Buoyancy/Loneliness

I would like you to see what I have seen. 

…a never ending twilight from dawn to dusk as if the stubborn sun is sulking beneath the menacing grey clouds but not budging from its hideout like a spoilt brat behind the couch or a terrorist in a hostage situation.

…the well-fed content packs of clouds prowling around and over the clean brown sea, lazing around unbothered by the teasing naked frolicking prey, never giving in to the temptation of striking a single firm blow at the shutter constantly aimed at them. 

…the constant rumbling of the waves that often rise above and beyond the tallest among them, a hungry stomach baying for food, pushing and pulling and stabbing and slapping and burning and tossing them about leaving them with bruised knees and yellow soles and red eyes and sand in their ears, throwing them around while they struggle to mimic who they were before they knew where they came from and fail miserably. 

…the jostling and holding hands and pushing and giggling, the screaming when a married finger traces another married chest and a married claw clings to another married back, a constant brazen merry-go-round of skin against skin, the seeing yet not noticing, the bulges and the mounds and the aging torsoes and the clinging straps, the hardening of nipples man and woman alike not due to arousal but due to relentless pounding or salt and sand and shell and conch, the buoyancy of mind and body, the cleansing and the letting go by holding on ever so tightly. 

…the quiet metamorphosis of sand to a giant mirror while the water teases them ever more inside, reflecting the beasts overhead while an active silence envelopes the world. 

…the clear water and the brown sand engaged in a hypnotic dance like him and her, the sand being tossed around and carried to heights it would never reach without the water, the water appearing brown only till you look closely, as closely as you could and then you would notice it is totally clear, totally unaffected, a mind and a body of its own, while the sand settles down to take a breather, unable to keep up. 

…the intense archaeological glare of a child staring at it oblivious to everything else but those teasing shells which made fleeting appearances between waves, a game of detection and memory played against an immortal foe, unaware that it is the precursor to all games known to mankind, reinventing the wheel for itself like every child should. 

…the hypnotic revolutions of those old white-winged silent gliders of the sky around it, as if obeying some ancient law that the sea has let them into, or on second thoughts, as if tied to a string with the child, maybe humoring it like their namesakes would. 

…i cannot see you the way I would like to or see things like your eyes see them all the time. Yet things have meaning when you see what I have seen. Things turn precious when you see them. 

I would like you to see what I have seen. 

The Dangling conversation – 9

I am tired yaar. Everyday something new, every week a new cause to sulk over, 3 good days and suddenly the fourth day she stops talking to me – my life turns into a mystery novel and I have to keep figuring out what it was that I did now which she is mad over. 

You her and me him. Never ending is it?

I just don’t like coming home these days yaar. I wish I didn’t have to. I feel I am living in a reality show, being judged everyday, constantly on the edge as to what I am doing is what i should be doing. She finds something or the other to be angry at or mad with. I hate the silent treatment. Fucking tell me whats the matter or let it be, don’t expect me to be a thermometer or a barometer and sense your mood all the time.

I know exactly what you are talking about. I’ve gotten used to it in all these years, yet somewhere it always gets under my skin. Why is your hair not combed today? You’ve suddenly put on weight, havent you? Why do you look so weak and lost so much weight, your trouser looks as if its on a hanger? Why are you outside home every night these days? The wifi switch was left on all night yesterday. How come you are home and free in working hours today?How come you never come home for lunch these days? You are always addicted to your phone. And on and on and on for 37 friggin years, I shall remain a kid even when I am 50. I sometimes feel all my actions are to please him, which is why I have turned into such a people pleaser, I am always looking for approval of my actions from outside, maybe the approval I never get at home. They are both such wonderful people, yet gosh – such melodrama, such entitledness, such victimhood, such expectations. How on earth do they get along with so many people outside home, and be the star of wherever they go? Such totally different people outside and inside home.

I don’t know. We just keep on rubbing every incidence in our head, we pretend to ignore they don’t matter to us at all. I have been brought up in such a different atmosphere, I can’t get used to it even after so many years. I know this topic bores you to death, but yaar, is it something with us? Or is it with them? I keep feeling it’s something about me that she doesn’t like. Which family has a feeling of envy at their own’s success, instead of just pride? 

Are you mad? It’s nothing like that. We overanalyse, they are just kids who never grew up but got old. I blame my parents for what’s broken in me, maybe in the same way, they can pass on the burden to their parents. It’s an infinite regress, and we’ve to break it. You are lovely. I am good. We both are normal. She’s needy and insecure, that’s it. It’s that tiny bit of power she likes to exert because you let her. I’ve always told you that sooner or later we have to shift, instead of having the same discussion month after month after month. Do what you do, your actions and her reactions have zero correlation. ZERO. ZILCH. So might as well be free.

Wouldn’t they be saying the same thing? We both are normal, its they who are the problem. And I would love to live separately, but imagine the conflict involved in that, so much effort, so much money, so much time, dont we have enough on our plate already? It’s so much easier to pretend, ignore – knowing everything will be back to normal in a day or 2, till the next time. And it’s easy for you to say, be free, be free. Have you been able to be free?

I have conquered my temper haven’t i? When’s the last time I shouted? I just ignore.

I miss your temper. You are much more unwound once you let go. Now you remain half-wound up. 

Yes. On days i miss my temper too. When I could feel every hair on my body standing up, I could feel blood rushing to my head, and when I felt I had the power to break someone just by pointing out absurdities in someone’s view of the world with sharp, rude, cruel, words. But you know how that used to turn out. It felt so good to scream and shout. Bang the door.

Let’s not talk about this topic. I can’t wait even a single day for the holiday to start. I am on the edge. Maybe when will be back things will sort themselves out. 

Yes. They will. Till next time.

 

 

Pointless

One of the biggest perks of getting married for a man has to be unrestricted boob access. Isn’t it? Call it whatever syndrome but that’s the first thought which crosses every man’s head when he gets hitched. Yayyyy now I can look lick kiss suck fondle cup touch caress grope ogle fuck boobs at any time I want. Not pussy, boobs. Because pussy is celebration, it demands something of us. Boobs are entertainment, boobs are like candy except that they don’t even melt away and end the pleasurable sensation, boobs are like a gift that keeps on giving. Anytime as a woman, you want to thank a man, express gratitude, sympathise with him, win a fight, tease him, just want to see him grin like a dog, or in general lighten up the mood, just throw the bone of boobs at a man. Come tommy, here. Here. No no don’t bite, gentle. No it isn’t doing anything to me yet, you ain’t getting laid, don’t be so dumb, I am thinking of the night’s party – just do your thing and go. And the worst invention known to mankind is the fucking wire they fit in bra cups, like a literal cage. I often ask my partner – what will happen if you won’t wear one once? Who will know? If there’s a top and a jacket and goodness knows what else on it, why is the bloody thing needed? But she never listens to me. I wonder whether other men say the same thing to their partners and I wonder whether their partners listen. I doubt they do, otherwise the market wouldn’t be so big for fancy lingerie. 

So the point is, if you deny your partner boob access, you really are mad at him. What cruel woman does that? And what’s boob access got to do with sex? Sex involves foreplay and anyone who has even a hodor iq knows that in foreplay, never jump to genitals first. Keep it non-genital for as long as you can. So kissing boobs while your wife is dressing up, or looking so lustily at them while she’s working on a pc or putting on nail Polish on her toes has nothing to do with sex. It’s just a switch to switch off the mind, go to something primal for that single moment. Which is why even when a couple watches porn, both get turned on at only 1 scene, a woman stretching her arms and a man or a woman kissing her nipples while she moans – the man imagines himself to be that man kissing the other woman, and the woman imagines herself to be that woman whose boobs are being kissed, though she is more in for that face which happens while being pleasured. No porn involves a man being kissed. Why would that be so? 

And which is why most men’s favourite sleeping position would be the big spoon cos then he can settle his dick in her ass, wrap what he imagines to be really strong arms whether they are little sticks or not around her waist and silently yell, yayy I am going to sleep the whole night touching boobs. The fact that that position offers easy pussy access and makes for an easy orgasm for the woman is an added bonus. 

And you know why these are important? Because there are days and there are days. There shall come weeks when all your overtures, even non-sexual touches are just brushed away. When a satisfying kiss or even a peck on the lips will not happen for weeks. At that time, the memories will help. 

It is all for a good cause, you know. 

incomplete. 

all the magical things you have said have a memory of their own stored in words which bring them alive. sometimes on nights when the reality throws its full blooded punches leaving bruises on my face and giving me a black eye, i write these words on a piece of paper and stare at them till my eye heals and run my fingers over them. touching these words is the closest i will ever. 

On time and money

There was a movie called In Time which had the interesting premise of people being paid in time instead of money. There were people who had become immortal, and there were others who were living off borrowed seconds every day, borrowed from their friends, from their family, taken on loan, etc. It was a totally fair depiction of actually what money is. Money is nothing but the time you earn for yourself to do what you want to. The richer you are, the more you can spend your time the way you want to.

Consider. What if we were paid in words? If words were currency, if you had a limited stock and would have to work your ass off for earning some every day, would you spend them in the same way you do now? Or would you use them differently? Maybe a kind word would cost you half, an angry word double and you would have to pay through your nose for a lie. A beautiful phrase could be auctioned off for billions and wordsmiths would be yachting in the Mediterranean everyday.

Consider here too you were middle class. You neednt worry about spending some needlessly any day but continue the indulgent habit for many days and you’d start fretting. What if you run out?

Would you spend words the same way you do now? Would you be careful with them? Would you only spend them indulgently on a holiday? Would you embrace silence to be richer everyday?

Consider. If you’d make a new friend, it would literally cost you. People might just silently wave off unwelcome hi’s and hellos. If every word you spend after a person could be an utter waste or an investment – a short term one or a long term one. Would you change the way you talk to people? Would your word be more respected by strangers and friends because they know it costs you?

How would you spend your words in such a world?

I am generally a person of doubt. I make conclusions very very slowly. I am rarely sure of what exactly I want or what I would do in hypothetical situations.

But, for once, I know exactly what I would do. There isn’t an iota of doubt in my head. I’d be exactly the same. And how could I be so sure?

Just think about it. What, without exception, is the single biggest gift you can give someone? Could it be a million dollars? Yes – if someone is a pauper. No- if someone isn’t. Could it be mind blowing sex but wouldn’t that leave you hungry for more, and end up being a punishment rather than a reward? Wisdom, perspective or insight comes close but it would be a one time gift. No. The only goose that lays golden eggs everyday, the only gift that keeps on giving until it doesn’t, is time. That’s the biggest gift bar none. A gift that’s totally essential to your being purely because it is unnecessary. In this age of endless distractions, a multitude of avenues of relentless mind fucking entertainment, there can be no bigger gift or a bigger trade. It’s generally stupid to acknowledge it because it’s the age of subtleties and cynicism, but it’s one of those facts that stays true across universes and across ages.

So there’s a place where you’d get richer everytime you needlessly spend a fortune, wouldn’t you too? Spend words like there’s no tomorrow? Spend spend spend without a single thought of paucity or scarcity in your head?

Wouldn’t you?