Plea-sure results

You slip and tumble past the slanting green meadows of joy into a blue river of pleaure filled with piranhas and think about fish fry, and the piranhas think of something else. Something pinches your pericardium, moving the pericardial fluid beneath it and troubling the bacterium that resides within, ready to eat away your heart with its mates. You start swimming against the current in your utter shock. You are in a grave condition and you are swimming with all the strength you can muster. The piranhas are having their pulpy, juicy relish and the bacteria in the pericardial fluid are busy copulating without condoms to produce young ones of their own kind. Your almost non-existent feet are moving with the speed of propeller of a motor powered boat. Luck helps you and you manage to get to the ground with the stumps of your locomotive appendages and then a giant eagle picks you up and takes you away to a discotheque where, with a gun pointing at your face, you are told to perform bharatnatyam. You look helplessly at your once football conditioned legs and try to get up. But there is one problem; you don't know bharatnatyam. You ask if you can do locking and popping. The bacteria inside your pericardial cavity have gathered enough force by now to squeeze through your capillaries and spread all over your body. You cough a little and get yourself ready for doing your version of bharatnatyam. You perform mudras in a locking and popping style, which is well recieved. Your stumps pain unbearably with the weight of your well fed plethoric body. You are then shot in the head. And the bullet lodges in your cranium, liberating your soul. And the poor bacteria in your blood die a disappointed death.

The gravedigger

When nerves feel weary as if all life has been squeezed out of them, you sit wondering, about the reasons of it. The apathy that pervades your psyche. What makes you like this? And you get a million options for answer reeling through your mind. You know that you love life, like all mortals, it's just hidden in the background. Functioning like a puppeteer, pulling the strings as you dance on the stage. Your hatred of life is just an excuse for you to display your failure to love her as it's ought to be love. And you convince yourself of hating the life. You overwork your nerves, just to overcome this strange sensation this hatred produces, in all ways. But they refuse to be soothed. You burn in the fires of hell, created by yourself. An agony which is indescribable to anyone else. Is a fallen angel still an angel? Or he is a devil? Can one choose to be an angel even after falling into deepest pits of burning hell? Questions. A hatred for life is not the same as the love for death. You realize this vaguely. In a hurry to approach your end you set on digging your own grave, and in this process you make friends who with all their intellect and might, help you in your endevour. To the world you are Kalidasa, before enlightenment; for yourself, you're the same, only with a chainsaw instead of an axe. You are also amazed by the fact that one can also make enemies while digging a grave for himself, as there are a few people who do not want even a little piece of land to be wasted on a creature like you. But you in your frenzy keep digging deeper and deeper; your muscles getting stronger with each blow you impart to the ground, and each pound of earth you lift out that hole you're digging for yourself. There's a saying, that, the one who digs ditches for others falls himself in it. But what about the ones who dig it for themselves? And then to your utter amazement people who thought you as before-enlightenment-Kalidasa, now begin to think that you're searching for a treasure. But you continue your work, so obsessed with your end that you never realized that you have crossed the given standard of six feet long ago. And then as you strike the ground in your unbearable anguish and search for an end, a stream of water erupts from the ground. A stream of sweet, fresh, nourishing water, which quenches your thirst and soothes your fatigued nerves. And what was supposed to be a grave is now a well. A well of the sweet, refreshing elixir of knowledge. You realize that it is the end. Or if not, a means to the end. And you readily drown yourself into it.

Rampage on the shores
Of the tumultuous sea
Idols of humanity running amoke
Blood on the wet sand
And cries and shreiks
A hurried dance of fire and smoke

When....

When chameleons grow little dragon wings and fly towards the rainbow to add more colors to their deception. When virgin roses bloom to scatter their fragrance in the misty air to call for their lovers. When crystal glasses clang together to incite  a feeling of friendship and bonhomie in suspicious hearts. When the slimy octopus sucks away the life from a helpless prey. When corroded barrels refuse to follow the orders of trigger-happy fingers. When....

ग़ालिब गोज टू अ बार

एक खुजली वाला कुत्ता, जिसे मालिक ने उसकी खुजली की बीमारी की वजह से घर से निकाल दिया, आज भी घर के बाहर बैठा उस घर की रखवाली करता है, जब भी मालिक घर आता है वो पूंछ हिला हिला कर भौंकता है।

सिगरेट की गुमटी वाला टुंडा एक हाथ से साइकिल चला कर आता है, और गाँजा पीते हुए मजे से सिगरेट बेचता है।

ग़ालिब बार में बैठे बकचोदी करते हैं, और जब लड़खड़ाते बिल भरने आते हैं बार वाला उनसे एक एक्स्ट्रा मसाला पीनट के पैसे ले लेता है।

ना तो ग़ालिब को खुजली है, ना वो टुंडे है, बस उनके दिल में दर्द है, जिसका हर्जाना उनका बाप और उनका जिगर भर रहा है।

Hard bottomed abyss

What are you afraid of when you've lost everything? That's a question which keeps echoing in my mind and then I realize that loss is endless, and i am in debt. A sensation of a gangrape being committed to your soul the each living moment and then your soul acts like a whore. Why must i not enjoy it? Being fucked. The voice in the head says. When you're falling into an endless abyss,  is it not like a free of cost bungee jumping without a rope? May be it is not. You scratch your balls in your solitary abode; you look around and you find no one and that's because you've chosen it. Life poses difficult questions and not all need to be answered, and who says that? Are we sure of anything, unless we choose to be sure? The hands of the clock keep moving, and you keep getting older, just waiting for your impending doom, getting life lessons from the experts around you. They teach you lessons, or may be they give you the revisions of the lessons you've already had. And you learn quietly. Because it is going to be never ending. And when it ends, you end. When you hit the ground, it's no more an abyss. But when you hit the ground it's then the real fun begins. I like music but it depends; for some the sound of breaking bones is music, for me it's not. A matter of personal taste. May be the real journey begins when you reach the end of not-so-much-of-an-abyss. May be. Who wants to be sure?

Stars and bears

The stars in the galaxy keep staring at us, or are they busy burning? Burning because of us or for their respective planets? Stars are all gas; but unlike the answer papers of students like me, this gas is matter. And the stars burn, and from far away it looks like they are twinkling, for us, and we make figures out of them, in our minds, like the bear. Bears make kids happy. Like the teddy bear. But do children make the bear happy? I think not. Not even his own children. But Winie the pooh and Yogi bear are stars and so is our own Ted.