Mad Ravings Part II (April '13)

"Mr. K, stop humping the kitchen door. You're drunk! Get your drink and sit down." J blurted out, falling sideways on the couch, laughing hysterically.

     "Fuck you! I'm not drunk, yet. I'm doing the Harlem Shake, bozo." K replied, finishing his drink. "Hey, will somebody please turn up the music?" He continued. I moved over to the music player, studied the controls for a while and moved my fingers over the right  switches. I made sure that the music was loud enough reasonably, but not enough to wake up the neighbours. A gathering like this is always ends up inviting some trouble, I thought. 

      "I need a refill." he continued "Please, everybody, don't be pussies, huh. C'mon, dance with me. 

Hey, We'll make a video. Just cover your faces with your shirts and shake! shake!! shake!!!"

      "Alright!" everybody raised and clicked their glasses. "Cheers" they said but none moved. 

     There were endless rounds of chicken nuggets, fish fingers and fumes and as the evening grew darker so did the conversations. "I'm a Buddhist. I QUESTION EVERYTHING." The guy in the blue shirt started. "I don't know God. But it is my duty to question his world." And then he turned to me "What about you? Do you believe in God?"  It was a rhetorical question but I decided to answer him anyway. 

"I believe in God like I believe in everything else. Nothing special. It is subject to change." 

"You're quite the strange one, huh?"

"Thank you."

      "Hell, away with you philosophies. Hey Ben, put the music back on, will ya?" K called out, made his way back to the middle of the hall and started dancing again. "Hey, have you guys heard that joke... the one about the Gods, Britney Spears and Shakira?"

"No. Let's hear it, my man." I answered. 

"So, the Gods got bored of their wives, and so invited Britney Spears and Shakira to Heaven..." he went on. The music dissolved in the background. 

      The girls walked in at around half past ten. "Hello boys! We've got the cake. Let's celebrate!"

My friend, old boy Terry, came out from the kitchen, excited.
"Holy shit! Why are you all dressed up for?"

"I wanted to look nice. Is that a crime." 

"No. no. You look beautiful. Like a princess." He helped her with the cake. 

We set the table and everyone refilled their glasses. There was around fourteen people in the room. Half of them were strangers to me but I was not bothered. The night was still so young. 

     Not long after, the room broke up into little groups and private conversations grew louder with every passing minute. The guy in the blue shirt loved to argue. He was the loudest too. But from time to time, he would pause, finish his drink and recite a haiku. We all laughed and praised him heartily. The others were occupied catching up on old stories, contemplating the good old days. Before midnight, the gathering had turned into a school re-union, most of them were classmates. Me? I came from a different school from a very different city so I moved away a little and gave the boys their space, that space where memory is resurrected for a night, for a few laughs over old tidings.

     "I'm gonna sit next to Ben." Princess pulled a chair next to me in her beautiful yellow dress. "You guys keep talking about those wasted days. Damn." she told the others.

"Hi, again." I moved aside a little and made room for her chair.

"What's wrong, Ben? You look depressed." 

"Yeah? I'm just tired. Didn't really sleep well yesterday. Actually, I didn't sleep at all. I was at a friend's birthday party yeterday. It went on till 5 in the morning. You know how those things turn out. Don't you?"

"Hah, right. To be young, huh?" she laughed cynically. "Seems like we can't really have a conversation with these boys tonight. They're reminiscing the old days. Good for them. But I wasn't in their school and neither were you."

      "Yeah. I guess we're both outsiders tonight. Cheers!"

      "Cheers!"

Something like Olivia... played on.

Green

You ain't goin' nowhere.

LOLITA

Another one for April. Thank you Nabokov, Kubrick... and, of course, Sue darling.

The Swedish Sphinx

Where and how should I begin? The only way to understand Garbo is to invoke the muses, all nine of them. And I fear that too won't be enough to comprehend this cryptic sibyl. She is Queen Christina, she is Anna Karenina, Mata Hari, the Wild Orchid, the Divine, the Temptress and above all the Mysterious. Ill-fated and melancholic, always, she tries to hide her longings behind her chalkwhite mask, but her eyes never lie... it all comes screaming out in black and white. Her voice too is drowned in silence but she never lies. She never lies. And I love her. 

A sketch of Greta Garbo I did earlier this year.

For Its Existence

And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the

blindworm battens on the root,

And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of

Passion bears no fruit.

— Oscar Wilde, Bittersweet Love

Mad Ravings Part I (Summer of '96)

I was five and madly in love. Just the other day I had dragged myself into a fierce engagement with some other kids. A few days later, diplomacy failed and we got into a fight. We were after the same girl - little Miss M.

     One day, not long after the incident mother drove me to school. I was reluctant to go inside and I persistently pleaded my mother to take me back home with her. I was in no mood for school that day. Mother said “No” but I kept pleading. I saw M. on the balcony with some friends and I was seized by a sudden urge to stay. “Alright,  I’ll go inside the foolish class” I told her “please don’t forget to pick me up at Eleven. Bye!” I went inside.

     She and me were not in the same class. Her classroom was on the first floor, the last one on the right wing, looking out to the road leading to the inner city. Mine was on the main block, on the ground floor four rooms from the principal’s office. Many a times I was taken there for my little innocent mischiefs which I boldly committed from time to time. I was a rebel with a cause character back in those days. At least once every week one of the teachers’ would loose control and drag me to the principal’s office for counselling. Fortunately the Principal happened to be a very good friend of my father and was a real gentleman, he would dismiss the teacher and then hand me a bar of Kit-Kat, some blank papers and his personal roller ball point pen (always red). I would then sit on one of the cushioned chairs in his office and draw mad drawings while he flipped through his office files and made phone calls. I missed a lot of classes this way. It was glorious.

     One fateful morning after my mother had dropped me off, I wanted to go say hello to M., and so, slowly I started towards the stairs, ascending cautiously, one step at a time, fingers dragging along the wall. While I was there the morning bell went off and I found myself facing a landslide of kindergarten children, all plump, with chubby cheeks glistening in the morning sun mad and roaring down the stairs in a rush to get to the court to assemble for the morning announcements. It was utter pandemonium. Confusion everywhere.  She disappeared with the crowd. I was angry I had missed the opportunity but most of all I was heart-broken. Disappointed and defeated, I blasphemed and joined the crowd in the end.

     Back in class, the class-teacher after taking the morning attendance, made us sing a couple of songs (nursery rhymes). I hardly sang as I was not the mood. My mind was made up, I was determined to meet little Miss M. that day anyhow. I told the boy sitting next to me to move aside and let me through which I cleverly condensed into two words: “GET OUT.” He obliged and soon I, after having conquered the aisle, walked over to our class-teacher, Miss S.

“You’d have to excuse me Miss, but I have to go meet someone upstairs. Her name is M. It's important.”

“What? You can’t go out now. You’re in class!”

“I must. I must.”

“NO.” she put it firmly at last. Plain and simple.

      She was stubborn just like me, I had met my match at last, but my mind was electric that particular morning. I had to come up with some sort of a plan. "If she wins" I told myself "I’ll look like a fool in front of the whole class." Then the thought of fighting her for my freedom crossed my mind a couple of times. I looked at her once more and measured her with my eyes - she was big and I was puny. But boy, I was ready to do anything that day and so I threatened her with everything I had.

“If you don’t allow me to go, I’ll start crying!”

“NO! You can’t go out. And you can’t cry.”

     It was then that I let all Hell loose. I cried and when she said “stop” I cried louder. And as the crescendo of my own passion rose, I shuffled and banged my feet hard on the floor. This went on for a good couple of minutes, then I don’t know exactly what happened to her, maybe she took pity on me, maybe her nerves were shot, or maybe, just maybe, she was moved. After all, this was a grand love story.

“OK! OK! OK! I’ll take upstairs myself” she submitted, finally.

    

     Two minutes later we were ascending the stairs. Miss S. held my right hand; with my left I dried my tears. “He wants to meet a girl named M.” she told the other teacher, having reached the classroom. She called out and a shy M. treaded slowly  towards us. “She’s here” my class-teacher stared at me. M. held out her tiny hand, and I, barely recovered from my earlier emotional frenzy, shook her hand in a very courtly fashion. It was a timeless gesture. My heart conspired against me that moment. I let go off her hand embraced her and vehemently kissed her cheek. Everyone gasped.

“See, I’m here” I told her. She smiled.

Epilogue

I don’t remember much of what unfolded afterwards but I do believe that I ended up in the principal’s office. I also believe that I became the hero of the kindergarten in the school staff room. 

     

     As for me and M., it was the beginning and the end of our little story. I have no memory, whatsoever, of any incident involving me and M. indulging in any questionable activity. But I did meet her again nine years later. I recognized her immediately because she had a rare hair color. We talked a couple of times, as strangers, and I never once reminded her of our little moment in history. Her visage visits me sometimes in dreams and even after all these years I still smile at the memory of walking up to her confronting obstacles in retarded ways. She doesn't know, but I’m victimized by acute heart burns every August.

#279

I coughed up a river of blood last night
and I didn't even care
I see my dawn coming

Join Me For Dinner?

I have to admit, I'm getting better in the kitchen. Hah. 

#277

12:22 am
the rich darkness is exquisite
the silence is unbearable.

#276

In rags of love
you pass through broken hallways
looking for a crack in the wall.