Come and sit down, my friend. Just brush off the dust of the chair and relax. There is so much to tell you.

You see me, don’t you – male, middle aged, wrinkled forehead, bifocal eyes, dull skin, receding hairline, greying hair, and that cynical, insanely restless look in my eyes.

You see the chair you are sitting on and the shape of Manisha’s body on the couch.

You see the scattered objects that she had bought along with her as she shifted apartments- things that she cherished – the Che poster, the film posters from The Apartment, and the pictures of Amitabh from Deewar.

And you see Manisha’s body in its perfection, in all its glory.

You see the sunlight in the room, and you wonder why I am here? I wonder too.

My life rushes in front of my eyes and I wonder what I can tell you about it. Maybe all that I can tell you is that I am just a sentimental idiot, too unwilling to let go of my youth despite my forty something age.

Maybe I should not tell you much, because you may judge me, and in some way demonize me, tabloid headline style, so that you can rest at ease, complacent that no darkness lurks within your own heart.

That is all ok, my friend, it is okay by me. Modern urban living in Mumbai had pickled my soul in the marinade of stress, frustration, angst, ambition, lust, and greed and finally cost me my sanity.

Ah well, my friend, I have too many regrets, but then, which among us is blessed with perfect vision.

In a little while, it will all happen, someone will discover what happened and remember my face, and all the goodness that I had accumulated over the years will vaporize because of this one terrible incident.

And my story will end.

Before that happens, come and sit down, for I have to tell you how it all happened. Or you could just read it as I write it on the walls of this beautiful apartment, in ink, ball point, chalk or whatever else I can find.

Blood? No, there is no blood here. Ha!

Would you like to put your feet up, settle down, relax and maybe I can get you a cup of coffee?

You are asking me who am I?

I don’t know, not this minute, I can’t recollect. Maybe it will come to me, as I tell you these stories. And maybe you will learn something about who you are.

Do you know who you are? Haha!