A Short Dream

I was dreaming yet again,

You were walking down a hill,

While we crossed paths,

It was a time not close to the present.

I could tell by a look at my fingers,

But you looked not a day older.

You had spectacles on,

The same as mine,

I stopped and turned,

You took a few steps,

Then turned around and smiled!

It was but a dream,

And it was when i woke up

To my room-mate's alarm tone,

Instead of him!

HIM

What shit has he put himself into? He can neither comprehend nor understand, he thinks and he thinks much!!! It’s seems close to a mid life existential crisis that he is going through!!!

He has graduated, he does not party like the rest of his generation, and he has nothing to do! Hardly goes out. No woman to love! Frustrations with no bases! Still watches anime like a child! The only positive thing that he does is read a little! His landlady often asks him where had he been, as she seldom sees him, all the while, where he had been was inside his apartment.

His existence is turning into one without meaning! Like Kafka's Samsa wakes up to find himself turned into a hideous bug, similarly he wakes up every damn day into an abyss of nothingness, which crumbles around him drags him by his arms and limbs like a storm within!

To summarize it I’ll quote, "Nothing happens, nobody comes nobody goes, it’s awful" Samuel Beckett in Waiting for Godot

He has been giving up on things! He gave up on pot and alcohol; he gave up on courting that one woman who he had ever wanted to be with, more so because he needed to respect her views and principles! She asked him to stop, and he dropped it like he dropped everything else that he could. But he did not know what that drop would cost, eventually.

He had given up on all his 'friends' he doesn't meet them or talk to them anymore, he doesn’t pretend to be close to them like how they were in school, but they still pretend it’s all the same. No, fuck no, nothing is same they've all changed, they just deny it! And he accepted the change, which makes them think he is a slight misfit. He says: Well fuck them!

He doesn't sleep well, he finds himself caught up in a ditch and it’s a claustrophobic feeling which he can’t express in words! He reached a suicidal point, and gave that up to, instead he accepted the realities and he saw no fucking point in anything, not even in ending his existence! No coherence, no comprehension!

A friend of his asked if he wanted a toke on a spiff, “Nah no pot!!!” he replied. Pot was never the solution. He has come to realize that the only solution is the acceptance of realities, which in itself creates the conflict! That is probably the paradox of all human existence! He contemplated to conclude. ‘Acceptance of reality is the only solution’. This acceptance created the conflict in his mind, as he is a free thinker and has a free will; that was how to him life itself seemed paradoxical!!! And makes one conflicted and puts one in crisis. As reality is again variable and it never seems constant.

The coming and going is not of the physical presence it’s about an idea, an idea of being connected to a mind that understands the working of a free thinking mind, a union of minds, he thought he had it with the woman he assumed he was connected to, but he had to cut it loose, as she wanted to take it no further with him. She said she did not want to sting, but it was a sting that he feels right at the center of a void that was created soon after he accepted her side of the story. That void is his ditch, that void is his storm, that void is his rattrap, and that void is exactly where he did not want to be.

That one, tiny, little act of cutting loose of his connection with her, put him into a labyrinth of nothingness. And its realization and acceptance created this entire conflict as she had nothing to do with it. The claustrophobic ditch, the void, was his creation and his damnation! He damns himself for thinking too much and bringing himself to where he fell from grace and witnessed his naked weakness, how he now only wishes he was a dumb-fuck who understood nothing! Maybe he is a Dumb-fuck who understands nothing at all.

He has no faith in religion nor God he dropped them from his life a long time ago, he chose not to believe in them like they asked him to believe, as he felt that the belief in an eternal Almighty, or as the scriptures of the religion he was born into or rather forced into, suggested over 300 million individual Almighty beings narrowed his sense, sight and perception, to him it seemed but a tool for political control and power. He has no faith in magic, no faith in the extra terrestrial, he has no faith in money, he sees no faith anymore, but he has one faith, Him: and that stopped him from making “The Final Cut”.

The Letter

My Dear,

I cannot make promises
But, I will keep my word
I will not tattoo you into my skin
But, I will keep you closer than beats
I cannot write you a love song
But, I will sing to you


I cannot not be your Knight
But, I will rescue you in distress
I will not live forever
But, I will be around

I cannot bring to you, all the happiness
But, I will curve your lips into a smile

I cannot ask. I will not beg.
But, I will Love!

-Yours regardless

Flowerotica

Flowers, they rot
Flowers wilt, decay,
Smell and look pretty
For bees to shit on them.

Look at the banana flower,
'Tis neither presentable nor sweet
'Tis dull and dead
Yet, it is fertilized.

Provides bananas to eat
Fills a hungry gut
Fulfills a social purpose
What does a pretty flower do?

Sit on its branch
Like a whore, trying;
Desperately, to attract customers
To blow out their steam!

And they say "Flowers are beautiful!"
No, flowers are uncouth bitches,
All they do is,
Die and ROT.

Echo

Perched on a rock on a windy hill,

Under a clouded sky,

I over look a deserted foot path

And continue gazing at the grass,

Swaying in the light summer wind.

The trees dance, the birds rise

Singing a symphony, waking the wild.

A bush rustles, 

And the wild reverberates

Grunts and chirps of beings non human.

A voice pierces through the air,

I hear my name echoing from a distance

I turn around in awe, to find myself alone

Was I imagining the call, I ask myself

There was no answer there either.

I scan again, and see the wild undisturbed

And unconcerned with the echo of the voice.

It was your voice, I couldn't be more sure

I stand in doubt unable to move or leave.

And, it has been echoing, ever since.

From the Heavens

Staring into the dark,
Star-less night, under the apparent heavens
I imagine a star, shining.
Growing,
Turning into a familiar semblance.

Haunting dreams; fashion
Not blood-curdling, but calming.
Singing to my urchin self, sleeping in the dream
Lullabies,
Soothing me to an oblivious existence.

Waking to the crack,
Of white light, under the stated heavens
I rush to her, hurrying
Never,
Tiring on my journey over the usual distance.

Ordaining myself, not to,
I fall, like an angel from the heavens
Desire and lust, burning
And,
Liaising a need in my intrigued conscience.

A Process Too Complicated To Explain

This story begins somewhere between 18^th July and mid August 2011; well the accuracy of the date is neither a matter of importance or significance. The protagonist and the fact that she has no clue of being the lead in this really short story, (if one can call it a story) is what matters more. When this story began I was living in a tiny one room apartment, in a crowded suburb in South Delhi, hoping to shift to a better place soon.

The summer heat mixed with a hangover and my inevitable process of perspiration made me lose my slumber sooner than I had expected, and what I have left of that morning are vague memories. It was one of the first few days of Freshman Year at the university, when I had arrived early like my usual self in those freedom filled, hung over mornings, when I saw her shimmering in ethnic Indian attire. It could have been, a red ‘kurta’ with white prints or a white ‘kurta’ with red prints. I am not sure. This could be the result of not wearing my dorky spectacles or maybe because I was not paying enough attention. It was a fresh face that I had noticed and it was different, I looked at a friend of mine and we exclaimed in unison, “Russian”! “Idiots,” we exclaimed again when we realized that she was completely Indian, but lived somewhere in the Middle East.

Days passed, and I found my head turning towards her often, frequency increasing gradually, along with it the time period too. Confidence kept building as moments passed and turned to months.

Soon the year came to a close. Winter had set in and it was vacation time already. I was sitting uselessly on my desk at home, and i found my finger guiding the mouse on my computer to the tab, which had her mane on it, click-tap-tap-tap..., these noises resulted in Hello Arabian friend being typed on the chat window

Enter.

Thus began a short conversation over the internet, which ended on a casual note.

I did not pay enough attention to her existence, then.

Few months after the winter vacation, the exam fever gripped itself on most of us, and there she was, sitting, behind me in the examination rooms. Three hours of pain through every exam would have been impossible to bear without her presence, as I stole quick glances at what she was writing and her manicured fingers holding the pen at its throat choking the life out it, and the strands of dark hair falling over her visage. The number of facial glances per examination exceeded the number of glances at her answer sheets. She made a few quick glances at my answers too. Soon her presence in the exam hall took shape not only become what I looked forward to, as it was the nearest that I could be to her. It was after this exchange of glances, that a process too complicated to explain, began.

The new academic year 2012-2013 took off at such a slow pace that it crashed our flights instantly. This was difficult to cope with; our young minds were hit with a feeling of boredom and irritation at this crash. It was the announcement of a Literary Festival that saved me from succumbing to the boredom posed by the year. She was an active member in the organizing team, of which I was a part too. Work progressed and so did the process too complicated to explain. We talked more often; we skipped classes often, together. When we attended class, we did together too. This time I spent around her took me close to understanding her beauty, external and internal, and yes I am not talking about her inner anatomy, that would gross the fuck out of me, and I’d probably expel my lung in an act of vomit. I love my lungs, though I soak it in smoke periodically, but that is not the only reason why I am not talking about her anatomy.

The nervousness I feel around her is a better subject to deal in this story: at times my knees tremble and my feet intertwine; I picture myself with a knot instead of a pair of legs.

There was a day when I was trying to enjoy a tasteless meal in one of the cafeterias on campus, when she gracefully walked up to my table with a bunch of her friends, and alienated me from their conversation as I was again paying zero attention to sounds, transported to my silent vacuum with her in front of me, lips moving noiselessly, curving into smiles, laughs, frowns, I felt extra terrestrial. I kept chewing like a cow, but on the food that I had stuffed my mouth with. Three, four, five minutes, I can’t be sure, I had lost all sense of time and space, she was there for; before she stormed out in a random search for ice-cream when I realized that my feet were busy in their process of intertwining. I felt miserable as i swallowed ‘the cud’ that i had been chewing on.

The day before I transformed momentarily into a cow, I had gathered enough motivation and balls to ask her if I could take her to lunch during the weekend, the plan flopped and resulted into a breakfast which was shoved into darkness post the incident at the cafeteria where I turned extra terrestrial.

“There are storms, then darkness. But there is spring and light. And moving on through it makes life!”

She says.