I will openly write about his death. I will openly say he should have died long time back. I will read other people's posts on this. I will like them and comment on them. I will agree with them and pass them on. I will have conversations, hold discussions, send emails, messages, scream slogans and or do whatever the hell I want to do. Come arrest me if you want.
Today I spent time in the sun with Ram. She offered to oil my hair and I jumped at the opportunity. I sat on a low mudda in front of her and held the oil bottle. He poured a little on her palm and softly caressed my hair. I never realized her touch was so soft. She told me to cut my hair. I reminded her she wanted me to grow it. She got confused. Less than a minute and we were done. I protested. She protested. Her hands start hurting after a while, she said. I took her hands in mine and started to press them. She wanted a massage instead. I laughed. I ran inside enthusiastically and reappeared with a moisturizer. This time I massaged her. Her feet, her arms, her legs. All dry. Her parched skin soaked the cream rapidly. We talked about a vegetable. She explained a recipe. By now her skin was beaming in the sun. I proceeded with removing her rings to reach between her fingers. Smaller parts of her I had not touched. As she spoke about the first time she used a two piece telephone, my fingers ran over the bulging veins. Beautiful green veins protruding from her paper skin. I decided to go a little strong. It hurt her. She abused me in Derawali. I laughed and told her she needed to be stronger.
We sat quietly before she remembered something that she had left behind in Pakistan. Lost in the kaleidoscope of her million gleaming wrinkles I looked up at her. She said she had left behind 'do plateon wala baaja.' If we still had it, she calculated, we could have earned a lakh from it.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy boy
who loves you,
but when I open
and close them,
when my steps go
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
I woke up this morning and made the following observations about my life:
1. I'm 26 now and really 26 does not have as much character as 25. I dont think I can write revelations about this age like I could two days back. 26 is irrelevant. Like Tuesdays. (two of my friends recently talked about Tuesdays) Can be easily be deleted from our lives without much damage.
2. The happiest time of the year for me is 15th October to 15th November.
3. I have been thinking of buying a new camera, an edit machine and a smart phone. I tell myself I can only have one of the three things. I have no money so my rich relatives may have to contribute. I also tell myself that I must not become an Apple whore. I have been having this conversation with myself for a year now.
4. Its also been a year since I started writing this blog. READ THIS I never thought I'd last. I did. Hi!
5. My friends think my blog is just like me (errr who else is it supposed to be like?) Someone laughed and said it was so punjabi (spl reference to the choice of the backdrop) and then some one laughed at the very name. Really? Dude Chotusing. Gao beta Gao! IS SUCH A FANTASTIC NAME!
Now time to show off. A recent masterpiece. I call it 'borrowed camera photography'
Special Diwali Gifts for those who guess what this is :)