Broken

I don't quite know why I am writing in here now. I logged on to orkut but well, didn't quite feel like scrapping people. What is this? Some shit? "Scrapping"??? How come what I write to you becomes a piece of "scrap" to you?

Shit...why am I like screaming? I don't know. You know what I wrote about myself in orkut? I'll tell you: "Its like a brick in the wall. No matter how low or high the wall is, you take out one brick, and the entire wall crumbles down. A rubble of red, intact bricks. So close together, touching each others very existence.....yet not the wall that they used to be. This is what happens when you take out one brick from the wall. I am one of those bricks now....used to be a wall. Don't remember when."

That brick that I am talking about, is my dad. Somebody took that brick out of our wall....and now, we're all lying on a pile of red rubble.
Me and ma we seldom talk. Even when we do, we're talking about how much she misses dad. I hate that kind of conversation cause- I don't miss my dad.
The worst part is, when you cant cry. Day light hours mean you are supposed to rush for your office. Once in, you can fool around doing what you are being paid for. Even if you find some time alone in the corner of the washroom, you find you are not in the mood to cry. On your way back you might find the tears planning to well up when the cars beside your start honking... Getting back home, reading the morning paper in the evening, a book...or may be a movie, and then you have your dinner, finally-- sit in front of the machine. Night crying is inadvisable as far as I am concerned. Why? Oh well, this region below my eyes ...right the place where I already have huge dark rings, it gets all swollen up. Ma gets to know I cried, and starts worrying. Asking me to forget the incident, and start with an effort to stay merry.

Can't always understand why she cant see that I am happy, I don't leave a single instance to laugh. To go out for a movie, share a couple of drinks..... Hey ma am happy. Don't worry about me, just look after yourself.... But shit, she'll never open up this blog of mine and go through what am writing. So, never mind.....

The worst part is, when you see nothing else has changed. The newspaper boy who never comes on time, is still late. Me and ma still come back home around 6 in the evening. Esplanade and Chowringhee is polluted still the same, and Rajabazar is still as congested as before. The pipelines that were being laid at Manicktala, has now shifted its loci. It's free-school street now.
But there's a difference. There's no one to call the newspaper guy and ask him to deliver the papers on time. None to enquire about- when I would reach home. No one to cough the black pollutants out before retiring. No one to ask where the "free school" in Free School Street is. :)

Every day before sleeping, I wish, at least something would change tomorrow that will make me stop thinking about him..... I wish for once I can touch his cheeks the way I touch this shroud of unhappiness around me. OK, as I write in here I realise I am unhappy. Very unhappy. But I laugh, I eat black forests, I do my office, I watch movies, I type in text messages, I try striking a conversation with ma assuring her that I am fine now.

Sometimes I wonder how it would feel like to actually be another red brick in a red junk of a broken wall. Just as how it feels now?