The universal form....

This week's words:

Fragrant; adjective: Having a pleasant or sweet smell.

Jostle; verb: Push, elbow, or bump against (someone) roughly, typically in a crowd; struggle or compete forcefully for.

Remnant; noun: A small remaining quantity of something; a surviving trace; adjective: remaining. 

The vastness around me startled me. The only word ringing in my head was 'numerous'. My whole body shook unable with withstand the grandeur of nature unfolding itself. It first began as a whisper in my ear and then invaded all my senses. My eyes were feasting on the great revelation. A thousand heads surrounded me.The whole room was overfilling, there was no space left. He had occupied each inch of the room. From the thousand heads arose many hands holding various weapons of destruction. Heads, mostly were human with expressions ranging from the calm and devoted Hanuman to the deadly Rudras. Eyes wide opened and bloody. Some had bird like faces and animal like faces too. The costumes also similarly varied with the heads. But the most beautiful aspect was a divine fragrance, more intoxicating than jasmine.  

 

The fear in me slowly began to dissolve into the vastness of the image before me. It seemed to me that I had escaped into a different universe, an abode of the Gods. Where the impossible was possible, the veil of ignorance was lifted and a deep understanding began to set it in. I seemed like a water drop on my journey to the ocean. The images before me floated in this form for what seemed ages. Fear was replaced by wonder and then wonder by knowledge and then knowledge by nothingness. Ultimately the water drop became a part of the vast ocean. I no longer felt like a remnant... I ceased to exist.  

Claustrophobia...

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....

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 torso above knees. Feet appeared planted in the fertile black soil. They moved rhythmically planting and removing saplings. It seemed to me like all this was a dance. I cycled along the narrow mud path which separated two huge paddy fields. I was listening to the women singing and birds chirping. It all appeared 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 to strong branches. It was a beautiful sight. Sweat dripped along my forehead constantly and it was difficult to wipe them, so I let it drop to the ground as if to kiss the bare earth. It was my first day here so I began to observe my surroundings very keenly. I cursed the heat but continued my journey along these fields towards an unknown destination.

I halted my bicycle in a sudden jerk (not used to muddy roads) under a banyan tree and walked with my bundle of letters towards the fields. A postcard was addressed to Chennamma 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 the supervisor, a typical guy actually! Huge belly, dark skinned, a mole near the left lower orbital floor. I asked for Chennamma, he shouted her name loudly and a couple of heads rose up with curious eyes. From the dress I wore, they understood I was the bearer of news. All the six Chennammas, came running towards the supervisor but their eyes fixed upon me. The supervisor seemed confused and asked me ‘Which one?’ I looked at the address again, Chennamma, wife of Kitchappa’. I repeated her husband’s name and only woman began to blush. Even under the burning sun her expressions were so crystal clear, the very name of her husband filled her heart with so much delight. She rose her hand slightly and with bent eyes began drawing circles with her feet. The rest of the Chennammas began to leave silently and the supervisor led us to the shade of the banyan tree.

She was my first ‘client’ in Kudlooru. The shade of the banyan tree seemed like a pleasant change to the scorching sun. Both of us squatted on the grass which surprisingly was cool. She asked me to read the letter. I straightened my spectacles and took a closer look at the post card.  I restricted myself not only as a bearer of news but also as a counselor since many of my clients were both illiterate and naive. A few literate ones also consulted me in their affairs since they thought I had worldly wisdom. Villagers believe that travelers like me earn wisdom 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 them aloud 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, health was good and work seemed fine. The city looked big with buildings and full of vehicles. He enquired about the health of his parents and reminded his wife in sweet words that his parents were old and might seem crude but they loved her a lot. He enquired about the children’s health and studies. His last few lines were about how his new city job could help clear loans. Chenamma wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and took the post card from my hand. She thanked me and began her enquiries ‘How is the city? I have seen in the television. Women are very pretty there, isn’t it? I hear they don’t take care of their own children and parents. Must be spending time doing all those colorful things to their faces and hair…’ This woman spoke so comfortably as though she knew me from ages. Yes I seemed to have earned her trust, this will help me later. I nodded as in a reply and said ‘They have to work too, like you people!’ She looked at me in complete shock, ‘Like me! You mean under the burning sun, on all fours and some mean men shouting at you all the while?’ She took a break and sighed and then carried on ‘I watch tv serials, either they are sitting on chairs watching a small tv or they are gossiping about the family all the while.’ 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 bicycle alone. I turned back to look yet again at the sea of bent heads. Wrapped by hands of mother earth, they all looked like. I stopped for a second to enjoy once again this sight of selfless love. And do they even know that they are being held safely by mother earth’s hands? I prayed to the great mother whose omnipresence can be felt in these green fields.

I rode through the muddy path crossing the green fields into the temple street. Our culture so rich, so many gods at every turn of a street there is a Ganesha idol, decorated with fragrant flowers. The remover of obstacles. I got off my bicycle as I passed through the idol and removed my chappals. I folded my hands with great reverence and said a quick prayer. The next letter had to be delivered to the Temple priest of Sitaram temple. I had heard a lot of this temple and was eager to visit it. The opportunity presented itself today and my heart leapt with great joy. A white envelope from Chennai with an elaborate address, all in capitals was addressed to the temple priest. I dropped the envelope at the temple office and entered into the temple to have a good darshan. My mind seemed so peaceful after an encounter with Chennamma that now I was here to absorb holiness. The Sita Ram darshan was a feast to the eyes. I was lost in a different world for what seemed timeless.

My eyes opened and I was reminded by the bundle of letters that there was more work to do. I took the Lord’s blessings and was on my way back to the bicycle. The temple priest sat at the edge of steps with head bent low. He seemed to be disappointed and lost. An inner voice urged me to talk to him. The priest seemed to be around sixty years old and his eyes beamed with devotion. Respect rose from the bottom of my heart and I began to spoke him ‘Sir, are you in some deep trouble?’ He seemed shaken and lifted his eyes 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...

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....

3WW CCLXII

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:

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....         

Ghost from past...

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...

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...

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....

Iota of joy...

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:

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...

When disaster strikes.....

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!

Descent from heavens

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.

Why so many questions?

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:

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

'Human mind' you say. May be.

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Déjà vu

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.

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A child's play

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....

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.

Lateral lives

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.