Master

Uncomfortable, wild whims. I try so bloody hard to keep them under control. All my judgements, common sense, practicalities and maturity make for a strong, thick rope. Very elastic. Very durable. I tied the wishes up in a firm, stubborn leash. Pushed the bundle back into the anterior chamber of my brain.
And then I call you up at 2.00am in the morning...
Don't laugh. I don't know what else to do with my wild horses. They run me over, dictate my actions, overrule my better sense. They make me a laughing stock.
Perhaps you have a better idea, don't you? A thin smile dangling on your lips ever so lightly as you read this...? GO ahead. Mock me. Amuse yourself at my expense. I lie naked, vulnerable before you.
My hands are bound behind my back. The torso taut, facing the blazing sun I try to lower my eyes. Drops of sweat drip down my chin, my chest... slowwwly.

Around this time I come to my senses. Defiant, I demand an explanation from my fingers. They are amazed. "How could we have typed these words on our own...?" They wonder!
Perfect idiots, if you ask me, because I entirely rely on them. I mean, they know that with mutilated fingers there is NO way I can write. Have you seen anyone type with their lips? The keyboard won't respond, simple. So why won't I ask for an explanation? More specifically, the middle fingers of both hands. Even the thumb is a party to it. And I always thought it was the silent one. But look what they have done.
It is SO humiliating to expose myself. What would she think, that I am trying to make a point here...?
Trouble is, I can't even erase these words without the help of my fingers. And they are simply refusing to delete what I see as a clear effort to insult me in public.
Lest you misunderstand me, let me tell you these are NOT what I wanted to write. I wanted to write about the Pujo. The office. The happy, happy me. My salary. Rizwanur. India losing the match. My friends who would be landing in India from all corners of the world. The brilliantly necessary "breaking news" that the channels churn with rotund regularity.
Instead, all you get are some incoherent, utterly nonsensical words. I apologise. I am not the master of my self...