A parting note

I don't blame anyone
But why should I set you free?
It's up to you
To Realize
For as long as you want
That's up to you too

Germs

I want to sleep. Once upon a time I quite liked festivals, and home. I want to sleep till tomorrow now. Everyday.

They won’t let me.

My house is full of them. Some evenings I come back tired. And I open the door. They are there. It gets very hard to breathe. I have to run to my wardrobe, one of the few places that are uncontaminated… at least I’d like to continue believing so. Stand there. Wait for it to pass. Sometimes it can take all evening. And I just keep standing till my legs and eyes give up. Shoving my face into the pile of clothes has helped on certain occasions.

Other days it’s not so easy to sleep. The bed is most hurtful. Here, they are most present. Their smell. Their spit. Voices. Stink. I no longer take baths unless I am going out. I am never clean. So I must sleep. It’s the best of the lot. Because they make the food taste bad. Like a lizard has walked all over it. You can see the trail. Yellowness.

It can make you puke. That’s when the eyes water. I find that reassuring and it buys me time. There is a couch in the hall I have managed to protect, yes. But I use it only on afternoons when I am really good and don’t want to risk a confrontation. Or during late night emergencies when there is absolutely nowhere to hide.

Elsewhere, the toilet, bathroom, the other couches in the hall… Not safe. These days they follow me when I go out. Crawling upon my mind. Subliminal predators. They want to infest on my sanity. Build their home on ruins of mine. Then they will leave me alone. There is a deal.

They tell me to burn the house. I have declined; my mother raised me better than that. But I might end up painting it red.

  

Megh Raag

It’s raining, I am inside

Only one

Hearing the fall

Wondering

Silence

These are simple words
Why do I write?

It will take

Two more nights of downpour

To admit 

Soon it will dry

Then no trouble

Sleeping over it

Kinky Questionnaire

I adore Britanny Simon (Check her out at  http://www.youtube.com/user/Brittanysofficial ) and this is just part of one of the videos she put up. So I decided to muster the courage and answer these questions myself. Phew! 

(Besides,  this blog hardly ever has something Fun, so this was an opportunity!) 

So the questionnaire is a set of really intimate questions. I don't know how much sense it makes to answer them in public but I have no inhibitions so I did anyway! 

Are you into Scat Play?

No

Would you be willing to have someone film or take pictures of you during sex?

Yes

Would you include elements like paint into sex?

Yes

Are you into including food into sex? (Solid foods versus whipped cream.)

Yes

How old is too old to continue having sex?

When you're dead.

How young is to young and how old is to old to have sex with?

Young: 2 years younger to me. Old: 70 plus

Would you drink your own blood? 

Yes

Would you drink someone else's blood? 

No

Would you pay someone for sex?

Yes

Would you charge someone for sex?

Yes

Would you allow someone to light you on fire? 

No

Would you allow someone to shove ice inside you?

Maybe

Would you have sex in a public place?

Yes

Would you have sex in front of a crowd?

Yes

Would you ever have sex with someone who was mentally retarded?

If I know that person from when He/She wasn't and we have history and a situation 

Would you ever have sex with someone who was suffering from a mental illness like Alzheimer's? 

If I know that person from when He/She wasn't and we have history and a situation 

Would you have sex with an amputee?

No

Would you have sex with someone who was paralyzed?

If I know that person from when He/She wasn't and we have history and a situation

Would you have sex with someone who had MS or SB or any time of physical deformity?

No

Would you have sex with a dead body?

No

Would you have sex with a virgin?

Yes

Note: Yes or No isn't like a Rule or isn't something I have experienced (I ain't so cool!). Answers depend on situations entirely and my state of mind at That moment. This is just a hypothetical thought that I have given to them. So, yeah... Chill peeps!

And if anyone feels, they can copy past in comments column and share their answers. Or even thoughts on my answers! 

The Dirty Job.

Someone has to talk about things nobody wants to talk about. Someone has to do - The Dirty Job.
(This blog was formerly called In Quest Of Sweet mortality)

Piper

Had everything she wanted
Very little
Just he never gave
He hadn't hated her
Or otherwise
Nature
He could have told her so
Least
He didn't
Now she can't get away 

Oh Ri Duniya (Gulaal)

Her Husband just died

She cries

Near his body

But over her fate

She was unhappy when he was alive

She will have to be unhappy, now that he isn't

Womans World

She doesn’t want to see me today

There are days like these every few months

When she just cannot fathom the pain

So she keeps me away

To protect me

On those days I think about her life

Born so beautiful in Tunisia

Everybody would ask her parents if she was adopted

 So when growing up, her mother never missed a quick slap or a taunt

Just to let her know she was no angel

But she never understood

That this was no godly place either

And kept believing

  And kept praying

To the god who made her so beautiful

And then decided to be just

And take a few things away

So the girl next door could not be jealous

And many childish nights were spent outside the door

Shivering

 From cold and what she had witnessed

Of a man

She called father

Yet she loved him every morning

Forgetting about the horrors of the night

He was a lovable man during the day

During the day

So the early days went by

In gathering what most were easily given 

Turns out that stuff he took away in exchange of extraordinary beauty

Was only the most ordinary of life otherwise

But then that’s all she ever wanted

She got more beautiful than ever

Craved by so many 

In ways she never could understand

Everyone said the world is at her feet

But a woman of sorrow sees different

If you think this was tragic

You have got to hear the story ahead

Let’s smile for a while

Before I continue

So where was I

On the rumors surrounding her beauty

Which spread to distant lands

And many came to see and conquer

And failed, but one beautiful man

A piper

An intoxicating dream

Deeper than every sorrow

She had ever seen

The contrast so blinding

She fell

Before she could realize there was no depth

But an abyss

Where he had come from

Will you believe me if I say she kept faith

Bore every burden they put onto her there

To show this piper how much she would give

And how grateful she was to have him

But the piper was a piper

What a joke

I wonder if she blames god now

Or who does she blame

Not the piper, she continues to love him

Does she see a way out

What keeps her sane

What baffles me even more is her spirit

Clean and joyous and untouched

Like I made the whole story up

How she continues being beautiful

An art

A hypothesis

A godsend not to part seas

But to show us how to swim

And emerge

But what about her

Wonder with me

Someday I will complete the tale

Of the girl from Tunisia

And the god that failed

Note. Womans world is one of my most intimate works as a writer. The poem is a tragedy about a Woman's life and how Men become such an intrinsic part of it.  

Getting Action in the City.

Fuck knows what I was bottling.

But after over 8 hours of comedy series and middle aged sex dramas later, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to run away. So I did.

Wearing my favorite blue shorts, socks and sandals (I was too claustrophobic for shoes), at about quarter to 12 I set out. Just me, myself, and I alone on the streets running endlessly, taking my shirt off at some point of time in the spirit of freedom (And exhibitionism).

The picture smashed as soon as I got outside the building. Shops were open, people still buying groceries on the way back from work, traffic jam on the cross section, I was in fucking Mumbai! 

I started running. About a kilometer later, just as the noise seemed to mute and I began to block the outside world, I bumped into my gym instructor. Bugger.

‘Oh! Evening walk… How come?!’

Evening?!

It’s fucking midnight you idiot. AND I AM RUNNING.

So I ran faster. It’s hard to think when you don’t know what you’re looking for. I mean as if finding answers weren’t tedious enough, here you have got to look for the questions first. And where do you look when everywhere you look there are vehicles and buildings and robots.

I hated Goregaon in that moment.

Two flyovers crossed, I was at the far end of Malad along the western express highway, pretty impressed with my self and stamina. It felt sexy so at the beginning of the third flyover the shirt came off. It just had to.

I made my first pit stop at a lone bench on the side of the road. It smelt dead rat and there were mosquitoes the size of flies. But I kept sitting. I felt like punishing myself. And it made sense.

About half an hour on the bench numb to stench and pain I got up to run again.

And as I did I saw four short figures pacing towards me.

Yes, the dogs had picked up on my mind and they didn’t want me in their world.  

Now, I have a strange thing with dogs, whether pets or strays. I can only talk to them in English. Don’t know why, don’t know since when, it just is.

So I stopped jogging, folded my hands (I have a fear they will bite my fingers off) and I did what I usually do when dogs bark at me.

‘Ish okays boys, I am no terrorist, I promise. Ish okay’

Has worked on the most uncouth of canines but these bastards meant harm! I could just tell.

So I quit the dialogue and sprinted. Which was a bad idea because firstly I was tired, and second, I ran Into their territory.

This is as close as I have gotten to running for life (The other time it was for a flight to Mumbai which I almost missed because I got too involved in filming an obscenely snoring man in the waiting area.)

It felt good. And came very close to what I needed at the moment. Stimulation. Some bare, primal hard core stimulation! To get me alive. Get me living.

You know sometimes some movie scenes flash in your head and they are totally in sync with what’s going on at the time.

Edward Norton’s bloody face after his first fight in the Fight Club.

Yes.

I was going to get myself beaten up.

Below the face sans the crotch. (I have my entrance for Acting school in 5 days)  

So I couldn’t pick a fight, it had to be a job for somebody. Besides, I just like the sound of paying someone to beat you up. And I had 200 bucks in my pocket. Good stuff.

Must have been around 1 so the roads were easy now, very few people barring the road side shanties which occurred at intervals.

A few blokes passed by but I just couldn’t ask anybody. Fuck up their psyche. I am all for messing with myself, and myself only. Apart from the one time during school when me and my friend got into this habit of beating up this one guy in our tuition on daily basis. (Confession)

 Kandivali went by and under the flyover from where I could see Cinemax, on the sidewalk I found my first candidate,

A homeless middle aged man, alone without any family taking a swig of country liquor and prepping his rag up for bed time.

‘Aapko paisa chahiye? 100 Rupaye?’

Him: Tabiyat kharaab hai aur dawai ke liye paise nahi hai’

‘Haan toh mein doonga aapko 100 rupaye. Bas yahi side mein chalke mujhe thoda maaro’

Him: Tabiyat kharaab hai aur dawai ke liye paise nahi hai’

Fucker couldn’t get over his begging script only!

‘Haan toh mein doonga na paise. Muhje thoda peeto. Box. Box.’ He understood. I expected him to be shocked or at least cautious. But he simply replied,

Him: ‘Tabiyat kharaab hai warna koi baat nahi thi’

I burst out laughing.

‘Acha! Warnaa maarte? Koi baat hi nahi thi?’

Him: ‘Haan! Koi baat nahi thi’

I walked away laughing.

I considered Autowallahs. Anyways they must be packing so much contempt against the public.

But they always stood in groups. And you see, there’s no way anyone would agree for a thing like this in front of others. Collectives are most of the times socially correct even if individuals aren’t.

So I kept walking. I put the shirt back on to avoid canine attention. A few did follow and bark but the ‘Ish okay boy…’ calmed them down.

I was nearing the Borivali National Park when I saw it.

The demon of my dreams. A beautiful place which could be the possible venue of my salvation. Haven. Haven. Haven.

The unlit Subway stared at me greedily. Now normally I wouldn’t think of descending a dark subway post midnight, but there was nothing normal about what I was up to tonight.

So I did. The descend downstairs was dark but as soon as I got down, there was a dimly lit tunnel to my left. I can’t describe how perfect it was, and I how beautiful I looked as I imagined myself being kicked and punched against its half tiled wall.

There was a almost cinematic quality about the place. I mean here, I could get beaten to death, and howl my lungs out and no one above could hear me. Plus the echo of the thudding kicks and grunts. Also, I could pass out from the pain and I won’t be disturbed until morning. Not to forget, the lighting! So precise, dark enough to not expose me completely but enough for me to see my own wounds, Uff!

I climbed up from the other side drooling and dreamy. There’s no way I was going back home untouched tonight.

But now no random person would do! I needed somebody with the presence to match that of my tunnel. I passed a few more autos to realize they weren’t empty, but couple occupied. Wow!

2 o clock in the fucking night when I am feeling so dangerous and nocturnal, people are on with their lovely duties.

I decided to go back to my tunnel and man it just in case one of these hornheads decided to get more room and invade my holy space. But there was a reason that tunnel was empty.

When I went back there was a police bike parked right beside the entrance. Yes, the police knew about the possibilities of such places and they kept watch. Even at 2 am. Especially at 2 am.

Fuck.

I walked past giving them a stink eye trying my luck. They didn’t stop me. It’s the shorts. Too blue to caution anyone.

A bus stopped near me and I hopped in heartbroken. The dog chase was as close as I was going to get to any action tonight.  

PS: This shit is addictive. Anybody need a punching bag? (Below the face sans the crotch, of course!)  

 

  

 

Making Vinay's Birthday Cake!

Step 1: Do as Betty Crocker says. Then to show some extra love (And Smartness), churn some coffee cookies and add the powder to the batter!

Step 2: Wait until you... (Turns out there is no avoiding this step) Burn the Cake. And hope your neighbors don't call on the fire brigade because of all the smoke.
For people who's Mums have not banned them from touching the microwave for anything other than re-heating, you'll can try using the oven. But if youre as pathetic as I am at cooking, my advice is DONT!

Step 3: Realize that your cake is burnt, and once again to show some love (And make the cake look good in pictures) add a slice of Mango cut obscurely hinting at your art interests! Then,,, Take a picture. 

  Step 4: Make an ass out of yourself by making a blog post on it and also credit your friend Arnesh Ghosh on http://www.facebook.com/pages/Big-Mouth-Always-Hungry-and-talks-a-lot-about-it/224286900996608 for his phenomenal work on inspiring young people to Cook (Actually edible yummy stuff!) 

AND THAT'S HOW YOU MAKE A CAKE FOR YOUR BEST FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY.

Reviews:
           Vinay- *After spitting it out* This is Charcoal with a mango slice which is Also burnt.
           Shouvik- *After spitting it out* This has SO much carbon in it, it can cause death. And if not the                   carbon, the taste will surely kill you.
              Divya- *Without Tasting* This looks like poo.
            Rashmi- *Looking at it*     I was Just going to say the same.
  

Dream Sequence

He had been in there for a while now. Thinking.
'Is life worth living. Definitely not. Maybe not.
But does dying change that?'
The thought brought with it what he had been missing for a long time now.

That's when he pushed open the lid. Quietly got on to his feet brushing off the dust of his past. And walked away, leaving behind a hole in the ground.

Despair

To sleep as ye inch into deep
Slowly, beautifully
Yes, its beauty you have!
Nothing else occurs
Pin drop silence, and destruction

Who pushed you here?
Somebody, so go crazy thinking
Try crazy
Make it last
Go hysterical

All of hysteria won’t bring life
Nor any recall
Here, nobody senses

Forgive everything you didn’t
Everyone that did
Here is continuity
That’s all

1/7

Photo Courtesy: Sahil Jagasia


Lone Car
She's loving the space
Unhurried, Greeting the sleepers
As she passes
Happy on a Sunday!

Its Sunday afternoon
So stalls lazing too
Just them, their stuff, light snoring
Hagglers can wait on tomorrow

All banter is housed today
Between excessive cooking and television
But doubt the homes mind
Not everyday they feel so necessary

Evening they shall have their time
When the outside lights up
To sell the Insiders
Imagination, Satisfaction
Everything's discounted on a Sunday

Like the mid-evening breeze
So crazy
She'll let you do just about anything
For Tonight,
Tomorrow is separate

Randy

Rarely, do I get so horny. Doesn't fucking matter if it’s provoked by some damnable sluts and their holy orgasms, I couldn't care less because I fucking love it.
The gravity, the things it does to my body mind, that uncontrollable movement of someone’s hands, scraping of the face against the nearest surface, kicking feet and every part else ticking.
I have noticed my watering mouth and how it wants to bite. The realization that the dick Does have a mind of its own!
I roll over and over, even make noises, hurl my favorite tunes, tense every muscle, all in a bid to intensify… make it last.
But soon, memory and all it knows takes over and the visual disappears. The soul still sexed up but everything else returning to silence. Leaving behind only the dream, and traces of buried resonance that it can be fulfilled…
‘If only I could fuck Excellence in my life’

Pop goes the Artist.

Two Fat Men
On a motor bike
Deduced, Unconcerned
Looking funny, obviously!

They stop on the side
Get off and leave.