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Metamorphosis

I was a carefree youth when I was unemployed. The only authority whom I used to fear and respect was my father. I loved my family. Loved to tense my mother, coax my brother, and annoy my sister. Loved to party with my friends. Loved to return late from Debo's house.
Loved to cycle around Nabagram searching for chics. Loved to see their faces, sweet smile. My heart used to run like a wild horse when Sushmita used to cross my path (or I used to cross her…top speed, thought Sush was bowled out…sigh…what an innocent stupid was I). Used to dance with Bryan Adams at 2.30-3 in the morning. Loved to stay awake whole night.
Loved to jump into the pond, loved to annoy neighbours with my tindrum.
Loved to love, to be loved, think of love.
I was a carefree youth.

I am not an old man. Still in my twenties. But now I am afraid of my boss. Afraid of my bank balanace, afraid of my colleagues…lest they mislead my boss.
I suspect my family might be eyeing my bank balance. Afraid, lest my sister ask for money. Afraid if I have to support my brother’s education. Afraid, if I have to treat my ailing parents. I avoid my friends. Afraid, unemployed Devo may ask for help.

Oh…it would take away all my finances. I have to compromise with my luxuries.

I am not interested anymore in a girl’s face only. I want to see it whole. A girl is not she for me. It’s an ‘it’. I relax watching blue films.

I suspect every girl who looks at me. I suspect they are plotting to marry me. They have known, I do a good job. I have woodles of money. I can give them every material happiness they want.

I suspect they are trying to use me as their banker. I have forgotten to find love in their eyes. I am in a giant cauldron of conspiracy.

But still I pine for love. I need somebody to love me! Please please love me. Nobody comes without green or violet eyes.

Sushmita still crosses my path. I don’t cross her’s. I don’t look for her magic eyes now. I try to look at her graying hairs. I look at her breasts.

Sushmita, oh Sushmite, my crazy love, my fire, you are dead. I have killed you.

I don’t take bath in a pond. I may catch a cold. Huge loss, if I miss a day in my office. I get a huge salary. Time is money for me. I cannot afford to lose it.

I still stay awake at night. Can’t sleep. Consulted the doctor. He said, I have got insomnia.
I struggle to sleep every night.

I faced the mirror that day--naked. Somebody laughed at me through the glass. Rebuked me. Said I am a bastard.

Yet, I was a carefree youth.

Comments

Anonymous said…
The first time i learnt about the word Metamorphosis was in my Biology class about the amphibians. U have made me realize that even humans can metamorphose. A nice emotive piece with excellent comparsions of the carefree and careful times. Good one. So what's up in the next piece? I am curious.

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Kaun banega karorpati...dwitiya

--Namaste, satsriakaal, aadab, mein amitabh bacchan aapke samne, leke hajir hua hu, phir ek bar, kaun banega karorpati dwitiya.
(audiences in dark start clapping along with a music as if crusader king Richard of England just captured the castle of a jehadi king)
Aaj, mere samne beithe hai Jarshad kakiara…kakku…cuckoo…
(a club-shaped man intervenes, with a child-like smile, “Kakkrakandy”)
Ji haa, kakkara (“kandy”, the man again intervenes with a shy smile)
-Yes, Jarshad kakk…, whatever, aiye aap aur hum khele yeh adbhut game, jiska naam hei …(looks at the club-shaped man)
Jarshad Kakkrakandy, answers “kauun banayega karrorrpatti”

Amitabh shows Jarshad the seat, adjusts the seat for him. Jarshad sits, the chair shrieks.

--aur abhi mere samne baithe hain Jarshad n. k., from Chennai, who is a journalist with reuters, loves reading dilbert, unka favourite movie hai “chandramukhi”. And he is the self-proclaimed ‘king of PJ’.

--Haan to Jarshad saab, aapne likhe hein ke apke naam hei Jarshad n.k. now …