On life and its vagaries


with 2 comments

The bloody door was locked and I couldn’t get inside.

I said to myself. Be cool, be calm, be in control. This is serious man, this is not some shit-assed adventure, and this is the third stickiest spot you were in your life. One was inside your mother’s womb. Two was inside …. Let that pass. But this is the third.

Don’t lose your cool. Think of glaciers and icebergs. Think of the freezing looks the babes could call up when they don’t like you.

Think of the deepest regions in the pacific.  Think of cold, cold, cold galactic recesses.

You are panicking; you have been in worse spots before. Well may be not. But you have been near enough.

Slow does it boy, calm does it and sane does it.

I took several deep breaths and centered myself on the shit I had to do; I have some training in the dumb art called concentration. I don’t know about others, but I had it easy, only had to think of a beautiful piece of ass around, and I am all concentration and meditation and what is more, contemplation. You contemplate on a babe and you are all go. You are in to the zone right away as they say.

Now I had found a way to shift it to what I had to do otherwise. Say you have to do the weirdest job in the widest imponderable universe, what you do? You project your top notch fantasy babe into it.

And you are done. The job is done and money is in your pocket.  And there are real babes out there.

Gomez used to tell me. (He was a fellow thief.)

Girls don’t matter to me. (May be boys did? But voicing that would have ended in a knife battle. Kitchen knives mind you; we don’t carry dangerous stuff with us. Not that I am averse to boys myself. I have been in love with one for some time. The nicest kid I have ever met. I still pine for him on and off.)

But the point he was making, I was too much into fille hunting, now babes are of two types, cerebral and visceral. I am not into the cerebral ones, too taxing on nerves, the other type crawls all over  you the moment you pump some testosterone into your eyes, but they can be tricky as hell, you cross them , you are into the deepest shit-hole you could ever get into.

They can be so nasty and vindictive that your own mamma would take their side in the issue. Need anything more be said.

So you can see I had by now got pretty well focused on the hooey I had to do. God save me. I was feeling as if all sort of crap was falling on my head.

It had to be done, or I was in a soup the likes of which you would never imagine. A sleep like death was stealing over me; my bones were literally creeping all over me too. I don’t know if you have noticed, when you doze off there is a moment in which something tries to get out of you. It might be the strange thing they call the soul.

I was so tired that I was feeling the damn grizzly bear leaving me every now and then. I was having a hard time fighting it.

Man how tired I was! I was technically dog-tired, now wait a sec. what has dogs got to do with it? I was never fond of dogs. No thief ever is.  I shall leave the mongrel race out of it.

I will rephrase it.

I was human tired- Heavy human tired. Massive –human- exhausted. Terrible- human -enervated. No wonder such dog expressions slip out of me.

Dogs are tiresome human beings. It’s our proximity that makes them so, and human beings are tiresome dogs, it’s their proximity that makes us so.

I am tiring you see, the cerebral mechanism is getting short wired.

Now let us see,   you tire and you sleep and sleep is damn dangerous…….. Sleep is doomsday trouble; sleep lets all stuff in to you. ( see the way I am becoming muddled?)………. Sleep is like a faithless mistress. (Lord the stream of consciousness is continuing)You would not know what she’d do when your back is tuned. Sleep takes you to humbug land…………..

You are in the role of a sitting duck then. Actually you are playing the role of a duck lying on its back with its legs held aloft. You don’t cackle then. Ducks don’t cackle while they sleep.  All the hypnotic elements in the nature take pot shots at you at their leisure.

(Nice poetry anyway I comforted myself, this could be the trance experience the freaks talk about.)

With an effort I drove the terrible poetry from me. Be pragmatic baby, be alert I told myself in the manner I had once over heard a chick saying to her boy. I did not have any idea what pragmatic was. Practical I knew, this pragmatism was another type of glue altogether.

It could be astigmatism for all I care.

As I said I had made a shrewd guess at that time that it was something about being practical. But that was a lucky shot and I don’t believe that I can repeat the feat again, now you see why I keep away from high brow types.

Too much work for brain.

As my ill luck would have it I am still planted before the door. I did not have the tools of my trade with me. This was a suburban house and a card would not open it.

I was getting all sleepy too.

I was on sleep banishers for some time before. I was the happiest man then on the earth, working at night and negotiating at daytime. It got me here, the most exclusive of all holiday resorts in the hemisphere.

I told you I was a thief, but I am not the kind of crook you would meet every day. I don’t do jewelry or bucks; I don’t normally break and enter, I steal privet information, intimate dope on people and sell it at a premium. There may be some black mailing involved, but that’s not connected to me.

I supply the stuff and moves into the shadows; I may have stuff on my buyers too, that is, if anyone is in the market for the material.

It took me some time to build the business up and find clientele. Then I had a break down, too much work and too much strain. Initially I took to dope but it only fevered me up. I had to see a head hunter on the sly. The shrink suggested a vacation and here I was. But I could not quit the dope though.

And then in the middle of the vacation the dope ran out and my pocket was picked by some nice primordial dick- head in the locality. Imagine a thief being picked clean. More than the indignity, I was in several fixes at the same time.

Being in the business of privet information, I don’t leave any anywhere I go, I pay in cash, no cards or cheques for me, nothing which would lead anyone back to me. I was a ghost and existed only in shadows. When that dick picked me clean, I was in penury, there was not even any one to turn to.

Till then I was living in style, not caring how many stars the hotel had, I was dining grand(starting  with a plate of hors d’oeuvres and ending with say whatever) and swilling choicest champagne. Don’t take me wrong, it was only an expression, you can’t swill champagne by the tubful without ruing it the next day.

I was feeling as free as a bird, I was on a girl- vacation too, you can’t get involved with babes in my condition, its deadly, I could say that I was convalescing.

All that was taking their toll on me.

First I couldn’t get drugs any more, not from the guys on the street even. No not from the vendors out there.

They were nice too. They sad:

No shire. No money not any.

I thanked them for the Shire. Nobody has done that to me before.

It was then that I spotted the boy.

He was on a begging spree it seemed. But they were not giving in.  “Go get the money” they said. The bunch he is moving with is not the same as mine. But the dearth of bucks had made me less chaste and I had been feeling the street peddlers for some.

I watched him from the other side of the road and a plan was clicking in the mind.  I was immediately noticed and a guy came sauntering over.

He passed me without looking at me while sweetly murmuring “nosey types have a short life in this locality.”

I was not the 007 or the Die Hard type. So honestly it drove a chill into me. But I had thought about it earlier and made myself scarce from the place.

I waited at a side road till the boy came into view and had followed him here. I heard shouting and commotion inside, then the boy again came tearing down the drive way.

I had waited for half an hour and had phoned the house from other side of the road stating that their boy was dying, giving them the address of a street at the other end of the town. Filial affection, the guy and the lady rushed out of the house and left in their car.

I thought they had left the door ajar. But that’s not the case anyway.

I was dropping again off into a dreamy state by then.

It’s not real, I told myself, nothing is real. It’s only a wave of matter, this door. It’s made of Mayic essence, the so called delusional substance.

I can go through it. I can slice through it like a knife through rotten butter.

I ruminated, should I? I mean, is it safe? I am no Madame Blavatsky; I don’t usually go through closed doors, not the type, you see. I usually make use of a wire or a duplicate key.

Even if I can do it, what guarantee is there that I would emerge on this side of reality?

Don’t ask me what side of reality.  I haven’t defined it yet, I might in the next moment. Do I have the strength to go through it?

I was getting all muddled again

I stood looking at it with distaste. Why the hell is it closed?

Why the hell the doors are always closed.

As if my magic the door opened then.

You again locked yourself out, didn’t you?

She asked.

I had lost color and stood rooted at the place looking at her in horror. She was not young, may be in her late twenties. She laughed at my consternation.

Come inside before you do it again.

She seemed to have some kind of authority over me, otherwise why am I obeying her. I crawled behind her into the drawing room.

Did your boat sink?

She asked.

I didn’t catch the reference. What boat, who does she take me for?

She forced me into a chair by placing her hand firmly on my shoulders.

You look as if your boat got sunk in the sea. May be a bit of tea would revive you.

And she left me.

I looked at the unfamiliar room with bewilderment. Or is it familiar? Is this a dream, am I having some weird kind of side effects of the drug I didn’t take. Or with all that is happening I am perhaps going crack. I tried to concentrate, where is the safe? Then my eyes fell on the small table near me. Something caught my interest on it. It was a wallet, similar to that of mine which got pinched.

I was reaching for it when she entered with the mug.

No, no that wouldn’t do.

She said and I froze, hand extended in mid air.

You are not going out anywhere now.

She placed the mug in my hand and took the wallet and flipped it open sitting by me. Very near to me in fact, I tried to move away, and she looked offended at that.

The wallet had a photo of a girl inside. I sighed with relief. It’s not my wallet, I would never place a picture of a girl in it, may be of my mother, but not of any girl, no sir. I relaxed; this is some kind of hallucination from lack of dope.  I am not going crazy.

I was only 18 when we took it, you remember?

She said taking the photograph out and unfolding it. It had another picture on the folded side, it looked disturbingly like me.

You look still the same though.

She said with envy.

I resolutely started drinking the tepid tea she brought. This is getting out of control; I need to have my wits around me. Either this is real or that is real. I cursed the moment I started on reality a little while back. It’s having a weird effect on me.

You do still love me don’t you?

She said leaning on me and looking into my eyes. I spilled the tea and started coughing. She patted me on the head and was saying.

There, there it’s over now…

That seemed to have got rid of the coughing but I didn’t think it was over anyway, not by any considerable way that is………


Written by Sam

September 17, 2009 at 7:08 pm

2 Responses

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  1. interesting theme.. very modern way of writing too.


    September 18, 2009 at 11:24 am

  2. Thank you.


    September 18, 2009 at 2:19 pm

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