The Quote -

"Nope, I don't really have anything new to say. but then, I always have something amazing to tell about things that you already know!!"

-Muthu

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Sleep in peace - A 55 fiction.

The snap -


The story -



“You asleep”

She turned and looked at her husband. “No. You”

“No.”

The ticking sound of the second hand filled up and emptied the room.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

"Really… Then why aren’t you asleep?"

“Just wondering, what’s in your mind to keep you awake this long?”

Her husband sighed. “huh, I was thinking the same about you.”




Author’s note:

This story occurred to me when Vinnie teased me not to try any fiction at about 1 - 30 am last night (sorry today morning). So as she was my inspiration I dedicate this fiction to her.

The story has about 61 words. If the line about the sound of ticking is removed, then it can be made exactly a 55 fiction. But I thought that that sentence emphasized the slowing of time and the restlessness in the bed room. So I decided to keep the line.

So what do you think about my story guys....


Who cares, who screws….

The Snap -




The Tale-


There is just one thing, only one thing- that can make really angry and all pumped up. And that’s when my sister is being intimidated and I cannot do anything about it. But then, it rarely happens. No. It never happens. You see guys….. I have always nurtured this fighting tendency in my sis that almost all the guys studying studying with her, who knew her for awhile,  would have already tasted a good bite of her casual sass and thus they never mess with her.

So I never almost have any reason to get all angry and pumped up. Almost. I repeat. Almost.

And that's because like all  my mothers, my mom knows me a bit too much, and when she is upset with me, she shows it to my sister to get to me.(She can’t make me to fight back otherwise.)

I hate these situations. Really really hate them.

And that's exactly what happened today morning when I refused my mom when she asked me to accompany her to her sister’s home for a couple of days. She showed her anger to my sister.

Like you can guess easily, I felt pretty enraged. Furious and still suffering like the guy who just got kicked right in his balls. Down depressed and seething about it like those active volcanoes just waiting to explode into a million bits. Do add ample more similes to the list and trust me however creative you are going to be, it just would not do justice to what I felt.

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My mom left for her sister's home with my sister in the afternoon.

She called me up late night to tell that she has reached there safely and as we were talking, she suddenly slipped in a sorry.

“For what?” I asked.

“Just that I was angry with you and made you feel so bad”

“That’s Okay mom. No big deal.”

“Really I am so sorry. I felt so bad, when I thought about what I did while traveling”

I hate to see my mom apologize.

“You did nothing wrong mom, what you did was absolutely natural and I am cool. Okay.”

“Okay…” She paused. “I will never do it again.”

“Mom, you did nothing you shouldn't do and stop talking like this. This isn't like you. Can we just stop talking about this.”

“Right. Okay” My mom answered back.

And then after a few minutes of consoling and cajoling my mom and another few minutes talking about other mother son stuff like lock the back door when you go to bed, do not over load the washing machine while washing clothes, bath daily, brush daily (spare me the rest - its too embarrassing.) etc….. she allowed me to go back to what I was doing.



Damn women. I was the one in anger and was in the need of some consoling and a hug. I was the one depressed and was feeling like shit. She was the one who must have been doing the prep talking.


But everything happened in reverse. I ended up trying to cheer her up. Some tough luck.




The philosophy – It never matters who screws up in the first place, the girl or the guy but it always ends with the guy trying to cheer the girl up.


PS:

The photo is of my sister and was took while i was experimenting with my camera, when I first brought it.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

The case of the independent canditates -

I actually wrote this as a comment on Ms.De's page but after writing it, I noticed that it has a larger relevance to the Indian political Scenario, so I am posting the same a bit edited and rearranged.


Why should we vote for independent candidates if we think they are worth it?


Our Indian politics is slowly becoming a family business. Every single party this time is putting forth their own family members sons and daughters usually to contest. What they want is to singularize the democracy and to monopolize the ruling institution.

What would be the reason for democracy if each and every time the majority party is going to win the election? If we are not allowing someone like an independent candidate to win the election for once, we will never know how much worth the majority party is or how much of crap the majority party is....

Ok, lets try being more specific. Lets take Mr.Modi for instance.


I am not against Modi. In fact I appreciate a lot of developmental efforts he has put in gujarat. Under him, almost all the sectors and the industries of the state have been considerably developed.


We are educated or atleast we claim so... Think you guys... how do we know how much any government is doing good unless we have a measuring stick and how are we gonna get this measuring stick by always electing the majority party.....

Many claim - Mr.Modi is a lot better than other CMs. He has done to his state a lot more good than a lot other people have done to their states.

Yeah, I too accept that Modi is better than his counter parts in the other states.

But think, you guys,the other CMs being such wastes doesn't make Modi any better... Modi himself is not the God or something... He is too human and he can be improved upon... and Politics desperately needs fresh blood
(and by fresh blood, i do not mean younger generation - if thats the case then varun gandhi would also be fresh blood - Is he???)

By fresh blood I mean, People who can speak for themselves, People who need not hold on to a party propaganda to get elected, People who do get their kicks by throwing words around, People who believe that this country needs to improve a lot and people who would rather embrace new things rather than sticking with the "India has as rich culture and we need to save it" shit.


Modi is of course better than the rest of the CMs. That goes without any questions but what i appreciate about Independent candidates like Mallika is that she is trying to take a stand against the system. The system that has made us cynics, by not ever delivering us what it promised.

Are we here voting to get the best of the bunch. Aren't we a bit too short of choices. Why is that people who try something new are shunned(like independent candidates.....).

Our culture is represented by we people and does not require saving, (hopefully we will look after it) but what abt our country....

We need people like kamarajar in TN. When my father says how he never campaigned but got elected every time, I get goose bumps all over me.... He was so dedicated to people and never cared aboutt himself that he only had 2 pairs of dhotis....

He took the government bus where ever he went and he stood in q at the ration shop.

and all this happened merely three and a half decades ago... I am flabbergasted, what went wrong in these 30 years.....

I am not asking 4 the dedication of kamarajar but at least we people can be true to his soul and provide opportunity one or two new guys..... just to let us know... what we are missing......


So I appreciate from the bottom of my heart the efforts of Mallika and people like her. If she is reading this, let her know there are a lot of people like me supporting her....

India damn sure needs a hell a lot of women like her.



PS :

This in a way is a reply to Ms.De's post on supporting the independent candidate of Mallika. What is written above is just to raise a few questions and not to establish any facts. As I have said before I myself have always loved Modi's dynamism and progressive ideas. But anyways asking a few good humored questions do not mean any harm. Right????

The prostitute - A 55 fiction





Warning - The following content is of abrupt sexual nature, so people who would rather not read this are advised not to read it. Please do not read it and then blame me for not warning you.

The story:

“I think 55 fiction comes naturally for me.” I said to my sister.

She looked at me with her eyebrows raised “Really…..??”

“Yeah, Wanna hear one I thought of, when taking a piss in the can….” I looked at her with challenging eyes……

“hmhm……. Ok… Go on..” She replied.



Story 1 – The making:

The prostitute returned his money coolly “it’s on the house baby…….”

“Really, Did I fuck that good? Wow this… this was my first time” He said.
She gave him a satisfied wink and went off.

She later said to her pimp “His father paid double for him. Said something about making him a real man.”



My sister gave me her worst frown… “That’s a sick story.”

“But it had some meaning I suppose” I shot back.

“hmhm….. yeah some meaning…” She replied to me skeptically.

“K, wanna hear another one as I craft it. Hot on spot……”

“Go on…” She said.




Story 2 – The difference:

The prostitute crooked….“No baby, I don’t even want your money this time. You were so good.”

“You have got to take the money. I insist.” He said thrusting the money in her hands.

“Why??” She asked.

“Then how am I going to differentiate between you and my wife” He replied back in his nonchalant voice.




This got to my sister. “That’s even sicker and shittier. You degrade women.”

“No, my stories are always meant to ask questions. I never decide upon things.” I paused. “The stories are just perspectives and you need to know what shit happens to appreciate the good things you have.”

“hmhm” My sister was silent.

“And such situations may be happening somewhere…. We just want to ignore them.”

She was still silent.

“Ok, wanna hear another one…..”

She looked at me with those accusing eyes, which seemed to blame me for every single bad thing ever done to the feminine race.

“Trust me….. This will make you laugh” and I started to craft another one as I went on.




Story 3 – The choice:

The prostitute said in a as a matter of fact attitude “I have just upped my prize….. baby. You have gotta pay be 400 bucks extra for my services from now on”

“What……. No way….. I always pay my regular amount…”

She smirked “Bigger money bundle or bigger cock …….. your choice stud…”




And on hearing this she started laughing and I thought to myself ----and god finally saved the world from the wrath of my sis. (Jus kidding ….. she is reading this as I write you see….. :))


Then I went back to what I was doing before and not long after my sister laughed to herself.

“What?” I asked.

“What what???” she shot back.

“Why are you laughing???”

“The story… I just thought another one.”

“Really….. Let me hear it.”

After a bit of cajoling and persuasion, she told her version.




The final story - Story 4 - (Idea of the story – My sister.)

The prostitute asked with an idle curiosity in her voice “You are paying me more than my usual amount. Any special reasons????”

He stopped wearing his pants and looked at her, then with a casual shrug he said… “Well, you did not ask me whether the grocery bills are paid when I was coming. Did you??”


After the story was told, we both cracked up laughing.




Author’s note:

The above is a fictionalized account of what myself and my sister were chatting on Saturday afternoon, celebrating her return from our native. :)

And Please don't mind the following philosophy..... It's just the way I am. Always getting kicks out of saying something philosophical. Damn, I am pitying my future kids... They sure have a lot of philosophizing and advising to hear from me in the future. LOL...... :)

The Philosophy -

I believe in openness and in discussion whatever the subject matter may be. Only when we talk about things, we will get to know how we feel about them. Sex, Religion, Culture, Marriage, politics, death – I think are a few of those topics on which every one of us have their own strong opinions and we prefer to keep it to ourselves rather than discussing them. We protect these opinions like we protect our own eyes; we get angry when people with a different set of principles express their views.

What we forget is that, it is these basic opinions that we hold dear to us, define us. Make us into what we are. Hard to believe….. but it’s the naked truth. So all I ask from my readers is that please keep an open attitude. If else you may miss more than you think……


Take care guys…. Ciao.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

The Spring – A short story.




The Story -


“Every single soul in the fight knew that the battle was unevenly matched to a horrendous extent and they were going to need a miracle to win. After all it was going to be a battle between giants and midgets. A battle between titans and dwarfs. A battle between the winter and the spring.”

The old man stopped the story and leaned towards his grand daughter “A battle between winter and spring”

“Like in the seasons, grand pa” the girl asked.

“Yes, my child, just like in the seasons. That was a long long time ago, when all the seasons were sworn enemies then and fought against each other to gain control of the climate of the earth. The frost, The snow, the ice pellets, the blizzard, polar bears, sea lions – cold, brutal, merciless were the warriors of the winter. The warm gale, the swallows, the lilacs, the rabbit, dears, cats, the other birds and animals soft and warm to the core were the warriors of the spring.”

“The land, the skies, the water – no place was spared – the war both bloody and intense, raged on with heavy losses on both sides. But soon the tides started to turn, the winter having the stronger army started to gain advantage and the battalions of the spring were slowly starting to scatter. The warriors of spring started to lose their heart and things started to look cold and bleak for them. It was suddenly as if the fighters of the spring would rather end their misery by their deaths than to go on fighting. It was then at that crucial moment somewhere among that thousands and thousands of warriors, a single tiny swallow’s voice started to sing.”

“To feel the wind on my chest,
---I will fight; I will fight
To sing in the sun at my best,
---I will fight; I will fight
Tearing all the tears in me,
---I will fight; I will fight
All I want is love and joy,
---I will fight; I will fight.”


“Suddenly the fleeing animals stopped, the clear voice of the swallow seemed to clear their minds. With hot tears of fury and pain flying from their eyes, and they finally became brave enough to die for what they thought was their right. They started to sing, every one of them, the wounded and the healthy, the poor and the wealthy, every single one of them started to sing and they all marched forward like the warrior poets that they are. Their collective voices echoed through the vast blue skies, the thunder shattered and the puny clouds scattered. The sun came out moved by their raw spirit and shone hard, shone hard defeating the winter.” He paused and took a deep breath and with a flourish in his voice averred “The winter was then banished from the fairy land forever.”


“Grand pa, Grand pa….. Sing poem one more time” pleaded the child.

And just when he was about sing the song again, his daughter entered the room and said in a caring voice.

“Oh not that spring story again, father you are spoiling her too much. Come on you too need your rest. Now go to your bed.”

“Oh, I will sing to her one more time darling and then I will go to bed. I promise.”

She sighed “Ok, make it quick.”


She returned to the bed room, sat on her side of the bed and looked at her husband sleeping on the other side of it. She just sat there staring at him for a while. Then she got up and walked up to the window. The night’s sky was empty. Empty of the stars, the moon, the clouds and all that stared back at her was the dark and void. She took deep breaths. No, she was not a child, a grown up women with responsibilities, a child to look after, her mother to take care off, and her own career to think of, so whatever the pain she has to bear it. She leaned against the window sill and closed her eyes. The cold wind blew past her ignorant of the emotional tides and the pereniality of the aguish that it is crossing by.

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She woke up with a start. Shit…… She thought. She must have fallen asleep lost in her own thoughts. Her daughter was tugging at her pajamas crying “Mommy, Mommy……… Grand pa is shaking”. She didn’t hear the rest; she rushed towards her father’s room and found him having a convulsing fit. She immediately called the ambulance.

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What will people be thinking when they are waiting for the doctor’s verdict on the health of a loved one? What is that, that keeps them occupied with straight faces when the anxiety of the unknown is burning in their hearts? How do they hold on to their sanity until the doctors with their monotonous faces call them in to hit them with the results?

She shut her mind. Shut her mind to every single thought that came up. Blocked all her senses of time and emotion and concentrated on a lizard on the wall. Nothing but the lizard -

Which was now slowly, very slowly making its way towards a moth that was sitting nearby. One step at a time with a honed ease and skill that must have been gathered over a century of evolution, the lizard was getting closer to pounce on its kill. The moth blissfully unaware of the mortal danger it was in, remained there as if in wait to get caught by the awaiting jaws of death. The lizard tardily crouched its entire body, ready for the final act – the leap and the capture. The drama of the hunter and the prey was at its final show down.

Suddenly out of nowhere, she felt deeply sorry for the moth. A delicate creature unaware of what it’s getting into. Oh my god, she has to save it. It’s going to get killed. She has to save it. She quickly got up and raised her hand to shoo the moth away.

“M’am, the doctor will see you now.”

Distracted by those nonchalant words of the nurse for a second, she stood there and watched the lizard catch the moth in one swift athletic leap. The moth wriggled in pain, trying desperately to escape from the cold jaws of the reptile but the lizard bite by bite gulped down the moth with a relished satisfaction n its face. She closed her eyes, not having the heart to see the helpless moth die.

“I am coming” she replied in hushed tones and followed the nurse inside the cubicle of the doctor.

The doctor nodded to her to sit down and leaned forward with his hands folded and resting on the impeccably neat table. She started to get the feeling that she was not going to like what she was going to hear. She ignored the mild pleasantries and consolations from the doctor and numbing herself to the extreme, she asked.

“The facts, Doctor – just the facts as they are…. Please”

The doctor allowed a silent second to pass before answering.

“His problem has gotten worse. We will have to keep him under 24 hour hospitalized care from now on. I am sorry. You cannot keep him at home. It’s too risky.”

She simply nodded staring past the doctor.

“Can I see him?”

“Yes, but can you try not to strain him.”

She nodded.



His once ebullience that always took stock of the situation without losing his unique stride seemed to have left him. Seeing him lying there in the white hospital gown, frail and flimsy, her heart went out to him. His face was slowly returning to its original color – a pale hearty red. The IV line looked as if brutally stuck into his delicate hands that once held her as a child, protecting her from the nightmares and the realities of the world, rocking her to sleep with his fantastical stories. His dull eyes seemed to have lost in some distant memory until she noticed his daughter standing by the door.

He beckoned her to come and lean over him.

And once she did that, he in his diseased small voice mumbled into her daughter’s ears.

“I am so sorry, my dear. I should have never forced you to” he stopped and took a deep breath “marry him”

“Father, Please stop” her voice wavered.

“Please forgive me. Please”

“Father, don’t do this” She said and turned her heads side wards trying not to look at him. Fresh warm tears were streaming over her face wetting her dry parched lips.

“I am sorry I did not listen to you” her father continued in his feeble voice. “I will never forgive myself for the pain I put you in.”

He paused and took a deep breath. “Promise me to get out of there. Relive your life. Promise me, I will die in peace.”

“Father, you are hurting me. Why are you doing this? I don’t need this now.” She bit her lip hard trying not to cry out loud.

“At least, cry darling… Please… for me.”

It was then that something broke inside her and she gave herself into hysterical sobs bending over him. She cried, cried, cried and cried some more. The pain, the failings, the harsh disappointments, the fighting’s, abuses, the rebukes, the wounds, the humiliation, the emptiness, her life – she cried even more. Her tears dropped from her face on her father’s forehead who said in a broken voice.

“That’s Ok darling. It’s over. It’s all over.”

Hearing the sound of the weeping, the nurses rushed in taking hold of the situation.

She slowly came outside and cried, cried every single stored up tear in her tear ducts. Every one of the tears that she had managed to swallow and smile to bear her marriage. She silently got, settled the bill and requested the doctor to proceed with the necessary formalities to get her father the care he needed and then left the hospital.
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The sun was at its zenith when she reached home. She called and checked on her daughter at her baby sitter’s house and assured the baby sitter that she will be there in 2 hours to pick her daughter. Then she started to pack her things.

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“What are you doing” He asked as he entered into the home and saw all the packed materials.

She did not reply.

“You are leaving. Aren’t you?”

She still remained silent. Her daughter was playfully reciting something in a low voice unaware of the drama happening.

“Where are you going to go now? You are fucking clueless. Ain’t you” He chucked maliciously and added “Go on. Let’s see how you are going to survive without me.”

She suddenly felt her knees trembling and her throat felt like being chocked. Her legs felt terribly weak, wobbled with her weight. Her stomach churned and jellied inside her and she felt like vomiting. So long caged she had been that her subconscious mind still longed for the safety and refuge of that cage. Her mind ran a thousand directions at the same time, gagging herself taking her nowhere.

She was breaking down again in front of her husband. She knew it. She knew it. She must have been doomed to be shackled forever and forever. Wait, May be she can still fight on. May be she still had a chance. May be…. May be she knew it all along that she will never make it. At least she tried. But she has failed. No, she is failing now and she is not able to do anything about it.

“You ain’t worth shit. You know that.. don’t you?” He folded his hands and stood there looking at down at her with contempt.

She crouched down, breathing hard trying to collect herself. Then she heard her daughter’s clear voice reciting…

"To feel the wind on my chest
---I will fight: I will fight.
To sing in the sun at my best
---I will fight: I will fight."


Hot tears of fury, pain and shame started to flow from her heart wetting her face. The calm innocent voice of her daughter shook her soul until her teeth rattled and her vigor returned. She is no innocent moth to be crushed and killed. She can fight. She can fight for herself, her daughter, her life, for her father. She has to fight. The clouds of reluctance and fear scampered away like the rats they are feeding on the rotten, the broken and the unused. She will fight.


"Tearing all the tears in me
---I will fight: I will fight.
All I want is love and joy
---I will fight: I will fight."



She took a deep breath and ran about in her mind’s space trying to gather all the broken pieces of herself. Her father always took a deep breath when he was to say something important. Her father….. She closed her eyes….. Please father, give me strength and courage for what I am going to do. No more conflicts, no more bitterness, no more suffocation, no more ignored ignominies, no more lies, no more surrendering and no more an hollowed existence. She had neither any tears nor any more fears left in her.


She got up with a resolved mind, clear and crystal like the carbon in the diamond. She will never ever waver anymore. She walked out on her husband holding her daughter’s hand.


Outside the evening sun was splashing around buckets of its mild orange melody of light. There were fresh lilacs blooming everywhere and the earth smelled of a new born baby with new shoots and green heads peaking about every where. The breeze dallied around kissing and flirting with every touch on everyone. A few street dogs chased the some cats up the trees and the swallows that were already resting on the crowns of their wooden abodes rushed about disturbed by the feline intrusion and added to the bliss of the cacophony.

“Mommy, Mommy the spring has arrived” jumped the girl with joy…..

Her mother nodded. Yes... The spring has finally arrived.

The end.


Author’s note:

This is my first story that has spanned more than 2200 words. I feel glad to have written this and I am obliged to thank 2 people in specific for helping me out....

-----Introspection, for giving me such a chance to write something 4 her. Smile today and forever, for from now on its spring my dear.


-----My regular readers and people who follow me – Guys you are more than an inspiration. Every time I see your comments and opinions on my posts, I feel exhilarated. Vinnie, puneet, rajlaxmi, raaji, anu, saxena, amal bose, introspection, nimisha, sujata, nandhini, Dogwood, DQ and every single one of you………. Thank you guys…. You are the best of the best. No questions asked. I love you guys….. :)



For now signing off…….


Take care…… muthu