what do you believe?

George Whitfield, The great British evangelist, was speaking to a man about his soul.

“Sir, what to you believe?” He asked the man.

“I believe what my church believes.” the man replied respectfully.

“And what does your church believe?”

“The same thing that I believe.”

“And what do both of you believe?” the preacher inquired again.

“We both believe the same thing.” was the only reply he could get.

Once I stumbled upon a woman saying “One day suddenly I realised that I have my own brain and I don’t need to just borrow others thoughts and lend my time and energy to support it. I realised that I never figured out what actually I believe in to exert my energy towards manifesting it in my life.”

I think it’s common in many sectors of society.

my tryst with evil

“Anyone who stands by the abuser is either extremely envious narcissist, someone who secretly begrudges you, covets to see you fail or have abused you before.”

I did get Vasudha’s drift and agreed with her but it was flipping cold along the pavement and I wanted to get inside as soon as possible.

I ran my eyes around and paced up to the rickshaw wallah behind the clump of locals. I bought some values and some choice words for my everyday use. My mother-in-law was about to come and I had to fix my car AC. However, she wasn’t as ripe and mature as Vasudha.

On the left side sat a Call girl stall and then a Government stall. Government stall didn’t sell the right values or words and didn’t offer packets of sweets I had based my behaviour, my values upon. I asked rickshaw wallah, who was breathing down my neck, if he sells honesty.

I sprinted home to see if my daughter and other ‘good for nothings’ that lived inside my one BHK house are speaking perfectly. But what I saw inside blew my top. Just no good bums! None of these ******s behaved like the perfect adult person. Yes, I am an adult but I am not as adult as these. However, the things I have done, the way I have lived, the kind of deceitful honesty I have put forth towards the world is incomparable. Standard below perfect hasn’t ever been acceptable in my world. I am infallible, I can’t accept I am less than perfect. Whatever I do, whichever way I abuse must be accepted and honoured. I, honestly, took out some values from my pocket and lay it on the table snd glowered at my daughter. She didn’t seem to be a perfect adult, as usual.

I threw a hissy fit and unleashed a hail of abuse as usual to my highest pitch, making disparaging remarks. I devoted my efforts to look around and hoped for applause and someone to pay obeisance to me.

Yesterday, an old person told me that children don’t blossom or succeed without appreciation and admiration. They learn from watching elders. I agreed to him. I turned to the place where we used to meet. Evil was sitting there.

He took a deep breath and his nostrils flared, almost as if he tried, like a hunting hound, to take my scent.

[400 words]

50 Word Thursday #98


Zombi who preferred salted milk over sweet dropped Teena in it, egging her on to participate in the match. Initially, she baulked at the idea but finally acquiesced in.

When Sheena was counting the milk bottles Teena’s temerity made her land a punch on Sheena’s chin sending her flying across the yard. Without delay, Teena came running back to Sheena and cold-cocked her, rendering her unconscious. In the night Teena gave her a good body massage that palliated her pain.

Jiya, who was famed for her punctilious nature, was taken aback by the news.



After the latest incident of misappropriation of the office fund, I decided to visit with Soni.

I knew Soni’s Granny hides a lot from her papa but I could understand it. Soni’s father was a hostile person with volatile anger and in such cases, if you have a little concern for your well being, it’s not only desirable but extremely important to not share anything with the person who is not involved in the matter. In turn, having been a pathological liar Soni’s father not only hid family matters from his wife, he expertly told bald-faced lies to create a scene that often set tongues wagging and then he laughed up his sleeves.

When I went to her, Soni wasn’t home. I had an inkling that they were hiding something from me but as I take it an offence to my dignity to get into the matter that someone doesn’t find me worthy enough to share with me. Although I was apprised of the fact that his brother is now in the police custody.

I didn’t breathe a word and returned home from that drama driven environment and told her sister to send Soni to me. I often found them talking in a manner, deliberately trying to offend someone with little or no concern or sense that stuck to my craw. Maybe they were trying to spread some rumours. I didn’t dare to venture to this mess. There are places I could discuss anything without having to comprise my personal values in a very healthy and respectable manner.

By now I was avoiding to stick my neck out about office fund misappropriation at home because it seemed inappropriate to bring office matters to home or share the details with people who were not concerned with the matter.

On my way home, I ran into Soni. I told her that we need to discuss it with the people involved. Soni agreed to go to the thief to tell him how much it costs but I doubted the thief’s intention. I thought it would be a bit of a scene and I rushed to the police to report it.

Friday fun – ‘Hiding

we grew up when we learned it

The secret of outmanoeuvring doesn’t lie in criticism.

But performing better than your opponent.

Talent and effort speak for itself.

Best people never care for being the best…


We don’t need to be flawless

We don’t need to be the best

We will succeed as we are

We will celebrate this fest


Growing up is necessary at all stages of life.

As we grow up we learn that our self worth isn’t placed in others hands. They have their rights on their lives, what they want to be and it’s no skin off our nose. Our abilities are not chosen by someone else. When someone says you can’t do something, doesn’t it suggest that this person finds the job difficult or impossible? You will realise that most of the time you can do it if you believe in yourself. At the least, you will learn a few precious lessons.

We know we grew up when we began to discern between ones who belittle, block and blame and ones who stick by you but don’t claw at you, who care, assist our growth and gently nudge ahead. We learn to discern between people in the society who jeopardise you, want you to be dependent on them and those who train you how to bust the blocks just by being in their skin, how to move ahead by being better. We learned to make better choices. We grew up choosing what is worth our energy, by listening to ourself – what makes us happy and what never does. We learned to listen to people to know about them. And we stopped comparing our flaws and imperfections. And it’s beautiful to grow, to keep growing and flowing. The best people are those who don’t force or demand you to be better, they quietly do better and thus teach efficiently.

All these are only the positive side of growth.

society soup – the ideal world – how to protect and serve to abuse

The thought came to me without warning. I felt this urge to make a mockery of how people were living their lives or enjoying their time. At least I had something to say at the moment on the social media. That’s what it was made for after all. It feels good that I have control over people’s lives. So much that I block the lives of those I live with — to use them. So much that I can twist their hands, pull hairs, control their thoughts, wipe off their talent, their knowledge just by making a mockery.

What I can’t do is to help someone in the time of need if it doesn’t buy me some praise. I have loudspeakers around me who are just worried about why God has given them their lives or why they are acting without their permission. So, you will be taken to a rehab centre. Don’t ask me why? It’s your need not mine, my concern.

I am horrible to the hilt. I know I have more of the things to be laughed at than others but that’s how I am.

You have no idea who I am. I know when I holler at someone unleashing the torrent of abuse on the whim I think she will cringe. I know why she needs the pin-drop silence and never trusts anyone around. I know that everyone knows that she is treated like shit and is still alive. That’s how I try my best to make them see her worth. She will fight for her worth because everyone who heard his hollering snd can mistreat her. I make it more convenient than a dollop of ice cream. I think it’s convenient to rob her identity, her honour and rights and make her feel unworthy. No, I am not perfect. I am the worst. My only goodness is fault-finding. That’s how I am good. I know whatever I accuse of my targets, I possess that ten times more. That’s what I embody so I just make use of her reactions.

Sometimes I haul my daughter over coals. Whenever I claw at someone to the point of bleeding, remind them how bad or unworthy they are, a little smaller, a little less, I find this sense of control…that I don’t have over myself. I read fathers rape and abuse. Some fathers just facilitate abuse to happen. During wedding ceremonies, a few aunts and sister/daughters-in-laws squeal, whinge and quarrel but that’s another story, I share my stories – my kind of stories. Impersonate or troll and this is all, my social media. Most fathers indulge in this. I was truly worried who relishes whose comments. Some are just at the end of their wits. Maybe it’s kind of superiority, respect, intellect or self-worth or just a little bum-shake. That’s how I want my surroundings. Are you glad that everyone is not the same?

Many people don’t even know the way I abuse. I set my car AC to the full to see her mother fall sick even when she keeps requesting to turn it down. She is sitting in the car that she hadn’t made the full payment. I am the monster alive. Deceitful, know different ways to abuse. I never thought it might ever change. I put her down during illness.

Have you seen some of those women who apprise you of the poor state of the abuser? She retched several times that day.

But I told her that she can’t object the stink bomb and put her on the phone to make her hear what stink bombs are. There was nothing to respond to the filth born. So whatever I wrote, sitting alone, I meditated and offered this murk to her. Even if I can’t protect, I pick something from hither and thither for my usual dramas.

And I know these women who call women the childbearing sofas, an object to be used. I know the burlesque women that lack common courtesy, her stench. My mom was strange. A bit too humble to tolerate her in the hospital. But you see, that’s who they are — sort of making others feel unworthy.

You have got to know the blood bath road shows. After all she is not my daughter so I live with superiority than respect. Flesh is all I am. Money is all I seek. My claws exude the sense of control.

You know my kinda people who are concerned with childbearing sofas and the kind of relationship we keep in our discotheque. We are awestruck that there is a world different than ours, that exists. The two worlds mingled together, everywhere.

And I never thought it can ever change.

white pearls

Her mother’s chronic illness turned the tide of her life. Sometimes her mother gazed blankly at the faraway distant clouds and tears rolled down her pallid cadaverous cheeks. Venu fought back her tears that welled up in her colossal luminous eyes.

For a girl in her adolescence, it could be an arduous task to raise a toddler but she put a brave face and carried the job to the manner born.

Her toddler brother romped about the house and besmirch washed dishes and clothes. When she unearthed them, adorned with blotches of mud, it did faze her but soon she cooled off and took it lying down. It didn’t taint her heart with bitterness. Venu nobbled him with her handcrafted dolls of rags, ruffled his hair and got on with her job, her face clad in a smile.

There was little room for thinking about herself and the moments of joy were thin on the ground. A life of toil and travail could be enough to obliterate any dream. But her heart was the house of hopes and passion galore. After pulling all her weight when she went to hit the hay, she took her books out from her box and climb aboard the wispy clouds; where she found her fortune left by her mother, her white pearls. Venu never gave up on her dreams.


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