Ek din unhone pitaji ke purva mitra se kafi muskaratain hui batain ki.Raat ko khana khate waqt mera muh bana hua tha.Meri mom ne pucha bhi”Kya baat ...ai aaj tum bade udas lag rahae ho”maine jawab diya “haan hun to tumko kya”Meri mom ko mera ye answer ras na aya”maine sirf pucha hi to hai nahin batana to mat bataon”.Khane ke bad main apne kamre main so raha tha ki raat ke 12 baje mere darwaze se mom andar ayi aur bistar par mere sath let gayi. Usne apna hath mere sar pe phera aur kahan”Beta tum. But I don't think that that's what I'm meant towrite about.I have dreams, you know? I have dreams where noses with wings take careof rose orchards where the juice of the sweet, succulent roses turns boysinto girls, when I can be me for the rest of my life, all thanks to afeathery nose. I have dreams where surrealism is so obvious that that word no longer hasa name. Where my own hair leaps from my knees, the Hellish blizzard ofstubble dissipates from my chin at last, allowing sculpted. More

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