The Wait

Is our world essentially made up of good people or bad people? That is a question that has plagued philosophers from a long long time. I think you will agree with me, if I were to say that being good or bad for most people is a temporary state and we are all good or bad at some point or time. Is violence of any form good? Is fighting a war good? A war for a good cause perhaps.

Due to our increased interference with environment it is apparent that we are opening windows to alternate worlds or our forces of projection are becoming so powerful so as to force reality. A couple of years back, a strange young man was suddenly seen somehwere around Bangalore. He was wearing an attire never seen in those parts before, a wrap around of some sort and heavily armored. His crown was made of pure gold and was armed to the teeth. Even from a distance it was easy to tell that this man belonged to some class of nobility, a class that does not possibly exist right now. When he was caught by the police, he was carrying a bagful of antique gold coins and had claimed to be a king. The police claimed he was an antique thief.

The picture of him was too authentic, so I went to meet him. One rarely gets to meet different people these days. The jailer told me that "king" knew that people wanted to meet him and the authorities had made long visiting hours possible. I was led through a few corridors and soon was being led to the main library. The jailer and his men had taken a liking to this "king" and had given him the largest accommodation, library. They had managed to find a bit of antique furniture and through a real antique smuggler and had arranged all of these to resemble a court for the king. One of the other jail inmates was reading something to the self-proclaimed king when I entered the court. The king welcomed me warmly and said it was important to treat travelers like me very well because we were the only history that people would refer to eventually. Written history in the same kingdom will have the bias of the winner and oral histories would be corrupted. It was important that I wrote about him. I told him that it had to be a story worth writing about.

He claimed to be Pulakesin II, the great Chalukya emperor. Taking that on face value was difficult enough, but the guy either had enormous wealth or was a sorcerer considering what he had converted the jail into. Human beings innately want to be led, they need a larger sense of purpose of living their lives. People like me provide the channel. A long time back me and my minister had concluded that the sum total of the number of people who are willing to fight and die was infinite and the sum total number of people who could lead their people into that fight was limited. So, it is easy to entice foot soldiers into dying for whatever cause they are drilled into whereas the generals need opportunities to create the events. He had found that the world now had billions of people, the concept of the world and his people was amusing to him. The current generals are doing a bad job he said, people need to believe that theirs is the only single society that had stood the test of time and there was only darkness around. It was important to propagate this so that the people remain under control. He was reading lot and this sort of control was best served through democracy, give people a semblance of choice and they will always feel contented. He held referendums at the drop of a hat and never lost any.

He would now prepare an army and attack I told him about being organized as nation states and that it would be future to attack another state (Pulakesin was reading maps and history to find out what happened to the clans he hated) and Pulakesin had a hearty laugh. I was not getting the point, going to war was an end in itself. It was in him and it was in every person that had a few followers. If an opportunity of attack persisted, he would attack. Otherwise it was important to let everyone knwow that you are ready, have an army and are ready to attack. The some total of violent people had to be constant, someone would get violent enough soon.

Last I heard Pulakesin was still waiting for the war, though he was member of parliament now.

Knee Twist

The park is symbolic, it almost stands out in defiance surrounding it. The parks are gardens are symbolic of cities of which they are a part of. For large cities, they are places of recreation. For cities that are cramped for space and teeming with millions, they offer space - albeit of a different variety.

The other day I was walking in the park in the morning. The park is circular and is relatively small. It was a mix of running and walking and within a short period I had completed a significant number of laps. It was damn hot ( I am usually highly delusional, heat makes it even better) and slowly I saw the path turn on itself, sort of a mobious strip. The thing is, if you create an electro-magnetic field in the form of a mobious strip and then cut along the centre, you can get transported (not really, but I had read about this "experiement" a long time ago and this seems a suitable explanation). My own physical energy created the field and I had walking along the centre cutting the field. The more I think about it, the more details I can remember about the exact sequence of events that led to this remarkable course of action, almost as if my memory is willing to accept the reality that which fits its logic.

Unfortunately I did not seem to get transported well or to a land of naked women. I sort of seemed to be an apparition in a world which was dimensionally complicated. People and objects could move through me and I could the same myself, so I was not physically present there. The movement was almost cartoonish, the way they show some who has massive inherent speed criss crossing from one point to another. This criss crossing was happening in a three dimensional realm, so lots of people were seemingly simultaneously everywhere (that must be physically possible, if you did travel at the speed of light then the observer wouldnt know the difference of where you are, at any given point you are present everywhere). Atleast the physical features were similar to ours.

Technologically and visually, the place was a paradox. The place was a mix of our technology few thousands year back and a futuristic technology (houses that appeared and disappeared at will, made of a strange material). Given the fact that I hadnt been transported fully meant that I might not have too much time here. I was observing this particular gentleman (who looked a lot like Captain spock), who was appearing all over the place, with completely different expressions each time. Upon closer examination I realized that the clothes that I was seeing on him were but some sort of clock, his real clothes seemed to be changing everytime he appeared. It was the same with everyone there.

It was now dawning on me, I had entered the no-man s land of universes. Everyone and everything was there at the same time, but they werent.

A sharp pain bought me back to reality. Funny that it should always be pain of some form that brings reality into focus, I had twisted my knee.

1. Whatever goes around comes around

Not giving sufficient attention or thought to avoiding harm or errors

(of an action or its result) Showing or caused by a lack of attention

Not concerned or worried about

Showing no interest or effort; casual

These are the various meanings of the word careless. I like the one that says not concerned or worried about the most, but it is actually best defined by meaning no. 2: lack of attention. This lack of attention can afflict me at any given point of time, in whatever I do, irrespective of my proficiency in it. Truth be told, now that I think about it, there is no such thing as a careful person. Every person is careless at something or the other during any given day, its just about how the plot unravels - explains the seriousness of the carelessness.

I tend to bunch up my visiting cards in my shirt pocket. So if a card that is similar to mine ends up being clubbed with my cards there is very high likelihood that I could hand over someone else s card as mine. Sometimes I end up meeting foreigners. Sometimes these foreigners are are of chinese origin. Sometimes such chinese people hardly understand who they are meeting, will not ask questions and will stick to e-mail for correspondence. Sometimes, I could hand over my card to one of them. Sometime that card could have a woman's name on it.

And you know what the consequences could be. In India, you possibly still keep your job. But out of the various careless things that I can and do, like stepping onto a manhole while reading a book or banging onto a pole while walking, I begin to wonder which of the carelessness will eventually turn out to be harmful.

I have a very common name with a different spelling. I have handed thousands of my cards. Sometimes my cards are with foreigners. Sometimes these foreigners are of chinese origion. Sometimes such chinese people hardly understand who they are meeting, will not ask questions and will stick to e-mail for correspondence. Sometimes, they mark me assuming it is someone else. Sometimes it ends up being the same person I gave the wrong card to.

Loneliness

She was born this way. Of course she did like to see, but currently it was not possible. But the best she could do now was not to get swayed by feelings of sel-pity and get depressed. So what if she could not see? She knew she could feel everything better than everyone around her, she know when her mom expects something from dad but he does not notice, when seema wants to be left alone but dad does not get it, or how the room was about to erupt but stood with silence when Uncle Rakesh spoke for the first time about his divorce, she got this things instinctively. But during other times when people spoke about things around her, dresses of people, TV, internet (i cant believe all the information in the world can be made available on any gadget - a gadget itself was imaginary for her, but then she had vivid imagination) and the changing colour of seasons. That above all, the changing colours of seasons depressed her a lot, maybe because she could smell the change but couldnt see it, so at those times she usually unsuccessfully tried to change the topic.

Dad was always supportive of her and seemed to treat her almost as if she had no problems. Luckily they were well heeled and she got the latest hearing aids and went to a good school for blind people and also had a private braille tutor at home. She was a diligent student and absorbed everything that was thrown at her. She had a soothing voice and had a lot of friends in

the blind school. She loved school, everybody was like her and they spent long hours together what each other felt as people in the normal world (she did not understand it, but she always thought she was abnormal, but couldnt lay a finger on why that was the case) talked about different things. Things that they could touch were easy, apple, phone, book they were able to learn remember and appreciate, but things like countries, universe, physics (why would anyone want to learn what goes beneath what you can see?) etc... and culture. There was the culture of her world were things were imagined and there was this culture of the normal world thats all there was to it right? Her world views were simple and sufficient: If you can see things how can you misunderstand?

Medical technology has made amazing strides in the recent years. They had found a new way of treating people like her and they were going to try the new method on her, her dad told her. The operation was successful and she needed about a week to open her eyes. Slowly she came to terms with the new world, everyday was a new experience in what she could see. She understood that they were not that well to do and Dad had spent a fortune on her, she saw that countries had boundaries which people did not really understand, she understood physics to be the challenge of understaning movement she understood that culture was what each person sees and hence the misunderstanding, she understood that universe was expanding for no particular reason than that it was. What she did not understand that there seemed to be no one like her, she could not connect with anyone. No, one would talk about everything under the earth freely, giving shape to what they have heard and seen and coming to terms with the perceptions of each other. She seemed to hit a wall with people. Almost as if people decide that at some point they cannot allow someone to see further inside. Initially she was the hightlight of everyplace she went.

The person who had begun to see recently, everybody wanted to talk to her, to know how the world appeared to her, but soon she realized that it was just a novelty factor and most people were not really interested in what she saw or thought. Even those who were interested, interpreted what she tought of things in some theory that they saw fit. Men especially, their understanding was so narrow she thought, she could lead their thought process anywhere and they would follow. Women understood her better, so she spent a lot of time talking to women. About men, about dressing, aoout their lives and struggles everything, but at some point she always hit a wall.

The more she saw, the more lonely she felt. The soothing nature of her voice was gone and she felt a strong attack of self-pity. It was better in the normal world.

Short Story: The Beautiful Night

When do you realize that the night is beautiful? When it has passed right? You, know you wake up suddenly and realize that the night has passed? Of course the night is beautiful when the stars are shining on you? Hmmmm, what then on a starless night? That happens in cities you know. Of course you do, don’t lie you looked it up on google right? Anyway, the night is still beautiful today in its starless moonless way. I was just wondering how cats possibly think about night? I mean if they do think i.e. They must surely be thinking about it because my mom says they can see at night. Good thing for cats, otherwise they would be falling of walls or bumping into parked cars just like that. The good black cat, actually for this story line why should the cat be black, lets make him white, ok why only white, maybe white with a black star on its head like black beauty, for that I would need to give the poor cat one off foot to be black too. Maybe we should give it that too. But then maybe I should let the poor black cat go in peace and continue with my story. Three cheers to that. So where was I exactly? Ah the beautiful night.

Why are love stories set in night times? Candle lit dinner, moonwalk sort of thing, maybe some Greenpeace guy thought up of it to save electricity, that one sounds lame so it likely isn’t the reason., but lets continue with our man “the night” as the protagonist. I mean the night and not the Knight, caught ya, I am sure you word spell checker using idiots wouldn’t have known the difference whether it was knight or night. Gotcha. I digress.

I was not exactly sure how I was born, nor who was born first, my brother or is it sister day or me but suffices to say most people understand that I only appear after the day. If it were not for love stories I would have been confined to some corners of the English dictionary (actually its got more to do with time and physics), but here I am alive and kicking. Today as it is my season, I started a bit early for work. Kind of monotonous it is, not to have the option of not appearing to work one day. Hmmm. There was this couple over something. From afar I thought it was one of those couple fights, random with no particular reason but possibly essential to a relationship. I crept up on them as they sat on the park and realized that were discussing Star Trek, some discussions on space etc. I am getting ahead of myself, the couple were busy in an argument and seemingly were unaware of my distant cousins the stars brightening the sky or the vain display of her beauty from my wife the moon. You cant miss my wife easily can you? But these two were completely oblivious of the entire surroundings and left each other s company cursing me for the darkness I brought upon them. They have been repeatedly replaying the conversation of what went wrong trying to figure out what went wrong.

That’s how it goes, take it or leave it. I alone remain witness.

Short Story: Being an Author

Ladies and Gentlemen, let me begin by thanking you for entertaining this humble soul today. I do not know what each of you does for a living, what your thoughts are, what your ideals are, what keeps you awake at night…. infact I know nothing about you. You are but a face that I see, faces that I most likely will not remember, nor will I be able to tell apart. What I do know is the fact this 30 mins will change your life profoundly, it will provide you a beacon of hope in your dreary humdrum existence, it will help you connect to what is possibly your most important possession: a book.

What does a book represent? A book is but a means for an author to propagate his thoughts. The author is the representative of the sane voices of society. We live in an extremely topsy turvy world, a world where change is the only constant. A world in which you are looking for symbols, something to hold on to, something that will keep you from going insane. The book and hence the author is your route to sanity.

Writing a book is a tedious and mind altering process, something that the author goes through so as to help humanity. Each word is carefully weighed, thought upon, rehashed and then re-written, do you even understand the meaning of such careful thoughts? I bet you just read every book as if it were a piece of fiction, without ever bothering to read what the author is trying to tell you.

Every author goes through a self discovery process. He travels through different lands and sometimes time itself, he meets different people, assimilates different cultures, adopts new ideas and acts as a funnel to supply you with words that best represent all that he has learnt during the course of his life. He is a mirror to the society that he is a part of, he probably defines what a society means. You look at a terrorist and you feel insecure, the author feels for the terrorist because he has grown to understand what creates a terrorist in the first place, the society itself. You are bound for fickleness, living for the next moment, whereas the author is looking for the larger piece that will provide you meaning in you life. If you have not read an author who has changed your life, you haven’t lived life at all.

“Is he usually like this?”

“Not really, this happens once a fortnight, rest of the time, he is deeply reading”

“So what next?”

“What next indeed – keep watching?”

Professor Rudrasen – don’t you think that most authors are just writing for commercial reasons?

Well young lady, it is true that some people have sullied the profession by writing purely for commercial purposes, but what else can they do, they have succumbed to the same need to attend to the basic instincts that inflicts mankind today. That wouldn’t have happened if society at large maintained a funding mechanism for authors, who are the true purveyors of art, not some random movie maker or your next youtube hero.

So professor, in your opinion a fiction writer is upto no good? – another young voice.

Hardly my friend, fiction is just a stepping stone for one to think of higher reaches of literature, a stepping stone towards realizing one’s true kind of author. As you rise up the level of literature, you shall find the life-changing author.

“Hmmm, who all attends these lectures?”

“All the junior doctors here and sometimes the senior doctors who are interested in literature too. The Professor is quite good you know”

“Is he harmless?”

“Yes, he needs an audience to talk to every fortnight that’s about it”

“Since when has been here”

“Since the time Professor wrote his seminal work: Being an author – a guide towards sanity.”

“Hmmm, it figures”

“Yeah I guess, time to put the good Professor to sleep for today, till the next fortnight”

At a coffee bar...

You know those upmarket coffee shops, yeah yeah now there are dime a dozen and possibly are not so upmarket anymore, I am a part of that. We have watched the nation grow over the last 5 years, I myself have seen two upgrades to better styling and design. For a country that devours tea/coffee at home so religiously, its not a surprise that we took very easily to the coffee bar, but why people pay such silly prices beats me. But then I am just a piece of furniture, humans must be very intelligent.

I do come across a variety of people, some who sit on me almost as if they are embarrassed about hurting me, some sit very heavily, some sit on the edge, some make me balance on my hind legs (yeah that's how a sob broke one of my beautiful legs ). The habits are more varied, some stupid idiot always insists on violating me by sticking his gum on me (thank god for the cleaning boy) or some overworked desk eater will want to bore holes through me by rocket farting. A couple holding their hands melts me more often than not (yup, they say I am too soft), chattering college kids (of the female variety) who can chat about anything on the planet and get on your nerves, yap yap yap. Then there are the creeps who keep bending down to get a glimpse of the legs that are shown around more often than not these days (don't laugh, first when they used to bend down I thought they wanted to admire me you know, I am I not much more beautiful than the girl there?). You can easily judge most people who come here. But then I am just a piece of furniture, humans must be very intelligent.

You should listen to some of the converations - my comments in italics:

Hottest topic these days "Markets are falling man, hamara sara paisa doob gaya. Mera bhains bhag gaya, I mean the bull markets have run away" (Humans dont understand risk? Or do they only like to crib in general?)

"Those muslims man, they should be thrown out of the country" (The mistake of making comments simply because one has the security of a majority)

"Lets remake Starwars in Hindi, we shall also add Harry met Sally --- arre nahi thats already been done, ok we will add 12 monkeys to it no no Ajay Devgan nahin baba we dont want the 13th monkey do we? We need a bit of a crying and a bit of reality too... lets combine inconvenient truth and a bit of Lorenzo s Oil. Will it be atleast slightly better than Drona?" (From what I hear, anything will be better than Drona)

"You dont trust me, how much do you love me, baby (and other cute names), what were you talking to the that girl/guy about, what are you buying me for my birthday, when are we getting married, remove that hand now, what should i wear for the party-lets buy something-nothing is fitting-its your fault-you dont like me" (Recursive - yup among all couples)

"Sachin should retire, the board should bring back Ganguly, the left is right this time, congress is wrong, Sanjay should get married, India should blast more bombs, you should sell i mean buy i mean sell right now, that bank is collapsing, that guy is a fraud - the world is corrupt, too much poverty in India I say, we should show China its place, India should innovate more, Society should have more culture in it, filmstars shouldnt expose more, India should do no human rights violations, we need more less infrequent frequent regulations ...helpe me" ( Armchair experts)

I guess I am being to sarcastic, humans must be knowing what they are doing, after all they created me (or did matter just flow onto iitself). I am just a piece of furniture, a chair in a coffee bar. Next time you are having coffee you may be sitting on me.

Inaction

Papa, “ What does terrorism mean?” . “ It does not mean anything beta”, “Ram Ram, these news channels have no work but to pollute young minds, see what kind of images they keep showing, how much it is going to affect my beta’s thinking”. A year passed.

“Papa, does god teach people to become terrorists? Or is it a man made thing? Why are there so many gods? My teacher says that all gods are one? Is it true…… have you seen god?” “Arre beta, what sort of thing they teach you in school these days. Just immerse yourself in studies and don’t worry about such trivial things. If you stand first in class I shall buy you a cycle on Diwali and I will also take you to Vaishno Devi this time around” “Really papa?, the kid was delighted.” May God give some peace around so that my kid can study. He has to turn out as a good asset for society, all these bomb blasts can keep happening. I will not allow this to affect his studies. “My son will not be drawn into these things, he is brilliant and he will make his father proud” The blasts seemed to occur more frequently now and across the country.

There was no regular pattern and all sorts of crazed out bastards were claiming responsibility. But what exactly were they fighting for?

A siren rang out in the street. Must be some fire. My beta would be on way home, having triumphantly cleared the entrance exam into the prestigious school. Why is that medical van stopping in front of my building ? Is that crazy man on the 4^th floor dead? Let me see what the score is. “Beta, what happened?, what do you mean there was a bomb blast?, where is my son? But what did he do, what did I do to deserve this? “

A voice rang out, “nothing”.

Unknown

The city does not recognize me, my life is a constant struggle against the city. I am not from here you know, but I am not an outsider either. I make this city a city, because I come here with dreams. You know what happens to cities what are not built on dreams, where thousands troop in everyday in search of a better tomorrow? They die fast or they pass into a catastrophic path of decay. I for one have never been able to decide which is better. But, common, my city is not like that. It welcomed me into its fold, took care of me when I was lost and now I am struggling constantly so as to go up the social chain. But some the city does not recognize me anymore. I can die in a bomb blast, fall from a train or be run over by one of those well-to-do kids ( no no I am not jealous of them) but my beloved city will not care. It was not always like this, somehow I get the feeling that she is angry. I have lost my bearings, I have decided to join the crowd, be one among the millions who make up the numbers of the country ( it is not so bad you know, somebody has got to do that), I have given up my dreams, I have become…. What you see me in front of you right now. And my city has never forgiven me for this. She refuses to recognize me.

The conversation

“ Its quite remarkable, we are possibly living through the most important period of human evolution”, said Satyakama taking a long swig of his whiskey.

“Sure machan, two more of such swigs and I am sure you will evolve”, Devraj countered

The two learned men were sitting amongst the products of human evolution, the uniquely late 20 th century phenomenon called the call center workers. “Look at them, they are searching for an Utopia, coming from small villages learning English and hoping that life would take them seriously somewhere”

“Ooh, that whiskey is getting to you mate, last I knew the only thing you thought about these young things was that they definitely see more sex than you have managed all your life, hehehe”

“Possibly, but where are we going mate? You see information really differentiated populations for a long time. Now we are slowly moving towards a system where individuals in their capacity would remember nothing, electronically they would have all the information that they need. Body powered computers which download information continuously; competence will purely be determined by how you process information. And the processing will be purely be a function of the social network you belong to. Information is dead, long live information”, heavy stuff from Satyakama, the seeker of truth.

“Would have to agree to a certain extent, but what you really seem to miss is the reality tv angle to all this. No I don’t mean rakhi sawant s silicon”, Devraj was grinning

“That’s a bouncer mate, wtf do you mean?”

“Quite obvious, as soon as a process is observed as happening the outcome will fail the remain the same outcome the process was hurtling towards. If for a moment I assume that what you are saying is true, we shall all not turn in Paris Hilton, in fact I believe the very opposite will happen. People will assume that computers will take over ( one of the common running fear themes already in pop culture movies) and take actions to stop this. Soros used to called it the reflective property of markets”

“Advaitins would recognize the problem of separating the observer from the observed.”

“Yeah, yeah know it all, and wipe that bloody grin of the face. Its not the whiskey. Btw, how much do you think betting is prevalent in team sports such as EPL?”

“Don’t run Satya, the truth wants to follow you too, we shall discuss EPL later, but why run from the problem of collective consciousness? It has to be a cycle, like all the women you keep falling in/out of (don’t let your imagining run now), as a certain stability is raised individuals consciousness will become important and again over the next cycle individualism will lead to collective consciousness”

“What cycle? Atlas?”, Satyakama had a smirk on his face.“ No, no Rayleigh”. Satya was too lost in his thoughts to continue further, but he couldn’t decide whether the cycle hypothesis should hold true. Seemed funny tho, people on cycles. Like Lance Armstrong. “I will find the truth someday”, Satyakama mumbled. Maybe the gods, if they exist heard.

My first short story

A look over the lush green meadows, a drop of sweat was running down his face. “Why the fuck I am I sweating?”, he thought. It was pretty cold, especially for his body, used to the bright sun for most of the year. But still he was sweating. Maybe the room was very stuffy or a secret of his was about to be let out. Now that freaked him out, not that he had many secrets to keep, but the idea of his thoughts being laid out made him feel naked and vulnerable. So, he was a bit reserved usually. That charmed the lady, as far he could remember, SP was a ladies man. They had come in all shapes and sizes, most at best a few chats but a few affairs had been long drawn out and painful. There were the best of them and the worst of them. But none could come close to the one woman who had almost ruined him… “another time to think about her”.

He switched on the T.V, the only break from his monotonic life in the US. How different than he had first thought, here he was at the center of innovation on the planet and he was lost, forlorn and lost. A boob here or there did inspire him somewhat, but that need for a goal consumed him or he wanted it to consume him.

“Why don’t things ever consume me? Maybe its because my talent is very restricted? Not possible, I wouldn’t have gotten to where I have without talent. Maybe upbringing, nah too easy to blame. Will? That funny concept of will? Will to do what is my standard counter to that. There I go round and round., need to think carefully about this”

His wife was staring at him. She was quite young and quite naturally quite restless. He had been extremely excited by the prospect of marriage and so was she, but now his old fears began to creep back. He had managed to maintain his wall around himself, but what did she think of him? What exactly did she want from him? And what should he do with her? Fucking had been good, something he looked forward too. She was good at making conversation too but beyond that what? He was really too fake for her or maybe she was too fake for him. And she had that irritating quality of wanting to know everything.

“What you thinking about? Nothing. Now, don’t lie, how can you not think about anything?”, she smiled playfully. SP stared blankly, this is where he lost track always, was the woman serious or was she kidding him. The standard trick, “ I need to make a presentation, need some ideas” “Oh that’s it?”, the wife was visibly relieved, let me show you some sites that I came across. She yapped and yapped, SP dint get most of it but smiled and congratulated at her brilliance.

“Why the fuck wasn’t I born during the war? Atleast I would gotten the chance to be a hero. Even if I hadn’t really managed to kill anybody I would have had stories to tell, maybe lots of conspiracy theories as well”, SP had a thing for war stories actually. They provided him with the chance to be the hero that he never was. The next 2 hrs was spent thinking what he would have done if he had been a war general. That was another thing that bugged him, he was pretty good at the things that he took up, he just did not take up enough things.

And he thought too much. Now thinking never killed people, but it never got anything done too. And thinking with the dick never did help anyone. Bloody hell, “why the hell I am I so hard on myself?” SP settled with a book. One with short stories, “fuck the idiots who write long novels why would anyone be bothered to read 700 pages of crap?”, he smiled to himself, “atleast I don’t waste time like that”. This book was about a guy who was reading about himself.

A drop of sweat was forming on his forehead.