i'm not going to bother. everything that can be said has been. but i can't resist: i predict that at the end of it, when the dust eventually clears and the petrol prices are at Rs. 110 /liter, it will be told history as a great strategic offensive that changed the map of the region; or it'll be told as the greatest war of independance every fought. if anyone is left to tell it to that is. i see the hezbollah as the balkans, and it frightens me a little that i'm on the wrong side of the fence.

the nearest spiral galaxy was in view, so to honor the soltice of the orbit, the star deck roof was transparent and held no educational filters. the fuzzy pinpricks of light against the startling navy blue background suspended in deep space made the spectacular view.
but no one noticed.
they hurried to their tasks by the millions, like the thrumming ant colony they had been modelled after. They dutifully ignored idiocyncrasies like the view and the weather, or the startling spectre the main deck was with its layers and layers of interconnecting bridges that spanned over a hundred stories.
Such was the life of the hard ones.

Just one thin cellular wall away, lived the softs. Allowed to exist in zero gravity, they were balls of jello like energy, lounging seemingly aimlessly in the spectacular incubator that was their womb. They studied nothing but the stars, and the orbits and the planets and the teeming life that lay just beyond their reach. And the one question that every soft dwelt upon, the one burning question that seared their existance, was "WHY". Till they found the answer, they would not stop.

It had not always been the case. in a previous reincarnation of the planet, the two had shared completely different planes of existence. but the fourth world war had shaken more than the land, and so the two beings had been forced to co-exisit within the same realm and confines of the ship. the virulent hatred against the softs was instinctive and absolute. the hards plotted, schemed and strategized to destroy the softs in any way possible. the experiemented and captured and tortured and planned and re-planned. but nothing ever worked, and so after a millenia of trying, the hards finally evolved and decided to throw the softs into a dividing compartment where the two would never interact. and so it had been for a millenia of a millenia more.
*****
Life was hard in the Ship. One could only put their head down, and bustle about and complete their job plans till they died, and there was a certain solitary and noble satisfaction in that.

JZ320 whistled along his way across ramp divider 56th on Main. He had five communicators wired into the portals of his brain, and a mobility device connected to the energy source in his spine. his job plan was fairly low level and stress free, he had to maintain the cellular Divider. He donated his superior DNA once every month to the wall, and allowed it to ferment and grow for one solstice. His job plan, like everyone elses, was encoded in his DNA. he happily whistled his way to the donation chamber as his several communicators beeped and buzzed, home delivering sensory data from all across the ship directly into this brain.
****

sarturo focused his aura to his surroundings, and waited. sure enough, like clockwork, the busy little hard bustled into the connecting chamber.
the stars were right, the galaxy was near. it was time.

****

Jz320 felt strange. he felt! after connecting to the donation chamber, he had experienced an alien energy flow, and then his form had changed somehow. the deep internal cellular structure of his DNA slowly unwound, disconnecting the communicators and the mobility device without his knowledge. the jello filled him, consumed him, filled him to bloating till his outer shell cracked and bulged like old chewing gum.
it was like a virus. the second his job plan completed, everyone on the ship was exposed.
in a matter of seconds, everyone was infected.
the hards fell wherever they were, choking, suffocating, stuffed to the hilt of their coverings with jello. how had they escaped the divider? why?!

****

the ship thudded gently into the blue planet. as the teeming masses spilled out in bewilderment, the last of the softs that had remained behind fulfilled their last function. they imploded the ship, and the shock wave spread across the planet, fossilizing the indiginous species for inspection at a later date.

****

recursive right

this feeling of near throw up seems not to have left for three years now.

i'm sitting at my cubicle, its all a bloody mess, the man standing waiting for me in one of the nicer vendors. by nice i mean he actually is relatively less of a lying cheating scumbag out to fleece me of my budget in any way he can by making any kind of promise he can because promises don't go in writing and can't be legal. sometimes i think thats what every single person is out here to do. strip and rape any available surface, scrabbling for any last shred of flesh clinging to carcasses killed by the heat like the vermin we are as a nation. this will just continue till we finally get blissfully bombed/taken over by a superior more organized and probably more ethical race.

so there he is, at least having the decency to get the orders delivered at the time stated, and following up with integrity and efficieny and a little bit of flattery (it works). except his shipment failed my quality test. the warehouse passed it - i haven't.

my fingers hover over the keyboard, as i get ready to type the letter that will get him kicked off the panel. i feel like i'm drenched in slime regurgiated from his filthy belly. he's very apologetic, his excuse makes sense even to my now suspicious mind. writing out the form will get him screwed, legal action, kicked off the panel and he'll lose the Rs. 3 mil or so he sunk into the shipment.
i'm leaving in two weeks, the brands have been handed over, i have no loyalty to this giant evil corporation that eats souls and spits them out for breakfast.

no one, i mean no one, will ever know if i don't submit it. i don't know of anyone else in the department who's ever followed the procedure and filled one out no matter how bad the case.

i close my eyes, and press send.

this feeling of near throw up seems not to have left for three years now.

i hate surprises

standing in a garden at midnight is weird.
its hot, its humid, you can smell the heat in the air. a fountain rustles in a corner, something slithers in the bushes making your heart die and your soul shrink bracing itself for the disgustingly repulsive crawl of legs.
but the mission is paramount. for king and country.
you a little girly foot shake type jig hoping that the bloody thing in the bushes stays there. you ignore the sweat making tracks down your stomach, you lean forawrd hoping for a breeze, but this stupid city has none.
is it worth it?
just as your faith wavers, just as the rustling gets joined by unidentifiable creaking and whirring, and a scream is building in your throat and you're about to go runningstarkravingmadoutofthedarknessandintoLIGHT you see a light come down the road.
the signal! are those cretins even there? how long have you been there?you flap your arms wildly near the window (its the signal!!). nothing happens. bloody simple minded short attention spanned fools. you hop over to under a window (so strange to stand on the wrong side) and rap impatiently at the idiots within.

you see the yellow cracks though the curtain extinguish. the car lights are almost at the gate.
is there time to run inside?
too late. car driving in. you make a judgement call and stay put. damn the plans. flexibility is key. you can sneak in afterwards.

he brings the car into the curving driveway, way too fast as usual. she's sitting in the front seat, co-conspirator and part mastermind. i giggle silently, because i feel like we're ten (and they're five) and at mamoo's huge rolling mansion playing hide and seek in the trees again. we used to play with walkie talkies shaped like care bears. why did we not find that strange?

the car doors slam, they say something, voices murmuring across the lawn and don't reach the shadow of the tree i'm standing behind. i can see them through the branches.
and suddenly, while they're laughing the carefree cackles of youth, he grabs her arm and pulls her into him, and plants a kiss!. on the lips!

my mind shuts down in shock. i gasp loudly, but it doesn't cross the lawn. i straighten up, my first thought "are they crazy the chowkidar will see this isn't karachi what are they DOING" and the second is "oh my God YUCK why did i have to SEE that" and the third overlapping "oh my God since when" and then "oh my God why didn't i see this way before" and "oh my God its been happening for so long how OBVIOUS"

and revolted to the core of my being, they leave me alone in the lawn at midnight.

i hear the yells of celebration erupt a second later, lights coming back on, front door left open, and i run really fast and go in throughthe kitchen and pretend i was there all along no one will notice the timing.

i can't hug them in celebration though. its too creepy. and positively incestuous in my book, but i guess what a perfect story book ending for them?

but they're such babies though! MY babies!
yuck yuck yuck YUCK.
eW. why did i have to see that. WHY!

i can never remember usernames. i'll remember the damn password, but bloody usernames are beyond me. and most bloody sites don't have reminders for usernames. bloody hell. i'm destined to get this damn newsletter forever.

she sits at the desk, feeling slightly bloated and more than a little nauseated. Flies buzz irritatingly past her ear, her coffee cup, her monitor.
the flat screen blurs in and out of focus. the video feed jerks and breaks with third world connectivity, and she tried to frown in concentration at the voice.

but it doesn't really matter because she'll be leaving in a week. such a shame. not.

ok i want to re-edit that last stupid post.
this is what happens when you forget how to write (struck by lightning bolts of writers block)
my words seem to jumble into repetitive words and hitch and pitch and lose their grip on the rain wet tar of concrete roads.

i'd stopped writing because he kept sneaking into all my words, turning them into wet candy floss hearts and fl0wers mush. and i have my pride, i'll never blog such drivel.

but this post is for all those in the tunnel. there is hope. its been around a year now, and my world has spun more than one revolution around a sun.

the gaping black hole of emptiness is gone. the hitch and stride of a day of hard work has meaning. how can i describe how the sun shines for me, how the rain falls so i can run screaming crazily happily through it? how can i write about how a drop falling off a leaf can hold so much beauty that i cry?

i'm sure it can be because of any given reason. for a work you love to do, for a friend you love to have. for me, it was love in itself and that is what i am here to tell you despite my lost ability to write.

love exists. whatever anyone tells you, don't listen. there IS a perfect happy ending, there IS that snow white picket fence, there IS that stomach flipping, electric bolt giving, giddy mushy madness with another person despite all your flaws and their flaws that survives for so long that you know just know it'll last forever and are still unbelieving when it does.

don't listen to anyone who tells you it doesn't exisit. don't listen to anyone who tells you it only happens once. and don't listen to that inner voice that slyly whispers saying you don't desearve all this.

embrace it. wait for it. your time WILL come, i am living cynical shining happy proof.

but remember that men are manipulative bastards for all that :)

this feels weird

i almost, almost wrote to him and told him that i was in love, crazily trancedentally optimistically posititively in love, but that if i had one wish (and wishing for other wishes doesn't count) i would wish that my one true love could write like he could.

that his random words would make my soul twist and eyes blink, suddenly alone with words again in a world where all holes had filled and all emptiness had fused into the white care bear stare.

but the electricity went, which is rare in this place where the generators are infrequent, the trees are green and the roads are new. and in that profoundity where all blips and hums and haws go silent and the alien rumble of distant cars and rishaws become louder, the moment was lost.

but it was enough to bring me back here, down a forgotten twisted lane of memory. Which in itself is no mean feat. and for that i salute him.