... is in my head.

I am an ordinary person. You'll find thousands like me in this world. I like to eat a burger in McDonald's, download the latest movies on torrents and bitch about how politicians book their 5-star accommodations at the expense of a tar road somewhere near Ranchi. I don't like to be stuck in a traffic jam, to be involved in a fist fight, or for that matter, be shouted at by someone. I try to hide myself where ever I go. I hate to be in the limelight, stared at or be talked about. Yet, I think I am special. I think deeply about what I am doing with my life, whether I will be remembered after my time, whether people will miss me when I am gone, but basically, whether I will be satisfied at the end of this fucking thing. Sometimes I get scared thinking I will remain to be this ordinary person I am, no different from the next, check in, be a goddamn robot, check out, rinse and repeat. I aspire to work well from tomorrow, next month, to be a successful human being with maybe a big mansion in a posh locality, and a BMW would add a nice touch.

So, yeah, basically, I am just like everyone else.

I read my newspapers carefully. A local goonda getting caught for shooting at his nemesis, husband stabbing his wife and his young infant whom he can't take care of, before doing it to himself, burglars raping and killing housemaid who happened to be there in the house they went to rob, and so on. They disgust me.

I watch TV and movies to make up for the sheer idiocy the people I read about. Maybe the fiction industry has intellectuals who would satisfy my thirst. But I soon found out, these people have morals. "Hearts in the right place", they call it. The good guy always wins. Bad guy loses. Always. Even Hitchcock, who I must say has been the closest anyone got to pull it off on screen convincingly, ends in morals, with bad guy giving up, or made to give up. I always support the bad guy, and I always end up disappointed. Have to hate the fucking detective sitcoms. The bad guy fucks it up every single time. I yawn every single time the smart asses catch the guy at the end of the 60 minutes. I always support the bad guy, and that guy, always disappoints me. But I need to watch this. I need to watch every single one of these things. Very carefully. People learn from their mistakes, I need to learn from other people's mistakes. What I want to do, gives no room for error. There is no second chance. There is no place for a mistake in a perfect murder.

For a murder, there has to be a motive. Murder without a motive is like a man without a soul. Like a Pizza without its base. Like paneer butter masala without paneer. Meaningless. When you see the eyes of the victim widen with terror and then shut with pain, there has to be satisfaction. The gasp for breath, the struggle for anything solid, the shooting agony, the cry for help, then the realization of the futility of it and all, and surrender, should be a source of pleasure to the murderer. Else it is wasted. I am not a psychopath, killing random people needlessly. No. My mind is as sane as anyone else's. Sane, but not so same.

It has always intrigued me, fascinated me. It haunts me in my dreams. A killing right in front everyone's face. Mocking their pathetic brains, laughing at their helpless shaking hands, and the titillation from their failure to make anything out of it. It is like modern art. Not many can appreciate it, and almost nobody can understand it. It is beautiful.

Mind works in weird ways. And there are too many of them floating around here nowadays. It makes it all very complicated. They say it is not possible to please everyone. Why please anyone I say, if you are satisfied. I look at this cynical world with the eyes it gave me. Sometimes I get sick of it all, those dry salty fries, world seen through eyes as cynical as mine in the movies, and the endless 'what we need to do to save the country talk' ends me getting more depressed and angry than before. Sometimes I think what would I do with a nice big empty house, in a locality where everyone would be stylish, mow their lawns, walk their Labradors every morning and be polite. But I never wonder why I don't like to be in the limelight. Its natural, don't you think?

So, I am waiting now. Waiting in the shadows where I belong. Waiting for that one person I feel immense hatred for. Waiting to make a plan to execute my dreams. I can see it coming soon. I can feel the tingling sensation in my hands already. Goosebumps on my skin. Like I touched a high tension wire. But the I realize it will be gone soon. And that's the beauty of it. One fleeting moment of immense happiness. One moment of satisfaction, and later looking back at it with pride. I think I will glow then. I will have a secret. A secret no one knows. A secret so terrible and so beautiful, people will be scared to decide which it is.

So, I will go back to my kitchen then, back to my recipes. Waiting. Hoping. Maybe a special customer will come, and I can cook a special dinner.

Hope its not too soon though. Still full from the dinner last night.