The Thought Curry

Prakash was literally bursting with urgency. He realized he should have taken care of it before he got out of his house. But now was no time for regret. There was no mall around. He was in BBMP area. And that was when he found the KFC. Immediate.  Profound.  Relief ... He had found a lavatory. --  xxx -- 1. I first came across the concept of 55 word fiction from cmus who blogs here . And I wanted to write one myself. And this entry is what I wrote. 2. BBMP - Bruhat Bangalore Mahanagar Palike.

The following story was my entry for the 2012 Deccan Herald Short Story Contes t. I did not win it, though IMHO I should have ... :-) The last thing I remember from the time when I was alive is getting my throat ripped open by a pen. I remember being shocked. And then … I died. When I regained consciousness, my first reaction was one of bewilderment. I could not comprehend what I had become. And then it dawned to me. I had died. I realized I was now a spirit. A ghost. I do not feel like one though. At least not like the ones they depict in movies or books. There is no bright light I can walk into. I can not possess anyone. I can not rain fire or raise thunderstorms. I can not even walk through walls. I am like an invisible web. A net of thin tentacles made of air. Heat, humidity, even the slightest disturbance affects me. I do not have eyes or ears. I do not need them anymore. I can sense everything better than the time when I was alive. I can feel your heartbeat from w...

I feel caged. We are all caged. In cages that are closed cells on a big blue ball. We have a cell called Somalia where millions die of starvation. While there is another called America, where millions die of obesity related maladies. There are cells where dictators like Gaddafi exist. There are cells where six million children die of hunger every year. And then there cells where millions and millions of tons of food rot in warehouses.

It is like a mine field. Only the mines are in motion… Brownian motion! They are everywhere, rickety contraptions running on 3 wheels. The roads are rigged!!! Be scared. Very. Very. Scared.

Sometimes weird things inspire people to do weird things. This article for instance ( Leave the vegetarians alone i say ) inspired me to write this blog-entry.

An SI guarding a ministerial convoy was hacked down by a bunch of gangsters. He lay writhing on the road, pleading for help, bleeding and dying and no one dared touch him or go near him. They walked past the man looking at him suffer, sympathizing with him, but “helpless” themselves. Helpless… what a word! This word absolves an Indian of all his guilt, responsibility and cowardice. The keeper of our morality, the media, kicks in. Breaking news… Ministers in the convoy watch and do nothing for the dying SI. The death is the ministers' fault. SMS’s start pouring in criticizing, lambasting and ridiculing the politicians, the police men near the dying sub inspector… But are they the real culprits???

I went to Mysore the last week to the AFSB to try and become a fighter pilot. Couple of days ago, I did get recommeneded to be one. There are still the medicals though, so I cannot really say I am commisssioned yet... This post is not about the days there...