Stupid Things in Night (Chapter – 2)

It has been two days.

Lata accepted my friend request, but there was no reply. I did not message her again. She posts a lot of pictures, so I like them. Staring blankly at her pictures provokes no response. I want her to talk to me.

Umesh came yesterday. He wanted to drink beer. He invited me, but I declined. Past knows I cannot hold liquor, even the littlest of it. Anyways, I wanted to stay sober in case Lata replied to my message.

Umesh must have drunk a lot. He was online till 2 AM.

Lata and I sat on one of the benches in Canteen. I said, “So what are you going to do after graduation?”

“I have not think about it.”

“What is there to think? You will either study or marry someone.”

“I can think about these things. They demand a lot. Or I can just stay at home, learn new things or travel.”

“What new things? And travel?”

“Maybe I will learn cooking or knitting. And I want to go to a lot of places.”

“I thought you learnt these household chores growing up.”

“I did not. I used to study then and the rest of the time was spent with friends.”

“What happened to your friends? I think I am your only friend these days.”

“I still keep in touch with my old friends. They are studying in different Colleges. And you are not the only friend I have. Maybe I am the only friend you have.”

“You are right.”

“So what happened with your friends?”

“Same thing. They are studying in different colleges. And I am not great at keeping in touch. You said something about traveling.”

“I will go to Kasauli. It is so beautiful there.”

“Ok…”

••

I remember the day I drank. It was the last day of school. My friends insisted and I declined. But they said about last day of our school and something about memories and friendship. I drank a little then.

It burned my tongue, throat and stomach. I was sick and threw a vomit.

I never drank after that fateful day. I never met my friends after that day either. Sure, I attended their marriages but I went there with no hopes of reunion. And it never happened.

I wonder if they even remember me now.

•••

I feel old.

The Night is so thick, I am sure my shouts will not be able to penetrate it.

I do not like this. I do not like myself.

I fed a street dog yesterday. He seemed happy. He is not present today. I have saved a roti for him.

I look at the walls. They do not have the answers to my queries.

I pickup the phone and type another message to Lata, asking her how she is. And now I wait for her reply.

••••

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Sick

It is 11 P. M. I am up. Sleep is nowhere.

This world. I don’t know what kind of a place this was, and has become. I was reading newspaper, the Hindustan Times. I saw this news and now mind is sick.

I am not sure of the feeling I have right now. It’s mixed. There’s disgust, rage, shame and a lot more I can’t recognise.

I want to write long paragraphs, condemning these horrible acts. I can’t. I am numb with an inability to act on anything specific.

Late Night Rant

The clock tells it’s 12 A.M. Midnight. Or new day. I don’t care. Silence is here. I like silence.

I was sleeping. Something woke me up. I saw around. No one was present. I tried sleeping again. It didn’t come. Tried everything. Drank water, took a short walk, listened to music, read something; sleep eluded me. And now I feel mad. All day I have to slog through to forget this wasteland and now when I was just about to do it, something woke me up.

Bad dreams. There ain’t a thing like that for me. No dream is as scary as life. And people are stupid. They talk continuously. They talk about how they find relationships and dealing with other people difficult. People are stupid. I couldn’t say it straight to their face. They’d punch me. They talk much and listen little. Everyone does so. This is the problem. No one wants to listen and everyone talks. What a circus.

Memories. I remember them. Little piece of situation stuck in head. It comes at odd times. Makes me useless. It slows me down. Too much for remembering. Now people say memories are good and bad. Keep the good ones and forget the bad ones. I said earlier that people are stupid. They really are. Memories are just time wasted doing something and time wasted again later remembering it. I reek with cynicism.

Love is fake. Or people are. Anyways, both are fake. Belittling self everytime. Telling self they aren’t good enough for someone. Crying over things. Showing affection. Later bitterness. Waiting for the perfect one to arrive. Listening to these romantic songs. Having expectations which are always unmet. Feeling low continuously because an idiot did or said something hurtful. Then picking yourself up. Loving one. Hating him/her later. Late night chats faking intimacy. Always smiling to hide insecurity. Falling in love and then falling out. Feeling low, depressed, dejected. Then the journey of picking up pieces begin. And the worst thing. This shitshow never ends. Everytime you have your head up, there is some stupid trying to mess with it. For all love is, a con job of mind. Heart pumps blood. Mind is messy.