Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Berth chronicles

B1... It's this one. One at the front. First passenger coach behind the mail wagon. A bad start for me - if we were to collide with another train head-on, I would likely be dead. In addition, comforts of AC3 look cheap in comparison to the fact it leaves you little chance of rescue in an emergency aka Ms. Aman Kaur. In case of Mr. Parth Pani i.e. fall from damaged bridge, however, I might be on the safer side here, for its the trailing cars that are mostly seen in the newspapers, down the bridge into the waters below, floating like dead crickets. But as my head is making me tired, I don't spend much sweat on this statistical scare. I just wish to stare the inanimates into submission, to rest my eyeballs inside the cavernous retinal sockets.

The same head also thinks it is being spied upon, an invisible historical record in the making, jarringly peaceful, craving for the big bone in a small life. It imagines a scene from the commons as his mum and dad lecture him on a future while driving him to the station. It imagines the anti life of this city and compares it to that of his immediate destination.
Breathes hard. Stares into his own lap, and seldom at an unpopular perspective study of humans seated on the lower berth at a near-90deg plane of rotation, chatting insignificance, resigned to being the refuse of the history.
Oh fucks fart. There has to be a hi-hat ban effective immediately. Our train now stands outside Charbagh like a punished school kid outside his classroom. Punishment reminds me to mention this guy and gal 17, 23 who seem slant, composed, n cool. Veni vedi vici.

Holy frig, I was to mention the two fictions I completed in the past week. Two cult prose pieces. One William Golding's "Lord of the Flies", and other Chuck Palahniuk's "Choke", set probably 30 yrs apart in time, but finding a connect in the dark and a brutish affairs they bring to life. I lapped up 200+290 pgs in this week, which could be a personal best, discounting the exam cram time when 500-pagers would be downed with the morning tea. Goodnight.

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