Ghost

To say that he was in the celebration is an understatement. In fact, the event just wouldn’t be complete without him. He gave glam a new meaning with his presence. He was a part of every photo; but when the negatives were developed, he wasn’t seen in a single one. The photographer rarely ever is.

The Slums Appall Me

There were twenty one people in the room, ten by twelve. You could smell the liquor and tobacco in the air, that is, if you were able to breathe. Right outside, you would find a person relieving himself. If the hygiene in the room was questionable, the street in front of the house was strewn with litter, and even an old sofa that looked like it was dropped from thirty feet. You could see them cook, out in the open, relishing the late spring evening and the refuse they disposed right there.

The six storey building was no mere shanty. On the bright side, the house party had some colorful conversations. From freshman to post docs, they would eventually discuss the state of third world countries and those appalling slums. After all, the first world finds as much relevance in the topic as the third world.

Strange Friends, Stranger Companions

I walked in and looked around. The dance floor, the lights, the music- although a tad annoying to my sensibilities, and a whole bunch of people looking to have a good time- drinking, dancing, making out, or all of it. This seemed a cozy place for a not so silent night. I do have a reputation for enjoying my drinks and being clueless about the real social scene. For I rarely understand a complete sentence, a mere whisper muted by the loud music; and I take offense when people nod their head for everything I say- when I know that they wouldn’t have heard a thing that I utter beneath my breath, as I always do.

Now, the train ride back home was a different story. Rather peaceful in a bustling metro, yet conversations galore. I am not too fond of the public transit system; yet, the bane is a boon when you live on a budget and miles away from “the scene”. In any society of the modern era, the public transit is a strange melting pot, bringing people together- the ones who can’t afford an automobile, the ones who care for a green world, the ones who don’t like driving around looking for a spot to park, and most importantly, the ones who wouldn’t drive after a night out binge on the hooch. The last train on a Friday night finds the last of the fore mentioned as the majority.

Now, for people who don’t know me well, I am quite the introvert. Conversations are reserved for meaningful purposes and a club offers you very little in that regard. Of late, I’ve come to realize and experience the downside of the “expert syndrome”- not just a constant need to babble about your brilliance, but also a feeling of disinterest in most things menial and redundant. The “Hi”, “How is it going” and “How are you doing today”- the icebreakers and greetings that often run into the same loops- don’t quite entice me anymore. The train, on the other hand, offers tranquility, one of personal space and etiquette. One where you are not obliged to take initiative, nor polite conversations is really necessary.

The Slavic themed club seemed rather deserted when I walked in at midnight. It filled up to the brim by the time I gulped down my first drink. I was led to believe, that it is a rather European way, of socializing post mid night. I surely wouldn’t deny- I enjoyed my drinks, was on the floor a while, spoke to a few people.
“Hey, How is it going.”, she asked me.
“It’s good.”, said I.
“You shouldn’t mix your drinks like that.”, she said.
That was probably my first conversation in half an hour. Then we continued to dance. When I was hungry enough to eat a horse, and coincidentally, that happened at the same time when most people realized they needed to get back home, I made an exit.

“Donde esta aqui?”, he said.
“No foo, you just said ‘Where are here!’ It’s ‘Donde estamos?’”, said the girl.
“Yo, hombre. You tell her that I’m right.” And he glared at me.
I was the hombre. Well, I was once mistaken for the lawn guy, asked whether I was Mexican a couple times, and my friends do tease me a bit about it. A visit to Chipotle nearly convinced me of the Indian-Latino connection. But that’s a different story. “Yo no se espanyol, homie.”, I said and we had a good laugh. The rest of the ride, and after a long time, I enjoyed a light hearted 20 minutes of jibber.

I had been to the club with friends, and I was on the train with strangers. Strangely and trust me when I say it- the alcohol had nothing to do with it- I found better companions on the train ride than on the dance floor. I just might have found a better way to socialize, on trains, while I failed relentlessly over years, trying in bars and pubs.

Beautiful

Have you seen a beauty queen
pageant, unmindful of the world around?
There is more to her life than parading
for gawkers, would you realize?

Many hold her on a pedestal,
imitate her every move in vain.
There is something ethereal about her
yet a mere mortal that would wither with age.

Some love talking about her,
the columns flood with her flaws.
But when she walks those majestic strides
pens bleed her glory and jaws just drop.

Her beauty might draw her attention,
but rarely do they all really know her.
Unfazed, for she’ll stay anonymous
to the ignorant who care not for her.

Much like her is another one
though, her beauty not as apparent.
She doesn’t need the gloss and light
to shine, she has her beautiful mind.

Beauty, of the skin and mind
both alike in many ways.
They stand you out in a crowd
and you stand out far away from them.

Crash

And then there stood the mighty one,
Looking down on those he had vanquished
With a vengeance had he laid down his sword
On those who dared to get by and rose to defy

Now deep in thought stood he
By the carnage of rotting carcass
The sweet taste he wished of victory
Was drowned by the foul smell of loneliness

He had made a mark indeed
But at what cost had he foreseen
All those lives which lay on his path
And the humanity that is lost from his black heart

Could he care any less now
That the whole world lay open for him
To take what is left of it
And to do as he wished to please

And the thought of being invincible
Drove him to the insanity that killed him
As nothing else was left but he
Defiant to the celebration of victory

A world won with an iron fist
Turned into a graveyard
Where the conquered and their conqueror lay
With no one left to drop a tear their way

And what more can be expected
When we fight to rule the earth
Whilst a kind heart and an innocent smile
Would suffice to win the world over and everything on it.