To the guy who doesn’t return home at night,
You are the typical bad boy. You return home if you wish, you don’t if you don’t feel like returning. The world thinks you have gone nuts, you have nothing to achieve, nothing to accomplish, nothing to look after. Actually they think, you will not listen anything, will not take anything seriously and do anything properly. So they easily jump into a conclusion that you are a bad boy!
Believe me, I do get you. A pros, a drink, a puff, a party, a crime…whatever engages you at night, is actually a hallucination to keep you away from reality; and you are weak enough to fall prey to it. A hallucination becomes your fad when reality tears you apart over and over. There might be a storm inside you, there might be rainstorms or sunshower or something very poignant trying to come out of you. But you don’t realise it, sadly. So, you make yourself believe in cheap pleasures…a bottle of rum, a porn, a street prostitute, a powder roll, women, smuggling, gambling or whatever exists in the world. These things only intensify your senses and you go away from dream, love, sunshine and soul. You forget to look inside, you forget to show your soul, forget to appreciate little joys of nature. Then, one fine day, the real you dies to the drugs, to the crime, to the humanity. You stop feeling for home, for mom.
I do believe in your past. You once were most softhearted, soft-spoken human alive in the world. But I do trust you. I know, there is still a person, a child inside your dusky heart who tremendously needs love. I know you will enjoy the sunset more than dark smokey nights. I know you will enjoy the bright days more than the gloomy drug-stained nights and lipstick-stained shirts. You just need to believe, you are a good boy…you’re just a good boy with bad thoughts and worst past. You have to believe that life is new as day and old as time. You have to look beyond your hallucination. If you look beyond, you will see the melting sunshine, it has nothing to do with alcohol or your idea of enjoyment. Life is a love letter long enough to beat the paper rolls which carry powdered drugs.
A person who understands your pain.
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!