“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.


We were never supposed to be friends. You were only supposed to introduce me to your pretty friend, I was only supposed to try my luck there and our “friendship” should have died there, right there.

It didn’t, because our demons were related, same home town, mother tongue and all that jazz. We’ve enjoyed quite a few good times and a fairly descent number of fights, ever since.
I fell flat on my face on a beautiful evening; you were there, helped me pick myself up sand start again. Your anger was scary, your temper, screams, yelling, made me cry; because I didn’t know what else to do about it. I felt helpless when you were in pain, it made me sad that I couldn’t help you in anyway.

I know you, intimately, closely, but I don’t know you at all; if it makes sense. I should know you better than before, maybe I do, but everything about you right now is like smoke from a cigarette.