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The Cave People

They are people living in the dark. They have their rituals perfected to spread the darkness. If you scrutinize you may be baffled that these exist in contemporary world and will be tempted to dismiss these as children’s play or some elaborate juvenile deception. For cave people though these define their meanings of life and connection to the primitive cavernous depth of the cave. Centuries of dead habits and horrendous practices putrefy and waft from the deeper part of the cave that is considered sacred.  They cement these experiences through stories of faith and myths of grandeur. They come out of their caves dressed up as if for daily chores. They look normal and bear self satisfied smug, you wouldn’t be able to tell that they are cave dwellers. They share same mindset, express similar opinion and live an orchestrated way of life as if an invisible thread connects them and binds them to deep recess of the cave. Wherever they are placed they assiduously present template of cave with them so as to replicate it. They are herds that swarm out only to further their cave values that they ardently hold as being threatened by daylight hence seek protection.

Cave people are sensitive to light despite this they bravely venture to protect and spread their world. They carry the blue print of cave in ornate casket and try to sell to passerby while elaborating the virtues of cave values and savior spirit that protects them. While they eke in their caves holding to their cavely ways the world outside change tremendously. They partook in these comforts as matter of good fortune especially ordained for their well being by savior spirit meanwhile made sure to humbly elaborate miracles of cave traditions that made these possible. “Without the savior spirit that lives in the depths of caves not even a leaf can move”. They set out to eulogize cave tradition, wrote compelling narrations of cave culture, and sometimes if they felt specially threatened by rationale of modern world that point to the crude absurd self defeating ways of cave they zealously place themselves as special reference for multiculture.      

They wear impeccable outfits to fit in, and are very diligent about their diet and adept in interaction. They have worked language to its possible advantage without ever having understood the meaning, indeed ever be bothered. Every occasion is an occasion to sing paeans for cave culture and omnipotence of savior spirit. They pursue higher studies in modern institutions just to evaluate the possibility to fit in the cave template to contemporary setting so as to appropriate into cave tradition. They use modern gadgets with dexterity as if these were miracles meant to enhance their expressions. Lack of awareness makes them immune to hypocrisy while usage of words devoid of meanings reduces the hassles of critical thinking. They swarm as trolls in social media to elaborate on regressive ways of cave as unique expressions of modernity. Any sane scrutiny of these absurd claims triggers a swarm assault with cave dwellers emerging from darkest corners of deep net with spears and clubs shaped as words. Like hooligans they set about to destroy the premise of sane argument, stamping on facts, any logical extension of ideas, and sneak in bizarre assumptions based on equally wacky premise. They claim their benign savior spirit already knew everything that is there to know or to discuss or explore. Every reason therefore is the reason to humbly acknowledge the grand nature of savior spirit. We have to just believe in the words of savior spirit who once lived in the cave. It is all written in miracle codes kept safe in depths of cave. Cave people have their heroes and martyrs who furiously fought for centuries against daylight ever reaching the cave. There are now new age soldiers equipped with latest gadgets and wherewithal ready to take on the enemies of cave culture and keep the putrefying traditions safe. Sometimes during the storm when there is power failure they come out in large numbers to announce to the passerby that it is the end of the world. The world needs to repent their sin. Accept cave tradition and believe in the cave truth that has settled all question for eternity. During natural disasters and suffering they see signs of good omen and opportune occasion to elaborate the need to stop questioning the will of savior spirit. During the bleakest hours of humanity they celebrate the arrival of savior spirit.             

 

 

An evening prayer

The intonation gets deeper and louder as if spreading a circle of warmth. Soon it reaches crescendo and beats in the rhythm of the earth as if amplifying all life in its inhale and exhale. The life giving quotidian cycle. It quietens in its own echo, shortening and then the silence. The stage is set for the sun to light the western sky in its quirky brilliance. White Ibis emerge from the lit clouds to row back to her nest. The sky arranges colors to finally extinguish into grey. There is a meditative quality to the moment. The quaintness of the occasion seems to spread all across as every life form pause to relapse. There is an acknowledgment of an end, a loss that is felt with ebbing sun. The trees are still. The clouds are still. Waves intonate the deeper silence of the ocean in its churning lulling regularity. The world stills for the evening prayer. Prayers that articulate myriad language of silence. Tirelessly work to give appropriate form to this tranquil moment. Nature rarely fails to convey the subtle. There is an understated gloriousness in her expressions. Deeper meaning is for the witness. This moment that is alive to live, though aloof as eternal, is contingent to the response of each life to its situation. This moment, when all is serene and quiet, presents quantum possibilities to each life that capsulate billions of years of endeavor –from the absurdness of singularity to sharing atoms precariously perched on a spinning blue dot and all the struggles to assimilate and survive in the pre-cambrian soup, shifting continents, permian volcanoes, bombarding asteroids and bloodthirsty predators. To be finally present in this moment in time. This presence is a miracle. From the dark crevice coucal’s call resonate the scene in cascading boom as a final fanfare to the setting sun.        

The swaying coconut tree

Wind picks up pace by late evening, the forecast were dire, by night the gust whistled through the windows. The waning gibbous moon lit the dark clouds in grey that provide the background for the lamenting coconut tree. It swung its fronds here and there like someone in great distress. A moment the leathery leafs arranges on one side of the crown against the relentless wind the next moment it is splattered haywire as the wind decide to angle the other way or that the tree has swung to its extreme and ricochets in its momentum. The tree reacts to every move of the gust. It is precise in its calibrations so as to not allow itself snap. It is in a tango with the storm. It thrives acutely attuning to the surrounding and sets to work with awareness of natural forces and limitation it places. He though wasn’t conscious of the tribulation of the tree nor cared for the forces that work. The coconut yield is low, there is no value for the wood either unlike acacia or teak, isn’t it better to hack it off. The thrashing tree was like an angry demon bringing bad omen. Against the grey sky it sways like foreboding calamity. The sky was getting angrier these days. When it rained it poured without any intermittence for hours. The rivers were constantly breaching and claiming the bank while the oceans batter the coast with plastics and dead fishes. He knew gods where angry. People don’t follow rituals precisely these days. They have lost purity to deal. Only pure souls can understand the will of the god and lament for the sin. There are procedures prescribed to satiate the god and bring peace to the world. He knew what to do. He will have to build a shrine to atone the sins of humanity. Only he could appease the god. Only he knew how to appease the god. Enough of donating to religions and old sites that have lost their aura. The world needs fresh energy and optimism. People must congregate to pray that will spread positive energy. More people in the congregation more potent their pray. The world needs doers not thinkers, men of action who can exploit resources, create jobs, better the economy and win elections and contracts. Greater the economy more the money generated and therefore more power. A great nation needs to be powerful. A powerful nation needs blessing. He couldn’t wait for the sun to rise. It was a damp morning with trees drenched in overnight rain. Babblers rake wet sticky leaves on the ground to pluck stranded caterpillars. He set out to hack the coconut tree. The tree was useless the site was auspicious, and he knew the use of land. Land was a like a mother that provides for her children. Mother earth needs shrine. He will make a big shrine. The shrine should be grand. It must awe the people into submission to god’s will. It must make them believe in miracles. The world needs believers of miracle. He was the miracle creator. He was chosen, and knew deep inside him of his true calling as the servant of the god and virtuous guide to people. Not many are such fortunate. He set about to make grand plans for the shrine. The wide palm canopy and its arrangement of fronds is home to treepie and her hungry chicks, they sigh in relief having survived the storm. The tree was strong but resilient. The tree will protect them.                  

 

 Dead Bird Don't Lie

The dead bird had its eyes gouged out by ants. It lay in the bush next to the pavement. The ants streamed out like red tears, happy and satisfied. We were out on a walk. He was the first one to point out the bird. “It’s a jungle myna” he said. We examined the bird so as to get some clue regarding its demise. It seems the bird died of starvation, maybe it refused to eat. The white patches on the base of its primaries were exposed and sodden yellow with mud from overnight rain. There were too many dead birds that we see on our walks. In the beginning we didn’t think much of it. It was when she shows apprehension that I too became aware of it. Is it just the birds? I am seeing too many dead insects. They gather in great numbers, disoriented by the street lights and bright windows, next morning I see them motionless and dying of exhaustion. Insects carry no emotion, atleast I am not able to decipher; they bear the same expression of delight all the while as if dying was matter of delightful inconvenience. They are not even baffled. Sometime I pick them up to see any change of expression. It is the same appearance of gaiety on each insect. The moths, the beetles, the lacewings all seem to mock at my intrigue or maybe I am too self centered to read their intent. I sometimes get nightmares of laughing insects that comes out of dead as if it was just an act of deception. This nonchalance towards death angers me at times but I feel helpless. The moment I start seeing dead I see more dead. It is as if I was being attuned into vicious reality like you focus on a voice in the crowd and you hear it loud and clear over the ruckus. It though is not the right comparison I feel; it’s not the voice in the crowd it is the scream of utter desperation that one is habituated to look away, despite jostling crowd a great widening vacuum surrounds the person, and if you were ever to look at his way you would be sucked into a vortex of horror. When I walk away it brings great sadness of never able to fully understand myself. There are some parts of us we want to avoid, and the desolate man in the crowd opens up a mightier desolation in us. It’s on the horizon still we ignore the tell tale signs of things going wrong. The fishes plop up dead one morning along the lake as if conspired to kill themselves from some unknown agony. With every death I too die a little. Parts of my flesh detach and shape like a bird and fly away.  I bend down to put my ear on the earth, maybe I could hear something. Some say earth speaks. I am unaware of the language but I try. There is meaning for all of us if only we could listen.  

 

The wonderful citizens of Acirema

Aciremanians are such wonderful people that you cannot help repeating it again and again, most of the times as assurance because you cannot be sure all the time. They live in big families, who mostly avoid each other, in bigger houses, they meet for big dinner and rituals of holding hands to thank the almighty. They keep bigger guns to protect their family and their property –which they proudly proclaim as private and wouldn’t think much before shooting anyone who cross the line. Otherwise they are such wonderful people. Posting videos of hunting and barbecue that is shared, commented and mostly go viral. Hunting wild animals is how they bond with each other. They smear the blood of dead animal on their faces and get themselves photographed for posterity. This becomes happy memories. These memories are further strengthened by gathering around barbecue pouring the elixir called barbecue sauce onto the searing flesh. They wear red caps when they go shopping. They always go shopping. They find meanings in their life through shopping. Life matter to them particularly the unborn. They show utmost concern to fetus. The lump of mass is where they see miracles of living happening. The sight brings in all their emotions. The concern though vanishes the moment the child is born. From here on it is the survival the fittest. Let me remind that they also happen to be one of the most unfit bunch of people inhibiting planet Agam. They are obese easily prone to lifestyle disease as they avoid walking helplessly reliant are they on fossil fuel guzzlers. They arrange mock combat sitting comfortably on big wheels, crushing metals with soft pedal, these are cheered by crowd who witness these inane spectacles with family and friends sharing beer and hotdog. It’s a family outing on weekend. They also go for political rallies. It’s time to protect their religion they say, the leader is their god incarnate, and shout against people with different skin color. They clap and whistle for their leader –a semi-literate charlatan who feeds on their insecurities and offer them their worst memories.        

They extend their enormous adipose clogged hands for the takeaway. They quench their thirst with carbonated sweetened syrup and their hunger with fat dripping servings. They spent more than anyone on planet Agam. They eat more than anyone on planet Agam. They waste more than anyone on planet Agam. In short they are burden to others. But you cannot deny that they are wonderful people. They give such wonderful impressions of wonderful beings that they are when they keep their guns away to discuss in TV channels. They use such persuasive skills with opportune use of words that some calls these high form of art. They are therefore artists. They coordinate their tone with wonderful expressions. Their eyes can sometimes move out and create its own context while they speak. They hold the view that everything that exist in planet Agam exist for their pleasure. The mountain, the forest, the river, the trees, are all god’s gift that is presented to them to be exploited. Greed and wanton consumption is a system that god created for their comfort. Anything that contradicts their lifestyle is a conspiracy, a hoax, fake news. They are incapable to understand logic and have long since lost the ability for critical thinking, surprisingly these were never impediment to material acquisitions. They concluded this to be blessing, and that they were specially chosen to rule over the world. Their liberty and freedom extended to all countries across the planet. Aciremanians use them for target practice, new methods of warfare like nuclear bombs, agent orange, drone attacks so on are tried and tested. To be fair countries across the planet Agam are smaller versions of Acirema and given a chance would enthusiastically emulate. Wonderful citizens of Acirema are role models.      

 

The Scream of Nature

It happened gradually. He had sensed it was happening. The images were shifting. In the beginning it was a slight shift like some aberration, probably he wasn’t looking carefully or his eyes have weakened, later it gave impression as though he was watching the world through some dense partition. There was a distinct refraction he felt as if the images were at an angle, the reality was being wrenched out of place. The more he became aware of it the more it started to trouble him. Then came the images of disasters, the fire, the flood, the cyclones, the increasing regularity and intensity. He knew the shift was real. He could feel his heartbeat rise before he calmed himself down. He distracted himself in his daily chores. The world went on in its deceptive phase. There was sunrise, the morning, noon and sunset, the night. On bright sunny days he could see vultures circling in thermals at great height. They looked like darts controlled by some unseen forces pendulating in a set pace. His eyes throbbed and eyelids fluttered rapidly, images of vast fields of dead rotting vultures filled his sight. They hang their neck deliriously and roll down dead. The darts became large as it drop onto earth with dull thuds. It was raining dead vultures. Exhausted he leaned on to the railings of the bridge. The warm sturdy metal assured him. It dispelled his fear. He clutched it. The bridge was real and held in place by simple mechanisms that could be trusted. It held its truth. On gravity. He felt it. He knew nothing was real. There was no wrong or right. He didn’t know what to trust and what not to. There was no anchor to nurture his thoughts. He must therefore focus on the immediate. The distant was absurd or else it would kill him. There was no reason, no purpose. He need to conceive a reason, device a purpose, to keep the absurd away. Though there wasn’t anything to understand he need to understand. Understand the absurdness of his reality. He must assume himself to be happy. That is the only way he could survive.

There is a giraffe ambling in the savanna, careless to her fate she seeks the acacia leaves. Her striking eyelashes in wonder of beautiful life. They shoot her for fun. She falls in pain and in muted screams beats her long legs in air. They smile and desecrate her body while they take pictures to share with friends and family, and stuff her as trophy to be shipped in faraway drawing room to be lit in luxury and comfort. He hears the giraffe’s scream. He feels the pain. He cannot assume to be happy. He can no longer pretend. He hears the bleeding sky. He hears the horrors of exploding bombs. He hears the utter anguish of human existence. He hears the restless river. He hears the falling trees. He hears the machine dredge the deep forest. He trembles. He hears the visceral scream passing through the nature. They swirl in tremendous energy towards him. He hears the scream of kuala trapped in the eucalyptus tree as the forest fire engulf. The tongue of the flame leaping ferociously to singe his skin. The screams of fishes as the acid ocean wrangle the life out of corals. The bleached corals sway in terrifying desolation. The screams of shocked deer swept away in surging flood. The screams of hapless cormorant covered in oil slick. The screams of polar bear marooned on melting ice. Her life dangling in the precipice of no return. He is reduced to bones. He knew he wouldn’t survive. He reconcile to death. But there is something terrible that awaits him before death. Something he must face. More and more screams arise from all corners and suffuse into primal horror. These bloodcurdling shrieks consolidates to disintegrate his humanity and obliterates his soul. His brain burst, he bleeds through the eyes, ears and mouth, and is reduced to skeletal androgyny floating in timeless agony. He feels that he is falling into the abyss of untold misery.  He seeps and is distorted, appropriated by the great force of destruction. He must atone the sins of humanity. He has a longing to disappear and become one with the world. There are no gods, no words, no ideas, no facts, no nothing, just this deep emptiness that needs to be filled. Like in the color book. The green. The red. The blue. The humpback whale take in all to spout immaculate rainbow.    

(This is a short fiction alright but has deeper insights of Munch’s painting, Nietzsche, Camus…but finally it has to be Spinoza!)

The Man In The Crowd

Do you see that man in the crowd? The man in striped white shirt and black trouser. No, you don’t? Maybe he is too indistinct. He is like every other man in the crowd. They maybe going to their workplace, and it’s the morning rush hour, or maybe they are out to find some work. He needs to be on time. The public transport are crowded as always. He vacillates, talks to himself and push people to make space. They push him back. They shout and abuse. He is too tired to react. He clamps himself and clutches to a spot to stand. He is lost in the jostling crowd. There is nothing about him that stands out. Maybe it’s the crowd. There is nothing remarkable about the crowd. You may not recognize him but you will almost always see him in crowd. Not that he wants to just that wherever he is its always crowded. You will see him standing awkwardly in the long queue while others crowd to catch hold of man trying to break the queue. There is always commotion. People want to be ahead. They are afraid to be left behind. Since they know if they are left behind there is nothing to wait for. There are empty shelves, dripping water, depleting food, and then if anyone is concerned, hollow words and petty excuses. They must therefore push, shove and shout to get ahead. It’s a never ending endeavor that defines his life; each life in the crowd. He is told to endow himself with skills to stay ahead or gain experience in the matter of staying ahead. The skills are designed and set to be just beyond him so that he is tantalized to work hard. Some in the crowd are offered depending on design and requirement, and they thank their blessing. They though remain a step away to be back in the stampeding crowd to eke a living. A slip is a slide, a mistake catastrophe, stray carelessness life threatening. It’s like jungle, maybe it’s not like a jungle since jungle has some rules to play by. Here it’s more of fate, the rules of bewildering happenings, of miracles and soothsayers. It’s a snake and ladder game where the rules are applicable to only the crowd; you are back in the crowd if you play bad or are not blessed enough. They therefore have to be constantly worry about their fate. They will be tutored to be extra humble to authority and memorize to fawn the power. Quietly learn to be exploited and abused, and if given an occasion ready to exploit and abuse. They crowd to earn fast to stay ahead of the hungry crowd. They learn new tricks, conceive new ways to cheat, steal and lie to amass money, property and riches. Still they will not feel secure. It is as if they are being constantly chased by the crowd. Sometimes they think the crowd is jealous of their riches hence want to bring them down they therefore erect taller barricades and put in more security.  

If you care to look you will see him in protests that spread across the street shouting slogans against price rise, sometimes throwing stones against corrupt, fearlessly accosting the armed police against state atrocities, or maybe he is a silent participant not sure of himself or anything that happens around him just that he needs to protest. And that he likes to be in the crowd. He learned to be in the crowd. He has come to accept his identity in the crowd, he cannot distinguish himself from the crowd, or maybe he has accepted it as his fate; he realized there is no escape from his reality. When he pass the reflection on the mirror he rarely recognize himself. He thinks and acts like crowd, and aligns his feeling for the crowd. Sometimes on rainy day he takes his head out of the crowded vehicle to feel the rain and breathe in the fresh air.               

A vile entry  

Let me tell you about an incident when a fellow was swallowed by a pattern. Now, some of you readers may raise your brows and say ‘surely that is a fantasy’. I assure you it is real, and I will vouch for it. You may not be convinced so let me narrate as to what really happened so that you can decide on the veracity of my claim. It so happened I was walking through the shaded lane paralleling the backwater, popular with the tourists; an array of restaurants and coffee shops invited them with offseason attractive discounts. After raining heavily for last few days the winter monsoon that swept from the mainland seems to have subsided. The bright sun lit the back water and ignited the drops trapped in all the cervices, on the grass, between the branches and clinging the swaying fronds. I was standing at the arbor crossing keenly witnessing school of little fishes that congregated through the hyacinths plucking the rotting jackfruit. They were like faint waves alive in its action. The fellow at the coffee shop called out to me. He sat under the parasol fashioned like caparison on captive elephants during festivals. He was having coffee, and offered to order for me. I didn’t know him nevertheless accepted the offer. He stood in some deference as I took the bamboo chair. Let me tell you dear readers there is something about coffee that I cannot resist. I don’t know whether he noticed it or not but the reason I stood there pretending to observe the fishes was mainly to waft in the coffee. The pleasantly intoxicating aroma mesmerized my sense into stillness. I could tell from the smoky whiff from the brew that the fresh beans were roasted to perfection. You could almost taste the coffee. The fleeting floral note was just the right mix for the heavenly sip. I had already gravitated towards the shop before he called me out. The moment I sat down the frothing cup was placed. Never in my life was I so disappointed. They slaughtered the coffee by immersing it in syrupy saccharine. The sickly sweet slew my senses and I had ominous sensation of end of the world. The fellow didn't take any note of my situation. He was not even looking at me. “There is a pattern trying to murder me. Can you help? I need help”. So here I was wrenched out my senses gathering to concentrate the fellow. He was middle aged with large eyes and faint moustache in an oversized outfit that was carelessly tucked in. His large eyes pounced on me like wild feline ambushing from the dark. “The pattern that you see are alive. The horizontal that meets the vertical and then the horizontal and the vertical is a trap. It is meant to trap people”. I really couldn’t make head or tail of anything he was saying, or for that matter whether he was even talking to me. I shifted myself, the uneven bamboo poked into my body, and it hurt. “What do you mean?” I couldn’t help asking.

“They are faint to begin with but beckoning nevertheless. So you start tracing it in all earnest. Then quite unexpectedly pronounces itself with deeper lines, it annoys, and start to affect and incite your feelings. You want to escape but have no choice but follow the pattern it exhibits, and then it curves and plunges into abyss. You will have to jump into it to get over it. It keeps repeating every night. There is no escape. It is as if I have lost contact with any reality. Can you save me?” he pleaded, and for a moment he seemed alive. I listened to him intently but couldn’t comprehend his predicament furthermore the coffee was bad and had affected my attitude. I tried to extricate myself from the situation. The fellow seems to have sensed my intention. He said “You give me your phone number. I will contact you”. Sure I said, and blurted a number that I fancied for the moment. I stood up to leave as fast as I could. He punched in the number into his phone, it didn’t ring. I tried to hide my phone, but he saw it so I pretended as if I was shifting it to other hand. “There seem to be some mistake” I apologized and gave him my correct contact number. Dear reader you realize I had no choice. I thanked him for the coffee, and as I crossed the pedestrian bridge over the canal I set to block his number.

Early next morning I get a call from an unknown number, an elderly voice asked me as to who I was and whether I had seen Rajan. I told him I didn’t know any Rajan and why would I tell a stranger who I was when he was the one who is calling. I was irritated by these blunt demands. There was silence and I could hear asthmatic breathing. “Well I am sorry I didn’t mean to disturb you like this early in the morning. Rajan is missing. The last call he made was to your number. Can you please come over?” I was reluctant but he gave me the address. I made a mental note of it. It was on the other end of the town where the lake opened to the sea. The courtyard of the old house had many jungle crows that squabble and create great ruckus on seeing me. A half-naked elderly man opened the door, and hastily led me to a spacious room. “This is Rajan’s room. He was in his room yesterday night but vanished in the morning. The house is locked from inside so he couldn't have left anywhere”

“Why tell me you could call the police?” I asked as I scanned the room.

“No. He keeps vanishing like this for days. This time its different. This was first time he called someone before vanishing” The elderly man picked up the phone to show my number.

Of all the things in the room it was the bed sheet, impeccably spread and delicately tucked over the bed, that fascinated me. It had patterns that were in extreme angles and seem to cancel each other in unseen contradictions. I think I understood the pattern but was surprised by its unexpected detour and shocked as it vanish and camouflage into the surrounding. The more I look at it the more it fed into me. It enmeshed its pattern into my psyche like an indelible memory that start to grow and acquires its own life.  It hits hard and tortures when I lose concentration. It trample me for any mistakes. It is a nightmare that grows. I sensed a constant attempt at defying the natural laws in order to awe and weaken my mind. In the brightness of morning sun that fell through the ventilator the patterns on the sheet lit and revealed weird hidden formless figures that arose and disappear in strange pulsation as if the room is breathing. The pattern reminds of deep agony, of suffering, of all the souls who ever lived. It reminds you of the deceit for greed and treachery for power. It is a pattern that cannibalizes its own design. Sprouting into endless convolution like life itself. Always appearing in riveting patterns to entrap and emasculate the soul.

The slubs on the linen stared like bulbous eyes very much aware of the malicious influence it was having on me. The pattern assembled into twisted bodies and dismembered body parts. They stood around sacrificial alter in great gathering and behead people. They pour the blood to the god. Enormous blabber bellies swallowed all the offering. The hideous lurk behind the pointless conspicuous façade of rituals, and manipulate the pattern. They construct temples, mosques, synagogues, churches, and the pattern repeats itself.

When words find meaning

We learn about the words after being taught of its usage. Later we observe how others use it that stimulates the innate ability to organize the spoken language hard wired through evolution. Meanwhile if we have any doubts about any word that we come across we check the dictionary and align ourselves to the meaning so as to make sense to the reference. We take this initiative since we want others to understand our thoughts hence able to communicate with these basic agreement on meaning.  

Language comes alive in an exchange and expands in a clique setting. It acquires its own life as it strives to grow with the influence, or without. Language can sometimes finds its own way. The words can find its own meanings making our communication meaningless. It has started to happen that the words began to move away from its assigned meaning. So you go to the shop and ask for bottle of wine and the fellow hands you oranges. Its absurd, and then you set out to rediscover the whole act of communication. You point to grapes and act out the crushing, fermentation…so on that he finally gets it with a “Aha”. And hands over the white wine, and then you point to red tapestry on the wall to ask for red wine. It’s been happening all across the world, in all the languages, the words were losing its meaning. Randomly, nevertheless at great pace. There was chaos in the streets, in the offices and at homes. People were first baffled and now quite frustrated as they negotiated their daily life in meaningless communication. They just couldn’t understand why the words wouldn’t carry the meaning. Meanwhile they clung to the words that haven’t lost its meaning yet as if it was their only valuable possession left. They repeated these word to each other so that they could firmly hold on to its meaning. But many suspected that while they repeat these words it seems to be losing its meaning. It was a terrifying reality. It was as if you are standing on a crumbling foundation while staring onto dark unfolding abyss that was engulfing everything around. Some people say that they can see the words moving out into the sky alphabet by alphabet and clung to the passing cloud. While others speculate it must be happening in the darkness of the night otherwise they would have surely seen it. Meanwhile people sat in front of television and laptops surfing channels and websites looking at pictures without having any idea of what was the meaning of what is being said or written. Alphabets were moving around creating random words and unintended meaning. They laughed at the absurdity as leaders spoke with confident demeanor and charm of a salesman but sounded comical and hollow. The meaninglessness was much glaring to everyone as they nodded to each other while they distracted themselves to the noise the words produced –the tone and tenor, they focused on the attire, the color, the quality of stitching so on, and soon conceived their own version of what the leader or the entertainer was trying to say. They laughed loudly, and sometimes uncontrollably, when the body language of the speaker contradicted with what they had conceived as the meaning of the word uttered. This turned out to be quite interesting whiling and satisfying experience as everyone had their own version of reality that they were happy with. They observed the visuals of the news and conceived their own interpretation of what had really happened by logically extending and extrapolating or sometimes in order to not burden their brain –which was becoming quite common, included their own fantastical version, allusions and quirks. It was amazing that they could form reality as they desired. Everyone had their own take on the reality. Since words were meaningless they didn’t share these. They frequently smiled and waved at each other courteously. Sometimes making heart shaped signs or placing their palm on the chest as sign of peace. It was quite a satisfying arrangement. They no longer used words to express anything, and so replaced it with silence and observation. Their body was attuning to the reality in its own unique way and channeling a force they rarely reckon. They look deeply into the flowers and insects, without any distraction. They keenly observe emotions that worked and expressed on faces of fellow humans and animals. They sat quietly under the moonlight to stare at the stars, and wonder about the world. They listen to the call of night birds and the silence that it deepen. They feel the waves thrashing the beach and watch the unsteady claw of crabs grabbing the sand. Gently they were awakening to a new language that was undulating in their mind and reaching out to the universe.                

The Undetectables

The undetected are precious. If you haven’t been detected yet by the growing grid then there is a price on you. If you have arranged deterrents –the grid cancelling thought streamers, so as to be not detected then you are a serious threat to the society. In good old days when nations existed they were called traitors. Now they were the undetectables, the last glimmer of hope in a sanitized oppressive world devoid of any free thoughts. The omniscient grid controlled through thoughts. Every thought was a precious active data that worked to simulate probabilities of actions. Every undetected thought was dead hence not allowed. Silicones conspired on what appropriate decision to be taken for the thoughts that congregated. More than two thoughts had exponential possibilities to it that need to be kept in check before it acquire its own life. Every carbon unit was tagged and categorized. Though moving out of grid was next to impossible but any attempts was dealt swiftly with elimination. The source of the thought was detected and cancelled. The grid reclaimed the carbon, and the cycle was set in. Humans were at the top level of reckoning as they were conscience and aware of their condition. Their thoughts carried complexities that triggered ideas and astounding conceptions. Gene splicing did work to create an unthinking posthumans but these weren’t really needed since during the latter part of human evolution thinking had become an obsolete activity in most humans. The senses were what mattered. There was always a craving that was sought to be satisfied.  The grid sought to upgrade this pliable version.

This is how the reality was being shaped and conceived as the grid takes over the world. The climate collapse has reduced the carbon units substantially particularly the humans though there were considerable numbers of reptiles that slither in the flooded muck and created their own niches. All the carbon units were given every possible freedom except the freedom to think. Humans were especially scrutinized for aberrance considering the past evolutionary achievements. The deep loop in which posthumans existed satisfied all their needs and desires. There were no wars, no shortages of any kind. It was blissfully designed world. The molecules rearranged to produce whatever was needed. Their controlled thoughts passed through the interface to decipher the desire. Corresponding molecules worked through the code and appeared as what was desired in three dimension for consumption. Just like what was done in places known as kitchen in olden times, and later ordered through restaurants. It was clean, hygienic and just as they desired. It was like their prayers were being answered instantly. It was bliss. There was no need to question the goodness of the grid. It was omniscient and listened to each and every desire of yours. It understood you, and took care of you. There were no complaints. It were the undetectables who were problematic, and emerged from random dark corners to commit blasphemy. Posthuman’s found them extremely irritating, and couldn’t understand what their problem was. They concluded that undetectables didn’t know how to enjoy life. They felt sorry for them, lately they pitied them. Meanwhile undetectables hadn’t given up hope. They try to ignite the spark of human nature into posthumans. It was futile effort, long sedated from their bearing they just couldn’t comprehend. Some brushed these away as they felt uncomfortable. It seems as if thinking made them frustrated. Something in their brain worked against these and created unfavorable possibilities of reality.  Undetectables didn’t give up hope, they really didn’t have anything else to hinge, to relocate human nature into posthumans. They relentlessly tried to awaken the posthuman through glitch in the system and vehemently pushing cancelling streamers. But these were invain as the thought aberrations were reflected only in confusion. Grid was swift in rectifying. The confusion was resolved with new desire. The new desire was then kept at abeyance to reach a craving this then was granted with elaborate fanfare. The recipient was indebted for the fortunate blessings, and was thus made to feel the benevolent power of the grid. The grid was the god that designed all that was there to understand. There was nothing beyond it. The grid guided all confusions into resolution. Ofcourse grid had its reason that were not to be questioned. They were to have faith. Posthumans were happiest of all the humans ever existed. They printed beautiful shrines for the grid, deliberating and carefully choosing from the available template. They had algorithms of prayer fed onto them that they recited when they were confused or had weekend get-together. This kept them calm and contented. They thanked the grid on every available occasion.           

Precious evolutionary and social derivatives that once defined the human nature and contributed to much of its progress like critical thinking, creativity, inquisitiveness and empathy were effectively sedated. Posthumans had all the luxuries that they desired. They also had their family unit designed just as they requested. They all knew grid had bigger plans for them, and they waited anxiously for the message. They just need to pray harder, and emulate the template of kindness to their fellow posthumans. In case of deviance from any of its member they knew they were to be sacrificed for the good of the grid. The template of kindness had limitation and couldn’t be extended beyond the restrictions that were set. They worked to the algorithm, the deep learning worked its compliance into them. They knew how to enjoy the sunshine and appreciate the flower.

Beware the dead puffer fish

It will sound unbelievable, if not ridiculous, but that is what really happened. He found himself floating in the air. It happened without any premonition. It was a promising day, the sun was out shining silver after the overnight rain. He felt the fresh drenched air wafting through open window it carried the hint of sweet rot of cashew apple and salty humidity of the ocean. He could hear the soft trills of sand plovers as they hastily avoid the abrupt waves. He got up to heat the leftover coffee from the kettle into the mug. And there, he was floating in the air. Not too high just about a feet from ground. He was taken in by surprise and shock, unbalanced himself and fell back on the cot. His first impression as he got hold of himself was that he was probably having a stroke or something. He checked himself. He was fine there wasn’t any numbness or pain in any part of his body. On second thought it could be an earthquake. He had been reading about recurrent tremors being reported in the region. He surveyed the scene. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Even the delicately balanced art work was undisturbed. Maybe he slipped so he tried to stand but his feet wouldn’t touch the ground. It was as if a strong force was repelling him from the earth similar to when you try to bring like poles of two magnets together. He attempted to balance himself. He wobbled like a needle on a compass before settling and finding his natural upright position. But he just couldn’t walk or shall we say move forward. Despite bizarre situation he was not immune to laws of physics and it still applied. His feet need friction to stride. He realized that he could pull on to stationary object to gain momentum and slide in the air with remarkable ease. It was as if he was skateboarding without any skates. He was quite excited when he dressed to go out. He seemed to have taken the curious situation as his new normal. Even people on the street didn’t see anything amiss. Instead of shocked surprise they just moved aside to let him pass as they do for any person in a hurry. Nobody gave him a second look as he cruised the footpath and try to chase shore birds on the beach. He realized that he couldn’t elevate the height of his flight. It was fixed about a feet from the ground. He felt embarrassed nevertheless in his excitement he didn’t give it much of a thought. Next few days he kept himself busy exploring every nook and corner of the city, as he learned to get into a flow unseen by any human. Meanwhile some changes were happening in him. Like a man balanced in the air his thoughts and actions too acquired a new nuance. He seemed inclined to balance actions and opinions. He realized this when he interfered in a fight at the local eatery. Most days he would have avoided such situations and steer clear of any trouble. Now though he pursued it. He try to find balance among the disputing forces and fractious relations. Even when he saw a pattern that is not balanced it troubled him no end. An unkempt lawn, or wall hanging not in proper alignment with the dimensions of the wall, left him exasperated and deeply anxious. A firm thought was drilling and centering into his mind that he need to find balance of things. Very soon he acquired a reputation in the neighborhood as balancing man –a cheerful fellow who sought to balance and bring peace. He was invited to resolve dispute, all kinds of dispute, from domestic to property, even children called him up to arbitrate their silly fights and disagreements. He attended to these with utmost jovial sincerity. More people came to know about him, among some he acquired a cult status. The going was good and he enjoyed himself immensely as he cruised from one issue to another, seeking balance. The trouble started when he tried to balance issues that needed one to take firm stand. It all began when he expressed himself on matters of environmental degradation that he sought to balance destruction of nature and needs of development. This immensely pleased real estate developers and corrupt politicians. He was able to articulate exactly what they seek to manipulate and plunder, hence they promoted him. The local population suspected him as an agent of money bags. Meanwhile he continued to doggedly pursue his immense urge for balance. He was quite candid about the need to continue with fossil fuel vehicles while seeking to reduce pollution. On climate change he sought to bring all the views and work out a balance. He said these animatedly and with increasing enthusiasm. Life is cyclic. Everything is cyclical. When there is a beginning there is an end. And in the end there is beginning. These will have to find its balance. When you find balance you find peace. There is no good or bad, nor right or wrong, it’s all matter of balance. It’s about how things are arranged. A stone balance artist balancing rocks and stones one over another immaculately as a miracle by working its crevasse to connect to the flow of the gravity, sensing infinite potential of each stone intimately and  enjoy the balance of uncountable forces of the moment. Next he tried to balance facts and fiction, real and unreal…he got into some kind of frenzy to balance. Though he felt immensely satisfied with himself he was being seen as a maverick by alarmed public. He just couldn’t understand their grouse. He even tried to convince them about the need to find balance in order to discover long lasting peace. A balanced world is a nonviolent world. Compromise. Balance your ego with reason, pride with love. His attempts at balancing the world antagonized a large section of people who saw him as trivializing issues that hinged on their survival.

He cruised the beach, flirting with the waves, balancing his actions and let his mind control his moves. A massive wave crashed and unbalanced him. Any other day he would adeptly balance himself like a well-tuned gyroscope and stabilize but today was different. He fell flat, his head hitting the grainy sand. It was after months that he had the feel of the ground, of the earth. He tasted the salty warm beach. He focused on the dead puffer fish. The spiny scale all ballooned up as if ready to explode its toxic entrails as final show of contempt to its fate. He thought it was funny that there was disbelief on the face of dead fish.                                               

Planet of colors

There is a little planet in deep space that dance in colors. Quarter the size of earth’s moon it is located many light years away it revolves around three suns such that there is no spot of darkness, nor is there any whiteness, only colors, a dizzying array of colors. A bright lit planet dancing in all shades of colors covering the whole spectrum of light it could take from all the suns. The random moving atoms gain traction to bind into molecules to express in colors. When they arrange into happy colors it triggers the molecules to attach more atoms to create a mass that distribute functions to pulse more ways to sense and exhibit happiness. They grow bigger, as they saturate they split into explosions of colors. They repeat by regrouping, gathering faraway atoms, growing into colorful selves. The atoms meshing into different strands of molecules to trap the passing light as the colors mesh into different tones and brightest shades. These moments of growing and eventually into colorful explosion is how life is being defined here in this planet.  The amount of colors the molecules display, as they coalesce into being, working shapes of their choice, displayed their valuation of life in that brief moment. Some effort into tentacles while others gain enormous size, some grew taller, narrow so on. Every shape was a new discovery that lodged itself into the consciousness of being and left a imprint in its quantum memory. Shapes gets complicated over time but eventually burst into great show of gaiety. The spectacular the display worthy the moment.    

Colors sense the surrounding and work to morph itself into the sensations. The struggle of being into the immediate dictated the state of mind. Nascent but conscious. These boundaries of interactions set the tone for predominating emotion that spread through the planet exhibiting the riot of colors that then pattern the state of being. The atoms are in great deal of excitement as they coalesced into molecules to give life to emotion so as to define the being. The being spread across the space in growing leisure while the molecules agree to synchronize into vibrant colors. There is no sound. There is no concept of sound. No noise. Only colors that communicate and celebrate the unique expressions of life. From afar it gives the impression that the planet pulsates in an eternal ecstasy. It radiates a message that doesn’t needs any medium to decipher. It grows into you.        

Lighter blood

He noticed that the person who crossed his path almost daily on his morning walk didn’t return his smile. He looked nervous, and when their eyes met instead of a welcoming being, that he always was, he sensed a confused person out of his elements as if a new form was engulfing him. It must have baffled him in the beginning, very likely he resisted, and then realized it’s futile and so let it feed his soul. It must be painful to loose oneself like this. To immune one’s immediate surroundings to fate or to justify it in one’s own logic so as to survive the unfolding trauma. Everyday has to be accounted for, lived, and folded neatly to be abandoned in some dark recess. Next few days, he could see him mumbling to himself as he walked briskly in his own crumbling world. He didn’t see him anymore. He vanished as many were in increasing frequency. These were no longer being reported. People had started to accept it. He recalled when they show concern, they enquired about wellbeing, and in extreme rare case of disappearance they reported to the police –who made sincere effort to locate the person. The crows wrangle over persistent pigeons who were fed by elderly woman. She had fresh wounds on her hands that she covered with bright colored torn cloth. He stopped to enquire about the wound but she wouldn’t speak. He was seeing too many wounded people. They didn’t speak. The city was being slowly but steadily consumed by silence. People were learning to keep secrets, while some made stories to fill up the gap before succumbing to silence. Streets were being renamed for ease of classification. It took away all the familiarity that was associated with the place. They didn’t protest. Very soon they passed dead bodies. Instead of being shocked and gather around to seek justice and mourn the dead they mind their own business and purposefully walk to their destination. Sometimes when a mutilated body blocked their path they would stop and carefully drag the entrails to street corner holding the fabric so as to not spoil their hand. They were no longer troubled by these sights, and curiously didn’t show any sign of emotion even if that person was known to them or that they had seen him only a few hours back walking on the street or that he sat on the open window blankly staring at the passerby. Some buildings were blown open, held precariously by concrete metal scaffolding. On the first floor a half made cot dangled soaked in dry blood while a vase with yellow flowers kept immaculately arranged in the cupboard with framed photograph. A woman cleaned the floor avoiding the dangerously dangling part. She rub the mosaic vigorously and wipe the sweat off her forehead. A boy poked the smoking debris with a long stick. He stuck a metal, it made a clanging noise. He instinctively whistle a tune that echo across the street. The utensil seem full. He hooked it out. It open and spill milk on to the sidewalk and stream into the puddle of fresh blood. He saw the milk creaming into the blood. He could see the city washed in lighter color.

(...from the reading of "Captive Mind" by Czeslaw Milosz)        

 

To listen to a whistling thrush

 

 

“There is a magic that unfolds in deep forest” he said, as we trek the wet evergreens. It was few weeks after the monsoon shrouded the western coast and drenched the earth. The forest was reinvigorated with life. It sprouted on every available space. There are different shades of verdant green, the inviting dark green, pleasant lime green, refreshing spring green, intriguing apple green, brooding seaweed green, reluctant fern green, shifting olive green, succulent pear green, luxurious moss green, discreet shamrock green, loud parakeet green and fresh mint green. All these green cascade scattered with blue, yellow and red wild flowers. We walked. His boots squishing the wet grass, I traced his steps. With a stick he pushed away the wayward growth as we negotiated the trail. Leeches extend itself from every opportune spots to cling to the passing warm blood. “Don’t worry too much about them. Let the blind suckers drink some blood. It’s a free leech therapy in the wild” he said and laughed. I really didn’t think it was funny but his laugh was infectious. Cicada calls were getting too loud. He stood still to locate the source. The camouflaged insect was not going to give away its hideout. He detected it on the stem of the tree with its piercing call. Its enormous glassy wings like perfected origami merge into bark of the tree. Its large eyes vacantly fixed to the world. It vibrated its belly and the world started to swell in its pulsation till it drill into the skull and hurt. We came to the clearing where a tall tree has fallen. He pointed to the undulating mountain and said “When it flowers it carpets the mountains in blue. It’s a sight to behold”. The blue mountain crease the horizon. The rotting tree was being eaten by fungi from inside, it break the lignin into sugar to feed all the life. He scraped the wood to show that it has become like sponge, easily disintegrating into elements without the binding polymer. Startling white mushrooms sprung its umbrella in the dark recess of the decay. It smelt as if it rained few moments back. The air churl the distinct smell that I conceive as origins of life. A stunning bright yellow streaked through the forest. “It cannot be golden oriole” he guessed with a logic that it isn’t the migratory season yet. “It must be the female minivet” he concluded. The reason for ruckus was lion tailed macaque jostling with giant squirrel for the ripe jackfruit that hung precariously at the top branch. “That is a great sighting. Don’t you think so?” I nodded. I prefer silence, and let the forest seep into me. The forest though had its own ways of revealing its universe. It had its silence, pause, noise, its beauty and ugliness. Everything merged into seamless thought so that the experience had a cyclical value to it. The beginning, the end and all the interceding tableau at display. It demanded a better sense to get into the rhythm of the play. A strict and deep aversion towards anthropocentric illusions. It insisted a keen attribute that is very elemental but ephemeral.            

Weaver ant army cross our path. He stopped to examine. The ants carry severed centipede in a neat row. It’s head, fangs and legs taken in bite size as thousands of ants rush in a great hurry. They dash to and fro but they don’t get clogged. The swarm has its own intelligence, he says. It’s the way nature evolves its consciousness through the veins of little lives. It aggregates in simple intuitions that instruct their motives. I look at the red streak of twirling gaiety. They blur into each other like a post-impressionist painting. It was about this time that we heard a whistle. A plain careless whistle that was apparently well rehearsed that it attracted immediate attention. He froze, and indicated me to be still. We stood quiet. In the pause I heard all the voices in the forest. A great calm orchestrated these actions. The time too must have stilled since in that moment I seemed to have glimpsed something too vast to be momentary. A tacit pact was being dealt that would be defining part of my being henceforth. Then the whistling thrush begin to sing his interrupted song and all the thoughts of all the birds and other creatures and all the loveliness that is in nature came to me with such a surge of deep happiness that it has now its own life. 

(A sentence was taken from the writing of Rachel Carlson, indeed it was the inspiration to write this piece. The moment I read the sentence –the last sentence here, it struck a deep cord with my experience with malabar whistling thrush)

Spotless day

Some of the windows were open. Few people were seen on the balcony. They look tired as they passively survey the scene. An infant wailed unexpectedly startling the crows on the far end of the window sill. The mother tried to comfort it as she carried her inside. Hot days have become unbearable as the power cut last whole day. Dust caught up in the sudden swirl gain momentum to carry scattered garbage across the empty street. It’s been like this for months. Vehicles parked outside had gathered dirt. A youngster howled from window which was echoed by another. They played this for few minutes. They got tired. They sat there looking at nothing. A young man sang a song, some people joined in as if in desperation. It withered away. The lone tree shed its leaf. It float in air like some rudimentary boats crushing in rough sea and settle at bottom. The carpet of dry leafs became the playground for two stray dogs. The dogs chase each other for mock fight. They look well fed. They were wiling away in anticipation. You could gather from the keen crows that something was about to happen. The kid stare at the dogs. Although you wouldn’t know if he was staring at the dogs or the leaves, or nothing. Two common mynas settled on the inviting amputated arm of the tree that jutted into the sky. They chatter. You could sense an excitement running through the building. As if some wave of communication pass through them alerting of the event. Closed window were getting opened quietly. Men moved their chair to get a better view. Dogs stopped their mock fight and stood still. The crows stopped their caw, and gave impression of about to fly away from the lurking danger. Two gun shots were heard. It came from the corner window. You could tell from the stream of dispersing smoke. It hit the birds. Two balls of feather explode. They fell down like dead weight. They fluttered briefly on the ground. Their in vain attempts propel dry leaves and dust. The dogs pounce and tore them in an adept routine. The blood drip from its jaws. Crows disperse in great violation.  The brief pause broke in celebration from the windows and balconies. The clapped and whistled. They then went silent. They returned to their boredom. Windows were closed. Balconies were empty. Some children linger to watch the dogs fight over the carcass. Man on the next window kept an eye on the empty branch. It was his turn.       

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The System

He clenched the steering and shook his legs in irritation as vehicles squeezed into every available space in front of him at the red signal. The overcrowded bus spew dark smoke through its rusted exhaust as the passengers clung to whatever they could as if stuck to giant magnet. Two wheeler rider stuff handkerchief through helmet so as to not inhale the poison. The woman dangled the baby on one hand as she clutched the man. The baby with watery eyes and festering wounds on its legs try to catch the floating soot from the fire burning in the roadside dump. He was repulsed. He jabbed the radio and tuned in. It was loud. A screaming man was trying to create excitement through his voice, he screeched “We are today celebrating our lyricist. He gave us so much without taking back anything in return. What a true artist”. A woman joined in with high pitch giggle “we are blessed with so much talent. Mind blowing”. The man repeated after her “blowing blowing” in a fading tone and hit a drum. They chuckled. “So listeners lets listen to one of his gems. Don’t forget we are the only radio station that truly care about our icons, and and and don’t forget our sponsors”. As abruptly a loud song shot out “Yaar masti me gaa taal uchi laga” the man and woman joined emphasizing “taal uchi laga” He hit the drum “gulgule hai bade gulgule…”  The song continued. The only intention seems to be to create as much noise as possible so as to not loose the audience. He felt disgusted that people are even paid for such assault on language. He switched it off. There was chill in the air that swept from the northern mountain. The song was still reverberating in his mind. He thought about it. Maybe that is what this was all about to barge into thoughts of undiscerning audience. Once it got into the mind they can be manipulated. He was appreciative of the effort. He need to learn the subtleties of working into minds of mindless consumers, he reminded himself, even if these were loud uncouths with appalling sense for music. Just before the signal turned green vehicles began to get restive they sneer and hiss, each one was yelling to the one in front while some threatened with power horns. They didn’t cross the white line. Aware of the wide eyed cctv dangling up above the street that snapped as also recognized the faces. Punishment was swift. As the signal turned green like a clog that ruptured the traffic oozed out then it burst. He pressed the accelerator. The SUV surged ahead of other vehicles. He liked it when he overtake. It gave him a sense of achievement and fuelled his purpose in life. It was a moment of clarity. An essential meaning that very few understood. He deserved to be ahead. He took a sharp turn. The security personnel made an attempt to smile as he stood up. The SUV vanished into the basement of the multistoried dark glassed cuboid. You could see from outside that some cubicles were lit with computer screens. Silhouettes of employees could be seen moving inside. On the top corner of the cuboid was a huge cut out of carbonated soda bottle. Dance of light gave the impression of bubbles inside the soda even in the broad day light. During night it could be seen from kilometers away. So much so that it has become a major landmark in the city. Youngsters took pride in taking selfies from different part of the city with the giant bottle in the background. They posted these in social media which was vigorously commented upon and appreciated. Some sites even had forums where people posted their emotional attachment with the city and how the giant bottle was always a constant presence in their experiences. These comments and pictures evoked nostalgia among expatriates. Some even commented that the sight of giant bottle was what reminded them how much they loved the city. 

        

“Good morning Sam. Ready for the presentation?” the senior manager peered from his cubicle as he passed. “Sure Deep” he smiled and waved back. Inside the cuboid he was called Sam. Everybody had two syllable name. It saved time. He swiftly paced to his cubicle. He surveyed the scene before he settled down as he placed his laptop and lunch box. Array of cubicles stretched before him from all sides. If you happen to look from the top it gave the impression of puzzle maze. Sam was like an insect which negotiated these maze every day. The maze had its own mind that kept changing every few days. So you are never too sure. What was an exit becomes a trap while the next day the trap becomes an easy exit. It kept the employees guessing. The only surety, the constant, was each employee’s commitment to the goals of the system. Nothing else was certain.    

It was last Friday of the month. The monthly meeting was to start in an hour. Unlike daily meetings today all the senior managers will be present. Sam was to do the monthly sales presentation of all the region in the country. He was tensed. The figures were dipping in southern region. He called up the regional branch to reconfirm the figures. The regional branch manager in turn called up the subsidiaries and rechecked the figures. The trends were negative. Sam slanted on his chair and observed the tastefully done Rorschach like pattern on the ceiling. He cared for the moment. He need to be present in the moment. “Live the moment” he was told. He liked it. It was simple and profound. He reminded himself of what his father said “The fact that you are getting so much salary is the clear indication that you are blessed. There is no other validation needed. You look at the millions and millions of miserable people in this country. They go hungry. They live in dirt. The reason you are chosen, you are blessed, is because we are blessed. It’s in our blood. It is not accident. It is all fated. We are entitled. Now you have to take responsibility of the miserable. You are their savior. You have to control them and guide them. It is your duty. Understand your place. Realize”. He clenched his fist. Yes I can handle this. He walked into the meeting energized with a thought of his entitlement that he owes to no one.

The board room, which was more of a hall, was already full when he entered to find his place. “Hi Sam” “Hi Sher” “Hello Sal” “Hello Dil”. They shook hands, as they settled down somewhere in the middle of the rows. You shook his hand and realize the cold purposeful grip has send chill through the bone. His smile spread the warmth in awkward way as his gaze fixed like that of dead fish. The vacant gaze ripped open the window to let in icy wind that freeze your sense. It moved from you to the next person without any acknowledgement. It was as if it has habituated to detach from the scene. You are left mystified and frightened by the possibility of malevolence it held. These thoughts were however held back by the ordinariness of his presence. A faceless earnest manager at the cuboid apprehensive about the sales graph. He fit in excellently to the scene. He was so unobtrusive that he was admired for it as if he was predisposed to become this. Colleagues who admired him also knew that they too were predisposed to become him –the unassuming honest hardworking manager putting in everything for the system. It was an achievement to hasten this into perfection. 

Everyone wore identical black suits with wide peak lapel and chocolate brown shirt. They were jovial and moved around energetically in confident gait. Some stood around in small groups. Their discussion had no depth or content, and that wasn’t a concern at all. These were about who said to whom what, which were necessarily meant to seek allegiance and cement relations. It was the defining dynamics of competence in a system: The small talks. There was nothing really to discuss when you are sure about what the system needed. You just work for the system. Only juvenile premise, pubescent thoughts and adolescent ambitions could understand the needs of system. It was necessary that we become pure souls to understand system better.

The senior managers occupied the front rows while the middle level the middle row, and the junior the last rows. The screens on the wall connected the regional centers. Each center was likewise arranged with employees wearing same type of attire and arranged in similar manner so that they looked like reflections, as if in an infinite extension. The rows established the seniority within the levels too. So you could tell who was doing better or was favored by the top management. Moving to the front row was how achievement tabulated. Since relations were temporary it introduced new set of equals. There were thirty rows and each row took on an average about a year to reach. Some took more than a year while others covered it in few months depending on their competence that was deeply meaningful in the system. Each milestone was celebrated by family and friends. They thanked the system profusely for their good fortune on such occasions. Some had deity as representing the system while others were deityless. To get the “senior” tag was the only plausible reason for existence. It was a definite milestone in their life on which they anchored all their ambitions. It assured status and respectability, and semblance of meaning. The first row had only two chairs. One of them, the senior-most manager stood up and took the small elevated podium. He got into the matter without much ado “Hello everyone. This is a weekly meeting but since this is month end it’s also the monthly round up”.  He took a deep breath and informed “Today we will also launch our new campaign”. This was met with enthusiastic applause. He sat down. A lady referred to as “Prab” –the HR manager took the mike to update the individual achievements of the month. Names were called and acknowledged.  Finally it was time for Sam to present his report. He could feel his heart beat and palms sweat. There were speculation about the bad performance of the soft drink giant in the media. His report was much anticipated. The big screen brightened with his slides. He skipped the initial mandatory slides to reach the data. The north region showed impressive growth while the west and east were catching up. Central region had some hiccups but it was manageable. The south region slide was met with a gasp. The negative trends were unbelievable. There was a tense silence in the room. The senior most manager cleared his throat “We need to discuss”. As if on a cue the first few rows rotated their chairs so that senior managers faced the others. “Ok so what are the reasons?” Sam was ready with the slide that flashed all across the hall. It showed pictures of protest by local population against exploitation of ground water by the cuboid. What the local population didn’t know, and indeed could never know, was that cuboid was only a minor extension of the system which had much longer tentacles. They were on hunger strike, this was tacitly supported by large sections across the region. Meanwhile the anarchist activists from different part of the world had started to take it up to instigate a movement against the system. The online forums were growing in numbers. Very soon they extended the issue of ground water exploitation as system’s strategy to exploit and deny poor people their basic needs, so as to alienate and eliminate them. Examples of different incidents and criminal acts of intimidation by the system were accumulating from across the region, and consolidating resentment against the system in the public space. Some even pointed that the system was not only against local population but against humanity too. The sweetened carbonated soda didn’t carry any nutrition, it was empty calories, and it was compromising the health of large population. It was reducing the immunity of children at very young age. It compromised the health of society and reduced life expectancy. Since this region was more literate than other part of the country they could understand these better. They had developed their critical thinking faculties.   

Sam had merged these allegation into the slides with appropriate picture, and supporting videos too. As he neared the last slide, he paused, cleared his throat and said “This bunch of misguided miserable people are an assault on our revered system” and spoke briefly about the value of the system and their role in it. Most of his statements were cliché’s and quotes that were wrongly worded or attributed. It seems he was quoting what seem appropriate to the context from what he was taught or tutored, or else it was meant to please the system. He covered his lack of substance with melodramatic gestures and emotional appeal. Finally he raised his fist “We must deal with them. We must fight with them on every street corner. And we will”. There was instant applause. It was deafening. Managers stood on their feet. It was an emotional moment. It was show of strength. A resolve to be united against any threat. Sam was pleased with his performance. He expertised in converting any matter or happening into event that asserted the omnipotence of the system. It was meant to awestruck the audience and realize the grand nature of system that they were fortunate to be part of. Words were used as glitters intended to mesmerize the mind. He was immensely satisfied that he was able to put on a show as a resolute member of the system. He had a duty to perform, and with this presentation he was assured that he had positioned himself as a frontline soldier of system’s righteousness. He was warrior he knew it. It was in his blood. He didn’t want to take the limelight. He humbly submitted himself to the  higher call for the system. He maybe a cog in the cuboid but was ready to defend the system when the need arise. Unlike the teeming millions who clog the streets, dirty the city and protest at every nook and corner to hide their incompetence and laziness he was blessed. This was the time to show it. The senior manager patted him as the applause died and turned to the enthusiastic gathering while pointing to Sam “The system will thrive because of fighters like you Sam. You are a blessing to the system”. As Sam took his seat he was immensely satisfied that he was being acknowledged. There was no escaping from reality. He will be shifting to the front row in few days, he knew it. It was fated. He looked patronizingly at his competitors. Some of them returned his brilliantly shining feline gaze. They knew his thoughts. They were alert and intensely attuned to immediate threat. Like foragers they use instinctive strategies to search and optimize data, and moved from one data patch to another. Like the cave men sniffing the air, alert on snapping twigs, they discern patterns of threat and were vigilant for any aberrations, any transgression of norms. They were incapacitated to perceive anything beyond present. So if you talk to them about climate they mistake it for weather. If you tell them about extinction of species they will think it’s a conspiracy by aliens. Incapacitated to comprehend complexities they seek simplistic binaries.  

The senior manager meanwhile shifted to a serious tone as he addressed the falling sales graph. “This is a threat on the system. It’s the failure of education that instead of seeking harmony it is producing people who are questioning the system and seek to create chaos. What is happening to the world?” He asked and continued without a pause. “Education has taught us to obey and seek solace in loyalty. We are so fortunate that we are conditioned to obey orders. We don’t ask questions. We are never confused about our faithfulness to the system. We need to really deal with these people once and for all”. Sam nodded in enthusiastic support as did others. The senior manager acquired rather grievous tone “We are here to promote peace and prosperity. We stand for equal right and opportunity. We are strongly with those fighting for human rights and liberty. We want to fight poverty and make the world a better place. We want to help people reach their potential and contribute to the system. That is all we want. We are part of the solution”. Every member of the system was moved by the speech. Sam knew what he was talking about. He was proud alumni of best schools in the country. They knew how to inculcate discipline and sense of duty for the system. Classes were always conducted in strict orderly manner, questions in exams were never asked from outside the syllabus and it took special care to evaluate their memory and their capacity to recall. There were pattern for answers that pleased the examiner. Those who followed these were awarded maximum scores. They produced perfect people who added value to the society. They were courteous and humble. He was trained quite early in life to follow orders without hesitation. No thoughts that were dangerous to the system ever entered his mind, on the contrary he became vigilant to any such thoughts not only in him but also in his surroundings. He was duly appreciated and paid by the system. His defining state of mind on any occasion was gratefulness. Gratefulness to the almighty that runs the system. Sometimes he was so overwhelmed by the power and grandeur the system that he would utter “Peace be with the almighty. The creator and destroyer of the system”.

 The senior manager pointed to the legal team. A woman in short hair stood up and declared “These people are doing an illegal act. It is against the law. There are different provision of the law that safeguards the system against such transgressions. We will easily win the case and we will seek compensation”.

Senior manager nodded “That would be appropriate. They need to understand that the system exist for the benefit of the people. If they have the patience it will trickled down to them. The problem is that these people don’t have patience. They are so lazy that they want everything now and free”.

The audience laughed. Sam joined in complete agreement like everyone else. He just couldn’t understand why some people don’t want good life. Why don’t they understand that the system was here to provide good life? He shrugged in bewilderment. Next few minutes the senior manager tried to motivate the audience that span the country. Later many other managers spoke about their experience with the system and indebtedness to the system. Some even began their sentence by fawning to the system “Peace and harmony be with the system” while others elevated it to mysterious forces that need to be kept satiated by our constant effort and vigil.

During the break informal links were sought to be strengthened though extreme care was taken that it never undermine the hierarchy. They were informal but they must show deep deference to the structure. The structure defined the system so any insubordination of the structure was an affront on the system. Informal talks were meant to bind them to sustain and strengthen the system. They spoke about families and holiday plans, and quietly listened to others once they were done. They spoke and listened, and felt a deep connection towards the system that they were grateful to. Though they were colleagues for years they knew each other only superficially. They knew likes and dislikes of each other and negotiated their work carefully sidestepping these personal quirks. On jovial occasion they made fun of it while on other instances found some meaning to it. They were not meant to be friends. Even if they pretend that they were they also were acutely aware of their competitive status for the front rows. Though they had complete allegiance to the system and were compliant to all its orders they didn’t trust each other. There was always an eerie veil between them which they were too scare to probe or even consider. His colleague had an idea of Sam but they were never able to pinpoint him. Like them he too was an abstraction of the moment without any lasting impact. He gave the impression of illusionary aspect of life. He reflected the cheerfulness of the occasion and concerns of a bad sale data. That seem to be the extreme of emotion he displayed. In short he was, like his colleagues, a nice person who cared for his team, and was a value addition to the cuboid and an asset to the system. They were shallow. They were superficial. They though weren’t stupid but they were simply never there. Completely adrift in the blissful realization of the system that they were incapable to hold on to any truth. The system persistently created bottom-up stimuli to keep their attention firmly on immediate, the present. HR managers regularly congregated to conceive new ways and tempting agendas to keep the herd active. Miming leaders, actors and such entertainments like throwing water balloons while on one foot, these were fun filled activities to inculcate values of multitasking, light quizzes on movies and cricket assured them that limited knowledge on superficial things are quite enough to have a good successful life. Meanwhile awards were distributed for their adherence to the system, the incentive response encouraged them to improve further. These informal get-togethers were also meant to inculcate camaraderie as a nomadic herd, it made each competing member understand other better as also was a reiteration of their complete dependence on the system. It helped to consolidate brain circuit that seek immediate reward. A sense of wellbeing was triggered when these brain circuits were activated, these then merged into the system.   

After tea and snacks they were back. Prab, the HR manager, was on the stage again. She said “Before we get into the proceedings I need to announce the “Honest employee of the month”. A junior manager named Abhi was the winner. He stood up humbly to receive thundering applause and some whistling. “Abhi reflects all the values we stand for. He is the true representative of the system and a pride of our cuboid” said the senior manager as he joined the applause. He added “Honesty is the best policy. System thrives with honest people. We will check his past performance and see if we can recommend him a row promotion.”

Every act was measured, evaluated and justified in context to the system. There was nothing good or bad, ethical or unethical. There was no conscience. Since there was no conscience there was no question of prejudices or complexities. Lacking any references they considered themselves evolved and brilliant. The system too reciprocated by fulfilling all their needs and wants. They were happy and satisfied with life. They were duly recognized as successful people by the society. Since they were successful their opinion mattered. Their opinions were confirmation of their immense gratitude to the system. Some of them became emotional and even cried when they described their “moment” with the system, when they realized “true meaning of life”.  This then worked to consolidate the system for those in the audience who were in doubt. “Obviously he knows a thing or two about life. He has so much money. He is blessed. It’s our good fortune to listen to him” while some mused “By following her we could replicate her success and meaning of life”. They became source for inspiration and constant reference for youngsters. Their personal life mattered too it made them immediate and achievable, if only we follow them. A better life was already demarcated and was attainable for everyone who is ready to put in more effort.   

System evaluated individuals as threat. Individuals possess complex depth that was dangerous.  They were to be kept busy. Being in a team and a member of the group was the pinnacle of attributes, these then were elevated into peaceful community which then worked on nation building. They shared their feelings and encouraged each other. There was never any doubt. There was never any uncertainty. This therefore made individuals happy. They were optimistic. They viewed their fate as the fate of the group and not of themselves. Many therefore were ready to die for the system. These suicidal people were essential templates for brave warriors that helped the system to perpetuate with their sacrifice. Though they were fearless they were mortally afraid of loosing approval of the system. They were eternally reliant on the system. It was the sole banister of their life without which they couldn’t even stand up. It was as much their backbone. Their beliefs, values and meanings were derived from the system. It nurtured and regulated their fallible drives. Life was meaningless without the system. It was the organizing idea that drove them into a never ending cycle of fortune. It was their master plan that blessed them from time immemorial. It was their meaning to life. They had no doubts about anything. They were the perfect productive human beings. System was the harmonious totality that was ever to be achieved. It was a miracle. 

The senior manager cleared his throat and reminded the audience about the new ad campaign. The ad manager, who was referred to as ‘Jog’ briskly entered the scene. Jog was matter of fact and to the point. He was acutely aware of the needs and demands of the system. The soft drink was to represent all the goodness and promise of the system. Without any wasting of time he proceeded to play the video. All the employees knew what to expect. System provided general framework, and articulated itself as benign guide. It gently suggested itself as the only viable option and solution to all the problems. They were coopted and adapted to the system in its little steps as they grew. All the splendors of the world and daily miracles didn’t attract their attention unless ofcourse it could be factored in and understood through the system or is monetized for its benefits. Everything else was waste of time indeed against common sense. The male model for the product was a muscular fellow with an effeminate face and gestures. He had a huge fan following in social media, and was quite suited for the oedipal afflicted society. The female model wasn’t famous, nor she need to be, it was easily compensated by her large breasts. She held the bubbling soft drink bottle in a phallic grip with her lips pouting. It evoked immediate desire to possess the product. They discussed various angles of the shot, and optimal placement of product. Impressionable youth were easy target. Young minds are fertile searching for essences to associate its primal drives into experiences. These experiences were encouraged but inquiries into contradictory meanings, hypocrisies and glaring lacunas were dealt without questioning the futility of the system. Knowledge was sought to understand the system which was then used to gain from the system, to make a living and buy luxuries. More system was justified more the participants stand to gain.

Impulses, the archaic remnants of evolutionary drives, sometimes startled with questions like “Why do we have to follow this nonsense?” or “Cannot we work something better?” These needed depth of thinking hence were agreed upon as waste of time and had the potential for turmoil that threatened the order and harmony which was a criminal act. The attempt was always to harmonize these impulses and drives into the need of the system. Or else the individual was ask to spend more time to understand the system better. The system was benign and all knowing. It was also ready to forgive.  They discussed as to how effectively portray product as representing the values of the system. Since the male model had branded himself as favorite son of the system through positioning himself in patriotic events, had pictured himself paying obeisance in popular religious systems and had well quoted views on need to be always in service of the system therefore by associating him with the product meant that we stand for the same patriotic zeal for the system, Jog assured. He knew his job, and was proud for his contribution to the system.

Stripped of any instinct of decency that was ingrained as being part of millions of years of evolution as members of civilized society they were not even aware that they were committing any crime by denying the poor their basic access to life or that there is any gross violation of collective conscience by exploiting the natural resource for products that were essentially harmful. The system had assured them that their reptilian brain was most opportunely suited for handling the situation. Thinking was dangerous. Thinking therefore was removed from every aspect of work. Thinking was unproductive as it made the mind wander and encounter difficult questions. It was explained that all these difficult questions were already answered by the almighty who created the system. The miracle book contained all the answers in simple language with clear instructions. There was never any doubt. So why think? Have faith. Feel. Feel the system. 

There was an inner void in each one of them that held no malice or madness against anyone. They could never think of harming anyone. They had nothing against common people nor anyone protesting against them. They have their rights, so do we. But we shouldn’t forget our fate. We have to work for the system. In this struggle of greater good of the system somebody will have to pay the price. They never had any insatiable urge to kill anyone but for the higher calling of the system they were ready to kill and die as martyr. This was not seen as a radical act nor atrocious but just the need of the hour. There was nothing nuanced about it. Nuance complicate things. It wasted time and energy that could be channelized for the enhancing the system. System had erased their capacity to be humans. But they were pleasant people with families who enjoyed simple things in life like playing computer games with their children or going for walks in gardens and exchanging pleasantries with others. Questions like who controls the system, what is it doing to us, shouldn’t we resist and reclaim our humanity back were never asked. It is not that questions were discouraged, it is just that these never came into their mind. They were too habituated and seemingly trapped that even though sometimes in the moments of clarity they sensed the futility of it they suppressed it with easily available entertainment which instantly snuffed any doubt as also made them feel exhilarated and invigorated as proud participant in the system.

They were all human beings. They look like human beings. They could talk, hear, talk back, and smile like human being but something was horribly wrong with them. Their emotion could register only extremes, either it was immense gratitude or intense revulsion. This binary defined their behavior and created template for their interactions. Order Follow. Right Wrong. Profit Loss. National Anti-national. Kill Not kill. Us Them. These made life easy and help focus on what really mattered. This was what system preferred. Extremities brought clarity and removed confusion. Subtleties created doubt. It forced them to think. Which was indeed waste of time. System knew what was there to be known. Truth was already revealed. They had to simply work for the system to make their life better. This is what systems of education taught them. It is what systems of religion ingrained in them. This is what systems of entertainment suggested to them. This is what society appreciated in them. They had to believe in supreme order of the system. They had to conform to the higher forces. Faith. Money. Power.  

They gave the impression of illusionary aspect of life. You know the meditative thought? A stray moment of insight, which afflicts some eager souls, as they negotiate the vagaries of life. A spark that asserts the presence of sentient individual in a human. That has capacity to spread wildfires of proclamation of humanity. They represented that brief glimpse but in its utter neglect of any conviction or even fixed thoughts. Their mind was suited to what served the purpose of the moment. Then set to stitch the logic around it. This is where years of discipline in education was a help and a guide.

By late evening Sam was back in his apartment, located in the luxurious part of the city it was a prime property worth a fortune. He was immensely satisfied with his achievement so were everyone else who knew him. They say that he is blessed. He humbly attributed it to the benevolence of the system. His children were busy with their digital gadgets. Their faces glow in blue as they dully scroll the screen. His wife was watching TV, she purposelessly surfed the channels as he sat down to take off his shoes. Public intellectuals in colorful cloths discuss issue for the day. While they differ on everything that was being said they made it sure among themselves that they agree upon the need to protect the system. “Whatever may be the case the system is supreme” “…maybe but you cannot speak against the system. That is not acceptable” “….yes yes you are right but system cannot be compromised in any way” “It is our sacred duty to inculcate and nurture the values of system to our youngsters” they said these lines as final contribution to the discussion. While on another channel businessmen vouched that their profit was meant to help and perpetuate the system. Artists created various conceptions of entertainment to ingrain values of system through stories that had protagonists fighting all the odds to emerge victorious to celebrate and thank the system. Social activists came together to pay tribute to the mahatma of the system and vowed to follow his path to bring glory to the system. She stuck to one channel. The anchor of the show sneered into the camera and shouted in dismay “What should we do with these people? I mean seriously what should be done with them?” He was exasperated. The panel for the discussion flashed on the screen in small grids. It was as if they sat in their comfortable home occasionally opened their virtual window to shout and abuse at the unsuspecting passerby. They yelled simultaneously. The cacophony of gesticulating haranguing bunch made the show riveting. It promised to explode any moment, they would get up and thrash each other or break the furniture. But they did not. This very fact kept the audience fascinated. In the melee the loudest was heard. “These people have spoiled the city. They come from outside, dirty our place and spread the disease. There must be some solution to this”. While a woman in bright color outfit with high pitch voice argued that it was the population “They reproduce like pigs. They are threat to our resources. They take more than they give. These people are parasites. They are the virus that is infecting our system”. On the screen collage of poor and impoverished humans in various images of deprivation and disease floated portending ominous future for the audience. Meanwhile the anchor pitched in to remind the panelists that they have to be civilized in their interaction “This is a national TV”. 

Late into night Sam tossed on his bed. He had a nightmare that he was banished from the system. He couldn’t tolerate the meaninglessness of it. He sat down vacant and confused. He stumbled his way through the dark and reached for the icy water bottle in the fridge. He saw his shadow go larger against the wall. The leftover fruit jelly pudding wobbled in shiny red like a lump of clotted blood. He observed it till his eyes hurt. He couldn’t sleep that night. The very thought that a system that had given him everything to look forward to, a system that was benign and all caring was being threatened kept him restless. What will be the world be without faith in an all-knowing all-forgiving system? He couldn’t think of any sane productive life in the world without the system. It was the most efficient way of living. It removed all confusion. Faith assured return on every effort that was made. It was a sacred deal with almighty. He closed his eyes. He heard voices of managers, of TV anchors, of entertainers “They spread like virus” “They have spoiled our city” “What is wrong with these people?” “Lazy and useless”. He saw himself trapped and surrounded in a surging crowd that was menacingly howling into his ears “Save the system”.

Next day late into the afternoon he drove slowly into the sparsely populated outskirt of the city where the construction work were in progress. The city was expanding fast and he was proud that his contribution to the system was helping this growth. The system of economy was run with money, faith and wishful thinking. He embodied the animal spirit that sought efficiency and productivity. He was selfish for the system. His selfishness helps the system to find its best motive.  

An unassuming man walked on the pavement. Sam slowed his vehicle, lowered the side window and addressed to the man in heavily accented local language “I can drop you”. The man was startled and took some moment to gather himself. He was the intimidated by the menacingly neat colored SUV. He gathered all his politeness and refused the offer “No thank you I will walk”. Sam was taken aback by the politeness. It was least expected. Where do these people learn politeness from? He smiled. “No it’s all right I am going that way. I will drop you”. He opened the front door to let him in. Sudden gush of cool air in the sultry heat was inviting. The man gawked at the posh interior of the vehicle. He had never sat on one. He was ambivalent. All his street instincts were warning him against. He was extremely tired of the day’s work. He must have carried not less than few thousand bricks today. His body ached. He really couldn’t resist the offer. Afterall it’s only ten km, it was getting dark, he will reach home early and will be able to sleep more today, he really needed to sleep. He convinced himself.

The man carried the stench that wafted in all the ugliness of the city, all the problems of the city. It was the smell of the outsiders, and it was spreading into every nook and corner of his beloved city, his home. It was the smell that enveloped everything outside the confines of air-conditioned cubicles, cars and homes. It was the smell of the poverty, of disease, of desperation. It was the smell that evoked pandemic. Sam had experienced the stench when he occasionally lower the window while driving, the sudden gush of street carried the unmistakable disgusting odor of sweat, fume and dust mixed into repulsive nauseating concoction. He avoided filthy surrounding and mostly did all the shopping online or at the sanitized malls. But this human stench made him deeply insecure and frightened as if an ominous apparition in the dark is about to appear and swallow his perfect world. It portent everything sinister that he was aware of. It brought all the miseries he could think of.

The man was looking out at the passing scene. He was riveted to the occasional sights of crowd, maybe he sensed opportunity. He sat erect so as to not incline his body on the seat. He wanted to occupy least space. It was as if he wished he was invisible. So that he was left alone without being violated. With his humanity intact. That is the least he expected from the city. Sam casually studied the thin short taut man in modest attire. The rubber outsoles of his dirty slippers were flayed and worn out. The nails of his filthy toes were covered in work site mud. Against the creamy luxury of ultrasuede interior he was a gross presence, a violation. He didn’t dislike him personally but his presence was defiling. It went against every need of the system. The man was given the freedom to participate in the system. But he refused and choose to exist in the fringes. He is a failure. Failure is a blemish. It weakens the system. He is an infection on the system. He is a burden. He can only redeem himself through sacrifice. Bad genes will have to go. Weaklings will have to be culled from the herd.      

 The man’s phone rang. The cracked screen lit in blurry lines. He was confused as to whether to take it or not. He was intimidated by the sudden luxury that accosted. He knew he was easily evaluated and relegated. He felt suffocated. It rang again he picked it up and in an attempt to hide his voice he covered his mouth and whispered “I am on the way. I will be home very soon”. His language was heavily accented and indicated of poorest region of the country. It sounded strange since he was attempting to hide it. It was futile. Sam was smart, he could sniff people out of their deepest burrow and effortlessly placed them to where they belong and evaluate their value. It is for a reason that he is paid a ransom by the system. System was self-perpetuating but reasonable. It treated you well if you synergized with it and help it to grow. Any threat was severely dealt. Sam took it as his life’s mission to identify and dilute the threat. He was experienced enough to place an idea, a thought or a man on the scale of impending threat the moment it came into his notice. When praised for his intelligence and amazing level of competence he was always humble and attributed these to system’s blessing. He also thanked high level of system’s culture that was foundation of his family. He was particularly indebted to his parents for inheriting this hallowed tradition and passing it down to him. All the followers of the system were instinctively aware of this deep connection and were extremely emotional about it.  

Sam considered himself as a nice man, infact he knew he was nice. He was always on the verge of tears when he saw sights like stray puppy whimpering in the street of hunger and neglect particularly during rainy days. The sight of these god’s creation wet and abandoned to die filled him with intense sense of remorse. He would stop his vehicle, and even risking getting wet and all sorts of infections lurking in dirty street, he would pluck the hapless creature and put it in safe shade. He would drop some biscuits to the grateful puppy that he always carried anticipating such situation. He had some blemishes but then who doesn’t? These doesn’t make him a bad man. He can always atone for this sins. He can always purify himself and get back to his true self. System was always ready to forgive transgression for the sake of its preservation. He had a responsibility towards the system, towards the almighty. He had the historic sense of his calling. He had to set things right. There was too much imbalance. The beauty of god’s creation need to be restored. It was his duty. He shouldn’t be bothered about the result but must focus on his duty. He had a responsibility. He assumed himself as an immediate force of morality against rising immorality. He was descendant of the sun, the fireball of life. He had to vanquish the Satan, the devil, the doubts. He is the faithful. He is the solution. This was his calling. His path to heaven as revealed by the miracle book. Where all goodness exist. Where evil is banished. The system at its very purity. The almighty.       

He felt a sudden surge of energy through his body. Blood throbbed in his arteries. He sensed a metallic taste in his dry mouth. He fancied himself as fierce multi-limbed goddess riding a ferocious tiger spearing the devil. He was the warrior for the righteous. He was the instrument of the god to punish. He took this tongue out and flicked it. His eyes brightened. He was a pure soul. The gibbous moon sprayed its faint silvery rays on the serpentine path that led through the thick forested ghats. It was rarely frequented. He dimmed the headlights, and tightened the grip on the sledgehammer. The nightjar call pulsated the horror of the dark.