Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Yours Miserably

This is something that I'd written a while ago. I thought I'd put it up here, but for some reason left it as a draft and forgot all about it. I don't consider this to be the best, but its my first attempt at writing a satirical piece mouthed by a character largely inspired by T.S.Eliot's Prufrock. The miserable lover here is sad, weird, hopeless, and trying hard to reach out to the woman he "loves" through his words. He is surely one of those people who may creep you out in the first encounter, but is nevertheless that one person drowned in the crowd of many. At times, the emotions that he has developed for this woman may not seem sincere; but rather fragmented and all over the place. A perfect example of a man lost in the labyrinth of the post modern world! For example, the references to popular/contemporary consumeristic media, like "Apple" or "Hutch"; have been blended in metaphorically with the ideas of love, lust and form a part of the intertexuality that is a core aspect of post modernism.

But at the end of it all,  you don't have to think of it in this particular way, and just go ahead and read it as it is!

Dear You,
         You have probably seen me around. I am always around- you know, that man wearing a rolled up blue shirt with an ink stain on the breast pocket. I wear it everyday. It's my uniform. If you cant place me, then I am also the man with a bald patch threatening to encroach the landscape of his head very soon. If you still haven't noticed me ; then maybe there's something terribly lacking in my overt stalking skills. I may just be a mere mortal, made even more common by being a part of a monotonous job. I believed that I was a piece of refused furniture with no purpose in life. Until the day I met you. Well I didn't really "meet"you, but you did ask me to move, so I could let you pass up to your seat in the bus. You were the most lovely creature that I’d set my eyes on! That’s when I decided to follow you around. Don’t be scared. I’m not armed with secret video cameras or other voyeuristic gadgets. I just can’t help but be pulled towards you, irrespective of whether I’ll end up self destructing myself like a wicked time bomb.

        I thought I could get along well by myself. I still think so. Probably that was just for my own futile consolation during times when I felt weak. Even sugary and grease dripping food cannot make this weakness go away. But I cannot possibly deny the fact that there has been a change taking place within me. It was so gradual and so discreet in its approach. Just like a glow-in-the-sun-vampire,I was fascinated, but was taken aback when I came to realise the actual strength and capacity that it contained. It hit me hard. As hard as the ground that broke Humpty Dumpty’s fragile egghead. This weakness within me, this helplessness, I don’t know what to do about it! I try to bravely face it with my air shield and air sword. I want to ward it off, but it just refuses to give up. Also, I seem to crave for this weakness to get hold of me ever so often. I think I might be a closet masochistic pig. *Ouch. Oink. Ouch*

     I don’t know what else to do, other than look at you with awe and worship every fibre of your being to an almost pathetic extent. But you know what’s even more scary. I don’t care about how pathetic I’m turning. I want to keep torturing myself, keep wanting to be around and keep you happy. *Ouch. Oink. Ouch.*

     Oh Cupid! What games art thou playeth on me? Go playeth on the Apple gadgets like other “normal” people and, leaveth my heart alone.

     I keep telling myself. It’s stupid. It’s selfish. It’s almost capitalistic. But why oh why do you pepper my dreams, and haunt my nightmares. Why does my heart melt when I look into those eyes. But being the realist, that I’d like of think of myself to be, I have forced myself to pick out a few flaws in your character. But on the other hand, being the Romantic, that I’m turning into, I reckon that those flaws of yours beautifully complement my own flaws. You are flawlessly flawed my darling bud of May!

    Can I call this love? When I scribbled the four letter word down, it doesn’t seem apt at all. Infact it sounds pretentious. Like I’m declaring something and automatically obliging you to respond to it . You don’t even have to respond, if I do end up declaring it all of a sudden in one of those free alcohol parties that you keep attending. Yes I am there as well. How amusing and endearing are you when you are in high spirits! Anyway, you can just slap me right across the face, and tell me to stop listening to the bubbling golden something battling its hazy eyelashes before me.  In my state, I will go down on my knees or more likely pass out at your feet; and ask you to make me the…happiest person on this planet! And you’d probably just blankly stare at me and not say anything. I'm sure you wouldn't want to respond to a man like me! And I like a slurry idiot would try re framing my proposition whilst you just quietly move away and leave me swimming in a pool of drunken awkwardness, and not to mention an inappropriate joy of getting a weight lifted off me. But of course, soon I am facepalming and faceslapping myself. What a tragedy!

     But anyway, this hasn’t happened so it’s quite safe in saying that the above piece of incident was fictional and has never happened. I was so contended with this stalker-stalked relationship, but my shrink said that its best if I wrote it all down. It hasn't helped me in any way. I think I will go and shred this letter or something. Anyway before I destroy it, I just want to tell you that I love you my darling!

Yours miserably,


  1. Dear Writer,

    It was wonderful piece of writing and its interesting to note the feeling of empathy within one for the miserable stalker. Although, in reality, I would abhor such an occurrence.

    Glad to see much more of your writings..

    This humble reader.

  2. Well done.

    Fully immersed in PoMo I see!