Music

Just sit back. Crank up that stereo. Close your eyes. And listen.

Let those rhythms wash over you. Don't resist, just let yourself get carried away into the fantastical soundscapes they are leading you to. See with your mind's eye the palpitations in the air; the rush and feverish excitement that pervades everything around you; the colours and hues that seem to be intertwined with these tunes themselves. They seem so real don't they, almost as if you can just reach out and grab them with your bare hands; vines twisting and turning; stairways straight to wondrous lands and realms that eist just beyond our minds. The dull drab world that you left behind is but a distant echo, its cares and worries not even wrinkles in the ether. This is it, this is now, this is the magic that fills your being and lifts you beyond yourself.

Don't think. Don't ever think. Just be. Just flow.

This is just what it is. No hidden motivations, no conniving scheming machinations. No need to run, no need to hide, no need to think twice before speaking nor holding your counsel to yourself. No terrors haunting you in the night, no frights stalking you in broad daylight. All that there is is the rush of blood in your head and the pulsing energy in your fingertips. Your body won't stop moving, your feet won't stop tapping and you sure as hell are not thinking of the petty quibbles of everyday life. This is food for the soul, spiritual transcendence, your very own out of body experience. Isn't this what religion is about, this giddiness that you get when you suddenly, abruptly, almost epiphanically realize what made life so beautiful in the first place; that at this very juncture of the physical and the metaphysical lies true untainted bliss!

New track. New sound. Same feeling. Same magic.

The spell will hold. As long you keep your eyes closed it will hold. As long as you remain afloat on the kaleidoscope soundstream that has you in its thrall it will hold. As long as you will it, it will hold. You only have to hit a button and the gossamer tendrils that you have willingly entrapped yourself in will break. Then you will open your eyes, shake your head and go on with your mundane life as if nothing happened. Nothing, except for that one tune that will stay stuck in your head, residual magic that will be your succor till the next time you journey to the soundscapes. You will be a different person then, but the magic will still hold sway. It always does.

Sleeplessness Blues

So, obviously, I am not sleepy. Dunno why. Not something that happens regularly for sure. Maybe I am too keyed up after watching the latest episode of Dexter, or maybe it is the Amritsari Chicken I had for dinner doing cartwheels in my intestines. Endlessly we can speculate, yet nary an answer would be forthcoming. Bottomline, here I am again pouring my words of wisdom out onto this blank canvas while the minutes tick down to another mundane day of earning my daily bread.

I wish I had some startling insight to share at this point. I really do. But most I can do right now is the predictable bickering and bitching about mundane existences and passionate dreams. I am no closer to achieving the latter than the nth-minus one post that mentioned the same. Bit-by-bit, brick-by-brick I hope to make some headway. No miracles happening in the near future at least though. There are more pressing matters of the career and personal life kind to joust with. No scope for day-dreaming at the moment and certainly no need for this random insomnia that is afflicting me now. But I am used to this also now, like I get used to pretty much anything fate throws my way. A gift that, a curse many times, but it is who I am. I accommodate. I adjust. I adapt.

Before I go off on yet another ego trip, I'd like to take a moment to talk about love. Love is a many-splendid thing that takes you to the heights of ecstasy and the depths of despair with the same breath. It is the opium that overrides my senses even when I try to resist it. It rends me apart, stitches me whole again and churns me inside out and round and round till there is nothing left but a quivering mass of jelly that has just enough backbone not to melt into a puddle. It is a crazy heady maddening drug that tints the most ordinary of days in a hazy rosy frame and leaves a smile every time I think about it. God knows why I am up at this time talking about love of all things, but then again maybe that is why I am up in the first place. Who knows! One glimpse of those bewitching eyes and I am always down for the count.  

I would now like to expound on money. A beautiful invention this and the most intricate bit of chicanery ever devised by man. Who knew little bits of metal, paper and plastic can make the world go around and drive men, women, children and geriatrics alike insane! Who knew I'd be devoting so much time, effort, energy and education to understanding the mechanics and hydraulics of the humongous machine that churns and re-churns these thingamajigs to which suited-booted acolytes pay their obeisances in every nook and cranny of the world! Races, castes, colours, creeds; all united in the single overpowering pursuit of more and more and more money. It is never enough. You want to step off the carousel and call it a day, but you can't, you never can. It is is the spider in the web, the puppeteer that pulls the strings of us marionettes. It is, always has and always will be not the means to the end but the end itself. I'm no stranger to its lure. I am not some hermit living in a cave who has the requisite self-control. The more of the stuff the better is what I say. If everyone is doing it then what's wrong with joining the bandwagon! Someday, one day, I will have just about enough to call it quits and cock a snook at everyone. That's the plan anyway, though plans have a nasty way of crumbling into nothingness at the slightest provocation. The carousel never loses its sparkle anyway; it just keeps shining brighter and brighter with every spin and entices you deeper and deeper into the vortex. 

Finally, since my eyelids are actually drooping a bit now, I want to talk about writing, about words and sentences and prose and poetry and letters and reports and presentations and everything else under the sun that requires me to put finger on key and type serpentine characters in a frenzy. Before I sat up in the middle of the night and decided to babble this was a pristine white page, something infinite in its possibility yet tragic in its emptiness. My heart soared and sobbed at the same time. I wanted to give it succor, to give it a purpose , a meaning even. At the same time I rejoiced at the multitude of paths that lay ahead of me. I could choose any one, hack through whichever thicket I wanted, ford streams and cross bridges whenever I fancied. I could create a sonnet of soaring beauty or a soliloquy of breathtaking melancholy. I could be a poet, a troubadour, a minstrel to the masses if you please; or a terse succinct commentator of the whims and fancies of life. It goes to my head this feeling, makes me fizz and crackle with electricity. My hand is but an extension of my mind now, nary a gap between genesis and imprint of thought. And as I look at what all I wrote at this ungodly hour I can't help but marvel at the beauty of this symbiotic relationship. It is like a window to my own soul. Every time I put the final punctuation with an exaggerated flourish I learn a little bit more about myself. It is something I should do more often instead of these sporadic late night trysts. I wish I had a nickel for every time I said that.

Any more beyond this point and workplace productivity will surely go for a toss. It is this toil after all that keeps the hearth warm and food on the table. I foresee a procession of tea cups in my near future though. Ah, the joys of adult life! The aquavit exchanged for the tea bag, the shot glass for a chipped ceramic mug. Travails I guess, but necessary nonetheless. For everything else, there are those bewitching eyes. 

Last Call

"Repeat?"

"Repeat repeat. God yes repeat!"

"Repeat barkeep!"

"Yes sir."

The solicitous barkeep went to get the necessary victuals. Ravi turned to his friend Manoj who was staring fixedly at an imitation swordfish mounted on the wall. 

"Beaut, innit?"

"Hunh?" Manoj muttered.

"A whopper that."

"Whopper what? What the hell is a whopper?"

"Big. Huge. Massive. You know, whopper. It is also Burger King's signature burger, but that's not relevant here."

"A burger? You want  me to have a burger?"

"No no. I was just trying to make a point about the fish."

"What fish?"

"That fish, the one staring pie-eyed at us from the wall," Ravi emphasized, pointing at the artifact for added effect.

"I don't see any fish!"

"It's right there! You are looking at it!"

"Am I?"

"Oh for the love of...wait. You wearing your glasses?"

"Nope."

"Why the hell are you not wearing your glasses? You are blind as a bat without them!"

"Because she hated them. She said I looked like a dyspeptic mole!"

"Dyspeptic? Really?"
"I was going through some stomach troubles then. Still am actually."
"Save it. Spare me your hypochondriac spiel. You are visually challenged my friend, and quite severely at that. You shouldn't be taking such frivolous fashion advice, especially from your ex."

Ravi felt like kicking himself as soon as he said 'ex'. It was too raw a wound. Manoj had already started slouching further into his seat, almost as if he was shrinking right in front of his eyes. His lips were also quivering in the 'about to bawl like a baby and make a scene' mode, and God knew he had had enough of that! He had almost physically dragged his friend across town and had practically plonked him in this relatively nondescript watering hole simply because no one they knew would come here in their right mind. And what thanks he got for all this effort? Zilch! Nada! The buffoon was even now tearing up again like a two year old who had pooped his pants.

He frantically scrabbled at the spectacles case lying on the counter-top and fished out the missing spectacles, which he then jammed them down emphatically on the bridge of Manoj's nose.
"OWWW! What the fuck!" yelled Manoj, rudely brought back to his senses by this physical assault.
"Ah put a sock in it. I did you a favour!"
"How the hell did almost breaking my nose do me a friggin' favour!"
"Look there?"
"Where?"
"There."
"At that fish?"
"See? Favour done!"
"Oh for the love of...what is wrong with you!"
"Actually, now that you are mentioning it I have this weird kind of itch in my crotch, a certain kind of dryness almost. That region almost seems parched. Maybe you can go down and help a bit there."
"Screw you dickhead!"
"Up yours shitface! Now shut up and down that drink in front of you this instant!"
"Of course I will down it! You think I am some pansy? I will show you!"

Hence they proceeded to down that round. And another round. And another round. And so on and so forth, since there wasn't much else to do in that place anyway. A pool table or two might have distracted those two from getting cirrhosis of the liver, but this was a no-nonsense bare bones kind of establishment that was proud to be journey's end for the already and soon-to-be inebriated and didn't brook any of this fancy-schamncy stuff. There were also no jolly drunk strangers to strike up a conversation with. This bar in fact seemed to be propped up only on their custom since the next nearest thing to a customer they had at the moment was a stray cat that was lapping up some suspicious stain on the floor. Ravi took pity on this forager around shot #6 and immediately ordered shot #7 to add some variety to the critter's life. His motor functions were not working properly though and he ended up pouring it all over the cat. The worthy animal then hopped around in indignation for a minute or so before settling down in a corner far away from Ravi. It seemed to be licking its paws rather fondly though, so all this tomfoolery was probably not in vain.

By shot #9 the world was definitely doing weird things to Manoj. Sorely tried as he was by the vagaries of human relationships, he was now being subjected to a veritable kaleidoscope of colours and images intermingling with each other in some weird mish-mash that was making his head hurt. Or maybe that was the alcohol. Or maybe both. Anyway, he was not feeling in top form to deal with the world. His hand was clamped in a death-grip around the now-empty shot glass as if it was his only tether to this mortal realm, while the bartender did the shimmy at fantastically impossible angles. And Ravi, O Ravi, his dear and faithful friend! He had well and truly lost it! What else could explain his frequent apparations and disapparations! One second he was there grinning like an idiot, and the next poof! Gone! And then poof again! Back! On and on and on he did this, each time reappearing with the same drunken grin smeared across his face. The Cheshire Cat couldn't hold a candle to this miracle man!

"Oi!"
"Hmmmmmm?" the apparition replied before blinking out of existence again.
"How you doing...that!"
"That whaaaatttt?" the voice slurred, an instant before the face reappeared.
"This. This this this!"
"I don't...hic!...have a friggin'...I said I don't have an idea...what I mean to say is...hehe."
"There! See? You did that again!"
"Did what?"
"Disappeared!"
"Dissh..dishh...dishhapppeared?"
"Yeshh...I mean yes...how?"
"I don't know!...hehe."
"You don't?" Manoj asked incredulously.
"Nope...hic...not a clue!"
"But you are doing it! How the hell can you do something and not have an idea how!"
"Do you fart?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"How? What do you mean how?"
"How do you fart?"
"What kind of a question is that!"
"Hey...burp!...you were the one who shaaaid it."
"Shaaid what?"
"That you know how you do what you do. So temme...hic!...how do you fart?"

Manoj was stymied at this juncture. It seemed a devilishly simple question this, for even though he was not trained in the science of the human body surely this was purely a question of deductive reasoning and some imagination! How indeed does a man expel gas? How does anything expel gas for the matter? Surely this was a trifling question! Even now the answer should be coalescing and bursting forth with blinding luminosity into his cerebrum (or cerebellum, he was never sure which one). But it wasn't, and that left him even more bewildered at the state of things. He huffed and puffed and could have actually farted for all the good that it did him. His brain had shut shop and left the building.

"Hehehe."
Manoj cast a jaundiced eye at his friend who was grinning from ear to ear. The apparation-disapparation act had finally been played out it seemed, for he was trying to stand on four legs now and struggling mightily with at least three of them.
"You look funny doing that", he said disapprovingly.
"And you look like a baboon, but who's complaining!"
"You're getting on my nerves mate you are."
"Surely you are 'farting' about it. Hee hee!"
"I'm warning you dude. I'm in a bad mood."
"And I'm in a 'bar' mood. Hee hee hee!" laughing so hard this time that he almost toppled over.
"Stop it man. I'll hit you!"
"Hit me?"
"Yes hit you!"

Ravi quit his calisthenics for the moment and come back squarely to terra firma. He had started the night out as a firm shoulder to cry on, but that mission statement seemed to have been forgotten in the colorful alcohol haze that was making him giddy from head to toe. This threat of physical harm though brought it back squarely into focus again. Here he was, he thought, being a friend in need and shit and here was this thankless no-good bastard who was actually threatening to hit him! Who died and made him king hunh! The nerve of the guy!

"Did you just say," Ravi began, his voice firm and resolute, "that you, are going to hit me?"
"Yes. That's exactly what I said."
"Why?" he inquired, trying to find some rationale.
"Felt like it."
"Felt like it? FELT LIKE IT?"
"Yup."
"What do you mean felt like it?"
"I meant that you are here, you look positively repulsive and morally reprehensible, plus you are irritating the hell out of me with your fart jokes. So I'm gonna hit you."
"Really?"
"Yup. Before I thought I'd just threaten you so that you mend your ways, but the idea of beating you black and blue just keeps getting more and more exciting."
"Be careful what you are saying Manoj," Ravi threatened, "else you will come to regret it."
"Who'll make me regret it? You? Hah! You can't even stand on all fours!"
"What?"
"You can't stand on all fours!"
"What 'all fours'? I'm all twos!"
"Exactly! You're not even worth all fours!"
"You're not worth all fours!"
"No you aren't!"
"No you!"
"No you!"
"You!"
"You!"
"AAAAAARRRGGGH!"
"AAAAAARRRGGGH!"

And thus, war ululations in place, they pounced on each other. Rather, they tried to pounce on each other with hilarious results. Manoj got entangled in the bar stool he was sitting on and came crashing into Ravi who was in mid-leap. The resultant tangle of arms and legs rolled a few meters across the floor before coming to rest next to the cat. Now this cat had been sorely tried by this duo. All it sought was a bit of peace and quiet at this ungodly hour instead of being sprayed by foul-smelling liquids by this numskulls. Add to the fact that it was a bit high on said foul-smelling liquids and it was no wonder that it was not a happy camper. It was thus with barely disguised glee that it sprung on the dazed duo and scratched them no end. They yipped, they yelled, they yowled, but the feline was an avenging angel, an Egyptian God's fury incarnate. The fighting blood of its sabre-toothed ancestors was up and boiling and it just went ballistic. It was only when Ravi extricated his left elbow from underneath Manoj's right butt-cheek that they were able to disentangle themselves and scurry away from this blur of paws and fur. The marauder stared disdainfully at its handiwork  as they cowered opposite it before turning away haughtily and slipping out the front door.

The erstwhile combatants gingerly got up and dusted themselves off unsteadily. Manoj walked back to the bar and sat down with his head in his hands. Ravi tottered after him and took the adjoining seat.

"Hehe."
"What now?" Manoj mumbled through his palms.
"We got into a fight with a cat."
"So?"
"And the cat won!" Ravi screamed and burst out laughing.
Manoj lifted his head from his hands and waited testily for his paroxysm to pass over. When Ravi had calmed down to muted sniggers he asked again,
"So?"
He stopped sniggering and looked incredulously at him.
"You mean you didn't get it?"
"Nope."
"Seriously?"
"Yup."
"How? How could you not get THAT!"
"Not my day I guess. Now will you tell me already why the hell you are laughing like a maniac!"
"Hehehe."
"Ravi!"
"Ok ok I'm telling you," leaning forward conspiratorially, "so it was a cat."
"Yup."
"And we are guys."
"Yup."
"Guys with dicks."
"Ok..."
"And it was pussy cat..."
"Oh for the love of...You were laughing at that!"
"Um hmm Um hmm," Ravi managed to squeeze out between his continued sniggers.
Manoj smacked himself on the forehead. That is to say he tried to for he missed by a wide margin. He looked incredulously at the offending palm as it began to go out of focus again. The alcohol in his system was reasserting itself with a vengeance.

He turned his bleary gaze back to his friend who was trying to frantically catch hold of the bartender.
"Oi! Oi barkeep! Hey! Dude! Chop chop!"
"What happened?" he asked.
"I want tequila."
"Don't you think you have drunk enough already?"
"Nope. Neither have you, so I'm ordering for you too."
"Hey! I don't want any."
"Of course you do! Who are you kidding?"
"But..."
"C'mon man! Two strapping hunks like us got conquered by a pussy! What are the odds of that!"
"Pretty low I'd think."
"Doesn't matter! Come! Drink up!"

The bartender had in the interim responded to his pleas and served up two shot glasses worth of the stuff in a jiffy. Manoj picked up his glass and turned reluctantly to Ravi.
"Here," Ravi yelled joyously as he thrust his glass high in the air, "here's to us! To us, to our awesomeness and to our amazingly long dicks! L'chaim!"
"L'chaim!" Manoj responded with a grin, his friend's enthusiasm too infectious to resist.

The liquid burned a fiery trail down his throat and he shuddered as the hit went right to his head. It almost felt like he had been dunked in icy water and he was spluttering by the time the amber fluid settled in his stomach. The world had started wobbling again by the time he managed to set the empty glass back on the table.

"Good wasn't it?" Ravi grinned as he watched his friend carefully.
"Good? It was brilliant! Phew! Strong shit!"
"I asked him for that particular brand. Hits the spot like a charm."
"I'd say. Brrrrhh! My eyes are still watering!"
"Compliments to the chef!" Ravi proclaimed, raising his glass to the bartender in appreciation. The worthy in question was busy packing up for the night and ignored this gesture completely.
"Amen!" Manoj concurred.

A brief bonhomie prevailed in the bar as Ravi went about the ritual of paying the bill. He had lost count of the drinks long time back and didn't even stop to examine the bill as he thrust his entire billfold at the manager, who surveyed the impresario curiously before selecting a card at random and going back to his machine. Business concluded, the loyal friend turned back to find Manoj slumped into deep dark gloom again.

"Oi! Oi you lily-livered cad! What ails you now you dishrag?" adding a thumping slap on the back for added effect.
"Ow! You for one, you drunk monkey! Watch where that hand of yours is going!"
"Hee hee hee hee hee!"
"What's funny now?"
"Hand...he he he...going...hmph hmph hmph..."
"Crissakes did you even graduate high school?"
"He he he."
"God! Here I am smashed out of my spinal cortex, having the worst day of my life and there you are cracking up like friggin' teenager! Don't you see I am suffering?"
The goofy grin on Ravi's face vanished immediately at that, to be replaced by a stern, even angry stare that Manoj found too unnerving to handle. Or maybe it was the tequila playing dodgeball with his neurons.
"Listen, you piece of shit," his friend began irately.
"Piece of shit? You calling me a piece of shit?" he replied incredulously.
"Yes you spineless idiot. You are a piece of shit, the biggest stinkiest most ugly turd that was ever shat out on God's green earth!"
"Ack! That's disgusting!"
"No! No you are disgusting. The way you blubber on and on about this nonsense is bloody repulsive! She found someone else, you bought the new issue of Penthouse so all square!"
"You mean you bought the new issue of Penthouse, which you haven't even given to me yet."
"Details details. That's not the point! The point is that you got rid of her. She was excess baggage man. If not today then tomorrow, if not then later, if marriage then a pretty messy divorce and she would have coolly walked away with a significant portion of your fortune."
"I don't have a fortune," Manoj murmured.
"Bugger! That's not the point again. There was barely any physical, mental, social, spiritual, metaphysical, philosophical or even topological compatibility between the two of you. You got hot after her bust, she didn't seem to mind and that was that. The whole basis of you relationship. Can't you see the big favour she did you? You should be shouting in the streets, dive-bombing into pools and generally raising hell. Instead you are stuck in this sad little bar with your head between your hands. Wake up already you bastard and for the love of god smell some roses!"

Ravi looked anxiously at his friend as he finally raised his head and sat up straight (or whatever went for straight in his inebriated state). This really was the last throw of the dice. If his friend still refused to come out of this thoroughly depressing mood then he was just going to bonk him on the head with a bottle and hope for the best. It was thus with a certain trepidation as he waited for him to speak.

"Ravi."
"Yeah?"
"You paid the bill?"
"Yeah? Oh yeah yeah. Paid it."
"Hmm. We can go then?"
"Yup."
"Come. Let's go then. I need a change of scenery."
"Sure man. Whatever you want."

The duo got up gingerly to their feet. There was a brief alarming moment when the earth seemed to be slipping out from beneath their feet before they managed to rein it under control and plant their heels firmly on the floor. They then carefully made their way to the door and equally carefully stepped out into the chilly winter night.

"Fuck it's cold!" Manoj groaned.
"Seriously," Ravi replied, "I think my scrotum is frozen to my thigh already."
"Let's take a walk to warm ourselves up shall we?"
"Er...ok...if that's what you want....I was looking forward to a nice warm taxi though..."
"Just for a bit. Need to oil these creaking joints of mine."
"Ok...I guess..." Ravi replied dubiously as an especially chilly gust of wind whipped past their faces.

The empty streets rang with the steady clop-clop of their shoes. Ravi drew his jacket tighter around himself as his teeth started chattering uncontrollably. This was not his idea of a leisurely stroll for sure. The fog was impenetrable, threatening shadows were popping up out of nowhere and he was almost certain that there was a crazed homicidal lunatic stalking them at this very moment. His friend, though, was in a world of his own, rarely catching his breath or giving in to the slightest shudder. He just kept plodding on at the same steady place, head sunk deep in thought. The same murderous maniac could have lopped off a limb or two and he would have shrugged it off like a zen master, such was his contemplation. Ravi, however, was denied this inner peace and was consequently jumping about like a ferret. It took about thirty shivers and three anxious glances around before he decided enough is enough and spoke,
"Oi!"
Meditative as he was, Manoj coolly ignored him.
"Oi! I said Oi you blasted idiot!"
Something finally seemed to penetrate his cocoon. He stopped and turned bemusedly to his friend.
"You said something?"
"Of course I said something you drunk bat!"
"What?"
"What do you mean what!"
"What did you say?"
"What did I say? What did I say!"
"Yes, what did you say?"
Ravi knew he had a corker of an answer for that, but he couldn't for the life of him remember it.
"Er...That is to say...hmm...good question that."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What," Manoj said exasperatedly, "did you say?"
"I can't remember."
"Why am I not surprised!"
"Hey! You didn't hear what I said. Your problem bud!"
"Bah!" he replied huffily and started to return to his walk.
"Oi!...Ah now I remember!"
"Really!" came the sarcastic reply.
"Of course I do! I said 'Oi you blasted idiot'!"
"Now why would you call me that!"
"Because you are walking around in the Arctic Circle as if you are picking daisies!"
"Arctic Circle? Daisies?"
"Yes. Arctic Circle AND Daisies. Rather nice turn of phrase that, even if I say so myself."
"Why the hell would I be picking daisies at this time! I am mulling you oaf!"
"Mulling on what you git! I am freezing my 'nads of here! Why the hell can't you mull at home!"
"Dude who mulls at home! Haven't you seen any pictures?"
"Oh so his lordship is shooting a picture now is he? Bloody buffoon!"
"Oi! Emotionally trying time remember. Show some sensitivity."
"I will be sensitive the moment I get a hot water bottle between my legs. Oi! Oi taxi!"
Manoj looked around quizzically. There were no cabs in sight.
"Who are you calling out to? I don't see any taxis anywhere."
"Neither do I. I thought there might be some cab lurking around in the shadows or something."
"None that I see."
"Damn!"
"Don't worry man. I will call for a radio cab."
"Aww that will take forever to come!"
"Either that or we walk all the way back."
"Bah!" Ravi replied grumpily and sat down on the nearest doorstep. Manoj conducted the necessary negotiations over the phone and sat down next to him.
"Fifteen minutes mate. Think you can hold on till then?"
"Don't have a choice now do I!"
"Nope."
"Bah, humbug."

They sat in a somewhat moody silence for the next few minutes, only the occasional dog bark disturbing the stillness. Ravi kept looking up and down the road for any sign of headlights, while Manoj stared fixedly at some nondescript spot on the ground. After a couple of minutes of this the latter spoke,
"Ravi?"
"Yup," he replied absentmindedly, engrossed in his search.
"You were right."
The sheer unbelievable nature of that statement made him sit up. He looked incredulously at his friend.
"What?"
"Don't make me say it again now."
"Did you just say I was right."
"Yup."
"Right about what?"
"About her, about the situation, about everything."
"Really? You mean that?"
"Yup."
"Really? Truly truly absolutely?"
"Ya man. Don't rub it in now."
Ravi suddenly let out a gleeful cackle and pinched his cheeks. Not satisfied, he then got up and started doing an impromptu and very unsteady jig.
"Ow! That hurt fucker!" Manoj growled rubbing his cheeks.
"He's alive! HE IS ALIVE! Oh glad and merry this day, oh joy is me!"
"You really have to do that?"
"Do what?" the artist replied, now engaged in his own version of the Gangnam dance.
"That!"
"Oh this? This is just me being nice to you, not shoving the words 'I TOLD YOU SO' down your stinking throat! Ha Ha!"

Manoj waited patiently as the Gangnam turned into something that was a cross between a rodeo bull and cerebral palsy, which was then replaced by the ubiquitous moonwalk. He went through a whole gamut of other fantastical dance interpretations singing "I TOLD YOU SO" in an off-key slur, until he finally got tangled in his own feet and collapsed onto the ground. Apparently he was still too amused though, because he then doubled up with laughter. The bravura performance finally wound down with a big hiccup, a wide grin the only remnant of the gyrations that preceded it. The audience gave him a moment or two to recover before piping up,
"Done?"
"Mmmm...hee hee!"
"I will take that as a yes."
"Um hmmm....hic!"
"Let me finish. I will tell you why I wanted to walk. I wanted to walk because I needed to think, and to think I needed the biting cold to wipe off that alcohol from my system. And what was I thinking about you ask? About what you said friend, about how she had done me a favour almost by digging out my heart and trampling all over it with her Jimmy Choos. For once in your life you were spot on. There was nothing between us. We were, we were just two wayfarers in the night, taking comfort from each other in the dark, facing the terrors of the night together, holding each other for warmth. Once the day came, we didn't need each other. She went her way and I went mine. I liked what we had together and I was very very partial to that fantastic bust, but push comes to shove buddy and I would have taken on a grizzly rather than gotten hitched to her!"

He got up for theatrical effect at this point, walking onto the road and staring in the distance as if posing for some Michelangelo imitation. He raised a pointed finger at some random part of the horizon and waved it dramatically,
"See? See that Ravi? That's my future calling. That's the greatness that lies in store for me. That's just desserts for a man so supremely gifted as me. So what if that bust is gone! There are bigger and better busts to go after, not to mention tight and rounded posteriors! This world is my oyster baby and I'm going to loot it off every last grain of sand! Are you with me you scoundrel, you vagrant, you ragamuffin with the heart of a lion and the physique of a hippo!"
Silence.
"I said, are you with me oh wise and faithful friend!"
Silence.
"Ravi?"

A brief splutter, before the moment was punctured by loud snoring. Manoj looked fondly at him as he lay curled up on the road with his thumb in his mouth, before fishing out his phone and starting taking pictures from various angles. You never know when you might need some leverage, he thought as he rounded off the shoot with a close-up of the goofy grin splashed across his face. He then patted him affectionately on the head before sitting cross-legged next to him. The faint sounds of a efficient radio cab service drew ever closer as he reached into his friend's jacket and took out the new edition of Penthouse. Make hay while the sun shines as they say, thought they probably didn't mean it the way he meant.

   

Redux

A hiatus, if you so please. A hiatus necessitated by the diktats of another government that frowns upon freedom of speech and thought in any form. A hiatus which was then perpetuated by sheer lack of will after I came back to my own country's shores. Always a lot to say, but no burning need to make time to pen down these sage musings for posterity; no time in fact to indulge my love for the written word and what magical vistas one can weave with just a string of these ant-like strokes. Obviously I am a bit of an arse to be like this, so let me get back on the straight and narrow with the greatest alacrity.

So here I am, back in front of the all-too-familiar computer screen which for once is not displaying some inane website or colorful Japanese anime. Just my fingers clattering on the keyboard as music booms through the woofer next to me. Blissfully relaxing this actually. I had forgotten this feeling. These past few weeks I have roamed in foreign lands, seen sights that I'd probably never see before, met friends who now lie separated by entire continents, returned on flustered wings as cyclones raged around the aluminum canister that cocooned me, scampered through carpeted office alleyways on missions of great urgency, re-connected with friends and family and most importantly re-embraced my love. Hell of a ride it has been and it has taken so much time just to get back to the normalcy I'd taken for granted scant months back. Not a major earth-shaking breakthrough for sure, but one does tend to treasure these few ephemeral moments when thoughts are not whizzing around in my head at the speed of light.

Not to say that I'm bored though. Far from it. There is always so much to do and look forward to every time the sun shines through my window. There are always those twin twinkles and sparkling smile that I can always lose myself into. So much madness, mayhem and merriment yet to be wrought; so many tragedies and terrors yet to be faced; so much to delight in, so much more to suffer through; so many things I still haven't seen or heard in this world. Self-indulgent grandstanding again this I know. I have a habit of not saying anything concrete in spite of all this verbiage. But that was the point of this blog anyway, to escape from practicality and reality and all associated bull crap and let the mind wander wherever it wants. Seems like mine likes building castles in the air.

I hope to one day actually make some sense with my posts. Till then you can probably marvel at these colorful frothy concoctions instead that collapse with the faintest breeze. It might not win me any literary prizes but it is still a damned sight braving the traffic. And on this note I conclude and hope that one day scientists perfect teleportation so that the world can be saved my ranting. Cheerio!

Beyond the pale blue sea

That's where I'll wait,

Beyond the pale blue sea,
Where the stars shine bright
And the earth smells sweet.

We'll leave these terrors behind,
These polluted shores and barren lands,
The rivulets of blood, the smoke in the trees,
And the ravens' broods that screech.

Across these murky waters,
There, where the sky meets the sand,
That's where they said heaven will be,
Where the hearths are warm and hearts still clean.

The sirens pierce the air urgently,
My barrel's drenched with sweat,
But I forge on, a gladiator incarnate,
I fight for freedom, I fight for our dream.

Bliss, utter eternal bliss awaits,
That's what they whispered in my ears,
That's why I ululate and charge into battle,
That's why I silence the screams.

I growl like the hounds of hell,
I am the devil incarnate,
I slash and tear and rend them to pieces,
For they stand 'tween you and me!

Their bones crunch under my feet,
Their agonies echoing in my ears,
But my feet march on, regardless,
'Tis the call of the sea.

I'll wash off my sins in its briny depths,
And this stench of death still lingering,
I'll cast off these guns and ropes and chains,
For the future has no need for these.

Here my love! A new life beckons,
Beyond this pale blue sea,
Which runs crimson with the blood of innocents,
That I took for you and me!

That Lullaby

Ma, sing me that lullaby again,

That sweet nonsensical lullaby,

Let your sweet voice wash over me,

And take me to a better place.

Ma, sing me that lullaby again,

Which warmed me from head to toe,

Like treacle on a warm summer day,

And kept my nightmares away.

Ma, sing me that lullaby again,

While you pat me gently on the cheek,

Hold me close while my eyelids droop,

And tell the bed bugs not to bite.

Ma, sing me that lullaby again,

As I drift away into magical lands,

Kiss me softly and tiptoe out,

And give me that last loving glance.

Ma, sing me that lullaby again,

When I grow old and dry,

Take me back to more innocent times,

And the shelter of your smile.

Ma, sing me that lullaby again,

That sweet comforting lullaby...

Fallen

He knew not what he saw in her eyes, he just knew he wanted more of it. He wanted to gaze deeper into those pools of ebony and onyx and lose himself in them. He wanted to engulf that soft silken body in a passionate embrace. He wanted to kiss and feel each and every inch of her being with his lips and fingers and toes and every other part of his body. He wanted to love her, lust for her, ravish her, caress her. He wanted to do all that and so much more. She was driving him crazy, this comely handmaiden of the gods. He knew not what he saw. But he knew he was lost.

He bent over her sleeping form and brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her face. Even in repose her face aroused so many emotions in him. The temptress had completely enchanted him. It was laughably cinematic, the ultimate dour cynical son of a bitch falling head-over-heels in love. And why wouldn't he! She was one in a million, nay one in a billion. Her name was etched across his soul in words of fire and he didn't want that agony to ever end. She made him feel alive. She made him live a thousand lifetimes in one moment. She was the missing piece of the puzzle, the balm to soothe the ache in his heart. She was his one, his everything! She was his soul mate.

He thought of kissing her velveteen cheeks, but that might awaken her and she looked so very lovely in sleep. He didn't want to mar this picture with his crass human foibles. He carefully let the sheet fall back over her and silently got off the bed. He cinched a robe across his naked body and walked over to the open balcony doors. The sun was only now beginning to peek its head over the horizon. He took a drink from the carafe of water standing on a nearby table and settled himself comfortably on a deck chair, cigarette in hand, to watch the onset of dawn. He did his best thinking with nicotine in his system and there was definitely much to think about.

Where were they headed from here? What did the future hold for the two of them? Was there even a conceivable future where the two of them could be together? Heck, he hadn't factored anything like this in his plans! He'd never believed in love anyway. He was going to be wild and free and careless till it was time for him to settle down, after which he'd find a nice decent woman to settle down with. But then she walked into the front door and threw everything into a tailspin. He just wanted to swoop her off her feet and flee with her to some remote magical fairy tale land where they can live happily ever after. He wanted to settle down now. He wanted to enjoy the routine humdrum life of a married couple. He wanted to experience everything possible in this world with her. She was a part of him now and he a part of hers.

This was not a fairy tale though, not by a long shot. This was the real world, a cruel unforgiving world which scoffed at such fanciful notions. Where were the finances, it'd ask. In fact where's the bloody maturity in all this! Both of you are not ready for anything like this! Just hormones screwing up your thought process buddy, would be the concluding jibe of this tirade. He barely had a plan for his own future; how could he even think of planning for the both of them! This was young love, everything around them was covered in a rosy haze right now. Who's to say that haze might not mutate into something poisonous! Who's to say they won't get bored of each other or wouldn't get attracted to other people! There were myriad number of things that could go wrong here. He should reel back, be rational and objective, take things one step at a time. That's the right way to go about things.

"Good morning sweetheart!"

He emerged from his reverie to see her standing in the doorway, the nascent sun lending her almost ethereal form a blazing fire like that of the seraphim. All his doubts and beliefs and opinions vanished in that one instant. All he could see or hear or even think of was her perfection. He gazed entranced as she floated towards him and settled effortlessly into his lap with her arms around him and her head burrowed into the crook of his shoulder. He automatically started stroking her hair as the sun finally broke free from the clutches of the horizon and emerged gloriously into the lightening skies. With that also lifted the weight from his heart. There was so much that could go wrong, so much that both of them were not prepared for. But it was all worth it, just for moments like this when his heart was glad and his spirit light and giddy. He loved her, loved her with every fibre and sinew of his being, and he'd continue to love her till the earth stopped doing its merry dance around the sun. It was a crazy screwy world anyway, their little bit of craziness wouldn't do much to change that. He was alive, well and truly alive and he'd be damned if he let anything spoil that!

He hugged her tighter and whispered sweet nothings in her ear. She crooned in his shoulder and snuggled even more into his arms. The morning sun, the uncomfortable deck chair, everything lay forgotten in that embrace. Two souls were one, now and forever more...

Peace

He hungered for what he knew not. He'd eschewed the fruits of this material earth long long ago, for they could never satiate this hunger of his. He'd sought solace in the wilderness, climbed mountains, plumbed ocean deeps, but that restlessness never left him. He meditated for ever and ever and ever, but peace still eluded him. Still this gnawing ache, still this irritating emptiness, still this wrenching incompleteness, and no relief in sight.

He let the pebble that he was holding drop back into the bubbling brook. The sun glinted off its smooth surface for a moment before it sank further down into the water. He leaned back against the tree he was sitting by and looked up at the sky. Another perfect day in the offing. Clear blue skies, a radiant but mellow sun, chirping birds, frolicking animals...blessed indeed was he to be able to perceive such beauty! Blessed was he for could open his eyes and see beyond the concrete constricting constructs of the teeming human populace, see beyond to these perfect little moments when the cosmic harmony blended inimitably with the deeper rhythm of the earth below him. A perfect, simply magnificent day this, yet this gnawing hunger.

He let out a deep sigh and got up from his comfortable perch. No epiphanies going to come his way here. He might as well have been back at his desk in the corner office for all the difference this was making. He started back for camp, musing on the futility of this personal quest of his. He had been searching for ages now it seemed. He'd experienced everything this world had to offer - physical, intellectual, spiritual, even mystical. What more could he do! How else could he still this wanderlust that wouldn't let him build a hearth and stay put! He had left families, friends, sons, daughters; anyone and everyone who had mattered or had the potential to matter was now a distant memory, as was he in their heads. He doubted they'd recognize him even if he ran into them on the street. He never regretted that though, still didn't. He'd played his roles to the hilt - husband, father, friend, brother - and ensured comfort and happiness for his loved ones. He'd been the ideal grihastha and now an even more ideal vanaprastha. But the ultimate, the sannyasa, still eluded him. The world still held him by the slenderest of tendrils.

What is stopping me, he fumed to himself as he stomped back to camp. Anger was a rare emotion for him and was thus all the more furious because of that. His head quivered with pent up rage and frustration. So many years, SO MANY YEARS since he adopted this life of a wayfarer. He was jaded, confused, shackled by society's mores. He needed to break free, take a step off the beaten track, take chances make mistakes live fecklessly and gloriously as he had never done before. And he'd done that; god he'd done that! He'd seen all that this wonderful glorious world of his had to offer! He should be calmer, quieter and much more still then he was now, but he wasn't. He was that same drone he'd been when he'd left so long ago, only much more restless. He hated this. He HATED this!

Somehow he found himself on his knees on the forest floor, digging his hands deep into the earth as if seeking solace from Mother Earth herself. Tears were flowing freely down his craggy face and onto the fertile soil below. In time he stopped weeping, though he continued to stay on all fours, too spent to even move. He slowly opened his eyes and looked dejectedly at the soil freshly turned by his own hands. Something sparkled at the edge of his vision and began to flow down towards the ground. Another tear, he thought and he watched with grim fascination as it made a slow leisurely track down his cheek, skirted the edges of his scraggly beard and teetered on the edge of his chin before falling gracefully towards the welcoming earth. He continued watching with rapt eyes as the drop impacted with the loam and got hungrily absorbed by the parched earth. No, not just the earth. Something else. He scraped the dirt carefully and caught a glint of green. A young sapling was peeking out at him and he watched fascinated as that tear, his tear, made its way inexorably towards its roots and got swallowed up. Maybe he imagined it, but he thought he saw the plant almost move in ecstasy.

He crawled back a bit so as not to damage the plant before getting back to his feet. His entire being was abuzz with something, he didn't know what. He tried to think, but his brain was dancing to a different tune altogether. All conscious thought was being drowned out by an overwhelming emotion that he couldn't comprehend. He looked at the leaves and they seemed so much greener. He smelled the earth and it seemed so much sweeter. His eyes, his ears, his every sense was being carried away by sheer wonder and delight. It was a breathtaking maddening rush that not even the most potent stimulant could replicate. All he could do was close his eyes and let the emotions and sensations wash over his exultant being. This was what he  had hungered for all his life, this sweet untainted ecstasy! His spirit kept soaring higher and higher with the rush of energy coursing through his being. It was all building up towards a magnificent crescendo and he knew he'd never be the same again after that.

Like that sapling fighting its way through the dark into glorious sunlight, his consciousness emerged from the darkness on the crest of that glorious wave of joy and wonderment into blinding brilliance. As the cosmic harmony peaked in every nerve and sinew of his body he finally saw the universe spread out in front of him; colossal in scale, awe-inspiring in its majesty, and so very beautiful. He had reached journey's end. He was one with the parmatman. He had not hunted in vain! A beatific smile spread across his face as he saw the many wonders of this universe unfold in front of him. This was nirvana. This was true eternal bliss!

He didn't know how long he stayed like that. Time and space had lost all meaning. After what seemed like eons he finally opened his eyes and found himself lying down on the forest floor. He got up, rubbed his eyes and looked around. It didn't seem like much time had passed since he had gone into his trance. Was it a trance though, or just the fevered imaginings of a troubled mind? It might all have been some fantastical dream that he was ascribing too much meaning too. But no. It wasn't like that. He was not the same man anymore. He didn't have that gnawing ache in his vitals. He was calmer and more serene than he had ever been. He looked over at the brave little sapling peeking its fragile head out of the earth and a smile spread across his face. His tears had given it life and it had in turn given him meaning. Detachment wasn't the answer. He couldn't reach out to broader horizons if he didn't explore his own first. He couldn't transcend this mortal realm till he became one with it. Every drop of sweat, blood and tears that he had in his body must go towards bringing good to this world. Wandering these verdant valleys and steep mountain-tops was worthless if he didn't embrace everyone and everything along the way. This was every man and woman and child's duty and only when he had fulfilled this purpose can he truly move on to the deeper meaning of existence. He had but a glimpse today of the glory that awaited him beyond the veil. It was for him now to turn it into reality.

He cleared the earth around the sapling and built a crude embankment around it with stones. He poured some more water on it from a nearby brook and watched with delight as the droplets on its tiny leaves sparkled in the sunlight. He thought about sticking around for a few more days till it was more developed, but it was a plucky little thing and he'd no doubt it would take good care of itself. He bowed his head in a final gesture of gratitude and struck out again for camp. The lark was on the wing, the sun bright in the sky and there was a spring in his step and a gleam in his eye. Finally, he was at peace.

Hero Worship

I can't see any wrong in this guy. I don't even try to. I am an adult of sound mind and in perfect possession of all my mental faculties, but I still can't see any wrong. He cast this spell from the moment I first saw that straight bat with the copybook follow-through as the ball sped straight down the ground. Geometric precision, yet a mellifluous melody in that instant. I still tingle when I see that shot and I have seen it too many times to count; a testament to both the strength of my adulation and the longevity of my idol.

How do I say anything that hasn't been said! How do I even try and imagine some facet yet to be explored! Over two decades in the limelight is enough to strip anyone of their privacy and lay out their faults and frailties for all to see. He's been deconstructed and reconstructed ad nauseum; anything and everything related to him, his life and his conduct have been analyzed and discussed to death. He should ideally have nothing new to offer to the new generation who have just woken up to the sport. They should instead idolize the ice-cool captain or his firebrand upstart of a deputy. Generations past have adulated the Wall; rallied behind their Dada; marveled at the exploits of the run machine before him. How then has this mania survived? How does my heart still skip a beat when a ball beats his outside edge or caroms into his pads? How does this little man with the heavy blade still make me choke up with emotion when his mates take him on a lap of honour around the Wankhede on their shoulders? He's not a politician nor actor nor some religious icon. He's just a sportsman; a supremely talented sportsman yes, but still just a sportsman. How can he make a billion-plus people so frenetic! How can he make me so frenetic! I'm not the most passionate guy after all. Far from it. How does this guy pierce my armour?

The thing about poets is this. You might barely understand the words or the sentence structure or where the bloody hell one line starts and the other begins. You might very well not get the entire point of the piece. But there is that haunting melody underlying that verbiage that your subconscious listens to that makes you see beauty even if you can't fathom it. Your spirits soars on some great emotion; you know not what. The poet weaves a spell around you that beguiles because it's unfathomable; because that beautiful image or impression that gave rise to this melody can't be captured by such feeble mortal constructs as mere words. All you are left with is this tingling feeling down your spine and this lightness in your heart. And that's what this man does. With each flourish of his blade he leaves me a picture too beautiful to comprehend. The mind rebels at the improbability of its existence, but the heart knows what it saw. That one moment captured infinity.

Sachin is a poet, the opiate of the masses, the messiah that carries our hopes every time he walks out onto that oval. He is the perpetual child who grins for all he's worth when he does anything on the field. He's the everlasting fir that spreads its heady fragrance far and wide. The legends will continue long after he hangs up his boots and walks off into the sunset - the assault in the swirling dunes, the scorching brilliance in the veld, the spectacular double without the cover drive, the vindicating century in the chase down south... So many moments. So many memories. So many glimpses of absolute unadulterated perfection. The lone remnant of an era, yet he still strides this world like a colossus. Nothing more I can say can do justice to him. I was lucky to have grown up with his exploits, to have these images in my mind that still move me. All good things must pass and so must he, but these memories will last forever.

That straight drive. That perfect, perfect straight drive...

The Guy with the Dragon Tattoo

"Just have some patience."

"Why!"

"I know you will take some time to adjust."

"Why did you create the need for me to adjust!"

"It's just a phase I'm going through."

"What about my feelings?"

"I understand and respect your feelings, but...but...I just can't help it ok! It just happens!"

"Do you want it to happen?"

"No...um...I don't know. I'm not sure."

"Not sure? NOT SURE?"

"Um hmm."

"Now what the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know ok! Just give me some space!"

Simi glared at Sam as he started pacing nervously around the cramped flat. Not for the first time she wondered just what the hell she saw in this guy. He was scruffy as hell, didn't look at all presentable and seriously had a screw loose somewhere. Add to that his erratic behaviour and outrageous manias and he was certainly not husband material by any means whatsoever. Then again, she was too young to find husband material. This guy was fun; he could be depended on for sourcing weed and vodka at odd hours; and the sex was bed-breakingly amazing! But they were not indulging in any of these activities right now, so the only thing left for her to do now was fume at the dragon tattoo on the back of his newly shaved head.

It was not a bad tattoo to be honest. The artist had showered much love and attention and myriad coloured inks over this one. The flames coming out of the dragon's mouth were particularly vivid. But all that Simi's jaundiced eyes could see right now was a big coloured blob smack on the back of her boyfriend's head, not to mention the utter absence of hair on said head. She wasn't a particularly big fan of his hair - what with the food bits she kept finding in that unwashed mass - but it was still a darned sight better than this gleaming oily dome-shaped monstrosity with an oriental design that was creeping the hell out of her.

"Why the fuck would you do something like this?"

Sam stopped pacing and flopped down on the sofa at one end of the room, giving Simi a lot more space for maneuvering and dramatic expressions.

"Well?" she said, shaking her hands for said dramatic effect.

"Well what!"

"Why the FUCK would you do something like this!"

"Felt like it," Sam replied, trying gamely to sound nonchalant.

"Felt like it? FELT LIKE IT! The guy says he felt like it!" Simi said in sarcastic aside to the wall, "Was that the reason you shaved your head too? Because you 'felt like it'?"

"Of course I had to go bald! How else could I have gotten the tattoo!"

Simi wanted to wring his neck, but her thirst for information was not yet quenched. She controlled her baser instincts and probed further.

"Ok ok," she said in a calm tone that was more for her own benefit, "so you got a tattoo because you felt like it."

"Yup."

"Like the first one that you got on your bicep."

"Um hmm."

"And that idiotic elephant on your chest."

"Hey! It's a cool tattoo!"

"And that fucking snake on your dick!"

"I thought you liked that one!"

"Dude you couldn't fuck for three weeks after you got that! How the hell could you think I liked it!"

"But it got better right? You don't have any complaints now."

"No complaints? I feel like a fucking zoo animal now every time I go down on that thing!"

"You still do it though," Sam replied rather smugly.

"I close my eyes....What the fuck! That's not the point! Don't distract me!"

"Maybe you want to be distracted," he leered, "that can be arranged..."

"Fuck you bastard! I'm not touching you unless it is to beat you senseless with that tennis racquet!" pointing at a very solid looking implement hanging above the sofa.

"I can go for that baby. Sounds dirty."

"Oh shut up!"

Simi sank down on the floor with her head in her hands. She hadn't signed up for this! Sure he was into tattooing himself, but whatever foul monstrosities he inked on his person were mostly shielded from the public (except for beaches and drinking binges which invariably ended with him exposing himself in some form or the other). Hell, she got a kick out of them sometimes, especially that growing snake! But the idiot had now gone and gotten a big fucking dragon that looked like something out of a bad 'shroom trip! How the fuck was she supposed to live with that thing!

"HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO BE OKAY WITH THIS?"

Sam was bemused at that question. It was a loaded question that, a question that beggared any correct response. He was a person who lived in the moment, who was stoned and/or high (he didn't remember exactly) when he saw a porn video where the male lead was sporting a similar look. This was the way he got all his tattoo ideas - including the snake on his john - and he thought nothing of once again emulating his idol Randy Banger. Maybe it was some obsessive gay crush he had for that guy, or he wanted to imbibe his legendary sexual prowess, or he just got too fucking stoned and/or high too many times. Whatever it was, he had gone ahead and done it, caring not one whit for what Simi would say. She was a cool chick, his brain said. She'd go wild and fall all over him, the scumbag continued. It was deep anti-establishment shit this tattoo; it cocked a snook at all that this decrepit defunct society held dear; it was just simply awesome! He was thus, very very obviously NOT prepared for this question.

"Er..." he started timidly, "I thought...er...that is to say I was thinking that...um..."

"You thought? You actually thought and went through with this?"

"Yeah...I mean no...I mean...it looked cool!"

"Looked cool where?"

"On that new Randy Banger video...."

"WHAT?"

Oh shit, he thought as she started to turn red. Not a good time for a brain fart.

"YOU. COPIED. THIS. IDEA. FROM. A. PORN. MOVIE!" she thundered, punctuating each word with barely controlled rage.

"No no no! You misheard me! It was not Randy Banger. It was...it was Mandy Moore! Yes! Mandy Moore. That's who it was!"

Simi got up from her beanbag and started stalking ominously towards him. He sank further into his sofa and fervently wished to be elsewhere.

"Mandy Moore you say," she hissed through clenched teeth, her fists balled up so tight her knuckles were white, "You are telling me that Mandy Moore is bald and has a stupid multi-coloured dragon on her head!"

"No no no! I obviously didn't mean her! I saw some back-up dancer with this look."

"What song?"

"Hunh?"

"WHAT SONG!"

"I don't remember! How am I supposed to remember! I am not the Mandy Moore Fan Club President or something!"

She was towering over him now like some other-worldly colossus. Her flaring nostrils looked particularly gigantic from his vantage point, i.e. flat on his back and cowering in terror on a very exposed sofa. Simi looked at the pathetic worm wriggling under her furious glare and wondered for the umpteenth and oneth time about why she banged this bozo. Sex can't be worth this much idiocy!

"So let me get this straight," she said slowly, the ominous sound of approaching thunder laced in every syllable, "You copied a tattoo from a music video you don't remember by an artist you don't like?"

"Er...yes..." was the timid reply.

Sam cowered even more as her body started trembling with rage. His tattoo was itching, his briefs were scrunched too far up his ass crack and he really really needed to pee; yet he dared not move a muscle for there was something about the way her eyes were popping out that made him eschew any sudden movements. He was a nutter yes, but not a suicidal nutter. The best he could hope for now was to curl up into a ball and hope she didn't break something. So he closed his eyes, did his best impression of an armadillo and waited for it to end.

Simi snorted with disgust as she saw his self-preservation tactic unfold. Never one to accord much respect to this Neanderthal, she was even more disdainful of this blatant display of cowardice. A hotted-up girl bursting at the seams needs a captive audience, an aspen that will bend when she rages and take a few scratches here and there for dramatic effect; but this pussy was depriving her of that joy too. She raised her foot and poked him sharply in the soft part of his stomach.

"Ow!"

"Stop...cowering...like...a...weasel!" she spat out, punctuating each word with another sharp poke.

"Stop doing that!" he screamed.

"Then start fucking behaving like a man you bitch!" concluding the statement with another emphatic kick.

"OW!" was the response as Sam finally scampered off the sofa and fell on the floor in an ungainly heap. He in fact contrived to fall in such a way that the offending tattoo was bang in the middle of Simi's sights. She obviously blew a gasket.

The next few minutes were a flurry of arms and legs and sharp pig-like squeals. Simi was Nemesis in the flesh, deadlier than a brood of famished harpies and twice as more pissed off. Sam meanwhile was literally being downtrodden as he suffered a barrage of kicks and stomps and punches, trying all the while to somehow disentangle his left arm from his right ankle and vice versa. He eventually managed that feat and rolled away before she could land another blow. He then rose immediately to his feet and backed away into the farthest corner possible. That didn't deter Simi though. She could have taken apart an army battalion with her bare hands in the mood she was in. Her clenched fists were literally thrumming with unleashed fury, as were her furious eyes and menacing prowl towards her victim.  

"That's enough Simi!" Sam shrieked, trembling at her approach, "You...you can't do this."

"I can't do what!" she growled in response, continuing to prowl towards him.

"You can't hit me!"

"Why not? You are a lazy fucking idiot who can't find the right end of an exhaust pipe without any directions! Why the fuck should I not hit you!"

"Because...because...because I'll hit you back!"

"Oh really! Try that you fucking piece of shit and I'll have every cop in the district buggering you in the ass!"

"You wouldn't do that!"

"Try me dipshit!"

The situation was getting extremely dire for the tattoo aficionado. Like Simi he didn't expect too much from this relationship. She was hot enough, she was an amazing fuck and she kept him well-fed. But was it really worth this much peril to his physical well-being? His body was just now realizing the full extent of the damage that it had suffered and it was strongly against enduring more of the same. He had to put this female in her place and do it fast before she started scratching him in earnest.

"Wait. Stop!"

"Why should I!"

"You can't hit me! This is not the way to treat your boyfriend!"

"Who says!"

"I says...I mean I say! You can't hit me, or else..."

"Or else what?"

"Or else I will break up with you!"

If he had expected to shake her up in some profoundly metaphysical way he was sadly mistaken. She didn't even flinch. She did pause though, which was good enough under the circumstances. He gave a silent prayer of thanks and slumped against the wall behind him, though he still kept an eye out for sudden movements. You can never be sure with the fairer sex. Here today, gone tomorrow.

The comely representative of said sex was meanwhile deep in thought. Her long lustrous hair that normally made his gonads turn cartwheels were shielding her face from him though, so he had no clue at all what she was thinking. Not that he was particularly curious. Chances were that she was going to jump on him with claws outstretched any second now, so he might as well enjoy what little quiescence was there in his lot. He sent a furtive hand down the back of his pants and adjusted his scrunched up briefs. If I could just get to pee now, he thought as he completed the adjustments. Life would start to look on the up again.

A couple of minutes passed without any sudden movements or claw work from Simi. Ever an eternal optimist, Sam started regaining some of his joie de vivre. Poor angel, he thought smugly, she was probably terrified at the prospect of a life without him and must be even now shedding silent tears behind that ebony veil. His heart went out to her, as did some other important part of his anatomy. Some affinity for vulnerable girls maybe. Once he had had his pee he would go and comfort the poor girl and then show her a good time; a really good time. He was just about to get up and complete the first part of this fantasy when the suffering angel raised her head and brushed the hair back from it. The anger seemed to have been replaced by a calmer and more sober visage. She wised up quick, his inflated ego whispered as he began to extend his hand toward her.

"Where do you get the weed?"

The question threw him a bit. Simi had never expressed much curiosity in this department. He got it, she smoked it. That was the deal. Everybody's happy. This sudden thirst for knowledge after all this kerfuffle was thus a bit puzzling. Then again, this day had been chock-a-block full of surprises. Add one more to the list.

"Er...well there's this place near the station..."

"Can you write it down?"

"Hunh?"

Simi immediately grabbed a pen and a notepad from a nearby cabinet and thrust them in his hand.

"Write."

"Hunh?"

"Write!"

"Write what?"

"Weed."

"You want me to write weed?"

"What the fuck....where the hell do you get the fuckin' weed! Just write down the address!"

"I don't know the address..."

"Directions, phone number, sketches, whatever the hell you can do, just fuckin' do it!"

Sam immediately got down to work, his new-found confidence very much deflated by her sudden belligerence. He was more than a little convinced now that Simi was off her rocker, and once again the internal debate about the viability of this relationship was raging in his bosom. Then he got a look at her bosom and forgot all about that crap. Anything was worth one more crack at that! He scribbled the rest of it with a flourish and handed it back to her.

"The deed is done m'lady," he crooned, adding a theatrical bow for effect.

The damsel thus addressed looked decidedly disgusted by the gesture. She scanned the paper once to satisfy herself about the veracity of its contents. Satisfied, she folded it up and kept it securely in her purse. She then turned towards her hopeful paramour who was still in a supplicant position.

"Don't I get my reward now?" Sam asked in a decidedly lecherous voice, leering to boot.

Simi's frame quivered once under some great emotion before settling down into an ominous stillness. The faux knight was clueless as always as his mind wandered the realms of carnal desires. So it was no wonder when she asked him in too sweet a voice to "close his eyes" that he graciously obliged. She immediately picked up the racquet from where it hung on the wall and circled around to his backside. She swung her arms experimentally, assessed the required force and trajectory and then proceeded to plant a satisfying wallop on his behind.

Sam's first unconscious thought was that his intestine had for some mysterious reason lodged itself in his throat. His second unconscious musing was on the sudden change in equilibrium his body was experiencing. By the time the pain registered he was already hurtling towards the floor and planting his face smack bang in the middle of it.

"OOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!!!"

Simi advanced on him with grim purpose written all over her face. There was a job to be done today and she wouldn't rest until she'd gotten it out of the way. She wound up and hit again.

"AAAAAHHHH!!!!"
And again.
"EEEEYYYYAAAAA!!!!"
And again.
"MMMNGGPFFFF!!!!" came the muffled response this time as his hand jammed against his mouth.
"Break up with me will you, you piece of shit!!!" she shrieked, continuing to beat him black and blue.
"Oww oww oww oww oww!!!"
"Try to manipulate me will you, you bloody asshole!!!"
"Stop that bitch!" he thundered in a belated attempt to regain control.
"Fuck you!" she rejoined with a particularly wicked wallop.
"OWWW!!!"

Sam had regained his feet by this point and was running around the room like a headless chicken with Simi and the racquet in hot pursuit. It took him a couple of minutes and some very painful strikes more before he could figure out where the door was. He immediately made a beeline for it and started struggling with the bolts. She stopped just a few feet away and observed his machinations.

"Listen," she said after a few moments.
He jumped literally two feet in the air at that. He hadn't realized that danger loomed so close and turned around instantly to shield his smarting back side against the door.
"Hunh?" he replied.
"I wanted to say something."
"Ok. But don't hit me!"
"I'm not going to hit you you baby! Just listen."
"Ok."
"I'm breaking up with you."
Sam stared stupidly at her for a bit before replying indignantly,
"Hey! You can't do that!"
"Why not?"
"I was gonna do that!"
"Really?"
"Of course really! I threatened to do that didn't I?"
"I saw the way you were looking at my boobs you bastard. A break-up was most definitely not on your mind!"
"Er...Hey...Ah...I'm not going to stand around here and have my character questioned like that!"
"So don't. Leave and don't come back."

Sam mulled that over. The idea seemed very charming to his distraught buttocks, but his loins didn't seem particularly pleased at the prospect. The boobs in question were spectacular after all.

"Baby don't do this! We can work things out. I know we can."
"Can you get that friggin' dragon removed?"
"Of course not! It's a work of art! And laser surgery is so fucking expensive anyway."
"Then we can't work things out. It's best you leave now before things get ugly."
"Ugly?"
"Yes. Ugly," she replied, the racquet swinging ominously in her hand.

He gulped, then turned around and started unlocking the door frantically. Better get out of here fast while he had the chance. Affairs of the heart could wait for a new day. If he stuck around any longer this female would massacre him. He finally got the last latch undone and was out of the house in a jiffy,  ice-baths and soft downy cushions uppermost on his mind.

Simi bolted the door behind him then went back and hung back the racquet carefully. Hopefully she hadn't done any lasting damage to it. The flat was in some amount of disarray because of recent events, but that piece of housekeeping could wait. All she wanted right now was a nice big couch and an equally nice cool beer. The lark was on the wing and everything was all right with the world again. That blithering idiot and his fucking dragon were out of her life after all. Plus there was enough vodka and weed stocked up to last her some while yet. Ideal really this. A zombie apocalypse could strike right now and she wouldn't bat an eyelid.

I'm going to miss the sex though, she mused as she and her beer ensconced themselves snugly in the couch. He did know his stuff. Probably picked up tips from that Randy Banger fellow or something. Maybe I should check this guy out, see what the fuss is about. She got up immediately and retired to her bedroom where her laptop and an internet connection with unlimited download awaited. Might as well celebrate her emancipation in style.

Faith and a Lemon Tree

What do you do when life gives you a lemon tree? Conventional SMS wisdom dictates you sit down and patiently make lemonade from each and every one of those friggin' lemons. Normal testosterone-fueled instincts demand that you uproot the damned thing with your bare hands, set the broken remains on fire and dance around the pyre like a drunk cave man. There is also that timid weepy voice in the back of your head that just wants to curl into the tightest ball possible and forget all about it. But I want to follow the bloke who is bestriding the road like a stuffed up rooster; head tilted back, chest puffed out and eyes looking haughtily at everyone and everything. I want that insouciance. I want that devil-may-care fuck-that-shit outlook to life. I want to leave baggage behind whenever and wherever I choose. I want to look back and laugh. I want to look forward and laugh. And I definitely want to get out of this poetry phase, not that I am bad at it or anything. Too many rhyme schemes can't be good for your health.

What do you do when you lose faith though? Sheer cussedness is not going to get that back. Does it even come back in the first place, or am I supposed to learn to live with its shattered remnants? It's an excision this, leaving no memory whatsoever of what it used to be like before. Faith is a precious commodity I never had too much supply of anyway. Faith in self yes, but others definitely not. Whatever little I had left is gone now, swept away in a flash through that gaping chink in my armor that I never repaired. I don't know why I never fixed it. Maybe I was lazy, or scared, or just too irrational. Maybe I secretly liked the pain because it showed I could actually feel. Maybe it was some cruel self-inflicted experiment that I undertook just for kicks. Research for future writings, matter for future conversations, sympathy points for future dalliances; who knows.

Finally, what do you do in those weak moments in the dead of the night, when all logic and rationalizations dissolve in a haze of shades and shadows and nightmares that keep pulling you back towards that morass? Where does all that daredevilry go in these moments of need? The mind is a fickle mistress, keeps wandering down by-lanes you never ever want to go again. Reining that in is the hardest part. I tried confronting these moments head-on. I tried to stop them from happening also. Nothing works. I have to live with these nightmares for a while I guess; hopefully not an eternity.

I wish there was some way I could cauterize this wound, wrap it up in a nice little gauze and move on. But things never come that easy for me. It's going to fester some more yet, pain like nothing on earth, move me to hysterical laughter and bitter tears and hacking coughs and breathlessness and migraines and god knows what else. I smell of smoke 'cause I have been through fire. Wish it'd burn out already.   

Images

Images,

They scratch, they scar, they sear,

They haunt my living memories,

My waking dreams,

Every minute, every second,

These images.

Images,

They make me weep,

They make me bleed,

Faith, belief, Hope, destiny,

Flow away with the bloody eddies,

These images.

Images,

They shroud the horizon,

They skewer my aching being,

Lost meaning, shattered life,

Depictions that mock me,

These images.

Images,

These dreadful haunting images.

The Face of Blasphemy

The face of blasphemy is not the devil nor a demon nor any thing creepy crawly that gives you the heebie-jeebies in the night. It is not a firebrand orator nor a sexual deviant nor a rabid insurgent. No. The face of blasphemy is not something so blatantly hideous. It is much more insidious than that. It is shielded behind glinting spectacles and immaculate blue turbans, or crisply starched sober saris, or heavily bearded and mustachioed fair faces. It lurks behind rousing oratory and white cotton saris, dalit beginnings and statue worship, aging fingers and moth-bitten scripts, glittering raths and jingoistic moorings. It shrieks with delight when assemblies are disrupted; it cackles with abandon when bills bite the dust; it gloats and gloats and gloats as the gears grind to a total stop with the populace crushed between them. Welcome to the madhouse. Here’s the end of the world, this blasphemous altar of greed, avarice and faithlessness. Here’s to the system.

A cynic I have become, but not by choice. I dreamed as others dreamed when we returned a unified mandate after so long. I proudly brandished that still wet ink on my finger as a badge of honour, as a testament to the fact that I had fought the good fight and played my own miniscule part in bringing back hope and belief in the country. This was the heralded new dawn when we march out boldly onto the global stage and showcase the sheer power, talent and might that dwell within our shores. We were going to take the bull by the horns, break the shackles of colonial submissiveness and roar out loud like the fierce tigers that we are. The world was supposed to quake in awe as we strode across its length and breadth like colossi. This was our promised land. This was our destiny. And this was what they took from us. The mandate, our mandate, became a mockery as Delhi became a ludicrous parody of democracy. Bills weren't passed, policies weren't implemented; heck even a single day wouldn't pass without some uproar or the other in the legislative houses. The logjam only worsened as the regional satraps ran riot and the technocrat lost whatever little spine he had left. Maybe the 123 Agreement had taken too much out of him. How else can you explain this indecisiveness when the nation stands at the cusp of greatness! The Golden Bird, poised to take flight, still teetering at the edge; a sorry image, a sorry figure, and a very sorry state of affairs.

I just rant and rave though. I don't have a solution. I don't think anyone has a solution right now. All politicians have the same smarmy faces and the same smarmy smiles that make you reach inside your pocket and hold on tight to your wallet. I am generalizing too much. I agree. There will be a few gems here and there in all this gunk. But there is just too much damn gunk! It has gotten to the point that I open the tabloid section first before going to the headlines. It doesn't do my early morning self any good to see yet another face bang in the center of the page with some astronomical amount running across in bold typeface below it. I'd much rather read about vapid starlets and their inconsequential fifteen minutes of fame.

I don't know what triggered this harangue. Nothing specific that I can put a finger on. I guess there was just too much pent-up frustration. To see a bold price hike recanted so blatantly at the whims of coalition dharma is just so demoralizing. A single policy decision can't be carried out without some idiot pulling the chain and bringing the entire machinery down to a grinding halt. GDP growth is screwed, investments are screwed and infrastructure was anyway screwed. Everyone knows we are the growth engine the world is looking towards. We are going to be the biggest economy in another 40 years. Experts don't doubt that at all. But I don't think along such lengthy timelines. I just look back to that ink-blot on my finger and I really hate where I am right now. This is definitely not what I signed up for. I want fire and thunder, heavens rumbling and earths shaking, throbbing pulsations and electrifying palpitations. I want vision, drive, dream, conviction. I want someone, something, anything to believe in. I want my birthright as a proud son of the greatest nation on this planet!

Like I said, I don't have any solutions. I hope someone somewhere has them.  

Eulogy

That which passed away was so enchanting,

Like the dreamy cadence of the nightingale,

Or the majestic swoop of the eagle;

How it fluttered gaily under the azure skies,

On which cottony clouds drifted lazily.

Oh how so much was snatched away?

How could it leave not a single trace?

Such joy, such beauty, such sheer goodness,

Where did it bite the dust?

In which wound does it lie festering now,

Which hellhound snatched it into its maw!

Why this darkness, why this deep despair,

Where there was light, why now these demons?

No prophets come forward, no answers proclaimed,

No predictions nor prophecies nor papal presentiments,

A victim of chance aye! A wrong roll of the dice,

Destiny's plaything this cruel fate of mine;

But what use these tears that flow unabated,

With no helping hand to catch and hold them dear.

The horizon's beguiles though, wreathed in shadows,

Happiness is there it says, so walk through these shrouds, 

Another look at the grave, but the dark has already claimed it,

So I walk on again, to dig more along the way.

Nocturne

Hark! Still thy words!
They taint this beautiful stillness,
This peace, this tranquility, this bliss,
Why shatter it thus?
Why mar this image with human vainglory,
That enslaves, but never completes!

The ebony night, those sparkling stars,
Why bother them with such trivialities!
Why tread the velveteen grass 'neath fretful feet,
When the nightingale sings its melodies?
This moment, this perfect joyous moment,
Why not just let it be?


'Tis gone though, long gone, a fleeting memory,
Like a single downy feather floating in the breeze,
I beg, I cry, I implore it to come back,
But the jealous shades surround it, shield it from my grasp!
I fight, I thrash, I beat bite and scream,
But gone is that instant, forgotten is my dream.

All that is left now is this haunting melody,
That sings of quiescence, but'd never let it be...

Story of a Psychopath

(I wrote this one a long long time back. Funny how things have changed since then. Anyway, moving on...)

You know that little voice in your head? Yeah, that sanctimonious self-righteous s.o.b in the back of your head that’s always cribs and cries and never lets you have fun. Whether you’re pushing around that dork in school with those nerdy spectacles and plastic retainer or trying to get it on with the drunk bitch at the party, that irritating whine is always there in your head, bitching and nagging all the time till you give up and go along with it just to make it shut up. Drives you up the wall, doesn’t it? And don’t give me all that shit about ‘doing the right thing’. If I don’t get anything out of it, then it’s definitely not the right thing. That’s why I killed off that whiny little bastard in my head a long time back, and that’s why I’m called a psychopath.

It started with an expulsion from school when I put a bozo in the hospital with a shattered kneecap. Not my fault really. If he had just handed over his money I wouldn’t have taken that two-by-four to his knee. Authorities, of course, chose to look at it differently. I had been on probation for other misdemeanours anyway. Everything after that was just a natural progression I guess. Schools bounced me around. Therapists tried and failed. More and more people ended up in casualty wards and angry parents started baying for blood. I already had one foot in jail before my parents decided to have me committed and packed me off to a mental hospital.

The one year I spent in that place was hell. My entire world was restricted to a 6-by-8 padded cell and I spent agonizing hours screaming my head off at those plain white walls. When the drugs they put in my food failed to calm me down, they resorted to electroshock therapy. Three times a week they strapped me to the chair, placed those electrodes all over my body and let the high-voltage current fry my nerves. Three times a week I twitched and jerked in terrible agony and tried to get the screams past my gagged mouth. They tried their best to break me, but of course they had to fail. A lax moment on their part and I was able to get my hands on a screwdriver on the way out of the therapy room. A thrust here, a stab there and I got rid of the two orderlies and the doctor. It was a simple matter after that – to exchange clothes with an orderly, stash the bodies in the closet and stroll nonchalantly out of the place. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

I started living on the streets after that; there was no sense in going home after all this. Sure, the streets are full of predators ready to pounce on you, but after I carved up a few punks who tried to gang up on me, everybody else gave me a wide berth. I got by pretty well out there, mugging passers-by, having the occasional bit of fun if they were female. I got into drugs after a while, and life became an interminable haze of ecstatic highs, followed by tortuous lows that lasted till my next fix. Drugs are an expensive habit, so I started peddling to pay for my fixes. I kept to dealing in the cheap low-grade stuff so the established syndicates largely left me alone. Those who didn’t, I took care of.

It didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control. The drugs began messing with my head, making me more paranoid with every second. I began to see enemies everywhere around me. I felt hemmed in, suffocated. I needed air. I had to escape. And I did that the only way I knew.

My first kill was in a stinking garbage-strewn alley. The idiot was hopelessly drunk and tried to fight me. I took care of him with my knife. My blood-lust was satisfied for a bit, but I needed much more.

I had much more fun with the next one. I paid a prostitute for a full ten minutes, after which I strangled her with my bare hands and left her nude body in a garbage bin. I wonder if anybody ever discovered her.

I began to vary my fun with each kill. Bat, chain, knife, poison, acid – I used them all. One thing I never used though was a gun. It’s too neat you see, not to mention noisy. I used to chop off the nose and ears too, you know, like a trademark. It got pretty popular with the press. Not a good thing in hindsight, I guess, seeing that I began to attract police attention. I don’t how, but they managed to track me down. I was lying in a drugged stupor in my rented room when they came barging in. Next thing you know, I was behind bars.

I’ve been sentenced to life imprisonment. There are no padded cells. No electric shocks await me. But it’s still A GODDAMN FRIGGIN’ CELL I WANT OUT I can’t live like this!

You know the funny thing about jails? You can find all the things that you normally find only in the outside world. You just have to know the right people. A few greased palms here and there and within no time at all you can get a SIM card, or maybe even a box of reefers. Not for me though. No sirree! I got myself a magic pill. A pill that’s going to solve all my problems, a pill that’s going to free me from these man-made confines, from the shackles of this sick, twisted world, forever. Just like that song you know –

“Swallow it done, it’s just a jagged little pill.”

One gulp. That's it. I'll be on an everlasting high after this one...