Typeface tales

Red Fish: I’m a tiny child from a tiny village in Madhya Pradesh; my village is typically colorful and playful. My house, though, is blue. Because my dad likes blue.
He also likes corn. He’s taught me how to harvest corn.

You see all these corn cobs beneath my feet, well, I helped my dad with growing them, you know. They’re mine!

And yes, this swing here, this is where my five siblings and I sleep. This is our place.

Little days:
I’ve not known what ‘childhood’ is, and that’s okay.
I get to take care of my little sister here so I won’t crib.

But whenever I look at those kids in their chaddis playing in the sand outside, something in me slides way beneath its position. I feel a weird tingling sensation inside, as if I am being coaxed by the universe to abandon my responsibilities and take up that identity.

I, obviously, can’t.
Won’t.
I’m happy being with my sister, feeding her, changing her clothes, and standing here at the window- looking at the lovely world out there. I’m happy where I am.

Uptown Elegance:
These fairy lights, flickering as if lit by a fire as cold as my heart, are all I have to call my own.
They’re my rooftop, my blanket, my floor; they’re the only support system I have.
I look at them- sleepy eyed- most midnights, and wish upon them for a love so strong, it’ll flip this fire upside down.
Fill my lungs with the giddy passion I had as a teenager, empty my head of logic, overwhelm my thoughts, bleed me to death.
These fairly lights, with a name so comforting, remind me of my fairy godmother; my mom always told me while she was in the hospital, that she would turn into my fairy god mother and stay with me till my end.

Alas, I grew up.

But these fairy lights- with their elegance and sass- are the only reminder of any love I’ve ever had.

Stoney Billy: 
Hey Ya’ll, I almost read this as Stoned Billy; hi my name is Billy. But I’m not as stoned right now as I usually am.
Oh the radio? well the radio is my heart you see. Everytime I fall in love, my heart skips a beat and the frequency changes. Yeah I know I’m a shitty artist but god, I have to emote!
I don’t know about you guys but I can’t live without a little drama.

Oh, and I’m old school too; so if you ever want to tell me anything important, just make a mixtape or a radio recording of it, and I’ll share my weed with you.

Folktale:
Once upon a time, there was a village near Kanhan- oh Kanhan is where that tiny boy is from!
This village was known for ghosts and oddly, for the purest air in India; they said that the oxygen content in that village was so high, people often described it as ‘paradise’.
Sadly, nobody lives there anymore.
The village’s residents have all died, lying unburied, turning into ghosts each day.

Except for a broken board near the narrow gauge track, nothing suggests of this village’s existence.

My maid tells me this is just a folktale, but for a person who loves scary movies, I wouldn’t want to agree with her.

Home made apple:
Best friend: Look up look up! Isn’t this a wonderful feeling? I love looking up, at trees. At such a blue sky. It’s so soothing: just the head tilting, the blood rushing abnormally.
I: yeah, I feel like I’m on a beach, even though this is a public garden.
Best friend: Let’s go to a fucking beach then!
I: Let’ go!

Best friend: so yeah, before that, which movie do you want to watch right now?! And what do you want to eat? I’m really hungry!

Znikomit: This is our hideout. Our getaway.
This is ours.
No, this is of no religious importance to us.
She’s a Hindu and I’m agnostic.

We’ve sat on its stairs, at 3:00 in the noon, and discussed the most dramatic life events.

We almost got raped the first time we visited this place, but obviously, she has a little too much faith in humanity; she just won’t agree on the intentions of the man who led us into the tiny room on top of the church.
Who leads you in and closes the door behind you huh?
We almost got raped, believe me.

The steps to the room were dwindling, circling the huge bell hanging at the centre.
The only other company we had, was of the pigeons and our hysterical breath.

This is out hideout. Our getaway. This is where most of it began.

Note: All the utilized typefaces have been downloaded from this brilliant site called ‘101 free fonts’. All pictures are (sadly) mine; Stories, mine.
Each photo, typeface and story/anecdote has been integrated in a way that- together- they convey a sense of wholeness to you- developing each story into a character if its own. 

This is just an experiment. More to be created soon.

The flawed lover: Bombay

Bombay (whatever little I’ve experienced)-my recent fascination and one to stay with me for a long long time-is like the flawed lover everyone has/wants/needs/doesn’t care about.

From the Parsi cafes serving bun maska and keema pav at dead cheap prices to the stuffed first class elite compartments in the locals, Bombay has conveniently carved out space for everyone; dramatic, erratic, eccentric and absolutely faulty in most ways, Bombay’s charm lies in its heat and over populated romance.

Maybe that’s why it’s easier to lose oneself in the chaos that Bombay can’t help but put up with.
Maybe that’s why it’s a weird feeling, when you walk back home every night, knowing that life has never felt as real as it then does but somehow the reality – the harsh hitting reality of people trying their best just to ‘survive’- some for money, some for love, most for cheap booze and boiled eggs, the reality is just as engulfing as your nonexistence.

You’re there, but you’re just one of them. A small fish in a big pond; a nobody.

The flawed lover with her enchanting polyamorous lifestyle and a strong desire for detachment, that’s what Bombay is to me.

Marine drive 5:17 pm

The cat city; if you go to Bombay and don’t come back interested in why Bombay has so many cats out on the streets, you’ve done it wrong.

The road to Haji Ali

Men in Black

Paav bhaji ya pulav?

Off bounds

Imported maal at Colaba

“Color is the place where our brain and the universe meet”

The sass queen and half of a BEST bus

The end away from Gateway of India

The darkness, the waters, the love- I could feel each’s texture yet
yet there was a hand missing to hold onto.

The elite view

Chowpatty at 8:00ish

What do you see from Haji Ali? A water body and a crow- both possibly on the verge of death.

She was a firefly in a glass jar

Unlike Dhobhi ghat

Beedi and ganja

29 floors high with lift-men and a Parsi dairy nearby

What’s a picture taken in Bombay without people running in the background?

Can you get more typical?

Chowpatty 9:45 pm

Draft 2

I’m sitting on a flight to Kolkata; it has halted at Bombay.
Your Bombay, is how I remember it now.

Beside me, is a mother with her hyper child.
When he first saw me sitting on the seat next to the window, he threw a sly tantrum and said “Mumma, mujhe zyoor se susu lagi hai!”
She patted him on his freshly shampooed head and convinced him otherwise. Smooth.

Ten minutes since they’ve been sitting next to me, he has tried excessively to interest me in his crazy. He has been jumping on the seat, picking at my book and trying to steal glances at me.
Trying to make eye contact, unlike you.

“Do you want to read this book?” I finally ask him, putting him out of his proactive misery.
“Mumma will.” He replies.

“What’s your name?” I try making small talk with him; I’m not comfortable getting friendly with strangers, but-kids, kids are different. You don’t just indulge in a simple conversation with them, it’s about discovery: discovering the little monsters that they are today, who one day- over a long tedious period of drama and questioning- will turn into boring adults who shall hate everything about everybody.

‘Kids!’ these very adults will sigh ‘I will never have any. I don’t even believe in romance’ they’d want you to believe.

(Our flight just took off, and I can see Bombay like it’s shown in most movies. It looks so tempting and treacherous. All these lights, flickering like my palpitating heart)

“Mumma, ye party jaise lag raha hai” the kid breaks my train of thought while pointing to the streets below through the airplane wings.

It indeed does look so.

A party I should have been to. The farewell after-party.
I should have attended it.
Atleast I’m gutsy when I’m drunk.
Atleat I don’t feel vulnerable when I’m drunk.
Atleast I would have been able to tell you- ‘Listen, I don’t know you. I know nothing about you, but somehow, you seem like the kind I want to write about.’
Atleast we would have started on a less ‘let’s get to know each other better’ mode; I’m a coward. Sharing experiences, ideas, life, makes me anxious. Anxiety does things to people. Bad things, most often. Like it did to me. Like it always does to me.

But maybe, I don’t regret anymore.
I went on two painfully awkward walks with you, and spent about 100 odd minutes on the virtual world pestering you with my antics.

“You didn’t tell me your name” I pester him, like I had done to you.
“NO. I don’t have a name” He says. “EN OOO NO” just to clarify.

He stares at me suddenly, right into my eyes and tries to woo me passively.
He taps me on my thighs, puts his slightly dirty shoes on my lap and
says “I’m going to Calcutta to meet my nani. Will you come?”
I laugh.

It was such a simple pick up line.
I admire his ability to be this frank and cute at the same time, and somehow all of this reminds me of you.
Every little kid reminds me of you and your- “I’m dumb in these ways of life. Break it down for me.”
I wish I could, but I can’t.

I know you don’t care enough.
For fuck’s sake, you don’t even know me and possibly don’t even wish to, but I wish I did.
I wish I could know you a little better before the fragile coward side of me had gotten better of me.
I wish I could be just as frank as this little child next to me.
I wish.

(PS: I think the free food onboard is making me this sentimental. Sheesh).

You can ignore these messages if you wish to, but I’m secretly hoping you won’t.

I am running out of wishes.

The cat and his pigeon

I love introducing my girlfriend to strangers.

I’ve never seen so many cats out on the streets, earlier. This city is quirky in almost every possible way.

He took his hand, lifted it gently to face the blasting sun, and smiled.
It’s because of all the pigeons up there.

The pigeons?
His brow squished.
Interesting.

Everybody wants a piece of the other here; not that they’re competitive; they just seem to like to be made up of everybody around them. It’s like fixing a puzzle- but only with the missing pieces.

Okay, but how is it related to cats and pigeons?
Do the cats want to be made up of the pigeons?

Ofcourse.
We are what we eat, aren’t we?
He chuckled under his breath- which smelled of tobacco-and softly added a ‘Ryan’ immediately.

That’s not my name, he smiled.

I know.

The vintage Zoroastrian temple, the bougainvilleas, and the Best buses around only seemed to dramatize their romance.
He took Ryan’s hand into his and slowly kissed the back of it.
Ryan stood still, just as he had done last weekend. Last month.
The last time he had gone out with a man.

You know, your palms are too warm for me. I think I like them.

Ryan stood still, just as he had done last weekend. Last night.
The last time he had fallen in love with a stranger.

They don’t smell of nicotine, unlike my earlier lovers, and they don’t have paint stains either.
It’s like the universe is telling me to change my type.
He chuckled a little harder this time- now his breath stale with the smell, and Ryan collapsed.

He could no more simply stand an audience to this summer tragedy; he had to give in.
He had to accept his destiny. He had to accept.

But sadly, being the awkward little boy that he was- when do I see you next? – is all he managed to blurt out immediately.

He wasn’t supposed to come across this interested, his friends had taught him.
He wasn’t supposed to be pushy. Interested. In love.
But being the awkward little boy that Ryan- his Ryan- was, Ryan goofed up like shaggy in the park.

Next? You know I don’t deal with ‘nexts’, right?

Ryan’s face had fallen, any third party could make out, but he had to act casual.
Ofcourse.
His hesitated ‘so um’ that followed melted midway and Ryan was left staring at Vignesh’s dirty non moisturized feet, which then had a sly cat snaking its way through.

You should clean your feet atleast once a year, I guess.

Why do external features bother you so much?

I’m sure your feet felt like sand-scrub to the cat.

I’m sure it doesn’t care as much about it as you- he looked at Ryan for a few seconds with mischief in his Kohl’d eyes- do.

They both shared a moment and the cat stood still, between the two of them, just like the cemented wall Vignesh had built around his heart long back.
The wall that never let Ryans inside, the wall that cracked at its edges each time a Ryan had tried to pass through, the wall that Ryan had help build.
That wall. That Ryan.

You don’t need to do this, you know.
I’m okay on my own and anyway, we won’t be seeing each other ever in the future, so there’s no politeness involved.

I like introducing my girlfriend to strangers.

Ryan-his Ryan- being the awkward little boy that he was, had his heart skip a few beats off its space at the sound of ‘girlfriend’.  His pulse went up like firecrackers on acid and seconds passed in dark silence.

Bombay is my girlfriend, Vignesh continued. I love her like I’ve loved no one yet.
He smirked and added- I feel like a dominant partner when I’m with her. The reacher.

Ryan’s beats came back to normalcy, but not his thoughts; the jar heating up a bit.

The cat was now purring around Vignesh’s dirty non moisturized feet, trying to settle herself for a little nap some place cold.
Up there, two pigeons kissed and Ryan could see Vignesh giggle and wrinkle his nose like a baby tasting lime for the first time.

Look at those lovebirds.
He pointed to the pigeons
and look at her here. All alone, finding comfort in a stranger.
This is Bombay, kid. This is Bombay for you.

Ryan stood still.

I want to be that pigeon.

Most people do, it’s not surprising.

What about you?

I? Vignesh’s lips slid into a crooked smile.
I like strangers.

You try too hard, you know. Cut yourself some slack and deal with your emotions.

I am dealing with them, asshole.
Why else do you think I initiated our conversation? Why else do you think I asked you out, eh?

I don’t know. You’re the one who likes strangers.

I get it. You have never earlier met a runner, have you?
You think I’ve got issues and this is my getaway.
You’re my getaway; don’t you think that?

He paused for a short while, and complimented his dialogue with a nod of dejection.

Ryan, he continued.
I love you. I have loved a lot of people earlier, I fall easy, but it doesn’t mean that I love you any less.
I love you just as much as that pigeon loves his partner. You’re my pigeon.

So why can’t we meet again?

Because you’re going to be somebody else’s pigeon too someday, and I can’t handle all that.
You’ll find your love and you’ll fly away. You’ll be gone.
I’m okay with that, I have always been, but to actually find solace in that action, I need to be stronger than you.
I need to be able to purr my way through the crowd, starving to prey on a pigeon- the romantics.
And sadly, a pigeon can’t eat a pigeon.

So you can’t be with me just because we’re too alike and you’re scared that I might run away from you, is that what you’re saying?

Vignesh grabbed him by his elbows and sighed
Do you want to fuck a Lion later tonight, darling, because my stomach is growling!

It’s not funny.

You’re not funny.

The cat had long gone.
There was no trace of her left except for the stink on the ends of Vignesh’s rugged trousers: detachment.

Suddenly, to their disgust, and to Vignesh’s joy, a piece of half eaten bird- bloody, ofcourse, and the legs skinned – dropped down from the afternoon sky in the most unholy manner.

Bless you, Vignesh burst out laughing
Bless you
Bless you

Bless you Bless you Bless you
he kept repeating till his laughter eventually morphed into snorts and there was nothing but pure joy exuberating through the awkward little boy’s heart in the glass jar.

Bless you, Vignesh finally sobbed.

I love it when you laugh like that, like a maniac. It liberates me.

Nobody is liberated
Vignesh stated in the most nonchalant manner and looked at the eagle that had just passed over their heads.
I’d rather love an Eagle than a Pigeon

Do you know what ‘love’ means, Vignesh?

Do you?

The sun had gone down; the city was then being lit by traffic and hearts on fire.

Vignesh looked at Ryan- his Ryan- for one last time, as cheeky as it may sound, and smiled like the saddest person on earth: a little to the left, his eyes twinkling of regret, the hair on his forehead ruffled by the kiss.

See you

Vignesh sighed- the purest the most dense the most morbid kind- and walked away into the city lights. Just like that, instantly. Insensitively.

See you
See you

See you see you see you

Meow
The cat was then back, with a polybag of broken pieces of glass.

See you

Instantly. Insensitively.