Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Surprise Boo!

Let’s see how this night goes Boo. I know, you will be there tonight, wearing your new pair of stilettos and I will be standing in an invisible corner of the bar, with a black four-four, tucked around my belly.
You will walk in, holding his arms and rush to your reserved table. I will be sucking on my Bacardi. Your lips will glitter with your lip-gloss, which I know, tastes like plum. I have not trimmed my facial hair in past four months, so no one knows who I am. You will shine as a pearl, with every beam of light bouncing off your flawless skin. I will blend with darkness; black hoodie, black pants and black night shades. You will smile, maybe laugh out loud, and turn all the heads in the bar; amazing you. I will be quiet as a church mouse.untitled
You won’t look at me, not even once, just like you never used to, in a busy hall, way before I even met you. But my eyes will stare right through your trench coat, till you hand it over to the waiter. I will notice your new necklace (or will that be a shiny part of your dress?), and your new watch and your new dress. There will be a new dress. There always is, for nights like these.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

She Would Say ...

He clutches the packet in his tattered patch jeans pocket. He clutches it firmly, as if it’s a pressure ball. He feels the volume once more; he has enough for the night. He has enough for the next two nights. In fact, he has twice the volume needed to kill one junkie. The junkie, who broke his vows and a few cups in the kitchen, a while ago.alone-764926_640
The street is busier and darker than usual; vendors, pub-hoppers, bikers, prostitutes are bustling from every corner­­­, like rats in a dungeon. But he appears to pay no heed and when he does, they don’t ruffle him at all. He hasn’t removed his shades. Not in days or perhaps weeks or months. His eyes are billowy, and his vision is clouded, under those night shades, with those heartaches. He sees no future, or past for that matter. It’s the present, if at all he can accept the way it is, that bothers him.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Drugs, cookies and shallow conversations

Pacing in the hallway, part thirsty and part zombie like, listening to some dopey numbers, and eating muggy crisps; that I otherwise wouldn’t; I realized, I was angry.  And constipated. If I had a functional mind, there was something on it.
The scalp itched when I thought and I thought a lot. Some thoughts, had no tops or  bottoms, they were just nothing or if they were something, I couldn’t make sense of them, like pieces of multi colored eight by eight rubix cube puzzles, mocking my acuity to put them together and draw valid conclusions out of them.litlatte._cookies
I looked at my hand. My fingers had painful and reeking cracks and my nails … my nails, were black and lifeless and long, like a fake Halloween witch art. There was no electricity. The bills were unpaid and my utensils and the hall mirror and the window pane and the whole house was a fucking shithole

Monday, October 26, 2015

I have had these suicidal thoughts …

“Jesus Christ! I could die”, I thought in that moment, standing on that busy road divider.
“I could get my head split open under a speedy truck and die—and that would be it. That would be the end of all that I ever was or could ever be.”
I have had these thoughts before. You know, the blade on wrist kind of thoughts, the rat poison in pastry, or the classic hang by the fan, or the gun in mouth, kind of thoughts. But I never really attempted any of those. Did not even get close to one. They were just thoughts.
Living alone for so many years, I had come to terms with the fact that if I died, no one would know that I am dead for days. Until of course, I swelled up and started to smell, or till someone noticed the scattered piles of uncollected newspapers and flyers on my front door or till scavengers left a trail on the front yard telling a probable story of their own of, “what might have happened”. But standing there, in that moment, the thought of dying did not scare me.

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Boy Toy

“Oh God,” I think to myself, curled up in a fetal position, with my elbows touching my knees and my couch gobbling me up, with its big fat unaligned cushions, one of which, is a gentle kick away from falling down.
The tribes of rare African lands, are drawing symbols out of human skulls, bones and bloods, on national geographic and I have been staring at it, before all else, for twenty long minutes. The first five of which, were captivating, by the tenth, it was disgusting, by the fifteenth, I had to look away and chew a candy bar to better my taste, but now, at this moment, my eyes cringe, even if I shut them tight.toy-1526947“I mean, can you believe this? This is absolutely horrendous.” I bark.
“I know right”, says my dog.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

I can’t believe my eyes or my ears or my hair or my toe nails.

There are voices, but I don’t know what they say. They are either distant whispers or my ears are clogged with water. All I hear is, someone sobbing — often for hours. Sometimes, I think it’s not just one person, they are out there in numbers; because there are different crying patterns.  Some moan with intermittent hiccups, some endlessly curse and howl. The voices that are clearer, also sound familiar, and although it’s someone or the other weeping, I hate to admit, that it’s mildly comforting. But the one’s that come from far-off, are unfamiliar and upsetting.  I wish, they could hear me, and for once, just shut up, the way I hear them, and beg them to shut up — all the time.
There is also very little or no light here. But that’s okay, I can still see what I want to. Maybe this is how it appears, when you’ve lived in the darkness for a while — your pupils adjust. They adjust to the idea of darkness and then you see a whole new world that you thought, you could only see with your open eyes or in bright light. And although, I can’t see what is out there, I know that I have seen, sometime in the recent past, the vast world, beyond these four walls, where these voices come from.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Alcohol – The social Glue

One wears super hero T-shirts, the other one drools when he talks — and he talks a lot, often yaps for hours, almost as if, he has never seen his frothy lips in the mirror, and as if, no one has ever told him, that it is almost impossible to draw logic, if surprisingly there is one, coming out of his disfigured skeletal jaws.
This first one goes by the name Sam, he wears floral knickers — mostly an inch or two above his pencil jeans, and has cravings for Fattoush, Pistachio and other pretentiously unutterable garbage.Litlatte_Wannabes
The second one is…well he is not Sam for all I care. He talks and chews gums at the same time. It never helps an unendingly drooling face. Does it? It never has, and one should tell him that. He judges moms who smoke and dads who don’t. He also gawks evidently at all age and shapes of bosoms that traject his sight radius; flat-boards, lemons, melons or mosquito bites — all of them, and then in his slobbery voice, passes judgmental remarks. He sounds corny, mostly for a 5 ft. scrawny motherfucker, who clearly has a lack of dressing-sense, but also because, yes, he drools. A lot!

Saturday, July 4, 2015

Excercise: Magic Realism (Time:20 Mins)

He stormed through the elm-wood door, with one hand in his pocket and the other with a half burnt cigarette stick. His lips were pressed hard against his teeth in anger and he stared at everyone present at the crime scene through his hundred dollar night shades. He did not utter a word but brushed his noticeably long greasy hair back with his fingers.

Just when the twenty something press-reporter clicked his picture and thought he got away with it, Nathan, grabbed him by his trench-over-coat collar and whispered in his ears.

‘Delete it and do not do it ever again.’

The reporter dropped his camera in fret and scampered to the door. While leaving the room, he said it out loud in his head, ‘This asshole...’

‘I heard that’, Nathan yelled and turned every single head in the room. Now there were multiple cameras flashing at him, all at the same time.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Who did it?

There's a window, by the side-rack, by the shattered hopes.
There are some unfinished stories stacked on that rack, on those dusty frames, in those books, in those diaries, of yesterdays and coming tomorrows.

There's a door, by that window, by the infinite possibilities.
There are some Jigsaw Puzzles and some Rubix Cubes, on those unconnected dots, on those maze walls, on those never-ending sidewalks.

There's a line, by that boundary, by that grass, by that sweat.
There are some foot-prints and some confined emotions, before the line, before the happiness. before the sunrise.

Who shut these windows?
Who locked these doors?
Who drew these lines?

You did...I did...We did. Knowingly...Unknowingly...Desperately...Curiously...Intentionally...Unintentionally.

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Amnesia and Fear

Exercise:  Everyone suffers from amnesia it is only you who can remember things like a normal human, explain how your world would be? (Time:20 mins, Theme: Fear)

They say 90 percent of the people in this world don’t remember what they did the same day last week, but the world where I live in, people don’t remember what they had this morning, for breakfast.

It’s like, if you asked them why they are in a supermarket in their pajamas licking an icecream-cone at 12 o clock on a Wednesday, the chances are they would look you at you, maybe snigger a bit and then ask the same question to themselves, i.e why are they licking an ice-cream cone at 12 o clock in a supermarket on a Wednesday.

It’s like being perpetually high on that fine Heisenberg blue crystal methamphetamine.I mean,  If you were to pull a prank, steal their money, murder their pets or cheat on their better halves, you would be glad to do so and they would never show even an ounce of retaliation. Not even the most dangerous ones and by that I mean not even the 200 pound fat mother of unwanted kids.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

BBC Documentary: The sad truth

So this morning, I saw the much controversial BBC documentary based on the blood-curdling 2012 Delhi gang-rape incident which has gone viral. And in my opinion, has gone viral for all the right reasons.

Just a few minutes in to the disturbing video, and I was questioning myself; when will people in this world start treating the people as "people", let alone the proverbial gender bias? When will there be an agreement on what seems so overtly brutal and out-rightly appalling to many of us, but is mocked, disregarded and shamelessly defied by a massive chunk of brain-dead people co-existing in the same society, breathing the same air? 

Now I am not much of an expert on the subject, but when one throws arguments on the lines of upbringing, depravity, patriarchy etc, mildly cushioning the morally adulterated minds being questioned,  I just don't buy their logic and maybe rightly so. 

In the process of human evolution, something must have gone catastrophically wrong or there must have been a severe disconnect, because deprivation could trigger thoughts. But those thoughts to trigger actions and trigger them to an extent that it takes someone's life away along with his soul, is an anomaly. An anomaly of his own mind. It can't be defended, it can't be debated and most importantly it can't and must not be justified. It just needs to be punished. 

A few days ago, I had seen a viral video made by a brave girl on an airplane, shaming a middle aged man. What was disturbing about the video, was not only the audacity of the man for making such a disgusting move in public, assuming he would get away with it,  but also the site of people in thumbnails, siding with him on Facebook and YouTube comments.  

Who are these people and why are they so blind? Just like the two defence lawyers of the accused, in that BBC documentary. How could some educated lawyers candidly put forward a line of defence that not only dwindles their own merit but also questions and slams their morality in front of an international audience?

If someone has the brains to study and pass a prestigious course like criminal law, I believe he should have the brains to judge what morally is right or wrong, if not in a day-to-day life then at least about the incident that is hurling at a hurricane scale and has shaken the entire world. 

But then again, he probably can't, maybe because his brain is corroded, not because of deprivation, not because of disparity, not because of patriarchy. But because it just is!

We could choose a magic wand or a whip, a rule or an order, a pat or a punch, a rose or a gun, morality or evil. It all depends on us and our minds. Nothing else. 


Sunday, January 18, 2015

I can't tell....

This morning, I look pale. With a dry choked mouth and a face puffed like a tiny hot air balloon, I look like I am a survivor, of a crazy bar fight. My shirt is torn from the pocket, my lips are chapped and it hurts when I breathe. I am a mess, not the usual mess, but the kind of mess that has gone miles past the benchmark of messness (if that’s a word).

Last night, I was not this person, or so I can recall. I made the party come alive, the moment I walked through Stacy’s doors. I turned every head in the room like I was Tara Reid dressed in a bikini.  Don’t get me wrong, I dress fine and I am a guy. I have a sense of humor and I am open to things. New things, old things, wild things. I am open to ideas, I am open to fun and I am open to life and its wild experiences.

So I obviously gulped wine, beer, scotch, cocktails, mocktails, shots, martinis, jagerbombs, and whatever the fuck I could grab with my loose hands and whatever did not taste like puke….Ohh wait a minute! I think I tasted puke too, my own puke or was it Stacy’s? I can’t tell. Not that my taste buds were dead, I just think I faintly remember all that happened. The events are registered like frames of a film,only distorted. 

I think I was hungry too, to a point where I could eat a possum. You know how weed works! One time I even ate raw Maggie stuffed between brown wheat breads. The worst part was, that I had broken in to my neighbour’s kitchen. Then I had to run away from there and their 5 year old kids threw stones at me, as I showed my back. One would argue, I was "stoned", quite literally.

So anyway, Stacy had named the party “Come Puke in my garden”, and I wish I was kidding about the name. So not so surprisingly, I was the first one to successfully justify the name and probably the last one to walk away or maybe swim through the great river of pukes and valleys of female-high-ankle-boots and men-jordans. 

But today I feel sick, it’s not a hangover. I have had hangovers before, terrible ones at that,  but it’ s something different, something I don’t know how to express, I feel so bad within that I feel I have no soul.  Maybe that’s exaggerated but you get the drift? Don’t you.

I just heard a knock, not on the door, I think it’s inside my head. The mirror I was looking at,  seems to have disappeared. 

I can hear myself breathe. It’s so loud and disturbing, my eardrums ache.

I think I am dragged to the wall, something pokes my ribs, I must be dreaming. 

What is this smell? Did someone piss here? Must have been the purple hair dude from last night.

What is that noise? I hear someone whisper. I just hope there's no tiger in my bathroom.

Did I just touch another skin? That's surprising because, I live alone and don't crash at parties.

It’s still dark and noisy in the other room, maybe the party isn’t over yet. 

I can’t really tell...

Sunday, January 11, 2015

20 Random Words and

So in a fun exercise, I was given 20 random words/set-of words, and I had to build up a short news story putting all those words in a context, in five minutes.

The words were:

  1. Realists
  2. Gimmick
  3. Intern
  4. Fantastical
  5. Dice
  6. Anti-incumbent
  7. Parrot
  8. Agenda
  9. Quantum-Physics
  10. Wormhole
  11. Facebook
  12. House-of-cards
  13. Eloquent
  14. Megalomaniac 
  15. Preposterous 
  16. Propaganda 
  17. Phantom
  18. Elephant
  19. Bizarre 
  20. Internet
...and this is what I wrote:

Breaking News:  Internet video of a mysterious elephant goes viral.

In an exciting and the most bizarre news of the day, a giant elephant’s video has gone viral.  An intern and a ghost writer at the, released the video on facebook last night, where a phantom sized elephant is seen to play with a parrot and soon after that, he eats it alive.  Since the time the video has gone viral, people have come up with preposterous theories. Some experts are associating the entire video with the US government’s propaganda to divert people’s attention from the upcoming premier of the third season of house-of-cards. While some are associating it with the eloquent and magical unproven theories of quantum physics, such as the wormhole. However, the anti-incumbent megalomaniac realists are discarding the entire episode as an edited video gimmick.

Whatever the reality maybe, It would be interesting to see which way the dice roles from here on, and how many more depressing theories emerge. While it may be a fantastical way for some of the misleading powerful groups to divert the attention from the upcoming election’s agenda, it surely is an evil prank on elephants and parrots.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

My Wicked Twin

My brother and I, are antipodes; like the flip sides of a coin, only joined at the hip like Siamese twins. However, not literally.
We grew up in a small town together, graduated from the same university and now work at the same firm. But let me tell you, he is an absolute charmer, an enticer of beauty, the Wordsmith, and at least five times better looking than me. People (especially girls), like him instantly; he of course has that magnetic personality and knows how to best use it. But he is also an atrocious jerk with an evil mind. I on the other hand, am docile, feeble and unsure. Perhaps someone who needs help. I struggle even at the mundane routine tasks and get ridiculed by him for my mediocrity, almost on a daily basis. He is an asshole, I tell you.
I however keep all his dark secrets. Like this one time, both of us had gone for a trekking trip with our mutual friend. My brother secretly hated him. But I knew it, because he had told me so, he never hides anything from me. Upon a senseless heated argument, he lost his cool and stabbed our friend multiple times in his gut amidst the woods. Later he threw his dead body in the pond nearby. That day, I sat by the stagnant pond aghast, and I saw it for the first time, I saw my brother’s evil face afloat on endless ripples of water, as he probably bent over my shoulders standing behind me. He showed no signs of remorse or guilt, like a comfortable devil, proud of his actions.
To think of it, that wasn’t the only time I loathed him for his monstrous nature. I have often distasted him for his endless rants about how he wants to kill so many people who have wronged him and destroy things, that aren’t his. Sometimes, he even wants to kill me, for he doesn’t trust me at all. I must admit, that it scares me.
I hate the fact that whenever he comes to my room, his back is always glued to the same wall for some reason and he walks away when I am not looking. I hate it, when I walk in to public washrooms and he follows me, as if he feels the urge to empty his bladder at the same time. Private changing rooms have no meanings in my life, as I am always accompanied by him and his utterly disgusting inappropriate winks. Whenever I want to take my own picture, he is somehow always there, shoving his face in the front camera of my phone. He would also never let me drink a glass of water in peace, and invariably stand behind me for no reason. I am not sure what pleasure he gets out of it.
Even now, as I write this down, I can see him lurking behind the dark but shiny metallic rims and edges of this laptop. In fact, I just smiled at him and he smiled back at me; my wicked twin, with his wicked grin.

{Note: This above write-up was posted by me on Sharath Komarraju's blog as an entry to a contest called "what do you see in the mirror?"