Tale of the Greedy Loan Shark

In our village there lived a loan shark who charged exorbitant rates of interest. The interest ranged to 10% Per Month. Many a farmer had to suicide due to the atrocious rate of interest. Once a farmer’s father expired and then he sat on the corpse never letting it be buried in the church. Then the farmer cursed him that he will have a terrible death. When many could not pay the atrocious interest, the loan shark committed suicide. His cadaver was placed in the morgue. And then the morgue started malfunctioning. When the relatives came to claim the corpse, it was rotten and smelling foul. The hospital authorities burned the corpse with petrol. And that was his tragic end


July 6th 2019

The sun was a melody of music. Tales floated in the sky with mystic silence. Colors of the sun spread a mystic halo. I thank Jehovah Jesus for all the blessings given. The sky wrote with crayons, a tranquil dream. Life to me became a dream of passion.

I think about myself as a fictional self and a real self. The real self is a teacher teaching English in high school. The fictional self is a writer with the passion to write. Sometimes the fictional self is abounding with dialectical narcissism. Sometimes the fictional self is a passionate monument of memory. Time becomes an inner architecture releasing a manifold into letters of prose. Is writing a whimsical flower, or a stoic spear or an Epicurean indulgence? I don’t know. The consciousness of the writer blooms into a lettering of flowers. What is the consciousness of a writer? A writer is a very flexible person immersed in the garden of prose. Writing is a game of letters and words. The writer’s consciousness is brought out through streams of consciousness. Writing is an art of a cubist painting, a calypso of thought submerged in the sea of letters. As a cubist painting, writing takes on narrative shifts in time, and then it experiments with fiction caught up in the web of prose. Writing makes the heart filled with gratitude. Irony flows like a stream in disguise. Meaning slips into thoughts. The words are in a garden of veils. Writing is the canopy of trees. Plato practiced virtue in writing, so too the zealous Christians. After the end of writing, a shy writer like me, examines the body and smiles with irony. Oh what have I done? The architecture of writing is fanciful and whimsical. Writing can be fantastical too. So are the writers of magic realism. There is a writing of combining dreams with reality. Derrida has said: ‘to write is to have the passion of origin.’ Writing is a bizarre soliloquy of fetish, an overbearing waltz of a contaminated self in exaltation of narcissism. Writing is the discovery of the self. Writing is God like tabernacle made to be worshiped. Writing is poetic music. Writing is made for the deity—God to be glorified. Writing is phantasmagoria. Words are shallow streams. Who’s is the writer’s higher-self? Karl Gustav Jung had a higher self called Philemon. Writing is an art of connecting with your higher self. Consciousness is a broken personality of many fragments. Writing is an art of fondling a guitar. Writing is a therapeutic messiah. For a writer time is folded into a sculpture of the present, past and future. Writing as a cubist painting becomes convoluted prose, meandering Picasso-edges, a stream of Dali’s eye and an egg born through the prism of the pen. Isn’t that magic realism? Writing is also very Quixotic. The writer aims to shake the windmills of the mind. Every full stop is death and every new sentence is a beginning.

Letter of Distraught Lover

I met her in college when I was doing my graduation. At first we went on days and months smiling at each other. Finally I mustered the courage to speak. She came from a remote island in India and her name was Sheeba. We fell in love with each other. She was the most beautiful girl in college. One week-end she suggested that we go out and I was thrilled. We stood near the door while we were traveling. We sweet-talked with each other. After the train came to a halt, she suggested that we go for a movie. I replied yes. While the movie was going on, she offered me her hands and I fondled her palms. Her skin was so soft and smooth. I felt a passionate awakening. After that we used to go out every week end. Kissing her was as beautiful as honey. I got to fondle her shapely breasts. How I loved her. When the college got over she went back. And then I said, I will meet her there. But by the time she came to Kerala and told me to cancel the ticket. I did not! When she came back, she refused to talk to me. I felt sad and pained at her silence. She could have said to me that she was not interested. Disappointed and wearied I caught the next flight to home. I have tried searching for her on the internet, especially at Face book. But my search came to no avail. Then someone told me that she died in an accident. I feel sad and I hope I will be able to meet her in heaven. I wonder why she treated me so cruelly. What have I done to deserve her hatred? I wonder why the world as so unkind to me. I even took her to my parents and they willingly accepted her. Sometimes she visits me in her dreams. Where ever you are, may your soul rest in peace.

July 3rd 2019

Morn was a tranquil dream. I watched the sun casting shadows with tremulous excitement. Fairies floated in the sky with magnificent luminous delight. I praise God Jehovah Jesus for all blessings given.

I stopped reading the Old Testament and started reading the Gospel of Mathew. The narrative is profoundly moving. The mysteries of the Bible are profound and deeply moving. I am subduing my will and asking God about his will in my life. It’s a wonder to me as to why the Jews could not accept Jesus as their savior. But today it’s a different scene. There are hordes of Messianic Jews. And that makes a difference. I was reading the story of the woman who had issues of blood, who touched the robes of Jesus and was completely healed. How moving is her childlike faith. I always ponder on the mystery of the Trinity, yes it’s quite esoteric.

The monsoon has started in Kerala and yet the rainfall has been very scanty. I hope that God won’t give a water scarcity. I remember the days when I used to make paper boats and send it through the stream. Monsoon has been a chorus of joy. Monsoon has been a poetic epiphany.

I have also started reading Salman Rushdie’s Midnight Children. The novel starts with the protagonist Saleem Sinai born at midnight 12 and strangely it is the time when India got its independence. Then the novel shifts to the past and he does a detailed narrative about Sinai’s grandfather Adam Azees.
Every day, I teach something new to the children. It could be a word or a grammatical thing. I enjoy it much now.

I spent time on the evening quietly meditating on the art of sunset. Sunset is clad with a myriad of colors—orange, pink, red and golden. They make a beautiful music, a solitary poem. The rhythm of colors in the sky forms a passionate music. God Jehovah Jesus had blessed me to appreciate the nuances of nature, the gentle, silent rhythm of poetry, the transmogrification to a soul of love. The travelers in the sky are dancing in pulchritude. Their rhythms are beauty so sweet.

I had an anxiety disorder. I am praying to God to get me rid of it. The Devil was hacking my brain severely and now I have the sweet balm of Jesus to heal it. Thank God Jehovah Jesus, I have got cured from insomnia.
I am fascinated by the way post-modern fiction is written. There are temporal shifts in time, extreme irony, and use of tropes, unreliable narrator and inter-textuality. All my works in fiction has been experimental. Yes, I am slowly getting readers to read about my work.


She invited me to make love. I went (that was of the past) before I became saved. I felt too nervous and ashamed and failed to get an ecstasy. Twice she invited me and I traveled half away and came back. Now she invited me again. She was fascinated by me the poet. I did not bother to communicate. There stands my adultery as coming to an end. I praise God for making me flee from temptations.

Ode For Jehovah Jesus

Master of the
Your limitless
Love knows
No bounds…
How you
Have sculpted
Me from
Clay unknown
To me ….
How you
Have sealed
Me from danger
By your
You are Master
You alone,
I give all
I invoke
You with
Praise …
Teach me
Your ways….
Help me live
As the person
You want ….
I love thee

From The Bible

I would like to do an exegesis of the temptations of Jesus and the Sermon on the Mountain. The version of the Bible I am taking is the Message, a post modern Bible written in contemporary idioms.

Temptations of Jesus
When Jesus finished fasting in the wilderness for 40 days, the fiendish Lucifer came to test him. He knew that Jesus was hungry and asked him to turn stones into bread. And Jesus quoted the scripture and said: ‘Man should not live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God. What is the spiritual meaning of this? We should not be self-gratifying beasts, carnal, lecherous and gluttonous. In the Second Temptation, Satan took God atop a mountain and said to him to jump and said that the angels would come down and rescue him. Then Jesus replied: ‘We should not tempt God’. The meaning is we should not be reliant on the satisfaction of our own desires. We should yield our will to the almighty. For the third temptation Satan showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world with fame and splendor and said: ‘if you worship me, all these are yours’ Jesus said not to worship any other but only God. In our narcissistic search for fame, money and prestige we should not lose the sight of God and the banquet he has prepared us for eternity. It is God the maker and his will that should prevail in us.

Sermon on the Mountain
The Sermon on the Mountain is the profound speech of Jesus and is the most vibrant literature, more meaningful than all those who have won the literary accolades. I am taking a New Version of the Bible called the Message.
a) ‘Blessed are you when you are at the end of your rope and then you will have more of God and Less of you’. What is the meaning of this saying? End of the rope is a point in your life when you are feeling frustrated, hopeless and then the writer is advocating you to turn to God.
b) ‘You are blessed when you have lost most dear to you and then you can gain what is most precious for you’. Devotion, Faithfulness, and Hope are the ways in which we signify God. All our possessions on earth are fleeting.
c) ‘Blessed you are when you are contented and then you can buy the things which cannot be bought.’ The grace and peace of God are heavenly and not earthly. They cannot be bought but they have the heavenly splendor of love.
d) ‘Blessed are you when you have worked a good appetite for God and then you can taste the best meal that you have ever had.’ Appetite is spiritual hunger and its satisfaction is God’s words and the miracle of simple life and well –living.
e) ‘You are blessed when you care and at the moment of caring, you will find yourself cared for.’ Jesus is advocating us to compassionate. Jesus also wants to remind is that he is the provident provision of all our monetary needs.
f) ‘You are blessed when you put your inside World—your mind and soul in good order and then you can see the World that is manifest in God.’ God Jesus is advocating a world of spiritual purity. God wants us to edify our hearts and be divine like him.
g) ‘You are blessed when you can show people to cooperate instead of competing and fighting. That’s when you find yourself being a part of God’s Family.’ The choice to be Christian is a personal one and in it there’s no place for hate, envy, maliciousness and covetousness.
h) ‘Blessed are you when you are persecuted for God and then only will you find a place for yourself in God’s kingdom.’ It’s a tough injunction to spread the word of God to the nook and corner of the World. The reward is God’s Heavenly Eternity.