Balls

In this screenplay writing workshop that I attended recently, the speaker asked us to do something called random writing. In this kind of an exercise, you are usually given a word and then very few minutes time to write down whatever comes to your mind. You have to put your pen to paper as soon as your topic is given. No thinking time allowed
The topic that we got was balls and while most people interpreted it in its most vulgar and lewd from, this is what I wrote.

It rolled on to the ground and kept going. While the wind helped it in its journey partially, the other beach goers were only too happy to kick it around. It was bright pink, orange, purple and yellow stripes all together. It rolled further into the water. The little girl ran behind it. She ran with all her might, her face scrunched up in determination.She called out its name. Screamed it out with all the power her little lungs gave her. The ball went further in the water. The sunlight reflected off it and it became more difficult to spot it. That didn't stop her though, she still ran in search of her ball.The ball now in the middle of the ocean, floated away. The child, now reaching the same ares, didn't.

Trinket thoughts.

I was clearing out my cupboard today. I found my box of bead strings. It is a rectangular box made of plastic, the translucent kind. The deceiving kind, that looks perfect from the outside but on the inside, is a whole different story. So this box too, looked fine from the outside. But inside it, my bead strings were all knotted up, intertwined and jumbled.
This box was labelled "earrings". Ha. It reminded my of that song "Shimmer" - by Fuel .
"And all that she intends
And all she keeps inside, isn't on the label "

I've had them all my life. I know each bead of each string very well. There are some from the hippies near beaches and temples, some that are gifts from friends and a few that I strung myself.

There are red shiny ones - too 'bling' for everyday life, but can liven up a grey outfit on any given day. This one is actually a Christmas tree tinsel,but it serves the purpose pretty well
There is a string made of sea shells - very pretty on the outside, but equally empty and hollow on the inside.
The big black ones that look perfect and shiny from afar, but if you go closer you notice the scratches and blemishes.
The one with the big purple 'heart' shaped beads - that I've never worn, but keep because they are so lovely..

There are tiny delicate ones , funky - chunky ones beads in every possible color you can think of. Beads made of plastic,metal,clay and glass.
Each one different from the other and yet serving the same purpose.

As I try to untangle them, they get more intertwined. I am afraid to tug too hard , for I know that they'll break. I know , for I have a few loose beads in the box too - few for every string that broke. I keep them because I can't let them go. I hold on to them and the memories they hold within. Just maybe I'll find the right string someday and other beads, and string them back together. Maybe I will.

I could find a better way of keeping them. Maybe I could separate them and but them into smaller boxes. Or find a nail and hand them by it.Maybe I could.

As I buy new ones, I just them add them to the box. They are treated no differently than the others. But lately, my box has been filling up. I don't have space left for new strings anymore - it is getting too cluttered in there. Maybe I should throw some of the old ones away to make space for the new. Or maybe I should just find a bigger box. Maybe I should.

As the untangling process gets too tiresome, I get fed up. I put them all back into the box. They may not be untangled and separated. But at least they are all in there, all in one place. All mine. My bead strings - that I wear very close to my heart.

appa

Yeah I know its been long since I've blogged . I'm not sorry. I didn't promise anything. A lot has happened since I last posted. People have entered and left my life. Close ones have moved away and strangers have become soul-mates. I've made decisions, mistakes, peace and what not. I've learnt new things I never thought I could, stopped doing things I thought I always would do.But then change is the only thing that doesn't change in life, they say. And like it or not, you have to accept it.
I am writing today, because, after a long time I felt like putting my thoughts into text and not poetry. This morning, when I was taking a shower, I heard my neighbor from the first floor wake his son up. And suddenly memories of my dad waking me up rushed into my head. I remember how irritating it used to be, to hear his voice every morning. I simply am not and have never been a morning person. What used to make me cringe before, now makes me cry. I miss the care and concern not to forget the sweet scoldings. I miss the 'appa' smell. A mixture of viboothi, tulsi and something very fatherly. He used to bring me coffee, tie my shoelace, fill my water bottle and carry my bag to the auto. How I miss being pampered.I used to be his baby, we went shopping and for movies together. Funny thing is you never know that its all going to end really soon. I always thought he'd be there when I got my board exam results, when I got my first poem published in a book, when I wore my first sari, when I went to college, got my license...
All these things have happened but he wasn't there. He isn't going to be there when I graduate or on the first day of my job either. Nor will he be there when I get married or give birth.
Change is the only thing that doesn't change about life they say. And like it or not, you have to accept it.