The Knight in the Shining Armor

He lifted his head as an act of defiance. The face which loomed into his vision was nothing more then a blurred blot. He focused his red swollen eyes and struggled to engrave that face in his memory, just in case if the future gave him a chance for the payback of this predicament.

In the past hour, he had already swallowed half of his teeth and puked out most of his breakfast. By now, he also had a pretty good idea what Mohammed Ali’s punching bag must have felt like.

‘So,’ the garlic smelling voice filled the room. ‘Are you going to be a good boy and tell me what I wish to know or you still want to enjoy my hospitality a little longer??’

He could feel his heart thumping against his rib cage and the numbness of his shackled limbs. A cold chill ran through his spine as all of his common sense told him to quit and spill the beans but instead he forced his bloodied and bruised lips to form a smile and said as coherently as his swollen tongue and crushed gums allowed him to, ‘FUURRCCK YAAAHHHH.’

He could never figure out what hurt more, the punch that broke his nose or the kick that ruptured his spleen. In fact, he couldn’t even remember what followed what. But at that instant he was sure that he wasn’t going to get out of this room alive.

He wasn’t scared or sad. Death was part of the job description. He waited for the clichéd show reel of his life to start playing in front of his eyes but instead only the images of his parents flashed before his eyes, with the feelings of regret in tow.

He regretted not thanking them enough for bringing him up so well, specially his father for installing so much belief, confidence, courage and all the other values that molded him into the man he is today. He hoped his father wouldn’t be much distraught with his death. Being an ex-army man himself he would understand why his son had to die. Wasn't ‘Duty onto Death’ had been the motto of his force.

The backhand slap across his face brought him back from his musings. He re-tasted his own blood and coughed violently as he tried to breathe in some of the stale air.

Suddenly, someone kicked open the door. The blare of the sunlight caught them both, the torturer and the tortured, unprepared. For the next 3 minutes both of them were blinded by the light but they did notice a figure entering the room.

He clenched his eyes in pain but heard the two shots fired at close range. With the ray of hope in his heart he opened them again and saw his torturer lay dead near his feet with two neat holes in his chest.

He saw the figure of his savior move towards him and tried to mumble his thanks for saving his life.

The figure kneeled down. There was something very familiar about him, the smell, the way he moved, but his numb mind refused to make the obvious connection.

Just before he fell unconscious he heard his father’s soft voice in his ears.

‘No need son. After all, what else are fathers there for?’

-----

This one is for my Dad. Had written it for his b'day on the 21st but couldn't edit it properly till today. A bit late but well he would understand I hope. After all that's what fathers do best. Love Ya Paa

Just Old Friends

At first sight the room seemed like any normal room of a feisty 16 year old girl. But whether one can notice the subtleties which defines the person residing in here, whether she'll allow yourself to become a part of her existence or not,
depends largely upon the wish of the mistress of the room.

I was part of her once. Till she moved towards him.

A razor sat on the table on which fresh drops of blood glistered. One corner had a stack of Domino's boxes. The ashtray was filled with butts of Rothman's finest. A half finished Smirnoff casted it's spell on anyone who dared to look at it. A bookmarked copy of 'Catcher in the Rye' and a dogeared diary were the only signs of any literacy pieces in the room.

Her Kohl rimmed eyes bored through me and automatically my eyes dropped in shame. If they held tears or pain I might've had made it alright. Instead a fire burned in them. A fire fuelled by passion, confidence, zeal. Her face was a beacon of hope and determination. Determination to succeed, to make her plans works, to achieve everything she desired for, to lay her demons to rest.
And more the positiveness radiated from her the more inadequate and incomplete I felt.

And then she sighed. It held all the pieces of broken trust, pain, unfulfilled desires and expectations of her warm caring heart and that drove me further into the pits of despair. She didn't complained and that drove the dagger of guilt further in. She didn't screamed and that made me wish that she would tear my chest with the razor and pull my heart out.

"You don't understand. You won't understand..." her words trailed on.
It wasn't as if I didn't want to. I just couldn't. her mood swings made it difficult, my lack of compassion made it impossible. So many times she had tried to reach to me for comfort and so many times I had turned away. Wasn't it natural that she moved towards the one who did tried to comprehend the turmoil in her mind and soul. Who always stood by her. Was her rock when she needed him to hold on to and her best friend when she wanted someone to listen.
Completely natural.

Her phone rang. Must be him again.
"You should better go"

I silently reached the door and looked back. She was smiling, laughing into the phone. I purred hoping she will take me in her arms but he had already transported her to his world.
My eyes lingered on the Smirnoff. How I wish I could drown my sorrows in it.

As I jumped down the stairs to get to my dinner bowl, I realised a cat only has milk as his companion in anguish.


--


I can't say it's an original. One thing inspired me. And another idea I tweaked according to my convenience for giving the whole treatment.

Inspiration: a fellow blogger Trillian's collage which she has used for her blog's header.

Treatment: a short story by Jeffery Archer 'Just Good Friends'. (The title itself is a tribute)

Naked

His eyes met his own in the reflection.
Deep brown.
He saw his own face peering back. As if pleading to be pulled out from the depths of murky waters.

The smartly cut blue suit with a silk handkerchief in the pocket, the Rolex on his wrist, a nice haircut. Everything contrasted with he rest of his appearance.
Covered with dust and grime. Glitter. White foam. The week old stubble. Dried tears. Blood.

He looked as a sculpture crafted to perfection and then for good measures rubbed in the filth of the world.
The city was alive outside but none of the sounds penetrated the silence in his mind.

Who am I.

He undid his tie and dropped it to the floor. The coat followed the course.
The white shirt had been robbed of it's crispness a long time back. The patch of blood on the left side of his chest had dried a long time ago. His heart should've been there but it had ceased to beat in the past itself.
Slowly he departed with the shirt, the pant and his undergarments. Nude but still not stripped. Not an ounce of weight of the outside world, no expectations from other pulling him down, but he still felt as if lead ran through his veins.

He soaked the scrub in the ice cold water and touched his face to swipe off the make up of the world he has applied throughout his life. The moment it touched the filth of his face all the sadness he had felt engulfed him. All the disappointed faces of his peers brought tears to his eyes. The curses he had earned in his lifetime screamed in his head. Every hate filled face of his companions in the path of life swarmed his mind. Swearing at him. Wishing for his death. Paranoia. Madness.
Was he the devil's angel. The self centered soul of this dimension. Tasked with bringing death, destruction, sadness and grief to all those whose path he has crossed. Was he destined to hurt all of them in the name of showing them the truth?

His hands shook but he kept on scrubbing his body. He had to take the weight of his soul.

The scrub made contact with the foam and suddenly all the hatred of the world inside him changed to happiness. Fun. Laughter. Joy filled his soul. Memories of friends praising him, being grateful to him, being proud of him filled his body. The love he had given and had earned back.
Maybe that was his calling. Being a decent man in an indecent times. Helping others without being asked to. Caring for them. Making them smile through their tears. Being there rock in troubled times.

Suddenly the scrub made contact with the blood. He wasn't ready for this. The silence tightened its grip around him. He could hear the cricket on the other side of the world. The betrayals. The pain. The loves he had lost. The tears. The fragmented pieces of his broken trust entered his soul even further, drawing more blood to his soul. The long heeled scars opened again, sending waves of nausea through him but thankfully didn't started bleeding.
Maybe he was born to struggle. To fight. To fail. To lose.

The scrubbing off of the glitter brought contentment over his aching mind. The applauds, accolades, salutations filled his ears. The moments of glory, achievements and the beaming faces of people danced in front of his eyes.
Maybe he was supposed to reach his goals. Setting up one after the other. Finding contentment in living life on the crest of brilliance and splendour.

He dropped the remains of the scrub on the floor and stared back at the reflection.
Clean. Pure. Without virtues and vices. Naked. Stark naked. The way God wanted him to come to earth.
But wasn't his skin covered with his mother's blood when he had came out of the womb. Maybe God's best laid plans fail too.

He was brown from the sun. Face felt like sandpaper. Taut body and warm blood flowing through his head. But he felt light.

He stared back and suddenly, he found his place.

Moving on

Moving on.

Maybe the greatest and most amazing words created in any language. The remedy to all the world's problem, all the heartache, every bottled up emotion that has been taunting you, choking you down and pushing you deeper into the whirlpool of self doubt.

Last three years have been a fucking roller coaster. I've come to terms with the fact that the Heartthrob in me will always remain. Discovered the path to attain nirvana or getting drunk/high, same difference. Figured out that beneath the mask of a great witted clown resides a charming seducer and deeper still a poison boils under. And finally stopped giving a shit about everyone else.

I've forgiven and forgetten about my two ex-gf's cum best friends. Reduced the number of best friends from a mind blowing 7 to a healthy 3. Cut down on cigi's and vodka (Yes...all the girls who have been breathing down my neck for the past year, find other jobs), and started a MBA where they expect us to give a 100% attendance.

Love has become a forgotten emotion, pity and sympathy have been reserved for the deserving, Friendship still rules while anger has started to raise its ugly head more than I would've wished for. Irrationality and eccentricity are the new mantras to live by and patience and understanding are again thrown out of the window.

I'm on a dating and getting laid spree. Flirting with anything that moves prettily. Pool and Snooker are the new passions.Driving Still relaxes me,inspite of the traffic snarls of my dear old city and have evolved from fiction to more intellectual stuff (Porn stories are still my number 2 most read and always will be).

However, moving on doesn't mean that I'm getting off this ride. I have so much fun on it. It just means am not gonna puke anymore after staying too long on it and won't EVER get on it with a full stomach.

Sorry everyone down below.

The Tamil

He silently stepped out of the foliage where many of his comrades lay dead, spread-eagled & free from the vicious circle of the world. The enemy had closed in from all sides and despite the fucked-up morale building speeches by the top brass, the soldier's heart knew that judgement day was just over the hill, either in the form of a few bullets in his body or a blast from a tank.

Just 17 years of age and waiting for death. Fuck.

And then he saw the man responsible for his fate. The Commander running like a terrified lamb, wearing his sweat drenched battle fatigues and surrounded by his ass kissing comrades. Somethings never change, even when mortars are dancing around you ready to shred you to pieces.

He had believed in the cause he was fighting for but wasn't too sure now. Killing others hadn't shook up his conscience but now in the face of certain death he was questioning his earlier decisions. He wanted to piss and ask for a miracle from the big guy above, none of which was going to happen.
Screw the cause, screw the comrades and screw the world a hundred times over. Let me live Oh merciful one. Let me see tomorrows daylight and I promise I will join the Buddhist sect or whatever you command me to- ranted his brain.

As he got to his feet he saw the Commander get into a jeep followed by his cronies. "The great leader of the Tamil Eelam. The head of the most notorious terrorist group of the world. Mr. I'm-the-great-Prabhakaran. Wasn't it bloody awesome that when whole families were being wiped out, the architects own flesh and blood were safe somewhere? That is some fucking power. While we were living in the jungles living on god knows what and satisfying ourselves with god forbid what, his own family was living in the lap of luxury?
And where the fuck was the mighty UN? and dear old Uncle Sam's we-come-to-save-your-ass-but-will-fuck-you-eventually army?? Being screwed by muslims most probably.FUCK. I should've stayed in Tamilnadu."

Just as the jeep started to move the most enlightening idea came to his mind of his short life, except of the time when he had screwed the Major's wife (but she was the one who had seduced him so that doesn't count).
"These mother fuckers want him. With him dead no one is gonna care about me. I will just take off the uniform and mingle in the crowd. The army rations have already given me the much sought after malnutritioned look. I'll live."

With this happy thought he clutched his rocket launcher with a new zeal and fired. As the jeep catapulted on impact he whooped in joy and turned. A burst of fire caught him in the chest and he slumped down.

He'll never know that Prabhakaran died in that jeep. That Sri Lankan army took credit for the kill, displayed him to the world like a dog at the dog show. That LTTE finally lost the battle which it had started 3 decades ago. And the world rejoiced.

His body lay there. Just as dead as he had lived his whole life. Like an unknown.

3 D's & Yours truly

I fumbled with the matches. Should I or shouldn't I? As I contemplated on the answer to the dilemma I poured another shot of vodka in my glass.

I've forsaken my lungs, my liver is on a downward spiral but the agony of my mind & soul find respite only when my senses are not working at their very best.
For someone who preached that one ought to give proper respect to the Vodkas & the Cigarettes of the world and enjoy them instead of using them to douse the fires within, I admit I've taken the low road myself.

NO. I'm not depressed yet. I'm going through a trough in my life but it's just a phase. I know. After 20 years on the top one has to come down once in a while. Call it the Yin-Yang balance if you want to.
I will not vindicate my position but I'll definitely oppose the idea that I'm turning into an addict and to strenghten that I'll just dissect the special bond I share with the 3D's. Drinks, Drugs & the Deathstick.

I glorify the 3-D's in almost all my posts. The misunderstood 'Three Musketeers' of the real world. I do not miss an opportunity to mention at least one of them in all my conversation and literacy pieces. I won't suggest to anyone to drink or smoke but I'll definitely give them hell who'll try to paint my world in their colours of Black & White. I'm not fascinated by the effects of these substance abuses, actually I consider them as mere props to my character. My fascination with them are intermingled with my attraction towards the Byronic Hero.

The tragic hero of Lord Byron, idealised but flawed. Smart, cunning, magnetic, mysterious yet laced with simple human traits of jealousy, hatred, cynicism, arrogance and the self destructive tendencies makes him not only believable but also attainable. I admit being an X-men (specially Gambit) or Flash would be much more valuable (God help the World Bank then) and interesting (peek-a-boo ladies) but the sense of practically compels meto think more on the line of being the attainable Joker instead of the idealised sugarcandy Superman.
I never wanted to be a Mr. Goody-two-shoes asshole infact the dark black or even grey characters always made me feel connected to their torments. Be it the John Abraham of Jism, Irrfan Khan in Rog, Muzammil in Dhokha or Emraan Hashmi in Awarapan I relate to everyone of them at some level. Infact the New age Dev D seemed more like me didn't come as a surprise out of the closet. I'm definately not suicidal but the idea of finding solace in death intrigues me. I don't have a maniacal-sadistic trait in me but 'the ego' drives me. I'm not the guy whom you'll want to end up in a dark alley with me in a raging mood but I'm the guy whom you would like to turn to when you are down and out and everyone is against you.

The fact is that I'm an idealistic SOB in the end is part of the truth too. I still believe in the simple emotions of love & friendship. I believe in the goodness of others. And to those who lack in compassion, care and love, those who've forgotten all the good things that happened to them, all the times someone was there to hold them and support them when they considered themselves alone, I just have hope in my heart for them. That's me. I'm capable of nothing less then eternal hope.

And I'm full of contradictions. Part of the charatcter.

Till next time. PEACE.

The Proposal

Ritika stepped on the escalator and I followed her, two steps behind.
“Lunch was great wasn’t it? I loved that…”

I had known her for the past four months but felt as if she had been a part of my life since forever. We had hitted it off during our lunch hours, become quite close between all those coffee breaks and shared laughter amid our cigarette smoking.

I had decided to ask her to marry me two weeks back. Since we were both orphans I was spared the task of ‘Meeting the Parents’ and just had to walk into a jewellery store and spend more than half of my savings to buy that perfect diamond ring for her. I also didn’t have to ask my parents whether they can think of Ritika as their daughter-in-law, infact they would’ve had disapproved of every girl I would’ve had wished to marry.

“Wait till you meet them.You are gonna love them…”

I kept listening to her sweet voice, without heeding to the words and kept playing with the ring in my pocket. Should I ask her to marry me? Should I beg? Or will threatening her do the trick?

We reached the top and I saw two young men smiling back. My heart shrank as I saw the joy on Ritika's face as she saw them.

“This is Abhinav my boyfriend and this is his brother Avinash…guys this is Soumya, my colleague and my bestest friend”

I tried to keep despair off my face as my whole world came crashing down on me. My shattered dreams pained my eyes and brought tears to them, yet I controlled them somehow. The ring fell from my pocket as I took out my hand from my pocket to take Avinash's outstretched hand. As I knelt down to pick it up, Abhinav went down on his knees besides me and said “Will you marry me Ritika?”

--------

This was to be my entry for the Ascension contest at 'The Clarity of Night' but alas the word count became its enemy and by the time I could resend it the contest had closed. Yet I wanted to know what people thought about it so here it is at your mercy. Till next time. Adios.

A Time called 'NIGHT'

The sun shines brightly for a change as I sit down in front of the family’s common laptop.

It is a glorious day outside with a slight chilly breeze reminding that it is still the start of January & officially, still winter in the Indian plains. For some this day might signify happiness and joy & maybe some pessimists might consider it as the last day of light before the bleak future sets in, but nevertheless no one can deny that this is a magnificent winter morning.

But alas the philosopher in me is not easily side tracked by such playfulness of nature. In my pursuit of materialistic gains & bodily pleasures, I don’t usually stop to marvel at nature’s artistic talent. I just take in the wonderful surroundings and move on to do whatever I was doing.

Considering the surroundings and my elated state of mind, one might assume that I might be dwelling on something which is bright and maybe holds some promise for the future. Some line of thought which deals with the lighter side of one’s self or atleast won’t have something dark associated with. But as usual my thoughts are directed in a different way altogether, which by the way is duly affected by this bright sunlit day.

The harsh reality, which I’m quite sure has revealed to me only due to this burning sun, struck me across my face that all my creative musings and my spiritual awakenings happen during the late hours of night. My emotional threshold point reaches to its peak only during these dark hours. I fully feel alive at that time only. All my doubts and problems get solved during these ungodly hours. I’m free to think and devise ways to live life on my terms. Make fallback plans for some future endeavor at 2 in the morning. My craving for something non-veg, a little drink, smoking everything starts when the dawn of the devil is happening (Sex is an obvious exception, every guy is and rightly so, ought to be ready for it 24 hours a day, 365 days a year). It is as if my life actually awakens during the night.

So what is my fascination with Night?? Actually what is with everyone’s attraction with Night?? You will always hear about the nightlife of a city, will always be judged by at what time you sleep (even when you are studying late into the night instead of partying for a change), all the greatest of personalities (and I include Dracula, Frankenstein, Werewolves, Paris Hilton to name a few) roam in the streets only during ‘when darkness falls’. Mother’s fret over their children because everytime they wake up during the night they finds them well awake. Father’s still play Mt. Vesuvius because their sons are taking the prescribed 5 hours of sleep at 11 in the morning.

My mother always told me I was a nishachar (demon in devanagri). I was a child of the night who used to scream his head off from the window when my neighbors, bless them, were trying to go to bed. I used to be full of unspent energy which surfaced during the night and which I used well to cause mayhem around the house. I was the only child who used to keep wide awake whenever a family gathering was happening and all the adults were getting nostalgic about their childhood. I still love to drive away in the dead of night on the streets of Delhi, still remember the nights when I used to meet my ex-girlfriend under her apartment.

I guess it has to do something with the fact that we spend all our day living for everyone else and it is only during the night that we can unleash the rebel within, hoping that our dark side will be lost in this darkness or maybe it has to do something with the reveal-hide quality of the night which invites us to shed our inhibitions or maybe I’m overcomplicating a simple way of life & it has nothing to do with anything. Whatever might be the actual reason this is for a fact that Night is a special time of everyone’s life, one time or another, irrespective whether it’s a blue full moon night, a half moon yellowish night, or a night of no moon and total darkness, the pull of the cities lights or the charm of the quietness of the dead paths, of both metros or villages, is something no amount of sun can match. For me a dark cloudy day is always much better then a sunny morning.

With time my parents finally understood the fact that I will always have my life in the night but alas they still haven’t come to terms with it. They don’t stop me from partying late into the night but my mom still calls me at 11 to remind me to come back home, with the faint sense of unmistakable hope in her voice that she’ll hear that I’m already on my way. My dear old Dad still sleeps in fits until I return back from my midnight strolls. As for me, I still hope to drink the elixir of night every night and get high.

Night.

Me, Music, Condoms & Something about my Family

This started when my dear old Dad (yeah right Old... girls fall for him more then they fall for me and my bro...talk about competition at home) said to my mom (she looks more like my older sister...has been mistaken for a college girl in the past...why do I have such Dysfunctional family???)," I don't understand what they are singing but I like what I hear"(it was an Akon song "Mindstate of a Mobster") ,but it was the next line which actually started the thought process,"they are teens,('they' here signifies me and my brother & my dad keeps forgetting we have grown up quite a bit in the last 20 odd years but I give him the benefit of doubt, he was not around when we were growing up, busy at the border and stuff) while I'm not...our tastes are bound to be different." For him the dialogue ended right there but for me it was the initiator.

Everyone, or usually everyone, thinks that being from Generation X-,Y- or Z-( I've no idea I'm part of which by the way & quite frankly don't give a rat's ass) is all about having those wild times,when the adrenaline is pumping high and your mind is just taking a vacation in some irrational, irrelevant place. It is the time of the carefree attitudes and the time when we let go of the rebel in us, do whatever we want, drink the night away, experiment with dope and pot (finally deciding dope is better but more expensive so I ought to stick to my packet a day of cigarettes), have countless love affairs and go out of the way to help a buddy out of a tough situation even when it means we'll become a party to whatever fuck your mate decided to land into (including a freaking police case...man Sush what were you thinking??). We do it all, giving the impression of wasting our lives.

I actually am quite a lucky guy in this respect that I've got understanding parents, who maybe are very simple and innocent that they believe everything I tell them, including a gum that smells of cigi's or are rather onto me knowing every time with whom I'm with or why it is essential for me to take a night time stroll with matches in my pocket. I fear it is the latter and instead of praising my over-smartness I should thank lord for their nature (or maybe for the fact both have been through the same motions, Dad specially...He was a Rockstar in his time, still is actually with his branded suits and cargoes and leather jacket and shirts, a Tissot watch on his wrist, Ray Ban sunglasses and racing antics at the Greater Noida expressway in his Chevrolet SRV...I got one hell of a role model ).
I never had to switch channels when an adult scene played on in a movie. Never I had to justify to my Maa why I had a girlfriend whom I used to bring home and suddenly there is no mention of her. Even when mom found a pack of half open and empty condoms in my almirah she listened to my take that it was just part of a 'dare', laughed out loud (I still got a feeling she knew the truth) and never mentioned it again.

Of course there have been times when my parents had gone through dilemmas of their own and have behaved in purely orthodox fashion but I understand. They are confused whether they should act like modern parents and give us a home where we can talk about virtually anything, from being gay to asking Dad for a drink(I drink with my Dad so sue me...he taught me the difference between scotch and premium whisky and developed my taste for vodka...his thinking goes that now that you know of the evil and are comfortable with me, you'll drink with me where I can keep an eye on you and look out for you or atleast let your better sense prevail & won't get talli...I overheard this... I GOT THE BEST DAD...YEAH I LOVE HIM !!!) or they should teach us the values and tradition that have been installed in them by their parents.
They learn each day how to deal with two vicious monsters in the house, balance modernity and traditionality and in turn show us what parenting is all about (and maybe that's why I have a feeling I'll be a terrific dad... I got two great role models in front of me ).

I know maybe I won't ever get the opportunity to tell them what a great job they are doing and they have actually reared us quite well, have installed the values of love and care in us, made us compassionate and yet at the same time shown us the perils of the world, made us street smart, gave the best possible life that someone like me deserves, listened to my situations, solved the worst of my problems and been there for me (my bro is the good son so I have the duty to keep shaking the lives of my parents to install some excitement in their lives).

And yeah a special mention of my Mama, he is a Gemini like me, cool as a cucumber, got a great sense of humour and one of the most intelligent persons I have met. We are not as close I would like us to be but just so he is very important for me. As my Mom once said about me to my Nani ," Antriksh doesn't care what we'll think but he sure as gives a lot of weightage to whatever Akhil says(my Mama), he kind of worships the ground I walk on (I never knew that it was that obvious !!!) but follows him blindly".

And as for my Music taste, Dad asked for some golden oldies and gazals to be downloaded from the net, which I had already done so, and he said "Now you are developing a taste for some good music".

Yeah right Dad... All thanks to you. (Wait till he hears songs from Zeest, Honey Singh and Linkin Park I have in my collection.

PEACE TILL THEN !!!

Three is a Crowd

The door bell rang. The notes of Beethoven’s unfinished symphony rang through the house. How I hated that sound & how much she loved it.
I crossed the kitchen where the last of yesterdays frozen pizza was inviting me to have my delicious dinner for one and to wash it down with a chilled beer. As I passed through the living room, my eyes fell on the half finished pack of Marlboro’s finest tempting me to take one quick drag. But I couldn’t. How much I missed my smoking days. How much I used to devour it & how much she hated my this one habit. He must’ve left it here. I felt nostalgic. Him, Jaianand Yadav, JaY, my best friend, my erratic, eccentric pal, the younger brother I never had.

The door bell filled my duplex with that unbearable cacophony again.
“Wait, I’m almost there” I said.

I opened the door & saw two men facing me with police written all over them. There couldn’t have been a more chalk & cheese kind of a couple then this lot before me. One of them was huge, round & chubby. He had a pink face and wore a black dirty jacket which failed to hide his unmistakable bulging beer belly. Small eyes peeped at me through his fat face as light reflected from his bald dome & the bushy rat beneath his nose moved as he offered me the most sadistic smile in this part of town. The other one was tall, thin as a rod and wore a very intimidating expression on his long, gaunt clean shaven face. He had the thinnest lips I’ve ever seen & the most penetrating stare I ever had to go through.

It was almost two years ago that JaY returned to my life. We’ve stayed in touch through the not-so-marvelous devices of the modern world during this period of absence. He came back with his boyish charm intact, his easygoing laidback attitude still in place and that academic humour of his still brewing. It was a fact well evident from our college days that girls flocked him & for guys, he was their favourite punching bag. He was that cute little baby every girl wanted to take home, tuck in bed tend to, hope for a little luck to lay him and rape his innocence, which was all a façade actually because it was he who was the predator and not the innocent rabbit every girl assumed him to be. But he devoured much of his energy in books and academia then pursuing the pleasures of the flesh. In spite of his finesse as a master seducer he used to consider it as his secondary worthless ability, something that came naturally to him so was in fact an accepted part of himself, not to be made a big deal of. He was three years junior to me & maybe because of the way he used to be ridiculed at by the boys, I had taken pity on him and taken him under my wing and in return had gained a follower who worshipped me.

“She’s asleep, after such a long time. Please keep your voices down”.
“Off course, my apologies for disturbing you at such odd hour but well…I’m Inspector Raghav Chandra and this is Inspector Joy D’souza…well he doesn’t look jolly but her mother thought he did so…hehe” said the chubby face as he dangled his ID.

I met Sachi on 24th August 2005, we were in bed a week later and she moved in with me a week after that. She was a bit younger then I, 22 at that time while I was touching mid forties. Appearance wise she hardly looked over 16, with smooth flawless skin and a slightly built frame but emotionally, mentally she was fragile. She was soft spoken and hardly ever raised her voice but she was passionate and had a sense of character which made her more attractive then she actually was. I never asked her about her earlier life and she didn’t mention it, we were in love but we gave each other space, making each other not our lives but a part of it. In bits and pieces I learnt about her broken home, her numerous lovers, her tryst with peace rallies, NGO’s and the wretch of the society. And her passion for music that surpassed everything. We have been to so many plays, theatres, musicals, concerts to feed her artistic appetite and all of them which I could not tolerate, yet I suffered through them all just to see her smile.

“We have been assigned to the case Sir.” the fat face was saying. “And there are some things we would like to ask you”
As the gaunt face took in the apartment, which was very neat and tidy all due to Sachi’s effort, I made my way towards the bar to pour a scotch for myself. They were uninvited guests, and even at that, rotten corruptible policemen. I didn’t need to follow any rules of decency yet they were assigned to the case so maybe…

“How well did you know him then?? You were at college with him right?? Everyone said you and him were very close friends. Is it true?? Any strange dealings he was associated in?? Anything irrelevant you will wish to tell us that you think won’t help us with our investigation??”

The moment I introduced Sachi & JaY I knew they will get along great. Finally JaY had found someone who would hear all his ideological crap, with whom he can discuss all the shortcomings & wrongdoings of the world, preach what ought to be done to make this earth heaven and in short had recruited a loyal follower. Sachi on the other hand discovered someone, something to believe in. I knew she was tired of taking solace in music and tried to understand her concern for the world but I couldn’t. I never considered myself responsible for the world’s ills, not causing them, not for curing them. Most of the world was a jungle overrun with savages and facing problems which were mostly insoluble and frankly for me my quiet corner was a heaven wrested from the jaws of hell and that was the only thing that mattered. I gave them both my blessings and soon JaY became a part of our lives. He would drop by whenever he pleased, when we were in a middle of a fight, watching our favorite movie, cooking dinner, lying lazily or making love. He had a habit of not calling up and doing whatever he would like. He wouldn’t call up for weeks and sometimes a month and Sachi would fret over this fact while I would try to cover my jealousy. And there were days when he would stay with us, sleeping next door and these were the times I really hated because I knew that Sachi was with me in bed but the hands which were caressing her were not mine.


The gaunt face never said anything as Chandra kept on hurling questions and writing in his notepad. I knew both of them were sharp and intelligent. I’ve seen the world enough to know that appearance can be deceiving. Chandra might look a soft bumbling happy character out of a B-grade movie and D’souza might be more at ease as the evil henchman of a C-grade flicks villain but they were good policemen in the end.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been staying here?? Both of you that is??”

I was helpless. There was nothing I could do but see their romance unravel in front of me. My sense of false pride and the sense of freedom I had given to Sachi forbade me to confront her and I knew JaY would laugh out loud and put everything on my overimaginative mind and to the insecurity of my age yet I knew I had become just another piece of furniture in their lives, a mute spectator who wasn’t worthy of any attention. As I fumed and got hurt never once did I hate Sachi. She was just a poor young girl who was being pulled into a vortex made by a womanizer. She was very simple and innocent and had no idea what bastard rested inside the assured self of JaY. I hated his very existence. Hated the fact that every day he used to win Sachi from me. Every night she would go to sleep thinking about him. Not a moment passed when he would leave her mind. It was as if he had become the part of the house’s air, part of our conversations, our world rotated around him. She had become his mother, his wife, his lover, his companion and I have been reduced to a long forgotten old song. I hated myself because it was suppose to be me who should be loved by her, should be worshipped. Wasn't I the person who had given Sachi the life she's worthy of?? Didn't I give her enough luxuries, comfort, care & love?? I ought to have been her protector yet I was the one who had failed her. I had driven her into his arms, introduced them, and not tried to stop them. I despised myself for lacking in courage to do anything about it. Untill two weeks ago when I took out my gun from the safe and decided to end my tormentor once and for all.

“Well Sir we must take your leave now. Here is my number. Call me whenever you remember anything. We will be back, we need to question her too…I know it’s bad but there are these damn procedures. By the way how is she doing?? It has been two weeks since he disappeared and as you told me they were quite close.”
“You play that??” asked the gaunt face for the first time looking at the violin.
“No, she does but hasn't since he disappeared”

I saw them go out the door, the chubby one first and Joy after him, mumbling Good Night or something.

I remembered the night when I finally had the courage to face JaY and listen to his half drunken audacity. I might've had forgiven him if he hadn't put his charming unassuming smile and said to me "I stole your woman brother, I'm sorry but I did, I stole her because I love her and she gave herself to me because she loves me too". As soon as the predator said this from the lips of my drunken academic best friend, I hit him. I hit him with all my heart, with all my pain, all my suffering and all my love.

As I entered the bedroom I saw her sleeping like a baby. Her nightdress riding up revealing her white thighs, her breasts rising when she breathed, her black hair on the pillows and her soft pink lips which drove me mad. I wanted to love her right at this instant.
“They gone??” she asked as she woke up from her half finished dream.
“Yes baby, they will come again to talk to you but don’t you worry. It’s gonna be fine” said JaY as he went down to kiss the lips that should’ve been rightfully mine.

I backed out from the door as she started to moan. If only I hadn’t lost my nerve that day and shot him, it would’ve been me instead of him besides her.
As I descended the stairs I tried to remember whether it was him who had shot me that night or whether it was her who had poisoned me after I got home or whether it was me who had jumped into the sea in the early hours??

That is the trouble with death, you can’t recall your last moments.

88

It felt good. In fact it felt really great.

My dick was hurting from fucking her hard for so long and my tongue ached for I had licked her cunt continuously for over an hour. It is a hard job to please a woman, satisfy her, keep her wanting for more and yet the ecstasy of the whole work is without comparison, unmatched, unparalleled. Words fail to describe the feeling when you finally reach an orgasm, when your white semen overflows her warm, wet pussy and oozes out of it and you feel her writher beneath you in her own world of pleasure. Pity I usually miss out the last part. Never have a lady cried in delight beneath me, a lot have cried out loud in pain but never in joy.

I sat on the foot of the bed and patted the thigh. It was still wet from my sweat and their blood. I took a towel and wiped the blood of me. That is the trouble of fucking two dead bodies, it gets very messy. You see every man has a particular position he is most satisfied with. For me well, I love to fuck and give an oral at the same time, which is quite impossible with a single woman so I just invented my own position. 88. So what if I have to kill two women whenever I feel horny?? Atleast I don’t go to bed with the same ladies twice.

I walked past the two useless upper torsos resting neatly near the door.

On the bloodied bed lay there better halves sewn together at the waist haphazardly.

A Tale of Two Mothers

The half moon enlightened the whole landscape. It was a yellow pale night and the trees were standing still in the absence of any wind. The stillness and quietness of the forest projected a false sense of peace and tranquility in one. The river however was indifferent as usual, minding its own business, flowing with its usual nonchalance attitude, shimmering as the moonlight played on its surface and giving shelter to life and death alike. She had witnessed everything in her course, death and life, destruction and creation, sadness and elation. So many times she had been the part of the most terrible as well as the most euphoric moments of the earth’s history that she has learnt that nothing but plain naivety is what is expected from her.


The doe gracefully started walking towards the river. She was still in pain from giving birth to a beautiful fawn a few hours ago and wanted to drink a little water before she guides the young one towards the herd. She will show him all the green pastures, the safest watering holes, how to keep with the herd. And will watch him grow up to be a strong member of the group, watch him fight for dominance and finally forget his mothers existence as soon as he will reach puberty.

She was a beautiful deer with soft, charcoal-black eyes which sparkled dimly in the translucent night, with short antlers residing on her head like a queens crown and a coat of brownish-yellowish colour on her back that turned white as it reached her belly. She had strong and powerful legs making her capable of reaching the speed of wind in a matter of seconds and at the present moment she was using them to display a graceful walk, a walk every women in the world will die for, as if she was gliding in the sky instead of walking on the damp earth.

She reached the river, avoiding the slippery rocks and watching closely for any signs of danger, for it was an ungrateful companion of every animal in the forest, an unforgiving friend which when decides to betray you leaves you nothing but as a long forgotten ruin of an ancient dynasty. And the first and only rule that she knew of surviving in this world was to be careful, even when you are in the group and specially when you are on your own.

But tonight she was not careful enough. Maybe it was the pain and tiredness of giving birth or maybe it was the joy of being a mother, whatever might be the reason, she had missed a pair of eyes observing her every movement.
The eyes burned bright and were like two miniature suns in the darkness. How she missed them is truly baffling because even a blind man could’ve felt there intensity, if not see them, but maybe this was written in the course of destiny that she was supposed to be unaware of there existence completely until it was too late.

Nothing at that moment held the concentration of the tigress more then her pray. She watched her reach the shore and must have decided that this was the opportunate moment to strike because she suddenly started to move out into the open. With the river acting as her ally and forming a barricade against the deer and herself playing the part of the perfect attacker, the deer had nil chance of survival unless fate decides to spare the new mother and settle to have a cruel laugh on her expense instead.

With a snarl she got out from her cover and instantly she could feel the heat of the hunt entering her body and all the instincts hone in for the kill. She sprinted towards the shore just as the deer’s instincts warned her of the approaching death but too late. She turned but was petrified right there on the spot and saw the yellow striped death meters away from her, ready to jump on to her. The last thoughts of the deer were about her newborn.

BANG !!

The tigress could smell the fear, she could taste the blood, and she could see that this time she’ll have plenty of food for herself as well as for her three month old cubs, who hadn’t eaten a full stomach since the day they were born. With surety of success in her grasp, she extended her claws and with the aid of her powerful hindlegs leapt the last few meters separating her and the deer. Her last thoughts were about her cubs. She died before she hit the ground.

BANG !!

From dense foliage the fawn witnessed the whole scene unraveling before him. A moment before where his mother stood near the edge of the river, now lied her lifeless corpse & inches away lied a big yellow thing, which had appeared suddenly out of nowhere, running and leaping towards his mother an instance before, now lying just as lifeless beside her. He saw two things descend from a nearby tree walking towards the bodies on two legs in a strange uptight manner and holding glistering, shining rods in their hands. He could smell the strange odour, which had spread in the air just before two loud noises had disturbed the quietness of the forest.

From beneath another tree two cubs observed the same scene.

The river flowed callously, adding another instance to her experience.

Towards Nirvana...with Smirnoff & Rothman

The smoke swirled around his head for some moments before dissolving into the night. He threw away the stub and for the first time in a hour took air into his lungs without the accompanying fumes.

The stale smell of tobacco engulfed him and he could taste the acrylic butt of the cigarette intermingled with the burning aroma of vodka. His insides were on fire but it was the fire within his mind & soul that had forced him to take the cheap course of 'the stick & the drink'.

You will die one day... Your smoking will kill you ...stop doing this to yourself...please...

He was tired of gazing at the stars. He wanted to get up from the cot and go downstairs and sleep in his bed. He wished for a good life, a comfortable life, without much worries, much pain. He wished for so many things. He wished for amnesia. To forget everything and live life afresh. He wished her to come back. He wished his present girl to love him back. He wished for the uncertainty of his existence to go away. He wished for stronger stuff. Something that would choke his lungs with smoke, taking out all the air and leave him gasping for his breath. Something that would burn his throat more effectively and set his insides on fire with a new zeal. Something.. anything to deviate his mind from this feeling of helplessness.

"If only I would've foreseen this and arranged for some dope..."

Please don't ever leave me...even if you would have to fake your love and care just do it...be around me forever... never leave me...

In the end she was the one who left him.

You gave her your best shot but it was not meant to be...accept it and move on...

He lit another stick.

"If only...". He forced his mind not to dwell on this line of thinking. If that would have had happened, he would've been wishing for something else altogether. Human mind always wish for something else, it is never satisfied with what it has in his hands. "How will a person who has nothing left to wish for live??" he mused and abandoned the thought as soon as it was formed.

Everything is written...whatever has to happen will happen...that is inevitable...

He needed more juice in his drink but discarded the thought aside for he wanted a searing pain in his head the next morning. A hangover he desperately craved for but which has evaded him throughout his life. No matter how much alcohol he take, he always woke up the next morning fresh, a little late but without any effects of the night before.

"That would be a welcome change... I'll welcome all the physical pain in this world just to forget this heartache". He poured more rum and whiskey into his glass instead and gulped the cocktail down in one go. It wasn't a warm night and the chilly wind entered his loose shirt and made his body cold, yet he didn't feel a thing. Every drop of the amber coloured liquid sent blazing, warm shivers in his body. Every pore radiated a hotness he had never felt before.

She had come back into his life that morning only. Crying. But he didn't feel a thing. He didn't allow himself to feel a thing. He pitied her, felt sympathetic but that was it. He would've felt the same for anyone else he knew. He didn't feel the same special way as he did before when he was with her.

You have killed the feeling of love in yourself...you don't love her..you don't love your present girl...you don't love anyone...

He recalled the conversation he had with his present girl. Poor baby is herself going through a lean patch,trying to figure out her calling in life.Poor girl.

You don't love me...you think you love me...you want yourself to believe that...

"What would she say??" the image of another girl sprang to his mind. She loved him or at least she said she loved him. A smile started to appear on his dry lips. "Definitely she is gonna go bonkers...dead sure she'll use all the obscenities she knows".Cute. Pity he was always so cruel towards her. Always made her cry even when he didn't want to.

Will you ever say 'I love you too' back to me???

He lighted another cigarette and took in a long drag."Well that's a new personal record, two packs in a hour"

Life was throwing curveballs at him and like everyone in this world he was not backing down. He had no option...No one has any options...Everyone plan and everyone's plans go awry, yet no one learns and they keep following the bloody vicious circle.

"One day my life will slow down and I'll be in total control of it...I'll fucking attain nirvana, will be unaffected by everything...will be more indifferent then I'm today...more cynical...and who knows even figure out happiness"

He threw away the half finished cigarette.

Atleast now he could boast about something to the girl who loved him.

She would be so happy.

"Here is your knife ma'am..."

"... or would you prefer something shinier?? how about this one with the green handle?? brings out the colour in madame's eyes...No?? then how about this shotgun?? custom made to fit nicely in ones handbag and comes with a small mirror attached, so you can check out the makeup after you've shot someone...".

Being living in Delhi for more than a decade I'm eagerly awaiting for the time when I would be able to accompany my sweetheart to a shop and buy her a knife or a gun or better still a rocket launcher(hope they have it in pink colour). All my woes which crop up whenever I have to buy something for my sisters (cause it is rakshabandhan, cause it is their birthday, cause they had to walk in that particular cafe where I was having coffee with my baby at that exact moment when we were...never mind) will be gone forever because I can give them custom made bazookas, with Barbie stickers of course.

In the past two days, I read two blogs posted by two persons from the opposite sex dealing with the same problem and having the same core issue in both of them.'Pseudo Intellectual' and 'BoHeMiAn RhApSody'. Both of them wrote about the bad experiences they had with guys/uncles/bastards/slimeballs/fucked up assholes(take your pick) and didn't quite painted a very rosy picture of the world outside for the fairer sex. It was clear from peoples reaction that they were outraged and sympathised with them but none of them showed any signs of surprise,especially the girls, it was as if it was just another day in their lives(applaud to every Women in this world, you might not have bulging biceps but the strength in all of you is unmatched).

First of all I apologise to anyone who might think that I'm taking this as a joke, believe me after whatever I've seen in the roads,buses and markets of Delhi and have heard from my female friends, what they have to ordeal each day, I take this very seriously and feel pretty strongly about it too.

Although usually I'm a very peace loving, calm and nonviolent person, always using my wits instead of my strength but the way guys treat women brings out the worst( I think of it as my best though) in me.

I got many female friends and have heard the most disgusting of stories, seen girls breakdown because of what they have to go through and witnessed the most rowdiest of crowds misbehaving. And every time I've fumed and did everything in my abilities to be of any assistance.

Two years back I was travelling in a bus,totally jam packed, when I noticed two guys purposedly leaning on a girl. She must be right out of school, small and petite, looked like a fresher and was terrified of what was happening to her(I gather it was the first time she was stepping out from the security of her home and travelling alone). I don't know whether anyone else saw that terrified look in her eyes but I did and on that moment I did something I never thought myself of doing. I asked the girl to exchange places with me which she silently did and after that started the longest staredown in the history of mankind(or at least that history which concerns me). Both of the guys were pissed at what I had done and were staring at me right in the eyes with pure unadulterated hatred, as for me I was smirking, hoping, eagerly praying to God to just let them do anything just to pick up a fight, even a 'HI' would have been sufficient for giving me an opportunity to knock both of them out of the bus (this continued for the next 20 minutes or so). As usual Devil came to their rescue before God heard my prayer(that's the trouble with the world, the Almighty takes so much of time to do anything while Satan is so swift..no wonder there is more evil on Earth) or rather there good sense prevailed (don't intend to boast but I'm 6'1 and have quite a daunting personality) and they got off the bus, two stops later the girl also left the bus and gave me a faint little smile and the feeling of satisfaction finally swept over me(Atleast now I'll get a place in Heaven for 20 minutes).

This incident isn't the only one in my life, I never had many fights in my life but every time I picked a fight it was always when some guy was misbehaving with some woman. Had a fight in my college with my classmates who used to comment on the girls in the corridors (I never hang out with them), threw out two drunk guys from a dhaba on a road trip, blasted a guy off when he tried touching my mom in the market(mom never found out this...I caught his hand as he was trying to touch her),and tried protecting my sisters and girlfriend in a mob(I make a very good wall mind you).

I'm not a hero and I'm not trying to blow my own trumpet. I know I was lucky in most of the cases and I understand everything could have gone horribly wrong for me. I understand violence is not the answer(although it does take the attention away from the question) but I also know that reasoning also fails with perverts. I also fail to understand why sometimes sensible, educated man do such things and here I might add that I've seen people from the most lower class acting truly like a gentleman.

There is no sure shot way of dealing with people like these but the first and foremost step is ought to be taken by the ladies themselves. Gone are the days of submissiveness and turning down your gaze, it is the time of action and reaction, the time to teach every jerk in this world a lesson they will never forget. Banish them, humiliate them publicly, better still beat the hell out of them to tell them what you are made of. As for the guys I don't think standing coolly around the corner, smoking, being able to do 100 push ups or being able to jerk off every 15 minutes makes you a Man, hell you can't even consider yourself a Dude or Stud for that matter. When you see a lady in trouble offer her help, see a lady standing in a bus or metro give her your seat, see anyone misbehaving with a girl atleast stop them and call for the police.

Although I've done my share of bad things, seen girls on the road and near colleges and thought "Hell she is HOT !!", have smiled at girls and tried to strike up a conversation but have never made any girl uncomfortable with my looking at least(hell I never see a girl below her face for that matter), never touched anyone inappropriately, never made any lewd gestures, have tried to behave in the most chivalrous manner and the gave the proper respect a lady deserves.

I just hope to God that soon there may be a dearth of topics such as these and no one has to go through such situations again.

-dedicated to all the Women of the World.

Antriksh the Skinner

In the late 18oo's, London was terrified by a serial killer christened Jack the Ripper by the press. The man used to kill prostitutes during the night. The victims were strangled and then their organs removed.

Cut to 2008, New Delhi. Tonight was a night of turmoil for me. At first I decided to curl up in bed and wish to the Almighty that he takes away this godforsaken life.

And that is when Satan approached me and suggested that why not instead of ending this life I put it to some better use and punish those who had made my life hell and are pushing others to the same path of madness??

That is when I decided that I'll don the role of 'The Skinner' who'll skin his victims alive.

I was a happy-go-lucky guy, sane in the head, quite satisfied with his life.

Until I decided to take a brake and watch some prime time television. And my ordeal started.

Mindless Reality shows, Reruns of family feuds on each channel, comedy shows which make me puke instead of laughing, a fuckingly mindless flick 'Blackmail' (I used to like Priyanka Chopra & Ajay Devgan before this) and on whatever is branded as the News channel,"Ek sadak jo khoon mangati hai....jise laal rang pasand hai...jahan maut ka nanga naach hota hai"(A road which asks for blood...which likes red colour....where death dances naked[END QUOTE]...I guess this was the part cause of which even Satan sat up in his warm little 'Hell-pad'...someone says your girlfriend dances naked on the street you sure won't sit away idly will you??), every fucking thing fizzled out my brain and left me in the state I'm.

I've decided that I'll roam the streets at night and when ever I'll find someone who is associated with with these mindless freak shows, I'll make sure that they pay for making me and my fellow human beings watch all of this crap.

Though there is something I can watch when the adrenaline has stopped pumping and am washing away the blood stains from my clothes, Cartoon Network and other Kid channels are worth a timepass...even falling anvils and talking animals make more sense than these family sagas and you can always switch to a sports channel (somewhere around the world someone must be playing something..even a kho-kho match between Bangladesh & Fiji is worth a dekko than the usual horseshit) or Discovery (or its subsidiary viz. History Channel or National Geographic) and learn something about this world and use it to show that dumb lass you've been trying to woo away from your best friend that you are smarter than him. And the music channels,only when singers in skimpy clothes sing or Katrina Kaif comes and shakes her booty(I don't give a damn about the Music..if I wish to hear a good song like a good criminal I'll download it from the net...Piracy Rocks !!!).

Time to go. Just saw an assistant of Ekta Kapoor. Need to sharpen my blade.

Where have the Jokers gone???

The most important of all the senses god bestow upon us is without doubt the Sense of Humour.

You can do away with smell when you are passing through the streets of Mumbai, eyes can always take a hike when flipping through channels(except in the cases when Katrina Kaif is on the screen...obvious exceptions), sense of touching is of no use when you have no one [:)] to touch, as for taste,if you've eaten south Indian once you've eaten it to last a lifetime ( if you've eaten a lot at 'Sagar Ratna' then maybe you'll understand what motions run through my mind and belly at the mere mention of it) and lastly as for the sense that provides us with hearing, well when horns are blaring at you in a Delhi traffic jam you'll wish you were born deaf.

All in all it is the Sense of Humour which don't have any ill effects (except maybe if you laugh at someone else's expense who looks like a cross between Batista and Khali and you are a poor copy of Rey Misterio then my friend you are in a lot of trouble and have all my sympathy with you).

Well my friends and me used to have this in abundance, the ability to laugh at others, make others laugh with us and when it really mattered make everyone laugh at someone we actually didn't liked. My best friend and me were quite a lethal duo in the last department, in fact the only time I was beaten was the one when I had pissed the guy really off and he was almost in tears, twisting and turning my dearest arm while I was laughing out so loud that I couldn't defend myself and my useless Partner-in-Crime was busy rolling on the floor laughing (with the whole class mind ya). Although with hindsight I can preach that laughing at someone else's expense can be quite hilarious provided it is safe (read the Batista-Khali scenario again) and clean but at that time we were the laughing duo, who disrupted the peace of the class and with whom even the class monitor used to laugh when we were suppose to play lambs (which mind ya is quite bewildering, I mean c'mon have you ever been with a bunch of lambs?? They make more racket then a mob of Manchester United fans).

Me and my mates have gone through a lot but always had each other to pass on the worries and laugh at our miseries. We still make fun of others and each other, sometimes even raising doubts over another persons sexual orientation and manliness (cheap jokes...hitting below the belt but we are usually drunk or high,in our defense, so it doesn't matter), even once in a while prove that the other person is pregnant and the fact that the other person is a guy never bothered us (am the only one with biology written as a subject in his HSC certificate but still I keep mum and enjoy the festivities never telling them that it is impossible... or is it??? haven't a guy given birth recently?? I tell you in this world of 'man-playing-god' anything is possible, even me getting a decent percentile in CAT or Kulu getting a job or Gaurav finally figuring out his love life).

Inspite of all the laughter and joy we share something has added up in our life which have changed all of us a lot. From simple carefree guys who used to idle away there time to glory without a thing to worry about in the world suddenly all of us have started trodding on the path of becoming Man. Real men like our fathers with responsibilities, commitment, troubles and problems on our minds (my parents were thinking of marrying me off to thrust some responsibity in me & the only thing that stopped them was my threat that then I'll leave my pesky kids on their door step while me and dearest will be out there earning our chikkan tikka and rumali roti, and trust me after raising me, ma & pa aren't be interested in rearing even 50% of my DNA for half a day). Studying like never before to get into a good college, worrying about the job at hand, going to the office at 7 and returning at 9, calling other pals to ask them whether they can post a resume to a company, screaming 'fucking hell' when the dean has banned their placement, worrying about finances and actually learning what really happens in the share market just to make a lil extra cash we all do it while planning for the life ahead.

The realisation that the era of our 'I-don't-give-a-damn' attitude is over is quite sad but that is reality for you. Reality continues to ruin my life.

And by the way there is a saving grace for me after all.

Bill Watterson said “Life's disappointments are harder to take when you don't know any swear words.” Thankfully I learnt a lot of them during my course of life.

I'm a simple man in the end.

Although yesterday I wished for a nuclear powered car that could turn into a jet with laser-guided heat-seeking missiles yet I'm a simple man.

I just got complex tastes.

Tenses

Past, Present and Future. The main three tenses of the English language. And the three states which prevail in everyones life, all interconnected and each and every one of us struggling to make peace with at least one of them.

Some of us are worried about our future, struggling with the unknown, scared of the uncertainties, and living each day to figure out what next life might throw back at us.

And then there are the ones coping with the past, the unnerving fight to make amends with everything that has happened, trying to tidy up the mess that was created by them and struggling to put the pain behind them.

The 'present strugglers' are fighting to live happily or to them just being alive will suffice. They are the ones who have accepted that they can't change the past and have no hope for the future so the only priority they have got to live the present moment and add it to there kitty of 'things-that-worked-out-in-the-past'.

There are one another type of strugglers too in this world and actually these are the ones who hold the majority. The 'All of the above' group and I know about this one with all the details because I'm a part of this godforsaken community.

The most misunderstood of them all, me for starters trust people, the ultimate sin of them all by what I've heard, some think the most major mistake I make is that I believe in the goodness of others and where there is no chance of any good coming out, I just hope.

I never signed up to be hurt but I did and from some of the most unexpected quarters, People who used to say I was very important to them forsook me and worst of it all I forgave each and every one of them, took in the pain and tried to put it in the basement and threw away the key. I tried my level best to be understanding and follow the codes of civility but to no avail. I still remained the bad guy in there books and I'll always remain that,I have accepted this.

But alas these are the moments, when everything just starts to settle down, it is when the most strongest and opportunistic of them all, strikes back as if it has been waiting for all this time just to catch you off guard. The past comes rushing by with his sword of memories and arrows of deja vu and this is the time when the actual struggle begins.

The smallest of words, the simplest of gestures, the most melodious songs, and sometimes people, places all conspire against you (unwittingly) and bring back all the moments you were trying to forget. The most delightful of conversations with friends causes you to reach for the phone and pour out your sadness to someone who you believe (and hope) cares. The most unintentional reactions of someone brings all the anger within you to the surface.

And then there are his siblings Present & Future both of them just as unforgiving. The strikes of the future are compounded by the aid lent by the Present.

But what is the reason of all these struggles? To make our future more brighter or to improve all the decisions we have already taken?

Of what I've learnt is that this is not a fight and definitely not a struggle. this is simply a pursuit. A Pursuit of Happiness and Peace. This is life. To learn from everything that has happened to us, to make sure we do not do it again in our present and hence totally rule out the chance of finding us in the same situation in the future. The three tenses Past, Present & Future are not the devils of our lives, they are just what you think of them to be. They can be your nemesis and at the same time they can be your best friends. Its you who have to decide what they are going to end up like.

As for me, if you are wondering that maybe from all the bad experiences I have stopped hoping, stop believing and thrown trust out of the window you can't be more wrong. I was always an optimistic and guess will always remain one. I'm capable of nothing less than eternal hope.

Its just that I've learnt to make walls around my basement.Works fine for me against the dirty little tricks the Past plays.

Let me know what works for you.

The Way I am...

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