Where have all the toilets gone

Finally a shooting star! After 28 years of life, it comes scampering across the sky, dripping from the skin of sky - a chance to wish for.

What I wish today, the ashes of the star will know! And no one else! Those dreams of faraway times in past will jump into oblivion and turn to ashes in the midway. But we will still be going to where everyone goes, in this rickshaw.

The rickshaw-wala will ask for more money than deserved. (And yet what does he deserve? What do I deserve? ) We will have a good fight over the fare and lose our temper for good. But one of us would give in and the rickshaw-wala would go on to carry other people somewhere.

Where do they go?

Where do everyone rush?

Obviously, to their workplaces! or toilet, mind!

This eternal going back and forth to toilet, this inevitability ingrained in the fabric of human civilization - doesn't it tell us something about that which can not be told? Does it not whisper in its husky voice and faded language like rustle of the leaves in a storm? Wherever you might fly, you are to return unto me - spoketh the toilet in its vitrified vice. A binding contract! A non-negotiable liability!

Every soul on this planet is laboriously complicating their lives, others' lives, twisting their fate and essence of existence to seriously unwind themselves eventually in the toilet. That is the fate of our race. Believe it or not! Hence the dream that I had last night can be the inspiration for the greatest horror-cum-scifi-cum-action-cum-musical drama ever made.

I saw I was in a mighty room, the room was filled with troubled men. Their face was red and haste was great, but all the toilets had fled.

Name... for god's sake

It is hard to explain what I feel. You may have come across thousands of people who claim...

I crossed the lines above. That was not a good beginning. I'll eventually come to them through the uncertain landscape of rotten words, figures, statues and memories. After crossing innumerable more such beginnings.

I can talk about a lot of stuff at length. But my problem is that I can not fold them and press them into a book and into a shelf. Thoughts that I have...I feel pity for them. Because may be I am doing injustice to them by not expressing them. Had they been some others' thoughts, they would have been perfectly happy and well brought up ideas with proper grooming.

I. on the other hand, a poor little widow living by the side of a sewage, only dream of them being grown up one day and provide plenty of support for me in my old age. This I know will never happen. I will only look after my home grown rockets of pocket size and sell them in the market for free. That is my destiny. Ever since my husband died in the war of the Others' Land, my future has been sealed. I still remember the day when I first went to the market.

It was clammy day in the summers. I took my first batch of rockets (they were all pink and cute) and trimmed them well so that they all look the same and behave the same. Then I read to them the useless books as usual and made them recapitulate. That made them fall asleep. Then I cautiously put them in a fruit basket and made for the market. I was anxious with joy.

The first customer came and asked me : Sister, I need a rocket which will sing and dance when I ask.

I picked the pink one (They were all pink anyway) and gave it to him for free.

I think it was two days after that, the man came back to me and said that the rocket won't stop dancing even if asked, ordered and threatened.

I said I can include that option but that will require two hamados.

I took the two hamados that he gave me and jumped in triumph. And the two hamados fell in a pond.

This pond used to belong to my father-in-law when he used to practice fishing. The kind of fishes he used capture have all gone extinct. Nowadays there are water-creatures residing in the pond who feeds on hamados. That's why it is called the pit of Hamados. It is right beside the market.

One look at the pond and the shape of the half-emerging creature (shapeless), and I was sure that fate is irrefutable. Hence I stopped taking hamados from that day onwards. I sell my fruitful and obedient rockets for free.

My day comes to an end, with the twilight buzz up in the air. After that no sound can reach your ears and no thought can touch your mind. Spectres of lost nights and nights yet to come, haunts my small home. My little thoughts come running towards me and jumps on my lap. I pat them and think what'll happen to you when I am not there. I go to sleep, with the dream of a thought
that touch the tip of my forehead and will put me to sleep, deep sleep...