CATHARSIS

                                

A magnanimous gush! A vent in full throttle! A blast of a volcano! That was how he threw up his emotions in a sob, all at once. Then his tears stabilized like flat water: Flowing serenely. The calmness in its pace brought a peace in him to render solace. The flow of the tears was endless without a possible drain. A song of melancholy was playing in an acute tone at the background. A sudden frown, with a discomfort at his bosom, shook his soul and he woke up in a jerk as if lightning struck straight into his gut. A momentary stare around his room dripped out his dream slowly, bringing him to reality. The bright sunray perfectly pierced his left cheek whilst sitting up from lying and made him wonder if nature was a genius archer. His eyes were moving so steadily, and even his peripheral vision was sharply alert. His mind was in perfect peace with his body at that very moment. He remembered that he had a meeting with his friends at a nearby café, which he had evaded for a long time and now was forced to attend. He immediately got up from the bed and wanted to bathe. Even though he was reluctant to meet his friends, he always made sure he left his home fresh and aromatic. He started bathing but was extremely preoccupied with the dream that shook him moments ago. He was able to remember even little details of the dream with the utmost clarity. He was totally absorbed in the contemplation of the dream.

“ 'You are a poseur!' he ruthlessly uttered to the thing standing in front of him.

'You are an enigma!' replied, the thing.

He was standing in front of a grotesque figure. It was tall, brawny, intimidating, with broad shoulders and a phantom mask. It had crooked left ear and lifeless dry hair to the length of its shoulders. No matter how hard he tried to recall, he couldn’t remember the attire it wore.

'You are an enigma!' replied, the phantom.

He became too proud on listening to those words and tried hard to conceal his smile. He was unsure for a moment of what to reply.

'People often say I’m complicated' he replied.”

He prepared French toast. It was his usual breakfast, and he always felt it was neat to have a French toast for breakfast. He was continually munching the dream whilst eating.

“ 'I’m a man of my own solid virtues and I try to live devoid of vices and often people say that I’m too complicated for them to understand or even have a conversation with” he was opening up with the phantom, in a bragging tone. He continued “I live for my own happiness and try to achieve it by living up to the values I cherish, in my daily life. But I’m not a hedonist'. But he instantly felt that he opened up too much which were unasked for. So he decided to balance it by asking a question to the phantom. 'What is your definition of life?' he asked.”

He reached his café by that time. He spotted his friends sitting at a distance from the place he stood. He always felt awkward as to what reaction he should give from the moment he spotted his friends till he walks the distance to reach them. But that thinking itself had always engaged him till he fills the walking gap. His contemplation of the dream was contaminated after he mingled with his friends, but the dream did not perish. As he got casual slowly with his friends and the surroundings, the dream contemplation grew intense again. His friends asked him the choice of food he’d like to order. Despite any deep mental engagements, he always paid heed to choose the food he eats. He ordered the dish he wanted to savour, and continued with the contemplation.

“ 'Do you know that it takes a thousand years to understand certain humans?' said the phantom to him. But even without any specific mention of his name, he almost came to a conviction that the phantom considered him to be one among those 'certain humans'. Now with more pride, gratitude, and friendliness, he asked the same question again. 'What is your definition of life?' ”

A fat guy from his gang--who himself believed was a loser--interrupted the dream contemplation by a loud whine. “The world is full of shit and all the people behave shitty!” he cried. “If the world is full of shit, why do you think we need septic tanks?” commented, rather stupidly--with a deliberate intent of making fun, by the jester in his gang. The jester laughed so hard to his own joke, and every other person in his gang was too empty to avoid accompanying that laugh. He got annoyed by the plastic laughs of his friends. He felt an urge to tap the shoulder of the guy sitting in the corner of his table and shout at him, “Are you laughing at all?” But he was sitting still like a statue without an expression. To his surprise, a girl expressed an idea out of the blue. An idea that she claimed might entertain the gang. She said that everyone shall say something random. They can say any random lines which needn't even make sense, and everyone would have their turn in an order, she explained. He was very much excited about that idea. He always loved to blabber random absurd lines in solitude, and he thought it would be exciting to do the same with people around. They started it with the very girl who proposed the idea. She said instantly as if she already had the random line in mind, “Lost in a paradise city only to find that I’m lost in a paradise city.” Everybody was trying to say something, and it made the gang cheer up from its numbness. Some were sloppy; some, instantaneous; some, funnier. He was so much engrossed in the thought of the art of random quotes and privately enjoying it without paying much attention to the gang. He got alerted by his friends when his turn arrived. He, without much thought, stated with complacency, “Skin heads don’t scare me because I don’t see them!” He didn’t even bother about the reactions of his friends and continued his random quote contemplation and it slowly shifted back to his dream contemplation. It made him instantly gloomy.

“ 'What is your definition of life?' he inquired the phantom, after hiding his intrigue for quite some time.

'When you splash a watermelon, you get apple juice. That’s life,' the phantom replied.

'I did not understand you. Not one bit!' he uttered with confusion.

'Well…' said the phantom.

'But, give me a clue, at least.' He pleaded in desperation to prove his intelligence.

'Decipher those lines in the literal fashion. Don’t ask more,' ordered the phantom.

Taken aback by the intimidating voice, he went silent with embarrassment as he couldn’t figure it out. The phantom took a long pause, staring deeply into his eyes, and sizing his body, said, 'Well, I lied to you about the enigma part. And also, it doesn’t take a thousand years but a few minutes. Goodbye' and walked away swiftly with a strut. He felt shattered, and his pride broken irrevocably into pieces. He felt himself to be a disgusting maggot. A magnanimous gush! A vent in full throttle! A blast of a volcano! That was how he threw up his emotions in a sob, all at once. Then his tears stabilized like flat water: Flowing serenely. The calmness in its pace brought a peace in him to render solace. The flow of the tears was endless without a possible drain. A song of melancholy was playing in an acute tone at the background.”

He grew so vulnerable after that contemplation. He felt like a cretin. Although the dream ended there, he still deliberately, subconsciously, continued it by fantasizing. He heard the voice of the phantom in his head and it said “When you peel off there should be a pulp, not a rotten seed.” He started getting annoyed by the voice. To divert his mind he tried to pay attention to his friends. He saw one of his friends fervently talking to the fellow members: “Friends, we all are together for a long time. We have been through lots of happier and sadder times. We have loved each other like a family. I think we all are same. What do you say, fellas? I say, we all are same--alike. Else, we couldn’t be glued together with love for so long.” Already in an annoyed mood, he felt very much taunted to reply harshly to that guy, and did the same: “All can’t be same, and if they appear to be same then they’re indeed not same and sane.” His gang got totally uncomfortable by his cold comment for a compassionate statement. But nobody mentioned anything about it. “When you peel off there should be a pulp, not a rotten seed.” He heard those words of the phantom again and again like getting hammered. Those words were hitting him continuously in a frenzy. The jester in the gang saw his preoccupied state and started teasing him for daydreaming. The jester was repeatedly making fun of him and still he didn’t notice that. He was getting baffled by the voice in his head. As the voice was approaching his saturation point, he was in total annoyance. The jester--since he wasn’t noticing the tease--started literally shaking his shoulders. He was being continuously shaken and simultaneously the voice in his mind was reaching his mental saturation. At the point when it reached his saturation, he shouted aloud at the jester “I will give you layers to peel off until your thirsty hands fall off!” The jester was in complete shock. He didn’t say a word more. All the other gang mates threw him an awkward look. He became restless, and his eyes were inconsistently moving with a drowsy appeal. He felt an urge to grasp himself with introspection. But his friend interrupted him with his interrogation:

“You don’t talk to people" his friend said.

“Okay" he replied with an indifferent tone.

“No. I mean, you sometimes don’t talk to people like a civilized human” clarified, his friend.

“Well, I remember saying ‘Okay’ ” he continued, with his indifference.

“No, it’s not okay. I’m asking you why” expressed the dismay, his friend.

“When I have nothing to talk, I’d rather not talk” he replied in an intention to end the conversation.

“But you see, you got to talk to people” advised his friend, persistently.

“Don’t you think that’s rather stupid of you?” he replied, shutting the conversation rudely. The gang was infuriated by his erratic behavior. But he brushed aside all the awkwardness and tried so hard to gather all his energy to introspect. After a long time, his profound introspection of his current mindset gave him results. He read out the results to himself like a newsreader, in a hushed tone. “A sudden hit by an unusual happiness, racing to its pinnacle followed by a shocking total downfall into an abysmal bottom, leading to a tearless sob, wearing you down mentally as well as physically, leaving you with a heavily dizzied head, only to be followed by the same pattern again. That is exactly what you feel when you get haunted by the word ‘Genius’. Like oil injected in a gallon of water, you’re sitting in this café with variety of living and non-living entities all around. Observance and eavesdrop are your favorite recreations in this crowded desert. And when you grow totally dark, you’re in a constant state of Catharsis with ‘Genius’. You couldn’t help but get deeply bonded in its communion and get strangled in a powerful spell of Catharsis. You’re getting heavily smothered by it and are trying to mix with water. But, alas, You fail every single time!”

Immediately after listening to his introspection results, his mind shouted to him “Run! Run! Run!” He wanted to escape from his friends and indulge in solitude. This time he decided to do it diplomatically. He, then, gradually adorned a civilized masquerade. He tried to warm things up, in the gang. He relaxed his grimace and started talking casually with his friends. “You know what, people? A fellow was once whining to me that life was teaching him lessons he didn’t want to learn. You know what I said to him? I said “Come on, man. So did my teachers, back in school. The point is, you listen to them or not," he shared the joke to his gang. Surprised by his warmth his gang mates started smiling slowly. He continued his friendliness for some more time and came out with his alibi that he had to leave immediately as he wanted to take care of his sick mother, and this allowed him to slip out of that place without any awkward moment. He was satisfied with his casual departure. He knew exactly where he wanted to go: A movie theatre; that’s exactly where he was headed. Movie theatre was one of the most private places for him to indulge in a self love making. He boarded a train to take him to the nearest theatre. The train wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t vacant either. He was eagerly travelling in the train with his deep thoughts and so he failed to notice anything around him. He let out a big sneeze all of a sudden. “Excuse me," he said almost as a reflex action to maintain the social etiquette. That aroused his deeper self in temptation to butcher himself with its bluntness. “Whom do you want to excuse you? If you want someone to excuse you for your uncontrollable bodily functions, how pathetic are you? If someone expects an apology for the same, how shallow are they? So now, do you really want to apologize to some shallow headed snob for a pathetic reason?” He was astonished by the back to back questions. He realized he grew darker and he awarded himself for it. But then his deeper self spoke to him again, thus: “Multitude of solitude! So it’s the majority of my fragments. The consensus is screaming in dark. Now is the minority been overshadowed? Should I scream or mourn?” Immediately following his deeper self was the voice of the phantom. It spoke to him: “You talked about virtues and vices, so I’d like to convey unto you this: “Many a values are an illusion, for they’re mostly a paradigm for our subconscious entertainment in the form of an organized self.” He can’t stand the attacks anymore. He felt like he’d pass out anytime sooner. Sensing this, the phantom decided to entertain him and spoke thus: “Do you want to know how alien you’ll look in the eyes of an alien? Do this simple exercise: Look deeply into your face in the mirror and get engrossed in the contemplation rather than your face, and then you’ll be lost. You’ll get oblivious to your own existence momentarily. Then, knock your soul to get back on track. The first few moments of your behold, after the knock, will be the ones when you witness the face of an alien.” He was amused. This relaxed his trying mind and body.

Silence! Grave Silence! That was what he observed upon entering the theatre. Sparse audience; he dwelt comfortably. He was slowly getting absorbed by the grave silence around him, and he dissolved in the ambiance. The opening credits of the movie started rolling and that made him sure what brought him to that place. The feeling he experienced said it all. He felt a controlled inner breakdown. If he could picturize it, it’d be like a juice oozing from the squash of a bisected orange: citric yet mellow. He was having an intense romance with the ambiance. He was perfectly dark. His fantasy took a whole new elevation at that moment. He saw the phantom’s silhouette standing towards the right corner of the screen, with its hands folded. But its face was clearly visible: white and lustrous. He was, by then, perfectly drowned in his surreal world. All that existed were the phantom, the surroundings, the passive screen, and his soul. He could clearly see the invisible smirk in the face of the phantom, and this time he was sure it wasn’t a satire. A casual shift of focus from the phantom to the screen took him by surprise. What he saw was grandeur. He saw infinite number of unidentifiable musical instruments waiting to be conducted by none other than the Genius itself. Now he got totally prepared to witness the show staged by Genius. In a soft pace, with sufficient intervals, every instrument warmed up with its own music. By this time he was already mesmerized with still eyes. He felt like he had jumped into the sky. The deeper he fell the faster he travels. The pace of the music played by every instrument started getting faster and faster, but without any interruption from the other, and so did his mental vision clarity. He was able to cope with the magical pace by growing deeper in the same pace. Suddenly, in an act of testing his potential of his vision clarity, and also transcending to divinity, the music of the instruments collided with each other without exhibiting any apparent pattern. Yet he was able to closely travel with them as a spectator. He could feel his mind growing to a newer depth. But he was unsure of its mileage. At a point of time, his soul was unable to sit composedly and started walking away from him only to wander restlessly. As the music complexity grew even more, his soul can’t help but dance. It amused him by inventing variety of new dance styles. But the amusement didn’t last long, for the soul got drowned into coping with dancing for the rapid rhythm of Genius’ composition. It started getting alerts of the approaching satiation. Like a fiend running towards the pinnacle of a mountain, he danced. He danced deeply, soulfully, fiendishly, passionately, nostalgically. As the satiation was with close proximity, his feet, with a rhythm, moved swiftly towards the phantom. Genius was exhibiting its extreme energy in conducting. His soul was transforming into a fiend. He was a fiend at last when the Genius hit the bottom of the abyss. He--sitting all this time watching the soul--stilled the moment. The music drowned into absolute silence. He beheld the stillest hour of his life. He was heavily hit by the majestic appeal of love from the witness. The stillest hour bestowed him that beautiful image. An image of his soul kissing the voluptuous lips of the phantom, deeply and darkly.  His mental faculties were unable to grasp the whole intensity of his reverence for the Genius in the face of the phantom. Like a perfect naked woman to the profuse libido of a hermit, he was continuously beholding that stillest hour with a luminous lust. He started getting suffocated by the smothering beauty of what he witnessed and feared it, for he saw a potential of death in that suffocation. He was in chaos; the ultimate chaos. He now forgot every single thing around him--including himself--only to literally stand up and shout till the extreme bottom of his stomach. He shouted out all his misery; passion; compassion; suffocation; love; urge; vulnerability; strength; he shouted till he exorcised every whit of his suppressed sediments; he shouted till he made peace with the phantom; he shouted till his thirsty dark soul fainted; he shouted “CA-THAR-SIS!!!” Emptying all his nausea made him feel as light as a bird’s feather floating in free air. He could see people around him. He could see the dresses he wore. He could see the end credits of the movie, rolling in the screen. And, he could see the phantom in the same corner. The fresh energy of his mind tempted him to ogle nature and its effects with frolicking eyes. He overlapped the gay smirk of the phantom, from the distance. He was shaking his head and tapping his feet to the joyous music of the end credits--stylistically. He was enjoying being a hopeless romantic. Slowly as the crowd disappeared, he started moving towards the phantom. He reached the phantom and clasped its hands, and they strolled to the outer world. They strolled melodiously. They strolled towards the horizon.

Faintly there heard a conversation:

“Musicians smoke marijuana, I heard, whilst conceiving their own music piece. What do you think?” asked the phantom, rather casually, to him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about it, too” replied, he, with an interest.

There was a momentary pause. After a little pondering frown by the phantom, it asked “What do you think was Beethoven smoking whilst conceiving ‘Moonlight Sonata’?”

Without even a tinge of delay, he gaily shouted “He must have been smoking Natural Genius!”