What would RTH do?

That is the question.

If I were in a highschool yearbook, they would vote me most likely to die of a lynch mob. That does not prevent me from opening my mouth and serving a warm hearty cup of STFU to people who deserve it. My dark scathing humor will leave no matter of existence untouched. My innocence will touch your soul.

Welcome to a warped world turned inside out and upside down. All sorts of discretion advised.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Tres Symphonique

It has been a long time since I posted something in my blog. I've been distracted by other mindless things that abound the internet. I've had several ideas that I could have penned. But there was an utter laziness on part of the brain to squeeze out the thoughts onto the finger tips for some constructive result.

However, I've been feeling different lately. My mood has been melancholic, of das sehnen, of die sucht. But what better cure for such saudade than provoking the mind. Of urging the brain to make an effort. To squeeze out the thoughts, the feelings, the nostalgia and let it all out in words. Fortunately, I don't have to step too far back in time to indulge in nostalgia. For the past week has been eventful. Mother nature manifested her awe inspiring powers and left me mesmerized. She created new memories while fondly bringing back some from yore. Here is what she composed, this is what I heard. Her three piece symphony.

Prelude:

A few nights ago, long before sunset, I lay in the grass and stared at the sky. I'd not done this since I was but a carefree teen. Of course the last time I lay down on my back and stared at the sky, I was laying down on rigid concrete, peering through the musky Bombay skyline counting out all the stars in the sky. This time around it was different. The grass was soft and pliable, but my mind concrete, I peered into pristine country skies, but my thoughts were concrete, but there I was a child again, once more searching into the sky.

Then it began, like a soft lingering melody. Wispy dark clouds darting across the sky. Like dancers swirling across the floor to the tunes of a lilting Pied Piper. Further above stout white clouds still stood strong promising calm within the eye of the storm. But right below closer to me, storm clouds chased. They blew gustily across my vision joining the massive wall forming in the North West. Way in the distant you could see the silent flash of lightning. To distant for the drum roll, for now I had to enjoy the soft melodic trill of the two rhythmic rows of clouds. One fair and stoic. The other dark and turbulent.

Allegro:

The dark clouds had been building their army. It had plundered and conquered up North West. The lost clouds were heading back our way. It took a good day or more, but then it came. The vibrating drum roll. The army was marching right in our direction.

Our awestruck group of mortal foolishly walked outside our shelters to marvel at the massive dark wall swirling in our way. The rhythmic beats of the drum, the accompanying notes of the trumpets and trombone, the sharp shimmering of the cymbals, the violins in their feverish staccato, even the flute playing a throbbing note. An army was approaching our way, an army announcing itself with natures own marching band.

The massive wall hurtled to us at startling speed. Dangerously low its base clipping the tips of the trees. The outside ranks swirled in a massive circle, with bated breaths we tried to study its battle formation. We wondered what the generals within the dark wall had in plan. Did the generals of the cloud plan to attack, or did they just want to threaten us with their unbeatable glory. Then the wall stopped. The outside formation swirling harder in feverish circles. The drum roll in our hearts getting faster and faster until fever pitch. Then mother nature laughed and she moved on. For now she just wanted us to dance to the tunes of her marching band. We were not ready to be consumed by it.

The wall moved on and then came the rain. A torrential gusty downpour of rain. The entire orchestra of wind instruments blowing triumphantly. At 60 mph the rains lashed out fiercely across the fields and our narrow country streets. The warm moist scent of the earth playing a subtle softer tune in the background. Just as fast as the music came, it stopped.

Rondo:

Silence must be heard. Only then can one truly appreciate the refrain.The orchestra had played its massive allegro, but not it was time to bid good night with a smoother rondo. The pitter patter of the aftermath rain fell gently upon me and slowly trickled down my brows. It was but a faint shadow of the massive deluge that was, but in natures symphony it was still a continuing part of the music.

Finally the clouds scattered away revealing the massive setting sun. A sun that shone vividly after being veiled for too long. The music of the sun bright and cheerful. Our entire existence was covered with a bright orange glow. It was not your everyday bright sunshine, it was different, it was of a faded glory, a romantic hue of a setting sun. The leaves glistened hues of gold, the waters on the streets liquid amber, I was compelled to cast aside my glasses and succumb to this brazen stupor. One last hurrah for the sun, one last chance to soak us in mellow warmth before turning in for the night.

Then in the yonder another trill. Stretching across the heavens like Gemini twins, two perfect arches next to each other. A rare and subtle double rainbow. Its bright, its colorful, its cheerful and all of a sudden everyone is breaking into ecstatic smiles. But like every dark cloud has silver lining, every cheerful note has an ambivalent farewell. Electric flashes framed the rainbow scategorically, lighning streaking across the sky, signaling the storm still making its way across in the yonder.

Closing Notes: 

The storm is gone. I fondly remember silent memories of childhood. Of tropical storms and the monsoons. Of days without power, and wading in the waters. Of laughing with friends in the streets, of soaking in all the showers. The music of our tropical storms and hurricanes was different. They had an earthy overtone. Of natures tablas and harmoniums composing a different symphony. But no matter where the storm and its symphony - the mood is always the same. Melancholy, of das sehnen, of die sucht. The day fades into darkness, and you wonder if the sehnsucht will ever fade with it.