Unsaid
Unsaid (Story synopsis)
Renowned actress Vasavi is no more. Gossip mongers are in full blown action, they are spreading rumors ruthlessly even about this sad hour that she is not a normal death, she was actually killed. Seemingly, a postmortem is inevitably ensuing, the death news is still fresh and quite tantalizingly, tossing and rushing in public to dumbstruck everyone. Vasavi was in Puri, during the last week, with a holiday plan, apparently poised to be undisturbed. She was accompanied by her journalist friend Arman, and writer friend and relative Amiya. Both of them are in the caught up cues of cacophony and tantrum, quite an iron deficiency in robust life log. Unwanted crowded reasons accused of killing a holiday mood.
Envy is the sister of compassion undeniably denied the alibi beforehand. Amiya and Arman undergoing the harder path of knowing Vasavi in the other shed of light was of teardrops of that vulnerability, a story telling style belonging to that genre. Everyone knew that Vasavi was a bohemian personality. Anarchy was a plethora throughout her entire life, a translucent glow , sufficient to dim the expectation to expect that it will be a miraculous salvation. Vasavi was a writer too.
Was she a glum and glee with a blessed world, in her world building daydream?
That is a different story of a different day. It was not rocket science to infer that she must be a chronic exposure to yellow journalism. She indeed was.
And Amiya and Arman, they both were mourning centering this unknown Vasavi, their subtle love did churn up, knowing every bit, even knowing every single bit of the compromise . And then it is their return story too, a lived one, a first hand shelter to each other , not to mimicry, but to serenity. A reason to love a life, rather than to hate anything about that.
Vasavi, in the beginning: (A doodle in Amiya's diary)
Vasavi, the renowned actress was born without confirming the knowledge on her end that Vasavi was a Goddess, Indra's wife, as mentioned in the Hindu scripture.This one was born to a middle class family with a mediocre vision of the clear blue sky that held no clear ambition about the girl and her future that will be an accurate calibration of most other frequency of a hot debate about heavenly existence.
Is there a God?
Blackened and proud eyes to face against all odds, without even witnessing a halibut fish , or even a trout?
Vasavi's father was an atheist. The mother was a torn up Gayatri Mantra, half oblivious sitting in the gratitude showcase , with half red tape in the half lit neon light. There is nothing achievable with a debate preconceived in the line of action. Not even a US Lady to run for presidency. Nobody tried to make me a sober voice here, with a damaged fine arts degree, this is my narration style and sensible understanding in thinking aloud about Vasavi. She is someone who drinks, attends parties and leads a wayward bohemian life as a prerequisite warranted memento of an actual actress acting and earning, out there, as if a cast-in-situ is a column pillar duo in the building diva.
On the other side, I feel curses, I write with cursive effects, with the precursor in the raw bin of anger management. They will call here on the eve of their farewell gathering which is almost a miniature for impeachment for housekeeping hedonism , a mere serenity prayer with "don't lose heart." in the banner and logo.
I submit my homework there, about Emmett Till, the boy who was brutally killed for eve teasing a girl. Holding the situation accountable , I come back and still pray. In my recess time I pray for my daughter's serene future and most often than not, I shiver about any cleaning chores to be done precisely in between the two. even though here I consider her, this actress's soul , into friendship. With a nihilism on the divine side. With her in, I will be a supplicating lip , doing no buying business about any side. Otherwise, it will be a life threatening mishap.
God is my witness, that is not my territory. I have my temperament issue, impossible to treat in quick fix mode, and also irreversible in the pristine most form. Trying with lesser and lesser adjectives traveling home bound. The magnanimity of assimilation of growing up and feeling matured.
What an endangered species of bravery! Kudos to the think tank!
She is an accordion harmony, with sounds off and on, and I will be an anger management hype in Murphy's law even though Beethoven was also almost subtly possible, with a bit of help from a hearing aid! A far away distant tune of nirvana. She was a beauty. God was a gift of eloquence with her voice. With her unbridled hair wrapped around her mystic face, she was unmindful, a poetic line where poetic erotica was a dancing ecstasy praising her presence around the smell of sunlight, and I felt . I felt I was rejuvenated each time to linger about life, not about death. With her fingers softly stirring the spoonful sugar around the teacup, with her subtle voice beforehand , asking for needed wishes, I felt often that the poem is not masculine, not feminine, it is a mere beauty that touches the heart. I loved her, And I will always love her. In all mundane forms, I loved this actress friend of mine.Without rushing for her consciously, to the fullest account.
(From my memory lane- Amiya).
Unsaid (The cascade and the casket)
The body of Vasavi would be taken to homeland with due respect and protocol. Amiya and Arman will be joining the funeral, the date is not yet declared in public.Today is an absolute diva of a sun danced blessed sky, yet unfortunately a grave warning of death and tragedy is overwhelmingly present in subtlety , as if the lamenting vibe has a motto here, in every should and could and measuring the degree in announcing the fortitude in a rather meticulous way.
Unsaid (Arman and his coping mourners).
Arman was deeply trying to meditate after all these years. Vibrant life, colorful and incognito, happening in a bohemian way, that never settled down to respond to the deep is suddenly a thorough question of belonging in the innermost core. She was an absolute warning sign in recent years, perhaps a syndrome question to tame down sporadic public appearance, but never ever, a death planner.
When we are true, are we humble through tests, trials and tribulations as there is a need for validations?
Arman never had a pausing moment to address these sets of questions, awkwardly nagging, ever ready to read as an insider, with more, way more demanding memorandum of understanding, than the rigidly assigned living room space for the socializing arena. These are less preferable questions,with more skeptical answers in balancing the light hearted witty humors. These are all bargainer questions that have no right or wrong answers throughout a lifetime, yet tantalizingly available for discussion, as flesh and bones are not the true rationality, rather thinking brain is, but most of the time, only active up to a cliché if a submittable verbose is glaring in the end .
A denial to the room service as you know they do induce charges, usually.
Arman wanted to burst out into tears , but on the contrary, he went out for a hairdo. The least to be expected at this hour.
Unexpected, yet, not impossible. He thought . At last.
Received your letters.
The way modern world is a roller coaster in oblivion , is a strange colorful butterfly. camouflaging an estranged theory, rejuvenating and promoting the other. The hot topic of last weak is a tarnished, torn out yellowish page lying on the floor today.Null and void.
Rubbing to remove the slippery effect from your soap case.This is one weak old.
As you just woke up. One week after.
The little Rip Van Winkle in you is also happy, as it is not yet full term. And people are different.
in priorities, pressing emotions and in prejudices. Quite a rainbow.
They are leaving you , one by one
Last night Arman had a nightmare, still the headache is talking way loud , perhaps the pain is waiting for a mood stabilizer. Sometimes he thinks about the total wake up call. One way or the other. Life is a thesaurus there with a painful appendix there.Aspiration was there that there will be a butterfly. This is not the high time, when they do appear, they appear in platoons. Lots of color, lots of rainbows.
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