Wordplay!

WARNING!
Strictly not to be read by those who check the newspapers for page three content every morning!

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By the dead sea, a song.
A song that resounds in all places where you find a human soul with a heart. A heart that is full of love. Love that is sweet with a tinge of mauve. Mauve shouldn't mean anything meaner than straight. Straight in both sexuality and thought. Thoughts that roar like waves. Waves that come and go. Go and come back.

Back, to the dead sea. The sea that makes you float. Float like a bad egg. Bad eggs make you sick. Sickness can be of the mind. Mind that is the most sharp could also be the dumbest. Dumb, because of the confusions. Confused, because what it sees could be all too strange and new. Newness that is riveting and beautiful. Beauty that goes beyond the skin. Skin?! Nope, no dirtying. Let me go back.

To the song please. Pleasing to the ears. Ears that hearken to goodness. Goodness of all people. People, small and great. Great stories, they say, have humble beginnings. Begin, and you shall not be able to stop. Stop?!, okay - stop doing things that hurt. Hurt not the weak and the pure at heart. Heart always wins over the mind. And mind, after much travail concurs in the end.
The end.

Quicksand!

" My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream. "

- Dylan Thomas

When your mind is overcome by your heart, your thoughts become a shaky edifice. It shakes so bad that you reach a point where you want calamity to cut loose and consume your beliefs - ending everything. A sincere soul lays wait for its mortal end when it knows there could be a billion butterflies beautifying the scenes of the other life. A life where you would want to live with the best of your memories captured from your dead past. Immortality is only sweet, because you enter it through the gates of your death, walking over your own funeral pyre.

Getting sucked into that void, the quicksand of thoughts, where humane will fails and babels of imagination crumble - is painful. But one must destroy that pot of rotten old ideas that had defined one's being so far, breaking dogmas and set conventions, opening up to the newness that is life, a life free from the perils of mechanization. Because mechanization begets boredom that starves and murders love. 

So where do I rest my thoughts? Do I allow them to fall down and become broken pieces? Or do I metamorphose? There is confusion and trouble within. Then vaguely comes clarity after much delay. Then the smile. So - metamorphose - I choose to go with. Into a being that never stops to grow and be impressive. But straightforward in its simplicity and kindness. Not to give in to high-mindedness, yet to stand apart in humility. To rebel, to rage, to fight and to die. For the weak, the loved ones, the poor and the dejected. 

Why don't we go to the shore, get into the waters, stand still and allow the waves to roar over us and caress our thoughts? Why don't we just allow love and other beautiful things to rule our lives! Why. Don't. We.

Bean, Butterflies And One Long Banana!

I can see your mind dancing with an YAY sound. Oh no, stop it! It reverberates. Yay. Yay. Yay. And one final very long irritating yay. Would you stop doing that!, I shout again. But you wouldn't listen. Since when have you become such pervert! - I want to know. Pull your thoughts up from the dregs. It is just a story. A story with three different species, yes of course with one human in it. Do you not worry - I shall definitely take your thoughts down to the muck. The muck that you always love to sniff and smell. But wait, don't do it all by yourself. Let me teach you how to do it, so you do it well.

The guess is right. Bean is the human. Oh yes, the same Bean from the Pogo Channel. He, duly, is the hero of this read. Mister Bean. 'Duly', really? Hey hey, can't jokers be heroes at least once! C'mon, be fair. You cannot just laugh them away all the time. They're important as well. Very important, particularly for this read. Tune your mind and say, Mister Bean the hero! Ah good, that's how you say. MISTER BEAN THE HERO!! See, I made you say; so now - its my turn to yay.

Back to the story. This happened in a forest few days back. A dark forest. A forest where there was no one. An empty dull forest. And Bean went in to say hi to the Banana. Yes. The One Long Banana. They said - there was no other banana like this. Because the color of this was black. Pitch black. The other day, this came even in the news telecast. The papers read that there was just one such banana in the whole world. Right away, Mr Obama announced in the Congress that the United States need to send in the SEAL squad to rescue the banana from the banality of the forest. He wanted the banana to remain fresh all the time. So it was decided that the NASA would provide all the technical support and Nolan's producers would fund the project.

Lo and behold, Mister Bean reached there before the SEAL. And lo lo and behold, the banana - the One Long Banana - was lying dead and wasted on the ground. Surprisingly, butterflies were swarming around the fallen rotting banana. Not the bees. The butterflies were beautiful, unlike the special banana which was pitch black. They were in multiple colors. Blue, green, red and some more weird mix. The Bean who went to say hi and eat the banana, changed his mind. He wanted to catch one of those butterflies.

So he ran after them. Ran so hard. The thing with the butterflies is that if you go near them, they would just fly away. And the fun run started. The scene was so amazing to watch. Bean and the butterflies. Just one Bean and so many butterflies. And the running behind. But he couldn't even catch one. Every trick was failing. When he ran back, he stepped on that rotting One Long Banana, fell and broke his nose.

Mister Bean with a bleeding nose. He was lying down. He and the One Long Banana next to him. He looked at the banana like a husband would look at his wife wanting more. I shouted at him - 'You idiot Bean change your expression!' Now he knew what to do. He took the banana, peeled its pitch black cover and held the lump in his mouth - with the major chunk projecting out.

The trick worked. The butterflies that were scattered came one after the other and sat on the banana. Bean went ecstatic, but was in control. He wanted more. More. More. More. He closed his eyes. Opened. Some more, he said to himself. More. More. More. Now, there were a hundred butterflies sitting on the One Long Banana which was sitting on Mister Bean's mouth. Swiftly, the idiot pulled both of his hands and tried to catch few butterflies. He did catch a few. They were in the palm of his hands tightly held. He was so happy. But lo - when he opened, all were crushed and dead.

Moral of the story, if you want to eat bananas don't run after butterflies. Most of us start sprinting and half-way down the track we want to jump into the waters and try swimming. Hopelessly funny, some of our interests are! However confusingly complicated our lives sometimes can become, in the course of pursuing our interests - let us not cause harm to others at any point in time.

Peace. Be happy.

In Honour Of All Women!

I am a man and I respect women. All of them - right from who you spitefully call a prostitute to the one who is praised as an angel. Yes, I respect them. Friend or not so friendly - I respect them. Moody or free and jovial - I respect them. Quiet or talkative - I respect them. Attractive or not attractive - I respect them. I have never been into a love affair with anyone all my life. But that has never stopped me from quietly observing them and taking note of the beauty that emerges out of the complexity of their nature. They are exquisitely beautiful - everyone of them.

Some lose their temper fast, some have a bad ego, some appear cranky at some point, some are overly sophisticated, some don't like men at all and some think they are always right. So what? Let them be. Aren't outbursts quite natural even with you? I have always believed that there are reasons behind how one reacts, even though the way they react may not appear to be so nice. Because you would be astounded yourself to find that deep down - they could all be so loving and kind. If you still allow yourself to be carried away by a few bad encounters you might have had in the past and continue treating all women like scum, there cannot be a man as wretched as you. Truly, you have to open your eyes to see the many that are always smiling, the ones that are serene and believe in peace and the quiet, the genuine lot that are sincere with their words and would do anything for love, the pure-hearted that are incapable of duality and masking their intentions, the kind ones that are quick at lending a helping hand and those that are faithful.

The bias that clouds our judgments needs to disappear; or we would only complain and frown all the time. Few idiots get into relationships with a set intention to say goodbye after they lose taste. There are some who call off weddings in the last minute (citing silly reasons that do not even remotely relate to adultery) and live their shameless lives as though nothing ever happened. There are also a vulgar few who get married and then look out for other flesh. I sincerely hope they make a law to emasculate such men in the public. 

A real incident. The story of a very kind woman who was married for over 25 years. The husband called off the marriage - because, at fifty, he gave in to lust and wanted young flesh. After the divorce notice was sent, word spread and everyone around got to know. They were all very supportive of her. Her brothers took her to their place. They made plans. Plans to kill the rascal who ditched the wife of his youth. But oh dear, you should have seen the way she screamed at them with tears flooding down her cheek. 'Don't you dare even think of doing such heinous nonsense, he is my husband!' were the words - stressing on the 'MY'. I was there. Shocked. To say such things even after being cheated and left stranded alone - could by all means be only one thing. Divine. My eyes almost watered listening to those words. She still lives with a hope that her husband would one day change and return to her.

To truly understand the heart of a woman, you should talk to your mother. I sincerely wish every man be taught to cultivate the habit of being kind to all women. Kind to them, irrespective of whatever lifestyle they might lead. They deserve respect. Sincere respect. For just being who they are. For just being. WOMEN.

Decadence!

The most cruel of all despotisms rests in the oscillating state of our mind between what we believe to be good and bad. For our mind can inflict such nasty duress if we are caught at fault by our own measure of morality. Some have become total lunatics walking nude on the roads as madmen and some have ended their lives committing suicide - not been able to overcome the pressure.

While there is a general belief that morality is a totally relative measure, there ought to be a basic objective sense to it. For I am a firm believer of the beautiful blend that subjectivity and objectivity can generate. Such a thing is necessary for the world to truly progress. For - if there is no practical referendum, we would run into unwanted issues. Because the offenders would easily find an escape by presenting their suggestively bohemian tendencies - as their sweet intellectual excuse.

You would be baffled to listen to few of the stories that float in the city because of the yo-yo IT lifestyle. Hear it firsthand, it would be even more disconcerting. Debauchery is on the rise. The orgies of the mind tarnish the purity of thought. People are willing to experiment before any serious commitment and there are provisions to try out what is fantasized in the private. The moral decay has reached a point where we have learnt to say chills and okays to detestable acts of uncontrolled passion. May be we have gotten used to so much perversion that our minds have struck a sorry compromise - only to enable more decay.

Whatever be it, surprisingly goodness has still not reached its expiry. I was really ecstatic knowing how Mr.Satyarthi made us all proud last week. Trust me, there are so many nice people living their silent and modest lives - adding beauty to this world. We see simple deeds of kindness bringing smiles to the hearts of many. There is a group in Bangalore - that works to rescue girls taken into flesh trade. You should listen to the brave stories of those young girls and the way they were rescued. I know of a man who shared a note with me which reads as follows.

Dear Men.
Every woman deserves to be loved, not to be lusted after. Love doesn't mean that you need to straightaway try getting into relationships with every woman you see and that, it should end in biting each others lips and dirtying your bed. Do not add blemish to the repute of the real men the world still houses. There ought to be a basic sense of respect we need to show towards all women. Talk, do not flirt. Joke, do not hurt. Compliment, do not fantasize. Correct, do not judge. Help, do not make them indulge later. Be considerate. Be good. Be a man. Not just to those you know. But to everyone.

Dear Women.

Think not - that every man is after your private parts. That wearing skimpy dresses would impress all men - more than sexually. But be sure that almost all men would fail the test of bed. So, be mindful of your steps. If there be an ugly past, do not allow yourself to be taunted by it. Let not your initial defloration provoke you to more promiscuity. Forgive yourself. Do not repeat the mistakes of your past. Be wise. Be happy.

They say, compassion is the basis of morality. So, let us love. Let us not dwell in the past and accuse, but forgive. Comfort. Console. Spread smiles. Feed the hungry. Light lives. Accept everyone into our fold with open arms. How else could we wage war against decadence which needs to be defeated and burnt to ashes! Let us fight. Fight, till we die that valiant death.

All The Small Thrills!

I am a peaceful person but that does not discount troubles in life. Last week, I was threatened by a man who claimed to have been to jail five times. One thing led to the other; and another; and finally I was caught in a situation where I was alone with him and his associate for a good four hours in the dead of the night. I asked him why he had been jailed five times. All the reasons he gave me were political in nature. He had not killed anyone or bombed a building or molested a child or raped a girl. But he derived his happiness from the fact that he had just led the life of a prisoner once upon a time. Basically he thought, that could scare everyone and that - that gave him a revered image in the society. While I shall restrain from disclosing what led me to these people and the rest of the story, I have to tell you that we departed on a good note exchanging smiles and hand-shakes.

Speaking of hand-shakes, I remember a weird incident during one of my bus travels from Palaghat to Coimbatore few years back. There was this gentleman seated next to me. He seemed to be a well-mannered person, spoke impeccable English and started the conversation with a good hand-shake. I had thick beard then - with the usual villainous grin. He said that he was a weapon dealer and asked me if I wanted weapons. I instantly knew that he mistook me for someone else, but I continued talking. We discussed about all the latest bombs and guns available locally. Not to make him feel bad - I asked for his number, told him that I would give him a call if I find need and got down at the Ukkadam bus stand.

Ukkadam bus stand. Sparks in me a different memory altogether. My brother's new bike was stolen by a rival gang. We were searching the bike in every nook and corner of the city. Next to Ukkadam, there was a place where stolen bikes were dismantled and the parts sold at a very cheap rate. The place - as expected - was very spooky, with all the ill-mannered people there. I picked up a very bad fight with those men and got thoroughly beaten up. That was when I realised - the shaktimaans and the superheroes were only TV characters.

Getting beaten up. It surely teaches you more than a few fighting lessons you pick from such experiences. It definitely smoothens your social behavior. Helps you keep your calm and know when to time your rage so the opponent is totally decimated. I was beaten up two other times by the RSS men, received serious threat calls thrice; and there was a group that sought to kill me with knives and I made a miraculous escape. I prefer to keep the reasons behind these - forever in the dark.

The dark. It was one in the night. We were walking. My friend and I. We heard a woman's cry and proceeded in that direction. Saw a drunken man mercilessly beating the woman and her small kid. We looked at each other and plunged into action. Beat that guy properly till he fell on the ground and could not get up. The woman was crying even more loud. She spoke in Kannada. Said - the man was her husband.

Husbands and wives. Have you ever seen wives pumping up their husbands and instigating them for a fight? This happened in Madiwala over a silly vehicle parking squabble. Close to ten men from their houses in the street came out - with their women howling at us asking their men to beat us. Just four of us. After a few punches and kicks, we somehow made peace and left for Nandi Hills.

I can go on and on. But before I start boring you, I shall stop here. You might laugh at these or you might feel what stupid of a guy I really am. Or you could have faced fascinatingly better thrilling situations. However be it, these things help us understand and appreciate our world better. Though you might choose to disagree with me because you feel that there is some degree of danger associated with each of such incidents, these - I feel - are absolutely necessary to make the person who we really are and to truly acknowledge that the world we live in - is perfectly lovely and amazing!

Why is the world round?

I am generally not a bull-shitter. But this time - absolutely could not help it. Had to write this. Because all my prayers to fall asleep at least before three in the night are never heard almost every single day round the year. So I thought. The rascal in me set the neurons in my silly brain into that stormy rebellious motion. A simple rage. An easy question. Why is the world round? 

But no answer. Well, certain things have no answer is what we have been told. Or so we were made to believe - right from when we were kids. The beginning of each of our times. Would that stop us from thinking the things that we, by societal dictum, are banned from thinking? Nay, a hell capital NO is the word. The right word. So, back to the question. Why is this world round?

This had not stricken me as hard as this. I know what you're thinking. No, you don't have to stress your mind in that wrong judgmental angle. Oh yes, I perfectly understand. Your next question is - Dude, what happened to you and what is wrong with you? I can sniff that dirty trail of your thoughts. But no dear, I don't drink or smoke or do drugs. Girl(s)? No time for that! Oh, guys then? No thanks, I am straight. Sincerely straight. Oh got it. Are you in love? Well, who in this big round world is not? May be there lies the answer. But dear, infesting your thoughts with love - to find an answer to a pressing scientific question - is definitely not the right move. It would only lead to much confusion. Tell me - why is the world round?

Now the converse view. Had the world been flat, would it have created the scenic beauty and the evergreen imagery that we romantically call - nature - for our hearts to joyously revel in? The mountains, the rivers, the dry land, the forests, wild life and the oceans duly reveal that there is no fun in the world being just flat. But why? Is flat the correct opposite of round? - that the connections we make here and the reasons we build - suffice to quench the question that burns my sleep away. Why really is this world round?

In Solidarity With The Gazans

It was a long time ago. The time when the supposedly civilized men of the world fought the ever-ridiculous First World War which took the lives of countless many. Bombs fell everywhere. Little children, women and men fell dead. Heaps of dead bodies. Blood. Bitter wailing. Barbarism. Somehow, then, came the eleventh of November, nineteen eighteen. Had Germany not faced trouble with its own revolutionaries, the war would have continued a few more weeks leading to a few more million deaths. The story did not end there.

The Brits took away the southern part of Ottoman Syria and called it 'The British Mandate of Palestine'. But they were unable to curtail the ever-bursting conflict within the region. It was then the MacMahon-Hussein Correspondence was devised in favor of an Arab Independence - provided the Arabs fought the Ottoman rebels. In parallel - was signed the secretive Asia Minor Agreement. The Arabs did not understand the deception. Result, the people of Mandatory Palestine who craved for freedom and a peaceful living were duly betrayed.

The Balfour Declaration was then announced. This added to the confusion. Had they read even the slightest hint of the deception, they would not have allowed themselves the embarrassment of a British Civil Administration starting from 1920. The Arabs were good people. The war had just concluded. The confusedly religious Ottoman state had not done any good to them. All that religion could do was to leave them with bruises. Their eyes searched for hope and just that. They were waiting for good days to come. 

The Yishuvs were, then, a feeble minority. Only 25,000+ of them. The Brits, as always, were ever cunning. To destabilize the Arab Pro-Independence wave and to further their interests in the most acceptable way possible, they accelerated the Jewish migration. Then came Zionism that forwarded the outrageous notion that a Jewish homeland be created within The British Mandate of Palestine. The increasing Yishuv population were majorly Zionists. Now there were over 600,000 of them. And the conflict started.

We know the rest of the story. The State of Israel was formed in the land the Arabs had been living generations after generations. The MacMahon-Hussein Correspondence, they finally knew, was farce. Their hopes were heavily mocked. Since then it had only been humiliation every single day. They were given a small strip of land to live. The Gaza strip. Hence the name, the Gazans.

There are arguments made in favor of the Jews. We see news articles about the social work Israelis sometimes do in the Gazan camp, asserting to us that the Hamas are the real villains and the Jews, the angels. There are also other 'scholarly' readings that state that the Gazans - if they be in power - would never have done such high humanitarian work. How comical can our news articles glibly get - to prove the unrighteous right and the deprived wrong! Whatever be it, nothing can erase the fact that the Gazans had been betrayed the freedom they very much deserved.

Yes, the Jews did suffer a lot under Hitler's regime. But that doesn't sound reason enough to displace close to a million people from their homes to make space for the Jews. What the Gazans are going through now is worse than the holocaust days of the past. If it is right for Netanyahu to arrogantly state that he would not accept any ceasefire even if he faced international pressure, how is it possibly wrong for a common man to resort to arms when he sees his child bleeding to death? I stand in solidarity with every Gazan fighting - with arms or without.

Over this issue, the Christians and the Muslims exchange hateful words - to this day. The bitterness centers around the fact that the Muslims hate the Jews and the Christians would not dare speak against them. It stems from the generalized belief that the One they worship is still the God of (present-day) Israel. Few Christian TV channels frivolously speak of how few rockets launched from the Gaza strip deviated from their directions, not hurting the Israeli camp - praising God for that. How badly would God mock at your dubious divinity and the verily sanctimonious outlook! When news channels show Gazan kids dying in large numbers, they complain that the media coverage is favoring the Palestine and take pride in the amateur weaponry of the Hamas - producing ungodly explanations to exalt God who is love. He would certainly detest all these exaltation! Not one word against the Jews, because they are God's people, your minds sometimes warn. How ridiculous! Aren't you supposed to love? Love immeasurably? And, aren't the Gazans also created in the image of God? Why don't you stop tying religion into this and support the ones who are truly victimized and are at loss?

The intent of the theme called the pan-Islamic brotherhood, though progressive, have lately faced a lot of criticism because of the fruits it has produced. In the Kashmir valley that is sinking now, hundreds of Muslims turned up few months back to protest against what is happening in Gaza, but they cut loose and like mad men - randomly threw stones at whatever they thought was owned by the Indian Government. What pathetic relation their derisive religious minds had made! You do not like something happening in the middle east, and you damage your nation's property! Why don't you set fire on yourselves!!

We have to understand the fact that the world cannot be run on a religious agenda. The outcome of such attitude would only bring about chaos and produce a failed state. Dawn would one day enchant our eyes with its lovely rays when people grow in their thoughts to comprehend that God is beyond religion. Let us dream of a world where wounds are healed; where broken cords of love are mended; and where peaceful co-existence is still a rich possibility. May our dreams come true, I pray!

Definitive Gaze, Men, Women And All The Related Rubbish!

Rush in the lift alley. The lift comes up from the basement. Stops. There is place for one. The lady refuses to get in - but with a smile, because there were all men inside. Everyone notices this. Those looks were indeed very decent and thoughtful. As opposed to the usual molest-ful stares. They found her interesting - though she was not all that dashing with her looks. Minimal make-up. Bright eyes. Modest dressing. Destination 6th floor. Two men get out. One runs to the loo. One runs down. To the ground floor that is. But no, she is already gone.

His pocket diary, the most secretive one that he maintains. He takes that out, writes a poem that he has known. This time not his own, but of Wordsworth's.

She was a phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;

A dancing Shape, an Image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

You could call that impeccable memory. How did he remember all these lines! Of truth, the tranquility of his soul was disturbed. Yes, but in a sweet way. The sanity of his mind, fortunately, remained intact. So to note from the poem: the month of this occurrence - May - was duly underlined after he writes this down.

He goes to his scheduled trainings. Answers questions. Asks questions. Solves classroom exercises with a lot of energy. Also scribbling of love in his A4 papers. Takes a break. Coffee. Finishes all sessions. Comes up to the floor again. There she is. On the same floor. In the same department. With the same team. Total shock. Any further forwards in this direction, he knows, would be disastrous and almost unethical. So he comforts his heart, says a mature no, and moves on with his life. Or so he thought.

Here comes the bad guy into the story - that is me. When he, by mistake, leaves his draw unlocked - I open to grab a marker for a casual business discussion. And I find the pocket diary. I pick that and read. No names anywhere. There were poems and dates. I search for names but wouldn't find. But there were cues he had left. The underlines. May - from the Wordsworth poem. Team, from another one. Green Tea. Glasses. Handbag. Yellow. Smile. Saree. Feet. Sev puri. Macroons. Apples. And so many other underlined words from so many other poems. Such spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings. He must be one hell of a poet. But this one talent so conveniently hidden to the outside world. I could somehow get the picture. And now, could vaguely figure who the central character in these poems would be.

I could now - also connect so many other dots. His disappearance for a week. The rash riding. His love for pets. The accidents. The fracture. One broken teeth. Fierce fights. The police. The money launderers. The drug dealers. The many midnight escapades. The jumping from the moving train. Spending weekends alone in the Sathyamangalam forests. The Mangalore trips. All of these made sense. Finally.

The Gandhian in him must have called all of these - Experiments With Truth! But I call all of these - rubbish. This is not the only one guy, there are so many others roaming like mad men out in the streets - behind women they know they cannot win. Or even if they win, they know it would be more trouble and no peace. Or they know not. Or I am totally wrong. And they're all right. Whatever that is, please keep in mind that you live your life free of unnecessarily overwhelming thoughts about other people that could harm your inner peace. May be after all of these experiments, he might - one day - come back to square one. Back to where it all began. To know that he had been a fool all along. To laugh all of these away. To understand that the look that stole his heart was no more than a stray gaze. And that there was no definitive element that added much romance to this whole scene and fascinatingly electrocuted all these days of his life.

An Elegant Tapestry Of Thoughts!

Your lively eyes send out that gaze and then withdraw. I am not surprised to know that I am the central theme of your peripheral vision. How you tease me with your eyes! And yes, I fail not to notice the glint in that blush that twitches your lips too much, but your mind tries to control - yelling in your head – ‘let him not notice!, let him not see that!’. Why do you do that? I wish I could read your heart!

An awful reader that I am, once I tried to understand what you might think! The medley of your heart was so lovely that I was taken captive at its very first tunes. Without even stepping inside its doors, I was already captured into that maze - never to find an escape route. And you, my captor, wouldn’t show any mercy to your prisoner. I still go round, round and round to find a way out. But wherever I turn, I only find you covered in truckloads of rose petals.Your resplendent glory destroys my balance, and I am left with words, just words and more words, and yes - an unkempt beard. I am plagued with the poetry of my own mind.

Then I suddenly think of blood splashing everywhere. Yes, I puked when I first saw the chicken’s head chopped. I can still see those images with a lot of grain and a fading blur. If not for the society that butchers our hopes - only to slurp them up with its insensitive carnivorous norms, I would have carried you home in my arms. The problem is not mine, but yours. It is you who give a damn about society. It is you who would not come. ‘Not here not there’ - is your mental state! You mind validates your position with reasons. To distract my thoughts from the obvious disappointment, I imagine of my sweet doom. What if I die, would you not come home to have a glance at my coffin? I would make sure that I smile before I close my eyes for good, so you would not come and go disappointed.

No no, I rub these thoughts away. I would never make such stupid mistakes which people of low emotional caliber make. Suicides and lowly deaths are for cowards. I want to live. Live with a hope that someday we would be one. It might take few more days. Or months. Or even years. But eventually I know we would meet, smile, exchange words and fall in love. Oh yes – eventually! That is a deceiving word showing forever tendencies that wanes your hope to slow death. But, what of it? Hope might die, but not the vigor that is seeded in my blood. With vigor - one could regenerate the dying hope, open doors after doors of unexplored possibilities, traverse horizons and make accepted practicalities look so cheap and foolish. Yes - I am an extremist, I am a fanatic, I am crazy and mad. Call me more names, I would only smile. But I am so blessed that my mind can produce an elegant tapestry of thoughts whenever I go through a period of contemplation. I am sure I would make all my humble musings work as I complete the race I run; and in the end, when I raise those colorful flags of victory - you would come running to me. Please tell your heart that I wouldn't mind a tight hug and a few close-eyed kisses. I do want to live to see that day!

Domineering complexes and the fruits of Bashan!

The siege of the beautiful commissariat. Turn every possible direction, the scene is the same - lush green mountains, peaks and valleys. When the day progressed into the night, the beauty of the place drastically increased as moonlight glimmered on the lawns. There were oak trees everywhere, fallen acorns lying around scattered and squirrels sweetly squeaking as they grab those oak nuts. But the beauty, one dreadful day, was desecrated by a tyrant named Hazael who was King over Syria. The siege was deadly. Everything was destroyed. The provisions looted. Trees cut. Fires lit. Women raped. The heads of children smashed with stones. Men mutilated and most of them killed in torture. King Joash gathered his armies and battled hard to reconquer the place, not once, but thrice and finally, after much struggle, regained it. But the regained Bashan was no more a beautiful city. It was a destroyed dunghill filled with blood and loud bitter cries. Pitifully, the place vanished from history after this final recorded event.

Well, my intention is not to tell you a story from forgotten middle-east history. But to draw your attention to the congruence it generates with our present day living. Here I go! There is distress everywhere. This is added to our lives in no comprehensible proportion as days roll by and the Sun goes up and down. These could be nullified by the good things that happen in our lives. But there is a greater distress that can take hold of our lives if we allow our minds to be incarcerated by the domineering complexes of the tyrants we see everyday.

These complexes have the power to jinx us into the vile spell of deceptions. There are no incentives for being good, but showers of praise for people who are successful cheats. Bharat Mata Ki Jai and the Common Minimum Programme were blatant deceptions, polarization behind the scenes was the ugly truth. Misuse is the way to prosper. Impose things on others, stifle their words, let them not voice their opinions, kill their spirits, molest the rationale, mutilate their minds, backbite, sex it up, be judgmental just the wrong way, be wayward, fake it, do not analyse why people act the way they act, create confusions, shatter peace, gamble with lives, make divisions, denigrate enviously, create fables and float it in the media, yearn for people to admire you even if you knew they were false, be a narcissist, be sadistic, compromise quick, have no stance, change colors, never accept your mistake, feel you're always right, mock others, abuse, help people only if you get something in return, feed on other's pie, stump from behind, swell, gloat, think you are bigger than the universe, take a lot of pictures and upload them on facebook - these are steps that you can take to become the smartest kid every girl and the larger janata would go mad about. Wake up to the era of post-modern siege!

You might wonder what they would siege! Dear, it is your mind, the Bashan of your life, they siege. Your inner peace would go to the tatters - robbed and violated. Because it doesn't matter what you actually are, what matters is what they think who you are. If you're thought as a scum, you would forever be treated as a downcast Manu Smriti style. If you're thought as an assertive violator - (oh, how could it get easier than this!) - they would frame you in a false case and send you to jail. After years of mercy petitions, you know what you deserve is no less than capital punishment and you would be hung till your intestines gush out Afzal Guru style.

Scientists say that planet Earth has gone through 23 Ice Ages. Oh rightly yes - I am a big fan of the Ice Age movie series. In every part, you would see Scrat, the saber-toothed squirrel, with an acorn(oak nut), the fruit of Bashan. Whatever happened in the movie, the acorn would be shown with the squirrel chasing it - in the beginning or in the end of the movie. Nothing would happen to the fruit - though it passed through all those dreadful Ice Ages. That is the spirit one needs to breed in one's inner self. 'You can kill a man, not his spirit!' - is how our tombstones should read. Let us pass through ice ages in our lives every now and then, let worse things happen, let the whole world conspire against us - but no, let us not give up on our upright behavior and principled living - at any cost. 

Rattle and Romance!

There is a noise so loud that I cannot sleep. I wake to the disturbances, my eyes searching for trouble - trying to know where it comes from. Yes heavily annoying - like a metal scratching against another metal, like those creaking sounds chalk pieces make when a teacher writes on a black board. I search, search and search. And finally, I find the place where it comes from. Oh yes, from my very own rattling mind.

A remedy. A cure. I hug my pillows tight and roll around. Yes, this helps - but not more than a count of ten. I cover my head with the quilt, I turn around and shut my ears. No, it doesn't go. I close my eyes and concentrate. The more I try, the more I fail. I get up, sit straight and take a moment. I think, I guess and I try to understand what this could be. Then I see her face and lose my breath.

                                          

I see her there - oh right there - with that smile that punctures my lungs and leaves me gasping for more oxygen. Her eyes out a stylish glare, the moles mellow it down - but to tear, uh oh tear what? - yes, tear my heart a thousand ugly bits and leave that scar. But there the delight, the mangled pieces come together, attach themselves and make the heart glow back to life. Now fades the glare, there is silence, the right aura, the eyes strengthen the feeling, those lids closing in a way that conveys meanings more than one. I read the plot, reach out for her lips, to the plant the kiss. Whuff! was the sound, and like a sawdust flying all unlikely directions in a wild wind - she's gone for good.

Now my eyes open for real. Tak tak tak tak... The fan makes all those rubbish noise. And my mind constructs all that stupid romance. There isn't any she, there isn't any kiss - it is all black around. I switch on the light, but I need to soon get back to sleep - my drooping lids call me back to bed. 'Dream no more, dream no more!', I tell myself - switching off the light and slowing down the fan. Good night, meet you in the next post.

Happy Be

Happy be, on the weary sea

     Who hath fled the tempest and won the haven.

Happy whoso has risen, free,

     Above his striving. For strangely graven

Is the art of life that one and another

     In gold and power may outpass his brother.

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.

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But whoever can know,

     As the long days go,

That to Live is happy, hath found his Heaven!

- The Bacchae (Professor Gilbert Murray's Translation)

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The Bacchae is a greek tragedy based on the mythical story of how King Pentheus is punished by god Dionysius because the king refuses to worship the god. The play was originally written by Euripides.

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Young Dennis loves sitting on the porch of the children's home he has been living since the first months of his life. He was a just born baby when his unknown mother threw him on a rail track and ran away. Before the train could crush him to death, a ferocious madman took the baby off the track and started biting his delicate legs. He still has those bite marks on his legs. Somehow a kind man happened to see this gruesome scene, chased away the madman and rescued the baby. The little one finally landed up in this place which, to people of the urban upbringing, would look like a dungeon of sorts. Well, this place is his only haven. While others might yew at their kitchen, flies, stinking toilet and the bugged-beds, he is a happy kid.

A gentle priest named him Dennis, not knowing the name originated from Dionysus, the Greek god of the grape harvest, wine and merriment. While both of their births have parallels, the mortal Dennis would certainly not want his life to be filled with the merriment Dionysus symbolizes. Because deep down, he knows that his mother was a slut in her secret life - and all that he goes through, as a child, is because someday after a wild party his probably unmarried mother possibly got drunk too much and certainly had sex with some stranger who turned out to be his father.

Dennis is 15 years old now. Goes to the government school. A topper, of course. And he very well understands who he is, though the nuns at the home have carefully not taught him to believe that he is an orphan. From the time the old watchman told him of the story of how he came to this orphanage, he is overcome with depressing thoughts and feels extremely bitter for his bastardized life. He would think that it would have been better had he not been born. 'It would have been better had I been destroyed in my promiscuous mother's womb', he weeps in silence.

But he is always happy, when he sits on the porch. What makes him happy? - I wanted to know. He would just smile and his face would gleam - free of all the worries he was getting used to. I noticed he was looking at something. I followed his line of sight and there I saw what made him happy. There was a pair of anthills and hundreds of ants marching up and down in strict order. I struck a conversation with him. He has been observing these ants and their behavior for at least two months. He would not allow anyone to break the colonies the ants have so strivingly built. I listen to all the stories he tells me about these ants. Such innocence in every word, and yes - the boy's heart was bubbling with happiness.

As I returned home, I was wondering how could a little boy with whom life had been so cruel find happiness in simple things. Simple things. Oh yes - SIMPLE THINGS. Ah, there it hammered on me. To find happiness, one need not wait till the rapture and the trumpet sound. We could all find bundles of happiness in the simple things life offers us every single day. We would just have to keep our eyes open to see them. God is so great that he has injected so much happiness into all that surrounds us. Without remorse, we need to just go and inherit them. This realization started to change my life. Now - I have reached a point where I can just sit in front of my computer and smile at all the quirks it makes at me. I have started to look at people in the way they ought to be looked; and have made friends with myself. My mind is in complete sync with my heart. Believe me, there is nothing as peaceful as this. You would just have to hum to life's happy tunes and make some loverly moves. The more you smile, the more life becomes paradise. There truly is no greater secret than this. May you be happy all the time!

"Go to the ant, O sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise."

[Proverbs 6:6]

Friendship, Boys And Girls!

This is a simple attempt at a painful juxtaposition of the lives of many. Well, well well. Whether this is similar to your story, or no - a different one - yet speaks volumes of your neighbors' spicy lives - is up to you to judge. But before I start, I would like to put forward a disclaimer for my own safety. All the characters discussed and the words written here do not directly or remotely refer to you or anyone you know.

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A and B. [ A - guy friend; B - girl who is a friend ]

B's desk:

A comes straight to B every single day, pinches her cheek, caresses her hair, does a cheek-to-cheek touch with her before he starts doing anything of use (if at all there is any). This is 'friendship' - they defended themselves when word spread. Anyone who makes fun of this would be desecrating the divinity that surrounds their relationship. Such was the look this supposedly conservative girl gave at anyone who tried to tease or mock. What divinity would one get by rubbing one's prickly bristled skin against a fair smooth cheek! I keep wondering!!

At home:
A is a family boy. B is very virtuous and will be given in marriage soon. Both know that their families and cultures wouldn't allow for them to be married, so are comfortable remaining this way!

C and D. [ C - the babe in saree; D - the dude in shorts ]

Wedding function:

Lovely night. Celebration. Ethnic clothes. Party. People. Nice food. No alcohol. Lot of fun. After all this, C wanted to go to her friend's place for a girls night out. 9 in the night. She asks me to drop her at a certain G circle on my way home. I drop her at the circle. Interestingly, D was waiting to pick her up from there. I was shocked to see the bas****. She, with a sheepish grin, tells me that she would change at D's place and then go to meet her girl buddies. Oh, was she so shy to go to the girl's PG where her friends were waiting and change there? - I have no answer to this. Next day, both were absent. Ooomph. Oh  no, friendship!

At home.

C, now, has a husband who is a fool. D is the only son who their parents are fond of. And this friendship continues.

E and F. [ E - mumma to her daughter; F - the boss who is sincerely straight ]

Pub:

E has long been wanting a promotion. And one fine day she was promoted. She takes along a group of close friends for a drinks party. There, after a few shots, she goes high. Screams - 'I'll tell you all one of my stories'. The dirty story of how F tasted her. The reward, her promo. 'Hey hey, do not mistake us - we're good friends now!', she thunders.

At home:

E's parents who think highly of E take care of her daughter. F's parents are searching for a bride. E and F meet quite often if one of them 'gets bored' - or in other words - wants some fun.

G and H. [ G - guy who believes in connections; H - girl who is ugly ]

Chai shop:

G is a very cunning guy. He tells us - in his usual explicit tone - that he loves to f*** whenever he is pissed off. He tells us of all his steamy affairs thinking these things would inspire us. One fine day, he encounters a huge problem and is super pissed. He takes H home. Next day, he smiles a lot. Tells the guys that her special spots were all big-big. After few days, we grill H with questions during one special occasion. She gets pissed off and screams - 'we're best of friends, alright!' This is just not alright, baby!

At home:

G comes from a respectful household. H is a church-goer. She lies at home and stays at G's place every other Friday night.

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There are so many stories like this. For now, I would stop here. Because it gets dirtier as I write. This is how things are turning out to be. With no offense to anyone, friendship has been shamed by many neo-liberals and been made to look like one cauldron of liberated passions and stumbled morality. If this is called friendship - very sorry - the very definition of it needs to be changed by all means. Where is purity of thought! I have heard few friends who start loving each other and then marry. That, now, seems to be an acceptable notion. But this level of psychosis is unheard of. People think the world they live in, is Vegas. Let us drink, make merry, kiss, get wild, sleep, get up, shake hands and be friends. Who the hell are you fooling? This is a serious state of moral impairment. Deep down, you know it. What do I know, you might glibly ask! You know it well that you are scarring your own self! Scar it more, kill your conscience - and you will die in shame.

Do you seriously want to live with such suppressed guilt? How long can you possibly hide it under a fanciful word called 'friendship'? Imagine: years later if you have children and they start walking in your ways - and you instantly know that it has come from you, it would pain you more. Please turn from your ways before this becomes a trait, lest it passes on to your kids and your bloodline thereby defiled. No positive change is too late. Let love set you free.

Haloing Shades

             The abode of the dead, shades. Gradation of darkness, shades it is. Disembodied spirits - in shades you shall find them. Uninterpretable nuances, shades again. Some people think shades are cool because they are perceived to be evil. Few books bearing 'shades' as title have widened its influence to the world of eroticism. Shades of this ilk, certainly, are dangerous when they happen to fall right on us.

Disregarding the worldly definitions - shades, simply, could be seen as a state where not everything is fully revealed. There is something in the hiding. A tiger crouches through the bushes, sets its position right and then paws for its prey. Bands of defense personnel keep vigil in the night so the enemy wouldn't breach the boundaries unawares. There was a small boy who thought babies are formed in the womb when a husband and wife hug each other. Even procreation is kept in the shades. Well, these shades beautify and preserve our lives, don't they? Tigers get to quench their hunger, we sleep peacefully at night and new babies are born. Indeed these are haloing shades.

Most of us are blind because we tend to believe all that our naked eyes could see. We keep forgetting that lives are actually illuminated by things unseen. Busy trying to reason out everything, we miss out the nuances of symbolism that the simplest of life's events brings to the table. Our understanding goes holed and the right thoughts from our mind's clutter drain out in a fizzle, in a twinkle.

Truth alone triumphs - of course yes - but not without 'love', that allows itself to go unnoticed. Truth is always right. It is just and yes, harsh. Arrogant and sometimes, bitter. But love blends it, makes it more humane. There was a couple soon to be married in an arranged marriage setup. The girl had had premarital relationships with multiple men before. But everyone behaves as though nothing of that sort had ever happened. The broker conceals this, the parents prefer not to speak about the affairs of their once-promiscuous daughter, relatives and friends who know of this hush it down their burning bellies. The girl is scarred by her own folly. But for the marriage to happen and last, for her not to fornicate more and become a whore, a dosage of love had been most necessary. Years passed by, they are a happy couple now.

There was a prophet who cried out - 'My people are destroyed because of lack of knowledge'. But people could also be destroyed because they want to know everything - without any tinge of love. Do you not know that forgiveness is an offshoot of both love and truth? Do you not know that, in accordance to our culture, our women intentionally cover their body parts men desire the most? If our intent is to see and know more of whatever is concealed - desire would vanish and on the same note, forgiveness would disappear too. We need to apply love to whatever we have known as truth. I do not mean that you should limit your curiosity to know more of the truth. My only plea is that the more you know, let love exponentially increase. It was not with the pride-monger pharisee that God was pleased, but with the repenting sinner. Not everything in life is black and white. We need the courage to accept that. Only then could we see beauty in those shades that halo our lives with bliss and more bliss.

Eyes Dont Lie

When words malign and smiles turn sly - like those deceiving mirages in the desert, we have the eyes speak the truth. You can live stuck to the web of illusions flawlessly constructed by your own mind, fooling your self and the world around. But when the forest is set on fire, or when tonnes of brimstone happen to fall right on your head - oh verily yes - your eyes surely will tremble the tremble. Those loverly pair of apples in your socket will reveal what your mind tries to hide - for they, in boldness, speak the language of the heart.

Eyes don't lie

Lies, fully deny

Deny with fury

Fury in glory

Glory like Nemo's Dory

The blue tang with short memory

Memories, the lasting ones, remind me of the story

I cry, cry and I cry

Oh! Fallen have I in love - only to die!

So what of it? Would you die just because you have fallen in love? Was that a fall? Did you hurt yourself when you fell? Oh, poor you, are your limbs bleeding? Nay, I see your eyes and hear their voice. It is the heart that bleeds - you want to say. But you hush it down for no avail. Look at your eyes, they reveal. Why do you have to live in suppression? How could you bear that hell! Cut loose from all the dogma that pins you down to the dirt. Be ye free. Fall no more. Let love bring forth genuine smiles and spread happiness. For love that once lifted me would lift you up too, I pray!

Chicken Bone In My Throat!

All the weirdest of things in the world happen to me and I'm not surprised. And here's one more to the tally. A chicken bone in my throat.

It was a great lunch at Amrutha's - we were 7 of us, 5 non-vegetarians and we ordered three plates of fish and one plate chiken kabab. In the talk that was heating up, I lost track of what I was swallowing and boom - something was stuck in my throat. I tried a lot of things and yet, it wouldn't go. So I come back to office, eat 6 bananas, lot of steamed rice, gulp 3 orange juice and four bottles of water. And still, it wouldn't go. Pains more.

So, I continue with work. Write one macro for a friend. It was 7 pm and then it rings on my head, I have to go to Hebbagodi. I knew it would become a problem if mum and dad come to know. Before that I should get this out. A friend suggests me to try vomiting. So I try vomiting for a long time. In the end, my mouth turns red. Oh no, I started vomiting blood.

Then I take my bike, rush to hebbagodi. Have to tell my parents, no other choice. I tell them before I go to sleep. They scold me for being such an idiot. I smile. They scold more. So, next day to Narayana Hrudalaya hospital.

Mum and me at the reception. There was a Malayali family sitting next to us with a sweet baby girl - less than a year old. She smiles at me. And playtime starts. I make her smile more. She grabs me, wants me to show some more tricks. She laughs, laughs and laughs. Doctor calls.

Doctor Maneesh. He laughs as well, as we explain the situation. Asks me not to panic. Go for endoscopy. Mum calls Dad. Dad panics. Comes with a family friend. This freaks me more. Endoscopy at 5 pm. Anything that is stuck would easily be removed, come and meet me after that, Doctor says.

5 pm. Endoscopy. There was this beautiful Lady Doctor. Sad, I did not know her name. Dont panic, she says and puts those things into my mouth deep inside. I choke and choke more. I make loud noises for her to stop. She takes the tubes out. No Doc, I can't, I'm so scared. She smiles. Oh come on, don't worry. Just look at me. Do as I say. It is very easy. She tells this so sweetly. I listen to her. She pulls my tongue out, holds it tight with one hand and deep the tubes go. Breathe through your mouth, don't panic. It is easy. I breathe through my mouth. After some time, the bone is out. She tells me I have abrasions. The bone has scraped my throat and has caused it to bleed. Asks me to meet the other Doc.

Waiting for Doctor Maneesh. I meet another patient who tells me his worries. He had done endoscopy as well - just then. He tells me how they tortured him by inserting the tubes deep inside till they reached his stomach and how much pain it had caused him. I was much relieved that the bone was stuck in the throat and not anywhere else. I ask him not to worry. Things will be alright. My name is called out.

I go in with my mum. The Doc smiles again. All okay, he asks seeing the file. I say yes. He writes me medicines. I say thanks and bye to him and come out. Buy medicines and we reach home. And mum tells me it is time I get married. This time, I choke more without any bone in my throat. God save me.

The Parenthetical Limbo Of Being

He is very open. (Idiot!)

He is kind. (Such a coward!)

She is sexy. (Not a virgin definitely!)

He is straight-forward. (Aggressive moron!)

She talks so sweet. (B*tch!)

Parentheses don't come out usually. They hover in the invisible, the plot thickens with those pauses and the sweet smile camouflages the intent and the overtone. But these afterthoughts that second the diabolical nature of our minds are also matters that decide our judgmental prowess.

 

There was a cockroach which lived in the latrine commode. A small boy threw a piece of bread into the hole and it floated above the stinky waters. The poor insect wanted to have a bite of the bread and it went down. Right when he got hold of his food, the boy flushed. Water was rushing down with force. His life was in danger if he did not move. He stood on the piece of bread not willing to give away his catch, reflexes failed, petrified, stuck in the limbo, cursing the boy. And he died.

You should plot at the back of your mind keeping your demeanor cool and pleasing, stated the colleague. To hell with him. For if we keep on plotting and speculating things, we would be plotted to death ourselves. Yes, people will use us. Speak falsely of us. Try to stop our growth. However these do not come out in the open, but revel in the parenthetical capabilities of their behavior. All of these silly things would matter only if we start giving a damn.

Some of our daughters suffer from this. They become Nebuchadnezzars, desperately wanting their men to know what they think without even telling them what they think. Adding to the disharmony of thoughts, they would want their men to act in the seemingly according ways pleasing them all the time. One could only sense heightened dosage of sadism here. This is dictatorship at its best (what else could this possibly be!).

Life is simple. Things would look good if unnecessary complications are put away. Reading between lines doesn't help at all. It creates fissures. Breaks relationships. Amplifies question-marks. Shatters trust. But if things are taken in the right stride, love sprouts. Smiles become genuine. Our eyes gleam (not trying to hide things). Peace descends. Result, bright countenance. Bliss.

Discourse On The Lives Of Shy People

Elevator. Ground Floor. I have to go to the sixth floor. And the small box is filled with women. A lot of them. But there is little space for one to squeeze in. One waves her hand and asks me to get in. I smile and say - 'No thanks!'. 'What's wrong? Get in! There is space for one!', she asserts. I sweetly refuse in a matter-of-fact tone, 'No please, I am basically a shy person you see!'. They all burst into laughter. Yes. HR ladies, they are!

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Jokes apart, the life of an introvert is not to be snorted away but one that needs to be understood in the right way. While the whole world chooses to be in the center of the theme, we choose the corners. Is it wrong to like the corners? Has not God chosen the corners of the earth to station his angels? Well yes, attention is one thing we do not crave for. Recognition? - no thanks, keep it with you. We are not insecure or timid or suffer from low self esteem. We are people who love the quiet. We stand away from the normal standards of life. We do not go with the crowd. Nor do we pass judgments. Only that we wish if people could leave us alone the way we are.

Yes, we have the problem of those abrupt silences and awkward pauses sometimes. We might come across to you as screw-ups, silly idiots and extremely dumb. Or we might look like real crazy morons and you could be thinking that we are very aggressive folks. We do not have any problem as to how you see/treat us. Your conclusive remarks on us arise only out of your fail discernments. Never would you understand our inherent tendencies to be able to attach meanings to whatever we say/not say and do/don't do.

Not that we do not know to speak, just that at times we prefer not to. Not that we do not know to crack all those jokes, just that we prefer not to say things that would sound as lame as the ones that are generally cracked and expect people to laugh. But we observe. We precisely know the size of the freckles and the count of the wrinkles and moles on the visible parts of your body. We know the length of your brow and the wave-forms it makes as you speak. The lip twitching, the short shrugs and the walk styles. We understand your movements and derive the right meanings. We can mimic perfectly well. We are the best orators. Our minds are intricately beautiful - music, so, is in our blood. We do not hurry. We keep secrets. We are slow to judge. We are perfectionists. We wait for our perfect time. Even if we knew it wouldn't come, we would still wait. Deliberation and finesse are our ways of life. We articulate and create our own worlds which people of mediocre mentality cannot comprehend.

There is misconception that shy people are overcome by fear, cannot exhibit their talents - and so, people think that the best of our kind are glued to their books, deny the company of men , build labs, do researches there and become those boring, uncool scientists. To me, shy people - disregarding the worldly definitions of 'best' - are in fact the best when they are in the company of men. The simple reason being - they can easily stand out without fear of exclusion. Ella Fitzgerald, Elvis Presley, Ingrid Bergman, Tom Hanks and the list goes on and on. These stars have been in the company of men all their lives - not just the company but they have been admired by more than half the globe. If you read about them, you would know they were all shy even after they became celebrities. Ella is referred as the 'First Lady of Song', Elvis - the 'King of Rock and Roll', Bergman won 3 Academy Awards and is ranked the fourth greatest female star of American cinema and Hanks - do we need words to describe his talents!

We have a petition to make. We rarely find people who can understand us. That is a very sad thing. There are very few people who could read the intent of our thoughts right. We are always mistaken. Some foolishly believe that we cannot influence others - not knowing, the greatest revolutionaries the world has ever seen were of our kind. They have all successfully shaken the world in times past. Try observing us more, I am sure you would fall in love with us. Yes, you would be baffled by the fluency of our romances. We make the best of friends. We add to the human element even in a professional setup. You would have no idea how loud we could get in the company of friends. No one would dare take all those risks to value companionship like we do. We mean what we say or we don't say a thing. Period.

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P.S. Conclusively, It's okay to be shy! (*^.^*)