Valsamma Sir

Valsamma Sir is the pinnacle of gender equality in Kerala. She wore a saree to work, she even had the umbrella - folded and tucked under her arm - stereotypical Malayali government employee lady in all senses. The peon calls her 'Valsamma Sir', because 'Sir' is above everything in India, especially in government offices; except to his or her 'Sir'. So this strict hierarchy goes all the way up the ladder; to the very end. But even the topmost person will have someone to call 'Sir'. Oh it's a maze, don't think too much about it now! I digress. Yet these whole complexity doesn't make any change to the fact that Peon Ramu (a stereotypical Indian peon with a stereotypical Indian peon name) has to call Mrs. Valsamma Thampi 'Valsamma Sir'. Now thats how gender equality should be, eh?

Sic Semper Tyrranis. 

Statutory warning; or lack thereof.

There were kids playing on a high ground; much higher than the field beneath, higher than the level of the small restaurant I was sitting with my friends. There was a high stone wall rising from the field, towards the ground, a good 150-200 feet high. The restaurant was in a town alien to me, the menu strange and I was loving every moment of it. There were a few kids in the restaurant too, possibly from the same school.

The kids up there were playing with Table Tennis paddles, albeit with no table. And the paddle slipped from one of the kid's hand and flew down the wall, into the field down below. Another kid promptly started climbing down the wall, holding on to the line of jutting stones, which I think was made specifically for that. He looked deft enough in the beginning, but I was proven wrong soon enough. He slipped and fell down into the field, a good 100-150 feet and it was obvious that he's dead.

Kids started swarming around him, in the field. It was far enough from me to know the details. I saw one elder man thrashing a kid, though I don't know why.

And all I could think was of the guilt the kid whose hands had slipped, causing the paddle to fell off; he would live the rest of his life as one who caused another's death.

Apolitical art?

Can there be any art without political inclinations? Is there anything as 'Apolitical art', worth being called art? Politically inclined art, either for or against an ideal, any ideal, is what that actually exists; the ones that do not talk about the plight of men in a society where they are being trampled upon is, in all reality, siding with the same men who are trampling them. Love poems, stories, sonnets - everything, every single plot is either with them or against them; and if you think you are neither, then my friend, you too are with them.

Set me free!

...

He saw her the next day. How did he know it was her, in that purdah, he did wonder. But he was sure it was her. And he knew that she recognised him too. She hastened her pace.

And, one day she lifted her veil and showed him her face.

It didn't take much longer for them to be deep in love. It didn't take much longer for her family to find out. It didn't take much longer for her marriage to be fixed. It didn't take much longer for some thugs to threaten him. It didn't take much longer for them to decide to elope and elope they did. It didn't take much longer for them to be caught.

It took much longer for her to forget him. Then one day she set herself free.

Caged.

There is a shop near Commercial street, which sells exotic birds. I go there to look at those beautiful creatures, once in a while. I look at them, and I think - 'If I ever have enough money to throw away, then maybe I will come here and buy all of these birds and set them free!'

The Girl with Kaleidoscope Eyes.

It was Ramzan. She walked through the illuminated stores, looking at the bangles and bindis and colourful dupattas, it all looked like a psychedelic dream. She wondered how she would look in a brightly coloured Salwar-Kameez. A bling sandal. Blue eye shadows, may be, like that girl in the TV. She wondered how it be to wear multi-coloured bangles. She tried on a few, but didn't buy any of them. That's when she noticed that I was watching her. She swiftly readjusted her purdah and walked away, but only after turning around and looking at me - all the colours of that shop were reflecting in her eyes.

...and 

Dream a little dream!

I dream nice dreams. Then I paint them for everyone. I then entice people to join me in my dream. I pull them closer, make them happier, then...I let the dream fade. I betray them, in a way. But I am not sorry about it; I will never be sorry for who, what I am. But I do feel bad. They must have believed that I could be amazing; and I know I could be. I am amazing, everyone is, aren't they? But I drift a lot, I don't paddle when I should, when I could. I leave them be. I tell them stories. I take them through adventures. And, I lead them into dungeons. I am a bad influence. I give hope; I show them light - only to take it all back from them. In a way I am a failure and I drag people down with me.
Well, Fuck off then; go on!

P.S.: Number of occurences of the word 'I' in this passage - 28.