She Comes To Visit

This time of the year is when I usually meet a dear friend; she visits me to accompany the abundance of space between four blank walls. Solitude, how are you so consistent? How do you overcome and override time and time again?

Most misconstrue your presence as the beginning of turmoil or something sad or pitiful, but to me, you have been good. To me, you are a guide or a pedagog who has shoved me into growth and besides, I like you. It makes me think that no matter how good a swimmer I am, the tide is something I continually fail to fathom.

Perhaps you condemned me on our first meeting; perhaps you didn’t. But we are much past that now; there is little time for dilly dallying and dicking around. With Solitude, I see clearer even if a film of tears clouds my vision. To make peace with an enemy, is to gain a friend, I assume, but despite the time we spend together and learn from each other, you are too unpredictable to trust. As much as I dwell in you in order to comprehend your ways, you evade me. I expect nothing different; you are mine till the very end. The thought of losing you leaves a bitter taste in my mouth like the first bite of uncooked karela; I can munch all I want but a sweetness will never avail.

That is what makes it okay for my dear friend to come and make a place in my being from time to time. It’s quite alright for I know, that her visits to me are but visits and maybe, she sees me as a mirrored visitor too. Maybe I’m okay with her skulking around in nooks and crannies of my shoebox-sized dorm room because I’m skulking around in hers simultaneously. If I get closer I’ll love her more, and so the only appropriate approach during this lonely time of year, is gratitude. So thank you.


© 2017 Pia Krishnankutty & springtidevoice. All Rights Reserved


OQ #39

I feel the most non-bullshit lesson in life is the Goldilocks principle. Extremes are momentary while the ‘middle’ is all around us, everyday.

  1. Most concentration of numbers is found in the middle of a bell shaped curve
  2. Earth isn’t too close or too far away from the sun
  3. Microwaving a cookie at just the right temperature between warm and burn-your-tongue hot
  4. Finding middle ground during conversations
  5. How being average or ‘normal’ can feel most fulfilling

© 2016 Pia Krishnankutty & springtidevoice. All Rights Reserved

Pro : A Reflection Through Realism

This is fiction. Pro ~ protagonist. Yes, the picture is just pretty and of no relation whatsoever.

For four years, Pro was witness to household conflict. They heard one too many loud arguments. So like any young adult, Pro made it all about themselves.

Pro resorted to the typical vices and distractions but maintained a full proof
façade of contentment and emotional numbness. At times, they felt free but such moments were short-lived.

Pro eventually grew up and grew out of self-centered approaches. You would assume that after four years, they would have become used to the discord . Yet, Pro was partially unhappy on the sunniest of days.

Pro eventually reached a conjunction in their life. They achieved their first modicum of success – they achieved their dream. However, financial obstacles thwarted this opportunity. In short, Pro won the race but did not receive their trophy. They got into the college they deserved but couldn’t afford.

Many factors contributed to this monetary mix up and Pro was well acquainted with the excuses.  The sensex sucked, the market crashed, this that and more. But deep down, Pro knew that disharmony between loved ones and within oneself was the root of all problems.

Pro accepted their fate and moved on. They eventually went to a university not too far away. They made friends and got incredibly intoxicated on weekends. A few years later, Pro tied the knot and changed jobs. Many of Pro’s friends made comments about what a sacrifice it was, but Pro honestly did not mind leaving behind their old job; their past.

Three years into Pro’s marriage, they felt the pressure of having kids. This resulted
in heated arguments. Eventually, Pro gave in and had two children. It was the perfect
Cereal Packet family.

As one could imagine, Pro entered a mid-life crisis. They blamed their partner for all their failures. Pro never loved the university they attended, Pro never loved any of their jobs, Pro never loved their partner and now, Pro was running out of love for their kids.

A divorce shortly ensued.

The years passed and Pro would watch the clock snail from hour to hour. Over time, Sundays were spent with grandchildren and Thursday afternoons were dedicated to Rummy. Pro died of natural causes at the age of 88 years. It was an everyday tragedy. You see, Pro’s life was far from special. It was utterly predictable but it would be controversial to begin contemplating its value.

If there is anything we learn, it’s that its hard to be the protagonist of our stories; something that Pro blindly experienced and failed to confront. Accepting that we may not live up to our plots is a difficult lesson. There is so much more that we can be but at the same time, there is so much we aren’t already. To recognise that and learn from it, is wisdom.

© 2016 Pia Krishnankutty & springtidevoice. All Rights Reserved


Fleeting thoughts of a preacher who suffers from sleep

I’m preachy, pretty preachy (if that is a fact that I am allowed to preach).

Preach, preach, preach is what I find I can do best. I preach for my mosque and my friends and in ordinary conversations with ordinary folk. I preach to myself when my fists are tight and my face is wet before a cracked mirror. Everyone can speak but few can really preach. I orate and berate and use big, bold words that can entrance all no matter how small the audience because often, my voice is larger than their scepticism. I preach because it keeps me sane, though others need a little preaching to keep themselves sane and it’s quite alright to feel that way because I do too.

“I feel that pain, I know those feelings” and because I say I do, its easier for them to listen and less painless for me to preach it. Preaching is part of my passing. It isn’t particularly wonderful nor wonderless but I get others to wonder at it and in some tangle of ways I can find my bliss. Though if I’m being frank, it is most difficult to preach when I sleep for then I am quiet and so is my conviction.

I wake up and I remember parts of my preachless sleep as fragments and I’m not able to put them together with the exact precision with which I am able to vocally emit the things I posit as I stand in my white finery, kippah upon my head, by thick books, surrounded by lingams placed in a comfy altar. Or worse, I don’t dream what I preach. A part of my mind is not as preachy as I believed and how can that be?

They come in masses or one at a time but nevertheless, they come looking and I come receiving. Yet I wonder, in the few minutes before which the gates close before my night sight, if ever a thought passes through their mind that I possess a part that is not completely sure, regardless of the state of consciousness. I have a capacity to wonder. “Now, now”, I tell myself, sitting up and waiting for Surya to lighten the skies, “All shall be well come Sunday morning”.

© 2016 Pia Krishnankutty & springtidevoice. All Rights Reserved

OQ #17

(Quoting my grandma while breaking eggs during baking.)
“So much beauty comes from the kitchen” *smears raw egg white on cheek*

© 2015 Pia Krishnankutty & springtidevoice. All Rights Reserved

OQ #4

Some things we hear are like coffee stains on our minds. They eventually dry out of our memory but an unshakable stickiness remains.

© 2015 Pia Krishnankutty & springtidevoice. All Rights Reserved