Month: Aug 2025

the first madness of a first love (microfiction)

29.08.2025

‘Her hair.’

‘That’s what you remember?’ asked Alfonso. He had been asking me about the first woman that I loved. He asked with some surprise.

‘She had strawberry blonde hair. Like gold with a touch of red.’

‘Is that all you remember about her?’

‘The Victorians would keep lockets of hair of their loved ones who had passed away. It is enough.’

‘Anything else.’

‘She had a twin sister who I also met.’

I did not say any more. Alfonso did not probe the issue. I would probably never see her again and I did not know what she was doing now.

‘All that happens in life,’ I was telling Alfonso, ‘is that you meet people that you think you have connected with. But all there is is disconnection.’

‘That is not true,’ said Alfonso. ‘You have many friends. Including myself.’

‘I am talking about romantic connection.’

‘It is not true for everyone.’

‘It is true for me.’

‘You should give up your despair in life. You are mistaken if you think that you can’t live without love. Everything is possible in this life. You can adapt to any situation.’

‘It is not a question of what I can do. I can do anything and everything. I never doubt myself. What is there that is too difficult for me to do? I am a genius. It is about want. About hunger. About masculine needs, emotion and sense all together.’

‘To achieve your wants is not the definition of happiness. You will always want more. Let us change the topic. There is no point counting what you do not have. The more you think about it, the worse it will be for you. Think of something else. Come, a new subject.’

‘Do you know why we worship the mother?’

‘Go on.’

‘We are warriors. For a war, soldiers have to be produced. We look to the mother to produce them.’

‘That is quite simplistic.’

‘But true nonetheless. Look at Western feminism. When the World War came, they needed the women to be workers. They needed workers for the war effort. That was what changed the status of women from before. Now, all they can be seen as in a capitalistic economy is as workers. It has become unusual to be solely a housewife. It is war that decides the fate of men and women.’

‘Is there nothing else in the warrior’s worship of the mother?’

‘I’ve said it several times before. The mother gives protection. That is why she is worshipped. She fulfils the role that the warrior wishes to fulfill. He wants to become her.’

‘Anything else?’

‘The mother is the life force. She gives birth.’

‘So what would you say to these people that criticise the warriors for thinking of women as mothers? For daring to talk about the biology of women?’

‘No comment.’

‘Caution?’

‘Disengagement from the culturally insensitive and those blinded by their own assumptions and prejudices.’

Alfonso snorted at me. I remained silent. We did not need to explain ourselves to them. Because they persisted in being them rather than us. And because they were them, they could fuck off.

…

Visual Diary 29.08.2025

‘forgive me for my sins’ (bhool chuk maaf) [microfiction]

27.08.2025

Today, Alfonso had been worried about me. I had ended up in the Accident and Emergency department in the hospital again. I clung to danger. Danger clung to me. Of course, it was the leg. The leg again and again. The scars of love will ache and hurt never goes away. The world did not want me to stand upon my feet. But I stood upon my feet. And I swaggered when I walked. I was Punjabi. I was The Tiger.

It had been touching to see him so worried, with that diamond veneer that he had which was so hard and polished. At times, he could be cruel and dismissive. He had a pretence of insensitivity. But he was like me, sensitive and, ultimately, loyal.

Because it was unclear what the risks were, I had had to cancel my evening plans for working before I had found out. It had turned out to be alright and I had got the all clear. So I had a whole evening free. I had watched the Hindi remake of ‘Groundhog Day’ which was one of my favourite films. Alfonso had asked me to tell him about the film. Who knew India better than me? I was her most loved son. The one that had married her, Mother India. Her son and her most devoted lover.

I wrote:

A common story in India for all, the film is about unemployment. And not only unemployment, but also the unfair demands that the families of women have. Which is that, as a man, you not only have to be working, but that you have to have a top government job to have their daughter. Indirectly, the film is a criticism of the slaves to the state and their corruption, their slavish mentality, their sickening and conformist, selfish and materialistic grasping of the resources of the oppressive, exploitative state and the inhumane bastards that sustain it, those who do not care about preserving life in a world of corruption.

It is not enough that the state steals, pillages, rapes. Worse than that, you have to dedicate your life to its atrocities.

The film explores the nature of altruism, goodness and the preservation of the life force through the lens of the Bhagavad-Gita. The motto that you should do good actions and then not worry about the results or the rewards that you get or the cost that it will take. This is the philosophy of the warrior from thousands of years ago. The philosophy of war. Because Krishna who I am named after persuaded Arjuna to go to war for justice against everyone he knew and loved when he was going to withdraw from the battlefield. And I have been raised on that philosophy and the Mahabharata where those scenes come from. I have been raised in that warrior culture. The film is about us, the warriors.

As I watched the film, I thought about my own youth. I did not want to work in a job where I was making the rich richer. That was not my destiny. I wanted to work in a job where I did service for society. For justice. And so, I could not get married. Because I did not have a high status, high paid job. The unfair demands of other people could not be met.

In the film, the hero is stuck on the day before his wedding. He is stagnating in a life without marriage and love. After all, that is my life. That is the life of the man that does not want to be a slave to the state in a world of slaves to the state, to the rich and the powerful. Instead, this man wishes to be good. To do good things. He wants to be a hero and not a slave.

The woman that he loved, Titli (Butterfly), she spent all of her time arguing with the hero. Her voice was magical. A memory came back to me. But what was she? The one that seduced the man into the evil and oppression of the state. She was a siren.

The story is a comedy. There has to be a happy ending. Yet in real life, if you are not a slave to the state, then you cannot catch the butterfly in your hand. You watch it dancing away in the air, like her, the angel.

However much the warrior craves the sweetness of the siren, however sweet it is to die in beauty, he has to resist. Odysseus was tempted by the siren. He had to impose deafness and silence on his men and get them to tighten his own bonds so that he did not fall into the death in the mouths of the siren. But Odysseus is not Indian. He failed to stop his own ears and accept deafness and silence himself. He is the pawn of the state. When he feigned madness, he was still trapped by the state. He is a slave. Odysseus listens to the song of the siren. He is enamoured by the trap of the state, the trap of the siren. The trap of slavery.

The warrior has to forsake love if love is from the slaves to the state. The warrior has to forsake status if that status comes from the state. In a world of false wars and corruption, the warrior only has one duty. To not only forsake the state, but to destroy the state. Because to do good work, that is the only way. The way of the warrior. When Krishna taught Arjuna in the Gita, it was to go to war against the state, the evil usurpers and oppressors. Arjuna was the son of a god, he was divine. God cannot serve the state, he must be against it. It is our duty to take the power away from the state and to become truly noble, to serve the people and justice. This is warrior culture.

I can live a life in sickness and without love knowing that I am not a slave to the state and knowing that I have not killed my humanity. After all, it is better than the alternative.

In this film, there is the spirit of The Tiger. Of Krishna, the liberator and the revolutionary. I am not alone. India courses through us. I am India. Six thousand years of knowledge and war are in us. We are the Revolution and the days of the state are numbered. The state is a mere blip and dead end in human history.

Inquilaab zindabaad! Inquilaab saada zindabaad! Jai Maa Kaali! Long Live the Revolution! May the Revolution live forever! Hail the Dark Mother!

your life is quite funny (microfiction)

26.08.2025

In that beautiful suit of his that was from some fine and expensive haberdasher, Alfonso was chortling away to himself in the corner. The smiles were radiant, but so also was that hair of his, that full, thick hair of which I was so envious at my age. I used to have hair like that. He smelt wonderful. Some guy on the street had given him an armful of perfume samples and he was wearing the sample apparently. He had given me one just yesterday.

‘Your life is quite funny.’

‘I’m glad you find it amusing.’

‘Look at all the places that you have gone to find love. Cultural institutions. Acting and improvisation workshops. Volunteering in a play with six hundred volunteers. Clubs for learning. Events all around London. Flower shows. Even a floristry course. You’ve been doing it for three years. All that time, effort, distance, investment. Anywhere but a pub or a bar where you would actually find someone. It is laughable. You are undateable. Nobody cares if you have anything in common with them.’

‘It looks like it.’ What was the point of arguing? He was right. I was going to be alone forever. I had given up. There was no one in my life. I was living in a loveless world. At least he was finding some enjoyment out of my situation.

‘So I guess,’ Alfonso continued, in his casual and cruel manner, ‘that you are going to tell me about how everyone is against you, how everyone devalues you, how much you are suffering and how you do not fit into this world?’

‘It is my usual repertoire.’

‘What do you think went wrong in your life?’

‘Do you know,’ I asked Alfonso, ‘how many medicines I am on? It is a lot. And all those medical problems come from rejection. That is what started everything off. Yet despite the pain and the things I go through, I am carrying on, working and volunteering in all these places. I have a finger in almost every pie. Because I am strength and will. I am named after a god and The Tiger. They look to me for protection and inspiration. The people expect.’

‘You were rejected, so you are sick.’

‘Those problems are going to plague me all my life. Yet it doesn’t stop anyone from rejecting me. They cannot face the brutality of the rejection that I have had to face. When you are rejected by someone you love so much, it is a dagger into your brain and into your heart. That ‘no’ has wrecked me.’

Suddenly, Alfonso stopped smiling. He had actually winced. ‘To be alone is not so bad. You cannot be like them. Therefore they do not like you. Forget about it.’

‘What else is there to do? I am trying to forget. From a mind that remembers much.’

‘You have not tried dancing. Dance. Meet someone there.’

‘The leg…’

‘After the doctor looks at it, dance. You will be fine. Come on, let us talk about something happy and hopeful.’

‘Hopefully I will die soon.’

Alfonso shook his head at me. ‘Don’t be naughty. A warrior hopes for a glorious death in battle. Not to ease his problems.’

‘You want hope? University will start again soon. It will be time to work on a dissertation. The voice of the people.’

‘Yes, the voice of the people. You say that you are it. What do they say?’

‘They say ‘inquilaab zindabaad! Inquilaab saada zindabaad!’ (Long Live the Revolution! May the Revolution Live Forever!’)

‘You believe it?’

‘It is always the time for the Revolution. There will be justice. I cling to life because I cling to that hope.’

‘Hope is a dangerous thing. You hoped for someone for years. What did it get you? Grief. Disappointment. Failure. This Revolution…’

I interrupted him. ‘The tyrant rules. But he will fall. The liar controls communication. But he will be caught out. The idiot teaches. He will be exposed. Corruption and filth saturate the universe. It will be cleansed. The cockroach is the ideal. The ideal will be torn down. Against the say of the rich and powerful, there are the words of the community of the dalits, the community of the oppressed. I am the prayer of my mother, the prayer of the people. It is my destiny. And if I cannot do this work, it shall be done by one in whom the spark is lit. Live for the Revolution. Die for the Revolution. Writhe in torture in hell for the Revolution.’

‘Has anyone told you that you are the Indian Don Quixote? You are tilting at the windmill.’

‘Not so ludicrous as you think. The windmill took away jobs from men. It was the awfulness of technology which made humanity expendable. Quixote was right to protect the people from it, just as I am right to fight against this society.’

‘They ignore you. Therefore they have slain you.’

‘There are still the words I write. In my mind I am free. In my mind I love freedom. In my mind I am difference. And in my mind I love difference. Amongst the sheep, there is The Tiger. Amongst the people, there is god. Amongst the weak, there is supreme power. The life spirit amongst the dead.’

‘It is not quite clear whether you are dead or not,’ Alfonso remarked. ‘But time will tell. Let us hope it is not too long into the future.’

gifts (microfiction)

25.08.2025

‘I spent yesterday and the whole day today giving out gifts,’ I was telling Alfonso. The first time I had met Alfonso, I had been utterly charmed. But I had also thought there was something dangerous about the man. I thought so now as well, but I was less wary now. I embraced the danger. After all, I was fearless. And he was a man that you could follow.

‘You have always been generous,’ remarked Alfonso.

‘And yet, I receive gifts very seldom,’ I told him. It was true. Nobody wanted to give me anything. Nobody thought enough of me to give me anything. I wasn’t worth it to other people. It didn’t surprise me. Nobody that I loved had ever loved me back. People that I thought were friends were not reliable. Just a thank you for helping or listening – you didn’t even get that. Even family… Everyone always liked everyone else more than me. There was no point talking to other people.

‘Don’t worry,’ Alfonso assured me, ‘they are only material possessions. They mean nothing.’

It was easy for him to say. Although I couldn’t make anybody be my friend or make them love me, I could do one thing. Which was that I would not talk to the fake people. There was no point saying anything to them or listening to their fake words when they did not regard you as a friend or a lover or anything. Whatever the delusional mind constructed about the history of me and them, it had all been a mirage of connection and communication. All that happened there was disconnection and miscommunication. I had just thought them better than they were. They were not good enough to be with me. That was the end of the story.

Alfonso persisted. He asked me what I wanted as a present.

‘The whole point is the unexpected nature of the thing. If you only got what you asked for, that would not make you happy.’

‘You do not look happy,’ Alfonso remarked.

‘I am not happy.’ I said. In fact, I was tired of living. I was tired almost of everyone. I didn’t want to be where I was any more. The good good friends were what kept me going. How rare kindness and fellowship was in this world.

‘And your leg, why has it started hurting again?’

‘Oedipus walked on his lame legs. I am Oedipus. I killed my father and married my mother. You cannot escape from your fate and the stories. The one that is born to fight for the revolution has to be Oedipus. In mind and in body.’

‘Oedipus, Krishna, The Tiger, god himself. You have to choose who you are.’

‘I am all and more. In the old legends they sing about me. I am the hero of this tale.’

Alfonso laughed. ‘We are heroes, all of us. But where is our heroine?’’

‘Where indeed? If any of us knew the answer to that, we would be merry.’

Instead, we sigh winds and stop the tears rolling down our cheeks. We jest without mirth and laugh without enjoyment. Everyone says we are fine.

people that don’t give you what you want (microfiction)

24.08.2025

‘How does it feel not speaking to people that don’t give you what you want?’ Alfonso asked me. He was reading over something I had given him and he looked over at me from the tablet in his hand. It suited him well, the look of a reader. My handsome, kind reader who gave me whatever I wanted. Unlike other readers in this world.

‘It is well.’

Alfonso laughed. He clapped his hands with the tablet in it. ‘Such a terse and cogent answer! And why is it well?’

‘Everyone talks to someone because they want something from them.’

‘Typical cynicism from one known for cynicism. Can you not be positive in life?’

‘Who has proved me wrong?’

‘Many people are kind to you.’

‘Except for the ones that I care about the most and that I wanted to be kind to me.’

‘You have an answer for everything.’

‘I am Punjabi. What do you expect?’

Alfonso laughed again. ‘And how does it feel now that you no longer make art any more?’

‘They say that art is worthwhile. But it is not worthwhile when you have brown skin. That is this culture. Nothing is worthwhile from you if you have brown skin. And then they talk about diversity, equality and fairness. Their culture is a joke and they are a joke.’

‘Be careful,’ Alfonso warned me. ‘You are in the position of least power.’

‘Yet I am the most powerful’, I said. ‘Because I am The Tiger’.

‘Let us return to the earlier question. Do you not feel awkward not talking to people, avoiding them, blanking them?’

‘Why? That is how they treated me. Like I was nothing. I’m merely showing them the mirror of themselves.’

‘No you’re not. They talked to you.’

‘Talk is cheap. Actions speak louder than words.’

‘They have done nothing to you.’

‘Precisely. They have made no investment in me. Therefore they should feel no loss.’

‘It is not good to use a cost benefit analysis on other people.’

‘Why not? It is what they have done to me. I was not worth their while. So they are not worth my while. I am merely reciprocating the sentiment. If I am not on their wavelength, they are not on mine. They are not worth wasting time and thought over.’

Alfonso rolled his eyes but held his tongue. It is useless to argue. No one ever changes their opinion. The Right fight against the Left. The Libertine fights against the Repressed. The Anarchist fights against the slaves to the state. The evil fight against the good. The enmities that have been set stand in stone. And The Tiger will fight forever. Because he was born to fight. He is loved because he fights. He is hated. Because he fights.

something happy (microfiction)

21.08.2025

‘For once, why don’t you write about something happy?’ Alfonso looked at me kindly. At heart, he was soft. Despite the sneering, the taunting and the criticism. He had a heart of pure gold and he looked after me. He would spend time with me and always give me advice because he cared about me.

‘Is it only what is happy that is beautiful?’ I asked him.

‘For your persistent reader, why don’t you try and give them joy instead of the pain?’

‘Do you want a moment of sheer joy? I have always been the lover of music. And one time, my father went abroad to work. He asked me what I wanted from there when he came back several months later. More than anything else, I wanted my own personal music player. He brought me the top model – at the time it was a Sony. It was black with gold writing on it and shaped like a little box. It played my Hindi film cassettes and, even better, it had a radio inside. That was happiness. Because music is happiness and family is happiness.’

‘You got what you wanted. Is that what you think happiness is?’

‘Is it not? What else could it be?

‘Things that are unwanted can be happiness. You have told me often enough in life that your life has not gone exactly to plan.’

‘Do you want another moment? A good book.’

‘But were the thoughts of another happiness, or were your own thoughts about the book happpiness? It is harder to arrive at a supposition.’

‘What does it matter what causes the joy?’

‘Because you want to replicate the result.’

‘Happiness was a relationship.’

‘Of course. Get another one.’ Alfonso smiled at me. ‘See, it is not so difficult to have happiness. Just good company, a good book or good music.’

‘In the moment, I am happy. In a film. In a book. In a play. Acting. Singing. Dancing. Making art. Talking to people’. I frowned. ‘It is when I go home and sit in my empty room and then lie in my empty bed…’

Alfonso frowned back at me. He shook his head. ‘We are talking about happiness. We are not talking about sadness or loneliness or emptiness.’

‘Happiness cannot exist without sadness, loneliness or emptiness. You would not feel it. Only the loser knows that it is to win.’

‘Do you think that only you are sad? Do you think that these people here enjoy lying in their beds at night all alone?’

‘Yes. Otherwise they would have someone.’

‘Life is not as simple as you make it.’

‘All it is is hanging out with someone that you like. That is not difficult.’

‘Says who? Perhaps it is the most difficult thing in the world.’

‘Alfonso,’ I said. ‘It is time for the lonely night. Let us sleep. Sleep might not be happiness but it is at least a break from this tired life.’