the Memoir of a Bomb

It’s about 1:30 am a cool night, surprisingly cool since its October in this tropical island, over populated tropical island I might add, but you really wont care for what I have to say after all I am hated and feared by all, which at times does give me a high. But if any thing I should be praised after all; I do decrease the population, a bit… depending upon my success, no I am not a condom or a birth control pill!! (I wonder why people are still afraid of them), far from that I am your not so humble and everyday fiend the un-delightful mobile-trigger-bomb, I bet you want to hear me out now don’t ya? Quite simply I am a bomb attached to a mobile phone and when my ringer goes Ring Ring I go boom!!!(For the kids who don’t seem to understand the many facts of life)

But why; why have I engaged you, in this conversation, my dear innocent reader? Well let me put it bluntly – I am quite bored of reading the sad sob stories, the stupid media reports, the absolutely funny if not hilarious solutions of your ministers, and the futile attempts to try and stop me!!! Well face it I am unstoppable, just give up won’t you! What about me, after all its me who is blowing up its because of me that all those people got their 15 seconds of fame, but did you even see me in the frame? Did you hear more that two lines of me over the radio, no it’s always the consequences of my sacrifice, or suppositions of which one of those barely literate bastards who, read a how to make a bomb, instruction manual on the internet, or watched the video on Youtube, and you cry life is un fair, no one ever thinks about me.

Hmm let me tell you something about me let me tell you my story yes, my story------- The Life of a Bomb but since I am going to be no more soon and my life is not too long let’s call it the Memoir of a Bomb. Well it all started about a month ago in this garage, delightful place I might say, but a bit under lit, well it was not exactly in the garage but more over above the garage, I must elaborate if you are to understand, you can’t make bombs in the open not nowadays, so the lovely masterminds built a false ceiling in this garage creating a really shallow room about 5 feet hihg, but quite large for me, you see I am not really all that big I can quite easily fit in your brief case or your purse or even in a schoolbag……. Size really does not matter! 

Hmmm the master minds my loving parents I must tell you about them they do deserve some credit, they did make me. Well there are five of them three of them work in the garage below they are mechanics and of the first class too, they already know how to make a car bombs and pipe bombs, the fourth one is an electrician in the day that is I like to call him sparky, the fifth one is quite interesting wonder how he met the others he actually is an American university student who used to study bio-chemicals but got chucked out of that country I really don’t know but he blames it on some bush, and speaks different. And yes the rest of my family consist of an uncle who drops in every now and then telling us all we will go to heaven, and his brother who sees to all our little wants. I was all bought in whole sale most of me came from Punjab, fertilizer is very cheap there and of very good quality, and most of me is a whole bunch of fertilizers, no…….. not dung. I was talking about a bit sodium nitrate, dash of potassium sulfate, a sprinkle of sulfur, 3 table spoons of charcoal, ammonium nitrate, all of its is readily available to any one you don’t even have to be over 18 to buy any of it. Well that’s me oh my …my…my I forgot the ball bearings how could I forget those tiny shiny little silver balls they go flying in all directions creating a storm of death, tearing apart flesh and embedding them selves in…. well…. Everywhere, oh and the nails too well they spin around until they strike some thing or someone, bleeding them to death, not the best way to die but what do you expect, I AM a bomb after all not just any bomb a mobile trigger bomb(latest import of India was conceived in the Gaza-strip, don’t you love the background info) yes I  am set off with a mobile phone its very simple you see a spark plug is connected to a mobile phone now when a call come thru a circuit is completed and the spark plug well for lack of words sparks and then you all know what happens and I go to bomb heaven depending upon how many of you mortals go with me I don’t know the exact number but I think it’s …err……… is some where between 25 and 50 for deaths and 100-200 for injuries not of the ratio though. So here I am waiting for that call but where exactly am I from what I see it looks like a building, no not a building it’s a mall oh lovely did want to see the Indian winter collection 08 how thoughtful of them, lovely little souls. So here I sit humming to myself looking at my image in the highly polished floor oh look they dressed me up I am the latest Calvin Klein luxury pure leather briefcase, and I have a great tag line too--- 

Between Love and Madness there is………….. Obsession…… Secret Obsession by Calvin&Klein.

Hmmm its all so lovely and beautiful I almost don’t want to blow up, but then again theses boots were made for walking and I was made for blowing. But I am not quite satisfied with my self really my life does seem too short, I was made for one purpose dying, or rather death. My entire life leads up to this ultimate end the big bang, I wonder why? Any way hope I don’t run into you that would be a terrible end to this story of ours. 

Ok now enough of me what about you? You know you have been really polite not to interrupt me but its about time you speak up you never know I might just blow up right now, seriously I do want to know more about you. Will you stop standing still as ever as if you a frozen mime excuse me are you even alive? Looks like I have been talking to a Mannequin but does it really matter all of them are just heartless mindless mannequins living their small lives, in a state of asleep-awareness, may be it will take a good explosion to wake them up, but then again how many of my brethren have come and gone yet they continue to slumber.  

i had written this on 5th of november and have slept over it cause i was not at all happy with the end, i might change it latter not sure yet. not been able to write of late.

By the railway a house that lay

As I enter the room the musky sent penetrates my thoughts, the color green floods my mind, it’s a unique sent, the smell of the first monsoon showers mixed with drunk rotting leaves on drift wood, the air is dense with moisture and absolute dejection. Its too dark for my eyes, the dull light of the sky doesn't stand a chance against the veil of sadness, I slip out my cigarette lighter the flick sounds louder than usual, must be the isolation of this place from the rest of society. The flickering, warm light, reluctantly illuminates a not too surprising sight the walls are plastered with fungus, the wood reduced to sponge, the old oil chandelier hanging dead four feet above my head, the ceiling yearning to cave in, most of the floor intact except for a small patch, which reveals a flooded cellar, almost how I imagined it would be. As I look around at this roughly 1000sq ft, one-storey+attic&cellar villa, I wonder some family must have lived here and died here for generations, unnumbered, yet all that’s left of them is this old dejected villa, all their past burnt away in the stone-brick hearth, left to the imagination of local soothsayers.
I pass by the villa almost everyday on my commute to work or collage and as my Churchgate fast speeds I get fleeting glimpses of this house and wonder about the life it experienced, it was a nice thought I dwelt in for about 5 minutes let me elaborate - gold yellow walls with a dark red roof, lush green grass and a lovely garden with a stray pup or two, few cats, an arm chair on the veranda, a few fruit trees and the sweet smell of mogra. Those thoughts haunted me every time I passed it by.
Now I find myself in that house looking for the life it sheltered. Regrettably this house has passed its time and I shall never know if it ever had a green past or the cute stray pup or the sweet smell of mogra. I came here uninvited an unwelcome guest, and I truly see this house naked for what it was. In the latter days it played home to a drunk and his miserable family, nothing more than a mistress of misery.
The old dusty bottles remain under the rusty iron cot, the walls unadorned, the wooden-wall-cabinets empty, the windows boarded up. Flashes of a terrible past grow in my mind…..arguments, abuse, drunk rages, the hurt the pain, he had a daughter she ran away, and was lost to the streets of old Bombay, the wife died of TB, he of drink, was found a month after by local boys looking for their lost cricket ball. It’s sadness begins to suffocate me I turn to leave as I near the door frame I see a rosary dangling from its rusty steel chain it falls apart as i touch it. I step out into the dull light it begins to drizzle mornefully, droplets of water fall from the old mangalore roof tiles, one catches the wall and as a lone tear slides down until it too is absorbed into the gloom of the house.
I take a last look at the villa its doomed to fall next month, the government claimed the land for railway development.
I spot the aged banyan tree, at its base are remnants of a iron swing, the iron was cast in flamboyant flowers, a last flash comes to me the laughter of a little girl mocking the tears.

I walk away lost in my thoughts until a voice calls out to me it belongs to the wrinkled faced and deep eyed lady with almost transparent hair, I ask her about the villa in my broken Marathi.

Momentary Fix

The rolled up joint the nicotine patch cute lil ecstasy pills, glorified lsd, heroin push-up the binge during happy hour, the usual but for now I find its u the thought of u awakening a part of me that as been suppressed for far too long under the ash of our time burnt. It’s a shame after all this time I spent telling the world how it should live I have stopped living my self, a solitary exile under a self imposed prison.
Yet I pretend to be free running in circles happy with the way things are going throwing smiles for free, sparking up laughter on the spur, yet its just a blur. Is that you walking by did u see me,, do u remember what we had. Of course u don’t ur just perfectly sane it’s me to blame, the paradox to a happy society, for what is society sans the glamour the gossip the envy the greed the vanity. so here I stand a misfit an outsider to your society, yes its me Mr cellophane 'Cause you can look right through me Walk right by me And never know I'm there... Invisible, inconsequential me!
Yet I indulge in the thought of u the brief experience of some thing out of reach, a dream without the happy ending.

why

A heart full of pain walks by the morning dew unawake to all that he knew.

The silent beeps of my alarm, I groggily awake my hand shivers to the stopper, slowly stretch myself out finally become aware of all my limbs, and the thought of you comes to me a smile breaks upon my chapped lips. The cold bites at my feet as I walk thru my dim house to the wash basin, the icy cold water chills my finger tips followed by a rush of shivers upon my face. I ’am still dreaming of you, as I dry my self. The kitchen is bright the kettle is freezing upon the stove in half a minute I have a piping hot cup of tea in my palm thinking of you. The doorbell rings a sound that sends a shot of happiness through my veins, it’s the news paper. I rush to my room clear up the clutter move away all my books from the table clear the mess of shoes all over my room tuck away all the folds of my warm bed draw the curtains and yet I dream of you the one who my heart calls out to. A heart pumps more that blood as the time draws near sheer joy fills my veins and then the door bell rings I know its you I rush through the passage to open the door and there you are the my dream come true. Yet again I showed off my skill at shooting light, most proud that you acknowledged each specimen that went passed. Yet the one last request I made to you, you turned down to meet another any icy shard finally breaks through the cold finally penetrates the comforting shield I had around me fails and crumbles like glass.
Yet once more I feel my blood flow freezing my insides with disdain.

dream catcher

The lone warrior lay wounded the sole survivor of his cursed troop, the foolhardy rushed head long into the battle and finally snared ‘tween wood and blade; one remained wounded, blood draining from the many orifices riddled throughout his body a broken sword clutched in his right. He lay there near the valley of shadow looming over, as life trickled to the ground cursing the feet of the old willow, the gods watch on; what is the life of one man worth. Yet he submitted to death, death that rode beside him now turned against him there by the valley of shadow he submitted to the prince of darkness, yet death has to pity to free those from suffering, as a shadow he remained ever fleeing from light yet never far from his victim.
Minutes went by a second at a time hours passed away a minute at a time, days moved along an hour unnumbered, yet death chose to wait. The lone warrior shifted from one world to the other the fight raged on in body and soul yet his mind was dead to all the chaos.
In his slumber yet he thought on one that he left back the one whom he loves the last smile the, the last glance, the twinkle in he eye, her hair rivers of black silk her soft touch.
One dreams yet oblivious to the chaos surrounding his mortal flesh for her. Shall she ever come to awaken him or for ever shall one have to wait.

the Fallen

The pain of the insane.
The hurt thru disdain.
Why, I ask
Why, me?
Is this life worth the livin’
Or I’m stuck in a worl’ fit for dyin’
And no stars up in the sky
Can tell me why it was I.
The one to fall from my greatest high?
Into a darkness of thy.
Yet again, it was I
The one who failed to die.


‘Tween the lust of pain one could not find any gain, as scavengers circle above thy head to whom shalt thou turn to when none now know who thou art.
Would look finally into thy own eyes, master of doom, whom doom mastered.

the broken Mirror

In a dark room faintly illuminated by street lamps a dark figure sat crouched, lost within his thoughts a mere shadow of the man he was to be, that be me on a normal day thinking about the past, my life an ornate mirror crashed on the floor each fragment reflection a different side of me the rage, the hate the fear the pain the sorrow yet I looked for one that reflected a smile, I begin to piece my life together and as I look into each piece pain fill my soul each one of them leaves a bloody cut behind, it doesn’t take much until rivers of blood trickle down my arm few moments later I look back at my work a blood stained mirror riddled with cracks, a shattered life of misery and pain. It will be easy to walk away, turn a new leaf, change once more into some one else be a new me erase my past, yet I wonder how much of my self have a I lost changing from person to person, can I still cal my self me?
A new year started yet I have been unable to change, still my days go by with constant reminders of my past, the cold nights miss thy warm touch, still I walk pathless alone in darkness, your memory still haunts my waking hours. My dreams still taunt me. Yet your smile has left me.

intoxicated lie

A sweet scent draws the mystic shade closer into a wicked conner, of a dark town crumbling into chaos, the street infested with rogue flowers, powers and intoxication. Yet only a single scent drowned among the rest serpents its way through the throng of cheap perfume to one lost to the world, deeper into the madness he follows reaching the halogen lit opium room with green tables and polished teak floor, exotic perfume intoxicating the mind and teasing the body, yet that sent holds not his mind like a blood hound on the trail he senses his prey is near his fair skin is riddled with goose bumps, the hair on the back of his neck prick. Hw has closed in on the prey cornered in the dark hole, like an alcoholic he moves forward his hands trembling head bobbing, a slow hummm emerges from the crowed followed by rustic percussion, a flute fiddles its melody from a far conner the lights dim into darkness, pin pricks of light the only remainder of the narcotics, from heavens pitch black above like fallen angles bathed in light descend, clothed in but their skin the tempo quickens the angels sway their hair black as rivers on a moonless night flirting with the opium laced air, the madness of the devils delight mounting on building up into deadly intoxication, they fall in the arms of awaiting pleasure seekers, as dusk turns to night the room is filled with naked flesh, yet one unfazed by the narcotics or skin awaits silently as pairs of heavily drugged couples move away into side rooms to waste the night away, one forgotten in the darkness a shade of a bygone era lingering on for death waits yet no one answers his waiting plea.
The sweet scent failed him yet again. He walks away from it all knowing only too well he shall pursue yet again a scent into the bowels of death, in hunt of one that might free his soul once a again, one who might make a new his destroyed heart of stone.
He sat upon the edge of the world staring into the ink dark sky and a twinkle of light zooms by were the gods mocking him yet again or did chance favour him?
The light brings hope to his darkened mind and he follows the path of the star in to burning dust.