Fundamentals of sex


Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a person’s sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. Tell me what a person finds sexually attractive and I will tell you their entire philosophy of life. Show me the person they sleep with and I will tell you their valuation of themselves. No matter what corruption they’re taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which they cannot perform for any motive but their own enjoyment – just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity! – an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exultation, only on the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces them to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and accept their real ego as their standard of value. They will always be attracted to the person who reflects their deepest vision of themselves, the person whose surrender permits them to experience – or to fake – a sense of self-esteem. Love is our response to our highest values – and can be nothing else.
A man’s sexual choice is the result and the sum of his fundamental convictions…. He will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer–because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achievement.




She stood between the man she loved and the man who loved her, waiting for a sign. He read the confusion on her face and called out to her. She hesitated, looked the other way, then walked up to him. In that one moment everything changed. She always remembered his acceptance and he never forgot her reluctance.

Playing Destiny


One late evening, he stood at the station in the middle of going toward her and away from her. Tired of being battered by destiny and being a pawn at its hands, he decided to play the game by its rules. He would let destiny choose for him, this time.
He would board the train that came in first from either side, he thought.
Standing alone in a crowd, lost in thought, he waited for his fate, which was fast approaching the station.

Photo credit: Harshad Sharma

Through the Viewfinder


He was trying to capture the St. Paul’s Cathedral in his camera, when he saw her for the first time. She was stubbornly in the frame, dressed in a black dress, her hair fell carelessly to her shoulder. Unaware of what she was doing, she walked towards him busy reading a book, holding it in one hand and a coffee in the other. He couldn’t help but notice the emotions that crossed her face as she read. He could have moved out of her way but would have stopped clicking, so he didn’t. Sorry! she had said in a husky voice  just before she bumped into him. He did not get a single picture of the place without her that day.
Incidentally, St Paul’s Cathedral was also the place where he saw her for the last time. He had told her how much he wanted her to be his wife, while they stood outside the oldest beauty spot on the London skyline. They had been together for a few months before he had decided to say it. She had explained to him, while she held his hand tight that they wanted different things from life. She wanted to travel, see the world, climb the highest mountain, dive at the deepest part of the ocean. Even with sorrow blurring his thoughts he had promised he would wait for her to come back home. He knew she would..some day.
He never went back to the cathedral.

He was staring intently at a postcard while the phone interrupted his thoughts. He had a wall full of them from all around the world. Each one took her a little further away. He had smiled at what was written and answered the phone.

A very peppy voice had greeted him, then gone on to tell him how one of the pictures he had clicked was being featured in a photography magazine.
He had met her outside “The Gherkin”. She was holding a camera in her hand while the sling was across her shoulder. Hair pulled back in a pony and eyes hid behind geeky glassed, she had begun her interview. She spoke excitedly about how she was a fan. She told him how she hated that such a beautiful building had such a vegetative name. She had also told him, she loved how he captured moments. You make buildings talk, she had told him with a twinkle in her eye. He had listened to her talk while giving a monosyllabic reply every now and then.
That went on to become a habit. She always spoke a lot when they met, he always listened with, now with a smile on his face. He loved her zest and enthusiasm towards every little thing in life. He was surprised at the small things that made her laugh. She was as excited to see a flower blooming by the doorstep as she was while they saw view from platform at the gherkin together. She had dragged him all the way up once in the middle of a very rainy day to tell him how much she liked him.

He was standing at the Waterloo bridge when he got her email. I am coming back home, it read. It did not feel like he had thought it would, even after waiting for it for ten years.
He picked up his camera and looked through the view finder. It always gave him perspective. The whole of the London skyline lay in front of him. One one side stood history in all its grandeur, which he loved, on the other a modern marvel that gave him glory.  He took a shot with mixed emotions..of the St. Paul’s Cathedral and The Gherkin looking each other.

Photo credit: Ashutosh Khandkar



I really like crossroads, they come around every now and then breaking the monotone of life. Standing at the precipice of deciding which direction to take, is a moment which makes me feel most powerful and powerless at the same time. The thrill of a new journey, sorrow of the one ending, excitement of the ride, a little nervousness all meet at the crossroads. The shot of adrenaline, the manic beating of the heart makes me feel alive.
“Here I am at these crossroads again,
wondering what will never become of me.
Now and then, I’ll take one on the chin.
Because I wear my heart upon my sleeve.”