Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Thank you for your time

On the right side of the blog, there is a column that shows the number of posts in a year. I just realised I have very little time to make sure 2015 does not go with a 0. So here goes a pointless post.

Thank you!

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Eternal confusion of a restless mind

There are galaxies in my head
And black holes too.
There are sparks flying allover
And water sprays too.

My thoughts are lost in between
The walls of certainties and doubts.
There’s a labyrinth in my head
My thoughts can’t find the way out.

I thought I knew what I was thinking,
Seems my thoughts were drunk,
They'd get up and walk a few steps,
Before they'd just pass out.

My thoughts are lost in between
The walls of certainties and doubts.
There’s a labyrinth in my head
My thoughts can’t find the way out.

My train of thought derails,
and drifts away again.
So I'll have to live with
whatever's stuck inside my brain.

My thoughts are lost in between
The walls of certainties and doubts.
There’s a labyrinth in my head
My thoughts can’t find the way out.

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Time - a western propaganda

No, the title has nothing to do with any publication by the same name. I'm talking about time, a phenomenon so complex that even Albert Einstein could only define it as 'Time is that which clocks measure'. That might sound like a simple explanation in the west, but in India, things are a bit more complicated. Not because we don't have clocks here, but because we choose to not give a damn about them.

Which leads me to my theory on Time. My theory is that time as a concept is a result of blatant Macaulayism. I don't know what that means, but I guess it makes me sound intellectual. My point put in simpler words is, Time was imposed on us poor Indians by our cruel colonisers. Indians culturally, socially or genetically were never designed to follow time.

Legend has it that Indians never played games that had timelines. Yes, we invented chess and later on embraced cricket. And deadlines were never heard of. We were so used to taking our own time that the under construction Qutb minar saw four coronations, four hundred thousand labourers and four thousand government files moving around aimlessly .

But come the evil colonisers, they chose to conveniently ignore such monuments of patience and brought to light our sundials through which they tried to convince us that time was a part of our culture. Just like they conveniently made us embrace Victorian culture as our own. It is a well guarded secret though, that what they successfully passed off as sundials were actually playgrounds.

So strong has been the impact of the concept of Time, that the television rendition of India's greatest epic, Mahabharata starts with a mention of Time.We never realised how they subliminally introduced the concept of time in India. Just like they introduced sex, greed, ambition and anything that is said to affect anybody's religious sentiments, which to begin with is extremely fragile.

But at the end of the day, our culture is the most important thing to us. And it gives me great pleasure to see many of us not budged by such evil Zionist/western propaganda. My eyes get moist with pride when I see people who keep others waiting eternally, those not making way for ambulance and making sure they don't fall for such evil concepts like time. And no years of colonisation and modernisation has been able to make us reach anywhere on time.

The evil west may have introduced 24 hours in a day with clocks that measure sixty minutes in an hour. But still the best they could manage to do for us is bring down the shortest measurable duration to 15 minutes. A concept better known as 'Bus do minute'.

In conclusion, I would say that our conscience might make us fight the evil propaganda, but we need to focus on it in a bigger way. Instead of wasting time on petty issues like Indianising education and making Hindi compulsory everywhere, I think it's high time we should focus on something more important. Time has come for us to ban this concept of time that has enslaved us and continues to do so every day. And we need to ban it as soon as possible. I have a deadline for next Wednesday.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

The kitten

Once there was a kitten
with white fur and blue eyes
So elegant were its ways
it was an angel in disguise

It knew no malice
and radiated with benevolence
No matter what it was put through
it always landed on four legs

A little boy was so fascinated
He flung it to the door time and again
Devoid of any empathy
He tested the feline’s resilience

The kid has grown now
And karma has caught up
He’s now flung from door to door
And he manages to stand up

He cannot let the world know
The angst within and all the trouble
For what the kitten and his guilt taught him
was to never bite or stumble.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

The life cycle of possibilities.

When you're small everything is possible. And then you start to learn. You start getting conditioned by things and people around you. This knowingly or unknowingly starts narrowing down your perceptions and imagination. And before you know it, a slipper stops being a phone and the round box of cookies stops being a steering wheel.

Next you enter a stage of life where your ambition in life can change from footballer to army office after watching one movie. Your imagination is still rife and you start making boats out of paper, buildings out of lego blocks and castles in the air.

Then comes the age of dreaming big and trying to achieve it all. The age when young blood drives you to achieve a lot more. You start exploring ways to build the edifice for some castles in the air you had been dreaming of, if not all. And before you know it, you're in a hurry to make the most of whatever you have.

This slowly makes way to a phase where possibilities take a back seat and certainties start dictating one's life. EMIs, relationships, a steady life or as it is called, settling down. At this stage one aims more at retaining what one has rather than going for more. Then slowly naivety makes way for a well earned cynicism. And it all ends with the most certain reality of life - death.

Hence, it comes as no surprise that a creative person must be child-like. He/she must be able to see possibilities. A creative person hardly creates. He connects random dots, brings together unconnected thoughts and sees more reasons, implications and possible meanings to a given situation or thought. And above all else, he sees humour, hope and happiness.

So you should always try to look for possibilities when you can and make the most of them. Because once you grow old you stop seeing possibilities. Or is it the other way around?

Monday, December 30, 2013

55 word stories

I just realised that I have no post from this year on my blog. And turns out I have nothing to write about as of now. so instead here's a collection of 55 word stories I have contributed to A big thanks to Vivek Tejuja to come up with the engaging blog for lazy writers like me.

Her husband treated her like dirt; only worse. Her ex-boyfriend could not see her plight; he was falling for her again. He asked her to come along and start afresh. She would never agree though she knew his feelings were true. The idea of freedom suffocated her. In fear she sought refuge

Little Chintoo had heard a lot about the zoo and would do anything to catch a glimpse of it. In parks, on the roads, everywhere, he would just hear people talk about the Zoo. If only his mother would let him pay a visit. At every mention, she would scold him and say "They run the country in the Zoo. We dogs have no job there."

The beer was extra chilled and the ice was instantly broken. Ashish and Megha met at the airport bar and hit off instantly. The delayed kingfisher flights had landed them an unintended date. A good 5 hours later they had to part ways. They kissed goodbye as she winked and asked “Your city or mine?”

They were in love once. But on that day, they ended it for once and for all. His mind was flooded with memories and thoughts as he drove to work after signing divorce papers. Dazed and lost, he stood outside his office staring aimlessly at his name board. It read “Bilal Mushtaq - Marriage Counsellor”

Raju got up from his chair. He took slow strides as he walked towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge and gulped down some chilled water. He then walked back to his chair and sat. In another five minutes or so, he would pay another visit to the loo.

Mosquito 1: Let’s enter the house from the southern entrance. That’s the farthest from the mosquito repellant.
Mosquito 2:  Sounds good.
after 2 minutes of searching
Mosquito 1: Look what I just found? An arm!
Mosquito 2: Go slow. Don’t wake him up.
Mosuito 1: but...I...zzzz… (falls in a peg of whiskey)

He fell from the sky and landed next to a fully grown immature imbecile with six fingers. He was blue in colour, had three fingers and would keep screaming ‘sunlight’ in an irritable monotonic voice. The six fingered imbecile and his friends were awe-struck by his tricks. They named him… What was today’s topic again?

He was a born fighter, but he found himself helpless then. He would always give his best shot, only to fall prey again. On that fateful day, he decided to give it his everything. He picked himself up, dusted himself off and finally quit. Today it’s been 2 years since he overcame his cigarette addiction. 

They met in college. Their paths crossed. Soon they were on the same path. Some way down the road, things however changed. His insensitivity, her ego surfaced. They then grew apart. Now it’s been 7 years and they’re indifferent to each other. They’re on parallel paths, equidistant at every point - never closer, never farther. 

Fairy Tales
“He made his way past puddles and honking cars” the grandmother read out to little Diana. She continued “And finally, he reached the railway station where he would catch his train home.” Little Diana was bored of the Fairy Tale. She stepped out of her house and slid down a beanstalk.

Suresh lay dead in a pool of pepsi. Besides him was an open book and a packet of chips. There were rope marks on his neck but no rope around. The windows were shut and there seemed to be no chance for anyone to have entered the room. Well, go ahead. Solve it yourself.

The whole world was going berserk with the start of another week. Everyone was ranting and tweeting about yet another manic Monday. But he sat in his jail cell unperturbed. For him Monday just meant a different Biryani.

I sat deciding what to write and how. I then wrote on, but still felt something wrong. I changed the story, changed the characters, and changed the entire plot. Yet as I concluded, the word limit was crossed. I again edited, revised and reworked. I had finally completed my first story, exactly of 55 words.

She hated living with a drunkard male chauvinist. Alas! She had no choice. To channelize her frustration, she would occasionally scream into a jar. One day he came home drunk again. He took out his belt to hit her. As he lashed out the belt, its tip hit the jar and broke it.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Di Wa Lee

The evil Ra Wang joined his fist to palm and muttered ‘I bow to thee master. You are God lee!’ as he took his last breath lying outside his fort at Liangzhou. His 9 other heads looked on in confusion until all his 20 eyes shut for good. Lord Rang smiled with a glimmer of divine forgiveness in his eyes. His ‘arm of god’ move had done the trick, killing the demon who had kidnapped his wife.

He then handed over the kingdom to V.B.Chang, the younger brother of Ra Wang and headed back to his kingdom at Anyang in Northern China. Lord Rang was going home after serving a penance of 14 years of exile. During course of which, he along with his brother Lax Ming and wife Xi Ta toured innumerable jungles of southern China, lived a life of abstinence and sucker punched innumerable monsters. 

When the news of Lord Rang’s return reached home at Anyang, celebrations were in the air. And so were fireworks. The scent of gunpowder and incense filled the air as households brewed lavish feasts with generous amounts of Ajinomoto. The streets were adorned with Chinese lamps of all shapes and sizes. From little spherical red lamps to gigantic Dragon shaped lanterns, the city was a staggering display of lamps and light. Children and elders alike, gathered and chanted Di wa lee, we’re happy our king has returned. 

The festival would go on to be known as Diwali, the festival of lights. And till this date, Chinese fireworks fill the skies, Chinese lamps fill streets and Chinese flickering lights twinkle at homes, even in India. To be more specific, especially in India. The only thing, left Indian about Diwali was the legend around it. So I thought of doing the honours. Now let’s take it all the way by exchanging boxes of chicken Manchurian and wishing each other Di wa lee!