Ginger drafts...

Studies revealed that chimps are not good learners as humans are. Given a situation, chimps measure the problem at hand, try and “create” a solution, whereas humans are more inclined to “adopt” a solution that was taught to them. This inherent characteristic difference between humans and chimps provides us with a rare insight into the triumphs of civilization. Humans and chimps alike are good learners and good followers, only the degree of “learning” varies on a long enough time line. On a shorter time line though, an appreciable “attitudinal change” has not been found. Within the boundaries of evolutionary framework, this remarkable ability; “learning” does gain significance in strategically building up expositions on “triumphs of civilization”. One logical feature that emerges out of this argument namely “solidarity”, often admired for its precedents is but an animated feature of the crude human instincts. The civilization is a consolidated outcome of one single feature at the heart

As I type these words, I am acutely aware of a thought process running on a parallel track, non coincidental, but not mutually exclusive. I take a brief pause and give way to a certain depth of philosophical musing. At once vague, misinformed and undisciplined thoughts rush into the mouth of my mind’s sphere, the sphere of capacity my mind possesses. My mind picks up “indiscriminately”, and flips the thread of thought upside down, sideways, runs its memory coils over the infinitesimally small width and across the full range of the harrowingly obscure length of the thread of thought. While this is happening, momentum shifts, it happens so fast, that my sphere of mind is choked to death with the ubiquitous energized threads of thoughts blistering from the abyss, or is it the deeper stores of stacked membranes of mind. The beautiful and at once thrilling experience of pondering over the mind's activity by me (the mind) puts me an awkward position of looking at myself from the inside.

Love appears volitional for a bystander, although it is frequently seen playing into intertwining muddles of human emotions, it is read and written almost invariably as a “clerical” error to be rich in interplay, and is conceived universally as a positive mental attribute. Love is in fact a mental condition. The patient shows nervousness and agitation, is “jumpy” and is not satiated with common terms of reciprocation. Patient in love exacts attention and is not satisfied even with a conspicuous display of attention, implores for “sensual” and “affectionate” display of emotional outpour from the object of love. Patient takes refuge in another complimentary mental attribute “jealousy”, together the pair of mental attributes combine to form a wealth of insidious capacity that gorges on his other hitherto” superbly functioning mental attribute “rationale”, subsequently dethrone it and take its place. The “ego” that is primed by this deadly combination of mental attributes offers little hop

Britain launched an atheist bus campaign recently, inter city buses would carry the message "There is probably no god, now stop worrying and enjoy your life". Donations were sought and the organizers were strangulated to the core with the unprecedented outpour of jubilation, money came pouring in, and the deluge leapt up the giant serpentine neck, opened its fangs of virgin evocation with venom of rationale dripping profusely from the loose corners. It doesn't take much for a 10 yr old to figure out the absurdity in “branding” him, namely religious branding. For centuries, Religious parents presumptuously branded their offspring with their religion, and now “oh! The times are changing”, this generation is already marching into the vastness of “rational thinking”. My first instinct was- well, to transpire political ends into reality, organizers have consciously condescended the morale of atheists, because the message if anything should read “there is almost certainly no go

How benign and how to never inquire, Cecilia prodded herself into the tread, uninterested albeit, but balanced almost uninvited, strength registered, stream relapsed, she reposed, drooped, stooped, at once into the river, trance like into the stream, with the stream and she became at that moment an object of thought, just for that moment, she existed, and then it was gone, just as the light from a lighthouse would illumine one for a moment, just for a moment, and then it is gone. The wave of thought ceased to explore her, swished past her, smoothly jerked the rough edges, crept inside, caressed, undulating, mockingly, defying indulgence as she watched aghast. Cecilia amid the glory of the riveting morning fog, pushed forth the tread with dreadfulness aghast, something was amiss, she stooped low, curled her lips tight together, smoothened her pulsating intakes of ghastly chilled air, it stirred her senses momentarily, she felt weak and feeble, the hollowness of what she missed put her a

Opal tinted roofs sloped earthwards as sun beat on them ferociously, workers in pale brown clothes started to gather under the glistening roof, a dog munching delightfully ran up to an old man, prancing wildly, he squatted before him, mouth leant skywards, driveling profusely, frothing nervously, he checked himself, leant back his head, gulped down the leftovers of his munched food earlier, caught the thick and long bone instantaneously as the old man parted with it. The old man parted with that bone only after he sucked in the succulent juices inside it, a woman carrying her baby on her hips, tucked the baby closer, and pulled it deeper into the grove over her hip bone, as she bent her body above the hips to accommodate the infant. The woman served the hungry old man with more meat, he noisily devoured on the spicy dish, as the woman readied herself to serve another helping, and the dog readied himself for another hollow bone, and the baby readied himself to be pulled closer as it sen

James shook the double rimmed spectacles, gazed through the upper hemisphere, sternly, without a hint of doubt, started, stared, gaped, he could not believe it, removed his spectacles, shaded his eyes with the back of his hands, shoulders hunched, his loosened hands dropped spectacles on to the dark starchy rug on the ground, his attention slacked, senses drooped, his rustic and withered harmonious body twitched, trembled, for a brief pulsating moment, he memorized in his dying memories that he, James was dying, the moment has now come, the moment of elation. Conscience withdrawn, light turned off, end of a life as I knew it, for what is conscience but a blot of ink on the large canvas of death. A blot attracts a bee that sits on it momentarily, offers in return, a precocious and naive imaginative abilities, and that are we, and we are that, that momentary objects of precarious and inevitable abysmal choices. then the bee leaves, discarded, the blots are now left, less of emotive gradi

Vanessa ran up to the field with all her might and strength, heaving, coughing, pounding the muddy terrain with her thick black sandals, spreading a fog of mud and splinters of wood behind her, with the frock held up above, head leant forwards, she creased the tranquil fields with her passion of exotic grandeur. She reached the plateau above, paused for a while, stooping with her back bent to the ground, she panted, sweated, wetted her dress, she awaited the smite of exquisite beauty before her. Then, she stood upright, gaped at the lush green vegetation before her, spread her arms wide open, inhaled heavily, and kissed the air, air that flew over the gentle and sharp thorn-tipped wheat plants, air that smelled of the wet mud, which bosomed the greenery above. Sun settled himself in the field, he followed Vanessa as she moved sideways, she was playing against an irresistible urge and she relented, it was no use fighting her urges, she stepped into the field, mud drooped smoothly over h

Vanessa slumbered with the burden of unfed hope, the painful absence of lasting excitement that would shatter her senses, throw her asunder, whip her languor, maim her fettered passion, release the bonds of despair, lower the blinds of isolation, and push her into the green fields of activity. But, nothing ever happened, it angered her, depravity deepened with every moment passed in contemplation, isolation feathered harmoniously, she deplored her lack of resistance, solicited pain to assuage her suffering, she covered her bruises impatiently, for she did not care, it was of no use. Deep contemplations brutally left her detached; she mourned for her bereaved body with dead personality and impeached her very own purpose of living. A definite answer would do, but any answer once found was open for subjective accommodations that degraded its vitality, its propensity, and it was no more definitive than the color of the sea that changes appreciably with every passing second. Vanessa sat her

Johnny walked among the wild shrubbery, forcing his tread through the grimy growth of the forest, weeds and earth crumbs clogged his way, tall trees with paucity of leaves left him vulnerable, he bathed in sun, heat suffused through him, dried him of his occupations, he could not walk anymore, he had to drink water. The rocky surface ahead offered no hope, but he persevered, for he had to see his humane task to completion. He stepped over a rock here, a rock there, over a tree trunk, slipped through the arches of dark mahogany trees, he proceeded as a warrior, who rode on a beautiful white horse to the battle field with shears, arrows, bow, helmet, each of which are presented to him by his people, who expect him to win, no matter what, warrior then fought with thousand hands, with winning on his mind, with the aim of killing in his blood. All his life, he had been waiting for this moment; he read stories in his life, of different people, of their countenances, of their inclinations. St

Sun beat on the creamy white cloth spread over the table, leaves spread ubiquitously on two tall trees overhead hid the delicacy underneath them, letting the sun visit it, every now and then, making shadows that floated over the table cloth. Breeze pushed the shadows rhythmically, dry leaves rattled away hither and thither, so precious was the moment for Vanessa. She checked the turf, stood her sleek legged chair over it and sat herself grandly, preoccupied with the moment's liberty. Swan dipped its wings in the pool before her, mercifully fluttered its wings, a school of fish swam dutifully around the perimeter of the pool, glistened and reflected steels of sunlight underwater, the rich sediment bosomed smooth pebbles that augmented the rich colors-blue, green and yellow fish rollicking above. Swan's fluttering rippled around, flowed in waves, ebbed and rose, broke on the turf over a dark brown rock pushing a frog back, which tumbled into the pool with the retreating wave, and

Marcus was young once, there was a time, a world that existed, in which he was young, but he jumped into the successive worlds every other moment, it never occurred to him that he did not have a choice, but only the prospect of choice. He dreamt of more vibrant days, where he would dance with a vivacious young lady, where he would earn a lot, and be respected. This coaxed him into taking giant leaps, into interconnected worlds; from where there was no return, the way ahead was the only way. The choice of living in the current world was never there, for the current world existed only as long as the senses captured their individual images of the world outside, put together in mind, they all created in unison, a virtual world. He was never able to tell, if the world he lived in, was the same as the virtual projection inside his mind, it felt real, the smells, the sounds, the light, everything was on the outside, everything was relayed into his mind by his senses, and the virtual world was

Car swerved round the corner, came to a screeching halt, and a man got down, well built, tall, looked elegant to an exotic degree in his tailored business suit. He walked past a couple of vivacious young women, must be in their teens, they stood there in shocking defiance that the man should ignore their presence, what really irked them was, the man walked straight into the building and seemed very inclined to converse with the young lady in jeans behind them. Vanessa consulted her watch, gave him the directions, watched as he left. 'He must have robbed me of my impulses', she thought. As for her belated response, he did not mind, together they proceeded to the conference hall. Dave ran her up the details of the conference, as they walked down the pavement, heading to the cafe at the end of the street. He was animated in his expressions, took a pause before making a contention, drew back a little, and would look into the farthest corners of the street as if to gather his though

Only the sound of river running beside her, water trying to creep into the crevices of rocks, the undulating waves beat the rock scaffolding, some crevices sucked in the import, while others vanquished. Vanessa lingered heavily with the weight of uncertainty, the morning fog kissed her lips, dried and wetted at the same time, obfuscated her vision, hugged her in entirety, not letting her go away. She loved it, the pleasant and chilled weather benumbed her, her breast heaved under the hugging pressure, only the troubled sensation remained, the cold must have devoured her feet. Her arms, she stretched them wide, now they were gone too, here they come again, she thought, as she locked her hands together before her, it must be the fog. She took a step forward, was it forward, for there was no ground beneath her feet. A burst! She blenched with fear, stepped back, but oh! wait, where does the ground behind her end before she would finally slip into a horrible fall. Another burst, this one w

Ursula watched her nape in the giant mirrors, one overseeing the other. She was fond of her nape, the ubiquities of hair suddenly pausing at the nape, not prepared to spoil the smoothness ahead, curled back upwards. The beginning of her nape marked a point of deference, attracted reverence and the hair flew backwards like waves on the shore. Less intense, thin and listless loose ends of short hair fell on her nape beautifying it beyond the limits of ecstasy. She bent her head forwards, brushed her hair upwards from over her nape, it was the skin in its prime, and nothing could come close to it. Her long neck embellished the nape; air from the fan pushed the short hair over the nape to fly over it, titillating her nape, brushing it, caressing it, and loving it. Her spine running upwards submitted before the beauty, it could not proceed any further, the rugged and crude bony frame prostrated before the queen of the structure, and the queen blushed, accepted the affirmation, and let the f

The feeling of emptiness pursued her ruthlessly, she wandered hither and thither aimlessly, but stubborn in her wavering, with an instinct supporting her, and beckoning her to step forward. Ursula wondered how irrational it might appear for an outsider, how superbly inane, and how inelegant. But, she would not let these external faculties ruin her person, her character, and her intuition. What would I like to have? Ursula thought, what did the broad nosed man know, what she wanted, did it matter.' just a cup of tea please', waiter left, but the expression that he put up on his face attracted her, summoned her articulation, and she opened her brown book with golden letters embossed on the front page, began writing with her fountain pen. She wrote ' the short, stout man, walking past the table in a steady gait robbed me of my intuition, now I feel his creation, my thoughts horribly becoming his. He stared at me, as if he knew prematurely, all my thoughts. His standing there a