April High, April Low

Dear R,

I’m low. I have alcohol in my room. But I don’t wish to be high post midnight all alone. For if I am, I might end up writing to you again, this time starting with a ‘High-low’ in the stead of a ‘Hello’ [Dear me, I pity my sense of humor. But I surmise this isn't no sense of humor at all]



After 45 minutes of not biding by my wishes.


My dearest R,

Do you remember Lucy with the sun in her eyes? Can you recall the beginning of it all? Was it the April showers or the last poem by Tagore?

Remembering our old days does not bring nothing at all. It is arid here. The heat burnt it all. Lucy is antipathetic towards me (all over again) for her own secret reasons. She now saves butterflies and fireflies for her new amours. She has none whatsoever for me.

The max that I could do was to tell the person I’m dating presently as to how badly I still love her, that too when he was high, and more so when his voice sounded like one of my former Romeo’s.

I have fallen for and out for many such Romeos. But if there is a Juliet that I fell for once upon a time, it has to be you Lucy.

It perturbs me to think that I’m nearing 20 and not a thing has changed when it comes to you. You are the only thing that I can write about (if at all) with black ink between parallel lines.
Take me in, my beloved. Apparently it might seem that I have carried on but I could not move an inch from the Standard 6 class photograph. Given a chance I can still spend my days running my fingers through your disheveled hair on an extremely long bus journey.

And I’m not one of those who say that they are not ashamed of the way they feel. I on the other hand am truly ashamed of the way I turn, for I would never have turned this way if there was none like you. You are the only Lucy that makes me turn the way I do.

p.s: No pies for guessing who Lucy is :P

Chapter 1: Paradoxes

Long time ago I thought that we only had deflators, floyd, sequences, limits, dire straits and bits of JU running between us. But now it seems as if one hundred worlds exist and three thousand rivers run between and all the way through us.

Let There Be More Light

I always had colossal faith in Presidency. They brought the patta for us, kids. I did hash with Bob Marley look-alikes. And hereby I have conviction in my faith.

What was I doing all this while? I should have given some effort in Mathematics, at least a decent try to study graphs and game theory in Presidency. Now, no matter how many cups of coffee I order at Promod da’s, how many cigarettes I smoke in their canteen, how many days I bunk university to be at that place, how many amours I have there, I will only get to feel Presidency vicariously.

Across the Universe

What can these oceans, these miles do to us? Does your n-th valediction matter to what we share and what remain of us after all these months? Yes, to an extent it does. For the tea near jadavpur tastes bland without you, the journey back home eerie. The rest of it is just as futile. I sometimes feel that hereafter I will start reading what you like to read, listen to what you like listening to, have the same inhibitions which you have and take this entire concern to such an altitude where I cease to be myself and become a part of you.

Penalty

Brown looks sexy against black. Black is the jersey, brown being the muck. Football is played best in the drizzle. While watching the History vs. Economics football match the other day reason number 101: why I want to be a boy hit me. I too want some muck on my body, wear black, be on the field, send flying kisses to the girls after a good shot, injure myself, injure some other kids and be a part of the incredible blunder.