The ballad of balloons & other poems

 Poem 1 - The Ballad of the Balloons-

A few blue balloons flew skyward

Time & Gravity

killed their hegira

But the kids eye's were still lost

In the vast skies

Poem 2 - An escape to death:

Hegira from heights

Thy rain drop alights

Torn wings in loaned swings

An escape with torn capes

From thy pan, plop into fire 

Poem 3 - The distant echos...

      

Ensconced amidst

Thy rumbling heart beats;

Echoes a mild melody;

Listen close; you may hear

Her smile;

Poem 4 - SOS

In paltry beats

some billion feats

Thy earth's heart

thumps & bumps

Thy tabernacle

thy home become.  #stopterrorism

Author's note-

These are some of the tweets that I posted a while ago. I hope you guys like my poetry. In case you guys are interested in more of my tweets, do follow me in twitter @aarthycrazy - I cannot assure you regular tweets but can always guarantee some quite quirky ones. :) 

Always late - 55 fiction

The Snap-

The Tale-

“Always late”

They stared at her in silence.

“Irresponsible jerk!” 

She looked around defensively.

“Oh, Trust me……………… I should know.” Her tart voice pitched up.

“He was late even for our marriage”

She nodded to the others.

“Wait till he gets here. He is going to wish; he crashed the car once more……But now Alone.”

Author's note-

The theme of the 55 fiction is Ghost. I wanted the fiction to be vague and cryptic in the first read. But subtly humorous during the second. I hope that you guys like it.

When I read in my comments page- that a 55 fiction contest is being conduced by Sasi, I felt that it was just tailor-made for me, as I was not getting time to write a good post for almost a month now. I wish him cheers and all the best for his venture.

And I loved that picture I found on Google  Damn. She is hot, cute and at the same time angry. Now, that's some girl. :P

This post is written for the Best 55 Fictionist Contest, hosted by Sasikumar Raja Blogs at Beginner

Love her smile- A poem

The Poem-

Of Latin celebrated;

Coliseum scarlet painted;

An epoch of aristocracy sainted;

Their;

Dagger tips tainted;

Lips regal anointed;

Matins of a Red satin empire

A culture cooped on attire;

Strung,

Sung &

Cremated.

In a land of Caesars departed-

In Rome –

The home of glass blowing;

Silica Silver warm & glowing;

Fair slivers of-

Flair Rivers;

A million colors; them pillion weavers-

Raining away those brush strokes of light;

Loaning away lush rainbows in flight;

Glazes of glass;

Lazes in class;

Shades shivering in pastels & all ells;

Shimmering allure; their simmering azure;

   

Such a lovely art; of arcane sort;

Simply lost!

Quite simply lost!!

All the etchings; plaid in pane;

Glass blowing in plain;

Simple lost!

Quite simple lost!!

Its mystery lost-

And all she did was simply smile.

Just smile.

The dip of her lips;

The curve of its nips;

The Dew drop dimples;

The few prop pimples;

Her crimson smile

Thy blooming isle;

With summer's sparkle;

A bit of winter's crinkle-

Just let her smile-

Just once, Oh please-

Just... Let her smile

Oh!! for 

I love her. 

I love her. 

I love her smile.

Author's note-

I wanted to write a poem where the smile of a girl is put in a sublime and poetic way. Hope you guys like it. I learnt the facts of glass blowing and the influence of roman empire on it from wikipedia. Kindly look into it, if interested further.

The shopping safari-

The snap-

The Tale-

I was out shopping with my mom and my sister last weekend. And as always, it was one of the most enlightening and enriching experience, I am destined to have as a guy with a girl (be it mom, girl friend or wife). It’s not just about lugging around their purchase, trying to keep up with their trails that that tend to follow no known path. It’s not just about the ample amount of time that you are going to wait for her to make her choices. It’s not about you always having the right supportive comments even if it’s about obscure things like which is the best color for mattress mauve or amber (Yeah, yeah- I have been educated by the women in my family, those are indeed colors.) It’s not even about all the money that’s being eased out of your pocket with finesse. Ah, and there comes the punch line, putting forth the corner stone of shopping.

It’s not about you, at all. It’s about her.

And no, no questions are entertained by women on this part. Period.

I am pretty confident that shopping can be used as a litmus test to see whether you are ready to tie the knot with your girl. If you can sustain the slaughter for the entire day and still manage to smile at her when she calmly asks you, with a thoughtful pause whether she has bought too much, then hats off dude - you have just been perfectly potty trained. And hey, better hang on to her. You don’t really want to undergo the cumbersome training process once again with the next girl down the line. Do you??   

And yes, the trickiest part of the shopping yet- One that has stumped generations of men, one that’s still going to trip the unwary, the oldest problem in the book, the choice con. It all starts with a simple vacillation that she has and cannot decide between two colors and asks you for your comment. Of course you don’t really know the colors and knowing is not really going to help you when you are shopping for a garden hose but then this is the holy grail of shopping. And what you are going to do here- she is going to remember forever.

Whether you were there for her or not?

Whether you care about her selection or not?

Whether you are interested in her purchases?

Whether you were paying any attentions at all or not? (Of-course that question’s rhetorical)

My mom can spend all day trying to decide what color hose to buy and she would still need some more time. She might even purchase the damn hose and then will have a feeling that the other hose was aesthetically much better. It’s like being mesmerized by the bottles of a juggler. The women, they are too skilled in this arcane art swindling their choices and tastes around their limber minds leaving us men totally lost.

And to know that it all started with those few words my mom uttered with genuine puzzlement “I think red hose would be good but I am still thinking”.

And how are you going to face this?

How are you going to claw yourself out of this one?

How are you going to prove your mettle to her?

Tough questions-

And no, I don’t know the answers. If I would be that lucky bastard who knew the right reply, I would be out there teaching it all those men in need out there, not writing this blog post.

And yeah, a final question begs to be pondered.

 What’s so unnerving about a women selecting a sari* -

May be it’s the way she makes the sales guy show her almost every single sari in the store;

May be it’s the way she asks exactly what is not available in the store without even realizing it; May be it’s the way in which she asks for the first sari she was shown after making a huge pile;

May be its way she looks calmly at the sales man after causing all the ruckus in the world to select a single sari and then demand a discount with all the cool and reserve in the entire universe.

How do women get away with it? When I asked my mom, she just smiled and answered me –“hey we are women and we are entitled to certain things”

“Like” I quipped

She calmly looked at me and just smiled for an answer. Go figure that.

*Sari – the most common attire that women wear in India. It looks real good on a girl. Trust me on this one.

Author’s note –

Though the post can be construed as a puerile attempt at humor, I would like to stick to the idea that truth can also be humorous.

And guys, I would love to hear—your take on the topic.

Navratri - 55 fiction:

Note - This post is dedicated to Navratri, with each story depicting one of the nine forms of Goddess Shakthi.

The Snap-

Story 1: Durga – The invincible:

They waited; hyenas relishing the anticipation of the kill. The waiting game will pay. She will get exhausted; will break; will deliver. They have the whole night.

Moments melded into minutes; minutes into hours.

The dawn broke. They ran leaving 2 of their buddies at her feet bleeding, the knife still in her hand, her eyes still burning.

Story 2: Bhadrakali – The auspicious:

The kid raced through the fields laughing at the top of her voice. The wind swiveled through her loose hair as she tumbled into her father’s open arms. He lifted her over his shoulders with a surplus smile on his lips. 

Nothing new; Nothing much; He did not really care when celebrating his daughter’s youth.

Story 3: Amba – The Mother:

Her child slipped and fell down with a tearing shriek. The pain jack sawed through his tender body. She rushed to her child, dried his tears, cajoled him, checked him for serious wounds, cleaned the mud off him and she left him alone.

Left him alone to pick himself up once again.

Story 4: Annapoorna Devi – The Provider:

She could never breast feed her baby. The doctors were kind enough to explain with patience. But all she heard in the damning silence was her own soul wailing.

Hard decisions; harder to live through them; Months passed.

She never breast fed and her kid’s still healthy. She sighed. Love cannot be breast fed.

Story 5: Sarvamangala – The joyous:

She always laughed loudly; especially after arriving there. Her voracious mirth; verbally signed; Deep and sonorous; lucid and warm guffaws; brimming with unsaid humor; listless possibilities and life in abundance; the happy echoes reverberated not just with air, sweeping through corridors of the old age home, touching and cuddling the few listening souls.

Story 6: Bhairavi – The Fierce:

The sickle in her hand moved with a practiced rhythm as they went through all the unwanted weeds. Their dry roots were torn apart from the earth without mercy. After going through the entire field, she sighed with satisfaction.

The land owner paid her in full without any questions. She still had the sickle in her hand.

Story 7: Chandika – The Supreme:

Chaos reigned. Chairs were thrown. Curses exchanged. Parties formed. Favors fished. Violence sought. Bullies brought. Politics played. Nobody was listening to nobody; Bedlam on riot.

She came into the room with a brisk walk. A deep hush was followed by a warm greeting of the kindergarten kids wishing their teacher Good morning.

Story 8: Lalita – The Beautiful:

She sat on her bed, staring at the mirror. A frail old woman stared at her back with drooping breasts, generous age lines, white wisps of hair, pale pallor, wrinkled skin, over her bent body. She sighed to herself.

“The years had been kind”. Her husband whispered to her “you still have the brightest smile”

Story 9: Bhavani – The merciful:

Her chubby ten year old eyes looked at him with a sad glint.

“I am not able to break the chocolate into two.”

“Oh” his squeaky voice responded, his eyes caught between her and the small spherical candy.

“Shall we wait” she asked thinking for a while. “For another same chocolate,... then share.... eat??”

Author’s Note-

I wanted to bring out the different faces of Goddess Shakthi - with simple everyday women. I took the help of Wikipedia to get to know all the forms of Shakthi and then, wrote stories that best suited the various shades of their nature. I wish all of my friends, reading this post- a Subh Navratri. 

For people, interested to know more about Navratri - a prominent Indian festival, kindly follow the link here. I have avoided putting many pictures, so as not to disturb the flow of the fiction and also, no to disrupt the respect for the Goddess that the festival and the idea of the fiction is based on. 

Lyres of Lust - Poetry

The Snap-

The Poem-

1.  

Plunderer unpermitted,

Her Surrender –

Pepper minted.

He escaped; with the loot;

Unscathed; his wicked suite;

Without even a trace;

He left, except;

She alone simmered; blushing;

Just for a few moments-

With the memory of his touch;

2.  

Her warm lips; Indulgent sips;

Hot & wet; in bartered bets;

Lisps truncated; thy cusps violated;

Shudder & shiver; Blunder & shower;

Her warm lips; kisses; nips;

My eye lids close;

Darkness binds.

Blights-

Ten fingers blind;

Fumbling to find;

Thy elephant’s kind.

Nobody’s wiser; nobody cares;

When,

Her warm lips, in relishing zips,

Do care.

3.  

Very few are thy flowers,

Their buds; Warm suds;

Sodden; unbidden;

Pardon; alone not ridden;

A binge in bed; a tinge of red;

In ecstasy they burst;

Blossoms & Bust;

Blooms in thirst;

Bits of Pollen; bits swollen;

Drips; drops; dew props of honey.

Very few are thy flowers,

That flower first;

& root last.

4.  

Wine tasting; Thine lasting;

It’s Aroma arresting;

Relish riveting;

Each drop savored;

Each one love flavored;

Wine tasting; Fine yeasting;

A rare finesse;

Flair of rich ease;

Taste buds rejoice;

Chaste duds devoice;

Two cups together;

Wine tasting, in tether.

5.  

The sax was played;

 In silence of sorts;

Notes of parts; Keats of tarts;

Held & sled; around thy bed;

Man & women;

Not in parts; not anymore;

Listen close; your ears might lose;

Their embers of melody;

& there lumbers a sweet parody.

Author's Note-

Writing poems about sex and lust in a covert way- in it subtle hints and shy words has always held my fascination.There is I think a sublime line between the aesthetically pleasing and the vulgar in such poetry. With the above poetry, I wanted to make my readers blush and feel warm with love at the same time. And hence I indulged in a tinge of wickedness in the simple lines of love. I leave the shrouded implications to your mind's child. I extremely enjoyed penning the above lines. I hope, you guys- have a pleasurable experience reading them.

Tamil Version of the poem-

Tamil is a beautiful language tailor made for writing poetry. It is the soul of my inspiration as a writer. You need not think in Tamil, words will flow unbridled, bumbling in fountains, simply if you love her, love Tamil. She will entice you with her teasing curves, those sonorous syllables, the fierce passion of her written embers. 

Like most of my poetry, my initial version of the poem was in Tamil and I roughly translated the same to English.(Since a direct translation would water down the poetic allure of Tamil.)

PS-

The second poem is a direct reference to the famous story of blind-men and the elephants. If you want to know more about the related story and the John Godfrey Saxe's Poem about the same, kindly visit the given link.

The fourth poem contains direct references to wine tasting. (Though in Tamil, the poem is primarily about how to serve is joy, rather than being served.)

It was quite a task translating the Tamil poems to English. I have taken poetic licence in the translation to keep the wickedness and the joy in the poem true to it's original. For, guys - who could read tamil, I would really like to know - how I have fared.

If you would like to read more poems penned down by me, kindly follow the link.

And finally, I would like to thank my friend Joy for suggesting the title to me and also, asking me to write the English versions of the poem in a more descriptive and elaborate manner so that it will retain the beauty of the Tamil version and do justice to the same. And I hope, you guys can enjoy the Tamil version of it too. 

Her primary Colors- A set of 55 fictions

The Snap-

The fiction-

His deliverance- (the blue story)

“Go on…” she nodded.

A few shadows turned back shocked at the dry nonchalance pouting from her voice.

He left. Not once did he turn back.

Perhaps guilt finally saved him from her burning eyes.

Tears poured along her remaining tatters but then she was not going to build her family on another one destroyed.

The snap-

The tail/tale of the giant asshole- (the green story)

“Go on…” she nodded.

“That’s it” He retorted.

She sighed. Men can be giant assholes at times. Perhaps they are all the time. It just misses getting noticed.

“No” she calmly replied. “There could have been more but then, didn’t we just find out you have a wife. Now get lost. I am nobody’s substitute.”

The snap-

Cookie jar delicacies- (the red story)

“Go on…” she nodded.

A kid caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. He blinked at her and his wife standing at her doorway.

“What’s happening?” His voice wavered slightly.

“Oh, I called her. Nothing personal. It’s just that” She paused. “I hate it when men play women for fools.”

Author's note-

Some time back, I wrote a similar set of 55 fictions, with the same starting theme but ending in different ways. I tried the same with the idea to write responses of women on finding out that the guy they were seriously dating was already married. I wanted 3 of them, so that they will each represent different reactions based on primary colors, hence the name of the title. I wanted the endings to be bitter sweet, not a totally morbid one.

True Beauty- The urban myth

The Snap - 

True Beauty??

The Post -

“True beauty”

After a mild chuckle, my sister repeated the words slowly – rather relishing, pronouncing every single syllable of the word separately.

“True beauty.”

“Yeah! True beauty” I nodded. “So what do you think of it?”

“You want a honest answer” She shot back.

“Yeah! Just tell me the first thing that comes to your mind.”

“Hmhm.... OK.”

She nodded. Her thoughtful eyes wandered outside the window, probably pondering on the subject at hand. The road, lit up by the evening sun stood empty other than for a few mosaics of dry leaves & bits of scattered scrap. Week end holidays always leave them, the roads- lonely. None of the rush hour traffic and noise. The frenzy of life takes a back seat, the front ones mostly unoccupied. Rarely of-course, some may break the trend, a newly married couple perhaps- probably lost in each other too much & may be a few boys with cricket bats scouting for a game, the rest peaceful in the closure &comfort of their homes, glued to Computer screens & television sets.

The Question !!

“Hmhm.. You know what” My sister’s voice echoed through.

“What?”

“I don’t know!” she said in an almost mellow whisper.

“WHAT??” I blurted out.

“Yeah!” She calmly told to rather to herself rather than tome, as if she just comprehended the enormity of the truth that she has discovered. “I don’t know what true beauty is? ”

“Hmhm... Really!!” I sighed, clearly disappointed with her candid answer.

Her face lit up with a quirky expression- eyebrows raised with a broad grin.

“Why? What were you expecting me to say?” She asked.

“Hmhm.... Like....  Something along the lines of Mother’s love, Baby's smile & such stuff.....”

“You are not really being fair to the women, who are not mothers... Are you?" She paused "And please - with the baby's smile - how more cliche' can you get??" 

“Hmhm..... Yeah! You are right....” I remarked.  “I never really thought of it in that way. OK... How about a women in love?”

“Once again- you are limiting true beauty to a segment of women? So, What you are meaning is that women who are not in love- aren't truly beautiful.”

“No, I did not mean it like that.." I looked up at her completely baffled. "Then what is real beauty - REALLY” I asked.

“You see.” My sister calmly stated. “Real beauty is elusive. It’s ephemeral. Something that's only possible in fairy tales or so..... I mean... All of us women want Real beauty. In-fact we dream about it. even fantasize about it.” She paused.

“Nice! But of course – Then you don't know... what you guys really want...” I couldn't help grinning.

“Ah.." She smirked "Thank you, for the observation- Genius. I am leaving you with your post. I have got some work to do.”

 Before I could think of something to say, she left.

Simple things are the most hard to figure out. I sighed to myself as I looked out of the window.

The evening was at it’s climax.

The damsel dusk flowing across the blue pavilion in her last tango. Her dramatic finale. Her satin gown dipping & diving on the azure’s sly. A turn, a twist, a trot; Fingers entwined in an embrace eternal, the orange sun’s last embers- infernal fingers, lingers behind in warm cinders. Amidst the sporadic splashes of spectra- the million minions of colors- cyan, magenta, yellow & black- Interlaced in-between white streaks of light laces strut along- dimming delights of hues - honey coated.

The dusk in adieu – on an blue evening’s sky. Full of warmth & life. A free hug from Mother nature.

I sighed to myself. True beauty without boundaries. Full of love & spurting with life.

"So, have you got the idea for the post" My sister came into the room throwing around her warm smile. Her easy smile- Full of life & warmth.


& then it hit me. The simple meaning of true beauty.

It’s a women’s warmth. It’s manifestations- a million.

A mother whose face creases & crinkles with a overflowing smile in every line of her face, when she first sets her eyes on her new born;  A daughter’s gift to her unsuspecting father – a simple play of crayon on a scrap of paper; A wife’s warm smile, as she greets her husband returning exhausted from work; A pregnant women’s jubilation over her baby’s first kick; An old lady’s toothless grin; A little girl’s joyous cry when licked by a puppy, she reached out to pet.

Give or take a few careless freckles & wrinkles. It doesn't really matter.

The warmth of Women

She is always beautiful. Truly beautiful.

Real beauty.  Reaching out at arm’s length.

Just her. In her own smile. In her own skin.

Glowing in her own warmth.

Just let her be.

Let her glow.

Author's Note -

Guys, this post is a submission to the blogging contest on IndiBloggger.in-

On the topic - What does real beauty mean to you?

I hope I have stuck the right chord. I am waiting for your comments.

Also, do check out Yahoo's real beauty Web page.


PS - The photos that are used - are from http://www.shutterstock.com/
Do note the watermark in the images.

Poems tweeted-

The snap-



Her smile-

The curve of her smile- The crescent moon's isle; The sound of her laugh- a few flowers broke, bloomed & coughed- love is bliss.


My love-

In the silence of the night, I am in bliss. The symphony of her voice - thy music. My love - the crescendo of thy orchestra.


The rant-

No I am not a poet. It's just that my heart overflows with so much love seeing her smile that it cant help but rant a bit.





The soul music-

The curve of her rainbow earlobes jingling with the dance of the dew drop earrings is music,life,reason & treason to my soul.


The difference-

My love is a solitary lass. Wither it will not; Tethered with hopes; I will wait; a few seconds or a few centuries makes no difference.


The dawn-

Dew drops few; on the green leaves new; grinned to yew; with sun shine skew; Just born dawn sparkled & smiled.


Art-

It drizzled & then drenched- rainbows rained- She blushed & brushed spectra amok. Picasso's & Van Gogh's failed miserably in vain.


Author's note-

Guys, these are a few poems that I tweeted a while ago. & no these do not form any rhyming patterns. They are just a few wild thoughts put together. Hope U guys like them.


Cheers.. :)

A few single lilies - A poem

The Snap-



The Poem-


A few single lilies - lost in her locks


Sparkled; laughed with delight;
Sparked; broke a few rays of light;

Scattered a few rainbows
Splattered were a skew of Spectra-

Of the seven colors known &
Of a dozen few unknown-



A few single lilies - lost in her locks

Danced along with the rhythm of the wind;
Salsa & Tango; with a bit of
foxtrot thrown in.

Waltz & quickstep;
Zinging it up with-
the east coast swing.



A few single lilies- lost in her locks

were blessed & kissed

And as stars they were christened.

Their laughter & twinkle immortalized.


In curves of her hair;
swaying with the breeze-
playing in the bliss
of eternal despair;

Her flowing hair-
Her beauty's lair;

As dark as the night's sky can never be-
As dense as love will ever always be-



A few single lilies - lost in her locks......

Sex & the society - Last part of the trilogy

Warning-

Highly Adult content. The post discusses sex, men and women, so people who think they are not mature enough to read about the subject please do not read any further.

The Snap-



The quote-

If People can understand that women too are human beings with sexual desires like everyone else, if the segmentation of sex alone can be defeated, the entire system of prejudice and misunderstanding will take a heavy dent.
And that dent will be the start of a more liberated and dynamic society in every single way.

--muthu

I thought I had all the answers – All the answers to all the questions that would be raised on this particularly controversial topic of sex - a need & a pleasure for both men and women.

A society that has the ability to question and break away from a century of sexual prejudice between men and women can achieve anything. It will be a learned society that will be intelligent enough to question the makers of politics to the brokers of economy. I want to be a part of such a group of people. People who would listen to reason and love rather than to bigotries and hate.

Yeah, but the final question boils down to the singular level. How much do we want to be a part of that society? How much radical are we willing to be? Where will we draw the lines of acceptable and not acceptable, if we are to erase those present now?
How will you react to the situations of controversial nature that may rise in the future? How will I react to the same?

And the question that the Bondgal_rulz posted in the comments section of the last post was right on the bull’s eye.


The kick in the balls -

Bondgal - As we go on vehemently discussing here about issues such as sexual discrimination, sexual liberation, need for people to recognize women too as sexual beings---
Think 20 years down the line. You are a family man, who has a say 19 year old daughter. Will YOU be comfortable enough with her partying out in the night and boozing with her friends?

Muthu- *Scratches the head* *Clears the throat* *After a distant thoughtful look* I think I need time to think.

I feel like I have just been kicked in the balls. Courtesy- Bondgal_rulz. (Yeah sure she rules).



The singular questions-

The question bondgal asked was the beginning of a fresh batch of questions that rose in my mind & every single of those new questions that had a singular trait to them. They questioned me as to how I will react to the scenario on my direct involvement in the prospective future.



--- Will I dominate my wife with my comparatively strong male physicality on subjects our opinions differ rather than trying to convince her of the merit of my stand?

--- How understanding will I be if I am extremely horny and my wife refuses me in the bed saying that she is not in the mood?

--- How much liberal and understanding will I be to my wife on the aspect of her past sexual relationships?

--- How will I react If my daughter says to me- that she is thinking of moving in with her boy friend after she has become a major?

--- Will I be able to accept the fact that my daughter may want to have sex with the guy she is going out in the future (that is when she is major)?

--- Will I be ready to accept and appreciate my daughter or son, if their sexual orientation turns out to be homosexual?

--- What will be my advice to my own daughter on sex, on the ethics of sex, on what the society thinks about sex?


The answers-

I believe myself to be a liberal leaning heavily towards the radical. My opinions have always been blunt and pointedly progressive on the aspects on sexual equality, discrimination based on sex, color & creed. I believe you need not be a supporter of women’s right to see what’s wrong and right. To see what’s prejudiced and what needs a change desperately. But propagandas and beliefs aside, we are all humans who go around with our daily activities.

How much can we be -what we think is right.

I am not going to make statements about how radical I am going to be with my wife & daughter. This after all is not any election campaign. It more of a search of how much I really am of what I propagate.

And the search I believe is infused in the blood and soul of my everyday activity as is the case in yours. In every of our decisions and actions, we express what we believe. And it’s not going to be easy to do things as to say them.



I want to love my mother, sister, future wife, daughter and every other woman I meet without any prejudice or predetermined beliefs. I will desire to give them space and faith that I myself would expect in their shoes. And in that desire I will hold my spirit of seeing the society change for the good.
(And yeah bondgal my daughter will party if she wants to and the only thing I will want to make sure is that she knows what she does. I will want to allow her to make her own decisions, her own rights, her own mistakes- After all it her own life to live.)


The lever of change-

Education is learning from others. And whatever is learned from others will always have a part of them, a part of their own system of values, a part of their own beliefs, prejudices that are passed along. Education will never solve social problems. The only salvation is to self questioning. Self realization.

Every one of us of every segment of the self segregated society that we are, are born to be rejoiced and celebrated. Not to be discriminated. Do you think the child that passionately hugs the bosom of its mother and quenches its thirst suckling knows that what its doing can be also classified as vulgar & not as divine? Our ideas of chastity, sexual morality and concept of discrimination are learned behavior.

And it is in this learned behavior- that we learnt eagerly without questioning its merits and its basis, we have allowed the roots of prejudice and bigoted discriminations to bore deep.

Society in understanding is nothing more than a herd going along with the stride. It would not just be a monumental task but impossibility and a suicide to social life to go against the society.

But of course, the least you could do is to question whats right & ethical rather than to choose to go along with the herd.

And that you can do.Cant you??



Author's note-

The above is the third and last part of the trilogy series I have been writing. So please do read the other two parts to appreciate the conclusion given in this last episode.
Part 1 [link]
Part 2 [link]

In this concluding post, I took the line of what drives each of us individuals personally rather than relying on statistics. Of course the statistics says that In India alone once on two hours one girl gets raped. Two women are subjected to house hold violence. In the course of writing this trilogy, I went through a lot of info on the web about the every aspect of discriminations in every nature that people face.

And I realized something, it isn't ignorance that makes people go along with these prejudices & bigotries but people choose to just follow the crowd rather than questioning things as to why should they be done so in the way they are being done now.

Please, all I ask is to question things. Make it a habit. Inculcate questioning attitude in kids. We are born perfect & all the answers to the questions are within us. But the only way we are going to find those answers within ourselves is though questioning.



PS-

Sorry guys, I took almost a week to publish the concluding post. Unexpectedly, I got stuck in Chennai for almost 4 days and also this is my first time writing about such a heavy topic as a trilogy. Please do leave back your comments and criticisms on my attempt. I have tried to cover every aspect of the problem and people I bow to your comments as they showed me the different perspectives of the problem.

And lastly I sincerely appreciate people who inspired me by reading this trilogy and commenting on it.

Thank you guys.


Will soon post the poems i wrote when I traveled. (I always write when traveling)


Until then.


cheers.

Alone in the crowd – 55 fiction

The Snap- The sport





Attempt 1- Sweet.


She was suffocating on the air she was breathing.

The jostling crowd around her, the cacophony that was soaking the stadium, the final match of her favorite club – every single thing that had her attention till then, faded away obsolete.

She felt alone & was in bliss. Her love was on his knee.

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The Snap- The crowd & cacophony-





Attempt2- Sour.

She looked around bored.

The jostling crowd, the cacophony & the stupid match - everything bored.

But she did not care anyways. She was there.

Better to be alone in this crowd than in her room, whose four walls of late have been complaining too much about how they never get their privacy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Attempt3- Salty.

“I miss you- alone without you in this crowd” She typed & sent the message.

“Me too” came the reply.

She smiled & then joined in the rhythm of the match cheering with the guy she was with today.

The message did not even transcend towers. After all both the mobiles were inside the same stadium.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Snap- The cheering & jeering-




Attempt4- Bitter.

Up & down she went,

Jumping & shouting with the crowd around her, her cheers lost in the cacophony of the stadium but she did not give up.

A few tears flew in a few directions.

Her lone voice broke. But still she shouted. If only her son wasn’t stillborn on that day, he would be here now shouting with her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's note-


The following 55 fictions are all based on the same Idea -Being alone in the crowd(Inspired by Keshi when she commented about it in my last post.) So i dedicate this series of 55 fiction to her. Gal, I hope I did justice to your Idea. :)

I have tried to bring out the different tastes that can be involved in the same scenario playing around with the four basic tastes. Sweetness, sourness, saltiness and bitterness. Guys, do tell me- how did you like my recipe.





If you like this kind of playing around with 55 fictions dealing with the same Idea but having different tastes, then- You should try out my previous such attempts.

-- About a girl crying[link]

-- About prostitutes[link]


PS-

Guys, I am actually pretty much in the middle of writing a pretty much bold, aggressive post. A post about gender and what I think is the most bigoted issue of all thats affecting us as a sexual being. I want to make the argument in the post strong, so I am taking my time. Will post it soon.

And yeah, I am going to kodaikanal - A hill station in TN this weekend with my family. So I will be out of blog ville for a couple of days. Will catch up with you guys when I get back most probably on Monday. :)

Alone – A poem

The snap -





The poem -

Mad moments few,
Will be drenched in dew
Lost in the darkness; my wry laments;
Just a handful
A handful of bitter tears;
Deeply blistering tears –
Scarlet scars painted; on
Crimson cheeks tainted;
Of pain;
Of love slain;
Like Cain;
Of Abel slain;


An elegy;
Of a love lost.
An orgy of a melancholy;
At a hearts cost.
Anguish; Ache;
Vodka; Sake;


I cry alone every night,
Dipping and drenching my shattered soul; in
A handful of bitter tears;
Deeply blistering tears –
I cry alone every night,





To remember the moments I spent laughing with her.
The bliss; the heaven;
The kiss; the Beethoven;
My love, my bow;
My Soul, my Spirit;
Lass of an angel;
In the bass of love;




Oh…. I lost her, I lost her
I lost her, I lost her……




Please do not disturb me; When



I cry….. Alone every night.





Author’s note –


The above poem also is based on a Tamil poem that I wrote while travelling to Coimbatore a few days back (I haven’t posted the Tamil poem but if you guys want to read the original Tamil poem, I will post it later). My sis says that I can be pretty depressing with my words sometimes. The above poem according to her is one of them. I don’t really agree with her. I think that pain in love is the ultimate salvation in life.



PS –

I actually am posting this poem from a browsing center nearby my home. The broadband connection in my home has been having a lot of problems lately and I have not been able to tweet or to blog regularly because of that. I have registered a complaint and I think that those BSNL guys will take a couple of days to look into the problem. I will be offline till then. Really funny things have been happening lately and I do have a lot of smiles to spill to you guys and will do so once I come back online. :):)


Until then.


Cheers….


muthu

Can boys Cry???

The Snap-

The Tale-


I am a bit of an avid reader and I believe that any good readable stuff must have more than literary finesse. May be, something originally refreshing. May be, something that challenges our present perspective. That would not only make an interesting read but something to reflect upon. I think I came across such a good piece of anecdote and not wanting to spoil it, I am quoting it in its exact words.


---A world famous bull fighter, the epitome of masculinity in his culture, entertained some guests in his villa one evening. After dinner he disappeared and one of the male guests went in search of him. He found the bull fighter wearing an apron and washing the dishes. The guest was appalled and blurted out, “How can you be doing such a feminine thing?” To which the bull fighter replied looking down his nose at the guest: “Whatever I do is masculine.” ---


Wow, the bull fighter did give a very good reply but I think that, there is more to the story than that. The bull fighter boldly challenges the perspective of not only his friend but the perspective of every single reader.

The guest’s attitude simply shows the acceptance of sex – role stereotypes by almost everyone in general, including you and of course also me.

“So what s wrong in associating the characteristics of being bold and brave (a bit bald too– just kidding) to be masculine and that of coyness and tenderness to the fairer sex?”


One may be absolutely right in asking the above question. But by role specifying the sexes, aren’t we becoming a bit too rigidly dogmatic, that we simply forget to be fare to ourselves?


Well, let me think to put it in better words or lets say, in every day circumstances.


I can be a bit of a cry baby. Good books, good movies, whatever touches me, makes me wet my eyes. Sometimes I get caught by my friends in one of those teary moments; they would give me that “dude you crying??? Look”. And of course my “ooh my god, my hand got stuck in the cookie jar” look never ever helps me and I end up feeling real bad that my friend saw me getting mushy.

Now, what’s so bad in a guy crying? Haven’t you guys been to a single movie that moved you that you had tears at the end of the movie. If not, guys you simply don’t know, what you are missing. Pity you. For gods sake there is more to Hollywood than mind blowing action, graphics and yeah of course hot girls. Even Hollywood action movies can pack some real good punches that move you in the end (like brave heart and the guardian).

Also in a way, as easy as it is to behave violently for a guy, it’s as easy for him to have emotional issues. And dude, you know what’s the worst part - guys can do anything better, I mean it anything better than expressing his own needs and feelings.


And of course what’s so obsessive with girls being sweet and soft. I loved it when Anjolina Jolie busted balls in her latest flick (Unless my balls aren’t the ones getting busted). I think that confident women are a real turn on than the usual “damsel in distress”. I simply hate the way regional movies depict love. Almost every single time the hero saves the day (always just in the nick of time) and the heroine simply goes gaga for him. Silly hindi heroines!!!

Girls let me tell you a secret; we guys simply love it when a girl enters a place head held high, hair thrown back, totally confident of herself and with a bold but elegant walk than the usual girl.


So defining stereotypes is too silly and purposeless. As silly as asking Salman Khan to wear shirts(of course nowadays every single hindi hero bares his body at least in a single song. What does the hindi cinema field has against wearing shirts, God only knows.)


So next time you catch your friend crying. Simply leave him be. (You simply missed the part where he got his chops busted by his girl- just kidding). After all, boys too can cry.