Sh

He sighed as she said to him, "I am sorry I couldn't call you last night. I was gone."

He knew. In more ways than one.

Al 2

Dear World,

I do not like your confines. Neither do I like your rules. Especially the lettering kind. I hate your people. I have only come to be fond of a few of them.

I hate that I am getting old. What I hate even more is the fact that in my head, I think I never will. I acknowledge the fact that you know about the things I have done. Things that would have put me away for a long time. I hate the fact that you know nothing of the few things I have done out of sheer purple goodness from that little, murky corner in my heart.

Is there even such a thing? Why associate a pumping device designed with muscle and fiber, with the enzyme-driven functioning of the brain? I am talking about the heart, you stupid piece of shit. I despise you for pretending to understand me.

If you were a singular entity, I would be one with you. Then I would take from you everything you told and taught me in confidence. Take from you everything you strap on your sleeve and in your mind. Because that is what one does, yes? Like good old Maynard puts it? Have you heard the chorus of 'Prison sex'? No? Of course you haven't. So yes. I will take from you. I will take from you till there is no more. And then I will rest on the soft pillow of your absence.

Whatever name you gave me

Al

A letter to myself

Dear Stranger,

You're going to fuck it up, aren't you? Don't. I have nothing more to say to you.

Unconditional indifference
Sunneith

P.S - Get your bike fixed.

Aa

I was on my way to the workplace today, and I saw something that scraped up skin inside of me. It was just a bunch of words at the back of the Auto driver's seat. It's nothing new for someone who lives in Bombay. You have the usual declarations of love, friendship, profession, and promiscuous nature. After a point, you just block it out. Elevator walls, 10 rupee notes, bathrooms, bridges.

I have no idea why I looked where I did. It was out of my line of vision. I was smoking my cigarette, talking to my sister, the usual pre-11am numbness. But I looked. Fucked if I didn't. I looked straight at it.


The words were written in Marathi. It took a good 20 seconds for them to sink in. Not that I didn't get them. I did. The problem was, I got them more than I should have.

"आई माझी होईल का ?"

Things

Things that make me angry:


Things that I care about:


Things that make me angry.

Untitled

You sit down.

And clear your mind.

You try to.

 

You want to put together a list of all the things that you think will help you achieve a goal.

A goal.

At this point of time, it's just a few words.

Written down on paper.

In bold, capital letters. (You took the time to search for that special, thick-tipped marker)

Just so that it looks important.

 

Fool.

 

You change your pen.

And begin to write.

 

Not knowing whether any of this will ever benefit you.

Not knowing whether you could have used this time to do something else.

Not something important. Just, something else.

 

A daily plan of action.

A routine.

A check list.

 

Inside, you feel proud.

Like you've achieved something.

 

That's right; you've achieved something. 

But you have no idea what you've achieved.

 

Would you like start over again?

Just like last time?

 

 

 

 

 

My actions. Your reactions. A Haiku - Feb 18, 2011

You are interesting to me, if I am interested in your reaction.

 

A Haiku:

How I act with you.

Is based on how you react.

I am judgmental. 

 

 

 

 

 

A message for a brother - February 18, 2011

I took so much from people. 

Their time and energy.

Their love and affection.

Their suggestions and advice.

Their thoughts and insights.

 

I took everything that I needed from them.

Then I locked it up.

And threw away the key.

 

Recently, I found that key.

 

I hope you find yours.

 

Cigarette

I went to this tapri near the workplace for chai and cigarettes. As I walked towards the termite infested bench, a middle-aged, disheveled gentleman made eye contact, nodded, waved, and smiled. I've never seen the man before. I am not 18 and perennially pissed off anymore, so i smiled back. It was a close-lipped, smirk-smile, I promise you. I went ahead to sit down, when I noticed that he looked in a bad way, in all possible manners of semblance. The man then walked up to me.

"Aap kay paas extra cigarette hain kya?"
"Nahi, sir. Sorry."
"Ok, thank you."

I finished my chai, smoked my cigarette, and left. The half empty cigarette pack felt heavy in my left pocket.

Un

If given a choice, what would you pick, Blind affection or unconditional hate? Like most of you, I've had problems with both. But I haven't missed liking someone, ever. Have you?

I've missed hate in the past. I miss it now. It's that little moment, where you lay back. That moment between a cigarette pull and a blink. It's in that moment that I realize that I have nothing to mull over. Well, fuck that.

I like being happy. I really do. But I also, like most of you, need a bruise or a punctured lung once in a while. If not take, I'd definitely like to give a few.

Midnight Smack - February 15, 2011

I hold the child in my arms.

Like he was my own.

He isn't.

He's my best friend's son, Shaurya.

He is the only person who can get me to care about him without saying a single word.

I hope heaven smells like baby shampoo.

 

 

 

 

 

A lot

A lot has been said and speculated over the past week about what most of you already know. Before anything, this is not an official statement from the band. So, yeah. What happened, happened. The situation was obviously very close to the band, and I would be lying if I said it didn't affect us. But I know for a fact that we have made our bones; and what doesn't kill you, makes you think of cliched proverbs.

But fuck that. I am awfully proud of the fact that everyone is bouncing off the ropes with renewed grit and drive. I haven't seen this kind of determination in a long fucking time, and it is scary as much as it is infectious.

Otherwise, I have been making more smiley-faces than I ever have or should. Especially over the last few days. It is a happy place. I fucking love happy places. But there are those times when I really want to do something stupid. To grab that happy moment by the neck, and tell that motherfucker, "Look, asshole. I haven't said hello to you in a while; so please, stick the fuck around."

The feeling begins.... - February 12, 2011

My mum is the sweetest.

Everyone now calls her what I've called her for most of my life - Amma.

 

My dad is the funniest guy I know.

Thankfully, only his children call him Appa.

If anyone else did, he'd look at Amma and say, "I don't know what that kid is talking about. I had nothing to do with his birth..."

 

The past few weeks, I've been blessed to get home-cooked food delivered to me - without even asking for it.

It all started after a serious bout of diarrhea that I had in early January.

Amma and Appa were quick to my rescue with a tiffin box filled with soothing rice & curds.

Since then, I've had some great home-cooked food over the weekends.

Amma and Appa are in the vicinity today.

And they're due at my apartment at any moment.

I'm excited.

And my tummy's making funny sounds.

Like it knows that it's going to be with familiar company soon.

 

And yes, you're all welcome to join me.

 

 

For N & S - February 12, 2011

Meet. As a friend.

 

Share. Respect, admiration, awe and genuine warmth.

Speak. Jokes, jibes, stories, memories, habits and details.

 

All said, truthfully.

Not to impress, but to connect.

 

Leave, to meet again, hopefully, still a friend. 

 

Tonight, I'll sleep. 

Tonight, I'll dream.

Tonight, the conversation shall never end.

 

 

 

Midnight Smack - February 10, 2011

Your eyes are open. You lie down.

The pillow feels soft. Like it always has. But only at home.

 

The light hurts now. You close your eyes and open them again.

You think of how the bed takes the shape of your body.

 

There's saliva in your mouth now. You swallow.

Then you taste your mouth. You taste it again.

 

You yawn. There's tension in your jaw and your neck.

 

You think of how uncomfortable it feels when you lie in someone else's bed. 

It always smells wrong.

It always smells like someone else. Like their most intimate aroma.

You know you don't belong.

 

But don't worry. It won't be long.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Midweek Smack - Feb 10th, 2011

I am tired. 

Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Really.

I'm pushing myself to perform because I fear and loathe the self-admonishment that might follow.

So, here's the follow-up to Midnight Smack:

 

You close your eyes. And drop your head.

You hear her walk. Coming in from a distance.

Now closer.

In your mind, you see her feet.

In your mind. you see the colour of her shoes.

 

You don't even know if she owns such a pair.

You don't really care.

 

It's the noise that you savour. More than anything else.

You like it because it's the only thing that will ever approach you.

 

You don't open your eyes as yet.

You raise your head and take in a deep breath.

You wish she had a smell.

 

 

 

 

 

Haiku - 10th February 2011

"I refuse to think"

Says my brain, or so I think.

Who am I kidding?

Midnight Smack - February 8, 2011

You awaken. Plant your feet on the ground. Yawn.

 

Your muscles tense. You lower your head. Your hands reach to your sides and grab the bed. 

You take a deep breath. Your eyes are closed. You sense its presence.

But you say nothing.

 

Because that's who you are.

 

You wish for it to disappear.

And then open your eyes. 

As always, it's there.

 

Good morning, Son. Curse you.

 

 

Haiku - 1st February 2011. Late evening.

Sleep, now, will make me.

Happy, I hope I dream tonight.

I miss that very much.