No Movie Review Here(I Promise)

He: Dude, you saw "teen chutiye"?
Me: Nope, didn't get time.
He: Man you gotta watch it.
Me: Yeah sure, will watch if I don't get a blow by blow account by everyone who fancies himself a critic.
He : But dude this one is totally path-breaking, an expose of the rotten to the core education system that churns out human robots to do the menial work of foreign corporations.
Me: Yeah and where do you work right now?
He: But I hate my software company.
Me: So why don't you quit and start a Moroccan restaurant or something?
He: The system dude, the system, anyways there's this cool dude Bhencho who stands up to the whole education system.
Me: And no doubt delivers impassioned speeches that totally rock the balls off the nutty professors.
He: Kinda, but that's not the point, I feel I totally identify with Bhencho.
Me: In that he's short and weird?
He: In that he's innovative and irreverent.
Me: Dude your boss is behind your back.
He: OMFG! I have to deliver a code by today evening.
Me: Stay loose, he went with his wife to watch "teen chutiye".
He: So I was saying I identify with Bhencho because I was like that when I was a student. Ah! those were the days. I could have been the next Einstein or something man, before the vortex of mediocrity swallowed me.
Me: Yeah but still you must have some creativity still left even after the your professors and the stupid assignments tried to beat it out of you.
He: Yeah I do, I have a blog named named "Lame Thoughts Of A Tame Mind". I write my memoirs on it for posterity.
Me: I am sure it must be swamped by enamoured fans world over.
He: Forget it man, so our education system, those stupid professors, they dont know shit from shinola.
Me: Exactly, dude could you solve this Fourier Transform for me?
He: Zooby Dooby Zooby Dooby Pa Pa Ra...

Lonesome Valley; Chapter 3

The Pig



I am a pig. I mean a real squeaky, stubby-legged pig. I was being raised for pork at a farm. The crazy looking guy bought me from a farmhand. Bloody humans, always ready to sell out. Anyway, so here i am in the largest slum of the city, dodging the nasty kids with their sticks and knives and carrots and crackers. I don't understand why he had to buy me from the farmhand and leave me here. I had a few more months of blissful corn eating and sex. By the way pigs have half hour orgasms, betcha didn't know that. They used to call me Bertie, there was a sow in my pen, two months older still smoking hot. Life was good. I used to get to eat at least 8 times a day. Corn, maize, porridge,dead rats. What? Whatcha staring' at? We pigs are omnivores. We do eat meat.

People just don't understand us pigs. They think we're stupid. But we're one of the most intelligent life forms alive. People think we're shy and easily scared. Well ask people who have come across our wilder cousins. Us city pigs, yeah we never get much chance to be wild. That's the disadvantage of of domestication.

So this crazy man bought me for a wad of human currency(amazing stuff that, I'd like to know its working a little better).I wondered what he would do to me. I have heard about kinky people. Farmhands talk. So this guy started talking to himself as he was taking me home. lots of talk about death, frivolity of life and big names of dead philosophers(I guess). The upshot was "lets die".

Now I have seen pretty weird people and pretty weird things. Everyone has their addictions. The owner of my farm likes to eat a pig raw once in a while.Some people like to smoke that green stuff in their pipes. Some people like to snort the white powder. I've seen it all. But what if you could do it only once? Would it be called a addiction then? Are birds addicted to fly? What if you could snort the white powder only once and the urge to do it were as deeply embedded in you as flying in a bird ling? Would you snort it at once or would you like some foreplay first?

Whatever, my diagnosis was that the crazy man suffered from an addiction to death, his own death. Anybody could see it in his face. the way he crossed a busy street or the way he he handled an electric heater. It was as if he was trying to get hit or get baked. But he can't die at once. He wants people to understand the joy of dying as he himself does. Like smoking alone isn't much fun, its nice to have smoking buddies.

Crazy guy kept talking to himself, crying out for mum and dad. Crazy what family can do to you. Appears his dad keeps whispering in his ears from somewhere to kill people. I think that's bullshit. He wants somebody to understand what his dad taught him now that he, his dad himself is dead.

Bloody hell! Sigmund Fried or whatever must be turning in his grave by now. So this guy kept blabbering and putting a strap on my neck. Its still there and it itches like piggy hell. Then he came here and left me at the gates and stood there watching me go inside the slum being kicked around by unwashed kids in shabby and torn dresses.He had something in his hands with buttons in it.

I'm very very worried about these kids. They love to harass a helpless dumb creature like me, okay not so dumb after all. I think human people don't spend wads of their currency unless it buys them their poison or the foreplay for it. Killing people is this guy's foreplay. I have a really bad feeling about all this. I turn around, make for the gate, but a gaggle of teens has made a human wall in front of me, blocking the way. I am kind of small. That's why I got to stay out of the abattoir. I turn around again looking for some other exit, squealing with fright. Some little girls are trying to caress me and calm me down. That was sweet. I would have liked to spend some time with them. But now they will have to wait.

The grown ups have heard the commotion and are coming out of the huts and the road sides to see what the fuss is all about. Exclamations about the downfall of teen morals float around for a while. Mothers' doting calls to their boys to stop teasing a poor animal, without really meaning it. The boys have started a chant. They have started taking the chase seriously. They want to catch me, but they want to draw out the chase. They are running around and I am dodging them with an increased sense of urgency. My squeals draw peals of laughter from them. The atmosphere has gradually turned into that of a carnival. The grown ups are enjoying themselves. There has formed a sort of precession that drifts along very slowly away from the gate.

A grizzled, cynical looking man has been eyeing me from a distance. He is approaching me. He shoves a teenager aside so he is able to catch me with a minimal effort. He is fingering my strap. He is crying something to the crowd. Nobody hears him. He looks around with sudden fear. His gaze floats toward the gate and he freezes.

Then the explosion comes. Its not painful at all. The grizzled man is a splash of red on the floor and the walls of the hut. There are so many splashes its impossible to count. My headless body is lying a few feet away. One leg is missing. Nobody is having fun now. The dusk is enveloping the ground the red splashes becoming indistinguishable from the black shadows. People in the distance scream. I twitch.

I hope somebody tells my story. I am dead. I was The Pig.

Award bitches!!!

After all my indefatigable effort I have finally been recognized as the finest writer of this world by my friend Mahesh Sindbage. I mean he awarded me and all. You dont belive it? Go check his blog. He says I quote " Piyush is the finest writer I have ever read" unquote. I mean shit. Is this cool or what? Thanks buddy. You rock.

Lonesome Valley; Chapter 2

The Imprisonator

You work in the city police force, prowl the streets filled with vicious muggers, dope peddlers, crazy weirdos for 10 years and you expect a quiet desk job to while away your days in peace. You are 32 years old after all. Its time they let you relax. You apply to your pseudo-intellectual boss to shift you to a more peaceful job. The sanctimonious prick who loves to say " subtle" every 2-3 minutes, ignores it and puts you into the security cordon of an anal retentive politician who has been threatened by yet another psycho. Appears they both studied together at some big shot ivy league college or the other, your boss had some brotherly love to spare and also a few men from the force.

It appears the senator Johansen was told by somebody called "the emancipator" to mercy kill his only child suffering from cerebral palsy otherwise the crazy will have to assassinate him on moral and philosophical grounds. Slippery grounds, those. You never play there.

They have also given you an ivy league humanities graduate for a partner who is on a "being a good Samaritan" mission. Eloquence personified and apparelled in a Van Huesen suit. The bastard even quotes Shakespeare. Name's Edward Devereaux. Fancy pansy.

The threat came by the phone. Wonders of science are innumerable and unfathomable. No chance of catching the perp even after tracing the call but it was done anyway by the bright boys from communications. So here you are staking out a suburban villa of Godzillic proportions with manicured lawns and pedicured ladies. The matter is being splashed about in the news paper like beer in a bachelor party. There is always a small mob of T.V. reporters in front of the gate. You feel like a red assed monkey at a historical site, stared at, jeered at and being asked things you don't know.

He is coming out of his villa in his bullet proof luxury car that lets him ride out any storm inside watching porno and sipping beer ensconced in fragrant leather seats. You are not so lucky, you have to pave the way for his majesty's departure to the hospital to see his son.

Its not even been 40 minutes since his departure, you have just settled down to have your coffee and cigarette and Edward 'Eddie' deveraaux comes huffing and puffing, spills the coffee and starts coughing with a hanky on his mouth with his initials stencilled on it. This is supposed to be your signal to stop smoking as Mr. eloquent doesn't feel terribly comfortable in cigarette smoke. You promptly blow a cloud on his face and tell him to cough the fuck up.

"Ah...I have the misfortune to report, a terrible loss". Hems and Haws he.
"Go on".
Uh...This might come as a shock but it is my duty to report the truth as I know it to my superiors.
You clench your teeth and press on "I am very much interested in knowing the information you bring Lieutenant".
Well...The gentleman we have been put in security charge of has been found dead in his son's hospital ward. Reasons are heretofore unknown.

You feel two spots growing on you.
1. The coffee spot where the Dumb ass has spilled it
2. The spot of dread that starts from your gut and soon reaches your jockeys and twists them in a knot.

You knew it was a bad job. But your old man was adamant for you to take some job, any job. An MBA was too boring. You were too lazy to become a scientist, engineer or a lawyer though you had a sharp mind (or so the cute female professor told you), so you became a cop. Getting in was easy enough but the folly of your ways was clearly apparent sitting on the hard wooden chair in the supercilious superintendent's otherwise plush office, the next day. He deliberately put that hard chair for you to make you uncomfortable.

"Sloppy. Your feedback report told me. I was a fool to send you on such an important duty. I disregarded the subtle insinuations of your senior officers and trusted your rough talent and what do I get?" The ranting had just started and the old man was wheezing with effort.

"Sir according to the forensics report, the poison was mixed in the beer which came from the local wholesale liquor dealer. One of the cans had been tampered with. He drank it in the car. The delayed effect of the poison started to show up in the hospital when he went to see his son. Just the other day he had given a statement to " The Post" that there is no chance he would do such a thing as killing his own son. Its the emancipator business. I was only on the guard duty." You wish there was a diplomacy class for dupes like you.

"How subtly you have shirked your duty captain. Truly admirable. When the car was inside the garage wasn't it your duty to check it when, as you put it so eloquently YOU were on the guard duty?" Just listen to the asshole. Were you supposed to sip all the beers to check whether they were doctored or not? But you bite your lip and keep quiet.

"Now the National Agency of Investigation has taken the case from us and we're expected to co-operate with them. Your duty will now be to co-ordinate with them and please do not give me any chance to complain this time, I must tell you in no subtle terms."

After two days of the big scene the NAI people interrogate you for four hours about your one week stay at the politicians house. Their condescension is visible. They smirk at your answers, you take it silently.

You take the squad car and make a stop at the liquor wholesaler. He's been visited by the NIA and is visibly distraught. He repeats his statement. He had taken a new delivery boy for the northern end of the city. The lad was late thirtyish,said he was a student and needed a job to supplement his allowance, chiseled features, broad chest, bearded, intelligent looking, and no he didn't give his documents. He was seen studyning heavy books sitting on a box in the warehouse.

Whatever, none of your business, now that the NIA is here, you swear never to get involved in high voltage stuff, that is for the high fliers. You decide to drop by home on your way to headquarter. The old man has paralysis of the lower body. Though there is a nurse who comes thrice a week, he still needs all the attention he can get, and then some more. To be very frank he is a pain the "you know what", but the problem is you love him too much. To be a little more frank, you had a call from the army and to be most frank that was your heart's desire. But after your mother ran away with the milk delivery man, you didn't have the heart to leave him alone. So you never told him, had you had he would have packed and Fedexed you to fort honor. He thinks you are a worthless no brainer nincompoop, but that is a small price to pay to stay near him and take care of him in his old days. Sometimes you think he knows it all, the old shoe box where you have kept your army call letter looks a little askew sometimes.

His gruff abusive language is what you come back home to hear. Though it irritates the hell out of you, you chew your nails out if you don't find the same voice fighting a verbal battle right through the thin walls with the neighbouring joneses.

You scan the police frequencies on the car radio; the usual chit chat about murder on east street, car crash on Tall Elks, burglary on Link Road. You twirl the dial and you get news a channel. Its abuzz; "The recent johansen murder case has yielded a new clue, or we might say a new puzzle considering the state of the police investigation. Among the beer bottles of senator johansen police have found a bottle of a prescription anesthetic called ketamine. Why has the killer left a ketamine bottle at the crime scene? lets ask our crime expert Dr....."
Bloody hounds, and whats with these psychos? Why cant they just do their thing and walk away? Why do they have to create such a furore about everything. Even criminals are publicity hounds nowadays. Where are the good old days when the killings were done in the cover of the night without seeking attention? Nowadays the bastards deliberately leave clues behind to challenge the detectives.
You have reached home, you divert your mind from policing(as if it really was a concern), and send it straight to oblivion to save it from the barrage that is about to hit you as soon as you make the front door creak. You open the door, no sound; he must be sleeping, you consider it a blessing. You take a peek in the old man's room. he sleeps so peacefully, nothing moves. Wait, something is moving inside the sheet near his legs. You slowly edge up to it, fearing the old fox's wrath if he is awakened. You uncover the leg and there it is, hissing and crawling, green and venomous, sleek and dangerous, satisfied after biting and killing your father. The leg is blue with the venom that has already spread throughout the body. You fling the sheet away to reveal a bloated, blue dead father. The man you loved more than your life is dead because you were too busy saving a senator. And you know what, you suck even at that. You are so ashamed you feel like smashing all the mirrors in the world. You check his pulse with more optimism than the your brain permits, the results make a worse wreck out of you. There is a phone on the bedside, you want a doctor, a big knowledgeable man, who can just touch him with a magic wand and make him alive again. You reach for the receiver, you notice something unfamiliar through stinging tears in your eyes. You scrunch up your face to read the label of the bottle, the new bottle that you have never seen on his table. Its reads; KETAMINE- medical purpose only.
......................................................................................................................................................................
You are on extended compassionate leave from the police force. The numbness has gone. A seething anger has taken its place. You have become "The Imprisonator"

Lonesome Valley; Chapter 1

The Emancipator

He sat there at the top of the cliff dangling his legs. He had the familiar sense of being out of his body that people generally have after a heavy dose of ketamine. His schedule rarely allowed him to be in contact with his higher self. Being a philosophy professor isn't as fool proof a way of avoiding useless labour as he had thought. He loved being high on ketamine. He liked to ruminate about the imminent, indelible truth of human life - as he half dangled from the cliff, not caring if he fell or not - Death. He had some more of it in his pocket and today he planned to have a near death experience with it. Body paralysed he lay there thinking. With a mind like his (an IQ of 200) and effects of ketamine he was getting riddled with umpteen revelations and insights every minute.

He remembered the house in the prairies, he sitting with his mama and dad, eating from his special toddler sized crockery and cute plastic cutlery.

Mama saying to dad 'Mrs. Johnson passed away'.
Dad said 'How very lucky of her. She has met her higher destiny at the age of 35. I wish I could die in peace right now.'
"Yes dear but we have little Jeremy to think about, how I would love to sleep in eternal peace forever" mama gave a wistful expression that suggested that dying was way better than getting a personal visit from Santa Claus.
He chirps to his mother "I want to die too mama, will you take me when you die?"

There is a small crowd near the stream that the villagers used to fish for eels. His classmates say his mother is floating on the lake and she is not moving. He goes there and the air of tragedy, excitement, diffidence, apprehension, tells him that mama is done moving. Is this how people look when they die? The expression on her face doesn't look peaceful, in fact its not much of an expression at all. Her face is bitten all over by fish. His dad hoists him from the ground and embraces his little body and tells him that she is at peace now, she just couldn't wait for me though. How very lucky of her. How very like her.

They're walking back home after a short and private funeral service for mama. Dad holds his hands and says 'Jerry, I have to talk to you, I have to tell you something you should know.' He had thought it will be about the thing he had seen the high school boys and girls do behind the trees in the park when it got dark. He found it gross. 'Jerry all of us have to go where mama has gone one day or the other. Everyone goes when life forces them to go but your mama forced life to let her go. People will tell you that your mama was a pusillanimous woman but I think she had the grit to know the value of death." He had no clue what "poozillanimuz"" meant but afterwards he always remembered thinking that he will never grow up to be that.

The day he caught the city bound train to join his college to get a degree in philosophy he peered out of the window into his father's proud face and saw an extremely relieved man. He knew that he will not see him again.

Its time for another dose. He took out the bottle of medical purpose ketamine prescribed by Dr.Chaddha, his reluctant friend at the university.He took a spoonful out of the bottle and heated it on the cigarette lighter's flame. The liquid transmogrified into a crystalline powder which he crushed and scattered on the hard cover "hamlet". The Swiss army knife cut lines into the powder to make it easy to snort small doses, but then he destroyed the drain works and made one small hill of narcotic heaven. He gingerly positioned the cut off straw at the top of the mound and put one of his nostrils on the other end and gave one animal like pull to the air. The narcotic hit him almost instantly and he was paralyzed. His brain went eons ahead of him. Things suddenly startled making sense. The feeling of having figured out his aim of life enveloped him in powerful gushing waves. He saw a light making headway to his eyes. In a few moments that light was a tunnel. Peace reigned. He was happy, no he was ecstatic. Mama came to him, her smile beckoned him. But then dad appeared, he was not smiling. He was saying something. "Go, teach people the value of death, make them meet their higher destiny. You are yet not ready for your higher destiny."

He started crying uncontrollably, but the sound of his voice was muffled as if with ballasts. The tunnel swept away. The light turned itself off. It was clear he was not in the vicinity of the comforting emptiness of eternal sleep but now again in the middle of the living bustle of wakeful tribulations. The ketamine hadn't worn off totally and the plan came to him almost automatically.

After about three quarters of an hour he was ready to to go and test his plan. He had completed his graduation at an early age of 19 years "summa cum laude" and was offered a fellowship at the university as recognition for his superb albeit sometimes against the grain talent. He had come to detest the squalor of the big city. The tenements, the garbage dumps, the unfortunate souls living on them, devoid of any human decency, shame or self respect. He pitied them, but he knew anything he did to help them will surely make matters worse. Some people just drown. He had never understood this insistence upon living. Why do people go on living even when there is nothing to live for? Why do we go on trying to find meaning in a life full of garbage dumps and sewer rats and die a consumptive death trying?

Dr. Chaddha will say because of a "will to live". What does it serve for? Do we really need it? What solutions does it pose in front of us if not more problems? Why shouldn't a terminally ill patient end all the problems with one quick slash of a sharp knife? Will that also be called " A permanent solution for a temporary problem?"

Well its time to test the hypothesis and his will to execute it. A wino was sleeping on the side of the road, curled up under the dubious warmth of the wooden bench and streetlight. Why does this person want to live? Why is he wallowing in the verminous life of this hellhole when he has a chance to end this and find out whether there is a higher destiny or not? Sometimes he even doubted his father's theory about higher destiny. He sometimes thought that all things are equally meaningless in this universe, death included. He suddenly felt guilty. He felt like he has hurt his father somewhere in his nth dimension.

He took out his swiss army knife. Opened up the biggest blade and stood over the sleeping hulk of a human equivalent of a rudderless boat bent on floating on without a direction. Not that any direction was preferable to any other. Was he planning to kill that man? Is that an immoral act? May be but morality is also a set of rules devised for better living of a society that made a taboo out of death. That is why we recognize many levels of sins Venal and mortal, forgivable and unforgivable, okay and grave. Why is stealing more forgivable than killing? Because human race is more afraid of getting killed than getting ripped off. That is why we devise punishments for killing not only at a legal level but also at a psychological level. Morals are just another legal code, only ingrained deeper in the psyche. And he was just freeing this piece of vermin feces from the squalor of his sorry life.

Before anymore question could trouble him as questioning everything was his way he brought the knife down straight toward the heart of the sleeping wino. The wino yawned and shifted his position while sleeping and by the time the knife blade traversed the distance to his body his neck had come in the way. Steel struck flesh. A gash opened and sprinkled hot metal flavoured blood on his face. He briefly remembered a piece of trivia read somewhere among his massive store of books about the iron content of blood . He concentrated on the job at hand. The wino had lost his vocal chords as the only sound he made was a primeval gurgling sound, but the strength of a dying man even though he is a street wino can astonish the strongest of the well fed prairie boys. He thrashed under him. He had to pin him down with both his legs and and it took 5 more slashes on the neck and the stomach when he at last stopped writhing.

He stood up feeling confused.. Has he done it well? Why did he protest so much? No harm was meant. But of course he was feeling pain. He will have to take care of the pain from the next time. The deserted roadside enveloped him in the murky mix of of dirty light and stinking shade. The only ones who had seen him were the sewer rats he so despised. He had taken the first step. There was no turning back. He was the emancipator.

The Singleton Set

The freshman year had brought many joys in my life, loss of virginity not being one of them. Yes I was 18 and still a virgin. That was a black mark on my otherwise popular life in college. I solved a particularly hard B-8 problem in the first month in the college and had the intellectual alpha male image but girls had the effect of a big wide clamp on my mouth. I have always thought that girls are the best aphrodisiac but also the best paralysers.

I was having lunch at johnny's with mates from the computers Olympiad team. A gaggle of football jocks entered with one and in certain cases two admiring nymphs in their arms. I felt the same old feeling of impotent rage when I saw those beauties getting wasted on these guys for whom the greatest intellectual feat would be to solve a jigsaw puzzle.

Today there was a couples party at "The Catatonia". I was not invited for obvious reasons. "Asshole" Arnie managed to get invited at the last moment by luring a school girl into his trap. He actually bribed her with a large pack of Hershey's bars.


Today she looked at me in the class. I found out her name by asking Arnie the asshole...Larissa.


She had been stuck on a particularly arcane term in mathematics which the the lecturer had asked her to humiliate her because she was inspecting her nails with more interest than the lecturer who had worn a new suit. I whispered the answer...singleton set... so deftly, CIA would have been proud of me. At least I was so proud of my achievement I couldn't suppress an ecstatic smile which looked pretty demented and of course very noticeable to the lecturer. She blurted out the answer and the lecturer gave me a dirty look that said he plans to dance on my grave before the next academic session.



She gave me a brilliant 7.34 inch smile before going away with a hockey jock. I stood rooted to the spot till my mates practically carried me to the mess.



I met her again in the chemistry lab. This time she came to me to ask me something about carbonic acid, not that I heard it, Its just that I felt something stinging my ungloved hand and later investigation revealed It was H2CO3.




Arnie the asshole told me she is a heir to a great hotel chain, lives in the custody of her uncle and aunt, will get the money only when she gets married to a suitably intelligent boy that her professor uncle approves(The hockey jock was found badmouthing her as a slut in the late hours at johnny's bar).



She has asked me out! God! is this happening or Am I programming? I have borrowed a suit from Arnie and no! he is not an asshole. Its a damn classy joint we're going to. She met me in the gym where she was doing God knows what. If you ask me she doesn't need to do any gymming with that body of hers. Not that I am a pro at gymming, its just that Arnie the erstwhile asshole dragged me there to watch his Adonis like six packs move like fish in water while he did his crunches.

I found her waiting at the table. Isn't that suppose to be a male territory..waiting? Anyways I was shivering like a rag doll on live wire. She gave that thousand watt smile of hers and I was blinded by the flash. Shit I could see my reflection on her perfect white, shiny teeth. She was talking about her interests. Yeah, Arnie said this is when I should listen to her with wide eyes to appear...what? yeah sensitive. I didn't need to act. I was rapt by default.



I didn't talk much about myself, not that I was in a state to. Then we took a walk to her uncle's house which was in the college premises because he was a professor in here. When we reached the door, I knew I don't have it me to do what Arnie had told me to do. The asshole didn't tell me it will be this difficult just to move a muscle. Then I felt a softness on my throat, by the time I realized it was her hand my lips had been enveloped by her soft wet mouth. I closed my eyes and let her explore. After a very short eternity of time, the pressure was released and she looked dreamily into my eyes. "See you tomorrow in your room."

She lay breathing heavily beside me. Arnie the asshole had lately started grumbling about the room always being occupied by two noisy monsters. She said as I kept eating her face with my eyes "Uncle Harry wants to meet you."



Wow! Uncle Harry is looking at me as a potential husband for Larissa! Gawd! stone the crows!


I entered the house diffidently. No company interviews had scared me as much as this. I had actually sat in the library to learn quotes and jokes to make my conversation witty and interesting. I had browsed the mall for the best shampoo and deodorant. I was going to meet moneyed people after all. I rang the bell. It took about 5 minutes for Larissa to open the door. She must have been busy in make-up. Uncle Harry sat on the sofa in front of the T.V. She introduced me to him. 'Uncle, this is Mustafa, Mustafa, uncle Harry'. He gave me an absent minded smile and a nod acknowledging my presence. It was a bit of a bummer if you ask me. I had thought of him as a grand, incisive, terrifying old man. I had been battle ready and all I found there was a common old man. Anyways it was time to meet auntie Ruth. 'Nice to meet you, young man' she said as i shook hands with her. Young man, huh! I could do with some respect for my new french beard.

The dinner was an elaborate four course affair. Anybody who cooks that much food for three people had to be stinking rich. Am I going to get married the most beautiful and one of the richest girl in this city? Yes...If I do this dinner good. As was preparing to eat my soup auntie Ruth interjected with the severity of a viper trodden upon "Mustafa, we have a tradition of saying grace before starting any meal". Flustered I put my spoon down and lip-synced with Larissa.


The soup course went without any further casualties. Uncle Harry kept looking furtively at me. Should I win him over with my sparkling newly acquired wit? Or does auntie Ruth wears the pants in this family?



Uncle Harry spoke up for the first time in the whole evening. 'Darling, Mustafa is a computer genius I'm told, he has won the computer Olympiad gold medal recently'.

An icy cold "congratulation" followed which sounded more like "strangulation". 'So mustafa do you plan to become a computer professional in future?'

Here it starts, I started answering 'yes ma'am there's a huge demand of good computer professionals all over the...'
'but that's simply not possible! Larissa's business will need a good, sharp mind to manage it. Her future husband will have to manage it' interjected the awful aunt.
'But darling why shouldn't he pursue his own career? And we have you to manage the whole business and I too.'
'You keep out out of this Harry, This is my sister's company and it will not let it go to waste because of your sentimentality. You have never been any help to me in managing the business, though that was what my father had in mind when he agreed for our marriage. Now my sister's daughter is ready for marriage and I will have to think about her future also. '
What? is that what she is looking for? she needs a manager for her business? OK don't panic, her concerns are right in their place. I'm sure we can sort it out like civilized, reasonable people.
'Do you have any offers Mustafa?' The aggressive interlocutor demanded.
Yes ma'am, I have one from IBM, I'll be posted in Egypt as a Programme developer.
'Egypt? we don't have any hotels there." Am I supposed to care?
'Where do you reside Mustafa?'
"Reside"! The hoity-toity bitch. 'I live with my parents in Florida'.
'Hmm with your parents. Would you consider living with us? here?'
'Uh...I will have have to think about it ma'am'. Why wasn't Larissa saying anything?
'Auntie is right Mustafa, we can be a lot happier here with everything we would like to ever have.' she spoke for the first time.
Ah...so this is what it is.
'And what about my freedom?' I was hurt and didn't care if this offended them or not.
'Well, love sets you free' said The Bitch Woman.
'But it doesn't let you go anywhere.' I thought bitterly.
The dinner was over as far as I was concerned.

Uncle Harry offered me some dessert, I promptly refused. I saw the lines of emotional fatigue on his face. Now I understood why that man looked so haggard and dejected. Do I really want to get into this? I will have to think. Second thoughts are wiser after all.


The door closed behind me. Larissa was waving at me from her room upstairs. I turned and caught her pleading to me with her eyes.



I passed the math department garden full with freshmen preparing for the coming exams. One bespectacled guy with pimple marked face murmured as he plodded through a dangerous looking math book. 'Singleton set is a non empty set that contains only one element.'



'Yeah, single but not empty' I felt light. Arnie my good friend, my best buddy must be waiting for me. Lets have a proper hog dinner tonight. Amen.

Foxy Lady(Shit I Plagiarized From Jimi Hendrix Now)

"The events and characters described in this story are as real as The J-Lo butt(TM). Infact this is an autobiographical account of a near death experience. Bear with me I've got evidence. This is the inside spoof as opposed to the public comments reiterated elsewhere"
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I read her story. It was called the end(TM)(yes you better write TM whenever you write the name of her story, or she will create another fuss). It was missing something. It didnt have the zing(even the name was depressing). I thought I could do better than that. So I rewrote it. I called it The Beginning(I wanted to give it an upbeat ending). I posted it on my blog. I sent her a link to view it. I thought she would take it as a compliment that I, I of all people decided to rewrite her story. But i didnt take into consideration my previous acrimonious encounters with her. I didnt know that she would be holding a grudge against me. Yes i knew her from orkut.com. We were both in a few communties in which I was forced to insult her publicly( due to the nature of the communities).

And hence the dirty dancing began. She came and accused me of "lifting off" her story. I had taken only a few basic concepts and woven my own imagination around them. The definition of originality in my view is that if it took your sweat its yours. I did work on it and actually changed the emotional tone. Her's was sad. Mine was angry and aggressive. She doomed the poor boy without any will power to take big decisions. I pitied his fate. I gave him the cheek to kill her aunt and run away to safety.

But she wanted controversy. She was actually getting a finite number of readers after this fuss started. So she pasted her link on my blog claiming her story was the original. I let the comment remain even when It implied that my story was a copy of hers(she calls herself meow-The *Cat).

Then I posted a comment stating that hers is a very similar version. Now I didnt say anything offensive here but, she could still be original but she started acting all hurt over this.



Then I got a mail from her. Her first mail. She was Oh so diffident, Oh so demure.She said She was hurt about some reportedly sarcastic comment which I had apparently passed(Damned if I know). She very sweetly asked me to delete my comment saying hers was similar to me. And in a fit of compassion I agreed(Yes I fell for it, Punch my nose, yeah..once again). And she conveniently forgot to delete her comment disparaging my work. And yeah she acknowledged, in private of course that I did not steal( And stupid me, I was content with that).

So act 1 ended thus. I had moved on. I wrote another story in which "some" would say I had plagiarized from history books. But yes I did move on. Then a fan of hers comments on "The beginning". That comment is visible on its comment list. I still have not deleted it.(I cant provide a link coz I dont know how to). So I sent her a mail saying that her fans are giving me trouble after the fact of our agreeing on the fact that I did not steal.

To be very honest(which I generally am) I expected a civilized response. What happened was she didnt reply at all(unlike when she had an axe to grind). My visitors didnt like the outrage and railed against "The Fan", which ruffled the cat's fur and she decided to write a post totally devoted to me.

Now this the act three and I'm going to provide evidence of her double talk

Gallerie De La Prima Donna.

She looks innocent doesnt she? But looks are deceptive.

I've deleted most of the mails but I have enough to uncover her.(click on the screen shots to view them in full size). This is how the dialogue goes
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1.Manisha M to me show details Jan 9 (5 days ago) Reply
This comment too! It is the main culprit you see.. Please do not misunderstand my mailing you, I just did not want to make a worse mess of things at the story "The Beginning".
A *SIMILAR* version @shmoo for a more original version we should all read Harry Potter or better still Ciderella dont you think?....

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This was when the fit of compassion disabled my critical thinking.

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2.piyush tainguriya to Manisha show details Jan 9 (5 days ago) Reply
I will delete it..if you want but the accusation of plagiarism isespecially offensive to me....i'll provide a link..but i seriouslydont know how to.you tell me and i'll do it...

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I offered to provide a link and people are telling me to"be a man", she declined point to be noted "my lord" she declined. How you wanna know? Read on.

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3.Manisha M to me show details Jan 9 (5 days ago) Reply
Since the link has already been mentioned in the comments, providing one in the post won't be necessary at all. You may also delete my first comment, since this entire matter is resolved now. One more thing, I'm not an evil person who wants to go around accusing people, I was just hurt over, what seems to be a very unfortunate misunderstanding over the link not being included. Hope we can put this behind us ^_^ Oh yes, n please delete the 5th comment.

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The entire matter is supposed to be resolved now. I could only hope. Not an evil person? Somebody pinch me.

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piyush tainguriya to Manisha show details Jan 9 (5 days ago) Reply
ok will do..n i dont steal..:

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See?..see?

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Manisha M to me show details Jan 9 (5 days ago) Reply
No, you did not steal :)

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Her own words..you did not steal..and a smiley too...if somebody gives you a smiley, be sure he\she wants to stuff a chilly powder filled bag peppered with glass shards down your throat.

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Act 1 ends
Now after that comments of her fans I typed off an angry mail to her that was not exactly emmoliating. This is the aftermath.



1.Manisha M to me show details 1:03 AM (22 hours ago) Reply
What do you mean by 'this Nothingman of yours'? I did not ask him to comment at my blog or yours. Piyush, you need to realize one important thing, people will not always be as forgiving as I was in this situation. When people read both our stories, they will think I am a fool to let go of the issue so easily. I don't mind putting up both stories for the people to decide.. infact it is already happening. Both links were available, N read them and posted a comment. I cannot stop the world from reacting to your post. Your blog and your actions are not my responsibility. Similarly, comments left by other bloggers aren't my responsibility either. If you are so confident of yourself, why don't you sort it out with N?One more thing, get rid of the misconception that you backed off. The issue was discussed and and we came to a mutual agreement. You did not do me a favour.

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of course not her responsibility after all they are not her babies. Discussed? I never thought about my own interests, I just gave in to her antics. Here's my explaination to that.

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2.piyush tainguriya to Manisha show details 3:01 AM (20 hours ago) Reply
I came to an agreement on the provision that you the so calledoriginal writer agreed to the fact that i did not copy or steal...itook the concept and did what my imagination told me...there have been22 movies on the concept of Godzilla, nobody calls them copies. And u need to get rid of the misconception that you"let goof it so easily"you pestered me ,and sweettalked me into deleting those comments.Mywork is original but the concept is the same as yours,mine is not acopy.I didnt even force you to aknowledge it.You got away scot freeafter calling my work into question.You came to know abt my post onlywhen I provided you with the link of my post otherwise you wdnt evenhave known abt it.And you didnt even delete ur first comment.
My honesty costs me this..people are telling me to be a man....Finei'll be a man.And there will be no concessions from my side from nowon.

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yeah I know you can see me seething but thats how I felt. And people talk about hurt.

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Manisha M to me show details 4:40 AM (19 hours ago) Reply
Stop me.

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Now thats what I call attitude.* Carmen Electra with a pitch fork*

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So this is my side of the story. In the comment section u'll find the links to all the things you need to know about this unnecessary fuss. This is the last time I'm talking about it and I leave the whole thing for the readers to decide.

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PS:- I still dont know how to provide a link in the blog.

The woman who loved

I am a woman. I am thinking of love. I see a rabbit and love bursts out of me and drenches the poor little creature. I love small children. Many of them come with their harried parents to the photo studio where I work as an assistant. I love to prepare them for the photo sessions.There is something about animals and children that just makes me pour out the life of me into them. Maybe its their helplessness, their inability to communicate their needs and desires to the world. The cry of a toddler when an ant is pricking its bottom inside the nappy makes me cry with him and devote my life to purging his body of parasites thirsty for his blood.


I want children. Many. Spoilt. Troublemakers. Shy .Rascals. Sweet. All.


I love make up. I love to dress up. The studio owner never tires of taking my photographs. He says I'm very beautiful. He says I should become a professional model. I love it when people say I'm beautiful. I had many paramours in the convent. I still keep getting amorous letters from them.

My master's friend came today. He is some kind of a political animal. Of a certain age. He looks funny. He sounded like a visionary. Kept talking about the future of the country and how we have to bolster our unity under the flagship of one single entity to regain our lost honor. He sounded like he's carrying the load of a country on his own shoulders. He should learn to dance. I felt an attraction akin to that towards babies. I never understood what he was saying but it sounded impressive. But he has the look of the man who has a lot to say and no one ever understands him. Just like an infant who has an ant in his nappy, bee up his bonnet in this case. I think I'm in love. I want to follow this man. Go where he is going. Face storms, and then have babies with him.

I live with him. At least I live at his place. My father was furious. But......I'm happy to be at his side. Its just that he's never at my side. He's very busy. People say he's a great man. I am proud to be his...his partner. Yes, partner. I'm his partner. I hate the word mistress. He was telling his secretary that he will marry me one day when he's rid of the responsibilities of the country. He calls every two days.

I tried to commit suicide today. It was stupid of me of course. He really is busy. And he's always surrounded by guards. I really don't have to worry. I'll try to distract myself. I got seven new dresses today. The interior minister's wife got me those. She is so good to me. But I always a catch a look of pity in her eyes whenever I look suddenly at her so she doesn't get a chance to avert her eyes.

Maria, the interior minister's wife told me that a war is going on. He is leading the countrymen in the time of difficulty. Listening to foreign radio stations is a crime. Still I listen to them in the privacy of my bedroom. They say so many bad things about him. I don't believe them.

I tried committing suicide again. What is it with him? Why cant he come and say he loves me? Why does he have to say everything to his secretary? Why cant we go to parties together like normal people? Why doesn't he ever talk to me about us, our future, our home, our life? I know he's not unfaithful. But how can politics be all that important? More important than living?

He has transferred me to his summer house in mountains. In fact gave the house to me. Its a big beautiful mansion. I can see the alps in their full beauty from my window. My cousin has come because he allowed me to have a guest come over. Both of us spend our time trying out new dresses, applying lipsticks, listening to jazz, and talking about the old days. He still calls every two days.

He has come to summer over here. He looks haggard. The strain of war is showing. We have many guests nowadays. He doesn't let me be there with the guests for too long and sends me to my room and then discusses military strategy with them. I keep waiting for him. I want to live with him. Whatever be the circumstances. This time I will not stay back.

I heard him telling his guests that "a highly intelligent man should always choose a primitive and stupid woman". It made me think. Is loving people stupid? And what are smart people supposed to do? Fight till they drop? Are you listening to me? Or you also started having clever thoughts? Sit still, have your biscuits and listen to my story.

We live together in the chancellery building. Its heavily guarded from all sides. The mood here is glum. We try to alleviate the mood by having rag tag parties with cheap champagne and one single broken record. But the joviality seems forced. The secretary likes to spend time with me. We talk till late into the night. She said we are surrounded from all sides.

I am scared for him. He looks broken. I have never seen him so sad. Why did he devote his life to war? I feel sad for him. Will he never have a proper family? The General of the northern command is with us because the northern front has been already lost. There are many party officials, and young soldiers, as young as 14 years of age. They have no nappies, but their suits and caps hide their ravaged hearts and minds. I am unable to do anything about it. I am unable to even get out of the building. We have an underground house in the chancellery. It is like a mad house. Everyone has glazed eyes like that of ghouls. The topic of conversation is always death. I want to marry him before I die. I want to comfort him like a wife once before I die. The generals say under three days the enemy troops will break through to the building. He has refused to be evacuated. I don't mind staying here with him to the bitter end, but I do mind the lost moments, which could have made both of us happier. I do mind the tea times that went silent because some battalion ran out of ammunition. I do mind the nights that were wasted on discourse.

Our defeat is imminent. He wants to marry me. I knew he loved me. This is the happiest day of my life. Everyone in the bunker was present. We went to our room. He wept in my arms for the first time in my life. I feel fulfilled. I support him. I love him. I sing him to sleep.

Its been three days since I've been a wife. I will never be a mother. Today Capsules of prussic acid were distributed to everyone who wanted not to be captured by enemy troops. He addressed a few last words to our devoted friends and colleagues and both of us retired to our bedroom.

I see a look of gut wrenching remorse on his face. He looks at me before taking his poison pill and shooting himself with his revolver. I give him a look of reassurance. We will be together darling, in another world. We will be together.

My capsule and my revolver are lying on the table. I thing I'll pass the revolver. I don't like the noise. I'll use the pill.

I'm a woman. I am thinking of love. I am Eva Braun Hitler.

The Beginning

Gaurav sat staring at the neem tree outside his window. He was sure he had the right idea this time. It had to be about an army officer and a girl in the occupied village. yes, his first romantic story. A beautiful village where sun shows a range of infinite colors since it comes out of the dark valley in the east and goes behind the village head's house to spend the night with his many concubines.

He was snatched out of his reverie by the grating voice of his aunt who was calling him for another day of mind numbing cleaning work. She had become particularly watchful about his diet nowadays. She seemed to want him to work at par with his appetite. A 15 year old boy just has to eat his fill and not to be reminded about it again and again.

'Come out you good for nothing stumbler. Nalayak just eats and sits on the computer all day. Don't know what he does on that devil's device. I'm sure he's surfing porn right now.' This always succeeded in making his temples burn with indignation. But listening to it was the only way he could have a place to live. An orphan living at an unwilling relation's place cant be very finicky about the treatment he's getting. Mrs.Kripalini Chatterji was his Dad's faraway cousin and the only surviving relative. His parents had died when he was 10, in the Gujrat earthquakes. Gaurav had been visiting his aunt's place then and so she also had no other way than to adopt him. She was afraid of what people might say. But she always stayed resentful of the added burden.

He closed his cousin's laptop and came out in the kitchen and started cleaning the utensils. Prachi- his aunt's daughter who was just one year older than him came inside to drink water. She had been feeling horny a lot in the last few days and both of them used to kiss a lot when kripalini was not looking. Prachi had always been good to him but she was not strong enough to stand up to her mother. She tended to spend most of her time outside with her friends. Gaurav only got to study through distance learning because a school fee for two was cost prohibitive according to kripalini. The only friend he had got was Prachi and nowadays she had become a lot more. Gaurav had started feeling a burning desire to touch her whenever she passed him by. She also never stopped him.

Today again he started feeling the now familiar thrill when he saw her back turned to him, the rustle of her dress when she opened the fridge, the movement of her Adam's apple when she gulped the water, her hair, her long, sleek legs. She was a goddess. He could control it no more. He went and encircled her in his arms. They started to kiss. This was risky. The bitch woman could come anytime but the fear added to the joy. Gaurav shoved her against the sink to put his hand in her dress and that was then the glass tumbler he had been cleaning fell to the ground. Prachi stared at him startled, wide eyed and then took her bag and ran out. He heard the door close behind her.

Kripalini had heard the sound but she took about two minutes to come inside the kitchen as she was in the loo at the time the tumbler fell. When she came Gaurav was in the process of cleaning up the mess on the floor.

"The officer stands on the bank of the river, the girl is drinking water straight from the stream, Prachi looks up, their eyes meet, they are hungry eyes, they don't want any disturbance, they want to rip off each other's clothes, there is pure lust in their eyes. Gaurav shoves the girl roughly against the tree, the girl is breathing hard, her face is shiny and cool because of the water she has drunk, her hair matted in strands and dripping with water, a MiG-13 drops a bomb in the shrubs, the officer starts collecting the shrapnel, the girl runs away, the sirens are wailing, the doors are closing,the adrenalin is high, the indignation in the men is reaching its peak, they want to kill the pilot, Gaurav is collecting the shrapnel, the speaker is blaring a warning, all keep calm, stay low,no we'll kill them, stay inside, don't make a sound, no they have to be killed, its us or them, the warning has become more and more insistent, the voice is a screech, you goddamn village bumpkin, shoot it down,have you ever been into a civilized house before?,fuck the bastards, you butter finger free loader did your parents teach you to say sorry or even that is left for me to teach, kill'em all, the shrapnel stings, there is a sulphurous odor in it, he lunges for the MiG 13, grabs the pilot by the throat and slits it in one single motion, the plane crashes. There is peace.

He washed his hands and went back to the computer. It just spilled out. Yes the village was beautiful. The sun showed a range of infinite colors since it came out of the dark valley in the east till when it went behind the village head's house to spend the night with his many concubines.

Then he shut down the computer and packed for the long journey ahead.