The Bottle

My dear friend, Devasheesh was kind enough to write me this and I loved it so much that I just had to share it on my blog. I can't put in words how flattered I am to be his muse.

"I found it in the land of pain and torment, a small, unremarkable bottle; it was given to me by he who betrays on the bat of an eyelid, he, who never really appreciated the value of the simple bottle.

As I looked the bottle over, I found something exquisite, something that the betrayer had overlooked. Inside the bottle was a storm, a raging tempest of sadness, hatred and spite. I treated the bottle with caution; lest it breaks and I face the wrath of the storm inside. The bottle belonged to the pretender, and the pretender indeed was what I deemed the right title for him, he had seen fit to fill the bottle with a gentle breeze of love and affection, and then thrown it away, discarded it in the hope that he could find better, but before he discarded it, he had filled the bottle with smoke, the smoke of fake hope. Over time, the gentle breeze absorbed the smoke, and a new wind was born, a ragged, tearing wind of anger and hatred, yet, mixed with hints of love and hope.

It was this bottle that was handed down to me by the betrayer.

Sometimes, the stray thought that the betrayer simply wanted to get it off his hands catches me unawares, but I comfort myself by trusting in the will of fate. The betrayer was simply supposed to deliver to me the object of my fascination and often, my devotion.

My earliest experiments with the bottle were dangerous indeed; I tried tipping it around, trying to edge out the storm, trying to look for a weakness; a small exit that would allow me to slowly let out the storm. But my experiments were met with repercussions. The bottle’s will was absolute, no one could get in, and no one could get out. The bottle’s will was absolute, and I was spurned, scorched and singed multiple times.

I realized that any headway that could be made would either happen if I broke the bottle, which my conscience never let me do; or by twisting the bottle’s will. After much thought, I decided on the latter. And the first was too inhuman to be considered.

“You can never trust me”

The one thing that sticks out in my escapades with the bottle was this one line, uttered by me in spited breath, after being scorched by the bottle yet again; a measure of desperation, but an impulsive one by itself nonetheless. A line meant as a warning and nothing else, seemed to appease the bottle. And I saw a weakness. The bottle had nicks all over it, almost as if it had been trampled upon my numerous feet.

Almost as if it had been stabbed in the back too many times.

All of a sudden, my feelings of hidden resentment towards the bottle turned into ones of respect. The fragile bottle had survived more damage than most beings I knew. And as a creature of war, I myself came to respect it, and I studied it with a new sort of understanding; with love and compassion.

Feelings that I had thought had no power over me.

My efforts bore fruit, as the bottle opened. But to my surprise, the tempest didn’t escape, neither did it subside. It was almost as if the bottle WANTED to keep clinging to the storm, As if it was afraid of letting go. Almost as if the painful storm was a reminder for her.

A reminder of a long forgotten past.

One fine morning, I finally mustered the resolve to face the tempest. The bottle didn’t try to stop me. Instead, it was as if it had been waiting for my curious soul to wander into the storm. I double guessed myself, expecting a trap, expecting the bottle to shut itself with my soul stuck inside. And I would slowly be driven mad by the tempest as the bottle had its revenge.

But my curiosity would not be denied.

Slowly, I crept into the bottle, and before I knew it, the storm assailed me. I was torn between the winds of anger and hatred; two feelings that my warrior’s mind recognized and embraced. But my mind also had a different value of its own. Perseverance, the skill I needed to survive the tempest, to lose my will, but to persevere.

And persevere I did.

My deluded mind was cast aside as I left the storm and entered a part of the bottle so well hidden in the smog of false hope and mistrust; that it was next to impenetrable. This shell would not allow me to pass any further. But a warrior’s most valued skill is his determination. With my determination, I pushed against the veil of smog. And the smog parted for a second.

And a second was enough for me to fall in love.

When I saw the core of the bottle, I fell in love instantly. The core was calm, yet soothing. The calm was a mixture of emotions, yet it was not chaotic, far from it. There was a strong sense of loyalty. There was peace of self. And most notably, there was kindness.

But the core would it not have me.

The smog caught me and catapulted me right out. But I hung on. If I was to go, I would take the smog with me. The smog was foreign. It was the fog of the pretender, but it would not go. So I tore it out, as much of it as I could. The storm, which was hostile to my entry, helped me to exit with the smog, as if it was waiting all this time to be rid of the pretender.

I landed outside the bottle, hitting the ground facefirst. As I got up and brushed myself, I realized that the fog had no hold outside the storm. It was the storm that kept it alive; and on leaving the bottle, it dissipated. The pretender’s fog let out an unearthly shriek as the brilliance of the storm had been its bane.

The bottle began to shine. And that’s when I saw her, a vision in holy light; the bottle’s true form, a beautiful maiden. I gasped, awed by the vision. The lady in the vision smiled. And she asked me one question.

‘Will you keep protecting me, till I find the one who is accepted in my heart of hearts?’

I could do nothing but nod. The woman smiled, and the vision faded. I was left with the bottle, the storm inside it bad as ever. But now, it was a clear storm. And I knew, is someone was to conquer the storm, he would find the center, even more beautiful now, with the pretender’s fog gone. I wasn’t the one, the bottle had shunned me.

But it had also rewarded me.

It had rewarded me with its loyalty; and that reward, which someone like the betrayer would see as a burden, was my honor to carry. I made a promise to the vision, that I would protect the bottle till its rightful owner came and claimed it.

And that promise, is what has kept me alive.

So, I end my story by simply stating the fact that the bottle is more precious to me than my own life. A life I’m ready to lay down any day.

But I fear if the person who claims the bottle turns out to be yet another pretender.

That would mean disaster. For the bottle is now weak. And if it breaks, it’ll unleash its storm on the world. And then, I will have to destroy it. But I keep my mind off such thoughts. I have time, and the fates always will the best for those who are true to themselves.

This hope is my last connection to sanity, the bottle deserves better. And I’ll make sure it gets better. This, I swear on my life as the warrior."

Dear Lover

I saw the love notes you wrote on my skin fade away with the memory of you and how you made me feel. It took me almost one year and the smoke of innumerable cigarettes to melt the words you said to me into the words I said to someone else and to kiss his lips like I kissed yours. Thus, making way for a new heartbreak. There are nights when I find myself looking for pieces of you in him but his words don't sting and he makes me happier than the summer sun. However, happiness is temporary and you taught me that. Therefore, I don't cling to him or his kind heart. Often, I drown myself in whiskey and his sweet kisses only to wonder when its all going to end and no amount of liquor or love can ward off his inevitable goodbye.