Running away

I think there ought be a schedule for the monsoon. Its really annoying that it starts raining somewhere around 4 and stops at 6-6:30, only to start again around 7. After perhaps 9 in evening, the sky is clear and everyone in this lazy town are asleep. After the last post (which is a total FICTION with my ever so not-so-subtle hint that I don't like to get drenched in rain...) I think I have got drenched in rain three times now. That makes thrice in last four days. How is that for a record huh? Because of rains I am mostly cooped up in my room watching an Asian horror movie with English sub-titles. (As am writing this, am watching Suicide Club and Death Note - both Japanese horror movies.) My father was asking my last evening (when I was watching Memento Mori for about ninth or tenth time) my reason for Asian horror obsession. At that moment I couldn't really think of any creative answer and just answered "time pass". After I started watching "Death Note" I realized the complex emotions of the characters. In fact this is true for most of Asian horror movies. Thats what captivates me the most. The story is never (mostly) the same and the characters are flawed. Haven't I mentioned that flaw is the most beautiful feature of a person? Each story reflects socio-economic-cultural beliefs and laws as influenced by an individual. Its complex....like me I suppose. The time I spend in waiting for the movie to buffer in web page is utilized to change the shade of my nails for both hands and toes. I meticulously change nail polish for my feet; only to be covered in cotton socks next morning. Weird...no?
Monsoon evenings are pretty lousy but mornings are great.

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Initially the noise is like a low hum of an old broken record from yesteryears. It's like a dull sound of beating of the heart in a thin vein. It is not the first rain of the season. But perhaps the most awaited one, as both us and earth are desperate for some coolness. In a few minutes, I find myself in my backyard right in front of bushes of rose and basil. The initial drops of rain that fall on my face and neck mingles and disappears in the rivulets of sweat. The mild smell of rose and basil is in the air as rain continues to cascade down which has now become a mild downpour. I sit near those bushes not caring about the stains that the red mud was going to cause on my trousers. The mud is sticky and my bare feet is covered with a mixture of mud, water and leaves from rose and basil plants. Mud therapy, I chuckled. Rain water is gushing on my face, arms and neck and it gives me a feeling of movement of silk. I remember wearing my mother's prized Mysore silk saree with a color of midnight blue which is oddly synonymous to this night of rain. My hair is plastered on my scalp and is horribly tangled. I start to worry about the stains on my dress which will not go unnoticed by my mother, the cold am going to catch and reasons of my presence here in backyard getting drenched in rain, when everyone knows that, I, personally do not like to get wet in rain. Right now I don't want to think about everything that is going to happen after I get up from here and walk back to my room. All those things can wait. They are going to happen anyways, but till then, they are best forgotten. The predictability of my immediate future gives me a sense of security. But I don't like the lack of choice that comes with it. Destiny and choices are so entangled with one another that I have stopped thinking which is which. A fortune teller once told me, "You are destined to make this choice." According to her all the choices we make are controlled by destiny. In that sense, we are all a part of grand design with each one of us having a unique set of blue prints. On that day, I didn't want to believe that. But her words keep coming back to haunt me when am most vulnerable. I have been given a great deal of independence by my parents since I was young. But now, I seriously doubt their decision. Too many choices has made my life chaotic. I hear a round rumble in the sky preceded by lightning. It was like someone was taking a picture from far above and lightening was used as flash. My feet is fully immersed in mud now. My thoughts keep coming back to the independence that I was given as a child. Many of my friends admired my parents for being "forward". I understood why my parents gave me that independence when I went to buy coffee for the first time in Starbucks. I had to answer five questions which decided the things that went into my coffee. The end product was pathetic. Since I had made choices of the ingredients, I was to blame for the coffee. I am what I am today because of the choices that I have made over the course of time. There is a soft breeze that carries the scent of basil which calms my frazzled nerves. I hum an old melancholic tune which is synchronous with the sound of rain falling on these plants. I hear my cell phone ringing from the house. I am expected to take that call. But somehow, I am in no mood to satisfy my role as someone at some place. I ignore that melodious ring tone. I know that its going to ring again soon. For now, ignorance is bliss. I remember this line from high school. I had scoffed at my classmate when had she told me this. Even today, I don't believe that ignorance is bliss in any fashion. One who thinks so, is certainly a fool. Perhaps the person who made this line popular was being sarcastic. I laughed at my observation. Very little had changed in me from high school to now. I looked at my sullied feet to my wet hands. No, nothing has changed. I sink my feet deeper into the mud making squishy noises. That simple act greatly satisfied me. I dislike great deal of changes. Yes, there are changes in me here and there; some subtle and some not so subtle. But as a whole I have remained the same. At least that's what I believe. Or is that what I want to believe? I remember something said to me by an old friend whom I happen to meet quite accidentally. "You still haven't changed. You still are a complete bitch". I asked her, "Completeness is a virtue. Is it not?" She was exasperated with my answer. I laughed at that memory. May be I have not changed at all. Is that a good thing? I hear my cell phone ringing again. I decide to take that call and in a hurry, I stepped on a rose thorn. I start speaking on the phone and wash my feet at the same time. I stifle a cry of pain as I remove the thorn from my foot. I decide to keep that thorn in the memory of rain, choices, changes, destiny, fate, vulnerability, virtues and my life in general. I continue speaking on the phone as change into new set of clothes; the last twenty minutes or so is a mere memory now.

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From today onwards lights off at 11 PM. Actually mom wanted it at 10PM but after a lot of deliberations and arguments we negotiated a time of 11 PM. Well, technically there is never really light in my room unless I read. So from today onwards am off to bed at 11 and have to sleep for 7 hours. I am waiting for that miracle to happen on a weekday.
I am writing this only because I need to check some settings that I have changed in the blog :D

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