Sunday, July 15, 2007

TO Pee OR NOT TO Pee


Well, reading Hamlet online with a Simplified English Interpretation tailing each word, so that I may understand the real meaning of my favourite tragedy. So don't expect anything here.

I thought the absence of semi-genius ideas and pieces of notions which need to be documented and preserved on this blog for my future reference was nothing serious, but now it alarms me more than the ant family living on my bed, who will soon be evicted as the symbiotic relationship has transformed into a parasitic one and the rule remains -- no ants in my pants.

The only possible explanation is my own simplified interpretation of Hamlet's existential dilemma. My personal extinction won't be the answer to my fear of existence in this limitless and worthless reality. It won't be the annihilation of what I disapprove, but annihilation of the self with no significance.

The Simplified English Interpretation is that I can't accept the fact that PP has left town.
I know she will be back in 11 months, but unless I get myself pregnant and spend the next 11 months worrying about that (yea yea I am a hippopotamus... I will take 11 months if I want), I have no idea how to deal with this. Well, everybody is familiar with Anki's inability to deal rationally with distressing situations, but it only stems from the fact that she cannot allow herself to shed even a single tear over her loss. When Shelly left, this idea was internalised perfectly, but I still had PP to see me through. It is impossible to express why the situation is bad. Boyfriend, other friends, pets, parties, alcohol, driving in the rain, sleeping endlessley, movies, work or blogging cannot replace PP. I know she will find humor in this silly emotional outburst over a webpage, but it sucks.

Yep

IT BLOODY SUCKS.

I didn't go to the airport despite promises of enacting a dramatic sequence of me screaming her name through the thick glass partitions, and security officials physically restraining me from running inside the terminal. Finally, one soft-hearted official would pronounce, "yeh pyaar ka mamla hai", and I would rush to the airstrip, lost amongst the Indigos and Spices, while her plane takes off and I am reduced to a lonely figure, the tarmac drenched in my tears.

I didn't even meet her once since the day she told me she'll be leaving in 4 weeks. I didn't give her the customary farewell. I couldn't do the booze n hip-hop ritual, with me crying over her leaving all night through. The last farewell was actually mine and ironically I didn't even leave town. But, the experience taught me never to venture into farewell-land. It's a painful ride. So maybe, a welcome back party would be more fun and suited to my weak heart's beating.

We came together not because of an unexplained force that meant to foster a miraculous bond between us, but simply because we both took 'chartered buses' from two extremes of this city to find ourselves standing before the gates of enlightenment (read college) when the gatekeeper and cats were still stirring in their beds. So evetually, despite her plastic accessories, I warmed up to this moron over cups of cardmmom tea that she bought for me. And the minute we dicovered our love for Adam Levine, much before Billboard discovered him, our fate had been sealed. We made the gruelling years at this 'fuckin' journo course' a party to remember. It was an amazing trip. Boys, lack of sex, consequences of sex, J Lo steps, Jay Sean's hormones, frankie, UCB, ideology, career, fuck mans, doughnuts, pink bras, lovers, Raffle's vodka. I won't forget.


Of course Levine induced orgasms would be interrupted by debates about 'the other', 'the mother', 'the Dolce',
'the Chomsky', 'the gabbana', 'the Kissinger' and 'the revolution', but we decided we will save the world at a later date.

Maybe we will.
We taught ourselves well.
We are going our own ways.
But we won't stop loving.