Ronie Dinosaur

The Unnamed Gift When you give a gift, do you announce it-This is for you- or do you leave it in the dark and call the receiver thief? Hunger exists. Read more from here...

Ronie Dinosaur Chapter 120 - Frooti Shot Me Down Verse 1 You wanted fire without a name, corner me dark, take all the same. No title needed, no promise spoken- just hands in shadows, rules left broken. Read more from here...

Ronie Dinosaur Chapter 96 - Stairway to Hell As an engineering student with an analytical mind-trained in basic physics and mathematics, capable enough-my mind first studied her eyes in the college corridor. She planted her right hand on the wall above my shoulder, stopping me mid-step as I began descending the stairs in the middle of the corridor. Jovial, yet forceful. Why wasn’t she afraid of Ronie? She was just as tall as I was. Read more from here...

Title — Perennial Lust and intoxicants- flesh and meth- anywhere on earth: indoors, outdoors, forest floor or open sea. Read more from here...

The moment of first silence between us- a regret that could convert into opportunity. That is where greed is born. When fantasy began to shape into reality, I fumbled not because it lacked beauty, but because it arrived uninvited, Read more from here...

In extreme scarcity, when every distraction is stripped away, most people finally see money’s power and run after it like starved dogs. I did the opposite. That emptiness became my forge. A dinosaur among snakes-hunger, greed, lust, cheapness, helplessness-I refused to beg. I refused to worship money. Instead of learning tucchapana (how petty and insignificant material things truly are), I learned a fiercer truth: I am worth infinitely more than any coin or chapati ever placed on any plate. For 758 days in rehab, I begged from no one. No one gave me anything. I survived on nothing but 400 grams of atta per day. With iron discipline I kept the philosopher in me alive and turned my body into a weapon-gradually building to about 3,000 squats three times during that period and 1,500 knuckle pushups, once doing 620 in thirty minutes. The world keeps trying to teach me how great it is. I still don’t see it, and I no longer care. I will live the rest of my life exactly as I decided in that rehab cell. I call a call girl a girl. No one becomes a whore in my mouth-though I know exactly what a whore is. A call girl is not a whore; she is simply horny and also chooses to accept money for the act. Yet I never grant myself the luxury of pretending I am not a randa by evaluation, because the customer is the male whore. Still, shallow as that defense may sound today, I never completed the transaction as a customer. Many times I sent them away unpaid after they confessed their pain-one even saying, “I’m on my period but I need the money.” Most of the time, nothing happened at all. Even my first visit to a brothel wasn’t for flesh; I went craving female company. They were happy holding currency notes, and I just wanted to hold someone’s hand. Read more from here...