Tuesday, 19 August 2014


i just remembered something. Like one thing led to the other.
Some of your past stories reminded me of california dreamin'.
It was Jan first/second week of 2013. You had just returned from Panchgani or you were about to leave, or maybe PIFF had just got over.
I was back from the winter vacation. A week before 2012 winter vacation I had helped you with that Karishma film of yours. Insane day it was. I remembered you thanking me at the end of that shoot and you came to me and were willing for a handshake. I sheepishly, like I have always done, shook just one index finger of yours. As if I was some chipmunk from alvin and the chipmunks. You laughed. And I just said that it's okay man.
I remember even after that boring hectic shoot ( the first time I met your brother and that friend of yours), around 9 pm or something you went ahead and watched another film in the projector room.
So as I woke up on one of the, somewhat close to the weekend jan mornings of 2013, I remember waking up from a dream where I was standing in the fvd studio right behind you, while you were editing on the mac where you always sat. I shook my hand again. And I woke up with the sensation of the first time I touched your fingers. When you had or maybe did have an idea that I liked you. Anyway. I think I hadn't seen you in a very long time. I got up from my bed while throwing the blanket away and opened the curtains of my window of the old hostel. Wore my clothes and brushed and left for the mess.
I think they were serving baked beans that day. And bournvita. I was filling my prison food tray and looked to my left. You were sitting at the far left corner, back against the window in a blue jacket with red collars I guess with khambolja and apte and all those chicks. The last thing I was expecting  was to see  you after dreaming about you that morning. Somehow stupidly I ended up sitting at the same table as you guys. And then after a few minutes you gave that bastard like smile of yours and sang california dreamin'. Again. You were so annoying. So are dreams. And so are songs sometimes. Goodnight.

Wednesday, 6 August 2014

Depersonalization-October 2013

He kissed her and touched her and adored her, as if he was reciting the most passionately written poetry ever by Neruda to her. 
Some people prefer yellow lights in their bathrooms. Warm. The one which hides the blemishes and all the body's ugliness. But she sat there. Naked. Hair wet dripping with cold water. On the white tiled floor. A cold cfl light on the wall above the small mirror. But she sat there. Silently and peacefully. While the shower was on. And poured boiling hot water on her. Her skin burnt. Burnt like hot iron. Turning her skin red on the palms. But relieved her of all the pain. Her muscles, her lower back, the beautiful wide but tired shoulders. And she took all the heat in. And then turned the knob to the left. It all stopped. 
Do you know how much i love your city? The city which you claim is not yours. Of course you wouldn't. It is so natural. I love it. It is so human and not humane. Your city i mean. The old buildings, the parks and the ugly malls. Okay the malls i cannot stand one bit im not going to go on and on about it and so i wont. I love how your hand slides inside the spaces between my skin and the garment, I get scared and the next moment relieved too. Just how the skin burns outside, the soul burns inside. And then you dig into my skin and soul without yourself realizing it. Your palm and fingers, fingers which you hate so much, travel the length of my back. I don't know why but im having a deja vu while i write all this. 
Sleeping on the terrace in the winter nights of February of an unknown village in Bihar, staring at the moon and counting the stars, under the warmest blanket while the existence of this life of mine was just 12 years old and was dealing with a loss of a loved one for the first time, praying for their soul to rest in peace finally, that is how the touch of both our hands felt like. And you say that I am destroying you? God knows. You have been un-layering me and i try to layer myself again. And again. And then i fail to do so. I don't know which is worse. 
She still sits there. Under the ugly white light which makes her accept herself every time she looks into the mirror. All the scars and the blemishes. And rest of the ugliness and imperfections which she tries to hide under the cloak of her loose masculine clothing in the name of being a strong woman. Bullshit. Whats the whole point of accepting then? it is still missing. I don't know how many kilometers we walked that day, maybe it does not matter. You must have walked those distances so many times no? While you were in love. Sometimes when you were heartbroken too? I know nothing about you. And yet i feel like guiding your lips with my fingers while you kiss my layers. The skin. The body. 
The same which likes to walk by your side, sometimes ahead of you, sometimes behind you. The same skin which freezes while his fingers dance on it over the cotton and consequently warms it up while it leaves a trail of emotions behind. She walks behind you like the similar trail you mark her body with. And the more she walks, the more she falls in love with the city. The one full of garbage, concrete and big beautiful banyan trees, just like any other city. Agra maybe? God knows man. How strange. We both are from cities which has lifeline like rivers, yet they are so venomous. But then let the venom be. I don't want it now. 
I close my eyes. Feel your breath against my eyes. Sometimes against the heartbeat and then she feels like saying; Don't Stop! Keep doing it. Just keep doing what you do to me. And no don't make love, which you don't have for me, but make the poetry to me. Just the poetry. The poetry which she tries to recreate under the long spells of hot shower. I am fine with this place being so unplanned and full of egoistic people in your words and experience. As one realizes who their 'true people' are. Who your 'my people' are. Otherwise everything is so perfect and yet just an act of fraud. At least an unplanned city is not a slave of someone Else's decision. Its fucked up but its so free. The people residing in it are the only ones who can mend it. tame it. And who is responsible to plan a city anyway? Our politicians? Engineers? Our parents? Really? Or Poets like you and me. who cant even plan a day properly and all their impulsive trips are based on just an ' I don't know what i wanna do OR where i want to go OR I don't know what i want to eat.' Isn't that how we make the most of a place? No. It better be unplanned. Order will follow after chaos. Just like your touch. Just like our nights and the mornings spent together. That is why i love your city. Of course i love it a lot less than i love you. I love it nevertheless.

Monday, 4 August 2014

Healing will start in 7 seconds.

I hugged Rudy and Pragya after months today. And I could not leave them. I dint want to leave them. This was so far my best day in loni this year.
I din't leave Pragya for almost a minute I guess. Or rather she din't let go off me.
Same thing happened last week when I met Nikki. In the mall.
And when I met Alok at Nal Stop bus stand.
Stop being pricks both of you.

It is said that a hug works as a healer if it lasts for seven seconds or more. Or maybe if it was three seconds written in that newspaper article I read with images of Tibetan monks hugging on it.
How I wish I was too around them, the monks, on my 21st birthday this August. Away from this shithole.
This shithole of a place being bearable for me only by the likes of Pragya and Rudy.
I miss eggs too sometimes. But then Im to be blamed for the distance between us. I was a prick in our case.
I hate it but Saatchi's nonstop Deccan queen live playlist is still stuck in my head. All sorts of Bollywood songs I had never heard. Can't believe it that I had never heard them.

That was a train I had taken to escape from this shithole.
Im back to one meal or max two meals a day routine. My hair has grown longer. I would like to cut it off again. It's been five weeks now. I need to cut it off before I feel the burden again. And we all have our own ways of practicing asexual masturbation. Im sure by now you don't even know what exactly Im talking about.

maybe more later.
worst writing session ever.