Tuesday, 30 March 2010
Point of views- a lizard story
In a room, where only silence prevails, is a man standing on the floor?
In good time, he looks up at the ceiling and sees a lizard, equally staring at him.
The same thoughts resonate through the room, breaking the silence…
The man thinks “a lizard hanging on to the ceiling”.
Slowly, as you move up to the lizard’s standpoint, you hear it think “a man hanging on to the ceiling”.
Moral of the story:
Point of view and choices of perspectives are what make even lizards right in this bamboozling world!
Point of view and choices of perspectives are what make even lizards right in this bamboozling world!
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Lethargic
Lethargy.
The last time he suffered this disease was when he was fifteen. Ever since the disease had put up so well with him.
Lying down in his bed alone, a prickly fear crept over his person that he decided to drink some beer. No sooner had the beer flowed down to his liking, he had a strong desire to smoke.
He lit himself a smoke and looked at the side of the wall where portraits of his parents and siblings were put on.
His dad seemed to look at him with those stern eyes, as though, he was lashing him hard with those looks.
But, there were days when his dad lashed him even though he didn’t smoke or drink.
He let those thoughts linger on for some time. All the same, he went strong with beer and smokes.
By the time, the beer was gone, it was already time for his bed.
He slept like a log for a very long time.
No one knows if he got up after that.... ever!
Monday, 15 March 2010
2052 (Part II- The Last Khar-Shing)
Agent P from the intelligence department flew his car inches apart from the seawater-pump tank, and got into a building, which was, initialed “Cultural Productions” that was also floating in the stratosphere…
Agent P, from the intelligence department, was also a superstar in the adult film industry, an occupation he took up as a cover-up to his core profession.
In 2052, the only culture that survived of human originality was pornography. It was one-thing human beings valued, and the only thing that survived through the test of time. And adult movies were made in the original and human techniques. Other than that, even human reproduction happened through artificial methods.
Human beings languished in an easy life of luxury. And all odd jobs were carried out by humanoids.
But there were people like agent P who followed in the unrest of their spirits and sought after improving themselves and the people around them.
As agent P got out of his car, he touched his little finger on his dashboard, which was also a computer. In the process, the high profile data encrypted and stored in the dashboard computer got transferred to his little finger.
The human body was used as a mass data storage device. The little finger alone could store petabytes of data.
When fingers were used as data storage devices, the thumb was known as thumb-drive. And likewise, the little finger was known as the pinky-drive.
After agent P transferred all the top-secret data to his pinky-drive successfully, he got out of his car and entered the studio.
All the (adult-making) film crew was already on the set, ready to start their next much-hyped adult flick “The Last Khar-Shing”. Agent P, in the filmmaking circle, was known as Khar-Shing. There at the set, Khar-Shing was welcomed with such vigor and energy that there ran a little tremor across the entire set.
He went to his dressing room, got undressed, and entered the set, where more than three cameras were already pointing at him and his member in its complete originality. By and by, his co-star entered the set, and everything was being acted and shot according to the script.
As the acting exercise progressed, things started getting wild and Khar-Shing, out of sheer pleasure and experiment, inserted his little finger into a place where I am neither allowed to speak nor indicate out loud in public writing. As luck would have it, the top-secret data got transferred into that unspoken orifice.
During the break, his co-star went to the restroom and relieved of the top-secret data with her feces and was lost forever.
The shooting went on for two long hours, and when Khar-Shing couldn’t keep up with his acting, the day was called for and the set wrapped up.
Immediately after that, Khar-Shing as agent P reported to his intelligence department headquarters to submit the top-secret data that was critical to national security. At the touch of his pinky-drive to the mainframe, nothing happened. His boss gave him a disgruntled look and ordered him to use his thumb-drive. But he had forgotten to keep a backup of the data.
A special team was dispatched to check agent P head to toe and retrieve the data. But it was a lost cause. Nothing could be retrieved from him.
Agent P, under the direct order of the president, was condemned to be executed in the troposphere, where the atmosphere was bombarded by thunders, roasted by lightening and rummaged by heavy rainstorms, the following hour.
As he laid hit by lightning and heavy rainstorm in the troposphere, the smelly feces that contained the top-secret data wisped his nostrils, and together, they were doomed in good time.
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Whiskey Kiss
There was excitement in the room.
Our hero, in his acts of utmost love, was full of expectations: Expectations that spoke of something undone, that something that hints of perpetual waiting. And, at this moment in time, he was expecting a call, or even a short message text, that we do prefer to call SMS, from the one he loved. And thus, time passed on, with a glass of whiskey by his study table.
Well, if I have forgotten to brief my worthy readers of our hero who was a mild drinker that a few glasses of whiskey would have made him feel he had conquered the world, then I would have not done our hero justice.
He sat there, our hero, with his ripened tomato eyes fixated at something he sought to find meaning and semblance to. His reason failed him as it always did. But those were strong gaze, but the object didn’t budge a bit. The mobile phone just sat there, with no life of its own.
He took another sip from the glass of whiskey, his second glass for the evening.
No extraordinary thoughts passed through his faculty of thoughts at this hour in time. He just sat there with those commonplace thoughts. He thought about his love: how her hair played with his hands. And how his hands touched them, smelling its scent from time to time. The sweet scent of “Pantene” shampoo filling his nostrils, it was a beautiful night. And the kiss, the kiss had so taken our hero that a sea of butterflies had flown into the starless night, rendering our hero with that extraordinary vision for butterflies. So, did the night pass on, with the night so much to offer our characters! But these were thoughts flying wild in our singular hero’s mind.
By and by, the story won't be complete without a flashback into that extraordinary night when heaven had broken loose, and our hero saw a glimpse of hope in the life and love he was after.
Yes, it was a Saturday night, but the date of which so escapes me; I only hope, my readership forgives me of my forgotten dates, and read on, as I unravel the events of that extraordinary night.
“Can you pass me that? ” was the sentence of the night that had charmed our hero. But the girl who had uttered those words had taken his fancy a long time back, three years, so to say.
And there they sat; face to face, only separated by that “thing” and the disturbing silence that followed.
After having passed “that” thing the beautiful girl had asked for, the warm feelings you get from the inside had started showing on our hero’s face.
Now, with passing time, our hero had blushed to some acceptable degrees.
Two glasses of wine, two glasses of wine had our beautiful girl drowned than she chose to break heaven loose.
“You know”, she started with, “ I love you, but I had a boyfriend then” she claimed, eyes teary.
Wine makes some beautiful ones teary, and others confess their true feelings. She was facing both ends of the ordeal.
Our hero pinched himself twice to confirm he was not dreaming.
She heard her say, “I love you” once again through tears. Joys knew no bounds, and happiness jumped in his stomach so much so that our hero kissed her exactly twice on her forehead.
An awkward silence ensued afterward. But his dreams had come true.
She was his now. They kissed for the rest of the evening.
Back in the room, the mobile beeped just in time. The SMS read “ I miss you already” but our hero was too drunk to comprehend it.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
2052 (Part I)
The sky was abuzz and filled with flying automobiles, buildings, and factories.
The automobiles in the sky left a trail of water vapor behind them since they were running on seawater.
In the year 2052, the concern was not carbon dioxide but water vapor.
The little land left on earth after the greenhouse effect was in another great peril.
Due to advanced technology, the automobiles started operating on seawater, producing gallons of water vapor, filling the troposphere with clouds. The clouds in turn produced lightning, thunder and rain in plenty that it rendered the surface of the earth inhospitable for human settlement.
The combined team of scientists, philosophers, engineers, and politicians of the world came to an agreement that the future of the earth was in the stratosphere.
Accordingly, the earthlings shifted 11 km above the earth's surface and into the atmosphere. The mission to Mars had failed a long time back.
The cities existed floating in the sky now, made possible by precise planning and execution of works through advanced technologies and usage of seawater.
Well in 2052, everything ran on seawater.
And the atmosphere below the stratosphere was a living hell, bombarded by thunders, roasted by lightening and rummaged by heavy rainstorms. This part of the atmosphere was used for the execution of convicts.
In the year 2052, you no longer saw the clouds above you. As the water vapor, released from automobiles to buildings and skyscrapers and factories, descended below the city, it formed a layer beneath it.
It was an unlikely sight to observe the blanket of white clouds if you looked down from your car, named model H2O, in 2052.
Agent P from the intelligence department flew his car inches apart from the seawater pump tank, and got into a building, which was, initialed “Cultural Productions” that was also floating in the stratosphere…
Thursday, 4 March 2010
A Sunday Morning Prayer
My alarm clock beeps at 7 AM on a fine Sunday morning.
A touch of expert snooze puts it back to sleep.
It comes alive at 7.15 again.
Another touch of expert snooze…
When it beeps at 7.30, I can’t take it anymore and decide to reset the alarm at 8.30, which I calculate, gives me another good hour for sleep.
Silence, only broken by random snores and conceited farts, ensues for the rest of the morning until the blasted alarm clock wakes me up at 8.30 again, and I feel too lazy to snooze or reset it.
In bed, I challenge my limited reasons for why we are designed to sleep and then wake up. And wake up, and then sleep. Useless, I feel. I could sleep on forever, I tell myself. Half asleep.
Before I get to the tail of the matter, it is already 8.55 AM.
I challenge myself a little longer.
It’s totally useless; I have to get up, anyway. But I let myself trail a little longer; sleep looks more convincing. Even promising, to me.
I grunt under my breath “Only if I hadn’t borrowed that car…” and get out of the bed.
The cold, at once, attack my unprotected areas.
“Winter” Another muffled grunt.
I am on the verge of another challenge with myself on seasons, but the underwear clenched between the cheeks of my bottom saves the morning of it.
I release the under-garments from the bottom arrest and proceed to the bathroom, which in a way gives me a sense of unspoken comfort.
Once inside the bathroom, I have to rub my eyes that would have produced fire in the prehistoric age to see myself clearly in the mirror.
It strikes me then that I have to relieve my bladders of its burden.
Why then, I start again; I wasted my time rubbing my eyes! I could have peed perfectly well without looking in the mirror, or with my blurry eyes for that matter!
I position myself beside the western relief pot and start peeing, all the same.
A quick shudder over the spines and the business is over.
“Mm... “ I almost say it loud, feeling the total relief in it!
I clutch my toothbrush, which I can easily locate with my clear eyes, and nearly curse myself for putting up the challenge, a few moments previously, to myself. Then all over again, I almost have that rare nature to thank myself for having my eyes rubbed first, but I control it.
As I apply toothpaste on the brush, I close the bathroom door, and everything happens behind the bolted door.
I come out of the bathroom and look myself in the dressing mirror.
Two unpleasing hairs are peeping out of my nose at me. Without any investigation and consideration, I pull them out.
I look better in the mirror now.
I apply everything that has to be applied to a man’s face and hair after that.
Another look in the mirror and I cannot recognize myself.
Promise!
I make some faces before the mirror to confirm it’s me that is in the mirror.
At long length, I smile, and the dimples on my cheeks give away (my identity).
Immediately, I start putting on my clothes. By the time I am done, it is almost 9.30.
I grab the car and the bungalow keys. On my way out, I carry my backpack.
I lock the door behind me and head towards the car. It is an old Maruti 800.
I walk towards the car dickey. “Suzuki” in blue is written in bold letters. I am guessing, the owner wrote it to remind him that the car is a Suzuki make.
I open the dickey and trash my backpack.
Now, I am behind the wheels. I say a little prayer before I start the engine.
A twist at the key, and a promising sound from the engine, but it dies immediately.
I say another prayer, and a longer one this time. I make an attempt at the key. The engine totally fails on me.
I come out and curse. It is longer than the prayer.
I even kick at the tires!
Useless piece of machine, I shout!
I bring myself to form.
I am thinking I will jumpstart the car. To do that, I have to push the car a little more than 10 meters to take it to the part of the road, which is downhill.
I give a little push to the car and it moves.
Oh, I say, it is easy.
But I think again, like an educated engineer. It strikes me that there is no one inside the car to stop it once the car reaches downhill.
I look skyward. Almost believing god exists.
I wait a few moments more.
Common sense drives me to call the guard at duty.
I jump-start the car with his help, and I am on my way to Thimphu.
Once I reach Thimphu, the car owner is all set to go to Paro and reach his cousins to school. But, he wants me to drive the car.
He says, “I am driving the other car”. In short, the better one.
I say multiple prayers under my breath. All unheard, but very strong ones!
I drive that car whole Sunday and go to bed exhausted at night, more from praying than driving it.
A touch of expert snooze puts it back to sleep.
It comes alive at 7.15 again.
Another touch of expert snooze…
When it beeps at 7.30, I can’t take it anymore and decide to reset the alarm at 8.30, which I calculate, gives me another good hour for sleep.
Silence, only broken by random snores and conceited farts, ensues for the rest of the morning until the blasted alarm clock wakes me up at 8.30 again, and I feel too lazy to snooze or reset it.
In bed, I challenge my limited reasons for why we are designed to sleep and then wake up. And wake up, and then sleep. Useless, I feel. I could sleep on forever, I tell myself. Half asleep.
Before I get to the tail of the matter, it is already 8.55 AM.
I challenge myself a little longer.
It’s totally useless; I have to get up, anyway. But I let myself trail a little longer; sleep looks more convincing. Even promising, to me.
I grunt under my breath “Only if I hadn’t borrowed that car…” and get out of the bed.
The cold, at once, attack my unprotected areas.
“Winter” Another muffled grunt.
I am on the verge of another challenge with myself on seasons, but the underwear clenched between the cheeks of my bottom saves the morning of it.
I release the under-garments from the bottom arrest and proceed to the bathroom, which in a way gives me a sense of unspoken comfort.
Once inside the bathroom, I have to rub my eyes that would have produced fire in the prehistoric age to see myself clearly in the mirror.
It strikes me then that I have to relieve my bladders of its burden.
Why then, I start again; I wasted my time rubbing my eyes! I could have peed perfectly well without looking in the mirror, or with my blurry eyes for that matter!
I position myself beside the western relief pot and start peeing, all the same.
A quick shudder over the spines and the business is over.
“Mm... “ I almost say it loud, feeling the total relief in it!
I clutch my toothbrush, which I can easily locate with my clear eyes, and nearly curse myself for putting up the challenge, a few moments previously, to myself. Then all over again, I almost have that rare nature to thank myself for having my eyes rubbed first, but I control it.
As I apply toothpaste on the brush, I close the bathroom door, and everything happens behind the bolted door.
I come out of the bathroom and look myself in the dressing mirror.
Two unpleasing hairs are peeping out of my nose at me. Without any investigation and consideration, I pull them out.
I look better in the mirror now.
I apply everything that has to be applied to a man’s face and hair after that.
Another look in the mirror and I cannot recognize myself.
Promise!
I make some faces before the mirror to confirm it’s me that is in the mirror.
At long length, I smile, and the dimples on my cheeks give away (my identity).
Immediately, I start putting on my clothes. By the time I am done, it is almost 9.30.
I grab the car and the bungalow keys. On my way out, I carry my backpack.
I lock the door behind me and head towards the car. It is an old Maruti 800.
I walk towards the car dickey. “Suzuki” in blue is written in bold letters. I am guessing, the owner wrote it to remind him that the car is a Suzuki make.
I open the dickey and trash my backpack.
Now, I am behind the wheels. I say a little prayer before I start the engine.
A twist at the key, and a promising sound from the engine, but it dies immediately.
I say another prayer, and a longer one this time. I make an attempt at the key. The engine totally fails on me.
I come out and curse. It is longer than the prayer.
I even kick at the tires!
Useless piece of machine, I shout!
I bring myself to form.
I am thinking I will jumpstart the car. To do that, I have to push the car a little more than 10 meters to take it to the part of the road, which is downhill.
I give a little push to the car and it moves.
Oh, I say, it is easy.
But I think again, like an educated engineer. It strikes me that there is no one inside the car to stop it once the car reaches downhill.
I look skyward. Almost believing god exists.
I wait a few moments more.
Common sense drives me to call the guard at duty.
I jump-start the car with his help, and I am on my way to Thimphu.
Once I reach Thimphu, the car owner is all set to go to Paro and reach his cousins to school. But, he wants me to drive the car.
He says, “I am driving the other car”. In short, the better one.
I say multiple prayers under my breath. All unheard, but very strong ones!
I drive that car whole Sunday and go to bed exhausted at night, more from praying than driving it.
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