For my Forever Lover !

Dear Never Husband,

I may never be your 2nd, 3rd, 4th wife... but I will always be the love of your life. Can't deny that, you have said it too many times aloud. Happy to have known that - with many conversations, plates piled high with food, failed business ideas, failed friendships, spiraling expectations, self-punishments, extreme pragmatism, infallible love and endless walks - you make my day.
Every time I meet you, you make my day. 

As of today, I promise to take out my Ferrari, regularly. Promise.

Lots of love and hugs.

The Prejudice of Love

There are so many things I would have done differently. Every time, I look at my mind, I pledge a band aid. I pledge to be in a time machine. I pledge to be a different me.

There are many things that I have not been able to forgive myself for, and this, by far, tops the charts.

" I shan't give -up, if you are standing by.
Behold my love, behold courage -
hold the shield against the sword of my love,
and against the dagger of your love.
We may survive this one,
as we brush against death, dirt, stars, debt, love itself and each other. "

For the Monk

Verse now runs in adjectives,
our generation demands
a dadaist silence.
Description is often cryptic.
I nod and join them - in Hm, yes, okay ...
Frugality of expression, restrained emotions
~ I can't do the latter.
I remember you and practice the former.

Here's for you -
Empty head, dead lines, pages vacant, false blaster, mind whooper, Hermes monster, Bacchus god, tigers and a flower pod, pretzel plaid, eccentric eye, insipid grin, briny moon... All await the first ray of sun, son of God, Mephistopheles of tomorrow, Lucifer, I command you - Rise today.

Emotional High

Have been on one for couple of weeks now. Since yesterday, its been a crazy trip. So crazy that I want to hug someone and cry my head off - I am incapable of doing that right now.

Emotional release never seemed more urgent than right now. Spoke with Monarch yesterday, and just when I'd decided to make my peace with our follies - he gives -in. Sometimes, when the arms of the person you've taken for granted are leaving you - you do everything in your capacity to reach out and grab them. That is what is happening with the Monarch and I. We hate hate each other with unmatched passion - and miss each other with the intensity of hell's cold fires.
It's the purest form of love and loathing.

There is an empty space with my heart that no number of friends can fill - a space relegated to the Monarch. A vacuum that I would never forgive.

Dear Monarch, I will be wearing my Armour only to surrender my shield. No apologies for being old fashioned - Saber is still my most trusted weapon.

Beautiful People

For my Torch – who is leaving India in search of ‘interesting pastures’ Happy Journey, you shall find what you seek.

I don’t know anyone who does not like a pretty face, a figure enhancing dress, stunning heels or sparkling diamonds. Esp. in the metrosexual world is just as important to look good as it is to be bitchy. There is nothing wrong about it - we are greedy, selfish, superficial people, for whom the packaging surpasses the quality.

Is acceptance the first step to change? Now, not really. Acceptance is a way of comforting our conscience, accepting the satva with tamas. Being beautiful or ugly doesn’t improve the qualities within us. (The other day while walking down the platform, I brushed across a girl in a too obviously fake Versace; I was on the side of the train tracks and as the train approached I urged her to move in, and when she didn't I pushed her as the horn howled in my ears. She turned to call me a fat bitch just before I decided to turn around and apologise. I refrained, glared at her and called her an ugly mare with a fake Versace! I didn’t wait to see whether she was looking. Point is she wasn’t ugly or mare-like but I found her lack of civic sense, judgement and loose tongue - classless. I don’t think her looks compensated for those 45 seconds.)

But looks are very important and one often can get away with a smile. That gets me to befriending beautiful-looking people. A name in history is ‘Plastered face’; since childhood, we all have our knee jerks - mine was being fat, hers was being short and ‘not fair enough’. She pioneered in calling me names on being the fairest/ prettiest chick in class. Starting with chalk, flour, plaster of paris, albino, tube light, etc… needless to say we never became friends. But the colour bar scarred me for life till I entered college. I have crossed many like me; all of them were pretty but seriously flawed in their own way.

At the coffee-skimmed-milk parlour almost half a decade ago, Century slut claimed that I had the guys I wanted because Indian men dream of a ‘white cunt’ – "it’s the colonial hangover, you know!" I took serious offence to it then, coz it wasn’t the truth. I have since then dumped everyone who wanted anything more than what was in the offing. I have lost some really nice people in the bargain - they were left with large question mark and a ‘u don’t exist for me’ look on their face.

Then I met Torch. She was the only chick I knew my ‘all guy’ friend circle. When I saw her, I couldn't help but stare, she was everything a guy wanted, and everything a girl wanted to be. But Torch being tight arsed, eyebrow twitching, nasty remarks expert - was unapproachable. We sat at the same table and I smiled at her, she gave me her ‘what the fuck are u smiling at’ look but seconds later smiled back.

We have since been friends, and the kind that teach each other about life. On our last pajama party, her confession was a stunner, "K i hate to say it but you my bitch are the most beautiful chic in chicland - and I am so f-ing jealous of you.' Coming from her- it was the most insincere, fake but best compliment I have received under d influence of alcohol. “That idiotic smile u have, twinkling eyes and the happy look - compels one to smile back only to be on the safe side. You have been the best bitch I know, bloody bitch, I am so f-ing going to f- your case to not feel the vacuum” and she loves bitches!! The hugs after that were tight warm and filled with more wine screams!

Torch is the in model of the group. There is a bias - I am beautiful not because I look good, I had known that eons now. When in the bevy, I just wait for my turn as they pick out guys for entertainment tonight. Or wait for all the guys to finish staring at the gang and then turn to look at me. I often end up pimping them through the evening and land up alone on my way back home. (No i don't feel bad about it.)

They are pretty women, like d metrosexual genius is a pretty boy. He knows more about botox than most professionals do, he is not gay, doesn’t swing either! And he doesn’t go out with average looking women. (friends r exceptions, thank you!).

Today beautiful is being Gay and being Gay is in vogue. If u are gay, it is taken for granted that u have an amazing sense of style, looks and oomph. The editors of straight men’s magazines are gay; make that obvious- looking closet gays or single cynical men who haven’t had sex for a decade (in the least)! But they are termed genius; like a pretty face is just a pretty face; a gay writer is just good in the columns of fashion and gossip. I don’t deny any of that, but super straight men are also good at this game.

Torch being in the fashion business laughs at gays –‘they are poor souls – and the worse bitches. You can’t help but pity them – they are on no side of the fence and have to serve on both sides of the fence. Imagine watching a naked woman when you could almost puke at that sight or shave a straight model’s crotch. Also they have to follow the rules of being gay – they don’t have the freedom to be themselves. Once you pronounce yourself as gay, you cease to be everything else after that – including human!

That was my first on the other side of the fence perspective of gays. Torch had sensibilities that changed a lot me. One clear instance was after her first hard earned Charles and Keith shoe broke – she cursed, not cried. ‘bastards can't make shoes for humans, can they? She picked up her keds, and threw strappys in the bin – I was shocked, don’t u want to mend them I asked? K its just a fucking shoe, and it frigging hurts to wear it! It was profound, although it may not sound so.

I will miss all the ten min meets – the tight hugs, the ‘bloody bitch’, the smiles, the beauty treatments and most of all I will miss the classy bitch – Torch, have a great life. And don’t call me! Lol, I ain’t gonna cry.

Beat him, bite him, Beat him!

To,

My dearest Monarch,

I wish i could beat the daylights out of you.
for now - its the verbal arrows- Enjoy

You coward
U stinking arsehole!
scoundrel,
gutter bug
pot lid
monkey's flea
moss on whiskers
the cats cataract eye
my hideous hideous snake

My dearest friend
My empty closet
hatefully u stare at the screen -
Silently feeling bad for yourself
Silently deriving pleasure from my burning nerves
"let the bitch bark -
i am too hurt to reply -
she bite me hard
- she gave me rabies
my parched throat
like a sore wound
is attacked by words
that can't find a way out
My feelings that were out on display for so long
Have fostered fungi now.
And they are sick of those knowing ignoring eyes."

You turn away
that is the best you can do.
Sitting in the other corner of the world -

I stick my tongue out and call u -
"Come back and I shall bite you to death.
Come back my dearest friend - let me scathe your wounds
Don't die in pennies -
Let me butcher you a ton to many."

And you snicker and turn away -
My parched rabid friend.

Lets bury the hatchet, baby.
- in your body, that is.

Hmmm...Isn't this chase-from-death-by-water, a bliss?! :)
I love you so much, i cant come to measure it~!

for .sin

A post that may never see tomorrow because the owner is lost today.

Rage … Often have many quizzed me on my choice of mood in my prose, wondering if life was in actuality quite as despondent as portrayed. I really have no answer to that, except that I breathe in conflict: in every emotion, state, choice or mood. Umpteen times I am confused by the multiplicity of choices that are present in my head at any given point in time. Annoyingly enough most of them contradict each other leaving me terribly confused. Reality is that having lived so many lives over the years I seem to have lost track of my own identity, sucked into a whirlpool of emotions that assault my every sense day after day, numbing every feeling. Who am I ? do you know ? for I don’t, a mortal fear looms of its existence, of discovering that I fall quite short of my perceived image or exceed (both terrifying thoughts although there is a feeling of cynical humor in my mind as I jot this down, laughing at this ironically desperate state of mind) Why the hell would I want to find out anyway, what difference does it make. even if I do ever find out, would it change anything ? would I want to change anything, not quite I think. Comfortable in a safe complacent state of mind. Taken enough stupid risks in my life already, now everything that seemed exciting, fun seems risky, nonsensical or plain stupid. Mornings, huh … Waking every morning to supposedly a new world, when I’m not even sure if I have stopped dreaming of the older. Living in hope, that’s what we do – really? Are we supposed to believe in our hopes , knowing fully well the stupidity they present! Secretly hoping , praying for those ‘godly’ interventions that would change the very direction of our lives. 5 seconds of reflection and back to reality, where the fuck are my socks man ? Sardar …. I need socks … despondent lives , empty existences repeated lies, accepted too

Dear Sin,

in my thoughtless attempt, i stole ur post. On the bright side... it flows, its good writing even though the end is visibly contrived.

happiness is a vague feeling-- a fleeting emotion whose existence is cherished in afterthought. some live in a birdcage/in a fantasy world/ in brutal memories and some in unassumed realities. there may be no intervention, maybe no hope, but the act gives courage to live another day that died in another continent hours ago.

ps. nothing in this existence has any name or meaning until u give it one.