The Rapist's Psyche

I sit in the corner of that bar, eyes all open and a hazy mind,

Fathoming the pleasures of that lady under the neon light,

My eyes wander on her everything - face, breast and behind,

Oh!! I am all turned on by her very sight.

I stand up and make a move, all smiles and scotch and say hello,

She looks at me then turns her gaze and cracks a muffled jest,

I try smiling with my perished manliness, move away and take a vow,

To rape this lady, to rape her ego, to punish, to teach, to molest.

I am the imparter of justice, so I wait for her in the deep parking lot,

My nails are claws, eyes are now green, a monster I am now,

I see her coming with that wry smile, guess it’s the end of my sexual drought,

And she is close, she is closer, and she passes me that glance, seductive, inviting, wow.

I grab her wrist, she kicks my balls, I yell a deafening shout,

I see her running away as I wobble, then walk and then run,

And grab her back and drag her back to the spot where my fancies sprout,

But she bites my hands, she scratches my face, she struggles as I relish the fun.

She has stopped moving now; I punched her thrice in the face,

I pour my manliness inside her and  pass with a content mood,

The scruples? Yes they are questioning me but I love the lust embrace,

I dress up and leave her there to die, now that I am hungry for some food

Yes they caught me the next day and fired their stupid inquiries

But I smirk in this seventh year of my trial as I reminisce

They were happy, another case registered, another testimonial in their diaries

I am happy too as I dress up for the party this night, after seven years I again want to relish that bliss

Photo Courtesy :- http://www.musicweb-international.com

The Car has stopped, now what?

I pressed the disconnect option, “harder” this time. I knew the best was over and there was no point dragging it. But even after I explained her thrice, she wasn’t ready to understand. How immature can people be? It’s not a leaking tap that a mere twist of a wrench will fix it. We human beings are far more complex. And then she called again, the same name, the same number and that smiling picture of hers. She had started haunting me now. I switched the phone off.

“We are dogs chasing cars. Don’t know what to do when they stop” said a visibly drunk Vineet radiating sainthood and banged his fist on the table to prove his point. He listened to everything I narrated for over three hours and almost three quarters of Johnny Walker. But his take on the topic was top class. “We are the dogs chasing cars. Don’t know what to do when they stop”. True.

It started almost three months back when I offered her my seat in Delhi Metro. The kind gesture led to numerous smiles and coy glances. “Art of communication” is the only sure shot tool for a nerdy, bespectacled and not-exactly-a-great-looking-guy like me. And I utilized it to my full potential when the uncle on the next seat decided to leave at the next station. She was breathtakingly gorgeous and had the exuberance of a teen. She was excited about everything- her life, her friends and her work. I told her I wasn’t working and that I was just employed. She scribbled a note and handed it to me before leaving. I knew it was her number even before opening it. Well, it was her email id.

And those ten digits took almost 20 days to come to my phone. She was a tough nut to crack and I loved every bit of the pursuit. Every day was a challenge, for every smile that I managed to bring to her face, I patted my back twice. For every appreciative glance she passed at me, I mentally congratulated myself. I sang for her and she smiled. I wrote for her and she smiled. I acted crazy for her and she smiled.

And one fine day she decided to sing and write and act crazy for me. I didn’t smile. I was happy but that was because my ego got a huge massage. I felt good. The hat on my head had another feather and by far the most colorful one. And then she started feeling like a possession and then a liability and then a burden. The car had stopped and the dog had no idea. There were other cars speeding ahead, I decided to chase them.

And this was not the first time, the fifth time I guess or seventh or maybe I lost the count. There is something wrong with me or as Vineet says after his body and soul are full with Alcohol – “We set off for a destination but it’s the path we fall in love with, not the destination”. Philosophical but true.

The path, the pursuit of love excites me. When I chase a girl, I see her all around me - in my ideas, in my actions and in every part of mine. I see her on my car’s windscreen when I drive and every song that plays in the stereo somehow relates to her. When I try a new shirt in the trial room I mentally ask for her opinion. Yes, I become hopelessly romantic. And maybe, since the climb is so startling, the descent is dramatic too. Or as Vineet would say “It’s all temporary madness my friend, it too will die down”.

I am a spendthrift, a man with extreme fondness for a fine lifestyle and saving is always the last thing on my mind. When you crave for a superlative lifestyle, you have to part with your cash and I do that compulsively and hence stay empty handed most of the time. I am a spendthrift in matters of love too. I spend all pennies of love even when it needs to be preserved to be used in times of adversity. And consequently when the dire moment comes, I turn my face towards richer vistas. I hate looking at the venture whose budget has been depleted. The emotional budget has been depleted. Vineet wouldn’t brand me a villain and would assert coolly “Love is eternal, partners change”.

But am I the only one? Or I am just being vocal about myself, like I was vocal about my self-obsession a couple of months back. I have seen my friends leaving their phones unattended and then making the most horrendous excuses to justify their acts. At least I am Satan enough to pick the call and let it all out. How do people survive in long relationships then and what about those “Lived Happily ever after” couples? Do I have commitment issue? No, of course not because I don’t mind my space being invaded by someone I love, even if that’s a temporary feeling.

Maybe people like me need a mid-path in relationships as well, like we do in all spheres of life. Maybe, people like me need a more calculated approach in matters of heart and not a headfirst dive . Maybe people like me need to save the best for the worst.

And as I hate to believe maybe people like me don’t deserve love or as Vineet would put it “You know what dude, narcissists like you and I stay single. No big deal!!”.

New Delhi - The way I see it

Disclaimer: - This article is a representation of my thoughts and the way I see things. I have used names of certain communities, surnames and places so that reader can bond with the article. This is not meant to offend any person, community or place.

King Dhritarashtra

Dhritarashtra was helpless, he was the king and the representative of the glorious Bharat clan, but he was a father. A helpless father. His son, the obstinate Duryodhana was not ready to give Hastinapur to the eldest Pandava Yudhisthira and hence Dhritarashtra had to make a tough decision – the division of the kingdom. The fertile, prosperous Hastinapur went to Duryodhana and the Khandavaprastha an infertile, uninhabited place went to the poor Pandavas. Krishna with his directions and Arjuna with his arrows cleared the forest and presented to the world one of the finest cities of all times which has constantly changed names but the very essence of it has remained constant, always. From Indraprastha to Lal Kot to Tughlaqabad to the modern New Delhi, the very essence of Delhi has always been there.

Delhi Taxi

Step out of the Indira Gandhi International Airport and you are welcomed by the extremes. Depending upon your time of arrival you will be welcomed by scorching heat, bone chilling cold or worse heavy downpour. The downpour however is almost always there - the downpour of attention. The name placards with all possible Punjabi surnames on them and their owners bellowing at their top. If you have a confused face, the downpour will only keep on intensifying, from slight nudge on the shoulders to a full body hug. The Dilliwaalahs are (in) famous for bestowing any token of love and warmth which can convert into some currency. If you have a haversack on your back, you will see tourist guides in large numbers; if you have a business attache in your hands, the suited hotel agent swarms will hug and caress you and if you have a traveling bag, the local hotel guys will smile seductively and regardless of your travel gears, the taxi drivers will do anything to snatch your stuff in the name of help and place them in their taxi boots. You will obviously be presented with mind boggling tariffs. If you are an obstinate negotiator, you will have something left in your wallet at the end of the trip. Negotiate is the moral of the story.

The Delhi-Gurgaon Expressway

And when you are in traffic, the whole jaw dropping phenomenon will find an entirely new dimension. India is a blessed country home to 84 crore gods and demigods. With the power of octane rich petrol and of course the benevolence of all 84 crore divine deities your vehicle glides, cruises, speeds and wriggles in the traffic behemoth. On a six lane expressway where all vehicles have been designated their respective lanes, a speeding SUV meandering on all six of them in an attempt to get ahead of all is the commonest of all sites. Scary for first timers but a routine sight for the regulars. And Delhi has more vehicles on its roads than rest three metros combined and Delhi is a network of fast track expressways, so the SUVs and their meanderings are infinite. Wear your seat belts is the moral of the story.

Celebrations in the street

And if you happen to be in the great western part of the city which is like a parallel system inside the otherwise posh and suave metropolis, your jaws will be under Newton’s spell, all the time. Wee hours of the night, boot of a car opened and converted into a makeshift bar and high bass Punjabi music engulfing the airs and a group of charged youth – spiked, turbaned, goateed, pierced and beefed up grooving their hips into a discordant blend of Bhangra, salsa, hip-hop and all possible forms of dance moves is not a very atypical sight. The high pitches of the songs welcomed by loud roars of enthusiasm and the delay between adjacent tracks unwelcomed by shrill hoots. Legends of Nizamuddin Auliya and Amir Khusro and Mirza Ghalib still live here and Dilliwaalahs love their music. And when you happen to cross such a scene, enjoy the music, silently praise the dance and get going. Don’t mess the combination of Alcohol and music is the moral of the story.

The Shiny new Possession

Dilliwaalahs are known for their fine lifestyle. Just one car in the garage is totally middle-class. People here live for luxury and not for bare needs. Survival is for lesser mortals, prosper is the Delhi way. And yes spaces are limited so the same neighbor who comes to your house every Diwali with a gift glittery and shining on the outside and having expensive nuts and chocolates and sweets in the inside wouldn’t hesitate in calling you names if you mess up with his parking space. Fair and Just. Hugs and smiles make everything all right, everyday. And if you purchase something you have all rights to show it off but being blatant and on the face spoils the party, Dilliwaalahs are sophisticated people so they utilize the power of random discussions. So you can blame the government for the bad roads and the pains you take while driving you new Honda city will be perfectly alright. You will invite appreciative glances as well. Or blame the RBI for revising their Repo rates all the times and the way your floating EMI interest for that 3 BHK you purchased in greater Noida for 85 Lacs keeps going up. Leave Buildings and cars, you can even moan about water scarcity and complaint how your expensive imported sanitary fittings have become useless. Likewise flaunt phones, scotches in your bar, salary appraisals, wedding saris and sherwanis. If you can present it in the right way no one minds. So in Delhi, Flaunt is the moral of the story.

Always wise to run away from such scenes

Delhi has always been praised for its Dil – the heart. But there is more to Delhi than just Dil. There are arms, there are legs and of course there is a mouth. In fact on a typical day you get to exercise the last three organs more than the heart. The catch is that you should know when and where to exercise these. Most of the times you need to keep the mouth shut because one slip of the slimy muscle inside it can lead you to all sorts of trouble. Of course you can use your legs to run away or hands to fold and ask for mercy. But if you have other homo sapiens with you who you can trust, you can use your mouth to hurl abuses and hands to punch and legs to stay firm on the ground. In a busy traffic you can again use your mouth to throw abusive words on the pedestrians and motorists to scatter the traffic. If the traffic is not muddled but that idiot is not allowing to you to overtake, you can use your hands to show him the middle finger once you get past him. As you learn the life here you will also become an expert in the skilled use of these awesome organs. So make professional use of your hand, legs and mouth is the moral of the story.

Zero Ambiance,100% taste

Dilliwaalahs love their food too and in Delhi messier the lanes, tastier the food. The Kohli’s, Kakkas, Chawalas and Pammis are everywhere each claiming to be that one famous restaurateur from Old Delhi. One generous meal and you overshoot your calorie limit for the whole week. Paranthas in the Paranthe waali Gali, Street food in Bengali Market, Seekh Kebab and Tandoori Chicken in Chandni Chowk. Forget the butter dripping from the Rotis just indulge into the gastronomic delights of this ancient city. Delhi is more about taste than ambiance and if you are a sucker for ambiance, this place offers you hotels and restaurants that can supply mouth melting delights provided you have enough cement to cover the holes these places would drill into your pockets. Nevertheless, when in Delhi indulge in food without caring for the ambiance is the keyword.

Delhi - you just can't ignore it

Delhi is a confusing place but in that case India is a confusing country. We love to break rules, we love drawing urine maps on the desolate walls and we love staining the public wash basin with Paan and Betel nut jets. Staying in Delhi is like staying in all cities of India together. You have the rawness of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar here, the royalty of Rajasthan here, the eerie silence of Madhya Pradesh and the wildness of Punjab here; you will even find Tamil Nadu in the common law abiding man here and the coolness of Goa in the stylish females here. From English speaking suave youth from south Delhi to the Chaste Punjabi speaking west Delhi guy, from that well dressed guy in Vasant Kunj to that fashion disaster from Trans Yamuna, you have them all here. Delhi for me is the epicenter of all diversities in the world. Women here will pester the street vendor for 10 Rs but will never step into an eating joint which is cheap or is at least close to being cheap. Girls here will mesmerize you with their looks but can deafen you with their decibel rich voice.  People here contradict themselves sometimes for good and sometimes for the evil and this makes Delhi a rough but an interesting place to live in. It’s not easy to hate something or fall in love with something but Delhi will make you love it and hate it every day. From just another city to the place where you live, finally Delhi becomes a state of your mind.

Malls, Rickshaw and a pair of socks!

After four years of Engineering, I got job at this reputed multi national firm. The best part I was in Gurgaon, near Delhi home to the best North Indian food and hottest girls in India. I was overwhelmed by the sudden change and welcomed it with arms stretched wide. I was still passing my idle time of final year when I got a call from the company’s HR department that I need to be present in person to collect the letter of appointment and also undergo the routine medical check up.
The farewell parties, booze parties, grass parties and all sorts of nonsense final year parties were going full speed and it was a pain to miss any one of them. But, what choice I had. I planned to go reluctantly. “Formal clothing” is one of the many things that a student has to graduate to when he steps into the professional world. I relate formal clothing to formal thinking, formal planning and formal implementation of thoughts, ideas and actions. While casual denotes liberation, formal denotes discipline both having their own beauty. Anyways, I was devoid of any formal attire and I was supposed to wear formals at the place. And hence started my hunt for formal clothes, I could not find any. Our wardrobes were cluttered with un-pressed shirts, mud soaked jeans, dirty socks and underwears but I managed to grab two pieces of clothes; a shirt and a trouser which were very near to what formal clothes are, but I could not find a pair of clean socks. “There are lots of malls on MG road, buy socks from one of them what is the big deal”, suggested one of my friend who was an inhabitant of Gurgaon.
Eight hours of train journey and I was here in Gurgaon. They call it the Shanghai of India, the millennium city. Skyscrapers, Offices, IT parks, Discotheques, Pubs and lots and lots of Malls, Gurgaon is very different from Lutyen’s Delhi which is still a bit old, classy and tattered. Limousines, Mercedes and BMWs were speeding around and I was enjoying the polished look of the city. In offices people draped in finest clothes and speaking on the costliest phones were walking around. This is modern India where people don’t think before spending and I would be a part of this elite crowd very soon. But for now I had to go to the office and I had three hours in hand and had to buy a pair of socks first. There were beautiful malls standing around.

I went to one of them, but the Mall was devoid any sort of crowd. I enquired with the gatekeeper and he said “It’s Tuesday and very limited stores are open today and no clothing shop is open so try other malls.” I went to other malls and they had similar answers. And I was disgusted, how do I go to the office without socks? There was a rickshaw waiting near the mall. I went to him and asked if there was any garment shop around so that I can buy a pair of socks. The Rickshaw puller, a frail person, with pepper and salt hair and sun burnt skin was looking like an ugly patch on the shining Gurgaon outfit. He said there would be no shops open; he can try in the nearby Chakkarpur market but can not guarantee. I had no option so I obeyed him in dismay and the Rickshaw sped towards the destination.
I have this curious habit of talking to people around so I started chatting with him. I came to know that his name was "Kishan" and he was from some small town in West Bengal. He came to Delhi 15 years back in search of a job; preferably a gate keeper’s job but he could not get any. He then, sold some belongings in his home to buy a Rickshaw and hence started his story. He moved to Gurgaon three years back because according to him in Delhi there is a fierce competition and he wanted to live in peace. We were in Chakkarpur market and all the shops were closed and hence now I had no place to go. Gurgaon the place of shining malls had no shop that could offer me a pair of socks.
Seeing my worried face, now the Rickshaw puller slipped in the chatty mood. He enquired “What is that you require so urgently?”.
“Nothing, not your business anyways”, I replied.
“Okay, but you can at least tell me, may be I can help you out!”, he continued.
“You can surely help me, only if you have a clothes store of your own”, I was still frustrated
“Tell me, I’ll try to help you out”, he replied
“Alrite, I need a pair of socks, now tell me how can you help me out”, I said.
“I can help you for sure but only if you agree to take my socks, they are brand new”, he replied.
“What, your socks”, I said more to myself than to him
“Okay, only if they are new”, I continued.
“Sure sir lets move, you are getting late”. He replied and indicated me to take a seat.
And the Rickshaw sped again. We passed the same Offices and Malls and he turned into one of the lanes. The Roads started becoming narrower and narrower and the scenes around changed drastically. The skyscrapers were now 1 storey high houses with crumbling cement and weathered paints. The malls were not there, I saw one or two low lit damp shops but they had customers flocking. There was no elite crowd in fine clothing and expensive phones but people walking around in dirty torn clothes. There were no BMWs around, I saw Rickshaws, so many of them parked neatly near the building boundaries.
“What place is this, looks horrible”, I enquired
“Horrible to you, home to us, anyways this is my home, come on get down, I’ll give you my socks.” He answered.

I entered his place. There were 8-9 rooms in a line and all of them housed a full family. The roofs were low and ground was damp. There was a hand pump outside where people were bathing and many were waiting for their turn. But they were looking like a society where one man was pushing the hand pump bar, the other was bathing and the third was cleaning the floor. I entered inside his so called home. It was very small for a family of four. He opened a trunk, put aside some clothes and then pulled out a pair of brand new navy blue socks. I took them greedily.
“So do you wear shoes too, otherwise why did you purchase socks?”, I asked
“I seldom wear them, I have an old pair of shoes but one of my cousins is getting married next month”, he replied
“I hence bought my wife a new saree and kids new clothes, did not have much money left for me so bought socks for now, would buy shirt if I happen to save something”, he finished and smiled bluntly.
Why was he smiling? I was clueless. I was still in the millennium city where people do not think before spending money. In the same city a hardworking Rickshaw Puller could buy only a pair of socks from all his savings. I tried giving him money but he did not accept that. He said “You are still studying, once you start earning come here and pay me back”. Persuasion was useless because he was an obstinate honest person. I agreed and he dropped me back to the make-believe world. Here I was, sitting in an Air conditioned room wearing an artificial smile on the face.
After I joined the firm, I went back to the place to pay him back but I came to know that the man has left this place. No body had a clue as to where he is at present. They said that sometimes he is seen pulling his rickshaw around in Gurgaon. I would indeed love to see him back and thank him for what ever good he did to me. Through this story I just wanted to tell him that a person in the elite crowd still owes a pair of socks to him.