You've said a lot. So have I. You've done a lot. Have I? I've thought a lot. So have you. I've tried a lot. Have you? You've hurt a lot. So Have I. You've worked a lot. Have I? I've cried a lot. So have you. I've smiled a lot. Have you?
I've struggled over the last couple of years with a growing urge to write a purely fictional piece of prose. I have failed to get very far. At least three major attempts ended up as poems. I am serious. How that happened I have no idea, but there they are. Fictional attempts, ok, I mean attempts at fiction somehow insisted on rhyming and using a weird meter. Don't believe me? Here is proof: Two by Two was…
So recently, some female author, trying to flog her book, sponsored a debate on premarital sex. Briefly, she asked, Yes or No.
Of course the usual pseudo social activists were quick to jump in with both feet condemning with many references to cultural heritage, some faux religious mumbo jumbo and a overall sense of outrage at the topic itself.
Some compared “Indian” culture to “Western” culture, holding that the Indian cultural heritage does not countenance such goings on and what may be acceptable in the decadent “West” would not and should not make it’s ugly way into India. (The female author is Indian and the book is aimed squarely at Indians..).
To these people I asked: (more…)
It has been a long time. Yet, it seems just like just the other day the Slo-Man was young, slim and gormless instead of what he is today, middle-aged, fat and gormless.
This is one of those momentous posts that are now given to the Slo-Man to write. For this marks an anniversary. Thirty years ago today the Beloved Bangalan took the Slo-Man (more…)
Now is the season for death. A death that will bring life once again, but for that life we must die now. This is the season for love. A love that will take you further apart, but for that love, this love must die. The present is doomed. The past misunderstood. The future? The future is known. The future is death. The thing we call love is filled with the thing we call hate. The one and…
In response to the story, The Chemistry of Love, the curly haired, resourceful friend of the Candy Floss Bangalan, provided her perspective of the story. I am reproducing it here as a commentary to the original story. Here it comes - I have edited it slightly to bring it up to my exacting non-text-speak standards. Enjoy! The first two months of college were a mad rush and before we even realized it was time for the Christmas…