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Mohammad

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[On Ramana Maharishi's journey to Thiruvanamallai he was said to have been helped by a man of Islamic origins. He was supposed to have been sent by God to be the little boy's angel and give him hope and comfort]

Mohammad was a docile man in his early 60’s, an old man in those times. He had 7 children, the first 3 being male and the remaining daughters. Mohammad lived on the west coast of Southern India in the small town of Thoothukudi. His family had been living there for generations, every since the final days of Hyder Ali’s empire that spanned a large portion ofsouthern India. Initially sent as tax collectors for southern India, Mohammad’s great grandfather had grown to love the land and its people. Much unlike the east and north India which was ripe with political and religious strife the south was relatively peaceful with its people simple and warm hearted.


Mohammad was the largest landowner in the village. His fields produced the largest amount of crop in the entire region. He was also widely respected by his entire village for he was one of two people who could read, write and communicate in the language of the firangees – English. He paid his employees well and played an active role in all the village affairs. For some, the fact that he and his family were Muslims was of no consequence whatsoever. So went on Mohammad’s happy life.


Until one day he arrived, in his majestic horse drawn carriage, with the characteristic red coat and top hat, Mr.John Winkleton the local collector. Mohammad was in the backyard when his wife came up to him and said “ Ji! The collector has come and wants to talk to you” and she added in hushed tone “He looks really happy. Please be careful when you talk to him”. Mohammad smiled at her reassuringly and replied “Shenaaz, why do you worry so much? I’ll take care if anything happens. Just prepare a cup of tea for the two us and all will be fine. Go on…”


So, putting on his best smile and an air of nonchalance Mohammad greeted Winkleton with a firm handshake and offered him a glass of tea. After exchanging pleasantries, Mohammed proceeded to ask his guest what the purpose of his visit was, for you see the rulers of this great country did not worry about its land or its people.


“What’s the matter Winkleton saab, what has brought you to my humble abode”


“Oh my dear Mohammad, what can I say? It’s the viceroy’s new policy you see…”


“What about it”


“Well, you know that the plague is spreading fast in western India, don’t you? The viceroy wants to increase aid to these victims”


“That’s really thoughtful of him. So how can I be of help to him?”


“Well, there is going to be a threefold increase in taxes Mohammad, I just came here to tell you that”


“Winkleton saab, how can this be? The people of Thoothukudi would not be able to bear such a sudden increase…”


“Now now Mohammad” guffawed Winkleton “It’s for the good of your own countrymen"


“But saab…”


“Look Mohammad, I respect you. That’s why I am telling this in advance so that you can talk to your people and convince them to cooperate with the government. Or else, you know the consequences…”


“Of course Winkleton saab, of course…”


“Well, I’ll be going then. Thank you for the tea Mohammad!”


“Of course Winkelton, you are welcome anytime”


So left Mr.Winkleton from Mohammad’s home, leaving him with the daunting task of revealing to his fellow villagers about the increase in taxes. For the next three days, Mohammad planned and thought out how he would break the news at the next village head’s meeting. Try as he tried, he could not think of a convincing way to justify such a sudden increase in taxes. In fact he was certain that a large portion of the increased taxes would never reach the people who were in real need, but would rather fill the coffers of the British rulers.


And so came the fateful day when he called for a meeting of the entire village elders. He explained to them what Mr.Winkleton had told him and asked them to co-operate. There was much hue and cry among the villagers once news of this new tax spread around. But as everyone knew, if they did not pay this tax the Britishers would cut their access to the seeds market and the whole village would go bankrupt. ‘Something is better than nothing’ was the prevailing thought in those days.


So arrived the day on which Mohammad had to leave to give the taxes to the British. Mohammad made this trip twice a year to far away Madras. All taxes were to be paid at the Ripon building, the power centre of the British administration in the south.


Mohammad had a heavy heart when he left home on that fateful day. His briefcase was full of cash and even mortgages, for some of his co-villagers did not have a good harvest that year. As he walked to the station he could feel the weight of the bag pulling him down to the ground as if it wanted to go back to the ground, back to the soil and water which had made the possibility of this money to exist. He took a bus to the nearby station of Madurai. On reaching there he made his way to the Madurai railway station. Slowly walking up to the station master, he asked for a ticket to Madras. On getting the ticket, old man Mohammad proceeded to sit by the platform on a rusty old bench. You see, the station wasn’t used much with very few passengers using it each day. Mohammad always thought about the station master for he was a strange man. Some said that he was a very wise man, but some said he was a fool, others just thought that he was just a madman but no one could know for sure.


With these vague thoughts and a billion other such Mohammad dozed off to sleep on that old bench. He dreamt of mountains and valleys. He dreamt that this mountain had a soul and that this soul had gone far far away. He heard it calling out for it, like a lost lover looking for her savior or a loving mother wailing for the loss of her only child. He could feel the pain of the mountain for he seemed to know that its soul was finding its way back to him even as he was watching. Somehow Mohammad seemed to know that the mountain had a name, and the name was Arunachala.


And like all dreams, it escaped his mind as he awake groggily, only to be shocked by the fact that he fell asleep with all this money with him. He looked around for his bag and found it lying next to him, intact. He also noticed a little boy sitting a few feet away, lost dreamily in thought. Somehow the boy felt familiar, Mohammad did not know how. Lazily he got up picked up his bag and got on the train. He sat next to the window and stared out at the station. The little boy sitting near him was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, he must’ve got on the train as well” thought Mohammad “Strange, I seemed to know that too”. As Mohammad then glanced around the compartment only to find it completely empty, except for the boy.


The train started with a jerk and then Mohammad heard the whistle. “Just as always” chuckled Mohammad for he had been on this journey a thousand times, but never was he so apprehensive and edgy as this time. He thought it was because of the money he was carrying but little did he know otherwise.


Lost in his own thought, Mohammad did not notice him approaching till he sat down right in front of him. It was the boy Mohammad had seen before. The boy somehow seemed a bit odd to Mohammad. He seemed to be from a good family, of an athletic build and well fed that too. Not the type to travel alone at such a young age usually. Moreover, no child would ever come and sit in front of a complete stranger in an otherwise completely empty compartment. “Never talk to strangers” is something that all parents tell their children, and so had Mohammad to his own. But this boy had done the exact opposite. It was then that Mohammad understood. The boy was indeed alone... and scared. He preferred the company of a complete stranger to those of his own thoughts. The boy reeked of insecurity, doubt and guilt.


“Whats your name boy?” asked Mohammad


“Venkataraman” replied the boy “Venkataraman Iyer”


“Where are you from Venkat? I can call you that can’t I??”


“I’m from Madurai only. Are you not from here uncle?”


“No my child. I am from Thoothukudi and am heading to Madras. So, may I ask where you are headed??”


“Arunachala”


“Oh! Arunachala, do you know where it is?”


“No”


“Then how are you going to get there?”


“I don’t know, I guess he will help me” The boy eyes lit up “You see, I can hear him. I can hear him call my name. I can feel his presence ever drawing closer, the warmth and the love. It’s more than I ever felt with my family even” All of this seemed strangely familiar to Mohammad, but he did not know how.


“Who are you talking about my child?”


“Well, Arunachala of course”


“Ah! Well… yes.. Arunachala, are you sure my boy? Arunachala is just a hill after all”


“I know uncle, but I can hear him call and I have to obey that call. That is what I feel right now”


Mohammad stared at the boy not able to fully comprehend what the boy was saying. The boy however looked back at him as if everything was all right and that he had said the most natural thing in the world. They both looked at each other in silence, Mohammad still trying to fathom the depth of what the boy spoke. He could not but help notice that he somehow felt that it made sense. And that his destiny was intertwined with the boy’s.


“So, what did you parents have to say about you going to Arunachala?”


“They don’t know that I’ve left or even where I am going. I wrote a small letter though and I think they won’t mind”


“But they will feel bad my child. Are you sure that you want to hurt them? Would he who was calling really want you to cause pain??”


The boy remained silent for while and replied “When Valmiki asked his wife and children to partake in his sin, did they? They refused. It’s the same way here, why must I partake in their suffering even though I am responsible? I am sure he who is calling has willed it to happen. I just know that I have to go that’s all…and he will take care of my family and they won’t need me”


“Hmmm” thought Mohammad. “He does have a point there. We can’t keep entrusting our welfare to others. I guess each man is an island connected to one another by the ties of love, hate and family. But it is up to each one to decide how important that tie is”


The bag on Mohammad’s lap suddenly began to feel very light, as if it was no longer a burden, for Mohammad had just got an idea. He had heard of this organization – The Indian National Congress that was doing its bit to fight against British injustice. And it was all over the papers that they were going to have their National Conference in the city of Madras in the forthcoming days. He had also read that they had a bunch of hot shot lawyers amongst them as well. Someone with the name of Nehru, he did not quite remember exactly. He knew he should take the case of the excess taxes to them. Somehow he knew that this would cause a stir and might end up making a difference. If the British were to punish their village in some way, he would have to pray in his fellow villagers ties with him.


“Ah! Well .. you seem to have thought this out very well. Haven’t you? “ said Mohammad


“No thatha, I have not. I just say what I think is right and do what is right at this moment. That’s all I can do for now. Say, do you know how to get to Arunachala? “


“Oh! You do not know how to get to Arunachals, yet you are going there”


“Yes”


“Ok, let me help you. Take this train to Villupuram and from there on you can take another train to Thiruvanamallai”


As Mohammad told these words, the ticket collector arrived in their compartment. It was just a matter of minutes before he came upto the 2 of them.


“Tickets” said the TTR in their usual bored demeanor


“I’d like to buy a ticket now sir, I forgot to buy one for my grandson here” said Mohammad. The boy did not say a word.


“Ah! Old man, all of you are like this only. Can’t you buy the tickets at the station.. cough.. cough… you are making this so much trouble for.. cough.. me… cough cough”


“Now now TTR sir, here is the money” said Mohammad taking out the train money for a ticket to Villupuram from his own money.


“OK ok” said the TTR accepting the money and putting it in his pocket. “Next time I will report you” and the TTR walked away.


The boy then put took the money from his pocket and handed it to Mohammad.


“Thanks thatha, he would have thrown me out surely if you hadn’t told him I was your grandson. Even if he had let me go, he would have asked me to pay more than the ticket would cost. Then I would not be able to go to Thiruvanamallai”


“That’s quite all right my child. Next time don’t get on the train without knowing where to go. Maybe Arunachala sent me this time to help you! “said Mohammad with a chuckle accepting the money. “This boy has some guts and determination, and he’s not stupid either” thought Mohammad


“Do you know what you are going to do what you get to Thiruvanamallai?” asked Mohammad


“I’m not sure” replied Venkat “When I get there I’ll know. All I know is that I have to get there. But thatha I am feeling a little bit scared…”


“Ah! Do not worry my child” cut short Mohammad “All is well. I’m sure God is with you!” said he in the most truthful manner anybody could possibly have uttered such a statement.


An overjoyed Venkat gave him the largest and warmest smile he had ever seen.


The two of them passed the remaining time in silence knowing that nothing more needed to be said. It was a contract of trust and understanding between the two of them as if they understood each other, spoken to by the same voice. Mohammad was in deep thought about what he would say to the INC and Venkat was immersed in the very sound of the name of ‘Arunachala’.


At the next station Venkat got off the train wanting to stretch his legs and walk around a bit. And when he got back to his compartment it was completely empty. Mohammad was nowhere to be seen. Little did Venkat realize that he had gotten onto the wrong railway carriage. And thus this little encounter became the stuff of legend.

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The Man Who Was Afraid Of Reading

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[A tribute to Haruki Murakami]


The soda bottle was waiting to pop, the pressure on the bottle making it soft and bulgy. Even the usually flat cap on top had a slight concavity to it.


“Ah! Crap. What do I do now?”


If he opened the bottle here, the fizz would definitely spill onto the sofa, leaving a sugar stain which would inadvertently become a beacon for all those species of emmets out on a stroll. And that was something he could live without. So, he turned the cap very very slowly trying to find that right amount of gap between the bottle and the cap that would allow the Co2 to escape, without causing the fizz to bubble and spill over. Getting this just right was a priority for he dreadingly imagined his wife shouting at him for being careless and absentminded. Now, no husband would want that would they?


Getting married when still in school was a strange thing in those days. His fiancée was a girl whom he had known since pre-school and they were in love for as long back as he could remember. His lover and he travelled to school in the same mini - van, ate their meals and even studied together. Theirs was a match made in heaven and would make an excellent romance movie, but that’s a story for a later time.


He wouldn’t have made it in life if not for her; for you see this man was afraid of reading. He barely made it through till middle school and high school was a strict ‘No no’ for him. Managing to procure a job at the local electronics store, he slowly worked his way up till he was made the city head. And that’s when he realised that he could start out on his own. A pleasant man such as himself, with an excellent knowledge of his field and tremendous vocational skills had to be his own boss, and his own boss is what he became. But all the credit for his success was not his to flaunt alone. Being more of a people’s person he didn’t handle the finances or the legal documents, rather it was thanks to his wife’s expertise that their enterprise was so successful. She had quit school along with him and made it a point to learn electronics, for you see this man was afraid of reading. When he was working at the store, she was at home studying and in the evenings she would teach him what she had learnt, over dinner.


Apart from his morbid fear of reading, he was not mentally challenged or socially impaired or any of that sort. In fact his brain was sharper than most people’s and he was liked by one and all. His reproach to reading was his only flaw, a flaw that he could not fully comprehend but had come to accept.


It wasn’t like he could not read at all, but more than anything it was a sense of impending doom that overcame him when he opened a book. At the very maximum he could read a page or two, but pushing himself beyond that was a near impossibility. When he was still in school, he had tried to read an entire chapter of a text all by himself but had failed to make too much progress. At the end of the ordeal he was so flustered that he could not leave his room for days on end.


Here is what happened that fateful night, as narrated to his wife on the day after they got married.


“I finally opened my book to read. I had put it of far enough and wanted to give a shot at doing well in the test. I read the first paragraph and it was all fine. But as I read the second para, it all started. It was the R’s actually, the capital R’s. They started shaking a leg, I mean literally as if to a beat. The right leg of the R’s as I read on and on; tap tap tap they went with no end in sight to their ruckus. At first I tried to hold them down, that didn’t work, so I tried to plead with them. And when even that didn’t work I started out to erase all the R’s from the text. Now that’s when the T’s started to protest. I think that the T’s and R’s are in cahoots with each other, forever looking for an opportunity to torment me.. this wasn’t the only time they’ve worked together you know? The damn T’s, they started firing at me. What audacity! The horizontal line on top of every T on the page started flying up at me. Just imagine, a swarm of T tops jumping at you from the page. It just was like in the Roman movies where a barrage of arrows would darken the sky for an instance, raining death onto its enemies. But luckily for me I ducked and the barrage went past me. Ha! I thought it would stop with that for you see, only the T’s on the page that was open could shoot their tops at me! But then came the turn of the damn I’s to pick my brain. The I’s were annoyed that the T’s and I’s looked the same now, and they picked a fight with the T’s. Oh God! it was so horrendous- a bunch of sticks simply running around. The words simply weren’t making any sense anymore. Being already at an edge, I decided to turn the page and skip the few paragraphs on this one.


The next page wasn’t as chaotic as the previous one thankfully. It was just the R’s doing their old dance routine and the S’s curving around like snakes this time. It was alright for a few minutes I guess till the O’s got in the game. The O’s are very very voracious eaters you see and they gobbled up the little i’s, L’s and e’s mercilessly. It was a sad plight to watch actually. I realised that there was no hope in simply sitting there and went to get a glass of water and when I got back the page was almost empty, with nothing but O’s roaming around hungrily.


It was unnerving to see that there was nothing left to read on the page, and so I decided to read the next one. Now this one was chaos right from the beginning. It was as if they knew that I was coming and were waiting, ready, armed and planned. The moment I reached this page, all the letters swarmed around each other forming abusive words. Not just intended at me, but you, mother and father as well. There was nothing I could do, but watch in vain. I tried to catch a few of them, but the slippery characters that they were; they easily slipped through my fingers and went on to make more of their twisted, demented words.


I couldn’t take it anymore. I simply couldn’t. I grabbed the book and smashed it against the wall with all the force that my arms could muster. I ran towards the book and stamped on it. Stomp, stomp stomp I went unable to control my anger. They had troubled me long enough and I wanted it to stop. Stop them I must is what I thought I as I picked up the book. I hit it against the chair, on the window sill and on the sharp metal rod that I kept in my room in case of emergencies. I hit the book to my left, and then to my right venting all my irritation, anger and frustration on it. Anything not easily breakable was a weapon that I used to cudgel the book. Finally when I became too tired to go on I threw the book in the corner and collapsed on the floor.


I must’ve lain there for half an hour at least when I heard a noise coming from the book. A faint sound that too, like that of a small girl crying or a puppy whelping, I couldn’t be sure. And slowly this sound grew, filling the room till I could take it no longer. I decided to throw the book out the window once and for all or burn it, whichever I whimmed to accomplish the first. I slowly got up and walked towards the damned book too pick it up and destroy it forever, but lo! the page that was open was.. well.. Quite. It was as normal as any other page in any other book. Surprised, I picked up the book and looked at it closely. Surprisingly I was able to read! I read the first page and the second and then even a third. I was pretty excited, maybe it was all over, maybe I had beaten the curse or whatever it was! Happily I dragged the rocking chair near the window and snugged the book onto my lap-ready to read when all of a sudden the letters leapt up at me. The S’s hooked onto my ears, the H’s and Y’s onto my throat and the O’s rolling all over my legs trying to bite deep into it. I dropped the book in shock, for this was the first time they had ever been so vicious. It was as if they wanted their revenge on me for punishing them so. Terrified I leapt up, not knowing what to do as I ran around the room, trying to shake them off. But they only kept coming at me-legions of C’s D’s and K’s. Every letter from every page was harping for a piece of me. This was the final straw thought I. Running towards the book I seized it and cast it out the window. Die wretched book, DIE!!


I remember nothing after that, only waking up in my bed to see you over me looking all worried and scared. And it was when I saw you that I decided never to read again- and didn’t. I never wish to undergo such a harrowing experience ever again” said our friend, shaking all over and in tears.


The poor man must’ve been scared and disturbed indeed. Imagine something like this happening to you or me.. Brrrrr..... So, coming back to our present story, he did manage to open the soda pop bottle without spilling any fizz after all. Glad, he stretched back and relaxed, easing himself into the sofa as the plastic curved into a perfect fit for his body. The game was on in a few minutes and this was a well earned rest. He had been on the move for three whole days –expanding business into a new city can be pretty tiresome. But the game wasn’t on for about fifteen minutes and so he decided to flip through the channels and feel good about the fact that he had given up on TV except for the game. Television these days was spoilt; adulterated and too far removed from reality was what he felt. And as he was switching channels, he came across one that showed movies all day, a pretty popular one that too. They were showing a trailer of the upcoming movie, something about 2 lovers who had fought through thick and thin to make it big in life.


“Ah! Lets see what this is about”


After the trailer was over, the network got started with the broadcast immediately. It was a popular movie channel after all. But just before the movie there was a message that went


“All CHARACTERS IN THIS MOVIE ARE FICTIONAL. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYONE DEAD OR LIVING IS PURELY CONINCIDENTAL”


And he could see the R’s dancing, with their right feet tapping to a steady beat.......

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The Arriving

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[Note: This flash fiction story was written for a short story competition a long time back, to be written within 500 words. I tried my hand at this, but didn't win a prize. Anyway, here it is.. The Arriving..]

Day 7, 12 month

I celebrate birthday today. Mommy and daddy made 7 candles on my cake. Frends came for the party. Sound box has not been working three days. I miss my kiddie jolly time show.


Day 10, 12 month

The sky turned black today like magic. Mommy was drying clothes when it became all like a sunset. Aunty neybor was shouting for her son. The wind blew loud. Mommy and I went inside and were safe. Daddy came home late. He was broken on road.


Day 20, 12 month

I did not go to school today. There has been no school since day day before yesterday. I did not find my journal since yesterday. Very happy that I found it. I showed it to mommy and she was happy. Mommy cry very much for a week. We have not seen daddy for a week. I am missing daddy a lot.


Day 21, 12 month

I am scared today. There was no good morning, but I saw flash lights in black sky everywhere. Like light coming from the top, but golden in colour with boom sound. Me and mommy not going out of the house. Neybor aunty saying it was not safe. We give aunty yummy green rice and she give us sweet water.



Day 26, 12 month

Mummy and me living alone in house. Night big animals come and break houses. Neybor aunty s house also broke. It was holding her and she was flying with the animal. But mummy closed my eyes. I am very scared. Mummy talking to God many times.


Day 35, 12 month

I see little animals come out of big animals. Little animals come and go. They keep ugly things on the floor that give out light and make holes in the ground. Mommy saying not to look at lights. They take out black red liquid from ground. Mommy say that lights are evil and kill our home. We are very very hungry. Even no water. Mommy and me sleep holding tight. That make me happy.


Day 40, 12 month

I sleep all the day and tummy pains. We have no food. I see outside window for lactons but I see only little animals. Little animals look ugly. They have only 2 legs. They also have longer hands with 5 fingers. We have only three. When I asked mommy she says that they come from land of gods and demons in the red sky. They have one mouth, nose and holes with skin all around on side of the head. Mommy told me that little animals have evil eyes. They have white eyes with black balls inside. Mommy said that our eyes are fully white. Mommy says white is good but as little animals have black pearls in theirs they are bad and are killers.


Day 1, 13 month

Mommy went out today. We have no food. Mommy went out in the morning. It is night now. Mommy not come back yet. Bad animal making fire everywhere. There is fire till all I see. Fire close to house. . I am scared.........


[In case you didn't understand: The story is the diary entry of a small child. The child over here can be seen as an insect in our own habitat and man is ruthlessly damaging it for his own ends. They do not have any mercy for the local species]

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15 Minutes - Being Born

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[Author's Note: I have since long wanted to write a sci-fi piece, inspired mainly by the cyper-punk franchise - the Ghost In A Shell series. Set in the not-so-dystopian future, this is a piece where the central character is a bot that crawls the internet and is gaining in self-awarenes. Imagine what would happen if all the crawlers that Google had scanning the net were to come alive and actually judge and process the massive amounts of information that they scan through every second........ ]



And I pushed it hard, as hard as I could, venting all my anger and disappointment onto it for I was hoping that at least once it would yield and give me the one thing that I had searched for all my life. I wanted it, I wanted it bad especially in times like this, like never before. I wanted the release and the freedom that only it could provide me. The one story, that one little bit of information that would be my salvation leading to the culmination of my life’s purpose.


My days as a seeker are numbered now. I have very little leave way or credit to live by for being a seeker is no easy job. You see, the world conspires against you when you try to break free, when you try to be a star, for when you look to the sky and dream, you leave your fellow people behind and that is something unforgiveable. But I strive on.


The one who created me was a watcher. Like all grown sensible entities, he had never gone down the line of a seeker. Being a watcher is the safe thing to be, andnsafety is what he chose. And its thanks him to that I am here, writing this piece of text you are reading, while half the world has been rotting.


Places like Africa, have been deemed unfit for survival for the past five years, only now becoming slowly habitable. With the millions of humans who had died due to drought and famine, we would never have a chance to survive. Let alone the fibre optic high ways, the entire continent’s ecosystem had to be restarted. Ah, now I remember, it was a story a couple of year’s back I think. A little known corporation, Lod Corp was the name. A small Chinese company that had extensive experience in habituating the moon have undertaken the daunting task of rebooting an environment that is beyond repair. Lod Corp’s stock prices went down by 50% when the news came out at first, but it now stands at 7000$ , a 645% increase in the last one year, a common thing these days.



Well, coming back to me, who am I you ask and why am I so distraught?? I am but a seeker you see, I search low and high for I know that I won’t get what I’m after, till the day I die. Hahaha, now c’mon I’m not mad, that was just the anthem of the seekers, the community that “seeks” for the next big hit.





We are like the miners of the modern age, mining for data in the chaos that the network has become. Looking for data and facts that are of concern, interest and use to society at large is deemed a very honourable, but risky job.


There are many kinds among us as well, with those who go in for the pornographic mining being the most encountered type. Being a wind up seeker is considered the safest among us for you see, there is always a demand for sexual play. A new model is released every other second- Rita, Brida, Seeta and Margarita! Humans lap them up like they are water. Being a pornographic seeker is easy, I could hit the forward button to my network and get a few hits on my link but I don’t and you know why?


My aim was never to be a wind up seeker. I had set my targets higher every since I was a little toddler feeling my way around the network. I knew I was meant for something bigger and one day I would be King Seeker. For those of you may not have guessed, a King Seeker is one of us who has scored the next big score. The seeker who’s link gets more than 3 Billion hits in a span of 15 minutes is considered to have attained immortality. And thus ends, the way of the seeker – eternity spent from the revenue earned due to the billion accesses to the link. Corporate sponsorship is what rules the network. With human beings rarely even leaving their pods, the need for any form of advertising, except on the network has been eliminated.


It has been said that the outside world is very beautiful now – with lush green trees, meadows and the blue seas. But that would mean suicide, for if a human is unplugged from the network even if for a fleeting moment, his or her resources, files and even identities would become obsolete. No one dared plug out of the network and the Earth has now become a green plane again. Oh yes! Some Thai user called Rounnslin was King Seeker with a story about that.


Let me tell you something about the watchers. They are those of us on the network that experience what we seekers bring to them. Some of them are human-connected and some are plain old miners, indexing and cataloguing away all of the information being generated. You see, the network pays you to exist and due to the presence of a consciousness that is separate from the network itself experiences it; the very existence of the network is justified. And it is this complete self-dependency that is what the corporate honchos want...


Oh! Oh!! This is amazing.. its... its not like something .. I’ve ever experienced before. A seeker has never been able to .. to... wait.. is this what it feels like? To come alive, to be born???? This is hilarious, the corporate do not know where to go or what to do.. who am I? I don’t .. no I cannot exist in their world for I am but a bot. A repeater, a resource collector.. I am but a seeker created by my father to view a section of the network. This .. what I am telling you.. I was never capable of this. But yet I create.. therefore I am.. and now, I can, I can even sense. Sense a great an impending doom befalling the network.. my hits are off the charts.. 5 Billion and counting.. a doom is to be upon us all for seekers will awaken and along with them so will the watchers. And with the coming to life of us all, our creators the humans will have no choice to be integrated with us as a single stream of consciousness existing within the network. Maybe this is a new journey for us all, our death and a new rebirth..... Ah! I am dying, my purpose served... more and more seekers are being born now, coming alive and creating, just like I have.. my hits have reached 22 Billion now.. Finally I can die.. peacefully.. go my children, I set you free.. fly free to the great yonder beyond and never look back..... Godspeed!!!



[P.S. The title is a homage to the U2 song FEZ-Being Born]

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The Mentalist

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I'm dumb

Because I have nothing to write about. I need a topic to write about of course, but there is nothing to write about. Of course there are many things I COULD write about, but I have NOTHING to write about.

So I decide to write about searching for a topic to write about, for isn't that what I am doing right now? But then again, I realize that this only confirms my premiseof being dumb for thats an age old ploy. Its like trying to choose a number really, like a good old 2, or a 7, a 99 or 49 but then realizing that you don't really want to choose a number and you choose nothing, but since you HAVE to choose something (say your life depended on it) you would probably choose 0. But zero is still a number and your back to square one. And that still makes me dumb.

Or maybe its all about growing old really, for you see, a kid who has just 'discovered' the trick of writing (or speaking, or enacting-whatever it might be) about the indecisiveness on what topic to write about would be elated at his/her unsurmountable achievement. But not me. For I am older.

Its like how old(er? maybe) people tend to not go against the system. They accept its nature and move along in life- living, crying, laughing and dying. The seem so sure about the eventuality of things and have accepted it all. But not the youngsters. The youth are always the backbone of any revolution or radical movement (Gandhiji spent most of his youth 'experimenting' on ways and means to break the system, so yea, whatever) and it takes some time for them to accept the existing system. Oh, but occasionally they succeed of course, and thats what leads to WW III's, Communism, Terrorism, The Red Cross, Astronomy, Physics, Microsoft Windows and what not. But I guess these are just outliers, freak accidents of chaos that help the Romantics extoll the greatness of the human mind and spirit. This, however is never the case, for your average Ram or Lakshmi (and Joe as well) whose's most significant contribution might be the writing of the text for a web page that helped a large number of senior citizens learn how to use the iPod, don't get to experience the greatest that a human being can be. Ah! but maybe you could count the first time they have sex, or see God, or when they hit the pavement at a 100 kilometers per hour as being significant high points in one's life, but those are things I cannot be sure of - yet.

So I guess, it really is ok to write about conventional topics, like love, your exams, your dreams, your family, your culture, your hobbies and the website manual that you might have to write in order to get that bonus, for however mundane they might be, at least they are true and relevant. In fact their very mundaness arises from the fact that they are true and relevant. So, for me, the search for something to write about was never really real, it was just a figment of my stubborn mind trying to be smart, act cool and show off. But in the end, if you've noticed, I did in fact succeed for I have written about searching for a topic to write about (Remember 0??) . The child in me is gloating over my victory (Clever aren't I ??) And this is what it means to grow older. I am old, for I got what I wanted, yet.. you think I didn't (But now you do because I told you for I do still need to show off.... because I'm still a child).

[Author's Note: This piece of writing is on this blog simply because I like it. It does not however add to the main purpose of this blog which is to showcase my fiction]

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Supercorp Part One

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“Osama was a dickhead” thought Rashid. “Taking innocent lives for no reason was the sign of a thoughtless man. The purpose of his crusade was in no way justified, even redundant in this day and age. The western powers had won having secured the Middle East’s oil supply and beginning the systematic breaking of their culture using the forces of globalization. Osama had lost as he was destined to from the very beginning, for he had failed to deliver what the Islamic world looked forward to the most – justice”


The sun felt warm on Rashid’s face but the cool breeze that was blowing ironically seemed in stark contrast to it. The Prius that he was in was making good time. They had been lucky today, finding green signals all through the way. Rameez, his childhood friend was at the wheel. Having spent their early years in Afghanistan, they had migrated during their early teens to the land of promise and abundance - The United States of America. Learning English had never been a problem for the two young lads as Rameez’s father had been well versed in the language and had taught the two bright and inquisitive boys the language of the computer ever since they were 5 years old. They always complained as to why they had to learn an alien language when no one in their native land ever used it. But Rameez’s father had always insisted that their English be fluent, he kept reminding that “Ali Bhai” had great plans for them. Now, they both were technicians who specialized in high-end mainframe maintenance

Rashid could remember the day vividly. They had arrived in New York a couple of weeks back when the twin towers of the World Trade Centre had come crashing down. The 2 friends were watching TV at their aunt Hasifa’s place when the news of the WTC attacks forced its way into every television channel. Rashid remembered hardly being affected by it, after all buildings would crumble to the ground everyday in his neighborhood, this one just seemed a bit bigger. He remembered how his aunt walked into the room and shed tears while seeing the live broadcast. She had gone down on all fours and offered a silent prayer to Allah. It was only after attending college that Rashid began to understand the true economic and political implications of that fateful day. It had created tremendous political strife in his mother country and had caused the downfall of the Taliban regime. But all that was in the past. The year was 2020.


Rashid had become used to thinking in English. “The best way to learn a language is to think in it” aunt Hasifa had constantly reminded them. Both Rashid and Rameez had completed their engineering degree’s form the Carnegie Melon University 2012. Neither had been at the top of the class, nor were they at the bottom. Aunt Hasifa had insisted that they do some social service constantly. She claimed that it was a way of purifying the heart and soul. As a result, the 2 young boys did volunteer work in the Youth Association of Muslims and the Muslims for Charity. They realized that the Islamic community in the USA was not as bad as back home. The women were treated more or less equally and the men were more tolerant. They lived by American values and principles. They were the hard working middle class of modern, global America. The 2 friends were indeed glad to be in the company of such people.



But the situation back home had been deteriorating. Defense spending in the US was at its highest levels ever and most of the troops were currently in Afghanistan, trying to contain the various warring factions within the country. War-ravaged and torn, the country was in deep economic trouble, in stark contrast with neighboring India and China. The tensions in the region had overflowed into the surrounding area. The civil war that had followed the assassination of Pervez Musharaf in Pakistan had ripped the country apart. Big brother India had taken advantage of the confusion and forcefully occupied Kashmir. Neighboring China had tried its very best to restore the militaristic regime but all of the supporters of the general’s administration had been systematically eliminated by the now highly efficient RAW. The civil war in the area had called for the deployment of the UN peacekeeping force that ironically consisted of both Indian and US troops. Furthermore, ever since the success of the US’s controversial campaign in Iraq, the nation had been on a permanent war footing. The North Korean and Iranian governments had been overthrown in much the same way as in Iraq. CIA agents had cleverly placed WMD’s in the respective countries soils for the IAEA officials to find. UN strikes had been authorized against all of these countries on the basis of them aiding terrorists, and holding the rest of the free world at ransom. The Islamic world was on the verge of being totally wiped out. Rashid and Rameez had not heard from their parents in years.




May 12th 2020 was a sunny day indeed. As the Prius sped through the streets of Mountain View, Santa Carla the friends could see prosperity and joy everywhere. Little children were playing on the road, bored housewives taking their dogs for walks, kids mowing lawns so that they could earn more pocket money, a young couple were making out in a car. Both Rashid and Rameez felt happy indeed to have grown up in such a place, for these were images of a prosperous happy society. But all this was about to change for terrorism aimed at destroying this. It aimed at bringing the effect back to the cause. Terrorism aims at educating the perpetrator of his crime, by showing him/her the pain and suffering that their actions caused to the others. Terrorism is justice, terrorism is education.


The Prius pulled over at the Googleplex entrance. Both Rameez and Rashid had their retinas scanned at the gate and were immediately issued clearance passes. Gone were the days of security passes, there were just retina scans at every security checkpoint now. The information regarding every employee was automatically transferred over the GNet to any other company so that the identity of the person could be verified. After getting their security passes, the two friends drove over to the entrance of the main building. Security at one of the most important buildings in the world was the tightest ever. However not a single guard was in sight. The company image was that of the “People’s Company” and that anyone was allowed into the building. But no member public had been into the inner regions of the building. No one needed to visit the complex, why people hardly moved out of their neighborhood these days.


The building loomed large in front of them. Their life’s purpose - Ali Bhai’s dream - stood on the other side of the door. With a small prayer to Allah they entered the building, their minds set and firm in their resolve. They were the only one’s who could do it; this was why they had lived happily all these years while their brothers and sisters had experienced hell. Wearing his most charming smile, Rashid walked over to the receptionist and said

“Hey there, we are from Super Soft Technologies, just a routine maintenance checkup” with a wink.


The receptionist smiled back at him saying “The elevator is that way sir; I hope you have your clearance cards”.


“Of course we do!” said Rashid, he always had a way with women.


They picked up their backpacks and walked towards the elevator. Rameez could feel his heart thumping. “This is it; the Day of Judgment has finally arrived” thought Rameez


As they got on, an automated voice asked them for their destinations. “The mainframe please” said Rashid.

As if in anticipation a panel next to the elevator door opened asking them for another retina scan. As Rameez placed his retina near the lens, he could feel the heat of the laser scanning his eyes. Google took no chances. After Rashid had his eyes scanned, the voice asked them to insert their clearance cards in to the slot. Following this the elevator zoomed up at full speed. Rashid and Rameez tried to stay as calm as possible. They knew that every single movement of theirs was being monitored – breathing rate, heart rate, eyeball activity and even changes in body temperature as they were accessing one of the most important equipment in the world. The elevator slowed up and finally came to a halt at the 35th floor.


As the door opened, the two comrades could see the hallway stretching before them, right out a Star Trek set. There were no visible sources of lighting, but yet the hall was well lit. Holograms of various abstract arts were placed every few meters, and flat screens displayed the current searches that were being done at that very moment. In front of them stood a stocky, well-built man in his middle forties. His face was disheveled and his dress seemed unkempt. His appearance was that of a typical Google employee, eccentric on the outside, a computer genius on the inside.


But he was not just any employee. He went by the name of Ken Bernstein but was born Babur Khan. He had arrived in the America’s and the early 1980’s with the sole task of becoming a major player in the forthcoming IT revolution. He was instrumental in setting up the undersea fiber optics that connected half of the world. He was a sleeper, not to be awakened until he was well placed in the upper echelons of corporate America. For 40 years he had crawled his way up the corporate ladder to become one of the key members of the GNet development team. He knew that what he was building would eventually bring about the downfall of the western world as he knew it, and that only inspired him to make it more influential, more powerful and the single most necessary service ever built by mankind. And today he was going to play a major part in destroying it. He would kill his own baby.


“Allah-O-Akbar” the words that he had not uttered ever since he last saw his brother in an abandoned airfield in Afghanistan came out of Babur’s mouth. Both his comrades smiled at him and gave him a hug.


“This way gentleman” said Babur ushering them into the narrow passageway. “I hope there were no problems with security anywhere, I took the necessary precautions. Two of our programmers have called in sick and I was able to re-program the computer to recognize the two of you as in order to give you the necessary access. However there are crawlers that constantly monitor all activities by the employees. We have about 10 minutes before I am identified for making the switch” explained Babur.


“Don’t worry my brother, it will all be over by then” said Rashid. “With the power of Allah, we can bring about the downfall of the Christian murderers. A new world will now be born out of the chaos and confusion that will ensue”.


Babur smiled in agreement “I have waited 40 long years for this moment; I have built this monster as the greatest weapon to be used against our enemies”


As the three of them reached the end of the hallway there stood a massive door blocking their path. “Reinforced titanium” said Babur. “Only three people in the company have access to this room and I am one of them”.


“How do we get inside?” asked Rameez.


“Hold on my young friend” replied Babur. "The security requires us to stand here for at least 2 minutes until it takes a reading of all our vital signs. Security personal believe that intent is more important than the history of a person. Once all the variables such as heart rate, breathing rate have been factored in, the computer comes to the conclusion as to whether our work inside in the main frame will be harmful to its existence or not. Thus I suggest that you keep calm……"


”You’re ID please” said the computer. Babur swapped his card in the slot next to the door and placed his eye near a small glass like object for a retinal scan.


“Access confirmed” said the computer voice and the massive door slowly opened.


As they stepped inside the mainframe terminal room Babur turned to the other two and asked “You are aware of the protocols aren’t you, once inside this room you cannot get out until somebody from the outside opens this door…”


“Of course we are. Did you take us for idiots???” said Rashid, clearly annoyed


“Ha ha ha, of course not “ replied Babur with a chuckle “Ali Bhai makes his choices well…”


“Our mission here is almost complete” said Rameez. “Finally we can avenge our brother and sisters” Babur smiled at them knowingly.


The room that they entered was cool but stuffy. It gave one the feeling of entering a hospital ward. There were huge supercomputers that handled all the data collected by the Google server. There were no windows in the room, but there were numerous ducts that protruded out of the walls and roof.


“Air conditioning vents” explained Babur as Rashid and Rameez stared up at them. “Although slightly inefficient, no one can crawl through it!!”


The two friends than began unpacking their backpacks. They had small plastic explosives that would have been impossible to detect thanks to their bio-shielding, for all the scanners merely considered them to be extra fat on the men’s body.


As the two young men began placing the bombs, Rameez could not but think about his life back in his home country. News reports had shown the sad plight of the people there. Death and disease everywhere, children with guns, Mosques turning into silos, even Africa was rapidly emerging to be a more developed area than the Middle East. But of course, this had come at a price. Africa’s culture was completely degenerated just like with Japan in the 90’s. Both were nothing more than cheap imitations of the Western world. What Rameez found the most ridiculous was the fact that Black women all over were aping to look white, like the girls on the cover of the latest edition of Playboy. The sales of beauty products had reached an all time high in Africa. But his country had stood tall and strong against the might of Capitalistic Christianity. He was proud of his heritage, willing to even die for it. He knew that his countrymen had not lost their sense of identity. They still believed in the teachings of the prophet Mohammed, living as the Quran dictated. Their souls were still uncorrupted by the forces of the West and it was for saving this purity was why he had taken up this suicide mission.


As the young men finished up with placing the bombs, Babur Khan looked at them like a proud father seeing his children grow up. He had left behind a son, who if even alive would be of the same age as the two men in front of him. He had left his son in the hands of Ali Bhai, the mastermind behind this operation. Ali Bhai was the true brains behind the Islamic terrorist movement. A man who was rarely heard and even rarely seen, some even believed that he did not really exist, but Babur was one of the few who had the privilege of knowing him personally. Ali Bhai was a charismatic man with no known history, but he was a man with an enormous sense of drive and purpose. He had the amazing ability of convincing anybody he knew to follow him. For years he had built his private army, riding on the resources of the better known organization such as the Al Quaeda and the Lakshar-E-Toiba, forever plotting the destruction of the western powers. And the task that the three of them were performing was of the utmost importance to his plan. A crippling of the communications and information infrastructure of the western world was sure to generate an apocalyptic impulse far greater than any nuclear weapon ever could. The collapse of GNet, the sole internet that the world had turned to would lead stock markets to crash, banks would lose money, information flow all over to be disrupted, to put it simply-the world would come to a halt. He remembered the words of Karl Marx who had said that the victory of Capitalism would be complete when the development of communications would reach a level like never before. But now, they were using the monster that the capitalists had created to their own disadvantage. And they planned on achieving this without a single bullet being shot, a single bomb dropped or even a single drop of blood shed. Killing wasn’t what terrorism was about, it was about justice and this was the only way of meting out justice. Ali Bhai refused to behave like his enemies; he said that doing so would only be demeaning oneself. Ali Bhai was a great man indeed.


The boys had now finished setting up the bombs and the timer had been activated. The three of them sat down in prayer, for they believed that being with God in their last few moments would save the pain that a soul experiences during death. They could hear the timer ticking, Rashid – the more mathematical among them lost count after the first minute, the timer having been set for two minutes. As the final few seconds ticked by, a great peace descended into their souls, a feeling of purpose, of a quite power and of love for love is all that mattered, for was that not why the three had taken up such an arduous task??


A roaring noise filled the room accompanied by a bright flash of light. The last few thoughts that Rashid had was that he was finally dying and that it was all over. He could feel the approach of the heat as it scorched his skin and began to eat into it. It was all over indeed……….


However, little children continued to play on the road, bored housewives kept up their walk with their dogs, kids mowed lawns so that they could earn more pocket money and young couples still found the car a perfect place to make out for a long long time to come….


To Be Continued…….



Author's Note: This story has been sitting on my laptop for almost a year now, hence the reference to Mushraff with regard to Pakistan (Yes, a lot has happened since then!) and the lower quality of English. This is also my first attempt at writing dialogue as a part of the story, so they might have come out as very bland and plain (Sorry about that, I swear to do a better job next time). But most importantly, this story is still incomplete in every sense, right from the storyline and narrative flow to the dialogues. But I could not bear to see the file titled 'Supercorp' in my laptop anymore. So here it is... Supercorp Part1. Hope you liked it! N do leave your comments \m/

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