Monthly Archives: December 2012

Birthday on the Wheelchair

 I could see five faces, all lost, all of them resembled those walls which have been torn down.

All of them had sockets for eyes, black sockets, dark and hollow but shy and a little bit malevolent.

Heads were swaying in a scared-pendulum-ly fashion. They took extra seconds in coming back to the normal center position.

I could feel the bubbles in me reaching up-till my neck, bubbles of some feeling which was looking for some emergency exit inside me.

I closed my eyes and tried to look for words, I was fool enough to trust the words.

I started making some parable in my liver, tried to keep up with the train of the mental thought, which was a little bit slower than this train, in which I was in.

I closed my eyes to add some dramatic effects, from outside I am sure I was looking handsome with that abject face.

Eyes closed, lips pursed, disheveled hair, three vertical lines on my forehead danced and I filled my lungs with extra air.

My concentration got broken when I heard nervous giggles from two girls, they were standing five feet away from me.

They were not there when I had closed my eyes, now they were there.

One girl seemed like a Norwegian, broad shoulders, burnt light brown shoulder-length hair, sore lips, life-less eyes.

The other one seemed like an Indian girl, an Indian who had never lived in India , crew cut hair, pierced ears and almost-no lips.

They were looking in each other’s eyes while talking, they were in love with each other.

I tried to over-hear their conversation which kind of scared me.

They were discussing about some unknown breed of Penguins in the Northern Antarctic region, who could fly with their flaps, thrice as big as normal penguins and ate humans.

Pseudo-Indian said that her Professor’s brother used to work for some people who went to make a documentary on this breed.

And those penguins ate the whole shooting crew, they didn’t even leave their bones.

Those penguins , they claimed, had the potential to eat whole of the human race.

At that very moment I realized what I wanted to do.

In my head, I had written one poem which I wanted to recite to them.

I didn’t know them, of course, but still I wanted them to hear my poem which was about green bubbles.

But their love for each other made me jealous and I changed my decision.

Their love was contagious, I just wanted to look at them talking to each other, I got enamored.

They were holding each other’s hands and I could see their thumbs rubbing the back of the hand.

I was touched by their uncorrupted love and I felt like crying in front of them.

It was so pure that I couldn’t look away and I forgot about my poem.

They got off on some station whose name I didn’t want to know, that idea didn’t amuse me much.

Love in pure form was shining like a stain-less steel knife on that station.

The glow of it pinched my eyes and I closed my eyes again.

I had not forgotten that it was my birthday and I was going to some place where I had planned a drunken gathering.

I had invited some people whom I really didn’t know and I was already getting late but I still wanted someone to hear my poem.

I got off on a random station and I started walking in the street full of hazy fog.

I tasted fog from my eyes and it was sweet; unlike sugar, more like honey.

I saw an old man waiting for someone on the street, he was in his tweed jacket and he was sitting on his wheelchair.

I stood on the opposite side of the road and waited for the same thing which he was waiting for.

I had a paperback book of some dark short stories and I started reading them in the dark.

After nine minutes, a car full of old people arrived and that old man got off from his wheelchair  and hopped inside the car, leaving his wheelchair on the side-walk.

His wheelchair was shining like a newly bought aluminium bicycle, it reminded me of my first bike which got stolen from outside my school.

I sidled up to the  wheelchair and sat on it.

After sitting on it, I started moving the tyres and I felt good.

I must have driven the wheelchair for almost sixty minutes when I started feeling tired and bored.

I didn’t want to walk or run so I waved my hand for lift from an ugly purple car.

Some newly married couple was in it and the wifey was on the driving seat, she was pissed drunk.

The hubby held my hand from his window and we covered some seven kilometer distance like that.

Me, sitting on my birthday gift wheelchair, zooming away to glory, holding some random married guy’s hand.

On the way he told me about his younger brother’s story who was specially challenged.

His brother had a disability where he couldn’t stand or walk on his feet in winters.

And somehow his family had to shift to a city where it was cold through out the year.

He told me that his brother looked exactly like me, except I was bald and his brother had long red hair.

He told me that his brother committed suicide. He ate a lot of marmalade which had rat poison in it, which actually didn’t kill him but after eating it he tripped over and slipped in his bathroom and knocked his head on the toilet seat.

They dropped me off to the place where all the people were drinking alcohol and the occasion was my birthday.

I invited the couple but the wifey was sleepy and they told me that they didn’t fancy me that much.

I waved them goodbye, they reminded me of my parents but they were almost my age.

Before climbing the stairs I folded the wheelchair and started reciting my poem to it.

When I was through I realized that the Wheelchair started moving and it made some kind of metallic sound.

I took it as critical appreciation and round of applause and bowed.

I left the wheelchair there on the sidewalk and climbed up the stairs.

Signed

A(dot) 

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BlahBlahBlahPowwwm

A thousand dead-eye distorted faces..staring at my toes..my fingers, glued to each other..temporal shift in my inner tectonic plates..my jaw is freezing..ouch ouch..I have to run..I have to run…aaaaaaaaahhhhh..something is biting me from the inside…my insides are hurting…why..But why?..Is there any reason??..why this melancholy?..I am chained alright..I have no existence but persistence..alright alright..no mother I never liked your father..My nails are gone..Some thing is weird..I think someone has changed my eyelids with my nails..OOhhhh…these nails hurt when I blink…ooohhhh…I can still see everything, even when my eyes are closed..why this unknown random stranger is stabbing me on my back??..I am as innocent as all those ants….all those ants who ate that rotten squirrel..NONO..you are wrong…they were not eating it…they made the squirrel…I saw the tape backwards..yeah things look amazing when you play them BACKWARDS..all the tigers and lions made all those dying deers..that Bomb gave birth to everyone..those gas chambers filled oxygen in those dead souls..everything is gorgeous when BACKWARDS..am I still running..Running from what?? Running for beauty..yeah lets settle this..I am running for Beauty to go down in my obituary..I want the word GREAT written everywhere when all of us are dead..yeah K. what did you do in your life??..You were scared of your father..I smother all fathers..atleast all the fathers of all the nations..yeah yeah..I am going to settle this right now..let’s face it Raskalnikov.. you were a fool..you were an IDIOT..you should have been in Idiot as well you fool..If you kill someone..you Better forget it the moment you flush your poop..you were not great..your creator was not great..he was gloomy..epitome of Bad luck he was..who are you hiding from Chinaski??..I am not going to leave YOU as well..You want a Bar Brawl..I am going to punch you so bad…punch your soul to pulp..all that money you spent on cheap beer bottles and whores..and you glorified it..look at me..I am gong to do the same..better than YOU ALL for sure..Oh no no no..Don’t say I can’t see what you mean..NO NO..we all have our own separate leagues..let me spread some butter on my bread..and pull all the threads..threads made from your scalp hair..let me make you feel Bald..I am not bald right now..but I am on my way..wait..do you think I am scared..of course I am..but not of Baldness..but of my mental ribald-ness..Obscenity is almost like obesity..sequential melancholy is just superiority..are you listening Dosto??..Yeah yeah go ahead and call me uneducated towncrier..who just uses words to shout..my words are just noises right..and your words were visions..great..souls covered with meat are as naked as meat covered with clothes..aaaahhh okay mother I will sleep later okay..let me have this conversation..which might turn into a consolation..or might go in this dead literary constellation..yes mother..I know nothing about this language..I don’t need to know any language to make points..points as big as BIG blotches..Blotches as deep and blind as Black Holes..Yeah Mr Frost I respect you and I know I have got my smiles saved for the miles to cover in the lovely dark deep woods..but there are no woods left Mr Frost..trust me..I  went to this place..which was dark and dirty as a sheep..and everyone was singing ..”tiles to tow before a leap”..I did not understand them Mr Frost..I am just an Old Child..pleasures could not heal me Mr Miller..I know you had your luck with Anais Nin..In my world there are no Anais Nins any more..everywhere I see..there are just Sores..crying moaning sores..and they all are Bores..I am still running..I have to reach the grave in time..but there are no needles..who has stolen the needles now??..I don’t care about the time..no no..I don’t care about the grave..everyone is there..and they keep on screaming something which sounds like BEWARE..

 

Signed

A(dot) 

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The Legendary Unknown Writer (character sketch)

Nobody has ever seen him, some claimed they have, but they cannot explain how he exactly looked.

Some said that he was like an old man with a young face, some claimed that he had a very masculine face with a feminine swagger.

Some said that he was fat and beautiful, some claimed that he was skinny as a thorn and with all the disproportionate facial features he looked something worst than ugly.

Some had sensed his presence in public buses, where at the back of the bus, on the last seat, they used to see a shadow like creature, silently scribbling something on his notepad, some said it was a diary.

Some said that they had seen him talking to people as well but he was always very playful and verbose. Some claimed that he was very charming and to some he was very rude and once he almost tried to bite someone’s arm.

Some claimed that it was not a notepad, it was some fat diary with a very hard silver cover, shiny disturbing silver color cover. Some claimed that he used to write for few days while travelling like a lost hobo in direction-less buses, criss-crossing the city and then some random day he used to leave his fat diary on his seat, thinking that whoever gets hold of it, is allowed to read and do whatever with the words which are trapped in it.

Some said that almost every time he would leave a note along with the diary, which said –

This Piss of Art is Redyy 4 tha WHORELD.

Some claimed that all his words and writings were jinxed in a special way. Most of the times people used to throw his diary out from the moving bus’s windows thinking it as a piece of trash or forgotten belonging.

Some said that people who had read his diary(s) either gone mad or became the world’s most renowned people, his writings contained a visual euphoria perhaps.

Some said that once someone took his writings to some publisher and later publisher and his whole office gone mad after reading it because whatever was written in the diary was exactly the whole story of how someone took this random diary, which he found on a random bus, took to a publisher for publishing and how later on the publisher and his whole office gone mad after knowing that that diary had everything written already.

Some claimed that he traveled from morning to evening and he never ate or drank anything, not even water. Some claimed that he ate too much from the hand which was not writing because some claims that he was ambidextrous as well.

Some said that he used to read his whole diary when there was no page left in the diary to write on and while reading he used to cry tragically. Some said that he used to hate to leave his diaries like that but his face gave such expressions that there was nothing which he could do to stop it.

Some claimed that he is in some other city or country and doing the same thing. Some claimed that he died when a bus ran over him.

 

Signed

A(dot)

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