self-made fish patties for the lunch can causes mental diarrhea with severe
dream constipation. It happened so that while I was having my afternoon siesta,
like any other Bengali ‘bhadrolok’, after having 6-7 fish patties I dreamt:
father woke me up, this morning, but I found him sleeping inside the car. My
driver, Zia standing beside the car, pulls out a carrier filled with ‘chicken
biryani’. Both men start feeding each together. What? My father (who is dead)
and my driver (who will be dead soon). [...I’m the only guy who wants his
father to be gay...]
the old gentlemen to each other’s company, I start driving the car seating in a
crumpled state. When I was at the flyover that connects Appu Ghar to
Secunderabad Station, I realised that my seating position needs to be changed
and start adjusting my seat by opening the door. A policeman helped me...(how
unreal this dream could be?)
parked my car in a forgotten place and decide to take the metro-rail to reach
home. I left my car keys at home.
station, a gang of girls, playing with colours fell in love with me. I
realised, I’m a not a straight guy [how melodramatic] and so, I dumped them
all; except a fat girl with ponytails with whom I got married. [I seriously
need to operate myself now...] Thankfully, the dream sequence repaired the reel
soon, [I can never be a straight - not even in my dream...uhuh!] so I start
running away from the fat-girl and finally, escaped through a tunnel to the
flyover where Appu Ghar meets Secunderabad. [I saved my 'gayhood'....yeah!]
Now, I am awake. Can anybody tell me where I parked the car?
Lying over my lazy bum, I’m waiting for the last few hours
of ‘this year’ to close-by. Little have we realised that the ‘past 365-days’
was all-spent under the shade of ‘Doomsday’, as predicted by the ancient guys
when they ran out of their scrolls. Then, when it passed without the world
splitting into pieces, we realise ‘it was stated metamorphically’. Indeed!
Look around yourself. The country of peace and non-violence
has suddenly awakened to the most violent expression of humankind; The Great
Satan losing its title to ‘The MAN’ and phallus, became the most degenerated scar
every grown on man-kind. In fact, the world order is assumable, set to change
forever and hopefully, at the 24thhour of this 365thday.
It’s not only the world order, but each one of us,
individually and personally has an irreparable loss to talk about. To me, there
are reams to talk for. Wait a minute! In the initial months, you were counting
a loss; in fact – a great patch-up headway. (Oh, yeah!) Under the impending
shadow of ‘A’ heading far-away, it was a compromising situation to smoothen the
catastrophe to hit on the forthcoming ‘First of July’.
Agree! It was a joyous moment for ‘A’, both financially and
professionally, as he settled down abroad with a lucrative offer but, left me for-everto be homeless once again. For past 37-years, I’ve pretended to be happy with
four walls and a silent voice within me; except of those ‘four years with some
A’ – the years when I lived as anybody else. Well, I’m happy for him, but tome; the doomed walls and silent voice returned. Now, with an unknown future, a
gulp-on-throat, and forced smile; I start to make a living again.
Providence! Oh, don’t make me smile. No sooner did A left me
forever, few carrots are offered by the Providence. An impending promotion, a
car at throw-away prices; only to realise that the ‘I am to be doomed
happened without a raise and the car take-away all that I’ve raised. Inflation
found a new way as bills get doubled and subsidies subsided. Banking is no more
a fun and life passed paying off the EMIs things that I have rented. I was
still managing, till each month – there was a broke-age.
First, the year-old laptop died and a new one is
the only replacement.
The passion dried and the muse had left.
keys were lost and the door was broken.
The taps starts leaking, the air-conditioner was
misused, the gas cylinder leaked, and finally, the plants dried away.
If this was not enough, a series of bouts with families,
friends, colleagues, relatives and domestic help followed throughout the year;
as each month passes. Well, stop finding blame with me; if relations has gotsoured day-by-day. I could narrate their state, at length; truthfully, I sternly
A bunch of colleagues promised a holiday-trip only
to trip off, at the right moment.
A junior colleague asked for 2-hour break when
the project was underway, and then didn’t turn up or informed to make the
A father-son duo, belongs to my extended family,
stayed for 10-days at my expenses and left me a bill in an inflationary state.
A dearsister, always complain and blames me for things-that-happened years back; but
decline to give an ear to my woes, when I wish to lament.
An aunt, howsoever good, always cribs, complains
and nags like a ‘pain’.
Finally, the dear mother – she sided my dear sister and had
the wrath for all-the-nonsense. Ugh, the year is finally lost and all myrelations have doomed away. Sitting in these last few hours, with handfulcomplains, I wish myself – a happy new year ahead.
My home got no clock yet, I am punctual to core. I got no
driving license yet, there is a car parked down that belongs to me. I can’t
measure distance yet, have walked miles; and I am bored yet I trying to be
Oh, this ain’t a roadside signage that drawn my
lecherous self, to sweaty and hard-bodied men under-constructing a road or
building, to whom I could serve myself as the turkey that they will feast upon.
Rather, it’s the unsaid rule of 36 people who work together but, never talk – AT
Historically, I know a ‘shy guy’. It was me - a
silent geek with grandpa’s spectacles although my childhood; the only among the
50 students whose transformation to a melodramatic, over-the-top, cacophonic
(but outspoken) bitch was the talk of the town today. In fact, I was so silent
that nobody knows that ‘I was gay’ till, I start speaking so voluminous that
nobody could ‘make me straight’ now.
Dude, let’s concentrate on those 36 people rather
writing a character certificate for your own self. (Err…) Okay!
So, here’s this 36 people who comes to work every day
(in singles and doubles) but never punctual, find a seat for themselves before
the computer and remain seated for 8…no 9…err! 10 hours. What’s un-natural
about it? All goes to work and seat in their chair and do their work, on/ off
computers…! Oh yea, these are different.
In a 1500 sq. ft, where the air-conditioner don’t
work when it is summer but, keeps you freezing when it’s raining or cold
outside – the 36 people seat in their chairs, next to each, in different
cubicles and start working. An hour, another hour, (add) few more hours; they still
No looking to LEFT, not to the RIGHT; nothing to
scratch, nobody sighs…no phiss-phiss, no khus-phuss! Maintain distance,
maintain silence…men are at work. Sometimes, the silence sound so horrible that
even a metal pin might feel embarrassed of ‘being dropped’. (“Oops! I made some
noise, SORRY!”) The icy-cold conditioned air swept through the room, embalmed
each to a corpse laid to rest in their grave-desk. The best of the dedicated
peoples, among all the countrymen, that my company has hired. And, the only
non-dedicated me who jump around, crackdown the most lewd jokes and breathes so
moanfully that could give my neighbor a ‘boner’. (Ouch!)
Look at the bright side, for Heaven sake! They work
dedicatedly and concentrate to core. Oh yea! Getting their freelance work done
at office expenses; fixing the same errors for n-number for the same program in
every similar project and continues for more than 6-months, fixing their dates
and lovenotes on Spark (intra-chat message application) and staring to their
computer screen without a blink – if that’s what you call working then, indeed
I take a bow. Has anybody heard this, “All work and no play make 36 dull men…”
Surprisingly, these 36 people unfix their posterior
from the seat and walk out the glass door, turn bright, fun-filled, cantankerous
individuals. Ain’t that sounds strange? Sometimes, I feel they are too hideous
and too ‘silent’ in their real self. I feel betrayed now coz’ my HR promised me
“a energetic and amazing workplace…”
Since, you love reading me through my write-ups than to
chat-in-person, let me now do some talking.
Three-months and you are gone. I am somewhat recycling to ‘what
you have met’ (with few exceptions); keeping myself busy at work. In past two
months, I have started contributing and collecting accolades again – for my
work, for my ideas, for my creative talents; and yes, the political brick-batting.
[Suddenly, worms of politics have dirtied my workplace and, I get soaked into
it. I hate this but always the best player to the game.]
Anyways, this is not to speak about what going at work. It’s
all about YOU and ME – the two most dearest peoples I have loved, and misses.
I haven’t said you many a things, till now. I haven’t spoken
about me to you, so hurtfully. Agreed, we did spend years with each other; many
a evenings, fought-and-kissed, made to the bed and satisfied; yet…I always remain
standing in the dark behind you, watching and waiting.
In the last few months, a strange feeling was overcoming me
and I was basking to glory; or about to reach your love till you bought a
ticket to highlands. I regaled and left to my mooring with a broken tambourine.
I haven’t said you, that last time when you hugged me – the night before you
left; I had a gulp hidden inside my throat about to explode, yet I smiled back;
only to break down once you are gone. That night, I cursed myself, and complained
to Almighty (if there is any) for making me ‘what I am’.
Honestly, I don’t recall the numbers of raindrops that have
drenched me one evening, while we were returning on a bike from Gol Gumbaz.
I don’t make an effort to visit the places where we have memories of ours. I
lived those moments to every nanosecond, I knew your touch, I can feel your
breath. But now, they all gone frail and fail to measure the distances…
I ain’t complaining, but I impatiently wait for that little
chat window to open with a scribbled word from you. Do you know sometimes, it
feels like waiting for the postman, from the yesteryears and then he cycled
through without any packet from me? I know, it sounds too dramatic, rather
melodramatic to core but, that’s how it feels. And, finally one-day you says
something which is nothing much a few monosyllables… (Ah, dear me!) I die a
thousand deaths reading those monosyllables.
I ain’t complaining, I do understand – we have lives
different from each other. I ain’t trying to bring the poles together; I didn’t
wish for ‘something crazy’. I know, I am standing at the dead-end and there’s
nothing for me, to continue. In fact, I expect nothing except ‘you’ – the forbidden
fruit, which the GOD has denied to me. I ain’t a Eve, I am Adam dahlin’.
But, could you spare few minutes after your friends are
gone, the prayers are said, the food is eaten, and the lights are out. Could
you spare few minutes for me, and say ‘that you’re fine, you do think about me’.
Life might start cycling and, I am hopeful, there will be ‘a day’ when we both
meet each other again – till that time, please spare me few minutes of your for
After an extended and
exhaustive orgylicious weekend, when the mind needs no more; I stand bare-backing
my camera, and walks miles of Hyderabad for more orgasms. (Ain’t, I confided to being a self-proclaimed maniac. If not, then it’s best of the examples.) Clad in
my unwashed, crumpled blue denims that can smeel far away, I strayed around the
streets hawkish-ly for the gothic drama to unfold. But fatelorn...
In this part of Andhra
Pradesh, Goddess Yellamma – one of the many myriad forms of Kali being
celebrated with aplomb. As traditionally, the gold and silvery brass pots craftily
painted with rich turmeric and extravagant layers of vermillion shaping the
surface, filled with rice mixed with jaggery and fried julienne onion strip are
carried to the temple by women, to please the god for gifting rich harvest.
For an atheist like me,
this piece of information is not interesting; but, what could set me a** run
through the streets are the gothic face-masks that most do. Yellamma, as
imagined, is vociferous, dominative kind known for her temper is worshipped by
a bundle of screaming cheetahs dressed in their gothic attire but artistically
best. But, I am fatelorn and found none as the entire day passed.
Yet to my surprise, when revisited
the camera book, are the glimpses of vibrant colours of festivity filled with holy
orb and sunshine. Holyness devoured but I ain’t satiated yet. (Thumbnail images
of Bonalu festival are lined below.)
I ain't a brood yet, there's nothing significant left to live after AZ depart. In fact, what he has left behind are the 'cherished memories' and a life; and continued. We still talk over the phone, although, it costs me damn. But, nothing worth than listening to him. (He is gradually settling down. Good.)
As for me, here's a few lines that wraps it all.
- I -
Hath the blossomed spring, be withered away, from my orchard
For, my dear love, left me to my own.
The butter bed, now longing for a body, to crumble its folds
But, dear sleep - hath kept me awake, all alone.
- II -
Yunhi kuch baatyon ko, bayan karne ki, izzazzat nahi hoti...
unkempt corners – a shirt, a memento, an empty bottle and the mobile number
(that won’t be dialed now) is what's left. My fingers run through each of these,
rested on few, and hold – to clean. Then, placed them back to where they were;
in dust, of unkempt corners of my household.
dripping out…but I ain’t moving by a single bite; except of a few cups of tea –
sweet and bitter. A silence speaks, a dog bark, and sheathes of breeze fly by my
dusty household. I’m still the motionless like the shirt, the memento, the
empty bottle and the number (that won’t ring again).