Life is a Game of Thief and Police

Life is not just a green leafy path. It’s also a desert. Breathing in the sweet scent of dates, chasing dreams of oases. The sand is endless. Feet burn. Eyes sting. Mirages give birth to hope. The camel is your role model — it sees the world from the highest point. The one who creates the storm also sends down the cool raindrops.

Once, drama was a part of literature. Now, drama itself is literature. Actors have outnumbered writers. Shouting has surpassed writing. In kabaddi, the one who shouts well is the winner.

Embers and fireflies look alike. To know the difference, your hand must burn. The ultimate goal of cinema is to give the audience a slap in exchange for their money — a kind of entertainment.

If you remain silent, the forest will speak. Your language is forbidden there. The waterfall’s music is a soulful song, a cursed tune, singing even in midnight loneliness, asking about the disappearance of innocent children. The day will come when the fish will bite through the nets. If you want to conquer the ocean, you must know the size of the whales.

If you roast the pot-bellied spiritual scholars for two days, their philosophy will melt away. You’ll understand why street dogs fight for a bit of food.

Blow the wind and the shehnai will sing. Pluck the string and the veena will speak. Move the fingers and the tabla will say thadiginatom. If every movement in creation is musical, man alone is practising tastelessness.

Humans are always losing and searching. Life is a game of thief and police. You are both the thief and the hero.

A cloud with a belly gives birth to nature. The falling leaf loves the sprouting twig. Like the roots of a great tree deep underground, our ancestors’ souls are shaping us. Man is a gathering of countless inner forces.

For frogs, the coming of rain is a festival. For dogs, a wedding in the village is a celebration. When a farmer’s house is filled with grain, it’s a feast for the rats. Every creature has its season of joy and its season of tears.

A truth greater than truth itself is falsehood. In war, betrayal is more decisive than strategy. Behind every victor, there’s hidden greed and deceit.

Survival is like swordplay. For some, the sword is in the form of a tongue. Like a snake shedding its skin, every five years new leaders arrive. The hood is the same, the design different.

Feeding in many ways is the minimum duty of governments. Without eating, you can’t be a leader; without hitting, you can’t be a rowdy.

Biting is the old style. Swallowing whole is the python’s style. Power is an anaconda. Democracy is a pot with a hole.

Everyone knows how to live. Writing books about it is like teaching a crocodile to swim.

Munke Sukhamanukovoyi, said Samudral — he preserved the family name. Devadas could sing because he drank Scotch; with today’s brands, he’d be gone by the interval.

For a drunkard, every glass is a divine glass.