Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

Monkey is back with vengeance.

Wait! Before that, you need to learn about his recent disappearance. I don’t know how many of you are already aware of his unstable behaviour, but this time he jolted me out of the customary acceptance I had grown for him.

For new visitors, Monkey is my gnu. Not your average people pleaser and famously sucks at small talk. He seldom talks. I had gotten used to the rolling eyes and the occasional grimace that usually form his emotional fibre.

I found a job. It pays me enough to keep me alive, kicking and handle Monkey’s occasional tantrums. The only problem is that it’s a real job. Gnus are not built to slave and toil for survival and he loathes the idea of toiling for a few pennies of slavery. An idealist by nature. Therefore, he ends up being the preferred prey of the Serengeti. To add to his anxiety, the concrete jungle didn’t turn out to what he had expected it to be. There was no grass there.

He hates bothersome blabber and when a bad day at work makes one prattle, Monkey runs for the hills. That’s exactly what happened. He disappeared one day without a word. Initially, it hardly made a difference. I was much better without the cynic in a lot of ways. Not that I’m a believer myself, but the episodic rants and sighs to my issues were not supportive. We hit it off very well in the beginning because I gave him a corner in my life where he could remain in the shadows and not be bothered. Not many noticed his presence around. But the ones who did didn't quite recognize the peculiarity of his existence and that was just perfect for his sustenance in my world.

Lately, my intrusiveness had started riling the wildebeest and drove him to scurry towards peace. ‘Good riddance!’ - was my initial response, till the emptiness of the shadow started irking. The Monkey that kept my dreams real, the Monkey that kept ME real was gone. Probably...for good. Growing up with a strangely stable brute like him had made me who I am - The fighter. He left when I stopped fighting and gave in. The realization of the loss just dawned upon me and the storm was back in my eyes. Blood curdled at the thought of defeat and unrest approached me again. While I tossed and turned in my sleep, the shadows kept reminding me of the dweller.

There’s a reason why he chose to leave the wild for the corner in my life. He used to feed off the unrest and the turmoil and in return, gave me the vigour to battle. Just when the awareness approached me, Monkey marched right back into his favourite corner with a wicked smirk drawn across his face and I just unruffled myself while I waited for the war to begin.

The Coward's Little Jig

I cannot stand anyone less than a champion.

It’s a bold statement to make but true and I drew these words out of my hilt while meaning every bit of it. For me, champions are the ones that rise out of dust and shine like gold. Champions wear their hearts on their sleeves to terrify cowards who fear to show their own. Champions cry their fears out and waste no time in lament henceforth. They drive their thresholds to peak each day of their breathing existence. They have nothing to hide and are shrouded in their nakedness. They have scars. They have wounds. They have fought.

Cowards, on the other hand, will hide. Hide behind excuses. Hide their tools of torture. Hide the tools that shaped them...into cowards. They have secrets. They have reasons for not being there. A reason for each day, each moment and each millisecond of their pathetic existence. They have reasons why one should have a reason for the sky being blue. They need proof and evidence because they are too scared to believe.  This is my ode to all those cowards who take pride in the stop signs that halted them in their tracks.

You can’t change them because they lack belief. Do not try to make their lives better because that will never happen. They have given up and do not possess the will to rise. Masochists in true nature who enjoy their pain and writhe in misery. They fear to allow anyone else the luxury of hurting them and self-inflict themselves to torture of a different kind. The world is onto them and will never allow them to emerge as winners. They believe winning is for losers – there’s no need to make an effort. Tears and begging don’t work on this kind because their hearts are safely locked somewhere deep inside, catching dust and turning into stone. Some might have even thrown their keys away. Black holes of every human effort that will just take and give nothing in return.  All of this and more makes them a true spectacle worth ignoring. Ignore the minute you sense a coward near you. Run for your life the minute you sense their presence and never look back. Take my two pennies worth of advice and avoid a coward the minute you sniff its stale presence. It’ll save you a lifetime worth of happiness and effort that's better put to something far more productive.

Because, seriously I cannot stand anyone less than a champion!

'Coz I'm Angry

Every hand that pushes you

Can be chopped off. You can.

Every tongue that swears at you

Can be sliced off. ‘Coz you can.

Every eye that strips you

Can be scooped out. You know you can.

 Every mind that hurts you

Can be turned unsound. You very well can.

It’s not a pity when you don’t.

It’s nothing to be ashamed of if you don’t.

Your silence is not weakness.

You don’t ‘coz you’re a woman.

You don’t ‘Coz you’re a lot better!

The Curse

A beast was born on a cold winter dawn of the 10th of December. The newborn lay combating the ruthless unforgiving wild amidst thorns and bramble in the outskirts of a small village. It bellowed its first sound into the world which was a deafening howl that echoed and thistled through the wild growth - letting its presence known. Mortal existence around the affair heard and felt it. Goose bumps could be sensed erupting on calm skins. Most of them blamed it on the chill in the air and closed their windows. An intolerable pity dawned when no human could recognize the wonder that had just landed amongst them. Because a wonder was beyond their conceivable beliefs and nurturing, the phenomenon was brushed aside as a mischief of the silly North wind.

The beast entered the village in shadows and sensed fear in every corner. The animal inside the creature was fed off the abhorrence of the civil. His vicious talons and hypnotic gaze was discomfort at an arm’s length. A misfit. An outcast. With no past and a non existent future, he toiled. It was the beast’s curse to not know what he could achieve. The curse that brought him here. He could have been an idea at the most. Or a figment of the village idiot’s imagination that no one wanted to fructify. The truth was that the beast was sinister. He was like a bad painting hidden behind drapes. A painting that revealed too much and absorbed the onlooker’s engrossment. It made the audience too uncomfortable within their own skins. It was cursed!

The fact that he was born to reign was forever kept from him. He had the invincible power to do whatever pleased him. The village knew this even before he was born. There were stories told at bedtime of a beast so vicious that he could rid a soul of its will to exist. Children were threatened to never share these stories outside their rooms. Every kid grew up with the story buried in his heart and never uttered a word about it. The beast grew up smelling this fear and never questioning it. He was doomed to live in the darkness and never realize his capacity to conquer. He toiled away his youth earning for his daily meat. Earning for himself. He lived for himself and wanted no more. 

As time passed by, the talons lost their shine. The hypnotic gaze faded and gradually in the village’s fear the beast was tamed.

My Pet Gnu Is Upset Again

I. Am. Not. A. Birthday. Person.

Nor am I into anniversaries or Mother’s Day or Father’s Day or Forgotten Distant Uncle’s Pet Dog Day. I do not call myself a cynic, though many of my near and dear ones (N.AN.D.Os) would disagree. I might come across as a recluse, which I clearly am not. You can check with the same NANDOs. And no, this post is not about what I like or dislike or about who I am. Even my pet gnu ‘Monkey’ wouldn’t be able to define who I am. Trust me, Monkey knows me very well! Better than my NANDOs. But then, Monkey himself is going through an identity crisis of sorts. Ah! Leave Monkey out of all of this. He hates being dragged into debates.

Now, my saying ‘I am not a Birthday person’, does not imply that I hate the fact that I was born. It simply means that it’s no big deal. There’s a big difference. If every thing living on the face of this earth started throwing a huge birthday bash every time they reach that time of the year, imagine the amount of confetti and birthday waste we will have to take care of. I’m not kidding. You don’t want confetti falling on your head the day you get fired just because it’s that familiar pigeon’s birthday that keeps dropping little presents on your car everyday. I always felt that humans ended up celebrating the wrong occasions in life. Jesus Christ has a right to celebrate his birthday. He is the son of God! I don’t think I’m ready to take up as much suffering for humanity as he did. So, I choose to be left out of it. Surprise me with gifts on a random day if you wish. Now THAT’s a surprise!

Monkey ends up feeling a little left out on my birthdays. Not like he is the centre of attention all the time. As a matter of fact, nobody notices him and he’s fine with it. He doesn’t age in the same fashion as I do and it disturbs him that people celebrate when I get old and he doesn’t. He loves cake and hates it when nobody offers him a piece and instead waste it on my birthday facial. The aggression of my NANDOs on my birthdays confuses him to no end. He has started reading up a lot on affection and aggression. Might explain the identity crisis. Monkey doesn’t even remember my birth date. His birth date is a mystery too. He keeps changing it every time you ask him. I don’t think he remembers it himself. Gnus don’t have a fabulous memory. I think it works to his benefit. So, I asked him when his birthday was (again) for the umpteenth time today. That led to a discussion on birthdays followed by a heated debate on the whole idea of celebrating birthdays. He hates debates and arguments. Starts huffing like a wildebeest when riled up. So this post is dedicated to you Monkey! Hope you’ve cooled down now. Chronic boredom drove me into pawing at you. Guess, defending my NANDOs is just not worth your short temper.