Khed

How does one make their worldview? By seeing what is happening around. When culture is reduced to I rape your mother and you rape mine, the whole civilization collpases. The collpase has already happened in principle. Delusions can take people very far and when you have enough power you can have any belief, any delusion and then you can force that delusion on people. I pay attention on the basics. While growing up I didn't think that this country would be very simple, and this is because I was projecting. I was not simple and I was aware of the intricacies of culture and religion of my land and I thought one has to negotiate with the intricacies of culture and religion as this country unfolded in front of my eyes I realised at its base this country works on the principle of I rape women in your family and you rape women in my family. Both ways it's women that are being harmed. This is the base engine of this land (and Purvanchal) and it's not even an Indian approach, it's essentially an approach of Muslim tribals of north-west. The culture that I had seen and experienced was a refined one. That has been deleted except as a form of hyperreality and as poisonous sweet talk to betray people. When I became aware of the deep arrangement of "I rape women in your family and you rape mine", the region ended for me. Hate crimes in this nation can escalate to state persecution, and there is nothing except caste to persecute so whatever demonic entity that rules this nation gets intimate and pulls out reasons from it asshole to persecute, personal traits, appearances, eccentricities. I started becoming aware of the deep political reality of this country in 2013 and became aware of the rapey base reality which I could confirm through my experiences retrospectively in 2016. I didn't think my region and supposed hometown to be inferior until I got the proof and evidences of its inferiority, I collected receipts which I air for the general public on my blog. The best of it is that the kind of individuals a common man protects its family from outside his home and in public transport have intimate access to the lives of people and unfortunately these criminals aren't even intelligent and so they commit to absolute use of force but then one realises that if they were intelligent they wouldn't have needed to use force or wouldn't be criminal. This country has collapsed from inside and I have the witness of it. What remains is trying our best to protect our families. It's particularly hard for the middle class because they would be humiliated by the upper class for not having manners and by the lower class by for having manners and culture. The upper class is beastly because of excesses and never ending greed from never having to compromising as they simply murder people instead of compromising and the lower class is beastly due to constant deprivation and the good ones in lower classes have demonic levels of hell reserved for them. The upper class then weaponises the criminals from lower class and their mental pathologies against the middle class and are given intimate access of people to engineer their lives. Post 2016 I realised that rape and religion, at least in Purvanchal, flow from the same place and these bastards suck up to croissant eating motherfuckers and are ready to change scriptures and religious rules at the drop of their hats. When I became aware of the arrangement the first thing that I did was making a module of my culture family and regional and faith and consciously making it a part of me. These motherfuckers exercise hegemony on religion and culture of the land to deprive people of them. It's funny that it's the same culture and religion that they did not start or maintain but thoroughly raped in the past eighty years. It's an individualized approach so freedom is also sporadically distributed. The possibility of solidarity is zero and solidarity is also useless in this kind of setting. I write so that people know the diagnosis for their suffering, know that struggle is futile so that they can prioritise what is important for them. As far as Purvanchal goes in the past decade I realised that it's ruled by assholes who sell their mothers.

Flop Show Season X

The thing that I want to work on is contrast. I have no idea how I would go about it but the way it is in my mind is the ideal crashing in contrast with transgressive gonzo. This is the style that I have thought that I would pursue. I am an idealist at heart who has had his nihilistic phases and yet didn't turn into a nihilist because he realised that if one has the capacity of depth holding one's ground is possible. What's the point of life when it is spent in holding one's ground? Life should be fun. Though one should be aware of the principles they operate on and they must know crossing which limits their conscience starts to torture them. My whole problem is that I took the promises made by this country and society seriously. I have seen beyond the social contract that this country promises and I have seen nothing but deception and betrayal. The only social contract is that there is no social contract, but it's safer to keep your side of the contract intact and executing it on a case to case basis. This is a method recommended for a conscientious man or woman to avoid the throes of their conscience. I have seen some terrible shit, I have had some terrible experiences. The worldview comes crashing down when one realises that religion and rape in this country originate from the same place especially in the day and age when flying cars were promised but the beauty of the arrangement is that since everyone is wearing a VR goggles of their own needs and desires if they are not complicit in the arrangement it's impossible to make them believe it. My goal in writing is not to make people believe that rape and religion come from the same place, my goal is to prevent good people from blaming themselves, from becoming a victim of victim blaming. I accumulate a body of work that remains on the internet, that one stumbles upon and reads and they realise that they are not responsible for their suffering. It is for the good people who are scapegoated so that when shit gets real for them the mechanisms being used on them become visible. What I have seen is the extreme, a hundred percent loss of autonomy on one's thoughts, speech and actions unless you are conscious enough to salvage a little bit of it so that autonomy doesn't remain zero, and a hundred percent accountability and responsibility of your thoughts speech and actions and this is made to be inflicted on people by individuals who are irrelevant, who have no business in lives of people except sabotaging and destroying them. It is here I learnt that being jealous and judging people on completely wrong and baseless premises is a job profile. What I ended up learning is, to quote Tagore, what "rules the hearts and minds of people" in this country is incapable of judging people right and it is as entitled as it is incompetent. I have been able to see the base of operations of fate in Purvanchal and it is impunity and hate crimes based on intimate and entitlement annoyances for things that are not in the victim but the perpetrators which they project on the victims. The basic deal is doing anything with lives of people, hatching conspiracies which involve social engineering, existentially framing people and then blaming that downfall on either God, fate or the victim themselves. What I have experienced in case of Purvanchal would be a mafia dictatorship with zero percent autonomy until I had had enough and salvaged a bit of it to be able to warn people. My concern is good people because I have seen that the deep machinery of this country particularly comes after good people and as much I have seen the lower class, informal functionaries employed the feudal-corporate nexus of this country specifically go after good people and target their weaknesses which can be anything including lack of finances, handicaps, illnesses or lives of their family members and children. When absolute control can be exercised invasively and intimately, government just becomes a prop. Which it has been since always. Government can keep on launching Shakti Helpline for safety of women as rape flows from the source of this nation itself. It's basically Jaspal Bhatti's Flop Show with better architecture and aesthetics. India is a failed state from what I have seen and while the motherfuckers ruling the heart and minds of people exploit the natural resources and human resource which they aren't even brave enough like the Whites to do that to other nations, the culture, indigenous religion and the civilization becomes the collateral. With a lot of good people and family perishing from the face of the earth, leaving only assholes who can be blackmailed or co-opted and weak who can be enslaved.

Vishkanya

His mind was racing with thoughts. He had made sense of the world. So many books, that his 3 BHK flat was almost entirely a library, with one dedicated study, and even his bedroom was filled with books. Is magic real? He still didn't have an answer to this question, but what he did know was that something was real. He didn't consider things that could be reproduced by following steps to be magic; he considered them technology, and by now, he knew that hidden technologies existed. The government is always a hundred years ahead of the technologies that are public, and the capital possibly a thousand years.

He had researched, and he had had experiences. He had a PhD in Clinical Research, and yet he hadn't stepped out of his 3 BHK since almost a year, surviving only on food and quick-commerce orders. His dead parents had left him enough money to last twenty more years if he continued the lifestyle he was living now. The reality is feudal-capitalist; it's oligarchic, but it's also way deeper than that. But his background in Clinical Research had made it clear that no magic existed for the poor. He wouldn't be living for long, and he knew it.

Natasha was his last friend. She was into black magic, and she had made him curious. He found her mysterious. He found her stealing his research from his study and ended the friendship the same day. Two months later, he felt pins pricking his soles. Voodoo? That was a thought that came to his mind, as she used to tell him about the various things she dabbled in. She told him that she had pet negs, which were actually demons, and he never took her seriously.

He was a man of hard science. And now he had hard evidence, but this hard evidence was subjective. It was only hard for himself. She was a vishkanya, he had concluded, that the feudal kingdom hiding behind the face of democracy had sent for him. It's just that this vishkanya had the toxicity in her psyche, in her mind, probably in her blood and skin too, but he had never kissed her, never had sex with her.

He was in too deep. Demons, or negs as Natasha called them, possessions by them, spiritual infestations. He was in too deep and too strong to get afflicted, but he wasn't so strong as not to suffer. This was better than hard science.

He got up from his study chair and went and lay on the sofa in the study. The pins pricked the soles of his feet. He felt something like lava, just in a gaseous form, something like gaseous plasma emanating from his right hand. He felt like places were islands in an ocean of time. This shit was crazy. Probably, he was too.

He remembered his clan deity and closed his eyes. Anything reproducible is science, he affirmed to himself.

Somewhere, sitting at a computer, Natasha uploaded his photo to the mainframe and clicked the button that said *Infinite Torture*, among other options.

Chooser

Ever since he had that spat with the producer of the movie, he had been feeling like the beggar he was playing in the story. The producer had fired him and taken another actor for the movie. It was a rags-to-riches story with a romantic angle. He was a method actor, and after signing the movie, he had lived with beggars on the streets of Mumbai for six months, though the producer's vision for his character differed, and that became the reason for the spat and his firing from the job.

He was in his apartment, feeling like the beggar he would have played in the movie if he hadn’t been fired. He was unable to shake off the character. In fact, he actually felt like a real beggar. He couldn’t go back to his real self. It had been six months since his firing, and he still felt like a beggar, thought like a beggar. He had been to therapy, too, telling the therapist that he couldn’t shake off the character, and the therapist had told him to give it time.

He had stopped going to parties and stopped calling his parents. He had been researching heavily on the internet. His approach to method acting was proving to be very costly. He was finding it difficult to be himself, to bring out his real personality. He was getting choked by the same character he was playing, the character that would have brought him fame.

Sheena was one of the producer’s assistants and used to remain on the set, briefing the producer about what happened on the set every day. She liked him from day one, and today she had come to meet him, finding him miserable. She was sitting on the sofa in the living room of his apartment.

“You must apologise to him,” she said.

“Why should I?” he said.

“He will destroy you,” Sheena said, with pathos on her face.

“What does this mean?”

“You should understand by now; it’s not called the film industry without any reason.”

Something within him fell into place. Sheena stayed for an hour, drank coffee, and left.

The producer had employed underworld saboteurs against him. The technology of consciousness manipulation through satellite control was being used with impunity by corporations, and the producer had given the underworld a job to destroy him. He was locked in the state of consciousness that he had inhabited during his method acting. His consciousness was locked, leaving him feeling terrible, and the goal was possibly to make him commit suicide.

He didn’t know the details, but he understood that he was going to be a beggar for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t get any more jobs, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to act. He looked out of the window. It was cold in Bombay today. He went to his bedroom, opened the cupboard, pulled out his blanket, and covered himself with it. He got out of his apartment and locked it. Half an hour later, he was found wearing his blanket, smoking chillam with beggars on a footpath in Mumbai.

भगवान

अपने आप को समझ के भगवान

करने चले दूसरों पर राज,

पर सच ये है कि सब कुछ है ईश्वर,

पत्ता पत्ता, कण कण

बस देखने के लिए हों नेत्र,

दानव बन कर राज करो,

या वैकुंठ का ध्यान धरो।

सत्य से परिचित हो कर,

क्यों रहो अनभिज्ञ?

कर्म में हो कर लीन,

हो जाओ तुम भयविहीन,

भय अस्त्र है असुरों का,

जो जन्म लेते हैं भय से ही,

कर दो उनका बल समाप्त,

यही होगा उनके लिए पर्याप्त।

अभिलाषा

क्या कहूँ तुम्हें 

एक विषकन्या

या देवी का स्वरूप

जीवन में आकर

मन में विविध भाव जगा कर

तुमने मुझे विवश किया

सोचने को

तुम्हारा सत्य तुम्हारा है

मेरा सत्य मेरा है

नरक में चल चला

तुम्हारे साथ मैं

अपनी ही धुन में

पूरी करने मेरी अभिलाषा

भले ही हो तुम विषकन्या

पर हर विषकन्या में देवी 

भी होती है

सूनापन

सूना सूना सा दिल

ढूंढता रहा प्यार

कोई ऐसा जो हो उसके प्यार के काबिल

दिल की सच्चाई नहीं

चेहरा देखते हैं लोग

चेहरा देख के कह देते हैं

ये देखो ये है लुटेरा

प्यार देने नहीं

कुछ लूटने आया है

अच्छे खासे इंसान को

शैतान बना देते हैं लोग

तोहमत लगा कर

छोड़ देते हैं

तन्हाइयों की गहराई में

नफरत से लड़ने को

ढूंढ

मन हो निर्मल

एक शांत उपवन

विचार हों शुद्ध

जिससे जीवन बने सरल

गरल से दूसरों के

न फैले विष हममें

करें हम ये प्रयत्न

तमस बहुत है

अगर चलें ढूंढने

फिर क्यों न ढूंढे 

हम आलोक

दृष्टिहीनता

कितना कम दिखता है

जब हम भय और अज्ञानता 

की आंखों से देखते हैं

सत्य के कई चेहरे हैं

एक सत्य

और उसके अनेक पहलू

हमारी इच्छाओं

अभिलाषाओं

से रंगे हुए

जब भय आता है

तो मिथ्या का जन्म होता है

और मिथ्या हमें खिंचती है

अंधकार की ओर

अंधकार की सैर अच्छी हो शायद

जीवन के अनुभवों के लिए

पर घर होना चाहिए

उजाले में ही

सत्य के आलोक से 

हो प्रज्ज्वलित 

जीवन हमारा और सबका

भय के कारण है अनेक

और हर समय लड़ना नहीं आसान

इसलिए भय को बनाकर मित्र

करो पार कठिनाइयों का तूफान।

The Claw Machine | Chapter 1, Scene 2

It was evening, and the classes had finished. He had returned to his apartment after meeting his friends. He changed his clothes and spread out his yoga mat to do some yoga. He practiced for a full twenty minutes before Golu suggested that it was enough and told him to take a bath.

He picked up his towel, walked into the bathroom, and stepped under the shower. As the cold drops slipped over his skin, he remembered how he used to bathe in the rain as a child. Then he remembered how he used to make paper boats.

It was a new demon from the black hole today. It sat beside the black hole on his right shoulder and whispered lustful things into his ear. It didn't matter to him because he was committed to Tanya, whether she ever thought of him or not. Golu whispered the Hanuman Chalisa into his other ear. It had no effect on the demon, but it made him feel better.

He continued standing under the shower. Then he covered himself with Old Spice shower gel and scrubbed his body with a loofah. This was one of the reasons he never brought any of his friends to his apartment. They would make fun of the loofah, among other things. He had made quite a few friends during his first year, but by the third year he had realized that none of them were worthy of being invited into his apartment. They were parasites, essentially. So whenever they asked to come over, he made excuses, even though he continued to spend time with them in college and after classes.

He finished his bath and got out of the bathroom. He put on a T-shirt and pajamas, powered on his laptop, and logged into GoSocial. GoSocial was a new website he had found, and on that website there were people befriending each other and talking about different kinds of things. Whatever your interests might be, you’d find that sort of person on that website. He checked his profile. It was a roleplay sort of profile where he played a poet and a hipster, talked about science, philosophy, and literature, and wrote short poems. Within a short time, he had amassed a number of friends on that website, and that number was steadily increasing. He particularly liked one girl among his GoSocial friends whose name was Paoli, and they used to talk to each other till late in the night. This night too, he talked to her till 1 AM and then logged off as he had college in the morning.

In the morning, he woke up, got ready, had a breakfast of cornflakes, and went to college.

It was afternoon. He was at the college, and something didn’t feel right. Golu was sitting on his shoulder, and a demon from the black hole on the right shoulder was hissing something in his ear. He felt that everything was useless—the degree that he was pursuing, his studies, his skills, everything. He got out of college and started walking in a state of fugue. He took an auto and told the driver to go to the railway station, and upon reaching the railway station, he boarded the general compartment of the first train he saw. The train started, and his mind was blank. Golu was speaking something to him, and the demon was still hissing in his ear, but he was too lost in thought to notice.

After around ten hours, he looked outside the window. The train had halted at a station called Rajpur. He got off and started walking, and kept walking until midnight, until he reached a cemetery near a church. He looked at the church glowing in white light and kept on walking and walking till it was early morning. It was early in the morning that his trance broke, and he then switched on his phone. There were calls and messages, hundreds of them. His phone started ringing, and it was his father. He picked up the call and said hello. His father asked him to come home. He told him he was coming and disconnected the call.

He was done with studies, and he was now going home.

The demon of the black hole hissed something in his ear, and then Golu asked him to call the auto that was passing by him. He took the auto to Rajpur railway station, got himself a general compartment ticket to Deenapur, where his home was, and went and sat in the train that was standing on the platform.

The train reached Deenapur, and he got off. His father was waiting for him on the platform. He got off the train, and his father hugged him.

“If you don’t want to study dentistry, don’t do it,” his father said.

The next day, his father sent his brothers to bring his stuff from Gopuram, where his college was situated. The brothers went and returned in three days with his belongings after completing all the formalities at the college.

He had told his father that he wanted to do social work, and so his father enrolled him in a Bachelor’s degree in Social Work at a college in Deenapur. Golu kept on doing therapy on him. He hadn’t talked to Golu for a very long time, but Golu kept on talking to him, motivating him, and telling him about his future prospects.

The black hole on his right shoulder birthed a new demon almost every day, and as the previous demon went back, a new demon came out of the black hole to hiss in his ear, say nasty things, and show him nasty visions of rapes, murders, and genocides. He had become accustomed to this, but that didn’t mean it was bearable, and yet he suffered quietly because he knew that if he talked about this to anyone, people would think that he was mad.

Golu was the biggest support he had. On days with good weather, Golu used to tell him jokes that cracked him up. College was going fine, and he didn’t skip any classes. He wanted to help people, and so it was the best thing he could do, though he missed dentistry, as he had wanted to become a faciomaxillary surgeon. But dentistry was in the past.

He played guitar in his free time and did house chores. His mother was happy to have him home, and so were his two brothers.

He hadn’t logged into GoSocial for months, and he kind of missed Paoli, but something stopped him from logging into that website. He thought he would log back in again when he had completed his first year. ~ 

He had lost touch with Tanya and she remained only as someone who he was one infatuated to though he could swear by his love for her he knew that he had moved on. The college was going on and exams were near, just a month he would be in second year. He had started making plan for his future, he wanted to get into the field of mental health which he thought was his only choice given his daily experience with Golu and the black hole and its demons. He had decided to specialise in Mental Health and Psychiatric Social Work for his Masters. Golu was sitting on his shoulder listening to him thinking so many things at once and was boosting his confidence. A demon who had appeared from the blackhole was saying intimidating things to him though he was used to it by now. 

The Claw Machine | Chapter 1, Scene 1

He woke up and looked at the alarm clock. It was six in the evening. Ever since he came to college, it felt like he had a black hole on his right shoulder-heavy, dark-and he felt a clamp inside his head. He had been talking to himself ever since he came to the college hostel. He first met Golu when he was ten days into college. He found him sitting on his head, trying to comb his hair, and he was only visible in the mirror and only to him. Golu told him that he would remain until the black hole on his right shoulder dissolved, but he also told him that the possibility of that happening was, if not impossible, very low.

Golu made his home on his left shoulder and permanently stayed there. No one could see Golu except him. Golu was small, the size of a rabbit, and looked like a cross between a rabbit and a cat. Golu remained on his left shoulder when he went to the bathroom, when he went to college, when he went to play football, and when he went shopping, and so did the black hole on his right shoulder.

Golu was a good companion. He attended his dentistry classes with him, and he had helped him immensely during the tenure of his studies. He was approaching the end of the third year of dentistry, but Golu had been there with him, helping him learn the intricacies of Anatomy and Physiology, and then later Pathology and his dentistry subjects.

The black hole on his right shoulder had grown immensely since the first year, but Golu was still as little as he was when he first appeared on his shoulder. His main job, due to the weight of the black hole on his shoulder, had become a side hustle, which Golu helped with. The black hole was a whole other beast, and unlike the black holes in space, it emitted things and people that only he could see, though it also pulled things in, just like the black holes in space. It pulled in his energy, leaving him drained.

He had Medicine and Surgery to deal with, and then he had his postings, but the black hole sucked his energy, leaving him with nothing except Golu. He had friends, but then he came back to his apartment and there was no one but the black hole on his shoulder and Golu. He called home and talked to his Mom, Dad, and three brothers, and then he ordered a pizza delivery and sat eating the pizza while watching a television series as Golu talked to him about it.

He looked at the clock again. It was 7:35. Time for studying. He opened the book of Surgery and made some notes. He studied for about two hours, and at 9:30 he closed the book, opened the pizza box, and ate one more slice as he got up and walked towards the refrigerator in his 1BHK apartment to get a glass of Campa.

Golu was sitting on his shoulder, whispering in his ear that Campa was bad for his health. He didn't talk to Golu loudly because people would think he was crazy. The way the conversation worked was that Golu whispered in his ear, and he thought loudly in his head. This had been their method of conversation since the first year. He assured Golu that he wouldn't drink too much Campa and that he too was a man of medicine and knew that moderation was the key to health.

He grabbed a glass, opened the fridge, and poured himself a glass of Campa. He took a sip and came back to his study table, where the pizza box lay open with two slices of pizza still remaining. He grabbed the pizza slice and took a bite and then he offered it to Golu, knowing that Golu never ate. Golu bit lightly on his shoulder to express his displeasure. He finished the two pizzas and drank the Campa and then lay down on his bed. His stomach was full and and Golu was now sitting on the left side of his pillow, it was 10:05. The blackhole was again a thing of its own, it emitted things and a lot of times it emitted demons. Strange demons who then sat on his right shoulder beside the blackhole and whispered things in his ear like how well they knew him and it is then Golu whispered good things in his left ear to balance things out. He closed his eyes and imagined himself getting married to Tanya, and her wearing a lehanga playing dandiya with him and soon drifted to sleep. 

The Claw Machine | Prologue

He was standing in front of the claw machine in an arcade in Mussoorie. Something was amiss. He was seeing so many soft toys, and he had inserted the coin too, and yet he did not feel like winning. Life was great until then; before that, he had never felt like not winning. In fact, he had won quite a few times. That day was different. He thought he had lost something, something valuable, and that his loved ones didn’t really understand him. This is a realisation a lot of people come across in their lives, but for him it was that day.

He moved the joystick and tried to pick up a soft toy. The claw grabbed it, and then the bear slipped from the claw, and just like that the hundred rupees his father had paid went down the drain. He looked at his shoes, brand new Campus. They were not the shoes with lights like his neighbour had, but they were good enough—grey and black Campus.

There was a time when he wanted to buy a remote-controlled car, and while his mother was against it, his father got it for him. When he got second rank in his second standard, he got a bicycle with thick tyres, and that bicycle was a tough one that got him through to the years when he would have a full-size bicycle. Arcades were his thing; when he visited hill stations, he would play on the claw machine and eat the overpriced egg sandwiches in which they would sell three thin egg slices with two slices of bread for a hundred rupees.

Everything was a hundred rupees in the days when a daily wage labourer would get less than a hundred rupees as his daily wage. It never bothered him what kind of shoes he wore, but he preferred Action shoes, and he preferred to wear Action Synergy to school after thoroughly polishing them. Polishing your shoes was important in that household, until the time came when even brushing the teeth wasn’t necessary.

That day in Mussoorie, in front of the claw machine, something went amiss—a piece of the puzzle that he was—and he would then spend a lifetime finding that piece to complete that puzzle.

Platonic

Sushant loved Anahita, but love is not enough. The year was 2037. India was struggling as projected by political thinkers, economists and philosophers in 2020s. In 2013, India had covertly employed technology for neuropolitical administration brought from Israel on the promise of sharing of people's neurological data for analysis and surveillance capitalism. People during whole of 2020s were busy getting surprised how they got ads of things they just thought about and didn't even utter from their mouths in their social media feeds. The technology was called Einayim X, renamed by the central government to Chakshu X and employed all over India. The nexuses of politicians, businessmen, godmen and mafia spread throughout the country were brought online in a multilevel setup. Each region was decentralised and within it more decentralisation happend with the centralisation only at the top where the English speaking affluents resided. The decentralised regions couldn't access each others subjects and data without permission of the top while the central authority could access and manipulate any level. Sushant and Anahita were in a platonic relationship. They were both aware of the social realities of their time and so they decide to keep their relationship platonic. The hidden order has reverted back to feudalism, with a village rapists system employed preventing people from earning money, finding a partner, from growing now could be easily done at the neurological plane and it would just look like neurodivergence or dyslexia or some neurological disorder. Sushant wrote letters to Anahita, wrote poems and songs for her not knowing that they were being intercepted by the hidden order. It's unbelievable to people that people who have everything would be jealous of people who have love, but the truth is that those who everything are mostly incapable of love and loving, power is not acquired by love but betrayal, scheming and murder and kept by continuous surveillance which ended up intercepting the love letters of our  star crossed lovers. Sushant's marriage was fixed by his parents, but by then he had come under the scanner of the local mafia dictatorship his region came under. Akshita his bride to be was a beautiful young woman who had studied with him in school. Anahita had written a farewell letter to Sushant wishing him well for his wedding and future, not knowing that there wasn‘t any future for them both and also Akshita. Akshita’s ex-boyfriend was the grandson of a local politician and was also part of the local decentralised unit. He wanted to ruin Akshita’s wedding and the local village rapists just needed this excuse for hatching a conspiracy. They wanted to target Sushant and they got an excuse. On the wedding day while he and Akshita were on stage, an AI made video clip started beeping in the mobile phones of the guests. It was him and Anahita having sex in the clip. A platonic realationship getting defiled. Sushant recieved the same message and he looked up to see the guests smiling. His mobile beeped again, it was a message from Anahita’s friend Kanchan, Anahita had hanged herself in her room. 

Swarg

There is one thing that one needs to know clearly about India that I have been able to see and experience is that lower nine-tenths of this country is composed solely of lies. Whatever delusions people live with the hidden baseline truth is what ultimately administers their life and it is this hidden baseline truth that I deal with because I unfortunately ended up seeing it. The base of this country, as I was able to see it through my supposed hometown, is scamming and rape and what is visible are just symptoms of impune scamming, rape and sadism at the invisible plane. I ended up realising that rape cases are not reported in places like Purvanchal because victims are silenced. The control over people is invasive and religion and rape in this country come from the same place. I had hopes for this country in the early 2010s but after witnessing what I have in the past decade I do not have any hopes left because I was able to understand the personality profiles of the individuals who have access to minds and bodies of good, God fearing and diligent people. If you visit my hometown everything looks good, it is because people are good but at the psychosocial and neuropolitical plane there is absolute impunity and that means these motherfuckers are doing anything to people and families and then blaming them on people themselves or God. It's similar to if you masturbate you'll go blind kind of shit. At the base is retaining the right to rape people and money and resources. The career I had chosen, there was no vertical growth in it, my growth is horizontal and I have seen people with vertical growth opportunities getting sabotaged and it is later I realised that these talented people were sabotaged not because the base structure felt threatened but out of sheer jealousy because the deep structure running this nature employs lower class criminals and gives them intimate access to lives of people. I can extrapolate what I experienced through Purvanchal on the whole nation as the patterns are similar. Violation is the base state of existence in this nation. If you get enlightened enough you'd have to deal with individuals who have no moral or ethical fabric within them, who are criminal and neck deep into voyeurism rape and murder and are genocidal in intent, and they thrive on false analogies, multiple meanings of words and concepts, true seeming false arguments, sophistry, intimidation, blackmail and needless violence. These motherfuckers stir the pot in people's life just for sadistic delight and they have no personal stakes in it. I realise that dignity is absent for people in this nation from the base itself and it is here I realise that religion is just a hyperreality setup for victim blaming and serves no other purpose. There is no civilization left other than I delusions of people and people are manipulated through Pavlovian means, through fear based conditioning. The worst part is not this, the worst part is that these motherfuckers are as incompetent as they are entitled and cruel. At the base is divide and rule, causing misunderstanding between people and in families and it is here I realised that these bastards keep people as lonely Islands. While a person suffers the pain of being judged wrongly or misunderstood by his family these motherfuckers thrive on his misery. They feed on pain, miserly, deprivation and helplessness of people and actively deprived people of not only what they want but also what they need and in Purvanchal it extends even to food.

Write Concepts: Dispatch From Gutter

I had once the goal of writing one blog post a day, though I do not have that goal now. I write when I feel like writing. A week or two ago I had decided that I would only write prose poems and gonzo but they require creative juices which are hard to come by. I think it's better to write blog posts, and within them my experiences, though it's not necessary to write daily. What else I can write, and I ponder on this once in a while. Within genres I have noir, weird fiction, cosmic horror, science fiction, fantasy, whimsical fantasy, mythofiction and superhero. For people low on serotonin reality can become unbearable and that's when they start seeking dopamine. I can expand on the genres and can experiment with nonfiction I can write flash nonfiction that I generally write or narrative nonfiction infusing them with my favourite genres while keeping the truth and facts accurate. I still write fiction and post it on my fiction blog but this blog is mostly for blog posts, prose poems, gonzo and other nonfiction. In 2015 I had started with such a project, in which I narrated my life with the voice and personality of Batman or Deadpool. Later I started documenting my life in noir voice and that project was named as Noir Memoir. In the past decade I ended up realising that India as a nation doesn't really exist except on paper and what exists is a failed state with multilevel decentralised pockets of, if we are talking North India and I don't know about South India, mafia dictatorships which are centralised at the top with its criminal enforcers culling and murdering talent as soon as they see it as it would threaten the state of slavery and consequently the mafia dictatorship which is unfortunately so invasive that it threatens and in most cases engulfs the autonomy. I started writing in late 2000s and early 2010s and I continue to write no matter what. It helps me unwind and it's the only art that enjoy practicing, plus the situation of this nation is so terrible in the lower two-thirds of the iceberg this nation is, due to mindless and rapey impunity, that I had to write the diagnosis of people's suffering so that they don't blame themselves for their suffering and victim blaming and especially in places like Purvanchal is one of the chief instruments used for oppression. I thought this is the least that I can do. I wanted to write imaginative and beautiful things. About the universe, about magic, about fantastical things, space voyages and science fiction and superhero stuff but I ended up realising that universe and such things are foreclosed for the majority especially once the delusions are shed. Still if one can imagine they must try to.