Cupid’s twisted arrow

My confiscated soul survived on dole. I could neither utter worldly shibboleth, nor was I any poet’s muse. Neither was my name sculpted on buses and bus stops, nor could I find mention in the epitaphs of love on shabby walls of historical monuments. By that time, I was quite sure if lady luck ever smiles, the moment would be her laughing at my naïve, smiling picture in newspaper obituary.
A well wisher of mine, informed that my spurious existence was imputed to the fact that ‘I’, the fallen hero had never fallen for anybody.

Mind you, this fall is of another kind. Well distinguished from your fall from bed, chair, stair case, Niagara Falls, its Bengali edible variant and even the falls that is not true.

Thence, I stepped up in a show of solemnity and decided; either I have a crush or sacrifice my pineapple crush. It happened one unpleasant summer day; stuck in a cacophonous traffic jam, I saw her, a fat bespectacled vixen. My eyes and one of hers met and were transfixed, because her other eye directed towards another passer-by. The perplexity of her eyes kept both, me and my compatriot in a state of ambiguity. That was until the lights turned green and the gorgon sped away along with her diagonally opposite eyes. The speed-o-meter of my life halted at zero.

But again, the stupid cupid mis-struck, this time at a chichi party.

The same kind, where the board outside mentions, “My dog and its look-alike not allowed.”

Picture this! A sloaney drunken babe, amuck in delirium came up to me and opened her odorous mouth, “Adonis, What are you doing tonight?”

By virtue, drunkards don’t or can’t distinguish between ‘Hunk and junk’.

I replied politely with all my intellect intact, “I will get back home and go to sleep, as usual.” Feeling insulted by the profanity of my statement, she spilled the liquor residue on my face. Thenceforth, I never bowed down before the Cupid’s bow.

Tryst with livelihood

Tryst with livelihood

Today, the ‘hands that swung the cradle and taught me to walk’ put a sack full of miseries on my back; leading me to a modernized gaol, called ‘School’. I cried as they walked away and tears kept rolling down incessantly, till the bell rang.  The paradigm continued as days kept passing. I found there were several other inmates, known as schoolmates, who were subjected to the same atrocities for ‘Juvenile delinquency’. The over-fed, bespectacled teacher scowled at us, while the pretty dimpled one pampered.

I won’t reveal, once I peed in my shorts and in penance, was subjected to stand on the roofless veranda drying the wet part and wetting the dry. The sorbent Sun looked bemused, as if inquiring, “What was meant to be sucked?”

Amidst, the ‘Bedlam’, I spent my days in reveries and painted them with smorgasbord of colors- I dreamt of being a pirate, a policeman, a superhero, a bus driver, movie star and so on; owning palatial homes and chain of luxurious vehicles, airplanes and ships.

That too, when my paper boat always sank and paper plane never took a flight.

 To my astonishment, coupled with Mom’s and Dad’s, I stood first in my class that year; elated Dad bought me a remote controlled toy car. (It was a replica of my condition that succeeded). But this joy was momentary, as in the subsequent year I came- 2^{nd   ,} degrading to 3^rd in the next and finally disintegrating from the rat race. The car giving ceremony was replaced my chant-like cacophonous scolding, followed by legato of chastises.  My report cards were ‘national shame’ and I became a traitor to my ‘Home Sweet Home’. All of a sudden, my begetters turned anomalies and ‘Lampooning’ and ‘juxtaposing’ became ceremonial. I often wept, hiding behind my pillow, trying to hold a brave public image. Though, my parents always made up with cuddles and largesse, they never understood each passing day, was an enervating experience. I started to hide away from the streetlights and public gathering gave acute bouts of paranoia. The nocturnal darkness prevailed over my debilitating life and the color palette of the dream canvas, got emptier by the day. My moribund soul fought for survival but ultimately succumbed and my individuality was wiped away. 

continued from part 2
1st part

'I' attain mobility

Continued from- the day 'I'came to life

Growth was rather a seamless transition from one diaper to another- pink, blue, yellow and name it, I made my presence felt everywhere.  I fed on Mama’s milk. Solid food was a strict No-No and my toothless aggression, prevented defiance. Relatives became, relatively familiar, albeit annoyance was inherent. They taught me a new code of conduct- Whenever, a symphony conductor (read: relative) uttered shhh! I was meant to Pee, irrelevant of time, place and other such civic entanglements. Every move of mine attracted rhapsody of praises and I became an overnight celeb.  

Somewhere, I was skeptical about my naked image contributing to the rise.

My mom, dad and allied forces arranged a ‘Soiree’ celebrating my first bite on solid food. Followed by pronouncing of teeth-shattering archaic names, by one of which I was ought to be known.

I wondered if similar parties would follow, the first time I booze or light a fag.

To the amazement or amusement of all, I started to crawl. The obnoxious relatives began to throw balls, teddies and the ilk, expecting me to fetch them. Poor me became source of entertainment for the recession hit dog lovers. I sneaked surreptitiously to clandestine locales, where I could shit sans public glare. But my freedom of excretion was cut short. The masses caught hold of me and tucked my arse in a pot-shaped vessel, boastfully called ‘potty’. The claque gazed in front as I conducted fortissimo excreting Chef d’ oeuvre.

Intermittently, I started to babble in staccato. Almost every comment of mine was misconstrued and manipulated to self admiration. It happened one day, irritated by the clichéd stand-up comedy of ‘dadaji’ (grandfather), I called out duh! - Immediately mistaken for ‘da’ of dadaji. Similarly, I wanted to say “‘thou’ stop pestering”, I was cut short and Thou became ‘tau’ (paternal uncle).

Next, on the card was the ultimate test of humanhood. Mom and dad alternatively held my fingers and tried to make walk.

‘Which I presumed, was a gesture, prodding me to move my lazy arse.’

I fell down occasionally (okay! Okay! Regularly) but eventually started to walk and then run. A move which was later repented by my parents, seeing our ‘Home sweet Home’ lie in disarray.

The day 'I' came to life

As I dwelled in the cul-de-sac, perpetual darkness prevailed. Often frightened, I looked for an ‘Exit’; that too was locked. I tried to kick that open, but to no avail.

In the hour of midnight, when the Sun was busy preening itself in front of the mirror, and the Moon was preoccupied, flirting with the stars. I finally attained independence (at least that is what I thought) after 9 months in confinement, without any fault of mine.

I could sue them the under juvenile laws, but had a change of heart.

Already jaded, with freedom fighting and suffused with sticky substances, I knocked out of the womb. While, the audiences waited with bated breath, to my embarrassment, I was pulled out naked. The masses cheered, admiring my unscathed body. Then started a series of physical harassment and semi-rapes. The homophobic doctor was the first, followed by the nurse, who spanked my bums twice.

I winked at her, nobody noticed.

 Next, I was introduced to a gentleman (my dad-to-be), who was celebrating his juvenilia. (Later, I found out, he was one of the two main culprits and I was the repercussion of the crime).

The nurse avowed, “Congratulations! It’s a boy, 7 kilos”

“You bitch! Aren’t you the same person, who had a one-moment-fling with me, just a moment ago?”

**Lesson learnt: Beauty is bound to be treasonous. **

• ‘7 kilos’ at that age meant over-weight.

• The word, ‘It’ reduced me to a caricatured version of broiler chicken.

The worst part of the day was yet to come. The relatively unknown, relatives were conspiring a formal ‘orgy’. I wanted to vamoose, but was still paralyzed.

Draupadi at least had a long lasting and highly stretchable Saree, but I was openly accessible.

The molestation continued throughout the night and I lost my virginity, the very first day I stepped out.  
 Continuation- 'I' attain mobility