The Survivor First came the stalwarts each landing with a mighty din and when the great splash was over sneakily and muted, he came in. He was a tiny one lost among the big guns, never had any fighting chance but was filled with bravado and romance. He was a party pooper eclipsed by a giant whooper, had no place in that crowd but of himself, he was proud. So when it was the moment ‘flush’ and in came the torrent. It obliterated everything in its path and all the mighty bore its wrath. When everything disappeared, tearing the settled waters, the tiny one reappeared - to claim his place in history, bit by bit for he, my friend, was puny little piece of shit. (Literally)
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St . Sinner He was a righteous man or so he thought, was rather content with whatever he got. He never stole a thing or looked at women twice, for every sin, he believed you have to pay a price. He respected elders and loved every child. His heart was homely and his thoughts were mild. But of all the children he loved he loved one the most, he would often feed her butter, jam, jelly and toast. She would call him captain, and ride on him as a sack. She was growing up fast and he could feel her tiny breasts on his back. In his heart, his love was divine and pure but he was a celibate, and his body wanted more. On a sweaty afternoon after a piggy back ride, his body took over his mind and performed the ugly grind. The child in the child was no more nor was her innocence, and the man's life of sacrifice and sanctity now did not make much sense. From the fateful day on...
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Who’s the boss? “Clean my feet”, the master said. So did the servant, underpaid. As he poured the hot water on his feet, the master took a stick and began to beat. “The water is too hot, you son-of-a-bitch, how many times should I have to teach?” The servant took the bashing like a helpless bull, he thought, “that’s all, my life will never be full.” He worked like a dog, and ate too like one, but for his master, the job was never done. He asked him to do everything, from cleaning the house to cutting grass. Only thing left was to wipe his big, filthy ass. The servant was miserable, an unhappy guy, nobody could tell, he carried on why. Only he knew, for all the things he did, in his morbid life, there was fun indeed. Of the many tasks that his master ordered, the Mrs. ordered just one. On a master’s night away, she asked him to impregnate her with his son.
TRAVELOGUE OF A BAREFOOT PILGRIM
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“Are you coming?” asked my friend, gazing into my eyes, looking for an affirmative answer. “Do you have the balls?” is what I heard. His proposition - a 120 kilometer long pilgrimage trek, starting from the banks of holy Ganges at Sultanganj, traversing across the villages of north-eastern Indian state of Bihar and Jharkhand, and finally ending at the holy shrine of lord Shiva in Devgarh, Jharkhand. The catch – to complete the trek barefoot. Every year, in the month of Shravan –Indian rainy season (July-August), lakhs of devotees of lord Shiva , wearing saffron robes, undertake this insurmountable pilgrimage, carrying the holy water of the Ganges to bath the Shivalinga at Devgarh. An ancient tradition, the infamous trek is filled with perilous conditions and an unforgiving path. The austere rituals to be followed along the way are no respite either. Sunny and I have been friends from childhood. And much of our friendship was cemented in the play groun...