It was sunset. An ethereal setting. The smell of burning flesh intoxicated him.  Standing there, bathing in the glory of his own achievements the conqueror was suddenly overcome by a feeling he had never felt before. He felt like god. It was much much different from what he used to feel invariably when his sword sliced through the flesh of the Dasyus— an electric pulse that originated from the tip of his sword the moment it touched the Dasyu skin and through the sword that pulse went through his body and finally into his brain neurons and when it reached there the sensation was near delirium and he would howl so loudly that the entire valley would reverberate with the sound.  It was also much much different from what he used to feel when he hysterically vibrated and oscillated atop the brown and oily skinned bodies of the Dasyu women.

This was something new, a kind of experience when you no longer desired anything;  it was as if he had fulfilled his life and nothing more was needed; he felt as if he was no longer a body but a spiritual entity.  A light surrounded him and he wanted himself lost in it.   He heard some one calling out his name.  He heard it from far away.  A timeless call.  To him the echo felt like a series of calls issued forth from many mouths.  He felt somebody shaking him slightly as if to wake him up.  The conqueror in reply said in a low voice:   “Indra is not asleep, Indra is awake”

The wonder of it

and are never free of the gaze.

They live their gaze.

Their genetic lens see, interpret and chronicle

A mass, whose history they had trampled upon,

Whose land they had stained with blood.

They fail to see the history of their own gaze

They are the victims of their own gaze.

Why worry, just buy
“Keep it simple, silly”
Let’s just erase all identities
Make your DNA the most pliable thing on earth
Let the corporate creatures code your DNA
It’s safer
“Keep it simple, silly”
Submit yourselves to the black-hole for an orgasmic buying experience
“Keep it simple, silly”
Let the juggernaut roll on
The black-hole
It’s so simple, silly
Let’s worship those who have come to plunder us
After all are we not doing the same for centuries?
Worshipping those who have killed our forefathers
Plundered our wealth and self
And appropriated our temples.
Aren’t we the bearers of a false nomenclature?
Still celebrating annually the fall of our forefathers.

Let’s sing a bhajan
Let’s re-enact the divine lilas of whom who has sanctioned everything possible
And let’s revel in the innumerable possibilities of the present
That’s safe
It’s all complicated
“Keep it simple, silly”
It’s a hydra-headed monster
Consumes everything in its path
Self-procreating, self-growing
But entertains you all along
And simplifies your identity
Effaces your memory to a delightful amnesia
No point resisting
Keep it simple, stupid
Since there is no escape it’s better to yield and enjoy
“Keep it simple, silly”
*Tata Docomo ad slogan that demands you to keep everything simple

a cup
two teams
and my genetic anxiety
the anxiety of not being able to support
a-little-more-genetic -near-and-dear!

I see my life in tatters, strewn around.

Falling down, each part animating itself

Into a queer little form;

Scampering away, looking around;

Amid the vast fabric of space and time,

Hardly recognizing their master,

And instantly gobbled up by a black-hole;

But not before squeaking a metallic cry:

When are you going to die?

Stray a little Sachin.
There you see a pinnacle.
Ascend it.
And give company to another man in the planet
Who suffers the same loneliness–
A certain man named Roger Federer!

Just out of curiosity may I ask you a favour, Solo Men?
Tell me immortals how do you experience the unknown,
That we mortals dread and covet at the same time!