Nicknames...

29th March, 2015.

"I love you puchu". "And i love you babu "

well, these are some of the things I/we always hear in metro, or around the inner circle of c.p or India gate, or any other place  infested with love birds. I am talking about the nicknames.

Nicknames, as I know, are just the token of many PDA we see throughout our daily lives. It starts with our parents naming us at home, which sounds ridiculously funny, and is continued by our friends at school, then college, then, if we are lucky enough, the better halves take up the legacy and it presumably stops there. Yes, at times, it is continued by others too, but that is somewhat exceptional. Nicknames aren't used for shortening our names to ease up things, it used... well, no idea why they are used, but they are fun!

So, out of sheer compulsion of my brainworm, i took a paper and started jotting down the nicknames i got and i gave to people. IT. IS. RIDICULOUS! I have no idea why, but the night is long before i sleep, so here is the list. I did it on a chronological manner. Here goes.

Nicknames I got-

1. Pancham
2. Bhootnath (don't even dare to ask!)
3. Gonsha (dafaq that meant jethu?)
4. Haddock
5. Kelo (like gonsha wasn't enough)
6. Mahesh (school)
7. RDX (took explosive fire crackers to school, Rawat sir gave it)
8. Bhowmu
9. Mr. Holmes
10. Psyche
  that's it.

Nicknames I gave to people I can call friends or close to me or i can connect with, though in fairness, all of them were given in college years, so, not much.

1. Darwin (dishant)
2. Baniya (Shiv)
3. Old Sport (bhai, he had a nickname already)
4. Nastenka (well...)
5. Tilottoma (erm...)
6.Bohemian (hmm.)
7. Doc (well, you're good)
8. Narcissus (hah! can't forget this one!)
9. Lady Marion (still need to find the answer why this name?)

and that is it. well, 4,5,6 was for one singular personna.

Well, it is late in night, 1.54 am now, need to go now... Ta!

p. s well, i intended to post this, and finally got the time... now i need to get my meds and sleep like a horse. it was meaningless as a blog indeed!

painkiller clarity

31^st March, 2015.

You know, sometimes, a fall can be too much clarifying, providing you too much of a closure, unintended maybe, but it does. And I suppose that after the phenol incident (do refer to my recent post), this one surpasses every other stop events I have faced.

Coming back to my senses, I remember I said, “Darn it woman! If you want to kill me, do it quick and get over it, but stop leaving me after grievously injuring me or my pride at least!” now, Maa took it as my concussion talk, severe concussion leads to meaningless babbles, but I know what I was saying, and since the personification of death was an easy talk, I guess it wasn’t just babble. Well, let me start from the start. Since I am unable to move due to orders, and painkillers make us lethargic, I might as well write!

Two days ago, I had a fall. A good, injuring fall, though it is quite miraculous that I am still alive. People who have been to my roofs will know, there is a higher place with the water tanks for the building. To reach there, one needs to use a ladder. I never use it, it is already on a verge of rot. The place, the tanks, it is the only place no one goes and I sit there for hours, well, sandcastle. But that day, I assume it was pre written that I would be meeting yet another accident, a bit more injuring than the previous ones. I have become quite reckless in the past few months, which had become even more drastic since I have nothing more to do than reading, or studying or watching  TV, and totally forsaken, nay, avoided by closer fellows. But recklessness comes with a price of stupidity, at times our ability to think goes out of the window, or else, I would not have made that bad decision. I don’t make bad decisions easily, but when I do, it is hilariously dangerous.

So I went to roof for some quite time after a bad night of sleepless shit storm, and as usual, went for the tanks. But instead of my usual way, I used the ladder and that was it. The last  step was already rotten due to the exposure of years of sun and rain and fungi, quite naturally it broke under my weight (yeah, I am indeed obese now). That was why I don’t use ladders. Anyway, it broke and rest was done by gravity, such a bitch! Next thing I know,  there is no sense of equilibrium left within me, the world spun in a vertical way and I was down, flat on my back. Head hitting the hard concrete and things went black.  Well, six steps down from a ladder on your back on a concrete floor will indeed have serious effects on you if you are as heavy as me, but the next things that followed weren’t anticipated. For a good minute or two, I know I was lying motionless, still in a visual darkness, trying to think straight, but all I can make out was the cold feeling around me. For the first time, I felt this much cold, unable to speak, everything going dim and slow around me, colors of the plants my mother placed on the roof went from green to fade grey, not to mention the inability to breathe. You see, when you fall on your back, the impact comes from back to front, you lungs are hammered and they try to gain the lost air pressure, leading to gasps; and if you are a fatso like me, well, gravity x mass. I know, I have been there many times. Well, eventually everything came back, with a crushing pain in the back of the head, and the hip joint, and some blood from nostrils, results of impact. I still lay motionless trying to ascertain if I am alive or dead. The best way is to see if it hurts or not, it did, I was still alive, disappointed at first, for this would be again a stop event. Somehow I made it downstairs and… well, I think the rest of it is easy to assume. In short, my Jim Morrison shirt is soiled by my blood, the left eye of Morrison now has a blood stain making him look like he is bleeding from eyes. I am infested with painkillers, antibiotic, I am having a serious issue while taking a shit because, well. My head nearly killed me by the pain and I am still having problems while assessing things and trying to remember, or think, or read for long. I have a busted left shin and the doctor advised me in privacy, “do some pujo or stuff, your fall was to break your neck and you ended up with minor injuries”. Well, that is true! I need to visit the temples I guess.

As I said, a fall can give you clarity at times. The moment when everything went out and dim was probably a very, euphoric moment (no, I am not high). I was, for a time, out of this world, in bliss and when I came back, I realized one thing. I’ll be dead soon. Soon enough, sooner than you lot can figure out why the answer to “what is the thing that you’ll use but you don’t know you are using it”. My mother had my kundli made by some astrologer, who is good enough, and there it says, I have an accident coming, soon, and a fatal one. Well, I don’t know about that, but I will be gone before anyone even knows. Actually, though it was quite stupid o my part, I made a list of arrangements once, things to be done if I face death imminently. Well, I’ll make sure that no one knows that I am gone. That is one of the primary things…  okay, I guess it is my painkillers talking, and I am not even going to edit it now. I don’t regret it. Okay, maybe one thing. It is enough, these stop events. Either take me out for once and all or don’t bother me like after every 5 weeks or 5 years or so. In simpler words, kill me when you have the means or time, since I am not going to do it myself, I am not suicidal, just destructive and reckless.

And since I might not get the chance again, (obvious reasons) I might as well say, I am sorry to all if I have been ever rude or demeaning to anyone, it wasn’t my intention. And, I am sorry that some of you might have the misfortune of meeting me, befriending me, and later regretting it. And thank you all, for tolerating my useless rants and incessant things. And do not miss my presence, it will be fruitless. Well, world will be a far better place when I am not around, no one to irritate you huh? ;) all the love to you.

Ta!

p.s - willie nelson's gravedigger would be appreciated!

Magic happens!

27^th March, 2015.

What is magic? By definition? By the literal interpretation? Well, basically it means an attempt to understand and exploit supernatural forces. And these days, it is just a targeted deception towards an individual or a general mass, sometimes on a stage and at times somewhere public. Illusion as we call it. Illusion to make us degenerate, sad people happy, as one guy tries to amuse us with something we do not understand. But is it only confined to those walls of words? The word magic, there is more to it than we, or us or you can possible imagine. And I might have got a fair glimpse.

So, today while returning from CR Park, I found that the old magician who seldom visits my locality was again here, with the same old Bata shoes, a saffron tunic and his tattered and torn bag. The kids in the area were, as usual, enveloped him with bright faces and quivering hearts. I know that feeling, I too am vulnerable to magic, but this isn’t about it. He made me think, is it just some tricks and sleight of hands that defines the word or is it bigger than we think it is? Because, what I have learnt in all these years, or maybe due to recent chain of events, I have developed a belief that there are certain things that have complicated definitions and cannot be just defined by preconceived parameters. There has to be other things. Took me deep retrospection and three mugs of meaningless coffee to arrive at a conclusion. And as usual, everyone is allowed to refute me and my newly formed theory, opine on it or remark about it. There is hardly any compulsion to agree staunchly on something that is being said, or rather typed on the internet. So, here goes, though I assume it might have been said before, but then, I am going through serious compulsions to write.

Magic is everywhere, and it is happening right now, simultaneously. It is happening on our computer/mobile screen while you read this and might are getting provoked in a better way to write or think. Magic happened when the kids guffawed and laughed, amazed by the old man’s bag of surprises when he produced three small balls or rubber and then turned them into one big ball and finally into a snake. Magic is when my mother smells of fresh jasmine as she comes out of the bath, drying her hairs on a towel, or when my father lights his cigarette in the rain. Magic was when your father came home and you might have jumped up on his lap just hoping that he might have bought something for you, and he did!  Magic is when we all tasted the first drop of rain and it still is magic when it rains and we (generalizing) go out and get drenched, our hearts beats faster.

Magic is the turmeric stains on your grandma’s fingers, your grandpa’s beard as white as snow. Your sister’s anger when you pull hair just to piss her off or your brother’s football playing skills.

What else?

It is there, when you look at the night sky and find stars, wondering their existence, the freshly cut grass as you walk on them bare feet. The first dried leaf as it swirls and sways down while falling from the tree, so auburn in color that it makes the tree look like as if it were on fire. Or the dark, opaque fog in the winter morning. The first rose bud on a fine spring morning and the first kala khatta in a summer afternoon. Or the winds in your hair when you stroll on the roof.

Magic is that one song that takes us in a place when we want nothing but complete solace, to be alone, overwhelmed by the lyrics, or just the way the guy is playing the guitar as if his fingers are kissing the strings. Magic lies under the crypt of Nizamuddin Auliya’s dargah when you set foot in that place.

What else?

It will be magic only when you share a cigarette with a friend, or friends, talking crass and shit about anything, from the girl who’s crossing the road or the goal that messi made last night on star sports. It will be magic when you all failed in a class test that holds 10 marks for the semester and yet you go out of the college gate and enjoy chhole bhature or hot momos, laughing and cussing your teachers, along with a serious tone that you need to work hard for atleast the passing marks. Finally passing with good numbers, leading KFC or MCd’s for treat! That is magic.

What else?

Magic is your diary (again, generalizing), the pages you wrote with the blue/black ink, the doodles on the pages, or the leaf from a tree around your locality. The nights you spent re-reading those pages, trying to figure out your own emotions or the day and the reason for the entry you made. And finally closing it as the pages are full, tucking it away somewhere and opening a new diary, fresh pages, new emotions and lots of memories.

What else?

Magic is when you kiss you love and thank god for the day, feeling complete. When she runs right into your arms or when he slightly lifts your face just to look into your eyes, keeping his and your silence held captive in a dire secrecy of something totally wonderful. Or when she cries and you do nothing but sit by her side, letting her know that you are here, in a constant vigil. It will always be the first good morning, the last goodnight and everything in between. And magic is when you will have a huge argument and then won’t talk for days and then a text message will drop, saying “hi!”, maybe a pearl of tear will be in both of your eyes, ladies and gentlemen. There will be magic.

What else?

My magic is my hope; if it is too dark and haunting my magic is the memories I have, with you. Yes, right now I am talking to you only and I know you are reading this and I am not even regretting if anyone else does read this, because it is true and not anything to be ashamed of. Right now, we are having a huge difference regarding what to feel and what not to. We are having this messed up cold war between us and there lies my magic. Hope! Yes, though sometimes I do get the feeling to kill you with one single strike of my finger, stabbing you right through the chest or breaking your cartilage in the neck, but then, I was always the psychopath you made friend with, leading to respect you, which I still do and finally falling for you, I think I am right when I say we never regretted it.

Sure, we are acting like shit and it is not our fault, I might blame the circumstances for these, and the choices I made. But I did found magic when you were here, and it is still here, everyday. Still haven’t forgotten your magic, which sits on your nose, the spot, or your gleaming eyes, or your anger when I went rude and you shouted, it was magic for me. It was magic when we talked about brida and Maria and Gibran and bailando or Seville and Prague or the story of Rashaya.

 And even it takes me to the year of 2072, I will always hope, and wait and love you, without any give reason. Never needed a reason to be like this in the first place. I just wanted to say thank you for letting me be there when you needed it, and I will, whatever it takes, I will be there always for you. I made a list, I will complete it, might as well complete it with the person I intended to! You, my dear, were, are and will be chaos to my brain. And it will be magic. Though we do not talk much these days (5 months completed on this 24^th), I will always find you in my sandcastle, right as I described your appearances. And I will wait and hope, always! I am too persistent, since I never stopped you from leaving or coming back, I won’t ask you to do anything, remember the phrase “being mine without being mine”?  I think it is enough now!

What else?

Magic will be there when you marry the person you love. The first kid you’ll have whose tiny little fingers will wrap around yours. Or the first salary cheque. Or the first vacation.

I guess I made the list pretty long, along with my own magic, hope and wait. It has been long, shall we not end this war? 

To conclude, I assume everyone have got the gist of my definition. It doesn’t needs to be something out of the world you know, not necessarily. The smallest gesture, the slightest smile, that one fleeting moment. I guess, the smallest things are largest magic, real magic, without lies, deception or illusions. The only thing is, the only catch, are you aware of these or just are letting it go? If you are, well it is not too late!

Regards.

P.s – got my old dabba camera out! I hope it works!... I need to go on a stroll, so “shove yer hands in yer pockets an’ whistle a darn good song laddie!”.

Incessant Things I Write.

25th March, 2015.

My hands are shaking incessantly as i write this. I know how I feel and it is not good. NOT GOOD. This is my second blog on a same day and I am typing it fast, missing spellings, error-ed grammar and my heartbeat is racing its way out of my chest. My eyes are seeing blur even though I am wearing my correction glasses and there is an unexplained heavy breathing. Sever case of nervousness and palpitations. I go through a huge amount of such uneasy things and there is hardly any cure. I am editing everything I am writing and my guts are twisted inside with a variety of mixed emotions.

I showed my story, the third blog story to mother, translating things in between. And it is only to my disbelief that she sat motionless for minutes, finally asking, why are you sad?

I am not sad, mother, i wrote poems, and writing a stupid story is nothing hard to me. And to call them 'stories' would be an insult to all the writers who had done great jobs and those who had a formal training or had classes for such. I just type whatever goes inside my head for days long and after i have written it down, i forget what is was all about. To be truthful, mother, i don't even read it back for the second time because it only brings back the unwanted feelings, the heartbeat goes out of control again! you saw what happened to me last time! It is better to write and let it out, then be it love, hatred, anger, sadness, anything or nothing at all. Well, not always i can punch walls or burn my papers!

yes, i burnt a lot of things, some letters, some stories, poems and even a paper lotus origami thing made of white paper that was in my wooden box. There's something missing! One bloody bracelet  i had, i guess it is safe and hopefully acts as a reminder.

Yes, i do get nervous and itchy at times, and that is not a good thing. i guess that it will be a problem. But then, has my problems ever made any difference? Mother, i am good! it was just a story. I want to know, why are you sad?

i need to go now, there is a wall waiting for me and my frustration or anger or whatever it is, is on the rise. I need to calm down!

Maa won't read this blog, i will make sure of that! she already suffers eough of me!

ta!

Intervention. (3rd blog story)

24th March, 2015.
                                               Intervention.

“Do you really need to do this right now?” asked a voice that made her jump, frightened her more than her own decision to end it all today, of which she held no doubt, not until now.

The Howrah Bridge resembles a huge metallic scar on the face of Kolkata, a city of enigmatic strange beauty, muse of many bygone and yet to be poets, dream of art directors and literati intellectuals. Anyone with a bit of interest in cultural histories and a thirst for instigating poetry can vouch for Kolkata and her impact. Yet, amongst all this, there are events that occur, which, though go unnoticed, leave a question regarding the sanity of one’s own soul and sometimes, they leaves a void, and a few times they leave a mark for another event. In between the enigma, mysterious charm, there is a sense of accumulated stress, unwanted filth, and reek of instigating mental havoc, where such events take place; the Howrah Bridge wasn’t any different.  Indeed for many it is a spot for some scenic beauty over the vast stretch of the river Ganga, there will always be some of them for whom the place is the last refuge, the final decision. She was one of them. And this was one of those days.

No one would have even thought that something so drastic a decision was in her mind, and when she left the college earlier than everyone, no one gave much thought to it. And it was quite natural; humans aren’t capable of reading minds. Though almost everyone in her class was aware of the trauma she faced 18 months ago, this wasn’t anticipated. Good for her, she thought.

The bridge, as always, was cloaked with yellow-black taxis, various skin colors of pedestrians and the air hummed and buzzed with a constant monotonous sound of blasting horns and profane abuses. Only if it had been monsoon season, the bridge would have turned into a blocked artery inside an obese person. Thoughts like these and other stuff, faces from the past, songs and dialogues from some TV show ran in her head like a loop, in a speed of light, which now wouldn’t matter. She already had left a letter in her room, and it would be only after a certain time that they would find out what had occurred. ‘Another event in a city of dreams’, she thought.

She decided to commit suicide. Death, though obvious, was in her choice today and she chose it. After 18 months, 1 week, 3 days and some hours later, it was all over for her. Nothing made sense nor did difference and she develop the feeling that it would be better to leave. And to leave, death was an obvious, easy way. And the bridge was perfect. Just jump and let go! Or that’s what she thought.

It is said, when people choose suicide, they tend to overlook obvious things, things that are right in front of them as they are in a trance like state. Whether it’s true or not is a different question, but she was also overlooking things, otherwise she should have noticed him, leaning gaily over the railing.

She was prepared, her eyes fixed into oblivion in front of her as her lips trembled for the last time. Her grip strengthened on the railing as she made the attempt to flung herself in the roaring river down below, when a deep voice remarked, “Do you really need to do this now?”

A guy, maybe months older than him, looked at her with acute annoyance and slight disgust maybe. Lacking any kind of seraphic features, he would’ve been easily mistaken for an anti social drug guy from park street area. A scar on left eyebrow, stubble beard, tattoos on nape and forearm, he wasn’t a pleasant looking guy. He asked again, “do you need to jump right now? Or can it wait?”

“Sorry, what?” she asked, now aware of his presence and totally annoyed by the interruption. She had made all the plans and now it was on the verge of collapsing just because some Good Samaritan was doing her a ‘favor’ by saving her life!

“Do. You. Need. To. Jump. Now?’’ he asked, mocking a slow manner as if she wasn’t getting him. He was clearly irritated by her it seemed to her. She was going to jump and it was final, stern decision. “Yes” she replied, “and are you going to stop me? What are you? A good citizen?”

“Stop you? No, I have no interest in stopping and saving you, it is your life, your choice and you can trade it with the devil for shit! I don’t know you, you’re not my friend, not my lover and neither my relative. I don’t care what you do, but can you not do it now?”

“I… I don’t follow! What do you want?” she said, confused by such an unexpected answer. Anyone would. Normally, people would start giving lecture about why one shouldn’t kill themselves and what is the sanctity of life in whole, but he wasn’t doing that. He was, if anything, not even trying.

“Well, according to the meteorological department, the sun would set right at 6.55 pm today.” He said, motioning towards the setting orange sun, the sky was in a contrast with the river down below. “And it has been my routine for the last five years to come here and see the sun set, and I certainly cannot afford to miss it just because someone was extremely bored with her life. So, if you indeed are going to die, I won’t stop you, but please do it after 20 minutes from now. I’ll be gone by then.”  He said. That was the strangest request she had ever heard, yet there was something that made her stall the plan for the moment and know this guy, who kept looking at the horizon. ‘Interesting fellow’ she wondered.

She was still considering the request when he spoke again, her train of thoughts broken into fragments. “Why are you committing suicide?”  He asked, in a rumbling serious baritone, but not rude.

“Why do you care?”

“I do not! I don’t care about your life and trauma and your previous attempt of suicide is as irrelevant as anything to me. Your death won’t affect me by any means, but since you did consider my request, you still have a good 20 minutes, so might as well use it since it’s your last. And plus, I’ve never met a person with suicidal tendency…”

“Wait! How do you know about my previous…?”

“The scars on your left wrist. If you think the bangles are covering them, you’re wrong! You tried to kill yourself previously. Wasn’t a difficult leap.” The reply was curt and dismissing. “So, why?”

After a few moments of dilemma and consideration, amazed by her flicker of mind she decided to answer. Normally she would’ve walked away, or he might have notified the police, but neither of it happened. “My boyfriend Joel, we met 4 years ago in a college fest…” she tried to answer when he interrupted her in the midway.

“Yes yes, the two of you found a love no one can explain, it was more than love, and it was something soulful. No one will understand it and blah blah blah… I don’t care about it. Just give me the reason why are you going to kill yourself.” He remarked with visible coldness as he lit a cigarette. A sense of desperate want to slap his face ran through her veins. “he died two years ago today. Tomorrow would have been his birthday. Two years ago, this day, he OD-ied on narcotics.”

“Oh…and you are committing suicide why exactly again?” a tone of mixed sarcasm and surprise was impeccably heard.

“because… I loved him and he left me! alone! And I don’t know what to do! two years and I am still not over him. His letters are still in my drawers and photographs I haven’t burnt. I …” exasperated she replied. Anyone could’ve seen the damage done; yet there wasn’t a single piece of sympathy in his face as she looked for it, searching for any notion of empathy which was still lacking on his face. Instead, to her great dismay, a sniggering laughter jerked his whole physique. The snigger changed into laughter, like he was mocking her whole existence. Before she could have possibly reacted, his snigger went silent with a great difficult effort.

“I see I’ve offended you. Forgive me. But it reminded me of something my grandfather said once. He said that the world is full of people, running away from life. But if running had solved problems, then there wouldn’t have been any problem. I see he was right! And you proved it, along with something more important” he reported.

“and what is that?”

“You never loved Joel!” he said like it was an irrefutable fact of science.

“that? How dare you! How bloody dare you! you don’t even know me and you’re already judging me? you have no idea what pain it is and you have no right to judge me!” she replied furiously. And it was quite normal, anyone will retort like, especially when a complete stranger remarks on someone’s life and emotions, crossing the line of decency.

“Well, firstly, I am judging you because I can! You see, I am a complete stranger to you. as I said, your life and your problems don’t interest me in the least. and I am judging you not because of anything else but your decision. It is the action which you’re going to take will judge you. and since you’re contemplating suicide that reveals too many things about you. but first, tell me, you’ve parents, right? Do they know about your lover? And I guess they gave you too much of freedom? Do they love you? ”

“they know, and yes they can be called liberal, and of course they do love me! what sort of stupid question is that?”

“well I needed to ask!” he replied lighting another cigarette, the first one slipped out of his fingers into the river as he laughed. Puffing some drags, he continued, like a professor giving lectures; “you see, you chose a very wrong way to die! Look around you; it is a river, with coast guards patrolling everywhere! They will pull you out of the water in 10 minutes. If you are going to die deliberately, choose atleast something easier, like pills or something. but that’s your choice.
Now, I said you never loved Joel because you never did! if you did, you wouldn’t have chosen this, the easy way out. You are just a coward who doesn’t even know the basic thing about love and stuff. Actually, you don’t have any self respect, or any respect for anybody. You lack empathy”

“How dare…”

“Now now, don’t interrupt me again, you are going to die anyway, so atleast die with the truth instead of a lie you’ve been living with! You just have 10 more minutes! And after that, nothing will make any difference. And the truth is nobody cares. You think you’ll be missed after you’ve gone? That the city will delve into an enormous grief? Even the closest friends you have, for whom you have no care for would continue to live. Sure, your parents would die, but they too will teach themselves of the fact that you took a coward’s choice and killed yourself. And you are blackmailing them emotionally because they always live in a constant fear that your clinical depression would be fatal one day and that’s exactly why they gave you complete freedom. You think they are way too much liberal? They are just keeping you happy so that you don’t get sad, depressed and do something drastic. You are still living in an illusion where you make yourself believe that you are normal and things are fine, and you see life with an easy way out from everything you face! And now you are here, on this bridge, scared of everything, ending everything because you’re done. And I would like to burst a few more bubbles for you. you don’t respect anyone because your empathy, compassion or emotions died way back and you don’t even want to revive it! You are stuck in that date and I think you have medicines for such trauma, medicines for depression which aren’t helping you. You lack the respect for even Joel, who might have loved you and died with a truth that you loved him too, but since you think suicide will help everything, I’d say, Joel wasn’t your love and he died with a lie.  If you loved him, you would have faced this one truth with your head held high and making peace with it, keeping his memories in your heart and return the love to people who deserve it, who might have gone to lengths to keep you happy and bearing your tantrums. What you are doing is just blatant insult to everything and you, woman are just a pathetic existence. Your friends, your family, relatives, anyone who cares about you needs to know that their beloved one is a coward and held no emotion. You have that rose tinted glasses on your eyes that shows your world to be a bed of roses and green pastures of some poetry, there, another bubble burst, life is just unfair to everyone in a fair manner. You want to jump? Jump! But atleast know the truth that you won’t be meeting Joel in afterlife, nobody will notice your absence after a few months and the world will go on in the same obnoxious manner. The only good thing that will happen will be the fact that the world would be free of another incessant person, living in dreams and a coward in nature, without any passion for life and memories. There would be no song for you, no discussions; you’ll be a fading memory after exactly 9 months from now, just one small news clipping in the morning newspaper tomorrow. Well, you were dead from inside already, so yeah, an easy way out for you is a better solution indeed!” he stopped, his cigarette gone cold long ago, gazing into the darkening sky and the lights in the houses afar. The bridge was illuminated by an orange hue, the honking horns sounded louder as everyone was rushing home, the momentary peace after the long, long day.

A muffled sobbing could have been heard if one cared to notice, but then, after a day of herculean labors, people can hardly notice the monotony going on around. She, having kept it all inside, never had thought that some random stranger would have told her the truth. Having so many questions now in her head, and doubts that pondered over her,   she looked at him, with a great distress and longing for help. There was a question in her eyes and he saw it too. but the answer wasn’t what she expected. Glancing at his watch, he remarked, “well, my 20 minutes are up! And now I need to leave. It was nice meeting you, and um… good luck with solving your issues by this.” Throwing the cigarette in the ocean he left, without any other word or for her reply! After all, he told her that he didn’t cared!
Another story on the face of such an enigmatic city with strange characters came to an abrupt halt, like everything does.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  End xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

epilogue…

“you’re still here!” she said.

“and so are you as it seems” he replied, without looking at her, his eyes fixed on a small ship in the river. He still didn’t care.

5 months later, the air of Kolkata was thick with a funk monsoon rain. The bridge witnessed another event, another story.

note : the longest one... if read, thank you!

Sequence of humane things.

23^rd March, 2015.

Hmm… well, this would be the first time when I won’t be using one of those witty, snappy introductions or starts where I use intentional leering towards everybody who reads this blog. As it happens, I am unable to do so for some unknown reasons, and it might be for the good. This blog, or rant, I wanted to write this last to last night, but due to an overwhelming feeling of strange, lost sentiment, along with my bleeding knuckles weren’t agreeing with me. Right now, I guess both of those anomalies aren’t a big deal, so, here I am.

It has been a practice of mine that whenever I am in doubt, or if some emotional content or discontent ponders over me, I take a walk. I hope by now, everyone knows about that so I would avoid the details. Safe to say, I needed to clear my head. It was a long day after all! I walked almost all the way from select city walk mall to Dakshinpuri, took me over an hour, but then!

21^st of March would be a strange day for me, as it was an abstract amalgamation of various situations and sentiments. And when I say amalgamation I mean it. For with every passing minute, things were running wild and chaotic, at some points it was tranquil and at some point, there was certain anger with gritted teeth and pain too. Let me elaborate, though I know I will fail ridiculously to make anyone realize what it was.

It was a party. A birthday party and the first one I’ve ever invited to. Well, there’s a difference between a treat and a party, so, yeah, my first one. The initial thought was to avoid it, but after a threat and subtle persuasion, the decision was an easy one. I will spare the details of what we did, because it is irrelevant. Everyone has a fair amount of idea about what happens in such frivolous parties, it wasn’t too different from what I’ve seen. Being an isolated person, or what I like to call myself these days, a wallflower (the book, read it!), I didn’t have much thoughts to spare, I did what I do best. Observe the other fellows, and try to recognize what I am feeling. I won’t say it wasn’t fun, hell, it was amazing for me, as I am lamely unable to interact with complete strangers, I did a pretty good job in interacting and getting to know people. There were only a few of them, so it was relatively easy for me to soak things in within a small time.

Now, I mentioned something about amalgamated emotions, and a bleeding fist. Both happened at the party and I regret none! As far as emotions goes, there were, fear, joy, anger, joy again, bit of sadness (wasn’t me, I was completely fine Narcissus!) and the joy all the way, and it is in a chronological manner only. If I were to elaborate (I might be asked to), fear because of strangers (I didn’t knew Rohit, Karthik, Hitesh, so yeah), joy because it took me 10 minutes to ease up and then everything was chaos. Anger, it lasted for mere ten seconds, because it was really silly and stupid thing to spike my drink with rum. I do have an acute sense of taste and smell, knew it the moment I took the first sip, it was enough to make me angry. But then I realized that it was silly and stupid, and that’s what made it fun! If we did everything pertaining to cold logic and reason and order, world would be a lethally boring place. Plus it was in good terms, and plus, it was a birthday! We are allowed to be silly on that day! I laughed and carried on with it. That led to joy again! Bit of sadness. Hmm… that one was not necessary but it happened and I guess, we needed it. When I say we, it was the three of us, Narcissus, Marion and me on the balcony, smoking cigarettes. We were curious about a certain things, like why do I smoke, or why my knuckles were bleeding (will be coming to that). I don’t think it is necessary to blabber about what we talked about, but I can say this, if you’re reading this, Marion, you are too sensitive a person, and the same goes for Narcissus too. And perhaps you weren’t wrong mate, I really wasn’t smiling. But then, sadness was outweighed by the cigarettes (I like smoking with my friends, and since I don’t have much friends.) I guess I don’t have to explain the last one, joy all the way.

As far as my bleeding knuckles are concerned, it was really not a good idea to punch the wall in front of them just to show off. Blood is never a good sight you see. I was asked the reason why I do that, the answer was/is, it is my anger management. Well, it is way much better to hurt myself instead of hurting someone else’s heart and regret it later. I can deal with my pain, physical or mental, but I cannot afford someone else getting hurt because of my own discontent. If I can, which I do, I avoid being rude or idiotically insensitive to someone close to me whenever I am angry. Words can hurt worse than actions do, so yeah, I punch walls to calm myself down. It sure hurts my hands, but then, I didn’t make someone else sad or something. The blood on my fist made the guys visibly shaken, and perhaps after a long time I witnessed, care. The rum did a good job on the wound. Well, let’s leave it at that.

So, the day eventually ended, like everything does. I needed the walk. Initially, I did take an auto, but I guess it wasn’t helping. Paying the fare, I got down and walked, engrossed in my own train of thoughts, a silly thing to do. If you’re walking, do not get lost in your own world, the roads aren’t safe, especially during the evening hours. 

I don’t remember what was I thinking, but near the Chirag Delhi dargah, I found myself singing ‘Do not Stand At My Grave’ by Paul wheater in a low baritone. The pain on fist had subsided marginally.  I kept walking.

Well, thanks for inviting.

Regards.

P.s – the advice for shaving wasn’t a bad idea after all.

Severe Cynicism Paradigm.

18^th March, 2015.

Well hello my dear readers, I hope the passing spring is serving you well! Though I intended to write this a while ago, some silly but inevitable circumstances delayed me of my rants and blabbers, so, here I am, tired and with aching head, but here nonetheless!

Oh, but before I can go on with the incessant verbose of dull and repetitive manner, there are two things. First, the similar warning or advice to people so unfortunate reading this, you can leave whenever you want, there is nothing good anyway in this particular blog I suppose, it’ll just bore you. Secondly, I owe an apology to two people, one being not too close to my being, but neither completely meaningless. I am inspired by their stories and it’s amazing for me. It has been a certain “ideology” of mine, never, in any circumstances, stand someone up after making a plan to meet. People who know me, or claim to, are well aware of my distaste for people who are either late or don’t show up or cancel a meet after a long and arduous planning, and that I’ve never did any of those three things. So, dear Narcissus and little Marion (don’t ask, I took the liberty to give you a nickname even though I don’t know you good enough, but you remind me of Marion for some unknown reasons and it is eerily strange for me :/ ), I owe you an unreserved apology for the Saturday, (I know what you’ll say Narcissus, but still) and I can assure you, or hope, that this won’t happen next time.

So, since there was no one literally to talk with, no one messaged called or even slightly missed me (can't blame them, i am not missed by one soul), the last few days were spent with my hobbyist-ish research regarding a number of things, mainly with Salvador Dali and surrealism. And to be frank, I made a passing joke about that particular genre of art which goes like, “if you look at a painting and don’t understand neither heads nor tails of it, you can be assured that shit just got sur-real!” get it? Sur-real? (Okay you can throw a brick at me…) I wrote a full two pages article about the genre, only to tear it into bits and pieces, assured of a fact that certain things aren’t for me. Though in fairness, now I am aware of the movement, the art and the basic history, so, win-win situation for me. Apart from that, the literary movements (42 in total) were another thing, along with the stupid hope for a resumed talks, it feels dull and alone these days. But this rant isn’t about what I did, for my daily routine is hardly relevant for anybody. My dull routine and marked cynicism can’t and shouldn’t interest anyone.

Speaking of cynicism, (I guess the title was a big giveaway), a few nights ago I got a message from an old friend. Old, close, but I am not too inclined to get any closer, yet, since she is a friend, I am somewhat bound to be there, it is moral responsibility that I abide by. I was, as usual for me these days, was reading blogs, going through mails and keeping a hopeful vigil for any buzzing notification, when it came. She, quite to my surprise, was down low on an emotional register, and was seeking my company, which was even more intriguing for me. Well, I am not a person of whose company one can be enjoyed, as it had been proved every now and then to me, and I am quite sure that it was indeed a great distress for her; I see no other reason. I am perhaps only needed when someone is in ‘distress’, and then any and every contact is brutally severed. Majority of them do that.

I’ve been recently told that I have a cynical attitude and that I am in a constant doubt regarding the general populace. Yeah, I am not that popular I see. Anyways, it is believed that I have a massive distrust for people, which I do indeed, but I cannot fathom the reason deep buried behind this particular label for me. After being accused of this, I looked up every dictionary available to me and the meaning was “a person who tends to doubt and question the virtues, values and sincerity of others.” Well, now I can say, people have a huge, erroneous misconception about me and people who do claim to know me should seek help. I’ll come back to this; it is related with the message and the lady in question.

Her message was, if anything, filled with regret and disappointment due to some recent atrocities she faced, especially in the matter of love (yes, I see I tend to attract broken, damaged people with emotional scars all over them). It would be the second time for her when she chose, to her own regret, another arsehole that has no regards for her emotions and heart, this one playing and leaving her stranded, in doubt and alone again. Perhaps finding no one else available or some other reasons unknown to me, she talked to me. Well, maybe in an indirect manner, she asked me for help, and I have no idea if I was of any help. Poor little girl. I never pegged her as a romantic, we were in the same class in school for two years, and I failed to notice that! My fault was I didn’t pay much heed to her that time in school, I would’ve known that. Anyways, she was played yet another time, and was sad. Her only question to me was, “why us?” and I didn’t had any answer to that. I still don’t, but I do know that dejected feeling. Oh well, if she’s reading this, I hope you’re good now, since you have a way to deal with it. You did, for three years, didn’t you? Though in fairness, your choice of people is debatable. You chose me to confide, didn’t you?

Coming back to the cynicism, I do question the sincerity, values of people in general, and that has a good reason. I don’t trust anyone, I  doubt people, because their actions and decisions and even morals, if any, always put them in a direct line of fire. Am I judgmental? Sure! I believe that it is not the behavior or manner, but the decisions and the subsequent actions that creates a base to judge us. I don’t care if you are rude, unnerving, smoke, drink, abuse. That’s your own problem and shouldn’t make any hard difference. But it is your decision and actions, that if you do anything that you might regret later which is futile, that judges you. I really do not think it is a very great thing to boast about when you don’t care about someone’s emotions, if you do something that hurts someone’s respect for you and turn something good into worse thing possible, unreliability! There are only a few people I respect and are reliable. I question the sincerity because I don’t see sincere people these days and it is just on the emotional level. People don’t have “values” these days, they find it a horrid nightmare to be even a little responsible, and they will take actions so wrong, which will be judged. I believe that the actions and decisions is always in our own accord, to either rectify it or try to change ourselves so that it shouldn’t give anyone else a chance to judge, or something! But am I a cynical?

So, I asked some people I know if I am indeed a cynic or not. The answers were too simple, like those certain things; too simple yet enough to satisfy. I was replied with a link to my own blog, insisting that a ‘cynic’ cannot write those, with such ‘deep’ mindset. I was told to read my notes in facebook, them being too childish, but assuring that cynicism cannot and will not lead to any poetic attempts. Well, a crude example. Explaining, they said, I hope too much, though I do suffer from a severe distrust regarding people, a cynic cannot hope because s/he finds everything meaningless, and thus hope is meaningless too. So, either I am a living paradox or, the people are plain stupid or misinformed and not willing to know, just form something out of thin veil of assumption. That being said, I feel what happened to her, the friend, was perhaps another reason to make me “cynic”. Yes I do question everything, I look for answers all the time and I cannot just let everything happen and not ask anything, my brain doesn’t allow me to stop thinking. People ask me to chill, relax and leave things be, not to question everything. Well, apologies, but I will continue to do so until I am satisfied. Try it sometime. I questioned that guy’s integrity, but it was futile. She will handle it herself I know, I trust her! I was glad to listen and provide some consolation and maybe some peace. I do that a lot. Talk and listen. They are my stories! I hope she finds peace, and if you’re reading this, well, you know where to find me. And plus you do have another person, more apt than me, who can and will always help you! I believe you will find her judgments without any err. Go and meet!

So, to conclude this ridiculous rant, I leave this question to the people, who might read this out of pity or curiosity or with strength to withstand such crap, based on all the decisions I made, of which I spoke here so crudely, the actions and the insanity I presume I suffer from, am I a cynic? I leave it to you all to judge. And I mean all of you!

Regards.

P.s – Damn, this has to be the longest stupid shit I ever wrote. I am sorry if your brain hurts, have a coffee! And narcissus, do convey my deepest apologies for not meeting and regards to little Marion please! Ta!