A F F L A T U S

Sound of night...

2011-12-07T07:22:00.001-08:00

Each week, I post three words. You write something using the words.

Then come back and post a link to the contribution with Mr. Linky (but please, link to the exact post, not your blog, by clicking on the exact post title and paste it to Mr. Linky below). As always, there's no hard-and-fast rule that you have to post on Wednesday.

But I invite everyone to check back often to read and comment on other contributions. This is, after all, a community for writers who clamor for feedback.

This week's words:

Flag; noun: A piece of cloth or similar material, typically oblong or square, attachable by one edge to a pole or rope and used as the symbol or emblem of a country or institution or as a decoration during public festivities; verb: Mark (an item) for attention or treatment in a specified way; signal to a vehicle or driver to stop, especially by waving one’s arm.

Might; modalverb: In reported speech, expressing possibility or permission; expressing a possibility based on a condition not fulfilled; used in questions and requests; used to express possibility or make a suggestion.

Passive; adjective: Accepting or allowing what happens or what others do, without active response or resistance.

At last everything fell silent. The drums, flute and nadaswara stopped playing and disappeared into the sound of night. But her mind recalled each and every moment of that wonderful night. It did not remain silent not for a minute. She blushed, giggled as she lost herself into a world of fantasies. 'I am not going to sleep today' she told herself. The clock banged twelve O clock, two more hours to the most exciting event of her life...

When she met him in that crowded street three years back, did she know that he was the one? She pondered over the question again and again. The answer was she was unaware that she knew He was the one. Planning wasn't her cup of tea. Everything seemed so impulsive and life was full of surprises. So full of surprises, that she never thought there would be hurdles in her path. Ever. Lady luck was always beside her. She passively went through life's challenges, knowing that she would emerge 'happy'.

He rolled her over and looked straight into her eyes. She was still catching her breath and stared right back into those deer like eyes. He blew off a hair strand and said 'I love you' he said and in return she closed her eyes and replied 'I know'. I never thought I might say 'I know'. What kind of a reaction was that...

She checked the time it was one A.M. She wondered now, how special yet simple was that moment. She had looked forward for those words, and it had seemed like an eternity. And then, she had stopped hoping those words would even be uttered. Yet after giving so much, somewhere deep she wondered, she waited!

Thirty minutes left...her eyes told her it was time to shut them. The flashback scenes slowly mingled with a dream she was having. Her breathing became slower and she slipped into sleep at last. In thirty minutes, she was getting married. But she told herself, let him wait now!!!

The hero...

2011-11-23T08:10:00.001-08:00

This week's words:

Hollow; adjective: Having a hole or empty space inside; (of a thing) having a depression in its surface; concave; (of a sound) echoing, as though made in or on an empty container; without significance; noun: A hole or depression in something, or small valley; verb: Form by making a hole.

Misery; noun: A state of feeling great distress or discomfort of mind or body; a cause or source of great distress or discomfort.

Shallow; adjective: Of little depth; situated at no great depth; varying only slightly from a specified or understood line or direction, esp. the horizontal; not exhibiting, requiring, or capable of serious thought; (of breathing) taking in little air; verb: (Of the sea, a lake, or a river) become less deep over time or in a particular place.

I wore my goggles, my feet were killing me and I cursed those high heeled shoes. Again I stood in front of the studio. My ears were all ON, it was exciting to be that close to the movie shooting spot. I definitely am a movie buff... My mind rehearsed carefully what I am going to tell Mr.Hero who was shooting inside. What would he be wearing... How has he done his hair today? Will I ever see him...My heart was beating at the rate of 100 beats per minute. I could feel this moment was so special...

A security guard reappeared and threatened a gang of fans, but we were so determined to see our hero that it hardly had an effect. I repositioned myself a few feet away but my eyes were stuck to the exit. I didnt wanna miss a single thing. To feel better, I began singing songs of our movie hero. Slowly my friends joined and one of them also brought out a guitar. We were enjoying the singing. Others also crowded around us and encouraged our singing. It began to feel like a different world. I closed my eyes now, the sun disappeared and so did the heat... Everything around seemed shallow. I was in a garden, full of roses...red ones. The fragrance filled up the air and like a Greek God He walked among them...

My heart beat grew faster. I stopped singing and got up. I knew the moment was drawing close... I looked at that door, which seemed my only hope. End to all misery!!! At that very moment, He was there. In flesh and blood...this was no imagination. Time stopped for an eternity. I was aware of only His existence...not even mine. As he pushed away the curtains to make his way out, he looked straight ahead... at me. And when our eyes met, though for only fraction of a second I was swept away. I flew in a thousand skies and with a million wings... Something within me ceased to exist! And then again it all felt like a new existence...

He walked back straight to his caravan. My friends ran to him but my feet were rooted. I stood still... And deep within my heart I knew I will never feel hollow again. Atleast to me, this is love!!!

Ekalavya....

2011-11-13T02:06:00.001-08:00

the summer flower has run to seed

Use all or some of the words in your poem or story then leave your URL with Mister Linky. A comment would be nice too.

He picked up the book once again and turned to the first page. Reading it for the 1000th time still made it impossible to believe. He looked through the dusty windows into the dark night and was wondering at the state of decay of his mansion. His eyes caught a spider spinning a cobweb at one corner, it was working it's way skillfully and almost beautifully. The silver threads glistened with the light from the oily lamp. At another time he would have shouted at the house maids and servants for their negligence but today he resolved to maintain peace with himself. 'He was just like this...' retired professor Dayal Sharma told himself and sighed. Swinging his head back, he let his mind escape into the realms of the past...

One timid face among the whole class stood out... I noticed those sparkling eyes, thirst for knowledge and the will to work hard. They belonged to Vishnu. With a height like five feet nine inches tall, it was impossible to ignore him completely. But his timid nature and his innocence sometimes was annoying. These attributes made him look foolish at times. The other students seemed more promising to me, they were smart, eager and fearless. I treated my students not like a bunch of idiots but as clean slates... I wrote in those slates everything I knew and wanted them to know all secrets of pathology. Somewhere deep in my mind I wished some of my students would carry the torch of knowledge far away, lighting thousands of candles and my name would thus become eternal. Thus I wasn't completely selfless in my ways...

A mid summer afternoon I was panting after a flight of stairs. The heat seemed intolerable. I stopped at the end of stairs to catch my breath... A small group of students walked along the corridor, they all seemed so lively... full of laughter and jovial. It was nice to be young, I reminded myself and smiled at the group and made my way along the corridor to my room. Vishnu was walking along the wall, before our paths even crossed he fled as if I was a wild animal. I sighed and told myself 'God, show him the right path'. Somehow, even to this day when I think about the corridor incident I find myself sympathizing Vishnu. In his eyes I saw the

Years passed by. My students did make me proud. They were now professors and teaching many students. I was content that my torch of light still burned spreading light. Everywhere I went I heard praises about my students, I could see myself holding the torch light high in the air. I did not hide my pride but flaunted my achievements, at any given opportunity.

A soft breeze entered the decrepit room, the freshness of the evening air transported Dayal Sharma back to the present. A gush of air followed and extinguished the oil lamps. Darkness of night seemed to invade the mansion wildly. He stirred in his easy chair getting used to the darkness. The cold air refreshed his senses and the darkness seemed like an excellent background to his journey into the past... So he simply let it be, continuing his journey.

As time passed clearly the standards of education changed. Students relied more on 'short notes' and 'guides' rather than classroom lectures. Money became the most important thing, everything else took a second seat. Sincere and hardworking students became a rarity... those rare ones too were discouraged and transformed very soon. everything began to fade around my world. My torch of light seemed to be burning in an empty room, soon to be extinguished. I was beginning to lose hope that anything would change this situation.

One fine day I received a parcel. My maid brought it to me with the evening tea. I opened the parcel and was surprised to find a textbook. Who would send me one, may be one of the publishers. The author's name in clear bold letters 'Dr.Vishnu Sharma'. I secretly hoped it's the Vishnu I knew...on the first page was the dedication.

This book is dedicated to the lotus feet of my guru

Dr.Dayal Sharma

The screeching noise of the easy chair was the only sound to be heard in the whole mansion. That sound meant a lot to Dr.Dayal Sharma, it was the proof of life in that old mansion. In the darkness he reached for the book and clutched it close to his heart. And cried aloud 'Ekalavya....' The echoes filled the whole mansion.

Claustrophobia...

2011-11-09T08:58:00.000-08:00

This week's words:

Drank; past tense of drink, verb: Take (a liquid) into the mouth and swallow; consume or be in the habit of consuming alcohol, especially to excess.

Hitch; verb: Move (something) into a different position with a jerk; fasten or tether with a rope; noun: A temporary interruption or problem.

Muster; verb: Assemble (troops), esp. for inspection or in preparation for battle; collect or assemble (a number or amount); summon up (a particular feeling, attitude, or response); noun: A formal gathering of troops, esp. for inspection, display, or exercise.

I sprang out of my bed and began to breath heavily. It was a nightmare! Thank God. That terrible night I had a really bad dream that I drank a magic potion which turned me into a giant. I outgrew my clothes and they tore down. Then my large head began to touch the ceiling and my arms and legs touched the four corners of the room. To my surprise I continued growing so I had to tilt my head, the tip of my nose touched the ceiling. It was all too crazy... I couldn't breath. That has been my biggest fear! Not able to breath...

My unconscious mind somehow mustered the courage to break out of that terrible dream and I was back to my original size. Breathing normally. It seemed like heave. And for the first time I didn't feel bad it was a Monday morning. The nightmare seemed to eradicate all my morning blues. I was just glad my nose didn't continue to touch the ceiling.

The day seemed normal, all work and no play. I survived college! At four o clock that evening my mobile rang: Movie, Lord of the rings, Symphony 6PM??? I answered back positively. Finally there was something to enjoy that day. I reached my purse buried deep in my college bag and counted how much money was left. Not much actually. There was also my unused ATM card... I wondered why I never used the card. Somewhere deep down I knew I was afraid of the whole thing.

The guard sitting outside the ATM centre, tall and strong... big black mustache. The claustrophobic prone ATM centre. How do people even breath inside that wretched place. There's no enough place to even swing your hands... I simply dreaded the whole place. But today I intended to overcome this hitch and declared a war on the ATM centre and the guard. I walked three blocks from our college to reach the ATM centre and was absolutely delighted to find the guard missing. The recent occupant swung the door open and I passed a nervous smile... 'How courteous!' I told myself. Then I withdrew a minimal amount and walked back towards the door. The handle of the door was cold. I pushed...it didnt open. Then I pulled... It didn't open! And then I used all tricks to open the door. No use. I felt doomed. I panicked....

I told myself 'Breath... Breath ... when there's enough air..' But I looked nervously outside and began banging on the door. The guard still hadn't reached his chair. A group of people outside saw my plight but instead of coming to my rescue...they began to laugh. They thought I was trying to play a prank on them. Not one person walked towards the ATM centre. Back then, television shows with pranksters making a fool out of normal people were on the top. I was clearly doomed. When I looked around the ATM centre, the hopelessness inside me precipitated and I began to sweat profusely... 'GIRL CHOKED TO DEATH IN ATM CENTRE...' those were going to be the headlines the next day I told myself... And all the crowd who thought I was some prankster for a television show are going to rot in hell.

Five minutes passed... the most difficult five minutes of my entire life! I wondered if my dream was going to come true, may be it was a hint to all this menace. I also cursed my friend who called me out for a movie... Oh my bad karma! Then a miracle happened. The guard came running to the door. He motioned his hand to swipe my card through an opening near the door. I fumbled with my card and did the same... And LO! the door opened. It swung open and I was out... Breathing freely again... I thanked the guard and walked away embarrassed!

Bearer of news....

2011-11-05T07:48:00.000-07:00

Each week, I post three words. You write something using the words.

But I invite everyone to check back often to read and comment on other contributions. This is, after all, a community for writers who clamor for feedback.

This week's words:

Carnage; noun: The killing of a large number of people.

Jerk; noun: A quick, sharp sudden movement; a spasmodic muscle twitch; a contemptibly obnoxious person; verb: Move or cause to move with a jerk

Puncture; noun: A small hole in something, a tire or skin, made by a sharp object; verb: Make a puncture in (something); cause a sudden collapse of (mood or feeling).

The mid day sun shone brightly in the vast blue sky.Their skin appeared thickened and coarse, sparse garments covered their torsoabove knees. Feet appeared planted in the fertile black soil. They movedrhythmically planting and removing saplings. It seemed to me like all this wasa dance. I cycled along the narrow mud path which separated two huge paddyfields. I was listening to the women singing and birds chirping. It allappeared so much orchestrated. It looked like a green carpet, the paddy field.Here and there I saw handmade cradles made of worn out sarees carefully tied tostrong branches. It was a beautiful sight. Sweat dripped along my foreheadconstantly and it was difficult to wipe them, so I let it drop to the ground asif to kiss the bare earth. It was my first day here so I began to observe mysurroundings very keenly. I cursed the heat but continued my journey along thesefields towards an unknown destination.

I halted my bicycle in a sudden jerk (not used to muddy roads) under a banyan tree and walkedwith my bundle of letters towards the fields. A postcard was addressed toChennamma who worked in the fields of Doddegowdru. Among the sea of bent heads,looking for Chennamma seemed a task. I went to a person who seemed to be thesupervisor, a typical guy actually! Huge belly, dark skinned, a mole near theleft lower orbital floor. I asked for Chennamma, he shouted her name loudly anda couple of heads rose up with curious eyes. From the dress I wore, theyunderstood I was the bearer of news. All the six Chennammas, came runningtowards the supervisor but their eyes fixed upon me. The supervisor seemed confusedand asked me ‘Which one?’ I looked at the address again, Chennamma, wife ofKitchappa’. I repeated her husband’s name and only woman began to blush. Evenunder the burning sun her expressions were so crystal clear, the very name ofher husband filled her heart with so much delight. She rose her hand slightlyand with bent eyes began drawing circles with her feet. The rest of theChennammas began to leave silently and the supervisor led us to the shade ofthe banyan tree.

She was my first ‘client’ in Kudlooru. The shade ofthe banyan tree seemed like a pleasant change to the scorching sun. Both of ussquatted on the grass which surprisingly was cool. She asked me to read theletter. I straightened my spectacles and took a closer look at the post card. I restricted myself not only as a bearer ofnews but also as a counselor since many of my clients were both illiterate andnaive. A few literate ones also consulted me in their affairs since theythought I had worldly wisdom. Villagers believe that travelers like me earnwisdom everywhere we go, the world being our school and life being our teacher.She asked me anxiously about the events described in the letter and I read themaloud but slowly making sure she is able to understand every word I speak.Every district had a slang, a different accent and usage of the same language.

Kitchappa described his life in simple words, healthwas good and work seemed fine. The city looked big with buildings and full ofvehicles. He enquired about the health of his parents and reminded his wife insweet words that his parents were old and might seem crude but they loved her alot. He enquired about the children’s health and studies. His last few lineswere about how his new city job could help clear loans. Chenamma wiped a tearfrom the corner of her eye and took the post card from my hand. She thanked meand began her enquiries ‘How is the city? I have seen in the television. Womenare very pretty there, isn’t it? I hear they don’t take care of their ownchildren and parents. Must be spending time doing all those colorful things totheir faces and hair…’ This woman spoke so comfortably as though she knew mefrom ages. Yes I seemed to have earned her trust, this will help me later. Inodded as in a reply and said ‘They have to work too, like you people!’ Shelooked at me in complete shock, ‘Like me! You mean under the burning sun, onall fours and some mean men shouting at you all the while?’ She took a breakand sighed and then carried on ‘I watch tv serials, either they are sitting onchairs watching a small tv or they are gossiping about the family all thewhile.’ I thought it was better to stay quiet. Women! Her supervisor called on‘So, the whole afternoon you want to spend with that wretched postcard?’Chenamma cursed the fellow and got up and went along leaving me and my bicyclealone. I turned back to look yet again at the sea of bent heads. Wrapped byhands of mother earth, they all looked like. I stopped for a second to enjoyonce again this sight of selfless love. And do they even know that they arebeing held safely by mother earth’s hands? I prayed to the great mother whoseomnipresence can be felt in these green fields.

I rode through the muddy path crossing the greenfields into the temple street. Our culture so rich, so many gods at every turnof a street there is a Ganesha idol, decorated with fragrant flowers. Theremover of obstacles. I got off my bicycle as I passed through the idol andremoved my chappals. I folded my hands with great reverence and said a quickprayer. The next letter had to be delivered to the Temple priest of Sitaramtemple. I had heard a lot of this temple and was eager to visit it. Theopportunity presented itself today and my heart leapt with great joy. A whiteenvelope from Chennai with an elaborate address, all in capitals was addressed tothe temple priest. I dropped the envelope at the temple office and entered intothe temple to have a good darshan. My mind seemed so peaceful after anencounter with Chennamma that now I was here to absorb holiness. The Sita Ramdarshan was a feast to the eyes. I was lost in a different world for whatseemed timeless.

My eyes opened and I was reminded by the bundle ofletters that there was more work to do. I took the Lord’s blessings and was onmy way back to the bicycle. The temple priest sat at the edge of steps withhead bent low. He seemed to be disappointed and lost. An inner voice urged meto talk to him. The priest seemed to be around sixty years old and his eyesbeamed with devotion. Respect rose from the bottom of my heart and I began tospoke him ‘Sir, are you in some deep trouble?’ He seemed shaken and lifted hiseyes to look at me. In his right hand tightly folded was the letter I had given. He wiped his tears and cleared his throat and began to speak. 'This letter is from my son who passed away a month ago in a terrorist carnage....' He broke into tears again. Just listening to him punctured my heart. I placed my hands on his elderly shoulders and looked into the vast sky. Blue. Huge. without an end, without a beginning... I prayed the almighty to give him the strength to overcome his tragedy. Words at that time seemed meaningless...With the bundle of letters I walked back to my halted bicycle...

to be continued...

Choices...

2011-10-20T10:12:00.000-07:00

This week's words:

Breach; noun: an act of breaking or failing to observe a law, agreement, or code of conduct; a gap in a wall, barrier, or defense, especially one made by an attacking army; verb: Make a gap in and break through.

Ember; noun: A small piece of burning or glowing coal or wood in a dying fire.

Tentative; adjective: Not certain or fixed; provisional.

Image courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/photos/rickymontalbano/3108143427/

Heaven on earth! Sundays, that's when time stands still (atleast that's how it is to me). My limbs refuse to move. Bed coffee. Breakfast in bed. Or a sunday brunch. Wearing shorts full time. The events of the day are tentative. Waking up at nine or ten, no irritating voices hauling in your ears, no images of your 'HARI SADU' boss harassing you. On sundays I cease to exist... On sundays I live!

One such wonderful sunday I found myself in my backyard, taking a nap on a straw mat. The radio was playing classic Bollywood numbers, they were celebrating a renowned singer's birthday. Our backyard was a safe haven, my father hardly frequented the place and this meant I was lucky enough to escape a lecture on breach of conduct and role of youth in modern society: now and then. I can't boast of my success, I have been a victim to these monologues in the past. It was only after close observation I realized how safe I was amongst these trees and their shadows.

My neighbor beckoned to me in loud voices. I was dreaming about eating ripe mangoes. a heap of them. Heaven! A rat seemed to invade my delicious mangoes in my dream and it was calling my name. The anti climax dream shook me and I woke up. 'Friend, what about our business proposal?' I shook sleep away and began to seriously consider the business proposal at hand. We were planning to run a restaurant in the nearby neighborhood. 'Lets have a meeting and see how things shape?' I replied wiping away sleep. 'Fine...will do' Velu replied and went away punching numbers on his mobile. Meeting ON, Sunday OFF.

We four neighbors have been friends since school. We would sit in our backyards and discuss with each other about concepts in physics, formulas in chemistry and theorems of mathematics. I looked around my backyard and realized that this piece of land has been our temple of knowledge since ages. One more brain storming session coming ahead. Our business meetings were mostly brainstorming night outs. Morning we would have designed a business plan with huge success rate. I gave up my heaven for one more brain storming session in our backyard.

The ember shone brilliantly in the night. And so did our ideas... Youth, we can shake mountains, drink up oceans and reach the stars. But only those who cease to exist and choose to live!!!

The girl at Piccadilly....

2011-10-12T08:38:00.000-07:00

3WW CCLXII

Each week, I post three words. You write something using the words.

But I invite everyone to check back often to read and comment on other contributions. This is, after all, a community for writers who clamor for feedback.

This week's words:

Admire; verb:

Follow; verb:

Piece; noun:

We were the first to arrive at Piccadilly, a restaurant renowned for Iranian food in Mumbai. With a childish excitement, the three of us dropped our shopping bags and began to admire the place. A bored fat bald waiter walked by and passed on the menus. Before leaving he forced a smile, I haven't seen a smile followed by a frown and then again disappear into a frown. The dentist in me was awakened by that smile. His teeth were discolored and his gums were swollen. My sister seemed to sense it and begged me not to venture into a 'Lecture on oral health awareness'. I decided to let go, this one time. The writer in me immediately came into action, I placed a patch on his eye and dressed him in a large black cloak (in the back of my mind) and lo! I had my own version of a pirate... 'Pirate in Piccadilly!' I cried aloud. We all laughed out loud and exchanged our versions of the waiter. My sister thought about Adolf Hitler and my husband thought about 'Shrek'. How cute!

Iranian food was ordered and we fell silent for a while, mostly busy with our mobile phones. The small place began to fill up with groups of three and fours mostly.... People began to settle down and the waiter appeared and disappeared with menus and orders.

A loud shrill, yes the voice was scary and I dropped my phone... Amidst all the anguish and disgust I realized the words she was singing was from my favorite song: 'Dream........ Dream.. Dream..' by Everly Brothers.

Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream
Drea-ea-ea-ea-eam, dream, dream, dream

I hit my head to the table trying to pick up the phone... The bump and the song seemed like a dreadful combination. I couldn't take my eyes off the girl, my ears definitely wanted to get folded and turn sound proof. Why don't we have that option...

The girl dressed in blue jeans and a bright colored top looked chic. She continued singing in the same irritable voice... to a young fellow who seemed to admire the song. His face was lit up. The whole room fell silent and people gaver her their complete attention, more out of shock rather than out of choice...

My sister whispered to me, where's the remote control to turn this broken piece off... we giggled like little naughty girls, an elderly woman tried to clear her ears with self made ear buds. They looked like tooth picks covered with tissue paper. The rest of the crowd gaped at the girl in blue... and then to our rescue came the waiter who carefully placed the food at her table.

We couldn't help but bless the waiter. To our eyes he now looked like a flying angel. Our prayers were finally answered. She literally dived into her food,, using both hands generously. The rest of the crowd continued to have their dinner in peace. We paid our bills and walked out of Piccadilly with memories of good food.

After about two to three days later, my husband and sister were fighting for the newspaper. I rushed out of the kitchen. The Piccadilly girl's photo was in the newspaper. She was the same girl, there was no sort of confusion about that. The text below the photo was from a Mumbaikar. The piccadilly girl was living in their streets for ten days. She had made the footpath her home and began to live there. When people approached her to offer help, she had put up a bold fight even with policemen and was slowly becoming a nuisance. Another observation made by the columnist was that she was wearing branded clothes, an expensive watch and some 'cool' shades. She spoke in good english and claimed to be from Delhi. She also added she had fled from home to Mumbai to become a model.

We were surprised. The Piccadilly girl seemed to stir up a cyclone everywhere she went....

Antha.... (The end)

2011-10-10T03:07:00.000-07:00

It w

Carry On Tuesday # 126

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller is considered to be oneof the greatest novels of modern times. The opening words are simple, anexpression we use time and time again!

It was love at firstsight

Use part or all of the prompt at thebeginning or within your poem or story. Please leave your name and url withMister Linky. A commentas love at firstsight
Inertia was catching up with Adya. A loud laughter explode from what seemed to be lovers transported her back to the world of 'NOW'. Adya wondered at her recent plight. The strange connection with Siddhartha and her memories flooding back seemed like a volcano exploding. Also Adi's call which seemed like an interruption rather than a pleasure caused Adya to redefine her relationships. How much the past was eating her up...

16/01/06

It was love at first sight. And now it's been a year since a new meaning came into my life. Adi with all his gentleness and love has completely won me over. I see life with a new pair of rose colored glasses. The shades around me are so soothing and life seems relaxing. Something of a holiday trip...

I am looking forward to spend the day, the whole day with him. I can buy a small cake, just for us and a few candles. It will be a surprise...

The whole day, Adya spent in planning about the date. She took care not to reveal any of the surprise details. It was eight PM and Adi hadn't turned up yet. Restlessness began to grip Adya's state of mind. And before she could control her mind she realized it was over... Something went terribly wrong that day. It was a fight that never ended.

Discontent filled Adya's heart. Life seemed unfair. Taking away slowly and cunningly that which was gifted. It taught her the lesson of detachment. Tears formed in those large eyes as she bent over to look at her reflection in the lake. Her reflection seemed to smile and along with the breeze she heard a soft cry 'what are you running away from?'. The voice resounded in her ears forever. She felt her feet firmly rooted to the ground. When she tried to shout, her voice refused her order. Fear began to grip her mind instantly. She turned to look in the direction of the voice and saw a boatman in the lake. Within seconds he disappeared and Adya felt a new hope within...

Now, as Adya looked at the lake and thought about the reflections, she remained calm... She began to observe the flowing water. Blue, clear and so relaxing. Her mind was clear of clutter. The edges of the lake shone brightly, looked almost golden. As the sky was turning into a bright red hue, the color of water changed from blue to a orange color. It seemed to Adya that the lake was much calmer and the splashing of water against the walls kind of made a different sound. Gentle. Peace and serenity took over the whole place. The trees danced to the tunes of the evening breeze and called upon Adya to join them.

Adya decided to let go off the past... Forget the disappointments. Let go off twists with fate and embrace a new way of life. And then came along 'Siddhartha'.... a new hope in life... She closed her eyes and listened to the lake. It was whispering to her in a language she hardly understood. A cloud of peace encompassed her and lifted her to an unknown level where words lost their meanings, languages vanished into thin air.

A dream that wasn't....

2011-09-26T00:29:00.000-07:00

Those were the days my friend

Use all or part of it within your poem or prose then leave the url of your piece with Mister Linky. A comment would also be appreciated.

She snapped the phone off after the call, after all she came here to fight her confusions. Adya's feet slowly moved along the touch me not plant. The leaves snapped close in a sort of descending fashion.Her eyes followed the pattern of the 'touch me not' leaves. Magical! She closed her eyes and followed her thoughts. Various images passed through her mind, many faces crossed her path from past and present. It lingered for a while on her father. Dr.Rao was a popular practioner. Patients loved him, wife was devoted and his children adored him. How perfect life was! like pages from a fairy tale book. And suddenly....

09/02/07

My hands were sweating like hell. I wiped them constantly. This cannot be happening to me. This is all a dream. I will wake up and shoo it away. Persons dressed in green surgical gowns walked constantly in and out of the operation theaters. Dad will be fine. Everything is going to be fine. The smell of the whole place was yuck! What is the smell...blood perhaps! I need to wake up from this nightmare. Soon. But it doesn't end....I can still see mom in a state of shock. She doesn't respond to anything. Anahita is sobbing... And me? I am dreaming. All this is a dream. I will wake up before I know... Dad will be fine..

A kid threw a pebble into the lake and the sound of pebble hitting the surface woke Adya from her past. She straightened up and wiped a forming tear from her eyes and looked at the ripples made by successive pebbles. So beautiful...

04/05/90

Today I bought a bicycle. But I don't know how to ride one. Dad said he will teach me how to... We went to a park I sat on the cycle. Dad was holding it from behind. HE promised no to let go off the cycle. But he did let go very quickly... 'Appa' I shouted hitting the ground. I will never believe Dad again....

Life was never the same again for Adya. The loss of her father created a big void in her life. Never to be filled again. She looked at the lake again. The reflection of the clear blue sky seemed like a blanket over the water. She wondered about the boatman Vasudeva in 'Siddhartha' who transformed Siddhartha.... She secretly prayed for a ferryman in her life .....

Ghost from past...

2011-09-21T09:26:00.000-07:00

This week's words:

Dull; adjective: Lacking interest or excitement; lacking brightness, vividness, or sheen; (of a person) slow to understand; stupid; verb: Make or become dull or less intense.

Race; noun: A competition between runners, horses, vehicles, boats, etc., to see which is the fastest in covering a set course; each of the major divisions of humankind, having distinct physical characteristics; verb: Compete with another or others to see who is fastest at covering a set course or achieving an objective; move or progress swiftly or at full speed.

Yawn; verb: involuntarily open one's mouth wide and inhale deeply due to tiredness or boredom; noun: A reflex act of opening one's mouth wide and inhaling deeply due to tiredness or boredom.

A white pebble stuck to her heel and made walking quiet difficult. Adya almost hopped to a tree and managed to get rid of the pebble with a few twigs. She realized something hard over her back, she had been resting over a board. It read 'Azadirachata indica' and within brackets 'neem tree'. A few drops of water fell over her face and rested lightly over her forehead. It gave a chilly feeling and Adya gladly welcomed nature to take over her.... The dullness of the day seemed to disappear.

There are few people who are like ghosts from your past... always hanging around. They are always there, but never really 'there'. When you close your eyes and think about them, distance disappears, problems dissolve and time stops ticking. You open your eyes convincing yourself, that they were always there. Adya's cell rang... She wondered before answering the call how difficult it is to 'remove' people from one's life. 'Hey, you busy?' a sweet voice asked almost apologetically. 'I am not...tell me' she replied inspite of herself. And that one minute took her mind off Siddhartha.She wasn't even aware how happy the call made her feel. Escaping the maze, though only for a few minutes became possible. Her mind raced through cherished memories and lingered over a while about how special he made her feel...

'Do you happen to know a good dermatologist? Someone from your college. I need to see one...' Aditya's voice fell like music over her ears. Her mind raced to the different faculties list and searched desperately for the right person. 'Yes, Adi... We can meet our Dermat prof. No probs.. but what's wrong?' They were lost in conversation over symptoms of skin diseases which were Greek and latin to Adi and bread and butter to Adya.... At the other end of the line she heard him yawn and wondered if he had a sleepless night, probably thinking about Adya... But she dare not ask. Not now...

The lake smiled approvingly, spreading it's waves in all directions. They rushed along the green carpet splashing against each other.......

The first...

2011-08-31T11:00:00.000-07:00

Drag; verb: Pull (something or someone) along forcefully, roughly or with difficulty; take (someone) to or from a place or event despite their reluctance; noun: the action of pulling something forcefully or with difficulty; act of inhaling smoke; clothing more conventionally worn by the opposite sex.

Mumble; verb: Say something indistinctly and quietly, making it difficult for others to hear; noun: A quiet and indistinct utterance.

Penetrate; verb: Succeed in forcing a way in or through (a thing); infiltrate an enemy or group to spy on it; (of a man) insert the penis into the vagina or anus (of a sexual partner).

The words came back to her, time and again throughout the day. It seemed like a distant call from a beloved and at times the intensity magnified a hundred times roaring. Blood penetrating through Adya's veins boiled and at times froze. She felt her feet seemed to drag her in opposite directions and her thoughts were filled with the 'gray haired boatman'. The lecture on anatomy seemed like a background playing faraway. Adya's mind seemed to refuse the reality that lay ahead and further dissolve in a world apart. She felt at once disconnected and torn from the present world. Her eyes fell once again on the cover page of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha. For a minute the whole world seemed to liquefy into silence. She covered the book with few sheets that lay ahead and continued to pretend as if taking notes. Sitting in last benches are useful for introspection. Adya's eyes searched for Nikhil who passed her the book yesterday. He seemed normal, through the thick rimmed glasses he winked at her. 'My God! He is normal. Why is this happening to me?' she asked herself, slowly wiping her brow where beads of perspiration formed. 'Breath... take deep breaths. Calm yourself. It's only a book' an inner voice helped. She closed her eyes, emptied her mind of Siddhartha and took deep breaths. 'Fool, what are you trying to run away from?' another voice mocked at her. And then she started to breath fire again. At that moment all she wanted to do was run away from the lecture hall. Her feet seemed involuntary... and jumped. The whole class looked at her, 'Adya? any trouble there?' Dr.Varnekar's astounded voice succeeded waking up a few sleepy heads and she had the attention of the whole class... Embarrassingly she mumbled 'My head is reeling mam and I am hearing voices.' Dr.Varnekar's facial expression changed drastically from that of anger to sympathy. 'Oh! Geetha please escort her to the medicine OPD (Out Patient Department)'. Adya excused herself for the day and went away from the large brown building.

It was relaxing to be out in the fresh air. Adya caught a bus to her favorite spot in Bangalore city, the lal bagh lake. En route she forced her mind to concentrate on the trees and greenery on that cloudy august afternoon. She offered her face to the chilling winds and let it play with her unruly hair. She was feeling better, the chaotic day started to appear relaxing atleast temporarily. The majestic vidhana soudha stood, on the right with lush green lawns thronged by tourists. Looking at the building always filled Adya's heart with pride and so it did today. She quickly turned to look at the red high court building with hundreds of pigeons over the lawns. The pattern of their flight filled her with excitement of a child. Nature can be appreciated even in cities, it depends on the eyes of the beholder she told herself. As a loner, Adya got used to being nature's friend rather than a people's person.

As the west gate of lalbagh approached closer, Adya realized that she was in a lover's paradise. She wondered at her strange plight and let a smile pass through her lips. 'Let's see what the lake has in store for me today...' she told herself as she bought a ticket and brushed against the rotating gate.

TO BE CONTINUED

The sands of time...

2011-07-27T09:39:00.000-07:00

Each week, I post three words. You write something using the words.Then come back and post a link to the contribution with Mr. Linky (but please, link to the exact post, not your blog, by clicking on the exact post title and past it to Mr. Linky). As always, there's no hard-and-fast rule that you have to post on Wednesday.

But I invite everyone to check back often to read and comment on other contributions. This is, after all, a community for writers who clamor for feedback.

This week's words:

Banter

Fumble

Glance

Scene 1

'I really want that truck Amma' Babu said in an adamant voice for the third time. The five year old's voice seemed to vanish into thin air of the noisy market place. He flung his mom's hand in a rage and ran away disappearing admist the crowded market. His mom was bargaining with the vendor, she had almost convinced him to sell her one kilo of brinjals for five rupees. In a moment of triumph, she glanced around to find Babu and was shocked to see him missing. 'Babu' she shouted... No answer. She panicked and forgot all about the brinjals running all over the place, her eyes searching desperately for Babu.

Babu ran away to the farms swearing never to return, he found a few boys playing street cricket and joined them heartily forgetting the whole episode.

When Babu reached home that night he found his mother weeping her heart out. It was the first time his dad slapped him. But his mom, she hugged him tightly and said 'Never leave me....'

Scene 2

Babu's heart almost skipped a beat when he realized he was fumbling in dark. He was all alone in her bedroom. He quickly checked the bathroom. The whole household began looking for 'Pati'. They had observed that her memory was failing her nowadays. One fine evening the children were astonished to observe that Pati's Banter had completely vanished from their home. Now she sat on her easy chair staring at the ceiling.

After some forty years of the market place incident, now their roles were exactly the opposite. Babu checked all the rooms of the house and gave up. He sat near the easy chair and closed his eyes. His mind took him forty years back... he could feel his mom's caring arms around him. 'Amma, it feels like heaven. Never leave me.'

A glistening tear fell travelling the depths of his face. When he opened his eyes, he found her sitting on the easy chair looking at him....

The cosmic dance...

2011-07-25T05:15:00.000-07:00

Carry On Tuesday # 115

Your prompt for Tuesday July 26th

Just four hours before posting this weeks prompt, 27 year old singer songwriter Amy Winehouse passed away in her London home. I’ve taken a line from her song Valerie.
In my head I paint a picture

Picture courtesy: http://www.elsaelsa.com/astrology/2011/01/08/fire-signs-aries-leo-sagittarius/

The best thing about this place is that it keeps me warm. And the warmth melts through my coarse skin, amalgamating with my body contents rising to neutralize my cold heart. My outstretched hands sought for the warmth from burning wood. 'Let the soul join the universal one...' people were chanting around. I prayed for the body burning with the wood, crossing the last journey of life. My plate made a metallic noise and I sincerely folded my hands in great reverence. After the meal I retreated to my safe haven. Their voices echoed in my ears for a long time after I heard footsteps getting lost in the regular noises of the ghat... The night kept me company. And a few homeless people like me. It felt safer to be here, live among the dead rather than beg on the streets of city. On more than one occasions I have been saved by these friends, when you are blind it can be dangerous to play with fire. Such an interesting element of nature. Fire! Must be a beautiful thing this fire... Firewood burning gives off a varying intensity high and low voices with varying intensity of warmth. It talks to you in a rhythmic way. When you learn to listen to it's song you are pulled into a black hole of bliss. Through my mind's eye... when I see this thing of beauty... it seems like the universal soul himself dancing harmoniously during the last confrontation.

In my head I paint this picture...

Departures...

2011-07-17T22:25:00.000-07:00

aturday, 16 July 2011

Carry On Tuesday # 114

Your prompt for Tuesday July 19th

This week, we take have some well known words from William Shakespeare’s Hamlet

Neither a borrower nor a lender be

It was 2A.M when the mobile rang. After years of training in the medical profession, Ram's impulses were sharp enough to spring out of sleep and answer the call as if it was twelve at noon. At the other end of the phone came a nervous voice from an intern 'Sir, it's an emergency. Ward No. 25. Extensive bleeding sir, Respiratory rate ... heart rate.....' words seem to dissolve into Ram's ears and reach at an express speed to his brain. 'I will be there in 10...' Arrange the patient for.... And do a quick CBC'. By then Ram's wife was up, he hurried into working clothes and ran through the door. His mind was already racing through the case history of :Ward No.25...80 yr old man, diagnosis: Prostate cancer. Excessive bleeding? Is it because of DIC? Gotta see if he has conjunctival haemorrhage and bleeding gums and check his mental status.....' Then a very strange thing happened... He remembered that the patient was mumbling constantly something to him. Ram somehow never thought it was very important. Now as he was driving his mind raced back to those words...

Ram was studying to become an oncologist. He believed in medicine more than anything. A complete no nonsense person who worked 24x7. His friends would casually call him a workaholic.... but they secretly did envy his love for the profession. He was lucky to find a wife who seldom complained about his frequent absence from home. Long hours in clinics... library... night duty... He was glad she understood. Pursuing medical education was only for a few who really stood the test of fire. And Ram did succeed. As he transformed from a doctor to an oncologist... he knew his knowledge was increasing at a geometric progression rate. The human side of Ram... was he growing as a human being too? He very much doubted that aspect. He told hundreds of patients that they were diagnosed with life threatening cancers, broke their hearts. He did see many terminally ill patients die before his eyes. On the contrary he also witnessed cures with effective and early diagnosis, mostly in younger patients. Ram believed in hope.

As he was driving along the muddy roads to the hospital he tried to recollect Ward No.25...What was his name? He didn't know... Ward No.25 was to Ram as to everyone else in the hospital: An inpatient diagnosed as prostate cancer. For a minute he did feel ashamed and resolved to treat patients better. He rushed into the ICU and looked at Ward No.25 : Bholanath. Bleeding from multiple sites.... high heart rate... He went through the lab results. He was right about DIC. He called up his seniors and was asked to monitor the patient till the team arrived. It could be fatal to the patient. The patient outstretched his hand... and Ram held it. Cold! His eyes were watering... they looked tired and lost. Ram had witnessed many such events, he always reassured patients they would live. And he did the same now too. But Bholanath was telling him something else.. he tried to read Bholanath's lips. He bent closer so that he could listen to what Bholanath was saying. The words he heard shook the ground beneath him. The patient was begging him: 'Let me die...'

Death! Such a strange event... Neither can you borrow it from the suffering nor lend it when you are being won over.

The sage...

2011-07-09T08:01:00.000-07:00

The silence of the room seemed dreadful as always. I stepped in slowly without disturbing the atmosphere, he doesn't like it. The walls of the room was a treat to the eyes. Every time I entered the room I was awestruck by the beauty of nature so artistically captured by this man. I have witnessed the walls change fifty times right in front of my eyes... The walls narrated the story of freedom movement and then for a few years there were different stories from the sacred texts. There was a time when I used to feel I walked into some garden with flowers and trees that were several times larger than I am... I felt like an insect walking among elephant grass.

The present paintings on the wall depicted daily routine in the village. Women wearing colorful lehangas and antique jewelry decorating their ears and hands. Their fingers adorning mother earth with artistic designs. Small kids played peacefully with wooden toys at a corner. Their faces delightful and eyes shining with joy. It reminded me of the long gone days of large families. I gave a heavy sigh which echoed within the room. 'Who's here?' asked a strong voice. The heavy sigh! That must have disturbed him, and the echoes... I followed his voice and shyly presented myself. He looked fiercely for a moment and then smiled. Before returning to his painting he gave me a confused look and I reminded him about the jug of water he had called for. I left it on a three legged stool and re-traced my path to the garden.

My husband loved his work. Art. I have never seen a man so involved in his work as him. I am not just saying this because I am his wife, it was crystal clear that he was in a constant state of joy as long as he was in his studio. Nothing seemed to affect him. Illness, cries of children, poverty, the treacherous neighbors, government.... all failed to create any kind of ramifications. I filtered most of it from touching him but the rest he resisted them himself. Near the door was a photograph of him with the president, I wiped it clean with the edge of my sari. He was being honored with the padmabhushan and it was a proud moment for me. With tears in his eyes and smile on his face he gave me a nod which acknowledged every small effort I made to protect him from others, sometimes himself.

I only had a minute to catch a glimpse of what he was painting near the eastern window. What I saw was the result of six months of hard work! It was the Himalayan mountains. Sun rays crowning the peak, a mixture of golden and white snow, slowly melting away into various shades of blues and whites. Clouds seemed to embrace the snow covered peaks. I glanced back at him. He was staring outside through the window. The sage was meditating....

2011-04-01T12:56:00.001-07:00

I weep not that the Lovers went over the edge,
I weep not for the man who never relished the slumber of his Moon,
I weep not for the woman who never danced with her Lion,
I weep not for the unfinished twice bitten apple,
I weep not for the Love that went unsaid,
I weep not for the twice unrequited Love,
I weep not for twice unsated passion,
I weep not hands that never touched,
I weep not for eyes that never met,
I weep not for hearts that never beat as one,
I weep not that for that unbridled storm of emotion denied,
I weep ..........for fear that I may never know such Love !
Marisha Peter-Santhiago

2010-12-30T08:23:00.000-08:00

3WW CCXXI

buckle, evade, wedge

'The only next girl in my life will be our daughter'. That was the voice which echoed in her mind when her world was being torn into pieces in front of her eyes. Her friend continued talking over the phone 'You don't lose hope already! We will first talk to this @#%$#....' Meera sank into her chair, she was no longer listening to her friend who broke the news that her husband was having an affair. She shifted her hand towards the table absent mindedly and the framed wedding photograph that was placed at a corner broke with what seemed like a thunder. Meera shook herself and looked down at the tiny pieces of glasses, she caught her reflection on a small wedge of broken glass. 'Do I look ugly?' she asked herself questioningly.

Her mobile phone flashed a message ' 1 new message HONEY'. She smiled at herself in total disgrace and said 'Honey, @#$%#$'. A colleague passed by her cabin and threw her a friendly smile but she only stared back. And in her mind she said 'All men are assholes!' She tried to evade the whole male species for the present moment! She picked her mobile and was in half mind to throw it down, to see it break into a 100 pieces mingling with the glass pieces and she pictured her husband dancing over the pile with bloody feet. 'That would be a feast to my eyes' she said to herself.

Her mobile rang again. It was her friend Sheela, 'Meera baby I just heard the news. It's so awful this should happen to you....' her voice irritated Meera. 'Buckle up girls, am going to win the man of my hearts and the only other woman in our life is our daughter.' She banged the phone and wiped a forming tear drop before it spoilt her makeup and stormed the way out to get her man...

Favorites of the year...

2010-12-26T10:20:00.000-08:00

Welcome back to Sunday Stealing. Sunday Stealing originated on WTIT: The Blog authored by Bud Weiser. Here we will steal all types of memes from every corner of the blogosphere. Our promise to you is that we will work hard to find the most interesting and intelligent memes. You may have heard of the expression, “honor amongst thieves”. In that age-old tradition, we also have our rules. First, we always credit the blog that we stole it from and we will “fess up” to the blog owner where we stole the meme. We also provide a link to the victim's post. (It's our way of saying "Thanks!") We do sometimes edit the original meme, usually to make it more relevant to our global players, to challenge our players, sometimes to select that meme's best questions, or simply to make it less repetitive from either this new meme or recently asked questions from a prior featured meme. Let's go!

Today we ripped this meme off a blogger named Nadin Winchester from the blog named My Road to Nowhere. She does not explain where she found it. But, it was probably stolen there as well. So, of course, that will be as far as we go. Tracing back our theft's thieves might take some time. Link back to us at Sunday Stealing!

Sunday Stealing: The Quick 2010 Fandom Meme

Cheers to all of us thieves!

1. Your main fandom of the year:
Facebook

2. Your favorite Film this year:
Inception

3. Your favorite Book read this year:
Sea of poppies by Amitav Ghosh: Excellent read... highly recommend!

4. Your favorite Album or Song this year:
Strange Love by Koop... I heard this in 2010 though its actually a 2009 song. Loved it!

5. Your favorite meme site of the year:
Sunday stealing of course!

6. Your Fandom that you haven't tried Yet, but want to:

7. Your best new Fandom Discovery of the Year:

8. Your biggest Fandom Disappointment of the Year:

9. Your TV Boyfriend of the year:
Barney Stinson (How I met your mother!)

10. Your TV Girlfriend of the year:
Robin Scherbatsky (How I met your mother!)

11. Your most Missed Old Fandom:
Enid Blyton fan club

12. Your Biggest Anticipations of the New Year:
A free life!

13. Your favorite post (of yours) of the year:
Ark of life...

14.Your favorite new blog (to you) of the year:
Albatross

15.Your favorite new website of the year:
One stop poetry

16. Your favorite news story of the year:
Babri Masjid Verdict!

17. Your favorite actor of the year:
Leonardo De Caprio

18. Your favorite drama TV show of the year:
......

19. Your favorite comedy TV Show this year:
How I met your mother!

20. Your favorite cartoon of the year:
Pink panther!

Divine passion (4)

2010-12-23T07:08:00.000-08:00

The days grew longer and nights grew shorter. They met every night in the forest by the waterfalls. As the moon rose in the mid skies and stars gathered around their fond lover, sky would secretly descend and reach waterfalls. The earth would ascend from her underworld, each time dressed in the best clothes and jewels. Creepers and leaves covered her luminous body one day, while the other day she used the tiger’s skin as a dress, on another occasion she surprised sky by showing up in peacock feathers. She wore pearls one night, the other night her lovely ears were decorated with large diamonds and yet other night emeralds and rubies! Her speechless beauty and her grace swept sky earthwards in a single glance… Sky loved to dress in blue with occasional grayish colors. Young and handsome. His eyes were beautiful, deer like. His eyes showed the depth of the ocean and clarity of a mirror. And in those eyes was the constant image of earth. It seemed like sky had withdrawn from seeing anything else and anyone else, he only looked at earth!

He demanded the clouds to enclose the both during their lovemaking lest wicked eyes follow them. And the rest of the time they would send messages of love to each other. It affected Sky’s work sometimes. He would constantly look at earth and lovingly smile at her and crash over a cliff. Earth would laugh at sky’s silliness and her laugh echoed throughout the forest. The trees and flowers rejoiced with a new found bliss as the echo reached their ears. The birds chuckled in joy and the sea roared with laughter. It seemed like the whole world was in love.

Euphony of love... (3)

2010-12-17T06:26:00.000-08:00

The water from the falls looked brilliant and clear. Sky was looking intently at the waterfalls and said How strange is this water? It appears colorless at the beginning falling majestically and then as it gushes further turns to white froths and finally to blue and calm in the stream. Beautiful but mysterious! The sound of waterfalls had calmed his mind. As he kept watching and listening, Earth arose from the waterfalls as though it was nothing but a transparent wall. Sky stood up and was bewitched at her beauty. Her eyes met those of sky and lowered down and she walked towards him taking measured steps, the fishes in the stream gathered around her feet kissing it gently. And the water weeds cleared themselves off her path. She knew sky has fixed his gaze on me, Is he still looking? She lifted her eyes and caught sky's eyes still following him, piercing through her. Sky for the first time since she emerged from waterfalls, lowered his eyes. Out of reverence rather than fear... She spoke in a soft and gentle voice I am all yours, you can watch me for as long as you wish to. That was the most beautiful sound sky had heard in all these years, her voice. And he claimed her as his own...

Ever since earth was created, sky has embraced her but a distance between them was present. Now the space between them appeared to dissolve. They could feel an unexplained attraction towards each other as they stood few feet away from each other, words seemed unnecessary any more... The gods from above showered blessings silently at their blossoming love.

The whispering wind....... (2)

2010-12-08T06:31:00.000-08:00

Each week, I post three words. You write something using the words.
Then come back and post a link to the contribution with Mr. Linky.
As always, there's no hard-and-fast rule that you have to post on Wednesday.
But I invite everyone to check back often to read and comment on other contributions. This is, after all, a community for writers who clamor for feedback.

Go write. Go read. Go comment.

This week's words:
judge, nightfall, safety

Unable to contain within himself the joy of being in love, Sky danced around crying loud to the wind how much he loved Earth. He drove away the clouds, lest they block Earth’s view… At nightfall he spoke about his love to the moon and millions of stars. They nodded approvingly at this divine couple! And she was still unaware of it. He watched her every step, so graceful! As she emerged from the water falls like a lovely water lily, a countenance so fair he hadn't seen. And yet she hadn't for once looked at him, or acknowledged his presence or judged his fascination. She stormed his life and now all he could do was watch and wait! It was the Rainbow who finally encouraged sky to send a message to Earth through the Wind.

On that blessed day, Earth felt a tingling sensation in her ear, she passed her long fingers to push her curls behind her ear and continued to walk. But the tingling sensation remained. Wind whispered to Earth that Sky will be waiting for her near the waterfalls. When she heard Wind whisper ‘Sky’ she knew…. The sound of His name felt intoxicating on her ears. ‘Who is it wind that wants to have a private meeting with me?’ she enquired again… and Wind bowed low and whispered once again ‘Sky’ The second time she heard the name her heart experienced an unexplained joy. She brought His name on her lips and said ‘ Sky’….. She looked above for the first time in several years at the clear blue sky…and realized that her safety and well being had always been sky's responsibility.

Sky flew across the waterfalls and waited impatiently… her voice lingered in his ears. How beautiful did his name sound through those lips, ‘Sky’…. He was flying a thousand miles away but Wind had caught up with him and narrated Earth’s reaction. He had heard her call his name.

When the earth fell in love......

2010-12-06T08:12:00.000-08:00

And now for the Picture Prompt Challenge!

Write a poem (or Flash Fiction 55). Post it on your site.
Sign up using Mr. Linky so people can find your work.
Let us know what you are sharing by leaving a comment below.
Finally, visit other participants, comment, & give credit to Lisa in your post.

The sun shone brightly and it's rays pierced through the light air to reach ground. The trees stood tall beside the calmly flowing river. Birds flew with joy and the flowers seemed to dance in harmony. Close to the banks of river a beautiful woman stood washing her feet which was covered with mud. She was no human, she was earth! Her beauty could not be explained by simple words and was beyond human comprehension. The trees, the flowing river and birds acknowledged her presence and bowed with reverence. The river water came rushing to wash her feet and pay their respects. She continued to walk through the forest silently and slowly like a queen in her kingdom.....

The sky was clear that day. He was flying as usual in his speed watching for any suspicious signs. He had a hundred eyes and his hands were swift in driving him to the desired location. Now as he passed his eyes through this forest, he came to a sudden halt. 'Who is this damsel?' he questioned himself. 'Those eyes, filled with beauty of nature, such a beautiful face. What lovely hair!...' He seemed to be lost in thought. The sun drove his chariot over the distracted sky and it was only then did sky realize he had stopped flying! He apologised to his master and continued swiftly forward. But for the rest of the day he found that his heart was without peace.... He left all his eyes and gave away his heart to that damsel in the forest...... And when night fell, he led all those stars near the forest and it was the most beautiful night. He could not take his eyes off earth. She seemed to be asleep like a child, her breathing seemed rhythmic and an intoxicating fragrance seemed to encompass her. Sky covered the earth like a blanket that night. And he wondered how blind he had been all this while...

The Baker's Meme

2010-11-28T01:48:00.000-08:00

Today we ripped this meme off a blogger named Reymos at the blog My World is Getting Smaller Every Day. He states he got it from Carl Dorsey at Iron Cook: American. (and Carl stated it was written by Thomas Baker, thus today's title). But, it was probably stolen there as well. So, of course, that will be as far as we go. Tracing back our theft's thieves might take some time. Link back to us at Sunday Stealing!

Sunday Stealing: The Baker's Meme

1. If you could interview anyone on your blog (alive or dead) who would you chose and why?

Alive or dead or imaginary? Because a lot of my characters are imaginary... but there are many who are inspired from the living. Like the two lovers in the short story: A love story... Both of them are living and an integral part of my life. They taught me that love indeed was blissful. I would love to meet them again, for a rendezvous.
Among the imaginary ones: The protagonist of Chronicle of an immortal man, this was one of my earliest short stories as a blogger. My creativity was running an all time high at the time I wrote it... It was a little bit complicated but I still loved the whole idea of a man being immortal and following generations...

2. What do you feel is your strength as a blogger?

My persistence as a blogger... I began blogging in June, 2007 and I have been consistent in my efforts as a blogger ever since. I have experimented with different styles of writing. I can never give up on my blog... That's a lot of strength!

3. Can you share a little bit about yourself that you have not already mentioned on your blog?

I have shared very little about myself in my blog but there are shades of my character all over my blog...

4. If you were forced to change the name of your blog, what would you change it to? Why?

Change the name of my blog... I don't think I want to... AFFLATUS is a great name... And it means 'A bell ringer'...

5. What do you think is the most fulfilling part of being a blogger?

The fact that my thoughts have transformed into something more concrete: stories, essays.... than lying at some corner of my mind is very fulfilling. And when people read and comment it's really motivating. Thank you readers...

6. What would you do with your last day if you found you had only one more day to live?

Spend the whole day watching the sea... It's vast, it's peaceful and it's everlasting! What better way to say goodbye...

7. You’ve been doing medical research for decades and have finally found a cure. What was it that you found a cure for and why did you choose this particular ailment?

I want to find a cure for liars... I hate this group of people. Sometimes they are just silly but at times they can really be irritating.

8. What is your most guilty pleasure?

Chocolates...

9. Answer only one. What is your favorite book, movie or TV show?

Favorite book: One hundred years of solitude. I feel it's a magical world and you tend to lose yourself in the little town of Mocando.
Movie: Troy.
TV show: How I met your mother (Currently)

10. What do you think is the very best smell in the world? The one smell that can take you back to a time and place of a very vivid memory in your past?

The best smell in the world: Smells: I love the smell of Baby powders, it feels fresh and reminds me of happier moments. Holy Basil and Jasmine: both these have a 'divine' smell and gives a feeling of purity. I love the vanilla essential oil fragrance: Definitely a mood elevator!

psst: A secret: I love the smell of petrol.

Iota of joy...

2010-11-19T04:46:00.000-08:00

clutch, delight, happy

The morning mist slowly began to dissolve as sun rays pierced each piece of the green land. Bani noticed dew drops on the triangular shaped leaves and smiled. They appeared like a string of pearls over but unattached. She ran her finger along the dew drops, to check what type of a transparent string held them together. With the slightest pressure applied, the dew drops touched the ground all at once and Bani clapped her hands in delight. She began to disturb the other dew drops and seemed very happy at this newly invented game. A slight tap on her head brought her back to the real world 'Bani, what are you doing here? We have to walk a long way' said her sister and clutched Bani by her arm. Disappointed Bani bade goodbye to the triangular shaped leaves and a few untouched dew drops and walked along her sister....

They walked along the mud roads hand in hand, sometimes fighting with each other, at times singing along with the birds and at times silently since they had no energy left. Bani continuously shifted her heavy bag which had more patches on it than a quilt. On their way to school, her sister sometimes quizzed Bani. 'So 2+2 is....' her sister quizzed Bani in a musical voice. '4' Bani replied confidently. The next question popped immediately '3+3 is.....?' in a slower tune. She knew Bani would not get this one and smiled to herself.'6' shouted Bani triumphantly and ran faster, trying to escape the clutches of the mundane world.

Bani had counted 6 dew drops becoming one big drop before it fell on the ground...

Last night I dreamt I....

2010-10-30T22:35:00.000-07:00

CARRY ON TUESDAY

Your prompt for Tuesday November 2nd

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier starts with the words -

Last night I dreamt I..........

Use all or part of it within your poem or prose, and then leave the url of your post with Mister Linky and a comment.

The buzzing of insects felt musical to my ears. They seemed to follow a rhythm and I began to focus all my senses to understand this beauty of nature. After a while, the buzzing and the croaking all seemed like an orchestra and I began to hum in my own stupid way, thought I did add to the chorus! The night seemed dead as always. The station was deserted as I waited on the wooden bench for the 2.30 A.M. train. The decaying bench was stone hard and I constantly shifted to realize a better position in which a lesser trauma could be inflicted. The creatures of night kept me company, the dog sat close by and seemed to meditate. I suddenly felt a feeling of warmth come over myself for the dog. He does struggle with me, every night with this routine.

The station master sleepily walked along and saluted with respect when he looked at me. I smiled back and wondered strangely if he noticed me everyday sitting here. I looked down at the clothes I was wearing, loose, dirty... covered with stains. It felt strange, I looked around and wondered about the remote possibility of finding a mirror. Today I am a different person, before it's too late I wanted to see what I look like. When I got up from the bench, I realized my feet didn't feel very strong. My head seemed to reel and for a minute everything around seemed to revolve. It was only for a minute, and I looked up at the night sky and took deep breaths. It felt better. I touched my head to feel my hair, to my surprise there were only a few , scattered roughly. I was a bald old man today....

The ground beneath my feet began to shake, I need to catch the train before it's too late. Will I be able to walk towards it? Standing up seemed quiet a challenge in this body. I walked a few paces, it felt all right. I will be able to do it. Saying so I began to feel my face, wrinkled skin. Too many folds. I dreaded at the image of my face. And slowly walked towards the bench. The dog seemed to have found a friend in a young boy who was feeding him biscuits in a strange frightened way. He would stretch out his hands as if to feed the dog and as the dog moved closer, he would drop the biscuits. I smiled to myself, the willingness to help was stronger than the boy's fear it seemed. And his father encouraged him constantly not to give up.

A few minutes passed and I heard the train coming, my weakened legs moved lightly and I got up. The dog followed me... and we walked towards our destination. My heart beat raced at the sight of approaching train. It slowed down with every inch it came closer. The station strangely looked empty again. The boy was gone so did the other passengers. The station master gave a wicked smile standing close to me... He said 'you will be trapped here forever. This train will not stop here.' The words seemed to reel in head but I did not believe a word of what he said.

I walked closer to the platform and stood awaiting the train's halt. When it passed by me, I started following it. Running behind slowly was the dog. The train seemed to increase it's pace. I couldn't believe my eyes. My legs denied to co-operate... breathlessness disabled my pace severely. With my hands outstretched towards the running train I gave up the hope to return to my world. My pathology laboratory seemed like a distant dream... The faces of friends and family dissolved into the vastness of illusion.

The station seemed deserted once again. My breathing seemed to return to normal. I walked back to the bench and waited for the next train. The buzzing of insects continued in my ears....

Monday Mayhem - #40 ~ Ten Anyone? Meme

2010-09-27T07:52:00.000-07:00

Welcome back to Monday Mayhem. Mayhem has been hijacked today by Thom. He was tagged recently by the wonderful Bing at Of Living and Loving...and Coping. Mahalo Bing for the tag. Your mission is to answer the following Ten questions anyway you see fit. Have fun with it and please don't forget to comment on the other participants.

1. Why do you blog?
Writing and blogging are synonymous to me. I write because it's a wonderful way to express one's feeling and thoughts. Sometimes I write because I want my ideas to take shape and not remain abstract....

2. Name your three best memories.
(a) The first time I won a prize when I was six... I was called upon the stage and I felt like the whole world was watching me with pride.

(b) My first kiss...

(c) My wedding day... I knew it was going to be the best day of my life and the happiest moment ever!

3. Name 4 of the best fiction books you've read.

(a) One hundred years of solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
(b) Lolita by Vladimir Nobokov
(c) The Moor's last sigh by Salman Rushdie
(d) The great Indian Novel by Shashi Taroor

4. What are the 5 best movies ever made? (and that I love....)
Randomly, coz I can't choose the best. I love them all: French kiss, Sleepless in Seattle, Troy, Pink panther and Pretty woman.

5. Name 5 things I can't live without.
Air, water, Food, Television, internet.....

6. If you could change your name what would it be?
Never...

7. Tell us a unique and interesting fact about yourself.
I don't complain about loneliness... I enjoy solitude as much as I enjoy 'good' (sane) company. I know many who dread from being lonely... but why be afraid of yourself!

8. What do you love best about yourself?
I never care a damn about what others say or think about me... I don't know how this happened to me. But I love it!

9. If you had a "Freaky Friday" experience, who would you change places with?
I think it would be with my mom... (just like in the movie)

10. What is the best thing about being a woman.
You can laugh when you want to and cry when you feel like and still manage to look pretty, cute, sensitive.....

The Threesome MeMe

2010-09-18T21:02:00.000-07:00

I am all excited about this new site I found through Someone Special, thanks mate! Haven't done that many memes... Let's see how this one goes!

Welcome back to Sunday Stealing. Sunday Stealing originated on WTIT: The Blog authored by Bud Weiser. Here we will steal all types of memes from every corner of the blogosphere. Our promise to you is that we will work hard to find the most interesting and intelligent memes. You may have heard of the expression, “honor amongst thieves”. In that age-old tradition, we also have our rules. First, we always credit the blog that we stole it from and we will “fess up” to the blog owner where we stole the meme. We also provide a link to the victim's post. (It's our way of saying "Thanks!") We do sometimes edit the original meme, usually to make it more relevant to our global players, to challenge our players, sometimes to select that meme's best questions, or simply to make it less repetitive from either this new meme or recently asked questions from a prior featured meme. Let's go!!

Today we ripped this meme from three people! The first eight questions were ripped from a blogger and blog called Foxymoron. She explains that she stole it from The Harridan. The second part of this meme was written by some blog buddies of ours since WTIT: The Blog first published in '06. Mr Lance from Solitary Views and Frank from Foxxfyrrer's Honk 'n' Holl'r! They decided to do a “two blogs meme” by asking each other 5 questions each. One question they actually never even asked! It was because Frank's mom reads his blog and apparently the question was a bit racy. (See the post by clicking here. It's full of funny schtick.) We left one question out since it was really asked twice. Link back to us at Sunday Stealing!

1. At what time of your life were you happiest and why?
My childhood days.... I lived with my grandparents back then! They pampered me and I really felt like a princess! Back then, I wanted to grow up quickly so that I can get out of school. Now I long for those days! Life's pretty confusing...

2. Where and when did you meet the love of your life?
In a classroom... he was my teacher. This was five years back and now we are happily married!

3. Favourite item of clothing ever or most treasured possession?
A diary which I regularly wrote from age of ten...

4. Must-have makeup or beauty item?
Kajal... And a good lip gloss.

5. What do you think is your worst vice or fault .. honestly?
SLOTH

6. Would you tell your friend, if you knew her husband/wife was cheating on her/him?
No... I hate breaking hearts! But I would throw a lot of hints if she/he was smart enough to realize...

7. What ambitions, wishes or desires, for your life, do you still hold close to your heart?
I want to get my writings published... And I want to be a 'good' teacher, an inspiring one!

8. Where do you see yourself five years from now?
Still beautiful!

9. If you had the choice of any talent with the penalty that you would lose a talent in exchange, what would you want to gain, and what would you be willing to loose?
I can't lie very well, if that qualifies for talent. I would love to lose it in exchange for 'telling the truth smartly'.

10. Name three things that you do want completed in your life before retiring?
1. A beautiful home...
2. A reliable retirement plan...
3. The title of 'the best teacher'

11. Of all of the people out there who would have been your fantasy date? Date, not romance...
Robert Pattinson...

12. Google put another spell on you, you have just changed genders for 48 hours... what are you going to do with your 2 days?
Analyze the male brain, try to figure out why it's so hollow!

13. If you owned your own island, and got to make it your own country, what would you call it? And why?

I would call it Medhini... I love my name.

14. If you rubbed the lamp and got 3 wishes, what would they be?
1. A room full of great books...
2. A time machine...
3. A worry free life...

15. What is your earliest memory of puberty?
I had like seven crushes...

16. If you got banished to your Island alone and could only bring 5 things, what would they be?
I will get only one thing... The lamp which grants wishes.

An analysis of errors...

2010-09-16T08:52:00.000-07:00

Sneha's hands were sweaty and she continuously wiped them off with a white girlish handkerchief embroidered with an 'S'. She was tensed but she had to be careful about every step she was working. She continued mixing various chemicals, measuring them accurately. They had wonderful colors - pink, white, green. She adjusted her glasses over the right spot on her little nose and patiently continued to mix the solutions. 'God, Please make it right this time. Please let there be no blunders. Help me' she continued praying as the colors dissolved one into the other to give a uniform shade of pink. Sneha was trying to work on an experiment which she recently read in the internet. She had discussed it with her teachers and took every guidance they had to offer.

She looked around the quiet room, so peaceful to be alone at times' she thought. Her pretty hands continued to move the flask in a clockwise direction, her body showed a tendency to move in the same manner. She smiled... and told herself it looks all right. At that very moment a loud voice 'Where were you? I was looking......' The voice was sudden and alarming to Sneha, she dropped the flask and it's contents were all over the floor. The flask broke into what seemed like a thousand pieces. Sneha felt devastated. The owner of the voice, a fifty year old or so lady, her teacher could not believe what just happened and showered Sneha with abusing words. Sneha was sorry for what happened, she said she was frightened by the voice. Her teacher continued with a series of insults. At the end of the fiery monologue, Sneha swore that she would have nothing to do with solutions or the chemistry laboratory again...

The inspiration behind this piece of writing are Albert Einstein's words of wisdom:

" If someone feels that they never had made a mistake in their life, then that means that they never had tried a new thing in their life."

Many people say that they learn from their mistakes but how many of us are really bold enough to 'make' a mistake and to 'forgive' a mistake?

The way you look tonight by Frank Sinatra...

2010-09-13T07:58:00.000-07:00

The first time I heard this song was while watching 'My best friend's wedding'... Julia Roberts looks so adorable! It's one of my favorite love songs... And today my heart is so full of love! Three cheers to LOVE!

Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you...
And the way you look tonight.

Yes you're lovely, with your smile so warm
And your cheeks so soft,
There is nothing for me but to love you,
And the way you look tonight.

With each word your tenderness grows,
Tearing my fear apart...
And that laugh that wrinkles your nose,
It touches my foolish heart.

Lovely ... Never, ever change.
Keep that breathless charm.
Won't you please arrange it ?
'Cause I love you ... Just the way you look tonight.

Mm, Mm, Mm, Mm,
Just the way you look to-night.

Fountain of happiness

2010-08-25T03:39:00.000-07:00

I had a strange dream one night which shook my convictions about the perception of happiness. It was a wonderful dream, I was happy, I laughed a lot and remained in an elevated state the whole time. I knew nothing was true but I enjoyed seeing myself happy. Like a little girl, I wanted the dream to last forever. I didn't want to open my eyes. And when the day broke, I thought I would continue to remain in that cheerful mood. But I found myself to be irritated and annoyed, more than the usual days. It was a strange feeling. I kept visiting the dream in my mind, a hundred times. I tried to believe that was the truth and denied what was happening around me (inspiration from movie inception), it wasn't so.

I tried to recreate the same events as in the dream in my real world, it wasn't so. And this disappointed me and added to my annoyance. After a while I began to diagnose the trouble at hand. Why can't I be happy like I was in my dream? What brings me happiness? Why am I not happy now? I analyzed the various events which brought me happiness and the ones which angered or irritated me. First, they were all confusing but then there was a definite pattern of happiness and a definite pattern for sadness. To name a few:I am overjoyed when

I am around the people I love
I have an exhilarating conversation with interesting people
My efforts are recognized/encouraged

I feel disturbed when:

Something does not work according to MY plan
I fail (at anything)
I get blamed for somebody's mistake

It sounds like a list of kid. I don't deny that...

I have taken my first step towards happiness. I have begun a search for the fountain of happiness... I know it's somewhere within me and not in some dream I saw/book I read/words I heard. It's not easy but one day I will succeed.

The Enigmatic bard...

2010-08-19T05:08:00.000-07:00

           No one knew who he was or where he came from... it was only now that they realized he had 'no' name. He was called 'the bard'. And that was all that people knew about him... Someone shouted to the police that 'The bard' was close to Ramu. And others confirmed this statement. The police now inquired Ramu, the chaiwallah about this mysterious person. Ramu though hesitant and scared at first, opened up slowly to the police.

          Adjusting his shirt Ramu began a brief description about 'the bard'. 'Saab, I will tell you everything I know about him. Hope it will help you. He spoke to no one but the tourists who frequented the Taj Mahal. Lovers attracted him mostly, the young and old ones alike walking along the parks of Taj and lost in the eternal world of love. He would choose his customers very carefully calling on to the ones who inspired him. His eyes would scan not for the rich Saab but for love, it seemed. And when he found true lovers he would run behind them, sometimes begging them. He spoke good English and many other foreign languages. He would tell the lovers "Please spend some time with me, I would like to write a poem on both of you. Your love is true, I can feel it". 'Now Saab, tell me who wouldn't want to get a poem of love written about them and that too standing in the monument of love, Taj Mahal. People never refused and paid him handsomely. Sometimes people thought he was mad and didn't pay any heed to him. Then he would start singing his poems aloud and clear. And people found his words irresistible.' The inspector realized this is going to be a long story, he ordered a stool for Ramu and made himself comfortable on the tiny easy chair. The young boys among the crowd laughed as the well built inspector struggled to settle down in the easy chair. Constables shoved them away. The crowd slowly began to get back to their lives, guides went behind tourists. Shopkeepers returned to their shops, housewives turned to their kitchens and 'the bard' slowly began to fade away in their memories. 'I want to listen to this bard's story completely' remarked the inspector. Ramu wiped away the beads of sweat formed on his forehead and looked around the bard's studio. It was a small well kept place filled with a lot of books and stationary. The smell of a strange fragrance engulfed the room, Ramu wondered what it might be. He continued the bard's story ' Saab, he lived here all alone. No family, no friends. I used to bring him dinner and lunch. He was sort of a crazy man, all the while reading and scribbling something. Rarely he drank heavily and sing songs of unknown lands and people. But he never got into fights. Many times he would not eat meals but he gave them to me. He spoke very less Saab.'

           The inspector seemed bored, he got up (struggling) and went through the possessions in the small room looking for some clues. 'Bittu, what do you make of this man's living style. Can you imagine this man is, sorry, was a millionaire?' he sighed. As he turned his eyes fell upon a photograph which was fallen on the ground. Ramu immediately recognized it 'Saab, this was taken twenty years ago. He loved this woman dearly but she married someone else he told me once.... 'No wonder he went after true love, Nazeer see what happens to people in love. You don't want to end up like this, right?' said the inspector and roared with laughter. Ramu cursed the inspector mentally and wanted to get away from him. He wondered what 'the Bard' might have thought about him if he was alive, a man who didn't believe in love... he wouldn't have cared much for the inspector.

               'Saab who would have done this to him' Ramu asked the inspector as he was leaving the room. 'Look beta, we will have to investigate the whole case and run some tests. How can I say now, it's too early. But one thing I am sure, someone would have killed him for the money. After all, your friend wasn't a pauper... see how much of cash we found in those gunny bags.' Bittu immediately added 'Saab, no cash was taken, everything is here.' The inspector grew furious 'You know better than me? Okay you become the boss' he said and walked away angrily. Ramu knew that 'the bard' was not killed for money... If there was anything that could kill him and take away his soul, it was LOVE. But he couldn't say that to the inspector, could he?

Peepli live!: A kamikaze delight!?

2010-08-16T08:34:00.000-07:00

It was high time public realized how 'news is created and transformed and annihilated' by the hordes of news channels. Peepli live is a practical joke about this issue. Remember reading headlines like "BREAKING NEWS: The ghost that hampered the lives of villagers caught live!" " Kareena Kapoor and Saif Ali Khan busy smsing in shoot" "The dog that barked at Dingri daku"? Ever watched what's the fuss about the breaking news... I have, just to laugh myself the hell out of my hectic life. You should really try it, it's very stress relieving. The whole one hour program of breaking news about the 'ghost caught alive' will reveal only two things: a dirty deserted village road and people who fanatically explain the 'near to death experience' with 'the ghost'. So why wasn't the ghost captured on camera, as was promised: The ghost was camera shy! (ha ha ha)

Peepli live is a beautifully written parody on issue of the media hullabaloo created about the 'live suicide' of a pauper farmer. A family of farmers (two brothers played by Omkar Das and Raghuvir Yadav) have lost their piece of land to the bank. In their aimless search to save their land, they stumble upon the news that farmers who commit suicide are awarded money from the government. The two brothers, though at first seem uninterested finally succumb to the financial pressures created by their unemployment. Natha (Omkar Das) is cleverly blackmailed by his brother Budhia (Raghuvir Yadav) and volunteers to die. The news of Natha's suicide is picked up by a local newspaper and spreads like fire to all media channels.

The rest of the story revolves around the make and break of Natha's suicidal sensational news: how a nameless person like Natha suddenly becomes a nation's hero and is published on the front cover of Times international. It also shows us glimpses of the political interests and interventions with life of this commoner. Alongside runs the stories of a honest aspiring journalist Rakesh (Nowaz), Natha's wife : the bold daughter in law (Shalini Vatsa), Natha's mother: the ever nagging mother in law (Farrukh Jaffar) and an unnamed old pauper farmer who does not give up his hopes but continues to work by selling mud from the fields. The character which touches everyone's heart is the last unsung hero, his indifference to the whole chaos is really worth appreciating.

The screenplay is wonderfully natural and fresh. No exaggeration, whatsoever! Hats off to the first time director:Anusha rizvi. The performances of the whole cast is praise worthy: Natha's innocence, Bhudia's shrewdness, Amma's fiery tongue, Dhaniya's blazing conversations, Rakesh's enthusiasm, Nanditha's appetite for news and the whole village atmosphere makes 'Peepli live' come alive.

The movie definitely is food for thought. And the age old question of agriculture versus industrialization rings a bell, yet again...

Namma Bengalooru...

2010-07-12T04:27:00.000-07:00

I have been planning to write this post for quiet some time now... one year! Why I hadn't put my thoughts on ~~paper~~ blog? I have a phd in Procrastination, thats why! Nostalgia has hit me once again, in such an intensity that the necessity of putting my thoughts on paper, oopps, on my blog seemed inevitable. Nostalgia is a very strong feeling... You will agree by the end of the post:

I was watching this song on television.

Naguva Nayana Madhura Mauna
Midiva Hrudaya Kiremaateke
Hosa Bhaashe Idu Rasa Kavyavidu
Ida Haadalu Kavi Beeke

I love the song. I love Mani Rathnam for capturing Bangalore's famous places in it. Lovers in Cubbon park / lal bagh (there's the guava seller too in the song), shopping in Mahathma Gandhi road (MG road), commercial street. I was literally peeping to catch a glance of brigade road when Anil Kapoor turns at Cauvery emporium. Crazy, that's the word ringing in your mind? Agree completely...

There are a hundred more spots which make this place one of the best loved cities! Why in MG road alone I can name about fifty favorite spots which define the essence of city. I loved walking along MGs on weekends with friends. As we walked we would peep into Bombay stores and window shop and end up buying few things which we never used and some which have been truly irreplaceable. Cafe coffee day (CCD) was our favorite hang out place, the one in front of Bombay stores! We would sit for hours, chatting, laughing and sipping cold coffee until it turned hot. There were a few regulars who were found loitering the place at all times and slowly we became the regulars. Back then, it was some kind of cult. Okay moving further down, there were a few days of our lives when our pockets were burnt, this offered a quiet different kind of situation for a 'REGULAR'. It was at this time I used the facilities of CROSSWORDS! I would dust my hands off the burnt ashes and walk into the air conditioned, well furnished (loved the sofas)paradise of book lovers - Coss words.

We all have heard about window shopping, how about window book shopping! That's exactly what I used to do in crosswords. Pick a book after spending like thirty minutes of scanning. Settle down in a quiet place and begin reading. Awesome! Hours would go by, it was like a great escape into a different universe. Solitude definitely has it's share of joys. This was a great getaway for me (what with burnt pockets and all). Other interesting places - Lakeview restaurant, Corner house, US pizza, blah blah blah... are everyone's favorites.
The best time of the year was Christmas and New year when the whole place looked so lit up and beautiful.

Things have changed drastically. Now there are many shopping malls which are filled with buyers and onlookers, buzzing around 24x7. There is the never ending NAMMA METRO which says 'wherever you go, we follow'. The traffic jams and people honking, BMTC buses, auto drivers are any 'A' class driver's nightmares.But the city, has grown beautiful down the ages. Look at the vibrant paintings on the walls along the city's main roads! A great effort. This place is more than a city, it's a way of living!

Ark of life...

2010-04-07T10:09:00.000-07:00

‘Mamma, look at my boat. It’s floating so well’ Palak cried joyously as she pointed at the paper boat. Her eyes were filled with delight and her smile appeared divine. She looked like an angel, my little darling Palak. I sat down near the well, leaving the vessels undone. And I stared at her, I wanted ‘time’ to stop now. Right now! I washed my hands off the soap and decided to postpone all work till later. All I wanted to do now was watch my four year daughter play. I wish I had one hundred eyes, like the peacock because I don’t want to miss anything, a single movement, a simple gesture, a frown, a smile. Nothing! She was mine and I didn’t know for how much while longer she would remain mine…
A gush of wind blew in the direction of the boat and I hurried over to cup my hands around the boat, lest it destroys the joys of my little one. ‘Mamma, I got scared my boat would crash’ she hugged me. ‘Nothing will happen as long as I am here baby’ I replied and drove away her fears. But what about the fears that dwell in my heart… I went away, unable to look into her innocent eyes anymore.
I sat at a distance and began to contemplate on the events which changed our lives… ‘We are very sorry to inform you that your child is suffering with blood cancer’ the doctors announced. I refused to believe what I was listening. ‘This can’t be true’ I told my husband. But deep within my heart I knew it was true. I had lost my eldest son to leukemia one year back and now… Palak. Darkness invaded my life before I could come out of one tragedy.
When life was better: ‘Mamma, Palak is pulling my hair’ Varun complained. The new entry to the family, Palak was naughty. ‘Beta, she is your little sister. Don’t mind her naughtiness’ his father consoled him. And Varun came running to me and asked ‘Will you not love me anymore?’ I smiled and hugged him. ‘I will always love you.’ I could hear my own voice, it echoed inside my head. I looked towards the direction where we buried Varun 6 months back. Tears rolled down my cheeks at the thought of his death. Palak brought a small pen cap and placed it in the boat. She pretended that the pen cap is her child. ‘Now, go to school in this boat. Don’t fight with anyone there. Don’t lie.’ She kissed the pen cap and pushed the boat along. I went inside the hut, I can’t take it anymore.
Death seemed to invade my home. I could feel it in every corner inside the small hut. I looked around, ‘You think you can take her away from me?’ I asked death. ‘I won’t let go off her. I will win her; I won’t give up this time.’ I began shouting. My voice must have disturbed Palak, ‘Mamma, what happened? Did anybody beat you?’ she asked looking around the empty hut. I wiped my tears and smiled and said I have a headache. She knew I was thinking about Varun. I would constantly remember him and cry but Palak always knew. ‘You were thinking about Varun Bhaiyya. Don’t worry he will come back’ she replied, trying to console me. I controlled my tears and fought against my emotions. And she picked up my hand and led me outside.
‘What happened to your boat and your child?’ I asked her. ‘They drowned mamma, why were you not there to save it this time. The wind blew it away’ she said with a depressed voice. And sat down and began to sob. Death seemed to mock at me, I could hear him say ‘Look what happens when you challenge death. So don’t be a fool and accept your fate.’ I decided that minute that I will dictate the turn of events this time. I am not going to surrender to fate. I will not let my daughter die with tubes attached to every part of her body. I am her mother. I will save her. No, I will kill her. I will… Oh God, what am I thinking. I am a devil, I am no mother. I broke down next to the pile of clothes. ‘Make me another one, Please mamma’ Palak begged. ‘Not now Palak, go play with your dolls.’ I drove her away.
‘Mamma, don’t cry’ I was astonished to hear Varun’s voice. I looked around shocked. I must have lost my mind. My mind must be playing games, why am I hearing my dead son’s voice. The voice didn’t seem distant. It was somewhere near… It came from the well. I looked into the well. There was no one there. It must have been an illusion, I thought. ‘You can’t win death. Give up’ I heard my beloved son’s voice yet again. It ringed in my ears for a long time. My feet remained rooted to the ground. My mind invariably travelled to visit Varun on his death bed.
‘Mamma, I am scared. Pappa don’t leave me. I don’t want to die’ he had cried endlessly. But death was swift, and in a few moments he robbed us off our son. I was helpless. I couldn’t save him. I ran to Palak. I looked into her eyes for a long time. She had stopped crying over the crushed boat and had begun to play with her dolls. She understood something important was going to happen. Her smile faded away. ‘Varun Bhaiyya has come Palak, just like you said.’ I lied shamelessly. He wants us to go with him. ‘But where is he Mamma?’ she asked with a wide smile, her eyes searching the whole place. ‘He’s hiding inside the well dear.’ I looked away from her eyes and wiped her face clean with the end of my sari. ‘Let’s go Mamma…’ I hugged her and kissed her lovely face. ‘My darling, my baby… I will always be with you’ I whispered into her ears ‘even on the path of death’. We walked hand in hand towards the well, laughing loudly at the thought of being free. We chose death over life happily!

INDImag’s Katha Sagar Short Story Writing Competition

2010-03-28T04:44:00.000-07:00

Contest and Voting By Members : March-08 thru April-01 2010
Experts’ Voting : April-02 thru April-06
RESULTS : April-07,2010.

Here's my short story link! Would greatly appreciate if my blog readers would participate and vote! It's a sea of stories...

http://www.indimag.com/2010/03/28/the-observer/

The book that changed everything

2010-03-18T10:14:00.000-07:00

#206 - The book that changed everything

Is there a book that you read at a particular time in your life that changed everything for you? Is there a book you think should be written that would change everything? Words have an incredible power if they are read/ heard by the right person at the right time. What collection of words has been powerful for you?

Books have defined the growing phases of my personality. Most of the time my hands have picked up the right books at the right time, my heart fell in love with some of the authors and I read and re-read their books to relive the joy of reading! There have been rare occasions when I fell for the book cover and loved the contents of the book (RARE). To name a few 'life changing authors and books':

R. K. Narayan's Bachelor of Arts. This was my first proper novel, I was fifteen when I read it. It changed my world because I was introduced to the simple writing of this great man who moved hearts. This creator of Malgudi had an excellent story telling style. Bachelor of arts was a simple love story of a student of Malgudi. Sitting on the banks of river Sarayu one day, he falls in love with a green sari clad woman. It follows the emotions of this young lad through a heart break and how he finally succeeds in life.

Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita. The intensity with which I read this one is unforgettable and unforgivable. I was lost in a world of Nabokov's passion for words. To de-tangle myself and enter the mundane world seemed absurd to me. One of the best 7 days of my life. The dictionary was stuck to my hand, I must have noted a hundred words during the entire reading of this classic. It was worth all the trouble. some of my favorite excerts from the novel:

Lolita, light of my life,fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.
She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Salman Rushdie's 'Moor's last sigh'. This wasn't my first Rushdie novel, but it was my best one. I fell for the whole portuguese and jews concept and the spices, the fiery tongues, the chipkali paintings, the grey haired beuatiful woman and the young and lovely women! And the moor, of course! Wonderful. Complete. Humorous. Love. Hate. Passion. Jealousy. Name it, and you will find it in this one book. My favorite scene from the book:

So it was that Aurora da Gama got the idea of murdering her grandmother from the lips of the intended victim herself. Afer that she began making plans, but these increasingly macabre fantasies of poisons and clif-edges were invariably scuppered by pragmatic problems, such as the difculty of getting hold of a cobra and inserting it between Epifania’s bedsheets, or the fat refusal of the old harridan to walk on any terrain that, as she put it, ‘tiltoed up or down’. And although Aurora knew very well where to lay her hands on a good sharp kitchen knife, and was certain that her strength was already great enough to choke the life out of Epifania, she nevertheless ruled out these options, too, because she had no intention of being found out, and too obvious an assault might lead to the asking of uncomfortable questions. Te perfect crime having failed to make its nature known, Aurora continued to play the perfect granddaughter; but brooded on, privately, though it never occurred to her to notice that in her broodings there was more than a little of Epifania’s ruthlessness.

These are but to name a few, many others remain to be talked about like Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One hundered years of solitude, Peter Altenberg, Hermann Hesse!

Inside the pathology laboratory...

2010-03-14T08:31:00.000-07:00

This week our prompt is the opening of Isabel Allende’s 1999 novel Daughter of Fortune

Everyone is born with some special talent

Use all or part of it within your poem or prose and then leave the url of your post with Mister Linky and a comment.

'How did you do that!' she cried. Her voice startled me and I must have given a dazed expression because she immediately said 'I mean, you have an excellent memory.' I smiled and said 'thanks'. It was not the first time I heard that one. I had just quoted a few definitions from the textbook. I continued looking into the microscope, allowing myself to get lost again in a world of pink and blue tissues, a world of pathology. Four of us sat in the pathology reporting room, each with a special talent.

Beginning with the girl who shrieked.... She was a young five feet 4 inches beauty who could dance to any music. And she danced well! Her movements so definite and graceful. She was a passionate dancer. You know one, when you see one! God had created this one to dance, you would agree on this. I have many times wondered why she wasn't in the movie business!

After a few minutes, I looked at the person on my right. A 40 year old student, I knew what his special talent was. He was an artist, a great one. He never accepted this compliment, but I always insisted. His sketches were wonderful, the first time I saw them I was astonished. I told myself 'what's this guy doing in sitting in a four walled pathology laboratory? Shouldn't he be out there painting like Leonardo Da Vinci' Someday I intend to tell him this. I smiled at him before looking back into the microscope.

I wasn't thinking about the small bit of tissue, magnified a thousand times that lay in front of my eyes. I was now thinking about the lady in blue who sat in front of me. A mother of two, a great cook. She was a weaver of words, we would constantly allow ourselves to become her victims in her web of words knowingly and sometimes unknowingly. There was a certain amount of charm in her stride and wisdom in her words.

A few more minutes passed, I stared at the tissue on the glass slide from the outside. So tiny, yet within it are a thousand details and more. A maze! Each bit so special, has a different story to tell.

221 B revisited...

2010-02-21T06:43:00.000-08:00

The adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is everyone's favorite. The quick witted, super intelligent detective gifted with a keen sense of observation and his loyal colleague Dr.Watson re-visit the 21st century audience with this movie. Robert Downey Jr as Sherlock Holmes is brilliant and Jude Law as Dr.Watson is exceptional. The only person to outsmart Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler is back to portray as his lady love. Rachel McAdams plays the firtaceous role of Irene Adler remarkably well.

The movie follows the case of Lord Black Wood who attempts to take over the world by black magic. Sherlock Holmes and Watson avert the sacrifice of the sixth girl and thereby Lord Black wood is arrested and sentenced to death for committing five murders and attempting a sixth. A series of events lead to Lord Black Wood's resurrection and the whole country is in a state of consternation. Meanwhile, relationships between Watson and Sherlock Holmes become constrained and Watson begins to drift away from Holmes. In an interesting development, Irene Adler arrives with a case of a missing person whom Holmes deduces is somewhat connected to the case of Blackwood. He discovers that Irene Adler is being threatened and their lives are in danger. The following events lead to the reunion of Holmes and Watson who along with Irene Adler plunge into solving the case and the dangerously elusive Lord BlackWood's life to end. Victory of good over evil!

The movie illustrates in addition to Holmes's brilliant mind, his unique way of wrestling, his love for chemistry, and his passion for music. When looking at his fighting skills, one wonders at his accurate knowledge of anatomy. And in the precision with which he carries out each step, so methodically! Applaud to his brilliance. A few traces of vulnerability also seen in the character. His sense of detachment yet a sense of insecurity is seen, like in the situation when Watson decides to keep away! His obsession of reading people earns him less friends. Doctor Watson acts like a catalyst in Holmes's life and is his most trusted colleague. Supportive and closely follows Holmes's methods of observations.

If you are a Sherlock Holmes fan, do not miss the movie. It's a roller coaster ride worth every moment. Great performances, visuals are captivating, the background music is hauntingly beautiful. Some food for thought...

Echo...

2010-02-17T05:56:00.000-08:00

Welcome to ABC Wednesday Round 6. A fun project, now in it's third year! If you have something to share, be it a photograph, piece of art or poetry please post in on your blog and sign up here with MckLinky. Due to time differences just post when it is convenient on Tuesday onwards.

E for Echo...

The cool breeze hit my face yet again. It seemed to play with my hair pulling it in different directions. I had given up fighting against it. My mind like my body ceased to respond. I was trying to fully absorb the ecstasy of nature, for that is my only timepass. Tall trees danced harmoniously to the song of the wind, the leaves seemed to add to the chorus with their crisp voice. I closed my eyes and continued to listen to the songs of nature...

The River flew graciously all around me. Her path remains unchanged since times immemorial. Each pebble and grain of sand on her path feel her majestic presence as she encompasses them along. Her face is bright and radiates with a composure of a Goddess. She knows the end of her journey is close as she joins the sea. The fishes and water snakes hasten to kiss her feet, and the water lilies decorate her path...

I remain silent. From the bottom of my heart I muster the courage to bid farewell to the river, no sound is heard. I fail again. My hands pass along the blades of thick grass... my ears search a voice. So that I can be a shadow for that voice, for I am Echo.

And the dangling conversations...

2010-02-12T07:46:00.001-08:00

photo courtesy: http://jayjay.files.wordpress.com

'Let's play a game!' she suggested with the enthusiasm of a three year old. 'No discussions about work, for an hour. We will see who wins this one!' It was an open challenge and he had to accept it. It felt like something new was about to happen and pretended to contain the excitement. 'Ok I am not going to lose this one', she told herself. 'This place is beautiful, isn't it.' he asked. 'Yes, it is' she nodded in agreement. 'I liked those lights hanging down there, its very elegant!' and she began dreaming about a day when such lights would hang in her home. 'And, probably they wont be hanging by some corner! Where shall I put it?' she was lost in her thoughts.

He adjusted the sleeves of his blue colored shirt and she sank looking into the menu. Words didn't shoot up for quiet sometime, then both of them spoke together 'Chinese?' 'Tandoor...' and broke into fits of laughter. They were two completely different people, this was not new to them. Finally the 'Order', like them was a 'mixture' of Chinese and Indian food. Their friends were always amazed by this amalgam of personalities, some envied them and a few wouldn't believe that such different people can live under the same roof!

'What happened to your cricket game? thought you would ditch me for the game' she inquired carefully reminding herself about their 'pact for the day'. 'It's raining and they called off the match, didn't you see the TV' he answered unable to hide the disappointment. 'Have I ever sat through a single game of cricket... anyway I was busy reading a book. 'Love during the times of Cholera...' she said with a bright smile. He froliced 'What kind of a name for a book!' Her face turned red 'No, don't you dare...' and before she could display fury, her attention turned towards a song they were playing at the restaurant ' Like a poem poorly written We are verses out of rhythm' she hummed along and he joined 'Lost in the dangling conversation And the superficial sighs,Are the borders of our lives' ... they sang together the rest of the song, in perfect harmony holding hands!

As you like it...

2010-02-01T03:42:00.000-08:00

Photo courtesy : http://steveshann.wordpress.com/

Your prompt for Tuesday February 2nd

This week our prompt is a quote from Martin H. Fischer

Life is a ticket to the greatest show on earth

Use all or part of it within your poem or prose, and then leave the url of your post with Mister Linky and a comment

"All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts" he said with a loud and powerful voice. His voice swept the hearts of the audience sitting. Mrs.Banerjee took her handkerchief and wiped her tears, she controlled her sobs. Lest the great actor gets distracted. I had watched this play a hundred times, I work here in this theater since I was a kid. I am one of these backstage guys.

The great actor, Mr.Khan 'walked Shakespeare, talked Shakespeare, drank to Shakespeare and even ate from Shakespeare's plate'. I knew this for sure! But what a fine actor, a great gentleman. I heard that he bought the 'plate' for a fortune and considered it to be his life's greatest achievement! Want to hear the latest gossip, he is so much obsessed with Shakespeare that he bursts out at night with sonnets from King Lear/Julius Caesar. Better warn him, lest he mistakes his wife for Desdemona and... the less said, the better!

Here comes the lovely Celia! What a beauty... and her voice, as sweet as honey. Look at the white gown she's wearing, she looks like an angel! And the men, they come to watch Miss Rita, not for Mr.Khan's heavy dialogues. She's a nice little girl, pssst, heard she ran away from her parents. Her real name is 'Savitri Devi' and now with all the 'firangi' makeup, who would want to call her that. That's why the director sahib re-named her as 'Rita'. She's a good woman, always gives me a penny or two for tea/coffee.

Our boy, Orlando, 'Sunny' is Miss Rita's lover. The dark and handsome guy, sometimes gives me a chilly smile. If I ever direct a movie, Sunny will be the villainous murderer! And Mr.Khan, he will be the James Bond. Wonder how he will look with a 'six pack'!

Sometimes with all these lights and sonnets, Othello and Antonia and Cleopatra moving in my head all the time... Can't make out when I am in the theater and when I am in the real world...

Illustrations of life...

2010-01-25T22:14:00.001-08:00

Carry on Tuesday 37

This week our prompt is a quote from the 18th century artist Sir Joshua Reynolds

A room hung with pictures is a room hung with thoughts.

Use all or part of it within your poem or prose, and then leave the url of your post with Mister Linky and a comment

I strongly believe that a picture speaks more than words do.There are a few pictures I instantly fall in love with... There are some which take sometime to make an impression on me. There are pictures which inspire me, some which lighten my mood, a few that have a radiating peace embedded. Some pictures I hang on my wall, mostly my wedding photos, close family. Some of these pictures are my wall papers...Some pictures are so deeply seated in my mind that I don't need one for external display!

Divine love!

Courtesy: ISKCON

Very long ago, the National Geographic Channel had published on it's magazine cover the photo of an Afghan girl. No one knew her name then, but the picture moved the hearts of millions who came forward to help the people of Afghanisthan. And when you look at that picture, her eyes reflect the grief of her people!

Courtesy : National Geographic channel

My all time favorite wall paper... I couldn't stop myself from mentioning this one. Baby photos!

Courtesy: 3.bp.blogspot.com/

A love story... page 4

2010-01-21T09:16:00.000-08:00

We said our goodbyes and ‘keep in touch.. I had a nice time, blah blah’ formalities when he dropped me home. And I went in, a sense of joy but a question in my mind lingered Will I meet him again?’ It was one of the best dates I had been to, so even if I don’t see him again, it will be fine I consoled myself as I climbed upstairs. My eyes caught something bright in the dark, I turned to look towards the glittering insect… it seemed to dance over the floor of night merrily. It seemed like a sign! Erasing any worries I went to bed.
Sleep evaded me for a few hours but I never knew why. At around mid-night my cell beeped. The screen read 1 new sms and I raced to read it. I knew it was from Him. It read ‘I have lost something…’ I was disappointed at the message. I took my time to reply, I typed ‘What’ without a question mark and sent it. And immediately the cell beeped again, ‘my heart’.
It’s been years. But I very clearly remember how it felt. Even trying to explain it in words would be futile…

A love stry page 3

2010-01-15T07:15:00.000-08:00

After many years, one day as I read along the lines of a famous writer I thought about that 'fateful day'. The day I fell in love! The writer elaborated about a famous superstition which stated that when lovers meet at the place/spot where they first met time and again, it completes a circle and they were bound to break away. For the sake of nostalgia and to re-live that particular moment, I decided to pay a piligrimage to that cafeteria. It seemed silly of me, but I still wanted to do it. The place was in total decay, I wondered...

But I am going too ahead in my story, so beginning where it first began. After the cafeteria we drove to our school which wasn't too far. Two young school days sweethearts! Very few things in life are lovelier than this... The school, atleast then was more like a park with a lot of flowers and a lawn which was neatly mowed. And on the other side, buildings of classrooms. I was back to my childhood days, I hopped along like a girl of ten. Stood in the middle of the playground and said Now tell me which was our 8th standard classroom? He smiled showing his canines, his eyes would become so small that one could hardly look through them! I don't remember, is it this one? he pointed at the wrong one. I was disappointed, I picked up an orange flower and 'popped' it on his head... The little ones which make a 'pop' sound, they come in all colors, yellow, orange, lavender. Have you seen them?

It's right over there... I pointed.

A love story..... (page2)

2010-01-09T04:12:00.000-08:00

We settled down at a corner, it was pretty much deserted. I enquired ‘Are you done with studying? You said you have exams’ and he replied ‘Don’t worry I will pick up some notes from a friend and it will be done.’ And trying to deviate from the topic asked me ‘I really don’t believe you don’t have a boy friend!’ And in one fast flash I recollected the faces of all those indifferent guys who tried to bring out the emotion of love within me. But all that could be precipitated was 'despair'. How miserably they failed! I smiled and told him I haven’t found anyone good yet. We ordered for ice creams. My mouth watered and I shifted my total attention to hot chocolate fudge which arrived. As the chocolate melted away in my mouth, we stole glances as each other. I am a messy eater, people look/stare at me anyway! And while eating ice creams... use your imagination a little. So I I looked at the watch, six thirty. No hurry. ‘Have you been to the school lately?’ he asked. ‘Not since a long time’, I replied. ‘Then let’s go’ he said and we were off to renew some beautiful memories.

A love story....

2009-12-23T09:02:00.000-08:00

The world seemed very much ordinary that evening as I stood there waiting for him. The January sun shone brightly; motorists still shouted at each other, people went about their businesses in the usual mundane way. I never realized how much my life was going to change after that evening. At that moment I wasn’t even sure what to expect of that evening. I looked at my watch, and then tried to figure out among the crowd what he looked like. My futile attempts reverberated when strangers began seriously contemplating that I might be a looney or I had ‘interests’ otherwise. I remembered what he said ‘You won’t recognize me anymore…..’. I had laughed it away, I knew how he looked. Even after five years….
My mind wandered to my favorite memory about him. ‘Which one was your favorite song in the whole movie?’ I had asked him turning back. He replied in a voice that lingered in my mind to this day ‘Tere mere Milan ki…’ and I blushed. There was a sense of well being when he was around. I felt safe….
I decided I wasn’t going to smile at strangers anymore. So I just looked at the sky for a few moments and then I checked my hair and then I rubbed my hands. After a few minutes, he was there walking among strangers. I recognized his child like face, the way he walked didnt change either, he still had glasses on. Thank God he is the same... I smiled at him and said ‘You haven’t changed one bit…’. ‘I almost banged into the car trying to catch your eye… You didn’t see me.’ Then I narrated how friendly some strangers reacted to my innocent smiles and I had stopped looking around. We laughed loudly and went into the cafeteria….

The day the music died.....

2009-11-12T08:12:00.000-08:00

One fine morning as the sun was about to reach midway skies, I felt the music of harmony no longer existed in my lovely city. Bangalore has been a wonderful city for every individual. It welcomes you with wide arms no matter where you are from and what you do. Every one loves this place! It was on one such day when I realized that the city is beginning to lose an important shade of life. One of the best things and worst things about Bangalore is it’s buses. The blue boards, black boards, red boards and the wonderful pushpaks and of course off lately, the even more wonderful Volvo buses. Do you know when you begin to hate them and call the drivers names? That can happen when you are not inside the bus but driving and sandwiched between two aggressive drivers. Ever wondered what the rush is all about! Just for the thrill of it.
It was a Monday and I was in pushpak 195, on my to shivajinagar bus stand. It’s one of my favorite routes back in those days when Bangalore had no metro plans. A wonderful view of the Vidhana Soudha, the morning breeze of cubbon park, the pigeons flying over the high court. It always felt like a privilege driving on the vidhana veedhi. My love for the city would get refreshed as I passed along that particular stretch. It was on one such journeys that I encountered the changing face of my city. I was listening to music on my phone on what seemed a normal day. In 6th block Rajajinagar bus stop, a guy entered the bus. Tall. Handsome. Fair. Light brown eyes. I believe I was staring for quiet sometime. Then I went back to listening to music and occasionally checking him out.
Suddenly there were a few exchange of words between the cute guy and bus conductor. Then the driver joined in. I hurriedly removed my ear phones to get a reality check. The conductor began abusing this guy because he could not talk in kannada. He seemed to be a north Indian. The driver and some passengers began to issue statements against all non-kannada people. And how they had polluted the city by migrating in such large numbers. I could not believe what I was hearing. The guy excused himself in hindi and escaped before he was physically assaulted.
Bangalore is a cosmopolitan city, with thousands of people belonging to different cultural backgrounds. Language was never a barrier, and a Bangalorean has been the most friendly person. He/she speaks Kannada, hindi, telugu, tamil, English with an ease unknown to other people. Is there a frustration untold within the commoner, despair within hope, hatred within love! What I witnessed were only glimpses of that ‘mixed’ feeling. It was the first time I felt a bit ashamed to look at my fellow people. The rush of high emotions were subsided as I heard the following lines of Don McLean's 'American pie':

And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.....

August evening!

2009-10-24T22:35:00.000-07:00

I opened my hand to check if anything remained. It felt empty! I rubbed them off on the park bench and got up, it was already late. As I walked homewards, something felt light within. I looked at my hands again, they were open. They didn't hold on to anything anymore. What had I dropped off on my way? I couldn't say, but what ever it was. It was worth losing!

A security gaurd was passing by, whistling in to the night. The sound seemed haunting! The August winds blew driving chills down my spine. I increased my walking pace. The roads were deserted, people are locked in their homes on sundays in a place like this one. My mind wandered to the realms of the past. What was I trying to escape from? The present, obviously. Isn't it so easy! It's like a blanket, the past. Cover yourself and pretend to be invisible. But, I tell you what. This blanket is heavy. You can't always carry this one.

Too many memories. Good ones and bad ones. Memories? But I seemed to have lost them. No, they seemed to have lost me. They no longer remained loyal to me. They slipped from my hands like droplets of water. I tried to hold them tightly, but they escaped at a faster rate. I was out of the blanket now. Everything seemed new.

I came to the end of the lane, it was a cross road that was marked 'Past' and 'Present'. I stood there for a long time. There were things I forgot to forget! I stayed there and searched within for every scrape that was meant to be dumped. And then without turning back to say good bye to my past, I walked the road of the 'Present'.

Yonder years......

2009-09-18T05:04:00.000-07:00

07/08/1985
Class III
SCC Primary school
Bangalore

'But what's the mistake I have done this time? Why is she telling me to re-write it all over again?' said Neetu in a confused voice. Her eyes were filled with tear drops glistening brightly in the sunlight.'Has she forgotten I am the class topper?' she began to sob. 'See, she gave me an imposition to repeat it 5 times. Am I crying? Don't be a baby!' Smitha replied furiously. Neetu wiped her tears away and told Smitha that she would help her complete her imposition.'I won't cry again Smitha' Neetu promised her best friend. They packed their heavy bags and walked along hand in hand smiling at each other!

02/06/1989
class VII
SCC Primary school
Bangalore

'The new boy who has joined class today, I think he's too pink' Neetu whispered to Smitha. Smitha's eyes looked for the boy, and she nodded approvingly. 'So what do you want to call him?' Smitha asked Neetu naughtily. 'Let's think!' Neetu and Smitha went on a thinking mode for about 5-6 minutes. 'Smitha, who was the founder of the Gupta dynasty?' a sharp voice awoke smitha. It was Mrs. Rita staring into Smitha's dreamy eyes. 'Miss... it was ... it was.... Gupta' Smitha replied in a muffled voice. 'Which Gupta, you said?' Mrs. Rita's voice rose. Neetu whispered 'Sri Gupta, Sri Gupta Smitha' and Smitha caught the opportunity right away and said 'Sri Gupta Smitha Miss'. The whole class roared in laughter. Smitha and Neetu too were giggling away. At the lunch break, they decided to nickname 'the new boy' as Sri Gupta......

16/03/93
SSLC
SCC high school
Bangalore

The oil lamp was burning in the small room. Neetu and Smitha were reading by it's light. They cursed the whole world for the power cuts during the exams. The sounds of the night were clearly heard, the buzzing insects and the frogs croaking. The neighborhood women made it their routine for some local gossip. But Neetu and Smitha were lost in their studies. They were reading a poem by Wordsworth for their English exams. Smitha read:

"I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze."

She lay the book down and asked Neetu, 'What are daffodils? Some kind of cattle, I guess....' Neetu seemed to diapprove and said that she thought daffodils was the name given to women folk in England.....

And they lived happily ever after.......

2009-08-03T07:08:00.000-07:00

As I watched Rakhi Sawant choose her 'better half' in a so called 'swayamwar' my mind travelled back to the days I believed in fairy tales. My favorite character was Rapunzel, the one with the long hair locked up in a castle. Remember!

It's every girl's favorite line! Cinderella lived happily ever after, after her prince rescued her from the wretched family. Snow White lived happily ever after after she awoke from a slumber with a kiss from the prince. Fairy tales, that's what girls are expected to read in their early childhood. I asked my neighbour's daughter what her favorite fairy tale character was, the six year old thought deeply before she shyly answered 'Sleeping beauty' and her cheeks blushed. When I asked her why she didn't like Red Riding Hood or the Little Mermaid, she told me that they were boring since there wasn't any prince!

I tried to remember how I had evolved as a reader since childhood and how seriously I took my reading! And it was really a process of soul searching, I should say. I loved the fairy tales, every one of them. The beautiful princesses, the perfect nose, the lovely dresses, the grandeur, the love, the romance! Who doesn't like a fairy tale. Everyone does! As I grew up, I took a liking to Enid Blytons like all kids of my age. But definitely there was 'something' not so magical about the secret sevens and the famous fives. And then came the Sidney Sheldons, Michael Crightons, Hardy boys, NancyDrews........ Yes I loved them all. The nail biting thrillers, glamour filled pages of a world completely different from where I live. Then came along R K Narayan's books. They had a touch of romance, beautiful and graceful. By then I had outgrown the idea 'and they lived happily ever after.....'. I knew it didn't exit any more, not even in the books.

I was around fourteen then, when my world of 'And they lived happily ever after....' began to get shaky. With all due respect to the Royal family, I was shattered by the death of Pricess Di. A million others must have lost their hopes that day. We all got our reality check. Come on, she was a princess. Not some lady... What happened to her prince! They kept playing the video of her wedding day on the television.... And it was heart breaking. It was meant to be a fairy tale..... they were supposed to live happily ever after.

End of season.....

2009-05-19T23:03:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy: Souvik Prometure

They looked happy to leave. Their faces beamed with energy of exploring another place. We hugged and kissed good bye. And I kept wondering 'How can they leave?' The frustration was killing me within. But I didnt move from the place. I continued watching the sea, Green, Blue, White, Golden.... I kept searching for more colours and hours passed till I saw the next batch of people leaving. Carla and George paused at my table, released their heavy luggage and signalled the others to go on. I smiled faintly and said 'Where next?' They ignored my question and said 'It's time for u to leave too. You know that! Better pack your bags, stay with the rest!' I already knew where they were heading, to the North East. I nodded and wished them a safe journey. And then took a sip of whatever I was drinking and continued to watch the sea. Peace.

As the sun began to dissolve into the vast sea, I sighed at the beauty of nature for a thousandth time. The sky looked like an orange potion as I walked back along the beach. This period was a depressing time here. Three months back the night sky was lit with fireworks. The beach was full of people walking up and down. The shacks looked like beautiful and inviting. It was carnival time throughout. Nobody slept at nights. The music was always ringing in our ears. Now the shops closing down, the shack workers calling it off for monsoon, covers coming up over these places. It was painful to see isolated areas, it seemed like people were packing after a circus act. Those who remained had an wornout smile. They knew it was time for them to get HOME. 'End of act 1' I heard an inner voice telling me.

When I first set my foot in Goa, seven months back I knew I was here to stay. I never once left the place in all these days. And my routine was pretty much the same : watching the sea. It's a mystifying experience, to watch waves huge ones roaring as though to eat up land. But humbled at the slightest touch of earth! Again they rise and fall and wash the feet of earth. An army of immortal waves, they look like at times. It's the most beautiful experience I have ever had. I found peace at last away from home, here. I was in love with the sea. And the season of love never seemed to end.

As I stood there mystified by the sea, I felt the first few drops of rain wash away my fears. I began to walk towards the sea......

Delhi - 6

2009-02-22T10:29:00.000-08:00

I was dying to watch this movie from the moment I saw the promos showing Sonam Kapoor dancing to 'Masakali' and Abhishek Bachchan stealthily watching her. I told myself 'this is going to be such a cool movie' when I saw Abhishek Bachchan and Sonam Kapoor having 'that' special moment at The Taj(the Agra one). And yesterday I did watch the movie. The following piece is something like a 'review', I am not quiet sure what to call it though.

The movie begins with a scene from Ramayan being enacted. Throughout the movie there's an analogy drawn to the Ramayan. The idea though seemed brilliant to me at the beginning, slowly lost its charm as the movie went along. Waheeda Rehman, mother of a rich NRI in Newyork is about to die. And she decides to breath her last in her own motherland rather on foreign soil. Abhishek Bachchan, her grandson decides to accompany her on this trip. On reaching Delhi, Waheeda Rehman is welcomed with a 'Paan' from Rishi Kapoor who is a close family friend. Abhishek Bachchan is thrilled by the city. He instantly falls in love with Delhi. He seems to love the traffic, the people (crazy he calls them), the temple bells, the cricket playing kids, the lovable aunties, the jeelebis and Sonam Kapoor. Coincidentally there's this KALA BANDAR controversy which has seemed to catch the eye of Delhi. The media running special shows about the menace of the KALA BANDAR. The film shows glimpses of life in the famous Chandni Chowk life in Delhi. The jeelebi shop which is the adda for many people is also the turning point of the story. The harmony of the community is disrupted by religious leaders who cause havoc in what seemed a peaceful world within itself. How Abhishek Bachchan becomes intermingled within the web of the events taking place at Delhi -6 is the story ahead. There are a few lessons of National integration taught which is very much the need of the hour. But could it have been told in a more refined way, without any monkey business? The mockery made about 'Crime journalism' is praise worthy. The director points out that there are still traces of caste differences existing in the society.

The music of Delhi 6 is amazingly refreshing. Irresistibly catchy. A master piece by A.R.Reehman. No scope for criticism in this department. This is a must buy album in 2009.

Delhi 6 is a love story. It depicts the love of a citizen for the city which he now calls his own. And also the budding love story between Abhishek Bachchan and Sonam Kapoor. There are some amazing performances in the movie given by Abhishek Bachchan, Sonam Kapoor, Rishi Kapoor, Waheeda Rehman, Atul Kulkarni, Divya Dutta, OMpuri. The screenplay is excellent. The cinematography is beautiful. IF you are in love with Delhi, this is a movie never to be missed.

As I came out of the theater, I carried with me the images of Chandni Chowk. The ringing bells, jeelebis, empty huge terraces, pigeon and doves, kites, narrow lanes, kids running..... the colors of Delhi 6 will stay in my mind for a longer time than the complex philosophy preached.

The Shakespeare Wallah

2009-02-02T01:11:00.000-08:00

The past seemed to unwind in front of her eyes, she felt the ground beneath her feet shake for a while. The burden of the past seemed to flow from her body into the earth and hit her back with double the intensity. As Kamala stood firmly holding the letter in her hand, she felt a sudden urge to collapse into a chair. Time flies. But she realized that time 'tries' at first and then flies. How she longed to turn the hour glass back so that she could un-do everything she did! As she settled down in the arm chair, her daughter's voice lingered in the background 'Amma, I am waiting from such a long time.....'. She looked at the letter for one last time. The handwriting was strikingly familiar. She had no two minds about who wrote it. There was only one question that haunted her. 'Why so late?' The letter read:

Dearest Kamala,

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked elipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

Shakespeare

I wish to see you one last time before I die. Please grace me with the last desire and free me from all mortal bondage! Waiting for you at the railway station. 18/07/08

regards
.......
(Shakespeare Wallah)

She began to recite the sonnet again 'And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand' with a voice which was so muffled that her daughter thought she was talking to herself. Vandana cried to her 'Amma what's wrong?' Kamala was shaken she quickly folded the letter and hid it under the table cloth and turned to her twenty year old daughter. 'Nothing, I was just feeling a little tired. Come, I will serve you dinner' she said and led her daughter to the dining area. They had dinner silently. Her daughter was busy with the mobile phone. 'She is propbably sending text messages to Ashish her boy friend' thought Kamala to herself. And again her mind slipped into past.

She thought about him everyday of her life. About the poetry classes, the sonnets, the books, the library hours. How much she was in love with Shakespeare and the Shakespeare Wallah! They would spend hours together reading sonnets and acting them on stage and wonder how beautiful everything in the world was. But when the time came for her to choose between him and her family..... That was when she wanted to return the hourglass to. To set it at that particular moment in the railway station......

She sent him a sonnet which was a sign that she was ready to go with him anywhere in the world and leave behind her family. It was raining that night and the cycle shop fellow delivered the mysterious letter to him.

O Romeo, Romeo,
wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name,
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

That was all written in it. He packed his bags and turned towards the railway station. But Kamala, something held her back. She didn't feel she was doing the right thing. She packed her bag and un-packed them and decided to forget everything about Shakespeare and Shakespeare wallah. Later that year she got married to a Mathematics professor. Never did she hear about the Shakespeare wallah again. Her Mathematician husband did not understand Shakespeare and Kamala hated numbers but they made a happy couple.

Now her long last love is back. She did not wait for a good sign. In her heart, she recited repeatedly:

O Romeo, Romeo,
wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name,
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

And with tears pouring out of her eyes reached the railway station. She had to set right the clock!!!

Break of day.....

2009-01-27T06:33:00.000-08:00

Option Four:Fiction

Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air, is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies.
~Erich Fromm

Using the above quotation as your inspiration, write a flash-fic, scene, or short story involving a bright morning.

The aroma of morning coffee is quiet different from anything in the rest of the world, if you know what I am talking about. And as I sipped on my coffee with every sense of joy that can ever be, the voice of the morning show's radio jockey fell on my ears. He sounded like a young lad in early twenties, nice crisp voice and was endlessly speaking in the local language but with a heavy english accent. I took another sip of coffee and decided to give my un-didvided attention to him, there was something in his voice!

'For all those early risers, Good morning Bangalore. I love you guys! Today's theme as I have already spoken in detail; It's about the five best people in your life and why. Be it your father, your best friend, your girl friend or teacher, call up 98877...' I lost him for a while as my mind immediately turned inwards in search of those five people. this announcement was followed by two songs, one of them was my favorite and was successful in bringing my attention back.

I finished my morning coffee and dismissed the search of five best people. The task of preparing breakfast seemed more important than anything else for that moment! And I knew I would thinking about this 'Theme' for the whole day. It was always like this. After the second song finished the RJ was back and I began chopping onions. 'Good morning bangalore, I am back with you. We have young Shreya online, she is five years old and wants to share something with us.... 'Hello Shreya' Now, I stopped chopping onions and stared at the radio. Not that I knew who Shreya was but I really yearned to listen to the voice of this young girl, what better way to start the day!

'Hello Uncle.' The voice was beautiful. So pure and innocent, completely musical. She seemed scared at first, then slowly she spoke 'My first favorite is my mom. She is the best best person in the whole world. My second favorite is my dad. I love him a lot. My third favorite is my pet dog, 'Subbu'. He plays with me.....' And then there was silence for a minute. Then she reacted immediately 'After I grow old, I will have two more best people. But for now, it's only three!'. I laughed hilariously, that was the cutest talk I have heard on the radio till now..... It made my day!

Page 7

2009-01-19T03:08:00.001-08:00

‘Get lost from my sight; you don’t get your ball back. Make your parents pay for the loss first. Then we shall see! If I don’t get my money back I am, charma sulithini (rip your skin off). ‘he threatened them moving the walking stick as if to hit. The boys were scared out of their blues, they simply ran away, scattering in different directions. ‘Let’s go in Keshava. These boys are so careless! Go and clean out those glass pieces. And give me that ball’ he said sternly. I silently handed him the ball and went on to clean the bedroom. These shattered glasses are a thing of beauty. You should look at them, adore them and then only discard them. Those tiny crystals like structures, each piece sparkles like a diamond when sunlight passes from the window. I looked at them about fifty or so fallen on the ground revealing a mystery world within itself. Picking up one for a closer look I kept it near my eye, the sun rays seemed to pierce through the crystal and shone brightly with different colors. This is really a thing of beauty! Then quickly I collected them, moving every piece on the bed and around it. I had to next pacify Thatha, he was boiling with rage. I knew how to bring him back to normalcy. The right recipe can do wonders at such situations. Thatha was a great foodie. He loved to eat and enjoyed his meal thoroughly. At times I have also wondered at the way he eats, hurriedly and stuffing his mouth with food. There was an urgency in the manner he had food. This behavior made me reach two conclusions about him:
• Either he’s never had delicious food throughout his life till now.
• Or he prefers his lunch and dinner really ‘Hot’

The present situation gave me the clear command of preparing a feast for lunch. In two months, you can study any man even if you are just a ten year old kid. I knew what each of his taste bud yearned for. Ajji’s words rand in my ears ‘The rich eat like kings. So you did better get prepared to become the Royal Chef.’ I was trained to become one. The menu for today’s Royal feast is…… a surprise! I tiptoed to see if Thatha was taking a nap. He was enjoying a blissful sleep on his easy chair. Was he the same ‘Lion’ that roared few minutes back at the verandah? Because if you look at him now, he slept like a harmless child. I went back to the kitchen. The short ‘Easy chair nap’ usually lasts for forty minutes after which straight to reading the different newspapers. Thatha had a passion for journalism, I think. He subscribed for three top newspapers daily, and he did read each one of them carefully. Forty minutes was more than enough for preparing a normal lunch, but a feast? Will I be able to keep the surprise to the last minute? But I wanted to see that expression on his face at the moment he sees the feast spread over the huge dining hall. So I multi-tasked, cutting vegetables for sambar and frying the spices simultaneously. Then grinding the spices for that secret ‘Sambar’ powder my family was famous back home. Iyengar sambar is the most famous thing in entire Karnataka. Payasam I was trying only for the second time, hope it comes out well. Everything fell on place and it was ready by twelve thirty THATHA’s lunch time. I walked into the dining table, his nose had already sensed the aura of ‘feast’. ‘Keshava, what’s special for lunch?’ he said in a pleasing tone. His pace increased as he almost rushed to take his seat. ‘Sir I thought some change will be good from the routine… I replied very modestly. No longer did I finish the sentence he had already started. I stood nearby ready to help him with the servings. But he seemed to lose himself in enjoying each morsel of food he ate. When I handed him payasam in a tumbler, he was already a happy man. Did I see tears in his eyes? May be I did, I will never know with those thick rimmed glasses hiding his eyes. But when he got up from his chair he looked at me affectionately like one of his own. I will never forget that day. Thanks to those ‘little rascals’.

Page 6

2008-12-24T03:09:00.000-08:00

When Thatha was telling me his story, I imagined in my mind every single incident that he was narrating. I was the director of the cinema and I was my own audience. I imagined young Thatha in his prime youth, in boot cut pant with bright colored polka dotted shirt. He would have looked like our Annavru. I imagined him (with all the creativity I was blessed with) in the scene where he met Jayamma for the first time. After he walked out of the house, I said “CUT! Good shot!” In my mind. This whole experience was new to me but it’s a very exciting experience. I was on my journey of becoming the best director in ‘sandalwood’. But right now I was looking for a character to play Jayamma, as per the rumors back in my village was not exactly a ‘damsel’ or anything close to one. And it was very difficult to marry her off. People also felt she was ‘different’. More on the ‘talkative side’. Nothing like how Thatha had praised endlessly. Now who can I cast for that role…. It’s not a small decision to make. She’s my movie’s heroine. Opposite to someone of the stature of Annavru…. I better take my time. And also verify my sources back home.

Jayamma had passed away ten years back and Thatha was a widower. He seemed too merry to be one though. This always stimulated the ‘detective’ in me to act accordingly and investigate. I loved detective movies. And watched them regularly. Before any of the audience guessed who the murderer was, I would have. There was this talent in me. Usually these murder stories had a secret motive. ‘What was your motive Mr.SK?’ I would ask myself. ‘Dowry? Domestic violence? Boredom? Did you kill her’ I rehearsed in a James Bond style. ‘Whatever it was, I will find out.’ I told my reflection in the mirror and finally ended by saying ‘Keshava, ChennaKeshava’. That was the best Bond performance I ever saw. This detective thing is not very easy you see. I started thinking in my free time about the different kinds of movies I watched. There must be a secret room in which I can find ‘the evidence’ even today. I drew a map of the house on the backside of the advertisement pamphlets. And I planned to check in each and every room during the nap time. Back in my village, I watched ‘Crime story everyday’. I wanted to become a police detective and catch the bad criminals. Or I can even make a movie on police.

‘Keshava, come over here’ Thatha called me lovingly. He’s beginning to like this foundling. ‘Sir!’ I said sincerely. ‘Wanted to talk to you.’ he said. His voice scared me, though it was gentle. What did I do today! I ran in to the kitchen first, just in case I had left the milk boiling. No, I hadn’t. Safe. I then retired to a corner where he majestically seated himself on the easy chair. ‘I want to tell you my story Keshava. You can many lessons from my life. About love, about hate, about the various patterns of behaviors in humans and many such things, I will tell you all’ he said. But during the whole monologue never did he once look in to my eyes. There was a mixture of guilt, shame and pride in his voice. I waited patiently. ‘Trraaasshh…’ a loud crack of breaking glass came from Thatha’s bedroom. I rushed immediately but I knew what caused the sound. I had done it several times myself before. Just to ensure it was the cricket ball which caused the commotion I ran towards my master’s bedroom. Thatha followed angrily. ‘These boys are done! They are over today. Fetch my walking stick, let’s go and confront those rascals!’ cried Thatha in rage. Back in action, I thought. I fetched him his walking stick; secretly in my mind I was hoping he gives those rascals a good scare today. And out we went together. Its going to be an interesting afternoon, we are coming for you little rascals! The ball was in my hand and I knew they want it back at any cost, even if they had to fight with ‘Dodda mane Ajja’ (big house grandpa). They stood in a line outside the gate ready to welcome us. Their faces had sunken to the size of the ball; they avoided looking at Thatha but searched constantly for the ball. Meanwhile I slowly revealed the ball from behind and began playing with it, throwing it up in the air. Their eyes followed the ball and their heads moved up and down. Thatha cleared his throat and began ‘hey, you rascals broke my window pane! How dare you! You people are going to become the citizens of India tomorrow and look at yourselves now. You shabby, useless, good for nothing boys! What will the country gain from you?’ his voice was fierce. I was scared; I stopped playing with the ball and hid behind him. The intensity of scolding of Thatha is directly proportional to the intensity of their scolding to me. Wow, I am a good mathematician also now. Thanks to Thatha.

Page 5

2008-12-20T02:29:00.000-08:00

This city is a strange place; let me tell you that one thing for sure. In our village, the women folk wake up at five thirty and start sweeping the front yards. They make so much noise that it wakes everyone in the household, what with all that scrubbing the ground with cow dung; it’s definitely going to make lot of noise. And there is always the local gossip among women in the neighborhood. But one thing I have concluded in all these years is that all women, atleast in the village are true artists or they were simply too good in geometry. You should watch them drawing those intricate rangoli designs. Simply superb. But what about here, no one wakes up early in the morning. Only the old people I see in parks walking and talking and laughing loudly. Some of them also exercise in the parks. ‘Parks are very important in cities’ Thatha always said. Strange, I never see any woman with their hands colored rangoli on early mornings.

Early that morning I found myself tucked in bed, I must have slept in Thatha’s room after he fell silent. I started the day with my regular chores. Thatha returned from his morning walk and I met him at the spacious verandah as I was sweeping ‘I didn’t want to wake you up today. You were sleeping peacefully’ he said in a gentle voice and placed the walking stick right in its place. ‘Sir, I must have dozed off. I am sorry.’ I said apologizing. ‘It’s ok Magu, carry on now. That was a heavy dose for you yesterday I think’ he mumbled slightly embarrassed and walked away.

They told me. Even before Thatha had opened the topic, I heard stories about Jayamma in my village. There were a lot of rumors back in the village about Thatha and Jayamma. Before I tell you the rumors about this couple, I should tell you something about Thatha’s history. In a village, everyone knows Who, Where, How, Why of everyone else. May be Thatha thinks he is forgotten by the people, but it’s never so. The stories are told from mouth to mouth passed down from generation to generation. And so it reached my ears, my grandmother told me everything she knew about Thatha. Thatha was the fourth son in a family of six. They belonged to a rich family of landlords. ‘They have enough money to feed the entire village for a whole century’ my grandmother said. The children were a bunch of arrogant idiots except for Thatha, he wanted to study. The others only believed in tormenting the poor all the time, Thatha never approved this behavior. So he kept himself as far away from the village, far from his people. My grandmother said that Thatha was clever and all, no doubts about it. On the day he had passed metriculation, his family celebrated the occasion lavishly. They announced a dinner for all the poor and there were special prayers offered in the temple. She said she would never forget that day in her life. ‘The food the rich eat gives them that glow on their face and also makes them intoxicated with wealth. That’s why they act like mad elephants, always troubling the poor.’ she commented. Thatha was not there to celebrate his success. Some villagers found him sitting under the huge mango tree and writing something. ‘People knew he was different from the rest. A bit foolish in the head. Always looking at the sky and muttering things no one understood. He carried with him paper and pen, everywhere he went. These educated people are a big mystery’ she sighed.

Page 4

2008-12-16T08:34:00.000-08:00

‘I used to sing that song to my wife when she was away, in her parent’s house. My wife, Jaya. She was very beautiful, long hair neatly plaited. And jasmine flowers everyday, to decorate in her hair. Her ever smiling face used to cheer me up in any tough situation. She was a woman of less words but a careful listener. Long back, before you were even born Keshava, I met her in the arranged marriage fashion. The guy goes to the girl’s house and all that, you would have seen in the movies. So, I also went to my sweet Jaya’s house in Maddur. The house was filled with guests, running around and fetching things for the ceremony. People were laughing and passing around plates of sweets and snacks. I had eaten so much that day. Inside my heart I knew this was the woman of my life, before I even laid eyes on her. I waited impatiently for the moment when I would see my beloved. Even the different kinds of sweets laid in front of my eyes didn’t distract me that day. I rubbed my fingers constantly in tension. And my eyes were searching for my bride. How will I recognize my bride? Every one wearing sari here with heavy jewellery. I began scanning their feet; married women always wear a silver belt around their feet. I must have looked like a boy who had some serious problem in the head because my father in law looked at me probingly. My uncle, having realized the gravity of the situation handled it well by saying that I was just looking at a rat which was passing by notoriously causing trouble to the household. Synchronously there was lots of shouting heard among the women ‘Rat, drive that away’ and my gaze turned to normal. Clever uncle he saved me that day. I just bent down my head and started to count numbers silently. They say it’s a good technique to control anxiety, this counting thing. So that’s what I did for a few minutes. Then there was silence and then giggling of girls. Slowly my Jaya walked in to the room around her were fifteen women. As soon as I looked at Jaya I knew it was her. There was no confusion. It was her. Wearing a red sari, she looked as lovely as any woman can be. I could still hear the sound of her anklets inspite of the noise. My ear was somehow fixed like a radio and I picked up her frequency only. Her face looked like an angel, she was the most beautiful woman I had seen in entire Maddur. I got up as she came and sat and cleared my throat. My father in law began to panic but I raised my hand in consolation and said ‘I liked the girl. Please arrange the marriage early’ and then the whole room fell silent. ‘But, what about…..’ my uncle asked in broken words and my only reply was ‘I know she’s the one. No questions. No dowry. No singing needed to confirm it.’ I looked at her for one last time before I made my heroic exit.

‘I don’t know Keshava, what came on to me that day! I was beaten black and blue when I came back home by my father for being disrespectful. There were threats made but I took them all in my stride and patiently waited for the date of marriage. I returned to Bangalore to continue in my job. Back then I was working for the government primary school. I waited eagerly for my father’s forgiveness and more so for the good news of my wedding. Now in my free time I began asking myself ‘Did she like me? I made such a big fool of myself in front of her. Hope she isn’t scared by the way I acted. I should write her a letter and explain myself more clearly’. Keshava, those days were not like this. E mail, Chat and dating were un-heard of. People from good families never spoke to or wrote to their fiancée before the marriage. But I was a modern man, I was educated and somewhere in the corner of my heart I had one and only one single doubt about Jaya, ‘was she literate?’ it kept haunting me every day and night for twenty three days. Then I found the answer to all my doubts. Because then, I was married to her!’ at this point of narration Thatha took a break. He fell silently for a few moments and stared at the ceiling for a long time. I must have fallen asleep after that......

Page 3

2008-12-12T02:14:00.001-08:00

In the days to come, I began to like Thatha. He was a man of simple needs but a disciplinarian. His schedule never changed not even by ten minutes. He got up sharp at five o clock, put on his ‘Monkey cap’ and held a walking stick (to scare away the dogs) and went for a walk to ‘catch some fresh air’ he used to say and then followed a lecture on pollution. He was my teacher, he taught me how to read and write. I was slow in the beginning but picked up fast. I cooked for him and sat beside him while he ate slowly and silently. Never does Thatha drink water with his meals; he says it’s a bad thing. And I have embraced this habit. Though the television was there, he referred to it as the ‘idiot box’ and watched only news on it. Every time I saw those colorful advertisements my eyes grew big. And he would notice it and sigh. Every evening we would have coffee at the same Janata hotel at sharp four thirty after his afternoon nap. Dinner was always light followed by ten o clock news. Thatha was a sound sleeper, never had nightmares but snored heavily. He was my master and companion and I loved the way he calls me ‘Magu’ affectionately. Thatha was talkative but a good person, I had decided.

That day sitting near his feet at the easy chair I began to worry why Thatha fell silent. Why isn’t he telling me how bad the city boys are or about the harmful effects of pollution or the corrupt government! He lay there on the easy chair staring at the ceiling. I waited till he began to speak. ‘it’s only a passing cloud’ I told myself. And after the nine o clock news he did begin to speak, and what a speech it was!

‘Keshava, I want to tell you about that song. And why it has disturbed me and brought me to this situation’ he said with a firm voice while I walked into his bedroom to keep glass of water at his bed side. ‘Yes sir, I want to know about it. If you don’t mind telling that is…’ I said shyly. I was determined this time to give my master un-divided attention while he spoke......

Page 2

2008-12-08T01:31:00.000-08:00

I sat down by his side and Thatha was rocking on his easy chair. He continued his story from where he had stopped. ‘Keshava, that song…. You know what it means?’ immediately I answered ‘that wife and husband are one’ he looked astonished. ‘Good, good you know lot of things already ‘ But sir, you told this much in the hotel. I want to know more…’ I asked giving a hint of my curious nature. ‘Yes, you will hear about it more. Go and switch on the lights in the balcony and here. It’s evening time, the house should be lit brightly. Go now…’ he sent me and I finished the job in a few seconds. ‘You are quick, come. Sit. It means that life is like a song, The song of emotions is the sign of prosperity, life is like veena (instrument) provides the music of life, the moment of oneness is one of joy. It’s a good message. Though there are two hearts beating, the tune is the same. And once united, we will never separate again. The song of emotions is the sign of prosperity, life is like veena (instrument) provides the music of life ’ he breathed heavily and fell silent.

Everything was strange from this evening. I had never seen Thatha behave so oddly. Of course there’s nothing odd about being nostalgic, but this was not how he was when I met him. The first time I was dropped off at Thatha’s house by my grand father, I was scared looking at this tall huge man with big eyes staring from behind thick rimmed glasses. The glasses had a big nose for support grayish black moustache which reminded me of Kannada movie villain. Only a black mole was missing on his cheek. You see, I have watched many movies in the tent. The rowdies look exactly like Thatha. But he was only dressed well than them, with a jubba pyjama. I wonder why he always wears white jubbas. Blue will also look good on him. I should tell him sometime…Hey, I am going off on a different line of thought here. On that day when I met him first, he came closer bent his head and looked at me adjusting his glasses. ‘Magu, what’s your name?’ he gently asked and only then I was consoled. You see, just anyone doesn’t call you Magu, only a good and honest man calls you Magu (kid). I displayed my 32 teeth and said ‘Keshava’. I must have whispered it very lightly because he brought his ear closer to my lips and asked me to repeat, this time I loudly and confidently said ‘Keshava sir’. He looked surprised, and slowly replied ‘Good, good. See Keshava, there’s lot of work for you.. you have to be an active boy. I don’t like these lazy boys who keep playing cricket outside. So don’t ever talk to them. They are a useless lot. Tell me what’s the use of playing cricket? Will someone from the Indian team select you looking at you playing here and breaking other people’s glasses……’ He continued to lecture on the subject but my mind slightly slipped away and I was no longer paying attention to him. My thoughts went back to my village, Kencha, Rudra, Manga and a whole team of us! How we used to slip away from school silently to far away playground and play ceaselessly. As I was entering the house through it’s screechy gate I had seen a team of 5 ‘city’ boys playing outside on the road. I was gaping at them and they all stopped playing and looked at me. It was a sympathetic look. I knew I was in the wrong place and once I entered the house there was again lot of shouting and playing. But Thatha was a good man, he is nothing like that ‘Boothayya’ I had read in the books. There is only one problem here, he speaks a lot. I turned my attention to what he was saying….. ’Look Magu, there should be no loitering around the parks and roads when there’s no work. These ‘Poli’ (spoilt) kids will influence you too. You should stay away from these people…. Now let me show you around the house and explain you the duties. Speaking about duties, when I was a school master, my students were excellent…. ‘ and I failed again to give him my un-divided attention. A few words fell on my ears but I kept staring at the huge ceiling above and the plaster that was peeling off.

Return to the Repository- page 1

2008-12-01T05:57:00.000-08:00

‘This place looks crowded today. I wonder from where all these people come from right at the same time I want have my cup of coffee in peace. Come along with me, you boy!’ said Sampathkumaracharya, my employer to me clutching my hand tightly. I am not a small boy; I don’t know when he’s going to realize that. I am a ten year old boy who can look after himself. ‘Sir, there’s a seat for two here. Let’s rush before….’ I ran even without finishing my sentence completely to occupy the wooden bench before a couple standing close by could succeed.
‘Good magu (kid)! You are quick in action. I like that. You will reach heights in your life untouched by others’ Thatha said happily. I smiled like a happy dog. ‘Bearer, Bearer!’ he shouted loudly and the man wearing a red uniform with a dirty wiping towel over his shoulders appeared on the scene. ‘Two cups of coffee, fast’ Thatha ordered and the ‘bearer’ scribbled on his note pad and disappeared into the crowd. I continued looking at him. The kitchen, he must be going in to the kitchen. I wonder how many people are employed here to work. There are atleast, wait let me count on my fingers 1.2.3……

Jeeva Veenae Needu Nidithadha Sangeetha
Bhavageethae Baalinolumaeya Sankaetha
Indhu Milanadha Santhosha , Sukha Santhosha
Shuba Sandhesha Sandhesha , Sandhesha..voo

Thatha was lost in his thoughts. It seemed he wasn’t there any more. I was frightened. I tapped him slowly over his shoulder. No reaction! How can he die so soon! Does that mean I have to go back to the village? I have seen dead people, they don’t move just like how Thatha is sitting now.

‘Grmph…..’ Thatha stirred in his seat and I was the happiest person in the whole world. But I didn’t want to show it. I stayed calm. ‘That song, you heard that song?’ Thatha asked me in a serious voice. I had never heard that song. We didn’t have radio in our village, I wanted to say. But Thatha returned to his state of motionlessness.

Nidhiyuva Managalu Eradu , Nidithadha Raagavu Ondhae
Minchuva kan Nanchina Sanchu Indhu Ondhae
Prathisuva Hridhayavu Eradu , Papadha vaeravu Ondhae
Saeruva Shuba Samayadhae , Viraha Iradhu Mundhae

I concentrated on the song this time. I wanted to say something smart when Thatha asked me a question, to impress him. Our coffee arrived in what seemed neat and clean steel tumblers. I grabbed it the second the ‘Bearer’ left it. My fingers almost burnt.

Thatha sipped on the coffee, the song still haunted him. I wonder how he could hear the song, it was so light. My sharp ears could only hear bits of it. Thatha turned towards me and asked ‘Do you know what that words of that song mean?’ and I tried hard to say something nice but gave up. I nodded like a total idiot! ‘I will tell you everything about that song, listen carefully. It’s a very special song.’ He sipped on coffee and carefully placed the tumbler down on the table, I saw his hands were shivering. He adjusted his broad big spectacles and adjusted his voice and began ‘ It says about how husband and wife are ‘one’ always’ with a rushed voice. And sipped coffee again. I felt he cut short a long speech into just one sentence then I tried hard hearing again,

BhavageethaeBaalinolumaeyaSankaetha
Jeeva Veenae Needu Nidithadha Sangeetha

It seemed that the song finally ended and Thatha came out of his strange state and explained himself in a clearer way, not that I demanded! ‘You see magu (kid), long before you were born may be in the 1970’s when our super star VishnuVardhan had thick lovely curly hair and was smart as a young lad he had acted in this kannada movie. What’s its name! ‘Hombisilu (Sunshine)’ and the actress was… Why! It was the beautiful heroine of our times, Aarthi. Both looked the best at that time of prime youth. I have watched this movie 16 times you know! Wonderful movie, you should watch it.’ he pointed a finger. I looked in to his eyes directly for the first time, they looked wet but full of life. ‘But what does the song tell about sir….’ I enquired curiously. Something in the song shook him, I want to know why. He is my employer, I surely want to know every detail about his life. So why not start from now I thought.

‘Sir, Bill! The man in red dirty uniform re-appeared’ Thatha took twelve rupees from his long jubba ( shirt) and placed it in the small tray in front of him. The bill was ten rupees and the fellow got a tip of two rupees. He gestured something like ‘thanks’ and shied away into a long dark alley. I walked close behind Thatha, I didn’t want to lose myself here and become a red uniformed ‘bearer’. Meanwhile as we walked out of Janata hotel in Malleshwaram, the roads were as crowded as it was inside. Today was Saturday, shopping day here I think. Thatha held my finger so that I shouldn’t lose my way, or probably because he shouldn’t lose the way in his story telling business. We walked silently towards home which was about ten minutes from hotel, across the market. The house from outside looked big, very big for one person to stay. Now we are two, but it’s still big enough. But it’s old and not fancy. The gate makes a lot of sound when opened and the plaster is peeling off the walls. I can’t complain about all this I am only a servant.

Broken promise

2008-11-26T02:47:00.000-08:00

Option Four: Fiction

All art is autobiographical; the pearl is the oyster’s autobiography.
~Federico Fellini

Using the above quotation as your inspiration, write a flash-fic, scene, or short story involving pearls.

'There she comes again! I better run, I don't waana be involved with this one again' Farida told herself as she looked at the old lady walk through the doors of her work place. Nazir, the new guy in the jewellery store welcomed the old lady with a warm smile. Farida silently prayed that this encounter would go smooth. She liked him. She thought he was cute.

The old lady returned Nazir's smile. It was a toothless smile but the eyes shone brightly like a pair of diamonds. Nazir silently checked the potentiality of the customer. Yes, she wore gold bangles and a glimpse of a gold necklace was seen partly covered by the sari. She looked all right, potential and all was good. That's what Nazir thought as the customer sank into the chair opposite to him.

'Yes my boy, I would love to look at pearls. Show me the best you got!' she said with an authoritative voice. Though 'Pearls' was not exactly what Nazir would settle for, but he never allowed the expression of discouragement to be seen on his face. he ran his hand over the counter to open it through the key he had and picked a few necklaces with pearls. The best they had got. Farida noticed Nadir picking up the necklaces with his delicate fingers and thought 'His fingers look very feminine. Long and thin. Sign of an artist. Let's see how talented he really is!'

The old lady began to inspect the jewellery placed on the glass table. The lights in the shop shone so brightly that everyone around looked beautiful. She picked up one of the necklaces with her shivering hand and began to inspect the pearls. Her fingers ran smoothly over each pearl and Nazir began to feel that he is in the presence of a genius. He began to read the thoughts of this customer. His friends always felt he was a mind reader. And that he was like a radio and could tune his frequency to other's thoughts. But Nadir knew more than that. He listened to what her mind was telling her 'these big white pearls. They are beautiful my dear. Look at them, pearly white creatures. They bring so much joy to my heart. You promised me, but it was not fulfilled.' Nadir's mind was distracted. He knew she was hallucinating. She was talking to some one.... who wasn't there. He simply stared at her again and the lady continued adoring the pearls. He knew it. He knew she isn't going to buy anything. She has come here to relive the past moments.

He slowly kept the other sets of necklaces inside without distracting his customer and then entered her mind again. 'You bought me gold and diamonds. Lots of them. And even without me asking for anything. But you never kept up the promise of a pearl necklace. You hated pearls. I knew it. You hated everything I loved.....' At this point Nadir caught the eyes of Farida staring at him through a hand mirror. He gave a nervous smile and Farida blushed. The lady was lost in her thoughts. Though he had no interest to read her thoughts anymore, he continued to watch the elderly woman. She was playing with the necklace. She adored it undoubtedly but he knew she will never buy it.

A promise remained unfulfilled, a love which was denied had run this woman near to insanity. She would crave for pearls but never buy it herself. There was 'someone' who promised her but never kept up that promise. And she seemed to wait for an eternity hoping that 'the promise' be fulfilled. When she was out of her trance after several minutes, Nadir was very much present. 'Boy, I am too old for pearls now. May be I should go. Thank you.' she said and rose gracefully and walked out of the store. Nadir didn't seem surprised and put those pearls back safely in it's place. 'She will come again' he told himself.

Seven fears....

2008-11-08T18:44:00.000-08:00

Fear is a strong emotion. Fyodor Dostovesky, writer and philosopher has truly defined the commonest of fears in the below words :
'Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most'.

Here are the seven things that scare me the most:

1. Fear of failures: Though it may sound like a weakness this 'quality' has transformed me in more than one ways.

2. Fear of darknesss: As a child this kind of fear was very dominant in me but I have now learnt to conquer it.

3. Fear of 'some' people: 'Some' belong to a group of people who have always been successful in scaring me. Not the loud and harsh ones but the ones who remain calm on the surface. These seemingly calm people bottle up their anger and one fine day with no prior notice there will be a volcano of emotions. The consequences are the same as in any natural calamity, mass destruction!

4. Fear of 'insects': I am terribly scared of all the insects. Bee, cockroach, dragon fly, beetle.... all of these winged creatures. I am scared that these things might creep into our ears when we are asleep. This is my worst kind of fear.

5. Fear of losing my luggage: This fear, i have developed from my past experiences of losing things easily. Shear carelessness!

6. Fear of sudden noises: Imagine when the room is totally silent and then there is a tunmble of falling vessels. My heart literally skips a beat at these situations.

7. Fear of 'nothingness': What if one fine day I will have nothing to do! No work, no identity. Sometimes this is what I desire for but again it's also one my dark fears: Uselessness.

National Novel Writing Month is here....

2008-11-02T08:39:00.000-08:00

I am 48 hours late already, that means by the 30th of November by 50,000 words novel should be ready and I have to write around 1700 words per day. I welcome the readers to join me at Nanowrimo . Here is the short synopsis of a novel I have in my mind.

Return to the repository
Short synopsis

Return to the repository is a compilation of archives by a widower. Mr.Rajanna, a 50 year old retired school master sits in a coffee shop sipping coffee and is distracted by a tune played on the radio. It’s an old melody he used to sing to his wife whenever she was away from home. The song rekindles lost memories and takes him back to the ‘safe’ where he locked those cherished moments for good. Return to the repository is a parody where Rajanna, our hero takes us along the journey of love and hate relationship in his marriage. Being a school master, Rajanna is a keen observer of the changes taking place in the society and makes references to the various changing concepts in the fields of education, politics, social status, movies, life of the common citizen and many such issues with a touch of innocence and ignorance. The journey which begins in the coffee shop in Malleshwaram, Blore dates back to thirty five year to a small town in Karnataka, Maddur. Ramu is the new servant boy aged ten. Rajanna’s present and one and only companion in his six bedroom old mansion. On that fateful evening when the story begins, Rajanna returns to the old repository where several hidden facts remain to be disclosed to young and innocent Ramu.

The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga

2008-10-29T23:17:00.000-07:00

The name of the book 'White Tiger' brought back fond memories of two of my favorite books: 'A Tiger for Malgudi' by R.K Narayan and 'Life of Pi' by Yann Martel. I thought Aravind Adiga would also tell us a story of a white tiger being tamed in mountains, but this storyteller had captured a different tiger in his pages. A rare one! This book is about the white tiger's journey from the world of darkness to a chandelier lit world.

The white tiger( Munna/Balram/Ashok Sharma) makes a confession in a letter to His Excellency Wen Jiabao. I won't call it a confession, No. The white tiger is not guilty of his sin. In fact he gives a brief account of events which have transformed his life from an aspiring student to an Entrepreneur. The ladder whose rungs break away with each move ahead, there is only one way for the white tiger. To move ahead. That's exactly what he does. Some of my favorite excerts from the books:

Like all good Bangalore stories, mine begins far away from Bangalore. You see, I am in the Light now, But I was born and raised in Darkness.
But thos is not a time of a day I talk about, Mr.Premier!
I am talking of a place in India, atleast a third of the country, a fertile place, full of rice fields and wheat fields and ponds in the middle of those fields choked with lotuses and water lilies and water buffaloes wading through the ponds and chewing on the lotuses and lilies. Those who live in this place call it Darkness. Please understand, Your Escellency, that India is two countries in one: An India of Ligh and India of Darkness. The ocean brings light to my country.Every place on the map of India near ocean is well off. But the river brings Darness to India-the black river.

The inspector pointed his cane straight at me. 'You, young man, are an intelligent, honest, vivacious fellow in this crowd of thugs and idiots. In any jungle what is the rarest of animals-the crature that comes along only once in a generation?'

I thought about it and said:
'The white tiger'
'Thats what you are, in this jungle'.

Adiga's style of story telling is definitely praise worthy. He really KNOWS what he's writing! At places it reminded me of Shantaram, but the shades disappeared and the singularity of white tiger began to appear more prominently. No where did I see any trace of V.S.Naipaul's 'INDIA- a million mutinies now'. I am glad about it. Adiga's style of writing is raw but true, served hot for the reader! It's like a slap on the face! Like it or not....

Applaud! Applaud! Applaud! For Aravind Adiga! He is a true observer of 'people of India'. All classes of people, not just the IIT students or the call centre employees. In every true sense of the word 'ALL', the book speaks about the people of India. The rich, the poor, the obsessed, the suppressed, the greedy, the needy, the literate, the illiterate,the employer, the employee, the citizen, the politician..... The list goes on. Truly one of it's kind, rightly deserves the Booker Prize.

Khajuraho- the city of love......

2008-10-19T02:19:00.000-07:00

If you are in love with 'love' then this is your destination. Khajuraho. World heritage centre, situated in Chhatarpur district of Madhya Pradesh state. Once a capital to the Chandela clan of Rajputs, now a splendor of art Khajuraho has always attracted students of love. After the decline of the Chandela dynasty in 13th century, the temples were left under dense date palm trees cover for many years, which gave the city of Khajuraho its name, Khajur in Hindi means a Date. In the ancient times it was known as Vatsa. In 1838, a British army engineer, Captain T.S. Burt rediscovered them. The whole village consists of three groups of temples separated by a few kms.

1.The western group

2.The eastern group

3.The southern group.

Khajuraho is widely famous for it’s sculptures depicting all walks of life : war, art, sex, mythology. Sexual erotic figures comprise only about 10% of the sculptures. Hindu deities and various episodes in epics are carved along the walls. In Hinduism its believed that there are two paths to ‘moksha’ or ’self realization’. Bhog and yog. The path of materialism and the path of renunciation. And the sculptures of Khajuraho provide an insight to the path of materialism. The sculptures have a characteristic feature which remains one of its kind and draws the world’s attention - the sculptor has not only explicitly carved the poses but has added life to them by giving each one of the stone sculpture a emotion. There is a famous sculpture which depicts a maiden bending down, her face shows a frown, eyes bent and fingers trying to remove a thorn pricked to her feet. And another stone image, where a damsel is writing a letter to a loved one, face looks apprehensive and eyes dreamy. Never have I seen such emotions caught and carved so beautifully.

When I spoke to a few foreign tourists about Khajuraho, they did confirm to me that this place has a strange aura around it and has attracted them time and again. They have visited Khajuraho repeatedly to rediscover the celebration of love.

Five things why you should visit Khajuraho:
1. It is well connected.
2. Hotels meeting your budget
3. A feast to your eyes and also lens of the camera
4. Brass, iron and stone sculptures are famous.
5. good food and nice weather
How to get there:
Khajuraho Airport (HJR) Tel:”+91 7686” 740-415 is located 5kms from the city, and is served by Air India (fomerly Indian Airlines) [http://www.indian-airlines.nic.in/index.asp] offering flights from [[Delhi]], [[Varanasi]] and [[Mumbai]], Jet Airways http://www.jetairways.comoffering/ flights from [[Delhi]] and [[Varanasi]] and Kingfisher offering flights from [[Varanasi]]. If one is not prepared for a 5 hr bumpy ride from Jhansi to Khajuraho, then plane is the best mode.
From the end of 2008 Khajuraho Airport will also be an International Airport with connections to the Middle-East, Singapore, Bangkok.
===By taxi/bus===

[[Satna]] and [[Jhansi]] both are connected to Khajuraho by regular bus service. It takes around 3 hours to reach [[Khajuraho]] from [[Satna]] or [[Jhansi]] by taxi, and 5-6 hours by bus. There are daily bus services with [[Satna]], [[Jhansi]], [[Harpalpur]], [[Chhatarpur]], [[Mahoba]], [[Sagar]],[[Jabalpur]], [[Bhopal]], [[Indore]], [[Gwalior]], [[Panna]], [[Agra]], [[Allahabad]] and [[Varanasi]].
Khajuraho To Satna (117km, 4hrs), Harpalpur (94km), Jhansi (172km )and Mahoba (61km). Khajuraho is located 600km (11hrs journey) south West of Delhi. There are bus services from Agra (12 hrs), Gwalior (9hrs) and Jhansi.
Taxis are recommended because the condition of buses is not good, and the is ride gruelling.
By train
Indian Railways[4], state owned railways, has connectivity from all over India. Jhansi (Uttar Pradesh) (225km) and Satna (Madhya Pradesh) (117km) are the convenient railheads to Khajuraho. Satna is on Allahabad-Mumbai main line while Jhansi is on the Delhi-Bangalore mainline.
It takes around 6 hours to reach Jhansi from Delhi by train. The nearest rail junction is Harpalpur (94 km) and Mahoba (63 km).
The best way to reach Khajuraho is to get Dakshin Express from Delhi (22:50 hrs) and reach Jhansi by 05:00 hrs. Take an auto and reach the street where the travel agent offices are located (one can reach by paying 20/-rs. Get a good deal with a taxi person. It is possible to get one for Rs.2500/- (tell him that you wont give him accomodation at khajuraho) and you can reach Khajuraho in 3 hrs. Get into your hotel, fresh up and visit Western Group of temples. Watch the Light and sound show in the evening. Next day visit the eastern and other group of temples and reach hotel by 1500 hrs. Travel back to Jhansi and rech by 1900 hrs and get Goa express (21:20) and reach Kopargaon at 10:00 hrs next day to visit The Great Shirdi Sai Baba Temple and evening proceed to Aurangabad to visit Ajanta and Ellora
Where to stay
Madhya Pradesh Tourism Board Hotels

For more information regarding accomodations, please visit the below site:

http://www.wutravel.com/hotels/india/khajuraho/a_aid=4e1aed33

à la mode......

2008-10-17T02:26:00.000-07:00

#133 - My Style
The prompt this week is: My Style. Do you know what your style is? Or you have you ever said, "That's not my style!" Do you have a personal style? What do you think about style? It's a weird word when you look at it. What do you make of style?

Style is a weird word. I am confused about my style. But I am sure about one thing which is that I have no one particular style. I try different things. I love some styles, I hate some styles and I am biased to try some styles. To share with some of my wierd experiences of Styles is my sole purpose of writing this post.....

I love my curly long hair. It's been a trademark from my childhood. Even in my wildest dreams I cannot imagine 'Straight haired Medhini'. As a kid, I wasn't naughty but I was of that sort which never believed in grooming/ combing hair. The ones which could easily recognized from a distance because there was ugly/sticky/non oiled hair sticking out of their head. Like how other kids of my age used to panic at the word 'Bath' I would panic at the word 'Comb'. Once a week my mother would be successful in completing the task of properly plaiting my hair and it always annoyed me. I loved looking like a rag. I never believed in princess and their fairy tales. As I grew older, I was allured to the many ways of grooming. My little sister was an expert with cosmetics, she's been using lipsticks since the age of four. I loved to look at her applying red lip sticks with those tiny hands. She's been my Guru (teacher) in grooming.

Now when I ponder about the word 'style', I realize that the best style is to be 'yourself'. Instead of using the word 'style' as a basic accessory, it's more rightly used as 'Attitude'. Being comfortable in what you wear which reflects what you really are! Trying to portray some one by cheap imitaion is never fulfilling. Seeing yourself in the mirror with a beaming smile is definitely more pleasing than having to wear high heels and trying to dress like the Miss World herself. Using make up or wearing expensive clothes doesn't make one stylish neither atteding fashion shows and Page 3 parties makes one stylish. If you truly believe in what you are (with make up or without), that's the end of it.

Style really is being able to express yourself ....... Everything else is imitation!

Autumn of life

2008-10-11T03:28:00.000-07:00

drop, evenings, glad, mist, motionless, murmur, pallid, rivulets, swoon

'Hmmmmm' he let out a sigh which echoed in the solitary valleys and startled him. He looked around slowly around the bench to look if anyone heard him this EVENING. No one did. Bashir looked above at the hazy sky, waiting and hoping to catch the sight of setting sun. But all he could see was gloomy cloud and MIST filled murky garden which lay ahead of him. The garden had withered a long while ago, flowers seemed to bend down in shame now and the leaves lay crushed beneath the bald trees at the weight of time. It was autumn.With despair he gripped his walking stick tightly and looked around. 'Growing old is miserable. It's a sign of weakness' he told himself. 'But then wisdom is a quality inherited along with grey hair. The world teaches you the secrets of life and love' another voice within him cried. He began contemplating about the idea. 'Aren't all the wise men in this world old? Yes they are!' he was overwhelmed with this new revealation. His eyes brightened and then he looked at the garden again. His life seemed like a 'PALLID' performance now. Gone were the days of strength and foolishness. 'The spring of life had ended for me, autumn has set in now. This is not the time for fights and flights, but a time for search of wisdom and pursuit of truth within.' The crushed flowers seemed to applaud and the bald trees shook their head in approval, a cool breeze carried the withered leaves a little further and they seemed to tell him something...... 'Hmmmm......' he sighed.

Page 2

2008-08-21T08:51:00.000-07:00

'Bhayya, hum going kaha first?' Pali spoke to the driver. The driver looked at Pali through the mirror and smiled, then said 'First is monsoon palace sir'. The trio literally jumped off their seats. This was a pleasant surprise to them. Though the words and accent sounded a little tarnished and Hinglish, they were more than pleased that he could communicate with them. 'It's like finding a lake admist the desert. We are glad!' replied Pali in his usual poetic expression and the magic wanded fingers. 'Stop it Pali, I hate it when you go all dancing with those fingers like that and every muscle twitches in your face and your eyes...... ' said Dev. This was the hundredth time he was criticizing Pali for his body language. 'Cool Dev. Glad we found a companion in our driver Bhayya.' said Raj speaking for the first time since the latest developments. 'We have a lot to cover. Can You drive fast?' said Pali haltingly to the driver and waited for a reply. 'Yes I drive fast now.' It was music to their ears. After 12 hours in this place, they had lost the hope of finding some one who can speak to them in English.

Looking out through the window, they could not help but enjoy the pleasant weather. Things were silent for a few minutes. Sun was not very severe, it was a cloudy day. There was so much greenery around, small lakes looked like big drops of water spilled, hills looked like green masses. Ocassionally they could spot deers in the forest along side the road. There was a lot of photo clicking sounds, infact that was the only sound heard. Even Dev had nothing to complain....

'This place is amazing.... I like it here' Pali the poet said aloud. 'Yes, it's not all that bad ' Dev agreed. Raj hummed on a old hindi tune and the driver joined in the chorus. It was the most blissful part of the journey and the desert seemed to begin to have an effect!

As the car neared the parking area, the three readied themselves to get down well equipped. They had sun screen on their face. Then came the 'Lonely planet' book and the audio version of 'Guide Me'. Finally came their fast track googgles! Dev had a head band on.... 'Looking cool and all?' he asked eyeing the general public. The picture of this palace was on social studies text books, Grand and all. The three began their journey inward, with the audio CD on.....

'Welcome to the palace of......' a sweet voice of a lady (who probably never visited India but was just reading from the script paper) in absolutely flawless english guided the three through the tour of palace. 'Pali, this spot is A. Look it's marked here 'A'. Come here, listen to me...' Dev shouted as Pali blindly was following what he thought was the right way. Raj was following his intelligence.

The advent of Raj Dev Pali

2008-08-19T03:40:00.000-07:00

'There are two colors to best describe this place , "Yellow and Red". Yellow and red for all the beautiful lehangas said Pali in a poetic expression moving his hands in air like a magician. 'You are wrong Pali, the two words are "Black' and brown"- Black for the buffaloes and brown for the buffaloe's ?":<;'?>:" @#$%$#@$ roared Dev. After finishing his sentence immediately Dev covered his nose. 'There are just two words for now guys, Shut. Up. ' said Raj silencing them both. Dev and Pali were always at the extreme ends and Raj was their reality check. They laid down on the scantily spread beds which hardly raised above the floor and stared at a fan rotating about 5 rotations per minute, dirty and grey. They had reached their destination. Rajasthan. They had a long day ahead and very little time to rest.

Raj, Dev and Pali were three different people with different perspectives to life but had few common interests. They were all software professionals, they loved reading books and they loved travelling. Once a year they would meet up, explore atleast one small part of a whole state in India. Last time it was Kerala, and this time it was Rajasthan.

'I told you before, I wanted to stay at the five star hotel. Not in this rat hole. And see what we got now! Cold water bath.' The day began early for the three hitchikers with Dev complaining. 'You call this a holiday' he screamed. The others ignored his words and Dev had to leave silently. 'So what's the plan of action Boss?' Pali asked Raj enthusiastically. He was ready with his camera and diary in hand from Four in the morning. Pali was the 'Ever ready' optimistic guy with a smile on his face and his heart on his sleeves.

Raj yawned liesurely, got out of bed and replied 'We are going to the Monsoon palace first. Everything is arranged' Raj was a man of few words but also the man who kept up his words. A taxi picked them up from the 'Rat hole' and they were heading now towards the Monsoon palace. The driver was a localite and was playing popular bollywood numbers on 'medieval' Radio. In between the drive ocassionally the driver turned back to talk to them in a language so fluent and fast that they could only identify it as Hindi. They never understood a word but only nodded and their attmepts to converse failed miserably, or so it seemed.

Dev began 'How are we ever going to enjoy this trip! What was I even thinking when I agreed to make this trip. We can't even speak good Hindi guys.' Pali replied this time patiently 'Remember our Kerala trip, we didn't know a word of Malayalam then. But we could still manage. It's going to be the same here. Now, I will show you a small demonstration. Just watch.' 'When Pali get's in to the skin of these demonstrating business, it's impossible to stop him. Embarassment is the net result of such demonstrations. But I will wait and watch' said Dev positively. Pali accepted his challenge and turned towards the driver......

Lead kindly light......

2008-08-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

Hello readers,

My blog 'Afflatus' turned one year some time back and I had been planning for a special post some time from now. I have been writing about events/people/places that have inspired me or moved me or provoked a sense of curiosity. I have tried different styles and experimented with a few ideas. This blog has given me more than what I expected out of it. I am happy I chose to write, it has made my life interesting in several ways. Thank you for encouraging me. I would also like to request you to drop by a few words about my blog. It would really make my day special.

When disaster strikes.....

2008-08-04T03:51:00.000-07:00

Million

Time

Unnoticed

As I saw Motu approaching I looked around in dismay and consoled myself saying that half the day's work atleast done before this endless conversation session will start. Then I began searching frantically for cotton to stuff my ears. After so many years of friendship, I know the precautionary measures needed to be taken while you engage in a heart to heart conversation with Motu. You may want to call me 'selfish' selfcentred' person: please reconsider your statement by the end of your story.

'Kya Bhai, even now you have that ear infection? Why don't you go to the city for some good treatment?' Motu said pantingly as he entered my cloth shop.

Have you anytime had this feeling of doom going to set in, which makes you realize how short and sweet life was, how the days went by un-noticed? I have, several times and more so when my dearest friend sets his foot in my modestly sweet life. They say 'Tragedy' is like an un-invited guest, but truly in this case the 'un-invited guest' is a tragedy.

'You look wan and thin. Isn't your wife treating you well? You really need a doctor check up.' Motu said as he settled down in a chair and began fanning himself with the newspaper. 'This heat is intolerable.' he murmered.

I was hail and healthy minutes before I realized this approaching disaster. I am healthy even now, look how Motu has already reached two diagnoses for my apparently disease free state. That's his capacity. In a few minutes he will be diagnosing me for a million other conditions. I forgot to tell you earlier, Motu as a child dreamt of being a doctor. Though his dreams remained un-fulfilled he always poses to be a doctor.

Motu began his conversation of how one of his friend had neglected his health and ended up in a hospital and blah blah..... I pushed the cotton pieces deeper in and this time it finally did the miracle. I could only hear certain exclamations of surprise, terror and distress. I never spoke a word and continued with the folding of the discarded clothes. But it seemed Motu had atleast narrated 3 to 4 biographies by this time.

When he began to finally get up, I threw the cotton pieces and decided to play the part of a good host. 'But Ramu, I forgot to tell you about kamala Bai. you have to listen to this story.....' One after the other, five more 'sagas' passed when finally he decided to let go off me. I really had turned pale by then. The words seemed to have a deteriorating effect on me. I was about to pass out.....

You know sometimes, it's just not your day!

I say ... and you think ... ?

2008-08-01T03:54:00.000-07:00

Memory :: I love to ask people about their earliest memories and believe me I have found some astonishing answers!

Original :: Not all originals are interesting but some duplicates are!

Exclusively :: Why does my mind go blank for the word exclusively?

Listings :: There are 'post its' of listings every where on my refrigerator. Of shopping list, things to do lists, reminders. In short: everything.

Bucket :: Just kick the bucket! It's fun.

Knight :: The 'Knights' I completely adore 'Salman Rushdie' and 'Albert Einstein'

Dusty :: .......... Dirty.........

Choice :: The coice is always yours: To live or to exist!

Sunlight :: I need to water my plants more regularly

Change of plans :: I hate change of plans. Atleast the fist time anyone suggests for change of plans.

For more such Un-conscious Mutterings log on to

http://subliminal.lunanina.com

Rosy Encounter

2008-07-09T06:32:00.000-07:00

From that day on there would be electricity for us too but at that moment we were unaware of the fact that our lives were about to change. It was the day the prime minister visited our little village.

My mother dressed me in a pink frock, I looked like a 'English girl' with rosy cheeks and red lips. My hair was oiled and then plaited in a manner that even the strongest of the winds could not dare disturb. All three sisters looked so much alike that day. Everyone said we looked like dolls. I knew I looked the loveliest and the prime minister would only accept the rose I am going to present him. They said he loved roses, he loved children and the white dove. We all called him Chacha Nehru.

I had preserved a big red rose for him. Hiding it from my mother and sisters was very tough but I was determined to do it. I carefully removed the thorns, few of which had hurt me in the process. Covering it in a kerchief I followed my sisters to join the rest of the village in welcoming Chacha.

I had never seen so many people together. Only a few weeks before this event there was a wedding in a neighboring village and it was my first time to a wedding. Mom said now I am big enough to go to a wedding and feed myself, I was five then. I clutched my sister's hand tightly. She whispered into my ears 'What if you get lost here?' and it scared me like hell. My heart started racing and tears were beginning to form. I whispered back 'will you come to look for me?' and she answered 'No, I can play with all your dolls and wear all your frocks. Why would I look for you?' I ran to my father and asked to be carried.

I know I am safe in my father's arms, he will never lose me. Something soft in my hand started to crumple, it was the rose that I was carrying, I had already destroyed it. The stalk with a few petals was all that remained now. Tears began to roll down my cheeks. I silently cried lest get caught with the 'rose episode'.

Suddenly there was news that cars were already reaching our village. Huge groups of men descended from the first car, I could hardly see who they are. But they were big and tall with big mustaches. Then a tall man in white emerged wearing a white 'topi'. people started shouting slogans of praise. As we walked down the path many fell to his feet, handed him garlands and shook hands. It was a special day for all of us. We loved him even before we knew him.

As he walked past us, my father touched his feet in reverence I stood below and raised my torn rose high up. Chacha smiled at me and he looked like an angel. The rose remained in his pocket for a long time that day. I told all my friends about the rose. I still do, even after sixty years.......

One of these days... by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

2008-07-03T20:31:00.000-07:00

Aurelio Escovar turned his head toward the light. After inspecting the infected tooth, he closed the Mayor's jaw with a cautious pressure of his fingers.

"It has to be without anesthesia," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you have an abscess."

The Mayor looked him in the eye. "All right," he said, and tried to smile. The dentist did not return the smile. He brought the basin of sterilized instruments to the worktable and took them out of the water with a pair of cold tweezers, still without hurrying. Then he pushed the spittoon with the tip of his shoe, and went to wash his hands in the washbasin. He did all this without looking at the Mayor. But the Mayor didn't take his eyes off him.

It was a lower wisdom tooth. The dentist spread his feet and grasped the tooth with the hot forceps. The Mayor seized the arms of the chair, braced his feet with all his strength, and felt an icy void in his kidneys, but didn't make a sound. The dentist moved only his wrist. Without rancor, rather with a bitter tenderness, he said:

"Now you'll pay for our twenty dead men."

The Mayor felt the crunch of bones in his jaw, and his eyes filled with tears. But he didn't breathe until he felt the tooth come out. Then he saw it through his tears. It seemed so foreign to his pain that he failed to understand his torture of the five previous nights.

Bent over the spittoon, sweating, panting, he unbuttoned his tunic and reached for the handkerchief in his pants pocket. The dentist gave him a clean cloth.

"Dry your tears," he said.

The Mayor did. He was trembling. While the dentist washed his hands, he saw the crumbling ceiling and a dusty spider web with spider's eggs and dead insects. The dentist returned, drying his hands. "Go to bed," he said, "and gargle with salt water." The Mayor stood up, said goodbye with a casual military salute, and walked toward the door, stretching his legs, without buttoning up his tunic.

"Send the bill," he said.

"To you or the town?"

The Mayor didn't look at him. He closed the door and said through the screen:

"It's the same damn thing."

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Confessions of a Humorist by O'Henry

2008-06-18T06:21:00.000-07:00

There was a painless stage of incubation that lasted twenty-five years, and then it broke out on me, and people said I was It.

But they called it humor instead of measles.

The employees in the store bought a silver inkstand for the senior partner on his fiftieth birthday. We crowded into his private office to present it. I had been selected for spokesman, and I made a little speech that I had been preparing for a week.

It made a hit. It was full of puns and epigrams and funny twists that brought down the house--which was a very solid one in the wholesale hardware line. Old Marlowe himself actually grinned, and the employees took their cue and roared.

My reputation as a humorist dates from half-past nine o'clock on that morning. For weeks afterward my fellow clerks fanned the flame of my self-esteem. One by one they came to me, saying what an awfully clever speech that was, old man, and carefully explained to me the point of each one of my jokes.

Gradually I found that I was expected to keep it up. Others might speak sanely on business matters and the day's topics, but from me something gamesome and airy was required.

I was expected to crack jokes about the crockery and lighten up the granite ware with persiflage. I was second bookkeeper, and if I failed to show up a balance sheet without something comic about the footings or could find no cause for laughter in an invoice of plows, the other clerks were disappointed. By degrees my fame spread, and I became a local "character." Our town was small enough to make this possible. The daily newspaper quoted me. At social gatherings I was indispensable.

I believe I did possess considerable wit and a facility for quick and spontaneous repartee. This gift I cultivated and improved by practice. And the nature of it was kindly and genial, not running to sarcasm or offending others. People began to smile when they saw me coming, and by the time we had met I generally had the word ready to broaden the smile into a laugh.

I had married early. We had a charming boy of three and a girl of five. Naturally, we lived in a vine-covered cottage, and were happy. My salary as bookkeeper in the hardware concern kept at a distance those ills attendant upon superfluous wealth.

At sundry times I had written out a few jokes and conceits that I considered peculiarly happy, and had sent them to certain periodicals that print such things. All of them had been instantly accepted. Several of the editors had written to request further contributions.

One day I received a letter from the editor of a famous weekly publication. He suggested that I submit to him a humorous composition to fill a column of space; hinting that he would make it a regular feature of each issue if the work proved satisfactory. I did so, and at the end of two weeks he offered to make a contract with me for a year at a figure that was considerably higher than the amount paid me by the hardware firm.

I was filled with delight. My wife already crowned me in her mind with the imperishable evergreens of literary success. We had lobster croquettes and a bottle of blackberry wine for supper that night. Here was the chance to liberate myself from drudgery. I talked over the matter very seriously with Louisa. We agreed that I must resign my place at the store and devote myself to humor.

I resigned. My fellow clerks gave me a farewell banquet. The speech I made there coruscated. It was printed in full by the Gazette. The next morning I awoke and looked at the clock.

"Late, by George!" I exclaimed, and grabbed for my clothes. Louisa reminded me that I was no longer a slave to hardware and contractors' supplies. I was now a professional humorist.

After breakfast she proudly led me to the little room off the kitchen. Dear girl! There was my table and chair, writing pad, ink, and pipe tray. And all the author's trappings--the celery stand full of fresh roses and honeysuckle, last year's calendar on the wall, the dictionary, and a little bag of chocolates to nibble between inspirations. Dear girl!

I sat me to work. The wall paper is patterned with arabesques or odalisks or--perhaps--it is trapezoids. Upon one of the figures I fixed my eyes. I bethought me of humor.

A voice startled me--Louisa's voice.

"If you aren't too busy, dear," it said, "come to dinner."

I looked at my watch. Yes, five hours had been gathered in by the grim scytheman. I went to dinner.

"You mustn't work too hard at first," said Louisa. "Goethe--or was it Napoleon?--said five hours a day is enough for mental labor. Couldn't you take me and the children to the woods this afternoon?"

"I am a little tired," I admitted. So we went to the woods.

But I soon got the swing of it. Within a month I was turning out copy as regular as shipments of hardware.

And I had success. My column in the weekly made some stir, and I was referred to in a gossipy way by the critics as something fresh in the line of humorists. I augmented my income considerably by contributing to other publications.

I picked up the tricks of the trade. I could take a funny idea and make a two-line joke of it, earning a dollar. With false whiskers on, it would serve up cold as a quatrain, doubling its producing value. By turning the skirt and adding a ruffle of rhyme you would hardly recognize it as vers de societe with neatly shod feet and a fashion-plate illustration.

I began to save up money, and we had new carpets, and a parlor organ. My townspeople began to look upon me as a citizen of some consequence instead of the merry trifier I had been when I clerked in the hardware store.

After five or six months the spontaniety seemed to depart from my humor. Quips and droll sayings no longer fell carelessly from my lips. I was sometimes hard run for material. I found myself listening to catch available ideas from the conversation of my friends. Sometimes I chewed my pencil and gazed at the wall paper for hours trying to build up some gay little bubble of unstudied fun.

And then I became a harpy, a Moloch, a Jonah, a vampire, to my acquaintances. Anxious, haggard, greedy, I stood among them like a veritable killjoy. Let a bright saying, a witty comparison, a piquant phrase fall from their lips and I was after it like a hound springing upon a bone. I dared not trust my memory; but, turning aside guiltily and meanly, I would make a note of it in my ever-present memorandum book or upon my cuff for my own future use.

My friends regarded me in sorrow and wonder. I was not the same man. Where once I had furnished them entertainment and jollity, I now preyed upon them. No jests from me ever bid for their smiles now. They were too precious. I could not afford to dispense gratuitously the means of my livelihood.

I was a lugubrious fox praising the singing of my friends, the crow's, that they might drop from their beaks the morsels of wit that I coveted.

Nearly every one began to avoid me. I even forgot how to smile, not even paying that much for the sayings I appropriated.

No persons, places, times, or subjects were exempt from my plundering in search of material. Even in church my demoralized fancy went hunting among the solemn aisles and pillars for spoil.

Did the minister give out the long-meter doxology, at once I began: "Doxology --sockdology--sockdolager--meter--meet her."

The sermon ran through my mental sieve, its precepts filtering unheeded, could I but glean a suggestion of a pun or a bon mot. The solemnest anthems of the choir were but an accompaniment to my thoughts as I conceived new changes to ring upon the ancient comicalities concerning the jealousies of soprano, tenor, and basso.

My own home became a hunting ground. My wife is a singularly feminine creature, candid, sympathetic, and impulsive. Once her conversation was my delight, and her ideas a source of unfailing pleasure. Now I worked her. She was a gold mine of those amusing but lovable inconsistencies that distinguish the female mind.

I began to market those pearls of unwisdom and humor that should have enriched only the sacred precincts of home. With devilish cunning I encouraged her to talk. Unsuspecting, she laid her heart bare. Upon the cold, conspicuous, common, printed page I offered it to the public gaze.

A literary Judas, I kissed her and betrayed her. For pieces of silver I dressed her sweet confidences in the pantalettes and frills of folly and made them dance in the market place.

Dear Louisa! Of nights I have bent over her cruel as a wolf above a tender lamb, hearkening even to her soft words murmured in sleep, hoping to catch an idea for my next day's grind. There is worse to come.

God help me! Next my fangs were buried deep in the neck of the fugitive sayings of my little children.

Guy and Viola were two bright fountains of childish, quaint thoughts and speeches. I found a ready sale for this kind of humor, and was furnishing a regular department in a magazine with "Funny Fancies of Childhood." I began to stalk them as an Indian stalks the antelope. I would hide behind sofas and doors, or crawl on my hands and knees among the bushes in the yard to eavesdrop while they were at play. I had all the qualities of a harpy except remorse.

Once, when I was barren of ideas, and my copy must leave in the next mail, I covered myself in a pile of autumn leaves in the yard, where I knew they intended to come to play. I cannot bring myself to believe that Guy was aware of my hiding place, but even if he was, I would be loath to blame him for his setting fire to the leaves, causing the destruction of my new suit of clothes, and nearly cremating a parent.

Soon my own children began to shun me as a pest. Often, when I was creeping upon them like a melancholy ghoul, I would hear them say to each other: "Here comes papa," and they would gather their toys and scurry away to some safer hiding place. Miserable wretch that I was!

And yet I was doing well financially. Before the first year had passed I had saved a thousand dollars, and we had lived in comfort.

But at what a cost! I am not quite clear as to what a pariah is, but I was everything that it sounds like. I had no friends, no amusements, no enjoyment of life. The happiness of my family had been sacrificed. I was a bee, sucking sordid honey from life's fairest flowers, dreaded and shunned on account of my stingo.

One day a man spoke to me, with a pleasant and friendly smile. Not in months had the thing happened. I was passing the undertaking establishment of Peter Heffelbower. Peter stood in the door and saluted me. I stopped, strangely wrung in my heart by his greeting. He asked me inside.

The day was chill and rainy. We went into the back room, where a fire burned, in a little stove. A customer came, and Peter left me alone for a while. Presently I felt a new feeling stealing over me --a sense of beautiful calm and content, I looked around the place. There were rows of shining rosewood caskets, black palls, trestles, hearse plumes, mourning streamers, and all the paraphernalia of the solemn trade. Here was peace, order, silence, the abode of grave and dignified reflections. Here, on the brink of life, was a little niche pervaded by the spirit of eternal rest.

When I entered it, the follies of the world abandoned me at the door. I felt no inclination to wrest a humorous idea from those sombre and stately trappings. My mind seemed to stretch itself to grateful repose upon a couch draped with gentle thoughts.

A quarter of an hour ago I was an abandoned humorist. Now I was a philosopher, full of serenity and ease. I had found a refuge from humor, from the hot chase of the shy quip, from the degrading pursuit of the panting joke, from the restless reach after the nimble repartee.

I had not known Heffelbower well. When he came back, I let him talk, fearful that he might prove to be a jarring note in the sweet, dirgelike harmony of his establishment.

But, no. He chimed truly. I gave a long sigh of happiness. Never have I known a man's talk to be as magnificently dull as Peter's was. Compared with it the Dead Sea is a geyser. Never a sparkle or a glimmer of wit marred his words. Commonplaces as trite and as plentiful as blackberries flowed from his lips no more stirring in quality than a last week's tape running from a ticker. Quaking a little, I tried upon him one of my best pointed jokes. It fell back ineffectual, with the point broken. I loved that man from then on.

Two or three evenings each week I would steal down to Heffelbower's and revel in his back room. That was my only joy. I began to rise early and hurry through my work, that I might spend more time in my haven. In no other place could I throw off my habit of extracting humorous ideas from my surroundings. Peter's talk left me no opening had I besieged it ever so hard.

Under this influence I began to improve in spirits. It was the recreation from one's labor which every man needs. I surprised one or two of my former friends by throwing them a smile and a cheery word as I passed them on the streets. Several times I dumfounded my family by relaxing long enough to make a jocose remark in their presence.

I had so long been ridden by the incubus of humor that I seized my hours of holiday with a schoolboy's zest.

Mv work began to suffer. It was not the pain and burden to me that it had been. I often whistled at my desk, and wrote with far more fluency than before. I accomplished my tasks impatiently, as anxious to be off to my helpful retreat as a drunkard is to get to his tavern.

My wife had some anxious hours in conjecturing where I spent my afternoons. I thought it best not to tell her; women do not understand these things. Poor girl!--she had one shock out of it.

One day I brought home a silver coffin handle for a paper weight and a fine, fluffy hearse plume to dust my papers with.

I loved to see them on my desk, and think of the beloved back room down at Heffelbower's. But Louisa found them, and she shrieked with horror. I had to console her with some lame excuse for having them, but I saw in her eyes that the prejudice was not removed. I had to remove the articles, though, at double-quick time.

One day Peter Heffelbower laid before me a temptation that swept me off my feet. In his sensible, uninspired way he showed me his books, and explained that his profits and his business were increasing rapidly. He had thought of taking in a partner with some cash. He would rather have me than any one he knew. When I left his place that afternoon Peter had my check for the thousand dollars I had in the bank, and I was a partner in his undertaking business.

I went home with feelings of delirious joy, mingled with a certain amount of doubt. I was dreading to tell my wife about it. But I walked on air. To give up the writing of humorous stuff, once more to enjoy the apples of life, instead of squeezing them to a pulp for a few drops of hard cider to make the pubic feel funny--what a boon that would be!

At the supper table Louisa handed me some letters that had come during my absence. Several of them contained rejected manuscript. Ever since I first began going to Heffelbower's my stuff had been coming back with alarming frequency. Lately I had been dashing off my jokes and articles with the greatest fluency. Previously I had labored like a bricklayer, slowly and with agony.

Presently I opened a letter from the editor of the weekly with which I had a regular contract. The checks for that weekly article were still our main dependence. The letter ran thus:

DEAR SIR:
 As you are aware, our contract for the year expires with the present
month.  While regretting the necessity for so doing, we must say that
we do not care to renew same for the coming year.  We were quite
pleased with your style of humor, which seems to have delighted quite
a large proportion of our readers.  But for the past two months we
have noticed a decided falling off in its quality.  Your earlier work
showed a spontaneous, easy, natural flow of fun and wit.  Of late it
is labored, studied, and unconvincing, giving painful evidence of hard
toil and drudging mechanism.
 Again regretting that we do not consider your contributions
available any longer, we are, yours sincerely,
   THE EDITOR.

I handed this letter to my wife. After she had read it her face grew extremely long, and there were tears in her eyes.

"The mean old thing!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I'm sure your pieces are just as good as they ever were. And it doesn't take you half as long to write them as it did." And then, I suppose, Louisa thought of the checks that would cease coming. "Oh, John," she wailed, "what will you do now?"

For an answer I got up and began to do a polka step around the supper table. I am sure Louisa thought the trouble had driven me mad; and I think the children hoped it had, for they tore after me, yelling with glee and emulating my steps. I was now something like their old playmate as of yore.

"The theatre for us to-night!" I shouted; "nothing less. And a late, wild, disreputable supper for all of us at the Palace Restaurant. Lumpty-diddle-de-dee-de-dum!"

And then I explained my glee by declaring that I was now a partner in a prosperous undertaking establishment, and that written jokes might go hide their heads in sackcloth and ashes for all me.

With the editor's letter in her hand to justify the deed I had done, my wife could advance no objections save a few mild ones based on the feminine inability to appreciate a good thing such as the little back room of Peter Hef--no, of Heffelbower & Co's. undertaking establishment.

In conclusion, I will say that to-day you will find no man in our town as well liked, as jovial, and full of merry sayings as I. My jokes are again noised about and quoted; once more I take pleasure in my wife's confidential chatter without a mercenary thought, while Guy and Viola play at my feet distributing gems of childish humor without fear of the ghastly tormentor who used to dog their steps, notebook in hand.

Our business has prospered finely. I keep the books and look after the shop, while Peter attends to outside matters. He says that my levity and high spirits would simply turn any funeral into a regular Irish wake.

O'Henry

Source : http://www.classicreader.com/read.php/bookid.1518/sec.1/

The Wicked post man by Rabindrananth Tagore

2008-06-07T03:40:00.000-07:00

Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?

The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.

Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.

What has happened to you that you look so strange?

Haven't you got a letter from father today?

I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.

Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.

But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.

Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.

I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.

I shall write from A right up to K.

But, mother, why do you smile?

You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!

But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.

When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?

I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.

I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.

Rabindranath Tagore

This poem is a collection from a book named 'The crescent moon' by Sir Rabindranath Tagore. I remember reading in my English classes. A beautiful poem . I loved reading it again after a long time.

Descent from heavens

2008-05-24T21:04:00.000-07:00

For Three word wednesday

3WW LXXXVII

Delayed
Edge
Focus

' As the first rain drop wets the ground and the fragrance of moist mud envelops the whole earth she places her feet gracefully into small streams of rain water as if to examine the temperature. With light drizzle drastically changing in to pouring rainfall she allows herself to get drenched in that child like manner running in circles around the solitary cyclist, dancing with a cobbler under the banyan tree, making ripples in the small stream with her long fingers. On her face there is an expression of complete freedom from any bondage. She is packed with enormous amounts of energy, the ever smiling expression on her face never fades with every feat that she performs it only looks like she's growing more beautiful like the nature around her.' Hari had finished reading it. Before voicing his opinion he told himself 'But this is nothing new. In every movie he introduces his heroines this way, dancing in the rain. I better remind him that with knife edge technology we have, the heroine can be introduced in her first scene as landing from her spaceship.'

Mani, the director cum writer comfortably sat on his chair already contemplating the out door locations. He was the best in the field, he knew the art of film making better than any one else in the industry. It was not just for money making that he made movies and this was clear in all his works. His main focus was on the society and the message usually reached across to his audience. They say every artist has a signature style and Mani’s style was his flawless screenplay. He would lock himself in his room for days. He never used a type writer or computer for his writing, he preferred paper and pencil. It always occurred to him that his flow of thoughts and words are much easier when he wrote with pencil and paper.

Hari paced the floor nervously as each step brought him closer to his boss. He did not want to delay the matter any further. Then clearing his voice he said 'Sir, the scene you wrote is excellent.' Mani nodded 'I want you to go to those out door locations with our team. I have...' Hari cut him off and began speaking 'But sir, even in our previous movie 'The teacher' we introduced our heroine in a similar fashion. I know a very good graphic designer who's the best in his work. He will help us to ....'. Before Hari could complete his sentence Mani got up and spoke impatiently but confidently 'What's wrong with this younger generation. Why should the lead woman in every movie look like a Greek Goddess or a emaciated and anorexic model. I want to show the lead woman in my movie as that pretty girl from the next door, or your first school crush. Is that so difficult to understand?’ and walked towards the door. He needed a smoke.

As he blew concentric circles of smoke in to the air, it was not just nicotine that invaded his lungs but also the fragrance of wet mud. A thunder flashed in the dark grey clouds. A scene emerged in front of his eyes from his past.

He was waiting for the bus. Bangalore in his student days had a reckless public transport system. It was raining heavily and people remained under trees and bus stops in an attempt to keep dry. The rain didn’t seem to stop in the near future and Mani had lost hope to reach his room soon. As he began contemplating in his mind about all his unfinished business he became slightly distracted.

A beautiful woman in the opposite crowded bus stop gave up the whole idea of trying to keep dry when rain had invaded all the crevices of the roof and came out in to the rain. She lifted her face up to the sky as if challenging rain. And then she seemed to embrace the rain lifting her hands and then folding then together. Rain poured heavily as if in reply and she hopped all along the road. Singing as she made her way, without the slightest hint that she was being watched by about thirty pair of eyes’ Mani was transfixed looking at her. He wanted that moment to last forever in his life. He took a mental picture of that scene and to this day he hasn’t forgotten even the slightest details of that scene.

He stubbed the butt of cigarette with his right shoe and walked peacefully into the pouring rain.

Hello

2008-05-10T03:36:00.000-07:00

The house was getting hotter and hotter as the number of people pouring into Mr.Biswas's home grew at a geometric progression rate. Mrs. Biswas's was busy filling and re-filling plates with Benagali sweets and passing to the guests. The date 09/08/1956 was a significant day in pages of history of lane 345, House number 421 and a very special day for Mr.Biswas. He wore the best of his clothes and spoke with the joy of a child explaining them about the instrument. The first telephone instrument was being installed at Mr.Biswas's house.

The rumors began to surface a month earlier in lane 345, Tagore nagar, whispers of 'Telephone' or 'talking machine' followed him everywhere he went. When Mr.Biswas Senior heard about this, he told his son 'I always told you this day is going to come. It's already predicted in the scriptures that people in kaliyug will witness such scientific discoveries and reap it's benefits. Science is invading all our homes and minds. We shall welcome it.' His son beamed happily that his father wasn't like the rest of the elders who detested science and thought it contaminated the religion.

Before 'the' day actually arrived, the house bustled with so much activity surrounding the topic of telephone. It became habitual for the family members and neighbors to sit together in the porch and discussions were conducted about the celebrations of welcoming telephone into their homes. An inquisitive neighbor would suggest the right location for the telephone to be placed inside the house 'Mr.Biswas you need to get a separate desk for the telephone. above the reach of kids.' This would trigger a discussion and each person in the crowd would point a new location for the new arrival. The ladies always preferred to get into the backyards for talks which sometimes deviated from 'telephone' to gossips to newest recipes. There was a practice session for saying 'Hello'. The children played at all times and were all around the house. The house became the centre of social activities.

Mr.Biswas got up early that day. He couldn't sleep the whole night. His mind was full of anticipations and anxiety. Mrs.Biswas brought the cup of hot coffee for her husband. The vermilion over her forehead matched the color of her saree and her eyes already seemed empty of energy. 'The day has just begun.... you didn't sleep well last night?' he spoke lovingly. 'I was thinking all night. About all the good times we had at our home in anticipation for the telephone. And the day has finally arrived....' she said with a bit of grief. 'Aren't you happy about it' he asked. 'what if you stop talking to me and only talk to the telephone from now on?' she replied admist sobs. Mr.Biswas laughed out loud and said 'Silly woman. It's only an instrument not a person. I promise you I will not stop talking to you' His wife sighed with relief and wiped her tears and walked away saying 'I have a lot of work today.'

Telephone arrived finally among celebrations. Everyone rejoiced and welcome it like a new 'bride'. There were people who travelled from the far end of the city to have a look at the new arrival. 'Oh! this is the Telephone' they would say. Some would request for holding the talkpiece and talk into it. But Mr.Biswas handed the talk piece to his wife and urged her to say the first word. She shyly said 'Hello'.

Why so many questions?

2008-05-08T05:22:00.000-07:00

For 3WW LXXXV

Cautious
Human
Maybe

There are so many interesting questions. Big questions. Small questions. questions which need urgent answers. questions which need discrete answers. Cautious questions. Fearless questions. Questions come in different sizes and shapes. So many questions and only few answers. Take a few minutes to ponder about these questions:

Why is it that we always remember about the keys right after climbing down a plight of stairs?
Why is it that we think about dieting only after putting on lots of weight?
Why is it that everyone around us are problem free when we are problem 'full'?
Why do we always mess up some things on the most important days of our lives?
Why does it have to rain right after I put my clothes in the sun for drying?
Why are some people so smart and the others much smarter?
Why do we think it's impossible to be perfect?
Why do we always get to hear a 'no' when we need an 'yes' and an 'yes' when we want a 'no'?
Why are some people so different from the normal and some so normal to any difference?
Why do we cry when we are happy and laugh when in grief?

'Human mind' you say. May be.

http://threewordwednesday.wordpress.com

Déjà vu

2008-04-24T06:58:00.000-07:00

3WW #83

This week’s words are:

Picture
Reflected
Stop

I love to picture the below scene in my mind. With a variety of backdrops but similar elements. And every time I come out of this phantasm, there is a sense of serenity.

A breezy evening with the sunset as the background. I am sitting on an arm chair in the veranda (open porch), last rays of sun dancing on the floor near my feet. A PG Wodehouse omnibus collection on my lap with my favorite bookmark placed at the right page ( indicating that it's only a break). A cup of Irish coffee in my hand. And as I take a sip my eyes relish upon the lush green lawn, carefully mowed (not by me otherwise I will keep looking for imperfections). When I lift my eyes toward skyward I let out a sigh at the rising moon and cool breeze almost electrifies me.

Stop. It should just long for this much. Not a minute more or less; or the fun gets ruined. When my mind reflects upon the illusionary dream, it really seems I traveled to a different dimension altogether.

For more such interesting posts visit http://threewordwednesday.wordpress.com

A child's play

2008-04-18T07:26:00.000-07:00

For 3WW LXXXII

Touching

Visible

Stage

'From where we are, we can hardly be spotted by anyone. Its a perfect hiding place. No one would come this far to look for me. In the first place they couldn't have thought about this secret place' Nina said smiling confidently at Meena. 'But it's so dark here. Nothing is visible.' she said searching with outstretched hands, touching and feeling around.

'Of course. These are a pile saris and clothes. What else can you find inside a cupboard?' Meena mocked at her. 'Where do you think the other have hid?' she inquired feeling the chiffon sari against her cheek. 'This feels so soft. I wish my mom wore saris like these.'

A few minutes passed.

Tension grew between the two of them. Nina began biting her nails feverishly and was the first to speak 'What if the air inside gets over? We may die. I don't want to die so soon' Meena snapped back immediately 'Do you want to give up at this stage of the game. We have almost won. Everyone are caught except the two of us. Just sit quiet, you are not going to die.'

A few more minutes passed.

Nina had already begun to sob under her breath. A slight feeling of guilt crept into Meena's heart. 'Ok let's get out of this place and shock those gals out there. I am feeling hungry too'.

As the last word was uttered from her mouth they heard a loud cry 'caught you'. The game ended.

I know what you did....

2008-04-10T07:34:00.000-07:00

For 3WW LXXXI

Funny
Remember
Theatre

A message flashed on his mobile at about Two A.M. He cursed himself for not switching his mobile phone to the silent mode before going to sleep. Getting up to the cries of an alarm anyway wasn't his idea of beginning of ideal day.

'?@#$%/' he cried aloud and looked at the screen of his mobile. The message was from a pal.

'I know what you did..... he read the message aloud a couple of times.

'What was that supposed to mean! What did I do? Oh! May be it's just a prank.' He went back to bed and stared at the ceiling.

'Now don't tell me it's THAT. Did someone watch me doing it? Oh God! %$#@&^#@***>?' he shouted. 'Hey, wait a minute. What have I done? I am just getting carried away with this whole thing.'

The message had turned him into an insomniac (atleast for the night).

'Try and Remember. Remember.

After worrying for several hours, he tried to recall some 'deeds' that he might have done, he picked up a piece of paper and started writing down the prospective accusations. He wanted to be prepared and defend himself 'for what he did'. But there was only one problem; he didn't know 'what he did' yet. At about six o clock in the morning he wrote:

Confessions

1. I dig my nose when I am alone in the lift.

2. I have shoplifted about three times in my life and never been caught even once.

3. I build up stories about my childhood days to impress upon girl pals (they always say it's cute).

4. And I hate spending money over gifts. I just wrap the old and discarded gifts in beautiful paper and give them away.

The mobile rang again at seven O clock, it was a message signal. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief at the message from the same pal.

'I know what you did last Friday at the theater . It was Funny. Sam told me. :) :)

'Theater? Friday? What.... ' The recollection came quick. It was only last Friday that they had been to the theater with some like minded friends who loved operas. That day they watched 'Madama Butterfly' (Madam Butterfly). It was an Italian tragic opera by Giacomo Puccini and he had cried buckets while his friends among giggles threw sympathetic glances occasionally.

He opened the previous message that arrived at Two A.M to disturb his blissful sleep.

'I know what you did....

Error in message.'

'?@#$%&^#%$. I forgot to scroll down. But hey what the %$#%$^&*' He took a sigh of relief as he began a seemingly endless list of insults over the network.

Seven changes

2008-04-07T20:34:00.000-07:00

For cafe writing I choose option two: Seven changes / Seven stages

Before I begin my list, I would like to share a word or two about the topic. Just like how nature would have seemed placid if not for so many changing seasons, our lives would appear tarnished if not for changing times. As they say

They must often change, who would be constant in happiness or wisdom.

1. When I was five years old I went to stay with my grandparents for some time. the world seemed beautiful and I lived like a princess all the while. The best of my qualities are due to their upbringing.

2. I was seven years old when my sister presented me a book. It was Enid Blyton's 'tales of long ago'. After that reading became a habit and now it's become a passion. The library almost became my second home.

3. One of the most important changes and the change which I am proud to talk about is that I had ugly handwriting till fifteen years. People tried to change it but I wasn't motivated enough. And one fine day I just sat in front of the computer picked up a Font from Microsoft Word and practiced it in my notebooks for a long time till I succeeded. People now are all praises to my handwriting.

4. The profession we choose has a big role to play throughout our lives. I joined in a dental college. At that time I had absolutely no interest or motivation towards dentistry. In a way I resented the decision but I had no other choice. But when my patients addressed me as 'Doctor' that moment changed everything and I fell in love with my profession.

5. I fell in love for the first time when I was twenty. And the whole world seemed to change around me. It was exactly how I had pictured it in my mind. Love taught me a lot of lessons and the most important one being 'Love yourself before you love others'.

6. When I joined college I was as innocent as a child. In two years I mastered the ways of the world. And became a part of it. I slowly began to shed off layers of my character - innocence, fear. and I let go my insecurities and prejudices. I wore a 'mask' most of the times and now I can hardly distinguish between me and the 'mask'.

7. I got married in September 2007. It's been the most important decision and actually the only decision 'I' made in my life. I am enjoying life to the fullest and there are absolutely no regrets.

Lateral lives

2008-04-04T20:41:00.000-07:00

3WW LXXX

Parallel

Bounce

Mysterious

I brought my bicycle slowly and noiselessly and stood across the lane waiting for my day to actually begin. My day doesn't begin with the alarm clock ringing in my ears or sight of tooth brush and toothpaste or taste of hot coffee; It always begins when I see her across the lane with her pink bicycle walking along parallel lanes. Till then I am just 'sleep walking'. what better way to start the day than this! Watching her hair bounce falling over her shoulders in a rhythm, my eyes open widely taking in the sun's first rays. And I wake up from my deep slumber just at the right time to save myself from tumbling down with my bicycle. I ask at that waking moment 'When would you turn to look back at me my mysterious love?' She walks straight ahead. No, she doesn't see me.

A literary crush....

2008-03-29T00:39:00.000-07:00

3WW LXXXIV

Empty
Highway
Ignored

Three word wednesday

'Do you know how my friends used to call me when we were in college 'OOOsha - the wise owl' she laughed loudly in a manner befitting a young girl of six pointing at the miniature owl sitting on the table with the graduation cap. This little owl here reminds me of those long forgotten days. Thank you for the gift, it's special to me' and her students walked out without making much noise. It was always like that. When Usha spoke, everyone looked at her totally mesmerized by her beauty, her dignified voice and at the way she spun words for her listeners. No one speaks when the wise owl is talking. They just listen.

She turned to face the others seated near her table. "Did I ever tell you about a 'literary crush' I had when I was young! It's a very interesting one. I was a huge fan of the Russian literary giant 'Vladimir Nabokov'. I had just finished reading his most famous work - Lolita". She paused adjusted the strand of hair falling on her face as gracefully as a Greek Goddess and asked inquisitively "Have any of you read Lolita?"

The subjects to whom the question was meant to looked at each other and nodded. When Ooosha spoke about books, it was usually a monologue. No one around her read anything beyond 'Nancy Drew and Sidney Sheldon'. One of the listeners replied with a sense of Euphoria ' I have seen the movie Lolita'. Ooosha acknowledged the answer and was pleased to hear it.

" I was nineteen years then. So imagine it has been such a long time since this has happened. To be precise it's been forty long years. We were traveling then constantly shuttling between my parents house in Delhi and my maternal grandparents who lived in Dalhousie" saying these words she slipped into the nostalgic mood. Her eyes became distant and she was staring at the white empty walls. One of the junior staff whispered into another's ears 'FLASHBACK'.

" Those English Bunglows, the green meadows, Dahlia gardens - it was simply wonderful. Me and my younger sister were always found picnicking near the river beds. I would carry a few books to read after our picnic, cycling along the highway with hot samosas and mint chutney in our backpacks. Lying over the grass I would dream about my first love. I used to be a romantic those days."

A few eyebrows raised, a few of them controlled their laughter by using the cover of an unavoidable cough which seemed to spread as an epidemic among the listeners. It was difficult to ignore 'such' statements. One coughed, the other picked it up. Ooosha was disturbed. She waited till the commotion ended.

" On a fine sunny Sunday afternoon we were passing through the Tibetan shopping centers which tourists always frequented. We would flirt innocently with the young uniformed officers who formed the usual crowd. That particular day I was destined to meet my 'imaginary soul mate'."

"As we walked across the lanes my eyes fell upon a man wearing a hat holding the book Lolita in his hand. I knew I had to find out who this guy was, may be a soul mate. That's why he's carrying Lolita. I followed him, he was already a few yards away. I had wasted my time staring at the book cover. My heart beat raised as I followed him closer now. May be it was destined this strange meeting. By the time I was right behind him, the book had slipped away from his fingers. I picked it up and anxiously called out 'Sir your book has fallen.' The tourist turned to face me, he was a forty year old European with green eyes. I controlled my disappointments. He said 'Young woman. You just saved my favorite book . Wait a moment I shall thank you more appropriately'. He bought a rose from a hawker around. ' This one is for you. Thank you again.' "I was completely swept away by this man's charm. Half the crowd was staring at me, smiling at this wonderful man. And I turned around to join my sister."

The listeners left out a deep sigh. But Ooosha was yet to finish she quoted her favorite lines from Lolita as a conclusion

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta:"

Mistaken identity

2008-03-18T05:08:00.000-07:00

'There is something about this place! I will take the Rs.500 trip.' he said with the animated tone that I have heard a million times before. That's how my friend Gopi is. There is a strange affinity between crowded market places, religious centers and restaurants with the sketch book in Gopi's hands. At the same moment the silent boat man seized his opportunity to impress us with his knowledge about the confluence. When he opened his mouth to say something I couldn't help but stare at his mouth. A red juice flowing ingeniously from the corners of his mouth.

'Saab, we are riding over the river Ganga now. Ganga Matha (mother) protects all of us from sins we commit. This place is no ordinary one Saab, it's the holy Prayag where three rivers - Ganga, Jamuna and Saraswathi meet. That's why Saab it's also called Triveni Sangam. I will take you around and show you the whole place' he paused to spit in to the water of the sacred Ganges. I continued to stare in dis-belief. Gopi was not interested in the 'guide cum boatwallah'. He was busy drawing sketches. Tired of staring at the red juice which the boatwallah continuously spitted out, I peeped into the book.

Though I was never convinced with the places of choice I seldom disagree that Gopi is an artist of great caliber. His fingers clutched around the pencil moved majestically covering the white paper with life through his images. He was now sketching, a boatwallah feeding the birds. His eyes traveled from the subject to the paper at quick intervals. Our neighbor at first didn't notice anything at all. Then when the distances between the boats reduced he began to express slight curiosity. He grew restless and inquired with our boatwallah 'Saab is boating officer? What he is writing in the book about me?' in Hindi with a heavy Bhojpuri accent. Gopi becomes dumb and deaf while sketching. I ignored the growing tensions and decided to wait and watch.

I examined 'Gopi the officer'. spectacles, dressed in formals, of course there was no tie, a medium sized bag containing sketch books, pencils, erasers, threads, charcoal pieces and what not. Yes, he may pass for an officer. And me, his assistant?. Our boatwallah examined us now in the new light thrown upon by his friend and looked doubtfully at us. Within no time both men started apologizing, falling to Gopi's feet for not having realized the 'facts' earlier. Gopi's face grew pale. He looked at me and I was laughing uncontrollably. I had to let go at this time so I cleared the whole thing saying 'Saab is making a picture of you thats all'. Gopi showed him the completed sketch and the old man smiled gratefully. I volunteered to take the picture of the sketch and the old man.

The two boatwallahs exchanged words in an unknown language. I continued to look around for more interesting things while Gopi was searching for the next target.

Miss Knit Brow

2008-03-06T23:45:00.001-08:00

For Cafe writing, I chose Option One: Fiction.

To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.
- George Santayana

Write a flash-fic, scene, or short story about a happier state of mind.

As I walk along the street where I have been living since the past forty years, I am aware of at least a minimum of four pairs of eyes watching me and sigh ‘there goes the old maiden’. The old couple living at house number 42, a policeman adjusting his cap and walking stick and the vegetable seller across the street. On certain occasions a few middle aged housewives squatting outside their homes join the ‘watchers’ and at times I hear giggles from the young girls down the lane telling each other ‘you don’t want to end up like Miss Knit Brow, do you?’. I have never felt odd about the whole exercise of being watched, sympathized, blamed or talked about. It’s a cycle of responses that automatically sets in when they see me on my morning walks. It’s become a ritual since ten years.

Being a woman of forty years is not easy. Being a spinster is difficult. Having to look after the mother whom you don’t relate to anymore is absurd. Above all being the owner of a beauty parlor can be highly backbreaking at times. When your bread winning job is to make others look beautiful, you fall into the pressure of looking the best. All the time. I don’t step out without my make up. I take a lot of care for my skin, hair and body. I have all the time in the world! Why wouldn’t I? But every time I look at myself in the mirror I feel ghastly. Something seems to go wrong always. I know what my assistants call me behind my back ‘Miss Knit brow’. I must be sulking badly. I never socialize with customers. I believe in doing my job, that’s all.

On that Sunday early morning as I was on my way home after crossing ‘the’ four pair of scrutinizing eyes a football landed right in front of me, which for a moment shook me off. I looked hither and whither and a voice came from a distance ‘Mam can you pass the ball?’ I looked in the direction of the voice, a young lad in early twenties with a tensed look stood behind a mesh. On a different day I would have ended up shouting harshly at that boy. But not today, the ball had traveled a few distances I went behind it to collect with both my hands and handed it over to the young lad smilingly. ‘Thank you mam. You look beautiful’ the boy replied with the politeness of a gentleman.

I must have stood there for a long time, trying to live that moment again because when I opened my eyes the boy was gone. I was blushing like a young teenager; I could feel the flush in my cheeks. I must have looked like a red tomato. I continued my journey homeward, trying to recollect the last time a man called me beautiful. I checked myself in the mirror of a car, the reflection was beautiful. I swore to smile throughout the day. When was the last time a man called me ‘beautiful’? I was wondering.

‘Mam the customers are waiting for you’ my assistant at the parlor called for me. I was lost to myself looking at the mirror. I don’t know how many hours have passed since I last saw the boy but every moment seems wonderful now. I smilingly greeted my customers and my duty to beautify others seemed welcoming. Everything changed from that day. 'Maria, you have aged so gracefully' one of my customers noticed that day. 'Yea, I have' I replied proudly.

Why 7?

2008-03-04T07:36:00.000-08:00

Any one who knows me well also most certainly is aware of my deep affections to author Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I have read his books again and again to re-discover the world of Macondo. In this list is included a short story collection 'Strange pilgrims'. On one such expeditions of re-discoveries I eventually found myself pondering over the issue of 'Number seven'. Let me make myself clear. To quote from 'strange pilgrims':

"choose a number" she told me: "three, four or seven"
"four"
Her smile flashed in triumph.
"In the past fifteen years that I worked here" she said "you are the first person who hasn't chosen seven"
-Sleeping beauty and the Airplane

I would have chosen seven! There was no second thought about it. And the majority of us would have certainly chosen seven.
Seven-the mystery number.
Seven- magical number.
Seven- the mystical number.
Seven - the sexy number? (!)

Some more interesting facts about the number seven:

1 Seven is the optimum number of hours of sleep for humans, according to a US scientific study.

2 Seven is seen as a lucky number in many cultures. Japanese mythology talks of Shichifukujin (The Seven Gods of Fortune).

3 The seven deadly sins, or cardinal sins, were refined by Pope Gregory I in the 6th century. They are pride, avarice, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth.

4 The seven virtues are humility, liberality, chastity, kindness, abstinence, patience, and diligence.

5 In Vedic Hindu tradition, the human body features seven basic chakras, or "wheels of energy".

6. The seventh and final book in JK Rowling's Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

7. Seven is "neutral" on the pH scale. Pure water has a pH of seven.

8. The phrase "seven-year itch" was first recorded in 1899. It characterises a man's urge to roam after seven years of marriage, the theme of Marilyn Monroe's 1955 film, The Seven Year Itch, right.

9. The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey has sold over 5 million copies in 38 languages since 1989. The seven habits are: be proactive; begin with the end; put first things first; think win-win; seek first to understand, then to be understood; synergise and; sharpen the saw.

10. From the Seven days of Creation to the Seven Seals of Revelation, Scripture is saturated with the Number Seven.

11. The root of the name of the Number Seven means Perfect, Complete, or Satisfied.

12. Thammim means perfect, and its numeric weight is 70 x 7, which is the number the Lord used to describe the perfection of forgiveness.

13. There are seven visible planets and luminaries (Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn). Each one rules a day of the week (Sun=Sunday, Saturn= Saturday, Moon=Monday, etc.) and that is where the seven day week came from. Each one is supposed to have a particular virtue or power.

Yes, I have just given you 13 more reasons to choose number 'seven'.

To Raji with love

2008-02-28T19:19:00.000-08:00

Dearest Raji,

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”

How could Shakespeare even in his wildest dreams quote such a thing my love! Can any other name be more beautiful than yours dear? Nay, it cannot. If Shakespeare would have set his eyes on you and called your name through his lips, he would never have quoted any thing like that.

Mr.William Shakespeare, you are not as lucky as I am. Do you remember the day when love beckoned us. Incidentally it was at the 'Romeo and Juliet' play on a rainy Saturday's evening that brought us under the single roof of love. And the moment I caught your eyes Romeo was declaring to himself his love for the lovely Juliet. I remember the exact lines:

O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright. It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
(Lines 48-55)
That moment under the dim light I watched a pair of sparkling eyes totally sweep me off my feet. Love invaded me and Romeo at that strategic moment!

And now, I wonder how many months have passed since I wrote to you a love letter. But I know, my love that you very well understand that the life of a revolutionary is not easy. This life I have chosen and I am happy to live with. My writings are inspiring many of our comrades to fight against oppression. I feel responsible now. I feel I am a part of the revolution.

The college days of reading Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson under the green lush trees which shadowed the burning sun are over now. The romance of life fades away when it meets the harsh realities of life. But you are the strength of my life. You know that. Thank you for the love and support. I hope to see you soon dear.

Love
Saki

To be or not to be....

2008-02-18T06:39:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been contemplating at leisure, trying to find out the answer of a self imposed question. And the question is 'To be a free spirit or a hypocrite'?

A free spirit does not necessarily mean a detached soul or a scholar lost in books or a person who constantly argues with others. A free spirit is a free thinker whose ideals are untouched and original. Of course there is no single idea that is completely 'original' but at least it shouldn't be borrowed. That's where the hypocrite comes into picture. Borrowed principles, stolen thoughts and copied words gives hypocrite the mask that he/she wants to wear.

We have read philosophies of Socrates, appreciated Ayn Rand's ideals and applauded to the theories of Einstein. But how difficult is it to live as a free thinker?

When faced with the harsh realities of a society where bigots have outnumbered mavericks, one realizes to 'pretend' is safer than to 'be'. The reasons may be numerous. We have been programed to like what we know and dislike what we don't. We have been taught to abide to a certain school of thought only. We have been thinking that we are wise and the others ignorant.

Thinking and believing is greatly influenced by learning. When we tend to think that learning begins in school and ends in an university, we fall in to a pattern of life. We stick to a idiosyncratic way of thinking. But when we cross the boundaries into the limitless universe, we realize that learning process is timeless.

As a free thinker, you might be ridiculed, segregated and completely mis-understood by the world but at least you are true to yourself. As a hypocrite you will be crowned to glory, praised by the 'learned' and win laurels but deep within you always know you are a deceiver. Being honest with one's own self is as important as being honest with others.

Aristotle states “The ultimate value of life depends upon awareness and the power of contemplation rather than upon mere survival.”

“You must understand the whole of life, not just
one little part of it. That is why you must read,
that is why you must look at the skies, that is
why you must sing, and dance, and write poems, and
suffer, and understand, for all that is life.”

Jiddu Krishnamurti

Between the devil and the deep blue sea

2008-02-17T01:22:00.000-08:00

For cafe writing : Option Two

Give me seven things that make you sigh. You are not required to provide any explanations, but it’s more interesting for readers if you do.

1. I take a 'relieved' sigh when 'it's finally over'. Like may be if I have to stand an inquisitive neighbor's gossip updates or at the end of a difficult game or maybe when I just finished an appointment with my beautician. It gives me so much relief to sigh, it literally puts a full stop.

2. I take a 'slow' sigh when I am surrounded by breath taking scenery - deep blue sea, strong mountains and star lit night sky. May be as a sign of gratitude to be in their presence.

3. I sigh 'hopefully' when I encounter ignorance.

4. I sigh with 'lust' after a delicious bite of dark temptation pastry. Isn't that moment so so special!

5. I sigh with 'resolution' when I realize that my house needs a spring cleaning or the carpets need to be vacuumed.

6. I sigh with 'guilt' when I realize I have indulged too much in shopping and bought stuff that are practically useless.

7. Every time I turn the last page of a wonderful book, I sigh with a sense of accomplishment.

Blog of the day award!

2008-02-15T19:38:00.000-08:00

I know the badge is right there, flashy and all. But I want to shout aloud too... BLOG OF THE DAY. Thank you every one. It feels amazing!