The tiny voive speaks..

For all who have had their ingrained servility to social institutions shaken by the below entry..It is a view on relegion not on Faith..on Church not on Jesus..on church doctrines not on the teachings of Christ..I am a guy who is learning the ropes of faith..but who has this little thing against established relegion

The Church & Associates Ltd™

Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen..
Let me welcome u all to a presentation on the largest business conglomerate in the world, a corporation that has been successfully trading in the established religion business since 544 AD.. A production chain that has brought into the market such successful products as Jesus Christ© and The Bible©.. An institution that has a higher gross turnover than most mid-sized nations in the world.. Ladies and Gentlemen.. I give you.. The Church & Associates Ltd™..!!
Many of you may not know the role played by the great founder of this enterprise, Sir Constantine, in laying the solid foundations on which this great institution still stands.. It was he and his team of brilliant market analysts, campaign managers and marketing experts who turned the life of a simple carpenter,and that too of Jewish descent,into such a marketable product.. a product that the market at that time was waiting for.. It was literally..A saviour..!!
From then on there has been no turning back.. It was a wave that was to create ripples in the farthest islands of the Pacific.. A storm that would shake the leaves in the deepest jungles of Africa..The blessing that would shower upon the parched lands of the Indian subcontinent. It acquired a brand equity that is unparalleled and a brand loyalty unto death.
The company continued undeterred even when faced with stiff competition in the Middle East market from Islam™ and when the Marketing dept split in the 1500’s owing to a difference in opinion on strategy. It currently runs numerous divisions and formulates specific products to reach specific age groups, time periods and mindsets. It is this versatility that has guaranteed its survival over the centuries.. An ability to spin out newer versions and yet retain the market value of the old..
And it is to this sheer grit and power of survival that we shall all now all raise our chalices and say Amen..

Scribe in the making

How the world will react to the poison that’s to flow from the tips of this cynics fingers remains to be seen..but as of now this unsuspecting world has chosen to take the risk and has sent this demented mind to be trained for the profession of men who are either cynical, perverted or stoned, and of women who are inevitably hyperventilating activists.
Cold calculating ambition notwithstanding (Technicolor dreams of Reuters and 30K) I think I am going to fit right in..

My role model

Picture Perfect

All hail the Gods of Olympus(TM)..!! (Photography..the latest craze..or rather heights of joblessness)

Closet case

Sitting in a room filled with designer shit pots is a scary ordeal..and that’s exactly the situation in which I found myself today as I went shopping for a bathroom makeover. To be outnumbered by shitpots that cost more than your gross self worth is rather stressful for the ego. It gives one the feeling of being stuck in the Freudian anal phase and retaining more than one can hold.
To turn the spot-light on to the protagonists themselves, there were all sorts of them, Desis, Phirangis, Upper class, Middle class, Lower class.. literally a gold mine for the postcolonial Marxist thinker. The colonial hangover is what struck me the most. The European avatar of the critical object seem to have the clear upper hand in the market, with its Indian counterpart relegated to the dark recesses of the shop. It is brought out shamefully when the cringing NRI son, building in bricks that desert induced nightmare of his, whispers the order as a result of his ageing mothers last stand against progress; the sovereignty of her bum.

The Rainman

(Forgive me for waxing romantic a bit here... it’s inevitable.. even the KTDC is waxing romantic, they have pics of semi nudes bathing in the falling rain all over the place.. that’s beaurocratic romance in Kerala).

Cold..Dark...The incessant sound of the unseen rain pattering patterns on the roof. Nostalgia sprouts on a mind left wet by memories of a distant childhood shower..and the heart finds peace knowing its home..

Fate & Me

Fate it seems is not without a sense of irony.. I mean why is it that the inherent sense of irony and that ‘ I have seen it all and I don’t care’ attitude comes to the one guy in the family who cant afford it?.. it was not as if our father in heaven didn’t have a choice.. Our father here (god rest his soul) in all his wisdom (sense of humour rather) gave the almighty plenty of choice, Why not the big brother? He is the real McCoy, The man with the brains and the bank account.. Nope, He had to be the hallelujah guy…why? ‘Cos his tithe itself could buy heaven in all its glory? Cant blame the almighty though.. Its boom town and everyone’s looking for a profit.. But the bro would rather be the prophet.. Why not the sisters? With the Dr’s attached to their respective names they could pretty much afford it.. Nope, the medical Dr cant afford to have it... how apt is it going to be if she were to feel that bloated liver and give that ironic smirk that affects me in similar situations or look at that scalpel and say I have seen it all (a tendency to which I am so given) we have to give it to our man in heaven for keeping it from her.. Nor can the agri Dr be it.. There has to be the other extreme in somebody right, helps keep the gene thingys from biting their own tails.. So she had to be the one with the ‘I care a lot and I do give a damn’ attitude.. So it had to be me.. The one to be the lonely bearer of the family cross.. Cant say god didn’t equip me though.. With an MA in English I am the master of rhetoric.. Not that it lessens the load but it lets me in inflict it a bit on others.. A sort of sadistic relief .

The Simple Sadistic Pleasures of Life

I don’t have anything in particular against spiders..or against ants or against any of those creepy crawlies that inevitably find their way into my domain as the rain spreads its watery wings outside..but still I kill’em..every one of ‘em. Maybe its the mere orgasmic pleasure of getting ones gun off (in this case a sleek black bottle of ‘Hit’).. But I would like to believe that it’s just one of them simple sadistic pleasures in life.. The mere cold enjoyment of spraying a lethal dose of toxic vapours on an unsuspecting spider and watching it slowly squirm and die..No..i did not have a disturbed childhood..Nor do I have suppressed desires and fetishes..Am a very very normal guy… Maybe I do have a slight suicidal tendency knowing how much that stuff is getting me too and this killing spree is just an excuse to take as many with me as I go down with guns(eh..aereosol..) blazing..or maybe its just a simple sadistic pleasure in life..