28th nov, '08
I can't sleep. The fan is too loud and makes unpleasant noises. How I wish that is why.
I feel your presence in my room. On my neck, I can feel your smoky breath and the smell of your cheap gutkha. I pull my knees closer towards me. I close my eyes tighter and watch my breath coming out of my nostrils. It is warm and moist, the air that comes out of my body. I drift in and out of my dreams. Many dreams, I remember. Many, I forget. One dream was unlike a dream at all. In fact, it was more real than the night now.
You are laughing in this dream. I flinch and my shoulders slump. I didn't know I did that when I get uncomfortable. I try not to look at you. I don't look away, no, I look down and pull out my mobile phone. I pretend to look at the time. At this point, I jerk myself awake. I look confused at the sudden change of location. I shake my head and turn in bed. I face the wall. I remember a story I read a long time ago about a man who sees a face on the wall. He claimed that the very next day, a newspaper reported that the man whose face he saw was dead. I wish that I could see your face on the wall. I would take much pleasure in advance knowledge of your death. Unfortunately, the man was bogus. He lied. He spun tales, and I'm not so good at spinning anything. (Rumpelstiltskin was, and see where that took him.)
What are you doing in my head, stranger? We have never spoken. I don't know who you are, you have no idea who I am. Why do you cross your legs when you see me? If not for the expression on your face when you see me, you would have been pleasant to look at. I see you at all times, lingering around me like a ghost in a haunted house. From the corner of my eyes I can see you grinning in your reality, your childish grin with the pleasure of stealing candy from your mother's purse. Am I what you hide in the back of your cupboard? These twenty minutes that you ride on the train with me, is it time unaccounted for in your life, that you spend it in my mind? Do I form a part of your darkness?
Your stare is a sexual assault. The way you looked at me today, your tongue hungrily licking your lips, your nose upturned, like a pig's.. I'm glad I have a blanket here, the hair on my hand is standing up. Are you picturing me naked? I wonder how people do that. Would they see all my flaws? Is it easy for you?
The fan is getting louder. I turn in bed again, away from the wall. I should sleep. It is perhaps the possibility of seeing you tomorrow morning that keeps me awake. I want the night to be as long as possible. If not a distance of space, a distance of time will keep me away from you.
white clothes just have a way of turning themselves pink (and sometimes green.)
so. my iPod drowned. my earphones conked off. my hard disk crashed. there's no stereo in my car. the ownership of my shiny white laptop has been transfered from me to someone else. my camera and cell phone were forgotten in the cafe in auroville with the yummy pineapple pastry (and then later recovered, thank you mr. gandhi.) and to top all this off, i have to go back to bloody mumbai in less than two weeks and there, my fan doesn't work.
it seems like all this electronic stuff, thank you, is just revolting against me.