Gold Monk



The faint music of the violin echoed on while the pretty waitresses meandered on nonchalantly across the length & breadth of the posh restaurant pouring wine & champagne to its bemused patrons. Tossing & turning his torso in his uncomfortable tuxedo, the billionaire ruminated his obscured memory or what was left of it, introspecting himself over & over again. Pondering over what drink he’d lost his alcoholic virginity to.

In this arena of golden couloured tantalising liquids incarcerated in shiny bottles, the intricate dilemma churning up inside his skull was but indisputable. There's nothing much you can say about it, is there? I've tried several times, but there's absolutely no way to distill into words the bliss you felt as that bitter-sweet ambrosia slithered its way down your throat and then made its fiery way up to your brain. His predicament was about falling in love, about being waylaid by the lusty charm of an expensive amber coloured seductress & about finding his way backward.

Having started off with Old Monk in his sophomore years, he had decided to move up the alcoholic ladder. Whisky, which seemed to be, for want of a better word, classier, was the obvious choice. After all, movies told us all that in every wealthy corporate office, there was a decanter of whisky, waiting to romance with cubes of ice in a crystal glass before being sipped, looked at and usually also commented upon appreciatively by the affluent boss and his equally affluent associates. Whisky was offered by the hero to a worthy villain, by the corrupt scoundrel to the honest officer. The sight of a decanter of whisky on a silver tray inspired beautiful women to raise an impressed eye-brow before proceeding to give in to the charm of the hero. Whisky was the drink to aspire to, as much as the iphone that is a phone to aspire to. In the televised world whether it’s the iphone or the whisky, the whole episode reeks of a lucrative marketing strategy.

Carried away by this not so obvious deceit, he gave into this marketing strategy as employed by the Mallyas of this world. Sip after sip he guzzled the drink by the gallons, he even formed a Whisky Drinkers' Club. He got drunk, he got caught by cops, he philosophised on roofs, he threw it all up, he collapsed on his deplorable bed in his deplorable room, he woke up with a hang-over cursing the sun, the retard who had made the drinking plan and himself for listening to that retard and the world at large.

During that brief period, he might, might even have called Old Monk- wait for it- "cheap liquor for the masses". Cheap liquor for the masses? He felt he should’ve just killed himself right there for that heresy.

I apologize, you can call me a plebeian but, to this day, I have not understood the world's fascination with whisky. I really cannot see what the fuss is all about. And neither did he. Whiskeys are pompously proclaimed to be deep or dark, with notes or a hint of this or that, to be full-bodied with a voluptuous texture and a fragrant, smoky finish. He felt like condemning any such description thrown at him as a consumer by the makers of the whisky to the corners of what he called ‘’The horseshit Realm’’. A realm that Old Monk has firmly refused to enter.

And thus was his brief, fleeting affair with whisky – permanently etched there on his alcoholic timeline. It shall forever remain there, a blot on the landscape of his romance with Old Monk. And all he could do about it is to do what I'm doing and explain why a cheap, bitter drink with no marketing strategy whatsoever and which is rumoured to be given to even horses became his drink of choice. 

With Old Monk, he’d savoured every moment- from buying the bottle, to talking about how cheap but awesome it was, to pouring it out into plastic glasses, to adding coke and a lime slice to taking the first gulp (a gulp, not a girly sip like whisky) to the anguish that accompanied the sight of the empty bottle. Oh, and also waking up with no hangover.

And, most of all, drinking Old Monk now took him back to those days when the only concern one had was to figure out how to spend all the free time one had. Old Monk made him feel young again. He could now feel the pulse of the boisterous high bossomed waitresses & bolstered up enough courage to dance with a few.

And that's why, even though there’s no doubt that he might have many more affairs with other drinks (after all, it is more probable that there might be something wrong with his taste buds than it is that the whole world is lying about how incredible whisky is), Old Monk would forever remain his drink of choice, the home ground he’d return to after playing enough away matches.

For, after all, there's no place like home

Good Morning

It’s not the diabolic quiet of the night anymore, the reign of the moon with her army of stars are fading into an orange dawn. The crickets have stopped chirping. It’s the turn of the peacocks & cuckoos now signalling the bliss that they await. I squat still, my black skin cold & my wings still waiting for what they wait. Waiting for that drawbridge of darkness to lift, the daunting shadows of melancholy to retreat. And as the clouds make way, the sun emerges out the horizon like a colossal crystal.

I had a reason to stay still and wait all night, unlike the rest of others my reason was different, that reason was you. Your petals closed to the world, deep in the the green, reclusive, elusive and mysterious. Your fragrance that explodes the sky & showers droplets of rain. A fragrance that enamors a slave into a queen. A fragrance to live for, a fragrance to die for.

Winding the hands of the clock back in time, I hopped over blossoming flowers, some that faded before I squat on them, some whose juice got sucked out by other bees galore & some that reeked of narcissism & greed. And as I fluttered my wings hopelessly across the blue horizon, praying for respite, repenting for the sins. The benevolent almighty reciprocated with the best gift I could ever envisage of. I was directed into the phantasmagoria of a rainbow, a celestial sanctuary of hope & euphoria.

I fluttered my wings into that rainbow fueled by my last droplets of hope. And in it I saw you, bloomed out, your petals full of colors like the gorgeous rainbow all over me. I was flanked from all directions from the belligerent onslaught of your aphrodisiac fragrance until I unconditionally surrendered to your affection.

And here I am living in my own blissful cocoon, sheltered from the big bad world by your bewitching care. Here I am waiting for the rays of the crimson sun to touch your petals. Here I am anticipating the dream, a dream that the first droplets on your glorious petals would be my tears, a dream that should the earth get scorched dry, I’d water your roots with my blood. A dream where I’d flood your neighborhood with the aura of my love. Here I am waiting for your petals to open so I can get obscured in the phantasm of your elegance. Here I am lying next to you waiting for your big beautiful eyes to open.

Good morning Shona. I love you. 

Figure me out

The lights flickered blur as we entered the complex. The silhouette of the ancient tower looked eerie in the moonlight. Time, like a deceitful chauffeur drove me with its foot more off the gas than on & everything appeared to move in slow motion. The liver's got a unique modus operandi to quench its insatiable appetite for the ecstatic brown spirit brewed in the Scottish highlands, it does so by creating a simmering crave in its keeper's brain while disgorging other things down the drain in its desperate pursuit. And so it was for me, as the music sent shock waves one after the other through my bones piling on the euphoria & reckless energy I needed for the trip.  I was at the best party I'd seen so far as the lights flickered and the hips swayed... the hips swayed on

A passing red ant commands as much respect as the wailing red siren. As it walks twig over twig, leaf over leaf. It's given a priority by other inferior black ants of the same species as it single handedly claims their quarry .. a dead insect. I always arrived late to school, and the class was postponed for me. Every student I had an altercation with was rusticated & every professor that opposed me was transferred. I always wondered what was that anonymous bizarre hegemony behind me, that justified all my actions. And with that my obsession for power burgeoned exponentially. And tonight this obsession was further aggravated by the colourful lights, trippy music and the crave for the euphoria liquid. The lights flickered on going in circles & the hips swayed in unison to the thumping of thunder ... the hips swayed on 

The intensity of delirium that comes out the brain at the cracking sound of the rifle, the perfect projectile of the lead coming out of it and the fresh aroma of gunpowder is gargantuan. Blame the yanks or blame blightey, my fascination for firearms started off by those American movies as Arnold pumps lead & the marauders get disintegrated & disembowelled into bits. I was even surrounded by people with heavy carbines wearing dark shades & grey suits looking like agents of the CIA & all of that for my protection...

Time is so fast paced & you're sprinting closer to death with your birthdays as milestones, but with the firearm in my hand and the glint of fear in my opponent's eyes slowed time & when I fired it just stopped still, it was Nirvana for me.Their despair was my euphoria .. That is when I decided to buy me a firearm & got a Beretta 92F licensed in my name. It was a beautiful semi automatic, issued only to those privileged to have dangerous terrorists threatening their life, well I had my own terrorists skulking in my skull between my ears. The predicament with this kind of firearm was it was a 9mm & it's ammunition a.k.a. ''prohibited bore'' was restricted to the privileged & every bullet had to be officially accounted for & besides it was exorbitant.. I therefore got the cheap & effective .22 calibre rounds & got myself a conversion kit shipped from Houston which in effect gave me a greater deal of flexibility & a longer range & the smaller ammo meant more in number. I was ecstatic even more so by the thumping music of the crowded dance floor while the hips swayed like crazy ... yeah the hips swayed on  

He who cannot think is a fool, he who will not, a bigot & he who dare not, a slave. There was no dearth of slaves in the sugar mill I owned, all too gratified to my tyranny to sustain their fleeting existence. Their fear wasn't too obvious but wasn't too secret either. But a majority of them acted as if they were oblivious to my whimsical fantasies & those who didn't, well the Beretta needs some work doesn't she, say to decorate a few foreheads with blood and brains hahaha. The beretta, the bottle & the swagger in the tongue meant trouble for them, this was urchin country & I was the law. A place where adrenaline turned to blood & gore, where failed cupidity turned to diabolic lust only satiated against the will of the victim. It was all too common & I wondered what the big mighty capital city had in store for me & therefore I ventured out with my inebriated counterparts from the profoundness of the calm night to the glitz & glimmer of the hallucinating flickering lights of the capital. The cold metal of the beretta in the bowels of my trousers virtually gave me a hard on. The phantasmagoria of the music & the colourful lights pumped adrenaline like that into a fired up athlete while the hips swayed on violently ... the hips swayed on 

Of all tyrannies, a tyranny exercised for the good of its victim may be the most oppressive, it may be better to survive under the authority of marauder barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The marauder's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at sometime be satiated. However those who torment us for our own good will torment us endlessly, for they do so without the approval of their conscience. My craving for the paradise liquid burgeoned to a point that I started demanding drinks from other revellers like I owned the country and they held on to it as if their lives depended on them, I tried many a tactic upto the point of moral misbehaviour but their determination was relentless. In a state of forlorn despair I headed to the bar counter, flicked a fresh wad of notes & flashed it to the waitress at the bar. She refused. I dont take no for an answer but I was a little timid tonight, however she began ranting about my inebriated state & started ranting moral sermons about how I must behave myself. My trip was getting blown to smithereens & the hallucination began fading, the diabolic monsters screaming in me to red me off the bitch. In a sudden rush of adrenaline like the inferno out an exploding grenade I pulled out my beretta, fired a shot the air & pointed the barrel at her & fired another shot in quick succession straight into her temple, she whimpered choking on her own blood & collapsed on the floor as I walked out the bar. 

My name is Siddharth Vashisht a.k.a. Manu Sharma & this is why I murdered Jessica Lal. 

                                                                                                                                 29/04/1999

The Wait

It was a special night, the whole house is lit with candles, bright lights, flowers sweets and lots of smiles. Her son is coming from afar the next day. She is Oh Lord waiting for many days for this day. The jasmines that adorns her hair haven't faded yet. Their perfume still haunting the courtyard before her ... ''The speciality of the baby was it used to urinate on every guest and give that wicked wink while the embarrassed guest headed to the restroom to clean up their miss, when she held him he'd give the same wicked wink and baby laugh & that was the one thing that made  her smile the most''. 

Tranquil and delighted is she Oh Lord, adorned with bangles and jewellery to celebrate the day. The multi coloured bangles lit the night like a rainbow against the flames of the many candles and the courtyard is filled with flowers and gifts awaiting his return. ''The butter jar was wide open & he'd disappeared, the little boy was a clever thief and butter was his favourite steal, he'd cry wolf in the village as she ran to tend her cows while he stole the butter and ate them. However rather than being angry, she was happy as that would only make him stronger & he could never be forced to eat food''. 

She enters the altar like a Goddess wiping her tears with her saree, bedazzled in joy she thinks about him, magnanimous and virtuous, her son's image being evoked out the dim light of the lamps. '' With the strength equivalent of two people and running speed as fast as an antelope, and the aim of an owl. He was by far the strongest youth in the village, perhaps the butter had worked its magic. His mood like his father's was always towards the wider humanity & his countrymen. No wonder he got himself recruited to serve his country on the frontlines. However he promised he'd regularly write to her. Farewells & welcomes were adorned more with tears than smiles.''

The home abound with fruits, sweets and flowers, new silk clothes and lots of studded jewels, but yet, but yet she grieves pining for his love.. Does he have any pity on her. Without her son her house has become her prison & her bangles have become her shackles. '' She first got to know about it when the village postman informed her of a war happening afar along the borders against the wicked neighbour, the whole village was singing with rumours and the postman started carrying more tears than letters''

A woman with a son must not sigh in despair, she mustn't at any cost grieve O Lord. The garland of jasmines  adorning her mustn't be crushed and the bloom of beauty mustn't fade. What must she do if her son hasn't come. Why's his heart made of stone? She folds her palms in a quiet prayer . She dreams only of him.

 '' And finally he came, he was so great that he got escorted by armed guards and had the tricolour wrapped tight around him, she saw him lazing inside a box.. in a deep sleep which he'd never wake up from. The guards took formation & fired into the air in unison & saluted. He'd martyred himself fending his post off an entire battalion of enemy troops repulsing their attack wave by wave. He always had a mother who was above all that he called his motherland and he'd served that mother to the hilt. 

But what about this mother? Had he ever given a thought. Yes he did. He'd thought many times and because of what he did in that post that night, many mothers like her got to see their sons and received them back in their villages smiling and thanking the Lord''

And suddenly the clouds get overcast & the distant sounds of thunder get closer, the rain lashes down ferociously without any mercy fading and extinguishing the carefully lit lamps, the downpour carries with it the decorated flowers as she stands facing the Lord and promises she'll redecorate the whole courtyard again and wait in anticipation the next night hopeful that her son will get home some day ....

Angry Eyes

''Driver uncle, driver uncle, fast fast''. Shouted he at the top of his lungs. His rough hair was unkempt & his uniform was dirty from the fights he'd had in school. The tie was half opened and a few buttons were undone. Everyone feared that wild courage and he enjoyed that fear. The bus was racing past narrow alleyways as driver uncle too had come under his spell as they were trying to outrun a faster SUV from behind. Driver uncle briefly came out of his spell as he tried to avoid a speed breaker & braked hard. The sudden momentum caught the boy off guard as he tumbled forward crashing onto someone. As he got up he was entangled in a mass of hair. He got up to get a glaring fearless stare from the most beautiful eyes he'd set eyes on. It was his turn to get mesmerised and ever since she became his first crush and his weak spot. She however never spoke to him since & left school in a week. Was it because of him he wondered. Bad boy !!!

Life moved on ...

The college trip wouldn't have been more fun had the group not been travelling on the coastal express meandering through the misty mountains in the morning. The lush greenery and tropical rainforests, tunnels, bridges and waterfalls were everywhere. The view was breathtaking. Despite all this his friends decided to camp inside the compartment asleep. He took a walk across towards the foot-board. The chill was nudging his spine, 'perfect ambience for a smoke' the thought as he pulled the pack of Dunhill cigarettes he'd had in his pocket & lit up. As suddenly and as subtle as a whisper, the tap of the wash basin behind him opened & he turned around to see the same pair of beautiful angry eyes he'd so longed for in school. Those eyes had grown older and much more beautiful with age. They were filled with rage beckoning him to stop polluting the compartment with smoke. He immediately chucked the cigarette down a ravine & as he turned behind she was nowhere to be seen. He frantically searched the train, compartment by compartment but never found her.

The clock ticked on ...

He always felt he looked ugly in a suit, but he'd had no choice tonight. It was the norm of the corporate world & so were air conditioned offices, computers, busy secretaries tapping their keyboards, shining floor, jampacked lifts & worst of all.. boring meetings. And that was the exact purpose of him being here at the corporate park skipping the party of a lifetime at his friends birthday bash for the sake of this meeting. After all this would determine the stepping stone he needed in his career. He then met some of his colleagues at the coffee counter & they began ranting on & on about the new appointment, a grumpy boss & were laughing their guts out at his eccentricities & failed policies, he laughed so much that he choked on his coffee, he turned away & with his eyes closed, coughed hard & the coffee in his mouth spilled out onto someone. As he opened his eyes he saw them yet again.. the same angry eyes & a stained dress. The fire in his heart lit up yet again & before he could open his mouth his boss beckoned him for the meeting & he watched her shoot towards the wash rooms. And yet again he searched for her around the offices & yet again she'd disappeared without a trace. Naughty luck.

The years rolled on ...

It's been ages since I'd stepped into a hospital. My health never let me down however there was good news in the family as my cousin had just delivered baby twins & everyone of us had rushed into the hospital to have that first glance. In a sense of jubilation & elation I unknowingly bumped into a group of people, doctors nurses alike hurriedly moving a stretcher to the operation theatre & by chance I looked at the person on it.Something about it struck the chords in my heart. Those eyes, I'd seen them before & they looked back at me, as if they had something to tell me. Amid all the chaos, my heart was a raging inferno. She was covered in blood & she raised a hand with something in it. A letter. I grabbed it with both hands and was stunned still as she was whisked away into the operation theatre. The pune next to me said ''Poor girl, she was rushing on the road without watching the road right in front of the hospital & she was hit''

The seconds raced on ...

With trembling fingers I opened the blood covered letter. The handwriting was as beautiful as her eyes. It said -

'' Dear Kartik, I first saw you in my school bus while you shouted & bumped into me. I was angry at first & then your courage enamoured me. I gradually started falling for you & I was so captivated that I shared this with my momma. As a result of which I was made to leave your school and join another one far far away.

I'd lost all hope of seeing you, I'd closed my heart to the world & decided to journey the country all on my own & hey presto, bumped into you again on the foot board in the train. I was elated at seeing you but ever since my father died of cancer, my hate for smokers grew more than my love for you & I made a big stupid decision & ran away from you. I regretted that ever since.

I bumped into you yet again in the office cafeteria, and yet again I was so happy to see you & my infatuation for you had grown into deep love. I was about to express my feelings but felt a bit shy in front of your colleagues & after I cleaned my shirt & came back looking for you, you'd disappeared into thin air & as luck would have it, I've seen you yet again today at the hospital & I'm in a rush to give you this note & express my feelings. ''

The seasons have a mind of their own & so do tears which wildly streamed down searing my face into dread as I watched the light above the operation theatre turn red.

The yellow scarf

'' If you truly madly deeply love me,

Oh, tie the yellow scarf round the ole oak tree,

Cause I couldn't bear to see what I might see

I'm really still in prison & my love you hold the key

A simple yellow scarf's all I need to set me free ''

The tune kept humming in his head as he watched her intently gaze back at him ruffling his hair. Her silky smooth hair wavering around dancing with the breeze made her look like a fairytale genie. They were sat under a tree in the shade of the moonlight wrapped under a blanket of the million twinkling stars. The only sound they could hear was the crashing of waves against the mighty rocks and the shining beacon of the lighthouse signalling the distant ships to keep away from them.

For many it might look like a dull irritating habit which would cause one's head to split up, however in the haze of infatuation, it was perhaps something he'd longed for all his life. Her perfume caressed the air around his nose like a hallucinating drug & her touch put the warmth back in him during the cold night. At that moment he knew he was in love. But his mind kept going back to that yellow scarf.

Like an awful commercial break smack in the middle of a kickass cinema, the yellow scarf kept recurring again & again while the flashbacks dawned on him, each with greater intensity than the other. About how he'd yearned looking at the ceiling fan for this night, almost every night. About how he'd consulted the scientific and supernatural to achieve this moment. One particular instance bothered him the most. The day he'd visited the sorcerer for some clairvoyance. About when he was told to tie that yellow scarf with two rocks, one rock of his & one rock of hers into that big oak tree up the hill yonder. About how he'd realise the true value of his love by doing that.

He'd asked her to get the yellow scarf that night. He confided in her his intentions and as agreed upon they gathered two pebbles nearby. He picked one and she picked the other. She carefully placed the two pebbles on her yellow scarf and folded the scarf tying it into a bun. In the dim light of the moon he could see her name knit in the corner of the scarf. With a twinkle in his eyes & euphoria in his soul he thought, this act of tying the yellow scarf would make their love immortal & thus they spent the night in each other's company before sneaking up to their respective homes before the break of dawn.

As the darkness dwindled the next morning & his eyelids slowly opened, he could see the yellow scarf, his fingers tightly clenched around it. He'd held it close to his heart all morning. He got ready & with the scarf in hand he huffed & puffed his way up the steep precipe of a hill to reach the oak tree. As he approached the summit, the view seemed breathtaking. The blue sea all over & the ships scattered around like ants in the background. He could now see the oak tree perched bang in the middle of the summit, it was the only tree up there.

Elated & joyous he approached the big oak tree to find a strong branch to tie the scarf onto. As he got closer he could see many scarves tied around the tree. ''Many courting couples wanting to make their love immortal'' he chuckled with a smile across his face from ear to ear. As he was about to tie the yellow scarf he happened to steal a glimpse out the corner of his eye at another scarf, just like his made out of the same silk material & having the same pattern. Out of curiosity he surged forward to take a closer look, it had her name clearly knit on it. His heart was shattered, the world around him seemed to collapse. He looked around and saw more scarves and many had her name written on it.

Tears streaming down his face & pain searing his chest he sat dejected. Until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to look around. In front of him stood the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Her silky smooth hair wavering around dancing with the breeze made her look like a fairytale genie, her eyes the colour of heaven. The radiance of her velvet skin making the glow of the sun look insignificant. The perfume so intoxicating that he was lost in hallucination once again. ''This is not a dream, this can't be a mirage'' he convinced himself rubbing his eyes in disbelief. Not until she held out her hand and held open a yellow scarf with one rock in it and said '' I need another one to tie this scarf, will you add that rock for me? '' & kissed him.

P. S. - A fiction based on a mix of multiple true facts. Opinions are the sole ownership of the reader's discretion. Haha Enjoy.

Strangers

We are strangers, you and I

destined to nothing,

but a hello & a bye.

a casual glance, a smile

a desire to make merry

Before reburying back

Into the blackberry

Strangers? Not quite yet

You and I

A salsa of the uncertain,

Of half hearted steps,

uncomfortably taken

unbeknown of a how & when

a catastrophic miscalculation

Aint we strangers any more?

you and I

days when dreams annexed reality

nights when fantasies conquered chastity

that disappeared in a crimson tsunami

disseminating any honour left or any vanity

No we aren't strangers any more

You and I

And when the malice's passed

With the years gone by

When we've shed our tears

& laughed our guts away

A life fruitfully withstood

It may be then,

it may be then that you look back

retrospect back memory lane

a stranger that you knew

and wonder

Wonder if he remembers you

Late

Perhaps its too ''late'' to write this story but however dark be the cloud there is always a ''late'' lining. I am going to narrate an incident which exemplifies exactly that.


Jogging my memory at a cheetah's pace to back in the day a few years ago, it was a ''late'' December evening when I had called her and called her ''late''. I then had a good night's sleep and then disaster struck like a chain reaction.

• The alarm rang ''late''

• I got up ''late''

• Approached the bathroom to brush my teeth, take a bath, drink some milk and head to the meeting rendezvous but I had forgotten to get the soap, paste and milk the previous day.

• I sashayed across to the corner shop. It was shut & the shopkeeper was ''late''.

• I didn't brush, didn't take bath, didn't drink milk. My phone's battery battery was down, the electricity wasnt there & it was supposed to come back on ''late''

• I hurriedly put on my clothes & witht the rickety battery I had, I left the house ''late''

• Tried kick-starting the motorbike but it didn't start, had to push it all the way across to the petrol station. Petrol station had a long queue & everyone seemed ''late''

• I said fuck it, parked my motorbike in a parking lot right there, decided to call the cab and the goddamn cab company executives picked up their phone ''late''

• Now having waited ages for them to pick the call, they now said there was some cab strike

• I tried to flag rickshaws, they were either full or the empty ones cane ''late'' and when asked to drive me to the destination the common reply was 'no sir, I don't go there' or just a nod to say no

• I cursed fuck em and hitched a ride on a jam-packed bus filled with people, The stench of human perspiration was choking my breath. However the bus stopped in all stops situated a few metres apart from each other whilst taking a long route. I couldn't get out due to the immense crowd. The bus finally reached the destination, but reached ''late''

• When i reached my destination thoroughly drenched with sweat and exhausted to the core. I found the seat empty and she wasn't there. I thought she was pissed with me and left. With the remaining little battery I had on my phone, I called her bracing for the angry impact for calling her ''late''

• She picked up the call and said ''Sorry kats, I might be LATE''.

The Letter

Based on a true story ....

The drops of rain relentlessly battered the glass windows & the tin roof, a constant symphony & cacophony alike. Water slowly seeping down made the world look slow & trippy, like the desert heat melting away & the sweet aroma of wet mud adding that phantasmagoria in him. Sat next to the window was he looking at the rain. The rain was wasting its time trying to ebb his thinking off his wandering fascination. If you traced a way through his lost eyes into his skull & inside that sticky, slimy grey matter you'd know that today was the day of happiness. A day he'd been waiting for all month. The day he'd get a glimpse of a different world, the day the letter would arrive.

He was quite young for his age, in the initial phases of adolescence. Incarcerated within high walls & more so within the strict rules of the residential school.. he was after all another dog in the manger. Life was as tough as it was exciting. It had been months since he'd been out of those high walls. The last time he'd jumped to watch a movie & he got caught. As a punishment, his head was shaved, his food rationed & all his leave cancelled for the whole year. The only salvation for him now would be a taste of the outside world.. a glimpse of his angel. Of his best friend who stayed very far away from him & yet strangely enough, was wandering in his heart & thoughts all day long. The helping hand when he'd lost a battle. The lending invisible shoulder when he felt asleep, the divine fingers that shut his eye every time a single tear dripped past his cheeks. She'd promised to write him like she did all the time & today was the day that letter would arrive. His thoughts were thus indeed elsewhere.

Through the window of his barracks, through the foggy glass & the pelting rain, he could make out the familiar brown shadow. Someone cycling down the road towards him. For once he knew that it would be postman chacha. Bursting with exuberism & excitement he bolted towards the entrance, only to find the school bully on the cycle with his letter in hand teasing him & cycling away at speed. It was then he ran, he ran in the rain dripping wet. His shoes & toes not caring about squishing any puddles or any frogs around. His heart racing faster than his fit of rage & his legs synchronising with his anger. He managed to catch up with the bully & he fought tooth & nail with the bully, punching, kicking, biting, scratching wherever possible. After a bitter battle of raining blow after blow & bruises all over his face he managed to win the battle while the bully fled.

As he looked down the road, the letter was shred to pieces by the bully & lying on the wet road scattered. He took his time, gathered each bit piece by piece. Took the letter & dressed it even before dressing his own wounds. It hurt like hell but yet he pieced the letter together like a jigsaw puzzle. Bit by bit joined by tape. The joy of reading that letter was far greater than the pain endured for possessing it. He smiled & tears streamed down his face, as relentlessly & as mercilessly as the rain.

The world outside is white & looks like a ghostly blanket in the glory of the moon's radiance. The tufts of snow slowly floating around the window sending me into a perpetual haze. It's a much better world now where everything's fair, where there is no wall to stop me or no rules to refrain me. In my hand is that devastated sheet of a letter. I can still smell the fragrance of her on it. Rivulets of tears are slowly streaming down my cheeks as mercilessly as the prevailing cold & snow, the memories cloud my head. I wonder whose invisible fingers will I see now.

Love at last sight

I looked at my watch once again. It's been 25 minutes and she's late again… as usual. The best friend whom I had known for over 15 years now. We played together as kids, went to the same school and even the same college. I never had to search for a new friend my whole lifetime. Human heart is so weak for I don't remember when I started having feelings for her. But she never saw me that way and I didn't have the courage to speak my heart out. If there is anything that I have hidden from her, then it is the fact that I have fallen in love with her. This is the last time I would be seeing her for atleast the next few years. Tomorrow she's going to US for MS and I would be doing my MBA here. I am adamant of not going to see her off at the airport tomorrow because I am afraid that I could breakdown in front of her. That's why we fixed a meeting at the railway station. I am still confused whether I should tell her that I love her before she leaves the country. Will that bring an end to our friendship?

Another local train has arrived. I got up from the bench and did a quick scan for her in the crowd. "Looking for someone?" a soft voice said from behind. I turned around and it was her; I just smiled. We sat down at the bench and looked into each other's eyes. She was looking more beautiful than usual. When someone is always with you, you never realise the importance of that person. You only realise it only when he/she goes away from your life. "Why are you so quiet?" she said slowly touching my shoulders. "Don't go" I said. She kept quiet. I know that even she doesn't want me to leave me and go. If it hurts for me, it would hurt for her too. But the difference is it hurts for her because I am her best friend, not because she loves me. "I am sorry" I continued "That was a stupid thing to say. I know you have to leave tomorrow". "You have anything to say to me?" she asked lifting her head looking straight into my eye. Sometimes that soft voice and the innocent look makes me blurt out the truth. But I need to restrain myself from any such step for I could lose her forever. All I could reply was "Come back soon". "Anything else?" she asked again. "No" I replied still half minded to tell her how much I love her. She left out a deep sigh and fell silent again.

Did she want me to say anything else?I didn't realise it then, but its been 5 minutes and we hadn't uttered another word. Another local train arrived at the station; its horn cutting though the silence. "I should be going now, there is lot left to pack" she got up suddenly and hurriedly walked towards the train. It took me a few seconds the regain composure. As she rushed to catch the train, hundreds of thoughts flickered through my mind. 15 years of friendship and this is how you depart? Leave alone a hug, not even a good bye? Has she completely forgotten my feeling in the dreams of US life? Not even a single tear? When did she become so stone cold? All she is worried about is her bloody packing.The train blew another horn as a signal to depart as she entered the train. She slowly turned and looked at where I was sitting as the train started moving. That's when I saw her eyes; it was as red as coal, wet from the tears streaming down her smooth cheeks. From her eyes I could read it; she loves me. Damn you idiot, why didn't you propose her? I don't know much about reflex action, but before I knew I was running hard to get into the train which was now picking up speed.

To this day I don't know why I ran behind the train; after all I could have called her on her mobile. Maybe I wanted to be physically present during the most romantic moment of my life. A policeman blew his whistle seeing me trying to get into the speeding train. But I could hear or see nothing. All I could see was her looking at me in amazement from the footboard of the train.The last bogie of the train would pass me any moment and so would my last chance to get into the train. I have jumped into speeding train during all my four years of college, but into a train moving this pace was something never attempted before. But this was no time to equate speed and velocity as I jumped and grabbed the handle bar… or so I thought.

I had seen in Discovery channel how you don't remember some event because your brain fails to register something that happened so quickly. I got up from where I had fell, unhurt and wondering how the hell I got here. But then I noticed the train was slowing down and then came to a complete stop at a distance. Maybe it didn't have the signal. Tears of happiness streaked down as I was sure she would get down the train. I climbed on the platform and ran hurriedly towards the train. This is very romantic I thought; typical bollywood movie where the Shahrukh khan and Kajol running towards each other at the railway station in the climax. Coming back to reality, all I could say was "What the hell?". It wasn't her alone who was running towards me, there was a whole crowd of passengers rushing to where I stood and between them I spotted her; completely pale like she is in some kind of shock.

That's when I looked behind and noticed a crowd at the platform gathered a few meters behind and looking down at the tracks. Oh my God… the train has hit someone and that's why the train has stopped; so the whistle of policeman was not for me after all. I didn't dare to look at the tracks coz the sight of blood makes me puke. I ran towards her panting and said "I love you". But she didn't respond and kept walking with the crowd. "You idiot!" I said to myself. I was so ashamed; some guy has just died and she is definitely terrified by the whole thing. Since she was watching me when I was running with the train, probably she had also seen the guy get hit. You have ruined the best moment of your life, a voice told me from inside. If only I had told her this after she had recovered from the shock. The way she reacted when I proposed, I felt she was too disturbed that she even heard it.

Anyway I jogged back and walked silently near her as she walked to the spot of accident. I was thinking whether to put an arm around her but decided to leave her alone. Just in case she did hear me propose, it's better not to say another word or touch her until she speaks first. She made her way through the crowd and I quietly followed behind. Ehw… is she really planning to see the dead body? When did she become so brave? I could smell fresh blood and I didn't dare to lean & look down. She slowly advanced forward to the verge of the platform and held the shoulders of a lady who was also looking at the body. Well, she caught a strangers hand and not mine. This meant she did hear me propose and the answer was definitely a big NO. I bit my lips with broken heart as I watched her slowly lean over the platform. Suddenly she fell backward on her knees and started brawling like a kid. She hanged on to the saree of the stranger and the lady tried to console her.

I wanted to help her back on the knees, but she was already receiving too much attention from strangers around her trying to do the same thing. They helped her on the feet and helped her on the bench. I silently went and sat beside her. A lady gave her water and kept rubbing her back. I knew she was a good girl at heart, but so much emotion was quite embarrassing. I mean it's ok to cry so much if a family member had died, but this was uncalled for. I should have stopped her from having a look at the accident, after all what did she except to see; a circus? She was still crying in the arms of the lady and still in a state of shock. People were still gathered around him and I could hear murmurs of how stupid it was for him to try and catch a running train. I then realised that it could have easily been me. I thanked God for keeping me alive, but felt bad for the guy who wasn't as lucky as me. Should I go and see it for myself? Maybe I should, otherwise I would never know how she feels at this time. I got up from the bench and slowly walked forward mentally preparing myself for the gross sight. I blinked my eyes, clenched my fist hard and let out a heavy sigh as I prepared for the first look. Slowly I leaned forward and looked down. My world was turned upside down as I saw the motionless body. I got to see the face of the dead man. I'd seen my own face, dead as a rock. !!!

_________________________

The Secret

The embers of the fireplace were slowly dying down fading from a bright yellow to a dull orange, the night was young & the whisky had its surrreal effect. The group huddled closer to garner the last ounces of heat in the cold night. I took a mighty drag from the Dunhill I'd just lit & passed it on to Bhargav. It was his turn to narrate.

'' The first time I'd met her was at my apartment. She'd knocked on the door & politely asked if I'd got a candle. There was no power for a while & it was pretty dark. I already had a candle lit & under its light I saw her face. She was ethereally beautiful. Those big brown eyes reflecting the wick of the candle, the smile like an angel. At that instant I knew I was in love with her. In the coming days I learnt she had just moved into the next door apartment. Every time I'd want to express my feelings, something held me back. Possessive that I was I kept tabs on her. After college she'd leave on her vehicle at 5 pm everyday & return by 7. She'd be on the terrace with the phone all night, talking to someone. Initially she used to be very happy. However after a few days I'd noticed she had stopped going to the mysterious destination and she'd cry at night. I thought she'd ended an affair & one day gathered enough courage to face her & express my feelings. Maybe she needed a new beginning. However as I was stepping out, I saw the television & my heart skipped a beat. She was on the news, she had disappeared. And from that day on I never saw her again. ''

The Dunhill was passed on to Sajjad who took the drag & narrated his part of the story.

'' I'd met her for the first time in the college library. I was browsing the shelves for a book & when I finally found it, i stretched my hand across to take it out & it came out of its own but in the other direction. And then I saw a pair of eyes looking at me. It was the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. From that moment on I was infatuated. I got to know she was my junior in college. She was introduced to me by a friend of mine. We were good mates & she spoke a lot but I always felt she had hidden secrets. My infatuation slowly drifted to love when I got to know her more. However her secret made me curious & one day I opened her bag . Inside one of the books lay the key to her mystery. 'A Letter'. She had a secret affair I didnt know of, The letter was pouring with love & wanting. Not one sentence gave out anything about him or mentioned his name. I decided that I'd crack this mystery & one evening I followed her on my vehicle. The mist had covered the mountains & the road was hardly visible. She took a detour off road & hit a rocky path. I had to keep up pace as the distance between us lengthened & after a bend she'd vanished in the mist. I followed the path for as long as it went & the path ended in a cliff. Dejected I headed back. As i entered college the next day people flocked around me & then I got to know she'd disappeared. ''

The cigarette went on to Pinto & as he drew the puff, he narrated his part of the story

'' I used to work part time in the pub doing what I do best, playing the guitar. Of all the people who came there, most came to enjoy the drink & a few who enjoyed the music along with the drink & just one who came in purely for the music. That was when I noticed her. She was reserved, minded her business & didn't touch a drop of drink & yet she was there, day in day out listening to the guitar. Her mere presence made me forget the world around me & took me to a hypnotic euphoria & my music sounded even better. That was when I fell in love with her. I always felt she possessed a secret & that was what brought her here. The last time I saw her was when I was taking the evening jog along the cliff in the mist. She was heading down a rough path which leads to the edge. It used to be my school hangout. A viewpoint & a precipe. I wondered if I should let my feelings known to her that day. But it was just not the occasion, I was knackered by the run & thus I headed back home. She never came to the pub henceforth & that was the last time I saw her. ''

The cold was creeping in with the wind. The stars felt like a million paparazzi taking our photographs. The mist was piling in & we couldn't even see each other's faces. The embers of the flame was dying down & so was the cigarette. It was burnt right till the filter & my part of the story died with the cigarette. However the story lies deep within me & it is as fresh as it used to be years ago. It was something I couldn't tell anyone.

I'd met her at the Archies outlet. I'd gone in to get a gift for my mom's birthday & there she was. The most beautiful girl I'd set my eyes on. At that time I was living off my pocket money from my parents & I had a fraction of it left. With all I had I purchased a greeting card with a beating heart & a rythmic song & by reflex gave it to her. She was impressed & i invited her to my mom's birthday. I didn't even know her name & she didn't know mine. However she came that night, she looked so beautiful that night.. ''Like a Goddess'' I thought. And that night I took her number & we began to talk on the phone. She sounded more beautiful then she looked. The more I got to know her the more I liked her. We'd meet at the cliff edge every evening, watch the sun disappear & that evening I poured my heart out. For one blissful moment I thought everything was lost but the next moment she hugged me. For some reason we kept our relationship a secret. She liked it that way. However she was unhappy about my lady friends & she became possessive. She wanted every second of my time. My freedom was lost & our relationship took a U turn. I stopped talking to her & answering her calls. She then got desperate & slipped a letter under my gate one night. I got hold of the letter before my parents got to know & got a rude shock. She'd threatened me with taking her own life by falling off the cliff the next evening if I didn't meet her.

And that evening was filled with mist & fog hiding the sun behind it. I'd come in earlier, nerves on end about her behaviour. And finally she came. When I saw her I pitied her. Her eyes were dark & she had cried a lot. But my pity turned to anger when she shouted at me, pouring out her suspicions about me & my friends, my life. I couldn't take it any more & I decided to walk away. But she grabbed me by the collar. I pushed her off me & she lost her balance. Before I could grab her she was down the cliff. I heard the scream & the thud. And this was my part of the story.

Monkey Business

Dear Almighty, I look at that shooting star in the sky tonight & wish I were a monkey. We have been living since the forests were thick & the rivers were full. Jumping from tree to tree, tormenting animals that cannot climb & enjoying the creeper ride whilst wishing I remain a monkey.

Up yonder that tall tree, grew plenty of arecanut. The buffalo & gazelle looked on hungrily whilst I made it right to the top with my super hands & feet and gorged the delicacy. I still remember those days when we used to huddle together as a single family, in a single file. My mother used to take off the lice on my back while I used to take of the lice on my sister's. It was so much fun playing hide & seek among the trees, swinging around the creepers.



Wind in my hair & sand on my feet, I used to hop around the woods. Up from my vantage point I could sense the malice of the approaching tiger & warn the gazelle of incoming danger. My tail wriggling back & forth I would rattle the branch to scare the owl away. I would fight my brother with broken twigs & we would then feast on the banana branches. The forest was full of goodies. Right until the arrival of the human being.



When they came the green forests turned grey, what was once our playground, was fenced & we couldnt play anymore. The food decreased as the trees began being cut. My family soon split as the others went far away looking for forests undiscovered by man. I decided to adopt to the changes and started hanging around with the tailless beings like many of my friends.

The food became so scarce that the remaining of us had to cross the fence to satisfy our hunger. The tresspass was not tolerated & my friends started getting killed one by one, either when dogs bit them, or when they were poisoned or when they were shot. What they worshiiped as their God were being hopelessly massacred. I had once stared down the barrel of that gun, but before he could fire, I ran away & hid in the forest.



I have no one to play with now & no food left in the forest. & so Dear Almighty I now look at the setting sun and wish I were not a monkey.




P.S. - In memory & support of all those monkeys being mercilessly killed in the malnad region by heartless cold blooded farmers.

Camouflage

Deep in the dark misty woods of the malnad mountains along the western ghats, situated on the west coast of India, there resides a plethora of animals. From the smallest to the biggest.

Each has its own way of survival. In this cruel world of green, there exists no rules of engagement & therefore no rooms for error, no points for second place & quite rightly as charles Darwin states 'Survival of the fittest' is absulutely necessary. The inhabitants of the forest are by themselves divided into two basic categories.

1. Predator

2. Prey

From a survival point of view, one has to be either fast in the game or one has to be clever, or the game is up. In this post I am going to have a wee chatter about the clever group. We have a few clever specimen with us right here in this post.



The first contender in this competition is the stick cricket, something what I personally call as the ''branch boy''. This perticular species has a remarkable ability to use the mighty deception called camouflage. An art which was copied by almost all armies & whose colourful costumes are sported by the most ruthless of dictators and the most exotic of dancers. By naturally being so thin & by possessing the colour of a twig, this clever whippersnapper masquerades as a twig for as long as he can hoodwink the potnetial prey into presuming that he is indeed a twig. And as soon as he gets the chance he hunts with top speed.



The second contender shown above is the ''colourless butterly'', I personally nicknamed him 'the swamp thing' by his colourless looks and his ability to copy the background in such a way that he appears invisible to the untrained eye. However he settles down in his new surrounding quite comfortably with the imperative knowledge that neither predator nor prey can spot him. Right until the moment the unsuspecting prey walks onto him, & he grabs them & its within his grasp in a second.



The next contender is the twig grasshopper whom I personally call the ''Green Beret''. By looking like the branch and leaves of a plant, he silently makes his way behind enemy lines without being spotted by predators casting evil eyes. The plant in itself with its twig & leaves is a source of food to many insect species like the butterfly, the beetle & the ant. Little do they know that the twig they are standing or walking on is the predator itself who at the first opportunity blows his cover & ambushes his prey with superatural speed.



However clever these contenders be, there is a special contender who has survived for a squillion years with his ruthless cunning & deceptive looks. He's none other than the Calote. I call him ''Rambo''. Although he looks like a dinasaur, he is far smaller in size. His tiny body is made up of many many colourful scales that imitate the branch of a tree. With strong limbs and a stronger tail, he can virtually traverse in any direction including downright vertical. His earlobes are invisible but some of the sharpest and its got a special feature of vibration recognition which many predators and prey dont possess. The 3 above contenders think they are the boss & are pretty overconfident about their deception, while our Rambo has already seen through their deception in seconds & combined with his own deception, hoodwinks them into thinking they are safe. With a quick microsecond lap of his sticky tongue, he gulps his prey in no time & wins the contest by a mile.

& therefore its upto you folks to decide whos the winner because I already have.

Remorse

There are a few misconceptions people have over others & point it out across to other people being too impatient & daft without even realising that they themselves are on the wrong track and they were wrong all along and others were right. But by the time they realise & attempt to redeem what wrong they’ve done, what hurt they’ve caused, it’s too late. I don’t know why I’m penning this thoughts down in this post, I somehow felt like from deep within, perhaps in an attempt to redeem the hurt I’ve caused to others. Turning the clock anticlockwise some thousands of revolutions backwards in time, I can remember a time when I did something really daft & by the time I realised that it was too late. But it taught me a valuable lesson in life, A lesson which turned the course of my life. Something I can never ever forget and I would like to share this with you folks.

I was a kid back then, in a constant process of learning. I come from an armed forces background. With my father in the Indian Air Force, he used to frequently keep getting transferred across the length & breath of the country. And with that I was forced to abandon my home, my school, my friends and everything that I loved & felt a belonging to. To top it all I had no sibling with whom I could share my happiness, sorrows, fears & jokes. This was one such occasion. We were taking the train to our new destination with all our earthly belongings. We were supposed to be travelling second class 3 tier sleepers with 3 berths on either side of a compartment within a compartment. As the train arrived, due to the rush & to our dismay the reservation was such that my parents were in one compartment & me in another compartment. I felt happy to be free & make myself some new friends and enjoy some terrific views across the window.

It was night by the time I boarded the train & everyone else who came from the previous stations were sleeping. I was given the lowest berth on one side, I showed my ticket to the ticket collector & slept closing the window, resting my head on my wee bag and covering myself with a thin bed sheet. The journey was a couple of days long. So the next day as I got up, I could see that there were an elderly Punjabi couple sitting in front of me and a scattering of a few other old villagers across the sides & upfront. The Punjabi man in front of me looked tall & powerfully built with a trimmed beard. I greeted them and introduced myself to Mr & Mrs Singh. Mr Singh appeared to be sitting cross legged on the berth with a shawl over his legs and Mrs Singh was lying next to him laying her head on Mr Singh’s thighs. They asked all about me and we had a refreshing chat. By their behaviour they appeared to be quite posh. It seems Mrs Singh was very sick & diagnosed with cancer & they were taking her to a certain town for chemotherapy.

As I looked out the window, the wind blew at my face and the trees swished past at great speed, but after time the trees seemed to be swishing slower & the wind blowing lesser lesser in intensity. And finally I could hear hooting & the train arrived at a station. As the train halted, Mr Singh asked me ‘Beta Kartik, Can you please get us 2 cups of tea from the station stall, here is the money. I smiled, obliged and quickly dashed across the platform & got them the tea. And so the train began chugging again & things were uneventful until the arrival of the next station. Yet again Mr Singh tapped me on the shoulder and asked me ‘Beta Kartik, Here is some money. Can you please get us a bottle of mineral water and some biscuits? ‘I obliged yet again nodding my head, dashed across to the platform and got what they wanted. And the train chugged again and everything remained uneventful until the next station arrived. Mr Singh tapped me on the shoulder & asked me ‘Beta Kartik, Can you please get us some breakfast from her station stall, here is some money. ‘With a hint of irritation at being used again & again I unwillingly obliged & dashed across the platform and got them what they wanted.

The train chugged on and the trees swished past again, I was lost in dreams and my reverie was disturbed by the tapping of Mr Singh, he said ‘Beta Kartik, the next station ahs arrived, can you please get me a newspaper, here is some money’. I was obviously irritated this time round. Why was I treated like a servant, why was I being made the scapegoat? Could I not enjoy the train journey without hopping across the platform at every stop? This time my anger took the better of me & I confronted the elderly man and told him upfront ‘What do you think I am? Your servant? Every station that comes, you ask me to get something or the other. I am not going this time. You look so strong & well built. Why don’t you go get the things yourself? Shame on you that you are using innocent kids like me for doing your jobs.’ By the time the other passengers questioned Mr Singh & reminded him to leave me alone as they were observing all this for quite a long time.

At this juncture the train had blown the whistle & started chugging on, Mr Singh was taken aback with my frankness & made a sad face & looked at me in the eye and asked me. ‘Do you really want to know why I was asking you to get stuff for me?’ I retorted ‘Yes indeed, I would definitely demand an explanation’. He then opened the shawl he was covering his legs on & I got the shock of my life. There were no legs. Both his legs were amputated up to the thigh. I was taken so aback that I was shocked. He then began narrating something I can never ever forget. ‘Son, I was a major in the army. And in the war in 1973 as I was leading my platoon to enemy occupied territory amidst heavy artillery shelling & firing, I stepped on a landmine and it ripped my legs apart and they had to amputate my legs to save my life. I am glad I am alive. My son lost his life while fighting terrorists in Kashmir. If I had my legs son, I would have gone to get the things myself and had my son been alive, he would have got it for me and I thought you were like my son.’ Saying this he hugged Mrs Singh & both of them began to cry’. I was taken aback, tears streaming down my face I begged them for an apology. And surprisingly after all I had done he apologised me & hugged me. We felt like one family, one blood, one caste, one religion as proud countrymen of our motherland. He then said ‘Son, we have sacrificed a lot because the country comes first for us above family, above religion, above caste and even above our own mothers. I hope your generation keeps up the esteem of our nation & let her flag run high and proud because son, if there is one mother above all mothers, its our motherland. Azad Hind.’