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...