1. Object
Thou shalt not steal. Else, you are a thief. And the object, Stolen.
2. Work
Rose, “I shall have the glory”.
Thorn, “I too, will be in the story”.
Leaf, “Damn fucking photosynthesis #$&@#”.
3. Geometry
Everyone’s self centered, it’s the radius that matters.
4. Playing God
Pick up a stone.
Bring it to your forehead.
Breathe on it.
Give it a name.
Hurl it in a random direction.
Run.
5. Reality of the moment
My back hurts.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Three silly, but very short stories
1. Droplet
"I would prefer a blackhole to a sponge", said the suicidal droplet. A river devoured it.
2. Shoes
Twins. Both one-legged. One had the left leg, the other didn't have it. Bought a pair of shoes. They split the bill.
3. Grapes
"The grapes are sour" said the fox. A squirrel climbed up the tree and ate them all.
"I would prefer a blackhole to a sponge", said the suicidal droplet. A river devoured it.
2. Shoes
Twins. Both one-legged. One had the left leg, the other didn't have it. Bought a pair of shoes. They split the bill.
3. Grapes
"The grapes are sour" said the fox. A squirrel climbed up the tree and ate them all.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Eight Seconds
“Not much of a hobby mate.” Johnny whispered loudly through the bushes.
“Ummm?” said Pete distantly. His eyes fixed on the sky, as always.
Always.
“Bird watching. Not for our kind.” Johnny stepped back; now better hidden.
“Look, how she glides! Such grace! She would back-flip one day. I know.” Pete didn’t budge as the predator approached him. “It’s a kite.”
“And you are a rat; a fat one at that.” Johnny found his humor as the claws flew past Pete, leaving him untouched, unfazed.
Pete was indeed fat. He never had to run.
No one knew how old he was. They said he lost his death with his tail.
At times he would be on the farm road and trucks would pass over him, depriving him of the sky above for a moment or two.
The limping cat didn’t bother him anymore. Once, she stepped on burning wood while chasing him.
Some rats got their tails castrated. The kite tore them apart nonetheless. But not him.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A day dawned. The kite picked him up and soared high. Pete looked down at the world below. No feelings. No thoughts. No glory.
Eight seconds later the kite dropped him. Too heavy for the claws, probably.
And then:
A truck turned menacingly.
A hungry cat limped ahead.
A kite did a back-flip.
A rat closed his eyes forever.
But the eyes closed before the kite flipped back.
The tombstone read:
HERE LIES A RAT WHO HAD NO TAIL
NO FEATHERS EITHER
PS : This is my entry to the contest held by Jason Evans here.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Her Diary
Everyday life for a female is never easy in a conservative society. Being a werewolf doesn’t help.
Waking up naked beneath the park benches, even if only twice a month, belongs firmly to the class of experiences better not had. Digging out the box of clothes and dressing up while lying down on the ground can’t be excluded from that category either.
It all began six months ago. On the first such full-moon night, I was lucky to have slept with door bolted. Rinku was too keen to get a second opinion on his guitar skills and mom-dad were out of town. In the morning, my bed-sheet and nightgown was shredded to threads, the door was scratched (a SRK poster hides the nail-marks now) and the room smelt of poop, which lay on the carpet. I cleaned all that up before parents returned.
“Didi, this is not fair. I played the guitar only until 11 and you howled throughout the night. But I’ll throw away the guitar if you teach me how to howl like a wolf as good as you did last night. It sounded so real, though you overdid it.” Rinku complained later.
Since then, on every full-moon night, I go to the park with a box (to keep my clothes), a couple of horse-tranquilizers, and no make-up. At around 11.30 PM, I get undressed beneath a park bench, put my clothes in the box and bury it in the ground before taking two shots of the tranquillizers. The tranquillizers keep the wolf-me drowsy and inactive; or so I think, because I can usually recollect only hazy memories of the night once I wake up in human form again.
Despite all the careful planning, at least one murder can be attributed to me; it was committed when in human form. Four months ago, when I woke up in the park, I found that the wolf-me had torn apart all my clothes during the night. There was no way I was coming out from below the bench, stark naked. Luckily for me, an early jogger came and sat on the bench. I pulled her leg and when she looked down, I hit her head with a stone with a force of magnitude that was more than necessary. I quickly changed into her clothes and jogged my way back home. There were reports later “Woman killed in park. Her torn clothes found nearby.”
Thereafter I bury the clothes in the box before having the shots to keep them out of harm’s way. Also, have changed the park after that incident.
Apart from such hazards, too many lies have to be told to keep this affair concealed. Firstly, I have to tell my friend Sheena to give me a missed call on certain nights so that I can tell my parents that office has called me for the night shift. Sheena has been told that I need her help to sneak out for my fictitious boyfriend Raj. So as not to let her observe any pattern, I ask her to call on normal nights too sometimes.
Another niggling problem is the increase in expenses on waxing. On normal nights, whenever I look at the moon, my body-hair grows at a faster rate. I have to keep visiting different beauty parlors to avoid suspicions. Don’t advise me “Permanent Hair Removal”; therapy. A skinned wolf would never make for a good sight.
Before I whine further about more troubles, you might be curious as to what caused this werewolf phenomenon. I say, ask who first. He (may be she) calls himself Dr. Why. I got to know about him only last month on the day of Rakshabandhan.
While having lunch on that day, Rinku began recounting a strange correspondence that started many months ago. He received a post from a certain Dr. Why. It contained two tablets wrapped in a five rupee currency note. On the note, it was written “Eat these”. Rinku threw the tablets away, but kept the note. A few days later, he received a letter asking him to return the five rupees since he hasn’t eaten them. Horrified at Dr. Why’s knowledge, he posted a five rupee note back to the address where the letter came from.
Two weeks later, another post came, with two tablets, but in a ten rupee note. This time Rinku flushed the tablets at midnight. Once again a letter followed, some days later, demanding the ten rupees back. Rinku obliged.
This continued with fifty, hundred and then a five hundred rupee note. Rinku never ate those tablets and kept returning the money. But every man has a price. Teenage boys have even lower. Rinku gave in when Dr. Why sent him the tablets in a thousand rupee note. He dropped a tablet in my tea (that was the only day in my life when he has brought me tea from kitchen).
No letter came for weeks after that. But four days after I had my first transformation in the park, Rinku received another thousand rupee note on which was written “This is even better”. Rinku never understood that Dr. Why must have seen his sister naked in animal and in human form. On the day of Rakshabandhan, when I tied him Rakhi, he gave me a thousand rupee note and the explanation of where it came from. Mom just slapped him on his head. “Naughty boy”, is all he got. Rinku says he doesn’t remember where the other tablet is.
I went to the address where the letter came from. No one was to be found.
I keep my ear open for any footsteps that might follow me on full-moon nights. Haven’t had any luck till now; but the day I find Dr. Why, he would be torn apart.
Meanwhile, the immediate concern is Karwa-chauth. Mom wants me to fast the entire day, which I can manage. But the looking at moon on a full-moon night might result in shortening of the life of the wives on terrace. I am yet to find a solution for this one.
____________________________________________________________________________________
To be continued: (The intent is defintely there)
PS: This blog has been nominated in the “Best Personal Blog” category for 2008 by Indibloggies. Kindly vote for me (How shameless have I become!) here. You would find Brown Phantom in category 16, the last on the page. Thank you all :).
Waking up naked beneath the park benches, even if only twice a month, belongs firmly to the class of experiences better not had. Digging out the box of clothes and dressing up while lying down on the ground can’t be excluded from that category either.
It all began six months ago. On the first such full-moon night, I was lucky to have slept with door bolted. Rinku was too keen to get a second opinion on his guitar skills and mom-dad were out of town. In the morning, my bed-sheet and nightgown was shredded to threads, the door was scratched (a SRK poster hides the nail-marks now) and the room smelt of poop, which lay on the carpet. I cleaned all that up before parents returned.
“Didi, this is not fair. I played the guitar only until 11 and you howled throughout the night. But I’ll throw away the guitar if you teach me how to howl like a wolf as good as you did last night. It sounded so real, though you overdid it.” Rinku complained later.
Since then, on every full-moon night, I go to the park with a box (to keep my clothes), a couple of horse-tranquilizers, and no make-up. At around 11.30 PM, I get undressed beneath a park bench, put my clothes in the box and bury it in the ground before taking two shots of the tranquillizers. The tranquillizers keep the wolf-me drowsy and inactive; or so I think, because I can usually recollect only hazy memories of the night once I wake up in human form again.
Despite all the careful planning, at least one murder can be attributed to me; it was committed when in human form. Four months ago, when I woke up in the park, I found that the wolf-me had torn apart all my clothes during the night. There was no way I was coming out from below the bench, stark naked. Luckily for me, an early jogger came and sat on the bench. I pulled her leg and when she looked down, I hit her head with a stone with a force of magnitude that was more than necessary. I quickly changed into her clothes and jogged my way back home. There were reports later “Woman killed in park. Her torn clothes found nearby.”
Thereafter I bury the clothes in the box before having the shots to keep them out of harm’s way. Also, have changed the park after that incident.
Apart from such hazards, too many lies have to be told to keep this affair concealed. Firstly, I have to tell my friend Sheena to give me a missed call on certain nights so that I can tell my parents that office has called me for the night shift. Sheena has been told that I need her help to sneak out for my fictitious boyfriend Raj. So as not to let her observe any pattern, I ask her to call on normal nights too sometimes.
Another niggling problem is the increase in expenses on waxing. On normal nights, whenever I look at the moon, my body-hair grows at a faster rate. I have to keep visiting different beauty parlors to avoid suspicions. Don’t advise me “Permanent Hair Removal”; therapy. A skinned wolf would never make for a good sight.
Before I whine further about more troubles, you might be curious as to what caused this werewolf phenomenon. I say, ask who first. He (may be she) calls himself Dr. Why. I got to know about him only last month on the day of Rakshabandhan.
While having lunch on that day, Rinku began recounting a strange correspondence that started many months ago. He received a post from a certain Dr. Why. It contained two tablets wrapped in a five rupee currency note. On the note, it was written “Eat these”. Rinku threw the tablets away, but kept the note. A few days later, he received a letter asking him to return the five rupees since he hasn’t eaten them. Horrified at Dr. Why’s knowledge, he posted a five rupee note back to the address where the letter came from.
Two weeks later, another post came, with two tablets, but in a ten rupee note. This time Rinku flushed the tablets at midnight. Once again a letter followed, some days later, demanding the ten rupees back. Rinku obliged.
This continued with fifty, hundred and then a five hundred rupee note. Rinku never ate those tablets and kept returning the money. But every man has a price. Teenage boys have even lower. Rinku gave in when Dr. Why sent him the tablets in a thousand rupee note. He dropped a tablet in my tea (that was the only day in my life when he has brought me tea from kitchen).
No letter came for weeks after that. But four days after I had my first transformation in the park, Rinku received another thousand rupee note on which was written “This is even better”. Rinku never understood that Dr. Why must have seen his sister naked in animal and in human form. On the day of Rakshabandhan, when I tied him Rakhi, he gave me a thousand rupee note and the explanation of where it came from. Mom just slapped him on his head. “Naughty boy”, is all he got. Rinku says he doesn’t remember where the other tablet is.
I went to the address where the letter came from. No one was to be found.
I keep my ear open for any footsteps that might follow me on full-moon nights. Haven’t had any luck till now; but the day I find Dr. Why, he would be torn apart.
Meanwhile, the immediate concern is Karwa-chauth. Mom wants me to fast the entire day, which I can manage. But the looking at moon on a full-moon night might result in shortening of the life of the wives on terrace. I am yet to find a solution for this one.
____________________________________________________________________________________
To be continued: (The intent is defintely there)
PS: This blog has been nominated in the “Best Personal Blog” category for 2008 by Indibloggies. Kindly vote for me (How shameless have I become!) here. You would find Brown Phantom in category 16, the last on the page. Thank you all :).
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Cheerleaders in T20 : An analysis of poll results
Following are the results of a poll conducted on RCB blog :
If I were Pratibha Patil, I would invite the WCWHB party to form the government. The single “Other” {Nirdaliya) is all they need to woo to reach the critical halfway mark. In fact, even the second biggest opposition party with 32% votes wouldn’t mind giving outside support to WCWHB, a party that is keen to follow traditions but is brave enough to entertain experiments.
So strong is the winning party’s philosophy that the ideologically opposite and right-wingish NCAA (No Cheerleaders at all) party members are being speculated as lunatics. More about this loser party, later.
Let’s have a look at the demographic distribution of supporters of these parties. As is the norm in media, I would ignore the Nirdaliya.
1. WCWHB: Hope shines out from the party’s name. Remember Obama’s campaign. Those who voted for WCWHB, saw a colorful future. The fusion promised the taste of old and a sight of new, a beautiful amalgamation of different cultures . A few nerds too joined these guys just out of curiosity. They mistook the rhetorical beginning “Why can’t we” literally.
2. ILWMG (let’s have foreign cheerleaders): Some might accuse this party of patronizing anything foreign. The nasty ones can even smell racism (I love WHITE Mischief Gals). Truth is that this party liked what it has seen so far (understandably) and hence is resisting the change.
3. IP(We should have Indian cheerleaders): One might recall “Videshi Hatao, Swadeshi Apnao” days. The party should now look at the benefits of globalization that this country is reaping. Whenever Ross Taylor hits the ball for a six, we would love to see Indian cheerleaders dancing with dandiya sticks, but wouldn’t it be nice to have the foreign ones with pom-poms to compliment them. By the way, dandiya sticks would be so cool with some steps.
4. NCAA: Sadist would be a stronger word for the party. One out of the four is a not-so-considerate-wife. The second one doesn’t have a Tv and follows cricket on cricinfo. Third one is a religious fundamentalist with misplaced interests. Fourth one is Kallis himself, the one whose sister Janine dances for the opposition. As a cheerleader in the IPL 2008, Janine started dancing at the fall of a RCB wicket only to discover it was brother Jacques trudging back to the pavilion. "I don't mind really," said Kallis. "Except, she really did seem to be doing her job very well when I was out. She didn't have to look so pleased!"
I am so glad that the party I voted for won. It helps recover from the blues mentioned in previous post after the CL got over.
Conclusion: Cheerleaders, as a rule, are all good.
If I were Pratibha Patil, I would invite the WCWHB party to form the government. The single “Other” {Nirdaliya) is all they need to woo to reach the critical halfway mark. In fact, even the second biggest opposition party with 32% votes wouldn’t mind giving outside support to WCWHB, a party that is keen to follow traditions but is brave enough to entertain experiments.
So strong is the winning party’s philosophy that the ideologically opposite and right-wingish NCAA (No Cheerleaders at all) party members are being speculated as lunatics. More about this loser party, later.
Let’s have a look at the demographic distribution of supporters of these parties. As is the norm in media, I would ignore the Nirdaliya.
1. WCWHB: Hope shines out from the party’s name. Remember Obama’s campaign. Those who voted for WCWHB, saw a colorful future. The fusion promised the taste of old and a sight of new, a beautiful amalgamation of different cultures . A few nerds too joined these guys just out of curiosity. They mistook the rhetorical beginning “Why can’t we” literally.
2. ILWMG (let’s have foreign cheerleaders): Some might accuse this party of patronizing anything foreign. The nasty ones can even smell racism (I love WHITE Mischief Gals). Truth is that this party liked what it has seen so far (understandably) and hence is resisting the change.
3. IP(We should have Indian cheerleaders): One might recall “Videshi Hatao, Swadeshi Apnao” days. The party should now look at the benefits of globalization that this country is reaping. Whenever Ross Taylor hits the ball for a six, we would love to see Indian cheerleaders dancing with dandiya sticks, but wouldn’t it be nice to have the foreign ones with pom-poms to compliment them. By the way, dandiya sticks would be so cool with some steps.
4. NCAA: Sadist would be a stronger word for the party. One out of the four is a not-so-considerate-wife. The second one doesn’t have a Tv and follows cricket on cricinfo. Third one is a religious fundamentalist with misplaced interests. Fourth one is Kallis himself, the one whose sister Janine dances for the opposition. As a cheerleader in the IPL 2008, Janine started dancing at the fall of a RCB wicket only to discover it was brother Jacques trudging back to the pavilion. "I don't mind really," said Kallis. "Except, she really did seem to be doing her job very well when I was out. She didn't have to look so pleased!"
I am so glad that the party I voted for won. It helps recover from the blues mentioned in previous post after the CL got over.
Conclusion: Cheerleaders, as a rule, are all good.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Coming Back To Life
I’ve been rediscovering myself for the last few days after the stay with RCB in Windsor Manor got over. Following facts have made themselves clear:
1. No magical powers are working for me in the background. When I return from the office, I find that the bed is still not made, the towel is still where I left it and the mirror in bathroom still has traces of splattered water.
2. When I am hungry, I need to do a little more than picking up a phone beside the bed. The terrible truth, that something as basic as food isn’t free these days, is yet to sink in fully.
3. While creating the rules that govern the universe, God was sloppy enough to allow temperatures to vary outside the range of 22-24 degree Celsius.
4. On stepping out of my house I am more likely to meet a cow than bump into Rahul Dravid.
Co-incidentally, my Mom too discovered that her “Sarvaguna-sampanna, Ram-avatar” son isn’t quite a teetotaler:
Grappling with so many changes hasn’t gone down well with my brain. I was going to write a story which begins with an introduction of a seventy year old Afghan whose wife disappeared forty years ago. But the structure and flow isn’t coming naturally in the writing. I wanted the story to raise your hair with horror. The title would have been “Raven”.
As the story would have moved further backwards in time, you would have learnt that Noor Mohammed (henceforth referred to as NM) lived near railway tracks when he was a kid. Being a lonely child, his favorite time pass used to watch vultures and eagles eat away the bodies of cattle that came in the way of trains. Through a series of events, the story would have shown the possessive character of NM. In the end, the reader would have been left to connect the dots, which when done correctly would have pointed that NM grew into a cannibal and ate his wife for infidelity.
In an attempt to add to the shock value, I would have revealed that the story is loosely based on my childhood experiences of watching scavengers doing the same thing to the unfortunate buffaloes and goats. Our house isn’t far away from the railway tracks. I was seven when we were the first family to move in that area, which now doesn’t have any open spaces left.
Although I haven’t demonstrated any inclination towards cannibalism, the smell of rotten flesh, whenever encountered, brings back fond memories of a silent childhood. Those vultures looked so huge that I used to hold my little brother’s hands fearing that one of them might snatch him and fly away.
Relying on a meticulously planned inactive weekend to restore normalcy.
1. No magical powers are working for me in the background. When I return from the office, I find that the bed is still not made, the towel is still where I left it and the mirror in bathroom still has traces of splattered water.
2. When I am hungry, I need to do a little more than picking up a phone beside the bed. The terrible truth, that something as basic as food isn’t free these days, is yet to sink in fully.
3. While creating the rules that govern the universe, God was sloppy enough to allow temperatures to vary outside the range of 22-24 degree Celsius.
4. On stepping out of my house I am more likely to meet a cow than bump into Rahul Dravid.
Co-incidentally, my Mom too discovered that her “Sarvaguna-sampanna, Ram-avatar” son isn’t quite a teetotaler:
Grappling with so many changes hasn’t gone down well with my brain. I was going to write a story which begins with an introduction of a seventy year old Afghan whose wife disappeared forty years ago. But the structure and flow isn’t coming naturally in the writing. I wanted the story to raise your hair with horror. The title would have been “Raven”.
As the story would have moved further backwards in time, you would have learnt that Noor Mohammed (henceforth referred to as NM) lived near railway tracks when he was a kid. Being a lonely child, his favorite time pass used to watch vultures and eagles eat away the bodies of cattle that came in the way of trains. Through a series of events, the story would have shown the possessive character of NM. In the end, the reader would have been left to connect the dots, which when done correctly would have pointed that NM grew into a cannibal and ate his wife for infidelity.
In an attempt to add to the shock value, I would have revealed that the story is loosely based on my childhood experiences of watching scavengers doing the same thing to the unfortunate buffaloes and goats. Our house isn’t far away from the railway tracks. I was seven when we were the first family to move in that area, which now doesn’t have any open spaces left.
Although I haven’t demonstrated any inclination towards cannibalism, the smell of rotten flesh, whenever encountered, brings back fond memories of a silent childhood. Those vultures looked so huge that I used to hold my little brother’s hands fearing that one of them might snatch him and fly away.
Relying on a meticulously planned inactive weekend to restore normalcy.
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