that I have a relevant context, I'll tell you why I loved that spot. That spot on the edge of the cliff, made me feel like I have the power to look at the end. It felt like a royal throne, from where I could keep an eye on the world, and maybe, if I wanted to, control it. It was the edge, which gave me the responsibility of my fall, but it was also the highest point, which made it my duty to stay put. The beauty of the spot was that I had the city beneath me and sky at the eye level. And when I would look up, I wouldn't know what to expect. Sometimes, I thought I'd see me, staring at myself.

The point of telling you the story of my spot is that, that spot was the one place in the entire world that made me aware of how powerful, my being is. This new place has no spot. It's empty, like space. Without co-ordinates. I can't tell where I am, or in what state. I feel un-responsible for my being. I feel lost all the time. Like a lost kid in an amusement park, except the kid is invisible and no one would ever realise he's lost. I feel like I'm floating in a lucid dream. Jumping from one spot to another, irrelevant to my previous second, like my position is suddenly a variable of the universe.

I've been reading a lot. About science, about the universe, about creation. The vastness of hypothesis astonishes me, makes me wonder if someone is just wondering about the world. Like we are a part of a random imagination.

You know if I am actually just a part of an imagination, I'd like to be a part of yours. Then I would have a mind of my own. In that imagination, I'd imagine my own little imaginations. The circle of imagination and the imagined would be so complex that It'd make our imaginary heads spin. We'd be a part of a whirl. I think that'd be fun. Like being in a perpetual Ferris wheel.

Yes, I drift. To doubts and dilemmas and loneliness maybe. I drift in your thought and in memories. I slip on the snow, and drift to a different lane. But it's snowing hard and slowly, my feet are sinking deeper, making darker footprints, and fewer drifts. I'm settling in. In the newer spot, finding my co-ordinates, claiming a point in space and time.

I sometimes hope, in one of my drifts, that I slide down to where you are, with your feet firm in the ground, and you catch hold of me, till we settle in that spot and claim it, for eternity.


Later
The Lord of Darkness
   

Tuesday, 14 August 2012

Letter 4- Good Goodbye?

Dear Lord of Darkness,

I'm writing this letter to catch you up. On how school is, and how the city is and how the weather is, and how I am.
School has changed. There is more homework than usual since I'm the only one doing it. The school hours are longer now as I don't see you midway. Home has shifted further away because I don't race you till my door. The city has changed. The road has more leaves and fewer footprints. I, am just the way I was. Just more thoughtful. Mom tells me I'm quieter. I think I just think in my head now and keep my thoughts preserved in time. To pour them out to you, sometime. I hope I don't forget them. I hope they don't get too stale to be served.
I have been wondering, since the day you left, that I never got a chance to say goodbye. Frankly, I have been wondering more about how the perfect goodbye would have been. We could have had some drama, cried a tear or two, wished for things to be the same between us and bid farewell, in a long lingering wave, till  you disappeared in the bend.
Or I could have fought with you, cursed you for leaving me alone, to exist in nothingness, to be all by myself and without much importance of being. I could have hit you so hard, that you bled. I could have wished for you to bleed out every memory, every plan, every thought that could and would stay. I would have rejoiced in your pain and mine. And left you there bleeding out every bit of me, from you.
I could have thrown you a farewell party. With gifts and cards and a huge cake. We could have celebrated our parting. We could have celebrated having more things to talk about, more world to explore, more places that we could visit together in each other's descriptions, more future to look forward to. And we could have danced all night. A slow, revolting, exhilarating waltz, swaying to the thought of music and joy and celebration.
Sometimes, I feel I should have hugged you. Not in a I'm-never-going-to-let-go sort of way, not even in the I'm-devastated-and-I-need-your-touch-to-let-me-through sort of a way. I would have hugged you only to remember your scent, your touch, your being. I would have hugged you to let you find me in yourself when you need to find me and I could breathe you in every time I needed to be familiar with my world.
But then, I think the way you chose was the best goodbye. Where we do not bid farewell, where I do not tell you that I will miss you, where you do not promise to come back and there is no presence of your skin on mine. The perfect goodbye, is this. When I can look out side the window and expect to see you at all times. When I can imagine of several perfect goodbyes and be glad that we never said goodbye. The perfect goodbye, is no goodbye at all.

Princess of the Winter Snow.





Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Letter 3 - Forever

Dear Princess of the winter snow,

I know we met just yesterday at the cliff where we spoke about how we would be so much better if we were animals. The bruise on my hand, when you hit me with the little stick when you got really worked up about my disapproving of your wanting to be a fish, still hurts. I can still see drops of fresh blood oozing out of it every time I prick it with my fingernail. I still disagree that you'd ever pull off being a fish. Fish are cold blooded, they feel no weather, probably no pain either. Their skin is scaly and they always have the same look on their face. They are colourful, but they have the same shade of greyness in their eyes. You, on the other hand are warm even to the worms that you might feast on, as a fish. You shiver in the mildest of breezes and snow gives you goose flesh. Your skin gets transparent with sweat in summers and you change expressions even in your sleep. I can almost tell you what you're dreaming about, just by watching you sleep. Even if you do become a fish, you'd always want to see the sun shine above you. You'd always come on the surface, and if you aren't too careful, die. You should be a horse instead. Wild, yet docile. When you'd run in the meadows, with the wind blowing your golden hair, it would remind me of freedom, and of guiltlessness.
You'd be untamed, unconquered. You never let me a chance to tell you all this yesterday. You started kicking me too soon. Another reason for you to be a perfect horse. Horsess? Mare. Yeah, Mare.

So we met yesterday. And spoke about being animals. And saw some in the clouds. And breathed through the leaves. Remember how porous they were, and how different was their smell? It wasn't a fragrance of a flower, or the aroma of a fruit. It was something in between. Like the smell of a process. Of anticipation. Of belief. Every leaf that I smell from now on, shall remind me of you.

I am trying to get to the purpose of writing this letter, but I keep digressing. Like we do on the way home. How many different roads have we taken before we finally reached the road that brought us home! Anyway, without any digressions now, let me come back straight to the motive of this letter. I am leaving. Possibly forever. I hate that word. Forever. It means nothing. It differs in its meaning and intent every time it's said. My forever, is as long as I know I can come back. I don't see that now. I couldn't tell you yesterday because we were talking about animals and this is too human a discussion. Then we digressed into better things. And then I forgot that I have to leave.

 I am 14 now and I have known you for the past 10 years. I hope I can use that knowledge to always have a chance to know you more. Write to me, like you speak with me. I'll read it like I read you. Remain a Horsess forever. And I shall know you forever.


The lord of Darkness

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Dear Lord of Darkness,

I'll wait for you to return.Till forever lasts.


The Princess of the winter snow.





Friday, 20 July 2012

Letter 2- Big-Small


Dear Lord of Darkness,

You didn't come to the party, or the two after that. Have you developed something against birthday parties? I seem to think that I have. I don't like celebrating my birthdays anymore, even if mom agrees to have no pink fancies or lacey decorations. I don't like the thought of growing up. I can't pass through my bedroom window anymore. I'm too big for that. No amount of ducking would make me hide under the table. They tell me I can't name my pillows anymore. Growing up does not seem as celebratory as it used to sound a few years ago. Also, I don't like the pressure of making sense all the time. They ask my motive for everything I say, and mostly I don't have any.
I liked it when you were young and I was younger. We could pass an entire day without having to decide what to talk about or care if we would be able to talk the next day. Remember the beatles you'd catch to make them your pet? We would have a funeral everyday. I saw a beatle crawling on my lawn yesterday. It would make a perfect pet for you. I've kept it in a glass bowl and I feed it leaves everyday. I wanted to name him, but you should do it, since he is yours. Come over someday to take it from me, before I start loving him and refuse to part from him.


The princess of the winter snow.


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Dear Princess of the winter snow,

 I am sorry for not coming to the first party and the two after that. Don't think I didn't come because of the snowflake you asked for. Because I found a snowflake later. And again, it started melting. To keep it safe, I put it back with the other snowflakes and blew it towards your place. I am sure you found it. If you haven't, Step out in the snow next time and spread out your arms. The third snowflake that falls on your palm will be mine.

 I don't think I have anything against birthday parties, except for the fact that they are noisy and that everyone has to smile for the picture. I like cakes. And the blowing out of candles. I like to watch the flame flicker before it blows off. I couldn't stress more that you are stupid to not want to grow older. Growing up is beautiful. I can now reach for things I never could when I was smaller. I re-read a book a while back and understood it better than the last time I'd read it. I learn new words everyday. Some of them hurt people real bad. Give it some time. You'll probably get used to it. 
Call the beatle "Beatle" from now on. I don't want it to forget who it is. I'll take it from you soon.

Honour,
The Lord of Darkness.

Letter 1- The perfect snowflake



Dear Lord of Darkness,

Today is my 8th birthday and I’d like to invite you over for my party. My castle will be draped with turquoise hangings and the cake will be a crown. Mom insisted on making the drapes out of pink satins, but I hate pink. I like turquoise because it’s neither pink nor green. It’s in the middle. Mom says, you can never be in the middle. You have to choose sides. But I like both sides, both blue and green. And turquoise is prettier. The other girls don’t like it, most can’t spell it, but you’ll see when you come, that my castle always needed a bit of turquoise. Mom said the cake should be a tiara, but I like crowns. I want to be a king, not a damsel in distress.
Anyway, you should come. And I want a royal steed for my birthday present.  Or a snowflake.

Kindness,
The Princess of the winter snow.

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Dear Princess of the winter snow,

I found a perfect snowflake for you. It looks like the one we see in the cartoons. It was floating in the air when I caught it. It seemed proud of itself and would actually stay mid-air before floating down again. It reminded me of you. I held it in my palm and ran to give it to you. But when I reached your door, it didn’t look the same. It looks like it was weeping. It had gotten smaller. And the shape wasn’t the same either.  I remember how two months back, for my 9th birthday, you got me the most perfect looking wand.  I actually managed to cast a few spells with it. Though I haven’t perfected it yet, but it’s still the best birthday gift. I can’t give you a weeping, sad looking snowflake. So I’ve decided to come to the party only when I’ve found a royal steed or a perfect snowflake.

Happy Birthday.
The Lord of Darkness.