Power Games and the Admi...

What some politicians may say if they were asked "Why should people vote for you."

Shared Power : " Our party is the most firm in its stance. We are very clear on our ideology on the view that I am the Prime Ministerial candidate, and who our partners are. Our partners ,the Centre Party... "

Party man1 from behind politely cuts in to say the party is negotiating with the AllTheOtherParties front. Party man 2 simultaneously says negotiations are on with another state level party.

Power continues "As I was saying, all our partners share our ideology...."

Red Carrot: "The right is wrong. The Centre party is wrong. The nuclear deal is wrong. The US is the worst thing to have happened to planet Earth. Capitalism, exploitation of ]the masses!" [Pause for breath] "The rich keep getting richer, the poor become poorer...."

Reporter yells, "But before the financial reforms, everyone was poor!"

Red Carrot looks blankly at reporter. "The right is bad, the centrist party is bad...."

Mad-about-me-wati: "Our party manifesto promises secularism. You won't have statues of Ram, Christ or any other saints and Gods - it will be just me! As part of our manifesto, we promise you one free picture of mine to keep in your house. I also promise equality to all. Brahmins, we love you. Dalits, we love you. Muslims, we love you. We promise EVERYBODY reservation. Vote me into power!"

Audience member screams: I am part of a minority! I demand reservation for my community too!

Mad-about-me-wati asks: "Who is this now?"

Party member obediently says, "He is of Scandinavian descent..."

Mummy from the South: "I love the Centre party. I love AlltheOtherParties. I love the Centre party. Actually, wait. I just hate the ruling party in my state. Can we have that as our slogan?"

Devil-got-my-goat-aah! - "Yaar, does this matter? Anyway we will somehow worm our way to form an alliance with whoever wins, get the best deal out of them, and then dump them at the last minute. Why do we need to align with anyone now when we will always switch later?"

Can-we-give-more-nidhi from the South again: "We promise you free TVs, rice for Re. 1... We did that already? Ooh, yes, put up those posters of young Stallion on a stallion with the sword and everything around the city. Also get me dear Captain on the phone, we need new partners!"

Lal-Krishna-Add-Ayodhya - "We will not rest till Ram temple is restored!" [Pause] "The right wing will not use Ram temple as a platform!" [Pause>] "Jai Shri Ram!" [Pause] "Do we have anything else to say... where is Arun Jaitley??!!!"

Son-of-a-Gandhi : "Jai HO! If you catch any other party using this tune, please report the matter to us. It is our copyright! We bought it. Yes, yes, even the Slumdog stars are campaigning for us, good branding na... what do you mean why do you need to vote for us? We are the party that got India freedom! Look at what all we did for the country, the Aam Admi! Socialism, then capitalism, more recently - NREGS, health benefits for the poor, infrastructure development, upliftment of women, look at the number of schemes and their benefits... What do you mean you see no results??!!"

Vavavoom Gandhi: "@#$#%#! Jai Shri Ram! Lotus symbol! $%^&$&$. Arm cut. Terror. Hindus. %#$%$%. Jai Shri Ram! "

Next day he is howling on all TV channels: "That is not my voice!!!! Its not meee! Its my identical twin brother from across the Himalayas!"

**** None of it reflects my personal opinions on any party, etc. etc. All for fun. *****

A Note... to No One.

I took a drag on my cigarette and let the smoke blow out in big, wide rings.

Why do I call it my cigarette?

Well, all you bloody losers, this is the only bloody thing I own in this world. It is mine, and mine alone. I own it. No one can take it away from me.

Ha, not even you.

I watched the rings fan out in the air, and then decided to try blowing different shapes. Oh yes, my absolute darlings, I can blow out smoke in shapes of my choice. It comes with time - starting to smoke when you are young and creative and smoking one hell of a lot. Try it and see. If you are young enough. But then, don't bloody turn around later and tell me that you are dying of some deadly disease or the other.

Because frankly my dear, I just wouldn't care.

I looked at the gun I held and speculated on how much it would hurt if you shot yourself. Do you die instantly? I don't like pain. I was never one for those morbid, gory movies. Hell, I watched cartoons all my life! They encouraged us to watch such nonviolent things. I had a panic attack when I first saw Rambo shoot so many people.

I am one for free, happy living. Do no harm to others, peace, et all.

Then why do I want to kill myself, you ask?

You are intelligent I say.

Well, for starters, let me just say that the only person who would miss me when I am gone is my cigarette. And hell yes, this cigarette? It has more feelings than any of the humans I have met. They... they wouldn't care. I have watched them tell lie after lie, say one thing and do another and cheat each other (and me) in the worst possible ways...

No, wait, don't think I am wallowing in self pity here. I don't do that. They do.

I examine and report. And like I said, I believe in the happy, free life.

Which, FYI, does not exist in this world. In some way or the other, everyone is a slave. Slaves to people we love, people we hurt, jobs, possessions, wealth, things we do.... you know the crap. It is a world of inadequacy. Nothing we do is ever enough. Someone is always ahead of you. Wealthier, smarter, kinder, blah blah on and on. You are at best second. Always. If you are first today, history will overtake you tomorrow.

I think I am talking too much. But then, I don't want you to delude yourself. I help wherever possible. Plus, this gun scares me in some ways. This was the weapon that was used to murder my family (not the same thing, don't be so bloody imaginative. It ain't a movie). Someone told me they lined up my family and the others in a row and shot them. Maybe they thought symmetry was important in death? Oh, why was my family shot? I thought you asked me why they needed to put them in a row. I barely remember the reason why they were killed, it was so long ago. Some bloody territorial dispute or God or some bullshit. I don't think anyone knows, including them. And no one cares now, except you. I don't.

So, this gun. It is sleek and everything and I rather like the fact that it practically glitters in the sunlight, but I worry about the pain it may cause me when used. Now, I was very young when my family was shot dead, so I don't remember if they shouted or cried or any of that nonsense. I only remember my father crumpling to the ground first, and then my mother following him.

That always intrigued me - I thought it would have been the other way around.

I deviate. Do I write a suicide note? I don't want anyone else to be blamed... ROFL. I can't imagine they would think anyone else could be responsible, much less care about doing something about it. That settles it -no note.

Well,well, enough is enough. I have spoken to you. Just watch carefully to see if it hurts me, if the pain shows in any way. Otherwise, tell them it was a painless death. I don't imagine they will ask.

Farewell.

**** For the record, I do not smoke. People asked me that after reading the post, hence the mention. *****

The Mirror and an Image

The first time she met him was at a party. Bored, she was sipping a drink and playing with her emerald earrings, when he made his appearance by her side.

"You know something? There's nothing more I would like to do now than remove my shoes and my tie and run barefoot on the beach, away from this maddening crowd."

She turned, startled. That was an exact reflection of thoughts. She glanced at his tie involuntarily, then at his dapper, well cut suit and finally at his rimless glasses. She smiled, slightly unnerved.

He seemed to realise he had unsettled her, and looked sorry about it. "I apologise for the abrupt intrusion, I just thought you would understand that feeling." He raised his glass in a mock toast and left, as suddenly as he had appeared.

That was the start of their crazy romance. Between two individuvals who shared so much and differed so little. Being with him liberated her. It liberated her from her fears, her insecurities and comforted her in a way no other relationship had before. He was the perfect partner - he mirrored her thoughts, her opinions, likes and dislikes and made up for all her own flaws. They shared a love for books, art, music, nature, law and writing. They were both aggressive, creative, successful and brilliant. Her troubled childhood, deep complexes and fears drove her to seek success. He was a reflection of her, but without those trappings. He complemented her, strengthened her and completed her.

The journey with him was more like a dizzying, wild ride. They did everything together, everything she had ever dreamed of doing. They had serious discussions under mango trees on park benches, they made out in dark movie theaters, they rolled with laughter on the white sands of the beach, they exchanged secret, loving glances across rooms; there was no end to the music of their love, to which they alone played the tunes.

She was in love for the first time - wildly, insanely, passionately and completely.

* * *

Her eyes were closing. She stared bleakly at the monitor, trying to complete her notes for an important case. It was late in the night, and behind her, her bed was calling out invitingly. He was already fast asleep on the other side, having had a long day himself.

A popup message flashed, You have new mail. Half wondering if it was worth it, she switched windows to her mailbox.

A new comment had been published on her blog.

She smiled. She loved writing, and hence had two blogs - one where she wrote regularly of mundane things, where people knew who she was, and the one where she posted anonymously- where she put down her deeper thoughts, darker stories, theories and fantasies. The anonymous blog seldom got any feedback, since no one knew about it. It was subject only to random hits. But whenever a useful comment was made on it, it thrilled her in a childish, happy way.

Rejuvenated, she opened the comments section of the blog. "Such beauty, such eloquence, such depth. Please forgive me for taking the permission to comment, but I have to say you write with tremendous insight."

Pleased, she clicked on the profile of the person who had posted it. He/she was called Katoptron. There was no information on who he/she was, but a number of articles posted by the person were available.

Curious, she began reading Katoptron's blog. It was a collection of short stories revolving around a man who fell in and out of love with many women. How he captured the women's hearts, the memories he had of them and why ultimately, he had to let go of each of them formed the content of the blog.

She was intrigued. The subject was not to her taste, but the person had written with great feeling , empathy and understanding of the character. The stories seemed to be the author's own experiences, but at the same time, there was an objectivity that made the author seem separate from the central character - as though the author was a third person who had observed all the characters so intimately and deeply that he/she knew them better than they knew themselves. Each story had a distinct style, as though it was a tribute to each of the characters to set the tone of the story according to their varying attitudes. The stories were poignant, deep and complex. Despite trying to dislike the protagonist, she found herself being drawn to his magnetism, passion and his distance.

The last post was titled A Special Person. It chronicled the character's love for a successful woman with great beauty and intelligence, how he had met her, how she had captivated him, and what happened next.

She felt a sudden chill and a sense of foreboding. Even before she read it, she recognised the tone of the story. It was narrated passionately, lovingly, gracefully, poetically, and yet it was sorrowful. It was her character setting the tone. Her love. Her aggression. Her fears.

They had met at a party. It was instantaneous attraction. Her childish innocence underneath a hard hearted exterior tempted him. Her vulnerability, hidden beneath an aggressive nature, appealed to him. He knew he wanted her. And he would get what he wanted.

It was her story. Their story. As she read it, she felt tears stinging her eyes. The sensitivity with which he described her, her own shortcomings and fallibilities that she had never known but he had seen - it was all there. The words, the style, the descriptions - he had captured her essence, raw and deep, and yet there was a sense of detachment in the narration. As though finally, this too had to end.

She paused at the last paragraph. "I might be capable of loving her, but I need to let her go. I am an artist of life. What she sees is but an image of herself, as I project it. It isn't what I really am. I thrive on change, on exploration. I refuse to be tied down, no matter how beautiful and powerful the attraction of the subject. Soon, I shall tell her the truth and this too shall become a story to be imprinted in time. A period of joy, love and laughter. A footprint in the memory of my life."

Nothing moved. The only sound was that of his rhythmic breathing as he slept peacefully on- unaware that he had shattered the heart of the woman he was currently sharing his life with.

*** The story is a result of a series of confusing, complicated thoughts over the last two days. You can call it the result of an overwrought mind. It is also my attempt to diversify from light writing. Comments are always welcome. The characters are not based on anyone I know. ****

Would also like to say that the rimless glasses of the guy do not refer to anyone real :)