Sudeep Pagedar

The Sprinter

Holocaust

Ovation

Bienvenue

Contact

A Review

 

 


The Sprinter

Tale of a Sprinter, in the Winter of 1938 by Sudeep Pagedar THE PAST - I am an athlete from Berlin, my feet are fast and swift. I can run faster than anyone! Truly, this is the Lord's gift! Any race I participate in, I always come in first, for I tell myself, "I HAVE to win"; it is like a great thirst. Even if someone, somehow passes me, I put on an extra burst of speed and run past him, leaving him behind; thus, I take the lead. I once thought, "If I keep running this way, I might be in the Olympics, some day..." THE PRESENT - But now the year is nineteen-thirty-eight And for my dreams, it's just too late. My running days are all gone, I'm not going to see tomorrow's dawn. Yes, it is true that I can run very fast; But it is also true that I am a Jew... There's no running, from the Holocaust.

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Holocaust

Holocaust by Sudeep Pagedar How do you explain that term to a ten- year old boy who, one day, hears it mentioned by some relatives? And even if you do manage to make him understand what it actually does mean, do you also tell him that because he is A GERMAN JEW, perhaps, some day, he might be included in it...? Or should he just not be told, so that he remains calm and doesn't lose sleep over it? But what is sleep, in front of death? Perhaps Death is greater, perhaps the two are the same; we do not know yet but we'll know, by the end of the day; the Chambers are yet some hours away. "To die, to sleep...to sleep, perchance to dream..." How did Shakespeare realise that? Did he know some Jew who was persecuted too? Perhaps he was wrong, maybe he was right... Anyway, I suspect we'll find out by tonight.

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Ovation

Warring Ovation by Sudeep Pagedar A turbaned man, the Yanni of the Mujahideen orchestrates a piece so moving and powerful that, at the end of it, the world is left gaping. And then, the tears come. The tears come, freely and the audience stands up. Then, the applause begins. The applause takes on the form of machine-gun-fire, Bunker-Buster's from B-52's, MOAB's... Thunderous applause. The applause, in its military avatar is meant, for the bearded, beturbaned Maestro and his 'holy' orchestra group which, one day, one September, treated a select group of 'kaafir's', to one of the most powerful demonstrations of Bass, ever. T'was a show to die for and aye, that's precisely what happened. The applause is for these performers but... it hardly reaches them. It seems that there are some men and women, who have constructed and built their houses and their lives in the vicinity of the Maestro's office-branches. The applause crashes upon them; but these people are not famous. These people are commoners; they have nothing to do with this Maestro and his crew, who happen to be used to such tulmultuous reactions. So, they are completely overwhelmed by the flying ovation of machine-gun-fired bullets; hot lead and missiles flying, overhead that incapacitate some of them and leave some others dead. They... they don't know what to say, they don't know what to do... When applause reaches you like a slap across the face, is a reaction truly possible, in such a case? But the confused looks on their faces are mistaken for looks of joy and excitement and so, the applause continues, with newly renewed vigour. The applause thunders down, upon them. Burning confetti rains down, upon them. And so, overwhelmed and scalded, they die, with grimaces on their lips and fear in their eyes. Then, the good-deed-for-the-day of the clappers done, they turn on their Television-sets for some relaxation and fun. On the nine-O-clock news, this just in: Those at the receiving end of the applause were, apparently, so thrilled that their over-excited hearts failed them: the applause had them killed. The viewers clucked their tongues, wagged their heads, sighed deeply and said, "Ah well, c'est la vie; life's just like that. They came here and put on a show for us, so we gave them tit for tat."

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Bienvenue

Bienvenue by Sudeep Pagedar I welcome you to this place, this venue of Global Progress. Here, shall the new be brought in and the spent, old, discarded. Welcome to this...civilisation. You now stand at the adit to a new generation, a new breed of thought and deed. More powerful than the ones before, they do not follow the rules of 'logic'; reason, instead, follows them and is at their beck and call. Very versatile, as can be seen: One reason explains all! You are welcome, to roam about and explore all, that we offer you. Go on, go about, play, jump, prance, jump off that cliff; go on, take a chance. Welcome, O' Mortals, to this Brave New World. It is now yours, till, of course, you eventually destroy it. Before this Brave New World, we had a street on which we built our homes; yes, homes, not houses, so, we thought back then. Then, one day, it all blew up and as the fires died down, as we went through the shattered remnants of our past lives, we knew. We knew that they were just... houses.

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Contact

Sudeep Pagedar gr8.philosopher@gmail.com

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A Review

Sudeep Pagedar - a young, highly talented writer with an exceptionally gift for humanity, great depth and power to show the madness, the despair and the insanity of war. - Louis Bülow




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