Let's get this done with

"So what do we do now?", Vimal asked. He looked positively harassed.

Given it was far from his general state of being, i wondered if i should take a moment to just enjoy him being harassed.

"Dude! Tell me!", his voice was more urgent.

"Hmmm…Let me think". What was there to think. There was only one thing to do and we both knew it. Neither of us wanted to say it out loud.

"Should we..?", he asked. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Maybe…", mine matched octaves.

At this point he gave a huge sigh. Like he was breathing in the world, one last time. The sighs of all the anxious young men of this world. Heck! The sighs of all anxious humans of the world. With that one sigh he looked like he had aged a decade.

"Alright. Lets do this!", he said.

"Really?", i asked. Someone in the back of my mind, a goofy but evil joker was laughing out loud.

"Dude! Come on. Lets just get this done with. Then there would be nothing to worry about"

He had a point. The damn bastard had a point.

"But there must be a way out", I was clinging on to a straw. I knew it. He knew it.

Yet, in the tradition of all young men too scared to do something he asked,

"What?"

I responded like a pro. "I don't know. But there must definitely be a way out. Or at least an alternative"

Vimal gave me a look that i thought only my math teacher had reserved for me.

"I am going to do it. Are you in or not?", he asked me with finality.

"Nope", i said and he kicked me.

"Alright lets take a deep breath. We don't want to look nervous. And you are physically fit? No injuries or sprains?"

"Nope. I am fine. When shit hits the fan i can get out", i said. I was absolutely sure that when shit hit the fan we would get sprayed like teenage girls on spring break but why state unpleasant facts that we both knew.

"Ready?", he asked.

"Yes sir!", i said and made a mock salute.

Vimal rolled his eyes.

Then we did what we had planned to do.

And then we were done with it.

There

Think beautiful shoreline by a turquoise beach. Think mountain top with a sprawling green valley. Think middle of the jungle where its securely dark and closed.

It could be anywhere. But it is not here. That's the key. Here is bad. Not here is good.

There.

Its not really inhabited, There.

Expect if you consider wild iguanas, crabs and snails or even the odd deer habitation. There is no incessant chatter there. Expect if you consider the constant rustle of leaves and twigs in the wind chatter. There is no hate and ill-will there. Expect if you think the ant-eater has a deep rooted hatred for the ants. There are no crazies there. The woodpecker that works on the timber outside goes occasionally berserk but thats pretty much it. They dont judge you there. Live and let live. Die and let die. Simple really.

They've got no rules There. Unlike here. They dont want you to smile and laugh or get angry just because the society demands it from you. They have no society.

They couldn't have been more social.

There is a long way away. There is hard to get to.

But, is there even a There?

The kingdom of pink goo

I want to type today. Just start typing and stop only when i no longer need to. Its an urge. An itch. Like Edgar Freemantle in Duma key. Only, here the itch is on a phantom area inside me and it will subside only when i type. The words just have to come out. They are crying out for release from the cold recesses of my brain. I wonder if that is a valid phrase at all - cold recesses. I wonder how the inside of my brain feels like. I know someone who lives there. Thought.

Imagine Thought. Thought is a wizened old man. He has to be. It could be a wizened old lady, too. I dont want to sound sexist when i am not. There are moments when i am but this isnt one of them. Thought could be anybody. Man, woman, trans-sexual. But, for lucidity's sake lets use him and not a politically correct literary speedbump like him/her. I could have used her too. But i just chose to use him.

So, Thought. He is sitting in his creaking chair moving forward and back, rocking gently. Yes, he has a creaking chair. But why does it creak?, you ask. Well, he is old, isnt he? Old is an understatement. He is ancient. He was there even before i gave a place for him in my brain. He was there even before man gave a place for him in his brain. In fact, he was there even before the dinosaurs wondered what the flaming hot thing was that was hurtling toward them. He was there before life. He was floating in the vacuum watching the big bang happen. Then he dived in.

But right now, he is in my brain. I gave him a creaking chair there and he is sitting in it. All comfy. He is surrounded by a soft pink and grey walls that seem to fold over each other. This is his home. One of his several millions. My brain. I wonder if he should feel claustrophobic about his home. Layers and layers of folded insulation around him with rarely a chance to get out. I wonder if he should be going reeking mad sitting in there. Thought.

But it is he who wonders too isnt it. For he is thought. He thinks about himself and wonders if he might go reeking mad. But he assures himself that he wouldnt. He has things to do around there. He visits this vast land he calls his home. He explores. Each day he finds something new and assimilates it. He becomes stronger. Some days he is focussed when he knows what he is looking for and finds it. Some days, he just idles around. He waits for something to turn up. Something always turns up in that kingdom of pink goo. Still other days, he is just frenzied. He wants to find something but doesnt know what he is looking for.

I know him only vaguely. He is a shape shifter. An illusionist. He looks strong and clear one day while hazy and weak the other. Its a love hate relationship. Thought. That beatiful magician.

He sometimes whispers his secrets over to me. They are funny, scary, exciting, ecstatic, pleasurable and even weird. But when he whispers them over i am happy. I try and pen it down. He wants me to. But there are times when is a enraged. He screams at the top of his voice. I feel the insides of my brain shiver in the tremor of his anger. He fills me with hatred and rage. He becomes evil.

Thought.