1.b

I walk down the way to the Chowk. I stop at the ‘Rajesh Pan Beedi’, pick up a cigarette, light it with the end of a burning rope hung there, playing a ‘lighter’. I smile at Rajesh when he pushes the left over change towards. He smiles at me back.

“Chai??”
I refuse with a nod. He smiles again. I continue with my tread.

This is a long stretch of road. From our room to the Chowk. A slope. We have to descend it around a thousand times in a day. Thos who have motorbikes, don’t count the number of times. Those who walk, like me, do it. A thousand times, when we do.

I feel terribly bored as I walk down this road. So I usually take a pillion ride with someone who has a motorbike. But there is no one today to take me.

I walk lazy steps. There is nothing to catch my view on either sides of the road. Some grocery shops. Two sweet mart-cum-snack bars. People flocked there. I blew smoke. I see the visual signs of Chowk approaching. Fruit Sellers, Fruit Juice stalls. Tea stalls. Pan Beedi Shops. Vada Pav. These shops. Those shops. Shops. Shops. Shops.

I wave to the poster seller, sitting with posters spread on road. He waves back. He knows me, since I regularly buy posters fro him. He sells posters of almost every imaginable entity on the planet. Someday I think, he’ll also sell a poster of my Dad. Then Mr. Karambelkar. Whomsoever he is. There will be his poster too. I throw a quick look at them. There is famous Indian female tennis player’s print there. I stare at it for a moment. I can’t get my eyes off the thighs. Those are gorgeous. Enormous. Marble white. They carry a solace in them. They extract the weariness out of the exhausted bodies that walk past them. Their whiteness flashes before the eyes. It reaches deep within and enlightens the darkness inside. No. There is no moment in the pubis. There is a coolness that soothes the soul. Those souls burning in heaven seek it. For it is their only respite. I walk past.

They all know me. All the hawkers. I have communicated wit each of them at least once in these six months. And waved to them or smiled at them later. Just like that. If or if not I am going to buy anything. I do smile at them. Who does? Who smiles at them? I have no answer. So I create one myself.

I look around just for the sake of it. No sign of Harshad around. I knew he wouldn’t be there. If he would’ve waited, I wouldn’t be there. That is a sort of rule of nature between us. It’s meant to change. Maybe it is the rule of the world. Amongst two people meeting, one always has to wait. That could be a law. A law by my name. Like Murphy’s Law.

I stand near the newspaper stand. I usually stand here when I am waiting for someone. Even for a bus. This place never bores you. If reading doesn’t bore you of course. I stand there reading headlines. But the there’s another interesting thing to gaze at. The Hindi film tabloid. It’s got

pictures of actors on the cover in a proper four frame. And in each frame, there is a thought bubble where statements of those actors are written. Something like Preity Zinta in her bubble says “Mujhe filhal kisise pyar nahi hai”..”Lately…I am not in love with anyone..” And likewise…
I am done reading their thought bubble revealing their inner secrets in a single line. Harshad hadn’t yet arrived. I bought another cigarette and began smoking it. I didn’t want to. But I had to deal with stagnancy closing in. I am going to die soon smoking. With cancer. Lung cancer. And I am going to hold Harshad and such bastards responsible for it. I am writing a letter after I return back to my room holding them responsible for my death.

Respectable Sir,
To whomsoever investigating my death. I am suffering from lung cancer due to excessive smoking. And I heold my friends responsible for it. Either by boring me or by making me wait for hours. In case of my death, see to it that they are bored to death by law or are made to wait till they drop dead.
Thanking You
Yours faithfully
“I”

I see Harshad. Fuck him!!!

Chapter ! - 1.a

1.a
I was sleeping in the room. Siesta, like the Italians call it. A long nap in the afternoon. After lunch. There’s nobody in the room. Everybody has something to do. Even I have. If nothing, I have to attend the lectures. But I don’t want to. I never do it these days. It bores me to the core. Everything bores me here. No big deal. Piyush is attending it. It’s good that he is. I don’t want him at the room at this moment. He speaks like shit. He keeps speaking. Then he gets emotional and then he starts burrowing into my brain. He can’t be dealt with alone. He is wisely conversed with in public. Wherein you can distract yourself from his overflowing emotions by indulging into a conversation with someone else and divert him to some other self. World seems a beautiful place without him. At least I can sleep. At least. But I am not able to. I am trying hard to lying on the mattress. But I am not able to.

I begin thinking. I know this will work. I wasn’t sleeping because I had nothing to think of. Only depressing shit. Like future and all. Not worth. But they still intrude my state of well being. I’ve just set them aside. I am thinking about aliens. Worth it. Aliens. If they exist. Do they exist? Why can’t they? They must be. We can’t be alone. And space is seamless. I remember somebody saying space is big. It can’t be big. Something is big or small if it has seams. Seams decide a shape. Shape define size. Space doesn’t have a size. It is not big. It is just seamless. Just like that. This thought depressed me as a kid. It still does. It burdens up on me. It presses me beneath it. I feel blank. I feel helpless. The feeling of endlessness fills up in me making me heavy. I feel weighed down. Darkness fills in. My body loosens up then. Strain oozes out of the threads holding my body together. I feel like a puppet that has lost the ties with fingers that command him. I am slowly dissolving into the darkness before me. My thoughts float away from me. Head that held them starts softening up and the creases are soaked in darkness to flatten up. I hear nothing now. Doors of my ears have closed like those large doors of palaces. Slowly with no one in the vision to operate them. Seeming like a miracle. Out of sheer misconception. I start floating. I am transported to a lighter space. Every inch of me is in a repose.

Just then the mobile phone rings. Fucking phone. Fucking shit. Bhenchod!!! Maa ka bhosda!!!
I open my glued eyes with extreme efforts. I abuse the caller more. A thought of it being my father makes me control it. Irritated me picks up the phone. Irritated me looks at the screen. Irritated me sees a name. Irritated me says ‘Madarchod’! Irritated me answers the call.
“Bol”
“Are you free now??”
“No…why”
“Where are you??”
“Nowhere..”
“Fucker its serious…”
“speak”
“Can you meet me??”
“Yaaaaawwwwwnnnnnn”
“Beer”
“Where??”
“Come to the chowk”
“Okay….wait there…..I am coming”
Harshad on phone. Doesn’t bore that much. Just that his humor is sick. Not sick exactly. It’s filthy. It gets stuck in the urinary tract and fecal matters. It smelled. No, It stunk. It was a proof of his lame imaginative.

I toss aside my bedsheet. Sit lazily on the mattress. I am too pissed off to walk over to the Chowk. But the word is beer. And it is Harshad. Generosity supported by the mess of law and order. Baap Ka Maal. My Dad bribes policemen. His Dad is also bribed by several such Dad’s. He gives a part of it to Harshad to get a degree. He gives a part of it to me for friendship, company, suggestion, guidance and all such shit. But this helps me build a gratitude towards society. Because , it gives me a feeling of being fed by all these Dads along with my Dad. Harshad said beer. When he says that means he is going to crash drinking. We will go!!!

Also when he says beer, either he too is sad or he is too delighted. We have to see what it is.
We stand up. Pull up a jeans. A t-shirt. Fuck I need to wash it. Fuck who cares. Waiter’s not gonna sniff my arm pits. Harshad may. But he’d be drunk.

We leave.

A Thought...

I hate this place. I have been living here for more than an year now. And I tell you…This place sucks!! I call it the arse-hole of the world. A place closest to shit. But not shit. Just close to it. Arse- hole.