Quote of the day

I am retard as fuck
I am dumb as duck

Bangla Translation of one of my poems. Courtesy Surya Mukherjee

Neejer heenotay aaj porjonto hoini lojjito ami etto,
Bhaloi chilo shei ogyantoaar shekol, shotter prokashe ami boro choto.
Thamate pari na amra mon ke nijer raag shonate,
Bandhon gorte thaki sheshmesh lokano ashaa’r shathe.

Antar-mon er koto briokkho shukiye gelo, shunnya holo,
Bhorer koto ichhar roj raate khoon holo.
Paurush aar porishram, sob bekar, sob meki,
Nijer shobhagya noshto kore, amra nijei dekhi.

Sharata jibon ki ami amoni bonchito thakbo,
Je pothe shobai chole shei pothei cholbo,
Rahasya e theke jabe safaltar shornim rekha,
Naah, kichutei kichu hoy na, shob kore dekha.

Maa

thandhe pani ke chheenton mein
aur luu ke garm thapedon mein
un oas ki chhoti boondon mein
duniya ke bade jhamelon mein
yaad tumhari aati hai maa

jaise tum doodh pilane ko
mere pichhe dauda karti thi
meri kamiyaan chhupane ko
tum jhooth bola karti thi
yaad tumhari aati hai maa

jab duniya taane deti hai
jab log apni khushiyon ko
paise se tolaa karte hain
tumhare aanchal ke pani ko
tab meri chhaati jalti hai

un thandhi kaali raaton mein
neend nahi ho aankhon mein
tumhari god ki us garmi ko
meri jaan tarasti rehti hai
yaad tumhari aati hai maa

dikhte hain jab mujhe chhote
chhote tukde apne hi sapnon ke
tab tumhari god mein chhupne ko
mann bhaaga bhaaga firta hai
yaad tumhari aati hai maa

The wife, the husband, and the child....

I will talk about three people here. A few other people too at times, but it will be mostly about these three; and they are, in the order of appearance, Pappu, Rampam, and Gudiya. I have a lot to say about them, but mostly I'll try not to.

Pappu and Rampam were childhood friends. They went to the same school, had lunch together, and did quite a lot of other stuff together. Coming from a poor neighbourhood, they stole a bit every now and then. Now I wouldn't call them bad people, or thieves, people do what they do to get by. And these two were especially good at stealing. They stole bikes, money, mobile phones, and anything they could lay their hands on. Not that they stole all the time, but yeah money does make people want more of it, so they stole whenever they could.

One fine day, as they were coming back after selling the day's loot at the chor bazaar, they ran into another group of guys from the same neighbourhood. Now these other guys were real tough people, the kind you don't want to run into. They had a problem, and they wanted Pappu and Rampam to help them get over it.

Before we go any further, a bit more dope on Pappu and Rampam: Pappu is a reasonably ordinary name, you guessed it right, his mother had trouble coming up with names, she did her best and named him Pappu.

Rampam, however, is an unusual name! I don't know if anybody is actually called that, except this guy. As the story goes, Rampam's mamma was a strong woman, not just mentally, most women are mentally strong, but this lady could beat the living daylights out of physically weak people like myself (she hasn't hit me though, but she could kill me if she did... and I hope she never does). Anyway, so Rampam's mother wanted her son to be strong and capable like her, and have more dignity and self respect than his father, whose self respect was lesser than that of an earthworm. Rampam's father hated himself, and his wife because she did beat him up every now and then, and there was nothing that he could do about it. He couldn't hit her back, being the lower than an earthworm kind of person that he was. Rampam was born soon (a couple of days) after his parents watched the Anil Kapoor (Rampam's mother was a big fan), Jackie Shroff film Ram Lakhan. Now is the time to end the tangential talk and get to the point. So Rampam was named after a stupid tune from a stupid song from Ram Lakhan:

Ram Pam Pam, Ram Pam Pam, Ram Pa Pa Pam, Ram Pam... Ram Pam Pam Pam..Ram Pam Pam Pam Ae Ji O Ji Lo Ji Suno Ji....

Yeah you know how that song goes right.. its so very shitty... Well not extraordinarily shitty, but shitty enough... So Rampam was named Rampam, because his mother could do whatever she wanted to, and get away with it, cause there was not a thing that his father could do to stop her from doing whatever she wanted to do in the first place. So after a lot of deliberation, she announced that her child's name would be Rampam if it were a boy, and Pinky if it were a girl.

Rampam's father hated him from the moment he was born. But there wasn't a God damn thing that he could do about it. More on this later... gotta go sleep now.. and yeah I know, this is quite shitty. By the way the Ram in Rampam is pronounced Rum... as in yo ho ho... and a bottle of rum... the other syllable Pam is just Rum with a P.

Janwar

lo bhai pashuon ki pankti
mein ham bhi khade ho gaye
kuchh sookhi ghaas kha ke
kolhu ka dard bhool gaye

teen ka tamga pane ko
apne malik ko rijhane ko
ham seengh poonchh ugaa ke
bhaiya, chaupaya ho gaye

par yaad to ab bhi aati hai
us pyare sundar sapne ki
jise har din becha karte the
do waqt ki roti paane ko

Kya Kahun?

na kabhi adhik tha, na kabhi hoga

har vastu hai alp yahan

aparyapt prem, aparyapt sukh

aparyapt dhan, aparyapt dukhh

aparyapt yash, aparyapt dharm

aparyapt shanti, aparyapt karm

samay ke simat_te saye se

kah doon ki darr sa lagta hai?

mrityu bhi ab to chidhati hai,

bas pratipal paas bulati hai!

kya kahun? ki mann akulata hai?

andar hi simta jata hai?

jeevan ke chhote tukdon ko?

har pal ghat_ti khushiyon ko?

har raat ujadte sapnon ko?

Yuddh Ka prashn

shoonya ka swar hi goonjta

har disha andheri dikhti hai

mann kehta hai le dekh ise

pehchaan! tera ye sansar hai

sansar se darr sa lagta hai

mann bhaaga bhaga firta hai

koi raah nahi hai jaane ko

mazboor kiya hai is jag ne

kavita mein dard chhupane ko!

samriddhi kehte log jise

wo sach hi koi nagin hogi

kisi ek ki hokar rehne ko

das logon ko dass jati hai

sansar ki yehi reet hai,

na haar hai na jeet hai

sab kuchh  yahin chukana hai

kuchh sath nahin le jana hai

tab kyun yuddha chhidte hain?

kyun log maarte marte hain?

apna ghar baar bachane ko?

parayi sampatti pachane ko?

manav ke ghar mein manavta,

kya yoon hi sadti rahegi?

shishu hriday ki kyariyan

bas vish se sinchti rahengi?

 

hay, manav ka durbhagya ye,

mrittika ko jaan na paya hai

log samajh naa paate hain,

yuddh ke dosh batate hain

dosh nahi hai sanyug ka

manav hi to use bulata hai

parijanon ko marta dekh kar 

fir khud rota pachhtata hai

yuddh to saadhan matra hai,

mrityu ko ham se milane ka

Sookha

dekhta hoon main jab us sookhi jheel mein
wahi saya dikhta hai mujh par hansta hua,
wo sookhi jheel bhi bolti hai mujhse aksar
kyun ghoorta hai aise,tu bhi to hai sookha hua

kaii aate hain tere jaise kahani sun ne wale
lahu jalta hai mera, koi rota hai sunta hua
kabhi to chhalka tha mere sapnon ka pani bhi
dararein banati hain ab aks kuchh bigda hua

laut jaata tha aksar, jheel ke us chhor se
dhool  udti thi jab, hawaa ke sath zor se
aaj main khud dhool hoon hawaa se udta hoon
tab gandagi ke sath tha ab gandagi se door hoon

hawaa aur mera ishq bhi khoob hai kabhi to
udati hai jheel se kabhi udati hai jheel tak
baalon mein haath pherti, kaan mein kehti hui
abhi char din tu dhool hai ruk baarish aane tak

Shikha

Laal chadar mein lipti

laplapati lapton se ghiri

ek kone mein khadi

roti rahi, jalti rahi

main baitha dekhta raha

wo khadi jalti rahi

padmini si paas aati

padmini si khilkhilati

padmini ki shaleenta

padmini si pavitrata

main baitha dekhta raha

wo padmini si jalti rahi

kuchh kehna chahta tha mann

par wo thi jalne mein magan

shayad kuchh sapney bhi the

kuchh kapde aur ek naam bhi tha

jane kahin chhod aayi thi, ya

wo bhi sath mein jalte rahe

jag ka sara andhkar apne

andar samete, simti si,

upar uthhti lapton ki sangini

ki aakash chhoone ki chah thi

vyom se hi aayi thi

vyom ki hi ho gayee

pataa nahi

kabhi aaj tak apni heenta mujhko nahi khali thi, 

satya hi prakash se agyanta ki zanzir bhali thi, 

rok nahi sakte ham dvidha ko apna rag sunane se, 

lag jaati wo rishtaa jodne aasha ka veeraane se

antarman ke kitne vriksh sookhe aur shoonya hue

pratahkaal ke armaanon ke roz raat ko khoon hue

paurush aur parishram, sab bekar ki batein hain

apna hi saubhagya log noch noch kar khaate hain

jeevan bhar yun hi kya main hath malta rahoonga

jate hain sab log jidhar us raah chalta rahunga

rahasya hi reh jayegi safalta ki swarnim rekhaa

apni ab koi aukat nahi sab kuchh kar ke dekhaa

Way Of All Flesh, The (Samuel Butler) Book Review

Samuel Butler: The Way Of All Flesh 

The Way of All Flesh is a novel written by Samuel Butler, as a matter of fact the only novel written by him. In the book Butler attacks the value system prevalent in Victorian England. His protagonist is Ernest Pontifex, whose family history is presented from the time of his great grandfather. The story of the Pontifex family in general and of Ernest Pontifex in particular is presented in a witty, matter of fact way, which provides the reader much to contemplate. 

Ernest's great grandfather was a carpenter, he is described by Butler to be a very nice man and capable of great things. The narrator of the story is Mr. Overton who stood Godfather to Ernest at the time of his baptism and was a childhood friend of his father. Mr. Overton remembers a dialogue with his grandfather when he was a little boy, soon after the death of Ernest's great grandfather, the gist of which i proceed to give in the following lines. Mr. Overton is dismissive of carpenter Pontifex, but his grandfather tells him that such men are rare, very rare. One should think of a man not by what he has done, but what he makes us feel is in his capacity to do. Had Mr. Pontifex had the opportunities as were bestowed upon Oliver Cromwell, he would have done all that Cromwell did and would have done it better than Cromwell himself. He was a great carpenter and never scamped a job in his lifetime. This piece of reminiscence goes to show what Butler actually thought, he respected men for what they were, not what they did. 

Upon the death of carpenter Mr. Pontifex his only son who had done well for himself in the meantime takes over as the head of the family. George Pontifex the grandfather of Ernest is shown to be a mean, weak person, whose only defence is aggression. He when 14 years old was taken as an apprentice by an uncle who was a publisher of religious works. In time he was made a partner in the firm, and upon the death of his uncle George Pontifex found himself the sole heir to the business. George Pontifex was not a great man, not even a shade of what his father was, but he made it up by conceit. Who will not be conceited upon becoming rich so suddenly and decisively. His coming into money influenced the greater part of his life and also the lives of his children. George Pontifex loved money more than even his children or wife. He treated his children offhandedly but never was so with his money. He was very patient and sincere with his money, but then his children gave him hard times and robbed him of his peace of mind, his money never did anything to that effect. Needless to say his children were brought up to be mortally afraid of their father lest they get knocked around some more than they deserved.

The childhood of Ernest's father Theobald Pontifex was not unlike many of his peers. In those days the situation was such that upon evidence, even  incipient self will in a child was strangled and the child so shaken that he never ever thought of crossing his parents in the wrong way again. It was all in the name of religion, every father was an Abraham offering the head of his Isaac to God. Theobald was a quiet child and his father not infrequently had his way with him. He also played his two boys John and Theobald against each other quite often, not worrying about their comparing notes with each other.

Mr. Overton remarks once early in the novel that, he was shocked to see how big a sadist Theobald was. He had once said to his nurse who had wished to leave their employment that he'll not let her go, and keep her there just to torment her. Theobald was not good at academics, and he struggled though school. Upon finishing school he was admitted to an undergraduate course at Cambridge. Here he had more freedom and was at least away from his father's tyranny. His father wished him to be ordained; it was justly so he said, as he was into publishing religious texts that at least one of his children should be a minister. It was shown to be no more his will than Theobald's himself, and Theobald was wiser than contradicting his father in any situation, he was not well built physically and he knew the consequences of his slightest show of dissent. Hence he took what came his way and it was generally known that Theobald wanted to be a minister and should have his way. 

Thus Theobald was ordained. By making one of his main characters a priest, Samuel Butler makes enough room to write about the idiosyncrasies of the church and clergymen, ranging from stupid to downright ridiculous. The Church of England itself and in contrast to the Church of Rome and the fallacy of their beliefs is a subject which has been treated in detail. By showing how Theobald resented being ordained, he did so only under parental pressure, Butler also alludes to how most of the clergymen came to be especially in the nineteenth century. Theobald's marriage to Christina Allaby is also mentioned in detail, wherein the author makes a mockery of the marriage process in general. Theobald was duped into helping Mr. Allaby, Christina's father, who was a vicar, in his work, because of his ill health lately. This was a pretext created by a woman known to the Allabys as well as Theobald, when she was approached by Mrs.Allaby in connection with her daughters' marriage. The subject was broached to Theobald, and in due course it was settled that he would go and help Mr.Allaby with his work.

Upon his arrival, a scene is described where Theobald is attending to Mr. Allaby and the daughters are in a room playing cards with Theobald for stakes. The winner is Christina and when the other daughters protest that she is not eligible as she is four years elder to him, their father takes her side. So it's decided that from next time onwards only Christina will be in the house when Mr.Theobald Pontifex is visiting. The other sisters are sent off to a relative's place and Christina puts on her charming manners to please Theobald. In due course they get married but not without lots of concerns raised by Theobald's father. This small piece of detail how Christina got to woo Theobald is abstracted from him and is a secret which she carries to the grave.

A son was born to Theobald who was named Ernest by his grandfather Mr. George Pontifex. Here also a lot of description of his baptism is involved, where Butler makes fun of it all in his own way. Now we come to a stage when Ernest is two years old. The author describes in detail the stupidity of Theobald and Christina Pontifex in matters all and sundry, especially parenting. Theobald was now getting used to being the man of the house, though he was as weak inside as ever, would bolt upon meeting an adversary who stood his ground or even dropped a hint to that effect, was now accustomed to meek compliance by Christina, who regarded him as the best, most learned, most understanding man ever. This compliance did not come about by itself, but Theobald had killed the cat at the outset, having prevailed over Christina to prepare his dinner and decide the menu herself as she was his wife and it was a wife's duty to take care of her husband, while they were driving back after getting married, Theobald set the tone of the remainder of their married life.

Theobald and Christina regarded themselves as spiritual, religious people, whose calling was the Lord, and their duty to spread His word, this came about due to the low self esteem of each, and their own way to counter it was to tell themselves that they were better than other people as they were altruists. This they tried to instill in their children also. The altruism and otherworldliness were taken to such levels where it was understood without being spoken, that Theobald and Christina were the best people, best parents, and their children should be thankful that they were born to the greatest and most self denying parents.

Because Ernest was born to such 'too good for this world' parents, it was understood that he would be genius too. His lessons started when he was two years old. He was beaten ruthlessly by Theobald who taught him, whenever he made a mistake. Mr. Overton recalls an incident when he was visiting the Pontifexes, it was a Sunday evening, and everybody was seated in the hall, Ernest was very young and still hadn't overcome the lisp. He would say 'tum' whenever he meant 'come'. Theobald spoke to him as if he were an adult, and told him to say come and not tum. Ernest tried his best to say come but could only say tum despite his best efforts, on this Theobald grew very angry with his son, who he thought was deliberately being impolite and disrespectful of his father's wishes, so he took Ernest into another room and beat him for a long time. This was not a solitary incident, but was a matter of routine, of many a Sunday evening.

Thus was Ernest' early childhood. He tried not to do anything which would invite his father's wrath, but nevertheless when such a thing did happen Theobald would try best to make his son repent his ungodly ways by beating him black and blue. His mother tried to make it clear to hi right from his infancy that he should be worthy of the love and care which his father showered on him. She loved her children in her own 'special way'.

When Ernest was about twelve years old, he was sent to study at Roughborough, in the school run by Dr.Skinner. In describing Dr.Skinner Butler again ridicules the whole school atmosphere, and the Doctor himself. He describes the doctor as a mean, conceited person, who hides his own inadequacies by being strict on his pupils. His views are shown to be laughed off by people who know better, as is the case with Mr. Overton. Mr. Overton makes his dislike for Dr.Skinner known in plain and simple words. He also ridicules those who consider him to be a great master and a man of knowledge, and those students who consider him as their ideal. Ernest's school years were even more unpleasant than his childhood, but here he learnt to cope with it at least to an extent. 

One good thing which happened to Ernest while still new at school was his aunt Alethea Pontifex. Alethea is shown by Butler to be kind and considerate and one who has the discerning eye for the ridiculous, one who believes in the true human values and not in those imposed upon us by mean people in the position of power. Alethea took interest in Ernest, for she wanted some one from her own family to leave her inheritance to. She left her quarters in London and came to live in Roughborough and saw a lot of Ernest, on a regular basis. She saw that he had an interest in music, and his physical weakness also did not go unnoticed. So she came up with a plan to make him work hard physically, towards an end which he would very much like. This was the building of a wooden organ pipe. The organ took most of his free time. Alethea had not yet decided whether she wanted to make Ernest her heir or not. But then she fell ill suddenly, and called her lawyer along with her most trusted friend Mr. Overton and told them of her will, through which she left most of her money to Ernest, which was to be his upon attaining the age of 28 years, and till then he was not to come to know about it in any way, and the whole sum was to remain in the safe trusteeship of his godfather Mr. Overton. No one other than Mr. Overton and her lawyer was to know of this special arrangement. Upon having settled this matter, Alethea's condition deteriorated further and she died within a fortnight of that time. Thus the little goodness which Ernest had seen first time in his life came to an end, and he went back to his old miserable ways. The organ building was forbidden by his father who thought it a waste of Ernest's time and his money.

When in the want of pocket money he sold his books, or whatever he could manage to sell, to pay for the items dear to him. Ernest's father was very harsh on anything which the boy took a liking to, music for instance. Music was never liked by Theobald who could never make head or tail of it, thus the dislike. Ernest was fond of music, and was very keen towards it, more than his Latin and Greek, which he considered as more of a pain. So he sold his books to buy music or tobacco or anything which he found more appealing than Latin or Greek.  It so happened that a servant girl named Ellen whom Ernest liked a lot, as he liked anybody who was kind towards him, because he had hardly known any kindness hitherto, was a cause of disgrace to the house because she was with child without being married. Upon discovering this Christina at once told her to pack up and leave, which she did promptly without protest. Ernest discovered this and his heart went out to her. He ran behind the carriage taking her to the station, met it midway and gave his watch which his aunt Alethea had given him and the remaining amount of his pocket money. He then reported to his parents that his watch had dropped out of his coat pocket along with his money. This was found out to be false by Theobald, and Ernest was made to reveal all about himself and the wrong doing in his school by the way of moral and physical parental pressure. Samuel Butler by the way of example shows how frightful an experience childhood can be for those who have mean or stupid parents who just want to impose their will on their children without knowing better.

Ernest passed school without much difficulty, without really learning anything which he did not know beforehand. Another aspect of his mother is highlighted, Christina took very much interest in his friends, as soon as he mentioned any boy's name his mother's famous inquisition would start, she wanted to know all there was to know about the said boy. She was not without a sense of dream consciousness, she would start off into one of her reveries at once, thinking how so and so boy would come to visit them, and fall in love with her lovely daughter Charlotte, who was odious to the last degree, and then he and Charlotte would get married and live happily ever after. This she thought only in connection with those boys who were from well known or well placed families. With such intentions in mind she asked Ernest about all his friends, and he had come to realize his mother's motives lately, which he found disgusting and soon knew better than to mention any names.

Ernest joined Cambridge upon passing from school, and here for the first time he realized true happiness. He was the king of his castle that is his room in the hostel and nobody was there to tell him what he should or should not do. His studies progressed just fine and he had more leisure than usual which he utilized in reading and rowing, which was a new hobby. He was soon popular in his batch and soon found himself a member of the best set in Cambridge. He had stayed away from religion so far, but upon listening to a sermon by a preacher who was famous for his oratorical skills, Ernest was converted He thought this was his calling. So he started studying for ordination and was duly ordained a priest when the time came. This news was not well taken by Mr. Overton. 

Ernest joined as a junior curate to a rector in London; he was then 22 years old. He met a person named Pryer who was the senior curate under the same rector, and was so impressed with his ideas that he believed in them whole heartedly. Among those ideas was that bible is very dangerous for those who know not how to handle it, and that there should be a college of spiritual pathology which should evolve as a scientific discipline, whose students will learn how to cure the laymen of their ills of the spirit. Here Butler again shows the ridiculous nature of the clergy, who are conceited and in their conceit think themselves to be the benefactors of mankind. So taken in was Ernest by Pryer's ideas that he immediately agreed to speculate on the stock exchange, so that he may have ample money to found his college of spiritual pathology. Ernest was not satisfied with this. He took up rooms in one of the poorest parts of the town, so that he may experience poverty. This decision although stood him in good stead later on. 

Ernest was so excited that he wanted to convert one and all to his way of thinking; he decided he should begin with those who lived in the same house as he. So he went downstairs one day to convert a tinker who lived in the back kitchen, the tinker made him realize that his own knowledge was insufficient by asking him to tell him the story of Christ's crucifixion and resurrection as told by the various books of the New Testament. He mixed one account with another, and then the tinker told him to go and study them once again. Not deterred, he went upstairs to convert two young ladies, one of whom was a prostitute but Ernest had no knowledge of this. Upon entering her room Ernest found another man there, who happened to be his friend from Cambridge, Mr.Townley. Ernest left as soon as he entered, and then went to convert the other young lady, where some confusion occurred and he was charged with assault.

Ernest was soon arrested and brought to trial whence he was sentenced to six months of hard labour. In prison his health failed and he suffered brain fever. He reflected a lot in prison infirmary where he came to see his foolishness. He decided he would leave England with all his money and go to America or Australia and never return. However in the mean time Mr. Pryer had bolted with all his money and was never heard of again. This news was broken to him sometime after he got well. When he left prison he was met by his parents who had ridiculed him for getting into prison, and his father had said that he never had any son named Ernest. Ernest gave his parents the cut and felt very happy afterwards. He wanted to start work as a tailor, as that was the trade he learnt in prison, but was unable to find work even after trying a lot. No shop owner was ready to keep him. Ernest felt very dejected at this. One night while roaming the streets he met Ellen again, the servant girl who was driven out of his parents' house. He told her his tale of woes and she said she could help him open a shop of his own. Ernest was elated at this idea and he got a house on lease where he opened his shop of second hand clothes, which he bought and mended with the help of Ellen. He even married Ellen soon after. 

Butler, in the last pages of the book, destroys completely the commonly held Christian beliefs, and espouses a philosophy of his own. It would hardly suffice to reproduce it here. Any one particularly interested should read the book and form his or her own opinions. He also writes against society and social institutions. It may be ascribed to his disbelief in Christian ideals, his disregard for the pseudo society of the nineteenth century England. He also writes against marriage and parenthood. Once in the book he expresses his wish that human generations should also not overlap as in case of turtles.

How nice it would be if we could be buried as eggs in sand and with Bank of England notes around us, to take care of all our future needs.

Ernest's marriage turned out to be a failure, because of his wife's drinking habit which had subsided upon change of environment, but returned soon after. His business began to decline, and he found himself where he had begun, the only difference being that now he had a wife and was even father to two. He was naive enough to suspect that his wife did not lie to him and her problems were not because of drinking but ill health, and his business was actually declining and not that his wife had been drinking half his profits. Upon having discovered the true reason he broke down once again. 

Soon he was to find out that he was not married at all, that his marriage was void because his 'wife' was already married. It was then settled that she should have an allowance, and would not disturb him in any other circumstances, she was blissfully careless of the children and left them at Ernest's disposal. Sometime later she left for America with another man, but requested Ernest to let her have the allowance. He did so, and she sent him cards on his birthday thereafter.

Ernest was still ignorant of his aunt's will and the money had accrued to 70000 pounds. Mr. Overton got Ernest to keep books for him, which was in a way managing his own money, after Ellen left, for a salary of 300 pounds a year and in due course handed him his own money on the morning of his twenty eighth birthday. Ernest was pleasantly shocked and relieved at knowing that he had such a big sum to his name thus ended his years of misery and penury.

Ernest later traveled along with Mr. Overton to mainland European countries, mainly France and Italy, and then after a long sojourn settled to a career of writing. 

Mr. Samuel Butler through this novel attacks the prevalent value system in European society, English in particular. He also makes remarks about the church, both Roman Catholic and the Church of England and the fallacy of their beliefs, the typical clergyman is not spared, with the choicest of barbs being reserved for him. Marriage, religion and society in general take the back seat in Mr. Butler's work; the place of importance is given to the individual.

This is a semi autobiographical novel, Ernest and Butler were born in the same year, and were both raised by clergyman fathers, in rectories. All the characters in the book are based upon real people, Butler portrays his sisters as the only sister of Ernest, the odious Charlotte. The same technique is applied in reverse on himself. His character is split into Mr. Overton, who has much disregard for society and its ludicrity, whereas the self doubt and low self esteem is awarded to Ernest. This novel was considered to have a bad impression on society, as it was dismissive of family values, wasn't read much as soon as it was published. It was only after George Bernard Shaw wrote about it in the preface of one of his plays, recommending it tremendously, that it was published again. As the discontent among the young generation grew,with the coming of the world war I ,and other world events, and disillusion set in, The Way Of All Flesh was recognized to be the masterpiece that it is.

Vaam dal ke neta

Vaam dal ka neta hoon main

Subhash Bose ka pota hoon main

sabki nabz samajhta hoon

janta ko kabj samajhta hoon

kabhi chillata pyaaz ko lekar

kabhi shor machata parmanu par

Vaam dal ka neta hoon main

Subhash Bose ka pota hoon main

Jhooth bolna, shor machana,

Kewal karna faltu bakwas,

paan chabanaa, cinema dekhna

yeh hain mere shauq khaas.

Vaam dal ka neta hoon main

Subhash Bose ka pota hoon main

Nandigram pe halla karte ho,

Modi se tulna karte ho ?

Modi lomdi hai to kya,

main bhi to hoon ek siyaar

Vaam dal ka neta hoon main

Subhash Bose ka pota hoon main

Gundagardi hai khel hamara

samasya aate hi kar lete hain ham kinara

khoon bahana, jeb kaatna

aur bahane banana pachaas

Vaam dal ka neta hoon main

Subhash Bose ka pota hoon main

Jab nandi hi nahi hai 

to gram kya karoge ?

Jab zameen hamari nahi 

to kaam kya karoge ?

Vaam dalka neta hoon main

Subhash Bose ka pota hoon main

Chheen lenge jo kuchh bhi hai 

tumhara, apni sampatti hai

to mat samjho use apna sahara

meri maano tum bhi le lo

ek roosi topi laal

meri tarah hi kehlaoge 

tum bhi dharti ke laal.

Karte firenge fir ham

ek dooje ko laal salaam

khaa jayenge saare aam

fir maangenge gutthli ke daam

Vaam dal ka neta hoon main

Subhash Bose ka pota hoon main

Purush Stri Samvaad (verses 3 and 6 have been contributed by Shikha Singh)

purush:

kanchan tumhari kaaya,  gesuon ka syaahi samaan saaya hai

tumhari in aankhon mein lekin mera mann kyun bharmaya hai?

tum madira ki nirjhari,priye koi kya kabhi pee paya hai?

sarvasva samarpan karne ka,kyun mere mann mein aaya hai?

yeh pushp yeh bagiya yeh parvat, kitne manoram lagte hain,

tumhari vaani sunte hi, harshit praan nikalne lagte hain..

arpit prem pushp na sweekaro, banaa do haas ka patra priye

main jaunga is dharti se lekin tumhari bhi tasweer liye.

Jeevan mein main ek aas liye, is prem pushp ko saath liye,

arpit karne ko dhoond raha , har raah meri ab disha liye.

sangeet mera  hai gunj raha tere sapno ko saath liye

Ab de do in geeto ko mere, apne sur aur saaz priye

 

stri:

madira kab svayam peeti hai, sona kya jaane apna mahattva

ho jaata sab swarth dhool jab mil jata wo param tattva

main phirti hoon van upvan nainon mein anupam anuraag liye

jab na dikhe priyatam ki chhavi, mann mein kinchit vairaag liye

dharti bhi tarasti rehti hai, aakhir kab aakash mile

kabhi to mere upvan mein, ek phool shyam, laal khile

prem pushp kya tum doge,jab poora upvan mere paas hai

mil jaye apne saagar se iss nadiyaa ki yehi pyaas hai

Soch ki is majhdhaar mein hai, jaane kitne armaan basey

Apne upvan ke phool ko tarse, naina kitne hairaan huae

priyatam pankh pakhaar liye , aa jaao  sapne sakaar kare

nadiya sagar se mil jaaye, dharti ambar ka haath dhare.

Arth ya Maya

aata tha sheeshe ke chhote tukde lekar

unko bech, ghar jata kuchh paise lekar

mann kehta mujhse arth nahi ye maya hai,

kanch bech kar,maine ab tak kya paya hai?

nahi marunga main aaj se 

tukdon mein jeene ke liye

mann ki dwidha na bhed saka 

bhookhe pet so bhi na saka

jaagta rahaa raat bhar, shayad kuchh samvad mile

koii to divya prakash mere bhi aangan mein khile

sheeshon ke mayajaal mein apni hi soorat dikhti hai

jaane kyun ye bhi ab mujhse milne se darrti hai

aakhir main karunga kya?

maya-desh mein rahunga kya?

kya hai mera antim roop?

kabhi to hogi narm dhoop

mujhe na chahiye swarna mahal

ek meri kavita ka khila kamal

keechad ban jaayein ang sabhi

agar mujhe wo mil jaay kabhi

the letter

Dear Mom and Dad,

It's been close to 4 years since we last spoke. I hope both of you are well, and still keep yourselves occupied with prayers, worship, religious work. I don't think you would have grown any warmer towards other religions, and their followers. I believe the path you chose was best for you, and all likeminded people should do the same, because an infant's destiny is decided even before it's born. I was stupid enough to think that there is only one God, or maybe there isn't one, we have made it all up to amuse ourselves. But its not like that, there are multiple Gods in this world, the most common distinction that comes to mind is our God, and their God. 

Apparently these Gods don't like each other. They are angry, vengeful, and conceited. They punish those who try to go against them. Waheeda's God knew she'd betray him and marry a kafir and he didn't like it, so first he killed her parents, then her brother, and then her. My God didn't like me at all, so he took away whatever I had, my love, my life, and left me here to mock my pseudo/empty existence. I am not sure which of these Gods was responsible for killing my unborn child though, maybe they acted in concert in it's case.

I do not care what happens to me next, because my life is as good as over. But I shall not die, I shall live on. I shall live to destroy the boundaries that separate man from his brother, live to love, and maybe someday these Gods will have a few things to learn from your not so good son.

Viral.

Ek Priya Ki Aas (dedicated to Ramdhari Singh 'Dinkar')

Hain mithya vichar mere, hai chetna nispand

hai nirarthak si shoonya se jeevan ki cheshta

udta hua swar kehta tere sab dwaar hain band

kalpana ki hansee ko main hoon khada dekhta 

Nisha deekhti svyam antak swaroop kaali

meri kavita ke vishakt vishikh se vakya

mujhpar hi chhoot_te hain, ushaa ki lali

shonrit si lagti hai, mera hai ye saubhagya

hai jalati mujhko hi mere mann ki aag

vritha le baitha main ek priya ki aas  

adrishya ne likha kalikh se mera bhag

shoony sa, sarvavyapt shoonyta ke paas

karti dharti ambar se pranay nivedan

hriday vedna hai varsha ban kar aati

aparavidya si meri kalpit priya milan

ki vela kabhi aati, to kabhi bhool jati

timir jaal ko cheerti prakash ki rekha

hai ek timtimati dhibaria se jaise aati

mere antarman ka andhkaar bhi dhul jata

piyush ki ek dhar jo mere liye bah jaati

Vat joins the game

Vat took to pimping as fish to water. He took pride in personally abusing every lad who set eyes on the lass. Some of them were under heavy influence of hollywood, they'd say "hey babe, what's up?" Vat was pissing over their profile pages day after day and still managed to get the kicks. Some of them were downright ridiculous, they went "hi!, a sweet hello, to a very very chweet girl." Vat burst into delirious laughter whenever he read such things. A chosen few were of the frustrated variety, who never learned, could never get a girl of their own, and whose marriages had to be fixed by their parents. But they were the most hard working kind, never forgot to follow up, tried to innovate but failed miserably most of the times. There were persistent frust people, and non persistent frust people who'd never waste more than the normal amount of time on a single female. One of the persistent frusts, tried to impress Priya Razdan aka Vat with his self developed theory of time and space. 

Now there's a frustu ladies and gentlemen. A man who thinks that a girl will be interested in talking about dimensions and time, and space above all other things in this world. The intellectual creeps of this world have much more latent ability to be funny, because whatever they say in ernest is inherently funny, but they don't know that, and one doesn't tell them, lest the fun fountain dry up. One holds an end of the thread, carefully wrapped around their naked emaciated bodies, creating an illusion of well being and humour, one may give a little tug and down it goes, the entire fabric of their pseudo sensuality. One feels like shooting down the entire doll house and all those whose minds need some fondling to start working. That's when you miss your machine gun the most. 

Girls have no major role to play in this, they are simple, beautiful creatures who thrive on attention. Most of them are willing to put up with stupidity, but then some are not. It's a shame to see people trying to attract attention, when it's supposed to be the other way round. And being a man one should know that it's no use trying to argue with one, or trying to make her understand something. So why all this drama about time and space then? Do you, Mr. Timenspace have lots of time but no space to put it? Why didn't you try shoving it up yours? Instead you wanted to educate another bloke posing as a girl you theory of relativity, when all you can think of is where to wipe your hands after you have thought about the space between her legs and the time it'll take you to get there. 

One incident stands out, Vat once received a scrap from one Mr. Prakash Chandra, who Vat knew from another community. He started off with an utterly romanshitic one liner: "Ek zindagi, doosree zindagi se milna chahti hai, agar aap mauka dein to", which meant, one life wants to meet another if you allow them to. This was exquisite stuff, how could Vat not sit up and take notice. Prakash Chandra had quickly gained the reputation of 'lord protector' of damsels in distress, actually just short, fat, ugly chicks that one wouldn't care about any way. 

India has been known for it's acceptance, it's tradition of assimilation of good, and honour for dissent, but that very fabric of our existence is being eaten away, by roaches of the fourth kind. But then our freedom has shown us hitherto unknown colours.Young people discuss on pseudo platforms with pseudo view points looking for applause. If one takes a closer look at the Indian communities on social networking, many of them are on casteist lines, and we the people join them, dividing the country with innumerable divisors. The quotients of such divisons are nothingness and misery and confusion, rape, murder, child abuse, terrorism, secessionist movements, naxalism, and sodomy in schools. Vat knew Prakash Chandra from one such community, where he protected SFUNs (Short Fat Ugly Non-males) serving turd after turd of intellectual shit. Vat loved intellectual shit, he would pester people into playing funda funda with him, he'd himself unload the most smelly kind of crap on tohse around him. But all that was in good fun, nobody took each other seriously. Life is weird, there are things that one takes seriously, and then there are things that one doesn't. No matter how much one practices for it, it's always disturbing to find out the kinds of things that people are willing to take seriously in this world. Unparalleled stupidity is not a crime, but being inspired after being infinitely stupid is. 

Vat as we know did not hate stupid people, he was amused by them. To him it was bakchodi as usual, always. But when it came to girls, our man got a bit perplexed. Vat believed that they believed in whatever they said, which was a bit hard to believe for him but he got better at it eventually. Whenever he tried to say anything, which was always in good fun, he made a fool of himself, and could not comprehend the sequence of events that followed. He would get pestered for a lifetime, for being what he was, when he was just looking for the right thing to say. The kind of girls he met always read n factorial meanings in his n word sentence. He tried to talk basically, and failed, when all the time the only thing he wanted was to have some fun. Lets just say he was stupid. He was trying to have the wrong kind of fun. 

There is a lot of hatred in India. Boys hate girls, they don't wanna be seen playing with them in middle school because they are afraid of their society. So they tease girls, make fun of them, whistle at them in the street, pass lewd comments, and grow up to rape them. Girls today mind you are not like their elder sisters at all. They don't take things lying down. They want to be treated equally by men. They hate the lack of sensitivity and sense in boys. Speaking of the 'nasty bouy' kind of girls, those are the ones one finds majoring in public administration and home science. They hate society for not letting them be, for considering them as objects of pleasure and not persons, either way. Everybody is afraid of society. Has the social conflict which we have given ourselves become so binding that it's sucking the breath out of our lungs, and stifling the silent screams of our still borns, our dead female infants? The conflict between the sexes is just coming to the surface, women are beginning to speak up. The violence, and rape over the ages is slowly coming out of closed doors and windows of rural and urban, rich and poor India alike. Men are shocked, give  some more sexual freedom to women and the society will degenerate into the chaos that is the west.

Sexual freedom, or liberty in general doesn't come all by itself. It is preceded by financial freedom, employment, education, all of which are connected to good monsoons and growing economy. We have to face the consequences of development as a nation, the true emancipation of women. A little sexperimentation is not misplaced, after all the taboos of society are all the more exciting when being broken. So we run towards debating rooms, and debate how to control the uninhibited sex wave sweeping across schools, colleges, and offices of India. Why do we so crave development, when we as a society can't live with it? 

Whenever one looks at it, India looks confused. No matter how deep one digs into Indian history, one finds only more confusions, and more confused people. It's not wrong to be confused over things, it only illustrates the flux in society, a barometer of social health. But it's rather stupid to take one's own view too seriously in a confused society. One community doesn't like others. No caste likes other castes. Why? Because all men and women cravve for a common denominator. Those who don't, want to make others want what they want, and try to lead. Led into narrow lanes by each other, with no escape route, to be slaughtered by each other is our collective destiny. Zeroes everywhere. Politics is a zero, religion is a zero, all these groups cast their zeroes over other groups, like they have the midas touch, only what they touch becomes zero, zook, yes. It becomes such a big suck house that it sucks, money, peace, happiness, and patience out of people, giving them only zeroes in return. It's a vicious cycle, with every Indian reaping zeroes out of our collective conscience, and seeing only our collective failure as a nation in giving ourselves, good governance, good public health, good education, and good food. We only succeeded in collectively hating each other. The question, Why? still remains at the bottom of the Indian confusion.

Vat couldn't forget Prakash Chandra for some reason. He even spoke to him over the telephone. Vat was drunk with delight, he wanted the call to go on and on. he had this problem, he wanted all the people to talk to him all the time. So he listened to what Mr. Chandra had to say, and then he gave him the normal crap that he gave everybody else. The phone call stretched to forty minutes, and by the time it ended Vat had told PC that he'd be coming to Bombay in the next few days. 

When he woke up, he saw a message from PC on his mobile phone. He called up PC, and arranged to meet him at his apartment in Central Bombay two hours later. PC stayed in a nice colony, and came to it's main gate promptly to receive Vat. They arrived at the flat and Vat went in, looking for a place to settle down. He found a bed in the hall, and seated his bottom near the open window, felt the cool breeze and saw the trees rustle. A man, aptly dressed in underpants with his right hand inside them, came out of the toilet. This was Mr. Rikky Chauhan. Mr. Chauhan introduced himself and proceeded to look for something under the bed.

There are times when you want something badly. You want it so bad that you are willing to go to any length within reasonable limits to get it. But then in a moment, the desire is gone, and one doesn't feel so agitiated anymore. People say there are ways to capture moments and freeze them forever. But all that beautiful talk is full of meaninglessness. One can never capture moments, they never come back. That is what makes it beautiful. Vat would never see Mr. Rikky Chauhan with only his underpants on and his right hand inside them. One experiences something transient, fleeting, and one wants to preserve it forever, but it escapes one's grasp, and changes into some other form of meaninglessness from which one may never have his moment back. When one meets one's friends one pretends it wasn't that important. One lies, one puts on faces one has never seen before and loses the count somewhere down the line. One ends up as a faceless scumbag, who has no identity of his own. A man of zero intellect, with zeroes in his heart, he goes and amd joins the big ocean of zeroes like a drop, to add to the nothingness, and create a bigger, better zero for all of us to yearn for. This shameless game of hypocrisy and farce is what people play for the rest of their lives. 

Vat's week in Bombay

He stayed with a cousin for a couple of days, and then shifted to the Phuckmi guest house, one day before the day of joining. The guest house was filled with other people, all of whom along with Vat were prisoners of the same screwball game. He had to share his flat with another person, an engineer from Orissa, but the boy was good, didn't get in Vat's way and spoke very less, so Vat liked him. He was a good flatmate. 

Vat's first day at Phuckmi:

Vat arrived on time, even though he had taken time off for a shower and shaving his facial hair. Vat had started taking bath those days, welcome change, but one can never be too sure about Vat. The first session for the day was the introductory session, Vat hated introductions from the bottom of his heart. When his turn came, he got up said his name aloud and sat down. He was checking the non males out, evidently there were no real phimales in his batch. To be fair, the girls here were much better than those back in Tamland. 

The session was hosted by a fat, ugly HR non male whose job was to threaten the freshers on their first day. She explained the rules of the game. Vat wasn't interested. Vat could here the sound of something scratching something else. He turned to look and found a guy scratching his face, Vat looked intently, in the hope that maybe the guy will scratch his balls next. Sometime during the next session the HR non male mentioned something about joining bonus, which to Vat's dismay was neither to be paid at joining, nor a bonus. Vat got up and tried to create a scene, he was concerned about the herd of sheep there with him.

Vat struck up conversations with many people during the day, everyone trying to gauge the mood and mind of others. He returned to the guest house with quite a fan following, and was pleased with himself. Guest house environment was good, the food was bad, but the house keeping was good, he was pleased to find a clean white sheet with a white pillow cover for his pillow on his bed, not to mention the clean floor. Vat settled down soon to read. 

His thoughts wandered to the HR female and her ugliness, as soon as he thought of her he regretted it. He shook of the negative thoughts and went back to the book. charles Strickland fascinated him more and more as he kept reading. A man who doesn't want money, doesn't value sex, just wants to create was news for Vat. He wanted to be like Strickland, it's another matter that Vat wanted to be like every other character that he read about. "No", he told himself, "Strickland is different from the rest, I can really identify with him." Vat 'really' identified with everybody, sometimes he was like that. It helped him get under people's skin though.  He fell asleep reading the book, and thus ended his first day as a dog. 

Few days passed at the guest house, Vat wasn't liking it all that much. This wasn't what he wanted, he knew it. He decided to look up some guys whom he knew from a popular social networking site Chirkut. Chirkut wasn't very exciting for Vat but it helped pass the time. When one is lonely in one's own world, one doesn't expect much from anything. then something like Chirkut helps pass the time, if one feels like crawling out of one's skin and look inside somebody else's intestines, or let the other person look inside one's own. The world seemed like a very big contraceptive to Vat, sometimes it worked for him, other times it didn't, and when it didn't work the way Vat wanted it to work, he blamed himself for not playing the game well. Chirkut for example, was at its chaotic best, all the people, all the mayhem. It's like escaping into a pseudo worldly state where all activity happens at a distance, one feels it but one isn't really affected by it. People get to enact their most perverse fantasies like exposing in local trains, however it's under a veneer and everybody likes it. Vat hadn't heard much about Chirkut when he jumped on to it. 

On his way home after graduating from college, blown in the train with his buddy the green goblin, he thought of things he would do at home. Vat didn't have much fun generally, at other times he didn't have fun at all. This was serious he was going home after passing out from college, he needed something to do. He had nothing to look forward to at home. He thought about Chirkut and everything he had accomplished there so far. Vat had a plan before he reached home, one profile for political bullshit, one for philosophical crap, one just for the kinks, and one for cursing other fuckers would do for the moment, he thought. His political, social, philosophical crap, all got mixed up with the kinky stuff, with a little bit of cursing thrown in, soon he was a force to reckon with in Cyberia, or so he liked to think. Vat was popular on cybershit, no doubt about that, cause he dealt with shit of all kinds. It took him a few weeks to get organised, but once everything was in order, he looked happy. He had phished for chicks' snaps on the web and came up with a Venezuelan babe's pic, to which he aptly gave a kashmiri name. He called her Priya Razdan, and within no time PR's pro was being inundated by requests for private rendezvous. 

To those who like this blog.

Dear All,

Those of you who do read this blog and like it for some reason, could you please help me increase the reader base? At present word of mouth publicity should be good enough, I want to write a book in the medium to long term and something tells me that blog readership can land me a book contract if it's high enough. One more thing I will ask of you, please leave your comments, all form of criticism is welcome, be it negative, positive, even below the belt personal attacks on the author. Thanks.

Vat goes to Bombay

Vat remembered his physics coach of pre engineering days all of a sudden. Not very happy memories though. Vat would describe him often as a sick bastard, a paedophile whose wife had eloped with a much younger man, and he in turn made out often with his housemaid who he later married. When somebody said, “oh that’s a very strong description”, he would retort, “Rajvardhan Singh was a very strong man.”

 

Vat often indulged in bakchodi, in the good old days, he would discuss politics, sex, philosophy, and everything else. It’s imperative that we understand the great term that India has given birth to, Bakchodi.

 

Bakchodi is what bakchods do. A bakchod is a person who knows no boundaries, the eternal, free man. His spirit is one with Thomas Jefferson’s, and he declares his independence time and again through his bakchodi. Anything from utter bullshit to the greatest achievement of man in any field can be termed as bakchodi. Vat was a bakchod, and as mentioned previously he was interested in many things all at once, but not very interested in anything in particular.

 

He also remembered the infamous post graduate hostel, which had not a single post graduate student as its inmate. He knew some people there, who would snatch bikes from passers-by for pure philanthropic reasons, and some five percent. Anyway coming back to the subject again, Phuckmi Computers was still waiting for him. Vat’s thoughts went back to the day when he sat for Phuckmi’s aptitude test. Well college hadn’t been all that smooth either, he had been expelled from the hostels and suspended from the college for an indefinite period, but all that was to manifest itself in the form of Phuckmi, this he did not know. He had been thrown out of two interviews before, something which his friends attributed to his hippie looks, and the smell of cigarettes.

 

So Phuckmi came to college, Vat didn’t give a passing fuck for Phuckmi, yet he sat for the aptitude test as he had nothing better to do at that instant. He cleared the aptitude test quite easily and his predicament began, he did not want to join Phuckmi, and he could not back out from the selection process after successfully clearing the aptitude test. His mind was racing, and suddenly he had an idea, “why not get stoned?” Vat always had ideas, which were always supposed to be viewed independently of their merit. He reached home as fast as he could, and told everybody that he wanted to appear for the GD, rock solid.

 

“When did your balls mutate into brains?” said Alex. “Hey come on dudes, it will be easier, I’d speak some shit and they won’t select me. I’ll be happy, they will be happy, it’s a win-win situation, can’t you people see!” “Knock yourself out sale, by the by all of us will stone together and accompany you to the placement office.”

 

Vat was looking like the devil himself when he arrived for the GD. He joined his group, and learned that there were four people in that group of ten who he did not know, nor had he seen them anywhere before. They, it seemed to him, had appeared out of nowhere, and his thoughts went about raping his behind as follows, “who the fuck are these people, who could they be! … Maybe they are all androids, terminators, every single one of them. As soon as we go inside, it’ll be curtains for the rest of us, what the fuck have I got myself into? Well don’t think shit you asshole, act normal … okay here you go, everything is fine, be steady now …” 

They were all ushered in for the group discussion. One person that Vat did not know was sitting right next to him at position number five. The moderator gave the go ahead and number five was up and running in a flash. He had floated a strong hello in the air and befriended everyone before one could say Mississippi. Vat was stunned by the onslaught. He reacted to the stimulus with laughter which rang in the room. He was extremely pleased with himself, thinking that he had done the trick. He kept shut for the rest of the discussion, but for a twenty second period when he couldn’t keep himself from interrupting. A friend of his had gone on a hyperbole, and was talking about Jharkhand hockey players’ resolve, while the topic had something to do with population being a boon or a bane. Vat said one shouldn’t worry about population that much, and rather worry about utilising the available human resource in a constructive manner. The discussion ended there, and he was selected for the interview to his utter disbelief.

 

The thought of the interview hung like a sharp shining sword on Vat’s head, lest he clear that too. Vat entered the interview hall at the appointed hour. Determined to save his back side by all means, Vat greeted the interviewer with a stupid smile. The guy in front was short, fat, a bit on the old side, and unlike most people he had much less hair on his head. Well to be honest, he didn’t have any hair at all. Next five minutes were filled with stupid mummy papa kind of questions, but the real act was yet to come.

 

“So,” said the fat old boy with a smile on his face, “it says here that you underwent industrial training on systems programming in UNIX environment, which debugger did you prefer most Mr. Tiwari?” Vat’s moment was here, “debugger!  What’s that? This is the first time I have come across that term.” “I have you by the balls now you creep!” thought the old man. “That’s interesting, what’s your name, yes Vikramaditya. Tell me Vikramaditya, what is a double pointer?” Vat was ecstatic. “Sir, it’s a big pointer.” “Well not quite what I was expecting, could you elaborate more on that please?” “I meant it’s a pointer to a double something.” “Anyway Mr. Tiwari tell me something about shared memory IPC.” And so on and so forth went on the old man, Vat continued with his wisecracks, in the next few minutes his fate was to be decided, he came out feeling quite confident.

 

The results came out and he was selected, that’s when he realised that he had been taken, literally. Vat was angry with himself, but the deed was done. He left for home feeling dejected, to tell his friends that he was selected.

 

Vat was walking aimlessly in half reverie thinking of the events that led to the present, when suddenly he remembered it was time to go home. He popped a mint, and started on the long walk back, his head heavy with thoughts of Phuckmi. He showed his face to his father, who had since returned home from work, and headed off to the terrace. The terrace was one of his favourite haunts in the evenings. He could be alone since nobody came there, except a few housewives to put clothes on washing lines, or to spread wheat on a mat to dry, or to dry whatever else needed drying, and some children who came to play in the afternoon. But the time had long gone for anybody to be there. It was just Vat and his thoughts to accompany him. He thought of the reason behind his existence, his purpose, his desires, his ultimate goal. It might be said that there were millions of desires and dreams, and Vat found himself sinking slowly, body part by body part into the quagmire called life with every passing moment and his heart sank.

 

He thought of ways to get the groundwork done, to be able to afford his leisure, to be able to think freely, and utopian dreams of not having to prostitute his mind and body. One idea that cropped up was to start an enterprise of his own, and let it earn him his wealth while he took time off to enjoy his wine and his women. But by the time he’d have his leisure and wine and women, he’d be quite old and bored with life. There’d be no fun left in the fine wine, or the rare women. It had to be now somehow.

 

One keeps on living day after lousy day in the hope of something better. The hope that tomorrow will be better than today or at least something new is what keeps us going. There are times when one loses faith, generally in everything around oneself. When one loses faith, one’s instinct takes over and one comes out of the illusion once and for all; it helps one to lead one’s life peacefully without falling for temptations again. But at the same time, when one’s faith gets shattered, so many things inside die at once such that one is half dead already. One carries on with life like a rooted tree that feels everything but can’t express it, that can see the coming storm but can’t move out of its way rather doesn’t want to.

 

When there’s something in the air, a dry forest waiting for a spark, something to light up the whole bloody cosmos that everyone sits and notices but one knows that the picture is just becoming clear. The mind is clear, and one can feel one with the cosmos, one sees so clearly the drama that’s about to unfold. One knows that people will fail him, will deceive him, yet this need for people, the search for beauty, a truly monstrous thing to do, to keep on living the same old way.

 

Vat had returned home and kicked up a crazy chat with a female on the net in the meanwhile. She was interested in poetry it seems, but not in giving her phone number, or showing herself or parts of her. Vat thought she must be one of those ugly fat chicks who try to show that they have some sense and some sense of humour. Maa was calling for dinner, but he wasn’t hungry yet, so he kept up the chat for sometime and then moved on. Downloading movies was another pastime; Vat was crazy about cinema, a manifestation of his escapist attitude towards life. He had to think straight for sometime, Bombay after two days, he was moving away from home, he’d need to take along lots of stuff, he didn’t quite know what.

 

First came tobacco and rolling paper, and then came porn movies, music, books, clothes, and then his documents. Not that he was very keen on joining Phuckmi, but stay at home some more he couldn’t.

 

Vat got up early, took his car for the last long drive for some 80 odd kilometres, had breakfast, and then went about keeping his things in place. He was ready to leave at noon, all set for Bombay. The train left on time, unusually. Vat had some not so good looking people as co passengers. He thought to himself, “Why are my fortunes always bad on these journeys, not even a single good looking female in the compartment. Anyway, there’s always a plan B.” With The Moon and Six Pence in hand, he headed for the toilet to have his smoke. By the time he came back his fellow passengers had struck up a jolly conversation. Vat thought, “Already? What the fuck.” He lay on his berth and opened the book, and read with half a mind, the other half busy cursing his fate and his co passengers. He wondered, “What is more important, creativity or sex? I think I’ll never be able to tell. Why does the need to create become so great that one is ready to give up his entire life, his wife, his kids? Maybe the art grows within him like an abscess, and erupts someday into a squishy squashy pulp of tissue and pus. Maybe he is so wasted by the time he gets there that there is no other way, he has to create, to get it out of his system, so that he may live a couple of years longer, and not die then itself out of his internal gangrene of art. The painting, the book, or cinema, or music grows within him till the point he can take it no more, and then it is born, a peephole into the artist’s intestines. But the man had a life, a wife and kids, how can he just fuck them and walk away. Ghalib rightly said that in the garb of beggars we see the games that the high and mighty play. Games people play. Fuck Bombay is still so far away, and these gentlemen, are quite a lively bunch, drunk on who knows what kind of false euphoria.”

 

It was only Allahabad, Vat was bored, he decided to smoke some more and go to sleep. One wonders if it’s rightly said that one should derive happiness in work. To make such a thing possible, one has to have the knack of making money out of things that one loves doing. That if such an eventuality may ever present itself, where everyone gets to do what he most loves doing, the end would be near. Vat woke up after dreaming of green meadows a flowing river and top less girls, and soon after he experienced a change in his brainwaves. The gentlemen in coupe were discussing something in animated tones. All of them had many points to prove. Mr. Pandey for instance, was a school teacher and by the virtue of his position in society, he expected the class to come to order, once he had started speaking. He was bald, and bored of everything. He had ideas and opinions on every damn subject in the world, especially Bihar and its plight it seemed. He told the others about the education system, politics or religion. One thing that he didn’t tell the others was that his daughter had run away with a boy from a lower caste, nor did he tell them that his wife kept him in utter sexual deprivation. Currently Mr. Pandey was pressing his point about the degeneration that had crept into society, and how things used to be better in the past. Vat was amused. Mr. Mahto told everyone how people in his village still respected the elders, and nothing untoward had happened for many years, everyone was on friendly terms with everyone else. They all lived happily with or without each other. Mr. Mahto didn’t tell them that he was waylaid and looted often, and frequently beaten up by hoodlums, and derided by everyone outside his community for not letting his daughter of seventeen be taken away for one night stands.

 

Vat was fascinated by their talk, and their belief in the system, their faith in society. He thought it was because they lacked the means or the muscle to take on society. Each one had his own opinions about what was wrong with society and was prompt with remedies. Mr. Mahto wanted law and order to return to the cities. For this he wanted a disciplined police force that was not in the habit of granting favours to the rich and the political. Mr. Pandey wanted people to get more educational opportunities and eventual employment within the state itself, to stop the exodus of Biharis to lands far away. Maybe he thought his daughter would come back too. He also wanted the government to be based upon true democratic principles. No one knows what true democratic principles are anyway, so lets let it be for the time being.

 

In the twenty hours that had passed since Vat had left home, a woman had died in childbirth on one of the state capital’s arterial roads due to some blockade. It turn out there was a procession by the opposition members and their goons for better roads in the state. In separate incidents nineteen members belonging to three different families had been culled like poultry after bird flu for caste rivalries, a boy had been made to marry at gun point without dowry, and three people had been kidnapped including two doctors and a businessman’s kid.

 

Vat reached Bombay, he was tired of doing nothing, tired of smoking in the bathroom, but that was all past now, Bombay beckoned.

Sell me your love hun

I will treat you to ice cream

and popsickles if you like,

Oh, and here is my money if

you have something to sell

I have my heart on a platter

tied with ribbons and nicely 

wrapped in striped pink paper

you don't like it, never mind

I have some more, made to order

you see, this is not ordinary!!

got it in a designer store

I am limited edition too baby!

let me touch you honey, I earn

a lot you see, a high hatter 

you know, they just don't sell

me anymore, in the big store

why this hypocricy, where did 

you buy it hun? will you get some

for me too, I'll pay you in

advance. I am rich you know.

I'll tip you well you kitty

nice cats and nice collars

all sold in the big store 

value for money and 

I'll come back for more

So sell me your love hun

and package it well, cause

whats not packed, doesn't sell

well you know, I like you a lot

thats why I came to you, but

there are other stores on the 

block. Sell me your love hun and 

give the regular some discount

come on babe, sell me your love

and I'll give some of my own

Ohh, why are you ashamed?

it's the marketing world.

Come on babe, it's the marketing world.

Us and Them, a tribute to Pink Floyd

the world is not as 

good as orange juice

they tell me all the

time, I don't believe 

you is what I tell them 

why is it us and

them always? my word

against yours, your

world against mine?

can there be some peace

in this mad mad world

can a man find solace

and some goodness if

he is good? they say

things are not called

good or bad anymore, they

are just things, and so 

are people, my stupid

heart refuses to believe

that people are machines

I think I will be good

to everyone that I meet

and never be another 

cog in the big wheel

then why am I sad even 

after being good, it ain't 

enough they say, 

you need to be rich

what shall I tell them

now, its all the same, 

there are no real people

it's just us and them

why am I so foolish, 

to not see this, and 

when nothing 's real 

its just us and them

The life and times of Vikramaditya Tiwari

Vikramaditya Tiwari was dreaming. He dreamt of an eighteen wheeler, rushing down the highway. Painted red and yellow, like most trucks in Tamland, but with a brilliant flame job, the vehicle wasn’t ordinary. It happened to have a great couch, with soft red leather upholstery extruding from where its front bumper should have been. It was quite difficult to say where the truck ended and the couch began. All of it taken together was one cosmic whole which had wheels and ran on diesel.

 

Vat as he was popularly known, lay there on the couch, with cushions under his head and wherever else he wanted them to be, and a big bowl of buttered popcorn beside him. He was watching television, not watching actually but surfing channels, looking for something interesting.

 

What is the biggest malady of our times? Boredom. A person spends so much time realising over and over again, that he is bored. He is bored of everything around him. He doesn’t even want to look for ways to kill time. He lets time go by, thinking involuntarily of places, people, life and his own role in the bigger picture. Yet one doesn’t quite stop being bored. Maybe one should kill oneself then. With no life force left, no meaning that can be attributed to anything, one thinks of other people, and what they’d have done when faced by such a situation. But one doesn’t kill one self. One is not a fool.

 

The search for something interesting to do is the biggest activity of our times, involving the greatest number of people for the greatest amount of time. Is it man’s curiosity, his foolishness, or his helplessness?

 

Anyway, getting back to the subject at hand, Vat’s siesta was disturbed by some high pitched voices, coming from a place quite nearby. He woke up. Some children were playing, screaming more often, just outside his apartment. Of the millions of things that Vat didn’t like, one was being woken up. “Why do these kids play in the afternoon? There parents need a dose of good parenting advice, children who play in the afternoon grow up to be mister nobodys.”

 

Youth they say is turbulent, one gets agitated, feels more strongly, reacts strongly, acts too sometimes. What happens when one grows older? One thing for sure is that people stop being themselves. Is it boredom again? If you see an active old man, first thing you need to check is which political party he belongs to. We may attribute boredom to the availability of choice, lesser the number of options, lesser the amount of boredom experienced. It’s not that, it’s some sort of resignation, one realises that nothing comes out of any endeavour anyway, one becomes more mature they say. Miller calls it the principle of futility. But what is it really, wisdom or inability? Even the desire for change ebbs away, only a dead mass is left, full of servility and indifference. This is the stage in life when most people in India get married.

 

Vat wasn’t proactive, even as a child. He was a lazy, laid back fellow, one of those who hate work, and authority, ad a lot of other things. The children were not to be blamed, nor was Vat. Most of us have shrieked and shouted, and stamped around our parents to be let out to play, come late afternoon, and whenever we visited anybody’s place, we made sure that we had all the fun there was to be had. If there was nothing on offer, we still cried, and ran around and put up a show. That was fun too.

 

Let us blame circumstance then, until we find something more worthy, it is the easiest thing to do. One good thing about circumstance is that it never complains. We might liken it to a blame sink, if there was such a thing. The civilised world has afforded so many options to man for venting his desire of apportioning blame, like weather, government, society, etc. One may chose that one finds most suitable.

 

Vat’s first act upon regaining consciousness was to scratch his genitals. His genitalia were a safe haven for fleas and micro organisms that the whole medical fraternity disapproves of. He was taken aback upon seeing his reflection in the mirror. His hair resembled a vast corn field, run over by a herd of migrating. Sporadically, strands stood upright, like soldiers receiving gallantry awards on Republic day, rest had been run over. Thou shalt not look harangued when thou waketh. Nature has its own ways to humble everybody. No matter what one projects oneself to be, however smart or intelligent, one knows one’s own shortcomings, one would be a fool if one doesn’t, like most people.

 

When someone discovers something which is embarrassing one tries to act as if the other person does not exist. We give the adjective personal to things most embarrassing, and never lose a chance to condemn a person with the same set of personal attributes as ourselves, if and when known. People live multiple lives; they are scared to admit the most intimate facts about themselves, even to themselves. By chance if such a person comes along, who makes no secret of his own life, who lives a simple life, who has the power to take the millions along and the vision to see what the others will see only when it’s shown them, who although self serving makes no excuses for it, people look for ways to bring him down. If they are unable to do so, they curse him, and they kill him. Once he is done away with, they make monuments to his memory and deify him and cash in on the glory. Sycophancy and hypocrisy are the keywords to power. Premchand said in Godan, that, if ever one’s neck is under somebody’s foot, one’s good fortune lies in massaging that foot. It seems he knew exactly what the great Indian confusion was all about.

 

Vat freshened up and went out for his evening smoke. He liked taking long walks in the evenings. He stopped to light a cigarette, and then resumed walking, with no particular destination in mind. He thought of months to come, his upcoming trip to Mumbai, his job as a software engineer at Phuckmi Computers. It was a pathetic company. Although they had been in the industry since the beginning of linear time, they were still one of the worst. Vat had never intended to join Phuckmi. An engineer by education, he had more than his fair share of fun at college. This was providence’s way of making him pay.

 

He had joined the rat race for success like other such young wannabe technocrats. One wonders why people want to succeed. Is it because they have something to prove, or they want to earn money and lead a comfortable? How many of these people are really sure what they want in life? Is technology their passion or they are there just for the associated prestige? Vat wanted to be an engineer, but let it be known that he also wanted to be every other thing that any other person wanted to be, except a doctor because he hated doctors for some reason. Vat loved everything, and nothing in particular, he was happy to be alive, and grateful to his parents for having brought him into this world. 

To Dream, with love

I see myself falling

while I try to rise

I see myself crawling

to freedom in disguise

A mental hangup

a forgotten hangover

why must you scream?

while I chase my dream

A dream concieved on

a starry night, while

night smelt of flowers

and the whisky of gloom

the day's not gone, there

is much to hope

someday I will have you

my dream unknown

a dream of glory

a dream of power

a dream of goodness

the dream, my desire

my mind plays games

hitherto unknown

I shall not give in

but drive the knife in

my mind gives me numbers

I choose to ignore

I shall not let down

my dream unknown

I am partially scared

of unexplored realms

my heart sinks with sorrow

my sweaty forehead gleams

You shall not have me

as I stand here now

I hold no beliefs,

let me show you how

knowledge of past failures

doesn't scare me now

I shall not let you down

not this time, not now.  

Do kavitayein

When the night is cold,

and here you are, alone.

You think about  things

that no longer matter

chances you let go, voices

you chose not to hear

When your heart fills

with morbid fear, the

life you live is as good 

as coalition politics.

you live on borrowed time

bombs are sold for a dime

You think about the family,

back home in a distant land,

here you are no more than

a stranger in a strange land.

You wish you had one

to call your own.

To put your head on a girl's 

breast and wish fear

and hatred to go away.

There is more to this 

world than hatred.

2nd Poem

Ye jo dhime dhime jalti aag hai

Hawaon ki sard sard pighalti aag

Mehki mehki si sulagti aag

Narm hothon ki dahakti aag

Jab sab jag jal jayega

tab bhi hogi ye aag

sab aag se aaye hain

sab rakh ho jayenge

Mere khyalon se lipti aag

meri chita se nikalti aag

jalte hue patakhe ke dabbon ki hari aag

teri baaton ke angare teri lal lal aag

insaan ek shola hai, 

uski kartootein hain aag

sab aag se aaye hain

sab rakh ho jayenge

sari raat jagati hai pet ki aag

har rang ki aag ko dekha hai

kaise rehta main bedaag 

har rang ki aag mein jalta hoon

fir bhi kuchh baaki hai abhi

apne hisse ki aag main kise de jaun

sab aag se aaye hain

sab rakh ho jayenge

Rashmirathi (Canto Uno)

All hail, wherever it may burn, bow to the holy fire

in whoever they reside, we hail brilliance and power

no matter where it blossoms, praiseworthy is the flower 

the inspired do not seek the source of qualities or power

One who does not know high and low is most knowledgeable

one full of sympathy and righteousness is worthy of worship

he who is not afraid belongs to the warrior clan

the one full of self denial and meditation is the greatest brahmin

The brilliant don't seek felicitation by dropping their family name

they get praised by the world for playing their natural game

looking at their low birth, whether called right or wrong

the courageous always leave their mark on history of the world

He whose father was the Sun, mother was noble virgin Kunti

had a basket in the flowing stream to serve as his cradle

raised in the horse keeper clan, never tasted mother's milk

Karn still grew up to be unequaled among the brave

Great warrior by body, noble by heart, a donor by nature,

proud not of caste or creed, but of genteel nature and courage

by acquiring knowledge, meditating, practicing scriptures, and weapons

Karn developed his skills and qualities on his very own 

Away from the bustle of cities, away from family and home

the industrious busy in hard labour,  body and soul

immersed in his own self, drunk of his own labour

blossomed Karn like a wild flower, away from eyes of the world

Flowers don't bloom just in the gardens of kings

often times they bloom away from the city, in the wild

who can know this secret, nature has its own ways

keeping her most precious sons so often in rags 

But for how long can the sun be shadowed by the clouds?

for how long can the brave bear the negligence of the world?

finding time one day, the youth awoke at last

exploded in front of everyone, manhood's first blast

When in the amphitheatre Arjun was in an element his own

Along came Karn, from midst the crowd, bow and arrow drawn

saying, "why feel proud of this applause?

Arjun your glory shall be dirt in a moment"

"Whatever you have done, I can do it too,

and a few tricks my own if you like I'll teach you

behold, eyes peeled, what my hands can do,

one who basks in cheap glory, that man be ridiculed"

And thus Karn showed his battle skills

the people were stunned, watched eyes fixed

enchanted, silent, all over, the ocean of people

there echoed just Karn's bow thread's twang

As Karn turned, people shouted "great, great!"

a heavy dread fell over the leaders of ruling clan

Dron, Bhishm, Arjun, all pale, all of them sad,

Just Suyodhan came afore, and said "brave man, well done "

Karn then challenged Arjun for one on one armed combat

Arjun was told to stay shut by his teacher Dron

Kripachary said, "pay heed, oh, unknown brave young man!,

Of the great beacon of Bharat clan, Pandu, Arjun is a son! 

"Is a Kshatriy, is a prince, he shan't fight just like that,

how can he engage just about anybody in combat?

If you want to fight him, they pray don't be silent,

tell us your family name, pray tell us your caste?"

"Caste, oh, caste!", Karn's heart filled with disgust, 

looking at the fuming sun, the brave man spoke with anger

"caste, caste, they rant, whose only wealth is deceit,

I know of no caste, my only caste is my strength!"

"Golden canopies overhead, yet hearts as black as can be,

not ashamed are those, who enquire about caste in this world,

I am the son of a stable keeper, but who was Parth's father?

Say it aloud if thou hast courage, don't be silent because of guilt"

"With heads held high, you bear the caste's name,

yet, wrongful exploitation is your game,

mortally afraid, always, of the weaker castes,

deceitfully ask for thumbs, you have no other task."

"If courage be, ask my forearms for my caste,

ask my forehead that gleams like the sun, ask my Kavach-kundal,

read the brilliance which you can see gleam inside me,

every hair strand on my body is marked by my history"

"If Arjun is a brave kshatriy, let him come to the fore,

let me also see the brilliance of his kshatriy birth,

by snatching bow and arrow right now from this prince,

I'll give you an example of my high caste!"

Kripachary said, "you are getting angry in vain,

it's a simple thing, you fail to understand,

if you can't do without fighting this prince,

you should try to earn a kingdom first, for yourself."

Karn was amused, he thought about it for some time,

Suyodhan couldn't bear the injustice, he came to the fore,

he said, "it's very unfair to this way defame,

a man whose brilliance is only outshone by the sun."

"It's very difficult, to know, the origin of rivers, of the courageous,

what apart from the bow, is the clan of great warriors?

the brave get respect from the world due to their austerity,

only the cowardly and cruel rant and rave caste! caste!"

"Who did not see, as Karn came out from the crowds,

that complete terror overtook the entire crowd?

Even if he is a stable keeper, or cobbler, or undertaker,

All princes of the world are filthy in front of him"

"Is it right to defame in this manner, this precious man,

this gem of humanity, this wealth of the land?

Without a kingdom, if Karn does not deserve to be brave,

then my open declaration should be heeded by the world. 

"I put Ang's crown on Karn's head,

a kingdom I give up, for this great man."

Thus he put the crown on Karn's head,

the amphitheatre came alive, the crowd cheering for duryodhan 

Karn, taken aback with Suyodhan's sudden generosity,

ovewhelmed with gratitude, held him in the cross of his arms

Duryodhan hugged him, and said, "brother, be at ease,

why be so emotional, at this cheap gift?"

"What did I sacrifice, if I gave you the kingdom?

Ohh, how glad will I be if you accept me as your friend!

Karn felt overwhelmed some more, "Ohh, such affection for me!

brother, henceforth we are two bodies and a soul."

"In front of this great crowd, the respect that you have shown,

for the first time in life, the uplift that I have known,

At what cost?, How shall I repay your loan?

Ohh, Gods be praised if I can ever help you in any way."

City dwellers surrounded Karn, reverent, charmed,

people are normally so eager to worship courage

whatever one may say, animosity, jealousy, falacy, or pride,

people do identify their favorite hero, no matter what.

So people indulged their hero, worshiped him with vermillion and flowers

amphitheatre all over was full of joyous bustle

as Karn took a bow especially with grace,

the crowd eager, shouted, "victory to the king of Ang"

'The King of Ang', stuck like an arrow through the heart

bustling with anger, not knowing what to say, Bheem said,

"Dusting horse tails, thats what he has done so far,

how will a stable keeper's son ever be able to rule?"

Duryodhan said, "Bheem, you talk rubbish, and in vain,

called the righteous, knowledgable, but still harbour animosity

Of what use is noble birth, if the deeds are no good,

A man's quality is noble character, not clan, wealth, or residence.

"As rightly said by Karn, tell us who you are,

the secret of your birth, if you know, let it be known to all

doesn't look at it's own shortcomings, ohh the ways of the world

true, nobody can see with own eyes, their own forehead

Kripachary intervened, said, "Ohh, what is this?

Haven't you any shame, even namesake, left?

Come on lets go home, look it's evening already

All of you must be tired, you need to rest"

All city dwellers left the amphitheatre, with joy

Some praising Parth, some praising Karn

Away from everybody, walked Dron, Arjun by his side

saying, "Parth, who is this new Rahu among us?"

"No equal to you should be born in this world,

is the only thing that has kept my attention,

took Eklavya's thumb, didn't let out a sigh

want to keep bereft of thorns, son your path"

"But whatever I saw today has shaken my resolve,

I see great courage and brilliance manifest itself in Karn

if it grows without hinderance, this little rival,

Arjun, someday he may prove to be your end!"

"Am thinking, what shall I do with him,

how shall I rob this comet of its brilliance?

I will not take him under my wing, that is certain,

But beware son, of this mighty rival,always."

Kauravs left the amphitheatre with Karn, blowing conch shells,

they walked, swaying, singing with joy, enjoying

As golden peaks of mighty mountains of the era, well formed, well mannered, fair,

Duryodhan and Karn walked back, each with his arm on the other's shoulder

With great satisfaction, Sun, on it's way to settle down for the day

Was kissing the prodigious son's forehead with fragrant, tender arms

today for once he didn't want to set at the right time of the day,

stopped as if for a moment, his aircraft on the horizon

And alas!, as the queens made their way back to the palace

one lady followed everyone else, with a shrunken heart

dreams had been razed to the ground, or maybe lost a bet

Kunti couldn't take take steps forward, even if she tried