Besharam bevakoof badtameeZ

Some words – Honest like a honey bee's, pure like a butterfly's and dumb like G.W.Bush's when I run out of stupid similes.

Month: September, 2016

Moving Ahead

the-thinker

I hate running, I hate it!” he stormed into the room around eight thirty. Throwing his backpack into the corner of the room, he ran into his mother’s- my, study.

Ma, did you make something to eat? I am famished!

I knew his anger was targeted towards someone else. Amit hated being told what to do. Be it me, his step mom; be it Raghu his Dad, or worse- people he couldn’t scream back at – like his football coach.

“What did he do today?” I probed gently while serving him mashed potatoes. Had to be clinical here, one wrong word and he would visualize his coach and give me an earful. “He made me run, like a mad man! Mad man!”

“Aren’t you supposed to be running? I thought you played football”, Raghu walked in with his laptop and teased his only son. He loved messing with Amit. Both of us used to wonder where he got his temper from. We were peaceful, gentle souls who never even said a curt word. Amit would go bonkers at the drop of a lid. He didn’t pick it up from somewhere- he was an angry baby, an angry toddler, an angry kid and now he was growing into an angry young man- our own Amitabh Bachchan.

Yeah whatever! If only he would let us play. I ran like ten rounds today“, he said gobbling down a spoon.

“Ten rounds is…” Raghu started and I gave him one of my stern looks, and he tapered off.

“He’s very tired, Raghu you need something to eat?” Translate- Get what you need and leave- if you want to live in peace, that is. I wanted some time alone with my son.

Why is dad so annoying? He talks like this high school kid

“Looks as handsome too doesn’t he?” I beamed.

Ma, you are hopeless!

I had a good hearty laugh.

The worst part is we have been doing the same thing over and over every day. There is no difference, no change!

“Life is all about change beta! It’s bound to come your way. Don’t worry”

I don’t know anything, I just wish I didn’t have to run like a dog“. He stood up and walked out, seething in anger.

 

I stood waiting underneath a tube lit corridor, outside an orthopedic ward about nine months away from this conversation. I was anxiously waiting for the specialist to come out. I knew what was coming my way, but being an optimist I never had lost hope.

A white coat walked outside. There was a look of exasperation in his walk and manner. He came over and muttered the inevitable to me, in a low grave voice. I found it anti climatic. Amit wouldn’t walk normally any more. A drunk bastard behind the wheels had made sure that my son would be a cripple for the rest of his life. The fact that he died in the process, was no consolation.

I walked inside; annoyed, angry and consumed by own helplessness.

He was staring out of the window, awkwardly reminding me of an O Henry novel, except that we had no trees in the city; only lifeless cement blocks.

I won’t be able to run again”, he announced. There was no pain, just acceptance.
“You don’t have to…”, there was a steely reserve in my voice, but no conviction.
Things change Ma, I don’t have to. But I want to

I walked out wiping my tears. Things had changed, but not in the way they were intended to.

 

 

-Sr Ja [12/03/2016]

A Wine Woman

wine-girlss

 

He climbed out of bed, all drowsy and irritated. The room was a mess. It wasn’t a classic Iranian film shot with sunlight seeping in through a window and the hero lying awake. Deep philosophical thoughts weren’t plunging through his head like a Bombay local.

However, a girl was lying on his side half naked- he could just see half a shapely ass. Not a bad start to a day, except that he didn’t know where her clothes were. Or who she was. Or why he was fully dressed.

He pulled his completely covered self out of bed and walked to his kitchen. No sugar. Lots of milk, but of the sour kind. He boiled some water and added all that was left in a sachet of Nescafe. It tasted horrible, but he was never good at making things. He walked back inside, stirring the cup hoping that it might taste better if it cooled down. The girl had turned to the other side, the ass was now fully visible in all its glory.

Should he wake her up? He wasn’t very sure of that. She could react in a thousand different ways. He might not like all of them. He had an attitude of taking life very seriously. Every moment and every turn had a meaning. So did every word he penned down. He was a small town writer.

He coughed gently and waited for her to respond. Not even a flicker. He gently set the coffee down, stretched his hands, stood up. And whipped the sheet off of her in a swift single movement. A fair maiden rolled out onto the floor like a mythical figure. But she scrambled up too clumsily to be Cleopatra. Nakedness was the minimum he was willing to accept as rent. Beauty was however a welcome bonus.

What is wrong with you?” she asked climbing back into the bed, as if she owned the place.

“Nothing. I’m just taking advantage of you.”

Are you going to rape me?” She hid her face underneath a pillow, still not taking an effort to cover her- he had to admit- flawless body.

“I’ve not dismissed the idea completely. The neighbors are away, and I could just blame it on the drink, and also that you turned up unannounced.”

Can you pass me the bottle?” continued the girl, flicking a thumb down to indicate something under the bed.

He got down on all fours, and rummaged under the bed. The floor was filled with a viscous liquid and he had somehow not noticed the smell until now. Persistence of odour maybe. His fingers wrapped around a thin neck and he pulled out a bottle. Of wine.

Madera. Nashik valley red wine.

I walked in after you yesterday. After I saw you park your bike. Just on top of my scooter, like literally”. She took a swig and passed it back.

“You couldn’t tell me so, then?”

I did. I mean, I tried. I was talking to you, and you were staring through me for a while, like I was invisible. For like minutes. Then you walked away to the bedroom- I mean here. You have a nice place, and I didn’t have one to stay. So I switched off the lights after a while

He took another sip from the wine. It was horrible, but the after-taste made his tongue buds forget the coffee. She looked at him as if the whole conversation was a normal part of her daily humdrum life. He wasn’t the least bothered by her attractiveness either. There was an inexplicable comfort in the silence that wrapped them both. He would hate it if this wouldn’t lead up to a good story. He was a connoisseur of time, though he didn’t earn his living from his writing. He was too smart for that. He wouldn’t delude himself by hoping that his passion would fetch him bread. Art for money was a notion for the rich. To him art was made when he wished. Writer’s block, draught of inspiration were all alien to him. Abstract concepts limited to mediocre individuals who wanted to draw a ‘creator’ image for themselves. He was beyond all that. He was pragmatic, soulless. A bottle of wine contains more philosophy than all the books in the world.

“No. We didn’t have sex. I just couldn’t find the A/C remote. And it was too warm, even for underwear”. She stood up and started gathering her clothes. She walked out of the room after a few minutes. He gently closed his eyes.

When he woke up again in the afternoon, he couldn’t recall her face. There were three- hundred rupee notes left beneath the wine bottle near his bed side. She was real.

He could have asked for her name, that ass could not have been a figment of his imagination.

 

-Sr Ja [14/02/2016]