The Quote -

"Nope, I don't really have anything new to say. but then, I always have something amazing to tell about things that you already know!!"


Thursday, April 30, 2009

Sleep in peace - A 55 fiction.

The snap -

The story -

“You asleep”

She turned and looked at her husband. “No. You”


The ticking sound of the second hand filled up and emptied the room.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.


"Really… Then why aren’t you asleep?"

“Just wondering, what’s in your mind to keep you awake this long?”

Her husband sighed. “huh, I was thinking the same about you.”

Author’s note:

This story occurred to me when Vinnie teased me not to try any fiction at about 1 - 30 am last night (sorry today morning). So as she was my inspiration I dedicate this fiction to her.

The story has about 61 words. If the line about the sound of ticking is removed, then it can be made exactly a 55 fiction. But I thought that that sentence emphasized the slowing of time and the restlessness in the bed room. So I decided to keep the line.

So what do you think about my story guys....

Who cares, who screws….

The Snap -

The Tale-

There is just one thing, only one thing- that can make really angry and all pumped up. And that’s when my sister is being intimidated and I cannot do anything about it. But then, it rarely happens. No. It never happens. You see guys….. I have always nurtured this fighting tendency in my sis that almost all the guys studying studying with her, who knew her for awhile,  would have already tasted a good bite of her casual sass and thus they never mess with her.

So I never almost have any reason to get all angry and pumped up. Almost. I repeat. Almost.

And that's because like all  my mothers, my mom knows me a bit too much, and when she is upset with me, she shows it to my sister to get to me.(She can’t make me to fight back otherwise.)

I hate these situations. Really really hate them.

And that's exactly what happened today morning when I refused my mom when she asked me to accompany her to her sister’s home for a couple of days. She showed her anger to my sister.

Like you can guess easily, I felt pretty enraged. Furious and still suffering like the guy who just got kicked right in his balls. Down depressed and seething about it like those active volcanoes just waiting to explode into a million bits. Do add ample more similes to the list and trust me however creative you are going to be, it just would not do justice to what I felt.


My mom left for her sister's home with my sister in the afternoon.

She called me up late night to tell that she has reached there safely and as we were talking, she suddenly slipped in a sorry.

“For what?” I asked.

“Just that I was angry with you and made you feel so bad”

“That’s Okay mom. No big deal.”

“Really I am so sorry. I felt so bad, when I thought about what I did while traveling”

I hate to see my mom apologize.

“You did nothing wrong mom, what you did was absolutely natural and I am cool. Okay.”

“Okay…” She paused. “I will never do it again.”

“Mom, you did nothing you shouldn't do and stop talking like this. This isn't like you. Can we just stop talking about this.”

“Right. Okay” My mom answered back.

And then after a few minutes of consoling and cajoling my mom and another few minutes talking about other mother son stuff like lock the back door when you go to bed, do not over load the washing machine while washing clothes, bath daily, brush daily (spare me the rest - its too embarrassing.) etc….. she allowed me to go back to what I was doing.

Damn women. I was the one in anger and was in the need of some consoling and a hug. I was the one depressed and was feeling like shit. She was the one who must have been doing the prep talking.

But everything happened in reverse. I ended up trying to cheer her up. Some tough luck.

The philosophy – It never matters who screws up in the first place, the girl or the guy but it always ends with the guy trying to cheer the girl up.


The photo is of my sister and was took while i was experimenting with my camera, when I first brought it.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

The case of the independent canditates -

I actually wrote this as a comment on Ms.De's page but after writing it, I noticed that it has a larger relevance to the Indian political Scenario, so I am posting the same a bit edited and rearranged.

Why should we vote for independent candidates if we think they are worth it?

Our Indian politics is slowly becoming a family business. Every single party this time is putting forth their own family members sons and daughters usually to contest. What they want is to singularize the democracy and to monopolize the ruling institution.

What would be the reason for democracy if each and every time the majority party is going to win the election? If we are not allowing someone like an independent candidate to win the election for once, we will never know how much worth the majority party is or how much of crap the majority party is....

Ok, lets try being more specific. Lets take Mr.Modi for instance.

I am not against Modi. In fact I appreciate a lot of developmental efforts he has put in gujarat. Under him, almost all the sectors and the industries of the state have been considerably developed.

We are educated or atleast we claim so... Think you guys... how do we know how much any government is doing good unless we have a measuring stick and how are we gonna get this measuring stick by always electing the majority party.....

Many claim - Mr.Modi is a lot better than other CMs. He has done to his state a lot more good than a lot other people have done to their states.

Yeah, I too accept that Modi is better than his counter parts in the other states.

But think, you guys,the other CMs being such wastes doesn't make Modi any better... Modi himself is not the God or something... He is too human and he can be improved upon... and Politics desperately needs fresh blood
(and by fresh blood, i do not mean younger generation - if thats the case then varun gandhi would also be fresh blood - Is he???)

By fresh blood I mean, People who can speak for themselves, People who need not hold on to a party propaganda to get elected, People who do get their kicks by throwing words around, People who believe that this country needs to improve a lot and people who would rather embrace new things rather than sticking with the "India has as rich culture and we need to save it" shit.

Modi is of course better than the rest of the CMs. That goes without any questions but what i appreciate about Independent candidates like Mallika is that she is trying to take a stand against the system. The system that has made us cynics, by not ever delivering us what it promised.

Are we here voting to get the best of the bunch. Aren't we a bit too short of choices. Why is that people who try something new are shunned(like independent candidates.....).

Our culture is represented by we people and does not require saving, (hopefully we will look after it) but what abt our country....

We need people like kamarajar in TN. When my father says how he never campaigned but got elected every time, I get goose bumps all over me.... He was so dedicated to people and never cared aboutt himself that he only had 2 pairs of dhotis....

He took the government bus where ever he went and he stood in q at the ration shop.

and all this happened merely three and a half decades ago... I am flabbergasted, what went wrong in these 30 years.....

I am not asking 4 the dedication of kamarajar but at least we people can be true to his soul and provide opportunity one or two new guys..... just to let us know... what we are missing......

So I appreciate from the bottom of my heart the efforts of Mallika and people like her. If she is reading this, let her know there are a lot of people like me supporting her....

India damn sure needs a hell a lot of women like her.

PS :

This in a way is a reply to Ms.De's post on supporting the independent candidate of Mallika. What is written above is just to raise a few questions and not to establish any facts. As I have said before I myself have always loved Modi's dynamism and progressive ideas. But anyways asking a few good humored questions do not mean any harm. Right????

The prostitute - A 55 fiction

Warning - The following content is of abrupt sexual nature, so people who would rather not read this are advised not to read it. Please do not read it and then blame me for not warning you.

The story:

“I think 55 fiction comes naturally for me.” I said to my sister.

She looked at me with her eyebrows raised “Really…..??”

“Yeah, Wanna hear one I thought of, when taking a piss in the can….” I looked at her with challenging eyes……

“hmhm……. Ok… Go on..” She replied.

Story 1 – The making:

The prostitute returned his money coolly “it’s on the house baby…….”

“Really, Did I fuck that good? Wow this… this was my first time” He said.
She gave him a satisfied wink and went off.

She later said to her pimp “His father paid double for him. Said something about making him a real man.”

My sister gave me her worst frown… “That’s a sick story.”

“But it had some meaning I suppose” I shot back.

“hmhm….. yeah some meaning…” She replied to me skeptically.

“K, wanna hear another one as I craft it. Hot on spot……”

“Go on…” She said.

Story 2 – The difference:

The prostitute crooked….“No baby, I don’t even want your money this time. You were so good.”

“You have got to take the money. I insist.” He said thrusting the money in her hands.

“Why??” She asked.

“Then how am I going to differentiate between you and my wife” He replied back in his nonchalant voice.

This got to my sister. “That’s even sicker and shittier. You degrade women.”

“No, my stories are always meant to ask questions. I never decide upon things.” I paused. “The stories are just perspectives and you need to know what shit happens to appreciate the good things you have.”

“hmhm” My sister was silent.

“And such situations may be happening somewhere…. We just want to ignore them.”

She was still silent.

“Ok, wanna hear another one…..”

She looked at me with those accusing eyes, which seemed to blame me for every single bad thing ever done to the feminine race.

“Trust me….. This will make you laugh” and I started to craft another one as I went on.

Story 3 – The choice:

The prostitute said in a as a matter of fact attitude “I have just upped my prize….. baby. You have gotta pay be 400 bucks extra for my services from now on”

“What……. No way….. I always pay my regular amount…”

She smirked “Bigger money bundle or bigger cock …….. your choice stud…”

And on hearing this she started laughing and I thought to myself ----and god finally saved the world from the wrath of my sis. (Jus kidding ….. she is reading this as I write you see….. :))

Then I went back to what I was doing before and not long after my sister laughed to herself.

“What?” I asked.

“What what???” she shot back.

“Why are you laughing???”

“The story… I just thought another one.”

“Really….. Let me hear it.”

After a bit of cajoling and persuasion, she told her version.

The final story - Story 4 - (Idea of the story – My sister.)

The prostitute asked with an idle curiosity in her voice “You are paying me more than my usual amount. Any special reasons????”

He stopped wearing his pants and looked at her, then with a casual shrug he said… “Well, you did not ask me whether the grocery bills are paid when I was coming. Did you??”

After the story was told, we both cracked up laughing.

Author’s note:

The above is a fictionalized account of what myself and my sister were chatting on Saturday afternoon, celebrating her return from our native. :)

And Please don't mind the following philosophy..... It's just the way I am. Always getting kicks out of saying something philosophical. Damn, I am pitying my future kids... They sure have a lot of philosophizing and advising to hear from me in the future. LOL...... :)

The Philosophy -

I believe in openness and in discussion whatever the subject matter may be. Only when we talk about things, we will get to know how we feel about them. Sex, Religion, Culture, Marriage, politics, death – I think are a few of those topics on which every one of us have their own strong opinions and we prefer to keep it to ourselves rather than discussing them. We protect these opinions like we protect our own eyes; we get angry when people with a different set of principles express their views.

What we forget is that, it is these basic opinions that we hold dear to us, define us. Make us into what we are. Hard to believe….. but it’s the naked truth. So all I ask from my readers is that please keep an open attitude. If else you may miss more than you think……

Take care guys…. Ciao.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

The Spring – A short story.

The Story -

“Every single soul in the fight knew that the battle was unevenly matched to a horrendous extent and they were going to need a miracle to win. After all it was going to be a battle between giants and midgets. A battle between titans and dwarfs. A battle between the winter and the spring.”

The old man stopped the story and leaned towards his grand daughter “A battle between winter and spring”

“Like in the seasons, grand pa” the girl asked.

“Yes, my child, just like in the seasons. That was a long long time ago, when all the seasons were sworn enemies then and fought against each other to gain control of the climate of the earth. The frost, The snow, the ice pellets, the blizzard, polar bears, sea lions – cold, brutal, merciless were the warriors of the winter. The warm gale, the swallows, the lilacs, the rabbit, dears, cats, the other birds and animals soft and warm to the core were the warriors of the spring.”

“The land, the skies, the water – no place was spared – the war both bloody and intense, raged on with heavy losses on both sides. But soon the tides started to turn, the winter having the stronger army started to gain advantage and the battalions of the spring were slowly starting to scatter. The warriors of spring started to lose their heart and things started to look cold and bleak for them. It was suddenly as if the fighters of the spring would rather end their misery by their deaths than to go on fighting. It was then at that crucial moment somewhere among that thousands and thousands of warriors, a single tiny swallow’s voice started to sing.”

“To feel the wind on my chest,
---I will fight; I will fight
To sing in the sun at my best,
---I will fight; I will fight
Tearing all the tears in me,
---I will fight; I will fight
All I want is love and joy,
---I will fight; I will fight.”

“Suddenly the fleeing animals stopped, the clear voice of the swallow seemed to clear their minds. With hot tears of fury and pain flying from their eyes, and they finally became brave enough to die for what they thought was their right. They started to sing, every one of them, the wounded and the healthy, the poor and the wealthy, every single one of them started to sing and they all marched forward like the warrior poets that they are. Their collective voices echoed through the vast blue skies, the thunder shattered and the puny clouds scattered. The sun came out moved by their raw spirit and shone hard, shone hard defeating the winter.” He paused and took a deep breath and with a flourish in his voice averred “The winter was then banished from the fairy land forever.”

“Grand pa, Grand pa….. Sing poem one more time” pleaded the child.

And just when he was about sing the song again, his daughter entered the room and said in a caring voice.

“Oh not that spring story again, father you are spoiling her too much. Come on you too need your rest. Now go to your bed.”

“Oh, I will sing to her one more time darling and then I will go to bed. I promise.”

She sighed “Ok, make it quick.”

She returned to the bed room, sat on her side of the bed and looked at her husband sleeping on the other side of it. She just sat there staring at him for a while. Then she got up and walked up to the window. The night’s sky was empty. Empty of the stars, the moon, the clouds and all that stared back at her was the dark and void. She took deep breaths. No, she was not a child, a grown up women with responsibilities, a child to look after, her mother to take care off, and her own career to think of, so whatever the pain she has to bear it. She leaned against the window sill and closed her eyes. The cold wind blew past her ignorant of the emotional tides and the pereniality of the aguish that it is crossing by.


She woke up with a start. Shit…… She thought. She must have fallen asleep lost in her own thoughts. Her daughter was tugging at her pajamas crying “Mommy, Mommy……… Grand pa is shaking”. She didn’t hear the rest; she rushed towards her father’s room and found him having a convulsing fit. She immediately called the ambulance.


What will people be thinking when they are waiting for the doctor’s verdict on the health of a loved one? What is that, that keeps them occupied with straight faces when the anxiety of the unknown is burning in their hearts? How do they hold on to their sanity until the doctors with their monotonous faces call them in to hit them with the results?

She shut her mind. Shut her mind to every single thought that came up. Blocked all her senses of time and emotion and concentrated on a lizard on the wall. Nothing but the lizard -

Which was now slowly, very slowly making its way towards a moth that was sitting nearby. One step at a time with a honed ease and skill that must have been gathered over a century of evolution, the lizard was getting closer to pounce on its kill. The moth blissfully unaware of the mortal danger it was in, remained there as if in wait to get caught by the awaiting jaws of death. The lizard tardily crouched its entire body, ready for the final act – the leap and the capture. The drama of the hunter and the prey was at its final show down.

Suddenly out of nowhere, she felt deeply sorry for the moth. A delicate creature unaware of what it’s getting into. Oh my god, she has to save it. It’s going to get killed. She has to save it. She quickly got up and raised her hand to shoo the moth away.

“M’am, the doctor will see you now.”

Distracted by those nonchalant words of the nurse for a second, she stood there and watched the lizard catch the moth in one swift athletic leap. The moth wriggled in pain, trying desperately to escape from the cold jaws of the reptile but the lizard bite by bite gulped down the moth with a relished satisfaction n its face. She closed her eyes, not having the heart to see the helpless moth die.

“I am coming” she replied in hushed tones and followed the nurse inside the cubicle of the doctor.

The doctor nodded to her to sit down and leaned forward with his hands folded and resting on the impeccably neat table. She started to get the feeling that she was not going to like what she was going to hear. She ignored the mild pleasantries and consolations from the doctor and numbing herself to the extreme, she asked.

“The facts, Doctor – just the facts as they are…. Please”

The doctor allowed a silent second to pass before answering.

“His problem has gotten worse. We will have to keep him under 24 hour hospitalized care from now on. I am sorry. You cannot keep him at home. It’s too risky.”

She simply nodded staring past the doctor.

“Can I see him?”

“Yes, but can you try not to strain him.”

She nodded.

His once ebullience that always took stock of the situation without losing his unique stride seemed to have left him. Seeing him lying there in the white hospital gown, frail and flimsy, her heart went out to him. His face was slowly returning to its original color – a pale hearty red. The IV line looked as if brutally stuck into his delicate hands that once held her as a child, protecting her from the nightmares and the realities of the world, rocking her to sleep with his fantastical stories. His dull eyes seemed to have lost in some distant memory until she noticed his daughter standing by the door.

He beckoned her to come and lean over him.

And once she did that, he in his diseased small voice mumbled into her daughter’s ears.

“I am so sorry, my dear. I should have never forced you to” he stopped and took a deep breath “marry him”

“Father, Please stop” her voice wavered.

“Please forgive me. Please”

“Father, don’t do this” She said and turned her heads side wards trying not to look at him. Fresh warm tears were streaming over her face wetting her dry parched lips.

“I am sorry I did not listen to you” her father continued in his feeble voice. “I will never forgive myself for the pain I put you in.”

He paused and took a deep breath. “Promise me to get out of there. Relive your life. Promise me, I will die in peace.”

“Father, you are hurting me. Why are you doing this? I don’t need this now.” She bit her lip hard trying not to cry out loud.

“At least, cry darling… Please… for me.”

It was then that something broke inside her and she gave herself into hysterical sobs bending over him. She cried, cried, cried and cried some more. The pain, the failings, the harsh disappointments, the fighting’s, abuses, the rebukes, the wounds, the humiliation, the emptiness, her life – she cried even more. Her tears dropped from her face on her father’s forehead who said in a broken voice.

“That’s Ok darling. It’s over. It’s all over.”

Hearing the sound of the weeping, the nurses rushed in taking hold of the situation.

She slowly came outside and cried, cried every single stored up tear in her tear ducts. Every one of the tears that she had managed to swallow and smile to bear her marriage. She silently got, settled the bill and requested the doctor to proceed with the necessary formalities to get her father the care he needed and then left the hospital.

The sun was at its zenith when she reached home. She called and checked on her daughter at her baby sitter’s house and assured the baby sitter that she will be there in 2 hours to pick her daughter. Then she started to pack her things.


“What are you doing” He asked as he entered into the home and saw all the packed materials.

She did not reply.

“You are leaving. Aren’t you?”

She still remained silent. Her daughter was playfully reciting something in a low voice unaware of the drama happening.

“Where are you going to go now? You are fucking clueless. Ain’t you” He chucked maliciously and added “Go on. Let’s see how you are going to survive without me.”

She suddenly felt her knees trembling and her throat felt like being chocked. Her legs felt terribly weak, wobbled with her weight. Her stomach churned and jellied inside her and she felt like vomiting. So long caged she had been that her subconscious mind still longed for the safety and refuge of that cage. Her mind ran a thousand directions at the same time, gagging herself taking her nowhere.

She was breaking down again in front of her husband. She knew it. She knew it. She must have been doomed to be shackled forever and forever. Wait, May be she can still fight on. May be she still had a chance. May be…. May be she knew it all along that she will never make it. At least she tried. But she has failed. No, she is failing now and she is not able to do anything about it.

“You ain’t worth shit. You know that.. don’t you?” He folded his hands and stood there looking at down at her with contempt.

She crouched down, breathing hard trying to collect herself. Then she heard her daughter’s clear voice reciting…

"To feel the wind on my chest
---I will fight: I will fight.
To sing in the sun at my best
---I will fight: I will fight."

Hot tears of fury, pain and shame started to flow from her heart wetting her face. The calm innocent voice of her daughter shook her soul until her teeth rattled and her vigor returned. She is no innocent moth to be crushed and killed. She can fight. She can fight for herself, her daughter, her life, for her father. She has to fight. The clouds of reluctance and fear scampered away like the rats they are feeding on the rotten, the broken and the unused. She will fight.

"Tearing all the tears in me
---I will fight: I will fight.
All I want is love and joy
---I will fight: I will fight."

She took a deep breath and ran about in her mind’s space trying to gather all the broken pieces of herself. Her father always took a deep breath when he was to say something important. Her father….. She closed her eyes….. Please father, give me strength and courage for what I am going to do. No more conflicts, no more bitterness, no more suffocation, no more ignored ignominies, no more lies, no more surrendering and no more an hollowed existence. She had neither any tears nor any more fears left in her.

She got up with a resolved mind, clear and crystal like the carbon in the diamond. She will never ever waver anymore. She walked out on her husband holding her daughter’s hand.

Outside the evening sun was splashing around buckets of its mild orange melody of light. There were fresh lilacs blooming everywhere and the earth smelled of a new born baby with new shoots and green heads peaking about every where. The breeze dallied around kissing and flirting with every touch on everyone. A few street dogs chased the some cats up the trees and the swallows that were already resting on the crowns of their wooden abodes rushed about disturbed by the feline intrusion and added to the bliss of the cacophony.

“Mommy, Mommy the spring has arrived” jumped the girl with joy…..

Her mother nodded. Yes... The spring has finally arrived.

The end.

Author’s note:

This is my first story that has spanned more than 2200 words. I feel glad to have written this and I am obliged to thank 2 people in specific for helping me out....

-----Introspection, for giving me such a chance to write something 4 her. Smile today and forever, for from now on its spring my dear.

-----My regular readers and people who follow me – Guys you are more than an inspiration. Every time I see your comments and opinions on my posts, I feel exhilarated. Vinnie, puneet, rajlaxmi, raaji, anu, saxena, amal bose, introspection, nimisha, sujata, nandhini, Dogwood, DQ and every single one of you………. Thank you guys…. You are the best of the best. No questions asked. I love you guys….. :)

For now signing off…….

Take care…… muthu

Monday, April 20, 2009

The pitch of perspective – A short story

The snap:

The story may contain a very few common place hindi words and the meaning of them are given at the end of the narration.

The Story:

When he first laid his eyes on the idol, he simply couldn’t understand how people could stand the sight of such a hideous image, let alone pray to it considering it as a holy deity. “The female god of motherly love” was what the temple priests had said when they invited him into the temple. But nothing prepared him for what he would later recall to his friends as “the most ungodly image ever to be prayed as god”. May be he thought to himself being a tourist who is just passing in and out of India without actually dipping his hands into its daily life, it may not be just on his part to judge anything. But praying to a life sized deity of a hideous black faced hag fully smeared with blood,her tongue hanging out grotesquely, with a garland of skulls and a girdle of severed hands around her neck as decoration was a bit too much for him. Goddess Kali – even the name sounded ominous and bleak to him.

And to think that all the crowds around him were jostling about in frenzy like hungry hyenas fighting over the last piece of meat to catch a glimpse of this horrific and ominous deity was really above his comprehension levels. Soaked in sweat in the compressing inner chambers of the temple he started to have second thoughts about his decision to come into this temple. It took a good load of hard shoving, pushing and stumbling across for him to get out of the inner chamber where the deity is housed. He must have been more than relieved when he sat on the much sparsely crowded outer part of the temple and relaxed stretching his arms and legs.

It was as if he was sending out a homing signal to the poor and the needy kids who always frequented the temples of India trying to catch the eyes of some rich guy who would have the heart enough to drop a few coins in their bony arms. He always had a soft corner for children. He placed a ten rupee* note on the hand of the child and saw with satisfaction as the brown eyed girl walked away from him with a gleeful smile and with a purposeful gait. In a few seconds he realized his mistake when the girl returned with a bunch of other kids all desperate for some cash from the kind foreigner. May be if he would have walked away from them at that instant he would not have set into motion the chain of events that was to follow. But fate and god had their own agenda in their minds.

He distributed among the children the few coins he had not knowing he was causing quite a ruckus in the middle of the temple. It must have been in jubilation when one of those kids in his jumping glee tripped and fell down with a helpless wail. It was then that all pandemonium broke loose and before he realized what was happening his bag with his visa and passport was snatched. In a desperate attempt to catch the thief he started to chase after the pick pocket who was running with his bag.

The streets were crooked, narrow and were marked by sharp bends and angles that were so much a characteristic of Indian roads as class and caste to the Indian society. The bustling crowd rushing past him towards the temple immersed in their local celebration compounded to his problems as he tried to keep up with his bag. The sight of some country punk making away with almost all his cash and his identity documents must have sprung some hidden reserve of resolve in his mind that ignoring his heaving lungs that begged him to stop and the pain in his legs that craved for some rest he plodded on. He had to get his bag. He was not going to lose all the cash he had on him in such a fashion. He had to get his bag.

Then suddenly as if in response to some divine command from out of the blue his feet simply refused to obey him and he slowly came to his knees feeling a slow excruciating pain radiating from his chest and just as it dawned on him that he was having a heart attack he collapsed unconscious.

People die everyday, every single hour, minute and second someone is grieving with all his heart and soul over a lost loved one. Life in retrospect can be pretty bleak and uninviting if not for the joy of seeing tomorrow. May be tomorrow it will rain, May be it will snow or even hail, May be it will bring us joy unbound or perhaps it will shut us in eternal gloom. Nobody knows for certain but everyone still looks forward for tomorrow with a word as preposterous as hope in their minds.

And hope was the very last thing that came to his mind when he came awake drenched in his own sweat and fear. He tried to open his eyes and failed – the lids felt heavy like the petals of lotus and his body numbed and weakened pleaded and bargained with him resisting his every attempt to sit up. He heard a jumble of sharp sounds and noises that were too much shrouded in the daze to give any clear idea of where he was. He thought he picked up the clear voice of his 9 year old daughter which slowly faded into the distant racket of a lot of people moving about, a small child crying in hunger, the shrill voice of some one shouting out “help” which slowly melted into dark embers of his sub consciousness facade.

He for once again fell unconscious.

Skeptically speaking, helplessness takes on a complete new meaning for a patient who is at the mercy of doctor to save him who like any of the other working professionals works for the money that is being paid to him. He is not working for free or doing social service for that matter. Then why should anyone feel they owe their life to the doctor for doing his job? But alas the human mind becomes so feeble when it comes to face it's own death that no such thoughts leap up into the mind when you get up from the hospital bed after a close brush with Yama* and realize that the doctor has saved you. And of course it was nothing different with the foreign tourist either.

The bleak wall stared back at him as his eyes tried to focus and the pungent smell that is so much a characteristic of the hospital assaulted his nasal faculties when he rose back to the world of the living again. He felt much better through thoroughly exhausted as he looked into the eyes of the doctor who was checking his vitals. The doctor gave him a calm reassuring smile and said in a gay voice “welcome back”

Funny the coarse voice of the doctor sounded to him like the sweetest baritone that he has ever heard. He for a second felt like jumping with joy, thanking everyone around and relished the feeling of feeling alive. It must be the effect of almost losing something that he cannot bear to do without – his life perhaps. The doctor, who now seemed to have finished with him, got up and seeing his desperation to know where he was calmly averred “Do not worry. You are safe in a hospital. You have had a minor heart attack and you need to rest. We have notified your embassy and they assured they will send their representative over. I have given you a sedative so now try to relax and go back to sleep”

It took a couple of days for him to regain his strength and vitality and by that time he had learned that he was saved by a rickshaw walla* who seeing him collapse on the road had brought him to the nearby hospital where they identified him with the papers they found in his pocket and treated him. Arrangements were made by the embassy for him to be transported to his home country once the doctor gave his health a clean chit and pronounced that he was fit to travel.

It was as he was getting out of the hospital lead by the doctor, thanking him profusely for saving him he saw a middle aged guy wearing a blue lungi* looking at him with curious eyes. The doctor with a smile said “I just did what I had to. If you want to really express your gratitude then thank the rickshaw walla over there. He was the one who brought you here in time to save you.” He turned to see the middle aged guy giving him his best smile with a the sparkle in his eyes. Despite his worn and dirty clothes, prematurely wrinkled face and bare feet on the blistering hot streets, he had the warmth of life clinging to him.

The foreigner rushed forward, caught the rickshaw walla’s hand and with his eyes moist with emotion and voice trembling with gratitude said “Thank you, Thank you. I owe you my life”. The rickshaw walla was embarrassed not used to such open show of appreciation and racked his very very limited English vocabulary to give the foreigner some decent reply. After a few seconds of desperate thought the rickshaw walla folded his hands with extreme reverence and said to the gaping foreigner “Jai Kali Devi*.”

The end.

Rupee* - the currency of India.
Lungi* - a local garment used by the working class.
Yama* - The soul taker at the time of death in accordance to hindu mythology.
rickshaw walla* – one who drives a rickshaw(a pedaled vehicle) for a living.
Jai Kali Devi* - a slogan in the local language Hindi meaning – all the praise goes to the goddess Kali(These words are mistook to be partly English by a lot of locals.).

Author’s note:

Legend says that Kali Devi or Goddess Kali was once a very beautiful lady who was so fond of dancing and also good at it that Lord Shiva – the ultimate god of death, destruction, nirvana, meditation and dance took her to be his pupil. And once when Lord Shiva was sleeping, Kali Devi stepped on his chest too lost in her dancing. Lord Shiva in his temper cursed the one who stepped on his chest to be as horrible looking as one can be. When he got up and realized his mistake, he gave Kali Devi the power to become a destroyer of evil as he could not take back the curse and thus was born the God of motherly love and paradoxically also the destroyer of evil. Silly as the story may sound but every culture in the world has its own belief systems which when viewed by someone outside may be too much to understand.

For further information on Kali Devi, kindly visit the following link.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Words and Politics :

How more trivial and how more silly can politics be played –

At a time when the politicians should be giving good future plans and assurances that would solve the various tangles India seems to be perceptually lost in, they are playing blame game in the most childish manner. How more can a important national leader Mr.Advani degrade our entire political system by calling the present Prime Minister of India, the weakest PM ever. Of course he has the right to give criticisms but he should be critiquing the flaws in his plans, activities or on his agenda. And what’s more worse, The PM crediting his words by replying him.

The above is just a pint of the gallons of words that are thrown by the politicians on one another. There is no need to write those cock and bull stories and glorify them like the media is unconsciously doing so now by publishing every crap that gets thrown around. One can never become better by calling others names.

Good politics comes only through respectable politics which every single politician in our country seems to have forgotten, a country which has cradled the best of the diplomats and leaders - Gandhi, Nehru, Anna, Patel to name just a few.

May be Respectable politics is a bit too much to ask, so how about decent politics. Is that too hard for people who are campaigning today (assuring free TVs and stuff on their agenda instead of a good futuristic plan to boost the country) to contrive.

I remember the quote from the movie –

V for Vendetta –

“While the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation. Words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning and for those who will listen the enunciation of truth and the truth is there is something terribly wrong with this country, Isn’t there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerability and depression……….. How did this happen who is to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than the others and they will be held accountable and again truth be told if you are looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.”

Brutal may be the above quote but I believe that naked truth in it is what makes it so brutal. Remember Chanakya’s words the country goes into ruins not because of the action of the bad people but because of the inaction of the good people……

So spread the word to vote for those people who will act responsible, form a public opinion on who would be the best candidate in your area, Look into the history of these people who ask for your votes, don’t get off track listening to people having word battle, you have a more important job in your hand than them – selecting them, I still strongly believe……

Words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning and for those who will listen the enunciation of truth.

So spread the word……..

The chocolate – A short story

“Please mom” pleaded the kid. Her 8 year old eyes were yearning for the milk chocolate that was sitting on the window sill of the shop in a beautiful glass jar. It had a royal blue wrapper with silver letterings that stood out claiming the chocolate to be “Richer smoother & milkier”. The wrapper even had a gold lining that caught the dull light of the sun shrouded by the rain clouds and dazzled. The small girl would have given anything in exchange to have a piece of that chocolate. Anything – anything including the best of her toys, the color ribbons that she loves to play with, to the Mickey and Donald cartoon stickers that she loves sticking on her note books. She was lovelorn with that chocolate. And for her that was enough to push her to desperation.

She tugged at her mother’s sari* and once again pleaded with all her heart thrust into her voice.

“Pleeeeeeeease mom”

Her mother gave her a smile and a 5 rupee coin to get the chocolate and resumed her gossip with the other mothers who have come to the school to take their children home. The school was one of the most recognized in the city and most of the locality children studied there. It was a magnificent building with a white facade, airy corridors, spacious well lit classrooms and it housed a large playground that was bordered by shady banyan trees. The success of every single market is based on the factors of nearness and need to sell their products and the variety of shops, stationeries and malls that outlined the school made the best profitable use of that single fact. It was in one of those shops that the kid found her favorite milk chocolate being sold.

The girl jumping with glee the moment she got the money in her hands, ran up to the shop and gave the shop keeper the money and pointed to the chocolate. The shop keeper shook his head returning the money saying that the chocolate costs 15 more rupees. With dashed hopes, the kid stood there for a moment not knowing what to do. The kind shop keeper leaned forward and with a warm voice said “why don’t you get me 15 more rupees and I will keep one chocolate especially for you” and gave her enthusiastic wink. The girl with renewed energy went back to her mom who was just finishing up with her gossiping.

And just as she was about to ask her mom for more money, it started to drizzle.

A beautifully stunning virgin of a drizzle that laughed, sang and danced around the skies with the splash of spectrum trailing along on its tail came rushing to the ground lost in the lovely moment like a girl rushing out to meet her man returning from the war. The dry, virile ground proudly jutted out to embrace the warmness of the touch as the cold fingers of the drizzle drenched and soaked its surface with love. Blatantly orgasmic was the plethora of colors, tastes, senses and pleasures as the rain and the earth held each other in their arms cajoling with one another, fighting with each other, peppering one another with baby kisses, losing themselves in the sensuality of holding and being held. The beauty of their union was simply splendidly fantabulous.

But alas like everyone else who scattered away when it rained, the girl and her mom too rushed off to their homes missing the orchestral performance of the century. The girl’s mind still hung over the chocolate of which she was determined to ask her mom when they reached home. The drizzle hit her face pretty hard as she sat behind her mom holding to her tightly as her mother sped the scooter towards home. After a few minutes of driving and tussling they reached their destination. The small girl got down from the scooter, ran to the door and shrieked in delight. Her father who obviously did not share her exuberance waiting there completely sodden by the rain. The kid disappointed with her father’s response sat there long faced trying to get off her wet shoes.

Her mother opened the door and both her parents went inside. Her father who fell upon the couch the instant he got inside the hall started to remove his tie.

“Why the hell did you not give the key to the neighbors when you went out???” He shouted at his wife. “I have been waiting here for almost an hour getting drenched in the rain!!!”

“How was I to know that you will come back home today early? Am I Houdini or what?? His wife answered back in a calm tone. “And don’t you blame me for this. You forgot your keys this morning and so you stood out. Period”

Her father frustrated and angered with the attitude from her mom tried to forget it by immersing himself into the sports channel in the television. Her mom helped her to dry herself and put on new clothes. The girl was pulsating with the urge to tell her mom about the money she needed for the chocolate but she knew that it was a bad time to do so with her mother busy doing chores and her father absorbed in his sports. So she waited. She waited until it was dinner time. Until they were just half way through the dinner and then told them about the chocolate.

After patiently listening to her, her mother assured her that she will get her the chocolate when she comes to pick her tomorrow. The girl completely satisfied slept sound that night when it rained cats and dogs outside.

She just couldn’t wait for the next evening to come and to have her hands on the chocolate. She was on her best behavior in the school, did the home work during the interval itself, helped the teacher to collect the notes, she even tried to be good to the boy who always teased her. Her mind was preoccupied with the chocolate and the evening that it gave her the heart to be her best. The day wore beautifully – the teacher had put an “excellent” remark in her note, she had the best time playing with her friends, she had even picked up a pure white pigeon feather that she always wanted from the playground and she was going to have the best chocolate in the world in the evening.

Life couldn’t be more beautiful. By the evening she was feeling completely exhausted.

But she was too happy to notice it. She is going to get the chocolate. She marched up to her mother and held out her hand with a flourish. Her mother’s smiling face disappeared as she felt her daughter’s extended hand. It was burning, burning with fever. She scooped up her daughter in her arm, seated her on the scooter and accelerated towards the nearby hospital with a speed and concern that only a mother could rival. The girl was torn apart as she saw the receding figure of the shop and the half empty milk chocolate glass bottle disappearing in a haze of human activity as the vehicle sped along the road.

After checking, the doctors diagnosed it as viral fever and they advised hospitalization for a couple of days. They assured that she would be fine as the disease was at the starting stage and if treated properly she would be back to normal before tomorrow morning. Her father and mother sat beside her bed holding her hands trying to whisper into her ears that all would be well soon. Agonized they were at seeing their precious little daughter lying helpless and prostrate on the hospital bed but they tried not to show it to her. The night fell in solemn whispers as the cold evening wind blew its way past the hospital.

The little girl laid there on the bed dreaming. Milk chocolates were falling from the sky all around her but kept vanishing when she tried to pick them off from the ground. She kept at it for a while until she was exhausted. She was almost in tears. Then suddenly the raining stopped and out of the blue came the half filled chocolate jar. It laughed at her taunting her to catch it and however much she tried to catch the jar, it rolled out of her reach and with each of her failure to catch the jar, one chocolate disappeared from it. She felt cheated, disappointed and utterly let down. She started to cry.

Her father noticed the tears first. He checked her temperature. It was returning to normal. He slowly woke up his daughter caressing her cheek. She woke up with a start and seeing her father in front of her, she hugged him tightly. Her father held her stroking her back with his calm voice reassuring her – “It’s just a dream honey. Nothing more………….. It’s just a dream.” She slowly drifted back to a dreamless deep sleep.

After 4 days at the hospital, she returned home in with her health restored. She went to school the next day and when the evening came she begged her mother to give her money for the chocolate. Her mother was reluctant to get her the chocolate keeping in mind their last episode at the hospital. But the girl won’t hear of it. She wanted the chocolate desperately, it has become an obsession of her to get her hands on that chocolate and she was not going to give up easily. She pleaded with her mom who gave in at last after she promised not to eat the chocolate until tomorrow. She will just get the chocolate just for keep’s sake now.

With the money tightly held in her hand and her mother walking beside her, the kid in the best spirits walked towards the shop. Finally she was going to get the chocolate.

Then as she neared the shop the kid saw that the jar was empty. Oh no….. She started to run towards the shop with her eyes on the jar. Yes….. Yes…… Yes…… There was still one single chocolate in the jar. She increased her pace. But ……. Oh my….. Oh my…… Someone else was buying it. She was at her wits end. Her heart was pounding and her feet were aching. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t end like this. She loved that chocolate. She wanted that chocolate. She reached the shop and with tears streaming down her eyes, she looked at the empty jar and then at the last piece of that chocolate as the guy who brought it slowly walked away. The kid stood there crushed and battered. It has been too much for her.

She did not cry out loud nor did she try to make a scene. She did not care. Tears swelled and flowed glistening across her pinkish face.

Her mother sat down beside her not knowing what to do. She tried to calm her. But the girl was not listening. She was simply staring at the empty jar. Her mother stood up, went to the shop keeper and asked about where else she could get the milk chocolate. Then she asked the shop keeper to look after her daughter for a while and rushed off in her scooter to get the damn chocolate.

God has his fun playing with you when you least expect it and when you are least equipped to face it. He taunts you, piles up problems in you, blocks your every exit pushing you to your extreme limits. No matter how much you pray, no matter how much faithful you are, no matter how many times you have played the Good Samaritan, no matter whether you are a Catholic or a Protestant or a Hindu or a Jew or a Muslim or even an atheist for that matter – he rarely cares. May be he is just caught up a bit having too much of fun or may be there isn’t even a god for that matter. But who cares. It feels good to have somebody to turn to when things become too heavy to bear.

After searching for almost forty minutes without any success, her mother in her mind was praying for such deliverance to no avail. Her mother just didn’t have the heart to return to her empty handed but had no other choice. She didn’t really know how she was going to face her daughter. She didn’t really know what she was going to say to her to console her. She drove her scooter slowly towards the shop with a heavy heart.

When she got there, she parked the vehicle and entered the shop. She had no idea how what she was going to say to daughter. She was then quite a bit shocked to see her daughter squealing with peals of laughter. In her right hand she had a large candy and with her left she was trying to stop the shop keeper from tickling her belly. Her face lit up when she saw her mom and came rushing to greet her. She bobbed up and down as she told her how the shop keeper has taught her a new game that was so cool, how the new vanilla candy the shop keeper gave was very very sweet and showed with flourish the brand new Mickey Mouse stickers he had given her. The kid was deliriously drunk with happiness.

She never did get the milk chocolate that she so much yearned for.

But still she survived.

And life went on.

The end.


The snap is of my favorite niece and I thought this snap in a way, projected the story well. And yeah she too loves chocolates.(I think it's something genetic in my family that makes us all addicted to chocolates including myself. :))

Friday, April 17, 2009

Romance: enigmatic – A short story.

The Quote:

As for Micheal Corleone, he found himself standing, his heart pounding in his chest; He felt a little dizzy. The blood was surging through his body, through all it’s extremities and pounding against the tip of his gingers. All the perfume of the island came rushing in on the wind, orange, lemon blossoms, grapes, flowers. It seemed as if the whole body had sprung away from him out of himself. And then he heard the two shepherds laughing.

“You got hit by a thunderbolt, eh” Fabrizzio said ------------

----Direct quote from Godfather by Mario Puzo (book six, chapter 23)

The story:

He found himself staring at her photo with a part of his mind wondering whether such lovely girls really exist and another part marveling that such lovely girls do exist. The new moon of her eye balls, black, stark black, raven black with a tinge of a mischievous twinkle set on a face, a lovely face woven from the moist strands of zephyr, the dark hair, darker than the darkness of eternity parted to a side and crowning all that divine beauty - the curve of a smile, a bend of the rainbow, sweeter than a mother’s first kiss to her new born and . She was much more than beautiful and he simply couldn’t get enough of her.

He saved her photo from her profile to his desktop. And stared at it for a few more long seconds. The more he saw her, the more he liked her. He then went through her profile and after reading her posts, He liked her even more.

He wanted to get to know her. Talk with her. Ask her what her favorite color is, Ask her to smile once, ask her about her movie preferences, ask her whether she likes tea or coffee, listen to her laugh and do million other things of which most of the readers may consider silly but silly was the last word on his love struck mind. Euphoric, elated, drunken and delighted, with his heart buffeting in places he never knew there were, he was in love. And all this happened in that split of a moment.

He then went to her profile to comment something that would say that he really liked her. But after placing the cursor in the comment box; he really did not know what to write. Words must have deserted him for he sat there undecided for quite a long time with too many questions bouncing around in his heart.

What do you write to a girl that would get her to reply to you?

You just want to get to know her, Right….. No wrong in it but how do you put it into the right words without going overboard?

Will ---- “Hi, cool blog” - suffice……..

Or “hey, you are cute” suffice……..

Or would “hi, you have nice posts and a sweet smile” be better…….

What comments should he leave? Should he leave some intelligent comment on her posts…….. or……..may be something complimentary……

What would she like --- an intelligent comment or a funny quote or a compliment on her cute smile or a decent remark or something like that for her blog………

Oh boy…. He had no idea on what he was going to do?

After a good deal of mulling over with every single contrivable possibility he remembered someone once telling him that the simplest ….."hi" – would be the most candid and the best approach towards girls and that he decided was the best Idea. He sent the message, logged out of his profile and went out into the flowing rays of the golden dusk completely satisfied, completely happy.

His mobile sang and his sister talkative as always was ready to launch into her stories when he answered it. After listening to a few of her stories when inevitably always ran a minimum time of half an hour, he barged in-between her narratives and said “I saw someone on the internet…….”

“Where” She asked.

“Internet, I saw her profile and liked her a lot”

“How did she look”

“Cute, beautiful”

His sister hit back “Beautiful than me”

He paused and answered carefully “As beautiful as you, I think…… Dark eyes, Dark hair, lovely smile”

“So what’s her name?”

“Oh……. boy”

“What??” she asked with a hint of concern.

“I was so full of her that I forgot to look up her name”

"What?" She rebuked “you have just displayed the worst male character ever……..”

“Hey, it’s not like that, I was just too exited to look for her name. I know her page, I will look up her name first thing I log on next time and ……………….…..” He paused “Shit, I am a jerk….. I did not even look up her name”

“That’s OK…… describe her to me”

That he did in vivid details. And after hearing out, she answered back with a thoughtful voice..

“You know something, once in a while I wonder. Is some guy out there, swooning over me like you are now doing over her”

“Most probably, You are adorable and you are worth it but anyways all guys think like this about one girl or another but only about 5 to 7 percent of them do something about it” After a pause he added “Boys are terrified of being rejected,you know..... We just don’t know how to deal with it and anyways being hit by a thunderbolt though heady, it is a good feeling – getting to like a girl just because she had a cute smile”

“Thunderbolt - Godfather huh……..”He could hear her chuckle on mentioning the quote from one of his all time favorite novels.

“Yup – the mother of all novels and anyways real life is pretty much weirder and stranger than fiction. Huh….. After all this ruckus I am causing, may be she will never reply to me and all this will just reduced to a memory”

“May be she will reply and you will get to become friends” She added.

“May be” He continued with a significant pause “May be, then we will then forget each other in the monotony of every day chores”

“May be” She added again “May be, You will get to know each other, love each other, get married, have a lot of kids and then grandkids and I get to play with your grand kids”

“hahaha” He couldn’t help laughing “Too funny, If not too easily said.”

“Ok, Mom’s calling…… Gotta go…. Will call you later”

He said Ok and pocketed his mobile. Tomorrow he thought may be tomorrow, she may reply……….. And looked into the distant skies with his hopeful eyes……..

A few early stars were shimmering though a fast darkening inky sky. The sun with its masculine strokes of light rays was painting his last masterpiece on the skyline palettes of the western horizon with the moon in its feminine element looking on with a pleased curve of a smile.

Love is Life.

The end

P S – This is a fictional account of my own real life experience a few days ago and the enigmatic ending says much about my own state of mind and I am still pretty much in the fog on what would be the best way for me to get to know her, So guys if you have any ideas, please I plead you………please………. Help me out.

The quote at the beginning is from Godfather – the novel ……when Micheal Corleone falls in love with Apollonia at the first sight.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

And then, she cried- 55 fiction

Author's note: I came across the idea of writing short stories with just 55 words called 55 fiction and was quite intrigued by the concept. And so i have tried to write a few 55 fiction here in my own style. Though these stories are based on the same situation I have tried to capture the various ways in which the situation would have turned out with different responses from the male character to the female protagonist.I am looking forward to your comments.

For more information on 55 fiction, kindly visit here.

The wish:

You are going to cry……… Aren’t you?

She tried ignoring him staring at the dark skies. Noticing a shooting star she closed her eyes and wished she would just die. Her hidden tears jumped out and streaked across her face along with the sudden rain.

“Now you wouldn’t know? Would you?” She asked

The rebuke:

Are you going to cry?

She hit back “Do you want me to……….” The dark skies took contempt at her rebuke and started to throw rain drops at her.

She shivered and he offered her his coat. She refused and continued to shiver. At least the rain stood by her without asking stupid questions.

The lone flowers:

Please don’t cry

He begged her but she couldn’t just stop the tears as they flowed from her eyes streaking across her face blurring the starry sky. The rain started to wail along with her as if it too chose to ignore his consolatory efforts. And they both cried their pained hearts out each alone and each together.

The dawn:

He did not say anything and he didn’t need to. He just held her tight as she cried, cried and cried, until the tears and the rain washed away her pain. Then he said

Let go

She nodded. In the distant skies the dawn was slowly brushing out the last ghosts of the dark night.

Author's note:

In the fourth story I have tried to bring out that the rain and the girl were crying alone and in that they were together.

The single possible trick to marriage – A short story

The snap-

The Tale-

She still remembered the way in which her parents treated her when she asked them about it for the first time, of course she must have been about 13 years old when she asked it but still even such a 13 year old kid is entitled to get a few decent answers especially when the subject in question is as controversial and as simple such as sex. Thinking back, she wondered why her parents didn’t seem to trust her enough to reveal whatever they thought that sex was. At least they could have spared her of their misleading ideas of babies falling from the sky in brown baskets. Funny how much parents can be creative when they don’t want to answer straight to their kids? May be, she thought that she deserved a few straight answers, so it was then that she made up her mind, when the moment comes she would at least try to be honest with her own kid in the future.

And it hit her when she least expected it.

“Mom, today in school they taught us about sex”

She was totally exhausted from the day’s chores and would have crashed into her bed in a few seconds but the word sex seems to have something about it that whenever it’s talked about particularly by your own kid, the last thing that people want to do is to go to sleep.

“hmhm So what did you learn?” she asked with caution in her voice.

The moon light from the window lit the room and with it the soft features of her little girl. Even in the dark, her tiny eyes glowed with life and curiosity.

“I learnt how babies are made” and the little girl paused. A pause by a practical definition can convey a lot in its nuances and this pause must have been to give time for the mother to brace herself for the oncoming assault as the little one’s next question caught her completely off guard.

“Did you and papa do sex to make me?”

Waffled and baffled would have been the right expression to account for the expression that sprang up on the mother’s face. She must have forgotten that she always wanted to sound direct and crisp in her answers to her daughter, she hesitated a lot more than a bit before she answered “Well, hmmhmm……..yes” she said.

She never knew why she said it. It must have been some motherly instinct wanting her child not to get the wrong idea about anything. “People marry, do sex, have babies, that life sweetie” she said in the most reassuring voice she could muster.

“But teacher said all people who have puberty can do sex.”

That statement was more of a question than any normal question with a question mark hanging at its end. The little girl’s mother was at her wit’s end. How can anyone answer that with out raising any further questions or with out hurting her child in any way? After all she was a kid. How was she to explain to her about sex, hormones and puberty are more than just words, they are a part of life and marriage is not only just about sex, its more than that. How is she to put the complexities of life in understanding words to her kid? She seemed so completely lost. She must have worried too much about too many things; the little girl was already sleeping peacefully when she came back from the wanderings of her mind.

With thoughts about life, marriage, sex and such drifting through her head, she got to the bed. Her daughter’s curiosity has roused her own questioning mind. “How much of a driving force is sex in a marriage” “If fidelity is such a big issue in marriage, doesn’t the entire tradition of marriage seem to rest upon the aspect of whom the we have sex with”

“Hard day huh??” Asked her husband as he turned his eyes from the bedside novel he was reading and looked at her with an empathetic glance.

She nodded her head and sat down on the bed, her mind still lost in her thoughts. Her husband just sat there looking at her face. Looking at a girl’s face while she is lost in her own thoughts is exquisite. Ask a guy in love and he will write you sonnets about it. And the crescendo to that spectacular orchestra of the lady’s face is at the moment when she realizes that you are looking at her and blushes. And it was after such performance of fantabulous proportions that her husband questioned her about what was bugging her mind.

With a deep breath, she lay down by his side and turned to face him.

“Today your daughter asked me about sex”

He grinned wildly. “So she asked you……..”

“What?? Why are you giving me that silly smile of yours?” she nudged him.

Still grinning he said “She asked me first and”

“And you were so clueless on what to answer so you told her to ask me instead. Is that it?”

“Not quite. When she asked about sex, love and marriage the only thing came to my mind was you” he paused as if to gather his thoughts and then said “I simply didn't know what else to think”

She found herself holding his warm and reassuring hands. He needn't explain anything anymore. She loved him to death. No questions. After all fidelity, sex and whatever other possible marital issues maybe, they arise in a marriage when people with age lose their passion for each other. So perhaps there can be only one possible trick to marriage “Be passionately in love with your spouse and for better or worse stay that way forever”

Thursday, April 9, 2009

A life forsaken – A short story

Revenge is a dish best served cold - Old Kinglon Proverb.

“Someone once said to me that when dying people see incoherent snatches of their own life flash across in their memories like the debris that are thrown out of a cyclone moving across a city. Some poetic shit …. Aye…. Some crap face must have invented it when he was too drunk to shut his fucking trap. Well…… I never had a chance to experiment myself. Huh……… Some luck on my part I guess….. But never mind…… Since you are now at that juncture tell me…. Are you seeing your own shitty life flashing by Mr. Gangster?”

He paused and leaned forward trying to judge the expression on the face of his foe who was propped up on the wall slowly bleeding from a mortal wound in his belly. His eyes were smoldering with pure hatred and spite that gave an uncanny aura to his face that was frozen in a malicious grin. Sensing that his victim was slowly slipping into unconsciousness he slapped him hard across his face.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

The sound of the open hand delivering the brutal blow in repetitions seemed to have had a calming effect on the instigator who then sat hunched near his victim and after a few seconds of admiring his handiwork with complete satisfaction, lit a cigarette. He then blew the smoke over his victim’s face. Sensing the warm pungent smell of the cigarette, the so called gangster slowly opened his tired, blood shot eyes which slowly focused on the face of the aggressor who with a rushing flourish of gratification resumed his monologue.

“Better listen to me fucker or else I will make you spend your last moments in the worst bearable agony and don’t worry I took care to see that you will live long enough to hear me out.…………..……. I can still remember the day you murdered my family in front of me and disfigured my face.” He paused closing his eyes trying to remember. Hmhmhmhm…. I even remember your exact words. Do you???? Of course how the fuck can you remember? You were too busy making jokes with your gangster buddies. You said – Don’t take it personally shithead. Its just business and once in a while when people get out of line, they need be to made an example of. How else could you be sure that nobody is playing you for an ass?”

“And you left me there to die. Huh you fucking beat me to death and destroyed my family for selling a few bucks worth of dope behind your back. Huh…. How more considerate you could have been? My family for my own betrayal. Huh…………. but you never thought that I would survive. Did you fuck face? I bet not. Hmhmhm……..Who would have thought a tramp would be a life saver. You know what ………even I was surprised to come back alive after what you did to me.”

“But I was clear in one thing. I wanted vengeance. A complete vendetta. An eye for an eye.”

He stood up, paced around the ground with a renewed vigor and then in a surge of fury, he kicked his victim right on his wound and sent him sprawling across the dry muddy floor. He then drew the last puff from the cigarette and threw the stub over bleeding face of the gangster. In a moment or two of silent reminiscence, he sat down near him and took a bottle of brandy from his pocket and had a few slow swigs. He then splashed his enemy’s face with the brandy and laughed rhetorically seeing him flinch.

“Now I have had you. Of course it was not easy to bring down a well established gangster but I fucking did it. I took my own sweet time. And of course I was patient. I had to be. You were no easy a target. But I had to do it. My family had to be avenged. My family……. My family……”

He sobbed and his voice flowed with the tremor of loss.

“I have lost every single thing that made my life worthwhile. My wife, my son, my daughter – killed and even every single moment of joy I remember spending with them pains me eating away my insides. I still can’t digest that they are no longer with me.”

He kneel ed down and wept his heart out. “I have lost them………… I have lost them totally…………… I have lost everything……………… I have lost everything.”

And then he heard it. A dry chuckle – ominous and out of place. The fucking shit head of a gangster is laughing at his loss. With his eyes red in pain and venom he turned to see that the gangster was mumbling something. He went and crouched near his bloody face to hear what he was trying to say. The gangster very slowly drew his breath in the strain to be heard and said in a voice full of painful dull mockery “And when I die you will loss also your only worthwhile enemy”.

He sat there not knowing what to do or how to feel and as he stared into the dead eyes of his enemy, the loneliness of eternity stared back at him. Sparks from the cigarette stub and brandy puddles were taking in charge of the final cremation of the dead body. The fire slowly spread, bit by bit, part by part just the way he had destroyed his enemy turning the temperature to unbearable. He did not move, he did not flinch, he didn’t even cry. His eyes were lost in a distant haze trying to make sense of his own forsaken life.

He died in that fire. A life spent on revenge. A life spent on hating. A life spent on crying over at his loss. Hopefully a life well spent.

The End.

Author’s note:
I have borrowed the kinglon proverb that I have quoted at the starting of the story from the cult movie “KILL BILL” staring Uma Thurman.