Panjim in the rain.

The last dregs of my coffee cup

and the water in my shoes.

Small change in my wallet

but a pocketful of blues.

What business do you have here?

I wish I could explain.

I guess I'm here, just to look

at Panjim in the rain.

The road is like broken glass

fallen from the sky.

And poetry is nothing but a better way to lie.

The moths drink up the street lights

and I drink all that remains.

Swig by swig, under the stars,

in Panjim in the rain.

The mice and men are in their holes

hiding from the Gods.

The empty street and the empty pier

can't stand an empty glass.

Everybody is a sinner in this town,

searching for a saint.

All they find is alcohol

and Panjim in the rain.

Water water everywhere,

but not a drop to drink.

Laughter laughter everywhere,

but not a thought to think.

My bartender is as nonchalant as they come.

"When it rains, it pours", He says.

Then pour me another one, and let me drink

to Panjim in the rain.

MCQ

One day, I am going to die in a car crash or a plane crash or cancer or a successful suicide attempt. And you are going to die too. Until then we're going to sit here with our empty glasses and overtold stories and the rest of our lives waiting waiting waiting and dreaming as the cold winter mornings come like a splash of cold water and your teeth chatter and your body shivers trying to generate some warmth. You can literally see the trees wake up and the road is a fucking polar ice cap.

Winter makes everything slow down. The stray dogs wake up and start looking around for a sunlit spot to dig a hole and do God knows what. Same old city. Same old apartments and same old trees neatly lining the same old roads. Same old muffler clad sabjiwaalah comes to the colony porch every morning. Same fucking stray dogs. Your friend's siblings are now your sibling's friends. Evenings are spent in the same old coffee shop repeating stories you'd told last year. When did this town shrink so much? You drive past your old school trying to see if anything has changed. Then back to the coffee shop.

There is a frustrating anticipation in this stillness. A new year is about to begin. Car crash, plane crash, cancer or suicide attempt?

White noise.

He didn't even remember how you looked like. What your name was. How you took your coffee. Which side of the bed you liked to sleep on. He didn't remember. He didn't remember your favourite song. Your happy place. He tried hard but he couldn't seem to. Don't blame him, but he didn't remember you.

Your beauty was lost to him. Your words forgotten. He saw you on the crowded street today. You passed each other, in fact. You even turned back and apologized when you brushed shoulders. He didn't recognize your voice. A mutual smile was all your give and take. He thought about you for the next nine seconds and controlled the urge to turn back. Afterall, its not everyday that you bump into pretty strangers.

Don't blame him, really. It was a long time ago that you met. You talked about all the things people usually talk about and that was it. You never kissed. It was nice meeting you, have a good night. He thought about the recently deceased conversation for the length of a cigarette and smiled to himself. That was it.

Wait. Do you remember him?

Fuck you too.

I don't want to be able to think anymore. For some time atleast. Not think about the next sentence. The next note. It has become too tedious a job. I want sleep. 

I don't want to be able to think anymore. I want sleep. Sound dreamless sleep. Deathlike sleep. 

I don't want to be able to think anymore. 

Rough day.

All those moments will be lost in time. Like tears in the rain.

Time to die.