Although I might not have posted on this blog for some time, please don't conclude that I am being my usual lazy self! I have been creatively occupied!
Here is proof!
I have started writing #VeryShortStories on a Facebook page of the same name. The word limit is 275 words.
VeryShortStories
word limit : 275 words max!
1. The guttering
torches created monster shadows on the rocky surfaces of the crypt. These
danced around, now huge, now diffused, on the tunnel walls. Slowly,
laboriously, the archaeologists inched forward, their breathing as uneven as
the tunnel floor itself!
The tunnel curved, climbed,
descended, but the team persevered.
In about 40
minutes, the tunnel suddenly grew huge, and brought them into the most
magnificent cavern any of them had ever seen!
There, in the huge
gallery created by some long-dead river, mineral-rich deposits had created
columns that hung from the very high ceiling, while others rose majestically
from the floor, glistering and glistening in the torchlight.
Triumphantly, they
separated, and like over-eager children, moved around in the vast cavern,
touching the columns, marvelling at their smoothness, their brilliance.
This was a capital
discovery! Reputations were to be made, papers written, prizes won on the
strength of this discovery, and of course, national honours were a given!
In that huge hall
so much bigger than the Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris, they fanned out, each
lost in his own narrative of these last few moments of relative anonymity. This
was huge! They were almost famous!
Then, without
warning, the torches that had led them into this subterranean Paradise well
over 200 meters underground, went out!
(214 words)
2. Under the glare of
a nearby mall, for ten days each year, the small pavement stall seemed to
compete easily with the strong lights from brand-name stores. In this celebratory
week that was Deepawali in India, the rich and the poor and the middle-classes
all congregated among their own to light lanterns (kandeel) and outdo each
other with decibel-shattering fireworks!
Strung along
slender wires, the traditional lanterns that give the festival its name, hung
and swung in the breeze, each lit up from within by a bulb; each element on the
long chain had a part to play in enticing the passing public to stop, marvel,
choose, haggle, and finally, buy!
One star-shaped lantern
swung around more than the others, such was its excitement!
It had a happy
scenario worked out in its mind … a happy family Deepawali, four days of
enjoyment and sharing and caring!
Each night, well
after permitted opening hours, the stall would be dismantled and the lanterns
taken down by dejected hands while someone counted the day’s takings and
muttered savagely, cursing Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth who is venerated on
one of the four days of the festival!
The star-shaped
lantern was also put away when the festival ended, along with others like him
that had not found buyers! A twinge of shared shame was clear in this group,
rejects all!
But our friend, the
star-shaped lantern, had a trick up his sleeve! Christmas was coming, and the
Christians did have something about worshipping (or was it following) the star
that brought the Wise Men to Bethlehem, didn’t they?
“Mera bhi number aayega,” he consoled
himself! (274 words)
3. Every night, the
staff on duty chatted while the patients were at dinner – to exchange gossip,
or, as one of them put it, “to network!” Soon, the well-fed patients would be
led upstairs into their rooms and then the floor staff would be kept busy until
the statutory “Lights Out” at 10:30 pm. Then, one by one, TV screens in the
rooms went blank, lights were turned out, and the last few toilets were heard flushing
as 20 well-heeled patients in the exclusive care facility settled down for the
night.
Mrs. Mehra,
tonight, was in her element! Early that afternoon, her son and daughter had
visited her, and the meeting had been fraught with bickering and name-calling
before it degenerated into a loud shouting match between the daughter and Mrs
Mehra, whose vocabulary surprised all within earshot! Understandably upset,
quivering with rage, the old lady had been sequestered in her room, and one
nurse had to listen to the patient complain bitterly about her “ungrateful”
offspring all evening until dinnertime.
Now, even much
later, mumbling sounds were heard from 206, Mrs Mehra’s paid-for-in-USD room. She raged
inwardly, her fury uncontrollable! She wanted them all to see that she was
hurt. Once and for all. They had to treat her better. With respect. She would
now be sneaky and teach them a lesson! One they wouldn’t forget! She would be
silent, take a “maun vrat” until her children saw the error of their ways! So,
she would retreat into her shell.
Mrs Mehra’s
mumblings wore away into silence.
Outside, the nurses smiled. The
tranquilisers slipped into her water glass at dinner did work, every time! (275
words)
4. I
have always thought there is something macabre about turning the private
residences of famous people into tourist attractions after their deaths! God
knows famous people spend enough money trying to retain their anonymity, they
cling to it with all their might once they are properly good and famous! So
there is something profane about having busloads of visitors “take a tour” of
what have been private dwellings of extraordinary people!
To my mind, tourist-trap residence
visits are abominable abuse of the dead souls! There is no reason why suburban
families, no doubt curious and well-intentioned, should be allowed to disturb
the peaceful confines of libraries and writing chambers of authors, now dead;
for example, or troop noisily through bedroom where actors and actresses of
yesteryear may have led their colourful lives!
“For all the years they were friends
via the written word, these two long-dead authors who left their indelible mark
on the 19th century, there is no record of any face-to-face meeting
between these two great literary giants,” droned the guide, reciting his text
flawlessly. The group being taken around my house nodded sagely, as though each
had received private confirmation of this fact from me!
That’s when I chose to
manifest myself! I’d had enough of this nonsense! (212 words)
5. I
was hard at work arranging my elder daughter’s marriage, for she was already 22
years old! One of the tenets of Hindu grihasthashram
prescribes that a father must relinquish this responsibility as early as
possible, for it is an important element of his assured salvation! And I did
not intend to be lax now and have my salvation thrown in jeopardy for any
reason.
Well-meaning friends and others immediately
supplied me with lists of “suitable” bridegrooms from “suitable” families. Of
course, material and caste considerations came foremost as criteria – whoever
thought of finding out if the hapless youngsters wanted to be hitched to each
other for the rest of their natural lives (and in the case of the girl, for
seven subsequent births!!!)!
I met “people who knew the family”
before I met the families in question – one has to vet the prospective
bridegroom with due diligence! This particular groom came with more validations
than the last four! So I met his uncle, who turned out to be modern enough to
introduce us – the prospective groom and the prospective father-in-law!
After the customary,
introductory, questions, I asked about his professional life! That’s when he
replied: “I go to work, I work all day, and I come back at the end of it!” My jaw tightened! A classic side-stepper,
this prospective groom! All those friendly verbal certifications about his
earning capacity, family background, general acceptance to People-like-Us ….…
all had said the groom was ‘a practitioner of medicine’! Was he really? Upon
probing, the truth emerged!
“A mortician,” the bride’s
mother gasped later that night! (266 words)
6.
As he slowly regained
consciousness, he realised he was in his own room. He looked around and slowly
rose to find complete chaos all around. The marauding hordes had probably entered
his room silently, knocked him on the head, and thought the old man was dead
from the single blow, before they had started their wanton destruction of his
possessions.
All around him lay
strewn his books, some torn, others ripped asunder, their leather covers thrown
carelessly around, the pages trodden underfoot! In a corner, his correspondence
lay in tatters, certainly it had interested his attackers the most. He sent up
silent prayers that his life had been saved, for his work was unfinished. But
he had clearly lost a lifetime’s effort in the space of a few hours of mayhem.
His head hurt.
As did his limbs. He gingerly checked his hands and legs – nothing seemed
broken but he was bruised badly, and the bruises had turned a repugnant shade
of bluish-purple. Slowly he made his way outside. A gruesome scene met his
eyes. Corpses lay everywhere. Not a single soul had been spared.
The old man
gritted his teeth. For in the distance he heard another wave of brigands on its
way. This had been a pattern elsewhere, he knew. Wave after wave of cruel
marauders attacked settlements, the unprotected ones first, the armed ones
later.
Inner strength
and the courage of his convictions gave the old Imam the sheer will to stand up
ramrod straight and turn with determination to face the onslaught of the First
crusade from Europe! It was December 12th 1098 AD.
7. So here I was,
nicely settled in my minuscule flat, out in the world on my own, on my own
terms, living with my own rules, my complete freedom ………. and my own very
personal set of problems! My bucket-list was checking itself off item by item:
the job (nicely located a safe one-hour flight away from home), the steady
income, the savings plan approved by Dad, the disposable income to do with as I
deemed fit ………. all was done!
Verily, I mused
Biblically, I had done well for myself, and was ready to face Life (note
upper-case L) with confidence.
Except for THE
thorn in my side – lunches on weekends!
How many times had I heard “It’s all
in the wrist!”? But I could not succeed! Shouldn’t I, with all my
accomplishments, be able to master something so trivial and mundane?
I had now almost accepted defeat.
Faced with a rolling-pin and dough,
and the prospect of making fluffy, light, rotis, I was reduced to a whining,
tearful mess: I was no longer Mom’s “highly-qualified,
living-bravely-on-her-own-in-the-big-city” daughter! (180 words)
8.
They
seemed completely ordinary – this mother-and-daughter pair sitting side-by-side
in the departure lounge at Pune airport. The little girl was absorbed in a
book, a real one, with pages that you can turn; the mother was lost in thought.
By their side was very smart hand-luggage, a bunch of old torn-off airline tags
showed how well-used it was!
A 50-minute delay
announced for the flight to Kolkata tediously wore down to the last fifteen
minutes. Airline staff now buzzed around the door leading to the walkway,
listening to static sounds on their walkie-talkies.
When the “guests
travelling to Kolkata” were invited to “start boarding the aircraft through
Door 4 immediately”, the little girl seemed startled, wide-eyed. Soon, her eyes
spilled over and she showed how fragile she was by shuddering in silence as she
wept.
“It’s only a week
for Diwali,” said the mother. “You’ll enjoy this time with your cousins. And
Grandpa will be there too.”
“I don’t care ……….
I don’t like any of those people,” the girl managed to sob through her tears!
When one of the
airline ground staff came forward smilingly to usher the tag-wearing
Unaccompanied Minor onto the waiting aircraft, now full of irate passengers,
there was pandemonium. Suddenly. The girl’s weeping now turned into a
full-throated tantrum!
She wept. She
yelled. Inside the plane impatient guests waited. This brat of an Unaccompanied Minor was
delaying their late flight further! Finally, she was led inside. Strapped in.
The mother, left
behind, was distraught. She prayed her young daughter would not be scarred by
these quarterly flights to her estranged husband! Custody laws are so cruel.
(272 words)
9. It was an idyllic
landscape perched at the crest of a mountain range. Dense forests on the flanks
thinned to brush and even higher up, to grass that bent with the breeze that blew
round the clock, whistling happy tunes to no-one! This area was really not
populated at all.
Small communities
of herdsmen shepherded their flocks to graze, and twice a year to the nearest
market town on the plateau. They had their fixed camping sites, their fixed
spots in which to rest on their arduous journey.
Today, an old man
was making what he knew would be his last journey to market. Using age-old
clicks and clacks of the tongue, he was a Maestro conducting an orchestra of 75
bleating beasts.
He set himself down
after ensuring his flock was safely in sight.
As he looked around, the cattle-grazer’s smile cracked wider, stretching
parchment skin taut over gaunt cheekbones. He marvelled at the sleek
three-armed goddess who now dominated the entire mountain top. She stood
valiantly upwind, whirling blades at the ready to harness the forces that raged
over the mountain-tops. Last year, he remembered, there had been activity along
this way, with trucks and men and machines and tall pylons.
But now, he recognised that the
winds which had threatened to blow him off the mountainside were being tamed.
In his now-modernised country, of which he knew very little, the simple idea of
wind power and electricity generation spoke volumes to even this gnarled old-timer!
(248 words)
10. The
young boy looked forward to the days when the Master went out for the entire
day, returning late from the city. He could then wander through the Master’s library,
looking at books, reading a page here, a poem there, lost in a world of
imagination and culture he wanted so badly to be a part of, but couldn’t!
For he was here for two years now in
the position of domestic servant, an apprentice manservant who had to learn his
trade whilst on the job! The cook and maid took turns to supervise his
rudimentary attempts at cooking and ironing. Outside, in the garden, his bulbs
gave flowers more readily, it seemed to him, than even the head-gardener’s
bulbs did! A small triumph in a life full of drudgery, pain, and often,
disappointment!
His nights were spent sleeping
soundly until about 3 am. The early morning hours were spent seeing dreams as
if on a screen, he knew where he wanted to go in life, and how long it would
take him to arrive there!
Today, once he understood the coast
was clear, he crept into the Master’s suite of rooms. He sank into the
comfortable leather armchair: it creaked as it always did.
He knew what he was doing was wrong,
that he could be discovered and punished, even sent away! But he did not care
anymore.
Next to him was a fancy set of
headphones which he slipped on, his other hand fumbled, turned on the music
system.
The servant lad had his Master’s
headphones, and listened to music, a smile playing on his face! (269 words)
11. In
the morning flurry of checking mails, responding to them, and getting ready for
the work day ahead, she did not pay much attention to the mail that announced
“Good news you must read” in the subject line.
Later that night, when things were
calmer, she opened the mail before deleting it – as she normally did – along
with the other offers and prizes and unbeatable bargains that clogged up her
mailbox untiringly! But she didn’t quite know what to make of this message. It
announced to her that she has graduated from her college 30 years ago now, and
that her graduating class was getting together for a reunion in two weeks.
Drinks at dinner at one of the better restaurants in town (now owned, the
message informed her helpfully, by one of their own erstwhile classmates)!
30 years. She blinked. Had it really
been that long? Three decades of constant toil, of disappointments and elated
moment, of failures and some chosen moments of triumph. She allowed her mind to
meander through moments that were stuck in her memory. A memory that was
selective, she realised with shock at this moment! Each personal trajectory had
carried the students from her class in separate ways, and she had never
bothered to keep up with what had become of her classmates. Now in the second
half of their fifth decade, perhaps the group of students desired to check with
others, to compare notes, to satisfy curiosities, perhaps! Or to reconnect.
Simply as classmates, nothing more, nothing less!
She looked at the invitation, thought
about it. Carefully noted the details of the reunion on a memo-pad! (274 words)
12. From
the top of the mountain, the view was stunning! The valley below was sylvan
when he was young, covered with forests that gave shade to travellers who
wended their way to the mines in the next valley. Or to the cities beyond the
ridges of the mountains in the distance.
For a long time now, this particular
valley had never really been a destination, just a halt, a stepping stone to
somewhere else, where prospects were better, lives more comfortable and hence
“successful!”
He had discovered this mountain ten
years ago, when as one of those who passed by, he looked up and froze at the
sight of this particular ridge! Exploring on his own, he found a cave, which,
ten years later, was a home he had eked out of the very ground of the mountain!
A few tools, trial and error methods
in carpentry, in cooking skills on rudimentary fires, and the tenacity to brave
cold winters and rain-soaked months during the monsoons! He survived completely
as an outsider, far away from the maddening crowd!
A mute, distant witness as villages
below morphed into cities. And civilisation flourished without him! (194 words)
13. There
is that oh-so-typical Christmas scene sold to the Asian colonies since the
British firmed their stronghold on the peninsula: Indians have long known about
the coveted “White Christmas” and the trappings thereof! Or did the Americans
add those on later? When they commercialised the entire event?
In any event, the labourer from
Tumkur waiting for his flight at Dubai Airport knew his toddler would want a
special gift. It was early December, after all, and already the airport was
festooned with red and white decorations that were incongruous with the desert
heat and baking sands outside! But the subdued air-conditioned hush and whizz
of the busy airport served as a foil for the contrast, like a trompe l’oeil
effect!
He found it! THE special gift for his
toddler! As he took it off the shelves to check the price, glittering
snowflakes swirled around the houses, slowly sinking to the white-cloaked
ground. They frosted the tree branches. The cars on the street were similarly
dressed for the occasion.
Soon, all was still, breathlessly
waiting, it seemed!
With a gurgle of delight, the
adult-turned-child shook the plastic paperweight marked “With Love from Dubai,”
and swirling round and round and round, “Christmas” started all over again!
(205 words)
14. Now
secure in his first ‘job’, the young trainee copy-writer decided he could give
up his parsimonious ways of student life! Gone were the days of counting every
rupee he spent, of every meal he ate at a restaurant! No longer would he hesitate
for a snack here, a drink there! He was now an adult with a small but
comfortable salary, and as long as he stayed ‘reasonable,” he could afford the
occasional splurge! Maybe once a month!
Tonight, he was with some friends to
celebrate the “permanent” position one of their gang had moved into. A
well-paid position that involved frequent travel to capitals of Indian states,
with “3-star” accommodation in the city to be visited!
One by one, the entire gang was
‘settling’ down – their parents could now start on the next chapter of their
Parents’ Handbooks: “Searching the perfect daughter-in-law!”
Raucously, the gang tonight had
finished eight bottles of beer and were now all trooping noisily to the toilet
for the inevitable result! Left in the room, alone, he thought nostalgically of
all his friends who had enjoyed such evenings so much. Lately, they had
graduated from the regular bhel-puri and chick-peas as accompaniments to their
booze parties to something more sophisticated!
The new snacks, because they were not in ample supply, kept them arguing
most times! For long minutes! They could come to blows, even!
Now, he reasoned conveniently, his
pals were enjoyably engrossed elsewhere, so no-one could really grudge him this
small pleasure.
Resolutely, he popped the last olive
from the jar into his mouth and shut his eyes! (266 words)
15. A
last will and testament. Waiting to be read to a family that still lamented the
dear departed old brother / uncle / cousin / grandfather. In this typical upper
middle-class family, generations were tied together, no, hermetically sealed,
into a cocoon that was meant to support all those within its hold. Including
one such as the dear departed.
His siblings were now in the late
seventies or early eighties, and presided over their own family branches with
the unquestioned authority the oldest extant generation of the family had
always enjoyed!
Everything – from career choices to
choices of mates – were to be unequivocally validated by the ruling Patriarchs,
who were themselves held in check by their network of siblings! So, if Narayan
in 1972 had not been able to marry the girl of his choice for unspecified
reasons, it was inconceivable that Kiran, scion of a lateral branch, should
even think of making an honest woman, this Diwali, of his girl-friend!
It was this family, rather the
remnants thereof, that gathered in the family lawyers’ chambers for the reading
of the Will! A most solemn occasion, for the old man had been a bachelor, and
wealthy!
Slitting open the heavy envelope, the
lawyer slid out a sheet of paper, thus setting pulses racing in the bodies
assembled around him.
Clearing his throat, the lawyer suddenly
declaimed theatrically: “All to Balaram. For reasons he knows best!” The sheet
dropped to the desk! A collective gasp rose up from the company. Balaram was
the 28-year old driver, a young buck, the old man had employed for the last few
years of his life! (272 words)
16
It was all so pitiful, the editor
thought, as he read another headline that was clearly inflammatory for no
reason! TRPs! That’s all that mattered to the younger lot these days, and he
was not having it! Not under his watch!
He’d never been one to
follow fashion blindly. His choice was clear. So he pressed the “delete” button
on his keyboard with precise deliberation.
By 4 pm the following
day, phone calls had been made, arms twisted, past favours evoked, old boys
consulted, promises made, common pedigrees remembered . . . by 5 pm, the editor
was jobless, for the first time in his long career! Pitiful, yes! (190 words)
17
For the savvy entrepreneur he had
become, life was just a series of business opportunities that allowed him
chances to pad his bank balance (the cash component he kept hidden away from
prying eyes, like every self-respecting businessman of his category did!) and
get one step closer to his dream house!
These days, his brainwaves came from
more sources than ever before, since he was connected to the Net via his
i-phone, his tablet, his laptop and his stationary desktop! He kept his ear
firmly to the ground, and in that very James Hadley Chase mode, was rewarded
with nuggets of information that people paid money to hear.
One day, when he walked sombrely on
a beach early in the morning, he suddenly caught snippets of conversations the
matrons and their paunchy husbands exchanged as they walked in the opposite
direction.
“Such a shame …”
“I couldn’t bear to look
….”
“There must be something
we can do …..”
He understood that
somewhere in the world something had occurred to shake the collective
conscience of the public – to shame or to revulsion or to horror!
Aircrash! Robbery! Page 3
scandal! Corruption uncovered in high places!
His mind raced! Absently,
his phone sprang to his hands and he checked CNN!
Soon, he smiled
with satisfaction! Beaches, he concluded, rightly, as it happened, were very
convenient places for consciences to be exploited! En masse. Involve an event
on any coast and watch sales figures rise vertically!
Now that the
world’s conscience was freshly pricked by the young child found dead on a beach
far away, he knew his “I Do Care” T-shirts would sell like hot chai!
18. Day
after day, she came into Flat 8 at almost 11 am, and let herself out of the
flat 45 minutes later. For those 45 minutes, she whirled around like a tornado:
cleaning, sweeping, rearranging, putting back, dusting, possessions that were
not her own, that she could probably never afford! She repeated this feat on five
floors, seven times each day. In this building alone.
Her work was spotless, her
reputation sterling! So all those flat-owners, her “masters and mistresses” in
absentia, trusted her with their house keys, their messages to the watchman or
postman, their errands from corner shops, the bakery, the flour mill, the
laundry. She was general factotum-cum-secretary to several ladies of the
building,
Shantabai was one of a dying breed
in the city – trusted housemaids whose existence meant the ladies who worked
jobs to ensure the mortgages on their flats were paid regularly had the luxury
to keep their jobs going!
Until last week. Thursday afternoon,
to be exact. For that’s when Shantabai’s overworked, 36-year-old heart gave
way, the strong-willed, square-jawed Amazon was felled by a cardiac incident on
the landing between the third and the fourth floor. Discovered by conscientious
delivery-men, she was transported to a clinic.
Anxious visitors, well-dressed
ladies congregated at the clinic, milling around, not knowing who to speak to!
One question was paramount in their minds – when would she resume her duties?
Their interest gradually waned. By
the fifth day, no-one from the building was around, not even the watchman, to
see the ambulance drive off, followed by a lamenting group—Shantabai’s husband
and two kids being consoled by various aunts and uncles and cousins. (274
words)
19. 44
residential plots, each with legally declared non-agricultural status, to be
had for a good price! The ideal location for the getaway farmhouse or retirement
dwelling for the ‘discerning’ home-owner, his family, his SUV, and the family
dog!
Poonam and her husband were so
typical of the crowd such a scheme attracts they were practically caricatures!
They drove out, hemmed and hawed at the modalities of payment, struggled to
understand how the banks worked out their monthly payment, and then bickered
and argued about who should give up which frankly expensive habit to pay for it
all!
On this, their fourth trip to the
site, they had decided that number 16, the one farthest from where the eventual
‘gate’ to this gated community would sit, was their dream plot! Poonam wanted
to soak in the sunset from a vantage point that was, luckily, in their plot!
She had already established feelings of ownership, and was mulling over details
of the house Nitin would design.
So she sat quietly, gazing
westwards, while Nitin discussed architectural merits of one slated roof over
another with his supplier. There were three strange mounds that she had never
noticed on the earlier visits, and she had plonked her handbag close to one of
them. She sat close by.
It was now dusk, and in the
gathering darkness, a chill rose from the nearby lake! Poonam felt a strange
fear shiver down her spine. That’s when she heard it. A cheerful tune rang out
in the silence, clearly a ring-tone of a mobile phone, from deep within the
mound of earth closest to where she sat!
(270 words)
20. “You know, I have wanted to say this for a
long time now, but never found the right moment! So I am just going to say it
now, and if this is not the right moment, too bad! We shall just have to like
it or lump it!
So, for some time now, I have felt
very strange when we are together, there is a dull ache that starts up about
here and then spreads to there, both front and back!
When I am alone, there is no pain,
it seems to arrive with you and departs with you, too …… funny, isn’t it? I
mean, one would think I am almost allergic to your company, that I suffer when
we spend time together!
And maybe I do, you know, I do find
myself doing strange, stupid things when I meet you! I start counting seconds,
you know, and then when I get home I enter the day’s count into an Excel sheet!
I could just look at my watch and then calculate, couldn’t I? But I don’t!
I talk too much, have you noticed
how I babble on and on and on and on and on? I never do that, well, when I am
with others, I mean! I am the quiet type, generally, maybe you just bring out
the talker in me! Better than turning me into a stalker, right?
What did you say? You feel the same
way exactly?
Oh!”
(243 words)
21. His heart was heavy, they had said, and it
had to be lightened before any therapeutic work could be begun on it!
So he decided to
sit and have one of his famous long ‘thinks’ to clear his mind and prepare the
ground for modern science to work its miracles.
He was now utterly
comfortable, slightly woozy!
When suddenly, he
heard it again…. the phone ringing with an urgency that he had, that day,
failed to recognise! How indeed does one recognise a telephone that is ringing
to give you bad news?
News that the one
person who made you complete was now on a cold slab in a hospital mortuary,
laid there after a fatal car crash.
News that the
young bright star you had nurtured for 20+ years was now a memory?
News that soon the
media would descend on your peaceful oasis with questions and not-so-subtle
judgements of your lifestyle, of your choices, of your shared lives?
Yes! of course!
that was how this particular downward spiral had begun!
To lose itself in
the bottomless glass of liquor that was well-stocked in the bar.
Ten whole weeks
ago.
Three days ago he
had absolutely made up his mind.
Modern science,
the miracles possible, and their procedural details were but a Google search
away.
Which was why now,
as the vodka slowing dissolved the required number of pills inside him, he
wanted to remember why he was lightening his heart of its heavy load!
(246 words)
22 This meeting was unexpected, unforeseen!
After all, our years together had not really required interactions with anybody
from our respective pasts … we had forged new lives together, which meant we
knew nothing about the other’s past involvements, past flings, past crushes!
So when he introduced me to a
striking stranger in the street outside our grocery store, I was first
surprised, then intrigued! What history did they share? Why had they not built
a life together? Watching the two “long lost lovers” lose themselves in a
bubble of their own, so wrapped up they clearly were in catching up, I was
insanely jealous!
The days that followed were full of
slamming doors, banging cutlery, and sullen silences. By the fourth evening, I
was ready to snap and create a scene!
And I did! I started very maturely
but soon lost control as I always do: I raved; I ranted; I insinuated, then I
accused! I was hurtful, I was hateful! I was out of control!
For answer, my love of 15 years
played me a song! On a phone!
Two lines explained it all. I felt
sheepish, stupid, and very, very small!
Here are those
lines from Garth Brooks
“Some of God's
greatest gifts are all too often unanswered ...
Some of God's
greatest gifts are unanswered prayers”
23. Inspiration hit her like a fist! Finally!
She rushed to open her small laptop to pound away at the keyboard before this
latest masterpiece went like so many others … straight out of her memory!
As the computer got its act
together, she arranged her thoughts, eyelids squeezed tightly shut so as not to
let the ideas tumble out. And when the Word document finally stood pristinely
open to receive her talent, she started typing with firm strokes, error free!
For twenty minutes, her fingers
danced on the keyboard, her breathing became louder and louder as the words
raced onto the screen in a steady stream. Not once did she falter, not once did
she hesitate or think or grope for the right word or an alternate word or
anything like that.
Then it was done! She had purged
herself of her Big Idea! And it was, in a sense, out of her fingers! She gulped
in mouthfuls of air in sheer relief!
Two hours later, when the maid crept
into the room, she found her mistress sitting as though petrified, staring with
unseeing eyes at a blank document on her computer screen.
24. When
he was younger, he had been taught well. “Unspoken acts of kindness” were taught
and encouraged in his family, the law laid down by his grandmother who ruled
with an iron fist. And so he had learnt to be kind, it was second nature to
him. But through his adult and married life, his wife ridiculed him no end –
she called him a wimp – for holding doors open for people at the office,
wishing strangers the time of day in the staircase, or outside the building.
His old habits, positive as they
were, withered away under the onslaught of constant harassment at home. He
became sullen, brooding, silent. He spoke when spoken to, he answered in
monosyllables! For his impatient (and frankly cruel) wife, he metamorphosed
into perfect husband material – strong, silent, no-nonsense and macho!
When their brittle marriage cracked
under the strain, and led them to the inevitable falling-out and
recriminations, he accused her of “mental cruelty”. She was stunned!
25. The entire mission was planned as if it
were of the utmost importance to national security. Both the ‘soldiers’ chosen
out of the group of six were known for their bravery, their skill in climbing
to awkward places, and their steady nerves under fire.
The best time
suggested by the strategists in charge of planning was between 11 and 11:30 pm,
when there was a lull in pedestrian traffic along the busy streets of the capital
city. Stealthily, over three days, all
the required equipment was smuggled to a central departure area which was close
to Ground Zero, the site they had decided to target.
The night they
suggested saw a large yellow moon hover low on the horizon, with no clouds in
sight! The mission was on!
Rucksacks secured
on their backs, the two commandos started out after the ceremonial fists bumps
with every member of the team. They approached the row of small shops, each
with its shutter locked shut. The target was the largest, most ostentatious of
the lot. Outside the shop, they stopped, and upon a mutually arranged signal, the
team went to work!
Cans of
fluorescent paint were uncapped and expertly, in three minutes exactly, the
front of the shop was ‘re-decorated’! Two names (Savita and Ravi) separated by
a large pink heart appeared on the shutter, and before anyone around raised the
alarm, Ravi and his bestie melted away into the night.
The next morning, at
9 am, Savita’s father was bewildered when he arrived to open his tyre shop. (256
words)
26. Every day, for long hours, the old man worked
feverishly. Then he went back to being the kindly old soul all his neighbours
knew him to be, living his frugal, solitary existence. Occasionally, his nephews
and nieces would appear on duty visits to check that the aged relative was
still alive and well.
He lived quietly in his three rooms,
one a makeshift kitchen from which tempting odours arose each evening as he
expertly cooked his own dinner. From another, strains of music would arise, as
he listened to his collection of old LP records. The third room, seldom used
except when he was in his daily “moods,” was a mystery even to his daily help –
a pert woman who had unfettered access to the rest of the house.
Once, the maid had asked innocently
if she could get into the third room to clean that as well. The vehement
refusal had scared her into silence. She never asked a second time.
Upon his death, the nephews and
nieces appeared again, and without any qualms, opened the third room. Within
days, there was a flurry of activity – the press, the police, the experts from
India and abroad – all streamed in and out of the third room, each group busy
documenting the find of the 21st century!
Neatly filed by year, carefully
treated and preserved, were the best, and most, modern paintings ever found in
any single artist’s portfolio.
“The old man was clearly a late
bloomer,” the reviews concluded sagely, while the nephews and nieces walked on
air, rupee signs dancing in their eyes.
27. Trundling his model car all over the room,
making buzzing sounds with his mouth, the young lad barely paid attention to the
two women sitting for a gossip session in the sitting room. He was at a
friend’s house, playing with their collection of cars as the friend’s mother
had guests to tea! But his ears picked up his name twice in the conversation,
and he started to pay careful attention!
-- Yes, she has been here for about two
years now, with two kids, this one and an older daughter.
Unnoticed by the
gossiping ladies, he inched closer so he could hear every word.
-- Does she work? I see her leave in
the morning about 7:45.
-- She’s a doctor. Works at a
hospital not too far away.
-- Wow! But the father? Of the kids?
Where is he?
-- Never seen him! But she wears a
red dot on her forehead, so she IS married, I suppose. There has to be a
husband somewhere!
-- Just one? you know, there are
women who cannot say who the father of their kids is! Or are, more likely!
-- Well, this one has put it about
that the ‘father’ of the kids is working abroad somewhere! But who knows,
right?
Laughter ensued, as had been
intended! The gossip session was going well! The ladies were having their fun!
The boy had tensed up, his mouth
pursed in concentration.
As she rushed around getting her son
ready for bed, the lady doctor was amazed to hear her seven year-old son ask
solemnly: “Mother, who is my father?” (267 words)
28 It was time once again. From all over
the planet, corporate jets had landed at Zurich airport, their passengers
transferred to limousines for a short drive into sylvan Alpine surroundings.
There, a lodge waited behind seven-foot high stone walls. The anti-snooping gadgetry
was disguised so the fortress, inviolable, unseen and impenetrable, could be
protected from law authorities, curious tourists, backpackers, amateur
mountaineers, and the prowling media who had occasion to hound the attendees of
this secret meeting that had become a once-in-five-years fixture on calendars
of “those who mattered”! In certain circles!
In a dark-panelled boardroom, 21 individuals
discussed weighty matters over two days, their confabulations broken by three meals
served by personnel hired for the occasion. Once a day, teams were driven up to
the lodge and they made presentations to the assembly. Their work done, the
teams retired, leaving the assembly to continue their discussions – always
conducted in English with no interpretation facilities offered!
At 5 pm on the second day, it was
time to conclude. The designated “leader” of this conclave came from South
Africa. Solemnly, he intoned: “Gentlemen, I believe our new directives are
clear! We must declare, jointly, that the acceptable lower threshold for sugar
levels in adults is henceforth 85, not 125! The usual machinery will be set into motion
from 9 am GMT tomorrow and we hope to have cheering news to report concerning
sales figures in our communications within 6 months.”
For the first time in two days,
impassive faces around the table broke into shamelessly greedy grins as the
world pharmaceutical cabal concluded yet another conclave. (265 words)
29. It was well within the order of things, I
reasoned, that I should be allowed the last piece of pizza at my own birthday
party at which I was the only host and guest; all my guests had found
themselves busy doing other things when a nasty acquaintance had put it about
that he had seen me sobbing uncontrollably outside the pathological laboratory
where only the in crowd went to get tested! But I showed them, didn’t I? (78
words)
30. She looked ethereal, like a doll! It was,
after all, one of the most important days of her life. She had been lovingly
prepared by the older ladies of the house … every bit of her face showed the
careful attention to detail those ladies had brought to their work.
The general hubbub all around was
subdued, for the loved one of the house, the darling of all, was about to be
going away, far away. In one of the rooms, the old grandmother was weeping
silently, and one by one other ladies joined her.
Soon, it was time. Someone gave a
signal, and a procession formed almost automatically.
At the front was the young husband,
bearing an earthen pot over his right shoulder, walking slowly but regally;
then came the young doll, now wearing a plain white cloth covering her supine
body.
A straggling clutch of people
followed, some openly weeping now, others controlling their sobs. With heaving
shoulders and downturned faces, the four closest male cousins bore their
darling sister on their shoulders most carefully, for they were now bringing
her to where her true Lord and Master was waiting.
Shocked neighbours watched in
silence, as the group left the village and turned towards the river bank close
by. In the distance, the pile of wood waited, too. (220 words)
31. The failure left the office – his ninth
interview in a row had been a disaster – and made his way to a park. He was now
firmly convinced that he really would amount to nothing, that he was indeed
good for nothing, a failure, a complete wash-out, etc.
Hours later, sitting under a tree
and staring into the distance, he had absently sketched the street scene he saw
before him, picking up every single detail of the successful lives on parade
there during working hours!
“I must find a way to end it all,”
he reasoned, and so he set out to find a way to execute that momentous
decision! Jaywalking on a busy street, he thought, was the most expedient way
of disposing of himself! So he chose a powerful vehicle to leap in front of,
and jumped at a moment he thought would be most effective to finish him off!
It was not!
The vehicle stopped in time and did
not crush his body into a bloody pulp! And he was roundly berated by the
shocked driver who emerged to rave and rant against the madman who had clearly
deliberately jumped!
What serendipity caused that enraged
driver to see the sketch the failure had spent the last few hours on? What
strange strings had been pulled to bring these individuals together in this
violent, dangerous manner? No one could explain this sudden turn of events!
Years later, the successful artist
told this story at a commencement ceremony at a prestigious Academy of Visual
Arts, and to his amazement, no-one present believed the nine failed interviews
at nine advertising agencies in the city! (273 words)
32. Finally, the day dawned bright and
perfect! The ceremonies were to start at daybreak, the final blessing being
given just a few minutes after the sun crossed the meridian. In the vast hall,
guests and family milled around in complete disorder, which was to be expected
at the large, society wedding. Conspicuous displays of wealth were everywhere
as two prominent business dynasties were to be joined together in holy
matrimony.
Taking advantage of the general
hubbub, the bridegroom managed to steal away to the rear of the building.
Dressed in fine silks, he stood huddled with his cronies, their tight circle
could not, however, contain the lazy wreath of smoke that arose from the six
cigarettes burning simultaneously. From above fell a folded sheet of paper, hitting
the groom on the forehead.
He looked up – in time to catch
sight of his intended move swiftly away from the open window. Smiling, but touched
to his core, he moved away from the group of friends and opened the paper.
Swiftly, he scanned the few lines scrawled on the paper, and his face flushed
uncontrollably!
“You left it too
long, my darling, and soon it will be too late for us. I shall be the wife of
another, and you will never be able to fulfil your promises to me.”
Puzzled, the bridegroom turned back
to stare at his friends. They stared back, puzzled. All, that is, except his
best friend. That gentleman alone looked fiercely at his own feet. He too, had
seen the bride dart away from the window above after throwing down the missive
that hit the wrong forehead! (273 words)
33
(sequel to 32)
There was a hush – the embarrassed
best friend slowly turned to leave, others stared in complete incomprehension. Moving
swiftly, the bridegroom found his cousin, requested her to take a message to
the bride as she prepared herself for the ceremony. The unusual request might
have raised eyebrows older than the cousin’s, but she was a modern girl with an
independent mind!
Three more co-conspirators were
pressed into service as look-outs and guards and the confabulations began in a
room on the second floor.
The bride had no defence whatsoever,
other than that she was too scared of her father to state her own preference.
The best friend, scion of another respected business dynasty, admitted he did
not dare bring up the topic of any matrimonial alliances until he “settled”
into his role of CEO in the family firm.
The bridegroom, armed with a degree
in Finance from a top-drawer Business School, was perhaps the best qualified of
his group of friends. He was, in all senses of the word, “a catch!” But this
latest crease in his perfect wedding day had messed up his carefully coiffed
hair in more ways than one!
The bride sobbed, the best friend
was petulant, the groom looked sombre.
The Summit gathered momentum and
gravity as three foolish humans faced their first truly adult decision!
In the end, appearances won hands
down!
The wedding went on as planned.
The best friend continued his affair
with the bride, her lawfully wedded husband was their cover!
The best friend was the perfect
cover for his best friend’s affair with his gym instructor.
The MBA textbooks had described this
as a “win-win situation!” (275 words)
34 --“I have something to tell you,” she
started timidly.
--A grunt, in response. It meant she had his permission. And his
attention.
--“You know, she started gingerly,
we have not exactly been happy with each other for the past few months …” she
could feel his jaw clench, his eyes narrow.
--“ . . . and so I was wondering if
. . . we could perhaps talk about it …calmly!”
--She said the last words in a rush,
flinching as if to stave off a blow she anticipated across her cheek from his
strong palm.
Today, however, no blow came!
She drew strength from this, and continued.
Tersely, dryly, she outlined the
numerous complaints she had collected over the past six years, day in, day out.
She expressed her anguish, her
torment, her low points and her fears! Each with the corresponding action (or
lack thereof) from his part.
It turned out to be a long speech –
almost 40 minutes altogether. Six years of practice had, after all, made her
word perfect!
Sighing at the end of her tirade,
she sat still for a moment. Then she turned off the recording equipment she had
borrowed from a cousin.
She waited for the DVD to slide out
of its sleeve on the computer, then wrote his name on it with a red marker.
Leaving the DVD on the desk, she
turned, picked up her purse and walked to her loaded car, slamming the door
shut behind her with a sharp, satisfied bang.
35. The car, bounding through potholes,
turning expertly on hairpin bends down the mountain. Soon the basalt-black soil
of the plains gave way to the dull red soil of the coastal strip. Nothing could
be cultivated here, for the abundant rainwater would simply disappear down the
slopes to the sea!
And yet, this region has its own
charm – the green tree cover in the monsoons, the ample fruits in summer, and
most of all, the older generations of the extended family that still lived
here, clinging obstinately to their set ways!
Life in the region was hard, he knew
that from family lore handed down from one generation to another! His uncles
had fought endlessly with the unyielding soil, uncooperative animals; their
sons had fled to cities as soon as the tiniest opportunity presented itself!
His own ties with this engaging
region were tenuous, at best! City-born, city-educated and city-reared, his
working life had taken him to distant shores.
And now, he was “coming home”,
finally, to create his own space in his ancestral region. A small plot of land,
a cosy house, a garden, and a stone wall all around his own piece of Heaven –
his needs were modest, he knew! His architect friend had ideas they could work
with once the site was chosen, finalized and paid for!
His face broke out into a grin as he
located his dream plot – for the 500th time perhaps – in the last 25
years! The grin faded abruptly. A large sign in white and red proclaimed the
plot, now fenced off with unsightly blue tin sheets, was “sold!” (266 words)
36. For some time, he amused himself
imagining the conversations the rich people exchanged at this “must be seen at”
social event – the opening of an art exhibit. His latest work. His! The sneak
previews had received nothing but praises!
They were full of praises, perhaps,
of an artist whose reappearance was being touted as “the” event of the season,
with famous critics and buyers of art rubbing shoulders and clinking champagne
flutes with rich patrons and admirers and people “who are important!”. In an
opulent ballroom.
Slowly, he pushed the door and
walked in. Hands reached out to grasp him in congratulatory hugs, others
offered glasses of bubbling champagne. And all around him was a buzz of
admiration and bonhomie.
Nodding his head, he accepted the
accolades as best as he could, and struggled to make his way through the swarm.
Inch by inch, he crossed the room, finally arriving at the raised podium where
a microphone stood waiting for him.
“I shall be brief,” he started, then
shut his eyes for a second.
“For all you know-it-all experts and
critics and journalists and Richie-rich idiots, I have news! Yes, you built my
reputation when I was young, then dropped me like a hot potato when I had
problems with substance abuse! I crawled back from the Hell of my own making
and then decided to test you and your knowledge of art and painting and all the
‘finer things in life!’
Well, people, you all failed!
Miserably, too!
These five paintings I have
exhibited here this evening are not my work!
They have been created by a gorilla,
Flossie, who I brought back from my travels and trained to throw paint at
canvas! Good night, all!”
37. 5:25 am. Monday’s eyes flicked open, came
to rest on the alarm clock that should go off in five minutes! Hurriedly he
jammed a finger onto the clock to turn it off – could not risk another argument
with the parents on how absurdly early he was waking up!
By 6:15 he had showered and was
dressed to leave for work, an early meeting meant he’d need to get to his
untidy cubicle and get his presentation ready for the bigwigs in the company.
At 7:00, he slid
the USB key into the slot and within minutes, his brilliant slides flashed on
the screen. Forehead creased in
concentration, he put his finishing touches to what had already been seen,
validated and admired by his team of professionals.
By 8:05, he was
completely ready! He raced to the smoking zone on his floor, confident his team
would be there already! But the zone was empty. He smoked a fast cigarette and
returned to his cubicle. None of his neighbours were at work yet!
One by one he
called his team mates – he would roundly cuss each one out! He had over-reached
himself on this project, and the least the blighters could do was show up to
the meeting in solidarity!
No answer from
anyone. Normal, IT professionals do not answer their mobiles before 9 am
anyway!
38. It was the Hindu equivalent of Purgatory,
a very short pause in the seamless transition from the “ihalok” to the “parlok!”
The crowd milled around nervously. At the centre of the open space was the deceased,
now covered by a simple shroud of white cotton.
Every few minutes,
a car drew up and spewed out hasty figures who first checked discreetly all
around for media-persons before they coagulated into groups of “people like
themselves”! Occasionally someone would move away from the group and speak most
importantly into a mobile phone.
There were others
whose faces showed their anguish. They stared into space, but if their eyes
met, they tried to share the grief at the passing of such an important figure
in their lives.
The family of the
deceased, understandably, was deeply in shock. This blow, coming hard on the
heels of financial ruin, would be too much for the patriarch, now lying at home.
he was too old and ill to see off his youngest grandson, killed in a drunken
car crash just hours ago.
At an unspoken
signal from the priest’s assistant, four pall-bearers moved to the bier. They
hoisted it up to shoulder level and accompanied by chants, moved to the
furnace. The body was laid on a conveyor. There was another hush, as people
craned their necks to get a glimpse of what was behind the furnace door.
With a loud clang,
the door opened, the shrouded body moved into the orange interior. Flames leapt
up hungrily and the door shut with another clang!
At the gates, a
car drove slowly to a stop. The deceased’s grandfather emerged, looking dazed.
39. The List had become their touchstone to
instant bliss. Ever since her parents had set it up in the largest departmental
store in town, the guests had looked over the List and chosen and paid for
particular items. To be delivered to the couple as wedding gifts, of course.
The bride was ecstatic. She knew her
dining set, basic linen, crockery was all accounted for. He was happy his sound
system and barbecue had been already “selected”. Every few days the couple
walked hand in hand into the store, where the deferential staff gave them
updates on how the guests were paying the hosts for the expensive lunch and
cocktails they would imbibe at the wedding now three weeks away.
Of course, the bride said to
herself, it was quite natural for certain rich relatives to be pushed to the
List! She was categorical – nothing but the very best would do for her duplex
flat that was being readied, tile by expensive tile, in time for the bridal
couple!
Today, she hoped her favourite
grand-aunt had kept her promise. The 76-year old spinster, a teacher who was
herself immensely wealthy, had been seen in town, and the bride rather wanted
to see if the old lady had chosen the damask jewellery cases or the designer chiffon
stoles that no-one had picked yet.
She eagerly scanned her portion of
the list. At the bottom of “her page”, in spidery handwriting, someone had
scrawled three words and a signature: “Trust.
Devotion. Faith.” The bride drew a sharp breath! She had seen
the writing before, on annual greeting cards that arrived from some old relative!
40. Shanti
smiled to herself. After a lot of coaxing, her youngest child was now asleep,
and the older one was falling asleep
too. Shanti was content. Her husband had found employment after months of
mounting despair and two changes of residence.
The couple’s bad luck seemed to have stabilised after the birth of her
son. Which, she reminded herself, is exactly what her mother-in-law had predicted
before she died.
Shanti looked over at a small pile of
belongings she had accumulated. Most were hand-me-downs, some she had picked up
in heaps of garbage strewn around. There was immense potential to ‘find” good
things. Amazing what people threw away!
Idly, she played with the grimy blanket
that separated her quarters from her neighbour’s – privacy was at a premium in
this new spot her husband had found a week ago. Shanti took pride in the way
she had set up house. The children were settling down, her husband was working,
and she had her own work cut out for her!
From the noise outside, Shanti guessed her
husband would soon be home. His dinner as waiting, she just had to get some
water for him from the broken pipeline across the street. Wiping her brow with
her sari, she stood up and grabbing a small enamel pan, moved the blanket
aside, and strode out.
A few feet above Shanti’s head, nightly
truck traffic roared on its way in and out of the metropolis. The broad,
newly-completed highway had assured the local government a second term in
office, and Shanti had a “roof” over her head! A “win-win” situation indeed! (267
words)
41. “I
have never minded your constant jibes about my size whenever we are with your
friends. I know I need to lose weight, and the fact that you even are remotely
interested in me is a surprise. To me, to my parents, to everyone who knows
us!”
“‘What
does he see in her?’ I can see the question in their eyes when they see us together
on the bus. They think I don’t catch the eye signals, the slight tilt of the
head when they think they are silently pointing us out to their friends! I am
not stupid, I just don’t let it affect me, that’s all!”
“But
today, when I came into the café and saw and heard you imitate me shrugging off
my raincoat, your contortions, your grunts, your face twisted beyond
recognition – that was when I asked myself – does he really see me like that?”
“I
am the same girl, am I not, when we are together in my bedroom or yours? Then
you slobber all over me, grasping and clutching at my flesh, pulling and
prodding and telling me how I turn you on? You have torn four perfectly good
skirts in your hurry to get me naked!”
“I
think I shall have to show your friends this little video clip I have from last
Saturday night! 4 minutes of you performing with the great tub of lard! Berserk
with lust, slathering, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog! Eager to hold
yourself off, but you couldn’t! Four minutes and you were done! They need to
see this! I shall show it to them somehow! Have a good life!”
42. Under a cloudless sky lit by a large
golden orb, the Predator emerged over the horizon. With single-minded purpose,
he started moving stealthily towards his hapless victim, an inch at a time, or
so it seemed to the Witness. The Witness was at a vantage point, the entire
scene played out in front of him, and he could have been valuable to any
investigation that might have followed the crime.
The “crime” was not a crime in the
natural order of things. Such events occur naturally and regularly, but the
Witness and his morality looked at natural events, occurrences, and situations,
and then deemed them unnatural! It made them feel powerful, omniscient!
The victim, meanwhile, had not
noticed the Predator edge closer, and continued to move at a slow pace,
oblivious to the imminent danger.
The Witness cringed inwardly, for he
was sensitive. The Predator moved inexorably, for he was hungry, of
course! And the Victim was clueless, as
victims often are.
Nice and fattened
up over the past few days, the Victim was the perfect prey for the ravenous
Predator.
Nature’s ebb and
flow finally played itself out. Moving swiftly in the last few minutes, the
Predator covered the distance with surprising agility for one so huge and
menacing. The Victim, in the last few seconds, seemed to freeze and quietly
accept his fate. The Witness shook his
head in despair, there was nothing he could do!
The dark, heavy
thundercloud coming from the Southwest had just covered the helpless full moon
and the first heavy drops of the year’s monsoon rain soon spattered onto the
parched ground.
