How God made girls and why boys are after them?

This happened on a very unusual day. As if God himself chose that auspicious hour to let me know how it all had happened. How the world got the adorable, lovely, beautiful, angelic, attractive and seducing living beings called ‘Girls’. The form he chose for the fact to exchange brains was a friend of mine and perhaps a witness of his acts. His (God’s) architecture came out from his world. Allow me to unfold the biggest secret of times: How God made girls and why boys are after them?

 v  

It is difficult to tell what exactly it is where there is no sunlight, no moonlight, no winds, no humidity, no gravity and no air, but that is where exactly God resides. And he has been there since ages, as back as we can fold our reels of memories. God in our world is in the form of idols, stones, portraits, flags and colors. But in his dwelling he is a mere shadow: A shadow without a body, as different from our acquaintance as a tree with leaves but no branches. However, his appearance in the form of shadow is unlike of a human outline with limbs and skull, rather it’s like an amoeba that transforms from one shape to another and moves on with the requirements. Yet in ages of devotion received from his disciples he hasn’t shown himself to them. That makes people craft him of their desired shape.

         v  

On one of his routine days, God was intensely happy after he completed the structural development of the Solar-system. As he master-stroked the last planet, he from his intense warmth produced a burning ball of fire and tossed it among the planets. It was multiple times larger than the planets he had just built. He made a few assumptions, checked a few things and declared the third made planet as ‘Movable’. He decided this is where life would begin.

          With the sense of completion he however still had a feel of incompletion. Something was missing in the big picture. It was all silent after so much arranged so systematically. There was no bustle and there was no commotion. In simpler words there was life yet to be introduced.

          He began from a scratch on the infinite sky; it was just a streak that seemed meaningless to him. He worked on for hours and days, breathing life in all his faulty designs. In this outcome he had made animals, mammals, fishes, insects, flies and he also made Mother Nature with shrubs, bushes, trees and water. But all of this he disliked, yet piled one beside the other. He was in search of something different, something captivating, something desirable, and something powerful that could control all of these. Moreover, he needed his product to be sensitive, reactive, aggressive and sentimental.

          He worked harder with the passing time, until he finally created one. It had specifications like none other. His outcome was tall with an erect spine. It had limbs, eyes, and was hairy and tough. However, it had a tail on either side. This confused him and he resolved it by piercing the front tail and transformed it into an excretory gland. He called him ‘Zuno’. He for days admired his creation and then one fine day decided to make another alike it.

          Then, with all his might he sat for another big breakthrough. On his used resources he started to make another life-form; somewhat alike and somewhat different. He for this used humps and curves. He used long hanging strands of planetary dust to cover its scalp. He made it gentler, delicate, softer and fragile than the previous form. This he termed ‘Quini’. Then upon its successful completion he stepped back and observed both his creations. They were spectacular. They were marvelous. They were beyond description.

          He on some scales found the lately made was more appealing and adorable. He decided to not send it to the world called ‘Movable’; instead was firm to keep it in his dwelling with him. He to some extents was drawn towards Quini and wanted to let not go so good a masterpiece away from him. Then with a firm mind he breathed life, feelings, emotions and senses into the carved statues and with a fit they both moved.

          As they moved, he was delighted. His entire consciousness focused on the gentle frame of universal elements. He noticed every slight movement that she made. Then he twirled around the torso of the structure in his amoebic form, feeling the unfelt. But to his surprises, she minded his actions and was eventually unhappy and frightened by his presence. She ran to Zuno and dug her skull in his strong arms. He called her back but she wouldn’t return. Instead she clutched Zuno’s hand and looked deep into his eyes. He was her new admirer.

          This turned God unhappy and furious. He neither wanted to destroy his creations, nor could he find a way to tame Quini. He felt hurt over the betrayal. He regretted his deeds, as it had triggered out his own solace. He wanted revenge but the responsibility to safeguard the entire world was upon him. He had the power but couldn’t use. He had the ability to destroy, but his duties stopped him. He felt helpless and lost for a moment.

          Meanwhile Zuno and Quini strolled hand in hand. With a blow of elementary dust on the duos, he said to Zuno that from then on Quini would become more and more attractive and appealing but would not show any direct emotions for him. It would also be not easy to win her heart. Moreover, he would be hurt and bruised with acts that she would turn him down for. Also, his attraction towards her would grow day by day and would pain him intensely with discomforts of pleasure. His life from then on would become a chase for her. Accomplishing her would become a mission for him.

With this he smiled at Zuno and for the last time looked at Quini with the eyes of an admirer. He then showed them the path to the world and asked them to leave to begin their life there. As he pointed them to the world they were to go, the stars made a bright and brilliant pathway for them to walk. Gazing at the marvelous road ahead, Quini took a deep breath, exhaled and in a jerk gripped-off Zuno’s hand and ran off into the divine. Zuno called from behind but she wouldn’t care to stop or even listen. He ran behind her wailing her name and she kept running ahead him, blushing and teasing him. And from the distance God just smiled. The spell had begun!

   

*Materialized from Dushyant Singh Pundir's theme.

From GANDHI to MODI

From GANDHI to MODI

As for n^th time I saluted the waving tricolor celebrating India’s 67^th Independence Day, hopes and ambitions of a better future and a developed society emerged in my heart. The rendering of ‘Jan Gan Man’ brought alive the feeling of honesty, pride and self respect in me. It brought a feel that conveyed ‘I shall be the most honest citizen from now. I shall serve my countrymen with more courtesy and generosity. I shall help those who need me and I shall not become a part of the corrupt mob.’ Such was the magic of the fluttering flag that brought a sudden realization to my five decade old mind.

          Office Story:

          As I stepped my right foot apart standing at ease, the thump on the ground firmed my resolution even more. I was haughty over my decision and in the course of the day shared it with six more co-workers. Fortunately, they liked it and five of them joined in. I am alike the millions of mango-men working in a government organization serving people and returning home to reunite with my family. I too have hopes, ambitions, children, spouse and parents to look for. My day starts sitting on a five year old chair, going through files and documents equally balanced with men, women and agitated youths shouting on top of their voices to get rid of my desk at the first place. I however do not mind their impatience; coz sometimes the more desperate ones place a hundred rupee note in between their files, sometimes it is a green note too. But now I have resolved to be honest.

          Home Story:

          I have a daughter, 19 and a son, 22. My son just completed his graduation on loans and is not placed. My daughter wants to pursue MBBS, but my manager threatens me with a bank notice. My wife desires to throw a kitty party on our coming 25^th anniversary and my mother needs a hip replacement. Every night as I park my twelve year old scooter on the verandah, they all hope of a lavish dish to come out from my satchel. Only I know that there are potatoes and onions. Oh! I am reminded by this, for the last one week I haven’t even bought onions. God! They’ve reached SEVENTY RUPEES A KILO! There were however a few subsidy stalls put up by Manmohan Singh Ji’s men, but it just ended before my turn. It for me combusted half a liter of petrol.

          Nation’s Story:

In the Gandhian era 66 years ago there were communal riots, clashes against the British rulers. But today we have our own politicians fighting over small and big things. Leave apart the vote bank issues, this Independence Day in Mussoorie an MLA and a local political leader brought fists together over an issue to unfold the national flag in front of the town’s gathering. Amidst the course of their fight a two year old girl pulled the string. This probably can be an influence flowing inward from the centre. On one hand what the nation believes is that Madame Gandhi’s government is responsible for inflation, corruption, decreased growth rate, cross border terrorism and what not. On the other hand they are assured that only Modi can set things right. But perhaps we are all just being triggered upon our emotions.

Office again:

Three days have passed since my resolution, though I feel proud upon my judgment but also I feel my necessities poking me constantly. A young man flipped a crisp note between his file and patted the file on my table. I looked up to him and sternly asked him to go to the back of the queue. Instead he went to the adjacent counter and repeated his action. My co-worker who had taken the oath with me was seated on that desk. I knew he too would decline; but he accepted. I looked at him in disbelief and he was quick to say, “Lena padta hai re, apne ko bhi toh gujara karne ka hai.” The words battered in my skull and I tried to evaluate if what he said was meaningful.

I went back home and my wife asked me if I had bought onions today. I told her that the rates had increased to seventy-five a kilo. In bed at night I told her how my co-workers had started walking back on the same old track. To this she replied, “They are wiser than you and know that they have a family to support. Being a Gandhi or Modi always dosen’t help Singh sahab.” With these words she switched off the lights.

The Last Kiss

In the heavy deluge of June, Marry stood by her mother's tomb. The rain drenched her head to toe. She wasn't moved. Unaffected like a barren tree with no leaves. It was just a day ago, both of them were together like a boat and an oar. Utterly incomplete without each other.

Her mother was slaughtered to death. Killed brutally enough. The reason unknown to her, but the faces known. The same faces that she had seen growing up. The same ones whom she called Uncles and Brothers. It was a manifestation of hatred that she grew within her. She wanted to avenge her mother's death. As thirsty and bloodily like a witch for blood.

The torrent triggered her pains even intensly and she withered with the momories of her past. The day before yesterday was so remarkable. But yesterday so painful, and today so badly awful. She stood looking at the cross of rosary lying on the tombstome clutching back to her memories.

With a breath of air she inhaled her mother's fragrance from the atmosphere, like she was around. She felt her in and around her. Baffaled with emotions she looked around. She saw a pale appearance shading off in the distance. She held to her gaze, the figure turned around. Yes, it was her. Her mother. She looked expectantly and hopefully at her to return back. But, the appearance faded and trailed off. It diminished into the air, just like smoke.

Last it did was to blow a kiss, into the air. The kiss changed into white, yellow and red butterflies and fluttered all around. 

Wish I survive all my backs.

A day more and the result’s out,

To some it brings titters shout.

And a few in silent tears,

Leaving a fraction gulfed in fears.

I wonder what if I flunk?

And gave a halt to the punk.

Wish I survive all my backs,

To start this new sem with no lacks.

I recalled my joining in a flashback,

And questioned myself- “is it wits that I lack?”

Or are these the culprits whom I choose my friends?

Who made me accompany a thousand trends.

Was it the cafet or the macozy?

Or the fact that I was too lazy.

Let’s not blame the college parking,

Where I sat hours bunking.

‘Coz not the cafet nor the macozy,

 Neither was I ever that lazy.

Not to blame my choosy friends,

Who acquainted me to those thousand trends.

I regret only to my insincerity,

And towards dad my lack of duty,

The enormous fun and the pending backlogs,

The love bytes and the bunking flocks.

I promise myself “I’ll be sincere now.”

To match the studies anyhow.

So wish I survive all my backs,

To start this new sem with no lacks.

*Dedicated to all those who were a part of this bliss, who are and in future who shall be... :)

Backchodi band karo!

I am 22 over, and have seen two decades of this glorious life. Life, that according to Hinduism comes after 89Lac births. The same life that some live and others quit. I am not from the same house that you are from; but I behold the same go-through that you too have experienced. Coz we are the same, the juniors of the old couple forgotten with time and happenings: ‘The Ancient Humans’.

As I said we are of the same origin, so we also hold a hell lot of things in common. Things those are classified as nautankis, bewakufi, haramipan, kutiaapa, fuddu-panti and the most termed word ‘backchodi’. These words in the daily dialect of responsible and socially admired elites are replaced by ‘mischief, nuisance, fooling and idiotism’. What accounts most is that these ‘call-it-as-what-suits-you’ type activities are the most enhancing part of our life.

You must have heard, ‘Life is all about living to the fullest.’ Nothing else than mischievous acts and silliness helps in learning. Leaning is a process, and continual in more often cases. We learn from our actions, and new activities that we perform. Children are the most active learners ‘coz they fear nothing of the future. Being old now means to fall in a different class. Within the walls of our society, workspace and homes we are overlooked with an authoritative eye. That observance has so feared us that we have stopped living, and are only conscious of our fictive image that clouds their eyes.

A recent interaction with a bunch of school kids:

I spotted this lot kicking and splashing water on a main road. There were five of them, beneath the draining sky. I observed them from under a tarpaulin of a tea stall, conscious of every falling drop on me. The stall owner was an old man, dirty and un-bathed. He scratched his groin and served pakodis with the same ‘unwashed’ hands. ‘Aap kya loge..?’ he asked me with a wagging finger. ‘Kuch nai!’ I said looking at his dirt trapped nails, feeling disgusted. I thought how unhygienic it was. Perhaps too much! The course of hygienic awareness flowed in my veins. Either it was inherited from the ‘Health and Hygeine’ chapter of Science or from the ‘wash-your-hands-before-meal’ habit.

The five on the other hand were up with an unstoppable excitement and vigor in dirtying each other. From kicking the roadside water-streams they had started felling their friends in it. Along with their actions there were words, abusive in nature but baked with care and affluence of their relation. One by one, almost everyone tasted the water. They weren’t cared of the special ingredients that it carried in it: plastic sheets, mud, twigs, cow-dung, dogs’ faeces and what not.

I on looked them with numerous others. There was a different observance on each face. Children seemed amused. Teens seemed tempted. Girls impressed. Men bewildered and women regretful. However, there were old people who passed. Some didn’t care to notice, others who did passed on disgusted and twisted facial expressions, commenting harshly. But, they were unaffected of all notices and were enjoying it to the heights of pleasures.

Those who looked at them and gave profound remarks just saw the outer picture. They surely missed the guts that the boys had inside them. To gain attention on a main street is no less than crossing a Mumbai street blindfolded. After the dip-and-lick they brought their bikes and scooties and stunted. Their burnouts splashed water on a 360⁰ turn, gaining more attention.

It was all to gain more attention. The shirts were now torn reveling their bare chests and sacred strings. The pockets hung open, buttons missing and vests exposed. But they were uncared. It was like their courtyard. This can be a highly negative example of social conduct, but what I saw from another perspective was freedom, fearlessness, vigor and courage.

It was no doubt their strength to care not to think of all odds: What the passer-bys might think? What if they were hurt? How they looked? It was rather just freedom of thoughts and actions. It was confidence to do what you want, and express how you feel.

v  

A policeman appeared a few minutes later and said something. I wonder he must have been sent over by some informer; else he would have hardly cared to wet himself.  His words were distinct and clear, aloud and bold. That made them steer their bikes and bugger-off!

As they left, the same gloominess adorned itself. Everyone got back to work and the same non-adventurous life rolled back on its wheels. It was as monotonous as ever, but no one seemed to realize.

Had the cop not appeared, a few more souls would have been tranquilized by their enthusiasm. Had he not said those words, they would have continued with their business. But those words were influential, affective and firm; so he chose them. He spoke in their language to convince them early. He said what they understood best, what they longed to hear amidst their game. What probably each of them were saying to each other. What exactly the cop said was:

‘Backchodi band karo!’

The Blue Hat Man

To,

The Blue Hat Man,

16/c Coronell Street,

Johannesburg.

How virtuefull this life is,

Good days are less lasting,

Odd hours are more continuing.

Sir, to your loneliness

I regret the trespassing done.

Years back in the mid-seventies,

Somewhere along the bull’s street

Try recalling those happy days,

When you lived with a smiling face.

You owned a cottage and named it Woodstock,

That was filled with giggling cries.

A b’ful wife and a pretty girl,

Sedan was what you called her brother.

Your morning tea at the terrace,

And the lake view from the French window.

How you used to point the rainbow,

And the cigar you frequently lit.

In the evening you took a drive,

And the king-of-sirs your royal high.

The silk clothes and the golden tooth,

That twinkled at your lovely smile.

And somewhere in the course of life,

Something strange, something queer did occur.

On one fine drive,

In the busy Dal Street.

You with your honey and the happy kids.

Sedan with Carry on his lap.

You drove the drive way to the hills,

And up the mountains to the cliffs.

As you speeded down the way,

And sedan popped out of the window.

As you called him to get back in,

And that endeavored the bad of all.

You slipped off an aperture,

And the dark valley gulfed the car.

Rolling and trumbling thirty feets,

The next was in a medical hall.

Then and there the four departed,

Sorry, your honey died on the spot

And Carry was never seen,

And you lost your memory tracks.

Sedan was who survived alone,

Without a scratch he watched it all.

Three decades have passed off,

And Sedan is now forty off.

As you live unnamed in this Coronnel Street

With your honey’s blue hat.

The Woodstock now bears a warehouse,

With creeps and cobwebs.

It took years to trace you sir.

How virtuefull this life is,

Good days are lest lasting

Odd hours are more continuing,

Sir to your loneliness,

I regret the trespassing done.

-Sedan.