Murders on Camera

The nausea is palpable. It has always been - whenever I read about the barbarity of Gujarat riots - of ripped foetuses and ravished little girls. I cant take it anymore. I cant rationalise my/our existence along with what we do anymore. I dont think the human race deserves to survive after the evil we do and have done. What game is this? If this is how we are supposed to be, then let me not have the ability to feel the pain, to remorse, to shed tears on the mutilated genitals of an innocent man. Thinkers, citizens, sages and worldly-wise politicians - all suggest not to be sad because there is enough goodness still remaining in this world to justify our continuance as a race and to salvage us out of our misery. But tell that to the man whose children were chased around before being hacked, piece by piece, in front of his eyes. Aren't we somehow a part of that brutal melodrama? Aren't we related to those children in that faraway part of this country? Aren't we responsible somehow? I can see the salvaging goodness in me, my friends, my family and several general people all around me. But somehow, all that goodness does not aggregate in a way to compensate for all the evil in us and for all the vile, ugly things we have done. It's just not fair! And I can't take it any more. I wish an asteroid would hit us and wipe out the human race. I wish an earthquake would flatten us all. I wish a black plague would make us extinct. We all deserve to die. Either that, or just me.

She

She is still a wisp of imaginary mist floating somewhere in eternity.
She's like a wide open door, beyond which there are wide-open skies.
She is not a person, she is a feeling.
Something that everybody wants to feel in himself.
She's the alter ego I always wanted.

Deprivation

Only few things in this world make it worth living - beauty of nature, music, and the love of your child. And the irony is that we're stuck within walls, inside cubicles without being able to enjoy any of the three - nature, music or your child's company - trying to eke out a living that does not leave life worth living. We're living in just thoughts of these beautiful things: company of child in the evening, smell of a flower someday and FM radio in the car. We try to snatch 'quality time' from our 'scheduled automaton' of a life. We feel guilty both ways - at home and in the office, and along the way too. We look forward to the next weekend from this weekend. The weekend seems to be the sanctuary where all our troubles and all our fears will be resolved. The weekend is the place where we will be reunited with our loves and loved ones. But weekend is the only time when you get to pay your bills, fix your car, do your accounts, fix the broken stuff around the home. And then there's just enough time left for you to catch up on some sleep to compensate for the entire week's deprivation.