TnP

Testosterone: A white crystalline steroid hormone, C19H28O2, produced primarily in the testes and responsible for the development and maintenance of male secondary sex characteristics.

Progesterone: A steroid hormone, C21H30O2, secreted by the corpus luteum of the ovary and by the placenta, that acts to prepare the uterus for implantation of the fertilized ovum, to maintain pregnancy and female secondary sex characteristics.

Testosterone and progesterone, fancy talk apart, are basically the key ingredients that keep a man manly and girl girly. Now manliness is generally associated with courage, valor, audacity, valiance, gallantry, etc.. while girlyness brings the following terms to mind: timid, coy, panicky, edgy and maybe even weak (no offence dear lionhearted sHE-MANs’). But sometimes, I wonder if it’s really so….

***

I was just as nervous as any interviewee would be just before appearing for his super-dream-star (whateva) company. Every would-be MBA dreams of and also dreads this moment… one interview which stands between shattered dreams and a seven figure salary. I cleared my throat, checked my hair, fine-tuned my tie and stepped into the interview room, only to find that it was vacant. I was later informed that the panel had gone for a tea-break, which meant I had to wait for fifteen more agonizing minutes before I got my chance. I began sweating was so profusely that I could see dark sweat-rings forming above my arms on my shirt, the light color of which, only accentuated the contrast.. Damn these dress codes!

In an attempt to keep my mind uncluttered for those 15 miserable minutes, I kept thinking about various random things: the proceedings of the recent G8 summit, impact of NGOs on today’s economy, the band night of our fest, my messed up room, the shocking election results.. wait a minute.. MY ROOM!! Did I lock it or not? Or did I just casually put the latch and actually forgot to lock it? That.. lemme tell you, is the most gut wrenching thought that can strike anyone just before an interview. You want to run over and make sure its locked.. but what if the darn interview starts and you nowhere to be found, only to turn up 15 minutes late.. all sweaty, coughing, wheezing and panting?? Man.. that was sheer horror. I was losing it totally and that was when I felt a strange but familiar tingle in my well-creased trousers. I checked my cell and saw Mom has sent an SMS.. “All d bst sweetie..”

Well.. I know it sounds overtly clichéd.. but my Mom is the best mom in the world.. and for more reasons than one. As I was replying to the msg.. I saw a man in the distance.. dressed in a pristine grey suit.. tall and fair.. and I don’t know what that little bald spot on the back of your head from which all the hair seems to spiral-out is called.. but just by looking at that spot.. I felt I knew this man. It was such a strange feeling. I kept staring at him in a desperate bid to discern his identity and unknowingly I stood up and started walking towards him. It was quite obvious he was one amongst the panel, but who exactly was he, still remained a mystery. I was only about ten feet from him when he suddenly turned around. That was it. Seeing him made me forget everything about the interview, about my nervousness and about my possibly unlocked room. All that crossed my mind then, was the image of my Mom, the hard working single mother, who had painstakingly brought me up amidst all odds, even when her home run business was in shambles and even when her husband had left her during the most critical stage of her life. The guy in the grey suit was my Ex-dad…


The two of us were standing face-to-face and one fleeting awkward moment later, in which his face had expressed a gamut of emotions ranging from shock to disbelief to shame and pity to surprise and affection, he recollected himself and briskly paced into the chamber.

I felt numb inside and my heartbeat seemed to have gone missing. I wanted to strangle that man in front of his colleagues and ask him where the hell had he disappeared without leaving behind even a piece of paper or anything at all, that would reassure us that he would return one day. But, doing that would surely have screwed all my chances of landing a job and that’s not what I wanted. But more importantly.. that’s not what my Mom wanted. I remained calm and poised and gracefully stepped into the room. There was another guy with him in there, wearing a brown suit, who looked well into his fifties. Maybe the flavor of the elaichi tea he’d just had was still lingering in his mouth or something, coz he had an unassumingly pleasant expression on his wrinkled face. I greeted the panel and looked towards the guy in the grey suit. It was clear. He wasn’t trying to hide it. He knew who I was and he knew that I knew who he was. There was a hint of pity visible on his face apart from which he looked completely aghast. The silence lasted for a fraction of a second after which the usual colloquy ensued:

Brown Suit: So.. Tell me something ‘bout yourself..

Me: Sir, I am a very friendly guy. I can strike a conversation with anyone and at the same time identify if they are genuinely friendly or faking compliance. According to me, the ability to pick out pretentious behavior is something that is very important for being a successful investment banker.. coz only then can you strike deals which are cent-percent infallible. That apart, I believe I can accomplish anything that I set my mind to, as that is something that I have got as heritage from my Mom.

B.S.: So what is it that you have accomplished in your life that can validate your statement?

Me: Sir, I have been raised amidst incessant bankruptcy. All my life, Mom had to run the household and her business with absolutely no money but still, like every other Indian parent, she had dreamt that her child gets the ultimate job insurance there is: An IIM-A degree… And as far back as I can remember, all my studies have been funded by the government in regard of my excellent academic background. The very fact that I am sitting here in front of you without ever taking a penny out of my Mom’s purse for my education, is by far the greatest achievement I could have dreamt of.

B.S.: It seems you hold your mother in very high regard..

Me: Yes Sir, she has been the most influential person in my life. She’s part housewife, part entrepreneur and a part time teacher.. I mean if anyone..

Grey Suit: (interrupting) So, why do you want to join this company?

Me: If you don’t mind Sir, I wanna share a little story to answer this question…

India, as we all know, is a land of dreamers. People young and old dream alike, of one day making it big and scripting an extraordinary rags-to-riches story that serves as an example to the entire world. My parents were no different. Born and brought up in a middle class environment, both had nurtured similar dreams and had even refused seven figure salaries to start their own little venture. My mom, incidentally had got a job offer from this very firm and had always dreamt of having a fat paycheque, a car, a big house, her own chamber.. the works. She was never the entrepreneurial types.. but it was my father’s enterprising vision that changed her mind and she took his dream as her own. But as luck would have it, even after years of conscientious efforts, their diligence bore no fruits and whatever startup money they had acquired, had been invested in an endeavor trapped in a vicious cycle of loss. As time passed, the constant struggle against all odds just to stay afloat, sapped the optimism out of my father and he got attracted towards the comforts of a secure, well paying job. Hence, he left us to join some foreign bank, leaving my mom to wage a lonely war against the tide of time, like trying to steer a sinking ship caught in a torrid storm..

Hence, it’s actually my Mom’s dream that I wanna fulfill by joining this company, so that I can give her everything she had always hoped for all through her life…

G.S.: But then, why did your mother not abandon her sinking ship and get a job as per her abilities?

Me: Well.. to tell you the truth, she actually did think of ‘abandoning her ship’ once. I remember the day quite well.. I was eight then.. She had finalized the sell-out over the phone and I was sitting right beside her. After hanging up, she took a deep sigh and looked towards me incoherently. She told me that she had quit her failed business forever and sold it off. I stared at her for a while and then asked.. “Mom, if I fail at school, will you leave me too??”

She looked into my eyes, whacked her head with her hand, hugged me tightly and immediately called the deal off. From that day onwards, whenever someone asks her ‘bout it, she says that she has two children. One with the four limbs and one that is ‘special’.

I mean, even a godforsaken monkey, carries its dead child with itself in the hope that it may be revived one day… We for once, are still human beings Sir!

B.S.: (after a prolonged silence) Well.. since asking any further questions seems pointless, I just want to ask one final thing. What would you do if you are not selected here today?

Me: First thing I would do is get a blood-test done. After all, I am my mother’s son.. there is no way I cannot get selected.. hehe..

Grey Suit: It’s been nice meeting you, thanks for coming..

Me: The pleasure is all mine.. Sir.

***

I was woken up next morning by a deafening noise outside my room. It sounded like a mob outbreak and an outrageous number of people were hysterically banging on my door. I opened up and was greeted with loud cheers and hugs. It was official now.. I had been selected.

Shortly after, in true-blue IIM-A fashion, my room got mobbed by juniors and batch mates alike, all of whom kept asking inane questions ‘bout the selection process and the experience of making it through to the most sought after profile in the entire country. Some guy actually brought a camcorder and started a mock interview of sorts, making sure that he used the word ‘Sansanikhez’ repeatedly. I gave the usual mundane tips for preps and then, when everything had settled down a bit, I dropped the bomb… I told I’d be rejecting the offer and instead, join my Mom full-time to revive her disconcerted enterprise. Rest assured, my candid decision caused quite an uproar and the mock news reporter found only one word suitable enough to describe the turn of events: ‘Sansanikhezz!!’

After praising my resolve and questioning my sanity with equal certainty for sometime, I was asked to give a final word of advice to all the wannabe IBs’. I thought about it for a while and then said:

“It really doesn’t matter what you are like in the outside world.. inside the chamber, you should be the reflection of the man who you wish to be ten years down the lane. Always look the interviewer in the eye, be confident and remember, the guy sitting in front of you, is just another insecure person, like the rest of us..”

A MILITANT’S MEMOIR- PART II

……..Contd.




“What is your name?” was the first thing that the youngest one asked me the next morn after I got up.. I thought it would be unwise to tell them the truth and said.. “Did you know how your father and I became friends??” They all returned blank expressions to which I replied.. “Your father had once received a letter.. but it was no ordinary letter, it was a love letter from a girl expressing her deepest and most intimate desires in the most affectionate way humanly possible. This news spread like wildfire in our regiment.. that confined in the insentient and estranged expanses of a deserted land an unsung war hero had garnered a secret admirer. With time.. the news reached my ears and even I was interested to find out more about this Adonis present amongst us.. and when I did get to lay my hands on the coveted letter.. I found to my amazement.. the addressee was none other than my fiancée.. and the reason why the letter had reached the wrong hands was coz your father and me might not have shared common love interests but we did share the same name! That was when our friendship blossomed and slowly transformed from companionship into camaraderie.”

..By the time I finished this contrived recital of self-redemption, I found I had managed to capture the puerile fantasies of all three kids.. and even their mother, who knew the actuality of it all, couldn’t help but suppress a quivering smile from appearing on her somnolent face…

After a few days.. we moved to another town, where by virtue of the military certificate, we got a permanent residence and with time I settled into this docile way of life… working as a clerk during the day, telling bedtime stories in the night.. and in between, helping their mother out with other mundane household chores..

Quite amazingly.. with each passing day now.. the immensely garroting feeling of remorse in me had slowly started to subside. I felt that penitence was the only reward for my transgression and by committing myself to their well-being and tranquility, I was absolving the sins I had committed, by dropping in uninvited in their placid lives. By then we had made a world of our own.. five souls who had discovered unparalleled bliss in ignorance, with countless questions to ask from one another.. but still refraining from quenching their anxiety, due to the fear of upsetting the unassertive sustenance round which their lives revolved..

But even in this serene way of life.. there was one disconcerting thought that would often pass my mind.. The image of Her.. waiting in the rain, waving her hands in a lovelorn adieu, her bedewed eyes betraying the smile on her face.. lips quivering in a silent farewell… all of it haunted me and slowly.. all my waking hours were consumed in the reminiscence of that fleeting moment of separation.. and in my sleep.. I would hear her voice, her laugh, her murmurs, her whispers, that faint tune which always adorned her lips whenever we were together... My entire life seemed to be devoted to her memories and the incessant yearning for a moment of togetherness.. became an obsession of sorts....

And one fine morning.. this realization struck me.. that I had not written to her even once during my prolonged subsistence in this alien land.. how long was it since the unpropitious night of the plane crash.. I had no idea and there was no way I could inquire and find it out..

I decided then.. that I would write to her.. tell her about my fateful experiences and ominous trysts with destiny.. how I had missed her all along and ask her about how she had been, all these days. That night.. I sat down to pen down all these fleeting thoughts that choked my mind, making it incapable of contemplation.. and only envisioning how she would react upon reading this letter..

I wrote down every single thought that had crossed my mind, describing every silent tear that I had wept in her longing, how desperately I wanted to see her puckered smile, to feel the warmth of her gentle touch, to hear her sweet voice.. and I don’t know when.. but unknowingly, I fell asleep under the silver moonlight.. unaware of the time.. and was engulfed in a deep paradoxical sleep.. lost in a time when me and my beloved were walking down the country road.. hand-in-hand..

When I woke up.. the clamorous din of thunder ringed in my ears and I saw that it was raining maliciously.. and what was more starling was the fact, that the front door was open… I stepped out and saw in the scanty moonlight a sight I had never imagined.. their mother was walking along the desolate road.. walking all alone in the rain.. like a lost soul lamenting the loss of a beloved.. yearning for a sense of purpose in a lovelorn life.. I ran up to her.. held her arms.. and found her weeping most uninhibitedly..

Just as I attempted to console her.. she put her hand across my neck and rested her drenched scalp on my shoulder.. with tears trickling down her ashen cheeks.. the warmth of which I could feel even through two layers of woolen robes..

I wondered what could have been the cause of such agony that made this woman, with a heart as robust as steel.. deluge her silent tears frozen in time, on a night as sinister as this.. I tried to take her to shelter but she wouldn’t budge.. she just kept weeping and then, almost after an eternity had passed with the two of us drenching in the downpour.. she slowly raised her brow and rolled up her eyes.. enough for me to get a clear view of them.. but angled in a manner that they could in no way meet the sight of mine..

“I’m a sinner” she said.. “I’ve sinned..”

“What.. what sin are you talking about?”

“I’ve sinned.. I destroyed your letter..”

“My letter? WHY??”

“Actually.. all letters posted from our country to yours are reviewed by the police under the behest of the military. I thought of warning you but then reading what you had written.. made my heart ache.. and being a woman.. however stone hearted at that but a woman nonetheless.. I can understand the agony of one waiting for the return of her beloved.. when everyone else has forgotten all about him.. But letting you post it would have meant that we’d be arrested on counts of treason and so before this letter made me change my mind.. I destroyed it..”

“But still.. I mean it’s not such a big crime that you think it to be.. it was just a piece of paper.. I can write it down again…”

“That’s what my crime is.. I don’t want you to write it down ever again..”

I was taken aback by her reply.. and as my mind raced to think of any possible rational reason for her answer.. she spoke.. “I don’t want you to leave us the way my husband left me.. I have come to love my life the way it is and the truth is that your uninvited entry in it has in fact brought me closer to my daughters.. the very daughters whom I had hated, thinking of them to be the reason why the love of my life had deserted me.. but your arrival has given me a purpose.. to keep fighting for them.. to make them strong and able enough so that no spineless bastard can abandon them in the death of night and leave them weak and helpless.. and You.. you are that very source of providence and righteousness for them whom they look upon so ardently.. and if you leave.. my life would lose purpose.. my daughters would lose their guiding star and I.. would once again lose any hope of finding love in the face of adversities..”


As I stood there that night.. dumfounded by the woman’s reply.. amidst the torrential downpour and the pallid moonlight.. I could think of no better way to respond.. and I kissed her… and doing so.. brought back memories of the times I’d shared with my beloved and looking into her eyes.. I knew.. that she too felt the same way..


I then decided to settle down with them and to never think about her ever again.. but the devil we all so fondly know as Love.. had other plans.. I just couldn’t stop thinking about her and every agonizing day that passed.. increased my desperation to unbearable extremities.. and going against the unsaid promise that I had made that night.. I wrote to her.. saying I am fine..

I repented my action thereafter and would often have nightmares in which the military would invade our home and hold us all in custody.. but as the days passed.. all such speculation in my heart died down and I forgot all about the matter..

Then one afternoon, I heard a knock on the door.. it was a mailman with a package for me.. when I opened it.. I was amused to find a white card in it.. and as I was scanning it further.. my eyes stopped on a spot where Her name was written, along with that of another man.. she had sent me her wedding card with a little hand written note saying “I’m getting married..”

I don’t know how long I stood there like that.. reading those words again and again as my heart refused to accept the truth.. I still thought it was some conspiracy or a misunderstanding.. although I knew fully well that every single letter on that note.. was written by her hand..

The whole evening I kept thinking of a way to stop her from getting married and could think of no better way than to go back and tell her how much I still loved her.. but then, I thought of the children and their mother.. what about them? But still.. I had to go and finally.. I ran away.. in the death of the night.. to forever become a forgotten memory.. lost somewhere in the depths of their broken hearts.. while they slept there peacefully.. dreaming blissfully.. unaware of the torment that awaited them the next morning..

..I kept running and while I was crossing the border.. I was spotted by the guards, who after warning me repeatedly.. shot at me and the next thing I remember.. is waking up in this interrogation cell… And this is my true story officer.. nothing but the truth.. I am not a spy or a terrorist or a militant.. I’m just a man in search of his destiny…”

There was deathly silence in the room, the officers stood there stunned and speechless. A while later, a senior looking officer stepped in, he looked at me for a moment and then asked me to follow him..

As I stepped out of the dimly lit room, I saw in front of me a limitless expanse of barren land, with just two fences running at parallels through it, like the two banks of a river. The officer kept his hand on my shoulder and spoke.. “Our lives are all like the pieces of a puzzle.. all of them having protrusions, concavities and irregularities, some more irregular than others but all of them.. irregular nonetheless.. And it’s a fact.. that no single piece is complete in itself.. it needs other such supplementary pieces to attain completion. But, it is also a fact that no single piece out of the hundred others can complete us and only along with two, three or maybe more such irregular pieces.. can another such piece be completed. But.. of all these numerous pieces that complete us.. there is one special piece.. which fits in so perfectly.. which is unique.. is irreplaceable.. and recognizing that piece, is the very essence of life.. Each and every one of us has it, just like every one of us.. is that one special piece for someone else..”

“If you want, you can return to your motherland or go back to where you came from and I promise you.. not a single bullet would be fired.. the choice is yours.. your Destiny awaits you..”

A MILITANT’S MEMOIR - Part 1

“Come back soon.. I’ll be waiting for you..”

I couldn’t say anything.. I just kept staring at her.. with that soft quivering smile of hers and a warm gaze in her eyes that drove away the chill of the rainy night by the flame of ardent love burning inside us both.. I felt fortunate to have met her and loved her.. and knowing the fact that of the countless drops of water falling on the ground that instant, one of them was a silent tear of hers...

Next thing I remember was that our plane had crashed in an unknown territory and the radar showed three little dots approaching us. The crash was indeed noticed by the surrounding guards and they came in for surveillance. They were speaking an unknown tongue and that made us twitch... It was bad enough to be lying unconscious, with a broken wrist, having to suppress the searing pain, but the sight of foreign soldiers piercing the dead bodies lying around me with their bayonets.. that.. was horrifying..

I thought I was better off dead.. but what was surprising for me.. lying there.. waiting to be impaled.. was the fact that I wasn’t scared of it. All these dreadful thoughts that were springing up in my mind one after the another were just serving to distract me from the current predicament I was in.. coz at that point.. all that I could think of was.. her standing there in the rain.. waving her hands.. The fact that she was still waiting there for me.. knowing I may never return.. it gave me immense amount of courage. My father once told me.. if your heart is empty.. your mind doesn’t matter. But my heart was full.. full of the love that she had shown me.. full of the faith she had in me… and hence.. my mind was working furiously.. I had to find a way to get out of there.. just so that I could get back to her and hold her in my arms..

That was when I realized.. I was lying on top of the emergency exit. To get out.. all I needed to do was turn the knob and jump out.. which was exactly what I did.. only to realize later that we had actually crashed on top of a tree.. and I fell down making a loud thud. That caught the attention of a guard who was standing down there and he rushed towards me.. I was reeling with excruciating pain but had no time to nurse my wounds… I picked up broken branch and hit the soldier with a mighty swing. He fell down on the ground, probably unconscious. I exchanged my clothes with him, took his gun and ran away. I reached a dwelling that had light flickering inside. I peeped in through the door and saw a woman, sitting on her knees.. praying to god for something.. I tried to make out what she was saying.. but all I got was “protect my love fighting for the pride of our country”. I thought of an excuse to get in and knocked on the door.

There were three girls inside the house apart from her. Two of them were sleeping and the other one got up by the sound. The house was empty, except for a few pieces of furniture and a large trunk. The woman told me to go away, as I had expected, to which I replied.. I am friend of your husband.. he has sent me with some money for u.. he still loves you and remembers you all fondly.. can I get some water please..

The woman was shocked and ran inside.. she handed me a blanket and shut the doors.. the girl inquired more about her father.. to which I gave random and vague, but satisfactory answers, reassuring her repeatedly that he still loved and remembered them.

That night, as I was lying on the floor.. trying hard to sleep.. l looked at that innocent girl’s face and the thought struck me.. it wasn’t just me who was waiting to get back.. even this girl was waiting… waiting for her father.. god knows who or where he was... That is what life is like, for our families.. wait and wait.. ceaselessly, with unwavering belief that their loved ones would one day return to them.. feeling their presence near you all the time.. even if they are not by your side.

Waiting.. the most difficult part of our lives.. more so if it’s for something you are unsure would happen..

Next morning I was woken up by the girl. She told me that the entire village was being searched for an unknown enemy soldier who had escaped last night, killing one of theirs... Every house was inspected and every person scrutinized.. I immediately tried to get up, but couldn’t. The fall had hurt me and my arm was swollen. She looked at my pain and said she would call the officers to help me… as I was one of them. I stopped her.. saying that I had come back unofficially.. and if found out.. I would be put in prison. She unassumingly believed me and called her mother who was busy preparing some alchemic ointment of sorts which she applied on my wrist and my back.. made me inhale some of its sharp heady vapors, as I wondered.. what is this strange force.. known as love, that not only the person concerned, but anyone even remotely connected to them in their joys and sorrows.. becomes a trustworthy companion of ours.. wondrous are the caprices of the heart.. making us forget reason and logic at times we need them the most and then showing us courage in times of insurmountable adversities… and slowly.. I was lulled into a deep dreamless slumber.

Once again I was woken up by the girl, but it was dark now. I couldn’t make out what was happening.. all I could see were four, dark, faint figures in front of me, who looked like columns of thick smoke rising from a distance. I was woken up again, this time more sternly, by a firmer voice.. and I saw in front of me the woman.. young by appearance but not by her expressions. She had the look on her face which the old ladies of our house have, when they encounter anything contrary to their known beliefs.. She told me to have dinner and take rest.. I said I was fine, but she insisted. As I was about to lie down again.. I noticed the two little girls looking at me wondrously.. they must have been wondering who this stranger is who has been sleeping all day in their house. I went towards them and asked them their names. They didn’t reply.. their mother told them to go to sleep.. they resented.. but finally had to follow her orders and reluctantly went to their respective mats. Then I asked them.. “Would you like to hear a story?” they gleefully agreed. Their mother was skeptical.. but still I continued.. telling them fabricated, fictional, fairy tales about how brave their father was.. slaying dragons.. clashing single handedly with legions and saving their mother from the clutches of an evil villain.. etc. etc... as they sat there wide eyed and amazed..

Later that night.. as I was rolling uneasily in bed.. I found the door was open and their mother was sitting in the porch. I took my blanket and went to her. She looked at me, surprised, and kept staring at me.. I felt uncomfortable by being ogled at like that and was about to say something when she spoke..

“You know.. these two have never seen the face of their father.. no one has ever told them a bedtime story.. in fact, they don’t even know who their father is.. he left us the day I gave birth to a third girl child.. in a way you have been more a father to them than he ever was..”

“Who are you? Are you the same soldier they were looking for today?”

“As I said.. I am in the same regiment as your husband and I’ve run away from the army.. he had told me to give his family the message of his well being and that he loved you all..”

“If that is the case.. then why are you wearing his shirt??”

My throat got parched in an instant.. the realization came so suddenly that it made me go blank.. I understood then, that the reason those soldiers didn’t come to this house was because it belonged to that very person who had been killed that night…

“When you knew it was me they were looking for.. knowing very well that I was the person who killed your husband.. why didn’t you tell them?”

“Well.. I had thought of handing you over, although at first I thought of killing you myself. Seeing the murderer of the person whom I had loved so dearly, lying unconscious in front of me, was enough inspiration for doing so.. but then my daughter told me what you told her.. how happy she felt by the fact that someone who knew her father was there with us, someone who had risked his life just for delivering the message of his safety. I didn’t want to take away that little glint of happiness from her eyes... But that too wasn’t the reason. While you were lying half dead there.. I heard you say something.. it didn’t sound like water.. or food.. it was the name of a girl.. then I realized… just like I wait for him all the time.. day and night.. there might be someone who waits for you too.. I know, the torment caused by a lifetime of loneliness and the fire which burns your heart every time you think about them. And if I can’t end mine.. then I can at least help in ending someone else’s longing.”

“But.. because of me.. your wait will never end now..”

“But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop waiting..”

“Waiting?? But for whom??”

“Waiting for love.. aren’t we all..”

There was an awkward moment of silence. To change the topic.. I asked her where her eldest daughter was.. she said she had gone to claim the belongings of her father…

“In the death of the night? Amidst such biting cold weather? Don’t you think you should have gone with her?”

“Well.. I couldn’t just leave you all like that..”

“Then I’m going with her to get her back.. it’s too much of a torment for a girl her age..”

“Wait.. I’ll go.. you need to rest..”

“Well then.. Come back soon.. I’ll be waiting for you..”

...........................To be continued

PANACEA

They say that when you are about to die, your entire life flashes in front of your eyes. But when the person who you love the most is about to die in front of you, then what do you see?

…….

I am special. I can see the future. But, it comes with a caveat; I can’t tell what I see to anyone, coz if I do so, then the exact opposite of it happens.

I first found out when I was twelve, old enough to understand the dynamics of life and death in a rational manner. I was out walking my dog when suddenly a red haze appeared in front of my eyes. I saw a crowd gathered around a spot and as I tried to peer in, I saw a girl crying over her dead dog. That girl was me. Needless to say, moments later, my beloved canine was put to sleep by a bus and I was left dumbfounded, with tears trickling down my eyes. I had other such visions throughout my life but none comparable to what I had seen just now.

Both of us were out to the carnival, to celebrate our second anniversary together, doing the third round of the Ferris wheel. Not that it’s the epitome of a romantic getaway, but coz he just loved the thrill of it all. And I loved the way his hair flew back and how his eyes doubled in size, with a beaming smile on his face. We were approaching the top when I saw the familiar red haze. I saw that just as we were crossing the helm, the harness broke off, and I was flung fore, plummeting towards my impending death.

I had grown used too such grotesque visions and had learnt to control my tongue so as not to mess with destiny’s perfect plans, but what I had seen just now was totally off the hook. I had seen myself get hurt before, but never dying. And I don’t know what it was, maybe it was the strength of his love, or the belief that maybe if death had to come, there wasn’t a more opportune moment, but impulsively I blurted it out to him...

“I’m about to die”, I said.

He looked into my eyes, a little surprised, well aware of my “gift” and the consequences, if the visions were to be revealed. But he just smiled and looking deep into my eyes, kissed me. I suddenly realized that I had committed a ghastly blunder, and had put his life in jeopardy, as the opposite of “I’m about to die”, would imply “YOU, are about to die”…

What would you see?

I closed my eyes, but yet I could see clearly, all the moments spent with him, that had contributed in shaping my life like it is today. I remember, this day, exactly two years ago, when we had first met at New Years Eve. I was at a friend’s party and due to the lack-luster ambience, was just biding my time standing in the balcony, looking at the stars, wondering about how lonely each star would feel, in that cold and dark universe, being millions of miles away, even from its immediate neighbors. And in midst of my profound contemplation of interstellar commiserations, I had a vision. I saw a man jumping out that very balcony, upon which I was resting my elbows now. Needless to say, I was shocked. I looked around and saw a lot of people who were dancing and drinking, but couldn’t find anyone who looked even remotely interested in committing suicide. Midnight was fast approaching and I had to leave the place by twelve; not that I was Cinderella or something, but I had strict orders at home to be back by 1, lest I’d be grounded for the next three months. I was wondering where to find him, when I heard someone crying. I couldn’t fathom the source but I knew it was from somewhere near. I craned my neck as far out as I could, and saw that right below me, a man was standing on the parapet, his feet dangerously close to the edge and I knew I had found my man. I called out to him but he didn’t respond. I called him again and this time he looked up, bewildered and apparently intoxicated. He asked: “Who is this??”

“This is God”.

“God??”

“Yes, God. And you sir are about to commit the most heinous crime humanly possible. Why do you want to die?”

“You are God. You wrote this for me. You should know. And since when did women get elected for such important posts? Really, no wonder God is a she. Women hate me and I am destined to suffer at their hands…”

“It’s not their fault you see. You write your own destiny. It’s you who choose the wrong girls and then blame the whole female fraternity. You should be more careful as to whom you attach your emotions with and whom you rest your trust upon. You shouldn’t give up like this.. somewhere out there, there is a girl waiting just for you.”

“But then, every girl I have loved has either left me or ended up in bed with my one of my friends. How do I know where my perfect girl is?”

“Well.. Just open the door..”

Saying this, I rushed downstairs and waited for the door to open. After sometime it did open. Our eyes met and however clichéd it might sound, it was love at first sight. We kept looking into each other’s eyes and could hear fireworks going off in the background. And just like Cinderella, I had found my Prince Charming at the stroke of midnight. We kissed and I don’t know what it’s like up there, but I knew I was in heaven…

That tear trickling down his cheek then, it flashed in front of me now.

..We were having a leisurely stroll in the park on a lazy October afternoon. I noticed he wasn’t talking much and I knew something was bothering him. I had a vision, in which I saw him crying, bawling, absolutely screeching, as if his world had come to an end. I asked him: “Is something wrong?”

“Nope.. everything’s just fine..”

“Doesn’t seem so to me, you look like you’re about to cry. And why are you fiddling with that empty packet in your hand, just throw it..”

“I like it, it reminds of the ‘corn I just had.. I can feel that saltiness lingering in my mouth every time I look at it..”

“Look dear, if it’s just the popcorn then we can buy another one, but really if it’s something else then you can always tell me..”

He took a deep breath and gasped, then after something that seemed like an eternity, he finally spoke...
“You see that couple over there, sitting on the bench.. that girl was my first love..”

I felt a mild jolt all over my body and for a moment I froze in my stance, but seeing that my silence wouldn’t help the cause, I joked..
“Well, maybe she was, maybe she wasn’t. One can never be too sure of such things when one has been in as many relationships as you have..”

“You think I don’t remember? She was the first girl whom I dreamt about, whose persona and grace were unparalleled, such that other girls have only been caricatures of.. and maybe the reason why I have been in so many failed relationships is that I tried to look for her in every girl I met, forgetting the fact that she was and always will be, unique. And even now, when I see her sitting there, laughing and holding hands, it makes me feel jealous, feel unhappy; not that it’s your fault in any way, but just that I can’t seem to get over her.”

I was shocked, and inside me I was crying. Every word of his had struck me like lighting and reeling under the influence of them, I spoke:
“See, maybe it’s your latent sadness that doesn’t allow you to accept other peoples happiness. Sometimes people are happy and sometimes they just give the impression of being so, it doesn’t really matter. But the thing is, that the most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie wherever your secret emotions are buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly, only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important, that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear. And I don’t know whether I can ever live upto your expectations or match her persona and grace, but I can assure you one thing, I will always be that understanding ear and that shoulder you can lean on; and maybe the one who can make you laugh in your times of misery…”

He looked at me with eyes full of adoration and asked: “Tell me one thing, what is happiness for you?"

“For me.. this is happiness. Just being here with you..”

That smile on his face then, it flashed in front of me now.

There were many more such slices of life that flashed in front of me in a split second. I could feel that we were approaching the top and my heart was filled with intense anxiety. I held him tightly, thinking that if death had to come, then it should take us both together. He could feel my twitchy embrace and kissed me even harder; realizing that any moment now, both of us could be separated for ever. We started descending and my heart was pounding inside me, maybe hard enough so that he felt it throbbing against his chest, as he tightened his hold around me. Suddenly I heard a loud bang.

For a moment my heart stopped. Then there was another, and another and another, they just kept on coming. We looked up and saw the sky was lit up with resplendent fountains of light, spluttering fulgurant streams of sparkles in the air, filing the night sky up, with a million glittering stars in all possible colors. We kept on descending until we slowly reached the bottom and finally got off; while not for a single moment did our eyes leave the sight of each other.

He didn’t die and neither did I. But I kept wondering how my vision had proved me wrong today; and only later on did I realize, that the opposite of “I’m about to die” is also, “I ain’t about to die”…

I don’t know what antonyms does God choose, but I do know that although modern medicine has performed many miracles till date, but love and only love, has the power to conquer death…

H.I.M.Y.M.

"Kids.. today I’m going to tell u a story. The Title of the story is ELEVEN MINUTES.."

“Once upon a time, way back in 2029, a great man had an untimely death. But, before dying, he called his brother and told him his last wish. He told him to bring a particular packet from his locker and leave him alone with it, in his last few moments.

The brother was really curious to know what it was but he couldn’t possible interrupt a person who was rightfully claiming his last wish. Three agonizing hours later, he found out. It was a diary.

It was wrapped neatly in cellophane, like he always did to all his vintage books. He couldn’t help but wonder, what’s written in it. He had never seen him writing, all he ever wrote were cheques. He was so desperate to read what was inside that all his morals and ethics couldn’t stop him from doing so.

“Sorry pal..” he said to his deceased brother, and began peering into the first-hand accounts of some of his brothers most secret and undisclosed experiences.”

“Now kids.. remember, it’s BAD to read somebody’s diary and you should never, and under no circumstances, do such an unscrupulous thing.."

"Anyways, getting back to the story, he opened the diary and found the first few pages were empty and some had random scribbling and sketches in them. Then on a page dated March 17th, he finally found something meaningful..

“I saw a strange girl today. She was quite serious. She was neatly dressed and had a maroon purse. She had in her hands a novel wrapped in newspaper. Now I hate that. If u can spend 500 bucks on an ordealistic novel, then u can very well spend 5 more on a piece of wrapping paper. And that too a newspaper dated 12th September 2006, now that’s more than six months old! Sheesh! But all that apart, one thing stood out about her, that which made her remarkably different from all other girls on the train, and maybe even from all other girls I have ever seen in my life.. She was surrealistically beautiful. I’ve never seen a girl like her before!!”

March 23rd:

“She looks sad. And lonely. She always has this novel in her hand. She always has this pen in the other and keeps marking and scribbling things in it. I mean how boring can you get. Who reads a novel to cut eleven minutes in a train? It’s not like it’s an overnight journey or anything. But still she keeps reading it almost religiously. I think I’m crazy, coz I think I love her. My friends say it’s normal and it’s just an infatuation and with time, will eventually wear off. Whatever it is, but it’s a beautiful feeling…”

July 23rd:

“It’s weird. I mean how long does it take someone to finish off a novel? If you are a slow reader and take even 3 minutes to finish a page then that means in 22 mins. you can read 7 pages. That means u can easily finish it in 50 days. But it’s been four months now… And she doesn’t seem to have finished even half of it. Maybe it’s not so interesting. But then why does she keep on reading it? And weirdest part is that she doesn’t seem to read it in any particular order. Sometimes its half done. Sometimes only a few pages. Sometimes it looks like on the verge of ending but it never does. It’s so damn bugging. I plan to ask her the day she does finish reading it, that which novel was it that took such a beautiful girl like her so long to complete..”

November 7th:

“I think about her like this crazy obsession of sorts. I mean however hard of I try to let go of her I can’t, I just can’t. And it drives me crazy but at the same time it makes me feel so alive. I feel if there is one difference between humans and animals, it’s that although both can love equally well, but only humans can express it in a way that makes the other believe that the sole purpose of their existence was nothing but loving that person back. We all come into this world naked and ignorant and like a deer in the woods, keep running aimlessly, searching for the meaning of life for all of our lives and only when it leaves us stranded in the darkness, that we understand that the true reason of human existence is love.. to love and to be loved.. maybe not by the same person but nevertheless by someone else; and I believe it’s not of great importance to get the person we love and marry them, but of greater importance is to just experience this amazing, out-of-this-world feeling we call love.
I love her and even if she may not know it, ever, but still I just love her. I don’t want to have her with me 24X7 or marry her or anything, basically coz she won’t do it, and I know that, but more so because I don’t want to know her better and in the process find out her shortcomings and flaws, if any. I just want her to be a beautiful, perfect, unparalleled dream, that was lovely, painful, nightmarish, enlightening, obsessive, ardorus, insightful, passionate, and many more such things, that are inherent parts of an experience we call life.. whenever I see her I know I am alive… People go and climb mountains, surf on raging waves, do crazy stunts and what not, just to experience the rush of blood and the exhilaration and excitement of being alive. I happen to get all of it in just a train ride.
The same eleven minutes of a journey that most people find mundane, uneventful and plain boring, were a new experience for me every day. My life is good, what more can I want from it?”

December 27th:

“I saw her today at the theater.. she was there with a man. He was touching her. Everywhere. I didn’t like it one bit. I felt like killing myself. Even though she didn’t like it one bit, then why didn’t she stop him? I felt like kicking that man in his groin and deprive him forever of his perverted manhood. But how could I. Would she even recognize me? She always seems so engrossed in that novel of hers that I don’t think she would even know if a bomb went off next to her, let alone recognize an ordinary fellow from a crowd of thousands. But still.. I love her..”

January 11th:
“I had such a great chance to talk to her today. My fractured hand was a perfect excuse to sit next to her on the reserved seat. But I screwed it. “No uncle it’s just fine”. Why couldn’t I just tell that guy to bugger off and finally sit next to her like I always wanted to? Damn!! But now I have decided. I will tell her tomorrow. I have to tell her. Coz I am going absolutely mad. After all, how hard can it be? I know she would say no but what the heck. At least it will cure me of this insanity.
But then, do I really want to get cured? Do I really want to end this dream so abruptly and deprive myself of such an amazing array of emotions that I experience every day? Maybe not..”

February 28th:

“I finally went and tried to talk to her. She didn’t have the novel today. Her station came and I got down with her. I asked her “I’ve been watching you for the past few days and couldn’t help but notice that novel in your hand. Which one was it?”

She didn’t reply. I tried to prolong the conversation, desperate to get a response.. “How did it take you so long to finish reading a 300-odd page novel?” Still no reply..

“I was thinking.. if you could have a few minutes.. there’s this great place near the station..”
And then she looked towards me with blank, pitiful eyes and all that she said was “Bye” and rushed away…”

The following pages were all blank. I was shocked by what I had just read and was hoping I had never read it in the first place. I didn’t know what to do with it and I felt sick, accompanied by a feeling that was a mixture of guilt and grief. I flipped over to the last page, and found something was written there.

It said:
“This girl changed my life forever. She, without saying a single word, taught me the meaning of love and life. So dear brother, please, if you are still reading this, then please find her, and as my last wish, give this diary to her if you do. Do this much for me bro..”

The brother was disgusted with himself and thought that the only way he could reclaim his self-respect, was by fulfilling his brothers last wish. He went to the only store in town that still kept vintage paperback books and asked the keeper if he had some really old ones. He told me that he did get one from a nearby house few days ago. He dint know the purchase date but it was covered in a newspaper dated September 2006. I almost grabbed his collar and asked him to show it.

It was the same. It completely fitted the description. I opened it and found a very strange detail about it: Every single unprinted inch of it, was filled with miniscule handwriting, often incomprehensible due to its age. But I could make out the gist of it. Whatever I could read, went like this:

“I again saw him today. He always takes the same train as me.”

“Today he was at the movies sitting three rows behind me. Every time my client touched me, I could almost hear his fingers tightening and his teeth clenching. I want to tell him but how can I. It would break his heart.”

Some printed lines were repeatedly underlined and highlighted, which were conversations between a bar dancer and her customer. I removed the newspaper covering the book, only after repeatedly reassuring the keeper that I would buy this dilapidated book, and the title was: “Eleven Minutes.. Paulo Cohelo..”

He asked the keeper that who sold it to him. He gave him the address. He went there and saw a woman so beautiful, that it’s worth spending your entire life, just for the sake of those eleven minutes in her company. He told her everything, about his brother, his diary and his last wish. He promised to free her from her demeaning profession, marry her, give her a home, family, children and above all respect."

"And they lived happily ever after…."

***

“Dad.. I couldn’t help wondering, is that old book in your hand the same as that in the story??”

“Well son, how can it be the same? After all.. it’s just a story…”

WASABI

The following are excerpts from a yet unpublished Biography on the life of Yasser Arafat, renowned Palestinian leader and Noble Peace Prize recipient (1994). It reveals hitherto unknown and startling facts about his childhood and personal life, presented in articulate first-person phraseology.

Personal comment: Give it some time.. coz it's worth it.. SERIOUSLY!!

PROLOGUE

“It was August I remember..
The August of 1941..

We had just wound up my humble birthday celebrations in my uncle’s home and were cleaning up, when it happened. I remember, it was raining heavily outside; the barren roads of Jerusalem were desolate and I had just turned twelve. I had no idea why or for whom, the British soldiers raided and vandalized our unadorned home. But all I knew was that the weakling whom I called my father was nowhere to be found, in a time I needed him the most.

Next thing I remember is my adolescent self, a thin and scrawny lad, roaming in the dusty roads of Cairo. I remember how my elder sister used to wake me up and get me ready for school, get done with the household chores and then in the evenings tell me stories about my mother: How she used to be adored by the entire village, how people looked upon her as an angel. A selfless woman, a devoted nurse who was never too busy to help and what a staunch humanitarian she was. How she coped with a failure of a husband and a subdued married life. How she never returned after she went searching for her lost child in the great floods, when I was only five years old.

My mother always said that every person has a guardian angel looking upon them, guarding them, nurturing and nourishing them. Mine just happened to be nearer to God than most others…

My father, on the other hand was a spineless, characterless craven. He couldn’t provide for us and his textile business was always in recurrent loss. I remember the day when I was at college and a friend came running to me saying that my father had been shot. He died four days later and his funeral went unattended by his only living son.

It was august I remember,
The august of 1952..”

“I was dead. Three years of detention at Cairo central prison’s crematorium had made me so. My daily routine was unloading dead bodies, mostly rebels and arm-smugglers like me, from a hand-cranked elevator into the pits. I often recognized their faces but I felt nothing, no sorrow, no pain, no emotions, empathy, despair or desertion. All I felt was a void inside me, an inherent emptiness that proliferated with each passing day..

Then one day, I saw my mother. I am not sure it was her, there is no way I can be absolutely certain, but still I’d like to believe it was her. She tenderly touched my head and in a soft but lucid voice told me, “Son.. I’m sending you an angel..”

I woke up astonished and realized that I just had a dream, a beautiful dream. But as is their nature, they are shattered before we can even soak and revel in their warmth, let alone be realized. And this place was such where there could exist no angels, only hunger and fear and travesty and Death..

Two days later, I was walking near the edge of the compound, the sun had just retrieved its fiery blazing claws and a tepid breeze was blowing through the billets, making the air dusty. It was then, that I saw a vague figure in the distance, its form was indistinct but it looked human. It came closer and only when the breeze died down, could I make out that it was a little girl. A girl with golden locks, wearing a frilled white frock…

She was hiding behind an old birch tree, and all I could see from the distance was that she was scared. I called out to her in Hebrew and asked if she had something to eat. She didn’t reply at first, maybe she didn’t hear me, but I couldn’t possibly raise my voice any higher lest I attract the attention of the guards.

I inched ahead, getting closer to the barb-wired fence and was about to repeat myself when she stepped forward. She was lean and gaunt but her eyes… her eyes had magic… they were fearless, they had hope and rapture and in them I saw life.. in them, I saw my mother’s soul..

She took out a loaf of bread and threw it over the fence. I grabbed it and as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, "I'll see you tomorrow." I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day, when the guards used to change shifts. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Hebrew. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Was she the angel my mother spoke about?
Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence always gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples…

***

Nearly seven months passed, and in course of this unusual correspondence, I started feeling alive again. I experienced joy, exaltation, courage and hope; gratuity and love towards the godsend angel I had come to know..

It was august I remember, and we were informed that the enemy was at the gates and all possible witnesses had to be dealt with quickly. I was to be executed at the break of dawn.

"Don't return," I told the girl that day. "We're leaving." I turned towards the stockades and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the bread and apples. But while I was on my way, I heard something, and it was divine. It was the rumble of an approaching thunderstorm. It was strange, because somehow, it made me feel strong. I looked back at the girl and she was standing there. Alone. In the darkness and desertion. She was looking at me, I couldn’t see her eyes in the darkness, but I felt it. Her gaze was fixed upon me and I stood there hypnotized by it. And amidst the thunder, I heard a soft snivel, a gasp, a whimper, its nature indiscernible due to the clamor of the storm. But yet I heard it. Then it rained, it rained as if God had decided to vanquish the entire Hell-fire with one swift shower. I soaked in it and reveled in the sublime bliss, drenched by the nectar falling from the heavens...

My mother used to say, that God was in the rain, and that the fragrant whiff of the impending rains, is actually the scent of God. I guess she was right, because the tears of this angel were compelling enough to make even the heavens weep..

I stood there enraptured, thinking that in a few hours, I was to be reunited with my mother, crying tears of elation in the rains, when one mighty thunderous bolt of lightning struck the giant Iron Gate and flung it open. The inmates seized the opportunity and fled for their lives.

That day I understood one very important thing.. that there is no certainty, only opportunity.”

“What might be your good name young lass?”
“Suha, Suha Tawil. I’m a nurse at the..”
“Tawil? You’re a Palestinian?”
“Yes.. but we moved out of Jerusalem long back during the wars, and settled in..”
“So, why are you interested in joining the liberation front?”
“My mother always said that no good deed goes unnoticed and no bad deed goes unpunished. My aim is to serve justice..”

Those words hit me hard. It was as if a ghost from the past had suddenly come alive. She had a reminiscent expression on her face but I just couldn’t recollect where I had seen it.. even her eyes looked familiar, too familiar..

“Where was it exactly that your family moved to?”
“Oh yes.. we moved to a small cattle farm near Cairo. My father ran a flour mill and my mother used to work at a bakery. I was only a child then but even now, I can clearly recollect the horrible condition of our people locked up in the prisons. It was then that I had resolved to always work for the betterment of humankind and..”

Her words were eluding me as my senses ceased to function.. my heart was heavy and my eyes doused with tears. I couldn’t believe it, I just couldn’t. After so many years I had finally stumbled upon my guardian angel, in this alien land. I stood up and hugged her, kissed her forehead as she sprang back, astonished at my unwelcome display of affection.

“Are you all right, Sir?” she asked, rather flustered.

I tried to compose myself to the best of my abilities, but I just couldn’t. And with a heavily choked up throat, replied: “You may not remember me, but for me you are no less than an angel.. and I thought I had lost you forever, but I promise, from the very depth of my heart I promise, I will never let go of you again.. never..”

“The Israeli militants had found us. We were organizing a PLO meeting and the hall was filled with Palestinians. They quarantined me and took her away. I feared the worst. In all probability she was dead and even if she wasn’t, it wasn’t long before she would be lynched…

I felt vacuous, vapid, my head dizzy with neurotic throbbing tending to annihilate it to smithereens. But even then, with whatever sense that remained, the only thing I thought about, was her.. I could feel her, sense her, smell her, hear her but only I couldn’t see her.. it was as if my mind was ready to surrender to the inescapable truth but my heart fervidly refused..

It was like the feeling you have, in those few anxious seconds, when you just see your little child fall down from a staircase or a bicycle..

You know she’s hurt, you know she’s dazed and torpid and benumbed, lying lifelessly on the turf and probably is going through the worst misery of her little life but then, an inch of you believes that she’s just fine, that God rested his mighty and caring hand on her shoulders and saved her from the inevitable peril that awaited her..

It was three hours of absolute agony and anguish before the rescuers found me and that was when the lights went out..

I woke up as if in a fugue, without any sense of where I was or what time or day it was.

They told me I had been gone for four days, and that all attempts to find her had failed, revealing only lacunas.

It was six in the evening and I could hear distant rumbling, resonating in the air. I asked the nurse whether any bombs had gone off lately. She very nonchalantly and in a tone bestowed only upon seasoned nurses, said that it was about to rain, like it had incessantly, for the past four days..

And I don’t know why, it’s not as if I believe in weather forecasts, but I instantly turned the TV on and put on the news. They were not showing weather maps or cloud formations. Instead they were showing how an unidentified woman had freed herself from the mob and had jumped out of their jeep en route the A39, near North Cornwall. All they showed was a blurred scathed face, its color incomprehensible due to the grayscale imagery. I couldn’t make out whether it was her, I couldn’t make out whether she was Jew or British, I couldn’t make out whether she was white or black, I couldn’t even make out whether she was coming through or dying… all that I could make out, was that she was crying…

And that night… it rained, like it had never before on the gleaming streets of London…”

~***~

This passionate and heart touching memoir, to be shortly published by Orient Publications, has been aptly titled:

“How to make someone read your blog while keeping them under the impression that it’s a nifty and inspirational biographical account of a Nobel laureate’s life, when actually it’s just another random and outlandish creation of your demented mind!!”