Wonderment

I read a little something today,
the writing stretched to about
three pages, and I wished I could
pen something down, just enough to
fill the gaping pages of the notebook
I made by stacking pages together,
they somehow fit, not one page meant to
be there, but just being perfect together,
in that exact mismatched order.

I thought about the little something
that I’d read today,
and it let me to my own
jumbled thoughts, and unwritten
philosophies, a bit of humour.

It led me down the rabbit hole in my head,
and at the end of it there
was a huge mess;
unfinished pieces written
on papers strewn about
a littered floor, with an
‘Enter at your Own Risk’ board
hanging at the door,
and a ‘Step With Caution’ placard
placed in the middle of the cluttered space.

A little later, I wondered why
I couldn’t finish what I’d started,
or maybe why couldn’t I be proud of my own work.
And that gave way to the realization
that I hadn’t let it affect my soul,
or let it be shaken to the core. No,
it was superfluous, like my thoughts,
entering and exiting,
leaving a trace
like footprints on the beach,
marking only till the next wave washed it down,
leaving not a hint of it being there just moments ago,
deep imprints laid forgotten.

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Cry

When, and if I cry
and I open up to you,
let me.

When, and if I cry,
and I’m very drunk that night,
pull the bottle away from my hands,
and tell me you’ve got a better option.

When I cry,
hold me close,
and whisper words of comfort in my ears,
or I may slip away and leave.

When I cry,
Tell me fairytales,
and narrate them as if they were real.
They are fantastical,
But make me believe they aren’t,
and that magic truly exists.

When I cry,
and I tell you not to take me home,
take me someplace safe,
wrap me up in a blanket,
and then you may go.

When I cry,
Don’t stay, because
my drunk self appreciates you,
I won’t.

Over the Threshold

You had me cover my eyes as we crossed
the threshold to your home,
Oh, I always forget that it’s now ‘our’ home.
It never felt like mine, you know? It rather
felt as if I was on a display, there for every
one to see, and my vision snatched away
from me by a cloth around my eyes.
I never knew what it was to be impaired,
growing up despising control. I
couldn’t live like that, you know?
Bound by chains so strong they couldn’t
be visible to the naked eye. But, they were
there. Unseen,
but there. On display for everyone to see.
I struggled to get rid of them.
Those cuffs around my wrists were
suffocating, chafing skin and veins,
binding me to you even more.
Tried hard to make people realise how I was living in a cage.
I was a bird with my wings cut off;
The people around me were blind, and
maybe even dumb and deaf, because
none of them ever raised their voices for me, the noise of gossip was decibels much higher than my pleas.
My scars were visible, even the band aid couldn’t fix them.
Permanence was temporary, just like the
marks around my eyes and the scars
covering my wrists, beneath,
there was me,
freed.

●●●●●●

My very first collaboration with Saloni Mhapsekar.

Art by: Saloni Mhapsekar. (Check her out on Instagram, @saloniquietlybrilliant )

 

The journey of a mathematically-impaired kid

Math and me have come a long way. From learning the spelling (yes, that matters too!) to learning the values of ‘x’. A very, very long way indeed! The journey is filled with tears, and on most parts, angry pen marks in frustration and torn pages filled with formulae.

Look from afar, and you’d always see a hazy, blurry picture of me scrawling out numbers on a Classmate notebook, the pen cap chewed to bits and the textbook, half torn, lying in front of me. There was never peace between us, a war of the Xs and the Ys. And there was me, trying to pacify them both, and failing miserably at that.

Sometime in the ninth grade, my mother made me join a tuition, only for mathematics. She said, and I quote, “You wouldn’t want to fail ninth because of one subject now, do you?” That sentence petrified me, I was so scared that I had sobbed into my pillow for the rest of the night. Failure was something that I could never take in. Whatever I did, I had to excel in that, play to win!

The tuition teacher was a good one, she made me solve at least ten sums per sitting, five out of which I executed properly, and the other five were solved in the same old messy way. Now I cannot disregard my style, can I?

A week later, I had my Periodic Tests, and math was the first paper. I felt prepared, for once in my life. I went inside the big hall, the eerie silence making me forget all the formulae I had crammed up inside my head. I don’t know, everything just went blank the moment I faced the question paper. A single tear made way down to the answer sheet, and I wrote whatever little I could recollect from the minutes I had spent cramming up and solving tons of sums.

Faith was lost, for me, I believed that I was never going to pass math, and it was so out of my league.

Five months had passed, I had changed tuition teachers, written down each formula at least a hundred times. I had my Second Semester in ten days. Math again. The first paper. I don’t know why my school always had math as the first paper, maybe it was to terrify students from the first exam itself, or to rid them of the fear and help them perform well in the papers that followed. Nothing worked for me, I worried about math in each paper, and every morning closer to the result date made my heart skip a beat.

Result date: I scored 55 out of 100 in math. I DID IT!! I PASSED!! I was so happy I pranced around the whole room showing everyone my result. I was promoted to the tenth grade!

I worked hard in tenth, though most of it I spent goofing around with my friends. For my boards, I think I had practised enough sums. I didn’t need to cram up formulae now, they were inscribed, engraved, embossed, and anything else possible, on my mind.

When the result for the board exams were out, I had scored 86 in math. It was a great score for  me, a massive leap. Happiness bubbled out of me like oil from a pakoda.

Although I did well enough in Math in the tenth grade, when it came to choosing subjects in FYJC, I felt math and my journey filled with tragedy had to end sometime. We parted ways happily. I chose Logic.

Now I watch, with a smug smile, at other people trying to pacify the Xs and Ys.