God was Murdered

25 th February ’22 — Nainital — Sitting on a table next to the see-through glass wall at Sakley’s café. Outside are cocaine-snorting cows-&-crows and a lake filled with pro-abortionist slutty swans.  Hey, Doosh There’s a song I really love — River . There’s a line, a question, in that song that instantly freezes my balls & then kicks them till they turn Oxford blue. Here it goes. Is a dream a lie if it don't come true Or is it something worse? No matter how I spin this, there’s no getting away from the rude truth. It is, indeed, something worse At times, I ask , “What about a dream that did come true, but felt nothing like I had imagined it?” Questions, often, are a lot bigger assholes than the answers. We, humans, love talking about dreams. We ask, “What are your dreams, Chloé?” Mostly, Chloé & humans come up with mindnumbingly cookie-cutter answers — “I want to be successful, famous, pretty, have a bungalow, a Porsche, fall in love, travel the world.”  And m...

11 th January ’22 — King isn’t Dead I’m feeling mildly irate, but if you know me, you’ll know that I’m almost always mildly irate . At 20.47 hours, I’m finally done with office work. The whole day I’ve either stared at the laptop like a 15-year-old stares at his chemistry teacher’s cleavage or been stuck on impotency-accelerating work calls after e mailing my resignation at noon. Since 9.53pm last night, I’ve had a few glasses of water. My 24-hour non religious fast is almost done. I’m about to meet a human — this human is late. I step out of the work-from-café — put on my headphones & punch into YouTube to see what’s new on TalkSport . Fun Fact : These fuckers call themselves Talk Sport but they never talk about anything, but Football.  So, I’m stunned to see a brisk — 3.18 minutes — podcast with the King . Warne reveals that he grew up loving & wanting to play professional Aussie Rules Football , not Cricket. And he was damn good at it too. But, at age 19, he rece...

23 rd February ’22 — Somewhere in the Mountains in Minus 2.7 degrees. My hair & buttocks are frozen. My heart & dreams, I hope, are still unfrozen like tipsy birds flying in the crispy-cloudy skies. Hey, Doosh This letter will have three parts. Let’s begin with a story. I will break your heart even before I start. —This story has no happy ending— Why? Because the story is true? Yes, it’s true as oceans, but that’s not why there is no happy ending. The thing is — In life, there are no happy endings, just happy in-betweens . ——— January 1997 — Year & a half before you were born. 8 months before you were placed in your mom’s oven. I was in 10 th Grade — living in a Sikh-family-run boarding school —GRD Academy— in Dehradun. This was not your clichéd Bhangra-loving, Whiskey-chugging Sikh family. They were the founding fathers of world-famous Texla [not Tesla] TV [Google it - It’s as real as chicks with big dicks] & New Empire Cinema — Famed for running five-shows-a-day —...

I don’t know — Who you are? You could be a Wife Beater or Baby Eater or worse than K u K lux K lan — W hite W oke W oman.  But now that you’ve unwittingly walked into my House of Words , I must regale you with my pseudo-wit & cunty charm. Caveat : When you’re done swallowing my words, you will feel worse than you do on Day 2 of your period or after getting whipped in the balls by a girl on Day 2 of her period. Alright! Let the bloodshed begin. I don’t know — If you want to be dead [Franz Kafka] before you become famous — If you want to write a novel about your dead girlfriend [Ravinder Singh] & make a sweet million     — If you want to write an immortal novel [Wuthering Heights] at 29 & be dead at 30 [Emily Brontë] — Whatever it is that you want to be, just don’t go at it half-assed. Go d ogle gives you — About 61,90,00,000 results (0.50 seconds) — if you type  — How to Become a Better Writer? — But what the heck, here are my 11 W hite W oke W oman-...

You’re dead or you’re not. You’re in love or you’re not. You’re a writer or you’re not. You can like both frogs & dogs — romcoms & gore — rock & pop. But, Writing doesn’t work that way — it’s exclusive like Love & Death.  The million pakistani-rupee question is  — What makes you a writer? Every motherfucker can write a poem, a short story, a diary, a letter, a song, a blog. None of that makes you a writer. Not even writing a bestselling novel makes you a goddamn writer. What the hell makes you a Writer? When I was 13 [may be 14], I wrote a poem for my boarding school’s newsletter. It felt good when it got published on paper. I don’t recall writing anything else in high school. In college, I often scribbled & thought about writing a brilliant story or a film’s script. But I never wrote beyond 3 lines. At 22, I began reading a lot. The more I read, the more it became crystal to me that I can’t be a writer. One has got to be super smart, super discipli...

22 July 2021 — 14.47 hours — Thursday — Nainital — Mischievous clouds are pissing ever so slightly — the million-million-year tree is my umbrella. Tea has little milk, no sugar — fried eggs have little oil, no salt. Hey, Miss Marx At the Academy, most kids don’t mind me, but most adult humans don’t like me. The deal is, I don’t like most people — because I’m rude to almost everyone or fail to recognize them when I see them — they, as a consequence, dislike me. And I swear to satan, bad reputation is real easy maintenance. P.S. “The trouble with us humans is — we all love to hear the truth, but the moment we hear it, we instantly realize, we aren’t ready for it. Because truth is a lot like death — they —truth-&-death— aren’t nice, they’re just fair.” As I was about to leave for Bombay on July 4 th 2019, I was adamant to get someone to teach Meher — someone who wouldn’t walk out on her within 2-3 weeks. We screened a bunch of volunteers. I didn’t like any of them. I knew they...