He was the maestro of Doodling. A scroll there, a whorl here, he molded squiggly landscapes. One day doodling was removed from his brain. He tried and tried, but nothing would come out. Art dried out of his body like swollen grapes. He sighed in lamentation and sang out a mournful song.
This happened during the days when Germany was portioned into East Germany and West Germany. A young woman wanted to defect to the West. Actually she was a double agent. When she approached the soldiers at Check Point Charlie, they eyed her with perfect scrutiny and demanded a screw. All of them mounted her and humped her well. The sad part of the story is after their romping, they told her to get lost.
Guantanamo Bay, located close to Cuba is a famous American Prison for detaining Terrorists. Mr. Lalala of Pork Country was imprisoned there. Mr. Lalala was a rich pork merchant. The soldiers there squeezed the juice out of him by doing third degree battery. Things began to go bad to worse. Then be became acquainted with the lieutenant there who was gay. Mr. Lalala was also gay. After enjoying a feast of sex the lieutenant allowed him to go scot free.
He was a fond of cunnilingus. After every session, he used to pluck out a pubic hair and store it in a stamp album. Every day, he used to eye it with wonder and guilt. He felt shame at the acts he has done. The album remained as a perfect gift for him.
The Lottery Seller
He didn’t have shop of his own. Morning till eve he trudged on the earth to sell his tickets. One day luck struck him. His unsold ticket won the first prize.
I lie in the night naked in the store of the shop. I feel so cold in the night. I long for the warmth of a human body. Morning when the shop opens, the seller picks me up and fondles my breasts and my vagina and laughs out loud, a hoarse foolish laugh. I am put on display outside the shop. There begins my day to day journey.
I am a pen and I belonged to the famous writer Borges. I am a fountain pen with the head of a serpent. I was put on auction for a million pounds. There were many offers and then the prize was raised to 12 Million. A buyer took me home. A struggling writer was also present for the sale. He badly wanted the pen. Late at night, he broke into the house and stole me.
I am made of Wax. I am a famous celebrity writer. I gaze at my sculpture with wonder. I love my gaze. I look at myself and I wonder how exact is this replica made. I became very controversial for writing the Satanic Verses and the fanatics proclaimed a Jihad on me. Then at Madam Tussauds, they removed my replica. I feel isolated and forlorn.
The monarch of Porkistan built the Pork religious place on the site of another temple called: Beef. This happened more than 100 years ago. Today Porkistan is a fascist democracy. The leaders of beef demolished the Pork religious place and are planning to construct a Beef temple there. Beef and Pork are at logger heads today.
I gaze at the American Statue of Liberty. Then I gaze back inwardly. I smile in contented irony. I whisper cheers! Is my vision a default with it? Apathy, Lethargy, Dullness all invade my rotten brain as sour plums.
I gaze at the Billboard. It is showing advertisement of a steel company. On its surface is the image of the face of Mahatma Gandhi and the words: ‘leaders build futures’. What an exaggerated hyperbole. What has the Mahatma got to do with steel?
Today I had a strange dream. I was trying to withdraw money from a bank using an Indonesian debit card. But to my surprise, no money came out. I don’t know what this dream signifies. Perhaps it means the end of my tryst with Indonesia. I have been applying for jobs in Indonesia and perhaps they won’t work out.
The Fake Pastor
The pastor conducted the convention with vigor. He touched women who were demon possessed with gusto. They started spinning around like topes. Some started crawling on the ground like serpents. He started laying hands on them and they were cured of their afflictions. The crowd applauded by reigning praises of Hallelujah and Praise the Lord. Little known to them was the sham of the pastor. Those who were demon possessed were his assistants and they were rehearsing the same prior to the meeting.
I was put in a mental asylum. The male nurse there carried a key on his belt. Late in the night, he lay sleeping. I went near him and broke his neck. I escaped from the asylum and went to Nepal. There I am having cushy life with a Nepali chick.
I once went to Hong Kong to attend an interview for the post of an English Teacher. I stayed at the YMCA in Kowloon Peninsula. Late in the evening as I was walking on the road, I came to a dwelling where an elderly woman was standing out. She beckoned me eagerly and said: ‘come in son; I have many beautiful girls; have a drink;’ Realizing it was a brothel, I ran away from there. The next morning as I was walking through the same place, she was out waving incense and chanting mantras. As soon as she saw me, she waved her hands in a fit of anger and put what seems to me like a curse.
Jung a Memoir
Carl Gustav Jung is one of my favorite psychiatrists. In my college days I was reading his autobiography: ‘Memories Dreams and Reflections’. One night, there was no electricity and I was reading the section on archetypes by candle light. I took a break as the phone was ringing. When I went back, the candle to my surprise had fallen on Jung’s archetype Philemon. There was no wind at that time. Philemon was Jung’s alter ego; he has drawn it as a wise sage. I wonder what Jung is trying to say to me.
This happened to me while I was teaching in an International School in Jakarta. The Principal told me to go and invite the UN Director there who was an Indian. Early morning I went to his office. I was ushered in and to my surprise: I saw a strange doll whose expression changed from mirth to sadness. I looked at it and it looked back at me. I left the office feeling bewitched.
Valerie, years ahead of my age came to our school on a teacher exchanged program. She was a poet and a painter. Though I was married, she had an erotic feeling for me which I did not reciprocate. We exchanged poems of love. One night in a hotel: she got me drunk with teacher’s whisky and then she invited me to bed with her. I with my Christian piety ran away from there. I regret the wonderful f*** I did not have.
My uncle a priest passed away. We went to the parsonage to collect his belongings. It started raining and water seeped in through the door. I and my brother in law were there. To our amazement we could see the face of our dead uncle peering against us through the water. This is a true tale, stranger than fiction.
My Significant Other
I met my significant other, a US Woman from a dating site. It was love at first sight. She wanted to come to Kerala to visit me. She asked me to search a rented place to stay. I went to a rental dealer’s place. He looked at me and frowned and said: we give the place only for families. Then I consulted my friend: he told me if I stay in hotel, the cops will go berserk on me. Little did he know that the Indian Penal Code supported consensual sex. I wonder when it comes to a live in relationship people of Kerala are so conservative. My friend directed me to an apartment. They will give me a go tomorrow. I am waiting with crossed fingers.
I submitted my lottery ticket to the Bank telling them I won the First Prize. Lotteries with the First Prize have to be claimed from Banks. I took a loan and cheated the bank.
Mr. Mode was the Prime Minister of the World’s Largest Democracy Y. He is a H-Fanatic of Religion. Recently he connived a very big business deal with F Country. The deal involved the selling of military aircraft to country Y. Champagne flowed with religious vigor into Mr. Mode’s Mouth. Cabaret dances felicitated him and took him to bed. He sold Y’s defense to the private sector.
The Sacred Groove
It was a Banyan tree. During night lamps were placed at the base of the tree and they were lit. A man went around the tree chanting mantras. I wonder as to how trees can be sacred. I smiled in quixotic irony. Trees blah blah blah. Yes idol worship is so queer.
Country Y is a Y fanatic of religion. X—missionaries of the Book, especially in the North are persecuted. They are paraded naked on the streets. They are put in Jail. False charges are put on them. Sad to say, a Y fanatic is the head of the State of country Y.