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- Denis Giles
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“I hate her, she’s a Pakistani!”
I stopped in my tracks and glanced worriedly at my Zoom screen to look at who had uttered these words. I saw his face, contorted with rage, and realized I had to not just diffuse a tense situation, but ask for Divine guidance.
This happened yesterday in the online class I conduct for writers. In this class, I have aspiring writers from Dubai, Canada, Syria, Mauritius and from all over India learning to write professionally.
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- Denis Giles
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Now and then, one hears of the death of an MP or MLA succumbing to Covid-19!
As I glance at the small picture that accompanies the newspaper article, I wonder what their last thoughts were as they lay in hospital bed under the deadly tentacles of the Green Monster. My thoughts shift to the deadly Virus as it watches us fighting and sparring on trivialities instead of joining forces and battling it.
“Hey!” shouts same Corona Virus as it stares at it’s brother virus’s, all crouching outside a housing society waiting for the residents to make one wrong move; either coming out without a mask, or walking too closely with one another, “Hey, we’re wasting our time here, trying to pick up one victim at a time!”
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- Denis Giles
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I've always been rather fond of John: People said he wasn't good looking but I've seen pretty girls hanging onto him and realized he was quite comfortable with himself, till last evening: "Bob you're not going to see me for a while, and after I'm back you'll have women wanting to elope with me!"
"After you're back from where?" I asked puzzled.
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- Denis Giles
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Today, as I listen to the political noise, the talk by rivals, the rabid thrusts, the bluster and blabber, the eyeball looks, and ferocious threats, I think of the steam engine!
In my mind, even today, there is no ferocious, powerful, robust, beast, like the steam engine of yesterday. Even now whenever I want to imagine something more terrible than a dragon, a monster belching smoke, a machine of pure energy, I picture the steam engine.
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- Denis Giles
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Decades ago, I traveled the local trains of Bombay, most often clinging to the sides of the doorway, hanging on for life. Daredevil stunts like this helped me get to my destination on time, maybe a bit disheveled, and all the worse for wear, but still passable, till better days helped me buy a first class pass.
And what a change there was.