To the girl who was my everything,
Girl, I know you are mad at me. I do understand your anger; that’s why I am writing to you rather than speaking on phone.
Yes, I am guilty. I have cheated on you with another woman. But believe me, I didn’t do anything intentionally. This is happening to me for the first time. I was always loyal to you. I never let any woman touch my shirt, keep head on my shoulder; I never hold their hands. I have politely said ‘no’ to coffee dates. Still, I couldn’t resist this woman. I have discovered a new me getting lost in her. She has colored my soul with a vibrant shade of red. And this red is the color of devastation. For the first time, I am letting my house collapse on fire, I am watching the storm raffle my belongings and a part of me getting shattered with you. I am watching you falling apart and dying inside.
I don’t know why this is happening to me. As if a sudden ray of the afternoon sun has touched me to make me do things that are purely illogical. I have taken off the shirt tagged with ‘good boy.’ For the first time, I’m enjoying being a bad boy. I didn’t gain anything being good for years. I know, being bad won’t help either. Still, I want to get carried away. I know, you are probably cursing me, praying for my destruction and I want to get destroyed, happily. The sin tastes so good!
I will never deny our connections; I will never disown any association with you. You will always be there in a secret cell of my heart.
The boy whom you don’t want to see anymore.
Dear bad boy,
None can describe you; you are beyond words.
None can bless you; you are beyond blessings.
None can fight with you; you are beyond war.
None can win you; you are beyond defeat!
You don’t let anyone touch your soul. You are like an oozing river, carrying so many stones inside; those stones of indifference, lost love, hatred, loneliness, withdrawal and betrayal don’t let you settle.
I know you. I know that you want to carry a bird’s nest on your head. Your eyes cry of love, not dusts. Your heart is broken and beyond repair. Your home is broken long ago. Still, you crave for motherly touch, a lovely land, a homemade meal and a shelter when the sky is really overcast. You crave for a home, a sweetheart to return to at the end of the day. The reality is very cruel. Here, a bad boy has to be bad in every sense. Our society will always tear of the flower inside you and make you a cactus.
So, I have a request. Please carry the flowery heart always. Never let people fully know you; let them judge you from distance. And you carry on being the fresh raindrop of early monsoon!
Someone still sees good in you!
Diary of a jerk:
The crazy winds grazed my face adorably, the first ray of the morning sun invaded my eyes and some morning birds kept chirping. On such a cloudy morning I discovered myself in bed with my ex. I opened my doped eyes and felt like I was just dropped from the sky! It is a very natural feeling when you wake up after long. And I slept like eternity! Slowly the memories of yesterday evening along with the steamy night came before my eyes and I sighed. I searched for the packet of cigarette and her solemn face caught my eyes. Once again her sweet face made me forget what I was searching or what I was thinking.
I looked at the walls; the tiny bulbs are still twinkling. The windowpane is also glittering, bedecked with tiny raindrops. The posters laughed at me. And I looked at her sleeping face. I gazed as if she is the sleeping princess and I am the prince charming to wake her up! Her lunar tattoo on neck greeted me a good morning. Slowly, my eyes rolled into the room, the floor…the paper rolls are still scattered, the empty bottles are lazing away the time. They too probably are quite surprised seeing us together.
I remembered how I met her last night, how she was crying, how I took her home…my home! I remembered how we powdered our noses and drank hard liquor as if there is no tomorrow. And then, like two highly reacting chemicals, we mixed up in bed. Thunders were deafening, lightning was loud and it rained torrentially. We both bafflingly tried to invade and console each other. I wonder how I am still alive after taking so many drugs together!
You come in small jars to give a dash of color in my life. I am in love with your appearance, colors, finishing and packaging. I never knew such small glass jars could bring so much happiness in my life. When I was too little to use nailpaints since then I am a fetishist of you. At my childhood I have mostly seen nailpaints in shades of red, pink, orange or violent. That generation hated weird colors on nails. As society never loved the idea of giving freedom to girls, nailpaints were strictly prohibited in school. It was really tough for a teenager who was completely in love with nailpaints.
Nailpaints had made my greish days brighter, dark days lighter with its appearance. It has taught me to fight against the Monday morning blues. Those tiny jars made me love myself, appreciate myself when no one is around or everyone has left. I have spent rainy days just playing with the brushes on my nails. I have spent my boring hours making weird designs on nails for the sake of nail art.
When I was on 11th standard, I only loved metallic shades and it was truly in vogue at that time. I had a box full of golden, silver, beige, off white, silvery pink nailpaints. Everyone wants to be a “dude” and painting your nails with metalized colors was a sporty way at that time. Actually those golden or silver colors gave me a little bit taste of freedom. I slowly started to know Hollywood gals and their blingy nails. Those nailpaints were a dash of sins in tiny bottles. I started hating red shades of nailpaints at that time. I still see people wearing red nailpaints and they are completely okay with it. I am sadly never okayed with the red nail polishes. Red nailpaints are like angels. And silver ones?? They have wings of sin; they desire to give you silver lining you deserve no matter how hard life hurts.
I also loved sparkler nailpaints. They too appear mostly in metallic shades and often in other colors too. Some love sparkling nails but my personal choice goes to solid colors.
Then the revolution of nail art started along with my college days. I can’t remember how many different types of nail arts I have seen at that time. From floral to geometric to checks to stripes to shades to stars to teddies…. Whatever exists in the world, people had included them in nail art.
Then all of a sudden, black nails started ruling as if the “age of devil” has come. People, irrespective of gender, started painting their nails with black nailpaints. Those were horrifying days. People thought their black nails as style statement while it looked like they have either dipped nails in ink or poured ink on nails.
Then we came to the age of fuchsia. The color God probably painted everything fuchsia along with our nails. Almost everyone started using nailpaints of this color. People have colored their dress to eyeshadow to lipsticks to ballerina to heart…. Everything. I loved this color a way too much. It gave me a weird feeling of living a purple life in tinsel town.
And now when I see people using five different colors in five fingers, I don’t get mad. Only one thing is constant in this life and that’s change. So fashion will keep changing along with our hearts. So whatever you don’t like today, you might like tomorrow. Don’t fret over today’s colors or decisions. Let time test it. Till then, keep painting your nails with the colors of your soul.
A simple gal