The 11th Hour Confessions

On the threshold of my expected engagement and marriage to a soul which I proposed and which it disposed at the last hour, I'm crossing my fingers and holding my breath, not because of failure but of excitement. I'm simply not used to it and maybe I'm afraid of it. I guess she loves me and I've no qualms in inviting her into my life but I'm afraid.

You see, I'm no new to marriage. I've been married before to a lovely girl. Things had not worked out and we agreed for a mutual divorce. The year was 2000 and I was excited as now I’m of a life with a female gender. The hormones signaled yes, and I dumbly stood in front of the holy alter among a cascade of Christian orthodox Priests who sang in union and blessed us among smiles of more than a thousand people. What a day it was! A hopeful seemingly January sun cleared the sky, sang too in unison and the bright sparkling stars blessed us into a mysterious single body in our first night together.

Alas, I was a young fool. Ignorant and spoiled. Egoistic and selfish. My ex-wife was as also stubborn as never expected. I guess I hoped a submissive wife like my Sisters and Mother, which no young woman is and I failed to envision her thoughts. Thoughts which was about individuality and freedom. I failed miserably. I became the villain; I became the baddie in love; I became the villoma in our life; I became the epithelial tumor which could only be separated by the curse solution in society called divorce.

After she left me, I became half crazy, gave up my lucrative job, broke off all the glasses in the kitchen, migrated back to India and vowed never to love and trust again a female psyche. Of course I was not successful!

I've given my heart to so many girls but unlike playboys I've not lost count. My first ever love happened when I was doing my plus two (pre-degree at that time.) I watched with cupid dancing around my eyes a beautiful dark belle who used to travel in my bus everyday. The persistent cowboy in me saw giving a love letter (the only one I’ve given, yeah, those days it worked…) to her, forcibly inserted into her assemblage of college books and paraphernalia. Oh, yes, she had the twinkle in her eyes the next day and returned a letter back to me. I cannot express my feeling in this blog of what I felt; a mixture of exhilaration and an insurrection toward the daily monotony of college life. My next love life was when I was in Karnataka - Goa, met this tall beauty conscious lass whose friendship turned passionate and an obsession in the Osho fever which was fervent in our life at that time. The next crush was towards a Gulf Air air-hostess in Bahrain who fell for my romantic thoughts. A lot of seasons together we moved away. We simply moved away! The next break was my ex-wife, a pure arranged marriage which went wrong. She I fathom found a dearer human being with time. A lot of dark moments afterwards in Kochi, I fell in for an Aquarian who almost matched my madness. She was separated and the love guru who I had become by that time lectured her in reconciling with her estranged hubby. No woman likes that and I became as distant as the burning Sun and though she was not successful in rejoining up, she found a new macho heart. Then it was a series of relations through friends and families. A US based scientist who believed that I broke her heart and who wanted a life not in India, a young "blue eyed" girl so much younger to me, one or two divorcees who shared a dream with me but nothing worked out. Guess I'm the culprit, a dark faced monster who liked the dark part of all taking on the stupid phone and resisted the sunshine.

Roads sometimes lead to blocked roads but like pathways which guide us to find roads, I walk groping in the dark fumbling in the moonlight in relish of a dawn cherished by a hope known only in love. My proposed missy is divorced once because her ex-hubby had doubts about her morality and character. He believed that her friends and even her brother were all imaginary lovers falco subbuteo with secretive liaisons. I'm lucky in this, I believe in friends; I believe not in a husband and wife passing their time only in looking into each other eyes and being happy. Oh, come on, everyone needs love of their friends and other distractions. Marriage and love are just conditions for a legal societal based living together, sex and making legitimate generations, right?

Many of you hardly know anything about me and I've purposely not done any "know-me" (sorry - Vijesh, IHM) tags because I was afraid of rejection and revealing so much about me; I was afraid of the villain image; I was afraid of projecting my melancholy (Indyeah - You guessed right) ; I was afraid of jutting out my own fears and reality.

I've grown up over the years and have matured aged and ripened my thought processes, my patience and my egoistic thoughts. I now don't believe in infatuations but love in patience and empathy; I now believe in human thoughts espoused with the belief in living and dying with hands enjoined. Please bless me as I donate her my used heart!

The Love Touch - Relations of the heart

One of my relative died this week. He was just 60 and was just beginning to enjoy love and what his little love life had to offer. Love of his children, who had matured to understand it. Love of his wife who has and had (but, and) no other option to love him with time. Love of his grand children. Love which he cherished and urged on, all his life. Love at his truest spirit.

What I believe is that love starts in the old age. In the old age, when the children grow up and are gone. In the old age, when the poor soul looks into each other and has only the complaints about other and an "only life" experience to share. A dependence only to Gods and the faith associated with it. A dependence in only each other, a clinging so intimate. Love starts then and there!

I thought I'll live for ever. I thought that I'm immune to diseases. I remember looking at people who exercised in the morning and evening for a better health and I’ve noticed people straining for a better life and I just smile. I smiled at their stupidity. I also laughed when they say they have high sugar in their blood stream and have cholesterol. I never thought that it is what it is to become a "human." and I'll finally experience it and live as one. I failed to fathom that we are all ordinary mortals under the mercy of nature. We can in a minute become sick or fall under the rubble with the shift of belts in an earthquake. The struggle of desperation and weakness in a human being is so noticeable in our daily existence that we are simply just such weaklings, but we imagine ourselves as super human beings capable of living for ever.

When I was small, I always was the Amithabh Bachchan, Dharmendra or the Vinod Khanna. When I used to be small and see the films, plume was high and after each film I used to enact the complete scenes in front to my Sister and my Parents and felt special among the giggles of the crowd. I always wanted to be the hero. The invincible that could bash up, sing and woo the girls I always wanted. Though the girls and villains are never the actual character and the mentality what I currently expect and my life has changed, I just wanted to be above all.

What are we? Are we are not just ourselves trying to prove ourselves in this world and trying to gain acceptance?

Is the girl who I'm trying to woo and marry not just an individual, an another soul who is trying to prove herself and trying for acceptance in this funny world? Is not life what I and what she has imagined the same? A life with someone who can respect each other and negotiate freedoms? A tension free life which is free of tautness and a beautiful froth of happiness along the way?

Money as we believe is the now the source of the all the happiness in this world. Money to buy a TV, so that we can pass the time, Money to buy exotic holidays, money to give cinematic gifts, money to buy time and money to buy even romantic dreams!

Where are we all heading? To the grave, right? Is time that we spend together so important when we amalgamate with soil? Is the soil concerned when blending two souls about its differences?

My dear Brother- Clinton (yes, his name is Clinton and he was named when the ex-president Bill Clinton assumed office), yesterday sent a beautiful SMS, which goes something like this, "It's just meaningless in expecting anyone to be your kind because you can't hold their right hand in your right hand to walk together." My respect really grew towards him even though it was just a SMS forward. Are we not just fools trying to be superior to others and trying to prove ourselves?Love and keep loving my dears. There is nothing else so important in this world. Hate and egoism is just temporary. Let us not lose our precious time in bickering and fights which proves nothing.

Love each other without expecting anything in return. Give the freedom to each other which even you don't cherish for yourselves. Love each other to prove nothing. That's life at its best! God Bless!!

The Nest

This is my first attempt to type in a poem in my blog. Though I "used" to write before, some of the feelings had "died" and I never could write again. Some of them have been "born" again that I dare to attempt again. Do give me a frank opinion if you comment!

Under the dawn eaves overlooking the moon;
The nest is still and sad,
As though it sorrows and grieves,
For many an empty lass and lad's soul.

From his quiet realm on hights,
The face in the Moon was jaded, it seemed,
Of dwelling so long in the land of dreams,
Enjoying the solitude of sleepless nights.

My Spirit gazed upon his face,
Ever so resilient, ever so proud;
And the twin sisters, hope and fear,
Told a tale of fairness and distant spheres.

Of faith shall love be born afresh;
Of faith that I shall be loved and a lover too;
Of faith after this poor soul has died;
Of faith in felicitous joy for a thousand nights.

From pain, from sorrows, from cold,
I hope of wrap within her warm arms;
Of no more a lonely night; awake,
With tingling whispers in her ears well into dawn.

What is fear, unknown, manipulated, but a curious mind?
Of battles lost or won;
Let it crawl or let it fly;
But just be here within my reach to stay!

Come along forever, come along now.
You for me, I for you. I promise you that;
Just pull me towards you, blame the wind push,
But just love me for sweet mercifulness sake.

Just keep holding me or pretend to,
As I fear my belittled nest is cold,
And now that I’ve lost my age of flying,
I fear there is nowhere left to fly to!


P.S - I'm yet to reply to the comments in my previous post and I'm yet to read and visit you guys to comment on your blog. Do forgive! My mind and time were not in tempo. Thanks!

The Walk-In - Blinded By Hope

Thoughts paraded my mind as the time blew over carrying me around in my mentations. I looked idly at the cobwebs gathering fast in the upper corner of my room. I had been seeing that lock of spurious mesh for some months now. It was always lucky to escape the short broom. It had always been a challenge for me. A challenge because of my laziness. All that was required was a chair from the adjoining room and unfurling the scene of murder before my eyes. A spider seated amidst the entanglement of its hard work, rocked slowly matching the tempo of the circling fan. It seemed to eye me with tart vengeance as if I was the foreigner not it but we lived alone happily together in a room without invading each others space.

Loneliness has not been a stranger. What’s disturbing about loneliness is the redundant voice in you, pestering you that you must be mated to someone and that loneliness is a frightening mistake in the old age. As I believe that I age and that I age. The voice in you is not bothered about who you find. It just keeps tormenting you. I've often told people including my parents and friends around me of my intent to be left alone for a time. They agnized this and saw this announcement as trying to be devoid of their company. I often felt repentant, that I cherished such an unusual thing as solitude. To my friends and family, the declaration to be alone sounds as a sign of rejection and a sign of madness. I've noticed that many have never felt the need to be left alone; they rather enjoy a crowd, probably having always lived happily in relationships. They look upon me and my need for solitude as eccentricity and lunacy.

Finally one day, interior and exterior become one, and you are like a dumb person who has had a dream to finally commit. One day there comes an instant when a conclusion must be made. A lady climbes the ladder and comes into your life and you gloam into the tradition of must-fall-in-love. Love falls into a surrogate thought which befalls beliefs. Beliefs which cherishes norms. Norms which compliment hopes. Finally two people who want to love each other must question themselves how much they hope for as their love expands and intensifies, and how much risk they are inclined to take. It is in truth a fearsome gamble. To think of it, the way of the nature of love is to create. A matrimony itself is something which has to be created.

To get married is the biggest risk in earthly relations that a human can take. If we commit ourselves to one person for life, is there as ordinary mortals think a limitation of freedom? Will man be able to accommodate the change in his accustomed rhythm in life? Will he be selfish to the demands to give it all to love which is temporary? Is not love merely participation and not possession for life and in actuality invading each others space? Will he be able to express the gender equality what men internally cherish and comprehend in their daily interations? Will man never be called a "hen pecked" if he compromises and gives his soul to knead his actions?

I glanced again at the spider for some comment; it kept rocking to the breeze of the weary ceiling fan as if in agreement. And yet again, I invited the guest to walk the steps into my soul as the time passes by in my existence in this selfish world.

Women vs Men

This is something which I harvested from the web.

(A) How to Keep a Woman Happy"*
It's not at all difficult !

All you have to do is to be:

1. A friend
2. A companion
3. A lover
4. A brother
5. A father
6. A master
7. A chef
8. An electrician
9. A carpenter
10. A plumber
11. A mechanic
12. A decorator
13. A stylist
16. A psychologist
17. A pest exterminator
18. A psychiatrist
19. A healer
20. A good listener
21. An organizer
22. A good father
23. Very clean
24. Sympathetic
25. Athletic
26. Warm
27. Attentive
28. Gallant
29. Intelligent
30. Funny
31. Creative
32. Tender
33. Strong
34. Understanding
35. Tolerant
36. Prudent
37. Ambitious
38. Capable
39. Courageous
40. Determined
41. True
42. Dependable
43. Passionate

WITHOUT FORGETTING TO:

44. Give her compliments regularly
45. Love shopping
46. Be honest
47. Be very rich
48. Not stress her out
49. Not look at other girls

AND AT THE SAME TIME, YOU MUST ALSO:

50. Give her lots of attention, but expect little yourself
51. Give her lots of time, especially time for herself
52. Give her lots of space, never worrying about where she goes

IT IS VERY IMPORTANT:

53. Never to forget: birthdays anniversaries arrangements she makes

(B) HOW TO MAKE A MAN HAPPY....!!! :

1. Leave him in peace
2. Feed him well.
3. Let him have the remote control.


...... are you seriously looking for more??


This is a fun post. Women: Do take it sportingly and Men: Laugh away!!

Egoistic Padagogy - The Boss Factor

I wonder why people hold false personal or derived delusional beliefs and hold it with so much conviction in spite of reason or evidence to the contrary. This to me appears to be one stupid game. Why don't people realize that this is not a contest in who gets to have the last word and this wasted energy does not help anyone? I really don't want to try and fly across the Indian Ocean with a tiny little inflatable balloon holding myself up. The focus needs to be redirected towards the sufferer- Themselves.

I've waited patiently for people to change. Now I realize that that I'm going to just travel this road alone just like I've done this many years. I know that I'll succeed. It might be quite very isolated ahead than I expect but I guess this is all part of what it takes. I'll deny my isolation, I'll prove everyone wrong. Deny my desolation and prove them wrong. Deny my solitudinarian madness and prove them differently. I'll deny them a voice; I will speak louder and louder and keep shouting so as to keep them all mum.

That is why I've made a “future plan” for my futuristic living world. I must remind you that my living world, actually, is the world that my body exists in. My lawless, timeless, uncontrolled world being the world that dominates the sanenesss in me, and then my safety world where I'll develop and create situations and beliefs in my mind to cope or escape from dominating dictators. I refuse to be dictated that I'll only ever manage my “attitude”, rather than eradicate it completely. I want to keep up the hope and belief, that I've nothing but I've everything to survive without them in this world.

I purport to accomplish this task by realizing that time and egoistic bosses around me are just temporary, just a collection of temporary hook-ups. Just congresses till I get the ejaculation. Nothing else. They are never the actual thing and the one complete true story. No one are. Because they are just their story, each individuals everyday ego, insecurities in their position in the company, a differential custom-made history that they like to flaunt. By the same token, they believe that they are helping and reality doesn’t exist and never has. It is a concept they have created to make themselves superior. Which is another dullard concept and not a fact. The finite moment of life where ego compounds logic, and the whelming and the great euphoric sense of invincibility and immortality which cloud the outside world all but for the briefest of heartbeats and time.

The astute depth to which our own wide eyes can reach are only beaten by the depth of individuality and humbleness the heart can feel but they imagine a camera profoundly, majestically circling them from above enticing and magically encouraging them to continue. The devil bless their beliefs!

The Hollow Rustle of Money

This is to me, justifiably, a palpable anger at the turn of events following the "outright' bid and winning of Gandhiji's glasses, sandals, pocket watch, plate and a bowl, put up for auction by Sotheby's by US based collector named James Otis. Vijay Mallaya bought them for close to 10 crores. My anger is not against the political leaders for failing miserably in governance. My anger is not against the liquor baron's touching the items of a man who preached against alcohol. My ire is against the waste of money!

Before you start criticizing me for being anti-Gandhian and anti-patriotic, let's first look at the financial state of the people living in India. Read: the people!!

In my earliest recollection of the lessons in economics and civics in school, my economics teacher had made it simple the subjects of taxation by advocating that the bridge between the rich and the poor should be made less and hence taxes were introduced. India is home to approximately one-third of all poor people in the world. To be precise, India constitutes 33% of the global poor, which is nailed at 1.4 billion people.

Today, India Inc and the rich appear to have three fashioned approaches to tackling poverty. The first is fundamentally declare that there are no poor. Recent criticisms in the making of the movie, "Slum dog Millionaire" critiqued has people like Danny Boyle, the Oscar-winning director of Slumdog Millionaire wonder if he really did shoot the movie in the Mumbai teeming slums in Nehru Nagar and nearby Dharavi, which ironically is home to more than a million people and is the largest slum in Asia. Everyone was worried how India was portrayed. For them India is simply not the slums, the dirt and poverty. For the rich and the affluent, people living in the tiny shanties are simply not Indian. The second tactic of India Inc is to abolish the poor, rather than poverty. This is dramatically proven in Mumbai over the years when slum vicinities are razed, making thousands homeless. The Mumbai police simply followed suit by beating people up as protesters protested with a tear in their eye. Is it their India, they wondered. They are looked upon as cattle or any other lower form of life. People forget that the cramped huts near open sewers in narrow dirty lanes are what they call home. Mumbai Assistant Municipal Commissioner Umashankar Mistry very ironically said, "The plot has been earmarked as a playground and we will demolish all illegal settlements." A playground for whom? The children of a few rich Indians? I hear that the child actor of SDM still lives in an illegal structure made of tarpaulin sheets with his one-eyed mother and TB-suffering alcoholic father. Rubina Ali too lives in a one room tin roof shack perched above an ocean of trash which she shares with her parents and six siblings in this foul and run-down and repulsive Mumbai slum. The third approach is simply to ignore the poor. They simply fortify the belief that by the turn of the century poverty will simply disappear as the younger generation start working. So as economists sit and watch the inflation rate and compare it with the world markets, a yet another generation is living in dire straits with maybe a single lucky meal to compliment as it closes his eyes to the open sky with rumbling empty stomachs.

Is India Inc and "India Shinning" able to provide one of the most basic and most important necessities like clean air, drinking water, nutritious food, and safe shelters to all its Citizens? Or do they care only for the likes of me who pay taxes?

Article 47 says: "The state shall regard the raising of the level of nutrition and standard of living of its people as among its primary duties and in particular, the state shall endeavor to bring about prohibition of the use except for medicinal purposes of intoxicating drinks and of drugs which are injurious to health."

Democracy, as now practiced in India, is more about survival of politicians, their pride and their political parties. It's no more about its people. In fact, India's Independence which was an epic struggle for democracy, freedom and liberty, was meant only for her own people. People!!

India has forgotten all its commitments to its citizens be it the Rs.3.86 billion Chandrayaan mission to the moon, which proved nothing when it had been done 68 times before by everyone in this world and the 10,000 crore proposed manned mission to the moon. The defense budget of India is proposed at 40 billion dollars (Around 200, 000 crores) in 2009 when all we fought was some infiltrators in the last 20-30 years. For a few, the high-profile, harmless petty war like Kargil came in handy and the war was termed as the ultimate practice session and actual war like test session for the thousands of war deprived soldiers.

A total of about five million people are addicted to alcohol in India. Read: Addicted, i.e. they have a compulsive need to drink everyday. An absence in alcohol or a slight decrease of alcohol in their blood causes nausea, sweating, shakiness, and anxiety. To overcome this, the addict dedicatedly "donates" his hard earned money and arrives home to see empty stomachs and ailed families. We as people have no time to imagine their pathetic lives. Except from a few NGO's who try to better the lives of their sorry lives, they turn poorer everyday and lose their health. The production, distribution and sale of alcohol is not only a lucrative venture but an artful and manipulative scheme to appease people who are stressed and live in the margins of society. By all chronicles, the alcohol related risks have invited scant attention from the Indian government. Alcohol unfortunately comes under the horizon of state governments, and each state's stupid politician has a lucrative incentive to expand outlets accredited to sell alcohol since its taxes contribute an estimated 20 percent of each state's revenue and every domestic liquor baron contributes lavishly to political campaigns under the expense of the poor addict. If the Indian government controls opium, prescription drugs, and harmful food additives, why not alcoholic beverages?

James Otis, before he set forth to give Gandhi's items for auction tried his best to negotiate with India on, "two proposals he had submitted – increase in the spending on the poor and fully paid exhibition of Gandhi's items in 78 countries to spread the apostle of peace's message of non violence." He wanted the Govt to keep aside 5% of the total India GDP for the poor. The Indian government had rejected the proposals sent by Otis arguing that conditions set by him infringed on the country's sovereignty. Vijay Mallaya bid for the items even though his combined debt of his six listed companies has touched a whopping Rs 14,231 crore, as on December 2008. The identity of the bidders in the auction is a guarded secret and the stupidity with which the base price of 20,000 was increased to 1.8 Million by possibly Indians themselves is both heartening and disheartening. Vijay mallaya is not new to all this kind of publicity stunts. Mallaya had spent Rs 180 million to cover the entire Sabrimala sanctum sanctorum with gold, ostensibly to gain some publicity from the investment with his name inscribed in gold everywhere. He had also previously bid for the sword of Tipu Sultan and had said proudly that, "I always believed that items of great heritage value should be owned by India and restored to India." But ironically little do people know that the sword is still not in India but is maintained by him in San Francisco, California, USA.

As yet another political election drama enfolds before my eyes and crores are spent, accounted and unaccounted, it just makes me wonder, why should I be proud being called an Indian?

A Break

This is Biju Mathew's friend. He is not well and asked me to post this note on his behalf. He conveyed that he would not be able to read and comment on everyone's post for a few more days. He is sorry about it.

Thanks.....

The Leap of Faith

After my work yesterday, early morning at 3:30am, I went with my colleague to his house to watch some television. Oh, yes, my T.V is still waiting for spare parts and a miracle even after 2 months. I tried a couple of times to wedge out the remote from his hands but he was mesmerized by a "healing session" in one of the local channels. A charismatic and handsome middle aged man in a dark black suit was rendering people unconscious by touch and supposedly healing them in the name of God. Oh, sorry, it was not touch but rather a melancholic outcry of non vowels which went something like, "ra ra raa Raaa Raaah Raaahhh raaa raa ra ra." No sooner were the words uttered, the subjects to our amazement fell down on their backs as if lightning had struck them. Once done, they rose up, smiled for the camera and testified what disease the "Holy Spirit" took out of them amid cries of "Halleluiah! Halleluiah!" However, I amusingly noticed that many who fell with a jolt from the air were clearly self-conscious enough to pull their shirts back down over their stomachs or use their hands to break the fall. If they were "filled with the spirit" and unconsciously fell down, would they be really worried about exposing a belly?

I'm not an atheist but I'm completely wary of those who cast out "the demons" of asthma, blindness, AIDS, cancer, diabetes or anything which affects the human anatomy and those who come to pray and collect money. I'm always filled with rage at fakirs, faith healers, holy men who consider feeding, tantalizing, baiting fake hopes to innocent mortals desperately in quest of a miracle just to propagate their own convictions. I loathe the total system of self-deception and suspension of disbelief. Are they able to bring back the dead or re-grow an amputated limb in the name of God? You will have to remember that this is the same ‘God’ who flooded and swamped the whole earth, divided the Red Sea, and as per Bible carved humans from mud. Are they able to make a bald man grow hair right there on the stage? Or maybe remove scars from a burned victim's face? No, all healings ever recorded are paid, unseeable, and unverifiable. Does this make sense if you look at it from the theological side? All there ever was are "healings" that are temporary and brought on by euphoria, emotions and wishful thinking. I feel disturbed and saddened by the colossal gullibility and stupidity of so many thousands of people. These faith healers are just accomplished and wealthy conmen who prey on the vulnerability, helplessness, hopes, and superstitions of millions of worshippers who all want a quick fix.

Googling up I found a list of these "faith healers" mostly from the Christian faith:

Oral Roberts, Richard Roberts, Rod Parsley, Morris Cerullo, Paul Crouch, C. Peter Wagner, Paul Cain, Juanita Bynam, Benny Hinn, T.B. Joshua, John Arnott, John Kilpatrick, Steve Hill, Kenneth Hagin, Kenneth Copeland, Joyce Meyers, Earl Paulk, Fred Price, Creflo Dollar, R.W. Shambach, Reinhard Bonnke, Christian Harfouche, Rick Joyner, Mike Bickle, Tommy Tenney, Cindy Jacobs, George Otis. Jr., Michael Brown, Jack Deere, Randy Clark, Colin Dye, Nicky Gumbal, Ed Silvoso, Markus Bishop, Kim Clement, Jesse Duplantis, Marilyn Hickey, Rodney Howard-Browne, T.D. Jakes, Robert Tilton and probably a whole bevy of others like them!!

The only guy that I've had ever heard of is an entertainer called Benny Hinn. Benny is different than them all. He makes a staggering amount of money in his world wide religious crusades. He goes on to the stage, dramatically swings his arms and paralyzed victims in wheel chairs automatically stand up and walk. All he does is, wave his arms and a complete standing crowd as a group will instantly fall on their backs! I've seen him on TV with his gold watches, fancy suits, and expensive luxury cars. Benny simply doesn't hide his hunger for money, and he makes it obvious with his outlandish living styles and purchases. He buys people with money to fall for him, to stand up and push their own wheel chairs. Everything large scale! The saddest fact is that Benny could not cure his Mother who was diabetic and his Father who died of cancer.

All know that magic is about illusion and tricks. Simply put magic tricks are very clever illusions. Magicians flourish on the principle that people are gullible and the human mind is very easy to trick when tricks are done with speed. But it's an irony that all magicians do not claim supernatural power. This is the only difference between professional magicians and the numerous fake healers in this world. The fake healers arrogate that they perform miracles. But the truth is that these men are like parasites feeding on the weak and the sick. Vulnerable is the person whose spirit and body has been devastated by an illness. They go to such healing sessions and healers because all other means of a cure have failed. They look at a miracle as their last chance to get their health back. Fake healers understand this human weakness and they use it to get what they want - money.

As skeptics, earthlings need to opine out and make our voices heard, maybe at least for the sake of the despairing people so handily victimized by the faith healers.

Secular humanism calls for it. Amen!

The Love Bleed

It's not a great feeling when someone we care about rejects our attempts to become closer to them. Men and women act differently to this. In reality, 99% of all people want a real relationship and would love to have a special someone… somebody with whom they could at last let their guard down, and go through true love.

So, what's going wrong? Is it the physical appearance or is it the emotional bond which displays hindrance? Of course I don't want to discuss the attractive and beautiful mortals who are smart, sexy, handsome, and maybe successful because these are always flirted with and approached all the time. I want to discuss the average looking but the romantic some things that fall in-and-out of love everyday.

In realism, I and virtually all other men in this planet, have never ejected away from a woman because we weren't “ready for a kinship” or because we “needed to take things slow” whilst that’s what we must and may have communicated at the time. The long and short of the reason we pulled out is that if the woman is not the same woman we fell in love with then how can we continue being in love? The problem with women is that with time they start the "ownership" game. Instead of maintaining individualities they over-do, over-worry, over-analyze and start working too hard to keep the relationship going. In short they over-function, crib about everything, over-imagine and worst of all express it out thinking that they are working on the "relationship." Well, does that work? The hell it works! Men may act emotionally bull-like, indifferent, and impregnable, but most men are astonishingly fragile emotionally. The truth is that it's just the baseline part of their more “masculine” physical composition not to portray or communicate about these things all the time so as to avoid the created chance for connection and intimacy.

Men and women cogitate problems and situations in different mannerisms. So what makes signified from a woman's angle is so different what actually works with a man. So if one acts so predictable and lacks all emotional intelligence, its enough to prove that one is going to be less and less fun and easygoing as time goes on. It's not at all fair but if a sensible woman doesn't know how to create attraction for her man and is insensitive to a man's emotional opening-up and closing, how will the man feel it for her, even if the connection used to be there. Things go automatically in his mind, "what the hell! When did this bend from all that fun, excitement of love into a lot of commitment and work? And to top it all, women tend to chain love by keep wanting a "serious talk" every time, defining and redefining the relationship. They keep trying to chain the relationship alive but in actuality end up pushing the guy away. This is the cliche!

Both men and women would like to meet on top of the scenic mountain hand in hand but only if men realize that women may not have the physical strength to climb it and only if women realize that it may be too boring for the man on top of the mountain. Only if…

The Choosy Love Vile

I always feel that human beings are great suckers for a beautiful face and probably a very sexy shape. These obsessional, crying and demanded generalizations about “attractiveness” finds me wondering how on earth the fat, short, scrawny and the absolutely flat chested human beings manage to find love. Maybe I'm generalizing things too far out. Maybe the more rebellious of mankind would like to contradict but I'm really thwarted to notice that there is usually no cryptic criticism of the supposals that these assumptions are based upon. Why do we even care?

The ultimate point of love is to get married and finally the factual point of getting married is to have children. I know that there are of course biological mating motives and urges of which we are not conscious, which is why most people want to have kids of their own in spite of the realism that there maybe very little pure rationalism to do so and why women in general bond very fast with their new borne and feel protective of them, and yet again why young persons masturbate and have sexual urges long ahead anyone ever explains sex to them.

I wonder what are single men/women, then? Tragic losers just looking forward to the probable occurrence of the biological imperative to kick in? Of course, I don’t imply that women in general are programmed to be sluts, nor do I imply that men are incompetent of being misogynists. But I believe that people get trapped in an oscillation of hungering approval, wanting love and dreaded rejection. It's an awful spinning wheel of confusion and pain. Seeking commendation from everyone around us is similar to the nauseous giddiness a ballet dancer feels when she doesn't keep her eyes on one object as she twirls and turns.

Fractured Fairy Love Tales

Sometimes I realize that my life is like a fairy tale which did not complete. A fairy tale that just died before it started. A complete lie which was told to me as a tale. There is never a happy ending. We are all condemned earthlings sent by the creator, who knows our inevitable fate but we hold firm beliefs of oblivion, of heaven, of hell. In theory we are simple morons who consume, who drink ourselves into a happy stupor, perform our daily obligations, and use one another for social amusement.

Several factors play importance in our using up one another to live. The first thing that is requisite is a personality that does not switch based on a particular situation. Does one stand firm to one's values and persona despite the chance for shortcuts and noetic laziness? Does one have the instinct for honesty and humane justice? Does this instinct set its horizon upon only one outcome or does it consider all factors like selfishness, hatred and love in the abstract? Is the feeble mind a fair mediator of conflict which can rightly see all sides? I basically believe that soon age will slow us all down and so all battles need not be fought and won. It is better to live at peace with onself than be corpses addicted to petty amusement.

We were brought up with tales of many a handsome prince and many a beautiful princesses. We were only told gallant tales of winning love, of slaying dragons and conquering love. Why were we never told stories of how to live happily with our princesses? How do we know what is the right way to love, to live a married life and how to keep our love? Why were we not told tales of how to love? Are we to watch the movies and assume the way to love and assume the way to live with a woman? Are we to behave the same as we behaved with our Sisters and our Mothers, fighting and throwing tantrums? Will that work with our wife or loved one? Will she call that physical and mental harassment? In living together with a loved one, it is important to consider, not just feelings, satisfactions and good things in the relationship, since living together on an everyday basis inclines to highlight (in ways just dating and casual love does not) bad habits, bad manners, bad moods, and finally the most important factor - boredom. Few, if you may imagine, can be thrilling and exciting, new and wonderful but not all of them. I don't understand why people who are in deep love "just want to live together." Is not the living daily together the toughest part of a relationship or marriage? Does not living apart, even though seeing each other everyday or most of the time, allow some privacy, some ignition and some recuperation from all the time together?

I think it's pretty easy to become attracted romantically to other people but we should not expect that relationship to flower with the sweet smell of success just because of those feelings. I believe that one can relish the feelings of love without even telling the person we love. It's better that way. Isn't it better not to own and be responsible for someone? Was it not feasible if one could tell the other they are attracted to, either intellectually, sexually, romantically, however, about their love and stay smitten by them or to them without thereby seeking or needing to become lovers or have a fuller relationship? The trouble only begins if one freezes one's life expectations or let it ruin because one wants to act unsuitable so as to tamper those feelings or would like them returned. The irony is that the other person might be very pleased and satisfied just to know that you care about them, as long as neither of you behave unreasonably or have unreasonable expectations or demands just because of the attraction.

As we grow older, we may remember more of those fairy tales. Loved ones would leave us, friends and acquaintances would surprise us by appearing again, and those respected tales meant for fairies we imagined as young children of this earthly world may disappear one by one.

Tagged

Well this is my first tag after I crashed into the blog world and made quite a good number of friends. I find myself among intellectuals who I admit have altered how I view life. I was tagged by Nimmy and she told me to add up 10 songs - few from my mother tounge and maybe one another language, preferably Hindi. I did comment her that I may add up all the four languages that I listen to. So here they are. Enjoy!!

Malayalam

* Ponnum Thinkal Pottum
* Akale - Title Song
* Oru Raathri Koodi - Summer In Bethlahem
* Thenum Vayambum
* Thamarakkili Paadunnu - Moonampakkam
* Poomkaate Poyi Chollamo - Shyama
* Chandana Katte - Bheeshmacharya
* Pularkala Sundhara Swapnathil Njan Oru
* Poomaaname - Nirakoottu
* Chembarathi Poove Chollu
* Aayiram Kannumaayi - Nokketha Dhoorathu Kan


Tamil

* Uyirai Tholaithen
* Kadhal Konden
* Partha Mudhal Naal
* Munbe Vaa - Sillunu Oru Kadhal
* Ennai Konjam - Kakka Kakka
* Ennai Kaanavilaiyeh - Kadhal Desam
* Kaadhal Rojave - Roja
* Mudhinam Paarthene - Vaaranam Aayiram
* Kangal Irandal - Subramaniapuram


Hindi

* Dil De Diya Hai - Masti
* Awarapan Banjarapan
* Sheesha Ho Ya Dil Ho
* Akhion Kay Jorokhoon Say
* Tu is Tarah Se Meri Zindagi Mein
* Pal Pal Dil Ke Paas - Blackmail
* Likhe Jo Khat Tujhe - Kanyadaan
* Aur is Dil Mein Kya Rakha Hai - Immandaar
* Tumse Milke
* Dil Mera Churaya Kyun - Akele Hum Akele Tum
* Maine Dil se Kaha Dhund Lana Na Kushi


English

* Have I told you lately that I love you - Rod Stewart
* Because I love you - Shakin Stevens
* Unchained Melody - Righteous Brothers
* Making love out of nothing at all - Air Supply
* The Power of Love - Jennifer Rush
* Karma Chameleon - Boy George - Culture Club
* Broken Wings - Mr. Mister
* Hazard - Richard Marx
* I believe I can Fly - R. kelly
* Tonight I celeberate my love - Peabo Bryson and Roberta Flack
* Sealed with a kiss - Jason Donavan
* Waiting for a girl like you
* Those were the days - Mary Hopkin
* 500 Miles - The Brother Four

The Rape of the Women's Morality by Charles Darwin

Something shocking transpired in Kerala which didn't touch the media antennas nor did it touch the sentiments of the society too much. A two-and half-year old baby girl was quietly taken away from her destitute mother sleeping near a bus shelter in Kozhikode, a growing metropolis in north Kerala. She was found the next day raped with blood secretion from the vagina and injury on her lips. A two-and-half year old baby! Just a two-and-half year girl!! I know that nothing will happen here because the media and the feminists are very busy preparing for the big day. The day in history where they will take the next great leap in women empowerment. They are busy collecting "Pink Chaddis," rehearsing their say on the atrocities by a few goons who disrupted their pub going culture and planning their schedules for a romantic Valentine's Day. I guess the poor destitute souls simply don't have a voter ID and are not simply part of a vehement society that Charles Darwin has created for us. The minds of the people have been drilled in believing that fear of rape is not all about “rape” in the ordinary Physical and sexual sense but it includes all other circumstances where men feel like dominating and reigning women, and using his gender as an advantage to overpower her.

Women look suspiciously at every male trying to be friendly with them on the street. They don't even venture out in the streets alone in the fear that men will rape them. In 98.28 per cent of 581 rape cases registered last year, the "rape" accused were known to the victims and had been interacting with the victims in the normal course of life. It has to be understood by women that "men" don't rape women the minute they see them. The more women try to be afraid of men the more they are being targeted as weaklings. What makes them weaklings when they too have sharp teeth, hard knuckles, lethal elbows and powerful knee joints? What makes it difficult for them to use any one of them when they are being raped? Why do they need to cry out for help and waste the energy and stamina to ward off men in a typical rape scenario? The pervert in me stood to wonder why the "'Man" with an overly excited bulge in his loins did not attack and rub in his masculinity in the nearby sleeping dog? Did it fear the sharp claws of his agile legs?" Did he fear the tart teeth on his precious maleness? Women, I believe should rise up their horizons and bolt out their inhibitions which the society has created for them. The "Amnesia" bar scenario is no exception; it begs me to question why the women didn't call the police and go back to the pub to have their drink? A thought to be considered! Were they afraid that they were not part of the secular and constitutional India? Were they afraid of "Men?" Were they afraid of the media who would label them "Anti Hindu?" or "Anti Indian?"

As we celebrate the Charles Darwin anniversary, a total hypocrite to the extent that he was instrumental in creating the concept called feminism. He invited the wrath, belief and the convictions among a gender which I believe is no inferior and helpless than the so called "Man" he wanted to be called. He hard scripted beliefs in an innocent society and declared that, (Quote) "‘women… constant companion, (friend in old age) who will feel interested in one, object to be beloved and played with—better than a dog anyhow—Home, and someone to take care of house—Charms of music and female chit-chat. These things good for one’s health"

Before his marriage to his own cousin and fathering 10 children he wrote that, "how should I manage all my business if I were obligated to go every day walking with my wife—Eheu!’ As a married man I would be a ‘poor slave … worse than a Negro’ and then reminisced that ‘One cannot live this solitary life, with groggy old age, friendless and cold and childless staring one in one’s face …’


The weaker gender as imposed by Charles Darwin got imposed in the society to the extent that Women have always been presented in literature and even in mythology that characterizes the thinking of groups, societies and nation as submissive and passive, a weakling to the core. Even though the last past years have seen striking increases in the quad usable for women in the Indian society and women in general with the help of affirmative policies and programmers by the government and revolting initiatives by feminists and NGOs the impact has been considerate but not enough to change the views of "men" in general that women is a human after all.

For an ultimate revelation, biologically the women are a stronger sex. In societies around the world the women when treated equally to men have outlived men, and hence there are more women than men in the world. But reverse is the case in India with the census proving that there are fewer women for men in India with the sole exception of Kerala. Every other State had fewer women than men accounting to foetal homicide and dowry issues

Women need to stand up dusting off the age old beliefs of the society and "Darwinism" and emerge strong and confident individuals, in total control of their own lives and able to raise their voices to demand their rightful existence and presence in this world. They are instead asking themselves if the glass is half full or half empty.

Though I'm concerned about all the women in the world in general, I believe that women in India are a deprived lot in terms of personal space and freedom. The India's total female population of India is more than the cumulative populations of Canada, USA and the Russia but still women are afraid to walk the high bridge and show the world that they are no lesser animals. Why were they opposed by the society in encouraging remarriage, supporting female education, and opposing polygamy in the older days? Why are they still to a few exceptions due to globalization coerced to wearing purdahs and hijabs? Why are they still forced to sell their morality and bodies for money to satisfy the male pleasures?


The untoward female to male ratio can be explicated by the fact that women in India are still second class citizens. It is cogent evidence that, at every stage in their lives starting from their gory births the women in general are deprived of their rights and entitlements, and singled out in a variety of ways. Who could forget the legendary Travancore (kingdom of Kerala) decision to impose tax on women for the right to cover their upper body? Who could forget that the Women had no legal or social status rights other than that educed from their stand in the family and could not inherit, except for the poor widow who was esteemed to 'use' her husband's property if there were no male heir, and had few options to support themselves? Who can forget sati? Who could forget that in the past golden era, women were just literary subjects in whom the Vishnu cult fathered narrations, the Ramayana and stories of Krishna devotional songs, with courtly love as a trope, which sported women as heroines and just simple objects and entertainments of desire?

I hated Charles Darwin when I read in his famous research and writings that, "A wife did not aspire to be her husband’s intellectual companion, but rather to amuse his leisure hours." The
The Charles Darwin's "Darwinian" principles of male superiority assisted to increase the secularization and divisions in society

From time immemorial the doctrines and convictions dictated and transferred to boys and girls in the family have created gender differences. Of course I believe that that these are not all mutually undivided singled theories and are innate but are reinforced and exaggerated by the likes of Charles Darwin whose birthday we are very joyously celebrating!!

The Valentine Blues

I got a conscience wake up call today when I heard the "new terrorists of India" a newly sprouted political gang named Shiv Ram Sena who I hate to publicize but have to cite and question their point of view. They reportedly held a press conference to announce that they would be patrolling the streets, armed with "mangalsutra" (bridal necklace). They announced, “If we come across couples being together in public and expressing their love we will take them to the nearest temple and conduct their marriage."

I wonder if they have no other job. Are they all living in a stinky deep shit well to realize that not everyone gets married with a “mangalsutra?” How are they going to assume who is a Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist or a Jain? And since when did they assume the role of our Parents? I would like to remind them some other duties a regular parent does so that they can exorcise them…

1: Restrict easy availability of cheap pornographic material in the forms of books, porn sites in the internet and MMS's
2: Go for legal fights with media and Bollywood for stupid indicatory pelvic dances and suggestive advertisements
3: Fight the drug lobby for easily available drugs

I'm limiting this to only three so that they can easily achieve their goals before the elections and become the new guardians of India.


Have they thought deeply enough about their norms and actions being sensible? Do they know that Valentine's Day is not just celebrated between lovers? Do they know that there are at least 9-10 different flowers given off in a typical Valentine's Day? Let us educate them least they marry off even friends, brothers and relatives

Red Roses: Symbolically red roses convey romantic love and enduring passion. This is the perfect flower to say, "I Love You," (Just read: I love you and we will marry if we like each others attitudes and if our "Parents" agree).

White Roses: Symbolic of purity, truth, innocence and respect

Yellow Roses: Symbolizes friendship and celebration. Used to convey "Let's Be Friends," (Read: Let's be friends and not, "let's wait for Ram Sena to get us married")

Pink Roses: Symbolize admiration, gentleness and sweetness and are associated with friendship (Hope you are not color blind and can sense the difference between "Red" and "Pink"

(Note for the Ram Sena: Any other color, just ignore the couple, you may not understand the depth of human relations)


Let's agree with one point for them, celebrating Valentine's Day is a Western tradition, absolutely no doubt, but in this era of globalization (hope they have gone to school and have heard of it), it has come to be a celebration for men and women around the world. Do they know that the modern Indian morality is a direct result of a variety of historical events?

Let's educate them before the elections: (Source: Wikipedia)


Harappan culture: Paleolithic Age, roughly between 400,000 and 200,000 B.C

Vedic Aryans: A series of migrations by Indo-European-speaking seminomads took place during the second millennium B.C

Kingdoms and Empires: The Aryan and Greek penetration between 1500 and ca. 800 B.C. A two-way cultural fusion between Indo-Greek communities, especially in art and architecture

The Mauryan Empire: Emergence of Magadha in the eastern Indo-Gangetic Plain. In 322 B.C., Magadha, under the rule of Chandragupta Maurya. Ashoka, grandson of Chandragupta, ruled from 269 to 232 B.C. Disintegration of the Mauryan Empire India's unguarded borders again attract a series of invaders between 200 B.C. and A.D. 300. As the Aryans had done, the invaders became "Indianized" in the process of their conquest and settlement.

The Deccan and the South: Cheras, Cholas and the Pandyas frequently fought to gain regional and cultural supremacy.

Gupta and Harsha: The military exploits of the first three rulers, Chandragupta I (ca. 319-335), Samudragupta (ca. 335-376), and Chandragupta II (ca. 376-415) in North India

The Southern Rivals: Peninsular India involved in an eighth-century tripartite power struggle among the Chalukyas (556-757) of Vatapi, the Pallavas (300-888) of Kanchipuram, and the Pandyas (seventh through the tenth centuries) of Madurai. The Chalukya rulers were overthrown by their subordinates, the Rashtrakutas, who ruled from 753 to 973.

The Plunders: Mahmud of Ghazni (971-1030), who was also known as the "Sword of Islam," mounted seventeen plundering expeditions between 997 and 1027. The sultanate was in constant state of uncertainty as more than five dynasties rose and fell.

The Mughals (1398- 1707): In the early sixteenth century, descendants of the Mongol, Turkish, Iranian, and Afghan invaders of South Asia - Mughals invaded and spread their traditions

The Marathas: They were left virtually alone before the invading Afghan forces, headed by Ahmad Shah Abdali (later called Ahmad Shah Durrani), who routed them on the blood-drenched battlefield at Panipat in 1761

The Coming of the Europeans: Portuguese, Dutch, British, and French

The British Empire :( 1757-1947) - Diffused with ample ethnocentric sense of superiority, British intellectuals crashed through a movement that brought Western intellectual and technological innovations to Indians. There mission was to "civilize" India and rule it until Indians proved themselves competent for self-rule. Western-educated Hindu's assayed to rid Hinduism of its much criticized social dilemmas like idolatry, the caste systems, child marriages, and sati.


Now its question time for the Ram Sena before the bell rings and we disperse the class -

Whose tradition are you following? The Harappans, the Vedic Aryans, the Greeks, the Mauryans, the Mughals, the Invaders from the Mongol, Iran and Afghan or the Marathas?

Does not every society celebrate love and desire? What would be there without love and desire? Is the Ram Sena uncomfortable with the great Indian and Hindu poet - Kalidasa who historied about the human torso, desire, passion, sex, courtly love and companionship? Are they ashamed of Lord Krishna, who typified youthful love, desire and attraction? Do they deny that "The Kama Sutra" which is a Hindu treatise on love and sex was not, "Made in India?" Do they believe that the elaborate sexual activity portrayed in stone in Khajuraho was dropped by the UFO's? Was the Hindu festival of Holi which is also an Indian version of celebrating love introduced by the Aryans, Dravidians, Mauryans or the Marathas?

Do not India's ethnic culture, the varying linguistics, and regional complexness set it apart from other countries as an ultimate world civilization, secular and varied in all aspects?

Have not great philosophers such as Immanuel Kant pointed out that, "Love in the ordinary sense of the word cannot be commanded, because issues relating to feelings or emotions are not relevant to moral commands?" Were you not young once with feelings of love, the need to copulate and be wanted in love?

Trust me, Ram Sena, when I say that there was a golden time when one celebrated love in India openly and without inhibitions and the rulers protected it. If you don't want to support just protect it by being a silent bodyguard for the couple while they dream away with their hands enticed and remind them in the evening that it's dark, safely escort and drop them back in their homes and wish them good night and good luck. If "Goondas" like you simply don't have this helping mentality and culture then go to sleep like the Rip Van Winkle and wake up 20 years later to see the 20 year old young generation of the very couples you are very vehemently trying to pull apart in the name of God!

As for me, I'm very much energized by your attitude. I'm going to order for around 100 "red flowers," open up a small temporary shack behind St Theresa's College in Kochi, Kerala, where I'll distribute it between 10 A.M to 12:00 noon, freely to any couple who wants to propose in front of me and be reminded that I'll be there with at least 100 of my friends waiting for you to disrupt them. God created butts soft not just to be comfortable on political chairs but also to be kicked in the ass publicly by people like me. Best of luck and see you there!!

Run Mama Run - Delusional Suspicions

This is a story of two couples who messed up their lives. This is the story of two very educated couples who dreamt a home and a family. This is the story of millions of men and women who loose the faith, the trust and the hope of living together everyday. This is the story of agony, loneliness and fear. This is the story of revenge and delusional suspicion.

Vijayasree Voora married Dr. V Ravi Chandran a scientist in the USA. Vijayasree purportedly did her education from the University of Hawaii at Manoa (1993 to 1995) and the Purdue University (1995 - 1999). Being well educated she worked as a lecturer. The couple borne a child named Aditya. Everything seemed fine until one day the ugly face of egoism showed its face. They decided to divorce but now what about Aditya. The custodial battle in USA was swift and according to very stringent laws in the USA, Chandra was almost made to rake out $ 3,00,000 (Rs 1.5 crore) as an one-time settlement and he was ordered to pay $ 2,500 (Rs 1.2 lakh) per month as maintenance for the child every month. Aditya was allowed custodial of 20 days with his mother and the remaining 10 days with Chandran. Soon Chandran wanted Aditya only for himself and wanted to deny him to his biological Mother. He filed for legal custody by claiming that Vijayasree is mentally disturbed. She in turn accused him of being a pedophile and sexually molesting Aditya. The court but directs Aditya to his Father. Vijayasree requests a month of stay with her child before he goes for ever to live with his father and also requests for a journey with him to India so that Aditya could visit his grand parents and relatives for the last time. She journeys but never returns back to the USA. Dr. Ravi files a complaint for kidnapping and the court issues an arrest warrant in January 2007. Two years have gone by and the Mother is still running and evading an international manhunt.

What makes human beings delusional and suspicious? Why do people disturb their family life by creating illusory ideas? Why do egoist couples make repeated accusations based on insignificant or minimal evidence, often citing apparently normal or everyday events or duties to back up their claim? They also take great pains to test their partner's claim and go to such large lengths to monitor the partner’s behavior and everyday movements, sometimes to great extremes, such as waiting outside the partner's office, checking their incoming phone calls or checking their emails

In most cases of the current child custody drama, the court favors the mother. After all, children do need their mothers particularly at an early age. And this is not to discredit Mothers but I strongly believe Fathers too are significant in a young child's life. When the child custody becomes a conflict and battle, everyone loses on the way to some ego victory - Innocent children, the couple’s future and the whole family's peace. Children need the love of both parents and should never be asked to choose between the two most important people in their lives

On the 2nd anniversary of the escapade, I mull over about their torn lives and remember the story of the wise Solomon who was adjudicating the trail of two mothers who were claiming the ownership of a baby. Both the mothers argued that the baby was their baby. The wise King ordered the baby to be cut in half and each mother receives half the baby. One mother screamed and pleaded the king not to hurt the baby and to give the baby to the other woman. The king thus knew that the woman who cared for her baby was the real parent.

But seeing the manhunt initiated by Dr. Chandra who has even created a website http://www.rescueaditya.org and the way the biological Mother is termed an "International Kidnapper," posted and portrayed as a "severely mentally disturbed" person and some "petty and daily" Mother struggles in bringing up a child posted as video leaves no confusion in my mind that Dr Ravi is the disturbed person. His stupid logic quoted from the website says, "Aditya lived like a prince in father's home while Vijayasree Voora made him a street urchin and gave him a lifestyle of a filthy beggar." is too much to fathom. I just wish that Vijayasree keeps running until her husband understands his folly, gives the respect he needs to give his wife and welcomes them both back with love and an understanding which God imparted to only us mortals.

The "Traditional" Shiv Ram Sena Theory

Imagine a group of people pushing you and thrashing you; it's the worst experience you can survive. The psychic trauma associated with you can last a very disturbingly long time. Some goons did just the thing. A bunch of around 40 self-styled stumblebums entered a pub and lounge bar named Amnesia (Read: not a temple) and thrashed the young crowd there. Mangalore and the rest of India got a shock on the eve of India's 60th Republic day and my friends in America "WTF'ed" when I told them about it. The supposedly founder of this dejected Bajarang Dal organization, the Ram Sena founder, P Muthalik very innocently remarked when questioned about this atrocity, "This incident is just a small thing, its not abnormal. Even if our sisters had done this, we would have acted like this only," The media channel somehow appeared before the goons landed up in the pub and very dedicatedly shot the whole episode without informing the police. I wonder if the cameraman would have done the same if his Sister was very roughly pushed around in front of him. I also wonder if the goons had called up home and checked if their Mothers and Sisters were home and not enjoying a quiet Saturday afternoon in the coolness of the pub with their friends, relatives or colleagues.

I dare these "Talibans," traditionalists, culture-protectors to go to Mumbai and take the ride to Kamathipura where under the pretense of friends, hotel room bookies, and gentlemen, expert navigators will guide you, around the clock to a world of flesh trade where many of their Sisters dreams have been shattered and kismet plays mayhem with many a females life everyday.

The Shiv Ram Sena claimed that these women were against tradition and that these were Hindu girls and that it was not right for them. Now what is right according to "our" tradition? What did they not like in the pub which was not traditional, their modern dresses? Or the lazy Saturday drink?

What does the "traditional" Ram Sena prefer, the traditional Sari, the single six yards piece of cloth, which trust me, most girls are wary of wearing the first time because it shows almost all parts of the upper body which they have never revealed? Or the Choli with a tightly fitted blouse that ends just below the bust which when first introduced was only a front covering with the back bare? Or the churidar which is tight fitting at the hips, thighs and ankles and needs no imagination of the torso or the Lehanga, the skirt tied around the waist and thus leaving the back and midriff bare with only a flimsy "dupatta" to cover the assets?

Are they not aware that custom of abstinence (from alcohol) is a relatively recent culture? The extensive diverse fermentation and distillation of alcoholic beverages produced from fruits, grains and flowers were from time memorial part and parcel of the Indian culture and were a routine in every house hold. Have they not read the lyrical descriptions of ritual fiesta drinking by both sexes in secular literature? Haven't they heard that the abkari (excise) policies of the British colonial government, barring manufacture of alcoholic beverages at homes and transferring authority to colonial licensed distilleries, led to the revolutionary replacement of traditional alcoholic drink in households by factory made beverages? Have they not heard that the nationalist movement against the British rule resulted into mass movements against alcohol toasting as a symbol of colonial oppression?

Shame on you! I label you a terrorist who I define as someone who does not want to live and let live. Shame on you!

Of Surnames, Cognomens and Monikers

I really don't want to be blogged down with the political ploy of the Samajwadi Party and the Congress in the-your-court-my-court-ball-throwing but would like to maintain that no "Gandhiji image" should be given to a twisted mind, a drug junkie and a criminal like Sanjay Dutt. He simply should not be "the one" to guide India in its democratic endeavors. Period!

I was busy all day "googling" up all the famous personalities and their surnames. Following is a small list:

Albert Koch (Einstein)
Isaac Ayscough (Newton)
Johann Sebastian Laemmerhirt (Bach)
William Arden (Shakespeare)
George Ball (Washington)
Thomas Randolph (Jefferson)
Johan Wolfgang Textor (Goethe)
Wolfgang Amadeus Pertl (Mozart)
Napoleon Ramolin (Bonaparte)
Ludwig Keverich (van Beethoven)
Abraham Hanks (Lincoln)
Charles Wedgwood (Darwin)
Charles Barrow (Dickens)
Karl Pressburg (Marx)
Sigmund Nathanson (Freud)
Charlie Hill (Chaplin)
Ernest Hall (Hemingway)


It's not a new information that in western society and in our part of the world the wife looses part of her personal identity (Feminists: Don't curse just read, part of her full name) through marriage as she takes on the family name of her husband. If she's famous before marriage, the family name of the husband usually gets (read: usually) gets ignored. So its only fair to all parties as dictated by reason and conscience to emphasize on the 50% of the polypeptide gene chain the mothers put in the mix to surname immortality. It's believed that the Chinese were the first to embrace surnames to honor their forebears, with the family name placed first, rather than last. Thus, the family or the surname name of Wei-Sheng Sun is Wei. When close knit communities comprised of just a few people, surnames weren't so important. They were simply known as for example, "Jesus of Nazareth". But as each small villages or communities started migrating and the village adopted more and more "Raj's," "Rahul's," "Geetha's" and "Sita's", the need was begged for a way to identify each from the other. In India according to the type of work they did, the Patel's, the Kumar's, the Gupta's, the Malhotra's etc came into being.

Now the names that identify the father are termed Patronymic surnames. Rarely, the name of the mother contributed the surname, which is referred to as Matronymic.

Here's something interesting which was followed until 1900

The first son was named for the father's father
The second son was named for the mother's father,
The third son was named after the father.
The fourth son was named after the father's eldest brother.
The first daughter was named after the mother's mother.
The second daughter was named after the father's mother
The third daughter was named after the mother.
The fourth daughter was named after the mother's eldest sister.

If a widowed mortal remarried (divorce was virtually unheard of) and had children with the new spouse, the first offspring of the same gender as the departed spouse was given the spouse's name. The same was in the case if a child in the family died, and then the next of that gender was given that name.

Isn't it romantic to be associated with your husband? Isn't it still the tradition of a girl joining up a "family" and be colligated with a name? I beg to be differed! What's happening with this world? Is marriage so casual an affair that women feel the urge not to change their names in the passport and other legal documents in the fear that after separation and divorce, it’s a mess changing it back?

Now a so called "traditional" Dilnawaz Shaikh, oops, Sara Khan, oops, Manyata (I simply don't have the right to sing, "alhar mast jawani…" in my mind and imagine the daring camera tracing human anatomies) added to the on going debate between-the-now-wannbe-politician, Sanjay Dutt and his Sister Namarata Dutt, when she told IANS: “If you can't accept your husband's name and family then why marry? And yet again, "Mrs. Indira Gandhi was married to Feroz Gandhi, someone not as famous as the Nehrus. But she didn't fight all those glorious battles as 'Indira Nehru'. And now Priyanka calls herself a Vadra after her husband (Robert Vadra), not a Gandhi.”

Sanjay Dutt said and I quote, “Women should not stick to their fathers' surname after marriage. It is disrespectful to their husbands. They must adopt their husbands' surname. I would have felt bad if Manyata had stuck to her father's surname," Poor Sanjay (The new MCP) had no idea that the Feminists (Sorry dear Mummy’s, Aunties and Sisters) are waiting to hear something like this utter out and that too in front of the media. A dog biting a man is no news however a man biting a dog is news!

Over reacting to Sanjay Dutt's remarks, our ever the more aspiring feminist (sorry again!) Minister Renuka Chowdhury (Women and Child Development) uttered out in sheer disgust, "Aspiring politicians like him should take some lessons on the constitutional rights of women before thinking of entering parliament." This is the same Renuka Aunty who one day on the national Television said speaking of the much one sided (sorry again!) Domestic Violence Act, “It is the men's turn to suffer" and yet again, "We will have cradles strategically placed all over the place so that people who don’t want their babies can leave them there"

Imagine that? You don't want a baby, just throw it away! In my judgment anything that will help palliate the foeticide curse is a good thing, but the quick mental imagery of "improvised garbage boxes" set up everywhere is kind of sickening. A child is a gift and not a dress you throw away if you don't want it. It’s a quiet hushed up truth that the SIFF (Save Indian Family Foundation) receives 200-350 calls from men per week for torture, forced to pay maintenance and for alleged dowry harassment. Of course, there are real cases but all the disgruntled women have to do is shed a few tears in the courtroom.

Women talk about rights, they talk about dignity and integrity and they talk about "being a Man, oops...being a Woman." They blame the Man if they become frustrated with life and the boredom in Marriage. They blame the Man when he comes dead tired from all the work in the office and too much time in the office and is not able to perform in bed. They blame the Man if he has a woman as friend and more the so if she's too friendly to call at home. They blame the Man if he's pathetic in the kitchen and cannot manage the Kids if she's not home. The list goes on... What they fail to understand is that HE is a Man and SHE's a Woman. Does that same Woman treat her kids, a boy and a girl the same? Is the boy in the kitchen, cutting vegetables while the Girl pulls up a jeans and wrestle with other boys? So let's have nature define roles in marriage. The man cannot nurse a child and provide milk but he can give a strong shoulder of support- Emotionally, Socially as a Father and a Man and finally financially, to the best of his ability.

Let not women grow out of the basic sense of ethics and tradition to enjoy the patronage and pamperment of radical women’s organizations, the helpless laws and the biased judiciary and the biased anti-men news seeking media who want to squeeze and rub out every possible drop of sensationalism from the fulcrum of the family. Let's all live together- caring, teasing and fighting, indulging and shouldering each other as we age and fall. God Bless!

Passing Time - The illusion

I wonder as I live my quiet and lazy life in the doldrums as preferred by me about why I don't want to be like others who simply don't know where they are going, or what they want actually in life, and still follow life's paths blindly, sometimes enjoying but mostly suffering so much in secret.

The lady in white was sweating profusely as she hung on to the grocery bag she was carrying. It was no doubt heavy as she kept heaving it from one hand to the other. I wondered about her age; eyeing the fine grey hair line drenched in sweat, she seemed in her fifties with sagging eyes covered crudely with over-sized black spectacles. She was no doubt going home from a long day at work and had been obviously walking to the bus stand after some quick grocery shopping. My eyes shifted to another lady standing beside her. She too was anxiously shifting her glance from one overly crowded bus to the other. Suddenly I found it amusing looking at all the people in the bus stand. They all suddenly looked as if in pain; pain from hardships; pain from carrying themselves in life; pain from life’s disdain and monotony. I thought about myself; I had woken up at 12:00 noon, read the newspaper and abruptly planned for a movie. At a slow pace, I had showered, fed my fishes, locked up my apartment, started my bike and had gone to my favorite eatery where I savored the fish fry with some rice. Stomach full, I had parked my bike near the bus stand and taken the bus to the theatre in Aluva. The film - Chandini Chowk to Chinatown was as stupid as I had suspected but with some slick comedy it didn't matter plus/and the near empty theatre meant that I could swing up my legs over the front row seat and enjoy the visuals added up to my Saturday afternoon time-pass. After the movie, I had slowly walked window shopping and enjoying a smoke to the bus-stand where I now stood looking at people with a far-away pain in their eyes

I guess people were not left with a choice. They just followed the path in front of them. They just did what was required of them to do. They went to school, they went to work, and they married, had children, supported and married them off and then quietly died remembering probably the few laughs they had.

But to me, none of it matters at all. I'm among the best theatrical actors in the world. I wear a smile on my face because I know quite well that no one is going to understand. I know that making others understand makes me feel vulnerable. I know that other people don't care for my petty problems. It of course makes me feel too unimportant for words or for action. It forever lingers in me, reminding me of all those times of emotional solitude. So I smile and joke, try to seek some attention with some sassy remarks, comment on the weather, the upcoming movie and probably of the latest techno-shit available in the market. This I call passing time. But the growing concern is if the feelings or the intensity of my love to certain passing-time lullabies will last for ever. As a small child, I was very often left alone in the house. My Dad and Mom were both working couples and I dived into a dreamy world I built around the books I read. I wasn't lonely. I infact loved the fact that my parents will leave me alone in my dream world and not trouble me with the are-you-studying-questions. But those Mandrake's, Superman's and those Phantom stories don't interest me anymore. Will my current craze for movies last for ever? Will I develop out a new indulgence as I age?

Sometimes when time doesn't pass on I feel the more self-indulgent knowing that in truth, there is always some one to talk to. I longingly look at the cell phone and agnize that I can press those magic dial pads to make a human voice speak into my ear, but I know that I need to get used to my life and the way it is supposed to go. I know that I just need to be that ugly teenager (never revealing my actual age) in out-of-date clothing that is much too silly, selfish and obsessive to care for anyone. But I realize that the current dream is short lived and the harsh daylight will seap in through those blinded curtains. I know that one day I’ll open up my eyes to see myself old and an empty house and world where I wouldn’t even have anyone to share my dream with. A strange pain will envelop me and I’ll try to close my eyes and dream again but I know it would be lost with the memories of time and with desperate eyes and a meek voice I’ll start talking to empty walls....

The New Year Dilemma

The New Year never has woken me up but I have always heralded and waited for it and this year was no exception. A small group of close friends gathered and banged our heads and glasses together and wished "ourselves" Happy New Year. Days after the "great event" which has transpired into a dream I wonder, what is this, "New Year" Celebration which has no purpose. Christmas signifies the birth of Jesus Christ. Diwali, one of the major festivals in India, celebrates the return of Hindu God, Rama, to his birthplace. Id - Ud – Fitr celebrates the end of Ramzan, the Muslim month of fasting. Why New Year? Why is it that, only on the 1st of January people remember last year's failures and look forward to the horizon with the dreamy promise of a new year, of a new beginning? Is this celebration a result of more than an accident in the occurrence of calendar or do people just want to pacify themselves that the past has ended?

It is well known fact that the ancient Roman calendar which at that time had only ten months celebrated March 1st as the 1st day of the New Year. The calendar was made keeping the cycles of the moon, beginning in spring and ending with autumn cultivations. Soon the Romans divided the year into twelve lunar months by adding the months of January and February. The New Year was declared as January 1st by the Roman Empire but this wasn't accepted by the general people and they persisted in celebrating it in the month of March only. The Change in the celebrations happened over time when the Romans convinced the world that January 1st (8th day from birth) coincided with the circumcision of Jesus Christ who was born on the 25th December. At that time circumcision was common since all basic religions like Christianity, Islamism and other Paganist religions all originated from Judaism. Little did the world realize that Romans worshiped God Janus who had two faces, one looking forward and the other looking backward. January was named after this Roman God and it gave a thought to the Romans to establish January as a gate to the New Year. It also related to the earlier "new year"- March which was related to Mars the God of war. March was the original beginning of the year, and the time for the resumption of war- A beginning. Even in Astrology, Pisces, constellation between Aquarius and Aries represents two fishes swimming in opposite directions. FYI- Pisces the twelfth sign is death and eternity!

I'm always a supporter of a beginning and an end. There should always be an end to everything. We all need a change of view, a change of contemplated reason to thrive in this world; to be happy! But do we need to wait for a beginning to put up an end? Should we wait till January 1st to put an end to something and start something new? Across the world, the most "recited" resolutions are, 1: Losing weight by healthy eating, and 2: Be healthier by going to the gym and smoking less and drinking less. Everyone just wants to become better people and be "happy". People just want to enjoy that sense of intention, accomplishment and pleasure that one feels when achieving values and keep proving that they are not failures in life and there exists a "new year" when they can change themselves and "out-prove" themselves.

There exists an age old belief somehow drilled into our feeble minds that, "What one does on this day, one will do for the rest of the year." But what is the purpose of making such goals, declarations and resolutions? Why just bother? Constructing that New Year's resolutions (and even more doing so after failing last year's resolution vow) stresses that ordinary mortals like you and me just want to be happy. You are happy!! Think about it, you are; it is that you have moments and are afraid what the future will bring. What people fail to realize is that everyone of us is in control of ourselves, never are you a victim fated by your own God damned circumstance, never controlled by some stars and your bull shit astrologer, or for the matter owned by luck, but in actuality, you are a normal mortal who can make choices to change your life anytime and anywhere. You can learn and study whatever you want, ask for that bloody promotion and make money, fight off your shyness and propose to that pretty damsel or look up at the world. Your life is in your own hands.

So my dear's, wake up and look above these idiosyncrasies and enjoy life!

Happy New Year! Happy life! Welcome 2009…

My Christmas - The call await

My Christmas passed ever so quietly as it had begun. On 24th December, when my watch beeped 12:00, midnight, I was busy typing and editing a colleague’s resume to be presented to the Client. Almost alone in the office, I looked out of my cabin and noticed a few heads aligned with their monitor screens. I mushed down the narrow alley lined with cubicles on both sides and pushed my way out into the surprisingly cold night. Dragging on the cigarette butt, I looked on the road below and noticed a greater ply of vehicles. Everyone seemed to be traveling and rushing home. Suddenly I longed the warmth and nostalgia of wine and cakes, of toddy laced "appam" and beef curry and of relatives rushing in and rushing out. I thought about the last time I had gone home for Christmas. My Dad had a tear in his eye as he welcomed me. My Mom as usual stood in a nightie with a sweet smile and a thousand candles shining on her face. My Sister as usual remarked, "we thought you will not come" and as usual my younger Brother stood there in the corner excited to see me and I imagined him already making plans for a movie out together and a chess game in the night.

I angrily threw away the cigarette butt as it burned my hand. I hadn't noticed it burn away as I stood reminiscing. I sighed into the night and moved on, back to my cabin. I had to finish the work of formatting the resume. At 2:00 A.M, I was ready to call it a day. I switched off my workstation, gave the Gold Fish some fish food granules and quietly hushed them a "Merry Christmas" as I sheepishly switched off the light and walked out into the cold night.

Driving my bike back to my flat, I couldn't help notice the fancy paper Christmas Stars shining in basically every house on the way. Most of the houses also had fancy blue and red lighting. They looked so warm, so full of Christmas tidings... Even I had put in a star and decked up my door with Christmas decoration paraphernalia. My star was red but was with a lot of "designer holes" This probably was made to permit a lot of light to emit out of the star but looking from far, it was more "whitish" than red, so I bought some transparent red decoration paper and pasted it neatly all over the star. I remember looking at it satisfied when the paper star had become the enigmatic look alike celestial body I wanted it to become during the night. I stopped on my way to the 24/7 bakery and ordered for a coffee. I swear the coffee too tasted like "Christmas". I eyed the brown plum cake on display and ordered one too. There I sat on the cold steel chair and wished myself, "Happy Christmas"

I woke up in the afternoon on the 25th of December, pulled myself out of bed and as usual angled to the door where "The Hindu" lay orphaned. Still eyeing the headlines, I moved to where my cell phone lay muted and as usual my heart sank when I saw no, "missed calls". No one had called to wish me Christmas!! I dialed up "Home", Mom picked up; She reminded me that it was Christmas. I said a sorry. She suddenly said that there are some guests and requested me to call later. I then called my younger Sister settled in Bangalore, wished her and her hubby Christmas and hung up soon as she was busy in the Kitchen making lunch. There, my job was over, my Christmas "morning" over.

A bath later, I decked up with whatever good dress I had, drove and stopped outside the now closed church and tried praying. All I did was, think about the good old Christmas days. A few minutes later I was driving to the best restaurant near my house. The waiter, eyed me suspiciously as I ordered rice, a plate of chicken curry, a plate of mutton curry, a plate of beef curry, a plate of prawns curry and a fish fry. He glanced reassuringly at the purse and the bike key on the table and asked, "single plate rice?"

After the "grand" Christmas lunch, which was half wasted, I went for a movie. A regular Malayalam flick. I noticed that the theatre was full packed and that meant impatient child bickering, irritated baby cries and the regular chips/wafer packet messing noises. But that's the sacrifice one has to do if you need to watch a new movie before its released on VCD. Reaching home and after a long refreshing bath, I relaxed down on the recliner in the balcony and watched the sun go down. I held the phone dearly near me and waited for a call on Christmas day

My star shone ever so brightly in the dark night. A slight breeze pushed it back and forth and the red light danced into my eyes. I kept staring at it as the mystic luminance filled my soul. Suddenly a continuous, deafening sound of crackers filled my ears. I traced the sound to the sky which had suddenly become red, green and violet. I kept my gaze and wanted to miss nothing. Soon it was all over. I looked at my own red star and picked up the phone to call everyone on my almost full phone book since they simple didn’t remember me on Christmas day. The time read: 12:01 A.M 26th Dec 2008. I jolted up from my relaxed reclining on the chair and looked again. The time was right. I had slept off and finished my precious Christmas night by gazing at my red star and waiting for a call on Christmas Day...

Of Dark Clouds & Silver Linings

I wonder as time refuses to pass through my life with the quickness which I expect it to: about time, about life, about boredom and about depression. I wonder why I normally treat these feelings by finding new experiences and new nuances by seeking something new everyday, every time. I'm always being encouraged by my mind to do, to get something new. I'm dead bored. I'm feeling the time so definite, as every second throbs on the veins of my temple, more the so since my T.V sparked out almost a month ago. Ever since I've moved my furniture twice to change my surroundings, cleaned my house practically everyday to do something worthwhile and have been depending on whatever stupid VCD movie I can hold my hands on to view on the 15 inch computer screen.

What kind of process is this and where is it leading me? What is it doing to me? Is it slowly making me less and less tender and sensitive, less and less self content, and less and less able to feel the gusto and zest of being alive? The incorrigible truth now faces me that more and more of my current life is going to become boring if I continue to follow this trend in passing my time. I've noticed that the most cherishable thing is the absolute one thing that I want now, at this very moment. But of course, I've acknowledged that it is never the same for very long, it changes and keeps changing. No matter what I want, once I get it then I don't want it anymore. It bores me. I want something else. And if I don't get it, the desire for it lasts and lingers in my mind but soon the inevitable happens: I will want something else. Craving like this for something is as I've noticed, ever faithful to its object. The thirst for something else, never for what I've already in my life. This may be why I'm getting bored always with anything and everything. It doesn't matter how occupying, interesting, engrossing or fascinating it is, I'm always getting bored with it.

I feel that the sensory stimulation of this kind is just like a drug. The more you have of the stimulation, the more you need. Smoking ten cigarettes one day, you may soon need twenty. One may drink perhaps two cups of coffee; soon one may need four to get exhilaration. I can speak from experience - I like white rum. The more I drink, the more I need to get a kick the next time. It is the same with everything. As long as we need stimulation, be it the movies or anything else, we will always feel boredom and we will always need something else everyday and every time. I must break away from this obsessional craving for something new. It's just a habit. It's just a habit. It's just a habit. Period! A conditioned reaction of the mind.

Depression is more perplexed than conditioned boredom. Depression, I feel is not associated with wanting something different every time though boredom may take you to depression. Depression is a heavy dark emotional sensation, usually related with sadness and a total sense of despair or being a total failure in life. It's like a dark, heavy cloud over you where everything seems gloomy and hopeless and leaves you with no energy or mental euphoria. When I’m bored, energy charges up to do something and works around to be relieved of the boredom. But when I’m totally depressed I simply fail to raise the energy, I loose hope and never enjoy anything; it's all so much overwhelming that I simply feel like sinking. For me, emotional troubles, such as a failure, or a relationship that went moody, or simply a strong criticism from people you fathomed that you respect, be it a close friend or someone you look up to, can easily bring me into a state of depression. I usually don't react with anger but tears usually fill up my eyes and threaten to brim over and I begin to think that perhaps they are right and a feeling of low feeling, a sense of hopelessness takes over and the coming days are lost to the dark clouds which engulfs me till I find a reason enough to push them away...

Loving Neverland

Neverland is a beautiful, imaginary island and a cherishing world featured in Peter Pan, the boy who simply didn't want to grow up. Neverland is a place for immortality. People like me just want to close their eyes and let imagination take you to the place where dreams come true.

People are so the more independent now and just sometimes need only a shoulder to cry on and sympathize. While people still continue to share with each other about their lives, they become hostile whenever they conveyed a problem and someone tried to "help". They interpret the "help" as the lack of trust in their ability to "conquer" the problem. Their attitude completely turns around once one begins to just "listen" and cheer them on.

Today's men have been pushed out of child-rearing, and the children are expected to connect through their feminine crowd. Today's women raise up a wimpy generation of boys and girls who are blissfully unaware of the damage caused to them by getting validation only from women. They are obtrusively punished for, or entirely prevented from, attempts to reclaim or develop a masculine heart. The true masculine soul is not abusive, but strong and protective. Inarguably, men have such broad shoulders for a reason. Don't you think Women are drawn and pulled towards men who have this character of strength and passion under self-control? If women reject this, they can keep taking up roles that are exhausting, depressing, unfulfilling, and even detrimental in the long run, while they go on considering men as incapable enough to raise and love kids. Of course the makers of those helpful anxiety drugs are, in fact, relying on them to do so.

Young children and men have fewer opportunities to acquire and evolve courage and self-reliance without the hovering dominance from their Fathers. Moms steal their sons the basic ability and nature to fight their own battles. A kind of "manly" battle-practice, they basically need for the future to make their wives and families secure with confidence in their leadership.
If men in the truest sense are not initiated by their Dad's, they sometimes (Read: always) mistakenly make the woman their adventure and seek validation of their growing masculinity from her. Ironically, the average woman and Mom's don’t want to be the adventure, she of course wants him to take her and their woman partners on those adventures. I must contend in the thought that it makes it quite difficult for a couple to surge forward when their ownership of one another is not founded. But women have to first give the men a chance to prove themselves. There is always instances, be it the alcoholism, his flirting adventures, his inability to make money (women love to compare) or simply other "feminist" doubts or "stuff" to deal with that detracts and takes away the thought from a unified step forward. If the women must continue to pursue life and adventure together with the quest of the ultimate "compatibility" and of "mutual possession", there will be no time (or energy) to seek the real adventure together.

Women should hope to relish the wonderful things that "could" happen when they "get out of the way" and trust men with the passion and strength of their masculine hearts. Of course women are free to enjoy their own best feminine hearts and the forbidden fruits of which have gone desired too long but at what cost?

Farewell Outcry

Who doesn't like the realistic dream of a romantic two-day love rendezvous? But perhaps the real reason we dearth the thought of waking up from the dream is something much more subconscious - We probably don’t want the feeling of being dumped and consider ourselves complete failures in life!

I would like to begin with the declaration that true love never ends! The feeling that ends as sordidly as it began doesn’t have the right to be called “love”. People fall in-and-out of love every time and the concept of falling in love is merely a process of love being thought, but not quite developed yet. In fact, “falling in love” causes individuals to have emotional and dramatic outbursts than love itself.



Yes, we loose something along the way including time but this “something” is not love. Yes, there is of course a depressing feeling of emptiness, as if one has cut you in half. One becomes someone "without" that other person who has become important to you and the pitiful conditional thought that it’s your soul mate who is lost, and everything is over is over whelming. As in the case of the blissful rain; as soon as the first rain is over, we shriek out: “It is over! It is over!” But in reality, nothing is over. There is more and more to come. True love is always in progress, there is more and more of love to come and experience. Everything starts from passionate infatuation, romantically increases, mysteriously becomes deeper and rebelliously stronger with the eyes of the society around.



I want to justify that true love is the power to let the person go, i.e. not to interfere and intervene with the partner's life if he or she doesn't so desire. Real love is simply the ability to let go. What does it imply “to let go?” It implies to let go lovingly, with due respect, psychologically, emotionally – at all levels. You have to determine what's important for the loved one, not you, to be happy now and in the long run as the partner understands it, just let it be. The partner will be grateful to you till the last days his/her memories live.



If a partner has left us, and we sit back and wonder, “Will he be back?”, “How do I get him back?”, “What if I try to speak to him again?”, "Should I keep pressurizing him to stay?", that means that we love our own feelings for that person, not the person himself. This is simply put a disturbing disease not only of our very soul, but of our spirit too.



I would like to justify to those who are in the "convincing" love scenario and are departed or rejected that while your partner can farewell you, your kismet and destiny cannot. If a person has willed to bid farewell to your life, that means he’s not your destiny and is never meant to be. Your destiny will never simply leave you and won’t leave you.I’ve had adequate romantic blow apart’s to gather that they are never really easy, even if at some point you can get past things the depressing roll of events, and become “friends.” I know that there is no proven way to breakup, but I conjecture that there can be a dearer way - definitely better than being hurtful, tearful, deceptive and being downright cruel by making the partner feel so disgustedly wary of loving again.



I’ve now finally arrested my farewell blues with the person whom I was in love with sometime ago. I realized that the situation has faded and lost its urgency and charm. I reckon that only memories are left over in the shallow parts of my mind. They are sad, and some sweet but mine and mine only. I realize that nothing belonging to my former beloved can unsaddle me since I wished her no harm and let her go. I thus discovered that true love doesn't die! Love is a beautiful feeling which you can cherish and must keep (sometimes hidden), care and nurture, even after farewell. The only egress is how to find a use or a cast for this love is something different….

Kalashnikov's Love

For three blood seeking nights, a small group of about 12 young but highly-trained Islamic militants trained purportedly by the Lashkar-e-taiba managed to transform India's economic capital, Mumbai into a war zone, killing randomly at will and hunting foreign hostages while holding off crack commandos of the NSG, the Indian Military and the Mumbai Police. The "young boys" struck two luxury hotels frequented by Americans and British nationals, the Taj Mahal Hotel and the Oberoi Trident Hotel as well as the city's largest train station, the Metro Theater and the Cama Hospital with automatic Ak-47 rifles, grenades and a couple of Kg's of RDX

Little did the Russian brain child of the AK-47, Kalashnikov's automatic - Mikhail Kalashinov realize that the assault rifle due to its durability, low production cost and ease of use would become the ultimate killing machine in the world - so much, so that more AK-type rifles have been produced than all other assault rifles combined and is basically assembled and produced in all countries (Read: Poor countries). After the Soviet backed out from Afghanistan, the Soviet Army left huge quantities of AK-47's which were then eventually used in the civil war between Taliban and Northern Alliance and were also exported to Pakistan. The gun is now also made in Pakistan's semi-autonomous areas and is widely used in South Africa. Behind the busy garland-makers market in Pakistan they say there stands a row of gun shops where racks of Pakistani-made AK-47 assault rifles, await buyers at 7000 - 9000 rupees ($ 140 - $180) a piece depending upon the age and scratches on the gun. The heavy trafficking in Ak-47 along the Uganda, Sudan and Kenya borders is so booming that the cost of AK-47 assault rifle has dropped from 10 cows in 1986 to two cows today.

The origins of the human weapon use can be traced back to primates hurling rocks. No one clearly knows when the world's first slingshot was invented. Perfecting the art of hunting for their suppers, our forefathers must have graduated fairly quickly to shaped stone weapons, like arrowheads, and other lithic tools. The story could go on from there with the invention of firearms, bombs and so on, but then things get pretty frightful and dismaying with the invention of nuclear bombs. It sometimes surprises me to note that the arms and weapons race must have begun with some of our pissed off forefather tossing a stone to kill and eat.

Now, why do we need weapons? Read: Why WE? We now live in the hi-tech era where all wild animals are contained in modern zoos and specialized parks. The nations are no longer in the business of conquering and making kingdoms and hence need no weapons of mass destructions. Is it not feasible for a body like United Nations which is a global association of governments facilitating cooperation in international law and security to ban all new production of any kind of weapons by any country and start the destruction in a phased manner of all the existing handguns, rifles, shotguns, AK-47's and of course all those grenades, fighter planes, warships and everything existing under the sky built for combat? When there is no new production and all existing weapons removed from the planet, what do people fight with? My best guess is the thorn on a rose stump!! An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.

Sleepless Death

Something which was celebrated last week on the 20th of November has rocked everyone’s senses in these financial depressing times and the new age belief of the riches of Dubai grew new roots. The $1.5 billion Atlantis - The Palm was opened up by, hotelier and gambling tycoon, Sol Kerzner who made his money solely from evading taxes in South Africa. As a developer of gambling resorts, he has been investigated for corruption a number of times, none of which has resulted in a conviction. This was made in the man-made island, Palm Jumeirah which is shaped like a palm tree. This 1.5 billion dollar hotel was inaugurated with the most expensive private party in the world at a cost of around $20 million, and one-off private beach concert by Kylie Minogue. Miss Minogue just with 10 songs and a mere 45 minutes performance, pocketed a cool $4 million (Rs. 20 Crores), inarguably the highest paid per minute performance by a singer ever. The guests, 2000 in number included who’s who of anyone and who is anybody, from supermodels to actors, to royalty. All were given off a cool 4 day stay and a return flight from where ever they wished to join up. A spectacular firework display was the word around which included a release of radio-controlled rockets from all the rooms in the hotel and 226 floating structures covering almost 40 locations in approx 27 miles of water along the palm like design of the island.

Now let’s look at the figures. The cost of the hotel is almost one billion dollars - approx Rs 5000 Crores which is only half the cost of the total provision for the National Infrastructure Highways Development Program (NHDP) in India for the financial year 2008, which also includes the road-cum-rail bridge over the Brahmaputra at Bogibeel, Assam.

It would come as a surprise to many but there are only 497 billionaires in this world (approximately 0.000008% of the world’s population) and almost two in three people lack access to clean water and who survive on less than $2 (Rs. 99) a day, with one in three living on less than $1 (Rs. 49) a day. We have to consider that a dollar will buy the same amount in all countries and understand that if an average person in a poor country who lives on a dollar a day relocated to the U.S. with absolutely no changes in their income, they would still be living on a dollar a day. Now, another interesting factor - Almost 80% of humanity lives on less than $10 (Rs. 499) a day. The suites in Atlantis costs $25,000 - $30,000 (Rs. 15 Lakhs) Dollars a night. Ironically, according to UNICEF, 26,500 - 30,000 children die each day due to poverty. So if one person can survive on $1, did Shahrukh Khan who hosted a party with the likes of Hollywood's biggest names - Robert De Niro, Wesley Snipes, Kylie Minogue and Charlize Theron at the Atlantis Bridge Suite which costs $30,000 a night kill 30,000 children who keep his crumpled picture under their heads while they sleep?

But who cares? Many eject out due to a minute of lust and they die ever so quietly far from the prolonged look and the conscience of the world. Just being spiritless and weak in their miserable life makes these dying multitudes even more unseeble in death.

Maturity Blues

I really don't know whether there is an abstract theory that considers if age should be considered a factor for maturity or if there is a theory that assumes that the amount of responsibility which a person can handle can be called maturity. I safely doubt that a few years difference can define a person's attitude or approach to maturity. Seriously for me, it’s simply my myriad and infinite character traits that dictate and define my mode. I could be mindful and an "adult" one spurious moment, and pissed off, jejune and sloppy the next. I guess and very true in the olden times a man (not woman) is outlined as mature if we don't consider his infantile or adolescent idiosyncrasies till date by his material possessions or his level of education and the successes he has had in his life. Now, one thing bemuses me at times. Do women actually know that they mature at a different rate than men? I believe most women need and would desire a man as close to their age as possible, as close the men can be like their Fathers, of course not in subjective to their age but in contrast to their characters. They firmly hope that this will mean they will have more in common what they actually loved about their Fathers. They also believe that this will increase the chance they will share whatever phase of life in which they find themselves to be. But frankly speaking, if they hope to find a man the same age and with the same maturity level, then I feel sorry for them. Really sorry! I wish to intimate them to choose between the chances for common tastes, say for example - for music, movies, fashion or for common goals and a certain maturity level.

An individuals varied profile at different moments and instances in his lifetime can be such an interesting sketch of who a person really is. I usually find so many of them to be just captivating and yet sometimes down hysterical. Yeah, I know that this will sound like an old guy trying to charm younger ladies but I'm going to put it out there anyway and speak my mind. Guys mature much slower than women. The women need to accept that and stop cribbing about it. It has been true for time immemorial and nothing much can be done about it. I believe that there are four factors that be considered in maturity. Of course the first and least maturity level, children, who basically define right and wrong in terms of what an elder tells them. The next important factor is very typical of people in their teen and of course here you will find a bunch of people who tend to hold foundational beliefs with right and wrong on loyalties, commitments and dedication to their family and friends. Thirdly, my favorite is the third level of maturity wherein an individual comes to rely on societal, universal and defined ethical principles of life, such as the principles of justice, equality and empathy that impartially considers interests of all persons. Finally, the twisted- mind maturity which considers the people altered by religion, dictators and the societal cult thinking.

It’s unfair to omit the considerations of the women’s point of view. Now, they are more concerned than men with conserving good relationships with their family and friends, and with downplaying hurt (whom they care about, of course - women are women), which is the 2nd level as discussed above. But men, usually look at the moral part - impartial empathy (to all), equality and such as characterized by the third maturity factor. So by assumption women appear to reach the third and the most mature level much less often than men and are less morally developed than men.

All said and done, end of the day, maturity as I believe is, the argument that the other person must be comfortable like your own skin and be able to meet the primary family and social/community commitments expected of you. The serenity to accept what is demanded of you and the ability to change for you but the wisdom to know the difference. Confused? Even I am...

Pseudo Love - A face in the fall

I had a fresh bout of depression this week. One of my previous girl friends got married this week. I know that I need to be happy about it but the fact that she didn't invite me for the event dug into my soul. God knows that I loved her and would have married her if her family was okay with it. I really don't understand why women are like this, they love you tons and hugs a minute and the next minute they escape even your name. Is it something to do with the society, the embarrassment or is it something to do with an attempt to forgetting the feelings of love, and forgetting those heart throbs that she experienced when in love. I used to call her the "blue eyed girl. Nah, she didn't have any blue eyes; she was the regular black eyed village belle trying to prove it out in the big city. A girl with a lot of hopes about finding an understanding man, a man who could give her a lot of freedom, a man different from the usual village MCP's and a man who could bear her children. She was born into a family which had very strict values instilled and drilled into their children, a family which didn't buy a T.V for the fear of corrupting the growing minds. I don't know what she saw in me but had evinced with expressive hands a huge rock, a boulder. She felt that I was one silent rock on which she could sit and watch the sun set.

Every time it's like this. I fall in and out of love. Every time, I feel optimistic that this time, I and a girl will connect and it will be the start of something wonderful. Initially, it seems to be going well. The conversation flows with the freshness of young rivers, you laugh together and you feel all excited and interesting but as days go by, there's no call, no email, no SMS. Finally, you take up the phone and call her; there is a space and a deafening noise of the ceiling fan or the noise of the T.V or a sudden intrusion of a friends call. This has become such a predictable event that I've grown to become a little less humiliated and a little less hopeless.

Looking around I discover that the most depressed and disgruntled people that I see are either married, or formerly married or have a live-in relationship. Though I don't want to say that the reason people get married is because they are weak and seek out stronger people to cling onto and feed off of their energy but this is the true nature of humans and parasites. Understanding marriage is becoming very difficult as time passes by. Sometimes, I find it to be completely unneeded and the source of more troubles than solutions. And I realize time and again that nothing makes me happier at the end of the day than being alone with myself and my own thoughts, living my own life and being responsible only for myself. Why do I need anyone else with me to say something or do something just to upset me and disturb my thoughts? Why don't all those married people out there that think they are happy, just realize that all one is doing is raising someone else who will grow up and have his own life and end up ruining and controlling someone else?

A cat that’s caged in the four walls of a house and never let out will generally live longer because it can only look out on a world it can't enjoy. There are no risks, only comforts - of security, of routine food but as we see it, there is no life. A cat which was born in the street and lives out in the open will generally live a shorter life. But, maybe in so living, it experiences much more of what life has to offer, good, bad and adventurous. So, who precisely should I pity more?

Of Misty Hills and Leeches

The last weekend had been quite different from my so many previous ones. I journeyed. I know that's nothing special but people who know me near would stare back hard if they hear that right. I'm so used to the coziness of my four walls that travel means back pains and unknown beds. The destination was the impressive hill town in Tamilnadu called Valaparai. The little town nested among cloud kissed mountains and thick lush forests is also famous for its blood sucking leeches hiding among rich green flora and fauna.

After the night work on Friday, Saturday morning at One’ clock, I found myself rushing home to prepare some tit bits to eat on the way. I had bought some freshly cut chicken pieces in the evening which was then fried and a lot of carrots, onion, tomatoes and cucumber to cut for a salad. In 3 hours all was packed, the chicken into 2 casseroles and all the salad into a big container.

As usual everyone was late and this time even the booked Tempo Traveler was late. We had planned to start at 4:30. Suddenly as I waited impatiently with my fully packed bag and the eatables I felt sleepy and cherished my ever inviting bed. I just wanted to snug in and sleep as usual late into the day. I cursed the friend who invited me, the mosquito circling me and myself for agreeing to join them on this long unpredictable journey through steep winding roads and dangerous animals.

Soon, we were all locomoting towards our first destination - Athirapally, around 80 kms from Kochi, perched high above in the Sholayar forest ranges on the fringes of Kerala's famed rain forests. We picked up the pr-ordered packed breakfast from Chalakkudy and hunted for a calm stony waterfall bed. The breakfast concluded with a photo session with smiles and all the fancy cooling glasses out. Suddenly everyone wanted to be photogenic. Our next stop was in an open space near some short scintillating waterfalls in the thick green forest towards Sholayar. Out came the glasses, the Vodkas and the Brandy's. Out too came out the towels and the colourful lungies. Perched on the depressions created by the refreshingly cool water now flowing over us and the breathtaking forest around us we started the drinking binge. Soon the Antakshiri and the laughter followed. I guess the leeches saw us happy and they stuck. Quietly they stuck and soon they were everywhere and on everyone. Mysteriously the leeches ingest blood with the help of anti-blood clotting enzymes in the saliva and even if they are removed, the blood keeps oozing out. Anyway, a lot of salt sprinkling later everyone settled down.

Afternoon saw us in Valaparai, our hotel- Hotel Green Hills. Once we reached the hotel, with stinking and dirty bathrooms and everything from the walls, floor, sofa cushions, bed spreads, and pillow covers being so unclean and a few cockroaches in the corner of our room, all we wanted was to check out of the hotel right away. But our tiredness saw us running for the shower and an hour of sleeps delight. A hotel like this in a place where nature’s pristine beauty is all around – what a contrast!

The night disappointed us by pouring down buckets of water. Valaparai is called the Cherapunji of the south. The rain soon stopped. We had hoped a campfire but the rain and the forest officials posed a challenge. The wild animals were more important than the fun we could have had so we humbled and huddled on the terrace of our hotel for a night of Antakshri and clanking glasses.

Next day, we all woke up to the sound of trumpets and drums. A temple stood just a stone throw away from the hotel and Sunday was typically a marriage day. After 5 marriages it was time to rush into the cold bathrooms for an equally cold water. A refreshing breakfast followed and we were on our way to check out Valaparai.

A few regular tourist stops later we were back into another of those inviting and enchanting water ways. The whole country side is punctuated with large and small waterfalls that gurgle and splash down the mountain side. The water was colder in Valaparai. We lay and relaxed back in the splashing and gushing water till afternoon till the call of the hunger evoked us. We got and dried in the sparkling sun. This was heaven. But soon something else happened. Lying 2 hours in the rushing water had its effects. The shivering feet could no longer hold me upright. Despite keeping each step carefully, I slipped and fell not once, but twice! I fell the first time and got up immediately. And again fell right away! That got me a little scared but many hands grabbed me and guided me to the warmth of the vehicle. Valaparai awarded me my first bruise this year, a trophy on my forehead but I definitely didn't regret it. Curious faces peeped and wanted-to-be-doctors applied dettol and band-aid. Soon all the excitement died down and the prayers started going to the cab drivers who painstakingly made their way back to Kochi through one of the most dangerous high ranges in South India. Matters were made worse as the heavens opened again and it bucketed down. Nevertheless, we reached Kochi back safe at 12:30 amid rain and all that welcoming traffic and civilization which we tried to escape a day before.

The charm of the nature cannot be described by words, the empowering mist kissed cloudy mountains, the enigmatic forests, those gorges overhung with trees, the enthralling waterfalls and those mysterious blood sucking leeches make Valaparai not just calm and sweet, but something wild and natural.

Blinded Ego

The average mortal does not know what to do with this life, yet he wants another one which will last forever. The realistic face of truth is everywhere but it's possible to hide from the truth by masking it. But hiding behind the mask of ego and the false excitement or the feeling of greatness which it creates, we delude ourselves into believing that we are what we project ourselves and we love the joy and the feeling of having ‘fun’ even though we are suffering from insecurity and uncertainty. There is utterly no constancy in the happiness of ego.

What seems to be the reason that people get so angry? I'm not a doctor, nor am I accredited to diagnose anyone, but many people who are angry, suffer from some dose of low-self esteem. Of course it doesn't even appear that way on the surface. It's evident that they are unhappy with themselves or with one aspect of their lives but they have created a front end image for themselves and believe that they are not being credited and respected.

Sometimes our egoistic thoughts can be a source of great motivation i.e. you judge yourself as a genius, and you are convinced and confident about doing anything in the world. But does that also make us stubborn if faced with a difficult path? At the same time a high internally egoistic mind can often lead us to dismiss the sentiments of other people as we are very self-absorbed and respect others view points. It's said that - "The person who is self-centered is the most loving of all." Thinking about it more and more I now want to believe that it could be very much true. Don't you think that the human being loves the fact that others also love themselves and instead of calling them selfish, he admires and respects their self-love? Moreover, just like he doesn't mind the flaws in himself, he also ignores the flaws of others!

External ego can be a mixture of the position you have achieved in life or the podium you stand in, i.e., age, your accumulated knowledge, experiences and character. Maybe all this contributes to an egoistic belief that we certainly need to be treated in a particular way. They feel that people need to respect them. Examples can be seen most at the work place, relationships involving successful spouses etc. Over time this egoistic mask becomes your reality.

Having said this, the thought is actually a double edged sword. People thinking too low of themselves can suffer from want of self-pity and a total loss of confidence. We should definitely mix and develop ego with compassion and empathy. It feels good to stand on a stage and feel for the person who wants to be you and not be perturbed and distracted when even a small thing goes out of order, or is not according to our anticipations. I guess we should just believe in time!

Naive Cynicism

My birthday party rocked. It gave me wings. A time well spent in the company of friends. For the first time, I was able to recognize the faces of friends from a length. I learned that my world was not the only world. That my time was not the only time. Their lives were remarkably so different from mine and yet it was heartening to see the glint in the eye of a smiling friend when he was happy and enjoying.

Each party, significantly, occurs in three temporal phases, and this is one of its most prominent features. Anticipation, then of the actual event itself, and finally of recall which then becomes a source, spur, and stimulus for the next party in the future. Permeating in us over time, emotional as well as the perceptual and the rational and that in which we actively participate rather than passively undergo. They simply dwell in us and are, without reflection, vacated by us for whatever comes along next. They involve no processing over time, no learning of values and attitudes. It's blindly incorporated within ourselves with no firm emotional, physical, or intellectual investment, and no conscious reflection. They can, indeed, barely be called experiences. They use up the clocked time but add a lot of richness in our lives.

This year, a lot of people forgot my birthday including some of my dearest friends. There were ones who used to be the first to call me every year. Not this year. Not even a SMS. This is the first time in my life that I actually messaged people to inform them and remind them that it’s my birthday and they should wish me. Hahahha. I know it sounds pathetic and weird but I feel that it brightened up my day a little after doing it.

I opened up the balcony door in the morning a day after my birthday to see if the world looked any different. My purposeful observance excited me by being able to find beauty in the most intricate detail and the abundance of open space. A sight in which the tiniest detail became a visual feast and the awe-inspiring beauty of open spaces was shown to me with crystal clarity for the first time in my life.

Suddenly I realized that my apathy has absolutely nothing to do with the lack of ability to band together, and my cynicism has nothing to do with a lack of ideals. I just probably feel defeated. The energy is there and the support has been there, but time and again it’s been shut down, nothing has changed. The self, me, as I’ve come to comprehend, is a very tight web of reactions that I hold onto because it’s all I feel I've. I could easily get rid of it if I so preferred to, but then what more would I've?

Birthday Blues

Hmmm, today I determined to scribble down or rather type something. Ironically could never really get the time or rather no topic clicked well to key in. Still, I had to break the sabbatical too. I don't know if I should be felicitously happy or if I should be dejectedly depressed since my birthday is fast approaching and I'm getting older. I remember those sweet childhood days when birthdays meant new clothes, ice-cream and lots of toys. I loved becoming the "birthday day" boy and since my birthday falls every year on Gandhi Jayanti (Oct 2) - a holiday, and so that meant no school and all play. My Mom (God bless her parted soul) very dedicatedly crawled onto my bed in the morning, kissed and hug me as she sang, "Happy Birthday." She then oiled me up, had a tussle with me if I should bathe myself or she should soap me up and then dressed me and sent me off to invite all my friends for the evening cake cutting and the party. Oh, I miss her and those days and tears well up as the clock work of memories cloud my thoughts every year this time of the year!

Inevitably the stupid time passed us all by. Things changed in a snap. Some slipped into the dark holes around me. Time never hesitated; moment by moment, life changed.

And now my life here, at the fullest is so formed up and hectic that, hesitating as I move forward at such a noticeable milepost in the path as this great birthday which I fathom it to be, I supposedly want to glance back on the things that never were, as naturally and full as critically as on the things that have been and are long gone, or have been and still are? Possible? If it is a good reason to be so, and so it dares and seems to be, must I naively come to the sordid ratiocination that this stupid life is little better than a dream, and little worth the loves and strains that we crowd into?

Anyway I struggle my way nearer to by birth date in search of new beginnings and yet often wary some. A very isolated part of me wishes that I should jump with joy on cue as I age and someone will wake me with hugs and kisses. But, no, I fear that I'm not actor enough for that. And again as I announce my birth date to the world, I'll smile. What I can do I'll do. And, who knows? Perhaps what I can do will surely be enough.

Dreams & Angels

And yet again, I started dreaming of Angels this week. Through the night I aroused and sensed that I picked up subdued whispers. I peeked through the heavy curtains of my room, past the shadows to a quiver of lights. The neighborhood smelled like a thousand marshes reeking in the sun and the night suddenly was filled with a thousand howling dogs. On an impulse, I quietly covered up my nakedness and without switching on the light tiptoed out of the front door, scrambled up the stairs, crouched beside the terrace parapet and peered into the darkness, my heart thumping violently.


A sight so awing confronted my eyes and for a moment my body benumbed. There they stood in a circle, seven Angels in all, all their scales glinting in a blackish shine with their squirming action. They held burning torches that seemed burning obscure silhouettes. Suddenly the moon faded as if hurt in pain, and the dark clouds dissolved to tears as the gates of paradise violently closed. All wet by the pouring rain I looked on as the night continued to loose itself in endless howling of a thousand dogs.


Soon they laid down their fire torches, now extinguished and threw them down. I watched in horror as the moon suddenly came out and I noticed the snakes around their white flowing robes. I suddenly realized that the fire they held earlier were actually serpents. Abruptly the inevitable happened: I coughed.

A silence engulfed the night and suddenly I heard the flutter of a thousand ravens and found myself lifted into the naked night. I struggled in pain as the claws cut into my bareness and I soon found myself falling with a thud among the snakes. I attempted to yell and place myself upright but noticed that the snakes now coiled around my arms and ankles and disgustedly across my mouth.

Then, as the circle closed behind me, with me sprawled fully naked in the center, I heard chanting. They stood there singing and chanting. There was the vibrating sound inside the circle like a thousand angels, singing, chanting the music of a thousand hyenas. A state of being carried away by overwhelming emotion, rapture?

After some time, the full serpent circle began to disperse. I blindly looked around me. The world looked different. The surroundings looked different. They were different. It just didn't feel different, it was different. I suddenly heard drums. How could and from where could I hear the drums? Surely someone was drumming. Surely someone was dancing around me. Surely someone was around me. Suddenly everyone was different. What had passed? As I stood watching, a shadow suddenly came over. The shadow put his hand on my shoulder and asked me, what happened. For an instant I remembered what it was like to be with the warm earth, the cool sky and each other; living. It is the happiness of that reminiscence that I feel. The shadow shook his head in complete agreement, comforted and patted my shoulder as it walked away.

The 7th Heaven

It was one of those instances where the cosmos opens up, where the infinite and the finite meet for a charming and magical moment in a lurking, passionate, cosmic kiss. An instant that descends down to you from the glassy clear star studded sky like a flimsy, parlous bubble stooping down on a moonbeam. Its beauty you accommodate in your hand in awe and with the fondest of touches knowing that if you even dare to look away, the moment might be lost.
The moonlit waves pounding relentlessly against the massive rock that rose like a giant out of the surf. The sweet smell of the enigmatic sea hung in the air. The air was chilled and calm, pregnant with a halo of illusional beauty. It was a moment that you relish, a moment that you respect, a moment you arrest in awe, in heavenly worship. You talk in subdued voices about deep feelings of the soul. In the instant where the abode of God and the angels and the earth connect, you hush yourself adequately to hear, to view timeless existence with your own eyes.
It's a cherished instant that the soul interconnects to the bottom self, deep down - the deep that calls out with a mournful sound as it dashes upon the rock. The apparently infinite, realizing its finiteness as it stretches itself upon the moon drenched rock. The deep that echoes from the infinite expanse of the moonlit sky, elongated from horizon to horizon, extending back through the ageless expanse of the universe, yet approaching to meet you in that instant, in that moment, at that time.

It was the cry that vibrated and echoed from the giant rock standing firm for eons against the hammering surf, evidencing to an obstinate strength beyond imagery. It was the cry that thundered to me, rich with pain, a spirit of their own. It was the cry that beckoned me in the expanse of the silvery moon, spattering all around, softly gracing the view with an enigmatic, yet mesmerizing glow.

It was the cry that rose from the interiors of my own soulfulness in that instant, that pined, that screamed to unify it's sound with the deepness of eternity, the depths of that very moment, the sounds that performed around me, echoing against the watery grave an eery, sympathetic symphony that grew louder every minute.

I trudged back through the sand with a heavy heart that I've left the witching instant at the base of the lonely rock, under the moony pounding waves, under the shelter of the stars. I knew that nothing lasts for ever, yet in one last salvo of magic, I see a celestial star freaking through the moonlit heaven cueing me that I should not always cherish myself in magical instances, but the deepness of eternity are never far away.

It's so strange to notice how the continuous nonspatial of the soul works, how the arousing realism can so well melt into dreamy realities while the unconscious soul creeps it's way into life and beliefs.

Cognitive Masks

The shadow slipped away from me, as the sun continued to dive into its pit. It seemingly mocked me to follow but I was in no mood to play. I stared down at it till it vaporized with the burying sun. I don't know why I always get caught up with the illusions of my relationships and I forget that everything that I see in others is simply my own shadow. I don't know why I see myself in them as if in a mirror, reflecting my past and my issues back to me. I find it so hard to accept this verity because when I relate to other people, my reflection is often masked through a smoke screen full of my emotions. My outer projects smoothness, but I know that the calm exterior is my mask, ever-changing and ever-concealing. I wear hundreds of masks, masks that I'm unwilling to take off and none of them are at all me.

I start with the thought that the people around me have remained the same and then one day I find that they are not the same. Even among people subjected to only a slight change I felt that the change was not purely material. I see them as through a bleached misty glass which feigns their facial aspect with a sort of fogginess and they expose what they allow me to observe as if it were life-size, though in reality it was far away, not in the sense of space, but, basically like being on another shore wherefrom they had as much difficulty in recognizing me as I them. Some assay to smooth out, to extend the whiteness of the soul, disowning the piquancy of menaced dimples, suppressing the resistance of a smile condemned and unarmed, while others, realizing that their beauty had finally bygone, take refuge in expression, as one compensates the loss of the attractiveness by the art of choice of words, and hang on to a haughty grimace, to a smirk, to a pensive gaze, or to a smile to which muscular unskillfullness gave the appearance of a mask.

Emotions flourish no longer than roses live, and unlike the roses it flowers in the dead of winter, emits a sort of faint foul smell, and dies before the summer sets in. It may be true. In this view there is room for every love except for the reversed creed of love, the mask and cloak of waterless despair; for every joyfulness; every sorrow; for every dream, for every hope. The ultimate aspire is to remain true to the emotions called out of the bottom of our souls surrounded by our friends, our relationships, our bygone loves, whose countless numbers and awful distances may move us to laughter or tears. The success in hand, however, is to keep these reminiscences from turning into confessions

Time bought my way: daily obligations, new impressions, old memories. I've noticed that it was not the outcome of a need - the famous need of self-expression which impels me as a hidden, blurred necessity, a completely masked and unexplainable phenomenon.

That past brims me with weariness while exchanging conversations, for it links with those imaginings of my past which seems the most cherishable and inaccessible. I console myself by masking myself but my past relations with other beings are magnified by dreams more ardent and with complete hopelessness with which my day opens up everyday, so entirely exiguous, narrow, mournful ribbon of a despised and unloved intimacy in which I discover no trace of what had once been their enigma; their always-wanted fever and their loveliness.

I'm petrified that my own mask is already so hidden beneath me and I don't think I'm so strong enough to retain my past that has escaped back so far. If at least, time takes pity and allots me some, I wouldn't fail to bond it with the chains of love, the scarcity of which nests itself upon me with so much force today occupying a place in time infinitely more important than the curtailed mask reserved for them in space, a place, on the, contrary, elongated boundlessly since, simultaneously touching widely separated years and the distant durations they have lived through, that they stand like giants immersed in time and I cherish that I lose my memory and be born again.

Bottled Poison

I lay back amid the advancing and the receding waters basking in the 5:00p.m sun. There was virtually no one around as people find no more the enjoyment of the enchanting but the slow boring beach when compared to the visual images of colorful moving objects in the T.V screen these days. The water kept kissing my feet and secretly threatening me by incessantly removing the soft sand beneath me. A few nearly naked boys played football with seemingly empty coconut shells, giggling and rant with all the pulling and pushing. My thoughts rushed back to my own childhood. My old memories, those carefree times, that innocent childishness. I know that I'm late, late by so many years. I grew out of my childhood, my youth but never out of my memories and they continue to linger with me, sometimes mellow, sometimes afflictive with the associations which have gone away from my life. Some dead, some lost with time.

A sudden spray of sand into my eyes jolted me into reality and I grimaced and sat up rubbing my eyes in fear. I felt a soft hand and a pleading voice intrude my space.

"I'm sorry, I'm very, very sorry"
"what the fu__?"
"I'm so sorry, I..I'm wearing slippers.."
"Oh, shit," I spluttered, now spitting some sand too away from my mouth
"My feet...I was playing. I'm so...so sorry"

I felt the warmth, a soft lingering smell of feminine deodorant and the jingle of innocent bangles. Someone was now blowing into my eyes and rubbing my eyes with a softer cloth which held it. I blindly searched for the bottle of mineral water beside me and slowly stood up to wash my burning eyes. Slowly the lightness returned around me. I twitched the shutters of my sight and invited my trouble maker into my eye. A wide eye peeped into me and a smile broke into laughter. At the same moment the sun came out brighter, radiantly glowing her up. Her now golden hair laughed with the oceanic breeze and her twinkling eyes hallowed with the evening sun. Mystified I looked on. She was clad in a plain dress of blue chiffon with white delicate laces. She frolicked a nipped-in waist, loose neckline and free flowing swing skirt which bounced around upon umpteen layers of petticoats in time to the playful shakings of her head. Her full lips, perfectly heart shaped, were delicately moist and her eyebrows, pencil thin, recently beauty parloured.

Suddenly, the sky opened with lightning and the thunder overwhelmed the graceful capering of our moments. She dramatically looked up, crossed her arms petulantly across her bosom, as a sudden chill engulfed us. Rain appeared out of nowhere and began to moisten us slowly as if in a sweet domestic bliss. Our eyes simultaneously enjoined to a shack just by the beach and our feet carried us in unison.

The low roof of the shanty was cleverly placed above a long flat boulder dug deep as if from time immemorial. We sat gratefully. She bade up her long welling skirt and assayed to mop my mane. Sheepishly I no-no'ed her endeavor but her rebuke bowed my head. She lent herself too the aid as I attempted to be disinterested. Soon, we were watching the rain through the horizon created by the frame of the low roof shack and trying to escape the droplets cleverly making their way towards us through the feeble thatch.

The sudden proximity of warmth affected us both and we attempted to seek the corners of the stone bed. I could almost smell the enchanting aroma siring from her hair which half perched on my shoulders. An unmistakable spell lay upon us both and the pleasures of subservience shamefully encroached us both. I fished the corner of her eyes attempting to seek mine and the genesis of the growing heat in her body

Suddenly, my thoughts rushed upon my reality. They pricked the past and vomited it out. A sort of apology arose to my lips and I walked out in the relishing rain amid calls of a feminine soul


It's a legendary cliche to say that love is a juggling act, but there is some trueness to it. But to become responsible for another human soul casts your life out of balance.

Mystic River- The Awakening

The American Independence screamed on Friday and three goring holidays cut into my life. I determined myself to eject out from my room on Saturday and plotted an adventure. An adventure to dwell on my loneliness but in a place afresh. I had heard about the singing of the birds in the watery graves of Kumarakom. I wanted to sleep with them and be lost in the vast silent voidness of the night, far-off tinkle of the stars, and the cries of the birds muffled in shadows.

I eagerly packed up my bag in the evening with a torch, some candles, a binocular, the remaining white rum, fresh towels, a wind cheater, change of clothes and a knife. A knife? Aha, I was sure to be caught by the police and discovered as a terrorist. Soon (2 hours later) the bus took me to my destination. Night fall took an another turn as the people in the small town were either in the local coconut infested toddy shops or were already abandoned on the doorsteps of the multitude of cheap foreign liquor serving bars. I coaxed a reeking boat owner, clanked a cheers, listened to his be-safe advises and finally landed myself in the middle of the swelling river.


By now I could barely make out distant objects; the surrounding water showed dimly-mistiness around and beyond it arose up a sullen glum darkness, which mystically kept moving up frighteningly closer in huge masses every moment. The few tiny stars glimmered and twinkled back at me mocking me. I moved towards by the helm of the boat and settled myself. A tiny night-bird, flitted noiselessly near the water on its wings, almost flapped against me and scurried away in alarm. I pored the dark water and the shyness with which the startled creatures of the night ducked away into the water in reception to the yellowish light of my torch surprised me.

I now deferred to be like them and eagerly piled all my clothes on to the drier surface of the freshly cleaned boat. My mind raced with dark thoughts of slithering some things and I knew that without a clue how to swim I could simply go down deep into the watery grave and could lie there till water first filled up my lungs and my stomach and the bloating caused me to arise for the laughing world to see. I held on to the rope tied onto the railing and lowered myself into the frigid water devoid of warmth and cordiality. The silver light flew in remotely through the hollow moon. Groping on for dear life, I had the loneliness and freedom that sings. It made me light and gave me wings.


It all started suddenly; they started chirping together – slowly at first, and then in high pitched tones before rambling down again. Like semi aquatic and terrestrial species the massed voices of the frogs joined up in a strange four-part harmony, falling and eerily rising. Darkened leaves devoid of love collected around me. The night came alive with birdcalls and in the midst of the tantrum, the din of screeches and whistles, some kind of bird whined deep into the night and the low lying leaves suddenly started shaking. I frantically searched the commotion around me and panicked. A sudden movement around my legs saw me splashing away everything around me. I had enough; my frenzied body urged itself up but halfway up the boat my footing began to slip and my legs began to shake. Fear gripped my soul as the terror reigned but the future has other plans for me

Trembling and cold, huddled around the rough towels, I fumbled with the cap of the rum in the bag and drooled the burn. An owl over the nearby tree blinked her weary eyes dejectedly, and gave me no sensible advice. I felt myself disgraced in her eyes and dried myself desperately.


Dried and pacified I lay back on the boat and lit up a smoke. I unwound into peace with the faint occasional rustle of the reeds on the bank, swaying lightly as the ripples reached it. The hardly detectable, faintly shimmering light of the stars, were asleep with downcast heads and I fell into a state of weary unconsciousness, which passed into sleep while the owl looked on.

Of Ghazals and Rain

I wake up from my deep slumber and dislodge myself from sleep's tired embrace last Sunday afternoon and with puffy eyes still closed I besought the remote for the usual ghazal, pump up the volume as I no longer wanted to hear my solitudinal heartbeats and dragged myself out of bed. It is the same as always; brainshitting - reminiscing and watching the sun melt into the horizon with the lullaby of the ghazals. I open up the balcony door and solemnly eye the grumbling rain pit-pattering on the road below. A sudden howling wind greets me with a shiver flaunting its new found friend. The ally sprays me with a greater force as if in protest and kissed my bareness. Nevertheless, I tug up the cushions, repose back on my recliner and inch toward the clearing to prop up my lazy legs on the rails. Glinting through the rain streaked balcony, my eyes greet the blurred view of the neighborhood veiled in thin blue mist. It looked all dull and gloomy, like the insides of a woebegone theater on the verge of collapse. The dampened glow of the sun, creeping from behind a flock of dark angry clouds was gearing up to signal the end of the day.

The coldness of the pelting rain battered my bare feet and I felt better to be punished so. Suddenly I longed the warmth of my already warm bed and the solace of my pillows. It will not be long before the world around me comes alive with the home bound birds and light seeking moths. I stretched out my arms and dared to catch the manna from the sky. The cusp held the water and stole the warmth from my now shivering arms. I watched in amusement as the rain water spattered into my cusped palms rhythmically matching the tempo of the tabla featured in the hollering gazal. It soon brimmed over and trickled down my shoulders. I now made bold my adventure to sustain the water in my palms. Not much of a plot but finding things appealing, I prepared to surrender my time, my patience, my strength; something I did more out of the absence of a better choice than need but I wanted probably to prove that I'm worthy of a worldly dedication.

The care of holding onto the few drops of water beat into my graying heart, clueless of the approaching darkness concealed behind the deep orange rays of sunset. Suddenly just like the sudden surge of life from the extinguishing candle, darkness mushed down. I longed to let go of my foolish endeavor and end it all. "Why was I acting this way?" I mused, taking apart my thoughts. Normally, nothing could work me into such a state, especially not on a lazy chilly Sunday. However, there I was, half-frenzied. Thoughts and many minutes ticked by.

My worse fears came true. A swarm of blood seeking mosquitoes started to assault me. The protests of my tummy joining in the cacophony of the neighboring rumbling tin roofs. My now aching arms started to shiver ever so lightly. A large moth fanned closely by my ears. And, eventually, the unavoidable happened - my door bell began to ring. I begged it to stop itself and the ringing in my ears to disappear. The persistence continued. Cursing the intruder into my space, I let go. I just let it go. I simply had to let it go and the water rushed out of my palms as if it saw heaven.

I opened the door and peeped out dramatically. Anger seethed on my face which evaporated as my eyes fell on the visitor. The annoying neighbor’s 5 year old sweet daughter stood on my door step holding steaming coffee and some hot cookies. She shyly held it out and sheepishly spurted out, “Mummy; Mummy said, Anil chetta has exams and the sound of the music is too loud.” I fumbled, “oh, sorry” and rushed inside and cupped the mouth of the screaming ghazal man.

Our love life is like this. We try to hold on to love as much as we can but so many external factors trouble us every time. We strain, we lie, we act, we impress but one day we wake up and find that intimacy is not really there anymore. The relationship (romance, lust, emotions) does not satisfy us anymore, and what we finally end up with is not what we really wanted in the first place. All we have is 2 self-centered individuals seeking self-satisfaction. The ingredients of true/genuine love and intimacy cannot be obtained "instantly," and one finds himself in an unbalanced state, searching for harmony. Sooner or later, halfway into the relationships we build walls around our selfish hearts to protect us from anyone on the outside getting in to hurt us. But that same wall which keeps all the people out, keeps us stuck inside.

A relationship never last long on emotions. The only apparent reason we try to hold on to a relationship/a person from a kinship that has ceased and long ended is because none of us actually really like to see ourselves as failures.

Soul's Hermitage - Compulsive Objectivity

I just don't know if it is freedom of coming out of my bathroom stark naked and walking to my bedroom or if its the lazy waking up at 11 A.M in the morning or the total control of the T.V remote or simply doing my own thing in life which fascinates me but it really sucks. Loneliness for me is believably a mixture of self-pity and that missing feeling of being with another - someone to hold you and share with. There are times when the house is a comfortable prison. There are friends who keep telling me how concerned they are that I don't go out much beyond shopping etc. However for most of the time I think I like it that way, and find pressure to socialize quite daunting and I don't know whether I would want to change things. I have even stopped going to weddings as I feel a physical pain and an urge to seek a mate. I prefer to just lock myself at home rather than go out and see couples enjoying being in love. Most of my friends have vanished and are on the verge of drifting away and my social life has vanished too for no one seems to want to ask a bachelor to functions with couples. Actually I find this difficult myself as everyone seems to be in pairs and I have suffered painfully in these situations to the point of feeling so isolated that I have become tearful. Fortunately I do have a couple of close, loving and faithful friends who make all the difference. They visit, and ask me over on a regular basis, they phone and text me daily which is all really lovely and very comforting.

I haven't been a loner all my life. But recently I've become an "empathic sensitive" and I perceive, sense, and feel things about people without trying to do so. I think I just "know" things. I simply feel them. Some or all of my sensory perceptions go beyond the normal levels into the highly sensitive or even ultra sensitive levels. My nervous system gets overloaded easily from receiving too much stimulus from others and so I need a lot of time alone to recoup my energy that seems to get drained daily by others. I need hence to spend 50% or more of my time alone, depending upon my sensitivity level with that individual. I feel that I've to almost live a hermit's lifestyle due to their ultra sensitivity to the world around them. You feel easily overwhelmed by this too much stimuli, and I tend to overreact to everything when this happens. I miss others, yet feel reluctant to accept invites to go places, and struggle with accepting them. I don't need physical love but emotional love I need and miss it dreadfully. I can wear my multiple masks in the plentitude company of others and just "smile" but returning back in my room the tears just huddle down and I long just to be hugged, to have some tenderness. That is definitely a big miss in my life.

I gave away almost everything I owned when I moved to a new flat and it was a lot. I wanted a new start. No old things to remind me of myriad past but a funny thing happened on the way to my earthly solution. I came with me. Now, I know it isn't furniture or pots and pans or the clothes that makes us what we are, it isn't even the heart that beats in us. What makes us what we are, are our thoughts!

In all, if you have lost someone special to you, regardless of reason, they say the best thing to do is to live well. If you're the one who was wronged in parting, it is the best revenge, and if you lost someone through no fault of your own, it is what they would have wanted for you anyway.

"I will go in quest for my soul's hermitage."

"And stillest birth. For oh, I crave and thirst."

"To hear in soundlessness man's fanatic protest."

"Against the destiny with which my soul is cursed."

The Fall of Angels

A darkened sky, the day that laughter died, I fell swiftly into night haunted by a sinking portent and in a quest for a city sunk below. Tears dropped like shards of glass in streams, like holy sinners, swept within me to fall in with the forsaken. Midst dark wet mists with awful fearing shadows I made bold a threshold. As the bright moon with silvered fingers played on my dreams that were too cursed for the day, I suddenly witnessed the snow flake fall that started it all. The visions coined like a furious searing heat which had knelt to kiss. A snow white line of divine freaks, in riot or in lust, they fell...

While I watched without revolt the play few beasts permit as if a circus lurched in, an act of promised delight, a tangled web of thirsty spun. Half naked in seemingly burial gowns they formed a formless white void stirring as in an invisible reproduction, they multiplied clinging together tenaciously and started swelling into a giant cluster; a fleshy shape with dark spread raven wings gyrating provocatively in a frenzied passion in an act of love swollen with life.

In the flighty chaotic darkness, curled within the silver womb, wrapped in the very wings, I saw a wounded creature dressed in grief. It arose with a deep cry which threatened to tear the night and came towards me. She suddenly held my shrouded hand, lifted and winged me deeper into the night.

The flight into oblivion reached the rocky clearing by a river bed. Her face shone like the now lustrous moon. She was beautiful. Her pitch black wings placed us lightly on the smoothest flat rock and collapsed. Hurt, debile and lame with dark blood spurting she looked at me with pleading blue eyes. The raven was sure to die with the sanctity of sin to rival hell. And with the most horrible, vile noise for something so lovely it implored and prayed for blood for seven nights of survival.

Reluctant though I was, a vale of dreams that it would seem I lowered myself on her lips. I felt no pain as the raven ate my tongue and the warmth returned in her body with a quiver

I now pace alone in a void for the dead overwhelmed by woe. And here, I've aged so lovesome of dread that I blaspheme is heaven

Enigmatic Darkness - Dry Rain

A crescendo of sensitive passion and bleeding love rain on the stigmatic reflection of darkness

Abruptly, the perplexed sun wanted to take to her heels fearfully, fast behind the fleeing clouds. As darkness prodded and couped the daylight painting my world with sudden stigmatic darkness, woman became fear and fear became woman. She screamed out unexampled disaffection, pulling even the firmest trees, uprooting the trembling minds, revolting with her lightening as the black dark wasting world stood static in sheer paralysis. I shut my ears with my filthy quivering hands, deafening piercing cries of my feeble heart with the eyes forming the river of death. I wanted to stretch forth my ugly unforgiving fingers and swallow myself.

It suddenly started to rain lashing on my nakedness with gladness afresh with pain. It found bountiful sores burdened with dark rubble treasuring the love. It started the rinsing and tenting hoping geneses. Bloodless stigmata embalmed on the primeval mass as treasured chaos vented the flesh drenched in fornication with a thousand years of terrifying silence under the stare of the waxing death-moon. The lightning whispered my name with the black candles dancing to distant music drowning past their flickering lure to the stigmatic darkness while the vigilant mud pushed me out of the tomb. I now lay among my rotten flesh helplessly succumbed by the riders of the night. The neigh of the horse, a throttle by the rope, I attempted to burden myself the pain and the love but the weight proved dense. I lusted for the wind and the flurry of leaves but they abandoned me with a laughter from high above.

The darkness in my eyes and the rapture in my screams sucked dry the ebbing wound. Even the moon didn't lend me her light and the darkness served to choke my life. The incessant pall of death surrounded me but this is not the part I wished to breed and I know that there will be no more death thereafter. I merely wished to stir the hearts of the wisest and the fools I wished to help and I hoped that my Kingdom doesn't feed off with their slaughter...

Awake in Quietus

I wonder if I can backwash into consciousness that I can tap into. In my mad rush fearing timebuffeted by currents so powerful that completely loses a sense of myself, I find that finally there is nothing but stillness. Through the still darkness there remains a flicker of light - Soft and lambent, calling on the strength and intensity I've long sought. I close my eyes fearing to see the violet light of the Oracle, whispering to me of things I've always known and have formerly doubted. Is it the time to season incandescence, to touch the fleeing wind and to delight in the seasonal change of seasons?

I sneak a look into the future with awaiting breath and cloudy eyes my destiny- Time stopped, the world faded away, my senses collapsed and the ropes started to fray. The warmth of knowing, gradually magnifying burn through the bonds and threatens to lead me astray.

I see the rotten worm crawl out of my soul grooving its way and creating dents and escapades for the incoming love. How will my soul weigh itself? How will age measure my time? Or am I to quantify time with age? Will my soul forgive my mind in loosing the time? Will my soul want to contain my rotten carcass with time? Or will I just lie awake in my quietus and experience the euphemisms of death?

Dance in the dark

Misconceptions of my delusional madness under some strange bewitching!

A dame in long flowing gown beckoned me once again. Dumfounded and stupefied, I bumped her at the horizon of desires pitfall. A creature different any I'd ever seen. She stood hallowed with a strange blue light as if to blindly follow her in her path between life and nirvana.

I walked forward as if the very pitiful and miserable shadows themselves had carried me. A soft trace of pale moonlight lightened her trace and seemed to dance all around her. Allowing me to be adopted in I now looked down upon my chest, and suddenly noticed the indentation that had been marked upon her. I saw what the creaturitic fairy had in her hand that seemed to have eluded and escaped some tme past. A simple orange ribbon much unlike the one I lost to the complexity of situation.

She turned back to stare at me with stern eyes like ice as she called forth again as if to follow. A chill broke my trance. The wind culled up and seemed to carry everything into a spiral. I found myself lifted up but unable to fly. I struggled and gasped and began to plunge for the sharp rocks below.

The heart that would seem so queer to the multitude of people but right in my eyes. It in itself appeared only to wish to go more nigh to this creature. Outrageously as if to guide my own deliverance. Mutilated, maimed and wounded, all I wanted was a place to place and gather myself and wait for the dawn.