Earplugs

An idea just whizzed past my mind. I’m trying hard to avert all its efforts to whizz any further.

It’s trying to run, run into that area in my brain, of which I have a limited access to. Its almost like it knows of this, like it’s conspired to tax me.

I close my eyes.

I purse my lips.

I clench my fists

I concentrate

and try desperately to pull it to a place in my head, from where I can see it clearly. But that bastard of an idea is a tough player. It runs farther away.

It sits beside me at the coffee shop.It laughs as it sees me reading Asimov while I try to figure out what the fuck a Compendium Trans-functioner is.

It rides a hexagon’s edge, jumps off it and slides across a table. I don’t know what significance the hexagon or that sun mica top table hold in my memory – but it rode and it slid.

Sharp, shiny daggers fling into the nothingness on my left. This, while I hold a dartboard in my right hand.

Water. Under its surface, then on it.

Tea, iced. 3 bucks. D-school. Dante’s Inferno. Sighs, laughs, conversations that lead to nowhere.

Connaught Place. I stand in awe, gazing at its architecture marvelous.

And then… just then … as I lose myself to this beauty in all white, the fucker just vaporises- the idea. In fact I can’t even remember what the idea was about anymore, or what triggered it for that matter.

Fuck.Usually, I’d try again. But this loud, sadistic toned blunt Bangla that keeps pounding on my eardrums just won’t let me.

News

okay so i got my offer letter today. Big Deal... big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.big fuckin deal.
Yes it is.
and I'm Happy

Gurgaon

What’s with your hair? Why is it so straight? Why the fuck do you flick it so often? Why are your teeth so white? How come your nails are so clean? Why are your lips drippin’ gloss? Are those boobs pumped? ... and that ass?

What’s with the big mobile phone? Why does it ring so often? Aren’t you a management trainee?... Yet you drive a BMW?

What’s with you woman?! What’s with your pink ear rings? What’s with the high heels -everyday? What’s with the unfinished beer? What’s with the two nibble dinner?

Why can’t you bear the heat? Aren’t you from around here? Why do you still talk of the vacation you had in the US eight years back? Why do you listen to hip hop? Can you recite what they rap?

Why do you hate the jaat? Why do you hate his language? Why do you have an accent?

…And what the fuck are you wearing that fruity perfume for lady - It all makes me want to throw up!!!

(- to be continued)

The Grand

The charred butts came to life as I pulled the lever. The gush was crystal clear – only froth, I could see. The corpses seemed to enjoy their swirl in the bowl though. This, while I stood looking down at the action, amused at how they allowed themselves to be manipulated by this force.

Calm spelled the glazed room, just as the bowl gurgled, swallowing all, spurting fine drops onto its rim. And then it suddenly struck me. It made me turn around and look at myself in the mirror – my nostrils flaring. I had never smelled anything like it before. While what remained of my Davidoffs bobbed their way through the capital’s sewers, they left behind an aroma, which now blended with that of the naphthalene, probably stacked in some corner. I inhaled ever so deeply. It was crisp, the smell – very masculine, and I swear I could wear it all day.

Anyway, I realized how dumb (read gay) a moment I had just had and walked right out, zipping my pants up, as I did.

What awaited me outside was a ride back through the shredded Aravalis, to a few hours of learning how to advertise good. The ride was exciting.It included a can of beer.