THE PLUMBER

by Ranjit Singh Mathoda
created and copyright March 13, 1991

The office is within a sky-piercing pillar of emerald hue. It is equipped with the usual tools of an affluent surgeon or plumber, although the interior gives a sense of solid comfort, not technology. The sim-wood floor, optic sculptures, carefully cultivated bonsai and the squares of raked stones convey discipline and order.

It was to this place that the old men came, unannounced, unaware of one another. Their age was apparent in their style of clothing, although their features were stamped with youth. The shorter man wore a jump suit, like a sailor on leave; the taller was swathed in confining robes. They waited in the murky gloom of the hall, until the door to the office slithered open. Each hesitated to allow the other passage.

One of them, his visage hidden in darkness, half smiled before some deeper sorrow wiped the reaction away. The other laughed in the vacant hall, then fell silent, aware of his awkwardness. In the obscuring shadows they gathered courage, deciding whether their goals might be achieved when a witness was present.

Within the residence a pleasing odor lay heavy in the air. The plumber reviewed the results of the sensor scan, then seated himself in a lotus position upon the sim-wood floor. A column of speckled light bathed him in soft glory. As an afterthought, the plumber made a small motion with his hand, causing a defensive grid of unseen energies to establish itself.

When the men entered it was the robed man who spoke first. “I am called Yasil, and have need of your services. However, being old and wearied, I desire to rest a moment and gather my thoughts. Perhaps you may hear this other client?”

The plumber nodded, so Yasil withdrew, seating himself besides one of the perfectly patterned squares of stones. The other man came forwards boldly, stepping close to the beam of illumination which cloaked the plumber.

The face that lay revealed was covered with crevices and lines of defeat. Thin lips parted below a hawkish nose and deadened eyes. He looked away for a long moment, in the direction of Yasil. Their was a bitter aspect to his voice. “Which of them has done this to me? You are Yasil, of the Ieto. Long have I been your enemy, and the enemy of your people. I know you well; I see your purpose in coming here. I am wretched and long vanquished, you can not bring me further humiliation. Drink what you will of my agony, but know that there is no flesh left on my bones.”

“Lagard, it is you,” moaned Yasil, a startling sound. “I am not … He who acted against you and yours is gone, devoured. I have nothing. No kin, no son. My conscience, my sanity, my faith, all are slain. They used my hate of you, Lagard. My sons used it to slay their brother. How is it possible? Do the gods not watch? You have caused me pain, Lagard, but the time for revenge is past. I am broken.”

“You deserve more than that,” Lagard whispered with spite in his voice. “You deserve much worse. You stole my pride, Yasil of the Ieto. You tainted my children, after I had given them their inheritance. You taught them how to whisper rich and deceitful words.

“I could not withstand them, did not desire to. I loved them blindly, Yasil, I loved them too well. You know this, you saw this and used your sight to corrupt my dreams. How could I cast them out? I could not. Instead I betrayed those who were true to me, despising them for their advice. I shattered lives and ruined souls for my daughters, because of you, Ieto. How can you claim to know My grief? You are wicked beyond respite and past repair, your desire to see what you have done brings you here now. Look at my pain if you must. I will not seek to prevent you.”

The plumber cleared his throat, somewhat frightened by the power and stature of these men. The Ieto controlled sizable governments and affected world encompassing corporations. The family Lagard controlled the Lagardian Reparations Agency, a massive intersystem law-enforcement corporation. If the plumber had been weaker willed, or more foolish, he might have sought to sell these words in the market.

“Sers, what is it that you want of me? I am a plumber, not a judge, not a counselor. Plumbing is science, good only at clearing the waste from the conduits of the human brain. I can increase cognitive capacity and recall ability. I can train an unplumbed mind to utilize more of itself. But plumbing does not provide relief from what you desire.”

“Is it true, as I have heard, that feelings originate within the unconscious?”, questioned Yasil as he carefully watched Lagard.

“Yes, of course.”, the plumber replied. A sense of security could be discovered in something so well indoctrinated.

“Will plumbing increase the affinity of the conscious and the unconscious, allowing self recognition and greater intuitive ability? Does it allow reliving the events of the past, is it permanent?” Lagard queried, in turn.

“Yes, yes. Plumbing is permanent as long as excessive quantities of particular drugs are not taken. Surely such great lords as you have had your minds plumbed.”

“Well then,” stated Lagard, “I would have you reverse the process.”

In the shocked silence Yasil stated quietly, “As would I. My son is dead.”

“But this technology is different,” stammered the plumber. “It is meant to increase intelligence and quality of life. If I were to reverse the process, the havoc unleashed upon your minds would be terrible. It would make a human into a monkey. You would lose your acuity for events, your ability to grasp ideas. No, it is further than that. You would become susceptible only to immediate moods.”

“That,” replied Lagard, his eyes staring into those of the plumber, “Is exactly what I want. Drugs are temporary, ineffective. No, I need to act with steadfast purpose, if I am to defeat that which makes me wretched. I want to forget. I want to lose the memory of the anger and resentment with which I tossed aside my faithful. You have the capability to eliminate my suffering.”

Yasil walked slowly forward to stand with Lagard. “Yes. That is what I wish for as well. My son is gone from the Ieto due to my failures. I did not heed the truth of his words. There is too much pain, too much that can not be forgiven.”

“You both are mad!”, the plumber replied frantically. “What you speak of is suicide, ser Lagard, ser Yasil, for you will kill the mind which is you. Have you learned nothing from your mistakes? Responsibility to those who loved you remains. Would they want you to die?”

“What crime would that be?” questioned Lagard. “You know nothing of our grief, nor even do they. Yes, I could seek relief. I could lose my self despair and live on, but I do not wish to belittle what has been done. I have made mistakes and desire to pay for them. Nothing you say can dull my desire. You have not lived my life, have not learned to despise your hands, skin, eyes. If it were possible I would return to ancient ages where death was the reward of failure, and its ending. This long held suffering and constant life I can not abide with.”

“I feel as you, friend Lagard, yet the plumber will not listen. He fears for his own respectability, for how can he explain such an action to those who will hound him,” Yasil said. Then he spoke clearly with a compelling voice. “What form of world is this which does not allow release to death? Am I so crude a being that I can not choose to exist or exist not? I have mastered my foes, I have dwelled on far-flung worlds, I have seen dark mysteries laid bare, yet comprehension gains me nothing. There are faults placed deep in this poor flesh which knowledge will not exorcise.”

“Did you not understand what I said?” asked the plumber as he made a slight signal with his left hand. “Your grief is in your mind. Destroying yourself is too easy an escape for great men such as you.”

“Do you hear him, friend Lagard? He seeks to praise and belittle us in the same stretch of words. We shall not fall in the same trap twice. This man would deny us our escape. To seek death, he claims, is evil. To me it is the brightest good. If I do not suffer, then I have escaped my pain. If I am consigned to agony then I will pay for what I have done.”

“You are right,” stated Lagard to his newly discovered friend. “I had not seen the beauty of death, perhaps because I feared it. Let us leave this world of mistakes behind.”

Yasil scrutinized the room as if it was a cage, decisiveness making his aged features young. “Lagard,” he stated calmly, “Around this plumber there must be a security system. He would not risk our presence otherwise. If we approach him and strangle his life from his corpse either he will die, or we will.”

The two men approached the frightened plumber, paused as they struck the defense grid, and suddenly were bathed in their own blood. They fell, like empty vases, to the paneled floor. The plumber sobbed as the authorities arrived moments later.

It should be noted that the two bodies were rushed to the Certes Reclamation Clinic, where the patients were successfully revived.

~ The End ~

Thanks for reading!

In case you were wondering, the inspiration for this story came from William Shakespeare’s play King Lear and Akira Kurosawa’s film Ran.

I did have the idea of applying the concept of The Plumber to a romance where the main characters have wiped their minds of each other, but before I got around to it, Charlie Kaufman, Pierre Bismuth and Michel Gondry worked out the screenplay for the 2004 movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. They won an Oscar for that screenplay and it’s one of my favorite movies.

You can find more of my stories and some of my poems at http://mathoda.com/stories.

~

• Philosophers are wrong to state the unexamined life is not worth living
• short story: Stop Licking My Metal Tentacle
• short story: The Historian’s Address
• Donate an organ to yourself?
• Short Story: The Jester’s Parcels

The 10 Most Common Mistakes:

#10: Narrowly defining “Investing”
#9: Taking big risks in hopes of earning a big return
#8: In monetary investing, failure to focus on the 4 things that matter
#7: Trusting untrained feelings
#6: Trusting a number
#5: Trusting or distrusting, rather than verifying
#4: Deciding it’s verified without asking what is required to know it is
#3: Thinking the future must or can’t follow the past
#2: Not knowing how to strike a balance: eggs in one basket vs diworsification
#1: Failing to look deeper

• Free Class by Ranjit Mathoda: The 10 Most Common Mistakes People Make When Investing
• Extinction for the egg timer?
• Custom oil paintings inspired by you
• NASA embraces a big rocket
• Incorporating your business should be vastly simpler

The class is being taught through online video, so you can essentially attend from anywhere in the world that you can get broadband Internet service. After going through what I believe the biggest mistakes are I will answer questions people may have. So feel free to compose some questions ahead of time.

Space is limited to 99 students, total, so if you’re interested be sure to sign up soon, by going to the following link and clicking the orange “Register for class” button on the top right of the page:

http://edufire.com/classes/9614-the-10-most-common-mistakes-people-make-when-investing

Update, 10/22/2009: The video of the class is now available at http://mathoda.com/2009/10/the-10-most-common-mistakes-people-make-when-investing

• The 10 Most Common Mistakes People Make When Investing
• SpaceX launches first private rocket into space
• Milton Friedman’s “Free to Choose” television special
• Sharing web links and thoughts should take less clicks
• Sony struggles in the video game wars

Thanks for visiting my website,
Ranjit Mathoda

ps.
If you’d like to reach Ocyle you can do so at http://ocyle.com or by using the following form.

• The Coming Digital Presidency comes to the New York Times
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• poem: Her Hate
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Now it doesn’t seem quite so far in the future. In a TED talk, skydiver Steve Truglia (wikipedia) explains that he intends to jump to the Earth from the edge of space (an elevation of 120,000 feet or 36.5 kilometers). That’s not as far away as a space station, but it’s a super impressive ambition nonetheless.

Here’s the speech by Mr. Truglia: http://www.ted.com/talks/steve_truglia_a_leap_from_the_edge_of_space.html

You can find out more about the status of Mr. Truglia’s project at http://www.spacejump.co.uk/

• When humans become flying squirrels
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• poem: Passion without Reason
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• Spaceward ho!

THE HISTORIAN’S ADDRESS

by Ranjit Singh Mathoda
created and copyright February 6, 1991

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
- T.S. Eliot

Oppression and manipulation are the tools of life. Manipulation is nothing other than one thing affecting another. Oppression is merely badly conducted manipulation.
- Historian’s Address 2154.17C

Sleep assailed the child, but he fought against it, eyes shut yet aware of a glaring light. Time flowed like thick molasses, straining to show sign of its passage. Melancholy music stained the room; stale air carried the seemingly irremovable stench of exercise and exhaustion. Drowsy sensations penetrated the mind to fight strange battles with concentrated thought: there was no desire or struggle, only a sense of conflict. The boy’s mouth was dry, his skin leathery, and his body aching. The child felt impotent, lying upon a bed in a town on a world revolving about a star within a galaxy plummeting deep inside the universe.

An image formed within his mind, a maelstrom of activity, with horrific speed. The youth constructed an empire, a series of nations, worlds barrenly hostile, sandy plains of sanguine hue, pale white moons, the remains of asteroids pierced with ant-like diligence by efficiently designed machines, and countless other wonders. Technological advances were considered (and discarded if unwieldy), until humanity lay encompassed by progress. Fear of death, the rank odor generated from evolution’s favored children, penetrated the future. Immortality and other advances both great and sinister were cast into motion upon the fictional universe. He recognized the newly formed universe as his own propelled through time.

The child’s attitude rapidly became serious and calm, as he pulled and tested the fabric of societies, acquiring a momentum of consequence that would leave his worlds shaken without sign of the slightest trembling. In the dark firmament, between dying suns, space conquering humanity established itself. Amidst the wretched, powerful masses a character was created in a manner designed to elicit interest. Facial characteristics shaped themselves, clothing attained structure, social position was asserted, and a history congealed from the grave enthusiasm of the child. He let it all ring with authenticity …

~

Upon a planet whose strange syllables formed the word Caeroon, a historian resided, moulding the appearance of her features slightly with facial accents, leaving an impression of ruggedly elegant beauty. With care she lifted a device curved sensuously to complement her hand. A figure, dark and brooding, appeared. It spoke with a levity that contradicted the grim countenance and the archaic seriousness of its garb. “Are you coming? The Address begins soon.”

She signalled affirmation to her colleague, adjusted the device, and viewed herself. Satisfied with superficial appearance, she fingered controls for mood regulators. Legal, within limits. Technology not boasted of on democratic planets, she thought haughtily. The historian placed graceful fingers upon the surface of a wall, examining the texture of the pale blue material. Imbedded in the structure lay multitudes of miniscule scanners, probes, and detectors. She smiled at those who watched, pleased at their presence. With care the historian entered a medical booth for final preparation.

Body intensive scans probed with a hushed murmuring, signalling a prognosis when they had finished. Supple and slippery, a hose shaped synthetic serpent entered her mouth, dispensing a wash of fluid once it had penetrated a sufficient depth. The object slithered out of the orifice and the historian breathed slowly as she scanned the diagnosis. Apparently a colony of potentially harmful nanodroids had become lodged in the stomach; specifically constructed mechanisms terminated the invaders and then decomposed themselves. The problem had been solved efficiently.

The lady finished last adjustments to her appearance, moving out of her chambers and into a hallway of tepid air. Artistically sculpted walls that seemed to move with a fluid grace were vigorously repaired, cleaned, and examined by near-infinitesimal machines. She noted a recently crafted aviary with approval. Birds of paradise cawed their enigmatic songs, spreading white frocked wings wide within transparent nets. The historian absently recorded and compared the species and genus of each as she walked towards the lecture chamber.

A man met her at the entrance, fulfilling formal greetings peculiar to the planetary culture. The servant had a soft, pampered face, accentuated by vibrant robes. The historian acknowledged his presence coldly. Swiftly the man spoke, humility evident. “Regulators are in place, illumination is as you requested, citizen.”

The lady passed into the chamber beyond the servant, without replying, and was watched by most of civilization. With careful attention she stood in the center of the chamber, wondering if she really was being scanned by thousands of sensors. Seemingly without notes or material, the historian began to speak in a soft, careful voice.

“Citizens, I thank you for your audience. We stand the product of a decision made by our ancestors, wisely I believe. It is in relation to that which I will talk today. Citizens, here is your Historian’s Address.”

She moved slightly, nervous despite her cool demeanor.

“Of late a great variety of discussion has probed the question of what is sentient. It has given question to the possibility of self awareness, probed the essence of the survival impulse, and even given credence to the concept of irrational thought as the basis of the mind. Topics thought to be closed and finished have been opened anew, largely due to questioning of our legal system. What species are society limited to? Is it within the ‘rights’ of society to seek revenge? How then, can it not be an individual’s ‘right’? Five conflicts within the past cycle have addressed these questions.”

“Place a male member of Homo sapiens, c. 2000 A.D., within a sealed room. Wake him. Then plunge a pendulum of sharp, dense material, very slowly and deliberately, through the center of the room towards his body. I promise he will be frightened, and try to move, in most circumstances. The impulse to move in a ‘healthy’ person is direct and there, whether it is contradicted or not by ‘rational’ thought. The impulse for revenge follows.”

“Often we use these terms, ‘rational’ and ‘healthy’ I mean, in a loose manner. Someone is behaving rationally if they are acting in an intelligent way, just as someone is healthy if they are physically and mentally fit. What about a martyr? Are they acting in a rational or healthy manner? It becomes a matter of comparison. If a person places thereself in a position of relative weakness for the benefit of others are they still being rational or just brave? Maybe they are acting without concern for self interest. We might imply self interest even if it weren’t there. The feeling of being altruistic, or good, can conceivably be coveted and wished for. Is it still altruism, if the feeling is being sought actively by the individual to the point of risking self for a sense of gratification? The definition is not establishing what something ‘is’, it is more a comparison.”

“Our society tends to frown on such altruism, with ‘good’ reason. But why is it ‘good’ reason, and not ‘bad’ or ‘evil’? Why should we not welcome martyrs to the cause? Perhaps because we can not distinguish between martyr and hypocrite. Comparisons are made both irrationally and rationally, emphasizing the possibility of the mind being relatively unstructured. We must recognize this before analyzing our own system of government and attempting to decide whether it seeks, or has sought, vengeance. Fellow citizens, the idea of ‘representative democracy’ as ‘good’, and ‘oppressive oligarchy’ as ‘bad’, is one that plagued our ancestors for a great length of time. In our nation we assume that ‘oppression’ is equatable with the word ‘limitation’, and generally recognize its worth along with its weakness. This was not always the case.”

“As a historian I refer to broad, generally recognized trends in society. Because they are broad, or recognized, does not mean they are correct and present. These are things I leave to the individual to decide. In making that supposition, that you can partially decide on the presence of these trends by yourself, I have placed emphasis upon the major factor that unites both representative democracies and our nation’s oppressive oligarchy. The knowledge possessed by the individual is central to the society. They both expect things of the people; our system of oligarchy is merely more honest. Despite this we seem less benign. How can such an illusion be crafted?”

“The word ‘benign’ has often been applied to a government that works in the interests of the people. It was believed for a lengthy period of time that representative democracies result in a greater number of benign reigns, and in more peaceful transfer of authority, than oppressive oligarchies. To understand why this might be so, let us probe the first true representative democracy, the United States of America, as it was for some time.”

“A small nation, although relatively powerful and wealthy, the United States existed as a result of a revolution and overthrow by a disgruntled minority of a colonial population. This minority constructed a framework for their society based upon their beliefs, which would then change during a period of rapid expansion in which the nation conducted whatever actions it felt necessary. When the nation ‘outgrew’ its past ‘crimes’, the expansion ceased as rapidly as it had begun, replaced by economic and then technological expansion. The needs of colonization and settlement, however, had already placed an indelible mark on the framework of the relatively young and influential nation. Technological progress became proliferous due to an inwardly competitive economy, relatively vast funding of educational institutions, and a limitation-sparse environment for communication. Exploration of new sciences became of great ‘national’ interest, clearly showing that the young nation violated its own principles in favor of continued survival.”

“Those principles, established at its inception, implied individual freedom without constraint insofar as no other individual was harmed or limited. Mentally, citizens suffered stress from one another, an obvious harm that was not prevented. Nor could the term ‘individual’, at that time loosely observed as members of Homo sapiens, be specifically defined. Mass numbers of less complex and more specialized life forms were exterminated with some regret; little real outcry was targeted against the society itself. However, as exploration progressed in a technological sense, these flaws became readily apparent. Thankfully, the nation was beginning to cope with rapid social change as a result of technology, and became prepared for the vast schism which would divide its members later.”

The historian paused, grasping for words.

“Representative democracy had been the most dangerous of political systems in its implications. In no other system of governance was the truth more perverted by social impulse. Individual wishes for freedom allowed for rapid growth and progress. However, they resulted in mass destruction as well. Corporations began to manipulate one another in a complex manner, and the representative government was soon incapable of coping. Vast quantities of information became a burden to those who limited their ‘rights’ to search, and a boon to those who placed no self impositions. If a society is a conglomeration of its members, then representative democracy leads to direct collapse in any technologically advanced society. The ‘unalienable rights’ as they were called, are a myth. A myth with serious, and often beneficial, repercussion, but a myth regardless.”

“Individuals are flexible, but they are also readily manipulatable through scientific means. Mental probes opened an entirely new arena for humanity. It became possible for benign oligarchy to survive with individual support, through therapy. Oppression of the mind, five men from the past caught in a faceless room might cry forth in their anger and fear. Yet place them in contact and competition, giving each the capability of destroying the rest. Deterrence, the fear of equal reprisal, might prevent destruction. Increase their number to fifty billion seething people, each with individual cares and desires, some seeing that there is no design or direction to life and unwilling to create one, each capable of destroying the rest with their knowledge of technology, and the need for therapy becomes evident. The American societal impulse, and the ‘morality’ it professed, was based upon a desire for vengeance equal to crime and not direct cognitive or emotional understanding of survival.”

“When individual passions can vary, and technology makes it possible to destroy all other individuals, constraints must be placed in society. The folly of many nations was to accept this need too late; it is historical record that some of the slowest were plunged into infernos, whether biological, chemical, mechanical, anarchical, nuclear or a combination of these, resultant of their own false needs. Their ‘inalienable’ rights, the struggle for dignity, and implications of the underlying connection of all humanity failed miserably because a single individual could be stubborn.”

“We live in a society that stands at opposition to such failure. Each of our citizens is more productive, genetically hardier, and spiritually more sure. Our government realizes the limitations it must impress on itself, for its members are veterans of therapy as well. It is incapable of oppression, where such alludes to unequal manipulation of people. If we are watched continuously, lose all privacy, ‘deprived’ of the ‘right’ to speak without limitation, and face other ‘barbarities’ then these are things that apply to our rulers as well. Perhaps these limitations are unjust. Regardless, they are necessary.”

“Back then, to the question of social vengeance. Whether the so-termed Massacres were ‘evil’, ‘bad’, or ‘vengeful’, is a faulty attempt at definition. They can be interpreted as such, for comparatively the motives of our government may have been ‘evil’, ‘bad’, or ‘vengeful’. They might not have been; the actions must stand free and clear of an attempt to link purpose, for the purpose is not known. Regardless, the actions of this nation were necessary to the continuation of stability. What we do, we do not lightly. What we are, we must be to continue to exist. The limitations of our society are sorely felt. They must be strenuously followed.”

The historian paused, bowing her head, mouth slightly dry. “I thank you.”

She exited the room, avoiding those who sought further statements, pleased with her analysis. The historian stopped suddenly, muttering an ancient passage to herself. A sensor technician half a planet away relayed and strengthened the signal, until the statement could be given to the records department, disseminated to the nets, for comment and discussion. He smiled as he did so, impressed by the speech; the woman, he thought, was a genius. He turned his attention to the voice pattern which he had just strengthened. It was a poem, he noted. “Shine, perishing republic …”, it began.

~

… The child stopped his living dream, lying silently upon the bed for a few moments. It all faded from his mind, giving way to the glaring light which penetrated closed lids. He opened his eyes, blinking as he watched the door to his room decay and crumble, victim to forces that were already present. He blinked again, and it stood straight and white, as it had always been. Air smelt of burnt death, deteriorating in its paralysis. He disregarded the false sensations, and smiled. The music had ceased to emanate from his crude alarm clock, the bright green facing showing the time in ugly numerals. He rose slightly in his bed, reached for the light switch, and then the room lay cloaked in blackness pierced only by ghastly green. The child reclined, bed creaking, and slept.

~ The End ~

You can find more of my stories at http://mathoda.com/stories.

• Milton Friedman’s legacy
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• short story: Stop Licking My Metal Tentacle
• The Coming Digital Presidency
• The Coming Digital Presidency comes to the New York Times

in the shade of your regard

uncertainly flickers

and with certainty fades

in a dead coin,

on shores of dross sand,

my love

pays the silent ferryman

what haunts my love

as the ferryman’s skiff skitters

over waters endless, dark and deep?

is it the oaths made one to the other

that my love and your love
have yet to keep?

or is it the shadowed souls looking on
as my love starts to weep?

but even sorrow eventually

meets its end

for it is

exhaustion’s favored friend

my love lies still now

on the bone dry beach
of an alien land

awaiting your love’s regretful approach

with a soul smeared face
and a still open hand

~

by Ranjit Singh Mathoda
created and copyright July 2, 2001

You can find more of my stories and poems at http://mathoda.com/stories.

• poem: Her Hate
• my sister’s poem: Nachel by Nachel (with a small addition by me)
• poem: Passion without Reason
• poem: An Ode to Bean Dip
• Bartering from a paper clip to a house

~

by Nachel Kaur Mathoda (with a small addition by Ranjit Singh “Ron” “Ronny” Mathoda)
created, probably, when Nachel was in middle school

You can find more of my stories and poems at http://mathoda.com/stories.

• poem: Journey into Hyades’ Kingdom
• poem: Passion without Reason
• poem: An Ode to Bean Dip
• poem: Victory is Mine Sayeth I
• poem: Her Hate

of horn’ed head
and clove’ed feet

Lifting my pulse

Away

From reason’s too sharp seat

~

by Ranjit Singh Mathoda
created and copyright July 3, 2001

You can find more of my stories and poems at http://mathoda.com/stories.

• poem: Victory is Mine Sayeth I
• poem: Her Hate
• poem: An Ode to Bean Dip
• poem: Journey into Hyades’ Kingdom
• my sister’s poem: Nachel by Nachel (with a small addition by me)

and bring the chips

~

by Ranjit Singh Mathoda
created and copyright August 30, 2005

(Special thanks to Nisha Bhakta Dugal, whose exquisite bean dip resulted in this ode.)

You can find more of my stories and poems at http://mathoda.com/stories.

• poem: Journey into Hyades’ Kingdom
• poem: Victory is Mine Sayeth I
• poem: The Ice Cream Cart Disaster
• poem: Passion without Reason
• my sister’s poem: Nachel by Nachel (with a small addition by me)