Thursday, 30 August 2018

First line

First line.

Metal creased the plant, documenting a milestone
Balancing himself upright.
The page adding to his queries,
Trying to lift with the breeze,
Energy deployed ,
As he weighed it down.
A dot, and a quiver from the sheet,
A small line and a pause in function,
A longer drag till he pressed the graphite to the paper.
His first abstract presented to him.
Brocken line.
A beginning of another cyclical event.

Saturday, 25 August 2018



Regulated by movements, hindered by time.
Jinxed by lifestyle, influenced by culture.
Upregulated by ignorance, sequestered by realization.
Unapologetic and lifelong.
The only boundary which cannot be overlooked.

Never allowing eradication to seep, the only refinement to visit.
A perfunctory sinister in mechanics.
Riding waves of sickness, exhilaration, and consistency.
A consequence of all manifestos.

Slightness folded to scare.
Desires limited,
Actions halted.

Always a regulator.

Thursday, 23 August 2018



A window,
A consortium,
A subversive contradiction,
Rendering a medium for transition.

A window,
A precaution,
A calculated outlook,
Garnishing safety, like air through silhouette.

A window,
A thought,
A silent evoke,
Escalating anarchical fluctuations.

A window,
A secret,
An insight,
Expose of our perfunctory module.

Sunday, 19 August 2018



A fine tremor commemorated his body,
Like a gentle tremble of a dried leaf.
A wave of exaggeration stretched his mouth wide
and clattered his teeth, unaware.
As a chest thrust jargoned him,
Into a painful flexion.
Stiff and autonomous, well synchronized with vulnerability 
Eyes rolled deep into his well-defined sockets 
Tongue caught between his jaws
Fluttering like a young bird on flight, 
Free flowing bodily fluids scenting the air.
Known staggered at the sight as experts swung him sideways
Relentless variation with it staying on him longer than usual, 
Before renouncement made its call.
Harmless declining twitches sorted his muscles.
Every episode an awakening, 
A reminder of his dysfunctionality.
An oppression of his strongest self.
A vulnerability.

Saturday, 11 August 2018



His face cuddled between his hunched legs, gasping.
His lungs demanded more as he desperately changed maneuvers.
His hands as his pillars for his next position as he looked up.
His open mouth wandering around space to capture the essential air travelers.
His eyes, dilated and nystagmoid, wary of one possible consequence.
His chest flailing to a collapse, dictating systemic compensation.
His legs scrunching the white sheets from bed.
His breath unwilling and unreliable.
His breath demeaning and distressing.
His breath, hindered and ignored by routines, now at the absolute forefront.
His breath liberating his actions.
With every exasperated breath his contortion diminished, his body lighter.
His breath, singeing his thoughts into a blackening vision.
A crude assistance from an external saturation surrounded his face.
His moments exaggerated and singular.
Preceding the truth, his breath had deservedly become his life.

Wednesday, 25 July 2018

Slow and steady

Slow and steady.

Paralyzed waist down, he was lifted from his wheelchair and placed prone on the bed. 
At 26, the rotting flesh over his back had entangled him in misery.
Over the past two months, I cleaned and dressed his wounds.
On his back. I slowly peeled the white gauzes as the yellowish, green pus oozed out.
A stinging, foul smell diffused all over the room as the wounds tasted fresh air.
Pouring saline over the wounds, finally the whole extent of the wounds opened up to view.
Three wounds spread over his frail spine. The most debilitating one was located at the at the lower back over the firm resistance of the lumbar spine, causing immense wreckage to the pain receptors whenever he rested on his back.
The margins of the wound, green and necrotizing, slowing eating the flesh and steadily destroying his life.
The margins sloughed with green pus, filling the entire wound.
A narrow bridge of collagen connected the two smaller wounds, red granulated and healthier than the counterpart.
The paraplegic had his life distorted half a year ago. Since then he had made no effort to walk or exercise his legs.
And early diabetes onset deepened his wounds.
The paralysis had got the better of him. He couldn’t see a way through it. It was the end of the road for him.
A bombardment of advice was issued by the doctors to try, fight through. But it proved too strong for him. I again persisted on the advice, hoping he gets motivated to walk again, to try again.
His eyes reflected his loss. His ambitions were dead. Sorrow and suffering were his only path ahead. 
Then I looked at his father standing by. I could see distraught and hydration. His son was in a state of complete helpless.
The father lived with the suffering, the permanent sense of tragedy lingered in his face.
His son wasn’t going to be do anything be anyone. A helpless being lying in a room unnoticed and in pain.

Friday, 29 June 2018



The skin sparkled, eyes light blue, fair, hair perfect blonde and thin blue lines running along the torso were the visible enhanced features as he held his mother’s arm with similar blue stripes and walked out.
Many similar designer babies walked out from their birth sites, some with a long neck, some fluorescent bodies, some with enhanced limbs, some muscular and many designed to the specifications. The settlement of the century-long ethical debate regarding designer babies had bloomed the Genetically enhanced human (GEH) industry.
Companies prodded over the designs and patterns, over functions and emotions, over data and skills, over every cell type as new skin tones, new mental functions were being fabricated and modified every day. The humans had finally taken evolution into their hands.
People could tune their systems to their particular demands. A Parent who wants an athlete could design more athletic muscle fibers, a greater oxygen binding capacity, bigger lungs. And intellectual could be created by code, rather than reading and experience.
Anyone could create a nice for himself right from his birth.

The designer babies were produced by a fluid chamber engraved with Nano printers. 
A dark-skinned woman stood awaiting her turn, unlike others she was pregnant carrying her child.
The only one still following the primitive principles of birth.
 She was escorted by a beautiful nurse to the LT. 
 Puzzled looks stared at her as she walked into the delivery room. 
A doctor, stern face, eyes round followed the preparation.
It was a rare normal delivery being witnessed. Documentation being done. The last approved normal homo sapiens ever to come into this world.
She was the woman who opted for no enhancement, in a world of enhanced beings.
She opted for the natural biological way. When asked if the child could survive the future enhanced world, she stated that the primitive human emotions would be enough to compensate for the lack of the enhanced skills in the outside world. The grant was approved.
 Whether it would survive the enhanced world, only time would tell.
 But in a world were niche was everyone identity, rolling back in history and understanding basic principles of mankind would itself create a purpose for the girl to strive for. She had history to showcase. 
She represented a very genuine species, a time when emotions and human interactions were the epitomai of existence.

Thursday, 28 June 2018

Painless destruction.

Painless destruction.

 The bionic limbs transitioned to his comfort cross-legged position with tiny blue jets from the underside propelling him gracefully over the water.
A beautiful landscape to witness. A deserted island, the last surfaceble land mass unequivocally harnessing the last rays of the direct sunlight
Ram, alongside quickly settled into his hovering/transport board, cross-legged. 
An aura of calmness wrapped him, as he and his elder companion reconciled with the infibulation of the planets topography. A paradigm shift in the outlook and life in the universe. 
A bird drone, whizzed past him towards to the lifeless surface of land and beyond.
Ram, eager to begin their discussion posed his question “So, do you think this is this the end of the human time. Is this the end of life in this planet?”
“We make our own realities. This is the reality we have chosen. Maybe it is the end of our time but nothing alters in this cycle of universe. Our extinction just like our existence always has been immaterial. This planet will continue to exist much longer than the life it harbors” companion hovered a little forward with the strong wind, eyes unaltered from the land.
The land had over the years withered by the chemicals, pollution, cracked by the radical commercial abuse on ground, vibrating the tectonic plates to separate into tiny islands. No continent retained the geography. 
Human were unable to adapt quickly to the pace of their reckless manipulation over the planet.
Few men survived.
The gentle waves filled in for the silence. The sound of the waves splashing against solid land, a melody to have graced the entire course of humanity. The continuous echo of the dying planet. 
The man continued “We have overestimated our part in this universe throughout our existence. We were never going to change anything in the universe. Exploring, understanding and respecting the conceivable space the sensors dutifully hovered over the diversely changing wave heights.
“The human mind was gifted to create reality, to lead a life of harmony and consciousness instead we have been slayed by our own creation. Destruction as we know it is just one of the flaws in reality. For me, it is a consequence of prevalence of superficiality and commercialization which we imbibed to attain a level of comfort and it has dramatically guided our conscious to a deep ignorance of the basic principles governing life and the  
Merely striving for comfort had not given us purpose, neither has it helped us survive.”
The men drenched in the philosophical discussion. A colorful projection transpired through the water surface, getting more distinct as a bioengineered fish rose high above the water and floated midair at their level.
Strips of radiant illumination bleeped across, originating at the eyes towards the edge of fin tail showcasing the brightly lit mechanical organs through the malleable and transparent skin, the tail rapidly flapping sideways. The gills luminescent blue.
A holographical interface overlapped the fish, pointing out whatever the human mind asked for.
The intellect admired at this technologically marvelous future. 
The display showing its credentials.

Tuesday, 8 May 2018

Peace treaty

Peace treaty.

Faint pink light traversed through the clear sky, forming thin rectangular strips across her brown eyes, transfixed at the corner pointing to a distant object, with a denser shadow imposed over her throat.
Her shoulders inclined across the steel railings, the flabby flesh of her arm seemed to be completely inundated by the uneven geography of the railings but least bothering her.

Renuka spent most of her day like this, she woke up late in the afternoon, ate once a day in the afternoon and immersed herself in solitude till sunrise, never having acknowledged my constant presence.
I sat across the open verandah, trying to understand and imbibe her emotions.
Silent and stationary.
I couldn’t trace what she was so captivated by with Miles of barren land ahead of us.
The infinite stretch of solitude protecting her from the bigoted worldly reality, the thin violet dispersion where the sky and land met offering a quick window to her thought before deceiving to the clear white sky.
The fading flower patterned dress, was a constant cover over her body throughout her stay in the farmhouse, light enough not to hinder her thoughts.

She was beyond help, none of materialistic possessions could retort her mind back to the social duties of human.
Her husband could not tolerate the detachment anymore after all these years, it was proving fatal for their daughter.
He summoned me for counselling, which I had gladly agreed unaware of the depth that the constraints that had taken over her. The confidence was as a result of clinically witnessing every case mentioned in medical literature.
As I dug deep into her case, I couldn’t find anything etiological in her story leading to this radical form of isolation. No known incident had caused this, no trauma had disturbed her. It was a gradual and cataclysmically change affecting since her childhood, the effects clearly showing since recent years.
She grew up in a secure, middle class family in a small town throughout her life, completed her basic schooling, after which stayed at home, to help out her ailing mother in housework. Her family quickly used their societal influence to get her married to a city man, an engineer in an upcoming city. Not finding trace, I brought her to my farmhouse.
Renuka transferred her weight to her right as well, balancing herself, steering herself to a comfortable space, one without the constraints of her body movements. The place too fervent and vast to search for her soul, drifting into the farthest spaces seeking for absolute serenity.

I had to find the answers she was seeking out. Something isolated from the physical realm yet connected by the infinite boundaries of space, where every particle seems to be the center, continuously separating from each other, stretching until a random disruption in the cycle reflects upon the surroundings to harness energy. 

I had led a solitary life throughout my life and didn’t blame her for taking this path. Solitude provided me with peace, thoughtfulness and understanding. Being alone, was when I understood myself, when I understood the environment better. In this time, I was able to contemplate the most basic, genetic flaw in us humans, our ignorance, to the fact that we are just another form of energy released by this cycle of events, soon to be transformed to another.
But I still quite didn’t understand Renuka to answer to questions. 

Witnessing the half crescent moon rise up to the sky, I dosed off at the chair.

The next morning, I expectedly looked out to the barren lands, through which she had followed the path of solitude.
I wasn’t ready to follow her. I wasn’t ready to take her path, I could not treat her back to the seasoned civilities of our world.
She had to find her own peace.

Monday, 12 March 2018

The crossover

The crossover.

Kneeling on a small stool, hunched back, she rested her chin on the metallic frame of the window gazing at the mile-long straight stretch of concrete road running across her.

On either side, two protesting groups were separated unsymmetrically by the deserted strip of road.  The right side, were the people from the Vrikanth state, demanding for water and the left were the Krikanth state who firmly refused to share their water resources.
The excruciatingly long period of drought had vaporized their economy and traumatized the health of the Vrikanth people, leaving them no choice but showcase their desperation for survival.  A mass demonstration of this caliber would surely pinch the thick-skinned rulers into taking some action.

“Gampu, Gampu, Gampu” her mother called out to her frantically.
She immediately jumped out of her chair and ran to the kitchen.
“Stay with your brother now, how many times do I have to call you. Your brother is not feeling well. Stay there, I will get him some water. Go” as she squeezed and twisted the wet cloth, draining all the excess salt water into a small bowel.
Raku was lying on a mattress set up tightly against the corner of the room. The thin, long cracks appeared dark against the pale wall adjoining it. Aging rotating blades
Weak and barely conscious, a blanket was pulled up till his chest and his left leg crossed over his right like a withered leaf.
Gampu looking at her brother felt a chill down her spine, his condition had worsened considerably from just minutes before she drifted to the window. She couldn’t imagine her brother so weak. She couldn’t contemplate what was happening to her brother, but an overwhelming sense of sadness and fear had engulfed her.
The dim light from the overused coiled tube bounced of his shiny tachypnic chest as his prominent neck muscles contracted to maintain his breathing.
She watched her brother from a distance.
The mother rushed to her son and neatly spread the moist warm cloth on his forehead, trying to get the temperature down.
She placed her palm over his chest “Raku, Raku…….” She called softly, her words helping him open his eyes.
 “Raku, drink a little bit more son………” she poured the salt water to his mouth gently through a metal spoon.
His eyes twitched and lips stretched back as he took a strainful gulp.
Gampu listened to the loud marching noises in the background as the angry public gathered themselves.

The mother rubbed her son’s chest, eyes barely moist as she examined the smooth contours of his face. His smooth, big forehead demarcated below by thin eyebrows, through the narrow midline forming a small depression, obtusely rising up to the rounded tip of his nose merging, gently sliding down to his widely parted lips down to his chin and running along the ill-defined jaw lines on either side to complete his well-padded face.

Only, if I had left this diseased town, my children would have lived a better life.

Images of Raku playing and reconstructing his favorite toy red car flashed in front of her eyes. He sometimes fixed a better motor, painted new colors, replaced thicker wheels and added miniature fan motors on the sides, so as to give it some extra speed.
And Gampu she could go to school, read her books and become whatever she wanted to.
If only I had left this town.  
She felt a sharp stinging pain, behind the right ear as thoughts of regret and failure inundated her brain.

The city on the whole was on the brink of a major existential crisis.
 Krikanth land had the major chunk of the river flowing through them, the dying tributaries branching out to Gampu’s state, so during the split of the states they had agreed for the states to use the water in their own territory except in conditions of drought or war.
 if case such a circumstance should arise then the water would be fairly divided among the two states till the situation resolves.
The law was not yet implemented fully yet.

Only in times of such grave crisis, does human nature show true vulnerability and desperation, when he is stripped away from the basic elements of life, when he fights for survival, when he realizes he is just like any other life form on the planet who could be wiped away any moment by the forces of nature.
The Krikanths, saw this as an opportunity. They could achieve their futile goal from being the resourceful to the powerful.
They demanded a part of land in return for water.

The Krikanth territory armored their border with water tanks to prevent the demanding neighbors from entering their state.

A Vrikanth woman standing at the center of the frontline led the march slowly and steadily. They didn’t want any bloodshed. They were only asking for their survival.

The water pipes spraying high velocity, water jets would flush out anyone trying to cross the Krikanth territory.
The vrikanths were closing in steadily.
A loud squeal of the speaker, halted everyone. 
A warning followed “Please do not attempt to cross our land in such huge numbers, demanding any resource of any matter.” A Krikanth man said. He wasn’t very threatening.
The Vrikanth frontline, progressed again. They weren’t going to stop unless they got an answer from the administrators.
“Let us not intrude each other’s space” came another vain warning.
The frontline was now within striking distance of the water pipes.
The Krikanths were given the go signal by the announcer.
A sharp gush of water with tremendous force left the pipes, in unison. The water lines piercing the air like arrows struck their targets with great effectiveness and precision.
The frontline was pushed back causing a chain reaction behind them.
It immediately disrupted the peaceful march causing panic and havoc.
Now the Krikanthis were pushing ahead with their tanks, ruthlessly spraying water from one end to the other, clearing the field line by line.
The vrikanths tried to stand their ground, but the frontlines were pushing back leading to heavy congestion, shoving and inevitably, causing a stampede.
Their limbs tangled, shoved, their chest compressed, ribs crushed, heads stomped over and over by their own people and bodies piled up in a small plateau.
The stampede would have catastrophic consequences for both of their economies.
Loud helpless screams spread terror though the city and to Gampu’s ear as she retracted from her mother to see the terror happening outside.
“Gampu, go see what is going on outside and be careful”
Raku’s abdomen spasmosed as a wheeze was let through from his mouth. He was very dizzy now, losing his consciousness.
“Raku, Raku……here take some water” she gently shook him twice.
His lips quivered, uttering inaudible words.
She placed the spoon, close to his mouth which he wasn’t able to open. The mother pursed his lips and poured the drops over.
“Raku……. Raku” she again shoved him little harder than before.
She wiped herself, maintaining her composure.
“Ma” Gampu called her at the same time.
“What is happening Gampu”. She shifted her attention to the outside.
“Ma, they are fighting with each other and spraying water from big vehicles.” She said bluntly, not able to express the seriousness of it.
Her life was a nothing but a consequence of a series of riots between intellectually differing groups
All she could do was hope.

From the opposite lane across the street, a middle-aged man seemed to be rushing to his destination. The riots seemed to have caught up with him as he was swallowed by the crowd.
Hurtful pushes
The damages and consequences of this was never going to be salvaged by the government.
The crowd was being pushed back and the center of the riots was only a few meters away. He couldn’t wait any longer. He couldn’t take the long route as it would prolong his travel not guaranteeing safety as riots erupted at every corner.
He was trapped between riots from both ends closing in.
 So, he dashed to the other side with his bag hanging from the side but unfortunately the water canon was beaming towards him now. A sudden forceful gush threw him to the floor, immediately followed by an elbow, a knee to his head and then there was darkness.
The riots were happening right in front of Gampu’s eyes.
Saddened by the sight, she herself returned back to her brother.
Gampu’s weakened gait gave her mother all the answers.
Raku was barely moving now.
The mother placed her palm on his forehead and applied gentle pressure, still warm enough to keep her unsettled.
She hopelessly planted a kiss on her son’s forehead.
It was a tough journey for her, being a single mother. Gampu was 9, Raku 7. Both born during the separation of the two states. Their father, a political worker working who had worked for the separation of the states succumbed due to a chronic lung disease. He believed that the separation was necessary to lead a functional government, the two sides radically differing culturally and intellectually.
After her husband passed away, she worked as a caterer in the area, bringing in just sufficient income to raise the kids at home. The constant personal sorrow and the fact that she wasn’t going to contribute to a progressive society filled the void of her shattered dreams.
Her children were the only way she could build a legacy of her own.
It looked as if her journey was of a lone lioness, wandering on vast dry plains of the excrutiatingly, long summer. Starving to their deaths.

A loud banging on the door shook both of them. She carefully unlocked the door to see her bruised doctor who had wrestled his way out through the tumbling pile of human bodies to bring about a speck of hope in her life.

First line

First line. Metal creased the plant, documenting a milestone Balancing himself upright. The page adding to his queries, Trying t...