Inside my Fuckin Mind

(Written with far less slangs than I normally use…
I know, I’ll be sober tomorrow; but that does not mean I have not lived the madness today…
By all means, judge me through this piece. I’m no better a person. But yes, I cannot be worse...)

Knock! Knock! Who is this? Is this the bare-all archives of a man or just the carefully constructed lines of a writer who has it more under the carpet than what he is showing? I feel that this whole blog, despite being my reflection, my mood and a hors d'oeuvre for my only identifiable love so far, is actually a boot polish wax slapped over the dirt of a pair of shoes. That dirt, although now hidden by the wax, still exists.

So let this piece be the raw me: a quick 10 minutes writeup of all the thoughts that is in me at this moment, with a damn to the word construction or the vulgarity of content (or even my image)

1. I have one regret in life. Of the love that was mine and yet I had walked ahead of it. How many times have we done this and how many times are we going to do it again: ignoring the best in our wait for the best and then settling for some with whom we cannot be our best.

2. I strongly feel that love is one shot at the pot with your only arrow. You hit it, and you’ll see the true face of love in the broken clay. What you do with the clay shows what your love is. If you miss the target you live with a regret or a small bookmark to the day when you missed the shot.

3. Yes! I do think of sex. At times when it is extreme, I label it as a basic need of our lives, my life, and ofcourse I remain the starved one. But this shaggy chauvinist is not into me. The other day a beautiful girl, much younger than me passed by my side. I stared at her once (ofcourse without her discovering it). My friend who was observing me closely said, Saale, chhotti hai (She’s much younger). I just smiled and said, Jawani toh solah aur tees ke beech mein hi aati hai (the age of youth do not grow more than 16-30 years)

4. Love to me is like the strong aroma of the roadside bakery. A beggar, I’d sniff its non-taxed portion that cannot be prevented from public consumption by the baker. But neither have I been able to buy a piece of loaf nor has the baker been kind to my hunger.

5. I am ridden by inferiority complex when it comes to my looks or my single dimensional existence. It does not matter a fuck, everyone says, but no one has noticed any single of the fucking blemishes I have lived through. Or the fucking rejections! Or the even bigger fucking no reactions.

6. I am disillusioned. I cannot see farther than the shit on the tip of my shoes. And I’m too afraid to seek out. My dreams have wings that have never taken flight.

7. I feel Che Guevara should have lived longer. And LK Advani, much shorter. In between both, I would want somebody to legalize male prostitution for me to be able to earn something if my pen gives way.

8. The other day as I was struck in the traffic, a small kid, with greasy hair and an unrecognizable face reached out to me. He was accompanied by a street dog, almost in the same make up. I handed over the only piece of Good Day biscuit which I had with me. The kid broke the biscuit into two and gave the smaller piece to his dog.

9. The sign on the Café Coffee Day reads a lot can happen over coffee. Although, I frequent that place, but I do not understand if they want to make things happen by creating a leaf or a heart on the froth of the coffee or by serving pathetic masala tea (I think they believe the Darjeeling/ Assam tea bags to do wonders). In any case, nothing significant has happened to me since I started going to CCD except that I’ve learnt to sip in the fast cold-catching steaming cup of brew and have wasted money, enough to buy the kid in the traffic signal a good year.

10. In life I have lost people I have loved. Some left me. Some kept me as an outdated diary entry, once written and never to be read again. And some stayed with me without setting up their homes in my heart

11. At times, I feel like committing suicide for my lack of courage to step out and find what I want. But there too my courage fails me.

Un-Manifested

How do I define something that touches me as gently as a light drizzle misguided by an angry wind? Defying gravity, the tiny droplets surrender to the wind and sets sail on its bosom. Some get thrashed to the ground; some take the upward flight, while some others float in the air like some wet dreams. The certainty that gravity gives to a raindrop's descent ceases to be with these tiny droplets in motion. Somewhere in the wind, I stand with my hands in my pockets. A spell of drizzle is followed by some moments of drought, before the wind forces the drizzle towards me again. The droplets settle on my skin but I do not feel the wetness; somewhere it drowns into the arid within me. I nevertheless wipe my face and caress my hair against the wind’s desire and direction. And a wonder strikes me: does the dewy-drizzle long to be called as the rain or the dew? In its middle-of-the-road existence, how does it set its footprints in our memory? As the dew, or as the rain?

It tells me of the love that never manifests itself. But it does subsist, like the warmth in the folds of our arms, frittering away when we extend our hands and growing into us as we brace ourselves. And all this while, we whine in search for a comfy home and a table of food for the heart, never realizing that we are diluting our greatest treasure in our extended arms.

I wipe my hands and see a new flurry of drizzle settling down in its place. It hangs on to a thin bracelet that a friend had given me in the autumn of 2007. I can see the small insignificant droplets merging into a drop on the bracelet. There is one drop and then there are some more, all on the bracelet. I shake it and see some raindrops descending to the call of gravity. Holding my bracelet, I head towards defining the un-manifested love.

Distorted Thoughts: Episode III

The heart yearns for the long lost days and nights of leisure that my lover so recklessly took away from me

*** *** *** *** *** ***

I've stopped counting the stars… They say, I've grown wise! I believe, I've forgotten how to love

*** *** *** *** *** ***

In my alcove, a stranger tucks in every night… In the morning I wear his gifted odor as I step into the sunshine… The gift never lasts the day… At dusk, I have a new visitor

*** *** *** *** *** ***

I've often been accused for loving too deeply and then trying to fathom the love

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Seek not in the distance, I reside within your desire. When you fly in pursuit of your dream, you'd see me sleeping in your shadow's company. And when your tired hazel eyes droop off, you'd see me guarding your dreams

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Oh my beloved, wear not my words. It cannot be more true than you and me

*** *** *** *** *** ***

And while my tears, which I home in the most delicate saucer of my eye’s mosque, refuse to stay with me, I pray to Thee not to book me as the sinner who had been too profligate in his spends and grant me a few saucers more of this pain reliever of His, lest I might die of starvation.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

I love intuitions. It lets me have my own piece of truth.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

She weighs not my armor, she rains not her love. And when she passes through my defenses, she appraises not my love. What lends to my heart, scrounges from her diffidence. So let her be. For my heart brims with love that sees no summer and no winter

*** *** *** *** *** ***

For you my friend, I had sung a song that the cold wind. It remains as some incomplete words, lost somewhere in the cold mornings of a winter.

*** *** *** *** *** ***

Raped thoughts do not guide, nor does it follow. It just lingers on like a cloud that would neither rain down, nor be pushed away by the wind

*** *** *** *** *** ***

What is truth? It is but a sedative for our conscience