Moral Tales from A Dystopian Future – Chapter IV

Seeing these God damn working-class men bleeding their gut on a hard metal typewriter, you got to give them some respect.
I never liked the poets, though. I tried my hands on romantic poetry. It was shit. Even my romance tasted like pain.

Recap: We meet a narrator in a physiatrist hospital. The narrator is suffering from a delusional disorder. He claims to be a demi-god who has walked the earth since the beginning of time looking for his wife. The narrator seeks forgiveness from his daughter for abandoning her.

The Plagues

Sundays are tough. I am not sure why.

Everyone’s at their lord’s.

The believers are in the house of God and the non-believers in the house of warmth. The house of the lord is cold and damp. There’s sunshine, but quite often, you find yourself just hanging by a thread in pitch dark vastness of uncertainty.

The house of warmth promises life, vitality, rigor, and resistance against all that there is and all that there may.

The house of warmth is a lie. 

I fail to understand why do people cling to broken systems. Yes, broken systems are better than no system, but one must see through the façade.

Socrates saw through the façade, and you poisoned him.

Socrates explained to me the first time how you guys operate. He insisted that the Hammurabi code wasn’t inappropriate. All men are not equal.

There are weak men, and there are strong ones. There are wife-beaters, and there are philanthropists, so no, all men are not born equal.

Or maybe they are, but they get to choose who they become.

Socrates chose to be honest. He paid for his choice. Your forefathers poisoned him.

The house of warmth is a lie. The house of God is tough.

Honestly, with so much talk about God going around, let me tell me, I don’t even like them.

Even they are as self-loathing and incomplete as you guys.

And so am I. I am unquestionably flawed.

We fail to understand all of us, you, me, and the trinity, that we all are inherently flawed, and we are making things as we go.

When the infinite wanted some enjoyment, he demanded (I have to use ‘he’ as a pronoun, because what else will I do, there are no pronouns for the supernatural, and you can’t use ‘it’ as ‘it’ will be disrespectful) that the world be created. And the world was created.

The world had to be filled with wonders and amazement. Therefore the earth was filled with sights of marvel, sounds from the galaxies beyond, and beauty that will dazzle even the creator… And all of that was accidental.

Half of the time, the gods were drunk. They just played and had a little fun.

The project didn’t do well; they shut it down, rebooted, made some changes here and there. Your world and this entire multiverse is nothing but a passion project.

You are nothing but memories.

You are Cable TV for the gods. I am sorry to say this, but then that’s a fact. What do you say to that?

One day by chance, they got it right. Things fell in place, and your world was created. 


You meet someone, and a new relationship begins. It could lead to jobs, wealth, sex, or death… it is all chance.

And even that time, they fucked up.

You guys were meant to evolve, but then dinosaurs happened.

No one had anticipated it. We thought dinosaurs would be flying fiery ants, and they turned out to be ravaging beasts.

So then came the red dragon and another reboot.

And finally came your ancestral cousins—the early man, the neanderthals. Everyone liked them. They were simple brutes. And finally, came the thinking man, you and your kind.

The gods fuck up still. But then again, a broken system is better than no system. If you do not believe in the gods and let things happen the way it is supposed to, what’s the alternative? Fight every moment and delay the apparent outcome.

If you must fight, you will fight. The gods will tell you in your dreams.

Your mind and your body is programmed to do what needs to be done because this is not the first time it is going through these set of events.

All you need to do is be in the moment to observe your lie and embrace your reality.

Oh, this was heavy.

I drifted off again, daughter didn’t I?

I think I am getting old now. Can’t keep track of my thoughts.

Where was I? Yes, Sundays!

Sundays are always lonely for me. I miss your mother’s warm hug in the morning and that stinking kiss of foul morning breath. I hope you find love and it doesn’t destroy you. The kind of love that matters often destroys now, now in the present times.

I hear you are a painter of some sort.

I have always been fond of painters.

Painters create from the chaos. Every stroke creates a beautiful reality that is eternal. That is something only the painters could ever do.

The writers do come close. They are hardworking. 

Did you know the writers are the most hardworking in the entire creative fraternity? They just don’t tire.

When I first met Homer, I told him, writing is the most supreme form of creation. It is above sex. He disagreed.

A few decades later, I got to know Homer got Odyssey credited to himself. Odyssey was my tale. 

I narrated it to folks for centuries straight.

Everyone was mesmerized. It was the most powerful story they had heard. Had someone twisted it a little, we might have another religion to add to our miseries.

Homer was a fraud. But seeing these God damn working-class men bleeding their gut on a hard metal typewriter, you got to give them some respect.

These motherfuckers bled like crazy.

I never liked the poets, though. The poets were fine, the naturists were decent. Loved Blake and Wordsworth. But I always hated those who wrote love sonnets—bloody liars.

I tried my hands on romantic poetry. It was shit.

Even my romance tasted like pain.

Many ladies complained or complimented, depends on your outlook towards life… many ladies said, I taste like pain.

Those writers who bled on their typewriter ended it somehow. I can’t even end it. Curse of immortality!

Hemmingway shot himself. Poor chap!

I was with him till the end. I could have very well pulled the trigger. You know, when the walls were painted with his blood, I just sat there smoking. Blood and chunks of flesh scattered all around while I sat there in an eternal calmness.

The curse of solitude is tormenting.

Searching for your mother was a long wait. 

I met her in the 21 st century.

Though I started looking for her from Day 1, a few centuries later was when things started to get ugly.

I became so desperate that I lost all control.

Even mother Alyssa was not of any help. All she said was, I will meet my beloved in the middle of a plague. There were more than several thousand plagues every century. Mostly I was the only walking one among rotting dead bodies, hoping to find a woman still breathing who will be young enough to be my wife.

Plagues and deaths became my daily life. Wherever there were diseased, I nurtured them, helped them heal but not out of goodness or a sense of duty. I did so to find a woman.

Had mother Alyssa told me that I was the evil cast on this world, I could have very well believed it.

I wish the deaths were the worst part. They weren’t.

I started burning the corpses. Not out of compassion. I burned them, hoping this might please the fire goddess and she will give me a sign.

Nothing ever worked.

And when finally the day I found her, I think I was no longer alive. I felt dead from within.

I mostly felt dead after I witnessed a mother eating her baby in a Gulag. I guess that was when my heart stopped beating.

It revived the second I saw her.

I wish you could witness it and maybe paint it. Capture it in a timeless moment.

So, I hear you are a painter. Are you any good?

Dear daughter, I hope you get to read this someday and forgive this old man for being a terrible father.

Moral Tales from A Dystopian Future – Chapter III

Don’t mull on the how’s and why’s and what you know about planetary motion which your half-ass science teacher taught you. All of the science is based on the fact that time is linear, which has never been the case. It took me 7 years to explain this to Einstein. Still, he only comprehended poorly. Nonetheless, the world came to a halt when Muhammad laid eyes on Khadija.

The Lie of the Times

Recap: The narrator who claims to be a god in drag is under psychiatric care. He is writing a journal to his daughter, asking for forgiveness about his shortcomings. 

Chapter III

I loved your mother dearly. I still do. Love of the true kind. The kind that doesn’t exist, or I doubt ever did.

You must have had your share of boys! I always wished to be there, to approve the person you choose. Not that my approval means shit, but I wanted to experience the process with a biological daughter.

You do know that love is a lie. Lord Byron was half drunk with his cock in a whore’s mouth when he yelled, ‘hey, you know what, I will claim that love exists!’ 

Everyone was startled. 

How will you do that, Lord?‘, asked one of the timid girls.

‘I will write. I will make claims. The same way we convinced everyone that God existed.’ 

‘But God does exist. Sir, doesn’t he? Jesus died for our sins.’

‘Yes, God exists, and he wants you to suck my cock.’

And the room echoed with sad laughter.

You understand sad laughter?

It is when you laugh because that’s the only way you can let the pain out. Your tear glands, too, will give up someday. That’s the burden of understanding and witnessing the truth.

Bryon and the fella poets began the romanticism movement, and you and I still believe in the lie.

Talking about love, I can’t stop myself from not telling you about Muhammad and Khadija. Now that’s the love we are talking about.

Alyssa had told me that Muhammad will be a person of great importance. I had a lengthy discussion with Jibril around what all should be revealed to Muhammad and at which intervals. You see, all of this is planned in advance. Your lives are predestined.

At this juncture, you might argue, ‘what about free will, daddy?’

There’s no free will!

The only free will is the fact that you get to choose your reaction to events. If someone dies, either you can cry or be happy about them going to a higher realm. So that’s how free will happens. Free will saves you from personal hell; otherwise, you are supposed to walk the fire.

Didn’t Bukowski quote me, “What matters the most is how well you walk through the fire.”

He did. I am sure.

He was a fine fella. Damn…he stole my heart. Oh! The days of debauchery we spent together. It must have shocked Kato. 

At times I don’t realize who’s who. Maybe brother Kato isn’t evil. I am. Perhaps mother Alyssa lies to both of us. She told me herself, ‘Beware of what a woman says as all she says are lies.’

Damn! That’ some dark ages shit.

When Khadija saw Muhamad for the first time, and their eyes met, the world held still for the next eight seconds. And I don’t mean metaphorically. 

I mean literally. The planet stopped spinning. 

Don’t mull on the how’s and why’s and what you know about planetary motion which your half-ass science teacher taught you. All of the science is based on the fact that time is linear, which has never been the case. It took me 7 years to explain this to Einstein. Still, he only comprehended poorly. Nonetheless, the world came to a halt when Muhammad laid eyes on Khadija.

How should I put it!

Umm… you must have seen those fantasy movies. The guy, the girl, and the setting freeze… then there’s only the guy and the girl moving… in a still frame.

How do you think there are a thousand movies with the same scene. You must understand that whatever has happened keeps on happening every moment, over and over again. We all are trapped in an eternal cycle of time and motion. 

The world is like a book. Whichever page you open, you will only read that page, but every other page does exist, and something is going on. What has happened will happen, and what is going to happen has happened.

The book is complete. You haven’t read it yet.

Because everything is happening at once, you get flashes, visions, dreams. At times, you wander off into a different reality, and you never notice. You sleep in a world, and you wake up in the other. The reality you experience is not the reality. On that note, there is no reality. All you experience is a virtual construct created by the limiting beliefs of your mind. Ideally, you are not even you.

You are two particles bundled up together. One is a god particle, and another the observer particular. Everything else is an experience.

All we need to do is see and say, ‘Wow! That’s interesting.’ Every second of your existence is a miracle. We should all behave like 1-year-olds, filled with wonder and amazement.

But we do not.

We think we are someone, and we have control, wherein all you are is a patch of black ink inside a book. You can’t even change your place. It is all written.

Here’s an advice to all of you on a friendly note. 

Never fight anything. Only observe.

The love of Khadija and Muhammad is the love we should strive for. A perfection! But we are so flawed in our approach. For us, love is ownership.

Now here’s the conundrum. I don’t mind being owned. Your mother was a very passionate woman, and she was also possessive. She couldn’t tolerate me going away for even a moment. Khadija and Muhammad’s true love never had any problems. But those were different times. Now the times have changed. The times they are changing.

Your mother and I had many problems. But it was true love.

How do I know?

Well, after being with countless women, I still had the desire to love. I still was able to be with someone else. But after your mother left me and took you with her, every female became my daughter.

I could only see you and no one else. All I ever wanted was to hold you close to me and let your tiny arms heal my soul.

I realized later on that your mother was not my salvation. You were. You were the one I was looking for—the one who will complete me.

But your mother took you away from me.

And now, when she’s finally gone, freeing me from the promise that I will never reveal who I am to you. 

Now, I can yell, ‘Dear daughter, Daddy’s home.’

But I guess it is too late. You must be 26 years now.

One day, a stranger comes into your dream, claiming he’s your father and asking you to check your mail.

You check your mail, and you see an email from someone named Jupiter Maximus.

You can either choose to download or ignore it.

What will you do, daughter?

And what will happen if you choose to download it because you had a dream about it.

Will you see that it says the document has been classified as untrustworthy because the person is admitted to a psychiatry hospital. If you bounce by that, are you going to entertain a delusional man who claims to be a god in drag?

And won’t you laugh at me when I say you are the daughter of the fire goddess? Your mother was just a vessel.

What would you say to that, dear daughter?

Dear daughter, hope you will read this someday and forgive your father for being a terrible person.

Moral Tales from A Dystopian Future – Chapter II

The meteorite your science teacher claims hit the earth and wiped off the dinosaurs wasn’t really a meteorite. It was The RED Dragon. It’s velocity and fire burnt the entire planet for centuries before sentient beings like you could evolve from single cellular organisms

The Red Dragon


We meet a narrator who is under treatment for a psychiatric disorder. The narrator claims to be a demi-god who has walked the earth from the beginning of time with his brother Kato. In a broader sense, the narrator represents the good and his brother evil. Over time, both have influenced individuals and maintained a fair balance of good and evil. The narrator continually is searching for the daughter of Fire Goddess, who will help him defeat Kato and make the planet a better place.

Chapter -II

I hope I haven’t lost credibility in front of you now that I have mentioned my present condition. You have to be objective in your approach while evaluating me.

Yes, I am under psychiatric care, but I wasn’t admitted here willfully. Unusual turn of events led me here.

After long, I lost my patience a few nights ago. I was in a bar listening to the rambling of a young drunk boy. He kept on mentioning how his mother was a whore, his father a bastard, and how gods ruined everything for him.

I casually pointed out that he still had control. All he needed to do was sober up, go to bed, wake up early and do his daily chores; life is beautiful. To which his response was a beer bottle on my head.

I had let the Red Dragon remain dormant for long. It went on a rampage that night. Within moments the entire place was in ruins.

Oh, hold on, I think I haven’t mentioned the Red Dragon yet. You obviously need more explanation.

So, here we go…

In your terms, Red Dragon is my spirit animal. It is whom I call when I have to use violence. The Red Dragon is mighty and was created when the gods realized that conscious beings cannot venture until the dinosaurs remained. That’s when the Red Dragon was first unleashed.

The meteorite your science teacher claims hit the earth and wiped off the dinosaurs wasn’t really a meteorite. It was The RED Dragon. It’s velocity and fire burnt the entire planet for centuries before sentient beings like you could evolve from single cellular organisms.

Since then, The Red Dragon rested inside the Holy Father Jupiter. I call on him at times when I need rescue from forces I can’t conquer.

I had no business calling it for a bar fight, but I was enraged. I didn’t think straight.

I called upon the Red Dragon, and poof, the entire place went up in flames.

Glad the CCTV burned down too.

I wasn’t really in shock. When you are as old as me, these little things don’t bother you emotionally, but they do spiritually!

I could feel the pain of every person who lost a family member on the day because I lost control. I couldn’t bear it. I yelled to the Fire Marshall, ‘I burned them all,” and the next thing I know, I am admitted to a psych ward under evaluation for my mental health.

This isn’t the first time I have been admitted. There were wealthy women in the past who often thought I was crazy when I used to make love to them for days without consuming food or water.

Some thought I was possessed. So, I had my share of exorcisms as well.

Nonetheless, I have survived all, and I will survive this too.

Now, this journal that you are reading is also not the first journal I ever wrote. I have written, suggested and influenced countless pieces of text. I will not shatter your beliefs by claiming that literary geniuses such as Dostoevsky or Tolstoy or legendary painters like Vincent or Picasso or scientists such as Newton and Einstein were influenced by me at some time or other.

I won’t say this.

I don’t want to give you cognitive dissonance at this juncture; however, now that we are speaking, let me tell you, Newton was picking the apple up and was gonna eat it. I was on mushrooms. I guess his had worn off; I casually suggested, ‘hey buddy, ever wondered why the apple falls down,’ and the next thing I know, you guys were sending rockets into space.

Alyssa once told me that it was a little ahead of time. Humans were not supposed to understand gravity so early. They were meant to be primitive a little longer, but that didn’t happen, and the result was The Great Depression and the Holocaust.

You have no clue how minor incidents cause a ripple effect on the broader scale and become history-altering events.

Nonetheless, me and Kato, both have made our share of mistakes.

One mindless action of Kato was introducing magic. Trust me, you humans were not supposed to know magic. Magic began science. Not that the gods mind your little attempt to understand things that are beyond your comprehension. They don’t mind you trying. However, your dependency on calculations has led you to become mechanical in your approach towards life also.

Do you even remember how does a sunflower smells? You might remember the scent of rose. There are enough knockouts in your home with the after taste of Rose, but you don’t really remember how a lily smells, or a cactus feels.


This is my question to you!

Houdini worshipped KATO. I guess Kato really loved Houdini. He never attempted to corrupt his soul. He let Charlie Chaplin live in peace too. Charlie had a terrible temper, man!

He was capable of unprovoked violence. As a child, he hurt animals for fun. Kato could have used him for the advancement of his goals, but he didn’t. He let the legendary artist just be a wife-beater. That is settling for less if you compare it to genocide.

You see, every event is relative once you place it in front of an event of similar nature but larger magnitude. It all is relative!

I also let Dostoevsky be peaceful in his misery. I could have made him a spiritual being, but then he would have lost his gift.

And what do you think was his gift?

No, not writing; that is just a skill. His gift was endurance. He could bear almost everything. Damn a hard soul!

Anyway, now in this year, 2074, I sit here in a psych ward, writing this journal for you to read about how I met your mother—the daughter of the fire goddess and the destruction aftermath.

Dear daughter, hope you will read this someday and forgive your father for being such a terrible person.

Moral Tales from A Dystopian Future – Chapter I

It is 2074. A lot has changed in the world. The world you know is no longer the world I live in. It has been 30 years since the great uprising. For centuries patriarchy and right-wing values governed the globe. Then came radical feminists. They ruled poorly; they didn’t last even a decade. Not because they didn’t have excellent leaders. They had one of the best your times had ever seen.

Who Killed Jesus?

It is 2074. A lot has changed in the world. The world you know is no longer the world I live in. It has been 30 years since the great uprising. For centuries patriarchy and right-wing values governed the globe. Then came radical feminists. They ruled poorly; they didn’t last even a decade. Not because they didn’t have excellent leaders. They had one of the best your times had ever seen.

However, they could never be decisive. Everything became an endless discussion. Nothing ever got resolved. Not even the fundamental national issue, whether the toilet seat should be kept up or down!

Their quick rise and downfall was followed by a power vacuum, which finally was grabbed by the communists. The communists didn’t bring anything new. It was USSR and Gulags all over again. With no personal accountability, the commie idiots ran amuck, raping and killing everyone they pleased. Until there were none left.

Finally, the only idiots who could ever rise in a divided ecosystem, the patriarchs, rose again. This time they were furious. They didn’t show any signs of weakness. They, too, ran riot. But they only targeted the elders. They didn’t see any use of senior citizens, and the ironic truth was most of them were in their late fifties, and they were ordering 20 years old to shoot 70 years olds—what a shit show! But at least they were able to handle power, unlike their predecessors.

Maybe it is a good thing that the rich rule and the poor serve. Perhaps that’s how the world is supposed to be. It is anyways prey and predator. Why deceive ourselves in believing that there is a shred of decency left in us when reality points otherwise!

I am eons old. However, I am not sure. We in the heavens do not calculate time as you humans do. I remember I was a kid when Jesus was crucified. Soon after, my mother, Alyssa, sent me to earth. Since then, I have been wandering, surviving, and preaching. I did well in the first two. The third one, I don’t deserve even a B+. See the world around you. You know my preachings fell on deaf ears!

At times I blame myself for everything but then whenever I feel guilty about not fulfilling my duties towards you humans, I think of Jesus and what you guys put him through. That keeps me at peace. I don’t mind procrastinating my preachings. Now I didn’t even pray.

Alyssa often chuckles in my visions on how ironic is it that the person who was sent to teach people prayers doesn’t pray himself! Well, we all fail. Don’t we, and when we are around flawed humans, we fail often.

Buddha was one of the few people I enjoyed my time with. He was known as Siddhartha then. What a fine young man he was. I don’t know whether I did well preaching to him to leave his wife and newborn baby. You guys must think that someone in such a responsible position as me might be a little more sure of what he says or does.


I don’t owe you guys anything, and in retrospect, whatever I do doesn’t matter in the long run, and time doesn’t flow forward as you humans perceive. I will elaborate on this later. This is too complicated for you to comprehend now. You need more background.

They call me Yogi nowadays. I have been known by many names in the past. Names you are familiar with!

I have witnessed every atrocity your people committed in the name of gods for their own greed.

You do know that you are supposed to please the gods and not anger them. Think about one selfless sacrifice you have ever done for the gods.

Think harder.

None! Yet you expect the gods to be generous and shower you with all you ever desire. Manage your expectations, buddy.

In these current times, no one worships. I don’t blame them for it. Life’s hard. In ancient times, when these men and women grew uneasy, they used to turn to my fathers in the heavens. Then came the brokers. For a considerable part, Popes, Priests, Kings, and Godmen became brokers to the Gods. I remember once I met a Pope who offered me a ticket to heaven. He was shocked when I told him, ‘I don’t need a ticket to visit my father.’

I guess he saw the truth in my eyes. He died of heart failure that night. He was a very healthy man. He ate and slept well for the most part of his life. Everyone was surprised at his untimely dismal death. I swear I had no role to play. I did not wish for it to happen.

Wishes do come true. Hope you know!

Once the brokers lost their power, these men and women moved to the men inside the tube. TV became their new god. If the man on the TV said to wear white, they wore white. Then came a man in orange who said wear orange and everyone wore orange. Then came a man who said kill everyone who doesn’t wear orange and began the color wars. Everyone wanted to paint the town red, and the towns were painted red. Only not with paint.

I enjoy all kinds of sights.  When you have spent the number of years I have, you have seen it all. Nothing surprised me ever after they crucified Jesus. That was the only day I ever experienced what you humans call SHOCK. Not only was I shocked, but I was also surprised why the Almighty Father allowed such brutality to happen to his own Son.

I am not even in a distant family. Just to clarify, I am not royal. I do not have royal blood. Only the true gods are royal. You must have heard of the gods. There are all kinds of them. They rule you people. Laxmi, Hanuman, Durga, Hammurabi, Gandhi… sorry, I guess the last two were just legendary men. When you spent so much time as me on this godforsaken planet, you often get confused. I usually have this discussion with the guards at the gates of heaven. I ask why they don’t put Nelson in the royal suite, and they always reply that it is only reserved for the gods and Nelson was a great man, but he doesn’t have royal blood. So at some level, I and Nelson both are ordinary beings for the gods.

I don’t like talking much about myself. At times I get confused about who I am. Every 20-30 years, I change my name… my identity. When I visited the east and befriended Krishna, Buddha, and Gandhi during his early years, I kinda settled here. I was told that in my last of travels I will meet a woman. This woman will be the end of all my prayers and bring me to my salvation.

Let me try and explain to you who I am. Hold on to your head above your shoulders; this is a little complicated, just a little complex than neurosurgery and quantum mechanics combined, just a tiny bit.

This will be a brief introduction. You will keep on knowing me as we proceed.

I first was created out of love. My mother never revealed much to me. Rather she hardly said anything. I did not even know that I was gifted or blessed. I found it out on my own.

She did tell me I had no father. I was born pure. (whatever that means) I don’t believe in the holy immaculate. No such phenomenon was explained to me when I was in the heavenly school of misfits.

After my initial upbringing, mostly survival training in some damp corner of the Amazonian jungles, she left my brother and me to your unknown lands with just one thing to do: preach.

She told me to preach generosity, forgiveness, gratitude, hope, and all those girlie-sounding terms, and he was given the task to preach lust, greed, hatred, resentment, and all those big bulky emotions you humans are laden with.

In all honesty, both of us wavered. I had my years of trying hands on lust and going to orgies, and he did have his years of meditating with the lamas of Tibet, but in totality, we did stick to our purpose. He created the Hitlers and the Saddams. I made the Vincents and the Picassos. We maintained a fair balance.

Now, I don’t trust mother. In all fairness, she told me not to trust any woman as women hold the key to the underworld. However, I always liked women. I enjoyed a fair share of their company.

My first decent pupil ever was Markus. He later became, and if my memory doesn’t fail me, he still is the most famous man. After Markus’s death, I met the first woman I ever got to know intimately. Her name was Cleopatra and let me tell you, no one ever walked the earth like her ever again. She was a true goddess.

Before shipping me off to this godforsaken planet, Alleysa did tell me that after centuries I will meet the Daughter of Fire Goddess. I and her will light the fire in the ancient temples of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, and the world will get rid of Kato. Kato is the curse that was laden after Adam and Eve were sent off from the garden of Eden.

Damn! And you thought Bible was just a story. Damn you, stupid human!

Let me surprise you a little more. You chimps did not invent fire or language or built pyramids and spaceships. You were given these as gifts because you prayed hard. Someone in your tribe did something that the gods liked and gave you these tools as gifts.

The wheel was all me, just thought you should know. Now that we are talking let me tell you why and how.

There was this poor mother; I daily saw her drag 3 children on a piece of wooden bark. She made this awful noise, and this was centuries before Krishna’s arrival. I used to stay in Tibet. This was before there was any Tibet. I used to practice Bansuri, a musical instrument that I was supposed to teach to Yahoda’s Son Krishna. He, too, had the royal blood of Vishnu. So I was supposed to teach him arts, culture, swordsmanship, archery, yoga, sadhna, manifestation, shapeshifting, and what not… All Alyssa ever did was hand me a task list every winter. Those were the only few moments in time I got to see my mother.

At times I think I, too, suffer from mommy issues like you humans.

Seeing that mother make such an awful noise, I took pity and helped her. She made love to me as an act of kindness. It was beautiful. There is nothing warmer in this whole wide world than the warm thighs of a kind woman.

Now there ain’t any left. You humans killed kindness!

Nonetheless, so that was the wheel.

It wasn’t you people, okay, it was me.

So yes, Cleopatra. Man, what a fine woman!

Though it was too early to be accurate, I prayed that she be the one.

During our opium trances, I often made her believe that she was the Daughter of The Fire Goddess.

Belief is potent. But as soon as the intoxication waded off, her reality changed. She was just a seductress.

My quest continued, and I met thousands of females. All of them beautiful than the earlier. Some Parsi, Some French, Few English, A great many Arabs, and a handful of Africans. I just couldn’t bear jungles. I stayed away from there. Reminded me of mother.

Finally, in 2021 met her—the Daughter of the Fire goddess! She was and is the light!

Who Am I?

I am the first-born Jupiter Optimus Maximus. I am the first and the last Prophet. I am the only one you are ever allowed to bow down to. The Daughter of the Fire goddess and I will shift the balance and build a sustainable, greener future for our younger generation.

Also, I think I missed mentioning something; I am currently in a psych ward where I am being treated for acute delusional disorder. Not that it is important, but I thought you should know.

Sleep well, dear friend! Sleep well.

Dear डेल्ही: À la prochaine

We fall in love with people, places, philosophies, products and pain. I fell in love with you!

Dear Dilli,

I was 14 when I first met you. A little kid from a small town with 300 bucks, high hopes and crazy dreams. It has been 17 years since then, look what I have become!

I won’t play a victim and blame you for making me who I am. Not that I am unhappy or miserable. However, what is happiness, when the things you cared for the most are no longer even your distant priority.

We fall in love with people, places, philosophies, products and pain. I fell in love with you!

You had all I could ever dream of. You were beautiful. You were resilient. You had power. You had control.

Yes, there were few scoundrels around you.

And yes, one had to battle demons and monsters to admire the real you but all that was worth every minute I got to spend with you.

I know I cheated on you a few times!

I apologize for my misconduct.

I shouldn’t have fallen in love with Kashmir.

Neither Noida, nor Gurgaon!

I shouldn’t have loved the valleys and the lakes alike.

Oh, dear Dilli, please forgive me if you could.

And look what happened.

Yes, you may smile and yes you can smile! Laugh at my misery.

This obstinacy is what always pulled me to you. Your arrogant resentment.

And, let me also tell you that I always stood by you. Apart from that one time when women were getting frequently raped, (they still do, we are just too busy staring at the unruly flowing beard) I never spoke ill about you. And for that you did punish me well. Banished me for two years. I guess that did settle the score.

It was a crazy ride. Wasn’t it!

We held hands in Chandni Chowks, Khan Markets and Connaught Places. We made love in Rajouri gardens and Kailash colonies. And oh those streets of Khirki… I will give up everything to roam in them once again.

But no, I can’t do this anymore. You broke my heart.

I can’t be around you anymore. Not that I claim that I didn’t deserve it.

Oh, I deserved all of it. And a little more. But I can’t take it anymore.

I gotta go! I gotta heal!

How else will I do the things you wanted me to do!

I am going to a different town, a different city, I will keep on moving, wandering… never ever fall in love with a place again. You taught me a valuable lesson. Never fall in love with people, places and philosophies. Never fall in love.

Thank you dear Dilli.

P.S: I hope you find someone who will love you more than me and for who you truly are – a cultured savage. And me, oh I will always be in the little pictures, the little pictures you took of me, from those non-functioning CCTVs hanging like a failed man’s balls at every corner on every street.

Love you always!

Unfaithfully yours,