Bose Writes Things

Abba taught me to shut the door and I obediently complied every time, as if my presence was inconsequential. I was taught not to make a fuss about petty issues and be content with whatever was provided because my life was supposed to be an offering to Allah, the divine. Therefore, I muted myself to the genocides and swears that my abba and his adversaries carried on, in the name of a sacrosanct, imaginary supernatural being who never showed himself. Maybe the "Allah", abba spoke about was scared of these barbarians himself. What abba failed to realize was that he shut the doors to tolerance, simple perception and brotherhood; and instead opened the window to blind religious orthodoxy. Outside the cold winter was omnipresent, love could melt the ice, but Abba chose to hammer it with orthodoxy. Hindus and Muslims knew not that they were of the same species- it always looked as if a clan of curs battled the others to maintain its own sanctum, only, here it wasn't to defen...

15th August 2013: Sunny morning here in my hometown, after all the rainy days that soothed the climate down to a bearable limit- this seems more like a typical springtime atmosphere though it is supposed to be monsoon here now. I get out of bed and find my cell-phone buzzing in a horrendously frantic way, and when I give a keener ear, I notice songs of martyrdom breezing in from my neighbor's house. It took me the heavy incoming Independance Day messages in my cell to realize the base of such an articulate celebration, and the historic relevance of the day for us Indians. Yes! you guessed it right... I had forgotten the Independence Day... I know many of you do as well, but here my forgetfulness was more deliberately enforced than instinctive. Independence is a behemoth term, and the way we maneuver at the very application of the word is seemingly unjust and unauthentic. India's freedom much like the morning of the 15th of August is sweet and alluring, yet not well fou...

It is not my hobby to be absolutely psychedelic at times, rather, it is more of a compulsion. Ever since I was a seven year old kid who saved an old man from being hit and absolutely overridden by a truck- I considered myself to be an unsung superhero underneath a more than vibrant camouflage of flesh and bones- patiently waiting for the time when I could walk out and douche the bohemian cannibalism existing in human beings that devour at the heart of the society. Whether it was due to the thrill of having saved a life or that dizzier aftermath that inoculated within my head (resulting out of the impact that it incepted, when it hid the ground during the course of action), I don't know- yet, i cherished myself wearing that red curtain, poising as superman who kicked at those four legged-furniture beasts in my house; then would momentarily pause for breath before letting out a vociferous roar (more like a pitchy shriek), yelling- "Yield Villain!" But now that I s...