Hello Dear, I am Marketing

Hello,
I am marketting,
I don't care, who you are, as long as you buy me,
I am not concerned that I am destroying million different ways of living,
as long as you buy me,
People think I am good, I am young, because that's my skin,
but as always, I don't care,
I don't care if I drug you, poison you, kill you, save you,
I don't care what I stand for,
as long as you buy me,
I don't create waging war's, riots, murders,
because I don't need it, I kill without noise,

I lie in McDonalds,
killing million different ways of eating,
and in return, giving you disease like Piles,Colon Cancer,etc
after all who cares,
as long as you buy me,

I lie in Englishism,
bringing death to thousands of languages,
erasing millions of beautiful dreams,
making hindi sound like a 3rd class illitrate language,
I make you feel inferior,
so that you can be my slave,
and I can be your addiction,
after all why should I care about what's valuable to you,
as long as you buy me.

I lie puffed in your Clothes,
killing more than four thousand varieties of weaving,
and by the way,
I don't care about your comfort,
if wearing suit is good in burning sun,
as long as you buy me.

I know I can't beat you,
the way you are diverse dear India,
millions of food, dances,dresses,languages,
so what do I do?
I kill them all, and replace it with dress code.
For I can't take risk of only enslaving your brain,
I need guarantee's.
I enslave your heart too . . .
you are my strong customer base,
and I feed on this bloody game,
and how fool's you are dear Indians,
to easily leave your diversity,
and fall in my rat trap
you were better than me,
but I made you feel sick of yourselves,


I hynotize you,
even if I have to do emotional drama,
I use all tactics, to mull you over,
for you are my meat,
I have numbed voices of artisans,
who used to be once alive handicrafts,

I am in big restaurants,
killing millions of animals,
giving you all different variety of food,
be it unborn monkey's brain boiled, or deep fried live octopus,
after all I am your fantacy,
why should I care what you buy,
Why should I say, grow up, there are enough varieties in veg,
why should I be hypocritical moral teacher saying life is important not taste,
you should buy me and fall in my trap,
make other's tempt, and create a mass effect,
and when every one start's eating shit,
than shit remains no longer shit,
It becomes spicy public demand fantasy,
even if it tastes shit or kills,
because everyone buys me, and you too,
even if its shit,
after all, I don't care,
as long as you buy me,

I recide in the whole system,
producing not human beings, but less evolved machines,
marketting research as a bunch of research papers,
marketting life in terms of paycheque's, not how much have you lived full on,
trapping you in 6 by 6 cubicle throughout life,
giving you money you can not spend,
life you cannot truely live,
making you coward, with all the world of expectation,
killing your dreams, killing your heart, killing your life,
leaving only my useful part, your brain,

after all Why should I care if you live life fulltime before death,
or you live like a rat trap,

who am I to remind that at time of death only matter's is how much as you lived
I just care if you are my loyal slave or not, i care if you are hypnotized yet,
why care about an artist inside you,
why care if I abandon you from joy of running carefree on open grounds in twilight
why care if I keep you away from deep joy of calmness at sea shore, keeping your mind,
tormented in one bloody bug?
I project 1 million dollar salary as your ambition,
I make you sick with rat-race with someone else,
making you forget your happening life,
for success now is not getting life, but earning 1 million dollars,
and why not?
on death, you will give this amount in charity,
for you are so poor that your life was not magical enough,
but why should I tell you the truth?

Please kill me,
If you want to use me,
use me for spreading truth,
use me for saving lives,
use me for stiching million ways of life,dream
use me for bringing pride and celebration to differences,
rather than killing them with sword of modern cult of unspoken dress code,
use me for bringing health,
use me for helping weave dreams,
pushing out an artist in you,
use me to stand up for you,
use me to live life to fullest before you die,

because I don't care a hoot,
I am just a mouthpiece of,
newly packaged sick people drunk with power,
drunk with ugly ambition of ruling lives of employees,
not by winning hearts, but by making you thier slaves,not partners,
making your life worth dying because I am already killed by same process,
and this is a commutible disease

Is there someone still alive,
in this forest hypnotised by me?
I will keep shouting truth somewhere in your heart,
as conscience, keep revolting voice for change,
voice for life,
as long as you donnot listen me,
for there is a better side of me too,
the one you are hearing right now . . . 

Raising Dead (Part 1)

Thousand images speak not, what a sound speaks, and thousand words speak not better the way story tells. . . It is an experimental Script way of writing I am trying . . . 

PROLOGUE

FADE IN

EXT. PARTH's House, Evening 7 pm
Parth is on deathbed, and Flashback of his life is hitting in his brain. His heart is slowing down. millions of people are gathered to witness death

PARTH

Varun, come here . . .

Varun places his ears near to Parth's mouth

PARTH(CONTD.)

You have been loyal soldier in the mission. We are almost done. I have to die, for the stones to set rolling. Remember those days, when we used to jump in river and collect coins?

VARUN

Yes, how can I forget that, did you ever let me win

PARTH

Well! You have to earn it. Remember, you used to ask me? What is purpose of life? And I used to say, on right time I will tell you? Well . . . Your journey is about to roll . . .  

Handing over the piece of paper to Varun,

PARTH

They need you  . . . .  don't let us down . . .  I trust you  alone .

Dying scene . . . News start popping in Channels of his death, and cross fades to the voice of Railway announcement at Mumbai Local. . . . along with voice of selling of vadapav,etc


INT. RAILWAY COACH.
Varun is reading newspaper and reading news of death. He looks at the window outside and orders a Vadapav. His wife Sujatha Appears walking in towards the compartment . . . 

SUJATHA
(talking to seller)
Bhaiya, mirchi ek extra dena

VARUN
I told you, I am going alone, than why were you so pushy about going with me? You know it is dangerous place  .. 

SUJATHA
Ah ha, dangerous place, what a joke!, 
For your kind information, I had been NCC State lead,
Did you forgot the first time you saw me?
bade aye pati parmeshwar(in Hindi)

VARUN
Things are different now. I don't want to loose you. I have already lost someone . . . not you

SUJATHA
Neither do I . . .
That's why I am here . . . 
I won't let you fight it all alone . . .

FADE OUT.

(TO BE CONTINUED . . . )

Rich but not free

munched by the sweat,

melted by pleasures of world,

tossed by ploys of nature,

playing hide and seek with,

with world together . . . 

Being honest,

I won't deny the sense of pleasure,

the craving, the little plays, fore plays,

putting up an act,

I kept magnifying the pleasure,

to make it as large, as playful as possible,

that taste of pleasure, transformed into tastier . . 

family secure, food secure,

life secure, everything secure,

but still with everything, the missing part grew and grew,

alas the voice of my heart couldn't stand,

and there I picked up Autobiography of Yogi

with it pleasures were not of tastes,

but were of tasteless tyaga,

even though it may not be as pleasurable tastefully,

but the freedom, openness of inner nature,

bloomed deeply with taste of tyaga,

I felt relieved, larger,

fed up with repeated foreplays of pleasure,

constant reminder of skin and manipulation,

but now, back to the square with further strong,

conviction and sense, as to how real foreplay,

lies with grandeur of nothinness,

lies in breaking the shackles of forms and prejudice,

breaking the prejudice,bribed by pleasures of the nerves,

 bribed by arrangements in name of secure life,

bribed by unwillingness to change within somewhere . . . 

but now I am raising my voice yet again,

unpetrurbed with whatever happens,

giving farewell to the pleasures of body,

marching towards the terretories away from the 

cranky shore of physicality , into the ocean beyond . . . . . .
I have had the cocktail of gossips, the coldness of logic,
the fickless that drives, the cowardice it makes,
but now I need to move on, I need to march  on . . . . . .
breaking the cowardice it made,
into the realms of beyond . . . .
here I am comming,
careless of how i am judged, catagorized,
insensitive to how much situations are pleasurable . . .
or what I am leaving behind . . .
ignoring what I created or will create,
undermining what pleasantness I lived in my gold coated cobweb . . .
for now it mean even more,
as I tremble and relapse once more . . .