Candy's Story: Part 6

The treachery of the sea began showing its ugly face. Aperture waged a war on three ends. The first was against the inhabitants of the world he lived in. They totally abandoned him for they felt that Candy had brought upon them a curse that disrupted their fragile bonds of friendship. The feeling of hatred was further engendered by one wily, rotten-toothed, sympathy seeking friend of no one but Aperture himself. The second battle that Aperture braved was against his ambitions that demanded a lot from him. He was failing his own expectations and that disturbed Aperture a lot. While all of this was taking a toll on him, the final blow came from the words of “his” Candy. She told him that she no longer loved him because he, Aperture loved her “as per his convenience”. She told him that Aperture was so full of himself that he could not love anyone. She told him she wanted more from him than to be a mere recourse to someone’s emotional stagnation. And this was his third war. The war wounded him fatally. He won the first two by an iota but lost the final one miserably. His world crashed. Aperture hung on to Candy with fear. The fear of losing. He became bitter than before. He hopelessly lost faith in everything. But a storm had taken root in Candy’s soul. Yet she stood by his side throughout his period of madness which thankfully waned in the due course of time but the remnants of which lingered until he left that dark world.
Candy, the lighthouse, braved all storms and still stood to show the light. In the face of a storm it’s the lighthouse that remains intact but it’s the ship that wrecks. Aperture had a shipwreck and was thrown off on an island within the territories of the world he trying to get out of. The lighthouse still stood; showing light to the other ships. One such ship belonged to Captain Kryptonite Arliss.


to be continued...

Candy's Story: Part 5

In these nascent days of the Sacred Friendship Candy too gravitated towards Aperture. He became a window to her thoughts. He could decipher the meaning of her dialect because that was his language too. She knew he understood her in the way she really was. She was there for him showing him the light when he got lost in the darkness, which was often in the dark world he lived in. She gave him the love—though briefly and sporadically—he sought. He felt complete. He felt the circle of life closed in on him finally. He in turn was there for her when she needed him. She called on to him from dawn to dusk. In fact the dawns merged into the dusks when they were together. But Aperture had other callings to attend too. Most of all, the callings of his ambitions and of the battle he was waging against the idleness that was beginning to wreck his sanity. Candy’s calling was now seldom reaching Aperture.

to be continued...

Candy's Story: Part 4

Candy's story cannot be complete without Aperture's story being told. Because Candy became Aperture’s world entire. With her he laughed like a kid. Wept like a child. And complained worse than a mid-wife would. He began to see more than his reflections in Candy. He saw the lost him inside her. Her honesty was like a magnet. In the world where Aperture lived then, honesty, intellect and companionship were lost in its madness, mediocrity, and complete idleness. Aperture had recently lost the love of his life and the emotional stagnation further destroyed his belief and goodness. Candy became his lighthouse. He adored her and loved her in the way he loved his own self. In their journey, they together explored the uncharted paths of each others psyche. For Aperture imagined this to be his salvation from the scum he was surrounded with but as time would tell this was not be. In his euphoria he did not realize that there is always a stretch of sea to traverse before one can reach the lighthouse and the treachery of the sea is never foreboding. But for the time being Candy and Aperture were like infants in the hands of what later came to be known as the Sacred Friendship.

to be continued...

the rainy morn...

It was quite early in the morning. And, aberrantly, especially during the rains, I was up, wide awake. I went to the balcony and looked over. The weather was typical Indian june-to-september —the kind that is described in the geography books. The rain wasn’t heavy but the drizzling was relentless. The morning was pretty cold. I wished I could somehow conjure a sizzling hot cup of coffee but alas I was after all a “muggle”. I wrapped myself with my, still warm from my sleep, blanket and sat by the window looking outside wondering what the people in America might be doing at that moment. It must be the beginning of night for them. What could they have had for dinner? I could’ve thought of Indians and India too but the human brain has a history of being weird at the most unassuming times. And at the moment I was a victim to its bizarre-activity syndrome that leaves so many of us so many times with a miscellany of long forgotten and mysterious memories and emotions. Soon, I decided I was unnecessarily acting like those clichéd poets who stood by the rains to write those equally corny poems—the ones the lovers, who relate their brain’s prowess to those of the ‘Dark Ages’, still include in their oh-so-lovely perfumed love letters. I began feeling hungry so I guessed it was time I nourish my body which grudgingly endured the morning chill. Being a Hindu (and being at home) I can have breakfast only after I have the Morning Bath. It was still too cold for me to undress but I knew I had to if I wanted any breakfast. I somehow managed to but had to face the ordeal of the initial spurt of the deathly cold water of the shower. I cursed the existence for the torture it had just inflicted on me and as redemption, hot water, god bless it, finally touched my skin. I immediately returned to the world I had just left by the window. But I was no more in America now but in a plush office, I don’t know where, wearing an expensive suit. I am the richest man in the world and also the most successful businessman in the history of mankind. I have recently won the Nobel Prize for literature and also the Booker for my all time bestselling book. I am also being considered for the Peace prize for being the greatest ever philanthropist. I am also the prime minister and have just made a call to the American president asking him to mend his ways or face a war. The American congratulates me for my recent win at the Wimbledon, the first Indian ever to achieve this feat. But my bathroom geyser did not realize that I was such an important man, and determined that I had had enough of the blissful hot water. I zapped back into the reality with no regrets. There were rats running in my stomach (I am exceedingly sorry for the cheesy translation) that drove me out of the bathroom and helped me get dressed as fast as it was possible for me without hurting my vitals. Just as I reached for some food I realized the grimmer “reality” that I was a mere mortal that hadn’t done much in the last few days except sleep and eat. But with the first bite of that delicious dosa I decided to give the Americans some more time to rectify their baneful foreign policies before I declare a war.