Guest Post: Vivek Singh.

February 19, 2014 § 1 Comment

Johnny Walker and Chanda Chaplin

Ting ting!

The desk bell rang. The man behind the counter took his eyes away from the television screen in front of him to look at the grandfather clock hanging beside the pin board with a few keys hanging from rusted nails that had been stuck on the board since the day the hotel started business. The clock showed 1:19. He wasn’t expecting a customer at this ungodly hour.

Ting ting!

He turned around to meet the visitor. He stared at the man in front of him. The man was wearing a yellow top hat with curved rims. He wore a matching yellow jacket with a long tail, a black shirt and yellow pants with black boots. In his right hand he held a walnut colored wooden walking cane with a silver handle. On the left of the man stood a girl dressed in a short bright blue dress with a rose pink feather shawl wrapped around her neck. Her dress showed enough of her cleavage for any man to turn around and take a second look. But that was not what attracted the receptionist.It was the long rose pink colored feather coming out of her bouffant like a quill dipping in an inkpot which caught his eye.

The girl had a dark skin and was looking around the reception grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat ready to disappear. She was twirling one end of the feather shawl with herleft hand and her right hand was wrapped around the man’s left hand, in which the man was carrying a black leather bag. The receptionist tried to see the man’s face but he had pulled the top hat low. The only thing visible was his clean shaven square jawline.

Where have I seen this guy before? The receptionist thought hard but couldn’t place the guy.

“My partner and I would like to have a room for the night.” The man in the top hat spoke in a deep voice.

He seems much younger to have such a deep voice, the receptionist thought.

“Why, certainly sir!” He replied trying to put a British accent and covering up the laminated price card with the visitor’s register which lay open in front of him. The man looked wealthy enough and in need of a room. He could easily manage to extract a few extra hundreds from him and pocket the cash himself.

“A deluxe room without AC will be one thousand rupees and an executive room with AC would be fifteen hundred rupees. Or would you like a honeymoon suite for two thousand rupees?” The receptionist smiled showing off all his paan stained teeth. He brought the fingertips of both his hands together and looked first at the man and then at the girl. The girl smiled even more broadly and looked expectantly at her companion.

The yellowed whitewashon the wall behind the man was peeling off at several places. The wood on the counter top was worn off. The lower part of most of the entrance door of the hotel was splashed red with paan stains.A single white tube light blinked every 13 seconds over a sign board written in white and blue announcing the name of the hotel, “Hotel Paradise”. The sign board looked as if it had been battered by rams during the battle of Troy.

“We will take the honeymoon suite.” The man pulled out a wad of red notes, took out two bills and slapped them on the counter. The receptionist noticed that the man was wearing a pair of yellow gloves as well.

“Why, certainly sir!” The receptionist took the notes and put them in his breast pocket. His guess had been correct. “Your name please sir, I will have to fill in the register.”

“Johnny Walker.” The man said.

“And I am Chanda Chaplin.” The girl squeaked like a teenager, giggling and swaying as if she was drunk.

The receptionist gawked at the man and then at the girl. He regained his composure in a moment and scrawled the name down on the register.

“And where are you coming from Sir?”

“Geneva, Switzerland.” The man said without any hesitation. The receptionist looked at him again and scrawled the words “JinevaSwizzerland”, in the register.

“And from here where will you be going to sir?”

“Melbourne, Australia.”

“Why, certainly sir!” The receptionist beamed at Johnny Walker and with some effort scrawled “Malebun, Austrelia” on the register.

“We will need a xerox copy of your photo ID proof sir.”

“But I am not carrying any.”

“Well sir we normally don’t allow guests without a photo ID proof. You know how the police want to know everything about guests staying at hotels.”

“I told you I don’t have any identity on me.” Johnny Walker replied calmly.

“I see!You and your partner are really in need of a room, where would you two go at this time of night.” The receptionist smiled again. “Don’t you worry sir, I will manage the police, but they wouldn’t settle for anything less than five hundred rupees you know.”

Johnny Walker pulled out a five hundred rupee note from his jacket pocket and put it on the counter. The receptionist pocketed the note and rang the desk bell. He turned around selected a key from the pin board and kept it on the counter. A boy wearing a sweaty sleeveless vest and a pair of khaki shorts materialized near the counter.

“Take the sahib and Madam to room number 131313.” The boy yawned noisily, and tried to take Johnny Walker’s bag from his hand. Johnny Walker pulled it back and held on to it firmly. The boy picked up the single key from the counter turned around and started to walk drunkenly towards the staircase.

“Should I send something to eat to your room sir?”

“No. Just send some ice and glasses.” Johnny Walker replied as he turned around and followed the boy. The girl giggled and started to walk beside Johnny Walker.

“Why, certainly sir! That will be fifty rupees you can hand the money over to the boy.” The receptionist said. Johnny Walker replied by waving his hand without looking back.

“Keep some ice and two glasses in Sahib’s room.” The receptionist shouted at the boy.

Why would a man wear a hat at night? It’s not sunny. The receptionist thought looking at Johnny Walker’s swishing coat tail as the motley couple started to climb the staircase.

And why would anyone wear a coat and gloves in this stuffy weather?Johnny Walker! Where have I seen this man before? It did seem very strange, but then nothing seemed normal that night. He shrugged. He had sold a one thousand rupee room for two thousand and pocketed an extra five hundred rupees as well. A hotel like his in the city’s largest red light area could not expect any guest to pay more than two hundred rupees for a night. He chuckled at his own cunningness, patted his breast pocket and settled down to watch the television again.

—–

The boy pushed the key in the door knob and turned it. The latch clicked and the door swung open with a creak. The boy switched on the lights and the AC in the room and disappeared down the corridor. Johnny Walker guided Chanda Chaplin inside the room by her arm. Once inside he turned around and closed the door, locking it behind him. The AC made a shuddering noise and began to hum, throwing gust of cool wind towards the bed.

It was a small room with a large twin bed covered with a white sheet which had dull grey stains at several places. The pillows had white covers on. A single bulb lit the room with a dull yellow light. A wicker chair with white cushion and a wooden table stood near the head of the bed. The curtains on the window on the other side were drawn apart. From the window came in a shaft of red light and fell on the wicker chair.

Johnny Walker walked up to the table, kept the black leather bag on top of it, opened the zip, pulled out a glass bottle and kept it on the table. Chanda Chaplin stood near the bed surveying the room. She had wanted something larger but she knew better. She had been to such hotels on literallyevery night that she had spent in the city. She had been in the business for three years now.Her clients had been myriad but she had never had a client who wore a suit and a hat, treated her well and paid the double of her night’s price. She sat down on the foot of the bed and switched the television on.

There was knock onthe door. Johnny Walker went to the door and opened it. The boy stood outside the door with a tray in his hand. A bucket of ice, two glasses and a steel jug full of water stood on the tray. Johnny Walker took out a fifty rupee note from his breast pocket and kept it on the tray. He took the tray in his hands. The boy picked up the fifty rupee note, saluted smartly, spun around on his hills and disappeared down the corridor.

Johnny Walker went inside and set the tray on the table alongside the bottle and the bag. He went back to the door and locked it. Chanda Chaplin was sitting on the bed flicking channels with a bored look on her face. Johnny Walker sat down on the wicker chair and poured some liquor from the bottle in both the glasses. He put some ice in them. Chanda Chaplin turned to look at Johnny Walker when she heard the noise that the ice cubes made in the glass.

Another drunk! She thought rolling her eyes. Then her eyes fell on the bottle of expensive imported whiskey. Johnny Walker offered one glass to Chanda Chaplin.

“Add some water no.” Chanda Chaplin said. Johnny Walker filled half the glass with water and offered it to Chanda Chaplin. This time she accepted it with a smile. She brought the glass to her lips and drank as if she had been thirsty for a long time. Johnny Walker watched her while he nursed his drink in one hand. He was still wearing his hat and the cane stood beside him leaning on the handle of the wicker chair. The red light was falling on his chest. It seemed as if his chest was full of glowing embers. He took a sip from his glass. By the time he brought the glass down on the table again Chanda Chaplin was handing over her empty glass to him. He took the glass and refilled it with the golden colored liquid, water and ice. He gave the half-filled glass back to Chanda Chaplin.

Johnny Walker picked the bag from the table and kept it on his lap. He put his hand inside and brought out a red saree. He threw it on the bed.

“Is this for me?”Chanda Chaplin shrieked spilling some of her drink in her excitement.He nodded in reply. She picked up the saree and looked closely at the golden borders and the fine thread work.

“This looks like a bride’s saree.” She said, bewildered and emptied her glass in one go. Johnny Walker put his hand inside the bag and pulled out some jewelry. He threw them on the bed. Chanda Chaplin dropped the saree and the glass on the bed and gawked at the gold jewelry thrown in front of her. She picked up the gold necklace studded with red stones and put it around her neck. Then she picked up the earrings and brought them up to her earlobes.

“Wear them.” Johnny Walker said. He took a sip from his glass.

She looked at him with unbelieving eyes. The next instant she threw the earrings and the necklace back on the bed.

“Boss, why do you want me to wear these?I am not going to do any weird fantasy stuff for you. I am not used to all this.” He kept staring at her and swirled the glass in his right hand. The ice cubes clunked. He emptied the glass of its liquid in one swig. He poured some liquor in the glass and added some more ice cubes.

“Just wear them. You don’t have to do anything weird.”

Chanda Chaplin eyed him doubtfully.

“It will cost you two thousand rupees more.” she replied. If the man was looney enough to give her a saree and jewelry for a night’s sex he would not mind paying another couple of thousand rupees. Eventually she would agree to whatever he wanted her to do but it was the principle of her business, squeeze till the last drop is gone. She knew she had nothing to lose.

Johnny Walker took out the wad of red notes and threw then on the bed. Chanda Chaplin stared at the wad for a few moments as it bounced a couple of times on the bed. She snatched the notes from the bed and shoved it inside her rose pink handbag.

“You look so sad.Make me a drink. I will do whatever it takes to make you happy.” She said and laughed hysterically. Johnny Walker took the glass from her hands. She got up on the bed and started dancing to the beats of the English song playing on the television.Her dress had slipped off her body and layon her feet. The rose pink feather shawl was still wrapped around her neck, the ends dangling on her belly. He kept looking at her and sipped from his glass.

Chanda Chaplin picked up the saree and wrapped it around her waist. Then she crossed the red fabric over her left shoulder. She picked up the necklace and wore it around her neck. Then she pulled off her plastic earrings and put on the gold earrings. She picked up the gold bangles and slid them one each in each hand.She moved her hands slowly on the necklace. She looked at the bangles in her arms they were a bit large for her but what the hell. She sat down on the bed and wore the silver anklets on her ankles. Johnny Walker gave her the glass. She took a couple of sips slowly. The excitement was too much to make her drunk and yet she knew the room around her had started swirling.

He looked at Chanda Chaplin sipping her drink dressed as a bride as she sat near the foot of the bed. Images of a woman dressed in a red saree flashed somewhere deep in his mind. A newly married couple getting their pictures clicked smiling at the camera.

“Wrap the pallu around your head like a bride.” He said, his heavy voice now beginning to slur a bit.

“Should I dance for you?” Chanda Chaplin slurred trying to stand up on the bed. Her glass tumbled and spilled whatever was left in it on the white bedsheet.

“Do as I say. Sit down and wrap the pallu of the saree around your head like aghunghat.” Johnny Walker’s voice rose. She sat back down on the bed.

What is this crazy ass fucker trying to do?  She thought as she pulled the pallu over her head and covered her face up to the chin.

The image of a man lying sprawled on his back on a tiled floor flashed in front of Johnny Walker’s eyes. The man’s lifeless eyes were staring at him. He shook his head trying to get the images out of his head.His eyes felt as if the red light coming in from the window was burning them. He rubbed the cold tumbler on his eyes. Chanda Chaplin sat on the bed swaying slightly as the alcohol slowly took hold of her senses.

The room dissolved again in front of his eyes. An image of a woman wearing a bride’s saree and jewelry lying face down on the bed appeared in front of her. The bed was decorated with strands of jasmine and red roses. The bed sheet was strewn with petals of red roses. Her hands dangled from the edge of the bed. A big red bindi stared at him from between a pair of black lifeless eyes.

Johnny Walker blinked hard.The room materialized again in front of him and along with the room materialized Chanda Chaplin sitting like a newlywed bride. He threw his head back and emptied his drink in a single gulp. He put the glass on the table and made another drink for Chanda Chaplin and himself.

Chanda Chaplin raised the pallu a bit to see what Johnny Walker was up to. He was standing in front of her holding the glasses. She took her glass and began drinking. He turned around and went to the bag. He took out a small vanity case from the bag,went back and sat down in front of her.She was drinking noisily from her glass. Her head was reeling.

He raised herpalluover her head and took her face in both his hands. Chanda Chaplin felt the softness of his gloves on her cheeks. With his right hand he wiped the rose pink lipstick off her lips. The lipstick smeared over her left cheek and chin. Johnny Walker opened the vanity case and took out a stub of used lipstick. He put it on her lips and began spreading it. He put the lipstick back inside and brought out a Kajal pencil. He put it under her eyes and drew thick black lines. She kept staring at Johnny Walker with a smile on her face. She was too drunk to understand what he was doing with her.

Johnny Walker took a big red bindi from the vanity case and stuck it between Chanda Chaplin’s two black eye brows. He looked at the bindi. The bindi starred back at him. The lifeless black eyes flashed in his head again. A tear drop ran down his cheek.

“Why are you crying my darling?” Chanda Chaplin leaned forward. Johnny Walker stood up before she could take his face in her hands. Too drunk to control herself she tumbled face first on the bed. Johnny Walker went back to the table and finished his drink in a single gulp.

Chanda Chaplin struggled to sit back up. When she finally managed to upright her body she saw Johnny Walker standing with a pillow in his hand. The image of Johnny Walker standing with the pillow in his hand, the red light coming in from the window falling on his face,swam in front of her. It was the last thing that she ever saw and then everything went black.

——

The grandfather clock behind the reception counter of the hotel showed ten o’clock. The receptionist sat behind the counter sipping from a glass of tea. A newspaper lay open on the counter in front of him. The ceiling fan creaked and groaned overhead trying to dispel the heat.

He had changed into a crisp yellow shirt. Last night after the last guests had checked in, he had slept under the counter for a few hours.He woke up at seven when the hotel staff which comprised of a cleaner and a cook came in.

He was reading a newspaper item of three serial killings in three different cities which had happened in the last two months. The victim in all the three cases were prostitutes, choked to death by a pillow. The most interesting thing about the three murders was the names that the prostitute and her patron had used to check in to the hotels.

In the first case the name registered was Carlsberg and Rani Berry. In the second case the names were Jack Daniel and Roopa Carrey. And in the third case the names were Jim Beam and Meena Sandler. The police had said that the name of the client always resembled a very popular liquor brand.

He thought about the last guests who had checked in the hotel.What a motley couple.

What a name, Johnny Walker and Chanda Chaplin! He thought and chuckled to himself. The name reminded him of the famous comedian fromHindi cinema of the yesteryears. He sipped his tea noisily.

And why was that fucking asshole wearing a suit in this heat. Normally guests like these left in the wee hours of the morning but this pair hadn’t come out of their room yet.

His eyes suddenly fell on the register. He opened it and read the name again. Johnny Walker. He felt as if something hit the back of his head. He rang the desk bell. The boy appeared in front of him.

“Go and see if the guests in room 131313 have woken up.” He ordered the boy. The boy disappeared.

He read the news item about the serial murders again. The boy materialized again after a few minutes.

“I knocked but there was no reply.”

“Johnny Walker and Chanda Chaplin!” He mumbled under his breath. He got up from his seat and ran up the stairs. The boy followed. They came up to a wooden door marked 131313. He knocked thrice. There was no reply. He waited for a few moments and still there was no reply. He pounded on the door. No reply. He took out the master key from his pocket and shoved it into the door knob. The knob clicked and the door opened with a groan.

Chanda Chaplin lay sprawled naked on the bed. There was no sign of Johnny Walker.

About the author:

Vivek is a storyteller. It’s inbuilt in him. And you should see his sense of humor man! Bloody amazing!!

Follow his blog here, and fall in love with the man. 🙂

Guest Post: Mark Miranda.

August 6, 2013 § 3 Comments

COINCIDENCE

I was supposed to travel to Mangalore. I took a train and got down at the train station and was wondering what to do next. I needed to take a bus to my destination. I didn’t know the regional language. English didn’t work much and I didn’t know the route. I managed to ask directions and they didn’t understand me as much as I didn’t understand them.

I got a bus that appeared to be going in that direction. Got a seat near the driver. It was a parallel seat with place for 6 or more people. A kind lady offered me the seat next to her. There were 5 people sitting and it could accommodate me in.

I looked around and I was like a foreigner in my own native. The women and the men were staring at this guy who is sitting so lost here in the front. I tried telling the conductor the destination I needed to go and I shot 3 different names hoping that at least one would get me where I wanted to go. That seemed to confuse him more and it seemed that I was booking tickets for three different people going to three different destinations. I decided to settle with the name that appeared more familiar with him and I thought I would see what to do from there. The ticket clicked. I sat quietly for the remainder of the bus. Looked at Google Maps and got a fair idea I was moving in the right direction but I didn’t know the exact stop to get down. And the bus stops are too far as this was an express bus that stopped at limited stops. So, if i did get down at the wrong stop, it would mean a very long walk in a direction that i wasn’t quite sure and it could really get me lost. On top of it, the bus conductors have the habit of shouting out the destination and the major stops. So I used to jump up every time thinking my destination has come. But in fact, it was where the bus was supposed to go and the stop was supposedly to be 30 kms away.

Sat for another half an hour and decided to do what I do best. Observe. Talking with the conductor didn’t seem to make much headway as I didn’t speak Kannada and he didn’t understand Konkanni too well. The bus that I was travelling had two entrances. People kept pouring in from both ends and shouting out the place they wanted to go to. It was extremely confusing at first. A parallel seat facing the driver that seated 6 or more people. And then the normal seating arrangement of the first three rows reserved for ladies behind the driver. There was a massive engine with some parcels and boxes.

Normally, drivers accept the parcels to be delivered to a particular stop. The parcels are nicely wrapped in tape with the address sitting clearly on the top. And now there was just one box left on the engine. It was shapeless but I could read it.

My eyes gleamed suddenly as I realized the last part of the address was the exact stop where I had to get down. I read the top part. It was a printed slip. The first part of the address was to some shop. The building name below it seemed familiar. My eyes jumped out, it was the exact same building I was to go. What a stroke of luck. The conductor after some time picked up the parcel and I felt he was actually picking my hand to guide me the way.

He saw me eyeing the parcel and wondered what was going on in my head. He readied to give the parcel. The bus slowed. I shot out like a cat from the bag. I got down and right in front of me was the building I had to go to. Coincidence. Maybe.

My family was waiting for me. It was a reunion of sorts. I had not seen any of these uncles and aunts, their children ever. It was the first time that I would be meeting this set of relatives. And it was a joyous reunion of sorts. Later my mum tells me that it was a coincidence some relatives turned up as my mum herself was able to invite a limited set of relatives as she didn’t know the exact address of all of them and neither did she have all of their contact numbers. The one’s who came along were told by word of mouth by other relatives. And they had happened to be all together at the church after mass and the word spread and they all came home. They had been waiting for me and they hadn’t even started when I reached.

I didn’t know the language. I didn’t know the area. I didn’t know the way. I must have had an angel guiding me. And if it wasn’t for a plain old parcel with the exact same address of my destination maybe I would reached someplace else and be absolutely lost. This incident happened around eight years back roughly and I had my Nokia N 73 ME which wasn’t even a smart phone like the one’s we have these days. The distance traveled by me in that bus alone was more than 30 kms.

It turned out to be a tiring journey but a joyous reunion which was more unexpected as I didn’t know that we had invited so many relatives and their families. It lasted an entire week. And maybe, that is for some other day. I hope to write more and write soon.

Coincidence….

Or was it more…

About Mark:

Mark is a wonderful person i know via Twitter. He writes amazingly well on his blog here. Go follow!

Gods-II.

June 30, 2013 § 8 Comments

A woman finally meets
her dream man.
They’re very happy.
Their friends are elated.
Their friend’s friend’s
are thrilled.

Then he leaves her.

She thinks she couldn’t
match up to his standards:
He is a God after all.
And that she must’ve
hurt him irrepairably.

But he’s not a God, he
knows. He’s just an
ordinary man. Nothing
special about him.
An ordinary man
who got bored of the
Goddess.

Gods.

Time.

May 30, 2013 § 12 Comments

It was a bright sunny afternoon in Delhi when they met at one of these fancy malls that sell overpriced pints of beer and food that has unpronounceable names.

She was scared. She hadn’t met him before except at the workshop they did together where all they did was exchange pleasantries and later their phone numbers. And she hadn’t gone out with a guy three years younger to her. Ever. But life is all about taking chances. She took her, and fixed a meeting.

One glance at his face, and she knew that things won’t be the same for her. The curly hair on his head and the sly smile on his face made her heart skip a beat. He extended his arm for a hug and she melted.

Three and a half hours later, they’d eaten, bought books, discussed philosophy; he had read poetry to her, made her swoon, introduced her to Pink Floyd and neither of them could fathom how quickly the time passed.

She was right. Her life hasn’t been the same since then. Two and a half years, lots of discussions, pints of beer, more fancy restaurants, packs of cigarettes, all the crazy music, and Buddha happened.

All because they made their choice: the choice to not hold back from the other, the choice to spend time with each other.

The colorful abyss.

April 20, 2013 § 13 Comments

She enters the crowded room. You
see her lean body covered under
layers of clothes. Clumsily, she
makes some disruption in the otherwise
pre-occupied room. She finds the
closest seat to become a part of
the incognito within the space of
the surrounding room.

You see her frantic eye
scanning the faces around her. Her
eyes meet yours. Unspoken thoughts
make a chapter of a few unrequited
words as the sparks fly.

You offer her an embrace that peels
through every layer of bulky textile
to the delicate small of her quivering
back. It sends a shiver down your spine.

She looks deep into your eyes and
you wish you were the
kohl in her eyes. You crave to touch
her hair and run your bare palms
over silken skin.

You’re lost in your own brazen thoughts
when he walks into the room and
kisses her on the mouth. You notice she’s kissing him back
with her entire body. You sigh.

They walk out of the room together, his
arm around her waist. She drops a
note near your chair.

“You’ve drowned. In the colorful abyss.”, it read.

P.S. This post has been written for Ashwini. You, inspire me, mate. Thank you. 🙂

Guest Post : Ravi Golani.

March 5, 2013 § 1 Comment

Something’s changed

If someone would ask me to describe myself, I would tell them that I am an unattached person, disciplined, wanting to always be in control of my thoughts and my actions. Someone who believes in the concept of karmabhoomi and work takes priority over everything else. A personification of  the Joker’s question, “Who so serious?”. A tight-ass, in short.

Hence, it doesn’t come as a surprise that I don’t usually get along easily with people – for it seems that their way of working is more casual – lethargic. “Fun” takes priority for most of the people. I can never digest it how can some people be so relaxed with such large number of things pending that need to be accomplished.

And here I was, listening to her, who recalled the exact same incident with me as I did with her. To the onlookers, that incident would have been so trivial – and it was. But I judged her or rather, mis-judged her. Probably she did the same. The imagery of that incident is sketched deep, and she described it exactly as I remembered it. I hated her guts then that she could take the matter so lightly and unassumingly. Yet it was that incident that she vividly remembered.

Yet I couldn’t believe it. I rejected the rationality of us being friends. She is completely opposite to what I am. That must have been one of the famous conspiracies of the universe.

The problem was, I had started reading her. And it is irritating – only because it tells me every time, how gloated my ego is. How self sufficient I am in my own world. How, enclosed I am in my own thoughts – the thoughts which I refuse to share to the world for it will corrupt them.

Yet, I see a person, who is so open about what she thinks and feels. She is happy, contented. Governed only by her desperate resolve not to be cowed down. Bindaas. She looks happy. Earlier she seemed to be pompously self-assured. Now she is more human.

Our non-existent relationship slowly grows into a mutually acceptable friendship. I realise that she is also at least as much as, if not more, committed as I am to what we put our minds and heart to. I learn from her that as a part of survival, opening up is as important as cocooning yourself.

It makes me feel small to think that I judged you! I don’t know whether to be sorry or be thankful. But something within me has changed. Something has come alive. I feel more human. Perhaps, one day I shall know what it feels like to be open and to be positive.

~Ravi.

About Ravi:

Ravi is this fun guy who is addicted to his work, i know from WordPress originally. Now we’re pretty much connected everywhere! He writes from the bottom of his heart, sheer honest stuff. You must follow his blog here!

Guest Post : Ben Naga.

February 24, 2013 § 3 Comments

The Truth is Out There?

There was once a man who decided, in order to give structure and purpose to his life, that he would try to find himself. To this end he devoted the whole of his available time and energy. He read many books, attended courses and seminars of all kinds and traveled many miles to sit at the feet of great teachers and learned men. Eventually he grew old and died and ascended to heaven. Like every new arrival, he was called for an audience with God, who inquired of him whether he had been successful in his quest.

“Not really,” replied the man ruefully.

“Well,” said God, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you another shot. This time, see if you can work out who’s doing the looking.”

~Ben Naga.

About Ben:

Now, Ben is a very dear friend i know from WordPress. His words amaze me, and he likes amazing me that way, quite often. One of the few people i am blessed to meet. Do follow his blog here.

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