the world is quite quiet. and there is din in my heart. i am relentless. i am restless. i wish to tear. and i shed a few. profound pules that no one but i can hear. i make sure that no one is looking, as i speak placidly to my inner voice. i scream. i shriek. i pray. she is siting cozily on the sofa. she notices my silence. she hears my voice when i mumble, a mutter, not so loud that any ear could hear. she looks at me and conveys with her doe-eyes “silence is the loudest cry”. as i vent my fears in type and script, she tries to draw my attention to her with a loud lisp. i type, with blasé attitude in solitude without interlude. she comes closer, and as i yawn stretching my legs and spreading it wide. she licks my feet. touches my leg with her hand. and jumps over me. demands and commands me to take a walk with her on a night that has a falcate moon shining on a lone sky. i scream at her. “leave me alone, cant you wait for a while. cant you see im busy” her eyes droop. she stoops. she gets up from my lap. and moves on to take a catnap on her bed. i look at her from the corner of my cornea. as i look at her self-effacingly, i watch her pupils dilate and speak a dialect that no one but she understands. she notices me looking, alarmed, she looks elsewhere in remonstration. “don’t show me your fucking attitude”, i grin. she acts as a soubriquet of gandhi sporting a “hear no evil” outlook. it doesn’t matter to her at all. i love her. she knows that. and she takes advantage of that. i am helpless. why should i budge always? why should i dance to her tune? why should she have her way every time? my mom tells me that today, girls outfox boys. and i am so with mom at this. i get up and walk with her. she whistles, i bow. she pilots, i fly. wherever she takes me, she can, i oblige with no dissent at all.
she is a darling. and she is mine. yes she is over smart at times. and a little too lazy. but that wont stop my loving her. one look at her. and all my pain goes absconding.
here is she,
here is she,
this is Lisa Iyer, tell me isn’t she a darling. isn’t she the sexiest any one has seen?
just as pretty as Kiara Dẻ and Nellie Eileen… o! i have their pics too. and since this post is about Lisa, let me put up her friends pics too…
(...now women, I said NO… no petty catfight about who is the prettiest. Ok?)
after licking me off my pain, she lingers on it… i touched her breast a week back. i found a lump. yesterday, i took her to her doctor. the often carefree lisa, was vexed. like she knew what was in the offing. the doctor pressed her breasts and told me that she is braving breast cancer. i had seen this happen in my most shuddery dream. and i knew this was impending. but, how i wish my dream didn’t come true. the surgeon told me that she needs to be operated upon and the lump needs to be removed. i could feel the lump on my chest. i didn’t speak a word. and she licked me then. smiling, she was abreast, with a pile on her breast. ohh my dog. i told her as tears trickled down my cheeks. bitch was a word that typified a sewer swear; now it meant sheer seerness. the doctor told me smilingly she will outlive you. she will be there eternally.
we are shifting base next week to kharghar in new
i wish to ask my blogdosts for a little favour.
if you could utter “Lisa will be fine. she will get well soon” twice or more times. with the ripple effect of the positive thought. lisa will be alright. kiddish it may sound. but it helps. and speaking myth-o-logically, if angels say thatha-astu/amen, then inshallah! she, the daughter of a gay man will be blessed with the pink of health. :-)
will you do this for me and my kid?