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A Boy's Conversation With Life

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The man with no money was back in the city again. Life simply was lived through an odd sense of humor. He had no money so he tried to laugh at his own penury. He was also a man sick in love. Now he understood what loving someone without success felt like. It was like loving a satellite when you are just a human being on earth looking up at the sky on a dark night. His empty pockets humiliated him every where he went. His love gnawed at his heart every moment of his existence making it impossible for him to feel hungry or aggressive or strong. But the odd sense of humor always survived inside. He found himself funny. And therefore he found life funny. And that made him happy. And by clinging to that happy thought he overcame the idea of loving for the sake of being loved back. This was a small victory with contingencies. Well, he would do whatever he would like to do with his life. When he is ready he would escape this current plague of love and penury too. There is always a choice, a…

He Needs a Girlfriend

 He was trying to help himself. Since he was so freaking bored. What should he do? There are bottles lying around. Should he jump on top of them and crush them? What is this? What sort of craziness is this? He simply can't remain quiet and peaceful, not even for a second. The breathing exercise. Please don't make him angry. Obscenities and vulgar words are common symptoms of the boy's case so please don’t make him angry. So what the puke should the boy do? The boy should lie on top of a naked girl. Yeah that’s right he should strip himself clean and lie on top of a naked girl. So this is the disease that takes shelter inside an eighteen year old. This restlessness. Well. We really wish the boy soon gets a girlfriend to unload his bag of frustrations. It is not funny at all. The other day he heard his side-kick telling him his experience of doing sex. Damn it! Do you think the boy's penis got erect? Actually we nor does he know if it did or not. The whole point is ideol…

Good Old University of Delhi

ThefirsttimeImetPriya,itwasontheparapetofthefirstflooroftheArtsFacultybuilding.It’salwaysroomyandairyandwarminArt’sFaculty,thesunraysalwayslightingupthecorridorsfull  ontheface.Iapproachedherwithasmileandsaid,“Hi”.AndshesmiledandrepliedHitome.Andtherewasaslightoddmoment,andshesaid,“Sowouldyouliketositdown?”AndIsaid,“Yes,Iwouldliketo.Idon’tfeellikeattendingclassnow.”Andthuswebegantalking.ItoldherthatIwasfromAssamwhensheaskedmefromwhereinNortheastIcamefrom.ShewasfromUP,herhomewasasix-hourridefromDelhibytrain,buthadgrownupatdifferentplacesbecauseherfather’sjobtookheralloverthecountry.Shehadlargeeyesand

Now I Can Sleep

Puspankar’s house was down a lane in the Ruksin market vicinity. We had to tiptoe in past the gate because the way in was being freshly macadamized, and besides, it was night time. We had to use the back entrance. Once inside the back door I stood in front of people I had never met before. On my left beside the kitchen and sink was a girl in her teens, peeling potatoes, and standing close to the gas burner was a short woman whom I took to be Puspankar’s mom, I would have wanted to study her face and get to know her—the resemblance between her and Puspankar if there were any but for now it was I who was the object of study. I had taken them by surprise appearing like that with Puspankar. In front of me were two girls seated on a sofa, they had that distinct thing that all schoolgirls have: an unwritten blank boundless future. These schoolgirls had been watching Bollywood songs on the T.V which was on my left.
“Puspankar Da, why don’t you introduce him to us?” One of the girls, the tall…

Phone Call from the Border

Diram’s boarding-room was a five minutes’ walk from the main road. The road was asphalted and it kind of felt nice walking on it. There were houses on both sides, but the road looked deserted. The locality had a distinct feeling of being both modern as well as traditional. I wanted to take a piss before I entered Diram’s room. The toilet and bathrooms were at the far end of the boarding rooms. There was a small well on the side to draw water from. The well fascinated me: If somebody fell in it, death was a cinch and a horrifying one at that. Unless the bucket-rope was thrown down to save the drowning man.
“Nobody is going to fall in there. It’s just not possible if a man has a mind,” Diram replied when I addressed him my fear.
Once we both were done taking a leak we went to his room. He unlocked the door and walked in and said, “Welcome” from the inside.
I walked in and before anything else surveyed Diram’s room.
Right in the middle was a table with books and notebooks lying about, and …

Son, Be a Man

On the bus I had met a young man and a boy. They had boarded the bus somewhere ahead of Silapathar. Possibly he was a widower and the boy his only son. The bus was jam-packed, people sitting and people standing and large cardboard boxes in the possible spaces. Sitting beside me was an eyeful of a man with short-cropped hair and a large round face. He had light skin and slit eyes, could have been one of us, belonging to the Mising tribe, like me, or from Arunachal Pradesh, or from China. He had a white t-shirt on, and a folded black coat on his hefty arms. Sitting beside him was a tall man with an extraordinarily jutting out chin; his face was cleanly shaved with a neat moustache below his nose. His chin, his thick eyebrows and the long hooked nose made me think how different looking they were from the tribal people of Northeast. When we are just born we all look the same, quite impossible to distinguish one from any other, and as we grow up, some baby’s chin jutted out and become thi…

The Joy of Meeting Old Friends

Puspankar had picked me up on her sister’s scooty; we had reached.
“Fuck! Man!” I said, getting down the scooty. “Fuck! Man! Diram, I can’t believe it I am seeing you.”
“Fuck! Dick!” Diram said smiling profusely, “I can’t believe you really are here.”
I hugged him. I moved back, looked at him—that face and smile unlike any other face and smile in the world. I hugged him again. We were too happy right there. I hugged him one more time. We were meeting after four years.
“These are my friends, K.K, and Ribang—you might have met Ribang before.”
“Oh hi!” I shook hands with them, and remembered to mumble mine as was the norm. “I am loving this place, I never thought Jonai would be this cool, this place is a hill-station man, the air is cooler and healthier, I can smell it, it’s just so fresh, and those hills on the background…you guys are lucky this is your home.”
“But they say your Majuli is better,” Puspankar said, “You are just seeing it from a tourist’s point of view.”
“Yeah, you are right, I …