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.

******

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.

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...

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)

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.

******

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.

'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...

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...

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.

******

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.

********

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.

********

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.

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.


***********

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.)

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.

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 ;)

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?

hitch hiked!

Uma started the car. She'd barely stepped on the accelerator when the door behind her opened and snapped shut. And she'd barely begun to turn when she felt the cold muzzle on her neck.

"Drive, woman. Don't you dare look back."

She pulled out onto the main road. Calm now, she auto suggested. No point asking where he wanted her to go. And moreoever, she didn't want to feel like a cabbie. She sniffed. Her cold suddenly worsened, and she'd this urge to sneeze. It passed.

"Take a left here."

A thousand re-runs of a thousand bollywood/hollywood movies zipped in her mind. Well, not that she was an avid movie watcher in any case, but a part of her mind now chided her for not watching all those DVDs her husband rented. She drove on. They were on the ring road now; oh, they were going on a long drive alright. She spotted her cell lying in between the steering wheel and the odo.

Almost as if he'd read her mind, "Pass me your cell phone."

She could hear the clicking and snapping. The sim card was out of the window. Dumb move, she thought. Then he flashed his own cell out. She managed to look into the rear view mirror. She wanted to laugh out as she noticed what he realized.

"You could've used my phone, you know. Yours might be traced..."

"Shut up and drive."

She shrugged. She'd caught a glimpse of his face. Looked decent. Glasses. A light stubble. Hmm, not bad looking, actually. They rode in silence for a few minutes, the traffic outside the only sound. Suddenly she liked the sound of traffic.

"Drive out of town."

"Listen, we've to fill up..."

"Next bunk, on the right. And make it fast." he ducked.

At the bunk, he lay low.

"I've to go...you know...." She said.

"I'm watching you. And no tricks, ok? This isn't like the movies. Don't try to call the cops from the bunk."

She handed over the keys to the bunk assistant, instructing him to fill the tank up. When she returned, her passenger was still lying low in the back seat. She shook her head and got in. A few minutes later they were speeding out of the city. She looked at her watch. Some more driving in silence.

"Working?"

"Huh?"

"You work?"

Before she could open her mouth, he spoke again.

"You don't look like you work."

Yeah right, I carry my ID around, she thought.

A white innova overtook them and blocked them, forcing the car to stop. Now what...
Four men stepped out.

"I'll handle this. You keep quiet."

She shrugged. He inched the muzzle closer to her neck.

One of the men pulled the rear door open, pointing at him what looked like an automatic.

"I'll...I'll kill her. Don't step forward. Who are you?"

He'd barely uttered the words, when without his own knowledge a howl of pain escaped his lips, and he felt his hand snap. The woman in front had used the distraction to pull his hand and break his wrist. The gun fell from his hand. Uma stepped out. The leader of the group stood in attention and saluted her.

As the perpetrator was handcuffed, she couldn't help but notice with amusement, the look in his face.

"Not your day, man." She smiled. He didn't know what to say.

"And oh, one more thing."

They stopped.

"Next time, make sure you get your basics right, hmm? Read the newspapers, it's a good habit. Guys like you should know who you're pitching against, shouldn't you? And last - never, never leave the victim out of your sight. ok?"

This too shall pass...

Another day. Another year. New beginning? Of what? It's just a calendar, with a different number. But well, let's not get too cynical about it, cause there's always something to be cynical about in life. So, yeah...let's look ahead and try and achieve things that we haven't already. As for this space, yep, there'll be more stories, more updates...it's just another day at the blog. :)

A Happy New Year to all of you! (...it's great having you all around)