The pleasure of pressure

 Life is like a rubber string. It’s dead and limp without any stretching, taut tension in it. So guys if u feel stretched just enjoy the pleasant pull because that simply proves your lifefully throbbing status. We can enjoy this string-walk as long as there is tensioned tautness under our toe-hold. The pull and tension gone, we just crash-land and turn maggot feed. But tension under our toes is one thing, tension on face is quite another. We just have to be careful during the rope-walk. Later on we can even learn to smile while walking carefully on the rope.

Web weavers

 You always need new angels in your life, or rather we turn ordinary people into angels to fill the vacuum in our life, to rub off the slate and make it clean of the image of the former Angel-turned-dark angel-cum-demon. Our mind is a very suitable instrument to create new realities. We are very innovative with our justification for this dusting, cleaning job. Well, human mind is a wonder indeed. No wonder, we have so many parallel realities. A kind of complex web. Like spiders weaving web to catch prey. But spiders are better weavers than us because they don't get caught in their own weaving generally. While we get tangled in our own yarn usually. So fellers, keep your web simple. It's difficult to walk out of it.

The pride of naked nativism

Railways, airways, ships, computers, television, bra, lipstick, tops, sandals, phones, judiciary, administration, hill stations, cricket, political system, business,  commerce, almost everything around has roots in colonialism and the society of colonisers. Discard all that first, only then your naked nativism will have any legitimacy. But I was wondering what would be left then. Only false pride in naked bodies would be left perhaps. 

A,simple Jat cricketer was lamenting that Team India should be named Team भारत because the word India is rooted in colonialism. Poor chap, little did he realise that the game that earned him millions was started by the colonisers themselves. So now people are throwing bouncers at him, asking him and other prpogators of new-brand Nationalism to stop playing cricket altogether. Boycott 'India' would boil down to boycot 'cricket'. And if cricket is gone, half of India will die of boredom. 

Lekin agar har ek angrezi cheez ka boycot karoge to nange ho jaoge. Aage ki taraf dekho nahi to muh ke bal giroge.

Musings on a September morning

 Drinking is a peculiar thing. I mean when the liquor takes the driving seat in one's persona. I have seen mammoth men turning to bleating lambs after getting sloshed. They would topple a bull on impulse when not drunk. But drinking brings out the cute, peaceful,  all loving lamb in them and they would give everyone hugs of love. 

In contrast, I have seen wiry faint hearted men turning to roaring lions after the liquor takes the possession of their driving seat. In normal condition they would compete with the cowardest jackal on earth in being lily livered. But let the alcohol pump courage into them and they feel like stopping a train by force by standing in front of it. 

It means a stone has a petalous spot hidden somewhere in its hard muscles and a petal has stony semblance inside the mushy softness. Moral of the story is: never rule out any possibility or potential in anyone.

***

Fluctuations...sometimes I feel a very very old person, sometimes just a newborn, other times just like I'm yet to be born, sometimes as if I'm no more here, sometimes everywhere, sometimes nowhere, sometimes a holy being, sometimes a sinner...there are times when I have shot out of the bodily confines like a rocket and tasted the boundless...there are times when I feel like an immovable stone imprisoned in this worldly identity...the waves of egoistic stamp on the vast canvas of the sea. Let the tidal waves surge back and forth ... it's just the ocean's way of reminding itself that it exists.

A tiny bird’s little fountain

 

It's been a dry August and now September sun carries extra heat. The plants and trees need water. They droop their leaves to convey in sign language that we are thirsty. So there we have water flowing around their feet. The pipe carries a tiny crack forming a little fountain. Not much in human terms but a substantial funbathing spot for tiny oriental white eyes. They are very small green birds with a white ring around their eyes. I'm reading a newspaper going slowly around the tiny fountain. Then I realise I'm already an intruder. I hear complaining trills of innocent notes above my head. They are shy and want me out of their bathing place. Oriental white eyes love bathing under little squirts of water from garden pipes. The intruder off the scene and here they jump with joy and go for funbathing on a hot noon. It's a busy world. We are now running to grab our portion of the skies in the cosmos. Among all this pandemonium for bigger stakes, I think a tiny bird also deserves her little fountain to beat the heat with a shower.