God was Murdered

The fundamental difference between a ‘privileged & entitled’ 19-year-old now & when I was a 19-year-old is that I & my real friends [Fakebook & Instagarbage weren't born in 2000] weren’t delusional.  We all were studying in big ass colleges in Melbourne, yet we had the reality check that we ain’t going to make any impact on the history of the world. I always knew if Gandhi, who spent about 5 decades fighting for freedom, a decade in jail & kept 100s of fasts running upto 21 days, failed to bring a real change, I'm nobody. Every time, I missed lunch, I missed my mom - Every time I saw a cop I got mild jitters.  And the only cause I stood up & fought for was more nude beaches in Melbourne.  At 19, our [my friends & I] greatest achievement were:  Attending 50% of the classes with hangover/sleep deprivation [and falling asleep in half of those too] Chugging beer and/or whiskey through the night & then going for a morning walk witho

In the winters of November twenty-17 I met this dainty little girl Prageet We became friends for real instead of faking it on FB Started hanging near her PG & cafes at MKT Each time we meet, we talk about movies, philosophies & books to read Each time we meet, she has new crushes and knee injuries  Each time we meet, she’s clumsier than Mr. Bean And the moment we sit down to eat She’s so annoying – clicking the food for Insta tweets But that’s the fluff covering the gold underneath, that ain't skin-deep She pours her soul every time she sits on the floor to teach Never complaining about the dirt or heat Making it impossible not to fancy her in a heartbeat She’s almost always ill, yet never stays still She’s a bird who’s fledgling, unfurling her wings She’s the freak from the Hangover movies She’s the song you want to listen on repeat She’s the friend you want at night's 3.15 Today, she’s turning nineteen, I hope she doesn’t retr

‘I’m the Lead Project Manager at Goldman Sachs’ That’s what my distant cousin Ritesh said glowingly when I asked ‘You are?’ moments after I met him for the first time at a family wedding. As a custom, adults misunderstand this two-word question. They always respond by stating what ‘job’ they do. And more prestigious the job they possess, the more happy they are to answer this question. His job isn’t who Ritesh is. The job is something that pays for things that shouldn’t be a part of any free human’s life in the first place. Job pays for 1. clothes & brick houses [no species barring the modern homo sapiens wears clothes or lives in unnatural houses] 2. lactogen milk powder [our mom’s breasts have enough milk to keep us alive & happy],  3. education [that teaches to restrict our natural creativity] 4. donation to worship places [so the God who magically created all of us punks needs money & that too goddamn Indian rupees. Ha!],  5. fat weddings