Y I Monger?
Mumbai Meri Jaan
Tu kaisi hai,
Jaisi bhi hai, jaan le leti hai.
Not in teens, but neither a milf. Around 23-24 age.
You have had a child, but the body shows no signs of it.
Flat tummy, slutty figure.
You don’t look like a queen (Delhi) but walks like one who doesn’t care who the Queen is.
You r not an engineer (Bangalore) but speaks fluent English due to the figangi’s who has spent nights with you.
I thought you would be fair like a Kashmiri, but the dusky look reflects the salt of the soil you come from. Instead, there is a scar on your face. But the scar is enhancing your beauty. Is it real or just because I am smitten by you. I feel ashamed that I like your scar, but couldn’t imagine you better than this.
You don’t even have the Lucknowi tehzeeb, but you seem to flaunt the fact the you are shameless with a certain grace.
You are not even the best dancers, unlike the beauties of Rajasthan. You just move a little bit, teasing your patrons, “I will not spend time to learn how to dance. Take it or leave it.”
You are not volumptous like the beauties of down south, which I crave for or the fragile figure of Rajasthanis.
You are shameless but still not direct enough like the bangali sirens.
Money, Money Money. I know that is the only thing which moves you. I have seen many times at many places how your eyes sparkle seeing the notes. How your body sways seeing the bundles stacked up. But I have also heard the loud laughs and the clap you give to your friends...mocking the man when he in all his glorious ego gives a grin from behind the piles of bundles, you go and suddenly take the one 100/- note from a guy who doesn’t have much. And then your eyes thanking him for the value he has given you.
Not that you are pious as I have seen you taking titans of Money and also the low earners down the gutters till they give up on you. The witch you are.
But you continue to seduce.
We all fall for you. Big and small. In all shapes and sizes. With all sizes of pockets. Keep running towards you.
You just don’t care.
I hat you. Yes, that is the exact feeing. I Hate every aspect of yours. Your entire existence is there just to mock my desires. And then you have extracted the life of people like me...people who r richer than me and those who are poorer than me. And at the end, I have always seen you giving the “I don’t give a shit waala big Grinn”. Fuck You Bitch.
Exactly when I have always given up on you.....completely drunk, tired of all the games and play, not even a penny in my pocket, about to go in my grave, close my eyes and exit the door...
Suddenly your warm hands pulling me in your arms, giving a big hug.
I need to leave now. I am done, and open my eyes to look at you, and you make the world disappear.
It’s just you and me.
Not a soft bed as expected. It’s the cold sand filled with waste plastic of your pathetic beach.
But your smile, engulfing every sorrow,
Your smooch full of promises of eternity.
All my guards are down.
I have nothing to give you.
Why the hell you never talk in words.
But you body moves closer. And we spent one hell of a time.
Moving in the rhythm which was more than what I always desired from you.
You just keep giving like a daasi,
And all my senses indulged in consuming every drop and every moment you u.
The time has become irrelevant.
Your busts, full but stiff...
And you move on my command.
I feel like a King
And I feel like a Fakir.
You realise all the exact feelings I have...now, in the past. But then still you keep giving.
Tonite you make me feel like the Lord and you my slave. Not the queen, but my slave.
Exactly when I am completely out of anything to give you.
And you fill me with the exilir of life.
I open my eyes in the morning and you have already gone.
But instead of feeling low, I am full of energy to face the world.
“Come what May”.
Only song which could suit this feeing when she was in my arms,
“Tu mashaa mahoobat ke maaro ka hai,
Hum tera naam sunke chale aaye the,
Ab tu dawa de ya tu de de zeher”.
PS: My Mumbai, My Muse
(Pardon typo, writing in drunk state, in some db)