Phone chats with my cousin begin well enough. But these communications usually turn into encounters of horrific violence.
For instance –
Me: yo!
He: oi!
Me: ahoy!
He: yodelieh yodelieh, yodelieh he hoo!
Me: let’s stop.
He: you started it
Me: magnificence must not be curbed.
He: what have you been drinking?
Me: nothing you can’t try in about twenty years.
He: get a job you ol hag.
Me: get a life, you pint-sized tongue-wag.
He: sorry, I apologise profusely. Please forgive me.
       Coughhagcough.
Me: that’s too entirely noble of you.
       Coughdropdeadcough

By this time both combatants would be clenching their mobiles in bloodless fingers, punching blow after blow with a vicious, bloodthirsty, concentrated intensity. Homebodies would gingerly skip out of the way, while gazing in alarm at popping eye sockets and smoking nostrils.

Till one day, my mother got very tired of it.
"He’s the closest you have to a brother. And he’s so much younger to you. Must you be so rude?
Me: (sullenly) He deserves every bit of it.
She: You have to grow up darling.
Me: Nynah nynah nynah nynah.

"The essence of victory in battle, is suprise and cunning"
Our whole lives, my father and I, have been led cleverly by the nose, without realizing it till it is much too late (but that’s another story).
So the next day, my mother came home with movie tickets.
A surprise movie after being rude! She must be losing her touch, I joyfully speculated.

Not a bit of it.
The movie was, "The Passion of the Christ."
As for growing up. It was easier than I expected.
My next message to Ajay read-
Me: lets move past all the hate. I love you and God bless.

silence

He: ok, thanks and bye...

God made mothers very clever people.
Oh and Aju- if you’re reading this, suing somebody takes much time and money. Besides, I still love you (sniff, choke).

Held hostage by entendre

Covert operations.
Underway night and day.

Nothings safe; defilement runs rife.
Language held in its own Guantanamo bay.

Music goes next; there she goes.
I knew it wouldn’t be just parley.

Nothings sacred, nothings inviolable.
That’s the way the cookie crumbles.

Nothing you say, I disagree.
Even though this is the land of the free.

When something revered is twisted and turned.
Its time to stand up and be very concerned.

You can burn the ‘grass,’ you can burn the ‘dragon’
But lay off the ‘old classics’ wagon.

Ain’t got nothing against white rap
But dude…
Back off the Von Trapps.



To all eminem fans- my sincerest regrets.
Ha.
(Copyrights owned worldwide by Messrs cndtx and co)

Portrait of an educated, unemployed nobody.

Its 9 am. I can hear someone watering the shrubs outside my window. I turn over and face the wall beside my bed. It keeps disappearing and reappearing as I try to drift back to sleep but everything’s sickeningly bright and cheery. My mother has materialized beside the wall, holding a glass of juice. “ Wake up baby, you cant sleep till noon everyday.”
I try to resist consciousness for as long as possible, but my father barges in next. His green uniform is crisp and crackling with static electricity. His ‘brass’ and medals are polished and reflect the sunlight that is pouring into the room.
“Stop… turn off the disco lights,” I mumble feebly.
“Get up you useless scamp,” he roars. “ Just look at you. Your head looks like a Brazilian rainforest and your room looks like a disaster-hit PIGSTY.”
Groggily I sit up and wave about in the air for the juice. Gulping it down, I haul myself out of bed before my father thinks up any more clever word-combinations.
It’s not so bad really, i consider. Just a few books strewn about and one or two dead insects sitting atop some ancient cobwebs. Quite artistic- the decadence- its just a matter of looking at it in a certain way.
The Christmas tree pretending to be my father has still not left the room. “When I get back, your room had better be cleaned and you had better be washed and tidy,” he hollers in my ear. And while you’re at it, READ THE CLASSIFIEDS!”
“Nossoloud,” I manage to mutter, before he hugs me and dashes out.
Slowly I wander to the sink and squeeze some old looking toothpaste on to my grass-tuft toothbrush before i look up.
Weird, psychedelic shapes rise from my head and tired, bloodshot eyes stare back at me from the mirror.
I scare myself for a full five minutes before getting on with my teeth.

The money plant, growing out of the bottle by the sink, nods at me in a friendly sort of way. “ “Such a nice ‘stationary’ kind of person,” I can hear it saying. “Wonder if she’ll be my lifelong friend?”

I shake my head hard.

Maybe today someone will phone saying, “ We recognize your fabulous potential and would like for you to head our creative team of ten people just dying for your matchless inputs.”

“Yeah!” I yell, finally awake, punching the air. Self-actualization is but a hop, skip and jump away, I tell ‘the dog,’ who is staring at me unimpressed from under the bed. She folds her nose in her paws and goes back to sleep before my eyes.

Doggone it, it's just a phase.