The Desi Masala Story


Every story has a certain truth in it.

Every truth has myriad opinions following its course of existence.

Each opinion is important, as it is an accumulation of one’s upbringing, morals, cultural, religious and social standpoint, and more. It depicts one’s socially stimulated individuality.

The following events will instill piety in some of the readers, in others it will bring out a sick envy, in few it will originate an ethic debate and the rest will be sticking to either of the three or form some minor point of view. But what really matters is – the conclusion.

The place is the heart of India- Varanasi. It has a heavy stardust of ancient culture, beautiful detail of related structures and a million experiences all residing in that one place. The trio of Varuna, Ganga and Assi converging into a whirlpool of sanctity, and nesting possibly the biggest pilgrimage hub in whole of India.

It is a house a few kilometres away from the river bank. The house is quite lavish, with a few fruit trees in the backyard, a wall garden with Bougainvillea and Tulsi and some parking space up front. The fence is of a human’s height and whole construction is located a house away from the road. For a monkey to summit the house it must jump from the ground floor to the balcony of the first then make it to the roof or simply climb up either on the mango or the guava trees and leap. There is a room on the roof that one of the residents had built to comfortably give his board exams in a joint family environment.

It was the wake of 21st Century, but the time has no value in the following.

The family living in the house is a huge one. The building belonged to the great grandfather of the Kid. He was a very old, strict and just man living a next to yogi life. He lived on the ground floor. The house was divided into two portions – one for each of his lovely daughters. One of his daughters lived right above him with her family. The other half of the building was leased by the second one, residing in the same city. Kid’s grandparents are people of academia and at those times happened to be approaching the dusk of their careers. They are Brahmins by social status and are very particular about helping the fellow needy people they know. They always try to employ them, educate them, give them relatively better opportunities and perform numerous related acts of philanthropy. The dynamic duo parented a son and two daughters into the successes that they are now. Their son went abroad for studies, one thing led to another and soon he landed a job and married his college sweetheart. That’s how the Kid came into the picture.

It was the third time their son visited homeland after the Kid came to this world. This time it was different, the former wanted his parents to get closer with his newly founded family. The stay was planned to be 5 months long. Arrangements like schooling were made for the Kid. He was 5 back then. His father had to get back to his job and hurried back abroad. His mother and he were left to mingle even more with grandparents, educate themselves of Hindi and finish LKG & UKG in the given time. Funnily, the Kid was a foreigner to both of his homelands.

The food was delicious and the spices were heavenly. Both grandparents are great cooks. Both tutored their daughter- in- law the art of Indian cuisines. There was a domestic Help- a curious and friendly teenage girl who was given an opportunity to progress from family’s home village to the city. Grandparents helped her out, gave her ample different opportunities throughout her tenure and supported her even further. She’s somewhere in Mumbai now, married and happy. But back then, the kitchens were mostly ruled by the Grandmother, but whenever she wasn’t home- by the Help. There was also a Maid who came in the evenings or whenever there was a soiree and the volumes of the spicy art were not manageable by the limited number of chefs in the house. These were visits by relatives, but they were even relatively infrequent. The communication gap was a challenge, but was quickly overcome by the fertile young mind and motherly efforts. But even after that it was not allowed for the Kid to roam around and play in the streets with the rest of the children, because such an ordeal could’ve proved to be dangerous. The lessees didn’t have any children of Kid’s age, so he was pretty much left all to his own.

These were times when Cartoon Network showed great cartoons and looked like a checker board. A lot of hours were well invested into watching the television. There were a lot of self- strategized and self- directed epic toy soldier battles and numerous vehicle chases before one day the Help offered to play with him. It is practically fascinating how young children and basically everyone who’s not yet an adult find a common language fast and easily make new friends.

During a common day, the Help finished all her responsibilities and by the time she did it, Kid did his homework and was generally about to click open the cartoons.  The TV had its own course of life and magically was not allowed to stay awake whole day. They had it to themselves for an hour or so, then there was an optional nap time. The option was controlled by the Mother. The Kid slept with his mother in his room while unknown to him things happened around the house. Little did he know that the house turned into a peaceful sanctum with a kingdom of dreams ruling over it, as everyone napped. Slowly waking up, house always picked up its pace towards the evening. Whenever the Help was free, the Kid used to play with her. They were the Ludo masters, the King & Queen and what not. Whenever she was busy, the Kid always nagged her to allow him to help. As he was not allowed near the stove or any sharp objects, all he got to do was cleaning peas, pitching water and an occasional crushing of Maggi.

One day, she was cutting some vegetables in the kitchen on the first floor and the Kid barged in. His hyperactivity stepping a notorious melody, filled the atmosphere with playful energy. She looked at him and asked what was everyone doing. She got to know that everyone else was either asleep, busy or didn’t yet reach home from an extra detailed chirrup she heard in retaliation. A few minutes passed when she looked at the Kid and enquired, if he had any homework left to do. His patience wore out as he blurted out “No!” and started hopping out of the kitchen. She called him back. She asked if he wanted to play something new with her. She left the vegetables and the knife, turned towards him and added- “But you must promise me not to play this game with anyone else, they won’t play it nor will they understand it…” “What are the rules?”, he enquired. “Silence.”, she replied, “and your hands…” “Should I build something?”, was his first reaction. “No, you must feel something…”, she said, “give me your hands!”

He gave her his hands, palms up, the way he gave them to the teacher before he got hit with a ruler. He got worried, if that’s what was going to happen right now with some kitchen utensil. She held his hands in hers and as if studying the fair skin crevices turned them upside down. He looked up at her and asked- “So?”. She pulled his hands under her kameez and stuffed them up to her chest. The Kid was stunned, but turned playfully curious. She told him to feel her breasts and tell her the experience. With awkwardly straight open palms he traversed from the tips to the ribs and back both ways. He told her that it felt soft and big. Each scaled at least three of his palms in breadth and almost two in length. She instructed him to fondle them. He pressed them like balloons. In unease, she exclaimed to be gentle. He didn’t understand how so she took his hands in her own again and guided him. It was a strange, undefined, rather exciting feeling for the Kid- a brand new experience and he liked it. She seemed dissatisfied, so she told him to hug her from behind locate them again and massage the tips. She folded his palms and explained the light twisting movement that she wanted him to perform. He was more than happy to conform to her instructions. They stood like this for a while and once he got steady she started chopping vegetables again. In a few minutes, he got a bit bored and pulled himself away from her. She asked if he liked it. He said that he did. He asked the name of the game, she told him that it was “love making”, but if he wanted to play he should ask her whether “they could clean some peas together”.

The Kid was bedazzled with the new occurrence and developed an inexplicable curiosity to play it again. The memory of the feeling drove him to ask her every day, but only once in a few days did they get a chance to play this game again. They literally got a chance to clean some peas in the kitchen. As always, when everyone was either away or asleep, they sat in the kitchen. She laid the newspapers on the ground, spilled the pea pods into a pile on the wicker grain cleaner and put a kneading plate nearby to collect the cleaned peas. She told him to throw away the plastic bags into the dustbin under the washbasin while she latched the kitchen door. She sat on one of the newspaper edges and started to clean the peas. He sat nearby and moaned at her. She asked him if he wanted to play. He agreed. She told him to sit on her lap and face her. He climbed into her lap and sat facing the peas. She told him to turn around and hug her with his legs and hands like a monkey. He got excited with the reference and did as she asked. She asked him if he remembered what to do since the last time. The Kid complied to her request. He spent a great fraction of time figuring out a way to find his way under her shirt. He was unpleasantly surprised when he discovered that their texture changed and reminded him of some fabric. He complained, she smiled and single- handedly took each bosom out of the brassiere and let them hang freely under the shirt. He didn’t get the structure of the vest she wore under her kameez, but satisfied with recollection of the previous experience started to play. He kept on fondling her while sitting in her lap. She pulled him closer to herself and started cleaning peas behind his back whenever she got a chance. Howsoever bedazzling was the nature of the game and whatsoever effects it had on his body, he felt ecstatic under effect of what appeared to be something close to adrenaline. He kept on caressing her summits the way she wanted. It was only when grandmother came home and called for her that she asked him to stand up and rushed to unlatch the door. Grandmother saw the door opening and asked why was it closed. The Help confidently told her that they were cleaning peas and the air blew the door shut. It was convincing enough.

Whole house became their castle when the siege of mid-day solitude used to hit. They even played on the roof whenever it wasn’t that hot. Whenever it was as sunny as it gets in Varanasi, they simply played in the room on the roof or so it used to be before. They got into the room to the left of the staircase and sat on the mat. The Kid used to have these figurines of soldiers and a Batman Beyond which he brought to the roof along with an aeroplane and some Hot Wheels. She said- “I am tired today, let’s just lay down on this hot day.” The Kid made a grimace, turned around and played on his own for a while. He was running one of the figurines across the wall when she sat up and pulled him towards her. She immediately lied on her back and told him to climb on top of her. She promised that he won’t be able to get out of the comfortable bed she was going to make for him. He climbed on her from her side. He thought he knew what followed this so he reached out to fondle her. She stopped his hands and pulled his head on her breasts. She asked if he liked the cushions. He didn’t deny that they were surprisingly calming and homely. He turned his head to the side with his head planted right in the trough and looked at the wall across the bulging fabric of her kameez. He was content in his innocence.

The above is not the sole event that happened to the Kid here and neither it might be to either of you, readers. The events followed, less aggravated or even more despicable, then, now and might still affect most of us in the future. The essence of these events stays true even if details vanish in time. The following conclusion contains more points, but those cannot be mentioned due to possible “radicality” of some readers.

There must be no blames associated with the described act, neither it must be fine to accuse an individual for an unguided portrayal of their curiosity. It is only a common effort that might prevent such things from happening. Sex must not be a taboo anymore in a nation as dynamically affected by development as India. People must accept sex as a basic orientation of human curiosity. Instead of imposing bans on the mentioning of anything related to the theme, yet openly joking about such things in the dark corners of their abodes and developing high sex valuing mindsets and psyches, we must rather seek guidance, discuss the simplicity of this act with no attached value to it and educate themselves and people around them. India, the home of Kamasutra, must now embrace, guide and nurture sex, instead of exiling it altogether and leading to formation of secretive crooked minds.

For, as long as peacocks shed tears, the nation will stay in the darkest corners of dynamic, yet confused culture.

The ” Haunting” of humanity


“A plea”, right now, direct stream from my brain
Engineering seems void, progress seems void, I think only science can be considered to be an ultimate goal less aim…
All the scientists, running about in their labs, researching something, not knowing what, accidentally stumping on some poor poop of a theory and naming it- “Poop 1, Hamiltonian poop, Bose- Einstein poop, Crazy poop, Wacko poop, Taco poop, Subramaniam poop, Mendeleeff poop…” and on and on and on… Others- What do they do?- They take out the carefully preserved old poop of the others, poke it, smell it, look it up in the microscope, think of it, overthink of it and then finally they either die of void efforts or the same old poop they’ve been throwing around falls on their head and they invent “gravity”… Funny people all over the Earth, leading funny, pointless lives… Businessmen, what are they doing?- bartering, exchanging food, medication, shelter, clothing (old man’s animal skin or fur) in exchange of either butt swipe (credit/debit card) or some leaves which in their solo existence have no value…
Engineers, people taking pleasure in taking things up, twisting them, turning them, burning them, squeezing them, knowing that their efforts will go void next year, but still aiding man to become even more lazy, get into more void soul barter, or poop poking… Engineers- people, who take up the poop from scientists, bake it and present to all the common people as an applausible piece of cake, which gets stale in few minutes, if not seconds (years and months respectively, of course), because just about then some other engineer, arranged for some cholesterol dug out from the heart of the Earth (gold or some other metal) and converted it into even a better cake, soon to fall stale again… Man has emerged on Earth, with purpose, what is the purpose, nobody knows, none wants to think of it, so what they do?- They take up any random activity, like digging poop, baking cakes from it or delivering and bartering all that to the rest and spend their precious lives on it… What preciousness is in them when neither you, nor me can see a bigger scene above the- “become a mother, a father, continue the race along with either digging some new poop, baking some new poop or bartering the best one as soon as new one is baked…”
The sportsmen, the explorers, the models… all of them- chiselling their muscles, watching the world, grooming their fur- who’s got better stripes, which stripes will make you “different” this year… they at least live up to the name- “animals”, that we all are…
Look at those puny fools- the farmers, working their lives off- whole year, killing the Darvin’s “poop”, seeing and understanding that they’re being used, but being kind and simple enough to thank for that and continue their job, so that they don’t have to sit like us and being haunted by thoughts wandering about the palace on our head, be constantly knocking in the wall tagged “the meaning of existence”…
Loneliness of humanity has evolved to such an extent that it multiplied. All of us are schizophrenics, but when it’s a global syndrome, why calling it a disease? We have separated ourselves from the animals, we don’t care about them, don’t even know about them, though we live on the same planet… We sit under the sky throwing empty hopes in cans called rockets, waiting for the “species of equivalent or above intelligence” named bride will see, catch and accept our ring embossed with “hope” on it… “People come and go”- simple and one of the most common expressions depicting the pathetic condition of mankind stuck in the corner of self made egoism and its schizophrenia sprawling in such magnitude…
When he felt alone, his schizophrenia engineered him God… He told this to others, others like him, those poor creatures standing around him in the corner, banging their heads- together, yet separate in their pain…
Now, you can see how easily they bring that “cake” up whenever they’re in trouble or whenever the “people come and go”, the statement they’ve been using as their birthright, with no emotions, no regret, comes to action on them  and when it’s turn of the rest in the corner to use it…
We come alone, we go lonelier… Along the road we just make up all the emotions, all the actions, just to avoid the ultimate, all penetrating question- Why are we here?
We love somebody, when we try get rid of all the frustration of failing in answering that question… We blind ourselves with anger, sympathy, any of them, all of them, just not to look into the burning eyes of that question, directly…
Universe is so big- we comprise barely an atom in it, yet our fear of pursual of the answer to that question made our schizophrenia to convince us, that this and only this is the world, that’s it- these humans, not beasts are my brethren, and I come alone, and in pain I die even lonelier, because I’ve bartered my soul and borrowed some from others so as to entangle myself good enough, so that from behind of that web, I won’t be able to face and even see that same old question?- The one of few that haunt you before you die- “Why was I here? Did I perform well? What will be next?”…Live feed snapped…

Please, do not discriminate the mode of presentation, it’s written in style to go in hand with current generation…
The rest- discussions, critique, advises are welcome…

3000 Days for you


So here you are, sitting, staring at the screen, waiting for something new or interesting to spring out at you from this essay, article, philosophy- call this whatever you like…
I’ll call it my legacy, a teaching to all of you…
Let’s kill the grandeur of this introduction and confess, that none of all this is brand new…
But realization of the same is revolutionary…

The secret of a day:
How  much do an activity of sleeping take up time in your day?
6 hours?- maybe 10? Or maybe even more?
How long does it take for you to finish off all your daily activities of eating, grooming, transportation?
Lets say, for a common man all the above- 12 hours?  Maybe even more?
We work, we study, wo are doers– all of us, different as we are, of certain age- nobody sits idle… I can say, and with a strong base that we do for 8 hours… Some people, even more
Well, we all know that much of mathematics, thank god to 21st Century and the educational bill being passed in all constitutions, that we already spent more than 2/3rds of the day?
You feel tired reading upto here, so what you probably going to do?- Take your eyes off, look at the ads, change the tab, watch the dumb box, the cellphone or maybe some other useless activity, that you prefer to do, without even knowing, why do you do it?
Even if I’ll gift you 1/3rd of the day, part of which you already lost in all the previously described activities, you’ll be doing all the things I just mentioned you do when you get bored and nothing else…
Hobbies, very few people do have them, and those who do, actually fail to pursue them…
You feed your 1/3rd of the day to useless activities…
The above sentence, is a negative and attacking statement, judging you, your habits, your day…
But let me rephrase it, my deqr reader, all you’ve got is 1/3rd of the day and oh, how you want to use it for yourself…
Now, let’s tone things down and move on to the next part…

The fascination of the year:
Close your eyes, and try to remember a face, I bet first of the faces which you can so easily remember will be that of your mother or father…
Let’s go absolutely patriarchal on topic (no offense to feminists, I am one) and say- bread at your house comes from your father…
Look at him, all energetic and fierce and ready to work, because he has an aim for existence- family’s welfare…
Look, how he sweats all his efforts to keep you up and going…
Let’s try to get into his shoes and see it through his eyes…
‘I wake up in the morning, get ready as fast as I can have almost no breakfast and barely make it on time to the work… I try my best, competition in the atmosphere hints on smothering me all the time, crush me, my colleagues and even the work, at times, but, sometimes I, sometimes we all break our backs sweat and stain our shirts, but push all of it through… 8 hours, all done… not less than a gym workout, ah, don’t remind me, have to do that pretty soon… Long journey, I’m home hon… Atmosphere, here, now, home- ah, miss you all, love you all, try to spend some time in the evening, but alas, I’m tired, they’re tired, I’ll watch the idiot box and kick my shoes off…”
Weekends- he takes us all out and tries his best to spend time with us…
But, the big picture, the work- he works for 2/3rds of the year, all the left time, it’s family time- Saturdays, Sundays, a week long vacation, and a health leave converted into family time…
Of course, family comes first for him- that’s his aim, his hobby, his quality time, but again, it’s 1/3rd of the year…
Let me check my scientific calculator- well with all those days, roughly, hmm, it’s slightly above a century of days per year…
Oh, what magic is 1/3?
Leave all the magic behind, move on…

The Quintessence of Life:
Now, present, reality- all are the same to the roots…
Dusk of dinosaurs?- no, too slow, too clean, too big…
We live in the 21st century and how a modern will phrase it- quite amount of six figure age salary has the Earth earned since the dawn of the great reptiles…
Look around, you live in a dirty city, everything is deadly fast- even you, all things are small and getting even smaller… A Century old man?- How many of those you’ve possibly seen?
Average all of us out… we’ll be remembered for like what?- 60-70 years? Then dust will cover our tombstones, if we are lucky to have one…
Say we live 30000 days…
I’m just stepping into adulthood, so I’ll continue from my limited perception from now on, but I hope your adult “wiseness” will help you to extrapolate things further and understand what I’m saying…
I’m almost twenty, so around 7000 days are gone
I’m a student, so let’s say I’ll have this mark upto 10000 days maybe less…
The question- myth- ” What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?”
I should say, our evenings are the longest… Why?- They start when we are 50, but with all this- ‘fast’ ‘small’ and ‘not so clean’ believe me we all step into our three legged existence at the start of 40ies…
Oh, the energy… Adulthood- the period of maximal human efficiency… We get only about 20 years, or let’s even say more- 9000 days of full mental, productive, physical, emotional and sexual efficiency…
The later years prove to slowly flat line the above, eventually flat lining you…
Well, so?
We get 9000 days of fully efficient adult life, right?
I bet you forgot something…
Ah, yeah- the magic ratio- the 1/3!!!
So, my supercomputer suggests that we get, like, around 3000 days for ourselves?
How sad is that, all the laziness, all the idiot box watching, it all just splits the magic ratio to even smaller pieces?
The clock is ticking… And by the time you read this, few seconds from your 3000 days got substracted…
Catch them, hunt them down, capture them, don’t let them go useless…
As I said, I won’t tell nothing new, but the realization itself, of this fact is so important, that I believe, from now on, you’ll make every second count!

Want to get more days?
Stay fit- it will give you more days.
Live by the day.
Stay happy- it makes it worth it.
Don’t let depression crawl into the next day.
Trust humanity and live for it.
Do not be living. Believing is must.
If you work, choose your work to be something, you don’t consider to be work.
Do not do anything planned.
Now, be a rebel and extrapolate all the rest of advises on your own, because if not you, then believe me, I do know that you got what meant…
Just remember, all you have is 3000 days- that’s my gift to you…

(I invite all the criticism, queries, suggestions, guidance and will entertain them, just do comment- it’s my first blog- essay)

Тишина…


Тишина, золотая тишина
Это минута молчания в память погибшим…
Тишина, смешная тишина
Это воспоминания себя давно полюбившим…
Тишина, молчание, тишина
Это боевое затишье на поле сражений…
Тишина, смертельна тишина
Это когда о человеке нет соображений…
Тишина, любимая тишина
Ни души, нет машин и ушла вся городская зараза…
Тишина, пугающая тишина
Тебе страшно, ты один, не понятно…
Тишина, какая же ты тишина?
Когда шумно у тебя в сердце…