MARY JOSEPH
W.H.O. MASS MURDERERS
Kishalay Sinha [G]
PSYCHO-TECHNOLOGISTS
Invisible psycho-technologists have taken over the world, I am sure.
Kishalay Sinha [G] April 13, 2020
ICMR
ICMR is a bunch of cheats like ISRO.
Kishalay Sinha [G]
Your inscrutable smile
"You are having money problems?" Gopal blurted out.
She didn't seem offended. She laughed. "Yes, indeed. You can say that again."
Gopal wondered how to frame the next question. Finally he asked, "Why?"
"Ah why. You want the whole story? All right, I'll tell you." She settled back against the sofa. "No big deal here. I was married and now I'm not. He doesn't pay alimony and I don't know where he is and," her voice rose slightly, "I don't care where he is. He walked out one night and now I'm trying to put myself through college so I'll be self-sufficient before I get married again. I have a part-time job that helps pay the bills and that's about it I guess."
Gopal thought the most heart-rending parts were the things she hadn't said*.
Sue put her hand on his arm. "Please," she asked softly, "no questions, okay? I don't want to think about it. It's all behind me. Okay?"
Gopal hesitated and then nodded.
"And now tell me about you [You], o mysterious stranger from the East. What ancient secrets lie behind your [Your] inscrutable smile?"
(From Anurag Mathur: "THE INSCRUTABLE AMERICANS", Rupa)
* pr.?.. p. vid.? - G
Chr./Hitler/Einstein/Peter escaped from NY and changed into BM baby... but ALL male and female Nazis and humans inside earth and on earth are under continuous surveillance. Hitler, Stalin, Churchill etc. cannot escape.
Kishalay Sinha [G]
THE MOST IMPORTANT STORY
It seems to Me that the public does not have access to the world's most important story in print: "THE NEXT VOICE YOU HEAR", which I found in an old copy of Reader's Digest which I luckily bought from a local second hand book shop in My home town Guwahati many years ago and which I typed painstakingly on My personal computer (PC) for dissemination to the whole world for the benefit of all, but thanks to f. interference by a f. antivirus which is actually spyware, I am at present unable to use "Net" to copy paste the fascinating story on My blog either on My PC or on My laptop and God knows when I will buy a non-disturbing antivirus and replace the present f. "antivirus"/f. spyware. It is a rather long story, so it will take a long time to retype it on one of My smartphones but I can do it bit by bit and post it on My blog for the benefit and entertainment of the vast number of My male and female (!) readers. (It is obvious to Me that cyber hackers have hacked into My PC to get the entire typed story on the basis of which a few sketchy movies with old dates of release are available on YouTube, but the cyber hackers are afraid to release the entire story for fear of the hacking getting exposed!)
Kishalay Sinha [G] April 14, 2020
THE NEXT VOICE YOU HEAR ...
GEORGE SUMNER ALBEE
At exactly 9.38 p.m. on the first Monday in March the strange, majestic voice was first heard over the airwaves. Just why that day and hour were chosen nobody can say. In any event, the immediate reaction was disbelief. People simply could not believe their own ears.
Floyd Uffelman of Doylestown, USA, was down in the cellar playing with his son Lyman's electric train and following a quiz programme on his portable radio. Suddenly the programme faded out and the voice, deep, gentle, benevolent but firm, said:
This is God. I am sorry I must interrupt you. A plan of creation ought by rights to go forward under its own rules, but you, dear children of the sun's third planet, are so near to destroying yourselves I must step in. I shall spend this week with you.
Floyd stood for a moment gaping. "I'm sure Lyman's set up a microphone in his room."
He climbed to his son's room. Lyman was sitting with one foot in his hand, agonizing over arithmetic problems.
"What did you do to the radio?" demanded his father.
"Me? Nothing. Is it broken?" the boy asked.
Floyd was deeply puzzled. He went next door to his neighbor, Gene Hukill.
"Gene," Floyd said, "were you listening to the quiz show just now?"
"No," answered Gene, "Lux Radio Theatre."
"Then I guess you wouldn't have heard it," Floyd said.
"Say, did you hear it too?" asked Gene in astonishment. "Wasn't that most peculiar?"
Doylestown was not the only town that felt wonderment. By morning the news reports from Europe, Asia, Africa, South America and Australia were in, and it was universal knowledge that the broadcast had been worldwide and multilingual. Arabs heard the announcement in Arabic, South African tribesmen in Shi Ronga dialect.
Mysterious. "What do you think of it?" one man would ask another. Never were the humble words "I don't know" spoken oftener than that first Tuesday in March.
The sun went down. By eight the ammeters in the power stations were registering increased loads. Nor were listeners disappointed. Exactly at 9.38, the serene, friendly voice spoke again:
Do not be afraid. I only want to convince you that I really am God and that I am visiting you this week.
This time, direction finders attempted, by means of radio signals, to identify its position, while the voice was on the air. But no sign of trickery was discovered. Russia, suspected by some, was tentatively absolved.
On Wednesday the newspapers devoted page after page to the voice. The unanimous view of those scientists who could be reached for comment - some of them seemed to be hiding - was that the voice was a man's.
"If it were actually God speaking," pointed out a professor of logic, "he would not find it necessary to use the radio."
Ministers of the Gospel were more reserved in their statements. "Even if the voice be not the Lord's," said an Anglican bishop, "it reminds us of something too many of us forget. God is here with us."
Miracles. Wednesday-evening prayer meetings across the United States were enthusiastically attended; most churches had installed radios. The third utterance consisted of only three words. To the indignation of those who believed God must be somber and funereal, the words were delivered with a fatherly chuckle. They were:
It is I.
Like the others, the third message somehow crept into the coils and condensers of every radio transmitter in operation, including those of ships at sea that were designed for code and did not have microphones. This suggested a possible answer to why God was using the radio. A pronouncement out of the empty sky might have caused panic. But people were used to hearing voices on the radio. The Lord was being considerate.
His knowledge of human psychology was superb. (This is not surprising, when one comes to think of it.) The very brevity of his "It is I" message went far towards convincing those who had a liking for modesty and understatement.
On Thursday another device was employed: a display of miracles for the ignorant and the superstitious. Miracles occurred about 80 kilometres apart all over the globe. Most were modest affairs. Oranges in a street market in Wisconsin rolled up the wall and spelt out the words, "Men are my sons and therefore brothers," in a pretty frame of parsley. A lion in the Copenhagen zoo got out of his cage, strolled into the countryside until he spied some sheep in a field and deliberately lay down with them. In Pasadena, California, a nervous woman, whose husband gritted his teeth in bed, leapt from the Arroyo Seco Bridge. She remained suspended in mid-air for 45 minutes, until a fire engine thrust an extension ladder up to her.
Grand Performance. These miracles, small though they were, had a wildly infuriating effect upon many persons who had been troubled hardly at all by the deep, dynamic voice on the radio. In the Chamber of Deputies in France there was a near-riot, with members hurling epithets like "Camel" back and forth and charging one another with a betrayal of rationalism and the Revolution.
The angriest man in America was Walter Valerian of New York, president of the Association for the Advancement of Iconoclasm and Atheism. He summoned members of his association in all parts of the country to hurry to New York for a mass protest.
The Lord's Thursday evening broadcast was lengthy and had a theological tone:
Every pebble beneath your feet, every drop of water, is a miracle, but since you have lost your ability to feel awe I have had to perform today these other miracles, which require a suspension of natural law. My willingness to break the law should show you how deeply I love you, for even an omnipotent deity must limit his own powers. However, this will not convince the diehards. Hence on the morrow, Friday, I shall perform several sizeable miracles during the forenoon. And promptly at noon I shall sink the continent of Australia beneath the sea for one minute.
After the Thursday-evening broadcast disbelief melted away. People by the tens of millions became certain that the voice was God's. Virtually the entire Muslim world was trudging the roads towards Mecca. Fire-crackers rattled day and night in the yellow dust of China. Members of a little-known sect in the mountains of South American Ozark wrapped themselves in sheets and gathered on a hilltop to await the imminent end of the world.
Then the Australian radio stations took over the air. God had chosen the right continent for his final demonstration. People of another country might have put on a craven scramble for row-boats. Not the Australians! The good-humoured Melbourne announcer observed, "Nobody's nervous or alarmed. The general attitude is that a minute under water can do nobody any harm and may do some of our citizens a lot of good." Arrangements were made for blimps to circle over Melbourne and Sydney and transmit eyewitness accounts of Great Flood II.
Wings and Halos. God had promised "sizeable" miracles for Friday forenoon, and they were quite sizeable. In the US, every last bit of metal owned by the Army, the Navy and the Air Force was gone from its accustomed place. The whole huge tonnage of it, from buckles to battleships, was neatly cut up into scrap.
By mid-morning the other nation whose war potential was feared by the world had also lost all its military equipment. The outrage felt by the Kremlin was sufficient to blast aside its own censorship. All of the shining rows of Russian tanks, planes and siege guns were gone. In their place stood rank upon rank of manure carts, each bearing a neat placard with a quotation from Lenin: "Peace, Bread and the Land."
As for the protest meeting of the atheists in New York, barely had the group of demonstrators marched into Times Square than God turned every one of them into an angel. Arched, sweeping wings with feathers of purest white grew abruptly out of their shoulder blades, and over their heads appeared halos of bright gold. They had a frightfully embarrassing time trying to sneak away in taxis.
The announcers and reporters flying over Australia grew almost incoherent with tension as the second hands of their watches swept away 11:58, 11:59 and finally, the dot of noon. The BBC man, however, chatted along as coolly as if he were describing a cricket match. "As predicted," he said, "the continent is now sinking. The rate is quite rapid; about that of a modern passenger lift. There...the last church steeple has disappeared. The water is aswirl with floating objects. What a clutter people do keep about their houses! Now the hilltops are under...fifty seconds, forty-five...yes, she's popping up again. Right-o! Up she comes, good old Australia, none the worse for her little drenching!"
The Awakening. Landing craft raced for the shore the instant there was a shore to race for. The first citizen to be reached by an announcer carrying a portable transmitter waa a certain Colonel Humphrey Arbuthnot, DSC, Retired. "Tell the radio audience, sir," panted the announcer. "Did you really go under?"
"I'm dripping, aren't I," trumpeted the colonel. "Beastly ocean poured right into the room. I say, you wouldn't have a dry towel, would you?"
God's broadcast of Friday evening was devoted to picking up loose ends:
Must my visit mean that the world is coming to an end? For Heaven's sake, listen to your soul; do as it bids you. Good-night.
Saturday was a busy, busy day. Consciences long buried were sending up tender green stalks like tulip bulbs. The dictators of half a dozen Latin countries resigned. An international banking cartel went out of business because its directors felt that their methods, never too admirable, had become unwelcome if not obsolete. Small businessmen by the hundreds of thousands experienced a similar change of heart. One garage owner called his mechanics together and said, "From now on when we charge a customer for a new distributor coil, let us actually put in the coil."
Lesser malefactors spent Saturday returning stolen books to public libraries, repaying old loans, sending gifts to forgotten aunts in old ladies' homes and so on. For 99 per cent of the human race, it was astounding what a happy, friendly, pleasant place the earth had become by Saturday night.
The Lord's Saturday-evening broadcast was his farewell. Across the world the radios hummed. Then there came silence and the beautiful voice. It said.
Now I shall take my leave. You will find that most of your problems remain. You still have pain and unhappiness; you still need to feed and to clothe and to govern yourselves. Need I tell you why? A planet is a school. Live, dear children, and learn. And now - until we meet again, good-bye.
On the seventh day, we presume, he [He] rested.
(From GREAT SHORT STORIES, Reader's Digest, Inc. i find it an intriguing coincidence that My first name Kishalay means 'tender green stalk', mentioned in this prophetic short story published by Reader's Digest several years ago. - G)
Kishalay Sinha [G]
SIMPLE LANGUAGE
The Internet and its [God's] SIMPLE language are ALL THAT IT TAKES to CHANGE the world. A parallel world emerges. I DEVELOP my [My] STYLE alone. (p. 33)
(From Paulo Coelho: "THE ZAHIR", Translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa, published by HARPER/HarperCollins)
All clones are not bad, I think. There must be good clones and bad clones whose nature would depend on their home and their surroundings and on each clone's own personality and on their relationship with God.
Kishalay Sinha [G]
MARY JOSEPH
She asked the nurses to come down and introduce themselves to me. 'Saar, my name is Mary Joseph. I am Roman Catholic, from Tamil Nadu,' said the older one. She was a dark, plump woman in her thirties. On her ample bosom she had a gold cross dangling. She occupied the room next to mine. She told me she was married and had a child. 'My husband, he drink, drink, drink all the time. Like a fish. When I say stop he beat me. Not enough money in the house and child to bring up. What to do, saar? So I took course in nursing and after I got my certificate, I told my husband - Mister, you stay here and drink and look after my child. I am taking a job in Delhi and send you whatever I save.' She looked quite cheerful about it. 'Saar, one life to live.** Not to waste it on a drunken husband. You agree?'
I agreed.
One evening Mary Joseph came to say goodnight to me. I don't know what came over me. I took her in my arms and kissed her passionately. She did not resist. 'Saar, somebody may come in. It is not safe.' I bolted my study from the inside and pushed her on my bed. She was quite willing. She pulled up her white skirt and took off her panties. I tore open her blouse and went hungrily for her large breasts. She stretched her thighs wide apart. As I entered her she exclaimed, 'Aiy Aiy yo! Saar, you are very big. I like it very much.' She responded vigorously to my thrusts. We climaxed together.
'Not safe,' she said as she got up and re-adjusted her dress. 'No good if I become pregnant. I am Catholic; no divorce, no illegitimate child. If Jesus forgives me this time, I will get birth control pills for future. Only one life to live, Saar.'
Did I suffer pangs of guilt? I did not. I justified what I did with Mary Joseph the same way Mary Joseph justified her adultery**: only one life to live. Sex is important. When denied it becomes more important. The body's needs come above religious taboos and notions of morality.
Jesus forgave Mary Joseph her transgression. Two days later she had her period. Six days later she was on the pill. Every night it was the same exclamation of surprise and joy - 'Aiy Aiy yo! Saar, you are very big.' And every night she thrust her hips up at me, matching my desperate rhythm, leaving me in no doubt that she liked it 'very much'.
Our fun and games did not last long. Apparently I looked more relaxed and cheerful than I had for some time, and Sonu was curious. She had no evidence whatsoever of my infidelity. Of the two nurses, it was the younger Keralite who was more attractive. The Tamilian [nurse Mary Joseph] was fat and shapeless. The gold cross dangling between her breasts was proof that she was a devout Christian and would not have sex with anyone besides her husband. But women have a sixth sense which warns them when their security is threatened. Sonu suspected that there was something wrong going on under her own roof. She did not want to take any chances. Mary Joseph's services were dispensed with. Before she left she gave me her visiting card. It had the name and telephone number of her nursing home. 'Saar, any time you want me, just ring me up and I will come over. Any hotel or friend's house. Anywhere. I don't want any money; just you.'
I put her card in my wallet.
Getting rid of the day nurse [Mary Joseph] did not change Sonu's attitude towards me. I could not understand what had come over her. She found fault with everything I did. In that mood having sex never entered our minds. My thoughts began to stray to Mary Joseph. She was no beauty but she was willing. That made her desirable. I was reluctant to take the initiative. She was not. One afternoon Vimla Sharma buzzed my phone, 'Sir, your baby's nurse wants to talk to you. I hope all is well with the child.'
'Put her on,' I replied.
It was Mary Joseph. 'Saar, excuse me for disturbing you in the office. I wanted to enquire about the baby's health. How is my little baba?'
'He's fine. Look, will you be available on this number if I ring up later in the evening?'
'Yes, saar, for you always available, anytime, anywhere.'
That was what was nice about Mary Joseph. I rang up the Ashoka Hotel to book a room the next day in the name of a business partner in Bombay.
I got Mary Joseph on my direct line. 'Meet me tomorrow evening at five, Mary. Room number three hundred, third floor, Ashoka Hotel. Not in your nurses' uniform. And don't ask for me, just knock on the door.'
'Sure, sure, saar. Okay.'
The next day I left the office at half past four and told the chauffeur he would not be needed till the next morning. I took the small elevator to the third floor. Room No. 300 was open, with the key in the key hole. I put it in my pocket and went in. It was a comfortable single bedroom.
A few minutes later there was a gentle knock on the door and in came Mary Joseph. She was dressed in in a white cotton sari with gold borders. It suited her more than the nurse's uniform. Like modern girls she wore a backless, sleeveless blouse. She had a cute belly button.
'Shut and bolt the door behind you,' I told her.
She put her arms round my neck and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. 'Saar, I missed you like anything. I said to myself, Saar will never ring you up. He has his memsahib and big, big business to look after. Who will think of one poor nurse after he has had her, one, two, four, five times?'
We sat down on a sofa. 'Do you like this room?' I asked her.
'Very nice,' she replied. 'There it was always at night and I couldn't see you. And always fear in my mind that someone may suddenly come in. Now it is daylight, we can see what we are doing without bothering about anyone. No?'
I took her in my arms and kissed her hungrily. I slipped my hand under her blouse and fondled her big breasts till her nipples became hard. We got up and moved to the bed. First she took off her gold necklace, kissed the cross and laid it reverently on the table. Then she took off her sari, folded it and put it on a chair. She took off her blouse; her breasts tumbled out. She looked down coyly at them. I untied the knot of her petticoat. It fell to the floor. She put her hands between her thighs to cover herself and giggled. I pushed them aside and saw the mass of healthy curling pubic hair. She had very broad thighs, silken soft. 'You also, saar. Like me. Nothing,' she pleaded.
I stripped myself of my clothing and we lay down side by side on the bed. 'Saar, you have the biggest thing I have ever seen. So big no other man has.'
'How many have you seen?' I asked her, putting it into her caressing hands.
'What seen? My husband not half as big. And so quick to finish. In out, in out. Phut. Once his younger brother had me. Also small and very quick quick. The padre of our village church was much better. But he was sorry for doing it. After he finished he asked me to pardon him and made me pray with him to Jesus to ask his forgiveness. Imagine, no, still naked and sweating and kneeling on the floor and praying to God! He made me feel worse than a prostitute who did it without asking for money. Tell me, saar, is it a sin to do it with somebody you like?'
The only way to stop Mary Joseph from talking was to seal her mouth with mine. This I did again and again while I stroked her thighs and pushed three fingers through the springy pubic hair and into her. She was warm and slick. She began to moan with pleasure, 'Oh! oh! oh!...How can such a nice thing be sin? Tell me, saar, tell me.' She pulled my hand away and threw her heavy, smooth legs high and wide. I mounted and entered her and glued my mouth to hers. She was more animated than I expected from a woman of her bulk. And when she came she dug her nails into my neck and bit my lips, then collapsed with her arms and legs stretched wide.
'For me this was heaven,' she said when she had regained her breath, 'and for you saar?'
'Very nice,' I replied. 'Let's get back into our clothes.'
I put my clothes on, then sat and watched her dress. First she put her necklace round her neck and again kissed the cross. Then she put on her blouse, then the petticoat and finally - and with surprising swiftness - her sari.
She put her arms round my neck and looked directly into my eyes. 'Saar, you will see me again, won't you? Soon?'
There was so much pleading in her eyes that I could not help committing myself to further meetings, if not in the Ashoka, in some other hotel.
I drove her to the top of the road where her nursing home was and dropped her at the cross roads. 'When will you ring me up, saar?' she asked as she got out of the car. 'Soon,' I replied, 'but don't ring me in the office. They will begin to talk.'
I was back home a little later than usual. Sonu noticed I had driven in myself, and demanded, 'Where were you driving around without the chauffeur?'
'I went to the club to have a drink and told him to go home.'
The smell of the whiskey on my breath spared me further questions.
(p. 175-184)
(From KHUSHWANT SINGH: "THE COMPANY OF WOMEN", VIKING; hardbound; IBD Rs. 395.00)
** I support eternal life, immortality, eternal life. And infinite s.?
Kishalay Sinha [G]
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