God was Murdered

I was holding the wedding card of my ex-girlfriend. I was invited. She was seventh of my ex-girlfriends to be getting married. I have shamelessly attended all those weddings too; two of them out-station. That’s it, I couldn’t take this anymore. I didn’t want to be good-luck-chuck anymore. I did the thing only a demented genius could do. I disappeared. I ditched my phone, didn’t inform anyone, took a bus & landed at Rishikesh. I entered an Ashram & have been living with mostly white folks for the past 9 weeks. I woke up this Friday morning. I knew right-away my time here is up. I needed some beer-&-beef (I didn’t know about the you-gotta-be-fucking-kidding-me--eat-beef-to-go-prison-law yet) in me & I needed quick debauchery. I bought the newspaper & guess what ‘nothing had changed’. This cunt ry (that’s the correct spelling) hadn’t changed a tad in those 9 weeks of my hibernation. This shithole of a nation is still filled to the brim with mi

I knew I shouldn’t be with her from the start Tried knocking sense into my stupid heart Didn't want to fall for her, she didn’t want to fall for me That's not how it was written for ‘M’ & me She likes wearing boys' t-shirt And has the most amazing butt Loves my beard, asks me to let it grow Gives a big hug when I show up at her door I pestered her to quit the damn cigarettes Tripping few times, finally she put them to rest She walks real fast & loves pot Thinks my new hair makes me look hot Taught me how to smoke my first joint Told me not to do it if I didn't see any point I would be mean & call her flat chested To which she vociferously protested Sent me a clip where she's dancing like a bird Taylor Swift has hair like her She's prettier than Miranda Kerr I wrote her letters in love's ink Her favorite color is grey not pink We call each other with different names She sings like a dream,

I’m sure you’ve been in love. Yeah, you have. What does that word mean? Is it about nailing (alright making love ) the same person for the next one year & then get so bored that you give up on nailing all together or finding someone else and rinse-repeat. That’s one way of looking at it. Two greatest questions humankind ever faced: Why do girls become sluts & men become studs for doing the exact thing and what on earth is this love we all keep talking about? Love, I’ve felt it in my life. It is visceral, sudden; all-encompassing that we lose our minds. Some lose so spectacularly, they end up married. Oh, boy. And whosoever says it only happens once is clearly ugly, fat, and broke. Because love is also shallow, it is for the young, pretty & rich people. 100 thousand Bollywood films are the living proof. You know what I want to do this moment. I want to watch this movie, Definitely Maybe, with her . But I’m out & she’s out. At different places. So inst

There are things I want to say. The great thing is when you & I talk we are able to say what we’re feeling. That’s an awesome thing. But when we write in solitude, it’s different. May be it is more clear; more sure, may be more true if that’s possible between us. It is definitely easier to comprehend. It gives us the luxury of reading things over as many times to get the true meaning of what one is trying to say. By writing our thoughts we sort of immortalize our emotions in words. Not to glorify them but for us to visit them long after when those emotions are gone. Long after those people involved are gone. Perhaps long after we’re gone & someone is reading them, trying to find meaning, substance in them. Trying to decipher the people in them. Life is a long rope of endless possibilities. Of opportunities, of moments, of scattered bits of love. At the end we’re all broken. Then we’re broken in the all those already broken places. That’s how we eventually become n