Urban Opera

Metropolitan morning
A well orchestrated, systematic
Waltz of movement
Within the walls of this
Mirrored-glass amphitheatre
The bel canto of the newspaperman
Sounds the opening overture
Collecting change in classical rendition
Choruses in suits and skirts
Pouring out of train cars
Scissoring down city streets
Balancing cardboard coffee cups
And digital librettos
Scores of tight-pant castratos
Clutching mobile phones
With dramatic furore
Prima donna figures
Cat-walking at intersections,
Heels clicking on cement sidewalks
When suddenly
A car is cut off by cyclists riding
Hands flying, voices rising
The shrill soprano of the ambulance arriving
Sirens sounding, traffic honking
A flash-mob freeze
Of pedestrians gawking
Slowly the crowds
Continue on commute
Promising young professionals
In crescendo parting
With a pitch-perfect kiss.

An usual ride to IIT

‘Beep Beep’ –  The mobile alarm penetrated through the many layers of slumber in my ears, and I woke up with frustration; not because of the alarm, but because I had to wake up when the majority of the city was still asleep. With a multi-protrusion surface of hair and a shaky body, I made my way to the bathroom. A look into the mirror gave me a sense of happiness, because every morning, though my hair looked like a disturbed bed of weeds and my face still carried the lazy notes of musical hibernation, (I call it musical because songs of my relationship and detachment with my bed keep playing within my mind) I loved the way I looked. After having done with my bath which was a spine chilling and mind waking encounter with cold water,  and also other rituals, I was now standing in front of the mirror in my room. My hair was wet, and my face contained waves of freshness. After getting slipped into my usual casuals, I was off to my IIT classes. One good thing about IIT classes is that they don’t look at your dress, but at your performance; and I was pretty bad at the latter, but I really didn’t care. (I always used to give importance to the way I dressed)

I ordered a plate of pongal at the small hotel where I usually have my breakfast. Pongal came hot and delicious, and I began to dive into it with peace. Sambar and chutney gave me company. I paid the bill and left for the bus stop. One very good thing about Chennai is that you have a bus running and coming every half a kilometre and half a minute respectively. My bus arrived in less than ten minutes, and my mind was filled with bliss when an array of empty seats presented themselves before me. A cool morning plus a seated bus ride equals a day of energy and enthusiasm. And such a ride, I would say, would be one of the best in the world.

‘One, Ashok Nagar.’ I told the conductor. He plucked a ticket from the ticket pin and handed it over to me. ’6 rupees’ He said. I pulled out a hundred rupee note from my wallet and was about to give it to him, when he looked at me as if I have done one of the most stupidest things in the world. ‘No change.’ He said with a scowl and left. I realized right then, that ‘Change’ is definitely a problem in our country. An elderly man beside was kind enough to exchange my hundred for ten tens. I bought the ticket and pushed it into my wallet. And then, my head turned to the outside, where I could see tea stalls and parotta shops, flower ladies and cobblers, washer-men and petty hotels opening for their daily businesses on the great Indian pavement.

I got down at the stop, and a ten minute walk to the coaching centre awaited me. The traffic had come out alive for the day, and as I walked, everything under the sky except IIT danced in my mind. I reached the coaching centre, unchappalled myself, went to the classroom and had myself seated at my traditional desk; the one that is located at the farthest point from our professor. Minutes began to melt, and soon the room was full. ‘Surprise Test,’ our professor said. I tasted shock for a second, but then had this beautiful realization that having a  test is the same as no test, as all the IIT stuff always flew over my head. I smiled within myself and looked at the vast multitude of nerds before me, who, as usual, were discussing either mathematics or physics or chemistry; it was all the same, no change. Never in my life have I heard someone talking about dreams and visions at a coaching centre. ‘Change’, is indeed a problem in our country, I thought.

Shoot These Animals!

The recent news of the ruthless gang rape of a 23 year old woman, by four people, in a moving bus in Delhi has shocked the country. I really do not know how these people have the guts. 2013 is going to be born in just over a week. Is this really the way we are going to sign off this year? Definitely no. If anything, it should be in style. But alas, this incident has brought shame.

What pleasure do they obtain in doing such a heinous thing to a woman! Instead they could go to a brothel to satisfy themselves. These people are mad and crazy. No, they don't come under the category of people. They come under animals- animals filled with raw, carnal lust. Probably, these animals look at women, as if they were toys. This outrageous-ness must be put to an end immediately and for all the years to come. It is high time, women can walk freely in this country at whatever time they wish without fear. Installing CCTV's in buses and other public transport systems, as said by the government can help but a more stringent and severe judgement must be made in this case, so that in the future such incidents won't happen again.


Shoot them up !

You know what I think should be done to these animals? Not hanging them. They must be stripped down to the core and shot by multiple executioners. This should have a video footage so that the world could watch it. I read in an esteemed newspaper that suggested chemical castration which takes out the sexual arousal in men. But, in my opinion, this shooting thing seems a more appropriate and severe verdict. Infact, I think this must be passed as a bill or brought into effect for all rape cases to prevent such incidents.

In addition to this, I must add one thing. This is a note to all young ladies and women :

"If you still don't have faith or hope in the government and men, then I suggest you practice some kind of martial arts or carry a stunning electrical device (I don't know its name) with you always to protect yourselves from any dangerous 'animals' ! ".

The Summer Revelation

‘How long for Ampa Skywalk?’ I asked one of the men at the bus stop. It was summer, and the sun was at its peak. The middle aged man shifted his look towards me, ‘By bus?’ The glance of irritation on his face suggested that he had been waiting for his bus for quite sometime. ‘No, by walk.’ I said. The change in his expression seemed pretty much visible, as the guy began looking at me as one would look at a fool. ‘Around 1 hour.’ He said and gesticulated that I needed to cross the road, and then turned away. His intense expressionism was absolutely justifiable. No one with brains would make such a goofy decision of taking a walk in the afternoon, that too for one hour, and again, that too in summer. But I chose to do it. Now, wait; before you begin to draw instant conclusions about the levels of my empty-headedness, I would like to make something clear. The reason for this decision of mine, which appears to be silly and stupid, is that one of my chappals’ straps came off, and I was in an ardent search for a cobbler. And you don’t get to see cobblers in buses, do you? Hence the long walk.

One more reason is, it does not look much decent when you end up limping because of your handicapped slippers, especially when you are going to Landmark to purchase novels. Oh yes, forgot to mention; I have recently fallen in love with the habit of reading, and presently I am in the habit of making this habit my daily habit. After having spent hours debating with myself and Google on which book to buy, I figured out that according to my ‘crime-suspense-thriller’ bend, Agatha Christie should be the apt choice. I hurried in excitement, and that was when the chappal mishap happened. I footed myself through the thickens of the heat waves of the sun and the smoke lines of the traffic, and reached the other side of the road. One hour to Skywalk, I said to myself, as I began the journey with my disabled chappal slipping off my foot once a while. In less than twenty minutes, I sensed my bodily fluids getting depleted at a drastic rate. I bought myself an aavin chocolate drink and began to relish its thickness. I tossed the tetra pack into the garbage bin, and as I was about to walk away, my eyes landed on a young boy with a row of shoes in front of him. He was engrossed in his profession, which seemed to be too big for his age. The hands that were meant to carry books were mending chappals, and the feet that were meant to be placed within school shoes were bare and bloody. My heart withered for a second as I took off my torn chappal and placed it before him. The boy picked it up with a smile and impressively manoeuvred his fingers and brought it back to shape in no time.

‘Patthu rubaa.’ (Ten rupees) He said as he returned my possession. With a pitiable heart, I deliberately pulled out two ten rupee notes from my wallet and placed my hand before him, waiting for him to take the money. He made alternate glances between my eyes and the notes, and he too, deliberately, pulled out just one note from my hand and placed it in a steel box. His head didn’t move up again, as he  immersed himself back into his work. That moment, I understood the real difference between the educated and the uneducated. One is not educated if he has a string of degrees attached to his name, or has the capability to master anything that comes under his eye, or has profound knowledge about everything in this world; or whatever, if he does not have the basic dignity to refuse anything that comes for free.

The rest of the walk lasted for another thirty minutes, and comprised of two more soft-drink stops. I could experience a temporary escape from the scorching heat once I stepped into the shopping mall. I made my way to Landmark, the books section, and whisked my eyes across the vast array of books stacked in numerous shelves all over the place. I found Agatha Christie’s books stacked in a separate section. It took me four mighty strides to reach the Christie section, and my eyes devoured the very scents of all the books that stood in front of me. Keeping in mind the idea of following a disciplined budget, I restricted myself to three novels. (Oh yes, one thing, the concept of budget happens only when one is in lacking of money, and I seem to embrace this concept quite often)

The payment for the books went over the bill counter, and I walked out of the mall with my literary extravaganza neatly packed in a shopping bag. The roasting behaviour of the summer sun seemed to resume once I stepped out. I crossed the road and walked towards the fourth soft-drink shop of the day, and placed a thirsty order for a bottle of sprite. As I was draining the bottled drink, my eyes landed on a huge hoarding on the other side of the road. The hoarding carried the picture of a politician with folded hands on one side, inconspicuously begging for votes, and the scattered pictured list of all the items that would be provided for free if voted to power on the other. In a way, I could see a ‘bureaucratic beggar’ in the making. The cobbler kid came to my mind.

Those who should be beaten up with shoes are in the parliament, and those who deserve to be in the parliament are on the roads mending shoes.

I gave out a sarcastic sigh, paid for the drink and left the place with a sense of revelation; the very revelation that showed me the similarities between beggars and our government.

Enchanter Market - Part III

Tender Lizzie could not bear
To watch her sister's cankerous care,
Yet not to share.
She night and morning
Caught the goblins' cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy."
Beside the brook, along the glen
She heard the tramp of goblin men,
The voice and stir
Poor Laura could not hear;
Longed to buy fruit to comfort her,
But feared to pay too dear.


She thought of Jeanie in her grave,
Who should have been a bride;
But who for joys brides hope to have
Fell sick and died
In her gay prime,
In earliest winter-time,
With the first glazing rime,
With the first snow-fall of crisp winter-time.


Till Laura, dwindling,
Seemed knocking at Death's door:
Then Lizzie weighed no more
Better and worse,
But put a silver penny in her purse,
Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze
At twilight, halted by the brook,
And for the first time in her life
Began to listen and look.


Laughed every goblin
When they spied her peeping:
Came towards her hobbling,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling, clapping, crowing,
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping and mowing,
Full of airs and graces,
Pulling wry faces,
Demure grimaces,
Cat-like and rat-like,
Ratel and wombat-like,
Snail-paced in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced and whistler,
Helter-skelter, hurry-skurry,
Chattering like magpies,
Fluttering like pigeons,


Gliding like fishes, --
Hugged her and kissed her;
Squeezed and caressed her;
Stretched up their dishes,
Panniers and plates:
"Look at our apples
Russet and dun,
Bob at our cherries
Bite at our peaches,
Citrons and dates,
Grapes for the asking,
Pears red with basking
Out in the sun,
Plums on their twigs;
Pluck them and suck them,
Pomegranates, figs."


"Good folk," said Lizzie,
Mindful of Jeanie,
"Give me much and many"; --
Held out her apron,
Tossed them her penny.
"Nay, take a seat with us,
Honor and eat with us,"
They answered grinning;
"Our feast is but beginning.
Night yet is early,
Warm and dew-pearly,
Wakeful and starry:
Such fruits as these
No man can carry;
Half their bloom would fly,
Half their dew would dry,
Half their flavor would pass by.
Sit down and feast with us,
Be welcome guest with us,
Cheer you and rest with us."
"Thank you," said Lizzie; "but one waits
At home alone for me:
So, without further parleying,
If you will not sell me any
Of your fruits though much and many,
Give me back my silver penny
I tossed you for a fee."
They began to scratch their pates,
No longer wagging, purring,
But visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling.
One called her proud,
Cross-grained, uncivil;
Their tones waxed loud,
Their looks were evil.


Lashing their tails
They trod and hustled her,
Elbowed and jostled her,
Clawed with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,
Twitched her hair out by the roots,
Stamped upon her tender feet,
Held her hands and squeezed their fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.


White and golden Lizzie stood,
Like a lily in a flood,
Like a rock of blue-veined stone
Lashed by tides obstreperously, --
Like a beacon left alone
In a hoary roaring sea,
Sending up a golden fire, --
Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree
White with blossoms honey-sweet
Sore beset by wasp and bee, --
Like a royal virgin town
Topped with gilded dome and spire
Close beleaguered by a fleet
Mad to tear her standard down.


One may lead a horse to water,
Twenty cannot make him drink.
Though the goblins cuffed and caught her,
Coaxed and fought her,
Bullied and besought her,
Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,
Kicked and knocked her,
Mauled and mocked her,
Lizzie uttered not a word;
Would not open lip from lip
Lest they should cram a mouthful in;
But laughed in heart to feel the drip
Of juice that syruped all her face,
And lodged in dimples of her chin,
And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.
At last the evil people,
Worn out by her resistance,
Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit
Along whichever road they took,
Not leaving root or stone or shoot.
Some writhed into the ground,
Some dived into the brook
With ring and ripple.
Some scudded on the gale without a sound,
Some vanished in the distance.

Life in the land of the Black Sun

It could have very well been the introduction scene of the protagonist in a clichéd Indian flick. Dressed in a black t shirt and black jeans, I slowly emerged out of dense fog(?) as crows and ravens fluttered in the background and flew past me.

But before you make all the wrong assumptions, let me put things in perspective. When I got out of an autorickshaw with two of my friends on a Sunday morning, I was at the centre of what I assumed to be a surreal white jungle. But microseconds later, two things happened: I got a grip on the fact that I was standing in Kodungaiyur, north Madras’ garbage capital. If you’re a Chennaite, this sprawling 269 acre enclosure is your garbage’s destiny: your garbage travels all the way here before it rests in peace and attains Moksha alongside its brethren.  Secondly, my heart instantly went out to those residing in and around Chennai’s largest garbage dumpyard (no, not Perungudi), people who have had to wake up to smoke emanating from the filth forest in front of them for the past 25 years.

“The dump yards automatically catch fire,” said Mr. Manivannan, who was standing amidst a sea of women waiting to sign their “attendance sheets”. These women who clean up the entrance to the dumpyard, travel all the way from Mylapore in buses that ply alongside lorries that overflow with rubbish destined to reach Kodungaiyur. Mr. Manivannan, one of the men in charge of the dumpyard who was briefing us about the proceedings at the entrance, also claimed that the rag pickers who were spotted atop the plateaus of garbage, were innocent people trying to eke a living out of rubbish.

“Rubbish,” screamed Gokul, as he stroked his hair standing on top of a pile of freshly deposited waste, as his gang burst out laughing in the background. We had made our way into the dump yard through an alternate, unguarded entrance as we were refused entry through the main entrance. “We set fire to it to extract iron, copper, aluminium and masala,” he said, his face gleaming with joy and pride.

“Masala?”

“Masala is tin and plastic put together,” instructed Gokul, a high school dropout. That was one of the many chemistry lessons we were to take that morning. He went on to practically demonstrate how the colour of the flame changes according to metal encapsulated by the flame.

It was quite obvious from the way Gokul spoke that he was quite intelligent. His sense of humour would put the likes of Santhanam and Vadivelu to shame. He relentlessly took digs at a friend who had accompanied me. It is a shame that he doesn’t go to school. When I causally asked him why he doesn’t go to school, he answered in his typical inimitable style that he terminated education to support his family after his dad died. “This dump yard is my school. I learn everything here,” he added.

The cliché “Gold from garbage” got a justification during the course of my interaction with Gokul. He recounted incidents of discovering gold amidst the dirt and elaborated the process of extracting the same by melting the parent material in which it is entrapped. He also narrated a hilarious incident about another person who discovered gold, loads of them. “A colleague (he said that) of mine, a notorious alcoholic, accumulated close to 500 grams of gold. He offered to buy a whole wine shop in exchange for the gold from a shop keeper. The police soon came knocking on his doors as they were suspicious of the drunkard’s “rags to riches” story. He is behind bars now.”

Gokul occasionally gave us instructions in English and kept us motivated. “C’mon guys, lets go, lets go,” he’d roar, after achieving a comprehensive lead. He claimed to have picked it up from the movies he had watched. He listed “The amazing spiderman” and the recently released “Thupakki”, which he watched in “cassette” (DVD), as personal favourites. When I asked him if $he was a fan of actor Vijay, he promptly replied “Lawrence fan naa.”

Karthik, a 12^th grader and an aspiring doctor, briefed us about the exchange rates for the materials dug out of the dumps. Iron fetches 18 rupees a kilo whereas copper and aluminum fetch 350 and 60 bucks respectively. Masala fetches them 30 per kilo while water bottles fetch them 35. Other than this, the rag pickers also accumulate medical waste, plastics, e-waste and used needles. “The prices are set by ‘market forces’,” said Karthik.

In spite of the abundance of waste, biodiversity here is light years away from extinction. A lot of migratory birds hover over the vast expanse. Crows and cuckoos are commonplace. “During a particular season, tomatoes and mushrooms grow here in abundance. We pluck them and eat them. We also kill the birds and eat them,” said Gokul, who was briefly busy posing with the plants and mushrooms. When I expressed my apprehension about the possibility of the toxic nature of the plants, Gokul gave me a typical satirical look and moved on.

We waded our way through the garbage mountains and struggled to say afoot. The locals meanwhile jumped from one plateau to another. Gokul wasn’t even wearing a pair of slippers. The glass particles on the ground hardly perturbed him.

We then moved on to the business end of the dump. Cranes were busy transporting debris from one crest to another. This was forbidden zone for us. This is where we were initially refused permission to enter, through the main gate, by a bunch of bureaucrats, who are alleged to have been treating privately-owned corporate lorries full of garbage differently.

As we lay low and watched Gokul take a dig at his friends, two short guys whisked away Karthik’s Sony Xperia and silently captured the busy cranes on the mini screen. Karthik then transferred the video to my phone.

It was then time for us to head back. But when we set out to explore the dump yard, we passed through a human settlement termed Panakaara Nagar (Rich man’s colony).Panakaara Nagar is located inside the dump yard compound, which is actually out of bounds for civilians, especially rag pickers and journalists. But flouting rules and flirting with danger is a daily routine for the residents of Kodungaiyur.

Panakaara Nagar is actually a not-so-panakaara nagar. In fact, it is not at all aPanakaara nagar. Imagine being surrounded by monumental heaps of trash and waking up to the same every single morning.  “We’ve been here ever since MGR died. Have you come here to help us get jobs? We are dying to find ourselves an alternative livelihood,” Rajesh, a sexagenarian, asked us. Gokul promptly answered that question, “These people are unemployed, stop joking about them being able to give you a job.”

In spite of its notorious geographic location, Panakaara Nagar gets free electricity, thanks to one man, Sekar. Sekar was handed over the responsibility of regulating the dump yard from within. So, the government setup a residential office for Sekar inside the dump yard, thus necessitating pylons and electric cables inside the compound. Sekar made use of this opportunity and “sold” government land to people and thus Panakaara Nagar, equipped with electricity 24*7 drawn from cables extending to Sekar’s house,came into existence.

The government eventually came to know about Sekar’s transgressions and he was suspended and arrested. The illegal settlements in Panakaara Nagar were evicted. Today, a few residents have come back to live in Panakaara Nagar, albeit unwillingly. So has Sekar, who is out on a bail. He even has an entry level government job, which he managed to get because of his influential contacts.

“Are you all Hindus?” asked Gokul. The randomness of this question took us all by surprise. “Yes, all of us are Hindus by birth.” I said. “I became a Christian two days ago.” He replied. The Christian missionary school he used to go to had “converted” him to Christianity. “Gokul, given a choice, would you go to school now?” “Yes,” he said. “Things are quite stable now. It’s been sometime since appa passed away.”

“Even my dad was a victim of alcoholism,” added Karthik. “Not just Gokul and I, but the two short guys who filmed that video for you also lost their dads to the perils of alcoholism.”

“Given an alternative avenue for earning, would you still pursue rag picking? Aren’t you aware of the dangers of such a toxic environment?” I asked.

“Obviously. Who would want to accumulate garbage for a living? 40-50 families depend on this garbage dump for a livelihood. Right now, we just don’t have a choice. Be it the nature of work that we do or the air we breathe day after day.”

“Will you come back here?”

“Yes, I will. I plan to shoot a documentary here.”

“Oh wow, please come back soon.”

We walked away, wishing for change and wishing to come back to shoot a documentary here, to let the world know about Gokul and his friends. The residents of Kodungaiyur watched us disappear into the smoke, in despair as always.

Just for a 'CHANGE': India Today

India Today

Since politics is the architect of any nation, and the election system is the architect of the system of politics in any country, I would like to start by talking about the election system in our country.

I'd call our election system as a festival of bribe, booze and biryani. I say 'festival' because the period of elections is a time of merry, not only for the politicians, but also for the people. For the politicians, it is the votes and the imminent powers and positions, and for the people, it is free food, drinks, household items and services; in other words, election time is a period of festivities where the majority of the Indian population ends up raping our motherland.  Wait, let's raise the first question. Is our country a home for dreamers and leaders or a breeding ground for beggars? Why do our tongues hang out on the sense of getting something free? Empowerment is a sinful deed in our country. 'The rich have to be rich, the poor have to be poor.' - this is the mantra on which our Indian politics is running. And yes, words like 'Change' and 'Development' are words of filth that are highly unacceptable in our nation.

The second question. Are we a true democracy? We claim our nation to be one of the biggest democracies in the world; but according to me, if we call our country to be a democracy, it is nothing but hypocrisy.  We are a corrupt country showcasing ourselves as a great country under the blankets of democracy. We talk high about our past, of how great a nation India was and how our self-esteem and dignity were wiped out by the British invasion. But wait, what about now? Aren't we ourselves doing the same what the British did once upon a time? We are not allowed to select our leaders directly, then in what way is it appropriate to call ourselves a democracy?

You might be knowing the recent arrest of two girls in Mumbai for their posts against the bandh in regard to the demise of  a Maharashtra political icon (I don't want to mention his name). If the demise of a politician has to be marked by a bandh, then I had say there are millions dying of hunger and poverty, what about them? You might say there is a difference between a politician and a common man, a difference of power and prestige, but I would like to remind you that it is the common man who has given that power, it is from the common man's sweat and blood the politician's prestige was born.

There is something called 'freedom of speech' that is present in our constitution. What does that mean? In our nation, if you speak something sensible, you will be behind the bars. But then, if you resort to rubbish talks and ridiculous acts, if your mouth dances to insane issues and meaningless comments, you will be hailed and made a member of the parliament (I guess that's how our parliament was formed). You speak the truth about a politician, about our government, and you will be stamped as a criminal and a traitor. Speaking the truth is condemned in this land of Mahatma Gandhi. Is 'truth' a taboo in India?

Now, let me focus on the current Indian mentality. I am not the President or the PM to really analyse the current state of our nation, but still, I would like to share with you a few thoughts of mine that were born out of my experience. We want India to rock at the Olympics. At the time of Olympic games, it is a general habit of us to compare our country with those of Olympic-hero nations like China and USA. We criticise our country's performance and talk high about other countries' achievements. We say Indians don't have a sporting sense. But then, we don't want our children to get into sports. We brainwash them by discouraging them in every possible way, and show sports as something negative and unsuccessful. Let's come to cricket, which is like a religion in our country, or rather, a binding religion, a religion that unites all other religions. We want India to win every match it plays, to bring home every world cup it is a part of. If we lose a match, we begin to tag our players as useless and irresponsible. We criticise our players in such a way and talk as if losing a game is a heinous sin. But we never want our children to become cricketers. And the explanations we give are far from sensible; saying Cricket is full of politics and one needs a cricketing background to succeed in the game. We will come to cinema, something that is as common as brushing our teeth daily. Comparisons are made between Indian and Hollywood cinema. We accuse Indian Directors for artificiality and lack of quality. We taunt them by saying that all they know is item and duet songs, vulgar comedy and cheap stories. But hey, hold on, are we okay with our children becoming actors or filmmakers? The answer is a NO. We want to watch films, even try to watch pirated versions, but it is a big no when it comes to our children making films. Why so? Yeah, because films too have politics. And one needs a film background to succeed. Otherwise, you would end up on the roads. #whatrubbish!
Lastly, I want to focus on politics, which is like a backbone for a nation. Which can either make or break a nation. For us, politics is an ocean of filth and vermin. The government is corrupt, the leaders are inefficient, lawlessness is plaguing our country etc.; this is what we say. Most people feel politics to be a sin, as a word that shouldn't be uttered. We, as usual, compare our nation's politics with that of USA or Japan and throw tantrums at our own government. We criticize our political scene in such a way, as if we had been researching India's political history for decades. And when it comes to our children joining politics, our mouths begin to spit discouragement and negativity. Serving the nation should be done by everyone else, except us. We are an exception. We have so many problems and lots of responsibilities. And hence, politics is not a good choice.

The tag-line for all the situations similar to the above ones is advising our children to study well, get into a good job, and lead a safe, secured and settled life. 'Someone has to come and Change India. But that someone doesn't include me' - This is the mantra that is penetrating through our breaths. We say India has to develop, but we often forget that today's children of ours' are tomorrow's citizens of this country.

We got to remember this; we don't have the right to blame the system unless we are ready to do something for it.

Enchanter Market - Part II

Where summer ripens at all hours?
But ever in the moonlight
She pined and pined away;
Sought them by night and day,
Found them no more, but dwindled and grew gray;
Then fell with the first snow,
While to this day no grass will grow
Where she lies low:
I planted daisies there a year ago
That never blow.
You should not loiter so."
"Nay hush," said Laura.
"Nay hush, my sister:
I ate and ate my fill,
Yet my mouth waters still;
To-morrow night I will
Buy more," and kissed her.
"Have done with sorrow;
I'll bring you plums to-morrow
Fresh on their mother twigs,
Cherries worth getting;
You cannot think what figs
My teeth have met in,
What melons, icy-cold
Piled on a dish of gold
Too huge for me to hold,
What peaches with a velvet nap,
Pellucid grapes without one seed:
Odorous indeed must be the mead
Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink,
With lilies at the brink,
And sugar-sweet their sap."

Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other's wings,
They lay down, in their curtained bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fallen snow,
Like two wands of ivory
Tipped with gold for awful kings.
Moon and stars beamed in at them,
Wind sang to them lullaby,
Lumbering owls forbore to fly,
Not a bat flapped to and fro
Round their rest:
Cheek to cheek and 
Locked together in one nest.

Early in the morning
When the first cock crowed his warning,
Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,
Laura rose with Lizzie:
Fetched in honey, milked the cows,
Aired and set to rights the house,
Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,
Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,
Next churned butter, whipped up cream,
Fed their poultry, sat and sewed;
Talked as modest maidens should
Lizzie with an open heart,
Laura in an absent dream,
One content, one sick in part;
One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,
One longing for the night.

At length slow evening came--
They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;
Lizzie most placid in her look,
Laura most like a leaping flame.
They drew the gurgling water from its deep
Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags,
Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes
Those furthest loftiest crags;
Come, Laura, not another maiden lags,
No wilful squirrel wags,
The beasts and birds are fast asleep."
But Laura loitered still among the rushes
And said the bank was steep.

And said the hour was early still,
The dew not fallen, the wind not chill:
Listening ever, but not catching
The customary cry,
"Come buy, come buy,"
With its iterated jingle
Of sugar-baited words:
Not for all her watching
Once discerning even one goblin
Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling;
Let alone the herds
That used to tramp along the glen,
In groups or single,
Of brisk fruit-merchant men.

Till Lizzie urged, "O Laura, come,
I hear the fruit-call, but I dare not look:
You should not loiter longer at this brook:
Come with me home.
The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,
Each glow-worm winks her spark,
Let us get home before the night grows dark;
For clouds may gather even
Though this is summer weather,
Put out the lights and drench us through;
Then if we lost our way what should we do?"

Laura turned cold as stone
To find her sister heard that cry alone,
That goblin cry,
"Come buy our fruits, come buy."
Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit?
Must she no more such succous pasture find,
Gone deaf and blind?
Her tree of life drooped from the root:
She said not one word in her heart's sore ache;
But peering thro' the dimness, naught discerning,
Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way;
So crept to bed, and lay
Silent 'til Lizzie slept;
Then sat up in a passionate yearning,
And gnashed her teeth for balked desire, and wept
As if her heart would break.

Day after day, night after night,
Laura kept watch in vain,
In sullen silence of exceeding pain.
She never caught again the goblin cry:
"Come buy, come buy,"
She never spied the goblin men
Hawking their fruits along the glen:
But when the noon waxed bright
Her hair grew thin and gray;
She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn
To swift decay, and burn
Her fire away.

One day remembering her kernel-stone
She set it by a wall that faced the south;
Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,
Watched for a waxing shoot,
But there came none;
It never saw the sun,
It never felt the trickling moisture run:
While with sunk eyes and faded mouth
She dreamed of melons, as a traveller sees
False waves in desert drouth
With shade of leaf-crowned trees,
And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.

She no more swept the house,
Tended the fowls or cows,
Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,
Brought water from the brook:
But sat down listless in the chimney-nook
And would not eat.

Theism and Atheism?? Which one is the best?

Better be "The Curious" !!!

     “Faith means not wanting to know what the truth is”, quoted a German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche. Faith should be rewarding and not disappointing. Blindly trusting anyone or anything no matter in what context that may be, is complete foolishness unless you know them far too much. I personally think that the only person being the most qualified to be completely trusted is YOU. Yes, it’s not God, it is you. Why is that people are so keen and ignorant in believing something that is non-existent rather than the things that are scientifically and logically proven? People who come out of the box to raise this question of arrogance (as some people may call it as such) belong to one type of static entity in this world. We call them Atheists.

         Coming to an equal and the opposite side of Atheists, let us consider a chimpanzee, not because its DNA patterns and ours match by 95%, it’s that it has less questioning and cognitive skills than humans and it’s just some random animal I could think of. Chimpanzees don’t understand the way a tube light works even if you try to explain. Apparently, in the chimpanzee’s world a glowing tube light is an object that is bright when looked at, nothing more, and nothing less. Compare chimpanzees to humans and God to the light bulb. We can’t understand the way of God. He is Omnipotent and some believe him to be the ultimate creator of each and every atom in this world. People who accept this totally absurd statement blindly belong to the other type of static entity. They are called Thiests. I am neither trying to promote theism nor talk ill of it, just trying to answer the most basic question that may possibly arise while reading this.

            Now that we know of the two extremities in this world, there is something that we are missing out. There are always things that do not fall under any classification or sub-division or anything what-so-ever. The dynamic entity, people who are uncertain of what they believe in, include three types of people, the reluctant (the ones who don’t care about any beliefs and principles), the ignorant (the ones who just take things as they come and do what others ask of them to do), and the curious (the ones who remain silent to observe things that happen around them on the urge to know more). Neglect the first two kinds; it’s unlikely of them to participate in these kinds of argument. Consider the third kind, the curious ones or in this case the neutral ones. A perfectly balanced system is highly unlikely to be thought of because it’s because of the curious ones change begins. Change is something that occurs in an imbalanced system because of the rapid increase in the principles and actions of either of the two extremities. You are not allowed to judge a show if you are a participatant. That would be completely absurd. You have two choices, Theism and Atheism. You always lose something when you pick a choice. Go with Theism and you lose practicality, and if you go with Atheism you lose spirituality. What if I say there is a third one? A choice that makes you skip the necessity of picking either of the two choices. The choice that is not considered as a choice and which makes you stand nowhere but at the centre making you look at the two extremities on both your sides with fascination and awesomeness, that is “Staying out of the show”. Remain neutral, observe the happenings, arrive at pros and cons but instead of picking a side apply the pros to your life and repeat the process from the beginning once the change occurs. That is smartness. Better be the curious!!

Enchanter Market - Part I

MORNING and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries-
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries--
All ripe together
In summer weather--
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy;
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,
Come buy, come buy."
Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie veiled her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger-tips.
"Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come buy," call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.
"O! cried Lizzie, Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie covered up her eyes
Covered close lest they should look;


Laura reared her glossy head,
And whispered like the restless brook:
"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes."
"No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us."
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,
One whisked a tail,
One tramped at a rat's pace,
One crawled like a snail,
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry.
Lizzie heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing all together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.
Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.
Backwards up the mossy glen
Turned and trooped the goblin men,
With their shrill repeated cry,
"Come buy, come buy."
When they reached where Laura was
They stood stock still upon the moss,
Leering at each other,
Brother with queer brother;
Signalling each other,
Brother with sly brother.
One set his basket down,
One reared his plate;
One began to weave a crown
Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown
(Men sell not such in any town);


One heaved the golden weight
Of dish and fruit to offer her:
"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.
Laura stared but did not stir,
Longed but had no money:
The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste
In tones as smooth as honey,
The cat-faced purred,
The rat-paced spoke a word
Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;
One parrot-voiced and jolly
Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly";
One whistled like a bird.
But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:
"Good folk, I have no coin;
To take were to purloin:
I have no copper in my purse,
I have no silver either,
And all my gold is on the furze
That shakes in windy weather
Above the rusty heather."
"You have much gold upon your head,"
They answered altogether:
"Buy from us with a golden curl."
She clipped a precious golden lock,
She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,
Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flowed that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore,
She sucked until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away,
But gathered up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turned home alone.
Lizzie met her at the gate
Full of wise upbraidings:
"Dear, you should not stay so late,
Twilight is not good for maidens;
Should not loiter in the glen
In the haunts of goblin men.
Do you not remember Jeanie,
How she met them in the moonlight,
Took their gifts both choice and many,
Ate their fruits and wore their flowers
Plucked from bowers

Two minutes to save the world (short story)

My story begins before time was measured, chronicled, and recorded on the pages of history, before man had conscious thought, when the world was an infant and myth of the Norse men ran rampant in middle earth.

The earth was just beginning to form her contours, and deserts and dunes alternated with the sea of Tethys in asserting itself. Civilization was a speck in the distant horizon and of the five elements only four had been recognized for no fire was yet to be named and given the exalted status of an element.  It was at this time (pardon me, figuratively speaking for time had not been realized then) that a black box arose out of the churning bowels of the earth. That fateful box and its contents were to be inexplicably but inevitably woven into the fabric of the lives of my ancestors and myself.

I have been remiss in not mentioning my identity but, I think, I shall reserve that piece of enlightenment a little longer. To get back to the box, its contents were said to be ominous and downright dangerous or so the gods claimed. The Norse, Greek and Roman pantheon of gods and goddesses were involved in heated altercations about the unknown contents of the box. Treys and Thor, Juno and Jupiter, Dis and Posidors were at loss to explain the sudden appearance of this box, which Sybille incidentally took to be an omen, portentous of evil. Not that any omen heralded good news but this was exceptionally evil. Though her prophecies had a terrifying ring to them, the gods had developed an innate habit of ignoring her and most of the goddesses too were staunch supporters of the dictum ‘Ignorance is bliss’. No wonder most of my prayers go unanswered, but to get back to my narrative, none of the gods actually knew the contents of the box, and every time they tried to probe its depths they would draw a blank. They did not let the opposing pantheon of gods get wise about this sorry fact though. Reputations had to be maintained. Their charming halos would not be able to survive a scandal.

Jupiter was essentially flustered.  According to him, he was the supreme ruler and he should be able to ferret out the truth about the box. He decided to go to the creator. That plan came to naught too as the Creator sent him back to his glowing abode with his tail between his legs, umm figuratively speaking, and offered him only a smug smile as an answer. Insecurity started to plague the peaceful haven of heaven and middle earth was restless too. Rumours began to spread like fire about the going-ons deep in the core of the newly born world. Fights broke out amongst the gods, the opposing gods and goddesses hurled petty threats and accusations and the box silently watched the chaos it had created without raising the proverbial finger.

Jupiter and Juno held council with Jesus and they decided that the box had created enough trouble without it being opened and it had best remain like that. Juno started to protest but swallowed her curiosity after receiving a quelling glare from Jupiter. They decided to bury the box deep within the earth suspended between middle earth and the world where no one would be able to dredge it out. The matter being resolved, the gods heaved a sigh of relief. The gods had regarded the box as a mockery, a threat to their abilities as celestial beings. With the box safely shelved away they could return to being complacently omnipotent.

So the box waited passively, awaiting its chance to carry out what it was created for. Years went by, centuries went past, the world grew older, wiser, civilization reared its head (ugly or pretty is a matter of your opinion), people lived and died and loved (not necessarily in that order, of course) and the box lay suspended, a silent spectator to the glories and victories, death and destruction, revolution and rebirth which swept over the world in waves over the ages. It was now that the pages of history would cease to turn and fate too would make a wrong turn. The box was about to enjoy a small private joke…

A girl named Pandora had a certain box in her possession. The story of how she acquired that box was… ahem…history, I’m afraid, but I am sure all of you who have been keep tracking the various legends are aware of the rest of that unfortunate story. Jupiter and Zeus frantically consulted one another trying to figure out how the box had wormed its way out of imprisonment. However it was hastily closed and returned  to its hiding place, this time under the surveillance of Mercury and Neptune. They were ordered never to let the box out of their sight. Thus yet again many years passed and the box decided to revise its contents to make it that little bit more lethal, a formidable weapon worthy of confusing the heavens. A few illustrious cavemen had discovered fire in the meanwhile and its uses were innumerable but so were its drawbacks. But people slowly learned to control it, or so they thought. The box had a penchant for abstract fiery things and an idea began to form in its mind…

Year 3012

Enter yours truly. My name is or rather was Porphyra. I am a marine biologist and have consequently changed my name to suit the times. You can call me Gemini 401. Naming proceeds something like this – you join a profession or some group or a confederation and you acquire the name of that organisation or vocation accompanied by your registration number. I decided to take on the name of my group rather than my profession as I didn’t take the idea of being called Bio-401 all the time. Made me sound like some sixth subject in a school curriculum. Incidentally, Pandora was my ancestor. But after the aforementioned debate I think the family disinherited her- got to protect our shining armour, can’t have chinks in them.

I was in an under-water excavating expedition in a nuclear powered state of the art submarine when it happened. The deep-sea diver lowered the automated drill into the bed of the sea. Immediately the sea began to churn and swirl and storm around us. According to the meteorological reports this was to be taken as an anomaly and code red was to be executed, which translated, meant worry for the inconvenience caused by our faulty reports and would you kindly pull out now. The sea continued to treat us like hostile enemies. But we could not pull out as the deep-sea diver was still down there. We decided to go ahead with our mission. We lowered the bathyscape and came up against something hard and impregnable. Exchanging the instrument for a remote control automated glove, which was a modified version of the crane, we lifted it out of the bed and pulled it into the hull. Venting our ballast we rose up to the surface and the deep-water specimen was taken to your laboratory at the top of the sky town despite the vehement protests made by the sea.

At that time I was ignorant about the incidents that had led up to that fateful expedition so when I saw a box sitting on our observation table, I almost laughed out loud. We have gone to such lengths to investigate a harmless box?! According to our reports, unidentified objects were emanated from that part of the sea and we had been asked to investigate. Unaware of the apocalypse that awaited us we opened the box…

‘…Dust to dust, ashes to ashes…’ were the words I heard when I regained consciousness. Mercury sat looking sadly at me. ‘We tried to stop you but you wouldn’t let up. Runs in the family, I think,’ he said. I realized I was not really surprised to see him. I asked him to explain. ‘The box had created the antithesis of fire. The laboratory exploded and the alter ego of fire is on a spree of destruction and we have exactly…’ I did not let him finish.

‘The lab exploded? But-‘ I stuttered. ‘Yes, my child, you are indeed dead and have joined us but we have some pressing matters to attend to,’ he said. ‘We have exactly two minutes to save the world.’

‘If that is a joke, it’s a bad one.’ I said.

‘It is no joke, think of some way to counter the fire. Water is not an option, this fire seems to absorb water very well. Think fast!’

Okay, I thought, we are in trouble, which is the understatement of the decade. What would stop the invisible fire, I wondered. The clock was ticking – there were only one minute and thirty-six seconds left to the deadline. I could hear the angels singing in mournful tones, which was not helping in the least. The gods were anxious for they did not want to have to start from scratch again. Jupiter looked at me beseechingly and I managed a wan smile. Meanwhile the fire spread like an orange plague licking at the essence of life and swallowing it in a terrifying display of power.

 My mind seemed to have become numb. Time seemed to freeze; only the inexorable end hurtled towards the world and its people. If water could not stop this alter ego of fire then…wait a minute, I thought, what about fire. Fight poison with poison, so fire with fire. I rushed to Mercury who set off on his winged feet at once. Fire who had been hiding was summoned and asked to confront his alter ego. There were only fifty-eight seconds left. Quaking with fear we had to literally push him into the path of his destructive alter ego. The effect was explosive and incredible. Matter and anti-matter – or should I say fire and anti-fire – dashed, blended and was completely annihilated. The world was saved though it was only a charred image of its previous growing self; but it was intact, and we could breathe again, metaphorically speaking. The world was still shaking from the repercussions of the explosion, which was spreading through the universe. Even gods flinched, such was the potency of the explosion. We let Neptune wash away the blackened debris and we left the rest of the reconstruction to the men and the angels. Suddenly we realized that something was missing. After the brilliant flare, darkness had thankfully settled in. we looked at the star-studded plate of the heavens and contemplated a happy life. Somewhere in the space-time continuum the box smirked. It had been victorious. In the expanse of darkness above the world the sky held no promise of light or dawn. Fire being destroyed, the sun was gone. Only glowing embers remained which would soon die out.

Had we really saved the world or simply stalled its end… The box smugly watched as desolation captured the world in its steady grip. But…

The creator said, ‘Let there be light!!!’ And there was light…

MISS FORTUNE (A PLAY)

Miss Fortune
A Short Play
by
Mutnuru Muralidhar

Cast of Characters

Miss Fortune: An aging gypsy fortune-teller

Kelly Alex George: A teenage girl


The Time
Present (however the sets, props and costumes give the appearance of the late 1940's)

The Place
The storefront space of Miss Fortune

At Rise: KELLY ALEX GEORGE enters and walks toward the entrance of Miss Fortune's storefront.
KELLY is a teenage girl of 16. SHE wears a modest skirt and blouse and has a ponytail with a ribbon in her hair.
SHE carries a black fancy leather purse. KELLY enters Miss Fortune's storefront but is apprehensive.
A sign on the entrance reads "Miss Fortune Is In - Destiny Need Not Be A Surprise."

Miss Fortune's storefront space is dark and mysterious, somehow strange or perhaps a bit eerie or unearthly.
There is also a lot of dust. KELLY looks around. Center stage is a clothed table with two chairs.
A large crystal ball is set on the table along with a bell and a note card. KELLY sits down at the table and picks up the note card.

KELLY
       (Reads the note card aloud.)
Please ring bell for service.

KELLY rings the bell. SHE waits a few seconds. Nothing happens. SHE rings the bell again.

MISS FORTUNE
      (Off stage.)
No need to get your undies in an uproar - I'll be right there.


KELLY opens her purse and checks her money.


From off stage, a loud crash is heard, as if someone has fallen.


MISS FORTUNE
       (Off stage.)
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH - Crap !!!!


MISS FORTUNE enters. SHE is wearing the ensemble of an old and worn-out flapper. SHE is completely disheveled.


MISS FORTUNE
Boy - am I glad you're here.


MISS FORTUNE sits down at the table with Kelly.


MISS FORTUNE
You know - it's been one hell of a day already. So - what brings you to my humble abode? Although I don't live here - I'm not really sure why I said that actually -

KELLY
Well - I - I'd like to have my fortune told.

MISS FORTUNE
You've come to the right place. I am a fortune-teller. At least I was a fortune-teller, the last time I checked. It did say fortune-teller on the door when you came in - didn't it?

KELLY
Yes, it did.

MISS FORTUNE
Good.

There is an awkward moment of silence.

MISS FORTUNE
Oh - how rude of me not to introduce myself - Miss Fortune's my name - your destiny is my business. And you are?

KELLY
Kelly Alex George.

MISS FORTUNE
I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Kelly.
       (Holds out her hand for Kelly to shake.)

Both women wait for the other to speak.

KELLY
       (Finally.)
Lovely weather we're having for this time of year.

MISS FORTUNE
It certainly is. I remember when I was young girl - about your age - must have been 40 years ago or more - how old are you?

KELLY
I'm 16.

MISS FORTUNE
Oh - the sweet simplicity of youth. Appreciate it while you can - one day - before you know it - it'll be gone. Oh - to be 16 again -

There is another awkward silence.

KELLY
Is there anything special you need for me to do?

MISS FORTUNE
No - I don't think so.

There is a brief pause.

KELLY
Are you going to read my fortune?

MISS FORTUNE
Your fortune? Oh - yes - right. That's why you're here. Shame on me. I completely forgot. Heaven knows I'd lose my nogen if it wasn't fastened on. I seem to have misplaced my Lucky a few days back and I haven't been myself since. Have you seen him?

KELLY
Seen who?

MISS FORTUNE
My Lucky?

KELLY
I don't think so -

MISS FORTUNE
What kind of a fortune-teller can I possibly be without my Lucky?

KELLY
Maybe I should go -

MISS FORTUNE
      (Howls.)
NOOOOOOOOOOO! You mustn't go until our work is done. There is still much we need to do. The path you're on is uncertain - unpredictable - ambiguous and quite vague. Your future is obscure, hazy, indistinct somehow. You are in a state of confusion - a decision must be made today.

KELLY
A decision about what?

MISS FORTUNE
Your destiny - your fate.

KELLY
I don't understand -

MISS FORTUNE
You may have had the thought from time to time that life was about chance - random acts both good and bad. Well you've come here today to learn the truth - everything that happens is fate - predetermined already - actually ordained from the time of birth. But somehow, your destiny has run amuck. You're stalled on the highway of life. You've come to me for a tow.

KELLY
Oh -

MISS FORTUNE
Not to worry. You're in the right place. And at exactly the right time. But I guess it always works that way, doesn't it.

KELLY
What?

MISS FORTUNE
Life.

KELLY
I suppose so.

MISS FORTUNE
Nothing to fear, my dear. It's a very simple process.

KELLY
What are you going to do?

MISS FORTUNE
I want to perform the Ritual of the Domestic Warrior Princess of Kulu, but first, I'll need to summon the Great Voice from Beyond. That is - as long as he's not on vacation.

MISS FORTUNE starts to dance outrageously.

MISS FORTUNE
Get down - get funky. Funky like a monkey. Ooooooohhh, baby, baby - Oooooohhh, baby, baby. That's the way - Uh-Huh, Uh-Huh. I like it - Uh-Huh, Uh-Huh.

KELLY stares in disbelief.

MISS FORTUNE
What is it you young folks say today? I'm getting jiggy with it.

MISS FORTUNE finally stops dancing.

MISS FORTUNE
Now for the Chant of the Unforgotten. Or is that the Unforgiven. Oh- I can't remember.
       (Pointing to Kelly's purse.)
You wouldn't happen to have the eye of a newt in there, would you?

KELLY
No - I don't.

MISS FORTUNE
That's too bad - perhaps we can make due without it.

MISS FORTUNE rises and ceremoniously begins the chant.

MISS FORTUNE
Macaroni, jello, refried beans, ham
Frogs legs, chicken lips, eye of newt, spam.
You have no idea how difficult it is to find something that rhymes with ham.

KELLY
I - um -

MISS FORTUNE
SHHHHHH! Can you hear him?

KELLY
Hear who?

MISS FORTUNE
The Great Voice from Beyond

KELLY
I don't hear anything.

MISS FORTUNE
Listen.

BOTH WOMEN listen intently but there is silence.

KELLY
I don't hear a sound.

MISS FORTUNE
Must have been a false alarm. It happens all the time. Wait - there it is again - Listen -

KELLY
       (After a moment.)
No - I'm sorry. I don't hear a thing.

MISS FORTUNE
Wait -

MISS FORTUNE begins to go into a trance.

MISS FORTUNE
Hummmmmm…..Licorice…..candy corn…..chocolate covered cherries…..ice cream - ooohhh - banana fudge ripple swirl…..oatmeal raisin cookies…..lemon meringue pie…….tuna fish???? Lucky - is that you? Where are you, precious? Won't you come home to mommy? I miss my pretty little kitty cat -

KELLY loudly clears her throat awakening Miss Fortune from her trance.

MISS FORTUNE
I must have dozed off there for a minute. Now - where were we? Ah - yes - your destiny is destroyed - a wreck - in ruin. Let's see what I've got under here -

MISS FORTUNE puts her head under the table in search of a restorative.

MISS FORTUNE
I know. We can make a life-size replica of you in wax - - - no, too messy. How about a voodoo doll - - - no, bad karma. Ah-ha! Here's the perfect thing.

MISS FORTUNE rises from under the table.

MISS FORTUNE
Here I have the ultimate in fortune-telling technology. The finest in destiny damage control. The top-of-the-line tool for universal karmic reversal. I present to you ……The Equalizer.
       (Shows Kelly a boiled egg.)

KELLY
It looks like an egg.

MISS FORTUNE
It is an egg.

KELLY
What's so special about it?

MISS FORTUNE
This egg has unyielding powers of metacarnation, prestidigitation, and telesignia-portation. And what's more - you can eat it.

KELLY
Why does that egg have so much power?

MISS FORTUNE
I boiled it.

KELLY
Oh -

MISS FORTUNE
With this egg in your life - all your problems will be solved. Your destiny will be put back on track. Your fate will once again be certain - definite - secure - clear. Bet you feel a whole lot better already.

KELLY
To be honest, Miss Fortune, I'm a little disappointed.

MISS FORTUNE
Disappointed?! What ever for?

KELLY
Well - I came here hoping to get the answer to a question.

MISS FORTUNE
But I saved your destiny. Rescued your fate. I even gave you an egg.

KELLY
I know - I appreciate all you've done. But I really want to know if Robin McDonald is going to ask me to the school dance this Friday night.

MISS FORTUNE
Love. It's unpredictable, impulsive, spontaneous, impetuous - or maybe that's youth that's impetuous - but no matter. Questions of love I cannot answer.

KELLY
Oh.

MISS FORTUNE
Only time will tell.

KELLY rises.

MISS FORTUNE
That'll be Rs.1000 for today.

KELLY looks at Miss Fortune.

MISS FORTUNE
And don't forget your egg, my dear.

THE END