Life. 40.

Ghosts of past. Lingering shadows. Coffee Stains. Yellow newspapers. Lonely cobwebs. Dusty notebooks. Empty bottles. Cigarette butts. Unpacked cartons. Rotting fruits. Dirty dustbin. Broken glass. Rusty bed.

Footsteps. Door. Knock. Knock.

Creak.

Light. Bright.

Smell. Voice. You.

Illusion. Dream.

Life.

[Dedicated to the only reason of my existence.]

I'm Sorry

The last post raised a lot of eyeballs. There was flak from all quarters. The dumber sex got all trigger happy, threatening of dire consequences if I didn't take down that post. Damn, this world of VHP, Raj Thackeray and women!!

I somehow got their tempers in control by promising an apology to the womenfolk worldwide. Here it goes.

--

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry because I didn't realize that you didn't have the intellect enough to understand the disclaimer. Although you decided to read further at your own wish and peril, just like you always decide to choose the wrong prick as your guy knowing everything about him, I should have taken more care. You obviously didn't choose to be eternally retarded. It was forced upon you.

I'm sorry because I called a spade, a spade. I wasn't as politically correct as you always are. I didn't appreciate you for my vested interests. I didn't disguise intentions in puffery and seduction as you always do. It was honesty, a concept as alien to you as USBs and URLs.

In fact, while I'm on it, I just realized I'm sorry for a few other things as well.

--

I'm sorry about how you must feel when you think about how big a curse you've been on man-kind. From Troy to the epics of Ramayana and Mahabharata, you've been the reason of betrayal and bloodshed. Closer home, you are the reason behind 89.97% of the scuffles at school and you don't even know that.

I'm sorry that you suck at mathematics. Numbers make you dyslexic and pukish. Logic and reason elude your pea sized brains as well. I sometimes cry at nights, thinking about how unfair must this world seem to you: a world of walking supercomputers - males! Hang in there. God must have alternate plans for you: like a sex change operation.

I'm sorry that you are attracted to men seven point five times your age. Or probably, it's just fashionable. Or, for that matter, it's something like Lyin' Eyes. Whatever it is, I'm sorry that it's the only way you can drive a Ferrari while you still have baby teeth.

I'm sorry that the only way you can get a ticket is by cutting the queue.

I'm sorry that the only way you can win beauty pageants among similarly challenged species is by being exemplarily dumb. [link1] [link2]

I'm sorry that the only way you can finish assignments is by acting dumber than you already are and letting some big-hearted guy help you in pity.

I'm sorry there's a wiki how page dedicated to you that reads "How To Act Like A Dumb Girl" [link]

Enough. I'll let this do the talking. [lyrics] [video]

Do you want more or I'm sorry enough already??

Lucky Bastards

Disclaimer: Meant to offend. Go screw yourself.

--

I don't think of females as the inferior species. I think they're just dumb.

It's not their fault, really. They're just wired this way. It thus becomes our duty to accept them as they are, always making them feel they're "special". Poor souls - misconstruing pity for chivalry.

Anyway, this post is not about them. Quite contrarily, it's about us. \m/

Here's why we were lucky to be born with a wee-wee and the wisdom chromosome.

• We don't have to guzzle down liquids we can't even afford to smell, sport hairstyles that make us look like buffoons and play sports we don't even understand to be"cool".
• We don't have to spend one-third of our lives looking at our own reflections in the mirror. We recognize ourselves way sooner.
• We don't have to shave more than one-twentieth of our body.
• There is no concept of "tomgirls". We are happy with what we are.
• We can afford our underwear.
• We buy shoes we wear more than once.
• Cockroaches are scared of us.
• We understand music.
• We don't wear t-shirts with quotes at exactly the places we don't like people to stare at.
• We aren't hypocrites. We accept that we think about sex all the time.
• We don't substitute sex with chocolates!!!!
• We think chocolates are sweet brown confectionery. NOTHING ELSE!!!
• We don't eat more than our dietitian recommended when we're depressed.
• We don't have a dietician.
• We are never depressed!!!
• We don't have to harp on about our right to equality to settle down for a "33% reservation".
• We don't need a "beauty sleep". We sleep when we want, where we want and how we want.
• We don't believe in keeping wastes in our body. The world is our urinal.
• We don't care if our best friends forget our birthdays. We wonder if they don't.
• Our clothes are comfortable. We can stretch, bend and run in them.
• We aren't destroyed if someone else wears the same outfit at a party.
• We don't appear in advertisements of products for the opposite sex.
• We can wear whatever we want to a water park. (if clothing's a compulsion)
• We choose "just the right gifts" in 58 seconds straight.
• We don't fake accents.
• We don't use creams for everything from fairness to "enhancement".
• We don't stuff our clothes to look "big".
• We know stuff about the Italian Mob.
• We know the difference between a USB and a URL.
• While fixing a bulb, we don't have to stop and think which way to turn.
• We don't have to seduce our bosses for a promotion.
• Our clothes are never wrinkled. At least to us.
• We know no one cares about the fingernails.
• People look into our eyes when we talk.
• We can afford to wait for year-end sale schemes.
• Our phone bills are minuscule.
• We don't know what peach, burgundy and magenta mean. We don't care.
• We find beauty in everything. And everyone.
• Our shampoos don't nauseate us.
• When we take more than five minutes to take a bath, we're having fun.

We don't think we rule the world. We would rather prefer beer, porn and someone to clear the mess we leave behind.

P.S. Contribution from a fellow lucky bastard Sakya: We know if we're oversized. We don't ask rhetorical questions like "Do I look fat."

Pink Freud

Dawn had never been more beautiful. More painful, neither. Critters filled in the uncomfortable silence. Still in his arms, she rolled down the window. The wind was misty. Or, perhaps, it was the heaviness of her thoughts. It had rained, probably. There were droplets on the glass. Few and far between, like stars on a cloudy night. And there was her face - the moon - going back into the darkness of anonymity after shining so bright all night long.

It was a night of ecstasy. Of liberation. Of emancipation. Of flight. Of fantasy. Of love, or whatever was left of it.

He had never been there before - in the concaves of her body. But she didn’t stop him this time, ironically, when she was about to walk away from it all in a few moments. How else could she have carried his memories with herself. She had to. She had to, if she wanted to survive among the ghosts of the past and the wolves of the future. And she did. A part of him: his being.

And then it happened. Beads. Big ones. All of a sudden. Uncontrollably. Inexplicably.

She hadn’t cried for ages. Ages, that had been dark and cruel to her. Times, that had made her feel like a worthless blot on humanity. Today it whelmed over. Over and over again.