Tuesday, July 26, 2011

एक उम्मीद


    It was a quiet evening. The roads were deserted. No lights in the houses. Reshma knew it wasn’t safe to be out so late but her work mandated the stealth that only the night could provide. She walked to the place decided upon and waited. Any minute now. She’d broached the idea to her friend. He thought it was a bit too extreme but helped her anyway. She looked at her watch. It was time. She pulled out a package. Placed it down. Then pulled out a gun and aimed.

    Chickoo liked to look at the empty road from her bedroom window every night before bed. It looked like a giant worm with streetlights for eyes. Tonight the road wasn’t empty. She could see someone, a girl, walking on it.  She went and stood near a lamp post under her house. The light illuminated Reshma didi’s face. She waved but didi didn’t see her; she was busy removing something shiny from her purse. Chickoo wasn’t sure what she saw next. She wasn’t sure if she should’ve woken up ma. So she just went to sleep.

    Suchitra hurried in the kitchen. She had woken up late. She still had to make Jaideep’s breakfast and wake Chickoo up for school. Reshma still hadn’t arrived with the eggs. She cursed the day she hired her. Never helped around the house but always audaciously asking for a raise. Suchitra just knew there was something shady about her but she couldn’t let her go. You try finding another maid in this dastardly city! Eggs! Damn!!  Suchitra picked up her purse and stepped out to get the eggs herself.

मेमसाब,
अब्बू की ज़मीन कर्जे में थी। अम्मी बीमार। खाने को कुछ नहीं था। मैं पेट से हूँ। साहब को मत बताना। वो दिन हम दोनों से गलती हो गयी थी। माफ़ी। सलीम से बन्दूक ली और अम्मी अब्बू को मुसीबत से निजाद दी। मुझे भी निजाद मिल जाएगी तो अच्छा लगेगा। आगे अल्लाह की मर्ज़ी। चीकू को मेरा प्यार देना। आपके अंडे देहलीज़ पर रखे हैं। एक दर्जन। छुट्टे पैसे अन्डो के नीचे हैं। खुदाहाफिज़।

 आपकी,
रेशमा 

    Suchitra read the letter five times after she looked at Reshma’s bloodied body. Five times before Chickoo woke up to her mother’s screams. 

Friday, May 20, 2011

subterranean mist


so a man walks into this bar.... no no no... scratch that. a girl walks into an underground club. she's young. 19. exploring avenues. it’s her first time in a place like this. its new. scary. scarier than a normal club. better. all sorts of people here. in feathers, in robes, in neon, in black, in leather, in spandex, in really hot sweaters, in things where certain body parts get chilly. Xerxes' Other Harem. that's the name of this extraordinary place. people say forbidden things happen here. things which set you free. the place where Hedon himself roams happy. scarves... yeah... pretty forbidden. no time for personal idiosyncrasies. a lot of leather here. miss 19 comes in here wanting exactly that. a little variation. not fun though. that was out of her agenda. overrated shit, happiness and love. it took her years, but she came up with the most apt definition for what she thought love was. to love, she felt was to trust. and to trust was to sign a don't ask, don't tell agreement ridden with perpetual, incessant and disappointing curiosity. she just wanted a good feeling. something to alleviate her frustration with all the shit that was going on in her life. dealing with her new identity, trying so hard not to hit the downward spiral. tonight though. she caved. convinced herself that if she did this, things wouldn't seem so fucked up. rest assured this was her last resort (this is for those lousy hypocritical half ass bastards who think what could a 19 year old possibly have to worry about that would make her take such drastic measures. and if you are one of those lame ass idiots stop reading right now). crying, entering copious amounts of "dear diary", even went emo for a while, cutting, blood, the works. drinking, smoking... wow, i she could really use a smoke right now. the cool menthol lifting your innards to a lighter universe and make everything, momentarily, seem okay. but i digress. the point is, she was at the edge of the rope,  at the end of her tether, at the... think of some good metaphor, will you. i'm tired and sleep deprived. she decides to do it alone. many who know her know about her situation, none care. not their fault, such level of comprehension was beyond them but somehow, for that very same reason, she was more fucked up than any of them. coffee used to be her reprieve. she gave it up because she had nightmares. 3 days and still going strong. not that strong, though; Xerxes wouldn't have a new customer otherwise. she saw things there. not that she didn't expect to, just that having a grotto inside a basement club was strange, even for this place. and a guy slowly OD-ing himself on chameleon blood isn't quite what she had in mind either. ooh... a guy just shot himself... cool?  this night really was turning out be the stuff. she spots a target. all units converge. "hi, i'm miss 19. you are..?" "seriously screwed up, so fuck off!" and the target retreats. two tries later, same shit. brilliant morale boost for miss 19. she knows it. this is the edge of her rope, the end of her tether, (insert your awesome metaphor here). shit. an underworld of all things unsaid. a place which bound you in worse. a place where no matter how fucked up you are, people still need you for their daily fix. and yet. and yet... a little 19 year old bisexual doesn't get acceptance. satan rejects stalin.
an unusual number of people are wearing scarves tonight. still no wind in the grotto. at Xerxes' Other Harem, Hedon lives.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

a sudden revelation at 5 am on a thursday night.


Funny thing, life... things change, but no one sees it. One suddenly goes from listening black metal to 80s French and American house music. From hating one piece of electronic equipment to absolutely adoring it the next day. From wanting everything money could buy when one is 16 to being mildly bemused by the uselessness of it all when one is 20 while watching a 28 year old obsessing over the very same things. From wanting nothing but to study one’s whole life, dedicating it to academic research to just wanting to earn enough money to make a living for others. From having to worry about one’s emotional problems to becoming so detached that the not-worrying becomes a cause for concern.... but only slightly. From yearning Death to escape it all to planning a well caliberated end to a structureless life.