A Handful of Lightning

The Path Marked by Our Feet

2011-06-30T22:14:00.001-07:00

To get an idea of how complex our world is...imagine an inexhaustible bottle of ink with a hole at the bottom...now imagine that someone attached the bottle to your ankle when you were born...now imagine the path traced by the ink flowing out of the bottle starting from the day of your birth all the way up until the present moment...now try drawing that path on a map...

Chances are that most of us have already covered enough ground to go around the world several times, been to the moon and back and perhaps even journeyed to the centre of the earth...yet, all this while, we've barely moved out of the cities or countries we grew up in...such is the complexity of the universe, entire journeys compressed into cities, several lifetimes submerged under one...

A Thought

2011-06-18T04:57:00.000-07:00

Philosophy is not something that can be handed down from generation to generation. It cannot be inherited; it cannot be bought. Those who believe that true wisdom lies in the books of the ancients or in the prayers of their fathers are deluded, for the truth by which they led their lives cannot be ours. Our lives are different from theirs and as a result, our wisdom is different as well. What we know to be true in this world comes from what we see, what we feel and what we learn. The more we observe our world, the more we understand our own selves. Our philosophies are ours alone, they are built upon the foundations of what we consider to be true. And each one of these philosophies attempt to pierce that veil which covers the greatest secret in all existence - that universal truth about who we are. Therefore if you wish to know more about yourself, do not listen to the sermons of others except to use them as guides who point you in a vague direction. Instead, find out more about the world - using your own mind to explain what your own senses bring to you.

Collectivity

2010-08-08T10:54:00.001-07:00

"The people's will is paramount."

The seemingly axiomatic statement flowed out smoothly from the lips of the Prime and floated down to rest upon the ears of the assembled group of men, uniformed and standing at attention.

"It is this simple rule that you must accept as your first priority in your line of duty as guardians of the Indian Republic. You must remember, at all times, that India, unlike any other country before it, is a People's Republic in the truest sense of the term. We government officials are not the Ruling Class. We are not Enforcers. Instead, we are very simply, agents who act on the behalf of the Principal, the populace. It is they who decide the course of this country and the nature of its policies. We are the executors of those policies. That is why we call ourselves...the Executive."

"As citizens of the Janata Ganarajya, you have already seen the machinery of this great nation at work. It is our job, as the Executive, to collect, synthesize and publish information that is deemed to be of national importance. This is a continuous process that happens all the time, every single minute, every single day. At this very second, all over the country, Officials of the Ministry of Information & Broadcasting, are in touch with practically every household on every street in every village, town and city; they're in touch with journalists, companies, corporations and non-profit organizations, ready to receive the slightest bit of news that may be of public importance. All this information is then published in the National Register and later placed in the Republican Archives for safekeeping."

"For five days of every week, this information is analysed, studied and processed by Officials of the Ministry of Policy Formation. Based upon the information received, every sixth day of the week, the MPF releases a weekly report which contains a list of policies that are either newly formulated or are upgrades of existing policies, all of which, are designed to provide solutions to problems posed by the people during that week."

"On the seventh day of every week, we have the National Voting Day. This is the acme of our political process, the greatest triumph of Indian Democracy. Every seventh day, citizens from every part of our incredible nation march to the polling booths to declare their stand upon every policy that has been proposed that week by the MPF. They vote on issues ranging from the diminutive to the grandiose; they vote on how to rid their local street of potholes and they vote on our diplomatic stance at the South Asian Union. We, as a collective, decide our fate. It is we who have finally brought about on this earth, a true Peoples' Democracy."

The Prime paused to lick his lips.

"That gentlemen, is essentially how our country functions. Over time, the people have made modifications to the system, of course. For instance, the weekly policy list of the MPF is no longer as important as the Peoples' Policy List – a list of policies proposed by the people themselves to tackle the problems that affect them. The job of the MPF is now merely to provide an expert's point of view to the Peoples' List that is, to provide an opinion as to which policy it thinks is more effective to tackle a given problem. In fact, provided the people wish it, the MPF wishes to rename itself as the Ministry of Policy Recommendation from the following week and discard its own list."

"But I digress, gentlemen. I am not here to give you a lecture on the civic structure of the Indian Republic. I am here to remind you of your own role in the system. For the past five years, each of you have been trained and tested in the confines of the Executive Academy for one and one reason only – to act as checks and balances to this near-perfect system that we have designed. On this day, you will graduate from the Executive Academy as Officials of the Ministry of Law Observance. Today will be your last day of training and I will be your last instructor."

The Prime let his eyes hover over the rigidly assembled group of men, standing stiffly at attention and staring directly at him.

"Before I remind you as to who you are, let me tell who you are not. You're not soldiers, though you have been trained as such. If the MLO needed soldiers, we would hire directly from the Military Academies. You're not policemen, though that is what your role is claimed to be. We already have enough policemen to handle the arrests and incarcerations of ordinary law offenders. You, gentlemen, are the final vestiges of the Old Republic of India, cast in a new role. The MLO, in essence, is the last judiciary and you men are the last Judicial Officers."

"Don't mistake me. It is not your duty to pronounce judgement upon your fellow citizens. No single individual or for that matter, no exclusive group of individuals has that right anymore. The pronouncement of a sentence based upon the conduct of a fair trial is carried out, in theory, by the entire nation. No, what you do, in your role as Judicial Officers, is ensure that such trials are indeed carried out in a fair and unbiased manner and the sentence, once pronounced, is carried out swiftly and efficiently. In short, you are the ones who instigate the trials, conduct them, monitor them and conclude them in a manner conducive to the laws of the Indian Republic."

"I don't need to elaborate on the process of a trial in this country since that is what you have been studying for the last three years of your training. You know that it is your job to ensure that all concerned parties are present at court; it is your job to ensure that witnesses are protected and that they speak the truth; above all, it is your job to ensure that true and authenticated information about the trial is sent to the MIB for broadcast and for recording in the Republican Archives. We live, gentlemen, in an age where information is the ultimate power and thus, information is what influences public opinion. Therefore, in a country where public opinion decides the fate of men, it is your sacred duty to ensure that it is fair, free and unbiased. I don't think I need to tell you that the power wielded by an MLO Official is arguably greater than the power held by any other individual in the Republic. That is why your responsibilities are greater than those of any other individual citizen in the country."

The Prime was approaching the end of his speech now. The other ministers were beginning to shuffle their feet in impatience, waiting to rise, applaud and walk away as soon as possible.

"As Prime Minister of the Central Executive, it gives me great pleasure to be present at your graduation ceremony. My own brother was an MLO Official and as you know, he managed to work his way right up to the position of Law Observance Minister before his unfortunate passing away. Having lived under the same roof as he, I have had innumerable glimpses of the life of an MLO Official. I can assure you that it is a life both fruitful and satisfying, provided you carry out your duties with impeccable precision. Gentlemen, I put my trust in you and your conduct and I hope to God that you carry out your duties with the same conviction as my brother carried out his. Jai Hind"

---

About ten minutes later, The Prime was enjoying a cup of tea on the lawns of the Ajit Patel Annexe of the Executive Academy. The Ajit Patel Annexe, named after one of the most illustrious Law Observance Ministers in Indian history, had been functioning as the training centre for MLO Officials for almost 22 years. The Prime, who had an MPF background, had spent his Academy days at the Swaminathan Annexe instead and had rarely visited this part of the Academy. Therefore, he relished this opportunity to observe a portion of the Academy that he'd hardly ever seen.

"Am I disturbing you, Prime Minister?"

The Prime looked up to see an old man, nearly eighty, leaning upon a stick and staring at him with piercing grey eyes. They were quite alone. The other ministers were scattered across the lawns, each engrossed in his own conversation. The Dean of the Academy was near the entrance of the Main Hall, where The Prime had made his speech, conversing with the Director of the MLO Training Department. Nobody seemed to be interested in either The Prime or the old man.

"No, certainly not." Replied The Prime, waving at a chair next to him. "Pray, be seated. Can I offer you a cup of tea, Mr...?"

The old man accepted The Prime's invitation and seated himself on the proffered chair.

"You may have heard of me." He said, his steely grey eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "I was a Junior Instructor over here at the MLO Training Department when your brother was a student. In fact, I gave your brother some of his first lessons in the Indian Penal Code. My name is Kumaran. Rajesh Kumaran."

The Prime's eyes widened in surprise before his lips curved into a welcoming smile.

"Of course! Dr. Kumaran, you underestimate your own eminence. But I am quite surprised to see you here. I have heard that you are a man who values his privacy, especially after your retirement from the post of Academy Dean...now when was it, fifteen years ago?"

"Nearly twenty." chuckled Kumaran. "I voluntarily retired at the age of sixty-two about seventeen years ago, even though I could have gone on for another three years. You're right, Prime Minister, I am indeed a man who likes to keep to himself. However, when I heard that the brother of one of my brightest pupils was coming to address my own department, I found it difficult to keep myself away. I am sorry to hear that he has moved on. My condolences."

The Prime nodded.

"He used to speak very highly of you, Dr. Kumaran." He said "He always said that you were wasted in your job at the Academy and that it would have been better if you had been an Executive Member instead."

"Did he, now?" said Kumaran, softly, chuckling. "Prime Minister, if you can accuse me of underestimating my own eminence, your brother can be accused to overestimating my abilities."

"Come now, Doctor." Protested The Prime. "My brother was generally very miserly with his praise but never so when it came to you. Why, he once claimed that you could have easily become Prime Minister yourself and a brilliant one at that!"

"It was a probably a good thing that I was never that ambitious." Replied Kumaran. "If I was, I would have probably brought this country a great deal of misfortune and ruin."

"Why do you say that?" asked The Prime, curiously.

"I say so because I know so." Said Kumaran, simply. "Tell me, Prime Minister, did your brother ever talk to you about his life here at the Academy?"

"Sometimes." Replied the Prime. "But you have to know that my brother was a man who did not like talking about his career with his family, so I cannot claim to know much."

"Hmm...Tell me, did he ever talk to you about an informal gathering that we used to have over here during his time called the Friday Evening Club?"

The Prime shook his head.

"I am afraid, Dr Kumaran, you have me out of my depth. Surely, there are hundreds of such informal student associations at the Academy. I myself was a member of such a club called..."

"This was no ordinary student association, Prime Minister." Interrupted Kumaran, his eyes glinting. "The Friday Evening Club, as the name suggests, used to gather ever Friday evening at my quarters for the purpose of discussion."

"The discussion of what?" asked the Prime

"Ah..." said Kumaran, looking at the Prime so hard that the latter felt as if the steel-grey eyes were piercing his skull.

"I am an old man now, Prime Minister, with no regrets. So I don't think it would matter if I talked about the Friday Evening Club and its affairs to you right now. Well, to put it very shortly, the Friday Evening Club was created to discuss those topics that were not...in fact, still are not, discussed today, be it within the Academy or within Indian society in general."

"What topics are you talking about?" asked the Prime cautiously.

"Well, there were many things. For example, we used to talk about religion and philosophy and politics. We would often discuss the nature of the universe that we occupy and our role within it as human beings. We would talk about the role of our nation at the world stage. We would..."

"None of these seem very controversial topics, Dr Kumaran." Interrupted The Prime, smiling.

"Oh, but they were, Prime Minister. In fact, they still are. You misunderstand me. When I said we discussed religion, I meant that we discussed the role of religion in society and whether we needed it or not. When I said we discussed philosophy, I meant we discussed many philosophies, not all of them of Indian origin. When I said we discussed politics, we actually debated and discussed on whether our current political system was the best for India as a country..."

"Stop!" cried The Prime. He was now breathing heavily, his eyes wide open in anger and surprise. "How dare you...you accuse my brother of indulging in these...travesties! I..."

"Prime Minister, will you please shut up for a moment and listen to what I have to say?" snapped Kumaran in reply. "I have waited for years, to tell this to someone...I will not be robbed of this pleasure right now..."

The Prime had been about to get up when Kumaran spoke. Now, he collapsed back into his chair, staring at the old man curled up in the chair next to his. None of the others on the lawns were paying attention to them as most of them seemed to be wrapped up in their own worlds. Kumaran spoke again.

"As I said, Prime Minister, what the Friday Evening Club talked about is taboo even today. Yes, your brother did take part in these activities, though I have to say, he was vociferously conservative and rarely went against prevailing notions in society."

The Prime felt a flush of pride for his brother. Swallowing his anger, he looked at Kumaran again.

"Go on, then." He said. "What else did you talk about?"

"Many, many things." Replied Kumaran. "Oh, for instance, we used to discuss women a lot. And their rights."

"Their rights?" asked The Prime. "What do you mean, their rights?"

"Ah, you poor poor man." Said Kumaran. "Surely, you're aware Prime Minister, that women were once considered citizens as well? In fact, I believe that is still the norm in many countries today."

"A despicable norm." Spat the Prime. "It's disgusting, considering women to be equal to men! Why, it is no wonder that so many of these countries of yours are morally depraved and sunk in sin..."

"Is that so?" asked Kumaran. "What then, is your opinion on a woman's rights?"

"Why, what the people decided them to be!" cried the Prime. "Didn't the people decide, decades ago, that a woman has only one right and that is the right to be the property of a man?"

"Did they?" asked Kumaran. "If I recall correctly, the first such judgement that was passed said that a wife was the property of her husband and an unmarried woman was the property of her father. That particular judgement barely passed voting with only 51.02% voting in favour. That means practically half the country voted against the judgement."

"That doesn't matter!" cried The Prime, heatedly. "There was a majority ruling in favour of that ordinance! Ergo, by the law of the land, the people voted against the rights of a woman."

"I have serious objections to such a claim." Replied Kumaran, gravely. "But I'll let that pass for now. But Prime Minister, tell me, doesn't it shock you that living human beings who breathe and eat and drink just like us are now essentially slaves to the whims and fancies of other human beings? Women are nothing better than products nowadays, the right to own them being sold from father to husband for obscene quantities of money. The husband will then have his way with her and when he tires of her, will sell her off to any other man willing to pay the price. All perfectly legal of course."

"You seem to be forgetting, Dr Kumaran, that the Peoples' Ordinance also did a lot of good." Said the Prime. "By making women the property of their male relatives, we destroyed those social evils that were eroding the fabric of our society at that time. A woman can no longer elope with a man of her choice and claim her marriage to be legal. She can no longer be sexually promiscuous at the age of eighteen and then claim that since she's a legal adult, her father has no right to intervene in her affairs. She can no longer file for divorce so that she can abandon her chosen husband for another. In one felling swoop, the people literally ended the breaking of families, the estrangement of father and child, the phenomenon of illegitimate children and unnecessary divorce."

"But at what price, Prime Minister?" asked Kumaran, softly. "Need I remind you as to what happened afterwards? With a loss of identity, the girl child became practically worthless. No family wanted a girl for a child anymore because every family knew that women would only end up as the property of men to be used and abused at will. The country's sex ratio, already skewed, declined dangerously until the girl child became practically extinct in some areas."

"The people solved that problem too." Replied the Prime grandiosely.

"By legalizing the cloning of women. What started out as a loss of legal identity ended as a loss of literal identity for her. Tell me, Prime Minister, if the people really 'solved' the problem of a declining sex ratio by cloning, why is it that most men still prefer to marry a non-cloned woman? Why do the upper classes of our society still travel abroad to hunt for potential brides among the Indian Diaspora and then try to buy their identities from them with money? I don't think I need to tell you the reason. The decline of the female population also meant shrinkage of the gene pool. The cloning of women meant that instead of a diversity of genetic combinations, the Indian population began to display the same old strains of genetic material over and over again, leading to an increasing instability in the genetic makeup of every successive generation of Indians. That is why..."

"Nonsense!" growled the Prime. "The similarity of genetic strains only means that Indians are coming closer and closer to each other as one people. Genetic diversity is harmful for the unity of our country! This is..."

"So say our loyal extremists." Snapped Kumaran. "Don't spout the arguments of a lunatic fringe at me, Prime Minister. I know you don't believe in those statements yourself. No man of even a moderate scientific education would. So stop acting like a nincompoop."

The Prime took a deep breath.

"All right, let us say that the people were...mistaken...about this one ordinance. But surely, that is not an indictment upon the entire system itself! The system works and in fact, works better than so-called democratic processes elsewhere. Where else have we gone wrong, tell me?"

"Oh I can tell you with pleasure." Growled Kumaran. "About forty years ago, the Indian Republic passed the Peoples' Ordinance No. 2092-43. Do you remember what this Ordinance was about, Prime Minister?"

"Of course." Replied the Prime Minister. "It was the recognition of the first two official state religions. The ordinance was passed with 72% voting in favour."

"Except that the following week, the people voted for yet another ordinance. Can you tell me what that was all about?"

"Naturally, the people felt that recognizing two religions alone wasn't fair so the following week, the Peoples' Ordinance No.2092-43A was passed, recognizing seven other religions as official state religions. About 81% voted in favour."

"How many religions, as of today, are recognized by the Indian Republic as official state religions?"

"Since the acceptance of Peoples' Ordinance No. 2092-43G twelve years ago, there are officially fifty-six religions which have been recognized as state religions by the Indian Republic."

"Doesn't that strike you as excessive, Prime Minister?"

"Not at all, Dr. Kumaran." Replied The Prime. "The sheer number of officially recognized state religions means that the Republic acknowledges the rich diversity of Indian culture and strives to ensure that this diversity is maintained."

"You're a funny man." Remarked Kumaran. "Just a few minutes ago, you were telling me that diversity of a genetic pool is detrimental for our country and yet, you're now mouthing eulogies in favour of diversity of religion. But let that be. Prime Minister, out of these fifty six religions that have officially recognized as state religions, how many religions are truly independent religions and not just some sub-sect of an existing religion?"

The Prime paused to reflect.

"Very few, I admit. I would say about nine or ten are truly independent religions. But what has that got to do...?"

"Does that mean more than forty-five religions that have been officially recognized as state religions are no more than sects and cults?"

"I wouldn't put it that way exactly..."

"Yes or no, Prime Minister?"

"Hm, all right, yes. But why is that such a...?"

"If they are no more than sub-sects of existing religions, Prime Minister, does that mean that more and more of such sub-sects stand a chance of being recognized as official state religions?"

"It is quite possible, yes."

"Think about what you're saying!" growled Kumaran, shaking his fist at the Prime. "All these religious sects and cults, which are no more than sub-categories of bigger faiths are beneficiaries of a number of grants, loans and subsidies from the Executive. Why? Only because they happen to be on some goddamn list approved by a group of people who have no idea as to how much public money is being wasted! Tell me something, Prime Minister, how far will this go? Tomorrow, the people might support state funding for another fifty-six religions and another hundred the day after! How much of state funding are you going to waste upon temples and mosques and churches once a thousand cults have been approved as state religions?

Moreover, what is the point of a state religion, Prime Minister? A person's faith in god is supposed to be a personal affair, to be decided by that person alone and no other. What moral right does a society have in favouring one religion over another? By doing so, you're merely discriminating against those whose religions haven't been recognized. Why not do away with the whole sham concept altogether and simply remain religiously neutral?"

"The people decided..." stammered the Prime Minister.

"The people..." said Kumaran, loudly. "...are idiots!"

Some of the people assembled on the lawns turned their heads upon hearing the last statement. A general buzz began to pick up as the eminent personalities identified the source of the commotion. Kumaran collapsed back into his chair, breathing heavily. The Prime Minister tore his gaze away from those steely grey eyes and turned to face the curious onlookers. A few smiles and friendly hand-waves later, the buzzing subsided and everyone went back to their own conversations.

The Prime Minister turned hesitantly towards Kumaran.

"Have you ever articulated your feelings so openly before?"

"Outside the Friday Evening Club? Never." Replied Kumaran. "But these opinions that I place before you, Prime Minister, have been simmering within me for a long time. Our system, this so-called democratic peoples' republic, is broken and in fact, has been broken for a very long time indeed. If nothing is done to ever correct these deep flaws, I am afraid that the Indian Republic will soon be doomed. We may as well bring back Naxalite rule."

"Surely, the system can be corrected from within?" asked the Prime Minister. "If, for instance, you were to bring these flaws to light through the media or even the National Register, surely it will lead to debate?"

"Will it?" asked Kumaran, wearily. "Think about what you're saying, Prime Minister. What I am insinuating is that the entire system, the complete civic and political structure of the Indian Republic is broken and is on the verge of collapse. I am not speaking against just one single law or one tiny Peoples' Ordinance. I am criticizing everything that this country has stood for since the overthrow of Naxalite government and the Kolkata Incident. Do you truly believe that the people of this country will be able to look at themselves in the mirror and call themselves stupid?"

"I have great faith in the people of India." Said the Prime.

"Well, I don't." Replied Kumaran. "Most people really don't understand many of the issues and crises that a nation faces. They are often too busy making a life for themselves to actually care. As a result, politics, economics or foreign affairs all take a back seat in the lives of ordinary citizens and their view of life is distorted by the lens of limited experience. By forcing them to vote on issues that they don't really understand or whose long-term implications they're unaware of, you're essentially creating a distorted decision."

"It's what they want."

"No, it's what they think they want. They think they're smart, intelligent and informed but the truth is that very few human beings are indeed so. I can show you a dozen famous Ordinances passed by the people over the last ten decades and point out the narrow-minded thought processes that went into creating them. The decision to deregulate forest land for example or the Ordinance to declare Pakistan as "an eternal enemy" showcases our lack of foresight. Mass decisions rarely work because human beings tend to think of the short term while thinking together as a large group. Long term implications are rarely taken into account. Believe me, my friend, when I said that that people were idiots, I meant it."

The Prime sighed and looked right into Kumaran's eyes.

"So what are you saying, Doctor? Should we do away with democracy completely and embrace dictatorship? Or should we return to Naxalite rule where a single party gets to decide everything on behalf of its people? Or should we, good heavens, go further back to the workings of the Old Republic with its humungous quantities of red tape, bloated bureaucracies and sickening political manipulations? You must admit, that however flawed our current system might be, it's surely not as bad as these alternatives."

Kumaran didn't reply immediately.

"Not as bad?" he said finally. "I wouldn't know for sure. The Old Republic, for instance, would have never allowed women to lose their rights as human beings. But you're probably right, it wouldn't do to go back to these outdated political systems. Nevertheless, our current system must be corrected. It is not right, it is simply not right for a person who is aware to just sit back and let the wheels continue whirling. The system must be changed."

"How?" asked the Prime.

Kumaran stared into empty space. Many of the dignitaries were leaving now and almost all of them made it a point to wish the Prime good evening before departing. The blue skies were now fading to a deep grey and green lawns were darkening. The Dean and Department Director, however, continued their deep discussion while some of the remaining ministers settled more comfortably into their chairs for a long evening. Finally, Kumaran spoke.

"I don't really know, Prime Minister." He said. "It's frustrating...I know that the system is flawed, I can even point out the flaws in the system but I really don't know what to do about it. It was rather cathartic, talking about it to you, but I can't claim to have done much by talking. The only thing that occurred to me is that this particular system that is in place right now seems to be doing a bit of the correction itself."

"What do you mean?" asked the Prime.

"Well, do you remember how, many years ago, the Republic passed Peoples' Ordinance No.2036-12, attempting to make military secrets a part of public domain?"

"Good heavens, of course. The Republic nearly lost itself with that Ordinance."

"Yes. It was because of that Ordinance that we lost the war that followed the next year. But then, sobered by this experience, the Republic passed Peoples' Ordinance No.2036-12A which rescinded the previous ordinance. That way, the system corrected a mistake it had made."

"So, isn't that a good thing? It shows that the system is self-correcting. Maybe, there is no need for us to do anything."

"No! Remember, that with 2036-12A, the Republic corrected one problem but created another. Army officers began to hide all sorts of scandals under the new ordinance until the Law Observance Minister at that time took it upon himself to propose a new ordinance to the Ministry of Policy Formation who subsequently published it for public approval. If it hadn't been for Ajit Patel, who knows what other crises could have turned up under 2036-12A!"

"So what are you saying?"

"I am saying that no matter how good a system is by design, it always needs good people to manage it. Smart, intelligent people like Ajit Patel who can detect the flaws in the system (because there will be flaws) and ensure that such defects never end up becoming a detriment to the progress of the country. Somewhere, somehow, we forgot this. This is why there was no one to protest when fifty-six religions were officially declared faiths of the state. This is why no one came forward when some idiot had the lunacy to propose making women a property of their male relatives. This is why no one pointed out the obvious fallacy of declaring permanent war with Pakistan. We were too busy admiring the 'will of the people', too busy talking about the beauty of the system to realize that the will of the people can also manifest itself as a lynch mob."

"So what you're saying is that our system just needs to be handled more effectively."

"For now, that seems to be the only solution. But don't forget, Prime Minister, that this should only be a stop-gap measure. There is no denying that our system is deeply and terribly broken. We do need long-term solutions and looking for more effective managers is just a temporary move. I have no doubt that whatever corrections we do to the system, there will be more problems. Nevertheless, we need to make these corrections otherwise we will find ourselves going down paths we never wanted to travel on."

"I quite agree." Said the Prime, getting up and grasping Kumaran's hand.

"It has been a real pleasure talking to you, Dr Kumaran and I will ruminate over our discussion for a very long time. There's one thing I'm definitely going to start with..."

He hesitated and then went on.

"...I am going to instruct the Ministry of Policy Formation to discard their proposal to change their name as well as to continue publishing a weekly list of recommended policies. I think it is time we started showing the people that we can come up with smart proposals too. That's just one small step though."

"But an important one, Prime Minister." Replied Kumaran, shaking the other's hand. "An important one. I hope to see more initiative from your side in the near future."

"Indeed, Doctor. Good evening."

Predicament

2010-03-24T11:15:00.001-07:00

The world is hollow and I attempt for the sky
I don't think Ill live til I reach so high
I walk down the streets of a thousand years
But do I feel alive because of my fears?

How many days more must I endure
to grab the sublime or to find a cure?
I feel like a little bird in a silver cage
trapped by tradition and old adage

The world is alive, it feels no loss
While my whole universe just goes for a toss
Seventeen years in a goddamned prison
Thirteen more and the sun hasnt risen

I look to the east and I look to the west
Neither left nor right seems to be for the best
I drive down the alleyways of time's empire
But a historical nail just bursts my tyre

The next generation is staking their claim
to mistaken success from the video game
Treasure into tools and tools into ash
Billions of banknotes are lost in a flash

The wheel in the cycle rotates and revolves
While Murphy's hoary old law improves and evolves
Country, society, economy live on
While a hundred new problems everyday are born

Do I have a choice or must I go on?
Innumerable times I have pondered with song
Rebellion or adaption, systems or Marx?
I guess I'll just ponder until the dog below barks

(Mumbai, 2008)

Last Man Standing

2010-03-24T11:11:00.000-07:00

Those children have gone, abandoning our mother
When their greedy needs she could no longer feed
Those souls have left for greener pastures
They hope that the suns of night can yield

Those men have fled, those toilers of yore
Racing ahead of their blackened fruit
But I stand behind, I stay alone
Upon the last of the green hills of my youth

I have no more wish to fly or flee
Or to hide beneath the shelter of shields and domes
My mother called me and I heard her plea
And I chose to stand with her who’s all alone

When I was born, she called me her son
With music of rain that was stormy and wet
Now I am aged and she’s spent and done
Two old spirits facing an old old threat

Her music flows once more, wind whips my hair
Her last grey storm calls forth her troops
The final clouds of thunder answer with a rumble
And the rain floods down while trees cease to droop

Fifty times thousand, an age is ending
I throw my head back and glare into the skies
A roar gushes out in support of her armies
But an age of hope had ended in lies

I lay no claim to the work of my brothers
Those eager misguided souls who blackened the morn
In their rampage for gold and steel and sweat
They shattered every golden moment born

The filth they built with their mother’s clear clean hands
Was no doubt meant to uplift our race
But as I stand here on the brink of her vast lost lands
The futility of it all is etched upon my face

Seventy odd years, it has been a decent life
A wife, two children and two decades of fame
But no wish have I to witness more strife
As my brothers claim other lands in their own name

So farewell humanity, I wish to take your leave
And join she who is dying on her last green field
I wish you good luck but don’t wish me the same
I have no need of it as my fate is sealed

I have dreamed of this moment all my life

(Bangalore, 2004)

Cave

2009-08-07T04:26:00.001-07:00

The light is dull, diffused as in a cave,
Broken in bits by glass and liquid
I climb the spiral, the winding path
to enter a world set apart from worlds

The scrape of guitar, the tapping of drums
greet me as I gaze upon time-lined portraits
Legends, some forgotten, but others exalted
Adorn the cave with their non-current presence

They sit around me, across me, before me,
visitors, tourists, devotees and friends
indulging in talk, contemplation or worship
or in the wreathing silence of intoxication

At the far end, lie records, sacred and old
guarded by the priests of this temple of sound
some care not, others care too much
for these pieces of past, music unbound

I sit for a while with this old, old friend,
Philosopher, guide and strange comforter
The air is filled with the noise of solace
The cave, the temple, the king's palace...

The Trapping

2009-05-12T10:28:00.000-07:00

“I’m telling you…” he whispered, leaning forward and staring crazily into Thakre’s eyes. “I know his secret!”

Thakre sighed. He had seen his share of kooks in his career as a lawyer. There were all sorts of lunatics who would walk into his office demanding that he file litigations against the government or a multinational company for all sorts of absurd reasons. Once a woman who had illegally constructed a house in the Coastal Regulatory Zone (CRZ) and had subsequently lost it during a monsoon storm, had demanded that he file a case against the BMC for compensation. On another occasion, a group of so-called trade union leaders wanted to sue their employer because he followed discriminatory employment policies.

“What sort of discrimination are we talking about?” Thakre had asked the fiery red-haired union leader sitting opposite him.
“He favours those who work hard.” The leader had replied with ferocity.
Ignoring Thakre’s stunned look, he had marched on in a revolutionary tone.

“I find it disgusting how these bourgeois capitalists employ such low-brow methods to break up the universal brotherhood of the labourer! How can one brother-worker be considered better than another? Can you actually believe that he promotes…mark you sir, promotes…a brother-worker only if that brother has been working harder than the other brothers? Doesn’t this discriminate against his fellow labourers?”

Thakre had placed his right elbow upon his table and commenced to massage his eyes with his fingers.
“Are you implying…” he had then moaned. “…that I file a case against your employer…on the grounds that he discriminates against those who are lazy?”

“I wish you wouldn’t put it that way sir…” the union leader had protested. “These men are not lazy! They work hard for their keep! Of course, we do have one or two men who do no work but then, which factory doesn’t? I am telling you sir, democracy in this country is a sham! Doesn’t democracy call for equal rights to all? And yet, this man, our employer, is flouting the very principle upon which democracy is based, by twisting the minds of honest labourers into his service! He should give every worker an equal opportunity to be the foreman, not just those who work harder than others! Why that creates factions, rivalry, competition, strife! It destroys the fabric of the brotherhood…”

At which Thakre had gotten up and suggested that the offices of Damle & Shirodkar (Advocates) would be more sympathetic to the problems faced by the working proletariat. Yes, Abhijit Thakre had seen his share of kooks. But nothing could have ever prepared him for the day when Vinod Menon walked into his office.

Firstly, Vinod Menon was a friend. He wasn’t a close friend but he shared a level of cordiality with Thakre that transcended mere acquaintance. Secondly, Menon usually wasn’t considered the type who would qualify for the loony-bin at Pune. He was around forty years old, just slightly younger than Thakre and worked in an import-export concern that was run by the latter’s cousin. He was quite well-built for his age with dark skin, a clean shaven face and jet-black hair while contrasting considerably with the much fairer, plumper, moustached Thakre, whose hair was liberally sprinkled with salt. He had done quite well in school and college and while he wasn’t brilliant enough to be considered an earth-shaker, Thakre knew that his shrewd, level-headed cousin always hired smart people to manage his firm. As a result, the last thing he was expecting Vinod Menon to do was to propose this ridiculous litigation.

The two were sitting in Thakre’s office in Mazagaon. The room was tiny but had enough space for a large plywood desk, an HCL desktop computer and a couple of filing cabinets. Files were stacked everywhere, each one neatly displaying the name of the plaintiff (or defendant) with the role that Thakre himself played in that case (prosecution or defence). A small bookcase behind his hard, revolving chair was filled with thick books on the Indian Penal Code, Property Law and Administration. A picture of the deity Ganesh hung on the wall to Thakre’s left, garlanded with fresh flowers that the lawyer had picked up that morning outside the Siddhivinayak temple near his home in Dadar.

“All right.” Said Thakre, heavily. “Vinod, I can make out that this matter is nagging you quite a bit but please remember that I have lots of work to do today. So, I have to ask you to consider…are you sure this is important?”

Unlike the other kooks who plagued his office from time to time, Menon did not take offence. On the contrary, he smiled.
“I knew it would take a bit of believing. I didn’t believe it myself at first. But then I realized that it is not just a personal matter. It is a matter of national importance.”

“Vinod…” Thakre began sternly. Menon raised his hand.
“Just listen to me.” He implored. “That is all I ask you.”

Thakre looked at the clock on his desk. “You have twenty minutes. Okay, tell me if I got this wrong. You want me…” he looked straight into Menon’s eyes. “You want me to file a case against the Prime Minister?”

“That’s right.”
Thakre shook his head disbelievingly.
“On what grounds?” he asked.
“On the grounds of impairing and endangering national security…and world peace.”
“World Peace?” snapped Thakre. “Vinod, do you have any idea what you are talking about?”
“I assure you, Abhijeet, I have never felt saner in my life.”
“That’s what all the lunatics say.” Retorted the lawyer.
“Abhijeet, I can assure you, I am no lunatic. Dr. Dev Sharma has indulged in activities that are detrimental to the security of not just our nation but also the security of many other countries. Perhaps, the security of the entire human race.”

Thakre stared incredulously at Menon.
“And you want me, an ordinary Mumbai High Court lawyer with no significant influence on politics or society in this country, to stand up and challenge this almighty man simply because of your claims.”
“You’re the only lawyer I know.”
“I can recommend some good ones for you.” Growled Thakre. “I can also give you the address of a respected psychiatrist…”
“Your recommended lawyers will not even listen to me and your psychiatrist is completely unnecessary.” Replied Menon. “Listen, I came to you, you specifically, because you’re the only lawyer who is going to listen to me. Let’s face it, any other lawyer would have thrown me out by now. You are allowing me to talk simply because you know me. That’s right, you know me. You know me well enough to know that I won’t be making absurd claims like these without reason. So please…just hear my justifications…”

Thakre leaned back in his chair, twisting a ball-point pen between the fingers of his two hands.
“All right.” He sighed. “But make it quick.”

“Thank you.” Said Menon, leaning back himself. “All right, let me start at the beginning of it all. You may not know this, Abhijit, but I had been a fairly good student at school and had continued to do well for myself in college. By the time I graduated from college, I had had the great fortune to have been selected for the philosophy programme at a university in the United States. For me, it was a dream come true. Though I was a graduate in commerce, I had never liked the subject and had been forced to take it up by my parents. My interests were always in the transcendental matters and philosophy as a subject had always appealed to me. By the time I had graduated, I was already well-versed in both Indian and Western schools of philosophy. Therefore, I was extremely happy about my future in America.”

Thakre did not like the way this conversation was going. Nevertheless, he made no comment and allowed Menon to continue.

“However, the same old story repeated itself. My family was dead against the idea. I don’t really blame them. We weren’t very well off, financially, and my parents were obviously aghast at the idea of spending lakhs of rupees to learn philosophy. Instead, they packed me off to Mumbai University to complete my Master’s in commerce. I don’t mind telling you that for a while I was completely shattered. But gradually, I managed to pull myself back together and complete my Master’s after which, I managed to land a job with your cousin. As you know, I have been working in the import-export business ever since.”

“Excuse me, Vinod.” Thakre began. “But how exactly is this…?”
“I’m coming to that.” Interrupted Menon. “You must realize that though I was forced to adopt a completely different line of study from what I had intended to pursue, my interests in philosophy had not diminished at all. On the contrary, the deprivation of that opportunity merely to served to heighten my interests in the subject. As a result, Abhijit, I began to contemplate more and more upon the nature of the universe that we occupy.”

Menon leaned forward.
“Tell me, Abhijit.” He whispered. “What is your opinion?”
“About what?”
“The reason behind the existence of life.”

Thakre sighed heavily again and got up.
“I am sorry, Vinod, but this has gone too far. I don’t want to sound rude but quite frankly, your story is going nowhere and I am only going to end up wasting my time. I must ask you to leave.”
Menon merely smiled.
“Very well, I understand.” He said. “In fact, I had expected this. But please, I beg you to not dismiss this matter. Can I discuss this with you after office hours?”
“Maybe.” Gestured Thakre impatiently. “I won’t be free today though.”
“How about tomorrow evening, then? We can have dinner together at the Sagar and I can explain the situation much more carefully.”

Thakre nodded hastily and shooed Menon out of the office. He had too much work to do.

---

Years later, Thakre would often look back to that evening at the Sagar Bar & Restaurant and wonder what unseen force had propelled him to actually accept Menon’s invitation. Perhaps, he had merely been hungry and too impatient to wait until reaching home to have a good meal. Maybe he had harboured a subliminal curiosity about Menon’s story. Perhaps he had just been bored and wanted some entertainment. Whatever it was, he had ultimately accompanied Menon to the Sagar and his life had never been the same since.

The Sagar Bar & Restaurant was one of those several small joints that dotted South Mumbai, offering its patrons an economical meal (perhaps accompanied by a drink or two) in an otherwise expensive locality. The hard wooden tables were agonizingly small and the lighting dim. Small ceiling fans mercilessly spun around, barely six feet above the floor. The air was heavy with the chatter of its patrons and on busy nights, two people sitting opposite each other often had to yell to make themselves heard. The waiters ranged from the passively interested to the outright rude. When Thakre and Menon walked in that evening, the place had just begun to fill up and the two hastily occupied a table in the far corner which was comparatively less noisy than the rest of the room and assured them a hint of privacy. The waiters would take some time to notice them but that couldn’t be helped. Menon took this to be an advantage since it gave him time to explain his situation to Thakre.

“Now, let me ask you the same question that I asked you yesterday in your office.” He said. “What is your opinion regarding the origin of life in this world?”

Thakre was in a much more indulgent mood that evening. Yelling at a nearby waiter and ordering him to bring them some whisky and soda, he contemplated over Menon’s question.

“That’s a very difficult question, Vinod.” He said. “You see, apart from the obvious difficulty of the answer itself, I must mention here that I never concern myself with such issues. My attitude towards life is that you must make the most of it and needless questions such as these should be left to god.”

“Ah, god.” Murmured Menon, appreciatively. “That’s a convenient method of dealing with such matters. Leave them to god!”
“Absolutely.” Replied Thakre, taking a sip of the whisky that the waiter had placed upon the table.

Menon sighed heavily. He took a swig from his glass

“I wish my life were that simple, Abhijit. Unfortunately, I have been plagued for many years with this insane curiosity, this desire to know, this desperation to get to the bottom of things, even if the outcomes have no tangible benefit. During my college days, I had cultivated this habit even more and had fanned the flames to such a point that unless I appeased with suitable offerings, it would consume me completely. You have heard of that old English saying, haven’t you, ‘Curiosity kills the cat’? Well, even after all these years, this cat is alive, kicking and more curious than ever. Ultimately, it is this philosophical desire to get to the bottom of things that led me to where I am today.”

Thakre suppressed the desire to snort. Menon didn’t seem the philosophical type, no matter what he said. Menon, meanwhile, rambled on.

“I now come to our beloved Prime Minister, Dr. Dev Sharma. Two years ago, he had been invited to be the Chief Guest at a function at TIFR. In those days, Abhijit, I was a great fan of Dev Sharma. I don’t think it is too difficult for you to understand why. After all, the man is a legend. He has defeated Narendra Modi at the height of the latter’s power, established his own independent party which swept the national elections with an absolute majority and once in power, did things which no one could ever imagine was possible in India. His government changed the face of the Indian police, modernized the army, brought about an industrial revolution in Bihar and Orissa, initiated an agricultural revolution in the south and even started the most successful negotiation with Pakistan over Kashmir in history. Most importantly, he accomplished all this in barely three years! Today, his government is considered to be the finest that India ever had. Two years ago, his successes were just beginning to reveal themselves and being one of his most ardent supporters, I naturally decided to attend the function at TIFR.”

“What changed your opinion of him?” asked Thakre. He was now beginning to feel slightly tipsy from the whisky.

“I am coming to that.” Replied Menon. “You see, Abhijit, at that function, Sharma spoke about a number of issues related to matters of science. Many of them were rather pedestrian…you know, the sort of stuff that Abdul Kalam often spoke about…how science is important for a country’s economy…blah blah blah…but there was one issue he addressed that really triggered this philosophical switch in me. He talked about how science was coming closer and closer to addressing issues about the origin of life and how ancient beliefs and superstitions about the creation of life on this planet would be swept away by scientific knowledge.”

“And you resented that?” asked Thakre.
“Not really, no.” said Menon. “It wasn’t that that ticked me off. It was his concluding statement. He concluded his talk by saying – I quote – ‘Mankind is at last coming to terms with its own origins and I strongly believe that one day, every man, woman and child on this planet will happily accept the scientific fact that we live in a material universe and even if there is some supreme power watching over us, that power is not interfering with the way we lead our lives. Some of us might be afraid of such truth. But personally, I believe that the sooner we accept the laws of our world, the better it will be for mankind.’”

Thakre smiled. “So what? Everyone knows what Dev Sharma’s religious views are. I am only surprised that all these conservative right-wing groups haven’t objected to his atheist beliefs.”
“Not so much atheist as much as materialist.” Replied Menon. “Such a statement would have been considered outrageous if someone else had uttered it. But the fact that it was Dev Sharma who was speaking prevented our Hindu and Muslim fanatics from going berserk. But that is besides the point. The point is that Dev Sharma, who is now a role model for millions of people in this country, is supporting a materialistic view of the universe. A view that rejects any belief that there might be other dimensions beyond our own where there are beings who can control our lives.”

“So what?”
“Nothing. Except that he is wrong.”

Thakre burst out laughing. “So is that all you’ve got? You want me to sue Dev Sharma simply because his religious views don’t agree with yours?”
“In essence, yes.”

Thakre sent out another peal of laughter.
“Vinod, what has got into you? Do you realize what you are talking about? This is India, a democratic, secular country which, at least in principle, declines to differentiate between religions. Do you have any idea what the consequences of such a law suit would involve? I will not only be debarred but also made to beg on the streets while you will become the laughing stock of the nation, if not the world.”

Menon smiled again.
“I said, in essence, Abhijit, not in actuality. Pray, listen to my entire story before you jump to any conclusions.”
Thakre controlled himself with an effort and indicated that Menon continue.
“Thank you.” Resumed Menon. “Where was I? Ah, yes, that talk at TIFR. Well, Sharma’s statement triggered something off in me. You see, the entire purpose of science is to understand the nature of the universe in an objective manner, without any prior dogma or beliefs. Yet, what Sharma was talking about required that scientists assume a dogmatic point of view – that the material universe was all that mattered and that even if a supreme power exists, that power does not interfere in our lives. This led me to wonder…what if Sharma is wrong?”

“Indeed.” Replied Thakre. A moderately religious man, he himself had often disapproved of his Prime Minister’s beliefs. Menon paused take a sip and resumed.

“So, over the next two years, I plunged myself into philosophical reasoning. Your cousin was often rather dismayed at my decline of interest in work, but I was smart enough to ensure that I never got into trouble. Nevertheless, for the past two years, my primary interest has become philosophy once more. I scoured through hundreds of books, interacted via e-mail with several dozen experts across the world and delved deep into the history and anthropology of every culture and society I could think of. At last, after months of research, I have finally been able to come up with a concrete theory regarding the nature of the universe.”

“Let me guess.” Said Thakre. “Your views oppose those of the PM.”
“Correct.” Said Menon. “But they are no longer just mere views or beliefs. They are not even theories anymore. This vision of the universe is reality.”
Thakre actually snorted this time. “Go on.” He sneered. “Vinod, I had held you in great respect before but not anymore. You give the impression of being one of those holy men who trap idiotic followers into becoming robotic disciples. Not me, old man. You’re not going to get me.”

“I am not asking you to become my follower.” Replied Menon calmly. “Hell, I am not even asking you to believe what I believe. I am just asking you to listen to me.”

“All right.” Laughed Thakre. “Go on. This is turning out to be quite entertaining. It’s better than being forced to watch an Ekta Kapoor serial with my wife at home.”

A flicker of irritation passed across Menon’s brow but he controlled himself and continued.

“All right. Abhijit, I know you to be a very tech-savvy man, well versed with the functioning of technical devices. So tell me, how much do you know about computers apart from the standard stuff such as Microsoft Windows or Office applications?”

Thakre considered. The whisky was now hitting him fairly hard.
“A little bit.” He muttered. “About six months ago, I had to represent a software engineer accused of data theft by his company. I became fairly well acquainted with computer programming during that time.”

“Did you win the case?”
“One of my greatest victories.”
“Good.” Said Menon. “Okay, now, are you familiar with the concept of simulation?”
“Where you create a virtual environment that mimics some real-life situation?”
“Close enough.” Replied Menon. “Now imagine Abhijit, that a brilliant software programmer somewhere creates a computer simulation of some environment.”
“Okay…:”
“This simulation is so fantastic, so other worldly and so exotic that it is every software programmer’s dream to hack into it and explore its nature.”
“All right. Go on.”
“However there is a snag. The programme is too well-protected and hacking into it is nearly impossible. What would you do?”
“Catch the programmer and torture him to reveal the password?” Thakre laughed.
“Good idea, but you can’t find this programmer. He’s vanished, dead, whatever. You just can’t get hold of him.”
“Hm. In that case, I suggest hiring some brilliant programmers yourself and paying them to hack into it for you.”
“Excellent. Now let us say, these brilliant programmers of yours come up with a programme that can hack into the system. However, it is a very very primitive programme and barely manages to scrape away at that system. So now, you will have to design a stronger programme with greater capabilities”
“Correct.”
“Good. Now, here’s the important part of this analogy.” Menon leaned forward. “While trying to come up with a stronger programme, one of your engineers comes up with a brilliant idea. Why don’t you modify your first virus, the one that hacked into the system, so that it can just lodge itself within the simulation and evolve?”
“Evolve?”
“Yes. Evolve itself to adapt itself better to the simulation. Evolve itself so well that one day it will not only adapt but also conquer the simulation that it is trying to hack.”
“I don’t get it…what exactly are we talking about?”

“Don’t you get it?” snapped Menon. “This universe is that simulation! And the virus that hacked into this simulation is life! That’s the real story behind the origin of life. We are viruses sent into this universe to adapt and control!”

Thakre, by now, was too drunk to even laugh. His head swimming, he stared dazedly at Menon.
“Wash…wash you talking aboush?”
“Oh you fool.” Groaned Menon, grabbing Thakre by his collar and dragging his face closer to his own.
“Let me put it in clear terms for you. There is, somewhere out there, another dimension, another universe, beyond the reach of this one. That universe, old man, is populated by living beings. They are beings similar to us and yet not similar to us. They have no material form, they are just souls. Ghosts. Spirits without bodies because their universe doesn’t allow for the creation of what we call materials. Millions of years ago, they managed to discover the presence of this universe and it fascinated them. Our universe was exotic, unimaginable and completely different from their own.

They were excited. Here was an entire universe to understand and explore and it gave them something to do. I don’t know, but some of them wanted to understand and perhaps control this universe. However, they had one very huge obstacle facing them. Can you tell me what it is?”

Thakre’s brain worked sluggishly.
“Materials?” he asked.
“Exactly!” cried Menon excitedly. “These spirit beings could not access our universe simply because the laws of our universe required that they have materialistic form, something totally against their very nature. Thus they were hindered. They could not even touch this universe simply because of its material characteristics.”

“So wash, did dey doo?” slurred Thakre.
“They did exactly what you suggested. The most intelligent of them began to work away at this problem, designing programmes, viruses, to hack into our material universe. And some eons ago, they succeeded. A single building block, an amino acid, was formed on this planet when the world was young. It was the first time that the natures of the two universes were fused together into one single unit. The soul of the other universe combined with the material body of this universe. In other words, Life.”

“Sho, yooo are tellung meee…” said Thakre. “Thash we are virushus?”
“We are more than viruses.” Replied Menon. “You see, these beings wanted to enter the universe themselves. So when they programmed those amino acids to not only evolve but to also include a part of their own selves in our material bodies. So you see, we are not just their creations. We are them. We are extensions of their spirits in this universe.”

Thakre struggled to cope up with this. The whisky wasn’t exactly helping.
“So why can’t we shensh…sense…this other uniwursh? Why don’sh vee no anything aboush it?”
“That, my dear friend, is because of the nature of this universe.” Replied Menon. “You know about anti-virus programmes don’t you? This is the universe’s anti-virus programme. It somehow severs or weakens our link with this other universe, rendering us incapable of remembering anything from this other universe. However, this anti-virus programme is not really perfect. There are extraordinary circumstances when we can connect with this other universe. Monks and yogis who indulge in deep meditation for example, are able to connect themselves with this other universe. Incidentally, I believe that when we die, we don’t really self-destruct. The soul escapes back to this other universe.”

“Ha!” laughed Thakre. “I don’sh beleev yooo…”
“You don’t need to.” Replied Menon. “I told you that I had proof didn’t I? Well, I believe that whenever someone realizes this truth, he can catch a glimpse of the other universe. Look at me Thakre. Look at me and think of this other universe.”

Thakre looked at him and then thought about all the extraordinary things that he had heard that evening. Another universe. Populated by beings who had no bodies and were pure soul. Life being a cosmic fusion between matter of one universe and mind of another. Evolution simply being a computer programme. Extensions of souls.

Suddenly, the mundane earthy atmosphere of the Sagar Bar & Restaurant vanished. Thakre was now floating in a sea of black. It wasn’t a vacuum because Thakre could distinctly feel something tangible obstructing his movements, as if he was swimming in some very rarefied liquid. The black was spinning around him throwing his mind into a daze. How could black swirl? Suddenly the colour started to turn grey, became lighter and lighter until Thakre was surrounded a swirling sea of pure white. He was in it and yet not in it. It was as if he was floating in a closed ampitheater with white walls filled to the roof with milk and yet that milk was strangely transparent in nature. Now, black dots began to appear in the sea of white and they began swirling around Thakre. Thakre could no longer feel his own body and felt exhilarated. Then he knew no more.

---

When Thakre awoke, he found himself in his office once more. Somebody had set the calendar right, showing it to be the next morning. It was Saturday and the clock’s hands rested at half past one.

“How are you feeling?”
Thakre raised his head to look at the figure sitting opposite him. Menon was smiling.
“It was incredible.” Murmured Thakre, still unable to grasp the immensity of it all. “It was so incredible that I’m finding it very difficult to believe. Did it really happen? Did I actually…”
“You broke through the very fabric of this universe and transcended it to reach another dimension.” Said Menon abruptly. “What did you see?”

Thakre shook his head.
“It is too difficult to describe. I remember swirling in this sea of milk and then I heard voices…”
“Voices?”
“Yes, not exactly voices as much as thoughts. Thoughts that had a tangible form to them. As if they were real…you know, concrete…”
“Or maybe it wasn’t those thoughts that were tangible but you who were intangible.” Said Menon smiling. “What did these…thoughts…tell you?”
“Oh, a lot of things…” smiled Thakre. “I feel like Arjuna after having heard the Bhagavad Gita from Lord Krishna. Or like Narada after having heard the Vedas sprout from the mouth of Lord Bramha. Or like Moses having heard the word of God from a flaming bush. These thoughts…they told me more about my world than any philosopher in history.”

“How do you feel?”
“Blessed, my dear Vinod, blessed!” laughed Thakre. “I can’t thank you enough for telling me what you’ve told me. Do you think it is possible for me to go back there?”

“I don’t think you want to go back.” Smiled Menon.
“What do you mean?”
“Think man, think. Surely, the voices told you why you need to come back?”

Thakre thought carefully.
“Yes.” He said slowly. “They said I had a mission to complete.”
“What was that mission?”
Thakre thought deeply again.
“They said I needed to go back to prevent the…the… the Trapping.”
“Exactly.” Said Menon, nodding. “We need to prevent the Trapping.”
“What is this Trapping?”

Menon paused and then took a deep breath.
“Vinod, the primary objective of life, of the origin of life on this planet, was to understand the nature of this universe, adapt to it and possibly conquer it, thereby allowing ourselves, our true selves to master the nature of the material.

However, our objective is hindered by one severe obstacle. This is, for lack of a better term, the universe’s anti-virus programme which snaps our subliminal link with the other universe thus bringing about a sort of amnesia where we completely forget about our true identities. Previously, it wasn’t too bad. Life was evolving quite rapidly and often surpassed this anti-virus programme. Remember what I told you about meditation and how monks use it to connect to the other universe? That is just one instance of how we can beat this programme.

Unfortunately, the anti-virus is also evolving. Of late, by which I mean the past four or five hundred years, it has started to eat away not just at our subliminal memories but also, what you call our souls – those pieces of being that characterize us for what we truly are – beings of another universe. This rapid erosion of men’s minds has resulted in the creation of what is called the Trapping.

The Trapping is a phenomenon that results in men totally and completely forgetting that they have links to higher universes and connections to better dimensions. They become convinced that the only world they belong to is this one and their only calling in life is to indulge in material satisfaction. They refuse to acknowledge that they have souls or that they need to involve themselves in more spiritual activities.

Abhijit, the Trapping is the biggest threat that we, as spirits, face in this universe. If mankind forgets its true purpose on earth, that is, to understand and control the nature of the material, then we are doomed. You see, if mankind fails, the other spirits who have not yet entered our universe will disable their link to us.”

Thakre felt a spasm of horror flash over him.

“Close the link?” he stammered. “But why?”
“Think, man, think!” snapped Menon. “We still do not know much about this universe but we do know that its anti-virus programme is dangerous. If this programme evolves to such an extent that it destroys the very concept of a spirit or soul, just imagine what would happen if it infiltrates through the link into the other universe? Our entire universe…the other universe, will collapse.”

“So what should we do?” asked Thakre.
“There is only one thing we can do.” Replied Menon. “We must eliminate the biggest sources of the Trapping in this universe and hope that anti-virus dies with the elimination.”
“What are these sources?”
“The Trapping manifests itself in the minds of men and seeks to influence the minds of others through them. Every man today unfortunately, carries a bit of the Trapping programme with him. However, there are some men, prominent and influential people, who hold sway over millions of others. It is these men that we must eliminate. And we must begin with…”

“…the Prime Minister.” Finished Thakre in a hushed tone.
Menon nodded. “There are other men in this world like him. But Dev Sharma is easily one of the most influential people in the world today and unfortunately, the Trapping programme is very strongly embedded in his mind. If he continues to teach his degraded materialist philosophy to the world, the Trapping programme will only strengthen within human society.”

“Then what can we do?” asked Thakre.
“Listen.” Said Menon slowly. “I came to you primarily for this purpose. Tomorrow, you will start the process of filing a case against him. The charge is of no consequence. Sharma is a very outspoken person and his views have often insulted many religious communities. You can probably file a case against him saying that he hurt your religious sentiments while making some speech or the other. I am sure you will be able to find something substantial enough to be admitted in court. But you have to make sure that the case is brought to court in such a way that the publicity regarding this case is high enough to reach his ears. More importantly, try and bring it to court when he’s here in Mumbai next month.

You will get into trouble but no matter, arrange some police protection for yourself. I am sure you have contacts. What you must make sure of this – that when Sharma is in Mumbai next month, you must be able to get a private meeting with him.”

“It’s not that simple…” began Thakre. “Do you know how much protocol there is to be followed with the PM? I can’t just get a private meeting with him because I filed a case against him! I’ll probably have to deal with the entire Indian Administrative Service before I can even talk to his secretary!”

“Leave that to me.” Said Menon. “I’ll ensure that the publicity is so embarrassing that Sharma himself will request to meet you. I know the right people for I have been building contacts over the last twelve months. Your job is to simply ignore the pleadings and the threats of those who sit below our Prime Minister and ensure that you speak to no one but the man himself. Insist upon it. Tell them that you will not withdraw this case until and unless you get to meet the man in person.”

Thakre looked sceptical. “It sounds easy, but I am pretty sure…”
Menon just looked at him.
“…but I guess I could try…”

---

Dr. Dev Sharma looked at the man sitting opposite him.
“The police will be here any moment.”
The man just stared sullenly at him.
“You do realize the magnitude of what you have done, don’t you?” Sharma asked him softly.
The man spat on the table.
“Face it, Sharma.” He sneered. “You’re just doing this because I tried to take your life.”
“At least you have the decency to admit that it was your doing.” Snapped Sharma. “I can’t believe that a man will allow himself to be addled so badly that he would stoop to such…inhuman levels of behaviour.”
“You claim to be the psychiatrist.” Laughed the man. “So go figure.”

Sharma stared at him.
“You don’t regret this, do you?”
“Regret that I couldn’t kill you?” asked the man. “Yes, of course. But if you think for a moment that I regret contemplating your murder, well…”

Sharma looked at him with pity.

“I am truly sorry.” He said. “You were, after all, my protégé.”
Vinod Menon looked at him with undying hatred.
“Don’t you dare call me that, you swine!” he spat. “You used me! You just used my brilliance, you stole my work…”
“That’s not true.” Replied Sharma calmly. “I merely guided you. The only person who has stooped to the level of using innocent victims for his own designs happens to be you. You were the one who took advantage of that poor Thakre’s delusions. You were the one who conducted illegal experiments upon him like a goddamn Nazi. That drug of yours…it’s nothing more than a more potent version of LSD. Thakre had been one of our minor cases but with those illusions you fed into his medicine he’s gone completely around the bend and I doubt if he’ll ever make a full recovery. I believe you were also smuggling alcohol to him, weren’t you? You wretched…”

He made a disgusted face and walked out, leaving Menon in the custody of two hospital attendants. He marched down the grey corridors of the mental institution and paused at Ward No. 12 to look inside. Abhijit Thakre was sitting cross-legged upon his bed, eyes closed, breathing deeply. For a few minutes, Dr. Sharma watched the man who had tried to stab him that morning. After a while, Thakre opened his eyes and caught sight of the psychiatrist.

“You can’t keep me in jail forever, Prime Minister.” He said in an oily tone. “Look! I am already mastering the ancient techniques of meditation. Soon, I will be able to access the other universe again and I will learn how to destroy the Trapping once and for all.”

He closed his eyes once more and resumed breathing deeply. Dr. Sharma sighed. Though the man had been terrible, he couldn’t help admiring Menon’s imagination. Otherworldly beings, other universes, fusion of soul and matter and loss of collective memory. Menon could have easily started a new religion of his own. In fact, Dr. Sharma rued, it wouldn’t be surprising if Menon had somehow astoundingly hit upon the key to the origin of life. With a slight shiver, he looked out at the cold sun, shining frigidly down upon the dull grounds of the Institute.

Was he of this world or another?

(Acknowledgements to Isaac Asimov’s short story “Breeds There a Man…?” which is based upon a similar theme and served as an inspiration for this one. Acknowledgements also to every culture on this planet for coming up with incredible stories of creation :)- Amogh Arakali)

Scrambled Eggs

2008-11-22T12:46:00.000-08:00

The chieftain of the tribe looked at the scrawny young man standing in front of him, tightly holding a bundle in his hands.

“It’s been more than five years since you were last seen in this village, Braangh.” He said
“I know, Chief Usaka.” Replied Braangh
“I see you have realized the error of your ways and decided to come back to your home and hearth.”

A puzzled expression crossed Braangh’s face.
“My lord, I do not understand.” He said. “What error have I committed?”

Usaka raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Surely you agree that when you left our tribe five years to, in your own words, see the world, you were making a big mistake? After all, your troubles must have made life extremely difficult for you otherwise why would you come back?”

Braangh’s face split into a grin.
“Pardon me, O great chief, but I feel no such thing. I do not regret my decision to leave five years ago and I have come back due to my own desire and not because of any great burden from the world beyond. On the contrary, I have learnt so much outside that I felt a need to come back and impart my knowledge to our people.”

Usaka began to bristle.
“Impart your knowledge?” he hissed. “You broke all social norms by leaving our tribe and brought great shame upon your family! Who would want to gain knowledge from you?”

“Everyone, my lord, when they hear my story.” Replied Braangh calmly. “In fact, I would like you to be the first to hear the news I bring so that you may judge, personally, the wisdom of my decision. I bring the Orumba tribe great news. I bring with me the knowledge to defeat our hated enemy, the Hontu.”

Usaka snorted.
“Every second day, we have a charlatan in here, claiming exactly what you claim, Braangh.”
“I realize that.” Replied Braangh. “All I request is that you hear my story. After that, you’re free to call me a charlatan...if you wish.”

“Then let’s hear your story.” Said Usaka.

Braangh set his bundle down upon the ground and settled down at his chief’s feet. He then gazed directly into the chieftain’s eyes.

“Know then, O Chief, that after I departed from our tribe and land, I wandered far and wide, seeking knowledge about the world. I have crossed many rivers, climbed many hills and walked down many roads before I decided to come back home. I have even crossed the mighty ocean.

It was while crossing the ocean that I came upon this strange land which I called the Island Nation. The people of this nation have a peculiar quality of keeping their upper lips extremely stiff, no matter how affected they are by emotion. I often saw them weeping with sorrow but never crying out as crying out would reduce the stiffness of their lips. It was in this Island Nation that I encountered the knowledge I am about to give you.”

He paused, took a deep breath and resumed.

“More than sixty years ago, my lord, a great war took place between the people of the Island Nation and another country. This enemy of the island nation is known simply as He with the Bristled Moustache. He with the Bristled Moustache was a warlock of great power who desired to use his powers to enslave the whole world and in order to do that, he had to defeat the people of Island Nation who were led by the mighty wizard Chaarchil.

It is claimed that the war between the armies of Chaarchil and He with the Bristled Moustache enveloped the entire earth, drawing other great magicians and massive armies. Legendary battles were fought on land, on the seas and even in the wide blue skies. The birds themselves took battle, some siding with Chaarchil and others with He. These birds were actors in great tales and The Island Nation was known to have two very famous avian allies –The Fire Spitter and The Hurricane Maker.

However, we need not concern ourselves with all this. My lord, I am here to tell you about another bird who worked for Chaarchil – a crafty flamingo. During the war, this Flamingo acted as one of Chaarchil’s most able spies, bringing the Island Nation information of vital importance. It is claimed though, that the flamingo despised war. This is probably why it never took part in active battle itself but acted as an agent for the forces of good.

It took the Island Nation six long years but with the arrival of Chaarchil’s strongest ally Rose-Velvet (there are other great stories I have heard about him – it is said that he rode on a moveable Iron Throne and had destroyed a curse that made his people permanently depressed), the Island Nation was finally able to destroy the armies of He with the Bristled Moustache and split his fiefdom, the Land of Many Germs, into two. There are also stories that there was a fourth warlock called Stallion who had earlier sided with He but later left him to join Chaarchil. But that does not concern us.

The flamingo, of which I had spoken, left Chaarchil’s army and flew far away from the Island Nation after the war. It is said that it reached paradise on the Island of the Sun where it spent many years pondering on the brutality of war. However, the more it pondered upon war, the more it convinced itself that war must be prevented at all costs. There were already rumours going around the world that Stallion’s empire and the Rose-Velvet’s country were hostile to each other and another war was inevitable. Flamingo realized that this must not happen.

It is not known what supreme magic Flamingo performed on the Island of the Sun. However, I do know that this magic resulted in the creation of a set of books. These books, my lord, contained wizardry from the great wells of time and space, drawing upon the strength of the forces that drive the universe. Most of all, it enclosed the indomitable spirit of the Island Nation which had never been conquered in a thousand years.

These books, my lord, spoke of a great warrior, who would always fight for forces of good and protect the Island Nation and her allies against evil machinations of dark-hearted warlocks. Like Flamingo itself, this warrior would primarily act as a spy for the Island Nation but in times of need, he would don his great black armour and take on the might of wicked wizards and their odious henchmen alone. He would save the free world from a hundred evils and would go on to become the free world’s most loved being.

My lord, Flamingo gifted these books for use to the free world. There was a lot of interest in both the Island Nation and Rose-Velvet’s land (which I think was called the Eagle Country) and it is written that a wise lion which resided in the Eagle Country decided to perform the magic to summon this great warrior. It then proceeded to do so, in a Forest of Holly Trees. The spell was successful and the warrior was summoned.

The rest is legend in the free world, my lord. The warrior was all that Flamingo had promised. He prevented war more than a hundred times and took on the might of huge empires alone. He had to fight battles with many wizards but he always won. This warrior was called many names but one title always stood out – the title Flamingo gave him. He was called Baannd. Jamz Baannd.”

“All this is very well.” Growled Usaka.
“But I don’t see how this is going help the Orumba Tribe. All this happened so long ago and in some far off land at that.”
“My lord...” said Braangh, bringing his voice down to a whisper. “...this is probably the most pivotal moment in the history of Orumba. Don’t you see? All we have to do is summon the great warrior ourselves! With him on our side, what puny enemy is going to stop us? All our adversaries are small tribes. They will be no match for a warrior who’s defeated the greatest wizards in the world!”

Usaka started to guffaw.
“And who...” he sniggered. “...is going to summon this mighty warrior? All you know is the story of this being who existed sixty years ago. Where are you going to get the spells from? Who amongst us is powerful enough to summon this warrior? And don’t you know the perils of such an enterprise? We are not a great nation ourselves! If we puny folk summon this wizard and ask him to defend us, he might be very insulted and destroy us instead!”

“Oh great chief, I beg of you, to display the patience you are so well known for.” Replied Braangh with a smile on his face.
He undid the bundle he was carrying and reverently took out three books which he placed at the chief’s feet. He taken took out a sheet of paper from between the pages of a book and laid that open at the feet of Usaka.

“Behold, my lord!” he cried, swishing his cloak in a melodramatic manner. “I bring to you, the Books of Flamingo! Within them are ensconced the stories of Baannd, the Seventh Soldier, Twice Circled! And on that paper is written those very ceremonies for the summoning of Baannd!”

For several moments the chieftain of Orumba was stunned into silence. Then slowly, his lips started to quiver and several words stammered out, most of them prayers invoking the protection of the tribal gods.

“H-huh-How How did you get th-th-tho-those?” he stuttered. “The Books of Flamingo! The Books of Flamingo!”
“The Books of Flamingo!” smiled Braangh in triumph.
“The Books of Flamingo!” exclaimed Usaka
“The Books of Flamingo!” said Braangh
“The Books of Flamingo!” cried Usaka

Braangh, realizing that this was going too far, stopped himself from repeating.

“The Ceremonies of Baannd!” he said instead.
“The Ceremonies of Baannd!” muttered Usaka
“The Ceremonies of Baannd.” said Braangh
“The Ceremonies...” began Usaka

Braangh made a gesture of impatience.
“My lord, I beg you to pull yourself together.” He said in an imperious voice. “It is not becoming of the Chief of Orumba to stutter and stammer like a child of eighteen months. Yes, these are the Books of Flamingo, containing the ceremonies for summoning the mighty warrior Baannd. Ask not from where I got them. I have undertaken many hardships and climbed a thousand mountains paying a sack full of diamonds in order to lay these books and that paper at your feet.

My lord, Flamingo intended that this warrior prevent war. Hence there will be no fear of retribution from Baannd once he is summoned since he will only be doing his duty by crushing the Haatus. I have also taken the liberty of examining the instructions for performing the Summoning Ceremonies. They require no great magic and the relics they demand are already with the Orumba tribe, thank the gods! All we need is your approval and I will perform these ceremonies for Orumba. Just think, my lord, once Baannd is summoned, we will be the most powerful tribe in all these lands!”

Usaka pulled himself together.
“Of course!” He cried. “A thousand thanks to you, Braangh, for undertaking so many hardships for Orumba and its people. When Baannd is summoned, I will make you the Chief Priest of the Orumba!”

---

A large crowd had gathered in the village square to watch their tribe become the most powerful in all lands. Word of Braangh’s travels had spread fast and nearly everyone in Orumba knew that he brought back powerful magic with him.

The Ceremony had to be very detailed, proclaimed Braangh. For the warrior to be summoned correctly, three items were essential. First was a mysterious object known as The Chimera. It had been held by the Orumbas for almost a year now, after having been retrieved from the belongings of a wizard who had tried to trap the tribe with it. The tribals had known he was a wizard for what other human wears strange tube-like garments touching only the knees? Besides, his eyes had been blue and skin as red as blood, both of which were extremely uncommon in all known lands.

The second relic was a suit of armour fit for a splendid warrior such as Baannd. Braangh had very specific requirements and his specifications had driven the tribe’s weaver-women mad.

“The armour is known as the Tuck Zeedo.” He explained. “It is single-breasted, vent-less, and black. It is made of wool. The lapels may be faced with silk in either a grosgrain or a satin weave. There are two lapel options, the shawl collar and the peak lapel. A third lapel style, the notched lapel is also perfectly acceptable.”

“Single-breasted?” echoed one weaver. “What grotesque demon are you summoning?”
“What is grosgrain?” another wanted to know. “Is it some crop like corn?”
“Silk!” shrieked a third. “The vagabond wants costly silk for his precious warrior! He will have to do with cotton.”

It took three days of nagging and several threats from both Braangh and Usaka before the weavers grudgingly agreed to get the Tuck Zeedo ready by the time the warrior was summoned.

The third requirement was the most difficult to fulfil. The ceremony required that a man of the tribe submit his body to the spirit of the warrior. Usaka wanted to know why. Braangh explained in patient tones.

“The warrior never manifests himself in physical form.” He said. “Baannd has always occupied the body of another and over the years there have been several who have borne the title of the Twice-Circled Seventh Soldier. The first of these was a man known as Shaan. Other names include Rajamur, Daal Tun and Brass Nen. They have all been different in their own way though Shaan is usually considered the ideal warrior. However, there are certain characteristics that this person must display.”

“And what are these characteristics?” asked Usaka.

Braangh paused and consulted the sheet of paper in front of him.
“The bearer of Baannd is physically strong. He is unmarried. He likes to drink wine after shaking the coconut shell in which it is contained. He has an eye for women, especially those not of his own tribe and likes to hide at the beach to watch water-maidens emerge from the sea at dawn. He likes to eat eggs that are scrambled and drinks a concoction brewed from coffee beans for breakfast. He is smart, suave and likes to prevent explosions as a hobby.”

“What?” screamed Usaka. “I didn’t understand half of that! What are eggs that are scrambled? And how do you make a concoction from coffee beans?”

“Don’t worry. I know exactly what they are.” Assured Braangh. “Just find me a physically strong unmarried man who likes to drink wine and watch women swimming.”

“That’s easy enough, there are plenty of those.” Said Usaka. “But I suppose you want someone intelligent?”
“Well...” said Braangh. “Intelligence hasn’t been mentioned as a prime characteristic so you better leave that out. Let’s not take chances. Just get me the man and I’ll make him like scrambled eggs and coffee.”

But try as he might, Usaka couldn’t get any of his men to volunteer. The thought of being occupied by a terrifying warrior such as Baannd was too much to bear. Besides, volunteering for the position was more or less a direct way of admitting that the volunteer drank too much and was lascivious by nature. It was only when Braangh finally came up with the solution – that such activities are perfectly acceptable for a great warrior like Baannd and once possessed, the volunteer would be unhindered while indulging in them – did several men enthusiastically come forth. Braangh finally chose a strapping young man called Yagoni to be the bearer. Yagoni had a reputation in the tribe for being an absolute lout and a lazy nincompoop but Braangh foresaw this to be a chance for him to make amends.

The ceremony was quick and prompt. Yagoni was dressed in the Tuck Zeedo Armour and made to face the Chimera. Braangh ran around the set three times in a clockwise direction and three times in an anti-clockwise direction. He then paused behind the Chimera and peered into the glassy eye at the back. Then, screaming an incantation, he pressed a button on the device. The ceremony was complete. The Oramba tribe has found its new warrior. Baannd had manifested himself in Yagoni and the bearer, perceiving the holy spirit, demanded that he be satiated with wine. Shaken, not stirred. But Braangh had other tasks for him.

“I command you, Baannd...to depart the nation of Orumba and reach the villages of our hated enemy, the Hontu. Use your guile and cunning, those great skills imparted to you by Flamingo itself, to burn these villages and ensure that the Hontu are completely destroyed!”

“But what about my wine?” growled Baannd.
“You can have all the wine you can steal from the Hontu plus more once you come back successful.” Replied Braangh. Baannd growled in response and set off on his mission.

“May the gods be with you, O Twice Circled Seventh Soldier.” Muttered Usaka.
He then turned to face Braangh.
“I had promised to make you the Chief Priest of the Orumba.” He said “But I will do so only on one condition. You must become Baannd’s chief. You must guide him and command his movements at all times. You will be answerable to none but me.”

“Very well.” Replied Braangh. “But Baannd will need many things. He will need the latest technology to battle our enemies. I am not a technical man. I request you to appoint another priest who is gifted in this to provide with the best weapons for whatever job we give him.”

“I understand.” Replied Usaka. “You! Karaka! I appoint you as the Weapons Priest henceforth to be referred to as the Priest Kyoo. And Braangh, as a reward for your services, I hereby appoint you as Umm, Chief Priest of the Orumba!”

The people cheered. The gods were smiling upon them. They had a new warrior who would bring them great victory and liberate them. They were indeed blessed.

---

“You’re not listening to me, Rakesh!” snapped Aruna. “I found him today in our room, wearing your dinner jacket! And what’s more, I found him handling your lighter! When I caught him, he started mumbling something about completing a mission.”

Rakesh laughed.
“Kid’s got an imagination, that’s all.” He said. “We just have to be careful with stuff like the lighter and keep them out of his sight.”

“Rakesh...” whispered Aruna. “You don’t think the other two are bullying him do you? I mean...”
“Nonsense!” snorted Rakesh. “Those three are as thick as any trio of brothers I’ve seen! There’s no chance...”
“There’s something else...” blurted Aruna. “I was cleaning up their computer last night. Rakesh, they’ve downloaded a whole bunch of movies from the internet without telling us. They’ve been watching movies like James Bond and Apocalypto! Rakesh, none of them are older than ten! Surely, they’re too young...”

Mansarovar

2008-11-04T11:55:00.000-08:00

Did we speak about those sands?
The golden sands of the great blue lake
Have I sung about those skies?
The deep blue skies above a deep blue lake

Then hark! My friend, draw close to me
As we sit beside this burning flame
And hear my voice as I sing to the wind
Beneath the stars too far to claim

They came, they came, they came…

They came with sword and spear so sharp
As the light that fell from smoothened shield
They marched along, those seven hundred men
To meet a thousand upon that field

Those icy waters commenced to flow
And splash upon that gilded shore
The air began to clutch my throat
While my head began to feel light and sore

She stood, she stood, she stood…

She stood, young girl, looking across the lake
At the mountain, four-faced and white as truth
Her saffron flew, she changed her sight
To the thousand soldiers, her eyes a-sooth

They were not in view, those awful eyes
Green as flame in a sorcerer’s blaze
Her own deep eyes were a darkened brown
A veteran’s gaze from a neophyte face

They came, they came, they came…

They raced across the uneven land
With a chant on her lips, she soared to sky
We held our swords with tightened hands
And as we roared, we commenced to fly

Steel and spark and flesh and blood
With lightning from her youthful palms
The soothing winds grew tepid and sore
As the great blue lake lost her calm

He rose, he rose, he rose…

He rose, my friend, like a fiend of hell
Those grass-green eyes spitting fire of god
Skin like salt and hands like claws
He rose, my friend, like a true Dark Lord

She flew at him, he fought her off
Light and dark battled in blue sky
The sun grew dark, the lake grew light
As each battled so that other should die

We fell, we fell, we fell…

We fell like trees chopped at the root
Friend or foe, we all came down
Crimson tide on golden shore
Slithering next to sapphire gown

Girl and devil fought on above
Blinded to the suffering of battle below
Blow for blow and stroke for stroke
Then suddenly the girl begins to glow…

He flies! He flies! He flies!

He darts across the cobalt sky
With the speed of a fiery shooting star
She pauses and a chant escapes her lips
Then she too flies, streaking afar

We cry out loud, our roar is long
The darkened ones surrender or flee
With racing hearts we push on
Until we conquer everyone we see

We won! We won! We won!

And that, my friend, was my nostalgic tale
Of the sun-yellow sands next to cornflower lake
And a battle that was fought along icy slopes
And a duel that ended beyond our wake

How did it end, the duel ‘tween him and her?
I know not how but I do know who
But that’s a tale to be told another time
Until then, ponder upon the clues

My friend, my friend, my friend…

Premonition

2008-08-13T09:59:00.000-07:00

“Excuse me sir...”
Anil turned around to face a pair of dark glasses. He could see his own body, curvaceously distorted, being reflected from those black lakes.

“Is this the fast train?” asked the man in front of him, appearing to stare at a point above Anil’s left shoulder.
“Is this the fast train to Kalyan?” he asked again.

Anil tore his eyes away from the dark glasses and glanced at the display board suspended high above the heads of the boisterous masses thronging around Victoria Terminus. The red digits on the board glowed as dull as the evening that had cast its cloak over the city. The board was tired of a lifetime of flashing itself at commuters who were as ephemeral as the Mumbai winter and yet as regular as the trains themselves. White letters flickered below the deadened ruby numbers. Stops at all stations.

“No, sir.” Replied Anil.
“This is a slow train. If you want to catch the fast train to Kalyan, I think you have to go over there.” He pointed.
The man smiled and shrugged his shoulders, tapping his red-and-white cane softly on the ground. As the crowds milled around them, Anil felt himself go red in the face with embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry.” He murmured and gently steered the man in the desired direction. The man broke away impatiently.
“That’s all right. This is the slow train, right? Is it due to leave soon?”
“Yes.” Replied Anil, flushing even more. “It leaves in five minutes.”
“Thank you.” The man was already moving, purposefully tapping away on the ground in front of him while somehow steering his way through the indifferent swarm of humanity swirling around him.

Anil tore his eyes away from the back of the man’s head and looked at his watch. It was a quarter past eight, almost the end of the evening rush. Hopefully, in another fifteen to twenty minutes, the station would clear up somewhat. Anil looked up and glanced hopefully at the entrance. There was no sign of Roy. Where was he? Had he suddenly decided to go check out some music at Planet M? Or was he bargaining with one of the several pirated DVD vendors who stationed themselves in the area? He had promised to be at the station by eight. It was now nearly twenty past.

A well-dressed man talking busily with someone on his cell phone nearly collided with Anil, dropping his newspaper in the process.
“Sorry...” mumbled Anil and bent down to pick up the day’s Hindustan Times. As he handed it back to the rightful owner, he couldn’t help noticing the bold black lettering underneath the equally bold title with its red-and-blue logo. Several bomb blasts had taken place in a Hyderabad mall, killing a dozen people. Meanwhile two bombs had been located and defused near Lal Quila in Delhi, right in the heart of the old city itself.

Anil couldn’t read the rest of the article but he knew what was written. There were interviews with people whose family members had died. There were descriptions of the nature of the bombs and where they might have been made. There were pieces on how these bombs are designed. Editorial sections were full of views on how easy it is for the terrorists to strike at will. He suddenly felt sick.

Anil had a terrible phobia of explosions, far more than a normal person. When he was nine years old, he had had a rather nasty mishap with a diwali cracker. He had gone to a classmate’s house to celebrate diwali. There was a fine ground in front of his friend’s apartment where he and his friends decided to light the fireworks. His classmate’s father had come along with them to make sure that they didn’t try any sort of mischief. Anil loved the sparklers and the various colours they spewed out – yellow, red and green. He got hold of a yellow one and started twirling it round and round, spewing sparks everywhere. The grown-up intervened quickly but not before some of the sparks had fallen on his classmate’s elder brother, a boy of twelve named Tarun.

Tarun was well-known as the school bully and he didn’t take this insult lightly. When his father was happily chatting away with one of the other parents who had turned up, he lit a small bomb and slipped it into the oblivious Anil’s pocket. He then stepped back and loudly mocked Anil, laughing uproariously when Anil frantically tried to retrieve the cracker from his pocket. The father realized what was happening and rushed towards Anil but he was a second too late. The explosion landed both Anil and Tarun’s father in hospital. Tarun’s father lost seventy percent of his vision in his left eye and had several scars across his face for a number of years. Anil meanwhile was so badly hurt that he had to spend nearly six months in hospital, being treated for a number of burns, scars and injuries.

The emotional scarring was as usual, far worse than the physical damage. From a laughing, outgoing, gregarious child, Anil became a complete introvert, refusing to interact with anyone other than his family members. For almost two years after the accident, he couldn’t go anywhere near fire, not even a candle flame. And as everybody expected, he never celebrated diwali again. It was only around the time he finished Class Ten that he started becoming more or less an ordinary member of his age-group. But some scars last forever. Anil still had some deep fears that he kept to himself but occasionally raised their heads like ugly cobras, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.

Now, as he stood in the middle of the station, he felt those fears slowly rising again. How easy it would be to bomb VT (or CST as they called it nowadays). The only thing that could stop a potential terrorist from carrying a bomb inside the station would be a line of simple metal detectors at the entrance. Did those detectors actually work? Anil doubted it. After all, so many people passed through those detectors with so many metal objects – Tiffin carriers, containers, even construction material – everyday and the detectors never squealed out in alarm. No policeman ever went up to anyone and asked them questions. They just sat at a table near a wall and waited for people to come to them. Oh yes, a terrorist would happily come up to them and inform them that he was going to blow up VT before he actually proceeded to do so. How smart.

Didn’t the authorities learn anything from the hundreds of blasts that had been going on everywhere? Why, there had even been blasts on the local trains themselves, on the neighbouring Western Line, barely a couple of years back. And yet, government authorities and police officials continued to act as if life was completely normal. It wasn’t! The city had just been lucky that’s all. There was practically nothing to stop Bombay from turning into Baghdad or Mogadishu overnight except for a very large slice of luck.

Anil’s sensation of sickness started to get worse. What if the terrorists had realized this? If he could realize this fact, surely the terrorists could too. They were probably far smarter than him. Maybe they had. Maybe, they are just biding their time, waiting for the right moment to assault the teeming millions at VT. Anil started palpitating. When was the ‘right moment’ then? He recalled the last time the terrorists had attacked Mumbai. There had been several explosions all along the Western Line, at various stations – at rush hour.

He looked frantically around him. The evening crowds were still thronging the platforms of the station. There were enough people to turn into shocking statistics to be displayed on tomorrow’s front page. The policemen had not moved from their desk. The metal detectors were emitting soft beeps as umpteen numbers fought their way through the spaces at the entrance. Anil began to grow more and more apprehensive. Who among these men and women jostling for space was possibly a terrorist? Which person, which terrifyingly sinister being, had entered the station knowing that he was taking many of his fellow beings on their last ride in life?

Anil was now absolutely sure that there was a terrorist in the station. Surely the terrorists weren’t so foolish that they would miss this golden opportunity to further their cause. A bomb blast in the country’s oldest station – wasn’t it Asia’s oldest station as well? – Showpiece of Victorian Bombay, one of the city’s most famous heritage buildings, would cause uproar all over the nation. The station was a symbol of the ancient lifelines that held Mumbai together, the lifelines that held India together. Reducing it to dust would be tantamount to slashing the veins that carried the blood of the country. Yes, they would do it. The right moment was now.

“Hey Anil!” a voice startled him out of his reverie. Roy, with a pirated DVD of Executive Decision in his right hand was walking towards him, his curly black hair ruffled from the strong breeze that had picked up outside.
“Sorry I’m late, bro. But I just couldn’t resist this! I couldn’t download this from...” he began
Anil interrupted him.
“We have to go, Roy.”
“I know man, really sorry about that. Let’s go, that train is about to scoot...”
“Not on the train” said Anil urgently. “We’re getting out of here.”
Roy stared at him.
“Where to, dude?”
“Anywhere!” cried Anil, catching him by the arm and dragging him to the exit. “I just want to get out of here!
”Hey, hey, hey!” cried Roy as Anil continued to pull him by the arm. He yanked free and stopped, staring at Anil.
“Are you okay, man?” he asked warily.
“I’m fine.” Snapped Anil, not wanting to explain his fears. He had a feeling Roy would laugh at him and insist on travelling by train.
“I just can’t stand the crowds today. There’ll be too many people on the train. Let’s go by bus.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Roy incredulously. “We’ve travelled in worse conditions before! How can you even think of taking a bus all the way to Andheri? It’ll take a couple of hours man!”

“Fine!” yelled Anil, startling the man serving coffee at the Nescafe stall nearby. “You go then and suffocate in that throng! I’m going by bus!”
He turned around and headed towards the exit. Roy stared at him for a minute and then sprinted to catch up with him.

“Chill out, dude.” He said, laying a hand on Anil’s shoulder. “We’ll go by bus. But are you okay? You look a little stressed out.”
Anil closed his eyes as they walked out of the station and entered the subway.
“I’m fine.” He repeated. “Just don’t feel like travelling in that pandemonium today.”

Roy nodded and patted his shoulder. The two of them emerged from the subway in front of the BMC Headquarters. Anil quietly took two deep breaths as he turned back and glanced at CST, the High Court behind him. He was free. They started walking along Mahapalika Marg on the way to Metro Cinema. The wait for the bus took fifteen minutes. Finally the white-and-red board of Bus No. 84 flashed in the growing darkness as the vehicle shuddered to a halt in front of them. The two boys had barely boarded the bus when the conductor pulled the rope to ring the bell at the front and the bus started to rumble forward.

“Two tickets. Andheri Station.” Roy handled the transaction while Anil plopped down onto a window seat and stared thoughtfully at the sights streaming by. Marine Lines station came up on their left. These terrorists would stop at nothing. They didn’t seem to care about the fact that they had been responsible for over two hundred deaths during the 7th July blasts. They definitely hadn’t cared about the victims when they had blown up a hospital in Ahmedabad barely a few months back. Who knows where they will strike next? VT was the most likely target. There had been news of threatening e-mails targeting Mumbai next. But then again, VT was not the only option. There were even more crowded stations like Churchgate, Dadar, Bandra, Mumbai Central...not to mention popular tourist spots like the Gateway of India and Juhu Beach. Or instead of attacking trains, they might choose to attack another mode of transport...say a bus.

Anil’s heart skipped a beat. Had he been mistaken in presuming that there would be a blast at VT? His instinct, sharpened to sense any danger after his disastrous accident, had warned him about an explosion that day. Had it been telling him to get out of VT or stay in VT? Had it been begging him not to go against his daily routine? He looked around the bus. Roy had switched his i-pod on and tuned himself out of this world. The bus wasn’t crowded but they were still on Charni Road. A few more stops perhaps and the bus would start to get uncomfortable. Haji Ali was definitely going to be crowded at this time of the evening. Would one of the commuters be carrying more than some mundane item like food or newspapers in their bags?

He knew he was being paranoid, maybe even insane but he just couldn’t help it. He got up, pushed past a surprised Roy and ran down the corridor. The conductor yelled at him for the bus was moving at top speed but Anil didn’t care. Ignoring everyone’s cries and exclamations, he clattered down the steel steps and jumped.

The force of the landing sent an agonizing jar throughout his body. He fell forward on the ground and lay there, hands outstretched, palms on the earth and his back up in the air. But barely two seconds had passed before he unsteadily got to his feet and started to jog away from the bus which had now stopped. The conductor was glaring out of the rear entrance yelling abuses at him in Marathi. A deeply vexed and puzzled Roy pushed past him, got down and started running after Anil, yelling at him to stop. Anil couldn’t care less. He had to get away from the bus, no matter that his legs were still aching from the force of that jump.

He had gone nearly covered nearly two hundred metres before Roy caught up with him and grasped him by the shoulder. Meanwhile, the conductor had thrown one last exasperated look at the two of them and had then rung the bell again. The passengers next to him braced themselves for a long speech on how commuters try to kill themselves and then blame BEST for it. Sympathetic smiles and all-knowing looks were already affixed on their faces and the conductor was all set to start.

Meanwhile Roy had slapped Anil on the face.
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?” he screamed. “What is wrong with you today? First you don’t want to go by train. Then you jump off a moving bus. HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY BONKERS? You nearly killed yourself!”

They were standing in front of a petrol pump. Some of the workers had gathered under the WARNING sign to watch the ongoing drama. Standing underneath bold black letters cautioning people to switch off their mobile phones, they stood and pointed, some laughing openly at the angry expression on Roy’s face and others laughing at the sorry face of Anil. A black-and-yellow taxi pulled up at the pump and some of the workers left to attend to it.

“Roy...Roy...” stammered Anil. “I’m sorry...but...but...Roy...there was a bomb on the bus!”
Roy stared at him incredulously.
“You have gone bonkers.” He said.
“No, Roy, no! You have to listen to me!” Anil caught hold of Roy’s shoulders and stared crazily at his face.
“There was a bomb on that bus, Roy, believe me. I thought there would be a terrorist attack at VT. That’s why I didn’t want to go by train today. But as I was sitting in that bus, I realized that I was wrong...it wasn’t VT, they were targeting...it was the bus! I know you think I’m crazy Roy, but believe me, we would have both been blown up!”

Roy shook himself free and continued staring unbelievingly at Anil.
“You’re mad, you know that? You’re acting as if there are terrorists after you. Why should there be a bomb on that bus, tell me? Or at CST for that matter? For heaven’s sake Anil, get a grip on yourself or else you’ll actually end up getting killed. There was no...”

Roy wasn’t allowed to complete his sentence. Not far away from them, something happened. A deafening boom shattered through the slow cacophony of evening traffic. Anil’s eardrums throbbed. A horrifying despair filled the core of his heart. Suddenly he was nine years old again and Tarun had just stuck a cracker in his pocket. All the panic, the fear, the dread started rushing back to him. A thick column of smoke had just risen from behind the building at the corner. The bus they had been travelling on had passed that corner a few seconds ago. The smoke was being pumped slowly into the air, every new pulse of smoke throbbing at a rate that matched the beating of his heart. He screamed.

---

Half an hour later, Anil and Roy were still sitting at the petrol pump under the WARNING sign. The petrol pump employees had been kind enough to make Anil a cup of tea while the taxi driver who had pulled up a while ago had promised to see them home. Eleven people had been killed in the blast including the conductor. A dozen others including the driver and two children had been rushed to Jaslok Hospital. Meanwhile news had started coming in from elsewhere. There had been a blast on one of the trains travelling out of VT, just as it had been pulling up at Bandra station. Two blasts actually. Forty people dead and over seventy injured. Roy’s calculations concluded that it could have very possibly been the train they had been about to board.

“That was...bizarre.” he said, uncertainly, looking at nothing in particular. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t.” Snapped Anil wearily. His heart was still beating heavily. “It’s not great, it’s horrible. You have no idea...it’s worse than not knowing anything and getting blown up. That vague fear, that dread...” he broke off with a shudder.
Roy just shook his head disbelievingly.

The taxi driver approached them.
“Are you ready to go, sir?” he asked kindly. “They’re just finishing up with my taxi.”
Anil nodded uncertainly and both he and Roy got up and walked up to the taxi. It had been abandoned when the blast had taken place. Now, the employees were busy filling it with petrol. Anil liked the smell of petrol. He and stood next to the pump, looking at the employee who was intently watching the meter.

“I hope you won’t get some weird feelings about the taxi now.” Roy joked feebly.
“My heart’s still beating quite hard.” Anil confessed, smiling. “But that’s more likely to be the after-effects of the blast rather than some premonition.”

Suddenly the air was filled with music. Far away in Andheri, two very worried mothers were desperately trying to reach their sons. The lines had been down for a long time. Now suddenly, Anil’s mother had got through. The tones from Anil’s cell phone rang clearly through the night air thick with petrol fumes.

The WARNING sign hung ominously: Please switch off your cell phones at the pump to avoid accidents.

Victory

2008-07-02T04:50:00.000-07:00

Does your life really flash before your eyes when you die? Not exactly. What actually happens is that when you have a little time to think, the only thing that you can think about is your past. Everyone’s life is a beautiful tapestry really. Whether one is a wretched beggar, an industrious fisherman or a rapacious politician rolling in sloth, one’s life is a glorious sum of events that pile on top of each other before tipping over into the unknown ravine of death. Even here, the nature of descent is different. Some choose to cautiously descend down the slopes of the ravine, foothold by foothold and inch by inch. Others are pushed into it against their will and they hurtle screaming rebelliously into space. And yet...some choose to skydive right into the heart of the dark unknown, embracing uncertainty with the daring of those who have absolutely nothing to lose. Our own hero, standing on the edge of the terrace, was one of the last. He was replaying his life before his eyes.

At the first glance, he looked quite ordinary. He was about five feet eleven inches in height, of fairly average build and around twenty years of age. His skin had once been fair but was now dark due to excessive swimming. In school, he had been an average swimmer but a brilliant diver. Even now, as he stood with his feet oscillating on the parapet, his poise betrayed his background. But there was no water underneath him this time, just a sea of sinister yellow lights. They beckoned to him, as the sirens beckoned to Ulysses. Unlike Ulysses though, our hero was going to answer their call.

Tears brimming in his eyes, he replayed his life once more. His birth had been insignificant to the world but had meant the world to his family. His father, a mechanical engineer had invited all his colleagues home once the initial excitement had settled down. One by one, they held him, tickled him and pinched his cheeks, tough grown men suddenly transformed into benevolent nurses. His mother, a school teacher, sat quietly in a corner, talking to one of the wives, smiling at the excitement surrounding her son. Both sets of grandparents were arriving the next day.

Then life went on as usual for the family except that there was a new member to account for. The years went swiftly by and the lullabies and coos were replaced by quick hugs and careful lectures as the young boy was taught to avoid strangers, cross the road only when the pedestrian light turned green and not eat street food unless he was with his parents.

He was a fairly bright boy in school though not exceedingly so. His general knowledge was quite sharp and he excelled in his school’s GK Club. He was weak in languages though and as a result, fared poorly in language exams. It was in school that he developed a love for swimming and diving. His sense of style during diving became legendary as did his keen perception and vast amount of knowledge.

“If only he can improve his scores in languages.” Remarked one teacher. “If only he can do that, he may turn out to be one of our school’s finest products.”

Our hero heard his teacher’s remark and resolved to work harder at languages. By the end of tenth grade, he had more or less improved in languages as well. By the time he started senior secondary school, he was convinced that the world was his to conquer. That was his fatal mistake.

How could he have made such a foolish error? When he was choosing his subjects for secondary school, he chose political science, economics, mathematics and English literature. He had dreams of becoming a lawyer, you see. But his parents weren’t too happy with his choices, especially with that of English literature.

“Look, son.” Said his father. “There are a lot of fools in this country who want to do engineering. They do so because, fools that they are, they believe that engineering is the only course worth pursuing. That is nonsense and not the reason why I’m asking you to reconsider your choice. You, my boy, were meant to take up science! Just look at your science and maths marks! You’re brilliant in those subjects. On the other hand, law appears to be a little dicey for you. Your general knowledge is very good but law is more than knowledge. Your people skills aren’t all that good either. And I must say, your English marks are pretty poor. Even if you want to do law, why do you insist on taking up literature?”

“Because I want to, dad.” He replied simply. He didn’t mention that he wanted to because of an overwhelming desire to master his difficulties – something that his father would have called foolish.

Was it foolish? From the very first day, he could see that it was going to be a tough journey. But he didn’t step back. He stuck to his belief that mastering his weaknesses would be the greatest accomplishment he could ever hope to achieve. Unfortunately, that was not to be. By the end of senior secondary, his scores had started to slip. Mathematics remained his only strong subject and his marks in all other subjects had fallen. But he refused to acknowledge failure and decided to sit for the entrance exam to leading law institutes.

Even before he was done, he knew it had been a disaster. He walked out dejectedly and hardly said a word as his poor father tried to cheer him up. When the results of the exam came out, his name did not feature anywhere.

He had one last chance to undo what he had done. He joined a good arts college and took up economics and mathematics. His father suggested that he take up statistics as his third subject but our hero refused. To his family’s trepidation, his third subject choice turned out to be English literature.

Now, as he stood on top of the building, he felt no regret as he recalled his stubborn decision. People never question your decision if you succeed but they fall on you like wolves if you fail. Had he been able to master English literature, he would have been hailed by everyone as a hero who braved the unknown but now people shook their heads as he passed them and made comments about the foolishness of youth.

Did no one understand his desire? Throughout his life, he had been taught that one should always appreciate the effort regardless of the result. Yet, the real world turned out to be a cold place that demanded results regardless of the means. His eyes blazed for a minute as he remembered some of his classmates who used to do nothing all year and then cram up on the few days to emerge as toppers. But then he laughed. What did he care about such people? They had never understood the meaning of hard work or effort. When a lifetime of effort and sweat go pouring down the drain because of one stupid exam and you’re forced to put up with it and carry on with life – that’s hard work. It requires far greater effort than working hard all year and achieving something.

These people didn’t understand the meaning of frustration either. Frustration with the subject. Frustration with the system. Frustration with one’s own self. Why can’t evaluators ever give someone full marks in English? Why couldn’t he re-take his examinations? Must he always go around with a black mark against his name? Why couldn’t he overcome this obstacle?

He knew most people would call him an idiot, a boy who squandered his opportunities and yet, doesn’t the very same society teach you to tackle your weaknesses and overcome obstacles? Doesn’t it admire men and women of all-round perfection? So why does it choose to humiliate those who try and achieve that state of all-round perfection?

“It’s because of the losers.” He whispered to himself. The losers who sit and choose to ignore their imperfections. They take only what is easy for them, run away from their weaknesses and then call themselves wise because they succeeded at what they were good at. It does not matter if a successful actor knows no mathematics or a brilliant engineer does not know how to speak his mother tongue properly. They are still revered by everyone just because they are great in one field. Well-rounded perfection counts for nothing. It is ignored and those who strive for it are laughed at.

“I am proud of who I am.” He whispered to himself. “I never compromise and always demand excellence. Damn these lazy fools! No, I am proud of myself.”

He was no coward. Suicide wasn’t cowardice, at least not for him. What he was committing an act of bravery greater than any other. He was rejecting a world of stupid, misguided souls and instead embracing a brave new world where he would carve out a brilliant new destiny for himself.

His arms were outstretched in the classic diver’s pose and his eyes sparkled with excitement. He glanced one last time at the world sunk in delusion around him. And then he jumped into the world of lights below.

The fools would never be able to convert him. It was all or nothing for him. Either way, he was the victor. His name was Vijay.