Inclined Chronicles of Indulgence

Source: Google search All I need is ink black; black ink. I want to scribe on a sheet of white. I want to scream from a point of height. But most of all I want my fall. I want to whisper in your ears. I want to linger in your tears. But often I wish I could vanish. Before I wave au revoir to me, the stiff. Again, here we are like a known whiff. But sooner than later I leave the barter. Clock on the wall sweeps mute like the mind on a chute. Hurry! Run! Fetch! And take me to the edge. In the eerie silence of burning candle I shall write the scandal. All I need is ink black; black ink.

Instagram Sitting in the darkest corner of the room lit only by the distant street lights, I practised the laugh I would laugh when he will say something as such, looking at a picture of my past. Reality hit me fast enough, and I withdrew myself midway of a cynical moment of transient happiness. That night, I was mad; my heart was full of anguish, my blood was rushing annoyance. I wanted to tear apart something dear to me and calm down the storm thundering in me. The mirror never looked so calm before. I must have used up all the tears of his share.  I wanted him to say things to me, things that he told umpteen times in the past; only meaning them this time. Like many sorries of the past, I am sure it will be empty this time too. But, I wanted him to say it anyway.   I want you, he should have said.   I need you, he should have confessed. He was magic; black magic. I hate how much he could make me feel and how much he could belittle me. May be this is just my head, my conje

Is that all? They say sex is the highest pleasure it is out there. Then why it is so insufficient? An endless line of sex and still it is unfulfilling. It is like a hunger for something you don't know yet and no matter what you eat and drink, it does not satiate.  Sapiosexual, she claimed to be one. She has met men of achievements and ambitions. She is thankful that some men are actually different: they care. Nights have gone by like papers scatter when you let a windy window open. Each paper has been engraved with a story of its own. Yet, they are all gapping into the empty room like they want to suck in more air, more substance. What more could she have typed to make the paper feel satisfied? The papers are so inked! Bodies rubbing against each other, making the winter temperatures rise, aren't settling for just it. They assume one more lap will do it, but it doesn't. The rushing hormones are in no mood to rest and breathe; the hands don't seem to have t

Till death do us apart... I am asked by a western stranger on a certain dating app if arranged marriage is still prevalent in India. I am lost into thoughts why that is a question.  "All marriages are arranged; sometimes by the individuals, sometimes by others." What is there about it that is so repulsive to people. This is not a question by the westerns, but also to the new generations of India.  Let's break down the process to know it and get a perspective about it. Hmm, so there are two families somewhere with eligible children to get married. They express their concern to the people they think can help about it. If the parents are tech-friendly, they register on marriage websites as well. Somehow, each of the family gets to know about the probable candidate. They visit the family in question to figure out if it may work. Unless a major problem is encountered, the set up is arranged and the two individuals get married.  Hold on! That is not wha

Navigating through life More often than not, I wish I could walk into the ocean and never return. The waves call me so dearly. They are high and low, soft and swift, blue and white, dark and beautiful. The ocean absorbs the world around it and makes it a part of its own tumult. Every time I tried to be a part of that magnificent piece of water, I was called back by dear ones. Their tearful, callous calls remind me how unaltered their lives will be without me. They fear they will lose me. What sort of fear is that, to be scared of losing something one never had in first place? I would look back, each time, with hopes in my eyes to see more; my ears would be more attentive every next time to hear something that I might have missed the last time. The words, the faces, the looks remain as if time didn't occur to them.  One can be comprehensive of strangers being cold and distant. But people you call your folks, too? May be the tropical country doesn't allow them to be any

As entangled as Tangled Why do women wear western clothes? VS Let them wear what they want. Let'em wear they want to. VS How can they show their bra straps? What's about the exposing bra straps? VS Let her be without bra. No bra is outrageous. VS Where is her modesty? Take a deep breath. No woman has to explain herself to anyone (women and men) about her modesty, her choice of clothes. If anything is required to be addressed or talked about, it is just why men do not stop themselves about questioning and start accepting women as they are, at least about the physical and behavioural matters.  When you accept something, it is easy to understand it, because you will find yourself on the same side of the barrack. When you will be an insider or one of our own.  It is, honestly, annoying to find people questioning and retaliating in the name of curiosity.  Men. You are as diverse as women. Just that you have a lower threshold for accepting one of your se

Solitude You! Have you forgotten the germination lesson from primary science book? Have you not ever seen a seed germinating into a plant? It takes the utter destruction of the seed itself to produce the tiny seedling in it. The seed coats rupture, the seed leaves fall apart, and then the green peeps out. It does not stop there. The tiny seedling feeds on the seed itself to survive until the roots are strong enough to uphold the plant. In fact, it is the roots that break free first, and thereafter the green is visible.  To someone who does not understand reproduction, germination is absolute destruction.  Hence, let me break apart. Let me hit the ground and scatter around like a piece of glass. Let me be fragmented like I was never whole at all. I need to break till there is nothing left of me to be broken. that is when my scattered pieces will be collected to form a kaleidoscope. Till then, do not rescue me.  When I confess I am depressed, I am offered unasked, unwan

"We accept the love we think we deserve." - Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower She asked: Why do we choose the wrong person?  Love is soul torturing, mind numbing, blood sucking, monstrous power, that either falls for you passionately and creates a diamond out of coal. Or, it simply crushes the coal into dust. Love! "Sometimes, people like to be there when you are weak; because that is the only time you are vulnerable. There is no other way a self-aware narcissist can win your heart. When the last tragedy happened, he was there all the time. He was the rock, the pillar. Sometimes he covered me up like the sky above. Sometimes he became my ground when I struggled where to put my feet. sometimes he became the only thing I could breathe in and it is not toxic.  He disappeared again. This time longer than the last. You learn when you are butt-kicked. And thank heavens the devil is gone for good.  My dead Venus was kissed by the Mars. T

Coffee Date? The point of dating is to know a person beyond physique and later on, who is it that you are/will be 'sleeping with'. The current mass is so busy getting laid in their prime that when they come off their ages, they just don't know what to do! By the time one is done with meaningless sex, one has lost what it means to be physical with someone they can care about, connect to. Whereas sapiosexuals are in absolute need of 'connection', the fling dare-devils are all about 'chemistry'. Once that is achieved, one is happy to settle for casual sex, casual one night stands, casual live in, casual break ups.  Here comes the annoying part. People, who are sincere, are enraged about the 'casualty' going on around. Their sincere eyes looking for a sincere face dulls out eventually as the others have unsettled baggage, or just don't know what to do with that sincerity. End result: the former are disheartened to pursue any further, and th

The awning - that is where her scattered thoughts are fading off to. May not be the awning exactly. It has been up there on her window since she lived there. It is the July rain, I think. She has a thing with rain, sort of a pact. When it rains, the woman in her speaks out. Not always in words, but more often in the tunes of guitar or candle light make ups. The pluviophile girl sets up to contemplate from life as biology to life as politics. When it drizzles, she turns into a girl  dressed in sunset yellow fit and flare dress with a transparent umbrella stretching out her hand carefully as not to wet herself more than just the palms. Hmm, it is clearly not the rain.  She turned off her laptop, switched off the tube-light, switched on the blue bed light and laid on the bed staring at the boring ceiling. Her empty mind was rattling like the Mumbai local. Thousands of thoughts are honking loud, making peace a difficult target. What is peace anyway? Is the urban life agitation an

Soulless life   Darr nahin lagti hai.  *          *           * Just a random thought penetrates into the mind; just like the unwelcomed dick in her vagina. It doesn't really hurt some months. But it is not the same flesh anymore; the scars of her battle in broad daylight sometimes, in the pinching darkness sometimes have left her to see the (w)hole from an unknown perspective. The vagina has healed, though virginity was never a question to her. She is walking around, eating out at restaurants, sipping coffee, visiting malls. But no more alone.  What did she do? Nazma was not rebellious. She did not use to wear shorts or mini skirts like me, neither her tops revealed her cleavage like mine. She obliged to the customary black-clad of the burqa, unquestioned. That is how her god wants the women to stay protected. We had one beautiful thing in common. We both loved black. We like how black just absorbs and accepts everything into itself without revealing, without p

To bee, or not to bee The peninsular city of Hyderabad is eternally a summer struck city. Some days are hotter than other. But the last winter was quite chilling. It started shedding leaves in the autumn. But one can always hope for an evergreen tree to keep its leaves. It was different that year. Probably it was time. Time for the green, fulfilling leaves to go.  It was a story of almost three years. They met online; he was looking for a woman to marry, and she was looking for a man to find passion with. I could not believe it was her; she really had changed as were the rumours. She was a different woman. She was calm, dangerously calm. She talked for long, as usual. As if a dark wave had hit her soul, thundering and storming her inner thoughts. She smiled when I offered her coffee. Probably because that reminded her of him. I was not sure how exactly to respond. Her eyes were brimming, and yet dry. Like the face of a woman who has seen through her life, and is living beyond

I don't know what is more difficult: the pain or the recovery. After being stabbed on an open wound, you would only think a hundred times before using a butter knife. You will use a spoon, even a fork, but every knife will remind you of the stab. Each memory will roll like a series of flashback, every picture quickly succeeded by another, minute details of intricate details of each blow. You relive every moment as if the then is now.  It speeds up the heart rate but nobody can hear it beside yourself.  The chest is burdened with pounds of guilt and courage, only you know the serpentine breath struggling to come out of your lungs. Your hands prepare to fight, because the last time they betrayed you to fright. Your legs prepare to stand more firmly if that's possible. All you know is the knife can hurt you anytime. The sharp knives will show mercy and bleed you till you pass out; the blunt ones will make vain attempts, but will leave marks for you to feel the terror again