Tuesday, May 06, 2008

My India


As i stood on the ninth floor behind a misquito net and a protruding window, i looked at the Gateway in its majestic demanding presence. I felt like i was imposing on a picture. It was perfectly beautiful and timeless.

India in all its glory with a personality like no other. In the mornings i woke up to my 7 year old cousin always happy glowing and smiling. People made yoga on the square. I was grossly ripped off in buying postcards for double the price. People Harass you and wonder where you from.

Families come onto the sqaure. I walked from a distance, i should have gone closer. Beggers with babies and deformed people. People. All the people.

And taxis. So many Taxis. hooting all the time. silence

A ShOrT StOrY by Zoo Lay Gha

Short Story 1:

She picked up her red Nine West patent bag and let the thought linger a moment longer. It was ridiculous the exuberant prices one would pay for synthetic leather and yet it sold like CDs do on a R50 Musica sale. She chewed the extra hot Nandoes chicken and licked her fingers decidedly, moving a stray hair out of her face, which had just underwent a Arabella Spa treatment two days before and smiled at herself slowly, just for a minute she pretended that he was sitting in front of him. He had insisted on the facial even though it wasn’t really her scene. Nine West Bags was about as girlie girlie she got.

She got up and tossed the half drunk bottle of sprite and climbed into her legal car, she indicated to turn left and went right. She tuned into KFM and after hearing a Celine Dion song pushed her MP3 into her CD Player. An MP3 he made played.

It was aptly called, Sunday with FairyPlum. She can remember that Sunday clearly, they have been sort of dating for about a month, and spent the day at his place, when his overstrict grandmother had gone off on one of her religious rounds visiting all the sick people on the planet. They were hanging out in his room, listening to music, talking ok and kissing.

The front dor opens and in walks his very over protective grandmother with half her troop of equally religious spinster women.

Zara reluctantly hops into the first cupboard just in time before Hitler Granny steps into the room and finds him siting infront of his PC finishing off an Accounting Tutorial.

That song he said he loved played and although she wasn’t all that into Slipknot, listened to each sound, word and note as if she listened close enough there would be a secret message.

Sea Point was deserted, she climbed out in the empty parking lot, she undid the tie she wore with her work shirt and trousers.

*****

He smiled at her soft way she twitched her eyes. The way her nose wrinkles up looking like an overgrown newborn, her hair in an untidy bun, too long to leave loose and too short to plait.

She was certainly different, she had a slightly odd, delicately funkey and absurdly beaurecratic way of compiling an outfit. Especially for someone in Asset Management, very boring, very very ordinary.

He sees her at every corner, she indicates left and goes right, the cars maneuver around her like she is invisible and only he can see her.

She is talking and not listening to a word he has to say, but he doesn’t really mind just seeing her is enough.

He opens his eyes and she isn’t there, he doesn’t know where he is, everyone is walking past him, so fast so quickly and no one realizes his pain, no one can see that his insides have almost vaporized and all that remains is a vague outline.

She drives recklessly, she know she shouldn’t but it doesn’t matter anymore not after the fight, not after saying all those words, words that you just cant take back.

She picks up her cell and dials his number, even hearing his voice message will make her feel better will nourish and feed her insides.

But reception is bad or her phone is faulty she knows she charged it last night but the battery only has one bar.

She has to see him one last chance and drives to his house, only he isn’t there anymore. She knocks on the door but no one answers. She peers through the window and can see the fireplace they used to hang out at roasting marshmallows on sosatie sticks so often but the front room is empty.

She is concerned, yesterday he was there, 24 hours ago, the fight was bad but surely he hasn’t left, surely he hasn’t given up on her on them. Her heart feels heavy and she starts crying. Tears just pour out and she starts sniffing. She climbs into her car and starts driving, she indicates right and turns left, and goes back to Nandoes, where she has forgotten her Bag. She needs to get to his work. Jim is on the Mac working and slaving around, he isn’t there. Jim complains about him leaving and mentions it to David his son who works with him.

It hits her like a rock, he really has left, he has packed up and left.

She should have made up with him, it was such a stupid fight she couldn’t even remember what it was about, he wasn’t at work, he wasn’t at home and she doesn’t know where he is. He could be in Norway with Sammy his best bud, he could be in Joburg, he could do what they were supposed to have done together, he could be in New York.

She could e mail him, that wouldn’t have changed.

Well unless he really has changed his name as he said he always wanted. He never had parents, he grew up in an orphanage and for the past three years they were each others best friends. Sammy his best bud had moved to Norway, Andy was in Joburg somewhere and everyone else, well whom ever else she vaguely knew and would never be able to locate.

Well, except Sherwin, and there was this glimmer of hope, he works at Beroocas in the waterfront so she gets in her car and drives as fast as she can.

It got dark awfully quick, time passes by so quickly she doesn’t keep track of it anymore and everything just seems so different.

Maybe in the dark things seem different, Baruccas is busy, Sherwins the chef there, but he is standing at a table talking to someone, a very special someone. Its him, he looks different older, he is wearing a very odd shirt, its stiff and fancy very unlike him. His hair is neat and short, he isn’t wearing his glasses, he is holding a glass of wine and smiling.

And as she walks closer, he isn’t alone at the table, there is a girl, an its not any girl it’s a girl who is holding his hand, but its not any kind of handholding, he is hooding her hand and kissing it like he used to, like he kissed hers last week.

He is kissing her hand and she realizes, she figures it out.

She couldnt figure out why he was acting so different, why he was acting so distant with her. It was as she wasn’t there anymore.

She did see him for lunch at Nandoes, it was their Truce meeting maybe that’s what he wanted to tell her then. But she was speaking, no shouting no begging him, but he just sat there silently eating as if she wasn’t there.

And here he was kissing this other girls hand.

It didn’t hurt, it made her nauseous, she wanted to vomit but nothing came out. Tears were coming out of her eyes, but her cheeks never got wet.

He doesnt love her anymore, he didn’t care about her and thats why he was so distant.

After all they have been through, she had wanted to make up with him so bad, but it was too late, and then she got angry, she wasn’t too lat, he was cheating on her and she got angry, almost venomous as she usually got when she almost became irrational..

He looked out of the window onto the waterfront and he could almost see her. She was standing there in the rain and he felt guilty.

He heard of being haunted by love, but seeing her everything, even when he made love to the new women in his life she was there looking at him, and orgasms are pretty difficult when your dead ex is looking at you.

The END

Contemplations and a Realisation

I thought I had figured it out. I thought I had found the exact ingredients, conjured the correct combinations and extracted the perfect solution, I thought I had found the answer that should be replied to the most asked questions.

Every so often you feel this bliss, and I must admit it has started occurring a lot more often.

Maybe its because I have started become more accepting, of a body not replicated to that of Halle Berry on a bad day, but ones that seems fairly comfortable clothed in a size 14 funky ¾ corduroy jeans and a bright red shirt with hair that will always be too curly and never straight enough.

Maybe it’s the fact that in the end I am doing exactly what they wanted, however the way I am doing it, is exactly the way I had always wanted.

Maybe it’s letting go of pressures that would sink me even though I am an excellent swimmer.

Maybe it’s because I found a man to love who loves me and whom I would never have loved because nothing is good enough and his love would never suffice.

Maybe it’s letting go of perfection and the need to paint this perfect picture and accept the untidy splatters of an inexperienced and uneducated artist.

Maybe it’s because even God in her infinite wisdom is smiling at me, almost like she knows something I don’t.

Maybe its because Nine West has a sale on and boots in my colour and in my size!!

Just Maybe…

Some more thoughts

I never seem to need a reason to watch a movie, but the other day, it was a chilly sunday early evening actually, KD and I had decided (upon my insistence and his kindness) to watch a documentary on Rumi (Abby I know you would appreciate this)

Unfortunately, I was severely disappointed, the documentary taught me nothing more than there was a bunch of people really in awe of him.

But none of them really knew why they were so fascinated with this dervish.

I think my fascination with dervishes and sufis is simply that they so go against the conventional way Islam is practiced.
Oh dear dare I approach the religion factor to my blog? This is treacherous and dangerous lands I dare trespass.

Society, culture and religion are so closely integrated its nearly impossible to really differentiate between them. I mean we are born Muslims, we were not given the choice to practice, it was enforced on us. Yet we do have the choice of free will, and for some people a muslim who decides to not practiced needs to be shunned. Surely then that persn is not being granted the choice of free will, free will which is a right to all individuals.

Now before everyone jumps on your back for saying, a Non Muslim and a half Muslim and all the other things that will oh yes will be stressed and pointed out, God created Adam, and Adam was not a Muslim, well because religion was not really created then so to speak.

Surely we are allowed to wonder of those things, like where we all come from, and did all of come from Adam and Eve, and where exactly heaven is, and whether there is a shortcut to heaven or not (wishful thinking)

Although Moslem school did teach me much I get irritated that the standard of teachers is so limited. I once asked a Moslem school teacher why there were no female prophets and the answer I got was “I will pretend I did not here that”

I am in that wondering and pondering stage in my life.

There are so many actors out there, people pretend every single day and its so scary. Its nearly terrifying.

Blame Facebook for my abstance but I am back:)

This is my first post for 2008.

And for that I do not apologise, I have been a busy lady.

December came and went, I finally got my drivers Licence which means I am legal on the road, I started a new job at the same company, I travelled to India and Dubai and the other bit of bigger and better news which I am not mentioning yet.

Its about tenish and I am listening to some soppy stuff feeling all sentimental and silly.