Every morning I wake up, I find my kitten, Mau at my feet stretched out sometimes on his side, sometimes even on his back. It is such a sight of cuteness. Mostly if he's not asleep the night while I am, he's hyper jumping about, hunting roaches and god only knows what not all, and at times jumps onto my bed and nibbles at my feet. It hurts and he gets kicked.
But when I'm awake, I cant keep my hands off this cuteness and keep petting him till he's thoroughly pissed off at being woken up and turns around and bites me! And guess what, I know when the bite's going to come, but do I stop? Nope! I just go right on till his bites get harder and more hurtful and almost bruises me.
I tell myself I'm such a masochist!
I'm sitting at the beauty parlour, almost undressed, in the smock of sorts they give you when you need to get yourself waxed. No one I know, or atleast I don't particularly wax in the winters unless there's an occassion that calls for it. One is so under wraps in several layers of clothing in the Delhi winters that waxing is definitely not on the priority list.
So here I am sitting half naked, hairy and all waiting for hot wax to be poured upon and my body hair ripped off. The woman is a professional. She's only used to several clients waiting in line making her pace the process to the extent that I often wonder if she forgets that the hair being ripped off is of a live being.
It's a weekday and it's noon time. No rush! No clients in line! But yet, the wax is steaming hot and I wince in pain. What more, my skins dry like a parched land and that never helps in reducing pain! I lie there while she works on my thigh, legs, other thigh, other leg, behind my legs, arms and then finally the most painful, underarms! And I wonder - WHY THE @#^%*#*&#* AM I HERE?
Then she goes on to thread my upper lip and eyebrows, which, careless but not carefree that I am about such, there's an overgrowth which again she heartlessly mows through.
I am a masochist I know. I know I'll only go again to a parlour when the lawns become unkempt. I never find the time to go before that till I kind of loathe myself in the mirror. (years of conditioning I say!) But do I enjoy that pain...probably not...do I mind it? Probably yes. Would that stop me from going? Never!
How does one explain this need to cause pain to oneself?
"Sometimes I cut myself to see how much it bleeds... it's like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me"
-"Stan," Eminem
Is that it? Is that what longing for unrequitted love also means? Is that what longing at all means?
Mau's sprawled himself on the floor next to my chair. He's waiting for me to get into bed so that he can snuggle at my feet and nibble at it in his sleep.
As much as it is cuteness, it is unrest for me!
