wise-foolery : 1

disclaimer: when they tell me stories of how they reached and what all they saw, i let them speak. i enjoy their current ownership and the sense of settled reverie they project being here, but even more , i love the conjured thrill and action. it makes me smile for i dabble in its possibilities too. you may not, but here’s one anyway –

once upon a helter-skelter, a small safety pin lived and thought. she was wise for her appearance, she knew. she decided it was time to change sides..swap roles. she wanted no longer to hide beneath the sulky stories of torn oldies, or even to peek out of newly sewn brocade. she wanted a novel job description, a different wardrobe, an exciting purpose; to be taken dangerously and coloured violet. she fretted, she had breathed too long in pleats, among creases. she had seen the delight of a sudden pinch on a schoolboy’s face and a rehearsed under-the-eye-crinkle of an immaculate stitch on a pained tailor. none thrilled her now..she longed for an irregular musical note, and simpler clothing styles for beelzebub’s sake!

she had overheard all kinds of conversations, and now! that was the only bit she cherished of this life she was going to leave behind – and some people thought small things didn’t have feelings! she amused herself, collecting all the snippets she was to carry forward to the new ledger. she found herself breaking into a wisp of a contortion, as she felt she hit a proud, high note. this is how her story would begin! she had found the right description (they call it metaphor in haughty circles but she was only a beginner – she reminded herself she would keep polishing the image as she discovered more of the world’s ways); she could hear herself using it as an opening to an eventful narrative – a bedtime story for her kids/dogs – whichever way life took her. Once, in a far-away plateau, there was a spent horse-shoe that had never tasted a plum. there was nothing unusual about her life, no surprises, no material for dazed conversations. she had been there, done that; but never been anywhere else or done anything but that.

willing herself to change this, she closed her eyes to soak in the last moment of her old-life, for this was going to be no kid’s fantasy. certain that no-one knew her silent plans, for she was small and inconspicuous, she took her first step with eyes still closed. she wanted this to be an adventure in the real sense! that changed things, for adventures were meant to be temporary outlets, not a way of life – they say! nonsense, she thought then! looking back later, she would often think herself hasty for forgetting the tirade of that old, bearded fool long ago in a fancy party. something about carnivals and mobs. she found him foolish, for he said they were both the same, and then struck a pose and used some difficult, long words she couldn’t even spell, much less retain. but he looked like he had travelled many cities, for he followed no particular dressing style. that enthralled her. he was fussy about grammar too and she didn’t use a word she didn’t fully understand. he would make for good company, she surmised. sometimes still, she dreamt she had found a chance to slip out of that silk dress of her pretty, albeit dull, owner and gone home in his pocket instead. but that wasn’t her move to make, if you know!

so as she took that step, she fell straight into the tares of what the world fondly calls an anklet. she wondered why, for anklets did nothing but make vain sounds. but the real reason for this tension was something else, for she had wished for vain moments too and imagined that being shallow wouldn’t be so bad either. what she couldn’t stand was the way everyone heard when the anklet spoke. she had stories to tell too, but her fellow saves knew no better than the spicy tales of the anklet who didn’t want to taste the salt water anymore. the tiring tales of the sea and it’s treasures; the typical setting sun and the predictable romances; the sad state of the shores and the heritage they bore; squabbles in commerce or homes, ship-decks or courtyards; and the anklet’s turbulent affair with the shore-sands – how could they have patience for stories so well rounded, so complete. The fish smelt awful, but I had my music to de-stress. conspiracy!, she muttered.

..and fretted again, why did people like hearing only of stories that had already happened. you could play around with them, but those would count as lies. with tales of the future, there was so much more you could say. she loved that genre, and that made her detest her own safety-pin-ness even more. she settled for the next best chance to flee and slid back sleeplessly into a dark corner of the satin box.

3 Responses to “wise-foolery : 1”

  1. shisir Says:

    your write up reminds me of a quote well said….Here i try recalling,…’youth is a religion, that everyone deserts in the end’…Well that being said, I cant say for certain what aspect of ur write up makes me recall it. Some words known, some unfamiliar, some phrases understood, some still in the process of being so…some reasons felt, some just lay there unattended, just like the safety pin, never unheard, never considered. Come to think of it, there are safety pins within each of our experiences,thats what probably makes us individuals….waiting 4 ur next post

  2. manpreet Says:

    its difficult to say what makes us individuals and what makes us people..and if there is a difference. just that its not any one thing. as for safety-pins, they’ve supposedly lived their destiny best when they have gone un-noticed, hiding a tear..but then, that may not be a definition they like most :) you know what i mean, i know…

  3. Akand Pant Says:

    nice you hit it 0n the nose will submit to stumbleupon

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