Kafkaesque Delirium

Martin Rotfear was walking. He had been walking since really long and the dreary, cold foggy night was making him curse and frown. He shivered and cursed beneath his breath. These bastards that made him work like a dog and then criticized his incompetence, he was sick and fed up. Someday he was going to get even…some day. That day was coming and he knew that the only way for him to go would be to keep moving, to keep sliding along and let his blood, sweat and tears drench him everyday…surrounded by humiliation and poverty. His misery was so intertwined with his being that smiling seemed unnatural and an effort. so there he was the miserable bastard! walking in his smelly clothes not bothering to take a bath or wash himself and now beginning to enjoy the ridicule that he was subjected to day in and day out…he did not know what he was going to do, or maybe he did, deep down like Raskolnikov, just articulating the thought even in his mind was uncomfortable. He took out a cigarette that was lying in his pocket, since long, folded and damp. With his cold clammy hands he tried to light the damn thing, but no luck. Then he tried again cursing- or more like hissing and a benign orange glow lit up his jagged face. The smoke and the tobacco seemed to comfort him like the hug of a mother. It gently made him feel confident and mean. He wanted to be mean and cruel, because he had been subjected to so much cruelty. He wanted to be like a mad animal, killing everything in its way and then dying in the heat of fury. All these thoughts crowded his mind when suddenly a man approached him smiling, uttering some stupid greeting. Martin took out his gun and flung it across the guys face as he shouted, “Don’t you dare say Good Evening Martin to me again. Its Mr Rotfear” The injured man was stunned and held his bleeding mouth struggling to speak as two of his pearly whites fell to the ground. Then Martin proclaimed, “Darkness all around, just darkness and blood, I am the child of insanity and melancholy, and so I shall remain” He disappeared into the fog and seemed like a floating ghost. Then he turned to look back..and you could see his eyes black gleaming like a barn owls’ and there was deep scary depth that shone like a star, until he dissapered as his teeth began to slowly show through black lips…and then…nothing.

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Childhood…

The smell of cigarettes was wafting through the air as he pulled out a thick book from the rack and said…”This is what i was looking for- ELegy on the Death of a Mad Dog..” I just peered with my childish sense of awe and discovery, at what a wonderful experience it was to share this secret world of obscure poems. It was a sunny afternoon outside. The sun shone through the window, and golden light spread on the wooden floor seemed like bathing the frowns and the knots in the old wood that made up the floor. The light shone on his black hair as he walked carefully among the blood red geraniums that stood unabashedly in old tin Pots. I was like a bird lost in some beautiful old forest, only aware of that world, that bubble, I had not yet experienced ugliness or pain. He picked up the book and glanced at the watch as if waiting for something. I got up from the floor untangling my crossed legs and wandering to the kitchen, where my grandmother was gliding in her dress across a heaven of spices and aromas, a magnificent universe of rich fragrances and cleanliness and little things hidden in corners and purses, only she knew about. I went back to my grandfather sitting in the room as he critically leafed through a book, his thick black rimmed glasses resting on his arian nose. He was lost in somewhere in a world only he knew. I walked towards the verandah, looking at my feet as if i did not own the pair I had…my little lovely Mutley was sprawled on the bed in the sun. His furry mouth smelt of liver and carrots and his pink paws smelt of old rice and dust. His eyes were half closed and his tongue twitched as he dreamt of some canine paradise that only he knew about. I lay beside him and closed my eyes in the Sun, as the blinding redness became my only vision, and the warmth of the sun bathed me and washed away all my thoughts. I had nothing, wanted nothing, was part of the wonderful nothingness that pervaded innocence…I was happy..

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“Smile…” my boss hisses behind me because my whiny punk rock look doesnt quite fit with my job profile( receptionist at a luxury hotel…don ask how this headbanging chica was trapped in this god forsaken industry) from behind the counter…as a receptionist at one of the leadin luxury hotels i am expected to smile…and grin like ive just smoked pot and have this incredulous urge to hide the fact that i am so stoned, i wouldnt bat an eyelid if the creature from the Alien movies was seething and salivating in my face! But the hours are long, the pay is pathetic and the wonderfully stupid and cocky assholes i get to meet add to the pleasures of this undeniably wonderful job. Once an inebriated elderly gentleman, stood at the front desk and asked for his key and before leaving slurred something along the line “i love you”…i had an urge to use the stapler i was using to file me registration cards but just turned away, to avoid the drooling, wrinkly charmer…
its interesting how a country known for its close minded people and conservative culture is also one of the largest prostitution markets in the world, and i would rather not name it. So i have these colorful ladies coming asking for this or that gentleman, as if they knew them. And i have the delectable job of scanning their ID’s…and i have make up laden, beautiful women being escorted to the rooms by the security, and i feel like i have been tainted by the filth of what this world reduces people to…it may be a claim drenched in naivete, but i feel black and sad when i have to encounter these women.

apart from that we have the british clients, who think the world and all its creatures were designed for their need and comfort, sometimes i want to scream at the sense of entitlement that people have, its enraging and mad and funny. The sense of self importance that things, objects give them…and they are the most difficult to deal with, aprt frm that the Indian guest will try to get as much discount as they can and the russians will keep blabbering in russian even when they know i dont understand a word they are saying and they dont understand a word i am saying…the dysfunctional conversation continues…!

surprisingly the nicest clients i have dealt with are either french or dutch…i did come across one gentleman who created a lot of raucus that he wanted a non smoking room, a german businessman…and then insisted he wanted a non smoking room with a balcony, because apparently he could not stand the smell of smoke in the room but just wanted to smoke on the balcony, what kind of sadistic bastard does that to a receptionist on a 100% occupancy day…the kind that disputes all the charges in the minibar and gives you 3 on the feedback card, even though you have given the asshole a non smoking room with a balcony to smoke on….!

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A visit to the dentist

scary dentist


a visit to the dentist is something we all put off. For me the dentists clinic reminds me of experiments carried out in Nazi concentration camps, cheesy trailers of the Hellraiser movies and all the gore movies i watched due to a momentary lapse in judgement. Fortunately I am not at that age where i have to make it a norm, but I had been putting of my regular cleaning until i found a job i liked. Now that i did, I cudnt escape the fact that i had to see Mr. L. who was kind enough to fit me into his tight schedule. Mr L was a very nice patient man, but even his docile form seemed sinister as the tiny drill he picked up started buzzing, like the killer bunny in Donnie Darko…imagine how much they had to contort a friggin “bunny” to make him grin like that!
back to Mr L. I reasoned with myself as he pointed the light towards my mouth. Its just cleaning, not like I am getting a tooth pulled out, or the infamous root canal, which my Mum had to get done, and till date talks about that gruesome experience. Its just cleaning. Yeah…just a high speed tiny drill shoved into my mouth, and then it started. I could feel it vibrating and whizzing on the surface of my tooth, and its the most uncomfertable feeling. I say uncomfortable, because I know myself to have a realtively high pain threshold, getting 2 large tattoos and just flinching. So this should be a cake walk…right??….right?? i asked myself …helpless and strapped. My mandible and skull vibrating slightly as the drill whizzed and rotated at high speed, i could feel the roots of my teeth, and 15 minutes in, started thinking, I would prefer to get a gigantic Yakuza dragon on my back than take any more of this…I just held on. The procedure ended unceremoniously…I wanted to hug my mum and stand on a pedestal, while the dentist put a medal around my neck and says to me teary eyed “you made it…you defied odds and you made it…” and then the dentist nonchalantly told me how much it was, and that i need to come more often lest i lose my yellow pearlies! m very british that way…yellow teeth are not just reminiscent of Irish pubs and Mr Bean, they also show my unflinching commitment to being au naturale, or rather i don have the money fr the procedure right now…
This episode was followed by my mum mistakenly offering my piping hot coffee just after my procedure, which left me speechless for some time…no literally, i couldnt swallow my own saliva in agony. But now i feel good about the whole thing and am so not looking forward to my next appointment!

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my plight as an Indian…

what is the most irritating thing about political criticism? for experts sitting around a table, its very easy to pass judgment…so when i pass judgment on my own country’s politicians i know i might be way of the mark. but i am FED UP with the bunch of spineless people running the Indian poitical scene. We dont have dearth of intelligence or chutzpah, just the bloody will to bring anything to its completion…and then of course there is the thing of being corrupt to the bone. Still a certain amount of corruption and bureaucracy is an acceptable price to pay for the unlimited liberties we enjoy being a liberal and easy going people. But the absolute lack of any identifiable foreign policy and the pitying dearth of determined and strong leaders has made this country a place known for its corruption. As a young Indian i feel proud of the rich heritage that i have been born in and ashamed of what my country has become. It starts at home, when my neighbor decides that discarding his rubbish in my backyard is a suitable means of garbage disposal. It starts with the lack of willpower to make a difference. We are a melodramatic people as anyone can tell looking at the movies, but we have turned the whole country into a friggin circus. Yes the commonwealth games carried on, and Indian athletes spent their blood sweat and tears to win. But the disastrous mismanagement at the beginning of the games was something that could have been avoided.

One of the gazillion stupid statements issued by the Indian Foreign Minister Mr Krishna drawing parallels between Tibet and Kashmir. While many of us might be relieved that one man at least had the balls to say something, the fact is its still rubbish. Tibet was an independent state for ages before China decided to annex it, whereas Kashmir has been a part of India since even before independence. We dont need suits that roam around and shake hands and sign papers, we need strong leaders whose voices echo far and beyond. We have always been this way, complacent, like an old bullock cart we drag into the new millennium. The truth is our new found economic dynamism should instill us with some sense of ourselves. No country the USA, China or any other established International State has the right to dictate us what to do, nor should Indian bureaucrats cower in servility, but their spineless actions and feeble stance on foreign affairs conveys just that. Why is the Indian Government, so afraid of taking a stand on Iran? Why havnt we told countries like China that have betrayed us in the past to mind their own god damn business and not tell us how to solve our own problems.

Its true that Mr Manmohan Singh is a man of indubitable character and dignity, but we need a leader that is strong dynamic. Mr Chidambram wearing a dhoti at international meetings doesnt matter. what he says and the way he conducts himself does…It is sad that a country brimming with Intelligence has to be represented by people who either dont give a damn, or who are just driven by financial motives.

We need a powerful intelligence bureau. yes there will be instances of corruption, but single minded determination…and power is what it begs…millions of cases against the terrorists and insurgents can last for years in the supreme court. what was needed was swift action like the Mossad, the Israeli Intelligance, where all the terrorists that murdered the Israeli athletes were hunted one by one and killed. These are the Machiavellian techniques that should be employed to correct people that dare to hurt Indian civilians. Unfortunately we are a society where people cause deliberate traffic jams, because you have to say “namaste” to that long lost “uncle” in the middle of the road, and have to have a decent conversation with him, even if it means there are a million vehicles honking behind you…

It moves me to think, my country where the first university in the world was established by Chanakya, whose utilitarian politics united the entire south pacific region, hundreds of years before Machiavelli, a country where sublime living philosophy like the Vedas was composed, a country where ancient gurus studied astronomy, arts, sciences ans mathematics, a country where the Buddha was born, a country inhabited by proud Aryans and Dravidians, a country where trade and commerce was prevalent, a country that was rich in both culture and gold reduced to the tattered and ailing cadaver of a woman. This is no age for the quiet idealism of Nehru or silent power of Gandhi.

We need ruthless leaders that are are ready for a transformation. Ferociously ruthless leaders that will make revive this ailing cadaver of a country and transform the ‘mother’ we so profess to love.

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My older work

Will be posting some of my older work…have not done anything good since last year, not that these are spectacular in any sense!!

Painting of my grandmother and the Plum tree outside our House...Its called "Bada"
This is called “Bada” and its a painting of my grandmother and the plum tree outside her house, that sometimes came inside the window, and was covered in blossom…
"The painting titled Crystal Meth" inspired by a game of chess!
This painting is called “Crystal meth” it was inspired by a game of chess that i lost!

This is called the red room..

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Grandad


My Grandad, was a very handsome man, and he was the most interesting people one could meet, an ordinary argument would incite him to quote, King Lear and he would talk to his nasturtiums, like they were people. While these qualities made him endearing, his temper which was ruthless and black, made these other qualities seem absurd.

My grandad passed away, when i was working in the States, and I was not able to see him, or mourn in the way that i would have preferred. It was the Death of my childhood, my memories, that part of me that ran around the house, that part of me that read my first book in the sunlight, on the wooden verandah overlooking burning red geraniums. My grandfather was a very interesting man…he was known for his quirky habits, but also for being such an engaging conversationalist; although we often thought it was funny and thought his stories were somehow seemingly dubious! the truth is I did not really care, whether they were. His voice and the smell of his cigarette, the dark square glasses, were mesmerizing. He would look up at the ceiling from time to time and watch the smoke curl and dance, and the cadence of his voice played with our imagination. For a long time, every one disliked his disciplinarian and seemingly useless rules…and as children we always had this strange sense of awe, fear and distrust of this tall lanky being, with a beautifully kept black and grey beard ! he was someone that we were scared of, but wanted his approval every chance we got, so when i started writing poems, he was the only one I showed my silly poems to, with their contrived sheen of pseudo intellectual expressions. He was unusually nice and had so many questions about my silly poems…I was secretly flattered and very much cared what he thought.

Once I was sitting with him, and he read to me, the Poem ” An Elegy on the Death of a Mad dog” by Oliver Goldsmith…it was the summer after Tishu, our Pomeranian had just passed. He talked about his childhood, his days at a boarding school, his adopted mother, his dreams and aspirations as a young man, and how that changed when he met our Grandma, who he said reminded him of Ingrid Bergman!

My grandfather was not always nice…sometimes his temper and stubborn atitude got the best of him. But he was an inspiration to me, for evrything i became. When i was still a child he talked to me about surrealism in art and that was the first time i saw the painting “The persistance of Memory” by Dali, in one of his ancient books stacked on a lonely rack full of other books, away from prying eyes…and he painstakingly explained to me what it meant. I always sensed this latent sense of loss in his eyes, like the drudgery of domesticity had robbed him of the spring of youth, and his mother dying, was a big blow to him. He was happy and knew how to live…I secretly went through one of his journals one day, and it said ” Everyone is a bloody-fool until proven otherwise”

I miss talking to him sometimes, and wish I could have taken him with me for a vacation to Europe, before he passed …to the Uffizi, in Italy and the Louvre in Paris, but i was not able to do much. Dearest grandad, wherever you are, I love you, and hope your happy….and whenever I see brown paper, nasturtiums or an ashtray it reminds me of you…

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Starving Poems

Slowly I saw Him crawl,
With a tired and exhausted crawl
He seemed lost and scared,
His black being dragging on the
White Wall.
He spun a little…like a trapeze artist,
And swung fro and to,
Then he lost his balance
And sat pensively on the Big Book,
Until Sophie came and shut the Book
And thus brought about the Death
Of Cyrill- the limping five legged spider!

In my mind there is a dark alley,
Where scared men scream all day long
They weep in the shadows
And moan in the dirty, decrepit corners
I hear them wail and scream,
Until their throats start to bleed
And still it does not stop
The groaning of the Insane and the Lost.
They ask me for help, Alas! I cannot
There is a multitude of these madmen
I can hear them and feel them
But cannot see their contorted form
All i see is darkness and Pain
All I see is Loss
All I see is nothing
And if I had a gun, so would I be…

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The Insanity


In 1904, Thorstein Veblen the renowned American economist mentioned in The Theory of Business Enterprise that Businesses protect their existing capital investments and employ excessive credit, leading to depressions and increasing military expenditure and war through business control of political power. Although his book concerned more about how consumption, capitalism and resulting business practices were intertwined, it drew my attention to another bit of information i was exposed to recently…namely, the Senate report about security contracters in Afghanistan.

According to politico.com private security contractors, backed by the Defense Department, of the United States, has been funneling U.S cash to Afghan warlords involved in murder, kidnapping and other crimes. The report also reveals that U.S. cash was being funneled not only to warlords but the Taliban, and anti-coalition activities. So the U.S. finds itself actually funding people that are undermining the entire coalition operation as well as the Taliban.

This is not the first time that Private Security contractors have been in the limelight, for the wrong reasons. What are private security contractors? These are private companies that offer military and security services, and personnel/soldiers working for these companies are called mercenaries, although they shy away from the term!

Since 1994, the U.S. Defence Department has entered into 3601 contracts worth over $300 billion with 12 U.S based Private Military Companies. It is an effective cost cutting measure, but it is a troubling trend, since many of these private companies are not accountable to a legislative body, and may cost more than the military providing the same functions. Also PMC’s have contibuted approx $12.4 million, for presidential and congressional campaigns which says a lot by itself.

The United Nations in one of its 2 year studies deemed that the use of private contractors like Blackwater by the US performing military activities, besides so called “security” functions amounted to ‘a new form of mercenary activity’ and it is illegal under international law.

In 2005 one of the employees for Aegis Defence Services, namely Danny Heydenreycher shot a video of himself shooting at Iraqi civilians, with Elvis Preslay, playing in the background. Also the Iraqi Govt has revoked the licence for American security firm Blackwater, over the firms involvement in the death of 8 civilians.

In September 2007 U.S Federal prosecutors announced an inverstigation into allegations that Blackwater employees had smuggled weapons into Iraq, which were transferred to the Kurdistan Nationalist Party, deemed a terrorist organisation by the United States.
“Mark Manzetti, writing in the New York Times on August 19, 2009, reported that the CIA had hired Blackwater “as part of a secret program to locate and assassinate top operatives of Al Qaeda.”. Newly appointed CIA director Leon Panetta had recently acknowledged a planned secret assassination program, one withheld from Congressional oversight. Manzetti’s sources, which tied the assassination program to Blackwater, declined to have their names made public. The CIA was acting on a 2001 presidential legal pronouncement, known as a finding, which authorized the CIA to pursue such efforts. Several million dollars were spent on planning and training, but it was never operationalized and no militants were caught or captured.Jeremy Scahill reported in The Nationin November 2009 that Blackwater operate alongside the CIA in Pakistan in “snatch and grab” operations targeting senior members of the Taliban and Al Qaeda. The report cited an unnamed source who has worked on covert US military programs, who revealed that senior members of the Obama administration may not be aware that Blackwater is operating under a US contract in Pakistan. A former Blackwater executive confirmed that they operate covertly in Pakistan. A spokesman for Blackwater denied the claims, stating that they have “only one employee in Pakistan.”In December 2009, the CIA canceled their contract with Blackwater to load bombs onto drone aircraft in Afghanistan and Pakistan.”

“In June 2009, an amended lawsuit was filed in US District Court in Alexandria, Virginia, alleging that Blackwater employees shot and killed three members of an Iraqi family, including a nine-year-old boy, who were traveling from the Baghdad airport to Baghdad on July 1, 2007. The suit also alleges that Blackwater employees used three company aircraft to kidnap Iraqi citizens from Iraq and further accuses the company of engaging in weapons smuggling, money laundering, tax evasion, child prostitution, illegal drug use and destruction of evidence. The child prostitution charge refers to young Iraqi girls allegedly being brought to the Blackwater compound in Baghdad’s fortified Green Zone, identified in the lawsuit as the “Blackwater Man Camp,” to provide oral sex to contractors for $1. If the court rules against Xe on the racketeering account, it could dissolve the company.”

Blackwater also known as Xe now provides military training to security forces in many countries, without the authorisation of the U.S. Government. The Commitee on Oversight and Governement Reform Staff report, describes Blackwater/ Xe “being staffed with reckless, shoot-first guards who were not always sober and did not always stop to see who or what was hit by their bullets.”

The most absurd part of it all…the cofounder for Blackwater objected to the term mercenaries, that was used to describe Blackwater employees, calling them loyal Americans. Of course they are…!! trigger happy and corrupt to the bone…yes…but ‘loyal’ Americans !

Very enlightening information at the following links, also the comments on one of these articles, by a couple of readers cheering anarchy, is disturbing as it is hilarious because its not very bright or original…the same pseudo intellectual- Nietzche reading teenager that spews out crap from semi processed information, presumably by pea sized brain…
http://www.mcclatchydc.com/2010/08/16/99241/afghan-plan-to-shut-private-security.html
http://washingtonindependent.com/77476/blackwater-the-senate-and-south-park

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Waiting…


I have been applying to a lot of Luxury hotels in the Middle East recently, because well despite the stats about declining market trends…it is a very dynamic market, and some of the best hotels in the world are in the Middle East.
Now applying to Hotels is pretty easy, just go to the career website and apply for the job that matches your profile, but while you are extensively applying, you might just hear from a couple of employers especially if you are not a citizen of that country.
So far i was approached by lots of employers, but only three satisfied the criteria, i had set for myself, in terms of the kind of organization i would like to work for. I had relatively good interviews, and i sent each one an email, thanking them and requesting about the status of my application. One of them well, got delayed cuz the job is available in Feb 2011, and well the other sent me an email that they would get back to me, it had been over 2 weeks, and the suspense is killing me! So i prepared myself for the worst, that maybe they found my profile unsuitable…by now its the third week, and i seem to be suffering from what i can only describe as crystal meth withdrawal symptoms…!!! not to belittle the plight of my fellow meth junkies…but i find myself turning into a nervous wreck because this was a wonderful job and well one of the best companies in Hospitality…So here i am…
Withdrawal symptoms kicking in…

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