Soul Stripping on the Net

  Beauty. What do I not call beautiful? Your hair smells of henna, you leave it on the pillows after you wake up. I wake up, and awaken at that scent. Your eyes, they play their own game, independent of your lips. But more on those later. Your eyes laugh, beckon, tease as I look into them through the mirror, when you delicate fingers comb your hair. But more on that later. Your lips. Luscious, pouted. They parch mine, waiting to bleed together as I kiss up your supine neck, but more on that later. Tongues lash even as our breathing deafens us over the shout of the paperwalla. Those delicate fingers run up and down my back. Sometimes the nails bite in to the back. Sometimes tickle. But we have to break. The morning does not wait. That mole on the tender neck, I kiss. Just above where the collar bone now lays exposed over the dishevelled blouse. I would have said more on that later. But you have to pick up your husband from the airport, and my wife is returning by the morning...

  Monday broke upon Tushar like hail. Tasks, directives and e-mails continued to burst upon his phone like the relentless wrath of a Biblical God. “Fuck” he groaned. Shouldn’t have had that last peg.   Rather that entire quarter. Fuck. I shouldn’t have gone at all. Which girl is impressed by ceaseless drinking? Moreover why was I trying to impress her of all the people. She’s already dating someone! The number of unread messages on his team’s Whatsapp group kept on increasing. The notification sound oblivious to the fact that he could not remember if he was an ass towards the group, the host, or her. Uff. His head hurt. Fuck Party Smart. Should have had Pudin Hara. Who the hell is at the door right now? He almost shouted at himself before collapsing into a vertical position. Nakoy ga. Kiti vela sangu sakali nako yet jau! Slamming the door on her face made him feel guilty every time. But he had to get ready. There was still time to reach the office before the client call....

  It has been a while since I did some creative writing. The last time I wrote under the influence of the -OH functional group I discovered parts of my psyche even I was unaware of. On professional advice, I am not supposed to make it public. But then after such an elaborate prologue, there is always the question of if I am forcing this piece out. Different professionals advice artists to keep producing. Who knows when a conundrum might turn out to be a corundum?   The current recipe involves mixing two whiskies and the “Surviving Mars” playlist from Cities:Skylines. Both of these are independently must tries (in the former, MaQintosh), and their combination is pretty peaceful.   ***   So if I have given up to the fact that this is a forced piece of writing, should I even care about the quality? That is an interesting question actually. To what extent and in what circumstances is one allowed to “get done with it”, especially an artist, when one has giv...