Still in the past...

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

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,I have some work" he'd told them, amidst sniggers and raised eye-brows.

He stepped out of the canteen, to his bike in the parking lot, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Excuse me...son."

Nishant turned. A frail looking man in his fifties. He looked 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.

"Yes?"

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

Vijay looked around to see if the man was accompanied by care takers. He certainly looked frail, and looked quite lost.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand. You want to go home...?" He said instead, waiting for the man to complete the sentence, perhaps.

The man advanced slowly. Something was wrong with his walk. Nishant cleared his throat.

"Sir...are you with somebody? Maybe I can inform at the reception. Come with me..." He started.

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

"Yes sir, I got that," Nishant said, slowly.

"I need your help, son."

Just then Nishant spotted Amit and Tejas walking by. They spotted him as well.

"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 get a book."

They waved him away and continued.

"Yeah, so Mr. Rao..." Nishant turned, only to find the man gone. He looked around, his eyes searching, 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, and fell silent as he neared them. He was famished. He sat down with a loud sigh. "I could eat an elephant."

He looked at the silent faces around him. "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. Said they'd not signed on any paper authorizing the body to be given to the college. Apparently our Princi too didn't know how it came to us. So, there was a show-down between the relatives and the cops."

Anushka said, "Anyway, the real zonker is - the body's gone from the hospital as well."

"What? How can that be? Gone, where?"

Everybody shrugged.

"But I thought, we got bodies only after all the paperwork, right? Maybe the cops only arranged for its disappearance," Nishant said and got up as the boy behind the counter waved at him to come get his lunch.

He turned to leave but stopped. "Wait a minute. Where did you say the body was from? Andhra, huh? Uh, where in Andhra?"

Meera said "Vijayawada. Some guy called....Mohan Rao?"

Nishant wasn't hungry anymore.


******

'Back' from the...

 

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

 

Now a Frankly Spooking outtake

****************************************************************

"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 eight, sitting on his shoulder, smiling. Blood trickled 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.

******

Past tens....continues

Saturday, May 28, 2005

"rain rain, don't go away..."

(Pleasant rain outside...this story just kind of sprung up in my head).


It was five in the evening and the one kilometer walk to the library was turning out to be really pleasant. It was then Gautham felt the fat drops of water fall from the sky like marbles being dropped from atop a building. He looked up, squinting his eyes and had to bring his head down the next instant. He started heading to a temporary shelter nearby, but stopped.

"Hey, let me enjoy this."

He loved the rain. It had been a long time since he got drenched. The last time was when he was a small kid, returning home from school. He'd dance and jump with glee, splash through the small puddles in the road. He was probably was the only little Johnny who wished the rain won't go away.

Now he stood on the pavement, as amused onlookers in cars and rushing bikers looked at him. He smiled back and then turned his face to the heavens, enjoying the shower, spreading his hands, trying to soak it all in. He smiled. Because he'd always wished he met the girl of his dreams on a rainy day like this. He looked up, reminding God about this small favor.

*******

He reached office and got down from the auto to pay, when the girl came running from nowhere, almost colliding with him.

"Auto bhaiyya? Basavangudi?"

She held the sides and looked at the auto guy and then at Gautham impatiently.

"Excuse me, may I...?" He pointed at his open wallet, eyebrows raised.

She rolled her eyes and stepped aside. Some cheek, Gautham thought.

He walked across to the pavement, and started up the office stairs , already planning for the day ahead, going over his presentation one more time. Goodness... the presentation CD. He'd forgotten his backpack in the autorickshaw. He ran back out, almost running over a short, stocky old man. He muttered an apology and tore past to the main road.

"Shit, I didn't even note the number of the auto." And why would he, the auto guy hadn't knocked him down. Well, the girl had, almost. He held his head, thinking fast.

Please, not on a Monday.

A hand tapped his shoulder. Anil.

"What's up, Gautham?"

"Arre, I left my bag in the auto yaar. Stupid girl, rushed him off."

"Anything important in it? I notice you normally have only your lunch box and novel in that. And why an auto today?"

"That's a long story. Now how do I locate this guy? I had my presentation CD in it. I don't even have the time to rush back home to make another copy. The Owl's gonna kill me." Owl was short for Chandramouli - his boss.

It was as good as gone, they both decided. His bag... and his promotion.

******

Later that evening, he sat at his computer, staring at the copy of the presentation. He looked up thankfully. If Owl hadn't called in sick, he would've. Saved by a rat's whiskers. He looked out the window. Dark clouds had loomed up again. He sighed at his narrow shave and nodded. His cell rang.

"Hello?" It was an unsaved number.

"Uhh..am I speaking to Gautam?"

"Yeah? Who's this?"

"I'm Neha. Did you lose a bag this morning, or someone you know who lost a bag?"

He sat up. Great. Ms. rush hour.

"Yeah, it is mine. If only you'd been a little patient this morning, I won't have left it in the auto."

He waited for a reaction. None. Maybe he should've toned down a bit. He didn't care.

"Anyway, where can I come get it?" He wondered how she got his number.

"Uh, do you know this Cafe Coffee Day outlet in Jayanagar?"

******

He arrived five minutes late. There was no sign of her. She'd insisted on telling him what she'd wear etc, but he had waved it aside. "I'll carry a red helmet. And I'll recognize you" was all he said, hoping she'd remember him too.

He paced outside impatiently for a while. And then he saw his bag. Inside the cafe. She was sitting beside it. Ah! She must've walked in from the other street. He pushed the door and walked in.

He approached her and stopped in his tracks. Hey, it wasn't her.

She stood up. "Gautham?"

"Yeah."

"Neha."

They shook hands awkwardly and sat facing each other. He smiled sheepishly. Who the hell was this girl. And now he bit his tongue for having said all that to her on the phone.

"You know, I thought..."

She smiled. "Yeah, that was Asha, my younger sister. She didn't trust the rick guy and brought your bag home instead. I saw your CD labeled 'presentation'. So I thought maybe it was important."

"Yeah, it is..but...thanks." He smiled. How did she get his number?

She read his mind. "Your business card was in the bag."

He wondered when he'd slipped his business card inside the bag. Anyway...

******

They walked out an hour later, laughing and chatting like old friends.

"Can I drop you home, Neha?" He knew now that she didn't stay very far away. It was the least he could do for the trouble she took.

"No, it's ok... I'll walk."

He looked up.

"It might rain any moment now, are you sure?"

"Precisely. I love getting wet in the rain." She smiled, looking up longingly.

"Hey, me too," he said

"Really?"

"Um hm"

"Nice"

"Ok, then let me walk you home?"

She continued smiling, puckering up her nose...unsure. "Ummm..."

"Come on," his eyes pleaded.

She smiled. "Ok."

And then it poured. They started walking slowly, oblivious to everything else.

Gautham looked up and smiled. "Thanks," he mouthed silently.


*********

Past tens....continues

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

"Gale mein khich khich..."

Nirav heard someone cough in the adjacent room. It startled him, because he was alone and his college going brother was out partying, as usual - he was sure he wouldn't return till dawn. But you never knew, sneaked in like a cat most times. Maybe it was him.

"Nikhil?"

No answer. He went to his brother's room and switched the lights on. Empty. But he was 100% sure he wasn't hearing things. He had distinctly heard a cough. He scanned the room. The windows were closed, so it couldn't be the neighbors. He felt like an idiot. He switched the lights off and went back to his room.

There had been reports of thefts in the area lately, but he knew a thief would be much smarter than to be just coughing around the house he came to burgle. He smiled and got back to his novel. Maybe it was a character of the novel, which jumped out of his brains. He chuckled to himself.

He heard the cough again.

He jumped and sat up.

He grabbed the flash light by the bedside and swiftly tip-toed to the door, his hands a little shaky. He didn't want to forewarn the intruder, whoever it was. He just sneaked to the door and looked out of the room. The silence screamed in his ears. He felt like an idiot again. He waited five minutes. Silence. He slowly stepped out of the room, and positioned himself against the wall outside Nikhil's room. The glow from the street light outside spread vaguely on the bed. Did he see something move? His hand slid on the wall to the switch board. Click. Empty again. Damn, he could've sworn someone coughed in there.

He stood there silently for a while, straining his ears. Then decided to sleep in his brother's room with the lights on.

******

The doorbell rang continuously. He got up startled, but still groggy. The clock on the wall showed half past seven. He walked to the front door. His brother barged in, shaking his head. Should he tell him about the weird incident last night? Ha! That'd be suicidal. His 'cool dude' kid brother would rib him no end. He closed the door behind him and followed him instead.

"You know what bro, I left my cell here last night," Nikhil said. "I can't believe I did that. I must've got a zillion messages." He grabbed the little instrument on the study table and started checking.

"That's funny; only two messages." Nikhil said, pushing his hair back. "Hey, did you sleep here last night?" He looked at the crumpled sheets.

Nirav opened his mouth...and a new message flashed on Nikhil's phone.

A cough.

"Cool sms tone, huh bro?" Nikhil smiled at his brother, who looked as if he'd swallowed a lot of tooth paste.


*******

Free ride

Abhilash stood under the bus shelter,shivering. The power had gone out in the neighborhood. He cursed Shiva under his breath. Son of a gun had flicked his bike in the last minute. "Dude, Sarika just loves Matt Damon, dude. Please understand".

If she was so fond of Matt Damon, why did she pick this kanjoos, he wondered. Anyway, pointless now. He huddled to a corner. He was alone. He'd tried to hitch a rickshaw an hour ago in vain. "Two hundred," the ricky had blunty asked, like it were two rupees. And he had just a fifty in his blasted wallet, and the remaining had been pulled out of his hands by Shiva, courtesy Matt Damon's lover. A second rickshaw was yet to make the grand entry. So then - bus. The paan bidi bloke a hundred meters away had signalled '10' with his hands (his mouth was full of what he sold for a living. Pan). Now Abhilash wondered whether he meant 10 minutes or hours. He didn't have the patience to walk back to confirm.

Well. He huddled some more and looked around. Nothing much to look except it was some godforsaken area. The only proof of civilization was a huge apartment complex coming up at a distance, with a few small shop-like establishments thrown in as garnish. The complex showed itself large once a while when the lightning struck. Looking at the surrounding, he wondered what lightning was going to strike the occupants, or what had already struck them in case they'd booked flats there. He was thankful for the bus shelter.

The lightning flashed again, bathing the building in white. He would've almost turned away, had he not seen something. It looked like someone had jumped from atop.

Shit. Must've been seven or eight floors up. He kept looking at the building blankly for a minute.

Then, someone sobbed behind him.


*******

B(l)ogged down by it...

I get a nagging feeling these days that blogging isn't all that gratifying for folks as it used to be, say, even 2 - 3 years ago. That said, I myself have been a victim of this 'on and off the blog' syndrome. Well, to be very honest, it's not as much the 'familiarity-breeds-contempt' thingy as most would like to admit, as it is being pre-occupied with work and other things in the real world. Which brings me to another interesting fact that emerged out of a few blogs I visited. Some of them, avid bloggers, and wonderful writers to boot... decided to bid good-bye as they felt their online and offline worlds colliding...overlapping, getting too close for comfort etc etc.. But hey, that really depends on us, right? Technology has now made it possible to appoint those online 'bouncers' outside of our blogs. Then why fret? Of course, it kind of takes the thrill out of creating something spontaneous and fun as blogging, but hey, everything comes with a price tag, huh?

But moving on from that thought, when I started blogging eight years ago (yes, you heard me right -eight), it all started with a germ of curiosity in my mind. A weblog (yes, folks - the word blog originated from 'weblog', meaning an online log book of sorts, a diary if you will) of my own sounded a little vain, but as I continued posting month after month, year after year, it grew on me and my online world grew around me. My initial posts were just those little thoughts, observations, and happenings around me. Turning to stories happened along the way, and even then - I did manage to keep the balance, until a few years ago when I actually ran out of the usual 'rant' posts and decided to just post stories.

Somewhere in between, the pace slackened, my regular co-bloggers who were also visitors, kind of faded into the virtual horizon, and things just moved on. But I know it'll happen again if I want it to. And that's the wonder of this online world - it's like a laser-light illusion one can throw up on a screen any time one wants to, and turn it off. And then turn it on again. Wonderful, isn't it? Like playing with the bedside table-lamp switch.

Social networking, according to me, is another reason why blogging isn't such a cool thing anymore. For some (or most...as you look at it), blogging could've started as a way of connecting with like-minded people. Social networking or tweeting sites help you do that at less than half the word count, and quicker also I'm guessing. So then, why not? But yes, blogging will still be dearer to folks who really want to connect in terms of content - exchanging notes so to say. For me, it's always been, and will be - to experiment with my wacky imagination in the form of my stories, and unleash on people who want to read that kind of stuff, and of course, hear from them.


PS: My online and offline world did collide once...and how!

Rain-dropped

Karthik stepped back a bit to make way for another biker. There wasn't much room left on the pavement, below the railway bridge. The rain got heavier by the second, the traffic slower by the minute due to the virtual heap of two-wheelers blocking half the underpass, and the soaked motorists none the better as vapour gushed in from all sides. The honking got louder.

Quarter to two in the afternoon, and the dark sky felt like evening. Then he saw the girl, not more than six or seven, he thought - standing away from the crowd on the far end. In fact she stood a few inches out of the shelter, looking up at the sky and quite enjoying it.

Kids, he smiled, shaking his head. She was now looking at him. He tried to wave, but couldn't get his hand out of the 'sardine can'. He shrugged and smiled. "Enjoying it?" His eyes asked her. She smiled back and looked up at the sky again. He was still smiling. He'd seen her somewhere. Where? And wasn't she with anyone? He noticed nobody tried to pull her back into the shelter. He craned his neck, searching - maybe her father or mother was short, but all he could see was a bunch of loud teens. Strange.


*********

The TV blared on about the sudden deterioration of weather, cyclone effect, trees uprooted and on and on it went, in a loop. Karthik had almost dozed off, the memories of the wet afternoon almost fading away. He looked up at the wall - oops, midnight. Still groggy, he reached for the remote and pointed it at the TV, silencing it. The day's newspaper had scattered on the floor. He picked up the sheets absently, stacking them all up in no order, on the center table.

Then his eyes went to a particular photograph on the bottom right hand side of one sheet. The obituary column. "Baby Nikita - The Lord called her sooner than expected. We miss you sweetheart." Her parents' names.

His hands trembled as he kept looking at the little girl's photo, his mind still in a daze.

A splash of water hit his face, followed by a shrill kiddy laugh. He looked up.

"I love the rain, uncle. Do you?"

********

Punaraarambh...?

Poured.

Great day to start posting again, huh? Sure, sure...

It is written...

Ravi pored over the documents, little realizing that it was way past supper time, and the last his stomach growled a warning was more than a couple of hours ago. He had to complete this report at any cost. It was supposed to be done by Rakesh, but he had not reported to work for two days. The boss had conveniently dumped it on Ravi. He leaned back from his laptop for a second and rubbed his eyes. From the corner of his eye, toward the far end on his right, he could see the small light of the office printer coming to life, accompanied by the now obvious (even anticipatory) hum of the machine, as the cartridges and rollers went to work. An involuntary smile escaped his lips. That sound was reassuring. He widened his eyes to shake off some of the blurriness of the last two hours and hunched forward again to take a final look at the report.

Then, as if someone had just knuckled on his head, he jerked, stopped reading and sat up straight. He glanced at his watch. It was close to midnight. He ran his hands over his hair in disbelief. But it wasn't the time that had jolted him up. It was the printer. He rose slowly and walked toward the longish corridor that led to the printer room.

It was evident that at least on this floor, he was the only employee working late. And he hadn't given any print commands in the last eight hours. As he neared the familiar eight by ten den, the drone of the printer, now louder, made him curious. He looked around the adjacent hall. It was dark. No one around. He slowly walked to the printer and looked at the output tray. Sheets after sheets were sliding out and arranging themselves in a stack. He continued looking. This wasn't just a railway ticket or a smallish document. His hands, now a bit unsteady, reached out to one of the sheets on top. He turned it around.


"HELP! PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

He recoiled at the letters and on reflex, threw the sheet away as if he were holding a live snake. He quickly ruffled the other sheets off the tray. The same thing.

His heart pounding away, he ran out and pushed the door of his wing open. Hurtling down the stairs, he dashed to the ground floor front office area, hoping to catch at least one security guy. To his dismay, the entire bay was deserted, though the lights were on. Damn, they must all be in the TV room, watching some dumb movie. He raced to the TV room, only to be greeted by a locked door. Panting heavily, he turned around and quickly scanned the entire front office. Silence.

He quickly climbed the stairs to his floor; which was luckily on the first floor. To hell with the report, he had to dash out now. He went to his cubicle, but all his things had disappeared - his laptop, jacket, helmet...even his new laptop lug-bag.

He returned to the printer area. There were sheets of paper all over the place, each shouting the same thing out loud in bold letters. He clutched his head and stumbled back to a wall. Then a sudden brainwave. He quickly darted to the back of the printer and switched it off. The sound died for a second, but he didn't have enough time to even sigh in relief, as the bulky machine coughed and sputtered back to life and started printing again. He slowly got to his feet and lifted the top lid of the printer to peer inside.



Sheets continued pouring out of the printer, with a small change in the text - "HELP! PLEASE GET US OUT OF HERE"


****************

"Naam (nahi) gum jaayega..."

"Hiiii, how're you, pappulo?"

That's what my 7-year old daughter said the other day, as I picked up the phone. There are some names that your parents keep. And then, there are names that your children keep, for you.
I'm sure, even 15 years down the line, I'll pick up the phone and here's what my daughter will say first thing:

"How're you, pappulo?"

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)