insults (microfiction)

07.12.2025

S: Shylock can’t take their insults. For the violence of their words, he wants the violence of the law. Because the insults are words which are a law and they are violence. The language of this society is violence. It is the law of this society. There is no concealment of it. He wants to answer them in their own tongue. With the law of revenge. The violence of justice.

A: That was then.

S: I don’t write about then. I write about now. But the worst of it? They steal Shylock’s own daughter away from him. She who he loves the most in the world. They take his love away from him. They turn his love against him. That is the ending of the play. It is the unjust that win, not the just. It is the destroyers of love that win, not the lovers. It is what the poet knows. Shylock suffers the same fate as Romeo. They separate him from his love.

A: That happened in the past to you. Will it happen now?

S: In a relationship, there are not just two people. There are others. And others intrude. That is the downfall of every relationship. Here, those that intrude are the haters. They are filled with hatred and cannot bear that anyone can be filled with love. They want to kill love and the lover. That is their stupidity. You cannot kill love. There has been love in every era in human history.

A: You are saying that love is always destroyed. And then you are saying that love cannot be destroyed. Which is it?

S: That is the question, isn’t it? Which is it? Does hate win every time? Or does love win once in a blue moon? Is it true as the literary critics say, that Romeo and Juliet are joined in death? And what about Shylock? Is his love only going to be heartbreak?

A: You don’t have the answers?

S: The answers are in my heart. Because in my heart is love. Real love. There is a Hindi song. They say do not break my heart because the heart is the house of god. She broke my heart anyway. But you cannot break the house of a god. This heart, this body, this mind. It is formed after the god of love, my namesake. I am god.

Krishna and Rama (microfiction)

09.11.2025

S: Krishna and Rama are two incarnations of Vishnu. Both warriors. But they are complete opposites.

A: In what way?

S: Rama rescued his wife from a man that tried to abduct her. Krishna consorted with the wife of another, Radha. He took someone’s wife away from them. Not just one woman, but all of them, all of the wives, the Gopis. Rama followed the law of matrimony. Krishna is above the law.

A: Anything else?

S: Rama, when he was exiled to the forest, accepted that another rule in his place. He let the usurper rule the throne when he was the firstborn son and the throne was his inheritance. Krishna, when he was dispossessed of his throne, he killed the usurper and reclaimed his throne. Rama accepts dispossession and unjust usurpation. Krishna fights against it.

A: I know you will say there is more.

S: Krishna has a good stepmother. Rama has an evil stepmother.

A: Always the mother with you.

S: Krishna was raised in a humble background then became a royal. Vice versa for Rama. And then, Krishna is known as the thief of butter because he stole butter. And Rama? He does not steal. Krishna is his own law. Rama follows the law of the other. Even at the end of the story, Rama sacrifices his wife in the name of the law of matrimony, because the people cannot accept that she is pure because she had been abducted by another man.

A: I think I know where this is all leading.

S: I am named after Krishna.

A: Whether it is Krishna or Rama, they are the hero.

S: Rama is the hero of the conservative. Krishna is the hero of the revolutionary.

A: It is a name. I have told you before. It is not an identity.

S: And yet, you can model yourself on that identity. The anarchism of Krishna. And the liberation of Narsimha, the man-tiger, the other incarnation of Vishnu. After all, one of my names is Tiger.

A: This obsession with names and identities, it is old fashioned.

S: I am six thousand years old. And yet, I am fresh. Because I am not just the past and the present. I am also the future. I believe. So does India.

the slave (microfiction)

09.11.2025

S: The idea of the slave is what gives us the sense of freedom.

A: How so?

S: We, who are the Revolution, we would do anything so that we do not become the slave. We fight so that we do not become the slave. We who are from the Dalits, ‘The Oppressed’, the low castes, we will no longer be slaves.

A: What is the slave? What are you talking about?

S: The slave is the victim of power and oppression. The slave is governed by the powerful and lives according to the caprices of the powerful. The slave has no independent thoughts or life. The slave models their living on the dictates and wants of the powerful. The slave loves the powerful, is fucked by the powerful. The slave has been raped and seduced by evil. The slave fawns on the powerful. The slave has no integrity. The slave only loves oppressive power and wants to be oppressive power. The slave is weak willed. The slave is the slave to the Other.

A: And freedom?

S: Freedom is freedom from slavery. One who is free governs himself. He lives according to his own desires, his own culture. The rules he accepts, the dharma, his own law. He is the law maker. From his own culture. He decides what he thinks is right himself. Not what someone else is trying to force him to think is right. The free does not want to become oppressive power. He does not listen to the powerful. He is his own man. He lives like a king. The free man hates the powerful. Because their power is based on greed and exploitation, injustice and lies. He is not fucked by the powerful. He is not raped and seduced by the powerful. He is mind. He attacks the powerful. Because the one without power is the most powerful. The one without power is the most free. The free man hates oppressive power and wants to be anything but oppressive power. The free man loves love and justice. The free man is not weak willed. He does not bow down to anyone. He holds his head high. The free man is not the Other. He is himself, authentic. The free man is the Revolution.

A: Who is this free man?

S: You are looking at him. The free man is The Tiger. Across thousands of years, the figure of The Tiger has stood against the imposition of unjust external rule in India. And now, The Tiger stands in every country of the world. The Tiger is self respect, value for his culture, just pride, goodness, dharma (the law), authenticity. It is not a name. It is everything.

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.

fighting the no (microfiction)

26.10.2025

S: The No had horns of fiendish sharpness. The No cut into me.

A: Did she wound you?

S: Fatally. Yet somehow I survived.

A: How did you the fight the No?

S: How do you fight a No? You cannot fight a No. There is no reason for a No that is given. There is no rationality behind a No. When someone rejects you entirely, all of you, how can there be a fight?

A: You are saying that you did not fight? You, the warrior? You laid down your arms? Like a non-man?

S: I am not saying that. I am giving you the benefit of my experience.

A: I knew you would fight the No. How did you fight her?

S: For two years I argued against the No. The No was wrong. I fought for two years for a chance. Every night I fought against that No. There was nothing. All there was was the No. I was snared in the No. All I breathed was the No. In my feverish dreams of horror, all I felt was the No.

A: When you were faced with an insuperable problem, you still fought? Why?

S: Warrior destiny is the war. It is written in the stars. Unalterable. Incontestable. But this No, it was contestable. It was a contest. My Yes against the No. Life against death.

A: But yet, Yes lost. No won. Life lost. Death won.

S: No can never win. Do you know, this world has erected a Great No? It dwarfs the one of difference. But what else do we worship except the men that fought against the Great No? The religion of my father is Guru Ravidasa. From the low castes, he fought against the Great No of the higher castes. He fought for us, the people. He fought for the Revolution, may a thousand kisses rain down upon it! The man of brown skin fights against the Great No of those without a brown hide. It is the fight against the Great No that gives meaning in life. Remember the Song of God in the Gita:

“You have a right to perform your prescribed duties, but you are not entitled to the fruits of your actions.”

who are you? (microfiction)

17.09.2025

‘Who are you?’ asked Alfonso.

‘Don’t you tell me that I talk too much about myself?’ I responded.

‘I am inviting you to dwell upon the subject. A straightforward question.’

‘I am a man named after a love story. I am a man named after honour and protection. I am a man named after a god. The god of love. All my names are the names of love.’

‘Even Tiger?’

‘Tiger is ferocious because Tiger has a big heart.’

‘Forget about your names. What are you?’

‘I am The Tiger. I am my enemy’s enemy. They say that you have to fulfil all your relationships in India. I fulfil them. An enemy’s enemy. A hero from the Sikh and Hindu community’s idea of a hero. From India’s idea of a hero. A fighter for the justice of the oppressed. An Untouchable.’

‘And what about the shadow? You are not all light, are you? You love to fight.’

‘What of it? It is for the good.’

‘And this hunger of The Tiger?’

‘Don’t be like them. There is nothing wrong with it. Don’t be deluded into thinking their way. They do not know how to live or love.’

‘You miss out everything. Do you not write? Do you not sing and make music? Do you not act? Do you not read all of the time? Are you not a poet?’

‘You did not ask me what I did. You asked me what I was. Yes, I am creative. Yes I am all those things, writer, poet, singer, music composer, reader.’

‘The sulking? The silence? The anger?’

‘You would want one that has been disappointed and never given his true value or what he should have been given to dance, laugh, clap his hands and cry tears of laughter? I am not a clown for their amusement.’

‘Any other thoughts upon what you are?’

‘Introvert. Extrovert. Sensitive. Callous. Quiet. Loud. Everything and nothing. All of these labels, categories. There is one constant. The Tiger is the warrior and the lover. Honest and loyal to the death. Braver than everyone else. Brimming with fire and heat. The power and energy of India.’

‘Vain. Boastful. Childish.’

‘Innocence is not childish. It is the mark of the brave and the honest.’

Alfonso clapped me on the back. ‘You have not said it all. I know there is more in you. I agree with you. You are a genius and an athlete. I have read your thoughts. You deserve to have whatever you want tossed at you. Remain The Tiger. One day there will be somebody on your level. And on that day, you will be recognised for your reality. They that pretend they do not know? They lie.’

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.’

Falsity (microfiction)

07.08.2025

‘Most people lie,’ was all the comment that Alfonso made.

I had just finished venting about a particularly preposterous lie that I heard. I had been looking into the eyes of this liar and they had not even flinched. Was it possible that they even believed their own lies? Or were they completely shameless?

‘I don’t lie.’

‘That is why you do not have much,’ said Alfonso. ‘People don’t welcome the truth with open arms. In fact, they loathe it and will do anything in their power to destroy it.’

‘It is not the truth,’ I said tiredly. ‘It is a truth. One of many.’

‘You believe that hogwash?’ asked Alfonso incredulously. ‘You have told me yourself that you are the truth.’

‘Although not everything that passes as truth is the truth,’ I elaborated, ‘still there has to be some room for manouevre. You don’t want a rigid and totalitarian framework. Which is what knowledge passes as in this society of twits. Their fascism is supposedly knowledge.’

I thought again of this liar and the lie. I had heard some good ones in my time. Some of them had even fooled me. It was obvious why these people lied. Because the truth was too dangerous, because they wanted to cover up their own guilt, because perhaps their intellects were so unsound that they could actually believe the paper thin story they were trying to wrap events in. They were so skilled at lying to your face. And then they would call it ‘civilisation’, their false narrative.

‘Don’t let it bother you,’ said Alfonso, sensing what I was thinking about. ‘You live in a society of liars. I am surprised that you still haven’t gotten used to it.’

‘Only a coward accepts injustice,’ I said firmly.

‘Yet what do you do about people lying to you? Nothing.’

‘What can you do? As you said, they will not accept the truth. It is not worth wasting time on them.’

‘And if the lie is an injustice?’

‘If I had my way,’ I told Alfonso, ‘There would be no lying and there would be justice. This world has never been ready for that in its entire history. Why would it be ready for that now or in the future?’

‘So why do you exist then?’ asked Alfonso. He sneered at me, one of his trademark sneers. ‘I thought you told me that you fought for truth and justice.’

‘Yes, by telling the truth myself. Just like you can’t make someone love difference when they are prejudiced, just like you can’t make someone choose fairness when they are biased, just like you can’t reason with a bigot, so you cannot stop a liar from lying. They have a psychological problem and they need therapy. They are just compulsive liars.’

‘I keep telling you, don’t be upset. Forget everything.’

‘I will, I told Alfonso. I will go to sleep now.’

Alfonso clasped my hand. ‘If you are the truth,’ he said, ‘show us the freedom and the wildness of The Tiger.’ He knew what was in my dreams.