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Love
I feel you are responsible for anu accident at sirsa. You will be aghast what the hell I have written in this bullshit love letter. I know I have very considered point not to write sciences but some how I am compelled again to opt for writing sciences only. I remember I have been continuously asking you to accompany me to anu place and it would be a great time as she is very sophisticated smart and intelligent girl but your non sense nerves could never understand. I told you she makes such a wonderful food that you will forget the bloody five star culture too in bloody one go. Had you been there as persisted upon too many times she would not have got a bifurcated psyche that resulted in her less energy threshold at the D day.
Love
if I am not failing at my general knowledge which I have no mood to increase as I need no bloody IAS examination to crash at, Meena kumari life time tragedy queen ship and Hema Malini 25 yrs of rule over the silver screen has something to tell you and anu too. Anu dad is looking after a bloody certificate of matriculation so probably you are some how trying the same thing.
any how psychiatry is not simple and I have no intention to elaborate further.
Love
there is no body who can even think of taking punjabi panga with my pencil.
I remember Dad was an ingenious person a person of his own dedicated nerves may be an entirety whom I can not sketch in uni some.
I remember there was no boundary lines of my village mirzapur. Dad house was flanked by a huge really huge spacious lawn that supported sand s and sands . It was such a huge place that a five-eight star hotel can be constructed on it. I know in spite of my infinite some powers I could not do that. Dad used to be a busy person round the clock owing to his unrelenting instinct which probably no body could get an inkling from where he flourished such an elixir of power of physiological set up. I know now a days some sikhs have illegally occupied every thing and bloody nanak eats food with me only and these bastards say he resides at harmandir sahib. I know you also visited there for your bullshit pennies and the like. Dad agriculture land was so big that it needed practically 2 hrs for it s simple supervision. Dad was having around 10 acres which consisted of sand dunes only. the height was say about
1.5 meters . Dad planned his way of doing the thing s but his own brother s were hell bound to thwart his innovative nerves. Dad wished may a sand storm come and let it take whole of this sand in the form of shifting sands and throw it away around the end less expanse of that haryana parts. But chinar kei fool to' darling bantei bhi hei aur khushbu bhi deitei hei.
I remember Dad used his own ways and means to level this field over a period of say when I was going to my 8th standard in 1969 whilst Dad was capable of clearing his lands of jungles in 1952 itself and that too with his own hands.
Love
I am painting a love to you on the backdrop of 1963. My school at village mirzapur consisted of one big kacha room. This room was further partitioned into a bigger part for classes and smaller one for teacher and sometimes for miscellaneous purpose say some special occasion when external guide or inspector used to come and sit with the teacher for some discussion part of the school activities. It was flanked by a big lawn that further extended into small portions of land divided into plot s where we were tasked upon to grow certain plants of our choice as part of say extra curricular activities. Probably teacher used to be of this opinion that jobs are something not feasible in those days also. He wanted to inculcate an instinct in us to become self reliant under the village environments so to speak like. I remember parents never interfered in the school way of functioning. I and some other co students planted onions in a plot. Another plot we chalked for growing flowers. There were total four big plots for such purpose. A hand pump that was installed almost in the mid area was used for small time irrigating the plants. There was no fashion of bringing the food to the school. I do not know if we ever heard the concept of ti fen so to say. One day it was around 3 O'clock afternoon , we were doing our this activity of planting and looking after the plants. I remember two of us, me and some other chap of my age only were feeling very hungry. Dad never gave us any money nor mom had the habit of keeping purse etc. Dad was having a barter system with the local shop keepers for purchasing items meant for house and farm related activities. I dont think I ever thought the pros and cons of the system. Option of taking something from the local /village shop keeper was ruled out at our psyche level. We started looking for those onions which were a little thick or say developed so that some mouthful food may be there. I remember I was eating the onions as if chocolates or say pizza or say tandoori chicken or say momos . It was tasty but too pungent at the same time but love hunger was a fact to reckon with.
shabdo kei galyarei sei
come on love
that bastard kumar vishwas has spoiled the Hindi language itself as I wanted to use the word shu leina but it stinks love
let my heart say
I love you
moments come
fly past
catch me hard
is it you
my heart says
may be
may be not
is it
my nerves search you
inside me
out thy
come love
I fade
words say
its hard
Love
I am painting my love to you on the backdrop of 1959 to 1965 but I will be sketching only a single trait you can feel like. If you give a command to Google earth and your system can bring a bird's eye view of village mirzapur. My Dad house has a huge entrance supported by a concrete door frame the wooden door or say gate is no more visible and just enter the house take 25 steps and look towards your right. It was the location where a hand pump stood tall to the happening days of my dad. I remember dad never fetched water for me he always wanted me to be self reliant . I was too small when I learnt how to pull the pump just by observing neither mom nor dad but some peoples employed by dad or some persons who happened to take water from his pump as hand pump was a luxury at that time to speak like. I remember there used to be a small gathering practically all the time s of reckoning to my small nerves.
I used to take a small iron bucket fill it with water and take a glass it was bronze I remember and have a wash /bath with no under wear of any sort. I remember it was tough time but sooner or later I learned how to do the job.
I have cleansed my bathroom I thought Kiran will say uncle is bullshit psychiatric medicine addicted chap and hardly bothers for keeping the things intact. I have done a quick wash to the bathroom. Kiran is not well he just telephoned me and I think bombay is not that far away too, may an air plane can bring you here.
Love
I have cached one of the most exotic and romantic snaps of thy I can feel you from these what should I say electronic hearts. I was telling you of my those eventful days when river gaghar was put on embankments so to say like. I remember I told you of the romance of life and how your bullshit movie makers can not even think of what the hell I have happened to write of. One nice day a school friend told me that river is flowing at its full stream. I am painting a love based on the backdrop of say 1963-64. We started at around 3.10 PM. I can not remember the date but your snaps are so scintillating beautiful that my heart is saying better create a date. I have already created a date for you and that is printed at your heart my love. It took about half an hr when we reached a place where waters were rushing at such a horrific speed that any body may get shivers out of the mere scene of its ferocity. We sat quietly along the upper most reaches of the bank I could see uprooted trees with big trunks were flowing as if they were catching the confronting one like Milkha Singh. But there was no chance for us to leave the place in hurry nor we gathered strength to touch the waters probably my heart wanted to know the touch of yours first. yes deepika its absolutely true my own brain gets swirled up at my own writings.
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