Wednesday, March 3, 2010

So you think you could just be dancing

The party is on.

Every face is a study in perfect composition: the women wear their painted smiles and the men their bluff heartiness. But when the music begins, light-hearted spirited strains off a piano, a small scar of horror cracks through every mask, for it reminds them of how far away from rhymes and revelries their lives have come.

But they still step up to the dance floor, hand-in-hand with the partners they secretly hate, envy or cheat. And yet they pretend to look at them as if they were in love, because that is part of the whole scheme of their life...doing as the occasion demands.

From above the dance floor, the maginficent chandelier watches, its icy white light a little whiter than usual.

The clock ticks silently but the gap between each hour is slowing.

The witching night has gobbled up half the moon.

As the hours grows late, the grandest of the guests arrive, they who wear their inhuman aristocracies like heavy armors- armors which are meant to be formidable defences, but which themselves turn inwards and chip and nick a little flesh when they can.They are dressed richly, in furs and wild colours but the real difference lies in how perfectly their masks have become one with their skins. Pecking and cooing with false pleasure, they run into familiar faces- old affairs, friends they duped, fellow millionaires they secretly conspire against but their painted smiles stay just as wide.

Ofcourse, every now and then a sharp, jealous glare slips out unbidden within the sea of impersonal greetings, but this is a ugly, naked breach of conduct and no one acknowledges it.

Now the music slides into a wild, feral romp on its own. The pianist appears to have gone missing, the piano seems to have walked by itself, to a chamber upstairs.

An invisible finger trails down everyone's spine but they try their best to keep guard. Sip wine and play-talk, wading through the thickening atmosphere with a set stubborness

The grander guests kept their high-handed hauteur and the lesser mortals their chilling courtesies. Not a face has yet betrayed the horrors that are wrecking their insides, the strong grasp the wind's hand suddenly has made on their very throats. Because acceptance would be defeat.

Until the unexpected guest walks in.


  1. Very, very, very different post... What's wrong with you? Profound stuff and brilliantly written, but I'm afraid the essence still eludes me. I'm forced to ask what prompted this?!

  2. I could, and I have to be honest here, for the first time understand each and every word you wrote. And trust me, no one could have written about THIS better than you did.
    Unbounded respect for you on the basis of this post!


  3. brilliant. every word speaks volume.


  4. @kondy:that will soon up as the sequel. so you think you can just walk in like that :)
    @anunaya: u did?! unbounded respect to you too!
    @ rsv: thankee
    @kavs:hippies never praise. they just relate. okay, whateva!!!

  5. I couldn't understand much of the post but from what I could gather I think you should listen to this song ('Run Like Hell' from Pink Floyd's album 'The Wall') :

    I might have gone astray in understanding the post. Listen to the song anyway (It being a Pink Floyd song is the highest appreciation I can give)

  6. its either profound or random (ie halucinating hippi's surrealistic stuff) wahteva very beautifully written (again)

  7. This comment has been removed by the author.

  8. @vikesh: spot on.
    @ amit: oh well, a hallucinating hippie's surrealistic stuff can also be profound.
    @kanishk: this post too has been removed by the author :P

  9. Very different and refreshing coming from you...brilliantly written. Would have asked the same question as Anirudh did, and would wait for the sequel...:)
    Knowing the way you are, I have absolute faith in you to turn this into something completely random! Don't do that though, please...

  10. This is class apart. I have to compliment you for this different and refreshing piece of writing.

    And yes, waiting for the sequel...