Por el amor de café

Let no one tell you how to drink your coffee.

“Even a bad cup of coffee is better than no coffee at all.”

-          David Lynch

It is a shame if you never realized that you know how to make the best cup of coffee on this planet. Maybe even in this universe, but I would not like to say that, since I’m not well versed with the ways of the universe. And there is a great possibility that out there is some all encompassing power that controls how we make coffee. So, for now, let’s just stick to this planet and plane where we assume to have complete control over our affairs.

How you love your coffee is completely your business and nobody else’s. If you know how to live your life like a pro, then you can very well make yourself a good cup of coffee. You can brew it, boil it or even burn it! Maybe even sleep with a bag of coffee beans. You are your own sensei for coffee.

Don’t tell me you don’t like coffee. ‘Coz you do! You just didn’t give it enough time to fall in love. You never gave it enough permission to infuse its strength onto your taste-buds. Maybe you were too stubborn to let it overpower your senses. Just let go.

There’s the regular espresso and the latte. Take it with a pinch of chilli or infuse it with a cinnamon stick. Lap it up with some whipped cream or brew it with a little ginger. It’s happier than vanilla and potent with flexible magic. Just give it some love and pour yourself a cup. You don’t have to move mountains to deserve it.

Just do your part and let it serve you. 

Rise again

Drop 1

Osira stood at the edge of a cliff with her toes eager to take off. She could feel the wind sustaining her intention on her back. No shivers. No fears. Afterall, the wind could not be wrong. Her long black tresses curtained her face like a head covered before an execution. Whispers in the wind sang out to her and called her names for being a coward... in good humour of course. The dark curtain on her face hid a smile that screamed of dares and adventure. She was about to listen to her friend – the wind.

She nosedived. Neck cracked.

Blackout.

Drop 2

The wind was still calling her names while she stood delicately this time. The face was still curtained behind her wildly flowing locks. No smile.

The toes were curled and firmly gripping the edge. ‘Osira, you nitwit! Don’t you believe in anything I say?’ howled the wind. She slapped her back strongly against the wind. A broken neck was her recent trophy. With clenched fists and rehearsed dynamics she jumped.

Got swept away and hit a rock. Broke her legs.

Bloodied vision.

Drop 3

The wind felt somewhat stronger now. Not that it was. ‘There has to be a better way’, thought Osira. She leered over with her head hung low - trying to map her way down. Blood trickled down her hair. She loved watching the drops fall and disappear after a while.

The wind cackled and gave her little nudges this time. It was delightful to watch.

She had to figure it out right away. Flung herself over.

Crash!

Drop 4

This needs a strategy. There’s definitely a better way to do this. Osira is sitting with her legs dangling from the edge of the cliff. Stooping and wondering. There has to be a better way.

The wind’s name-calling is mere noise now. She is swaying with it. It soothes her muscles and numbs her pain.

She is observing the blood trickle down and disappear.

‘There is a better way’, thinks Osira while she is waiting to heal.

*

*

*

Mademoiselle

All I could think about was how to survive the week while I lugged my tired body back from work. Scrunched between two burly ladies with my face nearly shoved into the belly of another jelly being, I could not have been the cheerful self that I’m famous for. There was no way any happy thought could have managed to pursue its way through those sandwiched bodies inside the tiny metro compartment. The noises were loud. The smells were musty. Happy thoughts do not venture in such regions. They avoid and disappear. Poof! Did someone just fart near me or was that the last bit of happy thought leaving my aura?

I sat on my seat and waited to reach somewhere; talked to myself and almost started an argument. My head hung low and my conscience tried to focus on the music that was playing in my earphones. It would have taken more than a ‘nuclear fusion gone wrong’ for me to lift my head and look anywhere other than the train floor. Not that the train floor had the best view at that moment. There was a dried orange peel, a toffee wrapper and some ugly feet that kept me occupied for a while. But something managed to pull my attention and made me look up. I took a last look at the hundreds of faces that occupied the metro compartment. Each face had a story to tell, but I was hardly interested in listening. Breezing across the countless faces, my eyes stopped at one.

I must have imagined a huge Buddhist gong go ‘Bong!’ in my head at that very moment. Time stopped. Smells disappeared. The music in my ears faded into a vacuum. There stood in all her glory a woman so attractive that she hardly felt human. Short hair, bony face, round deeply set doe-like eyes and the perfect lips. There was no smile on this face but it promised happiness. Those high cheekbones were capable of carrying a winsome smile to those twinkly black eyes. I had never seen her smile before and yet I could feel my heart skip a beat when I pictured her breaking into one.

My eyes slowly trailed down to her neck. Slender and long that disappeared into a possibly beautiful collar-bone which was irritatingly hidden by the collar of her shirt. She was so lost in her book while her short hair flirted with her face. That’s when I almost smiled at her beautiful fingers that were trying to tame her hair. I also noticed the shiny silver ring she wore on her finger. That’s when I took a break from gawking at her. Took a quick glance at my own hands and played a little with my silver ring. The train floor suddenly seemed so boring.

She was so thin yet so strong. She had broad shoulders that framed her bust. There was a sense of accomplishment in that face - a confidence that could not have been acquired at birth. She had earned it. She had earned that attitude and that peace with which she stood against a pole and read a book in the middle of chaos. She was not the kind who would use the fact of being a woman as an excuse. She exploited it. She suddenly looked up and my heart skipped a beat again - this time with the fear of getting caught staring at her.

I heard the train announce my station name and something sunk inside me. The moment was about to pass. I had to leave this perfect moment and go back to my world of lesser adventure. I didn’t even get time to find out what her name was. She didn't know me. Time was running out and I forced myself to get up from my seat. The moment before this, my being didn't even care to be recognized. I never wanted to exist; I just wanted to be present. As I ruffled a few feathers around me and got up from my seat, something travelled across those million faces and brushed against that beautiful face. She looked at me. She kept looking and didn't even blink. We maintained eye contact for what seemed like a lifetime and I almost felt naked at that moment. Did she know? Was she aware the whole time? It couldn't possibly be. I started walking towards the door and took one last glance at her. The object of my admiration was still staring at me! Had the roles suddenly reversed? I may have unintentionally slipped her a smile because I almost saw her break into one. But before I could ravish myself in her smile, the crowd pushed me out of the door and I was left standing on the platform in no time. I struggled to look back through the window to catch a last glimpse of what could have been. But she disappeared within seconds as the train started to move.

I stood there on the platform trying to compose myself and prepared to walk out of the station. This time my heart was heavier than before. It was like losing a part of me that was good. A part of me that was promising. A part that screamed out happiness. A part that was gone! As I reached the exit of the metro station, my lover received me with a hug and a kiss on my cheek. I managed to give a faint smile when he said, “My my! Don’t you look pretty today! I wouldn't mind waiting a lifetime for a girl like you.” We walked away together in silence with his eyes constantly on me; adoring me the same way, like I did a few minutes back in that little compartment of pure bliss.

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!