Category: literature

Some fact, some fiction. Some stories, some poems.

  • An Open Letter to Humans from God

    God's own hands

    Ssup AB and ssup ma homies! \m/

    So duude, new jwob and all! Howzzat? Any interestwing colleague there, haan? Haan? *nudge* Hehe. Wait, let me chlear my throat.. *spitting out Paan Bahar Crystal*

    Ah yes, so how is our Planet Earth mate? Nature-wise looks okayish to me. Oh of course, you people have tried to act Godly by changing its face from some places but its okay. It is going to take me only few whistles and claps to clean up that mess. Well dude, I am writing this letter to humanity after a long time since I interacted with them. Last time we talked when I had said that I won’t be playing ODIs anymore. But my issue of outrage is slightly older. Please pardon my French but I am effing angry. Angry since last thousands of years or so. Bro, even before your greatest grandfathers were even born, I had given you a religion already called Science. Looks like some of your folks became atheist after you got bored with Science. Fools I say. Anyways, it is my mistake only. I should have interrupted earlier but then I thought, who cares man! Like cute Dinosaurs got wiped off, you people will drown or burn up too eventually but heh, you want to do it yourself only. Dei! Heh, sorry, I learnt that ‘Dei’ thingy from Twitter. Chalo, you forgot Science is okay but what’s this shit of worshiping me and all? Agreed, that I am God and I created all this life and all levels in this but what you think, by worshiping me, you will get a 1Up in this life itself aa? Mark my words, YOLO. True story.

    Fellas, I had shared some text messages with you, if you remember. Oh of course you do, you scoundrels! Yeah you may call them your holy books, I don’t give a damn ’bout it. Now tell me, where had I written in that that you can make your own interpretations out of it? What I meant was crystal clear that the sole motive of your existence on this planet is to help your fellow homies. You wanted to develop, I allowed. You wanted to make places of worship for me, I allowed. You wanted to feed me sweets and salted rice, I welcomed. Even though I am lactose intolerant but I still drank your milk shake. But when did I tell you to make that other human dude chant my name because you chant mine? Please tell me. Man, I am not that cheap and selfish, okay? When did I ask you to divide yourself taking my name and get enslaved by those firangis. (psst! heh, yeah bro I am pro-India *wink*. I have most of my connections with your country only. Why? Arrey, because you are able to hold up all the kinds of people who worship my lookalikes. At least on paper. How? Don’t ask How to God. Ever. Okay? See, if I had not been pro-India, you people would have drowned inside the soil itself. That’s how difficult to handle you people are.)

    Now this is latest I am hearing nowadays, that many people are getting more and more Outraged daily over issues taking my name. People issuing, what do you call it? Yeah, Fatwas and all? Idiots, if two female people from your clan are good at singing, let them sing no? Because, out of their 50 songs, they are going to write one or two praising me too. What’s your problem with that? What’s this nonsense of distributing Trishuls for defence. FYI, trishul only one guy can use. Me. And that too has a  musical instrument attached to it. Means, I am all gaga for music. I made you in all varieties of shapes and sizes and in different colors. But I think I kept one thing common, that is the love for music. You cannot stop music and people trying to entertain others via music. Music is the only thing which you can delve in to make me happy. I ain’t need your temples, mosques, churches, etc. I ain’t need your food. I ain’t need to be dipped into the water you people release your wastes into. I just want you to create music. For me and for other folks down there.

    I also need to understand that what made the male humans out of you believe that you are superior or something? Kindly note that if I made you physically stronger, it will take me a wink only to make all of you men lose your manhood. And I also have a list of diseases ready for you men only. I had made you stronger to win wars because wars are cool. ‘The bomb is at Point B. Roger that’. How cool is this! But you are not understanding it seems. Stop this shit right here or I will stop your shit and then you will cry.

    Consider this as my last warning because if you keep indulging in harassing others using my name, I will layeth the smackdown on you soon.

    Oh yeah dude, Why did I choose this blog to write an open letter to Le humanity? I chose this blog for only 2-3 people read this and that’s how I work, right? Right! You people think that only 2-3 people are there who can help you to come out of sorrow. Which is utterly wrong. You and only you can do good for yourself. And you don’t worry about the language I am using here. It is still better than your ‘I only wryte lyk dis b’coz itz cool lyk nething’. Ok, I think this is it. I need to drink up some beer now because you know I am the ‘High’-er power. heh. Kidding, I am a vegetarian teetotaler only. O }:-)

    Take care mate.

    – Le God *wink*

    P.S.: Paan Bahar Crystal is apparently the world’s most expensive Paan Masala, obviously not for you mortal souls.

    P.P.S.: What’s ‘Oh *my* God’? It is always ‘Oh *Our* God’. You people are same only from inside. Mindless idiots.

  • 2013

    कवितायेँ लिखने मैं हाथ कुछ तंग है मेरा,
    कभी कभी तो लहजा भी थोडा सा  भंग है मेरा |
    हिंदी में पहली कोशिश है, फिर से शुरू करूँ, खुदी से कुछ बात,
    माफ़ करना, खा जाऊं, अगर मैं मात।

     

    स्ह्याही के कलम की तरह, हिंदी कहीं छूट सी गयी थी,
    फॉर्मेलिटी की गलियों में, भटकती कहीं रूठ सी गयी थी।
    गलती से घुमते फिरते, जब पड़ती है हिंदी अख़बार पे नज़र,
    भाग कर उठालेने का, अन्दर बजता है एक buzzer |

     

    अंग्रेजी में तो बड़ा सरल है राइम करना,
    फेविकोल को अल्कोहल से जोड़ के पेट्रोल के मायने बयान करना |
    शब्दों के ढेर से जब निकालने पड़ रहे हैं अल्फाज़,
    लगता है, नौसीखिए से बजवाया जा रहा हो जबरदस्ती कोई कठिन साज़ |

     

    खैर, यह मकसद नहीं था की मेरी waste कोशिश की चर्चा करूँ,
    बस यही था की इस साल फिर से कुछ नया करूँ,
    2012 कुछ हद तक मेरा रहा,
    बाकी समय हम सब से बहुत कुछ लेता रहा,

     

    आशा है की इस वर्ष, खुशियाँ ज्यादा, गम कम रहेंगे,
    थोडा गिरे भी तो, फिर से उठ खड़े होने के लिए हम कहते रहेंगे!
    जो बाकी रह गया, पूरा करवाएगा आने वाला सवेरा,
    दो हज़ार तेरह, साल हो यह तेरा!

  • Mandatory Valentine's Day Post

    I was a shy guy from the onset. Though I could blabber around freely with my guy pals, I was slightly meek when it came to talking with girls. Because of this inability to talk to them, they probably mistook me as an arrogant chap. Though I didn’t care much about others, there was someone in the same class which was a class apart. She, who had joined the classes the same year only, used to sit 2 desks in front of me. But like it always happen, was never able to gather enough courage to talk to her directly.  I thought that maybe she also thinks of me as a rude boy who doesn’t know how to talk to girls. Days went by, but the story remained the same until one day when I got the super powerful, the best thing invented after wheel and fire, ‘The Internet’.

    I thought that okay; I might not be able to confront her directly so why not take the help of the media which everyone uses. It was 8th November of the year 2007. Diwali was on the 9th. I knew that visiting her profile will mean leaving my footprint on her home page, thanks to Profile’s visitor feature of Orkut. Still, I wanted to wish her Diwali on her scrapbook. I quickly made up fake profile on it and sent her a friend request. I kept sure that the profile didn’t look fake and I made no attempt to make it look cool. I just made it same as mine except a changed name. And posted a scrap on her profile wishing her a very happy diwali. Also, I mentioned her that I was in her previous school, so sent the request and the scrap just like that.

    I used to check for her reply, each and every day but didn’t have any luck. After the Diwali break got over, I was on 7th heaven. She not only replied but also accepted my friend request. And hence began the most wonderful time of my life. Weird that it started online and continued to be online.

    We chatted daily. I have no idea how and why but probably because I remained myself in my fake account she and I gelled pretty well together. She shared her ambitions in her life and I told her mine. Soon we became best buddies online. She used to come online daily in the night 9.30 PM and so did I. We kept on chatting and chatting and chatting till my Mom begged me to sleep.

    On the other hand, off line, my relationship with her stayed the same. I still couldn’t talk to her directly. Whenever she brushed past me, my heart used to take 2 360 degrees somersaults. I thought this is good this way only. At least in some way I was in touch with her.

    It was January. While on online front we had became best buddies while off line we remained stranger. Valentine’s Day was in a month’s time. I thought that this is the best opportunity to reveal her my real identity and let’s take it forward in the real offline world.

    It was Jan 9th. We were in school that day, as I clearly remember. I was to board my bus to go home and she was sitting in her’s. And then the tragedy happened. As soon as her bus was about to take a turn, a truck coming from the other side hit the bus. The impact of the truck was not major but it shook the bus off. As she was sitting on the seat nearer to the door, she fell out of the bus and severely got injured. She fainted and blood started to rush through her head. Everyone ran towards her and took her to the nearby hospital. I was about a 100 ft distance and I just stared at the scene. I couldn’t move and couldn’t speak. She was admitted to a hospital and we were informed that she has gone into coma. I used to go online daily but she stayed offline. On Feb 14th I got to know that she had passed away. I was as heartbroken as if someone had snatched my soul away. School declared a day off and the scenario in the premises was sheer sadness.

    Time went by and activities in school became normal. Sadness stayed with me though. I still couldn’t believe what had happened on that day. Call me idiot or what but I still couldn’t show to the world that how well I knew her. What she wanted from life, what she wanted to become, who all were there in her family, what she thought of me, I kept thinking daily all the time. I used to go online every night, just to see a grey dot in front of her name. Though as a rule, I used to read the chat history to feel better. They were so full of life though there was no life left in them. And time moved on once again.

    It was Feb 14th a year later, Valentine’s Day once again. I was still the same shy guy who was single. My mood was as dull as it had been since many years. I was over her but a part of me still longed for her. I switched on my computer and opened the Gtalk. There were no contacts but her and still the grey dot stayed there. I shook my head and decided to delete the fake profile once and for all. When I was about to click the delete button, the grey dot in front of her name became green, a notification popped from the right bottom corner of my screen and a ping came saying ‘Hi <my real name>’.

  • The Sarcasmic Verses

    JLF 2012
    JLF 2012 Durbar Hall

    To be born again, one needs to die, and to dive deep into the dead sea, one needs to spark a controversy, and to spark that topic which can be controversial, one needs to take on something which is beneficial to someone, that something or someone has to be rigid and inflexible and stubborn, so something’s happened as I headed to the JLF in the Pink City that is my very own.

    O, their shoes, if not Japanese, were at least made up of posh Italian leather and with time they didn’t weather, hoji these English trousers you see were wrinkled and still wrinkle free, their hats if not for USSR or any country included in that, were certainly showing to their class still after being poshly poshest posh the what, the gentry at the festival reminded everything in actuality we are not. The kids with heavy cams, the writers and authors with interesting names, the aunties with big round bindis and open hair certainly oozed the intellect with the smoke they were puffing, the French bearded literature class with heavy eyelids showed the scholarly text, they were snuffing. And the girls there were simple voila, why to comment over them, some of them were 9.6 and others were 10 on 10.

    As it is not usually written in the preface of the book that it is banned in certain countries so I downloaded and read, where freedom of expression and speech is not as free as it seems, the democracy we live in is subject to certain communities to please and appease, secularism is a joke for the banks where they secure plenty of votes. The book may have its spine, but the Government lacks one, neither have they crossed or let anyone else cross the dreaded line and that in the end turned out to be fine.

    The show was actually going on fine as no one who were actually present in JLF were actually bothered about Salman Rushdie abstaining against his own will. The thoughts and intellect which was flowing in the air was totally healthy and not at all ill. The colors and the speakers at JLF were just beautiful. The crowd, a good mix of photogenic youth and intellectual veterans, was busy hustling bustling to get better view/seats in the tents and marquees. The sessions happening were full of knowledge and opinions, some of them were given by people we love and some we fake love like we cry while cutting onions.

    This year’s Lit fest might not have helped The Diggi Palace actually, since it was getting difficult to hold the crowd there, it might be moved to somewhere else or some restriction on entry might be applied, as it is much needed critically. The basic show got overshadowed by a not so required set of events, but time to time, things should happen to reveal the no-so-clear motives of our beloved governments.

    P.S.: This is my account of JLF and the controversies hovering over it. The language of the post evident somewhere and somewhere not is what I got from the banned book itself. I tried reading it but after 2 pages, I realized that it requires intellect of some other kind. And also it is banned so why bother. Meanwhile, below is a glimpse of how things looked there. Keep reading.

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  • If all goes well

    part one

    I whispered to you the name of the place, where we could meet in solace. It wasn’t between the right or the wrong, it was rather right there all along. You hinted to me that you understood, or at least I thought that you would. It wasn’t very distant, rather it was pretty close. I believed it idiotically being in a chirpy mood so I couldn’t decipher you who was still a bit morose.

    part two

    Optimism took me there, it was indeed very cold, I stood there telling myself that I should wait there and rather take an oath, I could still feel my heartbeat beneath the layers of the cloth. Time went by, you didn’t come, I knew it already though, but still I waited because I hope you come, wrongly so. Then I heard the news which might have made you even sombre, it sunk into me and I felt like the a dwindling project going from green to amber.

    Let bygones be bygones as they say, time heels everything per se, I hope the days to come will bring you some cheer, so if all goes well, I’ll wait for you on the other side of this year…

    —

    Image Courtesy: A link posted by Smashing Magazine or Neuve or some website obviously. I forgot again.

    P.S.: This post is a part of an experiment. And I am talking about JLP in this post. What did you think?

    Update [29 Dec 2011 21.37 PM]: JLP: Jan Lokpal. And some grammatical mistakes corrected. 😐

  • Rhyming is dying

    No crushes to crush, no destinations to rush,
    No paints to brush, no memories to flush,
    No unsuccessful infatuations, no twisted situations,
    No ugly conversations, no heated discussions,
    No job interviews left, no plan of bank theft,
    No skills to adapt, no mistakes to correct,
    No affairs to end, no fragile castles of sand,
    No topics to trend, no broken relationships to mend,
    No trains to stop, no height to atop,
    No hurdles to hop, no dirt or blood to mop,
    No bed to sleep, no hedge to creep,
    No ocean so deep, no shoulder to weep,
    No song to dance, no scenery to glance,
    No looking through lens, no burning romance…

    One day it will be back, sense it may lack,
    Rhyming is dying but I’ll keep on trying.

  • Nocturnal Talks

    What’s the time? Late night? Good. Stop everything you are doing. Go to your terrace. Pity you don’t have one. If you have, forget whatever you were doing. Go to your terrace. Take one bed sheet, one pillow with you. Also, the most important thing: one transistor. Also, don’t take your mobile with you. So go with only one electronic instrument. The Radio.

    Clean the roof with a broom. Sprinkle some water so that the heat of the day is soaked up and vaporises into the sky. The sky which has stars. Dark night but shining stars. The word romantic is for gays. The night with stars is just breathtaking. Look at the sky. Give a sigh. Smile. Lay out the bed sheet. Now lie down. Adjust the pillow so that you can see direct up. Settled? Good. Now turn on the transistor. It will be #win if the transistor is old and held up using rubber bands. Now start searching for Vividh Bharti. Don’t rush. Enjoy the noise in between the stations. What a lovely sound it is! The dials doing something electronically, the turning spring inside, searching for the right frequency, with sudden loudness trying to say something to you.

    Tuned? Nice. Now listen to old Hindi songs. And imagine. From Devanand and Nootan coming down from the once open Qutub Minar, to older Talat Mahmood songs. From Hemant Kumar’s ‘Tum Pukaar Lo’ via Lata Mangeshkar’s ‘Lag Ja Gale K fir yeh haseen raat ho na ho’ or ‘Rasik balma’ to Kishore Kumar’s ‘Woh sham kuchh ajeeb thi, yeh shaam bhi ajeeb hai…’ Keep staring the beauty of the stars of the coldish silent night. Try to hear some sine-wave horn sound in the distance away. Smile. Relive old memories with the brilliant lyrics. Keep looking at the stars. They move. They say a lot to you. Those starry nights. Amazing.

    Now savour these moments. I’ll be silent for some time.

    Now while its getting further late, close your eyes. Keep the music on though. Smile more. Try to remember her. Smile again. Don’t regret what you didn’t do. Don’t think what you will do. Just stay silent, keeping your eyes closed. And sleep.

    Now if you are in a saner city, around 5 AM in the morning, you will hear some Aarti (not RT) going on nearby. Smile. Ruffle your hair and get up. Try to hear from where this sound is coming. Smile. Stay there for some time, yawning.

    Enough. Smile. New Day has arrived. Back to life.

  • The slippers, the clothes you left away

    Picture Courtesy: Photoblog MSNBC

    A dog, “Leao”, sits for a second consecutive day, next to the grave of her owner, Cristina Maria Cesario Santana, who died in the week’s catastrophic landslides in Brazil, at the cemetery in Teresopolis, near Rio de Janiero, on Jan. 15. Brazilians braced for more rain Saturday, fearing further landslides after walls of muddy water tore through towns and claimed some 550 lives in the country’s worst flood disaster on record.

    It is not that I am under some sedation or this blog has turned into a sad dead blog but this picture above was seriously touching. So I couldn’t help but thinking about the loved ones who go away. But it goes like this:

    The slippers, the clothes you left away, who is going to use them? Will you come back to regain back your props someday?
    Your spectacles are still lying there on the table, your writings, that stationary there is unmoved, will you come back to tell me some fable?
    Your wit, that toothless smile was yet so clever, we discussed politics, and well of course Cricket, when will those day come back, I wish forever,
    You advice which I tried to always listen, as a mission, I tried to complete your banking transactions, will you come back the next summer season?
    Your diary which still holds addresses of people you met, I am amazed by the memory you had, will I ever be able to reach the standards you set?
    By the way did you meet other people who left us unexpectedly? If you meet, tell them I loved them as much I love you, I wish them to live that part of after-life very happily,
    I am sorry if I ever did something wrong, Sir it was unintentional, I cannot even promise to take care of people you left alive, I am here no, you know it, but I will try,
    There is something stuck in my throat, I don’t know what, but I am coughing as I am writing, what effect is this? With your wishes, I did reach somewhere in life. Should I cry or gloat?
    Ahh, I am unable to complete this post, so stopping it now, I try but I cannot be ever again your host, out of everyone in this world I miss you the most…

  • In my closet

    When you come home bloody tired and totally worn out,
    You expect some hot tea to chew or sip that green sprout,
    When you enter your kitchen to grab some sane food,
    They watch you coming, tch, you can’t do nothing dude,

    For them you are nothing but just another distraction,
    For them you are nothing but an unwanted living fraction,
    They are not in a count which you count like one or two or three,
    They’ve their colonies laid out there, and that you cannot even see,

    You enter the dark kitchen and turn on the light,
    They hear your footsteps before you ever come in their sight,
    They wrap up any meeting and go invisible before your next stride,
    They forget their differences, you are the prey, and they stop the fights,

    You bend a little to open the closet to take some bhujia to eat,
    They watch your every move from hiding, and notice you sweet,
    You change your mind and turn your attentions to biscuits,
    The aroma travels fast, they smell it even from behind the circuits,

    They don’t give a damn about your day in office,
    All they care is that where you keep your buns and muffins,
    They are dependent on you, on your mess, on your ill deeds,
    They love when you spill a little, i.e. their source of multiple feeds,

    So when you open your closet, you just… just you freak out,
    They are red aliens, they make you red, you see and then you shout,
    They are plenty in number and you can’t keep them from reproducing,
    You cannot outnumber them, try if you can, I’ll see you cussing me refusing,

    Your BP goes higher, your nerves go stern,
    You forget every manner, the education you learn,
    Bring me the 6 weeks challenge, I need to buy the Laal-Wala hit,
    Oh crap, what’s this dust around here, is this cockroach shit?

    I will kill the mother’s mother of this tiny red roach,
    Being the most violent person alive, close your eyes insect lover, don’t watch,
    I’ll crush you beneath my feet, spray your generations away, you red black clown,
    You will forget screeching in night, you will cripple if I keep you upside down,

    But wait oh, oh god, what are you doing, climbing up my body, I am shivering,
    Oh damn, you had it enough, you brought all your clan, ouch, you prick, was it your sting?
    Oh bloody, you brought your whole army, let me call 911, 100, 108,
    I feel light, oh you picked me up, I am feeling light, no weight,

    I see you covering me from head to toe,
    It was right, you reap, what you sow,
    Ahh, so you implanted me with your venom, I see light through the tunnel,
    The stings were deadly it seems, it was forcing my whole body through a funnel…

    Sorry roaches, sorry flies, it was my mistake, not you, I came into your home, I am sad,
    Now when I have died, here are my last words, I got killed just for saying, all humans werent’ that bad…