[ this will be the most extraordinary thing that two people have ever done ]cities dont get more twisted. guts on the road, we're used to the inches, the millimeters that seperate us from this and that. the slivers of space, crawl your car through, rocks on the road, this is the way, turn here, autopilot, autodrive. the heat, the sun, glaring you down. the buildings are torn and the air is cooler than most. im driving, again, sandwiched between a Kompressor and a Surf, cars with names like household appliances, its easier to nudge away big shiny cars when you're half their size and dont give a shit about your paint job. pedestrians flatten themselves against the edges of the road in order not to get squished. fresh bread with dahi. what did her mother tell her in the morning? dont come back until.. but what will we eat? impatiently, go to the doodhwalla, he'll throw you scraps. how much for an iced coffee? we dont ask that here. the best waffles in town, i wrote. its very easy, writing. rooftops busted, the trees and banners scraggle but the shamiyanas are alive and well. the shops are plump, like well fed budgerigars. you watch your parents get old and sick and die, you watch your friends get jaded and move away. nothing changes, not for long. "we're landless, dont you see? it wasnt the drainage or the infra-fucking-structure... we're LANDLESS. we'll sell to anyone who gives us anything." come back, naa, back to where the streets arent straight and the water tastes like shit. come back to where your driver thinks of the next porn movie while staring at your little sister, come back to the strikes and silences. its not catastrophic or dramatic, its not crumpling or crushing it's just crumbling, slowly, sinking, the fish and weeds will take over, this giant stinking atlantis, but come back, do come by, do come and visit, wont you. and bring a boat. i can mark out the routes on a map for you, the bits i know, tell you which roads to take, what times to avoid, what to notice, what did they destroy, oh my god are those people? no, fuck no, just beggars, just hijras, turn right at the petrol pump, drive straight down the pylons, stare and stare before you turn around and fly away.
that which you fear the most will meet you half-way there.
(it already is.)
leaving, tomm. i miss you already, meri jaan.
