Another Intellectual Being

Creative Writing

The Usual Symptoms

BurningLove


You are so ready to feel loved and feel worthy of being loved and yet you are so choosy on what that love would look like. Think of all the various types of love you have received in your life and realize that someone who is always late all the time isn’t really that bad. Some of the people who said they loved you just wanted to find a shortcut into your pants or they called you names, hit you, messed up your head and left you all in the name of affection. Life forces you to reach a stage when even someone remotely showing interested in you, makes you feel like you’ve caught the big fish.

You allow the disdainful courtship to proceed fairly quickly because you want to hear them say “I Love You”. Getting to know them properly with proper amounts of reflection and hesitation is currently not your plan of action. There is just someone frequently finding themselves in your arms, giving you a sense of devotion. You don’t even feel that you deserve more.

You hold on to them very tightly sitting together on the sofa of a posh upmarket café, knowing that the moment you both leave things will be different. You come to get used to the fact that they only give love in minute amounts, yet you cannot get accustomed to it. You feel a certain amount of longing even when they are only a few feet away from you. Their presence at your side is always a pleasant surprise, never something that you can ever take for granted.

You ask them for more signs of commitment and they stall you. You want them to tell you how much they need you but inside you know that they will say it only to please you. You quietly pray to god for a version of them that cares about you as much as you do for them. You quietly wish that they take you to a place with all their friends and proudly present you to every new person you meet. Just think about the life you would’ve had, if you did not know that they somehow felt ashamed about you. You know that they will never declare true love but bring yourself to believe that you don’t care.

But you do.

You feel the grasp of the relation closing around your neck and yet you don’t get a kick in the shin to tell you that “You deserve better”. You tell yourself that you expected worse than this and are contempt with the current situation, shame on you.

You meet a common friend on the road and they ask you “How long have you been in love?” and your ‘lover’ meekly replies “Ohh! We’re just seeing each other!” It suddenly brings you to realize that you are in a platonic relationship but you gave them free benefits, all that you planned with them was just like contemplated suicide, harsh.

Best of luck explaining the situation to all your closest friends who you told about your true love.

You tell them you are not in love.

You know you are.

You tell yourself that you’ll choose wisely next time. You won’t.

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Kuch Bandh Padha Hain

Na jaane in darazo me rakka kya hain?
Kya hain woh khilone bachpan ke,
Kuch tute kuch adhmare se,
Jinke saath ab meri khelne ki chaah nahi h.

Ya phir rakhe hain kuch khat,
Kuch yaadein simat kar rakhi gayi hain.
Magar dhool jami hain darazo par,
Kya kholta hoga inhe ab koi?

Raakhe honge kuch purani baatein,
Woh school ke medal aur scholar badge ki yaadein.
Ab engineering padhte padhte unki,
Yaad aati hain khub jamke.

Yah hain bhai ki koi shaitani,
Koi surri bamb ya koi makaude.
Yaah kuch mithai chipai hogi usne,
Chup chupke khata hoga phursat me.

Na jaane in darazo me rakha kya hain?
Inhe kholkar dekhoonga kabhi.
Magar aaj waqt hi kaha hain,
College jaane se phursat hi nahi


To The Cause of Love

 

Two years sailing in this wonderful dream and yet I do not know what it is truly.

Love is a very strange word. The longer it lasts the stranger it gets but I somehow feel love cannot be fathomed so easily.

I feel that your understanding of love grows at par with the duration of it. In those terms I only have 2% idea of what love actually is but then again its relative. It can depend on the span of life, being in love etc etc etc.

Love is strange, but I know whats not. Being with you.

It has been a wonderful two years with you love. Immensely joyous, terribly irritating. It gives me a terrible headache at times and really good feelings at others. It’s a wonderful, amazing journey with you and it does not compare to anything else in life.

You are a combination of things that I love and things I lack. You are beautiful, you are kind, you don’t have a single bit of patience and you never get my jokes. :/

You are strange, you are wonderful, you are what happens when dreams are dipped in colour. I may be mushy, I may be openly romantic, hell I may be cheesy but I will not miss an opportunity to tell you how much I love you.

No matter when you are sad, angry, pissed or irritated, I still love you. You test my patience like hell at times but I can’t help not loving you.

You do the wondrous things at the most amazing moments which make every day of being with you an eternal adventure. It has been 2 years and still at times I can’t tell what you’ll do when, I love your impulse.

You are confused about many things, yet you have this insane capability to love. You end up caring for people whom you hate, you are just amazing that way. You are special, you are crazy, you are gift to me.

I just want to say. I love you. I really love you.

–          A crazy crazy man


Shopping with Women

Putting it forth more as a general observation than a general statement; Women love to shop.

Women love to meander their way through floors of one shopping arcade after another. They like to glide up glass escalators past a grand piano, or spray a perfume sample on themselves on their way to, maybe, making a purchase. Sale’s make them go even crazier. They’ll pick up every item of clothing on sale, put it against their body, critique it and put it back. Even then the Sales People pay more attention to them.

When they go on to the next shop and find a similar item of clothing as in the one before, they definitely have to know the price and then comment on whichever was better. Women are also considered masters in bargaining, if I could I’d let a lady do all my purchasing while I select the items myself. Just helps getting better value for money that way. Although I speak with no personal experience of being present with a girl choosing make-up, (Mine believes in simplicity, Bless her. :* ) I can definitely say that it must one hell of a dung bomb. Standing there seeing the girl with you pouting her lips, applying lipstick, taking it off, applying another and so the vicious circle continues. I feel blessed that I don’t have to go through this at least.

We men follow a simple routine: Enter, Select, Try, Buy, Exit. That’s it. We’re done and settled for at least the coming two months. I’m not saying that we follow this routine for everything we buy, No. I’m just commenting with respect to clothes, accessories, make-up and personal grooming.

Shopping for women is generally followed up by a widespread discussion of what she bought, how cheap it was and how awesome she thinks she looks in it with all of her female friends. While with men it’s just a thumbs up from your buddy next day in college.

While women have shopped with men (boyfriend/fiancé/husband) or at least tried, they seldom enjoy the experience. As I would say, Men are just more practical. We wouldn’t do any of those impractical things. Men on the other hand rarely shop with women if they’re not dating/married/to-be-married. It just causes us too much mental trauma.

Some studies even say that how men and women shop is sometimes related to how they indulgence in sex. Men start, do the deed and want to turn over and sleep while women see sex almost as a theatre drama with 3 main acts; Foreplay, Intercourse and After Play or Pillow Talk. Some men are different and so are some women.

Why I write such things? Well today I broke past my critical point. Almost 6 hours of shopping, talking about shopping, checking out shopping, dreaming about shopping more and cribbing about lack of money. Good benevolent being up there, I think I’ve had it for a lifetime. My legs hurt, I feel pukish when I look at clothes, I become blue when I look at sale signs. Someone please explain these symptoms to me. I may be dying.

Or is it just *Shopping with Women*?


Where Colors Come To Die

Where dreams shatter and clouds pour in color,

A man walks by in a single file of lies.

Bursts of wondrous joy and madness,

Pour in constant about us.

 

Where colors come to die and paint sheds a tear

When wondrous shapes fill the wall with smoke

Splashes of white waste on the walls

Colorful intrepid haze of acid

 

Floating the floor below us and above

In dewdrops of red and orange

Misty walls of distant dreams

Placemats of gods creation

 

 


The Magnificence of Italy

Great fields of Olives greeted me as my plane was landing in the Rome Int’l Airport. I love olives and believe it or not, these fields made me optimistic about my trip around Rome. Since childhood I had imagined the awe inspiring structures of the Roman Empire and how it would feel to be amidst them. And in totality my dream did come true. The magnificence of the 3000 year old city knows no bounds; every corner you turn brings you face to face with a monument that cannot simply be placed in this era.

I turned my imagination up a notch and began visualizing how the Romans used to live in the birthplace of civilization. The gladiators fighting in the colosseum, the roman forum full of roman philosophers, the likes of Marcus Aurelius and Plotinus. I was feeling quite majestic myself and it took quite a lot of self-restraint on my part not to pick up a sword and charge.

After reveling in the outer beauty of these wonders I went inside. The art on the ceilings, the intricate and exquisite detail on the statues were an amazing experience. You can never admire them enough, not in front of them and neither in afterthought. Each painting and sculpture had a style of their own, each different from the other. Yet there were some made centuries apart which looked almost the same, it was marvelous.

Having soaked in the many sights of Rome I had a carnal urge to move towards the smells, the famous Roman cuisine. I hogged on everything that I could lay my eyes on, Pastas, Pizzas, Gelatos, everything vanished in a jiffy. The food is definitely worth dying for; I’d happily give up everything to be amongst this kind of food for a lifetime. The varieties of Pizzas, Pastas, Meats and Gelatos available were mind boggling.

Rome is a wondrous city, a city perfect for wanderers, perfect for people who get lost in the city and not the people. You can sit and admire the beauty of Rome for hours to an end, yet every time you begin to write words will fall short. I’ve definitely marked Rome as one of the places I would love to go back to, maybe this time on a Roman Holiday.


A Feminine Ordeal

She crept up silently from her bed and dusted the night’s madness off her self. It was an eerie hour of dawn and she began preparing her mind for the ordeal that lay ahead. She got off her tiny bed and looked out the window of her cramped little room.

The vastness of the view seemed to fight her meek existense, as if to sound out a challenge. She closed the shutters and rid herself of the prying eyes, the soul less glares. She tiptoed towards the bathroom stealing glances behind her, trying to find shadows in the non existent crevices of her dingy room. The shower welcomed her with warmth against the chill of the city.

She stood beneath the running water, a lifeless form, castrating thoughts, memories and distinguished nightmares from her mind. She was fighting it all but she knew today will be her last. She made herself a cocoon with the towel and wore her everyday clothes, a jeans, a t-shirt and the power to endure all.

She gathered her bag and left the room, her sad eyes scanned the room knowing that the room, her world might get lost today. She tiptoed down the stairs and into the open road, into the freedom.

Her clothes felt weird on her body, in reality she felt naked as she watched each man she passed by, strip her with his eyes. She pulled her clothes in tighter, afraid that they’ll be taken away in a horrible sort of way. She passed by more lecherous men and with time the glares got stronger, almost open challenging her chastity. Lewd actions had started making their presence felt, gestures of breast gropes and other horrid fantasies.

She felt like a hamster in a cage, running on a wheel to no result. Her mind fluttered in her darkness as her body took part in material erotica of the people she passed by. A crowd was approaching and as she was being justled from side to side she felt lingering touches on her breasts and bottom. Uncomfortable as she was, she had no choice, it was a ritual almost.

She remembered the senile old man who groped as she was touching his feet, the roadside romeos who pulled out their appendages even without any provocation from her side. The cars with black tinted windows who stopped beside her asking how much she took for the night. Men with their mind in the gutters, men whose head were still held high.

She looked behind abruptly and saw three men following her closely with evident malicious intent. She saw the gate on her left, it was close. Perhaps she should run but that would show her weakness. She walked on at a quiet pace, her ears rejecting the bile that came from the mouths of the men.

She saw the men catch up to her, she flanked to her right and entered the gate. She had reached college, she was safe another day, her life returned to her.

She would live for another day, her life was still safe but she would have to endure it again. Tomorrow, day after, day after day, such has become the existence of women in our horrid society.

 

Written on the eve of Women’s Day.