Sunday, 20 October 2013

A Case of Chronic Insubordination- I

The ship with an uninspiring name that fails to concern us
On a stormy night, somewhere in the midst of a tempestuous whirlpool in the Curiously Salty Ocean, a mighty galleon struggled against an inescapable road to purgatory. (And purgatory it would be indeed, given the occupants were pirates.)

Whilst this rather unfortunate event unfolded, a little boy of about five, made his way below deck. Amidst the chaos of the fast sinking pirate ship, (which boasted an uninspiring name that fails to concern us) the determined little boy trudged down to the hen coops armed with a deep sense of morality and purpose. He had always contemplated vegetarianism when heard the horrific screeching of the dying fowl as these hateful pirates slaughtered the marvelous clucking wonders (Although he did unfailingly change his mind at the dinner table.) It seemed to him ever unjust that innocent poultry should be served with such a tragic death on the mere grounds of being chickens.  That, thereof, became gross discrimination of the lowest kind for our tender hearted lad.

‘This’ declared the mutinous little lad, ‘shall be my final act of virtue! I…….Barthelove Al Igor (popularly called Ali), shall forever be remembered as the just defender of the weak and clucky! I am the Messiah of the clucking coop! And I hereby proclaim now…..my dear chickens…..you are free from the face of death!!
“FLY!!!!” he yelled with much revolutionary gusto as he burst open the cage, “Fly away to heaven upon the lap of God and find peace my feathered friends!” Shining teardrops enveloped his eyes: a worthy manifestation of pain at the prospect of separation from his precious clucking coop.

"....there was one that was peculiarly cunning."
The chickens however, were not visibly moved. They stared at Ali with glassy, uncomprehending eyes and sent out a cluck or two. Ali looked back at them with sincere passion and gestured skyward. The chickens refused to budge, thereby instilling near hysteria upon our young friend.
Woe to them! They’re all going to die! Why won’t they understand that!

Now , as it happened, not all the chickens were as blissfully ignorant of their  doom. There was one who wasn’t as obstreperously clucky as the rest. If Ali had not descended to hysteria (almost) he might have noticed in sea of blank chicken faces, there was one that was peculiarly cunning. He was intelligence itself, behind the deceptive appearances of dim-witted poultry.
His name was Steal. Egg Steal.                      He was a spy of course. Maybe even a mercenary. The very elitist of combatants among the personal spies of Her Majesty, The Queen of the Land of Excruciatingly -Stubborn -Shopkeepers. His job: to make sure Her Majesty’s privateers did not cross the line.
A broody Egg Steal deemed it  time to abandon ship. The mission had been compromised. He could only hope to get out alive. He was of course under no obligation to secure the irate and irrational (by way of rum) pirates who manned the ship.

Unsurprisingly thus, he fidgeted about his feathers till a colossal pair of highly scientific, aero-dynamics based membranous metal wings unfolded. It is only to be expected of course that a high ranking intelligentsia such as him would have a few high-tech- gadgets up their feathers for quick getaways and suchlike.

Egg Steal thus, shot out of the cage (not without cursing the dim-witted, dense birds who had made his life miserable all these years! What with all the smelly droppings everywhere and the preposterous, insensible clucking!).

In the mean time the ‘insufferable boy’ Ali had grabbed hold of his pentadactyl limb (poor boy was amazed by the stately stature of the chivalrous chicken.)
Since Ali was not particularly bright, he hadn’t quite figured out that a chicken could not bear his weight. Elite lethal spy or not, it would essentially require defying gravity, which as it happened, was the one thing that Agent Steal was not capable of.
Thus, Barthelove Al Igor was successfully dropped…….overboard.

Our protagonist now found himself caught straight in the middle of the furious whirlpool that everybody was so eager to avoid. Ali however was quite amused at being hurled round and round incessantly at such alarming speed. So amused he managed to forget that he couldn’t breathe. As he neared the abyssal plain he happened to notice a perfectly still spherical bottle, glowing eerily emerald. We must now recall the infancy of our protagonist. He grew up with pirates. He had thus developed an instinctive propensity of gravitating towards shiny things.  Which of course caused the activation of certain instincts that went thus:

Shiny round object -->  like shiny round objects -->  WANT shiny round object……NOW!



So it was that Barthelove Al Igor reached for this curious artifact, even as he drew his last breath. 

*To be continued*

Saturday, 19 October 2013

The Grown Up Myth



There was once a girl who lived in a veranda. She had lived in the veranda for as long as she could remember. She did have a vague recollection of being lost in space at some point, but her memory was rather obscure. She didn't know who the veranda belonged to or who lived in the house in which the veranda belonged. It didn't matter, the veranda was hers. It looked out into a little cozy garden, (if you can call a garden cozy) where she go exploring and foraging from time to time.
She was always accompanied on these adventures by her many faithful friends and sidekicks: the cats.  IThey were more of a family infact. She was the matriarch of the veranda. At the end of the day when the family returned with whatever spoils they managed to hunt or forage, she would divide it all up for everyone.

And so they lived in happy companionship for many years till one day, the matriarch woke up to find that she was no longer in a her veranda. It was a new place, quite unlike anything she had ever seen before! The floor was marble, and the walls were richly painted and the lamps were made of intricately patterned colourful glass. It must be a palace!  she decided.
Excited, she began to explore. She opened every door, looked in every broom cupboard and followed every staircase till she found a little room tucked away in a forbidden corner of the palace. In that room was another little girl, seated with her legs crossed on a comfortable looking couch, holding a curious object. The matriarch advanced hesitantly. The girl remained perched, unmoving but breathing till she discovered the matriarch leaning in so close that she yelped. Both girls fell back startled. Then both got up and stood at a distance and regarded each other with a tinge of wary. The palace girl was small and skinny with a bush for hair, and she wore enormous spectacles. The matriarch on the other hand, had wanton unrefinement about her, unbefitting any person in a palace.
"What is that?" the matriarch asked the girl, pointing at the curious object that she beheld.
"It's a book of course!" said the girl.
"A book? What does it do?"
"It tells you stories!" said the girl aghast.
"How? I couldn't hear anything?" the matriarch demanded suspiciously.
"You don't hear it, silly! You read it!"
"And how do you do that?" bespoke an incredulous matriarch.
With an authoritative huff, the palace girl declared, "Sit down. Let me show you."

When the girl was satisfied with the progress the matriarch had made, she got up and smoothed down her skirt and declared, "Well I'm off then. I shall need to see you tomorrow once again, to continue our lessons. Shall we meet here?"
Baffled, the matriarch looked at the younger girl. "There's more?"
"Of course there's more silly! There is loads more! Why I expect it will take us at least a month to have you read properly."
"A month? Can I live here then?"
"Here? Don't you a place to live?"
"No."
"What about your Mummy? Or your Daddy?"
The matriarch shook her head, quite unperturbed at not having any of the luxuries the girl mentioned.
"Well then, I suppose you'd better make yourself comfortable here. No one ever comes here anyway."

Months passed. The matriarch had settled into the little room full of books. Whenever she got hungry she would make a trip to the kitchen and scrounge out food enough to keep her going. No one ever saw her. The palace was always empty. It also didn't have any cats. And funnily enough a very tiny thing that could be passed for a garden. Ever since the small girl had declared her fit to embark on literary journeys unaccompanied, it was all she had been doing. The girl had given her Little Women and Robin Hood to begin with, but thereafter, she had a room full of books at her disposal. The girl would come and visit her everyday. They would read and tell each other stories and play made up games as little children are wont to do. Thus they forged a bond of fastidious friendship which was to last forever more. Even when, one day when they were much older, the small bespectacled girl went to the little room in the corner of the palace to find it empty.

For the matriarch, found herself once again, in unfamiliar terrain. Harsh halogen lights meant to illuminate, instead managed to blind her. There was a roar like nothing she had heard before: a thousand voices screaming in unison. As her eyes adjusted, she discovered that she was standing in a mammoth, monster of a room which indeed had thousands of people screaming. The centre of it had two boys, one a scrawny looking thing, and the other perfectly poised with rather oddly fashioned hair and clothes. They stared intently at a depression in the ground and gesticulated violently every so often.
It soon dawned on her that it was game they were playing, with two dangerous looking tops that spun and clashed with titanic force and at times seemed to be emitting fire. The boys were competing. The crowd was cheering them on. This was a stadium.

Soon the scrawny boy let out a terrible cry of defeat. The oddly dressed boy turned quietly with a small smirk on his lips, and walked away. The matriarch was left with a queer lurching in her tummy. She did not feel very matriarch-ly anymore. Only like a frivolous little girl.
 The enigmatic charisma of the boy was refreshingly new to her rather limited existence. It was something that she felt the need to explore at once! There were places to be explored, books to be explored, but she never knew that people could be explored too! A secret delight crept up her as she watched his effortless gravity, despite the fact that he was possibly the most weirdly exotic thing that anyone could have seen.
The minutes melted into hours before the lights were shut and everyone went home.

The besotted girl then deemed it time to have a look around. She wandered vaguely in the direction where she saw the participants go after they finished each match. Towards to end of the corridor, to her joy, she saw the swift flick of an impossibly long scarf. She ran after him and yelled for him to wait. He turned to see a rather ordinary looking girl in mismatched clothing, panting to catch her breath. Except she didn't seem to notice exactly how mismatched her clothing was. He humored her with a bemused smile.
Still panting, the girl insisted on stating the obvious, "You aren't like everybody else."
He nodded ever so slightly.
"I like it."
The amusement was clearly growing.
"You're not one to talk very much are you?"
A slight shake of the head.
"Do you want to be friends?"
"Sure." said the boy simply, to which the girl beamed.
And they walked off together into the darkness silently.

When at last there was light, it grew terribly cold. There was snow. And there was a lamp post. And four other children. The boy was no longer with her. She, however had become quite old.  Nearly a young woman. The other children didn't seem to notice her. There were two boys and two girls. One of each as old as her and the other two much smaller. The little girl was first to spot her.
"Who are you?" she asked incredulously.
"Lucy!" scolded the older boy and turning to me said, "I'm terribly sorry, my sister is just excited. My name is Peter. This is Susan....." the older girl nodded with a smile, "...and Edmund...." the sullen looking younger boy glared unpleasantly, "....and Lucy. My brothers and sisters."
The girl told them her name. Soon a story was relayed to her by all of them by which she came to understand that they had discovered a new world.

The magic of this world fascinated her! There were many adventures to be had, and she was not disappointed. It was the happiest she could ever remember being. There was talk of a lion, who they were required to find so they could defeat the evil witch who had colonized the land wrongfully. When she was defeated they children were made kings and queens by the lion, thought the girl herself was content to have more adventures. She travelled to the corners of this world and found the magical lands surrounding it. She discovered the mysteries they held and it brought within her a profound serenity as she marvelled at the ineffable wonders.
And one day when she was much, much older, already an adult, she returned to the palace of the kings and queens, Cair Paravel, to find Peter anxiously awaiting her return. She knew of course, the he would be waiting, and she did not make him wait any longer.
As all the arrangements were being made, the Kings and Queens went to hunt the white stag in the forest. It was rumoured that the stag could not be caught so naturally, an attempt needed to be made. The stag escaped them, but they had a good time all the same. They lounged about the forest for a picnic and feasted on enchanting delicacies unknown to our world.
 Amidst the merriment Lucy spotted a lamp post and ran towards it. The rest called after her and when she did not answer, reluctantly got up and followed one by one. The forest grew thick until at one point it was pitch black. The leaves grew softer until at one point it was like the forest was made of fur....

Quite abruptly then, the girl stumbled into a large grey city. Astoundingly enough, she was a young woman again. It was like she hadn't aged since the day she set foot in the other world.
Everything around her was confusion. She was standing on a pavement trying to comprehend the situation when a very tall man wearing a very large black overcoat and a scarf, wrapped fashionably about his neck,  bumped into her.
"So sorry." he said absently.
He was accompanied by a rather stocky, shorter man who walked with a slight limp. He was dressed more ordinarily in a simple jacket and trousers.
At a second glance the tall man declared, "You don't belong here. Come with me, girl." and took her by the hand.
Briskly, but not unkindly, she was dragged across the incomprehensible bustle. The stocky man gave her a reassuring pat on the back and smiled knowingly.

There was a police box. It was blue.

A door was opened. She was put in. The door was shut.

The madman of the box took her in. And it is with him that she stayed till she grew old. It is with him that she stays till this day. For the madman took her across the stars and showed her impossible things.

What he also showed her was why she could never really get old. He was a madman with a box after all.






Wednesday, 3 April 2013


Meet Fighter (a.k.a Poopy pants, a.a.k.a. Poopeshwar)
He's terribly terribly sick. We took care of him for a night. His absence is rather resounding.
We handed him over to a seemingly nice person. If he is not treated well, that person will be dead.

Cheers!


Sunday, 31 March 2013

Cat, Of the Apocalypse - I

21st December 2012. The day humans today thought the Mayans had prophesied the end of the world. Not that the humans know very much. Its peculiar how they declare absolute knowledge from vague things that they can only presume. Nevertheless, it is rather an utterly human thing to do.

Predictably enough, the day dawned bright and sunny. Almost too sunny and cheerful for winter, as if to protest the indignity of having been designated as the day of the apocalypse.

 My human though was scared out of his wits. He peered suspiciously from under his numerous coverings at the bright new day, probably muttering something about deceitful Satanic illusions. With much loath he wriggled out from the safety of his bed and poignantly prodded the floor with a toe. Testing the fabric of the alleged diabolic illusions no doubt. A sigh was let out: disappointment of its solidity and consequent reality, and thereafter the prospect of having to deal with the unavailability of a viable excuse of not going to work. 

See, of the seven deadly sins, my human was guilty was of all save pride. And as for wrath, his supreme sloth had firmly rooted notions concerning too much hard work of which wrathfulness was a part. You'd think for someone as devout as him, he'd take all that sinning seriously and harbour a healthy fear of purgatory. 

While he busied himself with a meagre breakfast of cereal he switched on the television as if to affirm that there was nothing wrong with the outside world, though I dare say he hoped there was so he wouldn't have to brave another day at the office. As it turned out, everything was fine in every corner of the world. No ground erupting open, no tsunamis or nuclear disasters. Everything was peculiarly well. Not even a murder or a rape in the great bustling city. 
After he finished the retinue of things that humans do in the morning, he gestured around his head with a cross and braced himself for the outside world. Following which I set about my daily snoozing schedule with utmost diligence. 

By the time I was done with my eighth round of dozing for the day, I heard my human return.  By the looks of him, it was another one of his curiously unremarkable days. I purred at him to remind his pitifully preoccupied brain to feed me. Which he did benignly enough so I rubbed my head around his heels for sometime. 
Then came the time of the day when my human dozed before a blaring television while I pranced around some bugs and pests to entertain myself. As I was engaged thus near the balcony, I would see at some point the lumpen body of my human trudging sleepily to bed. 


 The 22nd of December dawned a wee bit foggy. My human got out of bed with his customary reluctance. The television was switched on once again to see if was foggy enough to not go to work. Alas, it wasn't. Thus began the morning rituals. 

I was perched on the windowsill, fluffed up against the cold with my gaze set upon him fixedly. He put out some food in my bowl so I wouldn't go hungry all day. He then felt the need to pet me following which he proceeded to exit and held the door open. He must of course brace himself for the day ahead and hence reached into his pocket for his cross. The regular gesturing and muttering followed till suddenly his clothes and the cross fell to the floor. 

And he was nowhere in sight. 

I judged the gravity of what I'd just seen. Deciding it needs investigation, I stalked off out of the gaping door. 

Saturday, 30 March 2013

The Curious Incident of the Devil and the Lizard





It was meant to be a quiet Monday evening after a particularly tiring day. For the Devil’s Advocate (let’s call her D.A. for convenience), alas, such luxury was not to be had. She had meant to spend it in her apartment flipping through a few scandalous magazines perhaps, but no. She had barely rested her bottom on the plush armchair before the hearth grew brighter, wilder and a booming voice demanded, “Come see me at my chamber at once!”  Sighing dolefully, shaking her head in frustration, she clicked her fingers and disappeared in puff of red smoke. [1]
“Yes, dark sire?”  The D.A. drawled patronizingly, “What can I do for you ….now?”
The scene before her was thus: her beloved boss’s apartments looked like it had been through (quite literally) hell.[2] The Devil himself was nowhere in sight, but you mustn’t let that fool you. Only his atrocious little Spawn sat on an upturned antique dresser, smirking impishly and dangling it’s legs.

“Ah, Lawyer!” said a voice very likely to belong to that Physics teacher you had in school. “I have a severely important task for you.” There was a small puff of red smoke near the door as he materialized. “It seems we have been infiltrated…. My chamber that is….” He looked exceedingly perturbed and for some reason refused to step past the door. “It’s been invaded…”
“Sire perhaps we should alert the troops…?”
“Oh! No, not at all! Its just one….got rid of the rest….maybe…..er….you could deal with the last?”
“My liege, I’m flattered, but don’t you think the guards are more equipped to handle a breach?”
“LAWYER DO AS I SAY OR I’LL FEED YOUR SOUL TO THE HOUNDS!”
“Very well.” said the D.A. in a grudging huff. “Where is it?”
“It’s hiding! Behind the cupboard! That COWARD!!”
“It’s a lizard, lawie!” chirped the despicable little Spawn gleefully as it shifted its repulsive little body over to the mantelpiece. The D.A. glared at it and then looked questioningly at her master. The Devil was examining his feet with utmost preoccupation.
“A lizard, my liege?”
“Yeeeas. As you can very well see, I tried to bomb it...uh...them!   Got every single one too, save the last. Come now, Lawyer! Enough with the questions! Make yourself useful. Chop- chop!”
“A lizard, my liege? A little, bloody common hemidactylus behind the cupboard and you wreck havoc?”
The Devil laughed nervously, “Kind of comes with the job description you know. The wreaking havoc part that is…”
A peculiar mixture of a steely yet disgusted but amused expression settled on the D.A’s face.  More nervous laughter from the Devil , who eventually shiftily managed to blurt, “You will get rid of it, won’t you Lawyer? Er…please?”
Now being the Devil, ‘please’ was not something you heard every few thousand years. It was the sole indication of decisive desperation which the D.A. had heard only once before. This was the Devil, knowingly revealing his vulnerability to her, his lawyer.  Though why he would chose to do it with the Spawn around did not cease to amuse her, given that the vile Spawn of his was bound to blab. The Spawn was the P.A. system of the Devil’s gossip to Hell’s minions. She could already picture Beelzebub and all the rest around a table sharing a round of devil’s juice and laughing themselves silly over this. She was sure they all knew, like she did what a pansy coward Devil really was though their loyalties could not once be questioned and over the millennia they had grown fond of their whimsical Lord. Still the Devil had appearances to maintain, within and without Hell. It was her job to make sure that he did. Except she can’t have done a very good job seeing as all of Hell knew that when the Devil said he was off to ‘intricately plot the apocalypse’ he actually meant ‘fancy tea-party with delicately painted creepy porcelain dolls.’
The D.A. screwed up her face and set about looking for all the world like a brooding mouse. After a substantial amount of time she managed to murmur, “Very well, I will deliver you.”
A visibly relieved Devil sighed for a second, “Phew….” before standing tall and declaring gruffly, “I mean erm...excellent Lawyer! I knew I could count on you.”
“Of course you can. It’s what you don’t pay me for.”
“If you..er…don’t mind me asking that is….how? As in how will the enemy be defeated?” said the fumbling and quivering mass of unholy matter that passed for the Devil these days.  Though to be fair, he could usually seem quite fearsomely commanding when not threatened by a lizard hiding on the opposite wall across the room.
“Well I could sing to it till it contemplated hara-kiri. Or better still ask the damned Spawn to sing.” pronounced  the D.A. matter- of- factly. To which the Spawn howled with laughter. Clearly it was thoroughly amused with the turn of events. 
Undermined but not entirely discouraged, the D.A. continued to contemplate and formulate ways of exterminating the lizard of which the noteworthy suggestion was thus: “Let us read Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey to it till it withers at the evil ineffability of it all and falls.” Very few people in the world actually know that those two pieces of literature were sent to the world as a part of the great diabolic plan of winning over more people to the dark side. The aim of this particular ploy was that they were both written to be so terrible, so excruciating and so painful that humanity would literally lose faith in itself. If it worked for humanity, the  D.A. reasoned, why not a damn lizard?
However the effectiveness of those two pieces of literature on the lizard shall remain forever unknown to us as the Devil deemed the venture far too risky given the stubborn resolve of lizard in question. After a while at brainstorming the D.A. now turned to look at her master with a maniacal grin pasted over her face, she declared resolutely, “Watch as I proceed to smoke out the enemy!”
The Spawn squealed delightedly at that and sprung off from the mantelpiece. Giggling like it had some hideous insight into the matter (that often tended to leave the D.A. unnerved and uncertain of herself) the Spawn evaporated in a puff of red.
The Devil shrugged and but still put on a brave face and promptly refused to move past the threshold. The D.A. rolled her eyes and clapped her hands. A single incense stick materialized and floated onto her hand. It was light. Cruel flames licked its pointy end and subsided to a mean red glow.
 Thus armed, the D.A. faced the cupboard behind which the alleged enemy had thus far stationed itself, and was as of now, missing in action.
Our resolute D.A. was undeterred. If it was a siege the fiend of a lizard wanted, it’s a siege it would get. Brandishing the smoking incense stick she charged. The battle-hardy D.A. prepared for the storm of the cupboard: as the incense stick touched the cupboard it exploded. Billowing smoke filled the room leaving the Devil’s previously wrecked apartments in a scene of utter desolation beyond all help and repair. What had once been decorated with careful pomp to be chambers befitting THE Devil was now a barren, sooty waste. The damned lizard or its corpse was nowhere to be seen.
In this waste, one could at that point have seen two pairs of unblinking eyes, gazing fixedly at nowhere in particular. Defeat. Astonishment. Charred. The Devil and his advocate.
A contemptible, loathsome, despicable, blood-curling guffaw was heard. “Oh dear me Lawie, did I forget to mention? Our little reptilian friend escaped up the chimney while you were deciding what to do with it.”



[1] Not that she preferred the red smoke. Infact she would much rather diffuse without any smoke. Honestly, it just made her cough and it was also messy and stuck to your clothes like brick dust. But the Devil insisted vehemently on such trills to “keep the show going” apparently.

[2] Unusual that, since the Devil had always demanded that his personal quarters remain cheery and orderly, seasoned with a few skulls and some random fires bobbing up every now and then, but that’s where he drew the line.

Followers