The Honest Woodcutter- Fiction (Aesop's Retold)

“You are not honest.” The angel sighed. “Not even close to it.”

The wood cutter’s hand tightened around the three axes as he stopped walking, turned and looked up at the angel. His hardened face skewed into welt lines lashed with the abrupt accusation.

“But I did the right thing… Didn't I?”

“Oh …. Really? So, tell me, my dear man” She taunted “What happened? And what did you do, that you think is so right?”

“My axe. It fell into the river. My mistake. Was not handling it properly. And just as I thought that it was done for, you came forward to help but retrieved a golden and silver version of my axe before coming up with my own. And yes, as honest as I am, I owned up to only my own axe.”

“And then…” she prodded.

“You gave me all the three as a gift to my honesty. Right??”

 “Well, that’s true.” She paused, her warm red lips dipping into a delicious smirk.  “But wouldn't a really honest man simply refuse the other two axes given as gifts. And what’s the point of being honest, if you start accepting bribes for the very act, the one you deem to be in accordance to your own moral principles.”

She calmly shook her head, her soft flowing hair reveling in the mellow breeze.

“Oh… please…… Didn't you see this coming? What are you… a thumb sucking kid? You are honest because you choose to be; not because someone greases your palm now and then for your good deeds.”

The wood cutter blurted out. “But it was a gift.”

It was then that she started to laugh. Her luscious voice raining through the entire valley, her guffaws drizzling with the dew of her mirth, her dark eyes exploding with a million teasing tinges, she turned around towards the bottom of the river. And just before leaping in into its arcane depths, she gave the bewildered woodcutter one last look and sighed.

Another wannabe. A honest one at that.



Author's note-

Another attempt in twisting the Aesop's with regard to a more skewed version of morality. The argument that is made by the fairy is ambiguous and questionable but I think it is still valid in its own right. If we are not enjoying something and doing it just for the end result- then that I think marks the first step in the decay of human purpose. (Well, that went too philosophical than I intended to. Pardon me.) And I would love to hear what you guys think of my version of honesty.

Also, If you guys are interested to check out the other Aesop's that were retold by me, kindly check out this link. Also, the original tale of the honest woodcutter can be read in the following link.

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.

Sex & the society - Part 1 of the trilogy

The Warning –
Highly adult content. Please do not read any further if you think you are not mature enough to discuss about sex, men and women.

The Quote:

Men when they fuck around, they say they do it for fun. Coz they are after all males & it is in their genes to spread their seed. Fucking for fun is not new. Men do it all the time.

So what’s up with women? After all they too are entitled to have their fair share of sexual pleasure. Right??

------ muthu

Guys, if you find the above quote unacceptable, brutal, hurting and blasphemous. Stop reading this now. I repeat. Please stop reading this now. For this post is nothing but an answer to the question I posed above. And it is my opinion and so as always it is the truth as I see it. And the truth in its nakedness stinks a lot.

For others, hang on to my words, for may be, I will throw light on a few rarely discussed topics or may be I will pull you more into the obscurity in which I always wander. Will show you how much we never bother about the preset prejudices that are passed on to us as it has been passed on for generations. Will give you not only some food for thought but I will, may be if you allow me – will muddle a bit with your thoughts. Will show you the best of the bigotries that sex alone can provide. Will give a reason to defy if that’s what you want to do.


All Bigots are welcome to read, but trust me, this post of mine will sting. So better be prepared.


The Inspiration:


I saw the movie DEV D yesterday night. I am happy. The Indian film industry is finally coming of age. A mature movie that deals with love, ego, sex, pain, drugs, booze and salvation. And a hindi movie at that. I was amazed. Apart from all the crap and masalas that bollywood has become, I am glad that movies such as DEV D are made. I am not going to tell more of the movie and spoil it for those who haven’t seen it.

But how about a few questions – a few questions that the movie touched about.



The questions-


Like why is that when men fuck around, He is called a stud.

And when a woman does the same she is called a slut.

Really…. Is stud the male word for slut?

Well, I searched the dictionary- It defines slut as “A promiscuous or disreputable woman” and however much I went through the web and the dictionary there seems to be no male word for slut. So what the dictionary really means is that males being promiscuous are either ignored or celebrated as Studs but alas when the same is done by the fairer sex, she becomes disreputable.

Wow. If you ask me – that’s a load of crap. But what’s even shittier is that this crap seems to be the generally accepted norm.


If men have the right to go around having sex for fun, then why not women I ask. And no, I am not a feminist but you don’t really need to be a feminist to see the logic in this, you just need to be just a normal guy who thinks straight. Are you one of those guys??



No, I am not arguing that women should also go around fucking nor am I a liberator of women to satisfy their sexual needs. Do not be silly and ridiculous. Grow up. All I really want to ask is –



How can we be so bigoted and prejudiced in the most basic issue of all? That is sex.

Where from did we learn to discriminate between women and men as sexual beings?

Where from did we get the guidance and inference?

The general answer to this question with which people would respond is

“We follow the norms of the society”

“It is the system of life that is prepossessed with ideas and we just move along.”




Ok, let me ask you, do you think that you are not a part of the system that is prejudiced and bigoted to its core. Sorry to break it to you my friend. But how more wrong can you be?


You are the system. I am the system. We are the system.





We are those people who have no qualms when passing that MMS of that gal who was caught on tape naked, without any thoughts as to how it will ruin her life. We are those people who listen and gobble up every single word of gossip about the local gal who sleeps around and then comfortably call her a whore. We are those people who do not care about the free navel show and glamour shower that Bollywood is so much associated with but raise questions when an intelligent film about sex is made.

Bollocks. Complete bollocks.

Do you know, what I think is the reason for all this-


I think we are developing a sexual culture of escapism. Nobody wants to confront the facts. Set things right. Be bold for once not caring what other people will think about it. The sad fact remains that sex is not talked about much as much as it is done. And no don’t tell me, I am wrong. Our perpetually growing population supports my hypothesis.

And talking about how to do sex is not what I mean when I say to talk about sex. You do not need an Aristotle to point out what monkeys and apes do without any second thought. But really- Have you ever thought about how the idea of sex is prejudiced, for example. Or how much you are open minded about sex, that is do you want your future partner to be a virgin?

Now that question opens up a whole new can of worms. Doesn’t it?

A can I just got inspired to make a dish of in my next post.



Author’s note-


In the above post, I have not tried to pass any judgments nor express any already formulated opinion. The post is more like a few of my questions-

And my own attempts at answering myself.

I have done a trilogy in the same topic- this post being the first of it. The other two are given below.

Part 2 - Feminist movement - the savior??

Part 3 - Whats really the solution??

I welcome your comments guys and your take on what I have tried to express here. On what you think is right and on what you think is wrong. On what you think is prejudiced and on what you think is silly. Your comments will feed me along with my own thoughts for my follow up post.

If you think, one of your friends would have a good opinion about this post, please do give them the link. And I invite opinions that don’t go along with what I have expressed. I want to know- where we stand as a society.

I would like to see how people react. I would like to get a variety of opinions.


PS-

And for people who haven’t seen the movie DEV D, what are you waiting for? Its one of the most mature movies I have ever seen in Hindi. Chalo yaar, See it soon.


And yeah, guys I had a great time in Kodaikanal.

Lovely weather, yummy chocolates, green valleys, hot and spicy road side corn, flowers of every color imaginable, Roses red enough to take your breath away, a slight drizzle that keeps the chill in the air-
The place is paradise my friends.

Will post about the trip as soon as I am finished with the trilogy. :)


Ciao.

Cheers until then.



Muthu.

The pitch of perspective – A short story

The snap:




The story may contain a very few common place hindi words and the meaning of them are given at the end of the narration.


The Story:

When he first laid his eyes on the idol, he simply couldn’t understand how people could stand the sight of such a hideous image, let alone pray to it considering it as a holy deity. “The female god of motherly love” was what the temple priests had said when they invited him into the temple. But nothing prepared him for what he would later recall to his friends as “the most ungodly image ever to be prayed as god”. May be he thought to himself being a tourist who is just passing in and out of India without actually dipping his hands into its daily life, it may not be just on his part to judge anything. But praying to a life sized deity of a hideous black faced hag fully smeared with blood,her tongue hanging out grotesquely, with a garland of skulls and a girdle of severed hands around her neck as decoration was a bit too much for him. Goddess Kali – even the name sounded ominous and bleak to him.

And to think that all the crowds around him were jostling about in frenzy like hungry hyenas fighting over the last piece of meat to catch a glimpse of this horrific and ominous deity was really above his comprehension levels. Soaked in sweat in the compressing inner chambers of the temple he started to have second thoughts about his decision to come into this temple. It took a good load of hard shoving, pushing and stumbling across for him to get out of the inner chamber where the deity is housed. He must have been more than relieved when he sat on the much sparsely crowded outer part of the temple and relaxed stretching his arms and legs.

It was as if he was sending out a homing signal to the poor and the needy kids who always frequented the temples of India trying to catch the eyes of some rich guy who would have the heart enough to drop a few coins in their bony arms. He always had a soft corner for children. He placed a ten rupee* note on the hand of the child and saw with satisfaction as the brown eyed girl walked away from him with a gleeful smile and with a purposeful gait. In a few seconds he realized his mistake when the girl returned with a bunch of other kids all desperate for some cash from the kind foreigner. May be if he would have walked away from them at that instant he would not have set into motion the chain of events that was to follow. But fate and god had their own agenda in their minds.

He distributed among the children the few coins he had not knowing he was causing quite a ruckus in the middle of the temple. It must have been in jubilation when one of those kids in his jumping glee tripped and fell down with a helpless wail. It was then that all pandemonium broke loose and before he realized what was happening his bag with his visa and passport was snatched. In a desperate attempt to catch the thief he started to chase after the pick pocket who was running with his bag.

The streets were crooked, narrow and were marked by sharp bends and angles that were so much a characteristic of Indian roads as class and caste to the Indian society. The bustling crowd rushing past him towards the temple immersed in their local celebration compounded to his problems as he tried to keep up with his bag. The sight of some country punk making away with almost all his cash and his identity documents must have sprung some hidden reserve of resolve in his mind that ignoring his heaving lungs that begged him to stop and the pain in his legs that craved for some rest he plodded on. He had to get his bag. He was not going to lose all the cash he had on him in such a fashion. He had to get his bag.

Then suddenly as if in response to some divine command from out of the blue his feet simply refused to obey him and he slowly came to his knees feeling a slow excruciating pain radiating from his chest and just as it dawned on him that he was having a heart attack he collapsed unconscious.

People die everyday, every single hour, minute and second someone is grieving with all his heart and soul over a lost loved one. Life in retrospect can be pretty bleak and uninviting if not for the joy of seeing tomorrow. May be tomorrow it will rain, May be it will snow or even hail, May be it will bring us joy unbound or perhaps it will shut us in eternal gloom. Nobody knows for certain but everyone still looks forward for tomorrow with a word as preposterous as hope in their minds.

And hope was the very last thing that came to his mind when he came awake drenched in his own sweat and fear. He tried to open his eyes and failed – the lids felt heavy like the petals of lotus and his body numbed and weakened pleaded and bargained with him resisting his every attempt to sit up. He heard a jumble of sharp sounds and noises that were too much shrouded in the daze to give any clear idea of where he was. He thought he picked up the clear voice of his 9 year old daughter which slowly faded into the distant racket of a lot of people moving about, a small child crying in hunger, the shrill voice of some one shouting out “help” which slowly melted into dark embers of his sub consciousness facade.

He for once again fell unconscious.

Skeptically speaking, helplessness takes on a complete new meaning for a patient who is at the mercy of doctor to save him who like any of the other working professionals works for the money that is being paid to him. He is not working for free or doing social service for that matter. Then why should anyone feel they owe their life to the doctor for doing his job? But alas the human mind becomes so feeble when it comes to face it's own death that no such thoughts leap up into the mind when you get up from the hospital bed after a close brush with Yama* and realize that the doctor has saved you. And of course it was nothing different with the foreign tourist either.

The bleak wall stared back at him as his eyes tried to focus and the pungent smell that is so much a characteristic of the hospital assaulted his nasal faculties when he rose back to the world of the living again. He felt much better through thoroughly exhausted as he looked into the eyes of the doctor who was checking his vitals. The doctor gave him a calm reassuring smile and said in a gay voice “welcome back”

Funny the coarse voice of the doctor sounded to him like the sweetest baritone that he has ever heard. He for a second felt like jumping with joy, thanking everyone around and relished the feeling of feeling alive. It must be the effect of almost losing something that he cannot bear to do without – his life perhaps. The doctor, who now seemed to have finished with him, got up and seeing his desperation to know where he was calmly averred “Do not worry. You are safe in a hospital. You have had a minor heart attack and you need to rest. We have notified your embassy and they assured they will send their representative over. I have given you a sedative so now try to relax and go back to sleep”

It took a couple of days for him to regain his strength and vitality and by that time he had learned that he was saved by a rickshaw walla* who seeing him collapse on the road had brought him to the nearby hospital where they identified him with the papers they found in his pocket and treated him. Arrangements were made by the embassy for him to be transported to his home country once the doctor gave his health a clean chit and pronounced that he was fit to travel.

It was as he was getting out of the hospital lead by the doctor, thanking him profusely for saving him he saw a middle aged guy wearing a blue lungi* looking at him with curious eyes. The doctor with a smile said “I just did what I had to. If you want to really express your gratitude then thank the rickshaw walla over there. He was the one who brought you here in time to save you.” He turned to see the middle aged guy giving him his best smile with a the sparkle in his eyes. Despite his worn and dirty clothes, prematurely wrinkled face and bare feet on the blistering hot streets, he had the warmth of life clinging to him.

The foreigner rushed forward, caught the rickshaw walla’s hand and with his eyes moist with emotion and voice trembling with gratitude said “Thank you, Thank you. I owe you my life”. The rickshaw walla was embarrassed not used to such open show of appreciation and racked his very very limited English vocabulary to give the foreigner some decent reply. After a few seconds of desperate thought the rickshaw walla folded his hands with extreme reverence and said to the gaping foreigner “Jai Kali Devi*.”


The end.



Rupee* - the currency of India.
Lungi* - a local garment used by the working class.
Yama* - The soul taker at the time of death in accordance to hindu mythology.
rickshaw walla* – one who drives a rickshaw(a pedaled vehicle) for a living.
Jai Kali Devi* - a slogan in the local language Hindi meaning – all the praise goes to the goddess Kali(These words are mistook to be partly English by a lot of locals.).


Author’s note:

Legend says that Kali Devi or Goddess Kali was once a very beautiful lady who was so fond of dancing and also good at it that Lord Shiva – the ultimate god of death, destruction, nirvana, meditation and dance took her to be his pupil. And once when Lord Shiva was sleeping, Kali Devi stepped on his chest too lost in her dancing. Lord Shiva in his temper cursed the one who stepped on his chest to be as horrible looking as one can be. When he got up and realized his mistake, he gave Kali Devi the power to become a destroyer of evil as he could not take back the curse and thus was born the God of motherly love and paradoxically also the destroyer of evil. Silly as the story may sound but every culture in the world has its own belief systems which when viewed by someone outside may be too much to understand.

For further information on Kali Devi, kindly visit the following link.

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.