Transference

It was love at first sight
She smiled at me
It was the perfect smile
The twinkle in her eyes
The slight tilt of her head
Her soothing perfume
The grace in her walk
The humor in her talk 
She can never be wrong
I am in love with her
I think she is God.

I hardly noticed her
She smiled at me
It was the average smile
The squint in her eyes
The occasional yawn
Her ordinary perfume
The shuffle in her walk
The hurry in her talk
She can never be perfect
I am in love with her
I know she is Human.

The Art of Aping

I was at the Art Institute of Chicago recently to watch the Picasso exhibits.  Apart from being completely blown over by the genius of the artist, something else caught my attention.  The institute was pretty crowded that day, and it was hard to pay attention to any particular face or keep track of anybody.  The crowd was moving along like a stream of water, pausing at every painting briefly.  But there was one little boy who I couldn't help notice.

He had come to see the paintings with his mother and younger sister, and they were standing right next to me.  I figured he must be around eight years old.  He was wearing these Harry Potter glasses and looked rather contemplative.  Very soon I realized that I had an admirer.  This kid was trying to imitate my behavior at the institute.  He paused at a painting for exactly the same amount of time, and focused in exactly the same areas of the painting as I did.  If I read the description of the painting, he would read it too, else ignore it.  He folded his hands when I folded mine, and when I stepped away from a painting, he followed suit, constantly casting glances at me to make sure his imitation was perfect.  His younger sister on the other hand was far too young for Picasso I guess.  She looked bored and kept trying to distract her brother, but in vain.  This went on for a really long time.  I should say I was really amused by his behavior, even feeling proud at some point that this kid was imitating me and not his mother.  :D

But, on my way back home, my amusement turned into serious contemplation.  I was transported back to my childhood days, when I tried very hard to look and behave like an adult.  I don't know if I really wanted to be an adult, but I tried to imitate them nonetheless.  I watched my parents, other grown-ups, even older siblings very carefully.  When our family watched a movie on TV, I would watch my mother every time there was a funny scene, to see if she was laughing.  If she laughed, I would laugh.  If she didn't find it funny, then it wasn't worth laughing.  I tried to chew food the way grown-ups did.  Yes, I thought grown-ups chewed food differently from kids.  I've draped myself in my mom's sari several times and admired myself in the mirror.  I felt really good when I was in the middle of grown-ups having serious conversations, or when the seniors in school knew my name.  I imagined how I'd behave, how I'd eat, how I'd laugh and how I'd talk when I grew up.

And then, I thought about all the times in my adult years, when I've wished I were a child again.  I've wished I could go back to my school days, when life was much simpler, when everything was taken care of, and all I had to do was study and write exams, and wait for the holidays.  Days when I was so young I didn't think so much.  My only biggest worry then was how 1st standard was going to be when compared with kindergarten.  Days when I cried my heart out when my necklace of pink beads broke, spilling the beads onto the earth, and that was the most painful thing that could happen.  I still remember the tightness in my chest.  And then I wondered, if I were to become a kid again, if I were to get that pink necklace back, would I hold onto my dear childhood, not wanting to let go?  Or, will I reach for that sari again?

Paradise

When she was just a girl
She expected the world
But it flew away from her reach so
She ran away in her sleep
And dreamed of paradise
Every time she closed her eyes.*

I wonder sometimes - am I in paradise and having a really bad dream?  Or is this for real and paradise just a dream?  Do such dreams come true?  Or should I just not open my eyes?

*Verses not mine, of course.  Source: Coldplay - Paradise

The magician

She sat at the windowsill, like a splendid painting stirred out of a vision, a vernal poem liberated from the soul, a virgin melody cast into the air, all of youth's beauty distilled into her.  Her long locks lay carelessly about her shoulder.  But her eyes were burning like embers.  The last drop of tear rolled down onto her golden dress, trailed awhile, absorbed into the creases, and lay there to become one with the air.  She stared into space, the golden evening, into everything, and nothing.  Her mind traveled a great distance, to places that she knew not existed, lived days of pain and pleasure, and returned to her, wholly exhausted.  It returned to a hush, to the stillness of the lake on a moonless night, disturbed only by the occasional fall of a dying leaf, or a slight turn of the untiring breeze. 

She was lost in the depths of the unmoving waters, when she heard a gentle tap on her window.  Startled out of her reverie, she looked outside.  She must have been dreaming, she thought, took a deep breath, and returned to staring at eternity.  She was just settling in, when she heard it again.  This time, she knew she wasn't dreaming.  She opened the window and the cold autumn rushed in.  She closed her eyes briefly as the wind whizzed past her.  And then it all began.  Was it the tinkle of tiny bells, or was it the singing of merry blue-jays?  Enchanting music filled the air as she opened her eyes in wonder.  A golden hue surrounded her, and sparkling confetti showered upon her.  She leaped up from the windowsill, her footsteps light and sprightly, treading the room.  She turned around, round and round.  Golden birds flew in, circled around her, as she jumped merrily to reach them.  Fresh green twigs, bedecked with flowers, purple and pink and soothing lavender, floated into her room.  Elegant branches wrapped around her, adorning her with their exotic blossoms.  Ethereal fragrances filled the room, and she laughed with joy, like a little child, innocent pleasure pouring forth.  

Long was she lost in this bliss; her heart filled with delight, as travails of the past ebbed away.  She slowed down, and stopped still.  She closed her eyes and reveled in the marvel around her.  She breathed in the crisp air, she breathed in a force anew.  She opened her eyes and smiled as the magic drifted past her.  She watched it all float away through the window that let it in.  A sudden thought occurred to her and she sprang to the window.  Surely, this was all magic, but where was the magician?!  She ought to find him, she ought to thank him!  She opened the windows wide, and leaned over, looked below, and to the sides.  And as if he had read her thoughts, he swooped down and landed on the ledge below, took her hands in his and said, "Happy to help!"  "Thank you!", she exclaimed, "But who are you?!"  He smiled, came close, and gently whispered something in her ear.  She smiled and waved at him as he swished his cape, and before she knew, he was on his way to the house yonder, at whose window sat a delicate damsel, with flowing tresses and moist eyes.  She turned away from the window as his silky voice echoed in her ear, 'I am batman.'  


P.S. This post is written for a narcissist friend of mine, who has bullied me into writing a post for him. :D

The duel

He lay there defeated,
On the wet grass,
His sword at his feet,
Breathing heavily,
Wounds bleeding afresh,
Head throbbing with pain.

He opened his eyes,
In the darkness of the night,
Shadows cast by the moon,
Behind the purple haze,
Stood his towering assailant,
With a smug look on his face.

Groaning in agony, he sat up,
Studied his victor close, and said,
'You are the same, aren't you?
Our swords have met before,
And I have fought my battles best,
Yet why is it that I never win?'

His stolid opponent smiled,
Sheathed his bloody sword,
Donned his coat and hat,
Turned to depart, but paused,
And said, 'Thanks for the invite,
See you next spring.'