Here's a question;
There are two people, person A and person B.
. Person A wants person B to do thing x; x implies that x' will get done too
. Person B *knows* that person A wants x, including x'
. Person A promises that if person B does thing x, he will do thing y
. Person B does x, but specifically finds a caveat so x' does not get done
. Person A does not do thing y
Does this mean that person A broke his promise?
Before you lock on exact wording and contract law (which by the way, recognizes the concept of an implied contract), consider these additional pieces of data.
. Person B admits to have the knowledge that Person A assumed x came with x'
. Person B admits to specifically taken steps to make sure x' does not get done, despite knowing that Person A had meant x and x' both
If taking this from a contract law point of view, considering what's given above, this situation is legally speaking, totally correct. Person A did not break a promise, considering the assumptions (known to both parties) under which the promise was made, were falsified - in fact, since they were intentionally falsified, person B comes under liability ofintentional deception and possibly even fraud.
Taking a specific case here (credit for the example goes to AbhishekS ),
. Boy A asks Boy B to do their homework.
. Boy A promises Boy B that if he does the homework, Boy A will give Boy B a baseball card
. Boy B knows that Boy A expects the homework to get a good grade
. Boy B intentionally does the homework badly and gets a failing grade on it
. Boy A does not give Boy B the baseball card
Now, keep two things in mind, to keep this example in sync with the parallel above,
. Boy B admits that he knew Boy A expected a good grade
. Boy B admits that knowing this, he intentionally got a bad grade for that homework
Now, does this mean that Boy A broke a promise?
Again, in this case, Boy B could actually sue Boy A (assuming it was within the scope of school rules to get someone else to do your homework) for damages, stating breach of an implied contract that Boy B will do the homework to the best of his ability.
Feel free to google Implied Contracts.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wait..
Searing through his limbs, his body, his mind, his, heart; the pain seared, like a fire undeniable. Tragic, harsh, cruel and almost, just almost, unimaginable.. except, he had felt it.
Good morning, it's over now; isn't it? It has to be, there is shit to be done. Wake up, have that coffee, get to work, do that thing people do. Watching the mundane existence of everyone around him, working hard to fit the picture laid out for him; it needed to be done.
Through the day, it didn't bother him. It just remained, somewhere, hidden, thrust away. Responsibilities, expectations and all those interesting things; they had to be fulfilled or, at least, he had to somehow manage.
Numb, cold, cruel, mean.. yeah, a total asshole. That was him, it had to be, there was no other choice. Of course, the morning faded into the bright daylight of afternoon, which turned into the sensuous form of evening. Eventually, it all ended, it all passed, and came the night.
The night, with nothing but the silence to keep him company; again, one drink, one smoke, one memory, one tear.
It came alive. He, felt it, savoured it, endured it, embraced it, he did not know which. It was just, pain. Yet, he knew he'd best make the most of the short time he had for his favourite lover; 'cause, come morning, and it would be gone.
Good morning, it's over now; isn't it? It has to be.
There's shit to get done.
Good morning, it's over now; isn't it? It has to be, there is shit to be done. Wake up, have that coffee, get to work, do that thing people do. Watching the mundane existence of everyone around him, working hard to fit the picture laid out for him; it needed to be done.
Through the day, it didn't bother him. It just remained, somewhere, hidden, thrust away. Responsibilities, expectations and all those interesting things; they had to be fulfilled or, at least, he had to somehow manage.
Numb, cold, cruel, mean.. yeah, a total asshole. That was him, it had to be, there was no other choice. Of course, the morning faded into the bright daylight of afternoon, which turned into the sensuous form of evening. Eventually, it all ended, it all passed, and came the night.
The night, with nothing but the silence to keep him company; again, one drink, one smoke, one memory, one tear.
It came alive. He, felt it, savoured it, endured it, embraced it, he did not know which. It was just, pain. Yet, he knew he'd best make the most of the short time he had for his favourite lover; 'cause, come morning, and it would be gone.
Good morning, it's over now; isn't it? It has to be.
There's shit to get done.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Smoke..
I don't think I'll ever be able to quit.
It's addictive you know.
No, not the nicotine. Not the feel of the cigarette in your hand.
It's more than that.
When you pull in that puff, the paper and tobacco burning; smoke spiralling upwards towards the ceiling. It's like, you know what you are doing - killing yourself, and, you get to.
It is the ultimate expression of freedom; to do whatever the fuck you want to with your life - after all, it IS 'your' life and you get to do what you want to with it.
No one can take that away from you.
No one.
It's addictive you know.
No, not the nicotine. Not the feel of the cigarette in your hand.
It's more than that.
When you pull in that puff, the paper and tobacco burning; smoke spiralling upwards towards the ceiling. It's like, you know what you are doing - killing yourself, and, you get to.
It is the ultimate expression of freedom; to do whatever the fuck you want to with your life - after all, it IS 'your' life and you get to do what you want to with it.
No one can take that away from you.
No one.
Grey..
A precocious balance between black and white; obtained via a mixture of the two, neither here nor there. Unfortunately, either hurts, one is too bright, one too dark - we instead prefer the mellow light of the ambiguous, flexible, comfortable and easy.
Should we do this? No this is wrong. Well, so was that; well, it wasn't "that" wrong. Dontcha know? Nothing is black or white, it's all grey.
Bull-fucking-shit.
There is no grey, it is simply a bastardization of the purity of either black or white. Neither here nor there, hence flexible; allowing us to do whatever the fuck we want to and mask it under the ambiguity that we have now come to accept as reality itself.
Reality is unchanging, there ARE rights and wrongs. We just chose to ignore the fact that maybe what we are doing is really just wrong, not grey, but instead are too weak to do right and too weak to admit that it is wrong.
Grey, the biggest con since religion
Yeah, well, that is another story.
Should we do this? No this is wrong. Well, so was that; well, it wasn't "that" wrong. Dontcha know? Nothing is black or white, it's all grey.
Bull-fucking-shit.
There is no grey, it is simply a bastardization of the purity of either black or white. Neither here nor there, hence flexible; allowing us to do whatever the fuck we want to and mask it under the ambiguity that we have now come to accept as reality itself.
Reality is unchanging, there ARE rights and wrongs. We just chose to ignore the fact that maybe what we are doing is really just wrong, not grey, but instead are too weak to do right and too weak to admit that it is wrong.
Grey, the biggest con since religion
Yeah, well, that is another story.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Drunk, right?
the warring glee of the unknown is unprallelled to the calm surrender to the known and the safe
shall we not as men, ever rise above this calamity of the secure, and maybe one day be as we were meant to be
those who could raise the earth from a mere stone, not perturbed about disturbing the dirt and the muck beneath
alas, that spirit is now lost, in the wilderness of despair and fear; today, we walk not as giants, but as dwarfs, succumbing to the worst in us; tired, scared and unsure
feel not the depression of the fatality of life, but instead, the vigor and energy of what can be, my friend
is what i would say to another, yet unto myself, i would do what i would wish not on an enemy.. that is the curse of the intellect - to know what could be, yet be powerless as i see it undone, in front of me
it's not good
it's brilliant
but, it is all to naught, since it will still happen
as it has, over and over again
that is the tragedy of knowing
to see it all, yet, just watch as a bystander in your own life - as it unfolds
in directions you wish you could change, but well, in a way, really cannot
i shall not write anymore, it is to no end - the thoughts of a wanderlust ridden philosopher are simply no use to the world beneath him
they are just, like leaves from an autum tree - brilliant while in bloom, but only realized in their end - 'cause that's how we work
people are fucked up, each of us, everyone of us - in our own little ways
i write though, even if no one may read
it is the way that an expression can connect to the innate desire to change things, worthless as it may be
it means to me something, just to put it in words; the world may never appreciate; which is acceptable. they may never understand; which is not
but no option remains, but to divulge this virtual verbage on the unsuspecting and unprepared, in the hope that, not for the audience, but for the narrator, it may hold some meaning
just to have said those words, that needed to be said - somewhere, sometime; regardless of their spread or impact on the world ahead
for simply, there is no other way - except this; a substantial dose of verbose nonsense that if looked at the right perspective may make a lot of sense, yet, never will - since that perspective is the privilege of a few; a minority that will never be exposed to what only they can conceive
in the hope that i shall make some sense to you, i say all this - yet if i don't, don't hold it against me, after all
I am just drunk
right?
shall we not as men, ever rise above this calamity of the secure, and maybe one day be as we were meant to be
those who could raise the earth from a mere stone, not perturbed about disturbing the dirt and the muck beneath
alas, that spirit is now lost, in the wilderness of despair and fear; today, we walk not as giants, but as dwarfs, succumbing to the worst in us; tired, scared and unsure
feel not the depression of the fatality of life, but instead, the vigor and energy of what can be, my friend
is what i would say to another, yet unto myself, i would do what i would wish not on an enemy.. that is the curse of the intellect - to know what could be, yet be powerless as i see it undone, in front of me
it's not good
it's brilliant
but, it is all to naught, since it will still happen
as it has, over and over again
that is the tragedy of knowing
to see it all, yet, just watch as a bystander in your own life - as it unfolds
in directions you wish you could change, but well, in a way, really cannot
i shall not write anymore, it is to no end - the thoughts of a wanderlust ridden philosopher are simply no use to the world beneath him
they are just, like leaves from an autum tree - brilliant while in bloom, but only realized in their end - 'cause that's how we work
people are fucked up, each of us, everyone of us - in our own little ways
i write though, even if no one may read
it is the way that an expression can connect to the innate desire to change things, worthless as it may be
it means to me something, just to put it in words; the world may never appreciate; which is acceptable. they may never understand; which is not
but no option remains, but to divulge this virtual verbage on the unsuspecting and unprepared, in the hope that, not for the audience, but for the narrator, it may hold some meaning
just to have said those words, that needed to be said - somewhere, sometime; regardless of their spread or impact on the world ahead
for simply, there is no other way - except this; a substantial dose of verbose nonsense that if looked at the right perspective may make a lot of sense, yet, never will - since that perspective is the privilege of a few; a minority that will never be exposed to what only they can conceive
in the hope that i shall make some sense to you, i say all this - yet if i don't, don't hold it against me, after all
I am just drunk
right?
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Words..
I used the world crippled. Yes, I did. I'm sorry, I didn't know.
I was informed that the correct term to use was, "Physically Challenged"; so trying to understand this concept, looking up various terms, I've come up with my own lexicon of politically correct language.
Here's a few to start off with, do I seem to be on the right track?
So, if I wanted to say, "You stupid fucking lazy asshole, get up and fart somewhere I can't smell the stink; you ugly, fucked up, retard"
I would instead have to say,
"You mentally challenged, reproductive exercise, effort minimalist lower extremity orifice, get up and lower extremity exhale somewhere I can't smell the nasal unfriendly impalpable presence; you attractiveness challenged, insurmountably disordered, severely mentally challenged individual!"
Wait, why doesn't it sound any better?
Ah well, recreational copulation it.
I was informed that the correct term to use was, "Physically Challenged"; so trying to understand this concept, looking up various terms, I've come up with my own lexicon of politically correct language.
Here's a few to start off with, do I seem to be on the right track?
Lazy - Effort minimalist
Stupid - Mentally challenged
Retard - Severely mentally challenged individual
Fucked up - Insurmountably disordered
Ugly - Attrativeness impaired
Fart - Lower extremity exhalation
Stink - Nasal unfriendly impalpable presence
Fucking - Reproductive exercise
Asshole - Lower extremity orifice
So, if I wanted to say, "You stupid fucking lazy asshole, get up and fart somewhere I can't smell the stink; you ugly, fucked up, retard"
I would instead have to say,
"You mentally challenged, reproductive exercise, effort minimalist lower extremity orifice, get up and lower extremity exhale somewhere I can't smell the nasal unfriendly impalpable presence; you attractiveness challenged, insurmountably disordered, severely mentally challenged individual!"
Wait, why doesn't it sound any better?
Ah well, recreational copulation it.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Interesting..
Some people's lives are straight of the book, some's are, well, you could write a pretty interesting book about it? Some have it figured out, some don't.
I smirk at people who mention to me that they wish that their lives were more 'interesting'; what they mean, is 'entertaining'. If they truly knew what 'interesting' entails, they'd have to be out of their mind to want things that way.
Boring, is safe. Boring, is comfortable. Boring, is predictable.
It may be boring to have a good idea of where you will be a year from now, five years from now, or even more, but, those who have it 'figured out'? Do.
Interesting is unpredictable, which brings with it the good, the bad and often the ugly. To have things 'interesting', one needs to NOT follow the crowd. This can be done in two ways, the easy way, or the hard way. The easy way is to fuck up, the hard way is to excel in ways that not many have. Often? It turns out to be a combination of the two.
One cannot excel, truly, in a way that is clearly apart from any known or given crowd; unless, they fuck up some other part of their life. It's balance, it has been, shall be, and probably should be, enforced - by nature itself.
You cannot gain insight into the understanding of a human mind, without being disenchanted with several things once held so close to your own heart. In fact, hell, heart? That insight starts with the recognition of the non-specificity of physiological arousal. Yeah, it's a mouthful. I just said it to show off. Now go google it if you really want to know.
(WTF, Google CHROME does not recognise google as a word in it's spell check? That's messed up)
Right, so where were we. Becoming a world class musician, will carry with it the penalty of cutting out the more 'social' aspects of your life. There simply isn't enough time! If there were? Mozart, you might say? In that case, you would understand and connect with music so deeply, that not much else will matter - even people; particularly people.
Now, you 'need' this excellence in something, to truly make things interesting. If someone just fucks up, which plenty of people do, their lives would be equally as 'predictable' as the people who don't ever. They would too know where they would be in a year from now, five years from now - often, the answer would be the same, and concurrent with where they are right now. To bring in 'interesting', 'unpredictable', this balance of fuckup and excellence needs to exist.
So, sure, now we're at 'interesting'; why would someone have to be completely nuts to actually want it?
Do you have any idea what 'knowing' is worth? The feeling of having answers to basic questions in life. What is wrong, what is right? How should I behave in this situation, what should I do on weekdays and what will I probably be doing on the weekend? What direction should I try to take my life in?
On top of that, you have company; millions upon millions of people, share the same ideas, thoughts, dreams, ambitions, feelings.. Fuck, when someone reads out a quote, you can understand the deep meaning and empathise with the person that told you and discuss how deep it is! Instead of wondering which idiot on the planet tries to simplify inherently complex subjects into an intelligent sounding sentence; which is immediately (the day I can type immediately without a spell-check, my life shall be complete, geez) replaced with the wonder of which idiot actually would listen to it and nod his head, not understanding a word of what was said but memorizing it and quoting it to other people, 'cause it sounds, intelligent!
Interesting is painful. Interesting is lonely. Interesting is confusing.
Interesting is insane.
So why?
Sanity is overrated.
There you go, I am sure someone can quote that to another. I can just imagine it. "Dude, you know what, that's insane! But you know what they say - Sanity is overrated!"
Just imagining the knowing smiles and head bobbing to follow is making my head spin.
Yes, I am completely sober while writing this.
That's the sad part. Oh wait, 'interesting' part.
I smirk at people who mention to me that they wish that their lives were more 'interesting'; what they mean, is 'entertaining'. If they truly knew what 'interesting' entails, they'd have to be out of their mind to want things that way.
Boring, is safe. Boring, is comfortable. Boring, is predictable.
It may be boring to have a good idea of where you will be a year from now, five years from now, or even more, but, those who have it 'figured out'? Do.
Interesting is unpredictable, which brings with it the good, the bad and often the ugly. To have things 'interesting', one needs to NOT follow the crowd. This can be done in two ways, the easy way, or the hard way. The easy way is to fuck up, the hard way is to excel in ways that not many have. Often? It turns out to be a combination of the two.
One cannot excel, truly, in a way that is clearly apart from any known or given crowd; unless, they fuck up some other part of their life. It's balance, it has been, shall be, and probably should be, enforced - by nature itself.
You cannot gain insight into the understanding of a human mind, without being disenchanted with several things once held so close to your own heart. In fact, hell, heart? That insight starts with the recognition of the non-specificity of physiological arousal. Yeah, it's a mouthful. I just said it to show off. Now go google it if you really want to know.
(WTF, Google CHROME does not recognise google as a word in it's spell check? That's messed up)
Right, so where were we. Becoming a world class musician, will carry with it the penalty of cutting out the more 'social' aspects of your life. There simply isn't enough time! If there were? Mozart, you might say? In that case, you would understand and connect with music so deeply, that not much else will matter - even people; particularly people.
Now, you 'need' this excellence in something, to truly make things interesting. If someone just fucks up, which plenty of people do, their lives would be equally as 'predictable' as the people who don't ever. They would too know where they would be in a year from now, five years from now - often, the answer would be the same, and concurrent with where they are right now. To bring in 'interesting', 'unpredictable', this balance of fuckup and excellence needs to exist.
So, sure, now we're at 'interesting'; why would someone have to be completely nuts to actually want it?
Do you have any idea what 'knowing' is worth? The feeling of having answers to basic questions in life. What is wrong, what is right? How should I behave in this situation, what should I do on weekdays and what will I probably be doing on the weekend? What direction should I try to take my life in?
On top of that, you have company; millions upon millions of people, share the same ideas, thoughts, dreams, ambitions, feelings.. Fuck, when someone reads out a quote, you can understand the deep meaning and empathise with the person that told you and discuss how deep it is! Instead of wondering which idiot on the planet tries to simplify inherently complex subjects into an intelligent sounding sentence; which is immediately (the day I can type immediately without a spell-check, my life shall be complete, geez) replaced with the wonder of which idiot actually would listen to it and nod his head, not understanding a word of what was said but memorizing it and quoting it to other people, 'cause it sounds, intelligent!
Interesting is painful. Interesting is lonely. Interesting is confusing.
Interesting is insane.
So why?
Sanity is overrated.
There you go, I am sure someone can quote that to another. I can just imagine it. "Dude, you know what, that's insane! But you know what they say - Sanity is overrated!"
Just imagining the knowing smiles and head bobbing to follow is making my head spin.
Yes, I am completely sober while writing this.
That's the sad part. Oh wait, 'interesting' part.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Flatline..
As if someone had just hit you very hard across the head, remember that single high pitched whine? A single bar of sound, a single line; no pulsing, no beating, no feeling, just silence, and that line.
Imagine, living in a permanent state of numbness, save nothing but that line.
People, experiences, whirlpools of emotion, crazy nights out, deep shared secrets, bright brilliant days, pain deep in your heart, exuberance uncontained; then deep insights into the meaning, frustration at reality, loneliness in crowds, disconnect from it all; then, the numbness, not caring, even feeling, good or bad, apathy towards existence; recognition of what is happening, calm understanding, silence prevailing; then, the flatline.
You wake up, sleep, work, play games, talk to people, eat ice cream, smoke cigarettes, stare at the ceiling, wash your face, drive late at night, it all feels the same. Everything seems similar, nothing seems, nice or unpleasant, nothing seems good or bad, nothing seems, alive, or quite dead.
Slowly, your typing slows, you've run out of things to say. It's hard to describe, something like the matrix; you have to see it for yourself.
Why do I even bother. There is no point.
Just, the flatline.
Imagine, living in a permanent state of numbness, save nothing but that line.
People, experiences, whirlpools of emotion, crazy nights out, deep shared secrets, bright brilliant days, pain deep in your heart, exuberance uncontained; then deep insights into the meaning, frustration at reality, loneliness in crowds, disconnect from it all; then, the numbness, not caring, even feeling, good or bad, apathy towards existence; recognition of what is happening, calm understanding, silence prevailing; then, the flatline.
You wake up, sleep, work, play games, talk to people, eat ice cream, smoke cigarettes, stare at the ceiling, wash your face, drive late at night, it all feels the same. Everything seems similar, nothing seems, nice or unpleasant, nothing seems good or bad, nothing seems, alive, or quite dead.
Slowly, your typing slows, you've run out of things to say. It's hard to describe, something like the matrix; you have to see it for yourself.
Why do I even bother. There is no point.
Just, the flatline.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Injustice..
Never, is it acceptable, to punish an innocent person.
I don't care what, his race, his religion or his caste, signifies, nor what others of that have done.
It does not matter if they killed, raped or mutilated, others of another kind; the fact remains.
An innocent person; is just that.
So fuck you, Narender Modi, fuck you, George Bush, and fuck you, all those, that think it is, 'understandable', to commit, OR condone, such heinous crimes against humanity.
You, are one of the innocent ones, right? You do not agree with those of your own race, religion or caste, right?
Would you be punished, in their stead?
If not, then, you are a fucking hypocrite, if you feel that what was done, was, 'okay'
You are a fucking hypocrite, if you think that since 'other' good has been done by that person, somehow it is 'okay', that they go unpunished.
You are, as much to blame, as the person pulling that trigger, or slashing that machete. You are equally to blame.
You might as well slit that throat yourself, if you weren't such a coward.
I don't care what, his race, his religion or his caste, signifies, nor what others of that have done.
It does not matter if they killed, raped or mutilated, others of another kind; the fact remains.
An innocent person; is just that.
So fuck you, Narender Modi, fuck you, George Bush, and fuck you, all those, that think it is, 'understandable', to commit, OR condone, such heinous crimes against humanity.
You, are one of the innocent ones, right? You do not agree with those of your own race, religion or caste, right?
Would you be punished, in their stead?
If not, then, you are a fucking hypocrite, if you feel that what was done, was, 'okay'
You are a fucking hypocrite, if you think that since 'other' good has been done by that person, somehow it is 'okay', that they go unpunished.
You are, as much to blame, as the person pulling that trigger, or slashing that machete. You are equally to blame.
You might as well slit that throat yourself, if you weren't such a coward.
So much..
There is so much I want to write, to explain.
Lately though, it seems that words are just not enough.
How do I explain these invisible threads, so clearly shown to me as daylight itself, to closed off minds.
Minds, scarred by pain, barricaded by fear, restricted by stupidity! What's the point?
God, humans? What were you thinking? Was this your idea of 'fun'?
Fucking sadist.
Lately though, it seems that words are just not enough.
How do I explain these invisible threads, so clearly shown to me as daylight itself, to closed off minds.
Minds, scarred by pain, barricaded by fear, restricted by stupidity! What's the point?
God, humans? What were you thinking? Was this your idea of 'fun'?
Fucking sadist.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Loser..
Words, can have a deep impact.
Certain words, more than others.
LOSER!
That word hung on his conscious mind, ever present, ominous, yet, accepted; a part of him.
He had accepted reality; happens when it is chronically shoved down your throat..
So much is lost, when carelessly uttered words, hold so much power.
It had driven him; in which direction though, was the question.
Said long enough, by enough people, you start to believe it. More so, when one of them is you.
Drive, it gives, sometimes though, more to destroy, than to create.
To destroy those who ever said that word, thought it, or, may have thought it.
What if, one of them, is you?
Who do you destroy then?
Certain words, more than others.
LOSER!
That word hung on his conscious mind, ever present, ominous, yet, accepted; a part of him.
He had accepted reality; happens when it is chronically shoved down your throat..
So much is lost, when carelessly uttered words, hold so much power.
It had driven him; in which direction though, was the question.
Said long enough, by enough people, you start to believe it. More so, when one of them is you.
Drive, it gives, sometimes though, more to destroy, than to create.
To destroy those who ever said that word, thought it, or, may have thought it.
What if, one of them, is you?
Who do you destroy then?
Saturday, April 04, 2009
VII: Truth..
He held his head deep inside, in shame.
He knew what he had within him.
It wasn't his fault, he was built this way.
He needed to destroy, before he created. This was his destiny. He had to destroy..
Life after life, he took, he tried of those only who deserved it. It was a part of him. He could not always be the savior. One day, he was out saving lives, a few years later, he was taking them.
Till he met her.
She was the, sweetest, the loveliest, the most amazing, women he had ever met.
She gave him a reason, to stop.
He didn't want to be this man, but yet, he could not help but be it. It was a part of him. He HURT people, those that deserved it! Sometimes, they were people, he loved. He did not understand himself. Someone who had the soul that wanted nothing more than make everyone around him happy; this same person, did things, did things, that hurt people; it hurt the people he loved the most.
He could not stop it, he could not control it, it was who he was!
Today, the one that would love him, accept him, found out.
The hurt in her eyes, the pain, the sorrow, it tore his soul apart.
He could not do anything, he was, powerless.
Looking into those hurt eyes, those eyes that would never understand, those eyes that he wanted only bright, and, happy, at this instant were, sad, with tears running through them. Tears, that would rip his heart into pieces.
It was not fair! This was who he was, in his entirety! He couldn't help it! It was his basic nature, it was, another side, of superman. The side, that no one wanted to know about, even the ones that loved him the most.
At that moment, he stopped the planet from turning. He could do that at least, being superman. He stopped those tears, halfway across that sweet face. For an instant, he hesitated. It took just one look, just one look at that tear, suspended unnaturally halfway across her cheek; then he took off. He raced around, the planet, the solar system, everything, at blinding speed, turning it backwards, taking everything backwards, turning back time itself! He raced with a speed spiked with the pain he felt, a pain he could not endure.
Now, it was day before, again. He had his second chance.
He had the choice again. He could, tell the truth, tell her everything; be who he was, and still be loved. He remembered though; he remembered, what had not even happened yet.
His eyes, welled up, yet, no tears came. He looked at her and in all honesty told her,
"I love you, sweetheart.."
..and then, he let the world turn its course.
He had the strength of a hundred men, yet, to bear that again, even a thousand wouldn't suffice. He looked at her, stared deep into her eyes, and, lied.
Because he was Superman. That held the unfortunate caveat,
he was, still,
just a man.
He knew what he had within him.
It wasn't his fault, he was built this way.
He needed to destroy, before he created. This was his destiny. He had to destroy..
Life after life, he took, he tried of those only who deserved it. It was a part of him. He could not always be the savior. One day, he was out saving lives, a few years later, he was taking them.
Till he met her.
She was the, sweetest, the loveliest, the most amazing, women he had ever met.
She gave him a reason, to stop.
He didn't want to be this man, but yet, he could not help but be it. It was a part of him. He HURT people, those that deserved it! Sometimes, they were people, he loved. He did not understand himself. Someone who had the soul that wanted nothing more than make everyone around him happy; this same person, did things, did things, that hurt people; it hurt the people he loved the most.
He could not stop it, he could not control it, it was who he was!
Today, the one that would love him, accept him, found out.
The hurt in her eyes, the pain, the sorrow, it tore his soul apart.
He could not do anything, he was, powerless.
Looking into those hurt eyes, those eyes that would never understand, those eyes that he wanted only bright, and, happy, at this instant were, sad, with tears running through them. Tears, that would rip his heart into pieces.
It was not fair! This was who he was, in his entirety! He couldn't help it! It was his basic nature, it was, another side, of superman. The side, that no one wanted to know about, even the ones that loved him the most.
At that moment, he stopped the planet from turning. He could do that at least, being superman. He stopped those tears, halfway across that sweet face. For an instant, he hesitated. It took just one look, just one look at that tear, suspended unnaturally halfway across her cheek; then he took off. He raced around, the planet, the solar system, everything, at blinding speed, turning it backwards, taking everything backwards, turning back time itself! He raced with a speed spiked with the pain he felt, a pain he could not endure.
Now, it was day before, again. He had his second chance.
He had the choice again. He could, tell the truth, tell her everything; be who he was, and still be loved. He remembered though; he remembered, what had not even happened yet.
His eyes, welled up, yet, no tears came. He looked at her and in all honesty told her,
"I love you, sweetheart.."
..and then, he let the world turn its course.
He had the strength of a hundred men, yet, to bear that again, even a thousand wouldn't suffice. He looked at her, stared deep into her eyes, and, lied.
Because he was Superman. That held the unfortunate caveat,
he was, still,
just a man.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Home, A
The sad silent music played, of notes so heartfelt, yet, so detached..
It was the melody he wrote, as he wished, frustrated, tired and sick, wanting to just, go home..
Years ago his travels brought him here; the land of opportunity, the place his life would be fair, great, lovely and all that he deserved it to be. Years later, his eyes had dried up of all their tears, waiting for the satiety that he had once hoped to achieve.
Truly, this was a better place, in so many ways, that a man could not even count. Yet, the heart knows no distinction of quality, quantity or numbers; it yearned unreasonably, unfailingly and unrelentingly, for simply, home.
Yet, he was trapped; by not his enemies, nor his circumstances, nor his duties; he was trapped, by his own weaknesses. He could not return home, he could no longer live without all that this enticing world had to offer. He had sold his soul, though his heart screamed in pain.
He could not go home.
He was trapped, for all eternity.
In purgatory, between hell and heaven,
lost,
for, no longer, was he sure, if he even had,
a home..
It was the melody he wrote, as he wished, frustrated, tired and sick, wanting to just, go home..
Years ago his travels brought him here; the land of opportunity, the place his life would be fair, great, lovely and all that he deserved it to be. Years later, his eyes had dried up of all their tears, waiting for the satiety that he had once hoped to achieve.
Truly, this was a better place, in so many ways, that a man could not even count. Yet, the heart knows no distinction of quality, quantity or numbers; it yearned unreasonably, unfailingly and unrelentingly, for simply, home.
Yet, he was trapped; by not his enemies, nor his circumstances, nor his duties; he was trapped, by his own weaknesses. He could not return home, he could no longer live without all that this enticing world had to offer. He had sold his soul, though his heart screamed in pain.
He could not go home.
He was trapped, for all eternity.
In purgatory, between hell and heaven,
lost,
for, no longer, was he sure, if he even had,
a home..
Monday, February 23, 2009
VI: Death..
As he walked along the street, drunk, bottle in hand, unshaved, in torn clothes, filthy, people looked at him in disgust and manuevered around him. He didn't care though, it had been a long time since he came to this city again. He remembered the last time that he was here..
That day, he sat on the highest parapet of the tallest building, his head buried in his hands. An unfamiliar feeling crept up in his chest, oddly close to his heart, and pulsed with a vigor that even the man of iron could not ignore.
Abandoned. Discarded. Left to rot.
Last week, his life, thought not exactly pretty or beautiful, with all it's imperfections, was good. He would zoom into the sky at the slightest need of his fellow men, and he would save someone, or stop a disaster from happening, or at times, just be there; giving people hope, comfort, relief, in one way or the other.
He thought back to that time, and then the moment, when his eyes landed on the newspaper.
"Is Superman all you thought he was!"
The article, printed on the front page of the same newspaper that everyday carried stories by the dozen of how he was saving the world, spoke of him. It spoke of who he was, truly.
Sitting on the parapet, he remembered people looking at him, hearing the buzz, the dreadful buzz, that only a mass of humanity, embroiled in the wicked pleasure of gossip, could produce. As he read the article, he could hear the buzz, stretch out. Soon, he could hear that buzz, everywhere he went, in every corner, every block, ever city, every country.
They all looked at him, as if he had let them down. They all looked at him, as if he were a criminal. They all looked at him, as if he had betrayed them all, at a level that the most unscrupulous of the villains that he had saved them from would not have.
He sat alone there, remembering how it felt.
The days went on, no one said anything to him. He had not committed a crime, nor had he even done anything wrong, by his standards. He had not betrayed anyone. He had not intentionally hurt anyone. He had not even wanted harm to come to anyone. In fact, it had nothing to do with anyone else, but him, his own personal life.
The buzz grew louder by the day. People started shunning him. He would save a person, and they would look up at him gratefully, but then avert their gaze, and barely mumble out a quiet 'thank you'
At least up here, it was quiet. No one was looking at him, judging him, disapproving of him. He was alone, yet, the buzz stayed. He remembered, the buzz, coming to a crescendo.
"So, I am not sure how I should put this.." said the mayor.
He looked on, without a word.
"See, I guess what I am trying to say.." he continued, and again, faltered.
His gaze, quiet, yet determined, stayed on the mayor.
"Listen, it's not that we aren't grateful or anything, it' just that.." he tried again.
He didn't say a word, he didn't need to. That calm, resigned gaze, said it all.
"..see, people are talking and you know, I mean we don't mean to judge you or anything at all! Listen, I just need to say this. I'm sorry, but in light of all that has been exposed about you, I am going to have to ask you to return the key to the city," said the mayor in one breath. He still didn't dare to look up at him.
He knew this was what he had been summoned for. He quietly took out the key, and put it on the table. His eyes, didn't show any anger, even disgust; just resignation.
As he left, he heard the mayor say one more thing;
"Listen, Superman, see, if it possible, maybe you should just cool it for a while. Maybe stay away from the city for a bit?"
He raised his head and looked down at the city below. He had thought, that maybe, maybe if he did something good with his life, maybe if he saved people, if he made people's lives, better; then just maybe, they'd forget, that maybe, they'd accept him.
With the pulsing now increased to a steady pain, the man who could not cry, let out one single scream; one screeching, ear piercing, heart rending, scream. In that scream he let out his frustration, his betrayal, his abandonment, his heartbreak, his gut wrenching agony of this being done to him..
..and then, he burned his clothes, his identity, his image, his persona, to ashes.
That was the last day that he had come to this city.
He heard people around him, their lives moved on. Then, as it used to happen every day earlier, it happened again.
A scream, a cry, a plea for help; he almost instinctively poised to fly, then he realized, it was just a television. The news was on, this had already happened, he couldn't save them, even if he were to decide to do so.
"Ah, another disaster. You'd imagine that with people dying, the city would get its act together," said a man.
"Yeah well, what do you expect them to do. They're not like Superman," said another.
"Yeah, what happened to that guy anyway? No one's heard from him in a long time now, yeah?" asked another.
"Yeah well, the way he disappeared off the face of this earth, I'd say he probably died or something," said one more; and that was it, they started talking about the game that night instead.
He stood there, shocked for a second. Then, turning away, he plodded along that road. He was confused. He was Superman, didn't they know that? Superman can't die!
Then, the realization struck him.
Superman did die.
The very people he was trying to save?
They killed him.
That day, he sat on the highest parapet of the tallest building, his head buried in his hands. An unfamiliar feeling crept up in his chest, oddly close to his heart, and pulsed with a vigor that even the man of iron could not ignore.
Abandoned. Discarded. Left to rot.
Last week, his life, thought not exactly pretty or beautiful, with all it's imperfections, was good. He would zoom into the sky at the slightest need of his fellow men, and he would save someone, or stop a disaster from happening, or at times, just be there; giving people hope, comfort, relief, in one way or the other.
He thought back to that time, and then the moment, when his eyes landed on the newspaper.
"Is Superman all you thought he was!"
The article, printed on the front page of the same newspaper that everyday carried stories by the dozen of how he was saving the world, spoke of him. It spoke of who he was, truly.
Sitting on the parapet, he remembered people looking at him, hearing the buzz, the dreadful buzz, that only a mass of humanity, embroiled in the wicked pleasure of gossip, could produce. As he read the article, he could hear the buzz, stretch out. Soon, he could hear that buzz, everywhere he went, in every corner, every block, ever city, every country.
They all looked at him, as if he had let them down. They all looked at him, as if he were a criminal. They all looked at him, as if he had betrayed them all, at a level that the most unscrupulous of the villains that he had saved them from would not have.
He sat alone there, remembering how it felt.
The days went on, no one said anything to him. He had not committed a crime, nor had he even done anything wrong, by his standards. He had not betrayed anyone. He had not intentionally hurt anyone. He had not even wanted harm to come to anyone. In fact, it had nothing to do with anyone else, but him, his own personal life.
The buzz grew louder by the day. People started shunning him. He would save a person, and they would look up at him gratefully, but then avert their gaze, and barely mumble out a quiet 'thank you'
At least up here, it was quiet. No one was looking at him, judging him, disapproving of him. He was alone, yet, the buzz stayed. He remembered, the buzz, coming to a crescendo.
"So, I am not sure how I should put this.." said the mayor.
He looked on, without a word.
"See, I guess what I am trying to say.." he continued, and again, faltered.
His gaze, quiet, yet determined, stayed on the mayor.
"Listen, it's not that we aren't grateful or anything, it' just that.." he tried again.
He didn't say a word, he didn't need to. That calm, resigned gaze, said it all.
"..see, people are talking and you know, I mean we don't mean to judge you or anything at all! Listen, I just need to say this. I'm sorry, but in light of all that has been exposed about you, I am going to have to ask you to return the key to the city," said the mayor in one breath. He still didn't dare to look up at him.
He knew this was what he had been summoned for. He quietly took out the key, and put it on the table. His eyes, didn't show any anger, even disgust; just resignation.
As he left, he heard the mayor say one more thing;
"Listen, Superman, see, if it possible, maybe you should just cool it for a while. Maybe stay away from the city for a bit?"
He raised his head and looked down at the city below. He had thought, that maybe, maybe if he did something good with his life, maybe if he saved people, if he made people's lives, better; then just maybe, they'd forget, that maybe, they'd accept him.
With the pulsing now increased to a steady pain, the man who could not cry, let out one single scream; one screeching, ear piercing, heart rending, scream. In that scream he let out his frustration, his betrayal, his abandonment, his heartbreak, his gut wrenching agony of this being done to him..
..and then, he burned his clothes, his identity, his image, his persona, to ashes.
That was the last day that he had come to this city.
He heard people around him, their lives moved on. Then, as it used to happen every day earlier, it happened again.
A scream, a cry, a plea for help; he almost instinctively poised to fly, then he realized, it was just a television. The news was on, this had already happened, he couldn't save them, even if he were to decide to do so.
"Ah, another disaster. You'd imagine that with people dying, the city would get its act together," said a man.
"Yeah well, what do you expect them to do. They're not like Superman," said another.
"Yeah, what happened to that guy anyway? No one's heard from him in a long time now, yeah?" asked another.
"Yeah well, the way he disappeared off the face of this earth, I'd say he probably died or something," said one more; and that was it, they started talking about the game that night instead.
He stood there, shocked for a second. Then, turning away, he plodded along that road. He was confused. He was Superman, didn't they know that? Superman can't die!
Then, the realization struck him.
Superman did die.
The very people he was trying to save?
They killed him.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Love - I
It seems appropriate, it being Feb 14th and all; except, I am not sure what to write.
I figured, I might as well write everything, or at least, start..
So, I've had, uh, my experience with 'love', starting a while ago, tumultuous, serene, ecstatic, traumatizing, depressive, uplifting, has been extensive. I figured, I might as well just say everything I've learned?
---
So starting at 15, I honestly believed that I was in love; there was this really sweet girl..
So that was the first girl I felt that I was in love with; enough meandering, to the action points.
I figured, I might as well write everything, or at least, start..
So, I've had, uh, my experience with 'love', starting a while ago, tumultuous, serene, ecstatic, traumatizing, depressive, uplifting, has been extensive. I figured, I might as well just say everything I've learned?
---
So starting at 15, I honestly believed that I was in love; there was this really sweet girl..
Well, okay, honestly, this really pretty girl..
Okay, more honestly, decent looking girl.. who, uh, actually talked to me!
Being the geek, that was, well, uh, not very often. With the mathematics of attraction coming into play, the availability factor by itself might as well have made her Claire Forlani with Preety Zinta's innocence, Mother Teresa's heart, Priyanka Chopra's looks, Rakhi Sawant's.. umm, body parts? Mallika Sherawat's sensuality, Bill Gates's brain, Katrina Kaif's height.. Oh God, she was perfect!
No, you did not read that wrong.
Yes, I did use a reference to Bill Gates in a definition of my perfect woman.
Yes, perhaps less computers, more parties 'might' have been a good idea while growing up.
Yes, I did use a reference to Bill Gates in a definition of my perfect woman.
Yes, perhaps less computers, more parties 'might' have been a good idea while growing up.
So that was the first girl I felt that I was in love with; enough meandering, to the action points.
This 'perfect girl' drove me nuts! I felt this way for the first time! (not surprising, I was 15, yes, but I had felt 'other' ways for women - related, not quite the same though; for years!). All this resulted in rather weird behavior, some of which being,
- Night long sessions of listening to Cliff Richard's love songs, thinking of her
- Thinking of how we would take walks together, always spend all our time together
- Of course, err, thoughts of certain other activities used to come to mind too but usually limited, both quantitatively _and qualitatively
Ah so, I started trying to get to talk to this girl in class more and more. I took a seat behind her and would try to say funny and interesting things. In fact, I even learnt how to say "voulez vous coucher avec moi"..
Oh wait, no, no, that was in college, wait, totally different girl..
no, this one, yeah, for this one I learnt, "mademoiselle vous et tres belle"
So apparently, it didn't work too well. Apparently, in India, back in the mid 90's? If you told a girl that she was beautiful? Worked, only, if she already had a crush on you. If she didn't?
Well, then, uh, the only 'decent looking' girl that talks to you? Stops.
Oh boy, the pain, yeah, being upset, sad, depressed; feeling how my heart had been broken.
So what if half the boys in the class also were nuts over her. I was, uh, well, I could, um, right.. so that got me thinking.
Hell, if I fell for myself? and told myself I was beautiful?
Wait no, in that case I'd probably hit myself and run to Mom to tell her about this strange boy who told me I was beautiful.
Yes, that is disturbing, even to me. So, moving right along..
I would've kinda not really been that interested either!
Believe it or not, I _still count that as my first, my very first, yes, honestly, my absolute first..
..real big crush!
[ What? Yes, I know the posts title dude, I typed it! But that's what it was! I still count it in though, because it led to me to the first time, I truly felt, what I still think, was my first love..
..which I shall talk about, another time! ]
Key takeaways: Only one..
- When you're 'in' it, it's hard to tell if you're really in love, or is it just a really, really, really, big crush
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
55 words..
"..and it has to be beautiful!"
55 words, that's all he got. How would he? Could he? To express all he felt. He had to do this to 'earn' her love?
Thinking, trying; no, too many, too little, no, no, no; wait, words wasted!
Then clarity; he needed only 3.
He wrote, "Go fuck yourself"
[55 fiction - What is it?]
55 words, that's all he got. How would he? Could he? To express all he felt. He had to do this to 'earn' her love?
Thinking, trying; no, too many, too little, no, no, no; wait, words wasted!
Then clarity; he needed only 3.
He wrote, "Go fuck yourself"
[55 fiction - What is it?]
Saturday, January 31, 2009
truth, The
The fire was dying down. As he walked through the ruins of what was once, his home; the place where he raised him family, where his wife and children had slept.. where they still slept.
Everything was gone.
His family, his home, his life and soon to follow, was his sanity.
With an agonizing scream he cried at the heavens, "WHY! why, why, why!"
The cracking and hissing of a still burning fire, all around him; of his burning home, of all the homes burning all around him, he could not understand. Why did they hate him so much, what had he done to deserve this, why was there so much hate, why was God, quiet.
He could hear a stick hit the pavement, rhythmically, as a figure formed in the smoke. As it got closer, the smoke parted and the wizened old face showed itself.
They sat down, and the old man began to speak.
"Let me tell you a story. A story of three men. The three men, whose direct actions, chained, led to this" said the old man.
The man listened, tired; not much else he could do.
"The civilian four seater plane carried a few hundred kgs of RDX. That was the plane that was crashed here. It was flown by a man, who once had a family, just like yours, who once had a life, not so different from yours. This man was simply out with them once, many years ago, in this same city, when some crazed men, abusing the name of power things like religion, mobbed his world, attacked them, and left them for dead.
This man, dragged his wife and child, bleeding, to the main road. Cars rushed by, he tried to stop them, frantically, yet, no one stopped. Desperate, he ran in the middle of the road, and managed to stop a car, being driven by a young man. The car was empty, it had enough space for all. This young man looked at the family, covered with blood; and all he could think off was, police cases, getting mobbed for helping people of this religion and sadly, of how he would get the blood off his seats.
The young man reversed the car, and sped off, leaving this man, of another religion, screaming after him, begging, as he watched his family die in front of him.."
There were tears in the old man's eyes as he concluded this story. He paused here, not for long, as he continued.
"There was another man, a thoroughly unscrupulous man. A man who wanted everything in this world, yet did not want to work for it. He turned to crime, was very successful at it, then he decided to aspire for something even more powerful, and more suited to his own evil nature; he went into politics.
Donning a garb of white cotton, with a visage with a smile pasted shamelessly across it, he went out, asking for, then demanding votes. Things did not work as well as he hoped. Then, he came up with a brilliant plan. Fear.
He figured out he needed to scare people into voting for him, because if he scared them enough, about their own lives, their own safety, there was no more powerful a motivation. So picking the religious conflict in the country, professing to the be savior of the majority religion.
A boy turned 18, he did not care enough to vote. He figured that they were all bastards anyway, why bother. Yet, the rhetoric of this unscrupulous, yet brilliant man, reached his ears; and he reconsidered. On election day, he cast the vote for him.
A week ago, this same politician got the news through his own intelligence sources of this attack. He, did, nothing.
'I will act,' he thought, 'but once the attack has happened. More votes that way.'"
The man looked on with shock. He wanted to go kill that politician, he wanted to blame him for everything, he wanted to..
Looking with a fierce gaze, the old man said, "He can't be blamed, that is his nature. As a snake cannot but strike at its prey, he can't stop himself either. Blame, the man who put him in a place of power in the first place."
Nodding, the man turned his anger. He just, listened further, quietly.
"There was a third man. This man, was an orphan and when he was just a boy, used to serve tea at a roadside restaurant. One fateful day, he heard this conversation between a group of people at a table.
'No, no, no; we cannot accept them. If we do, they will take us over, enslave us, destroy our identity!' said one.
'..and what are we, if not our religion! I say, we should just kill them all and get rid of the problem in the first place' added another.
'No, don't say that! We aren't murderers. We just need to keep them in their place. Our government might want to shove them down our throat, but I for one, will not even drink a sip of water at any of their houses, even if I am dying of thirst! We will fight for our own, we will..' and another continued, then another.
This boy, listened to all of this, with sadness in his eyes. He was an orphan, he had been told he was of that 'other' religion, yet, he didn't really care. He looked at the young boys sitting by their fathers at that table, and he wished he could just go and play with them, be accepted.
Later that evening, as he wandered the street, he met up with that same bunch of boys. They were playing. He smiled and went and joined them.
They started talking, and joking around, till one of them asked his name. As he told them, everyone got quiet. One asked,
'You're of that other religion, aren't you?'
This boy, shamefully, nodded.
'Then you can't play with us. Go away. Be with your kind' said this boy, and they all walked away, laughing, joking.
This boy, stood there alone on the street, thinking. He had fought hard to be accepted, but it seemed, that simply by having the name he had, he could not be. He even thought of changing it! It was just a name. Then, that boy's face came in front of his eyes, as he remembered the words, 'be with your own kind'; so he did.
This boy looked and looked, till he found some people, who specifically told him that they were his 'own' kind. They did things, that he was uncomfortable with, then as he got to know further, he was shocked by. Yet, he stuck by them, because he remembered, they were his, 'own' kind.
In some time, from becoming numb to their evil actions, this boy, became an embodiment of the very evil that he once shirked from. He was with his 'own' kind, and maybe, this is just what he was.
Last month, this same boy, who just wanted to be accepted, but was instead rejected, and told to be with his, 'own', kind; that same boy, ordered the attack, that today, has destroyed your family."
The man was now crying freely, with each sob, just one word, "why". Why, why and another why, was all that would escape from his lips. The old man looked with compassion at this man. He then quietly said, "I cannot tell you why. I only came to tell you this story, so you know who to ask why."
The man looked up, wiping the tears away, trying desperately, to replace it with anger. Desperately.
"The man who didn't stop his car, the young man who voted for evil, the boy who told another to go away and be with his own kind? They were all the same person. The bitter truth is, which you should have realized by now. Yes my son, they were, you. They were all, you.
I cannot tell you why. I just opened your eyes and reminded you, that you _do have someone you can ask.."
Yourself.
Everything was gone.
His family, his home, his life and soon to follow, was his sanity.
With an agonizing scream he cried at the heavens, "WHY! why, why, why!"
The cracking and hissing of a still burning fire, all around him; of his burning home, of all the homes burning all around him, he could not understand. Why did they hate him so much, what had he done to deserve this, why was there so much hate, why was God, quiet.
He could hear a stick hit the pavement, rhythmically, as a figure formed in the smoke. As it got closer, the smoke parted and the wizened old face showed itself.
They sat down, and the old man began to speak.
"Let me tell you a story. A story of three men. The three men, whose direct actions, chained, led to this" said the old man.
The man listened, tired; not much else he could do.
"The civilian four seater plane carried a few hundred kgs of RDX. That was the plane that was crashed here. It was flown by a man, who once had a family, just like yours, who once had a life, not so different from yours. This man was simply out with them once, many years ago, in this same city, when some crazed men, abusing the name of power things like religion, mobbed his world, attacked them, and left them for dead.
This man, dragged his wife and child, bleeding, to the main road. Cars rushed by, he tried to stop them, frantically, yet, no one stopped. Desperate, he ran in the middle of the road, and managed to stop a car, being driven by a young man. The car was empty, it had enough space for all. This young man looked at the family, covered with blood; and all he could think off was, police cases, getting mobbed for helping people of this religion and sadly, of how he would get the blood off his seats.
The young man reversed the car, and sped off, leaving this man, of another religion, screaming after him, begging, as he watched his family die in front of him.."
There were tears in the old man's eyes as he concluded this story. He paused here, not for long, as he continued.
"There was another man, a thoroughly unscrupulous man. A man who wanted everything in this world, yet did not want to work for it. He turned to crime, was very successful at it, then he decided to aspire for something even more powerful, and more suited to his own evil nature; he went into politics.
Donning a garb of white cotton, with a visage with a smile pasted shamelessly across it, he went out, asking for, then demanding votes. Things did not work as well as he hoped. Then, he came up with a brilliant plan. Fear.
He figured out he needed to scare people into voting for him, because if he scared them enough, about their own lives, their own safety, there was no more powerful a motivation. So picking the religious conflict in the country, professing to the be savior of the majority religion.
A boy turned 18, he did not care enough to vote. He figured that they were all bastards anyway, why bother. Yet, the rhetoric of this unscrupulous, yet brilliant man, reached his ears; and he reconsidered. On election day, he cast the vote for him.
A week ago, this same politician got the news through his own intelligence sources of this attack. He, did, nothing.
'I will act,' he thought, 'but once the attack has happened. More votes that way.'"
The man looked on with shock. He wanted to go kill that politician, he wanted to blame him for everything, he wanted to..
Looking with a fierce gaze, the old man said, "He can't be blamed, that is his nature. As a snake cannot but strike at its prey, he can't stop himself either. Blame, the man who put him in a place of power in the first place."
Nodding, the man turned his anger. He just, listened further, quietly.
"There was a third man. This man, was an orphan and when he was just a boy, used to serve tea at a roadside restaurant. One fateful day, he heard this conversation between a group of people at a table.
'No, no, no; we cannot accept them. If we do, they will take us over, enslave us, destroy our identity!' said one.
'..and what are we, if not our religion! I say, we should just kill them all and get rid of the problem in the first place' added another.
'No, don't say that! We aren't murderers. We just need to keep them in their place. Our government might want to shove them down our throat, but I for one, will not even drink a sip of water at any of their houses, even if I am dying of thirst! We will fight for our own, we will..' and another continued, then another.
This boy, listened to all of this, with sadness in his eyes. He was an orphan, he had been told he was of that 'other' religion, yet, he didn't really care. He looked at the young boys sitting by their fathers at that table, and he wished he could just go and play with them, be accepted.
Later that evening, as he wandered the street, he met up with that same bunch of boys. They were playing. He smiled and went and joined them.
They started talking, and joking around, till one of them asked his name. As he told them, everyone got quiet. One asked,
'You're of that other religion, aren't you?'
This boy, shamefully, nodded.
'Then you can't play with us. Go away. Be with your kind' said this boy, and they all walked away, laughing, joking.
This boy, stood there alone on the street, thinking. He had fought hard to be accepted, but it seemed, that simply by having the name he had, he could not be. He even thought of changing it! It was just a name. Then, that boy's face came in front of his eyes, as he remembered the words, 'be with your own kind'; so he did.
This boy looked and looked, till he found some people, who specifically told him that they were his 'own' kind. They did things, that he was uncomfortable with, then as he got to know further, he was shocked by. Yet, he stuck by them, because he remembered, they were his, 'own' kind.
In some time, from becoming numb to their evil actions, this boy, became an embodiment of the very evil that he once shirked from. He was with his 'own' kind, and maybe, this is just what he was.
Last month, this same boy, who just wanted to be accepted, but was instead rejected, and told to be with his, 'own', kind; that same boy, ordered the attack, that today, has destroyed your family."
The man was now crying freely, with each sob, just one word, "why". Why, why and another why, was all that would escape from his lips. The old man looked with compassion at this man. He then quietly said, "I cannot tell you why. I only came to tell you this story, so you know who to ask why."
The man looked up, wiping the tears away, trying desperately, to replace it with anger. Desperately.
"The man who didn't stop his car, the young man who voted for evil, the boy who told another to go away and be with his own kind? They were all the same person. The bitter truth is, which you should have realized by now. Yes my son, they were, you. They were all, you.
I cannot tell you why. I just opened your eyes and reminded you, that you _do have someone you can ask.."
Yourself.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
suffer, My children..
Being God, was not easy.
There was so much to take care of, so much to organize; so much to handle.
Somewhere in a dark corner of the world, one of his children, sat in silence, holding on to what he had. Hoping, waiting, praying.
God looked down, in his almighty omniscience, saw the child. Something tinged, seeing his child's plight. Then he looked all around him. Wars, famine, disease, destruction; most of which he had caused, to make things, more interesting.
He had wished for people to become stronger, he had wished to put them through trials and have them survive, stronger.
Today, a lot of them didn't. Many succumbed, praying, pleading to him, which he, unable to handle all that he had unleashed, watched on; unmoving, unswayed, strong.
He looked again at that child of his, and many more like him. He took upon himself, the task to try to fix things, yet all he did, simply made things worse. What could he do? He was just, God.
With tears in his eyes, he looked down upon those children; with compassion in his soul, he reached out to them. He touched them on their young foreheads, and said,
"Suffer, my children, suffer.."
He thought it would make them stronger; he still held onto that archaic belief that putting his children in the worst of all circumstances, would help them surive into 'better' men and women.
"Suffer, my children, suffer.." he repeated.
As he watched, each and every one of them give up, and die, more tears filled his eyes; but he was, God, he could not help but be what he believed in. Yet another child cried to him, yet another prayed, yet another, screamed.
Faced with bigger problems, faced with catastrophies of his own creation, faced with his own belief of strength through trials and tribulations, faced with his own inadequacy; all he could say was,
"Suffer, my children, suffer.."
..and yet another of his children, gave up
Friday, January 23, 2009
Curse of Intellect, The
Nature, is the best architect, designer, creator, that could ever exist.
If you look at the most simple of the systems on this planet to the most complex, each piece plays it's part, to perfection. The cycle of life and death that every organism undergoes, holds purpose, a reason.
No, it was, till it's first and biggest mistake; the advent of intellect.
We, can think. We make choices that are not driven by pure animal instinct. Nothing else in nature does (yeah, except Dolphin's, but come on, does it take that much thought to jump and catch a fish?). Even the primates closest to man, act on simple instincts; hunger, discomfort, procreation, survival, pain, simply reacting, not acting - just as nature wanted them to.
Having an intellect, we brought in the concept of 'acting'; doing things for reasons other than sheer physical necessity. We plan, make strategies, manipulate; or on the other hand, have principles, have feelings, have honor; BOTH sides, lead to the same thing.
They lead us to trying to manipulate a system so inherently complex that nothing except nature can understand it, let alone control it.
Thoughts, will always be different among different people, simply, even there is one common truth that everyone is to arrive at, not everyone has the capacity to get there; everyone, yes, including our most brilliant minds, only traverse that ladder to a certain height. Furthermore, our thoughts are tainted. They're tainted by what we have seen, what was taught to us and often, what was done to us.
Hence, conflict. Conflict is the worst enemy of any system. Conflict is simply a waste of resources and energy, which otherwise would be used to continue the smooth running of the system.
Conflict, has caused wars. Conflict has caused cruelty. Conflict has caused pain.
A pain that is not physical; not inflicted on us by nature as an indication to get us back in the flow. It is a pain that has no reason to exist but our own thoughts, leading to a vast multitude of feelings; which destroy us from inside.
Conflict, between two nations.
Conflict, between two corporations.
Conflict, between two families.
Conflict, between two people.
Conflict, within one's self.
Maybe it's better not to think, since it 'causes so much grief.
It would be better for us all, I think.. fuck, no, I don't think. I mean, I think we shouldn't think, but I mean.. fuck.
Can we not? Is it even possible?
Can we escape this curse called..
..intellect?
If you look at the most simple of the systems on this planet to the most complex, each piece plays it's part, to perfection. The cycle of life and death that every organism undergoes, holds purpose, a reason.
No, it was, till it's first and biggest mistake; the advent of intellect.
We, can think. We make choices that are not driven by pure animal instinct. Nothing else in nature does (yeah, except Dolphin's, but come on, does it take that much thought to jump and catch a fish?). Even the primates closest to man, act on simple instincts; hunger, discomfort, procreation, survival, pain, simply reacting, not acting - just as nature wanted them to.
Having an intellect, we brought in the concept of 'acting'; doing things for reasons other than sheer physical necessity. We plan, make strategies, manipulate; or on the other hand, have principles, have feelings, have honor; BOTH sides, lead to the same thing.
They lead us to trying to manipulate a system so inherently complex that nothing except nature can understand it, let alone control it.
Thoughts, will always be different among different people, simply, even there is one common truth that everyone is to arrive at, not everyone has the capacity to get there; everyone, yes, including our most brilliant minds, only traverse that ladder to a certain height. Furthermore, our thoughts are tainted. They're tainted by what we have seen, what was taught to us and often, what was done to us.
Hence, conflict. Conflict is the worst enemy of any system. Conflict is simply a waste of resources and energy, which otherwise would be used to continue the smooth running of the system.
Conflict, has caused wars. Conflict has caused cruelty. Conflict has caused pain.
A pain that is not physical; not inflicted on us by nature as an indication to get us back in the flow. It is a pain that has no reason to exist but our own thoughts, leading to a vast multitude of feelings; which destroy us from inside.
Conflict, between two nations.
Conflict, between two corporations.
Conflict, between two families.
Conflict, between two people.
Conflict, within one's self.
Maybe it's better not to think, since it 'causes so much grief.
It would be better for us all, I think.. fuck, no, I don't think. I mean, I think we shouldn't think, but I mean.. fuck.
Can we not? Is it even possible?
Can we escape this curse called..
..intellect?
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
return, The
Plodding his feet in the mud, his shoes torn, spirit broken; there was only one thing he could return to.
The one thing that gave him more comfort than even, music, or, love.
The one thing that he could be himself with, not giving a damn about the rest of this world. This, ugly, world.
He dug up all that he had buried away, at least the most beautiful parts; and he again lay down in the arms of that ineffable mistress, that never let him down..
..writing
The one thing that gave him more comfort than even, music, or, love.
The one thing that he could be himself with, not giving a damn about the rest of this world. This, ugly, world.
He dug up all that he had buried away, at least the most beautiful parts; and he again lay down in the arms of that ineffable mistress, that never let him down..
..writing
final fight, The
He could overcome any obstacle, he could face any danger, he could overcome any difficulty that a lesser man would succumb to..
..till today.
As he faced his nemesis, looked him square in the eye; for the first time, he felt powerless.
He wanted to punch that bastard in the face. He did, again and again.
His nemesis simply got back up again, every time. He smiled, an evil, yet in a way, sweet smile, and said,
"Come to me my child. I know you are tired. In my arms, you can rest, you can finally be at peace.."
He fell on his knees, and a solitary tear fell from his worn out eyes. The battle had been long and truly, he _was, tired.
He recounted the years that he had struggled. Given up so much, done everything he could, yet this moment, it was undeniable.
He wanted to simply give in. Let his nemesis take him in his arms and finally take away the pain. The pain of the struggle, the pain of loss, the pain of insecurity, the pain of inadequacy, the pain of, failure.
As he knelt down, his nemesis walked to him and put his hands on his head. Ah, the beautiful relief of, numbness, of not feeling anything anymore. It was so, delicious, tempting.
Swinging back, with a roar, the lion got up and bared his teeth. With a vengeance, driven by that pain, that unfair reality called life, the defiance to the 'written', he struck.
The blow was hard, his nemesis fell; then slowly, got back up again.
"You CANNOT escape me fool, you might as well embrace me now than suffer all that you would need to in this life!" screamed his nemesis.
Eyes burning with passion, with the hope given to them by the ones that he loved, that he needed, those that needed him, with a burning vengeance of a man who would NOT give up, he said,
"I will meet you one day and that shall be my day of, rest; but today, is not that day. Till I need to be on this earth, till I am needed here, you can try as you will; you may even succeed, but I shall fight you, till my last breath.."
His nemesis smirked and said,
"You will one day have to find rest in these arms, Son. You might as well now.."
There was only one more thing he could say, so he did, before his impending final fight..
"Every Man dies, it just matters, how and when.."
..till today.
As he faced his nemesis, looked him square in the eye; for the first time, he felt powerless.
He wanted to punch that bastard in the face. He did, again and again.
His nemesis simply got back up again, every time. He smiled, an evil, yet in a way, sweet smile, and said,
"Come to me my child. I know you are tired. In my arms, you can rest, you can finally be at peace.."
He fell on his knees, and a solitary tear fell from his worn out eyes. The battle had been long and truly, he _was, tired.
He recounted the years that he had struggled. Given up so much, done everything he could, yet this moment, it was undeniable.
He wanted to simply give in. Let his nemesis take him in his arms and finally take away the pain. The pain of the struggle, the pain of loss, the pain of insecurity, the pain of inadequacy, the pain of, failure.
As he knelt down, his nemesis walked to him and put his hands on his head. Ah, the beautiful relief of, numbness, of not feeling anything anymore. It was so, delicious, tempting.
Swinging back, with a roar, the lion got up and bared his teeth. With a vengeance, driven by that pain, that unfair reality called life, the defiance to the 'written', he struck.
The blow was hard, his nemesis fell; then slowly, got back up again.
"You CANNOT escape me fool, you might as well embrace me now than suffer all that you would need to in this life!" screamed his nemesis.
Eyes burning with passion, with the hope given to them by the ones that he loved, that he needed, those that needed him, with a burning vengeance of a man who would NOT give up, he said,
"I will meet you one day and that shall be my day of, rest; but today, is not that day. Till I need to be on this earth, till I am needed here, you can try as you will; you may even succeed, but I shall fight you, till my last breath.."
His nemesis smirked and said,
"You will one day have to find rest in these arms, Son. You might as well now.."
There was only one more thing he could say, so he did, before his impending final fight..
"Every Man dies, it just matters, how and when.."
dust, The
A little child sat in the lawn, late at night, looking at the stars.
Worried, his mother came out looking for him.
"What are you doing here baby?" she asked him.
"Mummy, I just read in the encyclopedia, that the stars are just like our Sun, and they have planets around them, and I was thinking, can I ever go to any of them and see what they are like?" he replied.
She smiled. Sometimes she wished she had paid a little more attention in Science rather than totally concentrating on history and geography. Would've come in use now.
"Well, I am not sure if this answers your question, but someone once told me, always aim for the stars", she said.
"You may not get there, but at least you won't be left biting the dust"
The child took this line into his heart, and never forgot it.
---
His head throbbing, veins pulsing with blood gushing through them like they were the Alaska Oil Pipeline, sweat forming on his brow, he waited.
He wanted to run away from her, he wanted to leave her and not take a single chance. She was too amazing to be true. She was, to him, unachievable, impossible; just like the stars.
She walked in, with tears in her eyes.
"Why, why are you doing this? Why can't you just let us be happy? EITHER of us!" she cried.
"Because.." and with that, he made his decision.
They were together for 3 more years. When she left him, he nearly died. At least, some part of him, did.
---
"So Son, what'll it be? A stable job, here, with us? Or a chance with some new unknown venture, which may never even see year 2" said the manager, from that big, known company.
The pain of his last risk still lingered, slight, but there.
He didn't risk it again.
Five years later, he did the calculations. The new unknown venture, his shares in it, without a single increase, a sum of 16 million rupees.
Ironically, he did the calculation, as he debated on which friend to call and borrow 4000 rupees from to survive till the end of the month.
---
"There is no risk. Imagine yourself in a year from now. The operation works for everyone! I mean, our failure rates are what, .1%? Yes of course, there is risk, which surgery doesn't? What? Reversed? Sure, of course it can."
He took the risk. One year later.
"Well, I did tell you that it can be reversed, but well, actually, see, I have never done it. Oh, there really has never been any need!"
Finally,
"Oh, he did the surgery? Well, I have reversed it. But well, let me put it this way, it's 50/50. You can either get better, or worse. That's just how it is."
What does he do? He takes the risk. Why?
---
"Mummy, why did this happen to me? I've followed the road less travelled. I've taken chances; but, I've tried to be a good person. Why is my life at an end?"
"What has to happen, happens. We do not control anything, no matter however much we believe we do."
Silence.
"The illusion of control. Yes, I wrote about that once. Of course, like everything else, I threw it away"
She looked at him, and pursed her lips.
"You know mummy, I would like to say, that if I could live my life all over again, I'd have done the same things; but seeing where things are now, I am not sure if I honestly can. I can say one thing though.."
"Which is?" she asked, her eyes looking hopeful.
"I've lived my life, the way I wanted to live it; not the way that everyone told me to"
Time to taste the dust.
It'll be an experience.
Worried, his mother came out looking for him.
"What are you doing here baby?" she asked him.
"Mummy, I just read in the encyclopedia, that the stars are just like our Sun, and they have planets around them, and I was thinking, can I ever go to any of them and see what they are like?" he replied.
She smiled. Sometimes she wished she had paid a little more attention in Science rather than totally concentrating on history and geography. Would've come in use now.
"Well, I am not sure if this answers your question, but someone once told me, always aim for the stars", she said.
"You may not get there, but at least you won't be left biting the dust"
The child took this line into his heart, and never forgot it.
---
His head throbbing, veins pulsing with blood gushing through them like they were the Alaska Oil Pipeline, sweat forming on his brow, he waited.
He wanted to run away from her, he wanted to leave her and not take a single chance. She was too amazing to be true. She was, to him, unachievable, impossible; just like the stars.
She walked in, with tears in her eyes.
"Why, why are you doing this? Why can't you just let us be happy? EITHER of us!" she cried.
"Because.." and with that, he made his decision.
They were together for 3 more years. When she left him, he nearly died. At least, some part of him, did.
---
"So Son, what'll it be? A stable job, here, with us? Or a chance with some new unknown venture, which may never even see year 2" said the manager, from that big, known company.
The pain of his last risk still lingered, slight, but there.
He didn't risk it again.
Five years later, he did the calculations. The new unknown venture, his shares in it, without a single increase, a sum of 16 million rupees.
Ironically, he did the calculation, as he debated on which friend to call and borrow 4000 rupees from to survive till the end of the month.
---
"There is no risk. Imagine yourself in a year from now. The operation works for everyone! I mean, our failure rates are what, .1%? Yes of course, there is risk, which surgery doesn't? What? Reversed? Sure, of course it can."
He took the risk. One year later.
"Well, I did tell you that it can be reversed, but well, actually, see, I have never done it. Oh, there really has never been any need!"
Finally,
"Oh, he did the surgery? Well, I have reversed it. But well, let me put it this way, it's 50/50. You can either get better, or worse. That's just how it is."
What does he do? He takes the risk. Why?
---
"Mummy, why did this happen to me? I've followed the road less travelled. I've taken chances; but, I've tried to be a good person. Why is my life at an end?"
"What has to happen, happens. We do not control anything, no matter however much we believe we do."
Silence.
"The illusion of control. Yes, I wrote about that once. Of course, like everything else, I threw it away"
She looked at him, and pursed her lips.
"You know mummy, I would like to say, that if I could live my life all over again, I'd have done the same things; but seeing where things are now, I am not sure if I honestly can. I can say one thing though.."
"Which is?" she asked, her eyes looking hopeful.
"I've lived my life, the way I wanted to live it; not the way that everyone told me to"
Time to taste the dust.
It'll be an experience.
Monday, January 19, 2009
My turn..
"No, what you have are bullets, and the hope that when your guns are empty I'm no longer be standing, because if I am you'll all be dead before you've reloaded.
" -V, from V for Vendetta
Bullet after bullet hit him, tens, maybe hundreds, yet, he remained standing.
Nothing kept him alive, but an idea. That was all, an idea.
The bullets stopped coming. Everyone in this world, unloaded all they had on him, yet, he remained standing.
Then with the swiftness of a hawk after a prize, with the swiftness of a man who has only so much time, with the swiftness of knowing that the next month, the next day, the next second, all he may be left with was a cold, dark, emptiness, he acted.
Swinging the knives, cutting down the evil in the world, with oh, so short a time, he swept through it all.
"Beneath this mask there is more than flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea, Mr. Creedy, and ideas are bulletproof" -V
An idea, is bulletproof.
"Voilà ! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V."
..for Vendetta.
Not for a person, not for a people, but, for, an Idea..
..when it is an idea that you defend, nothing can stop you; not bullets, not people, not death.
The idea, lives on, with or without you..
" -V, from V for Vendetta
Bullet after bullet hit him, tens, maybe hundreds, yet, he remained standing.
Nothing kept him alive, but an idea. That was all, an idea.
The bullets stopped coming. Everyone in this world, unloaded all they had on him, yet, he remained standing.
Then with the swiftness of a hawk after a prize, with the swiftness of a man who has only so much time, with the swiftness of knowing that the next month, the next day, the next second, all he may be left with was a cold, dark, emptiness, he acted.
Swinging the knives, cutting down the evil in the world, with oh, so short a time, he swept through it all.
"Beneath this mask there is more than flesh. Beneath this mask there is an idea, Mr. Creedy, and ideas are bulletproof" -V
An idea, is bulletproof.
"Voilà ! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V."
..for Vendetta.
Not for a person, not for a people, but, for, an Idea..
..when it is an idea that you defend, nothing can stop you; not bullets, not people, not death.
The idea, lives on, with or without you..
floor, The
Head down, drunk, he looked at the floor. It was not a perfect floor. It was, broken in places, a lot of people had walked over that floor. He thought though, this floor, has supported a lot of people. It has been abused, used and at times, just left alone. Just like he was now.
She was there, laughing, smiling, looking so amazingly beautiful. He looked at her, in her short sexy skirt, her hair flowing all about, since he of course, as usual, pulled her clutcher out of them. Moving with a grace so natural, yet so, casual. Yet, all he could see, were her eyes.
She was his best friend, she was, his closest confidant, she was someone that he could trust himself with. Tonight, she was his girl.
His thoughts were muddled. He could not understand why he was there, sitting alone, when he should have been at her side, laughing with her, holding her, feeling.. Here he sat, because of his own shame, because of his own fault, because, he was flawed.
Being alone has this effect on people. They start to wonder, why they are alone; they are because of themselves, but since it is uncomfortable, they start to play the blame game.
"I am sitting here alone, because she would rather leave me here in my misery, than be with the person she claims holds so much value for her!"
As he looked down on the floor, the scarred floor, with the cracks, the lines, he realized that in a way, that floor, was beautiful. It, told a story. It was.. as he looked up, she was standing there.
"Why are you here sweetheart??"
They sat there, he talked about why. There were flaws in him, lines, cracks, problems.
She told him that it would be okay. She saw all of it, still, wanted to be with him. She saw in him, in those lines and cracks, more than the sum of all the parts. She saw in him, what she had always wanted.
--------
A week later he walked by the same floor and sat at the same spot. Something had changed. There were no cracks, no lines. It still was the same floor, but, someone had taken the effort, to work through all those lines, cracks, flaws, and make it, better.
He thought of her. He thought of how she felt in his arms, how she smelled of perfume and whiskey, how soft and warm she was, of how soft and warm she made him feel.
He remembered how she would always feel. She would always be in his memories. He would always remember all that she was to him. Even after, she left him. Because of all those lines, cracks and flaws. Then he looked down at the floor again. He couldn't see any of them. Wait, they were fixed, then?
As he walked away, he looked back again at that same floor.
No matter how perfect some things are, after their purpose is done, they will always, just be left, alone.
She was there, laughing, smiling, looking so amazingly beautiful. He looked at her, in her short sexy skirt, her hair flowing all about, since he of course, as usual, pulled her clutcher out of them. Moving with a grace so natural, yet so, casual. Yet, all he could see, were her eyes.
She was his best friend, she was, his closest confidant, she was someone that he could trust himself with. Tonight, she was his girl.
His thoughts were muddled. He could not understand why he was there, sitting alone, when he should have been at her side, laughing with her, holding her, feeling.. Here he sat, because of his own shame, because of his own fault, because, he was flawed.
Being alone has this effect on people. They start to wonder, why they are alone; they are because of themselves, but since it is uncomfortable, they start to play the blame game.
"I am sitting here alone, because she would rather leave me here in my misery, than be with the person she claims holds so much value for her!"
As he looked down on the floor, the scarred floor, with the cracks, the lines, he realized that in a way, that floor, was beautiful. It, told a story. It was.. as he looked up, she was standing there.
"Why are you here sweetheart??"
They sat there, he talked about why. There were flaws in him, lines, cracks, problems.
She told him that it would be okay. She saw all of it, still, wanted to be with him. She saw in him, in those lines and cracks, more than the sum of all the parts. She saw in him, what she had always wanted.
--------
A week later he walked by the same floor and sat at the same spot. Something had changed. There were no cracks, no lines. It still was the same floor, but, someone had taken the effort, to work through all those lines, cracks, flaws, and make it, better.
He thought of her. He thought of how she felt in his arms, how she smelled of perfume and whiskey, how soft and warm she was, of how soft and warm she made him feel.
He remembered how she would always feel. She would always be in his memories. He would always remember all that she was to him. Even after, she left him. Because of all those lines, cracks and flaws. Then he looked down at the floor again. He couldn't see any of them. Wait, they were fixed, then?
As he walked away, he looked back again at that same floor.
No matter how perfect some things are, after their purpose is done, they will always, just be left, alone.
Women..
There is something, magical, about this mysterious, warm, and loving, 'species' of humankind.
I call them that, because that's what they are. There are more than a gender, they are literally a species apart from us, men.
Women. I can speak with some authority on the subject, so I'd like to put down some points about what I feel they are, and what they are capable of;
Yet, at the same time;
What is worse than anything else? Is,
Unfortunately or fortunately, I don't know the difference here anymore,
Because, they are the women in your life. Mysterious, warm, inexplicable, sweet, illogical, accepting, frightening, comforting and most of all,
..loving
I call them that, because that's what they are. There are more than a gender, they are literally a species apart from us, men.
Women. I can speak with some authority on the subject, so I'd like to put down some points about what I feel they are, and what they are capable of;
- Women, the ones in your life that are important to you, are beautiful
- They can make you feel like you are the happiest person alive
- They can make you want to become a better man, just for them
- They can make you smile, even when they are nowhere around, simply because they exist
- They can nurture you, take care of you, make you feel like you are, more than just 'normal'
- They can keep you up at nights, but leave each night sweet, simple, magical
Yet, at the same time;
- They can make you feel like killing someone
- They can make you feel like this life is useless without them, that one person
- They can make you completely let go of logic, and do things you would never have expect a person with a shred of sanity left, do
- They can destroy you, they can, without touching you, maul you in ways that your worst enemy couldn't
- They can, even though they are not there anymore, in fact, simply because they are not there anymore, feel like nothing in this world makes sense, and everything you could do, is pointless
What is worse than anything else? Is,
- They can make you cry
Unfortunately or fortunately, I don't know the difference here anymore,
- Not let that one cliche matter, and yet, let your feelings out..
Because, they are the women in your life. Mysterious, warm, inexplicable, sweet, illogical, accepting, frightening, comforting and most of all,
..loving
Modern Love Story - I, The
I am tired of all this serious, end of the world, grown up talk. Let's have some fun!
I wrote this a while ago for someone who I almost got married to! Geez, that was a close call. Well, it's complicated. I didn't actually 'write' it. See, I used to make up stories on the fly and tell them to her once in a while when she really wanted to hear one, so err, I guess I 'told' her this story, would be the appropriate term.
[Yes, I did add those last few sentences 'just' to show off.
Yes, I am an arrogant jackass. Live with it.]
At least something (good I hope?) came out of it.
This.
---
Let's meet our first character, Vineeta, or better known as 'Vinny'. Now Vinny, she was a total tomboy. Let me stop right here and make it clear, she was not a 'boy', she was a 'tomboy'. I am sure she would find it extremely irritating, for reasons which will get extremely clear by the end of this story, if someone confused two (for her, 'again!'). i.e., she was a girl, who liked activities that boys d... wait, wtf, go look up a damn dictionary!
Whew, so moving right along; Rohit, was a 'real' boy. Yeah, the ones who came with those extra anatomical accessories tha.. yeah alright, you get the idea.
So Vineeta lived her life as a tomboy, enjoying every minute of it, staying away from dolls, makeup and most importantly, a girl's biggest weakness, boys!
So one day Vineeta and Rohit, who both happened to be around the same age, err, no wait, Vineeta was a month younger (right, come on, I'm traditional!). Right, so they decided to do something with their lives and well, college seemed like a good place to start. So the two of them, without any collusion or ulterior motive (well, they kinda didn't even know of each other's existence then. Oh wait, I forgot to mention that? Ooops!), enrolled in the same college and guess what, in the same degree..
..so skipping past the boring parts of every love story, or whatever this is, they met, started spending time with each other, liked each other a lot and well became fast friends, well on their way of eventually letting their hormones take over and believing that they were in love!
No, they weren't there yet, they were on their 'way'. This is where our story starts; I'll let Vinny take over here, since she sort of knows this part best (of course the gun she has to my head helps, but hey, tomb..)
..give me the damn keyboard! Whew..
So guys, I am Vinny, also, unfortunately, known as 'Vineeta'. See I am this tomboy of sorts and, oh wait, damn it, how silly of me. Of course, he's introduced me already!
So well, there was this one time, when Rohit I had just met a few months ago, when a friend of mine, who happened to be a girl (yes, I had friends who were girls! Yes, there was more than one! oh fine, using 'friends' loosely), came to me with tears in her eyes. Let's call her, err, to keep her identity safe, I'll call her.. umm, yeah! Taveena Tathor.. there, no one can guess her real name now!
Right, so she came to me crying. Apparently her boyfriend had dumped her.
"..I feel so horrible Vinny! This boy, he was so cute and so charming and so, so.." she said.
"Dumb?" I asked, hopefully.
"Well, no, not really. I mean, he's not terribly bright but he was so adorably hot!" she concluded.
Supressing the urge to wince, I listened.
"But see, he was so nice and he said we were going to be together forever and well, then he told the same thing to Sita, and the same thing to Nisha and well, the same thing to Farah and.." she said.
"Fine, fine, okay! I get the idea," I said. For the life of me, I couldn't really get girls like Rave...err, Taveena. I mean, come on, if a girl is with a guy because of how many muscles rippled on his abs every time he said "I love you", when he was in bed her, 15 minutes after they had first met? I really couldn't have that much sympathy.
"I don't know what to do Vinny! I feel so miserable!" she cried out.
I thought for a bit, and then, made one of the first few big blunders of my life.
"Tell me something Rav..Taveena", I said (what? I was just quoting! Mistakes happen!).
She looked up at me with such tearful eyes, that I almost dropped the endeavor. Still, giving 'humanity' a last chance, I continued.
"Have you ever thought about the fact, that maybe, you don't need a boy in your life?" I asked.
She looked positively bewildered.
"I mean, have you thought that you yourself can satisfy your own needs as a woman, without having to use a boy as a crutch?" I continued, hope hanging by threads.
"Umm, I have actually, and I do sometimes. Uhh.. I just don't really talk about such things though," she said, cautiously.
"There! That is what is wrong with women today. We are women, but that doesn't mean that we 'need' boys! Why is it that we throw ourselves at the mercy of boys and live with whatever damage it does to our persona?!What is it that boys can give us that we cannot get ourselves?" I said, the feminist in my thoroughly charged.
She looked at me carefully, and said,
"Umm, babies?"
"Oh pish posh! So then all men are really good for is what? A few sperm here and there? I tell you, we don't need men. We can make sure that we meet each other's needs, you and me. Other than that? Men are just glorified sperm banks! We can do for each other what men do for us! I tell you, we need to remove this dependence on men and start using each other instead!" I said triumphantly! There, that would get her convinced. The stupid girl, didn't she realize that men were exploiting her dependence on them to get her into bed and just use and throw her? Geez.
This is when, her tears stopped, she again, carefully got up, and backed away towards the door.
"Uhh, well, that is right Vinny. You are completely right but you see, uhh, I really am not into all that. I mean I totally respect your feeling such things! I mean, it is completely normal! But uhh, anyway, so I'll talk to you later?" she said and was out the door faster than a speeding bullet on cocaine!
I must admit. I was fairly confused at that point. Though, till then I had realized that I would never understand girls like Rav..Nav.. GOD! I mean Taveena anyway!
This is where I take over again and let Vineeta go cool off for a while. She tends to get a bit, err, agitated every time she really tells that story. Oh you'll understand why, don't worry. All in good time son.
Next, we shall hear from Rohit; who is impatiently waiting to take over. Though he should understand that as the narrator, I should be given some page time also. Of course both of the.. Fine, fine, here, it's all yours!
Whew, this guy is more trouble than he's worth! I told Vinny, we didn't really need a narrator but you know her, she.. Right, yeah, wait I am supposed to tell you my part of the story! Gotcha, so, Hi, I'm Rohit, you already have my introduction and here's what happened..
[..to be continued]
----
Of course, since I did already 'tell' the story before, I do 'know' it but for good measure, I did write it all down. I am just posting it in parts to be a mean jackass (hey, I am adding to my "Top 10 Types of Jackass I am" collection!).
Believe me.
I wrote this a while ago for someone who I almost got married to! Geez, that was a close call. Well, it's complicated. I didn't actually 'write' it. See, I used to make up stories on the fly and tell them to her once in a while when she really wanted to hear one, so err, I guess I 'told' her this story, would be the appropriate term.
[Yes, I did add those last few sentences 'just' to show off.
Yes, I am an arrogant jackass. Live with it.]
At least something (good I hope?) came out of it.
This.
---
Let's meet our first character, Vineeta, or better known as 'Vinny'. Now Vinny, she was a total tomboy. Let me stop right here and make it clear, she was not a 'boy', she was a 'tomboy'. I am sure she would find it extremely irritating, for reasons which will get extremely clear by the end of this story, if someone confused two (for her, 'again!'). i.e., she was a girl, who liked activities that boys d... wait, wtf, go look up a damn dictionary!
Whew, so moving right along; Rohit, was a 'real' boy. Yeah, the ones who came with those extra anatomical accessories tha.. yeah alright, you get the idea.
So Vineeta lived her life as a tomboy, enjoying every minute of it, staying away from dolls, makeup and most importantly, a girl's biggest weakness, boys!
So one day Vineeta and Rohit, who both happened to be around the same age, err, no wait, Vineeta was a month younger (right, come on, I'm traditional!). Right, so they decided to do something with their lives and well, college seemed like a good place to start. So the two of them, without any collusion or ulterior motive (well, they kinda didn't even know of each other's existence then. Oh wait, I forgot to mention that? Ooops!), enrolled in the same college and guess what, in the same degree..
..so skipping past the boring parts of every love story, or whatever this is, they met, started spending time with each other, liked each other a lot and well became fast friends, well on their way of eventually letting their hormones take over and believing that they were in love!
No, they weren't there yet, they were on their 'way'. This is where our story starts; I'll let Vinny take over here, since she sort of knows this part best (of course the gun she has to my head helps, but hey, tomb..)
..give me the damn keyboard! Whew..
So guys, I am Vinny, also, unfortunately, known as 'Vineeta'. See I am this tomboy of sorts and, oh wait, damn it, how silly of me. Of course, he's introduced me already!
So well, there was this one time, when Rohit I had just met a few months ago, when a friend of mine, who happened to be a girl (yes, I had friends who were girls! Yes, there was more than one! oh fine, using 'friends' loosely), came to me with tears in her eyes. Let's call her, err, to keep her identity safe, I'll call her.. umm, yeah! Taveena Tathor.. there, no one can guess her real name now!
Right, so she came to me crying. Apparently her boyfriend had dumped her.
"..I feel so horrible Vinny! This boy, he was so cute and so charming and so, so.." she said.
"Dumb?" I asked, hopefully.
"Well, no, not really. I mean, he's not terribly bright but he was so adorably hot!" she concluded.
Supressing the urge to wince, I listened.
"But see, he was so nice and he said we were going to be together forever and well, then he told the same thing to Sita, and the same thing to Nisha and well, the same thing to Farah and.." she said.
"Fine, fine, okay! I get the idea," I said. For the life of me, I couldn't really get girls like Rave...err, Taveena. I mean, come on, if a girl is with a guy because of how many muscles rippled on his abs every time he said "I love you", when he was in bed her, 15 minutes after they had first met? I really couldn't have that much sympathy.
"I don't know what to do Vinny! I feel so miserable!" she cried out.
I thought for a bit, and then, made one of the first few big blunders of my life.
"Tell me something Rav..Taveena", I said (what? I was just quoting! Mistakes happen!).
She looked up at me with such tearful eyes, that I almost dropped the endeavor. Still, giving 'humanity' a last chance, I continued.
"Have you ever thought about the fact, that maybe, you don't need a boy in your life?" I asked.
She looked positively bewildered.
"I mean, have you thought that you yourself can satisfy your own needs as a woman, without having to use a boy as a crutch?" I continued, hope hanging by threads.
"Umm, I have actually, and I do sometimes. Uhh.. I just don't really talk about such things though," she said, cautiously.
"There! That is what is wrong with women today. We are women, but that doesn't mean that we 'need' boys! Why is it that we throw ourselves at the mercy of boys and live with whatever damage it does to our persona?!What is it that boys can give us that we cannot get ourselves?" I said, the feminist in my thoroughly charged.
She looked at me carefully, and said,
"Umm, babies?"
"Oh pish posh! So then all men are really good for is what? A few sperm here and there? I tell you, we don't need men. We can make sure that we meet each other's needs, you and me. Other than that? Men are just glorified sperm banks! We can do for each other what men do for us! I tell you, we need to remove this dependence on men and start using each other instead!" I said triumphantly! There, that would get her convinced. The stupid girl, didn't she realize that men were exploiting her dependence on them to get her into bed and just use and throw her? Geez.
This is when, her tears stopped, she again, carefully got up, and backed away towards the door.
"Uhh, well, that is right Vinny. You are completely right but you see, uhh, I really am not into all that. I mean I totally respect your feeling such things! I mean, it is completely normal! But uhh, anyway, so I'll talk to you later?" she said and was out the door faster than a speeding bullet on cocaine!
I must admit. I was fairly confused at that point. Though, till then I had realized that I would never understand girls like Rav..Nav.. GOD! I mean Taveena anyway!
This is where I take over again and let Vineeta go cool off for a while. She tends to get a bit, err, agitated every time she really tells that story. Oh you'll understand why, don't worry. All in good time son.
Next, we shall hear from Rohit; who is impatiently waiting to take over. Though he should understand that as the narrator, I should be given some page time also. Of course both of the.. Fine, fine, here, it's all yours!
Whew, this guy is more trouble than he's worth! I told Vinny, we didn't really need a narrator but you know her, she.. Right, yeah, wait I am supposed to tell you my part of the story! Gotcha, so, Hi, I'm Rohit, you already have my introduction and here's what happened..
[..to be continued]
----
Of course, since I did already 'tell' the story before, I do 'know' it but for good measure, I did write it all down. I am just posting it in parts to be a mean jackass (hey, I am adding to my "Top 10 Types of Jackass I am" collection!).
Believe me.
Modern Love Story - II, The
[..continued. Yes, finally! Woo hoo! Now calm down and sit back down in that chair]
While the world might have thought that Vinny and I were well along our way to falling in love, little did they know, that going against my underachiever secret identity, I had already almost taken that bold step!
I realized how much I was into her this one time when me and my friends were having a 'daaru session'. A few shots down of the cheap 80 rupee whiskey and we were all opening up our hearts to each other.
"Yaar, you don't understand how much I love Rav..", err wait, umm Vinny, am I supposed to call her Taveena too? Yeah? Got it.
"..Taveena. She is so fantastically lovely. Her eyes are like a lake in which I want to dive into and never come out!" said Anoop. Sadly, the poor kid had, err, let's just say not so attractive feature (well in guys I've been told it isn't!). See, to put it mildly, if Anoop ever looked at a girl straight in her eyes, and said "Darling, I love you", the only thing she could really say was,
"Ummm, did you say that to me? Or to the girl behind me?"
Hey, it's my story! I am allowed to be mean.
"Dude, I so understand your position. I feel the same way about Sneha dude. She has this thing dude! You know, that thing.." said Sujay.
"..you mean? A Vagina?" I helpfully completed for him.
"Geez! Rohit, what kind of person do you think I am?" he said indignantly.
"Cheap, horny and sleazy?" I said. Hey, come on, I was drunk.
For a second he looked taken aback. Then almost instantly, he burst out in a giggle (yes, guys can do that. Enough whiskey? You could have Ratan Tata giving Paris Hilton competition!)
"Hehehehe. You know Rohit. You know me so well! You are my best friend yaar," he said.
"But dude, what's your scene man?" asked Anoop, with grave concern in his eyes for me. Well, at least it looked like the look was for me. It could be Sujay also, I really couldn't be sure.
"Well, you know. I sorta well, okay, I really like Vinny dude," I said. There, I had finally said it. It was out in the open.
So, I think the best way to put this is; their reaction wasn't quite what I expected.
Anoop looked at me with his mouth dropped open. Sujay sorta looked away.
"Umm Guys? What's going on. Did I say something wrong?" I asked.
"Err, no. Not really," said Sujay.
"No come on, tell me. What's up?" I asked, curious as hell.
After uneasy glances at Anoop, Sujay spoke again.
"Well dude, I'd just say that don't have too much hope," he said.
"Uh, okay. Any particular reason?" I asked. I mean come on, everyone knew that we were great friends and well, if I didn't have a chance with her, seriously, no one did!
"Well, let's just say that.. uhh.. dude, she doesn't really like 'boys'," he stammered out.
"Of course she doesn't. But she likes me. I can also understand, I mean come on, the boys in our college, it's not like they are shining examples of humanity," I said, going back to my drink. This was really silly. Geez.
"No dude, you don't get this. She doesn't _like_ boys. As in, she thinks that _girls_ can 'satisfy' each other without needing boys," said Sujay, with a lot of emphasis on several key words.
The glass stopped half way to my second sip.
"You mean.." I said, afraid to complete the sentence.
"Yeah dude, Taveena told me. She err, I mean she's a nice girl and all. I mean really hot too, you know with that waist and that as.." said Sujay, stopping right there at my warning gaze.
"I mean Rohit, it's not you or anything. I think this problem was with her before she came to college! I mean come on, her first day itself? She really doesn't talk to any boys. She acts like a complete guy herself! Normal girls don't do that?" said Anoop.
That was it. I was not going to stand for this anymore. This was all crap. What bullshit, Vinny was just as straight as any other girl on campus and I knew it because..
..that is where I got 'slightly' stumped. Anyway, I got all the info from the guys and decided to get some information from her about it. I mean of course, I couldn't just ask her but I could always get her to tell me in other ways.
So the next day, Vinny and I met.
No, give it back! It's my turn. I AM THE NARRATOR and this is where _I_ NARRATE!
Geez! Whew, these kids. So, yes, finally. I am sure you guys missed me. See, I always say, a narrator can tell the story with a.. oh fine! I'll tell you the story! Impatient kids!
So Rohit went to meet Vinny in the park the next day. Vinny was all cheerful and happy to see Rohit, as she usually was, and they started talking. Soon, getting impatient, Rohit breached the subject, coming in as sideways as he could.
"Uhh so Vinny, I wanted to ask you something," said Rohit.
"Sure, shoot." said Vinny.
"So Vinny, Taveena was telling some people, that you really don't think that girls need boys for their, err, needs?" said Rohit.
"Oh of course. I mean come on Rohit, do you really think that a woman can't do without a guy?" asked Vinny, poking Rohit with her elbow. Yes, I know, it is unusual, but 'tomboy'? Did you guys even bother opening the dictionary? Yes, they do such things with other guys.
"Well, uhh, I understand, I guess," said Rohit, his spirits suddenly dropping.
"Why do you ask? Is there a girl out there that you'd like 'needing' you? Eh?" asked Vinny, with her typical wink. Inside, her heart was pounding. She was so hoping that the answer would either be yes and the girl be her. How do I know that? Well because she told me! Now shut up and read the story. Geez, didn't someone tell you? The audience is supposed to 'receive', not participate! What do you think this is? The internet?
"Uhh, no not really. Well, I did I mean but, it won't really work out," he said, looking straight into the ground.
Vinny was confused for a second. She didn't quite know what to say. She really just couldn't read him right now as she usually did.
"Why? I mean, who is this girl? And why wouldn't she like you? Does she know that you like her?" she asked.
"Well, let us just say that, well, we have similar tastes," he said.
"Isn't that a good thing?" she asked, even more bewildered.
Rohit grimaced.
"Well, let's just say, that I stumbled across a case in which, it really is not," he said.
After that Rohit became very reticent and despite Vinny's efforts to cheer him up, at best she'd just get a weak smile out of him. Soon it was late and both of them went off to their respective hostels.
So again, skipping past another set of boring parts that I am sure you don't really want to know about (I mean, really, they have nothing to do with the story), let's fast forward two and a half years.
Rohit and Vinny were now in their final year, and this is where we will take up the narrative, next time!
[..ofcourse to be continued, you dolt!]
While the world might have thought that Vinny and I were well along our way to falling in love, little did they know, that going against my underachiever secret identity, I had already almost taken that bold step!
I realized how much I was into her this one time when me and my friends were having a 'daaru session'. A few shots down of the cheap 80 rupee whiskey and we were all opening up our hearts to each other.
"Yaar, you don't understand how much I love Rav..", err wait, umm Vinny, am I supposed to call her Taveena too? Yeah? Got it.
"..Taveena. She is so fantastically lovely. Her eyes are like a lake in which I want to dive into and never come out!" said Anoop. Sadly, the poor kid had, err, let's just say not so attractive feature (well in guys I've been told it isn't!). See, to put it mildly, if Anoop ever looked at a girl straight in her eyes, and said "Darling, I love you", the only thing she could really say was,
"Ummm, did you say that to me? Or to the girl behind me?"
Hey, it's my story! I am allowed to be mean.
"Dude, I so understand your position. I feel the same way about Sneha dude. She has this thing dude! You know, that thing.." said Sujay.
"..you mean? A Vagina?" I helpfully completed for him.
"Geez! Rohit, what kind of person do you think I am?" he said indignantly.
"Cheap, horny and sleazy?" I said. Hey, come on, I was drunk.
For a second he looked taken aback. Then almost instantly, he burst out in a giggle (yes, guys can do that. Enough whiskey? You could have Ratan Tata giving Paris Hilton competition!)
"Hehehehe. You know Rohit. You know me so well! You are my best friend yaar," he said.
"But dude, what's your scene man?" asked Anoop, with grave concern in his eyes for me. Well, at least it looked like the look was for me. It could be Sujay also, I really couldn't be sure.
"Well, you know. I sorta well, okay, I really like Vinny dude," I said. There, I had finally said it. It was out in the open.
So, I think the best way to put this is; their reaction wasn't quite what I expected.
Anoop looked at me with his mouth dropped open. Sujay sorta looked away.
"Umm Guys? What's going on. Did I say something wrong?" I asked.
"Err, no. Not really," said Sujay.
"No come on, tell me. What's up?" I asked, curious as hell.
After uneasy glances at Anoop, Sujay spoke again.
"Well dude, I'd just say that don't have too much hope," he said.
"Uh, okay. Any particular reason?" I asked. I mean come on, everyone knew that we were great friends and well, if I didn't have a chance with her, seriously, no one did!
"Well, let's just say that.. uhh.. dude, she doesn't really like 'boys'," he stammered out.
"Of course she doesn't. But she likes me. I can also understand, I mean come on, the boys in our college, it's not like they are shining examples of humanity," I said, going back to my drink. This was really silly. Geez.
"No dude, you don't get this. She doesn't _like_ boys. As in, she thinks that _girls_ can 'satisfy' each other without needing boys," said Sujay, with a lot of emphasis on several key words.
The glass stopped half way to my second sip.
"You mean.." I said, afraid to complete the sentence.
"Yeah dude, Taveena told me. She err, I mean she's a nice girl and all. I mean really hot too, you know with that waist and that as.." said Sujay, stopping right there at my warning gaze.
"I mean Rohit, it's not you or anything. I think this problem was with her before she came to college! I mean come on, her first day itself? She really doesn't talk to any boys. She acts like a complete guy herself! Normal girls don't do that?" said Anoop.
That was it. I was not going to stand for this anymore. This was all crap. What bullshit, Vinny was just as straight as any other girl on campus and I knew it because..
..that is where I got 'slightly' stumped. Anyway, I got all the info from the guys and decided to get some information from her about it. I mean of course, I couldn't just ask her but I could always get her to tell me in other ways.
So the next day, Vinny and I met.
No, give it back! It's my turn. I AM THE NARRATOR and this is where _I_ NARRATE!
Geez! Whew, these kids. So, yes, finally. I am sure you guys missed me. See, I always say, a narrator can tell the story with a.. oh fine! I'll tell you the story! Impatient kids!
So Rohit went to meet Vinny in the park the next day. Vinny was all cheerful and happy to see Rohit, as she usually was, and they started talking. Soon, getting impatient, Rohit breached the subject, coming in as sideways as he could.
"Uhh so Vinny, I wanted to ask you something," said Rohit.
"Sure, shoot." said Vinny.
"So Vinny, Taveena was telling some people, that you really don't think that girls need boys for their, err, needs?" said Rohit.
"Oh of course. I mean come on Rohit, do you really think that a woman can't do without a guy?" asked Vinny, poking Rohit with her elbow. Yes, I know, it is unusual, but 'tomboy'? Did you guys even bother opening the dictionary? Yes, they do such things with other guys.
"Well, uhh, I understand, I guess," said Rohit, his spirits suddenly dropping.
"Why do you ask? Is there a girl out there that you'd like 'needing' you? Eh?" asked Vinny, with her typical wink. Inside, her heart was pounding. She was so hoping that the answer would either be yes and the girl be her. How do I know that? Well because she told me! Now shut up and read the story. Geez, didn't someone tell you? The audience is supposed to 'receive', not participate! What do you think this is? The internet?
"Uhh, no not really. Well, I did I mean but, it won't really work out," he said, looking straight into the ground.
Vinny was confused for a second. She didn't quite know what to say. She really just couldn't read him right now as she usually did.
"Why? I mean, who is this girl? And why wouldn't she like you? Does she know that you like her?" she asked.
"Well, let us just say that, well, we have similar tastes," he said.
"Isn't that a good thing?" she asked, even more bewildered.
Rohit grimaced.
"Well, let's just say, that I stumbled across a case in which, it really is not," he said.
After that Rohit became very reticent and despite Vinny's efforts to cheer him up, at best she'd just get a weak smile out of him. Soon it was late and both of them went off to their respective hostels.
So again, skipping past another set of boring parts that I am sure you don't really want to know about (I mean, really, they have nothing to do with the story), let's fast forward two and a half years.
Rohit and Vinny were now in their final year, and this is where we will take up the narrative, next time!
[..ofcourse to be continued, you dolt!]
Modern Love Story - III, The
[..and now, what you've all been waiting for. Well, at least some of you have been waiting for at least! I mean, come on, someone must'v.. ok! here, the conclusi.. I mean, continuation! Oh stop bitching, writing isn't a science. It is an art and you know where an art is inv.. FINE! Here's more. Happy?]
Three years passed by and Rohit and Veena stumbled their way through college. Well, Rohit did most of the stumbling but then, he had a handicap. He was a guy. Half his though process was controlled by.. err, okay, we'll leave that for now.
We resume this story on the day of Rohit and Vinny's farewell.
Over the years, friendships had been developed, memories made and of course, understandably there was an atmosphere of sadness, mixed with an excitement for the future. Everyone was in a good mood. Even if there was someone you hated and hadn't spoken to for years; today, he was your good friend!
Of course, liberal amounts of alcohol helped and the good times were just about rolling.
Rohit was hanging out with his bunch of friends. Anoop (the Look London, Talk Tokyo guy?) and Sujay (sleazy, horny dude?) were there right by his side, looking rather handsome in their suits. Rohit came dressed in a modest black suit, with a rather extravagant tie with flowers on it (yes, there is a reason for this detail).
"Man, these were some of the best years of our life!" said Sujay.
"True my man, true," echoed Rohit.
"Seriously. When else will we have such fun man. Buddies like this, parties like these, women like these!" continued Sujay.
Rohit looked around the room. There were maybe a dozen people all around. Some western classical elevator theme ran in the background. There was enough energy in the room to make a fly swoon. I mean really, it was great.
At least Rohit seemed to think so; because with a wide drunken smile he said,
"This my friends, is life. We shall forever miss it."
Rohit looked around the room again, this time, his eyes stopped at 4 o'clock. There was this girl standing there, taking some punch. Even though he couldn't see her face, whatever he could see, left him speechless. I mean, this girl was perfect. Long legs, ending in a rou..err I mean, you know, whatever perfect girls look like from the back! She was wearing this lovely red dress and Rohit knew he had to act.
Over the last three years, he hadn't landed a single girlfriend. Oh of course, I mean this was by choice. Right, I mean, it wasn't that he tried proposing to a new girl every month and every time rejected and never was he really beaten up by Neha's boyfriend because he didn't know that Neha wasn't single nor was he ever humiliated in front of his entire class because Radha couldn't help but laugh when he lay his heart out in front of her, nor did.. uhh, I mean, you get the idea. It was 'completely' by choice!
So looking at this girl got Rohit's proposal instincts fired up again! Uhh, I mean for the first time. Right.
He turned away from Anoop and Sujay as they continued their banter, and with a suave swagger, walked over to the girl and, tapped her on her back.
As anticipated, the girl turned around. As her face came into view, Rohit looked at her with a broad smile and groaned loudly.
"You?" said Rohit.
"Umm, yeah. Hi, nice to meet you too, Rohit," said Vinny, with indignation.
Seriously! First time in two years that he came up to speak to her, and this is all he could say? This one wasn't getting any prizes for imagination.
"Oh no.." he said, and sat down on a chair next to him.
"What happened? God do I look that horrible or something," said Vinny, quite perplexed (oh yeah, that girl in the red dress was Vinny; 'just' in case you still hadn't figured it out)
"No, no, don't be silly. You always look lovely," said Rohit.
Not quite sure on how to take it, Vinny sat down on the chair next to him.
"Okay? Umm hello. Two years? First time you talk to me and all you say is 'oh no'? Think I deserve some sort of an explanation?" she said.
"Oh it's nothing to do with you. You see, it's just.." said Rohit trailing off. He was drunk, but there was something gnawing away at the back of his head, sorta screaming at him that this wasn't quite the best route to take.
"What? Tell me!" said Vinny, getting quite exhasperated.
"Well, you see; I saw you and I saw your dress and your legs and your r.. uhh, well I mean, I saw you from behind and you looked lovely.." he said.
"Oh and then I turned around and shattered the image?" said Vinny, getting fairly annoyed by now.
"No, not that. See, I walked over here thinking that I'd strike up this conversation with a girl and well, it turned out that it was you!" he said, the frustration quite evident.
"And? I am not a girl?" asked Vinny cautiously.
"Don't be silly! Of course you're a girl. But what good is a girl who is a lesbian?" said Rohit with definite sadness in his eyes.
"What?!" Vinny almost shouted.
Alarm bells started ringing in Rohit's head; half his high rapidly evaporated and suddenly as he felt more sober, he realized what he was saying.
"Oh no Vinny. Geez, I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, there is nothing wrong with being a lesbian. It's just that I was sorta, you know, hoping to get 'with' the girl. You understand right," said Rohit, clarifying his point. Whew.
With teeth clenched, Vinny whispered out the next line.
"I cannot believe even you, Rohit, even you, believe all those fucking stupid rumors about me being a lesbian."
This is what Rohit did now. He opened his mouth wide, and inserted his foot solidly in it.
"Believe them? I was the one who told people in the first place Vinny! After you almost came out to me, I realized that though you broke my heart, it is okay to be uhh.. you know. I mean, I was a bit angry but listen, it is okay to be what you are and I told people to accept you for who you ar.." and WHAM, a slap landed across Rohit's face.
Tears were rolling down Vinny's eyes. Rohit looked at her, with his mouth open and eyes blinking.
"I cannot believe you did this to me Rohit. We, I.. I L.. I LIKED you and you told everyone that I was a lesbian? I cannot believe that you of all people would have done that!" she said through her tears.
Rohit was quite lost at this point. Being reasonably more sober now, he was starting to get the big picture that, well, that he wasn't getting the big picture at all!
"No Vinny, don't cry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I am so sorry. Listen, I mean, I really think there is nothing wrong wit.." he didn't get to complete his sentence. Yeah, another landed on the same cheek.
"Rohit. Listen to me.." said Vinny.
"I LOVED YOU! Do you understand?" she said.
Rohit, not knowing quite what to think, just blankly nodded.
"So if I loved you, I was hoping you'd get this much by now, but to clarify once again.." she said.
"I AM NOT A LESBIAN," she screamed at him.
The funny thing about noise is, it is often more noticeable when there "isn't" any.
Every single person in the room turned and looked at Vinny and Rohit. For almost ten seconds, not a single person spoke. Vinny looked around and suddenly realized what had just happened.
Turning a bright version of magenta, she turned and haughtily walked out of the room.
---
Anoop and Sujay sat around Rohit, as he held a drink in his hand and stared straight at the floor. Finally, things were becoming clear to him and the last three years suddenly appeared in a very different light.
"Are you okay Rohit," asked Anoop.
Rohit nodded. They sat in silence again for a couple of minutes, then Sujay, who was obviously bursting with curiosity spoke.
"So, umm, does this mean that Vinny.. uhh," said Sujay.
Rohit looked up him and said,
"yes Sujay, that is what it means."
"Wow man. I mean, I didn't even know people could do that," he said.
"Do what? What are you talking about," asked Rohit, quite irritated.
"You know; go back in the closet?" said Sujay.
"Jesus Christ! Don't you get it Sujay. Vinny is NOT.. you know. She is a perfectly normal girl and she was in LOVE with me, just like I was in love with her! I, being a total idiot, not only blew it but also went and told the entire world that she is a.. arghh," finished Rohit in frustration.
Sujay still looked a bit confused but figured it would be best if he just stayed shut.
"In fact," said Rohit, "you know what?"
Without waiting for an answer he continued, "I am STILL in love with her!"
Anoop and Sujay looked at each other, but Rohit was on his feet.
"Seriously guys. After all this time, and I haven't ever really gotten over her! I mean, she is so.. so perfect!" he said.
"In fact, you know what I'll do. I'll do something daring, that will win back her love.
I will, propose to her!" he declared.
Sujay and Anoop, in perfect unison, winced. This wasn't going to be pretty.
From previous experience they knew that at this point, nothing was going to help.
Rohit was on a mission, and he wouldn't deter from it till;
well till he got at least two more slaps!
[To be uhh 'hopefully' concluded..]
Three years passed by and Rohit and Veena stumbled their way through college. Well, Rohit did most of the stumbling but then, he had a handicap. He was a guy. Half his though process was controlled by.. err, okay, we'll leave that for now.
We resume this story on the day of Rohit and Vinny's farewell.
Over the years, friendships had been developed, memories made and of course, understandably there was an atmosphere of sadness, mixed with an excitement for the future. Everyone was in a good mood. Even if there was someone you hated and hadn't spoken to for years; today, he was your good friend!
Of course, liberal amounts of alcohol helped and the good times were just about rolling.
Rohit was hanging out with his bunch of friends. Anoop (the Look London, Talk Tokyo guy?) and Sujay (sleazy, horny dude?) were there right by his side, looking rather handsome in their suits. Rohit came dressed in a modest black suit, with a rather extravagant tie with flowers on it (yes, there is a reason for this detail).
"Man, these were some of the best years of our life!" said Sujay.
"True my man, true," echoed Rohit.
"Seriously. When else will we have such fun man. Buddies like this, parties like these, women like these!" continued Sujay.
Rohit looked around the room. There were maybe a dozen people all around. Some western classical elevator theme ran in the background. There was enough energy in the room to make a fly swoon. I mean really, it was great.
At least Rohit seemed to think so; because with a wide drunken smile he said,
"This my friends, is life. We shall forever miss it."
Rohit looked around the room again, this time, his eyes stopped at 4 o'clock. There was this girl standing there, taking some punch. Even though he couldn't see her face, whatever he could see, left him speechless. I mean, this girl was perfect. Long legs, ending in a rou..err I mean, you know, whatever perfect girls look like from the back! She was wearing this lovely red dress and Rohit knew he had to act.
Over the last three years, he hadn't landed a single girlfriend. Oh of course, I mean this was by choice. Right, I mean, it wasn't that he tried proposing to a new girl every month and every time rejected and never was he really beaten up by Neha's boyfriend because he didn't know that Neha wasn't single nor was he ever humiliated in front of his entire class because Radha couldn't help but laugh when he lay his heart out in front of her, nor did.. uhh, I mean, you get the idea. It was 'completely' by choice!
So looking at this girl got Rohit's proposal instincts fired up again! Uhh, I mean for the first time. Right.
He turned away from Anoop and Sujay as they continued their banter, and with a suave swagger, walked over to the girl and, tapped her on her back.
As anticipated, the girl turned around. As her face came into view, Rohit looked at her with a broad smile and groaned loudly.
"You?" said Rohit.
"Umm, yeah. Hi, nice to meet you too, Rohit," said Vinny, with indignation.
Seriously! First time in two years that he came up to speak to her, and this is all he could say? This one wasn't getting any prizes for imagination.
"Oh no.." he said, and sat down on a chair next to him.
"What happened? God do I look that horrible or something," said Vinny, quite perplexed (oh yeah, that girl in the red dress was Vinny; 'just' in case you still hadn't figured it out)
"No, no, don't be silly. You always look lovely," said Rohit.
Not quite sure on how to take it, Vinny sat down on the chair next to him.
"Okay? Umm hello. Two years? First time you talk to me and all you say is 'oh no'? Think I deserve some sort of an explanation?" she said.
"Oh it's nothing to do with you. You see, it's just.." said Rohit trailing off. He was drunk, but there was something gnawing away at the back of his head, sorta screaming at him that this wasn't quite the best route to take.
"What? Tell me!" said Vinny, getting quite exhasperated.
"Well, you see; I saw you and I saw your dress and your legs and your r.. uhh, well I mean, I saw you from behind and you looked lovely.." he said.
"Oh and then I turned around and shattered the image?" said Vinny, getting fairly annoyed by now.
"No, not that. See, I walked over here thinking that I'd strike up this conversation with a girl and well, it turned out that it was you!" he said, the frustration quite evident.
"And? I am not a girl?" asked Vinny cautiously.
"Don't be silly! Of course you're a girl. But what good is a girl who is a lesbian?" said Rohit with definite sadness in his eyes.
"What?!" Vinny almost shouted.
Alarm bells started ringing in Rohit's head; half his high rapidly evaporated and suddenly as he felt more sober, he realized what he was saying.
"Oh no Vinny. Geez, I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, there is nothing wrong with being a lesbian. It's just that I was sorta, you know, hoping to get 'with' the girl. You understand right," said Rohit, clarifying his point. Whew.
With teeth clenched, Vinny whispered out the next line.
"I cannot believe even you, Rohit, even you, believe all those fucking stupid rumors about me being a lesbian."
This is what Rohit did now. He opened his mouth wide, and inserted his foot solidly in it.
"Believe them? I was the one who told people in the first place Vinny! After you almost came out to me, I realized that though you broke my heart, it is okay to be uhh.. you know. I mean, I was a bit angry but listen, it is okay to be what you are and I told people to accept you for who you ar.." and WHAM, a slap landed across Rohit's face.
Tears were rolling down Vinny's eyes. Rohit looked at her, with his mouth open and eyes blinking.
"I cannot believe you did this to me Rohit. We, I.. I L.. I LIKED you and you told everyone that I was a lesbian? I cannot believe that you of all people would have done that!" she said through her tears.
Rohit was quite lost at this point. Being reasonably more sober now, he was starting to get the big picture that, well, that he wasn't getting the big picture at all!
"No Vinny, don't cry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I am so sorry. Listen, I mean, I really think there is nothing wrong wit.." he didn't get to complete his sentence. Yeah, another landed on the same cheek.
"Rohit. Listen to me.." said Vinny.
"I LOVED YOU! Do you understand?" she said.
Rohit, not knowing quite what to think, just blankly nodded.
"So if I loved you, I was hoping you'd get this much by now, but to clarify once again.." she said.
"I AM NOT A LESBIAN," she screamed at him.
The funny thing about noise is, it is often more noticeable when there "isn't" any.
Every single person in the room turned and looked at Vinny and Rohit. For almost ten seconds, not a single person spoke. Vinny looked around and suddenly realized what had just happened.
Turning a bright version of magenta, she turned and haughtily walked out of the room.
---
Anoop and Sujay sat around Rohit, as he held a drink in his hand and stared straight at the floor. Finally, things were becoming clear to him and the last three years suddenly appeared in a very different light.
"Are you okay Rohit," asked Anoop.
Rohit nodded. They sat in silence again for a couple of minutes, then Sujay, who was obviously bursting with curiosity spoke.
"So, umm, does this mean that Vinny.. uhh," said Sujay.
Rohit looked up him and said,
"yes Sujay, that is what it means."
"Wow man. I mean, I didn't even know people could do that," he said.
"Do what? What are you talking about," asked Rohit, quite irritated.
"You know; go back in the closet?" said Sujay.
"Jesus Christ! Don't you get it Sujay. Vinny is NOT.. you know. She is a perfectly normal girl and she was in LOVE with me, just like I was in love with her! I, being a total idiot, not only blew it but also went and told the entire world that she is a.. arghh," finished Rohit in frustration.
Sujay still looked a bit confused but figured it would be best if he just stayed shut.
"In fact," said Rohit, "you know what?"
Without waiting for an answer he continued, "I am STILL in love with her!"
Anoop and Sujay looked at each other, but Rohit was on his feet.
"Seriously guys. After all this time, and I haven't ever really gotten over her! I mean, she is so.. so perfect!" he said.
"In fact, you know what I'll do. I'll do something daring, that will win back her love.
I will, propose to her!" he declared.
Sujay and Anoop, in perfect unison, winced. This wasn't going to be pretty.
From previous experience they knew that at this point, nothing was going to help.
Rohit was on a mission, and he wouldn't deter from it till;
well till he got at least two more slaps!
[To be uhh 'hopefully' concluded..]
Modern Love Story - IV, The
[Okay, scouts honor; it's the conclusion this time!]
Rohit went to the girls hostel first to look for Vinny. After begging a friend he met at the gate to go and check for him, he found out that she wasn't there.
He then went back to the farewell, the college canteen, he looked everywhere!
Tired and defeated, he tried one last place. The park.
It was evening now, the sun was going to set soon. There were few people around and voila, sitting on the same bench that they had talked on three years ago last, was Vinny, still in her lovely red dress.
He slowly walked up to her, with his head down.
She was facing the other way, so she didn't notice him till he was right next to her. Suddenly, feeling someone's presence, her head whipped around and he saw her tear streaked face.
"What do you want now?" she said, her tone filled with reproach.
"Uhh, nothing," he said.
"Then why are you here? What? You going to tell people that I am a serial killer next?" she said.
Rohit just stood there, quiet.
"You have the guts to come in front of me again? What do you think? I'll just say that everything is alright, cool, let's hang out?" she said.
Rohit simply stared at the ground. This was feeling awfully like a school teacher scolding him after catching him bunking!
Vinny turned her head back and stared ahead, with tears continuing flow slightly.
Suddenly Rohit realized that it was about time he said something. This was getting rather awkward.
"Uhh Vinny.." he said.
She ignored him and continued staring ahead.
"Uhh Vinny, so I was thinking.. uhh, so, uhh, I love you.." he said.
Her head whipped back.
"You mean you think that you love me?" she said sarcastically.
"Uhh no, I mean, no.." said Rohit, trying to recover.
"So you mean you don't even think that you love me then?" she continued, relentlessly.
"No Vinny, I mean I do, but I mean, I do love you!" said Rohit, getting quite flustered.
"Okay, so you do love me, but you don't think that you love me? Is that it?" she said, not letting it go.
"Jesus Vinny, why the hell do you ALWAYS have to be so intimidating!" shouted Rohit.
Vinny looked at him as if he were a particularly smelly piece of road-kill on the floor, and turned her head back.
After a few more moments of silence, without looking back, Vinny spoke.
"I am not intimidating," she said, in a sullen tone.
"I didn't mean that Vinny, I'm sorry," said Rohit.
Turning back immediately, Vinny said.
"Exactly! See, I am not. So what? You are going to continue to put accusations on me and keep goi.."
This is when Rohit did the one smart thing, where women were concerned, in the last three years of his life.
No, he did not just swoop down and kiss her. Grow up!
He threw his hands up in the air, and walked away.
For a second, Vinny didn't quite realize what happened. Then she got up and ran behind him. As she reached him, she put a hand on his shoulder and swung him around.
"You aren't going to get away with this so easily!" she said fiercely.
"You think you can just walk into my life, have me fall in love with you, then tell the world that I am a.. am a.. baah, you know what! Then you think you can come back and tell me that you love me and if I don't just fall and swoon in your arms, you are going to walk away? Who do you think you are?" she shouted.
"An idiot," said Rohit. He then stepped forward, pulled Vinny close to him and kissed her straight where it counts (no, take your head out, close the gutter lid, and think of the 'other' place that counts!).
Of course, Vinny, being a girl after all (who was of course, very, very straight!) kissed back. Then she pulled him away, smiled, and slapped him across the face.
"That's for telling everyone that I was a lesbian," she said, and resumed kissing him.
"..and that's for being such a brave sweetheart. I know, I am pretty intimidating," she said.
With that, she turned and walked away.
Rohit, stood there for a bit, stunned. One part of him wanted to run after her again, another part had had quite enough slaps for one day. Yet another part of him wanted the kissing to continue. I mean, it wasn't like he was desperate or anything. After all, he had stayed without a girlfriend for all these years by choice you know! Err, right. Exactly.
Then he just thought about the entire day; everything that had happened. He thought about Vinny, he thought about how stupid he had been, he thought about how Vinny had reacted. He then shook his head, smiled to himself, and with an exhilarating feeling flowing through him, cheerfully walked back home.
He knew he didn't have to run after her. She had already come to him.
He knew that this wouldn't end in them living happily together forever.
He did know though, they would be together, forever.
--
In the words of a wise man, "..forever, is a very long time."
Rohit went to the girls hostel first to look for Vinny. After begging a friend he met at the gate to go and check for him, he found out that she wasn't there.
He then went back to the farewell, the college canteen, he looked everywhere!
Tired and defeated, he tried one last place. The park.
It was evening now, the sun was going to set soon. There were few people around and voila, sitting on the same bench that they had talked on three years ago last, was Vinny, still in her lovely red dress.
He slowly walked up to her, with his head down.
She was facing the other way, so she didn't notice him till he was right next to her. Suddenly, feeling someone's presence, her head whipped around and he saw her tear streaked face.
"What do you want now?" she said, her tone filled with reproach.
"Uhh, nothing," he said.
"Then why are you here? What? You going to tell people that I am a serial killer next?" she said.
Rohit just stood there, quiet.
"You have the guts to come in front of me again? What do you think? I'll just say that everything is alright, cool, let's hang out?" she said.
Rohit simply stared at the ground. This was feeling awfully like a school teacher scolding him after catching him bunking!
Vinny turned her head back and stared ahead, with tears continuing flow slightly.
Suddenly Rohit realized that it was about time he said something. This was getting rather awkward.
"Uhh Vinny.." he said.
She ignored him and continued staring ahead.
"Uhh Vinny, so I was thinking.. uhh, so, uhh, I love you.." he said.
Her head whipped back.
"You mean you think that you love me?" she said sarcastically.
"Uhh no, I mean, no.." said Rohit, trying to recover.
"So you mean you don't even think that you love me then?" she continued, relentlessly.
"No Vinny, I mean I do, but I mean, I do love you!" said Rohit, getting quite flustered.
"Okay, so you do love me, but you don't think that you love me? Is that it?" she said, not letting it go.
"Jesus Vinny, why the hell do you ALWAYS have to be so intimidating!" shouted Rohit.
Vinny looked at him as if he were a particularly smelly piece of road-kill on the floor, and turned her head back.
After a few more moments of silence, without looking back, Vinny spoke.
"I am not intimidating," she said, in a sullen tone.
"I didn't mean that Vinny, I'm sorry," said Rohit.
Turning back immediately, Vinny said.
"Exactly! See, I am not. So what? You are going to continue to put accusations on me and keep goi.."
This is when Rohit did the one smart thing, where women were concerned, in the last three years of his life.
No, he did not just swoop down and kiss her. Grow up!
He threw his hands up in the air, and walked away.
For a second, Vinny didn't quite realize what happened. Then she got up and ran behind him. As she reached him, she put a hand on his shoulder and swung him around.
"You aren't going to get away with this so easily!" she said fiercely.
"You think you can just walk into my life, have me fall in love with you, then tell the world that I am a.. am a.. baah, you know what! Then you think you can come back and tell me that you love me and if I don't just fall and swoon in your arms, you are going to walk away? Who do you think you are?" she shouted.
"An idiot," said Rohit. He then stepped forward, pulled Vinny close to him and kissed her straight where it counts (no, take your head out, close the gutter lid, and think of the 'other' place that counts!).
Of course, Vinny, being a girl after all (who was of course, very, very straight!) kissed back. Then she pulled him away, smiled, and slapped him across the face.
"That's for telling everyone that I was a lesbian," she said, and resumed kissing him.
"..and that's for being such a brave sweetheart. I know, I am pretty intimidating," she said.
With that, she turned and walked away.
Rohit, stood there for a bit, stunned. One part of him wanted to run after her again, another part had had quite enough slaps for one day. Yet another part of him wanted the kissing to continue. I mean, it wasn't like he was desperate or anything. After all, he had stayed without a girlfriend for all these years by choice you know! Err, right. Exactly.
Then he just thought about the entire day; everything that had happened. He thought about Vinny, he thought about how stupid he had been, he thought about how Vinny had reacted. He then shook his head, smiled to himself, and with an exhilarating feeling flowing through him, cheerfully walked back home.
He knew he didn't have to run after her. She had already come to him.
He knew that this wouldn't end in them living happily together forever.
He did know though, they would be together, forever.
--
In the words of a wise man, "..forever, is a very long time."
Women I've Loved, The
There's a lot I owe you;
..and the most of all;
- for showing me so much beyond my world
- for believing in me
- for giving me happiness
- for putting up with me
- for shouting at me
- for caring for me
- for helping me become a better person; before, during and after
- for trying hard
- for giving me love
- for giving me pain
- for accepting me
..and the most of all;
- for leaving me
Virtues of Extreme, The
Nothing great ever got done by someone who kept balance; nothing great ever will.
To achieve something extra-ordinary, one will have to sacrifice on some parts of his life; always.
So everyone who tells me how I need balance, I really do appreciate your advise, but, no thanks. It is my fervent hope that I _don't keep balance. It is my utmost desire that I am able to throw myself so completely into something that it becomes literally the purpose of life for me. It is my gnawing ambition that if nothing else, I come out of my life, knowing that I gave my ideals, my passions, my dreams, my best shot.
Does this mean that all the self improvement guru's of this world are wrong?
Probably not. They deal with the numbers; give them a safe, known path.
The road less traveled? If offers no safety net;
I guess though, some chances are worth taking..
To achieve something extra-ordinary, one will have to sacrifice on some parts of his life; always.
So everyone who tells me how I need balance, I really do appreciate your advise, but, no thanks. It is my fervent hope that I _don't keep balance. It is my utmost desire that I am able to throw myself so completely into something that it becomes literally the purpose of life for me. It is my gnawing ambition that if nothing else, I come out of my life, knowing that I gave my ideals, my passions, my dreams, my best shot.
Does this mean that all the self improvement guru's of this world are wrong?
Probably not. They deal with the numbers; give them a safe, known path.
The road less traveled? If offers no safety net;
I guess though, some chances are worth taking..
tragedy, The
Drunk, he caroused his way back home.
Finally, alone, in an empty house, he put on some music and, poured himself another drink. Ten more minutes till, he had to meet that kid who wanted to interview him. What was it for again, some school magazine, he remembered faintly.
Someone knocked, he opened. A bright young kid smiled and shook his hand with vigor.
The kid seemed the least perturbed at his drunken state, he was so excited. Click, came on the recorder and the kid eagerly started the interview. He started by asking questions about his life, and then quickly moved to the crux, his flourishing career, and its sudden and unexplained demise.
Laboriously he answered, the kid's energy, was tiring. How many such kids had he seen, since he was one of them himself.
"You were at the peak at one point Sir, I was wondering if you could shed any light on what happened? Why the sudden disappearance?" asked the kid.
"Well; the simplest way to put it is, I had a personal tragedy" he answered in a tired, old voice. Strange, since he wasn't really that old.
"Oh. Can you talk about it?" asked the kid, slowing.
He sat there silent for a few moments, then said.
"Well.."
"Did you loose a family member?" asked the kid eagerly. He was too young to know tact. Too young, too stupid. So much like he used to be.
"No, not at all" he replied.
"Oh, then what?" asked the kid.
"I lost, something. Something that you could easily describe as the most valuable thing in your life" he said.
"I am so sorry Sir. Was it, umm, uhh, was it an affair of the heart?" asked the kid, stumbling over his words.
He burst out laughing. It had been a while since he had such a hearty laugh. This kid, oh he was so young.
"No, actually, this wasn't 'love' that I lost. It was something a great deal more valuable" he said, his laughter slowly subsiding.
"Sir, I mean, no offence, but just.. well, I mean, what was it then? I am really curious" asked the kid.
What was left of the laughter melt into melancholy, and he was silent again.
"Did you loose, uhh, well, was it something to do with loosing some skill??" asked the persistent, pesky kid.
"Excuse me? I was one of the best and would have been the best some day! What do you mean lost my skill??" he retorted, indignantly! How dare the kid suggest such a thing! He was fantastic and was only getting better. Even now, no one could doubt that!
This time, the kid went silent. His energy, enthusiasm, ebbed for the moment.
Hesitantly, the kid tried again;
"Then Sir, what was it?"
A pause, then staring into empty space, he started speaking.
"I lost something; something that was more valuable than, love, people, hell, organs of my body. It was more valuable, than life itself. I had it most of my life, I didn't even really know that it could be lost; till it happened. I don't know how it happened, I don't really know why, and well, frankly, I don't really give a fuck. All I know, was that I lost it, and then one day, just like that," snapping his fingers, he said, "everything was, over. Not just my career or anything so trivial, but, my life.."
The kid looked straight into his eyes, with something close to fear staring back out.
"Sir, what did you loose?" asked the kid, quietly.
He sighed, looked up at the kid, and said;
"My dreams, Son. I lost, my dreams."
Finally, alone, in an empty house, he put on some music and, poured himself another drink. Ten more minutes till, he had to meet that kid who wanted to interview him. What was it for again, some school magazine, he remembered faintly.
Someone knocked, he opened. A bright young kid smiled and shook his hand with vigor.
The kid seemed the least perturbed at his drunken state, he was so excited. Click, came on the recorder and the kid eagerly started the interview. He started by asking questions about his life, and then quickly moved to the crux, his flourishing career, and its sudden and unexplained demise.
Laboriously he answered, the kid's energy, was tiring. How many such kids had he seen, since he was one of them himself.
"You were at the peak at one point Sir, I was wondering if you could shed any light on what happened? Why the sudden disappearance?" asked the kid.
"Well; the simplest way to put it is, I had a personal tragedy" he answered in a tired, old voice. Strange, since he wasn't really that old.
"Oh. Can you talk about it?" asked the kid, slowing.
He sat there silent for a few moments, then said.
"Well.."
"Did you loose a family member?" asked the kid eagerly. He was too young to know tact. Too young, too stupid. So much like he used to be.
"No, not at all" he replied.
"Oh, then what?" asked the kid.
"I lost, something. Something that you could easily describe as the most valuable thing in your life" he said.
"I am so sorry Sir. Was it, umm, uhh, was it an affair of the heart?" asked the kid, stumbling over his words.
He burst out laughing. It had been a while since he had such a hearty laugh. This kid, oh he was so young.
"No, actually, this wasn't 'love' that I lost. It was something a great deal more valuable" he said, his laughter slowly subsiding.
"Sir, I mean, no offence, but just.. well, I mean, what was it then? I am really curious" asked the kid.
What was left of the laughter melt into melancholy, and he was silent again.
"Did you loose, uhh, well, was it something to do with loosing some skill??" asked the persistent, pesky kid.
"Excuse me? I was one of the best and would have been the best some day! What do you mean lost my skill??" he retorted, indignantly! How dare the kid suggest such a thing! He was fantastic and was only getting better. Even now, no one could doubt that!
This time, the kid went silent. His energy, enthusiasm, ebbed for the moment.
Hesitantly, the kid tried again;
"Then Sir, what was it?"
A pause, then staring into empty space, he started speaking.
"I lost something; something that was more valuable than, love, people, hell, organs of my body. It was more valuable, than life itself. I had it most of my life, I didn't even really know that it could be lost; till it happened. I don't know how it happened, I don't really know why, and well, frankly, I don't really give a fuck. All I know, was that I lost it, and then one day, just like that," snapping his fingers, he said, "everything was, over. Not just my career or anything so trivial, but, my life.."
The kid looked straight into his eyes, with something close to fear staring back out.
"Sir, what did you loose?" asked the kid, quietly.
He sighed, looked up at the kid, and said;
"My dreams, Son. I lost, my dreams."
Fiction of Reality, The
How does one know what 'reality' is? Can you _see reality? Can you _hear reality? Can you _feel reality?
Yeah? So have your eyes ever been deceived? Or heard incorrectly? Or felt erroneously? If not, either you will, or you haven't being paying attention.
Not only are our senses flawed, so is the cognition that goes behind it. Every word, every view, every touch, every smell, every taste, is biased with our experience. Would we even know what "hello" means, if we weren't told the meaning?
So, our senses are flawed, our cognition is biased, and the golden crown on this tower of error, is our very own thought.
Our thoughts are the least reliable of the chain of artifacts needed to understand 'reality'. Sure, we use logic, the undefeatible messiah; proven true by definition itself.
Logic though, is as good as the data fed to it and the strictness and integrity with which it is applied. The data, is flawed, being human, the strictness goes lax and it's integrity unrepairably compromised.
Do you realize that what we "see" as reality? At best it is a distorted, biased view of what realy exists. This is when seen the intellectual giants of our species. Can we hope for better?
Has anyone really seen reality?
Can anyone ever really see reality?
Fuck if I know, illusions rock!
Yeah? So have your eyes ever been deceived? Or heard incorrectly? Or felt erroneously? If not, either you will, or you haven't being paying attention.
Not only are our senses flawed, so is the cognition that goes behind it. Every word, every view, every touch, every smell, every taste, is biased with our experience. Would we even know what "hello" means, if we weren't told the meaning?
So, our senses are flawed, our cognition is biased, and the golden crown on this tower of error, is our very own thought.
Our thoughts are the least reliable of the chain of artifacts needed to understand 'reality'. Sure, we use logic, the undefeatible messiah; proven true by definition itself.
Logic though, is as good as the data fed to it and the strictness and integrity with which it is applied. The data, is flawed, being human, the strictness goes lax and it's integrity unrepairably compromised.
Do you realize that what we "see" as reality? At best it is a distorted, biased view of what realy exists. This is when seen the intellectual giants of our species. Can we hope for better?
Has anyone really seen reality?
Can anyone ever really see reality?
Fuck if I know, illusions rock!
Romance..
A child running to his mother, a daughter dancing with her dad, a girl giving her first kiss, a boy getting his first date, a kid getting into his dream school, a man getting his first job, a mother staying up late for her sick child, a friend standing by his friend in need, a boss taking a loss for his employees, a soldier taking a bullet for his country, a wife holding her husband, a worker believing in his work, a father working weekends for his kids, a woman taking her mom to the movies, a man risking his life for a complete stranger, a poor man refusing riches for doing the right thing, a beggar sharing his food with a ruined businessman, a grandmother telling her grandson a story, a dinner with a full family, a painter finishing his masterpiece, a grandfather taking his grandson fishing, an old woman being helped crossing the street, an old man giving his final words of wisdom from his deathbed, a man standing up for what he believes in, a woman fighting for her rights, taking in a deep breath of fresh air in the morning..
Money, success, fame, power, control, are nothing.
Romance, is everything.
Stuff that dreams are made of..
Money, success, fame, power, control, are nothing.
Romance, is everything.
Stuff that dreams are made of..
I: Superman
[I know this has been posted on my previous blogs; it's only for reference, for those who haven't read it yet]
I sat on the highest parapet, on the highest building. I felt the rain fall on my face, as a side wind blew it towards me, as if out of the intention, to wash the tears away.
I cannot cry though. I don't know how. The rain only maintains an illusion. An illusion that I desperately wish at times to be reality. I gaze over the town that I protect, that I help, that looks up to me and, my heart wants to burst.
Still, there are no tears, only rain.
In a world in search for a hero, this was to be my burden. "With great power comes great responsibility" I was told but! I didn't want power. I did not ask for this, I didn't want this! All I wanted to was just, to live.
I hear a sound in the distance, someone is in trouble, needs help. He is going to be murdered, unless.. For a moment I feel the urge to just ignore it and remain here alone, with my sorrow. The idea sounds nice but its not reality. I get up and look down at the town one more time. All over that town are people, who have friends, I have only admirers, who have family, I have only myself, who have a love, I have.. nothing.
I shoot off into the sky, trying to locate that person who I will help, who I will save. I will make sure his life continues, and he will live, and die, as I wish to someday, but never will.
As the rain brushes past my scarred, iron face, all I can think of is,
I am Superman.
God I wish I was somebody else .
I sat on the highest parapet, on the highest building. I felt the rain fall on my face, as a side wind blew it towards me, as if out of the intention, to wash the tears away.
I cannot cry though. I don't know how. The rain only maintains an illusion. An illusion that I desperately wish at times to be reality. I gaze over the town that I protect, that I help, that looks up to me and, my heart wants to burst.
Still, there are no tears, only rain.
In a world in search for a hero, this was to be my burden. "With great power comes great responsibility" I was told but! I didn't want power. I did not ask for this, I didn't want this! All I wanted to was just, to live.
I hear a sound in the distance, someone is in trouble, needs help. He is going to be murdered, unless.. For a moment I feel the urge to just ignore it and remain here alone, with my sorrow. The idea sounds nice but its not reality. I get up and look down at the town one more time. All over that town are people, who have friends, I have only admirers, who have family, I have only myself, who have a love, I have.. nothing.
I shoot off into the sky, trying to locate that person who I will help, who I will save. I will make sure his life continues, and he will live, and die, as I wish to someday, but never will.
As the rain brushes past my scarred, iron face, all I can think of is,
I am Superman.
God I wish I was somebody else .
II: Memories
"Throw the pillow here, just make sure, umm, it doesn't go 'too' high over my head this time? Thirty meters may be a joke for you, but let's try a bit of that 'empathy' thing again, ok?"
Memories. Funny, sad, yet, true; it is only the little things that we remember. Despite the great challenges we face, the great difficulties, the great battles; it is only the little things, that keep someone alive in our thoughts. It's only human.
Human, a word so strange, yet fitting. Even superman was just that, after all, only, a man. Flying through the sky, the rain flitting off that scarred iron face, memories were what flooded his mind.
A few years ago, he had met someone, a girl. In years, he for once, had found not admiration, not awe, but love; from a heart which yet could still give it, without it being, tainted; not tainted by the realities of life; not tainted by the harshness, the pain.
He met her by accident. Well, truly, an 'accident'. She was in a car crash, her car's fuel lines burst, smoke coming from everywhere, waiting for her imminent, death. He had swept in at the last minute and carried her away. How they met though, was not important. She was like him. Well, not like him that she could fly and bend metal with her hands. Instead, she was beautiful, smart and sweet. Yet, she also, like him, was alone; surrounded by people, yet alone, surrounded by those that loved her, yet not understood, being surrounded by admirers, yet, not valued.
Soon, he desired a normal life, a life without the challenges of saving people's lives. Without the glory of shooting through the sky like a star. Without the burden, of humanity on his shoulders. Soon, he had it. Peas in a pod, birds of a feather, doves, in a nest. She loved everything about him, from his burdened, heavy heart, to his burning desire to make things better, to his scarred, iron, face. He loved her back; he even claimed, with her being who she was, it was easier.
He, though, was destined for greater things. His desires, his wants, his needs, were not of concern when put in the bigger picture of a greater good.
Why she was not with him anymore, again, is not important. It could've been a fire, that his enemies set for her and burnt her alive. It could've been fate reclaiming it's right, and taking her in yet another 'accident' when he couldn't be there to save her. It could have been just her, realizing that she, was giving something so very important to him, yet taking away something, so very important to the rest of the world.
"Don't do that! You know how much I hate to be tickled!" she screamed with laughter.
"As much as you hate me, right?" he said with a grin.
"No, not as much as I hate you!" she said pulling away.
"You sure you hate me?" he said, pulling her closer, slowly, but surely.
"Oh God! You are so... God I hate you!" she said, folding up in his arms.
Landing softly, he now sat on his favorite rooftop, his eyes, dry, he almost, almost, smiled. Yes, in the end, it were those tiny, insignificant, simple, memories..
..that remained
Memories. Funny, sad, yet, true; it is only the little things that we remember. Despite the great challenges we face, the great difficulties, the great battles; it is only the little things, that keep someone alive in our thoughts. It's only human.
Human, a word so strange, yet fitting. Even superman was just that, after all, only, a man. Flying through the sky, the rain flitting off that scarred iron face, memories were what flooded his mind.
A few years ago, he had met someone, a girl. In years, he for once, had found not admiration, not awe, but love; from a heart which yet could still give it, without it being, tainted; not tainted by the realities of life; not tainted by the harshness, the pain.
He met her by accident. Well, truly, an 'accident'. She was in a car crash, her car's fuel lines burst, smoke coming from everywhere, waiting for her imminent, death. He had swept in at the last minute and carried her away. How they met though, was not important. She was like him. Well, not like him that she could fly and bend metal with her hands. Instead, she was beautiful, smart and sweet. Yet, she also, like him, was alone; surrounded by people, yet alone, surrounded by those that loved her, yet not understood, being surrounded by admirers, yet, not valued.
Soon, he desired a normal life, a life without the challenges of saving people's lives. Without the glory of shooting through the sky like a star. Without the burden, of humanity on his shoulders. Soon, he had it. Peas in a pod, birds of a feather, doves, in a nest. She loved everything about him, from his burdened, heavy heart, to his burning desire to make things better, to his scarred, iron, face. He loved her back; he even claimed, with her being who she was, it was easier.
He, though, was destined for greater things. His desires, his wants, his needs, were not of concern when put in the bigger picture of a greater good.
Why she was not with him anymore, again, is not important. It could've been a fire, that his enemies set for her and burnt her alive. It could've been fate reclaiming it's right, and taking her in yet another 'accident' when he couldn't be there to save her. It could have been just her, realizing that she, was giving something so very important to him, yet taking away something, so very important to the rest of the world.
"Don't do that! You know how much I hate to be tickled!" she screamed with laughter.
"As much as you hate me, right?" he said with a grin.
"No, not as much as I hate you!" she said pulling away.
"You sure you hate me?" he said, pulling her closer, slowly, but surely.
"Oh God! You are so... God I hate you!" she said, folding up in his arms.
Landing softly, he now sat on his favorite rooftop, his eyes, dry, he almost, almost, smiled. Yes, in the end, it were those tiny, insignificant, simple, memories..
..that remained
III: Scars..
"You are a worthless piece of shit! You hear me? Worthless!"
Those words echoed in his head as he soared high above; another failure, another few people he couldn't save.
He rested at his usual haunt, the highest parapet on the highest building, lost in thought. It had been many years. It didn't effect him anymore. He was grown up now, he could take care of himself. He had proven himself, he was no longer that loser anymore. He was instead, Superman.
The screams still penetrated his skull though. He strove to fight them off but he couldn't. He had failed. There wasn't much he could have done. He heard them too late, there is only so fast even some with the power of a god could travel at. He reached there, too late; a piece of shit, worthless.
He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thought. He tried to remind himself of all the good he had done. He tried to talk to himself, convince himself. He failed, yet again.
Another scream rang out, someone else was in trouble. Within a moment, his senses alerted him and he poised to fly off; then the words rang out again.
"You are a worthless piece of shit! You hear me? Worthless!"
He sat there on the highest parapet of the highest building, and hid his head in shame; as the city below him burnt. No one there understood! No, they all thought the same, they must! He had failed!! What else was he but just a worthless, total, piece of shit..
He sat there, looking down. The city burnt, a fire ignited in his heart and all he could feel was the pain, the hurt, the utter disgust, at being what he had been accused of, by the one person that was have supposed to have loved him the most. He wanted to save them, to rush them to safety, but nothing but a fire burst from his eyes, adding to the flames, demolishing even that would have stood. His anger, his fears, his grief, his pain, all burst out into a single flame from his eyes down to all that he loved below, destroying, decimating, killing..
After it was all over, he ran his fingers across his scarred iron face. Some scars, they never fade. They still hurt; just not you, but the ones you would want to hurt the least. They lash out with a fury that is unforettable, unforgiving..
Some scars never fade.
They just never do.
Those words echoed in his head as he soared high above; another failure, another few people he couldn't save.
He rested at his usual haunt, the highest parapet on the highest building, lost in thought. It had been many years. It didn't effect him anymore. He was grown up now, he could take care of himself. He had proven himself, he was no longer that loser anymore. He was instead, Superman.
The screams still penetrated his skull though. He strove to fight them off but he couldn't. He had failed. There wasn't much he could have done. He heard them too late, there is only so fast even some with the power of a god could travel at. He reached there, too late; a piece of shit, worthless.
He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thought. He tried to remind himself of all the good he had done. He tried to talk to himself, convince himself. He failed, yet again.
Another scream rang out, someone else was in trouble. Within a moment, his senses alerted him and he poised to fly off; then the words rang out again.
"You are a worthless piece of shit! You hear me? Worthless!"
He sat there on the highest parapet of the highest building, and hid his head in shame; as the city below him burnt. No one there understood! No, they all thought the same, they must! He had failed!! What else was he but just a worthless, total, piece of shit..
He sat there, looking down. The city burnt, a fire ignited in his heart and all he could feel was the pain, the hurt, the utter disgust, at being what he had been accused of, by the one person that was have supposed to have loved him the most. He wanted to save them, to rush them to safety, but nothing but a fire burst from his eyes, adding to the flames, demolishing even that would have stood. His anger, his fears, his grief, his pain, all burst out into a single flame from his eyes down to all that he loved below, destroying, decimating, killing..
After it was all over, he ran his fingers across his scarred iron face. Some scars, they never fade. They still hurt; just not you, but the ones you would want to hurt the least. They lash out with a fury that is unforettable, unforgiving..
Some scars never fade.
They just never do.
IV: Dreams..
Since I was a child, I always wanted to write. I used to read all that I could, and when I was 9, I wrote my first piece.
I spent a lot of time on it. It took maybe a whole half an hour to write, but I spent another two going over every last detail. The grammar, the language, the buildup, and, the climax.
I walked proudly to my father, gave it to him, and asked him what he thought about it.
"What? You like this crap do you? Useless.." he said, and threw those few, very few, neat, ruled, sheets of paper away.
He then looked at me and said, with gin on his breath, and a slur in his voice.
"We are not a family of drama. We live in reality. That is not reality. Never show me something like that again, or else.."
I never did.
Thirty, no, fifty, no, I don't even remember how much longer, later; I looked down upon this helpless world. I looked at myself. My hands, scarred; my soul, scarred.
I picked up this pen again, and started to write. I wrote something, I thought was beautiful.
I wanted, even though he was long gone, by impulse, to run to my father and show it to him. He would love this! He would be so proud.
I looked up at the night sky, and read my work again. Suddenly, it seemed so, banal; so trite and so, ordinary.
I hated it! I hated, myself, for having written it.
I looked at it hard, and all the anger and fear, of not ever succeeding; not being able to even satisfy the expectations, of a simple man; all of it, burst out from my eyes, and the few, too few, sheets of paper caught fire.
I watched it burn.
I watched my own creation burn.
As the ashes, blew away in the wind. I wanted to almost cry. 'Almost'. Unfortunately, superman does not cry. Boys don't cry.
The pen lay at my side, sad, forlorn.
Yet, it deserved a better fate than me. I took it and flung it with my super strength, straight into the house of a young boy.
Maybe, it would make his, dreams come true.
Mine?
Well.
We all have to wake up one day.
I spent a lot of time on it. It took maybe a whole half an hour to write, but I spent another two going over every last detail. The grammar, the language, the buildup, and, the climax.
I walked proudly to my father, gave it to him, and asked him what he thought about it.
"What? You like this crap do you? Useless.." he said, and threw those few, very few, neat, ruled, sheets of paper away.
He then looked at me and said, with gin on his breath, and a slur in his voice.
"We are not a family of drama. We live in reality. That is not reality. Never show me something like that again, or else.."
I never did.
Thirty, no, fifty, no, I don't even remember how much longer, later; I looked down upon this helpless world. I looked at myself. My hands, scarred; my soul, scarred.
I picked up this pen again, and started to write. I wrote something, I thought was beautiful.
I wanted, even though he was long gone, by impulse, to run to my father and show it to him. He would love this! He would be so proud.
I looked up at the night sky, and read my work again. Suddenly, it seemed so, banal; so trite and so, ordinary.
I hated it! I hated, myself, for having written it.
I looked at it hard, and all the anger and fear, of not ever succeeding; not being able to even satisfy the expectations, of a simple man; all of it, burst out from my eyes, and the few, too few, sheets of paper caught fire.
I watched it burn.
I watched my own creation burn.
As the ashes, blew away in the wind. I wanted to almost cry. 'Almost'. Unfortunately, superman does not cry. Boys don't cry.
The pen lay at my side, sad, forlorn.
Yet, it deserved a better fate than me. I took it and flung it with my super strength, straight into the house of a young boy.
Maybe, it would make his, dreams come true.
Mine?
Well.
We all have to wake up one day.
V: Failed..
In the end, nothing mattered. Just like the song by Metalica.
Flying through the air, faster than a speeding bullet, he made his way.
Had to stop them, the people that wanted to hurt him; his only friend.
Landing with an earthquake, that threw half of them off. The rest were made a quick dispatch off. One hit here, one hit there, at super speed, with a power that no one else had.
He protected the one person that meant so much to him.
They smiled on their way home; as he sped through the air, he smiled and laughed. He made jokes about how he could never be hurt, because his best friend was, Superman.
Lying in that hospital bed, the doctors looking at the floor, he still smiled. He still said his best friend, was superman. There was no way anything would happen to him. He smiled with the confidence of a man who knew no fear. One who knew, there was someone who he could depend on, no matter what.
Three days later, sitting alone on that porch, Superman raised the last note ever written by him to his eyes. His tearless, empty eyes. Superman was his best friend; nothing could ever happen to him.
He flew off into the sky. He could not bear to look down.
He could not look at the grave, of the one person he could not save.
He could not look down, on how little, everything he did, meant in the end.
He was, defeated; by powers that even he could not control.
He failed.
Failed.
Flying through the air, faster than a speeding bullet, he made his way.
Had to stop them, the people that wanted to hurt him; his only friend.
Landing with an earthquake, that threw half of them off. The rest were made a quick dispatch off. One hit here, one hit there, at super speed, with a power that no one else had.
He protected the one person that meant so much to him.
They smiled on their way home; as he sped through the air, he smiled and laughed. He made jokes about how he could never be hurt, because his best friend was, Superman.
Lying in that hospital bed, the doctors looking at the floor, he still smiled. He still said his best friend, was superman. There was no way anything would happen to him. He smiled with the confidence of a man who knew no fear. One who knew, there was someone who he could depend on, no matter what.
Three days later, sitting alone on that porch, Superman raised the last note ever written by him to his eyes. His tearless, empty eyes. Superman was his best friend; nothing could ever happen to him.
He flew off into the sky. He could not bear to look down.
He could not look at the grave, of the one person he could not save.
He could not look down, on how little, everything he did, meant in the end.
He was, defeated; by powers that even he could not control.
He failed.
Failed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
