Skip to main content

Happy Birthday!


Why God make people get into a relationship?

To learn something

Learn what?

Hurt

Why hurt?

Just so that you remember Him

But why do we need to remember him?

Because he created you

Ah! You seller of holy piss … my parents created me. But relationships mean forgetting your past, your parents, your old family, your brother, your sister, the friends you loved more than your life, your old memories and anybody associated with it … If I have to forget all those, why the fuck should I remember god?

(silence)

Ummm …

Ummm  … you are immature

May be. Show me the light then.

May be, may be you needed a new pair of glass to see the world differently. I am not saying what you witnessed so far was wrong, just that it adds more perspective …

But why? Why? Why? Why do I need more perspective? I was happy as I was. I am not happy with my new perspective. I am dying, I am choking, take it back. My eyes are burning. I don’t want to see, I don’t want to change anything. Bring back my old self, bring back my loved ones, bring back my life, bring back my freedom, my self-respect, my confidence, my carefree days, my politically incorrect days, my joy … oh my joy …

Joy of ignorance?

Yes, joy of ignorance if you so fancy.

Let me wash you clean ... so much of grime and blood on you ... breathe breathe breathe ... cry cry cry ... you won't? let me smack your tiny arse .... Here! Now Now! You have arrived!! Welcome, welcome!!! Happy Birthday!

Comments

Vincent said…
Oh, I composed a response to this a few days ago, must have been in my head and never sent.

The freshness of your writing has not diminished, no matter what you say, which in any case I treat as fiction. But if it is actually your birthday, belated greetings, dear ghetufool.

And---addressing the narrator of your story---I have a suggestion to make. Since he is on speaking terms with God, let him ask God to weld his past and present selves together. So that he does not have to choose between sacrificing one for the sake of the other.

Popular posts from this blog

Kaun banega karorpati...dwitiya

--Namaste, satsriakaal, aadab, mein amitabh bacchan aapke samne, leke hajir hua hu, phir ek bar, kaun banega karorpati dwitiya.
(audiences in dark start clapping along with a music as if crusader king Richard of England just captured the castle of a jehadi king)
Aaj, mere samne beithe hai Jarshad kakiara…kakku…cuckoo…
(a club-shaped man intervenes, with a child-like smile, “Kakkrakandy”)
Ji haa, kakkara (“kandy”, the man again intervenes with a shy smile)
-Yes, Jarshad kakk…, whatever, aiye aap aur hum khele yeh adbhut game, jiska naam hei …(looks at the club-shaped man)
Jarshad Kakkrakandy, answers “kauun banayega karrorrpatti”

Amitabh shows Jarshad the seat, adjusts the seat for him. Jarshad sits, the chair shrieks.

--aur abhi mere samne baithe hain Jarshad n. k., from Chennai, who is a journalist with reuters, loves reading dilbert, unka favourite movie hai “chandramukhi”. And he is the self-proclaimed ‘king of PJ’.

--Haan to Jarshad saab, aapne likhe hein ke apke naam hei Jarshad n.k. now …

On Mithi

I became a father on 18 November, 2014. At that moment when fatherhood embraced me, perhaps I should have been elated, jumping up and down and doing all sort of activities that new fathers do, at least, that's what most sane people do. But nothing of that sort happened to me. When I heard my baby's voice, first like an angry cat and then a mild wail wafting across the operation theatre to the waiting area where we all were pacing up and down, the first thought that hit me was how was my wife? It was a C-section and she was partially unconscious. I should not have read Internet too much, for I was reading all sorts of horror stories, of mothers not waking up or recovering etc. I was petrified as I was not hearing my wife's voice. The doctors and sisters inside the operation theater must have been very busy with their other procedures. In fact, after bringing out the baby from the womb, they were busy closing the cut, I later got to know.
The realisation of becoming a fathe…

The Sculptor's Tale

(Note to readers ... mainly Ian, who is the only one who reads this blog >> i just finished writing this in office. didn't even re-read it after writing, forget editing. Expect a leaner/fatter and better written version, if my mood permits.)
Keep your hands busy, said my father every time I used to lean against the tree to catch my breath. Keep your hands busy you idiot, keep your hands busy, don’t let your head decide for you. Keep your hands busy, he would coax me to get working. And so I would again start chiselling the chunk of rock, along the lines my father, a master sculptor, had already outlined. But I would still dream with eyes wide open. When the hammer used to fall so gently yet firm on the chisel, I used to dream of the cities and the grand mansions. I was not good in sculpting, yet I wanted to be the greatest sculptor in this world. I wanted to be honoured by my king. I wanted to be the subject for which kings wage wars against each other. I was a dreamer, I …