From The Eye Of A Husband

Hello.

Exam in 2 days and somehow I feel like writing only now haha.
What follows is a work of fiction. I dont know if its something Im proud of. But I havent written a story as free flowing as this one. This is written assuming an alternate way of thinking. And I assure you, this doesn't resemble my flow of thought. Much.
This is Mr Loisel's perspective of the events that take place in the short story called  "The Necklace" by Guy De Maupassant. Please read it if you intend on reading this. And bear with me if some elements dont make too much sense.

There's something terribly alluring about the sparks from a lighter's flint. Its a feeling that just lets you know that something interesting is to follow.
I dont think we've met. But Im Mr. Loisel to the world and the same, to you.
Im a clerk, a silent man, and a husband. Not necessarily in that order.

I don't have any savings, dont have a house to my name. Dont have more than 3 shirts including the one Im wearing now.
And yet, here I am. With a cigarette and a night sky view.
Long story short. We were poor (not as poor as we are now, but poor nevertheless). I gave all my savings to buy a dress my wife could wear to the ball. She loaned jewelry from her friend.
And she lost it. I've worked the past 12 years to repay that debt. We finally have. We're free now.
Or thats what I keep telling myself. Hoping that from the next time, I'll actually believe it.

I wonder everyday, how life would've turned out if Id just stuck with my initial plan of asking her to wear flowers to the ball. Or if Id decided to not show her the invitation at all, and bought a gun and shot some birds. (Pun unintended)

Im a 40 year old man and until a while back I thought that expecting someone to show you genuine care and love, and them not doing so is the most painful thing. But now, with a view so clear. With my hand on my heart, I can tell you; the hardest thing is giving someone all the love and all the care you can muster, and get none in return.

Why did Mathilde marry me? Im not great looking. Im not rich. But she stayed. Only to ruin my life.

40,000 francs. The mountains I could've moved had I earned that money willingly and not forcefully.

And what do I get for slaving away my entire life to account and cover up for the stupidity of my wife? Has she ever tried to compensate for the sorrow that I face everyday?

Cold turkey and soup for dinner. A sour mood for breakfast.

I think I lost my wife that night. Along with the necklace.
And I think I lost myself when I realized that.

Because I realized how stupid we are. How stupid we deliberately choose to be.
I love Mathilde. I love her beyond her faults. And I love her even though she's the reason I'll never see the good life.

And I love her even though we never talk now. And I love her.
She wards away my insecurities. And although Im unhappy with her, I think I wouldn't exist without her.

I blew a cloud. And waited for it to disappear.

I think life is like that cloud of smoke I just blew. Theres clarity for a second. A clarity that blocks your view of what's ahead of you. Then it disperses and merges with reality, and you're back to have never understood it at all.
I think we'll never be able to understand life. And that if we did, we'd certainly be missing the point.

Mathilde walks in on me, causing me to jump in surprise.

"I met Jeanne when I was strolling down Champs-Elysees", she said

She told me that the 36,000 franc diamond necklace we slaved was a replacement for a 500 franc fake necklace.

I think I smiled. I say "I think", because I felt so distanced from myself at that point, I could've been slapped in the face and I wouldn't have realized.

I lit another cigarette and asked Mathilde to sit next to me. And I told her, that Paris looked beautiful tonight, and so did she.

I blew a smoke ring. 

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Now Reading - Uh, nothing.

Now Listening : Pani Da - Vicky Donor

What's In A Story?

Hello.
My exams near. Any more discussion on that topic is strongly discouraged.


This post is made thinking of one of the most interesting people I know in this world. His identity is kept a secret by choice.

What makes a story memorable?
What makes you remember one story and forget the rest?
Spoiler alert, I dont have the answer. Sorry.


Some people look at their lives as a photograph, some as a film, some as a book, some as a song,  some as a game of tennis and some as an equation. I take these specific examples because I know atleast one in each of the aforementioned categories.
I also know this one person who looks at the world as the women he can love, the women he can't, and the rest.
Its a personal question to ask somebody how they see their lives. But Im assuming we're amongst friends here and Il just skip right to the part where I tell you that I look at my life as a story. A work of fiction. A balance of the elements that make a good, crisp story.
I wonder why storytelling is only a hobby and not an explicit profession?
I like to remember my life as multiple stories that I can tell. Will "I can share" be a better usage, I ask?

My grandfather, every encounter with him, results in atleast 2 stories I wish I could tell as my own. Things as simple as his school routine in the 50's or how he got a job at the age of 16 or how his school fees were Rs. 4 a month. Or his last conversation with his father.
I wonder out of the thousands he's got to tell, the ones he remembers vaguely, the ones that shall forever remain a secret, I've but been told of a mere handful.
Its like squatting one mosquito, knowing how many more are left.

I wish by reading that, you too would want to share as many stories as possible with the people around you. Spread the love, so to speak.
Because the infinite things that you now leave unsaid, the things that you now find embarrassing, and the promises that only you remember, seem so much more human, when you say it with a story.
And does it not excite you by the possibility of gaining knowledge about someone's life ? Knowledge that doesn't necessarily contribute to you academically or technically. But is there really anything more intimate than knowing the colour of someone's toothbrush? (Just an example)


And would we not appreciate a secret more if we knew the story behind it?
The deepest darkest secrets I keep, I keep them for a reason. The reason must never be a secret. Why not incorporate said reason into a story, is my argument.



Speaking of stories, check out "Snow, Glass, Apples" by Neil Gaiman (mind-fucking-blowing author), "Memento Mori" by Jonathan Nolan (Chris Nolan used this as inspiration for Memento) and some O.Henry if you've got the time.



Now once again, it is time I leave you with nothing but your own thoughts. When we become as scary and as loving as we can possibly be.

Good Night,
V






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Hope is never lost, Only forgotten
- Yours truly


"And the secret, of course, to any list is to keep it in a place where you're bound to see it."

- Memento Mori - Jonathon Nolan

Now Reading :  Timeline - Michael Crichton

Now Listening : Pretty Lights - Finally Moving

                         Tor.Ma in Dub - Smile

Now Feeling : Slightly discontent

Goodbye My Lover

*knocks, repeatedly*
Hi, I've missed writing. I miss my old life where I got the inspiration to write, more often. But I understand now that there is no old or new life. How my life was, it will remain. And how my life is, it will remain. Upto me to search for inspiration.

I sincerely hope to not break any hearts by the title of this post. Its just the song I was listening to when I felt like writing this.

I am a man of few words and over the years I've asked myself if this has to change. But I think Im happy where I am. Whether Im happy how I got here, or whether Im sure about what's next, is another discussion entirely. One that Id willingly have, face-to-face.

I aim for this to be a short post. I dont feel too creative. All I feel now is an unrest. All other times in my life, I was somehow satisfied if the clock ticked and if the stomach burped.

But now, I see things differently.

I want to do something. Not just pass off as that random guy at the bus-stand. Or that dude you saw in the corridor the other day.

Id say ambition is an exaggerated way of calling it. And boredom, too common a way to describe it.

I've bin trying to think of a word to describe this unsatisfied hunger. Maybe Im just hungry haha.

But seriously, Id like it if there were things to do. Things to look forward to that involved more "true" involvement. There's a monotony in my monotony now. My bus rides arent as interesting as they were. And Im certainly not writing enough to keep me satisfied. So what do I do to make happy into happier? Do I start taking the train? Or am I missing the point entirely?


And sometimes nostalgia is just like that person who you never wanted to call, so they end up calling you every day. I wish I would walk to Shatti beach every now and then. Or maybe just drop by home and grab some proper home cooked grub. But..

What kind of people would we be if we got all we asked for?

And maybe I've made peace with the answer to that question. Can you?

Good Luck,

V

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Now Reading - Shantaram - Gregory David Roberts

Now Listening - Revisiting Motherjane and Coldplay. And a wee bit of Incubus.

Now Feeling - Uh, homesick?

Dawn of Realization

My college's cultural fest got over last nite and it gave me some much needed inspiration. I havent written a word in 3 months and this post certainly does make me feel better about that. I dont think I've changed much since that last post but a lot has indeed changed since then. To anyone who knows me well, its no surprise that I cant handle emotions well. I dont emote all that well. Until now, I've always needed a fancy explaination to explain this. But last nite, rather early today morn, helped me make shit clearer.Emotions are an inseparable part of our lives. But they cant be described as much by writing, photographing or "dealing" with them. They have to be felt. And feeling them should cause people to come together, not drift apart.I guess even with this new found clarity its hard for me to put my opinion into words. Emotion, pffft. 

This is a story very very loosely based on a life experience. What follows is a work of fiction. If it isnt as good as my previous works then blame my inactivity.

It takes an old man to know what life is all about. Thats what they told me. I never believed them and now I have even more reason not to. Im walking back from seeing a friend at a hospital. Whos battling for his life. What he has done, what he will do and all that he has never done now hold the same amount of importance in his life; none.For a man of few words, I sure do speak a lot inside my mind. Maybe I prefer to express things the way I imagine people to perceive them and reality sometimes just doesnt match up to it.

Can my outlook to things and my actions have less importance than my religion and my social preferences , when trying to judge if I am a good person. As Khalid Hosseini wrote, the only crime in the world, is theft. Every other sin in the world is a derivative of theft. When you lie, you steal the other person's right to know the truth. Does honesty and integrity hold no say in determining who I really am? If I dont utter words of praise in a language I dont understand but still acknowledge that my life isnt entirely controlled by me, does it hold no value?

I nearly missed the turn that leads home while pondering over these things. But give it the clarity of a sleep-deprived man (yes that is an oxymoron but I can still relate with it), and I realized that if the circumstances are alright, then I wouldnt want to wait until I was an old man to die. Must I really be content at a moment to decide that I have gotten all I have wanted? Is it not enough if I answer anyone with a clear conscience that I have cherished my moments, repented for my mistakes, melted for my loves, and spoken for my self? Can my faith, loyalty and integrity help reassure others of who I am? And who would've thought a friend battling for life would cause me to understand life? The dogs started barking all of a sudden, startling me.  I realized I had skipped my house by a few metres and the dogs barking were right in front of my house. Almost as if showing me the right way and telling me to slow shit down.I smiled as it hit me. And I leave you with my final thought of that night. Ever spelt dog backwards?

-

V

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Now reading : Nothing. Need some books, real bad.

Now Listening : Po Nee Po - 3

Now Feeling : Tired.

Disengaging Emotions

Greetings and felicitations for the upcoming festivities. Knock yourself out by believing into the custom of having to celebrate only on certain days and lose and forget that the point of life is celebrating everyday. Or atleast living a search that helps you find something to celebrate in yourself.

Im in the heart of Chennai in a kickass hostel but I have no Internet. Which means the occasional chances I get at Internet are almost always worthless. So if you deem it fit then I apologize for the long time that I have been absent from you. Whoever the fuck you are.

Im gonna be brutally honest here, I dont really like my college. Its as dry and as bland as the mess food here. Im in love with Chennai though. And my guys here are Swag Gurus of their own sort.
I love being a local here. Being able to slip in and out of seemingly normal situations, click those mental pictures and just try and learn a story from a face. My favourite passtime here. Public transport is just a boon for the story-hungry like me.
This place has probably brought out a different side of me. A side thats here to stay, or maybe not.
All I wonder is, how I do know whats worth the risk and whats not?
And like most of the questions I ask, I live a life searching for ze answers.

I turned 18 a week ago. Frankly, I dont feel no different. Sure it was a great day and nite but I feel like the same entity. I thought the Gods would come down and marvel at what I'm doing. Wait, I'm just fucking with you. Im pretty sure they already do marvel at what I do. Just as how they do at what you do. Or anyone for that polytheist argument.

But if there's anything Im sure of by now, its that who I am (or who you are ) is defined by every little moment in our lives. Nothing we have done has not affected us. All the embarrassing moments, the things you'd change if you could go back in time. Well theres a fractional probability that you wont be you if that hadn't happened. Im just saying. We  live a life where our actions and their ramifications can never entirely be understood. So why bother and complicate things wondering how life would have been , and just observe how life will be?
And be proud of that? After all the most intangible and integral part of our mental identity is our life. You, me , no one in the world can change that.
So if you're in that road in life where you're wondering why life turned out like this and how life would have been if this hadn't happened, then just stop there. There's no point. Life is only as complicated as we make it and thats the truth. Embrace it and believe it. Only then will you feel it.
And sometimes I get a little too poetical for my own good. Haha hopefully someone will find that endearing.

Hope.


Thats all life is really. And I shall say this time and again.
Im taking bends and curves, but Im just enjoying the feel of the wind.

Goodnite.
-
V


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Today, I was sitting on the steps of church waiting for a bus when I saw an old Catholic nun being assisted up the steps by a young man wearing a Muslim turban. Once they were at the top, the nun turned to the young man and said, “I can see both of our gods raise beautiful children. Thank you.” The young man smiled and nodded. MMT

Today, I was standing at a crosswalk in the rain waiting for the light to change when the girl next to me pushed her large umbrella a little to the right so that it covered both of our heads. We then looked at each other for a prolonged moment and exchanged smiles before we crossed the street and walked in separate directions. MMT




Now Listening : Mindstreet, Broken, Tribes of Babel - Motherjane 
Now Reading : I Am Number Four - Pittacus Lore
                       The Immortals of Meluha - Amish
                       Revolution 2020 - Chetan Bhagat
                       A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini
Now Feeling : At home.