Fiction Fragment: In which Adya writes to a stranger

Dear Adyar_Arasan_1979Adyar is an area in Madras, and Arasan means King in Tamil.,

Yesterday, I found myself wandering into a book shop. I like the big book shops which have a certain element of predictability to them. As I thumbed through the M section, overpopulated with Murkami’s books, a pattern of white, red and black cover art seemed to fill the world. Suddenly, in the comfort of so many books, I began to cry.

I sometimes wonder if crying is a disease. For me, it seems much more pathological condition than an emotional response. I cry too easily. I cry in empty rooms, on full throbbing streets. Into cereal boxes, over peeled tomatoes. I am spilling the salt of my being over carpets and keyboards. Sometimes, the sight of tear stain (a gentle white on most surfaces) makes me cry again. And sometimes, it wells up near my throat, and I need to twist my entire body to be able to breathe again.

When I was a young child, I was hardly ever allowed to cry. My mother felt that crying was a sign of weakness. Perhaps you would get angry, but being lachrymose was to give into your most vulnerable. Maybe I make up for those lost years now.

I wonder if this mail scares you. Coming from someone who you’ve only said “Hi” to, because you were randomly searching for people to chat with. I saw your id – Adyar_Arasan_1979. The vision of a lonely man calling himself the King of Adyar, looking for random people to chat with, and pinging those with female sounding names, made me cry. Then, realizing how similar our predicaments were, and yet, how much lousier yours was, I began to laugh. I laughed in the manner of those who have been crying for so long that their laughter must break through several walls in the throat to echo against the roof of the mouth. I wondered if you felt that the laddoos at Adyar Ananda Bhavan must salute you – the King of Adyar.

Suddenly, the futility of crying no longer seems as annoying. I can cry, without crying.

A very amused,

This entry was posted in Poetry and Fiction. Bookmark the permalink.

0 Responses to Fiction Fragment: In which Adya writes to a stranger

  1. reshma says:

    interesting reading for a lazy sunday afternoon


  2. Srini says:

    Hey…. I`ve started following your blogs quite regularly. It makes for very interesting reading.
    Did you finally make any PC (pleasant conversation) with mr adyar arsan?? You could have made one lonely man happy.


  3. Nilu says:

    athavathu, neengellam Adayar. bloody bourgeois


  4. reshma: 🙂

    Srini: It’s fiction. I haven’t had any Adyar Arasan write to me thankfully!

    Nilu: Big words!


  5. dreaming tree says:

    Words words words
    Have you heard a bird in hand
    Is much better than
    Any number free to wander

    Well Adya… maybe The King does not understand your sarcasm – and well – there you go.

    Fly away? stay? you pay for what you get…


  6. Srini says:

    Err… well. Now that’s Duhh of me ain`t it!!!! you don’t always see whats in black and white staring at your face. (The title in this case)


  7. Silky says:

    neha..u never cease to amaze me..ur just getting better with time!(although i guess thats the whole purpose of time..with the exception of certain ppl who choose differently)..went off on a tangent, didn’t I? sorry..