Necrosis

Pale and sickly she lay, her grandmother applying a cold compress to her burning forehead.

“You are young, cheru” her grandmother said, “and your body is ready to fight; if we old people get sick, no, papapa…but you will be back on your feet soon.”

“I feel like I’m dying the”, the girl mumbled feebly.

“Eh! Again the same nonsense you say child! The will to live is what will speed up your recovery, so don’t say all this rubbish! Anyway, the doctor is on his way today.”

“Water, grandma.” She had been ill three days now.

“Children nowadays,” the old lady clucked as she hobbled towards the kitchen, “why, I can barely see, but with these meagre inlets of light I can fight a buffalo!”

Three days ago the young girl had woken up feeling drained. When she fainted while washing the clothes, her grandmother had put it down to the illnesses that adolescent girls suffer from, and told her to get a days rest. But the next morning when she woke up feeling worse than before and with a temperature higher than normal, her grandmother quizzed her to determine what could be ailing the girl.

“What have you been eating? When did you take a bath? How long were you in the sun?”

There was nothing in the girl’s answers that could diagnose her fever. So her grandmother decided to administer general medication. Various herbs with known healing properties were ground with a mortar and pestle and the resulting paste was included in the girl’s diet.

The next morning she could not get out of bed. Her body ached, her arms and legs were limp, her eyes sunken. She had no appetite and refused the porridge her grandmother had made for her, claiming the very sight of food would make her nauseous.

“We must call a doctor!” the old lady told her son, the girl’s father. Fourteen years ago, his wife had died giving birth to their only daughter. He had been a depressed man with a melancholy humour since that day. If it were not for his mother, obstinate in her old age, the house would have fallen apart. It was she who decided the daily routines and delegated household tasks among the three of them.

“But, it will take a whole day, ma” he groaned. They lived in a small village that was mostly self-sufficient. People were born here, lived their hard, simple lives here and eventually died comfortably when their time had come. It was a quiet and boring village where nothing eventful ever happened.

“That is why you must set off today, so that you can be back tomorrow, before the sun sets.” The old lady responded.

“But, it’s only a fever, why are you so worried? Children get sick you know.”

“And I know that as well, but I can see no reason for the child’s illness, and my usual medicines are not working. Also she looks frighteningly weak. Did you see her this morning? Her skin looks sick and wrinkled as if the flesh has gone. Poor cheru, papapa….now go! I’ve made some food for you to take also.”

What else could he do? Taking the food his mother had prepared for the arduous journey, he wrapped it in some leaves and cloth, tucked some money into his garments and headed out. If he was lucky he would find a bullock-cart or perhaps even a caravan, on the road a few miles away. If he did he wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the town.

The girl had fallen into a stupour when she had returned with the glass of water, so she dabbed some water on the child’s lips with her fingers. The girl’s lips moved slowly, taking in the moisture, or perhaps she was trying to say something, or maybe she was just dreaming.

“Don’t worry my little cheru,” the old lady said, lovingly stroking her frail granddaughter’s hair, “papa’s getting the doctor, they must be on their way right now even. They’ll be here in a few hours.”

Her grandmother looked out of the window, the sun was low in the sky, the girl’s father would return with the doctor any time now. She had been frightened by what the girl had told her the previous day. Those dreams of death and sacrifices and blood and life that her granddaughter had drowsily recounted were what had prompted her to send for a doctor. Or should she have sent for a priest? Could someone have put a curse on the child? But who would want to harm this sweet little thing? Everyone in the village looked kindly upon her – this hardworking and innocent, motherless child. But let us wait for the doctor first. Despite her old age the grandmother still had a stronger faith in tangible science than in the rituals of god.

When she came back into the room an hour later the girl was still asleep. Her fingers twitched slightly. The bones in her arms could be seen. She had been a healthy girl, never had a major medical complaint before. Now she had lost so much weight that she looked hauntingly corpse-like. Her eyes were shut in a placid sleep and the dark circles around them made her look aged and tired.

They old woman felt her forehead, the fever seemed to have come down. She would get well soon now. But where was her son and the doctor? A doctor’s wisdom is always more reassuring than one’s own medical conclusions. The girl would need lots of rest and a good diet to get her back to her earlier fitness, and the doctor would most probably prescribe some medicines to aid her progress.

The old lady went to prepare some dinner for the doctor, who would no doubt be exhausted and hungry from the journey. The sky was a deep red, the colour of blood that had coagulated.

Having finished her cooking she came back to check on her daughter, muttering about her son’s lack of motivation in anything he did. There was a strange smell in the room, she could not place it, but it had an acrid sense to it. Her heart skipped her beat – the child! Had something happened to her little cheru? She leaped towards the bed. The once pretty girl now looked old and haggard, but she was still breathing, her chest heaved slowly and sometimes jerkily.

“Oh, cheru…what is wrong with you darling?” She could detect the odour emanating from the sleeping child’s skin. It wasn’t a putrid smell, but it wasn’t fragrant either. She rubbed the girl’s neck, there was a sticky moisture that clung to her skin.

Getting up on her creaking joints, she hurried off to the kitchen and heated some water with fragrant spices. “What diseases we have nowadays and my poor, poor cheru has to get them.” She said, running back to the girl’s bedside.

With a cloth dipped in the hot water she rubbed the pale, lifeless skin of her granddaughter. The girl seemed to breathe a little better now. She undressed the girl and continued to bathe her with the damp cloth. As she moved down to the girl’s stomach she dropped the cloth with a start. There were drops of viscous, dark brown liquid just below her navel. No, it wasn’t blood. The old woman was relieved for a moment. She wiped the liquid off with the cloth to reveal a row of tiny puncture marks on the girls abdomen. What was this? She pressed her granddaughter below her belly where the marks were, a few more drops oozed out and then stopped. A watery residue followed and then nothing more came out. The old lady was sure it was not blood. She wiped off the rest of the substance and looked closely at the marks. What were they? Had something bitten her? They looked like insect bites.

She lifted the girl up with ease in spite of her age, for the child had lost so much weight that her body was very light. She checked the bed sheets for bugs! Her clothes, under the bed, the mattress - nothing!

As the night grew darker, the old lady fell into an uneasy sleep at her child’s bedside, still wondering what could possibly be wrong. She could not understand why the girl was sick, nor what the marks were or where this strange liquid had come from. And why had her son not returned? All these thoughts formed a haze around her and caused her to dream strange things.

As she slumbered her granddaughter moaned softly. The rest of the creature continued to slither in through the window even as it attached itself to the girl’s abdomen.

“Cheru? Cheru?” The old woman was still disoriented as shook the sleep from her eyes. She had felt something. Her dulled eyes could not make out what she saw, but she was sure that she had seen something move. She looked at the girl’s face, she looked peaceful in her sleep, happy almost. She felt around there was nothing. She pressed the girl’s forehead, the fever was gone, and she seemed a little cold, but she was breathing normally.

She was woken up the next morning by someone at the door. It was her son with a handsome young man.

“Oh thank god you’ve come” said the old lady. She looked disheveled and frightening. “ I don’t know what’s happened to that child, but I’m glad you made it. Come in, come in.”

The doctor examined the girl in her room, while the old lady prepared breakfast as she recounted to her son how terrible his daughter had looked the evening before and how strange the night had been.

The doctor walked into the kitchen as the old lady laid out the food on the table. “The child is perfectly fine” he announced.

“That’s great news” the man said, and to his mother “see, I told you she’d be fine.”

The doctor continued, “she doesn’t even seem like she was ever ill!”

“But what about the marks?” the old woman cried.

“What marks?” asked the doctor.

The old lady led him into the room and screamed when she saw the girl sitting comfortably on the bed.

“What happened grandma?” the girl asked smiling.

The old lady lifted up the girl’s dress to point out some marks that didn’t exist. The doctor and her son exchanged glances.

“I’m feeling fine grandma” the girl said, still smiling.

“But…but…she was almost dead last night, and there were these marks on her stomach, with a brown, sticky, bad smelling liquid…”

Later as the doctor prepared to leave he took the girl’s father aside and told him “you have a beautiful, healthy daughter, but I’d be worried about your mother – I think she’s getting senile!”

My Visual DNA

So a close friend linked me to this site
http://friends.imagini.net/
It's fun, I like the connects.
Here's me results

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Chuggity Chug

The hills are mottled with fresh grass, the rains have made the countryside vibrant with lush greens, bright browns and demure yellows. For some reason the peaks of the hills remain barren, devoid of the green below, like someone rashly ran an oversized lawn-mower across them.

The mud is rich and fertile. We pass rivulets of clear water and buffaloes grazing in the multi-hued green landscape.

There are thatched huts and narrow tarred roads leading up to a level crossing where dark-skinned people wait patiently in lorrries and bicycles - the south has arrived.

Beaten Rhyme (or how I took a train ride in the land of death)

Picture print gnostic day
Prize gator all the way
Canter banter guess book
Overhead palatial nook
Insect feeder antic boy
Auto trotter water-toy
Globe globe purple ski
Double eagle friend what?
Yes, yes, no, no,
Okay, go!

Excerpt from Conversations with an Alien

My computer's a bit fucked this morning - hungover and questioning the meaning of his existence; he's been through rough times lately; uneasy childhood. He uses acting out as a defence mechanism, he doesnt understand we're all in the same boat, just trying to find a reason to wake up and get working.

I need a cigarette.
I am enlightened.
I dont have any bread.
And I dont have any cigarettes.

What's the point of anything? When you don't have any bread see how you feel. Have you ever eaten peanut butter on fucking shredded wheat? Dont ever - you'll want to kill yourself.

Think kindly of this subterranean homesick alien for she lacks a web presence and I cannot link to her. She is on a facebook though.

Tadah!

Yes, I have successfully created another blog which I hope I shall be able to update at frequent intervals.

Now hop along to These Indians are Crazy

Desert Verse

Scarab beetle run along
Through the desert sands
If the wind should blow you o'er
It won't slow you down
For you'll surely wriggle back

***

See the camel labour on
Through the desert sands
If this hardship he won't weather
Chewing ponderously
Then his hide will soon be leather

Triumphant Return!

I'm back! Yes! Expect posts soon.

My humps!

I'm off to Rajasthan! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Intercity Performance

“Surrender your ticket within 3 (three) hours of departure of last train in case you are unable to perform journey.”

Well, there was definitely not going to be any performance: missed the train by forty-five seconds. It was just pulling out of the platform as I reached, I thought perhaps I could make it, but there was more than a hundred metres to cover and it was picking up speed. And all because Bangalore City Station decides to use only four of the twelve ticket counters it has set up! I wish I had read the reverse of the ticket though, I didn’t know about the refund on the ticket. So I decided to take the bus from across the road: the Chennai State Express, not much of an express though, it stopped at every place possible and never went beyond fifty kmph.

The seat next to me was occupied by Anand Babu M: full name, or so he introduced himself while tapping his chest. I spoke to him in Tamil, but he refused to answer in Tamil, replying to my queries in English. And his English was worse than my Tamil.

I asked him what he did. He took out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, a letterhead for ‘V.S. Technical Works, Chennai – manufacturers of all types of bearings’

“So you’re an engineer then?” I asked.

He nodded. They were the largest manufacturers of ball bearings in India. They supplied the bearings for crankshafts, pulleys, cranes and a number of other such mechanical wonders.

A few minutes later he produced another card from his pocket. This was another job he did. This one was in Kohlapur, in the garment business. Apparently he was the manager of Royston garments, India’s largest garment manufacturer, even though I’ve never heard of them.

“What about V.S. Technical works?” I asked

“That is side job. When manager call I come.”

I wondered how he could be an engineer. Perhaps he was a salesman? I asked him.

“No, no. Technicals!”

“So, now what are you going to do in Chennai?”

“Boss call. Urgent. So I come.”

It seemed a fair explanation.

Later as I was reading (Paul Theroux’s The Great Railway Bazaar) Anand Babu M: full name tapped me and pointed out a huge manufacturing plant that we were passing. “Hyundai factory” he said, while rashly driving an imaginary car. “Very big. Two thousand kilometres.” I suspect he may have been exaggerating. It seemed to be a trend with him.

I fell asleep for a bit and awoke just after noon. We had reached a rather desolate town. The vegetation was brown and everything was dry despite it having just rained.

I asked Anand Babu M: full name if he knew where we were.

“Sriperumbudur” he remarked grimly. Not seeing any recognition in my eyes he continued to explain “Here, Rajiv Gandhi, finish!” This ominous statement he accompanied with a severing of the neck motion.

A little further on and the rain started to come down rather hard. Everyone closed their windows. The bus creaked along. My window didn’t shut completely; water leaked in. Anand Babu M: full name, showed a considerable amount of ingenuity and borrowed a biscuit wrapper from the couple in front of us and wedged it in the window. I smiled gratefully. I thought it was awfully kind of him.

As we neared Chennai I stared counting the milestones before falling asleep. I was woken up just outside the city. Anand Babu M: full name was getting down here. He bid me farewell (“Ok. Thank you.”) along with a little bow, his hand upon his heart. I waved goodbye.

Empyrean Epiphany

Shanti, shanti, shanti. From the branches overhanging lake where dragon-fly-by two-by-two, red, like fire red, and yellow, from reed to reed, over algae covered water and hyacinth float, home for frogs that croak, croak, croak, to be eaten by stork with white wing span white, and fly with ducks multi-hued, and egrets black, dive and surface, fish thrashing and squirrels chirp, chirp, chirp, frolic along the branches with ants, running along, gangly, carrying twigs and leaves.

Warmth in the middle of the monsoons, only last night a torrential downpour and now the world is green, green, green. Rain-water drops shimmer dew-like on the gossamer thread of a spider web between coconut trees, for miles and miles atop hills around the lake with blue sky back-drop like oil on canvas and cloud wisps like beedi smoke insanity.

Water lizards dart by. Ripple, ripple, ripple. Fish swim away in jerky, united, direction under water crocus and lily, while butterfly flit back and forth, black and red, and white and yellow, like lemons and leaves that have just begun to dry. Splash, splash, ripple, ripple. Ducks alight on the water's surface, preen, clean, screen.

Quiet pathways and red mud for cycles and red stone houses live shanti, shanti, shanti. There are no reasons for greed and destruction. Shanti, shanti, shanti.

Of Black Ghosts and Suchlike

For me dad's birthday, which was just recently passed, I bought him a pair of strange and awe-inspiring fish.

They're called Black Ghosts.



They're of Amazonian origin, and the South American Indians believe that the souls of their dead warriors reside in these fish. Now the fishies I purchased are only around 2 inches long, but apparently they can grow upto 20 inches in length. We'll need a new tank then. They're awesomely fluid fish, and can swim in all directions. It's fun watching them swim backwards and upside down and in circles after their tails. And they also play with each other, twirling around like olympic gymnasts.

Another cool fact about these fish. They belong to the same class as eels, and they're mildly electric. Not strong enough to shock a human, but they do zap the other fishies once in a while. This is most fun to watch!

They're also close to blind, with small shiny, white dots for eyes. They use their electric signals to navigate, and also for mating. This, of course, allows for a variety of jokes. Like how sparks fly, and how they indulge in some very shocking activities. I shall leave you to make more electrifying jokes!

Rapunzel DIY

Brick upon brick
She laid. Around her
The wall was built.
Slowly encircling;
Growing ever higher.

Soon the structure,
Much taller than her,
Bid no one in.
She did, however,
Build tiny peepholes, through

Which the world could
Enter. Narrow streams
Of light would seep
In. Her only ken
Of the outside they were.

Desert, forest
Lay all around her,
But the wall her
Perception was. The
Image she herself built.

One day an eagle fashioned an aerie at the top of the tower.

A Moonlight Waltz

Pointedly he says "What are you thinking?"

"Oh, nothing," she replies, "just that I have no body to dance with.”

“Well, neither do I - so let’s just dance together.”

Shades of the evening pass over them, as they dance for an eternity. Accordions moan softly in the distance. The moon for the night has been perfectly chosen: full and resplendent as the sun that it mirrors.

A cat hackles. Bones rattle softly in the slightly cold breeze as they dance to the odd waltz. There are others, but they dance to themselves; no one looks.

The moon rises, the violins scream. They dance dreamlike, writhing feverish as the music reaches a violent crescendo. The music stops and the silence returns. They stand holding each other, breathing hard.

“Thank you, that was lovely.” She says.

“It was. Aren’t you glad you didn’t just sit there?”

She smiles. They silently depart back to their rest.

It was a wonderful little party at the cemetery.

James Dawson's Tale of Woe

Herhooters, sherooters,
Cumberly road.
I'm back from the war
And they've broken the door!

Tis rainy in spainy,
The wall is amoss.
A few coats of paint,
Is that too much to ask?

All musty and dusty,
The floor is unkempt.
The doorbell is missing
The place is exempt.

To spawn on the lawn
Is possible no more,
Cause someone built pavement
Where grass used to grow.

And so small is the wall,
A bother to no one.
Yet they have broke it,
Left no stone upon stone.

Herhooters, sherooters
Cumberly road.
I'm back from the war
And my house is no more.

In response to a 15 minute challenge on JPs blog. Gleefully awaits picturepostcardtissue.

These Indians are Crazy!

What is it with people in this country? How can we be so stupid? How can we be a destination for technological outsourcing yet be so illogical?

Myopic politicians! Idiots who stifle the development and growth of infrastructure in this country because they don’t stand to gain immediate benefits from projects. Over here the opposition takes their title too literally, and joyously opposes anything the ruling party has to say; and the ruling party would do the same if the roles were reversed. Eons get wasted in political mudslinging and brainless banter and everyone trying to make a quick buck out of everything, and nothing happens in the end. Example: The Bangalore Mysore Infrastructure Corridor Project, proposed in 1985 and it still hasn’t been started.

“Government must act fast” – Dharam Singh. WHAT? Dharam bleedin Singh thinks the government has to act fast? Bitch, you were Chief Minister for two years and nothing happened in this state! Dharam Singh oughta go on a fast so that his mouth is not obscured by his quadruple chin!

Thats right, I think I'll smack myself for being an ugly cow!

And speaking of fasts, Narendra Modi goes on a 51 hour fast? You stupid son-of-a-cunt! Medha Patkar fasted for 17 days demanding that the government rehabilitate the people displaced by the Narmada Dam Project. And now this arse, who has done nothing but spoil the name of Hinduism, decides to do a fast fast for counter human rights purposes? Stupid Bumfuck!

Oh, Medha Patkar thinks she's cool cause she can fast for so many days? I'll fast for 51 hours, that's like one whole hour more than 50 hours!

Meddling neighbours! Take the damned logs out of your eyes, I tell you!
“The woes of the couple began when Mohammad had a quarrel with Nizama and went to drown his anger with local brew. He had no recollection of what he said, but the villagers insisted he uttered triple talaq and forced him to get a fatwa from a mufti. Two months later, the husband got a fatwa from a mufti saying a talaq in an inebriated condition would not amount to divorce. But the villagers were no convinced and chose another mufti, who gave a contrary talaq.” WTF!!! Mind your own god-damned business, pesky idiots! Get a life, fuckin fly paper humpers!

Shilpa Shetty taken to court over obscene photographs in a Tamil tabloid? Yes, I know she’s ugly and it’d be offensive to publish pictures of her scantily clad, but have you seen Tamil porn? Stupid bastards! If anyone has to be taken to court it should be the tabloid for lack of sensibility shouldn’t it? What is with us and our need to cover up sex? Everyone knows we have sex, we’ve got the second largest population in the fuckin world you bozos!!! It’s this horrible, fastidious attitude that causes a repressed society and an ever increasing number of sexual crimes!

It's not possible, I can't possibly be sexy!

Stupid news media! What is with the Times of India’s choice of front-page articles? What is with these metro supplements? What is with NDTV’s excessive love for the world of glamour? I know you’ll are prostrating before a gossip craving public but enough already! “Ash has fall during shoot, suffers bruises”. How in god’s name does that warrant front-page coverage? There are loads of people dying around the world you fuckin, incompetent nincompoops!

See, my clothes got all torn when I fell, you can almost see the bruise on my right nipple

My internet connection is screwing up! This after I’ve called ‘em thrice, and they’ve come and diddly-whacked with my modem! Get the damn thing working for crying out loud!

DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!

BLEARGH!!

I just needed to rant! Thank you, good night!

Tribute to a Lost Soul

"No lunch?

"Why you no speak?

"Is some thing the matter?

"Ahhh, I know, its because I didn't call you last night isn't it?

"You don't skip lunch over such a trivial thing like that.

"Oh come now, don't be like so.

"I say, aren't you the stubborn one.

"Ehh thu, after waiting for 2 minutes and no reply I have come to realise that you have gone for lunch already and you have not turned your status to 'Away'. For this you will pay, you will be forced to write 350 test cases within a span of half an hour from scratch

"Then when you don't finish we will come and pick you up like a feather and throw you into the pulpit of the devil incarnate

"And then your tongue will burn, and you will thirst for the cooling effect of St. Finger's peter, but he will not help you, because you will have faced the wrath of the Lord almighty and you will have learned that the path of the rightheous man without doubt is to go for lunch and put your status as 'Away' while you are at it.

"Therefore in the name of the lager, the bun and the holy roast, may you be damned to spite vermin for the rest of your life and nothing more.

"Man! I'm good!"

http://jinwin83.blogspot.com

Death of a Bibliophile

I have spent the days of the years of my life in constant erudition, with an insatiable yearning for a perfect enlightenment. I have pursued a menagerie of studies, in an effort to be a master of every piece of learning; I have studied divers subjects at colleges and libraries. Never have I paused in my quest; my intellectual strivings have been incessant, relentless. Over time I have accumulated a multitude of books, encyclopaedia, and magazines. I have scoured the country for the rarest literatures, a wide gamut of literary works and academic artifacts are contained within my personal library.

Today it has been decided for me to die. I look at the volumes beside my bedside. Aged like good wine, their pages have that comforting smell that such books acquire. I look at them lovingly. The many memories of time spent with them stream through my mind. My faithful friends they have been through the time I have spent on this earth.

I remember vicarious journeys through time and space, adventures in far off lands, meetings with people of varied class and culture. But it has not been fiction alone - teachings of great masters, philosophies of an era, tenets of a religion, and more have I imbibed from various tomes. My wisdom far surpasses my peers, there is none that I know who has read as much as I. I can preach ancient Judaistic mythology and Euclidian geometry, quantum physics and socialist philosophy, linguistics and animal psychology. Yes, I can say I know it all.

Yet, in these last few moments of my life, I feel a void, a sense of regret. I look as the attendants carry out their allotted tasks around my bed. I have read the works of the greatest minds, but I have not discovered what lies within these simple minds. I have read accounts of the most exotic places, but I have never visited. And even on occasion when I have toured, it has been purely in search of more texts to enhance my collection. As I look back at my travels, I realize I have never actually lived in places I have visited, I have never interacted with the people, nor have I practiced the arts or sciences. I have learnt but not employed.

What use is all this wisdom now? It does not save me from my ultimate demise. Soon I will be naught but dust, not unlike my illiterate ancestors. All my learnings will be in vain. My mind echoes the words of the wise King Solomon, yet even he enjoyed a more visceral set of pleasures than I. Now I doubt whether I have learnt all there is to learn. I think of all the knowledge that has never been penned, that has to be learnt by doing. I look back at my life, has it been wasted among ink and papers? Is even the peon wiser than I?

Today I die. Still there is a yearning desire to know, for there is much in heaven, and much that is hidden from the hearts of men.

It sucks to be an expert. Everyone wants to partake of your expertise.

Psychedelic Spam Poetry

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Miserable the window?
Few arms yours am?
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Rich rich supposedto find, wrong anybody use purpose few.
Trying sugar teach he window reading.

From a spam mail. This spamster was on some serious substance.