Last night hailed thunderstorm from all over the places and directions, it was windy and later it got rainy. This morning, it was one of those mornings when the ceiling fan is not needed yet you still want it to rotate with the whirling of the winds that comes fresh after touching the mountains around. Kinda like the natural drinking water that flows in streams in Shogi, which is also one of the primary drinking water resource for many.
This morning was a sudden relief from summer heat that had started clutching the town for about two days. I had my blanket wrapped from head to toe, savouring the cold winds that came in through a window that was left open in anticipation of nothing special. This morning, when I thought I could just lay around here forever, I dreamt about you.
We were back in college, we were dressed up. I, was dressed up, that was really unusual of me. I don’t remember what I was wearing, but I guess you were wearing a yellow dress, yellow probably closing #ffdb00. And we were dancing. I don’t remember if there was any music playing, there probably was. But I just remember we staring in each other’s eyes and dancing slowly fluidly. Others were dancing as well. It was like Mumbai, nobody bothered about what other person was engaged in or doing, which is never really possible in our alma mater, but well this was a dream, misty mixtures of past and or present and or future, not in control.
It felt like a respite from time, it was amazing. We weren’t thinking anything in particular, like the yester days, when we’d keep asking each other what the other was thinking, when the other was thinking nothing in particular. Time stopped, because there were no thoughts, no botheration to aid the rate of change of thoughts hence time. You were a pretty good dancer, though I don’t know that in reality of course. I’ve just heard about your epic laughter and your epic screams, probably even heard one when I was passing by Isha Goyal’s room.
I don’t want to thank you, thanking needs separation. But since I can’t be in your presence to explode and offer silence side by side, I’ll have to use words to grotesquely say the experience that might have been. I offer you my gratitude, not because I have it to give it to you, but because it oozes out like pee when the bladder is bursting. For checking on me, sticking by me, inspiring me, cutting my crap and getting me straight to what can be done and what is needed.
I miss you, I wish we could go on a long drive someday, listening to my Indie, Folk, Alternate and Country collection of songs, and also the old Hindi songs.
Probably I’ll make it happen. As I stand in front of the mountains, which once stood as my audience for the first declamation contest I prepared for, and let my unkempt long hair dabble on the wings of this air, I remember you, intensely. Goodnight.
My mum married at 22. She has some of my childhood photographs but no video. So she, my brother and I revisit my mischiefs by the mimics my mother emulates from when I was small. This one time, mum came home tired after school (she’s a high school physics teacher). She mimics how I kept poking her to play Ringa Ringa Roses with her and some other jabber I couldn’t comprehend when she was mimicking me.
She pampered me by convincing me that I’d be a good boy if I was to let her sleep for an hour. She pointed at the clock and tried to explain to me when I’d have to wake her up, making me understand the position of the smallest hand in the clock.
Mother: I don’t know how you calculated what you did, and it makes no common sense, but you woke me up 5 mins later saying “Mumma Mumma Ari baba (me) good boy ban gya”.
She said she was so tired that she had fallen asleep the moment she laid over the bed. So when I woke her up she had lost the sense of passage of time in that waking moment. She had believed it had been a hour although she said she felt really tired. Until she saw the clock. She said I was literally pulling her eye lids up to wake her.
I’m on a motorbike a lot. I’ve my father’s Royal Enfield (a.k.a Bullet a.k.a Bullt (Punjabi folks would understand)), and I’ve a Yamaha Fazer. This noon when I got out to run some errands, I found an unusual lot of people on their two wheelers with their headlight on during the daylight. I get irritated with a couple of things too much. One is
This,sort or this ,sort of incorrect comma punctuation.
And the other is people forgetting to switch off their headlights at night. I’ll spare what I do in the former. In the latter I signal people with a blinking gesture of a hand insinuating that their headlight is on. Sometimes they catch what I intend with the hand gesture sometimes they don’t. Today NOBODY did. Instead they took my gesture as a sign of an acquaintance having just recognised them, and in their complete and utter apparent memory failure, they waved me back in the fleeting time. I laughed my ass out on the bike when this happened for the third time in a span of an hour. 😂
So that’s that. If you have written something that you’re wanting people to read, I’d love to be one of them. Shoot your link in the comments!
- I was so proud of the fact that I didn’t have to take the help of the other hand, to keep it out of the underwear during the duration of peeing.
- And this was relatively unhealthy habit until I was advised against it but, I used to not use my hands at all. I’d just unzip, and let my penis hang out, and off I’d pee. The unhealthy habit was that I didn’t use to lift my foreskin up before peeing. Which resulted in a thick fire hose shot rather than straight, to the directed point.
Gross details? Well :D. Ammm… but I simply can’t understand one thing. Whenever I’d go peeing in the public toilets, there would always be men having one arm resting against the shoulder height demarcation wall and the other arm resting on the front wall, relieving themselves like they were having as much pleasure as of having sex or something. Not that I peek, but I’m astounded by the fact that they manage to keep their foreskin back without constantly using a hand to keep it up! I mean, this seems physically impossible, since foreskin tends to loosen up and cover the tip of the penis like it was an elastic band meant to come back to its mean state.
I mean HOW!
So I was driving (that is what I’ve been doing majorly, after quitting my job). I stopped at a traffic light, moved as it turned green. When I passed by the front row, I saw a woman holding up the space to go forth for the entire midlane. She was most certainly a newly learnt driver. But the column of cars behind her just madly honked like their lives depended on whether they’d be able to cross this traffic light in this very green light time.
When I saw this, I immediately brought my window pane down, and shouted
No worries! You take your time, let them honk!
In complete contrast to this was NYPS (National Youth Poetry Slam), where if a poet lost his track of thoughts of the poem, or completely got frightened of the forgetfulness, audience would cheer so loudly for them until they’d have remembered their poem back. This was one of the, and I have to use the bold uppercase here, MOST AMAZING scenes of all time.
I’ve written more about NYPS in the article : NYPS 2016 Through My Listening Eyes
Cockroaches are vampires, because well you know, they are on the move in the dark and hide with light like it was burning their body. Unlike vampires though they do not know when my foot is so close to them that if I was to inadvertently place it on ’em they would most probably be out of this world in a jiffy. Also a similarity with the vampires is, that they have this superpower to not die of a bomb. But the weird thing about this is that, they are easily killed with a crush.
I miss Indian style toilets. I used to hate them at one point of time. Hate them like I would want to burn them down. But I fell in love with them when I went to college. Common floor bathrooms would have 3-4 Indian style toilets and one English style. Because many people who had never squatted and pooped before would always capture the English style before, odds would heavily be that one would (if one could! 😀 ), would have to go in the Indian style.
Like many things there are tradeoffs, which is to say there are both advantages and disadvantages of Indian style toilets. The advantages are, no matter how small a pressure’s been made in your bowel, accumulated waste would flow like it was going through a water slide, effortlessly. It would rush so elegantly and at the right speed that you’d love how fast you’d been relieved. Also there are less chances of this happening
At the same time, the disadvantages of an Indian style toilet are that, your feet would probably get numb if you are sleepy, which is true most mornings, you are likely to topple back, because it’s hard to balance when you are squatting for long.
You’d be able to see your 💩 as soon as you look down a bit, sitting right there, brown/yellow/blackish-brown solid/semi-solid/semi-liquid/liquid depending on your stomach conditions.
The biggest disadvantage would be that if you like to take your mobile in the toilet to scroll numerous social feeds, there are more chances that your mobile will end up with your 💩 and you’ll be staring at your 💩 wondering if you should bring your cleaning gloves to take it out. If and when you do, there would be more questions staring back at ya.
Is it working properly? Should I put it in the sun? Should I heat it near gas or heater? Would the smell of the 💩 ever go?
I forgot the other things, that I was to write about. Maybe next time, if I remember ’em.
Edit: I did remember some! They are listed towards the end: https://bullshit.ist/why-cockroaches-are-vampires-missing-of-indian-toilets-and-other-things-b1f8e8c24421