Days Go By - Dirty Vegas

You
You

You are still a whisper on my lips
A feeling at my fingertips
That's pulling at my skin

You leave me when I'm at my worst
Feeling as if I've been cursed
Bitter cold within

Days go by and still I think of you
Days when I couldn't live my life without you
Days go by and still I think of you
Days when I couldn't live my life without you
Without you
Without you

You are still a whisper on my lips
A feeling at my fingertips
That's pulling at my skin

You leave me when I'm at my worst
Feeling as if I've been cursed
Bitter cold within

Days go by and still I think of you
Days when I couldn't live my life without you
Without you
Without you

Days go by and still I think of you
Days when I couldn't live my life without you
Days go by and still I think of you
Days when I couldn't live my life without you
Without you
Without you
Without you
Without you
Without you

Such barbarism

While lazily sauntering across the bovine inflected meadows of the hinterland (ranchi, on an unmitigated recent trip), I would often chance upon life's lessons in a compact and easily digestible form, waiting to be picked up alongside fresh, fertile dung. I would often take these walks with the sheer frustration of absolutely nothing to do, and how the mind would jump over hours and days at will, while still slowing the watch painfully so. On one of these afternoons, while I had been repining over hopefully enacting a gesture like this, and walking across an absolutely deserted scenery (except for a few cows grazing around, a few trees up ahead, and an absolutely deserted country road, oh and while I was sitting across the small road on a small rock, a man came riding a bicycle, got down, nonchalantly unzipped, and let it flow, less than 15 ft from me. I was too much into the flow to even react.) it came to me like one of those neat little parcels of wisdom. I remember calling a friend in another mindspace about this stunning realization, that a man just needs four people in his life to be happy. The fact that I currently do not remember the other three speaks volumes of the haircut I had had that morning.

I am normally not a person who takes easy to being strapped on a chair and applied a blade to. I grow my hair long every so often out of wistfulness and almost always panic seeing my hair frame my face one last time (Infact, there is this one thing that I have always had done to me, having had one side of my hair snipped off, and the other half wet, draping my forehead. I have always, but always, wanted to just leave it at that. Reminds me so much of Bryan Adams in that toilet video of his). When I do walk into a barber shop (yes, not a salon) - and I choose absolutely random barbers - I walk in with as resigned a demeanor as I can summon and always utter the curt "Just get it as short as possible". I normally get a shave thrown in, and post summers in bombay, I always make it a point to ask if he also well, massages your head with Navratan tel. That specific oil is absolutely essential in the proceedings, those who have used it would sagely nod.

What that ranchi barber did to me that morning cannot be described short of beating a man all over with all your strength with hands and fists. And yes, it felt heavenly. He twisted my back, put his leg on the chair, twisted my arms around, beat my back with his fists, twisted my neck around, did funny things with a nerve around my neck (I presume he was fiddling with the major artery carrying oxygen to the brain. Yes, auto erotic hanging stories were on in my head, even then), and waited for me to regain consciousness. He also casually mentioned that he could get me unconscious with a few flicks of his fingers, or flick my wallet from inside my pocket without my noticing it, and so on and so forth. I believed him. But the experience left me totally overjoyed with life. Also, the fact that you can finally see your face post your excursion, all fresh and earnest, makes it all the more rosy.


Hence today, while I was having as shitty a sunday as one could concoct (yes, non working sundays can be shitty too. For the record.), I headed off to the only sane solution I could think of. Yes, to get a drink. But well, let me start from the start. I called up a total of 7 people today to hear that they have other plans which do not include me. One gets a hang of it by the second call, you know, there are those days, by which you cheekily start pushing fate to see how far can it take. Calling up absolute losers who would die to hang with you on any other day, and predict their No before they say it. Not that hanging out is the babylon of sundays. Just that this particular Sunday, I wanted to be out somewhere. And not alone. So well, back to the sojourn to the spirits store, in between which I just stopped to drink in the facade of a barber at his best in his shop. Of late, I have been looking like one of those 45 year old fat geezers with long hair sitting alone on a stool in a pub, and thinking that they really look cool while the rest of the populace refrains from pointing. I got tempted. The haircut and the shave later, I asked this guy the usual. He mentioned in the affirmative, and then actually measured a small cup full of the aforementioned oil, and hold your breath poured it on my head. Yes. Just poured it all over my head. With it dripping around the sides of my head, he just got it all around and made a paste of it on my head. I have no idea of the despicable and vulgar things he was doing to my hair, so I wouldn't feign disgust. Just that I was incredibly disappointed. Almost like desecrating an altar.

I feel today was completely and utterly wasted.