The HR’s cabin

“Hi!….Good morning.” Sahil greeted shyly as he took his seat.

“Good morning. And….how are you liking it here Mr. Ahmed?” Sunil asked the younger man.

“It’s great. The project is interesting, and the managers are great and very helpful.” Sahil replied, a bit apprehensive as to why he was asked to come to the HR’s office.

Sunil was the HR manager at the IT firm, and it fell on his shoulders to look after the new recruits. However, he did not make it a point to call each and every recruit into his office within a week of their hiring. It was only a select few that he would, few who met the profile he was looking for. And Sahil, a bright, smart 25 year old, good looking man with average qualifications and a less than decent financial background, met the profile to a T.

“Good, good! That’s excellent.” Sunil said unmindfully “I am glad you are comfortable here. We like to take care of our employees.”

“Thank you. I really love working here.” Sahil smiled politely, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the older mans piercing glare fixed on him.

“Can I see your hands?”

“Ah….excuse me?” Sahil asked confused.

“Ah! Dont worry, i just want to read your lines, i did a course in astrology and palm reading once.” he said as he took the reluctant mans hand in his hands and preened over his palm, studying it.

“Hmmm…..you have worked hard to get here.” he stated “…..and it says here that you will work harder to stay here.” giving him a pointed look.

“Uhh…..yes….i am ready to work harder, sir.” Sahil stammerred, trying unsuccessfully to slip of the mans grip.

“Good. Because you will have to work hard.” he said, holding the mans hand tightly and playing on the palm with his other hand.

“You know what with the recession and all, we had to make a lot of layoffs. So you have to be on your toes and work really, really hard to keep your job.”

Sahil stood up abruptly, jerking his hand off the mans grip.

“I need to leave, sir. I have work to do.” he said sternly.

“Fine.” Sunil leant back on his chair as he watched the young man storm off. It could have gone better. Maybe he came off too strong. Never mind, he would try again later, get him in a better mood or something, maybe offer him an on site position. That would be hard to resist. He chuckled.

“Hey, wasn’t that Sahil Ahmed? The new guy we recruited last week?” Revathy asked as she entered her colleagues cabin.

“Umm…yeah….he had some….things….to discuss…. ummm….about his….personal life.”

“Well….thats a bit rude.” Revathy sighed, disappointed “I already told him I would help with his personal problems, he didnt have to come to you.”

“Ummm….how exactly were you helping him?” Sunil asked, curious and trying not to appear ignorant.

“Well…I am not sure yet, I was looking into the Company’s policies. I did find some inclusive policies against discrimination based on sexual orientation. Also did you know that, our Company actually has an LGBT ALLIANCE group? It’s international and we dont have an Indian chapter yet, but maybe we could start one? Sahil was keen on it, i am sure more employees will show up. It will even help boost our image as an inclusive, modern enterprise that takes care of its employees. I think we should talk to Kevin and get him to….” she chattered on excitedly, heedless of the other man trying to ease his breathing and calm his violently palpitating heart.

Holy fucking shit! He almost got involved in an office scandal with a open and out faggot. If even a word had gotten out, his career, marriage and social life would have been ruined. Luckily he dodged a bullet, never again was he going to have anything to do with a open and out faggot that had no shame or decency themselves and would have brought him down in the muck too, at least HE had fucking sense enough to be discreet.

Unbeknownst to him, the bullet was just being loaded as Sahil finished drafting his mail to the Sexual Harassment Help forum. His finger hovered over the mouse button for a thoughtful second before he clicked ‘Send’.

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Demon

Through the window shone the full moon bright,
The ash-tray glistened in the soft moonlight.
Rain pattered softly on the window-pane,
Drops trickling down, playing an innocent game.

He sipped the scotch and kissed the cigar,
Morbidly he stared, across the table, at the stranger.
Hidden in the shadows, its face was unseen,
It leaned forward, just enough to be seen.

Gaunt was its face and pale was its skin,
Eyes were sunken, and a scar from the right brow ran in.
It leered at him, lips curled into a sneer,
The very sight, enough to make one fear.

“Who are you?” he slurred in a voice hoarse,
“Do you not remember?” its words sounded like gravel coarse
“I am the best friend that you have ever had,
Perhaps the only one you truly trusted.

I was always by your side, wherever you were,
But only at the worst of the times did you ever remember.
I was under the bed when you slept as a kid,
Sometimes, in the closet, where you caught me peeking in.

I was in the dark alleys, which you rushed past at night,
Always in the shadows, I never came out in the light.
I was in your darkest thoughts and worst nightmares,
Frightened of me, yet fascinated you were.

From time to time, you sought me out,
In the last dregs of scotch, or the puff of smoke.
You came to me, when they laughed at you,
You looked for me when they betrayed you.

I have always been here waiting for you,
To seek me out and let me end your pain.
In the world of the light, you are not meant to be,
In the darkness here, you belong with me.”

He gulped down the scotch and reached for the Glock,
3 hours past midnight, struck the clock.
A shot rang out, shattering the still night,
He crumpled on the table illuminated by moonlight.

Rain pattered softly on the window-pane,
Red drops trickled down, playing an innocent game.
One more prey it had seduced tonight,
Beware of The Wily One, the Demon of the Night.

Saint Teresa: Does she really deserve it?

Mother Teresa was a through and through fundamental, Orthodox, Catholic nun. She may have dedicated her life to help ease the pain of the destitute in their last moments, but she didn’t get them the treatment that could have saved many of their lives. Yes, it’s an irony coming from someone who has done neither, but that doesn’t make this criticism any less valid. Teresas mission was less about altruistic charity and more about self serving salvation and iconography. Even as she extended the outreach of her missionary work and raked in millions from her rich sponsors and endorsers, she never got to improving the living conditions of the destitute and orphans under her wing or providing them the basic medical facilities. Instead she went on undertaking even more such damned souls and marketing off their suffering and indignity. She didn’t care about their lives as much as she cared about their deaths. She allowed infants and children with easily treatable conditions to die and denied them medical attention.

Those glorifying her today are the ones who ignorantly want to believe that there truly was a selfless woman who dedicated her life to serve the poor. They are desperately optimistic. They want to see the good in her and in the world. They are unaware that her worldwide popularity is not for her charity but of the western, white patronization, that felt validated a white, Catholic woman, ones from amongst them, was working for the poor destitutes of a third world country. It satiated their ego.

Even today her principles are inhibiting the charities in her name from actually helping enrich the lives of the orphans and destitutes in their care. Because of her stances on abortion, contraception and family planning. The mission would rather not let their orphans have any future than allow any single, divorced or unmarried parents adopt a child.

Those arguing that at least she eased the suffering of the dying, are committing the fallacy of using a right to justify two wrongs. Yes, she did a lot of actual help by easing the pain of some of the dying but in the process she also murdered many that could have been saved. Her mission was a noble yet, a misguided one. She was no saint, but a well meaning human, who, caught up in her religious beliefs did more harm than good.

Nyctophilia

Have you ever, on a clear sky night, laid on the terrace and watched the stars? Did it then suddenly occur to you that you are just a minute organism, stuck to a small piece of rock rotating in space? Did you let that realization engulf you? Did it change your perspective completely? Did it make you look around yourself at all the earthly creations and try comparing them to the enormity of space?

There has to be a name for this feeling. It leaves you filled with awe as well as slightly uneasy about your own mortality. It temporarily strips away your entire ego, all your pride. It makes you feel disconnected with your own life and yet makes you realize you are a part of the vast universe.

It renders redundant all the politics, the hate, the struggle and the mere mortal concepts of economy and society. Time itself seems such an absurd concept. For a moment it’s like only you exist on the planet, it feels like you are the planet. You can feel yourself turning in space, amongst the stars and galaxies. And it feels like you have been doing it forever and could do it forevermore.

It’s hard to describe how it feels; it feels content, peaceful and tranquil, without the concept of purpose or ambition. It dissolves the concept of you as an individual and yet makes you more acutely aware of your own existence. It’s like taking a breath of fresh air after been suffocated in stale air for long.

It makes you feel glad to be alive just so you could experience this.

Loser!!!

He sat in his once tidy room, bunched up in a bedsheet in a corner of the mattress laid on the floor. Sure he abhorred living in a messy, dis-organised room, but it was all temporary he told himself. He would soon get things back into their place when he would be in the mood. Right now he just wanted to sit and watch some light hearted comedy entertainment. He deserved it, he needed a break from the stress of his life. Although, now that he thought about it, his life was just like his room messy, dis-organised, untidy, unhygienic and needed a real good cleaning and perhaps a disinfectant or a bug spray.

Settling down and indulging in the mind numbingly dull teenage angst trash he was not just ignoring and wishing away the dump that his room was but also doing the same with his life. He was running away from his responsibilities. Though it may be wrong to call them, that. I mean when you say responsibilities it implies that it’s some kind of duty that you are obliged to. Well he was not obliged to anyone. That was the kind of freedom his parents had afforded him. His responsibilities were more in his own interest. And he had prided himself in being true to himself yet, here he was. Squandering his freedom, his time and not at all exploiting his talent or potential.

Everyone who knew him had high hopes from him, perhaps even higher than he ever wanted to think of himself. But his only limitation was his own pessimism and tendency to hide from his problems than facing them head on.

The biggest irony was, though he was an expert in throwing the choicest string of words, facts and logic to get his point across and discuss, debate and on occasions berate someone on the social media, he was the biggest loser when it came to actual communication with people who actually valued his words and opinions the most. Can we call it an irony or do we call it a tragedy?

His tendency to avoid his issues became so severe that shutting himself down became his go to reaction. Despite realising how much was at stake and that he could stand to lose the only thing in his life that meant the most t him, friendship and company, well also the appreciation, accolades and validation that came with it, he still could not bring himself to talk about himself to anyone. At the most he could manage was friendly conversation with people regarding their lives and their problems, but then they would remind him of his own so he started to avoid them too.

loser

Perhaps simply calling him lazy, non-confrontative and a loser might not be completely justifiable, because he also lacked the most important thing i.e introspection. He was so deep in the river of denial that he could not even comprehend what exactly his issues are, except that they were stressing him out so bad that he had lost appetite and track of his life. So actually talking them out was not really going to happen.

And his issues! God did he have the most peculiar, idiotic, stupid, obnoxious, self-centred, narcissistic, god damned pathetic issues. He suffers from paradoxical delusions, he loves spending time with friends and talking to people about the ‘deep’ stuff and yet puts most of his energy in cooking up excuses to avoid people. He is scared of hurting people and ends up doing so in the worst way possible ignoring them, often in the time of their need. He loves helping people figure out what’s going in their lives, and this my friends is a double whammy, because guess what? Not only does he avoid getting mixed up in peoples lives too deeply to prevent fucking it up but neither has he managed to figure out his own life at all.

One mistake after another he has spun up such a web of lies, denial, lethargy, incompetency, pessimism that now he is comfortably wrapped up in it wishing that everything will sort out itself. Guess again loser!

The most fucked up thing of all is perhaps that his favourite hobby of writing what’s on his mind has become his bane. Because of the crap that he has neglected from clearing from his mind, he has been unable to write anything more significant than snarky retorts on social media. And that’s why now in the middle of the night he is up writing about himself in the third person like a God damned narcisstic lunatic that he is! FUCK HIM!

loser1

Shameless – FeelPankh

She deserved it. It should have happened to her long ago. She was a national shame. An embarrassment to her country, her culture, her religion. She was an attention whore. In fact she was actually a whore. They laughed at her antics. They laughed at her outrageous attempts to grab attention. And when she was killed, they laughed even louder. Good riddance! They said…another piece of rubbish disposed.

“No…” whispered the little girl, clutching the burqa with her dainty fist.
“She was not the shame.” her voice quavered, as tears of anger pooled in her eyes.
“She was not the embarrassment.”
A single drop ran down her face.
“And she is not dead.”
She threw back her veil, no more was she to hide her tears behind that piece of black cloth.
“I would rather be a whore than a toy.”
For the first time in her life, she stepped out of her house with her hair let down. Unashamed, unafraid.

Source: Shameless – FeelPankh