Prashant's Solace

Dried watermelon seeds fell from his jeans pocket. He had worn it after a long time, a faraway time, a time before this era. The era of Covid-19. That sultry day, in the intense activity of the classroom, seeds were among the many things passed around. He did not fancy those yet indulged in some and kept the rest in the pocket. Months had passed. The virus infused a workless monotony, him being almost always in shorts and tees, no occasion meriting otherwise. Studies seemed a distant affair. Routine became a distant memory. Because time got struck in the puddle of a virus. There was nothing to distinguish one day from the other, except news, which he had stopped following after a while. All his neighbours brandished information and theories just like the news and news anchors. Each more ridiculous than the rest. For some time, he too was convinced with one of the narratives and almost had become an advocate for it. But the excitement of this theory didn’t last long to save embarr...

(Dawn of a cold morning. On a relatively isolated mountain top, they are silent. A word-war ensues.) SHE: You are an apostate. ME: Who, me? Huh... For that I have to belong. SHE: That's a given. ME: To you maybe. SHE:  Kid yourself, fine. But mine is the true language of the definitions of belonging, as we have known. So I can't be wrong. You are a deserter. ME: In that case I am not exactly happy. SHE: Then come back to senses. Back to a definition. Back to a solace of belonging. ME: Tribalism isn't for me. I stretch myself beyond ephemeral human realms. SHE: How? ME: You see the sun rising over the vast civilizational invention below us. It is 0600 hours. In about an hour the sunrise would unleash multitudes who would go around pretending to be from somewhere to deal with somewhere.     (Aurangabad- Courtesy Feroz Khan - LT)                          SHE:...

Multitudes are ablaze inside as I navigate the day.  The song and dance of the frenzied emotions which take on the veil of calm & ease is extraordinarily stifling. The body shrivels, launches into a fit of despair and yet what the world sees is a happy individual at work with collected poise. Carrying this commotion-filled body in deceitful exterior in a relatively less chaotic weekend traffic, the holiday sees us in a café. No sooner do we reach, than my sister is already into the laptop, while I open my book casually soaking in the atmosphere. I note a couple settling down; one diagonally in front of me while a girl sitting behind me, next-but-one table.  The day is still young for the coffee shop to begin its fast chores. The blank gossip emanating from the couple's table is too blunt to affect any interest, so I too dive into my book as my sister was already in her work which is when things started happening. Enter this guy, who completes the couple behind me and as on...

I wanted to publish a detailed account of a dear friend's wedding. So I copiously took some notes while going through the revelries, being very much a part of them. Or so my concerned friend thought! But those painstakingly gathered observations got lost with time, people and life. Majorly disappointed, I thought of giving up on writing this self-anticipated account of a much awaited event in our little lives. I never thought my straight friend would be considerate enough to take a partner.  Not that he was a misogynist or a misogamist. On the contrary he has gone out of his way to make women feel at ease, whenever he came across one. In casual parlance, he sucked up to people (read girls), especially if he ever got to know one. Even to the discomfort of his friends like me. He had attended the most number of family marriage functions as the rest of us put together and does so still, dutifully. Although he was, as they say, never 'matrimonially inclined.' But some trickery,...