A Brutal Paradox

Some men are like seasonal fruits…available
For once in the lifetime of a woman, and expensive too!
You don’t buy them in kilos! You pluck them! You wash them
To adorn your dining tables during the day and when the sun
Sets in the western skies you slice them into shapeless lumps,
Making them small and edible!


You might ask me, “who then has the upper hand in this
Passionate turbulence?” “Undoubtedly, the man!” I say.
Oh, don’t blow your feminist trumpet yet, just hear me out.
Answer me fellow women, isn’t it a submissive dominance
To make a pigmy of your body to his hardened flesh and blood,
And is not it a man’s loss when a woman feigns; punishing


Him when he fails to please! For centuries now, our bodies
Have been sullied with pecker tales of all kinds…but now
Let it give on till it can give no more, for we know what makes
A man, a man after all! And therefore, thrive for men more
Excellent than yourselves…pluck them when they’re ripe,
And let them rot with wild ambitions on your virginal beds!


Strip down to your soul and let him see your naked form;
Intimidate; and then allow him to sink into you; let him
Crush your womb and empty it of every drop of blood;
Make him toil, toil and toil. In the end, dear men and
Women, both realize the brutal paradox of sex;
Both get crushed to be elated!


Now Playing:: Daiyya yeh main kahan...........Asha

Yes, Professor!

The department wore a deserted look as in mourning… and what a place it is to be in the reading room in these hours! The walks at these times, dear reader are so much one’s own that you can scarcely perceive how much it leaves one ‘changed’.

As I slipped in unperceived into a grove of Sandal Trees stealthily watching two women making love… when a familiar smell and taste of tobacco sent my entire being into a visible flutter.

Oh what bliss it was to watch him smoke, smoke and smoke! With the object of my longing and desire carelessly stranded in between the digits of his left, and those of the right occasionally coming down from his temples to flip the pages… he looked like a painter’s delight (and that my dear reader is no exaggeration).

Blessed with a language of exactitude; and speaking in terms of ‘thesis…antithesis…and synthesis’ his lectures have always affected the metaphysics… often raising the wonder and surprise of the listeners. He has the appearance of a saint but one increasingly becomes conscious of the unsaintly malicious glint lingering in his eyes. Ah! What a man to listen and admire forever!

And today watching him tame fire merely rifled his charms adding a triumph to my kink of getting attracted to older men….

Now Playing:: Kisike waade pe kyun……………………….Asha

Symbiosis

It’s a nude, lonely walk from the bathroom
To the mirror in the bedroom; now halting and now
Shivering under the thousand shrinking and sliding,
Yet, clinging and hanging droplets of a watered bliss.


Each drop celebrating its wicked sojourn meanders
Through every indentation, fold, and dimples of my
Anatomy, refusing to change its mood, devouring every
Dreg of my female scent in a pale motion of sense and
Lust, before ending in a failed autonomy, merging with the
Nebulous patches of my wet naked footprints!


This wet form in the mirror has no talent of its own
Although love and lust seem to come pretty easily to it.
Pondering over this form in a deep silence, and peeling
Off a good number of skins later, I finally reach the Soul.
Oh! What a detestable, ghastly image! The Soul has become
Sense too! Oh darling, is Lucifer my guarding angel now?


In haste I stitch the skins up and recompact the Soul.
My evil, sensuous Soul doesn’t deserve this outer form,
Maybe a cut here, a slash there or a burn someplace else
Will complete this auld symbiosis of the Body and the Soul!

Now Playing:: Hum tumse mile..........................Rocky

Winter's Eunuch!

Hate me not darling, for the winter has
Made a eunuch of my body; sterile and unfulfilling,
Inflamed with a platonic love than lust!
Hate me not darling, for I’m not smooth anymore.
The skin’s cracking and so am I…. leave me alone darling,
Don’t come in between my legs, don’t make me
Fight this frigidity; don’t make love to me as a rational
Passion…. I hate it!

Let the winter pass in silence darling, let the silence
Creep into my bones… let my body crave for yours,
Make me wait darling, make me wait and wait… then
I’ll be at your mercy; turn me in or turn me out, I shall
Comply. But now leave me alone darling, let me hide myself
Like a reptile in hibernation… let this barren loneliness
Manifest itself into an obsession with sex… oh, let me wait
Darling, for there is more pleasure, even in this world!

Now Playing:: kaheko rootha……………………….Asha

When the head runs upon you in a fit of madness....

But, what’s the point in taking all those drugs and numbing the senses and putting my manic brain to sleep, I wonder? It hardly serves the purpose because it makes my waking life more unbearable…. leaving me perfectly confused and out of myself. Yet, dad insists on something which he calls the “the larger good”. But, how do I make him understand that these drugs make me feel suicidal…. But, I should hold my thoughts there lest they put me in a cage….. the possibilities of which have already been hinted by the shrink. Honestly, dear reader I don’t know what I’m saying, I feel like I’m on a high, and the reason for this documentation is that I’ve been asked to observe and put down my thoughts, in short I’ve been asked to help myself to restore normalcy.

This makes me feel genuinely sorry for my parents…. certainly they don’t deserve the kind of humiliation that I put them into, besides it must be so difficult to live with a constant knowledge of the fact that they have a daughter whose brain borders on insanity. Perhaps, its nature’s strange way of keeping everything in balance; I guess it was only natural for me to be imbalanced when my brother is perfectly balanced. I wish I could be like my brother and make mom & dad feel proud of me, but it is equally vain to sit still and wish for what I cannot achieve.

I hardly have a clue how I came to develop this condition. It probably began with my inability to deal with stress. At first you get depressed as stress increases and then eventually your mind gives up and goes manic. Its more of a mechanism of the body to take an automatic break from hectic life. I could’ve avoided it, if only the warning signs were much clearer. It’s like a state in which I sink into even at the slightest contemplation of stress and its only in my climb back to normalcy that I actually perceive the extent of my distortion…

I never had an intention of posting the above thing to the blog, especially when it’s three months old. But it’s probably on account of the rains or a recent recurrence of the madness to the head that has made me return to it. It has been some days now, and I can feel that “funny feeling” (which shrinks call ‘mania’ and laymen ‘madness’) running all over me. This time however, I could sense it before hand. It always begins with a mild irritation apropos of nothing, and then you can feel the energy levels slowly rising above normal, till you become hyper energetic; a state in which you continue to dwell for some days or hours, irrespective of all the drugs you take to bring the levels down to normalcy. A maniac is like a totally sloshed person with ten times more energy. And interestingly during the mania time you hardly feel any “needs”, be it hunger, thirst, and sex… nothing at all!

Hyper energy can get dangerous on most occasions… you feel like riding a bike in full speed and hitting a wall, and that’s precisely what made me resort to public transport when I perceived that I was indeed riding a tad too fast. My legs still ache with all those long walks but its better than being dead I think! One cannot talk sense in mania and it’s always better to spend those unwholesome hours either with yourself or people who would tolerate your rambling chats, but the hyper energy levels would drag you to places where there are more and more people, and you end up staging a play of your own insanity. However, the best thing about going manic is that it makes you stoic for a brief period of time… you simply lose the ability to feel pain or pleasure, and even better is that when you happen to recollect your mania time during normal days, you feel that things and events come to you in fragments… it becomes almost impossible to say what followed what… trust me, you’ll be thankful not to remember a lot of things that you’ve done or said!

I haven’t slept well for some days now and I hope to sleep like a child tonight, for I can sense sanity returning. Well, those are enough details to make you shrink with fear and think twice before you come sauntering again to this space and therefore I better clap the extinguisher here. I hope to see you again when the mind is relatively free of such maladies.

Now Playing:: Pehli nazar mein……………….The Burning Train

Waiting...

The waiting is neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It’s like a moment that gets extended and extended and, extended. I have been waiting for a while now… waiting for the séance… waiting for the delayed outburst… waiting to hear him speak… waiting for a good night’s sleep that would eventually answer all my questions. But things do not come to us when we want them the most, although the law of attraction says that they do. He did turn up though, albeit much later and as usual he seemed to be in a hurry, but I could still perceive his darting eyes and an auld and obvious inclination to smile about the mouth, and a vibe full of strong purpose and feeling. Of all the things that were exchanged between us, my waking mind recollects only this one thing that he said:

“The more airs of childish self-importance you give yourself, you will only expose yourself to be the more ridiculed and laughed at!”

Now Playing:: Poocho na yaar kya hua...................Asha & Rafi

Dad, Can I Smoke?

Dear reader, maybe I’m troubled and need help, but tell me is it that horrible to want to smoke? In fact it has been some days now and I’ve been only wanting to smoke, smoke and smoke…..to the extent that I can almost fancy the taste of tobacco in my mouth, and the smell of smoke on my fingers. Well, these are confessions of a strange order but I can’t help it. I’ve wanted just this one thing to make me happy, but wanting that, have wanted everything else as well! I hardly have a notion of what I might turn into if the rules of discipline were to be suddenly lifted from my daily walk through life.


And perhaps, this wasn’t a mere recording of a dream after all…..and sadly all my dreams tend to produce a world of dirty monochrome in which nothing can possibly happen, except to make the head nod and the eyes heavy with sleep. But even sleeping seems to be a rare occasion these days. I’m sleeping for less than three hours a day now, and the less I sleep, the more I want to indulge in smoking…..and even as I write this, I can smell smoke, boy, its driving me crazy…


Now, there are occasions in our life when we must make something happen, like flinging a splash of color into life, but I’ve simply lost the urge to do that….I would rather flounder into heavy chairs and put the body, mind, and the soul in hibernation, till I gather my scattered wits.


Meanwhile, can I smoke dad?

Now Playing:: Yaad piya ki aaye……………….Shobha Gurtu

Inside the Mirror

It’s a torture…
Standing naked before the glass
And to face the skin’s mute hungers, and
Watching the slow rise of the body
From a little girl to a woman!
Why the growth? Why the loss of innocence?

But, can any woman be innocent?
Are not all women alike, when you lift
The veils of their weaknesses?
Don’t all women froth with desire
For men more excellent than themselves?
And how the thought of desire breaks the myth!

Innocence and tenderness are reduced to
Mere platonic virtues, and the body in the
Glass stands proud, cold, and triumphant
With an impersonal lust…that darts the skin,
Reminding the body that its essence
Does not lie in virginity!

Now Playing:: Huzoor is kadr………………….Masoom

In Parenthesis

Some days back this space turned two years old. NO BIG DEAL! After all, it’s the law of nature that things must keep moving. I mean, people and things keep getting older without any special interference as such, and FRISSON too would continue to age irrespective of my active documentation or lazy negligence. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you but blogging for me has always been something that I station in parenthesis and, things written in parenthesis seldom contain any grand theories or notions to attract or interest one deeply and thoroughly! You simply tend to pass over!


Now, coming back to FRISSON, I’ve been able to sort out a few distinct differences between my attitude (in writing) at present and the first year of blogging. It began with the keeping of memories and recording of experiences and all the other furniture that brings out the existing side of an individual. This virtual space became my way of relaxing, of working off my frustrations over my incapabilities, in other words, it became my strange way of compensating for not being a genius. I guess I was living under an illusion that there’re no evidences beyond experiences and in the writing of these experiences, I thought I was simply expressing my existing side, but there’re enough evidences beyond experiences and it takes a while before we get to acknowledge their magnificence!


And in one of those odd silences which sometimes fall on blogs, I started to worry about “words”. For, whatever else we may do, we’ll be using words all day and every day, words continue to matter. Words are the vehicle of thoughts and I knew I was reaching nowhere because I was using all the wrong words for locomotion and I was as good as a heap of stones could be. That was when the waiting game began, and when the words came, they came not in masses but mere numbers, and all I could write was poetry, although the prospects of prose continued to seduce me for a long time. But a return to prose has been really painful and uninspiring for poetry tempts me more and more.


Be it prose or poetry, I still lack the gall to speak my mind, letting the truth out only in half explained words and phrases. To me at all events this deposit of vagueness would be preferred more than all other confessions, for it is physical, wholesome, nourishing, and refreshing to the last degree!


Thank you dear reader!


Now Playing:: Wake up Sid (club mix)

Enter

It’s around two in the afternoon when I return from college. Not a soul seems to be stirring at this hour of siesta. It’s a closely knit colony but, the neighbours would hardly notice even if I get murdered. The first thing that I take notice of, is the huge lock dangling on the front door of the house and a depressing consciousness that comes with the said imagery ,that there’s nobody waiting on the other side to open the door, and worse luck, you play your own guest! I have been returning to a locked up house since the past six years now. You don’t have much of a choice when you’ve working parents and siblings who would rather settle in far away countries than in familiar spaces. Dear reader, I’m unfortunately blessed with so much of privacy that I’ve almost forgotten what it is to be in public and to be social?

But strangely, I manage to leave these anxieties and ill formed depressions at the threshold as undoubtedly the home seems to compensate for everything the moment I enter into its calm confines (although I see enough clutter around). Ah! It’s like visiting the scenes of early youth all over again! I literally throw the bag and the dupatta on the couch (and they remain there, till I collect them very late in the evening, probably when mom’s back from office) before opening the window that would bring the garden alive. The enormity of the garden has struck many and it continues to strike me every time I see it through this window. Although it’s trimmed and maintained, yet it seems to have a hint of a quaint wildness, which could be scary at times. I don’t spend too much of time at this window, especially at this hour, however it remains one of my favorite corners of the house when it “rains”.

Ah! What a bliss it was to read The Mayor of Casterbridge in this corner. As I hung in silence over some of the pages of that great classic, I could feel the garden coming alive, as if Nature too was listening closely to the story of Henchard! Ah! Let me still recall that scene, so that it may breathe fresh life into me and I could live that birthday of passion and romantic pleasure over again!

There’s still a better place in the house and that’s my room, where I presently venture into. Now, solitude, dear readers, makes one fall in love with three things viz. music, books, and thy self. I cannot possibly imagine my life without the first two and although I get wearied of myself on occasions still I cannot resist my own company, and I wouldn’t trade it for any better. Presently, I turn the laptop on (earlier it used to be the PC) and let the music flow. I usually dally between Asha and Lata at this hour, preferably the former in most cases. The volume remains on an all time high as I freshen up. And then, amidst Asha/Lata and the gyrating noise of the ceiling fan I flop into bed. Nothing can exceed the unruffled calmness of this moment as music lulls me into sleep, although I see strange shapes in dreams when alone, still I look forward to these moments every noon.

For more than seventy percent of the day, what I see is what lies inside my room. There are “my stuff”, like a PC which no longer works, a double set of speakers, a laptop (the latest addition), clothes carelessly scattered around, books, books, and more books…they occupy the shelves, half of the bed, whole of my one time study table, and some are packed and kept elsewhere in the house. In one word the room’s gloomy, yet it has put me in some of my best thoughts amidst the worst of clutter. I rarely invite people into this part of my world, for if there’s anything personal in my life, then it’s the solitude of this space, although it has bestowed upon me gifts of no real value. But, it has made me think I’m happy, I can do things I like and people can’t…I think I’m “different”…an expression I hate, yet I cling to it.

You do realize reader, that a mind thus constructed should be partially lame or torpid, with all the sensations at a cold rest. However, having said that there’s also a strange feeling of “happiness” dwelling within for reasons probably known and unknown!

Well there are other things that I can document but too much of self indulgence would only result in making this post painfully lengthy and boring, so I better take your leave at this juncture, until I catch you some other time.

Bye.


Now Playing:: Shokhiyon mein ghola jaye……………….Lata & Kishore

Seasons

Summer’s dead and gone darling,
Shut the world out and come in!
Be the cold ghost of the sun,
Let’s feign heat,
Let’s get cold and numb!

Ever wondered how futile
Love making is in winter?
Where’s the sweat…where’s the
Nudity, darling?
Ah, how they nip and shrink me!

I am bound hither darling
‘cause you love winter,
Where nothing grows, not even
Lust, and all the love’s labour;
So unproductive!

Still, make your move darling,
For the spring’s ruthless and
So is summer. Besides, a
Woman’s body can never find
A better raiment than that of a man’s!

Now Playing:: Beqarar dil tu...................Sulakshana & Kishore