goofy kind of love...

You know, this weekend I took my daughter to a movie - How to train your dragon(3D). That the movie was thoroughly enjoyable, and that all kids must go watch it is something I reserve for another post (hopefully) :-), but there was a scene in the movie which made me smile, and think - hey, that was neat! For the way it was written. And for the way, the animators successfully brought out the feelings of blossoming love (perhaps) in a way that was so typical of a tom-boyish girl.

There's this guy, the main lead, a young boy named 'hiccup', who's training to be a dragon-slayer, but doesn't fit in. He feels he's too mild to be able to bring down dragons with his bow and arrow, machette, or axe..whatever. But everyday, he goes to a secret hideout instead, for a training of another kind (won't tell you, would spoil the fun). And there's this girl, who's his batch-mate, doesn't quite like his mildness, but is curious about him..wants to know more, so she follows him to his secret haunt one day. Long story short, she discovers something out of the world and experiences a joy-ride of sorts, something she's never experienced before.

And when the joyride ends, their eyes meet for second, and she punches his shoulder.
"This is for scaring me (which happens initially when she discovers what's in the hideout)".
He goes 'ouch', totally zapped at the anti-climax the exhilirating joy-ride offered.
And then before he can realize it, she quickly plants a peck on his cheek.
"this is for everything else," and disappears into the woods, leaving a confused, yet happy hiccup behind.

Now, nothing earth-moving, or 'lightning strike' about this scene, but I somehow felt it was very romantic. Clumsy...but romantic.

Speaking of which, there's this another scene from the movie Sunday - don't know if guys've watched it (Ayesha Takia & Ajay Devgun). Nothing great, routine murder mystery with bits of comedy thrown in - in short, watchable fare. But here again, the said scene makes you go, 'huh?', but also makes you smile.

The girl is a voiceover artist, mimicking just about any cartoon character thrown at her - Mickey, Donald, Tweety bird etc. Nice. And the guy's a cop. Yeah, that's how different they are(of course the guy behaves like a cartoon for the most part).

The scene goes like this - She's a prime suspect in a murder; things are not so good - and he's trying to help (by now there is some chemistry here, we know). They're sitting on a bench, the girl is looking sad and lost, he..he's just trying to figure out how to get her out of the mess. And to top it, the feelings they have for each other.

To pep up her spirits he asks her to do those voices she's so good at. At first she's hesitant, but opens up later... and he keeps on giving her lines that she mimics in voices like tweety, donald etc.

And then suddenly he says, 'I love you."
She goes 'I love you' the way donald duck would croon to daisy duck, "I loooooove you." (Imagine donald's voice, yeah?)
And then he says, " I love you too," poker faced.

She's about to mimic that, when she realizes what he's upto. And stops. He raises his eyebrows. She laughs this embarrassing laugh, which turns to a kind of bashful laugh, and he keeps on giving her the quizzical look. And then she mock-punches him.

I mean..come on - this kind of scene is a first, you've got to give it to them. It was cute, and at the same time silly. But nonetheless, very romantic. Made me smile. I know, die-hard romantics would 'pooh-pooh' this, but sometimes these clumsy-awkward scenes have their own charm.

Don't you think?

*********

Long story shot!

Ajay looked up the cob-webbed staircase and coughed. He pointed his flash light and started climbing. He was aware that any creepy crawly creature would jump at him or wind itself round his legs any time now, but he was beyond all that. He was on a mission he had to accomplish at any cost. He climbed six stories quietly and finally emerged onto the small balcony-like open space that looked out at the city lights. After all that dust, the fresh air was life saving. He patted his back for having discovered this vantage point for himself.

The brief was simple. "Get the celebrity."

He unpacked his bag and brought out his equipment. He quickly checked and cross-checked if he had it all there. Then he holstered himself onto the ledge of the sit-out and waited. It was dark around him, and there weren't a lot of houses higher than this one. Good.

The Spiritz bar was bang opposite this building and he had a clear view of the entrance. He had earlier received a tip-off that Abhimanyu Saxena and his ex-girlfriend would be partying at the bar later in the evening. This was his do or die chance to get the guy. There was big money here, and he just couldn't afford to screw it up. Not with his track record.

He knew that Abhimanyu didn't venture out without his security, what with the current scandal he was in, but he could handle that. The building was so desolate, it would take them a while before they could get to him. And he had his escape route all planned out a couple of trips before. Now, all he had to do was wait.

*******

It was close to 1 am when the couple walked out, she sloshed and hanging onto one of the security guys, and him not so sloshed, but a bit, nonetheless. Ajay smiled and took position, fixing his telescopic lens on the couple. He fixed his eye on Abhimanyu, when he saw a red stain appearing on the celebrity's chest, the size of a pea and then spreading. He took his eyes off, and looked across the street. There was commotion, of course. He didn't understand. This wasn't his work. He quickly darted his eyes around to rooftops of other buildings. Below, the security guys were already pointing to his building and shouting. Man, he'd better get out of there. He stuffed everything back in his back-pack and ran to the staircase. The water-pipe from the terrace, that was his escape.

He pushed the door of the terrace open and barged out, only to run into another figure who was running in. Both bumped into each other with such force, neither knew what was happening. Somewhere in the melee there was also a short cracking sound, like someone's bone snapping as they both went down on the floor, all hands and legs. Ajay realized he was on top of the other guy and scrambled up to his feet. The other guy lay still.

With his hands trembling, he shot his flash light at him. There was a gaping hole in the neck and the head was now in a pool of blood and flesh.

Despite the shock, years as a photographer made him pull out his camera, as he steadied his hands to capture the shooter. Then he thought, 'what's the bloody point?'

He rushed to the water-pipe and slid down into the darkness.

For the life of them, the cops couldn't figure out why a contract-killer would bump himself after shooting a celebrity. Conscientious guy, they thought.

********

Ph....D.

The university campus was near empty. Not even 6 pm. But it was winter, and it was getting dark.

Adhikari, the head of the humanities wing, was alone in the staff room. He pulled out the hefty file from below the mountain of documents and other papers. He hated paperwork. He hated office-work. Hell, he hated students.

He had barely opened the file when he found a boy standing in front of him. He jumped.

"Idiot! Knock first."

"Sorry, sir. The door was open, and..."

"Hmm. Department?" Adhikari growled and adjusted his glasses over his nose.

"Sir...humanities."

Adhikari looked up.

"Which subject?"

"Sir, psychology."

"Hmmm. Year?"

He didn't remember the guy's face, and of course - he didn't care.

"Sir..I've completed final year, I plan to do my PhD." The guy mumbled.

"Hmpfh!"

There was silence for a while. Adhikari pushed back his chair, rose to snap the light on behind him, and sat back again.

"So, what do you want to research? Quick. You see? I'm working."

And then he mumbled something about students not interested in studying, bunking, so on and so forth.

"Sir, parapsychology."

Adhikari didn't look up. "Parapsychology?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what makes you think that it is a walk in the park to do research on the after-life, occult and the such?" He looked up at the guy in the eye now. The boy's lips quivered.

Adhikari continued. "You look like you'll faint, right now. Parapsychology indeed. You think it is all fun?"

"No, sir..but.."

"But what? You need to put it down on paper. Make a proposal. Stating your reasons to do research on this subject. You understand? And then we have to see if you're fit enough to do research. And, what is the purpose of this research etc. You don't walk in here, like you were asking pocket money from your father." Adhikari went back to his file.

"Sir, I've been wanting to do research on this subject for so long now. It's my passion, and now I have the resources too. So..."

"What resources, huh?" Adhikari was clearly annoyed now. "What resources? You think this is some kind of school homework you would do, after ...what do you kids say - yeah, googling it? Huh?"

"No, sir."

"Then?"

"Sir, I'm Ravi Puranik."

Adhikari laughed. He didn't know whether to shout at this boy or pity him. "So? Are you connected to some political family? Stating your name, as if that is enough..."

Then he stopped suddenly and looked at the boy closely.

Puranik smiled, for the first time. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Yes, sir. I see now that you remember."

(The Times, January 2000) Final year student of psychology jumps to his death from the 6th floor of department building

Adhikari wanted to swallow, but his throat had turned into this blocked tunnel of some sort, and everything else outside and inside of it had frozen.

And just then, the lights went out in the neighborhood. The staff room fell silent. Remained that way for a few moments.

"Sir?"

No answer.

*********

Angry young man to sad old man, to...happy young boy!

He was my first style icon. My screen idol so to say. Well, nothing new here; he was all that and more to millions like me. But well, like for all other kids my age, he too was my 'Hero' in totality. There could be nobody else. I'd drive my mom crazy, asking her to buy me/stitch me those 'broom-like' bell-bots, after I first saw him - in Khoon Pasina (Though that was not his first action outing). I modelled all my 'manly' gestures after him: the way he ran his fingers through his hair, the way he stood hands on his hips, the way he frowned when he was disturbed, the way he grit his teeth and moved his jawline when angry, the way....well, the list could go on.

He was the man who changed the direction of action movies in Indian Cinema. He was the man who every guy secretly wished to be like. Girls swooned over his tall stance, his deep baritone, his smile, his ...everything. And guys did street-fights, watching him in Naseeb, or maybe...well, any of his movies in the 80s. Being macho, was being....Bachchan.

As I grew up and the veil gradually dropped off his larger than life image, I mulled over the kind of movies he'd always done his whole life. Action-packed, high voltage, the 'all-in-one' kind of movies - typical masala stuff. Nothing to write home about role-wise or content-wise, but for his superb acting. Of course, there were the few gems early on (Anand, Chupke chupke, Kabhi Kabhie, and then some..but countable). It was only later, much later in his career that he really started experimenting with roles. I think he did a true volte-face with Aankhen...or was it Aks?

Well, long story short (pun wasn't intended at all) - like any good old wine, he also has mellowed over the years, the sharp jawline has given way to a rather soft 'goatee-lined' chin, the crisp and well-defined baritone (remember the Kaalia, Deewar, and Shakti dialogues?) has given way to the somewhat aged and soft voice that is natural of any aging process. But he has acted in all kinds of roles ever since he stepped over to his 60s- serious, angry, sad, hilarious and so on. Oh, and even as a ghost and a genie.

And now life has come a full circle I guess. Tomorrow, he'll be introduced to the world as - a happy-go-lucky young boy. All of thirteen.

All the best, Mr. Bachchan. This time round I'll try (won't promise) to imitate that 'monkey-dance' you do so well in the promos. Haiin??

Flashback

My very first post: http://www.blurty.com/users/phatichar/day/2003/05/07

Saare zameen par...

Imagine if everything came to life..even the inanimate things. Everything.

This Diwali...

It was getting dark. Raghu watched the sky painted with all those bright colors. He loved Diwali. Especially those 'rockets', as they went 'whoosh!'

He stood outside the house where they lived years back. A couple and their little son cleared the porch to burn the crackers. He smiled.

********

"Careful Vivek," The father warned. Vivek nodded happily and continued making circles with the sparklers.

Raghu walked through the gate. Ten years ago, if he'd been careful enough, he'd be here in flesh and blood, enjoying the festival with his parents. They'd left the house soon after his fatal fall from the terrace, trying to duck a neighbor's 'rocket'. He should've listened to his dad and kept away from the parapet. Well...

He noticed Vivek was looking at his parents, the sparkler flame about to reach his finger. He quickly reached out and pushed the sparkler away from his hand.

********

Happy Diwali, friends. Just...be careful, ok? (Am gonna be away till Monday).

It's Different!

Everybody experiences one 'bubble-burst' moment in their lives. At some point in their lives, I'm sure. For me, the first one happened when I actually saw Usha Uthup for the first time, if you know what I mean. And then many other such instances followed, for various other reasons. But I remember that was my first 'bubble-burst' moment.

I was ten.

Well..the point is - how many times have you associated a voice you heard, to a certain face in your mind? Obviously many times, huh? But have you any time felt that the voice you heard 'tasted' like something you ate? Ok, don't frown - it may be weird, but it has happened to me a couple of times lately.

The new crop of singers, especially girls, have such a range of voice texture that it is impossible to think of them, or at least compare them to the voices of yesteryears. It is a good sign too, we get to hear so many different voices. And they go well with the new faces you see on screen as well. You don't have to cringe when you see Amritha Rao mouthing her lines to...maybe Latha Mangeshkar? No offence, I salute the nightingale and there was a time when I couldn't even imagine any other singer's voice in hindi films. But now...

Ok, enough of the foreword. Here's a list of singers and songs they crooned in the recent past I personally like. They taste...err..sound really yummy. There's a certain 'crack-jack' feel to their voices. Have you felt the same?

• Shruti Pathak - Mar Jaawan (Fashion)
• Hema Sardesai - Badal pe paon hai (Chak de India)
• Aneela Mirza - Say na say na (Bluffmaster)
• Anushka Manchanda - Golmaal (Golmaal)
• Tanvi Shah - Fanaa (Yuva)
• Mahalaxmi Iyer - Kabhi Neem Neem (Yuva)
• Rekha Bharadwaj - Namak Ishq ka (Omkara)
• Sunidhi Chauhan - Sajna ji waari (Honeymoon Travels)
• Bombay Jaishree - Zara zara (Rehna Hai Tere Dil Mein) This is a bit older in comparison.
• Gayatri Ganjawaala & Sunidhi Chauhan - Pyar ki yeh kahani (Honeymoon Travels)
• Kavitha Seth - Iktara (Wake up Sid)
• Rahat Fateh Ali Khan - O re piya (Aaja Nachle)
• Rahat Fateh Ali Khan & Mahalaxmi Iyer - Bol na halke halke (Jhoom baraabar Jhoom)...Don't even ask about the movie, though.

********
I'm sure I missed out a lot more - fill me in... Oh, and btw, no bubble-burst moment happened this time round ;-)

Meter...

Thirty Six. Phew!

touché

He cracked his neck, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the rain. The deafening sound complemented the deafening silence he'd just left behind. Both were essentially the same, the din never left you.

He turned right and walked leisurely, wiping the water off his eyes and face. If you passed by him, you'd almost miss the tiny muzzle hiding in his palm. He clutched it tighter and walked across the street to the nearest phone booth.

He had already pulled the handle off the hook, when the shopkeeper in the adjacent building started to holler, "Sir, the phone doesn't..."

*****

The teenager ducked in time, more out of reflex than anything else, as the 'thing' flew over his head, barely millimetres away, making a whip-like sound. Maybe that's why he didn't hear the sound of the explosion. When he rose and turned his head around he saw people screaming. He was confused, he quickly turned all around, trying to locate the cause of this chaos, and then he saw it. The body lay below the phone booth across the street, smoke billowing out of it. Then with his heart thumping he turned around, behind him. The head lay against a wall, leaving a messy trail of blood and brains all over it.

******

From the half open window, a couple of buildings away, the middle-aged ex-intelligence officer and explosives expert, smiled in satisfaction and pulled the bullet-proof vest off his chest. He shook his head, helping himself to the scotch.

"Newbie..kids don't do any homework these days."

******

It happened one weekend...

You know what? For all the absurdities, I still have a soft corner for bollywood movies of the early 90s. Case in point - Dil Hai ke Manta Nahin (1991), which I chanced upon while surfing channels yesterday. And sat through it. It was a nostalgic experience given that this movie came out at a time when we were in college, and life was footloose & fancy free.

It was one of those 'assembly-line' thingies the Bhatt camp used to dole out back then. It was good, clean fun. DHMN was supposedly an inspiration of a hollywood classic (ok, stop rolling your eyes) 'It happened one night', which was once earlier made in bollywood before DHMN itself. It was called 'Chori-Chori' starring the show-man Raj Kapoor, and amchi munnabhai's real-life mom Nargis.

It gives a different kind of a high when you see the lead pair bickering and fighting tooth 'n nail the first half of the movie and then falling in love in the end. But DHMN holds a special place in my heart because the first rays of romance were entering my own life, and I remember going to this movie with almost the entire class, and yes...my future wife as well. And a movie becomes all the more special when you start relating to the characters, and your life had situations similar to those on the screen.

Well yeah, at hindsight it does seem a bit silly, compared to movies of today which are more technically advanced and realistic (and most times..err..bold, for want of a better word), and given that the movie's hero is so well known for those realistic movies today. DHMN in that sense was the perfect mix, a perfect antidote for boredom, and a perfect reckoner for people hopeful of love. It had all the masala in it, the 'drop-of-a-hat' song sequences, and of course a happy ending. And to top it, you didn't find it embarrassing to watch it with anyone...heck, I could watch it with my neighbor, Mr. R. I couldn't be seen dead with him in any movie hall today. I swear.

Rent the movie today and watch it. You'll smile through the weekend. Trust me. :-)

Scream Test

Shetty frowned as he flipped the various portfolios.

"Damn. Damn, and more damn," he muttered. He should've never listened to that Desai kid. These US-returned youngsters thought no end of themselves. One measly degree from some bloody university and they thought they knew what film-making was all about. MBA too, to top it. He shook his head and wiped his bald head.

"Next," he barked into the intercomm.

The lanky guy peeped his head through the door and stepped in with a meek "sir?"

"Come in," Shetty grunted.

He looked nervous, this guy. Shetty sized him up quickly. Hmm..not so bad actually.

"So, you are..." he pored over his profile, hooking on his glasses on the nose.

"Ankit...sir."

"Ankit," Shetty repeated and leaned back, his hands over his head. He looked at the nervous guy's face for a few seconds, a smirk slowly creeping across his own face. "So, you want to be a star, huh?"

"I want to be in this film, sir."

Shetty rolled his eyes.

"No, really sir..."

"You see, Mr. Ankit," Shetty said, leaning forward keeping his hands on the table. "This will be our most expensive movie till date. Special effects. Music. You name it. And we want actors," he said with a typical gesture. "Actors. Not dreamy-eyed stars. And that is why we're interviewing and auditioning new faces."

Ankit nodded sagely.

"And..."

"I know sir," Ankit interrupted. "And I understand that. I think...I'm..I'm your guy."

Shetty raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And what makes you so confident, young man? We'll have a screen test, and..."

Ankit interjected again. "Sir, I'm telling you..."

"Listen young man. I don't like to be interrupted. I'm the director of this film, and I can show you the door, rightaway. Ok? You're lucky the producer of the film isn't here with me today, else..." Shetty wiped his brow with a frown.

"Anyway..what makes you think you're so qualified for this movie? What's so great about you anyway?"

"Sir, this is a horror movie right?"

Shetty nodded.

"Sir, I think I can give it that authenticity. And you won't even need special effects."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes sir," said Ankit, pulling out his head and placing it on the table.

"You see sir," the head spoke. "I died last year on my way to the same studio, for the same film. And I really want this film. I'm dying to do it, excuse the pun."

Then guiltily, he picked up his head and screwed it back on.

"So, I'll get the role, right sir?"

"Sir?"

"Sir?!!"

******

Chalk-a-block

Mom was hospitalized last week for complications related to her diabetes. She's back home now, and doing much better. That sets the context. We all dread hospitals (at least us non-medical folks) for the simple reason that it is synonymous with illness, in some form or the other. But despite being a not-so-desirable place to be in, it can sometimes help one meet some interesting characters. No, not the patients. But the ones accompanying them.

I was keeping watch one night last week, and there's this middle-aged man who sat next to me. I wasn't exactly in a conversational mood, but his infectious optimism slowly warmed me up to him and we got talking about this and that.

"So, what do you do?" He asked eagerly.

"Uh, I'm a software professional. Well, not exactly in that sense - I'm a technical writer."

"Oh, writer. Ok, ok.." He mulled over it for a few seconds.

The next salvo. "So, what do you write about?"

I sighed, smiling. "User manuals."

"Ok, ok. Like that manual that comes with consumer products?"

Here goes. I sighed again.

"Well, technically yes...you could compare it with that, but it's not the same."

He nodded. We talked some more about my background, where I studied and so on.

"So, why don't you work in a newspaper? You did journalism..."

Explained. I told him I also wrote other stuff to gratify myself, like writing fiction and stuff online.

"Ah, yes. My niece also does that."

"Yeah? OK..." I nodded.

"She blocks."

Images of a Karate instructor came to mind. Blocks. Maybe she defends blows. Wait a minute. She could also be working as an anti-spammer. Images of a nerd now.

But just to be sure..." uhhh, block?"

"Yes. What you said just now. Online writing. Block."

"Oh, blog!"

"Yes. Block." He grinned.

"Uh..it's called blogging. It's a 'g'.." I try explaining.

"Oh. But I'm sure she said block." He had this 'wait-lemme-remember' look on his face now.

"So, what is blog? Is it a website?"

"Well, technically yes, but it's more interactive?" I try explaining again.

Five minutes later...

"Nice. Internet has so many facilities these days."

Facilities. Hmmm.

"So, what do you write in your blog?"

I explained again.

"Oh, good. So do you get paid for it?"

I shook my head.

"Then, why...?"

"Well, there are ways of making money on a blog...I explained some more.

He nodded. And then he went on this trip - he used to write as well as a student, college magazines, articles etc etc. He then turned to me.

"Can I blog too?"

"Of course you can."

"Uh...please give me your email ID. You explain to me over email."

I nod. "Sure." I handed him my business card.

"Thanks. But what do I write?"

"It's upto you, sir," I smiled.

"Hmmm," he mulled over it again.

"Can I write to my old friends?"

"You have emails for that, right..sir?" I said.

"Oh, right." He laughed.

He was silent for a few seconds. I did a shut-eye. Then he nudged me.

"I think I will write poems. I used to, you know."

"Great. That's a good way to start," I agreed.

"Can I write in my mother-tongue? You have all these vernacular software, right?"

"Uh..sure, I think you can. But, you might need assistance from someone who has already done that."

I knew what was coming next, so.."I'm afraid I can't help you out on that one." I smiled apologetically. He smiled equally apologetically. I wondered why.

"Ok."

Then he shook my hand. "Thanks, young man."

I smiled. "Pleasure, sir."

He smiled too and left.

I watched him go, and thought, "Interesting man. I must block this."

Joy ride...

1991 - First year of college. And I heard the laughter. I just had to find out who it belonged to. It belonged to you. I'm glad I found out. :-)

1992 - You came into my life. You became a dear friend.

1993 - We fell in love. We made some nervous promises, we didn't know what the road ahead held for us.

1994 - Graduation. The big bad world waited for us. We held hands and promised to stay together.

1995 - While I did my Masters, you worked; took care of your family.

1996 - Some ups, some downs. We managed to brave it together.

1997 - My first job. The going wasn't easy, but you were with me, and that's all that mattered.

1998 - We got married. A big sigh of relief for both of us. Finally we made it!

1999 - Turbulence in work. I lost my job. You held yours. But mostly you held my hand tighter. I can never thank you enough for it.

2000 - We found it hard to make ends meet. But we had each other. Most importantly, I had you.

2001 - I wasn't heading anywhere with my career. I was distraught. You held me firmly and pushed me to do better.

2002 - You gave us the most precious gift one could have - Aayushi! :-)

2003 - Things were getting better. But you decided to stay home and take care of the little one. I didn't want you to sacrifice a great career. You didn't call it sacrifice. You called it a joy-ride.

2004 - Our little one was growing up. And you were there for both of us. We braved some rough weather.

2005 - In between changing jobs, the one thing that didn't change was our love.

2006 - My lucky break. All because of you. But I had miles to go. And your love was the fuel. That was enough.

2007 - Things were settling down. We looked back at how we'd built our home with love and care. And Aayu made it all the more better.

2008 - You decided to pursue your passion for music. I'm so glad you did.

2009 - Another year, another milestone. But we're far from done. We have a lot to look forward to. I'm sure I'll do it with you by my side.

This Saturday (14th) is when you first came into this world, years ago. Probably the best valentine gift God could've given me? We're gonna be away from the online world that day, right? So in advance, Happy Birthday my love!

Booo Chronicles is back... :-)

For those who came in late (it all started here), Boo Chronicles is about one of the most amazing places in Kolkata, the 'Plaza Complex' (name changed, so no use googling it) where the living and the 'already-lived' co-exist harmoniously. Well, harmonious or not..it certainly makes great food for thought. My friend N, who was the manager there, recently found some free time over the weekend to narrate some more incidents,which proved beyond a point that, forget us, even ghosts are touchy when it comes to personal space. Read on.

********

It was late, and N yawned. The clock read 1 AM. But he had to complete two sets of reports for the christmas season round the corner, and had to prepare requisitions for a whole lot of inventory and permissions for various vendors who'd set up their wares on the D day. He knew that the third floor of the house had a small one-room studio apartmentish kind of a guest room, which was reserved for his boss, when he flew in from Mumbai. He decided to spend the night there. He called home, informed his wife and sat down to draft the reports. An hour later, he stepped out of his office and trudged down the stairs. After a few steps, he thought he heard another set of footsteps, echoing his own. 'Clop, clop' and then immediately a 'clop'. He stopped and turned around. No one. He ignored the echoes and reached the ground floor, where the security guy sat. The uniformed man was slumped in his chair. At a glance, you'd think he'd been stabbed or something. The snore gave him away. N woke him up and asked for the keys to the apartment. The guy hastily pulled out the keys from his pocket and handed it to him. As N was returning to the flight of stairs, the janitor, who slept right below there, peeped out and called out.

"Sir, you're still here?"

"Oh, yeah..I had some work, so I decided to sleep over at the Boss' apartment. Why do you ask?"

The small wiry guy quickly stepped out of his bed and came to N.

"Please don't stay there sir. You better go home."

"But why?" N said and paused. Then he shook his head. "Don't tell me..."

The janitor nodded. "Yes, sir. They're there as well."

"Holy ghost," N muttered.

The janitor said. "And this guy is a tad more touchy than the other ones."

N waited for him to continue.

The janitor said, "You know I used to sleep there, on the 3rd floor, right outside the apartment, don't you?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it, I do remember that."

"Hmmm..and now I sleep here on the ground floor. Know why?"

"Enlighten me," N said, sleep slowly hovering over his eyes.

"Well, one night after my usual round of duties, I slept there, in front of the guest room. And in the morning, I found myself here, below these stairs."

N raised his eyebrows.

"Yes sir...and I don't walk in my sleep. Never have. I have been sleeping there for the last four years. And this happened about two months ago. That's when I suspect, the apartment might've had a new visitor."

N scratched his head. "Well, ok. We'll see. Maybe I'll find myself beside you here in the morning." He chuckled and climbed up the stairs to the guest room.

The next morning he woke up inside his car, in the basement parking lot.

********

Lonely night...

Shireesh opened the door and stepped into the silence.

He clicked the lights on, walked over to the couch and slumped in it. He looked at the bottle on the center table and hunched forward to take it. His hands trembled and he slumped back.
He looked around the empty house, which a few hours ago, was filled with laughter and animated gestures. He and Sandeep had planned a perfect evening. Catch a couple of beers, have some chinese grub, and then walk down Brigades to Rex for the night show. He looked at the clock. The movie would've begun; in fact it would be well nearing intermission.

He looked down at his blood-soaked shirt, and dug his fingers into his breast pocket. He pulled out the two tickets he'd booked for the show. With his hand still trembling, he crumpled the tickets and threw them on the floor. He then fished out his cell and navigated to the Contact list. Neethi. Sandeep's girlfriend of two years. His blood-stained thumb hovered around the green button for a few seconds before he threw the instrument on the couch and leaned back, clutching his head. Then he broke down and let it all out for a half hour.

*******

It was a first, for the cops. They found a guy, who would later be identified as Sandeep, with his neck slit. They knew it was 'Knife' Raju's trademark style. But what stymied them was, his own body was right there beside Sandeep's body, his trademark knife sticking in his mouth and out the back of his neck.

*******

It's never too late...

He didn't believe in ghosts.

"What rubbish, ghosts are but figments of your terrified, primitive brains, working overtime" he'd argue with friends.

Even when they found him hanging by the ceiling fan one day, his suicide note read: "No one but I am responsible for my death. And please, for heaven's sake, don't think that I'll come and haunt you all as a ghost. There's no such thing as a ghost."

It's a different matter that a couple of days later, his friend Ashish, who lived alone in a one-bedroom apartment, choked on his dinner and died when this guy appeared at his dining table.

"Well, I just realized I was wrong. I'm sorry."

*******

'extra'-ordinary

Rajiv always liked to watch the junior artistes, or extras, whenever a funeral scene or any other serious scene played on the big screen. He chuckled when he spotted some dumb oaf in the last row of 'mourners' smiling at the camera to catch its attention.

Today was no different. A similar funeral scene was playing and everyone was sitting around the 'dead body', dabbing their glycerined eyes. The heroine sniffed into her hanky. Heart-rending scene indeed. But Rajiv was busy looking at the lesser actors, shaking their heads vigorously, and wailing their guts out. He smiled. Then he looked at one girl who was standing in a corner. The camera was not directly focused on her, her face partially hidden behind another face. That was odd. She looked familiar. Maybe acted in some dumb TV serial. Rajiv craned his neck. Then he realized how stupid that was. It was a two dimensional screen, stupid...he laughed at himself. Then the camera moved and zoomed on the girl. She looked up. At him. He didn't know how to react. Then she tilted her head to her right, as if telling him to turn to his left. He turned his head slowly. It was her, sitting beside him, but watching straight at the screen. He swallowed and turned to the screen again. She was gone.

And so was the girl on his left.

******

Thank You...

Look! Up in blogosphere...
Is it a Booker? An Oscar? No, it's the Brilliante Weblog
________________________________________________________



I've penned down the retrospective many a time; so I'll refrain from going down that lane again. Instead, let me today spend a moment to think of those people who I've been at b(logger)heads with the past several years (ok, some are new but heck, I feel like I've known them for years).

I'm really bad with acceptance speeches. While I feel overwhelmed when someone says a nice word about my writing, I never know how to handle a 'real' big compliment. A sheepish thank you is all I can manage. Man of few words? Naaah, too lazy to say anything. :-)

Mampi and Pinku, both who I've known now for a few weeks now, have been gracious enough to bestow the Brilliante Weblog award on me. Thank you ladies. But be that as it may, I've realized that blogging is more about connecting. To another person's mind, life, his or her world of fantasy, adventure, feelings, and a whole lot of other aspects, which maybe don't come to the fore in person. Ok, enough already.

Now for the toughest part. Passing the baton (as the rules go). The rule of this award says, pass it on to seven or more bloggers. I say tough not because of the number seven, but I probably have so many bloggers in mind I already feel guilty that I might miss out on someone whose writing I probably loved, but have forgotten the person's link ever since. Well, anyways, here goes (And bloggers who've known me for more than a few years now, if I missed you, it's entirely due to forgetfulness, and has nothing to do with me not liking your blog. I've liked all the blogs I visited till date. All of you rock!):

Gratisgab: One of the early bloggers I got to know. Fantastic sense of humor and a sensitivity that's very rare to find these days. (Psst, she also shares my wife's name).

Alpha: Again, an old bloggerhead - great writer, terrific sense of humor. It's been a while since I visited her. This could be a great way of doing it.

Manuscrypts: Cool dude, and quite befitting his trademark 'devilish' logo he displays on his blog, at least the old one. You rock, pal!

Pinku: A recent discovery, and what a discovery! Here's a woman that deserves a standing ovation for what she's stood for. A truly gutsy lady.

Mampi: Have you seen a coconut? Tough on the outside, but quite soft on the inside. That's mampi. A very sensitive person, but at the same time, she knows how to take potshots at life. She can pack a punch. With her words, of course. ;-)

Shub: Very rarely do you come across a girl whose idea of a date is a candle light dinner, with, perhaps M.S. Dhoni?? (Shub, please forgive me if that was a totally off the hook reference). But she's a true sports lover and cries when a sportsman/woman hurts himself/herself on the field, and exhults when they excel.

Cynic in Wonderland: Hahahahahahhahahahahahaha. That's how I go when I read her posts. Our very own P.G. Wodehousini. Terrific humor writer. Must remind her again about that book I want her to come out with.

Prerona: An old bloggerhead again, a good friend, and again, a very sensitive person. Where are you girl? Don't see you at all these days. And to top it, her blog's open only by invitation these days...

GaramBhejaFry: My very good friend, in fact, he's like a younger brother. If you wanna roll on the floor laughing, then he's the guy for you. I think he's not a single 'serious' bone in his body. All are funny ones. Check him out.

There. Did it. But I repeat; there's more to this list than meets the eye. And please..all of you deserve this one. At least from me.

Feeling el(ev)ated... (The booo...chronicles)

The Plaza Complex is apparently a squarish structure with a huge light well in the middle, like how most malls are. Well, this wasn't exactly a mall, but back in those days, most shopping 'complexes' (I still can't figure out why they called 'em that), were designed in pretty much the same way, and this too was like any other. Except, this one had an adjacent building, 'wing' as the staffers would say, that was kind of attached to the main building through a 'skywalk', more like a narrow suspicious corridor you see in those crime movies (Remember? - close-up of a cop quietly slithering along the dank path, no background music, only his hushed breath?).

Now, this other building housed a nightclub on the fourth floor, the access to which was from the basement parking lot of the same building. Long story short, the 'mall' side of the building had it's doors closed to this wing (for obvious reasons), so the 'family types' could shop in peace and the night birds could prowl around safely on the other side.

The basement had two elevators that carried folks. One of the elevators was dead. Meaning, it had been non-functional for more than a decade and a half. Reason? It had an old fashioned door, with a huge padlock, the keys to which were with the owner of the complex, who happened to be somewhere in Mumbai. Well, anyways, it didn't work, and nobody bothered to fix it. The other one worked just fine, so why bother? And in any case, the night club on the fourth floor was the only place worth visiting in that wing, the rest of the floors were also kind of deserted (yeah, yeah...I see where you guys are heading. It'll come, don't worry).

So. Two elevators. One functional. Aaaand....the parking lot was manned by a security guy who, more often than not, was found flirting with the women employees in the adjacent building, which was apparently a beauty parlor.

One night, As N walked out of the nightclub, after having filled in for a colleague who was in-charge of the place, he heard hastened footsteps up the stairs. He stopped in his tracks.

The security guy.

"Sir, sir...," he huffed and puffed.

"What happened?"

"Sir, I won't keep watch over the parking lot tonight," he said, his face resembling the white-washed wall of a new flat.

"Why?"

"Sir, I won't...please don't ask me. I just cannot."

N kind of knew what was coming. But he waited.

"What did you see?" He asked, coming to the point.

"A hand.."

"Hand? Where?"

"Sir, in the lift that doesn't work," he said between breaths, "I heard a sound and I turned to the elevator...and I saw a hand beckoning me, from inside...sir."

"How the hell could you see a hand? There's no light in there."

(Remember those paleolithic elevators - wooden doors, a small square glass pane in the middle?)

"I could make out sir, in the light of the basement."

N raised his eyebrow. So much for being a security guy. Just then another staffer walked out and he heard the conversation. Something fishy. He stopped and craned his head with a question mark on his face.

N turned to him and said, "Have you ever seen a hand in that elevator? It's been dead for God knows how long, and this guy thought he saw someone inside."

"Oh that? That's her...", the guy said matter-of-factly, like he waved at the hand every day.

N frowned. "Another ghost?"

"Sir, there are many in this building."

N suspected if any of the staffers in the place were ghosts themselves.

Then the guy turned to the security guy. "Hey, how many times have we told you not to turn around if you heard a sound? Huh?"

The security guy just shook his head stubbornly. "I don't know all that. I want to go home, sir."

N waved him away and walked down the stairs with the other guy. "Let's see, I want to meet this lady."

"Sir, please don't go there now, sir. Why disturb her?"

N shook his head sorrily and hurried down. When they reached the basement, it was quiet. N cupped his hand and peered in. Suddenly, there was a loud metal groan as if the cables came to life, and the elevator rose up. The two of them watched in mute horror as the cabin traveled up. And then, they heard it. Female laughter.


(Watch this space for more such 'boooo...' stuff).

Happy Independence day tomorrow, folks!

Ghost Guzzlers (The boooo... chronicles)

This is a true story, and I kid you not.

My friend N is a unit manager at one of the top Thai restaurants here in Bangalore. Before coming here, he was in charge of an entire mall in Kolkata (am not disclosing the name and area of the mall for obvious reasons), responsible for overseeing the operations of the eatery and the movie section of the mall. Last night, somehow the topic veered to (yeah, what else...) ghosts, and what he narrated in the course of that conversation, made me think. That ghosts, are...well, some ghosts are nice and they're best left alone. And they allow you to do your thing. Read on.

The year 2000. N had just landed a job at the mall (let's call it 'The Plaza complex'. If you remember, all these earlier versions of malls sans the movie halls were suffixed with 'complex', as if that'd make things any easier), and it was business as usual till one evening, when he stepped into a pub in the same vicinity around five, to check on the stock - the beer mugs, bottles, inventory and stuff. It was a fairly quiet evening, as the stewards went about their business readying the place for the guests who'd start trickling in by about six. N headed to the bar counter where a steward was wiping glasses, and generally humming a tune. After a cursory 'good evening sir', 'how are things' kind of a dialogue between the two, N walked to the men's rest-room and he'd barely closed the door from the inside when someone knocked - hastily. Five to six quick knocks. Irritated, N pulled open the door to give the steward (who else could it be, customers hadn't yet arrived) a piece of his mind. But to his puzzlement, there wasn't anybody outside.

N walked over to the steward at the bar counter who was oblivious to the entire thing and had his back turned to the counter.

"Hey, listen," N said.

"Yes sir?"

"Why'd you knock on that door when you knew I'd just stepped in?"

"Which door, sir?" the steward said, surprised.

"Arre, the rest-room's. Just now. Didn't you knock?"

The man shrugged, and then suddenly as if realization had dawned, he muttered a quick excuse and sauntered out from behind the counter and headed to the exit.

All the more puzzled, a bit annoyed even, N followed him out.

"Why'd you walk out on me, I was speaking to you, wasn't I?" He brought on his 'manager-to-steward' tone.

"Sir, you'll have to forgive me, but I had no choice."

"What? Why?"

"Sir, what's the time now?"

N frowned at his wrist. "5.20, why?"

The steward nodded his head sagely. "Sir, that's the problem. The time. You should'nt have gone to the rest room now."

"What nonsense, why not?"

"Sir, keep this to yourself, but there's a ghost in that rest-room, and he is around between 5 and 6 in the evenings."

Unable to believe his ears, N put his hands on his hips with that 'yeah-right-like-you-want-me-to-believe-this' look. The steward called out to a few other staff guys, the janitor, a security guy, and a couple others and they nodded their collective heads in ghostly unison.

"This is truly ridiculous guys, you want me to believe this?" N shot back at the pale faces.

The janitor, the senior most, spoke up slowly. "Sir, if you don't believe us, please step into the rest-room once again. There's no one else around, right? And this door is quite a distance, so none of us can follow you."

N mulled over this. The janitor raised his eye-brows, as if to dare N. So N sighed and walked back to the rest-room, and just as he was nearing the place he turned to check. Yeah, they were all outside. He shook his head and went to the door.

This time round, the door was locked from the inside.

*****

(More such 'booo...s' that happened in the very mall;in the next post).

At home...

She sat by the closed window, reading. The rain drops were drumming on the glass, her ears comfortable with that sound now. She turned the pages quietly...slowly. She took her eyes off the words for a moment, looking out. There was something about reading a romance when it rained. She sighed and looked outside. Oh, how she loved this setting. This house, the rain, the books...

***

The door opened and the lights came on in the room.

Nandini muttered something beneath her breath and walked to the window.

"Gosh, this window." She slapped her palm on her forehead. "Trust Rohit to fix the bolts."

She struggled with the bolts for a few seconds and closed the window. In the sudden silence, she felt a cold wave. She rubbed her palms before folding her arms. She was about to turn back, when she noticed the book on the ledge. That was funny. Only an hour back she'd cleaned the room and put everything back where it belonged.

****

Lost and found...

5 pm. The medical college canteen. Nishant sipped his coffee in solitude, mulling over the day; and it hadn't ended yet. He planned to head back to the hostel for a quick bite, check emails, and then back to the college. He had to collect the one book he'd been gunning for, the past month or so - Atlas of Human Anatomy.

His usual gang - Amit, Tejas, Meera, and Anushka had decided to catch a late night movie, but he wanted to have that book at any cost.

"Carry on, guys," he'd said tersely amidst sniggers and raised eye-brows.

He'd just stepped out,headed to his bike in the parking lot, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Son..."

Nishant turned. The voice belonged to a frail looking man in his fifties. He was very familiar, but Nishant couldn't place a finger on his face. Probably one of those patients he'd to take care of in the afternoon.

Nishant waited for the man to say further.

"Son, I'm Mohan Rao from Vijayawada...and I want to go back home."

That was a strange request. Nishant had a mind to say, "so, go sir, who's stopping you." But he held back.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand," He said instead.

The man advanced slowly. Something was wrong with his walk..it was laboured. Nishant cleared his throat. "Sir..do you have a problem? Maybe if you head to the reception..."

"No no. I just want to go home. I'm..I'm Mohan Rao."

"Yeah, I got that," Nishant said, slowly.

"I need your help, son."

Just then Nishant spotted Amit and Tejas walking toward him.

"Hey, Nishant. You sure you don't want to join us?"

Nishant looked at the pale face of Rao, and then his friends.

"Uh, sorry guys. I have to have that book. And moreover, I can't stand that guy, the so called hero of the movie, so..."

They waved him away and turned to the canteen.

"Yeah, so Mr. Rao..." Nishant turned, only to find the man gone. He looked at the gate, craning his neck a bit, but couldn't spot him. Maybe he'd catch him on his way out and offer him a lift or something. Then he chuckled to himself - not all the way to Vijayawada though.

*********

Canteen, the next day. They were talking in hushed tones, when Nishant arrived. He sat down and looked at them. "What's up, guys?"

Tejas shook his head silently, and the others toyed with their respective plates and cups.

"Did I miss anything?" Nishant smiled. "How was the movie?"

"Boring," Meera droned.

"Yeah?"

Tejas was solemn. "There was a cop here today."

"What for?" Nishant asked, placing his books on the empty chair beside him.

"He was talking to the principal, I believe...about some unclaimed body."

"Unclaimed body? Here? What, one of the cadavers?"

"Yeah, the one we'd been working on."

"Oh, shit," Nishant said. "And..?"

"The cop was saying, the body belonged to some guy from Andhra. His relatives were apparently enraged...we don't know how it came to us."

"But I thought, we got bodies only after all the legal.." Nishant began, and stopped. "What did you say? Andhra?"

Meera nodded. "Vijayawada."

Suddenly Nishant's stomach churned.

******

Just another 'blog' in the wheel...

I remember the first time I heard the word 'web-log' was sometime in '97. I'd arrived in Bangalore, fresh out of post-graduation, and landed a job with my cousin who ran a small multimedia outfit back then (the company's long since wound up). The net had just about picked up - we used to hook up with a dialup; remember the familiar long 'beeeeeeep', and then a series of 'bip-bop-bip-bop'...and then the lights on the modem would turn steady, and we were ready to go. 56kpbs line. Great connection. Wow! The page loads in half a minute. That was fast, man! And while researching some web designs, I stumbled upon this guy (forget his name now), who had designed this very cool (for those days, these days you get all kinds)website he called his 'weblog'. I decided to save it for later and when I found time, just went through his site. It looked more like a day-to-day account of what he did, who he met - he was a designer himself, so it was more of his sketch works, rough drafts, designs, interactions with visualizers, ad guys and such. But he had a knack of making the mundane so interesting, I kind of got hooked to his page. I remember religiously opening his site every morning, just to read what he'd done that day.

That was then. Over the next few years, when Internet started making its way into everybody's home, weblog had turned to a crisper, dittier 'blog', and hey, you and I could have one. I heard about the new avatar sometime in 2000-2001, but I still didn't have that easy an access to the net to be able to blog myself. And not many people had begun blogging, anyways.

When I entered the software industry, and found that the Internet was as easy as a click, it opened a whole new world for me. And it was then a colleague invited me to read his 'blog'. I'd shown him a couple of my printed short stories, so he encouraged me to have a blog of my own.

So, finally in May 2003, I signed up for my very own blog - at blurty. I'd to give it a name. That was a problem. I'd not seen a lot of blogs and this colleague who'd shown me his, had something very simple like 'meandering thoughts' or some such. That wasn't much inspiration. So I went back in time, digging from favorite movie characters, comic book heroes etc. Nothing caught my eye. And then, one day over lunch I cribbed lightly about this to a friend. And he said, 'yaar, tu itna emotional kyoon ho raha hai?' (why so emotional over such a trivial matter?). And it struck! Of course. I'd found my name! I remember long back in school I had this favorite TV show 'Phatichar', and that character had stayed on in my mind for long. Phatichar would always console himself with that line 'yaar phatichar, tu itna emotional kyun ho raha hai?'. I liked it. So I named myself 'Phatichar' on my new blog.

Phew! It's been a great journey so far. I know five years isn't such big a deal. And I've been in and out of here far too many times. But whatever the frequency, it's always consoling to know that whatever happens in the outside world, there's always a place in cyberspace, where I can take refuge. A place I can go to without having to worry about what I am, who I am, about being politically correct. It's my space. Our (us bloggers) space.

Here's to bloggers all over the world. Cheers. :-)

Twinkle, twinkle little star...

He stood atop the terrace, looking at the smattering of stars the parting clouds made way for. He remembered all those stories his grandmother used to tell him, about people becoming stars after they died. He wondered how many stars he'd put up there personally. And were they looking at him now? He looked at his watch. In about a half hour, it would be time to send up another star. It was cold. The rain had ceased, and it was wet all around him. He hoisted the silencer-fitted sniper gun on the wall railing and turned the telescope, getting a clearer picture.

The slim executive walked out of the restaurant, brief-case in hand. There was a pretty young thing hanging on to his elbow, and here was the challenge. He had to down only one. Hmmm, he gripped the wooden handle of the gun and sighed deeply, sticking his eye into the telescope, as it followed the couple below.

*******

The lightning struck quick, followed by an unusually loud clap of thunder. The executive's girlfriend looked up and remarked.

"Oh, look sweetheart, that struck the arrester of that building. So close by, huh?"

The executive looked up and shrugged. "Hmmm. Good thing that building has an arrester. It looks old to me."

Little did they know, it was their (un)lucky 'star' that arrested the lightning.

******

Take your call...

"Hello?" Said the female voice.

Deepak braced himself. He was dead sure it was one of those 'please-take-this-credit-card' call.

"Yeah?"

"Deepak Joshi?"

"That's me."

"Sir, I'm calling on behalf of Millenium Bank. Do you have a credit card,sir?"

"Nope. And I don't plan on having one, either...sorry."

There was a pause.

"Maybe you'd take it if I told you your life depended on it."

Deepak sat up now. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me right, Mr. Deepak. Take this credit card, or you could be on the obit page tomorrow. Think about it. I'll call back in 5 minutes," said the girl and hung up.

Ha, somebody's sick idea of a joke, he concluded, throwing the cell phone on the couch. He got up to get himself a glass of water. His eyes unconsciously went to the calendar. He chuckled at his silliness. Of course, it was crazy - it was October, not April. He came back to the living room and stared at his cell. It rang even as he was looking at it. He picked it up. Same number.

"Yeah, listen you..." he started.

"Have you decided?" She said.

"Listen, whoever you are. You can't be so stupid as to not realize what I could do with just one phone call to your bank, right? So, come clean and tell me who this is. Neetu, is it you?" He frowned.

"Mr. Deepak. You don't realize this could cost you..."

"Yeah, right. This could cost me my life. What else?" He decided to humor her now.

"Not bad. You're smart. That's right. This could cost you your life. I think you should take it."

"And what if I don't?"

"You'll see."

This was not funny any more.

"Great. I'd like to see that. Bye." He hung up and shook his head in disbelief.

The cell rang again. He looked hard at the number before answering.

"That wasn't a smart thing to do, Mr. Deepak."

"Look, this isn't funny. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm just a representative, Mr. Deepak. And it is in your best interest that I tell you..."

"You'll kill me if I didn't take this dumb card? Is that what my best interest is?"

"That's right." The voice sounded more confident now, and that annoyed him further. He stepped out into the balcony,looking around as if the caller was in sight.

"Ok. You know what? Now you wait 5 minutes, while I call your bank. We'll see. OK?" He hung up again.

*******

The next morning, he absently picked up the newspaper lying on the chair and started flipping. There on the 3rd page, was his picture in black and white. And on top in bold letters, was written:

Obituary. Deepak Joshi, 22nd September, 1977 - 15th October, 2007. We sadly mourn his demise. Signed - Family and friends.

********

urban legend...

Nikhil slid the console of his mobile and checked the incoming message. "We're on. 1am sharp."

He sighed and pushed the instrument in his front pocket. That's it. Show time. He threw the cigarette butt and got into the car. He rolled the windows down as he hit the highway. The cold wind whispered angrily at his cheeks, but he was calm. He needed this dressing down. Soon, he turned his thoughts to the old days, when he rode the same highway on his bike. Innumerable treks with his friends, to nearby haunts - hillocks, forests. He pushed back his hair and turned the volume on his car radio, a wee bit higher.

At the 30th Kilometer, he veered off the tar and slowed the car down, the dirt track massaging the wheels. He drove for a few kilometers, concentrating on the path ahead. The light tunnel was closing in on the destination. He was surprised his heart wasn't behaving in the same manner his car was, on this bumpy track. It was pretty composed. He sighed deeply as he came to the clearing. The dust he'd kicked up behind him slowly settled down. He killed the engine and stepped out. In the darkness, he felt at home. The lone flicker from his lighter shone up the area for a brief second as he lit up. He waited. His radium-lit watch showed 12.40. About time now.

A few moments later, he saw a pair of head-lights bobbing its way toward him. It stopped at a distance. Doors slammed. He waited.

"All set?" Amod asked, rubbing his hands as he approached. Nikhil nodded and dropped the cigarette stub.

"Let's do it."

They headed up the hillock, leaving their cars behind. The flashlights caught a couple of surprised snakes on the way, inviting a gasp from Pradeep. "Holy Shit."

"Watch your step," Nikhil muttered, confidently leading the troupe.

They saw the building yonder, looming large, getting bigger as they closed in on it. Nikhil motioned for the others to turn off the flashlights.

After a few moments, against the faint lights of the nearby town, one could see four silhouettes crouching and entering the hollow mansion.

*******

Legend has it that no one ever returned alive after a visit to the mansion as it was called, since nearby villagers always heard deep throated echoes from there. It was well-known that nobody ever ventured on that path after dark, let alone in the middle of the night.

But the four guys led by Nikhil, returned. Because legend also has it, that after the two abandoned cars on the dirt track were picked up by police, that same night a villager had seen four wolves, howling and speeding down the paddy fields. They were unusually big for wolves, he'd observed.

*******

Stony silence...

The little guy was concentrating hard, turning the smooth, flat stone in his tender hands, contemplating how many skips to make in the placid lake in front of him. His lips were pursed, eyes browed into a narrow frown.

Sagar smiled at him from the bench nearby, and watched him intently. Go for it, tiger, he thought. The boy now looked uncertain.

Sagar rose, and slowly walked to him, hands in pocket.

"Giving up?"

The little tyke swung back, obviously annoyed at this unwelcome comment. He shook his head vigorously, and turned back to face the lake.

"I could do almost 10 skips when I was a kid," Sagar bragged; standing beside the boy now. That invited a mock 'ha'. Sagar smiled and looked on into the lake, taking in the moist smell of the algae.

"Ten, huh?" The kid spoke at last.

"Uh, huh," Sagar nodded, raising his eyebrow as if it were a record none had broken in a while. The kid shook his head smugly.

"What? You don't believe me?"

The kid shook his head again.

"Wait.." Sagar looked around for a stone, "...let me show you."

Big mistake big bro', the kid seemed to say.

Sagar grabbed a stone and concentrated. He frisbied the stone, skimming the lake and sending ripples. One, two, three, four...

The kid chuckled.

"Well, it depends on the..." Sagar began, but the stone from the kid's hand had already escaped and went gliding over the surface. 12 was the last he could count as far as his eyes could see. They both counted aloud. The boy turned to Sagar proudly, and walked away with a beaming face.

Sagar shrugged and turned to the lake. "Well...there are...you know bad days."

Thus far...and no more (at least not here)

2nd chance..?

It was late. And the play wasn't anything to write home about. And in any case, Damu (Damodar) had gone there to please Suchi (Suchitra), who'd pestered him to buy the damn tickets.

"Please, Damu. For me?" She'd implored, with those beseeching eyes he'd fallen in love with silently, over the years.

"But.."

"Please Damu. It's for the eye-camp."

A beat..."Eye-camp?" She'd repeated, looking him in the eyes.

He'd handed out the hundred bucks in silent resignation. Money-mindedness was the last thing he wanted her to guage him with.

Now he walked across the dark street (no street-light as usual, he noticed), and reached the main road that connected the grid-separator and the alley towards his home. Suchi had decided to stay back to help her friends change. She was one of the organizers anyway, so well..it made sense.

They were through with college a few years back, and still lived in the same neighborhood, but he couldn't muster enough courage to convey his feelings to her.

"Loser," Amit, his pal since first year, had hissed, as Damu silently watched Pritam whisk her away from under his nose. He hurried his steps as the memories bobbed up and down his head. Pritam had joined a year late, but was more popular and had even won the affections of Suchi. I mean, it was almost like those 'good-boy-loses-girl-to-smart-hero' movies he'd seen so many times. And here he was, his life an almost identical replica of...

Bang.

He turned his head. Fine time to burst crackers.

Bang... again.

Behind him. He turned and saw some commotion on the main road. A wail. Some shouting. He was in the alley now and hastened, his heart beating faster. Then he heard someone running into the alley. Behind him. And then a car turned into the alley, following the runner.

Bang. This time it deafened him and he lunged to the ground. He thought he'd been shot at. But no, it wasn't him. He looked up and right behind him, the runner was lying on the ground. Two guys stepped out of the car and pumped two more bullets into him and hurried into the car.

"hey, who's that?" A voice inside the car demanded. Then a command to shoot him also.

Damu started running. A bullet whizzed past his ears and entered a tree. His mouth all dried up, his first thought was - I'm dead.

He turned into a cross road. A voice inside his head commanded him to head into the construction site on the side; without thinking he ran inside and ducked behind a pillar. A few seconds later, the car stopped outside. A few muffled voices. "...probably hasn't seen us. Cannot identify us.." were the all-important words he heard. Oh please, make them go away, he prayed. Then the engine died, sending a wave of panic again. The doors opened and slammed shut. He quietly hid behind sacks in the inner room of the house.

"Come out, you rat," they were speaking in the local language. He wondered how many of them were there, in all? Probably four. Maybe he should just talk his way out. Then another voice in his head, "don't be a fool. They are here to kill you, and they'll do it anyways. Talk or no talk. So just be quiet."

Scuffled footsteps entered the room.

"You think he's here?"

"Let's find out. But first, ask these guys to move. We don't want cops welcoming us outside."

The other guy left and a moment later Damu heard the car come to life and drive away.

Just then the caretaker of the site walked in, sleepy. "Who?"

"Your in-laws, just shut up." It was obvious the caretaker had seen the gun, for he didn't speak after that. The second guy walked in again.

"Find him," commanded the first guy.

"Who...who's here, sir?" The caretaker squeaked.

"None of your business."

Damu couldn't believe he was watching a harmless play only an hour back, only to be facing his death now.

A hand moved the sacks.

"Just pump a bullet or two into all the sacks. That's how you kill rats."

Damu offered a silent prayer, thanked his mom and dad for everything, expressed his love for them...and thought about Suchi. "I love you, Suchi," he said in his mind. There. He'd said it at last. And having said that, he suddenly wanted to live. He didn't want to die like this. He'd been a loser all his life. He couldn't die without first proclaiming his love for her. Maybe things could indeed be worked out by a cordial talk. He stood up.

"Ah..there you are, you rodent" smiled one of the guys. He couldn't see them clearly but they looked like they meant business.

"Look..please leave me. I..I didn't see anything."

"Oh yeah? You think we're fools."

Come to think of it, they were..wondered Damu. All they had to do was do their job and scoot. Why the hell did they have to come after him? And now he'd really seen them. And he had to die for that. Drat.

"Look, you could've just gone away. I was shit scared anyway..Please.."

This made them think. Just then, two loud 'thungs' like a tuner fork rang in the air..and the two guys were lying on the floor. The caretaker was standing behind the gangsters, with a flat iron rod.

"Quick sir, go call the police. I'll tie them up."

"Yeah...ok..uh..hey, that was quick thinking. Thanks. But...are they..dead?"

They bent down and checked. They were alive. Damu sighed with relief and ran out.

*********

"Construction worker helps nab two dreaded gangsters. Saves possible victim's life."

Damu read the detailed report, his name and all...folded the paper and leaned back in the sofa..closing his eyes, with gratitude, and some guilt. He was sure Suchi would've read the report. He sighed again. Maybe he should've taken those bullets after all...

*******

Back from the...

From the Frankly Spooking outtakes
"Are you sure you want to do this, Kishore?"

He patted her shoulder. "Trust me."

"But it looks desolate, honey. It might be spooky, for all you know." Preeti pulled her shades over her head and winced at the large, greyish two-storeyed building. It was evident that it was an abandoned structure, the tall bushes and dry leaves all over testimony to the fact.

"Yeah, but just look at the weather. It's all nice and sunny," he chuckled. "Have you ever been scared of a building on a day like this? It's all about the darkness, the rains..and of course, the background score." Now he laughed, but Preeti was not amused. She followed him inside reluctantly.

The iron gates, so archetypal of spooky stories, groaned and they walked in. No watchman, no caretaker. This building sure was nobody's favorite legacy.

"You know, it's bang in the middle of the city. I've been watching this place ever since I came here. 10 years ago. That's a long time for something to be left untouched. Not in an area like this. And whenever I passed by, I swore that one day I'd come in and snoop around. It's a childhood habit I can't help." Kishore parted the bushes with his bare hands, making way for them.

Preeti frowned, looking around. It almost looked like the set of a scary movie. Only, the crew had left it as it was, without bothering to clean up behind them. Outside, the sound of traffic reassured her that all was fine, and they could just leave whenever they wanted.

The door was obviously locked. It didn't take much for it give away, as Kishore tugged at it a few times. He smiled at Preeti, who just shrugged. They stepped into the ruins. She turned back, almost expecting the door to shut behind them...and then shook her head at her own silliness. This wasn't a scary movie after all.

"Hmm...," Kishore picked up a vase lying on the floor. It was muddy, but he could tell from the doors and other fixtures that it had been the dwelling of someone wealthy. He wondered why such a magnificent house was abandoned this way. Well, the reasons could be many. The living room was bare, but the windows were open, letting in the light. That helped. There was wild growth all around...the damp smell of earth coupled with bird droppings. A couple of sparrows fluttered around, as if annoyed with the human visit.

Thankfully,the stairs didn't creak, but the cracks showed. "Careful," Preeti whispered, but Kishore kept his head up. The first floor was different. It was darker, and the windows were shut. There were two rooms right across the landing, one on each side. The space in the middle was a corridor that led to the balcony, or sitout, he guessed.

"Let's first take the rooms."

They entered the first one. Not much different from the one below, except this one didn't have undergrowth, but still a few leaves from the ceiling hinted at the green invasion pretty soon.

Must be the peepul tree outside, Preeti thought. The room itself was pretty spacious for a bedroom. A closed wardrobe on one side...and..Kishore started moving toward it.

"Kishore, don't..." Preeti started.

"Why? You're afraid skeletons might come out?" He laughed at his own little joke and pulled at the door. It came in his hand, with a ball of dust escaping the wardrobe. he shook it off and covered his mouth.

"Did you hear it?" Preeti said.

"Hear what?"

"Shhh.."

It was coming from the other room. Like a groan. Must be a tramp, come in for shelter, thought Kishore. They stood still for a while. A sparrow flew in and out of the room. They tiptoed out and across to the second room. The door was ajar. Kishore pushed Preeti behind him and pushed it further.

Nothing. Nobody.

They looked around. Up at the ceiling. Down the rails at the living room.

"Huh." Kishore frowned.

"Kishore?"

"Hmm?"

"Chalo. Let's go..I'm not liking this."

"Arre, it wasn't coming from this house. Maybe the neighbors. And moreover, we've not yet explored the terrace."

"Whatever, I don't want to be here."

Kishore was rubbing his right shoulder.

"Are you ok?" Preeti patted him.

"Yeah..don't know why, looks like I have a muscle pull here."

"Doing what?"

"Beats me. Ok, let's go. I'll come back later some day."

They walked back to the car. Kishore was rubbing his left shoulder now.

"What, the other side paining as well?"

"Hmm, looks like. It's nothing anyway..". He started the car. Preeti looked back at the house. Her eyes roved over the walls, the building itself and then the terrace. She clutched at Kishore's hand so hard, he scowled. "Ow..what?"

"I thought somebody was watching us from the terrace."

Kishore chuckled. "yeah, probably it was him we heard."

She turned back and frowned. Did she really see somebody or was it just her imagination? Anyway, they were out and away. And that's what mattered.

******

Probably the pain, Kishore felt heavy and his walking was laboured, as they opened the gates and walked in.

"Still paining, sweety?" Preeti rubbed his shoulder. " Don't worry, a couple of pain-killers and a hot-water bag should do. I'll give you a massage as well" Preeti said, with a naughty wink, as they entered their home. They'd visited friends after their adventure and returned late. It was past nine. Kishore had as usual showed off about their snooping around. "Will take you guys there the next time."

Now, as Preeti prepared the hot-water bag, he stood at the sink and washed. As he dabbed his face, he noticed small drops of blood on the basin. He saw himself in the mirror and touched his nose. No, wasn't his nose. And he'd not cut himself. He bent down to wash his face once again, for good measure. Then he did a double take.

There in the mirror he saw a boy, not more than fifteen, sitting on his shoulder, smiling. Blood trickling from his mouth. Instinctively, with a gasp Kishore tried to shake him off, but his hands just went through the boy's legs.

And then, the boy tightened his legs round Kishore's neck. Smiling all along.

******

Draw...

She looked at him through the large glass doors. Luckily the place was abuzz with people and noise. She was safe. She got behind a guy in the long line at one of the food counters. As they inched forward, she kept an eye outside. He was still facing the other side, looking sideways. Probably searching for her. And then he swung back. That was so quick, she had to literally hold the shoulder in front of her and duck behind the hapless guy who almost gasped.

"Sorry, sorry.." she muttered as he shrugged and turned to the moving line. She was still behind him, peeping out a bit from the shoulder. Oh no, he was moving to the food court. Her heart raced as she clutched her bag tighter and muttered a desperate prayer. He now stood in the entrance, roving his eyes. And then he turned and walked away toward the escalator.

"God...go, go, go..." She gnashed her teeth.

******

She spotted an empty table and settled in. The guy in the line spotted it too and approached. She buried her face in her meal and pretended not to see him. She felt stupid holding his shoulder now.

"Uh, excuse me?"

She looked up, pretending as if his shoulder had not existed.

"Is this taken..?"

"Oh no, please.." She moved away a little.

He sat down and started his meal. She avoided his glance. Too late.

"Uh...I don't want to sound nosey."

Oh yeah?

"But...are you in some kind of trouble, ma'am?"

"Excuse me?"

He seemed embarrassed now.

"Uh..I mean..you hid behind me. From someone, obviously" He rubbed his shoulder. "YOu are quite strong, you know."

She smiled sheepishly. Actually this guy was cute. And yeah, she was a bit tough on the clamping.

"Sorry." She pushed back a lock of hair.

"That's ok."

They laughed.

"That guy...well, forget it. It's..it's not important."

"Are you sure? He might be waiting outside, you know."

She stopped eating and contemplated for a minute. He was right. She swallowed her mouthful and pushed back the plate a bit.

"Well, he's..I don't know how to say this..but..he's my fiance."

"What?"

"Yeah. Strange, isn't it? I behaved as though he were a psychopath or something."

She laughed nervously. The guy didn't talk.

"Atul."

"Huh?"

"The name's Atul. You could call me that." He smiled.

"Oh.." she chuckled. "Shraddha."

*******

They walked into the parking lot, Shraddha's eyes looking around in fear. It was almost deserted, except for the security guy at the far end, manning incoming cars.

"I can't believe someone could behave that way with his own fiancee." Atul took out the keys.
They sat in his car.

"I think I'm troubling you a lot.." Shraddha started.

"Nonsense." He smiled and before he could start the car, the passenger door opened and a guy slid in. Then, two simultaneous clicks. From the corner of his eyes, he caught the gleaming barrels, one beside him, and one in the rear-view mirror.

"Keep the hands on the wheel, Atul. And just drive."

"Easy..ok?" Atul said with just a hint of nervousness, easing the car back.

"And don't try to be funny, mister." The fiance growled from behind.

"Ok, ok..please keep the guns away."

********

The car hurtled down the National Highway.

About fifty miles down, when the highway was near empty, the car swung hard and spun a few times before standing still off the road.

A moment later, two quick shots rang out in the quiet afternoon. The car was soon back on the road, this time headed back to the city.

Atul was panting, but just. In five minutes, he was composed. He looked at the hole in her head and another gaping hole in the guy's neck. "Not bad," he said to himself. He drew up the tinted windows and pushed back Shraddha's seat, so it looked like she were napping.

He laughed."Amateurs."

**********

So long...maybe not.

They'd been friends in college; an occasional chat here and there at the canteen, but that was about it. She was seeing the student union's president at the time and was looked on with grudging respect. He'd seen her campaign enthusiastically during the elections. The only reason he could even snatch a few moments with her was because they shared the same passion for music and were members of the college cultural club. Wasn't something that people noticed, but he'd rarely shown his admiration for her even otherwise.

*****

Raj climbed the stairs apprehensively. Would she recognize him? 15 years was a long time. He'd gotten her address from a common friend who just happened to know her address. It was pure luck. A lot had happened in between. A million questions in his head.

*****

He rang the door-bell and waited, checking his breath. He'd cut down to a half-pack and on his way to quitting it altogether. But he didn't want to spoil the first impression after so many years. Why was he here at all, he wondered.

A head peeped out. It was dark inside.

"Yes?"

"Uh, Mrs. Sandeepa?"

The old man, her father perhaps, opened the door wide and squinted his thick-glassed eyes to study Raj.

"Who are you?"

"Uh..sir, I'm an old friend, college mate? I was in town and I learned..."

"Come in, come in."

Was this really Sandeepa's house? It looked like a stable. There was an unidentifiable stench coming from the far end of the house. Raj squirmed and slowly sat down on the tattered couch.

"Am sorry..this.." the old man looked around.

"Uh, it's ok...sir."

"Sandeepa has gone out. She'll be back soon..uh would you..?"

"No, sir, it's ok."

They sat, neither speaking, for a while. The stench now vanished. Maybe his nose had gotten used to it now. The old clock on the wall tick-tocked the boredom away. He looked around. Sparse, minimalistic furniture. He had a mind to leave. It wasn't worth it maybe. But then, the prospect of meeting Sandeepa after so many years kept him glued.

The door-bell rang. The old man left to answer it. Raj's pulse quickened. He heard them talking. The female voice sounded surprised. Then she walked in.

"Raj?"

"Uh..hello..Sandeepa." He rose to greet her.

*******

The sound of traffic below was strangely comforting. They sat sipping tea in the tiny sitout. The lunch was simple, but adequate. He looked at her. Still the same. A few wrinkles perhaps, but the same. She looked at him and smiled.

"You don't believe what I just said, don't you?"

"Hmm? Oh no..no, not at all, I do believe it. I.." Actually he did find it hard to believe it. But as far as he knew her, she wasn't someone to just make something up, not after 15 years at least.

"So...Neha."

He nodded.

She was dreamy now. "Yes, I met her a few months back and we exchanged addresses. How's she? And how her children have grown, na? Imagine..naughty Neha, with her own naughty ones." They laughed, going back to the college canteen for a few seconds.

He smiled. He wondered if she had any children of her own. This wasn't the time to ask.

He rose.

"Keep in touch, Raj." Was there a tear in the corner of her eye? Guess not...

"I will. thanks. You too..And take care."

They shook hands. He held her hand for a fleeting second more. She didn't seem to mind.

He nodded gently at her father and started down the wooden stairs. She was leaning on the railing.

*******

He started the car and lit up a cigarette. Then he shook his head, smiled and threw it out.

Light it up...

Wish you all a very Happy (and safe) Diwali and Ramzan. :)

Comedy of horrors...

Yeah, yeah, I deleted it...

But first things first. Despite the fact that my story 'route no. x' was a super flop (according to me at least), it was one helluva entertainer. My apologies to the 'lucky' few who came, who read, and who left...confused. I don't blame you guys. I posted that story when I was absolutely bored stiff last afternoon. A lesson I learnt - never post a 'horror' story when in such a state of mind. It puts even my characters to sleep.

It all started when I posted the story and then Harsha pointed out that 'bhai, kuch mazaa nahin aaya'. Well, what the hell, I had busloads of time on my hand, anyways. So there I went snip, snip, snip. But I left out some parts of the original story. The result? Stephen King meets Jaspal Bhatti.

And believe me, I wanted to delete the story yesterday itself, as I wasn't too satisfied with it myself. But Blogspot played spoilsport and didn't allow me to do it.

Today, before I deleted the post altogether, I read it one last time - Boy, what a mish-mash! I would've strangled the author if I were a visitor here. It didn't even tickle me, forget making my hairs stand on end. Heheh... And Enigma, I must hand it to you, girl. (Were you a consultant for Ramsay brothers anytime?) Your interpretation of the story had me rolling on the floor.

But one thing is clear. I enjoyed all the puzzlement and intrigue that the story caused. And you touched my heart. You guys so patiently analyzed a story which wasn't scary from any angle. Hats off to you. :)

But let me tell you, I didn't delete the story because of the confusion it created. I removed it because somewhere I felt that it didn't belong in my blog. I wasn't satisfied with it. And as writers, I'm sure you all know how it feels not to be satisfied with your own work.

Wish you all a very happy Deepawali. Have lots of fun. Safely..though.

Love at second sight...

He first saw her in the elevator. It was love at first sight. But there was something about her face...he'd seen her before, that's for sure. Only he couldn't tell.

Well, like all love stories, luckily for him, turned out she was attracted to him as well. And so it all began with a first 'hi' and subsequent meetings in the elevator, amidst the other people. And then the first date happened.

******

He pulled the chair for her. Why did all restaurants play Kenny G? He would've preferred something livelier. But what the hell, he wasn't here to listen to music, anyways.

"Nice place..." He started.

"Come on Avinash. That's such a cliched line. Your first date, right?"

He felt like an idiot, but smiled.

"Chalo, it's ok. Actually it is". She smiled. Ah, that smile. That face.

"You know what, Disha...I've been wanting to tell you this."

She waited.

"You know, you remind me so much of someone..."

"Who?"

"Don't laugh, ok?"

she laughed. He frowned mockingly.

She patted his hand. "It's ok. Tell me."

"I had this crush on my 6th standard teacher."

She didn't laugh. Good..

"You remind me so much of her..."

"What was she like?"

"Well, she taught us science. Pretty strict actually. But I was smitten by her."

"Yeah?" She laughed.

"Actually..I'd even sent her a card. Anonymous of course.."

"What? Proclaiming your undying love or something..?" Some more laughter.

"Hey..you promised."

"Ok, ok.."

"I was her favorite student, though. I always scored well in her subject, because I didn't want her to be upset for me."

"That's so sweet. What was her name?"

"Meera."

"And which school was this?"

"St. Anthony's. Why?"

"So..did you ever go tell her it was you who sent her the card?"

"Oh boy. Didn't want to die. No. Never."

She smiled again.

"She had a typical smile..her lips curled like..donno. You have a similar smile."

"You should've told her about your love."

He didn't know what to say. He shrugged.

"Ok, am just kidding." She smiled that smile...

"But there's some consolation for you.."

"What do you mean?"

"You can always proclaim your love to her daughter."

"Wha..?" His jaw dropped.

She laughed that all too familiar laugh again. With a twinkle in her eye, this time.

"Meera's my mother, stupid."

He couldn't believe his ears.

"Meera Sachdev. St. Anthony's. Right?"

He mutely nodded, not knowing what to say.

"And know what? You can tell her too. She won't mind. After all, she still has that card of yours. she still talks about it. Tell her in person. She'll be happy. And..this time you might even get a 'yes'. For her daughter, of course."

She reached out and took his hand. They laughed. He still couldn't believe his ears.

********

Business, as usual...

Well, one year older...none-the-wiser. :)

But the best wish I got today (no prizes for guessing) was from my 4 year old - "Appa, many happy buddays return to you".

Apparently, Anu had taught her the 'Many happy returns...' thing, but my daughter went a step ahead and presented me with this gem.

lamba safar

1970s

Childhood

Introduced to movies

Loved the 'Dishum Dishum'

Watched 'Khoon Pasina'

Life changed

Bell-bottoms a must (Even to school! My mom had nightmares those days, trying to dissuade me).

Parted hair in the middle (Looked stupid on my curly head, but what the hell)

Imitated the deep dialogue delivery

Had a folder full of his pictures

Hoped to grow as tall...Never did..Doesn't matter

Adolescence

Other movies. Hollywood. Many favorites. But he's still closest to the heart.

Discovered that my birthday falls 3 days after his!! (That's like discovering nirvana. That's like family. That's connection).

Working life.

Dream of making a movie with him in it.

The awe hasn't diminished much (though not as strong)

Happy Birthday, Mr. Bachchan. You're still tops.

Cat out of the...?

Megha and Santrupti walked out of the cinema hall dazed. It was an emotionally draining movie and right now, they just didn't feel like talking. They were not alone, the entire audience of the show walked toward the exit like a bunch of zombies. The only sound coming from the ruffling of footsteps. An audible sigh of relief escaped from mouths once out in the open. Like they'd bobbed their heads out of the water. They walked to her car parked at the far left of the lot.

Once out, they had to snail it up behind a long line of cars, partly due to the movie crowd, and partly due to the several barricades up ahead, just outside the hall. The police were even checking a couple of cars. All young men in them.

"Wonder why so many cops?" Santrupti's first words since interval.

"Hmm?" Megha was still in the movie.

They waded through the pool of cars and finally hit the semi-empty road. It was almost 1 am and Bangalore looked more like in the wake-up mode than sleep. They were headed the Mumbai way for sure, thought Sannu (Megha called her that).

*********

Two guys waved them down and forced them to pull up to a side.

"Megha, just drive" Sannu hissed.

"But..how can I? They've blocked my way.."

"Just reverse it up and go". Sannu's voice shivered.

Megha looked around to see if there were any cops. None. All of them were back there near the cinema.

The fairer and taller one knocked on Megha's window.

Megha raised her eyes, her face a question mark.

He mumbled something she couldn't make out. Then he raised his fist, as if to break in.

She rolled down slowly.

"Bag."

"Wh..what?"

"Give me the bag." He barked this time.

She handed it to him. He dug his hand inside, trying to find something. Sannu looked on in horror. Megha tried to be calm. Then, Sannu's hand slid inside her bag and clutched the pepper-spray can tight. She reminded herself to thank Manoj who'd bought it for her just last week.

The man called his partner. They talked in hushed tones and then finally their voices rose. Sannu understood the local dialect. Something about mistake, wrong woman, bag etc..they couldn't make out anything.

He shoved the bag back to her and waved them to go. Megha gratefully brought the car to life and took the first turn they got.

*******

"Whatever the hell was that?" Megha said, after parking the car in front of Sannu's house. She hid her face in her hands and then ran them over her head.

Santrupti looked ahead, too terrified to talk.

"Sannu?"

No reply.

"Sannu"

"Huh?"

"Why were they after my bag?" It was more a question to herself..

Sannu didn't reply. Too many questions were racing in the women's minds. The horror of what had just happened hadn't yet sunk in.

********

The police commissioner got up and smiled.

"Thanks a lot Ms. Santrupti. Our city needs alert and responsible citizens like you. That diamond necklace belongs to the royal lineage and we had a tip-off that the thieves had entered the cinema hall. Only we didn't imagine them to slip it into Ms. Megha's bag."

Santrupti smiled at her friend, who'd accompanied her to the station.

"It was my duty, sir. It's a good thing I saw them doing it while Megha was so involved in the movie. I then clicked their pictures during the interval, before of course taking the necklace out of Megha's bag and slipping it into my jeans."

*********

www.heaven.com

Back in those days when we didn't have email attachments with pictures of us and our family members grinning away those mega pixels taken on that 'smaller-than-my-palm' cyber-shots, when we didn't have messengers and skypes and what-have-yous, we had something that connected directly with our hearts: Picture post cards. You had this lovely sunset from somewhere, which you held lovingly in your fingers, and turned the card around to read even more lovingly, the scribbled letters of a friend, thousands of miles away. You probably received the card a month after the season shown in the card, but you didn't 'delete' the post card. You adorned it lovingly on your loving black n white TV, for the world to see, that you had a dear friend overseas who sent you lovely colorful picture post-cards.

My father was one such lucky person. And he received his card from a colleague who he'd befriended while on a trip abroad. He'd receive the cards every christmas and new year, sometimes even out of the blue...and read out the tiny, scrawly letter etched on the back of the card to us. Sometimes, he'd get a full letter in an envelope. The letter even smelled good! And we kids would pride at the fact that dad had an 'American' friend.

We received countless cards and letters, until one year they just stopped coming. Just like that. Stopped (much before the internet and emails...even STD calls). We spoke about it for a year or two and then carried on with life. One day, last year, we remembered this friend and wondered what would've made the guy stop writing.

"I guess, he passed away."

In truth, this might really have been the case. Because he was the only person who my father knew. We didn't know his whereabouts, we didn't know his changed address, if any (father tried writing to him years back, but the letters just returned to him).

I even googled him out for father, came up with a couple of close matches, but perished the thought, because of the age differences. I guess he really did pass away. But just think - at least for father, his very existence depended on just the cards and letters he wrote; the wishes he sent across the oceans.

Now, if only there was an email service in heaven.