The Moment Story

Once Upon A Time:

The constellations seemed to smirk at each other. Each one trying to belittle the other one with its pattern. Such was the pattern in their behaviour.

It was midnight and it was the exact same beach. Same pattern. Ann sat there by the shore taking a final look at the stars. They were there at the exact same place as envisioned. Same pattern. And mocking each other. "It does work", she thought.

A tear made a quick appearance on her sand swept turquoise eyes. The heart felt the deep murmur. Hesitation. But she could not let this moment go. She had earned the moment.

With a lot of conviction, she finally turned her neck and looked behind. The corner of the iris felt the presence of a very familiar figure. Her father. He was right there. Pitching up the tent in the white sand. In the Maui sand. At the best beach she had ever known.

It was the moment. With the only man she had ever loved.

She mustered the courage to get up and ran up to the same man with a 12 year old gait.

A Long Time Before Once Upon A Time:

Ann ran to her father and tugged his leg. There was an unknown fear in her eyes.

"What happened to my princess?"

Multitude of tears billowed down the cheeks. He sensed something wrong. She had never cried before. Ever. Confusion enveloped him. But he knew why. In an impulse, he lifted her in his arms and hugged her tightly.

That feeling, that warmth calmed Ann. A few sniffs. It was calm at the beach. They were there alone. At the best beach in the world on a wonderful moonlit night with clear skies.

"You okay, my darling"

"Why did God take away Mommy, Papa?", she whispered still in his arms.

He hesitated. A spasmodic spasm. He patted Ann gently on her back.

"Papa, will you ever leave me?"

He hugged her. He kissed her. He whispered back.

"Never, my child. Never."

That feeling, that warmth.

Indeed, it was a great moment. The best for Ann.

A Few Moments After Once Upon A Time:

Ann ran up to her father and tugged his leg. There was some unknown happiness in her eyes.

"What happened to my princess?"

"Papa, I just want to say that I love you a lot"

An angelic smile beamed on his face. In an impulse, he lifted her in his arms and hugged her tightly.

"Now my 12 year old has grown a lot. Has she been watching a lot of Hollywood?", he retorted back at her playfully, still in his arms.

"Papa, you are the greatest person I have ever known. I waited for this moment all my life, this very moment to tell you this - that I love you a lot."

He found all this a bit bewildering. Confusion earmarked the wrinkles on his face.

"Woah woah woah! What is my little child saying? Are you ok, darling? Is everything alright? Tell Papa what is happening?"

"I do not have much time, Papa. All I need is a tight hug", she whispered.

With that she lunged deeper into his arms and cried.

A Few Seconds Before Once Upon A Time:

The entire world is watching. A loudspeaker blurting.

"The countdown is about to begin. Our winner, the 87 year old Ann MacMahon has just entered the chamber. And is about to embark on her 5 minute journey. We wish her luck."

"5...4...3...2...1..."

The 45 Minute Story

I boarded the bus. It was a Volvo this time. Whatever comes first has been my motto; the regular rag-tag diesel munching bus or the smart sleek red cold one, it doesn't matter. Time and destination is the essence. (Albeit, there are times when the journey matters more than the destination; but in Bangalore, it is healthy to give up that ideal.)

The transporter welcomed me. With indignation. Without a seat. It was fine for me. All I needed was a fine cozy corner to spend the next 45 minutes standing. How accomodating could the corner I found be, with the cold air blowing right above me. I glanced at the dial on my cellphone. 9.30 am. Soft but a determined sunlight bursting through the glass onto me, where it died a frozen death. Reconstructing the final moments of its demise philosophically took me a minute to decipher. 44 minutes remaining. I should have carried a book, I thought.

I surveyed the people around me. A genial gentleman stood right next to me, balancing via the top handle. Had an extremely ill-fitting dress sense though. Now don't get me wrong. But I'd never wear a Hawaiian-beachwear-blue shirt to go along with teal trousers. In such a eclectic dress, I'd also rather not wear light brown 800 bucks worth sneakers (well, disregard the price, not the sneakers though). To top it off, would I carry a leather suitcase, which had the hallmark of a top notch brand (Can't reveal the brand as I am not brand conscious)? 

Ticket please, a square jaw mumbled from somewhere. Turning around, a square jaw-faced guy who also had a square face gave an appealing look. Or was it impatient? Difficult to guess, but I think it was more the latter - the way he eyed me suggested that. The conductor who is supposed to be conducting is indeed conducting - impatiently. Majestic, I said. As I reached out for the wallet, a strange question mark took over my brain cells (the Riddler types!). Was the term "conductor" defined for the bus waala type or for the musical symphony? Not that I care. But I wanted an answer. Now. Etymology gave me hope. Latin gave me hope.

Meanwhile, the appealing dude continued to get irritated by me and before he could lambast me, I gave him the perfect change he always aspires for. And boy, how thrilled he was. That cherubic smile reflected that (ok, cherubic is for kids - but he gave a kid-getting-a-lollypop look, so!). I was the ideal passenger. Yay!

And then a bigger yay. Or maybe a gasp. As she boarded the bus. A breath of fresh air. Scented by the glory of Ponds and a dash of uhhh - which perfume could that be - frankly, I dunno - not good at perfumes you see. The thin kohl, the absolutely straight pitch-black shimmering hair, the rustle of the green bangles, the art laden droops from the ear... (some 10 other things, which cannot be revealed for lack of space)... yada yada yada. She found the immediate corner next to mine. Yay! She surely saw me...maybe from the corner of her eye. Ohh, she also was...yada yada yada. I maybe swooning right now to everyone's embarassment, but she really was...yada yada yada. The next moment, she broke my heart. Out came her cellphone, the glimpse of which bought a lissome smile on her face. Eagerly, pressing the answer button, she started eyeing the non-existent horizon dreamily. That was it. I was always late.

Thank the Volvo god, that a wail hailed the end of this ignominy. There she was. A two year old, who understood me so well and had to feel hungry right then. Enveloped in pink, she was the cutest thing ever. To tell you something as a matter of fact, babies have this wonderful social sense of getting the maximum attention. Either they should just smile at every possible grown-up or wail the loudest in a radius of 20 meters. Whatever they choose, sympathy is garnered. Food is gathered from all directions - cake pieces, biscuits etc. Smiles are handed for free. That way, I was able to see the different side of all the mostly sad morose faces who basically were as bored as me - or were as bitchy as me. (Am I really bitching? I thought I am just describing life the JD Salinger way).

The wail continued. The genial gentleman was actually too nice, smiling uninterruptedly at the baby - my apologies to him, probably he is some hot-shot fashionista deciding to travel than being chauffered. The conductor kept conducting in his cherubic manner. The...the...the girl was still dreaming...with the phone to her ear.

I looked at the dial. Still 30 minutes to go. I turned a lil bit and moved my attention the other side.

Who's next?

The Cafe Coffee Day Story

The whiff of smoke decided to curl this time. An instant later, it formed a circle. Slowly vaporizing into the steamy humid Sunday afternoon.

Life had come full circle.

They sat there looking at each other. A tear had already made an unpleasant appearance.

On a steamy Sunday afternoon in Cafe Coffee Day, history was being repeated.

"What made you do this?" she asked.

A second tear somehow eked out of the other eye and made its presence felt.

Another whiff of smoke. No curls this time.

"I thought it long and hard. I had no choice," he said with the same trademark nonchalance.

She palpitated. Those words ran through her heart faster than what the blood could imagine.

"Is this really happening?" she thought.

Without any further drooling, he removed the sheaf of papers and placed it on the desk. A pen rolled on top of it for a moment and aligned its tip over the Gandhi photo of the government document.

She gingerly picked up the document and read the part that mattered the most.

Another tear.

The signature came very soon. He had hesitated for a second.

She grabbed the document and took a long drag. This time the cigarette felt better than the last time. The smoke was happier than before.

He could not hold himself anymore. Tears enveloped his face now. With utter disregard to an ogling waiter, a few yards away.

"Slut....bitch...whore, may you burn in hell" he squeaked to her in the mad reverie. She returned back the cute yet evil grin. He stood up, picked up his briefcase and handed the same ogling waiter a 500 rupee note, before storming out of the cafe.

The waiter observed the prim gentleman in the decorous Armani suit get into the Prius and scream onto the accelerator. He gazes towards the table where he had turned into a cry baby. The sexy lady (with the deep cleavage) was picking up her purse and getting ready to leave. He knew her. He had seen her before. Every few months, with different guys. But a similar sheaf of papers.

The Room 102 Story

Act II:

The door bell shrieked.

Scenario 1:
The sweat dripped profusely. Her heartbeat raced faster than time. The time had lapsed into submission. She decided, it is better to give up.

She gingerly inched towards the door. Pangs of guilt enveloped the innocence that wanted to scream. The teak monolith glared at her, suppressing a wooden laugh. A knob overturn and it's all over for her.

Scenario 2:
The sweat dripped profusely. Her heartbeat raced faster than time. The time had lapsed into submission. A steely determination still lay somewhere within her inner being.

Shaken but not stirred; she held the sharp knife - the same she used a few minutes back. They are all the same, she thought as the door lay a few paces away.

Scenario 3:
The sweat dripped profusely. Her heartbeat raced faster than time. The time had lapsed into submission. She had to hide.

The window. The parapet. The ledge. Climbing the balcony. Stairs. Wall. Road. Freedom. She knew she was fit enough to do this. Destiny had to be averted. Moments later, she lunged for the window.

Scenario 4:
The sweat dripped profusely. Her heartbeat raced faster than time. The time had lapsed into submission. Hapless and lost, she felt dizzy.

The corrugated knife - the same one she used a few minutes back - felt light. Past memories zoomed as portraits. Life had no meaning for her. It has to end. Soon. Now.

Another bell ring.

Act III:

Scenario A:
The silence was numbing. The commotion had died. Maybe, its all over and we should head back, they thought. But she persisted. As far as she knew, the room next to theirs was almost always empty; though sometimes frequently by an aloof young lady. Suspicious and quiet, albeit never prone to nuisance. They had heard a man's voice sometime back followed by the screams. This new generation, what can you say...

Scenario B:
There was a flip in his step. Why is she taking so long? The idea of giving her the gift and gaze amorously at that cherubic face, it seemed so dreamy to him. So perfect! The gift she so direly wanted lay in his hands- gift wrapped. The tiny insignia on top of the gift read "With lots of love". Damn! Why is she taking so long?

Scenario C:
The two cops were genuinely annoyed. This was just the kind of situation they attend to everyday and 9.9 out of 10 times, it turns out to be a trivial family fight. They were police officers for mother-sister-freaking-sakes and no social crusaders to uphold family values. They wanted real gun action where they could exert real power- no soap business. Alas, some goddamn neighbor calls after hearing a scream and there they are: hoping for that 0.1 chance of real action. Now what's goin on here?

Scenario D:
Room No 102. He checked his Blackberry Storm again. Right. The apartment building also seems right. He glanced around. The 3 other closed doors stared back. Teak ones. Relief was evident on him. The pimp had confirmed this was the rendezvous. He knew, he can't be fooled with the amount he had paid. Why am I getting so excited? Or jittery? The crisp white shirt was indeed perspiring in the cold night. Life to change after the door opens.

Act I:

Scenario i:
He struck her with the monstrous hand that had besmirched many. Never dream more, you piece of shit. Another kick.

He gloated and headed for the fridge. In the corner, the sobs continued.

A few minutes later, death greeted him.

Scenario ii:
The lock clicked. She was home early. Ill, tired and weary. Rest and nap direly needed. That should rejuvenate enough to cook for two.

TV noise in the bedroom. Is he home already? Shock and awe. Betrayal.

A few minutes later, death greeted them.

Scenario iii:
He entered into her very being. It was egregiously blatant. How could he do this to me? She could not take the pain and the humiliation. Along with the scream and the sob came the realization.

A few minutes later, death greeted him.

Scenario iv:
They made love. He felt himself levitating in the Garden of Eden. True bliss. He never wanted to leave her from his grasp.

An excuse. A bathroom break. A sudden spasm in the back. Sob.

A few minutes later, death greeted him.

The Journal Story

Submitted it for a flash fiction contest on Livejournal. And made it to the top 100. Tres tres happy!
-----

I live therefore I am.

I have seen it all. Conception in lonely times. Nature's fury. Almost freezing to death. Grotesque creatures. Water. Smelly places. Mutations. Flight. Intelligence. Brown. Journal.

In the next 450 words, my autobiography is succinctly explained. The future is uncertain. But optimistic.

I owe my birth to an amoeba. It needed me - a cell to survive. I was too glad to help. Sometime soon though, it got bored of me and broke me off into two. Reason he gave me: dude...need to go this. Gotta spread the genes.

One fine day, I got gobbled by a slimy tentacled hydra. It was funny the way it happened. And know what, all my subsequent hosts believed they were handsome.Ask me for Christ's sake? Ohh wait, Christ comes later in the story!

Evolved into a crude spiky puny fish who thought it was huge. Entered the guts of a salmon. Polar bear. Dinosaur. Mammoth. Hyena. You name it. Every living creature's deepest "gut" secret I know.

Meteor came. Things were screwed. I lay decomposed. Probably would have died a natural death. Guess I had some will-power though. Gotta spread the genes, you know.

Ice age came. Water rose. Brrrrr. Would have been engulfed forever under ice. My saviour turned out to be a silly old sea weed. He was nice unlike anyone I ever saw. I still celebrate the anniversary of our integration.

Life changed. Warmth around. Was shuttled around between planktons, fishes, whales, octopuses, squid (the one-eyed funny ones), shrimps. Until I entered birds. And I loved them for their flight. It was cool to be a part of an eagle's wing. Saw the world with an eagle eye's view. Pun intended!

Discovered man after he thought eating a dodo's eggs was in vogue. Men are serious capricious guys. You never know what they are up to. And yeah that Christ guy I talked about - he apparently was some sort of messiah. Realized it while residing in someone's brain. Him and others like Allah, Krishna, Buddha were these alpha dudes whom my hosts always thought of and were willing to fight for. Wish I were part of those. Maybe some distant cousin of mine got to feel them.

Here's also an axiom from my experience. Men are eternal flirts. Women are eternal attention-seeking! Not eating my words.

From man, I moved to flora through a hermit who died in the Himalayas. Grew big into a tree. Could see beautiful snow capped peaks around. Ahh, life was so beautiful. Until I was cut one day and put into a shredder. An interesting avatar evolved. I became paper.

So it ends here that I am a paper in a journal. I will be written on soon by a historian who wants to etch on me an encyclopedia of evolution on Earth. Right from the first cell. From me.

I smirk. Maybe its joy. Life has turned full circle. What a long quirky journey! Isn't it?

The Crossroads Story

Tiny wisps of clouds in the sky. So liberating, thought S.

Why can't I be like them? Free, iridescent and always moving on.

The bright fall morning piggybacked a cool breeze blowing from the south along rue Guy. As she gloomily trudged herself on rue de' Maissoneuve, the conundrum kept getting difficult to solve as she approached the crossroad with rue Guy. Immediately, the wind hit her with mocking disdain.

This was where it had all begun. Gazing at Norman Bethune with an apoplectic glance, she reached for the bench. With her back to him, S removed the crumpled tissue leftover and smudged her smudgy eyes.

The wind gathered steam. Her jacket was good enough to ensconce her from any ruthless disdains. The sniffing continued though, littering drops of pain in every direction.

---
Finally, the cold wind bought a smile to M's lips. The black ones had opened up and the wind could get a taste of the nicely ordered teeth inside. He was euphoric. No...jubiliant.

Luck enfin brille sur moi! Dieu est grand. (Luck finally shone on me. Oh Almighty, you are great!)

Today, he won't stay hungry. He will treat himself to the corner dollar pizza.

The grizzled hair had been falling due to the stress. Illegal in this new country. A life totally arcane and non-existent. A life incomparable to his home in Morocco. Except for the lucre.

With a forged identity and a stash of wrongdoings, he had somehow made it to Montreal. A month of job bootings later, he finally got the dream job. Dish-cleaner. It would all accumulate up to a 1000$ a month. He would easily survive with 150$ and the rest would go to his wife and children back home.

He found a bench. He needed time to swallow the feeling. Sinking will take eons. Introspection. Dreams fulfilled. Light. Rainbow. Beyond the heliosphere.

Dieu est grand, M muttered loudly.

With an obvious disregard to a lady sitting on the same bench a meter away.

---
P scribbled the final stanza.

Ummm...not too bad this poem of mine. The Trapeze's Final Jump.

He pored over the bright sun illuminating the sky and wondered if it could inspire him to write something more jazzy. Clutching the coffee, he moved his heavy body up from the chair. After a bit of struggle of course. The Tim Horton's attendant asked him if he needed help. He politely refused and moved out in the sun. On his wheelchair.

The wind shook him. But he was too strong to be shaken.

Today is just the day dedicated to us poets, he joked to himself. Eccentric, wavering and omnipotent

He liked the empty space just next to the bench. As he pumped some power to get himself moving, he noticed two humans on the bench - solemn and soulful in their own right.

P had already found the theme for his new poem. The Bench. Maybe, he could sell this as another best-seller of his.

---
Norman Bethune looked on. He had been standing there for years. Below him, lived K. Drunk and lonely. But forever happy. Babbling something. About how life is beautiful. Ragged, senile and haggard, but basking in the limelight of reciting every dialogue from Frank Capra's 1946 movie "It's a Wonderful Life".

Another swig.

In a zany quirk, he shouted "It's a Wonderful Life, isn't it people? My fellow brothas and sistas"

---
S turned around and gave an amalgamating look of disdain and total cynicism.

M turned around, hollered Oui and gave a big thumbs-up.

P turned around and gave him a sarcastic smile wrinkled with poetry and lameness.

Norman Bethune stood there - as always. Glumly, savoring the crossroads of life.

60 Years Later

15th August, 1947:

Its midnight. Three wails and cries were heard.

Three umbilical cords were cut. One with the precision of a surgeon, one with a scissor operated by a sophomoric nurse and the third with a blunt knife allegedly/ruggedly by a midwife.

One at a posh hospital in Delhi, the second at a rundown dispensary in Mysore, the third at an unknown village near Gorakhpur, UP.

The only string that bonded them was that they were born free.

15th August, 2007:

The first one, whom I would name Pravasi has just come back home. To see the land of his birth. To extract from the far recesses of his memory, the childhood he had spent here. He is a tad disappointed that he is not able to remember the local dialect fluently. All those 45 years spent abroad in comfort. A California seaside duplex. Interacting with the who's who of the world. Munching tacos and burgers at every go. But never completely accepted. And the mother still willingly opens up her arms for him. He made the right decision. With that, Pravasi unfurles the Tiranga with a cautious euphoria. The Mother is proud of Pravasi's contribution.

The second one - India - had to work his way out to be what he is. Getting educated was the biggest prize of his life. He owes that a lot to his parents, who despite all the hardships, saved enough to send him to school. His English speaking skills attracted a government job, where he fought the license raj. Starting with a basic of Rs 300 a month, he worked his way up the ladder the hard way. Today, he is optimistic of his children's future. A nice bungalow in Bangalore. Married children working in top notch IT organizations. Life's good. With that, India unfurles the Tiranga with unbridled enthusiasm. The Mother adores India.

The third one, Bharat does not realise the importance of his birthday. Was it fate? A life gone awry? Hard work never reaped dividends. Back breaking work at the fields. Countless days of hunger. Droughts. Floods. Why were the Gods so agnostic to him, when he has tended to Him every single day of his life? Why hasn't the price of pulses gone up all these years? Why are the shehari-babus getting richer? He thinks of his three children. Maybe he should have dispatched them to the city to work in inhuman sweatshops. With that, the emaciated Bharat still raises the tiny paper Tiranga in his hand and salutes it - with no hope. The Mother loves Bharat and is very concerned.

This is the story of my lovely country.

Jai Hind!

The Paradise Story

Karim clutched the bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. An air of listlessness hung over him - a growing sense of palpable fear.

A tear suddenly screamed out from somewhere with him and he rushed inside to the dingy kitchen. Asma, his mother struggling with stoking the fire, suddenly felt a tug of arms around her with small squeals of cries.

Just as she turned round, the boy ran out.

"Whats wrong, Karim?"

But Karim was already out in the street. The tears had stopped rolling. A muezzin's prayer swamped his mind. He was more determined than ever.

He took a sharp left at an alley, where he had been just once before. It was a lonely path thinning down to a lone green door at the end. A soft knock later, he found himself in a dark room with three other boys like him. They smiled at him with total apprehension.

A beefy bearded middle-man greeted the four and led them to a corner where four heavy rucksacks lay.

"You four are the chosen ones. Very few in this world are handed a chance like this. So I hope you will not disappoint us."

The four looked at each other. Karim gave a forced nod to imply his earnestness. So did the others.

"Here in this bag lies your destiny."

They reached for their bags and felt it. Karim's mind forwarded to the moment he would press the button. Life would never be the same. Paradise.

"Take the bus to the Central Train Station. It will be very crowded. So just remember to press the button at the right place at the right time. May the power be with you"

The indoctrination was over. The man led them to the door, which was shut in no time.

An ephemeral silence enveloped the four as they made their way to the bus stop. Karim's mind digressed to what his mother and father would be doing at this time.

Father would be at his warehouse amidst all the junk scrap metal dealing with scruffy looking gentlemen. Mother would be nursing his 1 year old brother, who would have just woken up - with whatever food was available.

Should I have told them 'bout this?

As he mulled over the philosophy of life, he realised he was alighting the bus. He was already at the Central Train Station. It was bustling with people as expected. The four slowly made their way to the place where they would be doing the job. The security officers did not care to give a group of four kids a second glance. Perfect.

As they reached the designated location, Karim removed the strapping off the button stuck alongside the bag. And felt it in his hands. A glance at the time revealed it had to be done now. They peeked over at the people around hoping no one is watching them.

An instant later, they pressed the button together.

Suddenly a train steamed over to a stop from nowhere. It had the letters "HOGWARTS EXPRESS" imprinted in bold. A Hogwarts attendant found them, checked their bags and assisted them to their seats.

As the train chugged along, Karim's anxiety reached its peak. He was going to Paradise. The Hogwarts School of Magic.

-----
:)

Hahaha. This is in keeping with the current trend - a Potter movie and a book. Have just read the 1st book.

Been a bit laggard at blogging. An update soon.

The Warming Story

18th April, 2021,
7:13 am,
Mumbai

I get rustled from my deep slumber. The eyelids flicker a little, the pupils dilate and a thin ray of light struggles to hit the retina. Nerves tingle sending signals to the cranium "Wake up buddy, its a beautiful Sunday morning"

I turn around and feel my 10 year old. He is nicely draped in a polka dotted bedsheet, innocently dreaming of fairies and elves. Alongside, his mother had the serene sleep enveloping her tired self. Both deserved what they were enjoying now - it had been a tiresome long week.

But this didn't seem a normal Sunday. I could hear voices all over. Was I hallucinating? I lazily stumbled over to my 5th floor window and eyed what it had to offer. The moment the world turned upside down. Not just my world, but the wordly Earth I knew.

Down below I could see a huge swathe of mankind running haywire on the road. They were screaming Kalyug, Apocalypse. Dogs howling, cattle running, death seemed grossly near. I could not decipher the ongoing hullabaloo.

Suddenly, the door bell rang not once but seemingly a million times. I ran over and opened it in a huff. My neighbour stood there. And without saying much, he just beckoned me and my family to get to the terrace immediately. Before I could ask more, he was speeding away upstairs with his family holding a small bag of essentials. And behind him followed all the other tenants shrieking and heaving upstairs.

Something's really wrong!

She had woken up by then. And not surprisingly, very concerned (She still looked good with that expression). I turned on my mobile TV and it was screaming in bold.

MUMBAI TO BE SUBMERGED. RUN FOR HIGHER LAND.

The horror was distinctly evident on our visages. I ran in to pick my polka dotted treasure, while she stuffed some hard cash, mobile and a sumbrella into a bag. Just before leaving, I managed to grab the dozen bananas lying on the table. Never before had the three of us reached the terrace in our pajamas. But we weren't alone. I recognized all the families there, all of them literally shrivelling with fear, all of them looking west - the direction of the sea.


11.14 am

The water had climbed upto the 6th floor level. And it was gleefully and sadistically aiming at us, just one floor above. The sun was beating hard. Amidst all the pandemonium, I had opened the sumbrella and cuddled my two frightened possessions underneath it. I dared not expose any of our skins to the sun which would willingly fry it to skin cancer. At one such timestamp, he asked

"Papa, are we going to die?"

I fumbled a bit. But I hugged them tightly.
"No way beta, don't you worry. We will find a way out of this soon"

I tried to find comfort in my own words. And ensure that hope is not lost in him.

"Papa, but why did this happen? Why is there so much water suddenly?"

I was stunned for a second. I knew the answer, had known the answer all along, all through my life. This was expected one day.

I struggled through the pages of my vocabulary and let the following out:
"Son, you see, the Earth was never this hot when you were born. It was getting hotter every year though. People like us just began to cut more trees, drive more and send out more smoke. And today morning, I think all the ice that existed just melted in the sea. Its called global warming"

He blinked at me dreamily. I could sense the thought-processes his small mind was going through. He just looked down into nothingness.

She plucked a banana from the bunch, unpeeled it and fed him. The tears were not visible, but the trauma and the pain surely was.

There was already a stench of fish and dead carcasses. Nausea.


8.42pm

It was finally dark. I nursed my tired hurting arm, all the while accustomed to holding the sumbrella - now folded back in the bag. The water was just a meter below, beyond which lied my world earlier, now devoured by the sea. The miracle bananas had served my kid well. She however looked dead weak and sleepy. Not that I was on high-energy steroids.

The horn did ring. Of a small boat. Beyond which came hundred small speedboats. All with huge torches. The entire humanity on the terrace shrieked in unison.

HELP


8.53 pm

We were all packed onto a speedboat.

Bodies lay floating everywhere.


9.17 pm

We alighted on the small hill at National Park. And felt land. A few steps ahead, a TV was placed around which hundreds had gathered. And beaming

BREAKING NEWS: MUMBAI SUBMERGED. MILLIONS FEARED DEAD

I clutched both of them tightly and led them to the refugee food area. What a "warm" Sunday!

The E.T. Story

They were cruising at an abominable high speed. Even light felt dazed to be left behind.

From the cockpit, Xdf*rt?wy cast a glance at a bright yellow star on the right. His bright oval eyes immediately synchronised a telepathic conversation with Te3rqwg%n in the adjoining room. Translated simply, it meant "I see a young galaxy here. I believe we have something".

A few plasma meters away, Te3rqwg%n 30th arm chuckled in delight. He pinged back "Will join you as soon as I finish my helium asteroid soup". His 23rd and the 32nd arm set off to the task of clearing the slimy ashen soup.

In no time, their entire being were huddled over the right window as they approached the star. Xdf*rt?wy eyed the laser switch which lighted up immediately.

An electronic voice boomed "Yes...present your question"

Xdf*rt?wy winked and the question popped "What galaxy do we have here?"

A trillion byte processor hummed for a hundredth of a millisec and the same voice boomed "My results tell me that this is a newborn galaxy. Age - 4.54 billion years only. The star supports 8 planets, millions of asteroids, a few comets and satellites"

"Do you have a name for this system?"

"Radio waves suggest that it is called The Milky Way"

Te3rqwg%n beamed "Hmmm...radio waves...which means there is active motion life out here, isn't it?"

"Yes. You see the blue planet there at 24, 43, 45? Its called Earth. It sustains motion life and no-motion life in humungous proportions"

"Lets get closer", said Xdf*rt?wy as he nodded at his steering wheel. The bulbous craft veered onto the direction of the coordinates.

Te3rqwg%n zoomed at the blue planet and exclaimed "Its so ethereally beautiful. How is life out here. Can we pitch our descendency here?"

A minute heave of processing later, the voice spoke "I agree it is beautiful. 21% of Oxygen, lots of carbon and nitrogen. Very much habitable. But my radio waves suggest otherwise. There is so much evil among the dominant species here called Man. It is ruining the entire architecture of this hallowed system"

Te3rqwg%n pondered "Evil. I know this word. This thing existed eons back at home. Evil in what form? What is happening here that makes you think evil exists? I wish my children could inhabit this planet. Please tell me."

"This dominant species called Man is killing his own fellow kin. That is evil"

An alien gasp flew across the room. All of Te3rqwg%n 's 64 arms clung to his head in shock.

"That is so unbelievable. How can any life do that? Even our violent shows cannot think of such an idea to gain viewers. I find it unrealistic. Can you zoom onto a place and show me such unlively acts?"

"Not a problem. My radio waves suggest the word IRAQ. Zoom your iris to 34,87,12. Can you see the smoke there? 6 lives were just lost. Zoom to Kashmir at 43,66,48. See the mayhem there. Check out Africa at 88,11,38. Slavery. Poverty. Colour discrimination..."

"Stop it...stop it. I can't take it anymore", cried Te3rqwg%n.

Xdf*rt?wy bawled "What makes them do this? My intuition tells me that some wily green pieces are to blamed for this"

The voice continued. "Exactly. Its called money. Add a mish mash of power, to it and it gets real bad. They are destroying the other splendid organisms and the ecosystem around them. I believe we should stay away from this self-destructing world"

Both Xdf*rt?wy and Te3rqwg%n nodded in appreciation. "Yeah. We do not want to kids to get a sniff of this place. Please blacklist this planet. Lets move on."

"Done. Our next destination is Proxima Centauri", agreed the voice.

With that, the craft flew into eternity.

The Country House Story - Part II

A strong recommendation to read the next post first, this being a sequel. Unless you are as confused as I am.

Scene 1, later that night:
Mr. Myers grappled with the candle and clumsily lighted it. The dim glow lit up the room in an aural manner and he headed straight for the staircase. As his thin legs disturbed the void silence with its light impact on the floor, many faces stared at him viciously. The huge murals on the walls with their aristocratic history behind them didn't particularly enjoy this intrusion and their discontent was evident. It didn't last eternally - in an instant, the glow of light vanished onto the upper floor to disturb the other lazy noblemen.

The echo of steps seemed to follow Mr. Myers to a room on the left. He reached the landing in front of the room's door and recited a small prayer. A prayer he is used to mumbling everyday considering the toll the War has taken on his family and friends.

Mr. Myers swung the door knob. In the orange glow of the room, he could make out his 25 year sister. Mary, the critically deranged haggard blonde of his remained immobile in bed. He moved past the window and headed for her.

So peaceful when asleep, he thought.

He nursed his hands over her forehead and gave a small peck. The last time he had seen her she had been wailing. So egregiously, that he had instructed Jane to lock her up until she gave up.

And where'd my loyal servant be? Strange! I expected her 'ere, thought Mr. Myers.

He reached over to the nearby table to pick the three pronged candles. A thin sweat percolated his brow and bloomed in the light. He walked over to the dark remote corner of the room, where Jane had her makeshift bed.

Jane, where art thou? he called.

In a flash, he could see a being soiled up in red all over. Blood. Totally flabbergasted, he bent over to see who it was.

Jane! Holy God.

In a flash, a huge serrated knife plunged into his soul. Not once, but twice...thrice...it continued atrociously. In the dim candlelit glow, Mr. Myers could feel his life growing dimmer. Though, not before he caught the final glimpse of his beautiful sister's hair soiled to red. And her undying urge to kill.

Back in his carriage, Jack Mason still appeared hellbent scared over the scary human-like form he had just seen in the window - and its murderous clutching of a dagger.

Scene 2, later that night:
The old nobleman welcomed the Bishop and graciously thanked his visitor. He accepted Father Benny's jacket and hat and placed them on the wooden wardrobe near the door. While doing so, he turned on the room switch.

The entire room bathed in chandelier lights gave the room a complete Orwellien look. It seemed to the Bishop as if he was transported back in time. The wonderful paintings lent that extra bit of history. The gentlemen and women on them however didn't seem very friendly.

My son, is it true from what you have told me. The lady and the terrible misfortune that has befallen her

Yes Father, I couldn't save my dearest from the terrible fate of things. The urgency of the situation demanded someone like you to be here. You shall see it for yourself. Please follow me, Father.

Suddenly, a huge shriek beamed the air.

Oh my Lord, that is my wife's voice. Fiona.

With that, he hurried over to the steps shouting "Fiona, are you fine?". The Bishop desperately tried to keep up with him. At the top landing on the first floor, the nobleman hurried over to the left and entered the room at the end of the alley. The Bishop huffing and puffing a few seconds later entered the room and an emotion of disbelief hit him.

A teenaged girl lay handcuffed to the bed. She was violently being jerked and flung in the air. Her eyes were red crimson and her body fluids were blown everywhere. An ugly stench enveloped the room.

On the floor of the room lay a middle aged woman sobbing gently. The nobleman had her in his arms.

Father Benny immediately removed the Holy Cross and his Gothic scriptures from his bag. He discreetly asked the nobleman and his wife to leave the room.

In the presence of the two beings alone, the whole room shuddered in the orange glow. The violent breathing of the girl and the peaceful serenity of the Father catalysed the eerie atmosphere. Father Benny read out a long passage from his scripture and pointed the Cross at the girl's eyes.

Hallelujah! Praise be to the Lord! Tell me who you are and what intentions do you have.

The bed thundered from below. The girl in a raspy voice boomed "Revenge" over the repeated thunder.

Go away, Praise be to the Lord! There is no one here.

Suddenly, it all became silent. It remained so for a few minutes.

Father Benny moved to the bed and examined the sweet innocent thing that now lay on it. He nursed the girl's forehead. Untying her from the handcuffs, he covered her with a blanket. As he left the bed, a strange feeling enveloped him.

The nobleman, overstruck with grief, had accompanied Fiona to her room and put her to sleep. Returning back, he was perturbed with the sudden silence inside his daughter's room and decided to check on the Father. What he was greeted with would remain forever etched in his mind.

The Bishop was on the floor, his eyes vermin-like green and letting out a high woman-like shriek. Over him lay his daughter with a Cross in her hand plunging it into the Bishop's heart hollering Revenge in a man-like voice.

Back in his minivan, Pathan Khan was still ravaged by the shriek he had heard at the countryhouse - so ugly, so other-worldly.

The Country House Story - Part I

Scene 1:
The horse plodded over the cobbled stone path leading to the driveway of the antiquated house. Jack Mason was relieved. Finally. The incredibly herculean task of guiding his horses in such an incredibly foggy clime at such an incredible hour was finally done with. He could have avoided this circumstance had it not been the alluring reward of 10 mighty pound sterlings. The nobleman also seemed too desperate and troubled to get to this country house, unmindful of the hour and travails the journey involved.

All's well that end's well, he thought in his Yorkshire accent.

Mr. Myers alighted from the coach and instinctively eyed the top left window of the house through the enveloping midnight fog. The emanating orange glow calmed his nerves and he put on his black hat before rummaging through his wallet.

Aye Sir, yaa have been ery kind to drop me ere at this ungodly hour. Ere's yaa payment n a extra pound to convey ma appreciation.

Its ma pleasure, Sir. Jack plucked at the wealth offered to him, staring at him. With that, he hit the whip and chugged his horse wagon to life en route to Westminster.

Mr. Myers navigated a key onto the lock and whirled it round. The door sprung open with a creaky noise. In no time, it was banged shut from the inside.

As Jack jostled past the driveway gates, he managed a slight glance at the eerie window - a human silhoutte moving past its curtains. He whipped his horses harder. Somewhere not too far a dog howled. A long and scary night ahead.

Scene 2:
The minicab swerved into the driveway overlooking a medieval house. Pathan Khan had never imagined dropping a passenger for a 100 pound fare. Of course, it was way past midnight. Of course, it was way too foggy. Of course, it was way too remote - even the Gods would need a map. Despite his initial nays and hesitation to drive this far, the pound power ultimately lured him. The Bishop had seemed very nervous. All through the way, the Bishop was quietly mumbling silent prayers, crossing his handheld Cross every minute and pondering over Latin Gothic books. There was some inherent palpable fear clearly felt in the backseat of the car.

Weird people, weird ways!, he thought in his Lahore accent.

Father Benny pushed open the car door in a haste and handed over the prize to the lustful waiting hands.

Thank ya son for that quick ride. May God bless ya.

Not a problem, Mister. Good place here. Far. Bye.

Father Benny sprang to the house door despite the darkness and rang the doorbell. A light flared up in the top left window. A pavement light lit up into action immediately.

Pathan turned on the ignition and jerked the vehicle into motion. Slowly. He was curious to see the occupants of this abjectly desolate country house. As he slowly purred his car to the end of the driveway, he glanced back at the house door through the thickening fog.

An old nobleman with a black hat opened the door and let Father Benny in. The door was shut in an instant.

Weird people, weird ways, Pathan thought. Just as he sprung his minicab into second gear, a loud shriek percolated the air. Fourth gear. Zoom. Somewhere not too far a dog howled. A long and scary night ahead.

The Overbridge Story

A daily ritual to head back home requires me to walk for a kilometer, take a railway overbridge to cross over to the other side and ease into an autorickshaw once I stagger over to the other side. Generally this is the time (around 10ish) when I catch up with my buddies on my Nokia.

Overbridge Night 1: I took that final step and moved past the hawkers. And not surprisingly, I was smiling (as always) the reason being a funny incident narrated by a pal through the airwaves. In a flash, I saw her. The first thing that struck me were her beautiful eyes. She was wearing a maroon-yellow salwar - more importantly, it was so elegantly worn that it made her look like a fairy. I forgot the anecdote narrated from the other side and I just ogled at her as she passed me in a flicker of a second. Of course, she gave me a flicker-of-a second look. Soon, I came out my reverie, cursed myself and steered along. Back to the smile and the silly jokes.

Overbridge Night 2: I was pondering over a technical issue this time. And to my horror (or my delight), I saw yesterday's eyes again. This time, she was in a silky green apparel - straight out of some God forsaken Paradise. Of course, I ogled at her and she gave a I've seen this guy before look, which lasted for more than a second. It got over too soon as we ambled past each other. I spent a momentary second looking at my watch. The time.

Overbridge Night 3: A really hard day at work saw me hurrying up the steps of the overbridge - damn hungry you see. The first instinct was to peer over the bridge horizon to find a known stranger. Alas. Traversed the bridge and was just about to alight on the first step, when my revelation was seen boarding the first step. Oh my God! Time stood still. Our steps matched; me downstairs, she upstairs. Our eyes met; mine black, her's mascara laden brown for some really good amount of time. She couldn't hide her smile; a faint one appeared on mine. We crossed each other. This time, I looked back and so did she. Time started ticking again. Yeah. Oh my God!

Overbridge Night 4: A Friday when am generally in my best, cool, funky look. I was on the phone and I told my pal at the other end to hold on for a while. I was literally scanning the passer-bys and my watch. Slowly and cautiously, I passed the first set of hawkers and looked over again. Damn! Have to see her today. Lo and behold - my prayers always seemed to be answered - I see her from a distance in a beautiful ensembled tanktop and jeans. I had decided to really flash my smile today, expected the same, take my first baby steps in the world of girlfriends and eventually ask her out. In a flicker of a second, I see her smile at me and move her arms across the waist of someone I didn't know. He was tall, ragged (not rugged), scarred, wearing an ill-fitting shirt, torn jeans and a bandanna. As we crossed, I didn't look back again. Damn! Hope I never see her again

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Most of the story is fiction, except for a few facts

Yeah. Nice guys finish last!

Of course, I'd prefer to remain nice.