For Want Of A Better World

I feel ashamed today. Ashamed, helpless, and livid at my city, my country, the entire class of human beings claiming to be from my gender, but most importantly, at the alleged leaders of my city, country, commune who so much as dare to look at today and the horizon and tell me to my face that things are GOOD. How can anyone claim that our country is progressing, that our society, far from being the decadent cesspool that it is, is in fact vibrant and active and climbing the ladder of success, when we haven’t yet so much as approached the first step? What good is anything we have, anywhere across the world, if we can’t guarantee the most basic of human needs: safety, to all our denizens, and especially to that half who we claim openly in our chauvinist, ribald moments as the weaker gender? What is the point of a term like that, if the corresponding term for men isn’t the slacker or helpless gender (in equal measure)? Or even, in fact, the decadent, sick or perverted gender? I lately wa

The Scene: Midnight, in an empty bar. Shelves in the back, replete with exquisite liquor, their colour reflected from a long mirror above, running along the length of the bar counter, its wood burnished a dull gold with the light above. Man and Woman, alone, together, close, their drinks in front of them (Scotch for Him, Daiquiri for Her). French windows behind them show nothing but a full moon in the distance. No one else around. Woman: (contemplative, staring at her glass) Tragedy never strikes when one is in the throes of sorrow. It has a knack for picking the sweetest, happiest moments to descend and skewer a heart. Is it life’s way of being merciful to man in his sorrow, or painful in his joy? (To Him, smiling) I absolutely loved our day together; it was all I ever wished for; in fact, much more. And yet... Man: I did what I did because I wanted to. I love you, and a day in your life spent happy is a day in mine fulfilled. (Aloud, to no one) Our choices are all made long ago,

(Pubby's Note: Well, it’s been a while now, and I haven’t written anything I can put up on my blog; thought I’d describe a typical day at my summer training/internship. Also, now that I’m in solitary again, I have returned to my non-proofed narrative thinking/writing. So here goes) This place is huge. In length, breadth, and height. And the number of people. And it’s organised. Thoroughly. From people to paper clips. There’s umpteen departments, different machine shops, foundries, core shops, and loads of other things that are all supposed to do their own little bit to add value to the whole. Some seem to work more, some less, but all of them pretty much curse one another in a tussle for one-upmanship where the only benefit they may accrue is respect from a management that they don’t respect. My day here usually starts with a glass of water, 5 minutes on gtalk (via gmail) and 20 minutes or so of solitaire on my cellphone while I wait for it to strike 10. Then on, I move to my cabi