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Day 15: Friends and mood


There is a constant fear inside the heart. The guilt feeling. Rekindled bonds of friendship and a life left behind. Our past or memory define who we are or become but at the same time it shouldn’t fetter or clip the wings in a quest to touch the sky. Just imagine, lots of things can change in 12 years, the time we left things behind after college was over. The year was 2006 in Pune. A college friend and his family have come down from Nepal and an entire bunch will catch up for dinner tonight, including some I will be meeting post a decade and was never fond of but at times, we need to overlook things for this friend who has touched base with me.

Stressed I am! It happens most of the time since unsure how I will react, in an emotional manner or not, reminiscing about the past days while hugging each other.  How life changes! N celebrated his 10th marriage anniversary and is father to two lovely children.  It’s been a constant fear for the self during the past months and with the anxiety rescinding back in a leap that sent me into a low mode this week. Battling out the thoughts and living in constant fear is one thing that wished I could do without! But, then, life would be too simple. We need to fight and slug it out like a soldier on the path of overcoming the arch-enemy.

The best thing about friends is that they know when you need a break and out of the blue one of the closest Pune friends K called me yesterday where the idea is to motivate me to get things rolling. It surely lifted the moods since we never spoke about what I am going through. I believe that friends get the sign when things are not going well for us and K just told me that a break is what I need and perhaps exploring a new destination. Upfront and no beating around the bush. The best thing about K is that at times he appears too business type of guy but if there is something to say, he wouldn’t flinch. Now, you see where I draw my strength from? Good friends for they are like opium, sugar and pills that kick the body into action. I shall come up with more updates and geting ready right now to meet N and his entire family.

 

Love

V

 

 

 

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An alien destination


blindly trusting the self,

is all that we need,

chuck out the blinkers,

be risk free,

foray into the unknown,

this alien destination,

fear of the unknown,

flush it,

explore,

kiss the future,

discard the past,

press the delete button,

unchain the soul,

go easy,

break the walls,

never let the root decay,

dreams lay in ruins,

start again,

existence is no selfie,

unfold the kodak moments,

create new memories,

compose a new tune,

open the eyes,

unlayer the canvas,

futuristic dreams,

be real,

trust the friends,

keep moving ahead.

Love

V

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Fiction: The lover (s) of Harivarsha


I stared at the decayed planked wall inside the decrepit room. The wooden door creaked open and yanked, propelled by the dusty ceiling fan. The pigeons flocked at the edge of the sill and the throaty coos irritated me to death. I feel suffocated speaking to the wall every day and desperately wanted to run away from the boisterous life of old Bombay, the sight of blue-and-yellow cabs, trucks and buses screeching to life, the blaringly loud horns.

The rudderless life, aimless existence and stench of tobacco crushed on the floor felt like a half-dead orgasmic climax. I wanted to puke at the sight of everything. Relentless city noise has deprived me of tranquillity and sleep. The only solace is the alcohol and cheap whisky for 20 bucks. We are in the 90s. My life is cheap. Cheap packet of gold flake cigarette, cheap sex every day and cheap food. The polluted air is free, so is the sea gentle at times and stormy the next. The spangle of light stretched out, coalescing with the dappled sun that made me snigger at everything human and nature. I lumbered, to and fro, between the sofa and the door, inching to slouch on the same space.

Hunched shoulders, tingled skin and unwavering eyes gazing at the midnight’s dotted lights forming a shadow. She left her coat hanging the night before when we were making mad mad love and biting into each other, scratching skins to play silly games like termites crawling into each other’s flesh. I thought she wouldn’t come tonight. Weltering in the high heels and short skirts, she walked straight to flounce her designer bag on the bed. I pretended to ignore her.  My senses are incapacitated with the ego riding high like the cheap whisky I drink at every nightfall, admiring the coconut trees lingering the sea. She left in the middle of the act yesterday. I hate her. Bitch! I wanted to yell.

The sullen look wore thin on my face and hastily pulled the short on my underwear before she started to kiss me sloppily and assaulting my skinny body.  She winked at me. “So much trouble you took, na. What’s the point of wearing the short when I gonna pull it down.” I cannot bear to see her seducing effortlessly written all over the face, the edge she always commands without trying too hard.  The smirk on her face, the look and roving eyes killed me every second.  I wanna talk tough. “The door is open,” I tut-tutted.

She lit a cigarette. The smoke blew on my face.  “Haan! Toh! The door is always open and let fresh air and breeze curl inside this small room like the foggy cigarette. Do you want me to leave? she japed at me. The wickedness, effortless gaze, simpering and cackle sent me in a stew. If I was chicken gravy, she would gobble me at one instant. “Your choice,” I blabbered.

I faked the act of looking unfazed for we are addicted to each other. She may have different lovers and a filthy rich husband but comes to me every night which gives an instant and adrenaline high.  The fear of seeing her going away and the eyes furtively squinted at her moves, the steps towards the door. She stopped abruptly and pulled off the blouse to show the perfected sculpted bareback.  She wanted to say, ‘Fuck off.’ I was pretty sure of that. She slowly turned around in her curvy shapes like an artist and trotted on the heels of a cat mewing behind the door, grabbed the poor thing, ruffling furs and kissed it. The poor animal shrieked and slipped away from her.

Slouching on the torn off sofa that bore our violence for shaking and jumping several nights, I was amused to watch an object flung towards me. I avoided it in time through twists and turns. Her stilettos almost kissed my face. She threw herself at me.

I don’t even know her name. We have been doing it every night for several months. She’s an egoistic and maniacal woman hell-bent to see me lose control and doesn’t flinch in saying. The large wry smile on her face is the triumph of seeing me growing weak at the idea and name of sex.

She never played the victim card. I did. She is an enigma and doesn’t flinch in asking for intimacy but claimed it as if a birthright. I loathed it for getting monotonous like morning brunch. She is nonchalant. “Roughen me, man. You are sexy. Caress my body and skin. I am not feeling anything. Let your hair down. You know the best thing about us is how when we kiss and your mind wanders. No complaint. I love to take the lead. You are easy-going unlike my husband and the lovers I meet during the day. I want more.” It’s a piece of cake for her.

I am panting. Words are flowing and dunno from where. Must be the effect of the imported scotch she brought from US. “I want you, only you,” I pressed harder on her. She flailed her hands and long legs slithering my lip and pressed my stomach. “Baby…” I breathed. She almost kicked me in the groin. “Stop calling me that. I am a free bird. I cannot be possessed by males like you. Set yourself free. Feel it.”

“I hate your husband, the money bag, expensive cars and hotel suites,” I doggedly say.

“You cannot…a dimwit you are. You don’t even know him and I am fucking you right now. Stop eyeing my boobs and hating my husband. It’s like asking for coins when you got the notes. Time to get out of this poor and dirty room for you are caught in this virus cheap mentality of poor vs rich, envying the rich. Such a fuck all mental ejaculation with this envy thing.”

“Come on! Fuck me harder, “she moaned.

I nodded. “It’s not like some fucking competition going on,” I almost told her.

I was tired of playing this game with a rich woman who got nothing else to do but dragged me on top of her every night. This routine ailed me. We fucked and smoke up. There is nothing between us. I loathed it. No meaningful conversation, no cuddling and laughing together.

She called me a train boggy but gelatinous. I termed her as the biggest earth-shattering mystery and a nymph wearing the chameleon colors. She freaked out and became violent when I stubbornly insisted on hearing her name. She doesn’t want to know mine, either. Names are our dirty secret, not the sex.

A dominant woman who flaunts the most expensive clothes, bangles and jewelry, she took pride in overpowering me with a kooky smile drawn on paper.  Every dog has its day, I whispered into her ears. “You bet,” she faked a coquettish smile. I galumphed at the small victory. She spent the entire night in my kholi, the rat-infested dingy square room and I got a sadistic high way bigger than the climax admiring the flies and insects hovering above her head and the sleepless sleep broken by the ear-splitting pigeons cooing near the lobe. I tasted victory and sipped my alcohol that filled the nostril and swirled on the tongue.  Sweet revenge has never tasted so good and lingered in the mouth for months and years. Harivarsha disappeared like a mystery was never seen again.

PS: This fiction has been inspired by one of the short stories in Adwaita Das’s novel Colors of Shadow. Click to buy the marvellous book about human lives and relationships on Amazon.

 

Love

V

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Book Review: Marital advice to my Grandson, Joel tinkers with humor on marriage journey


Marital advice to my Grandson, Joel

Author: Peter Davidson

Rating: Three and a half stars

Sweet Memories Publishing

Published in January 2018

Introduction:

There are ‘blissfully married couples. Come again! Potential grooms and brides ever ready to take the plunge but may be may be the punch. Ok, honey! Don’t crucify me for not making pancake which is rocket science. Then, there people like me who are commitment phobic and doesn’t know the A-Z of a married life.  When Peter Davidson contacted me from US on LinkedIn to review his book and during our e-mail exchanges, I felt like climbing on the top of Everest but today, I can claim that the book, ‘Marital advice to my Grandson, Joel’ is the holy truth told by the author through his first-hand experience on the rules of marriage. Quirky humor is a tool not only effectively used by the author but seems to be his forte in making it a handbook that puts a smile on the lip.

Narration:

The author tinkers with innovative, light situations in making powerful points and speaks in a direct language in reaching out to the common man. The book is dedicated to his grandson Joel and the latter’s wife Abby but is tongue-in-cheek making it a smart read for everyone on the line.  Davidson uses the 80-20 rules when it comes to the house space shared between the husband or wife. No prize for guessing which part of the house belongs to the man and no wonder we call the lady of the house, the rightful owner.

The ten commandments of marriage, like I call it, broaches several themes between a husband and wife whether when it’s nothing means something, the three strategies: win-lose, lose-lose or win-win strategy where letting the storm calm is the best possible outcome.  The language and narration stand out through the in-law philosophy of 101 where the temperature can get below zero in the miserable winter. Don’t wrack your brain. Davidson was alluding to the in-laws who many men like us may see as our worst of enemies but tact is the surest way to win not just over them but their daughter.

The liberal dose of humor comes in various forms and the author comes with a step-by-step approach on gestures and signs like loud language or voice, silence, lip, laugh, touching, leaning, frying pan where the man is better advised to observe and be perceptive.

The surest way to win over your lady-love or wife is the personalized handcrafted greeting card, singing a song or read poetry which is the old chivalrous way of serenading her and surely one of my favorite part in the book laden with effortless humor.

What’s Not!

I am not a married bloke and it’s tough for me to point out at flaws in the book. The book carries many important facets on what makes a marriage successful but would have loved it if the author pointed out at situations leading to breakdown in relationships or ways to overcome the tension, boredom or tackling straying that can happen. Also, there is some inference that many could interpret as being sexist in form and substance that may crop up.

Concluding Remarks:

Marital advice to my Grandson, Joel is a book seems to be very close to the author’s heart, a man forever young in his mind who has mastered the tricks over the years. The teachings can be applied to any society or age where at times, we forget what makes a successful marriage. The rules are old yet priceless. What better way than to play by the games in a humorous manner which constitutes the core of the book which is no less interesting than a light romance novel in appearance. For sure, it’s no work of fiction but a book which breaks the monotony that I am sure is helpful not only to newly married couples but people hitched for a long time. Go for it.

You can read the blurb on Goodreads, and buy the book on Amazon.

V

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Fake orgasm of pain and identity


Writhing in pain,

Oh the curses,

Countless blessings,

twinge of memory,

rubbing salt and burnol,

not to heal,

hide the emotional scars and pain,

in quest of the real me,

the gentle soul,

not the ruthless stone I have become,

a soul hidden under the pile of burden,

unrequited love,

chasm of defeat,

the suffocation,

unplanned defeats and turmoil,

larva like tears,

ripping apart the heart,

dehumanized soul,

swimming against the tide,

innocence buried,

where art thou!

i keep searching for the real,

a pale shadow surfaces,

running away from the real,

for how long!

only a ghost image is real!

faith is just like the fake orgasm.

Love

V

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Ashifas of India! Mourn the little Goddess in Devi Sthan temple!


Our collective conscience is dead as a nation. There was once an India, a land lauded for being a beacon of democracy where the rule of the law and freedom of expression reigned supreme. The female form of Goddesses is worshipped in temples. The girl child is revered as Kanya, where prayers are offering in honoring her for being close to Goddesses. Temples are sacred.

We woke up to the brutal murder of little Ashifa, a tribal girl ruthlessly gang-raped and murdered where not a single voice rose when the gruesome crime was committed. We have mutilated the soul of a rosy little girl who must have seen in grown-up men, father figures, and brothers, a protector who would shield her from evil. A child sees the goodness in people. An 8-year-old knows nothing about physical violence, evil ways of this world and perhaps was alien to twinkling stars in the sky, expensive frocks city kids wear, toys, race, and her body. It was not her age. Perhaps, the poverty or simplicity of leaving a peasantry life didn’t allow her to dream in the small town of Kathua. She had her horses for company. I try hard to think about the sheepish smile on her face, trotting with her friends the animals and running to her ammi for food. At this age, little Ashifa was unaware of the challenges faced by her community or what it means to be a Muslim, rich or poor, prejudices or hatred.

We have bruised every child in this nation and in the vast sea of humanity. I dread that no child will ever trust the adults that we are and it’s horrendous to see half of the world on Twitter justifying this heinous crime or come up with their whataboutery. Breaking the trust of a young child is the worst of crime that we could ever imagine and that too in the name of Lord Ram. What do we see? A group of hyper-nationalists lawyers shouting Jai Shri Ram, politicians of the ruling party and the Bar Council in J & K indulging in mudslinging to side with the rapists. What are we becoming as a nation? The law is being violated. It’s not a question of Congress or BJP. The Congress Party hasn’t done better in the recent past nor condemned the two rapes in Kathua and UP immediately when it came in the public domain. The guilty silence of Congress leaders playing politics and soft Hindutva led to Rahul Gandhi issuing a statement, buckling under popular pressure or some of their members siding with fringe Hindu extremist group in the attempt to protect the rapists was an eyesore.

Better not speak about BJP, a party famous for using muscle power with their RSS friends to come up with insensitive remarks on the child growing to become a terrorist or a banker under the extremist Hindu ideology celebrating the death before he was fired. Our own Prime Minister who never misses an opportunity to thump his chest on clicking a selfie with daughter or the beti bachao campaign went into silent mode. It’s only very late that he made a statement condemning the rape but cut a sorry figure. Following his landslide victory, the first time I saw Narendra Modi emasculated and unconvincing for the guilt was wearing thin on him. The Unnao rape case in the land of Ajay Bisht-Yes I call him that. He is no yogi and time not to make Mahatmas or Yogis out of tainted politicians. Cases were withdrawn against one of his minister on the ground of alleged rape or the time taken to arrest Kuldip Sengar, the BJP MP pushes us to ask several questions. Why so much time was taken? This man should have been dragged and handcuffed at the first instance. The biggest tragedy is the father of Unnao being tied, beaten to death and humiliated to death in a police station. Is this what the people have asked?!

 

ashifa 1

Oh! The silence of BJP women ministers cushioned in their ivory towers, right from Sushma Swaraj to Smriti Irani is telling with  Meenakshi Lekhi, the BJP spokesperson who went on an insensitive rant questioning protests and playing the communal case referring to several other rape cases. Madam! A rape is a rape. Certainly, not sane voices are condoning rape happening in every nook-and-corner of India except your blind supporters wearing the Hindutva blinkers and little Ashifa and Unnao belong to the obscure places in the country which don’t make headline news.

The bigger question that we should ask ourselves: What happens after the candle vigilantes to protest rape and should every crime taking place whittle down to the urban landscape? The class divide can be and is evident. Media has a huge part to play in the way coverage is given to crime against women or young children. Why should it make us fume three months after the child was brutally murdered? Just because it doesn’t fit with the high-class narrative. Some media channels have much to answer and they got no right to pass the buck where we have seen them preaching hatred openly against a particular community. From every Muslim is a terrorist to label minorities enemies of the state, the rabble-rousers are making the country sit on a ticking bomb which is bound to explode anytime. Sad that many of us didn’t see it coming and the hatred spread at decibel volume at prime time was designed to brainwash the minds of people who have just one opium, religion or for that matter, saffronization of the Indian state. Tragic that an innocent child had to pay a heavy price. There are many children like her, unnamed and voices stifled in dark alleys where the latest is the gruesome rape in Gujarat. Yes, right Gujarat!

The right-wing trolls in the garb of hate activism on social media channels have spewed venoms in celebrating the rape of an innocent child. The vilest crime ever committed by scum bags sinking lower and lower. As far as critics saying that the whole issue is being politicized or being made on religious ground, it has been in the first instance when politicians took part in a rally to protect the perpetrators of the crime. First, the entire rape was planned in Kathua since the girl’s family belonged to the poor tribal Muslim family, Bakerwal whom the proponents of Hindutva agenda wanted to displace. Second, the soul of a child was violated making her family walking 8 km from her homeland to be cremated which is the extreme of torture and harassment. Would you still argue that there is no communalization of the crime? How much hate can be spilled that we cannot spare an innocent life? Yes! She was murdered for being a Muslim. Period.

As far as asking, why Ashifa and not someone else? The child has become a symbol for entire India and rape victims in the country or the Hindu Talibanisation core agenda in say no to the usurpation of the constitution. I am a Hindu and not in my name, haters should commit a crime on defenseless children just by chanting the name of Lord Rama or yelling Bharat Mata ki Jai.  It’s the biggest insult ever done to the Indian tricolor and religions. The sanctity of the temple has been violated. An irony, the temple’s name is Devi Sthan and we have killed the Devi.

Let’s not call Ashifa, ‘daughter of India’. We are doing a disservice to this tender soul killed in the flower bud. The staunchest defenders of the criminals who don’t deserve to live or voices went silent are as guilty as the rapists. Is this the new India with the ruling power’s desperate attempts to do cover up and protect criminals? Is this the change that people asked for in 2014? There is no point of clicking selfie with a daughter or the smug Beti Bachao campaign. Make no illusion, it’s Beti Uthao.

 

V

 

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The lost vagina


Crudest of the crudest!

lowest of the lowest!

oh! vile mankind!

In the name of God!

invoking Lord Ram!

tender child!

cattle grazing,

tendering horses,

no age comprehend what a womb is,

protecting her vagina,

she was too young for that!

innocence,

rosy cheeks,

smiling at strangers!

evil a mere word not in her dictionary,

she perhaps saw divinity in humans,

in men,

her protecting thread!

rites performed,

they massacred her soul,

wanted to show who was the boss,

her fault!

a tribal child,

Muslim,

six letter words for her,

no pride expressed in her identity,

she was a child,

you see,

never exposed to the ways of the world,

she saw beauty in her animals and lush surroundings,

hopping in happiness,

why would you care?

after all, she doesn’t belong to the urban landscape,

you know the story right,

outrage at the death of the little life,

an angel,

she knows not what a female body is,

definition of good, bad or evil,

alien to her,

Ashifa!

child,

i cannot promise to do justice to your soul,

guilty,

accepting defeat,

emasculated i am,

we failed you,

better you didn’t understand us,

bad touch,

good touch,

lewd remarks,

didn’t fit into your world,

your soul will cry,

tender flower,

they didn’t spare you,

divine form,

sinners.

worshipping the female form of Goddesses,

in the temple,

innocent eyes,

their hands never trembled,

your little soul shall torment us to death,

we shall decay!

some will show no remorse,

good you didn’t reach the age,

to understand femininity,

embryo,

womb,

how many vagina lost!

we shall hang our heads in shame,

hatred and prejudices,

vain words!

tears of blood,

we shall shed,

they are still fighting over you!

don’t regret not living in this world,

you may be a better place,

a curse for us,

we didn’t honor you,

Ashifa!

healing,

longing for forgiveness,

we shall never get

any by taking your name,

our conscience not pricked,

our idols dehumanized,

so much pride for beings Hindus!

cowards in the garb of humans,

lifeless conscience we have!

we don’t deserve you!

I shall not sign with love in this post.