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Start.

Don't stop.

Don't back off.

Don't take a breather.

Take a breather

and they'll pin you down and eat your head off.

A Potbellied Cat

A place in the head

Where everything's full

And you don't seemingly find to want anything more.
That's when I go seek out shit.

Transit Zone Fusing

One of these mornings, you’ll wake up bereaved.
And weightless.

And encounter one of those rare moments in Journey;

A shared silence. 

The Weight of Snow

With those clumsy little feet and hands, he manages to grab hold and shove it down a black leather bag. He likes the weight of Snow. It elevates him; gives him a glimpse of someone he hopes to see in his mirror.

The Grr is upon him; in the form of unanswered queries, conflicting excuses and uncertainties, and decaying people.

It is this force that pushes the straps of the black leather bag onto his shoulders and makes him walk out onto the tearing-down Sun with a cold defiance.

The Zoo Noon

Its always hot.

And you look through cages

disinterested

feigning interest at the slightest Purr a tiger makes

because you are one of them

you don't want them to know.

The fear.

Breaking Fad

We’ve all been there; transfixed by the glare of a screen, hungering for response.

In Transit / Indian Railways

This platform is loaded with people traversing between realities.

Here is where worlds converge, fornicate and give birth to ugly and beautiful offsprings.

S/M Adventure

Once upon a time, you existed. As a tangible being.

Intoxicated me with your silk; weaving me onto your cocoon.

I curled up cozily on that sweet bosom of yours; or spent nights dreaming.

And we bit each other off.

The end ?

The Fee Faw Movement

So it was said that the first anyone saw of him was on a dark, windy night. He wore a thin vest, a khaki lungi and a green chappal, they tell me. The moon rose above, crested and exuded a magical brilliance that you normally associate with fairy tales. The tufts of smoke we exhaled gave us this vision of a green, slender martian manhunter instead of another normal retard. 

On seeing him advancing towards us, somebody cried out ‘Fuck! We are screwed!’ and started breathing fast. His breaths kept picking up tempo as the manhunter kept coming towards us. My hands started waving frantically at him. You know, the We're-Not-stoned-Just-another-regular-bunch-of-guys-exhaling-smoke deal. After a moment or so, I realised I was no longer in control of my hands. It kept waving. No shit. No amount of concentration or thought could provoke my hands to stop the deed and retreat to its den. A being all on its own, consuming the food I eat, the drink I drink. Thankless. I still remember tears rolling down my cheeks; not sure which it was for; the impending death at the hands of a green monster or the hand coming off my shoulders.

At this point of time, I stop his narration and ask for a pee-break. As I walk down the corridor I’ve gotten used to in the space of a month, I start noticing things. Speckles on walls; brown, soaked rust; wings of insects who lost their lives trying to reach the light; voices – clear and muffled, petty and focused; faces that grin and wave, gauging the sobriety . I clutch a pillar and slowly recede to the dark recess of the brain.

I

Money - Good food.

People - Time and place. Mostly.

The Plan - Never-ending stream of activity focused at achieving an impossible goal.

Now - Belch