In the name of god, I am going to write the most extraordinary tales of love.

The tales unheard and untold; passed across generations by means of absolutely no verbal or written communication.

The code to communicate is never known to man. It is not to be taught for it has to be discovered. From the cave man to the laptop gawper, from the hunter-gatherer to the homo economicus, the code remained hidden.

The problem was that nobody knew about the code or its existence. Fair enough, we humans seldom bother about things that cannot prove its existence.

There is a huge outlier though.

Even if something cannot prove its existence, its effect has to be profound to catch our attention. Despite the inability to do so, many a concepts have sustained the test of time - I am not allowed to go there for the love of my limbs.

Rather, I am going to put up a conjecture tonight. It’s pretty simple - Of all the love stories one could write, what could be the most beautiful?

What are the ingredients I should mashup together so that I can have the sweetest love story written?

Like all other insipid questions I ask, I am almost certain that I am not going to find an answer, but sure there is no shying away from trying to come up with convincing guesses.

I am motivated to write this because I am busy tuning my ears to listen to a love story tomorrow. The love story is going to be phenomenal because the electric monkey has fallen in love for the first time in the history of mankind.

That love story has to be awesome because electric monkeys are not meant to fall in love. They have to exist as one single entity in all the dimensions this planet could imagine.

No this isn’t about hancock, but about the electric monkey who can be called the halfcock.

The electric monkey I know was transported from an alternate reality just to be the master batter and play music inside his room. He is an introvert who is an extrovert at times, but almost always a sextrovert - albeit a failed one.

Electric monkey was playing chipparaguathustikonica (a game with his fingers gripping his wee-wee) in front of his dad’s space station (he belonged to the privileged class in his galaxy), when a human rocket brushed past his gravitational horizon.

The tiny electric monkey was just picking up his senses to tune to gravitational signals when he could feel some life form squirming inside a closed container. He transported himself to the location and found this:

He cannot contain his excitement, he wanted to know what it is and how it reached that point in space. The normal monkey was about to die when the electric monkey opened the lid of the space ship, effectively killing the normal monkey.

That was an accidental murder, but the electric monkeys were one austere species. If one electric monkey is to take out a life form, she should spend the rest of her life in that life form.

So around March 1994 (now don’t point fingers at me, the exact date of his birth is different from mine), the electric monkey crystallized as an human being in this world near koyicod beach.

The Electric monkey played with his wee-wee before he started watching p0rn and upon hitting puberty shifted his focus to a stick with tensed wires. Just like his wee-wee, touching the right chord gave him orgasmic euphoria - the electric monkey discovered music.

Fast forward into late adolescence, electric monkey will spend considerable time reading books in his petty phone and browsing music in youtube under the banner of THC.

In his free time, he graced the lives of lesser souls like mine with his passion to travel this small world. The pre-conviction electric monkey would have been able to travel this world in a split second, but the convicted electric monkey was limited by means possible to humans.

---

Once we were sitting together in chandigarh railway station when a guy with his head flip-flopped approached us and started talking about his guru who could work wonders. He was not a lost man - just like we were travelling to places with our bodies, he was travelling to places inside his mind.

We all have slightly different realities. Some of us are happy with what we have whilst others are not. Among the unhappy ones, the most creative ones create alternate realities and refuse to return to ours.

We call them mad men, but they are all liberated men and women. Liberated from the chores of a species that eats itself by cutting trees and starving lakes.

I will keep writing for my love towards electric monkey and I am sure you wouldn’t mind keep on reading. But the real question was about the sweetest love story that could be written.

And the most extraordinary tales of love that are sweet as honey and as pure as milky way - all to be written tonight.

You know that I won’t be able to write it tonight but I am going to try again tomorrow after my ears pick up the love story of Electric monkey.

The monkey’s story has to be different. My ears are hurting, I will let you know how it went tomorrow today for yesterday.

Not all non-grammatical sentences are lost, some are just begone, they will just return.