Beyond Sunday one or two,

I do not know why, autumn confuses a week for two???

The highway eventually finds a home. I don’t quite know how it happened. But I throttled past notice boards, pizza signs, regular phantoms having regular coffee in the desert. Eventually stopped by a beetle bleeding neon sign.

Couple dancing in a window, looking like shadows in a lamp, until one threw the other belly over bed, lights went off. I looked up. There sky was all stars. Gently pursuing darkness of a desert. That was enough neon for today, so I pushed break release. Throttle.

Sayonara,

To that somewhere beyond Sunday.

Through, a few ghosts, I have came to life.

But, how come a phantom asked me for legs..

Some things live through pictures, some through melancholic desires. You have seen them, in broken hearts weeping over empty tiffin boxes, and lonely cups of misery cup after cup of coffee, and then some by the rainy table, cursing the rise of tomato kilo beyond 9 rupees.

On this notice board, a drawing asked me for legs. So, what was I to do, but ponder on the ethereal question of phantoms.

So, these are perhaps creatures born from traumatic memories. In life kept away from a pizza in the garden, that play around those tiffin boxes, those tales of a couple dancing in desire for each’s other’s permanent company. Wishing for a life beyond this Sunday.

How can a man return to life, without expressing suffering.

Then, a letter dropped from the notice board. It featured a drawing of a Tiffin box. And that is enough, one of them said. The other said, what is?

The rest of the page was torn blank. But, this drawing speaks more of civilisation here, than that all the words can express.

There is a table. There is a box, there are two sillouetes, and they are feeding on each other’s smile. And that is perhaps, what the notice board is trying to tell, they had their teeth removed, their mouths covered, but smiles endure, sorrows in ordinary dinners.

See, if the story lives beyond Sunday.

Maybe time is not ours,

But these people are..

Cause, there our dreams dance with our daily encounters in our quiet consciousness. I of course talk of notice boards. The kind of thing, that is a call to community. Even in this ride with the phantom, I have felt civilisation. Although, there is no man or women attached to any particular letter.

This boards speaks. Some of it written for coffee, helmets, pizza, and some missing smiles of a family. All of them, had their teeth removed, their mouths covered. Their heads shattered, and their legs shafted to cement. So, says the notice board. The phantom is still in my shadow. Lets see if the notice board has revelations beyond this Sunday.

Through the gas oasis,

I wandered to find my face me again..

Every city has a story, then I read. The motorcycle behind me had no one on the saddle. I could see the kilometres rolling, the phantom on that motorcycle forming with each kilometres. Sometimes the rider was alone, other times.

I felt. Do I have a head. Or am I just as much of a phantom as that fellow in the mirror. But, I did not let that bother me, as I crossed cactus and sand on the open highway. I revered the vroom! vrrom! of that engine, at oasis station. And thought. Maybe the phantoms gather body, as a family gathers grossary as they go through, the highway of supermarket.

So ride. Perhaps, purpose of shadows thumps beyond a good Sunday.

“I had lost my face,

Yes, that’s a bucket head’s solemnly sworn truth.”

You can dream, but never hide. Yes. Those with a dream, are often without a face. They see longing, yet are unable to sweep or dance with that with dream. So, if you see a fellow without a face, in a red shirt, carrying two helmets, with a pizza. Be gentle with him.

He’s lost, perhaps he will find his face beyond this Sunday.

Checkered Longing,

How have you come, home..?

Where the will fades, some find themselves sniffing a checkered red shirt in a mall somewhere. I was on road, red, yellow, green. No incident. Then, came longing. About a day under the bucket.

Like, that checkered red shirt, you wandered about in a mall, you saw it, and it called a part of you to cheer with worn embrace.

Same with coffee, and you want a sip, and you see that counter behind which they hide that premium brew, and haunt it, till they serve you, for a fine margin of rupees.

That confirms one thing for us, longing is within us. A red checkerbox, or a fine fabric, life is a brew hiding we love in small dots of red, yellow and green flavours. Sometimes they reveal themselves under a bucket day, other times, when traffic favours us a green dot. Calling us, beyond this Sunday to find another seed of personality..

What is a city with a soul,

What is a man without a role,

So we live. Eat. Wonder how it all comes together. But, is concrete enough for relationships?

I would say, in every layer of cement lives a story. In every window lives a person who dreams, lives and becomes. What is and how, that is a mystery. But, like how a table invites coffee, helmets, lily’s and a couple’s shadow. Talking over the warmth of a pizza.

What makes one capable of such, or perhaps all things is. The ability. To recognise the living thing in cement, brick, and the window. That eventually comes to host. Said couple. Lore on the wall said, through the rain, I would say. Bricks were like doves, they came to mingle with the rugged cement. To find the wanderers of road wars, needing a place.

It gave them this place. Some call it home. I call it day after the building was born, of cement and bricks. The lamp, called their shadows. Every dance, and every laughter, every pizza dinner, a capable answer to that roadside disaster. That is home, building.

See, ya after. If the tale survives another Sunday.

Every city has a story. Some are harsh, some are true.

Most are close to fan fiction.

Which is fine, if the table is served, for harsh winters, and edible summers.

That is a hard one to answer. If you look at currency long enough, this strange quest arises within. How it came to be? That pizza capable man, how did he get courage to write that letter. How did he survive the road wars, how his helmet crossed folklore of two coffee’s and, the hardest question of all, how I became the witness to be?

The manager of this starry establishment said, we counted the stars. As in our ancestors, and said buildings of brew. And then this cafe came to be. So, if we follow that line, someone must have said, 9 rupee’s and coffee for two helmets, and a pizza to be.

Perhaps, this is how we all became one. Through little efforts, each star finding its pizza in the grand cosmos of lily’s, helmets, in the fine aroma of brew.

Then, the buildings appeared. I will tell of them next, this note survives another Sunday.

Two helmets on a table,

When they met by the pizza table..

I was sitting. Scrambling in thought, about adding coffee to make a pizza capable man, very very capable. This is when the letters glowed on that table. Where two helmets met sat for coffee & conversation.

It read to her,

Of course I will hurt you,

And of course you will hurt me.

To become spring, we have to accept the risk of winter.

So, for all the summers and winters,

I hope to have courage with me,

To look at the sky, and touch this green bit of the grass,

And spread my nickle of spark,

To say, I love you with my summers and winters.

Some pages have will. I still have that nine rupee note.

A city this city. A bundle of pain.

A city, this city, far beyond the Honor of names.

Beyond Green & blue things

This grass and sky are made of daily commute. A Noir recession has hit our conscious. One that demands constant upheaval or melancholy of the stranger, who sits by the corner, with his i-app or whatever, blinking lights on his face.

Here, elections come and go. The green stranger says, we live in a matriarchy of temporary kings, many have come, many go. But, life lives in the bundles of coffee cups and conversations in a shop. Or the long hours of a chimney puffing smoke, for a pizza in a bakery. In these noise of everyday things. It happened. I had 9 rupees. And they said. In the name of blue sky, that is not enough.

I was stubborn enough to ignore these chimney smokers by the blue sky. I thought of this thing.

And three summers have come and gone since then. I still have the 9 rupees that, is proving them right.

Cups and conversations say something in the distance. I’ve yet to hear it. Noir conscious and melancholy resists change. For, how long that is a tale that lives beyond Sunday.

Somewhere along the way,

We looted dignity, we kidnapped, we ra*ped,

And then we feast at the Round-table?

What are we to do of an unrelenting beast conscious?

You have this, I have this. I have seen it by the tree. Green said.

True, I have seen it by the pond, harassing a swan. Blue said.

What happened to the swan? Green said.

Same thing that happens to a leaf in autumn. The swan was doing his business. Suddenly it went mad, and ran around in circles. Then, it took a dive. I waited a day. It never emerged back. Blue said.

That’s the harsh. The tree of eternal autumn. The harsh, got your swan. Green said.

Who is this harsh? Blue said.

I’ve heard only rumours. Some say it is a man riding shadows, comes to your village, and when he leaves, no generation of man survives. Other’s say, a daughter once catching fish, by the pond. Harsh, took her. Her mother and father, went to the pond each day. Then, they like your swan took a dive. Never to emerge.

Where is this pond? Blue said.

Where there is a swan, there is this pond. Green said.

Can I tell you something? Blue said.

Sure. Green said.

What if we are harsh? Blue said.

I didn’t take the daughter or the family, and I am pretty sure, you did your best to help the swan. For you have given me tea, and feast. Such souls, are far from harsh. Green said.

But, what of desire? Blue said.

What of it? Green said.

What if it circles the swan, the daughter, the tree and that poor old man and women? Blue said.

Let it. Sir. Green said.

How come? Blue said.

If it is good for desires of the heart are echoes of something real. But, reality of our journey is, anything can be twisted, by harsh. So, the swan is good, on the pond. But, one can take its wing while it takes a dive. A daughter is good, but one must be careful, to see what she is fishing for. As for the old ones? They will live. They have seen the swan.

Where is the daughter? Blue said.

Behind a wall. Playing with the swan, that took a dive. Green said.

How could that be? Blue said.

Inside the beast’s harsh consciousness spell. Many illusions can be true at once. Like when you saw, the blue women in the desert. Was that the only thing she watered? My green tree’s shadow says so as-well.

Like sun’s shadow, things hit different for each. Yet still remain the same in essence. Green said.

So, what are we to do? Blue said.

The harsh tell me to rib you limb from limb, and then brake her walls, leave her a blue women in the desert, battling the elements. None, would have her. After I am done with her. Green said.

Surely, you wouldn’t dare attempt such a thing, against the very women, who fed your green tree’s shadow? Blue said.

Yet, many have. Green said.

PS :

Thanks for your time folks, this got a bit dark on us. But, for pineapple pizza’s voice to be heard in the parliament. I must go there.

Good day.

Somewhere along the way we forgot the light,

Somewhere along the way, we threw the common meal.

Somewhere along the way, we forgot the way,

We fought..

What is lost to the world of modern politic?

Decency is the first thing that is lost in this world. You have seen the videos but, modern politic often feels more like a show, than an actual debate of dissenting ideas. While. the ruling party ensues its demand, and lays the smack-down. Rarely a man from its own house or party challenges it. Which is interesting to me. I mean, unanimous agreement doesn’t happen on pizza on a pineapple, so how come it happens in the the world of politics.

They at the core have the same problem. The opposition means to obviously oppose, but there always a pizza on a pineapple, that should be in the party. Otherwise, it is not complete picture of reality. Which leads us to soft power.

What does the Round-table teach us about soft power?

The way of polite address. To debate with understanding, that pineapple pizza was how their first pizza was formed. While, it is sacred to oppose it. And challenge their view. It is never sacred to bark at them, while points are being made. I think this type of politic came to prominence after a very moustached man of power from a certain Austrian strain, decided to play Sudetenland or else, with the margins of borrowed heritage.

The way of the soft power is to sit with the man of normal crust pizza and pineapple pizza and see if they can see the same bird, who chirps in the morning. Over the parliament. And try to resolve and not to end things. This kind of thing could benefit relationships too. As tje way of outrage is getting tiring, and modern politic or civilisation is coming to a rather harsh phase. Humanity seems to lost in the dying embers.

So, is all hope lost?

No. At least the stubborn will inside me won’t let the pizza fall, even if I refuse pineapple on a pizza. I do enjoy Pineapple juice. So, takes makes me think, manifestation matters.

And how to recover it in the practical daily life, that is habit and ritual?

Two Journeys, one table and a sleep of cheese cake

Now, imagine with me for a second. The man who is with normal pizza, and the man with the pineapple pizza, before they hired their conscious on the word of the ill moustached dude, as a way of debate, were born of the same ancestor. That is to say, they both run on platelets. Which they do. Gut bacteria is inside both of them. No, human can deny this either. And once upon a time, this ancestor met.

Now, both of them wore the sun symbol crest. But, while the first ancestor brother wore blue, this other one wore, colour of grass green.

So, the older one asked him, why is your colour green?

The young man said, cause the sun ruled in shades other than bright sometimes, and trees sheltered my breath, and my shield. From the strike of wild things. So, I chose it as my garment.

After a bit of a ponder. The ancestor brother in blue. Smiled. Looking at the green tree, that stood in the courtyard.

Meanwhile, the young one asked, what is the blue represent?

The older one said. Hope.

How so, said the younger one.

See, once I was out in the desert, and was without water & ruined castled and broken walls were my only shelter. There, into ruins I found a women wrapped in blue. She gave me water from her well. With that water, I came through the desert, and so ever since. I have chosen blue.

Sincerely,

Vimal..

PS : Thanks for your time. Let me know if you have any insights regarding politic, that is other that this ⬇️, also can share your cheese 🍰 recipe if you want..

So, the year is 2009, I was a pre-teen, and then. The worst thing that can happen to a little brother happened to me. My older cousin died. Dude was the kind which did not offer random gifts. He knew cricket ruled breakfast and dinner for me. So, when the birthday came. I went up the stairs, the my dude, just handed me a package.

I tore it open. A package of tennis balls. It was heaven for a while.

His innings soon came to a close

Soon, he was struggling with Platelet counts, and from which he recovered once. But, the second time, it came back stronger, he fell. Part of me our family fell with him.

So, why do I tell you this?

Well, this started a war in our associate family. Since, I was the only male child left (whole another topic for someday), some wanted me to stay put. My mom, father, and grandpa thought otherwise, and sent me away from this environment, and I landed in a metropolis for a few long years.

But, back to the point of this article. Yesterday, I was sipping chai with a local uncle, you know the type. With general stores on the corners. Typically known for over sharing. So, we were talking a bit, and I already had this topic in mind, which he did not know.

He said, why you should have more than one kid.

I asked, oblivious to him, I was thinking the same, why is that? I said.

And from there he unfolded his tragedy of how, he lost his newborn after three days once. And the subsequent struggle that followed, to recover the relationship. To help her wife, and himself. And then, a few years later. They had twins, and then another child.

So, he said. Glad there are three. The house is never lacking for energy and youth. And always gives you united purpose. So, you don’t get self absorbed if you have children running about, take them to school, practice, food, hygiene, etc. Rarely you have time to think, I am gonna run about the streets like a wild man singing, who let the dogs out.

But, his main point of emphasis was the same, as mine. The case for more than one child. They serve as alternatives or side quests. When, the main quest gets dull, boring or loses its way. When, the first one dies, of tragedy. You get vigor from the second and third one.

As loss of a child is heavy on the soul. Hell, a brother’s goodbye almost broke me. And all I had was a experience. How much more would it hurt, to see all the days you cared for him or her, all the day trips, school hand-off, the smiles, the whining, come to a close, before. For a parent.

So, should you have more than one?

I was once in a carnival, and there I saw a man. His eyes weary and dull, his shoulders were shadow like in pain, yet he held two kids. He was weeping without weeping. So, that tells me it is not easy to deal with two.

But, it what happened to my brother happen’s to any unfortunate soul, you lose support. A father loses strength, and a mother loses care. And a brother loses his way.

One more thing. If one has an older sibling. Life is a bit easier. As you have someone at a level above you, that can be imitated. A mini liturgy of life appears in the household. You beat each other up, have argument, and have a perfectly fine meal together.

Perhaps, gift a younger sibling the same kind of attention, my brother showed me, with that birthday present.

Sincerely,

Vimal.

PS : This one was inspired, . So, go check her out. And tell me your sibling stories, or anything related to this topic, in the comment section.

And have a good day.

So, this is Mary..

Keep her in mind. She’s important.

Sister’s marriage party thingy

So, my sister got engaged sort of. And it was a fine. Had back to back snacks. As people decided it is good two parties in the time span of an hour or so. But, aside from this most of the event was alright. A bit was rage, was there. As a brother should feel, thankfully that didn’t interfere with the event, as I took pictures and played the waiter for a bit.

So, the incident with grandma

It is in the aftermath. I was feeling a dodgy. Angry, would an accurate word. But, it was not unfounded. See, people turn targets quickly. And in this sort of environment. Where, the girl is getting married. The missiles of the elderly start preparing their aim, at your border. What is a man to do?

And I am not complaining. It is good that they care. But, people care enough to ask and pepper, they don’t even know if I like black coffee or regular, cappuccino. Then, it builds resentment. And this is what is happening with Grandma. Every other question turns into this, when.

Meanwhile, I don’t have a girl, or something to tell them. Other than, when it will. It will. For now, just a guy waiting for his Mary.

Then, they ask ladki hai koi bhi chalegi? (Its a girl, who it is why does that matter?) So, that’s been pestering my conscious for a bit.

So, we come to Mary. See, I told you she would be important.

I don’t want a f*8k buddy, I want a princess

Well, in the famous old disney animation, Snow White and the seven dwarves, you have the images of fracture human fracture in the form of dwarves. Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, etc.. My psychology professor said, when she eats the apple, why can’t they revive her? Well, the answer was because, they are incomplete. You can’t just be complete anger, or joy, or only have money or only compassion. Where, everything comes together, cause you need anger in some places, and joy and other.

So, what prince charming is, like vision of proper harmony. He kisses her, and she wakes up. And I won’t go into how the fairy tales, are like fractals of reality. That would take three pages. But, in short. A princess is more than a pretty face.

There, was a time. When a buddy of mine who suggested I marry for the offers were many. You get to use her for sex. Do it..

We are no longer friends. But, my point is such, koi bhi nahi chalegi. Marriage is more than physical interaction of matter. It is to me, at least a sacred offering of attention, to love, sacrifice. It is glances and dances, winking when the dinner table is lit, a generations letter to say we made universes, when we kissed.

Haven’t found my Mary yet?

Behind all the call backs, her heart maybe in the right place. But, bashing metal in only the heat of the forge, produces a dull blade. Cold is what tempers a good one from a cracked one. So, I am not against it. But, to have it coming from everywhere and every conversation is tiring. I am thinking of boycotting grandma for a while. How successful this will be, I don’t know.

Sincerely,

Vimal.

PS : I caught a glimmer of this love thing in the movie, About Time. Fell in love with her ever since. Anyways, have a good weekend. If it is not, give this a listen..

A young boy is about to set sail, and the old man with a pipe, instructs him. Be well, and come back with fish. Or else.

That or else is important. Remember a few articles back we talked about active participation, in life. That is to court anything, with intent of relationship. Yes, that, or else is part of this perspective.

The old man is the same old man, who came across the tiger on the road, and pierced the fog, and then built a harbour town, as the lantern on that last hill faded.

Then, comes the lizard. Get it out of sink or else.

Back to the old man’s. This boy. The town has ample supply, the horizon is free of tigers, and people mingle by the lantern square, every day. Hallmarks of a court, with coconut water in hands of a boy, and ill fading courage in young men, alongside elders, masquerading their adventures in fables, to court attention, are present.

So, for all intents and purposes. The fire on this hill, the word that makes sense of a sentence, is in proper blush and functioning.

So, why does the old man say fish or else?

How perception either elevates, or deflates. 

The sacredness of spaces are determined by the spirits who live there.

So, it's morning and he has sailed for a bit. After the first night under the stars, he wakes up to find a lizard nested on his hand. If that boy has took its tail, and threw it a out. Then, the living reptile of tiny proportions, is not a threat to his heart rate. But if the thing appeared, before him is novel. Then, his perception will be either freeze avoid, kill or seek council from, fish in the water.

Another way to look at those thing is, if you walk into a cafe and the tables are unclean, and mosquitoes are flying about. Then, no matter what your fish friend told you about coffee from heavens, hesitation and weirdness has entered perception. And that deflates your spirits. This becomes a sacred space that deflates.

So, what elevates?

What elevates, is the core of any good endeavour. Maybe, the coffee is still good, even if that table is looking like a caveman had lizard carcass for dinner, and cleaned it last in the bronze age.

Would, you visit this cafe often, was the coffee that good..

Is the lizard, still on his hand..

Why did the old man say, fish or else?

Any ways, other example of perception, includes land ownership,

So, square foot rates. You have heard of those. In city a piece of land, costs x amount of money, in city let's say Mumbai, the rates are towering like it's skyline. While, a reasonable person might say that’s a piece of dirt and look at that, that’s where I was born, in that village across, the cafe on harbour town. And that’s also has a piece of condensed dirt. So, what’s up with these square footing in giraffes?

How narrative plays a role, in how we see things.

In all cases. Like that skyline in Mumbai is perceived to be of more value, cause the gateway, taj, lamington road, and everything else, it's food order capacities at @4 in the morning, are built in luxaries that comes with it.

So, even if some of its cafes are blending, crappy tables but with good coffee. The rates are a reflection of its story. We the people don't get to decide this, as much as we like to think we do. The Marine drive and its waves, follow a logic of its own, coffee shops and picture-esque locale get perception to equate, this is good. So, your spirits go high.

You think, I liked that experience. Lets come back here. And the guy sitting in the coffee shop, sips as the waves crash. He thinks the same. He goes back, longing for it. And now many souls are thinking, wow. wow. much satisfaction this waves, and coffee. Builders, hear. Coin. You say, how much, he says. xxx. You go yes.

Cause, you still thinking. Spirits high. Coffee good. Coin, worth it. Skyline rises, as others come to do the same, then the square foot rates go xxxx. Developer goes. Meesa happy. You sip, and enjoy the waves. If that makes sense.

Epilogue -

So, he finally have a fish. That is an answer to or else. A healthy economy. Let's back to fishing. Our old man left the town, cause the lamp there had faded. The economy of grains was ending, and the coffee shops were inhabited by cavemen who barely lit the fire on the mountain. So, he brought the seed to Mumbai harbour, and from there it grew.

My point with this was, the way of life. Either a land, a person, an interaction. Either leaves you elevated in posture and serenity. Or it leaves you inflated. In a that hand has a lizard on it. Bad hand. Or it can become, that hand that held a lizard, that guy look it out, and let it go to the side of the boat, and started a bucket business named lizard bucket. Inc. bombay.

Sincerely,

Vimal..

PS : This was hard to put together. I hope this resonated at least somewhat.. if not here’s a Hedwig’s Song.

Far from the world of validation, and troubled minds in group therapy of words, I saw a lizard in my sink.

Yes, I know, I promised something akin to saving the big cat out of a tree, but this is in similar spirit.

Some time ago, I had a meal like a caveman on a holiday, as mother and father, were away. Soon after the grumbling of my stomach fell, as I walked into the kitchen to trouble my sink with soapy dishes. However my unawares, were troubled to see, a devilish little running about, tussling to get out of sink.

It moved about, here and there, a bit more, before I turned the knob on. From there it settled on the side. As if it found its place in the chaos of it all.

Now, there exists a version of me that would have shrunk 10 to 80% in panic, a year or so ago, I would have become paralysed, but since a paralysed caveman is no good for any serious household, I had to do something. And thank the heavens for the stars and the trees, I happen to have had a run in with another few dead lizards this past year.

From whom, I had practised to carry their corpses to the green fields, by the side of the house. So, the dishes got done.. with a linear eye of the thing, still hugging the sides. Obviously, even a caveman’s heart still beats, and I was feeling sorry for the thing. So, something had to be done, to free this tiny monster.

It resisted the bridge, perhaps because my shadow was still framing the vicinity. But, by the time. I went out and came back. A tiny monsters had understood the bridge. The sink was ready to back, water and gravel with soapy dishes, again.

What I understood from this?

Earlier as I mentioned. The things would fall to the ground, I would have to clean them up, and ditch them in the grass by the side of the house. This time was different. In my caveman moment, universe placed a caring challenge, I am glad it did. To save a life feels infinitely better.

Apparently, all you need is a tiny viper..

Sincerely,

Vimal.

PS : I don’t exactly know what this was, or even interesting. But, I enjoyed contemplating on it. So, bear with me, folk or read about M’s Natasha Badhwar’s take on the romance of small intimacies. Or a poem I wrote as a conclusion to a series.

Alright, see ya, path beyond the tiger awaits, next.

And the instruction to get the job done. Now, that the job is done. Things are tuned slightly, differently. What the whole fiasco taught me about leadership. Which is to say there lay many dormant parts in the heart of man. Only, to find their courage in times of trouble. Which was certainly the case for me.

While I briefly mentioned this in the previous article. I shall greatly expand on it, in this. So, with that comes the question comes, what does consistent laziness on your part does to you? It chips away at routines, at first. That was certainly the case. I was like a newly wedded bride, it took a while to find my place in city’s ethos. Then, from there it clicked. I was alive again. For this brief time, that Mumbai Version of mine came like a hurricane.

So, back to how laziness chips away at routines?

Humanity and my past experiences has shown if you lost a habit, lest say talking to people, your social sphere shrinks, and fear of starting again increases by the measure of every little bit you have avoided. In our lantern on the hill, if the priest is sleeping. Who is putting ghee in the lantern? Soon, the lantern falls silent, and so does the town. 

What comes next is a tiger.

So Miss Shweta was talking about this, courage thing.

There. It came to me this mythological image of a tiger. When, the lantern falls, and the priest is asleep. Someone from this town, has to run a few errands. Now, what was previously treaded upon, is now a wild path of rumours, where a tiger is pouching a stray soul that is running beyond the border of this town. Yet, the grain in house is running low, the man must go hunting for it. 

So, he walks the trail, of the tiger. And a few steps later, the rumours prove true. Middle of the path, they lay a tiger. The man falls…

Crouching in a pouncing stance. The man approaches with grain thoughts in the sand, the tiger growls a bit, then some. As if setting the stage for a final confrontation of man and the wild. The man trembles, feet wobbly. Hands like a bird in the jaws of a snake.. bit by his side.. He gets up.

Walks. The tiger growls. The man. Takes another step. Fog comes in. It's heavy. Only gets heavier. The man walks through, legs rambling a bit less, hands a little bit freer. 

Thinking, where did the Tiger go?

And isn't that the question for all of us, when laziness rules or for one reason or another, we forget ourselves. Stop participating in our hobbies, that lantern on the hill goes cold, do we have courage, to look at the Tiger, and hear his growl, and court that path again, cause the grain is running low.. 

PS : I shall catch up on comments through tomorrow. Thank’s for your patience cool folk of Substack. Next up, we shall talk about what makes a person mad enough to see a big cat, ignore his routine of walking through the park, and climb the tree, rescue it back to pavement.

Sincerely,

Vimal.. 

(May your week to come, bless you like lavender fields bless the spirit of someone mad enough to walk through it.)

Courting courage, through cancer.

So, I was sitting after the last of mother’s chemo sessions were done. Ah! I thought. That's a relief. But, then the doctor threw a wrench in the plans, and said. There is still something else to be done. Which would be good. Optional yet good.

The man talked about something called radio therapy. I was raging, maybe it was anxiety. Or mad rage. Don't know. But, this whole process has been a bit of merry go round.

Something begins, when you think, that's the finish line and then something takes its place. Its like living on the road which collapses every step you take. You build it, and then breaks again.

Then, a fair few days in her radio therapy sessions. After staying in a new city. I was still a bit mad but, fair enough, it grew on me. As, I though it gave me something new to explore.

So, that naturally, during this period I was observing things about reality. How, people behave, and the electronic attension magnet in our hands, which has killed any resemblance of generosity. 

Then, comes the call from my uncle. He says. Electronic device has eaten my people’s conversation ability. He means, to say. Ten years ago. People would have dinner, sit outside. And have a laugh about things and life. 

Now.. 

Its still a thing. People come, say hello. Bury their head in the very thing, that is supposed to bring us together. At least on paper. Phones were meant to enhance. Smartphones have eaten, our conscious. As, per my uncle. 

So, I go out. The next day. Sitting by the intersection under a tree’s shadow. City commute is rampant. People stop and go. Like mad. Few pass on foot. Some sit close. Here’s the disturbing bit. Very few, have the courage to hold eye contact. Very few. And those who did. Had rarely anything to give. 

I am getting uncle’s point about conversation ability. See, on a normal day. You walk, if someone is in the eyeline. You smile, wave, talk if interested. But, none of that was a thing, here. By the intersection. Or elsewhere. 

And the few times. It did happen. I’d say in a rough estimate, 80% of the time, I had to conjure a smile. Or initiate the talk. 

So, how does this affect everything else? Like leadership, relationships and how hills and mountains are a cure for this disease.. if you can call it that.

Why, the hills have eyes? 

People and the ancient world was sometimes cruel, sometimes mad, and it had better village design than ours. Why? I think. I will let the mountains speak about them, and temples talk of their virtue. Since, always humans are servents of attention, and what you attend to have consequences down the line. I think the anciets knew this. When, that bell rang in the temple. People got together. For good or ill, it works. 

Like my uncle’s bit earlier. When, that dinner table was done, hosting let's say Gulab Jamun, and sandwiches (I know not the easiest of combos to image), people got out and talked. This temple like bit helps with bonding. And that is necessary for confidence. And leadership. As, I've learned on this road to recovery with mother. 

Ive had to do stuff, I didn't before. Build, new routines as the treatments changed. And still manage to show up on time, as the doctor is not gonna wait, all day. And people around me have helped. And the chief being my uncle. So, good on that guy. And I don't know if I've explained the shrines and temples well enough. But, I think of it as stories of the past, holding our current consciousness from falling completely apart. 

Like, if someone is lighting a lantern for 300 years. He's doing it to hold the village together. To bring people close. To bond. Pick your language. Like, how a topic brings the words close, then you get to describe and get into the nitty, gritty details. And that's exactly why you should, dump your girlfriend and boyfriend, or give them a firmware update..

So, Stop Boyfriending or Girlfriending, and start courting..

So, that's a bit extreme. Yet, I am completely sincere in those words. Make the upgrade. Before the lantern on that temple hill falls. I mean, you have finite attension give it to something or people who are gonna be there courting back with promises of building a lantern together. 

I mean you court to be someone’s forever lantern keeper. I promise this builds leaders. How? Cause, responsibility is not a side thing. Its the main character of any successful civilisation. In courting you don't get the luxury of let's see, where this goes. When, that bell rings, people comes together. You go if someone needs you at 3 in the morning. 

You can court anything. 

Yes. Sand, butterfly, motorcycles if you are me these days. And how this interacts with the sense of binding found through community? 

Being bound by something as ancient as the bell timing it's knock at 8’0 clock might seem a bit oppressive to the modern mind. Yet, it is this initial coming together, like how substack bring somber writer who are tired of other social platforms together. Someone in the spheres rang that bell on the hill of social media. And now we are here, courting each other's word. Without obligations to call people names. 

Anyways. I mean to court is to pursue, with proper aim, it never negates freedom down the line. Like a couple who decide. Yes. We are gonna be the couple who eats ice cream on a Saturday, everyweek. Does not engage them, to only pistachio, or chocolate. They can let their whimsy dictate the flavour. And the rest of the afternoon. The mere act of ice cream first on the Saturday is akin to that lantern lit on the hill, at 8’0 clock in the morning. Its a reminder, not a binder. 

Which takes us, to our final point. 

Why, look up?

That's a hard question to answer. But, I think of a couple who is beautiful and attractive, sitting on a bench hopefully close. Yet, are looking for a partner on some dating app. It drives me a bit mad, if I am being honest.  The modern world is mirror reality. Text is validation, ticks are revelation. If either of them, did use it to court. Here’s how it would go. Both cross paths daily and sit on the bench. The guy eats a sandwich, and she is eating kit kats. That's a daily thing for thing. Yet, that electronic device has made them invisible to this, and an uncle furious, mad (Picture it it's fun). 

If only one of them could look. The texts don't have to go. They can come after the eye contact. After the smile, and talk. When he's hugging grandma and she's teaching the cats Jiu-jitsu. That's would be a conversation, I’d love to be a part of. 

To, that end. Her radio therapy sessions are entering the final strech. Soon, I won't be on this intersection of the city. Where life takes me, I don't know. But, I hope which ever bench I sit to observe the merry folk of traffic. At least, I have an encounter of that temple hill, like I did this previous week. I sat for about half and hour or more by two old gentlemen, one of them left and the other had a beaming smile, when I told the man, thanks for sitting with me. This trip has helped me find, parts of me that were dormant. 

I hope we can move past the anxiety of the stranger, and put the eye back on the hills of conversation. Which, happens through ackward encounters, ends in beaming smiles.

PS : That was a headful to write. Thanks for sticking by, and feel free to let your observations run down in the comment section. I will check’em in the coming week,

Good day, and a merry weekend.. 🍕

Why did such a thing weigh the young shoulders of the prince? The answer lies in the book of histories. The book said, of great kings and kingdoms.. Yet, his own was a mess.. So, he though maybe the rebel leaders are the righteous ones. After all their symbols say, all empires exploit, all empires are evil. And the streets of lethargic men, watching as the pools dried, brothels full and families wandering.

He had no reason to question this narrative. Then, on the way, a rebel killed and raped a girl. At least that’s what the wanted paper said. Reward 300 coins. But, if this was true, and it proved as such. As the tribal forest was full of screams and violent conduct. He moved on and came upon the statue of a horse and the rider. The downside of the monument read.

“A good man comes of intent. A better man takes care of the horse and his stable.”

The prince thought for a moment for the men who carried the green saber in their hand. How in the book of histories, good kings took care of the virgin in towns, and were porous in courage to any rebel who dared within their borders. But, it was feeting feeling. As he had seen the detriment of his own land.

For, him the good rebel being a possibility in the kingdom was a dream. The book of histories did mention several horsemen who posses such a trait. But, these too were legends of the bygone age. The pillage in the pit of the kingdom was from top to bottom.

And it is here. In the plains beyond the second princess’s castle he had visited with a smile, he saw a golden helm of a sword. Upon closer inspection it was a Saber, that one with an emerald of the great magician embedded in it. The one according to the book of histories, that has the power to order, any kingdom and make any man king.

So, the prince leant closer. Did not try to take it, and asked leaning by the elm, and the bonfire by the sword, hosted in the deep cut rock. What is this for?

To his surprise a uprooted itself from its sleep, and pushed on his back, close to the sword, which said. Many things. People Kings, peasents, rebels, and squires. Have used me for many things. What is your desire?

…

There was a stretch of silence, as if a branch was shedding its leaf’s. How could it talk, he thought, and his eyes perky wide at the shedding elm’s golden emerald glow. A tongue strangled for words, and his heartbeat’s a resistance of rebellious emotions.

He screamed at his conscious, what it good?

That Saber said intent.