The Crimson Cat

What would you do if you spotted a Crimson Cat in your neighbourhood on an uneventful Wednesday? Would you and your friends stare at it in a cocktail of awe, suspicion and mild excitement? Or would you continue your tragic commute and pretend nothing rebellious just strutted past your parked scooter? Let me tell you how this usually goes. You, noble citizen of civilization, would first blink in disbelief. Then photograph it from seventeen angles. Then discuss its “aura.” Shortly after, you would decide it needs to be captured, caged, branded and converted into a weekend spectacle. The wisest among you might even send it to a zoo where it can remain imprisoned forever, magnifying the spiritual experience of strangers until it quietly dies of loneliness, boredom and fatigue. And all the Crimson Cat ever wanted was to chase some mice, eat them with dignity, and pass out under a tree with a signature purr, the kind that says, ‘I paid my emotional taxes today.’ The Cat had no say in its Cr...

Oh, the Crimson Cat — all bright on the outside, a soft bundle of joy, a kitten, a roll of tenderness, the apple of everyone’s confused eyes. Fast-forward a few years to when she is a cat. The Crimson Cat. Fully formed. Slightly feral. Mildly unhinged. Cats are supposed to be sober, composed, calm, lazy and dead slow. That’s what it takes to be a good cat. But nobody warned her that growing up also came with existential dread, chronic overthinking and the unique talent of smiling while internally combusting. Who birthed the Cat?? Well… to the best of my knowledge, she is the baby of longing, ardent passion, nostalgic ecstasies, and a smile gifted by the tug-of-war between inexplicable emotions from a distant past and the inconvenient drama of the present, generously seasoned with a Malayalam song playing somewhere in the background for absolutely no reason. WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF THE CRIMSON CAT. Reality, inconsistency, confusion, uncertainty, anxiety, fear, dejection and a tiny, stu...