Stimulus

It may be a sign of growing up, or growing wiser – when studies, friend circles, and clubbing no longer takes precedence in your mind, and gone are the days when you dreamed of stability – career, house, car, marriage and kids, when you worked yourself to a frenzy on the weekdays and blew up your hard-earned money on clothes and partying on the weekends and making grand plans for Friday / Saturday nights. You no longer remember the person you used to be, and those ‘adolescent’ days occasionally come back to you in a mist of nostalgia, but you no wish to live them over again.

I find myself constantly craving a stimulus, be it intellectual, artistic or sexual. I turn out to work wearing jeans, sweatshirt and sneakers and tune in to books, music, anything to get me through the day. Weekends find me enjoying quiet cups of coffee and smokes with my own thoughts or a book for company. I find myself flitting amidst the crowd, breathing into the lull of people’s conversations, covertly stealing characters out of their lives, making up stories in my head.

Hanging out with friends means conversations; a quick recap of mundane lives, then give me the dirt, cut to the chase, dig deeper into the humdrum, provoke me, stimulate me. Intimacy can be achieved over a cup of coffee and two hours of honest-to-God talks, and I want that intimacy. Tell me what moves you, tell me your recent favorite character, tell me about the people in your life, tell me what gets you worked up, what bullshit worldview have you adopted, what do you dream of when you wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and too tired to get up for that glass of water?

In turn, I will tell you my stories. Let me tell you about this fascinating character I met on my travels, what zone I am in, my crisis situation, my sex life, where all this introspection is taking me. Come, talk to me. Be my muse and I’ll be yours.


Hi! Feels good to be dropping in after a long blogging hiatus! What’s up? 🙂

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Cafe Diaries!

I saw him the moment I walked into the café. He sat alone, hunched over a sheaf of papers, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wore a black leather jacket that fit him smugly. His hair stretched curly and unkempt towards his shoulders, and he grew a rough beard that gave him the overall appearance of a burly biker dude who rode into town only once in 6 months, and that too for a haircut and a shave. There was a cup of coffee on the table before him, and next to it, an ashtray with the stubbed ends of 3 cigarettes, and a music player with earphones plugged in.

I saw him the moment I walked into the café. He wasn’t hard to miss, as he sat alone at the table in the corner. He sat hunched over a sheaf of papers, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He wore a black leather jacket that fit him smugly. His hair stretched curly and unkempt towards his shoulders, and he grew a rough beard that gave him the overall appearance of a burly biker dude who rode into town only once in 6 months, and that too for a haircut and a shave. There was a cup of coffee on the table before him, and next to it, an ashtray with the stubbed ends of 3 cigarettes, and a music player with earphones plugged in.

As I walked in, he looked up and waved. He rose to give me a small hug, and as we sat back down, I noticed that he had looked a lot leaner, fitter in the pictures. I looked questioningly at the papers before him, and silently he shuffled back the pages and laid the bunch before me. It was Leonard Cohen. ‘You’ve read him?’ he asked me. I told him no, and he gave an inert smile. Before long, we were jumping from poets to authors to music to movies, and spoke of our shared love for Woody Allen movies, and Hank Moody.

Coffee & Cigarettes (2)

In between laughing over tales of drunken bar fights and shady dealings in drugs, he quietly asked me, ‘Tell me one significant event of your life in the past 5 years…’

And I replied, ‘My life began 3 months ago. I guess that is significant enough.’


He stared back at me impassively. His eyes bore into mine, and in his long, measured glance, I willed my eyes to pour out the story to him. Maybe they did, because finally he took a long drag on his cigarette, and his mouth turned up in a slow drawn-out smile. A smile that later left me wondering what it was that he read in my eyes. But in that moment, I knew he understood exactly what I meant.

coffee-conversations

For a long time, we both said nothing. He settled back, and lit another cigarette, with an expression that meant he was done asking the questions, and that it was my turn. His demeanor was so relaxed it made me fidgety. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and racked my brains to come up with a topic of conversation. There were so many things I wanted to ask him. So many topics to touch upon.

I was getting the sense that he was there, where one day I would hope to be. I tried to imagine a younger version of him, new to the city, all boyish innocence and bursting with optimism. It was difficult to believe that a guy like him would have ever been innocent. And yet I was sure some years back his story had begun similar to mine. I wondered what his story was. Failure? Heartbreak? All great stories begin with a setback.

“I… I want to understand life.” I blurted out, frustrated.

“Have you ever fucked a guy?”

I pretended not to be shocked at his bluntness. He smirked and said, “Until you have, you will not have known life.” As simple as that.

Conversations over coffee

A rainy evening strolled lazily
Into the open arms of a café
Where sat four spunky young lasses,
dressed in attires almost passé

The conversations were lilting
and the rain paused to listen
to the melody of their laughter –
So spirited in its composition

Their lives no longer inextricably weaved
But they embroider a beautiful pattern
on time-worn fabrics, a soft array –
of tears, smiles and tender heart’s burn

The taste of friendship lingers long
after the last dregs of coffee are gone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reunions with old friends are always the best. There’s that sense of familiarity that washes away all awkwardness accumulated with time. There’s the closeness and comfort that comes with knowing each other for so many years. These are friends who will know in an instant if something is wrong, or if you’re holding back something.

This poem is for my friends who made this weekend so much fun and interesting! Linking up with dverse, it’s Open Link Night! 🙂