Smoke

Do you remember that woman you saw in the cinema hall? The one you couldn’t help looking at despite the fact that you were with your own? The woman who was the reason for an altercation between you and your girl in the intermission?

I know that woman.

Ah, of course, I also know another woman whom I think you know as well. Do you remember the woman whose hand was so delicate, so pristine, that you felt the urge to pretend to be a glove salesman just so you could touch her in some way- however civilised it may be?

Well, I knew her too.

Or rather, I know her. I know her right now, as of this moment. I know what she’s doing. I know what she’s thinking. I know whom, she wants. I know it isn’t you. I know all this because, as fate has it, I am her.

I’m Tasha. Tasha Smokerson. They call me Smoky behind my back. And not without reason- in my presence, talking seems like a wasteful activity for the mouth.

 Look, I have a way with words.

I’ll tell you to go to hell in a way that you’ll actually look forward to the trip.

When I open my mouth to speak, even if I’m dressed like a beggar, or smell like a skunk, you will want to be the one who goes home with me tonight.

I don’t remember the last time I walked into a room unnoticed. It just isn’t possible.

You could be a stud, you could be a wimp, you could be an intellectual, you could be a retard, you could be a manwhore, or you could be gay- as long as you’re a guy, I can make you want me if I want you to. Sadly for you, there are very few chances I’ll want you too.

That’s the real problem with ubiquitous desirability- the elimination process for possible candidates has to be strict as the Bible’s guardian.

Talking about things unholy, I’m Satan’s property. He guards me when he thinks I need it, or when he needs me- so don’t blame me for the handcuffs tied to my bed head or the whip in my closet- not that you would, you’d just feed off the idea. And not that I need a whip to get you whipped.

You are mine when I want you to be.

If you don’t fall for my porcelain skin as inviting as that of a Geisha, you will fall for my long, thick, red hair- all the better to grab onto, isn’t it? If you aren’t previously intoxicated by my inherently perfumed body, I’ll let my big, green eyes do the talking- or maybe even more.

You could be committed to Cleopatra for all I care! But, if I even hint that you have a shot with me… Well, let’s just say, in the heat of the moment, and in the heat of my presence, hormones are going to be a lot more binding than a wedding ring.

I’m the other woman. I’m your weakness. I’m your only vice. I’m the one you want to spend money on. I’m the one who makes you regret having taken those wedding vows. I’m the one who’ll make you want to join a gym. I’m the one all the men want. I’m the one all the women loathe. I am, however, the most popular- sigh, what people won’t do just to get a chance to talk to me!

It’s a pity, really.

It’s a pity I exist.
The world was so close to being imperfect.

Hit

The dining room is old and dusty, and sunlight is streaming in through the single window. The bars on the window are old and rusted, but strong as ever.


"Come and look out the window with me, honey."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to, Celine."
"Well, sometimes we don't get what we want."
"Is that any way to talk to your mother?!"
"No, it isn't. And that's why I'm talking to you like that."
I walked right into that one, I'm afraid. "How dare you! I am your mother and you'd be wise to know it!"
"No, you're not my mother."
"Well, kindly tell me who is then, dear."
"Dear, my mother is someone who-"
"Gave birth to you? Well, good luck finding her!"
"Well, that too, but my mother would be someone-"
"Who takes care of you? I believe the clothes you're wearing, and the food you eat, and the shoes you wear, and the books you read have been given to you by me."
"My mother is someone who makes me happy." And it sure isn't you, you old skank.
"Well, considering you don't have any friends or any family, other than me, your mother-"
"-ugh-"
"-I suggest you stop being so disrespectful and just appreciate what you have."
"The reason I don't have any friends is because you never let me out of this hellhole."
Stay calm, you can do this. "That's a lie and you know it, Celine! I let you out of here every single day! You play with your friends every evening! I even cry because of how eagerly you want to meet them but grimace at the thought of coming back to me!"
Silence.
"Quite a show, mother. I might even have believed you had the scars on my back from your merciless whipping not still be stinging. I might have believed you my stomach wasn't rumbling from the starvation you let me suffer day in and day out. I might have believed you, mother, if you hadn't spent my whole life telling me I was an ugly piece of junk who you were taking care of for a couple of years until I was old enough to become a whore and earn you back all the pennies you spent on ensuring my survival."
"Lies! Lies, I tell you!"
"Oh stop, won't you. Why isn't your cane out yet? My outbursts are usually followed by your strikes. Why am I not bleeding yet?"


The mother looked over at the one sided glass shield. She knew the man was looking at them through the glass. She decided the time had come to let Celine know that they were being watched. She hoped that would help calm her.


"You see? You see what I have to deal with Mr.Capri? This is the love she has for me!"
"Capri? Who's Capri? Are you going senile? And, for the record, I wouldn't call what I have for you, 'love', actually. Quite the opposite." You senile old witch, you.


A man came out of the adjacent room holding a clipboard and looking stern.


"I think I've seen quite enough, Mrs. Earl."
"You see? Do you see what she treats me like? I need someone to love me! I need care! I need money!"
"Would you like my agency to take her in, Mrs.Earl? We'll pay you good money for the body. The mind can be disposed of with enough time and energy."
Huh, scoffed Celine, she'll never let him take me. She awaits the day when I go and sell my body for her. She isn't going to let some agency have that pleasure. But, who in god's name is this man?
"Uh, no, Mr.Capri, she is still my daughter, and I love her, I just think we may need some money. I will need some way to get help. I know she's a lovely girl inside. I think it was her father's death that has made her this way."
Huh, skank! You killed him! You've threatened me saying you'll do it to me too! How can you lie to this man! 
"Ah, how tragic. But, didn't your husband die nearly 7 years ago? And in the report, uh, you claimed Celine had been giving you trouble for just, let me check, 'a few months'? Can you explain this discrepancy Mrs. Earl?"
HAHA! He did his homework! Answer that you old rag!
"She is a strong girl, Mr.Capri. It's no surprise it's taken so many years for it to sink in and have this impact. This gradual effect is no less than can be expected from her, Sir."
Aw, haell no! I knew she would wriggle her way out of it. The little worm!
"Yes, that sounds about right. Well, Mrs. Earl, I think I know enough now. Clearly, you have great love for your daughter, which, I'm afraid, is something she is unable to recirprocate. I will contact my agency for confirmation, but I'm quite sure I will be able to help you."
"Oh! Thank you! Thank you so much Mr.Capri! You've saved my life! Our life! Our life, ofcourse, our life, always together! Celine, say thank you to Mr.Capri!"
No effing way.
"Merely doing my job, Mrs. Earl."
"Ah, but you are doing it only too well! Perhaps there is some other way I could thank you?"


Mrs. Earl moved closer to Mr. Capri. Celine could only see Mrs.Earl's back now. She tip-toed a little and saw Mr.Capri's eyes widen. Coincidentally, it was around the same time that Mrs. Earl shifted the robe she was wearing. 
Oh, the whore. She's giving herself to him as well! John'd better hear about this! She needs to earn money so can stop offering herself as a sacrifice every time she has to pay for something! The milkman, the dry cleaner, she's a filthy whore, she is.I don't know why John sticks with her.
Mr. Capri had obviously seen enough. He walked out the door just as Mrs. Earl turned around.


"You're going to pay for your behaviour young lady."
"Oh, it's young lady now, is it? No more, daughter? God, you disgust me."
"Don't think you're too much of a treat for me either, you little rascal. You've had your say for the year. Now it's time to get back to reality. I'm going to get my favourite cane and you're going to be reminded why only the presence of a wealthy social worker will enable me to tolerate your few moments of outspokenness. Stay right there. You're going to regret ever saying anything in front of him."
"You sure about that, slut?"


Mrs. Earl stopped in her tracks.


"WHAT did you call me? Did you not hear me? I'm going to beat the living daylights out of you."
"I'd like to see you try." 
"Oh dear! I think you've got amnesia. Why else would you pointlessly refute all the many times I've done exactly that to you?"
"Because, bitch, I've got the stick."

Part II

Her friends were talking to her now. She laughed a little, but mostly at her own jokes. She was taller than the others, and definitely the prettiest. A stand out, for guys like me. It appeared as if she had recently learned how to be sure of herself. Looking at her, I figured it was about time she did.

I found it strange that she never looked in my direction. Not because I'm some godlike man-beauty, but because I had been staring at her for ages now, and I thought it only right that she notice that. 

I considered the possibility that she was used to guys staring at her all the time. Surprisingly, that didn't make me uncomfortable at all, which was weird, considering my eternal grudge against slutty girls, or girls who threw themselves at guys even if they actually had no intention of following up the chase with anything real. It just pleased me to know that guys appreciated how beautiful she was. However, when I considered that they stared at her for reasons other than her beauty, I felt a surge of rage, which even later in my life I could never fully justify, considering I'd never ever even talked to her at that point. Another thought that crossed my infatuated mind that she was one of those ultra beautiful girls who never fully understood the magnitude or effect of their beauty and, thus, immersed themselves in meaningless relationships and men just to assure themselves that they were indeed attractive to the opposite sex. I knew not if she was one of these women. But what I did know was that if I ever got her, I'd make sure she knew just what a gift to womankind she was.

I realized how irrevocably spellbound I was. It surprised me. 

But, I must admit, the thing that happened next surprised me a little more.

Somebody pushed my shoulders down. It hurt like hell. More than it usually does, even taking into account my hooligan friends. I think that might have been because of how hard my body, however subconsciously, resisted to having my gaze pulled from her for even a second.

my shoulders were hurting, and i heard my backbone rak slightly, , but, i shit you not, my only worry was that i had missed watching her live and breathe for the last two minutes.

"Hey, Lucky! I got her name!"

"Don't call me that, man." I said, seriously.

"Ooookay, Lakshya, then. Let's start over. Hey Lakshya, I got her name!"

Nayan was back. I really loved the guy sometimes, but this really wasn't one of those times.

"Whose name?" I grunted, rubbing my shoulders.

"My girl, baby, my girl!"

I laughed, inspite of myself.

"Your OOF?" I asked.

Nayan gave a non-committal grunt.

He stayed silent and stared in the general direction of my girl.

I turned away from her in shock.

"Is it just me, or do you sound apprehensive about the idea of nailing her, man?" I asked, raising my eyes in mock suspicion, and interest. "Are you serious? Why do you care about her? I mean, How do you care about her? She's a, she's an OOF ... for A Day! Unless it's turning into something more?"

I was genuinely surprised at this point. This emotion (or any, for that matter) was more than uncharacteristic for Nayan. This was just plain strange. 

He looked back at me suddenly, looking as if my last few words had pulled him out of a daze. But, I knew the truth. I knew he was pretending to not have realised that I had caught on to his weak moment.

"Dude, she's an OOF," he said, "she could never be anything more than that, she hasn't got enough spunk in her to become important to me, you know that, right man? Just my hot piece of ass for the day."

He looked relieved to see that I had, apparently, bought his explanation.

"Oh, and I got your girl's name as well." It took me a while to get back on track? A name. Evidently, she had a name. I couldn't think of any combination of alphabets that would do justice to the wonder that she was. "Zara," said Nayan. "Zara-"

"No, don't tell me more!" I interrupted. "Let me find out for myself!"

"Wow, dude, you're a freak," he laughed. "Anyway, man, catch you later!" 

With that, Nayan walked away from me for what was sure to be.... a night just like any other.

******

Part I

*HOOT*

"Check HER out, man."

I looked at Nayan, utterly zonked.

"Who the fuck talks like that anymore, man?" I said, and shook my head.

"Dude, just check her out."

I looked at the girl he'd pointed out.

Except, I couldn't believe she was the girl.

Nayan wasn't the kind of guy to point out chicks who weren't totally drop-your-pants hot. Yet, here he had pointed out someone who was too real a beauty for him to ever have considered worthy. Or at least that's what I had presumed. I looked at him, shocked yet impressed, at how much his horizons seemed to have widened. Maybe he was becoming mature or something.

"Her? Wow, man."

"What? No, not her. HER."

I looked exactly in the direction he was directing my gaze, and sighed. Sure enough there was a thin, tall, skinny girl with straight hair and a short skirt, and not enough of an ass to shake, requiring her to move it an extra three inches every time she moved, just to make it look like it existed.

"Dayem!" I said sarcastically, and looked sideways to see if he'd bought it. He had.

I patted him on the back as he moved away to check her out from another angle.

But I didn't move. I was still looking at her. Not HER, her. My her. 

******

I walked away from Lakshya. I knew his 'Dayem' had been fake. He wasn't into girls like I was- in more ways than one, if you know what I mean.

Personally, I think that's just his excuse for not getting any.

It's much cooler to say he isn't attracted to girls who don't like him, rather than saying he's attracted to them and then never getting them, isn't it?

Well, that's what Lakshya seems to think.

Enough about my homies.

I had my target for the day set. There she was. Shallow as a pit. Just waiting for someone to notice her. She was lucky I'm the manwhore I am.

Suddenly I felt the urge to look at that girl again. Not the one I wanted to nail, Lakshay's one. I stopped in my tracks. I was so shocked I even felt the urge to do that. I gave her a quick glance that I knew I would never admit to having given later. She was exactly the kind of girl Lakshay would want. There was no denying she was pretty. And even from a distance I could tell she was a riot. But, she was exactly the kind of girl who was capable of killing the Barney in me. She was exactly like Robin.
I walked up to my OOF (object of fixation) for the day.
I looked her up and down,  just for effect and said, "How You doin?"
Or at least that's what I would have wanted to say.
But, we're not cool enough for that.
I'm going to have to gain her trust, maybe even date her before I can get into her pants.
Or so I would have you believe.
I'd had her by the end of the day.
I'm the kind of guy who puts movie halls to the use they're meant to be put.

This girl and I probably only had one thing in common: Our belief in 'Fuck at first sight.'

******

Where do I stand?

This doesn't make much sense to me now,though I suppose it did when I wrote it all those many months ago. But that's what having a blog is about, right? Posting stuff without worrying who's going to like it or not.

There are the lifelong condemned,

And the ones from whom the vitriol spills,

The ones whose lives are misery,

And the ones who make this misery reality.

There are those brimming with contempt,

And they feel they must let it out,

On unsuspecting, defenseless victims,

And so for the schadenfreude,

That comes along with it,

Those bemused prey they flout.

Some of the takers,

Have sufficient venom,

To spill and pierce their oppressors,

But being, a tad more sensible,

They see no reason in that,

For enacting ‘tit for tat’.

So they leave the imbeciles be,

They shed a tear or two,

In some cases it’s not that few

But for the most part,

They display indifference,

During the withering of their heart,

And sometimes seek condolence,

Support, or confidence.

Sometimes they may even reply,

But they’re laughed at even more,

And go back to wanting to die.

Now, lets for a moment consider,

A possible, plausible situation.

One day an oppressed, hurting one,

Decides, “Enough is enough,

I'm going to respond to them,

I'm going to stand up to them,

I'm going to teach them.”

And then, looks in the mirror.

And sees no hint of Satan in himself,

Sees not one gutsy particle shining through

And suddenly decides,

“Why not just join them?

“They might shun me initially,

But eventually they’ll welcome me,

Offer their comradeship,

And their pathos friendship,

And ill join them,

And in a lucky moment,

I’ll emerge feared, famous,

And, most of all, wanted.”

He convinces himself further,

By saying all sorts of things,

“I’ll have what I’ve always wanted:

Friends (or whatever version of that they can be),

Company (though I’m not sure how pleasant it’ll be)

Recognition, though I know for the wrong reasons.”

In that moment, he forsakes,

Something very important.

If he didn’t even have the guts,

To tell his teasers to take a walk,

And never return,

Then where will he muster the courage.

To be on their side,

Of the forever raging battle,

To deride people till they cry,

To hurt them, make them want to die?

He will garner the wrath,

The disdain, the scorn,

And the methods to display it,

From his immense desperation,

To have a name that is known,

Among those who matter in the social circle,

Among those who have ignored him before.

Among those who have been the center of attention,

At least once in their lives.

This absolute desperation,

Stems from the fact,

That he is tired of being considered,

As part of the furniture,

Or not considered at all.

The only thing he hates more,

Than being talked about,

Even for the wrong reasons,

Is not being talked about at all.

He hopes he can then use his power,

And the fame he’s now achieved,

To change peoples perception of him,

To show them how normal,

How kind and sweet and smart he really is.

How he was forced,

By circumstances and the past,

To join this group of hooligans.

But alas! Little does he realise,

That he’s spewing lies.

For in the time he stuck with the jeerers,

He transformed into one as well.

He made a number of people’s lives hell,

And for what?

For a selfish desire.

To douse his ire.

This is how a group of teasers originates.

All of those wretched souls,

Have some or the other,

Feeble justification,

For their crimes against humanity.

If not the situation I described.

It is perhaps, some other,

But I assure you, dear reader,

It will be very similar.

Let us never allow ourselves,

To be fooled into believing

That these mockers,

Deserve pity, or empathy,

Don’t believe it when they say,

They didn’t chose the path they’re on,

That it was circumstances that moulded who they are.

Because however much we deny it,

It rings true for everything:

We always have a choice.

A choice between right and wrong

A choice between standing up to it,

Or just simply going along.

A choice between being famous,

And being loathed, infamous.

A choice between hurting,

Or getting hurt.

A chance to choose,

Whose side we are on.

The choice we make,

At whatever age,

Decides whether we turn out as spectators,

Or as initiators, as originators,

As non violent preachers,

Or violent, malicious creatures.

Whether we are just part of the crowd,

Or whether we stand out.

But this isn’t the note,

I want to end on,

I offer you something else,

To ponder upon.

Why are those who are laughed at,

Chosen to be the sufferers?

Is it merely because they are weak?

Or might it be, because they too,

Tried to act too big for their boots,

But got hushed by boos,

Which eventually ended up in them

Being condemned till the end of time?

Were they chosen to be teased,

On the basis of rumours

That they were part of?

If that is the case,

Where did these come from?

Did they actually do,

Or are they really,

What the oppressors claim they are?

Because after all,

We can’t blame people for proclaiming the truth,

Even if the way they say it is deriding and rude,

Even if the methods they employ,

To get their point across,

Leaves a couple of people

Depressed, and morose.

If they are on the right side of things,

Who are we to stop them?

(Unless of course they kill someone)

Most of the time, however,

They are on the wrong side of things,

And, thus, nothing they say,

Can justify anything they do.

Just remember, forevermore,

Before you start showing your hatred,

Or your unconditional support,

Take a moment, sit back,

Play devil’s advocate.

Then, whomever you believe is really wrong,

Do to them what they deserve,

What you feel they deserve.

But don’t worry,

Even if you cannot,

Even if you are wrong,

In the decision you deliver,

On Judgment Day,

He will be there to say,

“This is what you’ve earned,

Now bare it!”

The Break Up

We had a great relationship
And an enviable one at that
We finished each other’s sentences
And each other’s lives
We defined each other
Like no other.

People envied our bond
Wondered how it worked so well
Waited anxiously for that evil knell
That would end this love spell.
And on this bagatelle
They’d dwell and dwell.

But after almost a decade
Of being together
I knew it could work no further
Our talks turned laconic
Our personalities acerbic
I knew it had to end

And the worst part
Of us growing apart
Was that everyone realized it too
And the sympathizers, huh, were few.
And then the fateful day
When we had to say:

It’s not working anymore
This ‘us’ is turning lachrymose
We must admit the nefarious truth
This relationship’s all about ruth
We can’t go on like this.
Man, you, am I going to miss.

As I broke up with Normalcy
What showed the most was puerility
The wild child in me was released
And my conscience was at ease
Since the break up, I’ve never been normal again
I’m this loud, conspicuous, abnormal pain
I’ve got a persistent malediction on me
But I guess that what you get for screwing over Normalcy.

Trust me, I'm lying.

It's true, you know.
I am lying.

As are we all.

I tell a lie every second of every minute of every hour of every day of my pathetic, undivine life.
That's just what I do.
And guess who makes me do it?

No, it's not me.
It's not my circumstances, it's not my lack of religion, it's not the absence of any sort of guiding force in my life, it's not even my absolute disregard for whatever little bit of my conscience I have left.

It's you. It's all you. It always has been, it always will be.

You make it so hard for me to be myself around you that I feel the urge to lie to cover up who I truly am. I've been doing this so much that I don't even remember who I was, what I was.

You ask me a question, and my mind goes into a whirl of thoughts I didn't even know I was capable of thinking. My creativity kicks in in ways I never wanted it to. I make excuses for things that are perfectly normal and understandable just the way they are.

You cloud my mind even when you've left, and when you've been gone for months and not shown me your face in decades. How would you care if I didn't see you? It's not like you know you have the power to tear my life to pieces. Gee, I wonder what would happen if you did.
Well, wonder no more.
I know exactly what would happen.
You wouldn't care one little bit more than you do now.

You think I'm exaggerating don't you?
Oh, I can just see your face twisting into that look of condescension you give so routinely. Almost every time I utter a word in your presence, the muscles in your face contort to show an emotion whose expression does to my power of feeling what an atomic bomb does to the Earth- destroy it to shreds so small it's hard to imagine it ever existed at all.

Who are you?



Well, you don't exist.

See? I told you I was lying.

I want him for myself

My deepest desire
Is to rip them apart
And have him for myself.

Whether to vent my ire,
Or just to break her heart,
I want him for myself.

Whether he’s perfect or not,
Whether he wants me or not,
I want him for myself.

Whether he’ll be faithful or not,
Whether he’ll love me or not,
I want him for myself.

To redeem my self esteem,
Or to give me ego hope,
I want him for myself.

To carry out some selfish scheme,
Or to beat my foe,
I want him for myself.

Because I adore him,
Or the way he looks at me,
I want him for myself.

So that he may be mine,
Yes, this reason too is condign,
I want him for myself.

Karna's Status Anxiety

How difficult it is to be good,

To follow the path of dharma,

To always do what one should

And reverse one’s bad karma.

We’re faced with so many choices in life,

And the path that we tread,

Decides the direction of our strife,

Whether we stay, or forge ahead.

But Karna was a victim of fate,

He was born a prince, but lived a pauper,

His desire to excel never did abate,

Nor his yen to go from common to super.

Son of the Sun God and Kunti,

He was born with protective armour,

And earrings of immortality,

That made his ears shine with splendour.

By dint of perseverance, and a strong will,

Karna sought to be a champion warrior,

He trained in martial arts and skill,

But, his ambition is what took him even further.

But, when he was denied Draupadi as a wife,

It was a blow to his ego, to his plans of being accepted,

When she refused to be part of his life,

Karna, a mere charioteer’s son, was dejected.

He lived his life not knowing his true lineage,

That he belonged to the Pandavas,

But, even when he acquired this knowledge,

He did not abandon the Kauravas.

He was offered the greatest of wealth, respect and awe,

And even a chance to share Draupadi,

Knowing his devotion to her was his one flaw,

Along with the chance to be the King, to be Royalty.

But, all these worldly temptations he declined,

He knew his duty to those who had appreciated him first,

His loyalty towards them, and his conscience, when combined,

Gave him enough reason to quench his greed and thirst.

But Karna, despite his many great qualities,

Was imperfect, and seriously flawed-

His pride and false notion of his own greatness,

His blind devotion to the Brahmins, whom he saw as close to God.

So deep his desire to get fame and recognition,

That he made a vow to never refuse the upper caste.

So unconditional was his reverence, in every situation,

He was willing to sacrifice his life if it meant glory that would last.

In life there are several of his kind,

More characters like Karna than we would expect,

For there are many of us still looking for what we cannot find,

There are many of us still searching for that elusive respect.