HY INDIA

HEY INDIA

Hi India!
Hope you are having a relaxed time after some troubled days. I can understand this. Even though terrorism is not new to you, you look shocked when it appears before you. Same is the case when it is some financial crisis. Take it easy. I have something pleasant for you. Many praises. At a time when everyone is out to criticize the things inside you or around you, I hope it will give you a great relief. I am giving you the same copy’s copy that she gave me. Even though it was more than one year ago, good things are always welcome. Especially when good things are slipping faster than sands in one’s hand.

As a foreign student, I have not seen much of India. Still I am trying my best to put together the things that I know about India. India is a democratic country with a massive population. Due to this(population) planning for country’s development is always a big challenge. Government is doing good effort in this direction.
India has a rich culture. It has its own way of living, thinking and doing. Its traditional ideas and values are very different from the western countries. Indians’ lifestyle always reflects their identity. It is apparent in their ways of dressing, way of speaking etc. Indians may live in foreign countries but they keep their own way of living. They have great nationalist feelings. They love their country.
I have found that Indian people, especially the educated youth, are trying very hard to improve their country. Moreover, they are progressing in several fields like information technology, education, medical science, military prowess etc. I have read in a newspaper that a doctor operated one person’s kidney and liver during the same operation. I feel that
Indians have good intelligence.
India has lots of natural resources and it has a huge force of skilled and unskilled workers. Technical development is quite phenomenal. It has the latest weapons and now it wields nuclear power as well. India is moving fast and fast.
Indian tradition of classical plays/dramas has some similarities with that of the other Southeast Asian nations. Rama legends are a quite a strong bound with among them. It is one of the most civilized countries of the world.
No country in the world can be out and out good. Similarly, India also has some demerits or drawbacks. Class division is a major one. It would not be a problem if everyone accepts this. But the continuous class conflicts pose a serious problem. Economic disparity needs to be addressed in a positive way. Another problem is the working culture of India. I must be more precise to talk about the working culture in the government offices. It is sometimes pathetically slow and irritatingly irresponsible. Lack of co- operation is often a problem. As a foreign student, I have faced this aspect of India with some unpleasant surprise. If Indian people can change this habit, they can fight against all the odds and emerge as the best country in the world.

As I am little informed about India and the related issues, my article can look silly sometimes. However, it is not so much about the facts as it is about my feelings. Hope my readers will understand this.


I know that ignorance can produce or help to produce the most beautiful feelings, thoughts or things. Your admirer is blessed with this disadvantage. And now look the beauty of her words. From an informed vantage point most of her ideas may sound ironical. I have seen you crying often –“brain drainage, brain drainage”. When farmers were committing suicide in Orrisa and Madhya Pradesh, you had several sleepless nights. Always worried about how to cover the things or how to escape the questions. Do you remember the day which is still mourned as “Bhopal Gas Tragedy”? only some days ago some physically handicapped people, still existing victims of that tragedy, were protesting in delhi for some compensation or something else and how much labour you had to put in acting “Deaf”. How difficult it was to give five thousand crore rupees to those worthless farmers who had lost all their crops when it could have been better used for the country’s industrialization by funding the industrial families. I know things are not so easy. I appreciate your tact. Purchasing arms from the U.S.A. or Russia is not only adding to your power but also wins you good friends. People keep crying for education, health care, financial security etc. I see how difficult it is to be patient with them. So much outcry on the issue of economic disparity when your rational wisdom knows that lions and ants both can exist in the same world without ever complaining. However, I often see behind your strong and determined exterior a guilty and apprehensive self, which has lost control over itself and knows not what is right to do.
Hope you will enjoy the time reading this page. Nothing is better than an admirer who knows you the best. Nevertheless, even one knowing little about you must be welcome when you know that it is difficult to admire you after knowing everything about you. Have a nice time.

Yours ……………………….

BEAUTY BLAST

BEAUTY BLAST

“Life is beautiful. If you do not feel it such you are a cynic. It can be made even more beautiful. If you do not think it possible, you are a pessimist. Life is all that you can imagine. If you do not know this, your imagination is dead. However, do not be worried anymore. Even if you are not fit, your senses not capable of enjoying all these beauties of human life, or your heart not vast enough to hold all the pleasures, angels are out with your solutions. Be happy wherever you are and say “Cheers”.”
Have you ever seen fire spreading in a forest? Just for example. These words speeded faster than any fire. Believe me; the world changed the next day. Moreover, it kept changing. Every day a few words were changed and it looked afresh. Next day the world was slightly changed. Some people had some problems with these changes. Some complained of its speed. Some had problems with its direction. Some said that it was benefiting the wrong people. Different from all these, some said that it was bringing no benefit at all. “What nonsense! Are they nuts? God help them.”

Problem of speed was addressed with another adjustment in the words. It said that speed is not something to be apprehensive about. Speed took us to the moon. Direction was also not wrong. It just needed to be seen from another vantage point. “Every individual needs to see it from a different point and it’s sure to look equally fascinating.” And for those questioning the very idea of profit; those were hopeless and it was spread that they were fanatics. Humanist fanatics. They were the enemies of life’s beauty. They presented such depressing images of human life that the beautiful image of the world was under threat. And beauty must be preserved. Words were spread that these dissenters were the agents of devil and wanted to destroy God’s colourful world by creating a single coloured world. “It is a monotonous world in the place of God’s world of different musical orders and harmonies. It is a monotonous world and the polyphonic sound of God’s world is obviously much better than that”. Words had to travel much much faster now. Those who had problems with its speed suddenly became great fond of it. It was the basic quality of survival and they realized it. Only they also started practicing how to run fast. Worry about direction was already gone. To silent them was impossible as they were indomitable fools. One option, an excellent and beautiful idea, was their. To make them unheard. A big ding of music and a great celebration of colour was enough to capture the ear and sight of majority . those who were not within the range only those who were either not running with their beautiful world or were incapable of running at all or were discarded as runners after their energy was exhausted.

Despite of all the pre cautions one mistake happened. Whether the ding of music or the celebration, neither was forever. It was to end as any exhaustible thing is bond to be. Whenever that spell of music or light ended a strange melody overwhelmed the world. It had an elegiac tone, which stirred the souls, and suddenly everything green started turning grey and black. Divinely decorated multiplexes, malls, and houses were replaced by the images of innumerable homeless people in the different parts of the world. Soothingly harmonious music was replaced by the distant but familiar sounds; children crying for milk, mothers dying from starvation, fathers committing suicide. Bullets and tanks, aided by missiles and fighter planes, routing millions of human lives, roared into every ear. Everything became still. A dangerous moment for the beautiful world. Multiple musical tracks were prepared everyday and people were also suggested to sing as loud as they can. Special glasses were manufactured and distributed which helped people to see only what they wished to see. And they wished to see only what they were asked by the people with the voice and the sight.
Once a totally new thing happened. News was that uniforms were also made of different clothes. And one cloth valued more another cloth. It was really hot. Everyone bought it. Voice and sight, both had a new way of fighting with the threats. They took all cares of removing the appealing exterior of them and putting a most vicious appearance their. People yoked together without any consideration of height or width and given the same fodder without any respect for the individual tastes. A gross violation of human rights. Denial of free choice. People in the opposite group were told to be thankful. They were given the most precious human right. Complete freedom. Even if they were starving, it was with a free choice. Every day voice and sight (official, to give it a perfect status) came with a new version of “either” and “or”.
New music were added, new voices were added, new sights were added. But still breaks were there. Every track ends somewhere. But the new voices that entered in between, quite interestingly, were also well patterned in a similar order. No more wailings of the tormented humanity. A newly designed harmony to oppose and challang the more popular and old harmony. Only the God was changed. It sang that
Rest of the world was enjoying a better time as they knew the perfect meaning of humanity and human existence.
As speed was increasing, no length of track proved long enough. Creeping in between was too often. But speed had shortened its popping up duration as well. Those who had learned to sing loudly were able to avoid all this confusion. Glasses were helping many to avoid the sudden glimpses of those differently patterned, and promising to be more satisfying and humane, world. But some were who had neither of these. This confusion of voices was proving too much for their nerves. Surrounded with zealously added images and sounds, they felt a strong desire for the freshness of the outside world. No matter if that world was filthy appearing, stinking or oppressive. They wanted to feel the vitality of their consciousness once more. No doors, no windows. They found themselves chained with pillars, helpless and frustrated. Music still ringing in the air. Sounds and images encroaching their senses. One banged his head against the pillar. Blood flowed out. Something real happened in his mind after a long time. Pain made him feel that it was still alive. Drowsiness was overpowering his mind. He heard a faint cry from some great distance. He saw an innocent baby turning into a horrible skeleton. He saw a pure beauty rotting. He saw a stoutly moving body perishing into pieces. He saw….He fainted. Tears rolled down through his blood covered face. Several heads banged. Blood and tears flowed together but with different reasons. Every time it was a “beauty blast”. Voices are out to censor such acts. Super heroes out to preserve the beauties. With headphones and glasses. Blue and red angels(there has been too much of black and white and it is stereotyped as well) are at your door. Receive either of them and have a musical and harmonious life. Free of all worries and confusion. Amen. Amen. Amen.

FIRED

FIRED

“How dare you? Who asked you to do that?” His jaws were tight, lips shut and curve stretched, and orbit white teeth were crushing, inside, the unmanageable anger. It opened again. “You mind only your own business. Do only what is asked. Only the way it is asked to. Company has enough experts to look after such decisions.”
“It will do good sir. It was our family tra…”
He put the water bottle in an action and began- “then go to your family trade. Why this headache for us?” he was muttering in anger. “You and your family trade… oh dammit.”
He was standing, shaking in front of him on the opposite side of the table. Fixed .he had come here after selling his only ancestral property, an old handloom. His family was in his village. A wife and three children. Two daughters. Wife was pregnant and could not go out to work. Otherwise, she also earned some money as a part time domestic help. He was the sole earner. He had to bear his lodging expenditure and the family needs, both.
“Have you no idea what your assness has done. our sales. So many complaints. Even salesmen can not explain what colour that is.” He was almost yelling, sweating on his forehead and shaking upon his feet. He was threatening him “fired”.
He was quite. Completely silent and still. Standing at the receiving end. Head bowed and gazing feet. His palms, earlier in attention now came to rest upon his knees. his waist lost its straightness and slowly he sank down. Slowly….slowly….slowly….down and flat. He was lying on the ground. Still silent. Probably A.C. comforted him to sleep after long , hot, duty and over duty. Or the scolding ashamed him. or it was the anticipated “fired”. Who knows?
He looked at him with some concern. For some moments. Pulse was moving. He called for his peon and asked him to bring the body back into consciousness. “shirker! Scoundrel! Bloody misfit! Look how fine he feigns. But this can’t save you. After all I have also some responsibilities.”
The peon was sprinkling water on his face. Cabin door closed with a bang. He was still sprinkling water, waiting for the opened eyes.

OPIUM

Opium

An opium-eater! Was he really? It was hard to believe. But the doctor was sure. Quite high sounding; as for his selection of words. And they had no point contradicting him. “Diagnosis shows no part of his body unaffected. Lungs, heart, kidneys and what else; all damaged” one doctor said. Evidences were enough to make them believe. A completely mysterious world of letters and images must have been the truth they were telling. Mind was also there. But it was not a point. It had nothing to do with his death. And, anyway, mind had no role in his life. Probably they believed so.

He was the first child to move out from his family. Responsibility of the eldest. To imagine a big city was itself something big for him. The end of all miseries. Childhood was there in his face. But the promises it bore made him to outgrow it. He promised to send money regularly and end all her worries. Even though she wept, she couldn’t think stopping him. After a good for nothing husband he was her only hope. He left with a person who owned a shop in Delhi. A tea stall in a busy market place.

Every time Raju carried the cups of tea he muttered something. He didn’t know Hindi. And he didn’t know Delhi’s Hindi. And he had to learn it. Clothes had done bit of the job. Red and yellow shirts made a worth doing servant. ‘Raju’ sounded good. He began a new job in new clothes with a new name. Obviously the place was also new. He was excited.

“No amount of work is more than money. And he is merely a loss to the business. He is lazy. He is not a grateful servant. And now he wants more money. Every time some new need at his home.” But they never sent him back. Were his employers so generous or he was worth that? He had seen the money that business brought. He knew the labour he put- carrying tea to the surrounding factories and shops, washing pots and cups, and cooking food for all. He stayed with his employers. The shop was run by two brothers. He thought it was worth more. He missed his home. He missed his family. He missed his mother. He felt sick. He didn’t work there anymore. He thought his patience over. He was out in a big city to make his life. Only problem that he was hungry and had nothing to buy food. He felt miserable. And he felt angry. Angry?
He was walking along the pavements. He saw many like himself. In age. Some were collecting something important from the garbage bin. One got something, another snatched it … and there was a fight. Flow of mother and sister related adjectives. He felt low. They were like him. And he despised them. He hated them. He saw some others. Begging around a red light. Poking their dirty faces into the closed car windows. He almost laughed when he saw a little girl clung to the feet of a girl who was with a guy. The girl was screaming and the guy was trying to hoot that little girl away. Getting free they almost ran away. And then he realized that it was a prank. All those dirty faces and half-naked bodies were laughing on that successful prank. May be that little girl really wanted something from them. But she was also laughing now. He also smiled. But couldn’t laugh. He was hungry and he had nothing to eat. He felt pain in both his stomach and his heart. He had nothing to eat and no money to buy his food.

He knew how to make tea. He knew how to carry tea and how to talk. He had some, very little in fact, experience as a farm labourer. He used to accompany his mother during the harvest season. But all these skills were of no use as there was neither a tea stall nor any farm for him. “I’ll earn lots of money. I can work and also know the things.” The hope or the dream, whatever it was, was giving way to heaviness of mind and eyes. Hunger dulled him to feel sleepy. He could not see or feel his shattered dreams.

He found himself surrounded by many half naked bodies and blank eyes when he woke up. It was somewhere in the night and they were standing to know who he was and from where. He felt some hostility in their eyes. He pretended to be asleep. Stream of abusive words and some less harmful kicks gave him enough to forget his hunger. Hunger made him to forget his hopes or dreams and now fear relieved his hunger. But once they were gone everything was back to torment him. Shattered hopes or dreams, hunger, fear, and a sense of being insulted. His poor birth, his failed words, his helpless situation, and now the most recent treatment received from those children like himself; he felt insulted by everything. Yes, he had a sense of self- respect. Hunger, growing darkness and cold, and this added burden. He felt something moving near his waist. Some hand, trying to figure out something. It was darker now. He felt his paint pulled down. Warmth entered his body through his naked butt. Something heavy was moving behind him. He felt hurt. He felt afraid. He tried to ignore that. Tried to think about something else. He tried to think about the morning when he would have some work to do, some good money to buy some food and to manage some place to live and sleep, and the beginning of a new and good life. The man behind and inside him was moving so rapid and hard, heaving so loud and smelling so bad that he could not think or feel anything else. It was painful.
With a fresh noise around, he opened his eyes in the morning. It was a night of bad dreams. His worn face said how bad it was. He saw people looking at him with shock and then moving away as if from something stinking or contaminating. Only those naked, half-naked, bodies again standing around him. They were giggling, and pointing to him and one part of his body in particular. Suddenly he became conscious of his body. A swarm of flies was around him. With a particular interest in the part down his waist. Suddenly he felt the whole world vanishing. Rather he wished it. To be invisible to all those knowing and mocking eyes. It was no bad dream. His paint was still down and some strange stains on his paint and his butt and when some mocking finger pointed he felt those stains on his face as well. He pulled up his paint frantically, cursing all those, those like him and unlike him, around and started running. A few quick steps, and one against a brick lying on the footpath, a sudden darkness, and he felt himself floating in air. He fainted.
Apart from the fast moving traffic, carrying a whole world from one place to another, there was no other sound. He felt cool breezes, a memory of his left behind village and his mother caressing his head. He recognized the faces. Those like him. One was fanning him, another was caressing his head and another was holding a cold drink bottle filled with water. His eyes were moist. They gave him something to eat. He was one of them. A strange way of becoming. But this is how people think destiny is made. He had no mind to think about such things. Things had changed. Drastically or disastrously. No matter how.

It was a new beginning for him. Life had started for him but in a new way. And he had realized that. Something was burning down his throat. Then, first time smoking is often so. He had puffed only once from that Bidi. Rest was puffed by his new friends. The called him a child but promised to teach him how to grow up. Yes; teach him how to grow up in that world. That afternoon he begged with them around a red light. Smoked again. Got some money in his pocket. At night a big bearded man came to them. Everyone put a certain part of his/her earning in his box. A boy whispered something into his ears. He also took out his money, counted them, and put some money into his box. He didn’t like it. He sang that night while smoking, after eating some left over food bought from a dhaba.

Everyday was getting the same way. Beginning from the beginning. Every morning he woke up with a sore consciousness and troubled mind. An expecting face of his mother made him feel guilty. Whenever he pulled down his paint to defecate in open, he felt some distant eye watching him. When he washed his ass after completing that everyday routine, he felt somebody else’s touch there. That night was still haunting him. And all this continued until came another night to end this. They managed it. He had to part with some money. Later they told him. That girl was from the same jhuggi. She used to go for some money, or some good food, or sometimes when forcibly grabbed at some isolated place at a dark night. Anyway, that night he was feeling different. In the morning when he pulled down his paint, his hanging tool reminded him something and he started smiling. He felt its increasing hardness. Washing his ass in hurry he pulled up his paint. Too hurried to feel anything else. Now he paid almost every night even if not for the same girl. He had found many of her type. Sometimes it was cold drink, sometimes it was chocolate or biscuit or chips. Once he gave one a beautiful frock. He had some special feelings for her. She didn’t come the next day. Two days later he saw her with a goodly dressed and purse keeping boy. He didn’t like him. He put his hand in his pocket. It had a hole. He felt cheated. He was angry. The man who used to collect money from them, scolded him, abused him, thrashed him. His eyes were dry. Anger had evaporated the tears. That night he stabbed him. Change is the nature of life, people say. His mind was too stuffed to think any such philosophy. He was arrested.
He was put on trial in a juvenile court. Charge of murder: he accepted. A premeditated murder: he remained silent. Involvement in petty crimes like theft, snatching etc: he accepted. Some occupational rivalry with the dead: he was silent. Nobody exactly knew from where he came: he accepted. From where he had exactly come: he was silent. Tears rolled down from his eyes. He cried for punishment. He knew that hanging is the punishment for death. He cried for it. He was denied that. Court showed some leniency and awarded him imprisonment for ten years. He was very young and it was his first big crime. Court took it to be an act in rage. It was the end of his sixteenth year. He was taken to the jail. That night he remembered his mother again. Something was broken inside but he was helpless. It was a process and now it was his life. He wished that part of his existence to be dead or eliminated rather than being broken.
Jail life began with a whole day of labour. Messaging the huge bodies of those prison house monsters exhausted him. A whole day without any word. Good way of correcting the convicts. He got food but no appetite for eating them. Their filthy talk was suffocating something inside him which had remained preserved so far. That night his paint was pulled down again. But this time he was not sleeping but awake. He was afraid, yet he resisted. A slight pinch on his butt and things began changing. The whole world was swinging and gradually blurring. He knew somebody’s penetrating his back while his hand was holding somebody else’s. But he felt nothing. Nothing further. No fear, no anger, no shame, no disgust, nothing else. Just something was dying inside him. Defecating in the morning was a big torture. He wept blood that morning, both from the top and the bottom. His head was still heavy. But he had to do his work. He messaged them whole day in different ways. He was just waiting for his time. And it was to come.

Repentance is the end your sins. I have heard it so many times. Some men, known to be learned in scriptures, have said that the Demon King Ravana went to heaven as he confessed his folly and repented at the end. Confession in Christianity also seems to be of the similar effect. Many Bollywood movies have a reconciliatory end in this way only. But there only heroes or their kins could have such facilities. True villains must die. However, we feel sorry when a villain goes through a moral transformation at his dying moments. How do we feel when see a hero dying due to some villain’s villainy and the villains also dying as the result of the same cause? You may feel very sorry again. For me, I feel nothing. I have seen too many of it and, unlike many, I never forget them.

He was lying in his hospital bed, looking at the banana given in his breakfast. He wanted something else. An uneasiness of his nerves was compounding his bodily pains. Really, his mind was troubling him. he often dreamt his mother welcoming him in her arms. His dreams or hopes often flashed before his closed eyes and their failure pained him. Tears often rolled from his eyes. One of his fellow prisoners, two beds next to him in the same hospital ward, died one evening. They blamed a mysterious sickness caused by drugs. Faces were worried whenever they entered the ward. He was given better attention now. Faces had masks and hands had gloves. Earlier also it was the same but now he got better food than before. He felt quite amused some times. One night he heard a nurse cursing the head nurse for putting her duty in that death infected ward of HIV patients. She also cursed the wretched evil mongers. Next morning he gave them his address and wished to see his mother. He wished them not to say his mother anything about his jail sentence, his evil ridden life, or his mysterious sickness. Truly, he was still innocent if not pure.

His story must stop here if not end.

MADNESS GALLERY

Madness Gallery



“LOOK! He was different. Strangely different. Hopelessly incurable.” I was doing a project work upon the mad. To be more precise –‘officially recognized/declared mad.’ After seeing many mad in that mental hospital now I was among the photographed mad. The curator of the gallery was introducing me to those mad who died during the treatment, or , so to say , died before being unmad. And now their sole physical remains were ‘preserved’ within those officially stamped frames. Put there for scientific case studies. Suddenly his voice changed when he came near that particular photograph. Probably some mystery excited him. And it made me curious. Wasn’t that photograph rally different? I can never forget that. Not until I forget myself. Though framed within, his eyes were looking towards some unknown space. I felt that photo struggling against its frame. Just trying to get beyond that restricted space to the place of his dreams. His eyes looking at some distant world.
“he puzzled many generations. Many fresh batches of medical students banged their heads against his mysteriously fortified madness. He was a unique case. Nothing as his type.” He sounded a bit sorry. Reason demanded some guesswork- may be it was his failure to regain his sanity or the failure of the medical science to solve that mystery etc. I was more interested now.
“a strange illness. It was a madness of strange visions.”
“Visions?”
“Yes … you can say ‘dreams’. But these were when he was waking up. Eyes open but lost. You can see that in this picture also.” And the problem was that he never believed them to be dreams or unreasonable visions. He believed in them. He believed them to be real. And he always talked about them. Even mad needed to be protected against his words. You see how mad. And what mad.” Poor curator had simply over-excited himself. One glass of water helped him in getting normal. And I looked again at those dreamy eyes which had some vision more covetous than the world existing and around.
“he had an elder brother.” His composed voice broke my meditative dream.
“He shared none of his madness. His father was also very practical and wise. You see, it was not in blood.” He stopped for some moments. A slowly growing smile on his face. His bright eyes said that he had recollected something interesting.
“you know one day somebody asked them something about Tajmahal. Probably it was about the possible use of Taj (other than a monument). The elder brother came with the plan of making a luxurious hotel with world class facilities. It was according to him a brilliant idea to make India a favourite tourist place. He also gave the example many such things in Rajasthan and other states . Now comes the fun. When the younger was asked, he replied with confusion. He was trying to choose one from two very good ideas- whether to keep the structure intact and declare it a rest house for the poor , orto sell all the marble from the structure , clear the whole space and male a big colony for the poor. And then he started talking about the plight of thousands of home-less people and started ranting against market, economic policies and the growing disparity. Once he was trying to argue in support of petty criminals and even showed them to be circumstantially criminal and not criminal by nature. His unhealthy thinking was not recognized on time and you can see the result.” A contempt was clear n his voice.
“There were many such things. Always mad. Often he used to divide his meal into several parts and offer them to unknown and unheard names. Yes he talked with spirits. Strange names and he lamented their lives corroded by poverty and hunger. And always tried to reconcile them with the hope of the promised day. The day of equality and the day of humanity. He called us mad and blind and brute and god knows what else as we laughed upon his madness.” He was chuckling. i heard the triumphant laughter of rational and pragmatic science. I felt choking. Suppressing something deep inside. I closed my eyes. I felt myself nailed inside a frame, hanging from some wall, detailed for some other project enquiry.
“Come sir, let me show you another…” he kept on giving me details of those framed photographs. He also made some remarks on the artistry of the photographer. Each photo had some story. And in a technical terms, a case history. The curator’s gait and tone was much like the ringmaster in a circus, threatening the caged wildness with a hunter and talking with the audience.
I was thinking, “should I tell him?”
Wisdom prevailed and I remained silent.
Gallery was really big. And cases were many.

big bang

BIG BANG : AN UNFINISHED STORY


I am…I was…I shall….several I’S were echoing in the atmosphere. I got fed up of all these. “Doesn’t it look chaotic,” I thought. And I made ‘we’. Spherical in shape. All the I’s were circumscribed within that. “Now they all will be so closed to each other, making a harmonious whole. Constant company will get them together. Open hearted man...a miracle! Man – a social being, not animal. The best form of creative energy. Very soon my dreams will be fulfilled. All discriminations will be eliminated. Equality, liberty, fraternity. It will be something solid…like never before. Like a Rock.”

Now the ‘we’ appeared in the form of a huge atom. How happy I was to see that atom of humanity- all the I’s revolving in several orbits, around the central nucleus. And what was that nucleus? I thought it to be in the centre as all the I’s were still moving in orbits like obedient electrons. Those I’s also thought it to be in the center as they were feeling restricted by something. And the most amazing thing- there was neither a centre nor any nucleus. Wonder! What kept them together?
I marveled upon them as they remained bound to the vacuum of the central nucleus. Actually the model of ‘we’ was constructed within a sphere and all the electrons within it were moving against its wall. They kept revolving, running, and chasing after each other. One ‘I’ , two ‘I’ and all the I’s . Gradually increasing I’s, increasing run, increasing speed, increasing heat, increasing light…
Yes! My ‘we’ was shining. I was so glad; my ‘we’ was shining. A whole world together, shining like never before. “How dull those I’s were”, I was thinking when they congratulated me. ‘Idea’ was praising the ‘effort’ without letting him even imagine what the new ‘idea’ could be.

“boooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmm”
The enormous light confounded my vision.
For the first time I noticed some curiosity in his eyes. What’s curious about human beings? They have multiplicity of memory and all without life. Every era feeds them with a new memory. Only ghosts are immuned against this superb fertility of memory.
Light, heat, sound…light, heat, sound…. all I’s were running again. Away from each other. Away in infinite and unknown space. Senseless all; but all moving, away from each other. Away in infinite and unknown space. I saw them in despair, in disgust, in… and they were free, free and happy, and all else except ‘we’. I felt jealous as those hopeless merry-makers could not see those mocking eyes of many earlier failures. But I did. I was mortally pained.
His eyes were mockingly serious. “Wasn’t I telling just another BIG BANG story”, he might have thought.
Will this continue forever?
Will this stop someday?
Will this stop and be reversed?
I gradually vanished, just thinking about these things. My emancipation was still away as my memory couldn’t find even a single human mind. Perhaps creating a new one is easier than reviving an old one.
Suman kumar jha.

erection

Erection

It was getting hard again;
The strangely limped rod,
Getting more and more flow,
Agin feels a slow erection-
Under the pari-colored clothes,
It is getting hard again.

Wonder not…and wonder yet-
How it is going to be this time!

Your amazement amazes me friend.
Do you think it is the first time,
And you are the first to witness this,
And you are the first to enjoy this,
And the first for all about this?

It’s good if you think so,
And good evenmore if you think none.
What good a wretched me is making here,
And what hellish good this thinking brings?
…..forget the pain if it doesn’t kill you,
And even if it…
Death is god’s will,none be blamed.

You may be very right this time
If you think I’m a bad storyteller.

But this is not the ‘always’ case,
As I’m such with my such stories
Which are of me and of you as well.
When you murmer ‘what next’ I feel-
I’m telling you your…

But now I’m back, you stay
As I’m telling what happened last time,
Time which was satyug or kaliyug…
Whatever be that but I remember
Its erection was so gigantic as ever,
And it appeared divinely sublime-
Looking it was a bliss,
Touching was sacrificing all,
And yet remained the greatest bliss,
And only the shadowless could enjoy that,
And that was the bliss of licking kiss.

They started getting rid of their shadows,
And kissing, and licking and having
The bliss of that another first erection.

Shadowless and airy, they kept licking,
And it was having a giggling climax,
And some substance was oozing out,
And was licked and yet remained there,
And they were having the taste of it…
And giggling as well, almost hysterically,
I think…probably…ya I remember it.

And the climax was followed by collapse,
And soft it became and relaxed,
And, yet , they tried kissing it,
And, yet, they wished licking it,
And, still, they were groping for it.

But inside that transparent rubber,
blinded by what they couldn’t lick away,
it was lost,it vanished,…or…or…
and as I remember now-
I was gone to sleep.

And they found it nowhere,
And they still desired it,
And everyone wanted it evenmore,
And everyone wished to outlick the rest,
And everyone imagined everything,
And they tried to tear away the cover.

But , lo…
All were unable to do that,
And even wind had done something more,
And they, shadowless , were all in despair;
And they ,substanceless , were all in despair;
And they ,theyless, had such a climax;
And they could no longer hold the desires;
AND THEY ALL FELL ASLEEP.

Now don’t ask me what happened next,
I was also one of them,
I was also one of humans,
I also adored that erection of humanity,
I also became a nothing then,
I also fell in despair, exhausted,
I also went to sleep.

Hey! Hey bro! Sleeping already!
Ya…I understand…
I’m always a bad story teller.
But it was no storying my bro;
It was a reality I tried to remember,
Tried to pass it as a lived story-
To all whom it may concern.