Uninterrupted Thoughtfulness

You sit here with your legs covered in a blanket that is warm. Warm, that’s it. Whether it is made of cotton or paper or rice or elephant fur, it is not important as long as it is warm. In this world where people care more about “material” than “purpose”, this blanket here does its work and make these hairy legs feel warm. Legs, let’s pay gratitude to them. They make us stand, walk, run, cycle, swim and sit. And then you wax them. Strip them off of their only property worth displaying when you got no muscle beneath that hair to compensate. Living in this world of fake hairless legs, you try to be genuine. Misery knocks and enters without permit. You shaved your legs, I didn’t. Guilt has crept in. I’m not sorry. The blanket is warming these hairy legs.

The rectangular clock with pointed silver hands and black base stares back at you from the high-end of the wall in front. It ticks and makes you realise that the last time you saw it, it was ticking. You were looking, and it was ticking. It ticked. And that moment was lost forever. Now this one too is gone. The clock ticks. You face it wondering what the purpose of life is. It ticks. You wonder. Some more moments wasted in addition to twenty-one years of your time that you already spent on this planet. The blanket is warm and the phone is being charged. The clock still ticks. You sit and plan for the day ahead when you know you will dismiss the alarm and over sleep. You plan, nevertheless.

What’s this thing about happiness and contentment that retired people talk about so often among them? Sometimes they make young people the victim of their thoughts and beliefs. When they retired, they retarded as well. You don’t tell them as they will get offended. They don’t have anything in life to do other than bitch, and then they get offended. Where are those days, they will say. They’re gone you old ass chap, gone are those days, to never ever return. But you don’t tell that. You speak with your mouth shut and listen with your ears open while the brain is somewhere else. They preach, you pretend. It goes on. Happiness is not what you can achieve by Hahaha-ing or lol-ing on text. You don’t think like that when you type, but you shall the next time, for the clock is ticking and you haven’t moved till now. Happiness, fuck you bitch. You wonder what this is about. The blanket is warm.

You look at your yellowish piss slowly mixing with the toilet water before you flush. Once gone, it will be gone forever. You care for your piss more than water and the world is so selfish. You think before you flush, say goodbye and then, it’s gone. Forever. All the vitamin B and C you had in your O+ blood, it is gone. Tomorrow, you’ll have more food and water and piss some more. More water will be wasted and the world will remain selfish. You care for your nutrient rich piss more than water. The world is mean; you just care for your nutrient rich piss. The water is now clean. Flush empty. It will be refilled, so will be the bladder. The latter not just with water. Piss, you know, piss.

The sound of those chirping birds that you don’t care enough to pay attention to says something. You don’t even try to understand them since they have their own jargon. You sit here typing something and then click on “PUBLISH”. You want to leave a legacy. You don’t think about the ticking clock. Now you did. You face it, head up. Ten seconds have passed. You face the fearful to not give a fuck. You did that just now. Faced the fearful clock and gave a fuck. Looking at that green Tupperware bottle lying on the table to your left, you feel thirsty. Staring at the picture on your toilet door of that woman having magnificent lips, you feel lust. Smelling that boiling mixture of milk, sugar and rice in a vessel placed on gas stove in kitchen, you feel hunger. And you sit here feeling warm while your legs are wrapped in blanket. The clock ticks.

Some dogs bark in the neighbourhood. A man just gave a honk from his car. You don’t know whether it was a car or the driver was a man. You assume and presume and you mess things up. Then you wish you had done things differently. You swallow some saliva down your throat. It is dry. You need to drink water to piss more. Also to quiet your thirst. But you don’t. Hedonic adaptation. You sit in comfort and not drink water. The dogs are still barking. A truck gave a honk from very faaar. This time you know it was a truck, you are cocksure. Confident you are, just like you were after that content writer interview a few months ago. You never received a mail from them confirming your sureness. Now you wonder, was that really a truck? Are those really barking dogs? Is this a ticking clock? Are these legs warm? And a minute before you were sure. Are you even thirsty or is this some illusion, like matrix, you wonder.


The blanket is warm. Tick. Tick. Tick, goes the clock. No, the clock hands go ticking. Tick. Tick. Tick. You are thirsty. The artistic calendar proudly standing on the book cupboard nearby has a circle marked on each numbered day of March including today. It signifies something that you know about. You care for that. Still there are circles drawn. There should have been cross marks. You plan for tomorrow. You will set alarm and then dismiss it after 10 minutes of snooze and ring. Snooze and ring. Snooze and ring. Snooze and ring. Snooze and ring. Snooze and ring. When you hate to read this, you realise how awful it feels to the ear drums when that alarm rings. You snooze. It rings again. And then you dismiss it with half-open eyes and lie face down on the bed while feeling your dick that gracefully touches the mattress through your jockey underpants.

You find where that button is, here it is. PUBLISH. You press. It is done. Proud, you feel.

Happiness, it is a virtue, not a goal. No, it isn’t even a virtue. It is a trap you don’t wanna fall in. You don’t wanna be happy. You are not one of those retarded or retired folks. You now press “UPDATE”.

Your post has been updated on Arpit Chhikara. You smile. The clock still ticks, you mean the hands, they do the ticking. Blanket is warm. You hear a honk but don’t assume and presume with sureness what the vehicle is. You sit up to sip water from that bottle. You will waste water again in some time and this will be today’s seventh time. The reason one of the flower pots on your terrace grows more flowers than the rest is because you don’t water it with just water. You pour nutrients in it. Vitamin B and C and uric acid. Now, you say bye and press for the second time the same button. UPDATE.

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