The conversation:
Mother: Beth Anne!
Daughter: WU? [What's up?]
Mother: Your cell phone bill is what’s up. All this texting.
Daughter: OMG, INBD. [Oh my gosh, it's no big deal.]
Mother: It is a big deal. Who are you texting 50 times a day?
Daughter: IDK, my BFF Jill. [I don't know, my best friend forever Jill.]
Mother: Tell your BFF Jill that I’m taking away your phone.
Daughter: TISNF! [That is so not fair!]
Mother: Me paying this bill, that’s what’s S.. N.. F.
Voice-over: Now too much texting is NBD. Cingular brings you unlimited texting. Just five dollars more a month.

…crawling in my skin, these wounds, they will not heal

I live a life
that is so desolate
so confusing
there is no hope at all.

There is death
which is so easy, so full of fear
and life
the unknown.

Words all falling apart
no light is in sight
love for me is no more
the end is nigh.

…fear is how I fall, confusing what is real

I had heard, looking at people from top of tall buildings makes you feel big. It made me feel small. It made me want to fly. I jumped and died. But I flew, flying makes you think things that you had never thought before; your mother, your father, your life. And love. I’m dead but there is a person, that is me.

- Ishan Dubey

Here, we eat livers. Cannibalism isn’t a sole domain of some German net-addict or someone from the tribes of Papua New Guinea. We are at it too and the world should stand up and listen. The developed world should take note that we are also capable of producing serial-killers and weirdos. In fact the cannibal, killer-couple lives within a few kilometers of my house, so practically we are neighbours for all out-worldly purposes. If this eating people thingy is caught by the popular fancy then this could be the excerpt of future talks:

‘It’s really cold today.’
‘Ya, it is … come let’s catch a child and eat some liver.’
‘Heya kid! Look I’ve got chocolates for you…’

I also did some planning and now am turning to meat eating. It’s hightime, really. The other day I was out for a party and the only thing a vegan could find was ‘paneer’ and going by strict vegan rules that too isn’t vegan enough. Seriously speaking, I could have been starved but thanks to few vodka shots and bits of barbecued-then-microwaved paneer, I was saved.

It was this experience which made me analyse my eating habits and I did some good solid research. And I concluded that I should hit back at all the animals which were hitherto saved from my wrath. Grrrr…!!! And mind you I said animals, just in case any one got confused.

I guess my tea is ready.

- Ishan Dubey

I do. I do love him a lot. But what about his past. I still am not able to gather if he was really kissing me or someone else. Maybe someone from his past. The way he held my face and brought his lips closer to mine, his warm breath on my face. He pulled my hairs back and kissed me on the lips, lightly, passionately, his fingers rubbing my nape. My heart was racing. The sensation of having his lips on mine, that lingers on for just a wee bit more. I was overjoyed but…

But then, it’s nothing new to him. He has done it all. What I dissect moment by moment is all too mechanical for him. Its way too simple, he just has to have one look at my face with my eyes closed and face up waiting to be kissed with a funny expression: the expression which combines many emotions, the thrill, the excitement, the fear, love, repulsion of exchanging saliva with another being but still the want to do that, the thought of my mouth being too dry, the sheer joy of being kissed and everything; and he would say to himself, ‘silly girl, thinking all the stuff for only a kiss. I could kiss all the hotties we saw on the way only if they would let me’. In fact that’s why he was smiling after it, shit! And I thought he was happy.

He was laughing at me, at my assiness, if that is a word. Even if it isn’t, then whatever. I don’t give two-hoots to anything now. I mean how he could play with my emotions like this. What does he think of himself, is he a God’s gift to women? What?

Or maybe he hasn’t yet gotten over his last relation. Was he trying to kiss her, was he searching for her, in me? He must miss her dearly, after all they were together for so many years and all of a sudden she left him. Poor him. Oh! I love him so much, he needs me. I’ll be the love he has never found. I’ll never leave him like that bitch did; I’ll choke her to death only if I could lay my hands upon her. Am I jealous of her? Jealous of the time they spent together? They had so many things in common and I’m a total dunce at things. What if she comes back, or if he finds another girl like her, will he leave me and go? Yes he’ll leave me, it’s all too easy for him, and he has done it before. The men are all pricks, they ought to be castrated. Let him call me and then I’ll ask, I’ll be a total bitch. Then he would know.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello.”
“Hmm … what are you doing?”
“Nothing much. Can I ask you one thing, promise me you won’t be angry.”
“No baby, ask me.”
“Who were you kissing?”
“What!? What do you mean by that? You, of course”.
“No … I mean … leave it.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing, it’s just that, you won’t leave me, ever?”
“No baby, I won’t.”
“You love me?”
“Now what kinda question is that … ? Of course I do, I love you baby.”
“You are not lying, are you?”
“No, why should I?”
“Ok, fine.”
“Hey, you know what. I met Shashi Tharoor today.”
“What! Really? Cool.”
“He looks so cute, his eyes … Ah! I wish I could kiss him … marry him … you know his eyes … even in this photo it looks like he is looking at me … and silly me I didn’t even take his autograph … you know he is divorced … all men are alike … pricks … hey, can I marry his son … this way I can be close to him always … no that wont work I guess … I should do something else … you tell me what should I do … you know, his hair … it’s so silky and the way it falls on his forehead … Oh! its orgasmic really … his hands are so soft, like a baby’s … he must be spending half his time in getting manicures … and you know, he was … my friend called up today … he was saying … my mum was very angry at me … my boss is a real pain the … have I become fat … I’m bored with my hair-style … a few green coloured streaks will perk them up … am I boring you … but he is so cute … you have not forgotten her, have you … leave it I think too much … but you know …

- Ishan Dubey

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll tell you how to get along without it.”

Like, yeah! Really, bring me life Gawd!

- Ishan Dubey

Don’t begin your relationship thinking of sex.

Feel the real love.

There is happiness in just being together.

That’s when we had to shut his mouth. We couldn’t take his married-man bullshit anymore. But then there was something which struck me. Feel the real love. I don’t know if I have ever felt the real love. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel the real love. I love my parents but then everyone loves their parents, even those who hate them. Everything is sounding so cliched. I have always looked forward to the excitement of chase, the bitter the better. But then where is love?

I miss someone because she is gone, would it be called as love. Or is it more like, one gets so used to someone who has always been there and when they are gone you feel the void but it’s not necessarily love. More like a hoarding in front of your house which has been suddenly removed. You dont love hoardings. You love people.

Then what?

I so desperatley want to meet her but I want to appear so perfect and so smooth and so unlike myself that I’m resisting her. I want her so much that I’m afraid of losing her even before I’ve got her. I fear sharing her with anyone. She is making me want to feel extremely apologetic about everything I do. I’m always on the fringes, not wanting to make a wrong move. But I also know that she will forgive me everything I do, but still. I have started feeling differently since I have known her, I can’t pin-point what is it but Ahh! it is something fuckingly funny and good and at the same time it gives me this empty feeling in my stomach. I want to let go, but I’m even afraid to call her. She might be busy. She might be wanting to seek love from someone better than me. She may not be wanting to love me. Maybe she is just humouring me. Or maybe she loves me a lot. I have to ask her many questions. I’ll give her a tight hug when we meet tomorrow or day after or maybe after next summer. I’ll ask her, ‘am I in love with you?’.

The three of us were sitting in the pub that evening. He came along with his girl friend. She was very pretty and had everything, nice figure and all. He had landed up a cushion job in some place, all very nice with some cool pay-packet and all.

The two of them were very happy. They were sipping on their beers and smoking their cigarettes. I asked, if any one of them knew how to make smoke-rings. They said, no. I always tried making it but then I don’t even know how to take a proper drag. I never told any one that I don’t know how to smoke them ciggies properly. It makes me sound all foolish. I rarely smoke and even less of a drinker I am.

I wasn’t feeling all that okay that night. I loosened up my tie, I was not in the office anymore, I could do that. This corporate dress code is real killer, stuffs me like anything. All those suits and ties-pins and shoes and cuff-links and all. This is not Amerika goddammit! In these summers I feel like a black blot, the heat is just so much.

Maybe the heat had gotten to me. At that moment I just wanted to beat up somebody and I mean a real good beating. Like they do in those gory Jap films. Like eeking out the eyeballs with my fingers. Crunching some balls under my boots. I felt like taking out someone’s uvul…or whatever is it called, that thing which hangs at the back of one’s throat, by getting a knife inside, twisting it real bad and taking out all the tongue and blood; and felt like stabbing someone in the mouth again and again and again. I wanted to see someone cry real bad, beg for my mercy and cry, and I wanted to see him die. Bit by bit and crying and splutting blood. Trying to crawl away but I would hold him back, I would step on his face, I would squish his lips under my boots and make him eat dirt, all very good. I don’t know what was happening to me. I just wanted to kill, to be violent. To smash up those glass tables and those glaring dance-floor lights, something. Something.

Then they came back, they were all tired and all sweating after the dance. He said something in her ear and she started giggling. They were like laughing and falling over each other, spilling beer all over, all very happy. Very good. They were about to get married and get settled and have kids and all. Like settled.

It must be real nice to get settled. Everything falls into its normal place. You have kids, you send them to schools, you wake them up everyday, you get them dressed, you worry about their homeworks, you worry about that bully in the class. Then they grow up, you get calls from their teachers that your kid is not doing all too well or maybe he is doing too well, you feel proud or you feel angry and ashamed and embarrased. Your kid grows up even more, he gets into drugs or maybe into street gangs or maybe into MMS making or maybe into studies or maybe into nothing at all. You worry even more, you worry about their future, you worry about your future. You worry: will he land up with a cushion job, will he climb up the ladder real quick, will he take care of you when you get old, you worry.

You get settled, you work till you retire, you take a well deserved break after that. Then you come back to your home, you have got all the books to read, all the telly to watch, all the gossips to idle. Then you just sit at your home and find fault with everyone, right from your newspaper vendor and your local grocer and that sales girl in the Mall to your doctor and your fellow morning walkers and the establishment and everyone. You do all this while your wife keeps on yacking at you, your kids don’t listen to you and you keep talking to you.

Then you grow real old like you cannot move on your own and everything. By this time you have had a hip-replacement a by-pass and many other things, you eat many medicines. The medicines have no effect because you know you are going to be dead soon. Then you start shitting and pissing in your bed, you get a nurse if you are rich or you get your wife to clean up your mess if she is not already dead or you have your kids doing the stuff for you if they are any good or you just keep lying in your own shit and piss all full of stink and all. Then you start talking to God, you feel real close to him, you ask him to take you away. But He doesn’t, and when you feel like you are feeling all nice and happy, you die. That’s it, that’s the end of it all.

Now I was feeling real sick, so I just stood up and said goodbyes all round and went outside. I went to the car-park and sat in my fireball red convertible and drove away into space. I could see the Venus shining bright on my right.

This is very true of the country itself, of its people and of its history. We just refuse to fly-high as a nation. We test-fired Agni-III, which was supposed to clear out the Chinese cities like Beijing and Shanghai, instead it returned back after covering just one-third of the distance. Our Defence Minister said that it was only a minor mishap and we must learn from our mistakes and move on towards better things. Move on. Yes, move on. We must learn to move on in the peak hour traffic. We must learn to move on in the endless queues. We must learn to move on when we see someone dying on the road. We must learn to move on after killing exotic animals. We must move on with our lives when communities kill each other. We all have learned to move on.

This satelite INSAT – 4C, was supposed to boost India’s space ambitions. It was to take us into new levels of communication. Communication so that we can call our loved ones only to be disconnected because of network congestion. Communication so that just when we are about to write ‘i love you’ to a person, the internet goes off.

Things never work out the way we want them to. But still we keep trying because we have heard the spider’s tale. In our country everything keeps going wrong but our economy is still going strong. The stock market swings everyday but the fundamentals are right. We discriminate on any basis that we can but our motto remains ‘unity in diversity’. We may have the rudest city to boast of but we never fail to offer a glass of water to the plumber. We may have the worst levels of corruption but we have ‘right to information’. We may have all the criminals in the politics but we have democracy.

We may lack in flight but we have dreams to make it big.

I called.

“Hello, is Reshma there?”
“Yes Kabir, she is…she is saying she is not at home.”
“Ok.”
“Hello, what do you want?”
“Hello yeah, what happened?”
“Don’t you know? I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Ok. Bye.”
“Bye.”

I IMed.

Kabir: hi
Kabir: how come u r online so late?
Reshma: sut up
Reshma: *shut up…i’m going to sleep.

The other day.

Kabir: hey baby, how r u?
Reshma: asshole.
Kabir: thanks.

She SMSed.

1 message received.
Sender: Reshma

so nw u cn go on n write up a new thin bout me…tellin every1 tat i dint talk 2 u…n bitch me right thru it.

Maybe she knows me too well. She seems to know everything. What I’m going to do. What I’m about to say. Why am I telling this incident. Why I did this. What will happen now. Will she talk to me. Well, knowing her she wont. But maybe she knows better.

Too many questions, I guess. Too few options. She never likes to answer, but she does, she rarely asks.

We have known each other for long, I think 13 years. The unlucky number. We had nearly lost each other but somehow she found me out, I hope she doesn’t regret that. She always speaks her mind, I don’t think I like it now. She is the the girl I would want to marry but I know I’d never. She is the girl to whom I can tell anything and everything, infact I have, already. But what do I care.

Well, to tell the truth, I don’t even know her all that well. We rarely talk. We don’t meet for years on stretch.

But still…the heart cries.

- The original names have been changed to protect the identities. I hope those who are aware of the real people involved would be decent enough to keep them protected.

- Ishan Dubey.

Does he know? Yeah! I told him that day, didn’t I. But still he hasn’t called me yet. Is he already married. Might be, his clothes are always well-pressed and clean, nothing is improper. But then, that’s why I like him.

Oh my God! he is married too, might even have kids. No, he is too young for that. But then, in villages they still marry early and he too talks about his native place a lot. Oh! why didn’t I see it before, the signs where everywhere. He knows all the cartoon characters, always carries chocolates and I thought he was still a kid at heart.

I like chocolates. He always has a load full of them in his briefcase. I gave that leather briefcase to him. I think it was the 23rd month of the day-we-first-met meet. We are getting married and I’m going to have loads of children. But what about the ones he already has.

I’ll have to be totally un-biased. Or better still, I wont have any children of my own, I’ll take them as mine. But their mother would want them as hers too. Oh! I’ll kill him. How could he not tell me anything about it before.

After marriage we’ll make a summer home in Laddakh. But should I get married to him, isn’t it a bit too early. Let me call him and say that I’m not ready to commit as yet. But what will he think, will he think that I’m backing out, or I’m developing cold-feet, or that I’m fearing marriage, or maybe I’m already married. Say something goddammit, don’t just listen.

“Yes.”

-Ishan Dubey

Tags: temporary madness, girls, marriage