Liberty Nites

There is an awami mela at Liberty Market.

Every evening I walk there

along tree-lined streets

the full moon to the left,

these months the skies are full of moon: two full moons a month,

veer into Liberty's inner circle

the gole gapay wala

in front of Sunfort Hotel

blasting

dil pay churiyan chalaway

for months

now.

I am mesmerized by the boy-operated ferris-wheel:

He climbs up the middle,

waits,

steps into the path of the oncoming cart full of

thrill seekers, hangs on to it from the edge, and dangling, comes down to

earth.

Getting off with the next cart just missing his head.

Is it not a matter of time before he has an accident?

His death at his occupation is as impossible as mine typing. See,

I always knew

in my heart

probability had nothing to do with reality.

There is a book fair at the mela.

One evening I picked up a

Jewish book of prayer:

the first one I read turned me on.

Something about the awfulness of the world, and how could god do this.

To me.

Every night I pray to

You to save me.

Every day You betray me.

And every evening I buy a back issue of Conan The Barbarian for

Rs 25

(I never buy a stack of them, just one everyday)

Conan stories turn me on too.

Every story opens with a tired and dusty Conan,

armed to the teeth, looking

for a bar at the end of the day. Then:

sundry criminals jump him.

Conan points out he has nothing on

him to loot, half-naked as he is,

before slaying them.

Sundry criminals are chasing a buxom belle.

Conan rescues and

propositions her.

She says

I'll have sex with you Conan

after:

you take a bath, but from the Oasis-From-Where-One-Never-Returns,

a three day horse ride from the spot at which they stand.

You steal jewellery for me from the Fortress-that-is-Impregnable.

Of course Conan does all this

and the woman turns out to be a demon (in disguise)

who really wanted to eat him all along.