Blahsphemy

A table has two sides. One side is mighty powerful whereas the other pretty weak.  The powerful side is in fact another world. A world where you had the power to hire or fire someone. A world where you could get away with whatever crap. Whereas for someone on the other end the world sucks. A world where some one else dictates your life. 

The cat was a master of superstition. He could spawn negative thoughts by showing up at the wrong place at the right time. The mere act of his running across the path had made many a superstitious soul cancel appointments. He had scared the shit out of little kids by jumping on tin roofs in the night and by clawing closed doors. Today as he was basking in the morning sun a million ideas on how to scare humans passed through his mind.   

Gregor Samsa would've had a normal life like any of us, had it not been for Kafka and Murakami. His life was alright until these two gentlemen decided to barge in. It was Kafka who turned him into a cockroach. He had protested initially, but had gradually started liking his filthy existence. That's when Murakami interjected. Now he is back on his two legs and in love with a hunchback.  

The dead cat had a secret to tell. It was the secret that killed him in the first place. He had come upon it by chance, like all deadly secrets. One day while he was basking in the early morning sun he saw a man placing a sign on the fence. It said danger and had the picture of a lightning bolt. Nice trick thought the cat. How can the fence hide a thunderbolt? Until he climbed on it and saw his nine lives get jolted out of his body by 3500 watts.

The talking fish is back. He was happily doing rounds in his bucket. I was pretending that I didn't see him. But he saw me for sure. Because he started talking the moment I entered the bathroom. I was avoiding him as my partner thinks that I am talking to my mistress in the bathroom. She will never believe me if I tell her about the fish. She has never seen him even though we share the same roof. I can hear her footsteps stop by the bathroom door. I don't blame her, no one would believe such a fishy story.  

The muse is back from a long sabbatical. Right now she is grumpy. We will all be, once we know that our vacation is over and we are back on the hamster wheel of our life. So I let her be. Woke up Tom Petty on iTunes. Lured her to a hot cup of Mocha and waited. She perked up a little. She seems to have a jet lag. Shall I tuck her in? You will wait, right? Catch you tomorrow.  

Strange sounds crept out of the door that was ajar. For the trained ear it sounded like the humid air escaping its prison. Still the soldier had his finger wrapped around the trigger. He moved cautiously towards the door. That's when he heard the familiar click of an IED being triggered by his weight. He stood their waiting for the explosion to rip him apart. It felt like eternity. But nothing happened. He took a step forward and fainted. He was born again.     

The man just stared back at him. It took a while for Nebrask to figure out that he was looking at a mirror. Mirrors are supposed to reflect, his brain screamed. So then what's this man doing in my mirror? Is that really me? Then what happened to the reflections I used to see everyday? Or did I wake up today as someone else? The questions were inundating his brain like an avalanche. He fled the room in search of another mirror.   

The worm mocked the fish. Little did the fish know that the worm had a hook up his sleeve. He lunged forward and swallowed it whole. The rest they say is history. But, don't they teach fish that in schools? Why do they still fall for worms?  

The writer with the unpronounceable name peered at me from the pages. I guess he was also in a similar situation as mine. My name would've been difficult for his foreign tongue to master. Since he had no option of seeing me, I guess he was relieved on that front. But then what am I talking about? How can we see one another through a book? Or for that matter any piece of communication? Can you see me? Do you know who I am? Before you read on, try imagining who I am. What I do for a living. Where do I live. In fact, anything and everything about me that might catch your fancy. In the meantime, I will do the same about you.  

That will be five stories, the blog replied. He blinked. The new month had sped on without him realising it. Five stories? He stammered. I have been not able to write for quite some time now. I have been waiting for that perfect story which will make everything else look stupid. But, it never happened. The blog just blinked. Five stories, please. It repeated. Was there a tone of irritation? He never bothered to ponder, he ran out on to the streets paved with alphabets and let his fingers dance. He had only one goal, five stories for the blog, no matter what.  

I wanted to write science fiction. I wanted to write about things that are yet to be invented. But sadly, they say everything that has to be invented has been invented. So what do I write about now? How about history? But then, history is also taken. What can I possibly write my friend? A blog about writing? Nothing? 

They were her children. But the DNA proved otherwise. So whose children were they? That night in her fitful sleep she dreamt of the Chimera. No one knew she was one and the kids were hers.  

She lurks in the shadows. Like a forgotten memory. Waiting to be dusted and brought back.  Opening up a healing wound. To bleed endlessly.

I was trying to key in something inane to pass it off as a story. But my conscience revolted. So I thought I should confess about it and try again later.  The king listened to the bard's sob story with great interest. In the end he smiled at the executioner and gave him the thumbs down. Off came the axe and ended the story then and there.

The lazy lizard was basking in the sun. A juicy housefly on the wall caught his attention. He winked at her and meditated on the harmful effects of eating houseflies. 

When the blood runs out Will the body become an empty shell Echoing hollow words of wisdom When the brain gives up Will the mind get flooded with memories Marooning reality with facts unknown 

There she was. Under six foot of earth. By the river. A plantain merrily feeding on her ashes. The world is a lonely place cawed the crow. The foliage agreed as the breeze went past. This too shall pass. Another memory. Another sorrow. For our souls are so cavernous where the universe can get lost in.    

A man without a wife A son without a mother A mother without a daughter A friend without a friend All it takes is a moment For ying to lose yang

I am on the list. Which list? The list of the dead. What? I said I am on the list. I heard that, but how come you are there on the list of the dead? Why, what's wrong with that? That was the only list available at that time. Do you know what that makes you? Yes, a dead man.

In the presence of others we become strangers. His words sounded prophetic to her. Anyway he too had become a stranger to her, long back.    

I forgot.  What? I forgot to live yesterday. What crap? See my diary is blank. You forgot to write it. No, I was missing yesterday. Come on.  

It's an art form, he whispered as he sliced her throat. It's called death, he guffawed. Little did he notice that she had her finger around the trigger of an Uzi.

The burp was loud enough to disgust everyone. He looked across the room contented with the fact that everyone hated his burp. After all, what more can one expect of the ruling class.

As the blue sky faded from his sight, his mind screamed, be careful of what you wish for Icarius.

The bird has come again. It has been visiting me wherever I go. Today its there on the window sill of my 18th floor apartment watching me. I don't feed it. I always shoo it. But, it never leaves me. Maybe its just my mind playing tricks. But you too saw it right?

Happy B'day said the card. The old man frowned. The dates on the calendar was nowhere near his b'day. Looks like someone has skipped a few months, he muttered. Wait a second, even the year is wrong. Or is it the calendar on the wall that's trying to deceive me now, he thought. No, it can't be. I have been looking at it ever since I was a child and it has never let me down.  

Before you pull the plug,  let me take a nice long breath.  For it will be my last. 

Don't look at it, he hissed. It's a lie. But, it's a mirror. It's my reflection we are talking about. True, isn't your reflection a lie? A lie shaped out of cosmetics, trends, beliefs and what not. Aren't you always looking for something that you want to see? In that process don't you miss the obvious? Didn't some one say that beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder? Now tell me what are you looking at? Isn't that a lie?

Some days I am useless. My mind refuses to work. Like today. You get the drift right? I am not going to intrigue you or wow you with a tale. Go find some other blog where you can have them. 

When the world ends, I want to be there. At the very end, holding the sign 'The End'. Famous last words of a supersonic road racer before he shot off towards the horizon. 

This is a mail for you, the stranger who lives inside my body. The one who is doing a good job of being me for the world. Thank you for making me who I am. I hope one day you will introduce yourself to me, for we have a lot to explain for each other's actions. Waiting for that day. Your's sincerely. 

The movie got over long back. The screen flickered and died like the villain. The seats were empty except for one. The usher shone his light on the face that was covered by hair. He recoiled in fear. It was him, the man that looks back at him every time he looks in the mirror. 

The drumroll was for the winner. Every muscle in his body was aching and the crowd was hysterical. He took one more look at the arena. The floodlight was blinding. The crowd's roar was deafening. Slap, slap, slap. "What the heck are you doing moron? You are supposed to clean the ring, not to drool over it. "

The machine belched smoke and soot. It looked around like an enraged bull, let out a loud rattle and died. You can see it even now on top of the hill like a dead beetle with smaller vehicles swarming around it. Little did he know that he will be called the roundabout. Some say he brought great shame to the fossil fuel guzzling breed he belonged to. Some of them still blow a gasket of you mention the roundabout.   

I sent a mail to myself reminding me that I exist. 

The storm was calm, reported the met department. The newspaper editor had a tough time figuring out the headline for that. Suddenly all the cliches were failing him. Maybe, he thought that was news. 

I have written this before. Haven't I? Why don't you sit and search all my posts? And that's how I ended up staring at the computer screen when the baseball bat crushed my skull.

The flowers are revolting, the guards sounded the alarm. But it came a bit too late. Before they could seal the entrance, the aroma seeped in. It visited every nook and corner like a slow moving serpent. The allergic lot had a tough time breathing. Some even perished. Life is never dull in an ant colony, thought Hubba the earthworm. 

it's easy to pretend that you never see. For a blind man yearns to see what he never will.

What is right? What is wrong? When it's all just perception?

I need an excuse.  What kind? Big? Small? A reasonable one. Any size will do. What's the occasion? I forgot to keep a promise. What kind of promise? Normal? Serious? Official? Serious. Hmmm, let me see. Nowadays those are in big demand. Oh! I hope you have it. Yes! Here it is. A nice emotional one. With extra tear jerking abilities.  No, this is way over the top. Ok, maybe I should've asked what gender? Errr, male. Simple, detach the tear jerkers and keep it. Oh well, let me try. Do you accept cards? Yes we do.  

Behold, the words are returning The page turns another shade of white Only to be written off   

I know how it feels Like a spider who snares a fly And the fly who dies 

I have been searching for you. All these years have worn away the reason I had. Today I was confronted by the question, after I find you then what? 

I lost the staring battle with the blank sheet. I couldn't hold on any longer, so I deployed the keys to punch in each alphabet with a vengeance. Looks like I am winning for the blank sheet is no longer blank. 

Both sides hold a story With the same characters but different endings That my friend is tragedy

Five, seven, five that's right. Uttered the haiku priest in robes white. Thanks master, for the guide.  

On the sixth day something strange happened. He decided not to do anything about it. Everyone was curious to know what that was and why he did so. But he stuck to his resolution and did nothing. Not even speak.

The fourth day. The list has grown by now. It was voraciously feeding on the dead lines. What started as a tiny worm looks like a snake. Soon it will swallow your life, like a hungry python. You will go in headfirst. Little by little. Finally only the list will remain and there will be no trace of you.  

You will never realise what you had till you lose it. How can you go back, if there is nothing to go back to? 

Today I became the legs which carried a man to his heavenly abode. Sorrow comforted me as I embarked on my silent journey. The rain wept for me as I stood watching the flames embrace him. You have lost another face to the great wall of memories, sobbed my heart.    

When was the last time you had a drink, the mosquito asked the Count. 

Stop thinking. About what will happens. About what will she think. About what will he do. About how they will live. About what they can do. About how they could do it. About how she can even think about it. About how he dared to say so. About how they forgot all about it. About everything. About me. About you. About them. About the world. About where this blog is headed. 

The rock just sat there listening to the wind. The wind unleashed its woes. It screamed, sobbed, laughed and kissed the rock. The rock just did what rocks always do. 

Do you think she is going to buy that? Its such a lousy excuse. Try anyway, who knows. They say love is blind, hope she is blinded enough to miss this one. Friends he sighed, before pressing the door bell.  

The plan was to kill off the informer once his role was over. The problem was that the informer also had similar plans. The only difference in both the plans was about who will get killed in the end.    

The one eyed cat on the three legged sofa mewed. The old man looked up as if he saw a ghost in the broken mirror. A goldfish swam upside down in a broken bowl. The sun was setting in the East. It was December, the hottest month of the season. And so the story began.   

To discover what you never had, you should experience something you never had. Sometimes you will never know what you never had because you never knew what you never had. You can call it a never never situation. 

Te dead mans eyes were open. It was as if he was never through with seeing what the world is all about. Maybe he is not through with the so called flashback of life. Or was he trying to see beyond his life. Only a dead man will know that. 

The sun never sets these days. Which means there are no nights, just days and days. The word nocturnal has been termed obsolete. Now you can see owls hunting in broad daylight. The blind man went on and on until the morphine led his sun to set in the West. 

Can you hear the wings flap? Can you see the talons shine? Can you feel the flesh tear?  

Once there was a great flood and all our memories perished in that, the old man whispered. Now the skies are gearing up for another coup. I am sure our present will also disappear in this downpour. They looked at him as if he was some messiah of doom. That old fool has opened the floodgate of memories, some cursed.    

When the seagulls soar. The tide returns home.  Like an overworked husband. To embrace the beach.  

What are you holding on to, when there is nothing? What are you fighting for, when there is no reason? What are you hoping for, when there is no hope? What are you living for, when you are dead inside?

I have lost my emotions. I lost them while I was growing up. Now I don't know how to react when I meet a long lost face. I don't know how to greet someone who has been robbed by death. I don't know how to reassure my loved ones. I don't even know how to react when I look at myself in the mirror. I realised I lost myself, not my emotions. 

There was a time when the stories were abundant. All you had to do was to go out and look for them. Then came a different species called the reader. They lived off stories. Each wanted a special kind of story. They wanted more of everything. They wanted this, that and whatnot. They wanted everything that went under the name of stories. This led to the dwindling of stories. Stories were hunted down even before they matured. They were devoured undercooked. They were under developed. They were plagiarized. They were driven to extinction by the greedy readers. Whatever that you see as a story is just a poor excuse for the real thing. Like this one for instance.

When everything seems to be in place, you are missing out on something else. The master penetrated the silence that filled the room with these words. Just when I was getting comfortable, thought a disciple. Now what, thought another. Little did they realise that they were experiencing what the master spoke.  

Never live with your memories.  They can alter your reality beyond repair.  For tears of yesterday are stale.  So are the tales.  The wounds open up when you least expect. Never to heal again no matter what. Past becomes present and nothing remains. For memories haunt, taunt and what not.  

I am your ego, obey me. He tried to ignore that nagging voice emerging from deep inside his mind. The more he tried to ignore it, the louder it became. So loud that the whole world echoed those words. He resisted, like an army outnumbered by their enemy. He tried to hide. He tried to mute the world. But everyone and everywhere the voice followed. 

I am fighting a new battle everyday. One day I am are the friend. One day I am the foe. Somedays I am the mediator. Other days I am the battle field. The battle rages on, no matter what.  

He waited for the words to form the sentence. Right now they were like colourful beads in a kaleidoscope. He watched them form myriad patterns like a dictionary on LSD.  

I hate my shadow. It stalks me everywhere. At times I am confused as to whether I am the shadow. So now I follow my shadow. I think it's scared of me.   

The arachnid hid in his frontal lobes. It was always there. Injecting him with steady doses of ego, pride and vindictiveness as and when required. He feared that if he let it perish then he will be no more than an empty carapace.    

Don't hold back the tears Don't hold back the laughter and happiness Don't hold back your emotions For you are being watched Watched like a caged exotic wild animal That's meant to entertain everyone So prance when you can Scream your heart out when you want Even if you're dead inside

I have buried your brothers, father. I buried you first and then them. It's my duty to see you all off and I have done it well. Till we meet again, bless this son. 

When you have the words, say it. For words are volatile and will soon disappear in to silence. But sometimes silence also speaks volumes, they say. Oh these humans are a crazy lot.

When burying the dear departed Dig deep, for memories can surface unexpectedly Bringing everything back to you  

The sticky tape was waiting It wanted someone to stick on to Sadly no one stuck on

Lord Vishnu washed up on this beach ages ago. Maybe he liked the beach and its towering cliffs. Maybe he was too stoned to care. 

I am dead, just like you. We are both dead like the world we used to inhabit. Now without you I have nothing to live for. I am just a shadow without a body. A tree with no roots. I just died with you.

A cloud pregnant with rain Cried over the arid plains of hell She delivers hope, cried some 

The story ends here. The reader can now shut the book and move on to another. I will wait patiently for another one to come along and peep into my story again. Till then, its goodbye.  

It was raining memories as the raindrops rattled the window panes. He was drenched like the lonely statue in the garden. Only his moist eyes gave him away.    

His hands were bleeding blue. He stared at the blue in wonderment. He wanted to stop it but he couldn't. He knew it was his calling.  

Somewhere in the dark woods of my mind a memory crowed. The winds of sorrow rustled the leaves. The dawn of reality was near. I shut my eyes to dream another dream.  

Will the first child's sadness be more, if it lost a parent? Or is it the other way around? The question just hung there in the syrupy silence. Have you thought about it? Will younger siblings feel sadder as their memories will be fresh? 

Memory claimed another face, today. Some say it's life. Others say it's the end. I think it's neither.

The cicadas cried themselves hoarse at the silence. Oblivion stretched like a gravel snake on the valley. The trees stood guard as he stepped on that path to nowhere.  

They stared at the silence like they would at a stone wall. It was an imposing structure that cut them off from the world. They had built it one brick at a time over every disagreement, every lie, every taunt, every misunderstanding and what not. Now it was too late for them to escape or ignore it. Suddenly they became two souls united by the same predicament. Two bodies and a monolithic silence.       

I can't let you escape.  Why not? You will hurt everyone and in the process hurt me as well. How can I? You are not aware of what you can do. But, I am just your memory.

His eyes were bleeding. Are you crying, asked the blind man. No I am reminiscing, he answered. The silence that followed filled their hearts with happiness.   

Pain lurked like a crocodile in a swamp. It attacked whenever his guard was down. Every time he managed to escape its vice like grip, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. A battle that will last a lifetime. A battle that will end only with him. He loved the irony of it. At times he longed for the pain. To be crippled by it and be a writhing mass of flesh.    

When your memory is fully wiped, we will set you free. How do I know whether my memory is fully wiped if I have no memory of what I am supposed to remember? That's when his world went blank.   

They say the force field was down when the meteor hit. He was a child then. The meteor had divided the dwelling into two. The upper and the lower. The meteor's radioactive core also changed the people in these two areas. The upper beings resembled humans while the lower beings resembled nothing anyone was familiar with. So in all senses they became the lower forms. The one thing that unsettled the upper beings was that the lower beings had special powers and could control anything they wished. This irked a few upper beings as to how someone who can control someone else be called a lower being? Soon they were called outcasts and were pegged in between the two. They were the ones who leaked this story and called for an intergalactic intervention. So today the world will decide who is the real lower and who the upper. But the middle stays the same.    

He always dreamt of a shore with gentle waves and a dilapidated castle on the cliff. In his dream he was always walking towards that mysterious castle. He could hear the wind howl and the windows rattle. He could hear the doors slamming shut in the distance. He knew it was here his memories should rest. Like castaways on a remote island. 

When you travel back in time, won't memories become real? He pretended as if he never heard that. In fact, he had heard the same question a million years back.   

I am still short by one story, cried the Oracle. Will you imagine it in your head, he asked. It was the same for me replied the traveller. But now in my story I have an Oracle who doesn't have a story.   

Here comes another one she shouted. He ducked instinctively. He was surprised that the bullet found its mark in spite of that. That's when he saw that his assassin was a midget.    

Suddenly there was silence. It was as if the world was shocked to hear the words that came out of his mouth. He was awed for a minute. Then he realised that what he had screamed was the word 'silence'.  

The first story was easy. He wrote about himself. Everyone praised him for his story. The trick was to not let anyone know that it was his story. So in the story he grew muscles and slew the villain. Everyday he longed to be him in his story. 

You have only three GB left in your brain. Please delete some old memories or face brain freeze. The words blinked before his eyes as he stepped on the elevator to Suburbia. A new life awaited him in Suburbia. For that he wanted all the old memories. I will erase them in parts as and when the need arises. No one knew why he is ignorant of something he was deemed as an expert once.      

The day had ended on a sour note. He cursed the grapes and threw away the rest. 

The excuses are back. They were on holiday till yesterday. He was missing them. But now that they are back, he was much relaxed. He knew that they will be there when he goofs up.  

Learn to let go everything Nothing is dear when that's not yours    Like these words on paper

On a dark sunny day the cock crowed thrice. It's time to sleep thought the dreamer. He got out of his bed and set the alarm. Suddenly the earth shook as if it was waking up from a dream. It's the beginning of the end, thought he. 

Wake up, the alarm cries Another dream lay shattered by the bed   Careful, don't prick your conscience 

The thermostat was set to max. Yet the cold crept in like an unwanted guest. Maybe I am sad that's why I am feeling cold, he thought. Why are you sad, a voice boomed. He was startled. It was snowing outside and there was no one in his lonely log hut in the middle of nowhere. Where did the voice come from? He panicked. Was I going mad? Or is my imagination playing tricks with me? The the voice spoke again, it's me you idiot. You had called me on FaceTime. 

Wish I had a rich dad. Then I wouldn't be waiting for this damn train. Then I wouldn't even be working here in this godforsaken town. He rambled on without noticing that the last train to his hometown has left. Now he wished he had paid more attention to the announcements over the public address system regarding trains.    

It's a maggot that has been feeding on your putrid thoughts, commented the doctor. The only way to kill it is to starve it. You will have to think only good thoughts. But doctor, these are the thoughts that give me joy, answered the patient. 

Away on a cloud my dream rests.  Like a dewdrop on a blade of grass. Shining myriad hues of life while I am asleep. 

Seduction wrapped in silk Kimonos Resistance is futile they seemed to whisper   Meaningless words thought the monk

The mystic sat under the tree and pondered on how he became one. 

When I tried writing Haiku  The words tested me and I them Did I succeed who knows. 

Was the wall clock lying? Was it time that cheated the clock? Or were they both right?

You have to kill her with one deft stroke. Then we can deal with our hero. But, isn't it a bit too early for her to die? Oh, yes, then let her faint and regain consciousness after we kill the hero. What about the others? They are anyway out of the frame so let's not worry about them too much. Ok. So I will kill; no make her faint. 

What's a pound of flesh? When all that Shylock needs is money. Call it greed not money.  

The more you follow them The more they will lead you astray They are fiends not friends  

Let's start twisting the words  To the left and to the right So that it means nothing

Did you hear it?  What? A cry. A cry? No why? Now, I know why you are insensitive to my feelings.

I am going wood-free. He emphasised on the wood-free bit for effect. His words were greeted by muted sniggers and guffaws. That's when truth spoke in the form of his friend. Aren't you a termite my lord, he asked.  

Finally it was time to get up and go. That's when he realised that he hadn't finished the first assignment. Cursing himself, he started moving farther in to the abyss called office. Did he hear that anticipatory rustle from the files in his cabin. Or was it something else?  

The spoon went and complained to the bottle. Your mouth is too narrow for me to derive any pleasure. The bottle smiled and screwed on its cap tightly. The shelf let out a long sigh. He pondered why the spoon can't find another wide mouthed bottle and why the bottle screwed itself shut.   

The bait was juicy. He hadn't eaten for three days. He knew that if he touched the bait he will be dead. He also knew that if he doesn't eat anything he will be dead soon.  

The words made no sense Isn't that what you call nonsense, friend  Now does it make sense?

Someone said bye. Someone said hi. But no one said welcome. 

No one really cared. But to figure that out someone had to care right? 

There was a star that was so far away in the galaxy that people needed telescopes to figure out what it was. But then that's the same about any star right? So what makes our star so special? Well, for starters it was a star that was about to unhinge from its orbit and crash in to our planet. Does that make it interesting? Oh I forgot, this star is five times the size of our planet.