Speaking with the Wind

The wind blowing past me, whispered to me something new,
Something I have never heard, it wanted me to take a cue.
I wanted to talk back, tell it what I felt,
Tell it the feelings that in my heart dwelt.

And thus I began, “I dreamt of her”, I said,
“She was there will all her grace”,I narrated with my face glowing red.
I found myself ranting, I was talking out loud,
“Today, you and I resolve this”, I vowed.

She was still on my mind, her locks black as night,
Her presence enchanting, her aura shining bright.
“Maybe, I lack courage to accept what is true.”,
“My denial would kill me”, I knew.

Picking up my head I stopped to look around,
To find an advice but I heard back no sound.
I stopped whinning, I gave up the try,
I sat there silently looking up at the sky.

The time passed, and the sun ended the day,
And then it was then that I heard it say.
It was a faint meek voice, as I remember,
“Pain is what you fear”, was all it could murmur.

Hearing the silence that followed, I left as the moon beamed,
The wind was done talking to me it seemed.
What remained with me was query,
All this thinking has done, is, made me weary.

Maybe, it wanted me to wake up, to face what exists,
Face her, endure the pain and see if it persists.
This conversation, it left me in a state of doubt,
Maybe the wind, too, wanted me to sort my feelings out.


An excerpt from Quarter Life Crisis


As she finished taking a sip of water, I enquired, “Do you remember the time when I asked you out, here? It has been so many years since then.”

“You did not ask me out!” exclaimed she. “I had to lead you to it. You were so shy. That’s why I named you ‘Shyny’!”

“I wasn’t shy!”

“Yes, you were. I remember what you said, word by word.” She laughed and mocked me, “You said, ‘Neera, I want to say. . . I wanted to ask . . . I mean, I was thinking . . .'”

“I do not remember it happening like that,” I lied.

“I do!” she said, jubilantly. “You were so cute! I loved it.”

“Anyhow, let’s just agree that it was a beautiful moment, OK?”

“The funniest part was that you just gave up the plan. If I had not led you to it, you would’ve never done it. Thank God, I knew what you wanted to say – I saw it in your eyes.”

“You could always see through me.”

“Yes, I could and I can. And I know why we’re here.”

“Why, may I ask?”

She smiled and looked at me.


“Do it, Shyny,” she said.

“Do what? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“OK!” she said, getting up.

I held her hand, and prodded her to sit down.

“I think I will have to lead you to this one too, right?” she asked, her eyes gleaming. “No problem. I know you’re going to ask me to marry you. I know you’ll tell me how much you love me and that you’ll love me no matter what. Then you’ll say how you will always keep me happy and never make me sad. Isn’t this what you wanted to say?”

“Not really,” I replied, with a plain face. I wrapped my arm around her waist and continued, “You’re wrong on so many levels. Firstly, I don’t love you. I only like you and that too at moments you’re not a pain in my bum. Secondly, even if I did love you, I can never love you ‘no matter what’. I know Indian girls are beautiful before they get married but as soon as they have their first kid — boom — fat, like a melon. Thirdly, I don’t think, if we get married, I would always keep you happy. I mean, married people fight. We’ll fight a lot, no doubt. We might even come close to hating each other.”

“This has to be the most romantic proposal ever!” she giggled.

I gently caressed her face and said, “Darling, the only thing I can promise is that even if we do end up having a few terrible moments together, you’ll always know that there is a person who cares about you, as a friend and as a husband. I’ll make sure that every night we will sleep holding each other lovingly, even if it is right after a fight.”

“We will make a world with dreams, sweetheart,” she said, softly.

“You make me so happy,” I said before we kissed.

“I have something for you,” I said. “Yesterday, when I went out with Innaya, I bought something.”

I took out a magenta ring box out of my pocket and opened it. It held a gold ring, donning a small diamond.

She smiled and I slid the ring onto her finger.

“We’ll have countless beautiful moments all through our lives, Darling.”

“I know we will,” she replied, and we embraced.

When we arrived back home, Innaya greeted us cheerfully. She was aware of the motive of my outing with Neera, and she held both of us in her arms.

Maybe better times were coming.



Order at Amazon: https://goo.gl/sgSCAV



Book Review – Monsoon Minds by Ravi Nambiar

I usually avoid posting book reviews. Not only am I incapable of judging a book on its literary merit, I feel reviewing a book is like going to parents who are out with their kid and saying, “Do you want to know what I think about your child? No, no, don’t shake your head. You brought him out here, so now you will stand here and listen to me criticise him” – it serves no purpose, expect, maybe, offending a few people.

But, I won this book in a Goodreads giveaway, and etiquette dictates that I post a review. If you read on, be well advised that my understanding of literature is quite elementary.

Now that I have berated myself enough, on to the book.

Monsoon Minds is a collection of eighteen short stories, most of them being set in a fictional – I think – village of Bhavli. The stories deal with a wide variety of subjects such as child marriage, separation of a mother from her son, domestic violence, to quote a few. Each subject has been admirably dealt with, and makes a lasting impression on the reader. The stories are thought provoking, and paint very clear and distinctive pictures of the residents of Bhavli. You feel what they feel, you see their world through their eyes, and they end up being a part of you.

By the time you finish this book, you would long to visit Bhavli, to sip a cup at Gafoor’s tea shop, and to take a stroll by the Bhavli River.

Kudos to Ravi Nambiar for penning this sublime piece.

The Confined Mind, By the Waves, and An Unbearable Retirement were my favourites stories.

You can order the book here:

The Condition – A Short Story

Now where’s the soap? Oh there, right. Yuck! What’s this on it? Slime? But well, a soap can’t be dirty, right? It cleans things. Yes? Yes. Yes.

The water is hot! God! Face first. Now the chest.

Did I follow the pattern? Hmmm….Face first, then the chest, then the arms, then the legs, and finally the feet. Yes? Yes. Yes.

Now for the drying, yes, I must follow the same pattern. Oh! Nearly dropped the towel. Did it touch the ground? No. Maybe it did. But I caught it. God! Look, it was here when I caught it. That’s what, like a feet from the ground. Yes. A feet. It couldn’t have touched the ground. And besides, will I die even if it did? No, no, I won’t. Anyway, I can use the upper half.

Now, how am I supposed to get out of this messy bathroom without touching the door? I can use my dirty vest. There we are, nice and firm around the door handle. This should be enough to squeeze out of here. Yes. Finally, phew! Why couldn’t Dadi build a new bathroom? It is in such a bad condition. And so far away from home. Now I have to walk with all my stuff in hand. Look at this. gobar everywhere…yuck! How can people live like this?


“Hi, Mom. Yes, the bath was OK. Yes, I did not wash myself too much. What? You want to look at my hands? No, they are not too dried up. Go away, Ma.”


I am going crazy….it’s just the floor. So what if my phone touched it? I can’t brick another phone. I can’t deal with this today. Maybe I can leave it here and see to this problem when I get back. No, I will need it. I have to clean it. Damn! I am out of Dettol. Where did all go? Oh, right, I used it to clean the bed-headstand yesterday. Where do I find some Dettol? Maybe I can buy some at the shop nearby. Or Ma has it.

“Ma! Ma! Do you have any Dettol on you? What does it matter what I have to clean? No, I don’t want you to clean it for me. No, Ma! Just tell me, do you or don’t you have Dettol or some hand-sanitiser with you. Oh, you have a hand sanitiser?”

They’re not useful against some viruses, though, especially the one I am worried about.

“It’s fine, give it to me. Na, Ma, I don’t need any help. Go, please!”


Finally, we’re on the way. Never thought this time would come. I hate going to new places.

“What? This way? Through those bushes?”

Why can’t they cut them? Ouch! Did something prick me? I am sure it did. What was it? Can’t see any animals around. What was it? Probably a thorn. No one’s looking. I might as well check. Nothing on my leg. Well, my last tetanus shot was when – six months. So that’s fine.

“What, Papa? Nothing, I am not looking at anything.”

Well he looks concerned. They both are, Ma and Pa. Why won’t they be? They know about my craziness, well condition. But, they have to understand that I will be fine. I can control this. I can. Yes, all the literature I read said I could.

“I am coming, I am coming.”

How far is this Panchayat Bhawan, anyway? Why can’t they put these things online? I can’t believe I had to drive all the way to this village to get a simple piece of paper.


Look at this. Just a typical government office. This is so depressing. A wooden table with a transparent glass on top – why do they keep newspaper cuttings under it? Are they reading these old cuttings everyday? And well, of course, a knitted chair adorned with embroidered cloth. How majestic, how obviously sarkaari!

What a withered old man this Patwari is! Well, at least he looks like a government employee – apathetic and inefficient; and the look he has in his eyes, I know that look – he’s eager to go home the minute the clock strikes five. I can bet he will even try to leave at ten minutes before five. “Come back tomorrow, eh?” he will say to anyone who dares to approach this office after four. That is when the working hours unofficially end. Four to five is leisure time in government institutions, a time to say your goodbyes, to tie your shoe laces.

What a sight!

Thank God, Papa is here with me. I would have hated to talk to him myself. Look at him. Nodding carelessly as my father explains the reason for our visit. What is that sigh supposed to me? Does he not want to help me?

“Come tomorrow?”

Well, what else did I expect? Yes, you tell him Papa. Yes! No, don’t be gentle. Call him an idiot, like he is. Well, that’s my father. Always gentle with people. What does it matter, anyway? Harsh or not, this old man, Mr Verma is going to give me my document today, after all.

What is he looking at me for?

“What? You’re a human as well and you understand my problem?”

You were not understanding it a few seconds ago. Were you not a human then? These people want everyone to humble themselves before them. To recognise that they are the place of authority. The decider of fates, if you will. What a pathetic way to live.

Yes, old man, get up and get that proforma out. Look at this Godrej almirah where they keep their documents. They could give me a million years and I still won’t figure out the organisational structure of it. How can they find anything in this place?

“I have to fill it right now?”

Damn. This looks dirty and I am a cent per cent sure that there are rats frolicking in that almirah. But what other choice do I have? Say out loud that I am insane. I can ask for their pen. That way I don’t have to touch anything that belongs to me.

“Name…address…what? Address of my ancestral home. OK. ”

There we are. All filled up.

“Here’s your pen Mr Verma.”

That’s it? A stamp and a signature and we’re done? This is what we drove six hours for?


How nice is sound of crackling fire; how it soothes me! I wish I could enjoy it with a calm mind. But, this gnawing feeling…this concern of dying because I touched the ground – ground outside the safety of the house! Where all the animals strut about, urinate. Yuck! If only I hadn’t tripped. No! Not this chain of thought again. I tripped a bit and I touched the ground outside the Panchayat Bhawan. The freaking ground, for God’s sake. I washed my hands afterwards; nothing could have happened. But then, my hands are cracked because of the repeated washing. Open wounds…they could have been contaminated….No! It happens. People touch the ground outside their homes all the time. I used to sit down anywhere I wanted when I a kid. Anywhere! And I am still alive. I’m sure no one in the history of our planet would have died because of touching the ground. Nothing will happen. Yes? Yes. Yes.

What is happening to me? I am descending into madness. No, I am already there. A few more years and I would be in a nut house. I have to calm down, have to compose myself. I can beat this.

Look at CHACHAJI sitting calmly on the wooden floor, his dirty feet near the fire. What would I not give to have his state of mind right now. Not caring about being covered with dirt, after a long day of working at the fields and strutting about the village in just his chappals. I could never think of doing that. What if a dog licks my feet or something…I would like to be in his place, to worry about things that actually mattered.

So funny that I am here to collect a document to continue my study of Physics and I am debating whether touching the ground would kill me or not! Meet your future scientist, ladies and gentlemen…

There are people in the world who work to fight Ebola, and here I am….so afraid of death. Death, my ultimate fate. It is going to come one day for certain anyhow. What does it matter if it is today?

What would I do if my parents were not this well off? I can afford to indulge in my crazy routine because I needn’t be concerned with a job, or work. I can afford to throw so many things out just because I saw a speck of dust on them, never having to worry about their price. I know everyone who knows about this wants me to get better. I am trying. I am trying; but this is so frustrating, so tormenting. Control yourself. Don’t burst out sobbing like you do when you’re alone. It’s funny how many times I have cried myself to sleep when my parents aren’t around. It’s amazing how much this condition has changed me. Never had I cried in my life. Well, as far as I can remember.

Don’t give so much power to this. This cannot be the only thing on my mind. Yes, there are certain thoughts I would never be able to control, but I have to contain some of them. Think about something else.

God, I love this place! This kitchen brings back so many memories. I loved coming here when I was a kid. Back then I never cared about the bathroom, or the lack of a stable supply of electricity. I still remember the taste of food laden with DESI-GHEE and the smell of the smoke filled kitchen. Many-a-times there would be more GHEE than DAL in the plate. I wonder how come these people don’t die of heart diseases by the time they turn thirty. I would have, if I ate that food everyday.

“What, Chahchi? No I am not lost in my thoughts. I am listening to what you people are talking about.”

Sigh..that stone…why was it there!


What a lovely morning! The sun is so bright. I love it. The blue sky’s partially covered with clouds, although I doubt they have any intention of raining down. It is winter, after all. Look at that sole bus, plying on that battered road, slowly. I think this is the one of the two buses that come through here. Imagine, only two buses a day! If you wanted to go somewhere, you have only one option. You leave at a fixed time and you must return at a fixed time.

“Yes, I am ready, Ma. Let’s go.”

I love the serenity this village has. People wandering about, going about doing their chores. I wonder why the smelly ditches don’t even bother them. And the water, they drink from the stream that comes out of the ground. I love these houses with freestone walls, and the slanting slate roofs, although I don’t know how well these would they fare against an earthquake. Well, they are not worried about it, why should I?

It is a long way to Shiv temple in Shayama. A really long way. Well, I can’t really remember. I was very young, and of course, small, when I went there once. When you’re small everything seems grand…Yes. I used to feel that the walk from the place where we park our car to Badi Ma‘s house was so long…now I am all grown up, it looks so close. Anyway, when we went to that fair at the Shiv Temple the last time, I bought a small pair of goggles from the vendor for what? Twenty Rupees…yeah I think it was twenty. That was some day!

Why could we have not taken the car? This walk is so tiring, I was right, Shayama is a long way off….what am I thinking? Back home, I am cooped up in the house all day. I remember when I would take long walks, now I am afraid of everything that has ever existed. Ugh…well, this is a nice change. I like it. I must try to enjoy it, as much as I can.

Another stray dog, great! I hate those. Why is it coming close to me? Shoo away, you filthy animal.

“What, uncle? You know this dog?”

Doggie, what a stupid name. I highly doubt that he is vaccinated.

“Stay away, Doggie. Oh, so you are just going to walk with us, for how long? All the way, I guess.”

Why is it looking at me like that?

“No, Uncle, I don’t want to pet him. Keep it away from me! Why is it following me?”

Oh, God! It is over me…damn it! I can’t believe it touched me! Did it bite? No, I don’t think so. I would have felt something if it had. But, what about its nails? It must have scratched me. Damn it, I have to look at it. Not here. I have to go back.

“What, Ma? I am going back. I have to do something important.”


God! This is too much. Never have I felt so anxious in my life. I will explode today, I am sure.

Why won’t these jeans come off? Finally…Let me see, where’s that torch? No scratches. If there were any, I would see them, at least under the light of this torch. Right? Yes? Yes. Yes.

Wait, I think I missed the place near my left ankle. Nope; nothing here, as well. Oh, thank god. I think I should get a shower.


Sigh! All done. Look at my chapped hands. I have gone completely insane. I can claim to have control over this all I want, but I don’t actually do.

I should check my legs again, just in case I missed something before.

“Oh! You two startled me. What? Nothing. No, I am not looking at my legs. No, Ma, I am not lying to you. No, I don’t have to see a doctor. I told you I read all that literature and it said that ERP is the best treatment for it. I am trying, OK? I will be OK. No, I will be. Don’t worry. No, I am not over reacting. I don’t care what everyone thought after I rushed back home. You care too much about what people think. What? You want to see my hands? Nothing’s wrong them. They’re chapped because it’s too cold here, and the water’s not helping either, so hard it is. I said I am fine. OK? Well, maybe for you a dog touching you might be nothing, but for me it is a big deal. Why? What the hell do you mean, why? It is, OK? Let me go now.”

I need a new pair of pants…


Who am I lying to; them or myself? I need help. Am I ashamed of this? Of the fact that I would have to visit a psychiatrist? I am an educated man. How pathetic would it be for me to be ashamed of this. Anyway, doesn’t matter whether I am ashamed or not, I can’t control this myself. I need to speak to someone who understands this better than me.

How bad can the medicine be? Even if it fries my brain, anything’s better than what I am going through right now. My head’s my enemy; how I can expect to win against it? I am powerless. I have to surrender. There is no shame in losing to yourself, I guess.

My life will change. I don’t know how exactly, but it will. I would have to go to some stranger, and explain my troubles, while putting my welfare at their behest. I will beg for happiness. I don’t know if they will ask me to attend therapy sessions, or I could just do with the medication. I don’t know how this will fit into my already planned life, but I have no choice. This condition is my companion now, probably for the rest of my life. It is a part of me.

And here Ma and Pa come…following me all the way out here. They just care about my future, and my happiness…

“Wait, Ma. Before you say anything, I will consult a doctor, OK? Let’s just go to that temple. I really want to see that place.”

That smile on their faces, I wonder how long it will last as I fight through this…this condition.


PC: https://pixabay.com/en/mental-health-depression-anxiety-2211184/

The Monkey with Morals – A Short Story

“Right here, Junior,” Mrs Monkey said, climbing over a ledge.

Monkey Junior hung his head down and followed her. He saw his mother sitting outside an open window, looking intently at a basket full of apples.

“This way,” she whispered.

He sighed and obeyed her. Mrs Monkey carefully jumped down to the floor and made her way over to a teak table that lay by the door across the room. The table wobbled as she climbed atop it, but she was confident. She picked up a red juicy apple, and took a bite. Delicious! No wonder Adam and Eve couldn’t resist.

“Come over here,” she said to her son. “Grab one”.

“No, thanks, Mama. I’m good.”

“Don’t be silly. You haven’t eaten since last night. Come here.”

With shaking legs, he made his way to his mother. His mother saw that he was reluctant, so she shoved an apple in his hands. He looked at it, with wide eyes, and murmured. “I can’t mother. This doesn’t belong to us. This is stealing.”

“You’re being silly. Just eat.”

The cool winter morning was just starting and sunlight was beginning to smother the room. Monkey Junior took a bite. He was shivering and he knew it wasn’t because of the cold weather, nor wasn’t it the fear of getting caught, for he was aware that the human that lived in the house would be out at the time. Still, he was shivering.

“Done?” his mother asked, after a while.

“Yes,” he replied, staring at his half-eaten apple. He had no appetite.

“Look at all this mess,” she said, still chewing her last bite. “I don’t understand these humans. They make a home, and then they spend hours out of it, travelling around. Someone told me that they all have jobs. Slavery, if you ask me.”

“What exactly is a job, mother?” Monkey Junior enquired, looking around the room. He was fascinated with the luxuries. Warm quilts, delicious food, and all the water to drink in a room nearby, lying in a small ditch in a large white bowl – the room had everything.

“Even I don’t know exactly,” she shrugged. “I guess it is when you do a task the whole day in return for some food. You know that dog, the one that lives by the brook? The humans that live in that thatched house give him rotis for protecting their house from us.” She snorted. “Protection from us? Can you believe it? I am not a least bit afraid of him. Stupid dog. Can’t even climb a tree. Anyway, everyday he does what he’s told, and at the end of it all, the humans give him food. Scraps, if you ask me. What good is a stale roti? That is what a job is.”

“So, he doesn’t need to steal his food?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that we don’t steal food? We take what is rightfully ours. Nature has food for everyone. Stay away from these ‘domesticated’ cows and dogs that live with the humans. They’re the ones infecting you with this materialism.”

“But, mother, won’t it be fulfilling to earn your bread, rather than taking it away from someone?”

Mrs Monkey didn’t answer. For many a days now Monkey Junior had been asking questions that she thought were stupid. She simply told him to follow her back to their territory.

“How would he ever lead a troop?” she thought, looking at her son. “Would I have to feed him for the rest of my life? No, no. He’s just a child. He’ll figure everything out when he grows up.”

But, Monkey Junior had other concerns. He wanted a disciplined life. A life in which he earns what he eats. He knew his mother would never approve of what he wanted. Anyway, even if she did, what could he do for a living? He can’t protect a human’s house. He can’t wake up early in the morning to warn everyone of the impending arrival of the huge ball that lit up the sky every day. He knew only one thing – to climb atop buildings. What good is that to anyone?

The other monkeys in the troop were furious when they heard of Monkey Junior’s conversation with his mother.

“Tch, tch, what a waste of talent,” said Guru. He was nearing his thirties and he was the oldest monkey if not in the whole world then at least in the neighbourhood Mrs Monkey and her troop knew. He was not the strongest or the wisest of the troop. In his case, age didn’t bring much apart from near-sightedness; but, the troop respected him.

He came to this part of the forest, between Solan and Shimla, about twenty-five years ago, a young monkey brimming with confidence. That however did not last. He was chased away by every troop he tried to join. The fact that he was attaining maturity did not lower his anxiety. He never wanted kids, but his baser instincts were taking over. In his desperation he had formed an alliance with another monkey, Amli. His ally died three weeks later, but not before Guru had found a place in the troop. Guru had not thought about him since, but talking about Monkey Junior brought back his memories. He knew what it took to establish oneself out in the real world. He knew he must prepare Monkey Junior for it, so that the youngling would not have to cry himself to sleep for several nights.

Guru continued pontificating to Mrs Monkey, “Back in my days, a child like that would be shunned out of the troop. He needs to learn our ways. Don’t entertain him anymore. Train him to go out and establish himself in the jungle.”


Monkey Junior was staring at the brook, looking for anything to distract himself. The brook had never been named. It had always been there, long before Guru was born, and even before an ancestor of his had refused to join Rama on his quest to Lanka, for he resented the idea of waging a war for a domestic matter. “Solve it mutually,” Guru’s ancestor had said to an envoy of Rama. “War is never an option.”

Many-a-times some monkey in the jungle would come with an ingenious name for the brook, but never could the whole jungle unanimously accept any. The unnamed brook was quite far away from the territory of Monkey Jr’s troop, and although he was afraid of wandering alone to such large distances, he forced himself to walk to it often for solitude.

Noon was setting in and with every passing moment he was feeling that the words of his mother were being entrenched in his mind. Dreams are meant to be crushed, he thought.

Winter was always a depressing time in the forest. The food was scarce and wars were common. Monkey Jr was disillusioned with the concept of ownership among his kind. They would fight for food, for territory, and for the ladies. “Why can’t we live like the humans do?” he often asked himself. He was sure that if monkeys, like humans, clearly demarcated their possessions, there would be lesser conflicts. He often observed the humans who lived in the thatched house by the brook. They would invite their friends from far away places to eat, and at the end, the guests would leave. No fights, no show of teeth. “That’s the way to live”, Monkey Jr had said aloud on these occasion.


Mrs Monkey was searching frantically for Monkey Jr. She hadn’t seen him since they returned back to their troop in the morning. In fact, no one had seen him after he retired to his tree to take rest.

Only one monkey knew where he would be. Keshu hurried to the brook and saw Monkey Jr sleeping on a tree branch.

“Get up, your mother’s looking for you,” he said.

Monkey Jr got up, rubbed his eyes, and murmured, “I am going to leave for the big town. Tomorrow or the day after that.”

“Let’s go back to our home,” droned Keshu.

“No, don’t ignore me. I have to know what it is like to live like the humans. To have a job. To earn my food.”

Keshu nodded. This was not the first time Monkey Jr had shared his plans to escape with him. He knew the best thing to do was to agree with his friend and wait for him to tire himself. He sat listening to Monkey Jr’s whining for a while and then they began their journey back to the troop.

Monkey Jr was thinking aloud, “I would go and find work. Then I will save some money to buy a home. When I have enough, I will call all you guys to come and live with me.”

Keshu had had enough. Most days when Monkey Jr had nothing to do, he will ramble on about his future plans and Keshu would listen to him patiently. He had always been a good friend, but this morning his mother had lectured him about keeping his distance from Monkey Jr.

Keshu’s mother hated the fact that her son would fritter away his day in the company of a monkey with such revolutionary ideas. She believed that anything other than the “common monkey way of life” was a heresy. She had never read the Holy Book of Monkey Conduct, written by Shri Vaanar Ji Maharaj, a monkey who lived thousands of years ago; but she was sure that she understood it completely, and that her judgement was perfect. How could she not be right? Her views were based on a book dictated by God himself to a monkey of such infallible character that there existed no other document of his existence.

Not that she agreed with everything that was in the book, for it advocated rape of female monkeys, shunning of babies born with limps, and killing of baby Langurs in fights; but then it did support her in some of her arguments. Especially when her son would ask her why he must do something that he felt was unethical or plain wrong. “Because so it says in our holy book, Keshu.”

She would often find herself wondering how could some part of the Holy Book be true and wise, while the other full of hate and violence, and she could never bring herself agree with the latter. But wasn’t God supposed to be the embodiment of perfection and omniscience? Shouldn’t she follow every rule he set without thinking? “But killing baby langurs just because they’re different isn’t right,” she would think. “Older langurs could be killed. Maybe. But what did the babies do?” Whenever these thoughts arose in her mind, she accused the langurs and their literature of polluting her mind. She never stopped and questioned the veracity of her beliefs or the actual sources of Holy Book of Monkey Conduct, for that would have been devastating. There is nothing that provides more comfort and security than blind belief.

After a lengthy argument in which his mother criticised Monkey Jr and sang praises of Shri Vaanar Ji Maharaj, Keshu had stormed off, leaving his mother rambling to herself. He spent the day alone, wandering about the jungle, of someday being the alpha male of his own troop, taunting the animals he met, when finally, in the evening, he ran into Mrs Monkey. It was then that he had told her to calm down and reluctantly started out to look for Monkey Jr.

“You know what?” he snapped at Monkey Jr. “You always tell me these things – that you would go to the big town, get a job, buy a house, and live happily ever after. Tell me, do you even know what a job is or know to get to the big town? You say these things without thinking. Honestly, I am tired of it. Listening to you, then listening to my mother complain about talking to you. Do you even know the name of the town?”

“Solan, I think they call it,” said Monkey Jr, taken aback at the sudden outburst of his friend.

They did not speak till they could almost hear their troop frolicking in the distance.

“What a weird name, Solan,” said Keshu, feeling slightly guilty of being rude to his only friend. “Why not call it the place behind the clearing, or that patch over by the hill – like we call things? These humans are strange.”

Monkey Jr nodded. He liked the name; he liked everything thing he knew about humans. He replied, “About what you said earlier, I have a plan. I will find Sabu the langur there. Remember him? He was caught by some humans and taken away two years ago. I hear he has a nice job in the city. I’ll go to him and I am sure he’ll help me.”

Keshu was astonished. “You can’t be serious! He’s a langur. You can’t expect to go after him. There is no way he’ll help you. Besides, even if he did, you CANNOT do what he does. That’s so unacceptable.”

“Why? I know langurs and monkeys don’t get along here, but I don’t think that we should adhere to age old traditions.”

Keshu sighed. There was no way to talk sense into his friend. He gave up and after they bid other good-bye, he said to Monkey Jr, as the latter headed toward his tree, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Keshu tossed and turned in his bed all night. He was worried about his friend and about his own future.


The night ended and a new day arrived. Sun rose out of the hills, undaunted, ready to observe everything that went on the face of a queer little dirt ball that revolved around it. It wanted to have some gossip for the meeting that it had with the other stars in the Milky Way, much later in the millennium. Normally, he would have nothing to talk about. Earth, and its inhabitants were boring. The trees never moved. The animals were quite predictable – they only fought and ate. The humans, on the other hand, were slightly more interesting because they faced much deeper issues but since it had been hundreds of thousands of years since the Sun had started observing them, he had not had anything fresh for a while. The evolutionary process had been fun to watch, and who could not enjoy deaths of thousands of people in name of an imaginary being, but since the last two hundred or so years, he would watch billions of humans and had theorised that they could be grouped into two categories – the sheep and the idiots. The first were the people who would follow the same routine everyday, without thinking about their purpose. The second were the ones that would question the meaning of their lives, and on finding no answers, die, purposeless. The sun wanted to tell the latter group, that life had no meaning, but then thought that he would ruin any chance he might have to witness an interesting development.

Thankfully, today was Sun’s lucky day. The forest in a remote valley of the Himalayas was abuzz with speculation. Many monkeys were visiting Mrs Monkey’s troop. When texts would later be written on this event, they would all agree that it was the biggest thing to happen to monkey kind, in the recorded history.

No one knew where Monkey Jr was since the morning, but they knew where he would have eloped to. Some had seen him walk toward the brook, holding the Holy Book of Monkey Conduct, while some swore of him being a figment of Mrs Monkey’s imagination. Every one was contended with what they knew, except Mrs Monkey. She was searching the forest for her son.

She was and had always been an optimist, and when she woke up in the morning and found no trace of Monkey Jr, she was sure that he would have gone loitering with Keshu. She went out to get, or rather steal, their breakfast and returned with a handful of oranges and peaches. She waited, and then she waited some more, but when Monkey Jr did not return, she raised an alarm.

Following every lead she got, she went to the brook, and then to the waterfall. Monkey Jr had disappeared without a trace, without a reliable witness.


“What’s the next thing on the agenda?” asked Mr Figoo, speaker of the Monkey Senate. “Oh, right…Mr Guru would like to say something, unless he has changed his mind.”

“No, I haven’t, Mr Speaker,” Guru said, with a husky voice. “Thank you kindly members for your time. What I want to say today, concerns us all. It has been a week since Monkey Jr disappeared. I think it is about time we discuss what we need to do to prevent more young men to follow his example. It has been a banished topic for too long. We can’t just expect people to forget about it. We must take concrete steps to make sure that no more of our younglings are led down this path of self destruction in the name of being a moral monkey. We must clearly define what it means to be a good monkey. We have ample literature to guide us. The Holy Book of Monkey Conduct will help shape our new constitution. A code in which bad monkeys are punished, without any mercy. We must ban all literature, excuse me, I meant, filth that has been written by Langurs. This right here is a conspiracy, gentle folks. An elaborate conspiracy. If we don’t do anything right now, we will lose our future. And what is more important than our progeny? Nothing! Nothing, I say. I have written this draft of the law we should pass. I ask you, gentle members, to go through it thoroughly. Take as much time as you need. A year, a decade, whatever. We need to get this right!”

His assistant distributed copies of the draft of the new constitution among the members of the senate.

“If I may, Mr Guru,” began Mr Peeku, what is this that article 7 says? ‘No monkey shall question the constitution. Any disrespect will be treated with a death penalty.’ Don’t you think this is a little harsh? I mean, we cannot stop people from critical thinking.”

“We can, and we will,” thundered Guru. “What if they ask what authority does the Holy Book of Monkey Conduct has? Would we allow it? Never! What do the kids know? They must learn our ways, respect our traditions, and must, whole heartedly, follow the Holy Book of Monkey Conduct.”

Murmuring ensued among the members. Guru looked around impatiently. This was not the reaction he had expected, but he was nothing if not persistent.

“Look, Mr Guru, I know your intentions are good, but we can’t possibly think that anyone who questions the decision of this senate is not fit to live among us,” said Mr Peeku, serenely. “After all, what is this constitution expect a collections of some laws, that might, or if I may, will eventually become irrelevant in the future. We mustn’t stop our kids from questioning us. No, not acceptable. You want them not to read any literature expect Holy Book of Monkey Conduct. How can they decide what morality is unless they see both sides?”

“What if a son of ours reads the literature published by those God awful langurs and finds that much more appealing? What then, I ask you?”

“Then we must accept his choice, Mr Guru. Is it that impossible to believe that we could be the ones who are wrong? Maybe the monkey way of living is not the absolute way.”

“You sound treasonous, Sir. Death is the penalty for treason in the new constitution.”

“Is this how it is going to be? People being hanged for petty comments.”

“What you said was not petty,” shot Guru. “Sir, how dare you question our way of life, and our holy scripture? Your comments are lamentable. I am happy that no younglings are present to hear you.”

“This is madness,” sighed Mr Peeku.

“No, Sir. This is necessary,” contributed Mr Figoo. “Sedition must be charged with death. Nothing else. I agree completely with Mr Guru. We can’t allow anyone to question our laws! This senate is composed of people with high moral standards. How can our decisions be wrong? Are you questioning our intentions? You better watch what you say, good Sir. Maybe we should charge you with crimes against the nation. Maybe you should be hanged.”

“Well, if you want to hang me hang me for something substantial. I say, Holy Book of Monkey Conduct is purely fictional. It has been edited over a thousand times, by monkeys like you and me – monkeys who thought THEY could tell right from wrong. Delusional monkeys, who heard voices. I implore you to see reason, my good Sirs.”

Gasps were heard all around.

“You’re lucky that this constitution has not yet been ratified by this senate. Else your head would adorn the entrance of the forest, Sir. You heard this crazy monkey, respected members. Vote! Vote now!”

“I shall abstain,” groaned Mr Peeku.

The vote was passed unanimously.


After a year had passed since Monkey Jr’s disappearance, Mrs Monkey had come to accept that she would never see her son again. Her life had come back to what can be termed ‘normal’, to a certain extent. Every morning, she would go steal food, eat it all alone, and the cycle would repeat for every meal. Even the people closest to her could not tell what she felt, because she never shared her pain with anyone. She would politely nod at anyone who would care to acknowledge her, but that wouldn’t happen often. Not that there had been an official announcement to shun Mrs Monkey, yet somehow, most monkeys in the forest would steer away from her path. Maybe they were afraid that she would corrupt their minds with filthy ideas.

What became of Monkey Jr, no one knew. No one cared. Everyone felt a little safer because of the new constitution. They knew that it would prevent others to follow the heretic path that was taken by Monkey Jr.

Even though the constitution had not been officially implemented, thirteen monkeys had been put in jail for trivial issues – but the common masses were ready to pay that price for security.

Guru had been feeling like the smartest being alive, and had been for a while, even considered himself omniscient. He had quite vocal about how he was right to warn Mrs Monkey about Monkey Jr. Even though he was basking in in own glory, he never felt the need to console Mrs Monkey.

After playing a pivotal role in drafting the constitution, he had earned back his respect in the troop, although no female monkey would agree to have a baby with him; but he was confident that he would get that one day, as well.

As he stood addressing his fellow monkeys in the senate, he read the preamble of the final accepted version of the constitution, aloud:



“O my brother in arms, open your heart,

to what I say, it concerns your best,

Follow these words, and be not afraid,

they will put your soul to eternal rest.


Bow your head, for our flag unfurls,

beneath this sky, it shows its might

under its shadow, you shall dwell,

and look to it to tell wrong from right.


Praise thy ancestors, who came together,

to script these laws in a time of need,

indisputable and perfect, as they are,

to your death must you follow them, indeed.”


So says I, Yours truly,
A good citizen


The preamble was carved on a plaque and displayed near the Sacred Tree of Laws, which was the new name for the location of the Monkey Senate. Many a monkeys visit it everyday to pay homage to great beings who were a part of drafting a code that was morally unquestionable.

It wasn’t long before treason and sedition became words that were commonly thrown around in conversations. Quite a few people had fallen prey to the new constitution, and Mr Figoo was the first to be hanged.

One morning, as the members of the senate climbed down the Sacred Tree of Laws, after a productive session, they saw that someone had added a few lines to the preamble.


“Patience, O brother, I pray to you,

harken to me for one last time,

Stop breathing you must, that too at once,

for our Gods may consider that a crime…”


The investigation to find the perpetrator is underway…





Book Review: Quarter Life Crisis by Anshuk Attri


Book: Quarter Life Crisis

Author: Anshuk Attri

Publisher: publishing

Genre: The ‘romance’ of life

In One Line: The trials and tribulations of life revealed in 299 pages

Characterisation: The protagonists of this story, Prachur and Neera have been characterised well. They have ample flesh and blood and one can imagine what they are like. His aside, what I liked was that even the side characters like the friends and the parents have been given personality enough to make them believable. As I read he book, the one I developed the greatest fondness for was Prachur’s sister. She was the right combination of modernity and tradition, emotions and logic, and sternness and softness.

Language: It is an easy to read book with some cliched lines and quite a few punches punched in throughout the book. One that made me smile came right on the first page – “All things considered, this campus probably…

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India’s Dire Need – Regulations for Organised Riots

So this morning with my tea, I took another dose of depressing news. Some guy was beaten up because of alleged buffalo slaughtering, and that too in full view of the police.

I am not someone who has the courage to go a state like UP to verify the claims of the report, therefore I have no options but to trust the news source. Anyway, who cares if the news is true or not? Even rumours cause substantial damage.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t see any way of talking some sense into these cow-vigilantes. I’d rather take up a project to teach Calculus to monkeys in Shimla, if the government were funding any such program.

Anyhow, since I see religious riots on the horizon and in my opinion there is no way we can stop them, so, I thought we’d rather start talking about setting some regulations surrounding them.

People who wish to fight over killing cows and buffaloes should be allowed to do so. This is a free country, after all. My only concern is that such riots must not include people who want nothing to do with this trivial issue.

Keeping that in mind, I think:

Firstly, we must demarcate a particular area and time in towns across the country where the riots are allowed to take place. Flyers should be issued by the police stating, “Come one, come all! Massacre Hindus, Muslims, Christians, anyone you want! No offence shall be taken by any side.”

Secondly, jerseys should be provided to different sides of the argument. We would not want people to kill others who share the same point of view. That would be insane – the only insane thing in all of this.

Thirdly, the people who do show up, must be adequately armed. No one should be able to say that she or he was discriminated against based on her/his religion, caste, creed, or sex.

Fourthly, since the government cannot discriminate between sexes, killing of women would be encouraged. Children mustn’t be spared, as well. Rapes would be highly recommended.

Fifthly, the winner will only be declared only after no person with a different point of view survives.

Finally, the winners must be shot by the police as well, because they’re useless to a civilised society anyway.

I am sure I am missing a lot of key things. We must make sure that no loop-hole is left in this regulation. Also, I think state legislature across the countries must think about strictly implementing a better version of these guidelines.

PS: In case a moron (read a cow-vigilante, a religious nut-job) is reading this, know that this is written ironically. I think this is pretty easy to infer, but human stupidity is boundless. Clarifications, especially in the time we live, are absolutely essential.


PC: https://pixabay.com/en/temple-cow-nandi-indian-sacred-1799574/