On A Sunday!

on a bright and steamy sunday morning, while munching the puree and 'Chai'instead of regular coffee, it came to me that the world is a farcical theatre played out with so many ( far too many, but how does it matter anyway?) actors and no audience at all, which incidentally might mean this play is really good one, given what happens with good plays and stories in general.
i was wondering what happens post life, what happens at the end of the world, why don't we have a swashbuckling climax but a gradual tapering off to death as the likely scenario, and so on and so forth.
it often just happens; for some moments amid the chaos around, one somehow connects to the other reality, the mundan-er than mundane. the truth so forgone that one chooses to ignore it.
while reading about rakhi Sawant and the predictably shocking revelation that she wont marry elesh afterall, how rahul gandhi, a man who's there where he is by virtue of his blue blood bringing a new wave of democracy in our GOP,reading about IITs and IIMs getting a cut in grants so that they'll fund the labs and research by their own accord and need their Netas only in case they don't get enough good students and they must fill the seats from the blue blood, while i kept reading about what is wrong and right around the world, opineating about everything, i remembered my laundry that's not done since god-knows-when, the monday that is coming and the sunday where i need to choose between having a timely lunch and catching up with a movie.. some reality check it is..So i must rush and do whatever needs to be done on a Sunday, eat drink, be merry,.. coz we may diet tomorrow..(i certainly need it Urgently!)...
doshah of blah

The journey

Several months into his journey. As he was passing through some old old islets , aladdin was hit by a memory wave that almost toppled him over, to his surprise, he realised he wasn't thinking about the isle and his fond memories, but fatima..he realised that he wanted to see her again,to hold her,unlive the bitterness,fall for her once more...and he knew it wouldn't happen,he won't let it. Except by a miracle..it was a wave that made him remember zaman and his most dreadful-stealthy warrior,-The Fish...he knew he'll travel farther, hunt for zaman's soldiers,he knew he will never love fatima with same innocence,.unless the miracle happens. So he waited for it...for all times to come..shah of blah

The Mangoland

Moturam loved mangoes. He was capable of anything for these sweet, tangy delights.
One day fine day, after getting scolded by his mum for breaking into landlord's orchard, suitably surprised at this break-in where nothing needed to be broken for getting in,Moturam decided to find his own mangoland where there were ripe mangoes through the year, and nicer one too than the two wretched trees that consisted the orchard.
He decided to travel west, for all the good things appeared to come from west. the mangoes, the silvery moon, the quiet star-lit nights, the cool breeze, all came from west. Moturam had seen the sun sink behind the big-fat dune in the evenings. all his friends said the mangoland existed across the desert.
Moturam was a brave boy of uncertain age, he was a bit chubby with nice friendly smile and large, moist eyes.besides mangoes, he loved big-fat religious texts kept in the house. His mum held these as sacred. one particular book told him in whispers, as he was about to doze off under the lone gulmohar tree,That if he wanted something really-really badly, the world would conspire to get it for him. Moturam was a conspiracy theorist in his own right. the idea struch chord somewhere, only thing was what was it that he really needed badly. as he was being scolded and lashed that day, he realised his destiny-to search for what remain hidden to the world, the mangoland for all his friends( Moturam was not small hearted when it came to sharing something that was in abundant supply, after having his fill, he will let his friends have theirs too-he decided in an instant).
on this day that we mentioned, he took his leave silently, solemnly, and gallantly. he marched into unknown ,unchartered desert all alone, friendless,with his small supply of food to keep company.
he walked for a long long time till he reached the burrow of red devil.
Moturam was tired and hungry, the devil was tired and hungry-they made a pact. The devil will have moturam to satiate his hunger, and they he will let moturam do likewise, thus creating a live(?) example of win-win strategy.
The red devil was huge, Muturam wasn't too small either for his (uncertain) age; moturam saw a good bargain here and agreed.
And thus the devil devoured moturam!

shah of blah

Loneliness and Beer

on one hot sultry Sunday morning i decided to shun all worldliness and head towards the Himalayas.i took by meagre belongings,said adios to my hermitage and started my journey towards the final destination as per my dharma.
At the point of writing this i am sixty years old, very old man with plenty of vitality to carry me along to another few years.This is quite a contrast from my other life in the bustling city, or so i believe. i cannot say i have a very strong memory nor do i claim to have many interesting stories to tell, yet, in twilight of my rather long day, as all old babbling men do, i am filled with the desire to lay bare my story. i call it a story for i cannot say how much of it is true; i have never been very particular about telling the truth when fiction seems to be more alluring. Thus dear friends, you might keep your bowl of salt ready as you leaf through this rather fascinating ( to me at least) tale.
I was born a great man, or so all the soothsayers said, i grew up through my childhood more or less fulfilling the charge of greatness until like an ordinary mortal, i committed a sin. But let's not get into all the sins that one can commit and the one that i committed. what we shall talk about is much more pleasant to me. It's about one magnificently lit full moon night, the kind you see when you are lonely and you lose your strength to despair. if you let the moon and the wind and the sand and the prickly earth play around a bit, let them believe your are part of their beautiful inanimate kind and not viciously alive , if you let go of your rather weird pride of life, when you let your body drift in the current, dissolve in it bit by bit, when you allow yourself death, you will see the lovely night. i said lovely not by accident. it's love you discover with power of hundred fierce storms on such rare nights. It's on such nights that your fears might just loosen their grip, ( and they do if the wind is powerful enough, If you are absolutely lonely, if it's a full moon night indeed) and you might just sin. you might just die, you might just fall in love if you are stupid enough..
On the night i am talking about though something profound happened. As i was wandering alone i hit something hard accidentally.. a black weathered book, a rather forlorn and likable peace of poetry, and a dark bitter liquid that lay beside, rather ominously. i was full of intrigue and credulity in those young days. i knew instantly though what it was.. it was bitterness of the unfourtunate lover bottled up. i tasted it and accidentally rediscovered what was thought to be only a frivelous folklore..
That's How Beer was rediscovered...
No ofcourse that's not the end of story, but.. let the old man breath and moisten himself.. and then only we'll know a bit more about what was in a the store..



shah of blah

Relief

Relief is what i felt as we walked away on our own journeys. This isn't right someone said, someone deep inside. the voice grew stronger with each passing day till i could here it no more.. I found myself singing in a voice filled with broken glasses ( specs? tumbler? mirror?..who cares..), i found myself listening intently to the intense static of chaos. now i could walk down the road-aloof, deaf, numb, and that's how happiness came to me this last time.. promising to stay along for a while.. at least till i realise once again that all roads lead to only one end.. ..
shah of blah

The Fish

The fish that we shall read about was strongest of them all, or so he believed, not unlike many of his rivals. The fish was so strong that he could bite and tear through the greatest nets and hook they had in the great sea. The great sea had many great anglers, anglers with their hooks so sharp and their baits so tantalizing that no one was ever heard to have escaped. The fish and the anglers often met in classes on strategic thinking and they had come to accept the MAD doctrine as the best one Dr Nandkishor aka Neo had taught them. Suffice to say, the great sea was in gripping dangerous/ exciting phase of dynamic equilibrium. Many great fish were daily killed and dried and put through untold unfishely suffering. Many a boats were punctured and ambushed, nets torn apart, sailors chewed with great relish. The Interspecies tribunal was choking with complaints from either side.. The fish were inhuman, the man unfishely, neither respected the international law, neither had any other objective but of securing peace and harmonious co-existence for all..
Both the Fish ( the capitalized protagonist of out tale) and Mr. X ( the great leader with name withheld due to security reasons) told the masses publicly that they could not choose neighbors, and it was best if they could choose to become friends. That was in AD 2K2.
Consequently the great leader asked men ( and women) to feed the little fish as often as possible, He mentioned the great verse from great book that promised heaven if one did that. (It created some problems as people stopped working on anything else apart from their usual pleasures & vices and feeding fishes; this was the easiest way for them.) On the other side, fish jumping out of water on sight of hungry, emaciated children was not unheard of.
Such were the times when the Fish did something that eventually demonstrated his strength to world and changed the course of history, which incidentally changed every so often anyway.. Not unlike the great river through the flat unyielding plane that changed course every few miles and months. What did the Fish do? Well, he finally conquered the greatest fisherman of mankind- the great Zaman..It's a long story, and exciting one too.. Better get a breather before we start the next part.-the battle of great sea..

shah of blah

Aladdin

Someone sent me a diary on excel today. Being used to writing by pen on paper in middle of the night, a soft version seemed like worth a try. the trouble started when i found that i had a lot to say, plenty of things to account for in 15 days of 09. Having abandoned the routine, it’s difficult to let go of this state of unaccountability. Well begin is half done people say, can't say I started out well, but then i didn't expect to, and it didn't matter as the pain or happiness lasts for 15 minutes and then there is a something brand new to encounter. As the day winds down there is nothing much to account for it, no debits, no credits, just another day gone by in the series of interminable days of light amid infinite sea at the centre of earth. No one knows I exist, I do not see much evidence of others either. it's a journey full of adventure except that even though the grind of enterprise might be good in afterthought; the boiling springs scald flesh now nonetheless and it is pretty boring to be frank. No that's not my name, I am not Frank though I liked his music in good old days, if I ever did get a chance to hear it that is. It started out exactly one year ago, my adventure trip with interminable pauses. that was when i had finally arrived at the famous oasis in the middle of desert. The oasis was as they should be, full of hustle and bustle and banters and fights; full of life that place was. Now that i recall with by green tinted specs, the oasis seems so much greener and happier than what it seemed at that point of time. That is what green tinted specs are made for I am told and I do not complain. When you are bitter, even happiness from days bygone hurts you somewhere deep inside; it still means you are alive. I refuse to be bitter-i hope it won't hurt as much this way, and it does not, not even as much as i expected, and i feel cheated/scared/ afraid. I will not write my account- I know I have some bad entries to settle, I do not want to be precise, I wish to keep the fickle hope alive that this might all be a mistake, that It might all turn out well in the end. ( That much I know- it will turn out well in the end. How? well I did a bit of cheating, I turned the last page of this little book, I blacked out the last few paragraphs and rewrote these in exactly the same font, I even replaced the last pages later so that you would not even notice..) When you live in short bursts, first thing you need is survival, and then you have so much time to do these things once your unconscious mind takes over the essentials.. if you have ever been out to sea for days, alone in vast expense except for your emails and unfilled diaries, you'd know what i am talking about, to some extent i guess..
Why did I start this journey? The simple answer is that it was not my choice. what was my choice then? To be a fisherman. Why? because it gave me a chance to be alone at sea, all by myself, away from everything I wanted to stay away from, taste new-old saline, become the another footnote in the endless list of people who conquered the sea-which is interesting as it might better be described as surviving the sea in your little or not-so-little boat, not dying from drowning, sea sickness, or by boredom, or by other unpleasant means if you've got company.
So my dear friends, I am out to conquer the sea, find the lost worlds and untold riches, and that is because there is nothing better to do.
I have sailed far out to sea because I am afraid of the lost world that has been growing within. I am scared of the rain forest that keeps creeping up all around. This forest has gobbled up almost everything of my past already, I almost feel home with the fresh breeze inside, new life created from old, eating up the dead-wood, or killing it for the purpose. I like the sound of new eating up old- it makes for good excuse-or is it the hallucinogens from the parasites?
At the moment it's philosophical question and thus one might put it aside till one catches the lunch and dinner and of course the treasure outside..
I have always believed in treasure islands, which is quite surprising for skeptic me.
It's a good distraction in any case.
Now is the time to talk about the treasure then- the big fish (the BIG FISH). The big fish and I share a bit of history you might not be interested in. the big FISH and i were great pals once; really close chums. Then something happened that created bad blood. What was it? The great treasure the big FISH gobbled up dishonestly-without sharing, without making the sacrifice for me. Now I am out to reclaim the trophy. (Trophy? for what? well for itself...Maybe... I don't know.. We shall see...)
It's dusk, a time where you are not supposed to do pretty much anything, except of course, telling stories and listening them.. Soon it will be night...

shah of blah