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He looked through the hole in the wall. He didn't really expect to see anything. That's why he was surprised to see a darkness streaming through. Hmmmm that can't be right, he thought. Darkness doesn't stream through. But there was no other way to describe it. Previously, all his encounters with darkness had been of a more passive nature: darkness was merely the absence of light. Hitherto. This time it was different.

It was like vapour. No, that can't be right either, he thought. He was confused. Which was good because the next moment he was touched by it. The most over-populated state was the state of confusion, he had just this small fragment of a hazy thought before he changed.

The boy awoke. He was lying in bed. He wasn't even sure if he had been dreaming. Am I dreaming still? Or am I awake now, he wondered sliently. He pinched himself to check. Why do people do that? Will pinching yourself wake you up?

The boy went to school. Found everything changed. How, he…
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Yet Another Party

Party to conversation, party to experience. See what I did there? Of course you didn't. Or maybe you did. It doesn't matter either way does it? Because, the pleasure lies in the experience and not the description. That always struck me as rather odd. Because the description, or rather the action: narration or reading, are both experiences.

Enter valuation. Valuation. Value. Values. Odd aren't they? These words that are mere abstractions of one of the oldest experiences: prioritization. Oldest? Hmmm.... Rather odd isn't it? Let me explain:

The First Birth
The act of physically coming into existence. Droll isn't it?

The Second Birth: Awakening
You now realize that you are alive. Being alive NOW automatically means (not so automatically, if you get what I mean; *cough* Egyptians *cough*) that you'll be dead at some point in time. Note that I don't use point of time. Such a coarse expression isn't it? Point of time. As if Time could own or claim ownership of…

In the Mirror

Whenever you look in the mirror, how do you feel? Doesn't it strike you how personal it is? It is an expression, a contact of such intimacy, do you think that any other relationship in the world can match the level of comfort, of closeness, of surety that you feel when you look at yourself?

When I look in the mirror, I look at myself as I see myself; as I want to see myself; as I want to be; and finally, as I actually am. Looking at my reflection feels so oddly comforting somehow. Like  meeting with a brother whom you can trust, share the deepest secrets and yet without having to speak a word. Sometimes, I see myself from years ago, looking into the same mirror and feeling different things. Seeing things differently. Sometimes, I long wistfully for that past self, I wish I could see him. Like one yearns to see a younger sibling, dearly loved and sorely missed. Sometimes, I stare into the depths of His/my eyes, and I try and fathom some sense of the future. It rarely helps. He/I i…

The Assassins

"But how to get past the guards? The Palace Guard is composed of the toughest, the most skilled and the most intelligent soldiers in the Kingdom!", asked Tu-Jahn of the Old Man.

The Old Man smiled and it seemed that the mischievous face of a boy shone through the mask of wrinkles and lines that made up his face. "An intelligent enemy is dangerous, but also easy to fool. Because he is intelligent and aware of it, he will trust to the level of his logic oblivious to the fact that other men might think as he." The smile faded away to be replaced by a piercing gaze that made him look like an old vulture, poised far above the plains: hunting for a suitably juicy carcass to feed on. "I do not believe you comprehend my boy." said the Old Man in a soft, almost gentle voice.

Tu-Jahn, Second Talon of the Silver Claw, Bladehand of the Stone Mountain shivered under that coldly hungry gaze. He searched frantically in his mind for something that would make him underst…

Patriotism and Parti(san)ng Sorrows

Is patriotism overrated? What is patriotism anyway? An irrational love for ones country irrespective of regional, ethnic, religious or cultural differences. Why is patriotism? It is obvious. To build a 'nation' one must have people who relate to one another so that they can see beyond the short boundaries of personal/familial interest and look towards the interest of the group as a whole. Ideally, the relation can be ideological in nature. However, historical evidence and the knowledge of human nature leads to the conclusion that as humans are irrational beings, thus they can be governed by principles of irrationality. This is done using the concept of patriotism.

Patriotism (or nationalism, or social-nationalism or national socialism or nazism... see where I'm going with this?) is but a name for the Universal Method. Now the Universal Method goes by many names and flavours that differ subtly from one another in their means of execution or agenda, but essentially they are t…

Object Oriented Life

In the grip of road rage, I have often thought of violent solutions to my problems. Just today I was thinking how much traffic would be improved if there were no pedestrians crossing the road. Even in places with Foot Over Bridges (FOB) people tend to cross the road; often a high-speed high-traffic speedway; right in the shadow of an FOB.

How simple it would be, I mused, to simply pass a mandate that absolved the driver if he/she ran over a pedestrian jay-walking within 250 meters of a FOB. It would rapidly solve all problems and the road would become smooth and hassle free.

Now I've wondered at how many people would actually run over the pedestrians crossing. I don't think anyone would be able to resist the reflex braking when they see someone running right in front of them. I have often witnessed car pile-ups due to one driver braking to avoid hitting (even a) dog. But that was beside the point. The chief flaw in this system is that it loses sight of the objective of a FOB: …

The Companion

A gray-walled room with a window. That's how he remembers it. It looks the same now: a large window in a small room. It makes the room look even smaller. The window-sill is thick with dust. Beams of sunlight stream in singly, their path illuminated by many-sided dust particles spinning. Or seeming to spin. Is the room this dusty everywhere? He wonders to himself, trying not to breathe it in. The sunbeams merely illuminate what's already there.

Slowly, as his eyes adjust, more details of the room start revealing themselves. The room is bare. Devoid of anything except walls and tiny patches of plaster embedded in the cobwebs at corners. The effect is almost artistic. He wonders if rooms could feel. If they could, what would this room be feeling. Do they remember the people who lived in them? It's almost impossible to believe that people would have lived here once. The walls would have been new and shining with paint and resonant with echoes of laughter or tears or screams. …