a dream of sadness

07.11.2025

S. was woken up in the morning from a dream of sadness by the alarm clock.

He was at the context where everything had happened with the one that had broken his heart. And it was a lunch time. He had gone to a shopping mall outside with another friend. It wasn’t any friend. It was a friend with a tragic past whose mother had died as a child. His company was sadness. Someone who had been separated from a woman, a mother.

The shopping had been torturous. His friend had walked in front. S. was following him. But he couldn’t follow him. S. was so sad that he had lain there face down on the ground in front of everyone. S. wanted to give up. It had consumed a lot of time. So S. had to take a taxi back. He was running late.

The taxi driver, an Indian woman (S. was Indian) had charged him an extortionate amount of money on arrival back to the place where the breaker of his heart was. Twenty five pounds. And, on arrival at the place where the breaker of his heart was, because he had to go back, he saw the Indian women’s children there. She was the mother.

He had to pay. He fumbled around in his little plastic seethrough bag of things. He kept on looking but couldn’t find the card. The Indian mother’s daughter was approaching him, looking for a tip, demanding more money.

Suddenly two bouncers appeared. They were accusing S. of trying to get away without paying the Indian mother. And then, S. found the card. Finally, he could pay the mother.

That was when the alarm bell rang and S. woke up.

In his dreams, the sadness of heartbreak was being processed. And his duty to the Mother was being processed. His debt to the Mother. She was being processed in his dreams, the women in his life and in the realm of his ideas, India’s ideas. The words he couldn’t say out loud, the things he couldn’t say out loud in a world of judgement, enmity and hostility. His past. Who could understand? Only an Indian in England.

love without fear

06.11.2025

S: Have you ever wondered what love without fear looks like?

A: Do they that love fear?

S: There is a famous Hindi song from one of the all-time classic movies. It is called ‘If you have loved, then what do you have to fear?’

A: And?

S: The question is whether that film is an exception to the rule. Because in the film there is an Oedipal situation between Akbhar the Great and his son Salim for a dancing girl.

A: Why do you mention this film?

S: Because an Indian professor that I used to know used to call me Salim. He recognised that I was Oedipus.

A: Is it only Oedipus that can love without fear?

S: That is the question, isn’t it? Salim’s love was the Revolution. In an India where the young fear the judgement of their parents and their family and society.

A: Why do you think people fear when they love?

S: Biology. In the past, childbirth might mean death. Or stigma in a society of monogamy and religious fanaticism.

A: So that is reason number one.

S: Secondly, when you love someone, you give them a licence to hurt you badly. Irretrievably even in many cases. It is a very risky business. And therefore, there is fear.

A: Why else?

S: The law. So if you ever love anyone outside of the law, there is the fear of stigma and the repercussions.

A: And you? You do not fear?

S: What is there to fear? I cannot die giving birth. The ones I have loved have stamped all over my heart and mind. I am still here, aren’t I? I haven’t died. I am still as strong as ever. Because I am invincible. And the law? I do not believe in it. In fact, the law is my enemy. Above everything….

A: You are a warrior. Yes, I know. You have crowed about it often enough. You come from the warrior culture. Where cowardice and disloyalty are the gravest sins.

S: Besides me, I hope there are those that can love without fear. Because fear breeds insecurity and unhappiness. There is this feeling. They will leave me all alone. All alone. Often, they do. But I do not fear. The Tiger never fears. Even the lonely are living. And loving.

the lynch mob

06.11.2025

S: The real question you should have asked him is not whether he supports Trump or not. But whether he was a piece of shit or not. That would have got to the point a lot quicker.

A: [LAUGHS] I’m sure those MAGA masturbators think the same of you.

S: It’s not worth engaging with the thoughts of clowns that are not even funny.

A: Shouldn’t you be respecting the opinions of others?

S: When they are full of hate against me and mine? They’re no different from a lynch mob. You would have me respect the opinions of a lynch mob? with an IQ of zero?

A: Forget about that, tell me something. Why do you think that you are a hero in love?

S: Because unlike them, I embrace someone to put them into the palace of my heart. Not to put them up onto the crucify and gouge them with my spears.

A: That is not an answer.

S: Do you know how sick I got when my heart was broken? I was dead. I had to make myself come back to life. It took about three years to recover fully from it. And despite knowing that, I still dared to love. To throw my heart away at someone like it was nothing. Three times in a row. Do you have that kind of bravery? Are you a Tiger?

A: Is that all?

S: Would you be able to fight against everyone that you love for the principle of love? Against an arranged marriage culture? Would you be able to fight against this oppressive society that is against your love because of your ethnicity and culture? All your adult life? I am talking about twenty years of fighting. Are you that much of a man? Could you dedicate twenty years of fighting to a fucking principle with nothing to show for it?

A: Some do not have to fight.

S: I have had to. Rama is known because he was ‘maryada purushotam’, the most highly principled.

A: And that’s why you a hero in love.

S: Do you want more?

A: That is more than enough. But they will never sing a song about your love, your courage or your fight.

S: And that is why I still have to fight. That is what it means to be a warrior of love. It is for today and it is for tomorrow.

the warrior of love

05.11.2025

A: You hate this world. You hate the people. You hate everything.

S: So? What have they done for me? Them and anything? They hate me and mine. Ours.

A: But you have the hypocrisy to say that you are full of love.

S: It is not hypocrisy. Why do I serve them then? That is my love. My philosophy is love is work.

A: You have a funny way of expressing love.

S: You want me to lick boots? Kiss arse? I’m not a fucking sycophant. They do wrong. I point it out.

A: That is why you do not get love in return.

S: You do not love to be loved. If you do, then you are not a lover.

A: You are still calling yourself a lover?

S: The warrior fights because he is full of love. The warrior is a lover.

A: Elaborate. It is not convincing.

S: Love is a battle. Of wills and wits. Defence and attack. Only the warrior can love. And only the lover can fight.

A: A cliche.

S: Because it is the truth.

A: You are from the warrior culture. That is what you think of love. You again attempt to speak for all.

S: You want me to endorse and promote the coward’s love? Where there is neither defence and attack? And therefore nothing?

A: You think you are so brave.

S: Yes. That is why, whenever I have felt love for someone, I have acted on it. I have no regrets.

A: Yet you are alone. You do not regret the aborted attempts?

S: If someone does not choose me, they are mistaken. I am the best.

A: You still believe?

S: Who can stand up against me?

A: Arrogance.

S: Confidence. Self-belief. The recognition of talent.

A: What good does it do you?

S: Against everyone, I followed the way of love. Against the family. Against this corrupt world and its corrupt values. I am the only lover in the world. No one else has had to pay the heavy cost that I have had to pay. I gambled my whole heart on my love. I am a hero of love. Because I am a warrior. These cold fucks with their cold love, what are they? What do they risk? Jackshit.

A: The Tiger’s love, reckless.

S: Lose everything in love. Except courage.

emptiness (microfiction)

04.11.2025

[written on the train home from work, 6-7pm)

A: You said that there was nothing. After the jealousy. After the fire. What did you mean?

S: The numbness. The ache of the emptiness. The place that is not filled. The void. The abyss. Many words. For the feeling of hollowness. Of incompleteness.

A: These are words. They do not describe the feeling.

S: You want to know the feeling of emptiness? It is complete numbness. It is nausea. It is the inability to arise from the bed in the mornings. Read the novel by Sartre. That is its literary expression. Why ask me?

A: It is you that is my friend. Not Sartre.

S: You do not want a wise friend? You prefer my company?

A: I prefer the company of The Tiger. He is also wise, the wisdom of nature.

S: It is a dangerous game. The Tiger has teeth.

A: Didn’t you tell me that the Punjabis have a phrase, ‘Friend of friends’? Isn’t that the philosophy of friendship of The Tiger?

S: You are one that appreciates care, attention and consideration and kindness. An anomaly. An exotic rarity.

A: You have many friends. You exaggerate. Perhaps you should keep better company if you feel like that.

S: The special friend I am looking for… Where do you find the better company? I have looked in so many fields. So many that I thought had embraced me only to watch them scatter in the wind…

A: When the kestrel cannot find a catch in one field, he haunts another.

S: The kestrel is free. He does not have a golden manacle upon his claw. He has no ties to a place.

A: You too are free. More free than anyone else. The wild ungovernable beast…

S: It is true what they say. Emotion is a cage.

A: Forget emotion. Become cold and hard like this world.

S: Impossible. They have a phrase in Punjabi, the language and people you are so fond of. ‘Dilwala’, the one with a heart. I am ‘Dilwala’. Not them.

A: Forget being one with a heart. Become one that has power.

S: It is accomplished. The power of The Tiger is unrivalled. He has transformed the world around him wherever he goes. The light that he sheds is like the blinding rays of the sun. And for them and those, it is unbearable.

the tears of the flowers

04.11.2025

Unexpected acceptance can be found within unacceptable expectation.

The day was long. In the garden, the flowers wept. The grass lamented. The sky itself, it was filled with melancholies of grey.

A bird glided into the tree and S. watched her keenly. The birds of Da Vinci flew in his mind, the artist feverishly tracking and recording their movements. Wanting to become the bird.

A. had asked him why he saw poison. Why he thought poison. Why his life had become poison.

What else was there? When all the good things were being churned from the ocean, instead, the god Shiva had swallowed the poison. To prevent the destruction of the universe. His throat became blue with the poison’s anger. And S.? His name was blue. The blue skin of a god.

A. had asked him, how can you become a god? S. had said that in the West, to claim godliness is arrogance and the height of madness. It is folly. But in India, one modelled onself on god. They called the good people gods. It was the aim to become god upon the earth. A god was known by good deeds. The deeds of humanity. And S. tried his utmost.

‘So you are Shiva then?’ A. had asked.

S. had said that the hero is formed in adversity. The whole world, including the gods, fate itself, all had to be against the hero. It was only then that the triumph of the hero could be known and recognised. It was only then that the legends of the hero could be told and the songs could be sung.

Life had to be poison. Otherwise, heroism was dead.

A. had smiled. The Buddha’s smile was known. It was the sign of his wisdom. The smile delighted the hearts of his followers.

jealousy (microfiction)

03.11.2025

S: I was insanely jealous. With an emphasis on the insanity.

A: You are insecure?

S: Where was the security? I had nothing. I was not theirs. I was clutching at a speck of a straw in the storm of the river.

A: And?

S: Seeing them with another… It was like a pickaxe to the brain and to the gut.

A: You have said that you WERE jealous…

S: Life taught me a lesson. To give up.

A: You? You gave up?

S: You cannot force.

A: You could love from afar. Like Dante.

S: Preposterous. A waste of life. To long and to yearn. And never love to earn.

A: And now? Where has the jealousy gone?

S: When hope is gone, jealousy is gone. Jealousy is the hope that one is mine. When there is still a bridge that connects. When there is no bridge that connects?

A: That bridge that you built, you destroyed it so easily.

S: Mine was not the hand that held the fire.

A: But you swallowed the flame willingly.

S: Not willingly. I was much loth to do it. The body and the mind fought me valiantly. They are the body and the mind of The Tiger. I am strength. Years of strength. That is why I am invincible. One lesser would have succumbed.

A: But what comes now instead of jealousy?

S: Nothing. The numbness.

A: You told me that you are fire.

S: You can be fire only for what is yours.

A: You are lying to yourself. You are still fighting yourself.

S: You don’t believe that love dies? Our world is one in which love is for a moment. And only that. It is a faint murmur that is forgotten against a deafening noise. There is no loyalty. There was no encouragement. In short, there was nothing.

A: The heart of a Tiger, the heart of a traitor?

where there is no bond there is no treason

the wheel of survival knows no season

loss is what we hide

why lie? we have died

critic (microfiction)

03.11.2025

S: Have you ever watched that film, I think it is called Birdman?

A: No. But I remember you talking about it once. That you were like Birdman.

S: In the film there is a critic. She is determined to destroy the hero.

A: Motivation?

S: His past. The fact that he plays the role of a superhero. She is against heroism.

A: Why?

S: She guards the gates of culture. She excludes. And again, it is the battle of the sexes. She attempts to crush the male ego.

A: We will have to watch it together. An artist must be against the critic that demands death.

A: The resolution?

S: Ambiguous. She calls for his death. A critic that demands death. Can Birdman die for his art?

A: Why talk of this film?

S: Birdman has this voice. The voice of power. He is a hero. He has the voice of a hero. Is the film a meditation on this culture’s exclusion of the hero? A jealous culture that cannot stomach heroes and their heroism?

S: Yes, but the demand for the death of the hero persists. They ask for tragedy. We give them comedy. Comedy ends in marriage.

the stealer of sweets (microfiction)

02.11.2025

In that shared space, S. had a cupboard. And in the cupboard, along with his other food, S. used to keep chocolate. No longer, because there is a stealer of sweets at large.

They began by lifting packets of chocolate. S. thought it was just an exception to the general trust that he could extend to the group. So he had kept on storing his treasures there. But the thief was resolute and shameless. So S. hid the chocolate somewhere else, under lock and key.

But then, after a while, when S. thought that the thief would no longer root around in a place where there was nothing, he had put a few packets of sweets there for himself. A quick energy boost to get him through the busy day. The thief had returned.

At first, the thief was careful. They took what could not be noticed. But, after a while, the thief became brazen. And they would take all of the sweets and leave the packet entirely empty. A message.

What was the motivation of this thief? Why were they stealing the sweets in such a targeted way?

Was it just the case that they could see something there, knew there would be something there and it was an easy heist? Was it just shameless greed?

Or was it more the case that they were communicating something? Was it a personal rivalry? Payback for some mistake? Did this thief even know whose cupboard they were stealing from?

One day, the thief left something. A giant furry strawberry. Or was it the thief at all?

The thief chews S.’s sweets in their mouth. They feel happiness. S. has fed everyone there with sweet treats on many occasions. He is happy to share. But S. does not want to share with this thief. Because generosity is a choice and not a compulsion. And this thief is forcing things.

S. wonders whether the thief thinks of their thefts at all. Whether they are happy just to take and not give a second thought. Is the thief different from this world that just takes at all without giving?

providence (microfiction)

02.11.2025

S: The other day, I had to look up the exact meaning of ‘providence’.

A: It is an old fashioned word.

S: To me, it means ‘fate’. In the dictionary, they talk about the plan of god.

A: Do you believe in fate? You always talk of it. And do you believe in the Mother Goddess?

S: Fate is real. I was chosen for my destiny. The prayer of the people. The prayer of my mother. The names I have been given. My origin. The myths tell of the hero born against death in the most humble of backgrounds. Of children that are pursued by murders from infancy. And the Mother is real as an ideal. The perfect warrior. The one that protects.

A: You are not religious. How can you believe?

S: I am Indian. Our philosophy comes from religion. From the stories. That is how we transmitted our knowledge and culture.

A: Is it then your fate to be all alone in this world? Is that what your Mother decides for you?

S: That is for time to tell. In this whole world, can there be one who opens their arms for an embrace? Or do all have their arms folded and their fists clenched?

A: Dream of an embrace. Rupture is deadly.

fate has asked for hardness

and freedom from fear

destiny has demanded desolation

and the peerless demands a peer