The decision to become something is a grave, elaborate discussion with oneself. Whether you want to self-disrupt or you don't really have it, you are just grabbing hold of the balls of luck. But you know that you know that you are not lucky, you are just a big fat lie. Everything that is to be done, or to be said, or to be created, is only done when you have a sufficient number of women by your side. But being a loser, who is always in his own confusion, who has missed all the marks to be hit, has nothing else to explain or to say to anybody.
I am willing to commit suicide, it is not a suicidal note either, that thing I have written a couple of years before when I was an emotionally immature man. I was consumed by the world or I didn't really have a clue what was going on. Women hit on me, I was clueless; the car came running in my direction, I was clueless; a clumsy man who now at this age understands the meaning of letting things go.
I take the street nearest to this whore house where there lies a woman who knows all about me. She knows me by the thinness of my hair to the nails of my toenails. It's not love either. She is neither easy to get when you have some cash to spare nor has she given up all pretence so that opening up to her has no consequences. No, nothing of that sort. She is one of those desperations that each one of us has to meet our wants, that's it.
You again.
I brought you something. It's all I have to leave behind. In my town, it's a way of saying goodbye.
A faceless God.
What is this?
He is someone that one day I am going to have a faceoff with.
With a nobody? What are you talking about?
Nothing, leave, you be well, I will try to write some letters if I can. I paused, when a man has no one to say anything to, he will be vulnerable with his words just with anybody, even to a person who has nothing to offer.
You be well.
Where are you going?
I am going to become something, not really sure what, but something with art, something that has death written in its name.
She grinned. You are a crazy man, she said,
I laughed.
As we departed, I squeezed her tits for one last time, kissed her, and took to the left of the street where there was a bus standing all stranded. A city bus where all the labourers, men with only work behind their name, and some educated men were there too. They were the middle-class fellows who had learned to sacrifice themselves in the name of responsibility. And other bums of poor background, fruit sellers, shoe polishers, a thief looking at the pockets, women who were ugly, and women who had aged too much to be considered as women. All hustling and bustling in line, waiting for the gate to be opened. They were all eyeing for the seats, 40 seats and 200 people waiting for their chance. What odds. And my odds were simply non-existent.
Too many people live in the small city from where I am from, most of them eat, sleep, and go on to earn money. They either do hard physical jobs in the city, beg money from the rich pricks, or work odd jobs which are considered to be not productive enough to pay well for their sorrows. They work, take the train or the bus and come back home, fuck a woman who has no intentions of making love, and beat up their child just because they do not appreciate the hard work of their fathers. What a life. These are the tough guys, with round bellies and smiles on their faces that say, 'I am done, take me, God!'. And God? He doesn't really listen to any of us. He has always been an entity that to curse in the name of or to pray to for good days.
The gate opened, and so did the rush for the seats. Each seat was taken by hungry-looking men and women; their fight for life an everyday struggle to get past a day and start another. I stood in between the poor and feeble and too much emotion that has never seen its good days. Food was coming through the windows and the air was like a hot bathtub with no real relaxation. I would have knocked 2 guys out out of sheer irritation but I schooled my nerves and took it like any other human being in that crowd.
It took us 3 hours to reach the city where most of the fun happens. The car honks, the poor in the streets and the rich inside the building, the poor working with their body and the rich working with their mind. They all were somehow working. And women. There were women all right, short, long, oblong, too much shape, one was out of shape, thin, fat, too much pride of having big hot everything and no pride of having nothing, makeup, uptight ass and loose ass, plastic surgery, all-natural, feminine, masculine, all sorts of them. And they were sophisticatedly bypassing each hungry eye with a false irritation. I waited for another bus to take me to my workplace where I am the one who works with both mind and body.
I am a mechanic. This field of work was suggested to me by a friend who works with oils and rigs and always has that smell hanging on to his very being. The scent of money with no real possession. He knew a guy who knew another guy who looked after these sorts of things. He looked after people, the time of work for these people, and the work that these people do, the discipline that these people have, the order, the disorder, the fashion to be maintained, the wallpapers, the long sheet of too many numbers, the short sheet of bills, informing, deforming and hiring, firing, lousy paychecks, and, in short, he was my boss who had too much leisurely time in his hand to look after things and did nothing. He was the one who asked questions, answered those questions with an upright tight demeanor, and then questioned us about the work which was always not up to the mark. My friend got me this interview. I had no qualifications of any kind but I have always been a good salesman. I can sell you almost anything and I sold myself as an honourable person of the society, a quick learner with the ability to drill down to details and see, hear, and smell the parts of a car. The guy was impressed then and there. And who will not be when they see a hungry young man who has nothing to his name, begging for pity, everyone will inevitably succumb to the false hunger and everything.
But not everything is false. I am new to myself, new to thought, new to adjustment, new to thinking, new to navigating between people and their intention, even new to women., and you might have a question to why not join a sales company if I have such confidence. It's just too much. I am a good salesman, no doubt about that. But a man needs to be good with his hands. With only a mind, you would be like my boss, and with good hands, you could play with your women how you want, with good hands you are a tough guy who holds the weight of a machine that drives like a cheetah (and sometimes like a donkey but we can fix that), with good hands you can carry a fat women and still be okay with your back, and with good hands you can just about fix anything. Bad motor oils, oil spillage, over use of the engine, no gas, or too much gas or re-building the whole damn machine, just about anything, and today, today they have kept a little get together with one another, celebrating one whole year with a company. It is for me.
I am to resign and find some art to indulge myself with but here I am thanking everyone. They are cutting cake and drinking cheap beer, smoking cigarettes and laughing to some leisurely joke. Giving a description of how, when I was a beginner and fucked a car over, making jokes which were not even the slightest bit funny and eating and talking about their women who were not giving them any good time as of now. I smiled the entire time with no intention of continuing this false hope of enjoying myself. What I wanted was death. Sheer death. I was starving for it.
You are doing an excellent job. More like this for one more year and then you can get promoted to a much senior role and obviously with an increase in the role will come an increase in pay, and yes yes, I have not forgotten about that time when you took care of an entire car all by yourself, nothing goes past these eyes, I see everything, who does what, who does when, you do good for the company you will get its sheer return, and this is no false appreciation that you have completed one whole year with us, I have seen your work and most excitingly, the boss has seen your work too, patting me on the back, like I should be proud of myself. And I have already had a word with him, they are looking into it as we speak, so enjoy, here take this beer.
Too many bosses to go through just to have a name for yourself.
One beer and one hour to indulge ourselves into being merry. I just couldn't speak.
The following month went by just the same way that this previous year went by. Work, looking at women from a distance, and searching for a thing that I can call my destiny. It's not that I take myself seriously at the time; it's also not that I want to be something of a figure. Those things will not justify all my suffering. It's all for women and the fun that I never really had. The nasty perverse mind that gives us energy, and sometimes gives us courage to do the impossible. And this impossible is the odds, me standing against the tiny possibility that will happen. And art laughs at all of it because it neither wants me nor wants the one who was born to do it. Art stares at us without the need for me to create. I laugh at my mind that doesn't really say; it only hints that it wants certain things.
Hey, what are you doing over there? The boss is calling you.
Roberto, a man from India and with an Italian name with no real connection with any Italian genes, looks more like an oversized depressed entity who smokes a pack a day. Shouting and waving his hand from a distance. He is a funny guy who talks too much sometimes. His stories consist of him being able to control himself at all times, and if not, then hell will come to haunt him. He knows all about the world and his role inside it. His role is to follow the lord, and be a good little chap. Yet when push came to shove one day, he was one dangerous fellow who was ready to kill one guy who went just a little overboard, insinuate his bad past opposite of what he is now. Sometimes, it's entertaining, watching two men fighting with words and hands, and then coming to terms that both of them were just not who they were, they got too much into the moment. And similar kinds of guys all came to work with their bad past, bad lives, drugs, alcohol, and women. Something always happened and stories floated like seas of waves. They came to the shore and left a message to each one of them. Thinking of it now when I am about to leave this place makes this man emotional.
Yes boss.
Yes, you wanted to see me.
I did.
So, what do you want?
Mrs. Patel's car is still not ready as I can see and the due date is coming. We have promised her that we will hand her car over in this coming week and I can see the windshield is still not repaired. And what about the engine? She needed a full service with extra care of her engine as well. Yyou know she wants more power on it, more speed to feel young again, and I do not want to beg for more time. We asked her enough times already. She has paid in full and our service should be top-notch with no delay. Where are you with all those things?
I scratched my head, knowing full well of my responsibility to repair the car and leave.
Yes, about that, the car is ready and we have added more power to the car, and everything is just fine to have a test drive, and as for the windshield, I have ordered a new one. The last one was a tiny bit off the mark with the dimensions, so it is on its way.
Okay, good, good. I think she will be happy with her brand-new car (laughing). So what else do you want to speak about, Roberto was saying that you have something important to talk to.
Yes.
I scratched my head again.
To be honest, there is no such belief that I will be able to create art and make a living off of it. It's just that man has urges to test himself, and not to be too over-romantic about it, but you cannot help but to be romantic about it, seeing yourself starving in the great depth of yourself, where the bet you are willing to take has no base nor has any substantial glory. Art is a selfless act of creation, to be seen as a genius who is not ready to stand against the world. It is a different kind of dimension that you have to constantly engage with, And in my case, it is a search for something that I can indulge myself into. My case is a nutcase.
I want to resign.
The boss stood up.
But why?
My dad died. I had no other argument but to kill some people so I could get out of the situation.
I am sorry to hear that. He looked sad. Or tried looking sad. He gave his condolences and some random information about free holiday trips to cool off whatever mental trauma that I would be feeling. I took his free vacation and kissed goodbye the place that was filled with oil spills and hard men who all have a similar kind of sad story that had no good beginning.
Roberto and other men smoked their stories and I felt sacred as well as simply courageous. I tried to pierce the tiny space that was left to listen to myself, to try something which had no basis. The road that was in front of me neither moved left nor right. It was a straight road straight to hell or glory and taking advice on something like this would eventually lead to nothing but unrequired wisdom. The last thing that I needed was a cry, an emotion that always needed to be controlled but sometimes you don't need to. A tough guy is tough regardless. When he takes some bets which have neither head nor tail, he is dead anyway.
With the little savings I had, I called for a woman to cool off whatever was pent up for no Goddamn reason. She did not cost much, an easy ass that needed no care nor love. She needed alcohol or some pot to mix with something that was out of my league.
Hi, honey, only a thousand rupees.
A thousand?
Has the rate gone up, is this a part of the inflation too?
Inflation? What is that?
It's something that stresses us all, but you don't mind that, can you lower the rate a little bit here? I don't have much but I have alcohol.
Okay.
We booked a hotel. She was already a clumsy case. Swaying to the left and to the right and vomiting in the middle of the street while searching for something in her bag. A pipe or a lost dime. Something bothered her as she searched, searched, and searched. And finally, she got it, a picture of her son holding the hands of a man who was skinny but tall. Her face instantly calmed and she became merrier and more cheerful and was ready to go anywhere with a stranger that was ready to give her some money. She was not the attractive type and neither did she have something special to waste a thousand on. But she was a woman, what the hell.
The hotel, its own hot hell, and a receptionist who was reading everything that was going on. She was playing a movie inside her head about what sort of a man I was. I was engaging myself with a whore. I must be one of those losers who don't even have the courage to take a real woman out. To her, the world was full of fakeness and lusty obsession being filled on the streets. She wanted out, she wanted out right at the moment, but her cunning smile and her little belief that she was better was getting the better of her. I let her be, I wouldn't see this woman again, why not let her take the win?
1 room, please.
For how many hours?
Two hours.
Two hours?
Yes.
What will you do for these two hours?
I will tell this lady some story that is causing my heart to reveal its discoveries and whatnot and maybe something else, too.
What else?
For that, I have to spend 2 hours with this lady and figure out what shall be done, and I will tell you all about it.
She smiled, women and the simplicity that they carry around their faces is something. They reveal too much with their emotions getting spilt like a volcano. They just cannot resist their intentions and what might those intention might be? Their intentions are to see the truth that has always been a mystery to them. They don't trust anybody. They don't even trust their own judgement.
I said my goodbyes and we climbed stairs all the way to the 4th floor of the apartment. Cheap rooms have their compromises but we were young as of then, so we climbed it without any worries. For her, it was a hard climb, inhaling her inhaler and gasping for air at each floor. Her heels made it even more troublesome for her to be upright. It was all a mess. This woman was all a mess.
You have the alcohol, right?
Ohh, don't worry, I have the finest in the town!!
The room was filthy. With roaches and flies all dancing around, the bed with no sheets, a chair with springs coming out, a painting of fruits which was fading, and a small table to rest our belongings. She went straight to the bathroom and I arranged some alcohol, a pack of cigarettes, two sandwiches, and loose underwear. She didn't take much time inside. She made herself look pretty with fresh lipstick and some cleavage. I was the first customer she had after a long time on the streets.
Here, the finest alcohol.
It was beer and some hard liquor that can be purchased if you have some connections around. These connections make things much easier. They lower the price. Sometimes, they even offer you some credit if you behave well. If you can sweet talk their ass and convince them you are a pitiful little loser, they offer you some free drinks on the house, saying that this day is a good day to be merciful. And as for me, I pay for each of the purchases I make. I am a man.
She drank the whole of the first beer in a single gulp, leaving no trace of spillage behind and took another bottle in her hand. I watched her as she was coming more undone. Hher blouse was loose, her face getting more relaxed, and she was getting undressed. I watched her without even doing anything. My pants were loose for sure, my underwear even more so and so was my desire to have a good time. She spun across the room like a female who was born in a rich palace, went to the nearest mirror, watched her face as closely as she was watching her life, and gave me a look. I watched her as like we knew each other. She came close to me and opened her blouse in front of my face, a loose breast. Then while making this man all vulnerable, she went to the bed and removed her panties. Her intentions were clear. My intentions were haywire. I took her fragile little body and kissed her lips. It tasted like alcohol. She kissed me back without holding anything back. She brought love to me and, in return, I gave her some love back.
You are not as tough as you look.
Tough!! Nobody is tough around a woman. Even the strongest one will lose.
She smiled and I put my hard cock inside her as she moaned and moaned. She was faking it or maybe my dick was God's gift. I worked and worked and worked and tried working some more. I wanted to prove that I was a man. The sheetless bed was covered with sweat and time rolled over without caring for anybody. The stranger who was lost in the street was now giving a man his purpose to find something to make this life bearable. She slept like she had missed the quiet for quite some time now.
I took one sandwich, paid some extra for the hours, and told the receptionist all about our day. It was always a sad story with a bad past. And I left without even giving a tip.