Evening by the beach

She: Wow, it is so calm and beautiful here. You were right, this city isn't that bad.
He: See I told you so.
She: But the problem here is not the people, it is some people. Most people have more than enough problems in their life that they don't care why a young couple is sitting by the beach at this time of the hour. While some are happy to see us happy. Yet, there are some who can't find anyone else being happy even if it's nothing that will affect them.
He: Of course there are bad people everywhere, not just here.
She: Yeah but these aren't bad people right; or goondas or criminals, right? At least these are not professional killers or anything. These people have normal day jobs, loans, electricity bills and that usual middle class fubar. Most probably they go back home to their wives and kids after a good day of moral policing. They are normal. Now that is what dangerous.
He: Come on. Chill no? I mean let us enjoy this moment.

Them: Hey hey hey! Who are you? What is this, America? Who are you two? What is this a hotel room? Hey, who is this girl? Is she your wife? Show me the thaali! What is your name? What is her name?
He: Hey hey! What are you doing? Keep your hands off man! She is my girlfriend. Yeah!
She: Of course! We are together. He didn't force me to sit here and it is none of your business anyway.
Them: Girl friend? Huh? This is India? Give me your parents number! Give me your phone?
She: Ok ok ok! Wait, wait!  Let me take it!

She (turning to him while ruffling through her bag): See, this is what I said.

Then she finds what she is looking for from her bag, loads it and shoots Them in their faces.

He: Ok, lets have some chai now?
She: Yeah! And some Uzhunnu vada. Let's go.

Witch-hunter.

He woke up swearing. The fever dreams were always so vivid and almost always appalling. He vaguely remembered the whole dream, yet some parts were still there; like an after taste from a very strong piece of cheese. The part where his girlfriend did not want to get up from her pet's embrace even to say good-byes to him was one. She didn't even open her eyes, although they both knew they won't be seeing each other for a long while. The part where he wakes up (in the dream) to see a man and a woman speaking in hushed tones was the other one. They got into the wrong house apparently, but they were already inside the locked house. Well, the thing about dreams is that they didn't have to be logical in any sense. Then the girl undresses, wears another dress and leaves with the guy.

Enough about dreams. Now he had other things to be taken care of. He was a 'witch-hunter' in the modern world; but what he was hunting can scarcely be called witches. He was commissioned by a very large and powerful religious institution to hunt and fetch the girls who had married outside their religions. These 'treacherous wenches' has chosen to defile their mighty god. He was supposed to hunt them down, kill their men and bring the girls back to these religious leaders. He was not to hurt the girls, unnecessarily. He was never to sexually harass them either; although hurting young girls was never his thing, even for money. But he doubted if it was the same with the lofty high priests of the religious order.

One thing that he always made sure of is that he would never work for the same religion more than once. After all, there are hundreds of religions and sub-religions; and hence no dearth of new employers. And the job is always the same; pay is always good. He packed his bag and took a look at the photograph in his wallet. It was so ironic to think that he does this all to give  a comfortable life to his two daughters.

To Mysore Pa or not!

I like Mysore Pa. I do eat it once in a while. Sometimes I get a craving for Mysore Pa and if I could get some Mysore Pa then I do go and get me some Mysore Pa. But I don't go largely out of my way to get a Mysore Pa. If someone I know have some Mysore Pa and if I am comfortable with them, I might ask them for some Mysore Pa; but I won't steal it from them. If someone offers me Mysore Pa, most cases I accept it. I can live without Mysore Pa, but as long as I want it and am able to get some Mysore Pa, I would eat it. 

Does that make me  a    b a d    p e r s o n ??? 

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.

To be or not to be!

Am I an artist? I never thought of me as an artist. But then, now I think, I maybe one. I could be one anyways. If I try harder with my photography or my writing or both, I can make good art. And if I could and I didn't, then that would be sacrilege!

Bug.

A bug bit me in the morning and I squashed it; and I forgot about it. Now it's midnight and I remember my past. Back in those days, I was a bug. I was despised and then I was squashed by a man. I turned into a man and the man turned into a bug. Now I can feel myself turning into a bug!

Existential crisis.

Existential crisis.
Again!
I am a dog with existential crisis.
In a cage. Born into domestication.
Even my younger dreams had me in cages.
I hadn't met a wild born stray dog yet, then.
Now I see them a lot. Some of their visions have swept into my dreams.
I can now dream things I haven't experienced yet.
I am a caged dog with existential crisis.

Happily ever after?

I saw a movie about love - and I loved it. It didn't have a happily ever after, unlike many love stories. 

I was asked a question, if I would die for love. My first response - why should someone die for love? I mean isn't it ironic that such a pure sweet emotion like love should evoke thoughts of death? But then I thought, it's a good reason to die for, isn't it? I wouldn't know, yet!

Cui Bono.

We all have our existential crises and doubts. We all should have them at one point of time. Here or there? Or where?
Most of us had a cushioned past - the details were made out for us by someone else. We just need to step on to the train. Our life, education and career so far has been just hiking on someone else's shoulders. Then it hits you - and hits you hard. We are here and we are wondering if this is a rut that we are stuck in. We think hard. We aren't content with the glass and the water it contains. We are hungry but we aren't hungry enough. We are fools but not foolish enough.
We read about others who are better than us. We read about their adventures. But, we don't read about their failures. We don't notice the thousands of throws which didn't end up in the hoop but we are amazed and enticed by the beauty of the ones which did end up perfectly. We dream of perfection, but we don't strive for it. We blame the system but we forget the fact that it wasn't meant to be fair. It was meant to be causal. We forget the fact that the only rule in the universe is causality. The cruel and impartial rule of cause and effect. So perfect, yet so simple.

Reminds me of this quote from the Scoresese movie The Departed:
Ellerby: Cui Bono, who benefits?
Colin Sullivan : Cui gives a shit. It's got a freakin' bow on it.

Ready to marry. Made to specs. 20% discount.

I have been seeing a lot of talk/discussion and all those creepy stuff about marriage, especially from the ladies. About the fact that how 'mallu' guys are when they are looking out for marriage; how pathetic they are; how they over-react; how big hypocrites they are - all those very important and exceedingly accurate things, as these lady friends see. This is not a post supporting the guys; this is not a retort from the rest of unmarried males. However, what this is, is a vague (and I'm sure vain) attempt at trying to find out why this is happening.
First of all, let me start with the fact (which might be a little tough to comprehend) that all men are not assholes. Hey  there, your dad is a member of the male fraternity too, isn't he? But I do agree that there are lots of asses out there who are, well asses. But the fact about asses is that it's all about presentation; see an ass is an ass is an ass. But you cover them up with nice clothing, show a bit hide a bit - and it becomes something to die for. Of course, me being a male chauvinistic asshole, I couldn't come up with a better analogy. But then I do believe its a good analogy, my point here being - what might look like Christmas might really be Halloween.
As for the guys asking this and that - honestly I don't understand that. Trust me, I have seen guys who were perfectly honorable and reasonable turn into proper assholes when the case of matrimony starts. (And I know people who are not assholes having a tough time finding a girl, and other people making a lot of off-hand comments about them. And if you are one of those people who makes all those snide remarks, then, Fuck you - till thy kingdom come).
I digress - the fact I was trying to put forward here is that, there are very reasonable people who suddenly flip when a search for a lady commences. And I, for the life of me, can't comprehend how. Then there is an urban legend that these reasonable people are taken to this place - not quite sure where exactly - a quaint little restaurant or maybe a shady alley and hit with a large stone (or a plasma gun which alters your personality, who knows) which  makes them bonkers and matri-ready, to be dished out in plastic boxes with all those bubble wraps by various .com sites. That's one hypothesis; there are many.
Then there is this thing which was earlier called happily ever after; now its called 'Blah'.

P.S. :- There is another theory that after marriage people go into a parallel universe inhabited only by married people. Not really sure of that either. I haven't got the entry pass yet - seems like it's a 'Couples only' joint :D