Focus,Focus & Gone!

Just as you cant pull strings out of needles easily life doesnt work that easily. Oh. And i was about to die today though. Almost. But i have certainly discovered human beings, do not, do not and cannot adjust with ideal situations in life. They yearn, crave, beg, kill, borrow, steal, murder, rape, but eventually as they achieve something even minutely perfect, utopic, ideal in a person, situation or job ideal they scrape out of it with their  nails dug firmly into the rotten ground, pull, haul and wrench themselves out of the deal and announce that they have suddenly attained freedom! I am FREE, I am FREE! hell no! you are not. You are stuck you sick idiot! and you shall never be free! Understand? No. They, dont, wont and will never. Its like as Sarnath Banerjee said- gelusil is the omnipresent medicine for some, some blood, bone and lung, breast bearing creature will never understand life isnt about the ideal but the breath, your breath and how well you draw it.

EVERY WEDNESDAY, I KILL PART II

......in the half, dim light she peered and wrinkled her brows searching for something intently, as if it was not her own house. Not her own home. Well, it was not her's, ever. She never belonged though. In her whole life, in her own life she had been a drifter, knowing only compliance and consequently silent regret. Sticking to thorough conformity, she had lost her free, lively spirit and her will to choose, opine and reject. She flowed sluggishly through the grim, sawdusty and bad odour of life with a know it all pernicious smile. Even when she was suffering, emotional or physical pain she endured it with a smile asif she saw it coming!
She plonked down on the shabby armchair, lighting the single, loner, tall lamp standing in the corner after several minutes of peering motivelessly into the dark. The murakami was now, on the cups of her roundish breasts, an inch away from her face and the rest of her body lying inertly in a l'shaped manner. Her eyes wooed the book  but her mind was thinking of something else! The dilemma the loss and the haplessness didnot matter to her. Not anymore. Suddenly like a transporting spell, an old distorted memory came back to her. Snowladen roads, hand in hand, the whiskey bottle swinging in his hand and her other held the single pristine yellow coloured rose, that she has just been gifted. It was there 6th date, but while she yearned to embellish every part of his body with sweat beads and hickies , he seemed like a happy patient man swinging her hand and embracing her wet lips every now and then. It was her, it seemed...................................

EVERY WEDNESDAY, I KILL PART I

the ash fell in a disdainful way...she looked up into the stark yellow light of the cheap bulb hanging overhead. she swept the ash stains across the table n reached out again for the sodden coffee cup. three months pregnant. broke. hormones at a wreck. chocolate craving. almost roofless. a dark dark very dark room. a sparrow twittered at the window sill. cussing at it, she swept her arms across the room knifing the air consequently scaring it away. grubby dirty hair, white tee ,she swept her oily hand across her breast, leaving a mark. brows crossed ever so fiercely she peered into the newspaper, JOBS page. Looked as if she would kill it just by looking. "aaaarrggghh" - she threw away the page in utter disgust,  swept the back of her hand across her cracked lips and dragged her weary body across the room into a stinking bathroom.  Thumping her ass down on the toilet set she snatched a tattered 2003 paperback edition of Murakami - Norwegian wood from a broken wooden rack beside the fluffy pink woolen toilet seat cover. Left over touches from extravagant bygone days. Few seconds ticked by, she pushed the book back inside n completed her morning 'kriya' and almost in an involuntary way leapt out of the bathroom. She looked around in the half light...

what is love, lust and happiness? dont ask, i wont be able to tell you! i see hungry glassy empty hollow yet hopeful yet dead eyes, yellow vomit on the roadside corner, thrown away bits of rotten food, grubby hands scraping amongst those obscure bits and pieces! i see elbows up gentlemen, breasty lady ahoy! i see pushing, shoveling, grumbling, stealing, accusing, shouting, back stabbing, blaming, fumbling, whoring and cussing! The world is a brilliant blue green jean colour and it silently and peacefully goes round and round and round...........WE tumble grumble mumble to hell sordid enough to make flowers wither away. I wish we could live life the Dr. Seuss way! Up up Up and away!!!!

My father!

he is a fine fellow,
oh how i wish i could say so,
The tree is so-a-so hollow,
no,no,no,it cant be that low...

A dreamer, a lover, an enthusiast, a naxalite, a horny intellectual, a bleeding heart forlorn worried frenzied father, just these adjectives? No, nO, much more. A painter, a poet, a sexist, an intelligent, gentle man. A lonely, broken monster.....who thrives on the blood of waste materials and on the pernicious waters from the crevasses of the dead caves located near the end of the world. A man who gave his everything for his family and got back nothing. A man who tried when Odysseus gave up on Ithaca, a man who fought so hard he could have made Spartacus hang his head in shame.
No man ever lost like that, a glorious loser. A loser who understands what it feels to achieve, win, grab success by it's groin and grind it into power, anarchy and stability. If i had enough balls ( sadly i have none) i would have made a museum on his name, and howled out to the world to let everybody know, how god like he is really, how horrible, heartless, dominating he is and how gentle, thoughtful and artistic he is. I wish him, silently, from my ivory tower, all the best and say, Father, "salute"! 

Have you ever kissed a corpse? or been raped from the ass hole several times lovingly? Contradictory, right? juxtaposition, or should you say? i have been. Ask me how. and i'll fumble like a beautiful butterfly lost in the heavenly smelling dandelion field. He is an abuser, a saviour, a Santa Claus, a rapist, a father;perfect, ingenious, a boyfriend; responsible,ever cautiously stupendously ferociously correct! Have you ever felt your nose burning, that if you flatten the palm of your hands, along with the creamy air inside, the love would slip away, too!there are so many old houses in south kolkata still, fiercely hidden by Crappy tin posters of useless redundant roll shops, courier service counters and posthumously famous confectionery graves. They are sometimes cream colored, withered, dilapidated, but wreak of love and homeliness. They are funnily shaped and put up bad competition with the new straight dead hollow rude apartments of south kolkata. You steal a glance of the new,flat'ish trams, speedily chumming its way down the road, and you feel like heaving a sigh for the big, heavy dead ones. 
Oh i was talking of being fucked! No? No. It hurts and sometimes it doesn't. You care so much at times and then again understand if your feet is stuck in muck, you have to wait to get back home to wash it off properly. Well for now, i can blame my genes, but then again, "ke sa ra sa ra, whatever will be, will be, the future's not ours to see, ke sa ra sa ra".......