Rat Fight!

Prologue: There was a 'kebab mein haddi' in the peaceful domains of 11 Kalyani. A till then unsighted rodent had been wreaking havoc in our abode, chewing up soap, closed doors and making passes at our potatoes. That, in the world of a South Indian, scrubbed clean household, is about as personal as it gets... Dearest mom had claimed to have spotted the miscreant once (giving detailed explanations about its size and why it shouldn't be in her kitchen) and yours truly had heard its squeaks in the cookery as well. But we were still unsure so as to where its realtime position was. Then came Sunday morning.


The fight begins.



The damage done to our kitchen door by the rat, in its bid to escape.


We'd closed the kitchen door tight, thinking that the menace might have escaped to the piping in the building (home CID had determined that as an entry point previously), but this morning I awoke to see the bottom of the kitchen door bearing heavy ratty influence - as is shown by the wooden shavings above. The creature, obviously bugged by the tight food security measures we'd taken had tried to escape and literally chew its way out of the kitchen door. We knew we had a trap on our hands. Which meant...


Its go time!

We (me and mom) scoured the attic, in the process getting rid of a lot of unwanted junk (and hence really doing what we should have done years ago) but the rat eluded our scrutiny still. We could feel it though - it was just the pulse of our kitchenous surroundings, but we could sense it. I was on the stool when mom uttered a shout and jumped back remarkably quickly. The rat wasn't above us, but was below us, behind the gas cylinder!

Sticks were brought out as the melee began. It was two very frustrated soldiers against an experienced harper of the dark. What a fight it was.

(Match of the extremely early morning - Mom vs. the rat (not in picture))
(Snap deleted due to persistence of the subject)

I had a stick in one had and narrowly missed the rat as it scurried past me into another corner. I grabbed a large tub and had, in a single moment - an epiphany of a fantasy. I would trap the rat in the tub and quietly sit on the tub till we could decide what would be done with it, yes, that was it!

The rat used its pace and cunning against us, cramped us we were in our confines. It never gave us much room to maneuver. Me and mom took the lead in turns, generally ceding when we'd been reduced to screams and random stick banging. All of a sudden, we sensed its absence. We cleared up the whole kitchen (and I had to wash everything that existed there) but there was no further sign of the blighter.



We still think it escaped from behind the Ganesh statue out to a window. How can the tusked one forget his companion? All is peaceful now, as I sit, squeaky clean and rat free to record this incident.

Once again, may peace exist. Always.

Timelines

Feel the glitter of stars upon your faces -
the sheen of timelines of distant races,
singing a storied tune cast in light -
a tune of millenia past, in our sight.

We are unknowingly swathed in their lore and legend,
bathed in their timelines' flow,
but need a sixth sense, an antenna maybe,
to decipher their crypt, decode their glow.

These races may now be extinct,
expired physically in their own space,
but their previous existence is cast upon us, in light,
though in time 'tis out of phase.

I guess Mr. XYZ of far away,
looks through his scope and sees,
our own light, our own past,
of dinosaurs and now ancient trees.

O' Light - you giver of sight,
you've set our clocks to differ by such,
that you've partially blinded us in our sight's imperfection,
made our present and their past touch.

Maybe we shall conquer you one day,
and observe our done from far away,
maybe one day we shall truly see,
and unlock our timelines' mysteries?



To Mr. XYZ of far away, I say hi.

Mother's Day

Lets hear it for all mothers, mother figures, fathers who take on the roles of mothers, mothers who take on the roles of fathers and every being you associate with ma.

Daily do we further grasp, daily do we learn.

You're Godsend,
and we feel like we've been given to our gift.
A gift that eases us through all there is to do,
just hope we can do in our own way, as much and more for you.

Folks, to the motherly spirit that gives so much, and asks for so less in return.

The placement of a show

The lights blare, colours sing, sounds flash in my head,
as I make my way to a prime time show.

I am in the theatre, as the audience.

My ticket is a receptive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I see the thought forms of others,
whirling across the stage,
see is a misnomer - I experience them
and enjoy myself,
as they stare at me from the dias.

I am in the theatre, as the showman.

My backstage pass is an expressive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I send my own thought forms,
flying across the stage,
jingled, encoded in my energy waves.
I know not whether I assault or please - but am simply at ease,
my work as a showman done.

I think at times, though,
I am both audience and artist -
in the same show
as I display and receive within myself, critique myself,
I realise, so many times, that I am my theatre.

And that an entire show is within me, makes me smile.

What one has to say.

Heres an excerpt from a recent chat convo of mine. 'A' is me, 'R' a friend.

.... .... .... .... .... .... .... .... ....

A: Aite then, time for me to go, Rikadablaka.

R: Yeah, me 2, wiazapi.

A: Aureal bourgeois onions.

R: This is kinda fun, banooki.

*Lines of nonsense later, both exit*

You might be wondering where 'A' and 'R' forgot their brains - but hold it. I've recently come to the conclusion that the conventional confines of language aren't always enough to satisfy a person's sheer instincts. I read about a study somewhere that showed that the internal techniques of human perception, mental organization and understanding vary vastly amongst individuals. Original Expressionists like poets, writers and other artistes are revered not only for technical skill, but also for their expression of what is instinctive within them - their expression of how they see their medium. If the audience catches on to their patterns, well, I suppose a new trend may emerge. On a personal level, we (or I at least) mentally arrive to a conclusion after a hopelessly personal-specific thought process and then translate our result into some society defined code answerable only to ourself.

So, progressing from human uniqueness to that chat extract above.

Some sounds may have different connections and associations inside your head, that even you might only be partially aware of. You might have felt good upon hearing a random sound or getting a particular fragrance, not only for the nervous action taking place, but also for the triggers it sets off. Theres even this new fangled thing where people get high on certain co-ordinated digital sounds...

Now, instead of saying a conventional goodbye, I try saying random nonsense that comes into my head. In a way, what I say is very reflective of my state; but also in way that mainly I am privy to. My one rule is that I shouldn't have to overthink to get the word out but simply let it flow. It provides a welcome escape from the usual set rules like 'Ta', or 'bye' or whatever. At that time, the feel of the phoentics of 'Aureal Bourgeois Onions' really appealed to me as something funny.

Uttering such nonsensical, convoluted phrases forms a good oral exercise to improve knowledge and feel of that particular cavity. The word can even mean something in real life, but you just say it because you want it to be there. Its a question of letting it come onto your tongue from the deeper recesses of your conscious.

Next time you feel like saying chonchon for no rhyme or reason, try it out. Whatever it is you wish you'd had the chance to just say - make use of your jaws, teeth and tongue to fully vent. Its pretty satisfying.