Love By Numbers - My Saarang 09 entry

Well I know I haven't blogged in a while. It doesn't mean I haven't been writing. My latest was the online creative writing for Saarang 2009. I didn't win, but I'm still pretty proud of my work, after all its been ages since I've done anything of the sort.
My entry for "Three Phase" - you are supposed to write a poem, a one act play, and a short story on the same topic. The topics were 1. Love By Numbers 2. A is A and 3. Epiphany. The topics are really quite amazing if you think about it; they give you a lot of scope for abstract thought. I chose the first topic, seemingly the easiest. Well here's my weeks work. They aren't my best, but on the watch and a topic constraint, here's what I did: (Comments and criticisms are more than welcome :) )

LOVE BY NUMBERS
The Poem

Tell me, young one, of the land from which you come,
Where is your mother? Where is your home?
Abandoned, a poisoned derelict; your tears I see,
Mar a once wishful face, jubilant and carefree.

A heap upon my arms, you lay, turning me into a scoffer.
Are you the crème de la crème that society would proffer?
Weakened limbs and a scarred soul, distrust beckoning,
The more of your kind, the numbers I’d be reckoning.

Remember the times, when humankind was at its peak,
Its downfall, a mighty fall it was; the cause of which I seek,
A ludicrous leap of faith, an enervating provocation,
Hatred and corruption in enormous magnification.

I call out to the all the people left on this ravaged planet,
To forgo their narcissistic notions, to release their gauntlet.
Fighting has only brought tears and fears in victory,
Why testify time after time that we can’t learn from history?

I urge them to love not merely their kith and kin,
But to love by numbers, all the people and all within,
To love the differences and the reasons to be alive.
For when you close your hearts, you will not survive.



*****


LOVE BY NUMBERS
The Play


Disclaimer:
The following piece is a controversial work. I apologize if any derogatory statements have indirectly been derived. I have nothing with or against you.


Cast
Narrator
Antony Rudenham
Melvin Wendorg
Nina Bellina
Silipina Mendoza
Numerologist


(Curtains open. Stage lights up. The stage remains dark except for spotlights on the characters in conversation.)

Narrator: It is evening at a particular beach at a particular city. The sun would still hover around for a few more hours before it departs. There is a bench facing the sea, on which a young man is sitting, thinking and wondering. Another man is walking briskly on the pavement, taking in the smell of the ocean, and enjoying the breeze. He passes by the man on the bench.

Antony: Melvin! It’s been so long since I last met you. Five years is it? How have you been?
Melvin: Antony! Well, to tell you the truth, I’ve been better.
Antony: Really? On the contrary, my life has been splendid. Come on tell me what’s been on your mind.
Melvin: The unpredictability of life. I cannot take it anymore. I never know why I’m doing the things I’m doing and if it has any consequences.
Antony: It’s that unpredictability that makes living life worthwhile.
Melvin: I guess you should take a seat. This might be a long story.
Antony: I have all the time in the world my friend.

(The stage goes dark. Spotlight falls on a young woman sitting on a stool at the left side of the stage. She is dressed in an attractive sparkling red dress. Melvin gets up and points towards her.)

Melvin: Silipina Mendoza. Exhibit A.

(Spotlight falls on another young woman sitting on a stool at the right side of the stage. Melvin points towards her.)

Melvin: Nina Bellina. Exhibit B.

Antony: (rises; confounded) Who are these two women?
Melvin: They were both my wives, once.
Antony: Once?
Melvin: (jestingly) Now they are each others.
Antony: (a slight grin on his face) Sorry, did I hear that right? Did you just say...
Melvin: (breaking off Antony) Yes. (pause) Or at least I think so. You see, I believe in the stars. I believe in the numbers to set my life in place. But it had brought me into a totally unheralded predicament.
The astrologer I’d met showed me towards the constellation Gemini. He said I’d have two people in my life. The numerologist told me a pick a card out of a set of random cards. The number behind it was 9. And even he said I’d have two people in my life.
Antony: (mockingly) Constellations? There are trillions of stars in the universe. Every point in the sky leads to star. You might as well draw Marilyn Monroe on the skies and write observations on which direction her skirt blows.
Melvin: l picked the number 9 fifteen times in a row! Fifteen!
Antony: Wow! Incredible coincidence!
Melvin: Of course. One would think that. I tried hard not to trust their words. Maybe it was my good fortune, or maybe not, buy they both turned out to be right. I did have two people in my life. And now, I have none.

(Silipina gets up and walks down the stage towards Melvin.)

Melvin: Silipina. It was love at first sight for me. I’d met her at a bar. Her face was clear as a sunny day. She had such a charismatic demeanour and a splendiferous native simplicity, that I instantly struck chords with her. The night I asked her hand, she was wearing a glistening red dress, her brown hair tied up in a resplendent coiffure. I remember her red dress very well. It sparkled in the lights; left me dumbfounded.
Antony: (interrupting jestingly) found yourself dumb did you?
Melvin: (continued as though he hadn’t heard the remark) I was quite capricious those days. The numbers led the way. And once we’d been talking for a while, I chanced upon the opportunity to ask her about her birth date.

Silipina: Isn’t it wonderful that we happened to come here today? The sky is crystal clear. (pointed at the sky) Look at the stars Melvin, aren’t they beautiful?
Melvin: They sure are. It’s impossible to count all of them, I suppose. I believe that destiny is shaped by them. I mean, look at them, wide-eyed, watching our every move.
Silipina: Melvin, they are just stars. The Universe’s endowment to brighten a dark night. Stop wondering about all the things that they could be. You lose sight of the simple essence in their presence.
Melvin: True. But all I can do when I see them is wonder. Do you believe in fate, Silipina?
Silipina: I believe in serendipity. It’s not that our future is written down, we just chance upon the future that’d keep us going. It’s really up to us to write our own future.
Melvin: When is your birth date?
Silipina: November seventeenth.
Melvin: The year?
Silipina: 1979. Why?
Melvin: (muttering to himself, adding up the numbers, 1+1+1+7+1+9+7+9 = 36 = 3 + 6 = 9!!)
Silipina: Melvin?
Melvin: Oh sorry! Silipina, I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time now. Today, beneath the starry skies, I see your eyes, and I know that I want to look into those eyes forever. (He bends down on one knee and takes her right hand). Will you take my hand in marriage?
Silipina: (enthusiastically) Oh! You are the sweetest. Yes. YES! I will marry you.

Melvin: It was a grand wedding. We lived happily together for two years. I was still wondering if the numerologist I’d met was right; I’d have two women in my life, he’d said. She’d caught me one day asking the date of birth of another woman. Our relationship ended there.
(Silipina makes a melodramatic gesture, and flees)
Antony: You didn’t! Were you out of you damned mind Melvin? I thought you said happily married! Oh my! I’m really beginning to enjoy this story.

(Melvin continues)
(Nina gets up and walks down the stages towards Melvin.)

Melvin: One fine morning, I was taking a stroll, when I saw this woman. (reciting as if he was reliving the moment) Her skirt, a vibrant mix of carmine and ochre matching the autumn around us, danced in the wind, and her shawl rolled seductively behind her, as she walked towards me. Her black hair, flowed as graciously as her walk, its soft curls whispering subtle secrets, entrancing the air around her, as it did me. Her eyes, the colour of caramel, intoxicated me and her impeccable smile left me delirious. She was carrying a little basket of fruits. She was Nina.

Nina: Excuse me sir. You look so perplexed. It is the beauty of autumn isn’t it?
Melvin: Yes, I’m sure that’s what it is. Hi! I’m Melvin Wendorg. I haven’t seen you around here. I take a stroll here every morning.
Nina: I’m Nina. Nina Bellina. It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.
Melvin: The pleasure is mine, Nina.
Nina: I come from the North Country, bad business this time of year. Would you like to buy some apples?
Melvin: Sure, (searching around his pockets for his wallet) How much are they?
Nina: A dollar fifty a piece sir.
Melvin: Pretty expensive, I must say.
Nina: Just not the season sir.
(She hands him 2 apples)
Melvin: By the bye, what’s your date of birth?
Nina: My, my. Sir, is that really a question to ask a lady? (laughs)
Melvin: I’m so sorry. I did not mean to be so direct. Pardon me madam.
Nina: (looks at Melvin for a while, clearly flummoxed) If you must know sir, eleventh of the fifth month, nineteen eighty two.
Melvin: (muttering to himself as he added up the numbers)
Nina: Sir? Sir, are you alright?
Melvin: (shouts) Nine! (Coming back to his so called senses) oh! I’m sorry. Nina, I can see you are an unmarried woman. You are almost at your prime. A pretty woman such as you shouldn’t remain unmarried for long. I ask for your hand in marriage. (He bends down on one knee and takes Nina’s hand).
Nina: (frightened) Sir, this is out of the blue! You do not even know me. And I don’t know who you are. Right now, you are really scaring the bejesus out of me. What makes you so sure about me, Mr. Impulsive?
Melvin: (laughs) It’s already been written. It’s in the numbers.
Nina: Sorry? Sir, I really need to go. (She turns around and runs).

Antony: (claps thrice mockingly) Very romantic I must say.
Melvin: Oh but she did come back. The next day she was waiting for me. She came up to me and said that she accepted my proposal. I do not know what changed her mind. But she was fickle minded, I tell you.
Antony: Fickle-minded? Her? (laughs)
Melvin: It didn’t last.
Antony: You were surprised? (laughs) Classic conflict twixt sentiments distinct, my friend.
Melvin: Well, one day, Nina and I chanced upon my ex-wife.
(Nina stands with Melvin. Silipina, in a more regular attire, walks towards them)

Silipina: Found another one did you Melvin? You seem to be quite adept at this sort of thing. What are her numbers?
Melvin: Nina, come let’s go.
Nina: Wait, who is this woman?
Silipina: Silipina Mendoza, your husband’s ex-wife. It is a pleasure to meet you Nina.
Nina: Really? Melvin’s never talked about you. I know he was divorced, yes, but he would always evade the topic every time it comes up.
Silipina: You must certainly come with me then.
Melvin: (angry) What is this? This is absolute madness. Nina and I are living a happy life now, thank you.

(Silipina wasn’t listening. She had pulled Nina along with her, and they were busily chatting. Melvin, throws his arms in the air, and walks back to the bench)

Antony: (in a teasing tone) I’m sorry Melvin. I didn’t see that coming. Even though you married this woman in a most peculiar turn of events, at least you were happy with her.
Melvin: A week later, she, Nina, comes up to me with divorce papers in her hand. She tells me directly, that she’d met someone else. I did not want to ask any questions. I gave her what she wanted. Now, here we are.

Narrator: The sun is setting. The sky is a dull orange. An old man is walking on the pavement. He holds a wooden stick on his left hand and set of cards on his right. He is a numerologist.
Numerologist: My, would any of you young men want their future to be shown to them?
Antony: No, please don’t disturb us.

(The numerologist walks away, indifferent)

Melvin: (calls out) ... wait a minute.
Numerologist: (a twinkle in his eye) Yes sir. Do you want see what the numbers hold for you?
Antony: Melvin? What are you doing? You just told me how much this had affected your life.
Melvin: Sometimes, you’ve just got to see for yourself, if what you believe in is really true.
Numerologist: He is right you know, sir?
Antony: I did not ask for your opinion. (towards Melvin) Do as you wish. I’m afraid I can’t convince a man with such strong beliefs. What next? The Earth is really flat?
Numerologist: Here in my hand are a set of cards. Each has a number behind them.
Melvin: I know how this works. (He picks up a card and places it face down on the bench)
Numerologist: I see you are a man of faith. Turn the card over and show me, and I will show you your destiny.

(The stage goes dark. A spotlight falls on Melvin .)

Antony: Let me ask you, would you trust the numbers more than the people around you?

Narrator: Melvin closes his eyes and thinks hard. He slowly turns the card over and looks at it. The card is blank.

(Melvin looks up. The stage lights up. Antony and the numerologist are nowhere to be seen.)

Melvin: Guess I’ll be writing my own destiny this time.

(Curtains close.)





*****


The End



LOVE BY NUMBERS
The Short Story

Music, to me, is the language of the emotions. It is the lingua franca of passion and desire, of happiness and sorrow, of hatred and fear, and of love and hope. Twelve magical notes convolved in a myriad of mesmerizing sequences beguiling the hearts of millions who lend their ears. The beats, the octaves, and the diverse instruments orchestrate a feeling of what life is meant to be.
I was fortunate to find a person who shared the same passion as me. Her name was Talitha. The only thing she couldn’t do was ‘see’.
One fine evening, after my usual practice routine, I was making my way out from the band room on the terrace. The sky was a naive blue without a cloud in sight and a slight breeze kept the atmosphere lucid. I heard a faint voice, singing. Impressed, I moved towards it. That was when I first saw her. Her back was turned towards me. The dark blue shawl of her salwaar contrasted the sky, as it danced in the breeze, along with her satiny black hair. She was singing to the wind.
I quickly ran back to the band room and brought out my acoustic guitar. Catching her melody, I strummed the chords behind her. She was startled at first, but continued singing without turning around. Probably she wanted to amuse me and my pertinacity.
“Who is this?” she asked after she finished her song.
I kept strumming a vague tune. I wanted her to turn towards me, but she didn’t.
“You play beautifully”, she said.
“You sing beautifully”, I replied.
“Why, thank you!” she turned around and smiled. The first time I saw her smile; it took my breath away. She was wearing round black sunglasses, and I felt that behind those were the most amazing eyes a person could be endowed with.
I remember that day very well. She sang and I played through the evening, till the sky turned pink and orange. I never knew at that point of time that she couldn’t revel in the colours of nature as I did.
Over the next few days, we met everyday on the terrace. We sang, we danced and talked through the night. Talitha had lost her eyesight at the age of three in a gas explosion. She was a smart girl, however, and she learnt quickly how to live with and overcome her disability. All she remembered from the world of sight were hazy memories of her parent’s faces. She got along with life just fine. Her prime quality was that she refused to give up, and one day wished to make it big and maybe even secure the means the regain her eyesight.
As time went by, we grew closer. We shared our memories, our happiness, and our sorrow. I followed her home every night just to make sure she got there safe because she wouldn’t let me come along with her. Best of all, we made music together, and that was what kept us eternally bound.
I taught her how to play the guitar. Her lissom fingers found it hard to press the strings initially, but like I said, she learnt quickly. She wasn’t able to grasp the notes of the music readily, so I taught her the numbers and the tabs.
“This is such an amazing instrument!”
“It really is. Every time I play it, I feel as if I’ve lost a part of me in it.”
Soon we were writing our own tunes and she came up with the most beautiful lyrics. I was in love, and so was she and every thing was perfect.
Everything was perfect till I received the letter from the Army. I was to be drafted. I did not have a choice and I had to leave for at least two years. I told her that I would be safe and I would come home soon, but she knew as well as I did that the truth to that statement was as much as a tear drop in a flood of grief. I kissed her for the first time, and I left.

******


For three years, I didn’t hear from Rohit. My life became weary and hebetudinous. All I had was hope, that some day he would walk in, and I could hear his voice again, and feel his breath, and that our music would live on. Hope is a lie.
On one particular day, the atmosphere felt more oppressive than usual. I heard a set of three coarse knocks on the door. Apprehensive, I slowly walked towards the door, and called out.
“Who is this? What do you want?”
A deep, rough voice replied “Ms. Talitha. Ma’m I’m from the Army,” he paused, “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Rohit...”
He didn’t have to say anymore. My world was already spinning. After all these years, I feared this moment would come, I refused to believe it. Rohit, who taught me how to see a life beyond myself, who taught me the meaning of love, the only person I’d ever wanted to see...
“He has left a package for you,” the man outside continued, “he wished that it would reach you under any circumstance.”
“A package?”
I braved my tears and opened the door. I stumbled as I picked up the package from the man. It was a bit heavy.
“I’m deeply sorry for your loss. He was a good man and a courageous man. He loved you very much.”
I didn’t say anything. I was transfixed. And after a while, I heard his footsteps die as he walked away. Hasn’t he seen a blind woman’s tears? I went back inside, and ripped open the package hastily. A set of light plates fell onto the floor. I fumbled as I picked them up and I felt my fingers all over them. The all too familiar dots; It was Braille. They were numbers written in sequences of six arranged linearly.
I was confused. “Is this a game? He sends me a bunch of numbers? A code?” I did not understand the cause for my anger; maybe it was out of fear of acceptance.
Right then, I remembered all the times we’d spent together. I remembered the music. I pulled out his guitar and I pressed my fingers on the strings. I felt a slight pain. I must’ve pressed too hard; I didn’t care. I felt the numbers on the plate again, located them on the fret board, and I played and I played the last song he wrote for me.


******



The End