Eye Of The Beholder

You stand and watch, because frankly there isn’t much else for you to do. Not for wont of caring.

No, the caring bit was made clear in as many words. But apart from reasserting such bold and foolish feelings, you can do nothing. In front of you sits one whom you truly pity. She puts on a mask to face to the world. So that they believe that all is well in her kingdom.

But you know otherwise. Of the plethora of people she has encountered in her short span on this

treacherous world, you happen to be one of the few who has managed to get past the barrier to her mind. One of the few who has breached it's inner sanctum. One of the few who have witnessed the scars- the testament to the battles that have occurred in that hallowed mind. Either by luck or by design, you truly comprehend what happens behind that façade

Beneath that mask hides a broken woman. A woman whose spirits have been torn to pieces . One who has seen the dangerous side of the one who deals all the cards . A woman who lost a battle with fate itself.

Was it fate perhaps, that decided to wrench her heart and soul from her? More importantly, does she blame Fate? You cannot tell. Breaking the barrier of her mind is one thing. Being able to understand every strain of thought that goes through it is another.

You keep watching…waiting… hoping that soon, she will give you a signal. And then, just as the

eagle swoops down on its prey from the sky, you too would descend upon her. Not to break her

further, but to pick up the pieces of her soul . A soul that.. once whole…now lies shattered .

But no such signal arrives. She would not want you to. Left to her own devices, she would fight the battle alone, rather than face the embarrassment of having to depend on one to do it for him. But she cannot ignore your presence forever. So she gets up, and looks you straight in the eye.

The sight in front of you stuns you into silence and leaves you speechless. The eyes that stare back at you are dead; devoid of any feeling. And for once, you feel afraid. Of the deadened creature that now stands in front of you. Dead eyes that see no future. Which is what scares you the most. When the psyche feels nothing at all, is there any hope for her? Is there anything left apart from an empty shell now? They say time heals all… but does it? You have living proof in front of you that time….destroys …

But no! Wait…could it be? Perhaps……yes! Perhaps your fear has truly shown on your

face…for what you witnessed now could not have been imaginary. A glimmer of….life..

And as you keep staring…the light grows slightly brighter.. And you realize…it was your presence; your doing nothing but standing there, had actually mattered. That glimmer…existed because of you alone. It had not been her mind winning the battle…it had been yours.

So you keep standing there…looking straight ahead at her…and you watch as a hint of a smile

crosses that scarred countenance. And as you open your mouth to speak, she shakes his head,

gesturing you to stay with her in silence…and you acquiesce.

In the Street

The moment that we( team LTGTR) decided we were going to do a retro issue, I knew I simply HAD to write a review on That 70's Show. Call it absolute boredom , or the fact that the actors are so freaking brilliant ( Mila Kunis .... *sighs*) or perhaps the fact that for the past week, I'd done nothing except watch episodes of this very sitcom, but I doubt the reasons for writing it are as important as the review itself, so here goes nothing-

Created by ...... All right, I'll admit. I've no clue who really created it. Once again, it hardly matters! On the surface, That '70s Show appears to be a straightforward sitcom with a penchant for the occasional dream sequence or other bits of high concept fluff. But if you truly pay attention, you'll find a rather established cultural outlook to it. The show essentially parodies the 1970's, probably one of the most controversial times in the United States-- energy crises, the resignation of Nixon, the end of the Vietnam war, Star wars and of course, the disastrous perms, bell bottomed jeans and disco balls ( which are actually kind of cool, I’ll admit).

However, what truly brought the show alive was the brilliant acting by the main cast members . The show is set in the fictional Point Place, located in the state of Wisconsin. It revolves around Eric Foreman (Topher Grace-the guy who played Venom in Spiderman 3!), who is 17 and obsessing about the same things that all boys that age think about: beer, cars, and girls(not necessarily in that order), and who better to dampen his mood than a Communist-hating Vietnam veteran for a father, and a well-meaning alcoholic nurse for a mother! Throw in his promiscuous sister( who 'got around' with pretty much every guy in town) and you have a perfectly dysfunctional family.

Of course..ONE crazy family just isn't enough. Enter Eric's next door neighbor/ best friend/ girlfriend Donna , a feisty redhead feminist, who ,by all indications, can kick pretty much anyone's ass. Oddly enough, she's saddled with a couple of parents who are trying WAY too hard to be ‘hip’. Bob and Midge are the butt of most jokes, including a running gag about Bob's afro, which destroys the credibly of the very look that Hendrix popularized( a fact made clear to Bob repeatedly!)

Also included in the show are the characters of Hyde, Michael Kelso, Jackie and Fez. Hyde is a smart-alecky, Led- Zeppelin loving, wannabe hippie who sees government conspiracies in everything. This is probably due to the fact that he supplies most of the weed to the group and is almost permanently high. Michael Kelso ( played by Ashton Kutcher) is a rather dim, though well meaning playboy who eventually becomes a cop( and gets thrown into jail himself half the time). Jackie( yes, finally, Mila Kunis!), is a spoiled and snobby little rich kid who believes the world revolves around her. Where would any show be without the stereotyped foreigner! Fez fill this spot on the show; he’s a foreign exchange student with a strong Hispanic accent, a hair fetish, and a rather voyeuristic nature.

The plot itself is fairly lightweight, but certainly gets the job done. The show describes the daily lives of these kids- hanging out in a basement, smoking up every chance they get, stealing beers, and, if time ever permits, attending school. I could go on praising this show forever, but some things are better left unsaid, so I will end it on this note

What makes this show really appealing? Strip the show of its crazy jokes, the marijuana sessions, it’s rather caustic view of the government, and you're left with a show about teens trying to find some meaning in their lives-a sentiment shared by almost everybody our age. Definitely a must watch for... well, everybody.

An Open letter to Baba Ramdev

Dear Baba Ramdev,

As I write the above salutation, the irony of the situation makes me laugh. First off, I cannot claim to be one of the millions to whom you are dear. Neither do I feel the need to call you ‘Baba’, since it is now an insult to more enlightened and austere men than yourself. Having said that however, I realize that I neither know nor care enough to find out your birth name. So for now, we will stick to Baba Ramdev.

Believe me, up to until a month ago, you were nothing more to me than an orange clad, ridiculously bearded, slightly paunchy man who claimed to have the answers to every illness known to man, ranging from cancer to homosexuality( It IS an illness that requires treatment apparently….your words, not mine).

Since it happens to be the holiday season, I can actually get up and read the newspaper in peace without having to run for a tutorial test bright and early in the morning (the brilliance of our education system never fails to astound me!)

I must admit, the newspaper has become quite entertaining. Not only do I get to read Garfield jokes and look at sleazy pictures of wannabe film stars, I also get to look at you embarrass yourself and your devotees in public by dressing up in a salwar kameez ( or was it a sari? Oh well, I doubt it matters). It took me a whole minute to catch my breath! So, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for the entertainment.

As I used all my willpower to drag my eyes away from such a ‘insert appropriate adjective here’ photo, an article summarizing your demands and agenda caught my eye. With nothing better to do, I decided to give it a cursory glance.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t disagree with everything you had to say. I agree, black money and corruption definitely plague our society and they must be eradicated. For those hardly original yet appropriate points, I was about to raise my proverbial hat to you. (Note: about to)

It was then however, that I decided to actually pay attention to what you had to say. Among the few problems I had with your agenda are:

1- 100% boycott of foreign companies, adoption of ‘swadeshi’

So let me get this straight. The private jet you travel by was designed and made by an INDIAN company? Because the last time I checked (which was 30 seconds before writing this line), there isn’t an Indian company that manufactures private jets! And while we’re on the topic of anything foreign, I guess it’s sinful to buy a Hershey’s chocolate bar, yet it’s totally fine to accept a frikking ISLAND as a gift?

2- 100% voting

A quick visit to your Wikipedia page (yes, apparently you’re worth a couple of hundred kilobytes) reveals that you stopped your formal education after completing the 8^th standard. If only you had continued for a year longer and paid attention in a civics class (which oddly enough I did), you would have realized that voting is a constitutional right. Just in case you didn’t know, it means the government can deny certain groups the right to vote. These generally include criminals and the mentally handicapped. You, on the other hand, want everybody to vote. Predictably, I’m confused. You seek the death penalty for any corrupt person who has black money stashed away, but you want serial killers and rapists to vote?

3- 100% Nationalist country

Do you even know what nationalism means? Well, I do (Wikipedia saves the day yet again) . It’s about being unified, irrespective of religion, remaining true to your country and acting with the benefit of the country in mind. You claim that nationalism is a goal of yours. Yet you have no qualms associating yourself with Sadhvi Ritambhara , a woman allegedly linked to the Babri Masjid demolition? What were you thinking?

That lovely Wikipedia page of yours actually enlightened me more than the newspaper ever could( Don’t worry TOI, I will remain true to you, if only for the horoscope section and the Garfield jokes), You’ve claimed in the past that you have’ no financial power’ , A recent probe shows that you actually aren’t rich( fiscally, intellectually….take your pick) . Your aides however, are apparently worth over 220 million dollars (Yes, I do ape the West occasionally by denoting the money in dollars instead of rupees. Blame me if you will). I did also take a look at your site, where you market your medicines. Fourteen DOLLARS for a tiny pill bottle for pretty much any illness there is! You may claim to know how to cure cancer; but if you really care so much about the poor in India, you’d consider lowering their prices! Did it not strike you that the poor Indians themselves can suffer from cancer?

You also made ripples in the media world when you claimed,” Sex education should be replaced by yoga education” Apparently it can help with the prevention and cure of AIDS. Last I checked, (Gen Bio, 1^st sem) , the chief cause for AIDS is unprotected sex. So, yoga is supposed to help me prevent AIDS without sex ed? You DO realize that the condom industry is going to go bust if you keep saying that right?

Of course, your issues with our degrading society don’t end just there! You also once proclaimed “Homosexuals are sick people, they should be sent to hospitals for treatment. This kind of thing is shameful and insulting to all of us”. Now, I’m not a gay rights supporter by any stretch of imagination, but to call gays ‘sick people’? Now that, my scruffy little friend, is just RUDE. Seriously, can you even blame the poor chaps. Once in a while, a man wearing a salwar might just be rather attractive and enticing.( I’m guessing here of course) . But then again, YOU wouldn’t happen to know anything about cross dressing now, would you?

I remember saying to myself the day before you ‘embarked’ on your fast unto death’. “ this guy should just stick to what he’s good at- yoga” . A week later, I wasn’t so sure. One week? You’ve been practicing yoga for two decades and all you managed was a one week fast? Your aide claimed that it was because the police disturbed you during your fast. Need I remind you that a real nationalist and freedom fighter survived a 63 day fast in jail . He was forced by the guards to end his fast. You might just have heard about him….his name was Bhagat Singh . And you act like a wounded hero because you lasted a whole week . Dude…even the least healthy politician these days can last that long!

Now I can’t claim to know as much as you do about power plays and anti-corruption fasts et al. After all, I’m just a 20 year old with a rather narrow view of things around me. But one day, some one else is going to stand up and ask you the following question to your face, and you will have to answer….

Dude…..seriously?

Sincerely,

Pretty much every rational Indian citizen

P.S Find a barber and get a shave…. The flowing-all-over-the-place, slightly-matted-and-singed bearded look went out of fashion ( Indian or otherwise….) decades ago.

P.P.S – Since this IS an open letter and I’ve absolutely no clue( or interest, for that matter) how to send this to you, I’m hoping there is someone else reading this. Just to set the record straight. I’ve got the utmost respect for men like Anna Hazare ,Arvind Kejriwal and thousands of unnamed others who are actually trying to bring about a healthy change in this country. His Highnessness Baba Ramdev might have some good intentions, but in my opinion, he should let the grown ups deal with it.

Disclaimer-

This article may inadvertently link to content that is obscene, hate-filled, poisonous, pornographic, frivolous, disgusting, hostile, antagonistic, irritating, obnoxious, harsh, embittered. The author in no way condones, endorses or takes responsibility for such content. This disclaimer for that matter, had been essentially ripped from Khamba's blog. The author hopes that Khamba will, in time , forgive him for what he perceives as a tribute to one of the most amazing blogs he has ever read.

MAN ON THE EDGE

‘Charlie Sheen drinks, smokes, takes drugs and has multiple sex partners. If he outlives me, I’m going to be seriously pissed!”

Now, I can’t claim to even know who said that, and let’s face it, you probably don’t even care. But it’s safe to say that the moment you read the line, you were probably agreeing with the guy (In all probability, it was a guy who said that… I’m just guessing though). And at the same time, you probably had images in your head of a drunken (relatively) old man sitting on the couch at a Malibu beach house with a glass of bourbon in his hand. Honestly, I wouldn’t really blame you.

But seriously, stop busting the guy…. You watch in awe as a man-child with serious issues destroys himself in front of the world, and yet, all you can do is blame him! To be fair to you, I will admit that the guy does well…a lot of shit. He gets stoned or drunk (sometimes both) and likes walking around with strippers and porn star. But consider this…at the end of the day, he does his job. He gets to the set of Two And A Half Men and frankly, keeps the show alive. He works hard, and parties harder. (Fine…a lot harder) .So you can go harping on about how he’s a danger to society, but deep down…you’re probably thinking the same as millions of others across the globe are…This guy is Living the Dream!!

Ok, I’ll admit…not everyone’d dream …but still, it’s the lifestyle most of you desire..(Sure…you’d probably die in the end, but what the hell; you’ve got to pay for it some way!!).

I can’t claim to know Charlie Sheen. Or that I’ve even met him. But every guy knows a little bit of what he’s going through. If there’s one thing we know how to do well, it’s chasing down dreams…dreams that in the end, make you feel good. But when we see a man who goes to such limits to do so…we shun him, mock him …even fire him from an award winning TV show!!

I’m not here to question whether Charlie Sheen has behaved like a jackass. It’s probably too stupid to even dispute that fact. So why am I writing this? Probably just to remind you that not everyone who lives a life like his should be despised and ridiculed. At some point of you’re life, you’ve desired it as well. The consequences to Sheen’s actions might just destroy him.

All I know that when I switch on the TV and hear “Men, men, men, men, manly men, men, men” and not see Charlie Sheen on the show, I shall truly be disappointed.

No Easy Way Out

It hurt. A lot. To put it any other way would be a barefaced lie.

Where was I? Oh, I was living any boxer's dream. A shot at the world title. At the world's largest casino at that. I was sitting in my corner, surrounded by my posse, waiting today to throw myself at my opponent yet again. My coach stood above me, wearing his trademark green and yellow sweatshirt, shouting advice into my ear. Something about attacking his body, not his head. Honestly. At this point of time, I couldn’t care less. I had reached the grandest stage in boxing terms. I look at my coach once again. For a chain smoker turning 60, the guy's got a remarkable set of lungs. I watch as his mouth forms words that are ultimately spewed in my direction.. Oh well, that hasn’t changed in the last 10 years. The man has taken great pride in criticizing everything I do. Every jab, every hook, every feint is critically analyzed and then regarded as pathetic. Well, there's no pleasing some people. To be fair to him though, he has stuck around. And we've finally made it. At 38, I'm pretty much a dinosaur in the boxing circles. And with a win/loss record of 21-40, I'm pretty much regarded as a joke as well. And courtesy of the lovely managers of the casino I'm boxing at, my stats are being displayed to the public on large screens that hang 15 feet above the rink.

I look around, stare at the crowd. I see their faces. They'd come there to see a slaughter, To watch the reigning world champion almost destroy the aging veteran who had dared take a shot at the coveted title that he so cherished. And instead, what they had witnessed seemed to have stunned them into silence. The ageing veteran had actually lasted 9 whole rounds. (9 whole rounds! When they were placing bets that I would be knocked out in 4. That look in their eyes- a mixture of grudging respect, hatred, and most of all, sympathy. (9 rounds I had lasted, but a tenth seemed unlikely. Later on, they'll probably ask me how I ever managed it. Sure, my PR team (read - my coach) will come up with a long heart rending story of how I had been practicing hours and hours on end, honing my skills, waiting to pounce on my opponent like a hungry wolf pounces on a gazelle. Not a bad story, eh? But frankly, the only reason I’ve survived till now is pure, dumb, stupid luck. And for that I shall hate my opponent forever.

To be honest, I'd never expected to even be given the chance to fight this guy. My coach, the old warhorse that he is, however, decided that I couldn't retire without having sought a title. And surprisingly, the Boxing association apparently felt the same way. Either that or they just wanted to see me getting mauled. Probably the latter.

So, to cut a long story short, here I am. And for 36 long minutes in the ring interspersed by 9 in my corner, I had gone through hell. No, not the kind of pain that acts as the fire that can cleanse you (they did mention that in Rocky Balboa, just saying). No, this is the sort of pain that makes you want to kill yourself so that you don't have to suffer for one more moment. The sort of pain that makes you wonder whether that damn title is even worth it.

I look straight ahead. 15 feet away from me, sits my opponent. Sadly, the guy doesn't look tired. He looks angry. Understandable for a 26 year old world champion who weights over 200 pounds and has a win loss record of 54-9. This guy hates losing. His last loss was apparently 20 matches ago. A 20 match winning streak. That meant twenty opponents who had been younger, faster, and probably stronger than me had been taken apart by him. And I stand in his way of the 21^st win. Maybe the guy likes blackjack, just a thought. But card games aside, this guy was mad. And who could blame him. Twenty of the best boxers in the world couldn’t beat him, and some ancient relic had taken him to a tenth and final round. For that, he will hate me. And for putting me through such torture, I hate him just as much.

The saddest part was that even after 9 rounds, he looks as fit as a fiddle. There's barely any blood on him. Sure, there's a bloody gash where his lips are supposed to be, but apart from that, he barely even looks bruised. Apart from the gash and a thin lining of sweat on his muscular frame, one would think the guy was just getting into the gym for some practice.

I, on the other hand, looked like I had been through the mill. A gash on my forehead, a broken rib, and bruising on every part of the upper body. I looked and felt like a dead man walking. Not a very comforting thought.

I was brought out of my reverie by a tap on the shoulder. The coach, yet again. It was time to get up for the tenth round. Three more minutes of pain. As I wearily lift my battered frame off the chair, all the lights immediately switch back to the ring. I could hear the commentators shouting into their mikes. Something about this being the last shot I had to take down the monster in front of me. I could hear them questioning my capacity to bear pain. Would I last this one round? Or will the world champion successfully defend his title. My bet was on the latter.

The referee comes over to me, and shouts in my ear. Apparently this is my last chance to back down before the fight starts. I could quit now, or walk into the labyrinth of pain. I'll admit, he didn’t put it that way, but considering the state I was in, it was all the same thing. The mouthpiece in place, there was no way I could answer verbally. An attempt to shake my head was satisfying enough an answer for him though.

And as the bell tolled, I looked one last time into the crowd, as I had done countless times before. It was sort of a ritual that I followed. To look at the first row of spectators. To look into the eyes of my wife . She sat there, in a dark business dress and as she had done countless times before, she looked back into mine. For 15 years, this woman had stood by me in my worst times. And for 15 years, had loved me, and taken care of me. A woman who, despite a successful career, was always there supporting me in mine. And like she had done before, she looked at me with those light brown eyes, those beautiful eyes that sparkled so brightly in the present atmosphere, and I knew that win or lose - everything would be okay.

Beside the lovely woman who I was proud to call mine, sat my six year old son in a white t-shirt over denim jeans, with a cap covering his curly hair, Normally, I'd have ordered him to stay at home, where he didn't have to see his father being manhandled in front of thousands of others in the same arena. But this time was different. This was my first, and probably last, shot at the title. And I wanted him to be there when I took that shot. I wanted him to watch proudly as his father stepped up to the occasion and looked like a god. And in that one moment, in one fell swoop, I realized what I was looking at in his eyes... it wasn't pride, it was fear.

That one look almost made me stop in my tracks. I could see my opponent slowly advancing towards me, coming in for the kill. And yet, my mind was elsewhere. Memories flashed past my eyes - that fateful day in the delivery room when my son entered the world; the day we first played in the park, the day he took his first step, the day we celebrated his first birthday. His first day of school. Great, amazing time to get emotional, I chided myself, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, I couldn’t stop.

And then, in one fell swoop, I realize that I don’t want to be here. All I want to do is get out of this place, and walk away. Go away with my family far, far away, away from all of this. I’ve been a quitter for almost 2 decades, why should anything change now? Won’t it be fitting if I quit right now? I can see the critics destroying me already - the guy who finally went so far, right to the end….only to quit. Oh….it’s going to be priceless….

I’m ready to raise my hand, to signal the referee... Oh, my opponent is not going to like this. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knocking ME out. 21 wins or not… he will hate me for walking away. Somehow I think that will help me. I’ve been thrown around a rink for more than half an hour now. I deserve some fun, don’t I? And just as I turn in his direction to give him one last vindictive smile, I realize that he’s no longer advancing towards me.

In fact, he’s less than 2 feet away from me… and his fist is coming straight towards my face.

In My Darkest Hour

I paused at the entrance. The time had come to execute the plan that had formed in my head over the last week. Once I passed the ornate doors, there would be no turning back. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed my hesitation. The only person in sight was the doorman to the building, a 65 year old man who had been there for the last 25 years, and had known me for the last ten. All was well. The doorman wouldn’t suspect me of anything. Gathering my wits, I slowly made his way to the doors. The doorman greeted me with a salute and a smile, just as he had done countless times before. What the doorman didn’t know was that this would probably be the last time he would ever salute the rich man who lived in the building and tipped him every other day.

Entering the elevator, I pressed the button that would take me up to the top floor of the building. As the elevator slowly made its way up the 34 floors, I began contemplating. Sure , I’d had it quite good. Dressed in a designer suit, wearing a Tissot, I really didn’t have any material problems to complain about. An apartment a high rise building, a collection of vintage cars, you name it, I’ve got it. Even a breathtakingly beautiful wife- the source of my present problem. You’d think that if you love a woman enough and shower her with every material possession imaginable, she’d have the sense to remain faithful. Apparently not.

And who did she happen to cheat on me with? None other than my best friend. A man, who had been as close as a brother to me. A man, who had been there for me through every moment of my professional life. A man who, for all his friendship and camaraderie, turned out to be a backstabbing cheat. It had been less than a week since I found out. One long harrowing week when everything seemed to be going out of control. Business meetings seemed so inconsequential when I knew that my friend and my wife were together in my own bed.

I was brought out of my reverie as the elevator stopped. As the door opened, I felt my pocket, felt the reassuring touch of the pistol concealed there. I knew what I was here to do…I was here to take control of my life. In one fell swoop, I would eradicate my problem. I knew that they were in my house right now. I was going to make them pay.

I made my way down the narrow passage to my house. With every alternating step, my resolve either strengthened or weekend. No! this was no time to be weak. This was time for redemption. I could almost hear my heart beating as I extended my hand towards the doorknob.

‘ Are you really sure you want to do this?’ . A smooth, almost beautiful voice reached my ears.

My heart almost leapt into my mouth. There hadn’t been anyone in the corridor. How could I have failed to notice someone?

I slowly turned around to see who had called out.

All I could tell was that the man was tall and thin. Half shrouded in darkness, I couldn’t see his face. Even his silhouette was slightly blurred. It was as if he just wasn’t well defined. Was I hallucinating? I hadn’t slept for ages, but still. It felt so very real to me

“ And who might you be”, I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “ Does it really matter? What really matters right now is that you’re going to make a decision right now that could change your life irrevocably, and not for the better I’m sure”

“ And how would you know? How do you know what I’m planning to do? What do you even know of what I’m going through?” .

“ I think you know the answer to that yourself”

I slowly made my way towards ‘him’. It was odd. It felt like I almost knew him already, and yet, for some reason, I just couldn’t put my finger to it.

“ Oh just go ahead and do what you came to do already!” Came a voice from behind me.

Things were definitely getting stranger by the minute. Another turn confirmed my suspicions.

Surprise surprise…there stood yet another person in the place I had just occupied. Unlike the first one though, this one’s features were , for lack of a better word, sharp.

He stood right there, rolling a cigar between his long slim fingers. As he took long a long drag from the lit cigar, his face lit up. He looked rather ordinary, so to speak. Like a man who could definitely blend into a crowd unnoticed. And as I stared into his cold brown eyes, I realized that I was looking at the devil himself. One would presume that the devil would be an imposing figure with horns et al. Apparently not. The ‘man’ in front of me looked at ease with his surroundings. But I now knew exactly what he was. The eyes did not lie. Which meant that the other figure was….No , that was impossible. Wasn’t it? I wasn’t exactly religious, but still…It couldn’t be a coincidence.

After taking a few deep breaths to clear my head. I decided to analyze the situation. Ok, so I I’m standing outside my own apartment about to go in and kill my wife and my so called best friend. And, for somehow, I’m being accosted by both the Devil and…….. Sure ….THAT makes a lot of sense!

The one smoking the cigar called out to me in a rough, almost angry voice that chilled me to the bone..” Go ahead. What’s stopping you? All your going to do is go in and kill that whore and that treacherous bastard. It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong. An eye for an eye right? They screwed your life, now you screw theirs. True, they wont be able to make a comeback! But who cares anyway? They’ve taken everything away from you already. Your sanity, your pride….now it’s time for you to take it back. Go in there….let the hate flow…Burn all those bridges.. If life doesn’t give you justice, go ahead and snatch it. It’s yours for the taking…all you have to do is reach out and take it…And then…only then can you be truly happy…”

The figure masked in the shadows spoke again……” And destroy everything you’ve worked so hard for? Your life itself? All you’ll achieve if you go ahead with this is a lifetime of unhappiness, in some jail, rotting like some pathetic organism and wondering where it all went wrong...Do you really think you can survive that? Do you really want to test your sanity to such a extent? The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. And you know that your no killer…You know what the consequences to your action will be, and you know that even after you go ahead with this…you won’t be truly happy….You want true happiness? Be the bigger man here. Let go of all the hate…Unless you do that, it will eat away at you for the rest of your life….are you really willing to test the faith you have in your inner strength to that level?”

“ And how the hell would you know what I’m going through?” I whispered, barely controlling my rage.” What is this….some sort of test? If your really as omnipotent as you’re said to be…you’d have never let this happen. You’d have let me go on with my life. You’d have let me come home to a woman who loves me as much as I do her….But did you? No! You let me down…Spout all the ‘hate is bad’ nonsense all you like….it won’t matter…I want blood….both of theirs…I want revenge. I want justice…and the time for justice will be right now…You tell me I shouldn’t hate? Well let me tell you this…hate is what everything that I stand for is built upon…its hatred for a poor existence that made me work so hard to get to where I am…and its hate that will get me my life back!”

“ Spoken like a true man!” , said the Devil. It was too obvious to hide the fact from myself...The devil himself stood in front of me..” If you want to build something new you have to destroy the old first. And now it’s time for you to destroy the pathetic vermin that lies in you bed behind that door> It’s time for you to rise up to the occasion and take what’s rightfully yours.”

Said the almost pleading voice behind me,” And what rightfully belongs to you? Is your pride so important that you would kill for it? You ask how I know what you happen to be going through? Well, let me tell you this…Both me and the one in front of you are part of you…We exist in you. We’re not omnipotent mythical beings who reside in some otherworldly abode…We are, and always will be, inside of you..!

Strange….just a few minutes ago, I was almost sure that I was ready to go in there and kill them…But now…I could feel something inside of me that just prevented me from going in there and finishing the job I had come to do…And in one fell swoop, I realized what it was…fear.

I was scared…every fiber in my body was throbbing with it…I just had no idea what to do now, and it freaked me out. If I went in there, I would come out a murderer. If I turned and walked away, I would be…in my mind at least…the gutless coward who just couldn’t take what was his..It was so frustrating…I needed to come up with a solution, …and fast.

My hand grazed my pocket, and felt the cold steel below the smooth linen of my suit. The gun…And then it struck me…The easiest way out. The solution to all my problems..The way to silence that noise in my head that just left me confused at the end.

I took the gun out of the pocked, cocked the barrel and pointed it at my temple. This would be answer to everything. Eternal bliss..I looked at the blurred figure in the darkness, and for the first time, I could see his eyes. They were pleading me to stop. And yet, I knew not for sure what I had to do..

I pulled the trigger.

Epilogue

The hallway was dark. The sound of the bullet echoed everywhere. The man crumpled to the floor, as the gun left his hand and fell a foot away from him, still smoking.

The Devil observed the incident with a cruel, satisfied smile on his face. “ the idiot! Eternal bliss eh? The poor chap has no idea what’s in store for him when he comes to my place.”

The other figure looked up as well…a look of eternal sadness on his face…

The devil called out” You overrate humans, my old master. You haven’t yet realized that deep down, they’re fools looking for an easy way out of their pathetic miserable existences. They are neither beautiful nor unique. They’re just vermin. Sadly for you, their hate makes me stronger. Why do you think that you’re the one who’s edges are blurred and can’t be seen clearly. They have lost their faith in you. Keep feeding me denial and hate, from that I will create. Your time is over father..my time is arriving. With each person who doubts himself, I become stronger. And one day, I shall overthrow you forever! I have won father! I have won!”

The door behind him opened, as the wife of the dead man rushed out, wearing a silk bathrobe, wondering what the noise was. It was time to leave

And as they departed for their respective abodes, the other called out…” Just this round my friend…just this round”

No More Mister Nice Guy

They screwed me. That, Ladies and Gentlemen ,is the long and short of it . To try and obscure the truth in a rather verbose, inscrutable manner would be an insult to your intellect . And frankly, a waste of my time. Who screwed me? To that, I really don’t have a definite answer. ‘they’ is not just a group of individuals. It happens to be a whole organization ( which, by any definition, happens to be a group of people, and yet at the same time, far from it)

When and how did they screw with me? Again, not a definite answer . In the light of certain recent events that I shall not bore you with, I’ve come to realize that ‘they’ , might just be the world in general. For the purpose of sounding cynical and rebellious, I shall just call it the system.

So what is the problem with the system? I’m sure that at some point or the other in your life, you must have wondered what’s wrong with the organization, be it a college administration, a court, a political party, or the whole government itself. And the only answer I can come up with, is protocol.

Protocol is the term that any person who is truly afraid of change hides behind. Seriously, You want to hide behind a bunch of rules crafted decades, perhaps even centuries ago ? Rules which,(perhaps im exaggerating a little bit ) are designed to leave everybody unhappy. Rules which, if I may say so frankly, are a tad outdated. Look around you. In this present day and age, who IS happy with the way things are run in ANY country? Ironic ,isn’t it, since logically everything IS run by people themselves. The problem lies in the rules. Guidelines, constitutions, academic rulebooks- call them what you want. In most cases, the rules were set probably decades ago. And people are just unwilling to change the rules, citing reasons like ‘its tradition’ or ‘that’s how we’ve always done it’ . Get over yourself and your precious traditions. While they may give you a sense of culture, they might actually hinder your progress. The world has changed so much in the last 50 odd years. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Just ask your parents or grandparents.

When the situation changes, so does the solution to it. Its like trying to drive a car with wheels that were designed for chariots centuries ago. It just doesn’t work out. Everybody is quick to accept the fact that change is the natural order of things. That change, is evolution in its most unadulterated form. And yet, hypocrites that we are, most of us are unwilling to accept change itself. Any attempt to bring about change in the present order of things is contested strongly by many. Pray, tell me, why is that? Are we, humans, inherently flawed? We take control of a whole planet, and yet, there is something wrong. You might like to say that people just cannot change themselves, but therein lies the problem. We’re unwilling to change ourselves to accept that accepting change is the only solution to all our problems.

So what do we do? Certainly, sitting on our asses doing nothing isn’t really an option.( well ok,…it is…but nothing good can come of it, and the end your ass will start to hurt !) . I for one, shall be both bitter and cynical and shall bitch about the system , hoping that you’re reading this and actually considering making changes. What about you?