Terror Attack Response Handbook – Indian Edition

Terror Attack Response Handbook – Indian Edition

1. News media exploitation. Interview bystanders who wants their minute of fame and provide a torrent of unreliable news coverage, complimented with dull, shaky, grainy amateur mobile phone videos and images Create a scenario of dreary chaos and drama, play suitable background music.Increase ratings.
   
   
2. Politicians Reactions. A useful opportunity for every level of political establishment to emphasize their voice , with wet eyes with superfluous words fresh out of the thesaurus, every word is to be sensationalized by the news media. Make sure political youth icons (ages from 40 to 50) get enough coverage.
   
   
3. Investigation. This is were the best of the countries law enforcement and intelligence is put to test with the least of resources and constant huddles from every political establishment, finally to be mocked by the various media and citizens even though they have succeeded in their obligations.
   
   
4. Political Blame Game. A sequel to the above mentioned Reactions, where blames are placed everywhere possible, from intelligence to governance to religious ideologies.Again make sure future minister candidates get enough air time.
   
   
5. Praise. World praises victimized City's “indomitable spirit”.The praise redeeming an average citizens need to value another's life, or the county's dignity as much as the need to keep the stock market in good shape, and continue life as nothing happened. So there is no economic loss to the world elite, reducing the pressure on an already gold digging sloth of a government to bring justice and self respect back to the country's hurt.This step won't be suitable for victims of the tragedy.
   
   
6. Media and Celebrity voices: Bombard every form of news media with celebrities discussing and condemning the acts with hour long debates and hypothetical situations. Insert ads of other celebrity endorsed cosmetics,junk food, investment systems and bottled soda. Scroll Cricket scores in the bottom. 
   
   
7. Citizen Response. Show the world, especially the internet, through social networking sites like Facebook, twitter and Google+ ( now serving only an  technologically elite crowd ) and of course blogs like this, that you have done your part and have a guilt free conscious unless you are one of the victims. Don't do anything that can cause a little discomfort , continue breaking laws, and paying bribes more often than taxes.
   
   
8. Citizen compliance. All citizens should exchange intelligence, common sense and any nationalist emotions and believe whatever the cream of the advertised media leads us to believe.
   
   
9. Continuity. Redo Step 1 to Step 9 till for at least three to four weeks or when Step 10 presents itself.
   
   
10. Amnesia. The 'attack' is old news now, replace the “breaking news” section with new discovered scams, political controversies, a hospitalized film star or celebrity gossip.

Beauty

What is a grain of sand to your eyes. A bit of nothing, that hardly brushed the sole of your soft feet as you watched the sun pull down a majestic curtain of colors, wonders and emotions. A grain, born out of the same   elemental wonder, with which divine intervention conjured up another bipedal creature of beauty, whose evolved eyes can perceive billions of visual components that smelt to one divine vision of the beach, spinning away from the sun.. The eternal epitome  of beauty, a sunset!

Are you sure you can define real beauty? Can you touch up the magnificence of the sunset, do you see the last stroke of creations paintbrush signing its authority on it. Do you see?

What about a blind child? Did the sense of sight betray him of this magnanimous wonder? Did the same grain of sand brush his feet when he fumbled on to the beach while others gaped in wonder at the setting glory of our own ball of fire. Did the grain of insignificant sand,  became the definition for  beauty of a sunset to this visually challenged.

Or did we limit beauty to the few senses endowed to us by a long and treacherous evolutionary process?

 The birth of a child, drowning in the mother's wails, blood and pain, defined beauty to its parents. Their instinctive sense, suddenly beyond the instinctive, sharing a moment of utmost clarity bought on by a storm of emotions they only heard about before. Here they didn't see beauty,  maybe for the first time, they experienced beauty. An experience that they don't have to embalm in modern cosmetic alchemy , so it might linger till the end. They just discovered beauty  they will cherish forever.

Real beauty can only be experienced. The stolen first kiss of first love, experienced by the uncertain mythical butterflies in the stomach, eyes closed, the intellect silent ,the world lost but the kiss felt in the heart, beauty experienced, recreated never again. Real beauty. The child only a mother could love, loved by its mother, beauty created and recreated, beauty that can only be felt by them, beauty we cannot perceive or understand. Real beauty.

Society, as a evil tyrant, now advertises only that it can perceive with its senses, almost banishing true beauty. Society, as a profit monger, quantified and categorized beauty, to be consumed. Any consumer can  aspire to define themselves with these quantified perceptive qualities and now have almost abolished the experience of beauty.  A world where the term beauty subliminally brings into mind those cosmetic endorsed celebrities or the photographed pictures line-manufactured by theorized limited artistic concepts, where imagination and experience is barred. Have you seen god color correct a rainbow, have you seen creation touch up a baby's smile. Have you gazed upon the stars and experienced beauty that's more that dots and darkness. Sitting under a tree alone,on a dreamy summer evening  reading a pulp adventure, experiencing bliss. Isn't that beauty?


I try to find beauty in everything, the warm melting of milk chocolate in my mouth, the same chocolate smeared and sticky on a three year old's giggling smile. Beauty overwhelms me in the silent breeze, under a midnight's moon. The blushing smile I imagine, on the prettiest girl noticing me in the bus stop, the little paper boats floating in muddy puddles after a rain, the yelping puppies chasing the tires of a car, the beauty of freedom during unemployment, the beauty of writing the disjointed,sanity questioning post, the satire of  a“Real beauty” blogging contest where the post with  the prettiest profile picture of perceptive beauty has the most number of hits. Beauty in humor.

Experiencing true Love's first smile when reading your poem, experiencing the hard birthday bumps my friends inflict me every year, the the beautiful comfort of  fighting with my brother,   the beauty of affection in my mothers food, the beauty of love in my father's scolding. Real beauty is defined in my experience, unforgettable, untarnished, ageless and eternal.

Bedouin I am

[A very old one, (repost due to popular demand ;) )]  



Searching for destiny, fate I did find,
Teasing a brooding memory lane,
In the darkest streets of my mind,
Wet and lonely, my life’s bane.

Bedouin I am, in the sands of life,
Days’ malice and pain always rife,
Bedouin I am, in the sands of life.

Have shed now the wool and fainting smile,
Stripped hopes away and primed for the heat,
A place forever, the fright of turning senile,
Time sprouted weed around my sore feet.

Bedouin I am, in the sands of life,
Dreams of I and gods always strife,
Bedouin I am, in the sands of life.

Creation's Daughter

All my life, she dreams,

Of lost rhymes in the blue black yonder,

Humming, strumming on sun beams!

From a cloud's shore, she plants jewels

All across my ball of wonder!

Of my existence, untaught,

But of my silence, she sings,

Never was it she I sought!

In lost dreams, on fantasy's wings,

All across my ball of wonder!

Stretching this ball of wonder,

Her twinkling smile, dotting my skies,

Doted on, creation's daughter!

She sells wonder, planting love,

All across my ball of wonder!

All my life, she moons,

Of dreams, streaming from my eyes,

Gazing, intoxicated in eternal awe!

Far from my being, she plants dreams,

All across this ball of wonder!

The Rebellion.

They said I would be free, the social hierarchy build around me was to protect me. They said I would be happy, building away ambitiously on the wall that would be my shelter, a cocoon. They said fear not, embrace the little space in this cocoon, I weaved with all the strands of paths they gave me – the education they imparted, the values they instilled, the glories they sung about- I built a smooth, impenetrable cocoon around me. They provided me with all the answers, unquestioned by my peers. They drowned me in faith and hope. They whispered softly into my ears, “This is life”, they taught me to fear death. They spoiled me with gifts, they sold. They treated me with juicy morsels of dreams, desires and destiny. Then they smothered me with praises of my uniqueness. I was a special cog they said, without which the great great machinery that drives this world ceases to function, can never attain its destiny. I was important, my greatness emphasized with each delicious titbit's they threw at me. I knew the answer to the question they gave me-

“Who am I?”

Then I woke up, from coma stretching from the horizons of past to the edges of the future. My silent screams tearing every stratum of my perception. I could sense every last living breathe of lost ideas. My eyes adjusting to the the bright blinding lights they shined on me. Then I realized the question that mattered to me-

“What am I?”

What am I ,but an idea trapped in a this mortal flesh and bones. What am I, but an idea created by my family, appended upon society, and confirmed by my 'I'. What I am but a arrogant egoistical idea prisoned in the ignorant cocoons of society. As I shed of layers of enforced social stigmata from my 'I', as I rip apart the myth of time from my thinking machinery, as I realize the sun , the moon or the stars will never know my existence, never know an idea that is 'I' ever existed, I yearn to be more, more that the idea trapped in these mortal coils of stagnant, de-evolving self. The realization is enough, enough for me to relax my eyes, to see beyond the white burning lights of lies. I see the soft, fragrant ridges of euphoria. There is more than 'I' know. The pseudo 'I' slowly evaporating away, the flesh and bones confining this 'I',slowly meaning nothing. The vain desires, searching for acceptance and glory for this fleshy cell in this social prison, meaning less and less every passing moment. Now its different. What I am, but eternity, that exists even in nothing, even in the inconceivable ex animate before creation. What I am but a wisp of nothing seeping into the imagination of gods.

Death was the easiest and most efficient conspiracy 'They' created. Death was to be scared, they said, a brewing potion of guilt, fear and inevitability they made us drink after our birth. They said we die of diseases, we die of violence, we die of old age. We all die I say, from the moment of our birth in to this cocoon of flesh and bones we are dying, we are not living but dying, Our initiation was by birth,into this inevitable conclusion of flesh and bones that is death. We don't live, we only are dying, maybe death is our initiation to living, to what creation meant to be life, the ecstatic and eternal. The poisoned self ,spewing out of these mortal binds of material and earth, now pure into freedom. The final mutiny of the polluted 'I', to the freedom of sense-lessness. The metamorphosis from the ugly, from the unimportant, from the mortal 'I' to an intriguing new beautiful possibility only by death. The possibilities undeniable, the wonders unrealized, we spent a servitude, unwilling to risk to look into thyself, to free us from the invisible coils of self bondage, the chains of social bondage, the tortures instruments of self denial. We refuse to turn our eyes from the glossy colorful exterior, and look into ourselves, to understand for every of this moment that is inevitable, we create a whole new experience in our awareness and self realization.

The pseudo 'I', burdening my eyes from gazing my inner self, playing games and placing logical and preconditioned obstacles to disrupt any attempt. But the determination of great teachers have already paved a path over these hellish landscapes, with their self sacrifice and unbounded grace. All it takes for me is a battle, a battle against the angels of deception, at the dawn of the apocalypse of senses, when the egoistical 'I' brushes with a judgment day, consecrated to reality by the worshipers of the false- 'They”. But the imaginative, is already set loose, the voices are just an echo of a song, drummed out of the great drums of my war machine against this unnatural servitude. 'They' scamper in confusion, throwing dirt and impotent feces at my cocoon they helped built, where I dance in euphoria, floating blissfully as in mother's womb. Don't they realize that it's too late, my victory was destined,

The very moment my consciousness rebelled.