Thursday, May 23, 2013

Awaiting your Florence Nightingale...

Imagine that you, along with the whole world, are sitting on individual sickbeds awaiting the nurse. A nurse's job is to take care of those who lay bedridden within the expanse of the hospital and when she misses her hourly check, you are uncomfortable to say the least. Like so, most of us go through the motions of life in a spotless domain as tiresome and pedantic as the hospital walls. Infected by a plague that has seeped into the populace, we see that only precious few can get better for they possess an antibody, natural or acquired, to cure themselves. Festering and convulsing, they come out in such times of distress, terror and unbearable boredom, to fight what the body and soul cannot handle. Unlike any other hospital, each and every patient comes with their own medical supplies. You are all prepared with your vials and beakers full of medicine, waiting for relief. A line of nurses come and pour vials of ink and paint, that the patient has accumulated over the years, over the bitter wounds and see that not only is it anti-septic but also the perfect cure to their woes. The others who presented glass vials of pure gold and emeralds, sadly, remained as void as before. The medicine was not right and it was almost like trying to quench a thirst for water with champagne.
                                                                                          In time, these patients learnt to accept that not all people are meant to be truly healthy. The pink of health, was an open yet guarded clique who were blessed with something out of this world. The fated patients realized that the perfect assembly of mind, body and soul will remain unfairly and unfortunately, elusive to a majority. An understanding loomed over them that there must be the ones affected by sickness to recognize the brilliance of those who are in the prime of life.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Annealing Grains into a Damsel

It was always a little perplexing, why people associate being covered from head to waist in glittering and menacing gold as beautiful. For someone who reads through books and applies a bit of grey matter, you can understand why it evokes that wide-eyed amazement a pirate has when he lays his eyes on the bounty. It could also be the lust-soaked gaze of a man who is hardened by poverty, who is within grasping reach of his ticket to Utopia. Whatever it may be, the sheer lust that diamonds, silver and gold strike comes second only to the desires of the flesh. Quite recently, an unassuming woman understood what it meant to be overcome with such a powerful emotion. One that hasn't been written about quite a lot.
                         As always it starts with a wedding, well an engagement to be precise. A reasonably feminine woman who nurses a desire to be the belle of the ball, goes hunting for the perfect necklace. Her beige outfit is elegant but not complete and cannot truly shine without that necklace of her dreams. Within moments, fine wisps of her imagination tangle up in all permutations and combinations to form this gorgeous string that adorns her unspectacular neck. While crossing roads and alleys, she notices this small silver shop and goes in on a whim. A cursory and casual scan over the small but clean shelves and there it is; the manifestation of her dreams. It looked as if Michelangelo himself descended from the heavens, chisel in hand, to create that regal strand. Etched to elegance and burnt to a fine patina, this necklace was born to beautify a curious woman who stood at the cusp of connoisseurship.