PLEASE PLAY [THIS SONG] IN BACKGROUND AS YOU READ THIS POST TO FEEL THE ESSENCE OF IT. 


# Unfortunately we will not be able to use this work for _. We receive many well-written, compelling, stories, but can only take a very limited number due to constraints of space and style. We wish you the best of luck in placing your story elsewhere. Thanks again. Best of luck with this.

# Due to the large number of high quality flash fiction, our decisions were difficult to make. Unfortunately, we will not be able to include _ in issue 7, but we truly appreciate your interest in _. Please feel free to submit again. We are able to accept only 4 to 5 flashers a month.

# Unfortunately, we have decided not to accept it for publication. I wish you the best success in placing your story elsewhere, and hope to see more of your work.

# We appreciate the chance to read your poem. Unfortunately, the piece is not for us. Thanks again. Best of luck with this.

# Sadly, I regret to inform you that we are declining acceptance at this time. We enjoyed the work and found many of the ideas you presented interesting, but we don't feel the story is the best fit for _. Thank you again for sharing your work with us and we wish you the best of luck placing this story in another market.

# Unfortunately, I will be passing on _ this cycle. While I appreciate the opportunity to review it, it just didn't grab my attention as well as some of the other stories I received did.  Because my policy is to only accept the stories that will be published for the specific issue I am reading for and not building a back list of stories to be published, I am often forced to reject good stories simply because I don't have enough available slots and other stories just grabbed me more than others. I do hope to see other submissions from you in the future.

# We enjoyed reading it but after careful consideration have decided that we cannot use it at this time. Please feel free to submit other work to us in the future.

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# Congratulations! Guest Editor _ has selected your poem “_” for the Issue X of _ Journal. Take pride in knowing that you are among only twenty writers selected from the hundreds who submitted to this issue.

I am writing to secure the proper rights to publish your poem. But first, a note about payment. [...]

Can a perfect society exist? Is the existence of a flawless society of humans possible? Well, I ain't got any frikkin' ideah.

Swimming is impossible for me. I just can't swim. I don't know why.

I sat glued to my computer screen as a familiar voice poked me from behind,

"Hey, hey...!"

I instinctively minimized the browser window and turned back to find a Chinese friend of mine, smiling as usual. But before I could reply to his "hey", he began,

"Hey, have you see that Indian movie...that...?"

I was like, uh? I wanted to ask him "which?", when he continued,

"That one, the one, with the song, 'gimme some sunshine', yeah, yeah that one, that one!"

He seemed to struggle remembering bits of it, but I got it as soon as he mentioned the song.

"You mean 3 Idiots?" I asked gingerly.

"Yes, yes! That one. So funny, so funny, it was awesome!"

"Oh really? Wow, that makes me proud but wait, was it in English subtitles?"

"No? It was in Chinese subtitles. Too funny, too funny Indian movie!"

I was like, what the heck. Chinese subtitles?

Then he drew the auxiliary that there are probably people out there who know both Indian and Chinese language and went away beaming and appreciating the movie. As the day passed, he often asked me about the actress, the actor and other stuff about the movie. I couldn't help but feel good, cuz it's very rare that good light is shone on my country in this foreign land.

Two days later, he met me at the gym and I had my headphones on, so he asked me,

"Are you listening to that sunshine song? Are you?"

I merely smiled and shook my head, I don't know what he made of it though.

But after a week, today, he did something that convinced me I should blog about this. He came to me, beaming, and said,

"You know what? I watched that movie again last night!"

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So when I have really nothing to say, and for the sake of weekly blogging and for the sake of those 2-3 people who actually care about this blog, I have some general notes for this week.

1. Summer's are going hot and nice. Especially that almost everyone is wearing very little or no clothes. Except me, of course.

2. I am finally understanding Sir Mark Twain's language after finishing 2/3 of the current book.

3. It's strange to know that an year has passed in US and still almost nothing has been accomplished. The world, as of now, still remains unconquered and out of our reach.

4. I'm falling in love every other week. But of course the one person I really love is being constantly loved and remembered by us.

5. Don't know what to put under number 5.

6. Fast Five is one of the biggest no-brainers I have watched in a while. Felt like committing suicide on every other scene. But it was very funny. No doubt about that. Brawny and pea brain men always amuse me :) (Should have put this in #5)

7. I realized I made more resolutions in summer than at new year. Still struggling to keep 'em up.

8. Writing is as bad as ever. Some other project is taking our time indefinitely. Probably will hook up with friends and write some shit later this week.

Oh wait, need to make friends first.

I entered my office this morning and found everyone working - glued to their computer screens - as usual. I am always curious to peek into the screens of my peers, I don't know why. I am always curious to know what they're upto.Are they surfing (youtube/facebook) or communicating (chat client/gmail) or reading a paper (research paper/journal article)?

I always want to know that and sometimes I would like to peek after every few hours. Evidently I am not working on these days and just idling on my PC and hence it helps me to know that the others too are just chilling out. So, I feel its OKAY to chill out. Its OKAY to stay distracted and read that trivial news section on msn once in a while. Its OKAY to go through all the fresh posts from the people on your blogroll.

However, an interesting thing that I have come to notice is the correlation between age and focus. For example my old professor, whenever I see her and have a peek at her computer, she's always communicating or reading a paper. I don't know how people spend the entire day without watching a single video :| And then this another mature guy in my office, like double phd guy, he's always so focused. Always reading papers or writing them. Never in the past whole year I have seen him surf.

Another visiting scholar, old married girl with a daughter, also keeps on reading papers all day. (Actually I have a really good position to peek into her screen so I can tell for sure). So I don't get what's the deal with reading papers all day. I mean, how the hell do you get so much focus? I just can't imagine.

If I think too much about it, the answer I get is - perhaps it's because they got family and all. So they finish work at 5 and runoff to their families for fun or whatever (you know right ;p) And for that they stay focused on work as long as they are in office in daytime.

But for people like me, single, young, and silly, I see it kind of impossible to stay focused. Perhaps I still haven't realized what I am meant to do. When I reach 40, maybe I'll know. And after all, that's the biggest question of life, isn't it? What do you really want to do in life? Answer it asap and you're good.

Ow that reminds me I have a paper to write.

I stretch my hand out to feel the cool wind that has, by occasion, drifted into a hot summer's day. And I can see some clouds shaping from the east, about to envelope the Sun and save the sky from it's wrath. And presently, it begins to rain.

Softly, it falls on my hand, trickles down my fingers, and collects in my palm. The hot sand on the ground is now changing to a pleasant mud, emitting that familiar sweet odor. It reminds me of the story "There will come soft rains" by Ray Bradbury. But most of all, it reminds me of love.

Love, as I perceive it, is a strange emotion that chances upon select individuals at select occasions. It's hard to see an everlasting love. For at times you may hate the person you loved deeply once. And at times, this spark of love can be renewed from hatred as instantly as dry wood immolates into a flame.

A single doubt, a false hope, longing for a glimpse, can sometimes rend your heart to such a state - about a thousand minuscule fragments - that you're ready to do anything to get what you want. Even if that's a whisper that you wish to hear from your loved one, but you want it so much, at times. It reminds of a saying a friend of mine often repeats, "That no matter how careless or busy you're about your love, but when that loved one drops a single tear, you're ready to fight the entire world. And that's love."

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P.S. Perhaps this post is a direct effect of reading Wuthering Heights. A story of passion & obsession where the girl, Catherine, even says at one point, "I am Heathcliff." (Heathcliff being her lover.)

"What's your progress?" asked my professor with regard to the summer research that I'm supposed to conduct in return of the money I get paid.

Note: This post maybe likable to those who liked the "On Writing" post about Stephen King previously published in this very blog.

Note: It's interesting to observe how my writing style is constantly influenced by the authors I read. From Salinger to Steinbeck. Btw, Grapes of Wrath totally ripped me. Totally.

Now the real post, the thing I was going to talk about:

The huge dinner table is set. The party is on. Knives are flashing, forks are digging, tongues are rolling. There is barbecue. Here's pork. And some beef. Is that a rib? Is that a leg? But what animal is that made of, she asks. It doesn't matter, they say. Just eat it. It's good. No? You don't want it? Try something. Here, try a chicken breast. It's soft. If not, get some turkey. Here, c'mon take it. Put some pepper. Why? It's hard to cut? Use a knife. Cut it, tear it, pull it apart, swallow it down.

I can't, she says. Why? It's barbecue! Have fun! Don' be shy. See, the chicken wings are juicy. And red. Red with blood or topping sauce, she asks. Don' know, they say and bite at it. They forget her after a while. She sits there, and looks about the table with hungry yet restricted eyes.

Jokes are made, memories are shared, bonds are made, but the lamb is torn. Torn with delicacy. Torn with knives, forks, bony hands and neat napkins. The mirth and slaughter goes by and by.

Finally, she slides her wrist across the table, the fingers seem to steal a bread piece that came as a side dish. All the side dishes are sitting untouched on the table. She gathers them. She applies a layer of green salad and butter to make a two bread piece sandwich. And without any knives, forks or napkins, she grapples with the sandwich and takes a bite.

And now the others stare at her, in wonder.

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Current Book: "1984" By George Orwell

Current Music: "Mitwa" from Lagaan

Stage I: Doubting