Nishaan- Call :)

KUCH NAHEEN KHAYAL HAI

DONON TARAF KAUN HAI

MEIN BHEE AUR TUM BHEE NAHEEN

JALTEY HOYE DIYE KAU AANSOO CHAHIYE

RAATON KAU BHEE ZUBAAN CHAHIYE

HAAN FASLEY NAHEEN

DOORIYAAN SIMAT-TEE NAHEEN

RAASTEY HON GAI AGAR

YEH FAASLEY KAM NA HON

APNA AKS BHEE NAHEEN

AUR YEHI HAI ZINDAGI

KUCH NAHEEN KHAYAL HAI

DONON TARAF KAUN HAI

JISM BHEE AUR JAAN BHEE NAHEEN

RAGHON KAI ANDHERON KAU INSAAF CHAHIYE

RANJISH-E-KHOON KAU BHEE MAKAAN CHAHIYE

HAAN FASLEY NAHEEN

DOORIYAAN SIMAT-TEE NAHEEN

RAASTEY HON GAI AGAR

YEH FAASLEY KAM NA HON

APNA AKS BHEE NAHEEN

AUR YEHI HAI ZINDAGI

SAYE YAHAN

WOH RAASTEY HAIN KAHAN

DHOONDOON KAHAN

MEIN APNA NISHAAN

RAASTEY HON GAI AGAR

YEH FAASLEY KAM NA HON

APNA AKS BHEE NAHEEN

AUR YEHI HAI ZINDAGI

Hamlet- the Prince

"If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,

Absent thee from felicity awhile,

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,

To tell my story.

The rest is silence."

- William Shakespeare, Hamlet 5.2

drugged

The road to healing lies yonder side, but really, why make the journey when pain is a bliss at times...

:(

I dont know where I am anymore. It's a dark and misty place, a place where shadows sleep, memories weep and heart breaks many times over. The walls are soo tall that no one can climb to the top and each has a window in it. But the windows have long been sealed to keep away from God- knows- what- harm. The harm has already been done. The body has been violated, the soul etched with an impurity, the heart injected with blackness. The shadows grow deep, the light fades away. My misty eyes, nobody sees. My broken heart, nobody knows...

I hear somebody laughing. It echoes, bouncing off the walls repeatedly, each time a little fuzzier, a little slow. I strain forward, trying desperately to recognize the source. The voice is no longer there. It was, but, a memory. My heart bleeds a little more. He still doesnt seem to know. My purity stinks from the wretchedness. I roll in self- disgust, I loathe myself. So weak? Oh i was not born like this. Desperate for one look, one touch from the right person... and yet being raped by nameless, faceless people all around me.

A small paper flies past me. Instict urges me to catch it. I look at the fading handwriting. My heart leaps for a moment and quitens immediately. It was a long time ago. Another rape story. Only this time, it was no rape. It was self- mutilation. There is a number on the paper, written in lead pencil. Memories stab me yet again. "I'll never be away, I promise. Call this number whenever you want to..." I had never found the strength to keep a steady voice and dial those digits. I had cried alone so many times that it had become a habbit, one that actually felt like a part of me, an essential, a necessity...

The paper crumbles in my hand and I let go. The faint breeze takes it to the roof, slaps it a couple of times as if demanding some sacrifice and upon receiving the dues, it flies it over the top, to freedom. My dues?, I scream. No voice comes out of me. I slump back.

My life is over somehow. I don't need, i don't feel. I don't care. I don't want to. My body commits sins my soul has no control over. My mind makes plans my heart no longer wished to entertain. I fall and don't even try to get up again. I just push the small stones away and lie down, expecting another fall to come soon.

I don't want bigger things in life. I don't want small things either. Once, a long time ago, I had truly wanted him.

Dear God, I had loved him so...

The Facewash Story *)

The Facewash Story is very very important. It is about many things, but mainly The Facewash. yes, it features The Facewash in leading role and yes, it is not to be taken lightly. For after all, it is: The Facewash...

It all started 5 years back. Yours truly decided it had indeed been a very long time since she got her brains screwed, mind fucked and life shat upon. Yours truly then developed a crush... It was supposed to be light, flirty and for funy *and other such related* activities. It turned out to be painful, responsible for memory fuckups and very very criminal, to say the very least. It was then decided, by yours truly's friends *zahir hay!* that it had gone on long enough and instant remedies were in order. Those remedies turned out to be nauseating: (and i quote)

"Ooooh!! Look there is a nice boy. Why dont u develop a liking for him?" Why dont you just jump into a gutter!

"Hey! Long timw. How have u bin? Met my friend? She's..." Yeah, she's a retard and needs special attention, which is why I'M introducing HER

"Lets go to this party ive heard about. Lots of nice guys there" Hint hint: u need to like somebody else too!

"Did you know its criminal to be attached to one person only?? Date others, explore your options..." Leave the poor guy alone, u psycho killer!

Anyway, as much as they tried *and i applaud their valiant efforts* i just didnt budge. If he walked at my right, i was told to look at the left side. If he took two spoons of sugar, i was told to just quit the damn tea! But offcourse, i didnt! Why would i? It was a match made in heaven. So what if he didnt know... and then came the final threat:

Im soo telling him arooj. Acha hay, sari umer baat nahi karay ga to khud he theek ho jao gi!

What happened afterwards is in itself another long long tale, and i shall narrate it in one of those cold winter nights when u'll be able to sit by the winter and munch on peanuts

To cut a long story short, i never did tell him and till today, it remains like a star plus ka drama when the *not so leading* girl nurtures this huge crush *and whatever other feelings* towards her friend *who continues to date other women right infront of her*. And so it went on: the calls, the counselling sessions my friends gave me, the gifts on any occassion i could think of, the talk- and- drink sessions and many more. My crush turned cold, was reborn, murdered, revived, beaten to near death, turned numb and finally went to be a mere "detachment" *which is these days

During all this time, i graduated and started working. But it just wasnt enough *as my blog readers bear witness to my tantrums of he doesnt love me and im going to kill him if he goes out with sumbody again! It was, therefore, in atleast HIS best interest that i kept myself even busier. So, instead of working one job, i started working at two places. Earned, quite well (if i may say so myself) and spent all my money within the first 6 months. Then, horror of all horrors, i went broke!!

When people tell you that being poor is a curse, they sure as hell know what they are talking about! Its a godamn curse and u truly wish to die. Truly. I had no money, i couldnt hang out, i could shop and above all, my heart was broken very very bad. And after a great many months had i actually felt that sharp stab of pain that recurs and recurs again. And so, i was sad.

Then, one day, amma got me a few "goodies" or a "gift pack" as she cheesily called it. It had a shampoo and a deo, a soap and a scent and our leading character: The Facewash!

Lying oh-so-very-innocently in that bag, it screamed out the Johnson's Gently Exfoliating Facial Wash tag and a apurt of gentle violet and peach seemed to be coming out from the Soap Free proclamation.

Now dont get me wrong. Like most females, my high isnt a pair of Manolo Blahniks or an L.V. I get turned on by scents and facewashes and flowery girly- smelly shampoos and hence the name: goody bag.

So, the very next time i wanted to wash my face *which was rather early in the morning, but i was too damn excited to use the new facewash*, i went to the loo, eyes half closed (in a vain effort to retain whatever sleep i could in my eyes), brushed my teeth and splashed some cold *very cold, infact* water on my face. Next: The Facewash! As i rubbed it in my palms and began to lather my face, I HAD A FUCKING HEART ATTACK!

WTF!!! Yours truly's eyes remained shut, the hands on yours truly's face and yours truly's breathing became non existant! Now how the fuck did he come in my washroom???

Exactly! He hadnt! The fucking Facewash smelt like him. I can swear upon God. It did! It smelt like him! And as i stood there frozen, i realized i may have a way out of my misery...

Im a sniffer and a snuffer now :D

The Final Bite

The Mouth worked itself into taking another bite. Just the prospect of sinking teeth into the tender warm flesh was an immediate high. Nerve endings were sensitized to the max, ready to feel the exact moment when the meat would be punctured by just the teeth endings and the smooth even un-describable sensation would follow. That bitter sweet aroma of blood- was- pumping- in- it- once, the probability of life coursing through the tiny veins crisscrossing the muscle and the prospect of sheer rawness was almost too much to bear. So the Mouth drove towards the goal and sank the tiny dagger- like teeth into the meat. The scream that arose was deafening to the already- sharpened feelings, it nearly tore through the eardrums and almost broke the spell. Almost. The grip slackened, for just a nano second till the control was once again established and the teeth sank deeper and deeper, till just a very sad, pathetic whimper was left.

The process of chewing was itself a huge turn on. The flesh was soft and sweet, nearly rubbery, but just to the right tilt. It felt like a chewing gum at first, with the sensation of the Mouth being too- full and not enough breathing space left. The tongue felt swollen. The small taste buds suffocated. Surprisingly, there was hardly any taste of blood in the bite. The nose remembered the smell from the first bite only, and now the muscle fat seemed to dissolve in the Mouth, melting on the gums, lubricating the lips, tantalizing the taste buds and numbing the mind. One could almost relate it to para- jumping. Almost. This was much better.

Chew chew chew. The Mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. Chew chew chew. An attempt to swallow was rejected by the trachea, so chew chew chew a little more. Oh what freshness the Mouth experienced, tender and crisp at the same instant, warm and deathly cold at the same time. Swallow. One look at the remaining meat and the Mouth moved to take another bite. This time the scream that rose was tired, as if everything had given up on the current state of things, as if the last door to release had just been discovered booby trapped. Oh how many of us have felt the exact same way?

The third bite was the worst. The eye had just seen the tiny morsel on the bone, peeping through the skin. Skin was such a waste of nutrients. One could almost eat it if not for the tasteless ness. Almost. One never did; skin was always stretched off first, as if making it kosher. That was the first step towards thankfulness. After all, much was there to be thankful for. All praise to the Mighty. All praise to the Miracle. All praise to the constant availability. All praise to the masochistic tendencies. All praise to himself and nobody and nothing else.

Yes, the third bite. The Mouth had almost forgotten. Almost. Not quite. The tiny morsel stuck unfailingly to the bone; looked enticing to the eye. As the Mouth bent to tear the flesh away from the bone, the teeth could almost taste the crumb as it rolled between the 32 of them, the tongue could nearly feel it lolling on it and the throat almost ached to swallow the final bit. The Mouth bit, the teeth sunk and the tongue flicked, and with the pair of hands restraining the body down, the Mouth snatched the bit away, into the cave and under the tiny saws. The bone looked vain, shiny and too white as the body jerked and silenced; strangely at peace. Finally.