The hidden life of unspoken gibberish – 1

So how’s the sex life?

Of? Bees? Trees?

You. Who else would I be interested in?

Oh. You’d be interested in the sex life of the 83 year old grandma crossing the road right now, I know you.

Nooo. Eeeks. Ok. You know me. I would. That would be academic interest though. Of whether it’s the grandma that initiates or the grandpa. Or when did they last have sex. Or did they know this was the last time they were at sex when they were having it? Imagine. One day will come when it will be the very last. What a miserable life it shall be after that. But we won’t know it was the last, that’s some consolation. Maybe for last 25 years of our life we won’t have sex, can you imagine that?

I don’t think so far ahead.

Who is asking you to. Ok so how far have you to look behind to be able to answer my question. Minutes, hours, days?

I don’t remember and i am not going to count.

So it’s not minutes or hours.

My memory doesn’t extend beyond minutes.

So it could be? One hour or two since you got laid? I don’t like that phrase though. Got laid.

Could be. Could be not. What’s not to like about it?

It belies the joy one gives and gets. It’s cold. Almost cynical. I shall use the phrase heaven trip.

Who said it was heaven? Might be a fun trip to hell!!

Hahaha wow I love it when you are sassy and bold.

I always am. Just not with you.

Yeah. Forget that. Karma. I am used to denial of earthly pleasures in thought and action and conversation. So what was it? Heaven or hell?

Heaven the way hell should be. You think about these things too much. How was it, was it good how would you describe it. Most normal people just enjoy themselves for a while and get on with the business of living.

But we already established you aren’t normal people. So it makes sense to ask. I may be intrusive but I am not irrational.

That you are. Very intrusive.

I am not. But I often wonder since I am already tagged why shouldn’t I ask you intrusive questions everyday?

That’s because you are a coward. I know in your head you ask me questions everyday.

Yes. I do. So I should ask them to your face. Everyday. Three questions. A. Did you make a heaven trip? B. What route did you catch? You ain’t going to answer anyway but asking them would be so filling, i’d be walking on air just by asking them. Everyday. Without fail. Without boredom or monotony. You would pretend they were never asked and both of us would be so happy.

So whats stopping you? And C?

No. I said two.

You said three.

Third question comes from that awful part of me which I hate and can’t kill. I will one day.


No. Kill.

One day. Then I will love myself much better.



The single drop of blood that forms the perfect circle on the tip of your finger. The dance that’s there in the dust before it settles the stars before your eyes when you look straight at halogen and then look away. The bite of the nail ouch that screams I told you so before it draws out that circle the no ever again will I make a fool of myself you say before you again put pen to paper knowing you will because what could you do the circle is perfect and perfect makes you think of no one else and the word dance is irreparably tied to a single dance and your jaw is open while you were supposed to scream but where everywhere have you put her where will you ever find an empty space its so hard to keep track of what is and what isn’t touched with …..her.

I need a list.

I need to become sterile.

Its always sunny in the solar system

There’s a hypothesis that there are two suns in our solar system, one that we see, and the other beyond the Oort cloud that is invisible, a giant star that the sun revolves around, like two brothers playing a game of kho-kho, never coming close to each other, the sum total of their gravities keeping the planets in check even in places as far away as pluto.

I do not for a moment doubt that it is true.

You always need two suns to keep you going.

Life with a single sun is just….cold

The planets and the solar system know more about balance than a human ever could.

Who are you to argue against the combined weight of the universe?

Please go out of the room ya.

Arrey? But why?

No I don’t want you to see me get up from the bed.

I already saw. Paagal. Give me your hand!

Noooo. Bahar ja. I will be with you in two minutes. Seriously I will.

i am lying on the bed with a smile as if nothing is the matter but she knows me well she knows I don’t like being seen sick but that wasn’t the matter today getting up from the bed or lying on it again seemed to be like those last 50 meters of Pangarchulla peak the pain in the back was so severe the last time i got up it seemed i had let out an involuntary scream which she had heard and she could see my face flinching i looked awful i looked helpless i looked old.

i have never had such a back pain before i had a ligament pain in my left knee once after running but i could hobble around on painkillers here if i sat I sat for 20 mins wondering what i shall do next and if i was standing, i’d keep pacing my room knowing that a change in posture will awaken that monster once i was typing something to her while lying down and as usual the phone slipped from my hand to the floor back pain is what happens to old people and people poor posture and my father in law it’s a disease of old age.

Ab uthega bhi mote?

Tu jaaaaa.

was it something I did to myself in the gym? i hope not but i always find a way to blame myself for whatever happens to me it’s a way the world becomes self sufficient for me dependent on no outside ailment or virus or person it’s me me it’s always me but noooo it isn’t i now suddenly know what she meant by feverish mind i have a feverish mind only i can convert a simple flu into some kind of medieval torture but what if it isn’t i can’t no it is it is it is i know

It’s nothing. It’s fucking flu. Everything’s aching it can’t be anything else. Besides, she said so didn’t she?

i don’t want pity that’s how we become dependant we start searching for sympathy or pity every act of ours is a bid to arouse something in another or subdue in us especially when we are sick.

stop the noise in the head and try to get up. think rationally divest yourself from the pain and the body and conduct tiny tiny experiments. try and turn to one side then the other a bit a tiny bit till you feel the spasm then stopppp ouch step back think of something to hold get that image of your grandmother out of your head the way she took three to four minutes everytime getting up from the bed putting on foot gingerly on the floor untrusting of its power to hold her fragile weight and then the other assuming it will not buckle while she grabs the walkrail with one hand and then the other and just sits. wondering what’s next in store wondering whether anything or everything is broken or fixed while her 20 year old grandson waits impatiently by her muttering baaa chalo jaldi karo. This is exactly how it must have felt not trusting your body not trusting your back your feet your neck your soles everything screaming silently while you pretend it’s nothing it’s just the fucking flu a virus a fucking zombie half dead creature which does not even find space on the biological tree in itself or is it again me?

The horrors of utopia – 1


In an alternate world I wouldn’t be travelling across the world alone thinking of another. In an alternate world we’d be arm in arm sipping wine and giggling uncontrollably while the world passes inexorably by. When you don’t let what had to be, what shouldn’t happens and you are powerless to stop it. When the universe observes you incapable of taking the very thing that belongs to you it ceases to give you anything easy.

We were served each other on a platter.

Spoon and knife and fork adorned and lit.

And we passed.