Weirdly Normal

They were twins. Fraternal twins to be precise, seeing that they couldn’t have been identical although they looked it. You see, one of them was female and the other was a male. They were inseparable, always hanging around the other when they weren’t actually standing next to them.

Normal grew up to be the favourite amongst her peers and their parents. She almost always wore black. Even if she wore any other colour, she wasn’t one to experiment with her clothing and always played it safe. She was always dressed properly, her hair always in place, combed and pinned back. The only thing out of place was her fringe, and it irritated her to no end.

On the other hand, Weird, with his wild and curly messy hair, played pretend with himself, carrying out social experiments in his head. He always wore mismatched or rainbow socks, and ended up being made fun of for the very reason. Because he was bullied so much by his peers, he grew up to hate them and people in general, never really making any friends.

Though Normal was shy, she was always surrounded by people. They included her in all their circles, even though she was always standing in the wings and never in the spotlight. Weird always hung around Normal, never talking to anyone but her, never enjoying being in other people’s presence and was always lost in his own thoughts.

All through elementary school, Weird was bullied. For being different and simply too weird. And because Normal was too shy to speak up, there was no one to stop it. Their parents were too busy working to notice what was happening in their home. Although they spent time with their kids over the weekends, playing games and cooking together, there really never was time to sit down and talk about school or work. Weekends were days when they all just wanted to have fun and forget about the week. There were a few times Normal tried to talk about Weird’s situation and would bring up the topic, but Weird would always nudge her to keep quiet.

Middle school didn’t stop the bullying, but it did lessen it. While Normal found her place in society, Weird could never be a part of it. He would never fit in and he found he didn’t want to either. He also found that sticking to Normal helped in his self-preservation. As long as he was with her, no one could say anything. She never let anyone. He didn’t like it one bit, having to rely on her, but he admitted that getting only dirty glares was much better than the verbal attacks. She knew he hated relying on her and feeling like a coward, but she was happy that he wasn’t suffering as much anymore. If being with her helped him then she wouldn’t let him be alone.

When high school started, things were different. No one had time to bully Weird anymore. Frankly he was glad, as it allowed him to worry about things other than what was going to jump out at him as soon as he turned the corner. Everyone was stressing out, especially Normal. Normal fell ill more often and Weird was more than happy to take care of her. Weird still hung around Normal, as was his habit, even though no one bullied him anymore. No one noticed him anymore; they didn’t glare or try to trip him. It was as though he had never existed. Weird quite enjoyed his invisible status, even if it meant sitting in a corner, in his own little world, at someone’s party. Normal was invited to a lot of them, and she always dragged Weird along for company. She was always on the fringes of the groups she was a part of and it left her feeling lonely at times. Weird sensed this and was always dragged along willingly.

She never admitted it, and she never wanted to accept it, but there were times when she wanted to blame Weird for her loneliness. Because he was always hanging around she never had any close friends. And because she wanted to make sure nothing happened to him and so had him stay within her line of sight, she was angry at herself for blaming him. This predicament, and all the stress of school, affected her health adversely. Despite Weird nursing her to health each time she broke down, Normal never recovered completely. Her guilt ate at her continuously and in the end, she was so sick she had to take a year off before college.

Weird was adamant about taking a year off too and going to college with Normal. Normal wouldn’t agree to it, telling him she’d only feel guiltier if he did.

Reluctantly Weird got himself into an art college. Their plan had been to study biology and get into genetics or microbiology. But if he was going to do this alone, he thought he might as well choose to study what he really loved. It wasn’t easy being alone all of a sudden. He had to talk to people, interact with the very species that’d made fun of him for most of his life. But he found that people were like-minded and didn’t approve of bullying others just because they were different. He found that they each had their own eccentricities and that it didn’t stop them from doing anything. It didn’t stop them from being who they were.

Weird finally felt free. Most of all he was happy. Seeing his happiness, Normal felt happy too. She started to get better. She loved to hear Weird talking about his day and what he did with his friends. She loved that he could express himself so freely in front of people, his new friends and the faculty, but most of all their parents and even her. She loved that there were people Weird didn’t hate and could talk to. She loved that there were people who didn’t make fun of his mismatched or rainbow socks, who actually appreciated them instead. Weird finally felt like he belonged.

Two sides of a coin

Normal and Weird are the same.

Who is the odd one?

Spiral Staircase

It’s a staircase for sure.

There are steps one after the other and they’re decreasing (or increasing) in height at equal decrements (or increments).

It’s definitely a spiral. I’m quite dizzy from all the circular walking.

I’ve been on this spiral staircase for a while now. A long while.

I walk endlessly, taking the odd short break.

Time is an irrelevant factor, as is direction. As variables, I have no idea of either of their values.

Sometimes I can tell. The direction I mean. Whether I’m going up or down. Most days it doesn’t matter; I just keep walking aimlessly in that same direction without being able to figure if it’s up or down. Maybe I just don’t care enough to figure if it’s up or down. Then there are those few days when it’s absolutely certain which way I’m headed. And it’s almost always most likely to be downwards.

Of course it also depends on how you look at the entire setup. In all honesty I’m the only one with the key to the giant room. Sometimes, if I’m willing, I’ll let someone else do some poking around, although it never ends well. I always end up in tears and it doesn’t look or feel like anyone cleaned the place up. It’s as though they took a pile of the mess from one side of the room to the other. I would’ve done the same anyway, just alone, with no one else’s help.

Getting back to the setup. There’s the aforementioned giant room with one key. Within it is a small room (to which the someone elses are invited for a good poke and clean up) with a view to the setup that occupies the greater remainder of the giant room. When I say giant I mean giant to the power of unimaginable vastness. A never-ending spiral staircase (the entire setup; no really that is the entire setup) floats in this interstice of a space, contorting itself, unravelling slightly, nonetheless staying a spiral, filling up the space in entirety, almost as if consuming itself.

I, but a puny little pawn, walk along this staircase, climbing step after step.

One step, two step.

Go ahead a step.

Back-up a step.

Skip a step.

Fall off the step.

Step-by-step.

Step after step.

Step, step, step.

Step, step, step, step.

Step. Step. Step.

Step.

Unfortunately when I installed the Pay-per-view, I put on a permanent zoom lens. So now if I invite someone in, they can only see a close-up of where I am standing, instead of a breath-taking whole view, of which I have no patience in describing to others. A painting is only as beautiful if it has been viewed upon carefully, as a whole and as smaller parts that have come together.

While the viewing room that saw different people invited in had only that one lens to offer, the giant room itself had two tiny windows, which couldn’t really be seen even when inside the room. But if anyone did find them and gaze into either, they’d see a lot more than through the Pay-per-view. I can’t say many have dared to opt for that option. I also can’t say that I’ve given them that option. It’s more or less a discovery on each individual’s part.

Just as walking on the spiral was a discovery for me. I hadn’t noticed it until much after feelings of love towards staircases had consumed me enough to make me want to consciously ignore the elevator. Such disdain for an elevator I’ve never felt before. Now, even though I yearn for the elevator, I can’t seem to get off the staircase. Ever since I got on, I’ve been looking for the end so I may step off.

There are days I run around, under the impression that I’ve reached the end, having apparently seen it in the distance. An illusory glance. Sometimes I turn around and walk back, having forgotten a piece of the eternal candy that I would’ve left behind on a lonesome step. That candy is the only source of energy to keep me climbing those stairs.

On more days than is usual, I slide on the banister, whooshing past. These are the days I usually fall off as well and I have to pick myself up and trudge all the way back to pick up whatever might have fallen out of my pockets (all of them being pieces of eternal candy). The picking-up-after-myself part is super hard, but I like keeping things clean and so it’s more or less a necessity. And because I like cleaning, most of the time I’m glad I picked up all the pieces till the very step I slid off of.

Sometimes, I find myself going around in circles on the same step. When I suddenly realise this and stop, I sit down to regain my bearings, but by this time I’m so confused about which direction I must’ve come from (and there are only two to choose from) I just turn around some more, slowly this time, and whichever way I’m facing I walk in the opposite direction. I don’t walk backwards. I tried it once, it didn’t end well.

But there are some days I take my time on each step and walk slowly, step by step by step. These are the days I look out at the vastness. At the nothing that surrounds the staircase. At the tiny speck of a viewing room. At the someones inside the viewing room. At the two tiny pinholes of a windows. At the multitude of anyones outside the windows. It overwhelms me. And calms me. It makes me wonder if there are more staircases out there to climb. And if I’ll ever get to climb them.

I wonder if they are all spiral.

Teeth

White teeth.

Glowing pearly white teeth.

Not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Saved from inner-lip lacerations, able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Corrected crooked misalignments, saved from inner-lip lacerations, able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Artificially-altered smile, corrected crooked misalignments, saved from inner-lip lacerations, able to bite into an apple, not tied down by rubberbands, freed of dental structures, not encased in metal, glowing pearly white teeth.

Antarctica

Last summer I went to Antarctica.

It was covered in ice.

White ice

Cold white ice

Cold melting white ice

Global warming was taking over.

He was blowtorching the polar ice caps.

At Antarctica, I saw pink penguins.

It was warm so they’d taken off their feathery jackets.

They were nude penguins.

Nude and pink like people who’d just sunbathed.

Penguins are cooler black and white.

The Thing

A poem from last year

Nightmare. It’s only a nightmare.

The-there’s a thing.

An odious object sitting at the foot of my bed.

An article so astronomical I can’t see behind it.

The terrifying tool sits still, while I lie quaking under the covers.

Immobile, the item seems innocuous enough.

But could I trust it?

The artefact had appeared quite abruptly, and I definitely hadn’t put it there.

Did you?

Did you dump this dubious device on my duvet?

Is it a gift?

Is this great gadget a glorious gift?

Now this is interesting.

What is this curious commodity so covered in cotton cloth?

This extremely endearing entity that draws me closer as I crawl across to the contrivance.

I opened it to find a glossy glass gizmo.

With polished planes and cool curves,

The instrument has intricacies etched on every exterior.

The insides of the implement were equally elaborate with

Serpentine strokes scratched on the surface.

This breath-taking body, manufactured of manual muscle work, how could I ever use this utensil?

I can’t.

It’s too phenomenal a form to be flawed.

This piece of work, perfect from every perspective, I plan to preserve perpetually.

So storing the stupendous stuff, I go back to sleep.

I wake to warm water, sprinkled on my idle eyes.

Fragmented figures flash from the previous night.

Dashing to the drawer I find that forged form was a

REFRIGERATOR?!

In a Pot of Bubbling Sauce - The Result of a Quick Poetic Exercise

He had been prowling the streets
The usual routine
Checking for spies
Or even traitors
But the godfather could not save him now
He was far too deep in his own pasta and meatballs
The spaghetti ropes were overcooked and falling everywhere limp
Like the clandestine antiestablishmentarian establishments
Fuck. He thought...he was stuck in a pot that he had not wanted to even step into
Magenta walls towered over him as he hoped someone would find him
Down this dark alley vertical in the ground
He looked up hearing a voice...Bharti? Was it her? Was it that no good mother of his come to rescue him everytime he couldn't solve his own problems?