I hate cats. And women who have a fetish for cats. And I’m saying this in spite of the fact that I have a large female readership (euphemism) immensely in love with cats whose sentiments might have been hurt in an intense manner due to this statement. But I repeat, I hate cats.
And there isn’t any reason I can think of to support the hatred. It is another thing that I like pussycats for obvious reasons sometimes, I also like Dan Bilzerian’s cat because it is rich and anyone rich should be liked and adored or at least that’s how it is in India.
Talking about India, I find Indian stray cats very dirty. I haven’t seen stray cats of other nations though, but when I say Indian stray cats, it creates a false impression that I have been to many nations and studied the life of stray cats there. And it feels good to make false impressions. Anyway, dirty Indian stray cats might be a reason why I hate cats if you insist on knowing one.
When I was a kid I once saw a stray cat with filthy paws and filthier ears. Since my religion teaches me to uplift the downtrodden, and since I consider filthy a part of downtrodden, I decided to help poor kitty. I didn’t want to go and introduce myself to the cat directly because that won’t have looked right. So just to ensure that it becomes aware of my existence, I pelted a tiny fraction of a stone at it upon which it growled at me. I like to think that it was a cute purr, but what the hell, truth was it growled. And since it growled, I pelted another stone in its direction, fairly large to be mistaken for an apple if you ignored the color, texture, shape and composition. I did this noble act to tell the cat that I wanted to be friends with it and help it clean the paws and ears. But the cat couldn’t imagine the apple like I did and plunged it’s filthy claws in my skin as a reply. You see, I don’t have a great history with cats.
My earliest memory of a cat brings to mind the image of a gray cat in my neighborhood that had gray eyes and was always very grim. A reader of vivid genres since childhood, I had a book of horror stories back then named ‘Blood Curdling Tales’ that had a cat’s photo on the cover. And that cat’s photo resembled the neighborhood cat. And that freaked me out. Right since then, anytime cats are mentioned, I find this image of gray cat haunting me like Edgar Allan Poe was haunted by a black cat in one of his stories. Apart from this, I later learned in school that cats have eight nipples. Isn’t that gross?
Cat loving women is another story. I once knew a girl who loved cats. She was so crazy about the four legged filthy mammal that she believed she was a cat herself and had long nails that she probably called claws but she didn’t kill mice with those nails, I remember she used to kill lice in her hair using the long pointy keratin that grew on her finger tips. All these things made me sure about the fact that she was a cat. But she could talk like others so I thought she was a girl too. This led my mind to a state of chaos and I ended up despising women who love cats.
Cats aren’t bad I know. Even women who love cats can be compassionate and charming. And I also know that one cat woman from the past shouldn’t be a reason to despise the whole clan and it is largely possible that I might fall in love with a girl who cannot live without cats. That would be scary. Because there are a lot of cats and even more cat loving women in the world. But I’m going to hate both of them because I’ve been hating them since a long time and it would be unfair if I change my styles all of a sudden. But if you are a woman, you have a cat, and you’re willing to marry me and let me write about both of you in a despicable manner, I can love you both as an exception. If interested, please mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org
Looks like the cat is okay with the deal. Attaboy.
So the other day I was sitting in this fancy restaurant and whilst looking around like desperate single men look, I spotted a couple in one corner. They were either newlyweds, or likely to get hitched and if these assumptions are wrong, they were just another normal couple (but of course you can add and assume other possibilities if you know any). The girl was hot, and since I’m a desperate single man, I kept looking at her every once in a while, so much that I spilled my Bloody Mary over the chicken crispy breaking the glass in the process and ended up being an embarrassment for my friends. This did not although, in any manner, deter my attempts from looking at that girl and the more I looked at their table, I could see how much both of them were looking into each others’ eyes. They could afford to do that because I couldn’t see any chicken crispy they had ordered to eat so there was no fear that it might get cold while they wasted a considerable amount of time in the eye contact.
And while eating my not-so-hot chicken crispy, because now it had a paste of Tabasco, tomato and vodka over it, I kept wondering how could they look into each others eyes, or for that matter, how can anyone? Moreover some people just don’t look into each others’ eyes, they can even see stuff there. Like Jason Mraz claims that he can see night skies in his girlfriend’s eyes, and Guns N’ Roses could see a ‘love restrained’ in their’s. I mean the concept of looking right into another person’s pupil might be easy for you, but it’s kind of gross for me. Okay, let’s be honest, it’s not gross, it’s just very brave for me. I have had quite a number of girlfriends but I never had to look in anyone’s eyes because most of my trysts preferably happened in the dark where I was always in a hurry to finish it off quickly. Yes, there were two or three girls about whom I had thoughts of going in a serious relationship with, but I never looked in their eyes either because one of them had eyes as large as those of an octopus and with the other two I never gave them a chance to peep in my eyes because standing close to each other always just meant a lot of kissing.
That doesn’t change the matter of fact though. I have never been brave enough to hold a girl and look in her eyes. It scares me. I’m afraid because I have a notion that you can look into a girl’s eyes only when you’re confident and honest about you loving her. Looking into a girl’s eyes isn’t an easy task if you’re an eccentric, egoistic bum like me. Being with a girl I’m always rather looking around so as to see who is looking at us, or to check a pretty lass.
Because when you look into a girl’s eyes, you have to face her stare that depicts a lot of love and expects a lot of promises all at the same time. And that weakens me. I remember looking into the eyes of a friend with whom I was going on a friends with benefits basis and that was so easy. I could promise her everything in the world and still keep looking in her eyes as long as I wanted to because I knew she didn’t expect things from me and we were going to wend our own ways no matter what happened. But doing that to a girl who looks at me with a spark in her eyes is a big no. I just hope I can do that someday shedding off all this self centered behavior. I just hope I fall in love someday because I want to look into a girl’s eyes and promise things, I want to tell her what I can I see in her eyes, then I want to keep looking regardless of the fears that someone might see me and call me incapable of love. I want that pair of eyes (and of course the girl who owns it) to find me soon. But until then, I’ll keep spilling my Bloody Mary looking at others’ girlfriends even when I know that it’s downright pathetic. Cheers.
“This is going to be quite an exciting time”, my friend said slamming the car’s door leaving me outside his girlfriend’s house with an assignment: watch the watchman.
And so, I was left in this eternal hollow space (cars always look like that when you’re alone inside) at 11.30 pm in the night for an undefined period of time. There was very little I could do apart from changing radio stations and looking at the incredibly fat ass women from the neighborhood having night-strolls down the road. One of them even looked at me and when I smiled at her, she told her hairy-legged husband something in an unrecognised language upon which he suddenly grabbed her hand, both of them turned around and walked away shaking their booties which left me wondering whose was bigger. Apart from this there was nothing happening around and so I soon got bored.
This was exactly where I came to think of what was I even doing? Who sits in a car adjusting the AUX cable when their friend is climbing walls, hiding behind pillars and getting chased by a dog all in his girlfriend’s house? I would have liked joining him the adventure really. While returning, I could have stolen a painting or something and called myself Thomas Crown. But that was not happening. I was here, keeping a watch over the watchman who wasn’t showing up. The watchman was a badass villain, my friend was the hero doing brave things and his girlfriend was the heroine. So it soon dawned on me that I was the sidekick. And it felt terrible. I mean no one wants to be a sidekick right? Sidekicks seldom have stuff to do, plus they never get to be cool like the hero and the worst, they have to romance the heroine’s close friend who is usually dumb just so that all four of them can meet each other at the same time and the sidekick gets to stay with the hero which is the sole purpose of his birth. I guess my friend’s girlfriend had a close friend staying over at her place that night but she was asleep already. Wow.
Just when I was whining over being a sidekick, I could see a black figure emerge at the gate. It was veiled and I could only see it’s eyes that were as large as those of an owl. It stood staring at me and when I was wondering if I had just discovered an alien, it walked closer to the gate. I could see a muffler now. This was evidence that the person was not an alien. He was either the watchman or Arvind Kejriwal. I made some statistical analysis and on the basis of probability, decided that he was the watchman. I could have concluded this right when I saw him but look we are sidekicks and we seldom have stuff to do. Now since I had something to do here, I did it neatly in a logical manner. Right then, my friend called me to know if the gate was clear. I can’t explain the joy I had in telling him that the watchman was there and I had successfully spotted him. He asked me to call him when the watchman was out of sight. Roger that, I said.
Being a sidekick was suddenly very substantial. The hero was dependent on me. Yeah I didn’t get to do all the eye catching and heroic stuff but I sure had the perks of saving the hero’s ass from the baddie. And sidekicks are always adorable (yeah including me). You may love Spiderman but you’ll always have a special place in your heart for Harry Osborne who dies saving the hero’s life from Venom. Yes, Harry Potter is no doubt a leader but you can’t love Ronald Weasley less. Lionel Messi scores for Barca, but can that be as easy as it looks without Iniesta? Yes my friend’s swashbuckling accounts inside his girlfriend’s house might interest you more than mine, but don’t you think there was a part I played in making it successful? All of us have to be sidekicks at some points in our lives. And trust me, that is okay. It won’t hurt sitting idle and helping a friend in their heroic ventures.
By this time the watchman was out of sight. And so, like a sincere sidekick, I immediately called my friend and told him so. This was followed by a loud thump on the car’s roof five minutes later. I couldn’t blame him. Heroes are designed to do things like that.
Driving off, as I listened to his tales of valor and amusement, I decided to write about that too. But let’s save it for some other time. For now, bask in the radiance of a sidekick’s scanty glory and find some inspiration. Cheers.
Okay I’m writing and since I am, I want to put three things straight before you read any further.
First, if I tell you ever again that ’damn I can’t write’ or ’wait let me write down there pathetic articles before I write a good one’, or anything that is way too demanding, and if you nod to it saying ’yeah I can understand you man’, I’m going to call you an asshole. Look, its me who is writing, and it’s me who has to do whatever has to be done to keep the blog readable. Not you. You’re just expected to read it, and if it’s not nice, not read it.
The first thing I did after I stopped writing was retrospection. And I saw stuff where I was begging you to ’give me some time so I can write better’. And in all honesty, if someone else would have asked me to do this, I’d have told the person that he sucks and punched him thrice in the face. It’s funny how, the introspection didn’t just light up on my flaws, it also showed me parts where you look as dumb as a woman driving a car. Who else cannot see what’s coming and avoid it? Don’t nod to everything I say. Sometimes I suck. And when I do, tell me that I do. I want you to move on from being my reader to a smart reader. Because if you don’t it would thwart our mutual progress and ten years from now we’d still be stuck here like this. If it’s boring tell me that you read half and stopped. Nothing can hurt me more. Even now, if it’s going anywhere close to that, close this window and watch some porn.
Second, I’m an arrogant, self centred, egoistic asshole who is never going to fall in love. This has got nothing to do with the writing, its just a message from a cutie that popped up in my phone, and it was so cute, I just had to share it with you. Might help you in knowing me better. Egoistic and self centred is cool, I can even take the arrogance part, but asshole? Not me. Guess who?
The third thing I want to tell you is that if you’re still reading this, you’re an asshole. It’s not even been five minutes since I told you if it gets boring, watch some porn instead. And the last paragraph was specially crafted to bore you. The egoistic nature I have nurtured shouldn’t bother you because it’s irrelevant in this article. Why cannot you see that? Plus porn wasn’t mandatory as an option, you could bang a chick, eat nachos, snapchat a bitch or do anything that interests you, but that isn’t the point. Point is, you should learn growing as a reader. But hey, if this article kept you tuned all the way to this point ’.’, and if you still tell me that it was boring and sucked big time, you’d still be nodding like an asshole to what I’m saying. Know what I’m saying? Now that I’m here, let’s all grow up. 😉