Places I haunt...

As one travels far and wide, one encounters all sorts of places, crass and dinghy, open and upbeat or sometimes, glittering and bourgeoisie.

However, the places one frequents, is not held subject to such classification.
It may be the tree behind one goes..
It may be the 3 rd row of the 2nd shelf in the library where one finds her.. in poetry..
It may be the corner shop where one gets smuggled beer(i dont drink, i have observed this).
or it maybe the 2nd table in the middle row in janata hotel where one savours masala dosa, mysoorpak and by 2 coffee in silent bliss in the din of malleshwaram market.

One such haunted jaunt is a place called kafka cafe. named after a dead author for an unkonwn reason.more than reason, the place is an unreasonable haunt of wierdness.

I have to carry a scratchy yellow oxygen tank into it each time though.
Its too smoky a place with visbility down to arms length.
The waitress seems to emerge from the mist, as if she were the ONE for you(like a corny old movie)
The smile however is there ,always, only then do you realise that it has been botoxed into place for the patrons' humor and to fill her stomach.

Making my way through the familiar crowd one makes out grey figures under the lights of the snooker tables. as the barman who sneers at me in mock camaraderie(i m a teetotaler). I know this man. he is a big guy with a small heart(steals scotch) his cleft lip stitched up makes him sneer when he smiles.

Taking up my place on a chair in the corner table for three. where kafkafe is waiting. He is a Holmes like character, who revels in monkeying around with substance, words and the common denominator's comfort zone.

The chair creaks under the combined weight of me and my oxygen tanks.
as taffy(the resident cat) looks at me settle down like a dying galapagos turtle with her one blue eye and one yellow eye.

The stinging black of her fur standing out in the grey din of the smoky 'cafe'around.
As the regular patrons leave. kafkafe , me, the bartender and the waitress, are left with the 2 or three fellows who have had too much and cant move.Then the landlord comes in with his torn, faded blue sweater, wearing a pair of glasses that have a glass missing to accomadate his patch.

He says "hello dear friends. I have a sneak preview of the Christmas special.
Welcome heartily count von Dracula, the stand up comic for the weekend and over Christmas"
As the man walks in, his features are striking. He's more thin than short. Something of a needle one might say. With fingers that seem they could go right through bone .
and he wants to get there- at our funny bones.

I see in the audience, sitting a little ahead of us, a woman (characteristically snoopy and journalistic in appearance) clad in an overcoat and a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth thats more chewed than smoked.
As the comic turns to us i can see all the wrinkles on his face under the smattering of cheap paint.
As the dreary, below the belt jokes carry on, the lady yawns and runs her fingers through her hair, revealing to us that slight line of cheek, its naughty rotundness, the edge of a mouth that can mouth a expletives fifty to a dozen. The hair is an artificial black. The color of a black hole. Taffy is annoyed at kafkafe's preoccupation with the lady than the comic , I pick her up and stroke her fur, strangely, pungent cigarette ash rubs off on my fingers. I wipe it away with my kerchief and throw it away. she purrs and looks at me like a satisfied newly wed.

As the show ends, the cafe is lot more roomy with the chairs upturned on the tables like dead rotting fish in an untended aquarium.

kafkafe and me go to the bar. I order lemonade with ginger and honey
he orders the same with scotch.

Drinking it silently we know, mutually like partners in crime. That kafka cafe is going into the food business soon.

Continental it will be.

Its going to be a freshly cut and prepared moronic health minister who walked in with some silly idea that was supposed to work.

I get the 'menu', its nothing but a list on a piece of paper that was once a tissue.
ARDoss steak(rare) in tartar sauce.
or ARDoss- belgian ghoul-lash

for the normal people there's going to be
seafood and the mundane assortment a gourmand can think of.

I nod and say good night to the bartender.
and walk out, mentally trailed by a coughing kafkafe.

outside I rip off my mask. And look upon my kingdom ,its dark and the setting evening burns a bright red line in the horizon and the smoking spires rise everywhere.

pretty faces entice, of corruption and life full of vice. on strife is growing a strength deep and dark, this human form, a wandering waif.
merry and shrill my laughter, in the face of pain and desperacy,
oh they shall all fall in line and shall come crawling to me...
not salvation but with animal bliss, of lust and revenge
of hate and gluttony, i shall satisfy thee...

As i turn around and say "see ya mate" kafkafe laughs through his cough. "I will"

I say merry Christmas to him , chuckling to myself that all shall walk my way ....

This is my kingdom

Welcome to Hell..



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Now playing: Yoshikazu Takayama - IZAYOI instrumental