Rinse and repeat

Something may come to me from the music. The old music, tracks played over and over again.

Standing wrapped in a snow white towel in front of the mirror, I washed the crushed-grapes shirt today. When on me, it came down till the middle of my thighs and had the thickest color of crushed purple grapes. In the basin, it was wrinkled, shapeless, murky and puny. I washed and rinsed, washed and rinsed, washed and rinsed till I lost count of how many minutes the flesh of my hands rotted with the fading color of the shirt in the cold water.

Memory still clings to it. Memory is etched in its every stitch. It is in the bathroom, drying – a dark, bruised cloth. I am not sure I want to give it shape again.

So I am sitting in my solitude with music, the old tracks: playing them over and over again because I want a certain kind of release.

Pain, in its completeness, can be beautiful too, I’m told.

He haunts me with such revelations.

He haunts me with his nobility, his strength, his vulnerability, his wisdom.

***

The trees outside were silent last evening. The house was quiet. From the living room I heard broken words of another language being strung together in the kitchen. I contemplated that voice; half hesitant, unsure of itself, trying to understand. Curious, I walked over into the flood of white light. The kitchen, with its white cupboards, cream slabs, brown-rust tiled floor looked pristine. The figure of a slight, aging woman strings words together. She moves back and forth between words and meanings in different worlds.

I sit down to watch her, book in hand as excuse. And then it comes. From the west wing of the quiet big house I hear my phone (which was on vibrator mode by the way) tremble on the table in my room situated at the far east side.

I already know who it is. I know what it means, without having to look at my phone or open the message.

The buzz of the phone is therefore dangerous.

***

There was talk. A lot of talk.

So much talk that my head whirled and whirled and the Rhine became a still mass of water over a floating, moving land.

People can become such an intimate part of my life. Honesty? What is it really? The truth shifts according to perspective. And for the first time I am unsure of something I thought I could trust.

Smokescreens are useless. Does anybody get any extra points for figuring that out ahead of time?

What is time too? A stream of endless present that flows blithely from my grasp just when I clasp my hands together to hold it in place.

***

When the sun does a round everyday from morning to evening without change, I can feel its movement all over the house. It shines a “good morning” at 6 30 in my room and thickens its rays till wake up and go about doing arbitrary work. When he knows, I’m in full swing, he withdraws and waits. At 12, he plumes his rays to slip in again, minute by precious minute, into the living room.

He is taking a peek from the first window to my right, and I know that before I am done, it will shine fully on me. By 5 30 it will spread wide in the living room and make me shift sitting places four times. I like to think he’s catching up with me every afternoon. By 6, I will be out along the Rhine thinking about honesty.

Empty shells waver with the water lapping on the banks of the river. A small green plant with four leaves sways dangerously every time water laps over it. I have the motion of the plant etched in memory too. I am afraid for that plant, and cannot bear to go back to that spot again.

***

Fried sausages at dinner, with white rice and a glass of iced tea. It’s my new weakness, iced tea.

The night, bright at 9 o’clock starts merging with the darkness that comes from within and without.

Eddie Vedder’s voice plays at the strings of my heart. I want to watch a certain movie. Have been wanting to watch it for a long while now. Only, I want to be ready for it. I am not yet ready to let go of everything I know, everything that makes me who I am.

***

What are you scared of? I’m being asked that a lot.

Is saying that there is a lot at stake make things easier to understand? No. Things are always at stake. That is why its called taking a decision. You decide to let stakes not matter. You decide to close your eyes and fall believing that someone will be there to stop your head from hitting the ground.

I don’t want to blame anyone when my head hits the ground, as it is bound to. So I cannot close my eyes and fall. So I cannot let stakes not matter. So I cannot make decisions.

What am I afraid of?

I am afraid of being misunderstood.

Hah! That’s is not a grand fear! You will be misunderstood whether you like it or not. You will also be understood too well. That’s as good as a misunderstanding.

Things always come a full circle.

***