Picket Fences

Saturday, October 01, 2005

confessions of a schizoid-1

This time I did not spell confessions wrong…since this is about confessions I might as well confess that.
To begin with I do not know when this happened, how and where?I am clueless about years of self solitary confinement; I think it must have started with my birth…I am sure that when I was hauled outside and placed in a pretty bonnet …I opened my eyes in marvel…why was I there in the first place, I saw those preening faces ... large eyes looking down at me and my gender…with a numb curiosity, they knew I was another addition to their world…
To confess is human, but how do I confess thirty seven years…and almost 11months and 29 days?I said, I don’t know when I recoiled in to having my own little personal conversations with self, it is always like two angels sat on my shoulders while demons were at work in my brain… it’s like having three lanes on a highway...the fastest being the express lane…The angels sat and sang hymns while demons planned the speed…my body was a car which had eight cylinders…

Between the angels and demons were my experiments with truth…my thoughts inside thoughts…which one was real? Was I being born and looking at those faces or experiencing it as someone else out side … was I happy or sad or indifferent or dwarfed by the event of birth?
Names…why someone would accept those names that are now part of your being…its like names grow on you, you become like them…sure you never chose your gender nor your names, none of us knew what we would be named after…If we knew I am sure most of us would want to be called for better…we would name ourselves according to the situations, optimism and wealth. It’s as unpredictable as living itself, to have names that are not actually chosen by you.
So, I was named after a person with great pious intentions and cause…I was whispered in hushed tones about my existence and worth of living by that name …it was about an Identity…I am who I would become...they hoped..

confessions of a schizoid-2

The Loner's Manifesto "Self-reliant, each loner swims alone through a social world—a world of teams, troops and groups—that scorns and misunderstands those who stand apart. Loners know better than anyone how to entertain themselves—and how to contemplate and to create. They have a knack for imagination, concentration, inner discipline, and invention—a talent for not being bored."

Birds with broken wings can hardly fly...If they did, their memories circle them with unbridled enthusiasm of a ghost ... Submerged in arguments hostility and perpetual economical imbalances, pressures of unevenly matched marriage between spouses...as usual one becomes withdrawn and create an inner world that he chooses to live... amidst all that chaos beyond the child's perception... there lives a dormant world of hidden joys...of warmth and appreciation...The child within has accepted this world as an escape to the drudgery of ...constant bickering between individuals...it becomes a safe heaven where he can have his sense of security and balance. As he grows up people he met ..he experienced and lived with ..are all outside the boundary of this secure world he has created....the world of a Schizoid.
Gowri would always hang around with me...in good times and bad times, we would share our treats and tricks just the same...it was so long time ago I do not remember…her face...but remember the first poem we read together. I remember the tall Gulmohar tree in our school...when we had let off.. some of us slept on the green grass under the tree, stared in to the crown full of red blaze of Gulmohur , tore the petals from the stems of Gulmohur and turned them in to eyeglasses and looked through them with a remarkable curiosity...at that moment my innermost thoughts were of ...solitude and tranquility.

Gowri, Gowri...and Uma my two best friends who were married away in a small town before they reached their own age of sexual awareness...I was still a child and they were women at 13... heard about that at 13, by then we had left the town and moved to a bigger city...I had my own luxuries as a child...I still played with my doll and my dogs...Never heard from them...left were some memories of sweet bitter companionship.

The city was overwhelmingly scary from all sides...it was like moving bases...fundamentally moving one's own self to needs and more needs...that's the way with the city...people were not easy to find, friends harder...School was away from where we lived....bus would chug at all intervals in periodical labor pains, picking up random travelers some hanging on to the railings, their butts jutting out, limbs clutching the window panes or whatever they could hold on to ..the frenzy of getting there on time and not finding another commute kept them hung on their dear lives. I saw her there while passing by that circle everyday, peeping through the crowds- outside the windows...clad in unremarkable ragged wads of clothes...hair split in 100 directions...few children pelting stones , few making fun of her while ripping her clothes from behind...she is mad...they said..!...I could perceive…many a times when I stood at the bus stop to board the same bus, I have seen her begging on the streets scratching her hair, plucking dirt from her finger nails…laughing cackling , while her big breasts jiggled to much of the local amusement...another year...I would see her most of the days...either sleeping on the streets or laughing- she mostly laughed...I guess...and I went away...as a child woman to live in another town and graduating to newer horizons..
I had left most of the city life and had retired to a smaller town...I felt better being in a smaller town...simpler life.. mostly relieved by the mad woman…who haunted my sensibilities and helplessness.
During summer visits to the city.. I saw her again on the roadside...this time she was impregnated by some bastard and was about to give birth to another...people were surrounding her, woman was heaving...she was a woman...yes no more the mad girl...her water broke someone screamed...within minutes everyone was buzzing ...the bus left the stop...I wondered who would sleep with a mad woman? next day read in the papers about the rape of a mad woman...they thought she came free with big breasts so had dragged her to the nearby Suvidha snan ...they made her pregnant with all her disturbed images of arousal, her imbecile sensual world had lost its virgin pleasures to the predators of the dark...the insane woman they thought was fit for motherhood, they did not ask her for the pills, neither they had used condoms- those times it was oldfashioned..my friend would agree.