Girls and their Unmentionable
I was in the cafeteria today, standing in the queue waiting for my turn at the cash counter and there was this bombshell, nail-bitingly beautiful girl standing ahead of me. She had a fairy with her wings and wand tattooed on her nape and her hairs were streaked with at least ten different shades of golden brown and she was dressed resplendently in a blue top and blue jeans with matching eyeglasses and nail varnish. She was wearing so much color that she looked like a walking advertisement for Benetton. Anyways she got her coffee and she turned and gave me with one of those I-am-hotter-than-your-coffee looks but it wasn’t her face that I was looking. She was beautiful, gorgeous in fact but there was some black stringy thing running across her shoulder, something that was reminiscent of a hasty decision taken on a hot and sweaty Sunday afternoon when you have to tag along with your mother or girl friend and carry all those shopping bags. That instant she simply plummeted from being a hotter than hell, I-want to-die-for-you chick to someone pathetic, someone not even worthy of a second glance, someone incorrigible because a lady who has gone lengths to color coordinate everything, from the color of her hairs to her nail varnish and who smelt of roses and blooms and wore a 3000 bucks jeans with embellishments, why such a lady couldn’t possibly find something matching, something more elegant to wear underneath her top, is something I couldn’t possibly comprehend. What’s more, it’s not only her, this seems to be the problem with all the females that I see walking around my campus, they are pretty much cautious about Levi’s and Von Dutch knock off’s that they wear but when it comes to their underclothing’s black and white seems to be the color for all seasons. It’s sort of okay with us guys because we people couldn’t possibly differentiate between grey’s and blacks and aborigine and red but these girls who could possibly tell apart and name all the 255 shades in the color palette why can’t they see beyond white and black when it comes to their bras and panties. I get it white is supposed to be the color of virginity and you are pretty much proud of your flower but then it needn’t be drab like a nun’s clothing and there has to some way in between being a virgin and being a witch( which I guess happens to be the plausible motivation behind black undies). No one is actually going to bothered about what you are wearing underneath, as long as you are pretty apt at concealing and as long as you are not wearing something black underneath something white and flimsy and since they’re going to be very few people who will get to see you first hand in those clothing and believe me they too would be pretty much interested in taking them off, so you could most of the time get away by wearing your blacks and whites but ultimately it all comes down to the fact that how much comfortable you are with your own body and how much as a person you love yourself because if you consider yourselves to be beautiful then I don’t think you will ever be hiding yourselves underneath those drab and run of the mill nunnery cloths. They may be your unmentionables but they are also the parts that have make you beautiful and they are the parts that have made you what you really are, so dressing them up nicely, with some lace and frolics is the least you can do for them.
I am not a pervert, believe me and nor I am an employee with the Victoria Secret but I do know something and that is dressing up starts from the very basic and much more than anything it is a reflection of what you think of yourself to be, if you yourself are ill at ease with your body then I don’t think anyone is going to look at you in any other light. A piece of advice finally, please do wear a strapless bra with those spaghetti tops and don’t team up black with anything other than black, unless of course you are really generous and want to give some teenager a reason to walk with a smirk around his face.
Spidey-The Spider
There used be a spider, living somewhere along the walls in my room. His webs seemed to infiltrate each and every corner of my room, from my closet to bookshelves but I never really bothered him or myself with his activities more so because he was perhaps the only company that I have through those long and lonely days. I used to lie down in my bed and watch him weaving webs all around my room and I really got fond of this so much so that I named him Spidey. Watching Spidey at work used to be so much fun and watching him weave his own elaborate and ubiquitous webs, I started to weave mine with tiny and gossamer shreds of life that were tucked away or left forgotten along some bends or dark corners of my mind. Spidey was a professional and he never got entangled in his web but when you delve deep within the abyss of your mind to retrieve all those long forgotten memories and remembrances you can’t help but be affected by it all and it was pretty excruciating as well. There were are a lot of things which I never really bothered about and now when I thought about them, they really left me bewildered, feelings which I thought I was immune to and relationships which I thought I have gotten over with they all come back to hit me right across my face. I worked through those memories, organizing them somewhere along the shelves of my mind and believe me, it was a painstaking task and I am not referring to my emotions here. Working through those disjoint and incoherent threads, trying to find a piece or missing memory or a pattern that would fit into the picture, trying to remember people and their names and faces and more importantly the reasons why they were left out from my life, left me simply overwhelmed with a feeling that I have never felt before. At the end of all this I was left with much more confusion and chaos in my life, now that I remembered everything I wanted to forget it, throw those nice boxes along the shelve all away. Making mistakes is one thing but seeing yourself making those same mistakes again and again, watching everything in my life fall into definite patterns and once you starting to pull on those strings of memory there can’t be any going back, things just start to reveal themselves to you and all when all those hidden meanings are made clear to you, you can’t help but feel aghast by whatever has happened in your life. There were a lot of questions, questions like the name of the girl whom I used to travel with every day in the metro, I can remember her phone number though but her name and her face and the reason why she talked to me is all gone. There were some happy memories though, memories from my childhood and my birthdays where everyone would be wearing those triangular hats and I would be the one getting the cake with my name across it and then they will all sing and bless me with many girlfriends. It’s all sad how we can’t go back and relive those happier times, all those is left is just a tingling feeling and a cardboard box with birthday written across it stuffed somewhere in between all those infinite boxes which make us what we are.
I haven’t seen Spidey in a long time, perhaps lazy, the lizard, ate him but even with Spidey gone I still weave those webs, hoping to find all those answers that I thought never existed. My past is over and I have to move ahead and this baggage is perhaps what I should be carrying with me to remind me of what I am and what I have lost and gained.
gift from the devil
I want to give you something
But my life is the only gift I can give
I want to tell you something
But my life is all lies and truth is what you seek
I have been known to go back on my promises
But to care for you and stand by you
Is the only promise that I can give.
I have been walking with this world
But never had I walked along
I sold my soul to the devil
And your voice pulled me back from my own personal hell
Your soul was pierced with wounds which may never heal
Still you opened yourself to me and soothing my pain and fear away.
I know you are tired and you have had enough of this
But if only you will let me hold and help you
For I really want to kiss your pain and miseries away
And believe me even a devil sometimes may have some miracles up his sleeve.
twisted
I used to chase shadows for a living
Never thinking but always believing
Believing in the painted picture and its beauty
Accepting the world and its deceit in its entirety
This is your world and this is the realty
This is what they told me, friends and my family.
Web of words spun around to distort perception
I cried that night when I heard that strange incantation
When dreams are scattered there is no sound
Just the taste of blood and dirt when you hit the ground
My soul was battered with wounds which may never heal
There was this pain throbbing inside me and realty never felt so real
The world was same
Incandescent streets and the beautiful fountains
What looked different was people with their strange games
Things which I used do
Wearing strange masks and strange hoods
Fighting each day with my armor and my sword
It all seems like a distant and a lost memory
Something conceived for travesty to distort realty.
Forbidden and forsaken, I walk these streets
I am battered, tired and I am alone
Will you walk beside me or would you look away like you have never cared
It’s just a delusion, a falsification, a twisted perception
But I don’t blame you for
It’s not your image in the mirror but a stranger that you see
When you have seen that stranger and seen through his deceit
Come to me, I will be waiting for you, somewhere along this street.
things people do
There is this orphanage which is supported or in way adopted by our batch. It’s a sort of tradition which every sophomore is supposed to be withholding and as to who started this tradition and when, I don’t think anyone would have a slightest idea. It’s kind of cool though, raising all that money and doing something for the society and for a change, it really gives us a chance to do something worthwhile with our parents money which we all believe comes from a tree and as such meant to be squandered of on girls or booze or other nick-nacks. What’s more at the end of this fund raising and all, those desirous, get to go the orphanage and spend time and play around with children’s. This really happens to be the best part of all because girls get to play mommies and guys get to play daddies with the kids and their mommies as well. Really nothing could be sexier than a girl with a baby balancing on her hip. It brings all the memories of all those aunties trying to manage their kids flooding back to my mind. Why it is so that the forbidden fruit appears to be so enticing and so sweet to all of us? Anyways it’s supposed to be about the orphanage and our charitable instincts, so I will get back to heaving bosoms and maternal love some other time. It’s all supposed to be about charity, right raising money and all, and charity as far as I know is all about identifying and empathizing with a cause. Everything is going fine, I mean this fund raising, we raised sufficient amount of money and participation has been overwhelming but somewhere down the line something went wrong. It has nothing to do with fraudulence or deceit of any kind; it is just that I observed a streak, a strange sense of competition engulfing this whole event. There is this sort of race that has infatuated everyone, a race to raise more money than previous year, a race to do better than what our seniors did. It’s not wrong actually but in all of this, the core or the soul behind all this is lost, the main motivation that should have been alleviation of poor and bereft children is lost somewhere. Charity isn’t about money; actually it has more to do with believing and standing up and identifying yourself for a cause, if money would have been the solution to all the woes than I think this world would have been a lot happier place. More often than not, I have seen people using charity as a means of redeeming themselves for the sake of the society or for the sake of the company they keep, they think by donating a certain amount of money they could buy for themselves a better place or position in the scrutinizing eyes of the people. It more about consumerism than helping people and in a way we all seem to be a part of it because deep down we all want to be remembered by the people, we want them to respect us and think of us when we are gone and for most of us money seems to be the only vehicle capable of making us unforgettable and indispensible in people memories. More often than not, I have come across places like temples and churches swarming with objects with people names inscribed on them, all these objects seems like epitaphs to me and really could help but see beyond the futility of all this. I really can’t understand as to why we have hide behind the layers of charitable demeanor to make ourselves seem more lovable, if charity is the sole motive behind all this then why doesn’t anyone from my batch actually thought of going to that orphanage through this intervening one year, why it’s now that they are so overzealously accumulating for this cause, tell me if they are so interested in doing something for those poor and bereft children why didn’t they came up with something like this any sooner. It’s complicated really, people and their treacherous minds and their desires to outlive their deaths, is what that really makes them take up things that they otherwise would very much overlook. Like my friend says that the overall motive behind the people giving money is not the children’s or their welfare, it’s rather the fun in the form of impromptu picnic that they are really seeking and once all of this gets over they would all go back to their pathetic and confined lives without even giving a damn about the children’s. I know what I am saying may sound completely weird and antitheses to the popular doctrine of being loved and remembered but really it isn’t immortality that I am after for I want people to forget me when I am gone and I don’t want anyone to carry on my name and my legacy. The people who are supposed to be organizing all this happens to be my best friends and they are amongst the few people who actually might be reading this, so apart from losing my readership, I am actually running a very high risk of getting my ass kicked out as well but I had to say all this for I cannot sleep with a stone over my chest.
I know at the end of this there are going to be a lot of unrequitted bosoms oozing with maternal love, so if any of the girls in my class ends uo being knocked then this time around it won’t be because of immaculate conception.
the girl in the cafe
Day before was supposed to be the weekend but my college people really thought otherwise when they announced a class for us. Attendance is the biggest tyrant of all, it can make you to wake up at 7.30 on a cold Saturday morning, drag your sorry ass out of the bed and have a cold shower because no one bothered to switch on the geyser, it’s supposed to be the weekend remember, and when you are all set with your hairs slick and your shoes all laced, you suddenly realize that you are running late for the class and then you run, all the way down through 6 flights of stairs because some stupid first year has had a brainwave and pressed all the buttons in the elevator. By the time you reach the class, your hairs like Albert Einstein are pointing in all the directions and only thing that’s slick now is your t shirt, slick with sweat and then you get to hear a remark from your teacher, who has chosen to arrive before time on that particular cold and merciless Saturday morning, that younger generation doesn’t really believe in dressing up. Anyways we, me and my friends and all those insomniacs who couldn’t sleep through a perfect Saturday morning, sat through the class, waiting desperately for it to end for we all have sacrificed breakfast to be here. Somehow the period ended and we found ourselves tossing a coin so as to decide whether we should attend the next hour or redeem ourselves by going to the cafeteria; ultimately it was our stomach’s that got better of us. Even a ghost town would have seen more activity than our cafeteria at that hour; it was deserted except perhaps for the cleaning staff and the lady who manages the cash register. We finally settled down, all five of us, with our idlie’s and vada, using our spoons for sticks as we tried really hard to navigate through all those green chilies and explode in your mouth, red peppers. I find South Indian food to be too hot and spicy for human consumption but I doubt, if I could bring myself to say the very same thing about the South Indian girls. As we sat there excavating through our food something happened, something which felt like an aftermath of global warming. It was like one of those movies where they show a nuclear explosion moving about, obliterating whatever that comes in its path; well she did have the very same effect on every one of us. She moved along the aisle and I swear apart from tic tacking of her stilettos there wasn’t a sound to be heard. As she moved down the rows of tables and chairs that were occupied by now a lot of male eyes strayed from their companions, the lusty eyed look of children who have suddenly spied something better on the shelf and even the female couldn’t help but look at her as if they might like to corral their boyfriend’s eyes from roving. It was electrifying; the way she moved, with her chin held high like a queen looking over her subjects, the spectacles that she wore couldn’t have possibly masked the beauty of her deeper than pacific eyes. She was whimsical to the point of being cruel, my heart really went for that guy she was with; poor guy must have traded his soul to be with this devil incarnate. Those who eat forbidden fruit for breakfast what is that they do for thrills, I thought. If looks could have killed, then I bet she was a serial killer far more profound than all those Zodiac’s and Jack the Ripper’s of the world, so much so that a sight of her would have made even the most ordained of all priests to hate their vows of chastity. There was something ungodly about her, her eyes were unwavering, unrelenting and I swear a glance from her would have been enough to defrost my freezer. Her eyes met that of mine for one fleeting moment and that single instance of was enough to send me rocketing through the sky, it felt like I was floating through some vast expanse, going where ever my wings would have taken me and then suddenly, it all ended. With a twist of her neck she made me plummet through those heights, with my wings all melted down, like the Icarus, I fell from the sky. When dreams are shattered there is hardly any sound and all that is left is the bitter taste of dust when you hit the ground. She was gone by the time I woke up from my reverie and I found myself staring at an empty chair that was her. I looked around, trying to catch a fleeting glance of her and there she was sashaying towards the doorway, her Cleopatra like hairs bouncing with each step that she took. She turned back as if to uncast her spell of bewitchment and that moment our eyes met. But a lot looked different this time, her eyes were intense but she was nervous and confused like a sorceress, coming to terms with her power and devastation that it could cause. That was perhaps the only human trait that she displayed but then even heroes have a right to bleed. She walked out the door, leaving me with a strange tingling sensation, sensation with comes with a realization that nothing of it is going to last, it all has to end sometime. It is the brevity or the mortality that has made this moment beautiful and perhaps she too has realized this and perhaps, this realization was what that made her turn back and look at me for she wanted a confirmation to reaffirm her beauty. Next time when I would see her, perhaps I would be able to look her in her eyes without being levitating to another dimension.
will you wait for me
when you wake in the morning and look at your face
i may not be there with you
i may be far
i may be away
think of me when the dusk has fakken on that lonely mountain
remember me when the sun rays pierce through the morning mist.
you may choose to move on
but promise me that when i call to you,
you will look back for the sake of things that i never said to you when we were together
i can then go back living at peace with myself
for love has redeemed me.
across the street
I saw you standing across the street
Looking confused and baffled
We have walked quite a few distances together
You loved walking and I loved to hold your hand
And when you talked it was like sunshine would flood into my world
I looked at you standing at the intersection tucking a wayward strand as it caught air
I can walk again with you as long as you will let me hold your hand
With you by my side I could walk to the end of the world
I look in your eyes and I fear nothing now
Death perhaps can only take you away from me
I look back at you and you look sad
There are tears in your eyes and people all around
And there is blood on the street.
if it rains
If it rains
Clouds would not be the one to bleed alone tonight
You have always loved the rain
I remember the way you used to jump in puddles and splash water
Rain always lend your eyes a glint of mischief
Rain made you wild
I remember the moments when we walked through the rain
Holding each other’s hand
You always loved the rain and I loved you
I remember the last time when we met
It was raining that day
I walked four blocks in the rain to get you the carnations that you loved
I saw you standing, all drenched up
There was rain in your hairs and you looked sad
There was no mischief in your eyes and the water on your cheeks wasn’t raindrops
It was tears
I looked at you and you outstretched your palm to hand me back the ring I have given you
I don’t remember what you said nor do I remember the reasons that you gave me
But I do remember the carnations
As they changed their color to muddy brown from white lying there in the puddle
And I remember watching you go as your silhouette faded with the rain
I sat there for a long time trying to recollect whatever there was to
And that day it was not the clouds that only wept
It was me who cried with them.
It hasn’t rained since then but the clouds have returned
And I sit here watching them unroll
Waiting for the rain to come down and wash away my tears.
