O'er Sands Have I Searched For Your Footprints
In The Winds Have I Followed Your Scent
I Have Pried Into Vaults For A Sight Or A Hint
I've Imagined Emphatic Assent
In The Depths Of The Seas Have I Tumbled
Over Lofty Heights Have I Flown
Into Rocky Caverns I've Stumbled
And Yet Where You Are, I Don't Know!
I Now Find Myself Deep In The Abyss
I'm Battered And Down On My Knees
And The Fathomless Void Clearly Tells Me
It Aint You That I've Lost...
It Is Me!
The month-long A to Z Blogging Challenge 2018 is finally over. And what a month it has been! It's been a month of sleepless nights, eerie thoughts, imagination running wild, and yeah, even numb nothingness. But hey, the feeling of great satisfaction after successfully completing the challenge far exceeds any other emotion.
Last year had been mentally draining as well, largely because of my starting out pretty late. In fact, last year, I actually finished the challenge about 15 days late. This year though, I consciously made an effort to start out early, and managed to prepare drafts for about eight posts way before the challenge actually started. I think I was able to complete the challenge on time only due to this reason.
At the risk of coming across as boastful, I must honestly tell you this - for someone with a full-time job, sitting down to write after getting back home from work is no mean feat. This is how my routine was for pretty much all of April - I would wake up at around 7 am, read and leave comments on about 6-8 posts of fellow-bloggers, leave for work by 9 am, come back home by 9 pm, have my dinner and sit down to write at 10 pm. Since most of my write-ups were unplanned, I usually had to stay up till 1 or 2 am to finish my posts.
Needless to say, I managed to stay motivated because of the help and support of many people:-
My Wife - My wife is the person I need to thank first and foremost. It's not easy for someone to patiently do all the work at home single-handedly, while her spouse spent all of his time staring into a laptop like a zombie. My wife has been amongst the greatest admirers of my writing, and for that I feel blessed.
Fellow bloggers - Not many things manage to keep you more motivated than peer pressure, and my fellow-bloggers did their job very well. When you see your fellow-bloggers taking pains to put up their posts in time, you instinctively tend to push yourself to put in that extra bit of effort yourself. I would like to thank:-
Ashwini - for helping me with ideas for posts, for constantly motivating me and for being very generous with her comments
Anagha Yatin - for religiously visiting my blog and providing postive reinforcement through her comments
Suchita Agarwal - for her thrilling (and insanely funny) detective story
Smsaves - for her wonderful, wonderful poems and stories - she has earned herself a fan for life!
All those Instagrammers who allowed me to use their images with my write-ups.
And finally, I would like to thank BlogChatter for championing the A to Z Challenge and thereby providing bloggers a great platform to showcase their creativity.
Shifting in his chair a wee bit, the Zealot twiddled his thumbs and stared blankly at the wall in front of him. When an idea finally popped into his head, he cracked his knuckles and lifted the screen of his laptop. Then for the umpteenth time that day, he once again realised that the idea wasn't good enough for him.
His wife barged into the room with a defeated look on her face. "You've been sitting here like a gargoyle for the past hour or so. Aren't you gonna help around?"
"Gargoyles are creatures, they move", he shot back.
"No, they're largely sculptures....but you're right, maybe even they might move...you though..."
"Bah! You're not helping me out here. Once I finish with this, I'll be free", his voice was full of promise.
"You know how much you've missed out on this April?"
"What did I miss?" There was finally some curiosity on his face for the first time this evening.
"DJ Avicii died...apparently suicide."
"Oh God! When??"
"Le Professeur...Arsene Wenger made an announcement of his stepping down as Manager of Arsenal FC after 22 long years...are you really an Arsenal fan?", she smirked.
"HE DID WHAT???", he almost dropped the laptop in agony.
"You missed paying the credit card bill."
"YIKES!"
"And here's worse! You missed our anniversary!", she raised an eyebrow.
"April?", he chided her, "I know our anniversary is in October. Good try!"
"OUR FIRST MEETING ANNIVERSARY!!!", she barked.
"What the...", he responded, completely stumped.
"And guess what...", she folded her arms in front of her chest.
"What?"
"It's not April anymore...it's MAY! So you've technically missed your deadline!"
"NOOOO!!", he squealed, and began punching the laptop's keys like a man possessed.
"An EGG?", little Martin asked with a bemused look on his face.
His mother rightly sensed that it was more of an exasperated scowl than a look of awe and wonder. "What, you don't like eggs now?"
"But you told me there would be magic", the tone of disapoointment in his voice was hard to miss.
"But this IS magic."
"An EGG??", he repeated, wondering if his mother had missed the point.
He looked at the egg, holding back tears of disappointment. The egg, a faint pink, was placed in an egg cup, which sort of resembled a tripod. If anything, the tripod was the only thing that seemed interesting to Martin at this moment.
She smiled, hoping he'd come around quickly, "It's magic dear...and with magic, you need to be very patient sometimes."
Just then, the egg seemed to move a little.
"IT'S MOVING", he screamed, suddenly struggling to contain his excitement.
"Yes my child...but there's more..."
And at that very moment, a tiny crack appeared on the shell. A small amount of colourless liquid oozed out from the crack. Soon the crack grew bigger, then there was more oozing, and more pushing from within the egg. The child clapped and squealed in joy through the entire episode.
Finally, after much struggle - and with a little help from the child and his mother - a tiny pink, hairless mass with a prominent beak and shut eyes made its way out of the shell.
"It's SOOO CUTE Momma", the child squealed, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Can I play with it? PLEASE??"
"Now, now Martin...", his mother's voice turned firm, "How many times have I told you? You should NEVER play with..."
"Steamed or deep-fried Ma'am?", the waiter asked, waiting in rapt atttention for a response.
"Deep-fried!", the child didn't wait for his mom to respond. It was his birthday after all.
"Right Sir!", the waiter said as he picked the chick up with a pair of tongs and walked towards the kitchen.
I have a wide waist line. The reasons might be obvious (and universal), but some people are still curious.
For the benefit (and entertainment) of those who want to know why i'm fat, here are some reasons. You are free to believe them, but do so at your own risk.
Because I like to live life kingsize
Because my parents always wanted me to make it big
Because it makes me look rich and prosperous
Because I prefer Family-Packs over Six-Packs
Because I eat when I'm hungry, or when I'm sad, or when I'm happy of when I'm bored, or when I'm stressed, or when I'm exhausted, or when I'm...
Because it is a sin to waste food - both yours as well as others'
Because it's part of my growth strategy
Because I like to cheat death belts
Because I like weightlifting
Because nothing else was getting big
Hope that satisfies you. If you have your own set of reasons for your own weight issues, please feel free to share them in the comments box.
They say preparations can make or break important meetings.
And so, the meeting room had been prepared well for the meeting; however, Steve felt under-prepared. But then again, he was pretty sure no one else would be prepared either.
There were eight chairs neatly arranged around the table at the centre of the room. All eight chairs were taken. Only the chair at the head of the table was empty, not because the boss was late, but because he was standing near the whiteboard and jumping like a mad man.
"You smart-asses know your targets, don't you?", Mr. Josh Briggs asked them in his signature deep baritone.
All eight reportees hung their heads in shame.
"Answer me!!!" , the baritone made way for a thunderous bark.
Steve looked across the table and saw Cynthia fidgeting with her hair. Everyone knew he found her cute. His eyes began scanning her from her forehead, to her eyes, down to her nose and lips, and then down to her dainty chin, and then further down to her...
"Stephen Mason!!!", the bark was familiar, "Have you been listening to what I've been saying??"
"Erm...Sir..."
"Margins...what is our gross margin?"
"Umm...25%?"
"Wrong....40%!!!"
"Oh wow...congratulations sir."
"Fuckin Dimwit!!", the boss was livid, "That's the worst Gross Margin we've had in 14 quarters!"
At this point, Steve began to feel uneasy, "Sorry Mr.Briggs."
"That explains why you dumbfucks can't get our sales running.", he pointed at an image on the whiteboard, "Do you know what this is?"
Steve studied the line and found the trajectory very familiar, "are those our salaries sir?"
Mr. Briggs slapped his forehead. "That's our net profit....", he said in a sullen tone.
"Sir...", Steve continued, "May I...."
"How long have you been in this company you fuckin prick?", the boss shifted gears once again.
"Umm...five years....I would..." Steve was getting increasingly impatient.
"Shut up you moron...listen to me....what on earth have you been doing all these years?"
At this point, Steve couldn't take it anymore. "Sir, I request you to..."
"You sit on your sorry little ass all day, doing abso-bloody-lutely nothing!"
Steve's eyes suddenly went red and he began shaking, "Sir...I don't mind listening to you all day...but please...!!"
"Even my one year old makes more sense than you do, you dimwit!!"
Steve slammed his fist on the table/
His voice pierced through the sudden silence in the room as he said, "That's enough Sir...I need to go now!"
And he stormed out of the room like a man possessed.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
And so everyone on earth wanted to be one with Godliness in Heaven.
And therefore, Ladies set out to find their Men, and Princes went forth to find their Princesses. And when they had satisfied themselves that they had found the right one, they set about building for themselves their Towers to Heaven.
The Prince and Princess of Sandstone had very beautiful rocks, in varying hues of pink and orange, and other colours which they could not name. However, their arrangement of rocks was very clumsy. Neither of them seem focussed on the job at hand, instead carelessly placed their rocks one upon the other, without any alignment. Therefore, after a certain level, the tower toppled on one side, and the rocks crumbled to dust.
The Prince and Princess of Marble also had some very very smooth, lustrous and enchanting rocks at their disposal. They did a great job of neatly placing rocks one above the other, and taking great pains to make sure that every rock had been laid perfectly. However, they were obsessed with perfection. Their obsession with perfection and their intolerance for imperfect work was so dramatic, that any any point in time, each of them would thoughtlessly and unhesitatingly pull out a stone that had been imperfectly laid by the other and hold it in front of the other's face, while sharply criticising the 'shoddy effort'. As a result, after a while, the tower never went beyond a point, and in fact even grew shorter, because both got busy criticising each other.
The Prince and Princess of Granite probably had the most beautiful rocks of all. They patiently spent hours carefully piling stone upon stone to built their tower. But as they neared completion, both of them looked down from the heights and saw that there were other rocks that neither of them had ever seen before. They both forgot about their mission, and about what they had achieved together. To everyone's shock, they abandoned the tower that they had so painstakingly built together. The Princess sought to build a separate tower with the Prince of Onyx, while the Prince of Granite was charmed by the Princess of Quartzite. Alas, although they set out to build new Towers, they soon realised that they neither had enough time nor enough rocks to embark on building new towers. They lived the rest of their lives in regret.
The Prince and Princess of Basalt were the most low-profile couple of all. They both had their own set of flaws and imperfections. They could neither find rocks of great colour or shine, nor could they cut them in perfect shape. However, they both had the rare ability to camouflage each other's flaws. Whenever one would pile a poorly cut larger rock over a smaller one, the other would carve a beautiful motif or image on it and make it look beautiful.
In spite of their imperfections, they both were in perfect harmony.
And in the end, to everyone's surprise, their Tower was the only Tower that ever managed to reach Heaven.
The laboratory was empty. And it was painfully small. Neither of these attributes surprised Drake though. After all, with Robotic Systems and Artificial Intelligence having come a long way over such a short span of time, who needed human intervention anymore - even when it came to research? They needed only one human in this laboratory now - someone who could program robots to do tasks. That's what Drake was good at; and that's why he was at the Triangulum Research Laboratory.
He donned the customary lab coat and pulled on his super-sanitised nitrile gloves. He put on his safety goggles. And then he picked up his research device, perhaps the most advanced knowledge engine known to mankind thus far - the OmniScience2050.
The OmniScience2050, or Sir Know-A-Lot as he liked to call it, had gained great repute worldwide for helping researchers understand the characteristics and properties of any living organism under the sun. Its developers had come up with a technology that was a step higher than simulation. They had made it possible to stimulate and accelerate seven life signs of living organisms. With the OmniScience2050 it was now possible for researchers to evoke six signs of life - movement, respiration, growth, excretion, reproduction and nutrition - from living organisms, and that too in a matter of minutes. In a nutshell, it had now become possible for researchers to witness and document the entire life cycle of organisms in a short span of time. He often wondered why its makers had chosen to model it like a gun. "To add to the drama, or to create a sense of power perhaps", he imagined.
Drake then calmly walked towards the quarantine room in which he was told he would find the specimen. He looked at the device on the door and rolled his eyes in disappointment. "Stingy Dumbfucks! Are they ever gonna move to voice recognition?" He grudgingly keyed in a series of numbers on the punch card. The door slid open, almost as if halfheartedly. Funnily though, it didn't even wait for him to step inside completely before it began to slide shut.
He turned on the lights and found the specimen exactly where he was told he would find it - on the floor. It was placed in a huge flower pot, in which there was soil, albeit of a strange unworldly lavender-ish colour. The specimen wasn't alike anything that he had ever seen before. He couldn't even make out whether it was a flower, or a fruit, or a plant...or maybe even a creature. It didn't seem to have a trunk, had no stems and branches, and no conventional leaves. All Drake could see were six indigo radially-aligned protrusions that resembled tentacles. At the centre was an ugly looking hollow bulbous mass in the most brilliant shade of crimson that he had ever seen. In his head, Drake had already decided that this was a flower.
He probed the surroundings for a log book or for anything that would give him some information. There was a note on the floor. It was extremely short and therefore not very helpful. All it said was:-
Kingdom : Plantae Name : Unknown Genus : Unknown Origin : Planet Sustoth T45
He hoped Sir Know-A-Lot's voice recognition system was working fine. He decided to try it out with the first basic test.
"Movement...Level 5", he whispered, seeking to test the device's prowess.
The specimen's tentacles twisted around menacingly. It would have been a grisly sight for a layman to behold, but for a researcher this was probably a sign from heaven.
"Respiration...Level 6x", he said in his normal tone.
Drake didn't see much movement this time around, but he could have sworn he'd heard some weird noise emanating from the ugly pitcher-like mass in the centre. He decided to check it out again. "Respiration...Level 10x."
He heard the sound again, this time faster and more audible.
The dramatic speed of discovery that he was experiencing was now beginning to get to him. "Growth...Level 20x."
The organism grew at least two feet taller and a foot wider. The bulb was now as big as a live-size dog.
Drake decided to skip Excretion and move to something more interesting.
"Reproduction...Level 15x."
A dozen projectiles sprung out from the bulb and fused with some of the tentacles. From these sprung out brand new finger-sized tentacles.
"Nutrition....Level 30x!" he barked, unable to suppress the deadly combination of curiosity and impatience that had now possessed him like a demon.
At once the tentacles sprung forward, grabbed him by the throat and shoved him head first into the bulb.
The Bellowing of Trees
The Rustling of Leaves
The Bone Chilling Breeze
Infectious Maladies
Inscrutable Decrees
Negotiable Loyalties
Simulated Pleasantries
Unpleasant Memories
Forbidden Fantasies
Yeah, All of These
Arnold tapped Julian on the shoulder, "They're all the same colour, son."
The five year old's face puckered, and he let his lower lip hang out to express his disappointment.
"Don't you have any other colours?", Arnold asked the kid from whom he was buying the paper.
"No Sir...just white...", the kid replied, in a voice that would convince the biggest sceptic, "...they don't make coloured paper with this thickness."
Arnold studied the sheet, trying to imagine what kind of plane they'd be able to make with it. "You sure this will fly a fair distance? I've never used such thick paper to make planes before?"
"I've been selling paper for more than a year now, Sir", he smiled, "Every day I sell paper to at least a hundred father-son duos like you. No one has ever complained so far."
Arnold looked in the direction of the path leading to the cliff once again, and saw hordes of fathers and their young toddlers doddling ahead at a leisurely pace. "How far is the cliff?"
"About 400 metres. It might take you about five minutes.", the eight year old said, almost as if reading from a script, "You simply stand with your son at the edge of the railing, make a wish in your mind, and throw the plane into the distance."
"Do you come here everyday?"
"Yes Sir. Many Fathers know about the cliff and the story surrounding this place. The Fathers know that if they made a wish for their sons and threw a paper plane down the cliff, their sons would surely make it big in life."
Arnold smiled, "Thanks Kid...would you want to join us?"
"No Sir, I need to sell paper."
"What about you? Did your father ever throw paper planes for you too?"
"My father's dead Sir...he was dead even before I was born."
Arnold lowered his head in guilt, "I'm sorry kid".
"It's alright Sir. I might not have a Father to make me a plane...but I have my life planned out."
"Do you want me to throw a plane on your behalf?"
"Don't worry Sir", he insisted, "I have a plan."
Arnold smiled. He paid the boy and walked with his son towards the cliff.
Later that evening, when the crowds had dispersed, the paper boy went to the railing overlooking the cliff. He peered down and saw at least a thousand paper planes strewn along the face of the cliff. It was quite a sight to behold. After all, those were more than just paper planes - they were signs of Fathers' love for their sons, Fathers' dreams for their sons.
How ironical then it was, that the boy who had all the paper would never have a plane thrown for himself.
But he was a boy with a plan.
And so the boy with a plan climbed over the railings and went down the face of the cliff, to seek and collect planes that had not gone far enough.
Chinmay sat up in bed, his laptop perched on his lap. It was already well past 11 pm, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open. It had been a tiring day at work, what with three back-to-back meetings (with no tangible outcomes, as always) and a less-than-perfect boss who needed more coaching than a trainee employee would. What's more, he had to come home and start writing a story for an online challenge that he was quite passionate about. He was sure this was going to be one of those long nights that he always dreaded.
Anjali turned towards him, lying on her side. "Darling ghost writer..."
Chinmay didn't shift his eyes from the screen, although he hadn't begun typing yet, "You do know that a ghost writer is someone who..."
"No...", she cut him off mid-way, "a ghost writer is actually someone who sits up at unearthly hours to write silly stuff."
"I'm out of ideas babe...I seriously don't know what to write about."
"How about Omni vans?", she teased him, placing a hand in his lap, and playfully letting her fingers run in and around his crotch. His boxer shorts offered very feeble resistance.
But Chinmay firmly held his ground..."Omni vans? Bah!"
"How about Oligopoly? Economics?", she let her hand creep in from under the hem of his shorts. She then cupped his gonads with her soft hand.
He still didn't budge. "Booorrrinnnggg". The verdict was loud and clear.
But Anjali wasn't going to give up without a fight. "How about this word...Omerta?" She then squeezed his nuts without warning.
For the first time, he took his eyes off the screen. "Owww...now you're talking bitch...aargh..." He had least expected her to turn the tide in her favour with one quick move.
"Omen?", she purred like a cat, feeling him grow quickly in her hand.
"Aaah...yessss!", he said, and then simply moaned as she held his shaft firmly in her hand and rubbed it harder than Alladin would rub his magic lamp.
"The Occult", she was now ready to knock him out senseless. The stroking got more intense.
"Aaargh....ohh...aah...I'm gonna cum", he dropped his laptop on the bed and lay down, waiting for the climax to unfold and for an explosion of happiness to happen any moment now.
She stroked his manhood faster and faster, sensing it throb like an animal fighting for dear life. She knew the battle had finally been won when he let out a loud moan and squirmed his body violently, only to settle down motionless after a few seconds. Of course, the biggest giveaway had been the jizz that popped out, some of it into her hands, most of it onto the freshly dry-cleaned bed sheets.
Having decided that it was now her turn to experience the O-Zone, she turned to him once again and said in a seductive tone, "Hey...why don't you write about Orga..."
"zzzzzzz", he snored, as if he had been sleeping for hours on end.
Watch out for the next post...P for Premature Ejaculation!
Once upon a time, there was a lady who had a hundred sons - 40 of them had golden hair, 40 had green eyes, and the rest of them always wore white garbs. They lived in a beautiful house that had the ocean on three sides and tall mountains on the north. The house had many rooms and afforded enough space for everyone. The neighbours would always look at it from a distance and go green with envy. It was truly a house built by the Gods, and therefore it was called Paradise.
Like any other normal family, this family too was never perfect. The stronger sons would suppress the weaker ones and take more than what was rightfully theirs. The weak would stay meek and submissive. Also, there were many occasions and reasons for the sons to jostle and tussle with each other. Overall, however, everyone assumed their own roles and lived together peacefully.
Some years down the line, a tenant came to live with the lady and her sons. He brought with him promises of everlasting friendship and a bright future. Therefore, the lady and her sons welcomed him with open arms. Alas, the tenant's promises turned out to be hollow, and his intentions malicious. Over time, he managed to gain the trust of all the sons. Taking advantage of the conflict between some of the brothers and the widening gap between the strong and the weak, he began to meddle in the family's personal affairs and to instigate brother against brother. He did all this for his personal profit, and also to make sure that he was able to overstay his welcome in the house. He would also steal articles from the house and send them back to his own family in a land far away. Very soon, the house that once was known as heaven on earth lost all its sheen and glory, and neighbours no longer thought much of it.
When some of the wiser brothers realised how the tenant was slowly ravaging their house, they decided to inspire the entire family to work together and drive the tenant out of their house. It took them months to convince all their other brothers that the tenant was evil and that he needed to go. It was a tough task, considering the fact that the stronger brothers were on the side of he tenant; but eventually better sense prevailed, and the tenant was asked to leave. Happy times were about to dawn on the house and its occupants once again.
However, tragedy struck once again. Some of the Greeneyed brothers, although not all of them, who felt that they were being denied adequate space in the house and adequate rights and powers demanded that the house be divided into two, and one half be given to them. This demand led to a massive conflict with the golden hairs and many were hurt. Eventually, tired of the violence, and with a heavy heart, the mother decided to allow some of her sons to take half of the house and build a wall in between. On a bright note, there were some green eyes who decided to stay back and help the family tide over the crisis. Although the partition was painful and brought with it a wave of death and suffering, the internal tensions and strife among the brothers eventually seemed to have died out.
The ones who left called themselves Green Acres. Their undivided brothers, however, kept the name of their part of the house unchanged - Paradise.
Slowly, but surely, peace returned, at least to the undivided part of the house. The brothers in the undivided part of the house, put aside their differences and strengthened the walls of their house. As a matter of fact, the golden hairs, the green eyes and the white garbs learnt to ignore their weaknesses and to channelise each others strengths to bring peace and prosperity to their side of the house, much to the dismay and envy of their estranged brothers on the other side of the house. They became so prosperous, that even the estranged brothers often got tempted to emulate them and bring peace and prosperity to their side as well.
Alas, after many years, bad times returned to the household once again. A handful of the Goldenhairs thought that since they were in majority, it was they alone who deserved to have the exclusive right to make decisions in the house and also an exclusive right o the house and all its amenities. They said that since the green eyes had already received their share in the property, the rest of the house rightfully belonged to them. They renamed their side of the house 'Sunehriya'. What's more, they asked the green eyes in their side of the house to cross over to the other side and labelled the Whitegarbs as aliens.
So, here are a few points to ponder on:-
Did Paradise belong only to the Goldenhairs and the Greeneyes? If yes, then what about the Whitegarbs? What is their fault in this conflict, and where are they to go?
If the residents of Green Acres ended up living a life worse off than that in Paradise, then surely there was something that Paradise had done right and something that Green Acres did wrong. Does it then make sense at all for those in Paradise to seek to emulate the thoughts and actions of their estranged brothers from Green Acres, who by the way, clearly failed?
If in case a handful of the Goldenhairs think they need space for themselves, maybe they ought to leave rather than ask others to leave, no?
Paint Your Lips
Darken Your Eyes
Dazzle The Crowd
With Your Stunning Disguise
Dangle Your Ear-Rings
Curl Up Your Hair
Blush Up Your Cheeks
Like a Torrid Affair
Flatter Your Neckline
Let It Nosedive
Have Them Believe
That You're Just Twenty Five
Slip On Your High Heels
Colour Your Nails
Perk Up Your Bosom
And Topple The Scales
Then Go Ahead
And Mask All Your 'Flaws'
And Soak Up All
The Frenzied Applause
And When They Ask You
Who You're Trying To Impress
Tell Them The Truth
That It's Just For Yourself
I take this opportunity to thank Smitha Deepak for allowing me to use her beautiful image to add value to my poem. San Francisco-based Smitha has been a freelance makeup artist for 15 years. Apart from makeup, Smitha is passionate about art, having started painting at the tender age of three. She cites her dad as her inspiration when it comes to art. Smitha's work can be found on her website www.smithadeepak.com and her Instagram handle is https://www.instagram.com/smithadbeauty/
A big thank you to Mysore-based Sangeetha Alwar for allowing me to use her image with my poem tonight. Sangeetha is a 23 year old professor of English literature. When she's not teaching critical theory or linguistics to a bunch of nineteen year olds, she spends her time doodling on every piece of paper she can find, or nestled on a comfy chair with a book and a cuppa strong coffee. Apart from being an avid reader and an enthusiastic artist, she's also an amateur poet and photographer. Her poetry has been published by Muse India on their online journal. Follow the super-talented Sangeetha on Instagram at www.instagram.com/__ms.alwar__
Please feel free to leave comments. You could leave a comment irrespective of whether or not you liked what you read. It's a great way to start a conversation or a dialogue. Most importantly, it helps me get better.
Last week, Bollywood superstar Salman Khan was finally sentenced to five years imprisonment for a 20-year old blackbuck poaching case. Thankfully (for Bhai's fans), he was let out on bail even before he could ask for copies of holy scriptures to read in prison. Seems Karma is usually a bitch for normal people like you and me, but is an obedient driver for Bhai.
News of his bail led to massive applause from Salman fans, and a huge outcry from law-abiding citizens. While his supporters felt that justice had finally prevailed, the others (not me, I swear!) were left bemoaning yet another instance of the rich and famous geting away rather cheaply.
Detractors (including Vivek Oberoi) would have preferred to see Sallu being treated like a normal citizen and being held captive in a cell. Yet, it seems Sallu fans have listed some reasons why he deserved a bail. Of course, as always, these have been procured from reliable sources, but please believe them at your own risk.
Here are the reasons why Salman 'Tiger Bail Per Hai' Khan deserved bail:-
Bhai Was Bound By Contract
At the time, Sallu Bhai was working on the movie 'Hum Saath Saath Hain' in Jodhpur. As per the contract he signed with Rajshri Productions, he was supposed to be 'shooting' in Jodhpur.
Someone Told Bhai That The Blackbuck's Name Was Chedi Singh
Rumour has it that Bhai was then reading the script to Dabanng, and that some wisecrack told him that the blackbuck's name was Chedi Singh. "Hum tum mein itne ched karenge ki confuse ho jaoge ki saans kahan se le aur paadein kahan se." Get it? Rumour also has it that someone told him that the blackbuck's name was Vivek.
Bhai Misread The Situation
Apparently, a tourist guide told Sallu that blackbucks were an endangered species. Bhai (being highly educated) thought he was the one in danger.
Bhai Did It In National Interest
Salman was only doing his duty as a Desh-Premi by attacking Kaala Dhan. What? Black Buck, Black Money...same thing na?
It Was Suicide
Bhai didn't kill the blackbuck. The blackbuck asked Bhai to adopt it, and he (politely) refused, because limited carpet area in his apartment and shit. The Result? Such dejection...much suicide! Or maybe Bhai sang a song or something...same response, suicide.
Now? After All These Years?
Bhai's detractors say justice delayed is justice denied. Bhai's supporters say the kith and kin of the dead blackuck might all be dead too. So what's the point?
Six reasons fellas! Six! There are many more, but it was hard to keep listening to Sallu fans.
You got any more reasons? Add them to in the comments section.
The timer went off with a shrill noise that echoed and pierced through the silence in the apartment. As usual, Justin showed no urgency to turn it off. It was already 8 pm now, and he was getting increasingly impatient. His guest was supposed to be here by now. Oh, how he hated people who didn't respect time.
He had moved into this apartment only a week ago, and the couple downstairs had already called him out for his "strange obsession" with timers and the din they caused. But it only took a few minutes and a bowl of warm soup to sort this out. After all, being a well-respected chef had its benefits.
He picked up his mobile phone, and began searching for Skol's number. When he finally found it, he decided against calling him, not wanting to come across as pushy.
Thankfully, the doorbell rang only six minutes later. Justin kept his timer device aside and opened the door.
"Hey!", Skol opened the conversation, taking his jacket off, "Sorry I'm two minutes late!"
"Eight....", Justin corrected him, "...come on in...make yourself comfor..."
Skol threw his jacket over Justin's head. "Hahaha! Didn't expect that, did you?"
Justin played along, putting on a half-hearted smile,"Of course not! Let's go straight to the dinner table, shall we?"
"Let's...I really can't believe I'm having a meal at a chef's home. Hell, I can;t even believe we'd bump into each other this afternoon, after so many years."
They sat at an empty dinner table.
"I thought we were going to have a meal", Skol winked, "You still absent-minded like you were at school, huh?"
Justin laughed, "Yeah, I'm still the same old goofball I guess. You haven't changed either. Still the same old bully, huh?" He went towards the refrigerator and opened it to pull out a casserole, which he placed on the table. He also placed two bowl and two spoons on the table. He then went out into the living room and fetched his timer device as well.
"Remember how I and Stevie would pick on you every single day? I kid you not, we only went to school so that we could make you feel miserable."
"Stevie? Well, Stevie and his wife used to live downstairs till about three days ago. You narrowly missed meeting him."
"Boy, how you must've hated us."
"Still do!" Justin said, and the room suddenly went silent. Then he laughed out loud, pointing a finger at Skol.
"You still got that awkward sense of humour, dont'cha?" Skol retorted, "Now you know why we picked on you so much?", he dug his elbow into Justin's belly.
"Hmm...not really.", he said, devoid of any emotion, as he handed him an empty bowl."
"Anyway, what's the chef serving up for starters?"
"Soup it is!", Justin dipped a serving spoon into the casserole and poured out a serving for his guest and for himself.
"Soup? I thought you pulled that casserole out from the refrigerator."
"Yup."
Skol dipped his soup spoon into the bowl and took a mouthful. "Wow! All my life, I've only had had soups that were served hot. This was cold, and yet it tasted divine."
"Well, it's a dish best served cold." Justin picked up his timer and began fidgeting with the controls.
Skol scooped up another spoonful, "Interesting...what is it called?"
"Revenge", he replied languidly, as he set the timer for 3 minutes.
It's tough being an old man in his twilight years...or twilight days perhaps. It's not so much about the fear of imminent death...it's about the fear of dying all alone, with no one being by your side when you breathe your last. And my fears have been exacerbated by a strange sequence of events that have occurred over the past couple of weeks.
Old people like me often rely on family and friends for care and affection in their twilight years. I, however, do not have that luxury - because I never got married. Being a painter, I didn't think I would be able to devote time to myself, forget keeping a wife and dependent kids happy. There was no dearth of sex though, I've had encounters around army camps and within the town after I retired. Although I was usually careful to use protection, accidents do happen - I know of at least three accidents in my own town, all born to married women, and there could have been more. I obviously never got to know those three personally, but I did keep tabs on them - it is after all only human to want to know the well-being of your own flesh and blood.
The strange occurrences that I mentioned earlier started happening about 14 days ago. It was around 11 in the night, and I was sitting on my rocking chair. As always, I was staring out the window at the Church Bell Tower, a few hundred metres away from my house. Suddenly, I saw Isaac, a 20-something local retard, running up the tower's staircase. What he did next ran a chill down my spine. He looked in my direction, laughed like a maniac, grabbed the ropes to the Bell and tolled it once. Then he simply ran back down the staircase and disappeared into the darkness of the night.
It's true, behaviour such as this from a retard need not usually warrant any reaction. However, I cannot explain how it felt when he looked at me and laughed. The look in his eyes were sinister, and the laughter made me feel he had some really ugly plans for me. As an army man, I have stared death in the eye on innumerable occasions in the past; but this felt insidious.
My fears came true the following morning, when I got news of the untimely death of Wayne, the 15 year old son of Grace. Wayne and his mother lived four blocks away, along with her husband. Wayne was actually my son.
About five nights later, at exactly 11 pm, I once again witnessed the ghastly sight of Isaac running up the flight of stairs of the Tower. Once again, he looked in my direction, laughed out loud, and tolled the bell once, before running back down and into the darkness. The next morning, I got a call from Cindy telling me that 10 year old Martha had died in her sleep. Martha was my offspring too.
Since that day, I made it a point to ask about Isaac's whereabouts. Nobody kept tabs on him though. Not much was known about him anyway. Some people said he didn't even belong to our town, and that he came from a village nearby that had a bad name due to whores and their touts.
I called up my ex-girlfriend Suzy a couple of times to check on Jason. About 18 years ago, I had somehow managed to win her heart, inspite of being 20 years older at 48 at that time. We were serious about getting married, but she somehow found out that I had been bedding many other women and promptly called off the wedding, despite the fact that she was carrying my child. The guilt made me avoid staying in touch with her for all these years. She therefore, found it funny that I was suddenly concerned about Jason, after having stayed incognito for all these years. I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth though, and instead blamed it on age-related feelings of insecurity.
All signs of respite ended at 11 pm last night, when I saw Isaac once again.
This time, he didn't run, but slowly dragged himself up the staircase of the Tower. He looked in my direction, but with a look of dejection. He didn't laugh - instead he bawled.
And then, without warning, he leapt off the tower.
The Other Morning
I Stepped Into Her House
And Found
Near And Dear Ones Fretting
And Sensed
Friends And Foes Abetting
And Discerned
Moms And Dads Regretting
The Other Afternoon
I Walked Into Her Workplace
And Saw
Envious Dames Detesting
And Watched
Sexist Males Persisting
And Caught
Men In Power Insisting
The Other Evening
I Stumbled Upon Her Path
And Viewed
A Hundred Eyes Scanning
And Heard
An Army Of Voices Hissing
And Felt
A Dozen Claws Groping
And I Was Glad To Be A Man...
Tonight's pic is all thanks to Manuj Mehta and his muse Sagrika Uppal, who are both based in Delhi. Manuj, apart from being an amazing photographer, also happens to be a brand influencer and a lecturer of photography and films at YMCA, Delhi. Further, he is also the Concept Head of One Dollar Travel Cafe, an initiative to take backpackers to spots in remote areas. Furthermore, he directs films through Indo Films for NFDC. On the other hand, Sagrika is a student of Journalism, and is currently serving as an Assistant Professor at the Guru Gobind Singh Indraprastha University in Delhi. You can follow Manuj on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/manuj_mehta and Sagrika at www.instagram.com/uppalsagrika
Please feel free to leave comments. You could leave a comment irrespective of whether or not you liked what you read. It's a great way to start a conversation or a dialogue. Most importantly, it helps me get better.
The year is 2304. The 'great' and powerful nations of yore that played roles of war-brokers and members of the League of Nations have long been ravaged by warlords and mercenaries. Taking advantage of the power vacuum created in world politics, Ghouls now stand in control of the entire world...and probably even beyond.
Tonight is the inaugural Game Night of a sport that the ghouls innovated, inspired by soccer. Sinisterly titled 'Ghoul-Scoring', it had been introduced as an attempt to bring Ghouls and Humans closer together, through the spirit of sportsmanship and good old-fashioned entertainment. Of course, the fact that it could actually further intensify unhealthy competition and rivalry is another matter, not that it mattered much to the Ghouls. The rules and structure of the game are also very different - perhaps the only similarity with soccer is that top goalscorers from the Humans' soccer leagues are invited to play against the ghouls.
All 80,000 seats in the Stadium of Freedom (renamed after the last known human colony had been captured) were occupied. The Humans had a fairly good attendance at about 1,500. Max was able to recognise most of the Humans on the field. But he didn't dare to speak to anyone, nor did the others. Not communicating with anyone whomsoever and in any manner howsoever was the prime clause in the contract that all Human players had been forced to sign before they had stepped onto the field. In any case, it would be foolish to upset the Ministry of Human Affairs officials, under whose guidance this event was being organised. Max had heard some horrifying stories about the Ministry and its officials.
Both teams - Humans XI and Ghouls FC stood on either side of the centre line. The Ghoulish anthem was played twice - on behalf of both sides. All of a sudden, a handsome looking Referee with a deadpan expression - a ghoul without doubt - appeared right at the centre with a shapeless metallic sphere in his hand.
"Do you need me to explain the rules to you?", the Referee asked.
Max waited for five seconds, hoping someone else would volunteer to be Captain, but finally broke the silence, "That would be nice".
The Referee rolled his eyes. "The aim of the game is to gain and retain possession of the ball. For every minute that the ball stays in your team's possession without a break, you get an opposition player over to your side. Careful though...if any player keeps the ball for more than four seconds without passing, he gets converted into an opposition player. Simple?"
Max's jaw dropped. "Hey, that's not how we play it. What about scoring goals?"
The Referee rolled his eyes again, this time literally. "Do you see any goalposts around here?"
"No...?"
"Exactly!"
"So we score by passing the ball around and keeping possession? You want us to play one-touch football, Tiki-Taka style? Like the legendary FC Barcelona?"
"Umm hmm..", the Referee nodded, completely unsure of who Barcelona were.
"So how do we know who wins then?"
"Simple", the referee said, matter-of-factly, "The team that loses will cease to exist."
"Oh, you mean the team that manages to convert all the opposition players into team-mates wins? Great. So how long does the game last?"
The Referee scratched his chin, "Some Humans suggested we play 90 minutes...personally, I think 15 minutes is enough. Yeah, let's play for 20 minutes!"
"Very well then", Max rubbed his hands, fully confident about his one-touch footballing skills. He then remembered that he needed to get something clarified, "Hey, since there are no goals, do we really need keepers?"
"Of course", the referee raised his eyebrows.
Max chuckled, "I don't think we need them." The other Humans nodded in agreement. "Can we play our Keeper as a normal field player then?"
"Suit yourself!", the referee said and dropped the ball on the floor with a clang.
The game started with the Humans being allowed to start kickoff. But they soon began to realise that the game was clearly designed to be one-sided. Firstly, it was pretty difficult for the Humans to pass the 20-pound shapeless ball around. Secondly, the ghouls being ghouls could easily disappear from and appear at any spot at will. Needless to say, the number of Ghouls on the field kept increasing, and it hardly took 5 minutes for the game to near its end.
Finally, Max was the only Human left on the field. Not one to go down without a fight, he dived around and tackled thin air (ain't easy to tackle Ghouls) and got the ball, but since he did not have any one to pass it to, he knew the end was near.
When he finally began to feel himself change, he ran towards the Referee, fell down on his knees and asked, "Before I cease to be Human, please tell me quickly...why the fuck do you need Keepers for this stupid little game?"
The Referee pulled out his whistle and blew thrice to signal the end of the game, "It's self-explanatory, don't you think? They keep Ghouls."
On the stands, one irritated ghoulish spectator tore his tickets and said to the ghoul seated next to him, "What a boring one-sided game. What a waste of time and money. I worked off three humans to death to earn that kinda money...only to waste it on this shit!"
"Tell me about it", said the other, "Also, I don't understand why Ghoul-Keepers need to wear gloves."
For the benefit of those you are not very familiar with football/soccer, here is a video of FC Barcelona playing their tiki-taka style of football. (I'm actually an Arsenal FC fan)
The two men were now at each other's throats, holding each other by the collar. They didn't say a word. They just looked deep into each other's eyes with seething rage and puffing chests. But then, they both knew that this wasn't how true cowboys settled scores.
"Duel?", Slater asked, without batting his eyelids.
"It's called Quick Draw, smartass!", Dizzy spat on the ground, "Let's go outside then!"
Just two tables away, an old man downed his glass of cheap tequila, and wiped his lips dry. He rubbed his hands in anticipation and smiled.
The two stepped outside the bar and were surprised to find a huge crowd already waiting to witness the gunfight. The old man stepped out right behind them, which was also surprising, considering he had a limp in one leg and usually required help.
"Count to five?", Dizzy barked.
"No! Six!", Slater retorted, scratching his underarms.
An eerie silence gripped the crowd. Counting till six was not the norm. Even the Teacher's jaw dropped.
"Don't tell me you never managed to learn beyond five.", Slater continued.
Dizzy sniggered, "Let the teacher count then!"
The old man was quick to respond, "Not happening Son...I've taught you both equally well. Consider this as your final test."
The two men nodded. They stood with their backs against each other. Being right handed, both of them had their Big-Tex revolver holsters strapped on their right sides.
"Start walking boys", shouted a waitress, desperate to see some good old gory action.
They started walking away from each other. When they were about a 100 metres away from each other, the Teacher shouted "Stop!"
"Let's take turns counting", Slater suggested.
"You start!", Dizzy shouted, in a stale attempt at gaining the upper hand.
Slater grinned, almost as if he expected that. "No problemo! ONE", he put his left hand up in the air and put out his index finger.
Dizzy lifted his hand as well and put up both his index and middle fingers, "TWO!"
The old man smiled. 'So far so good' he thought.
"THREE!", Slater continued, holding his little finger down with his thumb.
"FOUR!". Dizzy comfortably let his little finger out from under his thumb.
"FIVE!" Slater quickly opened out all five fingers and licked his lips in anticipation.
The old man now began to chew on his fingernails.
Dizzy took his own sweet time. When he felt he was ready, he quickly put up both hands and let his right index finger loose, "SIX!"
Slater quickly pulled out his gun and sent a bullet flying right through Dizzy's heart with a single shot.
The Teacher quickly tottered towards Slater, his eyes gleaming with teary pride. He patted Slater on his back.
"That was amazingly quick and immaculately accurate my boy!"
"Thank you Mr. McGraw!", Slater replied, finally smiling like a shy teenager.
"And you chose to count till Six? What if he had to start the counting himself???"
Slater stuck out a foot and pointed downwards.
"GENIUS!" the Teacher cried out in joy, because Slater was wearing flip-flops.
Moral of the story: When your hands are full, count with your feet.
