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…

Indian Woman And Her Lost Appetite...Part III

A page from the dairy of a woman...

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Warning: Dr. Meenakshi is 35 years old, famous Dermatologist of Mumbai running a successful private set up since last six years, married to a general surgeon and comfortably settled in the city. This is an extract of her daily diary. But she is work of fiction. So are other characters mentioned in this extract. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely co-incidental and unintentional.

01 march, 2011

0300hrs

Hmm…I knew he was going to come. It was all in mind, etched and clear like a beautiful dream. I just couldn’t resist the thought of him. He came and settled there. From nowhere. I woke up early. Took a long bath. Washed my hair. Dried them. Wore the costliest perfume I had in my cupboard. Dressed up in blue. Just to match his blue jeans. He seems to be very fond of this…color…kind of stuck to it. Haven’t seen him wearing anything else… but… blue. Felt elated when I saw his name in the appointment book. Got settled for a while. Just to make sure. Took a deep breath. It was too difficult. I was like losing myself. I grabbed my neck. Eased a bit and rang the bell. And he was there the next moment. In blue jeans and white shirt. Tall, fresh with pimples on his face. Hmm…seemed to have increased in number compared to his last visit. It’s too difficult to get hold of these hormones. Prescribed some new medicines and lotions. Gave him next month’s appointment. And bid him goodbye. He was gone. Felt as if he is never going to come again. Thought of calling him, shouting his name. But it was just not possible. How could I? Being a doctor, a married woman and a mother of two daughters. He was just a patient who tickled me and made me believe that I was there. Very much there. Kicking and alive. Anyways I finished the OPD and had lunch with Karishma. She hasn’t changed a bit. We did our dermatology post-graduation together from Manipal. We were meeting after 2 long years. Meanwhile, she got married and got divorced after six months of her wedding. Aborted a child with her previous husband. And madam is in a relationship again. With her husband’s childhood friend. I just can’t believe her sometimes. She is so unpredictable. You would have seen the glow on her face. Felt as if she were pregnant. Anyhow we planned to meet again coming Saturday. Returned late at 7. Had to do some shopping for the evening. After all, it was our 10^th anniversary. A decade long relationship…hhh. Had some wine. Bloody marry. A nice dinner in taj. Deserts. Rajesh gifted me a diamond necklace today. And I presented him an I-pad. He is too fond of all this stuff. And then we were back. Hmm…I know what are you waiting for so long? Yes we made it. After all it was a special day for both of us. We got to enjoy. We got to relive that moment when it was all very beautiful and nice. Rajesh played Beatles on his new I-pad. And we got lost in the heat of the moment.

Something happened tonight which was strange. Too strange. We were making love. My eyes were closed in anticipation of an orgasm. And he was there again. Opening the door, walking towards me and making him comfortable on the stool. He wished me morning; I adjusted his face in the light and touched his spots. I felt uneasy and opened my eyes. And saw Rajesh reaching the climax. I felt as if I was cheating on him. My throat swelled and felt as if I couldn’t breathe. But it was not the first time. Very often I see my father lifting me and ruffling my hair. What’s he doing there at this time? I got to be crazy. Sometimes it’s Anand with his geeky spectacles. I do get his odor sometimes suddenly as if he just passed while we were making love to each other. Sometimes it’s my old friend Amit hugging and kissing me. Sometimes it’s my physics professor slapping and abusing me. Sometimes I see an entire orgy pushing inside me. I see lot many of them. But I don’t see Rajesh very often. He is always there. All over me, inside me. But not in my mind. Sometimes I don’t even recognize the faces I see. I feel strange. After all, I will be forty in next five years. And my daughters will join their high schools. This is something which I am never able to figure out. Is it right for me? Do I need to talk to somebody about this? Do I need to see a psychiatrist? I can hardly figure it out on my own. I want to hammer down my head to see what all filth is cluttered inside.

It’s not possible to sleep tonight without the pills. I'll go mad thinking about all this. I need to take them. I need to get a good sleep. This is what is required at the moment.May be one day I find an answer to my sexual fantasies and urges...

Indian Woman And Her Lost Appetite - Part II

Note: Nayani is a fictional character. So are Madhav and Bhiku. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely co-incidental and unintentional.

The hair drier

Nayani is a beautiful Marathi girl. She lives in Fatima Nagar, Pune with her husband Madhav Rao Lokhande and a three old son, bhiku. Her house is a 2 BHK flat in one of the newly constructed apartments of Fatima Nagar. Her husband, Madhav, a celebrated and horrific figure in the police department of the city, is a senior inspector known for his bad tongue and numerous infamous, cold blooded encounters. While Nayani was still pursuing her graduation college, she was married to Madhav Rao forcibly against her wishes by her ill-reputed, alcoholic father. She was just 19 when she got married to Madhav who was 35 then. Compared to her husband, who is a six feet tall, well built, muscular man with thick skin, Nayani is too short and lean and appears to be his child. Her wedding was basically a contractually settled political dispute. Since the fateful day, Nayani has served him day and night being his maid and whore at the same time.

Nayani works the whole day looking after the house hold and doing purchasing for the kitchen. Madhav leaves early and returns late at night in a dilapidated state. She serves him dinner and settles the kitchen. Almost every day she is being dragged and thrown on the bed for a violent sexual intercourse. As soon as the process is over, Madhav goes into a peaceful sleep devoid of any dreams and phases. Madhav is not only older and stronger than Nayani but he also has a bigger phallus compared to her almost pubertal vagina. She goes into a flight of pain every time he thrusts inside her. The act always leaves her groaning and bleeding in pain.

Her life has been a bagful of incompatibilities ever since the day of marriage. The whole thing has taken a heavy toll on her beauty and innocence. She has gradually started turning into a world of her own. Over a period, she has become more introvert and lonely. But despite all this, the fire still burns inside.

That morning while seeing him off, Nayani managed to slip away a cigarette from his wallet. After dropping bhiku to school, she returned home and prepared her breakfast. She, then, took a long shower and washed her hair. She switched on the electric drier and took out a beautiful red sari from her closet. Thereafter she got dressed and called her mother. After a long time she talked to her mother for almost an hour. Her mother was not doing well since the day of her marriage. She was an old case of pulmonary tuberculosis and had lost almost 20 kgs of weight crying for her child and looking after her sick husband. Anyhow, Madhav tried to help them financially as best as he could. But her mother burnt each and every penny given by him in the fireplace. Madhav, as a consequence, strictly prohibited Nayani’s visit to her family and even made sure spying her every move out of the house. She also called her elder sister who lives in lonavala with her husband and three children. During early years, both the sisters used to be good bharatnatyam dancers and they even managed to bag some prizes by performing in annual functions of their society. Both were great fans of Vajayanthi Mala and they used to dance madly whenever her songs used to come on Doordarshan. It has been four years since they last met and that was the last time they danced together. She discussed some of the basic moves with her sister on the telephone. Her sister still manages to perform as and when the opportunity comes. But Nayani has not even dared dancing since years.

The phone call greatly inspired her. She locked herself inside the bedroom. She opened bhiku’s almirah and took out his rattle from the drawer. She hammered the rattle and took out the beads from inside. Then she tore her beautiful silk dupatta and cut two threads out of it. She weaved the beads into the silk threads and tied each one of them around her ankles. She began practicing some of the basic moves. She then danced and danced in front of the mirror for hours together. She got all drenched in sweat and fell on the bed exhausted and elated. She then took out the cigarette from under the pillow which she had slipped away from Madhav’s wallet and placed it between her lips. She smiled and began laughing at her daredevilry. She closed her eyes and smelled the cigarette. She couldn’t resist lighting it. She went to the kitchen to fetch a light and returned to her room. She took a long puff and exhaled the smoke. She didn’t cough. She smoked it just the way Madhav used to, snubbing it tightly between thumb and index finger, almost crushing the butt, taking a deep puff and exhaling it sideways. Her entire life in the past four years began dancing in the smoke. She felt as if she is puffing out the toxicity packed inside her chest for these many years. A tear film smeared her lower eyelid. She didn’t let it get out and dried it in the smoke of cigarette. She got charged with anger. She removed whatever she was wearing and threw her naked body on the bed. She inserted her fingers inside her cavity and began pushing them hard, just the way Madhav used to with his long penis. She screamed and pushed harder till it started bleeding. Then she inserted her entire hand inside the vagina and gave it a good blow. Tears started rolling down her cheeks but she continued torturing herself. Then she removed her hand out and smeared the blood on the white flowered bed sheet.

Madhav returned home late at night in usual pathetic state. It was a tough day. He was insulted badly by the commissioner of police for his negligent approach to work and bad tongue. He even got a written counseling for his behavior. Nayani was going to have a tough time. But she always prepares herself before Madhav is about to return from duty. He was surprised to find the front door open. He got inside and shouted in anger. He stepped inside the bedroom and saw the blood smeared bed sheet. He got furious and shouted for Nayani again. But she was nowhere to be heard and seen. Then he opened the bathroom door and fell flat on the ground.

Nayani was lying silently in the bathtub with Bhiku on her naked chest. The tub was full of water. Nayani was holding the rod of the hair drier tightly in her right hand. She had electrocuted Bhiku and herself with the hair drier.

Nayani was dead. So was Bhiku.

रूबरू...

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हम कुछ यूँ उभरे उनसे रूबरू होकर,

हम कुछ यूँ उभरे उनसे रूबरू होकर,

जैसे उजड़ी हुई सियाही में डूबकर,

पीले दीमक लगे कागज़ पर

कुछ हर्फ़ नज़्म बनकर,

रूह से बाबस्ता हो

मचल उठते हैं…

Indian Woman And Her Lost Appetite - Part I

Warning: Sapna is a fictional character. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely co-incidental and unintentional.

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The black sari

Sapna is a middle class Punjabi girl married to a bank employee. She lives with her husband, son and mother-in-law in a suburb of Ludhiana city. Though pretty well educated as compared to other women of her age and place, her marriage was an arranged affair organized by her parents. As a girl she always wanted to marry a very rich and handsome person, preferably an NRI. But fate had something else in store for her. Anyways, married for five years, her marriage has been a very smooth affair without any significant hassles and issues. Her husband, Madan, works in a central bank and is earning a decent salary. Her mother-in-law, though quiet old, is overall in-charge of the house. Madan still prefers to hand over the entire salary to his mother and let her manage the house. Sapna like a normal Indian female has never complained and has been obedient throughout her stay in her husband’s house. She hardly gets time for all such issues concerning dominance. She is engaged all the day managing the household stuff and her family. Her son, Rahul, a small brat, keeps her busy and brings a smile to her face with his little pranks.

Sapna always wanted to continue her studies after the marriage and do a job. But her responsibilities as a wife, as a daughter-in-law and as a mother couldn’t let her pursue her career. She sacrificed without ever complaining and blaming anybody. She hardly gave it a thought after her son was born.

Like any other woman, Sapna is very fond of clothes. She has managed to afford a decent wardrobe for herself since the day of her marriage. She has a thing for colors. She always manages to make a style statement at the family functions. But the credit goes more to her beauty than to her clothes and style. She has always doted black since she was a school kid. Black tiffin, black sketch, black shoes, black skirt, black dupatta. When she grew older she wanted to marry somebody with black eyes and a big black contessa. She simply adored black. But she hardly got a chance to manage all this black stuff in her mama’s home. How could she? Black is inauspicious, depressing and sad. Her mother never allowed her to wear anything black. She once wore a black skirt gifted by her aunt. She was just nine years old, small enough to hardly understand any consequence. Her father lost his wallet the same day while returning from office. It contained the month’s salary. She was scolded badly for wearing that color. Not only that the skirt was burnt down and the remains were flushed in the drain. She watched her favorite color getting burnt down in ashes. Since the day she never dared to ask for black.

She grew older and her marriage got fixed. Somehow she managed to buy a beautiful black chiffon sari while the clothes and jewellery were being purchased for her wedding. She slipped it into a hidden compartment of her wedding suitcase and brought it into her husband’s home. She is a free bird now. She has her own house and own life. Nobody can stop her now from wearing her color. She opened her suitcase on the second day of her marriage and took out the crumpled sari from the hidden compartment. She got it ironed and wore it to her skin. She looked in the mirror and smiled. Her eyes sparkled. She came out of her room. All the relatives and friends were waiting to bless the new member of the house. How could she dare to wear such a color on the second day of her marriage? Her mother-in-law got furious and rebuked her for bringing bad luck to the family. She ordered her to change it immediately and wear something flashy and colorful. She rushed inside her room and cried. Since the day she never dared to wear the black sari in her husband’s home again. Her dream was sealed in closet forever.

Sometimes after completing the routine stuff, when her mother-in-law is asleep during the afternoon hours and nobody else is there at home, she goes to her room, locks it from inside and draws all the curtains. She drags the big suitcase from under the bed and takes out the crumpled black chiffon sari from the hidden compartment. She touches it to her skin and looks in the mirror. She irons it carefully so as to remove all the wrinkles and wears it quietly inside the closed door. She looks in the mirror again and adores herself as she has never done it before. She smiles and feels like dancing. She unlocks her hair and lies on the bed relieved and contended. She closes her eyes and begins to dream what she couldn’t dream otherwise sleeping with her husband on the same bed every night for so many years. She lies there for hours together in the warmth of that color. But then Rahul usually arrives from school and begins knocking the door. She gets up in surprise, changes, hides the black sari in the suitcase and is back to her work again.

She commits this crime whenever she gets enough time to do it. Somehow she manages to be a free bird wearing that black sari. She manages to dream and think for a change what she could never do otherwise. She manages to be promiscuous with that black chiffon sari wrapped around her skin while being committed and faithful to her wedlock.

This is the only time she feels like breathing.

And this is the only time she lives for herself…

God - part II

Horror

I've seen horrors … horrors that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that … but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror. Horror has a face … and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies…Colonel Walter E.Kurtz, Apocalypse Now.

I remember I was preparing for my medical entrance examinations. I was living as a paying guest in one of the households of bhathinda. As far as possible I could see myself a part of this profession only. There was only one focus. Though a second thought always used to persist and poke. What if I don’t make it to the finals? What if I lose and scatter without reaching the end? Finally, I made it. I got into a medical college and earned a degree. I got a job and started earning. Soon I realized I could buy all those things with my salary which I couldn’t afford yesterday. Yes, I could until one day when it all got shattered. I am very thankful to my friend Gaurav for causing this damage. He took me to a lane in the multiplex area of Saket, New Delhi. He introduced me to a forty something lady, a rag picker by profession sitting on a cot, surrounded by a group of 35 well fed, healthy street dogs, sleeping peacefully in the cold winter of Delhi with some fire in the centre. She was their mother. She used to feed those 35 street dogs picking up from the rags. How the fuck is it possible? It woke me up and burnt down my entire ego. It exposed a part of me which I always clothed and pampered. This was horror. Sheer fucking, nail biting horror. We have always been wrong when it has come to the portrayal of horror on screen. Horror is not some visually disturbing, ugly, brutal, torn piece of dead flesh portrayed on celluloid. Horror is something which is very alive and soulful like a piece of music or a beautiful painting. Horror is a moment of creative transformation. Horror was that second thought which persisted and sailed me through my examinations. Horror was that visual which exposed my timidity and crushed my ego. Horror is the persistent negativity which keeps us moving. Horror is a necessary destruction, a necessary murder which we are required to do. Horror is an unexplainable something which is a part of me, a part of you and a part of all of us.

Horror is the last hope.

Horror is the necessary god. Yes the god…