Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Alien World

Eyes so pure, twinkling in the searing sun.
The pounding heart knew no pain, all but one..

The scorching heat reflected from his already burnt skin. The torn red tee shirt and blue wornout shorts hardly did any good. Immune, he continued playing this rather bizarre game. He'd fill a hollow plastic ball with mud (picking the mud with his bare hands), and hurl it towards his other charcoal friend, with all the might in his frail arms. The ball would simply roll, the mud pouring out uncontrollably; like the life running out on a cancer patient. The other kid, running barefeet on gravel and stones, would pick it and then have a go at it himself. This monotonous banal recreation miraculously seemed to generate such incredulous amounts of exhilaration and uncorruptable joy in the kids, you'd be amazed. They defied the prime law of physics, creating joy out of nothing..

No elixir can rival the fountain of youth.
For a senile brain is, The Keeper of Truth.

Not very far, his grandfather watched the little Hercules. The old man had lived in this world for too long. He lay back on a plastic chair. He wore a white cap, white clothes, but a dark skin. Life had sucked all the life out of him. All that was left to do, was to wait. His foot was infected, obnoxiously swollen, a typical case of elephantitis. He closed his eyes, exhausted by the breathing. A fly flew annoyingly on his face, but he couldn't care less. The peaceful hackneyed afternoon, scented by the smell of human perspiration, was perfect for his nap. He hummed to the sound of periodic beating of clothes on a stone rock, nearby..

Only a mother, alone, can thwart adversity's threat.
The hand that rocked the cradle, also, broke a sweat..

She slogged, and slogged, without the slightest hint of dissent. She fed, she cleaned, she earned. The Vim washing powder contrasted on her black sturdy hands as she washed the clothes, and hung them on the barbed wire which formed the compound for their house that had walls made of tin and hearts made of gold. Eyeing an occasional customer, she'd leave the open air laundry and walk to her adjacent general store, with an air of an heiress. Life couldn't break her, not in a million years. She could weep without shedding a tear. And her little Hercules would one day make all the crying go away. It is impossible to measure a mother's love, yet more difficult, to defeat..

These souls lived for family, love and a modest meal.
Welcome to the Alien World, where life had a simpler feel..

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Behind Enemy Lines

God called. It was 3 in the night. I picked up, "God, do you know what time it is? You've been drinking again, haven't you?" He din't laugh. My heart tensed, this wasn't the usual katzenjammer. He seemed anxious, I heard him out. Clearly, this cause celebre was more grave than Global warning. And I bring His message to you.

He explained, that since the origin of mankind, He impregnated differences in Men and Women. Sure Adam and Eve fought a lot, but He wished that we appreciate and learn to love the dissimilarities and how they complete us. He gave us different planets, colors, hobbies, lifestyles. However, recently, men and women have been treading, exploring, crossing the hypothetical line that separates us, gives us our distinct identities. And this has upset Him, tremendously. Upon the breach of the Treaty of Forbidden Trespassing, he came up with The Doctrine of Justifiable Penetration beyond the Enemy Line. In this, He elaborates upon those qualities which He finds "totally un-cool" and are better off with their original patrons.

For example, He pointed out that Men have come to deal with their emotions and are more open about it. Now what the hell is that all about? The fact that you are a Y chromosome inheriting meathead, means that you are not expected to be a sensitive emotional cry baby. Get over a heartbreak or a lost job with dizzying alcoholic consumption and the normal debauchery. Why get all worked up and touchy?
Also, stop watching Romantic Chic Flicks. And wearing pink. And gossiping.

In the words of the Almighty, "Totally Un-cool".

For the 'fe-males', He observed that there has been an alarming rise in the interest levels of women in sports, cricket particularly. Clearly an attempt to involve themselves in mens' conversations. What I can't seem to figure out is what you'll find fascinating in, say, cricket? The Cheerleaders are for us and the players are hairy baldies; obese lethargic old men pushing themselves to their physical limit. Girls, you'll don't have the hormones for this, just get over it. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a sexist or a male chauvinistic pig. I just don't get it. Another highly disturbing sport is
Lingerie Football League.
And also the Miss Mighty Mus-cle-sons. The quest for independence has gone a bit too far. Do you'll wish to be able to pick up your husbands? You'll let the gyming and motorcycles be with the men, and focus on being slim, sweet and sultry.

For more details on the doctrine, please contact me on .

It's time to back off into our own territories. Slow down on The Race to Neuterization. God calls upon us to "Do Thy Bidding".

It's not too late.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

The Equation of Periodic Emotions

I have come to understand the segmentation of the life we live. We have a good time, then we have a bad time. The highs and the lows, the ups and the downs, the wows and the eews, the 'please screw me' and the 'oh screw you'. Time is periodic, the vicious circle, so to speak, continues eternally. But with my unmatched ingenuity and astute observational skills, i have come to formulate life and emotions.

Allow me to demonstrate.

When you're 5, it's the worst time of your life, pre nursesry, people think you're cute and pull your cheeks, flash pictures, give hugsie pugsie. Life's a lovebathed mess.

But it improves. You're 10. Oh You start understanding, appreciating and loving, the difference between girl and boy. Fashion Tv. Puppy love. You know of love, not lust. A smile is more precious than a hug. By far the most romantic you'll ever be in your life.

However things start rolling downslope from that point onwards. Hit rockbottom when you become 15. Puberty hits in. Urges and hormones govern your actions. On top of that, you have to "focus" and remain "un-distracted" for your 10th grade. Classic Mind versus Body. The verb 'do' gets a whole new meaning. Mayhem personified.

Things eventually settle down. Skies get blue-er, nights get long-er. And you're 20. Mind & Body are unanimous once again. It's Legal. Welcome to Adulthood. And the Pleasures. Parents can't ground you. You can frequently take trips down the slippery slope of alcohol and dope, end up semiconscious with more-than-easy desperadoes in dark loomy flats with numbing music and indiscriminate love. Sheer bliss.

But It's too good to be true. Adulthood brings responsibility. When you reach 25, you don't have a home, no girlfriend, no three night parties. Instead you have a job, a career, pimply colleagues, dictating bosses. You're overworked and underpaid, superbusy and underlaid. You KissAss and get KickAss. Welcome to Hell on Earth.

You slog and drag, your oversized chairstuck butts to see the dawn when you're 30. You're hard work has paid off, you have some saved up some cash, a nice car, friends, and ASSISTANTS. You party like you'll never party again. Shake like Shakira. Rediscover the lost child in you. Last 'shots' at life.

But oh, you've reached 35. Disaster. Marriage. And you're trying to have kids. Bravo. You wonder what went wrong. How'd you end up with hormonal neurotics and careless crappers. Life is now all about the diapers and poopers. You fight, you cry, and you try. Man down, over and out.

Oh but there's a ray of hope, for the survivors. Alas, you're 40. Kids have grown up, your better half has better people to hang out with. A taste of independence. You can go out of the house, play pool, smoke a cig, a couple of beers and same ol' good friends. You've done your part, an attempt at making a difference, and you've lost honorably. Now it's your time to give up the reign and lay back. aaah. Is this heaven or what.

And then comes the end. You're 45. Say hello to arthritis and osteoporosis, blood pressure and diabetes. You can no longer stand up to things or make things stand up. You look at your kids going through the same cycle, you reflect on the amazing journey of life, you smile, cough, have a stroke and die.

R.I.P amigo.

P.S. : People may live longer, but they are never able to come out of Stage 45. It's a dark time. (Shudder).