Somewhere sometime

We’ll meet again sometime in a place where God Is an Astronaut plays and the ambiance is just right. We’ll be older then and will have so much to talk about. Shades of youth will color our conversations with a passionate red, a dreamy blue and a strong brown. We’ll be lucid, articulate ourselves better and talk of fights fought and wars won. I guess we’ll also pen some Biblical prose about the fall of our Jerusalem in the vein of Lamentations or a nihilistic Ecclesiastes. We’ll talk about the women in our lives and progress from romances based on a flutter of youthful emotion to those based on tragic ideals – faulty right from the beginning – embodying the love and hate, the yin and yang of our twenty something sex crazed selves. We’ll then progress to older lovers and a more mature catharsis, and marriages and illicit affairs. We’ll talk of our slipshod existences and the guilt mistakes bring. A deep Kierkegaardian despair where we’re desperately clinging to despondency because we’re shitty that way. Maybe, we’ll hold hands or act weird, holding silly flags and semaphore signalling. We’ll flaunt the keloids we’ve gained on the skin of experience and the tattoos that mean something. We’ll talk of righteous indignation when people betrayed us, matching the wrath of Jehovah. We’ll talk of walking like nomads without a place to stay – like abominations and outcasts – with Cain’s mark on our foreheads. We’ll shoot Indian rum or sediment soaked cheap Indian wine. We’ll drunk dial exes in both a friendly and a perverse way and say we’ve discarded the scrimshawed jewelry they gave us but kept the panties. We’ll talk about our irrational, antigodlin fears and the paranoia that made our eyes dart from side to side, wondering if the boogeyman impersonating Lorelei was going to drown us in panic and cacophony, though the rivers were still and they were just small puddles personifying zen. We’ll talk of absurdism and how we embraced it like a fling with an alluring woman at some point in our lives, fighting despite acknowledging there is no purpose. But all that’s for then, but now, you and I must take leave. I’m going MIA soon and dissipating in the mountains, hoping to reform again, to find new birth and your path is yours alone. Farewell friend.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

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4 Comments

  1. Oh Nitin. When you give your heart, you give it almost wholly, don’t you? I know you reserve some of it. But still…. may you find peace and solace in the mountains. I’ll miss you while you’re away. You’re like a shot in the arm for my day. This glimpse into your future gives hope though. Not for me. But for someone.

    1. I really hope I find peace and solace there too. Emily talked me back into writing and so have you. I’m finding it becoming a strain though. I’m finding it all becoming a strain. You’ve been supportive throughout my journey and I thank you so much my friend.

      1. Perhaps you are putting to much work into it. Let it flow. Allow the words to vomit out of your brain onto the page and write themselves. You have so much potential, Nitin. You partially and at times live up to it. And then sometimes the Other side takes over. Don’t feed that side. Let Truth shine through. Remember: back-to-back, my friend. Back-to-back.

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