219 days and this morning...

There is one track in Riya’s car that takes me back so many years, I’m a kid again. Spectrum audio cassettes, Ami’s old stereo system, Galacta (the battle for Saturn), Dangerous Dave, Nasir Saab, Daddy Jee matching shoeprints in his garden patch with the shoeprints on my shoes and then scolding me in front of everyone. Me vowing never to set foot in that lawn again, falling asleep on a rexene sofa swing with tears in my eyes. Just a bubble gum song by Patti Smith. The first time I played commander keen, was on Jamal’s 486. I got blamed for ruining it when there was fluctuation and I was the last man on the pc. Harsh, but fair, I suppose. It felt like the time I got electrocuted by an AC at Hamza’s house playing hide and seek. Completely out of the blue. I felt sick afterwards. Jamal kept stating the obvious ‘tujhay bijli laggi thee aur tu beemar ho gaya. Hahahaha’. Yes, Jimmy Flloyd, I fell sick. It is true. But I recovered, I always do.
I’m beginning to finally understand what Amber the Goba has been saying all these years. Something about disassociation and distance and yearning for the familiar. Amber the Goba is Amber the sage.
There are these pathan children outside ciao that have the most unique way of asking for money. Holding out roses wrapped in cellophane they make the following pitch: ‘Hey nigger, please buy me one flower. Give me ten bux. Don’t break my heart. Once you go black, you never comin back.’ Three siblings, asking for money… the youngest one, probably 4, maybe 5 fumbling and stuttering through the sales pitch…
On the odd night, when I am going back home later than I should, I find them sleeping on the side walk with rats scurrying not to far from them. Wish I could do more than just give them ten bux.
The other day I turned the bend and squinted. The sun seemed to be shining brighter than usual. The ayat kareema sticker (we’ve decided to leave it on, maybe because were lazy, maybe because we fear the wrath of god) on the wind screen of the car that we have only recently acquired, blocked some rays, and for a brief instance in time, as I looked into the oversized side view mirrors I noticed ‘Laa illaha illa anta subhanaka inni kuntu minaz-zalimeen’ written across my chest. Everything will be fine, I thought. Everything will be just fine. In the background inn aankhoon ki masti was playing, a song when translated might read as …

There are thousands of admirers of these eyes,
Thousands of stories I could tell you related to them…
You are not alone, your affinity unrequited…
There are thousands of mad men like you in this city…
It is I alone who can intoxicate you with my eyes…
Booze, you can get from a thousand inns across the world….
And you threaten this unyielding flame with your storm…
Thousands of moths would die just to keep it ablaze…
There are thousands of admirers of these eyes,
Thousands of stories I could tell you related to them.