I am drunk

This is to sat rgat iu apolhise for my orevious post. I a m drink. damn drubk]

Drunk, pissed drunk

Ok, I need to accept and acknowledge the fact that I am drunk. Damn drunk. I am at GB's place, one of the best friends in my life. We are with another best friend PU. And we are damn drunk. In fact, I am so drunk that I have just cleaned GB's puke. She puked in her bedroom and next to her bed. Ugh. Hate playing the bai when everyone else is drunk. But someone has to play tje bai. SO, why not me?
Anyways, I am really happy i have friends like GB and PU. They are great people. The best I have ever found in my life. They are the best. They are damn nice. They are cool. They are super duper funny and super duper amazing. Please forgive me if I am not making enough friends. And I am sure LD is going to read this and feel left out. So, this one's just for you -- I love you too. I lonbe you a lot. In fact I lobe you so mych si that I have a kufe of amy owm./ Dure i ma damn drunk.l
Ots fun yhouhj to post when you are drinkl. once spm,epme firehes our what this is post it bnack to me. for is am waitnin. shit,. fuck!
You know i was trying my best to be food at grammar and everythign else when i started odd , buit now, i jsy don't care. I just want to share what i feel
we played soem,in called the sic tiodes game. where we do something what we ffeel we want to do and haven;t veeb abt to di. so we witte tonw what we want to do and pucj uo chits aof what we want to do.
then weh t caemt ot my choiuce. i t so gappened hat u have to specn d a datg fow wmy gra nd man...
\ficj i am not majing sense
bye bye'
I lpbe ou al;l

SHIT SHIT SHIT
i know uou lobe me too

FUCK!

Parting ways

I was on the train today. Like every day. And every time I board a train, there's something interesting. Intriguing. Something I make a mental note of and think of penning down later. The later that seldom comes. But today, I am determined to make it happen! So, while I have noted, what I am going to narrate, about a zillion times in more than six years of train travel from Dombs to town and back, tonight is when I write about it.
I was on the train from Elphinstone Road to Bandra on my way to cover some local hockey tournament. At Dadar people streamed into the train, pushing and tugging at each other. Smelling each others' arm pits. Cursing each other. Kicking each other. Mocking each other. And then reconciling.
Oblivious to this tension was a girl wanting to stay at the edge of the gate way. She managed the crowd, managed her luggage and managed herself to stay put there. She wanted to steal one final glimpse at her lover on the platform. The final glimpse that will see her through the night. See her through the times when she would miss him.
She fixed her eyes on him as the crowd settled down. She then whispered something. He knew what she said. He whispered back. I'm not sure what the exchange of whispers meant amidst all the pandemonium. Maybe it wasn't meant for me to understand.
Then he asked her to move inside and take a seat. She denied. He asked her to hold on tightly to the metal rods above. She followed. He asked her to call him when she reached home safe. She nodded. She asked him to rush home. He stood there. He frowned as the train began crawling out of the platform. She wore a consoling smile that read, "It's alright. I'll see you again tomorrow."
Their eyes had this amazing chemistry. Some sort of a bond that didn't let go. For them, the people, the noise, the commotion -- the world -- didn't exist.
She watched him disappear. He saw her till he couldn't. She moved inwards looking for a seat. The little consoling smile disappeared. And she frowned.

And I looked away.

Clot in the throat

I hate this feeling -- the feeling of a clot in the throat. It happens to me when there's a sudden rush of emotions. Emotions I can't handle. Emotions I can't share. Terribly demeaning emotions.
It happens when I want to scream out loud, scream till the world goes deaf, but am forced to keep mum. It happens when there are a million words in my dictionary but I can use none. It happens when I want to cry, cry till the oceans flood, but can't let my tears show. It happens when I want to prove a point but there's nothing to prove. It happens when things I direly want aren't going my way. When what I say falls on deaf ears. When they get me wrong. When they don't respect me. When there's disregard. When they don't draw the line. It happens when I realise I have't drawn the line. It happens more often that I would like it to happen.
It's happening right now.
*Realises water is good for clots*
*Gulps down half a bottle of cold water*
*Feels better*
Ah... *wonders why people prefer alcohol*

Horribly creepy

It was about 11 last night. I was making my way through the Dadar railway bridge. Clutching on to two bags, inconveniently climbing up the uneven stairs. It was dark. The station was poorly lit as always. I took out my phone. Managed to speed dial 5 and talk to JP. Was about say a final good night.
And then, a lanky man stretched his hand out from the crowd on the opposite side and grabbed me by my left upper thigh, trying to make his way up to my genitals. Before I realised what was happening, he was done. He began walking hurriedly to wherever the hell he was headed.
A second later, I yelled out, 'Abey chutiye, haraami. Ruk. Ruk na saale.' He moved faster. He began running. He was too fast for me to grab him by his collar, pull him back, slap the fuck out of him, crack my knuckles against his nose, kick his balls and let him writhe in pain while I had some sadistic relief.
He fled. Fled like a rat scurrying for cover from pest control. I shouted again. I seemed to have raised an alarm amongst the late-night vendors selling their 'foren maal' on the foot-over bridge. They began yelling, chor, chor. One of them came up to me and asked, kya chori hua madam?
I said, chori kuch nahi hua, haath laga ke bhaag raha hai.
The vendor then told me, Accha, accha.
And he stood there.
And I stood there, still abusing the coward, who now seemed to have made his way to the foot of the bridge and onto the roads. I hoped he got caught and lynched by a mob till he bled.
I felt helpless. Like a damsel in distress, needing someone else to act on my behalf. I had this horrendous, creepy feeling. I could still feel the man's hand where he had felt me. Like a nasty after taste. And it stays for a long time. Stays so that you can't experience or think about anything else but what's happened. And then there is the feeling of haplessness that returns at regular intervals.
Horrible. Just horribly creepy.