Athul DeMarco's Blog, page 3
December 10, 2014
How I got dogs and learned to love to smell of shit
Once upon a time…By that I mean a couple of years back. When I was still single and so were my friends. Like little whiny bitches, one of our favorite pastimes was to day dream about the kind of women we would be married to. One of me mates was pretty darn sure that he would have an arranged marriage. Not because he wasn’t progressive or couldn’t woo girls with his sheer alpha male looks and gait. No. He wanted to have an arranged marriage because he was pretty sure that his folks would pick a kingfisher calendar girl for him to be married to. There was another mate of mine who wanted to remain single and another, who just like me wanted our lives to resemble an Aditya Chopra movie.Fast forward to a couple of years later, the domino effect took place reminding us of this thing called life and this phenomenon called time. Domino effect, for those of you who are still young and single - It is that particular period of time when you start getting news that one of your friends is going to get married soon. Calls are made to every other common friend except the person who is actually going to get married. Questions are raised, judgments are passed. Soon, one after another, more and more of your friends get married. Soon enough, you are the last person who is still having sex without your parent’s approval. You eventually meet the person you want to marry and you get married. But by this time, your friends and their spouses have had unprotected sex and you keep thinking, ‘seriously? Like SERIOUSLY!’Suddenly you are the weird fellow you always were afraid you were going to turn into. That single man, your parents introduced to you as ‘Uncle’.So, amidst me silently screaming ‘seriously?!’ I got married. Flashback five months back from today, missus is at home, feeling bored and decides she is going to foster abandoned pups. Flashback to twenty one years back, I am pleading me parents to get me a dog. They deny my request. So obviously I gleefully roll my tongue out when my missus gets time to look away from her phone and informs me about her decision.Fast-forward to two days later, missus and me find ourselves surrounded by three furballs the size of your fist. I did find myself controlling my urge to kick them around like I was back in school playing football with a tennis ball.And this is where things get interesting in a very epiphany sort of way. Suddenly, I had three living creatures taking a glorious shit on my carpet and pissing on nice cotton bedsheets. Suddenly, I found myself asking the question, ‘How did my father handle all this behavior of mine?’ Having taken vows and signed legal documents which consigned me to be an equal partner to my missus, I found myself scooping shit off carpets, feeding milk and singing lullaby. As few of the pups got adopted, I used my Jedi powers and got my missus to adopt two pups. But there is a reason why she is my missus. She soon caught on to the fact that it was me all along who wanted dogs and hence scooping shit largely fell on my well moisturized hands. The pups kept growing, their dietary needs grew. Thanks to Tim Berners-Lee, missus decided to start the pups on a diet of chicken liver and rice. I went and purchased chicken liver, believing that I would also eat some when me missus cooked it for the pups. Not realizing that what I actually like are chicken gizzards and NOT chicken liver. (A whole different story altogether)After 36 hours, with the poop-bin smelling like chicken liver paradise, I suddenly realized how new parents don’t think twice before changing diapers. How, they apologize when their babies pee over them. Suddenly I realized I am a father to two adorable living embodiments of 'awwww'.I soon found myself proudly showing off pictures of me dogs to anybody and everybody. I was turning into that very person who I made jokes about and despised. So I learned how to keep quiet and stopped posting pictures on Facebook and Instagram. I learned to not scream with joy declaring how smart my dogs were when they learned how to pee on their pee mats and not on the bed. I learned not to google for doggy universities for the gifted when they learned to play fetch.
Fast forward to the present, I don’t wince when I open their poop-bin and the enveloping smell of canine feces smothers my face and threatens to date rape me. I don’t squelch when I pick up a pee mat weighed down with litres of piss and put it for wash. I whistle and a pair of wagging tails running to greet me makes me the happiest man alive.
Fast forward to the present, I don’t wince when I open their poop-bin and the enveloping smell of canine feces smothers my face and threatens to date rape me. I don’t squelch when I pick up a pee mat weighed down with litres of piss and put it for wash. I whistle and a pair of wagging tails running to greet me makes me the happiest man alive.
November 4, 2014
Two Kinds
Stop me if you have heard this one before. There are two kinds of people. The ones who want to be the best there ever was. And then there are the others who want to be the best till somebody else comes along. There are two kinds of people. The ones who don’t know from where their next pay cheque is going to come from. And then there are the ones who always fantasize about their dreams.I was one kind. Before I decided that I wanted to be the other. I was on the right side of the law. Did everything my parents wanted me to do. Finished my college. Found a job. Quit the job to study some more, in a foreign land. Found myself a fabricated cell with limited access to the world wide web during lunch hours. Parents felt proud of what I had achieved. I wanted them to come and visit. There are two kinds of dogs. One which learns everything you want to teach. The other wants to learn new tricks. And then there are the others who are too old to be taught anything. My parents did finally come. We walked along the trail left by million FOBs before us. They, my parents felt proud. I had gone where their dreams refused to drag them. That’s the first time the ugly question raised its’ puritan hand. Is this all there is? There are two kinds of people. The ones who want to reach the top and stay there. And then there are the others who jump from the top, hoping to fly. I got married. Because that’s what people did at my age. I had to find somebody to go out with. Watch movies. Enjoy couple of drinks and dinner on a weekend. I did. It felt nice to share your silences.There are two kinds of silences. One which speak volumes. And then there is other which chokes your innards and stretches a mere second till infinity. We tried to avert the second kind of silence from enveloping our lives. So we gave birth to children. The world said we were blessed. Darlings they loved to call the three of them. We watched them grow. We recorded it all. One tweet, one facebook status, one instagram at a time. We watched them fall down and pick themselves up. We watched them cry and laugh. We cried and laughed with them. There are two kinds of universes. The one which Newton and Einstein described. And then there is other which involves the people you label as family. I grew old and they asked me to retire. The children had grown up and grown up fast. They left to conquer new shores. The hollow nest filled itself with mournful silence and happy memories. And I remembered my parents. I wondered if I had turned into them. There are two kinds of memories. Ones which make you smile. And the other which you take to your grave.
R.I.PANONYMOUS
1958 - 2014
R.I.PANONYMOUS
1958 - 2014
April 7, 2014
Things I have learned since I got published
The story about quibbling, quarreling conjoined twins titled ‘An.Al – The Origins’ hit bookshelves sometime last August, 2013. Soon it will be an entire year since the book came out. As the title suggests, I try to document the things which have changed since then. I am partaking in this exercise primarily because I realize that as one grows older, the concept of time disintegrates faster. For starters, I can now say, without pride that I am a writer. A published author. My book is available to download and to purchase in bookstores. I still can’t say that writing is my primary job. Still have miles and thousands of INR to go. I still have to pay rent, bills, stock my bar, buy cigarettes and occasionally satisfy the rogue pregnant urge to chomp on some steak, mash and veggies. When asked about the title of the book, I have to explain that it is supposed to be an inside joke. A joke, which so far none of the readers have registered. Which also possibly explains why I, and I alone find my jokes to be ear deafeningly howlarious. Since 2010, when I finished writing the original draft for 'An.Al - The Origins'. Since then, I have finished writing a sequel starring the twins, a novella, a novelette, two short stories and abandoned seven stories of indefinite length. With each story, I have bettered myself. Technically and otherwise. I take immense pride in that fact. I am no longer naïve about my weaknesses as a writer. Yes, I have some serious issues when it comes to ending a story. I have an obsessive compulsive need to name my protagonist/antagonist starting with the letter ‘A’. I tend to find myself being extremely comfortably writing stories whose themes revolve around anger, lust, greed, homosexuality and ambiguous evil. I am working on them. Over and above the realization what my weaknesses are as a writer. I also realize that I write for a niche audience. My stories are not meant for everybody. I have made my peace with that fact. I have realized that I expect my readers/audience to have the habit of reading. I expect them to second guess themselves and me as to where the story is heading. And I strive to give due credit to my readers. And as Buddha says, there are only two reasons for a man’s suffering – Greed and ignorance. I realize that I was greedy for everybody to read my story. I realize that I was ignorant and had deluded myself into thinking that a masala story would be everybody’s cup of tea. I realize that I like coffee. [One mug of coffee, in the morning while I check my mails]. I have found contentment in knowing that there are people who would read my stories just because it is me telling the story. In the time that has passed since the book got published, I have learned to pay more attention to my own life, my familial history and my past. I have started to listen more. Not just to people but music I otherwise wouldn't listen to. [Do give a listen to Jaga Jazzist, when I heard them the first time, the first thought which crossed my mind was – Anurag Kashyap should totally write movie with just their music playing in the background. Their soundscape is just something else]. I have started to read more. I now read books not just in the genres and by authors I like and admire, but consciously read books which others recommend. [Vinod Mehta has been a revelation; Mark Kermode is hilarious and infectious]. I watch more television shows and movies than I ever did. I have started to re-watch shows and movies which I loved as a viewer the first time around. I have started to re-watch shows and movies which I disliked. It helps me view the world in the quintessential three acts.I no longer find the urge to drink as much as I did when I write. I still smoke as much as I did. I definitely don't feel the urgent need to empty my brain of things like my smelly armpits, morning wood or other assorted topics on twitter.I have learned that I LOVE telling stories. I love writing. I am learning to harness my insanity. I am learning to learn. And I can say that the difficult decision I took to invest in myself and what really makes me happy at the end of 2008, is finally beginning to pay its dividends.
You can order ‘An.Al – The Origins’ (Paperback) from Flipkart. You canalso download the eBook from Amazon.
You can order ‘An.Al – The Origins’ (Paperback) from Flipkart. You canalso download the eBook from Amazon.
February 3, 2014
Weekday Zombie
The day is Friday. You refresh your mail box one last time, hoping and crossing everything which comes in pairs. There are no new mails. You check your phone. You check the time.
06:42
You look around the small little cubicle you inhabit for five days and three/four nights a week. You want to yell ‘
so long suckers! See you on Monday!
’. You don’t. You are James Bond walking away from a building which is going to self immolate itself in your absence. In slow motion. The traffic was an elephantine snake. You don’t care. You fling your bag. You are Michael Jordan. You kick off your shoes. You are Michael Jackson. You press play on your iPod and open a bottle of beer. You are a mean party animal. You light a cigarette. Feel the bitter taste coat the insides of your mouth. You drop your pants and take a wee. You are the musical water fountain. The iPod plays a slow song. You jump, shake, pull up your pants and run to change the song. You are the DJ. You suck hard on the first cigarette of the evening. You survey your wardrobe. You are the complete man. You hail an auto. Get in. Get out. You see people who know you. Greet. Hug. Pint gets poured. You step out for a smoke. You crib about lack of freedom. There are no cameras or news anchors around. You are a revolutionary. You step back in. Greet. Hug. Pint gets poured. Your current favorite dance track plays. You smile. You are invincible. You lock eyes with another smiling face. You nod. Raise your pint. You are in a Hollywood studio made teen chick flick. You are the cute guy all the girls whisper and giggle about. More people you know step through the door. Greet. Hug. Pint gets poured. The music winds down. The lights come on. You go to wherever there is music and booze. Greet. Hug. Pour yourself a stiff drink. You wake up. Feeling cold. Alone. You check your phone for time.
04:27
You step over sleeping bodies. Find your shoes. You are Jason Bourne. You check your breath. It reeks. You shut your mouth. You are tired. Sleepy. Hail an auto. Haggle. The early morning wakes you up. Your hands are cold. You don’t want to lift them away from under your butt cheeks. Empty streets. Speeding auto. You feel content. You watch as the world you know wakes up. You feel close to the maker. You enter your own room. It is warm. You feel cold inside. You check your phone.
05:10
You fall asleep. You dream. You are on a train rooftop. Ruffians are chasing you. You know kung-fu. You are swimming underwater. With a talking elephant. You hear the door bell ring. You wish it away. Your wish doesn’t come through. You reluctantly get up, open the door. Maid comes in. You press play on your dream reel. You want to know what the elephant was trying to say. Elephant has long gone. The dog follows you. You like the dog. Its big, fluffy and playful. The maid calls out your name. You grunt. Thank her. Close the door. You fall back on the bed. You can’t sleep. You check your phone.
12:08
You scratch your bum. You check the contents of the fridge. You rifle through the home delivery menus. You clean your belly button of all the lint. You pick up your phone and order for food. You brush your teeth. You surf channels. Door bell rings. You open, pay and serve yourself food. You overeat. You groan. You feel satisfied. You check your phone.
15:30
You go through your phonebook. You send a text. You call. Movie at six, dinner at the new Chinese place. You stub your cigarette. Movie wasn’t that great. You eat. The food portions are surprisingly big. The bill is split. There is more booze mentions, less food. You are drunk and stuffed. You are a drunk chicken. You hail a cab. You reach home. You check your phone.
01:10
You sleep. You wake up. You wonder why you dreamt about an elephant and a dog. You spit. You gargle and wash your face. You brew your coffee. You switch on telly. Some action movie you watched years back is playing. You watch. You eat the food from the previous day. You clean up after yourself. You check your phone.
16:05
You groan. Tomorrow would be Monday. You wish to be invisible. You wish you didn’t have to go work. You wish death upon all the stupid people you work with and for. You wish you had enough money to not bother about work. You juggle reasons on whether you should go to work tomorrow or not. You open a bottle of beer and marinate on the couch. You order dinner. You check your phone.
22:12
You steel yourself. You fall asleep. You wake up. You check your phone. 06:30
You are a zombie.
You steel yourself. You fall asleep. You wake up. You check your phone. 06:30
You are a zombie.
January 11, 2014
=|
I had just poured myself a cup of coffee. My first and only cup of coffee. Sitting in front of my laptop, reading the story that I am currently working on. Trying to figure out which is the best way forward. When the following hilarity ensued. Sunday, 12 January 2014:Addie Conole - 09:54Hello :-)??
Athul DeMarco - 09:54helloI am sorry but I am not sure who this is
Addie Conole - 09:54Im bored and wanted to meet new people... 22/female here.....u ?
Athul DeMarco - 09:5529 male... And for some odd reason I am getting a deja vu that this is the year 2000
Addie Conole - 09:55I'm feeling a little naughty wanna have some fun ? :)
Athul DeMarco - 09:56when you say naughty what exactly do you mean?
Addie Conole - 09:56here's a picture lol www.i.imgur.com/s8hzOu8.jpg you like? hehe =)
Athul DeMarco - 09:57Clearly you are flexible, ginger and have long legs. Which are always admirable qualities I presume
Addie Conole - 09:57Haha, you want some more??
Athul DeMarco - 09:58I would love to. Had this actually been the year 2000. Unfortunately I am engaged. With a woman. So you know, don't want to get into trouble with the missusThough just curious as to how you got my mail id
Addie Conole - 09:58than do it babes i want to c u! u were makin me wet
Athul DeMarco - 09:59By doing what exactly?
Addie Conole - 09:59www.i.imgur.com/rCBOQBe.jpg my turn.. wow. I'm soooo turned on right now!!
Athul DeMarco - 09:59Ohh-kay then...
Addie Conole - 09:59Mmm...is the game getting "harder"? =)
Athul DeMarco - 10:00Think the phrase is actually "the game is on"
Addie Conole - 10:00www.i.imgur.com/9AzzivE.jpg i want your cock baby really bad would you give it to me??
Athul DeMarco - 10:01Sorry but it currently out on a lease for the duration of this lifetime to somebody else. And I am extremely sure that trespassing is dealt with severely.Did you know that I have written a book
Addie Conole - 10:01www.i.imgur.com/NdtkrzT.jpg ok last one lol, you'd love to fuck me wouldnt you ;)
Athul DeMarco - 10:01Like an actual book book
Addie Conole - 10:02Baby we really need to go on cam i cant wait anymore
Athul DeMarco - 10:02Sure... had this been an alternate reality, a parallel universe
Addie Conole - 10:02Here i just invited you www.letsplayoncamz.com?freeInvite=g2srt8 try accepting that babe
Athul DeMarco - 10:03Its like you are not reading anything I am writing.
Addie Conole - 10:03Its supposed to be the best app for this kind of thing, hurry up and accept!!!
Athul DeMarco - 10:03But thanks for sharing. I am now extremely confused if I should finish having my coffee or call up the missus and describe what is happening
Addie Conole - 10:04Its worth the annoying signup babe, wait until you see what we can do once you're in
Athul DeMarco - 10:05I am sure it is the best app. And you sure are convincing. And this is turning to be really hilarious. But how about I go now, finish having my coffeeBye now.
Addie Conole - 10:05Its free to join.. i promise.. but it will ask for a card i think.. im gonna get naughty and i cant have kids watching..
Athul DeMarco - 10:06Yes. Clearly. Because the kids of today know about free porn sites. This is NOT 2000. Desibaba is no more. Oh! You are making nostalgic now.
Addie Conole - 10:06ofcourse babe,
Athul DeMarco - 10:06I am lost. For words. And I can't seem to find my lighter. I don't suppose you have a light on you.
Addie Conole - 10:07Ok babe.. talk to you in there.. gonna charge my phone.. mwa! xoxo
Athul DeMarco - 10:07 Hyuk! Hyuk! Hyuk! That was a joke. Because you know. You are nekkid.
Athul DeMarco - 09:54helloI am sorry but I am not sure who this is
Addie Conole - 09:54Im bored and wanted to meet new people... 22/female here.....u ?
Athul DeMarco - 09:5529 male... And for some odd reason I am getting a deja vu that this is the year 2000
Addie Conole - 09:55I'm feeling a little naughty wanna have some fun ? :)
Athul DeMarco - 09:56when you say naughty what exactly do you mean?
Addie Conole - 09:56here's a picture lol www.i.imgur.com/s8hzOu8.jpg you like? hehe =)
Athul DeMarco - 09:57Clearly you are flexible, ginger and have long legs. Which are always admirable qualities I presume
Addie Conole - 09:57Haha, you want some more??
Athul DeMarco - 09:58I would love to. Had this actually been the year 2000. Unfortunately I am engaged. With a woman. So you know, don't want to get into trouble with the missusThough just curious as to how you got my mail id
Addie Conole - 09:58than do it babes i want to c u! u were makin me wet
Athul DeMarco - 09:59By doing what exactly?
Addie Conole - 09:59www.i.imgur.com/rCBOQBe.jpg my turn.. wow. I'm soooo turned on right now!!
Athul DeMarco - 09:59Ohh-kay then...
Addie Conole - 09:59Mmm...is the game getting "harder"? =)
Athul DeMarco - 10:00Think the phrase is actually "the game is on"
Addie Conole - 10:00www.i.imgur.com/9AzzivE.jpg i want your cock baby really bad would you give it to me??
Athul DeMarco - 10:01Sorry but it currently out on a lease for the duration of this lifetime to somebody else. And I am extremely sure that trespassing is dealt with severely.Did you know that I have written a book
Addie Conole - 10:01www.i.imgur.com/NdtkrzT.jpg ok last one lol, you'd love to fuck me wouldnt you ;)
Athul DeMarco - 10:01Like an actual book book
Addie Conole - 10:02Baby we really need to go on cam i cant wait anymore
Athul DeMarco - 10:02Sure... had this been an alternate reality, a parallel universe
Addie Conole - 10:02Here i just invited you www.letsplayoncamz.com?freeInvite=g2srt8 try accepting that babe
Athul DeMarco - 10:03Its like you are not reading anything I am writing.
Addie Conole - 10:03Its supposed to be the best app for this kind of thing, hurry up and accept!!!
Athul DeMarco - 10:03But thanks for sharing. I am now extremely confused if I should finish having my coffee or call up the missus and describe what is happening
Addie Conole - 10:04Its worth the annoying signup babe, wait until you see what we can do once you're in
Athul DeMarco - 10:05I am sure it is the best app. And you sure are convincing. And this is turning to be really hilarious. But how about I go now, finish having my coffeeBye now.
Addie Conole - 10:05Its free to join.. i promise.. but it will ask for a card i think.. im gonna get naughty and i cant have kids watching..
Athul DeMarco - 10:06Yes. Clearly. Because the kids of today know about free porn sites. This is NOT 2000. Desibaba is no more. Oh! You are making nostalgic now.
Addie Conole - 10:06ofcourse babe,
Athul DeMarco - 10:06I am lost. For words. And I can't seem to find my lighter. I don't suppose you have a light on you.
Addie Conole - 10:07Ok babe.. talk to you in there.. gonna charge my phone.. mwa! xoxo
Athul DeMarco - 10:07 Hyuk! Hyuk! Hyuk! That was a joke. Because you know. You are nekkid.
December 18, 2013
Lessons from the past
‘History repeats itself. First as a tragedy and second as farce’ – Karl Marx
As most children raised before parenting books started topping sales chart, I was accustomed to corporal punishment, both at school and at home. But there was one distinction when it came at being punished at home. It was my father and the words he uttered before meted out the punishment I deserved. “Laathon ke bhoot batoon se nahi maante”Which roughly translates into, ‘what can be achieved with force is seldom achieved with words’.The reason I am sharing this rather fun story with you is because, I read something on Quora about operation blue star, which then made me read up on the Muslim league. And I couldn’t help but think to myself… ‘Damn! The colonists played a mean game of Keyser Sozian John Doe with us lot. They divided us. We joined hands, won our freedom, only for us to go back to our age old squabbles of who gets the bigger piece of the pie.’ We revel in racial stereotypes. We revel in our comfort zones, we constantly argue about regional supremacy. We argue about North Vs South/Delhi Vs Bombay. As a school kid who could articulate proper questions, instead of just ‘Why?’, I used to often wonder why do we have to study history? Why do we have to remember the dates, who was king, who killed whom? Why? What was the point of it all? I am not sure if it was one of my teachers or my mother who explained that it was important for us to know our history, because history repeats itself. And we ought to know about our history so that we don’t commit the mistakes our forefathers and fathers made. And for a kid studying 6thgrade, it somehow made sense. As I have grown older, I find myself being drawn to the stories from the past. I am yet to realize if the reason for this want lies because, I know so little about my parents, OR, if it is because I see my country being mismanaged? Given my management education, I wonder, if the solution lies in the past. Maybe I am being a pseudo old age home resident and wanting to reminisce in the nostalgia of the days gone by. Whatever the reason maybe, I find myself reading Indian history. I find myself requesting my father his time and patience to get to know him. While the former is easier to do, the latter isn’t. But the more I find myself reading, reading about events which have shaped our mental psyche as Indians. I can’t help but feel embarrassed, pity, helpless, and deep sorrow. It wasn’t that long ago that Pakistan was formed. It wasn’t that long before Bangladesh got its independence. It wasn’t that long back that Punjab wanted its own theocratic state called as Khalistan. It wasn’t that long ago that the puppet masters of Bombay wanted the place to be rid of ‘aliens’. I say, it wasn’t that long ago, because when there are still movies being made about the holocaust, the Nazis, the great depression, all that I have mentioned is relatively in the recent past. We, as school children are taught that the British Empire used ‘divide and rule’. They did this successfully for over 347 years. And what do we do, as newly independent citizens of India? We go back to being squabbling narrow minded dullards. We go back to fighting with our brothers over who gets the bigger piece of chocolate. Many erudite scholars have written lengthy articles prophesying and articulated this point before me. This was the reason why our shores and borders are perforated. Clearly, we didn’t learn anything from our history. The more I read the newspapers, the more I read about our past, especially post independence, the more I begin to realize this astonishing fact. It is frightening. It is frightening to recognize that we don’t need an external foe to drive a wedge between us. We are doing a mighty good job of it. There is no denying that India is fragmented. But, we were united for a common goal. The goal of seeking independence from our oppressors. So why did we regress back to dividing ourselves again? Divide ourselves along the lines of gender, sex, religion, caste and creed? Did Dr. B.R Ambedekar goof up whilst writing the constitution of India? I am not an expert on the laws and by laws mentioned in the constitution. But I want to ask to those who do, does our constitution speak of a spirit? Of a dream? If it does, then are we living our lives according to it? I have realized that it is easy to outrage, it is easy to protest over wrong answers and wrong actions and doings. But are we asking the right questions? Do we know where we come from? Do we already know the answers to the questions that we ask? Are we repeating ourselves like a self flagellating monkey? The questions are plenty. But do we have somebody who can answer them? Do we have somebody, a leader, who can raise his hands and accept that he doesn’t have all the answers to all our questions? Or, are we just happy being naïve and easily distracted by the moving images and information overload? Till we start asking questions instead of expressing anger, nothing is going to change. Anger, like most emotions subside after time. Unanswered questions rattle about in the human consciousness till they get answered. We haven’t learnt anything from our past. Maybe we should.
As most children raised before parenting books started topping sales chart, I was accustomed to corporal punishment, both at school and at home. But there was one distinction when it came at being punished at home. It was my father and the words he uttered before meted out the punishment I deserved. “Laathon ke bhoot batoon se nahi maante”Which roughly translates into, ‘what can be achieved with force is seldom achieved with words’.The reason I am sharing this rather fun story with you is because, I read something on Quora about operation blue star, which then made me read up on the Muslim league. And I couldn’t help but think to myself… ‘Damn! The colonists played a mean game of Keyser Sozian John Doe with us lot. They divided us. We joined hands, won our freedom, only for us to go back to our age old squabbles of who gets the bigger piece of the pie.’ We revel in racial stereotypes. We revel in our comfort zones, we constantly argue about regional supremacy. We argue about North Vs South/Delhi Vs Bombay. As a school kid who could articulate proper questions, instead of just ‘Why?’, I used to often wonder why do we have to study history? Why do we have to remember the dates, who was king, who killed whom? Why? What was the point of it all? I am not sure if it was one of my teachers or my mother who explained that it was important for us to know our history, because history repeats itself. And we ought to know about our history so that we don’t commit the mistakes our forefathers and fathers made. And for a kid studying 6thgrade, it somehow made sense. As I have grown older, I find myself being drawn to the stories from the past. I am yet to realize if the reason for this want lies because, I know so little about my parents, OR, if it is because I see my country being mismanaged? Given my management education, I wonder, if the solution lies in the past. Maybe I am being a pseudo old age home resident and wanting to reminisce in the nostalgia of the days gone by. Whatever the reason maybe, I find myself reading Indian history. I find myself requesting my father his time and patience to get to know him. While the former is easier to do, the latter isn’t. But the more I find myself reading, reading about events which have shaped our mental psyche as Indians. I can’t help but feel embarrassed, pity, helpless, and deep sorrow. It wasn’t that long ago that Pakistan was formed. It wasn’t that long before Bangladesh got its independence. It wasn’t that long back that Punjab wanted its own theocratic state called as Khalistan. It wasn’t that long ago that the puppet masters of Bombay wanted the place to be rid of ‘aliens’. I say, it wasn’t that long ago, because when there are still movies being made about the holocaust, the Nazis, the great depression, all that I have mentioned is relatively in the recent past. We, as school children are taught that the British Empire used ‘divide and rule’. They did this successfully for over 347 years. And what do we do, as newly independent citizens of India? We go back to being squabbling narrow minded dullards. We go back to fighting with our brothers over who gets the bigger piece of chocolate. Many erudite scholars have written lengthy articles prophesying and articulated this point before me. This was the reason why our shores and borders are perforated. Clearly, we didn’t learn anything from our history. The more I read the newspapers, the more I read about our past, especially post independence, the more I begin to realize this astonishing fact. It is frightening. It is frightening to recognize that we don’t need an external foe to drive a wedge between us. We are doing a mighty good job of it. There is no denying that India is fragmented. But, we were united for a common goal. The goal of seeking independence from our oppressors. So why did we regress back to dividing ourselves again? Divide ourselves along the lines of gender, sex, religion, caste and creed? Did Dr. B.R Ambedekar goof up whilst writing the constitution of India? I am not an expert on the laws and by laws mentioned in the constitution. But I want to ask to those who do, does our constitution speak of a spirit? Of a dream? If it does, then are we living our lives according to it? I have realized that it is easy to outrage, it is easy to protest over wrong answers and wrong actions and doings. But are we asking the right questions? Do we know where we come from? Do we already know the answers to the questions that we ask? Are we repeating ourselves like a self flagellating monkey? The questions are plenty. But do we have somebody who can answer them? Do we have somebody, a leader, who can raise his hands and accept that he doesn’t have all the answers to all our questions? Or, are we just happy being naïve and easily distracted by the moving images and information overload? Till we start asking questions instead of expressing anger, nothing is going to change. Anger, like most emotions subside after time. Unanswered questions rattle about in the human consciousness till they get answered. We haven’t learnt anything from our past. Maybe we should.
November 8, 2013
Now an E-Book
If you have an e-book reader, I don't really have to tell you what you need to do right? I mean you can't be that daft.November 2, 2013
Dear Mr. Bhagat
To,Mr. Chetan Bhagat,
Subject : With reference to Times of India article dated 01 November, 2013 titled ‘Being Hindu Indian or Muslim Indian’
Dear Mr. Bhagat, Hope this letter finds you in the pink of your health. I was taught that this was a good way to start any letter written to anybody. I would also like to commend you on your success which has both mystified and inspired an entire generation of noughties babies. I thoroughly enjoyed reading ‘Five point someone’. The following titles didn’t really appeal to me, but that is just me as a reader. I would like to bring it to your attention that this correspondence is not meant to be one of the many mails you receive criticizing your work. Being a published author, I can only venture to imagine the hardships you underwent before reaching the coveted position you now enjoy in media and social consciousness. I would also like to clarify that I am not writing this letter in response to one of your tweets, which again does a rather remarkable job of polarizing the people who follow them. Unfortunately, I am neither engaged in those debates nor do I encourage them. I find it to be in bad form to comment on a colleague with somebody outside the organization. I explain all this to you so that you do not rubbish the contents of this letter as another one of those disparaging mails. I am writing to you, because I got the impression that you wished to engage in a debate on the subject of religion in India. So, here is my rebuttal to your argument. “One is always apprehensive about writing a column on religion. Most Indians don't discuss it in public, fearing misinterpretation. The only people who talk about religion are passionate extremists. Consequently, in our society extremists control our religion and politics panders to this.” Yes, you are correct in your assessment that ‘apprehension’ is one of the key emotions one experiences when discussing things which stokes strong emotions. For Indians, it is not just limited to religion. I suspect that this sensitivity can be extended to their mothers, fathers, sexuality and integrity. But, I am presuming that when you say ‘talk’, you mean engage in a dialogue. Because, and this comes from personal experience, Indians love to enquire about religion, language, caste, creed, income, family history and other topics which constitute majority of data passing through the grapevine. Though, my biggest reservation is when you wrote “in our society extremists control our religion and politics panders to this”. This discomfort comes from not being aware of what you define as being “our” society and who you define as being an “extremist”. Our society at best behaves and resembles a complex virulent computer network. Where each node in the web, operating within its own boundaries of what is acceptable and unacceptable, occasionally interacting with other nodes to get the job done. Yes, I agree that, important issues get sidelined, religious or otherwise because, the way we have evolved as a nation, as a congregation of multiple micro-ecosystems and not as a unified macro-ecosystem. I suppose, this is also one of the many reasons why scientists have found the human brain to be such a delightful mystery, mostly because there is no unifying theory of everything to define it or understand it. Given the socio-economic flux, we as a nation have experienced since 1991-92, I don’t really think the youth quite grapple with confusion ‘about interpreting their own religion and its place in modern society’, more than their elder counterparts. I think the youth more than any other demographic is completely at ease with the chaotic uncertainty of today and tomorrow. You pose the question “What is a Hindu supposed to be?” and you admit that there doesn’t exist any clear answer. But, you do venture to list out few “modern Indian Hindu values”. And I am quoting you here, “The modern Hindu prays to Hindu gods, celebrates a few Hindu festivals. He follows at least a few of the Hindu practices, which vary from person to person. He does not impose his beliefs, rituals and faith on anyone else and is tolerant of others' beliefs. He ignores regressive tenets in our holy texts suggestive of gender inequality, caste discrimination or violence.”My problem with this list is not with the content itself, but your presumption that this list applies only to Hindus. If you replace “Hindus” with “Muslims” or “Christians” or just about any other religion, I suspect it will apply just as well. Then, why does your question seem to indicate that an Indian’s aspirations, who is a Muslim or any other religion other than Hinduism, be any different from that of an Indian who is a Hindu. And it is here, that I believe that you have failed yourself and the bastion of your readers, ardent or otherwise. When one refers to humanity, does the definition change by region, language or religion? Why then is the need for us to question Indians who are Muslims by quoting examples of Turkey, Saudi or any other place? That is just bad form. You ask of us, “Where do we want Indian society to go? Do we want to progress and create a nation where our youth can meet their aspirations? Are we fine with regressive and violent interpretations of our religious texts? Or is it OK if we selectively choose what works best for our society?”I think you are asking the wrong questions. We as a nation, we have always known what we want. We want a better education system. We want the freedom to pursue our dreams without the debilitating red tape of slow motioned bureaucracy. We want to lead a peaceful harmonious coexistence both within and with our neighbors. What we have always struggled with, and continue to do so, is not what we want, but how do we get what we want? The questions we need a debate on are “How do we progress and create a nation where our youth can meet their aspirations? How do we discourage regressive and violent interpretations of our religious texts? How do we ensure that there is enough information available to everybody who can vote for him/her/others to make the best informed judgment?” Yes, all this has been discouraged by our divisive politics practiced by our elected personnel. Yes, India's influencers, intelligentsia and those who care for society irrespective of religion, caste, creed, economic status, and gender need to talk and find solutions. I would strongly urge you to refrain from indulging yourself and your readers from your ill-structured arguments and manipulative text. Since by your admission you are one of India’s influencers and secretly aspire to be considered as intelligentsia. You might want to reconsider the tone and the content of most of your columns. For I fear that you are falling into the abysmal trap of divisive politics.When brain drain happened in the late 90s, a number of our prized educated and skilled work force moved to the US of A. I suspect it wasn’t just because the facilities we provided them were not up to the mark, or they were not being recognized for their smartness. But, I think it was because America had a dream which both Americans and non-Americans could aspire for. I ask you, Mr. Bhagat, what is India’s dream? What is that one thing, the world wishes to be part of? What is that one thing which a man, a woman, a child can find only here in India and nowhere else in the world. Till we find an answer to that question, I suspect we will be a breeding ground to divisive forces. Till we, find an answer as to what is that one single unifying dream, all of your questions, Mr. Bhagat, have no place to be asked. Not everything needs to be ground down to mush for it to be spoon fed. Sometimes the bitter medicine is the only thing which keeps the ailing man alive. And Mr. Bhagat, you do have a tendency to both sweeten things and mush them to a fine ground paste till all the nutrition has been lost. And all we are left with is baby food. Give yourself and the rest of the nation some credit. That is all we seek.
Thanks and Regards,Somebody who demands credit for not being a daft prick who doesn’t question things.
Subject : With reference to Times of India article dated 01 November, 2013 titled ‘Being Hindu Indian or Muslim Indian’
Dear Mr. Bhagat, Hope this letter finds you in the pink of your health. I was taught that this was a good way to start any letter written to anybody. I would also like to commend you on your success which has both mystified and inspired an entire generation of noughties babies. I thoroughly enjoyed reading ‘Five point someone’. The following titles didn’t really appeal to me, but that is just me as a reader. I would like to bring it to your attention that this correspondence is not meant to be one of the many mails you receive criticizing your work. Being a published author, I can only venture to imagine the hardships you underwent before reaching the coveted position you now enjoy in media and social consciousness. I would also like to clarify that I am not writing this letter in response to one of your tweets, which again does a rather remarkable job of polarizing the people who follow them. Unfortunately, I am neither engaged in those debates nor do I encourage them. I find it to be in bad form to comment on a colleague with somebody outside the organization. I explain all this to you so that you do not rubbish the contents of this letter as another one of those disparaging mails. I am writing to you, because I got the impression that you wished to engage in a debate on the subject of religion in India. So, here is my rebuttal to your argument. “One is always apprehensive about writing a column on religion. Most Indians don't discuss it in public, fearing misinterpretation. The only people who talk about religion are passionate extremists. Consequently, in our society extremists control our religion and politics panders to this.” Yes, you are correct in your assessment that ‘apprehension’ is one of the key emotions one experiences when discussing things which stokes strong emotions. For Indians, it is not just limited to religion. I suspect that this sensitivity can be extended to their mothers, fathers, sexuality and integrity. But, I am presuming that when you say ‘talk’, you mean engage in a dialogue. Because, and this comes from personal experience, Indians love to enquire about religion, language, caste, creed, income, family history and other topics which constitute majority of data passing through the grapevine. Though, my biggest reservation is when you wrote “in our society extremists control our religion and politics panders to this”. This discomfort comes from not being aware of what you define as being “our” society and who you define as being an “extremist”. Our society at best behaves and resembles a complex virulent computer network. Where each node in the web, operating within its own boundaries of what is acceptable and unacceptable, occasionally interacting with other nodes to get the job done. Yes, I agree that, important issues get sidelined, religious or otherwise because, the way we have evolved as a nation, as a congregation of multiple micro-ecosystems and not as a unified macro-ecosystem. I suppose, this is also one of the many reasons why scientists have found the human brain to be such a delightful mystery, mostly because there is no unifying theory of everything to define it or understand it. Given the socio-economic flux, we as a nation have experienced since 1991-92, I don’t really think the youth quite grapple with confusion ‘about interpreting their own religion and its place in modern society’, more than their elder counterparts. I think the youth more than any other demographic is completely at ease with the chaotic uncertainty of today and tomorrow. You pose the question “What is a Hindu supposed to be?” and you admit that there doesn’t exist any clear answer. But, you do venture to list out few “modern Indian Hindu values”. And I am quoting you here, “The modern Hindu prays to Hindu gods, celebrates a few Hindu festivals. He follows at least a few of the Hindu practices, which vary from person to person. He does not impose his beliefs, rituals and faith on anyone else and is tolerant of others' beliefs. He ignores regressive tenets in our holy texts suggestive of gender inequality, caste discrimination or violence.”My problem with this list is not with the content itself, but your presumption that this list applies only to Hindus. If you replace “Hindus” with “Muslims” or “Christians” or just about any other religion, I suspect it will apply just as well. Then, why does your question seem to indicate that an Indian’s aspirations, who is a Muslim or any other religion other than Hinduism, be any different from that of an Indian who is a Hindu. And it is here, that I believe that you have failed yourself and the bastion of your readers, ardent or otherwise. When one refers to humanity, does the definition change by region, language or religion? Why then is the need for us to question Indians who are Muslims by quoting examples of Turkey, Saudi or any other place? That is just bad form. You ask of us, “Where do we want Indian society to go? Do we want to progress and create a nation where our youth can meet their aspirations? Are we fine with regressive and violent interpretations of our religious texts? Or is it OK if we selectively choose what works best for our society?”I think you are asking the wrong questions. We as a nation, we have always known what we want. We want a better education system. We want the freedom to pursue our dreams without the debilitating red tape of slow motioned bureaucracy. We want to lead a peaceful harmonious coexistence both within and with our neighbors. What we have always struggled with, and continue to do so, is not what we want, but how do we get what we want? The questions we need a debate on are “How do we progress and create a nation where our youth can meet their aspirations? How do we discourage regressive and violent interpretations of our religious texts? How do we ensure that there is enough information available to everybody who can vote for him/her/others to make the best informed judgment?” Yes, all this has been discouraged by our divisive politics practiced by our elected personnel. Yes, India's influencers, intelligentsia and those who care for society irrespective of religion, caste, creed, economic status, and gender need to talk and find solutions. I would strongly urge you to refrain from indulging yourself and your readers from your ill-structured arguments and manipulative text. Since by your admission you are one of India’s influencers and secretly aspire to be considered as intelligentsia. You might want to reconsider the tone and the content of most of your columns. For I fear that you are falling into the abysmal trap of divisive politics.When brain drain happened in the late 90s, a number of our prized educated and skilled work force moved to the US of A. I suspect it wasn’t just because the facilities we provided them were not up to the mark, or they were not being recognized for their smartness. But, I think it was because America had a dream which both Americans and non-Americans could aspire for. I ask you, Mr. Bhagat, what is India’s dream? What is that one thing, the world wishes to be part of? What is that one thing which a man, a woman, a child can find only here in India and nowhere else in the world. Till we find an answer to that question, I suspect we will be a breeding ground to divisive forces. Till we, find an answer as to what is that one single unifying dream, all of your questions, Mr. Bhagat, have no place to be asked. Not everything needs to be ground down to mush for it to be spoon fed. Sometimes the bitter medicine is the only thing which keeps the ailing man alive. And Mr. Bhagat, you do have a tendency to both sweeten things and mush them to a fine ground paste till all the nutrition has been lost. And all we are left with is baby food. Give yourself and the rest of the nation some credit. That is all we seek.
Thanks and Regards,Somebody who demands credit for not being a daft prick who doesn’t question things.
August 21, 2013
An.Al - The Origins (An Excerpt from my new book)
Excerpt from An.Al – The Origins
Her footsteps echoed like the steady drum beat of a marching band. She pulled her jacket’s hood over her head and drew its lapels closer together—it was a size too small for her, its colour now faded and indistinguishable. Her hands dug deeper into the jacket’s pockets, and finding a cigarette and a box of lights, she stopped for a moment to light it up. She pulled hard on it. Long, deep, and hard. What should the next move be?Think.
The dogs turned around. Their playful conjugation interrupted. Angry. Alert. The air held an alien smell. They sniffed: cigarette smoke and her. They barked as a warning to this creature on two legs: don’t trespass, don’t intrude, don’t interfere. They circled and growled. Their eyes glowed with anger and intent. The hair on their backs bristled—a war-hungry Roman legion ready to fight the rebellious Gaul.She didn’t feel like playing, not on that night, not when there were bigger and more important things playing on her mind. She wanted peace, quiet, and a plan. But the stupid mongrels were intent on fighting her for it and she was not one to back away from a fight. Not with Peter egging her on.
She saw him, the captain and commander of the pack, the leader of the feral rebels. Skin spotted like a Swiss cow, ears pinned back, sharp teeth dripping with drool and slobbering over the street, white and black hair bristling on his back like white noise, eyes gleaming a fluorescent green and yellow in the moonlight. When she saw that look on the dog’s face, she knew he would make for an excellent playmate. She didn’t care about the others. The manic wildness in the dog’s eyes reflected hers.
‘Always know where the attack is going to come from,’ she heard Peter’s voice whispering into her ears.
‘Never take your eyes away from the prey,’ he said, as she stepped sideways onto the pavement and started walking backward towards an abandoned building, all the while maintaining eye contact with her new Playmate. ‘Be aware of your surroundings, your environment. Use it to your advantage to isolate the prey,’ Peter instructed.
When she bumped against the door of the building, she found it unlocked. The barking reached a new crescendo and the dogs looked more menacing now. Did they mistake her retreat for fear? Stupid dogs.
The dogs could sense their kill slipping away and the alpha dog, realizing the same, leapt for her throat. She pushed against the door, opening it just wide enough for her and her-plus-one to enter.
With the refined skill of a ballet dancer pulling off a simple but highly technical plié, she took a step back, grabbed the alpha dog by his neck, turned around, and kicked the door shut as she fell down under the weight of the massive dog. The door jammed shut, scratching against the floor as it closed behind the two of them.
The odds were evened out now. Her lips curled up in a smirk and she grunted, her face contorting with effort as she rolled over on top of the dog, stuffing his mouth with his own leg. The howling, barking, and the scratching continued outside the closed door—background music to her party.
‘You really . . . really shouldn’t have,’ she reprimanded the dog as she caught her breath. She smiled gleefully as she attempted to grab the dog’s rear feet while ensuring that the foot already in its mouth didn’t come loose. Moonlight streaked through the broken and blacked-out windows of the building. The dog whined as it saw her baby-brown eyes turn black with murderous delight. Her smirk grew wider. With the legs firmly in her hold, she used her free hand to dive into her back pocket and fetched her trusted switchblade. In five swift and swish moves, like a trained game-meat butcher, she deftly cut away at the tendons joining the dog’s legs to his torso and distending his ball sac, turning the big, ferocious alpha dog into a big, cuddly, bleeding soft toy. She stood up, dusted herself, and wiped her face with her blood-speckled hands, smearing crimson onto her face.
As the dog lay there, withering and moaning in pain, she dropped her rucksack and watched the pale moonlight glisten against the dark, oily blood of the dog. She squatted next to the dog, marvelling at the spurts of blood the arteries threw.
‘Awww . . . are you in pain doggie?’ she asked, concern underlining every single syllable uttered in her innocent, child-like voice. The dog continued to moan, its body twitching in mortal convulsions of pain.
‘STOP MOANING YOU STUPID DOGGIE . . .’ she yelled, ‘ANSWER ME!’ Her shouts were muffled by the punches she threw on the dog’s furrowed face. When the fury of her punches finally stopped, so did the dog’s twitching—its skull broken in seven different places and its brain served as mashed potatoes, on the side, on the hard concrete floor plate.
‘Doggie? Doggie?’ she called out to the dog, softly . . . like a scared little girl looking for her beloved doll to comfort and reassure herself that the bogeyman won’t harm her. When the dog didn’t answer, she curled up on the floor and slept.
You can order An.Al - The Origins now from Flipkart and Uread (for overseas shipping)
The dogs turned around. Their playful conjugation interrupted. Angry. Alert. The air held an alien smell. They sniffed: cigarette smoke and her. They barked as a warning to this creature on two legs: don’t trespass, don’t intrude, don’t interfere. They circled and growled. Their eyes glowed with anger and intent. The hair on their backs bristled—a war-hungry Roman legion ready to fight the rebellious Gaul.She didn’t feel like playing, not on that night, not when there were bigger and more important things playing on her mind. She wanted peace, quiet, and a plan. But the stupid mongrels were intent on fighting her for it and she was not one to back away from a fight. Not with Peter egging her on.
She saw him, the captain and commander of the pack, the leader of the feral rebels. Skin spotted like a Swiss cow, ears pinned back, sharp teeth dripping with drool and slobbering over the street, white and black hair bristling on his back like white noise, eyes gleaming a fluorescent green and yellow in the moonlight. When she saw that look on the dog’s face, she knew he would make for an excellent playmate. She didn’t care about the others. The manic wildness in the dog’s eyes reflected hers.
‘Always know where the attack is going to come from,’ she heard Peter’s voice whispering into her ears.
‘Never take your eyes away from the prey,’ he said, as she stepped sideways onto the pavement and started walking backward towards an abandoned building, all the while maintaining eye contact with her new Playmate. ‘Be aware of your surroundings, your environment. Use it to your advantage to isolate the prey,’ Peter instructed.
When she bumped against the door of the building, she found it unlocked. The barking reached a new crescendo and the dogs looked more menacing now. Did they mistake her retreat for fear? Stupid dogs.
The dogs could sense their kill slipping away and the alpha dog, realizing the same, leapt for her throat. She pushed against the door, opening it just wide enough for her and her-plus-one to enter.
With the refined skill of a ballet dancer pulling off a simple but highly technical plié, she took a step back, grabbed the alpha dog by his neck, turned around, and kicked the door shut as she fell down under the weight of the massive dog. The door jammed shut, scratching against the floor as it closed behind the two of them.
The odds were evened out now. Her lips curled up in a smirk and she grunted, her face contorting with effort as she rolled over on top of the dog, stuffing his mouth with his own leg. The howling, barking, and the scratching continued outside the closed door—background music to her party.
‘You really . . . really shouldn’t have,’ she reprimanded the dog as she caught her breath. She smiled gleefully as she attempted to grab the dog’s rear feet while ensuring that the foot already in its mouth didn’t come loose. Moonlight streaked through the broken and blacked-out windows of the building. The dog whined as it saw her baby-brown eyes turn black with murderous delight. Her smirk grew wider. With the legs firmly in her hold, she used her free hand to dive into her back pocket and fetched her trusted switchblade. In five swift and swish moves, like a trained game-meat butcher, she deftly cut away at the tendons joining the dog’s legs to his torso and distending his ball sac, turning the big, ferocious alpha dog into a big, cuddly, bleeding soft toy. She stood up, dusted herself, and wiped her face with her blood-speckled hands, smearing crimson onto her face.
As the dog lay there, withering and moaning in pain, she dropped her rucksack and watched the pale moonlight glisten against the dark, oily blood of the dog. She squatted next to the dog, marvelling at the spurts of blood the arteries threw.
‘Awww . . . are you in pain doggie?’ she asked, concern underlining every single syllable uttered in her innocent, child-like voice. The dog continued to moan, its body twitching in mortal convulsions of pain.
‘STOP MOANING YOU STUPID DOGGIE . . .’ she yelled, ‘ANSWER ME!’ Her shouts were muffled by the punches she threw on the dog’s furrowed face. When the fury of her punches finally stopped, so did the dog’s twitching—its skull broken in seven different places and its brain served as mashed potatoes, on the side, on the hard concrete floor plate.
‘Doggie? Doggie?’ she called out to the dog, softly . . . like a scared little girl looking for her beloved doll to comfort and reassure herself that the bogeyman won’t harm her. When the dog didn’t answer, she curled up on the floor and slept.
You can order An.Al - The Origins now from Flipkart and Uread (for overseas shipping)
August 13, 2013
Reached home?
Dear Reader,
I hope you are well and not of the curious disposition to read the rest of this email. I hope you are not one of those curious people who just has to know who is speaking from that missed call from that unknown number
you got in the middle of the night. I hope, I really hope that when your fridge starts to make that annoying noise, you aren't curious enough to see why.
Not all nightmares are had when you are sleeping. Sometimes, it is the loud voice of your boss screaming out your name. Sometimes, it is the realization that you forgot to send the attachment along with the mail.
And sometimes, it is a simple feeling of being followed when you are walking back home in the dead of the night. The reverberating mew of the cat hiding behind the heap of garbage doesn’t help settle your nerves. You nervously laugh, and make a promise not to read/watch more thriller/horror stuff. You relax, you slow down and wonder how you can spin this story to your friends when you meet them tomorrow for drinks and dinner. You see the old man drunkenly amble, mumbling to himself as he always. He stops and raises his finger, making a strong case against the illusive judge and jury. You avoid looking at him but can’t. You walk past him. Yet, you can hear him start a conversation with the cat. You see the cat and the old man talking to each other, in their own special language, inside your mind. You wonder who he is, where he lives, and what was he talking about. You smile, before you sigh loudly and try to find the answer the persistent question of ‘what’s for dinner?’.
You reach home, you take off those tight socks, get into something more comfortable. You switch on the telly while you inspect the mysterious contents of your refrigerator. You can hear the spectacled man demanding answers on what the police are doing to save the common man, you, from the deranged killer. You shake your head and wonder, if the man would stop yelling even after he has got the answers. You go to the kitchen, with a cold bowl of food, turn up the microwave. You hear a knock on the kitchen window. You look up. There is nothing. There is that knock again. But this time, it looks like somebody is knocking on the main door. You look at the time. Curse people and their diminishing lack of social skills and etiquettes. You look through the
peep-hole. You don’t see anybody. You open the door, just to be sure that there is nobody. There is nobody. You go back, stick the spoon in your microwaved bowl of food. You have come to the firm conclusion that it must the neighbor’s annoying kids.
There is that knock again. This time it sounds frantic and loud. You ignore it. You make up your mind whether you should give the kids some of the tough love you got as a child. The knocking stops. You flip through channels, there never is anything good to watch on the television these days anyway. There is that knock on the dastard door again. Louder and more frantic than the last time. You have made up your mind. This can’t go on, you mumble to yourself. You get up and violently open the door. There are no kids, or an apologetic neighbor
in tow. You see the old bum leaning against the wall. Grinning at you. You want to inquire what he wants, but you can’t. You feel slightly scared. You aren’t sure if he followed you. You put your hands in your
pocket, trying to get your mobile phone out. You don’t find it. You left it on top of the fridge. The old man is still smiling at you. His teeth colored a curious mix of pastel green and jaundice yellow. You see the vomit on his beard. Just before the door closes, the old man raises his hand, clutching something. You don’t trust what your eyes registered. You lock the door with your eye peeled to the peep-hole. You still don’t want to believe what your eyes are seeing.
The cat, the mud spotted white furred feline.
Dead.
Its guts pulled out, its neck twisted like candy wrapper.
The old man is still looking at you, smiling. You are sure he knows that you are watching him through the peep hole. He brings the cat forward. Urging you to open the door again. You watch him lift the cat closer to his vomit covered beard. You watch his pastel green-jaundiced colored yellow teeth sinking into the limp neck with a
grimace.
You cannot hide, you cannot throw up. You are a part of this horror.
But what if you were the old man? What if you were the one, talking and waggling your finger at imaginary people. The one knocking on stranger’s door in the middle of the night.
I hope you are well and not of the curious disposition to read the rest of this email. I hope you are not one of those curious people who just has to know who is speaking from that missed call from that unknown number
you got in the middle of the night. I hope, I really hope that when your fridge starts to make that annoying noise, you aren't curious enough to see why.
Not all nightmares are had when you are sleeping. Sometimes, it is the loud voice of your boss screaming out your name. Sometimes, it is the realization that you forgot to send the attachment along with the mail.
And sometimes, it is a simple feeling of being followed when you are walking back home in the dead of the night. The reverberating mew of the cat hiding behind the heap of garbage doesn’t help settle your nerves. You nervously laugh, and make a promise not to read/watch more thriller/horror stuff. You relax, you slow down and wonder how you can spin this story to your friends when you meet them tomorrow for drinks and dinner. You see the old man drunkenly amble, mumbling to himself as he always. He stops and raises his finger, making a strong case against the illusive judge and jury. You avoid looking at him but can’t. You walk past him. Yet, you can hear him start a conversation with the cat. You see the cat and the old man talking to each other, in their own special language, inside your mind. You wonder who he is, where he lives, and what was he talking about. You smile, before you sigh loudly and try to find the answer the persistent question of ‘what’s for dinner?’.
You reach home, you take off those tight socks, get into something more comfortable. You switch on the telly while you inspect the mysterious contents of your refrigerator. You can hear the spectacled man demanding answers on what the police are doing to save the common man, you, from the deranged killer. You shake your head and wonder, if the man would stop yelling even after he has got the answers. You go to the kitchen, with a cold bowl of food, turn up the microwave. You hear a knock on the kitchen window. You look up. There is nothing. There is that knock again. But this time, it looks like somebody is knocking on the main door. You look at the time. Curse people and their diminishing lack of social skills and etiquettes. You look through the
peep-hole. You don’t see anybody. You open the door, just to be sure that there is nobody. There is nobody. You go back, stick the spoon in your microwaved bowl of food. You have come to the firm conclusion that it must the neighbor’s annoying kids.
There is that knock again. This time it sounds frantic and loud. You ignore it. You make up your mind whether you should give the kids some of the tough love you got as a child. The knocking stops. You flip through channels, there never is anything good to watch on the television these days anyway. There is that knock on the dastard door again. Louder and more frantic than the last time. You have made up your mind. This can’t go on, you mumble to yourself. You get up and violently open the door. There are no kids, or an apologetic neighbor
in tow. You see the old bum leaning against the wall. Grinning at you. You want to inquire what he wants, but you can’t. You feel slightly scared. You aren’t sure if he followed you. You put your hands in your
pocket, trying to get your mobile phone out. You don’t find it. You left it on top of the fridge. The old man is still smiling at you. His teeth colored a curious mix of pastel green and jaundice yellow. You see the vomit on his beard. Just before the door closes, the old man raises his hand, clutching something. You don’t trust what your eyes registered. You lock the door with your eye peeled to the peep-hole. You still don’t want to believe what your eyes are seeing.
The cat, the mud spotted white furred feline.
Dead.
Its guts pulled out, its neck twisted like candy wrapper.
The old man is still looking at you, smiling. You are sure he knows that you are watching him through the peep hole. He brings the cat forward. Urging you to open the door again. You watch him lift the cat closer to his vomit covered beard. You watch his pastel green-jaundiced colored yellow teeth sinking into the limp neck with a
grimace.
You cannot hide, you cannot throw up. You are a part of this horror.
But what if you were the old man? What if you were the one, talking and waggling your finger at imaginary people. The one knocking on stranger’s door in the middle of the night.
