Shadow Bright

 The moonlight cascading through the shimmering leaves of the lonesome tree was an unsullied white. The tree weighed down by its loneliness perhaps was bent over in eternal apology and shame. And under it we were playing out our whimsical farce, our unique parody of a season long courtship. As the pacific purity of the moonlight showered its abundance on the stacked wooden floor through that enormous skylight, the non-existant roof of that singular log cabin, even our shadows seemed bright..

 A sudden gust of the previously lurking wind rose up among the full, weighty boughs of that lonely tree and as it rose it seemed to pass along a secret that the vibrant leaves whispered to each other. Slowly it grew, rising in a crescendo of cacophonous bloodlust and the tree let out a final carrying sigh of countless whispers saying killkillkillkillkill... marked with an exclamation of intent, its spine cracked as an outlet for the violence it was witnessing. I needed no further encouragement and I ended our flirtatious dance closing the wary distance between us. As she fell, her shadow bright, shortened in an exaggerated and elaborate mimicry of her fall.

 The blood was a blemish against the stark whiteness of the moonlight. And have you noticed, blood seems to shimmer with an ethereal quality under that brilliant light of a full moon. Even the violence seemed fantastical under that light. For a moment I doubted I was there, but then I heard it: The profound silence of the satisfied wind and the shimmering leaves. The tree seemed a little straighter; it had found a companion tonight.

Understanding love, Not!

I have been struggling with this huge question of late. Of course huge as an adjective is always relative. Anyway, the question is about love. I have been arguing, fighting, pondering and sometimes just blankly staring at this concept of love. I have been struggling to understand filial and fraternal love. I cannot even wrap my head around the concept of love with a random stranger be it platonic or non platonic - so, I will not talk about it now.

What is this bond - almost indestructible among brothers, between sons/daughters and parents? Why is there an unwritten sense of obligation one feels in giving and reciprocating this abundance of affection? How is it that when it comes to their children, people have this cornucopia, this akshaya patram of time, understanding, patience and yes love? I said unwritten, but maybe it is written in your genes.

With friends, for the last time I felt an actual pain at separation, I have to think back to school or when I moved house when I was 14. I haven't truly missed anybody since I was in 10th standard. It was not a teary farewell when I left home to go to college or even when I travelled nearly 9000 miles to come here to the U.S. Now that I write it out and am saying it aloud in my mind, 9000 miles seems like such an awfully big distance. Yes the excitement of a new journey, the beginning of a new part of my life, the mystery of a new place; all these things must surely have distracted me. But as I said I did not truly miss anybody from back home. Then why do I feel guilty about not calling my dad often enough or skyping with my mom only every time there is a mention of Justin Bieber in a serious discussion about music. (I am not talking about youtube comments here).

Why does my brother feel so invested in my progress? I expect him to feel irritated when I call him for help or advice or just random conversation. He never is. A few years back, when I told my dad that I was not going to take the prestigious job that was pretty hard to come by but work at a start up instead, he obviously had something to say about it. There was this interesting dichotomy in me: I was incredibly doubtful about the saneness of my decision but at the same time, the more my dad told me it was a bad decision the more my doubt vanished (only to return when I put the phone down). I remember my winning argument, "Appa, I know what I am doing!" It is interesting of course only in the comfortable after glow of nostalgia. When you eat so much that you can't move, the discomfort is only a fleeting irritation when you think about it the next day.

Why at 25, do I still feel insecure and indecisive but at the same time so afraid and defiant about asking my parent's help? "Naan pathukaren" (I will take care of it) has always been my standard response to any questions about my well being or my future plans. How do they not get irritated by this? Now as I think about it with the cold calculation made possible by the lack of seeing eyes around me, especially those of my parents, I can view myself a little from their perspective. And in that view I don't see a very flattering image. I can have no patience with this guy that I am if I were his parent or his brother even. But why is it so easy to overlook these things for them? I am sure this is true for most families. Even my parents, I can understand a little. There is a sense of responsibility in having brought this chaotic being into this disturbing world. It is like a fish laying eggs in the deep depths of the ocean.

But, my brother! What responsibility does he have? Does the mere fact that he was born before me entitle me to his attention? I do not know. I do not understand. I will have to think some more or someone with a little more sense, no actually, a lot more sense has to make me understand. Anna! are you reading this?