the kardashian factor (microfiction)

13.11.2025

S: Writing really is a loser’s game.

A: Why do you say so?

S: What do you actually get from it?

A: Satisfaction. That you have completed the craft. Expression of the self.

S: You cannot eat those. They do not assuage your hunger.

A: You are touching other people and their minds and hearts.

S: Some hate. With absolute viciousness. They choose not to understand. How many do you think read what I write? How many do you think understand The Tiger?

A: What brings on this negativity? You are complete negativity. How do you do anything with this negativity?

S: I read an headline about Kim Kardashian. That she has a five billion pound business.

A: So what?

S: Here I am, having slogged away at writing for about twenty years or so. And I am still writing for free or for peanuts.

A: You are the one that chose to be socially responsible and to talk about serious issues. You could have written fluff to make money. They would have rewarded you for that.

S: Christ knew. The choice is between Mammon and god.

A: You are not religious. Even now, you could sell your pen. You would do well in whatever you wrote. You have the styles.

S: Sell myself? To the highest bidder? Impossible.

A: Well then, do not compare yourself to Kardashian. You do not have to have any message to be successful financially. In fact, they prefer you not to have any message to be successful.

S: Be content with nothing. That is this society all over. Be content with nothing. When the ones that have and get, you look at their contribution and what is even there? Out of nothing, they have made billions.

A: People want to be her. They do not want to be you. That is the secret of success. In fact, you are actually better looking than her and your life is actually full of more interest. But the problem is that Indian culture does not sell. It is not big in the public imagination. And you? You have dared to be different. You have done this to yourself. You should have tried to fit in.

S: I can’t fit into this. What this is, nobody should try to fit into it.

A: Yet they do. And therefore, you lose.

S: That, we will see. It depends on what you think winning means.

fighting fate (microfiction)

12.11.2025

S: Today I was in haste to get somewhere with someone. But when I arrived at the line, everything was down. There were people swearing down their phones, people with anger and annoyance on their faces, people rushing off in a huff…

A: Sounds hellish.

S: It was. All because one or two trespassers had come on the line. So they shut down all the services. One train was cancelled. One train had a failure to launch… I had to leave it. I had to cancel my plans. All there was was frustration.

A: And what were you thinking about that?

S: In life, there is always some kind of obstruction. It might not happen to you. It probably doesn’t happen to other people. But it does happen to me. Over and over again. I can never win.

A: Reason?

S: You could call it bad luck. You could call it fate.

A: And what happens when the lightning of bad luck strikes at your head?

S: It shows you that you can never plan anything in life. Because something will come in the way to disrupt all your plans. It shows you that every time you try to arrange happiness in life, all that comes is sadness and frustration. Desires are never met. Wishes remain unfulfilled. The bad luck…

A: Give me an example.

S: Just before Covid, I got this wonderful opportunity. I got trained up for it. Then? Covid and it got shut down.

A: Another one? Maybe that was just an exception.

S: At my Cambridge interview, I passed it and I got pooled. They didn’t contact me again. I passed a prestigious job interview after graduation where over one thousand people had applied for that post. They pooled me, they reserved me in first place. They didn’t contact me again. They pooled me for the PGCE when I passed the interview for a funded place. They didn’t contact me again. Even during my PhD, they pooled me for working in a prestigious art gallery. I passed all these interviews.

A: Bad luck or racism?

S: Both. It is the same with everything. I won’t go into my personal life. This is what I am up against. The curse. How they keep us down. Just one other person will destroy your life. You wonder why I am negative. What they did to me was absolutely appalling.

if death came (microfiction)

11.11.2025

A: You do not want to die.

S: There is a Hindi song. You have the desire to live. You have the wish for death. Everyone wants to die. No one wants to die. While I live, I eat healthy food, exercise and look after myself. I haven’t lost my discipline. And discipline is oriented towards long life. Yet in the moment of sadness and separation, we stare longingly at death. Our mouths water…

A: That’s enough of that. But if you did die, what then?

S: Who would care?

A: Irrespective of that, what about your ideas?

S: I notice the things that no one notices. They have lain there for over a hundred years. Maybe somebody would notice. Maybe there would be one that comes that could be as wise as me.

A: And what if it is just you? Only you that can see these things? Why have they lain dormant a hundred years or more until you have come?

S: You do not believe me when I say I am a genius. Someone like me only comes once every hundred or two hundred years. Do you know how much I have studied? I haven’t just studied the three undergraduate degrees. I have done university courses in every subject in the humanities. On top of that, I have the natural cunning of a Punjabi villager. I see. Probably, if I die, what I have discovered will remain undiscovered forever.

A: If you really are that important, if you really are a genius, why then do you not work and work and work? And write and write and write?

S: For these people? For these fucking people? You cannot be serious. They would starve me. They would put me in the corner and turn their backs to me. They have made life hard, a life of suffering. Work for them? Them? With their pettiness and frivolity? Their lack of any kind of understanding? The lack of any kind of meritocracy or value?

A: Do not become Achilles. He was the greatest. Yet he would not fight if he was not awarded the spoils.

S: I am ego. Ego must be fed. The Tiger is hungry, ravenous. For what is his. But I will give what I give when the time is ripe. I will not kill myself for it. For these people? No. For my people. For the Revolution.

the geometry of love (microfiction)

10.11.2025

S: It’s incredible when you think about it, isn’t it? The geometry of love.

A: Does love have a shape? And a geometry? That is news to me.

S: Of course it is. You are not a genius. It is an original thought from me.

A: And what is this original thought, Oh man of prodigious mind?

S: Look at the way in which we connect in love. The approach. That is the shape of love. You hug someone. When you do it, their body has to mirror yours. You open up your arms to approach them and to embrace them. When you kiss someone on the mouth, your lips approach the other in the same way, half open. Your lips mirror each other.

A: And sex?

S: I am not talking about the act and the execution. I am talking about the approach. The approach in sex is to kindle the flame on both sides. So that one flame is as hungry as the other. You look into their eyes. They look into yours. It is done through the look. The words. You say the words of seduction. They say the words of seduction. You stroke the flames. Blow for blow.

A: And then this idea of geometry?

S: Love can be theorised as mirror which reflects another mirror.

A: But then there is nothing. The mirror has no substance.

S: You are wrong. Then there is only light. That is what love is.

A: Does biology agree with you?

S: Let us turn to the act itself, which I did not introduce before. Did you know that the human animal which has procreative sex face to face is unusual in the animal kingdom? And it does so for some reason. Why not so it can see itself reflected in the eyes of its partner? Because that is one aspect of it. The mirror of the self. When you are looking in love into the eyes of the other, is it so you see yourself?

A: Speculation upon speculation.

S: No one understands love. But let us speculate. One day, when we comprehend the mirror neurons in the mind, I will be proven right, just like the Greeks were proven partially right about the atom. Without experiment and through simple observation and speculation.

the readers (microfiction)

07.11.2025

A: Do you still keep that website?

S: I only write fiction nowadays.

A: Yet you have retained your readers?

S: They still read. Some are very loyal. In a world where loyalty is rare. Where time is precious and limited.

A: Do you think they wonder what you are up to nowadays? Outside of fiction?

S: I am sure I am a curiosity. A warrior from the old world. A so-called ‘toxic male’.

A: Did you not tell me that, in person, one told you that you led an uneventful life? That you did not do anything?

S: Apparently I do nothing and nothing happens. And yet the readers are riveted to my writing for some reason. Funny that. I am all over London everywhere and yet I am always doing nothing.

A: What did you do today?

S: I am not saying. I am denying anyone that reads for the vicarious feeling of pleasure in my life.

A: What do you think these readers make of you?

S: I am everything to all people. Friend. Inspiration. Argumentative. Childish. Mature. Egotistical. Humble. For some, an absolute enemy.

A: Every writer faces some kind of hostility, agreed. But what is it that you are trying to convey through your fiction?

S: In his mind, the writer has the idea of one who is in accord with him. Perfect sympathy. The beautiful reader. The ideal reader. The one that loves him. Perhaps, she reads.

A: That is what you have in your mind. Others dream of money and fame. Immortality.

S: I dream of love. I write for love. I work for love.

A: And yet, love is precisely what you don’t have.

S: The forms of love are various. Some come. Some don’t. In love, I am a beggar.

A: The philosophy of India is that the one who has the least is the greatest. Don’t forget that.

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.

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 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?

Complaint (microfiction)

01.11.2025

‘Shikayat’ (from “Gangubai Kathiawadi” soundtrack)

I was writing to A. About a song.

In this song, there is complete understanding. The understanding of a woman. The story is that there is a man who is upset with her. And she understands that he is upset with her because he loves her.

He does not look at her.

He does not think about her.

She passes by him. He does not stop her.

He complains about her.

She even says that he hates her.

But yet, she still believes in his loyalty. She believes that they are not separated. That he complains is that he loves her.

The song plays with the concept of ‘roothna’ or ‘ruthna’, being sulky or sullen. It is ‘when someone close to you gets UPSET, OFFENDED or SLIGHTLY ANGRY and STOPS TALKING/COMMUNICATING for some period’. https://www.quora.com/What-is-the-English-word-for-the-Hindi-word-ruthna

“Ruthna” implies a temporary emotional withdrawal often intended to prompt reconciliation; “to sulk” and “to pout” capture the behavioral aspect, while “to be offended” or “to take offense” capture the feeling. (Ibid.)

So, in the song, she understands that he complains because he loves her. And she loves him too. The complaint is evidence of their love. It brings them together instead of breaking them apart.

Obsessively, I listened to this song. In it was the mystery of love. Of an Indian man’s love. I have not watched the film. However, the form of the song is important. It is a qawwali. This was originally a song form in Sufi Islam designed to be hypnotic and to inspire religious ecstasy and love. Hindi films use the form to convey earthly love. The divinity of love is being expressed in ‘Shikayat’ (Complaint).

How different, I thought, the Hindi film is from life. The understanding of this song, does it happen in real life? Real life is full of misunderstanding and confusion. As we know it, real life is full of misguided assumptions, tangle and confusion, mind games that meander and go nowhere.

The song has inspired me to watch the film. Perhaps in the film, there is the reconciliation of the lovers. A happy love story for a change. Instead of another witnessing of the death of love. And the death of the lover. Who is reviled for being in love.