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.

An Uprooted Being

Just like plants, humans have roots too. And just like a plant's roots, human roots play an important role in our growth as individuals.

This piece stems from a common question and an attempt to understand my missing self.

"So, where are you from?"

I've been asked this question so many times in college. Everyone asks this to every other one. In a way, it's a question of curiosity. Do you fit the stereotypes that exist around your place of origin? Are you one of those nomads, meaning someone in your family is either a diplomat or serves in the armed forces? Or are you simply an NRI?

I've said different answers to different people. 

Sometimes it's just 'Delhi', assuming they're asking where my 'hometown' is, which generally translates to "Where do you end up every summer to visit family?"

Sometimes it's 'Bangalore', referring to my city of residence and where I've spent most of my life so far.

Most of the times though I end up answering with this: "I was born in Delhi, but I've never lived there. Then before I was one we moved to the States. I lived there for 7 years. After that we moved to Bangalore. And we're still here. So, you can figure out for yourself where I'm from."

There are times I go into a rambling story about my ancestors and where they're from, but that's only when people are asking for it.

Although people say it's quite clear where I'm from, all the while failing to mention the place they think so, I really don't feel the same.

In college, culture plays an important role in your work. A lot of motifs and illustrative styles emerge from the culture you would have immersed yourself into. This holds true even for patterns you weave into textiles, your choice of colours, even the look and feel of a product/piece of furniture you might create.

Culturally I've never been rooted to anything in particular. I've read about different cultures from across the world, spanning various time periods. While they're all really interesting, I didn't find myself wanting to follow any of them. I should be following my own culture, whatever that is supposed to be, but with my formative years being spent in one place and the rest of my life elsewhere, I've kind of gotten lost. Not to mention my parents are more spiritual and disciplinarian, with Western ideologies but Indian upbringing. Culture did not take up a very big part in my growing years. Maybe if I'd spent more time with my grandparents, I might have known more about 'my culture', but that's all pointless speculation.

Although I walk around like a lost soul with a part of my identity completely missing, it's not like I know nothing about my cultural ways. I just can't seem to associate myself with it. I'm not sure I ever will.

Out at Sea

The waters are still, eerie and salty black.

I remember a poem from long ago,

One of stranded sailors and a lone survivor.

Of many nights at sea,

And albatrosses around necks.

I sit on my wreck

No compass, no map, nothing to guide me.

It’s dark.

The sky has no stars

As if telling me there can be no hope left.

There is no way back.

I look up, at a cloudy sky.

I can only hope there is no storm.

But what is hope anymore?

For despite so many clouds

There is not a silver lining.

It begins to pour.

I’m soaked to the skin.

There is nothing, I realise

That I can light to make a fire

Save the raft.

Afloat, with nothing but my mind to keep me company,

And the darkness all around,

I stay up for hours playing games with myself.

‘I Spy’ in the clouds, ‘Tic-Tac-Toe’ on the raft,

Until the delusions of life fade away.

I fall into a silent stare.

One that reaches far beyond

Into the vast nothingness.

And I’m lost once more,

In real dreams

With dying embers of hope.

The stars have taught me well

As they have any sailor.

Without them I would truly be nothing.

I am nothing.

A wave pulls me out of the murky depths.

The raft and I

Drift along

Complying with its gentleness.

We are anchorless.

We have lost our bearings.

We have nothing to keep us grounded,

Nothing to hold us.

There are more now, waves pulling us with them.

Lulling us into a sense of safety,

And comfortingly sleepy warmth.

In this old unfamiliar land,

There is happiness,

There is hope.

I can always find my way back.

But the stars are hiding today.

Falsehood grows

Becoming a storm,

Crashing through my reverie

Wreaking havoc upon the raft

As I wake to find it my reality.

The stars are right.

There can be no hope left.

Piece by piece,

The raft and I disintegrate.

We are laid bare to the storm.

Yet we hang on for dear life,

But for what?

What is a sailor without the North Star?

What purpose does life have if you have been lost?

Questions that will never be answered.

Questions that are silent screams.

The raft creaks in pain.

The storm only hears itself.

I laugh hysterically,

But no one hears me.

I have nothing to lose anymore.

I have nothing.

It has been lost,

I have been lost.

I am nothing.