Silence - Short Story

"Good writing takes more than just time; it wants your best moments and the best of you."

SILENCE

Cameras clicked. People were moving around; they could not help but be restless. Each clicked brought the motion to pause. A silence attempting to rule, was soon defeated by some turmoil, either arising from my insides finding its way out through the eyes, or rippling centripetally and finding its way through my eyes to the other senses. People kept leaving the room time and again. They were, sometimes, mingling into each other, yet remaining themselves. The walls were smothering me; I felt drowning, with flotsam all around me; fighting hard to breathe. The decibel level was high still the voices were weak.
It was so unpractical and futile to try to imagine their voices speaking to me. I could feel that the pace of the events had slowed down. I felt it couldn?t be any more dramatic; my eyes were clear now. A bright shore lay before me. I heard him asking me why I was silent. His hands were near to my shoulders. He could have shaken me any moment. Shocked on seeing him so, and by the sudden silence around, I slipped. His hands held me. I finally smiled at him. His eyes were observing the drastic change of my lip movements, as if also measuring the effort of the molecules that had pulled the cheeks inside. Flowing between us was an unwelcome breeze, breaking randomly at the folds on my forehead, and fluttering into my eyelashes.
I took my eyes away from him, not accustomed of being stared by him, when neither of us was talking. My feet were bare; I slipped them into slippers lying at hand. There were no thoughts then. Engulfed into a silence, we walked abreast. ?Hi! What?s the matter?, he softly said into my ears. A little louder ?Hi?, I was walking the horizon where another silence seemed to mingle. There was seriously a matter. I had called him to meet. Our group of friends had all separated, to try their luck at different places. I had been living life with them. The silence, the vacuum, was making it difficult to live without them. They had livened my soul, just as he had livened few years back.
He was an active entity, enjoying every moment, never conscious of any thing around him, spreading a jovial ambience around. I felt then that it was the best thing to happen to me, during that crisis when I have lost many ? destiny had brought him to my thoughts. And he was doing his best by remaining silent, till when I actually needed words. Meanwhile I was rediscovering him, gaining confidence in him as never before. The process, though, was not new to me. When we had had a basic familiarity, I had seen him with his charismatic fun-loving ambience injected into the reluctant atmosphere. It was much later that I chanced by real him. He was neither his real skin, nor his everyday-assumed eyes, nor his plain words. I developed an understanding that skin is in fact mundane; words may unfold to various realms of substance; and eyes can speak more than mere ears can afford to listen. He seemed to have mingled with everything around him - they seemed to affect him; he had an opinion about them. It was difficult to see him in single, afterwards. His ambience had enlarged infinitely. It seemed that he didn?t have a zenith or not even a nadir. The nadir might have collapsed deep within him, and what would have been his zenith, had shrouded him at an infinite distance.
Now he was observing the waters, probably comprehending that the horizon is what I appeared to be, but shores is what actually my thoughts were. Though I cannot always be sure about the aftermath resulting in his gray matters. Sometimes I felt entering into his world, though, purely my creation (I will never ever deform that!), and dancing to melodious tunes, which appeared to be created in a mutually understood philosophy, that of the creator and of the creation. His world is not concrete, but a cosmic charm - plasmatic flakes abounding around him, each one in accord with the others. They never bother about their destiny or their end. It seemed they have discovered that this is their infinite end. They are in fact his creations, not shackled, but charmed by the bliss of being philosophized.
He certainly grew concerned over my lot. I had again gone silent, but bar any thought, as parched lips, that on having sensed the overflowing of flakes in the sky and foreseen the drops that had left the clouds, awaited to be drenched, pervaded and sieved off the bushels. It indeed rained heavily.

It was another day. I relaxed on the bed, still not complete with the sleep. The last night incident wallowed in my thoughts. I was not able to recollect the exact events. But it certainly rained heavily, and I had to drop her home. The events and the roles seemed entangled. As a chanced thought it appeared as if I were dreaming, or had been into somebody else?s dream, or maybe was ostracized from the whole episode. In spite of, I hoped she had a nice sleep.
We were accustomed to each other after a long time. Neither she nor me would like anything pushed for the purpose of attaining. We believed in achieving, winning it over. The contrast, too, was notable. My world comprised most of inanimate and abstract things. I made them spin in my discoveries. Humans have a lesser portion of me. Those who have me are kept ignorant of their possession. I relish analyzing things that are always lost in backgrounds. And when I infer to some of their aspect, I include them in my world. I also have dreams. They are touched, weaved and assured of their completion. Sincerely unaware of such elements is her world, characterized by many a characters that are human, whose company is treasured, with whom the chemistry is tried, or there is a wish to create one. I see in her eyes zeal to explore all souls with a beating heart. With all these cravings she still adheres to her principles of relishing them in a practical manner.
I had given my best to help her tackle her emotional crest. I had delivered her my analytically derived experiences, so that she can cope with the loss, the change that had come into her routine, some faces removed, new ones would replace them in her view. Personally I accept that change is the only constant thing in this world. Psychologically, people are not as much emotional disturbed or affected by the changes in past, as by the changes at hand. Time heals up things. If people can learn from the changes of the past days and ages gone in their life, then they would be wiser in tackling them in present. People perceive change as a process, but fail to perceive that there are intermittent stable states. They would have accepted the states had they not been a part of the process of some change. Happiness is the ultimate one should seek for. And happiness is never a process, but a state. Only in this state can life be relished. One keeps comparing the present state with that of past and anticipating what future would destiny bring to them.
All lectures are useless to persons reluctant to give to alien perceptions; due to whatever reason they hold. I think she too failed in imbibing from my understandings. Yet I wished that she be stable. She was not stable when she was reading my eyes. I think she was loosing faith in my sensibility. She was plain afterwards. No reaction held her face. There was this silence, that for the first time was difficult to bear. Maybe then she cascaded back to from where she had begun. The violent shores, though this time not loud. It had become impossible to communicate any logic to her. Though she never said it, yet I felt her shrugging off entirely from the stuff. She then walked aimlessly on the sands.
On a practical front, I would then have accepted, that unprecedented turn of events, as had her life, do shock and depress people. It?s just human. Greatness, then, lies in killing the hangover at the earliest. All may not be great ? Sensibility lies in adjusting to the new environment. Mediocrity may elongate the healing, and foolishness, make one commit suicide. One cannot control the turn of circumstances. Maybe I could have done better last night, living that moment with her depression rather than attempting to eradicate it. Philosophies and practicality cripple down before enigmatic heart and mind (read Mann, not Dil and Dimaag). It?s the most abstract and uncontrollable thing. It?s the decision-maker, happiness-relisher and the only threshold thinking from where one can feel. It seemed that her sorrow had touched me too. I prayed to God that she has a bright morning; it was still dark outside. I got down the bed. The chill floor troubled my bare feet. I covered them into slippers at hand.

It was a bright morning, then cool AC and an uneasy evening. Yet riding back home was a relief from the stagnant air. I was about a kilometer away from my home when a person gestured for lift. I generally do not, to strangers. But that time I was letting go my fear and reluctance, as I stuck to his eyes. Those eyes were neither pleading nor were in relief. It seemed they knew something would stop. I asked him where to go. He again gestured straight. He turned out to be deaf and maybe dumb too. Straight and a little further, maybe, I wasn?t sure what to interpret.
There was a memorable pause. He awaited for me to continue, while I waited for nothing. Everything had gone silent and still. The whole world seemed to me unified in the silence. In the vacuum I felt just like him, devoid of the essential things. It could be the worst that could happen to somebody, but surprisingly I loved the state. I do not remember how long I was still at the crossing, or how many horns would have been tried at me. I could finally get my sight back to the world, seeing him walking away, his back fading in the dust. I took the right towards my home.

It was yet another day. I knew that the alarm would be ringing. It was. I set it off. Every morning I admired and thanked God that my biological clock has been with me every morning. I was digging up my last week. Last night some good person had dropped me at some junction, I remembered, though I cannot ever figure out the junction. A few moments before that junction, was a shore, where I had met yet another person. I am accustomed to ignore things that I think would do me no practical good. But not the abstract things, they are a good past time to philosophize on, and increase ones understanding. My senses do give me surprises many a times; there?s not one with whom I can share these. I would never reach any position in society where my biography would interest the public. It?s no use trying to speak when I know I cannot. Silence and Expressions are all what people around me would expect to get from me. Apart, life moves on. There has never been a reason why I should stop at some moments in life. Finding the shore or the junction would only stop me. But yes there was a chemistry going on at the shore. This chemistry between people is another thing that fascinates me the most. There are times when I can understand what the people are telling. It?s because of the chemistry we have built during the days of companionship. The silence inside me has made me more contemplative. Thoughts seem to be my only companion; random thoughts keep coming to me, daydreaming. And whenever I am lost into my thoughts, there?s always a pause when I come back to the world, to my work, and just wait till another thought unknowingly creep into me. This time I needed to check how bright the day would have gone. I got up towards the window. Took to slippers to cover my bare feet.

The day seemed special or maybe enigmatic. I felt an unusual feeling of alieness, as if the world had suddenly gone different. The air current was strong; I could not hear anything. I had put on a tight helmet. My eyes were hid behind, yet sparkling. It was raining and I felt fortunate that my feet were not naked. Instigated by the turmoil inside me, I wondered if the rhythm of the rain drops falling, and that of the silence would be similar.

CoFFee - Short Story

Even the delicious of food is sawdust to the senses when having alone. I would have preferred to deny this had I not felt it myself. I sat at De Cafe having hot Coffee, waiting for Sonam to arrive. The taste is for the senses, starting at one and moving at the other four. The otherwise delicious Coffee seemed not so - spreading the uneasiness to the sight and the thoughts too. Generally there's no room for blank thoughts and such explicit boredom. This seldom scenario arises when I want to relax through a hot mug of Coffee, and end up having it alone. Only the smell of the powder coffee, pervading through the mildly blowing breeze, seemed to be comfort for a while. Even it too transformed into a forced comfort. The thoughts were random with uncertain conclusions; rephrasing the ending note of the speech I had given 15 minutes back, planning an half an hour golf session over the weekend, wondering how long Sonam would take to come, tuning to the poetry written by some Rupani that I had chanced over the net surf, the similarity that she bore to my style of writing, pondering over the article that I had read about four days back on asexuals. A very rare chance that Rupani may be one among the dozen of women present in De Cafe, I thought. Yet preferring to consider the chances as high.

I looked at my watch, time skidding around the disc, and sipped the Coffee, removing a layer off its mass. I concentrated on the wave movements. The voices around me grew louder. A boasting male, chauvinistic, expressing in a high pitch the desire to move out of the loops and the function calls of the piece of code he was proclaiming to be efficient in. "I want to move into Designing". I decided not to let my thoughts interfere into his desires and lot. Otherwise I would have to explain him what all comes into consideration when designing modules. Other voices were sweeter, too sweet. I began to eliminate the women who were speaking more. I believed in a threshold of the pitch of women voice above which it becomes evident that she is a tricky lady and unaffected by the sincere concerns of life. And I personally believe that considering that earning money or benefits through ethically unfair means is not a sincere concern of life. It becomes highly impossible to fall for such woman how much ever charm she carries on her face (of course when she's not speaking). There was a woman who was speaking few soft words then looking into the eyes of the person before her, and resuming after a pause. She was giving as much time for the person listening to get the essence of the matter yet restrain from divulging into the thought process immediately. The head opposite her was dancing to the melody of her talk. Every pause followed by an expression on her face that she had delivered it right, and the gesture while resuming her task was of beginning another wise phrase - a deeper breath and the eyes rolling over the innate objects collecting wisdom for her speech. I assumed that she was talking sense. Some of words were audible - Chaos, Decency, John.

I was getting into a streamlined thought. Her lower lips were moving faster, dropping at every stress on the vocabulary, and retreating quickly before the next letter was let go. I tried to get at what she could be speaking. None of my concerns and not that I had assumed that she was Rupani, still an illogical way to drive the boredom insinuated by the Coffee's taste, smell and the inexplicable burden of not having it with Sonam. There was a rare chance of reading the lips, as I am no expert in the same. A sudden discovery, not of words, but of the similarity in the lip movement; an out of the blue moon thing. It was similar to my wife's. I had an unintended sip of the Coffee, the minute's hand reassuring me to continue the flow of my thoughts.

The lady's lips were too prominent unlike my wife's. Whenever her lower lips fall, the cheeks change in color, and add to the effect of emphasizing verbal expressions. Her lower lips also fall when she is in disbelief of my statements, and just before she is to finalize her opinion towards me, the twist in my eyebrows, impacting folds on the forehead, imparts some unique sincerity. The sudden slight contrast to her belief hangs her lower lips. It is then that I would feel like ending the discussion with a soft kiss on the lower lip. Our relationship has always grown smoother, eradicating such discussions from sipping into the tender pores of the threads making our bond. I could hardly remember the last time when I had gone for the kiss on the lower lip. I kiss her whenever we meet. It's a pure kiss, a touch on the delicate flakes, floating up readily to the custom of meet, and accepting my possession over hers. My lips gallop to taste the sensory mate. Then it's a competitive situation and the performers keep winning alternatively. There's lot of fun, in the process. It is conquer over the soul and the body. But attempting a walk on memory lanes, prove those moments as stale, unable to implant a milestone on those lanes. There's no conquer over situations, over petty matters. They no longer add to the panorama of the moments collected as memories to relish during low times. The momentarily satisfaction does build up a strong asset while departing. And when we are on our way to respective homes, the rhythm of the proximal resonance gradually mingles with the routine noises of software, modules, Coffee mugs in boredom, and efforts to manage the life alone. The Coffee is less hot now, more lukewarm. There's an additional layer formed by thoughts delaying the frequency in which the attempt of the Coffee to chill down is disrupted. The delayed sip was much more uncomfortable then. I again had a look at the watch.

My wife is a chanced thought, though she can bet that I remember her always. I do but out of habit. As a matter of fact I am into a habit of meeting her once in say three weeks. We are separated by bundles of international boundaries, and often get connected over phone calls. Some years back, when it was a fresh discomfort, living apart, there was fun in spite of the long distance. Every available weekend led to an eagerness, followed by purchasing of expensive air tickets, flying down to either side, and spending the short while together as the best of moments that could be remembered and missed at least for a few weeks. The departures had a depressed tone, building up an hour before the flight check-in time. Those eyes never cried, in spite of her being a very emotional person, yet there was a feeling as if she would cry out the moment we depart. Infact I never investigated whether she really did cry after our departure or not. But I would rather believe that she would have dived into her silence to let the internal tears vaporize in its infinity.

Sonam arrived, standing before me, to replace the infinity of the turbulent thoughts, gesturing in a loud manner, that there she was. As she lowered her shoulders, collecting her hands, I offered her a seat. She had different eyes, not very impressive but dull. They always attract the male society, and leave a warning, dare you think about me! Her eyes are not meant for me; I prefer to look at her eyelashes, the amount of coating around them. I ordered for another cup of Coffee, plus one for her. My thoughts fighting with the feminine invasion left a confused gaze on my face. Her words seemed unclear amidst the fray. Her expressions soon began reflecting mine. She seemed uncertain, whether she was speaking to me or to my eyes. Hope your eyes can hear! I replied with a smile. She is not a vigorous romanticizer, but can chat on any subject. I love the way she offers Coffee - the right mixes of sugar, milk, coffee, gaze, smile and time.

I consider Management of all scales to be important for a better life. It is not necessary to be an MBA graduate, but there should be a natural inclination towards managing time, people, preferences, routine tasks, etc. If I ponder today on these parameters: I have been managing Time well, there are appointments, meetings, training sessions, discussions, meeting my wife. Most people have been erased from the lot, in achieving efficiency in managing them. And the preferences have developed so often that they has nullified its meaning. Yet amidst this generalization, there are rare moments that I can share with only my wife. Then there's a call made outside the scope of the developed habit. One can speak about anything with one's spouse, any silly thing, any outburst of your mood, any illogical concept. The other person will lend a sincere ear. We get used to each other. Its like before she opens up her mouth to speak something, I know she's going to talk something. We get used to each other over the time. We learn the other person's expressions. Then there are things that we can discuss with nobody else. We also behave in a different way; unlike we do before others. We play pranks on each other becoming children sometimes. Yes, relationship is meant for such things.

Sonam offered me the Coffee. Her smile may be considered as intoxicating, if her eyes do not interrupt the romance being sprinkled by her lips. But generally they do interfere putting some urgency of the question that she might have asked a few minutes back. Then she might have been jovial, but now her mood changes and the eyes demand it, and she seriously wants the answers. Her eyes had gone demanding. And whenever her dull eyes portrays what they are best at, she retreats her friendliness, starts calculating her words and being aware of the public around us. It's then that I feel it might have flashed onto her that I am married. And this thought also reminds me that neither is she single.

The second Coffee was different. In a split of second, I had conjured up my wife preparing Coffee and serving to me. I am not sure how she prepares Coffee; I prefer to have tea with her. We started a mild discussion on RFID, a newer technology finding way to the software world. With every sip, I looked at her eyelashes, her lips. She represented the silicon city, which has shaped my life to this lot. The smell of the Coffee powder brought by the mildly blowing breeze, was now being obstructed by, the humanly mass called Sonam. The fragrance diluted by her aroma, mixing well with the taste, brought a distant joy to me. She burst out in laughter and her eyes hid behind the lids and the heavy eyelashes. Our fondness has grown over the years in a very calculate way. Distance makes the heart grow fonder.