Wednesday, August 10, 2011
RK LOVES ME, RK LOVES ME NOT :)
The deal is signed sealed and delivered. RK really loves me a lot .So all you mortal souls having penchant for tough MAN LOVE can rejoice or wipe their tears. When my chips are really down and I absolutely want to let myself go,there comes RK with his unconditioned love to heal my soul by sprinkling something (you imagine!!!!) on my already broken four chambers.
Sorry, RK. I really should have cut down on my vacation, precisely to pump up your gigantic ego. I didn’t want to burst it. Believe me. I also love you a lot. ;-)
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Poor in India; let’s talk of moral poverty
When your body cant make it out to the compartment door and the train is already on the go, one little man has no option otherwise to sit on his kneecaps, I say kneecaps and I say little man ‘cause I was the first one to accuse him of playing footsie and knew that the same railroads took away both his legs. What becomes of me If I’m amputated below knee .I shudder in my 5’7” stature , and that’s the most insignificant one. I standing, he sits by the side on his begging bowl, looking through his jaundiced eyes.
Station after station the train gets jam-packed. Not an inch to move. Not an ounce of oxygen to breathe. The stench of Sweat, occasional deodorant, fart and name calling, rowdy on lookers and daily hooligans. Which one I put at the top of my list? So that the rest don’t matter so much. Isn’t this called prioritizing? Now there is no way to survive other than calling on my daily dose of masochistic traits. How could I live without those?
“Ei bhire ke jani niche bose achhe “(Someone sitting on the ground in this crowded train)
“Dada handicapped achhe “
“Oh”
My focal point crosses the whole bogie, touches the disillusioned hearts and looks with dismay at the leathery cynics, which I’m to become or already have been one. Can’t find the little man. The fans move in the pace sweats run through your cheeks, Add sound of music from the ring tones. Add taste, the sweat that just sipped through the Corner of your mouth. What could you do? Hands are cuffed literally. Goes numb after holding on so long. So goes your Psyche.
Well the one hr. or one decade is over. People rejoice the arrival of Sealdah, the terminal station. The night mare ends and the confidence build up.
Where is he? People are running away as fast as they could. The Din and bustle can override any ones scream, the scream of getting stampeded. Oh sorry me, do I have to say that? And a single man can’t muster a lot of decibel, I suppose. No didn’t see him. Not even his mangled little body, No news is a good news and for a good thing.
I’m going to believe the man made out before any one could. I am going to believe he made out in any station before this .I also believe that he made his best to save his face from a foot wear imprint . And I am also going to believe that by all these we all believe we have saved our collective face.
Tomorrow I hope I can see him once more and stand vindicated.
Station after station the train gets jam-packed. Not an inch to move. Not an ounce of oxygen to breathe. The stench of Sweat, occasional deodorant, fart and name calling, rowdy on lookers and daily hooligans. Which one I put at the top of my list? So that the rest don’t matter so much. Isn’t this called prioritizing? Now there is no way to survive other than calling on my daily dose of masochistic traits. How could I live without those?
“Ei bhire ke jani niche bose achhe “(Someone sitting on the ground in this crowded train)
“Dada handicapped achhe “
“Oh”
My focal point crosses the whole bogie, touches the disillusioned hearts and looks with dismay at the leathery cynics, which I’m to become or already have been one. Can’t find the little man. The fans move in the pace sweats run through your cheeks, Add sound of music from the ring tones. Add taste, the sweat that just sipped through the Corner of your mouth. What could you do? Hands are cuffed literally. Goes numb after holding on so long. So goes your Psyche.
Well the one hr. or one decade is over. People rejoice the arrival of Sealdah, the terminal station. The night mare ends and the confidence build up.
Where is he? People are running away as fast as they could. The Din and bustle can override any ones scream, the scream of getting stampeded. Oh sorry me, do I have to say that? And a single man can’t muster a lot of decibel, I suppose. No didn’t see him. Not even his mangled little body, No news is a good news and for a good thing.
I’m going to believe the man made out before any one could. I am going to believe he made out in any station before this .I also believe that he made his best to save his face from a foot wear imprint . And I am also going to believe that by all these we all believe we have saved our collective face.
Tomorrow I hope I can see him once more and stand vindicated.
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