Train of Thoughts

I love traveling in the Second Class- there’s so much air in the compartments…

So once I was on a train (The Tangential Express) to Rajasthan, and I was being exhilarated by the fact that I was standing on a doorway that had no door to contain me, a block of air traversing through my body. I thought- what an opportunity to aerate my cranial hollow, and stuck out so much so that only my palms and feet-fingers were actually inside the massive, hurling lumber of steel; Imagine a horizontally aligned miniature human parachute holding the train in its course.

Air blasted through my left ear, and swept off all of my grievances and misgivings out of my right. My top floor felt aerated. If I stuck both of my pinkies to partially block the left earhole, I could even manage a whistle loud enough to contest with the train’s.

Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, up on a gentle bend, I espied a huge shaft of metal gate on the tracks, which allowed only a few inches of space for the train to shoot through. Wait a minute, I thought- Rajasthan is a hot place- look at all the sand; metals tend to expand, right? The train must be swollen with all the heat; can it really fit through the gate? So I rubbernecked (wincingly) to get a better look…

The train snaked lazily towards the gate, and amazingly shot through the gate. Hurray, I mentally shouted, causing an echo, which was quickly drained out with the air tunnel phenomenon going on inside my head. A classic Doppler effect.

If I hadn’t surfed along this tangent, my amazing experience would have ended right here. For I would have had time to withdraw my chute to the compartment. From where I was, I could see the solid gate hurl towards me in a frightening momentum, and although I managed to get inside up to my neck, I felt more than saw a big thump on my left temple…

My left eye jumped out, but the optic nerve yo-yo’ed it back into my optic hollow- but the pupil was facing inside, noting the amorphous brain sitting sagely inside- I noted a sense of Deja-vu. A loop of optic nerve was now hanging out from my left eye-hole, sort of like a telephone cord holding the receiver in its rightful place…

Staggering with the experience, I propped my body against the wall of the compartment, and hung my left arm limply over the optic loop, and tried to regain the composure. I had shifted my whole weight onto my right leg, which was shaking crazily, threatening to buck. Everybody in the train had a gaped look in their faces. A few passengers started to vomit on each other, and triggered a chain of induced throw-ups all over the compartment. After a while, walls were dripping off dull-colored viscous fluids- I could make out that this lady had chicken sandwich for lunch, while that man had tequila shots the night before. It’s hard not to get the picture…

I looked back at the innocent doorless doorway that had started all this. The air that was now coming in now felt chilly. I felt naked in the audience of annoyed passengers. I pretended that there were some sand grains in my right eye, and rubbed it vigorously with the sides of my forefinger; and during the charade, as surreptitiously as I could (given the situation), I grabbed my left optic nerve and pulled out the eye. I carelessly stuffed the nerve back into my skull and plopped the eye back into its place.

Accident Prone / Off the Tone

I remember running between computers…

Sometimes you’re doing a task in your computer. Then suddenly you have to use another comp u.r.g.e.n.t.l.y. You find an empty cubicle, turn on the comp, and realize that you had left your fingers at the keyboard of your own comp. You hurry back, collect the digits, go to the other comp, realize your eyes are dribbling on the floor, and that somebody just tripped on your optic cord (talk about somebody being on your nerve).

All the while, your brain’s dizzy with the frantic, bouncy pictures registered by the retina. You hurriedly pick off the staple pins from your cornea, re-wet your contact lens, and pop the orbs back in… before realizing that you put them in wrong holes. You then ask somebody to pat the back of your head to pop them out, and although you deftly catch them in your palms and put them in their respective holes, your left eye is put the wrong way round so that you momentarily glimpse the puffy brain sitting amorphously inside your head. You rearrange the left eye, and, as an extra measure, you staple your eyelids to your forehead (thereby recycling the collected pins) and paste a generous length of cello tape over your eyes to keep them in place, but taking care not to run the tape over your eyebrows (coz it hurts when you take it off).

You finally sit in front of the other computer. Then you realize you need to go to your computer i.n.s.t.a.n.t.l.y. You rush to your desk... and you realize that you had left your digits at the keyboard of the other computer. Plus, the tape has already started peeling off coz your eyes are now watery. And when you get to the other computer, the person is already back in his seat, and you see your fingers deposited in his pen stand… But you see the person also has a cello tape put across his eyes, but his left eye is put the wrong way, so that the iris is facing the inside of his head… you begin to smile, solaced by the confused look on his face… it’s not only you after all.

You start to laugh uncontrollably…

Tie Me

I noticed at the sun-up,
The unraveling silk strands
In my embroidered tie.

Fingers stuck to the thought.
Mind speculated in panic.
Eyes gaped.

Me lighted a match,
‘N hovered it gently,
Near the problem.

Tie whooped into flames.
‘N ash only remained.
Shitfully shit. My tie!

I blink off my reverie, ‘n glance
At the affectionable cloth, lounging
On its back, on my visitor couch.

Uhh! Still reassuringly there. Still sexy.

I’ll probably use a mosquito coil instead.

Random Thoughts, Freestyle

You know, it's like swimming around the pool in circles...

Here I am, sipping caffeine, sugar and hetch-two-ough, and random sparks begin to shoot around my cranial hollow. Is moustache really dead, I wonder... I mean, you do not see younger people nowadays indulging in that hair manicure - although, i might disclaim right-away, one does see a couple of moustache-beard combo, which, I must categorically state, is different from a pure moustache. Lets see... can we baselessly assume that in the next generation one does not hear somebody utter "Khane mukh lai Junga le Chhekdaina"?

Amidst carpeted quietitude in my office floor, I surf along a different tangent- what makes a heart flutter more- Caffeine or love? Is the flutter desirable in its own, or it is desirable because it signifies something desirable? Coz if it's the former, why not just have caffeine; and if your heart doesnt flutter enough, multiply your dose. In either case, I do not like this phenomenon- my heart feels like a ruptured balloon bounding against my ribcage.

Pretty soon, I begin recalling last night's brief moment of consciousness before I succumbed to eyeclosing. I could hear many dogbarks. I realize I do not hear them like this during the day! I also get a deja-vu that I had thought this particular thought SOME time before, but that's another tangential fray I do not wish to align to. So yeah, dogs. There is a scientific explanation that sounds are heard more distinctly during nights than during days... But I wonder, is that the only thing that's making you hear the dogs? Could it not be that dogs are CONDITIONED to bark at nights, and therefore we realize how many dogs are there in our neighborhoods?

Two houseflies were bothering me a while ago. Not at the same time, thankfully. Sort of like the way Jackie Chan is gang-struck; one at a time. I did the Schnooks, successfully both times, and the Death Flings... and I start to wonder how their average days would be like. Mostly, they are in search for sweet things, they buzz a lot, have a very obvious name (they 'fly' around the 'houses'- I mean, what if you are named 'Milan's Fan', huh?), some of them have bright, bottlegreen color and hang around in shitty places (literally). And they fear Spiders. There's even a joke that goes like: Why did the 'fly 'fly? Because the Spider spied 'er.

Then I begin to notice the sighing airconditioner behind me, and notice my forearm hairs standing up. You know (beware, scientific rant:) the real reason behind it right? It's to fluff up to conserve body heat. Animals do it with their furs, and birds with feathers. For us, it is just a shitty deal offered by Nature because we are not t.h.a.t. hairy (well, thank god for that, or else we would look like detailed monkeys), and the sparse follicular density doesn't really do the trick.

And it is just a matter of time before I begin to realize who you are and what you look like AT THE TIME you are reading this very sentence. Is your mouth stupidly hanging open? Do you have a mused half-smile? Are you in your undies ( I mean, ONLY undies? In which case, are your hairs standing up?). Speaking of undies- RED undies, to be exacter, how did Superman look so great in it? Have you realised how difficult would it be for him if he wants to pee? I mean, he doesn't have a fly! I can almost hear you say: Oh, but he does FLY!! ; after which, I'll sagely say, lame joke, yaar, lame joke.

So how come you are still here? Do you also like to swim in circles? Are you still inspecting the hair in your left nostril? There's no prize there tonight, friend. Have you jerked your head so powerfully that your eyeballs dribbled on the floor? Neither have I, but I would like to see somebody get it done.

Conditioned Airspace

I gingerly enter the white box. It is heavily carpeted in the manner that voices didnt bounce off surfaces, and footsteps weren't heard. There is an ambient light and shadows do not become.

Everybody is chained to a caffeinated drink and is either talking animatedly or searching for an animated topic. Each possesses a placard ("let me serve you") among a few displayables in their unpapered desks.

An odd chain of varied rings from different telephones throughout the workspace create a sustaining urgent melody. Intermittently, unattended cell phones jukebox cliched tunes. Now and then, I can hear paper rustles, squeaks and groans from wheeled chairs, unintelligible telephonic conversations, and the sighing air conditioners.

I feel I do not belong in this box. No matter how hard I try, my tie is too bright to match the surroundings. I try to stifle oncoming grins and end up looking smirking at best. I try to take in affected smiles and indifferent gestures as professional etiquette. I feel a rush of blood in my face as I try to maintain my composure.

In one corner, diagonally opposite to where I entered, is an unassuming desk manned by an unassuming person. Behind his shoulders through the thick glass of a fixed window, I see a warm-yellow sunbathed outside. Ignoring the need to blurt a courtesy, I clamber over the desk, (the man unsurprised and smiling knowingly), paste my face to the window and drink the scenery.

It is a traffic joint. The fumes seem unchoking and weary faces do not show from this point.

Pretty soon, a kid notices me looking outside. He waves to get my attention, and makes an obscene gesture with his crotch... And I laugh.

How to Slide a Chicken Under the Door

The other day I was trying to find out a way to slide a chicken under a door; This conundrum proved tougher than the Da Vinci Code and no, I have not yet found out a viable, noncasualty way of doing so. However, you might be awed to hear the wealth of options that went through my head:

1. Chloroform it- pluck out the feathers- roll it flat by a rolling pin- make a roti shape- slide it through;
2. Saw off the bottom portion of the door, at least 2 feet high- tell the chicken to walk through the opening;
3. Write 'a chicken' on a piece of paper- alternatively DRAW a chicken- slide the paper through;
4. Take the chicken's beak- insert it through the slit, ignoring the wild sqawks- and just keep pushing until it emerges on the other side- you might have to clip its clawnails first though;
5. Take a razor sharp knife- slice the chicken into very thin layers- place all layers, one after the other, on a rolled out toilet paper ('spreadsheet')- tie a string on the front of the spreadsheet- pull it gently from the other side of the door.

Is anybody concerned about the gravity of the situation? Last night, I called Kantipur Television to tell them of my developments, but after hearing 'Who is this guy?' in the background, I quickly hung up. I don't know, I got too scared...

Drunken Gazal

Listening drunkenly to the lazed gazal tune, he turns a blind eye to the direct sun in his eyes. Even the fly perched majestically on the silk of his nodding tie could not get on his nerves. Sighing contentedly, he feels vibrated at harmony with the hum of the sensual female voice, and lets his hands float on the wafting wind.

When I am like this, he exclaims to himself, I feel as impulsive as a dog.

As if to prove himself, he suddenly breaks his momentum and sits down cross-legged in the middle of the road, his earphone still filled with sultry croonings. Not even to the whooshing truckload of policemen (that leaves his shirt and tie flapping crazily) does he decide to bother.

Gently, he realizes that he does not feel any necessity to reach his office today.