In Exchange of the Soul

Richard came out of the hole and saw the sun hanging above the remains of the world. The buildings stood as silent witnesses to the death and destruction, ready to scream obscenities at the human kind for the misfortune they had bought upon the planet. The lack of any wind whispered accusations in Richard’s ears. He inhaled deeply the dust rich air and instantly started coughing. Each day he did the same thing, as a ritual, with the hope that one day his lungs would be blessed to breathe in air, a little cleaner, a little calmer, a little purer. And each day his wish was rejected.

A little girl’s head popped up from the hole from which Richard had crawled up. As she saw the yellow light spread across the ruins of the once famous skyline, a gasp escaped her lips. Sunlight had been a rarity since the time the massive dust storms had enveloped the earth. In fact, little Suzie actually couldn’t recall the last time she had seen natural light. The undergrounds were all lighted by kerosene lamps which she hated because of the smell and the fumes that they filled the tunnels up with when ignited.

Richard looked at Suzie and smiled at the fascinated expression which only a child can display. He took her hand and led her towards the road which led them deeper into the heart of once proud city.

‘Come now sweetie,’ he said to her, ‘Let’s find something to eat before it gets dark.’

He took her hand and started to move across the heaps of rubble, laid across the wasteland like the silent victims of Pompeii. Suzie kept looking at the fallen buildings and the wilted trees in amazement. Everything her sight touched was a proof of the devastation, but she rarely had a chance to ever come out from the den and today also only the desperation to get some rations and provisions had forced them to come up.

Richard kept his eyes focused on the store which was looming into view from behind the mountain of debris, as they climbed it. He took Suzie in his arms to speed up their ascent. He reached the top of the heap and could finally make out the broken signage on the store welcoming its visitors.

‘W- A- L- L- M- A-’ Suzie started to read it aloud

‘Shhh baby,’ Richard purred.

There was a small field separating them and the canned food inside the store.He put Suzie down and took a deep breath. ‘Time of reckoning.’ his brain commented.

‘You see that pole dear?’ Richard asked Suzie, pointing at the remains of a streetlight standing on the far right of the field.

‘Yes.’ Suzie nodded.

‘When I reach there, you go running toward the middle of the field, alright? Make as much noise you want. Ok princess?’

Suzie nodded again.

-----

Richard carefully crawled towards the streetlight on all fours. He stood up and looked back at Suzie. She was still standing atop the hill of rubbish, her face already pink from the heat. A calm determined look was on her face as her eyes met Richard’s.

‘She knows.’ Richard’s mind chided him.

Richard felt a ball of lead falling deep into his stomach and his heart did a double flip in his ribcage, yet his brain didn’t let go of the command over his body. Richard felt an invisible force making him wave to Suzie, prodding her to move forward.

With a look mature beyond her young years, Suzie started to come down from the top of the rubble. Richard’s mind forced him to come out of the trance like state and move towards the depleted store.

Out of the blue, Suzie’s voice filled the amber sky. ‘Doggy.’

Richard stopped in his tracks and looked back. Suzy was standing at the foot of the rubble hill, looking back at him with a pleased expression, all the time pointing towards the gates of the store.

At the doors of the store stood a huge dog, almost the size of a little bear. It had been completely disowned by its fur except for some small, shiny patches of hair left here and there, as if to give testimony to what a fine animal it had been once. Half of its face had no skin or muscle, melted away from the massive heat of he sun’s radiation. Its white raw skull protruded from what was left of the face and a pool of saliva was forming at its feet while it looked at the strange figure in white pointing towards it.

Slowly the beast started to move towards Suzie, the first vibrations of a killer growl forming at the back of its throat. As the distance between them decreased, the speed and the fury of the beast increased.

Suzie sensed that something was wrong as the monstrous figure she had been marveling at a little while ago, came charging towards her. She looked back at her Uncle Richard for help, but he was already making his way towards the now empty door of the store.

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

Angels & Needles

The buzzing of the clock tore through the night's silence and with that I finally accepted failure. My lungs were aching for air and I was drenched in sweat. After more then 7 hours of tossing and turning on the bed I finally quit. When you are dead tired the elixir of sleep comes really slowly. Add to that my present condition and you have an extreme case of insomnia in your hands.

'Some nights would be difficult. Really painful.'

I sat up and tried to steady my spinning head. My mouth felt dry & rough as a sandpaper. I gulped down some shallow breaths and tried rising to my shaking knees. Another failure added to the story of my life. I tried to scream, to curse, to cry the least but my physical exhaustion forced my hands down yet again. The red digits of the clock at my bedside showed it was 3 A.M, but it could've been the middle of a sunny day or a drizzle in the early hours of the evening for all I cared. I just craved for one thing. The only thing that had the power to transform my dingy little apartment into the grounds of heaven.

'Take control my friend. It would tempt you in so many ways. TAKE CONTROL'

I got up from the bed and moved towards the window. As I opened it, the stench of the filth and the humidity of the city hit me like a wall of bricks. My blood-shot eyes had that dazed look in them as I tried to peer through the darkness. The cityline was adorned with bedazzling lights but all I could see was the looming darkness in front of me.

"You will see things you would like to see. Reality becomes a dream and hallucinations the truth."

Another shot of pain rammed down my throat. I fell to my knees as my insides caught fire. I could actually feel by heart getting ready to burst out of my ribcage and my entrails twisting into a new shape. I could feel my skin melting away and the my bones turning to dust. A grasshopper's chirp halfway across the world could reach my ears and I felt the rush of the warm blood rushing towards my head. Bile and vomit rose towards my throat with a blood-curling scream intermingled with the shit. And just as it had started it passed.

"You have the strength to say No."

For a long time I stayed on the floor, infact I lost all sense of time. Only the floor's coldness and my own shaking persona were my companions. I tried to focus on the watch but everything around me was just a blur. Finally I started the crawl toward my desk. Every move I made sent down waves of pain through my body, but I've learnt to live with pain.
It pains when your heart gets broken.
It pains when you see someone else getting everything you deserve.
It pains when you loose the goal you had set out to achieve.
It pains to see the disappointment in the eyes of your loved ones.
It pains each time you insert the needle in your veins.

"Addiction is easy, recovery is not. Some days would just be like straight out of hell. You should throw away all the drugs as your first step."

I somehow managed to plant myself in the seat. I opened the drawer and took out the bottle and a hypodermic needle. I filled it with the clear liquid and rolled up my sleeves. For a second I forgot everything as I saw the numerous puncture wounds on my forearm. Each one of those tiny holes told of a larger story behind them. I closed my eyes and inserted the needle in my vein.

"Call me anytime you want."

My eyes fell on my cell. If only she wasn't 'out of coverage area'. If only I was able to talk to her, nothing would've come this far. My eyes welled up with tears as I realized that due to my weakness, I was loosing the battle we had been fighting for two months.
I still hadn't inserted the plunger, yet.

"You are not alone. I'm not only your counselor, I'm your friend."

The 'ping' brought me back to my own personal hell. I searched for the source and saw my computer was still on. I had forgotten to sign myself out of Gtalk also. It was a message. From MH. 'Hi'.
She was one of my classmates from college. Smart. Beautiful. Elegant. Intelligent. Considerate. And we had hardly ever talked to each other.
We were just acquaintances during all those years. Our conversations were limited to the customary Hellos and Goodbyes. After so many years of disconnect from everyone, her perfunctory greeting seemed like a ghost of the past. The bright, happy, joyous past. The past that killed me each day, little by little. I almost made up my mind to switch off my computer when she again wrote.
'I'm so glad you are online. Will you please talk to me?? I was just going to kill myself.'

"Don't worry friend. Everyone is going through this life, looking for their angels. You will find yours too."

I stared at the screen. At my apartment. At the drug filled needle still sticking into my arm. At the words flashing across the monitor. At the broken pieces of my life.
I took a deep breath to calm my shaking hands and tried to ease out the pain sledgehammering my mind. I took out the needle from my arm and threw it out of the open window. Suddenly, I could make out the lights of the city and the faint glow of rising sun in the backdrop.

"Talking to someone helps. It gives you strength. The will to fight, to survive. Share your pain my friend."

'What happened MH?', I typed back.


-----

Skillet were right. Angels show up in the strangest of places.

Like mine did a week back, at 3 A.M in the night !!! and when I was least expecting it. This one is for ya. :P
AND no, I wasn't doing drugs AND NO she wasn't thinking of killing herself (Amen).. tats why the online's friend's initials are in the reverse.. :D you'll get it 'HM'.

It is also for one of my philosophies... actually Raj Kapoor's or rather Shailendra's to be exact... "Kisi ki muskurahaton pe ho nisar...Kisi ka dard mil sake to le udhaar..."

If you want to forget your own pain, be compassionate towards others problem, try to listen to them if not solve them. It works. Trust me. ;)
PEACE till the next.

Love makes the World go... NUTS !!!

People talk about love as if it is something wonderful. In fact most of them (or us or you or maybe me too) don't stop at just that. We make it something wonderful, something so amazing that it is worth more then everything else in life put together.

Every book one reads and every song one hears is all about love, either it's agony or it's ecstasy. It's as if all the people in the world are in a conspiracy to persuade themselves and others to believe that there's a wonderful something just around the corner which they can get if they just try hard enough.

They hypnotize themselves into thinking of nothing else, striving for nothing else but just waiting for that emotion to take control of their lives and take them on a ride where only happiness and joy will engulf their souls.

AND during this they miss all the other splendid things of life.

Time for a Heartbreak :-/ OR Shotgun is a Man's Best Friend :D

"Is it time already?"

"Yes sir,it is. Time to break your heart sir."

"Oh well, we both knew this would happen sooner or later. Anyways, will you bring my shotgun up please?"

"I already have it here sir. Have cleaned it all, in and out and have also put in two extra rounds for contingencies, sir."

"You are the best butler ever. Even Jeeves can't match up to you."

"Thank You Sir."

------

Don't know whether am down or feeling like on 7th heaven. But this is for sure P.G Wodehouse is the best writer EVER. :D

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.

Heaven Sent

Official entry to the 'Silhouette' Short Fiction Contest

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.

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.

7 Days & 18 Hours

7 Days & 18 hours.

7 days of backpacking across India and 18 hours of total sleep I got in between.

7 days of total ecstasy and euphoria & 18 hours of the realisation that a soft bed comes only third to sex and vodka.

I travelled to the City of Nawabs-Lucknow, My home & the capital of this country-New Delhi, the financial capital-Mumbai and in the end the oxford of India-Pune. And in between I squeezed a lil village called Taregaon near Pune.

I travelled in the luxury of Rajdhani's coach, in total comfort in Shatabdi's chair car, travelled in the cramped environment of the Mumbai local, sat idly in the Mumbai-Pune Volvo & watched a mindless flick called 'Partner', travelled in an inter city local, almost got duped by the local Auto wallahs and finally slept through the cacophony of a sleeper class.

I ate Aloo vada, batata vada, idli, biryani, matar paneer for lunch and dinner. I smoked hashish with a big hearted and breasted Austrian lady, drank two bottles of vodka with my elder brother cum best friend and almost missed my 5 fucking 30 A.M local and gave my ice cream to a lil beggar girl.

I met a kayastha family from Delhi settled in Mumbai for the last 25 years who treated me coldly at first cause they thought I was Muslim because of the long kurta I was wearing, eyed their beautiful, young, married but not happy daughter, met a confused railway clerk who had just been offered a job as a manager in some hot shot company and also has gotten a call from Bihar police, met a girl doing her biotech from Bangalore a city of which she was sick of, totally blasted the interview panel I was facing in Pune, met a CRPF officer who went out of the way to make my stay comfortable.

And in the end presented a sight to 50 dumbstruck people who'll never forget it as long as they will live.

I entered the sleeper coach's waiting room attired fully in a two piece suit wearing a crisp shirt, a great tie and shining black shoes. 15 minutes later I departed from the room wearing shabby clothes and nondescript sleepers in feet leaving everyone wide eyed and giggling.

7 days & 18 hours.

I've just tasted life with no wings attached.

Dev ME

What sort of person must Sarat Chandra be to write something like Devdas in the first place?
J K Rowling may be responsible for spreading Pottermania around the globe and J R R Tolkein's Rings trilogy might have won the most Oscars in the history of academy awards but I guess there is still to come a piece of fiction that had inspired 10 different film versions of it.

I saw Anurag Kashyap's version of Devdas yesterday with my own 'Paro' & the similarities between me and the protagonist were striking. The self destructive streak, the helplessness of love, the pendulum swinging between self pity & despair, the carelessness about his own self, the unnecessary indulgence in cigarettes, hashish and ganja, the inevitable search for happiness and love, my own Paro whom I can not hurt, my Chanda whom I had to see after watching this flick, the two Chunnilal's of my own life giving me a shoulder to rely on from time to time, the dark void sucking in my sanity every night and last but the most important similarity- the worshiping of the brand name 'Smirnoff', I could relate everything with myself.

The novel can be considered as the convergence of the tragic Hamlet and the classic Romeo & Juliet but is in fact bigger then both of them. Every human has an evident dark, uncaring & self destructive side to himself and the way it has been shown in the novel as well as the films, specially in Dev D, will make look both Kafka and Edgar Allen poe as amateurs.

The whole kaleidoscope of emotions running through the reels, the bizarre colours splashed across the canvas, the first shot of our protagonist making a joint, the open sexuality of Paro and the coming of age of Chanda, every second of the next 3 hours is engrossing. Unless until you are the happiest soul in this world you won't relate an iota to it but for the rest of the majority there will be at least one moment in there where you would sit up and take notice.

The leads are naturals and actually brilliant in their portrayals. Never once will you will be reminded of Abhay Deol from his earlier works he is totally convincing as the new age Devdas, Mahi Gill as the bindass punjabi lass who transforms into a mature lady is completely believable, Kalki as Chanda the teen-lady prostitute struggling with her own ghosts has that innocence and vulnerability on her face that makes you want to reach out to her and in the end Dibyendu as the practical Chunnilal who makes you wish for a resourceful tout like him in your own life's script.

The music is brilliantly awesome but am sure will sound just like a raucous cacophony to most purists. It's a healthy blend of Rock, Lounge and a little folk thrown in for the extra flavour. As with the whole film nothing here is formula driven and the songs just take the movie forward and disclose the turmoils of the leads. The rock version of Emotional Atyachaar, The peppy Duniya number, soulful Nayan Tarse and Aankh Michonni are THE tracks to listen in this quarter of the year.

The cinematography, camerawork, lighting and all other technical details are done quite well. My only complaint is the second half that could've been a little more sleek if edited properly.

As all the columnists in the newspapers are rejoicing this is a coming of age film for Indian cinema but as a warning watch out with whom you are going out with. Your family might want to get out of the hall in the first ten minutes (and maybe later individually book the next show for themselves alone).

Saratchandra considered Devdas to be his worst book but it became his most celebrated work. I guess this proves the point that we people are addicted to self pity and love to brood over our sorrows.

Last point. This is the best version of Devdas to come out. Dileep Kumar's version is the second best.

I Saw Her

I changed the metro at Kashmere gate for Rithala. I had to be in another part of Delhi and taking the Metro was the only economical & practical option available to me.

She entered the car with a friend of hers and from that moment onwards, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her, atleast for the next 20 minutes. She was not exactly beautiful, infact she was far from the conventional sense of beauty, yet there was something about her which I can’t fathom, and guess never will be able to, that held my attention. She was wearing a cherry-red colour jacket over a creamish sweatshirt and faded stone washed blue denims. She was more on the wheatish side with shoulder length dark brown hair styled unevenly which gave her a wind swept look. She had no curves, no long legs and no breasts to speak of but at that moment was easily the most desirable girl in the world for me. She was carrying an overflowing bag, most probably filled with books to the limit and was from Gargi College, since she was wearing the college’s sweatshirt and I could read 'GARGI' written over to the left side of her sweatshirt. She had an unsmiling face with slight bags under her eyes and looked pretty tired, infact she looked relieved to be in the metro and having a chance to relax for a while. She was leaning against the door and like a puppy I was staring at her, hoping that I would get an opportunity to start a conversation with her.

She was totally oblivious of her surroundings and didn’t even notice any of her fellow companions, especially one of them who was precipitating despite of the morning chill. She either kept her eyes fixed outside of the window beside me or decided to give them a rest from time to time.
She had a relaxed appearance and a calm aura surrounded her. She looked as if she wasn’t in any hurry to reach anywhere and gave the impression of a smart, intelligent and sensible person. She had the quality of a confident and in control kind of a person which was well evident from her body language.

She was someone maybe with whom I would’ve had loved to share a coffee, talk, hold a conversation, listen to her views and try to get to know her a little better. She gave me the impression that maybe this was the kind of girl I would like to share my life with, share all my happy moments and tell her all my worries. She was the kind of girl I would’ve had liked to wake up every morning, snuggle to, bring a smile to her face, make her childish fantasies true and listen ‘I Miss You’ from.

With a jolt the metro stopped at Rithala and we both got out. I jumped the stairs two at a time and rushed towards an auto, without even glancing back at her and pushed her out of mind as soon as the auto started moving. For me it was over, a chance meeting, a time we will share but of whom she’ll remain unaware and I’ll treasure. For me she was lost in the land of the human mass forever.

But fate had other plans.

I rushed back to the station 3 hours later to reach CP as soon as possible to meet my girl.
After a long wait I finally got a ticket and entered the overflowing coach of the Metro. And there she was, in the crowd, right in front of me sitting serenely. But this time I didn’t feel any of the previous emotions that had rushed through me. I hardly noticed her and kept glancing at my watch, calculating at what time I would be able to reach CP and for how long my girl would’ve been waiting.

Both of us again departed at the Kashmere gate station and as before I bolted towards the exit without a second thought in my mind.

This time we had parted ways at last.

Or have we???

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.

oNE WiLD NighT

Pre-Script: I was drunk as I had originally written this...drunk as in totally wasted...with no sense of time, direction, stairs, person, food or something else for that matter. There might be some mistakes in there but even as I re-edit it am not gonna rectify them...originality matters. And besides what fun it would be if I didn't have a drunk, insanic post in my blog???

31st December 2008/ 1st January 2009

Finally my craving to get drunk and my wish to have a hangover are fulfilled. It's 7 in the fucking morning, 1st January 2009 and pretty chilly. The fog is quite thick right now and I have just driven 20 miles in half conscious state with two of my buddies (actually one is drunk and was asleep the whole time...still is {& remained so late till the afternoon}) acting as my eyes and mind (I couldn't see a bloody thick chain cordoning off the entry of one of the roads and almost drove through ot) with the sounds of Bon Jovi and Linkin Park blaring through the speakers to keep me awake and with prayers in our hearts for the dearth of the traffic cops,to finally have a cup of coffee in the comforts of my own home.

The plan was simple. My home was supposed to be the venue (since my parents are conveniently out of town) and we were supposed to have a house party and get drunk on vodka, GUYS ONLY!! But all plans have a habit to go awry and what good is a man who can't derive the best out of a worst situation. 'We' were just four guys, GK..the man...my blood brother...the closest friend I have. Meena...a school buddy..budding script writer and director. Pawan..the boyfriend of my ex-'s sister..my big bro cum best friend. & finally, yours truly... the brain behind the whole idea...the man with the thousand nicknames and thousand plus one smiles.

The first setback happened in the morning when I ran out of cash. By the time I got to the Bank it was closed and the only thing I could do was to call GK and ask him to get the moolaah. GK had problems of his own by the way. His brother has wiped off his account of all the cash and had left him broke. Still he managed to scrape through somehow.

The second pitfall happened late in the evening when three of us were waiting for Pawan to reach my place and controlling ourselves not to start drinking the pure Smirnoff right away. That's when he called to say that he can't make it cause some dumb asshole of a guy had punctured both the tires of his bike. Instead of loosing hope and playing into the hands of despair, I took command & decided to move the party to Pawan's house. With no cash left in any of our combined pockets and minimum of petrol in the car, I drove the 20 miles to his place in my trusty car with fuckingly best fuel efficiency.

The pain in my head is searing, eyes blood shot and puffy from lack of sleep and the brain. an old has been sword, jaded and rusted. GK is snoring away to glory while Meena is desperately trying to sleep. I have made eggs for myself for this early morning breakfast and am still reading the message my ex- sent me after I had talked and somewhat screamed at her after she had pissed me off.

We planned to go bowling before drinking but here despair outplayed us. The malls were closing just as we reached there, which was surprising cause we had thought this was New Year's Eve and at least malls will be open at least till 12. With slightly dashed hopes but still with some spirit we went back home to our bottles of vodka and the now ice cold chicken and play out the original plan.

Meena broke the seals and I did the honours of pouring out the pegs for everyone. And then Pawan's gf called up and he went out of the room to talk to her. We like good old fashioned guys threw obscenities at him for walking out on us, kept drinking while litting up cigarettes after cigarettes and kept the mood swinging. We recalled our school days and welcomed nostalgia to the group, I proved to GK that he ain't in love, prodded Meena that his love calls me her sweetheart and flirts like anything, I boasted that her cute lil 11th class sister thought I had a sexy voice and then 'she' called.

I had read somewhere that the best cure of a hangover is sprite and tomatoes ( had read on Sia's blog) and something else to do with curd. But with lack of luck I'm out of tomatoes, sprite, curd. lemon, bananas, vegetables, or any kind of food for that matter. I roam around the house to find something to do instead of sleeping, inspite of the weariness and the tiredness am not ready to give rest to my eyes, atleast not yet. My mind keeps acting like a pendulum, swinging this way and that, restless, wishing for something to think about but all thoughts pouring out of mind like water from a hand, unable to concentrate and form a coherent thought.

I had been waiting for my girl to call me and actually didn't expect that my ex- will wish to talk to me when the clock will chime 12. We started talking and wished each other (actually I did, she ain't too keen on the concept of special days...New Years, B'days, Anniversaries etc etc.) and then my special girl called. I hung up and began my struggle with the jammed networks to listen to her sweet voice again. After a struggle of half -an-hour I was finally able to bore through the vodafone-airtel networks and talk to her.

I returned to my medicine after having a brief chat and then my ex- called up again. I listened to her audacious talk, spoke some angry words and put the phone down. And I passed out after 12 minutes. I found out in the morning that my cell had run out of balance, was low on battery and by some godforsaken miracle it was blocked!!!

Still later I found out how I had blabbered to Pawan that what a great and nice guy he really is and am gonna tell his gf not to trouble him much.

The world outside is blue, devoid of the rays of the sun yet there is nothing sad or depressing about the concrete landscape. It is the New Year's first day and the scene gives me the feeling of peace and tranquility. It gives me the sense of hopefulness that everything good will happen for everyone of us.

I messaged my ex- apologising for my behaviour the night before. And

I'm still to message everyone who wished me throughout the last two days (yup people started from 30th).

And now I gotta sleep cause I can't keep my eyes open.

PEACE.

& A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU !!!

& we ate a half cooked, ice cold chicken for dinner.

No 'frills' attached

I had one of the best coffee in the world today. The froth was an inch thick, the liquid sweet with lots of chocolate powder thrown in for good measure and was piping hot. The best point??? The fucking cup cost me 15 bucks. 15 lousy rupees which I might have used to buy some cheap cigarettes (am kinda in budget mode...spent all my money a week ago on vodka), were well used to discover the best joint to have coffee in this part of town. It is a cold night in Delhi and having a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, cigi's in the other and eyes on girls passing by with your best man, rambling about his fucked up love life, in tow is simply priceless.

And then there was the roadside burger nested inside a fried bun with a healthy portion of veggies (tomatoes and cabbage and onions) to please the health freak and that sweet, liquidy, water-thinned sauce oozing out of it everytime you take a bite. 5 rupees only.

Screw the CCD's & Baristas of this world and McDonald should just roll over and die.

BLOODY FUCKING CAPITALIST BASTARDS.

(I bloody well forgot that I was supposed to be depressed after the outing & by the way you can get that coffee at PVR Saket).

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.

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.