Annie wondered why her falsetto sounded so false. But then, falsettos are called that because they sound false right? Wonder why anyone would design a word like 'falsetto' in the first place, when so much else in life is also false and doesn't have a false name? But then, how did she arrive at the 'falsetto' conundrum in the first place?
She resorted to the highly successful cover of her falsetto once again as she yelled out a shrill 'Hii!!!' at yet another new face. Her falsettos, the numerous 'Hi!!!'sss that were now floating around the party spot, floated around, ricocheted against the walls and then turned back, acussing her with dazed looks.
Everyone else in the party seemed to be having a great time. Why, then was she having to pretend to be happy?
Before she could resolve this, 'it' tugged at her arm, winked at her, pinched her cheek and walked up nonchalantly to fetch a drink. A vodka-cranberry (in the absence of tonic and ice), just like her. 'It' does this, apes her and then mocks her.
As if to exorcise 'it', she let out a maniacal laugh at a ridicously poor attempt at humour by someone. She then smiled ear to ear, while she walked out to breathe in some fresh air. 'It' of course, followed her, like a loyal puppy.
For a fortnight now, Annie had been forced to live in with a slippery entity. She didn't quite know when 'it' entered her life. She wondered if it was on the bland plane ride back to London. 'It' haunted her, tormented
her, shared her bed, cuddled next to her, wrapping it's cold fingers all around her despite two duvets and the heating, watched her while she showered, ate from her plate, tickled her spine and sometimes, even appeared in her dreams. No matter what she did, how much she begged, pleaded, cajoled, threatened or abused, 'It' refused to leave.
Of course, crying could have helped. But then, this time around, her tears had unionised, and decided to wag a transparent, fluid but firm finger at her, refusing to flow. Their grounds of protest, "This isnt worth wasting us".
And Annie couldn't find a way out. Which was ironical, considering, when it came to 'emotional' matters, she viewed herself as the grandmother of grandmothers- wise ,mature, always in control and practical. She knew she could deal with 'love, lust' and all that jazz smoothly, and had done it for herself and her friends ever so often. So what happened ?
Well, 'it' happened.
What should have ended like a pitstop, transit flight style encounter had entrapped Annie with unfathomable feelings. Maybe it was what he had said, or maybe it was what he had 'meant', or maybe it was just the 'glow of goodness' that she attached to him. But the moment she had parted from him, 'it' suddenly began to swivel around in concentratic air circles, building up to a frenetic pace, and sucking her in completely. At first, she couldn't believe that she was letting this happen, or was she? And then, she couldn't resist being sucked in- into the lily-white, sunlaced vortex of dewy memories, replaying each and every moment like a teenager in her head- and smiling to herself as the happy thoughts took charge.
But it didn't take longer than a day for the happy thoughts to turn into big, floating question marks hanging on top of her head. Then they took even lesser time to settle down into silent, unspoken and unresolved speculative answers. And then they coagulated, to form a heavy, sluggish but sincere mass of incredible sadness. They took on a new life, a determined force of grey,bleary intangibility. They became 'it' - her 'inseparable grief'.
Ever since, life wasn't quite the same for Annie. Actually, it wasn't same at all. Food became an a hostile flatmate, sleep a wary stranger, tears began to boycott her and every day became an unfilled questionnaire. Obviously, these were not questions she could or would raise with her friends. On second thoughts, maybe, just this once, she just should. But she could almost fathom their answers.
The young one, who worried about her would say "Get over it, there are more men".
To which she would say, "No there aren't. And I don't care if there are."
Then, the young one would retort , 'For god's sake, he is not a good one. (Read, he is an a**hole.)"
To which she would violently react "No, he isn't!!!!"
The energetic one would say, "Let it be. Don't react. Do something else to take your mind off him."
To which Annie would just roll her eyes and say nothing.
The second young one would say, "You have to resolve it. You have to let your emotions out."
To which Annie would nod her head despondently and say nothing.
The enthusiastic one would say "You need to talk it out."
To which she would vigorously nod her head in opposition.
When she couldn't bear it any longer, she made some indirect, half hearted noises before the Wise One. And the Wise one said, "It's a cycle. It will take it's time. Let it be. Live in it."
Annie hated the answer. She wanted to pull 'inseperable grief' out of her, place 'it' in front of the Wise One and say, 'tell me what to do about that'. But 'inseperable grief' was a tricky sort. 'It' wouldn't simply get out and let go of her would it?
And so Annie decided to live 'it' out. Honestly, it was like drying your clothes outdoors while a hurricane was raging. She swam in 'it', let' it' swirl over her every morning. 'Inseperable grief' gripped her heart every morning when she tried to wake up, thus pushing her deeper into the pillows, hoping the tears would cooperate with her. 'Inseperable grief' also frowned each time she looked at a plate of food, or a movie timing. Thank god for the rich tea choclate biscuits, there was enough strength in her to survive the dry retching, the endless gazing at the shower curtain, the long direction less walks in the freezing London rain and the incredible urge to walk away from it all.
And so, day turned to night, night to day, weeks passed, seasons didn't change but pressures of carrying forward with life's concrete aspects forced Annie out of her waking stupor. Her capacity to perform and her efficiency levels were still reduced, but she had to try and take baby steps forward.
And many around her noticed. They offered help, expressed concern and tried to cheer her up. But Annie couldn't figure it out. Not this time. Somehow, despite 'inseperable grief' occupying her each and every living
moment, she couldn't help but return to the sun-laced, lily-white replay switch of memories. She didn't want to
resist their enigmatic hold. She wanted to float in them, soak in them and hug them close, lest they slip away. There were only a handful of them and she would have insured them if she could.
As time passed by, life crawled to a facade of normalcy, and waking up in the mornings with 'inseperable grief' snoozing next to her became a habit, Annie began to realise just how hungry she was! So she tossed up
a favourite meal of hers, ordered dessert and gobbled it all down like a prisoner of war. Weirdly, 'it' was not giving her a dissaproving look this time. It was just sitting at a corner, coolly gazing at the microwave. Once she did that, a spent life force slowly woke up from hibernation. Clearly, the winter was beginning to pass. Her winter with sunkissed, fuzzy memories and 'inseperable grief'.
So Annie decided to confront 'inseperable grief'. Curiously, 'it' didn't want to fight. All 'it' wanted was a civil
conversation. And as she settled next to her pillow to talk, 'inseperable grief' actually turned out to be a profound conversation partner. 'It' slowly but surely, over a series of conversations late in the night, started telling her that 'inseperable grief' was actually her 'inseperable grief'. It was for her to give 'it' up at any point of time. Although initially Annie's emotions revolted, she began to see sense in 'its' argument. Since then, sleep had also begun to entice her on some nights. But the mornings still belonged to 'inseperable grief's cold, bleak
embrace. Yet another round of conversations later, Annie discovered that her 'inseperable grief' was not
mourning the passing away of an incredibly beautiful moment. Nor was 'it' rueing over the loss of an immortal love. Nor was 'it' wondering about the clinical behaviour of the subject in question, although that did provoke hurt. What 'it' was hinting at, was the absence of possibility. Her 'inseperable grief' was confronting years of hope and repression to fan out the embers of possibility- of happiness, fulfillment, laughs and desires- just like in a fairytale. And deep inside, Annie knew, that fairytales don't exist in this world. In this world, we make do with what we have, or are meant to have.
The conversation that clinched her warm but neccesary farewell with her inseparable grief, also waved in some bit of her enthusiasm. It began to give her hope, of making what she had in her in this world, beautiful
enough to counter the fuzzy, false promises of fairytales. Embarrasing isn't it? To believe in suspended reality? But then, Annie is only human. She has worked out her parting of ways with her inseperable grief.
It still visits her, from time to time, especially in the mornings. She then slows down in her start. But then, maybe there is a reason for it's social interest in her life. Maybe it means to awaken her belief that life is as beautiful as it gets, just like it is. She doesn't resent it anymore. In fact, she has now placed her winter with 'inseparable grief' in the same mental picture frame as those sun laced, lily white memories. And these memories are beautiful.
So the next time Annie laughs at a party, it won't ring of insanity. Her falsetto will perhaps, sound true. She now knows that possibilities become impossibilities even before she grasps their existence. But what is with her now, in her present, is what she gets. And for now, she can make a lifetime of it.
She resorted to the highly successful cover of her falsetto once again as she yelled out a shrill 'Hii!!!' at yet another new face. Her falsettos, the numerous 'Hi!!!'sss that were now floating around the party spot, floated around, ricocheted against the walls and then turned back, acussing her with dazed looks.
Everyone else in the party seemed to be having a great time. Why, then was she having to pretend to be happy?
Before she could resolve this, 'it' tugged at her arm, winked at her, pinched her cheek and walked up nonchalantly to fetch a drink. A vodka-cranberry (in the absence of tonic and ice), just like her. 'It' does this, apes her and then mocks her.
As if to exorcise 'it', she let out a maniacal laugh at a ridicously poor attempt at humour by someone. She then smiled ear to ear, while she walked out to breathe in some fresh air. 'It' of course, followed her, like a loyal puppy.
For a fortnight now, Annie had been forced to live in with a slippery entity. She didn't quite know when 'it' entered her life. She wondered if it was on the bland plane ride back to London. 'It' haunted her, tormented
her, shared her bed, cuddled next to her, wrapping it's cold fingers all around her despite two duvets and the heating, watched her while she showered, ate from her plate, tickled her spine and sometimes, even appeared in her dreams. No matter what she did, how much she begged, pleaded, cajoled, threatened or abused, 'It' refused to leave.
Of course, crying could have helped. But then, this time around, her tears had unionised, and decided to wag a transparent, fluid but firm finger at her, refusing to flow. Their grounds of protest, "This isnt worth wasting us".
And Annie couldn't find a way out. Which was ironical, considering, when it came to 'emotional' matters, she viewed herself as the grandmother of grandmothers- wise ,mature, always in control and practical. She knew she could deal with 'love, lust' and all that jazz smoothly, and had done it for herself and her friends ever so often. So what happened ?
Well, 'it' happened.
What should have ended like a pitstop, transit flight style encounter had entrapped Annie with unfathomable feelings. Maybe it was what he had said, or maybe it was what he had 'meant', or maybe it was just the 'glow of goodness' that she attached to him. But the moment she had parted from him, 'it' suddenly began to swivel around in concentratic air circles, building up to a frenetic pace, and sucking her in completely. At first, she couldn't believe that she was letting this happen, or was she? And then, she couldn't resist being sucked in- into the lily-white, sunlaced vortex of dewy memories, replaying each and every moment like a teenager in her head- and smiling to herself as the happy thoughts took charge.
But it didn't take longer than a day for the happy thoughts to turn into big, floating question marks hanging on top of her head. Then they took even lesser time to settle down into silent, unspoken and unresolved speculative answers. And then they coagulated, to form a heavy, sluggish but sincere mass of incredible sadness. They took on a new life, a determined force of grey,bleary intangibility. They became 'it' - her 'inseparable grief'.
Ever since, life wasn't quite the same for Annie. Actually, it wasn't same at all. Food became an a hostile flatmate, sleep a wary stranger, tears began to boycott her and every day became an unfilled questionnaire. Obviously, these were not questions she could or would raise with her friends. On second thoughts, maybe, just this once, she just should. But she could almost fathom their answers.
The young one, who worried about her would say "Get over it, there are more men".
To which she would say, "No there aren't. And I don't care if there are."
Then, the young one would retort , 'For god's sake, he is not a good one. (Read, he is an a**hole.)"
To which she would violently react "No, he isn't!!!!"
The energetic one would say, "Let it be. Don't react. Do something else to take your mind off him."
To which Annie would just roll her eyes and say nothing.
The second young one would say, "You have to resolve it. You have to let your emotions out."
To which Annie would nod her head despondently and say nothing.
The enthusiastic one would say "You need to talk it out."
To which she would vigorously nod her head in opposition.
When she couldn't bear it any longer, she made some indirect, half hearted noises before the Wise One. And the Wise one said, "It's a cycle. It will take it's time. Let it be. Live in it."
Annie hated the answer. She wanted to pull 'inseperable grief' out of her, place 'it' in front of the Wise One and say, 'tell me what to do about that'. But 'inseperable grief' was a tricky sort. 'It' wouldn't simply get out and let go of her would it?
And so Annie decided to live 'it' out. Honestly, it was like drying your clothes outdoors while a hurricane was raging. She swam in 'it', let' it' swirl over her every morning. 'Inseperable grief' gripped her heart every morning when she tried to wake up, thus pushing her deeper into the pillows, hoping the tears would cooperate with her. 'Inseperable grief' also frowned each time she looked at a plate of food, or a movie timing. Thank god for the rich tea choclate biscuits, there was enough strength in her to survive the dry retching, the endless gazing at the shower curtain, the long direction less walks in the freezing London rain and the incredible urge to walk away from it all.
And so, day turned to night, night to day, weeks passed, seasons didn't change but pressures of carrying forward with life's concrete aspects forced Annie out of her waking stupor. Her capacity to perform and her efficiency levels were still reduced, but she had to try and take baby steps forward.
And many around her noticed. They offered help, expressed concern and tried to cheer her up. But Annie couldn't figure it out. Not this time. Somehow, despite 'inseperable grief' occupying her each and every living
moment, she couldn't help but return to the sun-laced, lily-white replay switch of memories. She didn't want to
resist their enigmatic hold. She wanted to float in them, soak in them and hug them close, lest they slip away. There were only a handful of them and she would have insured them if she could.
As time passed by, life crawled to a facade of normalcy, and waking up in the mornings with 'inseperable grief' snoozing next to her became a habit, Annie began to realise just how hungry she was! So she tossed up
a favourite meal of hers, ordered dessert and gobbled it all down like a prisoner of war. Weirdly, 'it' was not giving her a dissaproving look this time. It was just sitting at a corner, coolly gazing at the microwave. Once she did that, a spent life force slowly woke up from hibernation. Clearly, the winter was beginning to pass. Her winter with sunkissed, fuzzy memories and 'inseperable grief'.
So Annie decided to confront 'inseperable grief'. Curiously, 'it' didn't want to fight. All 'it' wanted was a civil
conversation. And as she settled next to her pillow to talk, 'inseperable grief' actually turned out to be a profound conversation partner. 'It' slowly but surely, over a series of conversations late in the night, started telling her that 'inseperable grief' was actually her 'inseperable grief'. It was for her to give 'it' up at any point of time. Although initially Annie's emotions revolted, she began to see sense in 'its' argument. Since then, sleep had also begun to entice her on some nights. But the mornings still belonged to 'inseperable grief's cold, bleak
embrace. Yet another round of conversations later, Annie discovered that her 'inseperable grief' was not
mourning the passing away of an incredibly beautiful moment. Nor was 'it' rueing over the loss of an immortal love. Nor was 'it' wondering about the clinical behaviour of the subject in question, although that did provoke hurt. What 'it' was hinting at, was the absence of possibility. Her 'inseperable grief' was confronting years of hope and repression to fan out the embers of possibility- of happiness, fulfillment, laughs and desires- just like in a fairytale. And deep inside, Annie knew, that fairytales don't exist in this world. In this world, we make do with what we have, or are meant to have.
The conversation that clinched her warm but neccesary farewell with her inseparable grief, also waved in some bit of her enthusiasm. It began to give her hope, of making what she had in her in this world, beautiful
enough to counter the fuzzy, false promises of fairytales. Embarrasing isn't it? To believe in suspended reality? But then, Annie is only human. She has worked out her parting of ways with her inseperable grief.
It still visits her, from time to time, especially in the mornings. She then slows down in her start. But then, maybe there is a reason for it's social interest in her life. Maybe it means to awaken her belief that life is as beautiful as it gets, just like it is. She doesn't resent it anymore. In fact, she has now placed her winter with 'inseparable grief' in the same mental picture frame as those sun laced, lily white memories. And these memories are beautiful.
So the next time Annie laughs at a party, it won't ring of insanity. Her falsetto will perhaps, sound true. She now knows that possibilities become impossibilities even before she grasps their existence. But what is with her now, in her present, is what she gets. And for now, she can make a lifetime of it.
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