Feminine

His usual miseries stemmed from a certain family prophecy, a story whose humor he couldn't appreciate when he was a little boy. 
The story predates his birthday, when his parents had prayed the deity for a girl child. But as a wise man must know, deities are aware of mathematical probabilities. 

So when he was born, none of the true believers were surprised.

And as he grew up, he felt the deity must have paid a little heed to his parents wishes and blessed him with asinine feminine qualities, thus he also suspected himself of being a brazen sexist. Honesty was his hallmark too, you see.

If these lines belonged to a novel, he could just be me, but then again I will just pass, due to obvious reasons, one being accused of too much megalomania. 

Strangers on the Net

I'll believe whatever you say.

We are practically strangers, anyway.

You are rhyming, I see

Singing colloquial epiphany.

Considering you are playing along, 

I don't think I did anything wrong.

And who knows what's wrong, what's right

Such is the whim of a deadpan night.

And, that would be an excellent status, I'd say,

 Also, you sound terribly forlorn, if I may.

That's the beauty of words, you know

Sometimes they darken and sometimes they glow.

Words are amusement of kinds,

Like this odd conversation, I feel, if you don't mind.

Odd is one, three, five and seven

It may still find a place in heaven.

And this could go on all Night,

 But would you want it to become Trite?

No, I would say, because it's late

And tomorrow I would need a clean slate

But this should go in a facebook note, if you want

The world must read such hackneyed rant.

Rum- A tiny story

‘When the Revolution came, the anti-satirical government bombed the erstwhile Presidency College which harboured the verbose rebels.’

Little mini who had read this in one of her father’s old book which was kept in the secret locker, had curiously tried to find out what the word Revolution meant. After all the dictionaries and the entire world wide web had failed her, she had approached her teetotal father, who in a wistful countenance had replied

‘It’s one of life’s Rum thing.’

Stick-figure

I drew a stick figure of a man with Red, and a woman with White. 
To make things interesting, I imagined them to copulate, and then after nine minutes I drew a pink stick figure of a little boy to complete the happy nuclear family. 
I showed it to my teacher, who said a boy shouldn’t be pink, so I killed him, and made another pink-girl.
My teacher was happy. 

This is how Feminism shall win, she winked.

Calcutta, A tiny story

Partha wanted Pritha to come with her to Venice where he studied Art. 
He said he loved her -the rhyme of men.
He said it was very dreamy there,
He said she would love it there,
Where the streets were made of water,
Where one could float all day, make love,
And dream and dream and never get hungry.

Pritha who painted measles on an infant and
Who mocked others for being others,
had winked and said,
‘But don’t you see I am never hungry,
because in my city,
The streets are made of dreams and dreams.’

Calcutta, had smiled at the anonymous citation of one of her lovechild.

Unfortunately for a few, summer had reigned
In the city for a long time
That year.

Someone said, Unfulfilled Love is Romantic

 They never met again.


But like a grateful romantic he always remembered her. He did not know what became of her, but even in that briefest moment they had met and loved he had known an eternity, he had known of her struggles, he had known the mystery of her sad eyes. 

She was like those hilly trees you know, tall, strong, holding on to whatever ground there was, panting in that thin air, never giving up, so exotic and beautiful.

And maybe that’s why even after all those years, he would confide in the mountains, where he could vividly remember her, where he could embrace in her beauty, in her struggles, like an invisible comrade,
 where every green hill would bear a token of her love.

Neon-glow

Mary met Max in a little pub on the downtown alley, where rats could clean you off your squalor.

Max said it would be safe. 

Mary had passed on the 100 dollar note for 2 grams of powder. 

When the bullets had kissed her everywhere Mary had slumped down gracefully, flushing it all out at once. 

In that dingy little pub called ‘neon-glow’, the police found her eyes gouged, and when they looked carefully, they could see the word dreamer painted all over her brain.