SEASON OF THE BALD HEAD

Weak roots,
Hair leaves,
Autumn.

An Ode

We sat in the evenings, relishing tea,
Did I read you or did you read me?

And then,
On the mountains I flew,
Amidst the clouds I grew,
In the valleys I slept,
By the rivers I wept.

In beautiful kingdoms I stayed,
With unicorns, dinosaurs and goblins I played,
Oh! What treasures and riches did I see?
You created an unimaginable world for me.

Lost I was in your words,
As the king drew out their swords,
You saw me wonder, you saw me gape,
Not an emotion did you escape.

I slept with your dreams in my eyes,
As unfinished conquest of where the truth lies,
And I woke up with you in my hand,
And where will you take me, oh book, today,
In which land?

EPIPHANY

Moon Das couldn’t have been more vacillating-between-thoughts than she was today. She still didn’t seem to weigh the moral grounds of what she was doing or rather going to do. For alternative seconds, it seemed wrong and for some it seemed right.

It seemed ages waiting for him. She remembered Mrs. Chatterjee’s words. He was the best she was sending. “The best”…Moon thought whether Chatterjee had been with others as well. She had been lately confiding into Chatterjee a lot. After marriage Arun had been out on business tours lately. And marriage to Arun had catapulted her from a middle class background to an uber rich one.

Maybe he was nice, caring and all that but they’d never spent any quality time together after marriage. Something she had always dreamed about. There was something amiss.

“Look Moon, I know this feeling of helplessness, this emotion of not knowing where-I-am., whom-to-go-to. The worst part about loneliness is that it makes you feel more forlorn. Instead it should make you want to come out, talk to everybody, enjoy life. Instead it pushes you back deeper and deeper, into this really secluded corner where you begin to enjoy this solitude. Don’t let it happen to you. Enjoy life. Let me give a suggestion…” Chatterjee blurted out nonchalantly.

Chatterjee had coaxed and cajoled until every word of hers soaked into Moon’s mind and everything had seemed reasonable enough to be done. One night was innocuous. How would that matter? Besides, Arun wouldn’t come to know.

A soft knock brought her back. She opened the door with an incubus of thoughts.
“Hi”, he said smiling.
She gave him a furtive glance. Maybe he sensed that to which he said, “Hey you can look at me. After all you are gonna pay me for being with you tonight.”
Somehow his proximity made him appealing and repelling at once. He stared at her and said, “Well…..”
And something in her mind told her to stop. Something really strong.
Moon said, “Can we just…errrr….talk?”
Moon had expected a surprise, but all he said was, “Okay, if that’s what you are paying me for!”

Moon heaved a sigh of relief.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”, he asked.
“Oh, nothing…I mean anything in general.”, she replied. She was never a great talker with strangers. And with a stranger like that it was impossible to think about anything.

“Okay. So what makes you call me here. I mean a married woman calling a gigolo?”
To moon, it sounded harsh. But it was practical, a rational question that Mrs.Chatterjee had answered for her, not herself.

“I really don’t know. I mean I never wanted to. But something just happened to me. I was so capricious. It has something to do with solitude….my loneliness…maybe…I…I…really don’t know.” She stammered.

“Why do people make such a big fuss about their loneliness and then use heavy words like “solitude” and “desolation”, I will never know.”, he replied.

Moon almost thought, he was here to mock her. But she had at least come in terms of talking to this “gigolo”.

“Why re you so preachy? I never thought someone of your profession could be so thoughtful.”
“Madam, aren’t we human beings? And as far as profession goes, let me tell you about myself. I am a student. In a good reputed college, mind you. And I like to do things which normal people do, read books, write, play….etc.”

“Normal people don’t sleep around with girls for money.”

“So now you get the point. I am doing this for money. To be honest, I am a money freak. It’s a burning desire you know, to get rich.”

“So that’s how…you are here…but there are other ways too where you can earn money. Why chose this?”

“Easy money. Quick. And I don’t need any extra skill for that.” , he chuckled and gave her a teasing look.

“Ya but somehow to me, it doesn’t feel right, what you are doing.”

“To each, his own. Every profession demands you to do something bad. And tell me one thing. What exactly is bad about my profession?”

She gave him a thoughtful look. Somehow, she didn’t find an answer. A valid answer.

“It’s unethical.”
“There are so many things which are unethical! I believe wasting electricity, cutting trees…is much more unethical than what I am doing right now.”
“You know, an intelligent guy like you…..I mean this just doesn’t suit you. To be here.”
“And neither to a woman like you.”
“I meant. Your profession.” She cast him an angry look.
“Okay. Can we stop all this verbal duels! So tell me, ….”

And they talked and talked for the next 2 hours. Something Moon hadn’t done with a man since years. She didn’t know what to make out of this. It was all weird. A gigolo…a married woman and ‘just talks’. Who would believe this! As far as the guy was concerned, moon thought of him as a thought catcher. He would just pick up her thoughts and interpret them and leave her speechless. Maybe that was because he was around women…

“Okay…time to take your leave mam!”
“Ya….thanks, you were a great company.”
“You still amuse me… I mean I am so delectable and irresistible..” he gave her a wide grin.

“Ya an irresistible….. talker…yes!”
She couldn’t remember when she was so comfortable with any one whom she had met for the first time. Maybe this was because of the fact that she knew they wouldn’t meet after that. And she wanted to pour out her feelings, to someone unbiased, someone who hadn’t known who she was….some one who could judge her purely on the basis of what she was “now”, not on what she had “been”.

“A penny for your thoughts.” He filliped his fingers.
“I was just thinking…..you know you really shouldn’t be here. You are a good guy.”
“No comments. But you take care! Don’t be confused the way you are….and the solitude thing just chuck it off…..”
How could he know more about her than herself in just these short moments? Or did she take them convincingly because nobody had ever judged her feelings or even tried to? And he had sounded so soothing and mainly so sure of himself…so justified…
Something that seemed immoral to her suddenly made sense…maybe this one rendezvous could change her outlook…she could think and act upon what “he” had said. That would keep her happy. She thought as she saw him trail off….

Maybe Arun wasn’t that bad. Why did she have so many expectations from a man who never even had time for himself. After all, he was doing this for “them” and not him alone. He had his own ways of showing love which she thought wasn’t enough for her. And she had always complained to Arun about this. And he never did. Almost never.. And did something called loneliness really exist. Or it was just another creation of mankind! After such a long time had she felt she existed as “moon”….bright, casting away darkness….

And it took a stranger to do that…
It was a revelation…about her…an epiphany…

Fart Fart Away...

A note by the author:

“Fart Fart Away is my first ever short travelogue. Though I say it is a travelogue, I have tried to encompass the sarcastic realities of the world. I would like to mention here, that the place I visited was a very mystic one, the existence of which is known to a few. I got to know about this place by a friend of mine and after hearing his delirious narrations, I decided I would follow suit.”

Foreword:

by shamanth huddar
Farting away all my gas without having to worry about keeping it silent, the smile on my face with my eyes closed, clearly reflect the serenity I attain every time I visit Fart Fart Away. After having read this spectacular travelogue by Manisha, I couldn't wait a minute longer to pack my shorts and set off to Fart Fart Away. Every word in here by the author paints such a vivid picture of the aforementioned land, that it makes me want to plan another trip to Farty Land and relieve my ass off! I sincerely request the readers of this wonderful travelogue to leave all their prejudices behind and open up to a refreshing experience unlike anything before.
May you fart all you want!

The friend said I should visit this land on the World Environment Day, so I did. I received a warm welcome from the people of the land named “Fart fart away”.

Curiosity gripped me, for the name was so unusual. I think the people sensed the curiosity and a person told me that he would be my guide for the tour.

On entering I was given a mask to be worn around my nose. I asked, when no one did, why should I? The guide told me that the air here smelled of fart, and I wouldn’t be able to bear it. No questions asked, I did so. Everything seemed so weird…

The guide started.
Legend says, that the people of the world had ousted a woman, since she propagated the uses (what?) of farting extensively, and never took any treatment for her fart-problems. Primeval texts say that her fart was the cause of many people’s death and since her aggression couldn’t be curbed and since there was no law, under which she could be tried for ‘death by fart’, she was thrown out of this world.

Avenging her insult, she proclaimed a land of her own, somewhere near the vicinity of the earth. Initially, she built her empire with the help of cows whom she named as co-warriors (sfart….er…I mean smart, eh?). Any one restraining her efforts would be killed under excess release of methane by cows. Away from the prying eyes, she brought her followers from the World to the historic land, which she named, so aptly, Fart Fart Away, in the year 3000E.F.(Era Of Fart) (since A,B,C & D was already taken by World).

Ok, now I ask him why they said I should visit on the world environment day. He said, “we have grown up in the world. It is our onus to do our bit by stopping methane emissions to celebrate this day, though our emissions don’t reach the world, we have to do our bit.”

What do you people do over here except farting freely, I ask. The guide says, “We still are in cahoots with the worldly people. Prisoners who have committed grave crimes are deported here (I never knew that!) for life sentence and here, we put them in a cell with ahem fart-gas!! They die rotting.” He gives a wicked smile. I check whether my mask is in place. I come to know that even people here are trained as executors to kill the prisoners. People with high levels of acidity who can’t stop farting are specialized in this work. (ridiculous, it may seem but true).

Well as I move around this scarcely populated land, I see there are ‘no fart zones’ too. I give out a loud snort. The guide gives me an angry stare. Why are these for? He describes. Even these guys can’t live with their own body defilement day in and day out. These zones are a way to relax and cost a lot per stay.

I stop a man on his tracks and ask him about his history. “Those humans, why do they call themselves that? I was ridiculed by my own people in the world. They used to laugh at me, point fingers at me and say, this is the man who farted when he was asked what special skills he had. What they didn’t see was, it was a way of expressing myself, and not everyone could do it. I am happy and satisfied here. This is my shelter.”

Teary eyed he walks off.

Then my guide takes me to the most sought after place in this whole land- Farty Time!

I enter in this eerie club, and what I hear sweeps me off my feet. They play an orchestra. No, not with pianos, no guitars……with their butts!!! Yes, the different range of tempos, the different density and variation of farts, take me to an altogether different musical ecstasy.

Well, since the day is about to end, my guide says I should leave. I wonder, a fart by any other name would smell as ghastly, but these people give it a beautiful name (at least after the musical wonder). Ever heard any other beautiful example of ‘restoring the honor’?

Fuck the name!!!

“Fuck- The Name” is a satirical autobiography of the boy, whose parents monikered him with the name “Fuck”. Only 25 years old, Fuck is already soaring high with cool laurels and various awards to his account, with the release of his book. Already a movie in progress too!!!
This book traces his journey of living with the name, understanding the fact that why his parents named him this and thus enjoying whatever the ramifications were.

Infinitely stupid, refreshingly insane and increasingly demented, this book is a must read.

AN EXTRACT:

I was named “Fuck” by my parents. In the initial years, somehow I never understood why people would give me very curious and undecipherable expressions on knowing my name was “Fuck”.

I remember I was six years old when I confronted my parents for the first time regarding my name. I was browsing through the dictionary and happened to pass by the meaning of “Fuck”. I was stunned. Why me, was the first thought that came to me? I felt so dumb, so stupid and so insulted. Why would any parent want their child to be named after a swear word, why? What made them so proud? How? Why? When? Where? These questions were spinning in to my mind, imagine, a six year old, contemplating so much….

I ran to my mom. I asked her:
“Mommy, (showed the dictionary) why?”
“Oh, son, we were about to tell you this…”
I started crying. My father said to my mom, “Mary, tell him.”
My mom began. “Son, when you were delivered, I said “Fuck” indicating a sigh of relief. And that is when your father suggested, lets name him that…I said what? Are you crazy. But then he told me it’s different, its unique and no one has it…”

“But mom, you could have named me Adam, Dick,Jack…anything why this???”. I was ashamed to say even my name.

My mom replied, “What is so special in those names? Nothing. A man is known by his name. Look if you were named Jack, peopled would add an “Ass” and call you Jackass, if it was dick, you know what a “dick” means? And Adam is the oldest name on the face of this earth. Why do you want such common names. And besides an astrologer told me to name you something different so that you would be famous.” (here I am writing my own autobiography at the age of 25!!)

Slowly but surely I gulped down the fact. One day I happened to hear the lecture of Rajnish (Osho). He was speaking about the use of word “Fuck”!!! Here’s what he said:

“I feel soft when you use the word fuck. What to do? It is one of the most beautiful words. English language should be proud of it. I don’t think any other language has any such beautiful word. It is one magical word. Just by its sound it can describe pain, pleasure, hate and love.

In lingo it falls into many grammatical categories, it can be used as a verb , both transitive and intransitive. John fucked Eve. Eve was fucked by John. And as a noun. Mary is a fine fuck. It can be used as an adjective. Mary is fucking beautiful as you can see there are not many words with the versatility of fuck. Besides these meaning there are following uses.

Ignorance : Fuck if I know
Trouble: I guess I’m fucked now
Aggression : Fuck u
Displeasure : What the fuck is going on here?
Difficulty : I can’t understand dis fucking job
Incompetence: He is a fuck off.
Suspicion : What the fuck are you doing?
Enjoyment : I had a fucking time.
Request: Get the fuck outta here
Hostility : I am going to knock your fucking head off
Greeting: How the fuck are you?
Apathy: who gives a fuck?
Surprise:fuck u scared d shit outta me
Anxiety: m fuckingly nervous bout exams

And it is very healthy too. If every morning you do it as a transcendental meditation just when you get up d 1st thing, repeat the mantra “fuck u” 5 times.’’

You saw that? Wasn’t what he said really cool? Now who wouldn’t love such a name!!!
Today I am in a position to say I love my name and wouldn’t change it for anything.
And I have learnt that my name is very therapeutic. How do people remove their aggression?? Don’t they call me??

Now, I don’t understand why people restrict the use of this word in public places, especially in front of girls? How would these people call me then? Why is it banned? Why are there three asterisks at the end? What is so objectionable about this word that movies and sitcoms have to edit it???

I hope my name removes this usage barrier…
No parents were born to show such inexplicable courage to name their kid “Fuck” and no son was born to display unfathomable ability to “live” with this name!!!

THE PAINTING MAN

Sudha had told her about the painting thing. Sheila sat at the steps of the Ganpati temple with flowers in her hand, ready to be offered. She got up and entered the temple, feeling the divinity immensely around her. But today, her prayers were interspersed due to what Sudha had told her in the morning. She had told her to meet the so-called Joshi Sir in The Arts School, the painting man, at least once.

She left her prayers halfway. It was best to pray only when your mind was clear of every clutter of the soul. Sheila decided she would meet the man. Married to an alcoholic husband, who sat in a corner of the house, drinking and then puking, this was the best way out. She needed money desperately, to eke out a living.

The peon ushered her into the room. ‘The painting man’ smiled at her.
“Sudha has sent you, if I believe.”
“Yes, she told me about this thing in the morning.”
“So can we get started?”
“Sir, can I know what kind of work exactly is this? What do I have to do, though I have a faint notion from Sudha’s words.”
“Seven days alternatively you will have to come here, strip and I will paint you. I will tell you what postures I want. You sit/stand accordingly. For every painting you get 300 bucks. And the timings will depend on when I finish painting you.”
“Strip….??”
“That’s something called as nude paintings. So Sheila, give me your word so that I can start my work.”
“Yes sir, I’ll come from tomorrow.”

As she walked out, her mind wasn’t clear of exactly what she had done. What would she tell her husband? That she was supposed to pose naked in front of a man, who would then paint her? Would he believe that any man who saw a woman, bare in front of him, would only restrict himself ‘to paint’ her? Would he believe, that the painting man was harmless? She then understood that these were the questions, not only her husband would ask her, but she was asking this to herself. Was it safe?

That night she felt claustrophobic. She needed some air to vent out her fears, her reservations. She went outside and sat on the stairs of her chawl. Sleep was as distant as the moon. Apprehension had filled her to the core…

-----

“Why aren’t you ready yet?”, the painting man asked, with a slight presence of irritation in his tone.
“Am I supposed to strip all of my garments?”, she asked in a disapproving sort of way, even thought she knew, that she was supposed to. She did.
“Ok now, lie down on the support of you elbow, facing me. And be still.”

She did what she was asked to, becoming aware of her unclothed body, in the presence of a man.

-----

She was loving each and every moment of what she was doing. The painting man was amazing. The first time she had seen herself on the canvass, she couldn’t believe that it was her body, that was replicated with human hands on a mere piece of paper. How had she NOT known, in all of her 27 years that she was so beautiful?

Mr.Joshi had made her look like a princess. The second day he had asked her to cover her breasts with her hands, and sit in crossed leg position for a particular posture. Why had he asked to do that when the same can be done by wearing clothes. But when he saw the portrait she knew. He had added a sensuality to the portrait. There was a certain nudity that wasn’t vulgar, but was simply aesthetic. What it revealed about her was a woman enjoying her body, the beautiful structure of it and experiencing the pleasures of touching and sensing herself…she understood looks didn’t matter…

Initially it was cumbersome for her to bear the gaze of the man on her body, but slowly she began enjoying it. She loved the way the man put the end of the brush in his mouth and viewed her body with an intense interest. Her husband had never did that. Never made her felt that she was beautiful. But here he was, the man, totally unknown to her making her feel special.

Sometimes he would say, “beautiful posture”, “excellent”, “you were beautiful today, look”….and she would feel a surge of hormones..bliss..happiness.

-----

“No, Sheila I can’t. Here’s your money.”
“Sir, please. I need money. I will pose for you for many hours without complaining. Please take me in once again.” She prodded the door trying to come inside the room.

She knew her ‘posing period’ had ended. But she wanted money. What was she hiding from herself? Did she need the money, or did she need him?

“I need a different muse every time Sudha. Now go” he slammed the door.

She felt lifeless. New muse? Did he mean he painted many women like he had painted her? Wasn’t she special? Hadn’t he said she was beautiful? Hadn’t he ‘seen’ her?

Her existence came back to nil once again. The fifteen days she had spent…. Now who would make her happy? Who would make her jump with bliss again? Who would paint her again? Was there any other painting man?

Lifeless Love

Liz walked out of her room into the garden, welcoming the usual beautiful and chirpy morning. She spent her mornings usually in the company of her self-grown flowers and herbs. She eyed Luke watering her plants. She felt a sudden gush of affection for him.

Liz remembered the time she had wanted a servant so that she could pass on her household work, and thus spend that time doing her translation work. A linguist she was.

Luke was amazing. He could do every work with miraculous perfection. Sometimes she wondered whether it was appropriate to call him a servant. More than that, he was a companion to her. Listening to her problems, woes, just about anything without ever interrupting her, but he never provided her with any suggestions, he just listened aptly.

She had always fallen for men who had looks. Luke was just that. Chiseled looks, perfect jaw line, very kissable lips. All clichés….and she was floored. It should be a sin to look that hunky, she thought. All thanks to Marie who had given her the idea of only one time investment on a house servant and what more, on spending a few more pennies, you could buy one on the basis of looks!! And it was 2030, you had to have one of such types. So here he was, Luke.

As he finished his garden work, Liz eyed him with rapt attention. As he entered the room, Liz took him by hand to her bedroom. She touched his face, praising this uncanny perfection of beauty. She kissed him, softly. It was for a few seconds. Although what Liz did was momentary and spontaneous, Luke was calm.

To Liz, it was saddening to note that there was no exchange of saliva, no rolling of tongues for that added sensuality, no sucking of each others breath and the amorous want of going deep inside one another’s soul and sensing every movement of each others body…

She glanced him from the corner of her eyes and started laughing at her own imbecility, her own daftness. Overcome by such schmaltz and maudlin attitude, she asked herself how could she fall for a robot?