Thursday, February 24, 2011
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
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
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 ?"
Monday, February 21, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
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.
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.
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 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?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
You are interesting to me, if I am interested in your reaction.
How I act with you.
Is based on how you react.
I am judgmental.
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.
"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.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
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.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
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."
Saturday, 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.
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.
Friday, February 11, 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.
Thursday, 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.
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.
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.
Monday, February 7, 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.