Dream a li’l dream…
As is evident, I am unable to write these days. So, I begged and pleaded with Miss Narcotic to contribute here… She finally agreed and wrote me something… something heartbreaking-ly beautiful and haunting. Here, here, I raise a champagne flute and let a tear drop fall. Thank you Narco.
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He haunts my waking hours with his absence and makes up for it by walking into my dreams when I lie in bed-shutting my eyes and pulling the comforter over my head. Holding on to the comforter tight so that he doesn’t walk into my mind, but he always beats a path and I find him there waiting to walk me down another path of what will not be.
We stand by the orange blossoms- I always rest my head on his shoulders while he hugs me tight ‘protecting you against the cold Northern winds’ outside the Bistro waiting for our favorite spot in the corner. Sometimes, he tumbles into bed- onto the white pristine sheets and I can see him deliquesce into pristine nothingness right there, before my eyes. The other times he lies there, arms wide open and a smile beckoning me towards him. I fall into those strong arms and the sound of a winter breeze blowing whistles an ominous tune into my ears. I close my eyes smelling his pungency and playing with the hair on his chest- and then it’s tufts of air that I’m pulling at. The pillow on my right placed against the headrest and the sheet turned up at the corner, as if he slipped out of my arms when I blinked.
Sometimes, he gets her along too or perhaps, she just comes with him. I can feel my tears pricking my eyes and as they force their way out of my tightly shut eyes, they tear at the eyelids and leave threads of blood as they stream down my cheek and fall to the ground- heavy, breaking into a million little pieces- a million dreams being crushed at my feet. They walk in hand in hand and as I follow them from room to room, they seem oblivious to my presence. Last night, he was wearing the white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and those blue denims when he walked in. I waited for him in the balcony for our night of champagne and dance, watching the street lamp cast shadows on the deserted road. That’s when she came jangling her stilettos and wearing a hideous black dress- her hair plastered to her forehead with the beads of sweat and cackling like a wicked witch- the very giggle that makes him blush at the ears. As I stood there watching him approach the walnut doors that keeps the world from entering our world and the curtain billowing with each step, she ran to the doors threw them open and ran into his arms. Last night, He danced our last waltz with her.
*
The cause endures, the hope still lives and the dreams, they never die. Even when I kill them with my bare hands.
Showing off… a leetel!
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- The Bag.
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- The Bag. Again.
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- My Grammy!
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- Aqua Lily, Body Shop!
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- Earrings from Paragpur!
Silver Sliver
The moon lay nestled in dark clouds, hinting at seduction. A crescent so perfect and so inviting, it could be termed lethal. It had masked all its flaws, in an attempt to tempt the most saintly of beings. I stared, unable to help myself… I stared, forgetting time and space… It basked in its silver glory but I was unabashed and lecherous, so it blushed and hid behind a gorgeous cloud. Who knew? A celestial tease?
Of Flowers & Camera Phones!
Pretty Blue Flowers… :)
Gorgeous, gorgeous Red…
My experiment with Sepia…
Chapter Three
Wrapping up in a reader-friendly style. Do enjoy.
The pick up truck (above)! And that’s one of the cartons, with the “supplies”. This truck took us from the Mashobra Village Market to the Cottage and then to the House. It witnessed failed attempts at lighting cigarettes and successes too! It also earned an entry in my Phone Book under the name: Pick Up Truck, Bughailty.
This beautiful room was where we sat and drank. We also played cards here (we didn’t, most of us did). We also cleared the chairs for some dancing – this ranged from attempts at Ballroom dancing by Ms H and Pralay to attempts at aping Bollywood steps by me and mostly everyone. (We still look at the videos and laugh ourselves silly.)
On popular demand, let me just quickly key in one of the highlights of the trip (lack of photographs, on my phone, made me force myself to not add in these details) – Cooking. We had a kitchen, and we had the raw materials. We had to feed the troops – so we depended on Maggi and Scrambled eggs (sometimes together, sometimes not). We also picked up Channa Daal (lentils/ this one is split chickpeas), Rajma (Kidney beans) and Rice. On the first day we managed with the Channa Daal and the Rice (we managed to forget about the Rice and burnt a decent amount of it because we were skolling our drinks and laughing like hyenas!) for dinner. But on the second night, we procured some very interesting, read scary, looking potatoes. I volunteered (I usually do, ’cause I love being in the kitchen, but I’m always easy-to-annoy and prone-to-a-state-worse-than-PMS if people dirty my kitchen or insist on stirring what I am cooking) to prepare Rajma and Rice. And Ms H and Punjabi volunteered to cook pyaaz waala aaloo (Potatoes with Onions, and lots of spices usually). I do give them credit for washing and peeling those potatoes, but uhmmm who takes three and a half hours to cook potatoes! WHO?! Also, if they had been “cooked”, those three and a half hours would’ve been worth it. Even the constant arguing/ bickering/ fighting/ yelling that Ms H and Punjabi indulged in would’ve been forgotten. But those potatoes were such ummm fine examples of cookery that we started calling each other Aaloo instead of using a profanity. If anyone fucked up, s/he would be called Aaloo! Of course, try saying it like Fuckwit! its more fun that way! We also decided to use the inedible dish as a weapon of mass destruction (if, ever, the need arose). Needless to say, in comparison, the not so perfect Rajma was a hit. Ohhh we are being modest now! Moving on… The Bar, for your reading pleasure.
The Bar ensured (of course, it had to be replenished) lots of laughter, lots of dancing (as if!), lots of singing (I think!) and a lot of Drinking Games!! Well, these games have one objective: Get everyone drunk. I love this objective. Everyone else seems to think they will not eff up as much as the next person and not get THAT drunk. Hah! Fools. We didn’t even need the Bonfire!
On this gorgeous, warm, happy note, we ushered in the New Year! We popped open the Champagne, we hugged and kissed and wished each other. We even received calls and sent messages etc (sadly, these phones work everywhere!). We were Happy and we were now living in the year 2008. Happy New Year to everyone! (Better late than Never eh?)
