A new book of incomplete love stories

Love Unsung by Shantanand Sharma is a collection of poetries that showcase the love stories which were left incomplete due to the differenes in their caste, religion and class.

Available soon on all online bookstores worldwide.

What am I looking for?

The days are growing painful. I had been working hard to get some good days and time has come to be happy but somewhere in the core of my heart I'm lacking peace and happiness. I had studied so much and cleared so many papers and finally got a god job with handsome salary.

For the moment I’ve everything.
A good house at a posh location.
Money to buy whatever I want to.
A natural atmosphere around my place to enjoy greenery in leisure period.
A big green park to jog and exercise in the morning.
A good work place where happiness and loud laughter echo in each corner.
A beautiful girl friend to love and get loved.
And what else.
To write stories and poems and read some novels, no other better place I could have gotten than the bunglow I live in.

Somewhere, I'm looking for some peace. My head in not stable and keeps on thinking where to get some peace. At times, I change dress and take my bike to the Lodi garden to read and write something. And it happens only on weekends. Though I’ve to go to teach kids on these holidays to get myself busy and to add some parts to the development of this poor country where good teachers are extremely needed.

And for the rest of the times, I keep myself busy in washing my cloths, cleaning my home and talking to neighbors. That all don’t work. I want something out of my life. I want a life that is full of happiness. I don’t know what kind of happiness it is. If I look at some years back, I was a student and if I remember carefully then I see my life was unrest at that time as well. I wanted something else out of my life. It might be a good job or a good house live in or a good city to put up or a good partner to live with or whatever.

And now I’ve gotten everything then I find life incomplete. I find myself trapped in some invisible which I'm unable to break. I would have broken it if I would have seen it. But it’s invisible and I’ve no tool to find it or see it.

Let's make a better India

Dear UPSC aspirants, congratulations to those who have cleared the prelims.
Get ready to stand in a line of donkeys.

And congratulations to them who didn't get through.
Get ready to get another chance to live your life like a human being!

Those who have qualified prelims will definitely study like donkeys for mains.

Those who haven't cleared the paper.
Please get some free trainings from big organizations like British Council and start teaching unprivileged kids.

Poor India needs good teacher.
Free education.
And not IAS officers!

Jise khane peene ki dikkat h, please contact.
I can do some arrangement.
I earn that much.
I can feed some ten or fifteen people everyday!

Facebook founder & Indian Farmers!

I am a farmer.
I'm poor.
I need some food.
Some water, little space to live with my wife and kids.
I want to get rid of all the loans.
I want to live like a human being.
I have muscular body and some plots.
I want to do farming.
To feed myself, my kids, my wife and rest of the Indian, if some of it is left.
I don't want cyber city.
I don't want cars and other useless things to live happily.

Now tell me, what the hell is to Facebook founder do with me and my soil and my crops.
If he meets with Narendra Modi?

Media wale mil Jaye to unke upar hal chala du. BC.

The Guy!

He was guy.
Like you guys.
But he was different in all aspects.
He was very naughty when he was a kid.
He was clever since took him out of his mother's womb.
He made fun of everybody around him.
He had tough relations with seniors.
He would beat anybody. He never minded the opposition whether he was smaller or bigger than the opposition.
Once he kicked the driver of his school bus when he was a kid of 8.
He friends would say, 'you should have been born in Sindhi family. Some would say, 'you should have taken born in bhumiyar family.' Others said like them!

He grew up and always had fight with teachers.
He has his own world.

But he always get scared; 'will the life play with me and with my future also if I take my life so lightly?'
Then he would laugh like a mad!

Roti, kapda aur Makaan!

When I was a kid I was always fascinated by the political rallies and sat on the ground into the dust before stage on which politicians stood up with mike and promised to get us electricity, water supply (though we have natural water supply, river Ganga, which flows from west to east, touching feet of our village) and good roads.

I'm of 26 now.
Promises are same.
But still we've the same kerosene lamps to light our nights, the same broken rickety brick padded roads and the same water supply!

Isn't it a bigger duration than that took us for mission on Mars?

Love story begins here!

He was a Hindu.
She was a Muslim.
He was a stud.
She was the most beautiful girl.
He believed in love.
But didn't know how to love.
She didn't believe in fairy tales.
But knew the art of love.

They met.
Somewhere on this earth.
He asked for a date.
She couldn't refuse.
They fell in love.

Story ends here!

Ladies; No more than Sexual object in India!

We respect women in India.
We have reservations for them everywhere.

We offer them seat in metro train, bus, and wherever they stand before us. We can't see them standing. Are they too weak to stand on their feet?
But with the corner of our eyes we check them, scanning their body, undressing and imagining what; only god knows!

We have reservations for ladies in government jobs as well.
When men take their interviews they keep their eyeballs moving from ladies' face to their breasts.

We don't look at short dress wearing ladies when they pass us as if we don't care what ladies are wearing. We simply stare at their theighs and bums from back.

In Bollywood, ladies get fame and make lots of money.
They know how many beds they'd to warm to get the first role!

Ladies ride scooties. We twist our accelerator to overtake them as if...

While driving cars and riding bikes we keep on checking autos and taxies if they contain some ladies. And if we see ladies wearing shorts we scan their legs.

Bra strips are very colorful.
Aren't they?
God knows what pleasure they give to us when we stare at them for long.

At workplace women are given more priorities. Is it true? Really?
They get quick promotions.
We, men say she is slut. She has just slept with the boss and got promotions!

We, men do all possible and impossible things to loose our virginities.
But we want a wife with sealed virginity!

We have maids in our houses.
When our ladies are out we simply have sex with them. No matter how bad they stink.

In the great Army and police force, we have ladies.
God knows how seniors exploit them.

Bollywood makes movies like Mardani and queen.
Ultimately it projects ladies as sexual objects!

When we get married.
On the first nights and the next night and other nights we switch off the light and have sex with our wives.
We don't even ask how is she feeling and is she ready to get intimate!

When a girl kisses us outside four walls she feels unsafe.

God knows when will this end on this earth and ladies will live like a human being.

God knows up to what depth we men are into such and other thoughts!

My First Literature Fest

It was second year of my writing and fourth year of my engineering graduation. Fourth year is also called final year in India.
I was an infant in the literature world but I wanted to be a part of this world since my Infancy.
I had seen the advertisement of the lit fest in The Hindu newspaper. Look at the newspaper I was getting those days. I admit I was choosy since I was a small kid. I used to buy fancy toothbrush, tooth paste, pen, pencil, notebooks whose sheets were extra smooth and so.
I never liked the newspapers whose starting pages contain so many advertisements. But The Hindu was quite different than other. Filtered news with least ads were the things that had precised me to the newspaper and the lit fest was being organized by the same and the awesomest thing was that it was help in the capital city where I was residing.
In college days I looked like a rock star though I didn't know the meaning of 'r' of a rock star. Long hair, athletic body, loud dresses, goaty beard were my identity.
I wore a red baggy T-shirt, faded blue jeans and shinning red Ferrari shoes and hung my college bag and left for metro station.

I had just finished writing my first novel and had sent to the leading publishers. Publishers had mailed me the rejection letters. I wanted to see what goes on in a literature festival.

I had reached to the Indian Habitat center before the show began. I was a time bound person. I asked the volunteers about the fest and they asked me enroll and go into the big hall.
Stage was empty and some seats were occupied. I walked down to the first row which was closest to the stage. It was little dark as only dim yellow light was focusing on the stage.
'Reserved' the boards which were standing next to the first two rows said. This was the first time I had such boards except in movies!

I walked back and took a seat in the last row. People came and sat. And soon I saw first two rows filling. I couldn't recognize any of them. None were a Bollywood star.
My neighbors discussed news of Bollywood, and among them one was discussing his next book which was based on bollywood. I listened to them. They spoke like big writers and they were big writers.
Writers came one by one on the stage and discussed things with the Hindu journalists. Audience asked them some questions. They answered. I understood everything. Everything began to cross over my head when foreign writers discussed things.

There was a tea break. I went out and walked to the other building where I guessed it was a canteen. When I came to know the price of a tea I forgot I needed a tea. I came to the same building and saw writers and journalists having tea and snacks in a small longue.
I asked one of the volunteers, is the tea free here?
She smiled and said, 'yes.'

I entered into the room and saw people who were getting tea and snacks on their own. It was a self service. I stood there and saw the method of making tea and the way they were picking plates and loading them with snacks.
I copied them.

One lady was very tall. She was in Saree. When I heard her conversation with others I came to know that she was Bollywood star, Raj kappor's sister. Her face was matching with the Bollywood star Karishma kapoor. I stood there, ate snacks bite by bite, sipped tea slowly and heard their conversations. They spoke a lot like kids do.

Then post break session began.
First guest Om Prakash Mehra, who had made the movie, Rang de basanti and he spoke about his next movie and why he chooses the movies which are different than others.

At last I learned nothing there. But the fest was very enjoyable though I neither ask any question sitting among audience nor I spoke a word throughout the whole fest.

Lo aa gai aapki Modi Sarkar!!

Lo aa gai aapki modi sarkar.
Zarurat thi bas AAP ki sarkar.

Khub rajnaitik dangal hua.
Logon ko bade pyar se banta;
Dharm, Jaat-paat, unch-neech Chhuachhut.
Lo aa gai apke baap ki sarkar.

Aaj khub laddoo baate ja rhe h,
kal kisi k ghar jalaye the,
Gharwalon ko jalaya, bache tak ko nhi chhoda,
Aaj yelo aa gai modi ki sarkar.

Hindu-muslim k naam p logon ne khub dabaye button,
Kehte the dharm badalna pad jaega,
agar nhi lagaye kamal p muhar.

Bachpan se log history padte h,
Ye b padte h ki bharat me muslim rajao ka kai sau saalo tak raaj raha.

Agar dharm parivrataran ki baat sach hoti,
To aaj bharat me ek hindu na hota!!

Chalo ab aa gai h hinduon ki sarkar!
Ab bachalo apna dharm,
Desh to pehle hi bech khaye!!

Bas darr iss baat ka lagta h,
Iss rajneeti k dangal me,
Insaniyat ki hatya firse na ho jaye!!

Batla House - 2

Food varieties range from Afghani to Mughlai to whatnot!
The price is lower here but that doesn't affect the quality. You get the best and fresh chicken and mutton meat here and those who eat big red meat are also welcomed here.

In evening, if you, by mistake drive into these streets, you're going to do blunder. In a five feet road, people walk. Pulling rickshaws are there. Autos are running, painting walkers with dust. Bike riding is awesome here. If you push into the crowd with your bike, you get the true and real lesson of driving here. Though you'll exercise your feet and fingers too much but you get something in return.

The place becomes most attracting during Look sabha and Rajya sabha election. Roofless jeeps, decorated with cloth posters of political parties stand on the divider of the road. Thanks to the MLA of this area who dared to get the divider to divide the road into two lanes. Party workers stand on the jeep. And they shout slogans throwing their hands in all directions. They put so much energy into it that their neck veins become visible. At a difference of 5 meters another jeep is standing with the posters and party workers of another political party. They are doing the same thing, throwing their arms and body to the other jeep.
It feels as if whole Indian political campaigns have gathered to this place only. We can see the party workers making election live here otherwise Indian election is becoming lifeless. When I see them I miss my childhood days.
They shout slogans with so much energy that force you to run away from the place if you're visiting it for the first time. It looks as if they would get down the jeeps and beat the opposition people any moment.

The voting date finally arrives. People gather to vote. And this the place which actually gives life to the election. Each single member of the area comes out to vote. Ladies, wearing burka show up.

Party workers are smart enough. They keep standing in a group of six or seven at each corner of the streets maintaining some distance of 3 meters. They stop each voter and convince him/her with some flying signals to vote for their party only. Cops keep standing outside the voting booths. Peaceful voting goes on.

The voting day makes Batla house a newly wedded bride.

I always wonder about them. Why don't they make their own Muslim party. Because all parties are fooling them and they have so much of energy to put into it then they shall look into making their own party.
Shouldn't they?

The government is trying to polish the area so road making work, JAL board work, drainage system making work, electricity works keep going on in this area.

All of the above work have a common this to start their work; digging the road.
They excavate the roads and put the mud on the roadside. The road is dug. Mud and malba are occupying the roadside area. From where you will come out into the market or goto office?

Where there is will, there is the way!

Like lines of small ants people walk down the heaps of mud and malba. Up and down. Left and right.
They become so comfortable that they don't fall in the ditch. If you are going there for the first time during excavation time then I'm sure you'll fall into the ditches.
People over here comfortable in every situation. They don't complaint. They adopt the things that are being given to them. Everybody lives happily here.

The worst thing about this place is that males stare at girl even when they are wearing burka. And if a girl come out in jeans then men rape her with their eyes. Most of them are educated but still they do it.

Will be back with more interesting stuffs about this place soon. Stay connected.

Batla House

Batla House is a place in South Delhi, India. It is situated on the bank of dying river, Yamuna.
Only Muslims live here. Like other Muslim dominated area, its also over crowded. Most of the population of this place comes from UP and Bihar.
Foolish Hindus call it Chhota Pakistan.

They come here and work in other parts of New Delhi. Ninety percent of the people come here as students. Like flood they come, get admission in Jamia Millia Islamia University, Jamia Hamdard University, and some other leading colleges of Delhi University, study hard there, get good jobs in India and outside and leave the place. The population of this area keeps on increasing because the number of residents who migrate to other place around the world is far lesser than the number of people who come here, adding to the population in search of jobs and as students.
They come not just to earn their livelihood but to settle permanently here.

In morning, streets look deserted like that of Afghanistan and as day rises up with the Sun the scene keeps on changing. And when the Sun falls behind the tall buildings, the place becomes really beautiful.

It becomes so beautiful that even an ant has to think million times to creep down the streets.

Every evening is looks like its a Diwali evening. Ladies, wearing burka do shopping as if the next day is Eid. They break into shops. They buy clothe pieces of suits, kurta. Pajama, stoles, dupatta, burka and other wearable dresses except western dresses.

Shopping doesn't stop here. They rush into household things shops and do buying lots of stuffs.
Shopkeepers are smart enough here. They treat ladies as if they are their sisters and mothers. They welcome ladies and show them everything that they have on their shelves. I always wonder about the factories who make such clothes. Because the fabrics are just awesome and colors beat the stuffs that are kept in HiFi showrooms and malls of Delhi. The shopkeepers give discounts as well as if the shopping is being done for their own houses.

Every second shop is of either kapde ki dukaan or eating outlets. The street roadsides are over loaded with the heaps of cloths and that of chicken and mutton.
At times, I forget that Muslims eat vegetables also. When I see vegetable venders, laying their vegetables thelas on roadsides I ask myself, 'do these people eat vegetables also?'

Eating outlets are decorated with big glass covers which display chickens chopped in different shapes or some big biryani handis. And when you enter in any of these outlets you will have to wait for sometime to grab a seat. The food is extra delicious. And price is too low. These outlets force me to think over the difference between price of veg food and nonveg food. I just can't believe that the non veg food are cheaper than the veg here.

The variety of chicken and mutton ranges from Afghani to Mughlai to whatnot.

To be cont...with the spirit of the people who live here and the time of election campaigns down these overcrowded streets!!

Why Sisters are Special!

It all began.
And it all began.

I rose up and watched TV.
She rose up began to broom the house.
I went to kitchen and made tea for her.

'Don't eat before I tie rakhi.' she said.
When she went for bath, I ate as much as I could have because this was a fast day till the right time. Like every year.

She asked me to take shower and to wait till one thirty in after noon as per bloody pundits was the holy time to tie rakhi.

I went out and bought some gifts for her.
She took three hours to design a plate to put rakhi, sweets and another stuffs.
I arrived home.
She didn't open the gift packet.
She was busy with making my favorite food.

The right time arrived and rain began.
I chose to take bath in rain.
It rained and rained.
I took off my clothes and stood on the roof.
Raindrops hit me hard.
I stood still like a tree.
Motionless.
Rain tapped everywhere on me.
She stood under shade and shouted at me.
I would become unwell if I stand under rain for long.

The designed plate sat on the table. Vermilion was placed. Then curd mixed with rice grains was placed next to the vermilion. A ghee dia was put at the center of the plate. Next to it was the transparent bowl which was full of barfi, moti chur ka laddoo, and white rasogullas.

My mouth began to water.
I was becoming restless.
I wanted her to get the rakhi tied and start eating sweets.

Fan was switched off.
Dia was lit.
I was made to sit on sofa still.

She pasted some curd mixed with rice grains on my forehead between my eyebrows.
She applied vermilion above that.
I took one rasogulla and moved it my mouth.
She slapped on my hand and snatched the sweets.

Finally rakhi was tied.
The plated moved all around my face before me.
As if I was an idol of God.
Then the sweets was brought.
I wanted to take a bite.
She pushed whole into my mouth.

Story ends here.

UPSC Aspirants!

Seventy percent of the UPSC aspirants don't study history, civics, geography, economics and other arts subjects till their graduation.
They start these subjects only when they start preparing for UPSC.

Then why the hell you useless creatures on earth are after English?

Does this subject look too dull?
Is tough mathematical calculations are there in it?
Do you need to mug up all the dates and years and names of the people who had died some hundred years ago?
Do you need to have command over all the weather, changing seasons, mountains, winds, oceans, and all the craps which are not going to be used in your life further?
Does it deal with your blood vessels, tissues, human reproductive system that are not easy to learn?
Do you gulp up the books of economics, foreign policies and other useless things?

English is just a language, like bloody Hindi.
Unfortunately, you don't know Hindi as well!
Sanskrit n Urdu ka to pta nhi!

Shame.
No?

If you want to go for the road shows then fight with the government to build up the base of basic education system.
Sit in Ramleela Maidan or Jantar mantar or wherever you want to.

I heard people saying students who come from villages don't understand English much.
I ask them, don't they understand what's porn?

The Workers!

I always wonder when I see tall hi-tech buildings, hotels getting build up.

About the workers,
Who are adding their blood and sweat,
To build such beautiful buildings.

Will they be allowed to enter into the premises,
Of the these buildings,
Once they get completed,
To see their art and labor?

They still live in jhuggis with tin roofs,
They still make thier food on woods,
They still eat cheap foods,
They still suffer and can't fulfill the wish of thier wives and children.

Though they make apartments,
laced with hitech equipment,
Beautiful gardens,
Beautiful kitchens,
big blue swimming pools,
Fulfilling the dreams of rich!

Tajmahal was build in twenty years.
And hands of the workers and artists were chopped off.
They knew it and left a loophole in it,
Which can't be repaired today!

Fear in the Dream!

‘What the fuck?’ I said to my friend.

‘Yes, what the fuck.’ He said.

We ran across a ploughed fiend and reached to the railway track within seconds. The transportation was faster than that of light.

I was sitting in my room. I don’t know how it looked like. It was just a room at the first floor of a building which was situated in the middle of the field. The farmer had ploughed the field and a fresh rain had showered the mud grains. The grains were dry. May be the rain had arrived few days ago and sun had dried the mud powder which is suitable for farming.

I was lying in bed or doing something. I don’t know what I was doing actually. My friend was also doing something. Don’t know what. But he was talking of some magazines. He was in a cheap half sleeve shirt and a pair of shorts. I was wearing the same dress. Mine was little dark because of dust that had layered on my shirt and shorts because I was habitual of wiping my sweating face with the sleeves of my shirt and some games in the dust had left my shorts dirty as well.

We saw a huge train which had just jumped off its track. It was red in color and was bigger in height but smaller in length than the trains that we have here in India. I signaled him to help me to save the people. But we couldn’t see anybody looking out through windows of the train.

‘W-h-a-t t-h-e f-u-c-k?’ He said.

‘Yes, what the fuck.’ I said, running towards the tail of the train. The engine had left the compartment behind and it only had slipped off the track. We saw a gap between the two increasing.

‘Look,’ He said to me. I turned to him and began to run like a madman. He ran to somewhere and went invisible. I don’t know where he had disappeared. I ran with all my might. Within seconds I had covered miles. I had seen the engine running in my direction. I got it. It was about to run over me. I escaped. It ran behind me off the track. I couldn’t understand how it became possible for the engine to run down the ploughed field. But it ran. And it ran comfortably.

Now, I had reached to my village and didn’t look behind because engine was still running towards me as if it had decided to kill me. And I knew the reason why it wanted to kill me. It looked like a man with big head and without body. The engine was occupied by a human head.

I slipped into the first home which was at the outskirt of my village. Village started from only there and ended to the bank of river Ganga. My home was somewhere at the other end near the bank. And there was a solid road from the outskirt to my home. And I thought if I run down a solid road then it won’t take the engine much time to catch me and trash me under its wheels.

On the way, I had understood why it wanted to kill me. I had been speaking lots of bad things about the organization in which I was working. I dint like it because of partiality and many other things that were discouraging me. I was getting less focused on the work just because the organization was not giving me what I deserved. And it had sent the train to kill me. It followed me like a dinosaur.

I found my cousin at the entrance of the house and didn’t tell him why I was running away. Generally I don’t visit his place though he and his family like me and my family.

‘Let’s go to your home.’ He said.

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Oh, don’t fool me. Let’s go. I know you spend most of your time at your place whenever you visit village.’

He forced me and I couldn’t say no. But smartly, I chose the way which was very narrow. It was not actually a road. It was the boarder of the banana gardens which formed a narrow way on which only one person could walk. We rode bicycles down this narrow lane when we were kids to prove we were good bicycle riders.

The engine stood at the main solid road and looked confused as it couldn't run down across the banana gardens.

On the way home, he had asked me to say hi-hello to other village people whose houses were coming on our way, among banana gardens! But still I din't feel safe.

But I was in hurry and I wanted to reach to my place where my mother was waiting for me. I didn’t understand how she came to know that I was going to visit village though it all happened in seconds. She had made rice, daal, aaloo fry, chutney and achar for me.

I kept meeting people and moving on but my cousin had also disappeared on the way. Don’t know where!

Now, my place was one kilometer away and I had to walk full one kilometer and it was turning dark. I moved with a fear in my mind that anytime, the engine could run over me!

Before I could reach my home, something else happened.

I opened my eyes and found myself sleeping in my bed. I removed the sheet away, switched off the AC and looked to the wall clock and found it was forty five past six. I was late. I'm habitual of waking up between five and six. But it was Sunday so it was ok. I went to kitchen and switched gas stove and put a tea pan on it. I poured milk into and added water, sugar and tea leaves into it, slowed the flame and moved out to balcony. I stood there and looked to the trees and visualized my dream twice.

Debut novel

My debut is coming soon.
Book cover with title will be uploaded here soon.

Leni Deni & India!

Jise dekho vahi duniya ki lene p laga pada h!
Or aap?

Modiji ko dekho,
Lagta h jaise ek budha bandar h,
Jo kafi saalo se maun vrat p h.
Army k jawan mare,
Ya china inki keh k lele.

Use dekho,
Ise dekho,
sab h pareshan h.

Sonia ko dekho,
kabi laloo to kabi nitish,
ek se kaam nhi chalta iska!
Saare choro ko ikattha kar rhi h,
Jaise kisi sabse bade ghotale ki tyari kar rhi ho.

UPSC aspirants ko dekhlo,
Dhang se padh nhi paye,
to road p tamsha kar rhe h,
Jisne sahi preparations kar rakhi h,
Unki ye dhang se le rhe h.

Khud ko mirror me dekho,
To aisa feel hota h jaise,
sabse bada be was insaan saamne khada ho.

Log padh padh kar h pareshan,
Kisko job chahiye,
to kisiko paise,
To kisiko.....!

Commonwealth me golds ki le rakhi h,
Indian athletes ne.
AAj ye gold jeete ja rhe h,
Kal ye yhi kisi road k side p,
Paan cigarette bechte nazar aayenge.
Dhanya h hamari bharat mata!

Isi beech me,
Kejriwal ko dekho,
Lagta h jaise saare auto wale iske jiju h.
Inhi se iska ghar chalta h,
Or autowalo se hi ye desh chalayega!
Hights of chutiyapa!

Gaza me dekho,
Kya ho rha h?
Kuch seekho unse!

Thank You USA

Thank you readers.

Reason: Half a lac of readers.

Overwhelmed!

Special thanks to the USA readers who have always outnumbered Indian readers with huge margin. And their number is rising everyday!

Keep reading.

I'll be getting you fresh stories from India.

It feels great when I check my blog stats and find a great difference between Indian and USA readers.

Thanks again.

Accident Happen down the Roads, because Road is always Hungry!

Exactly by 5:30PM, I leave my office,
Then starts a bike race,
Race with the auto rickshaws,
With buses,
With cars and bikes.
And cycles as well!

It was raining,
Road was wet,
Like a plate has been sprayed with water,
Before filling it with food.

I ride,
Slow and fast,
Fast and slow,
With horn, blowing with little break,

I move on,
tearing through the crowded city roads.
The car moved on right,
And an old man on the left.
Quite relaxed.

I blow horn.
Once, twice, thrice.
The old man walks,
And walks like a deaf.

I visualize his right hand,
Getting hit by my bike.
And I simply press brakes.
Bike jumps into the car,
And me on the road,
Wet road.

I rise up.
Collect my bag.
Some people run to pick my bike up.
'Are you alright?'
Somebody asks.
'Yeah, Thank you.' I say.
And jump back on my bike.
Lovely parrot bike.

A man approaches,
And says,
What were you doing?
I got confused.
Then he grabs me with my collar.
And drags me down the bike.
Then I realize what I had done.
I have already got hit in my legs and hands,
That pain badly.

Within seconds,
The car owner is lying on the ground.
I am on riding on another bike now.
And fuks the bloody bastard.

That's the humanity in New Delhi.
People love their cars,
More than their mothers and sisters.
I shower heavy punches on the sisterfucker.
And ride back on my lovely bike,
And fly to my place!