In your love, my salvation lies...

And I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky...With my sister standing by With my sister standing by...I said Sister, here is what I know now...Here is what I know now...Goes like this.. In your love, my salvation lies...In your love, my salvation lies...In your love, in your love, in your love...

I looked at my sister lying quietly in the makeshift cot. She looked so beautiful in the night sky. Our neighbors had always called her a blue goddess. She was dressed in coal like the rest of us when the sun shined down during the mornings. However, she fascinatingly evolved into a beautiful and blue princess when the moon swallowed the sun later during the day. Father had been upset when she was born. He had always wanted a second son to help with the tiny plot of land the government had not taken away from us. Socialism they called it. Communism some others did.

We called it fate. We called it life. Father worked so hard every day to feed us. The hospital bills and the frequent militia raids offset any meagre savings we created out of the dry, scorching air. Times were tough and the only variable that kept our family smiling was Chantal, the blue goddess of the Nile. Anybody else in our struggling town would have given up Chantal for dead. Not us. Not after all we had gone through. The doctors promised hope and we thrived on these solitary sparks of anticipation. Chantal would get better. If only God could tell us when.

Drops of water. They keep dripping into our bamboo hut. Father knows the roof will break any time now. The rain fell like bullets on an angry mob. Chantal was getting worse and mother was starting to get worried. We needed medicines but we had none left. It was up to me, Mwale Akloyo, to save my sister's life. Redeem my father's faith in my boyish spirits. Bring in the elixer of immortality. Raise my mother's spirits. Even if it was only for one selfish day. There were reports that the Janjaweed planned to attack the city where Doctor Kwame lived. I had to be careful but I had never been caught before. They would find no use for me anyway. I was rail-thin and could barely hold a gun, let alone fire one. I would make a lousy child soldier and they knew it.

Mother looked at me dispassionately as father handed me a glass of goat's milk. She was tired and miserable. We were living in one of the darkest times of my country's history. We were the poster children of humanitarian projects. A hungry and lifeless family living in a nation where thousands died everyday. We were the dark, black faces on American television screens. Begging for salvation, peace, forgiveness, and safety. Losing hope as bullets, diseases, and hunger eliminated every one of us. Individually. Effectively. Efficiently.

I dodged bullets. Except there were none. I imagined them dropping dead as soon as they landed on my inpenetrable and invisible silver coat. The reports should have been characterized as rumors. There were no Janjaweed in sight. I walked with my chin up and my head held high. Mwale Akloyo. The savior of the blue goddess. The dark knight of Africa. I smiled hesitatingly as Doctor Kwame gave me the striped orange and white crystals. He gave me a reassuring smile as he told me this would keep Chantal alive. He promised me a month and I told him I would sing a prayer in his honor if his science gave me a day. A single, solitary day. As I walked back, I saw a couple lying naked on the street. Chest to back. Perfectly fit into each other's nooks. Like little spoons in a kitchen drawer. Their bodies creating a single, stunning form. Without a care in the world. Completely and delightfully ignoring death threat reports by the Janjaweed. I immediately knew everything was going to be alright.

Gunfire! The sound of a thousand bullets! I was not imagining it this time. My heart was in my stomach as I ran like a saint on fire. The reports were right after all. Except for the most important variable. The town they were supposed to attack. My town. My family. The Gods were coming down to haunt us again. And this time there would not be anything left to hope for. The wind gave me speed as I rushed through the wild brush. Panting. Gasping. My legs felt like chopped wood but I could not stop. If my family had to die, I would die with them. As I neared our home, I heard hoofbeats. The silent and scary winds brought only the steady and distant sound. Of aggresors fleeing after causing utter and complete destruction. Of the reviled militia. The harbingers of doom. The spirits of death.

I burst through the door and howled like there was no tomorrow. Blood from madness. Evil from good. My parents had fallen over my sister's cot. They were all dead. In fifteen seconds of annihilation, I had lost everything I had in this world. As I slowly creeped up to the carnage, I saw a blue finger raise itself from the dead. I watched in gorgeous technicolor as a fist pushed its way through my father and my mother. The blue nile was alive! I rushed to drag her out from underneath her parents' bodies. My sister was alive! Hope had risen through the carnage.

The sand turned orange as my father's blood rejuvenated the earth. The sky turned orange as my mother's spirit lifted up into the heavens. My sister remained a ravishing blue goddess. I was at peace again. Love. Life. Health. And hope.

...But sister you know I’m so weary...And you know sister...My hearts been broken Sometimes, sometimes...My mind is too strong to carry on...Too strong to carry on...You who are my home...And here is what I know now...Here is what I know now...Goes like this.. In your love, my salvation lies...In your love, my salvation lies...In your love, in your love, in your love...

Poem Credits (Italicized): Alexi Murdoch, Orange Sky.

©Govind Mohan – http://govindmika.blogspot.com. All rights reserved.

Humble innocence

My first vivid memory places me three feet next to that orange scooter. I look into your slightly confused eyes as I beg and plead for another ride. Those trusting mellow brown eyes that look hauntingly like mine. You brush my fluffy black hair and give me that reassuring smile, which in turn implies a stable promise. We walk up the flight of stairs that leads up to our small but comfortable apartment. One honest hand leading two hopeful ones. I have to skip every alternate stair in order to keep pace with your brisk ascent. However, no ounce of gravity defiance can keep me away from your scooter. Jump I shall. A single series of hops maintain a dubious rhythm. I am panting quite distinctly now as we finally reach our home in the clouds. Amma takes the groceries away from your tired hands. You affectionately brush her hair but she shies away after an emotional acceptance of your solitary, yet simple, physical gesture. You beam at me again, telling me how proud you are of me. I revel in that lather of love but immediately imagine myself on that scooter again. You sense my anxiousness and guide me downstairs. I start to break away but I am quickly stopped by your firm grasp. It was a hindrance then but fifteen years into the future, your son knows why you stopped him. Protectiveness. Love. Compassion. Knowledge. Fear.

I would stand in the front while you piolted that fashionably ugly vehicle through the streets of Madras. The wind would try and tear my glasses away. The sun would cast its angry red shadow on my back. The smoke and dust from the fancy cars that screeched past us would hurt my eyes and have me sneeze uncontrollably. None of this mattered. It was a moment of freedom and I rightly felt on top of the world. It was a moment to be alone with you even though I would never admit it. It was a moment away from the chores Amma had me do. Moments not to be taken away.

I would accompany you everywhere on that scooter. We would ride to the temples with Amma sitting behind us like a ravishing princess. I would turn off the ignition secretly just as Amma stepped onto the rear pedestal, leaving both you and Amma confused beyond belief. Why was the motor shutting down just as she stepped onto the plate? Ten rupees given to the nearby mechanic did not solve the problem. It was only when I spilled the beans did everything make sense to you. You were more astonished than surprised. Your little ten year old son had just paid you back for those countless scooter trips. He had now taken you for a ride. In the literal sense of the word. This was not a ploy I created to irritate you. This was an attempt at bridging an alternate connection to your world. You had loved me enough. This was my way of thanking you for those wonderful moments. I knew I could show you gratitude by taking an interest in being more in tune with your world. You would now have a silly little story to tell your friends at work. I would now be a subject of many conversations.

I look back at those days with a smile. You have always been the rock of our family, through good times and the bad. Your smile could part rivers and make hell feel like God’s paradise. Your affectionate gestures and remarks made my most horrid moments disappear into the darkness. Your honesty and genuine trust of people did have negative consequences. You lived by the book my darling father. That single, subtle, aspect should not define our bad times. It’s not your fault this vile world is corrupt. If only there were more men like you. I should consider myself lucky. I was created by you. I was educated about the various facets of life by you. I was taught the ground rules of sincerity, humility, and honesty by you. I was nourished and cared for by you.

Your gifts can never be repaid, no matter how hard I try. I resign to shaping myself to become you.

My father. Mohan Nair.

EY/Asia Newsletter Submission

Being a foreigner in this country is not as easy as most of us make it seem. We do not see our families every week. Taking vacation time off does not consist of swimming in the beautiful beaches of Hawaii. It means traveling to the other side of the world in a cramped aircraft with four hundred people you do not know. It means twenty hours of torture and patient anticipation of your mother’s beautiful smile. It means submitting TRAX entries weeks in advance and facing the prospect of losing laptops holding twenty gigabytes of client information in a third world country. Being an international E&Y professional also means disguising a rather ugly accent, being asked questions that do not concern your country, and cringing through hours of baseball just to play a part in an animated conversation at the client site the next morning. Being an international student at a small liberal arts college in the flatlands of Ohio is a trivial matter. Being an international worker in one of the largest accounting firms in the world, in one of the biggest cities in the world, is multiple levels apart. I was in two minds because of this very fact. I wanted to work and help pay back my parents for all the financial sacrifices they made sending me to Ohio Wesleyan University. I also knew I wanted to study further, broaden my theoretical financial skill set, and therefore cleverly avoid corporate America for another year. One program made two desires fulfilled. One program made three years a contract. One program made the final four semesters of college make complete sense. One program made my first five twelevemonths in this country an absolute and gratifying triumph. Your master plan, well and truly.

I made a telephone call at three in the morning Indian Standard Time on the 27^th of December 2005 - the day I found out I was accepted into Ernst and Young’s YMP program. The news could not wait – it was four days to January and my new year had already been made. Receiving a letter from the University of Virginia confirming acceptance was the icing on the cake. I was nervous before I started school and for good reason. Four years prior, I was faced with the prospect of making friends in a country I did not know, in an academic environment that was completely different from what I had experienced before, with two diminutive suitcases that enclosed seventeen years of my beloved possessions. And here I was at The University, a campus thirty times the size of Ohio Wesleyan, facing smart people from all over the country who showed up primarily to stake their claim in a dog eat dog corporate world. It took me a little while to make my first few friends because I behave like an introvert at first glance. It also took me a while to get used to the rigor of eight hours of financial accounting drilled into my brain during class, and a further five hours of taxation, business law, cost accounting, and auditing while the sun made its slow summer descent. Soon enough however, I realized why this program was special. I made friends I could trust and relate to all over the country, exponentially improving my Ernst and Young network. I studied under some of the best professors in the country, people whose books I had to work with in some of my accounting classes at Ohio Wesleyan. I lived in one of the prettiest cities in one of the most stunning states in the country. I had to pay not a dime.

I eased into work at Philadelphia because of all the training I had already received at UVa. This made adjusting to corporate life an inconsequential matter. Everybody I have met at this company has been an exceptional teammate, coworker, friend, and mentor. This program defines Ernst and Young in the public accounting world and certainly makes it stand out. I cannot thank Ernst and Young enough for presenting me with an opportunity that made my parents proud. I do not know how long the program will continue but I do know I cannot wait to head back to balmy Charlottesville for the summer and complete the curriculum. I will not miss EY/AWS during the next three months but I will have a loaded busy season to look forward to.

A Nookie day

My eyes open to a bright white light. It's awful enough that I can only see shades of yellow and blue. Does that freakish thing a million miles over my head have to be so disconsiderate? Through all my wonderful fifteen years in this planet, the yellow ball has always been my morning enemy. I tried chasing it once. It stood umoved and unperturbed and unsympathetic. I should have realized that chasing the monster was a foolish task. It was, like I said, a million miles away. Hmm..I digress. My legs ache from all the mud running yesterday. I can barely stand - Easy now old boy - Yeah, nice and easy. Sniff and sniff again. No traces of canned meat yet. The human feeds me the same thing every day, with a slight change in diet every month. She thinks I'm too fat. Somebody should tell her the world is shaped like one of her rectangular ebay boxes. Bumbling idiot. Skin and bones I am, nothing more and a lot less.

I make my way up the wicked flight of stairs. The hunger is chipping away at my inner soul and I need the bloody can. Ah - The wonderful times of yore. I would run up the stairs and down again. And up. And down. The human would follow me and feed me those wonderful treats. The stairs were a source of affection and love then. They serve only a purpose of hunger satiation now. The human isn't in her room. I smell her torrid perfume and I smell her companion's too. So this is why she dissapeared last night. A rendezvous with another human. I am angry and I am a betrayed being. The human had taken all my love and given back an ounce. Just when the ratios were turning around owing to the human's unsuccessful mating attempts, the companion entered out of the blue. Quite literally - I am color blind you see. I digress again - The human must be found, and in a hurry.

Two hours pass and there is no sign of the human. I start to get worried even when I do not mean too. My natural emotions take control of me and possess my throat, resulting in an unwarranted deep howl. I blame my damn mother. She must have been a wolf like the legends of the past. I am not a straight breed, I'm quite positive about that certain fact. Howl deep and howl low, that should get some attention. The white one comes plodding down the stairs. "Nookie!" he shouts. I ignore the fool and continue howling. The only person I care about is the human and the howls will be answered. It always does. It may not be in a few hours, may not be in a few days, but it will be answered eventually. I haven't tried another technique because the howl has never, ever, failed me.

I trot up and down the living room full of the nasty ebay boxes. No wonder the brown one and the white one don't like this place. The human is quite messy and does not care an iota about her own house. I overhear the human arguing with the brown one quite often. The white one too. I do not blame them - the human has to get her act together if she wants to succeed in finding a mate. Yet, I am quite the old dying brain. The human did after all have a companion last night. And the companion took her away. I guess I will want the house in a rampant mess afterall. Fuck the brown one and fuck the white one.

I smell the torrid can. The human must have spoken to the brown one and informed him of her delayed arrival. The brown one shoddily scoops out the meat into my bowl. And sneers. You vile brown man. I hate your kind. You stamp on my tail on purpose and you throw liquid crystals on my face. You stare at my eyes for minutes on end and laugh when I ask for the door to be opened. You demand information and goods from my master and curse with the white one behind my master's back. And you do all this knowing there won't be any retaliation. I wish I had teeth and I wish I had my strong jaw back. I'd tear you open like an insignificant rat. And I will not have to eat canned meat for days. Damn you, vile one.

I sense my master's jeep - It's a few blocks away. The smile comes back and my heart is at peace. My darling human is back - the love of my life, the spirit of my soul. The keys clatter in the hole and the massive doors open wide. I look out with my tongue dripping clean and my tail wagging wild. I howl like the wind beneath the sea and I bark like a monk on fire. My master, the human, is back. She brushes past without a care in the world because the companion follows her. No loving look and no expected kiss. Zilch. Zero. Nada. The companion be cursed. The human race be damned. My head droops to an ungainely low and I fall back to sleep at the same spot where I awoke. Life has no meaning and love has no purpose. I am, after all, only a dog.

©Govind Mohan – http://govindmika.blogspot.com. All rights reserved.

Toothy terror

It’s nine o’clock on a saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
There’s an old man sitting next to me
Makin’ love to his tonic and gin

Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody
And you’ve got us feelin’ alright

La la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da

My My..Piano Man by Billy Joel. A great way to start your Sunday. I end Saturday with heavy metal and wake up Sunday to a Joel melody. Picture perfect. In other unrelated news, I was to have my impacted wisdom tooth extracted on Friday. I asked my awesome senior at the Charming Shoppes audit if I could have the day off and he relented. Incredible really, considering this is busy season. I made my beautiful co-workers (other "Staff") Jill and Sam laugh with my visualizations of agony, terror, and torture. I missed the paid Friday lunch at TGI Fridays. I bought three gallons of orange juice to sedate my stomach through a weekend of intense hunger. I walked into the dentists office expecting the worst. I came out with a bloody appointment card. Apparently the first visit is an evaluation. They told me what I already knew - Tooth No.17 was fucked up. Gee! Thanks Doc! I wasted a vacation day and you have prolonged my agony. What's worse is they recommend taking out the wisdom tooth directly above though that particular tooth has erupted from the gummy masses like an angel. I need sedation but had to choose plain old local anaesthesia because I will be a lone soldier. All my friends will be at work and my fucking landlady won't tag along. Nothing to do but dream of the future. Try this visualization for size:

I walk down Walnut street with my shiny white teeth. La da di da da. Hum a rythm, skip a beat. I'm like a child with a silver plate. Are you hungry for a little more than you've had before? La da di da da. I haven't eaten in five hours. Docs orders. I am now cynical and gentle, borderline sentimental. Advertising hoardings that promote toothpaste make me cry. Old women smile as they pass me by on the street. No teeth. I cry I cry I cry. It's windy, it's cold, it's a bloody awful day. I walk, pause, and walk again. Gay men hold hands in the city of brotherly love. Ghetto thugs play a "fitty". Pretty women and their lucky boyfriends stare into the moldy sky. Billy Joel - I am in the mood for a melody. La da di da da.

This must be the place. 1601 Walnut street. Morpheus can only show me the door. I will have to open it. Where the fuck is Morpheus anyway? A dimly lit corridor. The lights flicker and show me an enormous man. He must be the gatekeeper. I shudder and take two steps forward and one step back. Rythm and beat. "Dr. Anna Kornbrot". The gatekeeper motions me toward the metallic list. I scan through the names and find Anna. She is italicized - a variable that could show me the future. Input italics. Run regression analysis. Result: "Invalid scope". My lips turn concave. The gatekeeper motions me again. He points toward a massive door. A door that has a slit in the middle and a row of flashing lights above. I press a symbol that looks distinctively like the mathematical ^. The row of lights flicker and flash in a hurry. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1. The final "ping" destroys my inner soul and I brace myself for an explosion. None noted. The mighty doors open at the slits and the row of lights turn silent. I enter and enthrall myself with the sexual analogy. Turn around. The gatekeeps points one finger to the heavens. The massive doors close on me, with me, outside me, and around me.

I am lifted into the heavens. Strange doors indeed - I was kept unaware of their gravity defying prowess. Blame the gatekeeper. Ping Ping Ping. A rythm and a beat. Nine pings to be precise. The final ping has me gasping for breath again. I am confounded for the second time with the lack of an explosion. It's just a sun rising. Bright white lighs welcome me to level nine. I am in heaven but it feels like hell. A pale stranger beckons me toward her. A woman with red horns that compliment her lusty blonde hair. She is delightfully frightening. "Read, write, and sign". Three simple tasks and I do not question her reasoning. I do what I am told to do. The pale stranger gets her sheets of paper back. She smiles and I smile. I fail to notice the evil glint in her eye. It's only when I see the other tormented human-people that I realize my final fears. This is not heaven. This is not hell. This is nowhere. This is a silent deserted place that nobody dares to talk about unless they wish for immediate death. This is the place that the myths told us of. A place where the sole purpose is to wipe out a human-person's smile. A smile! Let's reflect on that. Smiles heal the world. They bring only happiness to its recipient. They stop wars and promote peace. They reassure a lover. They make intimate moments come alive from the shadows. This is the place that takes away smiles. A place promoted by the government to fuel mass weaponization, wars, corporate greed, and ultimate destruction.

Take me away! Jesus Christ! Mohammad! Tom Cruise! Hulk Hogan! Help me! The doors are locked from the outside. There is no escape. My mind twirls around and there is no rythm and no beat. Spin and spin again. I fall into the arms of the pale stranger and I finally see the evil eyes. Black. Shallow. And a hint of yellow. Time passes by and I do not know it. I wake up to Anna in a hood. Green masks, green clothes, and green hair. I also see the black in her eyes and this time its far from pretty. Splashes of red give her the touch of evil and the black gives me the feeling of doom. Touch and feel. Skip a rythm and a beat. Chainsaws cut open my lips. Enormous drills chip away at my gums. I see blood everywhere. Streams of red run riot through the white floor. The stench of my simmering flesh makes me nauseous. Anna pulls out a dagger. My mouth is held open by titanium contraptions and I cannot move my jaw. It's probably broken anyway. I scream but nobody can hear me. The dagger is plunged into the recesses of my mouth and white shrapnel flies all around. Bits of my teeth. Pieces of my smile. Shattered. Never to come back. The dagger flies in again. And again. And again. Tears stream down my eyes but I receive no consolation. The black eyes bounce wild with laughter. Anna keeps at the torture and I fall into a deep sleep. My mind has given up and I am better off dead.

Time flies. I wake up in a sudden beat and find myself within the mighty doors again. I smell a mix of bile and the remnants of the little food I had before my journey into neverland. I gag and feel the doors move along with gravity, through the heavens, through hell, and finally onto dry land. The gatekeeper picks me up and flings me onto the street. I crawl my way to the yellow moving machines and make my slow way home. I've lost my smile and gained evil. I have become them. I wonder how many of us live our painful smile-free lives. We do not think of the future. Our only job is to bring other innocents to the gatekeeper. We live on the happiness of the innocents. We bring them fresh and happy and return them destroyed and smile-free. There is no reality.

©Govind Mohan – http://govindmika.blogspot.com. All rights reserved.

Death and the heavens

A sleeply little hamlet a little west of Islamabad. It's six in the morning and life in all its present forms wakes up to a new dawn. Ayesha nudges her husband -it's time to go to work. Abdul hesitates, yawns, hesitates again, and forces himself up. Ayesha was late today - she should know better. Abdul needs to go to the city to apply for a job as a security guard in one of Islamabad's swanky new residential complexes. He curses, rubs his eyes, and hurries to take in a cold shower. Water - the essence of life. Heat - what he does not have. Bloody Americans. They keep resources from Muslims. Pakistan struggles because America is consuming all of the oil. The water runs, soothing his mind. A silent patter. A shimmering puddle. A cool drop. Let the water wash away the anger.

The newspaper man brings in the latest from around the world. "More Iraqis killed!", "Americans negociate a billion dollar military deal with Israel!", "Arab woman killed in New York City!", "United States forms nuclear defence pact with India". Abdul scans the first few pages - he cannot read. He can see. Pictures. Everywhere. Iraqi children being beaten by American forces. Women walking around Iraq with no veil to keep away inquisitive eyes. The greed for oil. The hatred in the west. And the pictures are always the same. The cleric told him of the hate. The cleric knows all. The cleric believes American deaths will cause peace. Abdul believes him. The cleric cannot lie - he is the learned one. He can read the Quran and he is true. He has to meet the cleric. The interview can wait- Abbas will understand. The front door opens to a soothing breeze but an angry man. Ayesha looks longingly at the man she loved, watching him dissapear into the valley.

Chaos! The cleric must be having a rally this afternoon. Abdul looks up in astonishment as hundreds of people raise their arms and scream. Allah's soldiers. That's what the cleric calls them. He brushes past and demands to speak to the all-knowing one. The cleric is speaking to someone - calm as ever. Abdul patiently waits and soon enough, the cleric motions him in. "They have pulled out the final straw, my son." This is the final battle and Abdul knows it. He is prepared but he must know more. What did the straw signify? The cleric peers deep into Abdul's dark brown eyes. "They have humiliated our prophet. They are laughing at our religion. The religion we live for. The religion we promised Allah we would die for." Abdul's eyes well up - A picture of the prophet? The prophet must not be idolized! And especially not humiliated! The cleric grabs Abdul's head and tells him his time is near. Ayesha must not know and Ayesha need not know. There will be maidens with fruit and tea in the heavens. He will not miss Ayesha. God needs him and God knows all.

Abdul's job is simple. Put himself in the firing line so the guards at the consulate will be distracted. Rahman and his all-conquering troop can then plant the explosives at the specified locations. He will die. So will Rahman. The cleric knows all. Abdul walks with his fellow soldiers into the city. There will be innocent Muslim men, women, and children who will be killed by the blast. They will also go to heaven and will be thankful to Abdul for taking them away from this world. The cleric knows all. Abdul walks past posters depicting Jews as the cursed ones. American flags being burnt. It does not matter that his fellow muslims are satirizing other religions. It does not matter that his fellow citizens are burning soveriegn flags of other nations. What does matter is that when Islam is humiliated, the world must pay. The cleric knows all.

Gunshots. People running everywhere. Abdul runs too - he follows Rahman upto the consulate gate. Who told the Americans? Who betrayed us? A sniper bullet travels through Rahman's brain and takes away his feelings, his emotions, his life. Abdul runs. "Abdul! Stop right there!". Abdul's stomach turns upside down. A familiar voice, a voice that he used to love. Fury. Rage. Betrayal. "Ayesha! How could you!". Gunshots. Three bullets take away Abdul's life. Three bullets for a cleric. Three bullets for Islam. Three bullets for the heavens.

The cleric grabs another man's head and tells him of the heavens. The cleric knows all.

©Govind Mohan – http://govindmika.blogspot.com. All rights reserved.

The Anatomy of Weather

Very strange things have been happening in the recent past. I look up at the bleak dark sky through my window in the morning. The trees have lost their bloom. There are no joggers on the street. The roads look slippery. The air is still and then the wind rattles my window. The air is still again. I get out of bed, brush my teeth, bundle up in three layers, and walk down the termite-ridden wooden steps to take out the trash. I open the door cautiously expecting a surge of cold air and an immediate self retreat. I walk outside to warmth. Sunshine. The smell of spring but the sight of winter. The touch of summer but the sound of fall. Not entirely unexpected. It was sixty degrees fahrenheit today in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Just like yesterday. And the day before. Tomorrow promises more of the same.

[Zoom out into a wide shot of the "city of brotherly love". Zoom out so we watch our cold blue earth from a distance. Pan camera across the globe, around it, until it rests on Northen India. Zoom in to the city of Delhi - the capital city, the metropolis of a zealous nation]

A baby wakes up to screams that scare him. So little, so fragile, but so very peaceful. Papa's been drinking again. But this time the screams are not of a mother facing an abusive wrath. The screams are of a mother who has lost her husband. An abusive husband but bound by religion and her newborn's needs, a necessary husband. He had been walking the streets after a daily shift at the shoe factory down the road. Walking with the bottle that kept him company on every night including this one. This night was special - he had his paycheck. He could pay a prostitute for what his wife would not give. Not because she did not want to. But because her body was in a torrid mess after nights of incessant beating. Sadly, the building is closed - severe weather alert. Zero degrees centigrade. Bah! These officials. With a single t-shirt clinging to his skinny body, he walks the frigid streets with his bottle. He shivers. Maybe a little rest before he walks a little further. His eyelids give up and hugging himself to keep warm, he lies down on the open road. Rest in peace while the cold breeze takes your life. Slowly. Just like you did your daughter's. A baby cries. A mother weeps. A nation carries on.

Unusual temperatures everywhere. I'm not a greenpeace liberal but I can see things are going wrong. And unless something is done soon, the earth will take what we have destroyed. And give back death..and eternal sleep.

©Govind Mohan – http://govindmika.blogspot.com. All rights reserved.