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.
******
Friday, October 31, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
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!
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!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
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).
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).
Friday, August 01, 2008
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.
****
***
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.
****
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," 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.
******
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.
******
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
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. :-)
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. :-)
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
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.
******
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.
********
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.
********
Monday, July 14, 2008
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.
*******
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.
*******
Friday, July 11, 2008
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."
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."
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Friday, November 24, 2006
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...
*******
"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...
*******
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
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.
******
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
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."
**********
"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."
**********
Monday, November 06, 2006
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.
*****
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.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, October 16, 2006
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.
********
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.
********
Friday, October 13, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
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."
*********
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."
*********
Monday, October 09, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
red ice
"It's a diffusive injury to the brain".
"Doctor, could you be more specific?"
"Look, in plain words, your brother has had a minor concussion. There's a blood clot. We've to take a CT scan and then decide whether or not to operate on him".
"Is it..is it serious?"
"It is."
******
The blood oozes out of his left ear. We've run out of cotton. The nurse hands out another wad, with a casual wave of her hand.
The smell of antiseptic, mixed with the iron smell of deep dark blood can send waves of nausea through even the most stoic of digestive systems.
We wait. 2, 3, 4... hours.
The effect of the pain-killer's beginning to wear off. The groans have begun.
Outside, an ambulance screeches to a halt and then, like a scene straight out of ER, paramedics wheel in another accident victim.
Time stands still in a casualty ward. Because everybody hopes that in that momentarily suspended strand of time, we might see recovery. Some recover. For some, time remains still. Just like the victims.
All that mind thinks at this time: thus far, and no more.
For the mechanics of the human workshop, shop opens mostly at night.
******
"Doctor, could you be more specific?"
"Look, in plain words, your brother has had a minor concussion. There's a blood clot. We've to take a CT scan and then decide whether or not to operate on him".
"Is it..is it serious?"
"It is."
******
The blood oozes out of his left ear. We've run out of cotton. The nurse hands out another wad, with a casual wave of her hand.
The smell of antiseptic, mixed with the iron smell of deep dark blood can send waves of nausea through even the most stoic of digestive systems.
We wait. 2, 3, 4... hours.
The effect of the pain-killer's beginning to wear off. The groans have begun.
Outside, an ambulance screeches to a halt and then, like a scene straight out of ER, paramedics wheel in another accident victim.
Time stands still in a casualty ward. Because everybody hopes that in that momentarily suspended strand of time, we might see recovery. Some recover. For some, time remains still. Just like the victims.
All that mind thinks at this time: thus far, and no more.
For the mechanics of the human workshop, shop opens mostly at night.
******
Monday, September 25, 2006
Here and now...
Close to three and a half months is a pretty long time to be away from blogging, and I think this has been my longest period away from mine. Well, I don't wanna go into the nitty-gritties of why I was off it; it doesn't matter anyways. I've missed you guys helluva lot (no kidding). I guess I've been even trying to visit a few of you in this time. But well...
I know blogdom is a pretty amoebic world, where nothing ever really stays constant, be it emotions, thoughts, opinions or plain interest. But that said, I must also say that somewhere deep down, when I visited you guys, despite not having penned anything the last 3 months, I did feel a sense of security, a warmth that said 'hey, these guys are around, and it's still fun being here'. So, that's motivation enough to join in...whenever. It's like falling out of a steady stream of people walking and then one fine day you come back to the road and fall back in. No eyebrows raised, no questions. A pat or two on the back perhaps. A smile.
It feels good to be back.
I know blogdom is a pretty amoebic world, where nothing ever really stays constant, be it emotions, thoughts, opinions or plain interest. But that said, I must also say that somewhere deep down, when I visited you guys, despite not having penned anything the last 3 months, I did feel a sense of security, a warmth that said 'hey, these guys are around, and it's still fun being here'. So, that's motivation enough to join in...whenever. It's like falling out of a steady stream of people walking and then one fine day you come back to the road and fall back in. No eyebrows raised, no questions. A pat or two on the back perhaps. A smile.
It feels good to be back.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Call me if you can...
This was the time when there were no cell-phones, way back in college. A phone conversation between my friend D and a wrong caller. Incidentally he used to get so many wrong numbers, he decided to spend some quality time with the poor guys lest they felt their calls were wasted.
"Hello..?"
"Hello. Ajit Timbers?"
"Tell me."
"The load hasn't come yet."
Puzzled expression. "But I sent it tomorrow?"
"Huh?"
"yes. And tomorrow's load I'm sending it yesterday."
"Wha...? Who is speaking?"
"D."
" D? Which D?"
"Which D? This D. There's no other D. "
Line goes dead.
*******
And this one, the day D wanted to know if it was a holiday in the college due to a strike. Those days, engineering colleges resumed after an hour or so after the strike. He was in no mood to go to college, so he decided to do some good to his class-mates as well.
"Hello, NIE college?"
"Yes."
"Put me on to Muthuswamy."
"Sorry, sir he's not coming today. There's a strike."
"He's the principal and he's not coming today? what kind of a principal is he?"
"Uh...sorry sir, I didn't get your name."
"I'm Inspector Puttuswamy here."
"Oh, good morning sir." I'm sure the guy stood up, whoever he was.
"Have my men come there?"
"Yes sir. The constables are here. We're not allowing any student inside."
"You have declared a holiday haven't you?"
"Yes sir. half day."
"NO, no...give a full day off. I got a tip that there'll be trouble."
"Ok sir."
"Good. I'll be there in a half hour. And please call Mr. Muthu also to come and meet me."
"Ok sir. Thank you sir."
"Thank you? What for?"
I wonder if the writer of Hera-Pheri consulted with D...
"Hello..?"
"Hello. Ajit Timbers?"
"Tell me."
"The load hasn't come yet."
Puzzled expression. "But I sent it tomorrow?"
"Huh?"
"yes. And tomorrow's load I'm sending it yesterday."
"Wha...? Who is speaking?"
"D."
" D? Which D?"
"Which D? This D. There's no other D. "
Line goes dead.
*******
And this one, the day D wanted to know if it was a holiday in the college due to a strike. Those days, engineering colleges resumed after an hour or so after the strike. He was in no mood to go to college, so he decided to do some good to his class-mates as well.
"Hello, NIE college?"
"Yes."
"Put me on to Muthuswamy."
"Sorry, sir he's not coming today. There's a strike."
"He's the principal and he's not coming today? what kind of a principal is he?"
"Uh...sorry sir, I didn't get your name."
"I'm Inspector Puttuswamy here."
"Oh, good morning sir." I'm sure the guy stood up, whoever he was.
"Have my men come there?"
"Yes sir. The constables are here. We're not allowing any student inside."
"You have declared a holiday haven't you?"
"Yes sir. half day."
"NO, no...give a full day off. I got a tip that there'll be trouble."
"Ok sir."
"Good. I'll be there in a half hour. And please call Mr. Muthu also to come and meet me."
"Ok sir. Thank you sir."
"Thank you? What for?"
I wonder if the writer of Hera-Pheri consulted with D...
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
A picture worth a ...?
I watched 'The Da Vinci Code' last week. Wish I hadn't. I'm saying this because this is the nth time that I've watched a movie adapted from a novel and though it's not surprising at all, it was a bit of a let-down that the movie did not do justice to the novel. That said, I guess it's in the very nature of some movies to fall short of expectations when it comes to recreating the same magic of its raw material. We all know that a novel offers much more in terms of imagination, characterisations, and narration; and a movie has to cover all this and more in just under 2 - 3 hours. Unfair, one might say. But still, it isn't like there haven't been movies that have been as successful as novels, if not more. I feel it's to do with what parts the director/screenplay writer decides to include and take out, aside from the main plot of the story. Cinematic liberties notwithstanding, some movies just fail to perk up and take the viewers by the b**** and rivet them to watch on. This is just a personal opinion, so please don't crucify me, but I felt Da Vinci Code was one of them. There was no magic, no feeling of mystery and intrigue that the novel had. There was no, as they say - soul.
Some movies I felt were as good, if not better than novels they were adapted from:
The God Father
The Color Purple
A
couple of John Grisham movies ( The Firm, Pelican Brief, The Rainmaker, A time to kill...And there on his novels became cookie cutters. So much so that whenever I read his later novels now, I imagine a hollywood star/actor in the lead characters)
The day of the jackal ( well not exactly, but it was gripping)
Devdas ( The old one, not the ne-ne-ne-new one)
Some Alistair Mclain movies (Where Eagles Dare, Force 10 from Navarone, Guns of Navarone)
The Jungle Book (Animated)
Get Shorty
Jackie Brown (Elmore Leonard's novel was called Rum Punch)
Any more....? (Am sure I don't remember all)
Some movies I felt were as good, if not better than novels they were adapted from:
The God Father
The Color Purple
A
couple of John Grisham movies ( The Firm, Pelican Brief, The Rainmaker, A time to kill...And there on his novels became cookie cutters. So much so that whenever I read his later novels now, I imagine a hollywood star/actor in the lead characters)
The day of the jackal ( well not exactly, but it was gripping)
Devdas ( The old one, not the ne-ne-ne-new one)
Some Alistair Mclain movies (Where Eagles Dare, Force 10 from Navarone, Guns of Navarone)
The Jungle Book (Animated)
Get Shorty
Jackie Brown (Elmore Leonard's novel was called Rum Punch)
Any more....? (Am sure I don't remember all)
Thursday, June 08, 2006
A rose is a rose...
The_hitman: Hi, gorgeous!
Rose: Hi
The_hitman: asl?
Rose: You first
The_hitman: male, 35 years
Rose: Oh..
The_hitman: Why? Am I too old for you? *wink*
Rose: NO..no, nothing. forget it.
Rose: So...what do you hit?
The_hitman: Excuse me?
Rose: Your user name...
The_hitman: oh that! :)) Yeah, I am a hitman
Rose: What is that?
The_hitman: You don't know?
Rose: Why would I ask?
The_hitman: Be prepared, you might get scared. But you should not...
Rose: Tell me first.
The_hitman: I do contract killings...
A beat
The_hitman: I told you you'd be scared.
Rose: No
The_hitman: Really?
Rose: Yeah.
The_hitman: wow, I like courageous women.
Rose: lol
A week later...
The_hitman: So, how's it like being in a travel agency?
Rose: Better than being a killer (if you are one, that is) :)
The_hitman: Lol.You know what, you are a nice girl, I'd like to meet you.
Rose: And kill me? ;)
The_hitman: Come on, be serious. Can we meet?
Rose: That depends...
The_hitman: Depends on?
Rose: On one condition. You should tell me all about your profession. I want to know more.
The_hitman: Forget it, it's not for women like you.
Rose: Look, if you want me to meet a hitman, I might as well know more about his profession, no?
The_hitman: Hmm, you have a point. Ok...
The next evening, this time face to face...
Rose (sipping coffee): You don't look like a hitman. (Giggles)
The_hitman: Well, you do look every bit like a travel agency executive.They smile. An hour later, they're walking down the road, feeling the gentle evening breeze on their faces.
"So what are you really?"
"Huh?"
"Come on, I know when I see men. You cannot be a hitman."
"Is it written on a hitman's face that he's a hitman?" He laughs.She laughs, but is serious the next moment. "Tell me".
He watches the traffic silently for a minute and sighs."Ok, I might as well tell the truth, why fib? I'm a builder."
"You could've told me that straight away, the other day."
"Yeah, I know, I should have."
They walk and talk for another half hour and walk back to the parking lot inside the empty compound. It's late in the night now.
"So being a builder is equally dangerous, hmm?"
He smiles. "It is. But we have to take our risks. It's a part of the job."
She smiles and nods in agreement.
"Do we get to meet again?" Mr builder asks.
Rose smiles. "I don't think so."
"Why?" He puts on his best smile.She doesn't answer him. She gets on her bike.
He looks at it for a moment, unsure. "Hmmm, that's quite a ride for a travel agency executive."
"How can you be so sure I'm an executive?" She smiles mysteriously now. In fact he's a little uncomfortable with that smile.
"Yeah, but...you...you told me..." He smiles, but barely...
******
The little pea sized hole in his forehead looks like a third eye, written by a cartoonist. Now, which cartoon character had those eyes, she wonders. Ah, Tintin, she smiles. She looks around and then down at his startled half-smiling face, the trickle of blood from his forehead slowly reddening his teeth.
"Am so sorry we cannot meet again. You were kind of cute. But you know what, I have to take my risks too.That's a part of my job."
She sighs, and kickstarts the bike to life.
******
Rose: Hi
The_hitman: asl?
Rose: You first
The_hitman: male, 35 years
Rose: Oh..
The_hitman: Why? Am I too old for you? *wink*
Rose: NO..no, nothing. forget it.
Rose: So...what do you hit?
The_hitman: Excuse me?
Rose: Your user name...
The_hitman: oh that! :)) Yeah, I am a hitman
Rose: What is that?
The_hitman: You don't know?
Rose: Why would I ask?
The_hitman: Be prepared, you might get scared. But you should not...
Rose: Tell me first.
The_hitman: I do contract killings...
A beat
The_hitman: I told you you'd be scared.
Rose: No
The_hitman: Really?
Rose: Yeah.
The_hitman: wow, I like courageous women.
Rose: lol
A week later...
The_hitman: So, how's it like being in a travel agency?
Rose: Better than being a killer (if you are one, that is) :)
The_hitman: Lol.You know what, you are a nice girl, I'd like to meet you.
Rose: And kill me? ;)
The_hitman: Come on, be serious. Can we meet?
Rose: That depends...
The_hitman: Depends on?
Rose: On one condition. You should tell me all about your profession. I want to know more.
The_hitman: Forget it, it's not for women like you.
Rose: Look, if you want me to meet a hitman, I might as well know more about his profession, no?
The_hitman: Hmm, you have a point. Ok...
The next evening, this time face to face...
Rose (sipping coffee): You don't look like a hitman. (Giggles)
The_hitman: Well, you do look every bit like a travel agency executive.They smile. An hour later, they're walking down the road, feeling the gentle evening breeze on their faces.
"So what are you really?"
"Huh?"
"Come on, I know when I see men. You cannot be a hitman."
"Is it written on a hitman's face that he's a hitman?" He laughs.She laughs, but is serious the next moment. "Tell me".
He watches the traffic silently for a minute and sighs."Ok, I might as well tell the truth, why fib? I'm a builder."
"You could've told me that straight away, the other day."
"Yeah, I know, I should have."
They walk and talk for another half hour and walk back to the parking lot inside the empty compound. It's late in the night now.
"So being a builder is equally dangerous, hmm?"
He smiles. "It is. But we have to take our risks. It's a part of the job."
She smiles and nods in agreement.
"Do we get to meet again?" Mr builder asks.
Rose smiles. "I don't think so."
"Why?" He puts on his best smile.She doesn't answer him. She gets on her bike.
He looks at it for a moment, unsure. "Hmmm, that's quite a ride for a travel agency executive."
"How can you be so sure I'm an executive?" She smiles mysteriously now. In fact he's a little uncomfortable with that smile.
"Yeah, but...you...you told me..." He smiles, but barely...
******
The little pea sized hole in his forehead looks like a third eye, written by a cartoonist. Now, which cartoon character had those eyes, she wonders. Ah, Tintin, she smiles. She looks around and then down at his startled half-smiling face, the trickle of blood from his forehead slowly reddening his teeth.
"Am so sorry we cannot meet again. You were kind of cute. But you know what, I have to take my risks too.That's a part of my job."
She sighs, and kickstarts the bike to life.
******
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Double take
It's funny how people stare at you, and you in turn are tempted to stare back. Notice how somebody stares at you from inside a bus. You're walking on the road and this person continues staring, even when the bus passes you by. Sometimes, if you care to turn around, this person also would be craning his/her neck around and looking at you. I mean, what's it with this 'recognizing' stare? Does he or she know you? Certainly not. You're ready to throw in your wallet for it. You know that you don't know this person. Then? I guess it's an Indian thing. Happens to me all the time. Not that we do it on purpose. It comes naturally to us (Ok, not all the time though). I know it's impolite to stare. The other person also I guess, knows...but this continues to happen. And once, it was kinda funny. I stopped at a traffic light, generally preoccupied. And from the opposite lane, a guy halts on his two-wheeler. We look at each other. It's 'that' knowing stare again, I reckon. And then it dawns on us simultaneously. We do know each other. He was a year senior to me in school. A bit on the heavier side, with a thick moustache, but it was unmistakable. We both raise our eyebrows, smile and then wave. (This guy was pretty close to me back then. We'd been in together for some cultural activities, drama etc. Very expressive guy, I must say.) And then the light turns green. But before I can motion him to stop ahead so I can turn around and go upto him, he's gone.
In a city like Bangalore, there are all the chances that I bump into an old school-mate, an old acquaintance. And well, I guess I'm not the only one thinking this. And so, the staring continues.
In a city like Bangalore, there are all the chances that I bump into an old school-mate, an old acquaintance. And well, I guess I'm not the only one thinking this. And so, the staring continues.
Friday, June 02, 2006
'Woh Kaagaz ki kashti...'
No matter which corner of this world we lived in, no matter how our financial and social position was back then, but for all of us who've been children at some point in our lives, we've had a special friend. Someone who we were inseparable with. Someone, for who we were ready to lay down our lives (though we didn't exactly know what that meant then). Anything special made at home, any special eatable, had to first reach this friend's hands. Any occasion - 'mom, can we call xyz for this function?'. We played games in the sand, we fought, we cried and we laughed. Time would stand still when with this special friend. He or she was our 'bestest' friend, and we vowed never to separate. Remember? "I'll never forget this time. I don't think I'm ever gonna forget you." We sailed paper boats in the rains, splashed our way back from school, the overflowing puddles our pool. We did each other's homework, we helped each other in studies (sometimes inspiring each other not to study at all, because, what the heck, who wanted to work boring desk jobs?), we knew each other's 'girl-friends' or those ones we 'silently admired' (girls, it'd be boys in your case) and knew all the secrets; we knew that casting an eye on that girl was next to committing the ultimate sin on earth, so we kept quiet about it. 'Sacrifice' we told ourselves. And we couldn't spend a single 'vacation' minute without this person. Life had some meaning only with this person around. And then something terrible happened. We grew up.
I wonder where my friend is today...
I wonder where my friend is today...
Friday, May 26, 2006
Thus Spook Phatichar...
Don't be afraid of ghosts. Remember, they were also human beings just like us.
Boo!
Funny thing, these horror movies. Some of the most scary are the ones featuring kids in them. Take 'The Others', 'poltergiest', 'Exorcist', 'child's play', 'Vaastu-shastra' and many more for example. And kids aren't supposed to watch them. Do the kids acting in them watch them? I don't know, it's really very strange to think about it. Kids make darn good actors. They can emote naturally, because they're such natural actors in real life as well. 'No mom, I didn't take the cookie from the jar. Honest." I'm sure kids acting in horror movies go watch them, at least during the premiere. Accompanied by their parents, of course (I presume). But the point is - why make horror movies with kids in them at all? And I think the answer is quite natural. Grown ups are so boring, that horror movies featuring them wouldn't scare kids. So make horror movies with kids to scare the adults. I think the basic usp is this. We get scared when something bad happens to innocent people. Unsuspecting people who're vulnerable to violence and fear. And that's what makes the blood freeze. And children are the epitome of innocence, aren't they? Hence, a very successful horror movie. But having said that, and having watched countless horror movies since my childhood (yeah, I'd sneak in once a while), I sometimes feel, we humans are funny beings. We get scared of the unknown, of ghosts and demons and such...but still pay money to go watch them on the screen. It's a good thing ghosts and demons aren't, or don't make themselves present so often in real life. Wonder if that happened...
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Cat got their tongues...
This one's a re-run from my own blurty blog a long time ago. It was dedicated to Khushee. :)
The shorter guy whispered harshly. "Don't touch that."
"Why?" The taller one, who the other guy kept calling 'sting' for whatever reason, replaced the black velvet form on the floor. A small 'mew' escaped its lips.
"Cats are evil", shorter said.
"But he's so...he's so warm" sting said. "And fuzzy." He looked puzzled and even slightly disappointed at having to keep the cat back.
He sighed and continued stuffing the huge gunny sack with other 'important' things like the mantelpiece clock and littered jewellery like a bracelet and ear rings. The owner of these was surely not bothered about theft, it was obvious.The black furry animal blinked at sting once. He smiled in the semi darkness as the two glowing eyes met his.
"Nick," Sting said. "What if the folks come back sooner than we know?"
Nick waved him away. "No they won't. Trust me? Now hurry up and stop gazing at that beast. We've a long night ahead of us. Remember we've to rob at least 5 more houses to keep us going this month."
Sting shrugged and continued stealing. Then something caught his eyes. "hey."
"What?" Nick almost jumped. "Don't you ever scare me like that. What is it?"Sting pointed to the corner of the room, on the other side of the huge bed.
"Yeah, it's a computer. So?"
"Aren't we gonna take that?"Nick looked at it for a minute. It wasn't a very good looking one he decided. Moreover, he had a bigger, meaner machine back in their dump.
"Nah." He shrugged. "It's no good. And nobody's gonna buy it anyway. That's the funny thing about these things. They're not valued for their appearance. or even price. The juice is in the software, memory and such. And this one's a goner" He chuckled.
"You think so?"
"Uh huh."
"Well, you're the boss."
They were almost done. A half hour later they were gone like they'd never come in here. Outside on the dark street, you could hear a 'mew' every now and then from the house.
****
The local newspaper carried a picture of two local thieves a couple of days later. Nick and Sting. The report said the two were identified by a video of theirs, captured in a webcam.
****
Salma stroked her fingers gently over the fur as she gazed at the blue light in her monitor. The house slept. She'd logged on as usual to write her online journal and check emails. But the events over the past few days had baffled her. She still didn't have an explanation. The police had had no trouble nabbing the two thieves who'd burgled their house. Her webcam was on when they were going about their job.
"But...I thought I'd shut it off," She'd stammered when the cops had come sniffing.
"But evidently it wasn't, ma'am", the bushy moustached officer had beamed. "You must've been video mailing someone and left in a hurry. Maybe you could ask your cat, he was there." He laughed heartily, his belly heaving.
She frowned.
"Well, thanks to you, they're ours now."
Salma had placed an icon of the webcam on her desktop and all she had to do was click on it. The thing came on. Yeah, she video chatted with her friends now and then, but...she was puzzled. She was dead sure she'd switched off the computer the other evening before heading off for her cousin's wedding. She never forgot to do that. Never. If Devil could speak, he'd say the same thing. He was always watching her when she sat in front of the computer.
She nuzzled her face against Devil's "What do you say, Devil? Did you switch my cam on?" She said, and laughed at her own silliness.
She looked at Devil. He blinked and mewed. She could swear she saw him smile, as he leaped off her lap and settled on the bed, looking at her from there. She turned to her monitor and opened her mailbox.
******
The shorter guy whispered harshly. "Don't touch that."
"Why?" The taller one, who the other guy kept calling 'sting' for whatever reason, replaced the black velvet form on the floor. A small 'mew' escaped its lips.
"Cats are evil", shorter said.
"But he's so...he's so warm" sting said. "And fuzzy." He looked puzzled and even slightly disappointed at having to keep the cat back.
He sighed and continued stuffing the huge gunny sack with other 'important' things like the mantelpiece clock and littered jewellery like a bracelet and ear rings. The owner of these was surely not bothered about theft, it was obvious.The black furry animal blinked at sting once. He smiled in the semi darkness as the two glowing eyes met his.
"Nick," Sting said. "What if the folks come back sooner than we know?"
Nick waved him away. "No they won't. Trust me? Now hurry up and stop gazing at that beast. We've a long night ahead of us. Remember we've to rob at least 5 more houses to keep us going this month."
Sting shrugged and continued stealing. Then something caught his eyes. "hey."
"What?" Nick almost jumped. "Don't you ever scare me like that. What is it?"Sting pointed to the corner of the room, on the other side of the huge bed.
"Yeah, it's a computer. So?"
"Aren't we gonna take that?"Nick looked at it for a minute. It wasn't a very good looking one he decided. Moreover, he had a bigger, meaner machine back in their dump.
"Nah." He shrugged. "It's no good. And nobody's gonna buy it anyway. That's the funny thing about these things. They're not valued for their appearance. or even price. The juice is in the software, memory and such. And this one's a goner" He chuckled.
"You think so?"
"Uh huh."
"Well, you're the boss."
They were almost done. A half hour later they were gone like they'd never come in here. Outside on the dark street, you could hear a 'mew' every now and then from the house.
****
The local newspaper carried a picture of two local thieves a couple of days later. Nick and Sting. The report said the two were identified by a video of theirs, captured in a webcam.
****
Salma stroked her fingers gently over the fur as she gazed at the blue light in her monitor. The house slept. She'd logged on as usual to write her online journal and check emails. But the events over the past few days had baffled her. She still didn't have an explanation. The police had had no trouble nabbing the two thieves who'd burgled their house. Her webcam was on when they were going about their job.
"But...I thought I'd shut it off," She'd stammered when the cops had come sniffing.
"But evidently it wasn't, ma'am", the bushy moustached officer had beamed. "You must've been video mailing someone and left in a hurry. Maybe you could ask your cat, he was there." He laughed heartily, his belly heaving.
She frowned.
"Well, thanks to you, they're ours now."
Salma had placed an icon of the webcam on her desktop and all she had to do was click on it. The thing came on. Yeah, she video chatted with her friends now and then, but...she was puzzled. She was dead sure she'd switched off the computer the other evening before heading off for her cousin's wedding. She never forgot to do that. Never. If Devil could speak, he'd say the same thing. He was always watching her when she sat in front of the computer.
She nuzzled her face against Devil's "What do you say, Devil? Did you switch my cam on?" She said, and laughed at her own silliness.
She looked at Devil. He blinked and mewed. She could swear she saw him smile, as he leaped off her lap and settled on the bed, looking at her from there. She turned to her monitor and opened her mailbox.
******
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
once bitten..
Vanaja was watering the plants when Karthik walked in, his shirt a mess and face all bloodied, and his school bag dragging behind him like a corpse. She dropped the hose-pipe and rushed to him.
"What happened?"
Karthik just looked at her and proceeded to his room. She pulled him back.
"I said what happened? who did this? Who did you fight with?"
"Nobody."
Funnily, he didn't seem to be in great pain despite a bleeding lip and bruised cheek. Like some big cat had mauled him.
Vanaja took off his shirt and immediately pulled him to the bathroom.
"I knew it. I knew one day this would happen. Picking up fights with classmates, fighting..are you a boy or are you a...?" She ran the hot water and prepared the scrub, while searching for the Dettol. Then she turned to look at him. His eyes were red, and his lips quivered.
She pulled him close and waved her hand over his ruffled hair.
"Oh, I'm sorry sweetie..."
She held him at arm's length, studying the wounds.
"Does it hurt a lot?"
He nodded.
"Oh, my poor baby.." She washed the wounds and gave him a bath.
Later...
"I've told you na chinna (darling in kannada), not to pick fights with the other boys? This time see, it's hurt you so bad."
"Ma..."
"Hmm?"
"I wasn't fighting with the boys."
Vanaja placed the milk cup on the table and sat beside him.
"Then?"
Karthik bowed his head.
"What? Who was it then?" She found her voice rising again. She sighed deeply and turned his chin up.
"Who?"
"Rinki"
"What?"
She couldn't believe what she'd just heard.
"Why would Rinki do this? And why did you have to go fight with her?"
Rinki was Karthik's music school classmate from two lanes down the road. And to think that music wasn't the only thing they practised.
"I was teasing her sister."
"And..?"
"Rinki came to her rescue."
Vanaja looked at her little tiger sipping milk. And then burst out laughing.
********
"What happened?"
Karthik just looked at her and proceeded to his room. She pulled him back.
"I said what happened? who did this? Who did you fight with?"
"Nobody."
Funnily, he didn't seem to be in great pain despite a bleeding lip and bruised cheek. Like some big cat had mauled him.
Vanaja took off his shirt and immediately pulled him to the bathroom.
"I knew it. I knew one day this would happen. Picking up fights with classmates, fighting..are you a boy or are you a...?" She ran the hot water and prepared the scrub, while searching for the Dettol. Then she turned to look at him. His eyes were red, and his lips quivered.
She pulled him close and waved her hand over his ruffled hair.
"Oh, I'm sorry sweetie..."
She held him at arm's length, studying the wounds.
"Does it hurt a lot?"
He nodded.
"Oh, my poor baby.." She washed the wounds and gave him a bath.
Later...
"I've told you na chinna (darling in kannada), not to pick fights with the other boys? This time see, it's hurt you so bad."
"Ma..."
"Hmm?"
"I wasn't fighting with the boys."
Vanaja placed the milk cup on the table and sat beside him.
"Then?"
Karthik bowed his head.
"What? Who was it then?" She found her voice rising again. She sighed deeply and turned his chin up.
"Who?"
"Rinki"
"What?"
She couldn't believe what she'd just heard.
"Why would Rinki do this? And why did you have to go fight with her?"
Rinki was Karthik's music school classmate from two lanes down the road. And to think that music wasn't the only thing they practised.
"I was teasing her sister."
"And..?"
"Rinki came to her rescue."
Vanaja looked at her little tiger sipping milk. And then burst out laughing.
********
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Eye of the beholder...
Geeta entered the park through the west gate and followed the jogger's path that deviated to the right soon after the entrance. She was in an upbeat mood today. Her ad copy had been accepted by the client last evening, and a round of pats had done her back some good. She inhaled the fresh dawn air and almost smiled to herself. She had also decided to run an extra lap today. She wondered how humans adapted themselves to their surroundings. This was a city she hated four years ago when she landed here on a new assignment. She looked at the familiar faces and smiled. And now, it was all different. She was fiercely protective about the same city now and wouldn't leave for all the wealth in the world. Funny, she shook her head. She would've almost passed by the hunched figure sitting on the bench, had it not been for the distinct actions of his hands. She continued running and turned back. When she came around, she saw his fingers nervously running over the text of the book. And then it dawned on her. Obviously! How could he've seen her? He was reading in Braille. She hadn't seen him around earlier. Must be new to town. She stopped after her quota of rounds and sat beside him. He looked up toward her - through her. She smiled. If it were the movies, he'd have fluttered his eyelashes and asked, 'kaun hai?'. But not now. He just went back to his book, his fingers slowly moving over the pages.
"Hello."
"Hmm?"
"Hi.."
"Oh, hello. I'm sorry, I was so involved in reading.. I.."
"It's ok." She smiled.
"What're you reading?"
"Oh, it's about Zen."
"Really? Interesting."
He smiled. "I'm Arun."
"Geeta."
"New around here?" It amazed her how she'd so easily started a conversation with a blind person. She'd never done it before. But there was something about him...
"Yeah."
They made small talk for a few more minutes before she rose. She had an early meeting to attend. She wanted to ask him if he needed help out of the park. But she knew how fiercely independent differently abled people were, so she let it be.
********
Arun was a nice guy with a great sense of humor. Jogging in the park was not just another morning routine for Geeta anymore. She looked forward to meeting him and talking with him. For more than a fortnight, the new routine was she finishing her jog, and then talking to Arun. Then they walked to the nearby tea-stall where he had his tea and cigarette, and then she walked him to the edge of the park, outside. She decided that it was time to call him home and bring him into her circle of friends and family.
********
"Geeta, it's fine, but..."
"Please Reena, you don't start that thing about him being blind etc." Reena was her close pal at office, who had started out with her around the same time in the city.
"I know, I know..but..hope you've thought about this, hmm?"
"Trust me."
********
He wasn't there. Her first thought was, "I hope he's ok." And she now felt bad that she didn't know where he stayed. She'd told him almost everything about herself - where she lived, where her parents were, who her friends were, where she worked. And he'd never divulged anything more than his interests, not even his background. She suddenly realized she didn't even know if he lived in this city - he'd never mentioned it. Maybe his blindness had somehow stopped her from being more inquisitive than she'd normally be.
She finished her jog and waited on the bench for more than a half hour, but he didn't show up. She felt a pang of disappointment. She shook herself. "Relax Geeta, don't be so restless now."
He wasn't there the next day either. And the next, and the next. And the next. A month later, Geeta only turned to look at the bench while jogging, but was now sure that he'd gone. But she felt cheated. He could've at least come by to say bye. But then, well, he might've had his own reasons. She accepted his absence and carried on with life.
*********
Sunday afternoons were the most boring, according to Geeta. As she flicked through the channels, her droopy eyes almost closing, the loud door-bell jolted her out of her senses. God, she must have that bell replaced, she muttered, dragging herself to the door.
"Hi."
"Arun? Wha..how?"
He was looking different. And she realized he was not looking through her. He was looking at her. Into her eyes. It took her a moment to realize.
She gently pulled his hand and got him into the house, but his eyes won't leave hers.
"You...you're.."
"Yeah, that's right Geeta. I'm not blind now."
"Uh..." She didn't know how to react.
"I've come to invite you to premiere of my movie this evening."
"Movie?"
"Yeah. I play the same character that you saw in the park all those days."
She sat down in disbelief.
"how was I?"
"Huh?"
He smiled. "My acting. How was it?"
She didn't reply. She didn't know how to reply.
"We had to wrap up the shoot and the other post production work. So I couldn't come to the park. I wanted to surprise you by inviting you to the movie."
She just kept looking at him.
"It's my directorial debut. It's a small film, but...."
She was staring ahead.
"Geeta. Geeta?"
"Huh..?"
"Look I'm sorry for all this...but...you'll come to the movie, won't you?"
He smiled that same innocent smile. She slowly smiled back.
"Of course, I'll come...you Oscar winner" She replied, hitting him gently on his shoulder.
********
"Hello."
"Hmm?"
"Hi.."
"Oh, hello. I'm sorry, I was so involved in reading.. I.."
"It's ok." She smiled.
"What're you reading?"
"Oh, it's about Zen."
"Really? Interesting."
He smiled. "I'm Arun."
"Geeta."
"New around here?" It amazed her how she'd so easily started a conversation with a blind person. She'd never done it before. But there was something about him...
"Yeah."
They made small talk for a few more minutes before she rose. She had an early meeting to attend. She wanted to ask him if he needed help out of the park. But she knew how fiercely independent differently abled people were, so she let it be.
********
Arun was a nice guy with a great sense of humor. Jogging in the park was not just another morning routine for Geeta anymore. She looked forward to meeting him and talking with him. For more than a fortnight, the new routine was she finishing her jog, and then talking to Arun. Then they walked to the nearby tea-stall where he had his tea and cigarette, and then she walked him to the edge of the park, outside. She decided that it was time to call him home and bring him into her circle of friends and family.
********
"Geeta, it's fine, but..."
"Please Reena, you don't start that thing about him being blind etc." Reena was her close pal at office, who had started out with her around the same time in the city.
"I know, I know..but..hope you've thought about this, hmm?"
"Trust me."
********
He wasn't there. Her first thought was, "I hope he's ok." And she now felt bad that she didn't know where he stayed. She'd told him almost everything about herself - where she lived, where her parents were, who her friends were, where she worked. And he'd never divulged anything more than his interests, not even his background. She suddenly realized she didn't even know if he lived in this city - he'd never mentioned it. Maybe his blindness had somehow stopped her from being more inquisitive than she'd normally be.
She finished her jog and waited on the bench for more than a half hour, but he didn't show up. She felt a pang of disappointment. She shook herself. "Relax Geeta, don't be so restless now."
He wasn't there the next day either. And the next, and the next. And the next. A month later, Geeta only turned to look at the bench while jogging, but was now sure that he'd gone. But she felt cheated. He could've at least come by to say bye. But then, well, he might've had his own reasons. She accepted his absence and carried on with life.
*********
Sunday afternoons were the most boring, according to Geeta. As she flicked through the channels, her droopy eyes almost closing, the loud door-bell jolted her out of her senses. God, she must have that bell replaced, she muttered, dragging herself to the door.
"Hi."
"Arun? Wha..how?"
He was looking different. And she realized he was not looking through her. He was looking at her. Into her eyes. It took her a moment to realize.
She gently pulled his hand and got him into the house, but his eyes won't leave hers.
"You...you're.."
"Yeah, that's right Geeta. I'm not blind now."
"Uh..." She didn't know how to react.
"I've come to invite you to premiere of my movie this evening."
"Movie?"
"Yeah. I play the same character that you saw in the park all those days."
She sat down in disbelief.
"how was I?"
"Huh?"
He smiled. "My acting. How was it?"
She didn't reply. She didn't know how to reply.
"We had to wrap up the shoot and the other post production work. So I couldn't come to the park. I wanted to surprise you by inviting you to the movie."
She just kept looking at him.
"It's my directorial debut. It's a small film, but...."
She was staring ahead.
"Geeta. Geeta?"
"Huh..?"
"Look I'm sorry for all this...but...you'll come to the movie, won't you?"
He smiled that same innocent smile. She slowly smiled back.
"Of course, I'll come...you Oscar winner" She replied, hitting him gently on his shoulder.
********
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Ok, now what?
"If you wanna write, write. Don't think". That's precisely how the better half put things in perspective when yours truly cribbed about the 'bloggers block' and all that jazz about not being able to post for so long now. Well, taking a serious cue from that one, I thought, yeah well, if thinking about writing a story on my blog could lock up my fingers from writing just about anything else, then I probably shouldn't blog - I should maintain a diary where I jot down my so called stories and wait for eternity until the next idea strolled up my brain. But for now I'm doing just what the doc prescribed - just write. And this is something we as writers are advised and instructed to do, right from the time we learn that we could do some serious damage with the alphabet. But still we talk about writer's block as if it were some privileged five star condition that only we were entitled to. "Oh, I have writer's block." The common cold feet.
Wondering, should I post what I just wrote?
What the... well, here it is. Now it's just a matter of 'just writing' everyday. Hmm? I feel better already.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Making history...
It was a typical museum with dark, long corridors and huge halls with high ceilings. This one almost resembled the insides of a cathedral. Rohit and Seema gazed around in awe. One of the most beautiful museums they'd seen. And to think they'd get to visit one on an unlikely trek such as this. They'd been planning on the trek for quite some time now, and this museum literally waylaid them, as if it wanted them to walk in and take in the rare artefacts, before they proceeded in the hot sun. Seema smiled and clutched Rohit's palm. She was like Alice in wonderland. Rohit smiled back and sighed. This was a great place, no doubts.
The trek organizer had left them a few kilometers back at the foot of the Jogi mountain, with detailed instructions about first aid, food and other helpful tips in case they got lost. This was their first trek before they tied the knot a month hence. They just wanted to have a blast and do what they both loved doing - exploring nature.
"Funny, I thought the building looked much smaller from the outside" Rohit commented, gently running his fingers on a tiger, so realistic, he felt it would roar and bite his finger any time.
It never struck them as odd, the appearance of a museum such as this, in the middle of virtually nowhere. Even the organizer hadn't mentioned this in the route. But it didn't matter. Rohit had checked. From the window of the museum, they could see the nearby town. Well, a lot of folks preferred to drive up to a place like this; it was good tourism. Even if Rohit had any doubts it had slowly perished, after having walked around for a while now.
"This way please," The curator who'd welcomed them in flashed a typical curator smile that said, see it but don't touch it. He'd called himself Guru.
Seema rolled her eyes and exchanged a brief knowing glance with Rohit. The curator watched the lovers from the corner of his eye and smiled to himself before leading them to the room at the far end of the museum.
"And this.." He said opening a door that led to some kind of a basement, "is something you would'nt have seen anywhere in the world."
Rohit raised his eyebrows. There was a rare confidence in Guru's voice. They simply smiled and followed him downstairs.
"Wow".
"See? I told you." Guru looked around proudly, as if he'd built this place with his own hands.
Rohit had never seen anything like this before. Statuettes, caskets, jewelry, pottery, and more...indeed he'd never seen anything like this before.
"Original. From the 10th and 12th centuries. All these belonged to the Rastrakutas."
"Rastrakutas? But...how..?" Seema had read a bit of history, and knew that the valiant dynasty had indeed existed in India between 752-985 A.C.E and that their contribution in the field of art and architecture was unmatched. But to openly claim that all of this belonged to them was being a little too confident.
But before she could continue to quiz him about the Rastrakutas, Guru led them to an adjoining room with massive blinds and the walls adorned huge life-size paintings of various temple and historic monuments. They would've missed it had they not stopped by to see the paintings closely. And funnily, this part of the museum was lit poorly. And the air suddenly felt as heavy as lead. Seema's throat felt dry.
"Hey, isn't that..?" Rohit stopped. Guru turned. Seema grasped Rohit's shoulder, her eyes round with bewilderment.
"That's as you can see.." Guru stepped closer.
"The Taj Mahal" Seema completed the sentence.
"Yes. Quite right, ma'am."
"Why's it in shambles? Who could've painted it this way?" She wondered aloud.
"Ah, that's the specialty of these paintings ma'am. All these paintings represent buildings that are going to perish in the near future."
"But how gross. How can somebody think about our national wonder in this way?"
"That's how it is, ma'am."
Rohit and Seema turned to Guru, who had an almost diabolic smile now, instead of his warm, friendly countenance.
They looked at the Eiffel Tower, Mount Rushmore, the Qutub-Minar, Vidhana Soudha...all in pieces. And then they came to the last painting.
"Isn't this...?"
"Yes. It is."
It was the museum they were in.
"Wh..when is this going to happen?"
"Anytime now," Guru said, as the floor beneath them began to rumble and they started shaking violently.
***********
The trek organizer had left them a few kilometers back at the foot of the Jogi mountain, with detailed instructions about first aid, food and other helpful tips in case they got lost. This was their first trek before they tied the knot a month hence. They just wanted to have a blast and do what they both loved doing - exploring nature.
"Funny, I thought the building looked much smaller from the outside" Rohit commented, gently running his fingers on a tiger, so realistic, he felt it would roar and bite his finger any time.
It never struck them as odd, the appearance of a museum such as this, in the middle of virtually nowhere. Even the organizer hadn't mentioned this in the route. But it didn't matter. Rohit had checked. From the window of the museum, they could see the nearby town. Well, a lot of folks preferred to drive up to a place like this; it was good tourism. Even if Rohit had any doubts it had slowly perished, after having walked around for a while now.
"This way please," The curator who'd welcomed them in flashed a typical curator smile that said, see it but don't touch it. He'd called himself Guru.
Seema rolled her eyes and exchanged a brief knowing glance with Rohit. The curator watched the lovers from the corner of his eye and smiled to himself before leading them to the room at the far end of the museum.
"And this.." He said opening a door that led to some kind of a basement, "is something you would'nt have seen anywhere in the world."
Rohit raised his eyebrows. There was a rare confidence in Guru's voice. They simply smiled and followed him downstairs.
"Wow".
"See? I told you." Guru looked around proudly, as if he'd built this place with his own hands.
Rohit had never seen anything like this before. Statuettes, caskets, jewelry, pottery, and more...indeed he'd never seen anything like this before.
"Original. From the 10th and 12th centuries. All these belonged to the Rastrakutas."
"Rastrakutas? But...how..?" Seema had read a bit of history, and knew that the valiant dynasty had indeed existed in India between 752-985 A.C.E and that their contribution in the field of art and architecture was unmatched. But to openly claim that all of this belonged to them was being a little too confident.
But before she could continue to quiz him about the Rastrakutas, Guru led them to an adjoining room with massive blinds and the walls adorned huge life-size paintings of various temple and historic monuments. They would've missed it had they not stopped by to see the paintings closely. And funnily, this part of the museum was lit poorly. And the air suddenly felt as heavy as lead. Seema's throat felt dry.
"Hey, isn't that..?" Rohit stopped. Guru turned. Seema grasped Rohit's shoulder, her eyes round with bewilderment.
"That's as you can see.." Guru stepped closer.
"The Taj Mahal" Seema completed the sentence.
"Yes. Quite right, ma'am."
"Why's it in shambles? Who could've painted it this way?" She wondered aloud.
"Ah, that's the specialty of these paintings ma'am. All these paintings represent buildings that are going to perish in the near future."
"But how gross. How can somebody think about our national wonder in this way?"
"That's how it is, ma'am."
Rohit and Seema turned to Guru, who had an almost diabolic smile now, instead of his warm, friendly countenance.
They looked at the Eiffel Tower, Mount Rushmore, the Qutub-Minar, Vidhana Soudha...all in pieces. And then they came to the last painting.
"Isn't this...?"
"Yes. It is."
It was the museum they were in.
"Wh..when is this going to happen?"
"Anytime now," Guru said, as the floor beneath them began to rumble and they started shaking violently.
***********
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
On the same page...?
"Who are these people? Do I know them?"
"Who? These? Why would you know them, ma? And..how would you?"
"Then? They've written their names like they were celebrities we all recognize. See - Meena and Nikhil. Anil and Sania. Mohan and Preeti. How does it matter what their names are if I can't relate to them?" She frowned and adjusted her glasses. "Wait a minute. This girl...is she a model?"
"No, ma. She's not. And most of them shown here aren't."
"Then? Why the names...?"
"Ma. They're just there because someone paid the newspaper to have their pictures on print. It's publicity, that's all. They're called the 'Page 3' people."
"Ah. That movie. They acted in that movie?"
"Aaargh, no ma, they didn't. Page 3 is...it's a name for...for these socialite kinds. Celebrities too are featured in it. It's just like you know, the 'editorial' page where you find editorials? (Sheesh...what a comparison). But it's just as an example, no please don't draw parallels." But it was too late. She was already at it.
"Editorial? You mean, these people have written all that's written here, on this...this Page 3?"
"Maaaa...".
(Remind me to raise some money and pay it to a newspaper the next time we have a get-together at home. And oh, remind me to take my mom's pics and have 'em printed as well. With her name.)
"Who? These? Why would you know them, ma? And..how would you?"
"Then? They've written their names like they were celebrities we all recognize. See - Meena and Nikhil. Anil and Sania. Mohan and Preeti. How does it matter what their names are if I can't relate to them?" She frowned and adjusted her glasses. "Wait a minute. This girl...is she a model?"
"No, ma. She's not. And most of them shown here aren't."
"Then? Why the names...?"
"Ma. They're just there because someone paid the newspaper to have their pictures on print. It's publicity, that's all. They're called the 'Page 3' people."
"Ah. That movie. They acted in that movie?"
"Aaargh, no ma, they didn't. Page 3 is...it's a name for...for these socialite kinds. Celebrities too are featured in it. It's just like you know, the 'editorial' page where you find editorials? (Sheesh...what a comparison). But it's just as an example, no please don't draw parallels." But it was too late. She was already at it.
"Editorial? You mean, these people have written all that's written here, on this...this Page 3?"
"Maaaa...".
(Remind me to raise some money and pay it to a newspaper the next time we have a get-together at home. And oh, remind me to take my mom's pics and have 'em printed as well. With her name.)
Friday, February 10, 2006
Will you...?
It's funny how we tend to remember dates in our minds. Well, yeah there are some (in my case most) dates that we don't remember, aside from the regular birthdays, anniversaries, and other special occasions. I guess as we grow, these special dates become the glue that holds so many memories together. I for one, used to always forget birthdays and important dates right from school, until I stepped into college. Though I'd not reckoned, it so happened that I met Anu. It wasn't anything special to begin with. We were the cliched 'good friends'. Actually we were. ;) To me, she was just someone I was comfortable with, could talk about anything under the sun. And we were human examples of all the cliches man could ever think of. I was frivolous, she was the silent types. I didn't know when to close my mouth at times, she didn't know when to open up. And yet, there was this quiet understanding, a friendship that had nowhere else to go but together, for life. So I decided to ensure that we were going to be just that. Together for life. And so fourteen years ago, today, I proposed. (Of course we got married 8 years later, but that's another thing...)
And this is one day I cannot forget till I die.
Love you, honey.
And this is one day I cannot forget till I die.
Love you, honey.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Tag(ged) by He(u)r
Have lived (still do) my entire working life with tags (tech writers'll know what I mean) :), so here I am, facing yet another tag (Pre? Happy?), though of a different kind. This one's a little difficult because I've never believed in perfect love. But hmmm, well, these points could come closest:
1. Good sense of humor (fair would do as well)
2. Charming
3. Understanding
4. Lovable (I know...vague, but can't put it any better)
5 - 8. All of the above ;)
1. Good sense of humor (fair would do as well)
2. Charming
3. Understanding
4. Lovable (I know...vague, but can't put it any better)
5 - 8. All of the above ;)
Thursday, February 02, 2006
The skinny on this...
Some things grow on you, like your own skin. Take for example this old Tee that I've been slipping into for quite some time now at home. It's showing signs of aging in that there are stitches coming out from here and there like hostelites trying to sneak out for a late night booze party. And though this tee was once a very bright, striking apparel on my being that I used to wear to work even, lately it's retired; but I feel mighty comfortable slipping into it. It's warm, it's home. It's like my skin. Though the wife has been trying to wiggle it out of my wardrobe and into that bag of clothes we donate to charity every year, I tell her 'not this one'. And am sure each of us has our own 'rag doll' that makes us secure in the fact that they've traveled time with us; still with us. No matter what, we won't wanna give 'em up. For anything. For life. Right?
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