Category Archives: childhood

Letter

To You,

I have drunk a lot

But I will not cry.

Ridiculous?

I am sad.

I’m drunk.

I don’t usually get sad (even if I get dunk).

At least when I get drunk.

So, lets say I have drunk more than avg.

I miss you. I really miss you,’

I don’t have you.

I don’t have to be you.

I want a girl who knows me as well as you.

As if I can share my life with me.

But I really miss you.

I will never call you.

But I will feel the void.

I want you back but not in a normal way.

You know you were who mattered in my life. That’s pathetic. Even if I had cared for you at any point of my life, just dream and be a stone.

 

It is funny that every time I write I try to create a controversy. Is it true or just an exaggeration? I wrote the above paragraph when I was high. Now back to the present.

It is a bit strange that after so many days you called and asked me a question which I expected (not prayed). I prayed that you will ask me, “Are you happy?”. But I know You. You will never answer my prayer. But You answered my expectations. I expected you to ask me something which I will never expect. Something which has nothing to do with me being a being who is trying to survive (and so is everyone). A question which is trivial enough to be asked when you are non-trivial to be answered. So you asked it. “Can you leave cigarette?”

And ironically I answered. I answered in a way which is comforting to me more than it is to you. You know, truth gives hope. I used to think that if I speak my heart to someone, then that person will give heart for me. Not anymore. Now I pretend. You have gifted me a permanent fear of trust. Thank You. Thank You for this lovely feeling of ‘being uncomfortable’ throughout life. If I feel uncomfortable that means I am still breathing. Miracle.

So I answered and answer didn’t give hope. Not to you neither to me. So I avoided the risk of hopes being shattered. Although I am very used to this ‘hopes shattered’ kind of thing from my childhood (may be the reason for my introvert-ness), I still avoid it.

Take Care

And Keep laughing

And continue to make this world (not mine) a happy place to live in.

Me.

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Filed under anger, childhood, death, humor, life, love, memories, nostalgia, phases, pleasure, random, relationships, sinbycosmoy, society, women

The Bed Tea

‘I want to have a baby with her’, he thought, ‘a real one’.

He looked pathetic. In his low-rise denim and a dirty tee he looked like a street urchin. It has been a long night for him and it is 3:30 a.m. now. His sandals are worn out, more than him, due to over usage for the last two years. He still remembers the day when she gifted him the sandals. They were costly, but she insisted.

He told, ‘I will never wear that, I am going to preserve them’.

She pleaded, ‘Promise me that you will wear them and wear them down, to remind me that you own them and you own me.’

And there they are, still hanging on to his hairy soiled feet with uncut nails, soil accumulated deep down inside it. But he loved his sandals because it reminds him how much she loved him back then.

He thought they have lost their spark. They were the best couples during high school and even after that. She used to define commitment and he used to benchmark friendship. People were jealous but in a good way.

People wondered, ‘How can you people be together all the time and still look so fresh and happy’ to which he used to reply proudly, ‘can’t help it, she is the best and we are loouuve’, and squeezed her in his arms. She loved it.

And they were. They were inseparable. He never thought that a girl like her can fall for him. She was a perfect ten, way too perfect. Manicured from head to toe, and he was just another guy next door. It was she who made him believe that he is also a perfect ten. He was charming and witty and shy. She gave him confidence and support and never wanted anything back, except honest love and warmth. His being around her was enough for her. She was the one who brought real happiness in his life and slowly she became his habit.

He now wonders what happened back then. What happened to the promises they made to each other? What happened to the exemplary chemistry, the bond they shared together?

‘What happened to us?’ he thought this one loud.

The lady standing at the back of the counter gave him a cold stare with a gesture to keep his voice low, and continued reading the book, ‘What to expect when you are expecting’.

The memory of their first fight was still fresh in his memories. He does not remember why they fought, but he remembers vividly the bad words he said and the tear drops that rolled down her pink cheeks. He did not feel bad, but he is feeling bad now. He is amazed how he resisted himself from hugging her that time. He wish he could run now to her and say sorry and hug her, a tight hug. But circumstances are against it.

But that was not the last fight they had. They fought again later. And again. He repents that, but is unable to show that to her. He has always been reserved lad. They fought over petty issues which seem even more pettier now. He feels sorry for the bad moments he had with her, although she says that it makes their relationship sweeter.

He thought the only solution to stop things going worse is to be together. They decided to get married. They were too young to be married. He was 23 and she was 24. He knew he was not ready to take such huge responsibility but her support encouraged him.

She said, ‘We can pull it through.’ And that was enough for him.

It was her determination that inspired him to be with the angel forever. Now he repents his decision. He realises that being together is not a solution. Although they don’t fight now but they don’t love either, at least like the way they used to. Their life is bland and apathetic. The lustre is lost and it has only been a year into the marriage. He still misses his old Ishita, or Ishh, as he used to call her.

And now he wants to have a baby. He had no reasons for it but he was sure he wanted to taste fatherhood. He thought it is weird to think of a baby at such an early age of life, but it is what his heart told him. He wanted to have a baby with her. He is only 24 and wanted to conquer the world but deep down he was yearning to love her again.

‘Sir, you can come in’, the silence and his thinking marathon was halted by a voice that came through, right across the passage. He walked towards the door, with small and measured steps and crossed fingers, towards the green curtain, which he hated as soon as he entered the building.

As soon as he entered the odd smelling room, the doctor declared, ‘Congratulations, it’s a baby girl.’ He didn’t know how to react. He was not smiling. He just had a blank face. He looked at his wife. She was glowing and looked tired due to the pain she just went through.

‘Look at her’, she said, ’she looks just like her dad.’ He was scared to look at the tiny little creature, but he had to. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened it again to look beside her wife. There she was, size of a 1 litre water bottle, closed eyes, calm in her face, clasped hands and a faint smile. The faint smile brought smile on his face and tears in his eyes.  He found, rather discovered his long-lost love again and there she is. There is Ishh junior.

‘She is my love’, he said, ‘our love.’

‘Bed tea for the sweetest hubby in the world’, he woke up suddenly and realised that it was just a dream. He had no idea what the time was. The sun was already out. He saw his wife, looking more beautiful than before with two cups in her two soft hands. He took both the cups, kept them on the bedside table. Then he made his wife sit beside him and hugged her tightly, the first time in the two months of their marriage.

‘Hey what happened?’, she asked, ‘did you have a nightmare?’

He looked into her eyes and said, ‘No I had the world’s bestest dream. I love you.’

‘Ish, let’s make a baby. A real one.’

pic courtesy

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Filed under childhood, life, love, memories, nostalgia, pleasure, sinbycosmoy, women

Bicycle thief

I am very conventional. Just realised. I like to play by rules and get really upset if it does not go by my plans. Although I am a Piscean (which should attribute ‘unconventional’ as my trait) I do like old stuffs.

I am still in love with Nokia and keypads where the world has moved on to Androids and touch-screens. I know what you will say – a little touch does no harm, but I can’t help it, I am touchy. I still use coconut oil on my hair and brush my teeth with Colgate regularly, both. I like to wake up early in the morning to feel the sunrise (although the change in my routine has not allowed me to do that lately). I like reading books in paper than pad. I like to do it in Indian style more than in western style or I like the missionary more (I hope you got the picture). I still think that charm and wit woos women, or I don’t know, does it? Let us keep the controversy part apart. I still use Windows and surf on Firefox. I have been using them for the last 5 years or so. I think fans are better than air conditioners, sleeper class with open windows are far better than secluded coupe and I prefer normal water than chilled, purified, sparkling…one. I think running and martial arts are far better than gym. I get upset when somebody does not share his/her share of pizza with me and feel bad when somebody asks me to share mine. What I am saying is I like being conventional.

Few weeks back my whim convinced me that I should get a bike. Well now that the plan is on hold, I miss my bicycle. Bicycle, to me, seems more manly. I have many good and some bad memories connected to my two, no wait, three bicycles. Got new one after the previous was stolen. When I used to ride them I felt like a king. It felt like a part of me. Speed was controlled by frantic, sometimes subtle, manoeuvre of paddles with my legs. And the brakes…woooooh God I loved my brakes. They were the ultimate life saver in some extremely narrow situations. The skidding tyres and flying dust was the ultimate cool thing back then. Winning a cycle race in my locality was the only medal of superiority. I fell down sometimes off my bicucle when I was being too harsh to her, but it also came to me with a prize. The peeling off of the dry crust formed on the skin due to injury gave ultimate satisfaction (both pain and pleasure at the same time:)). Everything has changed now. Teens and kids today want a bike before they get their senses put together. Speeding up on the highway seems better than speeding up down the lanes (that also by the use of some wrist turning than leg movement). Gawd, bicycles were ossum and I don’t have any grudges against biking or the pollution they are causing (air and sound).

I am going to get my bike someday, till then lovya my bicycle (has been in eternal love since a kid/teen).

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Filed under bicycle, childhood, life, memories, nostalgia, pleasure, teenage

The Golden Egg

The Golden Egg

There are times when I see myself as a hen that lays golden eggs.

We all have read the story from Aesop’s Fables about the hen that laid golden eggs. There was a farmer and his wife who had a hen that laid golden eggs. They thought that the hen must have a big storehouse of gold in its stomach. With this thought in mind they killed the hen (beware of PETA), ripped it apart and much to their amazement (and our amusement) the hen was nothing different from other hens from inside. We call it KLPD. This piece served as a warning against excessive greed.

When I visit the tea stalls near my office I encounter a very common situation where I am offered more than I ordered. When I order a single omelette, the shopkeeper deliberately asks whether it is single or double egg. Or they offer me to an extra cup of tea. Or they ask for a costlier brand of cigarette. This is the case with some shopkeepers, not all. They behave as if they are offering the extra cream without anything in return. Even last night when I went to my regular shop to buy 3 bananas, the shopkeeper forced me an extra one and charging me for that (too obvious) with a big grin on his face.

Methinks these shopkeepers are like the foolish farmer and I am the hen that lays golden eggs. This kind of service pisses me off and I take a silent resolution not to visit the shop again unless in dire need. I like those shopkeepers who whole heartedly serve whatever is ordered and not trying to squeeze the extra juice. I think that increases the loyal customer base and increases the level of satisfaction. I hate being a chicken (or the hen in this case).

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Filed under childhood, India, job, life, society

That little thing called ‘Change’

Today when I was with one of colleague, way back to my room which consists of 4 walls and a loo, around 8:30 pm which is way early compared to my office timing standards, I realised something. I realised that I am now a big boy. Not a boy but a man. I hate that.

I want to relive my childhood when I was carefree, used to play cricket. I know that my present friends will never believe that I used to play and follow Indian cricket like a maniac because presently I cannot even name 5 cricketers in the present Indian squad except for Sachin, the God. I used to feel restless if I didn’t go out on a particular evening with my neighbourhood friends with bat and ball. Although I wore specs at that time also but I never felt it as a hindrance to my athletic endeavours. I used to crave for watching TV and nearly begged and cried to my parents to get us a cable connection. I admit I was a stealer. I used to steal few bucks every day from my dad’s pocket to buy Boomer or BigBabol. I got a hard beating for getting caught, twice. I was stubborn. I am. I used to follow Shaktimaan and his ‘choti choti magar moti baatein’ religiously. I used to get scared after watching ‘Ahaat’ but wasn’t able to stop myself to get a glimpse of it, as I used to sleep alone in a room.

I want to relive my teenage when I was The Dude. My bicycle was the fastest vehicle ever made and I loved it more when it flew past the vehicles with a couple of more tyres. I used to look at girls in our school as well as in the buses of other schools. I used to wear elastic pants (I called them pants not trousers) and a spectacle rope or loop around my neck to prevent it from falling (I hate my parents’ sense of fashion). When filling up a girl’s slam book was the only thing. When I used to worship Sharukh Khan (I do it now too). I got a serious rebuke from my parents when they caught me writing a love letter for my friend (he insisted me) the night before my computers examination. BTW I scored 99/100 in that.. :). I hated the first guy in the class and the second guy was my best friend. I was third.

Now I am a big tough guy. I live independently in a metro. Work in an MNC. Earn handsomely. I pay my own bills and rent. I travel alone. I have fun with my friends. I visit home occasionally, to be treated like a king. I take responsibilities. Decide my life and others’ on my own. Meet deadlines, ensure quality. Get frustrated over my job and plan a new way, every day, to switch to other job or go for further education. I smoke. I drink. I pretend to be intellectual and knowledgeable. I have a girlfriend. I had sex. Travelled to different cities. Flew a couple of times and spent my own money. Saved enough to buy me this laptop and get a net connection. Started blogging. I go to gym. I eat consciously and get frustrated when I don’t get a good night sleep before and after a long day of work. I watch a lot of English movies and listen to angrezi songs. I miss home food. I still watch girls, they are irresistible (of course with a sense fo guilt.. :)).

I realised in the lift that only one thing in this life is constant. And that little thing, my friend, is called ‘change’.

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Filed under childhood, job, life, love, memories, nostalgia, teenage