F I L T H.

I have been stained by my memories. Stained, tortured and abused. I am dripping with incomplete conversations and uninvited sexual tension with strangers in grocery stores and elevators.

I write to soothe some memories, to drug them for a while, pretend that I am in control. I write to preserve these memories.I am haunted and possessed by what has happened with me. Its nothing tragic as one might expect. No life and death experiences. I just woke up one day and decided that I was empty and sad and this sadness grew on to me like a parasite. As I grew older I let this parasite develop a mind of its own, let the disease become me. If you ask me, I cannot tell you the exact moment that I caught this parasite. I guess I was born with it. But I do know when it started getting stronger than me. It was when I met Sarah. It is this particular memory of her that burns sometimes, randomly, without a warning in my chest. Not in my heart, but somewhere close. Somewhere I cannot put my finger on. This memory of a girl. A girl who had a face like autumn. I cannot forget that face.Sarah was my senior in school, I was 16 she was 18. A small town legend. She was one of those girls who wore short skirts and smoked cigarettes on empty stair cases. The ones who wore cherry lip balms and always had their nails trimmed.
You know what I mean, we all know girls like that. Every school has that girl. That self abusive beautiful girl. But Sarah was a little different. She was twisted. We all knew she was not another pretty face. We were scared of her. I don’t know what about her was threatening.
She had a round face and red cheeks. She looked younger than she was. She was not known to be aggressive. If I think about it now, it was her eyes maybe. If you looked close enough, right into that black spot of her pupil, if you look carefully and long enough you might notice that she had icicles in her skull. It was this frozen dead gaze that you can catch a cold from. Thats my best guess. I can be wrong.
She was our topic of discussion, the buzz in the beehive, she was the one riding all the rumours there were. Boys swore that they lost their virginity to Sarah, girls swore that she went through a lot of plastic surgeries. I even heard that her lips were plastic and thats why she does not drink coffee, they might melt and fall off. We all knew they were lies but we were kids and it was fun to fantasise.
But no one really knew her. She usually walked the corridors alone, with her eyes straight ahead. She was average in her class. She was average in sports. She was not a big talker, she might smile at people some times across the halls but she mostly kept to her self. I never saw her carry a book or listen to music either. It was like she was a blank paper that we all were writing on with our own teenage insecurities.
I however had more access to her than most people did, she lived across the street from me. She moved in when I was 14. She lived with her mother, I never heard of her father but her mother was a polite lady and maintained a really impressive herb garden. I could see her room from my balcony if she ever opened the windows, which she almost never did, only sometimes when it rained.
The colour of her walls were of that post beer piss coloured yellow. I always thought I would go mad if my walls were that colour. It was a really disturbing yellow, I cannot imagine anyone falling asleep in that room with those walls, with that yellow. I hate that color.
I had never spoken to Sarah, she was not the kind of person you could simple go up to and talk. That however, changed one day.
There was this place I used to call Neverland, it was a 15 minute walk from my house. It was this abandoned house with weeds in the garden and rust on the door but the backyard had a tire swing where a small black ugly cat used to stay. I used to go there, sit on the swing with that stupid cat and sometimes drink some rum I had stolen from a shopping mall. I hid the bottle behind the big wild grass that had grown over the edge. That was my Neverland.
One day I found Sarah sitting on the swing with my cat on her lap. She was still in her school skirt and blouse. Her long legs dangling, the cat had scratched her calves and the blood had dripped down her leg and got soaked up in those white school socks. She didn’t seem to care, the cat was still on her lap, peacefully purring.
She looked up at me. Her bangs falling over her eyes. She went back to petting the cat completely ignoring me.
“You’re hurt” I said.
“I have been for a long time” she said so monotonously that it hurt me physically.
“This is your cat?” She asked.
“No, I just feed her sometimes”
“You don’t have to feed wild cats, they can hunt.”
“I know, it just makes me feel better”.
She looked up and smiled so slightly that I am not even sure if that qualified as a smile.
She reached out inside her shirt and pulled out a lighter and a cigarette.
“You don’t mind the smoke, do you?”
“How does it matter? You are going to smoke it anyway”.
She laughed. I had never imagined she could do that.
“You are going to whip out that bottle of the Devine nectar of gods or what?”
“How do you know that? Do you stalk me?”.
To this she laughed again, still it was really unsettling to watch her laugh. Its like drinking gasoline when you are already burning up inside.
“I was sitting on the roof of my house you know, smoking a blunt and masterbating to the sky, the usual you know and I saw you jump off the window and get out on the streets at around 4 am with a black hoodie and a small bag pack. If I am not wrong. It got me curious. And as a concerned adult just looking out for kids and other human beings as their civil duty I felt I must follow you, you might get into trouble and you might need help”.
It all made sense. Because I wanted it to.
“So you followed me here and found out that I was a 16 year old drunk and a sociopath who talks to herself in abandoned places?”.
“Precisely”.
“Did you tell anyone”?
She laughed and shook her head, her eyes on the cat the entire time.
“I watched you whispering to your self but I was too far I could not hear what you were saying, so I waited till you got a little tipsy from the rum to sneak in closer. So I waked in the shadows right behind that tree and I heard that you were not just whispering random things you were having a conversation with yourself. Like you played two people. I thought you were rehearsing for a play. But it did not seem like one. I remember you said ‘I don’t think you will understand how black death is until you have seen the night deprived of the moon’ and then the other you said ‘moon is just a rock who just got lucky to get caught in earth’s gravity you cunt’.”
She finally looked up, breathless from the speaking. Smokers don’t have good lungs.
The cat jumped out of her lap, and started licking the dry blood trail on Sarah’s leg.
“I think it was extraordinary”. She said and got her eyes back on the cat.
I chose not to réponse and got the rum and handed it to her, she smiled and took a brave gulp of it neat.
The sun came down and the sky became that diplomatic purple, bugs and the mosquitoes and the tiny brown ants were starting to bother us, we stayed there, drunk and awkward just talking.
That was a great day for me. Not only I had an extreme confidence boost from being Sarah’s object of interest but also because it was good to know that.
I was a fool to think that it would bring me closer to Sarah. Not that I wanted to be close to her but it was just that it was nice to meet someone as nearly fucked up as you.
She went on about her days like she would have otherwise, I waited by that swing in my Neverland, for hours with that black cat. She never came.
A few months later just 3 weeks before her graduation some thing terrible happened. Sarah’s nudes were leaked.
They were everywhere, with everyone. It was a big deal for a small town. I remember those pictures of her, someone sent me too. I didn’t wanna look and so I didn’t. But I kept them I don’t know why.
Sarah did not come to the graduation ceremony. She hardly ever got out of her house. I know because I kept my eyes on that closed window. I just hoped that ugly color of her walls does not drive her mad. But her windows never opened, even when it rained.
Her mother stopped coming out of her house either, her lovely herb garden had died. Withered, choked and quilted.
One day at around 3 in the morning I heard a soft purr outside my window. That tiny black cat was curled up on the dashboard of my window. There was no way that cat could have climbed up so high on its own.
I threw on a shirt over my black tank top and stripped blue pyjamas and sneaked out of the house. I bundled the cat in my arms and started strolling to Neverland.
My heart stopped as I saw Sarah there with the rum bottle in her hand, headphones in her ear, waltzing with her eyes closed, that broken smile sprinkled across her face.
I walked in closer and the cat jumped out of my hands and rushed to her. She saw the cat and then she saw me and smiled some more.
I opened my mouth to say something but she kept a finger on her lips and kept waltzing. Moving carelessly, she was not embarrassed of it at all. I kept staring when she moved her hand forward asking me to join her.
I walked up to her and she gave me one of her ear phones. Guitar music.
“Whats playing?”.
“shhh”

hold me close and hold me fast
this magic spell you caste
this is La Vie En Rose

I knew the song. I danced, she danced. Took a few bitter rum shots. Getting higher than the milky way. Moved carelessly melting into the lyrics of the song and the patience of the night.

when you kiss me heaven sighs
and tho I close my eyes
I see La Vie En Rose

I don’t know what I wanted, I don’t have a memory but I remember that I felt lonely and she felt lonely. It did not mean that I loved her or she loved me. It was not sexual or just friendly. It was ironic for us to allow our selves fall out of our shells, like crushed garden snails. I just moved and she moved, singing the songs, singing probably the words wrong but not giving two fucks about it.

give your heart and soul to me
and life will always be La Vie En Rose

We ended up laughing and drunk and song started playing again from the top. Like she was not rotting and I was not deceased. Like we lived in a drunk thoughtful state all the time. Like this was our reality and there is just me her and the black cat in this abandoned home, this old wilted tree with this unsafe tier swing.
I looked at her face, and I knew she was dead. You could tell it from her eyes that she had died. Her insides were painted that ugly yellow of the color of her walls. It was in her bones and on her flesh, it was between skin to nerves and everywhere in between. I saw her face and I knew that her heart might beat but she is dead. Dead inside.
She was half an inch taller than me. Better than saying that I was half an inch shorter than her.
She moved closer and kissed me on my cheek and started walking away. Without a goodbye, without anything. That kiss however was not out of affection or courtesy, that kiss was like passing on a curse. I inherited, that day, that cold dead gaze from Sarah. And the yellow of her walls.
She just said one thing.
“You need to stop feeding that cat, she will forget to hunt”.
She walked on and on, didn’t even look back. Leaving me there with that black cat.

I stayed there till in the death of the night.

‘I don’t think you will understand how black death is until you have seen the night deprived of the moon’

It was a no moon sky.

I walked back home by dusk. Went to school and went to the mall to steal another bottle of rum. One my way back I found a black cat’s corpse being dragged away by a big brown dog.No blood dripped from her body, she just hanged lifelessly from his mouth.
Sarah had died too. I knew.
A week later the newspapers ran her story. How Sarah’s mother was going through several psychological issues, how she shot her daughter right between the eyes, before drinking a bottle of bleach. The country ran her story. We were asked how Sarah was like. Most people said she was a characterless, fatherless girl who slept with boys and smoked cigarettes. The stories made her seem like a filthy person so the town did not weep for her, nor her mother. The stories died eventually because it lost it’s emotion,no one mourns for sick filthy women, at least not for long.
I cannot forget Sarah, the girl who had a face like autumn.
The burn is back in my chest again tonight, not in my heart, but somewhere I cannot put my finger on.

CARNIVOROUS – 5

************************************************************

Read the previous part ——>CARNIVOROUS 4.0

************************************************************

“Why…do you want a poison Tushar?” I asked in a tiny voice, I already knew the answer.

Tushar relaxed into his seat and he gave me a big toothy Tushar Grin.

“Because I am going to kill my self”.

Time paused for me the minute he said that. Every particle every grain of dust that floated in the room along with our breaths stopped where it was. Everything froze. And I suddenly remembered this memory that I choose to forget. This memory I did not want to remember.

 

THE FLASHBACK: Part 1.

It was very early in the morning but I don’t remember what time it was. I just remember that the streets still looked blue because the sun had not yet come out.

Tushar and I were in the coffee shop where he worked. He had stolen the keys from the owner. We had spent the night in the coffee house messing around in the kitchen trying to invent new recipes. Tushar made a chocolate cake and instead of whipped crème he covered it with garlic mayonnaise. I obviously did not know that and ended up taking up a ginormous bite out of it. It was way beyond horrible but I smiled to be polite. It was still a young affair between me and him back then so I was a little shy around him.

“Its different”. I said smiling.

“Are you shitting me?” He said taking a bite of it himself.

He immediately spit it in the dustbin. It was very funny to watch, I mean I laughed so hard that I could not breathe.

“This is what rotten souls would taste like. You know, you need to learn to say things as they are. What is shit is shit. Sugar coating shit wont make it a marshmallow, shit will always be shit”. He said.

“True”.

“Say it. Say it is shit Tushar”.

“It is shit Tushar”. I said laughing

“Come on say it like you mean it. I just fed you shit. Say it LOUDER!”.

“THIS IS SHIT!”.

“PERFECT. Now say fuck you Tushar”.

“Fuck you Tushar you fucking asshole”. I said sincerely.

“Hahaha perfect, you are a fast learner I must say, well, fuck you too”.

He said and pulled me towards him. He kissed my neck and slid his hand inside the back of my shirt and every nerve in body sent a jolt.

“You are such a pervert” I said giggling.

He slid down my shirt and bit my shoulder.

“Ouch! Hey don’t bite! You are not even vaccinated for rabies”.

He laughed and bit me again.

This story would have been so much better but suddenly I heard tiers screeching outside and we stopped out adultery for a moment. The sound came from the small ally behind the coffee shop.

We quickly gathered ourselves.

Tushar and I hurried back because we thought it was the owner of the coffee shop. But it was not.

It was a middle aged man driving an old Honda.

He seemed tense and was staring hopelessly at the front tire of his car.

I followed his gaze and gasped.

He had ran his car over a small black stray dog. The car had completely crushed his limbs. His body was broken in an unnatural way. The poor little creature breathed heavily in pain, his mouth twisted in agony but made no noise.

I couldn’t look at it so I turned my face towards Tushar.

He looked right down at the poor dog. Without blinking, without a hint of pain or disgust on his face. He did that sometimes. Showed absolute detachment from the worldly happiness or pain.

“Guys….hey umm… can you please help me get him to the hospital?”. The middle aged stammered, he was almost about to cry.

“Papa…”. Said a small voice from inside the car.

I turned quickly to look so that I did not have to look at the dog. Inside the car was a really small girl in a neat white school uniform peaking through the window. Tushar and I had blocked her view of the horrible incident.

“Stay in the car sweetie, papa will be right back” The father said almost choking.

“You have to kill it” Tushar said. His eyes still frozen on the dog.

The middle aged man gasped.

“What the fuck Tushar” I said angrily.

“Its not just the limbs that are damaged, the fractured pieces of bones have also punctured his intestines. Even if you do take him to the hospital and even if they do manage to save him he will permanently loose his ability to walk or run. They will put metal rods where the bones should have been and every step he takes will be excruciating. They will run a pipe through his anus to help him excrete. He won’t have sex and he wont be able to have any solid food. In the best condition I give him 2 years, 2 years of misery and a long painful death. Better to end his misery than give him a cursed life.”

Everyone kept quite.

Tushar walked to a nearby dumpster and got a small boulder with him. They used that boulder to keep the doors open of the cafe when they brought in cartons of supplies in the pantry.

He walked to the father giving him the boulder.

“You have to aim for the skull, he is going to feel no pain if you do it with velocity, you just have to do it once if you do it right, so do it right.”

“I can’t….please..I cant do it….you do it please” The father cried.

“You put him in misery, its your duty now to set him free, not mine”. Tushar said his eyes on the dog.

The father cried even harder as he accepted his fate and walked towards the dog.

“I am so sorry, so sorry….”

“Papaaaa…..” The little girl called again as she opened the gate of the car and stepped out.

I ran to her. And placed her back inside the car, she was very tiny might be 5 or 6.

“Hey honey, whats your name?”. I asked cheerfully to distract her from the soft whimpering of both, the dog and her father.

“Ishita” she said in a tiny voice timidly.

“Wow! Thats a beautiful name. Ishita do you know how to count?” I asked.

She nodded her head.

“OK sweetie show me how to count” I said affectionately.

“1…2….3…..”

“AAAAAGH” the father screamed as he struck down the boulder with all his might.

She stopped counting. I could see the fear on her tiny face.

“Come on sweetie. 4…5…” I said desperately trying to distract her.

“6…7…8..”

“Very good, you are so smart. Go on, keep counting and I will be right back to you”.

She nodded.

“9…10…”

I went back to the scene of crime.

The father had done it. He was bent down beside the body with the bloody boulder still in his hand. His white shirt had a little splatter of blood.

I put a hand on his shoulder.

“Sir, you should drive away now your daughter is waiting for you”.

He got up a changed man; his face had a dead expression. Like the one Tushar had all along. I could never forget that.

He walked to the car quietly, he said nothing to us or to his daughter. He pulled up his seat belt and drove away, over the body of nothing but smashed flesh and fur.

“21…22…23..”

I heard as the car drove by.

Tushar’s eyes were on the corpse ever since. And soon, he too, quietly walked back inside.

I was left there alone on the bloody street as the sun came out.

It rained that day and it washed away the pulp of what was left of that harmless little creature. So all of us got away with that murder.

Since that day I always had nightmares, that I was lying down on that street and Tushar had the boulder in his hand that he smashes my head with. I used to wake up in sweats.

But unlike the father, he has no remorse on his face, he looks at me with those same dead unblinking eyes that he looked at the dog with and boom. I wake up.

I always felt I was that creature in misery and he was the one who would set me free. I was the dog and he was the father.

I had forgotten about this memory and after a few years of our separation I stopped having those nightmares too. Until I noticed that same cold dead unblinking look in Tushar’s eyes after 5 years.

And I was still the creature in misery, sitting across from him in that room, nothing had changed. As always I was at his mercy. And the minute I realized this, the time unfroze, the particles moved and all the statues came back to life and Tushar’s grin widened at my expression of shock. Snap back to reality.

“Are you fucking insane? How could you even think I would do that? Throw me in the jail, or whatever you are planning to do to me but I am not going to let you kill yourself”.

“It’s a little drastic that for 5 whole years you were not even bothered weather I was dead or alive and now you want to show me fucking empathy?”.

“I fucking care! I always cared why else do you I came here dressed up like a fucking barbie? Why do you think I have been men hoping all these year? I have been trying to find someone like you! Because I don’t know what the fuck have you done to me, I was fine before I met you. You have made me like you and now I can’t connect with anyone else, no matter how hard I try and how much I drink. You have infected me with all these feelings and I was not meant for feelings Tushar. And now…when I see you after 5 years. You act like a total stranger and want me to help you kill yourself. Fuck you man, just fuck you”.

Tushar frowned. He knew exactly what I meant, he always does. He sat quietly for a moment while I was still breathing heavily after my gigantic monologue.

“I have never told this to anyone but I guess its my last chance” He muttered.

“I cannot kill myself without that pill. These people keep a watch on all of us, everything is sealed and covered, even this table we are sitting at has smooth round edged, so I don’t cut my hand along the edges. The furniture is mounted to the ground. There are no ceiling extensions anywhere or ropes or any sharp objects for that matter. I will not be able to kill my self. I need that pill because it is the only way I would be able to do this”.

“I wont”. I said.

“You don’t get it, this is important, I have thought this through it is the only way”.

“Why?”.

Tushar took a deep breath and frowned at me.

“I have never told anyone this but I guess you would be the first one”

I was scared. What was he going to say that could possibly convince me to let him kill himself?

 

The Flashback: Part 2

Tushar’s story.

When I was 12 I was in a boarding school, the kids did not like me much because I could run faster than all of them, they were jealous. Sometimes they would get right down mean to me, hide my clothes; lock me up in the cupboard for hours. I did not have any friends and it bothered me for a while but I learned to live with it. I tried to ignore it but the bullying never stopped. This one kid in particular hated me. His name was Abhishek, he was one of the staff kids and he got away with everything. He always came second to me in all of the races and it bugged him off. So, one night I woke up to get myself a glass of water and he cornered me with a couple of his friends. The took chances at throwing punches at while I defenseless. They were tiny kids but they had heavy hands. After they got tiered they threw me in the broom cupboard that was smaller than my body. The squeezed me in a place I could hardly fit, my legs nestled against my chest, hardly any room to breathe. And they left me there all night on that place. The janitor found me in the morning I was hardly conscious. I suffered muscle injuries because of being in an inhuman position for so long. The doctor said even if I recover completely I will not be able to run.

But it was more than the injuries. That night in the cupboard changed me, it made me less human. One day I was sitting by the meadows when I saw Abhishek, standing on the small cliff by the freshwater lake near our school. We were not allowed to go by the cliffs but Abhishek was just plain badass, always breaking the rules. I saw him from a distance and wished with all my heart that he falls into the lake. The next thing I remember is hearing the splash as he fell into the water. I could not believe it I thought I had some sort of super powers. I rushed to the cliff and I saw little Abhishek thrash around in the water. He could not swim. And I could have easily jumped into the water or called for help, I could have saved him. But you know that I did? I watched him open his mouth to scream for help, he opened his mouth because he saw me on that cliff and he thought I would help. But every time he opened his mouth he just swallowed more water, he swallowed so much water that he died sooner than he otherwise would have by drowning. Then it took minutes for the water to swallow him whole. And I walked away feeling more powerful than ever because I thought I could kill people with my mind. I have been doing it ever since. Anyway, Abhishek had a huge funeral, the principal gave a big speech about how Abhishek was a great kid, always humble and polite and helpful. Bullshit. Abhishek was a little prick. Thats all that he was. And I killed him.

*************************************************

I sat there my mind racing with thoughts.

“You did not kill him Tushar, we all have these terrible thoughts we are only human, it does not make you a monster”. I said like a fucking kid. I knew exactly what he meant but I was not going to let him kill himself.

“Its not the killing that makes me a monster. Its how I feel after the kill. When I was 16 my school principal sent me to the councillor because my english teacher found my essays dark and disturbing. The councillor got really scared of me so she got me an appointment with this expensive psychiatrist. After two years in therapy you know what that psychiatrist told me? She said ‘Maybe life is not for everyone’”.

I kept quite.

Remember I told you that Tushar was different? You can be with Tushar all day watch him laugh and make jokes and give random science facts but when he is not talking, when he is quite and absolutely by himself, you will know that there was something about him, something about him that is not okay.

What really makes us human is this ability to love and care. It makes us successful as a specie because when a child is in danger the mother’s love will compel her to give up her life to save the child. The child will probably do the same for his kid when it grows up and that ensures our survival. This love keeps us sane. It makes us human. Tushar did not have that fundamental emotion of caring.

“I did not ask for this. I did not ask to be brought here, to be alive. I look into the mirror and I feel disconnected to the man I see. I look at people in love and I hear songs about pain and movies about laughter and I don’t get it at all. I don’t have all those emotions. I don’t understand people because I don’t know how it feels to be alive anymore. Its like being a colour blind person while everyone keeps obsessing over fucking rainbows”. Tushar snapped.

I knew what he meant.

“You know what I mean. Better than anyone else because somewhere I know you feel it too, I know you do”. Tushar pleaded.

Time froze again and every story I wrote flashed before my eyes. Everything made sense. Tushar knew I was the only person who would understand him, thats why he chose me for this job. Tushar knew I would agree. Because let me tell you a secret, that cold harsh unblinking gaze that Tushar has, I have it too.

A warm tear rolled silently from my eyes and fell on the table.

“Can’t you try again? Give life a chance?”. I begged.

“You know I can’t, this has to be done. Set me free”. Tushar said smiling.

Another tear rolled down.

“Ma’am your time for this session is over you can visit Mr Keshri next week”. The guard said rudely.

Tushar looked into my eyes with all the hope in the world. He wanted to know if I was going to do it.

I gave him nod. He smiled and muttered thank you went along with the guard. Leaving me alone again, in that room. Like he left me alone in that bloody street that morning.

I went back to my hotel, skipped dinner and drank shit load of vodka until I passed out in my own vomit

And that night I had that nightmare again the one with the dog and the father of that little girl. Only this time I had the boulder in my hands and Tushar was the creature in pain. The creature I must set free.

In my dream I struck him with all my might and he whimpered once, before dying. Its only when I pick up the boulder I realise that it was not Tushar that I had killed, beneath the bloody boulder I saw my own bloody, broken face.

CARNIVOROUS 4.0

********************************************************************

The previous blog —–>Carnivorous 3

********************************************************************

You don’t really realise how long a minute is unless youtube decides to play an advertisement you cannot skip or when you are microwaving food. You don’t really realise how long a minute is unless you have been in an accident or missed a bus.
We don’t appreciate the power of a moment unless it makes itself known to us.
5 years.
1827 days.
43,848 hours.
2,630,880 minutes had passed since I left Tushar, sleeping in the old creaking bed, as I left without a last word, left hopefully forever.
But I always believed he would come for me. So I spent 2,630,880 minutes waiting for him. These minutes are the minutes I had never noticed, the time I had not really lived. The minutes I had spent with men I don’t really care about. Drunk and asleep. The minutes I had spent feeding only on memories of the times I was still capable of feeling.
I never really realised how long a minute is until I had been in Tushar’s arms, after 5 fucking years. Died, resurrected and killed again. Within one minute. How that one significant moment nullified 2,630,880 minutes I had spent in the past. Around that stupid “T” shaped scar on my back. So much so that instead of hating it, it became the only thing real about me.
Most of our pasts fades away in memory, we make new friends and we kiss new people. But my past was on my body reminding me that it was real.
You know its basic psychology, that memory is dynamic. It exists in the form of signals in your brain reverberating infinitely in the unconscious, its moving. Memory is alive and self aware.
If some details of the memory are lost in transmission the mind fills the holes with things that never happened. Its a coping mechanism. Your mind is capable of showing you things that don’t exist to give you some kind of will to live. To prevent suicidal thoughts and depression. It is the mind’s defence mechanism against reality.
Notice how when you dream sometimes, you dream of places you have never seen and faces you have never met. Its because your mind can create new things, things that don’t don’t have a place in your reality, without you knowing. Just like that our mind can fool you into feeling a love that never really happened.
Had my mind fooled me into thinking that Tushar loved me? Or more importantly into thinking that I love Tushar? My mind had fooled me into putting my life in danger for a man I once knew. Was I that desperate for love? For a man who so clearly got pleasure from my pain, a man without a heart, did my mind fool me into thinking he had a heartbeat? What had I done to myself. What will I do?
What will I do.
Tushar released me from his hold and gracefully walked to the table and sat down like he was hungry and just came back from work and I was the wife who spent the entire day cooking for him. He had a satisfaction on his face.
I sat down across from him. I felt my vodka rise up.
I felt sick.
The impact of greater tragedies in your life is not felt as it happens. Your body reacts to the pain before the heart does.
There was silence in the room, I looked away from him.
“You have grown your hair. And this, whole loose shirt thing its going for you completely, you were always pretty but you actually look like a woman now, you know what I mean?”. He said cheerfully breaking the silence. He said it as casualy as he would say that to his neighbour. And here I was my hands almost shaking.
I was not prepared for his indifference.
I kept quite.
“Hey, talk to me, you are being really rude right now honey. Remember you do what I say and I will not blow your cover. You are only allowed here for 30 minutes, we cant waste time on emotions right now babe”. He said softly.
“Fuck you”.
The guard looked up again.
Tushar leaned in closer. “If that man looks up again one more time I am going to be really pissed. You are not in the position to piss me off”.
This was the same man I was swooning over minutes ago.
I leaned in. “What more can you possibly want from me?”. I snapped.
Tushar leaned back into his chair and put his arms on the table, I could see on his face that he had waited for this moment longer than I had. His nails were dirty and unevenly broken. He had been scratching walls.
“Just a little help” he smiled.
I lose my shit in T-5.
“What help?”.
4…
“I want you to get something for me”.

3….
“WHAT?”.
2….
“Its something small, really small and I cant trust a lot of people with it”.

1….

Boom.
“You, called me here, so I can get you SOMETHING? Do I look like a delivery guy to you? I mean do you have absolutely no regards for me? I came all the way here to run your fucking errands? How can you be so fucking heartless after all we went through together, after all those god damned memories how can you be so harsh to someone you once loved? How can you…..”
“How can you just leave someone you loved?” Tushar said with more coldness than I was prepared for.
“Do you remember that you were the one who walked away? You left me. Without a reason, without a note. Ever thought about that?” He continues.
“How can you be so fucking heartless after all we went through together, after all those god damned memories how can you be so harsh to someone you once loved” He mocked me.
“I…” I stammered.
The guard walked up to us.
“Ma,am I am going to have to ask you to be quite or ask you to leave”.
Tushar took my hand.
“Oh you misunderstood sir, we are not fighting. Its just that I met my sugar bunny after so long its just the excitement. Right babe?”. He said cheerfully squeezing my hand.
“Right” I said faking a smile.
The guard gave 0 fucks.
“No touching Ma’am”.
Tushar quickly withdrew his hand and kept them on the table like an innocent little kid.
The guard gave us one nasty stare and walked away.
“What is it that you want me to smuggle in here?.” I choked.
Tushar’s face became serious. I noticed little lines on Tushar’s face. Like he had aged 10 years in the past 5 years.
“A small pill. Its a-no-risk deal. I have already made arrangements. You will be completely safe as long as we stick to the plan”.
I noticed a slight tremble in his hands that he had placed on the table. He noticed my eyes son them and quickly placed his hands on his lap away from my sight.
“A pill? Seriously? You want me to smuggle drugs into a rehab centre?”. I said.
“Its not a drug I promise you, I give you my word” Tushar said desperately. The Tushar Keshri was desperate. It was hard to look at him, what had he become?
“Where do I get this pill from?”.
“It is already sent for you as we speak, in the hotel check-in counter just ask the guy behind the desk that you were expecting a package, inside the pack there is the pill and also the instructions you need to know to get it here”.
What ever this was, meant a lot to him.
Something was not right.

“You have so many people working for you why dont you ask one of them to do this for you. You can ask that friend Rupi, she seemed pretty impressed by you”. I tried my best to hide my jealousy.
“Hahaha. Rupi was my therapist. She used to work here. She was assigned to me when I was in the hospital for an ‘accidental’ overdose. When a patient suffers from addiction or trauma it is the hospital’s job to assign them a psychologist to help them cope. I had to talk to her, she had to declare me mentally fit otherwise the hospital was not allowed to discharge me. I could have told her the truth about my life but then they would have sent me to a mental institution but what was the fun in that? So I told her this made up fairy tale story about how I ruined myself over a girl and how I cry myself to sleep  and everything, how tried to kill myself after you left, the overdose made perfect sense to her. I was almost shocked that she believed me. Everyone wants to believe in love. Everybody wants to belive in hope so, I made her think that I can be fixed. But you know me, not all damage is repairable.”
The T shaped scar on my back stung me a little as he said that.
“Anyway, so I emotionally black mailed her into get me some fucking cigarettes while I was stuck here, I mean thats the minimum right? I was going insane. She got me one cigarette but we got caught and her license got suspended and I got stuck here longer than I had anticipated.”
Fuck.
“So this entire deal that you are emotionally vulnerable and violent was just a lie you told her?”.

“Precisely. Human beings are the only animals who have the power to feel sympathy. And it makes us the strongest and the weakest specie to walk the earth. It can push us beyond our limits. Would you have come if you did not feel bad for me?”.
I kept quite. My mind was running with questions.
I looked at him. Was he the same guy I used to sing to sleep?
“Is that why you sent me that clip with your letter?”I asked.
“Would you have come if I had sent a rose?”.
How does he know me so well?
“Why me Tushar? If Rupi can get you cigarettes she can get you this precious pill too.”
“She is not allowed to meet me, remember they do a background check before you come here? But that is not the point. Rupi is too sentimental for a job like this. She would want to know why am I doing this. She will get too involved and curious. I cant trust her with it.”
“And you can trust me with it? Why?”.
“Because you have no other choice. I know your real name and your address, your entry has already been recorded under a fake name. If you don’t do this for me I will report it and you will go to jail for tresspassing and identity theft. That is at least 6 months in prison. Who is going to give you a job with a criminal record? You are inside a mouse trap. And also because you feel for me, thats why you came all the way here. Your semtiments are a proof of your loyality. It was a test and you passed. You wont leave me hanging, not this time. Because somewhere deep inside you feel the guilt of leaving me.”
He was right. I had no choice. I have to give it to Tushar. I am at gun point without a gun. I was more scared about the feelings then I was about the jail.
“15 more minutes!”. The guard shouts from across the room.
Anxiety built up inside me.
“Okay, last question. What is in that pill? Why is it so important”.
Tushar smirked. I felt goosebumps.
“Its a very rare extract of Strychnine. In regular dosage it is used to kill smalls pests and rodents. But if you dilute it enough and increase the concentration of phosphorous it is one of the most lethal poisons in the world. Once in the blood stream it takes over the entire body. The heart stops, within hours of ingestion. Clean peaceful death. And finally when the doctors cut you open for the postmortem to see what caused the heart to stop beating. It shows absolutely nothing. The chemical dissociates into the blood stream leaving no trace. Its the perfect killer”.
I could taste the vodka in the back of my mouth. I was going to throw up.
“Why…do you want a poison Tushar?” I asked in a tiny voice, I already knew the answer.
Tushar relaxed into his seat and he gave me big toothy Tushar Grin.
“Because I am going to kill my self”.

Carnivorous 3

**************************************************************************

To the new people here. Please read the previous parts for this to make sense. Carnivorous-2  CARNIVOROUS

**************************************************************************

“So, You’re finally here”.

I turned around, and that turning around only took seconds or even less than that. But I had already planned things in my mind within the microseconds. I knew I would throw my arms around his neck and he will hold me tightly around my waist and twirl me around like a fucking ice princess and in that one public display of affection all my insecurities will shed in that similar scent of his aftershave and I will be happy and whole again.

But I turned around.

And I see this WOMAN.

I almost screamed in shock. And I am not one of those people who don’t give much reaction on anything.

I was shocked for two reasons

First, I was expecting the abusive psychopath love of my life. Not a woman.

Second, this woman was easily the most disfigured human I had ever seen.

Let me paint a picture her skin was pale and she was thin and tall. She had a weird hunch back posture that made her look rather short than she was. I guess she was in an accident. Her face was old, definitely older than me she was around 35-40. She had beetle black eyes and thin lips and a really out of place nose. She had thick black hair that covered most of her face and she was wearing a long summer dress giving her an even disfigured look.

“You are just like he said you would be” She said and smiled.

I was still in shock. I could not hide my disappointment.

“I am sorry I would love to have a conversation with random people but I am waiting for someone, he will be here any minute, so if you excuse me”. I said trying to calm down my heart.

“I know you are waiting here for Tushar. He is the one who sent me here. He is a special man, isn’t he? He talks about you a lot. You live in Pune, you graduated from Bangalore, you write poems and stuff he keeps reading them infact….” I gesture for her to stop

I loose my shit in 3…..

“What do you mean he sent you here is he not coming?”

“I am sorry but no, he cannot make it”

2…..

“The situation is a little complicated you see. He is……”

1.

Boom.

“With all due respect ma’am,. But I have spent almost all of my savings to come look at his stupid face and you are telling me he is not going to come? Seriously? He is the one who sent me that fucking letter and now that I finally came, travelling for 13 hours crossing state boundaries he decides to bail on me?I really have no idea how you fit into this situation but if you really know him please go and tell that psychotic little motherfucker that he can go and fuck himself unconscious and he is lucky that I am not going to find him and shove that fucking paper clip up his asshole because I don’t want to waste more time on him” I said almost barking the part.

“That is really remarkable. He said you were going to say that and astonishingly in somewhat similar order!”. She said smiling.

I stared blankly at her face, I was punching her in the nose in my head but in reality I just stared at her.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“Tell him, no one gets to break my heart twice”. I said almost breaking.

I started walking away. I must not cry. I told myself.

“Wait!”. The lady called out behind me.

I kept walking.

“If you leave now, you will never get any answers. You can go back to drinking yourself to death or you can be patient. You and I both know he means what he says, trust me.” She said.

I sighed and marched my ass back to the coffee table.

She followed me and sat down in front of me.

“Before you say anything I want to know who are you and how do you know…him”. I asked in a tiny voice looking down at my shoes. It has been a shitty morning so far.

“I am so sorry I totally forgot to introduce myself, I am Rupi”.

She held out her hand to shake mine. I took her hand and it felt boney and cold but her grip was firm.

“I met Tushar shortly after you left. We have been friends ever since”. Rupi said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Why in the world was Tushar friends with a much older woman like her? Rupi was hiding something but I had no time for it.

I had spent almost all my savings and a lot of my time to come here, I was getting impatient.

“Why is he not here? His letter specifically said that he wanted to see me. If he means what he says then where the fuck is he?”. I asked.

“He has seen you already, I clicked a picture of you the minute you walked in and emailed it to him, he is only allowed to use the internet between 9:30 and 10 am that too only permitted websites so I am sorry I had to do it without your discretion but I was running out of time”.

She showed a candid pictures of me that she had clicked from behind the counter of the coffee house on her phone.

Creepy right? It gets creepier.

My head was spinning.

“What do mean he is not ALLOWED to use the internet, he is a grown ass man”.

“You see, Tushar is not really….here”.

“What? Is Tushar DEAD?!”.

“NO! no he is just….umm, he is at this special place where he is being taken care of, you know”.

“I hope you know Rupi you are not doing either of us any good. Can. You. Be. MORE SPECIFIC?”.

“Tushar is in a rehabilitation centre for his excessive drug abuse. This really fancy rehab in the outskirts of the city, he is going through extensive therapy to overcome addiction”.

That day was a carnival of shocks.

“Tushar would rather kill him self than go to rehab. He did drugs for a purpose he is not like you and me or the rest of the world. He does not want to escape reality, he wants to find it. He would never pay a bunch of white coat hypocrites to tell him that he should live his life like they want him to tell him drugs are bad for him, he already knows that drugs are bad for him and he does them anyway, he is not trying to get a kick he is trying to understand his mind. I know him”. I said.

“Tushar has changed, five years is a long time. You don’t know Tushar almost killed himself, twice. When you are so close to death it changes your perspective on life. First he overdosed on heroin some 3 years back, he was lucky the doctors got to him in time. Then around last year new year he took a couple of drugs together, a poison cocktail he called it, he was in the hospital for 8 months. I was in the hospital with him and I honestly did not think he was going to make it. But he did. But in that moment in the hospital bed, when he was dying from the inside out and the pain in his body was almost unbearable, in that second when his insides were liquefying, and his mouth was covered in his blood vomit he whispered your name”.

I felt my skin get cold. I felt my heart defrost and one tear fell out of my pathetic eyes. One tear drop that changed everything. Empathy is a bitch. I was not built for emotions.

I quickly gathered myself.

“Can I meet him at this…place he is in?”. I asked desperately.

“Yes, but there is a catch”.

“What?”.

“You see, Tushar had to go through extensive physical and psychological therapies. Drugs are so hard wired into his system that his mind and body goes into severe withdrawal if it does not get drugs. It makes him violent, almost unpredictable. One minute he is happy another minute he is chasing his room mate with a live electrical wire. He has to be treated like you treat a child sometimes”.

“I can handle him”.

“That was not the catch. You see, during his therapy he has mentioned your name a couple of times. His report roughly indicates that you leaving him led to a chain reaction. He had difficulty forgetting you which led to depression that made him more vulnerable to addiction then he would have been otherwise”.

I remained quite.

“Tushar’s case is sensitive even the smallest of things can trigger a reaction. His therapist believes that you have had a strong emotional impact on him and even if by mistake you say something emotionally powerful to him he might get a trigger response, he can hurt you or himself, he might even go into relapse, it dangerous”.

“I can handle him”.

Rupi smiled.

“He said you would say that. You can meet him but you cant go as yourself. You see, they do a brief bio check of everyone who comes to see any of the patients, its a whole procedure because if they leave a patient with a potential trigger like you it would be like leaving a bucket of gasoline with a zippo lighter. Its dangerous. One wrong act and boom, you’re done. I will have fake Id’s arranged for you tomorrow morning. Its the only way they are ever going to let you in”.

I had used fake ID’s before to get booze. No biggie.

 

Rupi said she would have her driver drive me to the rehab. She will keep the ID and a few instructions in the seat pocket for me to find.

I thanked her for the talk and apologized for screaming earlier. She smiled and got up to take a leave. All eyes on the cafe were on her and her old slouched body and comparatively younger face. As she walked away I called out to her.

“Rupi!”.

She turned back.

I walked to her so I did not have to scream. I did not want people to overhear our conversation.

“If Tushar was really in rehab why didn’t he say so in the letter? Why lie?” I asked.

“Because he wanted to test you. If he would have told you he is sick you would have come because you felt bad for him, not because you had feelings for him”.

That bastard.

“I almost forgot to tell you. Since your stay in Bangalore is going to be longer than you anticipated I have paid for your room in your hotel in advance”.

“Thanks but, How did you know what hotel I am staying at?”. I asked.

“Tushar said you were going to ask that”. she said grinning. And walked away awkwardly. Leaving me there with my cold disgusting coffee.

*******************************************************************

When I reached my hotel my room had been upgraded to deluxe was paid for at least two weeks with complimentary food and alcohol.

The room had a king size bed and a 45 inch TV with a minibar (thank the lord). The bathroom was as big as the bedroom in my apartment in Pune. The shower had 14 different shower settings. Ever heard of that before?

Who ever Rupi was one thing about her was clear, she was extremely wealthy, no one wastes so much money on friends of friend. No one is that generous. There had to be a catch but I knew the answers will come from the man of the hour himself.

Tushar.

What is in your head?

*******************************************************************

Next morning Rupi sent an aqua blue Honda for me to pick me up at my hotel. The driver opened the gate for me and introduced himself. He was a young guy I could not give less shits about him.

The car started off on the road in that merciless Bangalore traffic.

The driver turned back and handed me an envelope.

He told me madam had sent me that.

The envelope had a driving license with my picture on it but it had a different name.

“Osheen Pathak”. I read out loud.

That was the stupidest fucking name I had ever heard. Why couldn’t Rupi come up witch a better sounding cover name.

Ring Ring.

It was my cellphone.

“Hello?”.

“On your way right?”.

It was Rupi.
“How did you get my….anyway what kind of name is Osheen Pathak?”.

“Hahaha. It was completely random. Now I want you to remember than Tushar is in a very delicate stage, you are still a trigger, when you go there you must not say anything that is emotionally stimulating, just try to be neutral, take lead of the conversation, make him laugh, don’t say anything harsh or overtly romantic”.

“Roger that”.

“Good. All the best. I’ll get in touch with you soon. Bye bye”.

“Thanks. Bye”.

I disconnected the call and took a huge gulp from my vodka flask.

Soon the buildings and the thick warm air got replaced by trees and a cool breeze.

I knew I was getting closer.

We drove around for 30 minutes when I saw this enormous modernist building. It looked like an IT workshop.

The guard stopped the car at the entrance, that meant I was on my own.

I walked into the huge reception with enormous windows and cheerful paintings.

The receptionist was a pretty dark skinned woman.

“Hello how may I help you?”.

“Umm. Hi. I am here to see Tushar Keshri.”

“And you are…..?”.

“Osheen Pathak”.

“Right. Can I have your ID?”

I handed my fake Id over to her, she typed away something on the computer and printed out a copy of it for herself before returning it to me.

“Perfect. You may take a seat, someone will escort you to Mr Keshri shortly”.

The building was nothing like you would imagine a rehab to be. It was warm and lively. Tushar must have hated it here.

A few minutes later a short guy in a red polo shirt came to escort me.

“So you are here to see Mr Keshri huh? He almost never meets most of his visitors he is a very private man”. He said as we were walking through the corridors.

“I know”. I said smiling.

“How do you know him Miss Pathak if I may ask”.

“He is a really old friend”.

“Oh, nice. Well, there will be a guard in your room in case of emergency, the rules are pretty simple. No screaming, no shouting, no sudden movements and no touching.”

“Right”.

“I am going to have to ask you to take off your shoes, your belt and your watch”.

“Are you serious?”.

“I am sorry its the standard protocol, also I will need your cellphone you cant take any electrical devices in there with you”.

I sighed and handed him all the stuff I had, then he had a female guard frisk me thoroughly behind the curtains.

“Clear?”. The red polo shirt guy asked.

The female guard nodded her head.

“You may go in Miss Pathak”.

“Sir, I was wondering about the no touching rule, cant I just give him a hug, we are meeting after a long time, he needs human warmth after all that he has been through”.

The red shirt guy sighed.

“Ok you are allowed one hug, but make it quick and umm….nothing sensual”.

“Roger that”.

He took me to a closed wooden door.

“He will be here in a moment. Good luck Miss Pathak”.

The fact that every one kept saying that made me nervous.

“Thanks”.

I opened the door, the room looked like a part of the house from a paint commercial. Bright and happy. I cant really blame Tushar for being violent in a place like this, so many colours would drive me off the edge too.

There was a guard, sitting in the distant corner of the room with all his power belt equipment hanging from his hip. There was a table in the middle with chairs on either sides so we both could face each other while we spoke.

My palms were sweaty from anticipation. I had been gone for so long but now I was finally here for him. He had suffered enough. It was all going to be okay.

I heard the door creaked and he walked in, it was him, unmistakably him. Tall and lanky. My heart was about to break out of my chest. I had not felt so happy, so relief, so god damned relaxed in ages. It was like I had a thorn pricked in my skin and someone finally, after years of agony, removed it.

He had grown a beard and cut his hair small but he looked so different but he looked so good.

I then looked him in the eyes to realize he had frozen down in his spot.

“You came”. He said in a shaky voice.

“You called me” I said in an even shakier voice.

Don’t cry. I commanded myself.

He took a few long steps and scooped me in his arms and twirled me around like a fucking ice princess, he did not smell like his usual aftershave because he had stopped shaving apparently but it was still him, he had wrapped his arms tightly around me and in that moment I knew I was almost complete.

“Oh god, you cant imagine what I went through to find you”. he said still holding me.

“I know, I am so sorry, I am here now”.

“I know. I know”. He said and kissed my shoulder.

I wanted that moment to last forever. And it did. Not the way I hoped it would.

“But you know nothing.” he whispered in my ear.

It was strange, I try to break the hug and look at him but he at tightened his grip on me.

“You don’t know that as we embrace in affection my friends are over to that hotel room where you stay”.

I tried to push him. The guard looked up.

“If you make him suspicious I am telling them you came here with a fake ID of a missing woman, Identity theft is a long time in prison sugar. Act wisely”.

Didn’t see that coming right?

“You asshole”.

“You are not in the position to threaten, when I let you go, you are going to stay calm, or you have no idea what I am going to do to you.”

 

Carnivorous-2

********************************************************************************

Hi shitheads. Welcome to my suffering. This story is more likely to make sense to you if you have read the first part which I wrote almost a year back CARNIVOROUS.

Adios.

********************************************************************************

There is a “T” shaped scar on my back. And it is tiny and can almost pass for a cross. But I am not catholic. I am not anything really.
I had personal believes that this scar is symbolic to the single most interesting story I probably have to tell.
But it’s glory days are over, its been 5 years since I have had it and it does not look half as badass as it used to look back then.
It has healed and blackened over the years and now it just looks like a cheap, poorly drawn tattoo from a gas station. But if you look close enough, if you trace it around it’s edges with your finger you will know that it is a burn mark. You can see the cracks on the skin close to the mark as it healed it self. You can almost see the caramelised blood that has turned brown under the foreskin and if you dig your fingers deeper into it you can almost feel the heat of the metal that burned me. And if there is absolute silence in the room you can probably hear the sizzle of my skin as the metal melted through it. It sounds like fries in the fryer but a lot less appealing. If you are close enough you can almost feel what I must have felt like. But you wont know what it felt like. Don’t be an asshole.
Because its not your skin and its not your story. Its mine. You are here to read my suffering not to connect with it.
Anyway.
The day I got the scar was also the day I last saw the man who gave it to me. Tushar.
I moved out of Bangalore to Pune after graduating. I worked as a ghost writer for practically any one who could pay. I had a small one bedroom house on top of an old tea shop where truck drivers made a pit stop to piss and smoke. The streets smelled like Urine and cheap cigarettes and sounded like wounded dogs and crying babies.
I lived like a cockroach. I rarely spoke to my neighbours and I was the youngest in my writing circle so no one really paid much attention to me. I had no complains. My life was simple. But one day god decided to casually fuck it up again.
It was a sunny noon and I was doing what I do on every afternoon, drinking, when I received a package. It was a brown cardboard box sent from a Bangalore address. Reading the word “Bangalore” almost gave me a heart attack. I don’t get mails that are not bills and I specifically don’t get mails from Bangalore. I have bad memories of that place.
I came to Pune to escape that city and I had my reasons for it but the past is like a clingy ex who has evil ways of reminding you of it self.
I ripped through the cardboard in a few seconds.
Inside the box there was a small grey envelope. It had a letter inside that read

I miss you. Every single day since the last 5 years. Come see me this 28th? I just want to see your face. So I can remind myself that you were real.
I will be waiting for you in the same old coffee shop near your college. Our usual time.
Come and we all can get some answers.
Unapologetically yours
Tushar

This was way beyond fucked up.
My heart started beating faster by the second.
I felt the envelope there was something inside it.
I tore through it and a burnt and rusted old paper clip bent in the shape of letter “T” fell on the floor.
By this time my heart started beating so fast that I almost felt dizzy.I picked it up to look closely. It was the same paper clip. It was impossible to not recognise it.I looked closer to see if it still had my caramelised blood on its edges. It was without a doubt the same clip that he had used on me.
It was not romantic. Don’t get the wrong Idea.
It was like sending a cancer patient a box full of cigarettes. Would you send a person a knife you stabbed him with?
It sent a shudder down my spine.
Tushar wanted to convey something specific. He has not forgotten anything. People like Tushar don’t miss people, they don’t have the heart to.
But I had to give him some credit for his research work.
I left Bangalore right after I graduated.I changed my phone number, my social media I even changed my email Id. I was completely off the radar. How did Tushar find me? I was so careful.
There was a part of me that was scared of this man that I know is capable of causing pain.
There was this other part of me that knew Tushar would find me someday, this part of me was happy to be found.
I had to go to Bangalore. Tushar was right, we all need answers.
*******************************************************************
Tushar is not one of those people who you meet everyday. There are men who like foot ball and men who play the guitar and the men who disagree with everything to sound cool. If you have a dating career like mine at some point in your life you start to feel that most people can be put into boxes. And at some point you will start to feel they all are the same person with different bodies.
But Tushar was different. The kind of different I cant really put into words. Lets just say he is not like you and me. He saw things and he heard voices that don’t have mouths. All kinds of fucked up. But for whatever reason it was almost impossible for me to not fall in love with him. Psychopaths are charming and that is a fact.
But it was more than Charms that made Tushar, well, TUSHAR. He is something else.

I remember this one time we were in my small college room smoking weed and discussing politics and we realised after a couple of joints that we were too stoned than we wanted to be. He was lying down on his back on the cold floor with his arms spread wide. I was sitting on the old computer chair wheeling around the room banging into walls. He was staring straight at the old celling fan humming this tune of this really familiar song that has a name I can never remember.
It was quite and I heard this really loud roar(not exaggerating) and I realised that it is coming from Tushar’s stomach. It almost sounded like a cow was giving birth. I obviously laughed for a straight 15 minutes while Tushar hid his face in the pillow. It was all okay till then but after a little while I realised that I was starving too. And it was not even regular hunger. It was savage. Soon we started searching around the room for sugar packets or even left overs, just something to taste, anything. We fought over a stale cookie we found in the shelves.
It was almost 1:00 am in the morning and we were pretty convinced that we both will loose our minds to starvation if we don’t find food.
So both of us. High and practically broke got out on the streets of Bangalore. We jumped windows and outran stray dogs with rabies to finally share a meal made by a nice old lady who owned a small cafe with questionable hygiene. The cafe was not yet open but she had some left over dinner which was cold and ridiculously spicy. By that time we were so hungry that it was almost impossible to even process how the food tasted. My purpose was to get the food in my stomach as fast as I can. I ate and I ate and I took second servings of the cold hard rice and frozen curry. Tushar had already helped himself with the 4th serving. We ate like animals. We ate and ate and ate till we could not eat anymore. We thanked the old lady and payed her whatever we could. The sun had started to rise and you could almost hear the birds chirping. We walked the lonely streets dragging our feet on the road lazily cause we were too full and the spicy food was acting up. After walking for 10 minutes we decided that we have to take a bus. We both passed out on the cold metal seats in that lonely old bus and missed our station. When we woke up our bodies were cold and our butts hurt from sitting on the bus for too long but Tushar looked at me and wrapped his long arms around my body and buried his face in my neck.
“Since we already fucked up, lets just go as far as the bus goes. I am too tiered to make sense right now. Hmm?” He whispered slowly and his warm breath on my skin.
“That is the worst idea I have ever heard in my life” I said as I let my fingers in his black messy hair.
I felt his smile against my skin. He was too tiered to speak. I stroked his hair as he fell asleep his arms still around me. I saw the sun slowly rise out of the window of that lonely bus. And as the sun came out I fell asleep too.

*******************************************************************
27th may 3:00 am
I had brushed my teeth and packed my bags. My bus was supposed to leave in two hours. I had not slept ever since I got his letter. I felt sleepy but could not sleep and with the all that alcohol I was not really awake. I felt hungry but even the thought of food made me wanna throw up. I drank shit load of vodka and smoked too many cigarettes. I had quite smoking 2 years back.
My stomach churned for the thousandth time. Was I really doing this?

27th may 9:45 am
Vodka is not my choice of poison, I am woman of whisky but its easier to sneak in vodka because it looks like water and its a quick high. For a 13 hour journey I had emptied two whole bottles of cherry vodka into a water bottle. I took sips from time to time but even with its disguise my fellow passengers got suspicious soon. There is not much one can do to mask the smell of hard liquor.
The woman who sat beside me gave me a filthy look. It made me uncomfortable but I knew there was no way I was going to make through this sober.

27th May 2:30 pm
The cab driver had been checking me out in his rear view mirror. I had bundled my self to the edge of the car seat to escape his gaze. I was pretty drunk. I was almost always pretty drunk. But I had mastered the art of looking sober. There is not much regards in India for a woman who drinks.

27th May 3:19 pm
The hotel is decent. It was a bit over the budget but I rented a room anyway. Its smart to rent good hotels when you know are meeting up with an ex lover. You know what I mean, you meet an ex, you remember your fun times, the inside jokes that you forgot over time, the jokes that only you two know, he makes you laugh and you laugh a little louder than you intended because you are lonely. Admits all that sugar coating you will forget why you guys broke up in the first place. In the spur of the moment you will look him in the eyes and for a second, you would question every thing you have ever known and you will, in that moment forget that he is the same asshole and you are the same pathetic needy little drunk bitch. You will do something stupid. For example sleep with him. It is very likely to happen. I know the drill hence, the hotel room.
I wont however, you know sleep with him. Not after what he did to me.
But I really do not trust myself enough and thats why my hotel room had a double bed.

27th May 8:00 PM
I ordered the cheapest meal I could find on the menu. I ate some of it, threw most of it. My stomach is in knots. I don’t remember being this nervous since 2010. I am so tiered but I cannot sleep. The bed is too huge its intimidating for my tiny little body. But tomorrow is a huge day. I gluged all I could from my bottle.
Life hack: If you can’t sleep. Passout.

28th May 7:00 AM
Threw up in the sink this morning. I hate vodka. But it felt much better. I took a shower, I put moisturiser on my skin, mascara on my lashes and put on a casual shade of liptint. I had to look good. I wore a long grey off shoulder that I had gotten altered to hug my body at the right places. Skinny black jeans that I had never worn before, it even had the price tag on. And black ankle boots with just a little heel. I let my long hair fall back mercilessly like I used to 5 years back. I dont really care much for looks but I get nervous around Tushar. I had to look good but not over the top, Tushar would sense my nervousness if I went over the top. I was keeping it simple.

29th May 9:54 AM
I reached the cafe at around 9 which is one hour before our usual time. No ground breaking nostalgia. I did not see the past flash before my eyes. I sat down at our usual place. It was also the place where I first met him. You know that story don’t you?
I never really thought I would fall so in love with a man like him. But it was impossible not to fall in love with him.
Anyway moving on.
The letter that he had sent me stated that he would be here at our usual time. Our usual time was 10 am. He will be here any moment. And my heart is about to explode.

********************************************************************
As I was sitting there sipping that coffee which still did not taste anything like coffee. But I was grinning with excitement like a fucking school girl.
With all the vodka and the anticipation I almost forgot that he is not just an ex. I almost forgot that Tushar was capable of things most people are not. In my pretty grey top and black sexy jeans I almost forgot that Tushar did not call me here just for a reunion.
The only thing I remembered was that I still loved him and I wanted to see his face more than anything else in the world. I was completely caught up in my day dreaming when I heard a familiar voice behind me say.
“So, you’re finally here”.
My heart almost stopped. I turned around to look who it was.
And froze down in shock.

CARNIVOROUS

I have a “T” shaped scar on my shoulder. It was always hard to explain to doctors and lovers how I got a scar so accurately shaped by “accident” but my lovers don’t give a fuck and the doctors were more concerned by my liver so it was taken off the hook rather easily.

Out of all the men in my life, there is the one I will not forget. The one who has his claws so deep rooted in my bones that the color of his iris was the colour of my bone marrow and the functionality of my brain was at the mercy of his tongue. Too fancy for you?

Anyway.

I met him, the guy, during collage when I was a lesser broken,a lesser poisoned woman. I was in a very committed long distance relationship with my high-school-sweet-heart-who-lived-in-a-different-state at the time . My boyfriend was a pretty boy, the kind who owned more cosmetics than me. I caught him sexting his ex once after our 1 year anniversary and what little heat I had in my heart died that day. We continued dating for a year even after that because he convinced me to stay and moreover “sexting” was such a stupid reason to end a relationship. I put up with him till some better reason came along. And it did. Pretty boys are not for keeps.

Anyway I was not very fond of my boyfriend and it was not out of my natural ability to be able to hate everyone, it was because he was careless with me. He drained out all my energy every day. He kept me insecure all the time. He wanted constant reassurance of my love as if I was the one who cheated. The whole relationship was an obligation.

While my boyfriend continued being a dick, I found him. Tushar. He is one of the four names I will mention through out my story. You will know why.

Tushar was a much older guy. He worked at a coffee shop and always smelled like freshly ground beans. He was a lean guy who wore spectacles and seemed to know more than he shows. He had a voice so deep that it steered oceans inside of me. He had a serious face and a nose so sharp that one could grate cheese on it.

I saw him at the cafe where he worked(I used to go there several times a week) and as usual I was too self absorbed to properly notice him. I sat at a table in the corner with my laptop, I was probably working on a collage assignment. Meanwhile he was clearing my table out to make space for coffee and he accidentally knocked out my cellphone which was kept there.

It was human of me to expect him to burst into an apology and bend down to pic up my cellphone all the while telling me that it is his fault because thats what waiters do but he did not. I waited for a few seconds then picked up the phone myself. The screen of my cellphone had cracked. I looked at the screen and then at the man who broke it trying to draw regret out of him but nothing happened.

“Its broken” I said trying to stress.

He looked at me as confused as I looked at him and then said “I think its just a crack”

It was actually just a crack but I was not too happy about getting corrected by a waiter.

“But I will have to pay for a brand new screen to fix that crack. You might as well have broken it”.

“But by definition it is still just cracked”.

I was obviously irritated by then “Thank you for the enlightenment, if you don’t mind I would like to drink my coffee in peace now so you may please go define your self somewhere you can no longer crack my things”.

He stared for a second and said “To define is to limit. Oscar Wilde” and walked away. I stared after him the guy was intelligent and looked nothing like a waiter, his walk looked rich.

I looked at my phone, took 30 seconds to mourn over it then got back to my coffee. I know you guys must be like  why aint I extremely angry because it has been stablished previously that I am a mental woman. I’ll tell you why. I welcomed rudeness more than I welcomed empathy. ‘Sorry’, ‘thank you’s’ and ‘please’ comes as a compulsion, as a conditioning, as enforcement; mean while ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘doobeydildo’ come as naturally as they come. I believed that deep within we were still savages with drool running down are chins, earth underneath our fingernails and our foul mouth was a testament of our primitive nature. It was honest,simple, it was easier to handle.

I finished my coffee and went to the counter to pay. Tushar had deducted a significant amount from my bill as an apology.

I was disappointed, I wished he had the guts to mess with the customer(aka me) just for the heck of it. An apology made him penetrable.

“No man is rich enough to buy back his past. Oscar Wilde” I smiled in victory. I was always a smart mouth. He looked at me with no expression, no awe.

“Would you come back tomorrow?” he said in his deep throaty voice as I turned to walk away.

“Yes” I just said as a reflex and walked out without looking back.

I did not go to the cafe for the next 3 days because my boyfriend was in town. Since he lived in a different state we did not meet often so, every time we did meet we would act like its a big deal. We would act like we were still in love and we will take time out to look into each other’s eyes and hold each others hand and kiss each other slowly in order to re intact the time when we still had some fire in our heart. The act made it worse. You know how in movies a character starts laughing in a really sad situation and it makes that situation seem a whole lot depressing. It was like that. He probably did have some fire only I didn’t but then he had fire for everything with a hole.

After those three dreadful days I went back to the cafe and sat at the corner table as usual. The cafe was almost always empty it was bad business and bad coffee but I went there because it was peaceful and cheap. Tushar came to my table to take my order.

“The usual Mr Wilde” I said jokingly.

He did not say anything and went on to stare at me.

“Take a seat lets talk” I said patting the seat next to mine.

He took a seat still pretty expressionless. It was not hard to tell that Tushar was not normal, you could take one look at him and know that something was wrong with this man and yet you cannot point out what. You know how I keep mentioning that I was scary in my own way, well, I picked that up from Tushar. Its very hard to explain. I will try to narrate what can only be felt.

“You like to read?” I asked.

“You said you will come that day” he said completely ignoring my question.

“I am sorry I got caught up with my friends ” I replied sincerely.

“ What friends ?” he asked as if I was his wife who was caught cheating.
“I don’t think it concerns you”.

“ You come here everyday to drink coffee that tastes like piss just to avoid human contact, you don’t look at your phone you don’t look at emails. I don’t really think people with friends follow your life style”. He said monotonously.

It was meant to sting and it did. Because he was right.

“I don’t need life style advices from waiters” bad come back.

“ Suit your self”

He got up and started walking away. Now I was pissed. I welcomed only reasonable bullshit.

“Aye! Wait” I said loudly from my table.

He stopped and looked back.

I walked up to him until he was close enough for him to see the real time crazy in my eyes. Intimidation technique.

“You take my orders and get me your 50 Rs coffee and mind your fucking business. If I am kind enough I’ll leave you a tip, not the other way round” I threatened.

“Thats too much anger for such a small woman”.

“You have seen nothing yet”

“I’ll tell you what I have seen. I see you come here, sit alone and drink bad coffee for hours. I see your smile break into a frown every time you are left alone. I see how you always shake your leg when you sit, its a sign of suppressed emotions and anxiety. I see you are all broken and bruised inside and thats more than anyone will ever know you because you take such pride in being the angry young wounded woman that you don’t let people inside you, you want to be invincible. You are angry because you know I am right. You are actually defenceless”.

He was right. He gave me shivers. I was defenceless and also strangely excited.

Its cleaver to know when to surrender.

“You have a degree in psychology?” I asked trying desperately to make my defeat seem less pussy-like.

“Philosophy. Thats why I am not under full time employment”.

That explains a lot.

“What do you want from me?”.

“Why should there be a want?”.

“So you just psychoanalysed me as a hobby?”

“As a habit”.

“So you creep everyone out. Everyone who comes here for your bad coffee”.

“No, just you”.

“Why me?”.

“Why should all questions have answers? Why cant you let things be vague?”.

“I would let everything be vague if it does not involve me or creepy waiters making mental notes about my personality”.

“You want answers?”.

“No just one answer”.

“Ask”.

“Why me?”.

“Trust me you don’t wanna know”.

“Tell me”.

“Honestly” he stepped back.

“I look at you and I see something so small, so cold and fragile that I want to put you in my mouth and roll you in my tongue and see how long you take to dissolve”.

Creepy? Yes it was. Can possibly be the creepiest thing you can say to a person you just met. I should have been creeped out but it is known that I do not react like a normal person.

I stood their like a dummy till the end of the times feeling excited. I felt fireworks between my thighs. I was in a serious, unsatisfying and everyday relationship for so long that such passion rendered me defenceless.

I went back to my hostel and spent the entire day lying on my back smoking some weed and thinking about Tushar.

Now if you are thinking that these are one of the typical love stories where the girl falls in love with the bad boy let me correct you. The girl is in love with neither. I was intrigued and excited by Tushar, he was not in love with me either. He wanted to exist between me, inside me and thats all that he really wanted. Thats all I wanted.

After you reach a certain age and after you have had a certain amount of sex you realise that sex is not about reaching a climax unlike what you discussed through whispers in classrooms. Its about power. It about truth. Its about how far are you willing to surrender to your lust. Its about possibilities of something new over the possibility of getting ruined. And I was 19 and I ran completely on high hopes and possibilities.

I was 19 and I had lost my virginity on my 18th birthday to my boyfriend. The first time was bad but then it got better eventually as we got used to the rhythm of our bodies. Sex was becoming my get away because I had not been formally introduced to alcohol back then. My point was I knew what to do but I did not get to do it enough.

I started going to the coffee shop more frequently ever since that day, just to run into Tushar. A lot of days we would just steal eye contacts, intense and intimate other days we would talk about random philosophy stuff. Tushar knew what I felt for him. He was the kind of guy who knew everything. At times I felt he was under my skin, crawling through my arteries poking delicate organs to see how I would react.

Our casual meetings in the cafe went on for three weeks until one day Tushar took me to the maintenance room and took off his shirt. He had a stoners body. He was so thin that I could count his vertebrates. His torso was covered with tattoos and so was his back. A turtle on his chest and a roller coaster on his back, he was like a canvas of the most random shit ever.

I took off my shirt and I was everything that he was not. Or was it the other way around? I had uniformity in my skin. No cuts, no marks and no tattoos. I got conscious how plain and bland I looked in front of him. I did not stay conscious for long, Tushar took me. Like he said he wanted to. He rolled me in his tongue to see how long I take to dissolve. Not too long. I was not a virgin and I was not very sexually active either. But even though I could tell that he and I had was more than sex, it was soul fucking. Because we just didn’t fuck without our cloths on, all our conversation, even the silly ones were like a verbal foreplay. I was fire and he was water. Every second with him was electric.

Neither of us knew why we had such chemistry that from that day forth it became difficult for us to as much as look at each other without getting sinful thoughts.

I was not falling in love I was falling into an addiction. He was too.

We owned each other physically. He would do whatever he wanted with me and I did whatever I wanted to him. I had found a certain freedom in sex. I did not worry about feelings or pleasing or seeming subtle or un-whore like, like I did with my boyfriend. With Tushar I was savage and he was savage. We both had attained some sort of a sexual nirvana.

Tushar and I became less than friends and more than the benefits. But it was not good for either of us. We both feared that we will get bored of the same bodies and this magic will wear off. We could not let that happen so I, like the stupid little 19 year old that I was. I suggested kinky stuff we see in porn.Tushar had darker ideas. Ecstasy. It was a drug. It was supposed to increase sexual pleasures. Now I know I am no saint but I was scared. I only had experience with occasional weed and beer.

“Don’t you want to reach your sensual peak?”.

“With a chemical?”.

“Its just a catalyst. A biological upgrade. Don’t you want everything?”.

“I want everything”.

And so we did. I don’t remember most of it, its a kaleidoscope of arms and tongues and legs in my memory. I remember hunger, I remember the thirst for warmth like never before. But that was all. Soon our bodies surrendered and the chemical wore off. But it changed us. Tushar was forever hung over on that drug after that. He got rough, rougher than usual. He demanded more. He started hurting me and not the kind I liked. I didn’t stop him, I was scared to disappoint. He was my only get away from who I actually was. Hollow and dead.

One day after we were done ruining each other, when we were just sitting in just our skins. Blowing cigarette smoke into each other’s faces.

“You are mine”.

He often said that. He did not mean that in a romantic sort of a way. He meant he owned me and that he had ownership of my physical entity. Visa versa.

“I am yours”.

“Show me you are mine”.

I climbed on top of him and bit his lower lip.

“I am yours”.

“I want more than that”.

He pushed me back took a paper clip from the bedside table. He took out a his lighter. He bent the clip in the shape of the letter “T” and heated while holding the ends with his shirt wrapped around his hands. I watched, stoned, as the metal turned black.

He brought his face close to mine, as if to kiss me but didn’t. He looked into my eyes as he ever so softly, delicately placed the burning metal into my soft skin as he exhaled in ecstasy into my mouth. He lifted the metal before it could leave a mark. He was teasing my pain.

He took my hand and placed it between his legs, he was hard. He touched that peace of metal again on my back as he looked in my eyes and I looked into his. He was getting excited as we both almost heard my skin sizzle as it burnt. I gasped silently not breaking eye contact as tears poured down my cheeks from the pain. Tushar finally lifted the metal and he came in my hands, just by looking at me.

He turned me around to see how the impression was. He exhaled again as he saw his mark on me.

He then took me in his arms, more than pleased with himself.

“Now everyone will know that you are mine”.

My skin burnt, my soul, assuming I had one at the time, burnt. Everything was on fire except my heart, which felt frozen.

I looked at Tushar, I should have been angry at him but I was not. Something was wrong with him, somewhere a switch was broken. How could you walk into fire and not expect to get burnt?

He and I, we had a disease in our brains only I had learnt how to control mine.

I looked at his sharp face and thought if he even knew my last name. Whether I knew his. I looked into his brown eyes and thought if I walk away now will he look for me. Will he even know where to find? Will I know where to find.

We were strangers with the same disease, the same bedsheets.

I got my clothes and left his place where he was asleep. I looked at him for the last time. The man I belonged to. The man who owned me. The man I will never forget.

It was noon. I was walking through the crowded streets. I called my boyfriend.

“Babe?”

“Hey”.

“Hey! Where are you? You haven’t returned my calls since morning”.

“I just called to tell you that you are an asshole”.

Silence.

“Babe I don’t know what?!Where are you? Have you been smoking weed again”.

“You think weed is the problem?”.

“I don’t know what are you talking about babe. Are you ok?”.

“No I am not ok. I have never been ok. I had to call you an asshole to finally make you give a fuck about me”.

“BABY! You are acting nuts! Look, I am gonna catch a train tomorrow, I am coming to see you. Everything will be ok.”

“And do what? You will take my hand, intertwine your fingers with mine, give it a little squeeze. Look in my eyes and call me baby. You will buy me food or roses and leave. Do think this will fix everything? YOU COULD FIX ME. I let you in, I was weak. Did you not notice how broken I was? Do you think wishing me good morning and kissing me good night is all it takes? You are not dumb, you knew I was fucked up. You just didn’t care enough to do something about it”.

Silence.

“Babe……let me just come..talk….”

“If I ever get your call or text again, I will do everything in my power and the power of my power to ruin you. I will not stop until your life becomes as miserable as mine.Trust me I have nothing left to loose, try me”.

I disconnected the call.

That was the last I heard from him. The man I pretended to love every day for two years. Gone. Just like that.

I lost two strangers that day.

The one who wanted me and the one who had me.

I kept walking as the Bangalore sun instigated the burn on my back. The warm red wind blew against my smoke smelling hair and I felt no heat and I felt no pain.

Some people are born with worms in their brains. Some people are born with winter in their hearts.

Irreversible Reactions

I threw up a yellow-ish vomit in my kitchen sink. Thank the lord I did not have anything solid last night that might have any trouble passing through the tiny kitchen drain.
I stared at it as it went down trying to figure out what happened yesterday night on the basis of colour, consistency and smell of my vomit. It was as I said dominantly yellow with a hint of small threads of red blood with a oddly sweet and sour after taste.
I checked my cellphone to check if I had made any calls or sent out any texts. There were none. I checked my wallet, no clues.
I took a warm shower examining my body for any unusual scaring or love bites. My lips were slightly bruised, nothing that a lipstick could not fix. I got into a drunk bar fight yesterday with this much younger much taller girl who’s face is the only thing I remembered because I decided I was gonna pick a fight with her as soon as I walked into the bar. She was too tall. It seemed arrogant of her to be THAT tall. I know it does not make sense but its my story so shut up.
I passed out after one punch because I was horribly drunk. I don’t even know what the argument was about. I remember getting into a cab but technically speaking everything before and after getting hit was a blur but on a brighter side I was in my room safe and clothed so I pledged to never do this again and go on with my day. I put some make up on to cover up bruises and went to work.
This was 9 months after my breakup and nearly a month after that ugly man dented my face. I grew worse after that incident at the bar. I felt so angry that I kept my self horribly drunk most of the time to distract myself from doing something stupid like that. I needed protection from my own mind. I was not safe with myself. But sometimes like yesterday night I let all hell break loose and I loved it. It was my getaway from the appearance of normality.
Meanwhile things at work were going fine, the company I worked for was recently bought by a bigger company and people like me who worked just for the heck of it were given a considerable raise in salary, status and work pressure.
Since the company got bigger we needed to hire more people to help us get the load off work, we preferred fresh collage graduates who were desperate enough to work extra hard for minimum wages. I was not incharge of the recruiting committee although my boss considered me for it but my beaten up face was still recovering and he did not want the newbies to get any wrong impressions about the company.
That was the month these little collage kids swarmed around the floor like cockroaches. I was almost 27 at the time and considered anyone below 25 a kid.
We would make them do petty jobs, revert our emails and carry our stuff around and they did, gladly so.
I was one of the most respected writers on the floor which was because 1) these people had no idea that I was a part time alcoholic psychosadist cunt.
2) I was good at what I did.
So, boss sent a bunch of these little collage ‘rabbits’ who were finally narrowed down for the job down at my office so I could teach them about work ethics, which was code for “scare the shit out of them”.
I was working on a new website when 13 young collage kids walked into my office nervously. Pretty ordinary looking, all of them. I did not pay much attention to their faces but collectively they looked excited and eager to learn, such suck ups . I smirked as I realised that I was about to take all that away from them( I have no idea why am I like this).
“I don’t have enough chairs for you guys would you mind standing?”.
“No” they muttered and shook their heads politely.
“ Even if you would have said yes it wouldn’t have made a difference really, I made it seem like you have a choice but in reality you don’t.” I paused for a breath, for me to take for them to catch. Its on rabbits.
“As you would have realised, we take work seriously here, each of us have worked our asses off for years to get to where we are,not to have a bunch of collage kids to come up and fuck our shit up”.
I stopped again, I could see their excitement was replaced with confusions. They were shifting uncomfortably in their spots under my cold gaze.
“ You are fresh collage meat and this company is your best shot you don’t really have a choice , consider yourself lucky you are gonna have a check delivered to your address every month otherwise you know what happens to Art graduates in India.”
Inculcate fear. Done.
I paused again and now the confusion was replaced by nervousness.
“ We are gonna make you jump through hoops I want you to be prepared for it, we will reward you if you make it, but only if you make it. Otherwise we wont hesitate in firing your sorry asses out of the door. You are replaceable. Keep this in mind and work hard.”
There goes their self esteem, now its time to make them feel sad.
“We work six days a week but for you guys I cant make any promises. Also, you don’t have fixed working hours or privilege leave for the time you work as trainees so make sure you don’t fall sick or else you will be replaced by someone with a better immunity”.
Voila. And thats my friend how you make fresh collage grads shit their pants.
“Any questions?”.
They whispered ‘no’ in tinier voices
“Close the door behind you”.
I said as I watched them walk away I felt oddly calm. I got back to my computer and waited for the door to ‘click’ close but it took a little longer than it should have, so I looked up. One of the collage rabbit stood at the door. Staring at me nervously. So at this point you guys deserve a description and I will give it to you. He was cute, cute like someone who looked much younger than he was, had little facial hair and full cheeks and curly hair but nothing that you will notice in a crowd. He looked familiar, like someone I knew but I dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.
“Do you plan on setting up a tent here?” I asked.
“I am sorry I have a question”. He said visibly nervous. He had turned red..
“And I have a migraine. Get out. Find out who your coordinate is and leave me at peace. Got it?”.
He stood there like a little traumatised puppy. I was loving it.
He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind.
He thanked me and walked out.
I went back to work and when I took a break I was fantasising about all the alcohol I was gonna drink tonight. Nothing significant happened all day. I was done by 8pm and decided to get home and get drunk.
I got into the elevator and groaned as it went up to the 8th floor, parking was on ground level.
The door opened and guess who stepped in? Thats right our man rabbit collage meat with a question and a familiar face.
The air got awkward almost instantly. I noticed him fidgeting with his hands.
“Ma’am….” he said almost in a whisper.
“Yes”.
“I am sorry”.
It caught me off guard I’ll admit it. What was he sorry for?
I raised my eye brow, which is something I just do because I know it looks good.
“Elaborate”.
“About yesterday night”.
Now do you remember when you were caught with porn? Or your mom read your sexts? Do you remember when something absurdly humiliating like that happened and your finger tips went cold and your ears got hot and your eye lids got itchy and you just wanted to die? That is how I felt at the moment.
“What about yesterday night?” I asked faking indifference.
“My girlfriend…remember? She got into a fight with you. I am really sorry on her behalf she shouldn’t have hit you…..that hard….I mean your face is still pretty swollen.” he said.
What were the odds of that happening? In a country with a population of over 1.2 billion what are the odds of THAT happening.
“I don’t know what got into her she is not usually like this. She cant even hurt a fly”.
Things like this make me feel like god consciously make efforts to make my life miserable.
As soon as he finished the sentence the elevator door opened at the parking.
“Follow me to my car. I need to talk to you”.
Yeah I had recently bought a second hand beaten up Toyota lets get over it. I was scared out of my senses. I had a reputation to maintain and if this ‘rabbit’ chooses to he could probably destroy me with the right set of evidence. Moreover I did not have a memory of the night and as far as I know myself I am capable of ANYTHING when I am drunk who knew what else I did yesterday.
My car was approximately 100 meters away which was a less than 2 minute walk and I had a minute to decide how should I conduct my information retrieval mission. I am a pro at two intimidation techniques, charm and fear. I could either charm him with my smooth talking and sharp eyebrows into telling me everything or scare him (cause it has been established that I am scary) into telling me everything(which is technically just bullying). Situations like these are critical, like defusing a time bomb. If you cut the wrong wire. BOOM. You are gone, dead, your hard earned shallow reputation and respect goes down the drain and flows with your self esteem and other things that are non existent into the sea of desperate working class Indian women.
What did I know about this guy so far, he is an Arts graduate, he had a tall beautiful girlfriend who was out of his league, which has to mean he was either a passionate guy (code for good in bed) or rich. Don’t hate me, high school taught me judgement.
I looked at his shoes to see if they were fancy. A man’s wealth is mirrored by his shoes. They were standard leather shoes nothing special. In conclusion he was not rich.
There could obviously be a third reason as well, maybe his girlfriend genuinely cared for him because he was a good guy. But who are we kidding, this generation would sell their souls for a bag of weed and concert tickets.
The only conclusion out of this analysis was that rabbit here was a 21 year old male who is good in bed. All this information was technically irrelevant to my purpose.
I had 30 seconds before we got into my car so I had to decide fast what am I supposed to say and who am I supposed be, sexy or scary? Lets see.
He had a girlfriend, charming him would seem wrong and he may lash out feeling guilty and uncomfortable, also I was punched in my face the previous night and my face was still swollen that means I was not my most irresistible self at the time.
Processing all of the above I decided to go with fear. Bingo.
Right on time. We got into the car, its time to roll.
I positioned my self in my car seat in a way that my upper body was completely facing him, I pushed my shoulders backwards, back straight chest out and chin up. The idea was to look bigger than I actually was, it intimidates the subject on a subconscious level.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“21”.
“And I am guessing this is your first job”.
“Yes ma’am”.
“Obviously, now do you know who am I?”.
“My senior and also an academician”. He said enthusiastically.
“I read the papers you published ma’am your research on medieval….” I cut him of.
“You did not get my question, I asked you who I am not what I do.”
“Umm…thats right ma’am…I am sorry”.
Caught him off guard, this was working.
“You still have not answered my question. I don’t like repeating myself”.
Pressurising the subject. Very important.
“Who am I?”.
“I don’t know ma’am” he stammered choosing not to meet my eyes.
“I am a very smart woman and you are a rabbit. You are down, way down in the food chain. You are small, which means if you don’t play smart you loose”.
I paused to let the insult sink into him. Disarm the subject. Done.
“Now if you are smart you will answer my questions and forget this incident as soon as you get out of the car. However if you try to act over smart and blabber around I will make your life very difficult here and I assure you, you will NOT like it”.
I paused again. Let the threat sink in. Poke the subject with the pointy end just so he knows your blade is not for play. Got the metaphor?
I waited for his face to show signs of fear but it did not. It was irritating.
“Do you agree to the conditions?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Now I want you to tell me what happened after your GIRLFRIEND raised her hand on me, in detail”.
He looked confused.
“You don’t remember?”. He asked.
“Do you always answer questions with questions?”.
“I am sorry. After my girlfriend punched you, you passed out. The manager of the bar got your address from your wallet he called you a cab and made sure you got home safely”.
“Why would the manager do that?”.
“Probably because you kept saying that you would file a case against them or something you were not making much sense. Anyway they got scared of you”.
I felt so proud of myself.
“Is that all?”.
“Yes ma’am”.
I felt relief, now I could continue drink myself to death without any tension.
“Thats great Mr Rabbit. You may get out now but remember to keep your mouth shut”.
“Definitely”.
He got out of the car and I couldn’t wait to get back home and get myself absolutely drunk. But if thats all that happened why would I be telling you this story now?
The second I started my car Mr Rabbit tapped at my car window.
I rolled down my window irritated.
“What?” I asked rudely.
“Ma’am do you remember what the argument was about?”.
“Not exactly, I must have called her a whore or something, I don’t remember, it does not matter. You tell me.”
“You seriously don’t remember?”.
“You are wasting my time”.
I started driving away,
“Because you kissed me”. He said.
I stopped my car. My heart sank all the way to hell.
I looked back at him. He had a smirk on his face.
“Just thought you should know”.
His grin grew wider.
“Good night ma’am”. He turned and walked away while I sat in my car dumbstruck for what seemed like an eternity.
I am the rabbit.

 

Harder than the diamonds.

————————————————————————

AUTHOR’S NOTE

My stories are usually in a sequence so if you are new to my blog, WELCOME and kindly read the first post in order for this to make sense.

Thank you for the support.

NOT A BIOGRAPHY

———————————————————————–

Lets skip to 8 months after my break up and if you don’t already think I am Satan’s advocate after this you probably will.

It was autumn in Bangalore. How pretentious am I? I am just fucking with you it was not autumn; Bangalore just has 3 seasons, a summer with the fan, a summer without the fan and the monsoon.

Anyway.

Life had become really boring ever since I left him. At least till the time he was with me I came home everyday with a game plan, a challenge to spill him out turn him into an emotional wreck like me.

Now?

Everyday was the same, it was constant. At times I regretted letting him go most times I didn’t. After you are done eating the Popsicle there is not much longer you can suck on to the wooden stick, it has no flavor. Got the metaphor?

I went to work came home and drank. I had minimal interactions with people in my life. My colleagues were mostly men and were either married or were hoping to find a wife and I was not looking for something as serious. I briefly thought about turning into a lesbian just to have a better story to play in my head but I will get to that later.

One evening I was walking through well-lit streets of Bangalore and simply the thought of walking into my apartment that almost always smells faintly of cigarettes and stale food made me nauseous. I could not bear another day of sitting on my uncomfortable couch drinking rum from a coffee mug while Pink Floyd played in the background. So, I made some new turns on my way back and ended up in a sparsely crowded retro themed bar.

I sat by the bar stand cause the tables seemed too fancy for my work cloths. I ordered a difficult to pronounce malt on their specials because I was feeling adventurous. The crowed seemed decent, mostly collage kids.

 

I looked at my phone although there was nothing new to look at cause I had to do something; I couldn’t just sit there and stare at people to creep them out. A few heartbeats later a guy takes a seat next to me on the counter. He lit his cigarette and ordered some Beer.

My malt arrived and as the smell of it reached my nostrils I got goose bumps. Typical alcoholic tendencies. I sipped my drink in silence and intended to finish it up so I can leave as soon as possible but if that would have happened why would I be telling you this story now.

“ You look familiar” the guy next to me said.

It was a clichéd conversation starter.

I’ll pause here for a second. I would love to tell you this guy was fucking gorgeous it would make my story more edible but he was not, in fact he did not look good at all. He had receding hairline, a beer belly and somewhat crooked teeth. He could have been in his late twenties or early thirties it was hard to tell.

Ok now continue.

“Yeah, I get this a lot. I starred in a porn movie once”.

I did not say this because I was drunk or anything no, it was just the way I spoke. I am/was weird.

“Oh! What was the name of that movie?”. He asked smiling, his smile was uglier.

“Tits for tat”.

He laughed and looked like a gremlin having an orgasm. I made a mental note to not make him laugh again and went back to sipping my liquor. We were silent for a few breaths and then he asked me in a very diplomatic tone.

“I like what you are wearing, not all women can pull off a pant suit”.

“Really? And who asked you?”

I was not angry, I was not drunk I was just usually enjoyed being a jerk so much that it scared and excited me at the same time.

Meanwhile he looked a little taken back and a whole lot ugly.

“Gee sorry. Having a bad day?”.

“ How does that concern you?”.

“I am just trying to be polite to you, you don’t have to be a bitch about it”. He said looking at me like I am a used condom.

“ Such sexism da, you can be a pervert and I cant even be a bitch?”.

“Excuse me?”.

“Lets skip the part where we pretend that you have not been looking at my rack ever since I came in here”.

I was not even sure whether he looked at my cleavage or not, I just made that up, either way the accusation would either make him angry or embarrassed and I was fine with either.

He abused me in the local language under his breath, grabbed his drink and started to walk away. I could have let him go finished my drink and left but what fun is that?

I followed him muttering mean insults to him. He got a little scared of me and it showed. I was getting such pleasures out of this that I am embarrassed to admit it. I was discrete though; I did not want any attention to be drawn to us. I started spewing curses in his ears softly and watched his body tremble. He tried getting rid of me he started walking faster and threatening me to call the security but I was determined.

I finally drove him out of the bar and into the parking lot and I have to tell you that I was unreasonably proud of myself. He tried to stride to his car but I was faster, I blocked his path and called him impotent for no reason at all.

At this point this man is really close to a nervous break down it was so evident on his face. I felt taller than I was.

“Are you scared?” I said laughing.

I felt powerful to the point of eruption; my heart was thudding so hard in my chest I thought my rib cage would break. I was getting scared and turned on by myself. How fucked up was that?

“Please listen, I don’t…I don’t want any trouble”.

He reached down his pant pocket and handed me his lousy brown wallet.

“Take all the money you want but let me go please I….I beg you”.

“Do you think I want your money? DO YOU THINK THAT I AM A FUCKING TRAMP?”. I screamed with all the passion in my bones.

He broke down on his knees and begged me to let him go. I should have stopped long back but something other than boredom drove me, it’s hard to explain.

What I said next took my state to a whole another level.

“Hit me”.

I don’t remember what I was thinking. I don’t know who I was in that moment all I know that I was filled with such aggression that it made it harder to breath.

The ugly guy looked at me wide eyed while he brought his hands near his body to block an attack from me.

“HIT ME”. I barked.

He stumbled further back unable to make sense of the situation.

“Hit me hard or else I will follow you to the edge of the world and by now you know that I am crazy enough to actually do it”.

He continued to stare at me in surprise.

“HIT M…” my words trailed off as I felt a blow from the right side.

I blacked out for a second; I heard a deafening buzzing sound in my head.

One minute later I realized that I was lying face down on the ground.

Apparently the ugly guy gave me what I had asked for and disappeared.

I rolled myself so I could lay face up this way I felt more conscious.

I broke a tooth, I rolled it around in my tongue for a while and then spit it out. I swallowed a mouthful of blood and it made me sick so I turned my face sideways and parted my lips so the blood could flow out of my mouth.

I felt strangely happy as the warm blood dripped to my neck into my hair, in a minute or two it covered my shirtsleeve as the grainy floor of the parking lot pricked my delicate feminine back and the faint smell of urine and tobacco of the parking lot filled my nostrils.

I did not even bother to get up, its not like I did not have the strength, I did but there was peace. I am neither aware nor will be able to guess how long I lay there but at some point two drunk girls came stumbling to the parking lot and the spotted me. They were completely freaked out and wanted to call the police but I assured them that I was fine. After they helped me up I requested them to call me a cab.

Every one noticed I had more color on me than usual, the cabdriver, the building people. They all gave me sympathetic glances cause I was a woman who was beaten up, a beaten up man would be taken for a punk.

I stepped into my apartment into the smell of cigarette and stale food which I dreaded felt like luxuries. I stepped into the tiny hall and felt different, like these walls did not recognize me.

I walked to the bathroom and looked at my battered swollen face in the mirror. I was aware that I needed help, I was aware that I was not normal, in that moment, I was completely aware of what I had just done and how dangerous it was. I was lucky this guy was a coward, anything could have happened that day. I knew. But it felt so fucking great.

It felt.

It felt.

I went to bed and stained my pillow red. First time in almost 6 years I slept sober. First time in I don’t know how long I was at peace. I was in pain and also not in pain.

I would have smiled in my sleep but it hurt to move my facial muscle.

Red was my color, I thought before I dozed off.

 

Needle and Thread Situations

Disclaimer: Elaborate bullshit ahead.

I think my story will be incomplete if I don’t tell you what I am about to tell you but as you read, remember that beggars can be choosers if they are good at their jobs.

Moving on.

I was 25 and ran completely on food, rum (yes I gave up whisky) and broken hearts.

I had recently broken up with my boyfriend and I shamelessly agree I felt more bored than hurt after he was gone which is quite cold even by my standards. We went out for one and a half years, he was an engineer tall dark and handsome. He had a sense of humor and good hygiene. For 90% Indian women of my age that calls for tagging him as a husband before another bitch rest her eyes on him, fucking shaadi that bastard ASAP. To be precise, he was a catch and plus point he had low self esteem and mommy issues, hence worked extra hard to please me. I don’t complain.

It was all good but it had no passion, it got constant. We never even fought. I would try to start an argument to make him angry, sad, anything just to break away from the routine but that goes down the potty cause he would give in after two minutes.

“You are probably right babe, I’ll get to it as soon as I can”. He will say.

Sometimes I used to get completely unreasonable on purpose just to piss him off, to get something out of him, something human.I even used to raise my voice and use harsh words to encourage raw, unfiltered projection of emotions on his side but nothing, the man was a vegetable and I was a hard core non-vegetarian. Speaking of non vegetarian the sex was good. But sex seemed like such a stupid reason to stay with someone, orgasms only last for 22 seconds and insecurities will come rushing back on the 23rd.

The most exciting part of the relationship was the break up. I kept it short and painful.

“I want to break up. We don’t click.” I said after drinking a considerable amount of rum.

It obviously sounded like an excuse for something more complex and tangible, who the fuck takes 18 months to figure out if it clicks or not but it felt like a better option than just saying, “you suck homeboy, you is boring as fuck”.

It came as a shock to him. He thought of me as someone with whom he could have a future with he told me later. I was a 25 year alcoholic Indian woman with passive aggressive tendencies and a history of depression and self abuse, working among other condescending worthless bitches to pay for my bare minimum necessities which were mostly weed and alcohol all the while keeping my past in utter secrecy. That’s great thinking. My middle name should be “mangalam bhagvan vishnu” I am such wife material.

Our break up was the first argument we ever had, a full fledged argument with swearing and honesty and tears (all his obviously). He was like a crescendo of rage. He tried reasoning with me but I would not bulge, then he got irritated and asked me to be reasonable, finally he lost it and gave it to me fair and square. Which includes calling me a bitch and hoping that I would burn in hell’s fire. I usually don’t take this kind of an insult but it was well deserved.

What came next was comparatively more bizarre.

My ex boyfriend called me up three hours after the break up, that is after he had called me a bitch and asked me to go burn in hell. He said he wanted to speak to me face to face, now I insisted on meeting him in a public cause just in case if he decides to go all dramatic and starts throwing shit around at least there would be other people there ready to call 911.

But for some god forbidden reasons this guy insisted strongly that he would rather drive up to my apartment so I had to agree.

While he was on his way I break-up-proofed my new two bedroom apartment ( A few of my papers got published at the time, money issues were getting resolved) and by that I mean I got rid of the expensive stuff and the break able stuff and by that I also mean that I got rid of the pointy sharp stuff, the ‘can be used as a weapon stuff’. Now it may seem I was being little paranoid, but I out of all people knew that broken heart can turn people into nasty blood thirsty bitches and I don’t want to get bitten.

The bell rang and I opened the door slowly, I waited cause I expected him to storm in and call me more names but he just stood there waiting for me to ask him to come inside like a normal sane person, which was very confusing.

He came in and sat down and started staring at my floor. He did not look angry, he did not look sad either, he just look tiered.

I sat down in front of him and very politely asked if he would like to have anything to drink.

He looked up at me with big watery brown eyes and said “Its only been a few hours and you are already treating me like a stranger”.

“I can’t really treat you like a boyfriend either now can I? Its harder to dwell in the grey areas trust me”. I said quietly taking a seat in front of him.

“You always like pretending you know everything don’t you?”.

“Guilty as charged”.

“No quick wits come back?”.

“No, not today”.

“Why because you are taking pity on me and my broken little stupid heart?”.

Obviously I was.

“Obviously I am not. I am not a bad person, I don’t want to hurt you, I am doing this for the both of us. I am thankful for every moment I spent in your company you have no idea how grateful I am that you came into my life”.

He looked up at me with more love than a Nicholas Spark’s novel.

“But my feelings for you have changed, I did not want them to but they did. what can i do? feelings are stupid. its unhealthy for both of us to stay together in these circumstances, there will always be something missing, something incomplete. I wished we had some other way out but we have to let this go. but that does not mean that we have to hate each other or hurt each other”.

He broke down and I gently wrapped my arm around him and rested my chin on his head as he sobbed silently. Aim and shoot, that’s what I just did.

I felt his tear and snort run down my shirt for a while and finally I pulled away.

I lifted his chin up and gave him a choreographed smile that I had perfected over the last few years.

“I’ll get some water for you ok?”.

He nodded.

I walked away lighter than ever. I was really proud on my self about how well I had handled it. I went inside the kitchen doing a little dance when I felt him creep up from behind and wrap his arms around my waist while he buried his face in my hair while still sobbing a little, you know those post sobs sob.

Startled? Yes I was but I was more irritated, how was I supposed to get him water when he was clinked on to me like a koala bear.

I turned around to face him and gave his arm a little compassionate squeeze before breaking away from his arm lock and walked away.

I went to the kitchen counter and he walked up to me until his nose touched the back of my neck, now did I mention that I had a terrible temper?

Well if I didn’t before already I’ll tell you now. Its really easy to piss me off and I am not safe when I am angry, I am lucky I don’t have a criminal record. No exaggeration, I had so much unresolved anger that if harvested it could power a small city. He should have known that out of all people, it was his laptop I had smashed when John Snow died in the Game of Thrones.

I filled the cup of water while he sniffed the back of my head, he might as well have wiped his snort in my hair how would I have known?

Do you notice I was more prepared for violence than I was for compassion?

I turned around and gave him the water and walked to the sitting area to get some breathing space. I didn’t really like cuddling even when I was committed which was 3 hours back but what was he trying to do following me around the house like a puppy. I had made it perfectly clear that his presence in my life was no longer needed what made him feel like it was normal for him to put his face in my hair and shit?

I sat down on my chair cause I knew we had a little to discuss before we end it completely, basically returning gifts and money I owed him.

Now I have a chair for him placed in front of mine, perfectly aligned all cushion-y and shit so he would sit there and we could talk like civil man and woman but no, this ‘genius’ sits down on my carpet and rests his head on my lap and not just that he takes my hand and places it on top of his head. Now not only should I act like a pillow but I was also supposed to stroke his fucking hair after a break up?

“What are you trying to do?”

“What?”.

“Why are you coming on to me?”.

“I am not coming on to you” he said loudly getting up.

“Then what is the touchy feely stuff huh? Last time you hugged me was like 3 weeks back because I gave you Friends Season 1-5 on blue ray dvd I know you are no cuddle bunny so what is up with this jazz?”.

“You are leaving me. I just wanted to feel you in my arms for the last time, I will never have that again, I will miss you”.

He was lying. I could tell he wanted to emotionally blackmail me into staying or taking him back. He wanted to show me that maybe I am human somewhere and I have sympathy tucked away in some un reachable corner in my heart. His actions were leading on to a vendetta against my emotionlessness and it got me really pissed.

He was lying.

“Thank lord that was it. For a moment there I thought you were collecting DNA samples from my body so you can later clone me in your secret laboratory in the basement! I agree to meet you, I am kind to you that does not mean you get to act like a fucking victim to squeeze that last hope for break up sex out of me you perverted little filth. Stop treating this break up as this is my fault! I should get a Nobel prize for putting up with your boring ass and for 18 months! Don’t you ever dare drag your pathetic self into my business or my life ever again and get the fuck out of my place before I make you cry again”.

I took a breath and made the final blow.

“ I don’t love you okay? Now fuck off”.

I hurt him. It was not like I hadn’t already, I did break up with him but this time I really hurt him.

“ So what was that about you being grateful that I was in your life?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“ I was sucking up to you to get you out of here”.

But it didn’t feel good, I never hated him he was a good person but this had to be done, I just cared more about myself than I did about him and also I had severe anger issues. I was not a bad person, yet; selfish maybe, but not bad.

But he was lying.

He was no better than me, none of them are.

He was lying.

He looked down at the floor for a few moments. Ladies and gentleman in that moment I realized that I had killed this man.

He slowly walked towards the door and out of it. He turned around to face me and it was the second last time that I ever saw him. He had tears filled in his eyes but his face showed no emotion, I can never forget that look. What he said next crippled me.

“You know, you are sick. No one is going to stay with you and you will loose everything. You will loose everything and everyone. You will grow old and miserable and your ovaries will dry up. Who would want you then? You condescending cunt ”.

Was he not lying?

His words broke the membrane of my ego. People don’t usually talk to me like that; I am scary in my own way. I took the bullets with grace.

No matter how wrong I was I needed to have the last words the unquenchable thirst to satisfy my forever big fat self erected ego.

I took a second to bow my head to rectify my damage. I raised my head slowly and gave him my iconic smirk.

“ Condescending cunt you wanted to mother your child just a few hours back. As long as the world has underachieving insecure parasites like you, condescending cunts like me will have nothing to worry about ”.

I shut the door and heard his foot steps getting fainter. I went back to drink myself to sleep. It was a dreamless night.

But just for the record this is something I only realized much later in my life, he was NOT lying.

Rock Bottoms Up.

Before you go any further and try to absorb my profound fuckery I will have to request you to refrain from all sort of judgments. Don’t rush to conclusions; there are loopholes in hell to divinity. Let it be vague. Ignorance is bliss.

Moving on.

You don’t just become a ruthless sadist. There are stages, fist you loose respect for yourself, then you loose regards for the world and finally you feel better cause you realize that nothing will last forever and finally and constantly you feel bad cause you realize that somethings do last forever.

Before the realization of this had set in, I was 23 and a raging alcoholic.

I was a content writer earning enough to be able to afford really cheap liquor and an Internet connection.

I lived in a rented studio apartment with the overview of Bangalore’s lower middle class on the 5th floor.

I had charmed the securities’s son into making my liquor runs for me. In India it is still very unconventional for a woman to be seen anywhere near alcohol. Obviously there were days when I had to go there my self in the absence of the alternative. I would try to be as quick and as invisible as I could possibly be but chances were I would run into one of my male colleagues. The odds of that happening were amazingly high cause we just had one liquor shop within the 5km radius of my company and people from my company all preferred staying near work.

“I did not know you drank, you should stop by my house some times you know. Share a glass or two with me and the boys”. One of them once said.

Obviously I would do that, get drunk with random perverted men and ‘obviously’ one will think that it is completely normal for me because lets face it I drink whisky and I wear deep neck shirts that has to mean I am a whore.

“No sir, this is not for me, this is for a relative”. I had to lie. It was easy and convenient.

So, to beat that freak show I would leave the money in the securities son’s post box (I know it sounds dirty) in the morning and he would drop by later at my apartment at night with my booze. He was 19 or 20 nothing younger. He was the kind of beautiful that took time to get adjusted to. He would stand at my door shyly; not looking at me. I would thank him politely and tip him with some extra cash if I had any and send him away from my doorstep.

It was not hard to tell that he had a crush on me. I noticed his fidgeting with his hands; I sensed his nervousness when I was around. I knew he had a crush on me I just didn’t do anything about it. However, one day gods were particularly angry at me, I was having a terrible day at work, my boss was being a dick and I got groped on my way back on the bus. It was one of those days when you are pissed at the universe for orchestrating your life in a way that it led to a day like this. I couldn’t wait to get soaring high so I bought a small vodka bottle on my walk home and emptied its contents inside a coke bottle so people couldn’t tell. Sip by sip and I was moderately buzzed when I reached my apartment. I was stripping away my black and white work cloths when I heard a knock on my door.

It was him, my personal booze boy at the door, with a brown wrapper (which had my booze in it) in one hand.

“They ran out of your regular so I got you this” he said in a tiny voice as he handed me the bottle.

I looked at it; the whisky was worth a little more than the money I had left in his post box this morning.

“But I….”

“I had some money left from my pocket money” he said blushing; he beamed at the bottle as he handed it over to me, unable to contain how smooth he thought his move was.

I was touched at how pathetic he was. But I was having a bad day and every little bit of compassion did boost my ego.

That night could have gone either way. I could have accepted his generosity said my thank you’s, closed the door behind him and drank myself shitless into despair like the usual. But that day part vodka part frustration fucked me up beyond logic and what is a good story without a couple of bad decisions.

“Will you help me finish this?”. I asked the boy looking at the bottle.

He looked at me surprised. He tried reading my expressions and failed. I smirked mentally. I was invincible inside my mind I was so distant, so shielded that it was next to impossible to get to me.

He smiled shyly like a girl and gave me a microscopic nod. I let him in my one room apartment. He looked around nervously then took a seat in one of the two beanbags I had in the room.

I poured the whisky in two clear glasses.

“I will have it with….umm….soda or water anything. Really”. He stammered.

I smirked a little.

“No, you will have it neat, untouched, uncorrupted. In all its bitter glory. You will drink like a man not like a pansy”. I said handing him the glass.

I looked at his young face completely flushed in red and took my seat on the beanbag in front of him.

I clinked my glass with him and took the first sip. As soon as the whisky touched my lips I felt a certain release. It’s hard to explain it’s a typical alcoholic thing. It’s like taking off your tights after a hot summer day. Oh how I miss those days driven by an absolved agenda to self-destruct.

I saw him gulp almost half of his glass’s contents in one go. He choked a little. I watched back in amusement as he sat there embarrassed.

I adjusted my sitting position a little so that he gets a better view of my face. I had recently learned that my face could be used as a weapon to intimidate. I leaned a little forward and refilled his glass. I looked in his eyes that were red because of all the coughing and choking. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Let me teach you”.

His face froze and went from red to blue. What a cartoon. I took a second to admire the work of art that his face was. He could have made a beautiful girl; he was too pretty to be a boy.

“I want you to hold the glass tightly in your hand, not too tight though leave your wrist free. Now I want you to take a small sip and don’t swallow it.”

He did as I told him.

“Now close your eyes” I said softly, almost like a whisper, for the dramatics.

He shut his eyes close.

“Now swirl it around in your mouth, let your mouth get acquainted with the bitterness, roll it in your tongue, cherish it.” I said moving closer to him.

He made a face as his brain reacted to the bitterness.

“Now swallow it”.

He did.

“How does it feel?” I asked in his ear.

“It..it burns…just a little” He stammered in his tiny little voice.

“Well, that’s a metaphor for life kid. Do you feel it run down from your throat, to your chest, into your belly”. I said slowly breathing into his neck.

He nodded making a face again.

I moved away and asked him to open his eyes. He opened his eye and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Now you know how to drink like a man, its not the affect of the whisky, gentleman. Its the process, you need to enjoy it, you need to let the whisky drink you. Surrender to it don’t hold back. There is liberation in submission that you are too young to understand yet”. I said softly.

He smiled a little and then started blushing. How pathetic was this guy?

“You think I am a gentleman?”. He said smiling uncontrollably.

I was utterly disappointed, Should have seen this coming. I just made some outstanding remarks on whisky consumption and all he gave a fuck about was me calling him a ‘gentleman’.

I subconsciously face palmed myself. These pretty young boys are too self absorbed to take in anything else. I honestly had no interest to carry on the conversation after that conclusion. I was cheap but I had some standards. However, I also had a rule to finish the game I had started. That’s right, I was a perverted hippie with an ethical code of conduct. So I pulled my chin up and raised my eye lashes slowly.

“Why? Am I wrong? Are you wildling?”. I asked with fake, exaggerated enthusiasm.

“No”. He mouthed.

The alcohol got to him a little. I saw him crumble and sway.

He drank for a bit while I asked him questions. Generic questions. Without taste, without reasons.

He told me he was in collage studying commerce. Single. He loved Bollywood movies and had no ambitions as such. He also abruptly mentioned that he thought I was the prettiest woman in the building and that I smelled like freshly cut grass.

His idea of flirting was flattery; I was less naive than him when I was 12.

I thanked him for his time and told him that it was late and that I should probably be sleeping. He got up with much effort; courtesy the whisky.

I was in my senses comparatively. I opened the gate to let him out like the grace full lady who gets underage boys drunk that I am.

But this pretty little boy in all his drunken glory right when I was about to close the door throws himself at me and tries implanting a sloppy drunken whisky induced kiss on me.

I caught him an inch before his lips could be placed on mine. I was amused at his desperation it made me feel less pathetic about myself.

“You would like to think I am that easy wont you?”. I said still inches away from his face.

I pushed him gently out the door and closed the door behind him and went back to finish my bottle of a whisky which I had earned with money and mascara.

I would rather drink myself to death than think myself to death cause nothing else can possibly touch me. It’s not important to be invincible, it’s important to feel invincible…

And drunk.