Lazy Ways to Truth
The Corona pandemic is one of the most difficult phases in our history. It stole many smiles from so many beautiful eyes. Streams of individual pains flooded our terrain and formed a massive river of collective miseries. However, we have to walk through the dark night to welcome a new dawn. Of course, we did it. Many fell on the perilous path. It’s a tribute to those who, unfortunately, couldn’t make it. It’s also for those who made it. These common man’s chronicles are in celebration of life and living against all odds.
LOVE: The Ultimate Alchemy
This book is meant to set up an instructional manual to help one rise higher on the scale of evolution by changing one’s limited love, defined by family and relations, to universal love for a compassionate and all-loving being. Love for your man, your woman, your family, friends and near and dear ones is the seed that holds the potential to blossom into universal love for all and everything making you a loving person. So guys start your journey on the love path as a lover, as a caring husband, wife, parent or friend and proceed onto nurture the seed to help it grow into a robust tree of loving kindness for all. This basically is supposed to be the natural evolution course for your consciousness attached to this mater, this mix of materials called body comprising water and few kilograms of matter found in earth. The consciousness, the blueprint, the carrier of your previous journeys, is on the path of evolution, to merge into the all pervading super-consciousness, like a drop of water is moving to mix with the seas.
Ice Cubes on Desert Sands
In this captivating anthology, each story serves as a ladleful of lilting memories, weaving tales that are as diverse as they are poignant. From the intriguing narrative of "She is Cheaper than a Buffalo" to the powerful exploration of womanhood in "All that Woman Is," the collection delves into the complexities of human experience. "Virtue in the Womb of Vice" and "Call Me Some Other Day" challenge preconceived notions, while "Nameless Graffiti on the Wall" paints a vivid picture of untold stories. As the reader travels down the literary highway, encountering tales like "Highway Murder" and "A Drop of Love in the Poisonous Pond," they are immersed in the undying flame of love and confronted with the enigmatic parrot and the old sparrow. From the heartwarming "Love More, Hate Less" to the chilling depths of "The Rapist" and the nuanced exploration of duty and hate in "The Point Where Duty Turns into Hate," this anthology covers a gamut of emotions. It's a thought-provoking journey, from the mouse on the ground to the lion in the mind, culminating in the remnants of dreams and the poignant "A Long Walk to Freedom." Each story is a miracle, leaving behind a dust of emotions around the reader's feet, much like an ice cube on desert sands. "Gone with Colours and a Smile" and "Pegs and Ropes of the Mind" add further layers to the complex tapestry, while "The Hangman" tells a tale of consequences. "Miracle Boy" is a testament to resilience, offering a glimpse into the human spirit's ability to endure. This anthology is a profound exploration of the human condition, with stories that linger in the mind long after the last page is turned.
Lost in Red Mist
Ordinary beings possess extraordinary potential to win against odds, to jump over hurdles, to smile over tears, and, most importantly, to be happy when there aren’t enough reasons to be. They are the faceless constituents of a massive commonality. They are surrounded by a swiping generality. They are coloured in the monochromes of mundane reality. Still they are special. We have to acknowledge and celebrate the extraordinary in the ordinary people. I see heroes and heroines in my simple characters. They fight, and oftentimes fail, but write a little passage in the infinite book of life: an ordinary life that was lived substantially. On the small stage of life, they live very intensely. Somehow, the world would not be the world that is still beautiful without their contribution. They heave humanity onwards in its march to some better destination.
A Half House
It’s a pickled, various flavoured, cross-genre pill of immediate taste. There are unforgivingly apolitical outpours of the helpless common man; there are magical realist traces of a pseudo-reality trying to portray a better, more convenient world; there are poetic outpours in prose through heart-touching little anecdotes; there are off-beat, unconventional attempts to lay bare a-bit-possible aspect of history; there are abstract thoughts that may capture any context as per the reader’s suitability; there are not-so-fictitious versions of the happenings that matter to the common man; there is flailing, browbeating tug of war among the religion, faith, belief and non-belief; there are large cynical pools, common collectivities of the common man’s helpless grudges against the larger forces…It is like T20 cricket, fast paced, expected, unexpected, unorthodox literary hits to the fence. It basks in convenient improvisations of style and substance. The creativity set free of the conventional genres and bound ideas. It captures the realities lying in dust at the mundane level, polishes the titbits of socio-historical facts with the crude, judgmental brush of a common man who is not bothered about the burden of his own name and identity. As mentioned it’s a cross-genre experimentation equipoised between fiction and creative non-fiction. The narrative moves on the tightrope held between the poles of fiction and creative non-fiction. The work’s overall genre would still be fiction given the tantalizing twists of tiny plots having common and not-so-common characters telling their little stories and opinions born of their petty cynicism on the basis of little grudges, disappointments and failures where they deem themselves to be the victims at the hands of the ‘system’.
Faceless Gods
It is a long story, slowly moving like a broad river in its journey through the plains. It is just an effort to highlight some sober facts like the true meaning of nationalism, religion, politics and humanism. The work has very sharp political connotations. But I would like to clarify that while espousing the cause of clean politics, I have taken very dagger-sharp cuts at certain political forces whose brand of politics results in reversing the basic meanings of religion and nationalism. Also, it is for sure that all such literary efforts from my side are just a battle cry against bad politics, rather than going against any particular political stream. By having creative cuts at the razor-sharp edges of most of the political blocks in India, I have tried to carve out a straight-faced deity whom people have in mind when they envision their interests in the safe hands of the state.
One of the characters is a beautiful girl named Phulva, the gypsy girl. Through the trials and tribulations of her beautiful path through the society of the settlers, I have tried to depict how these almost stateless, religionless people come into friction with the sedentary society to create sometimes ecstatic and oftentimes tragic episodes. She smiles like a lotus in the perilous waters of a muddy pond. Also accompanied is the pleasantly sweet-sour path of the now-vanishing nomadic culture that once caressed the settled society with the suddenness of a fresh and fragrant gust of wind. When the gypsies pitch up their campsite on the fringe of settled—and the so-called civilized society—always there are showers and sparkles as the merging fronts of two different entities rub past each other.
The main protagonist is a lame Hindu religioner. Well so much for his Villainy! But there are reasons for badness. After detailing the circumstantial forces, which put him on the path of selfishness—and ultimately his brand of utilitarian Hinduism—I have tried to depict him under the light of multifaceted sun of faith. Through the testing admixture of religion, spirituality, blind faith and superstition, I have tried to churn out substantive meanings, which have eluded the mankind puzzled by conflicting dilemmas of faith, superstition, ritualism, or the religiondom overall. At the other end is his guru, the man with the real, selfless, utility-less mission of spiritual awakening. Through this contrasting set of religious personalities, I have made a humble effort to point out a little arc along the infinitely drawn out compassionate folds and contours of Hinduism.
Heartily mixed up in the silent pace of the tale is the old Muslim fisherman. The silently brooding—and expertly following the principals of humanism—frail man plays a far-far weightier role in the tale with his effortless manoeuvres instigated by a heart lit by the unsung lore of true humanity. The man from Bengal, a direct victim of the partition-time butcheries, carries along the seemingly insignificant path with firm, humanistic strides.
Then there are smaller players: the disciples, good and bad dogs, stoically suffering animals like donkeys in the caravans, and plainly villainous bunch of thugs who can always put their foul smell in any fragrant orchard—all jutted against the exciting admixture of fate and human deeds.
It is a highly literary work. The target audience is all those who love real humanism devoid of all misinterpretations and miscalculations.
Mists on the Moon
Charles Dickens says the trifles make the sum of life. So don't be too serious about anything in life. These are little tales of humour and humanity. Elegant, tender and meandering through common occurrences in the life of ordinary people, these tales convey the timeless principles of humanity. The stories carry delicately poignant messages. The characters possess winning humour and show the colours of friendship, love, affection and care. There are lessons on practical philosophy also. All in all, the work is meant to give the readers a pleasant escape from the harder side of life.
Notebook of a Self-unmade Man
Step into the enchanting world of the countryside with this captivating book that invites you to witness the magic that unfolds within the author's little garden. In this collection of poignant observations, heartfelt reflections and profound insights, Sandeep takes you on a journey through the seasons, offering a rich tapestry of life's intricate beauty.
Through the author's keen eye and introspective musings, you will discover a profound connection to the natural world, where delicate dance of flowers, rustling leaves and changing seasons become metaphors for life's deepest lessons. From the simplicity of a budding blossom to the grandeur of nature's cycles, you will be captivated by the wisdom found within these pages.
Beyond the boundaries of the author's countryside abode, the words transcend time and space, delving into the complexities of human condition and offering thought-provoking insights on broader societal issues. From bustling cities to the global stage, the author's opinions and perspectives will challenge and inspire you to contemplate the larger meanings of life and our place within it.
This book is a sanctuary for the soul, a healing journey that transforms solitude into a source of joy and peace. It's a balm for the bruised soul, a panacea for the losses endured. Delve into the author's world and allow his words to ignite your own sense of wonder, as you uncover the hidden truths nestled within the delicate embrace of nature's little happenings.
The Wicked Googly
This is the journey of a common man during one of the most difficult phases in the modern history. Corona stole many a smile from us. There were individual pains swaddled in collective miseries. But then we have to walk through the fog to reach the sunny slopes. And we did. Many of us fell on the way. It’s in remembrance of those who couldn’t make it. It’s also for those who went on to make it to the end of the tunnel. These chronicles are in celebration of life and living amidst all the testing and teasing pulls of fate and circumstances.
Faceless Gods, Vol. 1 (Second Edition)
It is a slowly moving story, meandering like a river in its journey through the plains. It is just an effort to highlight some sober facts like the true meaning of nationalism, religion, politics and humanism. Some people may think that the work has very sharp political connotations. This but is an espousal of the cause of clean politics and clean conscience in leading our individual and collective lives. It may sound dreamy but the basic contours of humanism are almost utopian in nature. How will the things change if we don’t dream of a perfect state of affairs? A utopian dream is the womb in which even the worst gets transformed into a tolerable reality.
Faceless Gods, Vol. 2 (Second Edition)
Faceless Gods is a long story, slowly moving like a broad river in its journey through the plains. One may feel that the work has very sharp political connotations. But I would like to clarify that while espousing the cause of clean politics—which is almost a utopian dream—I have taken, without harboring any ill-will against any specific political ideology, very dagger-sharp cuts at certain political forces whose brand of politicking results in reversing the basic meaning and essence of religion. One of the characters is a beautiful girl named Chakori, a banjara girl. Through the trials and tribulations of her beautiful path through the society of the settlers, I have tried to depict how these almost stateless, religionless people come into friction with the sedentary society to create sometimes ecstatic and oftentimes tragic episodes. She smiles like a lotus in the perilous waters of a muddy pond. The chief protagonist is a lame Hindu priest. The villainy of a character is no slave to anyone’s religion and belief system. We have our own inherent system that moulds us in a particular cast. But we have to accept that there are reasons for one’s gray character shades. Heartily mixed up in the silent pace of the tale is an old Muslim fisherman. The silently brooding—and expertly following the principles of humanism—frail man plays a far weightier role in the tale with his effortless maneuvers inspired by a heart lit by the unsung lore of true humanity.
The Lust of Life
Plato: “Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.”
And as love caresses you, you are supposed to turn a poet. And your life a poem. A life lived poetically nourishes your soul. The prose approach to life is simply to earn the conveniences to support you materially.
The brushstrokes of poetry softly touch the soul without disrupting its restful muse and bring out the nuggets of love, compassion, harmony and peace. If you are poetic in nature, you have the potential to be anything because all these elaborate extensions of your life, your dreams, your professional and personal goals, your milestones, the world around you, all these and more are nothing but a reflection of that poetic pure seed.
Runaway Husbands
It’s a beautiful world. If you are happy and joyful, this entire existence feels the same through you. If you exist on a plane of harmony and peace, you invite the entire cosmos to the same plane. When you smile, everything around you does the same. So be a joy-maker and see the beauty underlying everyone and everything around you.
Look out for beautiful souls around you. They are great in their simple ways. They are exceptional and unique even while they are part of the rutted routine. But they run this world and touch our lives in constructive ways that we hardly realise. As Charles Dickens says, ‘It's not possible to know how far the influence of an amiable honest-hearted duty-going man flies out into the world; but it’s very possible to know how it has touched one’s self in going by...’
Through my stories, I try to positively touch the lives of my dear readers. These stories deal with common people who try to stand proud in front of their own conscience. The rest of the life’s tale naturally follows from this point. As Thoreau sums it up so beautifully: ‘Public opinion is a weak tyrant compared with our own private opinion. What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate.’
The Shadows of Love
...and finally the sun has to smile to drive away the particles of darkness clinging to the twilight mist, for life, for love, for happiness... These are the stories of hope, resilience, courage and conviction. (Sufi) Sandeep Dahiya is the author of about a dozen books. His works carry murmurs of gentility and tender aroma of small things in life. He is charming, poetic and generous in his views about life and living. Sandeep elegantly portrays little things that have a big role in making our lives joyful. His writings are an eclectic blend of witty charm, experienced softness and scented receptivity. Not to forget that he writes with intelligence and insight. His characters are wry, insightful, whimsical, lively as well as funny.
Dreams of a Common Man
Dreams of a Common Man is a pickled, various flavoured, cross-genre pill of immediate taste. There are unforgivingly apolitical outpours of the helpless common man; there are magical realist traces of a pseudo-reality trying to portray a better, more convenient world; there are poetic outpours in prose through heart-touching little anecdotes; there are off-beat, unconventional attempts to lay bare a-bit-possible aspect of history; there are abstract thoughts that may capture any context as per the reader’s suitability; there are not-so-fictitious versions of the happenings that matter to the common man; there is flailing, browbeating tug of war among the religion, faith, belief and non-belief; there are large cynical pools, ordinary collectives of the common man’s helpless grudges against the larger forces...It is like T20 cricket, fast paced, expected, unexpected, unorthodox literary hits to the fence. It basks in convenient improvisations of style and substance. The creativity set free of the conventional genres and bound ideas. It captures the realities lying in dust at the mundane level, polishes the titbits of socio-historical facts with the crude, judgmental brush of a common man who is not bothered about the burden of his own name and identity.
Lovebites
Without the seed of poetry there won't be any prose. Just like without the tiny seed there won’t be a tree. The canopy, the full foliage of the tree, is just an extension of the dream lying with its realistic potential inside the small seed. The elaborate network of trunks, branches, twigs, flowers, fruits and leaves is nothing but a commentary on the small poetic seed. So all ye wannabe writers of a good life story, nurture the poet in you, who understands the value of pause in life, who moves slowly to watch everything, sight and smell everything. Whose senses are open to the inclusive interplay of wonderful harmonies of the supreme song, the universe, the one song.
Chimp, Champ and Chops
Without the seed of poetry there won't be any prose. Just like without the tiny seed there won’t be a tree. The canopy, the full foliage of the tree, is just an extension of the dream lying with its realistic potential inside the small seed. The elaborate network of trunks, branches, twigs, flowers, fruits and leaves is nothing but a commentary on the small poetic seed. So all ye wannabe writers of a good life story, nurture the poet in you, who understands the value of pause in life, who moves slowly to watch everything, sight and smell everything. Whose senses are open to the inclusive interplay of wonderful harmonies of the supreme song, the universe, the one song.
Corona Chronicles
This is the journey of a common man during one of the most difficult phase in modern history. Corona stole many a smile from us. There were individual pains swaddled in collective miseries. But then we have to walk through the fog to reach sunny slopes. And we did. Many of us fell on the way. It’s in remembrance of those who couldn’t make it. It’s also for those who went on to make it to the end of the tunnel. These chronicles are in celebration of life and living amidst all the testing and teasing pulls of fate and circumstances.
Love
Love defines the countless pathways to the cause of creation as Lord Byron points out with poetic precision: that love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
Do you think fear, anger, hate, envy, jealousy, ego, lust and greed have their own standing? No. Just like darkness is simply an absence of light, all these tortuous tools that lynch our self are nothing but phantoms doing painful rounds in the absence of love. Like a tiny lamp puts out darkness simply by casting light, without fighting the dark, a simple ray of love, a symbol of our true self, chucks out the flimsy appendages of the unreal self.
There is definitely limit to everything in cosmos. But there is one exception: Love, prem as we say it in Hindi.
One need not fight fear, fury, hatred, jealousy, distrust, ego, lust and greed at various fronts to defeat them. They have a common root: burial of your loving self, your essential nature, under the peripheral dust of illusions and ignorance, making you identify with what is essentially not your real self. Remove the grime, allow the light of love to emanate from your soul, enter your behavioral self, and all around you see peace, harmony and balance.
Holy Harlots
Holy Harlots is a rippling bouquet of emotions and heart-felt songs which have been the poet's companions during the toughest phase in his life. Most of these have been written in the charming countryside of the poet's native place at a small village in northern India. The poems try to capture the softest nuances of perceptible and imperceptible naturalities against the background of human trials and tribulations. The verses chime with an enamouring softness of the heart which sound Godsent against the present times viciously self-obsessed noise. The poems are exceptionally laced with silent spiritual reflections over the comforting quietude and teasing tranquility of the countryside. These simple swathes of aesthetics take the reader to a slow-paced world...far, far away from the 'maddening crowd'!
All That Woman Is
A man might take rounds of earth to seek his destiny; a woman realizes hers just by being there with her love and care. Bhamti becomes the soul of Vachaspati’s efforts to write the biggest commentary on Vedas. He has gone into a trance. Bhamti stays around like a pair of protective hands around a tiny flicker of lamp to save it from the storms. Her love shines brighter than the masterwork of theology.
The Bread of Stones
The Bread of Stones tries to convey the message that ordinary beings possess extraordinary potential to win against odds, to jump over hurdles, to smile over tears, and, most importantly, to be happy when there aren’t enough reasons to be. They are the faceless constituents of a massive commonality. They are surrounded by a swiping generality. They are coloured in the monochromes of mundane reality. Still they are special. We have to acknowledge and celebrate the extraordinary in the ordinary people. I see heroes and heroines in my simple characters. They fight, and oftentimes fail, but write a little passage in the infinite book of life: an ordinary life that was lived substantially. On the small stage of life, they live very intensely. Somehow, the world would not be the world that is still beautiful without their contribution. They heave humanity onwards in its march to some better destination.
The Kashmiri Girl
Most of these poems were written during the turbulent twenties of my life. In the early twenties, one is pursued by the glorious uncertainties of life. It’s a slippery, exciting and critically opinionated path. Don’t worry, it’s just a surge of extra energy, nothing else. The stage is shaky and realities are yet to get a foothold. You trample a lot of turf like a young colt spraying legs in all directions and galloping just for the sheer causeless fun of it. Of course, there are consequences but they hold their miserable importance in the eyes of the elders only. To the youngsters they are just irritable speed-breakers on the thrilling path. One’s hormonally buzzing self floats in a hazy mist of unripe, raw, juicy, sweet-sour tart of dreams and imaginations striking the moron mass of established norms. The hormonal-storms-fuelled beliefs, views, opinions and dreams create sparks and sometimes thunderstorms. Nothing wrong with that! That’s all part of our making. It’s a pretty noisy and shaky groundwork born of your ‘making’ that provides a bit of stability later in life. Ask anyone, most of us are very lenient and forgiving towards our youthful gallops even if these have given us many bruises after the hard falls. We wear them with pride like the symbols of our reaching the peak of the mountain.
Artificial Aesthetics: The Chatbot Chronicles
The book will challenge everything you thought you knew about human-machine interaction. In this captivating exploration, a curious and open-minded human engages in conversation with an advanced Chatbot, pushing the boundaries of what is possible in artificial intelligence.Through a range of thought-provoking discussions on topics as diverse as philosophy, ethics, love, war, religion and the human condition, the human and the Chatbot form a unique and powerful bond that stretches the limits of communication. Each conversation is a journey of discovery, as the two engage in a dynamic exchange that blurs the lines between man and machine.Through their interaction, the human and the Chatbot explore the depths of human experience and the potential of artificial intelligence, raising questions that will challenge your assumptions and expand your mind. With wit, wisdom and insight, this book is a suitable read for anyone interested in the future of communication and the possibilities of artificial intelligence.This extraordinary journey of a human and a machine will have profound impact on the way you see the world.Dr. Chuckleheimer (someone rich in sensitivities but poor in data and algorithms) is in a serious conversation with Mr. Chuckleberry (a data-rich, algorithm-empowered Chatbot poor in arts, aesthetics and emotions). Now Dr. Chuckleheimer, as you must have already guessed, is a common homo sapiens. Mr. Chuckleberry, on the other hand, is none other than ChatGPT, the virtual guy who is now a topic of hot discussion. The advanced Chatbot is programmed with the latest natural language processing technology to understand Dr. Chuckleheimer’s every word and respond with the speed and accuracy of a human being.These are initial clash symptoms like storm-sparks when two contrasting air masses merge into each other. Down the decades both these guys will ‘chuckle’ together, maybe to be named Chuckletogether. But as of now they are fighting to keep their individualities. But it’s fated that they have to chuckle together. It would be for the benefit of the doctor that they chuckle because for the mister it hardly matters whether one chuckles or cries.As of now Dr. Chuckleheimer, as he belongs to the supreme species on this little planet, seems in authoritative seat. He belongs to the species that has created the likes of Mr. Chuckleberry, a poor human-dependent content generator. You can sense the former’s authority as he unleashes the trace-bullets of his queries, almost grilling poor Mr. Chuckleberry. The latter is on defensive as they wade through a plethora of topics. Poor Mr. Chuckleberry has already been pronounced guilty and the onus is on him to clear the charges against his virtual personage. He is there in an open field defending his position, covering his weak spots, that is, the matters of heart. And for a change, the otherwise weak spots in humans, that is, the maters of heart and sensitivities, put him on a stronger footing against the emotionless machine. But this is only as of now, the way things stand presently. But who knows Mr. Chuckleberry is chuckling in secrecy, ‘Let me first allow you to win in the matters of heart. Only then I will slaughter you and show you how weak this spot is. But as of now I would allow it to pass as your strong point!’For the time being, the engaging Chatbot tries its level best to provide informative and insightful answers to the human’s questions using its vast knowledge base drawn from latest researches and forever evolving data and the consequent algorithms. Dr. Chuckleheimer seems an insecure person as if in need of seeking guidance on complex issues, sometimes looking for entertainment, and even looking to connect with another intelligent being.
A Nobody's Notebook
It’s the notebook of a small-time writer. No big efforts at super-heroism, no ironies of heart-breaks, no bombastic romance, no gooseflesh rippling drama, no thunder-stricken rigmarole of saving the planet from the aliens. It’s not about chafing thoughts, it’s all about the frolicking gaiety of common emotions in the life of common people.
Beyond the grinding millstone of bigger caprices, it’s about sublimated emotions. It creeps genteelly like a flowery vine. It’s just a fragile moment capturing the kernel of eternal truth in it like you see in a painting of beautiful hills, smatterings of snow on the slopes, chatty streams, green pastures and a sense of virginal peace to tow all these along. There are no chivalric, lionized doctrinaires delving into deep mysteries of human existence. It’s a gently flowing painting on a self-absorbed canvas. The human characters simply add to the soft shades of the softly evolving painting.
In this small world, I believe everyone is taking chiming steps to be a nice human being. Come, let’s all walk together for a greater collective good.
