Posted in prose

Essay on Humanities connection with fiction

Wondering about the current scenario of fake news and post truth phenomenon, I have stumbled upon a curious thought about humanities relationship with fiction. Considering, with so much advancement in technology where videos and in person tracking is common, it is bizarre to see the public still struggling in figuring out truth from false, non-fiction from fiction.I have a explanation for this, bear with me.

In the novel, Sapiens, author Yuval Noah Harari points to how fiction has played a big role in humanities development. It has allowed us to group in larger numbers, control bigger territories, just because we believe a piece of fictitious idea, like country, religion, company, and the list goes on and on. This has enabled us to form imagined communities, where two people who are totally unrelated can co-ordinate and help each other, just because they believe in the same piece of fiction. This helped us defeat early hominids like homo-Erectus and homo- Neanderthalhis. It further helped us club our resources to speed up our civilization. Our ability to believe in fiction has given us an evolutionary advantage over all other animals. No other animal showcases this behavior, Yuval Noah Harari explains it best in his novel that you can’t convince a monkey to give up a banana so that he may later be in monkey heaven. 

Now, because this evolutionary trait has helped us immensely, dare I even say, suited our species, it may now even be becoming a obstructive trait that is hindering the progress of our society. Our minds have given such fictitious ideas, so much power over ourselves that even now in the era of science and fact, our brains are unable to tell the fiction from the truth.  This is because how much the trait has helped us and the human dependence on it. Even seeing the truth, we turn a blind eye, believing the fiction, unable to let go. This may even be said to be an example of mind over matter. 

Our minds are turning a blind eye on the truth, and we have no problem believing in fiction, due to several factors including personal enhancements. The paradox is, despite knowing all this, we truly believe in the righteousness of our selfish goals, adorn them with stories( more fiction), and many a times fall victim to the false stories itself. The power of fiction should not be under-estimated. We, the creators of the fiction, are being devoured by the stories we have created for ourselves, to give us some false meanings, scraps, to make us feel special. How long before we let go, or get lost in the labyrinths we have created for ourselves.

Posted in prose

Essay on Ancestor worship

Most oriental cultures have a form of ancestral worship. My knowledge of western cultures, does not lend me to think of any concrete form of ancestral worship in the western cultures. Maybe the older, norse and Celtic cultures followed some form of ancestral worship.

Hindus, Chinese, Japanese, and animist culture, all have a certain form of ancestral worship. In Hinduism, ancestral worship is only a single part of a bigger whole, whereas in Chinese Taoism, ancestral worship is the main form of prayer of veneration. The same can be said, approximately, of Japan and other South east Asian countries, where local customs have been mixed with the Buddhist religion to make a whole religious structure, which also includes a form of ancestor worship.

I have chosen to talk of this, ancestral worship, as amongst all other religious practices, ancestor worship seems to be the most digestible, realistic, and not seeped in inconsequential ritualism and gaudy superstitions. To explain it better, we may call ancestral worship as ancestor thanking, that is, showing our gratefulness to our ancestors for their struggle so that today we are alive. It is due to their struggle, going back indefinitely.

Now, what do I imagine when my head is stooped in obedience on the Pinda ( a separate place of worship especially dedicated to the worship of ancestors in Hindu households), where everyday my father lights an oil lamp morning and night in honor of the ancestors. He asks me, after every bath, everyday, to pay my homage to the ancestors by paying my respects to the Pinda, and I have come to follow it. I don’t pray to gods, I just pray to my life givers. Coming to the point, what I imagine while paying my respects in the Pinda is the line of individuals, which are infinite, who have procreated, foe my existence to Come into being in reality. Basically , I thank all, from the most recent to the first ancestors, whom Science calls Mitochondrial Eve and Y chromosome Adam, which have been predicted to have lived around 150000 to 200000 years ago, and whom the Bible calls Adam and Eve, the first humans on Earth, from whom all of us are descended from, currently, around the world.

Posted in prose

The man who loves and abhors affection

The fall:

The first time someone rejected me in love, I was devastated. I could not fathom how someone, anyone, after knowing me personally for a considerable period of time, kissing me, holding my hand, and understanding my mind, could reject me, thereafter ghost me, and scornfully embarrass me when I try to reach out, desperate, for the acceptance of my love. This was my first rejection and looking back at that moment, I must say, I was amateur, but following from that mistake, unknowingly, a true romantic. At the time I thought that my personality was so par excellence that no one would reject, or let me go, if I let my true self, unstructured, unhinged, be revealed to my opposite. Retrospectively, I forgot that there is another person in a relationship who might not be true and unstructured as I am, and that is why I call myself amateur. This was my first rejection and I am still struggling from the after effects of the same, although, I have been in many other small, tiny, minuscule relations from that time.

Every time I meet someone with the prospect of a relationship, my mind is clear enough so as to compromise in any and all situations that would ingratiate me to the opposite, even at my personal cost, because every time I meet someone in this situation, I am ready for that to be the end of my search for my partner, Therefore, the desire from my side to make the relation successful at all costs. Due to this foolish but pure hearted pursuit, I became a fool for some, a slave for another, a bank for a few, and a personal punching bag for many of them, the so called loves of my life. No amount of personal sacrifice, of me going over and above my abilities to please seemed to do the work or the effect I desired form it. Now, I don’t want to blame it squarely on the opposites because apparently, maybe I am bipolar, or a scrooge, or a schizophrenic or any other of these mental instabilities that make me a little temperamental, but despite that I know, I have tried, I have cried, and I have been persistently and constantly been played with and rejected. “ I have been wronged, I have been wronged, I have been wronged, not my one but many, several. That is all I can say , and I say it, emphatically on the beat of the drum, because I know I am right, as a man who believes in critical self evaluation. A life unexamined is a life not worth living.”

O seasons, O chateaux

Who possesses a perfect soul?

O season, O chateaux

I made a study 

Of inescapable bliss.

All hail bliss, throughout ………,

When you hear the rooster’s call.

                                      – First part of Rimbaud’s poem O seasons, O chateaux 

Notes from Underground:

My incessant complaining or the purity of my heart or the authenticity of my personal struggle, has made the universe, or my fate or any god, if any one of them exist, bless me with a boon. My heartache has made the universe sympathetic towards my pain and torture, and they have combined to protect their creation, me, from further heartburn. In fact, I don’t know any how this special ability and for what end has this special boon been granted to me.  Anyone and everyone, who comes within  two meters of me is prone to loosing all his mental faculties, so that all their structured conniving plans, now, can never be used against me. I instantly see through them, their immoral objectives, their sadist plans, their aim with me. Loosing all their mental faculties, they are not able to hide their ulterior motives, and this means I am free from the tyranny of selfish lovers. No one in the world, loves me for me, without a disgusting, selfish, and mean objectives behind their facades of love. 

I tried to meet the pure soul, but, alas, where should you find one, when there exists none. Although, all of that is fine with me. What is the use of selfishly motivated, unequal love – nothing. It’s my hard opinion that it’s better to stay underground, out of the sight of the vile defilers of love and affection. They are the bringers of cruelty in this world, directly through their own actions, and by troubling the pure souls such as me, who exasperated, shun the world, or turn cruel and mean. 

So I write from my underground base, and not a single person is aware of my existence. This is my own structured doing as the world has shown its true colors to me, through those, whom the world tells will be our savior, our soulmate, our nirvana, and our reason for living. In my disgusting rathole, I am happier than I ever was, when my opposites were playing the game of love with me. I thank my fate, and all the circumstances that have given me the boon to check the motives of my near and dear. A lot of searching, leading to no answer has convinced me that there are none of pure heart and unselfish action who deserve my pure unstructured, unmotivated love. Therefore, I am the happiest I have been in my dirty rathole, on my own, with my own thoughts. Thoughts that will never betray me and change according to my happiness. 

Bliss has finally set me free,

From desire’s tyranny,

It’s spell took soul and shape,

Letting every goal escape.

                                 – Second part of O seasons, O chateaux by Arthur Rimbaud

The flip:

Several years passed, and my underground days made me a pale, a living ghost in the society. My brown skin became as pale as possible. I forgot the touch of skin, and the feeling of a few good words from someone whom you want that praise from. My boon has starting to turn more into a curse now, but I still won’t cry and kick about, making a scene, as this was my conscious decision. I decided to enter the game of love again. Loneliness was eating me up, year by year, making me look older than I am and it also made me forget the reasons for which I shunned that active social life in the first place, I again longed for the touch of skin, a few kind words,  from someone I love, or someone who loves me, or even a true well wisher.

I made myself presentable again and came out of my rathole. I had lost touch but soon I was with another woman that I desperately wanted and also needed, except the boon made me agin look through her sinister motives. I again despite patience from my side could not handle this selfish unequal love, and the whole thing broke down again. In the past year I met a few more women but the boon will just not let me see then in a good light, it exposes all of their sinister motives and then my brain, despite ample restraint lets them go. The whole thing falling apart. Sometimes I wish, I could go back to the pre-boon days, when I was simple enough to fall for these conniving loves, because at least it gave me a few movement of pleasures, followed with a crushing heartbreak. Now that I know their not so good motives, I can’t reconcile my mind to ignore it, because sometime or the other the frustration breaks out, and all hell breaks loose between my opposite and I. Its just against my principles of not getting bullied by anyone, and if I let them play with me, I loose all self respect for me, and my self esteem dies down. Love is important for me, but not more than my self respect. 

I am struck between my self respect and my need for love. Sometimes my self respect wins and sometimes my need for love. I wish I had not received the boon, so that I would not be able to see through my opposite’s selfish motives, and therefore, live in ignorant bliss. But unfortunately that simple happy life is not for me because I have the boon, which maybe has flipped into a curse now. I don’t know, anymore. I let it be, I let my life play out. I examine it critically, waiting for the final solution to this problem, the problem to which till now I only see one solution – death. So, I wait, sometimes patiently, sometimes impatiently, sometimes raging, sometimes crying, and at most of the times, miserable and hiding. 

What do my words mean?

Meaning flees, takes wing!

O seasons, o chateaux

                                 – Last part of Rimbaud’s O seasons, O chateaux

Posted in prose

A chance encounter between a Human and a Lion

Here comes the ruler of us all, the most ferocious and blood thirsty animal of the whole of the animal kingdom. Once, you encounter this beast, even by chance, there is no peace and rest, thereafter. A lethal predator, he does not stop, till he has accomplished what he set out to do, wreak havoc, destroy, and kill, whatever he sets his eyes and mind upon.

His eyes can see in the darkness, and he can run vast distances in high speeds. Some of them move in prides or packs, but some of them are as adept lone hunters, as a pack or pride of hunters. I try not to cross this cruel creatures path, and even if I do, mistakenly, I try to avoid any eye contact with the creature, showing him my utmost respect. 

Currently, I have spotted him but he is still unaware of my presence, or at least acting that way. I always try to keep a safe distance from this unhinged cruel killer. He has spotted me now and as soon as I notice the fact, I look away. I run back and hide in the tall grasses of the Savannah. I cannot let this monster follow me back to my pride or pack, as everywhere this creature goes, so do tales of death and unreasoned murderous barbarous behavior. 

After half an hour of waiting and hiding in the grass, I see the creature off. I have lost him or at least I think I have. I quickly make my way home to tell the other members of my pride and group of all that had occurred to me. All member of the tribe enjoy stories of close encounters with this creature, as these stories are always adventurous, thrilling, and filled with bloody gore. 

Posted in prose

The History of Equus Caballus: 3000 B.C.

I like to eat grass, unlike other members of my tribe, my brothers and sisters, who love meat more than any grass. Its not that I hate meat, but my compassion for the animal that is the favorite and staple diet of my tribe members – the horse of the grassland. The majestic muscled runner of the endless grasslands that we live. It roams in droves, amongst its own, each more magnificent than they other. I cannot fathom eating such a creature, which seem such an elegant beautiful creation of the one who has made all of us. How my brothers and sisters devour this animal is beyond me.

Therefore, my main diet is the abundant grass, like that of the animal I love. I watch them, go bye, grazing in droves, lost in amongst them, imagining the life these strong creatures must be living. When my tribe members catch one of the horses and get it alive, I see the fear these creatures feel, through their big expressive eyes. Each one of them as strong as ten of us, humans. As days flew by, my affinity for them grew. Every time one of them was slaughtered, my throat would choke and my eyes would fill up with salt and water. In time, my tribe members, noticed this, making me a type of weird outcast amongst my own brothers and sisters, but I could not help it, I felt what I did and nothing seemed to be able to change my mind and feelings. 

The winter before the present spring had been particularly hard for our tribe. Many of our hunting parties that had gone out in the winter had not returned with food. So, now, most of us had grown lean and weak, including me, although I was never considered a very strong member, anyway. Our tribe had grown small, and because of that, I had to join the hunting party going to gather in the spring.

Hunting had gotten easier, since the onset of spring, but the neighboring tribes had gotten more bolder and more desperate, attacking whoever is coming with the food of the hunt, so protection of the hunt was also important for the current forage. We were able to surround two horses from a harras. One all black, and the other white with black hair and a diamond on his forehead. The all black horse tried to bolt, and the other hunters ran after it, with spears and ropes. I was transfixed at my place, looking at the majestic black and white. He also stood, unblinking, staring at me. There was connection between us, I don’t know how, but the horse let him be taken easily, like it wanted to go with us, or it wanted to be with me. 

On the march back to our tribe members waiting, I twisted my leg. The other tribe members, decided to leave me behind because of the danger of other tribes attacking and stealing the food we had worked for in the past week. They tucked the rope around the neck of the black and white but he didn’t budge, and stood next to me, unwilling, to leave me, or just wanting to be by my side. I don’t know, but that kind of sympathy bought tears in my eyes, as I looked at the godlike figure of the horse.

In that time, I had a brainwave. I decided to mount the horse. To be sure, many others had tried mounting the horse in the past. Ancestral knowledge told us that these proud creatures would never let themselves be mounted, and falling of one or more accurately, being thrown off by one, will almost certainly lead you to death. Instead, the black and white, let me mount it, as it stood still as a statue, like my weight is the same of an ant. I took hold of the rope, just for balance, as the horse followed the tribe, unhesitatingly, almost willingly. 

When two fathoms away from our community, a group of five hunters, surrounded us, ready to pounce on the meat captured, and the horse I was riding on, but then something happened that astonished all of us. The horse, my horse, charged at the attacking men instead. I struck my spear into one, while my horse kicked another two of the attacking hunters. Seeing, the tables turn, the two attacking enemies, ran away, terrorized, at the power the creature had just shown. 

On reaching our community land, the story of what had happened, was retold, again and agin, till I was being adored like never before. Suddenly, I was a leader. The horse, my horse, was not killed, but from then on became my private horse. Soon, the other members of the tribe also started to appreciate how helpful such a being would be in all other circumstances, if we could just replace its meat with some other. The other tribe members also started to catch horses, but not to kill them, but to ride them, to befriend them. Slowly, We became more adept at capturing horses and jockeying themAll my years of compassionate watching had taught me a lot about these creatures.

I named my horse Shwin, and thereafter all horses were named Shwin. The horse in a matter of a few years became deified, as in, a member of the household who jockeyed it. We felt powerful, I felt powerful. All the tribe members looked up to me, and I became their undisputed leader. The powerless me, became ambitious, as more power was laid into my hands.

Soon, we had a hundred horses and a big tribe, with my Shwin, the lord of all horses. My fame spread across the grasslands. I became a lord, a horse lord. My Shwin, my seat of power, and the reason of my increased ambition. I promised my tribe members that the time had come, to tear down the cities of the south. The people who looked at us grasslanders with disdain will now know the power of our people, the Mnaya. Their cities will fall, and from the ashes of those cities will rise the Mnaya, us, the people of the horse.

And, thereafter, I, Hindra, make a promise, and let the progeny be witness to this, that, like lightning from the mountains, I, Hindra, will have descended upon the plains of abundance, the plains of cities, and made this land our own, the land of the Mnaya, the land of the horse lords. My Shwin will remain with me till I die or he does. My Shwin will be deified. My Shwin is my throne, my house, and it is my right, as commanded by god, to harness the power of the Shwin and bring fortune to our people, so as to make them the Lord of all land, everywhere. I, Hindra, proclaim to be the First and the original horse lord, my power equal to the power of ten thousand horses combined. 

Posted in prose

On Guilt

In the room

“ Mr. D, you are under arrest for lewd comments that have hurt the religious sentiments of the people of the country.” These are the words I heard, five minutes after being rudely awakened by two police officers who had barged into my room, without permission, and even before I  could gather my senses after being woken up, inconsiderately, they were berating me with questions of their own, concerning everything, from my occupation to my personal relationships. After confirming my credentials, they arrest me. I try to throw a tantrum, telling them the ridiculousness of their actions, that they must have been mistaken. When this didn’t seem to effect the police hooligans, I tried to remind them that there is a law and procedure to be followed before making any arrest, and a warrant is required before breaking into a citizens home without permission. I must say I wasn’t very confident in the way I spoke to these police thugs, having heard of numerous instances of police brutality in our country, and around the world. My words, anyway, didn’t seem to effect them at all. One of the police officers, who had kept silent till them, stepped forward, standing in front of me, put his hand on my shoulder, saying, “ Sir, we deal with the law everyday, there is no need for you to teach us the law, just do as we say, and you may get through the ordeal with the least amount of pain inflicted on you. As you know, we also are only clogs in a machine, and don’t have any other options except arresting you, as has been ordered by the Superintendent of our police station.” All this the huge man said, all the while patting my shoulder lightly at first and then slowly increasing the pressure, so as warn me, of the pain he could inflict if I did not follow the orders of the officer. I, being a weak and cowardly man, all alone in my room, with no immediate acquaintances to contact, told them ill come with them to the police station without hassle, if they can just tell me what is it that I said or did, which has offended someone somewhere. To this the bulky police officer, who seemed now to have taken charge from the other officer, replied, “Sir, we don’t know what you said or did. All we are doing is following orders, and be calm, as all will be explained in the station and no guilt will be laden on you, until you have been proven guilty by the court of justice.” The everyday mumbo-jumbo from this officers mouth, told me that I won’t get anywhere with this person, so I dressed up, mumbling to myself about the lack of privacy, as the two officers wouldn’t even leave me alone a minute to change into something suitable from my nightgown, but what could I do? These were the people in charge, of authority, and a normal person against the machinery of the state, is like an ant in an ant colony, disposable. 

In the Police station

I reach the police station with the two officers who immediately take me to the officer in charge. During the journey, my patience was thinning out, and anxiety and fear had replaced it. By the end of the journey, I had already had an outburst demanding the police officers tell me the reason for my arrest, and not just the charge, but the reason of the charge, that is, hurting the religious sentiment of the people, somewhere, wether religious or any other sort of sentiment, that people are prone to getting hurt through. The bulky police officer informs the superintendent of all that happened, in the room and the journey to the police station, stressing  specially on the point that I was demanding to know what it was that I had said or done, which is now the cause of my arrest. The officer in charge asked the two officers to leave while he personally took charge of me. 

I was silent all the while, just observing the officer in charge, a small man with a loud voice, and as the other two officers left, his loud voice addressed me, “ So, you wish to know what you have done to deserve this arrest, do you?” To which I promptly nodded my head  in assent. The officer continued, “And, you are sure, you don’t have any idea of what it is, that you have done, to be arrested?” Again, I nodded my assent signifying I had no idea of my wrongdoing. The officer, now walked right up to me, reaching my shoulder, and before I could note anything else, he slapped me on my nose, before kicking my rear and my stomach with his foot that was booted. I start to writhe in pain, being a week man, these small indecencies and violence had now taken out all my fight, and I sat whimpering, crying in the corner, while the loud-short dynamo, who is the officer in charge went on a tirade addressing me and every other officer in the police station. “ How many outrageous, dirty, blasphemous sentences do you speak in a day, that you don’t remember what is it that you said that has caused a public outrage, hurt religious sentiments of your countrymen, and now you want me to defile my mouth by speaking out those dirty, blasphemous, and highly immoral and unethical words that you spoke in public, out loud in my police station. Damn You! Another word from you, and you will get another smacking from me but don’t worry you goon, you will have all your answers in the courts, but before that please, I ask you, not to make me repeat your vile hurting language from my mouth, in front of my colleagues and juniors.” Finishing his loud tirade, he had gone red and his breath heavy. He called the bulky junior officer, whom he asked, to throw me into the cellar, To which the junior quickly came towards me, a smirk on his face, picked me up by the collar, and leading me to the cellar, pushed me inside, and locked the cell. 

In the Cellar

In the cellar, I stayed in the position in which the police officer’s push had landed me in, just looking at the dusty sweaty floor, which was spotted with blood marks and stank of urine. Paralyzed, I didn’t move until a voice on the other side of the cellar pulled me out of my trance. “ What did you do?” The voice asked me, to which I replied, “hurt religious sentiments through my words.” , to which his first follow up question was, “ What did you say?” This question made me look at him, a face covered with a beard, with only his smile, which seemed to me sarcastic, was visible. His smile made me think that he was mocking me, and in my present condition, I thought it best to keep to myself. My smiling bearded cellmate, didn’t seem to be affected at all by my silence as he carried on, yammering, without any answer from me. He was saying something like, “ The laws are for the criminals, and criminals are made through laws. I can make anyone a criminal, just write in the book which identifies these crimes that anyone who breathes is a criminal and shall be punished by taking his breath away.” After saying this, he went into a demented laugh and after finishing with his demented fit, he went on another nonsensical rant. Soon, he was just background noice to me, as I came to terms with my situation and how it had changed in a matter of three hours.

In the court

The justice system of our country is very swift, especially for cases such as mine. The next day, within twenty four hours, I was taken to the magistrate. The magistrate charged me with  the crime of “lewd comments hurting the religious sentiments of the people of the country.” I had been thinking that in this circumstance, the judge would also retell the lewd remarks that I was being tried for, in this juncture, but no such detail was added while I was charged. While the magistrate, as is custom, gave me a chance to speak out in my defense, exasperated, I spoke with an airy rasp, “ Your Lordship, I would love to defend myself, if only, sir, you could tell me what the lewd comments I have been charged for are, and how the same has offended religious sensibilities or insensibilities of the people somehow, somewhere.” The magistrate, at my statement, seemed to turn red, or as red as possible for his brown face, and his mustache that seemed so neatly combed down till now, seemed to stand, spiky. After clearing his throat, he stated, for the record, “Mr. D, your persisted attempts of denying any knowledge of the blasphemous lewd comments, have convinced me, that you are unrepentant in the adversity you claim to be facing, and your efforts to corrupt the society, continue even in the court of justice, as you repeatedly request other god fearing, law abiding citizens of this country, to speak of matters immoral and unethical, even when we persist not to repeat the lewd and blasphemous comments you made, which now you have been charged for, and are under trial for the same.”

The treatment afforded to me in the court, just about sapped any faith that I had left in the system, and the denial of my bail, by the magistrate, took away whatever fight I had for myself, for justice, and against the system, which I think was doing me wrong. By the end of the month, I was sent to central jail, as a prison mate, until the court paroled me. I, under the system, let my body be dragged around, when I didn’t feel like listening, and let myself become a robot, just obeying the command of whoever was in charge of making my life as miserable as possible.

In Central Jail

After a few months in Central jail, where amongst other inmates, I was at first, very frightened, when I realized I will be with the biggest criminals in the country. I, timid, scared and cowardly me, against the biggest criminals of the country gave me goosebumps, but I had no choice, so I kept my head down and only answered when asked upon by other cellmates. The most common question being what did I do, or speak to hurt religious sentiments. My reply always the same, “Nothing, that I know of, in particular.” This always seemed to bring a smile at the inmates faces who were listening to me. Slowly, I gathered the courage to ask them their offenses. To my surprise, all of them seemed to be innocent, and none of them knew of the crime they had committed. My neighbor in the dormitory had been charged for murder, but he swears so sincerely, that he does not know whom he has been charged of murdering. Another, jail mate, who had been given kitchen duty to make bread alongside, also didn’t now whom he had defrauded, but he had been charged with fraud. Slowly, I realized that none of them are culpable or all of them are lying. I knew I wasn’t lying, so I took the more convenient option, as now my culpability was intrinsically attached to them, through acquaintance. This though made me smile, and I understood why all the other inmates laughed when I said that I was innocent, that I didn’t know the lewd comments I had been charged for, and all the rest of it. Now, here I was, with my fellow criminals, who like me were also innocent of any crime, except the crime that the state says we committed. The futility of my repetition of innocence dawned on me, and every time an inmate comes and complains of his innocence and how he has been hard done by, I can do nothing but smile like all the other innocent inmates of the central jail.

Posted in prose

Dogs Like BrownB

I am a normal member of the pet canine community. My owner calls me Pugi and i belong to what humans call the Shih Tzu Breed which are small and furry, meant to stay indoors, and that’s what I do. My owner is a disciplinarian. He strictly controls everything his own. His wife, and children obey him, follow all his instructions, and a single look from him is enough for all in the family to fall in line, including me. We live in a small apartment, and also own a car that is parked outside on the side of the road, in front of the house. 

My owner takes me for a walk every morning. That is our time together, and the only time that I spend out of the apartment. This is the time I see other dogs. Other owner’s pets, and street dogs. I am quite famous on my street, but I can’t meet them or say anything to them because my owner does not like it. I have tried twice, both the time his intense gaze scared me off. I liked one of them more than anyone, but he did not pay me any attention. His name is Brown B. All the neighborhood kids also call him that. He is the most athletic of all the dogs on my street. This is his story.

One day while going out for the morning walk, my owner and I, saw BrownB sitting above my owner’s car. My owner shooed him away easily, but when returning from the walk, we found him sitting above the car, again. My owner went after him with a cane, but BrownB escaped him easily. While my owner was going to the office, I saw BrownB and him scuffle again from the balcony. I was impressed by BrownB’s audacity and courage. It made me want him more than before.

This became a daily occurrence, wherein, all of us in the family got to know that it was playing in my owner’s mind. Some even made jokes about the owner, all in good humor, of course. It seemed that BrownB was going to bring his veneer of respectability down, but then something happened that was unforeseen. BrownB and my owner became friends.

It so occurred that, one night BrownB saved my owner’s car from getting robbed. Two of our neighbor’s cars were stolen, and when the masked robbers came to get my owner’s car, they disturbed BrownB, taking a nap. He awoke and started raising hell, so the thieves got far as away as possible from the car. This all was captured in the camera, and now my owner was giving the leftover meat to BrownB.

This all went on for sometime. BrownB even noticed and talked to me, but nothing more. I was despondent, but at least I got to talk to him, without my owner burning me from his gaze. One night, BrownB, a little overzealous in the protection of the car, bit a relative of the owner, who had borrowed the car. The man was badly injured and had to go to the doctor’s. The scars of the bite will remain forever.

The owner, now furious, as everyone started to question his act of giving the dog, a mongrel, such leeway. My owner furious now, as he saw his grip on respectability slipping. Later that night, he took his cane, and like a cheetah, was upon BrownB. BrownB was not one to take a beating without reply, so he jumped on my owner, pushing him and gnarled at him, upon which my owner drew the pistol from his waist and shot him dead. Only I was there, watching my owner and BrownB in this epic battle. BrownB died on the spot. My owner put him in the cars trunk and drove of, probably just throwing him in some garbage dump.

I wanted something bad to happen to my owner but couldn’t do anything myself. I was more scared than ever from him. I realized that he could kill me, and replace me with another Shih Tzu. After a few days, another street dog was sitting on BrownB’s place and I wished he would bite the owner in revenge for BrownB. Instead he was more than ready to take BrownB’s place. I saw something of BrownB in him too. Maybe, him and I have a chance together. I realize that the canine community is filled with dogs like BrownB.

Posted in prose

Way Back Home

Going back home from work, after a day of overthinking and overworking. I reach the medical store from where I take my daily medicine. Adjacent to the medical store is a barber shop. The barber there, always looks at me suspiciously, as if asking me, “ What a young man has to do with visiting a medical store everyday?” But, this is just conjecture, he could very well be thinking of how lucky I am that I can afford all the medicine I need or want to consume. 

A little in front of the medical shop, on the opposite side of the street is a juice shop, which I visit everyday after visiting the pharmacy. Today, I see one of my previous dates, passing me by, having just finished her drink. We are not in talking terms anymore. There is another man with her. 

I start to think. Why is she drinking in this juice shop, when she very well knows that this is the place I drink my juice, as a matter of routine? Does she wanna make me jealous or has she all but forgotten me and this is just a coincident? Or is this just an excuse to see me? Maybe there is still some place in her heart, for me. There is also a big possibility that the man who was with her is just an acquaintance, a brother, a friend, or so many other criterion of relationship that exist, including lover.

Thinking these things, over and over in my mind, repeatedly, till there are endless miserable possibilities of the same event, i reach my room. A room filled with zero humans and infinite paper. I slip inside my blanket, now even more wretched, then what I was, when I started my way back home. I just wanna pop my medicine, which will help me to fall asleep, so that I can continue my wretched thought and miserable existence, in a dream.

Posted in prose

Is my Family better than a rat family?

I have been living in this house since I was born. My mother and father have also lived in this house all their lives, but the other members of this big house are disdainful of us. They cannot stand the sight of my parents, two siblings, and me. They have driven us away, out of their sights, into the  corner of the dirty basement. Whenever the other member of the house see us, they want to drive us away back to the  dirty underground corner. They mercilessly chase us, keeping constant vigil to catch us in some horrendous act, which will allow them get rid of us for good.They want to drive us away even from our underground corner.

My father had often told me, that it was not always like this. Earlier, before my sibling and I were born, the other members of the house were not concerned by my parents, just ignoring them as they do to other members of the house. They even left fresh healthy food for my mother, on dining tables, kitchen slabs, and bedside tables. All this, my parents say was out of generosity. That is the time when my mother had my siblings and me, in the time of abundance and goodwill.

After the golden period, things started getting worse as time passed. My two siblings, tired and aghast at the treatment received from other house member, decided to leave, for greener pastures. According to them, it was better to die than to live in a place where you are unwanted and treated worse than vermin. My mother with her vast experience, tried to explain them that the whole world is the same for us. Everywhere you go, you will encounter the same hatred for our kind, as you see here. The siblings, ignoring my mother’s tears and pleas, left anyway.

Currently, the situation is as bad as it can get. My parents are now old and don’t leave the basement. The other members of the house, are in a planned manner, starving us, by not leaving out even a morsel of food. We haven’t eaten anything for a week. Our ribcages showing, our faces gaunt, we ain’t got much time, if we don’t get food. My parents much worser condition than me, considering their advanced age.

I decide to go up from the basement to the house. I will show them my emaciated body, and plead with them, so that they give me food, feeling sympathy for a living being, as is natural.

I go to the room, two members of the house are there, staring at the television. I go straight in front of the television, to gain their attention, immediately. They look flabbergasted. I join my hands, as all us do when praying to the supreme being. The two members of the house stare at each other and then at me. Suddenly one of them jumped up towards me, and in my nervousness, I fled back to the basement. 

Later that night, I went up to the house for my regular round, a faint hope that my plea will be answered positively. When I reached the dining room, there was a cake, exactly at my favorite spot to dine. I thank the other members, for at last showing some humanity and basic decency. I Reached underground with the cake, where all three of us ate the tasty sweet. After a while, I got an intense thirst. If I dint have water in the next few moments i’ll die. I try to wake my mother, no response. I try to wake my father, no response from him either. My vision became fuzzy, as I tried to make sense of it all. The last thing I remember is my whole life flashing before my eyes, explaining what is happening to my family and me.

Posted in prose

Walk of life.

My biggest fear has been realized, I am alone and lost. Three of us, had come up to the mountain villages, where the pace of life is slow and where us city dwellers feel relaxed and charmed by the beautiful mountain folds, covered by pine trees. Every time we are on the mountains, we take short treks to mountain tops amongst narrow mountain paths, returning to the camp on the base before nightfall. We also always wind up in situations where we are lost, basically, trying to find a way where there is none. We had done it again this time. And this time we had really messed up.All the previous years we had been lost together, but this time I was alone, on the mountain with dusk, nearing. I looked at the setting sun, which, let me look at it, orange, as if showing itself to me, before it dissapears forever from my life. A kind gesture to a potential lost soul, who for the last time is seeing the right path, clearly.

Before, we had already lost track of one of our friends, while in the meantime when we were searching for him, I twisted my leg. Despite that I continued walking, enduring the pain. Suddenly, echoes of help rang across the valley. It was my lost friend. We had to hurry, but unfortunately I could not keep up because of my ankle. I told my friend to go without me. He while expressing concern told me to follow his footprints which were causing huge marks on the ground, clearly visible, because of his spiked mountain boots. He also pointed out the to a faint light in the fading sunlight. It was a lightbulb which would glow brighter as darkness descends. The lightbulb was my north star, like it is for navigators around the world.

Soon, I saw the back of my friend, a shadow first and then disappearing completely. I am alone now, and that is why I say that my worst fear has been realized. This possibility of loosing my self, in this treacherous terrain had always been one of my fears, having come near to the same situation before, but never in as dire conditions as now. 

After resting a while, I started walking the treacherous narrow path, one side mountain, other side a fall of definite gruesome but instantaneous death. Even as I was cursing my luck, having fallen in a situation which I knew could happen and was determined to avoid, my mind alerted me to my alarming situation, making me panic. I had to get back to base before it was completely dark. I started walking, following the footsteps of my friend’s spiked shoes, and from time to time, watching the lightbulb far away. I was limping badly when I started walking after my rest. But now due the panic in my mind, an urgency has given me a adreline boost to show me that the major problem right now is getting back to base. The ankle pain is priority number two, as of now.

The lightbulb has grown brighter, but its still distant. Darkness has engulfed the mountains with sudden mystery and eeriness. The only sound I can hear is the constant hum of insects, which at other times seemed so natural and harmless, now sound to me an ominous vibrating tune. I wave such dark thoughts out of mind. I know the only way to survive is with courage and determination. The moonlight is shining and my eyes slowly get accustomed to the moonlight, pale white, almost cold. I am following the footsteps, seeing the light, and am reassured by those that I am on the right path. 

After a while, I look to the direction of the lightbulb again, as my constant vigil of it required me to do. No light came from the direction. I looked around in all directions, no light. I keep walking, now in fear, my legs are automatically walking faster. My eyes on the ground on the footprints. I have now lost all sense of time, I don’t know for how much time, I have been walking. The base should have come by now, to my knowledge it was not ver far, but what could I do. I keep walking, following the footprint until the footprints seemed to walk straight into a cup de sac, dissapearing. Could it be possible that my friend himself had lost his way. He was the best of us, our leader, the most adept person amongst all of us. If he was also lost, then what chance did I have, who am very mediocre in front of his ability. 

The lightbulb off, the footsteps coming to nothing, all I could do is either walk around the mountain or sit down right here. After some time, there seemed no difference between them except when I walk I feel like I am at least trying to find the right way which will lead me to my destiny. 

The night is endless. It will never end. I have waited for the sunlight a long time, but to no comfort. I am sure the night is endless, and I am lost, alone. I can roam around the mountain, or I can end my life. Since suicide is not an option, I have decided to loiter around, in the darkness, hoping faintly that somewhere along the right path will show up or ultimately, I will be at the base, my destiny, if I only could keep walking for some more time, falsely reassuring myself. I am still walking in the darkness, on dangerous narrow mountain paths, and will keep walking, fighting to reach my destiny or fight to my last breath, staring darkness on the eye, unflinching, not afraid of whatever the darkness throws on me, from within its abyss.