Strange Love

‘Pleasant morning’, he thought aloud. He checked his wristwatch again. 9.15. Just a lil’ more time to go.

The sun shone bright. The day was just beginning to spread its warmth. Gentle, sweet breeze. Trees swayed. Leaves ruffled. A smile crept across his face. He continued gazing out of his window into the lobby across the street. He glanced at the calendar hung in his room. Sunday it was. Just a lil’ more to go.

His friends called him J. He liked the ring to it. It made him sound kind of cool. Cool, confident, self-assured, effervescent – yeah that was him. And yeah also the hottest 16 year old in the world. At least he thought so; and so did so do all the girls in his class. Today like every Sunday morning he was perched at his window, watching across the road into the lobby. The lobby belonged to Mirage – the poshest hotel in the city and maybe even the country. And like very week he waited.

He glanced in the mirror. Damn, the wind had ruffled his perfectly gelled hair again. He took a handful of gel and again meticulously set his hair. He wore his favorite tee toady. He knew he looked his best in it. And a lot more mature. Content with his image in the mirror he took back his seat near the window.

A minute passed. Then two. Then a couple more. And then he saw – HER. Gorgeous her. Beautiful her. Basked in sunlight. Skin glistening, face glowing. She floated like an angel and seemed like a dream. His world suddenly transformed; into something, heavenly. His heart skipped a beat. He skipped a few steps.

He stopped in his tracks. She was nearing him. So close. His eyes met hers. Oh her heavenly smile. And those eyes. Beautiful, captivating eyes.

He stood there transfixed. Watching, gazing. She came next to him. He froze. There were so many things to say. Suddenly today didn’t seem that perfect. His hair was not right. His tee was stupid. A lil’ more perfume was needed. And a lot more luck. A thousand thoughts filled his head. His legs felt heavy, throat dry. He saw her walk past him, not even glancing at him. He felt sad. Hurt. Pained. She couldn’t walk away. It was his love story. He was her knight in shining armor. The one for her. She just couldn’t go. He just couldn’t let her.

Abruptly he turned. Saw her walking away. And then he did it. He ran. He couldn’t believe that he was. But he was running. After her. Deep breaths, long strides – after her. And then he tapped her back. The touch! The divine touch of her. She looked at him, eyes wide. Those gorgeous mesmerizing eyes.

Not knowing what to say. Confusion. Desperation. Time ticked by. But then he said it. “I think you are…..beautiful. I ummm…kinda like you…Can we go for a coffee….uhhh or maybe a drink?” There he said it. Sigh of relief. His words hung in the air. She looked at him, shocked. And then there was silence – stony silence. Dreadful silence.

How stupid could he be! Who says that – Coffee!? Drink!? What is she, a schoolgirl!? His heart sinking. His eyes moist. She stood there with that look on her face- aghast or fury – he couldn’t quite place it. He felt like killing himself. Stupid, STUPID him.

And then she smiled. Warm, melting smile. And she spoke. Ah! Her voice. Sweet, reassuring angelic voice. Shouldn’t he be paying attention to what she was saying? But her voice, entrancing. And then he heard the word “NO”. His excitement – punctured, his heart – broken. So slowly he caught her words.

“…..awww, wasn’t that cute! But I can’t. First, you are too young. Second, I’m an escort; dear. I get paid to be with people. To accompany them to parties. And I accompany people for a fee. I can’t date. It’s bad for the business. Look, you seem like a nice kid; get a nice sweet girl.”

Escort. No. Cant. Young. What was she saying! Noooooo. This cannot be happening. How?! Why!? But wait. Paid. Fee. Money? Yeah, Money. That was it. So he reached into his pocket and took out all he had.

She looked at him. He was kind of cute. Standing there. Watching. And nearly drooling. But she had to do the right thing. Plus, it wasn’t like she had a choice. It was just bad business. And then she saw him reach into his pocket and take out some money. Ah! men! They all come down to the same thing. How could this lil’ cute one be any different. She suddenly felt miffed, chagrined. He didn’t seem like the rest of them. But still.

She looked at him. Looked at the money in his hands. And finally said, sounding peeved, “ Listen kiddo, this ain’t how it works. I ain’t that kind of a person. Plus what you have can get you just a minute with me.”

He thought. He was holding his entire months’ allowance. Two grand. But he did not want her to leave. He wanted to be there with her. Talk to her. So he let out a monosyllable ‘ya’ and handed her the money.

“Your time starts now”, she said.

He looked into her eyes. Those beautiful entrancing eyes. He stood there mesmerized. He loved the way her hair fell on her shoulders. He loved the way the wind made it dance. He liked the way her lips quivered, when he watched. He saw the bead of sweat trickle down her neck. But still he kept going back to those eyes. Love filled, enchanted, captivated, he stood there watching her as the minute ran down its course.

He saw her turn and walk away. He wanted to say things. So many things. But he knew he shouldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. He wanted her to stop, turn and give him that last look. He wanted to spend the entire day just lost in her eyes. But, he watched her walk away. Till her silhouette finally disappeared with the shadows.

Some things in life are indeed – priceless.

Words

Words.

Words SUCK.

Words are overrated.

I mean, everything has been said. In every possible way.Everything is cliched. Even being un-cliched. And when you are done dealing with sounding cliched - you have to deal with words.

Words - which can be contorted, concocted, distorted, misrepresented and the worst of all misunderstood.

Words.

And then I have the problem of saying the right words at the right time. You see, conversations are all about timing. So are jokes. Say shite, but at the right time; it becomes funny smart shite.
So learn to say the right things at the right time and voila - get what you want; get laid, get a free smoke, get popular, score some dope and even score the hottie along with her best friend. So say the right thing, but never, NEVER, say what you want to say, just say what you need to.

But what else can I say, all my words are grey.

And still all I do have is just words. Dammned words.

"A king of words is EVERYTHING;
But I can only fuck and sing"
-Kurt Cobain

Alcoholic Anonymous

He stood there watching.
Waiting.
Staring.
He saw them dance, jump and swoon. Lights blinked, music blared, people danced. Cries of laughter, shouts of glee. People making merry. But he; he just stood there.

All of it frustrated him. Pricked him. He just could not see why. He wanted to be amongst them, with them. Partying, jumping, enjoying. All his friends were there, so was he, till a few moments ago. But today he did not feel like it. He just could not let go. His inner demons were getting to him. He was losing the fight.

His hand went to his pocket. His fingers circled the top of the cap. The bottle of cheap vodka weighed down his pockets. Yes, there was it. His gateway to happiness. His transition to the other side.

But something in him stopped him. He wanted to stop. Quit. He was tired of being a cripple and using it as his crutch. He was tired of the dependency. He was ashamed of being weak. He wanted to be strong. Not give in.

The world. He just did not get the deal with it. The big, bad world with all it’s insanity. The pressures, the expectations, the disappointments. He was just sick of it all. The competition, he mediocrity and the blinding mindless rat race. And the people – judgmental, backstabbing and complicated. He hated them the most. The pretentious, conniving, smiling bastards – each and every one of them. He loathed their very guts. He felt like setting the entire world on fire. And watch everything burn. And hear their cries as they yelp in pain. And he wanted to laugh. Like a maniac. But, this – this was not who he was. He used to be a happy soul. And he knew the key to his happiness, his old self, was lying there underneath his fingertips waiting for him.

Yet, it lay there. So close to him. The solution to all his miseries. One sip and all would blur away. The frown would metamorphize into a smile with two. And with three he’d be right up there-happy.
The sadness.
The Pain.
The Insecurities.
The Loneliness.
The Longings.
The Misery.
The Inhibitions.
The Feelings.
The Expectations.
The Demons.
The Aching.
The Emotions.
Poof! – All would be gone, would be blanked out and he’d live to fight another day.

He wondered if her being here would change things. She always made him feel happy, feel strong. Her comforting eyes and her reassuring smile. How he missed her! How he longed for her. He did deserve this, he thought. He’d been a jack all along. She was just maybe too good for him or maybe this was what they call destiny is. He wanted to stop. Just get her out of his head and burn away every memory of hers.

He got the bottle out and uncorked the cap. Ah – the strong sweet smell of liquor. A wry smile appeared across his face. He was letting them win again. A weak coward – that’s who he was. He didn’t care now – did he? It would drown the memories, erase the pain and wash away the longing."The key to happiness is being sloshed", he used to say. The key was in his hands now. He would get drunk immaculate. That’s the only way he knew. So he closed his eyes, shut everything else off and took a gulp. And then another.

Ah! - the warm feeling again. The fuzziness. The smile. He heard his friends call out his name. He stood up.

The wind, cold. His head, light. The lights, blurry. The music, trippy.

And yes – the smile.

Rag-a-tack!

We usually sat under the shade of the banyan tree, waiting like vultures every morning. There was extreme disrepute to protect. They called us “vicious raggers”. We were fairly harmless in that respect; we played with the FEs (fresh, first-year student’s) mind; cracked some jokes; pulled few pranks; asked him or her a nasty question or two; made fun, and felt superior. We also made a lot of friends in the process, a reason I’m still a votary of ragging on college campuses.

It told us something of the human character, and how most live for the outsider’s (true or false) perception of themselves. At least young Ralphy boy was one of them. He’d walked into school that first day sporting shoulder long hair, a thick beard and a messenger bag hung low across a tattered black T-shirt that endorsed Metallica. We rounded him up along with all of his other unassuming cronies to “initiate” them. We sat for quite long trying to get to know these new faces. I understood little of the conversation, For Ralphy boy spoke in a tone which was a cross between that of Dany Filth and a call centre employee. I’m from “Bandrra” he claimed! Amidst all the rantings and ravings about Metallica and Megadeath I managed to ask him whether he’d heard Metallica’s ‘Beneath the abyss’ or ‘stranger calls’. Ralph went on to laud the guitar riffs and solos, their skewed structures, the vocals... Ralph had heard all the songs I referred to. Except, I hadn’t; those songs didn’t exist. I’d just made up the titles. When that dawned on him he let go of the Texan twang and quietly followed orders. Within minutes he was belly-dancing like Shakira, headbanging to silly Bollywood songs and riding his “imaginary” bike!

Ralph isn’t my friend’s real name for I always and still do address him as F.E. For one, this isn’t about him alone. Two, he is bigger than me and not a F.E. anymore. Just the other day I spotted him in the medical canteen. He and his cronies were devising ways to rag their newly arrived juniors. That’s when I knew life had come a full circle. Flashes of memories of my FE days came flashing by. The good ol’ times . The times when girls in college were still hot, seniors still menacing and college much more fun! Or so we like to think.

Yes, those days when you still had to hump the lion and the tree and the lamppost and the guy next to you and everything else in sight or imagination. When you air guitar, play CS with make believe guns, sell “imaginary stuff” for real money, learn trigonometry “engineering style”, do the athanni-chavanni dance routine, emulate the likes of Shakira and Bipasha, learn to pole dance and also be the pole! All in one day! Ah yes, and be not-so-politely asked to wear formals; but then we still are only this time by our professors. And the “sieg heils” for M****n along with the moonwalking all around . Ah crazy shite.Yes.

Don’t get me wrong. Those retards who beat other people up in the name of ragging should be banned, rusticated, arrested and publicly lynched even. And I think that perverted guys who like to make other guys act gay, or get them to strip and imitate intimate lovemaking are in need of some serious counseling. Or maybe they just need to get themselves a “girlfriend”. And those who think forcing juniors into substance abuse is “fun”, don’t waste it on them, I can be fun too you know.

But the harmless, creative, oft innovative “thing” that we make our juniors do is definitely not ragging. It’s more of like an elimination round for a reality show. Or take it as a prep-round for the crazier life to come. It’s a great way to get acquainted with your seniors. Learn to pole dance even, after all you do need alternate career options. And talk to that hot senior chick; make crazy memories that will last you a life time.

For us at R**T though we like to simply call it “orientation”. Ah, and any cute FEs(if you do exist) who haven’t been oriented yet are always welcome to come meet me.