Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
I once knelt down,
And offered my prayer to the tree.
I saw God’s reflection in the clouds then,
I felt Gods touch in the breeze.
But today when I went back,
I saw emptiness and desolation,
A cloudless and dark, wistful sky,
No longer inspiring, no longer free.
In these highways where God used to reside,
And doesn’t do anymore;
Has the world become too loveless,
Or is it just me?
I once dived in,
Lost myself in those eyes.
I saw the flower of love blooming then,
And heard the truths beneath the lies.
But that sparkle that charm,
Lasted not long, died like a bee.
No longer does it house the brightness,
No longer does it host felicity.
In these barren, fallow glades of solitude,
Where eyes don’t sparkle anymore.
Has the world become too loveless,
Or is it just me?
I once was a different man,
Made up of softer; greater things.
And bells of faith used to ring.
But now the time, the world does not permit,
For innocence to breed in me.
Coz no longer do the bribes suffice,
And no longer can I afford the fee.
In these endless repetitions, all too common,
Where ears cant hear, what eyes can see,
Has the world become too loveless,
Or is it just me?
Thursday, September 23, 2010
How do stories start? Do they have a beginning? If they do, then what happens before they begin?
How do stories end? Do they conclude? If they do, then what happens after they conclude?
How do stories live? Do they have a life? If they do, then what distinguishes them from us?
Are they too able to breathe, hear, think, understand, complicate, synthesize, integrate, divide, multiply… See?
Do stories have eyes?
Can stories watch? Can they experience what eyes do? Can they too break down in front of their nemesis, fall prey to their enemies?
Can stories also contract conjunctivitis?
I have developed a severe case of conjunctivitis. So severe, that I am almost blinded by the sheer force of water drooling down from the corner of my eyes. I seem to find absolutely no cure for it. Try as I might, the disease has gripped me in its pincer like grip, so tightly, that even if I dare to open my eyes for bare few seconds, torrents of water, pain, irritation and soreness flood in the two bulbous, and somewhat red orbs of my vision.
I have been, in effect, relegated to blindness.
People said that I will be cured easily. It takes, what? Three days to fully recover… Pah! Take a sabbatical. Lie your butt down and relax.
But that’s exactly what I have been doing since I took birth. That’s no welcome change. I do not need it. What I need is to know. I never wanted to know, but now when I can’t, a sudden, inexplicable desire to know, and to roam has emerged in me. I wish to understand so many things, discover so many places, and meet so many people. I wish to do things I was determinedly unconcerned about, before this time, when I could have easily done them all. But now that I cannot, all I want is to do what exactly the same.
And so, I move out of the house. Hiding my eyes behind the shade of dark sunglasses. But as soon as I took my first step in sunlight, I realized the futility of my ambition. The dark sunglasses not only turned day into night, they made it virtually impossible to distinguish between things. Everything was similar, equal; proportionate. I was the Communism guy, who now was blind to anything disproportionate. Everything was same, similar.
And I don’t want what I get. So I look out for ways to make things different.
At a little distance, I saw a group of people gathered around a man. Maybe he was doing a peep show. Maybe he was showing some magical tricks. What lucky man! He had people to watch him, with rapt attention, devoting all their interest to what he had to say. People looked in his eyes. They gave him re assurance; we know you exist, and we are damn well pleased you do.
I craved for it.
I reached the group and shouted, Hey!
And realized that I could not make out what was who and who was what. Everything was dense black shadow, embossed outlines of figures same-similar to each other.
And so I removed my sunglasses.
The next few seconds flew by in hours, or maybe crawled in a jiffy. Like the middle of a hurricane, everything went so fast, yet so systematically out of order that it was impossible to gauge or understand what really transpired.
All I could say is that there was a bright flash of light.
Maybe it was seen only by me. Maybe my conjunctivitis ridden eyes were the only ones affected by them.
Or maybe I was the only one who escaped it.
Whatever happened doesn’t matter. Because as soon as I called out, all eyes turned in my direction. And when I regained my sight after the tiniest infinitesimal second of lighted darkness, I saw all of them were dead.
How do people die?
Can conjunctivitis kill?
Can a Basilisk exist? Am I one of them?
Why do people die?
Have I killed them?
I saw the man who was in middle of the group, who was entertaining those who had died just a second ago. And I saw him clearly now, without any distortions of equalizing, Marxist sunglasses. He stood there, in bright sunlight, with a funny instrument in his hand.
I saw his dead blank expression of surprise mingled with fear.
I saw my own expression mirrored, not in his eyes, but on his face.
And we ran.
We ran away from each other, in two opposite directions. Fearing what may befall each others destiny.
What happened? Did I kill those people? What nonsense? That man would have killed them. That man was the culprit, not I. He killed them in that moment when I was blinded and the people had their backs turned to him.
Yes, that’s the truth. I did not kill. How can conjunctivitis kill? He has killed them all.
Maybe I did.
I don’t know. I run. We run away, not even daring to pause and look over the shoulder to see if either of us is chasing each other.
We run, not from fear of being caught, but the fear of being pronounced guilty.
We run because we both are innocent to a crime whose only culprits can be both of us.
Maybe a few years later, when I have ran enough, the finer details will change.
Maybe there would be no flash of light to blind me then. Maybe there would be no dead men.
Maybe, I would never have seen it at all.
Maybe I was still at my home, in my Marxist darkness, counting hours before the water in my eyes runs dry.
This story will never begin.
This story will never end.
Monday, August 9, 2010
“Oh… then I will not do it”
“So you were talking about some story… what is it? Have you written it? Are you a writer?”
“Yeah… I have written it, and yes, I am a writer”
“What is it called?”
“I call it ‘Duryodhana’s dilemma’”
“Hmmm… Interesting. I hope it’s not about religion. I hate religion”
“No it isn’t. Why do you hate religion?”
“Just… It’s so biased…”
“And why do you think so?”
“I dunno… Look at how it treats its villains. It’s not fair…”
“Aha… That’s pretty rich coming from you, I must say.”
“Well that is rich coming from a self professed writer in a brothel…”
Silence for a few minutes.
“So anyways, you were talking about the story. Duryodhana’s dilemma. What is it about?”
“Things beyond your understanding, surely…”
“Don’t be so naïve. Tell me. I’d like to hear a story.”
“I doubt you will be able to understand it”
“I might not. But you paid for an hour. We can spend that hour counting the silence. Or we can spend it in hearing your story. Anyways, does it matter to you whether anyone understands it? I am sure, all that matters is to write, not to explain”
“I must say, you have a pretty loose tongue for someone like you. I hope what’s loose above is tightened below.”
“That, you will discover for yourself. Are you gonna tell your story or not?”
“You seem pretty interested in it. I wonder why… Boredom? Or they just don’t fuck properly?”
“No. I am sure you wont be able to fuck the way they do. Might as well distract myself with a story.”
“You nasty little cheek. Bloody prostitute… Dirty shithole!”
“And you are about to insert your thing in that shithole. C’mon… don’t waste time, you don’t have all your life over here… lets do something fun. I am sure you might not have done something like this before.”
“No I haven’t. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell it to you.”
“Because A. I haven’t finished it. And B. I don’t talk while I fuck.”
“You are such a pussy. I wonder why all you intellectuals think that the world is too unreal as compared to your imagination. Get real for once… Face your incompletions…”
“I am facing one now. Incompletion as to why I ever chose to pay to fuck you. I think you should pay people to get screwed, the way you talk…”
“That is a variable. Lets not get into variables. Look, I know your kind. You’d love it if someone hears your story. I am sure you are as attention deprived as rest of your kind are. So are you going to tell it to me or not?”
“Its not that easy you know… Kinda diverts your attention too.”
“Yeah, well that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
“Oh well! You have already killed the excitement. Fuck it. Strip yourself, and lie down.”
“I take that as a yes.”
“YES you shitfuck… YES! Now will you give me a chance to do some screwing?”
“As you say master.”
“So this is a story about Samir…”
“Ouch, remove your belt, its hurting me…”
“Don’t distract me. So this story is of Samir… Now Samir was a really nice guy… you know; a proper hero. Someone who had everything, yet felt incomplete…”
“Ah… you mean your hero… Ouch… yes, go on…”
“Whatever… And next time, I am gonna hurt you if you interrupt. So Samir, was very unhappy. I mean, it wasn’t as if he lacked something in life. He had everything one could ask for… Money, Family, Intelligence, Good looks, Social Status, Eligibility… He had it all. People in their community fought with one another so that they could get the first chance to ask him to marry their daughters. They tried to bribe him in so many ways… They offered him rich dowries, foreign trips, business capital…”
“Sorry to interrupt master, but aren’t we going a little off track here?”
“No we are not. Let me decide what’s on and off track in my story. So as I said, Samir was the hottest property around. Yet he was unhappy. Because he did not have one thing in life.”
“Ooh… ahhh… ouch… Lemme guess… ah… what that might be… ah… Surely, Love? ah ow!”
“I am kind of regretting telling it to you. Yes, love. He could not get love. But not because he could not find it. It was just blind to him.”
“You mean he was stupid enough to follow one girl! Duh! Ouch…”
“Yes. He was in love with a girl who did not reciprocate his feelings. Now shut the fuck up and listen.”
“Everyday, he would look out for. Like his world had started to live in the corner of his eyes. Each day, with surreptitious glances, and unacknowledged looks, he used to quench his thirst for her beauty. But how long can you live in a bubble? Someday, you are gonna break it. Even though you know you will regret doing it for rest of your life…”
“One day, Samir decided that he had enough. That he should stand up and claim what is rightfully his. He decided to declare openly his feelings for her, and expect nothing but a yes in return. So this next time he saw her, he told her how he felt for her, and asked her to marry him straightaway. Now before you interrupt me further, let me also add that she refused as expected. And as expected, he was crushed!”
“Like you are crushing me right now.”
“Turn around. I don’t think I can continue while you are yapping like that.”
“And doggy will help?”
“At least I won’t have to look at you while I am at it…”
“If you say so…”
“But Samir was not a loser. He did not give up that easily. He pursued her determinedly, never losing faith in his love. But alas, poetic justice is never sweet. And life always has ways to trap you inside your own demons.”
“Er, the last bit was Greek to me. Can we talk English?”
“You are despicable in every sense of the word. I stop.”
“Oh don’t kill it. Why are you so temperamental? Want a pinch of salt?”
“Forget it. It’s not working out. I am leaving.”
“And waste your money? I am sure this kind of stories must not be paying well.”
“There is a level. A level till I can take crap. Don’t test my patience.”
“And what will a jackass like you do to me? I cannot imagine the horror!”
“That’s the problem with you girls! All of you, you are so self possessed! Can’t you think beyond your comfort for once? Can’t you stop screwing around and accept man’s dominance? Cant you accept that you are biggest mess ups, and cannot clean your mess without a man’s help?”
“Woo-Hoo! I am sure I don’t agree with that, but I wonder how Samir or you, or both come to this conclusion.”
“Oh its pointless arguing with you…”
“I wonder why… wait, I think I know… Because you are A FUCKING LUNATIC!”
“Now now… We might not want to do that…”
“Oh yeah? You chauvinistic pig! Filth!”
“Filth I am, am I? Lunatic, Chauvinistic, Pig, am I?”
“Every bit despicable as the spots of shit clinging on the commode”
“That’s it! That’s what the problem with you women is! You just are so self centered! Why, tell me, why?! Why do I find every next women cheating on the men? Why do you find a woman every next corner who is making fool of yet another man? Everyday that I pass I see yet another form of villainy in you… Tell me, why?”
“You are mad… crazy guy… Get lost!”
“No tell me… what is it about you women? Can’t you have a little pity for others? Cant you be sensitive to others needs? From times immortal, you have made us fight for your petty ends. We keep on fighting for you, with each other, with ourselves… sometimes even with god. And what’s the use? You just stand in a corner, and laugh derisively. And all this while we get lost in our own shells, fighting our own demons. But you wont help unless you are benefited will you? You will just laugh and taunt us, “Blind king’s son is also blind! Huh!”
“Tell me, aren’t you Samir? You are the one who has been rejected isn’t it?”
“That is none of your business”
“Hahahaha! A blind king’s blind prince! Wow! Frustrated Samir, lovelorn and ignored removing his frustration on a lowly whore! Bravo!”
“So what can I do? Tell me, what can I do?! Nobody is ready to hear the truth! Tell me, will you understand the truth if I told you that Samir was a shallow loser, and not an achiever or a hero? Would you sympathize with him if I told you that all he did for living was selling porn to young teenagers? Does it make him less of a human if he is sexually uncontrolled? Is he not treated unfairly when a girl stubbornly refuses love? Is he not vindicated when he rapes that girl and kills her? Does he not deserve justice???”
“You what?! You raped that girl and killed her? Why?!”
“Wha…what? Who… who raped? Who said I raped her… I did not… you are wrong… who are you to accuse me…? Don’t come near me, or I’ll kill you…. I did no wrong… why are you looking at me like that…?”
“Get out Samir! Get lost from here and never lay your fucking shadow anywhere near a girl…”
“Now we won’t like to do that… don’t try to act too smart…”
“Samir, I am warning you… get lost before I make a complaint in the police…”
“And you think they will believe your testimony? A stupid whore! You got some sense of humor!”
“Why! Why did you do it! Why?”
“Because she deserved it. Because she needed to learn to bear pain and insult if she was openly dishing it out to me.”
“Samir, I request you, leave this place. I do not want to be involved… just go…”
“You filthy hypocrite! You fucking woman! I wont leave you… You must understand the sweet taste of justice… you must see the optical illusions of the real Indraprastha. And realize how painful it is to see your world fall down in laughter…”