I must have never known, until then, what Mickey Mouse looked like. So I drew out the stuffed toy that used to appear on Amulspray tins. And filled in the outlines with crayons. On battered chart paper and glued it on top of a piece of wood I chanced upon. I still can't remember where I must have procured the glue from, from among the thousand destinations in a child's mind. Signed my name in one corner, in bad handwriting. And gave it to my school principal before leaving, the school, the place, that life. In these numerous decades, only once did I go back to that school, to the principal's room, which was occupied by another man now, who nevertheless recognized me instantly and showed me that picture I had drawn. No matter what you do, where you go, relics of the past, fair and ugly, show up. No memory is discrete enough to let you walk away


A couple years ago, I was texting and walking. I tripped and fell. Like fell on my face, flat on the road. Got up immediately to finish typing that text and sending it away. But the next day, my swollen ankle kept me from going to work. I limped to the doctor's alone and got an x-ray done. The inflammation of flesh went away, but the pain stayed. For which, for some reason, I never decided to see another doctor. Because after weeks of tying crape bandages around it, the ache would freely reappear at its own will and hardly go away, irrespective of how much Volini I massaged it with. I at times believed that the pain was psychosomatic. That term I found out existed much later. But I did believe that I was imagining I was undergoing that pain, because there was no reason I should. Some agonies stay forever. Psychosomatic, psychosoma-, psychoso-, psycho..


Surya Prakash V said...


Past is a faithful lover. You might be done with your past, your past is seldom done with you. And then some would call it "stalking"; another phoney buzz word to imply everything sinister; a word appropriate in jungle for a predator; a word we use only to describe others, often indiscriminately.

Well, predator or not, loving or not, past is your stalker; sHe is just there. More visible than the shadow.

No restraining order works.

Question: Does every event have to have a layered implication in reality? What if we free the dots from memory? Is that a luxury we can afford?

Blasphemous Aesthete said...

Pain in joints comes and goes as it pleases, so that shouldn't be a reason for you to not visit the doctor. Instead, try not to walk and type at the same time. That could actually help in keeping up the resolve of not meeting the doctor.

As for life, and pain, it is life, as we take it for most of the part, and that'psycho...' thing you said. Psychosomatic.

That drawing, did you get it back or let it be?

Blasphemous Aesthete

Surya Prakash V said...

I had a moment of clarity; I could not use it, no body needed it.

I am learning to stay confused again. Pays my bills.

wildflower said...

You know, given a chance, I would never connect the dots and revel in the chaos my person is. But for the bills man, but for those bills.

@ Anshul,

I let it be.

Surya Prakash V said...

Hmmm. Agree. Understood.

Sometimes I wonder just how many labels I need to tidy my shelf; you know stack those pages where they belong. Sorted and easy to search.

Then I realize; that would be as many words as I need to write my stories.

Chaos hits me; I order it, give up, then selectively order to let them co-exist; feel conflicted because I love the ones who don't know what I am upto.

Stand and wonder - what next? What next Wi? Do we walk away? Or wait to catch up with each other?

Bah, let it be. I go shhhh.