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Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Kolkata Diaries : Day 27

It is precisely when night engulfs you that you're sad - sadder than ever. I've wanted to end my life more than once.The urge somehow has never been enough,or I have been too whimsical not to do anything whimsical to the self.Well,when I feel choked in the middle of the road (I have a respiratory problem) or at late night or sometimes in the shower,I feel like I would love to live,for once more it will dawn outside,one more time I will lend my vision a chance to take everything in and that's a pleasure,has always been.
Nonetheless,I am always scared when I walk the streets late at night - scared that the moment I loose conscious,I might just get raped and never get back to the place I usually stay in.I have seen the look on the faces of the people everywhere.They're hungry and they're past caring to what it takes to fulfill their appetite.I used to feel ickier when I was younger,now I'm pretty much used to that "hungry" look on most men I see on the road,and even women - often in short skirts,the other times clad in fancy sarees,roaming around malls and alleyways,they scare the shit out of me too.Suddenly,I realise it's darker than I think it is.It is precisely that the population is past caring ; the mob is seriously scary. They walk in the same direction,follow the same road and then they break it off at certain points when the rules are past their capability to stand things.Sometimes,though - only sometimes,I spot an artist who doesn't cross the road as well and the autorickshaw driver calls him an asshole and off he goes like a tattered kite.I notice the wind in his shirt sleeve,or how his shadow resembles poetry.

I wear an anklet on my right ankle.It doesn't ring,or maybe it does - I never pay enough attention to hear the sound.The anklet that enamoured my left ankle broke at a tug a few days ago and now it stays with him,that actually makes me glad sometimes.'The tie' shows ; and it's silver in colour.

I manage not to show the disgust of the terror this city leaves in its footsteps across history on my face.I try too hard but I guess it shows sometimes.On rainy evenings and amidst vulnerable and slow showers,they roll down my cheeks and often down my collarbones and down,down down to earth.I let them happen,I don't hold them back.After all,what belongs to the earth should go back to her.
I try to lend my ear so that I can hear the night creep up inside me and so it does,following a certain rhythm that glides down on mountains like clouds that lost their way on a distant island.

Photograph : 'Musician in The Rain' by Robert Doisneau.
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