Prisoners

It’s been a long time since I wrote something but I was a little busy. Busy revisiting my childhood. Had gone back home for a month.
Meeting my school friends after such a long span of time made me realize that we might’ve grown up and lived a third of our lives but none of us has changed. Everyone amongst our peer group carries the quirks we thought would fade into oblivion as time passed by. But no, they still lurk somewhere in there in each one of us. I guess it’s these quirks that bind us together. And in spite of us having come so far off into our lives, we still want to go back to those old times. Times of stolen ‘tiffin boxes’, incomplete homework, improper uniforms, a single samosa split into countless ‘equal’ shares, canteen brawls, weird ways of punishment…and what not! What we couldn’t have realized at that time was that we are in the process of forming a bond that wouldn’t break for ages.
The truth we realized last month after I don’t know how many years. And it was aptly put by one of my friends while we were in a half sober state sitting by the edge of a gushing stream, “If you come to think of it, we were together in a jail for thirteen years”, he said.
I wish I had asked my friend, “Do you want to go to jail once more?”
But again, I guess we don’t need the answer…

Someday…

I’m so super lazy that I can put a hibernating grizzly to shame. On any given weekend, I adorn the cloak of the archbishop of procrastination. Never mind the grime on it though; I have been planning to get it cleaned since long. And if there’s a place that could qualify as “the Louvre of Laziness”, it has to be mine. There’s a mountain of washed clothes lying in one corner of my room with every piece of clothing begging for its rightful place in the closet. But they will have to wait as I’m “very busy” this Sunday to buy a cupboard. The washbasin is almost in tears of loneliness now, waiting for the new mirror I had promised it months ago since the old mirror broke. And the remains of the old one are a different story altogether. They just hang on, hoping for a decent burial. There’s a small unused refrigerator that resembles the leaning tower of Pisa as one of its legs is gone and it pines for a date with a technician. Seabiscuit is lying somewhere on the table waiting impatiently for the race to begin so it could gallop away to glory. And then there are empty beer bottles. More than three dozen of them, dying to make the journey in a rag picker’s bag to the brewery so they could have their fill. There are a couple of forms in the drawer eagerly waiting to be filled up so they could justify their existence. Just besides the forms are two watches with their arms folded, awaiting a new set of batteries so they could catch up with all the time they’ve lost.
And along with all these things in the house, there’s me, spread all over the bed with my headphones on, scrolling aimlessly through the playlist, awaiting another weekend.
PS: There are a hundred other things besides the ones listed above craving for a mention here. “Calm down!” I say to them, “your turn comes next Sunday.”

We, the people

Come to think of it and you’ll realize that its not the places you’re at that matter. Rather, its the people around you. Its people who make you or break you. Its people who give you the fondest of memories of the place you’d wished you’d never be at, at all. And at the most amazing of places, its people who leave you heartbroken. Its people who bring a smile to your face and its people who bring a tear to your eyes. Its people who hold it for you and its people who hold it against you. Its people who cry for you and its people who laugh at you. Its people who praise you and its people who find fault in you. Its people who really know you and its people who just judge you.

FYI: I’m one of those people.

Then. Now. And how...

Then. Now. Both the words having significant meaning. But when the two are put together, their implication gets multiplied by proportions soaked in years. OK, let’s do a quick reality check of my life gone by:

THEN: Orange flavoured ice candy
NOW: Chocolate shake topped with lavish helpings of ice cream

THEN: Hero BMX
NOW: ROKR E6 with the ‘snoop’, 2GB memory with touch-screen interface and 'a host of other features'

THEN: Tom & Jerry
NOW: The Matrix

THEN: A black and red pair of Bata Bubblegummers
NOW: A black and red pair of Pumas

THEN: Gully cricket
NOW: Pocket tanks

THEN: I love you Rasna
NOW: Cheers to a Kingfisher beer

THEN: Dictionary/Dad
NOW: Google

THEN: Lunch box
NOW: Pepperoni cheese pizza

THEN: Poem recitation
NOW: Pfaffing

THEN: Coins jingling in the pocket
NOW: Credit card swipes

THEN: Camlin HB pencils
NOW: Logitech Keyboard

THEN: Pocket money
NOW: Paycheque

THEN: Mental arithmetic
NOW: Business/category understanding

THEN: Teacher
NOW: Boss

THEN: Family dinners
NOW: Pubs & nightclubs

THEN: Winter vacation
NOW: Weekend

THEN: 'Happy birthday' parties
NOW: Night-outs

THEN: Friends
NOW: Relationships

THEN: Parents
NOW: Career

THEN: Innocence
NOW: Ignorance

I guess life was much much simpler then than it is now...

Should I wait?

Someone gave me a bittersweet smile. Like an angel just made a pact with the devil to take over both the good and the bad in me. To leave me with a blank expression and a confused state of mind. I remember I was so clear in the head till a few moments ago. And now I was left with only one thought as the light faded away and the darkness took me closer and closer to sleep - will the angel and the devil meet again so that someone greets me with that bittersweet smile one more time?

The missing link

I just took a shower. No, not in my bathroom but out in the balcony. It was raining outside. The downpour took away all my worries. So what if it was just a fleeting 15 minutes of my life? For these 15 minutes, I was one with the drizzle. The raindrops seeped into my pores filling me with life sent from the heavens. Just for 15 minutes. And then it stopped and I heard a whisper in my mind asking me to go inside and sleep so that others could also soak in some life. But before I say goodnight, I’d urge you to step out into the balcony or the street or your backyard or wherever. Just step out into the open and wet yourself crazy. Do it because there are others waiting behind you. Because if you don’t, they might be deprived of a chance to taste life…

A storm in the head

My thoughts are spread over the vast horizon of my mind like expansive clouds. I wish it would start raining now and flood the whole street so I could make a paper-boat and clap in joy as it rushes down the stream. Make another one. But this one does a flip flop maneuver and yields to the storm, leaving me soaked in a dismayed smile. You pass my way and ask me what I was doing. I tell you that I was gazing into my future - that I could reach glory and sink or sink even before I take the first step. You think how undecided I am. I laugh at you thinking that my life is so simple; I have only two choices to make…

I write…

Because I’ve always written. I’ve written on notebooks for the fear of my teachers. I’ve written on the walls of the school toilet as rebellion against the teachers. I’ve written on chits of paper to pass them on to friends and chat while a class was going on. I’ve written in crisp white answer-sheets in an exam to stay in the same grade as my friends so I could chat with them. I’ve written on my batchmates’ shirts for pranks. I’ve written my first girlfriend’s name on my hand for all the ‘seriousness’. I’ve written on important documents belonging to my Dad for ignorance. I’ve written a single sentence a hundred times on the blackboard for education. I’ve written on a faded old pair of jeans to make a smart statement. I’ve written on paper napkins to hand out my mobile number to pretty young things and make a fool of myself. I’ve written on window panes frosted by the cold winters and on muddy car windshields to kill time. At my grandfather’s orchard, I’ve written with a piece of charcoal to mark wooden cases filled with apples to show I could work. I’ve written with a trickling line of water on a polished jet black granite kitchen shelf waiting for the food to be served. I’ve written on a slice of bread with ketchup to eat. I’ve written on a mirror with my mother’s lip gloss for the sheer fun of it. I’ve written on freshly laid cement for permanence. I’ve written on the wet sand with a stick for a change. I’ve written because it gives me a high. I’ve written for I believe in writing my own destiny…