For Want Of A Better World

It could be the first sign of the morning, It could be the brightest ray at noon, Could even be the blackest spot of night, But whenever it may start, There's no telling when the storm will end. It may be a gale, cold and swift, It may be the sun; quiet, complete, It may be the clouds, humbled and effete, Nature may cull it as it may, There's no telling when the storm will end. Stay inside where it's safe and warm, Carry an umbrella, if you must go, Tread lightly, and be back soon, The night is unforgiving and, There's no telling when the storm will end.

(The Scene: An evening in a regular London pub. The bar isn’t crowded, there are only two couples in the booths. Two men at the bar, friends by the look of it. One drinking a pint of dark beer) Man 1 : So Lucy called. Said she was gonna pack all of her stuff and head back to her mum’s. Her life’s too precious to spend livin’ with a waster, she says. Man 2 : All her stuff? Well that’s okay, then. Give her a couple of days’ head start to get her suitcases sorted before you go apologizing. Man 1 : (Chuckles)  Nah, she’ll come around sooner than that. She’s not a bad bird, that one. Think I may actually settle down with her. Man 2 : Yeah? Man 1 : Yeah, yeah, y’know… it’s not a bad idea, really. I mean, I could always quit this job and find one that pays more. She won’t half mind marrying me, I know that. Yeah… maybe I could just get this bird for keepers. Man 2 : Pays more, eh? And where exactly do you propose to find such gainful employment, old boy? Man...

It was all going perfectly according to plan. The world was at peace, the beings in harmony, one part eating the other, and the other sacrificing itself to sustain the first. Green and brown above, blue and grey below. It worked, it sustained what could have gone on for eons. Why, then, did nature create man? Suddenly, in what was practically a flash in the billions of years of the DNA code, there was this, thing , that was fast, strong, and hungry beyond fulfillment. Hacking, and burning, and digging and scraping apart all that was there until its subjugation of all around it was complete. Until the very mother that caused him to be wept tears of acid and blew away its tattered covers to sear him with the sun’s rays. What was this grand scheme that caused nature to make something that would think up a power greater than itself to dominate and torture that which gave birth to him so completely? And when there was no other to be ravished, turn on each other in a noisy bicker...

The moment you wake up in the morning; that stretch where you cannot open your eyes fully or feel your conspiring arms trying to lift you up, is probably the most lucid instant of the entire day. Those two seconds where no one can begin to contemplate anything other than two inches of sunlight in their eyes make every morning a new day. What decides the course of your day, however, is unfortunately not this moment. No, that moment comes about half an hour later, around the time when you're stepping out of the bathroom and reaching for that coffee mug. When the cogs of your cognition suddenly whirr into action, and contemplate the day that went past, and using some complex method that I can only imagine is akin to the one they use at my office, forecasts your mood for the day. Now, this mood does not make your day good or bad; how can it. What it does is change the little things you do; the skip in your step, the cheeriness of a “Good Morning!” or the look on your face when you thin...

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...