The Last of the Oburumus

There was this online random writing competition where I had to use these four words - "Reluctant, plague, magazine, sleep". This is something I tried out of it!

Aba Oburumu was forced to kneel. Hands tied behind him he fought back, his nerves bulging out at the neck. Only he and his brother, Nalo, remained. With guns pointed at his back and hair yanked to one side, Aba reluctantly gave in. His mother, sister and friends were mercilessly killed. There was blood everywhere - obliquely splattered on the walls, coursing crimson on the road, diluted in the gutter. The strong metallic smell permeated the air, portending death. Tears of loss, anger and fear ran down his cheeks. The mysterious plague robbed him of his dear father barely last week. He knelt hopelessly as the heartless men circled Nalo with shotguns and rifles. One of them kicked Aba from behind and he fell flat on his face. The poking spikes of a shoe crushed his jaw, forcing him to watch Nalo plead for his life. Utterly terrified, Nalo cried his lungs out; hand outstretched calling his brother for help. Aba thrashed furiously on the road and cursed himself. They were outnumbered, he was powerless. The sudden click of a magazine resounded and time froze. Blood oozed from Nalo’s temple; his body went limp, lifeless and he looked every bit asleep. Aba let out an inhuman cry. Hisentire tribe was dead and gone. Another familiar click; his vision blurred and he felt searing pain on the back of his head. He shuddered for one last time, never to wake up again. The Oburumus passed on in a ruthless genocide.

Writing - A Panacea to The Boggled Mind

I read books, experiment in the kitchen, surf the net, play shuttle, commune with nature during my once-in-a-blue-moon walk on the terrace, watch TV, sing songs, sleep and write. All these in random obviously! I enjoy every one of these moments but the sheer satisfaction that I get out of writing is unbeatable. Initially, I preferred writing on paper and kind of abhorred the idea of shunning my wonderful black pen. As I enlightened myself with the trivial yet significant merits of digital writing I gradually started liking it.

• There need not be those squiggly strikethroughs. Tap a key and it does the cleaning.
• Where all have I used "Septuagenarian" in my 1256-word document? Search and find it easily. It is a great relief not to scan through the entire document for one word.
• Formatting options are galore.
• I am not wasting paper.
• I am tree-friendly.
• There are still loads more, these ones steal the bunch for me.

Though dismally tangent at the start, my thoughts somehow channel to make some sense. I enjoy my writing moments as they extensively improve my diction, my thought flow. I get to toy with words, play my own word game - I am a self-confessed logophile. To me, the best part of writing is expressing my emotions. Be it happiness, sorrow, anger, hatred, jealousy or anything that just wants to jump off the chest, I put them into writing. It is my remarkable panacea for all those mind wars. 

A World Without Money?

Of late I have been debating the idea of a world without money. In everybody’s life it has become so indispensable that we have lost sight of what life is truly all about. It has turned us thick and greedy, unwise and foolish. Money has become such a necessity to all of us to the point where humanity runs greedily along with it like the unsatiated sidekick. The clear distinction between the rich and the poor is a visible separation of the human race. The condescending, snobbish attitude of those holding money towards those without is a dismal projection of how money can change the very facet of human connections. Add to this the omnipresent corruption. The entire world is so corrupted, mean and selfish. What is at the dead centre of this corruption? -  of course, money!

Without money nothing moves. We have become so involved in industrialization to mint money and it has convincingly raised the status quotient of people. Everything is a trade these days. Right from birth till death - education, marriage, housing, medicine, all involve the green bill. Gone are the days when we worked not for money, but to improve the society as a whole. We have advanced so much in technology but it all comes with a price. 

So there I was mulling over the possibility of a world without money. In today’s living, it is essential. We need not be Neanderthals or vagabonds who had no roof above their heads. At the same time, we need not waste money on materialistic wants like cosmetics, clothes, jewellery and other forms of luxury. I do not understand why people flaunt their priceless clothes; unless for the mere sake of exhibitioning them to others. There are people, just like us, who do not even have the privilege of the basic necessities for living. There are such startling contrasts among people and it hits my conscience hard everytime I come across such truths. 

I seriously wish for a money-free existence. Imagine the scope of peace and harmonious living that comes along with it. Why can’t everything in this world function without money. Why can’t there be free services to humanity? We can enrich international relations just by sharing our proficiencies without the factor called “money”. It needs to enter every human’s head that we do not live in this world just to multiply money, own houses, and rev up and down in cars. We are here to belong, to share and to help each other with what we have. Every human deserves respect and every other person who is down in wealth should be brought out of their misery. Everybody should live equal and money should not be an enticing aspect. I do not propose living like a sage, rather I propose living like how a human should live - with all that is absolutely necessary and will us away from being magically entranced into the world of money and materialism.

The Decision

I was itching to write something and wrote this on 10/07/2012 using the prompt "Stars blazed in the night sky".


Stars blazed in the night sky. I lost count of them as I lay down flat on the soft, white sands of the Copacabana beach. There were very few people around me - there was a man dressed in a stark white sleeveless shirt and corduroy trousers puffing cuban cigars, an old lady in a bright floral printed gown, the lone customer of the Seaside Inn (she was the owner probably!) and a couple of shirtless macho teenagers tinkering surfboards, flaunting their abs in front of a threesome group of sophomore girls. And there I was blessed with a stunning ink black complexion in my 33rd year of life. Yes, it was my birthday and I was smothered with many calls and Facebook messages. I am a loner, not married and living alone. Once every month, I visit my parents in the Old Mexican town near the Holy Cathedral. I have had my share of boyfriends and fragile relationships and decided not to venture any further down that mysterious road.

If there was an alpha lioness I guess that would be me - an independent, beautiful African woman who strives hard to educate the children of remote Mexican villages. I write during my spare time and sing my heart out in the shower. I love to eat and I am a self-confessed exotic food lover. I do not like pets, I do not like them caged but love to watch them live in the wild. No wonder I found my solo trip to Kenya the most exhilarating experience in my life - not to forget keeping in utter silence when a pride of lions lurked just a few hundred metres away! 

So many thoughts run in mind, all that I did in the last 32 years of my life and what I would do in the future. There is so much that I do not know, so much that I want to know. There was something missing in my life - definitely not the absence of a man and thereby a family, no not that! 

It was this unsatiated feeling in the pit of my stomach, a longing in my heart, waiting for myself to pull myself out of the ordinary. And there I took a pledge in the dark night of the beach, with the million stars and the waning moon, that I am destined to travel, that I am to tour the world - to meet new people, to learn new cultures, to see the expanse of God’s work, to enjoy the freedom that comes out in pleasure travelling and to explore the real me through my wanderlust adventures.

Relationships

Just like everybody else I live amidst a plethora of relationships - familial, friendly, intimate and more. I am nearing three decades of life but to understand what relationships actually entail is far beyond my grasp.

There is definitely the notion of security and someone to look up to when we are connected to a large pool of people, when we are in a relationship. But I always find individuality losing its essence and unavoidable obligations on the rise. To top them all, relationships always have the "selfish" factor stamped on them - especially when we are expected to or when we expect others to be what we want them to be and eventually rob them off of their true persona. Stunted personal growth is what I call this! 

People do co-exist in harmony. But never without expectations, disappointments and betrayals that can shake the very sanity of a person. Not to sound like someone immersed in the lake of absolute negativity, but this is life, ipso facto. It hurts to get hurt and to hurt someone. Relationships at some point in our lives tend to go complex and confusing to the point where they can eat us inside out. Quarrels, fights, jealousy, misunderstandings and loss of peace ensue. 

On the flip side, there is so much mirth and belongingness amongst certain clan of people. I am simply amazed at those who shower their love on others selflessly. No holds, entirely unconditional and so very comforting. How do they do that? What is it that keeps them giving without expecting nothing in return? Is that not a trait that every human should possess? To glide through problems at ease, to maintain that invincible smile always and at the same time being the real us, loving, giving and sharing. Now that is a valuable and worthy relationship. 

It delights and excites to have fruitful connections in this ephemeral mystery called "life". Why not we be a part of this selfless spree?

I pour out of my feelings best in poems. I remember writing my first when I was 6 years old. It was about my baby brother and mom liked it:) Almost two decades later, I find comfort in expressing my emotions, moods, routine and my thoughts as poems.

You can find my other poems at http://www.writerscafe.org/Ramya/writing/

At times I look long and hard at a poem and compose tunes. It is such a lovely experience! My poems do not follow a structure, there are no set rules of poetry applied. Each piece is a free flow of thought, in my own writing style. Hardcore poets, please do not go bonkers:)

E-Reader

Another article of mine for which I slogged. 
http://www.audiovideoclan.com/reader-3-version-amazon.html

I did not know the nitty-gritties of E-readers - nada! Researched my best and got the stuff out in writing.

Chile

This was my 2nd article on mygola.com
http://www.mygola.com/flights-to-and-accommodation-in-chile/q5016

I had the toughest time of my life writing this article. It did not go through the first review; I had to dig big time and gather sense. I knew then that writing is never going to be easy - it needs oodles of patience, extensive knowledge and the ability to reproduce what we learn, in writing.

I was very glad when it was finally published!

Things to Do in Vietnam

I occasionally write articles, when I really and literally get those vibes. I cannot force myself to write, rather the feeling should seep deep into my veins. My fervent wish is to become a successful novelist; these articles and the blog as such are practice writings for the big tome!

As far as I can remember this was the first article that I wrote for the online audience:
http://www.mygola.com/things-to-do-in-vietnam/q5950

Click the link above, read and travel places:)

The Unchained Wanderlust

There are times when I just want to quit my job and do what I love. I went into one of those moods and this poem is an extension of my frustration at work.

With knitted eyebrows, I sit on my work-desk,

My thoughts churn and I go berserk.

I hit the keys on my mundane keyboard,

And clench my teeth to get off the workload.

Tied to my chair by an invisible thread,

I force myself to work, to earn my daily bread.

I question my conscience, my heart and my soul,

Dry are the passions for the job that I hold.

"Enough of this!", I say to myself,

I march to my boss, toss my papers ahead!

It is time that I live,

It is time that I love,

It is time that I did what I hold most dear.

I pick my red rucksack,

Stash them with clothes,

Dress myself in a green top,

Blue capri, black gloves.

I wear my shades brown,

Tie my hair in a pony.

I sit on my BMX,

An expedition to the unknown.

I step on the pedal,

And let it loose,

I spread my hands wide,

Fresh breeze teases me through.

I am what I am now,

I know what I want,

I listened to my heart,

My soul, my mind.

A wanderlust am I,

With a thirst for adventure,

No one can tie me down,

But nature, enraptured.

Zippy Countryside

I have always fancied the lush green countryside, the people, the rustic life, the sparkling stream and the fresh breeze. I wrote this poem when I dearly longed to be a part of it. The colourful  and simple vocabulary is intended for the younger generation:)

Mad rush at all times,

Skyscrapers mundane,

Where money and power 

Is a zillion dollar game. 

Far from this world,

Far from this fame, 

Awaits paradise green, 

Of corrals and game. 

Up in the mountains, 

Down the steep hill, 

Round and round lake placid, 

With barbecues and a grill! 

Cows, goats, chickens and pigs,

I love farm animals and their funny gigs! 

Riding on horses, sombreros tall, 

Grandma’s pies, with pecans and corns.

Flowers aplenty, yellow and brown,

Teal and aqua, to match my gown. 

Guitars and foot taps, the dancing, the glee, 

Beers a dozen, an unchained spree. 

This is the place 

Where I want to belong, 

Far from the urban, 

Singing country songs!

Boredom Blues

There was this time when I did not have much work to do. My head was lolling to one side and I was bored to death.  I wrote this poem to keep me wide awake and slush through the long day!

When nothing comes to my mind,

And all thoughts come to a screeching halt,

I sit totally blank; a clean chalkboard.

Restless, impatient,

Disconnected from the mundane,

It is hard to fathom this gap, unseen.

My mind ain’t a devil’s workshop, no!

It is but a thoughtless existence,

When absolute boredom seeps through.

I slide down my never-ending chair,

Eyes half-droopy and ridiculously insane, 

I crawl helplessly on the floor, 

Akin a sloth that has gone askew! 

Pillows, I hit them; 

Fluffy and white, 

Clouds of soft sensations, 

Dreamy delights! 

Just being there, 

In that cottony comfort 

Is what I love the most. 

I do not care, I do not need 

Bliss anymore.

Old Johnny Matt

This poem was written out of the blue. I wanted to tell a story through a poem. Random thoughts churned into a mini-story and here it goes:)

I know not my father, I know not my mom,

No brother, no sister, no family, no home. 

A guitar, some clothes, a rucksack and a hat, 

All these I got from old Johnny Matt. 

Old Johnny was a bit loony, he was so old,

He had nobody to speak to, but had a heart of gold. 

He took me in and fed me some bread, 

Showed me a tiny corner, to sleep on a bed. 

Old Johnny was so good, he taught me guitar,

Strumming and drumming, adding beats to our bar. 

We stood on the sidewalk, busking, mane insane, 

Crowds gathered around us, all way down the lane.

Old Johnny loved me, there was never a blot,

We cooked together, and walked a lot. 

The days were magical, I would forget them not! 

Nothing can match them, not even tons of ingot. 

Old Johnny, I loved him, he was my dear old king,

He didn’t call me “son”, but he gave me his ring. 

Merry and joyful, my heart was so warm, 

I hugged dear Johnny, who was but calm. 

Old Johnny grew old, as days flew by,

Frail did he go, he had days to count by. 

He called me to his bed, took his hand did I, 

He gave me a locket, painted a golden dye. 

“Open it, after my life”, Old Johnny said,

Tears stung my eyes, I kept them instead. 

With him I was, day and night, 

Singing him songs, cheering him up bright. 

On a September night, Old Johnny was gone,

I laid him in a coffin, made of glass that sparkling shone. 

I buried him in Blackpool, next to Mr. Brushwicks, 

And sat down on the edge, so gloomy, in a fix. 

I took out the locket, pried apart the wings, 

I saw two tattered photos, of me and my king, 

Out fell a paper, doodled with red hearts, 

In it was written, “I love you son, my dearest of them lot."