uses of lungs

Posted October 23, 2009 by cosmicdust
Categories: Uncategorized

Cheap cigarettes.

It was cheap because everyone could afford to buy and smoke too, said someone who was dull but important.

Moreover, he added, everyone has the right to die of cancer, yes the lung one or the mouth one and even the other ones. Cancer, like any other form of disease that took away your life, is a gift, a gift to know that you will die, he said beaming with self-satisfaction.

I did not understand what the hell he was talking about.

Broadly speaking, he continued, lungs have three uses,
– inhale
– exhale
– cancer


Wisdom according to an old man

Posted October 22, 2009 by cosmicdust
Categories: reflections

I always see him tilling the soil or plucking the weeds off the lawn. He coughs harshly without covering his mouth then looks at me and smiles, some teeth still remaining. He wears thick glasses.

Besides coughing, he does not seem to make much noise.

Once during a hot afternoon, he goes around asking for help to assemble a mobile phone sent by his son in the city and falls down hurting himself. The heat was too much, he recalls later. A couple of men carry him to his home and assemble the phone. They play through all the ringtones for him to choose. Any sound will do, he says, just as long as I know someone’s calling. Pa, they tell him, this even has camera. The hell with camera, he growls, who puts camera into a phone?

I see him again today, plucking off weeds from the hard lawn as usual. I go towards him; he looks up at me from the glasses and smiles.

Strong old man! I try to praise him.


You embarrass the young men, I tell him, aren’t you even tired?

He coughs dryly, breathes laboriously and smiles. He takes out tobacco from a pouch and rolls them into a paper. Tucking his glasses on the collar, he wipes sweat from his face with a large handkerchief.

We talk of his past, my past, the future and current affairs. We even talk of girls and sex and HIV and AIDS. We talk of diseases and bird flu and swine flu and flu A and flu Mexico and flu America and sars.

Every time he talks, he spits out tobacco leaves, puffing out volume of smoke from his mouth and nostrils and squint his eyes so narrow that I wonder if he saw anything.

He laughs when we talk of philosophy.

Philosophy? He laughs, it’s nothing but foolish vents of a fool! He lives a life so imperfect that he sees perfection in his ideals. Sorry but I will talk nothing more about philosophy. So saying, he throws away the cigarette butt into the bush, almost angrily.

Then what about wisdom? I ask.

Wisdom? He laughs again. Well, wisdom is nothing but an empty bag.

Before I ask him what he means, he waves his arm in the air and walks away.

short note

Posted October 21, 2009 by cosmicdust
Categories: Uncategorized


Suffering either strengthens or weakens a man…

pǝddı1ɟ ɯ,ı ‘ʎǝɥ

Posted October 21, 2009 by cosmicdust
Categories: Uncategorized

ǝɥ-ǝɥ-ǝɥ…ʞuıʇs ʎɯ ʇǝb noʎ ɟı ‘ʍou ,uıddı1ɟ ǝɥʇ 11ɐ ɯ,ı puɐ

…uoıʇɔǝɟɹǝd ʎɯ pǝuınɹ ɹǝǝq ,o ǝ1dnoɔ ɐ .ooʇ ɹɐɯɯɐɹb puɐ .sdɐɔ ǝɥʇ 11ɐ buıso1 ɯɐ ı ‘ʎɐʍ ǝɥʇ ʎq

…ʇɐǝɹb buıɥʇǝɯos buıop ɯ,ı ɟı sɐ ʇxǝʇ buıddı1ɟ ʇsnظ ‘ǝɹɐɥs oʇ buıɥʇou ‘ǝʇıɹʍ oʇ buıɥʇou ‘ǝɯıʇ ɟo ǝʇsɐʍ ɐ ʇsnظ sı sıɥʇ ‘ʎɐʍʎuɐ

¿ʇɐɥʍ ɹo ʇoıpı noʎ
…sʇxǝʇ dı1ɟ uɐɔ noʎ ‘ǝɹǝɥʇ
bɹo.ʇxǝʇdı1ɟ ʇısıʌ ɹo
ʇı ǝ1boob ‘pɐǝɥɐ ob ‘sǝʎ
…ooʇ ɯǝɥʇ dı1ɟ oʇ ʍoɥ ʍouʞ 11ıʍ noʎ
‘ʇı ǝ1boob ʇsnظ
…ʎɐs ı ¿ʇoıpı uɐ noʎ ǝɹɐ ¿ɥnɥ
¿ʇxǝʇ ǝɥʇ dı1ɟ ǝɥ uɐɔ ʍoɥ ‘ʎɐs noʎ ‘ʇnq

.ʇǝʎ ʇou ‘ʇǝʎ ʇou
‘ɥbnoɥʇ ʞunɹp ʎ11ɐǝɹ ʇou ɯ,ı
‘suoɯǝp uǝʞunɹp ‘s1ǝbuɐ uǝʞunɹp


Posted October 20, 2009 by cosmicdust
Categories: Uncategorized

Tags: , ,

In a remote village, a foreigner drew a modest crowd around him. He smiled, panning his camcorder across a group of cheering and jumping children. Good, good, he said, and smiled some more.

Discorded music that almost sounded like faint beatings on cans and pots and pans or something like water drops falling on cans and pots and pans.

What’s that? The foreigner wanted to know.

Dranyen – Bhutanese guitar, the guide told him.

No, said a village wise man returned from a university from the United States, it’s not a guitar. It’s a kind of lute.

Jigme Dukpa played it good. So many people began to play, some better than Jigme Dukpa. People modestly say, Jigme Dukpa plays the best. He’s the best. He was the best.

To play, a bone plectrum plucked the badminton or fishing rod strings, tightened on a bridge on animal hide stretched over the soundboard, along the fret-less neck. Six wooden tuning pegs fixed on a C shaped peg-box decorated with some mythical sea-monster and a shorter string in the middle of the fret-less neck with a tuning peg jutting out like a lever that touch the stomach. Highly decorated.

A musical instrument, quaint and lethargic…

Flies and mosquitoes

Posted October 19, 2009 by cosmicdust
Categories: Uncategorized

Tags: ,

Sometimes, I think I can just jump over this wall and find freedom. I know I will be caught, but wouldn’t it be a good try at least? You think I am mad, don’t you? Think what you will, I will not change my thoughts. Am I here because of my thoughts?

I do regret, yes I do, but I am not sorry. I did not intent to kill him, you know. I just wanted to scare him, maybe wound him a little. The knife, it just…penetrated his bosom…like cutting through a cake. It was that soft and easy. I thought he said something, but I just saw coldness – and darkness – in his eyes as blood sputtered on my face, warm and sticky. He didn’t even cry. He just collapsed on the ground and shivered like a knifed animal.

I wanted him dead. Yes, I did. He was a bad man. His family was bad. I wanted him and rest of his family dead. If I had seen the rest of his family that evening, I would have killed them all, would have knifed them all. Heh-heh-heh…

It seems I am talking to myself. I wish you could smile, no, just a nod would …hey, what do you say? He-he-he.

I scribbled, we are to parents as flies are to wanton boys, they smack us for their sport, and smiled. Then a moment of darkness and lights. A duster had landed on my head.

…mind sharing your happy thoughts? The teacher shouted.

I said there’s nothing happy about my thoughts and was not worth sharing.

Get out of the class! Don’t ever come to my classes again! and threw me out of the class.

I didn’t attend any of his class thereon until I got a note from the principal, ‘Please see the principal immediately!’

Why are you not attending Mr. B’s class? The principal said. He sounded weak and sad.

He threw me out of the class, I said, and told me never to attend his classes.

Mmm…He drummed on the ridge of an old file. It was black and almost worn out. Telephone rang somewhere in the hallway…

Anyway, is it justified that I am here? Is it justified that you are here? Has justice served its purpose that you and I are here, walled up in this stinking cell, trying to brew words out of thoughts?

The smell!

Damn the mosquitoes!


Kafka off the shore

Posted October 18, 2009 by cosmicdust
Categories: Uncategorized

Tags: ,

Franz Kafka. The Metamorphosis.

Why did i even start reading it? Granted it is not a thick book like the Brothers Karamazov, I failed – rather miserably – to complete the metamorphosis.

The Trial too.

The closest thing I got to understanding The Metamorphosis was Joseph Heller’s account of his own version of metamorphosis in The Portrait of an Artist as an Old Man, where the life of an artist is in a state of Catch-22, struggling to find the right book fit for the publisher.

Once I met a man in the bookstore shelving through the books.

You like friction? He asked as a matter of fact.


Friction… (pause) I like non-friction.

He smiled diligently and disappeared behind rows of self-help books – books that talk of finding your inner strength to improve your life, and endless happiness guaranteed thereafter. Books that sicken  me. Why not grab a copy of some other books rather than wasting time and money on such books? Once I did read one of them. I was rather disappointed.

He eyed me from behind rows of non-fiction books. He seemed angry with my thoughts.

He heard me?