A Fantasy of mine

I’ve mostly dabbled here in supposed poetry. I’ve been absent years and this latter part due to focus on my fantasy. The fantasy is a fantasy novel I am penning now. The initial title was Garbage Teller’s Passion Wage. It started as a light hearted funny yarn of romance in a mystical setting between a storyteller and a lady of royalty. Soon fantasy mixed with reality and all my negatives found expression, the yarn dwelt on the various faiths of people and all had their holy books and so as my quest for a story of great evil grew and took shape, I decided to add to the original title, Unholy Book of the Devil Emperor. Then the central character’s name was Vel meaning a spear, with inclusion of almost copies of Vel to make six spears indicative of a six faced god in mythology, the focus title of Spear Hymns was framed. Now intend to use all three titles. All Vels are lazy, intelligent, with insanity issues and much more. They have own stories in own different worlds yet a clear demarcation and differences of these characters yet to be made.

There is a saying that for the sake of world, a nation and for that a region and town and for the town a person can be sacrificed. Despite American individualism they subscribe to this reality as pragmatism. A child, a girl is the source of a devastating plague in many worlds. Killing her would end the plague and save billions across worlds, simple arithmetic. The hero against this creed of forced sacrifice fights to save girl is the main story.

But the hero is a bachelor, unable to find a bride due to madness and in a fling satisfies wifey needs but he sees a wife now as an essential burden to bear to get the reward of kids. Like all, hero cherished innocence and mischief of kids but only more so.He is wedded to his porn and in maximised pleasure except for lacking kids. So now the hero travelling with and fighting all worlds to save kid has special meaning. The hero’s greatest evil isn’t violence that follows in the story but perversions especially paedophilic instincts now long forgotten and cured. The girl is an orphan pushed in to being a child prostitute who is then injected to make the source of the plague. The hero has to break her barrier to make her trust him and he needs a mom figure for her for which he choses the unattainable royalty. Partway through he realised the only way of saving the girl wasn’t by goodness, good deeds and implication for compassion but rather getting more powerful than the combined powers of the world. He has no magic in a magical world and recruiting an army of girls made loyal he rises in merchanting to be the richest and commits many murders and with a big army wages wars against official powers of the world. He interacts with divine forces of three major faiths. Unlike well-wishers claiming all faiths are same and tell same, he differentiates them in to sunrise, noon and sunset faiths with much in common but much apart and each a consistent nice reality. He interacts with gods, angels, chosen of people, Emperors, devils and demons all wanting to use the power of the girl or kill her. so he becomes the most evil and powerful Devil emperor. This is the story and premise of my fantasy novel.

I once here scribbled raw,

you praised before thaw,

my laws laid by what saw,

tears dry, intel fail, punch with paw,

not a story but to offer my soul,

to sip or chip, your role,

my goal to have hearts stole,

give a try, ignite this coal.

My poetry verses above maybe poor and dashed on impulse without thought as always. But I am working on this fantasy genre manuscript on a professional basis including almost all of the tropes of the genre in an innovative way, more than two dozen. The evil isn’t fantasy but stark raw reprehensible reality including the caste identities in India and play of three major faiths there. The evil is the prime mover and the central character though with credible heroes and forces who win. Gods, angels and more come treated respectfully yet shunned. The exaggerations immense with all worlds and high heavens conquered by hero before fall. Not a single POV, all one hero tale, other spears shaped good and great and other heroes too, dance here. The crux of the power or force not the hero without magic but his army of girls, he calls daughters who together are the most potent force equal to the one god in many faiths.

Will keep posting progress of the work and hope to use this blog as launching pad for the novel in time since obviously traditional publishers will reject this. Wish me well and spread the word of the upcoming ‘SPEAR HYMNS

I spurn you not

I spurn you not my love, my blog,
my dream of a novel is going brisk,
that failed to whisper here or even log,
why bother? both efforts do with great risk;

little gained in lieu of idle time spent,
away from boredom, a sneaky serpent,
else naught earned, how pay the rent,
blame you not yet wayward I’ve went;

you both, dreams in my world mundane,
that keep me going through the grind,
the hope that prevents me going insane,
a greed beyond your help to unwind;

that one day you’ll make me famous and rich,
but my hair gone grey as I still remain in the ditch.

Scribble Pad (01/03/2019)

I have wanted to write a realistic novel but my introvert nature and lack of exposure has made it an almost impossible task. But I let my pen take its course without planning and have arrived at the start of a fantasy novel. I have given it below. I intend to take it on as my novel project and finish it.


There behind the locked gates was a story seeking to be set free. A story that will tell how to live beautifully. A story that will change lives for the better and show to succeed against all odds and achieve fame, fortune and happiness. Yes, everyone can be famous, fortunate and happy in their own little ways. It was no fairy tale but one of rage, courage, cunning deceit and terrible battles of great bloodshed. It was no mere story but a lesson all must learn. Outside the longing golden gates of heaven were arrayed a hundred thousand horsemen. Soldiers of fierce repute guarding Ujwal Nagar, the treasure city, heaven on earth. The gates longed to be opened and embrace a visitor even fleetingly. The gates unopened for thousands of years. The gates adorned with large blue diamonds, topaz, sapphire, rubies and other rare gems. The gates echoed the  heart of princess Jwala of a million beauties. It was said that beauty radiated from her every pore and hence the epithet. Her eyes were greenish blue, the hue of a far away beautiful calm ocean. Yet they seemed to jump about in mirth like a restless furtive rabbit. Her sharp nose and ears gave relief to her perfect oval face. Her lips were soft as a petal of a blossoming flower. They were curved in mirth most times except for the occasional frown. She had a smile that could tear the hearts of a million gods and as many mortal men. She was a goddess among mere mortals. She alone feasted on Ambrosia the nectar of gods that were said to be sent from the high heavens. She never knew her parents for they had moved on to higher worlds without waiting for her to grow up. Her childhood was a series of the world’s best nannies and tutors. She though inquisitive had never stepped outside the city gates. Neither has any other person stepped out nor has anyone come in. The doors cried from never being opened as did Jwala, she wept at times yearning to be free of the city. A city where everyone saw her as a goddess. A city where none dared to look in to her eyes. A city where there was no crime. A city where everyone was rich. A city of many treasures that many a warring kingdom and tribe had tried to conquer, but perished far before even reaching its gates. The city was surrounded by other guarding cities whose sole purpose was to protect this city. There were so many other cities and kingdoms whose fates were decided from within the city walls of Ujwal Nagar. 

Jwala immersed herself in trivial pleasures chatting and playing with her confidantes who were from the most respectable families of the city. But she was also asked upon to intervene in the important affairs of kingdoms outside her city gates but under their control. It seemed like a game to her. She decided on who were to be kings, which nobles to be rewarded and who is to be punished. Approved vital developmental projects and withheld resources from those who were trying to go against them. She was veritably a goddess controlling a vast portion of this earth. She was guided in all of this by the aged wise counsellor Shantanu. He was a picture of grey. Grey hair, moustache and beard. A short simple beard. A grey skin pale, withered and wrinkled. Yet he radiated the energy of a youth. He was smart as the all observant sun and calm as the ever reflecting moon. He had been with her since her childhood. She respected this man but he too bowed to her and treated her as a goddess. He encouraged her to think freely and take her own decisions. Off late he has been subtly removing himself from the affairs of the state and allowing her to take charge. Of all her confidantes Jwala took partiality to Mitra, the daughter of Shantanu. Not only was Ujwal Nagar heaven on earth, it tried to mould the kingdoms within its rule to be rich and prosperous. But far removed from the centre of power there were a few kingdoms oppressed and exploited by middle men owing allegiance to Ujwal Nagar. 

All subjects inside Ujwal Nagar had no complaints and were happy. The only person who was not that happy in the city was the princess herself. Shantanu had ruled as a regent when Jwala was a kid. Though she had grown up now, the official coronation of her as the queen was yet to be done. They were waiting for a suitable suitor for her to be married to, though all the power would rest with the queen. Shantanu has begun making preparations for that event recently. He has summoned the youth from the noblest of families to be approved by her. She has read several tales of love that she wanted her marriage to be like that. Full of love with someone conquering her heart by his charm, bravery and gentle nature. She was therefore despondent. She had everything but her heart yearned for the things she cannot have, love and freedom. She rarely ventured out of her palace even inside the city. Every drop of blood running in her veins yearned to step out of her palace often and seek the love of her life unbeknownst to him that she was a princess. She thought for a while and decided that may be it can be done. She had to talk to Mitra about it. If she agrees then they can take the proposal to Shantanu. There was a small flutter of hope inside her heart. 

She was in her music chamber clutching the Veena but not playing it. She had dismissed all her confidantes as she wanted to be alone. She was a person who had everything. Yet why did her untamed heart not accept the role planned for her. She knew she was deemed a goddess by the people here. She also knew there were bigger gods above her. She has heard tales of the outer world from her tutors. The tutors themselves belonged to the city and thus had never stepped outside the city. They taught her these tales from books they had read. Everything the city needed was available within its walls. They carried out agriculture and mining within these walls. They mostly exchanged orders and information with the outside world through carrier pigeons. Rarely goods did pass from the outside world to here and vice versa through windows in the walls. The soldiers in horses outside where from the guardian cities, five of them that surround Ujwal Nagar. These cities consisted of mostly soldiers. From birth till death they were trained for and played the part of a soldier. The people outside Ujwal Nagar considered those living inside them as gods. They called it the city of gods. The guards had one leader, a general, Harsha. He was a fierce, strong, skilled and brave man in his middle age. He was clever and cunning. He not only had the job of protecting Ujwal Nagar but also had to enforce order and control in the regions under the city’s control. He was also entrusted the task of widening the ever expanding empire of Ujwal Nagar. Jwala did not know him personally but knew him by reputation. She frequently corresponded with him through mails delivered by pigeons. Earlier mostly Shantanu conversed with Harsha but nowadays she has been directly conversing.  

The Veena was made with the best teak wood and the strings with gold. It was said to have been given by the goddess of wisdom herself. When Jwala plucked its strings all the people in the city and the animals and birds in it swoon with delight. There were forests within the walls where lions, tigers, deers and elephants roamed. When Jwala played the Veena and sang the lions forget to roar, the elephants hustle silently and the ever jumping rabbits stand still in joy. Today in her semi sadness the Veena plucked the heart strings of Jwala and music beyond heavens poured. The Veena had such power that the music echoed not only within the walls but also in all the kingdoms under Ujwal Nagar’s control. The wide empire under the city’s control was popularly known as Ujwala. Jwala despite feeling semi sad like this at odd occasions was mostly filled with mirth playing with her confidantes or involving with the affairs of the state. Despite being treated as a goddess she knew she was a mortal. She realised that among all mortals she must be the most fortunate and happiest. She mused that if she were thus there must also be a person most unfortunate and unhappy. 

The sun was lowering its vigil on this earth and as it was bending low rain clouds covered most of it. The bluish skies turned orange and crimson flowing dim rays in to the room where she sat. The slanted rays coming through the window touched her beautiful skin and danced on it. It was twilight and Jwala gently stopped playing the Veena. She heard the rustling of tree leaves as the wind gathered speed. The climate outside beckoned her to come out and enjoy. She stood up from the elevated platform and gently stepped down to the floor. She moved like a breeze and came to the hall where all her confidantes were waiting. She singled out Mitra with a gesture asking her to come outside with her. Jwala was no gentle goddess. She was temperamental and can go in to flights of fury. She was so used to having her way since childhood. She was as stubborn as a mule at times. She rebuked and chided her confidantes so harshly that many of them were in constant fear of her. She was the picture of an arrogant self too over absorbed with herself. When she acted this way with those around her and the citizens of the city they reacted like she was entitle to it. The only ones who dared to speak against her and then too gently were Shantanu and Mitra. She was well versed in all the arts including martial arts. Once she compelled Shantanu to let her go hunting and killed lions, tigers, deers and elephants by the score beyond what was normal in a hunting expedition. Whenever there rarely was the punishment of a feathery flogging, where the whip was made of softest feathers to cause minimal pain, she insisted on administering the punishment herself. She liked love stories but equally liked stories of violence and gore. There were writers within the city who specialised in supplying her with such stories. When she throws a tantrum the whole earth below her trembles with fear. She liked formulating battle plans with Harsha and extending her empire. She once had Harsha flogged with a real whip outside the gates where she could watch. This was because Harsha had refused to attack a hostile city because there might be too many civilian casualties. Harsha accepted the punishment with grace thinking that he deserved it. In fact his respect for the princess grew manifold after this. Jwala realised it too. 

They arrived in the open courtyard. Mitra was a great beauty yet looked so ordinary near the heavenly beauty of Jwala. Both were lithe and lean where required and amply endowed elsewhere. Both were young in their twenties. A mild drizzle had begun to knock at the earth in minuscule drops incessantly. A soft and chilled breeze billowed their exquisite silk dresses. Jwala was wearing a dazzling silver and gold brocaded dress. Mitra wore a simple blue silk dress. After walking for a while Jwala stopped and turned to Mitra. 

Jwala sighed deeply and said, “Oh, Mitra, my one friend closest to my heart, there is something that is bothering me.”

Mitra took Jwala’s hands in to her own and said, “What bother can a goddess have. Half the world is under your control. Command and your wish will be done.”

“Steps are being taken for my marriage. I don’t want to marry a complete stranger even from the highest of society. I want to be in love and then marry.”

“You will select the match. Father has been clear on this. Interview them and test their prowess and finally select the one you love.”

“I don’t want that. I want to marry someone ordinary who doesn’t know I am a princess and loves me head over heels just for myself. For that I need to go in to the city incognito as an ordinary person.”

Mitra remained silent for a while and then said, “It is tricky but can be done. You have to convince my father first though.”


“I have already summoned for him. But I wanted to tell you first.”

“Oh, my beloved, you have been pining over such a trivial issue. Of course it is your marriage and you have dreams about it.”

The drizzle slowly began to take the shape of a full fledged rain. Guards came to hold a small canopy over both their heads but Jwala shooed them off. She liked the rains, to be soaked by the elements. She wondered if her plan would be successful and if she would fall in love and be loved by a person just for herself. All of the books she read were about love and war. She can never be a direct participant in war but can vicariously wage wars through Harsha. Love was the only thing then lacking in her life. It seemed though that too will be remedied soon. She was indeed the happiest and most fortunate person on this earth. She didn’t want to fret today over the freedom she lacked. Not even gods can have everything they want. 

Shantanu entered the courtyard and walked towards them with a brisk pace. His appearance was that of an old man yet his agility was that of a youth. It had begun to get dark with the sun finally resting for the night.The rumbling thunder and sudden flashes of lightning seemed ominous signs of a rough night ahead. 

“Mitra, I don’t want to tell him this. Will you do this for me.”

Mitra nodded her head in affirmation. When Shantanu came near them Mitra took her aside and told him of Jwala’s plans. Then both turned and came near Jwala again.

“Your highness what you ask can be arranged. But there is something else. With your wedding and coronation plans I think you should meet with the wise woman,” said Shantanu.

The wise woman was a shrivelled up, wrinkled old lady living in the hills in Ujwal Nagar. She never came down the hills except when being summoned to the palace. Ordinary folks queued up the hills to consult her. She was said to  be more than a thousand years old. She was also said to have been the princess of the realm like Jwala. Then something happened that made her retreat to the hills. No one knew the complete true story of the wise woman though. Jwala had been taken to the wise woman as a kid and cried the whole time being frightened by the old lady. From then on she had steadfastly refused to meet the old lady. Now she was overjoyed at Shantanu’s acquiescence  to her plan. She didn’t mind meeting the old lady, though a shiver went up her spine at the thought of the old lady. 

Jwala nodded her head. She had enough of prancing around in the rain. Today she was joyous for other reasons. She recalled all the stories of love and the countless love poems she read. She was about to experience it herself. How would her mysterious lover be? Tall or short, fat or thin, clever or simple, handsome or earthly, there were a dozen questions and thoughts swirling around in her mind. 

Shantanu said, “I took the liberty of already summoning the wise woman. She is waiting in the palace.”

All of them headed back to the palace. There in the great hall, near the end of it, looking out through the window was a short, frail, all shrunken and wrinkled up figure wrapped in a pale black dress. 

Without turning the wise woman said, “Welcome my child. There is great joy in your heart. You will succeed in your quest and find great joy but only for a while. Did you see the weather today. It will grow worse and not just you but the whole city will suffer. Vengeance shall drive the city gates to be breached to spell doom for all.”

“But how is that possible as there are a hundred thousand soldiers guarding at all times. Even more men can be summoned from the guarding cities. There is no force or army capable of defeating us,”  said Jwala.

“You discount the force of love too lightly my dear. When you fall in love shortly you will understand,” said the wise woman and walked away from the window towards the palace gates leaning on a cane with her bent and crooked back. 

Jwala and Mitra exchanged puzzling looks while Shantanu had gone pale and had a thoughtful look about him. 

I plan for this novel of mine to be a veritable self help book too with actionable wisdom.



Scribble Pad – 1 (25/2/2019)

I am addicted to this blog. This blog motivates me to write. But I can’t stay away from this blog. I have not spent a minute of my time for my creative pursuits outside of this. Earlier I made three posts titled Tuty Project. It was an attempt to outline a novel right in the middle of this blog. It talked of three childhood friends who grow together and love the same girl. Two fight within themselves later in lives.

This scribble pad will be where I scribble things for my novel and also other things.

Added to the set of three friends will be a fisherman and also a thug.

The thug will be a violent murderer. There should be ample violence, gore and blood. The lives of the fisherman, thug etc should be as authentic as possible. If unable to document authentic details then fly off to a complete imaginary tale that is plausible, shocking and alarming.

The characters are 1. Dreamer 2. Unethical 3. Doer 4. Pragmatic girl

and 5. Fisherman 6. Thug 7. MLA and Don

I include fisherman here in the hope of grabbing some one and interviewing them for this. I live in a coastal town so it might or might not happen.

These characters may be interlaced and included as a part of a gang war between the friends.

The girl says to the three guys that she will date only the person who could get back her auctioned house now owned by the MLA. Each competes to do that and fulfil her wish. They pitted against the villain make a movie to rise to the levels of the villain MLA and wrest the home from him.

This novel will not happen soon. Forget this story line. The novel can be built around the life of a fisherman alone.

Before all of it I must complete the things to do list.

Still shy and the photo camera is languishing. Taking it out and capturing will help my focus on the visual side of things. It will help in my descriptions in writing.

The recorder is unused and doing a couple of interviews will give me sufficient material to go on.

Enough scribbling for now.

Dhur, the Brigand – I – The Hurricane

I. The Hurricane

This is the song of a forest untold before,
a story in verses of the strife of a barbarian,
a villain of deeds that will frighten to the core,
a tale that flew from the lips of a wise centurion; 

The skies were mild orange with the setting sun 
peeking from under the heavy thunder clouds,
a storm was brewing in the dense green forest,
a kind unseen except for those buried in shrouds;

He thrust the sword hard in to his enemy’s bowels,
and twisted and turned it and removed it with the entrails,
blood everywhere poured, on floor, sword and his face,
rushed to the next victim this veteran of many battle trails;

soon none standing except his war hardened vile men,
and treasure chests and high class women in palanquin,
all treasures, women high treasure, moved to their den,
the princess of the realm declared herself above the din;

it was bad news to the men who feared harsh reprisal,
but he, the dreaded bandit Dhur was excited and happy,
this meant a heavy ransom as there could be no reversal,
he strengthened tents and prepared for the storm snappy;

he dragged the princess Kajal shivering in fright to his tent,
please no, I a virgin preserving for my husband, she begged,
pleas fell on deaf ears, he raped her again and again hell bent,
the storms raged and her resistance and resilience plugged;

all her royal robes shorn and torn she was left buck naked,
many a brigand came in to talk to the leader and leer at her,
she crushed beyond shame at being a showpiece thus staked,
blood leaking she curled in to a foetus and cried without stir;

tents broke apart and men thrown away by the hurricane,
soon no tents and few frightened men clutching hard at trees,
smashed in rocks, brain splattered men die cursing profane,
his one hand clutched tree, the other her, in daunting ease;  

there was little to see, as if cloudy skies descended to earth,
felt like being torn apart by rocks, the winds blew iron hard, 
the rage of angels and wrath of gods to give this storm birth,
such fury and violence unpainted before by any worthy bard;

raped and now naked for all to see was her shaming thought,
she cared not for the storm and wished to hurl to death,
bold by nature and trained in martial arts yet all to naught,
a strong rain poured but slowly eased the storm leaving earth;

the men gathered the belongings and tents spread out,
she wishing death was only hostage and woman left alive,
his tent put up and she was dragged in for another bout,
at last left alone, her tears dried, she had nothing to strive;

too tired and sad to think vengeance was not yet on her mind,
grief struck, she a royal princess with serfs for every command,
turned to dust, humiliated and used like a whore of the vile kind,
drenched by storm and rain her bare body the torment withstand. 


The Sea Beckons – 9 – The Plunge

The sky was a spray of orange with the setting sun peeking from behind the clouds. It was darkening and the evening was quickly fading in to night.

Velan asked Stephen, “Where is the heart?”

Stephen looked blankly at Velan before answering, “Yes, I get you mate. Where is the heart in this ever heartless world. But buddy there still is lot of goodness in this world.”

“The heart is near the centre a tad bit to the left. It is not all left as people think.”

Stephen blinked and said, “What ever man. Why did you ask me to come over to your house and take your car and drive here. You could easily have come in a bike. Moreover why have you asked the two frauds to come here.”

Two guys, Nishant and Shyam had tricked Velan by saying they needed his ID proof for a purchase.  When he showed up they had made the purchase of a mobile on loan with his proof promising to return the amount shortly. They had out right cheated Velan and exploited him thinking he can afford it and let it slide by. Velan was a pushover until he is pushed too far. He had called them to join for drinks. Shyam was an ad film maker and Nishant was a good for nothing loafer with loans all over town. Shyam was the one who got the mobile but Nishant was the one who sweet talked Velan in to coming with the ID proof in the first place.

They came and were standing in the dimly lit side lane where the bar entrance was. The lane reeked of urine. Velan and Stephen were waiting in the car in the main road. Velan asked Stephen to remain in the car. He then stepped out and checked the long knife underneath his shirt. He went to the two and before either could open their mouth he took out the knife and stabbed Nishant in his thighs hard and twisted the knife and pulled it out. He then turned the knife to Shyam and asked him to give the mobile. Shyam silently in fright turned over the mobile. Stephen watched all this from the car.

One leg of Nishant’s grey pants had turned in to dark red and he was howling in pain. The sun had disappeared all of a sudden and it was totally dark yet the moon was nowhere to be seen hidden among the clouds. Velan calmly walked back to the car.

Stephen had started the car and was visibly shaking. Velan had earlier purchased this long knife from a iron and steel utensil supplier that supplied to butcher’s shops. He had got the details of the shop from Stephen without revealing what he wanted. As soon as Velan got inside Stephen rushed away. Not before a limping Nishant and Shyam threw expletives at them. Velan was shaking as he approached them initially but surprisingly enough after plunging the knife he became dead calm. It gave him such a high that for brief moments he considered plunging the knife in to Nishant’s heart.


Something fruitful

I want to do something fruitful with my life. I want to do something useful and productive with my life. My current style of blogging doesn’t quite cut it. I am not really growing in any skill or as a person. That might not be entirely true for with each new scribbling I exercise some skill and improve upon my ability to create. Yet most of what I write is not there high in value and I am left feeling I could do better.

When I step in to my blog it feels I am in a chaotic universe. I don’t write good except rarely. What I do is empty the contents of my mind as it is. This can be a catharsis but leaves a big mess. The garbage accumulated is so dense that the few gems in between seem invisible. Yet still I love every word of it when I read for I can relate to and understand what even the gibberish garbage implies. For an outsider it might seem an untidy room with the stench unbearable.

I must have scribbled more than a two hundred poems. Yet if I were to choose for a poem book I can’t select more than a couple of poems. That is because many of it I don’t consider great in entirety. They might need reworking but reworking kills the heart of anything. Anyway I am far away from a poetry book.

At least my poems have helped me improve. I naturally write poems in the form of shakespearean sonnet. But my prose and writing features or articles like this is completely off key. I ramble instead of being precise and crisp. So with my stories. I’ve written few of them. Blogs didn’t seem the place for it until I found others doing great. I must write more stories.

But does writing in a blog help my writing style and encourage creation of good prose and stories. I don’t think so yet I do as I have little option left. My normal work in the soon to be opened restaurant in my hometown isn’t anything to write home about. I shall be sitting in the cash counter all day probably fretting over my blog there too. Running a restaurant is no easy joke or take. But it shall be all delegated to and friends and well-wishers shall help it. My brother shall oversee the whole thing. I promise myself to be there in all its working hours. That itself is a big step for me. To work after slumbering and sleeping for over ten years.

Coming back to the issue, the poetry book or a novel isn’t happening any time soon. But they are my only ambition. I hope to be somewhere near my goal when I turn forty in three years time. May be my blog will also have grown in that time. As time is a main essence of how a blog can grow. How to employ my time usefully that they lead to my aim in a surefire manner. How can I use the blog to achieve my goals. I don’t have the answers yet.

Whatever it is life is a lonely journey for me. My writing gives company for me. Yet the company of fellow writers would be greatly appreciated as well. The very first thing I can do is instead of writing directly in to the blog I can work separately and try to make quality features before I post them. I must write more prose and stories. I should focus on the style. It applies to poems also. The content I write is good enough for me. It is the style that I must focus on. Apart from stories I must train to write good features or articles such as these. For who knows instead of a poetry book or novel a non fiction book may happen. I want to be an established and acclaimed writer no matter what I write.

I now read mostly other bloggers as I am now on a leave from reading novels. I must read blogs on writing, blogging, poetry etc to hone my skills. I found lots of resources from the net but am not sure as to what the blogging world has to offer. I must check it out.

Above all there must be consistency. With Quality and improvement of my writing as the new mantra I am taking on a new avatar. It will be a hard transition. I want a concrete path to reach my goals. I shall find them first and share them with you.

Another thing is to be not single minded and dogged in one’s pursuit. For then we will lose steam soon. I’ve been like that. I am thinking of learning new things and finding new hobbies in the net. I can learn art appreciation or cooking for that matter. Cooking is too daunting may be poetry appreciation and knowing various aspects of it will distract and at the same time help in my goal. You get the drift.

I need to write things professionally a few features on topics that other bloggers can find useful. I can try podcasting with audios alone or make a vlog video blog post once in a while.

Now folks do comment on how to realise my goals working through the context of this blog. If any of you found anything useful in my sharing this I would be a happy person indeed.

Wish me luck for turning a new leaf.


The Sea Beckons 5 – Slum Girl

[ Velan was an unmarried 37 year old guy. He was unmarried because he had BPD, a condition which led to episodes of insanity for him. At other times he was normal and extremely intelligent. He had a brother Vishnu and a business partner of the family Sridhar. They were in the process of setting up a restaurant for Velan]

It was a Monday and there were very few people on the beach. Velan was sitting alone facing the sea. He wasn’t an ardent admirer of nature yet the sea always seemed to beckon him and he heeded the call at times. Far ahead in the distance a girl in a blue jean and white T – shirt was sitting alone just like him. She was facing the sea and Velan couldn’t discern the features of her face.

A kid selling groundnuts came up to him. Velan bought some groundnuts from him.

“Why are you here alone?” asked the boy.

“Why you must have seen many like me come alone here?” asked Velan.

“Not really, mostly couples and families come here or some come with friends?”

“There is a girl over there alone don’t you see her?”

“Oh, I know her. She is different. Want me to introduce her to you?”

Velan laughed at this and said, “You seem mature for your age. Are you studying?”

“Yes, I am in 8th grade and sell groundnuts only in the evening. Okay I’ll take care of business and see you around if you are still here,” said the boy and left.

Velan sat idly for some time staring at the beach. Then he took a cigarette and tried to light it with a match box. But the breeze was heavy and he wasted almost half of the matchbox trying to light up the cigarette. Velan was so busy doing this that he didn’t see the person hovering near.

“Give me the match box,” said the girl and sat near him.

Velan looked at the beautiful fair girl in the white T – shirt and blue jeans with astonishment. He gave her the match box. The girl deftly lighted a match and cupped her hands holding the light for Velan to light up. Velan lit it and dragged heavily on the cigarette and exhaled in joy and relief.

“How come…,” Velan started but was cut off by her.

“The kid selling groundnuts told me that you were sitting here all alone and depressed. I came to see if I could cheer you up.”

Velan smiled at this and asked “How did you light up the match?”

“I smoke here a lot that I am used to it.”

After a few puffs Velan offered the cigarette to her. Both Velan and the girl sat silently sharing the cigarette and staring at the ocean.

After a while Velan said, “I am Velan. A restaurant is being set up for me and it will start shortly. I live in Rajiv Nagar.”

“I am Mercy,” said the girl and cocking her head at Velan added, “I live here in the slum on that side of the beach.”

Velan asked in surprise, “But the jeans and T – shirt?”

“Why what made you think that slum dwellers can’t dress like this?”

“Oh sorry, do you study?”

“My studies are over I work in Diamond flowers, the artificial flower export company.”

That made sense to Velan for daily wage labourers, mostly girls with little to no schooling worked there.

“So you have studied till what grade in school?”

Mercy laughed at this and said, “What arrogant thinking? I’ve completed M.A English literature and am an assistant manager, customer relations, at Diamond flowers. I am simultaneously doing my Phd.”

“Then why do you still live in the slums?”

“It is my home. Moreover I got the job recently and am planning to shift with my parents and brother to a different proper rented house. My home is here therefore I loiter here but why have you come here?”

“I am mostly alone. I have only a couple of friends in this town. They too get busy with their families. Being single I don’t have anywhere to go. The sea calls me to come here at times.”

It grew dark. It was time for the girl to head back home. They both exchanged phone numbers and went in their separate ways.

The Sea Beckons 6 – Blogging girl

The Sea Beckons 4 – Insanity

Velan went with Sridhar and Kumar and sat in the front passenger seat of the car. Sridhar drove the car and Kumar was in the back. Kumar tried to indulge in some small talk with Velan but Velan blankly stared at him. They set out to Tirunelveli the city, adjacent to Tuticorin. Tirunelveli was a sort of junction city while Tuticorin was a port and beach coastal town. It was a 45 minutes drive. Velan tried to open the door of the moving car and was stopped by Sridhar and Kumar. Velan felt confined, jailed and near death in the car. It felt to him as though he was dead or that he will soon die if he was in the car.

They stopped at the hospital and Velan got down and lit up a cigarette. He always had at least three packs of cigarettes with him. He smoked four to six packs a day. He still felt untrustworthy of all things around him. Death seemed to squeeze him hard. He went to a  thorn bush. He was not in the habit of wearing briefs these days though he wore vests. He lowered his pants and defecated. It didn’t occur him to use the hospital’s facilities. It must be true that confrontation with death and great fear caused such biological reactions in people. He then buttoned up his pants without washing. He was admitted in to the hospital. There were lot of young girls working as nurses or sisters in the hospital. He was made to lie on the bed and was given an injection in the bed.

He slept like a baby and when the next day dawned his brother was sitting near him. His parents didn’t know how to handle him when he was thus insane. His father treated him like he was insane and a novice kid and told absurd stories when Velan asked him things. His mother just part ignored him. But his brother answered all questions as if he were sane. The mere presence of his brother brought around a breeze of confidence and sanity to him.

He stayed there in the hospital for a few weeks with his brother and his brother jested often making Velan smile. He was discharged and was back to home. Their home was built on ancestral property and the compound wall fenced in about 70 cents of land. The house was in itself a palatial single storey structure. In their home all four of them had individual rooms. His brother Vishnu asked Velan to sleep in Vishnu’s room for a few days but Velan refused and slept in his own room.

Days whizzed past and Velan settled forth in his old routine of waking late, eating late and sleeping late. He smoked continuously sitting all day long before his lap top watching movies and reading books. He ventured out intermittently to the merchandise shop near by in the shopping complex owned by them.  It was just a string of six shops in the street corner. He went to drink soft drinks and buy cigarettes.

Velan had a couple of friends with whom he often dined out. He always footed the bill. He drank at times occasionally with them. The restaurant setting up had reached near conclusion with a couple of weeks more to become functional. He hoped for a resounding success. He once wanted to be a movie director but now that dream was deemed not feasible and was out of the window. He instead wanted to be a novelist. He wrote along the same lines since he had little to write about as nothing seemed to happen in his boring life. But all that was about to change.

Continue to Sea Beckons 5