Khwahishen

“Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi Ki Har Khwaish Pe Dam Nikle. Bahut Nikle Mere Arman Lekin Phir Bhi Kam Nikle.”

As I stroll through the lanes of Ballimaran, I’m reminded of how this verse has always resonated with me. But it no longer does. It seems that the ‘khwaish’ has gone missing from my life. It’s not a statement of a melodramatic drunk, though Ghalib wouldn’t mind that state; it’s the stating of a fact. A person who has deprived themselves out of some perverse sense of masochism or the fear of loosing or heartbreak or what have you- turning around and saying I don’t want. I want nothing! I have definitely not rung on the ladder of the spiritual path to reach a state of such detachment.

Well, Booo fucking Hooo. Enough of that already! Time to think of a few things I want, real soon.

I want to eat Thai Chicken till my stomach explodes. I want to drink so much I throw up on someone’s hand. I want soft white candy to fall on my face at dawn on a winter morning. I want to lie under the stars on a sand dune on a perfect winter night. I want to dance naked in the rain. I want to be kissed so hard my lips turn blue.  I want to drive endlessly. I want to hang out of the window of a car. I want my hair to dance with the wind.

Seems like I all I want right now is the girl I once was! But that’s a start. I’ll have to restart from somewhere.

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