Sunday, October 30, 2005


I have a bruise on my upper thigh the size of a five rupee coin. The strange thing is that I can’t remember at all, how it could have got there. As far as I can recall, no one hurt me or pushed me into a corner where I would hurt myself. No one bit me. I didn’t stumble, and I didn’t wake up from bed to find myself lying on the floor. Although I’ve done that once before.

This bruise looks like something a big cat left behind with its paws, minus the blood and the everything spilling out bit. More like a gentle scratch perhaps. There are five distinct marks, each the precise red of dried petals left in between the pages of an old notebook. If they were any redder, I would mistake them for blood, even though I can’t feel any pain.

People are fond of comparing the mind to a sieve. If that holds, then I must have one with an extra coarse mesh, the kind which is always letting the stones drop out with the flour. When I find the time, I plan to go in to the nearest departmental store and order myself something different. Extra fine, please, I will walk in to the counter and say. Or make it more fancy, I will tell the man standing there, Extra fine and Supergrip, plus a ten rupee worth of add-on features, what do you call them, those dust-sensors to keep out those unwanted bits and pieces of memory, old mould stuck in the mind.

Until then, I will wait, for someone, for something, to give me the keys to the missing parts of myself.


Anjali said...

Is it age that loosens the sieve, do you think, or all the accumulated clutter? I have this vision of a hold-all mesh bursting at the seams with junk collected over the years. With bits of trivia leaking out of the increasingly stretched pores.

apu said...

Blame it on age, I say, anything and everything can be attributed to it...

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