Storykaar

Zero-sum (Part I)

Wed, 05 Jul 2017 00:00:00 GMT

Freida Dantas stepped out of the queue to look around. The machine wasn’t that far from here–only a few hundred more. She looked behind. The queue went on for as long as she could see. She too had started from the end of the queue many hours ago. The machine took only a second to judge, so the queue had kept moving continuously. But she worried if there were more hopefuls in the queue than seconds in a day. She had been queueing up religiously for her pronouncement every day since she had died.

She’d learned of the system the day she had arrived at the purgatory. Learned is probably not the best word to describe the process. She had woken up in the purgatory a week ago knowing about it instinctively, with no recollection of her prior life. She knew exactly when and where to queue up for the machine. The machine would tell her if it was her time to ascend to the heaven yet. She’d witnessed thousands of ascensions on her first day. The ascendants one after the other had stood under the machine and a bright shaft of light had lit them up until they had become one with the light. This was what all of them in the queue were here for–ascension. It was expected that most of them would ascend, but there had been no ascensions after her first day in the purgatory. This was uncommon from what she knew. The Purgatory was supposed to only be a brief stage before ascension. The queue had kept getting longer each day as new hopefuls had appeared in the purgatory but the machine had chosen not to pronounce anyone through. The stability of the system relied on there being an equal influx and outflux. It was a zero-sum game. As the population of the purgatory exploded, she wondered if the whole system had stopped working.

Someone cut in front of her in the queue and forced her back into reality. She stepped back into the queue calmly. Knowing the rules didn’t mean that they made sense to her. In this supernatural world, the psyche was naked to the system and there were restrictions on feelings. Anger was a forbidden but self-serving wasn’t; passion was a forbidden but jealousy wasn’t. ‘What kind of a God makes such rules?’ she thought before stopping herself from thinking further. She didn’t know if doubting the work of God was a forbidden. ‘Maybe not,’ she thought. If it were, she’d already have been devoured by fire. She didn’t dare ask anyone.

Most of the hopefuls kept to themselves to eliminate the chance of a negative feeling. No one wanted to misstep this close to the finish line. There would always be a few hopefuls chanting the sacred verse–myn myn ryo mon kyln jin. Lately, there were more. Hopefuls had started spontaneously gathering to sing the verse together. The song resonated more around the purgatory during the week as the levels of anxiety soared.

The hopefuls had only two connections out of the purgatory: the machine and the liaison. So Freida was surprised to see no queue outside the liaison’s office. The liaison was also the only permanent resident of the purgatory and so she imagined would be a very important person. She wanted to ask the liaison for some information on the current situation. The liaison’s office was at the bottom of spiralling flights of stairs that descended from the ground like in a stepwell. A thick layer of mist had covered the steps. No more than three steps were visible any which way she looked. After descending for a minute, Freida arrived at a landing. Even as the stepped onto the landing, the mist disappeared and Freida eyed the most beautiful being she’d ever laid eyes on. The liaison sat in front of her in a white flowing gown.

The liaison smiled at her. “Welcome, Freida. I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

You

Sun, 16 Apr 2017 00:00:00 GMT

I see you lying on the bed and I want to scream out to you. But I know it won’t reach. I feel like giving up. I see your body on the bed but it isn’t you. You’re gone. You have deserted me.

I’m sitting on the chair besides your bed holding a bouquet of Bougainvillea for you. It’s not a common flower for bouquets–the nurses looked curiously at the bouquet as I walked to your room–but you used to love them. And today is a special day.

I always get you Bougainvillea. The florist at the corner keeps a bouquet ready for me every year. It’s a newer shop. You’ve never seen it. So many things have changed in the neighborhood since you left. Our favourite ice-cream shop is gone. There’s a bookstore in its place. I visit it often. The year before the last when the car wouldn’t start, I bought a book and taught myself how to fix it. I figured I was going to need it often. Robert tells me we can now afford a new car.

I don’t talk to him much lately. He is rarely at home nowadays. He thinks we’re wasting our time on you. How easy it was for him to reach that conclusion. I like to think we were better parents than that.

Our grandson is now five. You’d have loved to meet him. He looks exactly like Robert used to. He even talks the same. Reminds me of the time when Robert won you a balloon at the fair. You were so happy.

If I arranged my happiest memories together, it would be a montage of you and me together. Buying our first car. That trip to Burma. The birth of our son. That smile on your face.

The doctor called me up yesterday. He told me to meet him today to discuss something important. If he knew it was our anniversary, darling, I don’t think he would have told me today that you’re quite brain dead.

I haven’t told anyone yet. I have a week to decide and I already know what Robert has to say. I’m looking at you in the bed, dear, a tube sticking into your stomach and I wonder what you might have said if you could. I wonder if you’re still there. If you’ve left, what was the moment you did. I never got to say a proper goodbye.

I’m leaving for now, dear, but please be here like always when I return for you tomorrow.

I initially planned to write this in reply to this reddit writing prompt but the story drifted so far away from the prompt and took so long to finish (as expected of me) that I decided to dump it here.

X023

Mon, 13 Mar 2017 00:00:00 GMT

Sheena Zavheri was in the bathroom touching up her make-up when she heard the muffled explosion of a gunshot from the corridor. She instinctively grasped at the gun hidden expertly under her saree and slid towards the entrance—instincts one would hardly expect from the socialite wife of an a-list actor. Sheena, born Hridi Quazi and codenamed X023, was a sleeper operative for the Bangladeshi secret agency. Hridi had married Toufique Zavheri—recognized popularly by the pseudonym: ‘Milan’—after a short affaire planned, funded and effected by the agency in coffee shops and fancy restaurants. More than fifteen years later, Sheena and Milan were at a resort on their wedding anniversary at her insistence trying to resuscitate their gasping relationship.

Hridi spied through the fisheye a muted tussle going on in the large corridor between two dark figures almost out of her field of vision. It could be an unrelated murder attempt on another guest. It would have been risky to step out. But what were the chances that an unrelated tussle would end up on their private floor, she thought.

She peered hard. It was Milan! Hridi hurried into the corridor. Milan, startled to see her, pointed his gun at her and she out of instinct, responded with the same. The other man lay unconscious between the two of them.

It was clear from the way he had moved that he had had specialized training like her. RAW? CIA? Who was this man she’d spent fifteen years with, she wondered. They circled like a fan’s blades around the dizzy man on the floor guns aimed at each other scanning the area for any potential weapons.

“So, how many more do you have hiding?” he asked, kicking the body on the floor.

“You would know,” she replied.

He frowned. “What was the point of all this now?”

“Point of what?”

“This”

“This?”

He kicked the man again to clarify.

“How would I know?”

“He’s a RAW agent,” he said.

They stopped. “And you?”

“Me?” he said incredulously. “No”

She stared at him. She would have known if he were lying. like when he’d said that her Landhi tasted great, or when he’d gone to watch the India-Pakistan match without telling her or the time when he’d told her that he didn’t want children even if it were medically possible for her.

“I guess you’re not RAW either?”

She wondered if she trusted him after what she’d just seen.

“Are you worried we’re being recorded?”

Hridi nodded sheepishly. It didn’t really matter; if they knew, she wouldn’t even get a court trial anyway.

“I’m a Pakistani spy, Sh—”

Before he could complete, Hridi had let go of her gun, stepped over the unconscious body of the possibly Indian agent and jumped towards her Milan (which was foolish considering that he was pointing a fully-cocked gun at her) and embraced him with a passion she’d not felt for him since the first day of her assignment when she met him at the coffee shop.

Wait

Fri, 27 Jan 2017 00:00:00 GMT

“Babe…” called Tarun slumped into the sofa staring into his mobile. “Babe?”

“Yes, babu,” came the reply from the other room.

“We’re getting late.”

“Just two more minutes, baby. Doing the eyelashes”

“They’ll be waiting.” There was no reply. “Babe?”

“Wait, na. Your friend can wait some more time. He’s not the president of the America or something.” The door opened. “How do I look?”

“Patakha,” he replied. “Now let’s go?”

“Just two more minutes. The lipstick smeared,” said she returning back into the room.

He slumped deeper into the sofa.

“Why do you even want to meet them? I’m telling you, your middle-class friends are pulling you down. You should hang out more with people from our society,” she spoke pausing in between for the lipstick. “You’ll get business ideas. How many more years will you keep running? I’m telling you, start investing. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yea babe,” came the reluctant reply.

“Or just ask your father for money. I’ll start a business. I was talking to Sheena. She was telling me that lots of sportsmen are starting up restaurants. Lots of money in it. Or I could start a clothing range—name it after me, you know? Or something like a range of clutches and bags or whatever. Sheena knows about it. I could be like its brand ambassador or something. She knows the people from Wildcraft. Just ask your father for some money, babe, I’ll take care of the rest. Okay?”

“Okay….”

“What could we name it?” she asked.

“We should of course name it after you, babe. How about Witchcraft?”

Visitors

Sun, 08 Jan 2017 00:00:00 GMT

It was almost nine and the house was still in a disarray. ‘Could’ve at least informed me she’d be late,’ Sudeep thought as he collected newspapers from under the couch. ‘The guests will be arriving any moment now’. He checked his mobile. There was no message from her. He knew they were going to get into a fight over this. The only consolation was that their son wouldn’t be home to witness it this time.

A strong draught from the bedroom window scattered the newspapers. He collected them and stuffed them into a drawer this time. The bedroom was messy. He didn’t want the guests to see it. He latched the bedroom door shut and entered the kitchen. He was checking for supplies when he heard a screech and a thud as the bedroom door flung open again. He latched the door and made sure that it was properly closed. The bungalow was old but it conveniently located. The previous owners had also agreed to sell it to them much below the market rate.

He reentered the kitchen wondering if he should just order for food when he heard a click. He looked towards the bedroom. The door was unlatched. There was another click. The bedroom door opened slowly. There was another click. It sounded like seashells being struck against each other. He moved carefully, reaching for the handle, but before he could grip it, the door swiveled shut violently on him. He heard a deep growl. Whatever was inside the room, didn’t want to be seen either.

Under the covers

Tue, 01 Nov 2016 00:00:00 GMT

The blaring primetime television would almost drown out his arguing parents, but a harsh sound or two would still invade his bedroom through the gaps threatening to spread and fill his room up with unhappiness; but he would be safe, for he would be under the sheets, duvet or a cover, dreaming of magic, love and a future.

Television

Tue, 01 Nov 2016 00:00:00 GMT

Travesty of primetime news was on television again. The reporter walked frantically towards an old mud house.

“We are on our way to the home of the IITian who died yesterday at the Panvel railway station,” she reminded the viewers. The anchor sat ready with debaters in another panel on the overcrowded screen and in yet another panel were images of the dead person—pixelated enough to avoid any lawsuits but clear enough for the gore to be obvious. Below the panels flashed in bold: ‘When will the Government wake up to the need for better safety for passengers?‘.

The reporter barged her mic into the window of the latched house and asked loudly, “Ma’am…. Your son died yesterday trying to board a train. What do you have to say?” Someone pushed away her mic and latched the window from inside. “As you can see, the family is clearly still in mourning. We will try to get them to speak to us. Over to the studio”

“Thank you….” said the anchor. “I’d like to remind all our viewers that this story is exclusively on our news channel.”

The studio had the usual guests: one from the ruling party, one from the opposition, one from a reputable newspaper, one from an NGO, etc.. The anchor introduced them all and began the debate with the conclusion. The blame was shifted from one to the other until the the issue didn’t matter anymore. After numerous commercial breaks and high-decibel shouting contests, the anchor contacted the reporter again.

“Any updates?”

“We were not able to contact them. They are still in mourning. We were able to talk to some of his f….”

“I’m sorry to interrupt but we will have to get back to you…. Stay there. Try to get his parents’ view on this subject. We will contact you”

The rest of the panels vanished and the camera zoomed in on the anchor. “We have just gotten a breaking news,” he said. “Superstar Vivek Khanna and Simpy Shah are back together. Stay tuned for more!”

Spontaneity

Sun, 22 May 2016 00:00:00 GMT

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun—typical Konkan weather! Raj folded his old patched-up umbrella and boarded the train.

“Hi. Can you please get me a cold Bisleri bottle?”

“Sorry?”

“Can you please get me a cold bottle of Bisleri? I’ll pay, of course.” calmly repeated this strange girl who was now standing in front of him.

“Oh… Okay,” he said and walked out of the train towards the stall. He must surely have felt a little suspicious. He had never seen her before. He took his bag and the umbrella along.

The stall was busy. He tried to get the shopkeeper’s attention but there were others clamouring for his attention too. Sawantwadi was a quick stop for the train. He kept eyeing the train. The girl was now sitting on the seat opposite to his.

The train whistled once. Raj ran back to the train. It would not start to move right away, but he didn’t want to take a chance. He had returned empty-handed, feeling guiltier than he should have for not being able to do a favour for someone.

“It’s fine, I have some water left” she replied to his wordless apology. “Thanks for trying. I’m Purvi, by the way.”

“Raj.”

The train whistled once more and chugged away. The rhythm picked up and the train was on its way in earnest. The town was long behind now and the sky had darkened. They began to talk.

Purvi’s seat had been the one on the adjoining berth but she wanted a window seat and also the family sharing her berth were happier to have some more free space for the kids to romp on.

“I’ll move back if the person who booked this seat turns up. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not. Please sit”

No one would turn up to claim the seat that night. They introduced themselves. She was from Ernakulam.

“And I’m travelling to Lonavala”

“Alone?”

“Yea”

“Isn’t it a bit scary?”

“Yup. Just a bit. Also the language barrier. My Hindi isn’t very good. What about you?”

“Not bad. I grew up here.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to college. IIT Bombay”

“Oh. Great. My cousin studies there… Don’t you guys have a summer break right now?”

“Yea. I am working on a project. I need to finish it before the semester starts, or I won’t get any time later”

“Okay”

They sat quietly for a while. She started to read a novel and he got busy texting. They reached Kankavali fairly quickly. He bought a bottle of cold water for her. She offered him some. He refused politely.

“Do you take the umbrella everywhere with you?” she asked. He hesitated a bit. “Oh, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No problem. Actually, I don’t even notice it anymore. I carry it everywhere with me. It’s special to me. Sort of our family umbrella.”

They talked for another hour about themselves. He learnt that she was supposed to travel with her cousin, who had to cancel at the last minute.

“I thought it’d be an adventure to travel to Lonavala alone without a plan. Now I think that maybe it’s too much of an adventure for me! I don’t even know anyone there!”

She learnt that he would be entering the third year of his engineering soon.

“I’m in Civil. I wanted to be in Computer Science. I’m doing this project to strengthen my resume for CS jobs.”

They discussed their hobbies and lives in general. He felt a connection. They compared their colleges and their parents. He confessed how he always wanted to travel but never had the time or resources.

“You only need the will to travel. Everything else will fall into place. Why don’t you come with me to Lonavala? I do have an extra seat. Also, no TT will come at this time. Even if he does, I’ll deal with him.” She winked.

“I… really shouldn’t. There’s so much work to be done. I didn’t even spend any time at home because of this project.”

“Are you sure you can’t give one day for fun? Where’s your spontaneity? Where is your sense of adventure? What is a life lived without ever living? There is no fun in always planning ahead and making the safe choices. Sometimes you just have to take the leap without seeing what lies beneath. Also, you’d be helping me immensely.”

“Thanks for the offer, Purvi. You are very persuasive. But I really can’t take a day off. If you need any help from me, give me a call. I’ll help you to the best of my ability.”

“No problem at all. I thought you’d enjoy too.” She smiled.

“Sorry”

They talked for some time, after which she went back to reading her book while he set his alarm and tried to take a short nap.

It was almost three in the morning. Panvel station was approaching. He had not been able to get much sleep but now there was no time. He had to get down. They exchanged numbers. “Let me know how your Lonavala trip goes,” he said.

“Sure”

“Maybe we can go on a trip like this sometime when I’m free”

“Sure. Let’s see.” She smiled.

He got up and wore his bag. She extended her hand for a handshake. They shook. He couldn’t help but feel that there was something different about that touch. It felt surreal. It had the quality of a dream. Admittedly he was still groggy from the sleep. He climbed down onto the platform. She was now sitting in his old seat—looking at him smilingly.

The train slowly started to move again. Like every other station before it, it’d leave this one too. He peered longingly at her and waved once more. She waved back. It was 02:45 am. The platform was almost empty. The train had started to move. What is the meaning of life? What is a life without a few mindless adventures? He half suspected that she wanted him only because she didn’t want to deal with the trouble of not knowing the local language. But—what the hell?!—he needed it too. He felt like he—the unsatisfactorily-slept teenage philosopher—was being pulled towards her by an invisible thread. He moved ahead as the train did. He walked, strode and then finally ran, as the train gathered speed. Purvi ran to the door and in a reversal of sorts of the Bollywood archetype, she held out her hand and Raj ran towards her—ran like his life depended on it. The platform was slippery. He kept struggling to reach her hand. He’d get closer but then slip a bit and have to cover some more ground. The train had started to gain some serious speed. He kept runningbut kept losing to the train. It all felt dream-like.

“Take the leap, Raj! Jump!” she screamed.

He looked into her eyes and in a dilated moment in which he felt as if everything had stopped (including his heart), he leapt!

Raincoat

Sat, 14 May 2016 00:00:00 GMT

A little kid, not older than ten, goes stoically through the raincoat-stock of another shop. His parents stand a little away, admiring the confidence with which their son talks — in English, that too! — to the shopkeepers.

He is done.

“I didn’t like any of them” he declares.

“Buy any one. We’ve already been to all the other shops,” entreats his mother.

“No. I’ll buy something next year.”

“The rainy season has already begun. Your books get wet,” his father reasons. His bag is positively wet. His floaters are muddy and his (unironed but meticulously washed) shirt is damp.

“I’ll put them in a plastic bag next time. We’ll buy a really nice one next year. Pukka!”

The three of them exit the store. It’s sprinkling outside. He takes out their only umbrella from his bag. His mother holds it over them—mostly over him. His father walks a step ahead of them, worrying about mending the small hole in the umbrella even when his old shirt and trouser have quite a few more.

Quilt

Mon, 20 Apr 2015 00:00:00 GMT

There once was a queen, pretty and wise. Her husband was a king, just and nice. They ruled over a land far far away where faces were bright and the sky never grey.

The Queen was happy, but she was afraid. She wouldn’t always be young and her face not always fair. She rummaged through her heirloom and found a quilt.

The Quilt was magical; it made things true. She wrapped the Quilt and closed her eyes. She held it tight as the Quilt came to life.

“Tell me a wish and I shall make it true,” the Quilt spoke.

“Anything at all?”

“Just make the wish, my Queen, and it shall be yours”

“I wish for eternal youth”

“Are you sure, my Queen?”

“Yes! Yes! Please. Everything is perfect as it is. I wish nothing ever changes”

“I will do as you say, my Queen, but there’s a catch. To grant you your wish, I will need to steal a few years from a few people”

“Do I know these people?”

“No, my Queen. They are complete strangers”

The Queen thought hard. “Will they suffer for a wish of mine?”

“No, my Queen. They will not even notice the years they lost”

“Then pray make my wish come true. Make me a queen who will never grow old”

“As you say, my dear Queen,” said the Quilt as it shone bright. “Ten years from a young woman who has it all. Ten years from a mother, proud and tall. Ten years from a woman adored by the big and small. Ten years from a woman who has been through it all”, chanted the Quilt and tiny stars filled the hall. A minute later, the stars disappeared and the Quilt fell on the floor. The Queen, on the other hand, was never seen again.

This is a part of Peatoozee™ challenge for April. Today's letter was Q.

Parkinson's Law

Sat, 18 Apr 2015 00:00:00 GMT

The administration on the planet of Zolgian was in shambles. An independent council of elders was convened and tasked with overhauling the system. The council was given free rein and the assurance of no external pressures. Years went by and the council grew in power and stature. More prominent citizens joined the ranks of the elders and the council kept working on. Eventually the council reached consensus and summoned an expert to finalise the plan.

The expert gingerly entered the hall of the elders. One of the elders spoke.

“I believe you have received our detailed plans. Did you go through it completely?”

“No, your excellency,” she replied.

There was an audible murmur in the room.

“May I know why?”

“Your excellency… most of the projects explained in the document are already done.”

The room fell silent. “The rest are really not feasible.”

After a few seconds of reflection, the elder spoke again. “Thank you for your expert opinion. You may leave.”

The expert left and the council decided that it was its duty to review the failure of the council in suggesting a viable remedy in time. Years would pass by after this incident and the council would keep growing in number and stature.

This is today’s second post for Peatoozee™. To read the previous post, follow this link

Prize

Sat, 18 Apr 2015 00:00:00 GMT

The final match of the national junior level chess championship had just concluded and the prize distribution ceremony had just commenced. Aiden, a first time participant and the surprise winner of the championship, stood shyly on the podium watching the audience, mostly composed of family members of the contestants and a few chess enthusiasts heartily cheering each player as they would collect the award. Finally the host announced Aiden’s name. The audience kept clapping enthusiastically, but then all of a sudden most of them stopped. Aiden looked at the host, who looked back almost guiltily at him. He turned quizzically towards his interpreter. “In addition to the cash prize, the sponsors are also giving away their brand’s latest headphones,” she signed. Aiden chortled relievedly and signed at her, “Tell them that I’ll be gifting it to my sister.” Then he turned towards the audience and signed to his sister, “Sorry I forgot to wish you on your birthday. See? God wanted me to gift you something.”

This is part of the Peatoozee™ challenge series (yes, I made up the challenge)

Peatoozee: A short warning

Sat, 18 Apr 2015 00:00:00 GMT

Many bloggers I know are participating in the A to Z challenge, wherein every day in Aprilbarring Sundays, bloggers pick up one letter of the alphabet and write a post around a word that begins with the letter. Bloggers have been planning about this for months—deciding on the topics, roping in guest writers, improving on ideas and doing whatnots.

I decided to not participate this year, owing to my busy schedule. (A busy schedule has been my goto excuse this year.) I am completely unprepared for this, and yet like a quintessential engineer, halfway through April I have decided to participate any way. I might have missed my coach, but at least I’ll catch the train. I’m calling this Peatoozee™ (name subject to change) as I missed A to O.

I have not written any fiction this year (except Inteqaam, which I did not write for the blog). The fiction section in my brain is rusty. All I can think of is flaky ideas that wither away on the slightest inspection. I’m using the Peatoozee™ as an excuse to chip off some bad ideas and get some bad stories out of the way. Hopefully better ideas would come by the time I finish this challenge.

I apologise in advance for any damage to your brains caused by reading my bad stories. Trust me, there’s going to be lots.

Cheers,
Storykaar

Inteqaam

Mon, 30 Mar 2015 00:00:00 GMT

In 2022, after intense negotiations, the Indian and Pakistani governments agreed to hold a referendum in Jammu & Kashmir. Armies on both sides retreated to allow peaceful resolution of the dispute.

However, the separatists in the state, led by the veteran leader Sajjad Lone capitalised on the lacuna and quickly grabbed hold of the power with the help of local militia and declared independence for United Kashmir.

After a few weeks of fighting, the armies of the two nations regained control of the state. Many leaders of the separatist movement, including Sajjad Lone escaped to China, where they lived the rest of their lives in misery, most of them marrying poor local women to palliate the Communist Party’s suspicions.

Descendants of the separatists grew up in a confusing environment. The land of their ancestors had disowned them. The land of their birth didn’t want them. Sajjad’s grandson, Inteqaam, was one of them.

Inteqaam was a despondent purposeless man, afflicted by a rare condition of the heart. He didn’t have long to live. One day when he was contemplating suicide an extremely bright light shone in his face.

“Don’t give up yet, Inteqaam!” boomed a voice. “Your God is here! Don’t be afraid. Just follow my instructions and your life will have an aim. Reach People’s Square at 7 in the morning. You’ll find a man named Phil. I want you both to close your eyes and walk together southwards until you feel my presence” The light disappeared, leaving a dumbfounded Inteqaam trying to make sense of what he had seen.

In the morning, Inteqaam reached the People’s Square. There indeed was a Chinese man named Phil waiting for him. The two of them closed their eyes and started walking southwards alongside each other like they had been instructed to. They walked for a long distance but nothing happened. Finally Inteqaam gave up. He opened his eyes and shouted at the sky.

“Show me the meaning of being Lone-Lee!
Is this the Phil Ling I need to walk with?
Tell me why I can’t be there where you are?
There’s something missing in my heart!”

Repentance

Wed, 26 Nov 2014 00:00:00 GMT

It was late at night but she was still in the kitchen. The knife cut away rhythmically, punctuating the eerie silence of their bungalow.

‘Was I too harsh on him?’ she thought to herself. ‘Maybe I overreacted.’ The knife came threateningly close to her fingers. ‘Which married couple doesn’t argue? We have argued in the past. We got over it. We would have this time too. Maybe I went too crazy. Maybe he was right. Maybe I deserved to get slapped.’ The knife cut her finger. She ran to the sink and washed her wound and clasped the finger with her other hand. She sighed. ‘I wish I could tell him how much I repent my mistakes. He would have believed me, if no one else ever did.’ She put the remaining pieces of him in the bag. ‘Maybe I was too harsh on him’.

General Flight Safety

Mon, 17 Nov 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“For a moment there, I thought we were toast! That manoeuvre around the storm was truly inspired.”

“We are not destined to die here, Danial. God will guide us. Do not worry. Just make sure that the pilots stay unconscious.”

An Interview

Thu, 02 Oct 2014 00:00:00 GMT

It was a surprisingly cold November morning. A thick layer of fog had settled down on the streets of Delhi, mellowing down every colour and cloaking the grime and bustle of the city. He had stood purposefully outside the bungalow, puffing mist into his woolen gloves and checking repeatedly for his dictaphone for a whole minute, but he still felt anxious when his finger finally touched the doorbell. He stepped back and waited for the door to open.

A middle-aged woman opened the door. She was draped in a faded blue saree. Her hair was disheveled and her hands were wet. She wore no jewellery at all. Her big brown eyes looked at him enquiringly. “Are you the reporter?” she asked him.

“Yes…, I am the reporter,” he replied.

“Come in,” she said stepping aside for him to enter. “Sit down. I’ll call Vilochana,” she said directing him to a black leather sofa and locking the door. She swiftly walked inside with the efficiency of a marathoner.

He looked around the spacious living room as he sat down on the sofa. The marble flooring looked like it had been recently scrubbed. The beige walls were all covered in decorations. On one end was a huge showcase adorned with little clay dolls and bob heads. A section of the showcase had been devoted to trophies and photos of celebrities. The other walls were covered in paintings — a few of which he recognised.

He walked over to one of them and stood, peering at it, appreciating it, drinking in the texture with his eyes.

“She’ll be here in one minute,” the woman said, walking back into the room.

“Oh… Alright.” He looked at her fleetingly and nodded, but he was still immersed in appreciating the subtlety of the painting.

“You like that painting, mister?”

“I love it,” he said. “It isn’t an original Paulo, is it?”

“Oh no, it isn’t.”

“Hmmm… I drew a replica when I was in journalism school. But this one is far better. Where did you buy it from?”

“We didn’t buy it. Vilochana drew it,” said the woman proudly. “She drew all of these.”

He cast one more look at all the paintings—artistic masterpieces each one of them—before looking back at her. “All of them?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” she said. He could see her face light up and her chest puff up as she placed the cups on the teapoy. “Come… Sit. We had run out of tea, so I made you some coffee. I hope it’s alright.”

“It’s alright. Thank you,” he said sitting down on the sofa.

She poured some coffee in his cup. He picked up a spoonful of sugar cubes and dunked them into his cup. He then steadily stirred the coffee, still gazing at the paintings while she poured another cup for Vilochana. He had felt an instant connection with the paintings in the room. Her style reminded him so much of his own.

He had just drawn his first sip of coffee when Vilochana made her entrance into the living room. He kept the cup away and stood up.

“Oh, please sit down,” she said with the flick of a wrist as she elegantly sat down on the sofa opposite to him.

He reverently watched her as she picked up a sugar cube from the box and dunked it in the coffee. Her saree — dark blue and embroidered with golden patterns — moved around like a zephyr but yet more gracefully.

She looked at him. “Thanks for coming to interview me, Vickyji.”

“My pleasure. It’s a great opportunity for me too.”

“Vikram is it?” she asked him.

“No… Vikartana.” He smiled. “My father was going through a Mahabharata phase when he named me. He is a Sanskrit teacher,” he added.

“Karna, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“I know that name. Many years ago I did a play inspired by Mahabharata. It was a good play. Sadly we did only one show.”

“That’s a shame. I wonder why that never came up in the research.”

“It was only an experiment anyway. A few of the major actors got roles in feature films and they never looked back. The director ran out of money so he couldn’t restart the play. It really broke Jiteshbhai—the director. So has the interview started?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” She draped her knees with the pallu in one swift motion. “What do you want to know?”

“So how old are you?” he asked her.

“Young man! You do not ask a lady her age!” she frowned.

“I’m sorry. You look really beautiful. I was just curious. You don’t look as old as I had thought you would.”

She leaned in, coyly resting her face in her palm. “Is it?” she asked. “I’m almost as old as Sudha. Doesn’t look that way, does it? Oh… I didn’t introduce Sudha, did I? This is Sudha.” She pointed to the woman who had let him in. “She works here.”

Sudha joined her hands in a namaste, as if they had just met, as if this was the first interaction they were having. He just nodded in acknowledgement.

Sudha and Vilochana did not look similar. Vilochana was short, fair, petite. Her hands were thin but soft. Her nose was small and straight. Her eyes were dark and moist. Her hair was long and shiny. Her cheekbones and her jaw were a study in fine lines. Sudha, on the other hand, was tall, dark and hefty. There wasn’t anything remarkable about her. Her face lacked definition. Her nose was pudgy and her chin extended to her neck. Inspite of it all, Sudha and Vilochana seemed to be connected by a cosmic force, as if they had been born as a single entity and then divided into two persons — the mistress and her maid. They looked as if they were the same age, born at the same day, hour, minute and the exact moment.

“Isn’t it, Vickyji?” Vilochana asked again.

“You’re right,” he said, “you look younger”, unable to say otherwise. He picked up the cup and sipped some more coffee.

Vilochana smiled. “Everyone tells me that I look young. I think it has always been the case. Even when I was filming my first movie, Rajeevji used to tell me that I was the most beautiful actress he had ever worked with. And believe me, he had worked with a lot of actresses. He just had a knack for appreciating beauty. He always told me that I had the star-quality in me. He saw the talent in me. Wait. I’ll show you our photos together,” she said and rushed inside to get the album.

Sudha and Vikartana shared amused smiles.

“So how old are you?” he asked her.

“I’m 42”

“Thanks,” he said, quietly calculating how old they would have been when he was born.

Vilochana returned from her room with a big album in her hand and squeezed next to him on the couch. She began showing him the photos with the enthusiasm of a school kid. The album was well maintained save for what appeared to be water droplets on a few photos.

“See? Look here. Me with Rajeevji. We took this during Dariya ke Paar in Kashmir.” A teenage Vilochana was standing next to a middle-aged Rajeev Khanna on a snowy cliff. She was unrecognisable except for the eyes. The eyes had remained the same.

He sat quietly, staring vacantly at the album, lost in thoughts, as she continued to show him photos after photos of her with movie stars of the yesteryears. The last photo in the album was of four people standing in the veranda: Vilochana and Sudha in salwar-kameezs, Rajeev in his trademark rainbow coloured tee and one other man, wearing a cream-coloured kurta-paijama. They were all laughing. They looked genuinely happy.

“This was our last photo together. Rajeevji died the same evening in a car crash. Sai died too.” She pointed at the photo of the man in the kurta-paijama. “We took this photo right after Sai had asked Sudha’s hand in marriage.”

Vikartana looked at Sudha. She was sitting across Vilochana, at the edge of her sofa, looking away, her eyes glazed.

“I was devastated. Rajeevji had promised to cast me in his next movie,” she continued talking like nothing had happened. “I kept away from the industry for some time after that. When I tried to return, no one wanted to work with me. I did not have any friends in the industry. I was offered roles in B-grade movies, Vickyji. I could never have done that. I come from a good family.”

He nodded. “So what did you do then?”

“I waited. I waited for a good role to come my way. Eventually people forgot that I even existed. I was no longer even considered for roles. People assumed that I had retired. Some people were even surprised to see me alive.”

He could hear the pain in her voice.

“It all happened so quickly, Vickyji. Reality came crashing down on me. I lost everything I cared about in the world. I suddenly had no future. Oh… I’m sorry, Vickyji. I got a little carried away. How silly of me.” She quickly wiped away a tear.

“It’s alright. We need the interview to be personal. Any more information you could give us? Tell us about your family.”

“Family?”

“Yes”

“Okay. I’m an only child. My parents are no more.”

“How did they…”

“My father committed suicide. It was not his fault. He was suffering from depression. I was in high school. My mother died of a cardiac arrest a week after Rajeevji’s death. That’s all. My family.”

“Don’t you have anyone else?”

“Sudha. She is like my family now. We’re practically like sisters. Her mother used to work for us, so we pretty much grew up together. She took care of me when my parents died.”

“Okay”

“I can no longer pay her as much as I should. Her husband also works hard—jolly good fellow he is—, but the money is never enough. I keep telling her to find an employ somewhere else, but she doesn’t want to leave me.” Vilochana held Sudha’s hand in hers. “She’s all I have left now for family.” Her eyes were tearing up again.

“Don’t you have any family other than her?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Well… I did have a cousin. He died last year trying to fake an accident. The idiot was trying to claim insurance money. May God rest his soul. He was my last relative.”

“So…,” he paused to consider the enormity of what he was going to mention. “Didn’t you have a child many years ago?”

Vilochana sunk back into the sofa. Sudha, who had been quiet till then, exchanged looks with her and got up. Both of them looked alarmed at him. “How do you even know that?!” Vilochana asked.

“I did a little research.”

“I think this is highly inappropriate, Mr. Murthy. I am not comfortable talking about this subject.”

“I’m sorry… I should not have been so direct.”

“No you shouldn’t have.” She shook her head disapprovingly.

“I’m really sorry. The editor said that he needed something to….” He stopped. He couldn’t drum up the courage to utter the last word — sell.

“It’s just… I don’t…,” she paused to think and firmly replied, “No. It’s too private.”

“It’s just that people nowadays are more interested in knowing about the personal lives of stars. People would connect to you more if you…”

“You think people would actually buy the magazine to know more about my personal life?”

“I believe so”

She looked behind at Sudha and back at him. Sudha walked back into the kitchen.

“I guess I could give you a little information for the interview if you promise me that you will show me the draft before publishing this interview.”

“Definitely”

“And I don’t want to mention the name of the father.”

“Why not?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve not talked about this in years. I don’t even know what you’d want to talk about.”

“Anything you can remember about that time.”

“It was in the late 80s, a few months after Rajeevji’s death when I gave birth. I was young and immature. My parents had just passed away and Sudha was all I had. We were both orphans in this big city. Luckily for me, my parents had left me enough wealth to survive without work.”

He nodded.

“Do you know how difficult it is to be a single mother, Vickyji?”

“I… wouldn’t know.”

“Very difficult, Vickyji. Very difficult. In India, being an unmarried mother is considered an immorality in itself. The society imprisons you in a web of contempt. You would expect it to ease up with time, but the web tightens around you. It rots and it stinks, but it doesn’t disappear. You either surrender to it or you disappear.”

He nodded.

“I was lucky that I wasn’t dependent on anyone financially. I tried a lot to find the baby, but the adoption agency refused to give me the whereabouts. They said it was against their policy to reveal this information to anyone other than the child itself. I was devastated. You cannot even imagine the pain I went through. They say that every great actor has some great pain in their life, isn’t it? I believe that it is this pain that I project onto the screen every time I face the camera.”

He leaned forward and asked, “What if your son comes to find you?”

There was a loud din of falling dishes in the kitchen.

“It’s alright!” Sudha shouted from the kitchen over the noise of the bouncing saucers. “I’m alright!” she added.

Vilochana looked back at Vikartana. Her face was concerned. “You think he will?” she asked.

“We do have a very good readership. Who knows?”

“Oh… I don’t… Well…, Maybe you should leave out the piece about searching for him,” she said, looking back at Sudha for support, who was now standing behind the curtains. “You can keep the part about my pain of loss”

“I think this is enough material for the interview,” he said getting up.

“Oh… okay. But…But you didn’t even… didn’t you say it was a full page interview?”

“Yes. I’ll fill in an intro of about half a page about your past work.”

“Oh…,“—she looked downcast—“People might not remember my work, isn’t it?” she said in an attempt to console herself. “You’re right. This should be enough.”

“I’ll take your leave now,” he said.

“I’ll wait for the article,” she said, but he didn’t hear it as he crossed the door.

She was the woman he had expected to meet, but not the mother he had hoped to find. He walked away disappointed. Emotions he had held back were finally rushing in. He felt a throbbing pain in his head.

He would still publish the news story. He would feel that it was the least he could have done for her. Meeting her gave him her side of the story, but didn’t make it easier for him to forgive her.

As he took out his car, he caught Sudha staring at him from the kitchen window. She hid when she noticed it. He found it very odd. The image of her standing at the window haunted him for weeks, but then he forgot about it too.

As he rushed out of the bungalow, unable to quell his rebellious emotions, Sudha stood at the window for one last look. She wondered why she had not realised it the moment she saw him. After all, he had Sai’s eyes and her pudgy nose.

Shilpa Halwe accused me a few days back of stealing her story idea for a story of mine (which is complete nonsense), so I decided to hijack her story for real. The story that inspired this one is here.

(It’s all for fun. I did tell her before writing this one)

Darkness

Sun, 07 Sep 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“C’mon Jenna, don’t be stupid. Spirits are parasitic entities: not some magical unicorns. They don’t have any supernatural powers,” he said irritably, putting away his spectacles on the table. “Don’t blindly believe what Hollywood shows you; they don’t know anything.”

“You don’t know much either, Dr. Biswas,” she said with a sneer as the lights went out.

A Dish Best Served Cold

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this opportunity,” he said, moving closer cautiously, with a smirk on his face. “I’ve lain sleeplessly on filthy streets, grimy and hungry; all because I knew you were still alive. And now I’m here in front of you,” he said brandishing a knife from his back pocket. He raised the knife in the air and brought it down hard, cutting right through the bloodied meat with vehement precision as everyone watched expectantly. He made the best sashimi the judge had ever tasted.

Farewell Letter

Sat, 16 Aug 2014 00:00:00 GMT

Madras

15th August

Dear John,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. All of us here at the office are well and in high spirits. John, as much as I respected your right to hold an opinion and valued you professionally as my supervisor, your argument that ‘Indians are uncultured and incapable of ruling themselves’ never found favour with your predominantly Indian staff. Please find attached the new political map of the world (with India as its newest independent nation).

Yours faithfully,

Aaharen Nayakan

PS: We’re glad you left.

15th August is India's Independence Day. I got all fired up before writing this one and then realised that 26th January(Republic Day) might be a better day for the letter, but hell with historical accuracies; it's Independence Day!

This letter is a response to Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction word MAPS and the photo prompt by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for 15th August - combined - because I’m lazy. Please do check out the other submissions for these two prompts. You’ll find some really great stories. The two images belong to Tuesday Johnson and Jan Wayne Fields respetively

Being the good guy

Sat, 09 Aug 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“And?”

“And… It’s apparently not good etiquette to tell your girlfriend that her sister is sexy.” Varun kept away the bouquet and felt his left cheek again.

Rock Bottom

Sat, 09 Aug 2014 00:00:00 GMT

He spread his hands and felt the wind against his wet face. The soft morning breeze grew faster and faster until it was a gale trying to pull him back by his hair.

When he had stood on the parapet of the roof, he had known how difficult life was going to be, but he had not imagined how terrifying the prospect of death would be.

He was plummeting head-first towards the rocky shore. A blood curdling scream escaped him as the surface galloped upwards.

He shut his eyes tight as he touched the surface. His body was flung back into the air by the bungee rope. He thanked gods of him and others that he had not let his thoughts get the better of him.

The Dentist

Fri, 13 Jun 2014 00:00:00 GMT

Not a single patient had visited the clinic since morning. clunk… clunk… clunk… She lazily struck the scalpel on the tray as she waited for the doorbell to ring. She had always wanted to be a dentist and own a little clinic in the suburbs just like her father. clunk… clunk… clunk… But no one had told her that it would be so boring.

She looked up at him and announced.

“Daddy, I don’t want to be a dentist. I want to be a princess!”

He patted her on the head. “Whatever you wish, dear. Whatever you wish”

Of a Prolific Sketcher

Sun, 08 Jun 2014 00:00:00 GMT

The big red drawing book slapped through air and fell flat onto the table. It was visibly embarrassed by the way it had landed with its pages fluttering through the air during the fall. When the pages had finally settled down, the book looked around. It saw the red-black pencil and a half worn eraser - grey with overuse - on the table besides it.

“Hi guys,” the drawing book said consciously.

The pencil and the eraser greeted him back. The three of them had worked regularly for days, but this was the first time he was meeting them. There was nothing extraordinary about the two. They hardly looked like the tools of an artist.

He asked them, “Don’t mind guys, but I’m just curious. Doesn’t our artist have any more pencils or tools?”

The two of them looked at each other and laughed.

“I wouldn’t actually call him an artist,” the eraser said.

“He’s more of a… prolific sketcher,” added the pencil.

“Oh.” The book considered for a moment and finally conceded. “Sorry, I don’t understand”

“His drawings are not strictly artistic in the generally accepted sense of the term. But he draws a lot. You must surely have come across the dozens books that he has used before you,” the pencil said.

“Hundreds of other books!” the eraser corrected.

“I… I don’t think so,” the book replied. There was a silence of a few moments. “So what does he do with the books once he’s done?” the book asked uneasily. “Does he throw us away?”

“No he doesn’t. His drawings are far too valuable to be discarded,” assured the pencil.

“Why is that?” asked the book.

“Have you seen any of his drawings?” asked the pencil.

“No. I haven’t seen any of his etchings,” replied the book.

“His drawings are unique. He does not draw the things he sees in life, because he has never seen any light in his life. He was born blind. Instead, he draws the things he sees by his inner eye. There hasn’t been a single drawing by the prophet that hasn’t turned out to be true,” the pencil said proudly.

Dissent (II) : Whispering Wires

Sun, 08 Jun 2014 00:00:00 GMT

Read the first part of this story here: Dissent(I) : Vanguard

Jotteau woke up startled by the sudden explosion of sound in his headphones.

“Sorry. I did not mean to alarm you,” she spoke softly. “It’s Khristeer’s connekt.”

“Did you verify?” he asked getting up and rubbing his ears.

“I’ve verified it. It’s secure,” came the voice of the device, Julia, as he called it.

“Accept the connekt,” Jotteau said and Khristeer’s hologram appeared on the mobile’s screen.

“Hi, Jotteau,” said Khristeer’s hologram.

“Hi, Khristeer. What happened?”

“Are you alone?”

He looked at Leia - his cat - lazily clawing at the bedsheets and back at the screen.”Yes”

“Turned off the device intelligence?”

“Goodbye dear.” He made a gesture and turned off Julia temporarily. “Yes,” he said to Khristeer.

“Okay. We will all start leaving at 6:30. Too early and they’ll suspect something. The codeword for tomorrow would be ‘Paxton’.” He stressed on the last word.

“Alright,” he said, and noted it down on his Sekure-Note.

“Are you nervous?”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Okay then, brother. I will see you tomorrow,” said Khristeer’s hologram.

“See you tomorrow,” Jotteau said and Khristeer nodded. The mobile dimmed as the connekt ended. Jotteau gestured to enable Julia again.

Jotteau got up and walked out of the room. Moments later, the mobile screen lit up again. A systematic humming emanated from the device, as Julia furiously tried to break into the security and retrieve the messages before they disappeared. This went on for a minute but then it went silent. The messages were long gone. A few more moments passed when the only sound in the room was that of distant traffic. The mobile screen lit up again, but this time the main screen lit up too. Julia had discovered a recent Sekure-Note, and she had started trying to infiltrate it. Lights flashed and numbers were crunched. Every probable combination was being tried. Time was running out. Jotteau could return any moment. She got in.

“State your name,” the desktop said.

“Jotteau,” said a voice that sounded exactly like the name it had spoken, but came from the device and not a person.

The Sekure-Note opened on the screen - PAXTON. Julia hurriedly copied the word and closed the program. The mobile screen lit up brightly. She initiated a secure connection with a remote server and was just about to send the message that would implicate Jotteau, when Leia jumped onto the the table and clawed at the bright and shiny screen of the mobile, thrusting the shattered mobile across the room.

Thousands of miles away, a small blip sounded on the screen of the anti-terrorism squad.

Dissent(I) : Vanguard

Wed, 04 Jun 2014 00:00:00 GMT

Jotteau put on the headphones, turned up the volume, put his feet on the messy table and laid back in the chair, listlessly petting his fluffy grey cat, Leia, trying to grasp the fact that it was the last day of his life as a normal teenager.

The soothing image of Lake Ibirthina reminded him of his childhood at his grandparents’. Very little had remained after the Galactic Empire had marched on Ibirthe. Qaetha wouldsoonbe next.

He had promised to be at the vanguard with Khristeer, but Jotteau did not have his resolve. He would miss his parents, his friends, his life. He felt an uneasy void in his stomach, asking him to stay back. But he knew that the sacrifice had to be done.

You can read the second part of this story here : Dissent(II) : Whispering Wires

Blind Date

Wed, 28 May 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“Make me one more,” Mohit said to the bartender drowsily putting down the glass on the table. It was almost closing time on a Friday night. He found it difficult to even sit straight on the chair.

“I think you have already had enough,” said Mukesh. “Let’s go home.”

“No. Let me drink. I need this. I need to forget. I need to…” he said sipping on the mocktail.

“What are you talking about? This doesn’t even have alcohol.”

“What?! Why didn’t you…? Are you sure?”

“Just get up. Let’s go!” said Mukesh, swiping his mobile over the counter.

They got up to leave. It had been a tough week for Mohit and it showed on his face. He thought he had found the love of his life, and then lost her too. The story began exactly a week ago, when Mohit was set up for a blind date by his parents.

The car pulled over and stopped at the fancy restaurant where he was to meet her. He got out and the car drove itself to the parking spot. A mosquito buzzed past his ear. He slapped it hard and squished it against his new white shirt, which looked like a crime scene now.

The doors parted as he entered the restaurant. It was a splendidly old-fashioned. Golden coloured chandeliers hung from a ceiling of pure white. The waiters were all dressed in dapper sleeveless jackets. The silverware looked expensive.

He approached his table. The girl was already there. Before he had the chance to introduce himself, she shushed him and gestured him to sit down. Her attention was caught by two middle-aged men–one bald and one hairy–discussing busily on the table behind him. He noticed how radiant her skin looked and how cute the dimple was.

When the bald man had stopped talking, she leaned towards Mohit and whispered softly, “That b-word! He thinks KKR can defeat CSK! That little b-word!”

“Oh!”, he leaned forward and replied in a mock whisper, “Then that man must really know his Cricket.”

She cupped her hands and gasped in an expression of mock surprise. “I already don’t like you. You’re disqualified!” she announced to him.

“Fair enough,” he said smiling. “I guess now we can concentrate on the food.”

“I guess,” she said, and pinched in the menu from the table. “We are going Dutch, by the way.”

“I will pay. It’s no trouble.”

“I know you can, but I insist.”

“It’s just customary.”

“I’m meeting boys that my parents selected. I think that’s enough customs for me,” she said swiping away the menu. “Decided?”

“Hmmm… Yea, I think so,” he said, and called the waiter. A few minutes of him unsurely changing orders later, he looked at her, embarrassed.

“So what do you do? I mean… besides killing innocent mosquitoes,” she asked.

He laughed. “That’s just a hobby. I develop software by profession.”

“You’re in IT?”

“Ummm… Kind of,” he said. “And what do you do?”

“I reject boys on weekends and treat patients on weekdays.”

“Doctor? What kind?”

“Dentist. Weren’t you told anything about me?”

“No. I didn’t ask.”

“Hmmm…”

A few minutes of light-hearted talk followed before the food arrived. The discussion continued into dinner. The topics varied from politics to physics. Everything about her felt nice. There were things they didn’t agree on, but the way she presented them, he couldn’t not respect them.

They sat talking for quite some time after dinner. When the bill came, they swiped their mobiles over it. None of them wanted to budge. But it was late.

“I think I’ll be seeing you again, then,” he said.

“I sure do hope so,” she said smiling.

The only problem was that she was not the one he was supposed to meet that day. That would not have been a problem except because he never asked her name! It was a week since.

He searched for her. He asked the restaurant owner. He searched on-line. But it was impossible to find her among the millions in the city. He was exhausted.

As he stepped out of the bar, his mobile alerted him. He pressed a key and the hologram of a woman appeared over the screen. “You do not seem fit to drive at the moment. Your car’s manual controls have been disabled for your own safety. You may override this by entering your unlock code, however this is not suggested.” After a moment’s pause, the voice continued. “Also, would you like me to set up a meeting with Minisha Sinha for tomorrow? You shared dinner with her last weekend.”

“Yes!” he said incredulously and looked at Mukesh. The OS had probably mined the data based on their device’ location history and the splitting of bill between them.

The nice lady in the mobile spoke again. “Okay. Meeting request sent.” A message arrived a minute later. It was from Minisha. “Mohit. Nice name. I felt so stupid about not asking your name that day. I’m glad you could still find me. How about we meet on Sunday? I’m out of town right now. Is that fine?”

“You have no idea how fine I am with that,” he replied, grinning.

This was supposed to be posted for the Write Over The Weekend that ended on 25th May, but I was not able to finish it on time. The theme was ‘Magic’.

To me, magic is the culmination of events that one cannot explain. Centuries ago, lightning was magic. A few decades ago, Facebook would have been magic. Today at the rate that data mining and big data are proceeding, we might soon start seeing their applications which sound like magic to us today. The technology in this story should be available commercially in less than a decade. Obviously it would come at the loss of personal privacy. A proper balance needs to be maintained between comfort and control.

College Reunion

Wed, 28 May 2014 00:00:00 GMT

Raghav sat gravely on the steps of his alma mater. “I wish you were here, Shireen. We promised each other that,” he said, staring at the swaying red and green trees. “Ten years ago this day, standing on that podium, hand in hand, we were so happy. We felt invincible. We thought nothing could change us. We were so naive.” He looked at her lifeless image on his laptop and wished that it would move and talk to him. “I miss you.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you call the babysitter!?” blasted her voice from the speaker.

“Because you never told me to!” he shouted back.

Ebullience

Thu, 22 May 2014 00:00:00 GMT

A serene mist hung low over the mountain. Green grass blades kissed the tiny droplets of water and drooped low by their weight - purified by them. Gentle winds danced with the leaves and rustled the foliage. Exuberant sunrays filtered through the mist and fell on the dusty country track, welcoming and moist. She peered outside the window and marveled at the beauty that was creation.

“It’s such a beautiful morning,” she said and shut the windows. “But it’s just so comfy inside.” She wrapped a blanket around herself. “Tomorrow I’ll definitely go running.” She reassured herself again that day.

Bugger Fixing

Sun, 11 May 2014 00:00:00 GMT

Aatish dragged his feet to the coffee room. Steam, Milk, Tea, Cappuccino, Espresso, Latte… Latte. Sugar. Two full spoons of it.

He was brimmed with caffeine, but still struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Dude, you look exhausted!” Satish said amusedly.

“Oh… Satish. Didn’t see you there, buddy” he said sheepishly. His caffeine potion was ready. He picked it up and looked at Satish. “Yea, man. I’m so… exhausted. I’ve bee working on the same little bug since yesterday!”

“Go home, dude. You look like you’ll collapse any moment.” Satish faked a concerned tone.

“I can’t, man. It’s a showstopper. I promised Arun I’d solve it in a few hours, and it’s been two days now. I went home at one yesterday night and I was back at eight in the morning. Didn’t even sleep properly.”

“Why did you promise him anything?”

“It looked very straightforward, man. I’ve solved the exact same bug once before. I can’t figure out what’s different this time. I’ve literally been going through every question about Magento on stackoverflow.”

“Oh, Magento?” Satish sipped his Capuccino. “The code I gave you?”

“Yea.”

“Oh… I changed a few variables around. Forgot to document it.”

Two plastic cups fell on the ground. One a Cappuccino and the other a Latte. Satish got a new name that day–vakratunda.

Mother's Day Five Sentence Fictions

Sat, 10 May 2014 00:00:00 GMT

###Preggers Harold came running like a wild man, a pregnancy test stick in his hand, shouting at the top of his voice, “We’re gonna have a baby!”

“No, we’re not!” said Daisy.

“Well… according to this neat little thing here, someone’s going to call you a mom soon, whether you like it or not,” he said, beaming, like a kid with a trophy in his hand.

“No,” said Daisy, laughing mischievously at him. “I didn’t take that test; your mom did.”

###Evil Beasts “Why are the bad men trying to kill us, mum?” he asked, cowering behind his mother, wedging himself between her tail and the lightly seared moss on the surface of the cave.

“I don’t know, son, but I know that I won’t let them get anywhere near you,” she replied, resolutely, but terrified nonetheless.

“I love you, mum,” he said.

She looked at her son once more and turned around to face the entrance to the cave to see the menacing shadows of soldiers approaching, spears in hand and stomping the ground behind their sworded leader. With all the power left in her lungs, she let out a flame that engulfed the cave, fighting to live another day as the last dragons on the face of the earth.

###Across the Border Kanchon stroked his hand over the belly of his pregnant wife and smiled, as he felt his daughter kick for the first time. Kanta looked at Kanchon and they shared a moment of amused amazement under the flickering light of the incandescent bulb. Drops of water from the incessant downpour trickled down the makeshift roof and seeped into the muddy floor.

Today was the day they would cross the border into India. He hoped that one day his daughter would have the option of being in a hospital when she became a mom.

###Permission He was pacing around the room nervously, mumbling words, trying to memorize something, when she entered.

“You called out my name, dear?” she asked.

He turned around to face her and nervously replied, “Mom, there’s something very important I want to discuss with you.”

“I know about Priya and you, darling,” she said smiling, “and to tell you the truth, I already like her more than I like you.”

He stared at his mother in amazement before hugging her in happiness.

The New Bride

Sat, 10 May 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“Mom, there is someone I want you to meet soon,” he said sitting down. “She’s very intelligent and pretty and everyone loves her too. They all think that I’m very lucky to be marrying her. But then again,” he said and paused for a moment to consider, “I guess you might not get to meet her, mom.” He put a rose on his mother’s grave and said, “That bitch is probably going to hell, and you’d be in heaven”.

Reflection

Thu, 08 May 2014 00:00:00 GMT

Rustum Patel was a rational man beset by an irrational malady. He was a perfectly healthy centenarian by all means, except that he was born no more than fifty years in the past. Every doctor in the country and abroad was consulted, but the symptoms themselves were an impossibility for even the most seasoned and discerning doctors. Lying on the bed he stared pensively at himself one last time through the mirror, as he had stared for days before, witnessing himself slowly lose hair and then teeth and finally the life in his skin, feeling horrified and bewildered and yet helpless all the same. In his last moment on earth, he felt his bones creak and skin crack and the air around him pull the last breath from his cold weary lungs, but not before he saw a younger image of himself smile demonically and wink at him from inside the mirror he had robbed from a crone.

A letter to my son

Sat, 03 May 2014 00:00:00 GMT

May 3, 2014

Dear Son,

How are you? How are Sanjana and the kids? I hope you all are happy and healthy. Shani isn’t giving any more trouble, is he? Don’t go hard on him. He just needs more direction. Get everyone to meet me sometime. I miss you all a lot. You didn’t even come during the last eclipse. Everything is fine here. I’m enjoying my time.

I wrote this letter because I wanted to discuss something important. It’s about your glow. It seems you are burning too brightly these days. It is summer on the northern hemisphere and everyone is complaining that my Aditya has done this, and my Aditya has done that. I tell them that you’re just doing your work, trying to get more clouds in the sky, giving more food to the world. But they still complain.

Sage Narada told me that the Vaishnao department is looking into sending you an official directive. Apparently most of Lord Vishnu’s devotees come from India and the Indians are in the midst of choosing a new leader for their tribe. They are very inconvenienced by your glow. Narada told me to let you know this beforehand so that we can avoid the embarrassment of receiving an official reprimand.

I know that you are old enough. I should stop interfering with your work, but I worry. I don’t want people talking bad about you behind your back.

Sanjana might not tell you, but I’m sure she doesn’t like it either. She is always by your side. You’re tanning her really bad. Didn’t your father-in-law help you last time? Can’t you ask him this time too?

Again, I hope all is well. Please write back when you get this. I’d love to hear all about what is going on in your life. And think once again about what I said. Glow a bit less.

With Lots of Love,

Your mother,
Aditi

PS: I talked to Anjana. Maruti won’t trouble you again. Cute kid, he is.

Disclaimer: This is based on pop-mythology. I do not claim accuracy. I tried to research for this, but there were so many different stories that I decided to wing it. I found this blog post by Journey2Light very useful.

Flash

Sat, 26 Apr 2014 00:00:00 GMT

The minister entered the room, smiling. She was dressed elegantly for the press-meet. He smiled clumsily on seeing her, even as he adjusted the lens. There was too much light; he pulled back the curtains. There was a tiny flash of light. It was a good shot. He closed the window and disassembled the gun.

Click here after reading the story

Melody

Fri, 25 Apr 2014 00:00:00 GMT

A dying father brought the brothers back in the same room on a smoky Diwali night. Vikram sat curled up in a corner, while Atul and his wife nervously fidgeted around on the sofa.

“Get up. Grab a guitar,” Vikram said suddenly. He started to play a tune and Atul joined in. Like old times. Before the fight.

Vikram looked at Atul’s wife. “I guess we are all just mortals… humans, no matter what we believe in. I was not very thoughtful before. I am sorry. Welcome to the family, Shazia.”

Shazia nodded in agreement, and wiped away a tear.

To anyone who is confused by the story, 'Vikram' and 'Atul' are Hindu names, while 'Shazia' is a Muslim one. Interfaith marriages are still not common in India.

This is a post for Friday Fictioneers – A weekly picture-prompt for hundred word stories. This is my very first post for them. Hopefully I keep posting in the future. :)

Lights Out: Conversations Aboard the Last Train

Sun, 20 Apr 2014 00:00:00 GMT

It was past midnight, but the warm humid air felt suffocating and uneasy. Pranjal adjusted a bit, but the sweltering seat still did not offer any comfort. The stale air of the stationary train reeked of rusting iron and rotting fish.

The train was not very crowded; it was the last train of an underused route on an off-season day. There was just a single person in the compartment besides him. The man, in his mid-twenties and a specimen of perfect human health, was dressed in baggy jeans and a short worn-out green t-shirt that showed off his muscular arms. The man noticed Pranjal looking at him, and jerked his head back in a typical Indian ‘hey-dude-what’s-up’ way.

“Where to?” he asked.

“The last station. You?” replied Pranjal.

“Same here. Alok”

“Pranjal”

The train whistled one last time and started to trudge like a giant beast awoken from a deep slumber. A cool fresh breeze flowed into the compartment and it didn’t feel so uncomfortable anymore.

“Stop! Stop! Stop the train!” They heard someone shout. A girl was running parallel to the speeding train, trying to board. Before Pranjal could get up, Alok reached the door, picked her up and neatly placed her on the train. She looked incredulously at him, and finished, still out of breath, “Or you could do just that. Thanks.”

She sat down in the compartment with the two of them and started to rummage through her purse. She looked extremely pretty in her red cardigan and black top. Her skin was soft and smooth. Her cheeks were like strawberries on snow. Her full red lips and black wavy hair adorned her classically beautiful face. She glowed like an angel.

She looked expectantly at Alok. “Thanks again”, she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking running so close to a speeding train.”

Pranjal felt a pang of jealousy.

“The pleasure was all mine.” Alok smiled at her. “I’m Alok, by the way.”

“I’m Naina”

“Hi. I’m Pranjal”, he interjected.

“Naina”

The train had picked up quite a bit of speed now. The three of them were still awake, but lost in their own thoughts. All the other compartments were dark— their passengers asleep. The train was silent if not for the constant ho-hum of the spinning wheels on the metal tracks. The train pierced through the languid darkness of the night, thrusting ahead, shoving the air left and right, through tunnels and barren lands. The wind, gushing through the windows, slowly carressed Naina’s face as Pranjal watched.

“So where are you going, Naina?” he asked.

“I’m going home. I’m running back home, I guess.” she chuckled.

“Bored of the city?”

“Scared of the city!”

“Scared?” Alok joined in.

“Well… I almost died once today. And that’s not even counting the time you saved me from getting under the train.” She smiled coyly at him. Alok smiled back, pleased.

“So? What happened?” Pranjal interrupted.

“I was working late last night. I do get late some days, but yesterday I was a bit too late; I was the last one on my floor. All the cabs had already left, so I was a bit edgy, but I had to finish the work in any case, so I stayed back. I finished work by midnight, I think.

“I filed my work in a hurry and ran for the lift, but the moment I reached for the button, the lights went off. Everything! There wasn’t even a single ray of light. And there I was… like a blind penguin.” She let out a laugh and made the best penguin impression she could. Pranjal noticed Alok suddenly turn away, heartbroken.

“And so I’m moving around in utter darkness. I took my mobile out and walked towards the stairs with the screen on, trying to see ahead, but my leg sli-” She stared outside in terror. “The TC! Shit!”

Pranjal turned around and saw the ticket checker board the train. “Just stay cool. I’ll talk,” he said, “My uncle works in the railway.”

The TC only verified Pranjal’s ticket and moved on to the next compartment. Naina heaved a sigh of relief.

“Lucky! I thought I was busted for sure,” she said. “So… Where was I? Yes. The lights were out, and I was walking around like a zombie, trying to find the stairs and I slipped over some dirt. I literally tumbled down the stairs. I fell really hard and hit my head. I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. I was so sure that I was about to die! I was knocked out for a minute or two, I think, because the lights were on when I got up. I ran out of the office as soon as I could walk. My whole body ached like it had never before, but I could still walk.

“When I fell, all I could think of was my mother. I wanted to see her, if only one last time. She’s everything to me. I haven’t seen her in so long. We talk on the phone almost every day, but I am too lazy to travel. I guess it took a near-death experience to get me off my ass.” She chuckled again.

“I came running to the railway station directly. It’s God’s miracle that I didn’t die.” She looked up, andmouthed a prayer.

“I think you’re giving him more credit than he deserves,” Alok said dryly.

“God saved me today. See? Not a scratch!” She showed them the back of her hands like a magician, as if to say that she didn’t have any tricks up her sleeve.

“Anyway. I might have an explanation on how the lights went off. Do you work on the MG road?”

“Yes! How did you guess?”

“I guess you’ll have to listen to one more story, so pardon me,” Alok said. Naina and Pranjal looked curiously at him.

“Yesterday night I was out partying with my friends. My brother tagged along. I didn’t want to leave him alone at home, or I wouldn’t have let him. After the party I was too tired so I let him drive. I think we left around midnight.

“He started to drive really fast. I told him to slow down, but he kept speeding. He took a sharp left turn to avoid a drunk, and we crashed into an electric pole. There was a big explosion and the pole fell straight on our car. He was safe, but a stray metal rod went straight through me. I did not survive it.”

There was utter silence. Naina and Pranjal stared at Alok in horror.

“This was on M.G. road. I guess that explains the lights, and your scratches. I’m so sorry to have to be the one to tell, Naina, but you didn’t survive the fall either.”

Sorry for Convention Rocking

Sat, 12 Apr 2014 00:00:00 GMT

As the curtain opened, the punk band receded into a collective stupor. The curious crowd was decades older than they had anticipated. Their first big gig, and a bigger miscommunication. Sayantani kept her guitar away, looked up at the lights, prayed and signalled the drummer for a slow beat. She crooned, “Tum ko dekha…“. Saved!

Dreaming of Her

Sun, 06 Apr 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“Every time?”

“Every freaking time!”

“And are you sure you don’t want to see her in your dreams ever again?”

“I mean.. Yea. I mean. Not never. She could come on weekends or something. I don’t know.”

“You know that dreams don’t work like that, don’t you?”

“Yes… I know,” he said. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“This is the first time you’ve opened up like this.”

He twisted on the couch to face the doctor. “Doesn’t mean you’ve won over me or something, eh, doc? I just need to get back in the game. Need to find some action. It’s been too long. I can’t always keep dreaming of her like she’ll come back.”

“You think it’s been long enough?”

“I guess. Yea.”

The doctor fiddles with his pen. “What if I told you that there’s a way you could get over her? That there’s a way you’d forget that she even existed? You’d never again have to dream of her.”

“That’s possible, doc?”

“I am the expert, am I not?”

“Well… then.” he pauses for a moment. “No. I don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“I know that I can’t get her back, and that sucks. But my life would be meaningless without her. I wouldn’t be what I am if it weren’t for her. No I don’t want to forget her. It’s okay if she haunts my dreams.”

“I know it’s been over an year, but it takes a lot to get over a trauma as big as yours. Her demise was sudden. So don’t force yourself to get over it, or you’ll end up never really getting over it. Give it some more time and it’ll all be alright.”

The alarm beeped. The man got up to leave.

“Same time next week?”

“Like clockwork, doc.”

How not to meet your girlfriend's parents

Sat, 05 Apr 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“So how did it go?”

“Terrible!”

“Why yaar? Your dad started with his war stories again?”

“I wish!”

“Vinay did something stupid, isn’t it?”

“Yea… Well… Kinda.”

“What happened?”

“Well… You know how nervous Vinay was about meeting my dad, right?”

“Un.. Hunh.. Yea.”

“Well… He was sweating even before he got here. So when he reached, he went for the faucet in our back garden to wash his face.”

“And?”

“And… it was a trap.”

“Your father knew he was coming?”

“No. I mean an actual real-waala trap. Dad set it up for the vermin. Vinay got his toe stuck in the trap.”

“And then?”

“And then what? Vinay started screaming and yelping. And you know my dad… He got his pistol out. When Vinay saw the pistol, he started wailing on the ground like we were the Al Qaeda or something. We had to take him to the clinic.”

“Like… seriously?”

“Seriously! The very first time my dad sees him, he’s crying!”, she says, “What a wuss!”

Both of them laugh.

“Why are you even marrying him?”

She smiles. “Well… He’s kinda cute,” she says, “and rich too,” and winks.

A Tale of Sorcery

Thu, 03 Apr 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“Jay loved magic. So, when he got the tickets to the magic show, I couldn’t refuse. He was so excited about it.

“Sleight of hand, optical illusion, visual trickery–call it whatever you want; Jay loved it. He even made my engagement ring materialise when he proposed. I was never so interested, but I thought it was a good pastime for him.

“He had never heard of Zangora before, which was surprising, because he would follow magic with such gusto. He found out about the show through a gaudy flyer he saw at the bus station. The flyer announced the ‘greatest magician the world has ever seen’ in bright golden letters over a picture of a caped man enigmatically covering his face with the brim of his top hat. Jay figured it was a new magician trying to make his mark. He bought two front-row tickets to the show anyway. Our town did not host many magic shows.

“We reached the venue a few minutes late. The amphitheatre was bustling with people. There were muffled sounds of people adjusting their seats and jostling for the armrest. We found our seats rather easily in the centre of the front row. They were quite comfortable. I held Jay’s arm in my hands and rested my head on his shoulder.

“In a minute, two clowns appeared from behind the crowd and dashed to the stage amidst a big applause. The getup was usual and the comedy was slapstick, but the audience cheered. This went on for about 20 minutes. I noticed Jay check his watch a couple of times while the clowns juggled with swords, and rode on large unicycles, colliding into each other so very often.

“There was a huge bang and the lights went out. The audience fell silent. Flickering red light shone on the clowns, who now appeared nonplussed by the sudden development. The lights went out again and when they came back, the clowns had disappeared. We waited with bated breath. The lights went out again, and when they came back on, the magician from the poster stood before us all. All of us erupted in an applause of recognition for the man we had never heard of before the show.

“The magician was dressed from head to toe in black, save for the dark crimson on the inside of his cape. He wore a shiny top hat on his head and tall black leather napoleons on his feet. He walked on stage with the charm of a prince. The audience followed the flourish of his wand as he began with his magic tricks.

“The magic tricks were not extraordinary at the start–Jay enthusiastically whispered the explanations to me–,but as the night progressed, the nature of the tricks became increasingly intricate. We watched the magician perform tricks which did not seem humanly possible. Jay thought we were witnessing real sorcery.

“Each trick was preceded by a keen silence, and followed by incredulous applause–it was like an emotional roller coaster. He owned us all.

‘I need a volunteer for the next trick. Who wants to come on stage?’, he asked in his charismatic voice. Jay raised his hand. The magician waved Jay to come on stage. Jay stood next to a huge bronze coffin that stood upright in the shape of a regal woman despondent by the ways of the world. The magician knocked gently with his knuckles and the coffin opened. He demonstrated the impenetrability of the coffin and asked Jay to confirm it for the audience. He then signalled Jay to enter the coffin.

“Jay waved his hand, smiling, as he entered the coffin. The magician closed the doors of the coffin and started to circle it, reciting incantations, and gesticulating at it. With each circle it seemed to take him more effort just to keep walking–as if he were pushing against an invisible force. Smoke started to rise from the coffin and with a final effort–as if pushing an invisible boulder towards the coffin–the magician threw both his hands strenuously at the coffin. The coffin contracted to the size of a matchstick and exploded into smoke and sparks.

“The whole audience was taken aback by the transformation of the huge coffin into smoke in front of their eyes. The room fell silent for a moment before erupting into a deafening applause. Everyone was on their feet, clapping and hooting. He took a bow, acknowledging the appreciation and began to leave. That was the last time I saw Jay.

“I ran behind the magician even as he reached the exit. He looked at me with his gleaming purple eyes and smiled. Yes! Note that down. He had purple eyes.”

“Are you sure, madam? None of the other reports have mentioned the eyes.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I can never forget that again.”

Exam Room Romance

Sun, 30 Mar 2014 00:00:00 GMT

I reach the exam centre five minutes late. My bicycle got punctured. Papa lectured me all the way to the centre. I get checked by the police as I wait impatiently. I sweat profusely as I run up two floors of stairs with a heavy satchel. I check my card. Yes. I am on the correct floor. I enter the exam room.

The question paper has already been distributed. I rush to my seat and start drawing the margins on my answer sheet.

A little less than three hours later the invigilator collects the answer sheets. I am in a hurry to attempt all questions when he snatches away my answer sheet.

I rest my head on the desk. It went terribly.

###Exam 2

I reach the exam hall on time. People keep trickling in till the last bell. The bell rings and suddenly the invigilators come to life, distributing question papers with the efficiency of well-oiled machines.

I spend the next three hours writing, revising and improving my answers. The exam goes better than I expected. I should score pretty well in this.

I get up and look around at the others. Most faces are dejected. My eyes land on a particularly sad face.

Her gray eyes are fixed on the question paper on the desk. Her golden hair is tied up in a perfect ponytail. Her uniform is perfectly pressed. The blue skirt and the slim white shirt suits her body perfectly. She looks solemn in her acceptance of defeat. She looks up at me and I suddenly look away. I dash out the room without looking back.

###Exam 3

The third exam is mathematics. I reach early. Her seat is empty. I wait for her.

She enters the hall her golden hair disheveled and a heavy hand of kajal on her beautiful eyes. The bell rings and breaks my train of thought.

I keep catching myself looking at her. The sight of her calms my mind. I notice the invigilator looking at her too. This happens a few more times. I’m tempted to get up and sock the face of the sick bastard, but I control myself. The paper is crucial.

He does it again. I take my compass and aim at his knee from behind. I hit. He jumps up screaming in pain. The whole exam hall starts to laugh as I struggle to collect the compass from floor. I apologize, still smiling inside.

She must have been one of those laughing. I feel the weight of her eyes on me. I can’t stop smiling. I look down.

###Exam 4

It’s Sanskrit. It’s a different exam hall. I miss her.

###Exam 5

She comes to the exam hall on time. I’m already waiting. She looks at me. Our eyes meet. She smiles at me. It feels as if I have known her all my life. I just keep staring. She looks away and sits at her desk.

The whole exam passes in a flash as I keep looking at her and back at the paper.

After the exam she leaves in a hurry. I reach back home and can’t stop thinking about it.

###Exam 6

I’m late today. She’s already at her desk. I look at her as I enter. I smile. She smiles back and pushes a tuft of hair behind her ear.

I wait after the exam to talk to her. She is surrounded by her friends. She smiles at me, but doesn’t move. I leave after a couple of minutes.

###Exam 7

This is the last exam. I don’t even know her name yet. I wait for the exam to get over.

I approach her. She is alone. She sees me and walks towards me, smiling. Her golden hair is beautifully arranged in a bun.

“Hi”, she says, smiling.

“Hi”, I say self consciously, smiling.

“Recognize me?”

“Um… No.”

“I met you at lata didi’s marriage. I recognized you at the maths exam but didn’t get a chance to talk to you.”

I draw a blank

“Two years back. Lata Didi’s marriage in Bengaluru. I am your Kalpesh kaka’s daughter. We just moved to the city this year. Recognize me?”

“Yes sister. I recognize you. How’s everyone at home?” I blurt out something and leave before the complete disgust of cousin-love descends on me.

Spoons and Forks

Fri, 21 Mar 2014 00:00:00 GMT

Growing up was not easy for the young Luke Forkstein. Everyday he would return home with a scratch or a dent. He got picked on lot by the bigger forks because he did not look like the others. He had curvy tines and an awkward scoop. They had named him ‘poop-scoop’. They would tell him to go back where he came from, which really confused Luke, because he was from the same town! One day he asked his mother, “Mum, why don’t we look like the others?”

Philippa looked at her son. She had always dreaded this moment. “It’s because we are spoons,” she said, sitting down at the dining table. “Sit down son… I’ll tell you a story.” she said, passing him a bowl of noodles. “This was before the the great cutlery war began. I met your father in one of your grandfather’s parties. Your father was one of the finest in Forkland. We fell in love immediately. Your grandfather was furious when he found out that I wanted to marry a fork, but he came around when he saw how much we loved each other.

“Your father and I married in a beautiful chapel by the river; and then we had you. We were so happy. You were a blessing in our lives. I moved to Forkville with your father, and we bought this house together.

“All was going well, until the war broke out. There had been a coup against the government in Spoonistan. The extremists had taken over, and declared a war on Forkland. The forks and spoons were up in arms against each other. Your father had to leave us to defend his country.

“All spoons in Forkland were ordered to leave. But I couldn’t leave you, so I stayed back. Yourgrandfather had been a very notable spoon. He was regarded with respect even in Forkland. I pulled some strings and got a permission to stay back.

“Son, you are a spoon, but you are also a fork. You are as much a fork as any of the other kids. Your father died trying to defend this country. So be proud of who you are.”

That one thing she had said stuck in his head for ever. It did not matter what the other kids said anymore. Young Luke grew into a fine young spork. He had his father’s tines, but his mother’s scoop. He was proud of what he was, and what he stood for. Luke joined the army amidst protests from his mother. He wanted to keep the legacy of his father alive.

He got posted on the armistice line—smack in the middle of the two nations, covered by nature and soldiers on all sides—the place on earth that defined him perfectly. There, he became friends with the machine-gun operator, Randy Fargeeto, who spoke faster than his gun. Randy told him everything he wanted to know about the conflict.

The great cutlery war of 1920 began over the desecration of a spoon-shrine, reportedly done by some vandal forks. Forkland completely denied any hand of its citizens in the desecration, while the Spoonistan government insisted that there was proof of Forkland’s citizens’ involvement. Tension between the two countries reached all-time high since no country wanted to back down. Hardliners in Spoonistan, exasperated by the failure of diplomatic dialogue between the two countries, organised a coup with the help of the army. All dialogue broke between the two countries and an all-out war began. Knivan mobilised its forces to quell the war before it turned into another World War. Since then, the two countries have been in a state of constant war, separated by a few kilometers of demilitarized area.

Randy had a theory ‘It had always been the knives! Knivan made the spoons and forks fight amongst themselves to sell their weapons to both the armies!‘. But Luke did not trust Randy’s crazy theories. He also had a theory that there are multiple parallel universes, like theirs, but slightly different. That there might be a universe where monkeys could talk and think like cutlery!

One day while patrolling near the fence, Luke heard someone whistle. He looked towards the fence. A Spoonistan officer stood beyond the fence.

“Arent you standing on the wrong side of the fence, son?”, he asked.

Luke stared at the officer in disbelief. He was a fork! A proper fork with straight tines and sharp edges.

“So are you!”, Luke shouted in amazement.

The officer laughed. “I know!”, he shouted, “Ask your commanding officer to connect to the hotline. We need to correct this mistake.”

“Okay!”, Luke replied, and picked up his walky-talkie. He informed his commanding officer that the other side wanted to talk to him.

Talks between the officers on either side went on for hours, followed by talks between ministers, and then the presidents. Some new proofs had come to surface. Both the armies were asked to retreat from the border. The war was over. The proof against Knivan was conclusive. The whole war had been a conspiracy by the Knivan government to offset the growing influence of the two countries. It would take the countries many more years to reconcile all differences, but the confrontation was over.

Luke bid farewell to Randy, and returned back to Forkville to meet his mother. She informed him that his father was alive and on the next train home. His father had spent all these years trying to end the war.

The train arrived a day later. He saw a fork walk from afar, and he knew that it was him—the officer he had talked to at the fence.

Politics

Sun, 16 Mar 2014 00:00:00 GMT

“Yes?”

“Sir, Mr. Tiwari is here. Should I send him in?”

“Hmmm… Okay. Send him in”

Moments later, the door opened, and a middle-aged man walked in. Mr. Tiwari was dressed to the nines in a suit and polished shoes.

”Namaste Joshiji.”, he said, his palms pressed together in a traditional Indian greeting.

”Namaskar, Tiwariji”, the minister said, “Take a seat”

“Thank you.”, Tiwari said, pulling up a chair for himself. “I believe you know what I am here for.”

“Yes. I do. And I have already told your people that this project is not possible.”

“This project is very important to me. I would even say that I’m very sentimental about this project.”

“Then make the changes we have suggested, and we will let it be built”

“You know it just as well as you do that we won’t be able to afford to make the changes so late in the project.”

“My hands are tied, Tiwariji. Your project poses a risk to the public. If it collapses, we will both get in trouble. I can’t permit it.”

“I believe I have something that can change your mind.”

“You know better than to offer me a bribe, Tiwari.”

A man walked into the room, a white cake in hand. He placed it on the table and left.

“I’m not offering you a bribe.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t imagine a vanilla cake would be enough to corrupt you. That is, unless you just love vanilla. Do you, Joshi?”

“What are you trying to do? What is this?”

“This? Well, we are celebrating the launch of Vriddhi City”

“You cannot launch it. You’ll have to make the changes before the launch. I will close down the whole project if we find any problem in the construction quality.”

“No, you won’t, Joshi.”

“Who will stop me?”

“You. And for your own good.” Tiwari thrust his hand into his pocket and produced a green earring. “Technology has progressed so much, hasn’t it? It feels right out of science fiction. We now have microphones and cameras the size of a button, or in this case, an earring.” He pressed hard with his thumb, and the cover of the green earring came off. Underneath the green shell, was a tiny circuitry that brought a microphone to life. “How much an aware citizen can do with just a smartphone and a wireless mic, isn’t it?“. He adjusted his Rolex.

“You pig! You want to blackmail me? Me? Gajanan Joshi?! You have no idea what you are getting into!”

“I’m perfectly aware of what I am getting into, Joshiji. I did not want to, but you forced my hand. You left me no option.”

“She was flirting with me. I did not even touch her! I have not done anything wrong! You can’t prove anything!”

“Prove? I wouldn’t need to prove anything. It’s you. You would need to prove your innocence in every itty-bitty news channel in the country. But an image is fragile, Joshi - like glass. One cannot put back shattered glass. You know it just as well as I do, with the vidhan sabha elections so close, that is not a chance you want to take. For you might be incorruptible and progressive, but the public does not know you; it’s your image that they vote for. And if this audio clip gets out to the news channels, even I cannot stop it from spreading.” He smiled, and lifted up a piece of the cake. “Did you want the cake? No? Your loss. The cake is delicious.” He bit a part of the piece. “I will get you one when you come for the launch. It is this Sunday. The muhurtha is for ten in the morning. You are the chief guest. I think you have some thinking to do. I will leave you alone”. He got up. “It’s nothing personal, Joshiji—just business.” He walked out - a purposeful smile on his face.

Freaky Night

Fri, 14 Mar 2014 00:00:00 GMT

It was dark. He was sitting listlessly on the sofa, waiting for his wife to prepare the bed. Oil lamps flickered in the palatial room. She walked in playfully, and gracefully, dressed regally in a sari.

He stared at his homely wife in disbelief, as she walked across the room totally oblivious to him. She radiated like he had never seen her radiate in the three years of their marriage. She walked to the table and picked up the dish. She looked utterly gorgeous. Maybe it was the isolation, maybe the boredom of a dead phone, or just the atmosphere finally kicking in, but he felt excited to see his wife.

“Am I really looking at my wife? Or are you some angel from heaven?”, he asked.

She looked at him—puzzled—as if he were the last person she would expect to see in the room; but in a moment, her eyes lit up, and her smile stretched ear to ear. She licked some ice-cream off of the dish, and glanced lustfully at him. She looked ferocious.

She kept the dish away and took off her earrings. She kept them by the phone. ’The night is going to be adventurous’, he thought, as she waved away her drape.

“You look so gorgeous in that sari, babe. Even the dead Maharajahs of this palace would wake up just to see you once!”, he said.

The smile vanished, and her intent eyes turned angry. She stomped out of the room. He chased after her, but even as he reached the door, she had disappeared into the darkness.

He turned back. His wife was standing behind him in her pajamas.

“What happened?” she asked. “You look terrified.”

The First Drink

Sat, 22 Feb 2014 00:00:00 GMT

Two little boys moved around furtively in their father’s study room. The curtains were drawn and they moved around in the moonlight filtered through the large and ornate glass windows. It was still rather dark, but they did not want to turn on the light. Raju felt around the bookcase for the key. There it is!

The duo made their way to the cupboard, inserted the key and slowly turned it. The doors of the magical cabinet opened. The brilliance of what they saw could almost have blinded them. Raju picked up the bottle, and Sanju walked behind him with the two glasses.

They quickly ran upstairs to their room and placed the trinity on the teapoy. There was a solemn air about them as they stared at the bottle of elixir. The bottle elevated into the air, and fine scotch flowed into their glasses even as Sanju giggled with excitement.

Both of them raised their glasses like perfect gentlemen.

“Cheers!”, they uttered in unison, put the glasses to their lips, and gulped down quickly. Yuck!!

Smooth fire rolled down their throats and lit their insides. It didn’t feel magical, just warm. Why do they even drink it?

They walked back to the study room - a bit disappointed - and kept the bottle and the glasses exactly the way they found them. Hopefully their father wouldn’t notice a couple of sips missing. As they moved back into to the kitchen to get some pickle to chew on, they heard a car engine roar. Their parents were home early!

The brothers ran towards their room with pickle in their mouth, lest their parents sniff the alcohol in their mouths. Raju reached the room, opened the door, and jumped directly for the bed. He fell on the floor – a foot to the left of the bed. Sanju somehow made it to the room and dizzily climbed the bed.

The scotch had felt terrible. Raju had hurt his head, and Sanju had too much pickle in his mouth. It hadn’t been as they had imagined it to be. The only solace being, that the secret remained.

Magic

Fri, 29 Nov 2013 00:00:00 GMT

“She’s coming. She’s coming!”, Vikram yelled, as he scampered down, and squatted behind the park bench. His comb was now working at full speed. Aanand lethargically took out his glasses from his front pocket and put them on his squashed nose. They were ridiculously small lenses, for a ridiculously big man.

“She will go. She will go! Don’t let her go, idiot!!” Vikram pleaded from behind the bench. Aanand’s eyes flitted across the park for their target. Aah… There she was! Bucking gracefully along the dusty park alley, she was graceful! Her hair rose and fell like flowers in a zephyr. She was not alone. Her sister was running with her, or so he guessed - the two of them looked similar. Yet she looked a class apart, even from that distance.

“What the fuck are you waiting for??” Vikram squealed, as he generously sprayed perfume on himself. “Go!” This time it was more like a scream as he pointed in her direction.

Everything had been planned beforehand. This was going to be a routine filmy scene - ugly villains flirt with the heroine and the hero enters in style to save her. No glitch… no problems…. This was a tried and tested formula – always worked in films. Normally, it would have been a three villains and a lone hero scene, but Vikram reasoned that Aanand was easily a substitute for three lanky filmy villains. The two had rented enough CDs to have known every possible trick in a suave Hindi hero’s book. This seemed like the best one.

Aanand started running behind her. He was soon puffing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had run. He ran with force; his legs pounded heavily on the park grass, leveling them in boot-shaped patches; she glided slowly, not leaving a mark, but of her scent in the morning air. Still, it looked as if he might never catch her. Aanand put in more force; he ran as if his life depended on this sprint, faster than he ever had… faster… faster…! He was closing in on her even as the sisters paced through the alley. He felt his burnout point, as the first droplets of sweat meandered across his round face and fell down like little pearls. They had not planned this. He slowed down a bit, but he was close to her by now. She was close enough to hear his puffing and panting and to feel his presence.

In an inexplicably dilated moment, her face turned around, and their eyes met. She looked like a goddess etched in stone. She smiled knowingly at him. He was stupefied. She kept running.

Vikram came running from behind him in a few moments. “What happened? You just stood there! What did I tell you to do? What happened to you? Say something! What are you thinking??”

It was magic!

Sayantani

Sat, 23 Nov 2013 00:00:00 GMT

Madhumita was perched on her favourite rocking chair, leisurely reading a murder mystery, when her phone vibrated. She absent-mindedly switched it to silent as she read in great detail about Pedro’s love for predatory birds. Her phone started to vibrate again. She slowly took off her glasses and kept them on the table along with her book, carefully placing the bend of her glasses on the page she was reading. The phone went silent. She picked it up nevertheless. It was some local landline number. It couldn’t have been from Manoj’s office. He was not in town. She was about to call back when her phone rang again.

“Mum?” It was Sayantani. “I did something really stupid. I’m at the police station. Please don’t ask me anything. Just get me home. And don’t tell papa about any of this.” The call ended.

Madhumita was startled. The shock took a moment to register with her. Sayantani had always been stupid, but this time, she had raised the bar.

Madhumita remembered the time Sayantani had stood in front of a bulldozer when the municipality tried to demolish her favourite playground; she had to be dragged away - it had felt terrible. Once Sayantani had picked up a fight with a group of seniors who were trying to bully a classmate; Madhumita had had to apologise to all the students and parents since Sayantani refused to. Manoj also had to pay for the medical expenses of the boys.

‘Why does she have to be so difficult to raise? Why can’t she just be a normal teenager?’, Madhumita thought to herself as she put her car keys and some extra money in her purse and set out. She had thought of telling Manoj, but he was away from home, and she didn’t want to worry him.

It was fifteen minute’s drive from her place to the police station. She parked her car a block away and started walking towards the building. Unpleasant thoughts started flooding her mind. She hoped Sayantani was fine. Despite everything, Sayantani was her only daughter, and she had loved her more than anything else. A police case would have meant that she would have no chance of getting the college education they wanted for her. The gravity of the situation was hitting her now. She hurried to the entrance.

Sayantani waved her hand as she munched on the samosa. She was sitting across the table from the inspector, dipping her samosa in the ketchup. She grinned like a monkey at her mother, who was panting a little.

“Sorry mum. Had to do it.” Sayantani said, licking the ketchup. “My purse fell in the drainage. I didn’t have my bike keys. So I came and sat inside.”

Madhumita didn’t know how she was supposed to feel. She was obviously angry, but she was also truly relieved. Raising Sayantani had her ups and downs, but it was an adventure she thoroughly enjoyed.

Kindness of Strangers

Sun, 17 Nov 2013 00:00:00 GMT

There was a feeble metal clang of a stone hitting an electricity pole<. It was pitch dark except for the streetlights. Shyam slowly rose his head out of the blanket to look around with his swollen red eyes. He had not gotten proper sleep for the past two days. He noticed a figure draped in a thick blanket walk briskly past him. He could discern that it was a man, as the man slipped his hairy hand from under the blanket and checked his watch. He hurried further. Shyam put the blanket over his head again, blessing the temple people for the cozy blankets.

”Oye! Get up”

He felt something touch against his ribs. He adjusted the blanket - still sleeping. He heard a swooshing sound, followed by a stinging pain in his buttocks. He threw away the blanket and squirmed in pain. He looked up - fully awake, adrenaline pumping through his veins. A police constable stood tall over him, wielding a wooden stick.

“Now would you like to bless us with your presence at the police station?“.

Shyam looked around. There were a couple of police jeeps near the jewellery store. The owner of the store, an obese man in his sixties, was standing besides the police inspector, looking extremely worried. Shyam looked back up at the constable.

“I don’t know anything about it”

“We’ll find that out, won’t we?”

He was made to climb into one of the police jeeps along with a few others.

The police station was old but well-kept. Shyam was standing in front of the inspector. A few more homeless people were standing behind him in line. He had been told on the way to the police station that the previous night a huge diamond had been stolen from the jewel shop belonging to the Dhariwals.

“Do you know what happened?”, the inspector asked.

“Only what I heard on the way, Sirji”

“Did you see anything suspicious at night?”

“I was fast asleep. I did not see much, but I saw a suspicious looking man pass near the shop very late at night. That’s it.”

“Describe him”

“Well, he was a bit shorter than me. He seemed well-built. But he was completely covered in a blanket, so I could not see his face. He was wearing a golden coloured watch. That’s it, Sirji. That’s all I know”

“Fine then”, the inspector sighed, “wait in the lock-up until you remember more.”

“But Sirji, I told you everything I remember. Please let me go. If I don’t go to work today, I will not have anything to eat.”

The constable pulled him aside towards the cell.

“Just wait here a couple of hours. We’ll give you something to eat. Let the questionings finish”

Sitting in one corner of the dusty little room, he started to recollect the incidents of the previous night. The night before, he had hurried back from work earlier than usual to find a new place to sleep. He had found a relatively quiet place for the night. He had hoped that the police would not trouble him there. He didn’t really appreciate the irony of the situation. With his brand new blanket, he had gone to sleep a satisfied man. He had just dozed off when some noise had woken him up. The man who had walked past him had something odd about him. Was it the way he walked? No. Was it what he was wearing? It was a blanket. How odd can a blanket be? Was it the golden watch? Well, perhaps. ‘Even if there was anything odd about him, what is the chance that he was the thief? Maybe he was just some homeless guy like me’. He thought, ‘The constable promised thatI will be let go anyway.’

Just then his stomach growled. He gazed outside. The inspector was talking to the shop owner. After a while, the shop owner got up gingerly and left. All those in the lock-up were left a few minutes later with a vadapav each.

With no chance of getting work that day, Shyam roamed around the city. It was glamorous and huge. He had always held the city in awe. The sun was almost about to set. He had to walk back to find a good sleeping place near the construction site - he couldn’t have gone back to sleep near that gosh darned shop again.

In the evening, the city seemed to have a life of its own - it became a huge beast of people and lights. He peeked around at these people of the city. He was still an outsider to this beast. He peeked into their lives as they went by theirs. His attention was caught by a man smoking a cigarette near a paan-shop. He must have been in his late thirties or early forties, but he had lost most of his salt and pepper hair. As the man raised his hand to draw another smoke, Shyam noticed a tattoo on his forearm. He had seen that tattoo before! If only he could remember where. Then it struck him like a lightening bolt. He started approaching the man. The man noticed this and threw the cigarette and started walking away.

“Hey, wait. Just want to talk!”

The man suddenly broke into a sprint. Shyam ran behind him. The road was crowded with pedestrians. Shyam started gaining on him. The man found it difficult to run this far. He was much older than Shyam. He started to push people away to make way for himself. He ran with all his might, but Shyam still kept gaining on him. He pushed a cycle into Shyam’s way, but Shyam avoided it.

Shyam was very close to him now - he could almost catch him. Even as Shyam extended his hand to pull at the man’s shirt collar, Shyam stumbled on a stone and fell face-first onto the road. The man kept running and took a left into a residential block. Shyam got up quickly. He had a bloody lip, a face full of dust and a bruised forearm, but he didn’t care. He ran in the direction of the thief. He could see the thief trying to climb a wall to escape. He grabbed the thief by his leg and pulled him down. The thief tried to fight back with an elbow to Shyam’s face, but he missed. Shyam held him by his hair and pushed him down onto the ground. The thief tried to get up, so Shyam kicked him hard in the gut. The thief panted as he struggled for air. Shyam put a firm foot on his chest to stop him from getting up. He looked around and shouted for help.

The police were soon called and the thief was reprimanded. He admitted to stealing the diamond at the behest of Mr. Dhariwal’s nephew. Shyam sat in the police station tending to his wounds when Mr. Dhariwal reached the police station. The whole story got a lot of media footage, and Shyam was made into a local hero, with Mr. Dhariwal giving him a sizeable prize money for nabbing the thief. He was also able to secure a job at a local security firm with the help of his new benefactor. He did quite well for himself, but he never gave away the blanket. It had proved quite lucky for him. It reminded him of the hard times. It also reminded him of the kindness of strangers.

To Spot a Tiger

Sun, 03 Nov 2013 00:00:00 GMT

“It’s a male tiger”, said the guide.

“How do you know that?”, he asked.

“The paw prints are square. It’s a big one too.” One of the tourists got up to take a photo of the paw print.”neeche baitth jaiye. It’s not safe to get out”The jeep started, and they followed in the direction of the tiger prints. The prints disappeared into a thicket. The driver sped ahead on the road. Getting down was not an option. Arun was thrilled by the sudden excitement. They hadn’t spotted any tiger since morning.” Bhaiyya, is this the one we were searching for in the morning?”, he asked.

“No. This one is different.”

Their olive colored Gypsy took a swift right turn. The unpaved road was flanked on both sides by tall grass. There was one more jeep there. It was on the other side of the straight road. The guide in the other Gypsy signaled them to stay still. ‘It’s a tiger!’. He tried to find a moving tiger in the yellow grass.

The driver reversed the jeep a bit. They would not have noticed the tiger in the grass until it was too late. He turned off the engine and they sat waiting in bated silence.

There was a herd of spotted deer in the grass. They didn’t know that they were being watched. The tiger was surely hiding somewhere in the grass too. It was going to be a feast for it. ‘How dumb the deer are. They are just standing there munching like idiots.’

The guide was sure that the tiger was in the grass - waiting for the right moment to attack its prey. They had been following tracks since morning. There was no way they were going to miss the tiger now. A couple of minutes passed but there was no sign of the tiger.

Suddenly there was motion. The deer had started running inside the grass - away from the jeep. Arun took out his binoculars and tried to spot the tiger in the distance, trying to chase one of the deer. It was going to be difficult to find it in the grass, but he knew it was somewhere close. He could feel it. It had to be. He had come all the way to Jim Corbett to see a tiger up close. One thing he didn’t know was that they were being watched.