A Voice for Change

 What a year it has been? Everyone's written about it and how can I not let my butt, butt in? Maybe I'm late to join the party yet the last drink on the house will be mine. Which house?  Whose house? Who cares? Till the drink is all mine. What I drink? Drinking high spirit concoations was my passion of yesteryears. Today, I feast on blood. Blood of people who read my blogs and tear their hair in desperation for the grave folly they have just committed. I'm no where to be blammed for it,  I just offered you FREE advice, you took the overdose just because it was Free! The Nallasopara mentality just won't do you any good my friend. All your life you will be thirsty for someone's blood as water scarcity issues have not yet been tackled.  To that, I remember this year we have not brooded over water scarity, potholes, berozgari, kaminapan, mehengai and similar human apathies. Suddenly, everyone had a job but none could go after it. The restaurant dinners were affordable i...

 "Smell the discharge with utmost proficiency. The fragrance  will tell you whether it is infected or merely a debris of cell." I still recall the orthopedic Dr. Rege's commandment as he himself relished the hair standing odor. Who on earth smells patient's offensive discharges? We do have modern able laboratories to find out about the hidden secrets of human body. Infact the sample collected is given its due importance by sending to testing where an expert gentlely picks you up from the rest of the mediocre elements. Very diligently places you on a sterlised bed of glass slide. Gives you the warmth of the coverslip. Finally observes you under a high power microscope to look at for terrorist attacks on your body. Life ho toh discharge jaisi. What a royal treatment! But no, Dr. Rege denies these luxuries to his patient's discharge and only by his smelling instinct will the verdict be declared.  Another one of his not so stylish remedy is the human saliva. According...

 The Idle Mind's Workshop  Crack.. Crack.. Tak.. Tak... The mind was merrily building away stories. "Who is that new chick on the 12th block? What is she doing at the gynaec's clinic? Who are they pushing into the car? Why is the dog barking? When will it stop barking? How many barks are done and how many remaining? STOP... Stop the thread or I would go mad! Now don't question my sanity for I had long lost it along with my maturity. Wow! Mentally I yelled so loudly that even the dog had responded. It was now just growling in the throat and me in the mind.  Yes my Idle Mind was productively busy in its workshop. Ya correct the Devil's one for my pet name was Satan or the Hindi version Shaitan. My mind had taken me to places where my crooked body couldn't pace up. It had carried me on its hump back of imagination and shown me the eight wonders. Not of the world but of others mind. Yes secretly we both had tiptoed to the realms of minds next doors.  Shhhh...  I wa...

 Now the title might seem quirky, but protagonist of our today's story is equally absurd. It has already proved it's weirdness by donning a mask these days. More than the corona, its the organ that needs to be controlled and made to it mind its own pathetic business. At least mine needs to be told again and ever again.... "Dear Nosy, its none of your poking business!" But it just doesn't listen and stands out against all the other facial elements making me an object of friendly ridicule. Its so attention catching that friendly gestures instead of pulling my cheeks, land on pulling my already pulled long nose. Sometimes I wish these gestures would offer their services when the Dear Nosy is overflooded with emotional mucus. The kerchief very arrogantly rubs the troubled organ red as if punishing it for its interference hobbies. You and I, we both are gifted with this sensual organ as an inlet of energy and outlet of relief. But mine is a super ambitious and ambiguou...

  What I Can, I Will What I can, I will. What I can’t, I will still try. What I never can, I will still struggle to try. But I will never give up! This motto is what I see, experience, and feel around me. Why lie? To an extent, I see it within myself too. I know my capacities and limitations where my expertise begins and where it ends. Within this spectrum, I exhibit various frequencies of results -some good, some satisfactory, some improvable. There are no bad frequencies; you simply fall off the spectrum. But that’s not bad either. So I flap, waddle, and swim in safe waters where every wave is known, every tide is gauged and measured. Safe, because these are my well-practiced and over-practiced skills. I’m a potential competitor to every new urchin forming on the rock- a threat to the larva that’s just hatched or still carries part of its shell, fearing to slip back into it. My interactions with these fledglings decide whether I become their predator, guide, or competitor...

 " STOP?!!" is an alarming word. It brings things to standstill- be it the traffic,  the crowd, the actions or the thoughts. It may be an external command or internal dominance over self. It could be a causal request of a tickled mind bursting into bouts of laughter or a plead from the abused body. It represents a strong warning by determined agitation or just a humble appeal by a not so feeble heart. The form could be anything from mild to moderate to severe. As scale of severity fluctuates, so does the circumstances at which it has to be produced and reproduced is variable.        Who decides when its enough? Who decides when to call quits?  The indulgence into anything is a matter of choice or circumstances? Or both. The decision maker is the indulgent or the object of indulgence? Questions are generated at one question per 10secs. Is it too much?      STOP is an emotion that overflows after an excess. The excess of love, hatred, disc...

" And then they lived happily  ever after...." "Oh no mama....." protested my son. " This is really boring!!! "  GenNext's reaction to fairy tales.  " Thus,  the tortoise reaches the finishing line and wins the race."  Maybe this will give him a good, peaceful sleep.  But no, the intellectual monster refuses to accept this Aesopica.  " The teacher will scold me if I write slowly. Forget me winning it. "  Highly disappointed by my storytelling skills, the lost son rumbles in his sheets.  *****************           Is this Kahaani Ghar Ghar ki?  Or atleast Har bedtime story ki?  I remember enjoying my night time bonding with my mother over sour grapes and greedy dog. Aesops fables or Aesopica as they call it were written by a Greek servant Aesop. Here on, there have been many versions and translations of it by many authors. The original compilation is said to have 725 stories. The stories are animal fables en...