Bearer of news....

Each week, I post three words. You write something using the words.

But I invite everyone to check back often to read and  comment on other contributions. This is, after all, a community for writers who clamor for feedback.

This week's words: 

Carnage; noun: The killing of a large number of people.

Jerk; noun: A quick, sharp sudden movement; a spasmodic muscle twitch; a contemptibly obnoxious person; verb: Move or cause to move with a jerk

Puncture; noun: A small hole in something, a tire or skin, made by a sharp object; verb: Make a puncture in (something); cause a sudden collapse of (mood or feeling).

The mid day sun shone brightly in the vast blue sky. Their skin appeared thickened and coarse, sparse garments covered their torso above knees. Feet appeared planted in the fertile black soil. They moved rhythmically planting and removing saplings. It seemed to me like all this was a dance. I cycled along the narrow mud path which separated two huge paddy fields. I was listening to the women singing and birds chirping. It all appeared so much orchestrated. It looked like a green carpet, the paddy field. Here and there I saw handmade cradles made of worn out sarees carefully tied to strong branches. It was a beautiful sight. Sweat dripped along my forehead constantly and it was difficult to wipe them, so I let it drop to the ground as if to kiss the bare earth. It was my first day here so I began to observe my surroundings very keenly. I cursed the heat but continued my journey along these fields towards an unknown destination.

I halted my bicycle in a sudden jerk (not used to muddy roads) under a banyan tree and walked with my bundle of letters towards the fields. A postcard was addressed to Chennamma who worked in the fields of Doddegowdru. Among the sea of bent heads, looking for Chennamma seemed a task. I went to a person who seemed to be the supervisor, a typical guy actually! Huge belly, dark skinned, a mole near the left lower orbital floor. I asked for Chennamma, he shouted her name loudly and a couple of heads rose up with curious eyes. From the dress I wore, they understood I was the bearer of news. All the six Chennammas, came running towards the supervisor but their eyes fixed upon me. The supervisor seemed confused and asked me ‘Which one?’ I looked at the address again, Chennamma, wife of Kitchappa’. I repeated her husband’s name and only woman began to blush. Even under the burning sun her expressions were so crystal clear, the very name of her husband filled her heart with so much delight. She rose her hand slightly and with bent eyes began drawing circles with her feet. The rest of the Chennammas began to leave silently and the supervisor led us to the shade of the banyan tree.

She was my first ‘client’ in Kudlooru. The shade of the banyan tree seemed like a pleasant change to the scorching sun. Both of us squatted on the grass which surprisingly was cool. She asked me to read the letter. I straightened my spectacles and took a closer look at the post card.  I restricted myself not only as a bearer of news but also as a counselor since many of my clients were both illiterate and naive. A few literate ones also consulted me in their affairs since they thought I had worldly wisdom. Villagers believe that travelers like me earn wisdom everywhere we go, the world being our school and life being our teacher. She asked me anxiously about the events described in the letter and I read them aloud but slowly making sure she is able to understand every word I speak. Every district had a slang, a different accent and usage of the same language.

Kitchappa described his life in simple words, health was good and work seemed fine. The city looked big with buildings and full of vehicles. He enquired about the health of his parents and reminded his wife in sweet words that his parents were old and might seem crude but they loved her a lot. He enquired about the children’s health and studies. His last few lines were about how his new city job could help clear loans. Chenamma wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and took the post card from my hand. She thanked me and began her enquiries ‘How is the city? I have seen in the television. Women are very pretty there, isn’t it? I hear they don’t take care of their own children and parents. Must be spending time doing all those colorful things to their faces and hair…’ This woman spoke so comfortably as though she knew me from ages. Yes I seemed to have earned her trust, this will help me later. I nodded as in a reply and said ‘They have to work too, like you people!’ She looked at me in complete shock, ‘Like me! You mean under the burning sun, on all fours and some mean men shouting at you all the while?’ She took a break and sighed and then carried on ‘I watch tv serials, either they are sitting on chairs watching a small tv or they are gossiping about the family all the while.’ I thought it was better to stay quiet. Women! Her supervisor called on ‘So, the whole afternoon you want to spend with that wretched postcard?’ Chenamma cursed the fellow and got up and went along leaving me and my bicycle alone. I turned back to look yet again at the sea of bent heads. Wrapped by hands of mother earth, they all looked like. I stopped for a second to enjoy once again this sight of selfless love. And do they even know that they are being held safely by mother earth’s hands? I prayed to the great mother whose omnipresence can be felt in these green fields.

I rode through the muddy path crossing the green fields into the temple street. Our culture so rich, so many gods at every turn of a street there is a Ganesha idol, decorated with fragrant flowers. The remover of obstacles. I got off my bicycle as I passed through the idol and removed my chappals. I folded my hands with great reverence and said a quick prayer. The next letter had to be delivered to the Temple priest of Sitaram temple. I had heard a lot of this temple and was eager to visit it. The opportunity presented itself today and my heart leapt with great joy. A white envelope from Chennai with an elaborate address, all in capitals was addressed to the temple priest. I dropped the envelope at the temple office and entered into the temple to have a good darshan. My mind seemed so peaceful after an encounter with Chennamma that now I was here to absorb holiness. The Sita Ram darshan was a feast to the eyes. I was lost in a different world for what seemed timeless.

My eyes opened and I was reminded by the bundle of letters that there was more work to do. I took the Lord’s blessings and was on my way back to the bicycle. The temple priest sat at the edge of steps with head bent low. He seemed to be disappointed and lost. An inner voice urged me to talk to him. The priest seemed to be around sixty years old and his eyes beamed with devotion. Respect rose from the bottom of my heart and I began to spoke him ‘Sir, are you in some deep trouble?’ He seemed shaken and lifted his eyes to look at me. In his right hand tightly folded was the letter I had given. He wiped his tears and cleared his throat and began to speak. 'This letter is from my son who passed away a month ago in a terrorist carnage....' He broke into tears again. Just listening to him punctured my heart. I placed my hands on his elderly shoulders and looked into the vast sky. Blue. Huge. without an end, without a beginning... I prayed the almighty to give him the strength to overcome his tragedy. Words at that time seemed meaningless...With the bundle of letters I walked back to my halted bicycle...          

  to be continued...

An analysis of errors...

Sneha's hands were sweaty and she continuously wiped them off with a white girlish handkerchief embroidered with an 'S'. She was tensed but she had to be careful about every step she was working. She continued mixing various chemicals, measuring them accurately. They had wonderful colors - pink, white, green. She adjusted her glasses over the right spot on her little nose and patiently continued to mix the solutions. 'God, Please make it right this time. Please let there be no blunders. Help me' she continued praying as the colors dissolved one into the other to give a uniform shade of pink. Sneha was trying to work on an experiment which she recently read in the internet. She had discussed it with her teachers and took every guidance they had to offer.

She looked around the quiet room, so peaceful to be alone at times' she thought. Her pretty hands continued to move the flask in a clockwise direction, her body showed a tendency to move in the same manner. She smiled... and told herself it looks all right. At that very moment a loud voice 'Where were you? I was looking......' The voice was sudden and alarming to Sneha, she dropped the flask and it's contents were all over the floor. The flask broke into what seemed like a thousand pieces. Sneha felt devastated. The owner of the voice, a fifty year old or so lady, her teacher could not believe what just happened and showered Sneha with abusing words. Sneha was sorry for what happened, she said she was frightened by the voice. Her teacher continued with a series of insults. At the end of the fiery monologue, Sneha swore that she would have nothing to do with solutions or the chemistry laboratory again...


The inspiration behind this piece of writing are Albert Einstein's words of wisdom:

" If someone feels that they never had made a mistake in their life, then that means that they never had tried a new thing in their life."

Many people say that they learn from their mistakes but how many of us are really bold enough to 'make' a mistake and to 'forgive' a mistake?  

As you like it...

Photo courtesy : http://steveshann.wordpress.com/

Your prompt for Tuesday February 2nd

This week our prompt is a quote from Martin H. Fischer

Life is a ticket to the greatest show on earth

Use all or part of it within your poem or prose, and then leave the url of your post with Mister Linky and a comment

"All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts" he said with a loud and powerful voice. His voice swept the hearts of the audience sitting. Mrs.Banerjee took her handkerchief and wiped her tears, she controlled her sobs. Lest the great actor gets distracted. I had watched this play a hundred times, I work here in this theater since I was a kid. I am one of these backstage guys.

The great actor, Mr.Khan 'walked Shakespeare, talked Shakespeare, drank to Shakespeare and even ate from Shakespeare's plate'. I knew this for sure! But what a fine actor, a great gentleman. I heard that he bought the 'plate' for a fortune and considered it to be his life's greatest achievement! Want to hear the latest gossip, he is so much obsessed with Shakespeare that he bursts out at night with sonnets from King Lear/Julius Caesar. Better warn him, lest he mistakes his wife for Desdemona and... the less said, the better!

Here comes the lovely Celia! What a beauty... and her voice, as sweet as honey. Look at the white gown she's wearing, she looks like an angel! And the men, they come to watch Miss Rita, not for Mr.Khan's heavy dialogues. She's a nice little girl, pssst, heard she ran away from her parents. Her real name is 'Savitri Devi' and now with all the 'firangi' makeup, who would want to call her that. That's why the director sahib re-named her as 'Rita'. She's a good woman, always gives me a penny or two for tea/coffee.

Our boy, Orlando, 'Sunny' is Miss Rita's lover. The dark and handsome guy, sometimes gives me a chilly smile. If I ever direct a movie, Sunny will be the villainous murderer! And Mr.Khan, he will be the James Bond. Wonder how he will look with a 'six pack'!

Sometimes with all these lights and sonnets, Othello and Antonia and Cleopatra moving in my head all the time... Can't make out when I am in the theater and when I am in the real world...

August evening!

I opened my hand to check if anything remained. It felt empty! I rubbed them off on the park bench and got up, it was already late. As I walked homewards, something felt light within. I looked at my hands again, they were open. They didn't hold on to anything anymore. What had I dropped off on my way? I couldn't say, but what ever it was. It was worth losing!

A security gaurd was passing by, whistling in to the night. The sound seemed haunting! The August winds blew driving chills down my spine. I increased my walking pace. The roads were deserted, people are locked in their homes on sundays in a place like this one. My mind wandered to the realms of the past. What was I trying to escape from? The present, obviously. Isn't it so easy! It's like a blanket, the past. Cover yourself and pretend to be invisible. But, I tell you what. This blanket is heavy. You can't always carry this one.

Too many memories. Good ones and bad ones. Memories? But I seemed to have lost them. No, they seemed to have lost me. They no longer remained loyal to me. They slipped from my hands like droplets of water. I tried to hold them tightly, but they escaped at a faster rate. I was out of the blanket now. Everything seemed new.

I came to the end of the lane, it was a cross road that was marked 'Past' and 'Present'. I stood there for a long time. There were things I forgot to forget! I stayed there and searched within for every scrape that was meant to be dumped. And then without turning back to say good bye to my past, I walked the road of the 'Present'.

Delhi - 6

I was dying to watch this movie from the moment I saw the promos showing Sonam Kapoor dancing to 'Masakali' and Abhishek Bachchan stealthily watching her. I told myself 'this is going to be such a cool movie' when I saw Abhishek Bachchan and Sonam Kapoor having 'that' special moment at The Taj(the Agra one). And yesterday I did watch the movie. The following piece is something like a 'review', I am not quiet sure what to call it though.

The movie begins with a scene from Ramayan being enacted. Throughout the movie there's an analogy drawn to the Ramayan. The idea though seemed brilliant to me at the beginning, slowly lost its charm as the movie went along. Waheeda Rehman, mother of a rich NRI in Newyork is about to die. And she decides to breath her last in her own motherland rather on foreign soil. Abhishek Bachchan, her grandson decides to accompany her on this trip. On reaching Delhi, Waheeda Rehman is welcomed with a 'Paan' from Rishi Kapoor who is a close family friend. Abhishek Bachchan is thrilled by the city. He instantly falls in love with Delhi. He seems to love the traffic, the people (crazy he calls them), the temple bells, the cricket playing kids, the lovable aunties, the jeelebis and Sonam Kapoor. Coincidentally there's this KALA BANDAR controversy which has seemed to catch the eye of Delhi. The media running special shows about the menace of the KALA BANDAR. The film shows glimpses of life in the famous Chandni Chowk life in Delhi. The jeelebi shop which is the adda for many people is also the turning point of the story. The harmony of the community is disrupted by religious leaders who cause havoc in what seemed a peaceful world within itself. How Abhishek Bachchan becomes intermingled within the web of the events taking place at Delhi -6 is the story ahead. There are a few lessons of National integration taught which is very much the need of the hour. But could it have been told in a more refined way, without any monkey business? The mockery made about 'Crime journalism' is praise worthy. The director points out that there are still traces of caste differences existing in the society.

The music of Delhi 6 is amazingly refreshing. Irresistibly catchy. A master piece by A.R.Reehman. No scope for criticism in this department. This is a must buy album in 2009.

Delhi 6 is a love story. It depicts the love of a citizen for the city which he now calls his own. And also the budding love story between Abhishek Bachchan and Sonam Kapoor. There are some amazing performances in the movie given by Abhishek Bachchan, Sonam Kapoor, Rishi Kapoor, Waheeda Rehman, Atul Kulkarni, Divya Dutta, OMpuri. The screenplay is excellent. The cinematography is beautiful. IF you are in love with Delhi, this is a movie never to be missed.

As I came out of the theater, I carried with me the images of Chandni Chowk. The ringing bells, jeelebis, empty huge terraces, pigeon and doves, kites, narrow lanes, kids running..... the colors of Delhi 6 will stay in my mind for a longer time than the complex philosophy preached.

Broken promise

Option Four: Fiction

All art is autobiographical; the pearl is the oyster’s autobiography.
~Federico Fellini

Using the above quotation as your inspiration, write a flash-fic, scene, or short story involving pearls.


'There she comes again! I better run, I don't waana be involved with this one again' Farida told herself as she looked at the old lady walk through the doors of her work place. Nazir, the new guy in the jewellery store welcomed the old lady with a warm smile. Farida silently prayed that this encounter would go smooth. She liked him. She thought he was cute.

The old lady returned Nazir's smile. It was a toothless smile but the eyes shone brightly like a pair of diamonds. Nazir silently checked the potentiality of the customer. Yes, she wore gold bangles and a glimpse of a gold necklace was seen partly covered by the sari. She looked all right, potential and all was good. That's what Nazir thought as the customer sank into the chair opposite to him.

'Yes my boy, I would love to look at pearls. Show me the best you got!' she said with an authoritative voice. Though 'Pearls' was not exactly what Nazir would settle for, but he never allowed the expression of discouragement to be seen on his face. he ran his hand over the counter to open it through the key he had and picked a few necklaces with pearls. The best they had got. Farida noticed Nadir picking up the necklaces with his delicate fingers and thought 'His fingers look very feminine. Long and thin. Sign of an artist. Let's see how talented he really is!'

The old lady began to inspect the jewellery placed on the glass table. The lights in the shop shone so brightly that everyone around looked beautiful. She picked up one of the necklaces with her shivering hand and began to inspect the pearls. Her fingers ran smoothly over each pearl and Nazir began to feel that he is in the presence of a genius. He began to read the thoughts of this customer. His friends always felt he was a mind reader. And that he was like a radio and could tune his frequency to other's thoughts. But Nadir knew more than that. He listened to what her mind was telling her 'these big white pearls. They are beautiful my dear. Look at them, pearly white creatures. They bring so much joy to my heart. You promised me, but it was not fulfilled.' Nadir's mind was distracted. He knew she was hallucinating. She was talking to some one.... who wasn't there. He simply stared at her again and the lady continued adoring the pearls. He knew it. He knew she isn't going to buy anything. She has come here to relive the past moments.

He slowly kept the other sets of necklaces inside without distracting his customer and then entered her mind again. 'You bought me gold and diamonds. Lots of them. And even without me asking for anything. But you never kept up the promise of a pearl necklace. You hated pearls. I knew it. You hated everything I loved.....' At this point Nadir caught the eyes of Farida staring at him through a hand mirror. He gave a nervous smile and Farida blushed. The lady was lost in her thoughts. Though he had no interest to read her thoughts anymore, he continued to watch the elderly woman. She was playing with the necklace. She adored it undoubtedly but he knew she will never buy it.

A promise remained unfulfilled, a love which was denied had run this woman near to insanity. She would crave for pearls but never buy it herself. There was 'someone' who promised her but never kept up that promise. And she seemed to wait for an eternity hoping that 'the promise' be fulfilled. When she was out of her trance after several minutes, Nadir was very much present. 'Boy, I am too old for pearls now. May be I should go. Thank you.' she said and rose gracefully and walked out of the store. Nadir didn't seem surprised and put those pearls back safely in it's place. 'She will come again' he told himself.

Mistaken identity

'There is something about this place! I will take the Rs.500 trip.' he said with the animated tone that I have heard a million times before. That's how my friend Gopi is. There is a strange affinity between crowded market places, religious centers and restaurants with the sketch book in Gopi's hands. At the same moment the silent boat man seized his opportunity to impress us with his knowledge about the confluence. When he opened his mouth to say something I couldn't help but stare at his mouth. A red juice flowing ingeniously from the corners of his mouth.

'Saab, we are riding over the river Ganga now. Ganga Matha (mother) protects all of us from sins we commit. This place is no ordinary one Saab, it's the holy Prayag where three rivers - Ganga, Jamuna and Saraswathi meet. That's why Saab it's also called Triveni Sangam. I will take you around and show you the whole place' he paused to spit in to the water of the sacred Ganges. I continued to stare in dis-belief. Gopi was not interested in the 'guide cum boatwallah'. He was busy drawing sketches. Tired of staring at the red juice which the boatwallah continuously spitted out, I peeped into the book.

Though I was never convinced with the places of choice I seldom disagree that Gopi is an artist of great caliber. His fingers clutched around the pencil moved majestically covering the white paper with life through his images. He was now sketching, a boatwallah feeding the birds. His eyes traveled from the subject to the paper at quick intervals. Our neighbor at first didn't notice anything at all. Then when the distances between the boats reduced he began to express slight curiosity. He grew restless and inquired with our boatwallah 'Saab is boating officer? What he is writing in the book about me?' in Hindi with a heavy Bhojpuri accent. Gopi becomes dumb and deaf while sketching. I ignored the growing tensions and decided to wait and watch.

I examined 'Gopi the officer'. spectacles, dressed in formals, of course there was no tie, a medium sized bag containing sketch books, pencils, erasers, threads, charcoal pieces and what not. Yes, he may pass for an officer. And me, his assistant?. Our boatwallah examined us now in the new light thrown upon by his friend and looked doubtfully at us. Within no time both men started apologizing, falling to Gopi's feet for not having realized the 'facts' earlier. Gopi's face grew pale. He looked at me and I was laughing uncontrollably. I had to let go at this time so I cleared the whole thing saying 'Saab is making a picture of you thats all'. Gopi showed him the completed sketch and the old man smiled gratefully. I volunteered to take the picture of the sketch and the old man.

The two boatwallahs exchanged words in an unknown language. I continued to look around for more interesting things while Gopi was searching for the next target.

Tale about 'CHANGE'

‘Hey, I am the big one here! Show me some respect and make place’ said a loud voice and the crowd dispersed.

‘So it’s the same here too!’ the new one sighed. ‘Welcome to the new group. You just arrived? Your armor is beaming.’ asked an old member in a friendly manner.

‘We were delivered from the RBI a week ago, circulation started just a few days ago. We were in the bank till now. What about you bro, you look pretty native. Heard you guys are unemployed nowadays?’ asked the shining one rupee coin.

‘Times change brother and we have become ancient. The good thing is at least here I have a few friends of my own kind’ replied the tarnished fifty paisa coin.

Jaane Woh Kaise Log The Jinke Pyar Ko Pyar Mila
Humne To Jab Kaliyaan Maangi Kaaton Ka Haar Mila

Old: See, that’s my other friend. He just got his heart broken and now he’s singing away to forget his love

New: I don’t remember hearing that song. Is it that old?

Old: you just arrived a week ago, by the time you will leave you will hear some good retro music here.

New: So you guys always hang around here? Nobody employs you is it? There’s no exchange in here or what?

Old: No buddy, we are here to stay. There’s no exchange here, there’s lot of 'change'. But this is really a cool place to be in- the bus conductor’s purse. Look out some new ones are arriving. I have spent a lot of time in the outside world. The most fascinating experience was being a ‘memoir of love’. The guy who employed me never parted from me because his lover was my former employer. Those were wonderful days. But as all good things should end, I was discarded after my employer realized that his ‘lady luck’ had other plans in life.

Bichhad Gayaa Har Saathi Dekar Pal Do Pal Ka Saath
Kisko Phursat Hai Jo Thaame Deewane Ka Haath
Humko Apna Saaya Tak Aqsar Bezaar Mila
Humne To Jab...

New: Oh! That was a nice story. So, who’s that one there? He’s making a big group of coins there. What’s happening?

Old: All that is normal here, you will get used to it. He’s the union leader. He keep’s promising us things but never really does anything. He promised to get rid of the stanch of notes and ask for polishing our armors. Nothing happened as you can see. He boot lick’s the big notes that arrive and thrash the little ones. Don’t give him any attention.

New: Oh. The world is a dangerous place to be in.

Old: You will get used to it. Nothing to worry.


New: what do you guys do here?

Old: There’s lot of time pass. We get the news from the coins that arrive and disperse everyday. About the latest. There were days when the people in buses never stopped talking. They talked about food, work, servants, politics and corruption. We have heard stories about every single topic you can ever imagine. Now, people talk over their mobile phones we can hardly understand what the conversation is all about. There’s a window in here. Come I will show you some thing very funny.

They make their way to the torn and repaired and torn again part of the bag.

New: This bag itself is a miracle. how come no one falls off?

Old: No there haven’t been any casualties but there have been few escapists. Ok now look there at that pink salwar kammez girl. She’s smiling to herself and now she will begin talking to herself too.

But alas, there was a sudden brake and ‘Pinky’ aroused from her dreamy encounter.

New: I missed that one. Will wait for tomorrow.

Old: Tomorrow? You will be gone in less than an hour, young chap.

New: Is that true? I am going to miss you, old man. And your friend’s song.

No sooner were those words uttered, a hand appeared and picked a few coins upward. The new one was chosen to be disposed and he landed into safe hands of a young girl.

Old: All the best stud. Hope to see around sometime.

New: Thank you.

Old: Yes comrade, I am with you again. Let’s hear you complete that song.

Isko Hi Jeena Kehte Hain To Yunhi Ji Lenge
Uf Na Karenge Lab See Lenge Aansoo Pee Lenge
Gham Se Ab Ghabraana Kaisa Gham Sau Baar Mila
Humne To Jab...

Some where in the backdrop a loud voice continues to stir

‘Are you with me, my fellows? Let me hear you say that strongly. Together we shall change the course of the future’ It was the union leader.

‘We are with you’ the mob replied loudly.

‘Filthy Lucre!'

Jaane Woh Kaise Log The Jinke Pyar Ko Pyar Mila
Humne To Jab Kaliyaan Maangi Kaaton Ka Haar Mila

Mind and matter

To classify people under various groups has always been my favourite pastime. I allot people to different categories based on a number of facts and observations. Judging people is always decisive. And the practice of this law regularly has now become a habit. Of course there is no single litmus test and only practice can make one perfect in this interesting game.

Every one of us has apprehensions regarding meeting new people. I categorize people based on Height (short / tall), Weight (thin\fat), appearance (handsome /beautiful /ugly /pretty/cute/smart/pretenders), clothes (clean/dirty), etiquette (courteous/rude), and choice of words (smart/dumb/talkative/silent), perfume (manly/feminine/rough/dirty), zodiac signs, and lineage (rich/poor/wannabe rich). The list continues. And to this new list I would like to add one more basis of classification. Based on the state of matter – as solids, liquids and gases. Eyebrow rising will not help. And I definitely remember our bodies don’t flow like rivers or envelop whole the room when we walk in. But our minds do follow certain properties of the state of matter willingly or un-willingly. I support my statement with a brief introduction to my theory:


1. Solid state: In reality, molecules in solid state are arranged compactly like a pack of cards inside a box. They have fixed positions and are arranged in a precise manner. Too much force when applied can disrupt its arrangements. Rigidity is its property. Accordingly, there are among us people who seem to be chiseled, single minded and absolutely rigid. Extra ordinary forces are required to influence them. They seem independent, self sufficient and in a few extreme situations narcissistic and megalomaniacs. It’s very easy to identify a solid person. Usually alone, doesn’t like shaking hands when introduced, talks a great deal about him/her, doesn’t talk nonsense, intellectual, introvert, doesn’t get emotional, homely, sticks to rules, knows exactly what he/she wants in life and how to get there, hates weakness, doesn’t cry, stern and adamant.





2. Liquid state: Molecules in liquid state can move or slide past one another like a pack of cards just opened out of the box. They usually take the shape of the container and flow easily. Not easily compressible but it’s not impossible. Fluidity is their special property. People who belong to this state of matter are deliquescent, soft spoken, cautious, friendly, a little deceptive, escapists ( you almost think you caught them but they continue to flow through your fingers ), romantic, not easily influenced, day dreamers, Platonists. They believe to move along the direction of the flow, seen in a group star gazing while the others converse feverishly. They have an identity crisis since they think they can identify with everyone.




3. Gaseous state: Molecules can move past one another and there is lot of free space between the particles just like when the fan is switched on and the pack of cards fly everywhere. The molecules occupy the whole of the container. Compressibility is their special property. People belonging to this category are the most easiest to identify. As you are still reading your mind reflects upon the images of such people. Unforgettable and un-forgivable. Amusing, bubbly, free spirited, highly energetic, volatile, crowd pullers, chaotic, un-methodical, elusive, extroverts. Easily influenced by the words and actions of others. And most importantly, they are avid travelers – wanderers, itinerants, vagabonds, beggars, pilgrims, voyagers, adventurers, soldier, sailor, and hippie. They seldom like staying at one place.







When an ice cube is melts, it changes to water and water when warmed evaporates thus passing through all the states of matter. Similarly our minds areinfluenced by the environment, culture, lifestyle and several other external factors and keep passing through different phases of matter. In our personalities there are glimpses of few properties of all the three types but we primarily exhibit almost every time under normal conditions properties of one particular state of matter. Be it solid, liquid or gas.

The analyst

‘It’s time to pretend again. Oh God! why do people come to me? why cant they just leave me and my “laid back” attitude in peace. Wait until I throw that ‘detective agency’ board, only then can I get time for myself’ Kumar told himself five minutes after his secretary reminded him of an appointment. It seemed to have disturbed his act. He was at the time of the call busy aiming at a housefly that had bothered him all morning. In one hand he held morning newspaper the other hand motioned towards the fly as to challenge a combat. Eyes were fixed, aim taken, his reflexes stimulated for action and at that exact moment the telephone rang. Kumar was perplexed and the fly escaped.

‘OK, send her inside’ he sighed heavily. To appear busy he picked up a file and seemed to get lost in it burying his head. A middle aged be-spectacled woman entered the office. She seemed tired of climbing the stairs and was profusely sweating. ‘age 40, fat and ugly. Nothing interesting to investigate. May be she wants to know about her husband’s affair’ Kumar judged by looking at her. The woman took her seat and was about to start speaking. But Kumar wanted to make an impression on his client. He started ‘Men change a lot after marriage. They don’t remain the same. They act like wild horses on the run. I will find everything about this ‘other woman’ who’s disturbing your peaceful life. Leave the whole affair to me and rest’.

She interrupted ‘but I am a spinster. I approached you for something more serious…’ ‘you did it again Kumar! Think quickly. Say something smart to cover up your blunder.’ Kumar rose from the chair slowly and put away the file he was reading. ‘I was actually talking about the case in this file. Coming back to you, what were you telling madam.’ Let’s see how Mr.Sherlock Holmes would have diagnosed the problem of this old cat. Let me think along the same lines.’ Rewind. Play.

· Client enters the room sweating profusely. This implies client is in great urgency to solve the problem. This implies I can demand more money.

· Client is not very well groomed. Her salwar kameez is torn near the feet. Her slippers look old and hair not trimmed. This implies patient is intensely disturbed by some problem. This may also imply she is not very rich. So I cannot expect a handsome fee.

· Client is a spinster. Now what does that imply?

Meanwhile the client looked questioningly at Kumar. ‘sir, now tell me what should I do. How shall I solve this problem? How shall I get rid of this responsibility? I cant live for another day under the same roof. I am scared to even breath. Is my life in danger? Who do you think is the enemy? I trust you will solve my problem as soon as possible.’

‘What! When did I press the fast forward button! What shall I tell her now? say something assuring. women are crazy! They talk so much so fast.’ Kumar told himself. And then for a moment he pretended to have given a deep thought about ‘the problem’ and replied in the most confident manner ‘I will take care of everything. All I need is your co-operation in this matter and your complete trust in me. I promise you the matter will be solved within a week or two. Please leave your details with my secretary. And the advance amount for investigation purposes. I shall get back to you very soon. Thank you.’ Saying these words he rose in a respectful manner. She hurried down to meet the secretary.

After about thirty minutes Kumar rang for the secretary. ‘Rita, you heard the story right. And you know what to do. Start off with the usual and don’t forget to report to me every day about this case’ he said in a dignified boss like voice. Rita interrupted ‘But sir, I thought….’ And immediately his voice grew louder ‘No buts. I want this case to be solved in exact one week. Now, how much advance did the woman pay? Cheque or cash. Come to my cabin immediately’.

Rita ran up the stairs. In a confused voice she asked ‘but sir, that woman is from the asylum. She had escaped early this morning and some guys from the hospital arrived a few minutes back to pick her. sir, you heard her story too. She claimed she was the 'Her Highness of Coochnahin' and that someone in her province wants her killed and that 'blah blah blah'.

'That was when I called up the asylum 'blah blah blah’.

Now Rita was in the background, the words she was uttering failed to fall on Kumar’s ears. Kumar was busy contemplating his mistakes. ‘how could this have happened? How could I let this happen? But I followed all the details correctly. May be i should listen when others are speaking!’ Kumar’s eyes were fixed in a gaze.

‘ Are you unwell today sir? Can I get you the doctor? ’asked the secretary. ‘No thank you Rita. I have to leave now. there’s some work to do’ Kumar said and ran down the stairs.

The annihilation of ‘czar’

I wandered aimlessly around my territory. I was hungry for blood. A mordant desire arose in me. It was only a matter of time till I pinned down my innocent victim. But for now, I remained the untitled emperor of my terrain. Recollections of my past glories when I was young was a favourite past time. Those were the days… How the members of the opposite sex were in love with me! how they reacted to my ebullient personatily! Tuning theselves to my frequency. And those were the days when I was known as a ferocious killer. Deadly to my victims, I was one of the most efficient ‘blood earner’. The ladies called me ‘the czar’. My genial youth passed away like a speeding sand clock. Now I bear the weight of being old. But my spirits are high as ever. I still buzz around in my territory.

Suddenly there was a raucous. The train came to a stop and people rushed into the train like a hord of animals. I moved safely to a secluded spot. My eyes scanned for a eligible victim. After years of experience I have learnt to choose the best among the best. And I have devised a clever way of getting what I want. Its not a simple process you see. A lot of planning is required and the risks are greater than what we imagine.
1. the victim should be fast asleep or totally inactive.
2. the victim should be gaping at a beautiful girl sitting in the opposite seat.
3. never attack victims who are calculating salaries, reading balance sheets and discussing matters of financial importance. During these times I have observed that the degree of sensitivity doubles.
4. never attack women. They are too sharp and fast to react.

My eyes carefully passed through the hord, I had to do this before the next station or the en masse will disappear. A huge healthy homosepian male lay on a seat snoring. Yes, this is a great challenge to me! but I should avoid the route where the gust of wind from his nose is blowing. It will cause a cyclonic effect. I selected the left fleshy hand. The majestic flight began and I approached my victim swiftly. I delivered a painless bite. This is A+ve blood. Tasty but not as delicious as O-ve. The taste of blood seemed to intoxicate me. and I never knew when a fleshy right hand approached me seemingly tiny profile. But I am no amateur. I retreated. Good! I congratulated myself. I waited till sometime, a quick defense may spell doom for me. Relishing the taste of the new found victim I decided to send a quick sms to my whole family. Here seemed a feast waiting. I shouldn’t be enjoying it alone. They were in the neighboring compartments and quickly we all danced around our victim. Buzzing around him. Dancing joyously. Intoxicated. ‘Long live our king’ they shouted. That was my ‘moment’. And I stopped to listen to their chants. A shodow moved behind me and then ‘patt’. Everything is beginning to blur but I continue to listen ‘Long live our king’.

To love one's self....

As a stippling I had chosen my idols in life like any one else did. They were people who are enterprising, rebellious and who lived to fulfill all their dreams. And not one un-fulfilled dream remained. I was inspired by their lives. I read their autobiographies. And I realized that all of them were rebels and had never given up on their dreams. I wanted to be them. It was then that I drafted a logic in life. To do complete justice to myself and my feelings. I began to conceive that only if I did justice to my dreams can I do justice to my family and friends. This thought was overpowering. And I began to pursue my dreams. I loved myself. I never sacrificed for the sake of others. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt my sentiments. I loved and worshipped myself to an extent that I never classified my desires as good and bad.

If I think ‘this’ it has to be good.
If I think ‘this’ is good, then I should ‘get’ it.
If I get what I want, then justice is done.

That was the logic I invented to keep myself inspiring for more. I had become pertinacious about the use of this logic. I wont deny my joys in life during that age but I will not accept I was without pain. My definition of love is an experience of bliss. And I knew I hadn’t loved myself. Looking back I don’t think I had done justice to others life around me. I was busy keeping myself happy. I was not contended with my logic. My logic seemed glazed, appeared rather dull and was matchless to my definition of love.

Very recently a realization came upon me in a frisson. It had a more profound meaning.
To love ourself, doesn’t mean fulfilling every random thought that crossed our mind. Self control is a greater virtue than justice. Refraining from adopting all thoughts was self control to me. Self control leads to pure thoughts and pure thoughts to joy.