Cheese and Grease

Lucky colours: blue and peach. 

Cool. 

I read my horoscope on the second-last page of Mumbai Mirror everyday, without fail. I don’t believe in it. It is only something I read. It kind of, gives me a feeling that I know what is going to happen during the day. Obviously it’s stupid, and it’s really really stupid, to just read it. Don’t believe, just while away your time. 

I didn’t follow the colours today, like any other day. I chose my favorite brand new t-shirt that dad bought for me just because he liked it. I packed my bag and left. I went to Malhar ’15 today. With my best friends. Who were obviously boys, because anyone who knows me too well knows that I don’t get along well with girls. Not having the slightest idea why, but I just find boys easier to be with. 

So, to get back to the point, they had separate lines for girls and boys. And the boys’ line was moving faster, and they got in earlier than me, by around 30 minutes. That’s a long time. They networks were jammed and we couldn’t find each other, but we did, somehow. My panic mode turned down a nock or two. 

The fest was good, great even, but super crowded. And that made it a nightmare. We were sweating in the afternoon heat, pushed around by security guys and the restless, sweaty, sticky crowd. Annoyed, we decided to skip the rest of it and head down to Marine Drive. 

That’s where we had fun, on the way. We stopped at Burger King, because we were hungry, then to Baskin Robbin’s, because we had money to spend on ice cream. We had fun there.  We just sat and joked around, laughing like retards. Then we took selfies with the Burger King crown on our heads, and just, had fun. There’s no other way to describe it. 

After stuffing ourselves with grease and cheese, we walked to the drive. We just sat there, enjoying the cool, amazing air and the calm, blue sea. The waves crashed against the rocks, and we sat there, just, doing nothing, staring out at the sea and cracking lame jokes occasionally. The sky was a light hue of pink, with some red thrown in from the sides, bringing with the rain, ever so lightly. Look up and you’ll see the marvelous colours, all merging with each other to form peach

Well, lucky colours didn’t only mean that you had to include them in your clothing, they could also be the little things in life, surrounding you, making you feel happy as fuck, because little things matter. 

We caught the next train home. Then shared the selfies on Instagram. 

I just replayed the beautiful day in my head and wrote about it. 

Re-born

This, kid, is what you call dismantling. Breaking it down, piece by piece, until you have little shreds, little pieces waiting to fly about in the cold, desolate, empty room, as the chilled air of the conditioner blows, ever so steadily, vanishing away the beads of sweat formed on your back, seeping onto your undershirt, showing a bit on your costly Armani. You feel it, but you put it at the back of your head.

You have bigger concerns at hand.

You wonder, wonder about ‘if?’ If not for one small decision on your part, one impulsive action, and this domino effect could have been stalled. But it was to happen sooner or later, wasn’t it?  

You feel the tight tug of your trousers at your Hermeś belt, as you are crouched down onto your knees, kneeling, praying that somehow you could go back into time to fix your mistake, to prevent your loss. But, no. The universe will not have it. You did your deed. Now it was the time to reap of your sown actions.

You are still, so much that there is no sound except of the air conditioner humming softly, having no idea of the disaster, of the avalanche that has been destroying you and everything you have.

But then you rise to your feet, decided, and determined. You fix up your pants, you slip on your suit hanging at the head of your chair, you fix up your look. You look around for a glass of water, nowhere to be found, except tiny shards of glass haphazardly strewn on the floor carpet. It is stained, and you rack your brain to recollect when you sweeped your desk with one stroke of your hand. The intercom wire is hanging, just like it deserved to. Why? It had done the job of delivering you your fate.

But then, there you see something snapping. You wonder what it is. You try to see clearly, you cannot. Why? Nobody knows.

But then you rise up again and vow to strike back with such a force it would shatter everything and everyone who tried to bring you down and laugh at you. You become the master of the universe, and you feel the energy rippling through you, in your blood, coursing through your body. And with the loudest cry, you wake up and look down at yourself.

Are you dead? Are you alive? Maybe both. You don’t know. You feel reborn. You feel like you died some time ago only to take birth again. Stronger, this time.

You are reborn, and you have to live better. You aren’t planning on wasting this one, like you did previously by hanging yourself with your mother’s sari. You will not commit suicide for a girl. For infatuation. You will rise and shine and be the best the world has ever seen, and you will make your crying father wipe his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

You will live.