PORN – PART II

Dilatation and curettage

She walks inside the gloomy corridor of a dilapidated building in the secluded corner of the street. She goes to the counter and addresses a stocky dark man sitting there with muck in his nails and moles on his face. He speaks very little and works only by gestures. He gives her a slip and indicates her to sit in the place provided by raising his right eyebrow. She crumples the polythene bag which she is carrying along between her thighs and crushes the piece of paper in her left hand. She walks in a direction opposite to the counter, moving hardly 10 steps and grabs a seat on the left. She settles herself and wipes the sweat on her forehead with one end of her yellow sari. She attempts to open the crushed piece of paper in her left hand and looks for the number written on it. Its 127. She looks all around and finds almost 200 women with bloated bellies with a similar piece of paper in their hands, waiting for their turn. The man on the counter shouts a number after every five minutes and every time a lady gets up from the end, goes inside the room next to the counter and another lady with a bloated belly comes out from inside the room. Sometimes it’s a happy lady. Sometimes it’s a sad lady. And sometimes a lady goes inside and doesn’t come out for hours. The man shouts 120. She starts getting up. Then a lady sitting by her side tells her that it’s not her turn. She feels thirsty and asks for a glass of water from the man on the counter. He raises his eyebrow to indicate the water cooler installed in the end of the corridor. She walks towards it, quenches her thirst and returns to her place. She sits down, closes her eyes and goes to sleep. Then the man shouts 127. He doesn’t see anybody getting up and going inside. He shouts again. She gets up in surprise, hesitatingly and almost stumbling on her way to the counter. The man looks at her with disgust while she crosses him and gets inside the room.

She keeps her polythene bag in the corner of the floor. A middle-aged bulky woman dressed in a white sari grabs her arm, almost crushing her fingers inside her flesh, takes her to the bed, gives her a white towel and tells her to lie on the bed. She lies on the stinking white bed sheet with stains of blood and mucus all over. The woman in white sari holds her legs, raises them, takes them apart and places them on either side of the bed, almost touching her abdomen. On her right side she sees a big machine with a small screen, a probe with a long handle and a panel with numerous buttons of various shapes and sizes. A tall man wearing a white coat and spectacles with a rectangular frame appears from behind the machine, grabs the handle of probe in the right, clutches a bottle of gel in his left hand, places it upside down, squeezes out the gel on the round of the probe, smears it all over and drops the bottle on the table. He then orders her to take a deep breath and inserts the probe inside her vagina without any prior notice. She closes her eyes and cries in pain. He rotates the probe inside for five minutes, slowly and carefully while watching the images on the screen. Then he takes out the probe, clicks a button on the panel and begins writing on a paper. He gives her the paper, lowers himself to the level of the bed and whispers in her ears. Then both of them converse quietly for few minutes. She gives a final nod and gets up from the bed. The woman in white sari grabs her right arm and takes her to another room behind the machine.

The woman in white sari hands her over to another similar woman in white sari. She is told to remove all her clothes including the undergarments. She undresses herself. Then the woman in white gives her a torn green gown and a mask to wear. She wears the gown and follows the woman. She walks down a long cold corridor with doors and doors on either side and sees lot of people wearing similar gowns and masks on their face. She is taken inside one of the rooms. The room is cold, made up of four bare cemented walls with a naked steel bed placed in the center. It stinks of flesh, blood and dead rats. The woman in white tells her to lie down similarly as she lied before on the scanning table. As soon as she lies down, a group of five people, men and women, dressed in green gowns with masks on their face rush inside. She is then asked to turn to one side with thighs touching her chest. A syringe is loaded and injected in her backbone. She cries in pain. She is switched in her previous position after five minutes and her arms are strapped on the side rests of the bed tightly with a Velcro tape. The people surround her from all sides. Two of them stand on either side of her breasts. Other two stand holding her both the legs. And the fifth one stands between her legs. He looks at the trolley on his right. He examines it carefully to make sure. He then takes some gel on first two fingers of his right hand and inserts them inside the vagina. He takes them out and mutters something to his assistant on the left. He then starts inserting metal dilators of increasing diameters inside her cervical canal, pushes them inside one by one until he is able to dilate it sufficiently enough for the rest of the procedure and finally places them back on the trolley. He then takes a curette and inserts it inside her vagina. He scrapes it all around against the walls of her uterus and continues doing it for five minutes. He finally takes it out and places it in a kidney tray. He inserts his fingers again for the last time and gives it a wash with warm saline. He reassures her and advises her to take the prescribed medicines for few days. She is then transferred to a stretcher and taken to the adjoining room. She rests there for some time. Then the woman in white sari comes to her with a kidney tray in her right hand and shows it to her. She raises her head, takes a look at it and turns her face to other side. A tear rolls down her eye and she sobs in the silence of the room.

Some pieces of dead, blood stained flesh, worth few grams, removed from inside her body were lying inside the kidney tray. They were dead. And they had been removed from her body. Forever and for good.

They say it was a girl. And it weighed 300 grams.

मौत - भाग २

कई बार सोचता हूँ,

फिर सोच के मुस्कुराता हूँ,

और मुस्कुराते हुए कहता हूँ

कि नहीं हो सकता,

ऐसा कभी नहीं हो सकता,

भला ऐसा भी हुआ है कभी,

मैं भी कितना पागल हूँ,

फिर लगता है सोचने में

क्या हर्ज़ है,

कौन सा सोच पे कोई क़र्ज़

लगता है,

सोच भी अपनी है,

वक़्त भी अपना है,

और ज़िन्दगी भी अपनी ही

तो है,

सपना ही मान लेते हैं

चलो इसे,

सपने तो होते ही ऐसे हैं,

हकीकत और ज़िन्दगी से

कोसों दूर,

अपनी ही दुनिया में मस्त,

फिर भी उन्हें देखने का अपना

ही मज़ा है,

सच न हुए तो क्या,

एक उम्मीद तो रहती है न,

कि काश कभी ऐसा हो जाये,

ज़िन्दगी नई सी लगती है,

धुली हुई,

साफ़ सुथरी,

शहर के धुंए से दूर,

कहीं किसी गाँव में बसी हुई…

ऐसा ही कुछ सोचा है मैंने,

कहना चाहो तो कह सकते

हो एक सपना,

कि मौत अगर ज़िन्दगी से पहले

आ जाए तो कैसा होगा,

ज़िन्दगी ही ज़िन्दगी होगी,

बिना किसी ख्वाहिश के,

बिना किसी खौफ के,

और बिना किसी सरहद के,

मुक्त,

मदहोश,

खुशहाल,

अंतहीन,

ज़िन्दगी

सच में,

मौत अगर ज़िन्दगी से पहले

आ जाये तो कैसा होगा,

ज़िन्दगी सिर्फ ज़िन्दगी होगी,

बिना किसी अंत के,

बिना किसी लक्ष्य के,

और बिना किसी सहारे के,

नग्न,

वीरान,

उदास,

अधूरी,

ज़िन्दगी,

सिर्फ ज़िन्दगी…

सच में,

मौत अगर ज़िन्दगी से पहले

आ जाये तो कैसा होगा...

मौत - भाग १

छुपी पड़ी है
न जाने कबसे,
ढूंढ रहा हूँ
इधर उधर,
पलक झपकते ही
छुप जाती है
न जाने किधर,
कहीं कोने कुदरे में
दब गयी हो गयी
शायद,
रख कर भूल भी
तो जाता हूँ अब,
किताबें हटा
के देखूँगा कल,
देखना वहीं होगी
और झांक रही होगी
मुझको,
जहाँ पढ़ते पढ़ते
छोड़ा था उसी पन्ने
की दरीचों में,
नटखट है,
नादान भी,
कठिन है,
कठोर भी,
रूठ जाए तो
मनाये भी नहीं
मानती,
जिद्दी है,
आखिर मुझपे ही तो
गयी है न,
आवाज़ देता हूँ तो
बोलती है कि
अभी नहीं आऊँगी,
गुस्सा होता हूँ तो
पलट के
पल्लू झटका के कहती
है कि देखलूँगी
वक़्त आने पर,
एक दिन रूठ कर
दरवाज़ा तोड़ के जो
भागी थी घर से,
घंटों तरसता रहा
था खिड़की पे
बैठे बैठे,
कि गली के मोड़ से आती जब
नज़र आएगी तो
खूंटे से बाँध
दूँगा उसे और
अपना बनाके रखूँगा
उम्र भर,
उम्र बीत गयी,
दरवाज़ा आज भी
उसकी उम्मीद में खुला
पड़ा है,
और खिड़की से जब भी बाहर
नज़र घूमाता हूँ तो
लगता है जैसे वोह आ रही है,
पर ऐसी है यह कमबख्त
कि आती ही नहीं,
बड़ी ही अजीब चीज़ है
सच में,
ऊपर वाले ने भी
बहुत सोच समझ के
वक़्त से बनाई है,
कि जितना चाहो फिर भी
नहीं आती
कभी
यह मौत…

PORN – PART I

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Funeral fashion (Rating: xxx)

It’s a proud moment of my life. Years of hard work. Seemed to be an unending struggle till yesterday. Today I am a graduate. A professional. A bread earner for my family. There were too many options. I could have chosen anything. After all I was brilliant. A gifted child. There were lots of retaliations. Mother didn’t spoke to me for 6 months. It’s too difficult a profession especially for the people who are not used to. But I always wanted to do this. I was simply excellent. Today she sees me perform. She feels proud. I have achieved what I aspired for. I am a professional now. A professional mourner.

It seemed impossible in the beginning. Lakhs of candidates. Disturbing questions. Tough interviews. But I passed them all. And got into the All India Academy for Mourners. Best in India and one of the finest in the world. Hundreds of lectures. Demonstrations. Vigorous training sessions. But I sailed through all. We were made to sleep on the marble ground under the scorching sunlight in the months of June. We were stripped and beaten with iron rods on our backs in the middle of night. We were shown the horrifying visuals of blasts, explosions, accidents, wars, murders, suicides, rapes and foeticides. And were asked to cry in unison till the bell. Since it has become almost impossible to cry nowadays. So we were taught to fake it. The most difficult part was the one when we were asked to do it instinctively without any stimulus. It was hard. But we had to do it. And we did it. In the end we became really good mourners. And I was the best of them all. I could fake it like anything. There are other colleges also which train the students to fake other emotions. The students are taught to fake smile, disgust, hatred, anger, passion, sadness, jealousy and all other kinds of sentiments. They are taught to laugh and shout. They are taught to express rage and jealousy without being obvious. They are trained how to be nice and behave with parents, relatives and friends. But everybody accepts that faking a cry and mourning is the most difficult of them all which I finally managed to excel.

So people started calling me to the funerals to fake it. Nowadays funerals are very large scale organized events. People really look forward to attending such kinds of mournful proceedings. They gather from everywhere in flashy clothes. Women wear gaudy make-up, heavy jewellery and dress up in designer stuff. All the people who gather try their best to fake it. But since they can’t do it so professionals are called to mourn and help them cry. Once I was called by the governor of the state to mourn on his father’s funeral. I went there and performed for nearly two hours. Everybody was damn impressed and they valued my art and genius. I was given a handsome amount as a token of appreciation. Then I was also called to the Mayor’s funeral. Mayor’s wife was trying too hard but she was not able to cry. I took her to the corner and taught her the basics hurriedly. The tears started rolling down her eyes. I had taught her the art of faking. After all it’s a fake world and one must know to fake everything. She was so impressed that she gave me a contract to perform at every funeral of their family and relatives. Last month I was called to the funeral of an army officer. I was hesitant to go first but then made up my mind. It was a real big event and everybody was expecting something unusual at the occasion. So I decided to go a step further. I performed the mourning dance and danced for almost about an hour around the funeral pyre. I was given a salute by the royal fraternity of Indian army. In the end army band was played in the honour of my performance. I was really happy. I had become a renowned mourner of the state. I was too confident and thought I could fake it anytime and anywhere in the world.

It was getting a bit monotonous. So I decided to visit mom and dad. I had earned a lot of money and was going to give it to my mom. I purchased a lot of stuff for everybody. I was too happy to be home after such a long time. Father was also proud at my success and gifted me a golden watch. We had dinner together and then I went to sleep.

Next morning I went to see my mother. She was lying in bed with a blanket over her face. I removed the blanket and turned her face towards me. She was dead. Her blank white face was staring at me. I was dumbfounded and taken a back. I shouted and felt like crying.

My mother’s funeral was organized. Since I myself was a professional mourner, nobody was called from outside to perform. So I was asked to give a performance. I got up and took a breath. I had mourned at many funerals. And had even taught people to cry. I could fake it anytime I supposed. Thousands of people had gathered to see a professional mourner performing at his own mother’s funeral. Many of them had seen me perform earlier. So they knew my competence and genius. They expected it to be a hell lot of fun. People pushed and cheered me hard. They even ripped my clothes. I stood there motionless making a deliberate attempt to break. I scratched myself. Even lifted a stone from the ground and began hitting my head hard. Blood started dripping. I could watch it falling on the ground. People started abusing me. I lifted the white cloth from my mother’s body. Grabbed her face and shrugged it violently. Then kissed her and covered it again.

But being a professional mourner I couldn't perform at my own mother’s death. The crowd was really disappointed.

I tried hard but just couldn’t do it.

I couldn’t mourn. I couldn’t fake it.

तुम...

एक तनहा शाम का
वादा है तुमसे,
सूरज की गरमी और
रात की ठंड में
घुली हुई
कुछ ऐसी शाम का,
थोड़ा मुश्किल है
शायद नामुमकिन भी,
कभी इस डर से
सहम भी जाता हूँ
अकेले बैठे हुए,
पर यह मन है कि
उलझता जाता है हरपल
और कुछ ऐसे ही
नामुमकिन वादे कर
बैठता है तुमसे,
जिनके टूटने से ज़्यादा
पूरा होने से डरता हूँ मैं,
शायद अधूरापन
अपना सा लगने लगा है अब…

सफ़ेद कपड़े पहने
खुले बालों में
दूर से आती
एक सपने जैसी लगती थी तुम,
वोह सच में तुम थी
या तुम्हारी कल्पना,
इस उलझन को सुलझाने की
कोशिश में
लगा हुआ हूँ कबसे,
सुलझाते सुलझाते
खुद एक उलझन बन गया
हूँ मैं,
“तुम्हारे ज़िंदा रहने
का एहसास हूँ”,
ऐसा कहा था इक
दिन तुमने मुझसे
और ढलते सूरज के
नशे में,
सब सच मान लिया
था मैंने,
सच और झूठ के
बीच का फासला
कितना फीका होता है
अब जान पाया हूँ शायद…

शाम की तपती नरम रेत पर
बैठे हुए
सागर की लहरों में
गीले होते,
और घंटों तक
आनेवाले कल की
मंज़िलें तय करते रहते,
तन तो घर जाते ही
सूख गया था लेकिन,
पर मन आज भी तुम्हारे
होने के एहसास से
गीला पड़ा है तब से…

सोया नहीं था उस रात,
जब मेरे हाथ का अधूरा चाँद
अपने हाथ से पूरा किया था तुमने,
उस लम्हे को कैद कर
तकिये के नीचे रख दिया
था मैंने,
बिस्तर पर उस रात की
करवटें आज भी बिखरी पड़ी
हैं तबसे,
सब कुछ वैसा का वैसा
अधूरा अधूरा पड़ा है…

बस एक तनहा शाम का
वादा है तुमसे,
सफ़ेद कपड़े पहने,
खुले बालों में आते
देखना चाहता हूँ तुमको,
जल्दी जल्दी में,
मेरे चाँद का टुकड़ा
अपने साथ ले गयी थी तुम,
और मैं कई पहर इंतज़ार
करता रहा था तुम्हारा,
अब भी अधूरी चांदनी बिखरी
पड़ी है मायूस मेरे हाथों में,
लोग कहते हैं
कि तुम नहीं आयोगी,
और ऐसी उम्मीद करना भी पागलपन है,
कभी तो लगता है
कि एक सपना देख रहा हूँ मैं,
फिर लगता है सब झूठ है,
सब धोखा है,
और शायद यही एक सच है,
कि तुम नहीं आओगी,
तुम कभी नहीं आओगी…

HOLLOW - PART III

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Tree

I planted a tree in my room. Few days back. Since it could not be planted outside. In the cozy comfort of my room, I installed it just next to my bed. Protected from sun, wind, water and other climatic hazards. Neon light of my room provided energy to the tree. Air conditioner which I purchased last year was a constant source of air exchange and chlorofluorocarbons required for the growth and survival of the tree. I also used to breathe into it few hours a day. For this purpose I even carved a small hole in the bark of the tree. I was concerned about the water supply. In the beginning I started watering it with tap water. But soon the roots became shriveled and dead due to the acidic content of the water. So I had to switch onto my own body fluids including urine, saliva and sweat. They were also acidic but less acidic than the drinking water. Within few days it showed a phenomenal growth. I consulted a lot of experts about the fertilizers. I spent thousands on purchasing some of them. Even started nourishing it with these artificial nutrients. But with experience I realized that there is nothing like human shit. Even animal shit proved to be a very good source. Gradually I started experimenting with other sources of nourishment. Once I found a dead dog lying in the street. Somebody had crushed it under his speeding vehicle. I brought it home. Tore it apart into smaller pieces. Further crushed those pieces into finer ones in the grinder. Mixed those pieces with my body fluids and made a thick paste out of them. Applied the paste in the roots and buds of the tree. Within few days the tree grew numerous branches and even bore fruits. I had to even break one of the walls of my room to give space to the growing tree. I was really happy. I had developed a father son relationship with my tree. Watching it grow inch by inch was a pleasure in itself. The tree became a voracious carnivore very soon. I started feeding it with chicken and meat. It became greener, taller and bulkier. People used to visit my house to have a look at the tree. It had been decades since they saw a phenomenon like this. After all nobody grows trees nowadays. They grow only buildings made up of bricks and cement. Anyways, within few days the tree dropped its first ever fruit on my bed. I was sleeping at the time. It hit my head and I woke up with surprise. I celebrated my success and tasted the fruit. I heard about fruits during my school days and even tasted one at my grandma’s place many years ago. But since then it had been a dream. Tasting it almost for the first time in my life was a delightful experience. Though it had no taste at all but it was indeed very rich and healthy. I had found an alternate source of business of selling fruits. I grew prosperous day by day. All was going well. But all good things come to an end someday. I was out of town for two days. It started raining heavily and within few hours turned into a storm. The water flooded into my building.

I returned home happily. I had made good money during these two days by signing important contracts. As I opened the front door, I found everything soaked in water. I immediately ran to my bedroom. And found that the tree had turned all yellow. The sulfuric and nitric acid of rain water had burnt and damaged the roots of the tree. The parched leaves and branches were lying dead scattered on the floor. The dream was over.

People say nature destroyed my tree.

I remain silent and think... it's time...

HOLLOW - PART II

THE ROYAL BLUE CARPET

I happened to meet him on a gloomy street yesterday evening. He was walking 10 steps ahead of me. It was dark, darkening with every step we were taking ahead. It was very quiet, even though thousands of vehicles were passing every second. I don’t remember the moment I started following him. I don’t remember what the hell happened that I started walking beside him and even accompanied him to his apartment. We were walking together but he didn’t take notice of it. I thought he was up to something. He walked at a constant steady calculated pace. I could hardly see his face in dark. Everything seemed animated and programmed. He opened the door and we were inside his apartment. As we entered, there was a big, dark drawing room welcoming us. The floors and the walls were heavily carpeted and the roof was made up of dotted asbestos sheet. They were all painted in royal blue. The house was absolutely sound proof. We could hear each other breathe. There was total silence. It appeared if I had entered a different planet. There were very few things filling up the drawing room. A small, circular table of steel and glass in the centre of room, one large, heavily cushioned sofa stuck to the wall and a small primitive television set of 60’s stuck to the opposite wall. Everything appeared clean and empty. And the clock on the wall had stopped ticking. There was a small bulb illuminating the entire room. I could barely see the other end. There was a small, dark passage leading to some other room, may be the living room. He lived alone. His name was Paul Anderson. He was born in 2057, graduated in 2076. It was all written in a framed graduation photograph on the wall, in black and white. Soon after, he undressed himself, removed his socks and shoes, switched on the television set, prepared a cup of coffee and settled himself on the sofa. This was probably the first time I could see his naked face clearly, as he sat facing the dimly lit bulb on the opposite wall.

He was different. Something strange. He had scanty blonde hair on his large, round head merely covering the scalp. There were no eyebrows above his small, mongoloid eyes. He didn’t blink. His eyes were blue and still. They were absolutely blank. He had a little remnant of nose, small lips with no features and almost no ears. There were holes on either side of his face with a small skin tag covering the opening. He had a prominent, scarless face. It was white, scary white. For a moment, I felt as if his face would rotate and laugh at me. There was absolutely no trace of hair on his naked body. He had thin large hands with lean, long fingers. He had slender physique and a flat belly. He had a rudimentary, minute stalk like penis with pea-sized testicles covered by small, flaccid scrotal sacs almost like a hermaphrodite. He had thin legs with no fat in thighs and calf muscles. He had thin long feet with no anatomical arches, almost like flippers, making them rest absolutely flat on the carpeted floor.

He moved very little, as if every muscle is programmed previously to move a calculated distance. There was an air of divine silence around him, frightening, deafening, astonishing. He was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and remote control in other. He showed very little movement as he brought the cup of coffee near his lips. I could hear him take a sip of coffee and bring it down his throat. He changed channels with another. He was gawking at the television set. To my surprise, when I looked there was actually nothing running on TV. There were only blank colored vertical lines on every channel he flipped with a caption in black and bold, “INCONVENIENCE IS REGRETTED”. It almost scared me to death. I touched him to make sure he was alive. There was no response. I poked him with a knife. He just blinked twice. He was definitely alive. But as good as a dead. I called him with his name. He didn’t respond at all. I even managed to shout. But he was still as always. I brought my ears close to his chest to listen him breathe. He was breathing very slightly. His chest moving few millimeters with every puff of inspired air. It was like a naked piece of flesh lying on the dead couch with few last breaths in his account. He was completely impassive to any kind of visual, auditory or tactile stimulus. I even shut down his TV to evoke some kind of response from that piece of dead flesh. He blinked again and kept on flipping channels. I wanted to go inside and search but I was scared to death. Just the idea sent shivers down my skin. After a while he finished his coffee and carefully kept the cup on table so as not to make a noise. After a while I saw him peeing sitting there on the sofa. He urinated beads of a red jelly like transparent substance of exactly the same length and width. They traveled beautifully down the stream, from his rudimentary phallus, falling like gems on the couch and finally embracing the royal blue carpet. The substance disappeared from the scene completely after few seconds. I thought it was there to stay but it was like a magic.

He sat there completely frozen for about an hour. I stood there in the corner, watching his slightest activity, motionless. Thereafter he finally stood up, walked towards the corner and settled down on the carpet with his chest facing the roof. For sometime he kept staring at the roof. Then suddenly he shut down his eyes and went to sleep. He was absolutely quiet. There was not even a slightest movement of his chest. I decided to disappear from the scene. I looked around to make sure there was nobody. As I tossed my eyes across the room, I stopped at the graduation photograph of Paul Anderson. He was dressed in all black with a piece of folded paper in his hands along with 20 other similar guys. As I looked carefully, all of them looked absolutely similar to one another. All of them had blank, blue eyes on a big animated, white face with small lips and no ears. They were like copies of one another with different names mentioned at the bottom of the photograph. It was hard to believe. 20 odd guys with similar face but different names.

How the fuck is it possible? Am I in a different time frame? Or am I in a different zone all together? Or am I doped? There is definitely wrong somewhere. But how can it be figured out? With these questions I managed to slip from his apartment. I ran as fast as I could, holding myself not to look back. Finally I reached my place, opened the door and looked in the mirror to make sure everything was in place. For a moment I saw the face of that mysterious man in my mirror. I shut down my eyes and looked again. It was me there, staring myself as if it was the first time. I picked up that day’s newspaper and found it was year 2010. I shut down the system and went to sleep. I didn’t know if I was going to be so alien and cold but one thing was sure I had decided to revisit him the following day.

HOLLOW - PART I

House

I have built a house. With rooms. A big house. With many rooms. A room for me and my wife. A room for kids. A room for mom. A room for guests. A room for maid. A room to sleep. A room to fuck. A room to shit. A room to wash. A room to dress. A room to play. A room to study. A room to think. A room to see. A room to listen. A room to speak. A room to shout. A room to cry. A room to laugh. A room to eat. A room to smoke. A room to drink. A room so warm. A room so cold. A big room. A small room. A red room. A white room. A dark room. Just rooms and rooms and rooms. Sometimes I get lost. Moving from one to another. Sometimes I enter the wrong one. But soon I realize. What a mistake I have made. Because it’s just not possible. To stay in that room. When you really want to go to another. Once I went to the room to fuck. And realize that I couldn’t think. Another time I went to the room to eat. And realize that I couldn’t speak. I also went to the room to see. And realize that I couldn’t listen. It’s very confusing. I get irritated sometimes. I keep on tossing from room to room. But I never enter the right one. I tried to label the rooms. I thought it would solve the issue. So I was looking for the room to laugh. But when I found it I had nothing to laugh. Then I looked for the room to smoke. The moment I found it I wanted to drink. Along my journey I felt an urge to shit. But when I found it I wanted to sleep. I got frustrated. I wanted to shout. But when I found it I had nothing to shout. The labeling failed. But somebody gave me a navigator. It’s the latest. And considered to be very precise. So I wanted to go to the room of my kids. I reached well. But since I was looking all into it I stumbled in the toys. Then I wanted to go to my own room to meet my wife. I started but realized that the battery had discharged. Somehow I got it charged. But when I reached my room she had gone to sleep. Frustrated as ever I went to the room to think. Reached well but just couldn’t think at all. Then I went to the room to cry. When I reached I tried but failed to cry. I just wanted to die. But realized that there is nothing such room in the big house.

Now I Wish I could have made one.

A room to live.

And a room to die…