This was written somewhere in circa 2008, as a work of fiction. It’s written in first person to give a biographical feel.
My mind is full of chaos as I write this. Am I writing just because I feel like writing? Or write what am I feeling? Or decipher what am I feeling? Or feel what am I feeling?
My mind is playing visual charades. Not a single visual I remember, such is the haste of the chaos. I want to pause the chaos, slow it down, let it linger in my mind so that I can savor those visuals, because somewhere deep I know, that those visuals are mine. Each is full of craving, guilt, angst, love, passion, dreams, longing, revenge, ego, past, smiles, hesitance, and regret.
My hand quivers as the chaos loses its pace. My fingers start sweating. The nerve around the temple is filled with the rush. I’ll have to face those visuals, the same visuals that I was anticipating! Am I prepared?
I itch my calf to digress. But the mind never digresses. It hibernates that something, but brings it back with a mightier force when you least wanted it to. And the chaos is accentuated.
Now each visual, however positive vibes it was oozing, carries me back into nostalgia. And I, with a smile lingering on my face, embrace nostalgia, without even realizing I might be cursing myself for opening the door of my heart to my mind.
There is a big bang. A loud thud. Chaos reigns. Logic fights with sentiments. Sentiments justify themselves, but just not enough. Sentiments have just one thing to say, “I don’t need myself to explain everything. Period.” But the mind just doesn’t listen. It wants an answer. It wants to be content.
“Where is that rose that was gifted to you 6 years back?”
“I still have it”, my heart feels victorious.
“And why do you have it with you yet, since the person who gifted you that with so much love now loves another person, even more than before.”
The heart knows it doesn’t have any answer, perhaps will have more such questions to self, quips, “I don’t need reasons for my actions, I do what I feel like. I don’t have reservations about anything, I don’t calculate, I don’t make sense out of everything. I just let me be.” Sigh.
Mind now meanders. “What if that person calls you and sings the melody you once sang together?” The heart smiles and answers, “Do I look so gullible, so fragile, that I’d take just about any shit from you? Of course, I don’t have any expectations left from that person. And for God’s sake, why are we talking about that person? The rose is there because it is there, but that person is nowhere. Let’s move on to another thought, can we?”
“Hmm. Let me ask you something intimate then. Why do you still remember that person when you get cozy with someone for the first time, or when you cook something special for someone, when you hear some stupid college classics, when you pass through that patch of greens, when you make love with someone and feel connected, when you pray for someone else, why?”
Heart ponders over that question. My mind is at ease. No hurries. Heart has always been impulsive, being pensive is a rarity. After a chaos of thoughts, the heart counters, “Well, it’s you who associate with that person. I don’t. I just curl the lips to smile, or moisten the eyes to well tears. I just emote. It’s you who associate things, and make me part of it. Perhaps you want me to be part of those references, as you need something to fill the void. Yep, void. Without feelings, those references are shallow!”
The mind has a very uncanny trait, of fighting with self, whereas the heart takes everything personally. This time, mind retaliates, happily, “You know, there is though one thing common to both of us, and that is ego. It bothers both of us, and sets us back. The impact can be severe to one and inconsequential to another, yet, there is an impact. And so, whatever references I recall or see impact me or not, it does impact you, severely. You are weak. You can’t take it. You just know how to react, in an exaggerated manner.”
My mind was playing games, as usual. Anything it would do, to reason, to justify. Heart, on the other hand, is submissive. It just shrugs.
And thus, the mind is at rest. It goes back to oblivion and hibernates. But the heart is yet pensive. It has an avalanche of questions to answer.
However happy the mind was to justify and win, it still lost the battle. For, the heart just doesn’t let the mind sleep. After all, they are connected.
