Friday, November 7, 2014

At home in Allahabad.

On a recent visit to Allahabad for a couple of days, I felt at home again, as always. 

It's a great feeling, brings out the worst in me. 


I will try explain what this feeling of 'at home' does to me. 

I make no effort to be anything other that who I am--mercurial and stupid. 

I don't have to prove anything to anyone, they know me very well.

I can argue with my elder brother, say nasty things to him, and he will give it back to me in equal measure. I get away with it. I can be intolerant towards the intolerance of my family members.  

I ask my mother, without slightest hesitation, to consider marrying the second time when she asks me about my marriage plan. Can marriage be planned? It just happens. I am lucky, it hasn't happened to me. So far. 

My prime activity is to hibernate. I sleep like a log, even Sheri's [the new bitch in my life] barking won't interfere my enticing slumber.

I indulge in free flowing gossip, relatives and friends, no one is spared. I vent my frustration on figures of hate, there are many. I talk recklessly with no remorse. I do it all the time. And my family, mother in particular, tolerates me. 

Someone will tell my sister about the harangue, she will call me later, politely ask questions pertain to my mental health. She has one panacea for all my ailments: get married!

And how so ever petulant I may get and misbehave, two hours before I leave  my mother gets sombre, and tell me in many times, "good you came." What makes me syrupy is that she means it.

 

  



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