Sunday, 18 December 2011

Do You Know How Long A Week Is?

Do you know how long a week is? Do you have any idea how much can happen in a week? One may turn into a cockroach-eater. One may become like the crazy person on the first-floor of the School who lives in a bloody school. One may miss somebody so much that it may drive one insane.

The week, as they say, is not actually a week. It is in fact, SEVEN days. You know what can happen in seven days? One may start looking at alcoholism as a feasible career option. One may think of trips to the Police Station as fun because it brings back certain unpleasant but very vivid memories. One may pick fights with dogs in the middle of the road and try to get bitten in the hope that dog-bites work like werewolf-bites.

It seems that one may get very masochistic and crazy if one is denied, for an unreasonably long amount of time, something that one is so used to that it becomes very difficult for one to even make grammatically correct, coherent sentences.

Asterisks.

If only that would count.

-  Dhaval Shethia.

Tuesday, 6 December 2011

I wish.

I wish.

People have their own wish-list. Here’s an extract from mine.

I sometimes sit in my car and stare out at the people crossing the road while the signal is for me to go ahead. I wish I could get out of my car holding a really heavy sawn-off shotgun and with the blunt end of the shotgun bust their heads open till their brains splatter on the ground. Then I’d shoot them.

I see a certain person walking in the corridor. I wish I could scrape her skin off and throw salt and pepper on her. Then I’d fry her and serve ‘fried-certain person’ to people I hate.

I wish I could take that cricketer’s face and smash his teeth into his throat and watch him choke to death.

I wish I could make face-pizza out of the corridor girl’s face. I would feed it to the scavengers.

I wish I could go to Ireland. Buy a castle. Start a micro-brewery and a potato farm.

I wish I could write well.

 - Dhaval Shethia.