Shot to Shame

Sometimes it rains.It then seems that god in his infinite benevolence is showering us with sustenance and faith.It seems his word is being heard as a few,if at all,raise their faces to heaven, as the tatoo of cleansing grace rises over the filth around us and washes away our sins,greatest of all is to be alive now,spectator to the rape.It seems as if the pain and anguish is come to an end and the sun at last, is going to rise.It seems that hope itself is around the corner and the nightmare of reality is finally to be brought to trial before the jury of divine retribution.It seems,just for a moment, that it is a dream.Hence it is cruel to wake up.

For as the dust settles in the aftermath of the downpour, the stench of insanity overwhelmes.It does not fail to arouse pity and tears.It does not fail to reveal humanity, as it was certainly not meant to be.

His family was murdered before his eyes;brutally,non-chalantly,his life spared by the cruelty of chance.A lifetime of turmoil and daily worthless deaths he had lived through before puberty.The scarring images of a inhuman warring nation were already his inheritance.Then,his destiny drove him to this camp where his world now revolves around the single meal he gets daily and the extra bowl of water that he can sometimes scavenge.He lacks an arm and sports an infected eye.I find it difficult to see how he can last this year here.His first.He looks up,however, as it starts raining,thinking no doubt, about his emancipation.Or the extra bowl of water.He smiles.Unaware as they pour in more misery and sorrow.

He is lucky yet;well, luckier than most in this city of a million.A million dead souls rotting in ghoulish bodies.The land has been scarred by death and destitution for so long and with such vengeance,that virtues,blessings,goodwill and prayers do not tread here anymore.

But cloth stashed over his shoulder,covering his skeletal frame,stump of a limb held limp with confusion,his prized bowl and his ghostly face,his gory past and his unfathomable future get captured in one unflattering flash of my camera.This will go into my journal.And i will be one of the many, shamelessly sterile to help,except through pointless prose and inadequate journalism.It is one shot.And that is enough to glimpse only the shamefully emasculating nature of reporting genocide.powerless to help.POWERless.utterly useless.

He is standing there still.Like all the worthless souls around him.In the godforsaken camp.Right Before me,but in the deepest dark of tartarus, on the darkest of continents.

At least it rained.

Steeping Emptyness

He was trudging along the path slowly,being jostled by the multitudes of uneven humanity brushing past him.Cursing his lethargy.He looked around to see scowling faces around him.scowling at him, pushing at him, clearly blaming their problems on him.As if he was the cause of their misery, whatever that was.He could not bear it, so he looked up to the sky.But what he saw was a smudged old piece of rag masquerading as the heavens.Even the gods were displeased.
It was raining.His new suit was sodden and clung to him.His shoes complained with every step.His shoulder felt infinitely burdened and he seemed to shrink under the stern gaze of fate.With the rain,it felt like it was his sorrows raining down on him all over again.It washed him clean of hope and left him craving for the comfort and warmth he had always found at home.At the end of a killing night, a roof, a hearth, a quiet corner to wipe your tears in, and mother.

He had a Home.He had just left it in order to attend to his mindless wanderings.Well, not entirely mindless.Because he also had one purpose.He lived now to fulfill that.to achieve that solitude he had craved so badly recently.To be alone.Once and for all.Alone with himself and at peace with the world.Or so he thought.
Purpose gives light to some people.It guides them not, but it gives them determination.It transcends hope and faith.Purpose is the ancient part of our existence that is more basic than humanity.Purpose outranks destiny.Indeed, purpose moulds and creates our individual destiny.The purpose of our existence and eventual death seems to hold some purpose in the greater scheme of things.It is pleasurable to think so.For him though, purpose was life.Distilled and unadulterated.And he walked on...purposeful, but as yet unaware of the fact.

It was raining.The smells of a sinful, revulsive city rose up to mock him.He met them with equanimity.He was no more than a shell now.It could be rain running down his cheeks,because his tears had run dry.He had nothing left in him to pluck out and wager for his life.He did not know what he was doing.He no longer cared.And so it was that when he climbed the rails and jumped, he did not know that the bridge had made the final decision for him.
As the slush rose up to met him, he was not thinking of his purpose, of the resulting destiny or of his ailing mother at home.His last expression was that of a mask straining against itself to achieve an etching of a smile.A crooked wretched look that oddly enough suited him.He was thinking how the colour of his suit matched the colour of his coffin.

It was raining.And he was falling with it.

A VIrtue and more...

The deepest of emotions are those which are not easily discernable...quite obvious from the term "deepest" actually.But the concept itself is not self-explanatory.You see, what you think is the deepest of your thoughts might just be a projection of your desires and therefore not true emotions...what you want yourself to want(the eternal question of "should") is very often not what you do want and then it becomes difficult to be honest to oneself and find that twitching conscience inside which points us to the right answer.Since it all takes place in the subconscious mind, it is layered and the difficulty in peeling through them to indeed reach out to and pull out your deep emotions is a gruelling pilgrimage most of us never take. So, dear reader, that sea of self-acclamation and and secure satisfaction may actually be the spillage of your delusional oil tanker of desires...and underneath lies a vastness of grime and sewage (nice image?). in juxtaposition,There are a few precious people who epitomise the so called "one-ness with one's conscience".Their deepest emotions and sentiments are as gratifying to perceive as any virtue.Music in an honest world of nobility and courtesy will sound like speech and noise is music in ours.Hence, compared to us masqueraders of life, such people are artists of perfection and endlessly chisel away at our conception of perfection to produce ever astounding works of sheer divinity.Their work is their life and love, much in harmony with their senses and this makes them worthy of the highest form of respect that us minions can devise. Theirs is not a virtue. Theirs is a benediction.Being as humble as they are and as righteous as any, they will hardly be aware of it, but just by association with their life and working methods, we feel blessed and honoured.My Dear reader...The people i am talking about in general (and someone in particular) are far and far between and moments spent with them are to be cherished forever...Au Revoir to you ladies and gentlemen.

DuSky Dreams

Exams are around the corner…and I can't seem to feel any of the tension and confusion that grips so many others…especially my mother. No…not yet. Tension ill feel after the exams…and confusion after the results are declared. Now I feel serene…as serene as any poor lamb in 24 parganas…destined for sacrifice. I don't pray…for goats bleat, they don't pray…but I like to meditate like one...for believe me…goats DO meditate.

I'm rambling…I always do when I am on the rooftop and there is no one to listen to my gibberish.NO ONE…oh how I like this here!!!

As I stand here facing west…there is the historic hill of dhauli o the left…and a cool breeze carries the scent of ready sugar canes…from the fields that lie in between…it wont rain…the sky is calm clear and deep…for it is this time of the day when the sky is most moody…from cheery blue to velvety black. As you stand here and just see the hues change smoothly from lighter to darker…from tranquil to beautiful, how can u doubt God exists??And that he is not a painter??Trust me…the plain white dome of peace juxtaposed against a charred blue sky (for now) is a sight so bewitching that my eyes just won't move. They want to drink it all. But…

From my left to the right (and I am still facing the west…) along my house runs this road…which is the only connection 8 villages along the bed of the river dayanadi have with mainstream Bhubaneswar. It should be pretty busy right? Well when there are no tractors carrying produce or villagers huffing away on cycles (or recently lunas and mopeds)…there are these announcement vehicles...which are actually automobile three wheelers...improvised to carry an improvised speaker on top with an announcer seated inside to shout out the niceties of the newest jatra or family planning policy.sometimes there is also a girl to sing out jingles too…

Anyway…nobody is there on the road…it is empty. Alone…like me. With just a gangly tamarind tree for company…a glance beyond stills me…vast fields. Each with its own unique character…some sown…some harvested…some lolling with sprightly produce….all swaying in the wind (too far away for me to notice it…but I can imagine) and these ancient guardians of peepuls and banyans in between…scattered…standing lazily…like they have always done. Always. In the sun and in the rain…and in the chilling cold of winter…or scorch of the sun.Don't mistake their stance for fatigue or nonchalance. Its just that they have seen too much…been through it all …hundreds of times…throughout countless lives…because revolutions and old trees don't die…they exist.Always just out of sight. But there.

Meanwhile the tamarind tree bristles with life as some late travelers to the marshes make it the camp for night…but I don't dissect these majestic white birds with pearls of wisdom…no, I don't even notice them then. Because I notice that the tree somewhat clouds the view of what is certainly the best view of the sky I have seen in 24 hours.

Ah! What a view that is..! Lazy strokes of celestial gold hide bales of flimsy crimson cotton…and someone there lies the architect of it all….the sun. Where does this green come from? Is it a jade that has fallen from his chariot…is it the eye of one of his seven stallions? And this purple? ...certainly this is the hue of his royal standard..? I can see two dragons in the sky…caressing a dolphin which is posing mid somersault…slightly to the right, I can see the last vestiges of a celestial fight…what with dead horses and broken chariots….and I can see arrows that never reached their target…some with golden shafts (possible celestial) and others plain rusty red…like the destruction they imply. But the fight is on a different dimension…with a little concentration I can hear the sounds of battle too and as the sounds fade…I can almost see the victorious champion with his grim half smile...turn to his left and gallop to the sun…for his is the glory now, that the sun will bestow on him…but in a different world.because in this world…the sun is setting…because his chariot never stops.His stallions never tire…and he moves on to leave a crimson sky and two cheeky rabbits in it.or wait…one of them is a crocodile.

The skyline of bhubaneswar lies to my right(and I am still facing the west)but I don't feel like looking that way.. I am standing.Still. Unmoving. Watching the sky turn from red to purple to indigo…to finally that king of hues.

As I finally see the cranes tuck in for the night, I can hear my mum screaming from downstairs for me to come down and start studying. The early stars have started twinkling. They have woken early tonight…as the sky is clear. I think…do they enjoy the sight of evening so much as I do? for it must be morning for them …and their days are black and nights filled with light…there are more stars than I can count now…and so I start the trudge back to the books. But more than awe, I have this sinking feeling,this sense of terrible loss...thinking how many such blessed wintry evenings I have missed...

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I wrote this for someone...at a different time...in a different age...when we both believed differently...We still do...but times have changed.And now we Know...

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ThisEngaging

Marriages are not made in heaven.You will probably agree to this...or not...who cares??
You will marry anyway...So, with your permission, i will not ask you "why"...and delve deeper into the utterly questionable "how".
Romantically, It all started with "The Rape of the Sabine women" by Romulus, (please do refer hyperlink to remove certain misconceptions)in order to secure wives for the newly created state of rome and its prominently male population...Romulus gave them fair rights to refuse marriage and return to their home tribe but offered them equal rights as free men in his new city...Many centuries and laws later, today the same thing is carried out.
Commonly,

• men(strike 1) engage in courtship rituals tryin to woo a girl.
• men(strike 2) ask the girl out and they "go out"
• men(strike 3) propose...women decide...and a ring is what declares to the world...keep off guys, this girl's mine(or someone's).Imagine how much a man has to do...but more on that later...let's cut to the chase and look at engagement in india.

In india, it is usual for elders to look for spouses for their betas and betis...and decide on a proper spouse.Then comes the mind-boggling ritual of engagements...
i mean, when social no-no and peer pressure implies that you cannot break an engagement(all those "naak katna","sar jhookna", "mooh dikhane layak na rahna", fancy but sadly true), then why bother performing the utterly unnecessary task.
some say...

1. They might not be ready...arey, it is arranged marriage, sooner or later, the axe has to fall...why delay?i say,given the amount of pestering by "well-wishers" to marry a poor beta/beti(who cares?) , it is "relatively" easier to deal with a faster-aquired wife.
2. They might be studying...study then, why thoughts of marriage you lecherous idiot.Delay, belay whatever...(if you dont like the match)...otherwise if the pressure is too much(the girl/guy too irressitible), then why study? marry first...but why drag engaements inside?
3. They might want to know each other...must be fun, promising to marry the other and after a year of "betrothal", dude, let's move on...just doesn't happen..if you dont like the rope, don't sign up for hanging(no, there's no better analogy available.

What i am trying to say is...just look at the statistics...marriages are a multibillion dollar industry(Total earning from e-businesses in india is lesser), not surprising as 7 million indians take the plunge in a year.So india could save at least 1 billion cutting on these trifling engagements(no pun).
I dont rest my case, purely because, i know i have convinced no one.You want your big fat wedding and you want you big show-off engagement and you have always dreamt of "chat mangni pat byah"...
You wont listen to revolutionary new ideas like..."why mangni, just byah"(absolutely original, don't you think??)well, hope your bride/groom(who cares which??) is worth it.

RelationBoats

It is only human to wonder how unfair it is that some people are just the life of the party...and you are mostly like the appendix(sorry)...there but nobody knows why.

Why’s can be so irritating.why sometimes you are mad at something or someone and then you have to apologise.why the deadline always have to come closer.why the BIG meeting always overlaps the BIG date.or why the girl you like doesn’t believe in relationships.why the toast always lands buttered side down?oh i don’t want to even get into that...

The life of the party says that relationships are not really rocket science,but he doesn’t know does he?that they are pretty much like the football to Neanderthals like you(yes you read that right).The football minus even the other connotations the word provides.What is there in a relationship?

Not two people with each other(boy, thats like what they teach you in relationship kindergarten)...It is like a medieval jousting competition (at least in the beginning).You bump into each other,Get to know each other, you start to like each other, (this is where i drop the second person), and then i keep wondering...why?Why do i have to ruin all this practically perfect setting by wondering(apart from the why at the beginning of this thought) if it could be something else.

On a less sissier front, why bitch?- this is not the title of the latest sadomasochistic thriller by Hung Lo- but a exasperating thought that comes out of days and ights and pondering minutes listening to people bitch about each other, you know the way, oh thats great man((oh boy, doesn’t his tie suck!!))Not a tie no...i can give you better than this.but that’d be bitching as well!!i mean...how can bitching help some person overcome his/her hatred or dislike of another’s activities??and if it doesn’t and it doesn’t help him/her know what things irritate(ohk ill give you, playing dirty politics during CR elections), then what’s the point?AND WHY TELL MOI!! Do i look like some kind of bitcher’s pitcher(sorry)

i know it feels good to bitch about someone- get it out of your system...but "how much do you do it da?" It feels good to be cheap...but i think it is still good to talk to the actual person(and a lot quieter) keeps the feeling from maturing into hatred(i dont believe im saying this)...

Dear second person, there is no point talking about relationships that are past.and future relationships can be such a pain.and ..no wait, there is no present, this is the opportune moment for another of those delightful WHY’s. Because i believe, Things can always be set right, but the glue has to be perfect.And the glue can only come out of a non-negotiable value system.

You cannot wake up one morning and find yourself with the best wife, the hottest girlfriend(OR implied in some cases), the best best buddy, the coolest office colleague. Hell, you can’t even have a beatific room-mate.When it comes to bonding, you kind of have to rely on instincts.What say?

You are Neanderthal , remember?

PenElope

PenElope is not a name. It is an idea.Or rather...a rare medical syndrome...rather very much like that GrammarSticklers' Syndrome( courtesy - Lynn Truss).
PenElopers deal with loads of seemingly antisocial symptoms...

1>Disdain fr people
Who do not pronounce things correctly.
Who show an uncivilised disregard for etiquette.
Who are "cheap" in general.
Who are incorrigible.

2>Who have the tendency to slip into fascinating daydreams...every now and then...like when an exam is going on...or when some lecturer is delivering some important lecture...or when you have an exam the next day and you are supposed to be studying...trivial things like these...

3>Who have a love affair with writing...and all forms of well-delivered literature...

hence the term...Pen Elopers...

Given a chance..they would love to elope with the pen ...to some carribean paradise...where words will dance and punctuations play the music and the golden sun will spice up endless evenings of romantic writing...are you one of them...???