The Mosquito Experiment

There are many people in the world. I know that you know that and it is probably very stupid to stat a fact as obvious as that. And yet I’d repeat, there are many people in the world and they have their many minds from which erupt their many thoughts of which many are stupid which is the precise reason why you tolerate my statements of obvious facts than reading their thoughts. Out of those many mortals God created, only He knows why, one happens to be Neha, my girlfriend.

She has been doing and saying stupid things since I know her which includes mixing coke in beer and telling me, “I finished a bottle of a whiskey named Corona.” But I’ll tell you about it some other time. I have never written what and how she thinks because she gets pissed very quickly but what she asked me to do last week was so crazy that for a moment I was fooled into believing that she was actually a genius and that’s why, regardless of her getting pissed, I’m tempted to share her genius thought.

Last week she bought a puppy which is a cross breed between a German Shepherd and a Labrador. She is obsessed with the dog like she was obsessed with me in the early days of our relationship. So after  telling me how she liked it that the qualities of two dog breeds were unified in one dog, she said, “Shivraj, can you do something for me?” that’s a rhetorical question cum an assertive sentence. I have been doing things for her and because of her since a long time. So I thought what the hell, let’s do this as well.

“Sure”, I said.

“Can you put your semen on a bunch of mosquitoes?” she asked.

I couldn’t figure out if she was being kinky, or asking me to perform the most unusual orgy in the world or if it was some dangerous ritual from South Africa where there were a lot of mosquitoes.

“What?” I could barely mutter.

“It’s completely biological. I was wondering if we can create  a mosquito with some human features. Like a cross breed. Practically, a mosquito is completely naked, so when you drop your semen on it, there are chances that it might reach the mosquitoes reproductive system and when  it lays it’s next eggs and hatches them, we can see if our project worked and try it on bigger animals. We could create a new world of new organisms!” she said in an excited tone.

The idea was so bizarre that beyond getting pissed and angry at her stupidity, the only thing I could speak out was, “But why a bunch of mosquitoes?”

“Oh, just in case you drop it on a male mosquito, the project won’t work. But if you drop your semen on a bunch of mosquitoes, there are high chances that we mind find a girl for you in the gang”, she winked.

I’m tired of this girl. Seriously.


The Awaited Rain

He stood near the huge tree looking at the barren land. His vision however, seemed as if fixed on something deeper, something beyond what his eyes were showing him.

The sun shone bright burning all the land beneath his feet. The cracks on the land made him sigh helplessly. The government said that the monsoon had begun but he had evidence that disagreed with what they said. He was standing on the evidence, his field. He had spent a lot of time crying over it. He had cried looking at the empty skies, and the empty lands and he had cried sinking his face between his knees. If crying had made any difference to him, it was that he had been tired of crying now – almost as if he had dried up, as if he couldn’t cry anymore.

“God is very cruel”, he had told his wife in the morning.

“But he is the only one who can help”, she had replied with immense faith.

He thought about her. She was a staunch believer of God, and nothing, not even the devastating famine that took away both children of his, could shake her belief. She had suffered hunger for a lot of days, and it made him feel shameful for not being able to feed his wife. But he was helpless. There was nothing he could do in this situation but watch her wither away a little everyday.

He shook his head. This isn’t good, he thought. For what is a man who cannot feed his wife? He was not the kind of husband he wanted to be. He didn’t want to see his wife die. Even the thought of it was unbearable for him. He wished he could do something for her. But again, he knew how helpless he was. He was a poor farmer and unfortunately, the nation in which he lived it was one of the worst things that a person could be. There was no one who would help him and he knew it because he had asked for help far many times than a man with even the slightest of self-respect would. He wanted o end this misery somehow. How?

He sat for a long time with the gloomy thoughts. His eyes were fixed on the horizons, piercing through the skies they sought something that was far away from their reach. After a while, he stood up with a firm thought.


His wife kept weeping.

It had been eight hours since he was found hanging by the tree with a rope around his neck. The whole village had gathered by the river to cremate him. It was beyond believing that the handful of people who had gathered there comprised the whole village, but that’s how God amuses himself, wiping away people like kids wipe away ants. As they put his body on the pyre, the skies made a sound. People looked at each other in quick glances. It wasn’t a time to celebrate but they still had little smiles on their faces. The logs were set on fire, and as the flames reached his body, the lands were showered with the long-awaited rains.



Yesterday one of my friends asked me to write a post on my blog for donating money to save a historic lake in the city which has honestly gone beyond saving. He had written a pamphlet which was in his own words ‘a perfect description of why was the money needed’. Here is an excerpt from it: “The historic lake of Rankala that has been attacked by algae needs a new breath. With little help from everyone of you, we want to free this lake on all it’s problems. It’s a city’s initiative. Let us all work together. Please donate whatever amount of money you wish to.”

Now I don’t really have a problem against the work he wants to do, but the fact that he is trying to drag me in it is something I’m not very favorable about because his idea doesn’t look like a working idea. When I was a kid, there lived a man in our neighborhood who had taken an active part in a movement that was roughly about the upliftment of prostitutes. After much publicity of what was he going to do and raising funds for it, he went to a brothel and tried to talk to a prostitute to know her problems paying her an hour’e money. But when the prostitute saw that he wasn’t really going to ‘do it’ and was wasting her time, she called a few other women of her own status who first called him impotent and then almost tried to kill him or at least that’s how he explained the scars on his hands on returning. The funniest part was that the scars led people to believe that he ‘misbehaved’ with the prostitute forgetting the purpose of his visit. Needless to say, he left the mission before even beginning it.  He sells radium stickers in another part of the city now. his idea wasn’t  a working idea after all and moral to the story is I don’t want to sell radium stickers in any part of the city even though the incident wasn’t exactly the acting force behind his choice of profession.

I know it isn’t very logical to compare a prostitute to an algae-infested lake, but I’m trying to make a point here. If you cannot completely alter and reform something you’re working on at a social level, don’t do it. Otherwise you’ll end up with some misery, some public outrage and a pocketful of experience of why you shouldn’t volunteer for such things. So while it is appreciated that this guy along with his pamphlet and other what not blunt weapons trying to clean the city’s heritage, I want him to know that his chances of succeeding in cleaning the lake are as good as those of my radium-sticker selling ex-neighbor going back to volunteer for the prostitute upliftment movement. I’m out of this.

Oh yes, if you wish to help the naive boy’s innocent effort, do read the pamphlet excerpt again and give him some money. But I’d strongly recommend you not to. Eat steak burger at Akki’s Bistro instead. It’s good.

(The photo isn’t of the lake I’m talking about. But I found it on the internet and thought it was cool, isn’t it?)

Will You Marry Me?

I wish I had a wife. Yeah, i know this is kind of hasty for me given that I’m just 21 years old but that doesn’t matter. 21-years-old men can do a lot of things including all types of drugs, murders, rapes and many terrible things elder men do. So having a wife won’t be a tough thing really. And I can even set an example for my friends so that they might also want to get married at 21 which is legally the right age of marriage in India. 

Getting married at 21, I can be a happy family man and by 22 or 23 I can have two kids and by 25, these kids will be 3 and 2-years-old respectively. So I can take them to a park to play and 18-years-old girls in the park (don’t ask me what they’ll be doing there, I see plenty in a park near my house) will want to play with my kids and since I’m the daddy, the girls won’t find themselves vulnerable with me and they’ll talk to me and since I’ll be 25 which will still be young, I can use pick-up lines and be a sugar-daddy as well. I know you’re in love with this concept already and you know what? You can also have other reasons to have a wife. Some people want a wife so that they don’t have to eat at restaurants everyday, I also know people who want a wife so that they can sigh and tell their friends,”I’m tired of my wife.” One of my friends basically wants a wife because he is tired of having to masturbate thrice a day. But look, I’m not objectifying women, if you feel so. I’m just putting a light upon the perks of having a wife. Plus it’s my friend’s view about his wife who doesn’t even exist yet.

I wish I had a wife so that I could have lived on her money and sitting right here in the same exact manner that I’m sitting right now, I could have written articles all the time and won’t have cared about the internet bill or the marijuana dealer’s pending payment. And since I won’t have cared about anyone, I could have written funny articles about my wife and we all could have laughed together at her miserable conditions. If I had a wife I could have used her photos in crop tops to promote my blog and that would have made me a successful blogger. I could have also told people that I have a hot wife and made them jealous and it would be so fun to watch them drool over her. If I had a wife, I could have beaten her whenever I was bored. 

If I had a wife, I could have done these and many such things that people actually do to their wives. Tired of all this, my wife would have killed me one day and both of us could have set examples of how should a man not be and how should a woman stand up for herself and treat an abusive husband. For this noble cause, will you marry me?

The Rain

I have always adored the mid-July rain. Because it’s heavy, because by the time we’re in the middle of July, everyone has already got used to the monsoon and then, the rain doesn’t look inconvenient. Because by then, it is pretty much a part of our lives.
The skies are always cloudy and gray by this time and the roads are wet which together create an imposing charm of the rain. And I love that. I have always loved to see how the mere aura of rain fills the space between us. There is a peculiar color with a light tint of sepia in the atmosphere that makes everything look sheer beautiful. And right when everyone is basking in this buoyancy, the rain comes down making a continuous rippling sound. It is a decisive sound. It decides who is going to be stuck under a shed with an unknown person for a long time, and it also decides who is going to be stuck at home, unable to meet the ones they love. The sound represents a thousand tales of love and yearning.
Whenever I hear this sound ramming up my window, I wonder how many people’s lives is it going to change. Like it changed mine. The rippling sound takes me two years back when standing in the porch of my college witnessing the rain helplessly, I saw this girl with the most beautiful eyes. And when I’m comforting myself in the memories of that first uneasy yet wonderful time we spent together, the sound also reminds me of things that I have lost, things that have broken my heart. And that makes me a tad melancholy. It is saddening because the rain makes me want to have all those things back. It makes me want to have her right here, watching the rain with me. At times like these, the rain makes me feel alone.
When I look at a couple outside the window, wet and shivering, yet holding hands, embracing, making desperate, failed attempts to keep each other warm, I wish that was a part of my story. Right then, the rain makes the rippling louder just to tease me, to make fun of my loneliness. Angered, I move away from the window and try to have a nap. I lie on the bed, with my eyes closed and my face down in the pillow. That doesn’t however, distract me from listening the sound of the rain. It’s there, rippling, making me aware of it’s existence. And it makes me wonder what would be happening outside the window? How many tales of love are being written under the showers? Curious, I get up and stand by the window again. The rain is streaming down the window pane. I smile to myself. Somehow, the loss of love and the agony doesn’t look so bad when I peep through the watery, blurred glass. I cannot be angry with this rain. The heavy, rippling mid-July rain. Because it is an integral part of the day I found love, because it keeps taking me back there. Because even if it reminds me of everything that broke my heart, it also shows me the numerous love stories it writes endlessly, and while doing so, very clumsily it suggests me that I might as well have another story written someday. It’s hope. I adore the heavy mid-July rain because when it tells you a thousand reasons to yearn, it tells a thousand more to love.


The college letter is lying in front of me, unopened. The prime reason why I’m not going to open it is because I don’t want to take the efforts of holding the envelope in both of my hands and using my right hand’s thumb and index finger in a skillful manner, tear away a little-less-than-one-inch strip off it in a perfectly linear path while my left hand’s fingers secure it tightly at an intermediate point thus extending it a vital support to keep it from falling on the dusty floor. While the incredible efforts required to achieve the feat of opening the letter is one reason why I won’t open it, the other less important reason is that I already know the contents of the letter.

It comes ten to fifteen days after every semester exam to kill the joy of not having to pee in the college lavatory smelling the variety of fragrances left behind by 600 engineering students, and invites the ‘dear student’ to attend the next semester that begins on the ‘coming Monday’, and although I find it unfair to the poor souls that we are, although I despise and disrespect the educational system for being unjust towards a particular set of students studying engineering, there is very little that I can do about it, like writing this post. So regardless of what I feel, I’ll have to go to the college the coming Monday and pretend that the study of the Cupola furnace is the prime reason why I’m alive.

I really used to hate to see how my education has taken control of my life, but you know when you spend a lot of time even with the most distasteful and despicable things, you learn to stop scoffing about it and live with it, like a married couple. And that is the reason why I don’t find engineering so bad after all. I mean, even if it isn’t adorable, it is at least okay. And that is one thing that will keep coming back in my life, in fact in everyone’s. There will be a lot of ‘okay’ things you’ll have to deal with. Not awesome, neither awful, just okay. And even if you won’t feel okay to settle for something that is ‘okay’, there won’t be much you can do to change that. Apart from lathe machine mechanism and the fact that all pale girls look incredibly beautiful only on the graduation day, this is one thing I’ve learnt doing engineering. You cannot always decide what you want to do. On a particular day or a whole week, you keep losing this veto power to the smallest of the things and with it, you also lose your mind. But in order to move ahead to the next day, or the next week, you have to accept it and go through it. Some people like me are pretty unfortunate in this whole thing of going through it, because the ‘it’ lasts for years. But “Hey”, says my mind, “that’s okay.” And that is exactly we all have to learn saying because at some point in our lives, we have to say it.

This post isn’t awesome, I know. But it isn’t pathetic either. It isn’t completely funny, neither completely philosophical. It is a little of both, because you know what? The intent of writing this article was for once, letting you read it and say, “Well, okay.”

The Making of a Man

It was one of those March evenings when the air is soothing in an unique fashion – like an elixir, miraculously healing the wrath of the hot day. It made him feel confident and he was glad in his mind for otherwise she could have seen through him, his shy, boyish manners being displayed naked to her. He looked at her. She was pacing to keep up with his brisk walk, but there was an air of disagreement about her – like she hated this idea of walking. And her walk was itself monotonous, almost mechanical as if she was being dragged against her wish.

“Are you exhausted?” he asked her out of concern. She didn’t seem to absorb the question quickly.

“No”, she said after pausing for a moment.

But of course he could clearly see that she wasn’t exhausted. She was bored of walking and he knew it but he feared that asking whether she was bored, he might induce a thin layer of boredom between them. He certainly didn’t want to do that.

“I’m exhausted, let us wait here for a while, shall we?” he asked.

“Sure”, she murmured.

Smiling to himself he stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking at the small pond that stood still in front of them. The water was very shallow and he wished it was deep. He wished to find a bird’s song in their immediate vicinity, or a flower somewhere in sight. He was just looking for signs of something, anything in fact that would make the scene romantic. But to his misfortune even when he kept looking for such signs of romance in the fading lights of the dusk, tiring his eyes while doing so, there seemed to be nothing of that sort. A trifle sad, he turned towards her. She was looking at him straight with tenderness and a very discreet form of passion in her eyes. But he could, in all his certainty, see it. He had known her closely as a friend only for over a couple of months, his unrequited love towards her however dated back to three years from now and all the knowledge of her that he had gained in these years, everything he could understand about her didn’t fail to confirm him that it was nothing but passion in her eyes. However, as he walked closer to her, he gulped at the temerity of his own thought. Unsure about whether or not should he hold her in his arms – for he loved her but could not claim her yet, he trembled while gripping her wrist. In that one moment, a moment which, it seemed she was waiting for, she put both her hands around his neck and looked intently at him to react, and at that very moment, as if fate wanted to amuse itself of their reactions, an approaching car brightened up there faces and sped by. It was gone before they knew it, but with it had gone the moment. She withdrew herself from him, half embarrassed and half clueless about what should she say.

He was quiet, but he couldn’t conceal from her the immense pleasure he was enjoying for now he knew that she wanted it. He knew that all the time while he was looking at the pond, she had been craving for it. He felt as if the burden of impressing her, the burden he had carried for three years was shed off. His efforts had bore fruits. There was suddenly a careless attribute about him – of a particular type that men have when they deal with women. 

“Do you want to kiss?” he asked in a vaguely rough tone destroying the unspoken finesse they had woven between them in all this while. 

“No…”, she stammered, surprised the boldness he possessed all of a sudden. She was jealous of him for having the courage to say it out loud, and at the same time she admired how he wasn’t shy anymore like he was moments ago.

“You wouldn’t want to regret this moment later”, he said in a confident tone, almost rude as if only she wanted to kiss, as if he was doing her a favor by letting her a chance to do it, but of course he didn’t realize it. However, she could sense and see the man’s pride in him and she hated it. She hated the way he treated her the since the minute he knew that she wanted him and she hated how he had ruined the tenderness of the moment. She despised the man that rose inside him in one moment, killing his boyish charm and his efforts to please her. It was painful to her. And yet, above everything else, she wanted to kiss him. As she submissively plunged forward in his arms and put her mouth to his, she molded something that was always going to hurt her, she made him a man in his heart. The kind of man women mention when they say, “All men are the same.”