Madman talking

It’s one of those gloomy evenings .Hospitals cannot make one feel very happy. For many days now, he has been leading this un catalogued lifestyle .He decides to make a dairy entry
Dear Dairy
I had painkillers for lunch today .Finally a visitor, the 2nd in 3 weeks. The reason for the lack of people visiting me is probably due to the fact that I am not so sociable. This person who visited me was my colleague, my buddy and at least on 3 days a week I genuinely felt that he was the nicest guy in the world. The other days I would feel like splitting his head in to two. This is probably an indication of how erratic my thinking is, how weird my behavior is. Tedium will kill me even before the disease does . To kill boredom I’ve invented a new game , it’s called the game of 3 , whenever I see something or a thought strikes my mind I try to associate 3 immediate things with it . For instance if I had to avoid someone I would come up with 3 possible reasons
1) I won’t be able to come out today. I just want to know what claustrophobia is all about
2) It’s raining outside , if I come out I’ll catch a cold
3) it’s too hot , I may die of an overdose of vitamin D
Then looking at the garden outside and those beautiful flowers
1) I’m reminded of the really long flowers of delphinium that I once saw in the markets of Rishikesh
2) I captured those flowers on this camera that happened to be my first digital camera
3) I had become addicted to this habit of flicking the camera up in air and is it would begin its descend I’d slowly click a picture. Different textures captured ,random, . Rusty shades and hippy textures hop scotching through puffs of dust some lines trying to crane their neck upwards and the eagles in others trying to swoop down, some stories told others going unheard
I thought I was really artistic and belonged to ‘intellectual elite class’ whenever I did all this. Maybe I was faking all this up . I had a heart that would yearn for raunchy stuff . Everything ‘ cheap ,crass and vulgar’ would attract me. Don’t know why , but I loved telling people I had aesthetic tastes . Yeah , I was a terrific liar and I loved being phony
Now , I try being super witty , when asked tell me about yourself I’d say ‘Ask my best friends’
1) Gopal from Bhopal
2) Sweetie from Ooty
3) Ravi from Dharavi
Finally I begin to think of this fictitious who’s been generated out of sheer imagination. What do I name him is the next task
1) Lokesh , this name sounds pretty common , casual . Nicknames associated would be Loki say the globe trotter or Low-key or Lock and key. Nah! This name isn’t going to work
2) Adrian- pronounced AY-dree-an. It is of Latin origin, and the meaning of Adrian is "from Hadria"
a town in northern Italy . Adrian probably sounds too Anglo-Indian . I want something more indigenous
3) Maqbool- This sounds fine , a name of great intrigue meaning ‘accepted’ . Maqbool interests me because every word that starts with a Q has a U following it be it in the case of ‘Quest’ or ‘quench’ or ‘quit’ . the Q in Maqbool has a ‘B’ next to it and the two O’s in the name make it sound really chirpy . I narrow down on Maqbool now


What about Maqbool now? While I deal in 3’s Maqbool deals in 9’s meaning he’s 3 folds better than me . He reads Salinger’s 9 stories ,watches the news at 9. He begins his journey on step no. 81 (8+1=9 , 9*9=81) . Why doesn’t he begin at step no.1
Maybe, he’s well ahead of his time or maybe he feels that life has no perfect starts
Maqbool loves to walk . He loves exploring all the unexplored areas, navigate through urban madness and eerie alleys . He could move panting his way up and then wait for inertia to spur him down. Maqbool would observe everything that came in his path .Looking at a cigarette butt he would imagine joining many of them together to create a maze , a chromosome structure or a labyrinth. He would observe the home of the flower vendor that smelled of wild jasmines on a moist night , he also examined the brownish white walls of the barber’s shop that looked like as if vanilla and chocolate just had a fight , the bottles that were kept in the hierarchical order of their heights . He could sense the air that smelled of cosmetics , conditioners , hair oils and the like having complete disregard for the air outside.
Maqbool can also write erudite poetry . He once wrote a poem wherein a poet walks through the forest , the poet tears the piece of poetry in to tiny bits so that he can trace his path on the way back . Finally the poet says ‘ All that the forest is left with is polythene and all that I’m left with is prose’ . This is the kind of dark humor that Maqbool could delve into.
What happens to Maqbool next? He would probably fall in love with a girl who loves her city , who loves graffiti on the walls , who can talk backwards and interpret complex movies . He probably wouldn't fall in love with silly girls who hug teddy bears , wear 25 different shades of pink , cuddle street dogs and shout at the sight of cockroaches in the bathroom trying to sound incredibly cute .He’d then move to the hills and lead a happy life. Maqbool then becomes the talk of the town , the most affable character ,………………

Wait a second? How is he able to lead such a perfect life ? Is he living in an utopia?
I’m the one who created him , I’m the one who molded him and I’m the one who’s reeling in pain . No one leads a perfect life , no one gets everything so easily
Where would I like to take his story next? Maqbool is killed , Maqbool destroyed .
What would you like to call me? Murderer , Killer?
Call me by my name now . Call me Lokesh , call me Adrian rather call me Maqbool