Sunday, 18 March 2012

Ramblings of an Insomniac.

I have ruined my tic-tac clip, it no more tics and tacs as it is broken. Watched the early Gaaner Opare videos back to back on Youtube. A little pretentious but still it was a class apart from all the stupid stuff that airs on that channel. I simply love the Jhinuk-Tintin chemistry.

Can't afford to sleep as I am going for a movie with my friends in the morning. Of course I shall not doze off watching a thriller.

Doier ghol, Pepsi, Dim er jhol and olpo bhaat, and cha (doodh cha which I do not like). I had all that and in that order. My stomach will rebel. I know it will.

I have painted the fingernails of my left hand. I paint only the fingernails of my left hand. That is because my father said that since I eat with my right hand I should not paint the nails of that hand. My imagination did the rest. I imagined swallowing nail polish chips with dal bhaat. The result is weird looking hands. You might ask why paint the left-hand nails at all? (assuming you are interested in my nails for some reason) Of course I don't. I don't give a fuck for nail-polishes, but sometimes I do. Like now. I love seeing my short stubby fingers with colourful tips swiftly pressing the keyboard keys.

I like the smell of nail paint, cherry blossom, fresh paint, whitener.

I wanted to thank someone (read God) for some really wonderful people in my life. I am so happy that I could cry. I do. Yesterday I was actually imagining that if I die I will divide my assets among these wonderful people. Of course by my assets means my dad's money right now, but I seldom let logic enter the castle that I am building in air. Also I could not have possibly written that line without unnecessary rambling before and after, because I am such a nyaka.

My jethu's dog Dolly passed away last year. She bled. She was not operated upon. I did not take care of her. They did. They did not fund her operation. I thought it was better to stay away than see her rot and not be able to do anything for her. She was a princess really. She owned the sofa in our drawing/dining. She rested her head upon the sofa handle, as if it was custom made for her. She nudged anyone who sat there. She nudged them till they moved and made way for her. She purred like a cat. She was the most amazing Dalmatian ever. Her tail was stiff, not fluffy, not cute. She was not cute, she was dignified.

She would eat her biscuit, allow us to pet her ( a small price to pay for the biscuits), she would linger for a while , almost like a courtesy - " How can I leave after they have given me this biscuit...? " After a polite few seconds she left. If she heard any unusual sound , she sat up straight, and tilted her head slightly straining her ears in concentration. She ran like a cheetah when left free at our parar maath. She became a mommy, and I gave away my clothes . The baby clothes that my father had brought for me when I was a newborn baby. Yes, Dolly's babies warmed up in those. My mother was furious. Jethu tried to console her by saying : "tomar abar lagbe? lagle ami kine debo."... Yes Jethu has an odd sense of humour, which I like. He is a stubborn man otherwise.

So I did not go to visit her daily. Then one day they rang the bell to tell me Dolly was no more. When I went downstairs, her body was stiff. The skin that I touched and that would crumple like soft silk in my hands was stiff. I did not see her breathe her last. I have not forgiven myself. I thought of my stupid logic more than I thought about her.

I would perhaps like to hold someone's hand as I die. Of course people will die when they have to but a near one's face when one dies ... everyone surely wants that... or may be not... may be dying alone is peaceful, as one comes to terms with the life that has been lived. I somehow feel it is a terrible thing to die in a hospital. Suppose I am admitted in one and I have to die, I would like to come home and die at home. It's a choice, like I prefer eating at home than in a fancy restaurant. When Parents die and one gets that "news"- how does it feel? How does one ever come to terms with that? with not being present?


Please if you have read this, do not write any nyaka comments. This is my sob-story. Let me hog the lime light for a while. Thank you.

About that thing I said about certain beings who make me happy. I really am. So happy that I can cry. May nothing bad EVER happen to them.

Love.






3 comments:

akshi said...

Ok so this is the first time I'm commenting n your post. (I had been a silent reader until now)
Your today post really made me cry. I actually have tears in my eyes. Because I am super sensitive about dogs. I have a dog and I can't even imagine my life without him. No. Never. He's just 4 now and i want him to be the longest living dog in the world. I really do.

moo-moo said...

@Akshi ... need tissues? (just kidding)... lots and lots of love to your furry friend :)

Simantini Sinha said...

When one's parents die, and one is informed, one refuses to believe it. And then, for years, one still refuses to believe, and hopes, or perhaps just wishes, that they will come back. One did not see them go, so may be it was not real. And the wait continues, I don't know till when. Perhaps I will, some day.