i may forget many a mufflerings from my childhood but i will never get over a packet of videshi kitkat and desi crax. never ever. there are some things that always go with you to your grave. well, this be one of the very few of them funnesses.
*
the raving crocodile once came to a child and threatened to bite him. the child turned his back upon the crocodile and went home to his mother. the mother heard the story and fainted. then ,the child told the mother the truth. the crocodile was a friend come out from his head. and his mother needn't worry anymore, because now, he had willed his crocodile to go.
*
maybe the crocodile would come back sometime later. who knows. but for now, he's gone.

The cloud came nearer. It took its clothes off and was a woman. As she walked closer, she saw the gypsies were staring at her naked back. She didn't believe in such things. Things like an absence of nakedness. But she drew up her shawl a little closer. The dogs turned timid and cried.Trees don't grow now, only grass and the white lilies. The caravans have smothered any excess. The wheels, the wheels. The caravans dot the earth for some miles. The earth moans. The woman changes her clothes again, and again. The clothes are all borrowed. She pays for them like rent. It is all modern, after all.Her bag is huge, filled with scarves and shoes.She looks for clothes in which she can dance. The dogs feel empty, the gypsies watch on in fascination. She isn't ugly, she is a cat of an impossible colour. Her breasts are white lilies. When they cannot bear the pain of her changing nakedness, they lend her a leaning caravan.The gypsies wait in anticipation, they drape themselves around with fire flies. Summer to winter, the present turns to past. Some months, of course; the caravans have made a circle around the woman's. Some lovers in love with her, verses about her back, some knocks on her door, the decay of empty roses. The anticipation.At last the woman came out dressed. She looked almost a girl, like her age moved backwards; she moved like a girl, the way of the mermaids. Her hair was done up in pigtails. She was resourceful; shards of glass glittered in her hair like stars. She had found some antlers in her bed, she had made herself a crown. The lovers went home to masturbate. It felt ever so disturbing, a grumbling there was; most of them died in the act.The fear was inexplicable. The world sounded with music, grapes grew from grass. Before it grew into an epidemic, the wiser of the gypsies decided to kill her. Their eyes moved up and down her body. They would smother her but open the pigtails first. She looked too beautiful. Their hands hesitated, moved. In that moment, the girl let her scarf drop.It rained all night and destroyed everything. Water was in their caravans, too much water. Everyone woke up in a groan, even the dead ones. It couldn't be a dream; so much money had been spent on the funerals! The lilies drooped; the gypsies couldn't find the girl the next morning. Only the scarf, the shoes, the clothes. The fireflies were missing all the coming nights.The gypsies moved away from the flood and the stale air, they resolved never to look at clouds again.

ode to a penguin

It’s been a long time since we’ve met, you and i. I can smell your perfume on the lilies you bought me still. Its funny, how the lilies smell of musky sensuality. You always left your mark, wherever you went. I thought it was selfish at first, your omnipresence, I felt pushed into the shadows. It scared me to be around you. But over time I learnt. I learnt to appreciate your passion, your will, your perfection in everything you did. Suddenly I was okay with bathing in the fading glory of your spotlight.
I thought, when you left, I would be lost. There would be no bright light guiding me through. No bright light I could live on the edge of. I thought I was a part of your bright light forever. I felt uneasy being around other people without you, scared that I would not be able to hold my own alone. Terrified that people would see how plain I was without your hazy shine on my face.
Everyone loved you, I remember. Everyone loved you just a little with their hearts. You were them, and I was you and because of that, sometimes, just sometimes I could be them. I could connect with another. Without you. But you were always there weren’t you. There was a hint of you in every conversation, a smile at the sound of your voice and your coldly comforting presence.
I miss you, at times.
I wonder if you miss me as well. I was special, for you, that I remember. I could listen to you talk for hours on end and I could stimulate you just enough to keep you talking. And we basked in that, you and i. we basked in you. And sometimes, we basked in me. I was special, for you, that I remember. But I was an old shoe. I was the person you slept with when winter came and the wild orchids dried. I kept you warm, and safe. And you had a home. But no one ever comes back to their home. Everyone wants strange lands to run through, strange people to share dried leaves and intimate conversations with.
And so I meander, I live without you but somehow always within you. I exist, I know I do because I pinch myself sometimes and it hurts. But I feel directionless, without your free reproaches and your odd broken love. I slip through days, unnoticed. The days and I, we’re hollow. The days and I, we shimmer in and out of subsistence. The days and I, we’re unbound. And sometimes, we can’t live with ourselves. Because, it’s easy really, we cannot be ourselves without you.

Epiphany No. 4529

Regret is for old people.

And right now, just for this moment, I am young and beautiful.

Jezebel

"Jezebel, what a belle
Looks like a princess in her new dress
Where did you get that
Do you really want to know she said"

Her beauty startled me, unsettled me. My breath caught in my throat and my heart, elated and pulsating with justified confidence, not two minutes ago, now sunk lifelessly to my knees. Had I not been a stronger woman, I would have turned around and left. But this was my life, my dream. This was what I had been yearning for ever since I could stand on my own two feet and this was what I had spent my life striving for and this was what I knew I was going to get. Well atleast until I saw her. What was it in her that I perceived as a threat? What was it in her that almost got me thinking of giving up? I had never faced a situation like this before: I was a fighter to the core; I had been up against better, smarter, richer my whole life and not once had I let that faze me and not once had I backed down. No, I would just push myself harder; push my limits further until everything was at arms length, drawing a thinner line between the impossible every time. Oh, and I won. Always.
I had made myself who I was alone, moulded out carefully each habit, shaped each eccentricity with caution. And I was proud, proud as hell of the way I had risen from being a nobody out on the streets to what I was today. But every hope and aspiration I had built teetered on tonight’s performance. Tonight was my moment of truth. It was what kept me from my ultimate dream. If I got though tonight, I would be surrounded by boundless limitless possibilities. I would finally be able to spit down upon those who had tried to stop me and discouraged me, upon those who had deceived me but most of all, on those who had not believed in me.
Reminding myself of all this once again and resolutely deciding not to let this woman deter me, I followed her into a restroom, determined to some fault, some sign of weakness which I could play upon and use to my advantage. This was a skill I had honed through the sheer hunger to see myself at the top.
Standing next to her, I pretended to be redoing my makeup, all the while surreptitiously staring at her. The more I looked at her clear beautiful face, the more flaws I noticed. Underneath the layers of foundation I saw traces of a life of struggle, the hard lines which were visible even under her cake of makeup, perhaps only to me.
I looked into her eyes. They were mesmerizing, drowning me in their icy blue ocean. The ice in them held the promise to numb you with pleasure or with pain. But it wasn’t their beauty that struck me; it was the grit and determination hidden behind their glazed surface. That same will to succeed which I had so often seen in my emerald green ones, the same greed and the conscience which she had long ago forsaken because consciences are a luxury which only people who have never felt the gnaw of hunger in their belly can afford.
Somewhere, in the vast empty expanse of her hollow eyes, I saw myself.

The battle had yet to begin.

* Lol, apologies , I just lost interest by the end of it. I'll think of a better ending when I actually care enough.

Sade

There’s nothing quite like a lovely late night session of jazz and introspection.

Sade drowns my heart ache in her rich despair. I watch as it dies a sweet sticky death. With every lift of her honey-and-whiskey voice, I feel something precious inside me tinkle as it breaks. The day’s events start to blur and speed in my head until I give myself up to the mellifluous saxophone.
I watch quietly in a corner as she surrenders herself to a love so intense her voice breaks with every surge of rising emotion. I watch her make love with a painfully beautiful smoky huskiness. I feel the thick lush velvet of her lust brush suggestively against me.

“I remember his hands
And the way the mountains looked
The light shot diamonds in his eyes”

I watch as her heart is shattered into tiny little fragments. I see her as she slowly bends to piece them together all alone, her voice filled with meaningless longing and haunting despair.

“I'm crying everyone's tears
And there inside our private war
I died the night before
And all of these remnants of joy and disaster
What am I suppose to do”

Her earthy base appeal flows plaintively through her words. Even her anger is deceptively smooth. Cold satin holding in it the promise to rub you raw.

“You're not the man
Who would bleed for me
But never shed a tear
You're not the one
Said he'd always be near
This was someone who you left behind
A long time ago”

As the CD whirs and spits its last lament, I feel the magic slowly fade. I open my eyes just in time to see the last thin tendrils escape through the cracks of my doors and windows. My heart feels mended, if a trifle inconsequential.

Here's to the only woman who consoles me with her own despair.

Stymied Fucking Love

"Stymied love"
That's all that escaped my swollen lips before I turned my back to him. Stymied love? They've never even said that in the movies. God, I can still taste the burn of his unfinished cigarette in my mouth. Breathe. I cringe that I was vain enough to kiss him goodbye.
And his eyes. His eyes.
I looked up into them so I could etch in my memory scrap-book the exact measure of blue and steel they held.

Instead I can think of nothing but the moisture of my betrayal threatening to seep through his dark lashes.

And the way the crowd casually gathered around.

To watch the white boy cry.

But he'll call me tonight. Once he's looked up the dictionary. And because phermones are so much stronger than teenage pride.

*Sigh* I might as well start getting used to the hot weather.