the bird that sits on the lonely beam

So here I was, home again, and I saw it sitting on its usual place. For once, I felt that it looked at me, smiled and said “Welcome back dude!”

… I come back home from work every day at a time that is ‘late’ by every human standard on the planet. On my way to my apartment, I see this cute little bird sitting on a beam near the stairs of the second floor. It sits there alone, silent and still, peering at the starry sky, and may be thinking about life and its hollowness. We see each other every day and bid a smile. No one says a word.

I don’t know why but I feel there is a connection between our lives. I see my own reflection in the bird that I see sitting throughout the night, on a lonely beam, homeless and hopeless too. Free to go, yet caged. Yes, it wanders round the whole sky all day; Yes, it may be surrounded by a flock of friends all day; Yes, it may look happy and free from worries; yet, it sits alone at the end of day, gazing at the stars all night, wondering what life has turned out to be. No friends to sit beside it, no family to offer love, no partner to share life with and no hope to support its existence. Only the endless gloom of insignificance...

The People that Make Me Hate Them

I am absolutely sure that I’m gonna be labeled a certified ‘Jackass’ or a ‘Retard’ after people read this post of mine. But it really doesn’t matter to me now. Fuck it, as if it mattered then. Who makes me hate them? Well, honestly, everyone does it these days. So who is the one I am talking about today? You really wanna know? Come ‘on, don’t you fool yourself, you really don’t give a shit about who do I hate. All you are concerned about is whether you are the one who’s being talked about here. Well to answer that, yes, I hate you. But hard luck, you are not the protagonist here.

I hate my parents. Yes I hate them. And I am gonna accept the fact that I do. Why? Not because they are my parents, not because they did not rear me well, not because they did not buy me gifts, not because they did not allow me to choose my career, but because, I just hate them. I was always under the false impression that I had the best parents in the whole wide world, the bestest of best one can ever imagine getting (Though, I am sure each one of us think the same, contrary to the universal truth). They always taught me the best of things they could, the traditions, the customs of life and culture. But they never taught me to discriminate between high and low, between the man and man. I was always told, all men are equal, they carry equal respect, and that shit about equality of castes and religion that’s written over and over again in those fifty-thousand-pages-long mighty shithole book. I was always reared under the pretention that there is only one cadre of men, and that is Human. They lied. Eventually, when I grew up to like someone from the same flock of Humans, they brought up the classification of high and low, of rich and poor, of men and supermen. They now drew margins of caste, religion, money, power and social respect between their own canvas they once painted with the color of equality. She is not at par with our standard and social being, they say today. Fuck it, and fuck you, I say. You should have told me that long before, so I should have not loved her then. Now what do I tell her? How do I explain that I cannot keep up my promises because she is poor? That I cannot live up to her expectations because she belongs to a different caste or sect? That I lied to her that I love her unconditionally, even when there are conditions that are put up on me? Fuck you Parents.

I hate her. Yes, her too. Though she seems to be the sweetest and kindest girl in the world I could find, I hate her for being her. She never tries to accept and understand, or even acknowledge my situation. And even if she does, she fails miserably. She loves me bluntly, and blindly, in spite of all the odds against us, knowing that I may not be able to fulfill some, or rather all her dreams, ever. I hate that love in her eyes, which doesn’t vanish or dissolve, even after gallons of tears that outflow at least twenty times a day (all thanks to me). I hate her because she never makes a single effort to prevent those tears from flowing off her eyes. In fact, she is always looking for reasons to moisten her cheeks and later, blame it on me (though I must confess that I am genuinely involved most of the time, but there are a few occasions where I am like: What? Really? Why? How? Err!! Ah? Arghh??!!). But most of all, I hate her for not even attempting to realize that I love her too, and she is not the only one who is making all the sacrifices in the world, that she is not the first and the only lover in this world. She thinks that she is the only one in problems – the damsel in distress, like the usual customs. And yet after everything that is said and done, she loves me more than herself (at least, that’s what she says to me – although it’s slightly difficult to believe completely owing to the fact, that I have got a chance to read through several of her letters and email and text messages depicting her anger and inner emotions), that makes me hate her even more.

And above all, I hate myself. Not surprisingly, I hate myself the most, because in spite of all the hatred I have for people, I can’t stop loving them. I hate myself, because I cannot make a choice. And who would wanna make that choice? How can I choose between her and them? How can I drain off one of the two, completely from my heart? One who gave me birth, brought me up and made me; and other who borne me and showed me what life was all about? How do you prefer your one kidney over the other, or one eye over the other? And to add, I hate them and her because both force me to make a choice between the two. It makes me feel like the rope in this tug-of-war, and Fuck! I am tired of it now. I hate myself because I cannot take a decision, of when to love and when not, where to love and where not, of whom to love and whom not. I also hate myself because I have lost control, over my life, my heart, and my soul too. I am diabolically inspired, living my life like a zombie, waiting for its shitty end to come, hoping it would be better than the present, not realizing or attempting what can be changed to make it better, or at least ‘livable’. I have deserted all hopes, abandoned my life as unchangeable, only waiting for it to end. And I fucking hate this.

The Era of Mindless Games that You Can't Win

I often hear my dad, uncles and their peers talk about the games that they used to play when they were kids. "Apart from hockey, cricket, volleyball, badminton among others", they said; "there were marbles, carrom, business, lotto", they added. Then, I said - "Blah!". I also remember my own eight-years-aged days, when the only agenda after school used to be "completing Stage 8 after defeating the master ship in Stage 7". Yes, that was the era of video games. But now the interests have changed drastically. It's the era of totally new generations of games which, no matter how hard you try, you can't win. Reason? - 'cause they are not meant for winning. Long gone are the days when a Game either resulted in a Victory or a Defeat. Today, a new mutant species of totally mindless games has overtook the minds of the present day generation.

"What good is a game where there is no chance of winning or loosing?", I once happened to ask one of my friends (who is also under the siege of these brain-sucking alien assasin warfares). "It's the Strategies!", he replied. "Balls!", I hurled at his teeth, almost spontaneously. Infact, most people who are addicted to these completely waste-of-time idiotic games often try to provide very promising excuses for their lame acts. Strategies, Brain-storming, Clean-fun, Thrill, say some. I could, however, find only One word for them - Gay.

I find it extremely disgusting how people go mad because their cherries wilted or because they forgot to turn the stove off and their food burnt. Fucking shit! Did they ever care to think about the 'Real' plants in their lawns or ever bothered to check how the stove in their kitchens works? One of the most surprising incident I came across till date was when I saw one of my colleagues sitting at work on a weekend, and on my enquiry of the reason of his visit to the office on an off-day was - "I planted some brinjals yesterday. And had I not harvested them today, they would have died." For once I felt like banging his head in the computer screen. "Die asshole! Die!!". But I had to restrict my emotions then. But I swear to God, if only I could do it, I would have burnt his farms and killed his cattle that day.

The condition is worse than it looks superficially. Until last year, when I used to stand up at my cubical at work, I could see people, mostly working, some stumbling on social websites, and a small fraction of them racing or usually in combat. But now the scene is different. I see most people busy ploughing their farms, some feeding their fishes, and other struggling to make their mark as a Mafia. Needless to say, it's affecting work - big time. And with new lame games coming in everyday, the worst is certainly yet to come.

It is really surprising to see that these so-called Farmers and Mafias are so proud of this descent of the Human Civilization. They feel as if they are doing a service to humanity by growing their farms and rearing more fishes. I cannot forget the shine on one of my ex-colleague's face when she bought a new Sheep. For once, it reminded me of my ex-ex-neighbour's five-year-old daughter when she got her first 'Kitchen-set'. These assholes might as well be happier on adopting a new Goldfish than on hitting a jackpot. For them, their farm/aquarium/cafe is the world. The most amazing thing is these people are always very anxious and enthusiastic to invite more members to their flock. No wonder, each one of us have minimum 50 pending Gay-games' requests on our dashboard, everyday. The other day, someone exclaimed "Hey bro! Do ya (you; I must admit he sucked at his English too) own a Farm up here?". Trying to be as composite as I could, I replied "No!", although with clenched teeth. "Wait! I'll send ya an invite right away", he continued with double the eagerness. "No need moron, I am Straight!", I had to burst out. Honestly, I would prefer playing Solitaire or scratching my balls and jerking off at my computer screen than submitting myself to these vampires.

The saddest part of the story is that this is just the beginning. With the not-so-anticipated, yet inestimable success of such blasphemous endeavours, websites have started breeding their clones. Parking Wars, Ferns & Farms and others are siblings of our already-featrured pain-in-the-ass products. And with the series of Gay-awards and acceptance coming in, the possibilities for them are endless. After all, when there is the entire world to screw, Why Play Akele?

A warm welcome to myself

A very warm welcome to myself, and yeah, to you too. I thank you for wasting your time and stumbling by my blog to hear my Screams. 'The Screams within Me' is an attempt to express the dissatisfaction and the frustration I share with the youth of today. It is an attempt of the several voices within my heart to find a soul - an identification for themselves. These voices echo my mind every day and every night. What are they? Although it’s difficult to distinguish each one of them from the other, they sound like Screams, of burning values, deteriorating culture, diminishing respect and alike, amidst the jungle of corruption, poverty and competition. They are my voices, but feel like the Screams of the entire mankind.

Who am I? I am any 22 year old young boy in this country, who is fighting each day with life to sustain in this world and seeking shelter from the odds against his survival. I am any face from the crowd who works his ass off each day only to fulfill the basic necessities of life. Am I a revolutionist? May be, though I don’t intend to change anything nor bring about a renaissance. I know very well that my words will not provoke any thoughts, nor move any soul. They may not even distantly touch the fucking pride and vanity of those, responsible. In fact, for my hard and cruel words, you may even brand me as a lexical terrorist. But then, who gives a shit? To quote a famous saying,

'One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter.'

But then why a blog? Why not? It’s easy and convenient, both, to read and write. Plus, it’s my views, and my way of expression. And I prefer writing them as a blog. If you don’t like it, then I obviously can’t help it. Further, I admit that I may not be a Dexter, yet I am not a virgin to the concept of blogging. I have been involved with certain other blogs, not worth mentioning here (and I also know that you don’t care a damn about them either). Though, if you are really interested in reading through my Screams then I, ignoring the fact that you have abundant spare time, would appreciate it and welcome you again.