Do not be satisfied with the stories that are told to you. Unfold your own myth – Rumi.

The Water’s Edge…

Its an evening. Like most winter evenings.

The dreary, tired sun recording the last remnants of a dying day. The cold seeping in through the void the light leaves in its wake.

I’m looking at the waves.

Messengers from the depths of the ocean, they never stop coming at the shore, professing their love, no matter how many times they are sent away.

They just keep coming. And coming.

Always.

 

They suck the sand from beneath my feet. My jeans, folded up, are still getting wet.

Do I care? Not very much.

I walk along the shore, my IDs dangling in my hand, not because I might lose my favorite sneakers, but because I like the picture of myself that way.

I like the theatre of it, intentional though it is.

 

You see, the seasons hold memories. When they change you can’t help but remember what you once thought you had forgotten.

The smell of corn. The spices on it. The roasted-over-fire-on-the-beach version.

And I feel myself slipping. The pain comes in waves. And keeps coming. Fitting, really.

 

You’ve seen the dark and you’ve seen the light,

the sides of me that I’m trying to fight.

I’m bruised and I’m broken, I’m made of glass.

I shine for a moment, but I shatter fast.

 

I’m more alone than I sometimes think I’m.

I’ve brought a book along. I sit on the sand, and read a few pages, but there’s too much in my head to fight.

I usually try my best to win that fight, but not today. I  like feeling depressed at times. It is definitely better than feeling nothing. Which I also feel a lot of.

 

Kids trying to shoot balloons with air guns. Ice Cream stalls. The Chatwala. The Flower sellers. Cotton Candy. Me.

 

Coffee. Maybe that would help.

There’s a Barista just opposite. I get myself a Latte. The hot, brown concoction has a smile on it. I smile back. It’s the least I can do.

I’m back outside. On the ledge. Facing the water.

 

It’s dark. The stars are out. I can make out a few constellations. I have forgotten their names now, been so long since I watched the sky.

I sit there, coffee in hand, bound by my own chains, as the black of the approaching night threatens to engulf me in all its eager glory.

 

I’ve found it hard. To forget.

But you know what I found even harder?

To remember.

How it felt. To be happy.

 

Because I have no scars to show for happiness.

 

I give up, I said finally to the cold sky.

I walk back to the bike, the world around me a blur, wondering if tears can freeze.

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8 responses

  1. Liked it a lot!
    Cheers
    preeti 🙂

    November 20, 2011 at 11:40 pm

    • Sairam Krishnan

      Thanks a lot Preeti…!! 🙂

      November 21, 2011 at 7:09 am

  2. Many gems in that post! “Because I have no scars to show for happiness” – set me thinking for sometime, and then made me do some eating + shopping. The materialistic world we live in! My growing mid-section is scar enough for happiness I think, let it grow 🙂

    November 24, 2011 at 1:14 pm

    • Sairam Krishnan

      Ha ha, Thanks Sree… 🙂

      November 24, 2011 at 1:20 pm

  3. wow! “Because I have no scars to show for happiness” good one 😀

    November 25, 2011 at 8:45 am

    • Sairam Krishnan

      Thanks Hasim..!! 🙂

      November 25, 2011 at 10:41 am

  4. Hmm.. can relate to those moments of retrospection and introspection .. 🙂 nice..

    November 25, 2011 at 10:54 am

    • Sairam Krishnan

      Thanks Ananya…!! 🙂

      November 25, 2011 at 11:00 am

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