Life events are a big fat paradox, like two opposing sides of a balanced equation which ultimately negate each other’s effects on changing sides, making everything we’ve ever known a zero sum game.
The problem is that we can never know what aspect of our life is going to come back and bite us in the ass. I’m not saying ‘what goes around, comes around’, I’m saying what goes around, keeps going around and changing lives, not necessarily yours.
Our actions follow the principle of conservation of energy. It’s effects just keeps changing forms.
So remember, our simple smile can trigger a chain of good events and we might be the reason for a kiss in a lonely person’s life. On the other hand, an unthoughtful insult can result in a chain reaction leading a frustrated man to rape a woman.
Whatever this world is today, good or bad, it is the direct result of our very own actions. So, before we blame someone for anything, we should try to look at how we might have inadvertently contributed in making that terrible thing happen.
Winner Bot
Razorback, hanging sack
Tailored bones, thoughts unknows
Groaning joints, smoking shot
Grating glee, winner bots
…
Bought all dreams, shimmery seams
Flimsy teams, thimble reams
Papercut, called a nut
Must get rough, through the muff
…
Sickle sick, mowing rocks
Mewing jaw locked in shock
Choking chimes, chewing crime
Spitting glue, wall allude.
Gourmandize
River Squeam, Fairy Queen
Kipper cream on the fry
Sticky fork’s solemn dry
Seeming sugar’s feeling wry
…
Record time on the nine
Dare we dine, sleeky shoes
Reaching rind in the mood
Gulping brew in the nude
…
Stewing stove crazy hot
Chewing champagne, we forgot
Meaty talks, ticking clocks
Mist on ceiling, melting pot
…
Belt’s all loose, ooze profuse
Cheesy chimes at the door
Leery rise, reaming floor
Berry thighs, juicy whore
🔩Hot Steel🔩
I have always shaved occasionally as I’ve been blessed with facial hair in just the right places. So even if I don’t shave, I naturally have a french beard, also called a goatee with a moustache. The rest of my facial hair merely exists for namesake. Thus, I only shaved to lightly clean up the stray hairs. It was mundane. It was sometimes also avoidable. I didn’t care about grooming.
Like everyone, I used a cartridge razor. And really, it didn’t make sense to me. The razors might be cheap but the refill cartridges are super expensive. One razor’s cartridge-blade is designed in such a manner that it never fits another razor. Each cartridge-blade would work well only for a maximum of 10 shaves. Then I would drag it on and on, because the refills were not financially feasible at all. This made me prone to nicks and cuts as the hairs would get stuck in between the blades. And they would rust pretty quick as well. ‘Why was shaving such an unbelievably drag?’ I thought.
So I started reading up on this and realised that all this is a scam. The big shaving companies have devised fancy methods and advertisements to lure us into this fake world of “easy shaving”. And we pay a heavy price for it. And for what?
That’s when I discovered Wet Shaving through YouTube – to be specific, You-tubers like ‘Joy shaving’ and ‘Diwas shaves’. They have selflessly shone the path for many of us who were not enlightened. All you have to do is choose your weapon – a sturdy metal and not to mention beautifully ornate double-edged safety Razor. If you maintain it right, it can last you a lifetime. Then you need a bullet – a sharp blade that only costs a couple of Indian rupees. Each blade can provide you with 4 good shaves at least. Each shave costs 50 paise.
I need not regurgitate the number of advantages wet shaving has as compared to cartridge shaving as it has been overdone by several bloggers and vloggers already. But just in case you are uninitiated, I shall state a few: product longevity is incredible, less skin irritation, much cheaper in the long run and also the short run, you never have to use dull blades again, environment friendly as each part is made of metal which is recyclable. As opposed to the plastic cartridges and razors that fill up the oceans, cutting and scraping god-know-which sea creature.
The only small drawback is that there is a bit of a learning curve to overcome double-edged safety razor shaving. Actually, I would rather call it an unlearning curve’ since we need to forget our incorrect methods of multi-blade cartridge razor shaving i.e. applying a lot of pressure with the razor to get a closer shave, going rogue in very direction possible.
Wet shaving, as our forefathers would do it, is an art. You need patience. You need to enjoy the process, not get it over with. That’s the beauty for many, that’s a headache for most. But when you learn the proper technique, you will realise that one pass of the single-blade safety razor is far more effective than several passes of a multi-blade cartridge razor.
The experience for me has become so surreal and relaxing, that it is almost like meditation. It is my me-time. It is elegant. It is uplifting. It pumps within my veins, the energy, the will & the positive vibes to conquer my day!
Bristle Toe
A toe is its own entity, separate from the body. It has a mind of its own, albeit a lumpishly obtuse one.
It is said that at first, there was only one Toe. Once, the Toe wanted to be the King of the body, at the top of it. It wanted to replace the Head.
To secure the coveted position, a game commenced between the Head and the Toe. A game that us mortals, in our apathetic insignificance, call Evolution.
The head had the advantage of having a brain. But the toe had an imperishable, indomitable spirit.
So, using its intelligence, channeling evolution over a few million years, the Head gave the Toe competitors. 8 replica toes, to be precise. A fierce battle was fought among them. From which, emerged victorious the Big Toe who yet again wanted a position at the top of the body. It had more than proved itself worthy.
Not admitting defeat, the Head channelized the absolute viciousness of its brain. For the Big Toe, it created a wife, an equally strong Great Toe. “Haha,” the Head celebrated. There never was going to be a resolution as the toes were bound to fight for an eternity. And taking advantage of this chaos, the Head managed to relocate all the toes where they belonged – at the bottom of the body where they could quibble incessantly.
Till today, the toes bicker amongst themselves:
They brawl for space in your shoes. There’s always a weak one, on top of whom its neighbour is forever mounted. It’s the one who suffers from venereal diseases such as ingrown nails. Ghastly, I must say.
Sometimes, there is a moment of clarity and synchronicity. They curl up together during bodily orgasms. It is a tear-jerking sight. Beautiful!
The head, till today, punishes the toes from time-to-time … so that they never forget their place. Even though the head’s brain is capable of discovering countless galaxies and coming up with something as complicated and absurd as the multiverse theory … Sometimes, I feel, it deliberately ignores when something comes in the toes’ path. And BANG! A STUBBED TOE.
But the toes are no less. They have begun to develop a premonition. It makes you shriek, “Damn it! I knew this was going to happen!” But it still happens.
Right before the big bang, the little unruly ugly hairs on your toes’ back stand up like live wire. This phenomena is called BRISTLE TOE.
But the toe knows that you’re going to ignore the bristle toe for the head’s brain is far too overconfident. So the brain bypasses it. And the result is not what the brain quite expects. A shooting pain courses through ever nerve ending of your body. The brain is short-circuited. Is this the toe’s revenge?
Is there still some fight left in them?
Is this their retaliation? An uprising? A revolution? Weapon of choice – THE BRISTLE TOE !!!
Why do we all feel alone?
Ankle twisted, crunching back, broken knees, I still drag you to the oasis. Yes you, who are perfectly capable of walking. Yes you, who should be the one carrying me. Yes you, who only cares about what you feel. You, selfish you.
I tried my best to feign apathy, walk away and wait for you to pick yourself up. But you knew how to reel me in. You waited till the nth moment because you knew I couldn’t let you be.
It didn’t matter at first. I liked being the alligator that got to chauffeur the lion upon my back. I expected, one day, when my own back would collapse, when my own lungs forgot to breathe, when hyenas and leopards and gargantuan dragons surrounded me … I expected the lion on my back to fight for me. But no, the lion turned tail and left me be.
I will always be there for you. But I don’t know why, when it’ll matter the most, I know that you won’t be there for me. I know but I still stay. Am I a fool? Am I lonely? Am I bond by ties that I deem sacred? So sacred that the one tethered to the other side will merely draw out a knife and slice off the thinning thread silently?
Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?
I am as ridiculous as an inanimate object without a palpable soul.
I am a SOCK –
Beneath your feet all day, sometimes two, sometimes a week. Breaking your fall, absorbing the jerks, bathing in feet sweat. Sometimes violated and left to stiffen. Either I am throw … or … wash, rinse and repeat! An endless cycle. An eternity!
I am a BOWL –
You consume all that exists within me. And once it is over, I am left alone… A shell. Not cared about, not thought of.
I am a FACE-PACK –
Slathered onto the skin, I nourish the face all night, hidden from the scrutinising eyes of the ones in front of whom you strut the gleam that I provide. Only to be washed away. I never gets to shine in front of others.
I am a HAIR –
I shield you from the cold, I keep smut out of your chambers, I show your partner that you are at your sexual peak. What do I get in return? I am hacked and disposed off in the most unceremonious of ways possible, as if I brought you shame!
I am a LONE …
Seeping embers
The drone of the AC, the groan of the joints
The flick of the cigarette into the growing night
The rattling fan, the staggering stance
The lancing splinter shed by the dancing cot
Set to rot in the rains, sleep that feigns
All senses appraise a glowing sight
Clanking swords, blunt as bones
Ones were white, twos were gold
Toes that croaked at the seeping white
Pallid moans tucked under plight
Rudder
I’m missing forty miles on my odometer
My bra’s in tatters spitting stones
Jitters mighty lies even shudder under
My hair absorbs it all
Falls apart, streets apart, sees a part
White lies, what size? Gleam in the warring wisp, chastized
I’m whishing greasy lore breezes ‘cross my glans
My Glancing stubble pokes past crude jeans
Vast rude bean, sheening scream
Poised in a packet full of dreams
Ripped to shreads, lust is dead
Read unread red rudder said
Cahoots
A scant root is she, the grimy dirt am I
For her, I get consumed
If not for her, I crumble
A booming scream is she, a trailing whisper am I
Her presence drowns me
Her absence leaves me unheard
Too sharp is she, how flat am I
She makes me feel untuned
I make her feel tone deaf
A cave is she, an echo am I
She leaves me disembodied
She gives me mystery
A brittle salt is she, a congealed wound am I
She accentuates my agony
But mends my bends indeed
A bright red berry in the bush she is, a sinister scraping starvation am I
I have my fill, but there she will
Dazzle her red with my blood
Paradoxical Faith 