the expectation of dismay

12.05.2026

A: What do you think it is that your readers expect of you?

S: They expect dismay, despair, desolation, derision…

A: Out and out negativity. Cynicism.

S: If they want to read about a fool’s happiness, a dupe’s joy, then they should go to the mainstream media.

A: Why can’t you write something that they actually want to read?

S: I’m not going to pander to them. I am the lone voice that actually says the truth. I say it like it is.

A: They are never going to accept your low view of humanity.

S: Yet that is the reality. You know this moment in the world is atrocious? All of the old racism has returned with a vengeance. Fascism, and what is worse, mediocrity, has overtaken the world. There is the climate change disaster which they are hardly doing anything to avert. Then, on top of that there are all the wars, the dismal job market, the growing isolation and loneliness in society, the decline of manners and culture in this supposed civilisation….

A: You always focus on the negative.

S: What is there that is so positive?

A: Be thankful for the good in your life. The loving parents and friends that support you. The fact that you are working and contributing to art and culture. The fact that you can volunteer where you like because you have the health and the talent to do it. The fact that you can follow your creativity. The technology that aids you in this life. Above all, be grateful for the fact that you have that fine mind, that discipline, that amazing body and stamina and that relentless drive and ambition that allows you to perform at the highest levels. That privilege that you were born into a rich country so that they can’t hold you in contempt because you come from the Untouchables and the Dalits. That privilege that you went to one of the top universities in the world and that you have five degrees as well as a doctorate, that you have been published as an academic writer. You crow on about how special you are. Be grateful for the gifts that have been bestowed upon you.

S: There is a man that is a god. And this god spits upon this cheap and mean world and everything in it. Because this man is a god, he should hold the highest honour. And they have not given it to him.

A: Do not let this sourness dictate all of your thought.

S: Why not? Achilles is the greatest and he is sour. The honour belongs to me.

A: Why do you hold onto your humiliation?

S: Because the humiliation is the seed for the storming tree of vengeance.

A: This ego and this revenge, they will crush it. There are more of them than there are of you. You are all alone against them.

S: It is not true. I am the dream of The Oppressed. I am the dream of The Mother. Behind me there stand the minds and voices of all of India, six thousand years of us. I come from Punjab which has fought against every oppressor and won. We are the men that all of India look up to as warriors, as The Tiger. This criticism of this society which they cannot bear, this will be how they look at this civilisation in history. It will be our view that prevails. We are the past, the present and the future. History is written by the victors and we are the victors. We never lose. That is why we are six thousand years old. Nobody can stand against us. No one. Certainly not the non men.

fear (microfiction)

16.11.2025

S: You are asking me if I feel fear?

A: Yes.

S: Never in a fight.

A: Which means that you do feel fear. When you are not in a fight.

S: The conscious mind you can control. Not the unconscious.

A: What do you mean?

S: The nightmares. The fears that your conscious mind cannot acknowledge.

A: And? Anything else?

S: There is one fear that everyone has. You cannot escape it.

A: And what is that?

S: That the ones you love will die. That they will leave you all alone in this world. You will have to look upon the ugliness of their corpses. Naked death dancing through the world in all of her obscenity.

A: Why obscenity? Death is natural. Some think death is peace. Liberation from this unliveable world that the living have made within it. Accept death.

S: In the film ‘Sholay’, Thakkur comes back to his home. There is silence outside the station. Along the floor, there are bodies strewn about, covered in white sheets. Nobody says anything. He walks and lifts the covered sheets from the bodies. He looks death in the face. It is the entirety of his family. The last one, it is the body of his beloved grandson. The death of the innocent. The children…

A: Why are you talking about this scene?

S: Because the face of Thakkur when he sees the body of his grandson haunts me. It is full of grief. But more so than grief, with rage.

A: Why are you haunted?

S: Because this is what we look at as Indians. This is what we look at in this generation. They are killing our Indian children. The villain that kills Thakkur’s family is Gabbar, who stands for arrogance, (which is what his name means), selfishness and greed. They are killing us and ours with Gabbar’s qualities. I am watching six thousand years of Indian civilisation being ended in just one generation with greed, selfishness and arrogance. I am staring at death with rage, like Thakkur. The family is what makes us us. I am looking at the death of the family.

A: They live.

S: They are corpses that have motion. And to look upon them is to grieve India. Thakkur’s grief is the story of ‘Sholay’ and us all. Because Thakkur has seen what we all fear.

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.