Freedom

One day I got freed. I got myself unchained when I woke up and picked my heart up from the dirt. And ran. Since then I love being Free.

Free from the thought that had captured my mind and bewitched my heart. Free from the aroma of you being there. Free from the time ticking away moments of solitude in your gracious company. Free from nothing that bothers me. Free enough when it aches a little less. Free from the early morning texts. Free from the late night sex. Free from feeling ignored by someone. Free from being a keen attention of someone. Free from feeling insecure. Free from staying secured. Free from being a clingy nut. Free from staying as a private possession. Free from those painful worries. Free enough to cherish bitter memories. Free from the clichéd tag. Free to parade as a stag. Free from the promises that we traded. Free from all sorts of emphatic morals. Free from the chained edges. Free from sick grudges. Free from truths wrapped in lies and more lies. Free from the emotional addiction. Now I am free enough to embrace your absence. Free to keep my love for myself.

You’re free to stay gone because I’m just fine without you. I more than enjoy my relationship with freedom. 

The nightlife

The sun might forget to shine, the rain might deny falling but the day religiously makes its way to the night. The sun gets enveloped by the apparent horizon. Like hues on a palette unite together and let the dusk, a thief, steal everything. It then paints the sky selfishly. The reptile darkness comes out of the underbrush like a silent snake.

With its poisonous bite, the earth gets without colour. And there they come out, the countless stars, hanging like a poem against the black board. The world gets somewhat lit by the rich light of star dust. 

And it becomes the time for the hungry insects to flush out from their hideouts. They creep in search of food. They crawl out blindly in a crowd of thousands like them. They meet each other. Sometimes it’s in the form of bright, flashy colors; sometimes it’s in the form of mimicry—looking or acting like dangerous insect. They don’t know each other but they know their common intention. They curiously feed on one another. 

The night gets deeper, without the color, without the sound. In the silent darkness two hungry insects eat each other's spit. They happen to exchange thoughts, desires, blood, sweat, saliva and lust. Two hungry insects survive the night by eating each other's appetite.

With the dawn twilight the envelop opens once again. The colors, the sounds come back to life bit by bit. The insects then once more clothe into human beings.

Pussy Tale

I am going to introduce to the world my new housemate with claws and whiskers. I have started to live with her purrs and furs. She is utterly sweet, in an unpredictable "this is the honeymoon period before I eventually kill you using knives" kind of way. I have got a 4 months old kitten at my place (which reminds me why my mother treated us with awesome food tonight. It’s her 4^th monthaversary). My family kept her name “Cheeta” while I prefer “Cheeto”.

I have become a cat owner for the first time, rather a pet owner for the first time. Except the days when my nani got a pair of parrots and when my brother got home a lab pup. She is absolutely a gorgeous kitten but doesn’t fancy being a show pony as she is secretly quite shy – mass public adoration isn’t for her. Granny (Naani) says she’s the most beautiful cat she’s ever seen.

Thousands of years ago, cats were treated as royalty. Cats have never forgotten this. Unlike dogs, cats won’t follow you around constantly trying to impress you and get attention from you. Cats have their own unique personalities and are quite often funny. Usually she is very timid and runs and hides when anyone moves around the house. It's quite funny because it's like she thinks that she is going to be in trouble for something. She will come to you to be pet though, but always on her terms.

I believe all the time she dreams of catching mice and likes to chase squirrels. Which once almost killed her. One day I woke up with mum’s and nani’s voices calling for her. They had been looking for her since early morning. But no clue. I left for work.  After few hours, mum called up and told that a kid found her on the street and took it along. She jumped on the street below, cracking her forelimbs, chipping her nails and scratches all over… from the third floor. We assumed she would have gone behind some squirrel or flew after a pigeon.

If cats could speak, they'd probably do so in a low voice, not quite intelligible, but loud enough for you to know they'd insulted you. It’s fun to watch her flip and tumble a deck rail or ladder.

If you're a cat owner and a computer user, you know how difficult it can be to get anything done with a cat around. Cat loves nothing more than curling up directly in front of your keyboard for attention. You would be engrossed and staring at your screen and this little monster with paws would attack you without making a hertz noise. You react after that and it will make all her hairs stand up on end like a full-body Mohican. You would wonder what went wrong and she’ll be like “Talk to my tail”. I can assure you, it's all the more heartbreaking when you have a mournful Irish folk ballad playing at the same time.

In just 4 months she has become an unbelievable part of the family. Now she is recovered from all her wounds. In her excited moments she loves to mounting the chests of unsuspecting sleeping people and staring into their eyes intensely until they wake up. Or simply nibble with the nose. She does that to me every morning, which is quite early for me.

But it is fun watching her bat at insects or dangling strings, attacking your blanket-covered toes in the morning, her being curled up on the couch... can’t believe on my countless words for her. would it be called as my love for her? What if it's true that cats own her owner's mind :O

" I'm only a cat,

and I stay in my place...

Up there on your chair,

on your bed or your face!

I'm only a cat,

and I don't finick much...

I'm happy with cream

and anchovies and such!

I'm only a cat,

and we'll get along fine...

As long as you know

I'm not yours... you're all mine! "

Number 2-meaning-Do Numbari

It was really a hot day. A little too hot than usual. I was coming back from work by Metro. I got down at Yamuna Bank Station where I get to change the train. Unexpectedly I decided to sit at the platform for a while. Comparatively this station is pretty different from others and I have always found it close to my heart. The huge complex is across the Yamuna and rests on its floodplains. The west sided platform everyday hosts the hottest sunset view. I love it. So I hunted for a decent place to sit and watch the sunshine retreat.

I’d have spent just a few minutes there that I got interrupted. A bulky man in red t-shirt and black lowers appeared. I removed my ear plugs to listen to what is he saying. In his sissy voice he was asking for help. He said he has lost his wallet and he needs to go back to Jaipur. He was asking merely 80 bucks. I gave him a quick scan instead of instant help. He was wearing gold rings, a bracelet, a hanky kind of a thing and was carrying a hefty cell phone. I asked him couple of questions and told him to stand a bit away. He then said it’s been hours and he’s ashamed of asking people, have begged already 50 odd people and no one is ready to help. I paused for a second to empathize, took out 100 bucks and gave it to him. He took no minute to get disappeared. While watching him from a distance only one question popped up ‘out of 50 people am I the only one with humanity’?

Today this incident completed a week. Deep down I was happy I could help someone like that but I had forgotten. I was coming back from work again. It was a sticky whether today. Got down at Yamuna Bank Station, Metro was too crowded, so I deliberately missed couple of them. Then I reached to my station. I hardly look at people as I am generally lost in my playlist but I thought I saw him. To confirm I moved a little faster in his direction. same clothes. Same bracelet and a hanky like thing in his hand. He walks gayish. Ohh yes… it was him. I shouted ‘hey you…Jaipur Guy…’ he turned around I asked him with a rude tone ‘Do you think this is Jaipur’ expectedly he said what are you talking about and I could just say ‘you faker bitch… May you choke on your own shit’ and moved swiftly. While crossing the Footover Bridge I realized ‘how I fell an easy prey to this con man and not those 50… I was the sitting duck for this bloody wimp’. I was just too exhausted to react; I looked up at the dark blue sky, dotted with the occasional wispy cloud, like strokes from a dry paintbrush felt someone saying katta!

In search of a cure...

My heart aches daily and hourly. Not because I carry a broken heart. Not because I lost a prized possession. Not because I have a heart problem but because of disinclination towards my blog. Whenever I am not writing, I find myself thinking about writing. There can never be a deeper love in my life. But I believe the procrastination powers keep me knocked down resulting in just 9 posts since the inception.

I don’t feel ashamed for ignorance because I’m more concentrating on my professional writing. And I don’t feel shilly-shallied when I say I am growing. But then no one ever excused his way to success. I need to put a bit of effort and I can save my blog from dying. Though there’s always a constant urge but covered by puzzled thoughts, laziness and ignorance. I have numerous things to write about that born in my mind and fail to germinate. This makes a ruthless murderer of my own thoughts.

Now I am finally coming back to it as I feel the desire. I will have to write to realize my desire. I can and I should forever feel the supreme essence of what it truly means to be a writer. Forever because there's never enough time, there’s never enough days, there's never enough seconds. It will take rest of my life but I will never get this time back. This time when my feelings are swirling and rumbling and never staying the same... I hope to fix my heart ache through writing. I hope to correct myself and gain a routine. So what if I have fewest of readers, my heart needs to unzip it slowly with anticipation at what’s beneath.

Wish myself godspeed!