Of Hurried Hopes And The Lonely Shelter

Firstly there was faith, incongruous, traumatic, inhumanely sodomized. And you had to wait for the nightbulbs to bring forth the patience. 

Then there were nightclubs where tired currency drank to vaginal monologues and rapid insecurities. 

There used to be nails in those fingertips and breaths in those parched intestines. Spread across the breadth were stings of tried jargon and unknown raagas. Mutilated by terrible numbness of red bricks and blind plastics, they too survived. They never needed a reason to feel unwanted. Or even awe-struck. 

Hoardings shoved bitter tastes up the palate, Even the taste of dirt has melted into bitter nonchalance. Finest pork is still elusive, time, patience and polythene. 

No, not polythene. 

He took the turn at the wrong track and got himself brutally loved. How I don't know. Maybe the ever-hardworking AC machine can tell more. It's your Nu York against my moist underbelly. She hardly understood Profit and Loss still managed to kiss the boy and got 83 in Biology. 

Maybe I need to keep the silly faces cheerful. 

And dumb faces? Tch tch.

The panorama was too good a sight, in that haze of dust and shroud of spring. They shouted their sensitivities and gave up their honour in the tiny confines of elusive freedom. 

Regular screams are still regular. Previously they were from boxed, shelved, cocoonized orgasms. Now, from the anorexic, the hypersensitive, the starved and the kohl-lined caricatures. The neo-liberals, the masochists, the pigs and the pariahs. The dreams, the dames, and the dooms. 

I shivered at the staggering loudness of the ego and baffling tenacity of today's economy - momo centres and yellow pastries. I never took those changes - never gave the beggars any chance to shake my conscience. 

 It's still dry, rusty, unclear, till the monsoons come and mix the dead dogs and indifferent idiots, in an affair of hiccups and hurried homes. 

They never returned my calls. Maybe the shiver has subsided. Or, better, has it been carefully maltreated? Dunno. I heard they do a good job on that front, these days. 

Cheers,

Someone named Calcutta.