the writer does not know what the reader reads

31.03.2026

S: The writer does not know what the reader reads.

A: How so?

S: The fact is, that the reader hardly ever shares what they experience of the text. I am lucky. I am in research and write academic non-fiction. Therefore, I eventually hear what others have made of my work. And it is always positive. Because I work hard and I am extraordinarily intelligent.

A: The usual modesty.

S: Other people have said it. I merely echo their sentiments. You are allowed to be justifiably proud of your accomplishments. Because I am intelligent, I know my place in the world of thought. My best friend goes around telling his family and friends that I am an original thinker. I get good reviews for what I write. If I said it were the case and others didn’t agree with me, then that would be out of place. I’m not going to hide my genius under a bush. It is what other people want to be. I am it.

A: To get back to the topic and not your infernal vanity, why does it fascinate you so much what other people think about what you write.

S: There are those that hate it. They are not worth considering. There will always be haters. What is more interesting is those that read regularly. They are fascinated by what I write. They have been there for years and years reading. But what are they finding in this writing? Things have changed so much. Yet these people are reading and reading and reading. They want to be flooded by these words of mine. What emotions do they feel? What thoughts do they have? What is the identity of the author that they have built up in their minds?

A: You will never know. Because they will never tell you.

S: A villain to some, a hero to many. The author can only say what is in his heart. He stays true to his own heart. This is not a performance. This is life. Whatever reaction it arouses, envy, disdain, fear, contempt, adulation, praise. The author lives in a world that he considers vile, in a sickening climate of hate and conformity that he is too good for, in a world that he is much too good for but denies him his worth. Even though this world tells him to stop writing, that there is nothing for him, he writes. He is a writer. The writer is one that will defy this world and all of its rules, that will defy all for the sake of his voice. I am the real writer. I am what brings freedom into this world, the expression of the self. I am the one that retrieves the lost sense from this world, the lost self from this world. Whatever any reader thinks, I am the hero of this tale. The reader hears the voice of the hero and sees the deeds of the hero.

good grades

08.03.2026

A: How have you kept up motivation for four years of university study while you work seventy or more hours a week? How can you even be on for a Distinction?

S: Tiger is hunger. If Tiger was not hunger, he would not be The Tiger.

A: What is this hunger for learning?

S: The mind of The Tiger is the mind of a genius. The genius does not ask permission to be a genius. He just is. The Tiger does not need to work hard to be a genius, although this Tiger does work hard. Everything comes easily to a genius.

A: But hunger?

S: Stimulation. The ability to do the work and the thinking is sorely wanted. And there is another factor.

A: Which is?

S: In India, they would not let our people learn. They kept us down. By denying us an education. This hunger is for the people.

A: So you will take three different undergraduate degrees as well as your masters and your doctorate.

S: Do you know why I studied Art History at university level? Because Rishi Sunak told us not to do any degrees that he considered useless. I am culture. I am India. I am the eye of Punjab. I am the scholar in the war, the warrior. They cannot manacle this mind. I am freedom. So in protest at this government and its dismantling of the humanities, I did that degree out of anger and spite. I am the Revolutionary and I believe in the Revolution. We will change vision.

A: Your beliefs are ridiculous. No one agrees with anything that you say.

S: I do not need the ignorant and the idiotic to agree with anything that I say. This hunger for learning, no one can quell it. I have seen tomorrow because I am the past, the present and the future. I am The Tiger. It is the wisest that truly rule in this world. I am the leader of thought. I know my importance in the world of thought. I know my place. There is only one place for the genius: at the top. That is the hunger for the good grades which I am getting. The competition of thought. And I will see Punjab as the winner. The French have had their turn. The Germans have had their turn. Now it is Punjab’s turn. The dominant have had their turn on the podium. Now it is the turn for The Oppressed, the Dalits. Jai Maa Kaali! Inquilaab zindabaad! (Hail the Dark Mother! Long Live The Revolution!)

misunderstanding

19.02.2026

S: The poet is raised on poetry. And this world is raised on prose. All there will be is misunderstanding.

A: You say that? But you write. You write incessantly. If you did not believe that there would be one that understood, why would you write?

S: Can you not write knowing full well that you will be misunderstood?

A: It seems pointless.

S: What is of point in this life? The average person in this culture is working to make even more money for the rich. What could be more pointless than that?

A: You believe that you have a destiny though.

S: My destiny is to have been born amongst those that cannot and will not understand.

A: Make them understand.

S: You cannot give intelligence to stupidity and ignorance. You cannot talk to those that will not listen. Arrogance makes them impenetrable.

A: Why then write?

S: The truth is the truth. My truth. I am the truth. I am my truth. The truth will out.

A: Why become Sisyphus?

S: All there is is Sisyphus. There is no one else. And, do you know what? This has been the problem of the writer in every age. The true writer, the writer that is true. They are centuries ahead of their time. Because common sense is common stupidity. The herd think in ignorance. They are cheap thoughts. Not worthy of men. They cannot catch up with the real men, the real writer. If the real writer is saved from the ravages of time, then men look at them and think that this was a real man in the midst of the herd. They say that these men were ahead of their time.

A: You are so egotistical it is unbelievable. You worship yourself.

S: I know my place in the world of thought. I am a genius. I am what has come through six thousand years and more of Indian civilisation.

A: Even Indian people do not agree with you.

S: There are few that can agree with a genius. They are not on the same level.

A: Remain the poet. And remain incomprehensible.

I baked this strange letter in the oven

the fragrance was indescribable

the taste was beyond words

each that held the letter

they were confounded by the cook

each bite that they took

made the letter more and more illegible

they ate reluctantly

it was all gone

the letter was dead

and they turned instead

to a more familiar dessert

the moon and the star of the lovers

18.02.2026

S: In the love songs of the Hindi films, the male lover is always telling the woman lover that he will bring her the moon and the stars.

A: A lover’s conceit?

S: Of course, literally speaking, he can never bring her the moon and the stars.

A: True. And what about her? Does she ever offer to bring the male lover the moon and the stars?

S: I’ve never heard it.

A: Why talk of the moon and the stars? We are on earth?

S: What would you like him to say? This is poetry. And it has its own meaning.

A: Which is?

S: That the lover will bring his beloved heaven.

A: Absolute falsity.

S: You lack the spirit of romance. It is entirely true. He will bring her the moon and the stars.

A: In what sense.

S: He will bring her heaven upon earth. That is what love is.

A: You have too much of the spirit of romance.

S: Romance jostles with pessimism and cynicism. Love can be entirely hell and the complete opposite of heaven.

A: So why do you support the poetry in these Hindi film songs?

S: Without love, what else is there? Life is insipid and bland without love. It is love that gives life its character.

A: Says you. There are plenty around that won’t love and will never be willing to love.

S: Bland food sells in copious quantities in the supermarkets. Those with the bland tastes of the bland cannot stomach the taste or the food of life which is love.

A: It always veers off into criticism.

S: You criticise love. I criticise the lack of love and what masquerades as love when it is hate. I am Indian. I am the philosopher of love. I am the lover. I am one that lives through the storm and the fire.

A: What song would you sing? What words?

S: Forever I have sought the spark inside the ice/

Forever I have sought the freedom in the vice/

When you look at me with this desire/

Inside consumes the unquenchable fire

the persistence of the readers

31.01.2026

S: There was this guy after them. The way that he spoke, the way that he looked at them. They knew it, what it was. Because you can’t fake emotion like that. But it ended with silence and separation. However, then, this guy was a writer. So they are all reading his words.

A: A story that you heard from someone somewhere?

S: Perhaps. Perhaps a story. Perhaps I heard it.

A: Why would someone read from across the distance?

S: Do you think that the guy was completely obtuse? The guy knew that they liked him.

A: Was that not wishful thinking?

S: Then explain why they sit there reading his words. What would be the point of it? Because the story is not over. Because you can’t just kill feelings. But they will be gone soon enough. Separation kills everything. You keep on getting further and further apart from each other.

A: This is a strange story.

S: They were strange people. You know, there is a type of person. When you are close to them, emotionally and in proximity, they do not even see you there. You are not a person to them. But when you are gone, then they suddenly achieve the realisation that you are a person.

A: He has done well to get shot of them. They can only appreciate what they have not got. That is not a good trait.

S: Of course not. But you can’t just cure immaturity and lack of experience. You know, in this society, everyone is expendable. But everyone is not expendable in Punjabi society. They are all jewels, the most precious thing of yours. Here, you can throw anyone away and throw anyone over. Because they believe that they will meet someone just as good or better. There are plenty of opportunities. That is why no one really matters and there is no love in this society. But where I’m from? You would die for the ones that you love. And gladly. You would do anything to keep them. The cultural contrast is too much.

A: But you let the ones that you loved go.

S: You can’t force them to love you back. Their love shrank from expression. There was nothing to be done about it. Now I am with someone that reciprocates feeling.

A: You knew that they liked you.

S: You cannot force yourself on someone. If it was meant to be, it would have happened. They had long enough. Whatever their regrets or joys that they are not with The Tiger, they are not with The Tiger. They read his words. They think of what he is doing. For no reason. No result.

A: And what did The Tiger do today?

S: The Tiger communicated with the one that is his because they can communicate. The Tiger shopped in two bookstores after work. The Tiger went to the gym and worked through his anger and frustration with heavy weights. The Tiger shopped at Lidl. The Tiger finished the novel that the one that is his gave him as a present on his commute. The Tiger drew on his tablet with his stylus. The Tiger wrote. In the day, the Tiger read ‘The Brain on Art’, psychology articles, and the news and poetry in Punjabi, Hindi, Urdu, Spanish and French. Before he caught the train, The Tiger saw a quick film at the Outernet. The Tiger ate a free dinner at Kentucky Fried Chicken. The Tiger keeps busy. He wants to do something with his life. He cannot be with those that do nothing.

the strategy of victim blaming

26.01.2025

S: You know when they killed those people that stood up to ICE, the fascists blamed the victims and not the perpetrators. Even when they looked at the video evidence which was absolutely fucking clear that they were innocent victims, they still blamed the victims.

A: Why do you think they do that?

S: Because bullies and fascists are fucking scum. Their ideology makes them blind and deaf. And there’s more.

A: What?

S: They blame the victim because they are unjust. Because they have to justify their inhumanity and violence to themselves. It is not just ICE and Trump, is it? All these racist vermin justify their racism and exploitation of anyone that is perceived as different from them.

A: Example?

S: Do you know how much experience I have and how many qualifications? And yet, at interviews it is just rejection after rejection from these people, these racists. And who do they blame? Me. They pretend that I am not doing something right. When, in fact, even if I pass their stupid fucking interview, they still won’t give me the thing. They have a reserve list and then you never hear back from them. Because they make a point of never choosing me because I’m brown. You hear the victim blamers saying that I am overqualified too – that I am literally too good for any job. It is the truth. I am better than any opportunity that is offered to me. But it is still fucking ridiculous the shit that comes out of their mouths.

A: What is the point of this victim blaming strategy?

S: What else is it? They want the victim to feel inferior. That he is not doing something right. That he should change his behaviour. When it is them, these racists that should change their behaviour. They want to pretend that their racism is the natural way of things and that they have a meritocracy. They want to pretend that they are just when they are unjust. They don’t want things to change. They want to be monsters forever. That is why they are fucking vermin. This shit has been going on for hundreds and hundreds of years. Do they change? Fuck no. All that there is in the world of the racist is injustice. And yet this is what goes on, this injustice.

A: Can the monster ever become beautiful?

S: The monster thinks that he is beautiful and that anyone different from the monster is ugliness personified. The monster stinks of shit and thinks that he smells of roses. The monster speaks corruption and thinks that honey and gold flows from his mouth. The monster is appalling. He thinks that he is god. But he is not god. I am god. I am The Tiger. I have been blessed by The Mother. I am truth and I am justice. I am the prayer of the people. I am a genius. I am a hero. Them? They are villains. They are not fit for me. It is not the other way around. Who the fuck are they? Nothings. Non-men. Incapable and corrupt. You see what is around ourselves. Pure mediocrity and incompetence.

loving the monster

27.12.2025

A: Are monsters real?

S: Yes. I have loved the monster. In fact, many of the problems that we have in the world stem from the fact that we love the monster.

A: Why a monster?

S: The monster does not look like a monster. The monster is beautiful. But the beauty is deceit. Inside, the monster has this shrunken heart and they are full of hate. That is what makes them a monster. A monster cannot love. They can only hate.

A: You say that because the monster could not love you.

S: But can the monster love anyone? Except for themselves?

A: Can you love anyone except for yourself?

S: It is a redundant point. I loved the monster. The monster was that which was not I.

A: You say loved. Have you cured yourself of this sickness, this love for the monster?

S: The monster has filled me with rage. I boil in this rage. It can last a week or more at a time.

A: Is this monster a person or a metaphor?

S: Why tell? The storyteller says something. It is for the reader to guess at the meaning. I cannot be pinned down. I am the author.

A: Perhaps the monster loves. Another.

S: The monster and I have separate paths in this life. I do not speak or look at monsters. I keep myself away from their claws, their talons and their teeth. Whatever, whoever they love, I keep myself aloof. I do not trust in the love of a monster. Their hearts are not true.

A: Why? You are The Tiger. You are what strikes fear in the hearts of monsters. Are you scared of the monster?

S: I avoid the monster because loving the monster is death. Love cannot love hate. I am love. To be seduced by the monster is to be seduced by evil. Their lips lie. Their bodies lie. Their eyes lie. They are a lie. They lie that they love. They love that they lie. Once in my heart there was this monster. So I burnt my heart alive. And then, from the roots of the old one, I grew another. I built a wall around my heart. Which no monster can pass.

christmas day (microfiction)

25.12.2025

A: Now it is over. Did you enjoy Christmas day? And what did you get up to?

S: I spent most of the day with my friend after phoning the Lady for an hour in the morning, learning languages and completing another module of my management course. We had an excellent Christmas lunch of beef wellingtons and spicy pepperoni and pepper pizza. With some beautiful Marks and Spencer’s chocolates. We talked and played Scrabble. Some family time for dinner where I had tandoori chicken, wholemeal pitta breads, a freshly cut salad and a yoghurt and mint sauce. Dessert was a chocolate yule cake which had chocolate sauce on the outside and cream inside. Afterwards, I watched Mrs Robinson with my friend for the first time at his place and then we called one of our other mates together before I called the Lady again on the walk home.

A: What did you make of Mrs. Robinson?

S: She is infinitely seductive. An experienced older lady that knows what she wants. A powerful woman that revolts against the trap that is marriage.

A: You were seduced?

S: Was Mrs. Robinson trying to seduce me?

A: That is for you to tell.

S: Or not as the case may be. A fine film.

A: How do you reflect upon this day?

S: It was fun. Some work and a lot of pleasure. I managed languages learning and reading up on psychology as well. But my thoughts are with those that were alone today.

A: Any other thoughts before retiring for the night?

S: I have decided upon my New Year’s Resolution. To make sure I do either the exercise bike or running on the treadmill more regularly. And to read more. Always, there is more reading to do. If a writer does not read, how can he write?

the voice inside (microfiction)

22.12.2025

S: Against the voice outside, there is the voice inside.

A: How you talk to yourself?

S: Yes, the voice of power and the voice of daring.

A: What does the voice inside say?

S: The voice inside tells me that I am Love. The voice inside says to break the mouth of the law, the corruption of what counts as right and justice here. The voice inside tells me that I am a hero, that I am a genius, that I am the only real man in this country.

A: You are so proud of being a man. It is just a gender category.

S: It is one that I have chosen. And been chosen for. To stand for strength and courage. To stand for protection. The warrior.

A: They say that you are toxic.

S: Freedom says fuck you. Freedom says fuck you to the world. Fuck your cowardice, fuck your lack of ability and fuck your prejudice. They are happy for their fucking little non-men to have their unjust and false wars for the corruption that is the state. They are happy for these perverts to rape women abroad and to kill the innocent. I do not fight for the state. I fight for the people, for us. For the Oppressed.

A: Where is your war?

S: In everything that I do. How I love. How I write. What I think. What I do. It is the Revolution.

A: And the voice outside?

S: The voice outside is saying not to be a man. Not to have desire. That me and my people are nothing, to be cast aside and away. The voice outside is saying to be a slave and a non-man, like the slaves and the non-men here. The voice outside is saying to live a selfish and greedy life with no responsibilities and no values. The voice outside is saying let the rich fuck you and rule over you. To accept race as a marker of status and privilege and to eat this fucking bullshit because of my ethnicity. This voice is hate. It says to hate. To abandon love.

A: This voice says all these things?

S: The voice inside is more powerful than the voice outside. The voice inside is winning. Freedom says fuck you.

touch as waves of energy (microfiction)

24.11.2025

S: You know, there is this electric magnetic force in the fingers.

A: How so?

S: When someone runs their fingers ever so delicately across your skin, barely touching you, when they caress you with the lightest of touches, all the sparks in your body start flying.

A: Like a tickle?

S: It is a lover’s tickle. And it sends shivers all through you as the electric magnetic force multiplies in your body.

A: They often call love magnetism.

S: I see touch as waves of energy that emanate from the body of the loved one into the recesses of the self. As energy combines and reawakens within.

A: So what do you touch when you touch the lover?

S: You touch life itself. I feel the force of life within them. When I clasp them towards me, I feel life. When I kiss them on their soft neck, their full lips, their plump cheeks, I feel life itself. The thing itself. I have hungered for it.

A: Love is life?

S: Love is life. Love is death. There are highs and there are lows. Ecstatic highs and awful lows. But always, we hope to feel life itself. I bite at their cheeks. That is life. I gulp at their throat. That is life. I kiss their hair. That is also life.

A: You want to live so bad?

S: The dead hunger to live. I was all dead.

A: You? There is no man more active.

S: I was at the bottom of a well. And instead of helping me, they threw buckets of cold water over me. It was the well of death. The angel flew overhead. She did not even look at me…

A: You have clambered out of the well now. Drink the water and move on.