Diaries

Man

The last few days have been such that I have decided to write things down. I am not much of a writer, but I just want to record the events for future reference. You see, I have this nagging suspicion that things are not as they appear, that everyone around me is wearing a mask, watching my every move, uttering memorized lines while speaking to me. You may think I am being paranoid, but let me start at the beginning and let you be the judge.

Last Sunday I woke up without a memory. I didnt know who I was, where I was, what I was. I dialled random numbers from my cell phone, different people called me different names and spoke to me in different languages and I didnt have the guts to ask them how I knew them or how they knew me. I spent the entire day in terrified loneliness, totally helpless and desperate with no idea what the next step should be. It was then that the doorbell rang and I opened the door to find a beautiful woman standing there..and when I looked into her eyes I knew that she was my lover. It all came out then, my fear and my helplessness, and she took me in her arms and I knew things will be all right. We discussed our future and she told me not to worry, that we should let time heal things. She has moved in with me and in the evenings, we lie in each other's arms and she tells me how I used to love her, about the wonderful moments we had shared, and the beautiful life that lay ahead of us. Looking into her eyes, I believe her.

Wife

That's it. Its been over a week now. No contact, no news. No responses to messages. I think I have had it. Probably its best that this ends this way. We were meandering towards nothingness and I guess its fitting that the end came as a fizzle rather than a bang. Anyway, I sincerely hope he has a happy life..and I desperately hope that I do too.

Lover

This will be the last entry before I burn the diary. All the pages filled with angst and tears after he dumped me are behind me now. I always believed that if I didnt give up hope he will come back to again some day. The months of playing 'good friends' are thankfully gone. He is now mine. Completely. And forever.

Conversations

Canteen - 10:30 AM

Girl: God I hate that slimeball! The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl man!
Boy: Yeah..he is a total frustrated arsehole yaar!
G: I mean, like, if his eyes had hands all the girls in this office will be walking aroung nude.
B: Well thats the only way he will ever be able to undress a girl anyways.
G: Doesnt the fuck realise how obvious he is? Cant he bloody make out that all girls are aware of his roaming eyes?
B: Chutiya thinks thats the way to get a response.
G: Yeah right! Like a kick to his balls.
B: Haha...be careful though! That might make him think that you want to be physical with him!
G: UGH!! Whats with guys anyway? Why the fuck do they always have to think with their dicks? Cant they fucking view women in any other position except lying under them with their thighs open?
B: Hey come on! Dont generalise man! I accept that most of the fuckers are like that. Its how they have been brought up, what company they mix in, what kind of sexual experiences (or lack of) that they had..
G: Maybe you are right..i mean i am totally comfortable with you. i just hope those fuckers learn something from u dude.
B: Yeah, well, one can only hope..shall we go?

Pub - 7:30 PM

Boy1: Abey saale aaj G se saath bohut khusur fusur kar raha tha behnchod?
Boy: Kuch nehi yaar aise hi.
B1: Shut up man..bol na behnchod kya scene hai.
B: Abey sahi maal hai baap..do teen din me aa jayegi khopchi me.
B1: Boss tu bhagwan hai.
B: Saath saath reh beta bohut kuch sikhega.

The seeds of the holocaust

It was a hot, sunny day and the streets of Munich were deserted, barring the stray dogs and puppies lolling about with their tongues out. Hienrich roamed the streets looking for his next target. The hand holding the magnifying glass was rock steady but his otherwise solemn face was flushed with anticipation, his normally cold, expressionless eyes sparkling with anticipation.

He had to be careful. The last time he was caught,his father had given him a hiding his arse still remembered. Joseph was normally a god fearing, mild man. But he was a fanatic about discipline. And Hienrich knew that he had just about reached the last few inches of the fuse that was wired to the keg of gunpowder that resided in Joseph's mind. So, he had been careful for the last few months. But today the temptation was too much.

He spotted his target soon. It was a beautiful Labrador pup, about 2 or 3 months old. And it was sleeping alone on the pavement, it's ears pricked and eyes closed. It looked so beautiful, so vulnerable, that Hienrich's heart swelled with love for the helpless creature. He took out the glass and carefully positioned it so that the sunrays focused on the delicate soft pink tissues of the inner ear. As the pup screamed out in pain he moved in for the kill, the blunt hammer halfway out of his pocket. He felt a sudden movement from behind and before he realised what happened, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and another wrenched the hammer out of his curled fingers..he turned around with a thundering heart and his worst fears came true..it was that wretched Rabbi Efrati again.

'You are sick', he said, 'and its time Joseph realised the depths of your depravity'.

He took the struggling, kicking boy to his home and when Joseph opened the door, one look at the rabbi and the hammer and the struggling boy in his hands told Joseph the entire story. He grabbed both and before the rabbi could say anything, the door slammed in his face.

'I think you and me have to talk boy', Joseph said, taking out the horsewhip from the cupboard.

Late that night, Hienrich lay face down on his cot, with his flayed back swathed in bandages and made a vow.

'I will get you, you fucking jew', Hienrich Himmler said.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


Poet: W.H. Auden
Kick arse rendering: John Hannah in 4 Weddings And A Funeral.