Sabotaging Unsuccessfulness'

I am sorry for my absence. It was not pre-mediated. And, I know it made no effect. But by now I am used to people being unmindful about my absence. Anyhow I am here to explain it. I was actually protesting. Our tryst with destiny arrived on the clutches of peaceful protests. Everything that we today possess owes its genesis to some or the other protest. And, I cannot dare to betray history, so I was also on protest and therefore I didn’t write.


I am now pretty sure that they are conspiring against me. And, I am shocked that they can stoop this low. I had this feeling for a long time but I was unsure about it. But the recent happenings proved, beyond any doubt, that they are out with the idea of – Sabotaging Unsuccessfulness.
To be honest, I am a bit thrilled. Come on, the idea of being hounded, though definitely unnerving, somehow makes me feel important. So after being over with the protests, I basked in the glory of being a badgered protester that prolonged this delay.


It all started on a very normal, monotonous day. I can still narrate the details as they are because days like these come few in my calendar. It started with a normal, monotonous morning; I woke up late only to sleep for 10 more minutes. Believe me, those 10 minutes are no less than being in a paradise.
While I was trying to ravish the houris of paradise, an unfamiliar sound of a newspaper being pushed inside my door came. Immediately, I then knew that this was going to be one of those days. For I had not paid my paperwallah for last two months and this generosity was totally unexpected. I subdued my excitement because I feared a knock at my door and except money I had everything to give. But as I said, this was not just another day.


The angels slipped away quietly, as soon as the familiar taste of tobacco coated my tongue. I stretched myself, picked up the newspaper and abused the paperwallah for slipping in the Times of India. Immediately a feeling of guilt overtook me and I asked for forgiveness.
With the name of God (if there is any), I headed for Delhi Times; after all, despite being girlfriendless I still enjoy my right to check out babes and my luck. Both as always were good and bad, in their respective order.
These days I lookout for the by-lines without any good reason and no name ever sound familiar. And then all of a sudden, I saw something that caught my attention. It said – Blogs Blocked. I skimmed through the article, like if someone looking at the list of dead after a major accident, trying to find the name of his/her relative, hoping against hope. But, Blogspot was there; it was there, staring at me.


I instantly took out a white sheet and wrote an application. I had read about Right to Information Act, some days before. ‘The Hindu’ is good on covering things like these. I was now determined to go lengths, even if I have to do an RDB act. After all blogging is one of those few pleasures that are left for me. Next day, I saw the government curtailing the RTI act to suit its vagaries. I was stunned. For due to Mumbai serial blasts, procurement of weapons was not possible and my contacts in Kashmir are no worth than inviting me for a day or two hence no options were left open, except protest. So I decided to protest.


Considering my lean frame, the idea of going on a hunger strike was never approached. Weighing all consequences, I decided to Boycott. Now what could I boycott? I decided that as a protest mark - I will boycott writing on web. So I didn’t blogged.

Now I follow this everywhere. I protest against dirty roads by spitting, urinating on them, and making them dirtier. This way I protest against civic callousness. I protest against lack of security for women by molesting them. I fight with people in bus over seat, don’t buy tickets and this way I protest against transportation department. I buy cigarettes from shops close to school premises and also offer to buy for children/teenagers who come for their nicotine stick. This way I protest against negligence of school authorities.


But somehow or the other, people are not happy with my protests, they think it’s preposterous. And, lately I found myself in trouble during a DTC ticket raid, once while urinating under a fly-over. I am sure they have noticed that I am doing something different and they are tracking my moves. Even now, the person sitting next to me, though watching some porno, one way or the other looks at my screen, trying to gather what I am writing.


I don’t know whether they will be successful because they are trying to sabotage unsuccessfulness.

Iccha Mrityu'

Iccha Mrityu can closely be related with the medical term euthanasia, however the story doesn’t treat the topic as its main theme. It talks about conditions other than physical, which could lead to such mental state. This is perhaps my last story trying to explore love-emotional relationships.

Like always, all characters are fictitious. Some emotions are mine rest perceived. All I did was twist them to suit my Unsuccessfulness’. Anyhow, if you go through the trouble of reading it all. Please answer some questions. If you don’t like the story, well enough, I am already Unsuccessful and strangely enough living with it and sometimes, just sometimes enjoying it too.

Start -

She was staring at the picture, on the wall, which portrayed a rising sun, somewhere among the snowcapped Himalayan Mountains. The faint smell of phenyl was still lingering in the room. The flower vase next to her bed was empty, the only voice in the room was moaning of the air-condition, with whom electricity was playing hide and seek.


Destiny is cruel; with sunrise the snow melts. One takes birth to give death to another - she thought.


Her face was as white as the bed sheet. She never had a big bosom, but of whatever it was now remain untraceable ruins. The skin was clinging hard to the bones. She looked as if blood was being slowly drained out of her body. A living carcass.

The door creaked to life, she didn’t notice. A male figure entered with nice, bright flowers. She was still evaluating the picture. He put the flowers in the vase and pressed her bony hand. She turned towards him. BLANK. NO Expression.


“Hi Chavi, feeling better”

“I am ready”

“Have you ever thought about it seriously, it’s insane. You can be treated. It is all in your mind. Why the hell you do not try to understand it.”

“Will you help me?”

“Of course. I will. We can take a second advice. There are….

“Will you help me” - she sounded firm.

“I don’t know. See Chavi, try to understand.”

She turned away her face. Small drops of water mixed with salt ran down from the hollow sockets, across the bony face.

They have been talking about this for the past one month. The death of the discussion was announced by blowing the trumpet of silence. But today, she was determined.

“Dharish, you are a liar. You don’t love me that’s why you want me to go through this pain.”

“Chavi, you know, that’s not true. How can I explain that how much I care for you. I want you in my life.”

“Lie, all lie. You enjoy it, you want me to suffer.”

Suffer. Yes Suffer. The only thing that she ever did was, to suffer. For one reason or the another only suffer.

Her childhood was robbed because someone suffered from inquisitiveness. The dreams then died. An invisible wall separated her from rest of the phony world. A world where everyone wants you for owns good reason. A world of give and take.


Parental pressure landed her in a medical college. The wall, by now was impregnable. She loathed the barter system. One day, she popped 10 different pills in her empty stomach. But suffering, was her constant companion. She was spared, from death and suspension. Life and classes, both went on.


Those years, the Internet bubble was rebuilding itself. She didn’t remain untouched. Projects, assignments, hell everything that was needed to be done was available on Google. She searched for emotions and got Yahoo.


Chavi alias Wish got her respite in the virtual world. A known among unknowns. It was here, she met Rahul. It all starts the same way -

Rahul: A/S/L plz

Wish: 19/f/del….U?

Rahul: 20/m/bby…..hw u dn?

Wish: does it matter?

Rahul: Certainly, if you are not happy or so, we can try talk something funny

Wish: lol

Rahul: See it works


- And it clicked. They soon became more than friends. She told him about her fears and he about his failed love attempts. They both were raped. One by a man, another by nature. Rahul’s left hand refused to grow after his 12th birthday. But it didn’t matter. It was all virtual. But electronic emotions soon trigged real feelings and they fell in love. She started dreaming again.


Destiny brought him to capital. She was pursuing her PG and he got a job in a software company. They explored the city and their beliefs. A journey in pursues of their dreams. No barter system. They thought their dreams were one now.

But suffering was Chavi’s constant companion. Her parents didn’t share their dream. They gave logical reasons. Emotions versus logic. Beta, you can’t marry a tunda(a person with one hand). You have no problems; you will get some one better. This is not love. You are too young to decide.


Somehow or the other, she try to make herself convince that she got convinced, while she never wanted to get convinced.


And, when she can’t do that. Guilt surfaced. She withdrew from the world. Dreams died again. She became a body without a soul. And her second attempt to separate these two failed again. This is when she met Jagdish, who was an intern at the hospital where her parents got admitted her as a case of food poisoning.

Jagdish – fast and furious. A doctor by profession and a adventurer at heart. Fast things increased his adrenaline rush. Chavi was completely overtaken by her persona. For 25 days while she was in the hospital, he made her laugh. His outlook made her see a new life, a life beyond Rahul.


On the day of her discharge, subtle, supressed emotions took over. She was standing at the window, gazing outside. He came and stood behind her. She noticed but remained still. The atmosphere suddenly became tense. She was looking like a goddess in a pink and blue combination. He put his hand on her shoulders. She was passive. He murmured something incoherent and his hand slowly slipped across her waist.

Chavi was fighting a civil war inside herself. She thought – “ He gave me a new life. Anyhow I am of no worth. Perhaps this will make him happy, may be there is something between us. What I did with Rahul was worse. I deserve this treatment. I will pay it this way for my sins.”


Jagdish was sensuously nibbling her ears. His hand slowly moved across her belly. Lifting the pink kurta, feeling the bare flesh. He pressed himself at her back, making her feel his manhood over the tight jeans.

A sound exploded in Chavi’s head – Proven guilty. Condemned to eternal suffering.


He kissed at the back of her neck as his hands fiddled with button of her blue jeans. Slowly peeling it off from her skin. He turned her. As his tongue brushed across her lips and his hands, letting air flow between her legs. His knee found the gap as he pushed her on the wall. Slowly moving his head down. And, the room took a 360 degree turn.


Chavi never met Jagdish after that. Some nurses had retold the same story which she overheard during her inquires about him. But she had no regret. She was condemned. Life is not plain and simple. One day she met Rahul at a supermarket. He was not alone. With another pretty girl. He ignored her and so did she try to do. In her attempt to run away she met a speeding bus, head on.


It was Dharish who took her to hospital. For the past three months, his attendance on the visitor list was regular. Why? Some questions do not have answers. Everything does not have a reason.

She thought it was a platonic relationship. Can any relationship be platonic? Perhaps Yes. But can we deny the existence of emotions. Who knows, when they get jettisoned either by hormones or they themselves form a bonding, strong enough to break platonic shackles. But she was sure, her dreams had died and she could not be someone else’s dream. Definitely not her fault and perhaps not his fault, as well. Perhaps platonic sums it the best. But than someone has to lose.


Chavi condition had deteriorated, each passing day. She looked at the flowers that Dharish had just put in the vase. She was once crazy about them. Once!

She turned towards him; he was searching for something in thin air.

“So, will you help me?”

He stood up, came near her, kissed on her forehead. He replied with a choked voice –“Chavi, I don’t know what to say. I am a normal human. Unlike you, I may not have suffered this much. I will always remember you. I just wish if only I could help you, but…this is your decision. Your own Iccha Mrityu.” And he walked out. Leaving her behind.....

As you took the trouble, so who is Unsuccessful?

• Dharish, cause he didn’t try enough. Or he should have left it long back and take care of his own life.
  
• Chavi, she could always have moved on, Dharish, Jagdish, Rahul or anyone, how does it matter. She compromised herself for Jagdish for no good reason. There is always a new day, some one new to meet, and a new life to live.

Move On......

Well the past week has been quite an interesting one. And I’m scared. Being scared is also somewhat fun. Just a passing thought, I am in no mood to write.


“For silence is the mother of future and noise announce the death of present”

I still remember it was a toy
for which I first understood the word ‘joy,’
One day, it somehow broke
I nearly missed a stroke,
For the kid lost its love
just with a small thud!
My mom then explained
life is not so plain,
Things never remain the same
change is the name of the game,
I asked the toy, would you be all right
it remained quiet
And I moved on,


This happened in my teens
I loved this school queen,
Me an unknown face
she had a great taste,
I was always lost in her thoughts
for her, I never existed, Boss!
I asked her once, will she be mine
she said, I’m fine,
I realised it a little late
that her calendar is full of dates’
And, I moved on


College was different place
I joined the mad race,
To prove that I am good
whether at girls or with textbooks,
Never got what I desire
adjustments extinguished my fire,
Was a loser in every term
still, to be with me was fun,
All because I never wept
for whatever gone is gone
I have to move on,


For all, what I lost
I am not surprised
it was my decision right?
I gave them a just chance
pity that they didn’t appreciate my glance,
It does pains somewhere
but I have no fear,
The road ahead is too long
and, anyhow, I have to move on.