Let's call him M. No one knew him really, he was the kind who melted into the background, the kind of figure you saw everyday-- in the cinema, at red lights, in grocery stores, in the parks. His suit was always carefully brushed, his worn boots polished, his tie a thin knot and just a bit crooked. He walked at a medium pace, while the bustling, busy city hurried past him, footsteps that chanted hurry, hurry, hurry. No one gave him a second glance; he was any man, everyman. No one would know what he did all day; let's just pretend he worked for a company that specialised in lead pipes, no one really cared. I am sure he cared though, he spent a third of his day inspecting and testing lead pipes; I am sure he knew his job well.

He would sometimes go to the bar across his office and three paces to the left. The barman said he would always order single malt; dutifully pay his bill with a modest tip and leave. But he might be confusing him with the man from the insurance agency or the clerk from the bank two streets away.

He seemed to have no friends; and no relatives seemed to remember of his existence or vice-versa. No one invited him for Thanksgiving, and he received no presents on Christmas. His post consisted mainly of bills and advertisements sent by companies who sent numerous such letters everyday, to names they associated with addresses and not human faces.

So was M unhappy? There is really no way to tell, what was it that he wanted, what was it that he yearned for; was there really anything that he desired but did not get? We might assume that he wanted friends; he did not want to be overlooked when strangers' eyes glanced his way perchance. Maybe he wanted a dog; maybe he was too afraid of dogs to want one. Maybe a dog had bitten him in childhood and left him frightened of them ever since?

Psychologists declared that all men craved company, and the most solitary of loners had some living being or the other for solace, for company. Everyone needs something, did he listen to music? Maybe he'd learnt the violin as a youth and played the instrument every evening, with the lights out, alone in his room. But say all he did was come home to stare off in space, or worse still, go through a regular routine of odd jobs-- clean the laundry, take out the garbage, wash the solitary plate and scrape the oven which was still surprisingly clean after years of use. What of it then? Did he put off his lights at precisely ten thirty and fall asleep, the alarm set for six a.m.? Did he fall to sleep immediately, did he dream, and if he dreamt what did he dream about?

The evenings did see him sit in the parks at times, he would always sit alone, he would always walk back home alone. Children screeched as they ran after one another, and sometimes a child would stop to look at him, maybe expecting a toffee but run off immediately, because his smile would not change his face, and no one looked closely enough to notice the smile.

Maybe he wanted to be noticed; maybe he wanted to fly, just once, to see how it felt. Maybe he wanted nothing of the above, but if so, he could have remained in his room and 'accidentally' have taken an overdose of the unused sleeping pills in his room, to die a quiet, insignificant death, like the life he led?

Someone said he giggled before he jumped; the woman across the building in her twenty-fourth floor office said he looked strangely exuberant while he squatted before leaping. But the woman could be lying, the building was too far away, and her optician was frustrated with her refusal to wear the glasses she so required? But he jumped, and he died, and the midday traffic stopped for an hour as police personnel took note of the incident. The evening tabloid printed a piece on it, but they couldn’t include a picture, for the pop princess had a new scandal that needed to be written furiously about.

The Random Nishant and his Random Tag :P

Random Humour

I hate those moments when every joke you've ever known deserts you. =S

Random Book

To Kill A Mockingbird-- It's been three months, I hate knowing I STILL haven't read it.


Random Boredom

I bark at cats. Not that it's really out of boredom.


Random Worries

Deaths. Not nice.


Random Memories

Unthinking act remembered years later to redeem against later hurt inflicted.
A race run with the fastest bully and winning it.
Delirious joy at receiving first glass bangles that broke as I fell while prancing about.
Euphoria when Tushar let go of the back of my cycle as I learnt to ride it.
The first ride in Pari's scooty.
Most comfortable nap curled up against a chest.
Sudden messages, out of nowhere.
Random walk in the darkest of alleys with the unlikeliest person.


Random Realizations

I'm not fourteen anymore.
People might die.
I might be wrong about too many things.
Someone may know better.
Maybe its been too long.
It might be not as easy as I think.
Maybe I'm too careful for my own good.


I tag Sporadicblogger, Hanedin, Hershie :)

To the birthday boy

There are all kinds of people around you. Some who you love to laugh with, some who you spend almost all your day with and promptly forget about until you meet them again the next day, some who you hardly meet and miss terribly at sudden instances, and some who're just... there. It doesn't matter if you see them everyday, if you don't talk to them for days on end, if they live hundreds of kilometres away in a city you've only visited once for a day and had the most brilliant time of your life. They're the kind you call at 1 in the night and talk till the wee hours of the morning, just because you could not sleep, just because they're the only ones who'd listen and understand when you're at your unhappiest and don't know what to feel anymore. They're the kind who'd order you to call at 2 am on a fucking weekday when you've a paper presentation the next morning and are working crazily to get it done. And you'd call, and you wouldn't care about anything else much.

It's queer to know that somethings would never change. People come and go, crises rise and ebb, and you put out your lights and grin when the phone rings. Some people can't help being cinnamon in your coffee. I'm just glad I have mine. Exclusively :)

My cup runneth over

I wonder what it is that is in each one of us that makes us choose the way we live. Is it what we see around us, is it how we are taught to think, is it past experiences that monitor our choices, or is it just plain old common sense?? We all do what makes us happy. Ultimately, that's all we want, and like a friend very wisely stated, "It is against basic human instinct to not be selfish."

Pitty pitty pat pitty pat pitty pat and I almost believe it. How happy are you? How happy can you be, when you do something that makes another unhappy, but you secure? Beast, I declare.


Smack. Another sip of this delicious thing you call life. Today it swirled with mint leaves. I will go there again, just for the tangy aftertaste.

Remember, Remember
The fifth of November,
The gunpowder treason and plot.
I know of no reason
Why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

The calm before the storm.

Today is long rambling post day. Not just because Nishant seems to almost be readying himself to throw death radars my way, but just because there's a strange sense of disquiet about me. College fest has just ended, tomorrow classes will be subdued and corridors filled with whisphered exchanges of what happened in the three days of the year that some relive again and again till they come again next year. We will trudge towards the cafe, there will be a hurried scramble for incomplete notes, posters will be pulled down to be replaced by new, roughly sketched ones. The corridors will be wiped clean, removing all traces of the rangoli competition, hurrying footsteps will head to respective classes. Soon things will be back to normal, college will be filled with it's infinite activities and other, new events will occupy everyone's minds.

I'd like college quiet again. I had tremendous fun having people come. I liked seeing new faces in a familiar place, familiar faces in a new place. Tomorrow I want to buy a customary cup of coffee and sit in a bench that has been covered by a stall on all the days of the fest. Probably the only thing I don't like about my fest is that all the places that would never be occupied are suddenly hotspots. The campus is suddenly smaller, more crowded. Everyone is extra friendly, extra affectionate. Walking alone means you don't have company and someone inevitably supplements, considering it their moral duty. I love company, but a sudden overdose leaves one slightly fatigued, if not irritable.

But stuff being forced on you isn't always too bad. Sometimes temporary analgesics give you an immense high that leave you giggling for hours. Whats inevitable though, is a crash. There has to come a time when you have to stop to catch your breath. The headrush is brilliant, but not when you achieve it only by trampling down anything that threatens to weigh you down. It inevitably comes back. Lighthearted comedy is easy while it lasts.

I am suddenly hungry, I dont like this post. I received the nicest compliment today. It's surprising how you know what you want only after you get it. And kind of saddening when you wish they'd come from quarters you most want them from. Maybe its time I realised I don't deserve some of these things I constantly hanker for.