What's the Word?

Oniogaffle. Greebononkers. Kitpolywonka.

Ever felt like making up a word? Had an urge to satiate the tongue? To let it roll and make whatever sound it wants to produce. I’m guessing that’s how the first words by Homo sapiens were made. Just letting the mouth produce sound waves that felt appropriate for that moment.

Let’s make up words. Like we did when we were kids, and we wanted a code language that our parents wouldn’t understand. Make the sounds appropriate for the moment. Let’s be awkward and embarrassing. Or just do it when nobody is around. Then tell me what it felt like.

Fancy words and flowery language make so much of a difference.

I hereby deny you admission into this room, as opposed to: Get out. You say the former in *any* tone and it won’t sound as offensive as the latter.

Maybe our tongue-of-slips are actually just new words looking to free themselves from our control.

Words are enjoyable.

Say them out loud when you think they’ll make someone happy. 

Hyou-mans!

I was trying the You, Man and Human joke you know? Anywho.

Come to me humans! I promise I won’t make you type out the ‘captcha’ to prove yourself. No conditions applied.

The last month has been difficult, to say the least. It has been a euphemism for solitary confinement given to prisoners. No lips to make words in response to mine. I’ve lost contact with the physical human race. The only human interaction I have is with the back of the head and the left profile of the Uber driver every morning on my way to the office. The office; which is a vast expanse (empty room allotted to me) of nothingness where my silence echoes (where my sketches reproduce by themselves every night).

The aamras guy, the dhaba guy, a few students walking around in the college campus: they’re all empty souls. They’re living in oblivion of my existence. Nobody will acknowledge my existence. Only the ghosts of Conjuring 2 visit me in my lonely apartment at night. And the dreams of Andy Samberg.

A few digital conversations validate the existence of humans who still like me. But who knows, they could be exceptionally trained bots, right? Let me accept my new low and tell you how I had a 25 minute long conversation (albeit an interesting one) with the Zomato inconvenience help chatline one midnight which I thought was only creatively different but all meaning the same automated responses.

 Maybe this is what solipsism is like. Maybe you’re my imagination, all of you? And you’re all fading away. Was the nose always between two eyes? Was the anatomical arrangement always like this? Did you not have two tentacles by your ears? Am I just going paranoid because I am devoid of interactive human beings? C’mon. Laugh at my humor. Compliment my beauty. Encourage my efforts. Appreciate my ideas. Make your presence be felt.

I will hug you and feed you chocolates. Or whatever it is that humans eat. Come hither, to my side.