Of Bubble Wrap And Batman

What is it about bubble wrap that makes me love it so much? For starters, I love it that you don’t ever have to focus single-mindedly on bubble wrap to love it I mean, with other things you kind of have to. Like when I’m listening to some song, it has to be just that song that’s playing in my mind for me to really love it. Or when I’m playing FIFA or watching something on TV, there can’t be any music that’s playing because it’s sort of a distraction. It’s not that I can’t do both things simultaneously (I’m not that impaired), but for me to really like something, I have to concentrate on that.

But, with bubble wrap it’s completely different. I could be watching anything on TV, with bubble wrap in my hands. But my lips unknowingly break into a smile whenever I hear the familiar popping sound, signaling the death of an air bubble. Every single time. I mean, you could give me this humungous sheet of bubble wrap and I would still smile at every individual pop, all the while never taking my eyes or mind off the TV. I’m not too sure about its functional utility though. If I wrap myself in it and jump off a five-storey building, would I survive? (That is one of the unanswerable questions I want to find the answer to). But, I really don’t care. If I ever become a superhero, my costume would be made entirely of bubble wrap.

Speaking of superheroes, I watched ‘The Dark Knight’. It is unbelievable. Usually, when I’m describing something I’ve enjoyed, the adjective ‘unbelievable’ is the be-all and the end-all. But, here, it’s not enough. I mean, they could have ended the movie at intermission, and it would still have been the best movie ever. But I’m glad they didn’t. Because the second half proves what I had realized after watching ‘The Prestige’ – Christopher Nolan is a genius. How he wrote the story, I cannot fathom. How he dared to twist and distort the conventional superhero storyline is beyond me.I think I just said this, but I’ll say it again – this is like the best movie ever. Heath Ledger gives a performance to die for (pun completely unintended, I’m not that insensitive). But not just him, everyone is brilliant. Even Cillian Murphy in his five second cameo. And I love the way Nolan’s films have these subtle but completely unexpected twists at the end, instead of the usual big fight sequences. The burning cars and somersaulting 18-wheelers give you your share of adrenaline. But, they serve more like a build-up to the real show-stealers – the plot and the performances. This movie’s got everything. And as clichéd as that sounds, it’s true, at least this once. It’s got its fair share of wity one-liners; and then there are those lines that you’ll probably remember forever ( “You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a villain”). And above everything and everyone, its got Christopher Nolan. How many directors would end a superhero movie with the hero deciding to become a villain? And forget the kiss between the leading man and his love interest. Nolan kills his leading lady, but not before making her profess her love for the leading man’s romantic rival. I could go on and on with this. But I think I should stop. What the heck, for one last time…this IS the BEST MOVIE EVER!!

Thursday,8th May,00:05 a.m.

I hate it when people walking ahead of me on the road move along at a snail's pace. I have this habit of walking rally fast, which I guess stems from the fact I'm usually late for everything; which doesn't prove that I'm not punctual or anything; just that everything and everyone conspires against me getting to places on time.
Take today for example. I woke up at 6:30 which is unbelievable, something I haven't done for years maybe; not even during my ISC exams. I had to meet this friend of mine at Howrah at 8:30 and I thought - cool, I'm gonna be on time today. And after a quick victory dance, I started off with my usual morning routine. Everything was going fine until I made the mistake of switching on the TV while having my breakfast. Well, 'A Few Good Men' was coming on HBO. And seriously, you can't switch off the TV or for that matter, take your eyes off it when that movie's being shown right? Even with your breakfast lying neglected and cold on the table in front of you. It would be an insult to one of the best films ever (and to Demi Moore, who I was in love with until a few years back, until she married that dumb model who can't act but is as good looking as hell). Plus, the amazing courtroom scene at the end was going on. Jack Nicholson is some actor man! I saw another movie of his recently - The Bucket List- with Morgan Freeman. Another fantastic movie. And you just have to cry at the end, no matter how cold-hearted you are.

A Ballad For Ylajali

A million eyes stare down upon the city.
As night envelopes the tall starved squares,
They reveal their menacing white fangs.
And a forsaken witch cries out
For her bloodied lover.

But Ylajali sleeps soundly on her ivory bed.
Her glowing skin mocking the mighty moon.
Her chocolate hair held in place by a clasp.
Except for one insolent curl
Falling over her brow.

I remember the times we spent together.
The stories we told each other.
the songs we sang to one another.

I remember the nights I spent in your arms.
The warmth of your touch defying the icy wind.
The intoxication of your breath
Running riot in my brain.
The soft, sweet words that arose from your ruby lips.
Singing me to sleep - Ylajali's lullaby.

Oh Ylajali! I would be the candle
That lights the shadows on your face.
I would be the song that brings a smile to your lips.
I would be the magic lamp
that makes your wishes come true.
If I could, I would be the sun
That dries the tears from your eyes.

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

A ray of light appears from behind a cloud.
The sun awakens from its slumber.
The leaves end their wild, wayward dance.
The moon flees in holy dread.
The million eyes snap shut.
The birds chirp away in noiseless ecstasy.

But Ylajali does not stir from her bed.
She lies still....a bit too still.
Undisturbed by my savage cries.
My tears cannot awaken her.

I stand on the edge of a river.
And she on the other side.
But the water's too deep, too dark.
Too full of misery.

My dreams lie shattered on the earth before me.
I sit on the grass, moist with its tears.
The leaping red and gold flames giving me company.
A violin somewhere sheds notes of sorrow.
A thousand angels start dancing to its tune.
Heralding a new arrival at the gates of Heaven.

Goodbye my Ylajali, goodbye my lover.

Saturday, 3rd November, 12:15 a.m.

I sit up straight on my bed. My sleep starved eyes stare out of the open window. All I can see are rows of rectangles and squares. I wonder where the birds sleep now. Through a gap in the imposing geometry, I catch a glimpse of a blue-black object. I am surprised. I didn't know the sky was still here. But, there are no stars tonight. Vincent can't paint his pallet blue and gray. The famished clouds have swallowed them up. But, tomorrow they'll be back again; when the clouds regurgitate their dinner; to save their intestines from being cut open by the sharp corners of those wily little stars.
The moon's not here either. She knows what has happened to the stars- but her sides are smooth and round - easier to swallow. She is hiding in the sun's palace. It's a trifle warm in there. But sweating is better than being feasted on I guess.
I turn to look at the watch. Five more hours till the sun discovers the intruder in his palace and kicks her out. I have got school tomorrow (or is it today?), don't I? I better get back to sleeping now. I'll keep the monsters away tonight, I promise. Well, I'll try at least.

The Flight Of Innocence

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

He woke up in Golgotha today.
Where severed heads lay smiling.
On the crimson bed below.

Where Death smiles a wry smile
to Himself each day.
And angels have pricked out
their own eyes.

Where the rocks have lost count
of the heroes who bled to their deaths.
But not of the cowardly villains;
Who returned unscathed.
To their lovers' arms.

Where many a pretty face
has been crushed by black stones;
Black stones in black hands.
Which ran out of bullets.

Where a few even died
At the hands of their comrades.
Who couldn't find an enemy to kill.

Where obese vultures feed during the day.
And pen odes to Man in the evenings.

Where the coarse sound of the trumpet.
Heralds a new set of warriors.
Their bloody bodies silhouetted
against a purple sky.

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

He stood before the bright red
of the setting sun.
And the brighter red of the earth.
He remembered the little white note.
Which had arrived uninvited.
And like a rude guest
Had widowed an adoring wife.
And orphaned an innocent child.

His eyes seemed like they would
scorch the sun.
His breath was heavy.
His fists were clenched.
Vengeance had spread its vile fangs
on every inch of his body.
He was one of them now.

Closure

He stood alone at the edge of the cliff.
The river flowing in torrents below him.
The wind was playing with his hair,
while the world played with his mind.
He was confused; he was lonely.
He wanted be free.
But he was scared.

He closed his eyes,
and he could finally see.
The clear, blue sky
had never been this beautiful.
The giant oak trees around him.
Seemed like they were his guardian angels
- protecting him.
The mountains ahead looked like tiny ant-hills.
The sun's warm, bright rays
Made him feel invincible.
He wanted to keep his eyes closed forever.


But suddenly, a dark cloud appeared from nowhere
and engulfed everything with one frightful grasp.
The sky was now a grim mix of grey and black.
The ant-hills became colossal monsters again.
The mighty walls of the cliff closed in on him.
The oak trees looked like menacing murderers.
Their ragged arms outstretched,
ready to hack him to his death.
The chilly wind stung at his soft, pale skin.
Time seemed to stand still.


His mind felt like a vortex.
What was he doing here?
Why had he come to this
desolate, godforsaken cliff?
He couldn't breathe.
"Jump", a voice told him.
"What?", he asked himself.
"Jump.Jump.Jump."
"Jump if you want to live."
He wanted to live.
He jumped.

A loud splash.
And then an eerie silence.
He knew now why he had come
To this godforsaken cliff.

The Man The World Sold

You never really had a chance;
The day the world stopped - for you.
And for the generation
Whose hero lay in a pool of blood.
That cold, grey morning,
which seems so distant now.
When a reluctant piece of lead put an end
To twenty seven years of
Hurt, Suffering and Emptiness.
All that was left was a gaping hole -
In your head and
In the belief that music could save the world.
The flames you lit
in the hearts of millions.
Were doused by their tears.
While those millions wept,
A few enlightened ones smiled to themselves.
At the impudence of an idiot.
Who had set out to change the world overnight.
But ended up slain by his own hand.
A generation which had awakened momentarily,
returned to its deadly slumber.
Angel hair and baby breath
couldn't hurt you.
What did was love.
Love which was not just blind, but dead.


And now the guitar lies abandoned in a dark corner.
(Its always less dangerous with the lights out)
Among a pile of needles and shards of broken glass.
Covered by blood like rust.
It has forgotten how its master looked.
But remembers his magical touch.
On its now torn and tattered strings.