Sensations...

Sights, smells and sounds

The taste of ripe mangoes

The touch of a baby's hands

Explore...

The music of the waves on the beach

The wind in your hair...sand on your feet

The look in your eyes completes the scene

Encore...

The scent of the earth impacted by rain

The sound of the water flowing in the stream

The distant chime of the temple bell

Enthrall...

The expressions on her face

The movement of her body and soul

The story laid out by her grace

Emote...

Sensations galore!

FUTURE EARTH

Although mankind has thrived on planet Earth for many centuries, the fact is that we now face a myriad of problems that threaten our future existence. We face an energy crisis, global warming, population explosion, economic recession, water and food shortages and the list goes on and on. Our seemingly defiant approach to evolutionary processes that other living organisms subscribe to has led us to adopt technology as a vehicle of adaptation. While the rest of the living world either die out or gradually adapt to the changing living conditions, human beings use technology to counter the effects of these environmental changes. We use air-conditioners to stay comfortable, processed water and food, refrigeration, automobiles, air purifiers and so on. We've resisted adaptation for so long and we've built ourselves an existence that has turned out to be the proverbial square-peg in a round-hole...unsustainable

, non-scalable and almost beyond repair.

I say 'almost' because we are walking a fine-line between taking corrective measures and surviving as a race, or plunging into oblivion. We simply cannot continue on this course and scientists have been warning us about this for some time now. Who isn't aware of vice president,presidential candidate and the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize winner Al Gore's campaign to spread awareness on the causes and effects of global warming? Who hasn't heard of or read Thomas Friedman's book "Hot, Flat and Crowded"? Reality is facing humanity in the face and waving a red flag...the Earth is waving a white flag begging for peace and yet we choose to turn away.

Ideally, what resources we have left should immediately be put to use to create the future world. Once we run out of natural resources like coal, oil and natural gas, we will be left stranded because we NEED these resources to build and transport our electric and hydrogen fuel cell vehicles, solar panels, reverse osmosis cells and sustainable housing. Once they run out, all development will come to a grinding halt and society will become a living hell. Unless we secure our future RIGHT HERE...RIGHT NOW...we will have no future at all. We need to STOP what we are doing and work with what little natural resources we have left to ensure that we have the methods to house, feed and sustain people in the centuries to come. That is OUR responsibility as the current inhabitants of planet Earth.


Mankind's key priorities have been and always will be Food, Water, Shelter and Security. Somehow we've become disconnected from this basic reality and become drawn into a world with game-consoles, automobiles, big-screen TVs, real-estate and other distractions. All these distractions are the "Devil" if you appropriate a term from religion. They keep us happy...temporarily...and eventually kill us off. It is important not to despair and become despondent because that is the appropriate avenue to take when all else has failed and you are seconds away from destruction. At the moment there is still a LOT we can do to sort ourselves out.

Where do we begin...

One of a kind...

The dreams come and go...
Thoughts ebb and flow...
Finding peace in this existence...
Breaking down walls and resistance...
Open arms...open mind
For the love you will find
Keep smiling...stay divine
For you are...one of a kind!

Turbulence for Dummies...

In fluid dynamics, turbulence or turbulent flow is a fluid regime characterized by chaotic, stochastic property changes. This includes low momentum diffusion, high momentum convection, and rapid variation of pressure and velocity in space and time.
Courtesy: Wikipedia

There is turbulence in everything around us and it is nature's way of showing us just how imperfect she can be. Turbulence affects Grand Prix cars and the sport of F1 racing has turned into a procession of cars from start to finish because the cars cannot run in close proximity to each other because of turbulence. Turbulence causes massive structural strain on long-span bridges. The aviation industry is badly affected by air turbulence and although many of you fly on a regular basis, I doubt any of you have researched turbulence as much as I have. I hope you find this useful.

Without getting into Geo-Physics and Meteorology let us just assume that there are a variety of "Causes" for Turbulence ranging from non-uniform heating of the atmosphere, Storm Clouds and high-speed, high-altitude winds like the Jet-Streams (only at the periphery). There are also several types of turbulence differing by the nature of the forces that act upon the air-frame. These range from mild choppiness to Extreme turbulence. Most of the time the Pilots are in a position to detect the causes of turbulence using the on-board Weather-Radar, communications from nearby aircraft and ground control and by visually scanning the skies around for tell-tale signs such as Cloud formations. What they are trying to avoid are the sudden updrafts and downdrafts that can put tremendous stress on the air-frame and cause mild to severe discomfort to passengers. In some rare cases turbulence has resulted in severe injury and even death to passengers and cabin crew.

Most of these incidents have been caused by a phenomenon known as "Clear Air Turbulence" which is impossible to detect and can be quite severe. Remember to always fasten your seatbelts while you are in your seat and minimize the time you spend loitering around the aircraft. Keep the blood flowing but it is probably a good idea to avoid chatting up the friendly stewardess in the kitchen area.

I am a terrible flier in turbulent conditions. I have a condition that affects me everytime there is a sudden change in altitude, speed and direction. I immediately feel dizzy, disoriented and ticklish all at the same time. It can be quite disconcerting and I feel ashamed that something like this can affect me while most of the people around me carry on as if nothing happened at all.

I have discovered that if I take control of the situation in my mind, the effects are minimized to the point of being manageable. I imagine that I am flying the plane myself and I place my feet flat on the floor of the aircraft, strap myself in tight and get my back away from the seat-back. Imagine riding a motorcycle and adopt the same position in your seat! This has made my life SO much easier in the air and turbulence doesn't bother me anymore. I often look forward to it because it makes life interesting...especially when you are stuck with a boring companion on a long flight and your iPod runs out of juice.

Flying is possibly the safest way of getting around and turbulence is usually safe for you and the aircraft as long as you are strapped in. Pilots will sometimes use the jet-stream to gain speed while saving fuel at the same time - this can significantly shorten the time it takes you to reach your destination. Jet-Streams are typically smooth in the middle and the turbulence is restricted to the edges.

If you are afraid of flying because of the turbulence and if you are the kind of person who takes the train during the monsoons - try my method and see if it helps. I'd like to hear from you and get some comfort in the knowledge that I am not the only one affected in this way.

Cheers and Happy Flying!!

It is the monsoons again!

The rains are back and in style!!

Those ruddy meteorologists always seem to get it wrong don't they? Pre-Monsoon showers my ass...the deluge that followed had to be seen to be believed. Raindrops the size of peanuts pelted my helmet and man and motorcycle were soon reduced to a miserable lump of wetness and coldness. As they say in Tanglish (a potent blend of Tamil and the non-Tamil) - "Aandavan Vechchaan Paaru Aapu!" (roughly translates to 'being screwed with' by the Almighty).

There is no escape and you can either chose to mope about for the 3 months that it takes for the rain gods to decide that enough is enough...or you can learn to enjoy it and make the most of what I believe is the best season of them all!!

The normally grungy urban settings of Mumbai receive a thorough cleaning and the vegetation stands proud and green in freshly washed glory. The layers of dust and grime on the roads are scrubbed away leaving behind virgin tarmac/concrete. Buildings that you mistook to be painted brown suddenly showcase their owner's poor taste as the pink and yellow combo paint jobs shine through once again.

Things get even better if you, like me, leave the city for the hills, valleys, plateaus and plains that abound in Maharashtra. The world looks like a freshly painted canvas...cleaned with shampoo and waxed for that special effect. I love it...I ride out whenever I can to savor the natural beauty of this place I live in.

Food tastes better in the rains because you are REALLY hungry from the wet and cold and there is nothing like a hot "cutting" chai followed up by a spicy Misal-Paav and more chai. Anything hot to cut into the wetness and slipperiness of the monsoons.

Biking in the rain is fun too. Yes it is risky but there are fewer vehicles and people/animals on the road...so the risk of sliding out is offset by the lowered risk of a collision with another vehicle. I'd much rather have an accident all by myself than with some other object...then again - I'd much rather NOT be involved in any accident whatsoever to begin with :)

The real danger is when it has just rained for a few minutes. The grease, oil, grime and general road crap rises to the surface creating a slick mixture that can be lethal to any vehicle. You cannot fall off a car - but with only two narrow wheels, a motorcycle is very hard to control under these conditions. It is better to slowly move off to the slow lane, off the road and wait for 10 minutes for the rains to wash away the crap. When the roads are properly washed clean, you can ride with only a slightly less grip than dry. Still...concentration has to be spot-on because there is always the danger of a slide. Gaps in the roads are filled in with slick material and the new "Mastek" coating is also slick as HECK! I wheelspin my RD350s rear tire in 2nd and 3rd gear...sometimes even in 5th if I hit a patch of Mastek with a less than perfect surface. Scary!!

It is challenging to ride in the monsoons. You have to be prepared to get very VERY wet and cold. With the phone and wallet bundled inside a ziplock bag and some basic tools in the backpack and I am ready to set off once more into the hills.

I love the monsoons - I don't want it to rain here all the time but I will enjoy the season while it lasts.

Sinner's Hold

Clouds gathered overhead
Dark and ominous and laden with rain
He pressed on up the sinuous road
His eyes narrowed to slits
Dark and ominous and tinged with pain
He had killed earlier tonight
The scent of fresh blood rent the air
He pressed on up the sinuous road
Gliding noiselessly up to his lair
He was the keeper of the sodden path
Those who went up never came back down
There were men who went looking for diamonds
Some went up to dig for gold
The keeper was always there to bury them
Those who dared trespass on Sinner's Hold...

Cursed was the path that led up the mountain
Even the brave drew away shuddering with fear
Turn your back to the path and you felt...
Something malevolent was watching you from near
When the sky goes dark and the wind dies down
When the air turns crisp and frosty cold
You have crossed the line into the realm of the keeper
You are dancing with death...
In Sinner's Hold...

The Bell...

Walking through the moldy wooden gate brought the memories rushing back...each one as crisp and clear as the leaves on the bushes by the side of the road, freshly washed by the recent showers. The smell of wet sand coupled with the moody patter of raindrops took him back twenty years, to a time when he was just a little boy...

"That is my pencil!"

"NO! Get your hands off...it belongs to ME!"

"It is MINE I tell you...unghh.."

"Aaah! You're hurting me...let it GO!"

"AAAAAAaaarrrrrrrrghhhh!!"

The scream of pain still echoed inside his head...his scream of pain. He remembered that day as vividly as if it were a feature film.

He could hear the frogs in the distance croaking loudly and then splashing into the murky pond water to avoid becoming a meal for the hungry kingfisher birds.

He was always the first in line when his class went on nature walks around the school. He would run ten steps ahead so he would be undisturbed in the wild lap of nature, free to explore before the rest of the expedition came crashing through. This was his africa, his Kanha and his Gir and he loved it.

Dong Ding Dong....Dong Ding Dong...Donnnnnnnnng

He could hear a bell ring in the distance and he smiled to himself wryly. The bell was a symbol of freedom. Pavlov couldn't have defined it better because, within seconds, the quiet lane was filled with fussy parents milling about, looking for their children. The children, on the other hand, were doing their darnedest to avoid their parents so they could sneak just a little more gossip and fun out of their day. School was closed for the day.

He could see the old banyan tree with it's great earth colored trunk and roots harboring those beautiful green and yellow leaves. He could see the children wearing colorful clothes running about without a care in the world. He could see...he really could!

He could almost forgive the boy who, in a moment of desperation, took away his eyesight with the freshly sharpened pencil. He couldn't remember how he looked...just the pain and the screams that still woke him up in the middle of the night sometimes.

'Not that I would know the difference between Night and Day' - He sighed...

There was a certain dignity in his steps as he turned off the path towards another smaller moldy and broken gate leading out of the school. He looked younger than when he first came in...he looked revived. This was his routine and he followed it without distraction. For him every day ended with the school bell.

With carefully measured steps he walked away from the school. People who knew him stopped to say a few words and some of them would walk with him for a bit. They always knew where to find him...

They never could understand why he walked through the old school that had been closed for almost ten years. There were snakes and thorns and he didn't seem to care and he always knew his way. They always thought they should tell him it was too dangerous for anyone, let alone a blind person, to be walking through the untended path alone...but they never came around to having that conversation with him...

'He'll be back tomorrow anyway...' - they thought

Then one day he stopped coming...

He was never to be seen thereafter. Nobody missed him too much anyway.

Anyone walking past the broken wooden gate in the evenings however heard a distant sound of a bell ringing inside the old school grounds...Those brave enough to walk through the hedges and up to the building never found a bell...


It rang everyday all the same...

The story of a tree and a cloud...

God began his day making a tree...

He changed his mind and, instead, made me...

My roots go deep into the ground...

Seeking treasures that were never meant to be found

I looked up and saw this beautiful radiant cloud

Dancing in the skies...laughing aloud

I realized that I was anchored and she was free

Every breath of wind took her away from me

Fly away little cloud...fly away if the need be...

When you are ready...come back and rain down upon me

The fall of man

Time isn't in my hands
It flies inevitably forwards
Every moment spent in contemplation
A lost moment for execution
Every second spent in doubt
Every year spent in fear
Every passing hesitation
Every erroneous expectation
Lost in the abyss of confusion
Broken heart and rended soul
Shocked into silence and self-incrimination
Experiencing the pain of separation
The anguish of mistrust and misinformation
Slowly eating a whole man into nothingness
Withering away at who he really is
Trying so hard to please everyone
Ultimately meeting no one's expectation
The fall of man has begun
The fightback has begun
The winner will define the man
The winner will define the man...

Flight of Imagination

Flying at 30-something thousand feet in the air, the last thing on any sane person’s mind is to write a blog entry. This being ‘me’ and ‘me’ being partially cuckoo – I am doing exactly that. Needless to say, this is one of those blog-posts that will entertain (hopefully) and shock (definitely) the reader into looking at “flying” in a whole new light.

Indian Airlines – the least reliable aerial alternative to the Indian railways does not enjoy my regular patronage. In the absence of an alternative, I find myself aboard flight IC-173 between Mumbai and Chennai. The drama begins well before boarding with an irate group of passengers crowding around the gate questioning the hapless crew about the 45 minute delay on ground. As the tension builds up, I attempt to grab a few minutes in Zz land while the able personnel make up their minds on the best approach to making an already bad situation – worse.

The boarding procedure in India is little more than a comical event where everyone attempts to enter the aircraft at the same time. I would have been sympathetic had this been a “wormhole” where you go in one end…and pop out the other. Unfortunately – On an aircraft – everyone usually lands at the same time unless a mid-air adventure, quite common on Indian Airlines aircraft, results in the involuntary sky-diving experience for a few select passengers and crew members…with or without their luggage. In such a situation, what difference does it make if you board the aircraft first…or last? I managed to sneak in a few emails, chat conversations and some shuteye between the time the first imbecile boarded the aircraft…and my turn. The other extreme would be when everyone decides to take it easy and the crew is forced to use weapons to coax the passengers into their seats.

Seats….completely useless, redundant, unnecessary – you name it. Indian passengers would much rather stand in an aircraft. I have come to this conclusion based on structured observations carried out over several flights. I have observed the passenger’s urgency to stand immediately after (or sometimes before) the take-off sequence is completed…and an even more urgent urgency to stand well before the wheels have touched the ground during landing. I say – do away with the seats and accommodate more passengers. This will also increase the airline’s customer satisfaction ratings as passengers indulge in their most important activity – standing. How this will affect the airline’s safety ratings – I cannot say, however, this being Indian Airlines – This particular measurement index doesn’t really matter anyway.

All signs that the Indian population is well on its way towards the 2 billion mark are on display. I’ve counted no less than 12 noisy babies and 3 quiet babies on board this aircraft. Some of them are cute…the sleeping ones, and the other noisy ones should have taken the bus in my opinion. Nothing irks me more than the sound of a crying baby. As the son of a prominent pediatrician, my tolerance level for baby-bawl is sadly…dismal. I plan to build sound-proof rooms where I can enjoy “silence”. The day I turn into one of these mum/dad combos with a noisy package is the day you can come out of the woodwork and call me a pathetic hypocrite – and I will agree with that statement at that point of time.

The aviation sector is well known for its awful food. I have very carefully come to the conclusion that if you are on-board Jet Airways and Kingfisher – it is safe to eat the meal of your choice. On board the other premium airlines – stick with the vegetarian food. On board Indian Airlines – eat before you come on board or BYOF. The trauma of introducing your innocent taste-buds to the putrid chemo-broth served as ‘Dal’ is something that won’t go away in a hurry. Just the sight of that yellow goo turns me green. I usually request for a bottle of water or a glass of lime-juice on these airlines.

Indian Airlines also has some of the WORST aircraft in the industry. On this particular aircraft, a few important looking bits of interior trim broke off during take-off. Miraculously, the airframe stayed together despite looking like it was going to shake itself to bits on the way up…and somehow re-assemble itself on the way down. To make matters worse, I noted that my seat was a few degrees askew to the direction of motion of the aircraft. While this did not really complicate my already horrible experience, it gave me an interesting insight into how close one can come to vomiting before summoning the will-power to keep lunch where it belongs. At this time, I can SWEAR I can feel a draft of cold air through the door beside me. Imagination…or a sign that it is time to start praying and hurriedly typing out my will on my laptop (which is hard to do considering I am typing out this blog entry at the same time…this will have to wait!)

The captain has turned on the seat-belt sign and I see a queue of men outside the lavatory. How hard is it to do your business at home, at the airport or even in a bush somewhere between home and the airport before boarding the bloody plane? I admit to knowing a few “men” who make it their mission to wee at every place they visit…sort of a canine “territory marking” activity they take very seriously indeed. Another problem with old planes is that they were built during a time when air-travel was only for the wealthy and easily excitable part of society. These were the people who absolutely loved bells and gongs and important sounding inane announcements. Everything in here is loud…the alarms, chimes and I am shaken out my thoughts by a class-A certified A-Hole two rows in front who repeatedly summons the waitress for something or the other. Bing! BING! BINGGG!...No…Not you Chandler…go back into that TV from whence you came.

Sigh…

I love flying…I really do! But this feels more like boarding a PTC bus that took off a ramp at very high speed. I don’t expect I will climb aboard an Indian Airlines flight ever again. I value my money and my life too much to pay someone else to try and kill me. If the price is right…I might reconsider J

I hope you had fun reading all this. I am less than 15 minutes away from Chennai and still at 30-something thousand feet. If this should change anytime soon – you will either hear about it in the papers…or in my next blog entry depending on how badly the change turned out.

Cheers!

Lamps of Hope

"Dad...What is glue ?"

I am used to this by now, having encountered literally thousands of similar questions over the weekend. I guess it is one of the many requirements of parenthood...dealing with unanswerable questions coming in quick succession. I should be irritated with the way things are going but I just look into those wide open eyes and their honest, limpid blue depths, and sigh...because I know that this is going to be one long afternoon.

"Glue is something that keeps other things together Son. We are going to use it to hold these sticks together and later when we put on the canvas cover. Now why don't you hold these two bits together while the glue does it's work..."

I watched those tiny hands struggle to keep the wood sticks steady as the glue set...The frown of concentration on his young brow...eyes on the job at hand, unwavering and hungry. We worked together for the next few hours assembling the slender wooden sticks, wire and canvas before standing back to admire the completed structure. The smile on his bright face told me that he was both happy and proud. His smile got wider when I told him that we'd be painting it right after tea.

I watched him wolf down his donuts, a practiced art of dipping them in his glass of milk only long enough to get them soft without breaking away into the glass. I tried the same with mine...inviting a disapproving glare from his mum when a large chunk of donut splashed into my glass. Several minutes were spent fishing around inside my glass for that elusive chunk as my son watched me, bemused. I left him to finish off his milk and went to fetch the spray-paint cans, decals and a tiny gas burning lamp that would be the final piece of the structure.

He skipped into the garden just as I was priming the cans. We decided on a base coat of white, followed by a coat of bright orange before applying the decals and other little bits and pieces of trim. I explained to him why we had to wait for each coat to dry before applying the next and he patiently worked on the paint with a blower to speed up the drying process. While he worried over the paint, I readied the gas lamp according to the manual and gave it a test burn to make sure everything was working the way it should.

When we were finally done...even I was impressed with what we had created from wood, wire and cloth. He helped me install the gas-lamp wearing his latex gloves and safety glasses. His mum brought out the camera and bossed us around while making pictures. As darkness set in I prepped the gas-lamp and held his hand as he lit it up with a huge grin tinged with anxiousness. He needn't have worried because the whole structure filled with a beautiful glow, showing off the colors we had painstakingly painted on and showing off the little bits of trim and the decals in the darkness of the night. As the air inside heated up, it began to rise up in the air and my son rose up on his feet in awe...joy...and pride.

As the lamp rose higher and higher in the air, I held my wife's hand and we watched him out there in the darkness...unafraid...standing tall. I looked into her eyes and saw hope and a secret pride...I was proud of what my son and I had created...she was proud of what she and I had created...The difference was profound...and I held her closer.

Up above us, the lamp floated on...

Monsoon...

The road is blocked and I am late
I smile to myself as I adjust my raincoat
I talk to my motorcycle as I urge it to keep thumping away
I laugh at the world in disarray...scrambling to fix what is horribly broken
The inevitability of cold and wet breaks through the shield
200 rupees doesn't buy you much in the form of weather protection these days
I feel like a hydrophobic vegetable in a cellophane bag
The rain keeps coming incessantly
Pedestrians hop, skip and jump over gaping manholes and fallen trees
The urge to abandon my vehicle and move on is strong
The cars try to scare away the clouds by sounding their horns
Motorcycle riders grit their teeth...they've fought this battle before
Some survived...other's wait outside heaven's gate
I for one am not in any sort of hurry because...
The road is blocked and I am late
This is today...and tomorrow this will again be my fate
The road will be blocked...I will be late
Shame...

Destination Destiny

Fruitless search for peace and prosperity
In a universe where chaos reigns with undisputed might
Powerless to stop the march of time
Softly...slithering through the moonless night
For each of us there is a path to walk
Shifting silently like dunes of sand
Lulled into a false sense of security
That my life really is in my hand
We all have an origin and a destination
A life to live...a story to tell
Finding ourselves and the strength within
A pearl hidden inside an Oyster's shell

Welcome my Son

He looked like an angel
Large eyes devour my heart
Searching me with his gaze
Soulful and brimming with life
Faint smile upon his lips, He knew
I was as much his as he was mine
From when he arrived, For all time
He would be me in every way
And yet be himself, unique
Forgotten dreams realized
Buried troubles banished
I can consider my work done
And make way for the future
Welcome...My Son

Waiting...

Temptations...

Temptations litter the horizon
The urge to indulge is strong
Self-control sorely tested
The power to choose right over wrong

My eyes glaze over under stress
Lusty signals run down my spine
The decision rests solely with me
It's mine to take dammit! mine!

I could satisfy the demands of my senses
By reaching out for a gentle touch
But I really shouldn't because I've been told
Even a little can lead to too much!

So I sit tight and close my eyes
Objects of desire swim in my mind
Waiting for time to clear the way
To see what else I might find

Memories...

Associative memory is a wonderful thing. The sheer ability to associate objects, scents, shapes, words, sounds and music with events of the past is pretty fantastic. What makes this more impressive is that, sometimes, these events occurred several years in the past. The fact that the human brain is able to retain minor details over extended periods of time is something that boggles the mind. We've pushed the boundaries of technology and understanding to incredible levels and with spectacular results and yet...we are humbled by something as simple as a memory...

I have clearly identified a particular smell that I will always associate with a certain activity. A particular deodorant that reminds me of a certain point of time when I used to use it almost exclusively while in the US. The images of my surroundings back then surround me even now and when I depress the nozzle of the can, I releasing those memories from the deepest depths of my brain...

I spun a few tunes on my iPod and the randomizer played back a track called "Ehsaas" which I hadn't heard in many months. The circumstances surrounding that track were pretty special and those memories rushed back with crushing potency...I could almost physically touch the details in this memory...when I listen to "Creed" - It reminds me of the daily trips in the USF bus to and from classes...and events surrounding these trips...people...conversations.

Of all the possessions I have in the world, The ones I value more than anything else are the memories that I will take with me through time. They form a treasury of experiences that cannot be bought or replaced. Perhaps they can be taken away from me in the case of head injuries...which will be unfortunate. One thing I dread more than anything else is waking up one day without any memories...my life until that point will have been in vain...a void that no amount of monetary compensation can fill.

In my memories...I am happy...It is the best form of entertainment I have when everything else fails to excite me...I just close my eyes and I am transported to a place where I feel at home...

And its all right here in my head...

The Secret...

As the path is illuminated by the tedium of education
The mind seeks it's own in quite a different direction
Everything it once knew, renewed
All that was taken for granted, revived
Fettered not by the shackles of truth
Free to go where every mind should

And as the walls break down and reservations flee
I share this secret between you and me

Blood River

The chains chafed his skin and bit into the bones on his back. Sometimes pain can bring euphoria...


Not this pain...His was the kind of pain that one feels when stabbed through the chest by a soul-mate...the blade itself doesn't really matter...the motive is what kills...the hand that held the blade is what stings...the eyes that stare into yours, full of love and hate and passion for your demise...

No... his pain was of the mind and there's no cure for that...no opium can turn this breed of pain into a dull throb. How was he to know what was coming? He was too blind to see the undercurrents of anguish and despair in her actions and words. She had veiled her tormented soul and cut her wrists to remind her of her hatred for this man who seemed bound to her with a love that she did not share. He had displaced the one she had her heart set upon...taken away her one chance to be happy for a lifetime...and replaced it with venom disguised with a kiss.

She had once known peace, happiness and true love. The daughter of the king...a princess to her people and to her parents...she had been an angel among angels and they worshipped her with loyalty and genuine love. The wild tribes took everything away from her in one fell swoop...crushing her father's army...destroying her people and their lands...they took her and her mother along with the rest of the women and killed everything that was male...including the one she loved. She watched him as he lay on the sodden earth twitching in his last moments...a long saber buried one side and thrusting out the other...A grisly sight she would see and remember forever in her mind.

She was 15 years old when they took her...and she was 25 when they brought her to his bed trussed up like the day's catch. He took her into his arms and told her "You are mine...and I will have you forever...until you try to run and die by my sword...or until you become useless to me and die by my sword." She never ran...and she did all she could to keep him happy.

"Fool!" She thought. He made the mistake of falling in love with her beauty and her compliant demeanor. She was cleverer than any tribal could ever be and her culture and education stayed on with her to keep her sane through torrid times in the hands of a hostile and lawless tribe. She'd learnt to wield a broadsword and a saber just like a man...practicing in the dark when the rest of the tribe slept...blissfully unaware of the growing storm of malcontent and dark anger in her heart. She gave herself to him...whenever he asked for it...she wove a web of romance and passion until he truly gave himself to her. He believed her...loved her...and he wanted to be with her forever. He fought off the younger males who wanted her delicate body for themselves...He killed other men who dared to look at her with anything less than complete respect. She used his power and his passion to learn the ways of the tribe...and to find her way out of their lands when the time came...

The sound of flesh sticking to the metal blade and sucking at it as she drew it out of his body caused her to shudder...It had been harder than she imagined as she thrust the blade in and upwards from his belly through his thoracic cavity and into his heart. He did not resist, which surprised her, to her sudden lunge and vicious thrust. His eyes sparkled in recognition of an act of war..but the blade had delved into him before he could react. As his eyes lost their sheen and as the life ebbed out of him...he felt the pain as she chained him up and left him there to die.

As the blood ran out of his body and into the sand in rivulets of rouge...The chains that held him disappeared...they had been but a figment of his imagination...he'd felt chained to this woman whom he loved so dearly that he hadn't thought of fighting back. He knew she loved him...she just needed time to know it...He knew she would realize it sometime...

As she rode away into the darkness and towards her lands...her heart filled with hope for the future and the relief of escape...a tear fell from her eyes surprising her enough to come to a halt at the valley of two perfect sand dunes...More tears followed...and then she knew...

She moved on slowly through the dried up riverbed...as red as the minerals that the waters once carried down from the mountains...as red as the blood she had smote upon the sands...

She rode along the blood river...

La Voce

They were puppets in the hands of a master puppeteer...

His voice penetrated the atmosphere which was rank with fear and disbelief. The first few notes shook the hearts of the audience and forced them to sink into their seats, reeling under the pressure of the passion and anger of his voice. He played with them…giving them hope and respite before plunging them back into sorrow so deep, it seemed like there would never again be joy in their lives. He raised them up to the heavens to show them the pearly gates…before bringing them down crashing through the doors of hell. They tried to close their ears to shut out the beautiful sound that threatened to strip them of their souls…and yet…they paid to be seated in front of this young man who exuded such sadness, anger and hate.

He had sworn to make them all suffer as he had. He was too weak to hurt anyone physically but what he was doing instead was just so much worse. He was drilling into their psyche and unraveling them like a ball of yarn thrown into the thick of a hurricane…twisting them…turning them inside out…making corpses of living flesh.

They walked in silently confident that they were stronger than those that went before. Friends and family had come back completely changed and frightened of their own shadows…they had stories to tell…tall lies and fabrications. The newcomers were always those who had decided to see for themselves. They walked into the auditorium wearing expensive clothes and jewelry apart from a knowing, smug expression on their faces. They held hands and laughed in glee, whispering about the stories they would carry home, the taunts they would channel towards their hapless friends…

He would show them all how base and evil life could be if it wanted to. He would epitomize his tragic past and make it their present. He would show them the nadir of humanity as he had seen it. He would do all this with his beautiful voice. He was gifted with the kind of voice that would melt butter…and he turned it into the kind of voice that would freeze a flame into unmoving attention.

They would suffer as he had…

All of them…