Dud Sea Scrawls The Writing, clearly, is not on the wall!

…Yeah, and then she comes back to Bheeshma and says that since he has abducted her, it is he who is responsible for the screw-up in her life. Later she vows to destroy him for that.

Well, what a bitch! Blaming the result of her choice on someone else. Bheeshma gave her a chance to marry Vichitravirya, and she was the one who turned it down and said that she would rather go…um…to that other king who she is in love with. And Bheeshma let her go accordingly. So, that’s not exactly his mistake, right? She didn’t have to turn down the chance to marry the prince.

It was this lighter that I had purchased in a tiny village in the middle of a jungle, next to a beautiful river with class 1-3 rapids.
I’d purchased it because it had a tiny LED light in it - it was a torch as well. And the place where I was staying had power outages all the time, and I had forgotten to pack my flashlight.

So, as was predictable, the lights went out in the evening when i was having an animated conversation with some friends in the room upstairs.

Aw…let me find the candle.

Its in the corner there.

The story is based on an anecdote related to myself by a friend, as a real-life incident

The bunch of hoodlums was on a rampage, possessed by an unbridled egregore.
Their fury was righteous - wasn’t this the land of the Marathi-speakers? How was it that all signboards outside shops and offices were written in Inglish?
It was a cultural ploy that they were determined to fight - to prevent the marginalization of their beloved culture and language.

What do you believe is true even though you cannot prove it?

(The Edge Annual Question—2005)
From the Edge World Question Center.
http://www.edge.org/

What I know

prevents me from knowing

what I do not know.

What I am

prevents me from becoming

what I am not.

The path that I tread

prevents me from treading

the path that I have never trodden.

- the end -

Some more lengthy ruminations from me. Avoid if lengthiness and abstractions are not your cup of tea.

http://fermentedneurons.blogspot.com/2007/06/constructed-truth.html

We started building it because our ancestors dreamt.
They dreamt that one day the tower would reach the heavens, that mere mortals would be able to ascend it and become fearsome Gods. The Supervisor’s words held a palpable amount of awe and reverence, as he recounted his tale.

may7 2007
India

dear brothers and sisters of bharat (and also rest of world),

If I am knowing one thing that my great parents taught me it is this that humans are not animals to roam around on road with all of their private parts showing to all.
I am not even talking of the girls wearing small small things on mtv or salman khan showing his muskles. i am talking of COMMON MAN!!! and COMMON WOMAN!!!

Pretty were your eyes,
O charm.

and luscious were your thighs.

Yet, the music that sways me now
is beyond a mere quick rise

I will not cast a cruel stone at thee
For I love thee too deep

I will not lock my lips with thine
For the distance is too steep

If that tomorrow asks me
Whence went thy love?

I shall say without a tear -
Surely, it only went the way of all life?

Better that you suffer…

Better that I suffer…

(For, what is suffering, but nothing?)

But yet be true, not a lie…

(For, what is a truth, but nothingness?)

And yet embrace me
even in the midst of clamor

(For, what is love, but embracing oneself?)

See, my beautiful?
Thats where the orange horizon lies

thats where it all seems to end…

But it doesn’t.

If you walk till there
You will find the end is further away

But do not keep walking
endlessly to find the end

The resolution is never there.
It is always only here

Did I ever bump into you?
Or did I bump into me?

If you can tell
keep it to yourself

For I need to bump into myself
a lot lot more

before I can finally bump into you.

You came
and you went

I am still here
for some more time

till I am not

But take this from me,
my friend…

what once connected me to you
is atrociously beyond time.

If I exist
then so will you

for you are scattered within me
as seed upon the earth

If you were not
I would not be

It does not matter…

not happiness
not misery

nor pleasure
not pain

there is nothingness
and there is everythingness

on the tip of a needle
whole worlds flower !!ab!un!da!!nt!!

and across galaxies
there is a vast…………………..emptiness….

the sum of EXISTENCE
within my tiny skull

What meaning is
what my next step is

what life is
what death is

my feeble attempts to exist
my feeble attempts to override

what lies beyond
what lies behind

It does not matter…

Don’t come too close to me
I will see all your pimples

I will smell your humanness
and how disgustingly unperfect you are

I love only those dreams
and i cherish poetic visions

float where you are blurry
where I can imagine things into you

I can’t change how I was hypnotized
I can’t shoot those poets and writers

But I can shun you
for not being my dream

I have no wish to hate you
in a measure equal to my shame

Don’t stand too close to me
Your realness is not my concern

The End

“I have a sad life story. It will make you cry.”

“Ok.”

“Not that I am telling it to make anyone cry, understand?”

“Ok. I don’t feel like crying.”

“It just feels good to talk to someone who can listen.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Life has been unfair to me. So, so unfair.”

“To me too. And to some of my friends, too.”

. .

“Feels nice?” He whispered.

Confused, yet excited, she nodded - a mere girl, tasting her first caress from an experienced man.

Yet, something felt odd, something was not right.

“But my father said…”

“Shhhh…forget him! Nobody needs to know! Ah…how does it feel here?”

She moaned in intoxicated ecstasy - lustily begging for more, parting her silken thighs.
Sadly, he tired fast - his beard trembled with exertion.

“Enough! Restraint!” He declared.

Disappointed, she stopped.
But she had tasted kama - this was what a man could give!

Its nothing, I just had a bad day at work He said, quietly. Are you feeling better today? I got you some coke

But you know I don’t like coke so much! She protested. Did they give you the report? Do I need more blood transfusions?

Tomorrow. Come, have this He insisted.

With a stony face, he watched her drink - as charming, as sweetly yielding as ever.

Coke is always bitter She said, making a slight face.

Can you…? He began.

What? She asked him.

Bhenchod! Dikhta nahi kya?

The insult hits - rage explodes.
He maneuvers the car, and forces the rider.
In a blink, the rider is sprawling on the road, the gun shoved brutally into his mouth - his wallet and license wrested away.

The rider is in utter shock.

Tereko behen hai?

The gun forces a panicstricken nod.

Bhenchod bola? Teri behen ko terey saamney laakar c******a. Behen nahi to biwi ko uthaunga.

With that, he steps over the man, and drives away with his license.

At home, his little son jumps eagerly.
Papa! Did you get my gun?

Blindly, relentlessly, he had been striving.
And finally his destiny was near, and he faltered…

For, to go unto his destiny was to lose his own existence.

Come! I have awaited you long. Fulfill me! His destiny beckoned him eagerly.

“What shall become of me?” He demanded.

How would you know unless you come to me?

“I do not wish to end!” He lay bare his fear.

To end is the only way to continue. Come… she whispered.

His resistance melted and he rushed into the unknown wildly.
And in merging with the ovum, his existence ended, and life began.

Things change. They always do.

He no longer lit up at her laughter. She did not care.
She no longer prettied up for him. He did not care.

What exactly was left of it all?
Was life to become a mere pretense? To what end?
Was it sinful to want pleasure?

Her hand shook as she lifted the glass to her lips and drained it.

Then, she took a deep breath, and turned around on the bar stool, to face the stranger again - with a smile from forgotten days.

“Your place or the backseat of my car?” she whispered.

There was no sensation in his helpless body, as he lay there – only searing pain that tore like fire.

He sensed a feeling of utter injustice - like life had stabbed him in the back.

How could this happen? How could he fail?

Patiently, the vultures circled above him.

And then he saw his enemy raise his weapon.

“Fat bastard!” He hissed in rage, “It’s not rightfully yours! Not as long as I live!”

“Then die, Duryodhana!”

And the next blow ended the saga that had begun the day a young and lustful girl had married an impotent king.

Love the name - Swajana (one’s own people)…

Its an ongoing video documentation of life in India

http://swajana.com/