Dolly (Part 3)

Disclaimer: With the exception of work labelled non-fiction, the characters featured in this site are completely fictional. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. No similarity to any person either living or dead is intended or should be inferred.

I have something that is eating me up. I want to say it to someone, but I have noone to say it to. Or to put it better, I have noone I would care to say it to. For miscellaneus (I cant spell that) reasons. Maybe its a good thing, because I would'nt know the first thing about how to phrase it.

Is'nt it the kind of irony that could only happen to me, that today, when I should be so happy, I am so deeply sad. Well, not sad, but ... I dont know how to say even that.

We make our choices in life. We leave the things we have, and come seeking that which we don't. We leave our homes to look for adventure. We come and live in places which can never be home. And we know, we know all the time, that this is what we have chosen, and that noone will ever understand why, or that you will be lonely as a dog: warm, friendly befriended, fed, loved ... but never one of us. And we know what we are leaving behind, though sometimes we kid ourselves about it, for a while.

And you know that those who gave their life blood to make you who you were, who brought you up, and saved you, who found a stray orphan and loved it like their own, against all those million odds, and waited patiently for that one day when it will finish growing up, and be a 'full grown friend', you know that just at that night before harvest, you are stealing the crop they have nurtured for so long,

And you know they sit on the old rocking chair, in the cold and lonely house, where noone comes to visit, looking at the old collapsible gate, and waiting for you to come home ... know by heart the way you put one arm on the 'rock' and haul yourself up, shouting hello to uncle-ji (who they also know you secretly love) and ring the bell in 'your tune' while rattling the gate in 'your beat', which they probably hear in their dreams ... and you know that they will die in the that rocking chair by the time you are done wandering (and racing and rowing and winning cool stamps that you think are entry tickets to self-approval ... racing your shadow to try and satiate your insatiable, lustful, greedy 'self') ... you know they will be dead.

And the fruits of their labour, will be free to go back to the maker ... the cuckoo will fly back to its nest.

But still we do it. And we know, somewhere, while making our choices, the payments we are agreeing to, in regular installments, for all of time to come. And when the check arrives in the mail, we are expecting it, we have made our peace, had our joy. Won our races. Buried our dead.

But yet sometimes, it seems hard. And you just feel like you can't take it, like you've been paying all your life, for something or the other, that your tired of always paying for everything you wanted. why cant life be free.

But then it passes. Just like a toothache. It passes. You laugh at yourself. Blow your nose. make a coffee. Light up. And go stand by the window. And fondly think of how silly your 'little-child-self'gets once in a while, and smile. (And in a secret part of your heart hope it has truly passed ... and watch yourself a little skeptically, a little extra careful for a while ... just to be sure).

And so it is with love. Or atleast, with mine. I made my choices. I always knew it was out of reach. I always knew this would get very deep. From the first second I knew. It took me a while to reaise it, and then some more to come to terms with, and believe it, but from the first minute I knew.

And I always knew I could never, ever, ever reach out and touch the stars, or even ask the stars to come down. because thats NOT the WAY I want it. And i wouldnt be satisfied. Not with a gift. Or charity. Or compromise. Or agreement. I've been there too. I know ...

My logical side (is that my thalamus {supposed seat of consciousness}?) has made its peace with that. Its like loving a snowflake. You love it. You want it. But you know its so delicate, if you reach out and touch it, it will melt. You just cant have it. You can just watch it dancing from a distance: dancing, twirling, spinning, falling ...

But there are times when my younger side takes over (old brain?). there are times when I cant bear it, just for that moment, just to reach out and touch my little snowflake.

And to know that I wont. That I cant. That I just wouldnt allow myself, couldnt, wouldnt, shouldnt ... and all of that 'jiving around'.

And that I will just watch it float past my face. Free. Like it was meant to be. And I
will let it go. I always knew that. But sometimes, it just seems awfully hard. And I wonder how I will do that.

But still, I'm glad. All my (other) dreams have come true. My life is blessed. I have friends, after a fashion. And now I even have somewhere to go (for what thats worth).

And knowing my little snowflake ... it would have turned out to be a bloody nightmare, had that one come true. Like they say, be careful what you wish for. And sometimes not getting what you wanted, is the best thing that could happen to you.

What does come with age is a (just) little bit more patience. And acceptance. a few years ago I would have gone to town on this. Now I sit and wait for it to pass - knowing for sure that it will. Before, I would have gone out of my way to keep out of people's way, now I know there will be time enough for that, when the time comes, and it will be soon enough. There was a time when I would have been angry or dissapointed in myself for being either so out of control, or so silly, or not brave enough to just do what it takes - get off the fence, this way or the other - but with time I have learnt to accept myself and loosen my ambitions about who I wanted to be.

So I just brace myself and prepare to try my best to let you go without a scene, without giving away anymore than I must. I dont care if I can't have you, but face ... I must save face. And I build up my scrap book of memories, for later, for the rest of the way. My box of rain. I collect every scrap of time and affection that falls of your careless ways. A pebble that you threw at me, a half sucked candy that you stuck in my hair, a strand of your hair ... but how do you collect the little formless things? A tone of voice, a carefree song, a look, a fleeting touch ... guess that too must be let go, huh?

PS - Please wont you NOT leave a silly comment? I have turned wiser, calmer, much much PC-er and polite-r, with my three decades old wisdom ... but inside, silly still pisses the fuck out of me. Just kidding. ;)

I know this does'nt weave in, in any way shape or form with the other two parts of 'dolly' (as they didnt with each other) but in my head they all fit in with the master-plot and one day they will be woven together, trust me ;)

Saw Away from her, I think it was the most impressive movie I have seen in a while ... or its the movie that moved me most (ever since cinema paradiso).


  1. I didnt read the earlier two parts but somehow this one made sense. More cause it was written... well... straight from the heart! :) Hope all is well...

  2. well the complaints were more to do with the different parts knitting together - which makes sense, bcz they are not chronologically linear and i have not yet written the parts in between :)

    i am well, thanks. dunno about
    'all' ... what would you say 'all' included. sorry just kidding! yes all is wonderful! glorious sunny days and a few days yet left for the next exam - as you can see from me frantic yarn-spinning ;)

  3. Sir:

    On my blog you posted a comment that suggested I deleted one of your comments. Please be assured, I would never delete your comments. I am not sure what happened to the comment you posted, but I promise I DID NOT delete it. I have had a few instances in the past where comments I have left for others on other sites did not post properly... perhaps that happened to your comment to me?

    Again, I want to assure you I have enjoyed your participation on my site and I would NOT delete your comments.


  4. Is that a monsoon sky on the left?

  5. Madcap thoughts effortlessly spill out words of ethereal beauty, like stars in the dimming sky.

  6. thanks for commenting on my blog...real nice to know that coveted writers of blog think abt kids like us.
    btw, have to say, wisdom i cant fight with(m just 21 :P), but i can find myself contemplating a pretty "face-saving" life within a decade. but rite now, dont really think, i can connect with ur "dolly"...have friends, have a girlfriend and lots of frolic. but...loved the part where you wrote abt wisdom, was brilliant....

  7. PipeTobacco, replied to this on your blog.

    Olivia, yes. In Bombay, India. Around July or August. 2003 or 4. I forget ...

    Verlaine, 'madcap thoughts' ... thanks :)

    It's the stars are dimming all the time. They're actually dying. It's just so slow, that noone notices.

    The sky stretches eternally. Doesnt notice, one star more or less.

    Cloud minus Nine, you are welcome. Thanks. Incidentally, in the 'story' (which is far from complete - but this part is mentioned in part 1) Dolly is dead and thats how the story begins. She was this guy's daughter (the one who is now talking). The story is about how he copes (or cant cope) with the death of his daughter and the different things it makes him think of. One of which being how his growing up and moving away must have affected his parents.

    But this part of the story comes much later. And I havent written the parts in the middle. Thats why its a work in progress, and also very confusing. :)