Keeping a Promise

Some promises die with people,
they are kept thus.

She lived happily under there ever afterwards .

She could paint, sing, dance, act and write and run.

But many years later as she sat at the table to convey her soul
her prose fell short of words ,
ego smeared her poetry,
lyrics dangled loosely about her song,
language stifled her thoughts ,
rhythm beat her thoughts off and
her ragas were punched with notes astray.

So she decided to dig a hole.
The deeper her thoughts traveled ,the more she dug.

She lived happily under there ever afterwards .

Writers Block.

Thoughts under arrest.

The Mud and its message (100 word short story)

This gardener fellow had his awesome theories. Plants he said would never die; they only get buried to be reborn. Some traditions and conventions in society do. Mere mud had conveyed meaning to him. The day had begun but the sound of the tussle between his implements and the soil was missing. It was still. Destiny had one more last laugh. His term had expired. He had terminated himself on the selfsame soil that had comforted him. The soil and the plants as a community will now have to search for a new routine. Can they do without their bandmaster?

Gandhi’s Experiments with the Auto @ Chennai

Mahathma Gandhi had made up his mind. He wanted an authentic auto ride in Chennai to gain first person experience and then suggest some dharmic solutions. Remember, he went round India before drawing the destiny of this nation. He had to “travel in the sly”, lest he should be identified - or much worse - dubbed a madcap, that is in case he revisited his Bharath like a “half-naked fakir”. A simple make-up transformed him and he decided to sport cotton pants (found the cost appalling, nevertheless). A khadi shirt in immaculate white completed his attire. (even white, is adulterated with blue is it?) With all this he stopped an empty auto. Courtesy was at its worst as this busybody of a driver chose to respond from the centre of the road and the words were “Enge?” (Where to?) and to this, our revisitor said “Mylapore”, “Mylaporela Enge” (Where in Mylapore?) he questioned further and Gandhi uttered “Kulam”. The automan quoted an arbitrary hundred and Gandhi adjusted his spectacles - really a shock-absorbing act. What about the meter? he quipped which fetched the retort “Ishtam irunda eru, sir ?” (Get in only if you wish to?) And Gandhi let him go. Sarve Janao Sukhino Bhavanthu! What next?

There must have been another guy watching all this. He came alarmingly close to Gandhi and smiled. “Utkarungo Polam” (Let us go!). But what portion of my purse will I have to empty? “Neengale kudungo” (you decide what to give). Oh! I need not go back to heaven. Then the driving. What on earth is this? Free-wheeling? No norms. Signals bypassed when still some 20 seconds remain. Well! I had conceived of non-violence but here after so many years it is only the violent mind that is preponderent. And quickly “Kulam” was cited and reached. Now the fare. This auto fellow says “Ishtappattadhu kudungo?” (Anything) and Gandhi stretched out a hundred rupee note and got back thirty. Let us talk, he thought. Why the meters do not run? Why auto drivers are unruly? Why is there a wilful overloading bordering on the precarious? Why police look but do not see? And for all this this autodriver laughed heartily. First you visit other states. How are the bus services there? (i.e. counter-question number one). How dependent are they on autos for commuting? (counter-question number two and more of such….) How effective are the police over there? How morally satisfying is the licensing procedure? Are there pitfalls in the FC (renewal) harangue? Now Now….

For Gandhi this was more than a handful and his inner voice took over. Now the neighbouring states have to be visted. And the leave he had taken from the other world could not be extended. If he violated the leave rules it would become a case of “My Experiments with Untruth”. So I’ll go back, visit the other states and then formulate something. Any interim report, sir? Oh! Yes! What on earth would he have written The matter, dear blokes, is now pending in the court of truth and hence - subjudice.