Varadharajan Ramesh's Blog, page 10

Lesser of Two Evils

A Donkey

and

A Buffalo

parade before the sheep

staking claim

to rule

 

Says the buffalo,

Brothers and friends

I’m one of you

You’ve given me a chance

Give me one more

I’ll make sure

we sheep

roar like lions

 

The donkey shuffles,

as uncomfortable

as it could ever be

Calls the fallacy

of the Buffalo

as the undeniable truth

Forgets its lines

Forgets

that it’s just a

Donkey

 

The buffalo guffaws

Silly donkey,

How dare you?

Trying to be a lion

Do you even have

A fifty-six inch

chest?

 

The donkey bristles

My great-grandpa was a lion

My grandma was a lion

My pa,

God rest his soul

was a lion

Stupid buffalo

I’ll lead the sheep

It’s my destiny

 

Listen Donkey,

I’ve introduced

many schemes

Made the sheep

feel lions’ pride

Idiotic ass

Just because

your forefathers claimed

to be lions

Wouldn’t change

your genes

 

Useless buffalo,

Your history is

Painted with sheep blood

How dare you

claim to be

One of them?

 

Blood in my history

Blood money in yours

Don’t you know that

Money talks?

Naïve donkey

Hung up on

Escape velocity

of the untouchable sheep!

 

Blind stubborn buffalo

Harping on your

flopped ideas

and fundamentalism!

Fudging GDP

and economic growth

Money’s still black

like the insides

of your saffron coated heart

Yet here you are

thumping your fifty-six inch chest

to a tune

that isn’t the truth!

 

The sheep bleat

in  characteristic chorus

Is our fate so pitiful?

Reduced to vote for

A donkey

or

A buffalo,

self-proclaimed

saviors of sheep

surrounded by hyenas,

to lead us?

 

 

Ideals be damned!

Issues be damned!

Sheep be damned!

When did it become

a Sophie’s choice?

All we could is

bleat and be civil

Accept the black ink and

select the

Lesser of two EVILS!

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One Too Many

Hey

Friend!

Are you ok?

You seem to be swaying

Like a reed in the wind

Are you sure

You’d head home safe?

Seems like

You’ve had

One too many!

 

Hell yeah!

I’m more than

Ok

I’m just

Floating

A feather in the zephyr

Asphalt and rubber

Whiskey and ice

Watch me soar

Maybe

I need one more!

 

Look at me

With unfocused eyes

Brain scrambled

Like yesterday’s eggs

Think

Of your wife

Waiting

With your tiny tot

For your hug

Maybe

You’ve had those

One too many?

 

You nag me,

Buddy!

Are you

Related to

My wife?

Maybe

It’s not your

Place to meddle with

My life

 

Hey!

Take it easy

Life is simple

As long as

You let it be

Put away that key

Next to that glass

Red blood doesn’t

Look great on

Green grass

 

Call a cab

Call your wife

She’d be worried

Take your time

Don’t hurry

You have one life

Not

One to many.

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During The Flood

Mike rushed inside and threw his umbrella, which had turned inside out due to the heavy winds, on the floor and started barring the doors and windows. Once that task was completed, he opened the tap in the first floor kitchen, connected a length of rubber hose and placed it inside the inflatable kiddie pool. The first thing that would happen during any flood is that the drinking water would get contaminated. Mike didn’t know how long the storm would last. The sudden out of season cloud bursts were very unpredictable and he did not want to get stranded with no drinking water.

He paused for a second and peered outside the window. He realised that this storm was a bad one. The water level in the streets was increasing at an alarming level. Mike smirked with elation as he had just finished sealing the exhausts of his cars with polythene sheets. He had provided an extra layer of sealing to the car’s interiors by running a length of polythene sheet along the inside perimeter of the doors. He was pretty sure all his neighbours’ cars would be damaged and his will be the only ones that would be in working condition after the flood subsided. He always kept reels of polythene sheets handy along with essential things that might be required during emergencies like cans of processed food, matches, flares, tools, knives, first aid kits, and even a canoe. Kurz gesagt, Mike was always planned for the bad and prepared for the worst.

A sudden thought struck him and he dashed towards the basement cellar. He grabbed a torch and a length of rope on the way. He cursed as he saw the hip-high water just outside the cellar door, which was a flight of stairs down. He did the math and realised that there would be at least six feet of water in the basement. He thought of turning back, but he had to go in and plug the drainage vent. He chastised himself for the oversight. His single error would have damaged most of his life’s work that was in storage.

Mike climbed down the stairs and used his shoulders to budge the door open. The moment the door opened, water came flooding out and filling the stairwell. He took solace in the fact that the basement cellar was tiny and wouldn’t be holding enough water to flood the ground floor, as long as he managed to plug the leak. He dove into the water and swam, pushing various objects that came floating by, towards the drainage vent. He grabbed a solid piece of wood that came floating by and wedged it in the vent. Within moments he observed that the water level inside the room was not increasing and breathed a sigh of relief.

Mike surveyed the havoc wreaked by the water with a miserable look in his eyes. Hot tears sprang from them and rolled down his haggard face as he saw the mementoes and souvenirs collected from people he met on his adventures floated about in the water. He had neat little labels on each item detailing the name, place and date. Now the writing in the labels were all smudged and was beyond recognition. He snatched a glass jar which had a name that he could decipher. He squinted his eyes and worked hard to understand the curves of his writing. A wan smile lit his lips as he made out the name ‘Marya.’

Marya was a vivacious young woman he had met few weeks ago. He had spent a pleasurable weekend in her company before parting. He opened the bottle and retrieved the onyx hair clasp he had taken from Marya to remember her by. Each single bottle had a similar trinket, but now he couldn’t tell which one was which.

Mike closed the cellar door and came to the ground floor. Despite his precautions, water had started to seep in. There was no saying how much water would enter the ground floor. He switched off the ‘Open 24 Hours’ sign of his Motel and climbed up to the first floor. He felt a bit sad for the damage of his souvenirs. He would now only remember them with vague recollections. Some, he might not even remember. That was the problem with human beings. They were so forgettable and necessitated a placard to keep memories about them alive. Oh well, he could always create new memories. There were a lot more Maryas to kill. First, he had to buy a whole new computer with the hacking package that had served him very well all these days.

This is a spiritual sequel to my earlier story Help. Please click here to read it and connect the dots.

#WriteBravely

My previous entries

1. To My Newborn

2. Roadtrip

3. Cheeseburgery Love

4. Last Item on the List

5. The Terrarium

6. A Moment of Tranquility 

 

A Moment of Tranquility

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The darkness in the sky gave way to the aureate first rays of the sun. The pristine waters of the lake gave birth to languid ripples as they were kissed by the stubborn but gentle breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a songbird sang lilting melodies welcoming the dawn. The Princess looked at the breathtaking vistas in front of her and sighed. She was did not enjoy the serenity of her surroundings anymore. The bird’s dulcet tunes didn’t make her heart soar like it once did. The indolent water ripples didn’t catch her eye now. Even the ride atop her favourite courser excited her no longer.

She led the magnificent beast to the edge of the water. It whinnied and stepped back. A crinkle of anger coursed through her pulchritude and it vanished the very second she became aware of its existence. She hung her head in despair. It had been exactly one and thousand days since the wicked witch cursed her whole life into this single wrinkle of time. All she did was see the sun rise and the water ripple, hear the bird sing and ride her horse to the water. And then she did it again, and again, and again.

She prayed for salvation, she prayed for an end to this tranquil nightmare, she prayed for an end to the sickeningly sweet bird song, she prayed for a tornado to churn the lake inside out, she prayed for a lion to tear her horse’s guts, and she prayed for an arrow to her breast.

She knew none of her prayers would come to fruition.

The darkness in the sky gave way to the aureate first rays of the sun…

‘Dude, change this bloody screensaver. It’s so boring. I’ve got some High-Res Ferrari images. They are sick…’

Written for Day 6 of the Festival of Words hosted by Write Tribe. #WriteBravely.

Read my previous entries for this fabulous event

1. To My Newborn

2. Roadtrip

3. Cheeseburgery Love

4. Last Item On The List

5. The Terrarium

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The Terrarium

Note: This is purely a work of fiction. It is not intended to hurt anyone’s beliefs. 

The five men walked in through separate entrances into the library of the ancient castle. The cavernous space was dimly lit and it took some time for their eyes to adjust to the light. Following the instructions given to them, they moved to the massive U-shaped mahogany table placed exactly at the centre of the room. There was a curious structure made of glass placed in the space between the longer sides of the table. It was a terrarium and inside it was the most exotic looking plants with flowers blooming in never seen before shapes and hues.

The men stood staring at the terrarium, transfixed, that they didn’t notice a tall man in a penguin coat march in and place a triangular conference call setup over the curved part of the table. The man didn’t make a further peep and instead tiptoed out of the room having executed the orders given to him.

The phone started ringing and the four men became aware of each other’s presence for the first time. They wore matching looks of shock and surprise on their countenances as they converged on the conference call setup. The youngest of them was well into his fifties. He was dressed in a plain beige suit with an ill-fitting floral tie kept in place with an ugly star shaped tie clip. His name was Dr. Ernst Smit, the world renown anthropologist whose seminal work on the evolution of human beings was a best seller even amidst the public. A self-confessed atheist, Dr. Smit had engaged in several dialogues with leaders of different religions on TV shows.

He smiled at the others and placed his finger on the answer button, ‘Bishop Martin Spears, Rabbi Moshe Weiss, Mahaguru Ananthananda, and Imam Abu al Banna, It’s a pleasant surprise seeing you gentlemen here. I guess all of you would have received the same invitation that has brought me here.’

The phone kept ringing. The men shuffled and looked at each other with uncertainty. Smit shrugged, ‘We are all here. Might as well answer the call, eh?’ He pressed the answer button and a static noise filled the library. The acoustics made the noise reverberate of the walls, making them a bit uncomfortable.

‘Hello, is anyone there on the other side?’ Smit spoke into the perforated mouthpiece. ‘We are all here, I guess. Are you waiting for anyone else?’

The static noise was replaced by a high-pitched ping and the five men immediately brought their hands to their ears to minimise the effects of the noise. A few seconds later the ping stopped and a soft voice emanated from the device.

‘Greetings. I’m very happy that all of you accepted my rather cryptic invitation. I’m sure you are very important and busy men. So, I thank you for coming.’

Bishop Spears straightened. He was a seventy five year old clergyman affiliated with the Catholic Church. He cleared his throat and spoke up, ‘May we know with whom are we in communication?’

The high-pitched ping returned and everyone in the room groaned. Smit placed his hand on the speaker of the device to reduce the effects of the noise. Few moments passed and Smit realised that the person on the phone was back.

“Hello,” said the voice on the phone. “My name is God. I know you never expected a call from me, as famous as I am, but I’ve been given your name as someone who can help me.

There was an immediate buzz of indignation and palpable anger amongst the men gathered.

Rabbi Weiss spoke in his gruff voice, ‘Is this some kind of game?’

Imam al Banna piped up, ‘whose God?’

The Mahaguru smiled, ‘I think whoever invited us here has a grand sense of humour.’

The voice on the phone chuckled, ‘Gentlemen, please settle down. If you look around, you’ll find seats around the table with your names on them. Kindly be seated and let’s have a discussion.’

They muttered under their breaths before taking their seats. Smit looked around with interest. He knew he was going to have some fun.

‘Everyone settled?’ the voice continued. ‘Would you Gentlemen prefer some refreshments before we begin?’

Bishop Spears looked around him and shook his head, ‘I guess let’s get on with business here, however funny it sounds. First question, why have you brought us here?’

‘Because I need your help, all yours.’

The Imam looked at the conference call device with mistrust, ‘Answer my question, which God are you? Because, I’m not interested in helping any other God other than my own.’

Smit turned towards the Imam, ‘Imam, with apologies, I think this is the work of some billionaire with a sense of humour and a lot of time to kill. I don’t think that we are in conversation with God.’

‘You are an atheist. What do you know about God?’

Smit shrugged, ‘I know that he doesn’t exist.’

The voice interrupted them, ‘But I do exist. I am talking to you, right?’

Rabbi Weiss said, ‘How do we trust that you are indeed God?’

‘Tut! Tut! Such mistrust amongst men of God. Sorry, it just came out of me. You want proof? Here’s one for you. Dr. Smit, please look at the number displayed on the caller id.’

Smit walked up to the device and peered into its LED screen. There was a unique sixteen digit number on the screen comprised entirely of *. ‘I guess the number is hidden.’

‘It’s not hidden, Dr. Smit. Your devices are not capable of displaying my number.’

‘A clever trick indeed.’

‘Alright! You want further proof? Dr. Smit, please turn off the device.’

Smit turned the device off and unplugged the cable. He turned the device upside down and poked around until he found the batteries and removed them as well. He smiled at the others and went back to his place.

Mahaguru Ananthananda twirled his silvery moustache with languid twirls of his fingers, ‘Well, that seems to be that I guess. Shall we leave?’

‘Gentlemen, we still haven’t finished our discussion.’

The five men froze in their respective seats on hearing the soft voice echoing through the room. Heads turned to the corners and the ceiling, ostensibly in search of hidden speakers.

The voice chortled with mirth, ‘I assure you there are no hidden speakers or a second communication device in this room. If you are still uncertain, I would urge you to bring a technical team to comb through this room but you wouldn’t find any. I know it would be difficult to comprehend, but you need to trust me. After all, with the exception of Dr. Smit, that is what you all do, right? Trusting me.’

Bishop Spears crossed himself repeatedly and the Imam started muttering a hasty prayer under his breath.

‘Gentlemen, relax. As I said before, I am God and I need your help. Imam al Banna, to answer your specific question, I’m THE God. I don’t belong to any faith and I belong to everything and everyone in this universe.’

Rabbi Weiss composed himself, ‘Alright! Let us assume that you are indeed God. Tell me how are you talking to us now?’

‘Like how I spoke to Moses atop Mount Sinai and gave him the Ten Commandments, like how I spoke as a disembodied voice to various characters in your Hindu epics. Mahaguru I think you will be very familiar with the word Akashvani or Asiriri.’

Smit looked curious, ‘I have studied extensively about such voices. I’m sure there is a scientific explanation.’

‘There is Dr. Smit. Only your brains are not developed enough to understand it.’

‘Oh I doubt that. We are quite evolved you know. We have a solid understanding of the universe…’

‘Yet you know nothing before the Big Bang. And dare I say that your Big Bang is nothing but a theory. You humans are very young and yet you behave as if you are at the centre of everything.’

Smit looked chastised, ’Alright, I’ll give you that. I don’t belong to the group that maintains human superiority over everything. I’m an anthropologist and I know our species is very young. Young, but evolved. Our physicists are close to solving the puzzle that is the universe.’

‘So close, yet so very far Dr. Smit. Can you believe me if I said that you have not even begun to scratch the surface as far as the universe is concerned?’

Imam al Banna butted in with some amount of impatience in his demeanour, ‘You say you are God and you say we are not evolved enough. Yet you have called on us asking for your help. Why?’

‘Because you five are the only ones who can help me.’

Bishop Spears stood up, ‘I have read a lot about Christianity. In fact, it is the only thing I have read all my life. I have grown up understanding that God is eternal and it is he who created and preserves everything. God is transcendent and immanent. It is God who created our planet and put us in here. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away is what I believe in. If this is the truth, then how can we mere mortals help you? Why do you need our help? What is the sort of help you want from us?’

‘Ah! Let me ask you a question. Who was the first man?’

‘Adam, who was created in God’s own image, was the first man.’

Smit snorted, ‘Bishop, do you honestly believe in a myth that is incompatible with human evolution? You say the first man was created in God’s very image, yet we have documented proof that the first man didn’t even resemble the humans of today. I know evolution is not a popular topic among the men of faith, but you cannot deny cold hard facts. There were many iterations in evolution before the homo sapiens of today were born.’

‘Yes, yes. I know all about your atheistic theories. Can you say with certainty that Adam and Eve didn’t exist?’

‘What I can say with certainty is that there were nearly two dozen human like species that roamed the earth at some or the other point of time. If you are happy to fit your Adam and Eve in this time line, you are most welcome to do so.’

The voice let out a good natured chuckle, ‘Seems like we have hit upon a very touchy subject. But this is where our real discussion begins. Yes, there have been a lot of iterations before you, Homo sapiens, came into existence. I quite like the word iterations, Dr. Smit, because that’s all you are.  Like the Australopithecus afarensis, or the Homo habilis, or even the Homo floresienesis, Homo sapiens are a step in the evolutionary process.’

The Mahaguru tutted, ‘If I may interject, why are we discussing anthropology here? I guess Dr. Smit would have been sufficient to whet your appetite in this field.’

‘Because, Mahaguru, I need your help. I need Bishop Spears’ help. I need Rabbi Weiss and Imam al Banna’s help. I need Dr. Smit’s help as well.’

‘Can you please let us know the nature of help you need? It seems like we are talking in circles and unrelated anthropological issues.’

‘I need your help because I’m getting impatient.’

‘Impatient of?’

‘You, the humans. I’m getting impatient of you and your follies. You were supposed to be the pinnacle of my creation, or at least the evolutionary step leading up to the pinnacle. But, I have been disappointed with the way you have evolved. I gave you intelligence because I wanted you to have some autonomy over your own lives. For every single positive thing that has come by using your intelligence, at least a thousand negative have come out. In the overall timeline of the universe, your lives don’t even amount to that of a pin prick. But, the amount of change and carnage you have brought upon this world in such a short time is something that even I couldn’t have envisaged.’

‘If you are so disappointed with us, why haven’t you struck us down yet?’

‘I have been tempted a lot. But I have shown you mercies you have hardly warranted.’

‘Yet you haven’t. I don’t think you are God. I still believe that all this is an elaborate prank.’

The voice fell silent for a moment. When it spoke, it had gained a steely glint, ‘Alright, I’m not God. You say you are evolved. Dr. Smit, are you aware of the Kardashev scale?’

‘Yes. It is a way to measure a civilization’s level of technological advancement. Before anyone asks, we are not even Type I on that scale.’

‘Can you imagine a Type II or a Type III civilization?’

‘It is not difficult to.’

‘You will not believe that I’m God. So, consider me as someone belonging to the Type III civilization. We have such mastery of the universe that we are akin to God to you. All your myths about blue coloured Gods, Dog faced Gods, Gods flying in their boats in sky, disembodied voices guiding you…If I say that all those were based on us, beings so evolved and so ancient that your primitive minds couldn’t comprehend and immediately raised to the pedestal of deities?’

The men didn’t open their mouths.

‘Do you see the terrarium in front of you? Have you seen such beautiful flowers before? They are from my world. You all are three dimensional beings, whereas I belong to the higher dimension. I can see inside you and behind you at the same time. No wonder you call me omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient. Your planet is nothing more than a terrarium to me. From where I see, your world and your lives are only akin to seeing an ant farm inside a glass jar. I can quite easily remove you from the equation and file you under a failed experiment. But I don’t want to, because over the millennia I have become quite fond of you.’

‘What do you want us to do?’

‘You are influential people among your faith. Dr. Smit, you call yourself an atheist. Do you know what an atheist is?’

‘One who doesn’t believe in God’s existence.’

‘You are scientist. When do you believe in anything?’

‘When I have proof?’

‘Do you have verifiable proof that I don’t exist? Or that I do exist?’

‘Didn’t you just say that you are an alien?’

‘Alien, God, does it even matter to you what I am? If you believe in everything you see, you’d think that aliens are Gods and if you don’t, you’d think that God is an alien.’

‘What should we do?’

‘Do what you do best. Preach to your followers. Preach about oneness, preach about togetherness, preach about love, and preach about existence. Ask your fellow humans to share, to preserve, to evolve. If you are still hell bent on destruction, I can do it for you with a flick of my fingers. Can you do that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now, it doesn’t matter if you believe that I’m God or not. Just believe that I’m someone powerful enough to erase your existence. Don’t give me anymore reasons to do so. And just because I want you to understand, look to the terrarium.’

Before their eyes, the terrarium and its contents disintegrated to dust and vanished. Dr. Smit ran his hands all over the floor where the terrarium stood, turned to the others and shook his head.

They left the room in silence.

Written for Festival of Words hosted by Write Tribe. #WriteBravely. 

Read my other stories written for the Festival of Words

To My Newborn…
Roadtrip
Cheeseburgery Love
Last Item on the List

Last Item On The List

‘Mom, is the camera rolling? Yeah? Alright, I’ll take it from here. Please don’t disturb me for an hour, ok?’

She closes the door and I look at the camera and grin.

‘Hey, all my wonderful earthling friends… This is your boy Columbus coming live from…well, my bedroom. I’d like to thank all of you guys who have walked with me throughout my last journey on our beautiful little planet.

I’m glad things have happened the way they have. I have lived well, alright relatively well, for someone in my situation. The last twenty months of my life has been one heck of a roller coaster ride. It was exactly twenty months ago that the doctors declared that my disease had come back and with a vengeance. I have gone through a gamut of emotions right from that moment. I was angry, bitter, sad, frustrated, and even filled with indignity.

I spent the days cooped up in this very room not bothering about anything and just letting myself go. I wouldn’t look at the faces of my family members and I didn’t answer my friends’ calls. I guess I was just hastening my departure. Somewhere along the way I felt another emotion bubbling inside me – I felt stupid.

I realized that I have been given the biggest cheat card I could ever get. I could eat whatever I wanted, I could drink whatever I wanted, and I could live however I wanted. That’s when I decided to create a bucket list. I pinned a blank A4 paper on my bedside table and started writing down things I wanted to accomplish before, well, I kicked the metaphorical bucket.

One of the first things I wanted to do was to create a YouTube channel dedicated to PJs and hey presto! This channel was born. I’m sure most of you, my three million plus followers, have groaned at my PJs. Some might have even cursed me, but I know some of you would have grinned. Guys, I made some total strangers smile. That’s a win.

I started this YouTube channel as a part of my bucket list. I never expected this channel to become my bucket list. Someone in the comment section had mentioned that I could video my bucket list activities and upload them to this channel. I thought ‘what the heck!’ and did so. I never expected that so many people would subscribe to my channel just to see me knocking off things from my bucket list. Guess voyeurism is an international epidemic!

Ha, kidding!

I’m happy to have you guys along my journey. I’m sure I have entertained you trying to ride a horse and puking all the way down during my skydiving fiasco. Thanks to my quasi-celebrity status, I have been able to complete quite few items of my bucket list and the reason is you guys. I think most of you guys would have learnt a little bit about my culture and my people through my videos. We are not that different, you know? We all eat with our mouths and shit from… well I guess you get it.

Coming to the task at hand, I have only one more incomplete task on my list. I don’t have much time on my hands. This might just be my last ever video, but hey, there will still be one hundred and forty seven videos of me spouting bad jokes on my channel. Small pleasures, eh?

Today, I want to talk about love. What is love? Some say it’s the most beautiful feeling one could experience, some say it’s just chemical reaction in a person’s body, some say that love is God, and some moan that love is pure evil. I mean if you use love as a pivot to balance your happiness, sadness, success, failure etc., then love is God. I once heard someone say that love is beautiful and crippling at the same time. There are a lot of poets who have filled pages and lot of singers who have sung about this magical feeling called love.

There is merit to each and every hypothesis about love. Let me add my two cents. To me, love is nothing but acceptance. You love someone when you accept them inspite of their shortcomings. I’m talking about a Universal love. Something one should feel for every animate and inanimate part of this tiny little ball floating in the space.

Carl Sagan once quoted that we are so filled with our own delusions that we do not realise that we are on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. I agree one hundred percent. We are just temporal beings, each alive for only a negligible fraction when the overall timeline of the universe is considered. Why waste this precious little dollop of time by fighting over some other piece of this mote of dust?

Acceptance is the key to make life a little more happier. I mean, life is very simple only if we allow it to be. But we don’t spare a second’s worth of mindspace before polluting the heck out of this one planet in the known universe where we can be alive for more than two minutes without a spacesuit. We think our job is done once we throw the leftover food into the green bin marked ‘Degradable waste.’ Why not give it to those who are starving? Why not give the useless stuff we have stockpiled to those who actually need them?

My friend once said that unfortunately this is the era of selfies and selfishness. I don’t completely agree with him. There is still hope. I have this unyielding hope that one day we will all accept everyone else. I mean, without hope we would have followed the dinosaurs into extinction. Some say that we are already on the way, but I say hold on to that amazing thing called hope.

Coming to the last task on my bucket list – I wish to declare my love to that special someone who has been my friend through thick and thin. I don’t know if she is aware of my feelings for her. She certainly hasn’t given any indications that she knows. If she does, then I get the message. If she doesn’t, then she is an even bigger idiot than I am. I said love is all about acceptance. So, if you are seeing this, I have one simple question for you. Will you accept me with all your heart for the tiny remainder of my life? I love you and I have loved you for a long time now. Will you call me with an answer? Don’t make me wait for too long…’

I feel a sudden pain stabbing through my system. I realize it’s time to go. I grunt and drag myself towards the bed and draw a tick mark against the last item on my list. My eyes begin to dim and I have this loud pounding in my head. I land heavily on the bed and prop myself with my arms. I want to close my eyes and take a long nap. I remove my hands and collapse on the sheets. The last thing I hear is my mobile phone ringing.

Written for Day 4 of the Festival of Words by Write Tribe. #WriteBravely

Read my previous entries from below

To my newborn
Roadtrip
Cheeseburgery Love

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Cheeseburgery Love

My dad gave me three life rules to live by: 1. Studies come first, 2. Don’t sleep around with random women and 3. Don’t eat meat. The first two were easy, but the third one proved difficult all because of a cheeseburger. Let me explain.

I come from a very conservative South Indian family. As expected of every middle class Indian boy, I finished my engineering with flying colours. I was recruited by a top software company straight out of college, thus enhancing my family’s standing in the society. I worked hard for three years, preparing for GMAT on the side, as every middle class Indian software engineer does at some point of his life.

The moment I aced my GMAT and got interview calls from a couple of reputed universities in the U.S, my parents registered my profile on a matrimony website. My feeble protests were drowned by their 100 megaton bombs of ‘You are a young boy. You don’t know,’ and ‘We know what we are doing, don’t you trust your own parents?’ The Little Boy and Fat Man atomic bombs that were dropped over Hiroshima and Nagasaki had a combined blast yield of only 36 kilotons. Hey, I’m from a conservative South Indian family. We like our trivia, alright?

Coming back to the matrimony profile, my mom had already initiated conversations with parents of three prospective brides, all from Bay Area. So typical, you might think. It’s ok, go ahead. I thought the same too. I didn’t feel like breaking the castles my mom was building in the air by mentioning trivial issues like getting an admit, getting a scholarship, getting a student visa, completing the course, getting head-hunted, getting a work visa etc.

I did get an admit from one of the prestigious universities. I think my dad’s chest expanded to its full 56 inches and my mom’s grin was so wide that I remembered my old Tamil teacher’s comment. There is a verse in Tamil literature that describes the beauty of the heroine’s eyes by describing them as stretching till her ears. My teacher used to extend that simile to our grins by describing our mouths appearing as if they were stretched to our ears. I think I understood what she meant the moment I looked at my mom’s grin.

Soon, the D-day arrived and I was all set to fly to the land of dreams and obscenely expensive idlis and dosas. My dad, the pseudo-Gandhian that he is, gave me the aforementioned life rules. I know that I promised him just to make him stop bugging me, but the twenty three hour flight journey gave me ample time to contemplate. Well, that and the nasty bit of turbulence that made me deposit my lunch into the barf bag with Jurassic park sound effects. I’m not ashamed to say that my life flashed before me for a microsecond. I thought about my dad’s rules and realized that I could uphold them without any issues.

The first rule was so easy, that I almost laughed. C’mon, asking a conservative South Indian to concentrate on studies is something like asking the sun to shine or asking the U.S President to tweet something stupid. Don’t worry! That’s what we do, people. The second one was also easy. I didn’t have to worry about sleeping with random women, no one was ready to sleep with me. Problem solved. That’s what I thought.

Until I met Sarah Lee Jones.

Beautiful Sarah Lee Jones with her twinkling blue eyes, body that would put a Goddess (not a Hindu one! I’m not a cheapo, alright?) to shame, and her oh-so-sexy southern drawl. The moment I saw her, I forgot the faces of the matrimony.com girls. I had fallen, and fallen hard. That was no surprise. What was a surprise was that she fell in love (gradually, obviously!) with me as well.

And that’s how we come to the situation I narrated at the beginning. You see, Sarah Lee comes from a proud Texan family and if you have seen enough American sitcoms, you’d know that the Texans love their meat. Especially beef, which comes from a cow, an animal that my family worships. It just so happens that Sarah Lee’s dad, Mr. Jones has this weird rite-of-passage thing for his daughter’s potential boyfriends. Yup! Just Mr. Jones. I haven’t got the qualifications to call him by his first name yet. I mean its ok. I would have been forced to call the Bay Area girl’s father as uncle. I was happy to call this former line-backer Mr. Jones or Sir.

Coming back to the rite-of-passage thing, it involves the potential boyfriend eating Mr. Jones’ special cheeseburger. Sarah Lee smirked when she said only two of her ex-boyfriends had managed to polish off the cheeseburgers. The others were chased away with the promise of an ass-kicking. How many boyfriends did she have before me? I think that’s a problem for a later date, provided I survive this cheeseburger episode. Now, do you understand my predicament?

On one hand, I want to uphold the rules my dad had imposed on me and on the other hand I don’t want to hurt the one person, other than my parents, who loves me. I spent the week thinking of ways to escape from the cow-meat-bun fiasco that was waiting for me with a vengeance. Various scenarios played out in my mind, all ending with Mr. Jones humiliating me and his daughter dumping me. I needed an inspiration and that meant only one thing.

$10 filter kaapi!

I spent nearly fifty bucks on coffee alone and felt nowhere inspired. In fact, I felt a little acidic. I was about to give up when I saw it. My caffeine infused brain started working in overdrive and I grinned. And burped.

I made my preparations and left for Angleton, Texas. Sarah Lee had pinged me the location pin to their house and I took a $49 cab journey to reach the place. Their house was in the suburbs with ample space in front and back. The Indian in me immediately calculated the number of houses I could construct and give them for rent. There was a strong odour wafting from the backyard. It must be the minced cow meat burning. I resist the urge to throw up all over their porch and ring the bell.

Sarah Lee opens the door and places a light kiss on my lips. Ha! I nearly forgot to gloat about the fact that I have a girlfriend. Who kisses me. And stuff. Alright, back to the story.

Sarah Lee takes my hand and leads me to the backyard where the Jones family areseated. Mr. Jones, at nearly 7 feet, towered over me.

‘C’mon in, Son! You ready to taste my famous Cheeseburger?’

He pumped my hand furiously, ‘Grab a plate. You don’t want to miss the first batch.’

I gulped and tried to reply, but only a squeak came out of my throat.

‘What was that?’

I cleared my throat, and with as much as confidence I could muster said, ‘I’m a vegetarian, Sir.’

He looked at me as if I was some kind of a circus freak. ‘Vegetarian? You should have told me, Sarah Lee. I wouldn’t have wasted this perfectly fine beef. Say, do you worship the damn cows, son?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do. Sir!’

‘Brings a complete new meaning to the word Holy Cow, doesn’t it?’ He bellowed a sarcastic laughter. I realized that I had had enough.

‘Mr. Jones, I have a proposal for you.’

He stopped laughing and looked at me with curiosity, ‘and what’s it, son?’

‘I’ll finish your cheeseburger, provided you could finish a signature dish from my household.’

‘Alright! What’s that?’

I opened my backpack and retrieved the Tupperware box from inside. I removed the lid and placed it on the table. The dark brown puliogare grinned with evil intent at Mr. Jones.

He looked a bit unsure. He took the box in his huge hands and moved it tentatively towards his nose. He winced at the strong tangy smell emanating from within.

‘Son, what the hell is this?’

‘Oh, just rice. With some tamarind, dried chilly, mustard and assorted spices. Please try it. I guess you could call it zingy.’

Mr. Jones took a few morsels and popped them into his mouth. His eyes widened almost cartoon-esque and he reached for the jar of lemonade almost immediately. He took greedy swigs and blew out air.

I reached for the cheeseburger. Fair’s fair right?

Mr. Jones placed his hand on my shoulder, ‘Forget about the cheeseburger, son. I think we have some mashed potatoes and okra.’

I grinned, ‘Terrific! They’ll go perfectly with the puliogare.’

Needless to say, neither puliogare nor cheeseburgers were served at our wedding.

Written for Festival of Words by Write Tribe. #Write Bravely

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Roadtrip

She waits with impatience, feet tapping a restless flamenco, in the queue outside the airport for renting a car. The evening sun’s rays scorch her face increasing her annoyance just that little bit more. She whips out her Prada sunglasses and slides it over her aquiline nose, making few heads turn her way. The attendant takes an eternity to get her licence photocopied and registered. She thinks molasses would take lesser time to drip over a rock than the time the attendant takes to hand over the keys.

She flips the bird at the general vicinity of the counter and wheels her suitcase towards the parking lot. The past week hadn’t been kind to her. It began with her luggage being misplaced, which directly led to her botching her job. To make things worse, her organization had lost the contract to one of their fiercest rivals. For an experienced professional, the incident had become a huge black mark on her career.

She throws her carry-on on the back seat and starts the car. It’s a well maintained sedan, almost three years old, just the way she likes it. She lowers the window once she gets out of the city and hits the countryside. The pleasant breeze that wafts in does nothing to assuage her present mood. She pings through the radio channels and switches the sound system off with a huff.

The sun is almost down and she is in a state of near torpor. She was comfortable in this state, where her muscle memory kicked in and more than made up for the inertia of her other senses. She contemplates stopping for a quick bite before the next stretch through the unforgiving desert when she hears the thump.

Her senses overrides her muscle memory and she clasps the steering hard and pulls the car over to the shoulder of the highway.

‘Bloody flat tire!’ she mutters, rolls her sleeves and gets out of the car. She is puzzled to see that all the four tires are in perfect condition. She uses the toe of her shoe to poke and prod at the tires, and then she hears it again. A low, rhythmic thumping noise coming from the trunk. She takes a step back and contemplates her further course of action.

She could leave the car here and ask the car rental company to bring her a replacement car. That would be the safest option, but it would also take a long time. It was getting dark and she is in the middle of nowhere, the nearest town at least a hundred kilometres away. Her other option could be calling the cops and they could open the trunk and see what was making the noise from inside.

She decides to call the cops and inform them. She pulls her mobile out and realizes that it is out of charge. She lets a loud expletive out and is rewarded with a feeble ‘Hello’ from inside the trunk. She looks around, spots a stone with a jagged edge and picks it up. She circles around the car and uses her left hand to smack the trunk with repeated thuds.

The voice from the trunk immediately pipes up, ‘Hello? Please open the trunk. I’ve been stuck inside for the last seven hours and I need to pee.’

She grips the stone with firm determination, ‘Are you armed?’

‘What? No! I don’t have anything other than my wristwatch on me. Please let me out. I won’t harm you. I promise.’

‘Promises aren’t worth the air they come out of the person who utter them. Why are you inside the trunk?’

‘Ma’am, please let me out. I’ll answer all your questions once I’ve answered natures call first.’

She grins despite herself, ‘What if you are a psychopath?’

‘No! I’m just an insurance salesman. I beg you, please let me out. I’m diabetic.’

‘Listen! I’ll walk away around twenty meters and then pop the trunk open with the key fob. I need you to come out hands first, alright? I have a gun and I assure you I know to use it.’

‘Yes, Definitely! Thank you very much.’

She walks away back first and presses the key to release the lock. Time freezes as she waits for the trunk to open and the person to emerge. The trunk opens and two hands, sheathed within white shirtsleeves, emerge followed by a bald pate and then a rotund figure falls with an awkward plop on the asphalt.

She watches with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as the man gets up and, with a muttered thanks and a smile that resembled more of a grimace, runs with his hands on his trousers’ zipper to the opposite side of the road. The man waddles back after finishing his business with an apologetic smile.

‘Thank you, Ma’am. I’d shake your hand, but I guess you’d prefer if I wash my hands before.’

She grips the stone a little tighter, ‘Alright, guy! Take a hike. You are out of the trunk and free now.’

He looks at her as if she has sprouted a second head, ‘But, this is middle of nowhere. I don’t have my cellphone or wallet on me. Trust me, no one will stop their vehicle to give me a lift. Please, I implore you, let me ride with you till the next town. Look at me, I cannot survive for more than an hour in this wilderness.’

She gives him the once over. She estimates that he is around fifty, very much on the short side. He is clad in a stained white shirt and navy trousers. The horrible pink and purple tie around his neck is loose and askew. He looks innocuous, but her senses are wary. As a single woman traveling a lot, she has learnt not to take anyone on their face value.

‘Why were you in the trunk?’

‘That’s a pretty funny story. I’ll regale you with my story on the way to the next town. I guess we’d have two hours to swap whatever information we want amidst us.’

‘Buddy, you are not getting within ten feet of me without telling your story. Start talking or start walking.’

‘Alright, alright! You young ones are not trusting of others at all. Whatever happened to decency and kindness?’

She shrugs and walks towards her car, all the while keeping him in her eyesight, ‘Suit yourself.’

‘Ok! I’ll talk. Do you have some water? I feel dehydrated.’

She tosses him a can of soda, ‘That’s all you get. Now, talk.’

He finishes of the soda in three long swigs and wipes his mouth with his tie. ‘As I said, I’m an insurance salesman. We have pretty stiff targets this quarter and in my over-exuberance to achieve them, I might have sold life insurances to some gentlemen, who on my later reflection, I shouldn’t have.’

‘Gang members?’

‘Gang members. They realized that killing someone might get them a tidy little windfall. Unfortunately, I had falsified some information about their occupation and the company refused to pay. So, they were a member short and empty handed. I managed to escape them for a month, but they spotted me today at the airport. I ran away as fast as I could and then hid inside the trunk of this car. Well, there’s my story. Now, can I please get a ride?’

Despite her radar screaming in the negative, she consents. ‘Get in. I need to see your hands at all times, understood? Don’t try any funny business. I’m a trained martial arts expert.’

He nods in the affirmative, gets in and wears the seatbelt. She eases the car into gear and starts driving. They travel in silence. He turns a few times to look at her and start a conversation but holds his tongue. She sighs in exasperation, ‘What?’

‘Ma’am, I know this is most inconvenient for you and I really don’t want to impose. But as my old man kept harping, time is precious, why waste precious few minutes of it in this uncomfortable and forced silence? I’m sure I can learn a lot from you and maybe, just maybe you can too.’

She groans in frustration, ‘Guy, if you want to talk, talk. Don’t expect a reply from me. I’m in no mood to buy what you are selling.’

‘Famous last words of all my customers,’ He chuckles. ‘But they all cave in at the end. Give me a chance.’

‘For a guy hiding in a trunk, you got some bravado going. I get that you talk a lot, right?’

‘Oh, yes! Talking and breathing are almost the same to me. You look frustrated. I understand that I’m one tiny part of the reason. Do you want to talk about that?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that was awkward. I look at you and see a successful and strong woman. You have no time for family or friends, right? You travel a lot. But, I guess you’ve faced a setback recently. Maybe even a first?’

‘Alright wise guy, shut up.’

‘My, my! Think I hit a nerve there. Want to let some steam out? You can vent all you want. My customers have said that I’m as good as a punching bag. I can take it.’

She groans and hits the brake, ‘Yes, you are right. I’m successful and lonely. Yes, I’ve had a setback recently. Now, get out.’

‘Tut, tut! You are many things, but I guess you are not a patient woman. I also guess that your job requires you to be patient. By any chance, are you a photographer?’

That puts her off balance, ‘What? Photo? Well, yeah. I shoot for a living.’

He contemplates her answer in silence. She gives up and starts driving again. He pipes up after a few minutes, ‘You know, I think I have some sage advice for you. For you, the profession is something which gives you money and success. But you don’t enjoy doing what you do, right? I say, flip the script.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun and—snap!—the job’s a game! Get it?’

‘Who comes up with such crap?’

‘Eh? Julie Andrews. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the song.’ He starts singing the song from Mary Poppins. ‘Quite famous song, you know?’

‘I have no time for music.’

‘Oh! That’s too bad. I say make some time for music. Its food for soul, you know?’

‘No one has a soul. Especially none in my line of work.’

‘Dare I say, your line of work is very cut-throat?’

‘You could.’

‘Still, make some time for music. Trust me, it’ll help you. And, find the fun element in every job. You’ll see that you’d be enjoying doing it.’

‘Maybe…’

‘Not maybe, definitely! Hey, a fuel station is up ahead. Do you want to grab a bite?’

‘You don’t have you wallet. Do you expect me to pay for the grub?’

He turns to her with a sheepish look on his face, ‘If you don’t mind. I promise you, I’ll pay you back before we part tonight.’

She shrugs and drives the car into the fuel station. He makes his way to the convenience store as she picks the nozzle to fill the tank. Ten minutes later, he walks back with packs of chips and cans of soda. He dumps the lot on the back seat and gets in with a triumphant smirk.

She starts the car and he passes her a can of soda. They drive in silence for the next ten minutes. She looks at him and grins. They start laughing together.

‘Satisfied?’

‘Very. Thank you, dear.’

‘How many?’

‘Two. Man and his wife.’

‘Knife?’

‘Knife.’

‘I don’t understand your weird obsession with knives, Dad.’

He pulls out the bloody knife from his trouser pocket and runs a loving finger over its sharp blade. ‘You won’t get it, dear. Same way, I will never get your fixation with guns. They are effective, yes. But knives are more intimate. You get the satisfaction to see the person’s eyes up close as you stab them. You’ll never get that with guns.’

‘Whatever!’

‘Now, don’t you dare say whatever to your old man.’

‘Sorry, Dad.’

‘It’s alright, sweetheart. I know you are feeling down after your botched job and I know that your competition gunned down your target. But, think a little bit about what I said. In any job, it is important that you find the fun element. Now look at me. I hid inside a bloody trunk for few hours and did a little role playing with you. It put me in the right mood for my little adventure at the convenience store. Now tell me that there is no merit to what I said.’

‘I guess.’

‘You are still very young, dear. You’ll get more opportunities to redeem yourselves. There are lot of people waiting to be killed in this world. For you, it’s a job. For me, it’s a way to relax. I’m sure that you’ll enjoy the job once you make it a game. Remember how the cat always plays with the mouse before striking it down?’

‘Yes.’

‘Exactly. Now, how about some pizza?’

Written for Festival of Words by WriteTribe. 

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To My Newborn…

I look at you, brown little baby squirming underneath the blanket, and am overcome with an eclectic mix of emotions, ranging from happiness to dread, wonder to melancholy, and from feeling blessed to feeling enraged. You have nothing to do with what I feel right now, but your entry into this accursed world changes everything.

You are going to bear the torch on behalf of the human race, going forward. It is going to be a lonely journey for you as you grow up. You will go to play school, but there will be no one to play with. You will be looked at with curiosity and astonishment by everyone you pass. Some might even get angry on seeing you. After all, your presence will only make them confront their personal failures and make them angry at themselves, and in turn at you. As a result, you will find yourself surrounded by gun-toting security force every waking minute of your life.

You will be subjected to a lot of medical tests, scores of doctors and scientists will pore over every living cell in your body and analyse everything that comes out of you. You can take solace from the fact that I will be a part of this team of lab-coat clad bastards who’ll be monitoring every beat your heart makes and every breath your lungs take.

You will grow up realizing that you are not like others around you. You will be shorter and stockier. Your forehead and nose will differ from everyone else. Maybe, you’ll be smarter than everyone or maybe you’ll not. It will not matter.

At some point, you’ll resent being born. You will place the blame squarely on my chest for bringing you into this children-less world. You’d never believe me if I told you that I am not your father, but it’s true and I can prove it. Your father has been dead for at least fifty thousand years. My dear baby boy, you are the first live Neanderthal in fifty millennia.

You see, some two hundred years ago, a deadly virus plagued us, the Homo sapiens, and left all the male fragment of our species sterile. The idiots we were, drunk with our own delusions of grandeur, didn’t even realize that something had gone awry for the first few decades. It was China’s removal of the limitation on the number of children allowed per family that set alarm bells ringing. That, and the sudden increase in the number of fertility clinics all around the world which made us understand that there was a very real possibility of humans facing extinction unless we rallied fast.

And rally we did! Over the last hundred years, we have done some outstanding work in genetics. We have discovered the cure for most diseases, we have slowed down ageing and our work on artificial insemination is truly ground-breaking. We have enough nanobots swimming inside each human that would put the viruses to shame. We have also made huge strides in human parthenogenesis, the process of asexual reproduction in which the embryos are developed and grown without fertilization, though success is still few decades away.

We have tried all the tricks ever known to us and every trick we could conceive. Nature has a great way of bringing its creations to heel. Yes, I’m talking about the sixth extinction. It is very real and it is right around the corner. Every male child born through artificial insemination turned out to be sterile as well. A world filled with fertile women and sterile men cannot exist for long. Forget about biology, I’m talking about us, the men, losing our alpha status in the society. The world has not been a very comfortable place over the last few decades because of this very reason.

That’s where you come in, my greatest accomplishment and our species’ salvation. I’m sure you’d grow up and ask me one day why there aren’t more of you around. I have no definitive answer for that question. Your species were around for thrice the amount of timescale than that of ours. Yet, some fifty thousand years ago your father and his kinfolk ceased to exist. Was it because the Homo sapiens absorbed the Neanderthals as they multiplied or was it because that my forefathers committed a mass genocide of yours? If the latter is true, it will be a great way to even the scores. That the future of the human race being entrusted to the representative of the species they eliminated would be the greatest joke nature would play on us.

I sincerely hope that in the past the Neanderthal race got absorbed into the Homo sapiens. That would solve a lot of problems, some biological and some moral. Supposing you grow up to be fertile and if your DNA could be used to create a new fertile life, that would be the most undeniable proof that Neanderthals and Homo sapiens interbred with a lot of success all those years ago.

The past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it. That’s what we are striving to do now. To right our wrongs. To be more understanding, to be more accepting. To look forward to a new day when our species will continue along with our long lost cousins. And, I’ll be there with you every step of the way. I told you that I’m not your father, but know this – you will always be my son.

Written for the Festival of Words, organized by WriteTribe. 

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Varad’s Opinions – PEISKOS by Reema D’Souza

Book Name: Peiskos

Author: Reema D’Souza

Book Blurb: Peiskos is the feeling one gets when sitting in front of a fireplace enjoying its warmth. We remember pieces of life that seem ordinary but often bring along a sense of warmth. Here are 26 such pieces woven into stories around rare and beautiful words.

Initial Thoughts: What attracted me towards this slim volume was its name ‘Peiskos’ and the meaning of the word. Once you read the meaning behind the word you would realize that a smile has crept on its own volition to your lips. After all, who wouldn’t love to curl up in front of a fire with a nice book and some coffee? I also found the concept behind the book very interesting – 26 short stories based on 26 very unique words.

As usual, this is not a review but my opinions as a reader.

What Works:

The research that has gone into the creation of this book. Hats off to the author. She has combed through exotic languages like Japanese and French and archaic ones like Latin to select the words that make up this book.
The words chosen – There are a lot of beautiful words chosen by the author to weave her stories around. I’m pretty sure I’d be using a few of them in my conversations and writing. Words that really stood out are Boketto, Duende and Ikigai. I’m sure you’d be using a few as well.
The stories are short, crisp and do not overstay their welcome.
The language is simple and elegant.
The stories: Few are bound to make you nod your head while you mutter, ‘Yup! That’s me, alright.’ I loved the story Wasuremono a lot.

What Doesn’t: 

There’s a lot of pathos amongst the 40 odd pages of the book. I’m sure certain words lean toward the melancholic side, but I was left with the feeling that the author could have used other emotions in her stories as well.
Few stories almost sound similar. I might be wrong in assuming, but I felt the same story or at least facets of the same story was being used for different words.

Final Thoughts: Though this book is only 43 pages long, I took my time to read it so that I could savour each story separately. If you love fiction and learning fascinating new words, Peiskos is a must read for you.

You can download a free copy of the book here. You can follow the author on twitter and read more of her writings on her website.