The Brave Pedestrian

  Southern Sister Resister @ResisterSis20 tweeted this video on August 14 with the caption: Everything Trump touches dies. #TrumpEmptiedStadiums Pass it on. @MeidasTouch

Make haste You're late. The sun has set And the darkness is deepening. The cry that you hear, That you keep hearing, is more distant now And you're beset with Thickets and bushes that grasp At your limbs and clothes, Slowing your every step. Break into a run now If your aching limbs, your burning lungs, Allow it. Because each yard Will seem like a mile After nightfall Each step Will sap your courage. The night is deepening. Fields and forests and rocky outcrops Are now shadows that menace The mind. What do you see? Beware, it is a lie. Each step is a stumbling block. What seems like soft grass Will shred your feet like glass. Yet make haste. You're late. The cry that you heard, that you kept hearing, is but a silence now. Search now in panic. But where? Grope in the dark bushes... but for what? Ah, but you've walked too many miles, Traveller, To hold a cold, lifeless hand And know what you've known all along: You're late.

When the cold steel sliced into my belly, There was no pain, only discomfort. Gazing into her eyes from a kissing distance, I wondered Did they show betrayal, hatred Or did they continue to speak of love? Maybe both. Maybe neither. They spoke a brutal truth: “You are you and I am I... And since you question that, Let your flowing blood answer your questions.” Ah! Blackness came and went. Life ebbed with each heartbeat. Blood in spurts stained her fingers As they held the dagger firmly in place. They were the reason I was still standing. And then came the release And a gentle shove backward Dropped me to the floor, still gazing. We never lost eye-contact Even when my head struck the stair With a crack that rang deep in my nostrils. Kneeling, she took the kerchief from my pocket Deliberately wiped each finger clean And caressed my cheek. I pouted, Mmmwah. A silent flying kiss. She playfully caught it in her hand And...

Preface:  I could quote scripture at many points in support of what I’m about to say, but I’m not going to. Why? Because deriving authority by quoting “holy books” is an effort to prevent people from arguing with you; I think it’s unfair.  I believe we’re never really comfortable until we have figured out, and put to rest, the riddle of our own mortality, which we experience like this: In our heads, we know that any one of us can die at any moment, ie. we are mortal. But in our heart of hearts, each of us thinks: it can’t happen to me ie. I am immortal. Each of us deals with this riddle or paradox in different ways. A few of us do it by never thinking about it, as though it’s unimportant or irrelevant. Many of us like to take on faith the views of death offered by our own religions, or other religions, or by a guru like Rajneesh. A few may modify these given views in little ways to suit their personal beliefs. I for one have dealt with the paradox...

May 27, 2006: I have arrived at my worldview after about twenty-two years of seeking, and quite a few visions and experiences of different sorts. I’m 40 years old, by the way. I have become convinced of one thing: Sleep is the same thing as death. Our lives are on twin tracks – the track of sleep/death, and the one that our conscious mind inhabits when we are awake. When alive, our conscious mind has a daily biological need to take a dip in the sea of our permanence. If we deprive ourselves of this need, it becomes so compelling that we may doze off even at the steering wheel, and become a danger to our lives! But after we have slept our fill, our conscious mind feels the urge to re-emerge into the “outside” world in which we live and work. This sort of straddling the twin tracks, or swinging of the pendulum, consitutes our lives. Our lives also have a bigger swinging of this pendulum. After we have been “in this world” for a sufficiently long time, we submit to the urge to r...

Henderson knew all of Tony's annoying habits. He could never switch of his mobile. He always took a call, sometimes after a good deal of confusion and groping in his pockets. As Tony crossed the railway tracks, Henderson saw the train coming from the distance. He needed to slow him down. He phoned, and cut the line. Tony stopped in confusion, groped in his pockets. The phone was in vibrator mode. Without the ringing to guide him, he was helpless to find which pocket it came out of. He looked in his right pants pocket, then his left, and finally found the small phone in his hip pocket. Shitshitshit, he swore, as he looked at the missed-calls list.  “ Heyyy, yedayy! Gaadi aa rahi hai! Gaaadi... ” Tony heard that warning and looked about him in confusion, and saw a light. Then his mobile rang again. “Shit!” he swore. “Shit! Shit!” He pressed the ‘Accept Call’ button. “Hi, Tony. Where are you?” “ Heyyy! Andhay! Paagal! Gaadi dekh! ” He heard the shouted warning, looked about...

“ Maanglik of the worst sort. The malefic influence of Mars in her kundali ensures that if you marry her, you will suffer an unnatural death before the year is over. No two ways about it,” said the old man gravely, shaking his grey locks. “What about my horoscope? Don’t I get any protection from my own astral heritage?” asked the young man. “None whatsoever, my son! Forget this match and move on in life! You have a full life ahead… your planetary influences are good, and the stars indicate success in most of the ventures that you will undertake…” “Let me think about it, Uncle. I need to consult with Shalini first. After all, humne pyaar kundali dekhke nahin kiya tha, ” said Vishal, rising. Damn, he should never have gotten into this astrology chakkar. But trust a woman to insist on some superstitious mumbo-jumbo before taking an all-important step in life! When they met that evening, he was silent. “What did Panditji say?” Shalini asked. “You knew what exactly he was going t...

Often, walking home amidst traffic, I think about how fragile life is and how mortal we are. How easy it is for any moment to be the last. And how infinitely precious that moment will be. And so, in that context, this is my prayer: When the moment comes for my lifeblood to ebb away, I don’t want any unfinished goodbyes, regrets, unsaid apologies, anxiety, anger, clinging, weeping. I don’t want to see tears or shed them, or even to see the faces of near-and-dear ones. No final farewell, no famous last words. I hope to have lived in such a way that all my love has been given, and all love from others has been accepted, so that there is nothing more left to give or receive from anybody in this world. As the lights dim, I want my last thoughts to be of love and contentment, and serenity. I want to be literally able to kiss the earth with my lips and fingers — feel the soil, gravel, grass, pavement, whatever… and say goodbye. Maybe some wet doggy noses, or some cat...