Dancing to the wind

“Hello sir, Would you like to talk to yourself?”

“I’m already talking to myself. Ain’t I!?”

“But aren’t you talking to me?”

“Yes, I hear you. but I might as well be talking myself, to this voice in my head all this time.”

“No, you are not. If so then I might seize to exist. But I’m real. I want to be.”

“How will I know for sure? How will anyone will ever know what is real? May be you are real and I’m the voice in your head.”

“But now listen and just answer. You are talking to this other person over the phone. And this person is asking you if you want to talk to yourself. Do you want to? ”

“But why would I need you to tell me that? Who are you to give me access to myself? I can just drop this call and talk to myself anytime I want. ”

“Let me be clear then, would you like to talk to yourself from the past or from the future?”

“You mean in person?”

“Currently we don’t have this facility. We only can take your message and pass it on.”

“Then it isn’t exactly talking is it?”

“May it isn’t, but that’s what I’m supposed to say as per my script.”

“You are new is it, for telemarketing?”

“Yes, you are my first call actually.”

“Have you tried it yourself?”

“Tried what?”

“Talking to yourself, future – past. Whatever that you are selling?”

“No, I haven’t yet. But I intend to. I’m saving for it. Will be paying from this earning”.

“Good for you.”

“But do you want to talk, I mean, send a message to your past and/or future self?”

“But why would I want to do that?”

“Isn’t there anything that you would like to change or some tips that you could pass on to them?”

“You mean me? No, I can’t see the use in it.”

“Why so? Don’t you think it might help them in any way?”

“If I could help myself in any way, I would have been doing that already. I don’t see how I could help them.”

“Why?”

“See, If I’m sending a message to myself from the past, I should have received the message already. But I don’t remember getting any. Even if I did, I must have forgot. Hence it is no way gonna affect the current me. And as far as the future myself is concerned, its enough if thought it out, don’t you think. Just remember something hard enough so that I’d still remember it for another twenty years. But If I had that kind of conviction, my past self would have done that. And I wouldn’t need to carry the baton to the future self. Cause I’ll be the baton myself. The empty vessel, carrying myself around from time to time.”

“True, but don’t you believe in parallel existence where you might change your life at least for your past self?”

“If that is so, I wish he would figure that it out himself. Make his choices. Though I’m not in the spot I wish to be, I don’t want to put him in a spot he don’t intend to be.”

“Well then, even this is pointless!? When would even all this mean something? At least in a certain point in time. One moment of convergence.”

“Points are not made by parallels. If we were all running in straight lines, that is. But we are all running in circles ain’t we? Smaller or larger, whichever fits the bill. May this is the moment. Convergence of our lines. Here. This could be the meaning of it all. But only for this moment. After this we might be on our ways pointless till we intersect somewhere, with someone or something..”

“You know, you talk very weird…”

“Can you talk weird!?”

“I could try… How weird do you want me to talk?”

“Test me!”

“Would you like me if I sing for you?”

“I’d, but can’t you think of anything weirder?”

“I can dance for you.”

“That would do.”

She laid the phone down and stood up on her bed and started dancing for the song she heard in the wind.

Detached

The bags are always packed and she was ready to leave at any moment. She’s been always dreaming of the day she was going to run and hide away, once and forever. But it took time to cut the strings. When you have been a puppet to the master, you are always pushed around by your impulses. However resilient she was in her nature, when the strings are pulled, she had no option but to dance. At least the story changes everyday. But somewhere along the line, the same routine pops up. And the hands move the same way as it did before. She had to sway the same way as before. Is it this what tired her? Even she’s unsure. As the hands rest at night, she dreams of cutting those strings off her hands. But it grows stiff with the thought of pulling the hands that pulls the string. She isn’t exactly scared of the master. She is quiet fond of him. All though she has hardly met him, except for his hands when at play. She didn’t need courage. She needed motivation. Her world is bound by the three walls of the stage. Only through the reflection of the audience, she built the view of her world. She had no idea how people are beyond her spectators. And they hardly participate. Only appreciations, no encouragements. And she believed it was the work of the master, never took them in as for herself. For this reason she never grew out of her ego. She was always her master’s slave. And one night, the master cut his strings and decided he wouldn’t be a slave to her anymore. She stood clueless.