Sunday, December 25, 2011


In my dream, I was a lac insect. Like my hundred sisters, I attached myself to a new twig and drank its sap. I had no eyes so I focused my entire impassioned energy on drinking. I drank and grew and secreted raisin red as mud until I was covered with it, until we all were covered. Within my shell I held and still grew, with my hundred sisters, and within me grew the eggs. The moon waxed full; once, twice, three times.The resin pooled and spread across the branches, turning them red until the tree seemed to be a dancing flam. The waiting villagers nodded. Yes, soon. The eggs hatched, a hundred new insects attached themselves to the other trees, the villagers broke off the branches and scraped the resin clean and sent it to Varnavat where Duryodhan had ordered a palace to be built for his five cousins.
(And I? I died. No need to mourn me. My work was done)

-Panchali's Mahabharat

Monday, December 19, 2011

Mumbling #9

Maybe we're looking for too much? Maybe we're trying too hard or probing too deep? Or maybe we're deciding to sleep on it, like my mother. No more questions asked, no more answers provided. Maybe we're afraid that the only thing we'll eventually find is our reflection in the naked light. We're not going to ask any questions, not going to find any solutions. Maybe this time we'll realise that only here, can we be found. Maybe I am contradicting myself. Maybe you're losing track of what I'm saying. I am. Maybe. I cannot tell you for certain because that's not my trait. I cannot gift-wrap it for you and provide you with an answer to take back home. I can only mumble. I'm incompetent like that.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Till the Cows Come Home

You are that small, brief smile that most people tend to miss.
You are the cloud that barely grazes over the lake,
never meeting with it completely.
Neither of us will dare to swim to the other side.
This desire is ephemeral.
It will die a quick death.
But You.
You will continue to remain, in here, as my unfinished novel.
Till the cows come home.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Mumbling #8

She had always enjoyed listening to stories. Anything that was removed from her reality was her fodder to chomp on. Her life, she thought, tasted like the paper of the books she read: vapid. Until one day, she tasted something more than that. It was sweet in her mouth. And soft. And full. Shockingly so. For had she savored some of that real world without being intoxicated and roused, she wouldn’t have been able to completely understand, later, that she was capable of creating her own paradise.

Would you rather live as a monster or die as an innocent man? – Shutter Island

You knew no one would doubt you, being who you are; the perfect son, the loyal husband, always the apple of everyone's eyes. There would be no repercussions on your family and friends since no one would source the murder to you, yet, as you walked on you were filled with an explainable urge to run away and hide. But you knew that if you faltered, they would track you and kill you, you and your family. you had to go on, even if it meant tarnishing your soul and living with the overpowering guilt of killing hundreds of innocent human beings. You can see them now, disguised to make see that you complete what they started. But as you walked towards the bridge, you thought of the only possibility which could save all those people, jumping from the bridge with the bomb, killing yourself immediately. Not that they won't blackmail others into becoming suicide bombers, there would soon be more. You're standing at the bridge with half a minute before detonation deciding what is more important to you, your life and the life of your loved ones or those of a hundred innocents. Would you rather run, leaving the bomb at the bridge or would you jump?

S writes. Better than most people I know. But I hate her. Because she scares me by showing time and again, how she has the power to affect my life in more ways than one.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Mumbling #7

Travelling at the speed of light, it's faster than anything you've ever seen. Like they show in the movies. Don't you remember seeing that arial shot, taken from a very fast flying machine, super cool background music to go with, where they show a ball of energy coming towards you from a great distance? The other end, the recieving end, is you. Your right eye to be specific. The fire of approaching energy can be seen being reflected in your eye. It hits you now. It is the epic moment. The moment of apotheosis. You are blown out of your wits. Look around you. No one is going to believe this.

"It is the rest of the story. Who you choose to be."
- Soothsayer, Kung Fu Panda 2