nothing really new

Vampire’s Diary Day 2: How the soul died?-The unprecedented casualty: The green coloured public transportation bus was overcrowded on that humid evening in April. April had at last meted out its cruelty on me, it was indeed the cruellest month of the year. I did not know where I was heading to, my feet weren’t tired of the consistent, clumsy walking. Nothing seemed to register through my senses, the world seemed to have suddenly stopped existing for me. The noisy, polluted roads glimmering with lights, the neon signboards, high buildings, small children playing in the park and a thousand other things that would catch my attention everyday on my trip to college were erased out of my audio-visual range. All I could perceive was the smell of the dead. I had inculcated this smell into my memory from my kaku’s dead body. The pungent, raw, morbid smell of the dead seeping into the small corridor perfumed with the smoke of incense sticks, into the dimly lit room that was occupied by a bunch o

4. The first response of 69: A beloved victim of the Vampire It was almost twilight when my auto reached the Narmada hostel. I was already a registered student of JNU (a dream which I had seen for three years) but I was yet to get a proper accommodation. I was already eaten up by curiosity when I first came to fill up and submit my form. JNU: a secluded place, subsidised living, best of academics and thought provoking politics. I was all game for all of this. My life was set, it had a direction, a prospect of establishment a final answer to all those back home around my parents who spat at my decision to study humanities 5 years back. I dumped my luggage in my senior’s room and was on my cycle. I had to know every nook and corner within a few days and cycle through all the roads. The cycle has been my constant companion. It has been the raw identity of my middle class background, it added to my boyish appearance, it was my pride (a pride which I reflect o

3. The Vampire’s diary: Day 1 I was not born a Vampire like all the other of my kind, or better to say the one I am eventually going to turn into. My hazel eyes which are now getting drained of any human emotion that it had: are turning cold, lifeless. These are the same eyes that used to once sparkle with life, excitement and had dreams. Now I don’t dream anymore, I don’t sleep I retreat into my coffin every morning. I am dead and lifeless things do not dream. Somehow I am not able to come to terms with the fact that I can’t dream. I try to make dreams when I lie on the cushion that is cold and is without a bed sheet. I remember I gave my only bed sheet to the dhobi couple of days before I went home. I asked my room-mate to get it back from him because the dhobi isn’t there when I wake up. I think of people, places and things and arrange them in a way that I wanted them to be like. Sometimes I even kill myself, I commit suicide- the outlet that I would always be deprived of. No, I don

Maya’s inconsistent mumblings: I was wondering, no not wondering, thinking, not thinking. I was contemplating- no…sounds too broody and heavy completely unlike me or my thought process. What a loser I am, after spending some time with him I ended up sounding like him! He is definitely infectious… Yep I got the right words- ‘I was getting into flashbacks, in fact a series of them and of course I was the central character in all of them. And if I try looking at myself into another time and past situations I feel I had deliberately fictionalised my existence. I have stories no facts no dates and all that happened with me has blurred and there is an air of vagueness about the past but now I know what actually happened and why I am like this. Like what?- don’t know, I too do not know, perhaps it is too knotty to explain in sentences or in words. You have to get inside my mind, my heart, have to go through all had passed upon with out a sigh and hush the most important thing of all –“Nobody

Prologue The life and times of three individuals caged together in the realms of time and space: J/ Number 10, Maya/ Rain & Number 69. The beginning: Maya- Novel as the female form My beloved reader, this diary is not meant for your eyes. If you do find it in some dustbin, dusty rack or an old disowned house leave it alone. This is a personal diary of a person who has a very fucked up life and is trying to get an insight of its own being. Perhaps this is the only way to un-knot the unnecessary uninvited complexities that have crept into my life. I hope that one day when I pick this diary up after many years; I would find the answers of the questions that I seek this day. A retrospective contemplation would make the images and incidents clearer to my eyes. I would know at least when and where things went wrong. I guess it would be too late then to re-write the diary of my life but there would be peace and tranquillity to my restless soul at last. I don’t know really if I would ever