Blistering Bare-Knuckles Turiim

Night. The woods. A young guy, Richie, all of thirty years, running for his life. Chased by two bad men with guns. The chase leads out through the dark alleys, then the dark woods and finally into a backyard. Richie hides in a small stool shed. He is terrified, bewildered, trapped and perspiring obnoxiously. Truly screwed. He looks up and says, "God, if you'll get me out of here, I promise I'll never steal again, I'll never lie to anybody, I'll never sleep with an underaged. Please God, just this one time, help me out of this shit and I will be forever your guy." A gentle voice in the darkness says, "Okay." Startled, Richie says, "What? Who's there?" The voice again, "Okay." We hear his pursuers outside talking. They've reached the backyard. They're getting closer. Richie asks again, "Hello? Who said that?" He looks around in the tiny but suffocating shed. No one but him. Bad guys get closer. They're in the backyard. Richie is frantic. He drops to his knees, clasps his hands together and whispers tearfully, "No no. Wait, I believe, I'll live up to the deal. I'll turn my life for good. I'll give it to you. Oh Lord, um God, just please get me out of this jam!" One of the bad guys shouts, "The shed, he's in the shed!" The other guy shouts, "No wait!" Bursts of gunfire echoes from both directions just above Richie's head. Silence. Dead silence. More. Richie slowly opens the door a crack. Sees nothing. Opens it a bit more. He hears a groan coming from his right. On hands and knees, Richie crawls out of the shed to his left, finds one of the bad guys dead of gunshot wounds. How'd that happen? He crawls in the opposite direction and stumbles on the other bad guy. This is the groaner, dying from gunshot wounds, drowning in his pool of blood. The two idiots managed to shoot each other. The dying man sees Richie and tries to reach for his dropped revolver. Richie removes it from his reach and prepares to shoot him but... He can't do it. Not easy to pull the trigger on another human being when you just heard the voice of God - and that God saved your ass. Richie lowers the gun and says to the man, "Okay, well, good news, there is a God. I know 'cause I just spoke with him." The guy stares at him, helpless, incredulous. Richie continues, "I asked him to help me out, he said okay, and voila, you and your partner shot each other instead of me. I mean, it's weird that God helped me and not you. Maybe if you prayed for help in killing me, I don't know. I hope it doesn't work that way. The point is you're going to die, but hey, you're gonna meet God - who may or may not be thrilled to meet you 'cause, you know, you're a bad guy. Oh sure, I'm a bad guy myself, but apparently there's a sliding scale, some kind of grading pattern thing, or maybe I just have some sort of potential and you don't." The man coughs up blood and dies. Richie quickly says, "Okay, say hi to God for me. Tell him I said thanks." Richie runs off a changed man. A transformed human being who's just snatched out from the jaws of death, no longer a dope-dealing hustler, a petty thief. For the rest of life he'll dedicate himself to spreading the gospel of one true and loving God who not only exists but answers prayers too. Meanwhile in the backyard of the open upstairs window of the house, there's a bird cage hanging. In the cage is a parrot. The parrot says, "Okay."

•Never married. But remained married to the country. And gave birth to three kids- Agni, Prithvi & Brahmos. •Not a Muslim. Not a Hindu. But an Indian. And most of all a good human being. •Always loved to teach. •1st & only president to take a sortie in a Sukhoi-30 & a submarine. •On becoming the president, He agreed to wear bandhgalas but refused to change his hairstyle. He was a man of his own. •In a poll surveyed on India’s greatest president, Kalam got 42% while Rajendra Prasad came in second with 22%. •He was on the way to his second term as the president but politics came in the way. He however remained people’s president. HE WASN’T JUST ONE OF THE BEST. HE WAS SIMPLY THE BEST WE EVER HAD. Farewell Sir. #RIP #APJAbdulKalam

So I was thinking, (hypothetically) had the kid in #BajrangiBhaijaan was assisted by these people, instead of Salman khan, what could be the likely scenario? A. PM Modi - He'd first take the kid along with him for foreign trips and then secretly drop her in Pakistan (after a selfie, ofcourse). B. CM Kejriwal - He'd first sit on a dharna in front of the Pakistani embassy and then like Salman take her to Pakistan. After delivering her to her parents, he'd ask for donations from everyone in Pakistan. C. Aamir Khan - He'd take the girl to Pakistan and on the way meets & greets people (animals even) to lecture them on social evils, taboos & indo-pak talks. His lectures would force the girl to run away (to Afghanistan maybe) and Pak govt to deport him back to India. D. Rahul Gandhi - He'd regale the little girl with his childish stories, minion toys, Tinkle comics & dimples. Upon delivering the girl to her parents, Rahul loses his way back and waits for his mom to come & rescue him. E. Irrfan Khan - He'd take the girl to the border and leave her to find her way home. Badass.

She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful for the way she thought. She was beautiful for that sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful for her ability to make other people smile when she was sad. She was beautiful for filling the room with positivity and tranquility with her smile. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul.

I quietly observed a drop of sweat trickling down her landscape from behind her ear, down her neck, stopping to enjoy the breathtaking view at her collarbone, while she continued to flicker strands of her hair in lazy opulence. The drop glistened in a ray as if savouring the view with a deep breath that fills the lungs with intoxication found only in pristine air of the mountains. Breezes that refreshes the insides as well as the outsides. Once it had enough of my undivided attention to make me extrapolate its path downwards through the contours into the valley where her pendant hung as if to guard it from my piercing eyes by declaring the initials of her partner. It had its effect on me. I glanced at her ice cold piercing eyes. Eyes that not only noticed the trickle of her sweat, the gleam it reflected and the path that I wanted it to follow but also my gaping mouth.

I see no point of celebration when the state is barely surviving on Centre's grants, the living standard is perched between the haves and have-nots, the infrastructure in and around naga-inhabited areas are appalling and to top it constant skirmishes along the lines of Naga-ness is an everyday thing. The big question? Who's a real Naga? The tribes who make the state of Nagaland? The tribes in the hilly areas of adjoining states? The tribes on the other side of the border? The debate over Identity is understood but what amazes me is the sense of false pride, looney egotism, deluded nationalism that comes attached. What are we proud of? Our headhunting past? Our unabashed nakedness? Our self-righteous Christianity? Or are we just deluded like the pompous emperor with no clothes. Now some will accuse me of misguided criticism, condescending approach and even unpatriotic behaviour. To them I'd answer with Julian Barnes' Flaubert's Parrot, "The greatest patriotism is to tell your country when it is behaving dishonourably, foolishly and viciously." Maybe. Someday. When the spirit of unity, understanding of collective history, identity and fate, triumphs over tribalism, fratricide and class divide, true independence will be achieved. A geographical demarcation is just on paper. It's people who make a nation. Not barb wires, patrol posts nor a line drawn on the soil. Maybe someday we shall realise The Dream our forefathers died for, make a corner our own for our sons and daughters but for now, lets be family first. Let the plant under our feet grow before it provides shade to others. Maybe Kuknalim will be a reality. Maybe Kuknalim will be the rock on which churches will be built. "Heroism on command, senseless violence, and all the loathsome nonsense that goes by the name of patriotism -how passionately I hate them!" - Albert Einstein

What do you mean she wasn’t doing a thing? Maybe she wasn’t doing a thing that you could see. But I could see her standing there, leaning on the balcony railing, smiling and holding the universe together.

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around, let the strand of her hair bury my face and sleep. Not for sex, like in movies. Not even kiss. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But alas, I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend. I was gawky and she was gorgeous. I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

Every event that has taken place in this universe has led to this moment. Every star exploding, every planet colliding, every molecule combining, every quantum occurrence, every life forged, every adaptation, every evolution of every species, every birth, every death, every thought, every consciousness and every action taken by anyone who has ever lived. The real question is, What will you do with this moment?

No Sania Mirza. You're not getting targetted because you're a woman. You marrying a Pakistani is inconsequential. Your religion also is a moot point. The gist of the matter is- This nation has failed to treat her heroes. A section of our population are so prejudiced, narrow minded, ignorant and cheap that they can't identify the difference between patriotism and jingoism, nationalism and majoritarian. These are the same people who won't lose any minute in sharing stage, clicking photos together, promising financial support/prizes when you return from your overseas victories (refer to Sania Nehwal on that front) but show amazing alacricity and adeptness in firing loose canons at you for electoral gains or political vendetta. Our Indian public is equally responsible. One day they will garland your image, make temples for you, chant your names but the next day, burn your effigies, throw stones at your house, vilify you on the basis of your caste/sex/loyalties and what not. Sania even though you're a Hyderabadi, these people questioned your loyalty, allegiance towards Telengana/India (as ridiculous it sounds) but put it in contrast with champs like Likmabam, Sanjitha Chanu, Chekrovolu Swuro & co. who surely won medals for India at the ongoing Commonwealth Games, yet next day if they are seen walking on Delhi roads, chances are they getting teased as Chinky, Chinese, or even offered few sleazy propositions. So when you had to make a rather emotional declaration, "I'll remain Indian till I die." Spare a thought for countless, nameless and voiceless champions of yesteryears who have to produce their ration card, aadhar card, DL, Electricity bill, Passports, Voter's ID etc to prove that they are Indian, forget about winning medals for the very country. I'm not a pessimist nor am I some rabble rouser with vested interest. But I believe our people are truly democratic in a way that they don't differentiate between sport stars. They equally worship and equally criticise heroes. They love you but they would love to kill you too. Sachin, Sania, Mary Kom... India. No country for Heroes.

Most hilarious but hard hitting truths about Indians debunked by Indians themselves on #Twitter thanks to the hash tag #AccordingToIndians. I chose my personal top 25. Have fun! 1. If you can speak English you are educated and from a rich family. 2. If a girl pukes, she must be pregnant. 3. If you have a DSLR you're a professional photographer. 4. Every toothpaste is a Colgate. 5. If a stranger (lady) smiles at you, she is inviting you to her bed. 6. Getting hiccups means suddenly your loved one is remembering you. 7. Writing 'Proud Indian' in your bio is the biggest act of patriotism while we spit/pee on roads and bribe our way out of hot soup. 8. If your left eye blinks, something bad is going to happen. 9. When life gives you lemons , add a thread with some chillies and hang it on your door. 10. Length of a girl's skirt is directly proportional to the purity of her character. 11. Every south indian is a Madrasi. 12. Every northeasterner is a Chinki. 13. You're not allowed to talk to strangers, but marry a stranger. 14. Worshiping Cow is more important than Respecting Women. 15. Bargaining with poor vegetable vendors is smartness but bargaining in the mall stores is cheap. 16. You should be a virgin and a professional in bed at the same time on the first night of marriage. 17. Getting 98% in exams is no big deal but missing out on remaining 2% is. 18. Study in private schools, IITs/IIPMs but look for Government jobs. 19. A son or daughter should either become a doctor or engineer. 20. What your son/daughter thinks or feels is of no importance but what 'people' think is of paramount importance. 21. Wearing a helmet means your entire body is protected thus you have the license to drive like a madman. 22. A girl child born in the family is a curse and the mother is to be blamed. 23. We are born arm-chair critics. Criticising politicians and administrators is a national past-time. 24. If you don't break a coconut in front of your new car/bike you won't prosper. 25. It is the duty of every single person in the world to know who Sachin Tendulkar is.

I believe that as human beings, We are genetically inclined to elevate and worship people we deem to be very beautiful or very talented. We do this because we somehow take comfort in our adoration. It makes us feel good. As children we sleep beneath the images of movies, television, music and sport stars, and dream about the mystery and grandeur of their lives. As we grow up, the posters give way to a steady, noxious stream of tabloid culture. But perhaps the most enjoyable and satisfying of all is watching them fall from grace. Nothing beats a good ol' public crucifixion. Especially when it's self-inflicted. I think it can be dated back to my genetic theory. The existence of superior DNA (as Nietzsche calls it 'The Superman') is viewed as a threat. When beautiful and talented people screw up, we can't help but feel that this somehow improves the chances for mediocre descendants like you and I to break ranks, and disprove Darwin and his theory of Natural Selection. In other words, evolution my ass.

My favourite Maya Angelou philosophy that struck me in my personal pursuit and understanding of Home. Thank you Maya. The world has lost one of its brightest candle burning in the altar of humanity. I can only hope that the future generation can replenish the loss of quality of greatness like Maya Angelou. "Thomas Wolfe warned in the title of America's great novel that 'You can't go Home.' I enjoyed the book but I never agreed with the title. I believe that one can never leave home. I believe that one carries the shadows, the dreams, the fears and dragons of home under one's skin, at the corners of one's eyes and possibly in the gristle of the earlobe. Home is that youthful region where the child is the only real living inhabitant. Parents, siblings, and neighbours, are mysterious apparitions, who come, go, and do strange unfathomable things in and around the child, the region's only enfranchised. [...] We may act sophisticated and worldly but I believe we feel safest when we go inside ourselves and find home, a place where we belong and maybe the only place we really do" - Letter to My Daughter