Thursday, September 3, 2009

the irony called "fuck"

A girl came over to him and said “Can I have a cup of coffee with you”?

He looked at her askance and gave a positive nod. They went to a nearby coffee shop, Café Coffee Day, and the girl led him to a corner which overlooked the sea and was in a kind of elusiveness from the rest of the café. He kept staring at her as she looked out the window; a sense of calm over her face mystified him as he tried to gulp the whole episode down in one shot. But it kept producing a lump in his throat, which either the girl guessed or he suspected that she guessed.

“What does the sea looks like to you”, she asked.

He says “it looks just like my own self in the mirror, tossing up and down at a frantic pace without any knowledge of its existence or its course of motion in the next second. And in spite of all this uneasiness around it a strange sense of happiness prevails in its disco-dance”

“Are you a writer or something”, she said skeptically.

“I’m a whore of the most third rate sort” and said it with such an assured voice that he himself believed it for a very long duration.

“We are all whores in one way or the other. It’s just the kind of fucks and its frequencies which distinguishes one from the other or how much pride one takes in being one”, was her reply with the usual serenity with which she has been watching the sea.

“Kind of fucks!! Gives me the idea that you have been a regular at destiny’s bed”.

“At one point of time I almost thought as if I was its certified mistress” with a sort of élan that he almost felt weak in his knees.

“So how does one rate as the best and one as the worst”.

“Aah!! The evading question, you are a motherfucking writer, aren’t you”, she says with her most intimidating face.

“My question still stands”.

“Your question made me realize the irony in the usage of the word, fuck. When life fucks you, you say that it has been harsh and you have been bulldozed by its never ending cock, penetrating you with all its vigor, long after even when you have dazed off into a hallucinating world where you cannot imagine any traces of life except a sense of longing for it.”

“But the only thing you desire while on bed with a person is exactly that kind of fuck”, he completed her sentence as if reading her mind under spell.
“So how would you answer it”, she asks as if his would be Americas answer to Sputnik.

“It depends on how you view a fuck!! As a dogmatic activity proposed by many clerics, a routine activity which you have to perform in order to keep a marriage working, something you crave for day and night, or a subject blown out of proportion.
In the first case your usage of the term in the negative sense is justified, in the second case it just makes the cut because life is itself engulfed in an oceanic routine, if you crave for something by the night so much and the same word embodies all the illhappenings of life for you during the day time is nonsensical, and in the last case it doesn’t matter where or how you use any term because you don’t probably care as to what stands you keep in your life”, slightly twitching in his chair more worried whether she would buy what he said rather than his usual insecurity towards making sense.

“Suppose you are standing on one of those rocks out there and a wave splashes all over you soaking you from tip to toe, would you say that you have been fucked because you felt elated by the water’s intimacy or you would say you have been fucked since now you have drenched clothes and all and need to change”, she goes the extra mile.

“So you want to stand on the frontiers of something with such a natural force and command it at your disposal”.

“You just quoted my ambition in life with the simplest phrase”, she says without the slightest bit of vulnerability.

“One shouldn’t spill out her secrets just because someone struck the right note out of the blue”.

“Well you deserved to know that one and I couldn’t think of an answer to fake your revelation”.

For the first time he was able to find her attractive with a strange sense of belonging. Her eyes were filed with sense and she was trying to look through her head. Her hair betrayed her because it was not as straight as her look and not as twisted as her thoughts.

“Checking me out! Wondering how would I be in bed!”

“Oh you are well out of taste for my bed but the blues of your eyes match the ones of my sheets”.

“So your bed is this giant ocean where you need to be a swimmer of the extraordinary sort”.

“No it’s the sky which you can see while standing on this earth but need a rocket to discover”, he says in an amusing tone.

“And what is your place like?”

“The Milky Way!”

“Is it really that good or you are saying so to make me see it?”

“Who said the Milky Way was good?”

“Well it certainly is a heroic example to give”, she says with a pinch of excitement.

“Wanna see it”?

“I thought you would never ask, since I don’t have a rocket”.

“Well you don’t need a rocket to see my place, that’s just for the bed”.

As she walked into his apartment with careful steps so that she doesn’t steps on the papers lying carelessly on the floor, she could see the Milky Way as it was in fact cloudy which can be seen on the wall to the right which was filled with questions without any question marks and all colors possible, mostly with the black pencil. Two racks carved out of wood brimming with books lying against the wall in front with a couch in between and a table in front with an ashtray crisscrossed with pencil sitting on top of a few newspapers. A couch was lying adjacent to it and it was evident from its neatness that it was more recent than the used one. A gadda was lying in front of the hand printed wall with the blue bed sheet he talked about. To her right were two doors leading to the same balcony and a television set hanging in between the doors right in front of the bed with a movie player lying below it.

She went to the bathroom opened the tap over the tub took off her sleepers and lay fully clothed.
“Do you have a good story that can turn me on? I haven’t been turned on in ages”, she was lying in the tub with her face protruding just from the surface and her ears were inside, eyes closed.

He was sitting right next to the tub with a cigarette in his hand and reading from his diary, a narration about a similar incident that took place in his world.
“….At one point of time I wished that her lips could stay with me. They were quite unlike anything I had seen before. Emoting desire and manufacturing desire, in me. I felt like playing with them, with fingers, toes, toys. I wondered if I could see mine touching hers. I wanted to see how they react when I touch them. I wanted to see the teamplay of as an egoistic species as that.”

She takes her face out and without opening her eyes asks “So were they all you think they were”.

“I was so in love with them that I decided never to find out”.

“A love scene without kissing!”

“Yeah I tried everything in the book to make her remain connected without the kiss, but she didn’t like it. It was the hardest punch a girl ever gave me but what else can you expect after three failed attempts from her side”.

“You are a selfish bastard, continue”, looking in a way that made the comment her most believable one all night.

2 comments:

Saad said...

"....and she was trying to look through her head".

What d0es this phrase mean??

aditya said...

"we all are WHORES in one way or da other" its a deep thought!!!