A tale untold..

Well, once I was a peice of cloth.

Too small to cover,

Too weak to protect,

Too tattered to shelter,

So they called me a rag.

There isnt much a rag can be

Apart from a useless part of an otherwise uself whole.

And so I was

Just a rag.

Till I met another rag.

Bigger and stronger

And yet not whole,

Caught in the wind,

Too in-the-flow

To let go.

We were both rags.

Both useless parts of separate useful wholes.

And they stitched us together

The stitchers.

Every stitch

They pierced us with,

Altered who we were

And created who we are.

The needle and thread

Sewed strong bonds

And yet we knew we were

Useless parts of separate useful wholes

Different in every way.

In texture and form

In the way light passed through

Our warp and weft

In the way we absorbed

Or let things glide over.

But we were together.

Bigger together than we were apart.

Slowly becoming

Strong enough

Big enough

And whole.

To them things were different.

To them,

The lookers on,

Together we looked lovely.

Beautiful in our contrast,

And complete.

They loved us,

Named a price,

And we were sold.

To wipe tears and bring smiles.

To bring cheer and look nice.

To just be there

Adorned, adored and awe inspiring.

For some odd reason,

They loved us

As we looked,

Together.

But they all wanted us

And so,

There was tugging

And pulling

Until it grew into a ruthless snatching

And we came undone.

By then we had forgotten how to be rags.

To be small and weak and tattered.

To be useless parts of separate useful wholes.

By then

We knew what

It felt to be loved.

But they gave away,

The stitches.

In the hustle.

And again we were,

Just rags.

As rags

We weathered.

We knew we were parts again.

Useless parts of... yes you know.

But not to them.

They still loved us,

For our form and texture,

For our color and weave.

For the way light passed through

our warp and weft.

For our loveliness,

And they each kept a part.

Apart.

When they pulled the threads away

They saw the holes

That had cut through us.

And overlooked.

You know,

They still thought we were beautiful.

But over time,

All they saw was

The loveliness fading,

The beauty gone.

They saw it reappear.

This thing,

About the way we looked.

And they knew what we were.

What they had made us.

It was then that they knew,

Apart, we would be just rags.

Smaller than before,

Weaker and more incomplete.

So they decided to sew us back together.

But there is this thing with sewing.

The undone cannot

Be redone as is.

As rags again,

We had to be trimmed a little,

Or the stitches would not be

As strong.

And so we were cut,

Made smaller.

Of another shape and size.

Different.

And stitched back together.

It was odd,

The way we looked,

Sewed back together.

Rough edges jutting out.

There was this thing,

That made us a lot less lovely,

Than before.

But yet again,

We became,

This whole that wasnt as whole

As the previous whole.

But was whole.

And that is who we are right now.

The story doesn't end

For none really does.

They all go on.

In a different time

And space.

All I know

Is though we were,

We are not,

Rags anymore.

Of Lies and Deception

I always wondered as a child why grown-ups had to lie so much. I particularly remember this one time at the bus stop with Mumma when she was telling someone an incident which was, let’s say, manipulated to sound more interesting. To me it sounded like a lie, the thing that could not be had from me, and I could not fathom why it was being used without a reason. Now that I am all grown up, I can’t say I don’t understand.

If memory serves me right, my initiation into lying came when I was asked to make excuses on behalf of my parents on the phone. Adults hardly realize what they are getting themselves into when they teach kids to lie, because once I understood the art of deception, my parents were my first victims.

Like in the 5^th grade for instance, I must have had at least 20 absences from school on account of suffering from diarrhea. A trip to the loo every half hour, 10 minutes in, sound of the flush, the fragrance of soap on my fingers (not to forget he sorry face) and everyone was fooled. When it got too frequent however, Mumma made me come out without flushing, and well, my cover was blown.

Goes to show that the deception can only work well if, firstly, you can systematically control the frequency of your lies and mix them with unabashed honesty once in a while (unabashed honesty to show that you aren’t someone who is afraid of being honest) and secondly, you alternate blatant lies with omission on a few occasions.

A year back I was severely reprimanded by a friend when I chose to make a very unnecessary confession to someone at the risk of (and eventually resulting in) a week’s loss on the self esteem front. He said this –“You girls and your so-and-so-has-a-right-to-know! I just don’t get it. If you know it will get you in trouble, don’t say it! Don’t lie, but just don’t say it!” In retrospect I have to admit he was right. On a very live-for-the-moment level, but wise nonetheless.

There are a lot of layers to lying, owing to the fact that with lies you always have lots of options. I know people who would always use the most bizarre and in-your-face lie, to make it amply clear to you that they are lying and in effect, leave you speechless. I know people who always use the most neatly crafted lies with all the loose ends tied up and leave you with the impression that their lives are right out of a Sommerset Maugham short. I also know, and find most interesting, the people whose lies are very real and extremely ridiculous and hard to believe. The only option left with you in their case is to rely on the wisdom that a lie so ridiculous, can only be the truth, because if they were lying why didn’t they come up with something better? But I am yet to know a person who doesn’t lie.

Imagination plays a key role. Great skill and creativity are required to make us come up with the most unique alternatives to the truth. And hence, they call it the “art” of deception. Look around and I’d say it is one of the most well practiced art forms in the world today. In terms of honesty, there are only two kinds of people here; ones who are good liars (deemed honest) and ones who aren’t (deemed dishonest). If someone asks you to be honest with them, what they really mean nowadays is, either lie and be good at it or don’t lie at all! Consequently, honesty is indeed the best policy (pun intended). But what bothers me into writing so much, is not that people lie. It is the fact that the way things are going, it has become extremely difficult to not lie, and yet coexist at peace with those around you. The facades we all carry are so important to us, that we would rather lie than admit that what people see, when they accidentally peek behind them, is actually true. Is plain honesty really that hard to achieve? And if it is, then shouldn’t lying be made a part of the moral science curriculum, to give every kid a head start?

One of those days...

They call it "one of those days" (though I'm not too sure who 'they' are, since nobody seems to have the guts to say anything important anymore) and I was faced with a sheer prototype of it today. I made my first big mistake at my new workplace, not out of negligence, but simply by following procedure. The most important of all jobs could not be completed because there were other little things to be taken care of all the time. The peons delayed every single request of mine by at least half an hour, due to the supposed power-struggle of new inducts (which I don't quite understand yet). Later, my only hope in a not so ordinary day,the happiness of shopping, and leaving the store in new clothes, was dampened by half hearted showers of a nervous young monsoon. And the worse was yet to come!

I should have known, when I crossed a traffic light that everybody was blatantly overlooking in plain view of half a dozen policemen who were busy chit-chatting, that I would be in for some traffic-trouble for the sole crime of cursing at them under my breath. The universe has its way of getting back at law abiding citizens with a dirty mouth doesn't it? So, when I saw all the two wheeler parking spaces of the busiest market in my little city over crowded, and decided to park in a not so crowded no parking area, lady luck laughed her guts out. When I returned after 2 hours of my own chit-chatting session, my vehicle had been towed away. The guy on the truck said he had been driving around with it for an hour, and had now dumped it in the control room.

Now the thing with control rooms is that when a towed vehicle reaches there, even the most seasoned officers in the art of corruption cannot let it go without completing official formalities (i.e. with a bribe and no other hassles). There were surely hassles abound because I being the utterly lost person I am did not even remember the registration number of my vehicle. I was blessed to have a smooth talker assisting me there or they would have taken my embarrassment at being stupid for guilt, and robbed me off every penny I had (and I did have a few too many).

The point I'm not so successfully making here is that 'they' also say every cloud has a silver lining (still not sure who this refers to), and mine was the fact that I did pay fine. I did not give money to be stowed away loosely in a thol's back pocket. I made a mistake and duly paid the authorities the amount of money I owed them for making it, and I'm glad. The last time my vehicle was towed away, my darling friends intervened and did not let me bask in the glory of being punished for breaking the law. They talked the eagerly lenient traffic policemen into letting me go without burning a hole in my pocket. What they didn't realize was not that I didn't try to haggle. But that I didn't WANT to.

It was one of those days where everything goes wrong for the sole purpose of making the good seem even better. Sometimes we don't realize the value of the good coming our way, and a few things have to be made absolutely horrible to make us see the brighter side. And when wee do see the brighter side, we learn a little more about ourselves, because it is only by personal preferences that you can tell what you like from what you don't. What I learnt is that I like to be punished when I am wrong. It is my way of settling the score. And the score should always be settled.