Beauty, they say, should be appreciated. Always. And so, I saw this extremely striking example of God’s creative excellence, strewn on my way to provide a moment of pleasure to my senses which were now so fatigued by the bedlam there.
I was standing on the overcrowded Opera house bus stop, in the blazing heat, impatiently waiting for bus number 106 since the past fifteen minutes. Just then a really hot guy came out of nowhere and stood right in front of me. He was really fair, had sharp features and short cropped hair(the kind I so like), very handsome. To top all this glory he was wearing a pinkish coloured short shirt, black pants ant black polished shoes. He was holding his laptop which was hanging from his left shoulder and in the right hand he held his iphone and was talking to someone(which I was hoping would not be his girlfriend). I, pretty obviously, kept staring at him for quite some time, marveling at the beauty, after which he disconnected his call and was less busy now. So, I tried looking elsewhere.
Just a moment later, he looked down and……..SPAT!!!
Eeewwww…..as if this was not enough to disgust me…he, then looked deeply into his phone and with the loooong little finger nail of his, scratched out something. I think there is no better opposition to beauty than a man with overgrown fingernail (and that too of one finger). It was like pricking my little bubble with his nail.
Phewww….God’s beauty gone waste!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
LIVING TO DIE
I woke up at five in the morning, as I do everyday. I sat by the window to see the magnificent sun come to its glory defeating the clouds which desperately tried to hide it from the world. This view was a secret hope for me to keep living on. I went to the washroom to find no water in the tap. My landlord had blocked the water supply to my flat two days ago, thinking I would get annoyed and leave. He did these funny things since he came to know that I was an HIV AIDS patient. I didnt mind it. He was just trying to protect his family from a deadly disease but I had my limitations and could not leave the flat. He did not exactly force me into leaving either, because one thing my landlord had nightmares about was a law suit. With the increasing AIDS awareness campaigns, he thought he might be imprisoned for discriminating against ‘a person like me’, as he termed it.
I washed my face and got ready for work. I benefit, I must say, I had was that I no more needed to push my way through the deluge of people at the station for my train. They had somehow known my ailment and preferred to miss the train than rub against me to catch it. You know, my skin could just spill some viruses onto theirs. I reached office right on time, but my boss was an early riser. He seemed to be rising earlier than usual since he came to know that I had contracted this ‘filthy disease’ and I seemed to have turned exceptionally inefficient also. I didn’t quite understand why did he even bother with so much of nonsensical explanation business when he had clear intentions to suspend me. He would save us both much time and energy if he would just give me a termination letter and say I am out. I justify him as probably trying to satiate his moral inclinations. The day at office began with his (now) usual disapproval of my work and continued with most colleagues maintaining their distances and making it quite obvious. Of course, some tried to introduce small talks and I thank them for being the only few people, except my sister, who talked to me throughout the day.
My parents died two years ago in a road accident and my only sister worked in Bangalore. She insisted on me leaving my work and going to live the rest of my life peacefully with her. She loved me. I knew she always cared for me more like a mother than a sibling. I, however, refused to consider this option for me. I never wanted to be the hugest albatross around her neck.
My vegetable vendor was kinder than I expected him to be. Off late, he had taken to benevolently accepting whatever price I bargained for and made sure to use plastic gloves before handing me my packet. I shopped some daily groceries and came back home. I switched on the light but it did not turn on. None of the switches was working. My landlord’s new trick. I retired on the sofa.
I hate this time of the day…the sunset. It’s so morose, so depressing. It reminds of the new ways people adopted to avoid as if I was a mucky cockroach who is better left alone. A ‘person like me’ with that ‘filthy disease’ obviously does not deserve to live. Amen. I am going to die. Aids cannot be cured. I am going on living only very well knowing that death is on its way to pick me up. It’s just stuck in bad traffic which I have created by taking pills. Now, I think, the jam will not last long. Death must be round the corner and, oh, I am not even prepared for the journey. Actually, I don’t want to be prepared. I don’t want to leave my cozy flat. Can someone not make death understand? I really don’t want to go…I don’t want to go.
I always sit there thinking about him…about death. And I start crying.
I cry until I fall asleep.
p.s.- I am usually really sleepy by 11:30 in the night until I have to force my eyes to remain open to complete some much procrastinated work. After I completed this article at 12 midnight, I kept turning in bed for the next to hours.
Why do we, humans, sometimes become worse than monsters?
I woke up at five in the morning, as I do everyday. I sat by the window to see the magnificent sun come to its glory defeating the clouds which desperately tried to hide it from the world. This view was a secret hope for me to keep living on. I went to the washroom to find no water in the tap. My landlord had blocked the water supply to my flat two days ago, thinking I would get annoyed and leave. He did these funny things since he came to know that I was an HIV AIDS patient. I didnt mind it. He was just trying to protect his family from a deadly disease but I had my limitations and could not leave the flat. He did not exactly force me into leaving either, because one thing my landlord had nightmares about was a law suit. With the increasing AIDS awareness campaigns, he thought he might be imprisoned for discriminating against ‘a person like me’, as he termed it.
I washed my face and got ready for work. I benefit, I must say, I had was that I no more needed to push my way through the deluge of people at the station for my train. They had somehow known my ailment and preferred to miss the train than rub against me to catch it. You know, my skin could just spill some viruses onto theirs. I reached office right on time, but my boss was an early riser. He seemed to be rising earlier than usual since he came to know that I had contracted this ‘filthy disease’ and I seemed to have turned exceptionally inefficient also. I didn’t quite understand why did he even bother with so much of nonsensical explanation business when he had clear intentions to suspend me. He would save us both much time and energy if he would just give me a termination letter and say I am out. I justify him as probably trying to satiate his moral inclinations. The day at office began with his (now) usual disapproval of my work and continued with most colleagues maintaining their distances and making it quite obvious. Of course, some tried to introduce small talks and I thank them for being the only few people, except my sister, who talked to me throughout the day.
My parents died two years ago in a road accident and my only sister worked in Bangalore. She insisted on me leaving my work and going to live the rest of my life peacefully with her. She loved me. I knew she always cared for me more like a mother than a sibling. I, however, refused to consider this option for me. I never wanted to be the hugest albatross around her neck.
My vegetable vendor was kinder than I expected him to be. Off late, he had taken to benevolently accepting whatever price I bargained for and made sure to use plastic gloves before handing me my packet. I shopped some daily groceries and came back home. I switched on the light but it did not turn on. None of the switches was working. My landlord’s new trick. I retired on the sofa.
I hate this time of the day…the sunset. It’s so morose, so depressing. It reminds of the new ways people adopted to avoid as if I was a mucky cockroach who is better left alone. A ‘person like me’ with that ‘filthy disease’ obviously does not deserve to live. Amen. I am going to die. Aids cannot be cured. I am going on living only very well knowing that death is on its way to pick me up. It’s just stuck in bad traffic which I have created by taking pills. Now, I think, the jam will not last long. Death must be round the corner and, oh, I am not even prepared for the journey. Actually, I don’t want to be prepared. I don’t want to leave my cozy flat. Can someone not make death understand? I really don’t want to go…I don’t want to go.
I always sit there thinking about him…about death. And I start crying.
I cry until I fall asleep.
p.s.- I am usually really sleepy by 11:30 in the night until I have to force my eyes to remain open to complete some much procrastinated work. After I completed this article at 12 midnight, I kept turning in bed for the next to hours.
Why do we, humans, sometimes become worse than monsters?
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