Thursday, November 26, 2015

God Intelligence Agency

On my way home by bus this evening, I saw a notice outside Holy Family Church that warned, "God is watching you and so are we. CCTV cameras on the campus." It also tells you to smile because you're on camera. I don't know who else is watching me, but I know He is, and not just inside the church. God Intelligence Agency is omnipresent and open 24x7. He is watching our backs all the time.

Earlier, when I stepped out of the station, I saw this long queue at the autorickshaw stand and lost all hopes of reaching home early. And then I saw the bus. It was almost empty and seemed to be waiting for me, because the driver took off as soon as I got in. You notice these things as you grow old. Little miracles we scarcely observe in our mundane existence. 

I'll sign off with one of my favourite lines on our maker: "Exercise daily—walk with the Lord." And as you walk hold your hand out.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015


Life, without laughter, would be like stale bread. Charlie Chaplin once said, “A day without laughter is a day wasted.” God knows we waste enough. If laughter is contagious, then I don't mind being infected. Who needs a vaccine or a cure for laughter? 

Woody Allen creates vivid imagery when he says, "I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose." In spite of which, we can't help laughing till we cry or pee or snort. Who needs a doctor when laughter is the best medicine? 

Laughter is a prescription-less antidote for our fears, worries, and anxieties, as well as our physical ailments. 

I think it was Kurt Vonnegut who said, "Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward." If there was a PhD in laughter, few of us would've earned a doctorate. 

Nobody laughs. Why?

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

At the end of the day

I step out of my air-conditioned coffin.
Street boys hammer drums, 
the devil knows why.
Roadside woofers, 
like black holes, 
blast distorted music.Fuckin' drivers leapfrog signals,
nearly knocking me down.
Crackers go off on my tail,
precursor to the advent of hell. 
I rugby my way to the station, 
past hawkers and jaywalkers
I sweat it out in a crammed local. 
I sweat it out in a snaky bus queue.
I sweat it out in drunken traffic. 
Two hours too late, 
I reach home, lose my head.
My pet wags her little tail.
I growl at her, sending her off. 
"How was your day, darling?" 
My face looks like burnt toast. 
A hushed silence descends.
The air-conditioner comes on.
I set off again,
this time on a guilt trip.

© Prashant C. Trikannad