The Fables Of The Shah Of Blah (1) – Introducing…..

The Shah Of Blah

The Shah Of Blah

It is time for me to introduce to the world, the much misunderstood and much maligned gentleman known as The Shah Of Blah. His mind wanders so. It wanders and wanders, and cannot be still.

In his younger days he fit himself into many roles. Over time, these roles started to constrain him, and he started to feel like a lunatic in a cage. Or, should I say, a lunatic who has been put into a straitjacket. Yes, this is better. Now, the question is, who defines a lunatic? The sane men, who roam the world feeling sad, or the mad men who would roam free, and let their minds roam with them?

This opens up a Pandora’s Box of contradictions, thought the Shah. A man – or woman – who rapes and tortures others does see the world differently from you and me, but is their way right?

Or, was the way of Galileo right, he who was condemned to the death for his beliefs? Are sanity and lunacy simply different ways of looking at things? In the early days, men and women worshipped the forces of nature. Then, it was us to condemned Pan to death, and religion and belief in God retreated to monuments of man’s making. As these monuments grew and grew, the innkeepers of these temples colluded with those in power – kings, queens, business people and adventurers across the world – to create a new theocracy. And, philosophy became more and more muddled.

The Shah Of Blah shook his head at the inherent contradictions of the age we live in, and asked himself if he indeed was mad, or did he merely live ‘on the dark side of the moon’?

As he grew older, and more stooped, he started to wax on eloquently (and then in a more random manner, like a blubbering whale) about times that were simpler. He yearned for the simpler times, and started to think of the old age of story telling.

So, scratching his dirty old bum, he then let out a great loud fart. The people sitting nearby jumped up in shock. There was silence, as they sat in awe at the loud sound that emerged from his nether regions.

Finally, one man – a wandering Gypsy – turned to the Spider next to him, and whispered, “Now, I have proof that God exists. If that fart was a smelly one, we would surely have died by asphyxiation… “

“Or, did the Devil let out that fart?”, she asked, “and felt a rare surge of mercy?”

The Shah Of Blah smiled and said, “Let me tell you a story…. “

The people groaned in agony, but they had no choice. They felt like the wedding guest, fixed by the eye of The Ancient Mariner….



Fallen Flowers


At the end of this post, I am going to try to append a song called “Fallen Flowers” by a wonderful singer called Steve McDonald. It is a great song, and I hope you can take the time to listen to it. The song is taken from an old Scottish tradition of referring to soldiers who die in battle as ‘fallen flowers’.

Anyway, I was in a town called Panipat last week. Panipat is a strange little town. It has deep mythological connections. It is also the town that witnessed three battles – the three battles of Panipat. These three battles – in 1526, 1556 and 1761 – were pivotal in the formation of Indian history.

In 1526, the Afghan chief Babur came into India and defeated the King of the Lodi Dynasty. This marked the entry of the Mughal Dynasty in India. The Mughal Dynasty was the last great dynasty of India.

In 1526, his grandson Akbar defeated the Hindu king Hemu, and firmly established the Mughal Dynasty in India. If he had lost, we would have lost a great king. Akbar is one of the two kings in India who are called ‘The Great’. If he had lost, his grandson Shah Jahan may never have built the Taj Mahal.

In 1761, the Maratha warriors lost to the Afghan king. The defeat, as per some, created a power vacuum that allowed the British to take over India, and caused India to become a part of the English Empire (in 1857, of course). The Third Battle of Panipat was the last battle between South Asian countries until the independence of India and the creation of Pakistan. It witnessed the largest number of deaths (in classic battles) in a single day during that century. Over 100,000 soldiers died that day.

Yet, when I was in Panipat, at the site of the Tomb of Ibrahim Lodi, the king who died on the 21st (or 26th) April 1526, no one knew who the tomb belonged to. “There was a King”, some said.

The site of the first and second battle has disappeared, and the memorial to the Hindu King Hemu has disappeared.

Only the site and memorial of the third battle exists. I took the above picture at Kala Amb, the site of the Third Battle of Panipat.

When I went to the site – Kala Amb – of the third battle, and sat by the tomb of Ibrahim Lodi, I thought of the battles that forged that changed the destiny and history of India. I thought of the battles fought, and the thousands of lives that were lost. Not one of those who died during those battles could have realised that the battle they were fighting was going to change the destiny of a nation.

Then I thought of our last battle with Pakistan, at Kargil. I thought of the apartments that the government made for the families of the Fallen Flowers – our soldiers – and how greedy politicians had tried to steal these apartments, without shame.

When I spoke to people in Panipat, I realised that practically none of them knew much about these battles. Their knowledge was hazy at best. I can’t blame them. They struggle to live in one of the filthiest towns that I have ever seen in my life.

I spoke to a friend, and she said – ‘ya, ya… forget the history’. I don’t blame her. I hated history in school. I detested the subject. It was boring, and just a recital of dates.

In the last several years, as I read more and more about Indian history, I started to appreciate the forces that forged our country, that made them what we are today. I started to realise that if we forget the lessons of the past, then not only do we forget a part of our culture, our collective subconscious, but we cannot forge a better tomorrow. We cannot take a balanced view when a politician or teacher or speaker or religious nut job blathers on in a dangerous manner about what wrongs have been perpetrated on us by the British or the Muslims or the Sikhs or the Hindus or any one else.

We forget the beauty, the dynamism of the past. We forget the sacrifices of those who made us what we are.

We forget those Fallen Flowers who helped make our nation.

The Journey To Hell – 6

This is the last that I wrote of this journey. I wonder if I should continue

“Yes, I would kill you, if I can”
Repeated Puss, “I’ve shown my hand.
It is you I truly hate
I’ve put it all on my plate.”
Lucifer looked at her through hooded eyes
And thought, “Oh, she thinks I lie”

He looked at her, and said
“Young lady, you make a mistake
I am no ape, no human liar
I did not eat the apple, and burn with fire
Of lust, of desire, of greed,
And please pay heed, to what I say”

“I did not shed blood, that is not my game
I did not ask for blood, to be shed in my name
I merely play an actor’s role
In the play of life, in the play of death.
I shake with mirth, to see humans pray
For their souls, for which they pay.”

“They pay with money, they pay with blood
Innocents die, for the Gods they cry.
I did not invent love,
I did not invent hate
I did not rise from the Holy Ape.”

“I am what I am, a twin of God
We are joined at the hip
We come from one pod.
Divinity is a joke, as is the seed you plant
Of everlasting Heaven, of everlasting Hell.
Think about this before you plant
Another pod, and give birth to a sod.”

The Journey To Hell – 5

Puss sat down, and broke her crown
She gazed through fiery eyes
“Oh Lucifer, I despise your lies,
Your sophistry, your clever smiles.
What do you know of Love and Hate?
You, who hold desire at bay?”

“I am young, and I have feeling
I am true, though time is fleeting
I have the courage to feel love’s fire
I have the faith that I will get my desire.
Of Love and Hate, I do not care
I will get all that there is to see here”

“Love and Hate are but words
Do they have meaning that you
Would care to share?
Who who play with people’s hearts,
Would true feeling
Set your heart a-beating?”

“Your faithless heart is all I see
A mere trickster is all you’ll be
I was wrong to think God is a liar
You are the one who should be
Set on fire”

“I shall watch you burn, and burn
I shall put your ashes in the urn
I shall dance on your unholy Grave
They shall admire me for being so brave.
I shall put a stake in your heart
And sell it on the shelves of Super Mart”

Puss laughed and laughed and cried
The tears of joy rolled from her eyes
Her cheeks were moist
With unholy glee
She looked at Lucifer from
Her bended knees!

A Touch Of Whimsy – Yet Another Interlude. I Arrogate To Myself…

And so we come to yet another interlude.

I do not classify myself as a writer. Not by a long shot. So, let me just say that I am suffering from something called blogging block. I am also suffering from photography block. My good friend Michelle tells me that I should not put pressure on myself and that I should go with the flow. So, maybe I shall heed her wise advice.

As I have mentioned, I started this as some sort of a corporate blog, and then got bored of that. I cannot, for instance, read magazines like The Harvard Business Review. No doubt, they are very good and present some interesting management concepts. Yet, I find the tone so very boring, and no matter what my dear friend (who is now some sort of management professor in Australia) tells me, I cannot read that stuff, or write like it.

I am interested in topics like climate change, the environment, health, hunger, education and leadership. Plus, religion, mysticism and humanity at large. Indian history as well. Also, the whole concept of corrosion. I love metallic corrosion, which is where I started, however, I am referring to the corrosion of the human soul. Evil is an interesting concept, as is the Dark Side.

Enough, I think. That is already too much! So, while I may try to go about these in some sort of serious pedantic style from time to time, I may fail in the attempt.

Esmerelda the Spider, bless her soul, has been weaving webs inside me, and she seems to be pulling me in the direction of story telling and allegories.

Bismillah, damn his hoary old soul is just sitting on the side lines and laughing. His cackling laughter is enough to scare the ghosts away, but he does not give a damn. Now, there is one inconsiderate fellow if there is one.

For now, I am thinking of arrogating a title to myself. And, like some of the Mughal Emperors, I shall give myself a nice sounding title. Prince Khurram, when he ascended the throne, called himself Shah Jahan – the King Of The World. It is her, by the way, who built the Taj Mahal, and the Red Fort in Delhi (some of India’s best known monuments).

So, I shall call myself The King Of Blah.

In The Mughal Style, I shall replace the word “King” with Shah, and shall retain the Blah.

Shah Blah does not sound good at all.

To make it more specific, in the British style of writing, I shall know be known as (hold your breath):

The Shah Of Blah”


The Dark Bride… By Patty

For those of you who know her, Patty writes superb poetry. Dark, with that hint of light that makes it scintillating.

She’s also one to speak up for a good cause, some that people don’t generally look at seriously enough,

Recently, she wrote a poem called The Dark Bride. You will have to click the link to read it, but it is well worth the effort.

I am, of course, honoured that she wrote this poem, especially since she dedicated it to me. I had re-blogged it on my dark blog, and WordPress refuses to let me reblog it here. Hence, the link in the title of the poem.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, The Dark Bride


poetry, writing, 3WW, doodles, screenwriting, photography, art, self-expression

HarsH ReaLiTy

My goal with this blog is to offend everyone in the world at least once with my words… so no one has a reason to have a heightened sense of themselves. We are all ignorant, we are all found wanting, we are all bad people sometimes.

Kurt Brindley

WAXING POETICS... fervently so ------------------------------------- status: decisions decisions, brb | music: buck 65 - neverlove | mood: /_(' ) -------------------------------------

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