Ruth

When I left my house this morning, the sky was weeping. I suppose it was silent venting in response to the human prayers, resentments and greed which were being catapulted by the second to the never ending expanse of grey and blue. I'm sure the sky must feel overwhelmed. It must be very strong as well. If I had been the sky, the country below me would have been a swamp.

Outside the colony gates stood a half naked madman. He was drenched from head to toe and was gesticulating wildly with his hands. Poor people have no compassion for men such as this; they can't afford it. When I saw him I didn't feel scared or panicked, I just felt guilty. I felt sorry and ashamed when the guards began to beat him with a stick. Their combined poverty was their best weapon. They couldn't feel the compassion I was feeling simply because they shared the same life with a little bit of sanity. Long after he was subdued they kept on beating him. Then finally one of them said "rehne de, kismet hi kharab hai saale ki". The other guard sullenly stopped and said "humari kaunsi achhi hai?".

As I stepped out of the gate, they saluted and held the madman at bay and all I could do was lower my eyes and walk on, underneath the weeping sky with no umbrella.

Confessions of an Idiot

I was told that anything was possible. My brain turned it around and decided that nothing was impossible. So, I spread my imaginary wings and tried to fly. Obviously, I was doomed. When I leaped off the roof I felt my heart soar. Unfortunately that was the only part of my body that did. As I began to plummet I prayed for a safe landing but it didn't happen. God was busy elsewhere probably helping those who help themselves. So I ended up breaking a leg and it didn't feel all that lucky.

Good things happen to good people, maybe that's where we all go wrong. What if in this universe the evil ones are actually what the concept of good is? So, we proudly embark upon missions of a philanthropic nature but I think we should just all be helping ourselves because "God helps those who help themselves." Of course it's just a saying but why isnt it phrased differently? Why not "help others and God will help you"?

I have a bone to pick with all the non-idiots about this and other things. I'm waiting for the day when I'll get the chance to state a few aspects of my skeptic curiousty and not be written off as an idiot.

I've been told to believe in myself. What we need is belief in others. Individual beliefs are no good. The day it becomes universal I might just be able to fly... and the beliefs of all the idiots and non-idiots combined will be the feathers of my wings and keep me buoyant in the air currents.

Laboured Dreams

Is it necessary for a person to have dreams? Is it so vital to our existence that we must hold onto something intangible to be able to achieve the zenith of the heights that we create for ourselves? What if someone had kept telling us from the moment we could make coherent sense out of language that dreams are just futile thoughts whose base is desire that will eventually bog us down into mediocrity?

Is it so necessary to know what to want and how to go about getting it? Why can't I be told that even if I don't begin to worship a thought or a castle in the air I will still be able to attain what I imagine I deserve?

It's difficult living up to expectations that you never got a chance to create. It's like you came into this world and forces were ready to mould your thoughts and beliefs towards a set direction. Without a dream you were supposed to feel like a fallen leaf from a tree in autumn whose fate hinges upon whimsical gusts of wind.

Why isn't it ok to be clueless and unsure? I feel stifled and foolish. I can't explain the wind's path and yet if I can't seem to be able to predict it then I am nothing but a useless leaf fallen from a tree simply because that's the natural order of things. I wish dreams were the stuff that guts are made of. Not like silly wisps of smoke that vanish the moment it's time to battle with the demons of reality.

A Short Story

The whole road smelt of horse. It was as if the beast had been flogged mercilessly and then dragged the length of the scorching black. Tiny leaves fluttered down from the summer trees and the sky looked down in agony. The boy in the cart heaved a sigh of laziness and began to whip the horse out of sheer boredom.

He was going to be married in a few days. Being poor he was planning on riding the same beast he was mercilessly whipping to the doorstep of his bride. The sun beat down hot as he mournfully thought about his limited prospects. The horse was his only possession. The thin emaciated animal was his upper hand over the other boys and men. He could always be counted upon to get the goods to the market on time because of the horse. He loved the horse after his own fashion. It was not the selfless kind of love. In fact it was convenient love, where sometimes he forgot to feed the horse or never fed it quite enough.

The placid beast plodded along and owner and beast were one in silent contemplation of glum prospects. Then suddenly there was a loud crash. The goods for the market rolled off the cart and scattered in all directions. The horse lay crushed under the cart, it's tongue out and panting. The car swerved wildly around the mess and drove off. The road now smelt of toil, tears, blood and sweat.