Please don’t mind the tape recorder; it is just for my reference. Look here I turn it off. No wires and modern technology. Let’s just talk like two people who are eager to know each other. You tell me whatever you feel like, and I will do the same. No questions, no answers.
"Yes, no questions, no answers. I am not answerable to anyone, am I? I am not. I will not be answerable to anyone. But what is your name?"
Name. My name is let me think. It can be Rajesh. Or Ratan. Maybe even Ravi. No not Ravi. I know a person named Ravi. Me and Ravi were in university together in our electives of Journalism. Last I heard he is in Delhi, or Faridabad, maybe Delhi. So maybe people will confuse me with him. Hence, my alias will be lost. Then what is the point of alias.
"Dear, you are new to this aren’t you? You want me to relax you a bit. You know maybe these breasts have sagged a bit, but still this bosom holds a lot of warmth for young blood like you. A good time. A money's worth."
No, thank you. No No, I dint meant to offend you. Yes, your breasts look enticing. No No that doesn’t means I have a thing for older woman, any kind of woman is fine for me. Not that I mean you are old. You are just mature in a soothing way. You remind me of my Asansol's aunt. She was soothing. And then she died.
But I guess we are deviating from the point. We are supposed to talk about you, your life, your beginnings, your endings, your..
"My life? Kid the biggest delusion is that they make you think it’s your life and it’s your choice. It was never about me. It was always about their happy endings."
Who do you mean by they? Wait. I don’t think it is appropriate for you to call me kid. It doesn’t have the glamour or mystique an alias name should endow. After all it’s a career choice. It is so tough to carve out a niche in journalism and a bland alias is almost a career suicide. Wait. I meant to ask who is they.
"Everyone is they. They are everyone. Why? Even you are they aren’t you?"
Me! No! Me! No I can’t be they, I have never done anything bad, leave alone you, but to anyone. Ah well yes sure it was me who poisoned Mr.Rastogi's dog but that was just because the dog was mean to me. And I never thought if you mix milk with phenyl the dog still drinks it. I surely can’t be hold responsible. It was the dog who was responsible, whatever happened to his exquisite sense of smell that he used so expertly to smell my crotch. That sniffling wet nose, can give erection to any hormonal adolescent. It never meant I have a thing for dogs. I had to kill it. But that doesn’t makes me they. I am sure they are worse. How you landed up in this unspeakable city anyways?
"Hope. What else do you think? Hope is Satan's way to get you wet in your panties, and after that there is no looking back. But mind you it was not greed, I was not greedy. I am not greedy. This flashy extravagance you see around me is just to cover up peeling interiors. It’s just an illusion of well being. Because the biggest trick for a man is to allude himself."
But hope is something nice isn’t it. I dunno what exactly hope is but surely at times I have felt hopeless. Maybe to be hopeful one needs to stop feeling hopeless first. But hope is nice. Hope is something that moves you forward. At least that is what Ranju Uncle says whenever we meet at our family gastro enticing gatherings. Though I admit I don’t like how his hand stroking my thighs somehow callously brushes my crotch. I somehow think his words have double meanings but everyone else seems to agree to him. After all he is in the Civil Services. But I mean is how your hope is different from our hopes.
"My hope is different because my hope was not celebritic; my hope was what you people take for granted as reality. But I was not ever granted that, I was part of age old chess board, where I was a designated knight. I can take two steps forward but they choose the next step sideways. Tell me did you ever rape anyone? How you men do it? Doesn’t the cruelty of it stop you from getting an erection?"
Rape! What! Rape! No, no! I never raped anyone. Why did anyone told you anything different? Trust me! I respect woman. I can’t rape anyone. Horrible. It must have been Shashank isn’t it? Did he tell you anything? I must not drink with him. Don’t know what all I blabber out. Look I don’t know what convoluted reality you believe. But I never raped anyone. What happened with her was just out of curiosity. We were just trying to explore each other in our attic. Yes I admit she told me to stop, she told me it was hurting her. But I can’t stop just like that. Trust me I tried to stop. But once you begin, you vision blurs, and your mind transfers all your common sense to your phallus. By the time I regained my posture. She was crying. But I did made her promise that it was fun. It was no way a crime. After all we successfully experimented.
"Yes, you people think with your penis. That's it. Even he thought with his penis. Told me he will teach me something nice. Told me I was too old now to just come to school and learn to read and write. Told me education was more about experimenting. Told me that learning was more about exchange of physical knowledge, and then threw me down on the table of the staffs’ room to violate me with his hand choking on my mouth. Strangely even today when a man explores me, that hollow creaking on the depilated table fills my ear and the aftertaste of the chalk dust rises from my throat. I guess it was the collateral of what you people calls the gift of virginity. All left of my virginity was a dried blood stain on the dusty table of staffs’ room."
Yes I know chalk dust can be terrible isn’t it? I recall my terrible allergy of chalk dust when I was kid. I guess it had something to do with the calcium. Every time Pandu Sir violently dusted the chalk infested duster by the side wall, I would indefinitely end up coughing like an addict on dope rehab for minutes at stretch and he would just stand there and watch me with amused silence. And then with a sudden start will come beside me and with a big paan stained smiled rub my chest to sooth me down, with his sticky fingers occasionally twitching my nipples and his other hand in his pant pockets maybe repeating the same twitching for his penis. Chalk dust allergies were surely terrible.
But you could have complained to someone, couldn’t you? After all that person was supposed to be you guardian after your parents, someone you can submit yourself with trust. But I guess you were too ashamed to come out with your truth.
"Ashamed? No I wasn’t ashamed. Why will I be ashamed for the hunger of a mongrel that you men get overpowered with? I cried and shouted to my parents, to my brothers, to my neighbours. All they said was it was nice to know that master-saab was taking interest in our chutki. They even told me how lucky I was to be loved my someone of such stature and qualification. And when he came to our doorstep to ask permission so that he could take me out of the shackles of rural rust to modernity so that I can succeed on the platform modernity. My parents felt privileged to hand me over to the person who raped me so that he could give me a glorious future in your despicable city."
But surely you could have ran away, after he bought you here I am sure you could have ran away. After all the doors are always open. A step out of it and you can rush out to a life of dignity.
"RUN? Out of these doors. But dear this door maybe opens, but after I get out of this door, the doors on your end is closed. The doors of your society will be closed isn’t it? I won’t be allowed to get inside your door. What kind of independence is that? At least my doors don’t let people through judging them on scales of honour and respect. Your doors are cruel than mine. But I did try to let go of everything. I did try to chase out life. Gulped down a can full of kerosene. But the effect was only nausea and loose motions. Even death cums inside me and leaves me with a sticky notion of orgasm."
Oh, why would you do such an awful thing?
"Self sacrifice is not as awful as you think when you don’t have any self respect left."
No, no, I don’t have anything against you killing yourself. Not that I want you dead, please don’t quote me. Last place I want myself stuck is in an investigation of a dead whore. No No, I don’t mean it in a derogatory way. Dead woman sounds more tuned. But I never meant you dead. Death I can understand. But why kerosene, when there are such beautiful devices to die. Dead people are much more attentive than the live counterpart. They are patient and serene as if they have achieved all there is to achieve and now just resigned to the pouring calmness. Though morally it’s wrong when covering a crime beat I do occasionally try to cup a feel of those cold and firm breasts of the victim, and occasionally give myself the pleasure of a quick erection. But they don’t complain. Maybe they are too happy in their own death to realize a violation. I like dead people. They are less of a nuisance.
I think there is something gravely wrong with me. Some error in the architecture, some malfunction.
"Haha, there is malfunction is both of us, actually most of us. Most of us are just a faulty product of a good species."
Yes, maybe Darwin will come to rescue and over the time olibrate the weaker ones, and our legacy will be rejection in the survival of fittest.
Never mind madam. I shall take your leave now, the night is crowning out and I am sure you have a business to attend to. I shall find my way out of here. Don’t worry once upon a time I too was a regular. Now though I have a wife.
-----------------P.S: what is the ideal threshold of absence...i guess when i feel like a intruder in my own space...like an abandoned house..where you come once in a decade and find that it may have been your house..but now its a home of flora and fauna and probably homeless creepy guy...and u are nothing more than an intruder in ur own space....blah blah apart...i feel like an intruder to my own blog...it feels familiar but now own... so what changed in this past months...well people used to say "get a job...get a life"...i got a job, the latter one refused to tag along....so 9 to 5 in formals...i lost the informality of my blog...and when i got down to write down what i felt like writing...all came out was bitterness...pent up bitterness...and it overflowed that somewhere i drew a line....and hence came out this...if this post doesnt makes sense or disgusts you in anyway...then u would have found me disgusting anyways so bother not :) most likely my last blogpost from this despicable city of mine...i still wonder at the enchanting warmth of this city that makes me hate it but love it all the more....a lot more is still left to be said... not one of my fav blogpost...infact i m happy atleast i wrote something...so if u hate it shout it out...and if u like it...whisper it once atleast....2011, you are a disappointment!!