Walls, about 40 or 50 years old walls. Unending, tall as a child I remember thinking of it as a giant. This is what i would associate to as “The Giant” who would come and eat me. Then one night i thought if he would eat me up then where would i go after that. Would i be a brick? or would I become a really tiny part between the bricks.
Years passed by,…
I was dressed as if to embrace that pall of gloom in my arms, and haughtily remembered the old saying “only an irredeemable person sans principle can be complaisant towards grief” but then I won’t shed tear, I won’t waste the rest of years simmering in the maggot broth of memory, I won’t bury myself alive inside these four walls to sew my shroud. No! this is not a gratuitous description and I don’t want it to sound like one.
Burning desires cannot be cooled away, suppressing them like an autocrat does not do me any good. I would give no quarter to the ravages of time, let it come and try to storm me as it had done to so many mortals, but heroic determination of mine refuses to budge.
A giant can’t be termed a dwarf, time can test me but then let it be disappointed if it feels it can bend them all, not all do fall like nine pins. It stood there glaring in my eye. I tried to stare back at it, barely about to squeak back at it. I geared up all the courage that I had to merely stand there and withstand it size. And it stood there, unchanged, standing on the edge of unnerving time. Devastating downpour of emotions wrecks the most steadied ships, and they crumple under the onslaught of fury and gaze which unnerves them. Even the best protected corners of imagination are blown away by mad winds of desire. The much treasured bounty had just been pinched away, I felt the pinch , tried to shout but all that was visible… was DESIRE, a mirage for delusioned ones.
There was a slight grin on my face. Still trying to avoid a contorted face. Once again I stood at the wall, it was grey, rough, the brick looked warning out to me. And it looks like a typical Mumbai chawl now. And before I knew I was walking on marine lines. It was june, the skies were dark at 4pm, the rain was just about to hit my face, I was getting drenched in emotions, rain, tears, fear BUT this life can not be a damp squib. There’s a murmur, I guess it’s my own breath. Let them try to squeeze me , press me against blurring memories , I feel overjoyed. I hate to be part of this conspiracy. There’s wet sand between eye-lids, it feels like reality being pierced through, poking you just to check if you are alive. No i hate to be brick of a shrinking wall. Individuality thy have lost my dear brick ….
Co written by Ruchir Mishra and Anar