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Monday, July 17, 2017

I am Jack's fetishised misery. Your good self?

Every time I'm on a flight, I idly think of it plummeting to the ground, crashing with a pretty boom. Debris and destruction and the crushing despair felt by 3 people on the ground who weren't nice to someone who died on that flight, not realising they'll never see them again. They'd be terrified, mortified, petrified, stupefied... for 8 seconds, before moving on to being annoyed at Ola Share algorithms. Because, let's face it, that rubbish thing is infinitely more infuriating than a piddly little demise.

Every time I fly I think of that scene in Fight Club, of Edward Norton on the flight, not wanting to kill himself but wanting to die all the same, hoping for a convenient air disaster. Air pocket, turbulence, stewardess running over your food with a trolley full of tasteless cup noodles, air pocket, flight crashing right into mine, jolly good, goodbye world. Nicely done Chuck Palahniuk, you little shock-value-ho.

Certain characters and scenes and dialogues will always remain with me, whether I liked the parent books/movies/shows/voyeuristic peek into others' lives or not. The image of a succubus consuming people whole, a la American Gods, is forever burned into my brain and wouldn't she make one helluva patronus?! Little less growly, more cuddly and dozy, wanting back massages and chocolates and hair pettings, slaying a dementor or two before bingewatching Bojack Horseman and feeling miserable (but very productively so, don't you think?). What an excellent patronus. I would name her Alice. 

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Shot Story #2: The one where they all know it's a cliche


"Rin safedi madam, hamesha", he always promised with a smile to the ladies he collected the laundry from. with a special wink reserved for the prettiest housewives in Cabana Enclave. Yes, those ones whose smiles would be wider if not for all that botox. those ones, who tried extra hard to transfer the sparkle from their solitaire earrings to their dull dull lives. He could tell that they weren't quite able to manage. He could help, though. he just didn't care enough to.

He gave them just enough to get them hungry. that wolvish smile, that lingering touch on their fingers as he took their laundry, when he gave back their change, when he took that glass of water that everyone knew he didn't really need. "Haan thanda paani please"

102 was older and quite undeniably sexy, but a bit too blatant for his taste. 403 was shy, but too easy. he knew he could have her anytime. 1303 was his favourite. there was something about the way she met his eyes and cocked her head every time she handed him the newest batch of clothes, that almost seemed like a challenge.

"you know what i want.
and i know you know what i want.
you going to do anything about it then?
or are you scared?"

The sheets were his favourite. The prospect of him and 1303 falling back on those sheets on that big bed that was beyond his pay scale to even see (but he imagined it was quite big) made him pine and blush and imagine and fantasize. None of the others made him feel this way. With the others, he had the control. Not with this one. This one's sardonic raise of a perfectly shaped eyebrow gave him sleepless nights. the thought of sullying those pristine white sheets on a bed that wasn't his, with a woman who wasn't his was almost too much to bear.

So when it finally happened to be, and when the not-entirely-unexpected sordid aftermath transpired (dhobi gathers the fortitude to seduce woman- husband walks in on some rather excellent sex- husband goes from shocked to miserable to violent in a matter of minutes- dhobi grabs kitchen knife from husband's hand and tries some rather unfortunate self defence- husband bleeds out wetly and vigorously and dies- wife screams- dhobi stabs wife in panic and then sits in silent shock wondering how his life got to this juncture- dhobi gathers his wits and saves existential contemplation for another day), it was rather convenient that he was able to deal with most of the evidence rather easily.

A drinking buddy who works in the local crematorium is a good thing to have. helps in speedy corpse disposal.
A job which has made you an expert in removing blood stains from almost any surface is another. 
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(Picture by Nitish Singh)