Reveries At A Lucid Interval

“It wasn’t that I wanted to go home Who knew home? I only knew alone. What I wanted was to be elsewhere, Somewhere, anywhere but there.” I am forever longing for death. When people around me crave to live, I could never derive meaning out of their desire! I always wanted to die… Slowly, painlessly and alone. Over the time, my death instinct has become an inexorable habitual thought. To me, self-harming is a matter of immense solace because I am always incapable of describing those momentary emotions which visit me, intermittently. I am yearning to merge into there, into that infinite nothingness. Until very recently, nothing ever had the power of diluting my urge to die. But this October came and faded, leaving a swelling torment. Now, I am aware of how death can grab away the soul of the living with that of the dead. Eleven nights have withered since she slept, forever, without putting me to sleep.   At benumbed nights, I extract mute frames from the endless

“So, I am leaving on this Sunday night.  .  . ” “Alone?” “Yea . . . It’s the Air India flight, so the luggage thing is sorted. Also, Anita aunty will come to pick me up.” (Silence) “It feels like yesterday was your first day in school. You chose to go to school while you were still underage and we never had to convince you about it.  .  .  You know, on your first day you didn’t eat your lunch (laughs) . . .” My incapacity to respond to it muted our conversation. But I was amused by the emotions flickering in her eyes. Still, it was unbearable for me to know her closer and I turned away into thoughts.                          My reality, since the age of one was that of being raised by grandparents and away from parents. To me, parents were a holiday destination or freedom from the rules imposed by grandparents. Being with them on vacations meant waking up late or choosing jalebi over breakfast or to devour chocolates and ice-creams

My clan is that of verbal poetry. Everything around inspires me to slip into a world of words, I wrap myself in its warmth and breathe more and more of it. To me, words are a sign of my own existence. Words keep me alive. But very recently, after getting into college, the cinematic experiences began to thrill me. I started to take notice of things closely. That’s how I began to explore a world of visual poetry.  During the second year in college, I had to use my friend’s laptop for an immediate presentation preparation. In hostel, we were not allowed to use laptops in our own rooms or to charge after an allotted time. But one night, after finishing my work I just peeped into the movie collection in his laptop and ended up seeing Kapila   (https://youtu.be/934wrYOHJ-U) . My friend was after Kapila for a very long time and he was literally dying to see it. All I knew about Kapila was that it was a documentary on the life of the eminent Koodiyattom practitioner Kapila Venu (htt