Sadness has always been lying around in a small corner of everything. It's a state of mind and has nothing to do with being ungrateful to everything that prevails with subtle accuracy. Speaking of escaping a spontaneous plan for an arranged wedlock in six hours, sadly enticing! Both escaping and the spontaneity.
Like the concentration of a laser, focused in order to comprehend kept the glance engaged while amongst a bunch of others with higher level of keenness to be noticed stood waiting for a breach in the harrowing prolonged instance. They noticed, so did I. They also felt for deprivation is piercing [Hahaha, you read this and make my day]. I blinked away. The glance didn't, but when it did it did so permanently.
I see her shrewd ways of dodging herself out of situations without getting hurt in terms of succumbing to something she had not wished for. As for her, I see right through her and it has struck her that I know what she intends to say but doesn't; It is pretty obvious why she does what she does. Whereas she after accusing me of being obsessed with the letter 'I' proves herself to be equally obsessed with it, only obliviously. The overlapping traits of the people belonging to the gender produced by the bone of the other!
All three of them, the triangle, walk around with an accomplished sense of helping themselves, smart thing to do.
"Daadi jaan, bewaqoof kon hota hai?"
"Kon hota hai?"
"Woh jo khud ko nuqsan pohcha lay!"
"Keh saktay hain."
You see them so strong and then while walking through the barricade you see them scurrying their way to the destination, holding their breaths, pushing their shoulders arranged along the axis of their propagation, shrinking themselves to the proximity of the smallest radius from their centers, most importantly doing so with a sense of fear. The mesh-work of people terrorizes the soul within them, so I have observed.
Dar to sab ko lagta hai.
The urge to have those unlike them wall them from the barricade and translocate the granuloma with safety appears to me as a joke. To me, those unlike them without a label seem something like chronic granulomatous disease, an abnormality indeed.
Like the concentration of a laser, focused in order to comprehend kept the glance engaged while amongst a bunch of others with higher level of keenness to be noticed stood waiting for a breach in the harrowing prolonged instance. They noticed, so did I. They also felt for deprivation is piercing [Hahaha, you read this and make my day]. I blinked away. The glance didn't, but when it did it did so permanently.
I see her shrewd ways of dodging herself out of situations without getting hurt in terms of succumbing to something she had not wished for. As for her, I see right through her and it has struck her that I know what she intends to say but doesn't; It is pretty obvious why she does what she does. Whereas she after accusing me of being obsessed with the letter 'I' proves herself to be equally obsessed with it, only obliviously. The overlapping traits of the people belonging to the gender produced by the bone of the other!
All three of them, the triangle, walk around with an accomplished sense of helping themselves, smart thing to do.
"Daadi jaan, bewaqoof kon hota hai?"
"Kon hota hai?"
"Woh jo khud ko nuqsan pohcha lay!"
"Keh saktay hain."
You see them so strong and then while walking through the barricade you see them scurrying their way to the destination, holding their breaths, pushing their shoulders arranged along the axis of their propagation, shrinking themselves to the proximity of the smallest radius from their centers, most importantly doing so with a sense of fear. The mesh-work of people terrorizes the soul within them, so I have observed.
Dar to sab ko lagta hai.
The urge to have those unlike them wall them from the barricade and translocate the granuloma with safety appears to me as a joke. To me, those unlike them without a label seem something like chronic granulomatous disease, an abnormality indeed.
What you meant to say,is clear.But who was she?Was she the same person trying to escape the wedlock?I'd like to know her.
ReplyDeleteNot a huge fan of Arundhati Roy &/or Bapsi Sidhwa.Though have read both and liked them more than others here.There's something twisted and pretty deviating from the track that I like to follow in their works.Great artists(will define 'art' may be sometime else)though.See,these are the people who like to call people like me 'fundoos'.Guess,I just justified that:).
Art! Can't wait for the definition. I am still confused as to what exactly is the term. There is always something one can relate to in a preposterous chunk, keeping in mind the absurdity resting within almost everything.
ReplyDeleteIdentification: Granuloma
As per the observation: The sadness lies within the earnest expression of dependency upon unclassified men by women of honor, strength and all those really modern things while the same earnest expression of dependency upon a classified man is worth seeking liberation from. When at the same time the only thing they themselves tend to extract from a harrowing prolonged instance [hyperbole intended] during a ward class is something scandalous.
Outcome: It seems either they enjoy things to be scandalous or unclassified men are more protective, supportive and less demanding rendering wedlocks a sad thing to do, or both.
Lol. The escape involved not the slightest stress upon her brain substance. And because it was never meant to be an emergency the idea was dropped by those who planned it. She enjoyed all of it!