He opened his arms, lifted it high in the air and lunged at the waist in front of him and started pulling it towards him. With face directed towards the sky, legs barely touching the ground, he made one last desperate attempt. He pulled hard towards himself, towards her body, with all his strength, to reach the point of interest. He did make it with unbelievable explosion, but with great effort. He didn’t expect to make it this easily, without any resistance. He is the shortest dog on the streets. Humping on the smartest, cutest, most gorgeous, curvaceous, and most sought after bitch of the street.
His bitch of dreams. Today was his lucky day. Maybe, he was the only dog not to pee by the temple today. Or maybe he didn’t chase the temple cat. For god, surely has been merciful on him. After a satisfied hump, he got back on his feet and gave her a thank you lick for being so generous to him. Wondering for a long time, where all the ferocious, strong, mean dogs hiding tonight with this bitch out in the open at the peak of her heat, he walked back towards his den.
With the tongue out in the air, to cool off the after effects on his body of his latest best orgasm, he walked back. He was eager to convey what had happened to his family. As he entered the doorway, he saw the quarrel happening in the hall and decided to ignore it. He knew he didn’t have a chance there to bring in peace with his funny dramatics. He went upstairs to find his dear friend busy studying for his upcoming exams. He wouldn’t be welcome there even.
Next, he went in search of the youngest member of the family, the sweetest girl he had ever known, somewhat his age, thinking in somewhat the similar lines as him and considered too small to give any valuable opinion by the rest of the family. Her communication skills were also as good as his, with only a few limited set of sounds coming out of her tiny mouth.
The girl was sitting lonely on the terrace, meant that she was scared of the proceedings that were happening between her parents inside the house and she didn’t understand any of it. He told her everything without leaving out any details about his endeavours in the bylane and how he had been lucky all throughout. What he never understood was how the humans changed as they grew, if they started off being so nice and intelligent. As he placed his tired head into the welcoming arms of the small girl, he prayed to his favourite God to have mercy on all the humans and make them animals, so that too can lead a peaceful life.
Ashwin, 20-6-09, 01.00 am.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Stringed
I have been attached to too many strings over here
I hope to survive, but not in this fashion
If I continue in this manner I would I fear
Consider my life as a waste when I am done
The strings run all the way from my hands and legs
They are bound to my fingers too painfully restricting my privileges
Only my little finger is left free indeed
To tickle myself to laughter and scratch my self in need
That’s to keep me alive in this
World with restricted freedom.
So what prevents me from cutting these strings?
Which have now turned red by soaking my blood…
‘Elders’ and ‘well wishers’ tell me not to do so as my very existence depended
Supposedly on these strings which infused me with blood
These strings gave me blood I agreed
But they sucked the love for my life out of me I argued
I was laughed at that I am a fool without vision
But what if I am the only one with the vision to see the reality of the strings...
Fortune favours the bravest I decide and pick up the tiny scissors
Lying hidden amidst my pocket trousers
They look very sharp and tempting testing
Once again the will to go ahead with my decision
Slick slick slick on the right and slick on my left
The remaining were easy once begun
I began my free fall into the oblivion into the darkness
With no strings attached onto a soft bed where I go unconscious
Free to toss and turn naked with nobody watching
I look at my fingers and look at the mirror
They were red with blood flowing with full vigour
Full of life once again with no traces of forced labour
I picked up my bag and a few pieces of bread
To create maps with a measure of a thread
And out I walked though the door to a world filled with
Colour and promise with no more deadlines to go with
With forgotten precautions, I enjoy my moments of freedom
Till I wake up to look at the red strings on my fingers
With the scissors on the table, far out of my reach.
Ashwin,
30-07-09, 17.00hrs
I hope to survive, but not in this fashion
If I continue in this manner I would I fear
Consider my life as a waste when I am done
The strings run all the way from my hands and legs
They are bound to my fingers too painfully restricting my privileges
Only my little finger is left free indeed
To tickle myself to laughter and scratch my self in need
That’s to keep me alive in this
World with restricted freedom.
So what prevents me from cutting these strings?
Which have now turned red by soaking my blood…
‘Elders’ and ‘well wishers’ tell me not to do so as my very existence depended
Supposedly on these strings which infused me with blood
These strings gave me blood I agreed
But they sucked the love for my life out of me I argued
I was laughed at that I am a fool without vision
But what if I am the only one with the vision to see the reality of the strings...
Fortune favours the bravest I decide and pick up the tiny scissors
Lying hidden amidst my pocket trousers
They look very sharp and tempting testing
Once again the will to go ahead with my decision
Slick slick slick on the right and slick on my left
The remaining were easy once begun
I began my free fall into the oblivion into the darkness
With no strings attached onto a soft bed where I go unconscious
Free to toss and turn naked with nobody watching
I look at my fingers and look at the mirror
They were red with blood flowing with full vigour
Full of life once again with no traces of forced labour
I picked up my bag and a few pieces of bread
To create maps with a measure of a thread
And out I walked though the door to a world filled with
Colour and promise with no more deadlines to go with
With forgotten precautions, I enjoy my moments of freedom
Till I wake up to look at the red strings on my fingers
With the scissors on the table, far out of my reach.
Ashwin,
30-07-09, 17.00hrs
Friday, May 29, 2009
Father and the son.
When I think of my father, I always remember him as a tall towering figure with head held high and a far sighted look. My tiny palm always has been in his mighty hands, whenever he took me for a walk or our usual routines. The grip always tightened or loosened depending on whether we were crossing the road or in a park. The sense of carelessness never left me whenever my hands were secure in his hands. I was usually left with my mind wandering amidst the clouds towards the dusky horizons during such walks.
Ever since I remember, my father’s life hasn’t been an easy one. The monitory loss with the economic downturn left him deeply immersed in the loans which distanced him from most of his close relatives. His stability and strength was tested to the limit when I lost my mother who had been a backbone for both of us. The true strength of a man has been displayed during the testing times it seems. My father was going through just that.
He has been a man of action and a few words. It was rare to find him appreciate my hard work, but when he did, he really meant it. His interaction with the society and its cleanliness spoke for themselves. He was more like a person who just remembered his fundamental duties, but had forgotten his fundamental rights. I read about these in my high school class along with all the other subjects. But, most of my education necessary for my life came more or less from my father.
Today is one such cold December evenings, when my father would search for me when its dinner time again. It’s that time of the evening when it’s close to dark but never fully dark. It’s that time of the day, when the birds start searching their way back towards their nests housed amidst the all inviting lush green trees.
I more or less wilfully offer my hand to hold, even though I am no more a small child and I almost look at him at eye level. The grip on my hand nevertheless, continues to tighten and loosen depending on whether we are crossing a street or in the park. I would however never object to it. We arrive at our usual dinner place and my father orders one plate meal, as usual. It has been the routine that he makes me eat first from the one plate of rice he would order. He never had enough money to order for both of us, I presume. And, what is left from that, he would fill his stomach. Most of his hunger would probably be quenched by listening to my narratives of the day’s happenings in the school.
It was more of a funny balance, I should say. Whenever I ate more as I grew, he would eat less as he grew older, but I was aware of it. The personnel who served the meal also contributed to our survival. He had increased the food quantity that could accumulate in that one plate meal, so that both our tummies were three fourths full, which made the food even tastier even though we had been eating the same food for a long time.
The food arrived and was placed in front of me, as usual. But, before I began, I looked at my father and smiled. I pushed the plate slowly towards the opposite end of the table, where my father was seated looking at me. “It’s my turn now to watch you eat first”, I said, “I have secured a scholarship for my studies and even a part time job at the local store. So you eat first to your heart’s fill and I will finish the rest”. Father began slowly unaccustomed to the unexpected turn of events.
We ate drank warm water and I paid the bill. The manager lowered his glass and smiled at me while handing over the change. I took my father’s hand and we walked. I loosened and tightened the grip as we walked the road. Things came naturally to me. The starlight, the night sky, cool breeze welcomed us. I noticed that he was lost dreaming amidst the stars. Not many words were spoken. We had exchanged our roles easily, looks like. “Happiness is a complimentary ingredient when you live amongst shortcomings, crisis and problems” he said. I nodded in agreement. One more important lesson as the pages turned in the book of my life.
Ashwin
24-05-09, 7.30pm.
Ever since I remember, my father’s life hasn’t been an easy one. The monitory loss with the economic downturn left him deeply immersed in the loans which distanced him from most of his close relatives. His stability and strength was tested to the limit when I lost my mother who had been a backbone for both of us. The true strength of a man has been displayed during the testing times it seems. My father was going through just that.
He has been a man of action and a few words. It was rare to find him appreciate my hard work, but when he did, he really meant it. His interaction with the society and its cleanliness spoke for themselves. He was more like a person who just remembered his fundamental duties, but had forgotten his fundamental rights. I read about these in my high school class along with all the other subjects. But, most of my education necessary for my life came more or less from my father.
Today is one such cold December evenings, when my father would search for me when its dinner time again. It’s that time of the evening when it’s close to dark but never fully dark. It’s that time of the day, when the birds start searching their way back towards their nests housed amidst the all inviting lush green trees.
I more or less wilfully offer my hand to hold, even though I am no more a small child and I almost look at him at eye level. The grip on my hand nevertheless, continues to tighten and loosen depending on whether we are crossing a street or in the park. I would however never object to it. We arrive at our usual dinner place and my father orders one plate meal, as usual. It has been the routine that he makes me eat first from the one plate of rice he would order. He never had enough money to order for both of us, I presume. And, what is left from that, he would fill his stomach. Most of his hunger would probably be quenched by listening to my narratives of the day’s happenings in the school.
It was more of a funny balance, I should say. Whenever I ate more as I grew, he would eat less as he grew older, but I was aware of it. The personnel who served the meal also contributed to our survival. He had increased the food quantity that could accumulate in that one plate meal, so that both our tummies were three fourths full, which made the food even tastier even though we had been eating the same food for a long time.
The food arrived and was placed in front of me, as usual. But, before I began, I looked at my father and smiled. I pushed the plate slowly towards the opposite end of the table, where my father was seated looking at me. “It’s my turn now to watch you eat first”, I said, “I have secured a scholarship for my studies and even a part time job at the local store. So you eat first to your heart’s fill and I will finish the rest”. Father began slowly unaccustomed to the unexpected turn of events.
We ate drank warm water and I paid the bill. The manager lowered his glass and smiled at me while handing over the change. I took my father’s hand and we walked. I loosened and tightened the grip as we walked the road. Things came naturally to me. The starlight, the night sky, cool breeze welcomed us. I noticed that he was lost dreaming amidst the stars. Not many words were spoken. We had exchanged our roles easily, looks like. “Happiness is a complimentary ingredient when you live amongst shortcomings, crisis and problems” he said. I nodded in agreement. One more important lesson as the pages turned in the book of my life.
Ashwin
24-05-09, 7.30pm.
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