I walked so much today. Sneaked out, took a deep breath and just walked around. It was nice. Not amazing, not wonderful. Nothing over the top or profound. It was just a walk, down a near empty road. I don't remember what I thought about. Or if I thought about anything at all?

Maybe I thought about them. Maybe I thought about her? Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I concocted in my head an idea? A spark fuelled into fire by enormous supplies of oxygen around me. I don't remember. I think I remained inert for the most part.

I feel sleepy now, I won't be able to complete this today. Is there anything more to tell? It was just a walk. I don't know. I've been sleeping a lot recently. I hope I remember to wake up tomorrow. I would hate to forget. Must put a sticky note on my headboard!

I feel your hunger, love. I'm sure they'd approve. For who are they, those insignificant dregs of the upper echelons?  And us? What of us? Love, is it not enough? Am I not enough? Surely, certainly. Acquiesce, love. And with acceptance, strip forever this stubborn shadow of doubt. Which has hung over the beast of us. And grown, parasitically.

These fleeting glimpses of passion, these minuscule moments of ecstasy have proved insufficient. I can longer let us be contained. Here, a jack in a box. Let us take the world by surprise. Men who have sinned are troubled. Their conscience eats them whole. And yet, a man who has only loved? This is no sin. Surely, certainly.

They refuse, you say? I ask again, who are they, those insignificant? If you deem me worthy of your body, who are they, those insignificant, to decide otherwise? What vulgar joy is derived from this enforced confinement. 

Ignorance has robbed my sanity. Ignorance of boundaries we will never find, for we are forever bounded. 

Thousands exhult, rejoice, regret. Salman took to the stage, like a fish to water. Crowds thronged the local gymkhana to hear him, with his false promises and what not. Hope is a funny thing. 4 years older, yet babes of infinite innocence. Saman bhai zindabad! Bhai! bhai! Hamare bhai! Voices resonated as Mr. Promise bestowed the stage with his benign presense. Justice to those denied, food for the hungry, illuminition for those lurking in the dark! Mr. Promise grew, upwards and sidewards, in all forms. Arms and knees, knees and arms. Until he grew too heavy and...kapooch.

What happened afterwards, has been subject of a thousand books. All thrilling political satires ofcourse. Critics termed it a catastrophe. And on the auspicious occasion, a struggling shayar proclaimed Kaha woh jannat, aur kaha yeh jahanum? It is not my job to judge, I am simply a story teller. The events are henceforth:

The crowd pregnant with their 12th dose of hope grew restless as Mr. Promise grew. The excited voice of young white kurta-pyjama clad poilition failed to excite. His words failed after the initial uproar that oft follows a grand unveiling.

I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation for what happened next. However, it is beyond my comprehension why somebody decided to reduce the foor fellow to the ground and have him swim in his own blood?

And so writers hurried to there desk. Records were made. Names of all those that perished in the violence that ensued were iscribed. A grand monument erected. I was deeply saddend, but then my wife announced her pregnancy and I was happy.

Salman came out of the safety of his mothers womb 9 months hence. I wasted no time in the removal of his foreskin, bestowing upon him the honour of his heritage. It's a sad thing no-one told me that the absence of this epidermis would one day leed to his unfortunate demise. It's a shame I never got to vote for him.

Inject in my veins a dream, let it run within me, through a struggled heart and around again. Impegranate my mind with the sperms of imagination, let them form into a foetus of what is not and be grown into a babe of awesome illusion, of crazed deception. Allow me, Oh most benevolent, most merciful to gestate what grows within me for the rest of my short life.

I am happy when I am delirious. When I'm injected with dreams, when all of this feels unreal...when I am lost. Ecstasy. I am wrapped in the warmth of belief. There is a second world yaara! I am 110 percent sure of it! You don't believe me? Here, here. Inject, vroom there! Off you go.

It's slow, almost static. But you're protected. This building, sirjee. Absolutely, fire proof. Here, the fierce flames of what actually is, lick along the walls. At their strongest, all frames united, even then, they fail to penetrate into this second world.

I am knee deep in reminiscence today. As I tread deeper, the pains bridled are unleashed in forms of great guffaws of laughter. It's strange, but here nothing is strange. What is and what isn't? I am miles from any traces of reality.

Fuck this. Give me another dream. So really unreal.

The shore is miles afar. And my body is caressing, moulding into the bed of the sea. I wonder why I treadled so far into the depths of my soul? Only wafts of my crackling remain. A dying flame lingers, fanned desperately by the moths of hope.

And just then, a miracle. I am transported with soul, to my beloved second world, and my body finds it place at the bottom of the sea.

A letter to my father.

I remember being perched outside my window, in the chill of winters, watching the world pass me by. I’d be standing there for hours in the evening, waiting for you to come back from work. And sometimes the sun had set and you still weren’t back I’d always wonder what was so important that  kept you away?

You’d always come back though, sometimes later than I expected and I’d have to stand out a little longer. But you’d be there for sure, every single night. I’d run up our corridor and open the door for you and you’d pull me up in your arms. Sometimes, Maria would get there before me. And you’d pull her into your arms first. I didn’t like it when that happened.

And then you’d put you’d look at ammi and you’d ask, koi chitti patri? Koi phone call? And everyday we went through the same routine.

Then one day, something happened . It was strange. I didn’t want to play cricket with you anymore. And I stopped waiting for you to come back. Sometimes, I wished you didn’t come back. You’d just tell me to study right? What was the point of that? I didn’t know what was happening, I didn’t understand these changes. Now I think about it and it makes some sense to me. I grew up.

You handled it with an air of indifference. You gave me my space. Surely, it must have been difficult for you? But you were composed. You let me make my mistakes but you were sure to make sure I learned from them.

I read somewhere that by the time a man realizes his father was right, he has son who thinks he is wrong. I still have 10 years at least before I’m a father, so I guess it’s safe to say I realized just in time.  

Love, Ahmar.

Ps: Thanks for the two best gifts you ever gave me, words and a sense of humour.

Dear Life,

Yield point is the maximum amount of load a material can take before fracture and Elasticity is the ability of the material to regain former state of being after load has been removed. In any situation, if you are able to remove the load before the cracking and consequent snap, life will go back to it's former state of being.

But there are times, more often than not where you take it just that little too far. And by the time you realise, the damage has been done, y'know? Done, donna done. Wipe the blood off your hands and run. The damage has been done.

Fatigue is when the material is fractured before the yield point due to constant load that is applied. Or in simpler terms, everything has a shelf life. Basically, say you're really smart. You're not like the other idiots who go that one step too far, you know where the line stands. So every time you apply a force, you stop JUST before this imaginary red line. And in you're head you think you think you're genius. What you don't know is that a point will come where it won't be able to take it any more and it will snap prematurely. So, again. Done, donna done. Wipe the blood off your hands and run. The damage has been done.

Recently I have faced two very similar situations, both of them involving women screwing me over. And I felt like a beam, if you may. A dark brownish, polished teak beam supported at it's two ends. In mechanics, it's referred to as a simply supported beam. God, I really wish it was simple. With you, I think it is safe to refer to it as a fucking complicated, mid air suspended beam.

So, I am a beam. A beam with emotions. A beam who is confused when it feels new emotions. I feel anger. I am furious. And it's an emotion that is completely alien to me. I don't know what to do with it. And I just know. I know I am so close to breaking. I just need that little more and Kaboom, I will explode.

I should have exploded a long time ago. I keep telling myself, Oh suck it up big boy, you can take just a little bit more, right? But this time I'm fatigued. I'm going to break before I'm expected. And when I do, just please don't say I didn't warn you.

You probably won't know I've broken though. I'm not one to make a huge racket. It's when you come to load me once more with your utter bullshit and I won't take it anymore, and you wont have any support, you will realize I am gone. So, just please. Tread carefully for a while and give me time to heal.

Thanking you,
Fucked up beam.

I lie atop a hill, stretch my arms out, press my legs together and smile inwardly, marvelling at the prefect contours of a perfectly streamlined machine. With the comfort of a bulging stomach to cushion my fall, I press the imposing red button in my head and prepare for flight.

 Altitude 20 metres, temperature 22 degrees, fasten your seat belts ladies and gentleman and prepare for landing. Descending, 1,2,3. Ouch. I cocoon myself in layers laughter, it is my protection from the world that has enveloped me. I'm not ready to break out and yet my hysteria is short lived. 

I climb back up in silence. It takes hours, and by the time I reach I'm drenched. Perhaps it's the sweat induced by the harsh sun that beats or perhaps, tears of the sorrows that weigh me down? Uncertainty grips me as I prepare for flight once more. 

And so, there we go again! Hahaha. Smiles and laughter. Jack and Jill went up the hill and came rolling down with laughter? Wait, that's not right. Or? I don't know. Uncertainty, It's everywhere. Shh. Enjoy the ride, yaar. Roll, roll, roll. Haha. 

And, with that I hit rock bottom. But, everything is uncertain. Can I go further down still? The highs are always well defined, it's how low you can go that you never know. It's all a hill, isn't it? In this silence, ignorance is almost wondrous.

Questions surround my existence. Hope this is as low as it gets.