The Voices
She knew the voices too well. She recognized them even in her deep sleep and she got up with a dreadful feeling. No, please stop it; she pleaded. But she knew it will not. And then wearily she woke up and made her way towards her parents’ bedroom in the dark. How well she knew those voices; angry, sarcastic, shouting and petty. She stood at the open door and the sight was just a bit too familiar. She hoped that they would see her soon and be ashamed enough to stop it for some time. For some time; till the next time. They did.
The surface tension is such an apt word. The surface is calm; albeit just a little tightly stretched. But please do not scratch the surface; the dynamics underneath will blow up on your face and believe me it is not a pretty sight. It is disgusting. Disgusting just like the blue and black patch on her mom’s face when she came back from school one day. Blue, black and swollen. She had wanted to throw up.
But it was not always blue and black. Sometimes it was rosy pink. Pink, just like the balloons they had bought at the beach. The balloons she had released into the vast blue sky; her heart soaring with the balloons. And they had looked at her and smiled. Later in the day she had crept into the pooja room and prayed fervently; putting her soul into it. “God, please let everyday be like this”. How the Gods must have laughed at her silly prayers. How silly she had been; and how very pathetic. And of course the prayers had not been answered. We all know what the smallest prick can do to a big rosy pink balloon.
“Di, why are they fighting” her younger sister asked her. Her eyes full of tears and her voice just about to break. “Baby, let them fight, it has nothing to do with us”, she replied. Her face almost brave and her voice almost casual. “Ok, let us go to the other room and I will tell you a story”. They shut the door behind them and she told her about the land far far away. A land of vibrant colors; the flamboyant Orange; the mischievous Yellow; the seductive Red and lovely calm Green. And of course the very happy and very carefree color Pink. But they could still hear the voices through the shut door.
Blue, Black, Pink and then there is the color Grey. Grey; a color she learnt to recognize very late in her life. But once she recognized it she saw it everywhere. It had been all Black and White; her helpless mom; her insensitive dad. But then she grew up. The truth was more complicated; it was in the confusing web of perceptions, expectations, opinions, egos, desires and yes even love. It is strange how different things can be below the surface.
Sometimes there are no colors and no voices. Like here, in the land far away from home; the land she had escaped to; the land where she wanted to start her life anew. And then the land of emptiness and restlessness. Seeking, seeking seeking something unknown in this strange land but too afraid to look for it. Afraid because she did not know what it was; afraid that she would not find it and afraid that she would lose it. She had escaped so that she could blend in but she felt naked and vulnerable in this land of beautiful and confident people; people comfortable with themselves and secure in the knowledge of Loves they had and cherished. So she donned many different cloaks. Indifference was her favorite one. Calmness came a close second. Soon she could even manage to wear the masks of confidence and happiness. But could she be one of Them ever?
The surface tension is such an apt word. The surface is calm; albeit just a little tightly stretched. But please do not scratch the surface; the dynamics underneath will blow up on your face and believe me it is not a pretty sight. It is disgusting. Disgusting just like the blue and black patch on her mom’s face when she came back from school one day. Blue, black and swollen. She had wanted to throw up.
But it was not always blue and black. Sometimes it was rosy pink. Pink, just like the balloons they had bought at the beach. The balloons she had released into the vast blue sky; her heart soaring with the balloons. And they had looked at her and smiled. Later in the day she had crept into the pooja room and prayed fervently; putting her soul into it. “God, please let everyday be like this”. How the Gods must have laughed at her silly prayers. How silly she had been; and how very pathetic. And of course the prayers had not been answered. We all know what the smallest prick can do to a big rosy pink balloon.
“Di, why are they fighting” her younger sister asked her. Her eyes full of tears and her voice just about to break. “Baby, let them fight, it has nothing to do with us”, she replied. Her face almost brave and her voice almost casual. “Ok, let us go to the other room and I will tell you a story”. They shut the door behind them and she told her about the land far far away. A land of vibrant colors; the flamboyant Orange; the mischievous Yellow; the seductive Red and lovely calm Green. And of course the very happy and very carefree color Pink. But they could still hear the voices through the shut door.
Blue, Black, Pink and then there is the color Grey. Grey; a color she learnt to recognize very late in her life. But once she recognized it she saw it everywhere. It had been all Black and White; her helpless mom; her insensitive dad. But then she grew up. The truth was more complicated; it was in the confusing web of perceptions, expectations, opinions, egos, desires and yes even love. It is strange how different things can be below the surface.
Sometimes there are no colors and no voices. Like here, in the land far away from home; the land she had escaped to; the land where she wanted to start her life anew. And then the land of emptiness and restlessness. Seeking, seeking seeking something unknown in this strange land but too afraid to look for it. Afraid because she did not know what it was; afraid that she would not find it and afraid that she would lose it. She had escaped so that she could blend in but she felt naked and vulnerable in this land of beautiful and confident people; people comfortable with themselves and secure in the knowledge of Loves they had and cherished. So she donned many different cloaks. Indifference was her favorite one. Calmness came a close second. Soon she could even manage to wear the masks of confidence and happiness. But could she be one of Them ever?
posted by Silent Melody | 4:23 AM
8 Comments:
Silent Melody,
This one is a brilliant piece esp if it is creative. What goes on in the minds of kids growing up in battered homes is very nicely written. The turmoil, the hatred, the disgust, the anger, the escapism... but one thing is that the protagonist[if I may call her that]'s age is hard to determine.. in places where she talks of balloons she seems like a hopeful little kid, in other places a responsible older sister, in a few more places her thoughts are more adult-like.. was that the idea? To convey that she had to grow up faster because the situation warranted, because she was exposed to more than necessary shades of black than white?
and I liked the point that SSM made.
SSM, Anantha and Funny, thanks a lot!!
SSM, nice point there. Yeah even they can be masks; though that was not the intention. Just wanted to bring forth the idea that the love and security we get or do not get in our childhood can sometimes effect an entire life. She was not confident becoz she had known confidence and security. Yeah but the realization that everyone has their hells comes in at some time.
Thanks Anantha; the engineer in you picks up on the Surface Tension part. :-). LOL , just kidding. I might just continue though it pretty much gives the idea that it is the END. And hey you made my day by comparing it with Scout's story.
Funny, thanks again. Actually all those incidents were at different ages. Just a few random incidents from across the years to give a peek into her world. But looks like I have not been very successful. Will try harder :-)
hey Silent Melody,
a beautiful piece there :) and I really like it the way it is....a little grey and a little colorful..
and I totally agree with what u say.....I think our childhood is the most difficult part to erase from our memories when we grow up....that images formed when u're a kid, stay on with u for a lifetime....that the blues and grey's from then, stick onto our life's for ever....that so many times, u strive to leave ur past aside and move on....but the farther u push it aside, the stronger it bounces back the next time....
enig!
Hi Sil!
liked the feelings evoked while reading the story- liked the different analogies- to the colours, surface tension...
***Seeking, seeking something unknown in this strange land but too afraid to look for it. Afraid because she did not know what it was; afraid that she would not find it and afraid that she would lose it.***
loved these lines...sometimes we keep looking for something withour even quite knowing what it is that we are actually seeking...nd ironically, sometimes we realise we had found this elusive "something" after losing it!
***So she donned many different cloaks. Indifference was her favorite one. Calmness came a close second. Soon she could even manage to wear the masks of confidence and happiness. But could she be one of Them ever?***
These lines reminded me of:
****the mask given time, comes to be the face itself- M. Yourcenas- Memories of Hadrian.***
But, one thing, Sil, the story begins with the protagonist in the present continous of her past and ends with the present continous of her present/her future? ...the first and the last paras tho indicating the present actually implies different time spans... however the random memories in between seemed quite synchronised and chronological..
and sil, stumbled upon u'r comment on my creative dabbles site only a couple of days ago...Thank u...
as well as for the comments on my latest blog...gratifying to be understood...
love
ardra
had a tuff time these past couple of days trying to post this both here and at dss..
El Enigma, Thanks a lot for the words.Ardra, glad you liked it. And the point is taken; yeah the tenses got a little messed up. Funny said the same thing. Will remember my grammer next time!
great one sm...i kinda liked the whole mixing of the past and present through various stages of the main character's life...kinda makes the whole thing kaleidoscopic...really nice effect...:-)
Hi Buck; the Chief himself..I am honored..Thanks Chief
hey silo,
I'm late latif when it comes to reading. Interesting piece, but too fragmented (purposeful?). It's almost like you wanted to write a long poem -- the whole piece has this neither here nor there feel (prose/poetry). The content is good, the presentation could be better -- the flow could be lot better, unless of course, you wanted it to have that raw, jarring feel. I hope you would take this in the spirit in which it's meant.
keep writing,
asuph.
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