Once bitten, twice shy... not anymore...!

After a long hiatus and long hours of deliberation to decide the fate of my sanctuary, i'm finally back. Not that anyone was really waiting with bated breath for the floodgates to open, but whatever.

Although I havent really written anything since my last post (i'm not into not posting my writings), a lot of things have changed. And whatever I've written has been for some objective, or for some premeditated reason - so unlike blogging, which is writing down one's whims, one's fancy and all that jazz that cant be explained by reasoning. Writing as a tech editor for the recently launched NOW Magazine will never give the creative satisfaction that blogging could give. And yet its not for creative satisfaction alone that i used to or will blog. There were so many things this place gave me that nobody else could. It opened me up as a person, and taught me to lay myself bare to all and sundry, without worrying too much about the reactions. It feels like I'd improved and reached a pinnacle in my writing skills with blogging- which culminated as a 6 on 6 in GMAT essays. It gave me new friends - some of the best people i've ever known. And it gave me a patient ear when there was no1 else who'd listen - and just a mention of this fact can never do enough justice to it.

How can I then just abandon it and leave it to rot? How could I have even though of pushing the delete button? Even though I dont have much or almost no time in my posession, I wanna keep this place alive with all that I have to give. I dont know what the future will be like, and something tells me I'm gonna need this place real bad some day.

I'm out of college and there's a whole new world is waiting out there with a whole new bunch of experiences - in different cities, under different skies. All of it worth capturing in my journal, my blog - coz if tomorrow never comes, I dont wanna be swept away into unwritten pages of history... Atleast some1 will live on to tell my story, and maybe even say the things that I never could n never would!!


(Note: Reader discretion required. This post contains explicit content and is strictly not permitted for the weak-hearted.)
It was after quite a long hiatus that I'd dressed up in proper formals, having missed the placement season due to my fortunate PPO. The whites and the blacks were good to wear for a change, but they reminded me of the dreadful ragging days, and of what had happened on my second day at IITR, way back in freshmen year.

Circa July 2005. Although there had been no official declaration, word was out that seniors had given out clear instruction- we were supposed to dress up in white shirt, black trousers, black shoes, no belts and that we couldn't carry any bags. People seemed to be a terrified lot, but I was chilled out about it, with a bring-it-on attitude up my sleeve. I didnt have everything upto the senior's specifications, so I picked up a white t-shirt, black trousers and sports shoes. So did many other people. Not because of fear, but just because nobody wanted to risk getting ragged. After sitting(umm...sleeping actually) through four lectures, I had no clue what lay in store for me when I was ambushed by two 'seniors' on bicycles ( a luxury we were not supposed to have for the first two months). I emphasize 'seniors' here because both of them were inches shorter than me, and I could've ripped them both apart with just 1 blow( well...thats what i'd like to believe atleast!!!). I looked around for some support among my batchmates who'd solmenly vowed to stand by each other whenever evil would befall. But here I was in the middle of the most tragic situation that could have hit anyone at that time, and if one didn't call it evil, it would be worse than blasphemy. I noticed how the vows were broken quietly and evry1 just vanished into thin air, just like they show in the movies. So here I was flouting the norms set by the seniors, surrounded by the lawmakers themselves. Without so much as a reading of my fundamental rights (and lefts), I was handcuffed(ahem...thats just to add to the drama), and taken into one of the hostels in which a freshman would find himself if and only if he was being ragged.

As I was dragged along the corridors of power (duh!), I noticed how spitefully the seniors lived. Narrow alleys with dim lighting and paint wearing off in patches, there wasnt even room enough for two people to walk together. Everything was strangely painted green- the windows, doors, almirahs, etc etc. What was more noticeable was the presence of a first yearite in almost every room. And with most of them down to there undies, the scene wasn't very pleasant. My dislinking was only magnified by the anticipation of what I was going to face in one such room. My wait wasn't long though, as I was ushered into a room where some negro from South india was already lurking, being ragged. Thankfully he had all the clothes on, or I'd have had nightmares every night. He seemed to be in a particularly jovial mood, as if he were enjoying everything that the seniors had been making him do. It gave me a ray of hope- the thought that i was soon gonna be let off mildly. It started with the usual song and dance routine. They asked me to sing some crazy song and the negro to dance on it. They didnt like it much though, so they stuffed two newspaper balls into the negro's tshirt, to make it seem like a girl was dancing. I was repelled at the sight of a negro being converted to a negress. It was only worse, and yet the idiot went on and humoured the seniors-changing his steps to suit that of a girl. I was happy with singing though when the seniors smugly suggested that I should take some advantage of the 'girl' dancing to my tunes. I acted confused, but they only made it more explicit- I was supposed to press the "imaginary breasts" and the 'girl' was supposed to act orgasmic (ewwww!!!! ). I did what they asked me, thankful only for I wasn't in the position of the 'negress'. They asked us some silly questions after that, and just when I thought I had my share of ragging and twas soon gonna be over, the two seniors who'd brought me in took me to another room.

A final yearite sat there squatted on his bed, with 2-3 sycophant third yearites around him, and right across stood this guy who had nothing on apart from a skimpy blue underwear. (Yes, blue. I remember distinctly!! :P ). Henceforth the guy will be referred to as 'muski'. The senior took an instant disliking to my tshirt and I was made to take it off. Well so much for decency. The two of us(me and muski) were then asked to recite as many curses as we could. I managed two, while muski could only manage a "gaali dena gandi baat hoti hai"!!! The seniors laughed, and so did muski. Now laughing while ragging in local parlance was known as 'muski', and there was an elaborate ritual for anybody who dared to do so- a ritual which was as obscenely funny as it was difficult. So that was it, 'muski' made a 'muski' and he had to pay for price. Ofcourse since he didnt know how to perform the ritual, he took a gud half an hour to learn and perform it. Wasnt all fun for me though, as i was asked to sit like a chair!!! Might sound crazy but yeah, its a real tough posture to maintain for half an hour !! We were then asked questions, and if we got the answers right we could wear one piece of clothing back, or else we'd have to take one off!! I dont remember all questions but there was one which was really absurd- "If your mother and sister lay naked and u had a piece of cloth with u, what would u do?" . I answered- "Tear the cloth in two, and cover both of them!". I was told- the cloth isnt that big, and so I'd to compromise with my vest... I was fortunate to still have my trousers though. I wondered what will happen if muski got the answer wrong!! I was in no mood to go throught that torture!! I held my breath and waited for his answer- but he jus gave out another muski...i was relieved. We were later told the correct answer to the question- "cover ur own eyes with the cloth" (duh!)

The seniors got bored of us after about like an hour and I was told to 'phantom'ise myself. That basically entails wearing one's undie over one's trousers. I was taken into a room where I could 'change'. I did as was ordered, and i looked damn funny. It was embarassing nonetheless. The seniors had a good laugh over it for some time. Muski still stood there makin another zillion muskis. They turned on some porn, and we were asked to enact the scenes!! Ahem...it was a doggy style scene, so we had to play both the guy and the girl's part taking turns. And not just that, we even had to "feel" as if we were actuaylly doing it... so we basically had to mimic the sounds and expressions too!! That was a big torture, esp with my phantom look :P

It was then time for the worst part- the buzzer round!!! We were literally qualining when it was told we'll actually have to do something, which till now was only a part of the legends that we'd heard back at the hostel. We had half a mind of bottling out and running away like chickens. Now, for the uninitiated it will seem a bit weird that i'm acting way too peevishly for another innocuous round of ragging. But then he/she doesnt probably know what the 'buzzer' is. Well, its that part of a man that defines his manhood. Now you getting it? So here we were, with the senior acting as quizmasters and two pitiable freshers with hands on 'buzzers', and not their own, but each others!! ewww!!!! I will forever be grateful to god that i had my trousers on !!! There was no escape- we couldn't afford to not press the buzzers at all, coz the one doing so will be let off. So the first question came in, and we hesitated, looked at each other, in a sort of trustful mistrust- a last cry of mercy. But that was it, I'd had enough and wanted out. So i did the dreaded- pressed the buzzer, and guess what- muski didn't give out so much as an ouch! His silence meant the buzzer hadnt been properly pressed, so i pressed it again.... and once again, silence. For a moment i doubted if at all he 'had' the buzzer.(i doubt it still - when wer'e gud friends!!). I made another go- this time it was a big blow- he couldn't stand on his feet after that....

There were a few more trifles that we'd to engage in after that, but after a period of 4 hours and 2 missed tutorials, we were finally let off. They say the purpose of ragging is to get introduced to seniors. But of all the seniors I've ever met and known at IITR, those that ragged me were never in the picture. Guess they could never even face me out of guilt, or just embarrasment. It wasnt the end of ragging for me though. It ended not until the dean and the director themselves had ragged me. As for poor 'muski', he got christened with that name after that fateful day, and thats what he's called even now. I just hope that his 'buzzer' is still intact though!!

It was different now that I was dressing up for the farewell. The memories seemed so old, and yet were so fresh in my memory. I'm thankful for that day because it taught me how life's gonna be for the next 4 years at IITR, and strengthened me to face it with elan. I'd been through a lot of things, and even as I strained my memory, there was hardly any thing worth remembering. The farewell seemed so futile, and the pics that we took don't mean anything to me.

Its all over and I didn't even turn back as i left the gates of IITR for the last time. Nostalgia seemed to have been asphyxiated by the bruises of time. The leaves of memory had fallen into the whirpool of destiny...


(Note: I dont intend to write a journal about my 4 years at IIT. There are only a few things are interesting enough to be told- actually its just one- ragging! The first part of the post is just intended to break the ice. All and sundry about ragging goes in part 2!!)

It was the same old hateful raajma, along with the same boring butterscoth ice cream, which had already melted by the time it was delivered to my seat at the mess. I'd decided to eat at the place that had feeded me for 4 years, and that I loved to hate, on the last day at IIT Roorkee, just for the kicks. As I ate the last piece of the chapati (thats what they called it, though i didnt figure from what angle it looked like one), memories from the very first day came rushing to me.

It was an excruciatingly hot n humid summer day. I was just a boy unprepared to take the reins of my life in my own hands and be dumped in a 'hostel'. A rank of 454 in the hyped up JEE had got me a course in computers at IIT Roorkee. Not bad. Not bad at all. That's how it seemed at that time atleast. It was a long and painful journey to the place which was gonna be my home for the next 4 years. I had never known a tradition much observed in our country before that day. During the last week of June, millions of bhakts (so to say) travel bare-feet to haridwar to fetch 'kaawad' (holy water) right from lord shiva's feet, and bring it back to their homelands before "shivratri". The indian govt., in order to keep its Hindu vote bank happy, shuts down most parts of the highway to give these bhakts a clear passage. Elaborate tents are set up at every mile and free food, water and bedding is provided to these people. So its basically not really a big sacrifice on the part of these 'bhakts' as it seems at first, but only an annual feast, a picnic they'd love to go on year after year. As a result of their devotion to lord shiva and the govt's devotion to them, the roads are closed and earthly mortals like us have to bear the brunt. Consequently, a 5 hour journey turned into a nightmarish 10 hour one. In any case, I thought thats probably the worst I've seen. But then I was goin to enter IITR, and the worst really couldn't have been defined at that time.

A day's work was what it took to clean up the shoddy room that was alloted to me at the hostel. Yet, I was happy that my rank got me the best possible room in IITR, and whats more, it was one of the rare single-seated rooms. I could have some privacy atleast! The room wasn't really what troubled me much though, it was the idea of common bathrooms and toilets that caught my fancy (or ill-fancy). I just couldn;t adjust to the fact that I wouldn;t be able to drop my towel after a nice bath and swerve to some music a la ranbir kanpoor. Weird right? Not really. But then I also had to survive the summers without so much as a proper fan. And i almost fainted in the evening when a swarm of mosquitoes n insects of all shapes and varieties came buzzing by, greeting every part of my body. I didnt know then that this was to become the routine for the months of july- october every year for the next 4 years. Adding to my suffocation was the dust, the bustling crowd of parents and all kinds of weird to-be hostel-mates.

We were all supposed to line up at 9pm outside the hostel for an 'attendance' as if we were in an army school. I was stupid enough to think shorts and sandals were good and comfy in that heat. I was made to run to my room to change them to something more formal, not together, but one by one...coz the warden at the hostel didnt had the habit of telling the rules all at a time, but in spurts!! The 'formalities' - attendance, proper clothes and shoes to the mess, continued for about a month. The attendance, which was kept as an excuse to make sure everyone was back at the hostel at night and was not loitering in some senior's room being ragged, was the first to be flouted. It was followed soon by the attire that one wore to the mess. The shoes gave way to sandals first and chappals next. The trousers gave way to shorts, and students doing so were given an apt term- 'kachchhadhaari'- coined by someone witty enough to do so.

It was only the second day when rumours of ragging had started doing the rounds, and stories of oppression were told in hushed voices, in the evenings when there was nothing else to do...

To be contd...

All (or something) about blogging

(If only life was this simple, and computers could demand a blog post and even suggest a topic...sheesh... though one day thats gonna be possible) ;)

There's something about blogging that has never really caught on with me. It may seem like a bolt-from-blue, and a very random notion as well as a very purposeless post. But thats what its meant to be in the first place. Face it, i have nothing else to do coz there's no electricity and no human company. And it is during contingenies such as these that a man who still hasn't lost his onions takes to ranting on a blog. Here... a lot of you( huh!! who am i talking to in the first place...ok so one or two out of the 3 or 4 readers) might disagree with me, simply because we differ in our motives in writing a blog. I've been through so many blogs, some good, some bad, but there's mostly one thing common- some writers write so that others can know their opinion on an issue or play critic on their poems,while some others write for reasons crazy enough for a mortal to understand. The reason for my blogging my seem to fall in the latter catgory for some of you, but according to me I only write when I wanna talk to sumone and there's no 1 around. Yeah,my dear blog is a very good substitute for real people.

There's another thing that i really miss about my blog when compared to others. I miss having a community of readers who also write blogs and are close friends as well. Something like this could've been possible had the concept of blogging been popular when I was in school. And again, it could've happened if i was in a real "college" with some creative people around, or simply people who could talk sense sometimes atleast. But that wasn't to happen. And that I guess, will never happen!!

IF you've started wondering by now why i'm writing a post comparing my blog or blogging habbits with those of others, I should make it clear that's not what I set out for, though some deviation from the main script is allowed for even the best of the writers, unless one is on the panel of 'Prison Break', or '24'.This is just supposed to be a blog post about blogging... confused? even i am!! :D

Some people blog anything and everything under the sun, right from the time they wake up to the time when they get beaten up by their wives... though making ur partner's assaults on u does have its own advantages. Atleast its a good alternative to the govt's "ghantee bajao" andolan (oops...campaign!!).

Some blogs are like...ahem...i'll let the pic do the honours...

Some just do it to attract attention...

While some others are meant to hide the real identity of their writers and show them in a more desirable light to the blogging world...

On a more serious note, I was wondering if any quality post by anyone among the earthly beings who blog could deserve much attention, even if the writing style or plot is comparable to that of an established writer. And yeah, we should leave out bloggers like Amir Khan, or Amitabh Bachhan, or even "fake IPL player"!! As much as i would like to restrict this discussion of branding to blogs, I can't help think about analogies in other areas. So consider this... if i'm pitted against an engineer from "any other" engineering college in India, and someone has to chose between the two of us, you and I know it very well who it's gonna be!! And the reason- jus coz i'm a cow who luckily got branded with an "IIT" tag on my beautiful buttocks... The same can be said about fragrances and perfumes. Who would even test an unlabbeled or unbranded bottle in a store? People wanna buy perfumes precariuosly named "Paris Hilton" or "SRK" just coz they believe theyr'e buying these celebrities in a bottle. How foolish. Haha. Hey mumma, look what I just bought... "Britney Spears"... The background music goes "maa da ladla...", u know the rest...

But then a blog is also a place where one can be very very creative, and do a lot more than just write. I've tried hard to adopt that skill from some avid blogger's. But I aint no "peter patrelli" from "heroes" who could absorb anybody's powers!! ( Well u have to watch that series to get this line of sarcasm... u can ignore it as a bad joke if u havent already) . In any case, you might've noticed how my blog is slowly moving from emotion-oriented to being reader-oriented, in the fact that what I write now mostly takes a form where my emotions find a voice in more sublime forms. Probably thats coz i figured that its not right to publicise what one feels, coz if one does, then people jump at the opportunity like hungry foxes to take advantage of the naive blogger. Even if that reason isn'y good enough, there's something wrong in opening up oneself to the world... simply put... nobody's interested in one's emotional crap, broken heart, or a lost friend..Trust me, blogging isn't a stress relief kit like the one below ..

I'll end this idotic post here, and I know not much has come out of it... Sorry for wasting so much of ur time, i was already wasted!! :P

I'll end with one question- What if the ten commandments were written on a blog?!! :P

Sapno Se Bhare Naina

Portrush Whiterocks beach was strangely silent. With the silence crept a strange uneasiness in him, maybe only because it made him aware of his own loneliness shrieking, crying and yearning for a prod, almost as if he was in an alien land. He sat in the company of the sea, the bright orange evening clouds and an irish coffee. It had almost become a routine. Routines... that he had so religiously followed all his life, and that now seemed so unimportant. Yet, routines were all that he was surrounded by again. The waves crashed with a thud on the golden sand of the beach, the water retreated and it all went on in an endless, untiring loop. The only difference- the higness or the lowness of the tide. He looked at the sea and felt its magnanimosity and power, and smiled as the thought came to him- how is it that the frickin moon can control the tides of the earth's powerful water bodies... how could it make such a mockery of water's kingdom, and play kingmaker from so far away! Such were the ways of nature. Wer'e measly earthlings... powerful and yet powerless, with our destinies chalked on a higher power's slate. With our voodoo dolls in control of megalomaniac demons who can twist and turn us any way they want to. And however hard we try and squirm to get free, there is no escape, for the world is a matrix running on a laptop with no "esc" key.

The limestone cliffs of the White Rocks stretched from Curran Strand to Dunluce Castle. The grassy knols with little, trembling blades of grass owed everything to the sun and the wind, before whom they bowed every sunrise and every sunset. A routine set quixotically and followed unreasonably. Just like his life. Just like everybodys' lives.

Twilight began to shroud not just his thoughts, but the horizon too. The horizon... where everything seems to meet. Only, it never does. He wondered how many horizons he had set for his life, and how naively he had run after them wishing to arrive there. But isn't it what makes horizons funny- you keep running after them and they'll run faster away from you. They'll elude you no matter how you plan to pursue them. And yet, that's what we mortals do the whole of our lives- run after dreams that never come true. All those times when he thought he did it, the satan laughed in the background on the insipid creature. There was a lot he'd achieved- the world's best degrees from the world's best colleges, a well paying job, and the praise of people around him. Everything tangibly possible to make him feel that the horizon's approaching, but nothing intangible to make everything meet. The best of the times had already gone by, all well spent in achieving, running, proving? Nah. He couldn't have been worse off. He wondered if he'd made the right choices, and yet felt as if he'd never had a choice. It may seem an esoteric notion, but it seemed to him that a new road had began at the end of every other road he'd ever taken. And now it felt as if he'd been cheated, brought back to the very place where he started from. All those times when he thought he was trying to change his destiny, he was just a train which couldn't make any turns unless the tracks turned themselves...

The ocean which had seemed blue-green only a few moments ago, was on fire with the descent of the twilight, with bright red-orange flames. He thought of how everything, and everyone changed colours, as if their insides were hollow and transparent, just a shiny reflective plate. He thought of all those moments when his friends had betrayed him, and those when he'd betrayed his friends. To mimic the ways of the world, to follow the golden rule of doing unto others what other do unto you...that's how everybody lived... that's how he'd decided to live. But it wasn't him. It was somebody else living his life, as he slept behind the veil only to be waken up now by the splashing waves off the rocks of Islay. But could he have lived without the veil? Or died a hundred deaths that could've disabled him forever? It didn't matter now. It'd have been the worth the risk. But he never tried. Bogged down by peoples' insanities and vanities. He'd thought what goes around comes around. But the love he'd given others had never come back, not even in dreams. Fair enough. What about those who were just like him? He'd brushed them aside unflinchingly, egged on by people who he thought loved him, but those who were only trying to change him as they pleased, never giving a thought about what he would want. And so those like him had faded away too, covered their hearts with stones, and shrouded their persons with the proverbial purdah. They'd forgiven him. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe they should never have. He wondered why it was that he could never understand people. Why, even though he knew so many people, he really couldn't see through them. It was hard to locate the flaw. But he knew it wasn't a flaw. He was just born human than many others, but the others made sure he becomes one of them, and he did.

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out faces, worn out places...
Bright and early for their daily races
goin' nowhere, goin' nowhere...

If only he could 'paint a perfect picture' right now, it'd be complete with the golden sands, Shelagh’s Head, the Wishing Arch, Elephant Rock and the Lion’s Paw- headlands of distinguishable forms rising out of the ocean- a cozy bonfire, a couple of friends and her....

And then he thought of her... how much he'd loved her, and how much she'd loved her back... He'd always blamed destiny for taking them to the point of no return. Today he knew it wasn't destiny or the voodoo dolls. It was him. He came this far only to leave her behind. He didn;t find what he sought, and he lost what he had thought he had. He couldn't read what was so explicitly written in the stars. All those times when he'd been at Bunratty castle, he had hated what he wanted to love- those medieval banquets where immaculately dressed couples in ball gowns and tuxedos serenade each other like juliets and romeos. Hated them not for what they were, but because he could never be a part of them. He'd made a hundred pilgrimages to Whitefriar Street Church, asking St. Valentine- or whatever remained of him- to grant him his wishes, his love horizon... and so many times had even ended up cursing love. Everytime he left the place he smiled at what the Church was meant for- 'Seek.Celebrate.Curse.'

He was here, the place he'd always wanted to be... and yet it was just the place and nothing else... It was dark now... the fire in the sea had left a gory ash in its place...

Door hi se saagar jisse har koi maane...
paani hai woh ya ret hai ye kaun jaane...

Pre P.S: Portrush Whiterocks is located in northern Ireland. Bunratty castle is one of the most popular romantic destinations in Ireland where a medieval style ball is organised every evening. Whitefriar Street Church is the place in Ireland where the remnants of St. Valentine are kept...

P.S: Its been a long tym coming... but i guess i didnt wanna write unless i really had time for it... and now seems like i never will have time !!!

P.S 2: Hope my old readers return...along with new ones ofcourse ;)

P.S 3: Sorry for breaking the dry run with an excruciatingly long post...But thats ma style!! :D


Her silhouette seemed a bit distant as she stood against the divine light that followed her everywhere. Her eyes, like two static balls fixed in their slots, trying hard to take in things she didnt want to see, and yet hiding the emotion, or the absence of it. The effort lay almost exposed through her drooping lids, as she slowly closed and half-opened them, trying to find comfort in her dreamland, which only a few minutes ago, had seemed so promising. Words, she tried to find but failed, as she realised the futility of putting life into alphabets and punctuation, that could never stand up to the emotions that are beyond one's very existence.

As he stood an inch away, he could feel the space between them involved in its own valiant effort to expand, and even though he knew how easily he could supress his enemy, he could see how it had began to dictate its own terms. He looked at her with a heavy sigh, at her reluctancly open eyes. It amazed him how blank they were, when only a few hours ago, they were brimming with such an eclectic mix of emotions. It amazed him how they'd lost their power of expression, when only a few hours ago the smile on her face had seemed such a lame effort compared to the brightly lit up eyes. Her visage, now, was a grim and ineffectual prison to the beauty that lay within, and one that had ceased to be coy - one that had been shot at innumerable times and at innumerable angles by an almost professional photographer that he'd recently found in himself. Looking at her beatific pics had become an obsession that had been his very own panacea in times of distress.

As she looked up for one last time before the lift popped open, the irrepressible urge to feel her lips on his came back like a spasm which refuses to die, even when it has been balmed over a hundred times. Self-restraint had never been her ball game, and this was one of those weak moments when "self" leaves one for its own selfish pursuits. He reached out with just a hand to shake, and as it touched hers the weakness of the moment dropped to an all-time low, and yet the lift door smugly opened its jaws, exposing the intimacy of a sweet act that the society has made out to be a shameful one.

She had never hated farewells upfront, but this time if only she could conjure up some energy, she'd surely be game for a one-on-one, even if team farewell was tagged with team fate. She felt the old laziness returning, and as her hand slipped away from his grip, the daredevilry found itself on the wane. It had not taken a lot of effort to learn the ways of fate, and when it comes to her life, fate had been quite unforgiving. She'd taken the stones hurled at her, along with an occasional flower, without any complains. What she was not used to was something being snatched away from her so cruely. Indeed, fate had changed its ways to magnify the pain, and reduce the moments of happiness to tiny specks on an empty canvas.

As she lost herself in the mirage at the horizon where her past and future met, he caught one last glimpse of her, and for once, he felt contented. The kind of contention that he'd felt when they'd both lost themselves to the pleasant toxicity of vodka. He had still not understood how she'd managed to do the most mundane of tasks- ordering pizza, when the 2 of them were so high that they'd brought the life around them to wonder if there's any worthiness in being sober. Every kiss, then, had seemed like the first time- the pleasure magnified a hundred times and then twisted by lips made wet by alcohol to give the feeling of pure ecstasy, and he'd instantly known how every emotion was as real under the influence as without it. She'd become a small kid, and yet had exuded so much sensuality that he'd found it awfully tough to restrict the free flow of emotions, and even sexual desires. Those eyes circling round the eyeballs, as if trying to hold themselves steady to let the world revolve in lazy circles, only to wake up the next day and find, instead, the fan above her heavy head, doing what her eyes had been doing the last night. TV cameras couldnt have afforded feeling bereft of such magnificience, as they managed to capture those big eyes and the cute sideways grin, that was mostly a result of a small doze of Pinacaolada at Cafe Leopold. That was her 60 second of fame moment, one that he wanted to be part of forever. He had been treated to those seductive eyes, with a viagra-effect again at Bandra bandstand, as he had to expend only a minimal effort to get her swooning over him, with every sound of the sea lashing against the rocks. He had loved to hold her swaying then, her whole body pulsating with happiness, craziness and loveliness, augmented by a few dozes of beer, topped with a blue lagoon. He was missing her, and her childishness, already...

She,meanwhile, had wasted no time in returning her faithfulness and attention to his substitute- a stuffed doggy that had been her birthday gift and whose neck she'd so cruely twisted in some fit of anger, when she'd mistaken it for her real object of affection, and had got so involved that it had taken her some time before she finally figured out her craziness. She lay there now, cuddled up with the doggy, in an effort to make her lover return out of jealousy, knowing pretty well that it won't need a photo-op for him to kno what she's upto behind his back. But then, it started to seem like an empty gesture, and as if the stuffed dog had feelings, she started to feel she's not being faithful to it, cuddling up and yet thinking of someone else, in whose arms she'd found her nights' comfort, and with whose kisses she'd began her mornings pepped. She let go of the dog and lay in emptiness, trying to conjure up the feeling of lying in his lap, with complete contentment and carelessness about the piercing gaze of the dog that lay neglected. Suddenly, the thought of the neglected sweetheart- the doggy made her embrace it all over again, as she caught sight of the christmukkah tree that they'd so lovingly bought and decorated with small silly shiny things. Sigh, how many neglected things will she take care of, without leaving herself in a state of neglect! In this life, she remembered, one must stop one's thoughts if one wishes to remain intact, or guilt, pity and loneliness would take everything, even one from oneself. Her eyes became blank again, but her struggle with her senses went on...

A sweet song played on his ipod...

Don't know why I'm still afraid
If you weren't real I would make you up
I wish that I could follow through
I know that your love is true
And deep
As the sea

We're made out of blood and rust
Looking for someone to trust
A fight
I think that you came too soon
You're the honey and the moon
That lights
Up my night

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