-A window ajar is a prelude in building to the joy of being limitless! That uneasiness of being familiar somehow, sometime, somewhere.......

Friday, December 31, 2004

Notes on nicotine

~First string~ page 13
Outside it was drizzling; a sort of programmed rain as if some master benevolence was in control.
The drizzle was unexpected for this season, but it didn’t stop me from my usual evening stroll. As I stepped out I got a feel of dampness under the feet, the whispering wind chilled my marrow and I knew I was due, for my cigarettes.
Monsoon smoking is a privileged indulgence, you can say, a rare kind of bliss bestowed upon only a few. The shopkeeper was a pretty woman in her early thirties with a strange but fair attractive face, an intriguing pair of button eyes, an upturned nose and sensuous full lips.Can’t remember how long I gazed at that face. Sure must have been drowned in the devil of meticulity. As in any other such elevating moments that life offers us seldom, I was beside myself. Suddenly it felt quite awkward. Her eyes just told me that. Silently. Out of acknowledgement, she blushed crimson. I drew a pale blank. In the practice of life, things can get out of control just like that. Playing the old pretext of looking for something, I broke eye contact. Needless to say, It was hugely relieving.

I served under 'time' for some moments, then I asked her in my best of the charming ways for my particular brand of cigarettes. A sultry reply arrived in an apologetic tone for not having that particular brand followed by if the ‘double strike’ would do? She almost recommended it. Bright, beautiful sparkling set of teeth. And what a smile!! ? I would have jumped into a compliment any day, but today, I found myself holding back, stuck, and why? Was she so extraordinary? Was it the weather? I tried hard not to succumb to my own thoughts. I won! Now it would be easy.
With my seventh smile I asked for a pack of what she had suggested and as I collected the box from her hand, I felt the feminine gentleness of her fingers that you often read in the books. She reflexly withdrew and stood silently with a palpable approval within. Encouraged, I asked for the light in the most casual (Im not in this world) manner a.k.a. ‘Humphrey Bogart style’.
This took time or so it seemed.
But she dropped the lighter into my hand from not more than a few inches, which seemed to me, like light years. Her little caution had turned into my big void.
And I turned to go she called me with a melodic “excuse me” and placed some loose change right into my hand. I felt more than her hand and now the very familiar smile was picnicking in the corner of the frame. I slowly fell into the abyss of her eyes, half closed gazing vacantly towards the floor and the angles of the lips curved into a tentative semi-smile, that’s going to haunt your soul like a devil when you sit with a steaming cup of coffee on a rainy evening.

When I walked back home, I caught smoke from a distant chimney caressing the raindrops in the horizon. There was some life there, may be inanimate, but there......

~Sixth string~page 47

Past the whoosh of whirling spires parks smiles and courtesy nods with the calf crying tired by pumping blood against winter and gravity I stand before the library desk split within between catching air for my lungs and looking to add a memory for the blonde librarian before me whose early twenty image with that body language reminds me only of students working in supermarkets to colour the shades of their future; yes, of course this place is a less competitive supermarket with black shadows of wanton souls impressed on paper as word-epitaphs assembled by their deweys waiting to be sold, bought borrowed etcetera filling the whole room with a scent of bare buoys sleepwalking in the broad daylight. What was such a devil's delusion that the god was tempted I mutter to myself and then she calls my first name in a timbre that it can mean only one thing in the universe that my book request has arrived, conveyed in a safe box from far away and I acknowledge all that by smiling and scribbling a residue of what is supposed to be my name and a smell of dying carbon engulfs me as I open the box; ah now I remember wasn’t she the girl who wavered off my fines some weeks back and called me the nice chap who had participles with salads for breakfast whilst laughing a laugh that left you itchy, salty, and drowned yeah, that tsunami laugh. Returning the pen I noticed that she had long slender hands with fingers delicate and dangling that would have inspired an impressionist into a mad frenzy to paint them playing a piano, not poor me I ponder what neruda would have said of those hands if he ever shook it, would he have kissed it or would he have shared it with silence and wrote about it later ah what a cocktail of borderline and schizotypal onions with romanticism pickle, then I catch myself gazing at my own arthritis aspiring fingers that would have made even Tolstoy proud for carrying unabridged war and peace for a continuous month and then as she whispered a farewell into my ears I caught her fingers now laid bare over the white table clearly presenting at the distal end a faint dark stain of unmistakable nicotine a story of woe, silence and epiphany in the making, subfusc subfusc I meditate aloud......... only to be drowned by the rain outside.


. : A : . said...

Happy New Year! Hope you have a fantastic year ahead.

Just passing through right now. Will read properly before commenting on this one!!!

India Whining said...

Read the page 13 from Ur nicotine notes,found it to be quite engaging & insightful..U come across,surpisingly, as a shy guy during this encounter (sic)..

Didn't knew that Ur aquaintance with "feminine gentleness" is solely through books!! Poor U :)

I will comeback to this post again & try to pick some more bits n pieces..

yet another1 said...

- "familiar smile was picnicking in the corner of the frame"
- " black shadows of wanton souls impressed on paper as word-epitaphs"
- "participles with salads for breakfast"
- "cocktail of borderline and schizotypal onions with romanticism pickle"

ur word-play is so, so fantastic!

Pincushion said...

Ahhh.. had me mulling..this bit..
a male perspective emotional yet distant..
perhaps it will help me solve this mystery that is man..yet :->
btw..am linking to you..will dig into this some more :->

Diva said...

I loved the nicotine story. A perfect picture that turned a mundane, everday encounter into the stuff of life.

Have a wonderful 2005!

Sudarshan said...

Gave me kicks...have stopped smoking long back though ;)!

SeaSwallowMe said...

"...I ponder what neruda would have said of those hands if he ever shook it, would he have kissed it or would he have shared it with silence and wrote about it later.." ..................

....... very nice, yoss-meister.

yes, hands. a rebellious single strand of hair. eyes not quite looking at you. sublime moments, all !

Ubermensch said...

: A :
thanks and wishing you the same and more.

India Whining
do i? do you want me to be? im flirting openly n u call me shy???? most of the femmes i know were rugged tomboys so most of my knowledge of feminine gentleness is frm books:)

yet another1
hey thank u , they r very crude as i wanted to reflect my conscious tone at the moment , i personally like the second one.

bingo thas what exactly waaat i felt when i first wrote this, there n yet not there....u regard male mystery? wow couple of drinks and all mystery floats out in the air:)), thanks for the link tho i must say , wud be hectic from now hence posts wud be infrequent.

Diva Drip
thank you and wish u the same ....:)

its based on a true story ,so go figure:)

thanks , sublime indeed, what makes it more sublime if u peruse the sentences uve quoted are they are grammatically wrong, screwed up in fact and

''I ponder what neruda would have said of **those** hands if he ever shook *it*, would he have kissed it or would he have shared it with silence and wrote about it later''

the effect was intended , conscious works in quasi grammatical.. sentences!!

. : A : . said...

Went through this again. Very well brought to life. I don't smoke but think it is something that so much can be written about!

Anonymous said...

i don't hav to repeat the compliments

can i pick a page and u tell us what was in it?

and where are strings 2-5?

inspiredbylife said...


was this posted earlier somewhere? I kinda remember reading it... but can't figure where! As always, some lucid writing there. The second part has very long winding sentences kinda adding to the confusions of my little mind! :)


Ubermensch said...

: A :
yes writing is a bliss! and did i say i smoke?

sure you can pick a page , but after u identify urself...
as for the 2 -5 strings i usually play at the extremes!

thanks,as i told was wading through my notes of last year and plucked these two, i think the first part was in feb , so i might have posted it somewhere;
the second is set to resonate with the sixth string , some people get confused at such music

Anonymous said...

u know me.....

lol @ arthritis aspiring fingers - kept reading it as arthritis inspiring fingers

Ubermensch said...

arthritis inspiring fingers is adifferent story all together....still u are elusive?

Prat said...

" ..clearly presenting at the distal end a faint dark stain of unmistakable nicotine a story of woe, silence and epiphany in the making..."
Stunning. The beauty of the human( I mean female, I think) form sipped like the last few delicious drops of impeccable Bordeaux.
Absolutely stunning, Comrade!

Ubermensch said...

the last few drops of impeccable.....
thanks prat!

Prat said...

Sigh, talk about falling in love all over again....

Search Blog