Climate change

We call it climate change
I call it stupid ignorance

Nature is so perfect
We are so crude
With our smoke belching machines
Nature has its own balances
Its own logic
We are so ignorant
We understand nothing

All we understand is
Making money and profits
There is a lot more
To learn and understand

Hope we learn and understand soon
Before Earth turns into a furnace
From a life-giving paradise it is today
Before our 'mighty' cities start to submerge
Before monster storms
Bigger than Katrina
Batter us to pulp
Before dying rivers
And drought force us into hunger

Mother Earth is gentle and forgiving
But we are changing her nature
She is slowly losing her gentleness
She is slowly becoming enraged
Save her
Before it is too late
We owe it to her
And to our children

I hate Darwin

I hate Charles Darwin
I hate him for his theory
That it is all evolution
There is no mystery, no God
That man is an animal too
Survival of the fittest

There is no place for emotions, love,
Kindness, empathy
All that is humane
Instead it is all about survival
That emotions are just a way
Of managing our fears
That love, empathy is all balderdash
Nothing but mere weakness
The stronger survive
The weaker perish

Is it really that way?
Is there nothing more than
That man is a animal?
No higher aims?
Enlightenment perhaps?
May be yes
But I have not the capacity
To understand it

So as I see men and women
I just see animals
Dog, cat, elephant, fox....
All animals

Why did you leave me?

Why? Why?
Was my love for you
So ordinary, so cheap?
That it lasted only a few months

Am I so worthless?
My love, my heart worthless?
Is real love so cheap?

I am not a worldly wise guy
Who makers quick bucks
Who haggles and 'tricks' others
To make money

I am not made that way
But with your love
I could have discovered
The eclipsed part of me
And it could have brought riches and fame
If that is what you wanted

I often wonder
Loving someone for money and status
Is hardly love
It is loving money and status
Not loving the person

I lay bruised, injured....

I had thirsted for love since I was small
From my mother, father, friends
But I never got it
I remained unfulfilled
I remained weak
Because I am one of those
Who wither away
Without the water of love

Then I saw you one day
I felt you were what I needed
Your love I wanted
You and me
And nobody else
I felt calm, relaxed
Whenever I was with you
I felt I was on top of the world
I could do anything
But your love was nothing but an illusion
A mere mirage in my desert of despair

It did not exist
The thing between you and me
For me it was everything
For you it was just another spring of your youth
And when it gave way to summer (of discontent?)
You left me

I lay shattered
I wept aloud
I was hurt inside
There was no one to hear my silent scream of agony
Which came from deep inside

The emptiness in me still remained
But it is gradually filling up
With cynicism
With hatred for everyone
With spite
And malice for all

Rough love

I slap you hard
I push you roughly onto the bed
I beat you till you bleed
Then I make love to you

And surprise!
You love it!
I tried making love to you as other s do
But you remained frigid and cold then
And pushed me away

You like rough love
The shrink says you have a problem
But I don't care
I love you so much
That I give you what you want

May be I need a shrink too
As I have begun to love making rough love to you
We are a couple in love
Funny love!

Will you love me then too?

Today you say you love me
You have good reasons to say that
I have given you a big home
Money, cars, everything you wanted
We make passionate love at night
I make love to you till
You moan at the pinnacle
And then slump back satisfied
But the thought often comes to my mind
What if I become an invalid one day?
All my money, power gone
Will you still say that you love me?
Will you still stay with me?
Or flit away like a wayward butterfly?

My love stoies: Part Eight: Asha

Asha was plump and short. The type I hate extremely. But she had nice curly hair and a beautiful face.

She told me later that the moment she saw me for the first time, she had fallen in love.

I had remained friends with her for many years. I used to visit her home. She lived with her mother. Her father had died when she was small. I guess that is what made her fall in love with me. My gentleness and strong sense of empathy. May be her father like that.

I was not interested in her. But after I drifted away from Seema I felt desperately alone.

I called Asha over to my house one afternoon. I guess she expected that I would make love to her.

I tried. We kissed hard. She began to feel aroused and lay down on bed.

But I could not make love to her. I did not find her attractive at all, mentally or physically.

Soon after she started seeing dating an Anglo-Indian guy. Asha was a practical girl. She was not going to waste any more time on a guy who was not interested in her.

Years later I received her wedding card. She was marrying the Christian guy. I felt nothing.

My love stories: Part seven: Pinky

Pinky used to live in the same apartment block as I did. She was a young virginal eighteen year old. Her father ran a tuition class institute.

One day while returning home we both happened to get down from the same BEST bus. As we were walking towards the apartments, I caught up with her and introduced myself.

The 'friendship' (if you can call it that. I was eight years older to her) grew gradually. I think I befriended her because after Seema I had been without female company for a long time.

Pinky was a chirpy teenager. I guess she ignited in me somewhere deep down, my lust.

She found me good-looking. She told me so. She started visiting me at my apartment (I lived alone).

She used to talk about her father's tuition classes, where she lent a helping hand. She also talked about a guy who was interested in her.

I guess she looked at me as a father-figure, the elderly guy. Or was it infatuation for a older guy? Girls often have that. I really don't know.

I did not have the heart to make advances at her after that. I know if I had tried I could have taken her to bed.

But there was a sort of a generation gap. She was so young; entering womanhood, discovering men. She was so shallow. I know she would have been totally confused on knowing a complex guy like me better.

My love stories: Part Six: Seema

Seema was tall and thin. Almost skeletal. She was addicted to coffee. She used to have many cups a day and fall severely ill now and then. But she did not give up having strong black coffee.

She was dark-skinned. Her skin was very soft and smooth. That is the chief reason I got attracted towards her. Another reason was her nature. Quiet, witty, sarcastic, intelligent and aloof. The touch-me-not types.

According to her friends I was the first guy whom she allowed to touch. I loved to hold her hand and put my arms around her.

That is all I got from her physically. Once I told her I wanted to make love to her and tried to kiss her on the lips. I got to see the violent streak in her nature then.

She pulled my hair so hard that my vision blanked out for a few seconds. I did not ask her for a kiss again.

On second thoughts may be the way she would have liked is that I should have pulled her long pony-tailed hair hard, slapped her hard and made violent love to her. The thought makes me warm even today. But I did not do so that day.

It is not my idea of love-making. We dated for a year.

She often used to say that I was a nice guy. And that she was a bad girl; not fit for someone like me. This she said with a sly smile. I know it was not a taunt. She really liked me.

May be she was made for a sterner guy with more spirit.

I lost contact with her gradually. She did come to greet me on my birthday with a flower bouquet once after that but I knew I was not the guy for her.

I don't know what happened to her. May be today she is happily married to a guy who slaps her hard and makes violent love to her.

My love stories: Part Five: Naheed

Naheed came like a breath of fresh air into my life. She was short. Just about four feet ten inches. What struck me about her was her demeanour. She had a cheerful, smiling face.

For a dour, gloomy guy like me she was like an answer to my prayers.

She was one year junior to me in college. I came to know her during a college trip to Nainital. I went for long walks with her there. And as I began to know her better, I liked her even more. She did not have that 'calculating' nature most Bombay girls have. She was frank, intelligent and warm-hearted.

She did not to appeal to me physically much. Well endowed hips and breasts but they largely left me uninterested. Not because I am frigid or anything but because I had begun to love her warm nature more.

The friendship deepened after we returned to Bombay. We began writing letters to each other. ( There was not Internet or the mobile phone then). Not love letters, but about what we were doing and what we thought of the world around us.

She loved my writing style. She told me that. I then started getting intimate in my letters after that.

One day she fell ill. I learnt that she was down with flu. I sent her flowers. After a few days she invited me to her house. I bought a book by Somerset Maugham (typical of a pessimistic guy like me), gift wrapped it and reached her house.

She kissed me on the lips. It felt nice. Her saliva was warm and slightly salty. She then asked me to make love to her. I tried but could not. I loved her too much to get so close so soon. I wanted a commitment from her which she refused to give.

I later understood why she refused. I was just a college student then. She wanted to see how I did career-wise before committing to anything.

Naheed after all was not so innocent as I made her out to be. I did not blame her. I do not blame her even today. I was asking for love. Something I had always thirsted for since childhood.

Naheed was willing to give that only after I settled into a career. Any sensible girl would do that. But that would hardly count as pure love.

I stopped talking to her after that. I went to my hostel room that day and cried a lot alone. My heart was broken. I lost a lot of my innocence that day. I stopped yearning for love after that. I understood I was never going to get it.

Five years later I came to know that Naheed went to Paris for higher studies and married a Frenchmen.

My love stories: Part Four: Kirti and Jalpa

When I moved to Bombay for my college, I ran across two girls. Kirti desai and Jalpa Aggrawal.

I do not know why but the moment I saw Kirti, my heart said that this was my soul mate. I used to stay awake at night thinking of her. I painted her in all my favourite hues and colors. And I got the picture of the perfect woman.

But the picture started cracking soon. I had drawn a figure of kindness, love, emotions and sympathy. Kirti was anything but that. She was a proud and haughty daughter of two doctors. She was intelligent but like the rest of the girls had little use for a sentimentalist like me.

I believed true love would wash away all my woes, my imperfections. I would get a reason to live. To live for love.

But real life is anything but that. Love is a very scarce commodity. Pure, unselfish love I mean.

With Jalpa Aggrawal it was hardly a mating of souls. She was a very physical girl. A few gropes in her car and some hard fondling of the butt and it was over.

Jalpa never appealed to me. Not by mind nor by the body.

My love stories: Part Three

After Trupti there were two other girls. Rachana and Roopa. Both when I was in the pre-college class.

Rachana's mother was my Hindi teacher when I was in high school. I was good in Hindi. The teacher used to read out to the class essays written by me.

But I discovered that the Hindi teacher had a lovely daughter only when I went to the pre-college class. She was my classmate.

She was beautiful and had a lot of admirers in school. I was one of them infatuated with her.

But the line was too long. And I did not have the means to jump the queue.

Roopa too was another beautiful girl who caught my fancy. But she was one year senior. So I had only fleeting glances of her. Different classrooms you see.

I heard stories about how one of her classmates determinedly went up to her house and rang the doorbell,. Roopa's father opened the door. He took him to be the raddiwallah (the guys who buys old newspapers) and said "abhi nahin hai. Agle mahine aana." (There are no papers at present. Come next month).

Poor guy! But he persisted and by the time I left pre-college I learnt he had managed to break the ice, notwithstanding Roopa's father.

With such a determined suitor, there was little chance for lesser mortals that included me.

My love stories: Part Two: Trupti

The first girl who caught my amorous fancies was my neighbour, Trupti Parekh.

I must admit the attraction was all animal. I like dark girls. Trupti was dark. I like women with big bosom and big hips. Trupti had both.

I used to lock myself in my room and furtively look through a closed window at Trupti as she strolled about in her house's compound. We lived in adjacent bungalows you see.

I thought I was very clever that as I secretly ogled at Trupti, she was unaware about it.

How wrong I was!

I was in for a shock when my friend Shivakar slapped me on the back and winked. "Looking at girls on the sly, eh?" he said. My secret was out!

It seams Trupti had noticed my lustful eyes prying on her and told all her friends. One of them had told Shivakar.

But that episode started the liaison, if you can call it that.

Call me boring. Call me a no-good. But nothing 'happened' between me and Trupti.

There were a few close calls but unfortunately there were no hits scored.

One day I found out that her parents had gone out on a social outing. She was all alone in the house! Ahh! "My chance!" I told myself. I braced myself and went up to her house and rang the doorbell.

Trupti opened the door but to my dismay, for a girl who seemed interested, her manner was cold. I used the usual gimmicks. I congratulated her on passing the recent exams and shook her hand. She did so very uninterestedly. I guess that is the reason I did not pull her towards me, hug her and smother her with hot kisses.

Phusssh!

At another occasion there was a social event at my house. Trupti (along with her family) had come too. She made her intentions clear when she gave me hard aggressive stares and frowns. She also touched me whenever she went passed me.

The feminine species in heat, perhaps. But I am a coward. With all the people in the house I did not have the guts to pull her into an empty room and do you-know-what.

Phusssh went another chance!

Another clear indication Trupti gave me was on the day I and my family were leaving town. Her family had invited us all for a farewell dinner.

Trupti banged the dish, spoon, knife and fork when she served me. She splashed some dal and rice on my clothes for good measure.

The disappointed female in heat.

My love stories: Part One

Many girls came into my life. But none of them, I must regretfully admit lasted too long. One of the reasons for that I think is that I am not very physically inclined. Another reason is that I am very emotional; something which, surprisingly, the girls did not like.

People say girls are the emotional ones. The guys are the ones who use their heads. Humbug! In my case I was the emotional one. By comparison the girls were quite practical.

They did get emotional at times but when it came to their relationship with me, they were so practical!

I guess women like guys who use their heads rather their hearts.

O always go by my heart. May be that is why I am without a girlfriend today.

THE STORY OF THE GUY FROM KATHIAWAD: Part 3

In the previous part we had heard Fajuba mentioning losing a son.

That son was delivered at Fithad. Remember that the time was in the early 1950s. There were no doctors in Indian villages then. There was even no metalled road to Fithad then.

The baby boy was quite healthy looking, dark and plumpish. Everyone was happy. Firubha used to play with his daughter's new born son all day.

But after five days the baby stopped breast-feeding. As there were even no traditional medicine doctors in the village, the village astrologer was called in.

The astrologer solemnly said that if the baby boy lived for another three days, he would live. Otherwise....

It did not survive. It died at the hands of its grandmother, Teshar Sinh's mother, Fakatba. The lady had come from Fangpar to see the new born.

The grandmother took the baby in her lap. She asked for some butter. She dipped her finger into the bowl of butter and fed the baby with it.

The baby hiccoughed once and died. Fajuba was hurried away from the room. Firubha wrapped up the baby's corpse in a piece of cloth and took it to 'Limbda na fariyu' (Neem compound). He dug a hole and buried the baby.

The neem compound had a history of its own. Fajuba used to tell the story to Karan many a time.

It is said that one of Firubha's ancestors was buried here. That too in a secretive gruesome manner.

The ancestor had no children and he used to lie in bed sick most of the time. One day he died. but his wife concealed the fact. She cut up the body into small pieces and used to burn it piece by piece every night.

In the mean time she travelled to the nearby town and sold off her dead husband's land and kept the money for herself. According to the law in those days since the dead man had no children, the land would otherwise pass on to his brother. The wife would get nothing.

One day when the woman was burning a piece of the corpse, the wife of the dead man's brother smelt the stench and told her husband about it.

The husband went to the woman's house accompanied by other villagers and confronted the greedy woman.

They found the remaining pieces of the body and cremated it properly according to Hindu rites.

The scheming wife of the dead man was sent away from the village.

THE STORY OF THE GUY FROM KATHIWAD: Part 2

Karan came into the world on a stormy monsoon September night in Durgapur.

When his mother Fajuba started having labor pains, her mother Fagjiba told her son-in-law Teshar Sinh to take his wife to the hospital. Teshar Sinh had just finished a good dinner and was enjoying listening to the radio. He said he would take her in the morning. His mother-in-law told him not to be silly.

So Teshar Singh reluctantly took his wife to the local hospital at ten in the night. Karan was born at 2.30 in the morning.

After birth the Marathi lady doctor asked Fajuba what she wanted; a son or a daughter. Fajuba said ever since she had lost a son, her mother-in-law had told her that a woman should at least have two sons.

"What if the baby is a daughter?" asked the doctor.

"Then I will accept it as God's will," replied Fajuba.

"It is a son," said the doctor and held the baby boy inverted holding him by his legs.

Fajuba saw the tiny penis and heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God it was a son.

Karan was thus born.

THE STORY OF THE GUY FROM KATHIAWAD: Part 1

Karan Sinh Jhala is from Kathiawad. Kathiawad is the peninsular part of Gujarat in India.

At least his parents were Kathiawadi. He was born in Durgapur in Bengal. He was the youngest in a family of four. Two elder sisters and an elder brother.

His father Teshar Sinh Jhala hailed from Fangpar, a village near Morbi. His father and grandfather never tilled their ancestral lands. They both worked in the princely states of Saurashtra.

His grandfather worked in one of the many small princely states of Saurashtra. Saurashtra in Gujarati means 'a hundred states'.'Sau' means hundred. 'Rashtra' means nation.

Teshar's grandfather was a rather stupid man. He had much land before the independence of India. But he did not understand that he would lose half of it because of land reforms initiated after the country became free. The new laws said that the tiller of the land would get to be the owner of half the land he tilled for the real owners. Teshar's grandfather used to say that the man who tilled his farms was like his son. How could a son go against his father? But the 'son' quietly gave an application in the local government office and from a landless labourer he became a land owner.

Karan's maternal grandfather, Firubha, was a cleverer man. He lived in Fithad village in a nearby district and had educated baniyas as his friends who warned him of the upcoming land reforms. So Firubha quickly divided his large farmlands of four hundred bighas into four parts and named his three sons as owners of three parts. Thus Firubha escaped the land redistribution law and managed to hold on to his large farms.