Sing

Don’t tell me what you saw

Don’t tell me what you heard

Just sing me a song

Like a little bird

About all the nice things
And day dreams

Make me a song

And make one about

All that went so wrong

Despair, crib, cry

Be a fool of your crimes

But don’t waste words

Trying to make them rhyme

Just sing at the top of your voice

Until the dogs come home

And when there is no one

Imagine me and sing alone

Don’t tell me what you want

Don’t tell me where you wish to be

Sing me to that place
And I shall know how it feels

ONE MORE DRINK

AT FIRST YOU TAKE THE DRINK.

It was a cold night. Damn cold one at that. Sending shivers down the spine of every man and woman in Mountr’eaf, a little hill somewhere in the shoulders of the great Himalayas. The easterly wind had made an early entry this year. Much to every one’s dismay, everyone except Rick. 

Rick had the capacity to escape from adversities (read failure)– from friendships to marriage to parent hood, he was unscathed by most of them, he never wanted to though, but that’s the other side of the story. Rick had resorted to drinking, most people thought of him to be an alcoholic. But that wasn’t true, Rick was never addicted to alcohol, just drinking. 

Much like yesterday, which like the day before and so on and so forth, today passed Rick like a flash of yesteryear’s memory. He had sat beside the fireplace at the bar-stand drinking the day away. But there was something different about the day, Rick felt. He thought as if he was forgetting some thing. He tried remembering it twice. Then gave up. Much like the way he had given up on his faded memory.

THEN THE DRINK TAKES THE DRINK.

It was his wedding anniversary. Seventh. Rick belonged to an affluent family, before he lost everything to a punctured family car business. Now he belonged to the bar away from wife Jane and children Robert and Hillary. He had not seen much of his family lately. They have given up on him he assumed. They assumed the other way.

It was drink after drink. And then one more drink. Until Rick finally realized that it was perhaps time to leave. The bartender sure was relieved. He reached the pocket of his overcoat to reach the 137 $ bill. But as he slipped his palm into the coat pocket he felt the touch of something unusual. He took out and put it up on the bar stand. He wasn’t inquisitive and decided to pay the bill first.

It was wrapped in gift paper. Rick felt a flash of memory in his forgetful mind. He opened the gift, they were some papers bundled together. He began to read one by one. As he was reading he realized now in full consciousness, he remembered it was his wedding anniversary, which one he couldn’t still recollect. As he read, his eyes started to water. He smiled – “Darling you remember, Happy Wedding Anniversary to you too.”

THEN THE DRINK TAKES YOU.

“Is everything alright, Sir?” The bartender inquired. “Yes. Everything’s fine. Just get me a pen.” “And one more drink.” The bartender looked puzzled but inquired no further. Rick took the pen and signed Rick Owen on the paper, at spots marked crossed.

Rick and Jane legally separated a year later.

A Decay of Time

     It was ten years since they had met. Ten years of separation. Ten years of longing. Ten years of resurfacing questions that meet their ends in a few more resurfacing questions. He didn’t know how he would react when he finally sees her, but he knew that that one moment would define the void of a decade.

It was one of the shadiest bars in the city that people say used to be a café many years ago. He was right there occupying the corner table wearing blue polo shirt and blue denims surrounded by drunks and losers only to be with her. Why they chose to meet there of all places was something only they could tell. He had reached there before time; he wanted to see how she looks when she is not looking at him. To kill time he kept shuffling between locking and unlocking his cellphone and looking at the door. Ironically, the moment she entered he was busy unlocking his cellphone. She stepped in with a 3 suitcases and 1 mini handbag wearing an orange kurta. She seemed like an Italian tourist looking for an Indian adventure, only she was not Italian and she was looking for anything but adventure. She still had a pretty face and the same beautiful smile, only there were wrinkles on her face, which added a sense of mystery to her already mysterious personality. Her radiant face almost resembled Meryl Streep of The Hours. Not surprisingly, she invited more than a few glances from the distinct crowd of the bar. His eyes glanced upon her and for a moment he felt like he had either frozen or melted, it was a distant yet familiar feeling for him and right in that moment he travelled back in time –ten years back.

She has a pretty face he thought to himself and wondered if asking her out would be a vain move. Pretty girls have boyfriends was the only norm of the city after all. But like most decisions in his life he let the moment decide, which is just the other way of saying that he did what he wanted. She was on her way back home from office and he followed her and started walking right beside her. And as she was about to wave for the cab, he asked her, “Have you ever been to a place where you are served only if they are little ‘twisted’?” She was awestruck by the place and asked, “What! What do you mean?” “It is a place where people are only allowed if they are crazy enough.” he said in a matter of fact tone. “How strange!” His initial move had worked, he had hit her with a reality that was so deviating that she completely forgot the fact that he was in fact asking her out. “I could take you there…that is if you want to” he said as if he is doing her a favour. “Are you sure you are not just screwing with me?” She asked him. He smiled, which seemed like the only apt reply to the rhetorical question she had just posed.

Two days later he took her out to a coffee joint that was as usual and predictable as an Irish pub without a liquor licence. She stepped in and looked at him, “So you were screwing with me?” “Only technically”, he cheekily replies. “What do you mean by technically?” “Well this is an pre-independence English café that now serves us Indians. Surely anyone who comes here is a little twisted.” he said with a broad smile. The comment was just about funny enough to bring a slight smirk on her face. And as they say, in friendship as in politics, humour can go a long way in making people forget the real agenda. 

They sat down on a corner table that was meant to serve four people, only the café didn’t have four people who wanted to be served. In a matter of minutes the waiter came to them with an elaborate menu and an eagerness of a kid. “What would you like to have sir…I mean madam?” She looked at the day’s special and asked, “Can you get me a potion of garlic breadsticks and a mayo dip to go with it?” The waiter with a hint of sympathy in his eyes looked at him and said, “I am sorry sir we don’t have garlic breadsticks, but we do have tea that people usually order when we don’t have garlic breadsticks.” She looked at him with a disgust that the British might have had felt if they ever returned to the café. “We would like to have two of it…thank you.” he ordered. “Would that be all?” the waiter dared ask. “That would be all.” she assured. She was not very good at displaying her emotions, all emotions other than disgust. She believed one must always display annoyance when one felt it. Jerks would never know that that they are jerks unless you showed them that they are in fact jerks, she would often say.

“So this is your idea of fun, haan?” she asked looking at him straight in the eye. “A writer that eats well is only half a writer.” he replied with a broader smile this time. “You are full of shit! I hope you know that.” she taunted. “My friends often tell me that, then they tell me that they love me still.” He said this and looked at her with an apparent bemusement. She understood what he was trying to infer, but then there is only so much one should infer on a first date she felt. Is it is a date was a notion she was still grappling with, but it was something she didn’t feel the need to clarify even to her self, the thought worried her a bit though.  

He was just ecstatic that he was with a girl as beautiful as her. This is all he needed to feel good; even the Bombay traffic couldn’t dampen his enthusiasm for a year at least. “Do you know that Mountbatten used to have tea here?” he said for the sake of getting the conversation started. “Really?” she enquired. “Yes Mountbatten came here all the time…especially during the time Nehru was doing his wife!” Great relationships often start with bad jokes. The waiter came back with the order – two cups of tea and a plate of complimentary khaari biscuits. They started sipping the tea and she said right after the first gulp,” Not bad.” He just smiled and with quaint satisfaction said,” Why don’t you dip khaari biscuit and see, it would all go to another level.” The look of annoyance that had disappeared from her face resurfaced. “So how does it feel to be a writer?” she asked. “Nothing great really, it sounds cool when I tell people what I do, but honestly I am not much of a writer.” he said. “Oh come on, surely you must be good at what you do for you to get paid for it.” she retorted. “Bad HR is why I get paid!” he replied nonchalantly. And they both broke into laughter. “I wish I could write…but then I wish I could fly too.” she said with a broad smile and raised her eyebrows. “Writing is much like flying…I suppose.” he said almost instinctively. But there was something in the way she looked at him back then, one could tell she had made the first presumption about him. What the presumption was, was something only she knew.

A good date is the one that ends in a second date. In that sense this one was quite desperate, she seemed non-committal, which only means one thing, she has a boyfriend. But she did agree to buy him pancakes, it seemed more like a pity date, he thought. But for him it was more like a wide ball outside the off stump and he wanted to go down the track and belt it for a boundary. So it was decided that they would meet some place, some day at convenient time. It simply meant that he would have to go through the ordeal of asking her out all over again.

Ten days passed by, the initial euphoria of having gotten to know her had now subsided and all he could think of how boring was he and all the things he shouldn’t have spoken with a girl like her. Capitalism, socialism, nihilism, truism all seemed fine but they should have never spoken about religion, he thought. He had to do something out of the blue, but something that would make him come across as someone who is matured - a thinking person, he concluded. The following day he went up to her desk and told her, “What the hell do you think of yourself…you arrogant brat!” She was dumbfounded by this sudden provocation thrown at her and without realising slapped him on his cheek. And in the spur of the moment she realised what she had done. “I am so so sorry…” she said “are you all right?” He knew she was right there where he wanted her,” “I would be much better if you apologised over pancakes!” he said rubbing his right cheek. He had an annoying presumptuous smirk on his face. She found it charming though.

Something about her had changed, ten years can change a lot of things one would say but it was something much deeper. It was perhaps the way she smiled. It was all the same, only it was not her. She saw him sitting at the corner seat playing with his cellphone. She didn’t ask him and went on and sat down to the seat opposite him. The moment had come, he was right there in front of her after a decade. He had thought of this moment many times before. In his imaginary situation he see himself shouting at her - ten years…where were you all this time…why didn’t you call…why didn’t you reply to my mails…and why after all this time have you come to meet me... But in reality when he saw her all he could manage was a bright helpless smile on his face. She smiled back. “Hi”, she reservedly said looking at the bar. He looked at her and said, “Do you know that Mountbatten used to come here to have tea here?” They both broke into sudden laughter to everyone’s bewilderment. It was the lie that broke the ice then, it was the lie that broke the ice now. It was the lie that was their truth and of everything between them. 

“So after all these years…we meet again.” he says in a measured tone. “After a decay!” she said. “Decay?” he wondered. “Oh! I meant decade.” she corrected herself. He smiled and asked, ”So what have you been up to?” “Nothing much, just here and there you know…just here and there.” she said. “Will I have to get you drunk?” he asked. “I have quit it...” she said and started laughing and then continued, “…but I can have wine!” He smiled and ordered a Chantilly Merlot for both of them. “You know speaking only when you are drunk is saying it all but not owning anything…it stands for lack of courage.” He said. She looked at him dismissively and looking into his eyes said, “So you think I need courage to speak with you?” He continued knowing truly well that what he would say would hurt her, “No…you are not afraid of saying things…only hearing them yourself.” “You don’t know me…you just thought you knew me…but there is nothing you know about me except for facts of course” she hurt him right back. But she could never disappoint him for some reason she was helpless in his company. And so she had a big gulp of wine, gasped and began to speak, “What do you want to know. I will tell you everything. I am still unmarried. I don’t have children. I don’t have a house. I have no savings. I have shifted jobs million times. And more cities than jobs. I am 39 years old and…and... Are you happy now?” She was always the type of person who could be shaken but not stirred. She seemed a bit stirred now.

Two of the most unlikeliest people had it seemed met their match. They hung out in bars, they hung out in concerts, they hung out on the streets with no way signs written over them. One could assume they were two birds in love but the fact was that they were just two lost souls looking to be free. And so their friendship blossomed into a relationship that can’t be defined. “Maybe you were my mother in the past life.” he remarked out of the blue one day in a cab while dropping her home. She looked at him in amusement wondering if it was a compliment or sarcasm on her growing age. “You know I am old!” she just said simply. This is one conversation he hated having with her. “Do you want me to reassure you, cause I can but really I don’t feel like doing that.” he said. She smiled, she knew what he meant by that and she nodded and said, Yes I would like it if you reassured me.” “You are not old you are just a very, very beautiful girl.” there was a distinct expression on his face while he said that, one that people have when they are out in malls looking at things they wish to own but cant afford. He dropped her home and hugged her for the first time. It was the first time he had touched her.

A lot of time had passed between the, but soon they were back to where they used to be. Amidst the gibberish and unexplained, they both poured their heart out like a glass of wine. He told her he was married and has a girl. He has a car. He has a house. He has a career. He had achieved his dream. And he told her he cried every night. “Ten years back I wanted it all and now I have it all, ironically what I want now is what I had ten years back.” He said almost inviting pity from her. But she could never pity him, she cared too much and so she gleefully smiled. That hurt him a bit. He was hoping for a reaction. He didn’t want her to be ecstatic or pleased. He wanted her to be upset. He wanted her to be very upset about the fact that he was happy in life.

Her smile and her awe cut through his heart, it was as if someone had smashed him in his face by sheer accident. It felt like he was still a quotient of amusement in her otherwise serious life – always important but never of any real consequence. “So you want me to lend you the money?” he said with a blank face. The smile on her face vanished completely. “Can you? she enquired. “Only if you tell me what do you need it for.” he said in a cold tone. I thought we had spoken about it…you shall not ask any questions and I shall not be expected to answer any of them.” she said. “I know what was decided…that you will get what you want.” he said it as if he was trying to infer something. She chose not to react. “You know we were never friends, you and I, if we were you would have come to me much before and wouldn’t think before telling me what was wrong with your life.” he said. “If we were friends you would have known what was wrong with my life and you wouldn’t have to ask.” she retorted as best as she could.  “All right can you at least tell me what happened that night, ten years back…the night I ceased to exist?”

Some relationships are about the future, some relationships are about the past. This one was the latter. They would meet for hours talking to each other. They would talk about childhood, about upbringing, about relationships, about regrets and music that is just not the same. However, what truly set their conversations apart was the fact that they both hated speaking the obvious, the mundane and about life. It had to be a point of view and not a descriptive. She would talk a lot, or so she felt but it was the one ‘unaccounted for’ she would never speak about. And it was this one pending conversation that would hurt him the most. Until one day she opened up, like a parachute in the sky during wartime.  

The one accounted for was a bastard was how she started describing him and those were the last words too. And he knew he could at best be a listener, never the topic in her life. Only a wartime contingency plan at best. He secretly wished she could hate him just as much some day as that would mean she loved him just as she loved him some day.

“You want the money for him don’t you?” he said mercilessly. “If you know, why do you ask…cant you leave me alone?” she said holding her tears back. “After ten years you can’t tell me to leave you alone, you said it that night and I left...I can’t leave you alone now…no” he said. “You always used to say never say no when you can say yes, what happened to that?” she asked like a kid. “I have changed!” he snapped back.

He placed the money, ten lakh rupees on the table and told her, “You owe me nothing, you don’t need to say anything.” Tears started trickling down her cheek and she looked at him and said,” I need it for him…I just need it...what part of it do you not understand?” “The one you don’t understand as well, I suppose.” he said hating himself for making her cry but he was only too careful not to show any outward emotion that she could latch on to. “He has a hole in his heart, I need to help him…I know he wasn’t there for me…I am angry for what my life has become… it could have been so much fairer…something I deserved after all I have been through…but life is not fair…all we can do is go with the flow and do what we must do…” it was like she was alone and talking to herself…I have tried to reason with myself…but I am helpless, some emotions cant be explained, they shouldn’t exist but they do…and you want to lock them but when you do…they only grow…more and more every day…and it has been 20 years now.” He looked straight into her eyes and asked with moist eyes, “And what about my heart?”

He placed the money on the table and left. She didn’t chase him. She just saw him leave as she did that night ten years back. She wanted to say something but it was too late. Again.

It was a peculiar night, the kinds that has a certain startle about them. These are the nights that you never forget. These are the nights you see a certain future. These are also the nights that you regret the morning later. He was expected to meet her at the seashore, she was strangely late and he was beginning to worry, which he always did for her. He started imagining her being there just to kill time. How things would be a decade later, he started to wonder if they will be in touch, will they meet, will they connect, will they be married, will they be married to each other, or will they be friends or two people who didn’t recognise each other except for their face. He was sure she was the one with the brighter future. Somehow he just couldn’t see her but happy. He imagined what it would be if he was a successful writer who was about to meet a pretty millionaire at the seashore exactly ten years later. How she would get off her Ferrari, wearing diamonds, looking like a dish and making him wait just like always. Then they jet off to an island, which he didn’t know existed. And there she would tell him that she wishes to make a movie out of one of his stories and he tells her that it would cost a lot. Perhaps a bit disappointed, she asks him, “How much?” and he would reply,” A dinner date in a shady bar?” And they both laugh. All of a sudden he snaps out of his magic realistic dream and sees her rush towards him. She looks at him and says, “I need to leave right away...I came to say goodbye…”

It felt as if someone had smashed him in his face by sheer accident. He didn’t know how he was supposed to react and before he could utter a word of disbelief she told him,” He needs me now…and that is all I can say…but I do wish to tell you…” he was enraged by the embarrassment of the moment, the turn of events, the twist of fate. Right at this moment he let his ego overpower him and left. He didn’t turn back. She just stood there hoping he would hear her completely at the very least. She didn’t chase him. She just saw him leave just as she said almost to herself, “But…I…”

Remember to Forget

There is no bigger curse in the world than to have an inquisitive mind that also suffers from amnesia. Dr. Freud was blessed with this curse in abundance. In fact, he was so forgetful that he had had six children by the time he completed four years of his marriage. He had once resigned and joined a corporation on the same day and twice lost thousand dollars for betting on the repeat telecast of a soccer match. He also had the privilege of being unceremoniously thrown out of a posh restaurant for mistaking his driving licence for his credit card.

Professionally, Dr. Freud had a distinct reputation of inventing and discovering things that are already invented and discovered. In a career spanning 33 years he invented telephone more than four times. In this time, he also invented radio, motor engine, gramophone; found cure for common cough; discovered radium and created penicillin. But what brought Dr. Freud unparalleled unpopularity from his peers was his theory of relativity. In his seven-hundred-page dossier he explained how time is relative, he cited how time spent with neighbour’s wife seems to run faster than the time spent with ones own wife. The doctor was inconsolable when he was told that the theory belongs to a scientist called Einstein and barring the example rest all remains the same. He was so furious by the revelation that he decided to invent a bomb using atoms of the particles and kill Einstein.

Needless to say, Dr. Freud’s memory had become somewhat of a standing joke in the fraternity but that never affected him for obvious reasons.  

The same however, could not be said about Mrs. Freud. While she loved borrowing money from her husband, she could find no joy in being humiliated in public because of his poor memory. She took pride in being one of the finest WOMS in the country (Wives of Mad Scientists) and felt that her husband’s reputation was affecting her standing too. 

She resolved to find a way out of the problem. In modern society a problem is hardly big enough if it doesn’t take you to a shrink at least once, and so she decided to go through the ordeal of opening up to yet another doctor in her life.

Dr. DS Pear also called Dr. Despair was a psychologist of repute, known for his unconventional and radical approach towards solving simple problems. It is said that he once prescribed Viagra to an old man to rid him off his headache.

He had a penchant for predicting his patient’s problems in a glance. His clientele boasted of some of the most popular figures from Hollywood.  And since they were very popular they were never revealed to the public. But it is believed Angelina Jolie is a regular and adopting hungry babies from third world countries is a part of the course she is taking.

The day Mrs. Freud went to see him, Despair was in an extraordinary mood. He ordered Hakka Noodles from his favourite Chinese joint and had even cleaned his cabinet. He was ready to clean minds, he declared to his assistant. Mrs. Freud had an appointment at 3’o clock sharp, which was pushed to 5’o clock and then rescheduled at 3’o clock again; Despair never imagined his cabinet would get cleaned so fast.

Finally as was scheduled, Mrs Freud entered the shrink’s office. As she stepped inside, Dr Despair started with pre-empting the problem that she had. He went on like a Thai Tuk Tuk without a brake. One thing that made Despair peculiar was his strange aversion to articles as he spoke. It was almost as if he had cleaned up and the a’s and the the’s from the cabinet of his vocabulary:

Mrs Freud, right?

Here because of problem

Problem that’s deep in nervous system

Problem of love, right?

You love first love still

Can’t run

Can’t hide

Can’t escape his love

But you married and

Husband very good cook, right?

You leave him you also leave his chicken preparations

And Sunday dinner

Now you know not what to choose

First love or chicken 52

Right?

After hearing the acute observations Despair had made, Mrs Freud had only one thing to say:

I am here for my husband not for the buffet!

Despair didn't know how to react. For the first time he couldn't read a person’s mind. Yet each time he looked at Mrs Freud he felt he was right but he didn't dare to say that.

So he did the next best thing, he let her do the talking.

Mrs Freud explained how her husband had a terrible memory. She explained how he forgot to put on his fly before he left home. She explained how she worries for him more than ever. And she explained how the sitcoms on TV are not as much fun anymore. She explained how their marriage was suffering because of her husband’s amnesia.

Despair heard with patience and came up with a simple conclusion. The TV networks need to hire better content writers as that would automatically mean better programming.

Dr Despair however had one question for Mrs Freud:

On a scale of one to ten, Mrs Freud, how desperate are you to solving this memory problem of your husband?

Mrs Freud:

Eleven!

Dr Despair:

Memory like discounted clothes madam

Once gone

No returning

Mrs Freud was upset until she heard Dr Despair’s plan. His half eaten words sounded like Neruda to her as he began to explain:

You don’t mind something radical

Right?

Dr Despair was holding in his hand a potion that he called ‘Do Not Drink Ever’ (DNDE). He handed over the bottle to Mrs Freud and explained her the dosage. One spoon of DNDE before lunch and one after dinner and Mr Freud would recollect even what happened a day before he was born, Despair exclaimed.

Mrs Freud (rather worried):

Then doctor why is it called ‘Do Not Drink Ever’?

Is it safe?

Does it have any side effects?

Dr Despair:

No side effects

Just one side effect

Your husband will remember everything!

Mrs Freud came home with lightness in her heart and a plan on her mind. She decided to get Mr Freud to cook his favourite food for a change and then while he is doing the dishes she would ask him to have a gulp of a little DNDE, she thought.

And as she was devising her holy plan she also started wondering about all the simple pleasures that DNDE would bring with it. Simple joy of being wished Happy Birthday on Birthday, not having to worry about where they parked the car, no more salted tea and definitely no more invented inventions!

She almost started joyfully singing to the little bottle as she poured a spoonful of DNDE in her husband’s brandy. Then she poured another spoon just to be sure.

The next morning Mr Freud was a changed man. In fact, he seemed to have changed so much that he almost seemed normal. He could figure out his toothbrush without anyone’s assistance. He didn’t forget to put down the toilet seats. He remembered to wear his trousers and wore matching socks. But most surprisingly for Mrs Freud, didn't kiss the maid goodbye!

And before leaving for work he said something he never did in 28 years of marriage. He said:

Mrs Freud how bout’ Chicken 52 tonight?

Mrs Freud was on seventh heaven. Her cheeks had gone red with thrill. After years of marriage, she finally felt like a married woman. She was glad that she could now walk into the social circles and bitch about her unhappy married life with certainty.

That evening was a well though out and planned event, Mr and Mrs Freud were supposed to have a quiet dinner and tell each other how they felt about each other. Mr Freud was supposed to articulate and since Mrs Freud was a lady she had an option of being abstract. After the Chicken 52 they were supposed to have some wine, not lots, and then groove to music by Ray Charles.

But what happened that night was quite unexpected.

As Mr Freud came home it was visible there was something going on in his mind, something that was very unlike him. He seemed upset, very upset.

As planned, the dinner began at seven sharp. Mrs Freud was dressed in gown and Mr Freud showed up in his tuxedos. The dinner began with salad followed by Chicken 52 with both of them enjoying the dinner as was discussed. All of a sudden Mr Freud broke his silence and said in an almost profound tone:

Could you pass me the fork!

Mrs Freud didn't know how to react and simply passed the fork.

He continued:

Darling do you think I am a fool?

I mean...I have to be... isn't it?

All my life I have invented things already invented

I have been a joke amongst those I take seriously

I have spent time on things Ii won’t remember

Mrs Freud was shocked life was never supposed to be the topic of discussion at the dinner table. Doctor however continued and looked at her:

And all my life I have love one woman...one woman who never loved me!

Mrs Freud:

Honey are you talking about Mrs Robinson?

 Or the maid?

Mr Freud:

I am talking about you

Mrs Freud:

But what happened?

Mr Freud:

I remembered

Mrs Freud:

What?

Mr Freud:

I reached office today and was glad I could find my place without any assistance

I was glad I could remember everything

But soon the happiness turned into sadness like a withering flower

As my memory started returning me the unwanted gifts of the past

I remembered how I have been a fool

An unsuccessful scientist

A joke, a laughing stock

But I could come to terms with that you know

But then I saw your picture on my table and

I remembered

Mrs Freud:

Remembered what Mr Freud?

Mr Freud:

How you didn't want to marry me

How I was not the one you were meant to be

How someone else was supposed to be sitting across the table to you and having the wine that my lips sip now

Mrs Freud:

But...

Mr Freud:

Please do not try to console me

The only pity a man deserves is that of a company

And that I have with you tonight

Mrs Freud:

Is something bothering you honey?

Is there a problem?

Mr Freud:

Yes

There is a problem

You still love your first love

Don’t you?

You can’t escape from the dungeons of your past

And even if you did

I am not the knight in shining armour

Mrs Freud:

What makes you say that after all these years?

Mr Freud:

You see Mrs Freud when one gets his memory after years

One remembers many things

And in so many ways one is back to the time from which he should have moved on long before

Mrs Freud:

And what is that time Mr Freud?

Mr Freud:

It is that time when you looked me in the eyes and lied for the first time

Mrs Freud:

The first time...

Mr Freud:

You said I love you

Mrs Freud was puzzled; she was not able to fathom the reality of the moment. She was caught unawares in the middle of a dream that she can’t wake herself from. And of course she doesn't like the dream, not anymore.

Mrs Freud:

But what did I do...

Mr Freud continued:

You flinched...

The quiet dinner ended abruptly like a war. Mr Freud surrendered to a long walk. Mrs Freud surrendered to the night. 

The following morning, Mrs Freud took a knife out of her kitchen cabinet and booked an appointment with Dr Despair at 3’o clock sharp.

Right on time, she reached straight to the doctor’s cabin.

Dr Despair was not at all surprised to see the angry Mrs Freud.

Dr Despair:

I wait for you 

You late

I thought you come before

Mrs Freud:

You scoundrel!

You pig!

What did you give my husband?

Our marriage is on the verge of ending

Dr Despair:

I give nothing

You give him

Mrs Freud:

I gave him what you asked me to give him

You said it would help

Dr Despair:

No, no Mrs Freud

I said he would remember!

Mrs Freud:

But you never told me it would lead to all of this!

Dr Despair:

Everything lead to anything Mrs Freud

And sometimes everything leads to nothing

Mrs Freud:

I don’t understand

Dr Despair:

Of course you don’t

No one does

But just because we don’t understand something doesn't mean we don’t suffer it

In fact, we often suffer what we don’t understand

Mrs Freud:

Like?

Dr Despair:

Like marriage!

Mrs Freud:

So what should I do now?

Dr Despair:

A humorous story turn into serious

When you don’t take it with seriousness that humorous story deserve

He continued:

You see Mrs Freud it was never your husband

Your marriage was suffering

Not because he won’t remember

It suffered because you couldn't forget

Always remember to forget Mrs Freud

There is no potion for that!

)Now Open To Prose(

She says
She doesn't care
But I know that she does
Why else would she say:
She doesn't care

She is like a short story of four acts

A rose that smells more like a daffodil

A building that looks strong but is really weak

A winter’s night in the midsummer’s dream

She is a riddle that is solved twice

She defends her wrongs more than her rights

And on every turn she pauses for a sight

She is a humming bird in the month of May

Lifetime of happiness but always one smile away

She is someone who is happy to be understood

But happier when misunderstood

She is something and nothing, a contradiction

Carefully wrapped into a conclusion

You beg her to leave, she will stay

Slight inference that she stays with you

Is all it takes to send her packing away… 

No maybe

No more let’s see

There is too much lost

Between what I saw

And what I see

There is no bridge over the water

And think we both know you can’t swim

But you can tell me no

Or leap into eternity

Have a drink and tell me

Your reality now

Or tell me what dreams can mean

No more let’s see

No maybe 

I wish I could create music. Just perform. Simply play something, anything. Carelessly blow the flute. Strum an old guitar. Or snap at a piano. Fill up the room with my state of mind. Writing is so hard, especially when one is trying to escape his mind. The more you run away from a fact. The closer you would find it, laced in a situation or an expression . Nothing is fiction, no matter how unreal you make it. Little bit of reality always seeps through the thin imaginary holes in the paper. And the writer is left with this unsettling regret, why did I ever pick up the pen, why didn’t I pick up a flute or a guitar or a piano instead.

Payphone

I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you
Where have the times gone, baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?

Yeah, I, I know it's hard to remember,
The people we used to be...
It's even harder to picture,
That you're not here next to me.

You say it's too late to make it,
But is it too late to try?
And in our time that you wasted
All of our bridges burned down

I've wasted my nights,
You turned out the lights
Now I'm paralyzed,
Still stuck in that time,
When we called it love,
But even the sun sets in paradise

I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you
Where have the times gone, baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?

Oh, you turned your back on tomorrow
'Cause you forgot yesterday.
I gave you my love to borrow,
But you just gave it away.

You can't expect me to be friend,
I don't expect you to care
I know I've said it before,
But all of our bridges burned down

I'm at a payphone trying to call home
All of my change I spent on you
Where have the times gone, baby it's all wrong
Where are the plans we made for two?

If "Happy Ever After" did exist,
I would still be holding you like this
All those fairy tales are full of shit
One more fucking love song, I'll be sick.

The Great Gatsby

 

It’s a different book tonight

It’s the one I never read

It’s the one that’s be there too long on the list

The pages are glued

The edges soiled

The words get duller with every line

It’s a story about a rich man

With a poor past

A story about having it all

With a pinch of loss

He wants her back

But she is mine

Or so the character feels

Alone with everyone

At ease on his own

After years he realises he is still the same

A wild strawberry in the forest

That can be carelessly plucked

But must be eaten with a lot of care

   The One by Daniel Beddingfield
 

If you’re not the one then why does my soul feel glad today?
If you’re not the one then why does my hand fit yours this way?
If you are not mine then why does your heart return my call
If you are not mine would I have the strength to stand at all

I'll never know what the future brings
But I know you're here with me now
We’ll make it through
And I hope you are the one I share my life with

I don’t want to run away but I can’t take it, I don’t understand
If I’m not made for you then why does my heart tell me that I am?
Is there any way that I can stay in your arms?

If I don’t need you then why am I crying on my bed?
If I don’t need you then why does your name resound in my head?
If you’re not for me then why does this distance maim my life?
If you’re not for me then why do I dream of you as my wife?

I don’t know why you’re so far away
But I know that this much is true
We’ll make it through
And I hope you are the one I share my life with
And I wish that you could be the one I die with
And I pray in you’re the one I build my home with
I hope I love you all my life

I don’t want to run away but I can’t take it, I don’t understand
If I’m not made for you then why does my heart tell me that I am
Is there any way that I can stay in your arms?

‘Cause I miss you, body and soul so strong that it takes my breath away
And I breathe you into my heart and pray for the strength to stand today
‘Cause I love you, whether it’s wrong or right
And though I can’t be with you tonight
You know my heart is by your side

Paas hai par duur bhi

Aaj main khush hoon toh bohut

Lekin majboor bhi

Teri yaad ke sahare sona padega

Tu saath hai phir bhi

Kuch aisi baat kar

Kuch aisi baat kar

Ke main muskura doon

Ya keh de jhoot moot kuch yun hi

Paas hai par duur bhi… 

It was a moment in a moment in a moment

No more, no less

Frail, delicate, subtle like a heartache

But it was there

It touched both of us briefly

And then it left

I tried many times

To capture it

Like a bird each time it escaped

When I spoke about it

It sang noise

When I wrote about it

It flapped its wings and spilled the ink

When I tried to think about it

It escaped into oblivion

It is only when I let it be

It came and sat next to me

Just as she did…

 

By Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.