2002-06-23 | 12:15 p.m.
all my dreams,never quite as it seems..

And Cholly loved her. I'm sure he did. He, at any rate, was the one who loved her enough to touch her, envelop her, give something of himself to her. But his touch was fatal, and the something he gave her filled the matrix of her agony with death. Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses the gift of love. The loved one is shorn, neutralised, frozen in the glare of the lover's inward eye...

I don't want to be here. Odours silence my restive cries as my mouth opens and closes several times like a fish. Emblematic knives - they've murdered my dignity. I lay still on a red and black seat - torn in places with cotton peeping through - as disembodied hands slide under the red tee-shirt I thoughtlessly chose this morning. Reality imbibes the clarity of dreams, but disposes of the promise to wake me up. From the corner of my eye I can see the driver through the rear view mirror, looking forcefully at the streets ahead of him. I know I will die today. I know I will be cut into four pieces, tucked into a V.I.P duffel bag and tossed into the Arabian Sea."You're so beautiful..you're so beautiful", the words segue into noisy orgasms that only I can hear. I'm losing track of what's happening. A tongue entangled in mine...cars frantically making their way to work....my bra is being masterfully unhooked...we're taking a left turn...maybe it's a right turn...? "You shouldn't dress so provocatively...because..you're so fucking beautiful..fucking beautiful..." The rest of the sentence merges into the restlessness of a Bombay weekday. Abruptly,the cab stops at a red light. He sits up straight, stretching his hands. Then, he opens the door and steps out, peers in through the slightly open window and smiles. "Thanks".

deja vu? | jamais vu?