Bathrooms – Are they really from this dimension?

        From my continuous and dedicated use of bathrooms, I’ve come to the conclusion that they are not part of our regular dimension. Instead, they are part of a totally separate dimension. Before, of course, going into details as to why I believe so, I think it is important that we are clear about the terminology of the said space. I’ve always felt that bathrooms are solely for taking baths, then why do we say bathroom when we want to take a piss? Because, probably, toilets, washroom, restroom, loo etc. are such complex words that in the time you will say them shit is sure to hit the fan. So in the end we are left with “bathroom”, in many of which no activity of bathing takes place of at all, given there are no provisions provided inside.

        So, how have I come to such space-shattering conclusion?

§  Have you ever been to a terrace which is actually an under-construction floor? With pillars and protruding rods and stuff? And did you notice that although the rooms below that terrace are of the same proportions as of the outlines of those on the terrace the to-be-made room-spaces look smaller than the already-made ones below? And in such lack of space, I’ve always wondered how did they fit in the bathroom space? Theoretically it should be possible, with math and stuff, but practically? Nope. Okay, forget about the terrace. Even looking from the inside, it feels that even though there is hardly much space for three rooms to fit in, somehow there are also two bathrooms fitted along with them. What kind of architectural and constructional sorcery is this? It must be so that the spaces made for the bathrooms are pulled out from a different dimension and not from the one we live in.

§  I have many other reasons to believe this, but the most important one is that time runs very slow in the bathroom. Come on, you must have been in a situation where you thought you just got in the bathroom when somebody knocked on the door saying that you have been inside for hours. How the fuck is that even possible? Again, when you are in a hurry and think that you are going to do all the bathroom-centered jobs very quickly and you even feel that you are doing them very quickly, but then you come out and see that you have either taken the equal amount of time you take every other day or taken longer than usual. In fact, there have also been times when I felt that I’ve been inside the bathroom for hours but after coming out I found that it had only been 15 minutes. Fuck, how? Time must flow differently inside the bathrooms. Why? Because the bathroom is not in this dimension.

§  Even temperature is not the same inside the bathrooms compared to that of the other rooms. It is either colder or hotter, but never the same. Surely, temperature fluctuation is obvious when we are talking about a dimension that is separate from ours.

§  Talking about temperature, have you noticed that sometimes the mirrors inside the bathrooms fog up even when you didn’t use hot water? Even water evaporation is not normal in the bathrooms.

§  Talking about mirrors, has it ever not happened that you enter the bathroom, only have a partial look at the mirror while you go directly to do your job and while doing your job felt that the partial view wasn’t exactly usual? Or that you have looked into the bathroom mirror and felt that someone else is looking at you through your eyes? Or, when you rub off the said fog, a sense of anxiety hits you as to your being uncertain what you might see when the fog is gone?

§  And talking about water, have you ever been bothered about a water dripping sound that is coming from the bathroom but never found exactly where from? My guess, it is not at all water that is dripping. The sound is actually from this other dimension in which the bathroom is located. Does the sound come from the other beings in that dimension?

§  Surely, communicating on an inter-dimensional level should be difficult. And it is quite difficult to communicate with someone who’s inside the bathroom and vice-versa. We always have to shout in order to make our words travel from outside the bathroom to the inside, to be precise, to a different dimension. It is the same case when trying to do it from the inside. The strain on our voices can even be fatal. You never know.

§  I’m not sure what kind of energy passes through this bathroom-dimension, but I know that this energy brings in the urge to sing. People who can’t be made to sing even with a guillotine over their necks tend to sing inside the bathrooms. If you ask them what’s the reason behind this, they can’t say. Because this urge is imposed and the singing takes place unintentionally. There are even cases where people don’t even remember singing inside the bathrooms after they come outside. However, this energy doesn’t work on everybody, for example me.

§  Speaking of singing, the energy inside the bathrooms also aids in our thought processes. Esp. when we are squatting/sitting comfortably while answering nature’s calls. No matter what kind of matter it is, once inside the bathroom our neurons start sending currents automatically and thus we are able to think about the most critical and life-threatening matters more clearly than ever.  Ever heard the story of EUREKA?

§  Every time you open the bathroom door, don’t you feel a gust of wind, though very light, blow over you? This gust of wind is a very common thing when traveling inter-dimensionally.

§  Finally, this dimension is safe from all kinds of harm that our regular dimension offers. Why do you think people tend to run to the bathroom when a serial killer is on loose in the house? Now, some may say it is because of the sudden urge to take a shit in such times of crisis. But then, what do you think causes this urge? Which also means that this other dimension can affect us even when we are not inside it. Moreover, we never fear that the ceiling would collapse upon us while we are in the most vulnerable state inside our bathrooms. The force of the sense of safety is strong.

        Now comes the topic of how did that connection between dimensions take place. Who/what is responsible and is it really a good thing? I’ve some theories on this matter.

§  First of all, the primary gateway to go in and out of this other dimension is through the bathroom door. The secondary gateway is through the window, which in our country is normally inaccessible.

§  So, who created this gateway? My theory is that it is created by the builders of the building. It is possible that they have a secret organization where they impart and pass on this knowledge from one builder to other, and only a few builders get to have this knowledge. Obviously, they are sworn to secrecy so they never tell others about it, esp. the people for whom they are creating the gateway in the first place. It also makes me wonder that what else they are capable of doing through this second dimension. Damn it, they are probably Freemasons. Why didn’t this occur to me before? Freemasons have always been capable to undertaking impossible, out-of-this-world feats. Who knows what else they have under their sleeves.

§  Now, if they are not Freemasons, they must have some kind of superpower in order to be able to access this separate dimension. Or maybe, they are from that dimension. That would mean they are actually aliens and not human at all. Shit.

§  But if, somehow, the builders are innocent of this, it must be so that the gateway gets created all by itself. They think of making a bathroom, they try to find space for it and voila! There’s your bathroom. So, probably the dimension itself is conscious. If not, there must be other beings (said aliens) that make this happen without the knowledge of the builders. But why? And am I under any risk since I’ve uncovered this secret? Hell, for the first time in my life I’m afraid of going to the bathroom.

§  If not the aliens or Freemasons, it must be the people who manufacture the particular kinds of bathroom doors. In this case, this inter-dimensional gateway only to came to use through the manufacture of these doors. And so, this gateway didn’t exist in the old times as the doors were made individually by the carpenters.

        I think the Freemason theory is more possible and plausible. Plus, it feels good to think while you are releasing your undigested food into the chasm of no return that the space surrounding you is not only from a different dimension but also one that has been pulled in by the Freemasons.

Languid

What's the fun in waking up,

I am yawning right now

I would like to go to sleep sometime soon.

Since when,

I can't exactly remember,

I am having a much harder time waking up.

It doesn't matter when I go to sleep at night,

My days nowadays only begin at 10.

Somedays even much later.

I read once somewhere

Someone calculated the extra minutes he slept everyday

And found out when he was going to die.

I don't how to do either of the two,

But I know I'm going to wake up late tomorrow.

It feels good to sleep more and more,

But it comes with a feeling of depression,

And with one that of hopelessness.

I am feeling them now in fact

I feel so sleepy I can hardly think of a word to write.

Funny, I actually fell asleep while writing this

These lines you now read

Are from two days past the night I began writing this.

It seems, if anybody should ever think of

Taking upon the ponderous job of writing my biography

They would find hardly anything significant to put together.

And after they have completed composing it

All it would contain are these invigorating words:

All he did was sleep

Sleep, and sleep, and sleep and zzzzzz.

The Rain In The Cloud

         Red. Yes, that’s the color he sees everywhere.

       He sees it when he wakes up. The color red first appears on his eyelids. This is the moment when his eyes are still closed. Even before he realizes that he is awake, he sees his red, warm eyelids. And when he opens them, still not realizing that he’s awake, or going to be awake, he sees the world spreading around him in full blooming red.

       Earlier, he used to think that the red began from his red eyes. And from his eyes, that red radiated into the world. But now he knows that it’s not that complicated. The red is simply everywhere. It is omnipresence.

       Upon waking up, he sometimes looks at the windows. There are five – all red French windows. Some mornings, he finds them all open, and through them red morning breeze pours into the room. And on other, more frequent, occasions, he looks at the red ceiling, which requires no effort. Today, when he woke up, he looked at the ceiling. He thought it was wet. It must be due to the hard red rainfall last night. The red rainwater sipped into the ceiling and turned it wet and muddy. On some places of the ceiling, there are still red puddles that are slowly threatening to drip and wet his bed. Maybe, the bed is already wet now. Since he is outside now, sitting on the porch and looking out into the red grass fields, he is not giving his bed any thought. Throughout the grass fields, little red flowers have blossomed. Some of them are shining lazily in the red sunlight. While looking at those flowers, he sips from his red cup. The red liquid goes slowly down his esophagus. On the way to his stomach, the liquid evaporates bit by bit. The vapors come out of his throat while more of that red liquid skids inside. Some of that vapor settles on his tongue, being soaked into the saliva. And the rest simply comes out and goes back into the cup. As a result, finishing a cup takes long hours. But he is okay with that. He has got habituated with this routine. In fact, the longer it takes to finish all the liquid in the cup, the better he considers his mornings. How today’s morning is going to be is yet to be known.

       When he finishes drinking the liquid, taking less time than yesterday, he stands up. He has started to feel the liquid spread through his system. And that must be turning his gut red all over again. He needs to take a stroll now. He stands on the edge of the red porch and then jumps down into the red grass fields. It takes exactly 43 seconds for his feet to touch the grass down below. Once he gets back his balance, he notices that he has squashed some of the red flowers. He shrugs and starts walking. He doesn’t care where he steps. He just walks. Until evening starts to set in and the sun vanishes behind the red horizon, he just walks.

       Night takes a little longer to appear today. He notices this anomaly, but decides to ignore the matter. And when night has fully spread throughout, he starts looking for his home again. The red home appears some yards behind him and once he sees it, he goes inside.

       During the nighttime, the omnipresent red takes a lighter shade. It still remains darker in some places though. For example, under his bed and the last page of the book he read last.

        He doesn’t have to look at those places to know that. He knew it the moment he entered his room. Pale red light is afloat in every corner. Even his skin is losing its color, turning slowly and slowly into an unknown shade of red. This is nothing new. His skin takes a different shade of red every time he goes to sleep and a different one the moment he wakes up. His skin is just as aware as he is. It is time.

       He picks up the book lying open, face down on the bed. The pages have soaked the red from the bedspread, which is bad. Now the pages and the letters are of the same shade of red and so he can’t read a single word. With a sigh, he closes the book and slides it under the bed. Under the bed, the book disappears into the still darker red – a place best known for forgotten things.

       He takes off his shirt, which is as pale as the red in the room. He smooths the crevices on his chest, and by doing so he releases a different shade of red – reminiscent of the book that is now lost under the bed. That red tries to fight the red of his skin, it almost wins, he hears applauds from under his bed, looks down at this feet – a different shade of red now. Just as the applaud ends, his skin takes over and gets back to the shade of red it previously was.

       With another, redder sigh, he lies down on the bed on his back. Now it’s the bedspread’s turn to try to change the red of his skin. Until his skin wins, again, he is unable to rest. The thing they don’t understand is that, the more a red is connected to a red beating heart the stronger it is, regardless of its shade.

       He turns on his side, looks at the red wind-charms tinkling a red tune in the red breeze filling the red night. The tune is soothing in a way that it makes him remember the red, little flowers he saw in the morning. The flowers are gone now, now replaced by blood red buds. Morning will set them free, once again.

       He tries to remember something that he promised not to forget. But what is it? All that pops up in his mind is a red star – the most beautiful star he has ever seen. Its red has a hypnotic effect on him, and he falls asleep. In his dream, he wakes up in a red room, booming with red sunlight.

Past Equinox

So, a few days ago I told myself
"No more of your lunatic poems,
You've written enough already!"
But who was I kidding?

It all started with the bunch of lightning clouds,
They were clustered on one side of the evening sky.
At first, it didn't seem much
But then there was a flash.
And more flashes followed,
I was on the road, but I was having trouble keeping track.
The lightning was so quiet and abrupt,
You had to keep looking to believe it really occurred.
As I turned right, the sky went left
And so did those brilliant looking clouds.

I got busy for a while,
I had some business to settle.
The roads were too crowded,
It felt like the capital, only it was not.

After I was done, I started for home,
The rickshaw was fast, but couldn't quite move;
There was too much traffic to over take
But the rickshaw-wala tried, I could tell.
I remembered those brilliant flashes,
And I looked up in the hope of seeing more.

There wasn't any,
Not anymore.

In fact, there were no clouds at all,
Only an endlessly black sky.
Maybe those clouds have been swept away,
Maybe they have spread all across the sky.
And suddenly something vicious caught my eye.
I had to look twice and I had to look carefully so.
The moon was in the sky,
I must get back home soon -
Or else.

The harvest moon was up in the sky
And I was strolling on the ground.
There's probably no shield that might dare protect
If the moon chose to reap my sanity.
A blazing specter in the October sky
Shone brightly against the city's own shameless lights.

Who says these man-made lights can
In someway dim the stars and the moon?
Tell that person to dare and
Look straight at tonight's moon
Tell them to look at it from the cities they live in,
And tell them to tell me if the moon seems any less.

This moon is surely late in its cycle,
But I don't really care.
The moon is here
And I am here.
The world is here as well.
But to keep my mind from going insane
I must take some recourse.

For, the human mind can only take so much.

Appetite

The moon is soon to be full,
But my heart is aching for something else.
That thing is round on the top,
And mostly flat on the bottom.
It has a brownish golden skin
But the inside is all white and soft.
It does not glow, unlike the moon,
It has a sweet, doughy taste.
It comes in many shapes -
Flattened, rounded, spiraled, braided and more.
It can be made in any shape,
And it will taste the very same.

What is it - you ask?
It's a regular bun bread.
No, not the rectangular, sliced ones,
They don't taste as good.
What's good for sandwich,
Is only good for sandwich.
What's good for a burger
Is good for everything.

I buy a dozen at the start of a week,
And keep them stored in the fridge.
They get a little hardened,
But never lose their taste.
I heat them up for a minute
Or so,
And they become warm and soft
As if freshly baked, straight out from the bakery.
I can eat them for breakfast,
And for dinner and for lunch,
Still I will eat more in between the meals,
I am just always too hungry for them.

I had been trying to make them at home,
Succeeded only once.
But it takes too much time
And physical labor,
So I still buy them from the shop,
And not make my own.

Ex Post Facto

I wish my head would stop spinning.

The world falls silent -
It happens all of a sudden
And there's little time to figure out what's actually going wrong.

When I say my head, I'm actually referring to my ears.
It is in the ears where the world spins.
It is in the ears where the ringing begins.

The legs seem to hold the weight,
But for how long? - The brain asks.
If you look in the mirror, you'll find your eyes right in their sockets,
But the eyes know the body is going out of its orbit.

Will I faint?
The brain is asking itself,
But the brain doesn't know for sure.
What should be done with the body?
- The brain asks itself again.
Stand still? Sit down? Lie?
Hold onto something?
It's a gamble.

Meanwhile the brain shuffles among choices, another thought presents itself.

If I faint,
What state will I be found in?
What if I'm naked -
I don't want to be found naked and all passed out?
What if the clothes I am wearing aren't really passing out clothes?
Do I really need to look good passed out?
How exactly do I pass out, anyway?
With my eyes rolling up?
Or simply crash on the floor?

Seriously? - The brain asks again.

But I find myself sitting.
I know I am sitting,
But I don't remember when I sat.

It's weird that I'm not actually fainting.
It feels like that my head is made of cotton
And so is my body - bones, muscles and all.
Moving any part seems to be a lot of trouble.
I can move my arms, and speak too,
But I don't know what I am saying or that if I'm speaking nonsense.
Why am I not fainting?
Is it bad?
Or is it actually good?
I'm closing my eyes, but I can still open them
And look around.
I can easily see what's happening around me.
My brain is still solving its poly-lemma.

Wow, now my stomach (or bowels? hard to say) is feeling weird.
It seems consistent,
Not growing, staying the way it is.
Seriously? - I ask my body.
Here I am trying to turn the cotton back to protein and calcium,
And my body is having urges to take a shit.
Like right now.

Body, please shut up.

Brain, how long?

Brain: Still working on it.

What can I do to get rid of all this things I am feeling?

Brain: Idk. Take a shit, maybe?

No, brain.
I like cotton candy, but I don't like to be turned into one.
I mean, me-flavored cotton candy?
Even Willy Wonka won't approve.

Brain: Stay where you are.

Yeah, as if I'm getting ready for a 400 meter Olympic marathon.

Brain: ....

I'm sweating.
Why am I sweating, brain?

Brain: .....

It feels cold.
Icy cold.
It feels as if my sweat glands have been turned into ice
And now they're having a meltdown.

Brain: Good news!
Cotton to protein, cotton to calcium transformation successful!

Yay!
I feel a bit weak.
But that's okay.

All of this suddenly feels like a dream.
Was it all real?
Or was I dreaming?
Brain, do you know anything.

Brain: Enough for today.

Cats and Digs

It was going to be a hot day,
Or so I supposed.
The weather was humid,
The sun bright,
The ceiling fan was running slow
Even though the regulator was set on its fastest.
When I went to give the crows their bread
The sky was clear around the sun,
There were clouds here and there,
But not the ones I thought would bring any rain.

And suddenly, it began to rain.

When it rains,
We always hurry to close the windows,
Especially my father
Who, otherwise lazy, would be on his heels.

I had already planned on having coffee today,
The shermaal bread was an added bonus.
I took a cup of hot water, put in a spoon of Nescafe,
And then tore open a sachet of zero cal sugar
- added it to the steaming cup.
I am not a fan of bitter coffee,
But I like my homemade coffee little less sweet.
Heated the shermaal bread in the microwave,
The heat turned it soft and fluffy.
Took the two things,
And stood aimless for a while.
Decided to watch the rain while I eat
On a day like this, breakfast had to have some aesthetic.

Before I tore the piece of sweet bread
Or sipped my coffee,
I had to take a picture.
After all, I had to share them with the world (so to speak).

The rain literally pours down on one of our window glasses,
It's as irritating as it's beautiful.
The downpour on the glasses makes it hard to see the rain outside,
It's like looking while you pour water on your head.
While steady water is clear as a raven's eye,
Running water is a bad conductor of sight.

I sat on the bed and ate my breakfast,
The slightly bitter coffee complemented well with the sweet shermaal.

It rained, almost till past afternoon,
And the rain has turned the supposed hot day cold.
Chilly, to be precise,
And I am very much sure tonight's gonna be a cold night
- but a good one, of course.