When Ponies Ruled The World

It was a time of peace and tranquility. The world turned ever so gracefully with nothing to worry about and nothing to frown upon. The citizens of the planet led a peaceful life with no complications. Ponies and unicorns, roses and posies, rainbows and pots of gold were abundant in every corner of the globe. The sky was bright blue without a hint of gray. The houses were pink and gold and yellow and blue – the colors of peace, love and happiness.

There was not a single diseased thought in the world. There were no deaths, no tears, no sadness and no pain. There was no swearing, no abuses, nothing that would make someone cringe. There were no bad odors, no killers, no thieves, no rapists, no thugs, no criminals. Courts and justice were unheard of. Police forces, armies and mercenaries were non-existent. The countries and cities were happy places, peacefully co-existing with each other with no jealousy or fear.

Then I woke up, looked around me, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and said to myself, “Oh fuck, I’m late for work.”

Going through the motions of a normal day with Stephen King’s legendary motto running in my head – SSDD (Same Shit, Different Day) – I realized with a jolt that something from that dream had seeped through into the real world. Something strange and unnatural had happened and something from that dream world of peace and tranquility had managed to worm its way into my world. I didn’t know how it happened, but I started seeing signs everywhere I went. I thought I saw a unicorn glide past my window – I did a double-take and checked again, but all I could see was normality. People arguing, shouting, smoking and drinking. No unicorns.

Sometime late last night, I thought I saw a rainbow and a pony waltzing under it. On closer look, it turned out to be an abnormally colorful advertizing hoarding. I actually thought some asshole smiled at me as I walked past him. For no apparent reason, he smiled at me. I stopped in my tracks, ran back to him and saw that it wasn’t a smile. His face was permanently contorted into a sinister grin.

I couldn’t help but think that these weren’t just coincidences and signs that something pure and pristine had escaped into this world through my dream. Something that was making my life miserable by just being. Something that was tainting me, something that was trying its best to make me aware of its existence. I couldn’t help but be a bit afraid. I tried to put these thoughts out of my head, but then I read this.

“Fuck-a-doodle-doo,” I said to myself. “I feel sorry for them.”

Hunger Strike!

hunger strikeWe Indians have a peculiarly unique way of demanding justice. We stop eating and call a press conference.

It all started with the great Mahatma Gandhi, who went on a hunger strike to oppose the tyranny of the British Raj, back in the 1930s and 1940s. This habit has not died after we got our independence. Every time the government does something that someone doesn’t approve of, a hunger strike is called along with a press conference.

Recently, Anna Hazare did it to oppose corruption in the government. He was hailed as the present Mahatma and the press jumped to draw parallels with him and the original Mahatma. They called it the new Freedom Struggle. And more recently, a guy who made his living doing yoga, Baba Ramdev, went on a hunger strike and no one knows the reason why. I’m sure he gave a laundry list of reasons for doing what he did, but no one really understood them.

It’s like an infectious disease here in India. If one person goes on a hunger strike, it spreads like a virus on heat and before you know it, your neighbor’s on a hunger strike against the local corporation office demanding better roads and clean water. It’s about time I joined in the fun.

I am going on a hunger strike from today onwards to oppose hunger strikes all over. I will eat obscene amounts of food and go on a strike against hunger until everyone stops their respective hunger strikes and eradicates the country of this ridiculous disease.

My diet, during this hunger strike consists of the following:

Breakfast: 12 eggs, 24 slices of bread, 2 pints of orange juice and a quart of coffee
Lunch: 5 helpings of rice, dal and a 12 rotis with vegetables
Dinner: 16 helpings of rice, dal, 20 few rotis, along with some sweets for dessert

I vow to not go hungry again until my objective is fulfilled. This hunger strike will prove to the whole country that I am quite serious. I will not end this hunger strike until all hunger strikes have ended in this country.

I am ready for my title now. I prefer something cool, and nothing with the word “Mahatma” in it. That’s become cliched.

Nefarious, Investigator-Kidnapping Horror From The Isolated Labyrinth

This isn’t a name of an upcoming movie or a third-rate novel being written by someone purporting to be a novelist. This will be my name if and when I become a vampire for a day.

I have been having some really strange urges in the past few weeks because of the monotony in my life. There have been times when I thought I’d just give in and do something stupid. I toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo, and though this urge still hasn’t died completely, I’m beginning to discover reasons why a tattoo would be a bad idea. I contemplated writing for money in a random blog competition and I did. I contemplated quitting my job and working in a bar as a bartender, but I found out that a basic bar-tending course in India costs a hand, a foot and a few hairs from a ‘special’ place. Too expensive, in short. And finally, I started a subtle rebellion against the society at large to excite me out of my monotony and jumped to the idea of vampirism.

It wasn’t a direct jump, though. I did decide to worship the devil and invoke him through a satanic ritual on me terrace. I bought some candles, drew a rough circle with table salt and drew a six-pointed star inside the circle with red water paint. I put candles at all the nodes and sat in the middle and had a smoke. That’s when the foolishness of what I was about to do struck me. “This will never work,” my brain told me. “You have to be naked for this to work.”

Given that my neighbor is an old pervert peep, I dropped the idea of nudity and jumped to a safer alternative which does not involve any indecent exposure. Vampirism.

I did some research online and found that there was a cult right here in Bangalore! I was way too excited. I read up some of their forums and found out all I needed to find out about them. I was hooked. Imagine a bunch of jobless idiots dressed in black, wearing black makeup and standing around drinking wine (imagining it to be blood) and having casual, unprotected sex! I would fit right in. Except that I don’t drink wine and that I usually prefer a contraceptive. Usually.

Still, the idea has some merit and I am seriously thinking of signing up for a week or so. I would rebel against society in my own way and I would dress completely in black while doing so. Awesome! I would also need to buy plastic fangs to make it look like I can suck blood right out of the aorta of a poor, helpless, sexy woman at night. I would be able to transform into a bat at will and I will be able to control hordes of rats and wolves and other undead creatures.

I would be the Nefarious, Investigator-Kidnapping Horror from the Isolated Labyrinth! (Imagine this with the slushing sounds of blood being slurped through a straw.)

PS: For those of you who have realized that my name is actually an acronym for the title of this post, I have a treat. I won’t suck your blood.

PPS: This post is written in red color. Request you to please imagine that this is written in blood. Well, its actually maroon. So, imagine this is clotted and congealed blood.

Image Courtesy: http://spicyvampirefiles.wordpress.com