Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Hanging Up

I don't know why the title makes me think of scenes from disaster movies like 2012 and Vertical Limit. Jerking spiders with crooked legs, dangling off threads of silk. And for some reason, a doe-eyed student with thin, Voldemort-like fingers.
What do I say to that? The dry spell is inexplicable. And anyway, I find myself explaining too much these days. My address, my career, my weight, my food habits, my generation, my hairstyle, my wardrobe, my silence, somebody else's words, my absence, my affinity towards my neighbours, my fevers, my redness, my blacks, my lights, my journeys, my Facebook status messages, my irregularities, my strangeness, my familiarities.
My need to stop.
My need NOT to.
All in the name of impact.
And this, when I'm in between two trips to the same place. Sonapani.. one. Sonapani.. two. Someone's counting the milestones on my road to boredom.
A brief spurt of activity inside. Me with my curls. Twists and turns. Poker-faced, I do my job. I make meaning, even with my eyes closed. Dreaming.
People. People. People.
Is that all there is to it?

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