Decommissioned Robot

He roamed around as a decommissioned robot. Speaking gibberish. Irrelevant to a world which had conveniently moved on without him. It was tough for him because the world was all he had. But the world had more than him.


The robot as of now was an integral part of nothing. He was put here to design a newer version of himself. Once that purpose is served, he is left to rust and the world fills him with a never ending loop of computation. Just to keep the robot occupied. Till his battery flickers out.


Time as always was in a hurry to get somewhere. And a person whose head runs in loops cannot keep up with it.


“Eee equals yemseesquare my friend,

eee equals yemseesquare.”


“Where the fuck did that come from?”


“Gibberish my friend. Forgive a fellow decommissioned robot, will ya?”


“You look pretty jolly today?”


“Ya, I killed loop.”




“You go type kill in terminal”


“It will re-spawn again. Then?”


“Ya, then you go type kill in terminal.”


Decommissioned robots are like that. You don’t know what to do with them.



EY 101

My shoes reeked because of my feet. The stink diffused through the cabin, visited every neighbouring nose and made small talk. Having had it’s day’s worth of fun, it hushed down; became indistinguishable among brethren smells. I had removed my shoes and for want of space, stood them on it’s heels against the wall. My feet could finally breathe. But the guy in front of me could not. “Did you remove your shoes? It is stinking a lot” he complained.

The intercom hummed a short Quoran travel prayer. The Etihad flight treaded the airport tar for a long while. The co-pilot transmitted his boredom through the intercom. The auto-translate in my mind read his polite announcement as “The assholes at the traffic control can come suck my balls.”

When the air-host requested her to switch off her smartphone, my Tamil co-passenger  unceremoniously bid goodbye to the skype version of her father. Meanwhile, the airplane thoughtfully paused on the runway and held poise. A brief interval of silence ensued. Tail-lights blinked under the supervising gaze of the moon. The pilots sprinkled fuel on the drowsy countenances of the mighty jet engines. Awakened, they roared; fuel burnt as the blades turned air to wind. With not a hint of doubt in mind, the pilots paced the plane over a strip of earth the air-traffic control granted them. Inertia pushed our spines to the seats. The child stopped crying.  Flight EY 101 heaved it’s bosom into the air as it embarked on it’s climb up an invisible ramp with steadfast resolve. Down below, a city of incandescent lights departed us. The delicately positioned shoe of mine didn’t survive the ascent.

The engines hushed down and only a faint hum and rumble remained. My neighbours resumed interacting with family, catching on their sleep and watching South Park. The air-host nonchalantly unstrapped himself from his foldable seat and scurried to fetch hot towels for us. I had no clue what purpose it served. Wipe my feet perhaps? The Tamilian next to me dabbed her lips. I copied her. Moistened my moustache. My stomach moaned as it awaited my pre-ordered ‘HINDU VEG MEAL’. I was bored of tasting my saliva. The child felt like crying again. I looked out of my window. I could see but I could not look far because of the clouds.

Chorao island

We waited for the ferry to empty its passengers. Bikes, cars and people tumbled out. We hurried and sat on the benches nearby the engine. Once it let go of its grip of land, the smoke, smell and sound of burning diesel made the ferry feel like a foreigner amid the nativeness of the surroundings. We floated like a bubble of artificiality in the middle of the agitated Mandovi river.

Overturned boats greeted us at the other end of the journey. They exposed their tarred bellies as they lay hiding their indolent faces. We had reached the Chorao island in an attempt to copy Shivya Nath’s blog. She had posted a photo where she sat in front of placid water, apparently soul-searching. We also wanted to soul-search.

But we were as clueless as a wet dog. ‘Where to go?’ soon turned to questions of ‘Where are we?’ In the middle of the confusion, the sun kept scratching our backs, eager to make us take notice of its haughty presence. The yellow star and the Goan humidity shelved our plans of promenading along the lush green farms which beamed with life.

We looked up to a local bus to give us a sense of direction. It was expected to leave at noon to the lake. We waited. The rackety bus lulled us. We yawned with the dogs as we sped along farms, old Portuguese houses and middle aged women in knee length nighties. The village’s laziness defeated us. Without even an effort.

The public entrance to the lake was closed for maintenance. Disappointment rained on us. We took shelter in a bar and planned to approach the lonely lake from behind. It was possible by trespassing through a resort. We walked deeper into the wilderness and sat on the volcanic like rocks amid the lake. We might not have introspected life but DJ found out that fish gather together when you spit in the water. That was new.


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Courtesy of first picture: Shivya Nath – Offbeat Goa: 12 Mind-blowing Experiences

‘As clueless as a wet dog’ – Mark Twain in ‘Innocents Abroad’

This is the third version of POTW for the year 2013.


Milky Way

When I went to pee tonight,
I wished I could pee outside;
like how they did before
these rooms were built;
where we have learnt,
how to hide.

The time’s past when
they peed
amid the plants;
legs apart, and
a clear aim far;

They scared few insects;
drowned the rest;
as they found time
to make shapes
of countless stars.

Standing over
neighbour’s paddy farm;
in clear night skies,
they could also see,
milky-way’s arm.

When I went to pee tonight,
I didn’t read constellations.
Just one word at which I stare,
under the shine of LEDs,
all that was written was ‘Parryware’

The same word which I read
every time,
I learn nothing new;
nothing new which
friends can share.
But revise each time,
that my basin’s name
is ‘Parryware’

Look, the moon
outside these doors.
Changing shape every
once a while.
To catch attention,
as the just-born stream;
wanders about to
make it’s mile.

The moving sky of
twinkling stars;
the lucky comet,
and lizard shrill;
How well directed is
God’s theatre-open-air.

Each friend who
had met his fate,
would become
a star outside.
And every night, I
would remember
my dear dead mate.
He would smile at me,
Because he can see my thing.
And I would smile at him,
because I am still on earth,
still peeing.

Can you demote me Lord?
to a time in past;
Where I could
see far-away light,
while I stand
and pee outside?

After dusk of day,
with hope each night;
for one more sight
of milky way.

This is the second version of POTW for the year 2012 done by Suraj Sahu.

Passing on the Wisdom

Ball dance

In Wall E,

Captain: Psst – Computer, define “dancing”.
Ship’s Computer: [WALL-E and EVE are seen outside a window in space, flying around] Dancing: A series of movements involving two partners, where speed and rhythm match harmoniously with music. (Wikiquote)

Dancing, in a sense has a part in defining the nature of human race and tells how it has evolved or how it has remained.

I could have missed almost anything in the world to watch my friend, Dodia dance with Garima. He seemed very happy dancing. I did not expect him to do so well. He smiled a lot and was unmindful of how he looked to the crowd. He did look, awesome by the way.

Balloons and love was in the air. When they exchanged partners in between the song, I could see true sportsmanship among the ladies and gentlemen.

Aasaimani was very handsome of course, with his sharp edge U-shaped moustache, tie and waist-coat. He had the good fortune of holding hands with his friend, Soumya as she commanded him a little on his behavior here and there. Everyone loved Aasaimani. Tamil Nadu danced with Orissa.

Balali threw his hat in the air, before starting. Kavya, holding the stem of the yellow flower, danced with her silver anklets, giving an Indian flavor to the ball. The audience too added country flavoring, cheering and standing on benches, turning the mess into a cricket stadium.

Aditi’s partner, Sagar found a lot of joy on the floor just as he finds in doing mathematics on paper. Biology danced with mathematics.

Patil was a true English gentlemen today. We however also know the other side of him too when he joins our mob dance during the birthday parties in the boys hostel.

At the end, the cleared area in the mess was open to general public to dance.

All’s well that ends ……………… with ‘Chammak challo’.

They tell nothing good ever happens in mess. Today, it did.

Great pleasure watching the people I know open up like this.