To Quill the Mocking World
(4 min read)
We were waves. Rising and falling. Breathing and sighing. Social butterflies one moment, recluses the next. With our delirious crests and rocks-on-heart troughs, we were waves. I knew it the moment I saw you. Of course we weren’t the perfect twins. Your amplitude was much larger than mine. Rather you were more comfortable reaching your peaks than I was. My inhibitions worked as the most efficient clipper and I stayed between the lines. And from down below I saw you stretching beyond me and hitting those perfect inflections. Oh how I admired you! Of course it meant that when you were low, you hit rock bottom. In those moments I wished I was the one who you would look up to. But you didn’t. Maybe that was the first sine.
But you know I could deal with that. Your highs gave me such a high that I was ready to ignore that I was not your companion of lows. At least we were not out of phase with each other!
But as a qualified electronics engineer like yours truly would tell you, it isn’t just about what wave you are. We were both sines, we knew that.
The only way we could keep going despite our differing loudness was to meet at the axis. Where we were completely at peace with each other and everything was nice, neutral and naked. Your loudness and my softness combined to form the most beautiful silence.
But it’s that often used, often abused term where we differed the most: wavelength. That bitch of a parameter! I was the shriller, needier one. Reeling with joy at our one meeting, I’d rush to the axis again looking for you, only to move on disappointed. You were elsewhere, with waves of your kind, while I stayed close to the axis with fingers crossed, waiting. Cursing myself for being so impatient, and yet unable to change who I was fundamentally. And then just when I’d want to give up on you, you’d turn up at the the next intersection, your basal voice sending shivers down my sine. You would be your usual self, oblivious of how much you made me wait. “You’re late!” I’d remind you. “Oh sorry, but I can’t help it” you would say in a matter of fact tone. I was not the only victim of my parameters.
And so it went on, my cycle of being at peace and in pieces. Relentless, persistent that maybe someday you would want to see me more often. I couldn’t blame you, but the heart hoped. And often hope leads to nothing but frustration. Every stroke of disappointment was weakening my resolve a little more and I kept fading away. Even our rare intersections were not enough to bring back my strength. This was a roller coaster. A roller coaster has its ups and downs, but at the end of it, all you want is to get off it.
I looked up in despair. What do I do?
“Have you tried turning it off and on again?” asked the voice.
Of course, the age old solution!
I got off the wave. It wasn’t easy. Losing my amplitude, my energy, my very identity. But it was necessary. Because every bit of being a wave reminded me of you. You may call it self destruction, I call it a reset.
Today I am off the grid, at the origin, at peace with myself, switched off to disturbances and ready to begin when I’m truly ready. It’s the end of a wave but the origin of another. And maybe this time, I’ll choose the treble over the bass.
A compulsive nocturnal, Chanda is a consultant by day and a dreamer by night. Her happiness lies in chai, chitchat and chicken momos. She resorts to food for comfort, sings for joy, and occasionally acts for her fix of the stage lights. Loves watching and absorbing the world around her. And when these observations become too strong to be housed inside, she writes.
(Click here to read our first book “Mirrored Spaces” : A poetry and art anthology in English and Hindi with contributions from 22 artists)