“Your Missing Comment” :)

Dear Mystery Girl,

I don’t know if you remember the first time we interacted. It was, like so many other hapless souls these days, over the internet. You commented on a post of mine and then accused me of deleting it. What started out as a friendly exchange of emails soon turned into a deeply meaningful conversation in which hopes and fears were shared.

We had not seen each other and we were already beginning to feel like we have known each other for a very long time.

Then we met. We fell in love but were unable to express it. You were unsure and I was still a kid. We made promises to keep in touch and drifted apart.

But the universe had other plans for us. We found each other again in professional avatars and we both tried to ignore the white elephant in the room that always loomed over us. Those unkept promises and those unsaid words of love and passion. We worked well together and achieved little, but it was always a pleasure to be around you. I haven’t met anyone else with whom I have shared so much. You know my deepest fears and my darkest moments. You are aware of things and people that depress me and you have helped me through my darkness.

We drifted apart when you mysteriously disappeared from my life. When I found you again, you said, “The people who want you in their lives will find you.” That made me smile.

We’ve laughed, fought, almost cried, smoked, smoked up and gotten drunk together. We’ve read, written and composed for each other. We’ve cursed each other and we’ve praised each  other. And even though we’re on different continents and separated by mountains, volcanoes and oceans we’ve sailed through it all.

Mystery Girl, you are a great friend, a fantastic woman and will always be the one that got away. I wonder what would have happened if we’d hooked up and given it a whirl. Oh well, if wishes were horses, I’d have a stable by now.

Yours always.

Me 🙂

How To Kill The Nerve Endings In Your Bum

It’s very simple, actually. Does not involve any major surgery, does not involve a great deal of torture. All it takes is a 6-year-old motorbike that has seen better days, a 220-mile stretch of a badly maintained road, total disregard for the well-being of your ass and the ability to risk peeing blood for a week. That’s all it takes to kill the nerve endings in your bum.

It was one of those Sundays that you wished was a Saturday. Wait, why does this statement sound familiar? Anyway, my friends and I decided to take our bikes out on a (very) long road trip this past Sunday, and it turned out to be a pretty amazing day. Except for the fact that I walked funny for two days after and couldn’t sit on anything for too long without my bum muscles cramping up. We were six of us, on three totally mismatched bikes – a Bullet cruiser bike, a Yamaha sports bike and a Bajaj Boxer. Yeah, the Bajaj Boxer was mine. (Non-Indian readers, FYI – a Boxer isn’t a type of underwear here. It’s the unfortunate brand name of a motorbike.)

We set out from Bangalore early, around 6:30 in the morning, and drove up on State Highway 7 towards Mysore. After frequent stops each half hour to regain blood-flow to our asses, we stopped for breakfast at Kamat Lokaruchi, next to a place called  Janapada Loka. They had a south Indian breakfast buffet and I did not miss the chance to stuff myself with all the vada I could eat. After deciding on the route to Talkad, we headed out and cruised along for the next hour-and-a-half. The roads were so good that even my rickety old Boxer touched 80 mph. That’s around 65 kmph, and that’s her limit. She tends to get a bit ‘cranky’ if I push her harder.

Talkad - Shores of the Cauvery River

Talkad was a pretty neat experience – sat on the lake shore, ate an enormous amount of cucumbers and washed them down with some ice cream. A local guide offered his services and we took him up on his offer, and for the next hour, we were treated to the entire history of the place, and a running commentary of all the six temples as we walked past each one. This is heritage site, according to a recent government declaration and it was quite interesting to see 2000-year old temples being resurrected.

Talkad - A temple in the process of being excavated

We had our lunch at a local ‘mess’ in Talkad – it was the best lunch EVER because we had an unlimited amount of rice, sambar, rasam and papad. The taste was not too bad either.

Once we were done with Talkad, we got on to our bikes and headed south towards a place called Shivana Samudram. The roads were atrocious and my bike finally decided to call it quits. Twenty minutes of engine cooling time and an oil change later, we were back on the road.

There are two waterfalls in this place – one was a mile-and-a half walk from where we parked and the other was accessible by road. We were so tired that we decided to ride up to the second one, and were thoroughly disappointed by the thin stream of water that we could spot with difficulty at a great distance. We decided it was the best time to head back to Bangalore.

Free Beer to anyone who can spot the water fall

Four hours and a very sore ass later, we finally entered home stretch on the Bangalore highway. I dropped off my friend at her hostel around midnight and headed back home to a warm and comforting bed. I could not sleep on my back for two nights after.

All in all, it was a fantastic journey. Everyone had a great time and one of the highlights of the day was when my battered Boxer overtook the Bullet cruiser bike on the highway at full speed. I was at full speed. The Bullet was standing still on the side of the road.

The City Of No Goodbyes

Warning: This post contains language and description not suitable for minors. Please proceed only if you are above 18 years of age. MirrorCracked and it’s author do not take responsibility for the consequences of ignoring this legally-required warning.

Author’s Note: I wrote this a while back, for someone special, who appeared fleetingly into my life and left an indelible mark. This one’s for you, and no one else. I hate time, distance and all those other Physics 101 terms!

I could feel the stress coursing through my every muscle as I rode my bike back home through never-ending traffic, monstrous trucks belching black fumes of smoke right at my face and millions of people running around on the roads, darting in between the rushing cars and bikes and trucks without, it seemed, a care in the world. I had had enough. I was burnt out and I could feel it – with every breath and every heartbeat. My arms ached as I finally pushed the bike up the incline to my house and parked it beneath the awning. I stood back, stretched my back and burst out laughing.

There was a reason I laughed out that day. It wasn’t very profound; strange, rather. I knew I would quit my job. I had made my mind up on the ride back home and I had had enough of being a needle in a haystack. I had had enough of being a software developer in a country filled with so many software developers that someone had once that if you throw a stone into a crowd in India, you either hit a stray dog or a software developer. I had had enough. I was burnt out and I wanted out.

I took a long, hot shower and washed the grime off my body and stood there under the running water, leaning against the wall and contemplated what I’d do. It was seven in the evening on a Friday and I wanted to unwind. Making my decision, I put on a tee shirt and a pair of jeans and hailed a cab.

“Sports bar, Colaba,” I said and leaned back against the soft leather seats, feeling the air-conditioner blasting on my face and closed my eyes with a blissful smile on my face.

I saw her standing at the other end of the bar, nursing a beer and talking to a few friends. The sports bar in Colaba has a corner where people can play mock basketball and make fools of themselves, and I preferred the more mature game of billiards. A beer in my hand and some spare betting cash can go long way in making a good evening better. I had just won my third table in a row, when I noticed her standing there. She was wearing a white dress that came up to her knees, billowing around them, and I couldn’t help but notice her long legs and the pretty white shoes she wore. As I took my gaze up, I noticed her perfect body, the firm breasts, the slender neck, her heart-shaped mouth, her long lashes and her long straight hair that came up to her shoulders and did a poor job of hiding her smile – the smile that even from that distance, made me want to reciprocate.

It is said that we are all born with a sixth sense, and that we can actually sense someone’s gaze on us. Even in that crowded bar, even amidst the noise and the soccer cheers and the crazy yahoos, she sensed my gaze and turned to me. I stood there, leaning on my cue stick and holding the beer in my hand, and smiled at her. What happened next remains, to this day, my most memorable memory of the city that never sleeps.

It was back at my place, at eleven in the night, when we first kissed. Her lips were on to mine in mid-sentence and there were no awkward pauses and no drum-roll as we drew closer, unbeknownst to each other. Her wet, tender lips were crushing against my rough ones, frantically trying to accomplish something in a savage battle for dominance, her tongue found mine with scary ease and wrestled savagely for the same unsettling prize. We were sitting on the couch, my hands in her hair, hers on my face and we kissed long and hard, and with no apparent end to the lip wrestling in sight, we groped for each other‘s clothes. I struggled out of my shirt, and she, out of her dress, while still kissing with a kind of otherworldly passion.

I managed to get out of my shirt and I fumbled with her brassiere. I unclasped it with one hand while fighting her panties with the other. Her hands found my trousers and forced them down. I broke contact with her lips and traced my way to her neck, still kissing and licking and sucking on the sweet, soft skin and she moaned with pleasure. She threw her head back and moaned louder as I cupped her breast with my hand and kissed her gently on the nipple. I could feel it harden in my mouth as I nibbled on them softly. She screamed in pure pleasure as I bit down hard and gripped my hair and tugged on them.

I entered her in one swift motion and she gasped. She looked into my eyes and I, into hers and we began a slow rhythmic dance of carnal proportions, with gasps, moans and screams. We picked up momentum and soon we were hurtling along the tunnel of desire at breakneck speed and burst through the clouds of mist and emerged into the bright sunlit skies of satisfaction. We lay back on the couch, thoroughly spent, sweating and exhausted. She nestled her head under my chin and I could smell her sweet shampoo mixed with my coarse deodorant. Her hands closed around mine and we fell asleep there, on the couch, just as midnight struck the sensual city.

“Let’s not say goodbye to each other,” she whispered as she went to sleep. “Ever.”

Two weeks later, when I had to leave Mumbai for the last time and move back to my home town, I called her. She never answered. To this day, I wondered whether if I had stayed back there, I would have had the chance to do something about this woman who had come into my life in a whirlwind of passion and shown me the best two weeks of my life, and disappeared without saying goodbye. I wondered about all the things that we had talked about and about all the things we didn’t. I most vividly remembered the nights of intense passion, where we would turn into animals and feast on each other until we were both thoroughly satisfied. I wondered if she missed me.

To this day, we haven’t said goodbye. Yet.

My Slow Chemical

The wonder of the world is gone I know for sure,
All the wonder that I want I found in her,
As the hole becomes apart I strike to burn,
And no flame returns…

Every intuition fails to find it’s way,
One more table turned around I’m back again,
Finding I’m a lost-and-found when she’s not around,
When she’s not around, I feel it coming down…

Give me what I could never ask for,
Connect me and you could be my chemical now!
Give me the drug you know I’m after,
Connect me and you could be my chemical…

When everybody wants you,
When everybody wants you…
Give me what I could never ask for
connect me and you could be my chemical now!

Give me the drug you know I’m after,
Connect me and you could be the chemical…

You could be the chemical…

Three Aspirins And A Headache

Three aspirins, fourteen hours of sleep in the past twenty-four, five gallons of water and sixteen rounds of bladder relief and I still have a headache. There are so many things running in my head that it feels like its going to explode any moment. No, its not pathological. I checked. I’m half a doctor.

There are some people in life whom you can’t ignore. And there are some who just won’t get ignored. There are also some very special people who just piss you off beyond imagination, but I’ll rant about assholes later. But, very rarely, once in a lifetime actually, you come across certain people who you can’t let go. No matter what, you have to try like hell to hold on to them and never let them go. Ups and downs, times and distances, mistakes and obligations, regrets and disappointments, pasts and presents – all aside, these people have a right to be a part of your life in a way so tangible it’ll choke you. Er, in a good way.

So yeah, I have been doing a lot of soul-searching and I’ve been at my wit’s end trying to figure out where I go in life from now on. Being stuck in a limbo is not a good feeling. Decisions have to be made, conclusions have to be reached, promises have to be kept up and no hearts should be broken. It’s like balancing a precious gem and a cucumber – one in each hand while walking a tightrope with no safety net. I really don’t know where that analogy came from or what that means, but you have to throw one away to regain the balance.

Some headaches are bad. Some are good. But I guess one that lasts seventeen hours is therapeutic.

17 July

“Step one,” you say, “we need to talk.”
He walks but you say, “Sit down, it’s just a talk…”
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
You begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Let him know that you know best
‘Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you’ve told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And pray to God he hears you…

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you’ve followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he’ll say he’s just not the same
And you’ll begin to wonder why you came

Oh, Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

The Yamaha Enema

Reshaped Hip BoneTake my advice – if you have to travel for more than 3 miles inside the city of Bangalore, do not – I repeat – do not ride pillion on a Yamaha bike. Its been three hours since I’ve gotten off the bike after a 15-mile ride and I’m still walking slowly with my legs wide apart, wincing at every step and groaning at every fart.

I woke up at my friend’s place after an awkward evening with some close friends and my ex girlfriend. See what I mean by awkward? We ignored each other thoroughly (it was surprisingly easy to do) and spent the evening at opposite corners of the room, making conversations with common friends and our scotch glasses alternatively. I am usually very comfortable in social situations, but in this case, I was surprised we didn’t kill each other with blunt objects. It was a bad break-up and yes, you guessed right. It was one of the many reasons why I haven’t blogged in a while. Some people are hard to get over in life, and with the kind of history we’d shared, trying to forget this woman was particularly hard. But I’m glad it’s over and I’m glad the hate has trickled out of me to be replaced with the warmth of indifference. 🙂

Anyway, I digress. I woke up in the morning in my friend’s place and took an auto home, showered, shaved, put on some underwear and went out again. This time to the bank. After which, for some unknown sin of mine, my ass was subjected to torture the likes of which Guantanamo Bay has never seen before.

I was riding pillion on a friend’s bike – I was sitting on a bike after a good two-month break and it felt strange, alien. We had an hour’s journey ahead of us and I managed quite well, with minimal squirming. Each speed-breaker was a gift from heaven as I could jump up with the bike and shift my buttocks a bit to ease the gnawing pain. Once we reached our destination, we got some work done and headed back. One more hour’s ride in Bangalore traffic. My ass died a painful death. I’m lying on my stomach while typing this.

I got off the bike on reaching home, held my legs apart and felt the blood rushing into my ass-cheeks and the soft tissue just above the knee (I don’t know what this part of the body is called). My hipbone had undergone a major structural realignment and it is now shaped like a bike seat. Refer to the image for a better understanding.

So, I’m here at home, on my tummy, waiting for the world’s greatest woman to come online and dreaming of perfectly-shaped hipbones. Sigh.

Image Courtesy: Secret Government Labs. I can tell you but then I’ll have to kill you.