I was writing this as an update that has been happening for the past few days. I lost the flow which was there within me for a longer time. At times it feels like what is happening,that the mind becomes heavy loaded with a useless mass, that focus gets blurred and doesn’t know where to go, and it is hard to settle as well. Once it was filled with sharpness. It is blunt now. I wonder how authors of fiction are able to create a brilliant world. And that is nothing related to their ideology. They just wanted to create an eco system where people enjoy them. It may be against their likings and stuff. Yet they do it. But one should see that in some hidden place, their ideology reveals itself. And it can’t be ignored or skipped by the creator as that is not how creative stuff works. I was caught in a whirl where I couldn’t believe and accept the fact that is not aligned with my likings and ideology. In other words, I see the world in a way I like to see. But it was nothing but empty ground. Empty that it only has an orangish sand. Like a football field. I expect it to be sunny, but it turns out to be cloudy. I was expecting it to rain. But it maintains its moodiness, and challenges me, that the world won’t change or behave in a way we are expecting it to be. And people like stuff, if it is told in a way of engaging, of a legend who does miraculous stuff, that he once imagined of doing so.

For them, the story telling is something that gives them liberation. That’s why movies taken with super powers are praised and in reality none exists. I can’t think anything out of reality. And in a way I hate reality also. I’m an introvert, and I hate people. Without knowing about the people, it is hard to know the reality, and in the course of story telling, it urges me to do so, in a real world, but I got none, other than my own life, but it is not worth telling so. Hence I chose not to. But whenever I thought about telling a story, in deep, the coreness of myself gets revealed, which looks dull and that is how my life was also. In a dull manner. And won’t there be any people who like dullness ? Like I was telling you all this, by giving a voice over for a 2 mins video that just shows an empty ground that half of the frame is covered with the sand and the clouds are so white in contrast with the blue sky. The bird flies there. In the course, I don’t try to guess what bird is this. But those moving objects with such a blue background gives me a pleasant feeling. I like that feeling.

Where does the mountain go ? Ain’t it should be part of the frame too ? let me seek a place where it has a mountain in it too, with an empty ground, where it gets greenish now during the monsoon. The green hill at the back, now the blue is gone. It is dark clouds. With thunder blasting randomly. It’s raining. The ground gets soaked. I was sitting there. Holding my hand on my knees. Just watching them. I too was soaked. Dead soak. I literally became clay there. Yes, I became clay there. The grass is tall there. Crooked one. And it was weird that I didn’t think the grass would be this ugly in this view. I kind of hated it. It is like, my view has just got diminished that all I can see is just grass there. I’m not dead yet. I was indulging with the semi solid liquid out there. It felt good though.

As it darkens, everything disappears. Even me. There was no one out there. All I hear is just a sound. Of frogs out there, quacking. Crickets blame games. I could feel something strange. Something sluggishly passed over me. It was lengthy and bigger than the grass. It makes me even darker around me. In silence, I could hear the death of the frog there. What a pity. The game of nature. It gives rain, makes the frog excited, and the snake which is waiting for the moment arrives, and just had it for the night. We just can pity but nothing can be done. I remember, when I was a human before being a clay, I used to visit places randomly. I once visited a temple, filled with festive mode. In the morning, the goats were staged in line, and his heads were chopped off. It feels terrible. I felt sympathy. I can’t stop the ritual though. In the afternoon, they cooked the meat and had a feast. It was yummy. My stomach was full. I just can only sympathize. That’s all I can do. And now I did the same. I sympathize with the frog there. How smooth was the snake. But it was gross.

I once read a book called Vekkai when I was human, and there people hunt snakes and eat. It felt gross. Even now. I kind of hate snakes. I don’t know why. But not at that moment. It was during my school time. Near the well, outside the compound wall, I was watching over the butterflies. There was a hill of stones, piled for construction work. There I could see a tail. Somehow, my eye got an eye on it. As the time passed, slowly it was coming out of the hole, it happened for 2 mins. I saw beauty in it. Those patterned skin. Yellowing lower abdomen. The stomach part got enlarged. There comes the neck. And the head. How cute those eyes are. The mouth is holding up a rat. It was a pleasant view. I admired it. I know she saw me. We spoke with our eyes. I didn’t feel gross. She saw me, she had her pride in getting her prey, gulped it, and slowly moved away.

But now it is different. I hate it. Maybe next time, I might admire her. Maybe this is because of darkness, I missed the admiration ?

I hear those thundering sounds. Sometimes. But most of the time, it is filled with vehicles moving all the time. I wish I got stuck in one of those tires. I like those cars which are painted with dirt. Those tires have a rustly look. It was the justicing given to cars to ride in such a way. Roughly. I wish I was there. Even being a clay, desire won’t stop. After all we are just clay. Silly.

My mind got clotted with the crickets, frogs cooing and the vehicles non stop brooming. Finally I can see the sun there. Yes, I can see some blue sky. With that the green grass looked pretty. All of sudden, they started to bloom. I’ve never seen grass that has bloomed. This is pretty. You should see if you become clay someday. Those little tiny droplets on the tip of the grass, just giving me more context out there. I can see the clouds now. How pretty it is. It was so crystal clear upside down. When I am a human, the blues is at the top, here the blues is at bottom.

As the sun goes up, everything disappears. I felt the dryness. I was sick. Dehydrated. There comes the humans. Those big shoes ? I hate to be part of their shoes. I wish to be part of those car tyres. I closed my eyes. I prayed to the dog. May he bless me to stick with the car tyre instead of this human shoe. But the dog didn’t answer. The dog is actually digging the surface next to me. All those lucky mud spread across the field, moving in and around, exploring the world. I got stuck for one day. The Dog didn’t answer me. I did get stuck to the human shoe. Those tiny gaps of different shape. I was in such a dry state that the nature of the stickiness didn’t allow me to get rid of his shoe. I happened to be part of them. Those phases were horrible. I got a headache for each step. I got hit on the grass and the sand and stuff, and it was a struggle. I hate this yet I cannot do anything. I don’t have control over it. I let it pass. I felt those thuds. I thought I would get lost in any one of those steps. But it got tight too well that I became part of the shoe itself.

The shoe then kept on top of the pedal. He was cycling all the way to his home. My struggle got intense. I puked a couple of times. I lost faith in the dog. And I reached the human house. It was a horrible experience again. My desire to be out of humans got neglected and I again brought to humans. This time, I was staying in the shoe rack. It was nice rack though. Has Four rows. I was on the third one. And all I heard was those horrible human voices. I couldn’t sleep that night. Somehow I managed for the night, and for the next day, the shoe was taken out, it got beaten up on the ground. For the hell’s sake, what is this with humans? It is their nature to trouble others. Even they can’t leave the mud in peace. I drop on the floor like a shaped terracotta. Cylindrical. A dried sandy cylinder. I was left there. And there comes a plasticky substance. Not sure what was that. But I was cuddled with the smoothing brush. It felt nice that it healed my soul for a bit. But it didn’t last longer than that as the brush rushed through my body, my outer layer got dismandled and settled on to the plastic tray, I now turned into a half there. Alone with other stuff from the ground. Those leaves and spiral black hairs, and pins, and shell and sticks and papers and webs and dates seed and so many things. I was in paradise to witness such an amount of objects which I haven’t seen since becoming a clay. When I was a human, I haven’t bothered to notice it, but being a mud is different. I enjoyed it a lot, even the struggles.

I like the pink plastic. I like to settle on the shiny slippery one. Being with these object feels good. The black hair is mesmerising. But this pleasantness didn’t last long. I was taken to the outside of the wall, smashed against it, and sprinkled into the ground. I was into the trash now. As part of the sand. I was completely liberated. I was operated on by the wind. As it blows I travel to different places. I admire all the things I came across. And each season has its own perk. I hope this time, I will travel near any of the tires and stick to them. As a monsoon comes, I become clay, and again wish to be part of the type where I belong permanently to it. I know for summer, I’ve become sand again, but after all we are clay.