A giant biscuit tart the size of a large pizza, first with a layer of fresh sliced bananas. Then a layer of fresh cream, followed by a layer of farm fresh strawberries and fresh cream after. Now a layer of butterscotch cake and ice cream is added and topped off with a generous amount of caramel sauce. The tart would feel like winter finally arrived.
A bite of something this delicious and sweet is required because it finally hit me. The fact that I’m going to be leaving, I’ll be gone and wouldn’t want to come back has arrived. It’s sad, slightly painful and just a little cold (but the cold never bothered me, anyway). I’m not depressed, I still want to leave and go ahead but I can’t seem to shake off the little sad feeling lurking around in the dark.
Where the hell can I go find such a huge tart? And why aren’t I satisfied? I just want to be able to move on without being held back or caught in a spider web.
“There are more fish in the sea.”
Subramanya Swami, that was the name of my gold fish. It was the only fish that survived in the bubble like gold fish bowl on the dining table for a year. Many fish came by and they went, some looked just like it and the others nothing like it. But Swami was one for solitude.
Into the bowl of bright orange base came another fish, darker than a new moon night, eyes brighter than the sun, and moved like an angel of the darkness in the bowl. But that too disappeared in to the darkness of the night.
One evening a cousin had come to leave a big ugly fish in the bubble because it terrorised the other fish in her aquarium. It was a nasty looking thing and was almost as big as the bowl. During dinner I went to feed Swami; but swami was already this awful fish’s dinner. All that lay on the bottom of the bubble was a headless body.
I threw tantrums and fights about the fish being taken away and when we got back from our vacation, he was still there in the bubble. “Either the fish stays or I stay.” Threw an ultimatum at the family and went to bed. The next morning, big darky was floating in the bubble.
Little big feet walked around
Steps closed in and days, melted into weeks.
Pretty eyes never looked; almost never,
A year and half later we talk,
Months later we’re friends.
A drunk night, he’s sleeping in my bed
I sleep, in a bed right above.
That lofty distance, will forever stay
But hope is a hopeless thing;
It doesn’t want to give up.
FLAMES a quiz from my childhood that helped reinforce hope in hearts of the boys.
This was a popular game in my 6/7 the standard,(grade) that helped verify if your crush and you were compatible. The game required both names to be written and then all the common alphabets were cancelled out. Whatever alphabets were left you’d count them and that number would be the key. Use the key number to cancel the letters in FLAMES. The example below will demonstrate. I’ll try to check the compatibility between the names Trump and Hillary.
The key here is 10 . Let’s use the Key on FLAMES.
So according to the test the name Trump and Hillary have potential to be great lover but it will change if full names are used and it’ll be the same deal and everytime you finish the key, start counting again from the next alphabet. This is the way the love compatibility was calculated in my school and many others to help a brother or sister in need of common sense.
Either you do or you don’t; it’s a yes or a no. Life in my defence has always been either white or black and nothing else ever existed in my world view. The grey area never existed up until then and the first time we met, I nearly drowned in an ocean of self-pity.
Or is this all my entitled, privileged and spoilt child attitude. It’s a question that I can’t answer honestly because personal bias effects the answer or opinions involved with these questions or conflicting thoughts. It’s a struggle that’s universal apparently because as a child I thought the worrying made me different and special but it clearly doesn’t do very much at all, because everyone else does it too.
Or is it just my constant need for attention or self that is so desperate for human approval and this makes my needs and urges seem normal for that brief period of time. Like Lucy in the sky and a rat in collection of a hobo’s sale of needless things. Idiot things to be or just not be worry about being horny all the time.
The ranting on a expensive bed after a rich dinner I’d add is the epitome of laziness rooted in the Freudian slippage stags.
“It smelled like green and I thought Vinay will like this description” he told me as we sipped lemon tea at Chai chowk. He was in Madekari district last week and when he reached Abby waterfall, there was a strong vegetal aroma that he could only describe as green.
“What does green smell like to you?” He asked me. Green smells like freshly cut grass (I know how clichéd that sounds) but it wasn’t the first thing in my head but after I contextualised it made more sense and the grass was it. But the mental image was far more different.
I did see and smell fresh cut grass but it’s early in the morning, the dew on the grass is still cold and stepping around there is petrichor in the air but only subtly. This still feels inadequately described and that’s when the argument that was made in the book “The illicit happiness of other people” by Manu Joseph hits me. Language is a limited device, it can never completely help describe many things and that might just be a means to hinder human evolution. This feels like a conspiracy theory but honestly there are many things that sound or seem simple till I start describing it to another person and feel the incomplete.
This inability to describe is something I fumble into when I’m describing or talking about nature, smell, visuals, shadows, light or sometimes just how it feels to touch an object and how that feels against the skin.
To talk about primp is a really challenge because it requires introspection and reflection on my self indulgence, partial narcissism, and pride; these are things that makes me an Asshole of the highest order. I know it and have been more than happy with myself for being the amazingly awful person I am to everybody without bias.
I love the days when I care about primping up for College because I otherwise do spend a little time on primping for anywhere else. I enjoy the attention; regular practice has made me better at primping which brings me some really nice things to hear about me regularly. I hope my practice helps me get better and maybe someday it’d be a habit enough to not doubt myself or my work.
Primping is easily the first word to associate me with because of the vanity I spout with my indulgence with my hair. My hair has way too many stories, there are probably some ancient posts on my blog about my hair. I love the attention it draws and also how much of a great ice breaker it can be.
I’ve contemplating a haircut for a while now, even people who said I have nice hair wanted me to get it chopped off. But I don’t know what I want, if I want it to be gone or if I want it to be longer. The effort and time gone into to caring for the hair and protecting it from hands of the administration makes it harder to let it go.
I have second thoughts about everything, every step I take, every move I plan and sometimes even about eating. I don’t know what it means to not doubt my actions and just proceed with a thought. I’m not impromptu, never did anything spontaneous, and living everyday already feels too spontaneous to do anything else. Some classic second thought moments are below.
Breakfast: It’s pulav, smells great but don’t feel like getting out of bed. But I’m hungry, I’d have to brush my teeth too. I could just go back to sleep and get up for lunch but I may not fall asleep because I’m getting hungrier.
Meeting a friend: I’ll have to get out of the house and before that I’ll have to shower, wash my hair, dress up and talk to people. I enjoy getting out and meeting only people who are a delight to hangout with or I find interesting.
The Ride (to anywhere): I could still cancel, blame family and if it’s important say someone died and get out. But I tell myself, every few minutes to pull through the crap and I’d not hate it. Then as I get closer, the urge either gets stronger or gets weaker. Weaker it gets easier it seems to get through the ordeal, and on days it’s strong, I run back home from the venue and apologies for not showing up.
Ordering : I can never pick an order, I usually look up the menu a day before and decide what I’d want to order. It’s easy bit sometimes I fever EV CV hf
Eyes that follow but never tell,
Lips that move but never speak,
Screams that boom but never voiced
Tell me everything, you try to hide;
Your Irksome eyes stare into my cold heart, from
The vague vapours of my imagination.
Things I relish needs to be listed, because I live to make lists and eat. So here’s the list:
- Home made Food.
- Mark Rassendren’s lunch box
- Biryani (Chicken)
- Steamed vegetables
- Tibetan food
- Papad // Hapla
- Sex and cuddling
- Big mansions
- Small talk
- Ice cream and Desserts
- TV shows
- Late night phone calls
The list would go one but stopping at the first 30 that came to is a good plan. It’s a things that felt current, things that make everyday a joy, living easy and help through life. These are things that make my heart jump and bring a smile on my face. I guess simple pleasures are the key and answer for healing.