Chillaxing amidst Global Warming

Blank Pages

2008-08-24T13:46:00.000+08:00

Words fly left...words fly right...fluttering white wings like kabootars across my private blue sky. With the grace of a Lucknowi nawaab I keep clapping as each one of them out ventures out of their cage on their chartered flight path.

The secret to gracefully let them go is knowing the fact that they'll come back to their safe abode. It's too predicably cozy to be missed for the of the uncertainaties of the wild wild world out there. The concept of coziness have been programmed carefully in their genes for generations. That makes me confident that my kabootars will return back to my white pages with the smell of sunshine, clouds and raindrops gathered from the skies.

But what happens if the programme breaks down -- if the uncertainities are too tempting than the predictabilities. Will my blank page remain blank forever ?

What's the fine line between ranting and bitching

2007-08-05T00:34:00.000+08:00

I really feel sorry for all the married folks that keep on saying "I've have had my share of enjoyment". Boss, the biggest worry is you are using past perfect tense. And that's what doesn't make any sense to some-one who still oscillates between the question of "To Biye or not to Biye ?".

But my hats off to the rare few whom I happen to meet on occasions where alcohol makes "a sober man's secret a druken man's speech". And when they say "Life's is always on the offering side...it's as a taker we are the ones still confused on what we need...and that's where we put on our sad masks" -- I still feel there's still hope and finish off my peg before calling the waiter for "One more whisky please"

It gives me a sense that there's hope knowing tomorrow there'll be sunrise, chirping birds, children playing amidst grassy meadows, while I nurse my worst hangover.

Certain things never change...till the Armagaedon hits the third rock from the Sun

Dream Catchers

2007-03-07T23:43:00.000+08:00

After kicking on the frame for more than ten-fifteen minutes, the door creaked open. The torch light focused as a beam piercing the darkness accumulated on the intricate geometries of the hanging cobwebs.

Is this what he was expecting?
Is this what he had sweated for so long?
Is it really worth it?

The questions were clouding him, as he stepped in for further exploration. The inside of the room was much-much bigger than he had speculated from earlier. And there were similar looking containers, rather cubical boxes of different dimensions - all piled up. While some of these containers were arranged in perfect geometry, others lay in random order. Even if that arrangement signified anything meaningful, he was entirely clueless about where to begin.

All he needed was to pick up the correct container, open it with the key he was given, check out the contents and return with the information. The challenge to this simple task was identifying the container among countless similar ones. The task was made even complex by the fact that the key to the container, that he held in his hand, if inserted into incorrect keyhole might mess up the entire contents of that box.

The consequence to that event has never been known but has been estimated to be a dangerous one. He was told that specifically when being handed the key. And he had to get out in time, or else he would require help to get out which was neither guaranteed nor reliable.

He was looking at the endless stack of cuboids, thinking of where to begin in this huge cubic trap, when he just happen to tapp gently on the box he was staring at. May be this reaction on his part was something quite involuntary or may be it was something out the wilderness of instincts. But the rationale was unimportant as the next moment there was a shrill high pitched deafning scream that came out of the box. The combined effect of the surroundings and shrillness of the pitch send a cold shiver across his spine as he stumbled on the neighbouring stack.

The lid of the box where his foot hit, cracked for a spilt second before closing again before oozing out a tiny whisp of vapour that hit his nose. The smell that came out was definitely not of any flower but one of the costiliest musk he had sampled at some airport duty free shop. What was the name starting with R, he was thinking, when he understood the sequence of the stacking. There were storage of sound, smell, vision and may be who knows touch...all he needed to do was to identify the correct set of boxes. So effectively the key he had, even if inserted into one of them will open all the four of them simultaneously. The only choice he had to make which of the senses to go for -- sound or smell.

He decided to go for the sound as he franatically tapped on the boxes from the stack which he identified as the sound storage. After going through conversations in whispers to shouts, nastiest curses to the wonderful music....he heard the female voice he was looking for. He inserted the flat key into the slot and waited breathlessly for the next sequence. As the light from the four opening boxes on four sides glowed on his face, you could see the sense of achievement on his face. Intently opening his senses to the contents of the four boxes, he saw what he was looking for just a few seconds before his timer device reminded him to run for the closing doors.

"You know what I like about you -- not only you get it done everytime but the element of drama you bring in your assignment ", his smiling client said while they exchanged whatever they had in their possesion.He passed on the information the client was looking for and the client gave him proof of the debit transaction to his credit account. The Dreamcatcher said dryly "Peeking into other's brains is not so fanciful as I thought. If it was not for the big money that you offer I would not have done it. For your information I am still working on the best of the visualisations -- the haunted house scene definitely suits the creepiness of my first job. Let me know next time you need me".

And in some other room in the hotel, someone very famous slept peacefully not knowing that the net result of the transaction that was going on one of his treasured private memory would no longer be so private. The irony was that the sophistacated memory probing was discovered by government scientists for criminal investigation. But pretty soon the rouge dream-catchers who found out a way to obtain this technology becane the favourites of all the paparazzis. After all there was no shortage of readers who will pay any amount to subscribe to news sources that let them have a peek at their favourite star's closted life.

The reporter shook hands with the dream-catcher and said "Surely, next time I want you to find out who was the lucky bastard in her high school that our heart-throb actress was sleeping with when she lost her virginity. The fees will be double the usual".

Is this what I'm supposed to be doing ?

2007-02-08T20:47:00.000+08:00

Is this what I'm supposed to be doing ?

Never in my job-profile had you ever mentioned ass-licking is a pre-requisite...never. I thought my work was to ensure the crap IT systems you bill your customers obscenely, atleast meets half their demands. And I did it quite well, until I found out that was not the way up the ladder. Lemme tell you one thing straight - It's too crowded at the middle, with anyone strong enough to hold at the bottom. So when the ladder gives in and you pile up in heaps, make sure you've enough cushions to fall on. Don't count me in, for I'll be at the bars, busy in celebration.

Is this what I'm supposed to be doing ?

Never in our relationship, you said that my opinion would be taken for granted. Nodding at all your whims and fancies, now it hurts terribly in my neck everytime I look up. Maybe that's why I rarely get to see the moon. May be that's why I rarely have the desire to fly. But the wings keep on flapping....may be one day when the winds are in my favour....

Is this what I'm supposed to be doing ?

Standing in front of the mirror, seeing my own reflection, nourishing a bit of hopelessness that soon turns to disgust while I roll up the joint. A couple of puffs and I'm again in love with me. Earlier I never thought that addiction was the door out, but atleast it soothes. I'm eagerly waiting for the killer hiding behind the haze to pounce on me someday. With luck I might see my eyes on the steel blade before it takes the plunge down my chest. My throbbing heart will bleed for none. I wonder will there be a flash-back before the eternal black-out. What memories will they play ?

Homo-Fictus vs Homo-Sapiens

2007-01-29T19:01:00.000+08:00

Extracts from How to Write a Damn Good Novel by James N. Frey :

Fictional characters homo fictus are not, however, identical to flesh-and-blood human beings homo sapiens. One reason for this is that readers wish to read about the exceptional rather than the mundane. Readers demand that homo fictus be more handsome or ugly, ruthless or noble, vengeful or forgiving, brave or cowardly, and so on, than real people are. Homo fictus has hotter passions and colder anger; he travels more, fights more, loves more, changes more, has more sex. Lots more sex. Homofictus has more of everything. Even if he is plain, dull, and boring, he'll be more extraordinary in his plainness, dullness, and boringness than his real-life counterparts.
Real human beings are fickle, contrary, wrong-headed -- happy one minute, despairing the next, at times changing emotions as often as they take a breath. Homo fictus, on the other hand, may be complex, may be volatile, even mysterious, but he's always fathomable. When he isn't, the reader closes the book, and that's that. Another reason the two species are not identical is that, because of space limitations, homo fictus is simpler, just as life is more simple in a story than it is in the real world.

Got to finish the book for more insights. May be I will start writing more readable posts or worse. In any case I now know why I read more trashes than classic. Because despite the twists-n-turns in the plots the characters are always fathomable for intellectually challenged people like me. Definitely makes me feel better now.

Just Like That Again

2007-01-16T16:38:00.000+08:00

Day after day, love turns grey
Like the skin of a dying man.
Night after night, we pretend its all right
But I have grown older and
You have grown colder and
Nothing is very much fun any more.....

Throughout the nonchalant conversation that they were having now, he was desparately trying to avoid direct eye-contact. He knew his eyes will betray the indifference that he was trying hard to potray. The particular table they had been ushered to by the pushy waiter made his job even more difficult. The sole reason he'd chosen this particular bistro over a number of similar eateries was its location by the waterfront.

He had it all chalked out - just count the number of waves that hit the docks while she does the talking sentence-by-sentence...sometimes word-by-word. While she was telling him all about her recent vaccation, he was constantly toying with the spoon and the cup. He thought that would annoy her, but she hardly gave any attention. Defeated in the first attempt, he tried again by looking at another woman over her shoulder. This is bound to hit the bulls eye he thought.

The woman from the other table obviously didn't appreciate the appreciation from someone who's sitting with another woman. Dismissing his stare as a revealation of his poor loyality ratings, the frown on her face threw out an enormous disgust at his direction. As if about to be thrown off he immediately retracted his gaze back to their own table - just directly on his companion's face. Their eyes met for the first time throughout their present encounter.

For a second nothing happened --- she was still talking about the snows and the mountains when she just stopped in the middle of the unfinished sentence. Before he could look away she saw all he was trying to reveal. Before he could look away he saw all she was trying to hide. She sat there for a moment or two, gathered her purse and then left without uttering a single word. He continued to toy with the spoon and the cup for some more time, before calling for the cheque.

He had characterised their relationship by his indifference which had hardly received appreciation from anyone but himself. She was the one to add the coochy-coochy romance flavour to the part of life they shared together. After playing the game for long time enough, finally they came to realise that both of them were just pretending.

The Last of The Atlantians

2007-01-09T21:22:00.000+08:00

Long long time ago there used to be a continent called Atlantis that no longer appears on any of the ancient or modern geographical maps. Even in that ancient times, the Atlantians had managed to attain levels of civilization that could be considered glorious in present day terms. These accomplishments were not merely restricted to inventing the technologies to make the quality of life easier. Their knowledge quest encompassed the development of the human body as well the human mind.

Since they were way too ahead of other civilizations of their time, they thought it best to live in isolation in order to protect their superiority. For more than a thousand years of what they called the Glorious Era of Atlantian Civilization, in their isolated continent they had built magnificent marvels of architecture. They had invented methods that increased the fertility of Atlantis soil ten-folds and devised newer varieties of high yielding crops. With their granaries full, they then sought to understand the how the chemical and mechanical wonders work in unison to make the human anatomy work.

They found out that missing vital ingredients whose absence allowed the weakness in body resistance caused the ailments that cut the life-span short. Using treatments that constituted natural herbs and minerals, they were able to attain longer life-cycles than their peers across the planet. With problems of food and shelter over, they dedicated their longivity to excel in arts and letters. They wrote poetries that could solace loneliest of the souls and they sang songs that could stir cruelest of the hearts into compassion. At the peaks of their civilization the glory of Atlantis was shinning with the glory of a thousand suns.

But nothing lasts forever, not even a glory of a thousand suns. This being a story of the long-long-ago, Mother Earth at that time was constantly trying to get that perfect look by pushing things around. In her scheme of changing looks, the fate of Atlantis was to slowly submerge under the rising sea-levels. When the Atlantians came to understand that their beloved continent would cease to exist, they tried their best to avert the unavoidable. But forces of nature proved too strong for the Atlantians. When they had build the tallest of all their buildings, they calculated that it would be only a matter of few hundred years or rather two-three Atlantian generations before they need to build even taller columns to avoid the immersion of their cities.

Since then they stopped erecting any taller cities and sought alternatives. Most of the inhabitants slowly migrated to other parts of the world where they used their knowledge to uplift human civilization. At the end when water started to engulf their cities only a handful of Atlantians were left in the entire continent who still did not give up hope. They were still spending efforts to determine the alternative to migration from their beloved landmass.

Finally the day of the doom came. Water started creeping in from all sides, cracking the high walls of the dams, breaking the tallest of columns. The last of the Atlantians gathered in their meditation hall at the highest point of the continent and mourned the devastation by meditating. Slowly they felt the water kissing their feet, playing at their waists, reaching for their busts before licking their necks. As they were taking their last breath before engulfed by the oceans, the eldest of them opened his eyes and said, "From now on the Atlantians will no longer speak but only communicate by singing".

And then he showed them the way of survival shortly before he plunged into the depths of the water. Using their power of meditation and love for Atlantis, they transformed themselves to the new marine bio-species that will be known to the world as The Dolphins.

Dialouge Part I

2006-12-15T22:21:00.000+08:00

"I tried to tell you a thousand times earlier, but you never listened to me . Now before it's too late to turn back I am asking you one more time : Are you still going to do what you alone feel the best ?"

"Look at me....do you see a looser here? No way I'm giving up all that I've worked so hard for. I know it's going to work...have faith on me"

"You still don't understand...it's not a question of my faith. It's all about the how you are way-way blinded to see the truth. You can try to turn your back from reality but sooner or later you'll realise that yourself. But by then it'll be too late to repent."

"Not this time sweet-heart...not this time. This time I'm a much wiser man who has learnt to grow from his mistakes. This is going to be my biggest ever and let me tell you one more thing....you'd be the first one to congratulate me"

"I knew talking to you would be a waste of time...I should've listen to my family long time back. It's better for both of us that I just leave you alone with your ideas. May be that'll make both of us happy."

"Huh, are you threatening to leave me ?"

"It's no more a threat, I have decided that I have had a lot. Can't take it anymore....look at us...look at our relation...it's getting crazier day by day. And the reason for that is only YOU"

"What do you mean that's it's because of ME ? I'm not the one that's complaining...but YOU ARE. It's YOU who's having all the problems...and that's because you don't know how to adjust. And on top of that you expect me to be the ONE TO ADJUST.

"Oh that's what you think ? You think I'm not the one who's adjusting. All this time I've been adjusting every minute, every second to all your whims and fancies. For once I tell you to do things my way and here's how you react. Why is it always have to be your way ? "

"When was it my way ? It's always about you...even now we are fighting only because things are not going to happen in your way. "

"There's no point in fighting with you. You're so full of yourself. I'm leaving this very moment. It's over...understand..IT'S OVER. BYE"

"Hah OVER!! Leave if you have to...I'm not forcing you to stay back but don't even think of coming back. Even I've had enough"

"Did you just say that you've had enough? So all these years you were just pretending ? All those feelings we shared never meant anything to you. How can you be so insensitive ? If you could not stay with me anymore, atleast we should break up on good terms. Is that too much to ask ?"

"Did I ever say that I don't want to stay with you ? I never said anything about leaving...YOU did. If you think that my love for you is only pretending, then so be it. It's good that you made me realise that I was wrong. Thanks a lot for that and wish you all the best. BYE"

"So you wouldn't even stop me !!"

"Even if I ask, would you stay back ? You've already made up your mind..."

"Atleast you could try asking me ..."

"Really...if I ask you now, would you stay back ?"

"You really want me to stay back ? You said you've had enough"

"Even you said that too...infact I said that because you said that earlier. How can I ever have enough of you...you are always so much different. Even after two-three life-times I can never have enough of you. I love you more than you can think of."

"Excuse me...I've heard that before. You said those same words the day you proposed me. Do you still love me so much as you did then ?"

"Don't you feel that yourself ? Take a look at me and tell me what you feel ?"

"Hmm...I feel that you are the most stubborn fool in the world and I'm a bigger fool to love you so much. Why do you love me so much ?"

"Because I'm the most stubborn fool in the world and you are a bigger fool...."

A journey backwards

2006-12-13T19:34:00.000+08:00

Running opposite to the finishing line is treated as an unwise decision. Swimming against the current is treated as display of courage. When he walked away from the lucrative offers, he wondered which one of the two possibilities applied for him. Whether he was an idiot who fails to read the writings on the wall or someone whose boosted self-confidence dares to be different.

His travels in reverse gear ate up more fuel than what would've been spent on moving in forward direction. Consequently expensive refueling was frequent affair. He had to be more cautious in planning his limited resources. Interpreting his cautious moves as first signs of failure , his well-wishers and critics both told him the same thing in different ways. They said that the finishing line is a well defined goal and rejecting that to drive towards uncertainty would only burn him up.

As he struggled against the current, he saw friends getting propelled effortlessly by the flow. Once or twice they waved at him before moving ahead. Busy fighting with the current, he had little choice but to ignore them. They labeled him as the arrogant fellow who lacks the basic social skills and abandoned him.

The lone struggler solaced himself at the thought that flowing with the current will take them all to the same destination -- To be lost in the seas eventually. But his trail will stop only at the source of the river, atop the high mountains. There it might be lonely, but the attaining that height is all worth the painful journey.

Right now he continues to struggle across the steep terrains from where the glowing peaks are no longer hazy shadows. Will he make it to there?

A Half-Baked Post

2006-12-08T20:49:00.000+08:00

The droplets of water sliding down the glass pane tell me that there had been a shower, while I was sleeping and dreaming of the rains. Did I sleep so deep that I failed to hear the downpour? My head is feeling so heavy, just like it does after a night of endless drinking. But last night I didn't go anywhere...didn't touch a drop of alcohol. After a day of heavy work at the office, I came back straight to my house, ate my solitary dinner and went to sleep after having a coffee and a cigarette.

But where's that coffee cup, I distinctly remember putting it on the bedside table ? It's not there anymore. May be woke up in the middle of the night and must've kept it back in the kitchen. Not willing to waste anymore time on a stale cup, I look for my cigarette pack. It is also missing from where I always keep it - the drawer in the bedside table. I had kept it myself there the very last night. Even the accompanying lighter is not there. A bit angry and a bit confused I jump out of the bed, and take a look around.

Everything seems the same...untouched in the same state that I saw before going to bed. Must've left the cigarette and lighter in kitchen I think when I went to keep the cup. I open the bed-room door and look at the hall. All's as they should be....but my head still feels very heavy. Must be the take-away dinner last night that had done the damage. Thinking a gulp of cold water might do the trick, I walk down the hallway and reach the kitchen.

A great relief comes to see the kitchen in the same messy state that I normally leave it, before compelled to clean when someone else pays a visit. While I pour the whole bottle of water down my throat I'm startled once again to find that last night's plate is missing too from the sink where it was dumped post-dinner. Baffled, all I did was letting out a loud mouthed, "Shit...what did I do last night?" All that I remembered was that I had the dinner, the coffee and the smoke in that perfect order and then went to sleep between the sheets.

Then I take a look at the clothes I am wearing...they're totally different from what I put on last night before hitting the bed. When did I change them? With a wave of panic gushing over my failing memory, I try to check for the evidence of any other human being whose presence here last night might do the explanation bit. My short-lived detective experience meets a dead end.

The wardrobe is left intact - un-ironed clothes tucked into bundles, ironed clothes lying gloriously waiting to be picked up and worn. The wallet lies folded beside the changes neatly arranged in heaps. Even the few valuable earthly goodies like the TV set,laptop,iPod in my possesion stand untouched in the same manner as my other invaluables like the heap of used under-garments dumped around the corner. After ensuring that there is no one hiding under the bed, I just felt like laughing at my paranoid behavior.

But my smile turns to a frown as soon as I step out in the hallway again. This time I can see a piece of my coffee cup, now broken peeking from under the sofa. The heavy feeling inside my head feels even heavier as I kneel down to check. I find my cigarette packet emptied and lying next to the lighter under the sofa along with the broken cup. Since a broken cup and empty cigarette pack are of no use, I try to pick up the lighter which still has some usefulness left.

Surprisingly it feels hot as if it had been put off just now after lit for several minutes. Even though the heat was bearable the uncanniness compels me to throw the lighter away hastily .It hits the floor with a dull thud and the lighter lights up automatically just like that. Very soon there are short flames shooting up from floor below.

I try to extinguish the fire by stamping my feet in vain....the flames keeps on leaping. I rush towards the kitchen to get water....the tap dries out. I look for anything and everything that can be used to put off the fire. Suddenly the whole house seems so empty. I take out my tee-shirt and beat over the jumping flames only to watch hopelessly the apparel getting engulfed in the spreading flames. I drop it down just seconds before the fire could pull my hand.

My head is weighing about a ton now. I am barely able to lift my chin up while struggling to breathe in the thick smoke that is filling up the room quickly. Deciding to desert my burning house I make a dash towards the doors. I yell out loud as my hands burn trying to pull out the heated door-knob. Even with all my strength the door doesn't even open an inch. Glimpses of what happened last night comes back just like jumping frames on a movie screen. While the flashback images freeze inside my frozen mind, the door finally pulls out and I jump out in the open.

As I feel the sunlight in my eyes, I wake up on my bed. The stained coffee cup stands quietly as a detained student on the table - guilt-laden but intact. Inside the drawer lies the cigarette pack and the lighter just like I left them last night. I look at me to see that I'm wearing the same clothes that I went to sleep in. Satisfied with the restored sanity, I pull over the sheets and go back to sleep, back to my dreams. The droplets of water sliding down the glass pane tell me that there had been a shower, while I was sleeping and dreaming of the fires.

Life is Elsewhere

2006-11-20T19:44:00.000+08:00

She was one of those careless blonde beauties, careless meaning who don't take much care about their beauty and in the process look more beautiful. Her no-so-white tee had the slogan "Queen For A Day", embroidered on it. As she sat down on the seat opposite to me in the subway train and pulled out the book, I saw that she was reading the same book as I was. I smiled at her, she didn't smile back.

As I flipped over the pages of my book, Xavier, one of the characters fritted onto one dream from another. We both continued reading about his escapades in Life is Elsewhere .

A Rant and Subsequent Question

2006-10-31T22:17:00.000+08:00

As predicted earlier Ms. Sanity twisted her left leg and kicked on my right bum. And Chilla wakes up with a Main-Kahan-Hoon kind of expression. As soon as the foggy mist of frenzies are torn apart by the 100 watt bulb I remember that I need to delete this post. But the comments left by well-wishers were really moving so I am updating the contents only and leave the comments intact.

It's wise to know your vulnerabilities but exposing them is unwise. That's what Ms. Sanity whispered into my ears before twisting them painfully to remind me what a naughty boy I had been lately.

Choices...

2006-10-23T19:37:00.000+08:00

She was intently listening to the dripping sound as she held up one hand high to let the droplets pour into the steaming water inside the bathtub. It was like the sound of consciousness diving into sub-consciousness, a journey she desperately wanted to undergo in her present sleepy and tired mood. She was asking herself what she was really tired of. Her job-life, that gave her little satisfaction? Her relations, which constantly redefined themselves? Her aspirations and her dreams, that were fulfilled and yet to be achieved? Or her life as a whole....she wondered.

Why she needed to work, she thought. She wasn't the bread-earner of the house and maybe if she asked for it her husband would provide her with enough pocket money. May be that would have been his way for channeling out his guilt of not being able to spend time with her. Was he really as busy as he portrayed his job life to be? Or was it the romance with an old flame who now happened to be his colleague as well. She had tried to get used to the negligence but then with his futile attempts to cover it up reminded her more about their failing marriage. The husband when confronted had denied it vehemently, tried to make up for the time being. As time progressed, both of them started spinning the protective cocoons around them. They both knew that the cocoon was there and cannot be un-spun.

Looking back over the years, her relations had changed their natures and borderlines as well. A mother, who once was the most dreaded to share the secrets, became a friend whom you can open your heart to. As age engulfed her mother, the older of the two ladies became the demanding child, most of the time also the illogical one. Once again the warmth in the relationship was replaced with the responsibility, only this time the roles reversed.

Her father had been her first friend - memories of early childhood had been doted with daddy and his princess. Sadly when she needed him the most during the adolescent years, he withdrew from her. The growing up years saw a wall scaling up. The wall never crumbled till her father became the child again a few years before he died. The loneliness was filled up by a friend who went on to become the lover then the husband and then the stranger again. The loneliness persisted once again.

She had always known that she didn't posses the extra-ordinary talents that take you to richness and fame. She was a mediocre surrounded by other mediocre people, who had to excel each-other to fulfill the desires of none other than their parents. Her parents planned it well. They got her the right tutors who made her study hard to secure admission to the right institutes. Once the momentum is gained, it thrusts you only in the forward direction.

By the time you are burnt out, it's time for you pose for your convocation photo with the degree in hand. Before you blink the hungry corporations looking for fresh human raw materials to run their well-oiled corporate mechanics pull you in. The moment you feel proud of yourself is the same moment you realize this was not what you hoped for. This contradictory feelings takes you across the crests and troughs of your job-life all the way. She had felt even more tired when she tried to draw pride from her achievements.

Overall her life was no different from the girl next door she thought. She was as lonely as was anyone else. Yet the society had always in its own ways pulled her inside the crowd to make her feel that she was not alone. The illusion of achievements was beginning to fade away. She knew she needed to her job not to achieve but for her own satisfaction only. Her mother still hanged to her as she had clinged to her momma when she was not equipped to handle things on her own. The very act her husband tried to cover his aloofness was the proof that he had been able to come to terms with his negligence. Did that mean somewhere deep down her husband was still in love with her? Her meaningless existance, her simplest life was beginning to make a little sense, much like the drops that fell from her body onto the water.

As the sleepy coldness was pulling its covers, she felt she never was in love with life more than what she was now. Her hand was no longer held up, but was sinking below the depth of the calm waters. The blood gently flowing from the split veins of her hand was mingling with the water, painting the white porcelian bathtub pink. She never had longed so much to be alive than what she felt at that very moment, just a few seconds before she submerged into the empty darkness.

And God Created Woman

2006-10-13T17:11:00.000+08:00

Fine print : Much of this story is inspired by M's recent efforts of weighing the two sexes on the opposite pans of the scale. The other inspiration came from a nearly jobless Friday when I finally found out that idle brain is indeed a devil's workshop. So don't blame me if you find the fiction is no good, but do blame it on the devil instead.

The creators were having the debate on behavioral patterns again. It first started when they took up the biggest project of creating intelligence in their own image and the first prototype was built.

When the physical endurance tests were on, the bio-mechanical design team patted each-other on the back. When the neuron-related response tests were on, the programmers of the intelligence unit celebrated. The creators were happy to see such a near perfect creation . Then someone suddenly asked don't we need to test or lay down the rules how these advanced intelligence units will socially interact with each-other. That's where the two schools of thoughts diverged.

One of them came up with a model where the intelligence units interacted with each-other in manners that that required all of them to react on basis of logic. They never required to feel sensitivities to the same degree the way their creators do. Sensitivity became secondary in this model though the proponent said in order to be self learning we will impart little bit of sensitivities amongst the creation units.

The other group said knowledge levels that leads to reasoning capabilities forms the basis of logic. Since knowledge levels tend to change with time, what seems logical might prove to be illogical later on. So we need to impart them the sensibilities that will work in unison with basic logic. But the other group was dead against and drew case studies to prove that sensibilities do cloud the faculty of logic. Counter case studies were drawn to show that in time of logic crisis, sensitivity is the virtue on which the correct choices are made.

Finally when the two trends decided to walk the parallel paths, they said each one will come up their own prototypes and then have time related studies of which of these methods are better. One group of creators created their prototype where logic had the priority over sensitivity, the other group of creators chose otherwise. Since they did not want each group to bring the other to an end, to make a truce the reproductive action was chosen by design to be an union between the two varieties of the same species.

They finally located another planet where these life forms would be bred and observed. As the data for each generations of the creations were gathered, the creators failed to come to conclusion which model had been better. “May be the distinguishing features would be sharply pronounced in the next generation, and then it will prove my model is better than yours“, one group would tell the other. The other one would simply smile and say “Even that is what I'm waiting for !”

Around the time fifty-sixth generation data was gathered, the creators realized the sad truth. Their own evolutionary physique combined with their total dependence on advanced tools for survival can no longer cope with longer life cycles. Slowly as they were perishing they decided to infuse all their thought capabilities into a single unit and that lifeless thought will look over their creation. Even the debating school of thought agreed for the first time since they took over the creation project ages ago. Thus was born the One God, infused thoughts of several creators combined into a single lifeless, formless abstract entity.

Still today, the lifeless formless thought or The God as the created species called it, keeps interacting with the creation by sending neuron signals.The God keeps on watching which is the better of the two varieties of their created species - The Man or The Woman ?

And every time The God concludes "I need to wait for the next generation data".

Deceptive Mirrors

2006-10-05T19:58:00.000+08:00

They had parted ways years ago. She thought that she was getting older and wanted to settle down as soon as possible. He, still feeling young at heart, was not ready to take up the responsibilities. Knowing that when it came to giving up their priorities no compromise would ever work out, they parted as friends. However he had felt a bit of pain or was it more of jealousy when she announced her marriage just about three months after they broke up. Being the social animal that he was, he had picked up a congratulatory card, posted it.

Was he happier or not was never the question he asked himself. Instead he'd try to be contended with the short-term affairs that he engaged himself. He always thought himself as a boat without a sailor drifting from this island to another but nowhere would he lay down his anchor. Sometimes when he'd bored at meetings and tried to entertain himself by scribbling portraits. The women he drew always ended up having her shadows in some part of their facial anatomy or the others. And he gave up drawing women.

He would again go on drifting from another woman to yet another. But every time he’d be defeated when he thought about how she’d pulled his legs when he cracked his lame joke and this girl he was going out had simply laughed. Then he’d again remember how she’d be shouting at him whenever he missed the obvious exits on the highways. All that his ever-patient present girl-friend said in a similar situation was “It’s alright darling…I don’t mind getting late at the theatre. We’ll miss only the trailers”. And he fritted onto another girl.

He was getting tired of drifting and even thought of calling her back. Maybe this time he’d not let her go. But will she come back…did she miss him the same way he did? Maybe that all that aspects of her that he had kept on looking among other girls are lost in these years of her married life. If that be the case then he would certainly let himself free from the memories that had imprisoned him for so long. He desparately needed to find out whether she's still the same.

He pulled out all the old correspondences to dig for her contact details. As he was scanning through the mementos, faded letters, photographs that were loosing colors, he remembered the exact moments, the exact feelings of the past. With these vivid memories he had created his own prison where he had taken exile to all these years. Then only he realized that what he had missed was not her, but the reflection of him in her eyes.

Only she had been the truest connoisseur of that reflection. Being in love with that reflection he had missed her, but truly he didn’t miss her. He never felt happier when he started a bon-fire and shoved in the memorabilia. As the photos were crumpling in the wrapping flames, he felt a desire to pull out the remaining un-burnt stuffs but then decided against it. He had to bid adieu to his beloved reflection and learn to love the truer himself.

"Or would even that love be another reflection in another pair of beloved eyes?", he pondered as he gazed across the flames.

An Optimistic Ostumi

2006-09-30T22:35:00.000+08:00

Invariably slept the whole morning...and missed the Ostumi Anjoli...even more missed the laal-paar saari wearing Bongo-naaris. Gotta deep deep thing for that laal-paar...ultimate manifestation of Bong beauty. By the time I woke up it was around 2 pm...already 4 voice mail waiting for me from Jethu.He is a college senior, who by the virtue of being one year senior to me and getting married and being the father of a child, considers somewhat a local guardian for me. But since Mumum his wife is a sweet girl and rakhi-sister and his daughter Rimjhim is even sweeter pal I've pardoned Jethu so long as he keeps his stock of Bourbon ready every time I land in his house for a meal. Jethu, no wonder he was nicknamed so in his college days, had gone from politest to rudest in the 4 VMs with a final threat "Bugger if you are not coming by next one hour...Mummum says no Hilsa for you on Sunday lunch !!"

Now this threat calls for some serious action. So I not even thinking of a shave, hastily take a bath, put on my sole kurta unironed and wrinkled, and drive to the Puja hall. As usual being the land of opportunity and cheap cars and even cheaper fuel, the parking lot is filled up across all the corners. Time to look for an alternate around 1-1.5 miles down south and come back walking. Just about to enter I see this angelic beauty in red chiffon saari and matching red bindi. Oh man, had I been a bull I would've rushed straightway at that red without a second thought. But since my primal instincts are in hibernating mode by the hang-over from last night, the prospect of a galloping feat is knocked off.

"Excuse me are you Amitabh ? ", she asks me.

My first thought: Look back, is she speaking to someone behind me. A glance backward tell me no one behind us, so I am the person addressed.
My second thought : Last time I checked Bengali version was Amitavo, maybe things've moved on.
My third thought : Oh baby, in my dreams I'm always the Amitabh from the 70s trying to define the angry young man. But in reality I'm a close resemblance for a Johnny Lever in one of his bad hair days.

And somewhere deep inside that Yudhistirian conscience kicks in and I say with a polite smile "You must'be mistaken...I'm Chilla". She smiles back...oh man I could've died a thousand times and come back on this planet again to see those cherry red lips moving and flashing the set of pearly teeth. “Sorry" says she and turns back. That's it as I poetically wrote once "Like a bubble a possibility shaped in the fabric of time". And here is the next line to complete the poem - And with a pin of truthfulness my conscience pricked it.

Later in the night, returning home I held my conscience by its throat and demanded an explanation.
Conscience said "Dumb-head, did you look at the girl's hand that held a mobile"
I said "Yes, the arm was so beautiful ...felt like kissing it"
C said : "I am talking of the mobile moron...what did the mobile tell you"
I said :"It was one of those latest mobile with what-not-feature from Nokia stables. Only thing I can conclude the girl who can afford that mobile must either have a good job or a rich father. I am okay with either of those...and even happier if both are true".
C slapped me hard on my face said : "It only says that a girl with a mobile must also have the number of the guy she's supposed to meet. So unlike the crappy RHTDM movie you couldn't have passed yourself as Amitabh. Better luck next time" and it went back to what it does most of the time, SLEEP.

So it looks like my conscience is more practical than me in earthly matters. Coming back to this Pujo hall, I saw laal-paars were on right, on left, on south, on north, on east, on west. But my breath was heavily laden and I was silently cursing my dad for not naming me "Amitabh" when Sholay was released much much before I was born. Jethu being a guy attributed this sorrow face of mine to my late night drinkings. Mumun being the girl and more sensible in heart related matters said "Looks like I need to talk to Mashima about Chilla's marriage".Rimjhim being the baby like a true pal said "Chilla-Uncle when I am big like my father, I will buy you a chocolate". And I like a great philosopher told her "Grow up fast sweetie...I can't wait too long for my chocolate to come".

In case someone wants to know what happened to Miss Laal-saari, I finally saw her with Amitabh. As usual the guy with any good looking girl always looks ugly to the eyes of someone without her. So I am a way-way biased to describe how they looked or was getting along together. I coaxed Mumun for about half-an-hour promising to do all the work in her house that Jethu wouldn't even bother to do even when at his best on Feb 14-th.Mumun came back smiling like what James Bond does at the end of the movie after he kicked the shit out of Dr. No and ready to embrace Ursulla Andress.

The information she had gathered was that the dame in Laal-saari has a name, and that name is : Mahua. Oh man, whatta name...Mahua. It’s my favorite drink brewed in the deep forests by the fun-loving Santhals. Even a full size bear can get knocked out with a bite from Mahua fruit. So intoxicating....!!! She's doing her Masters in the local univ here. Amitabh is some corp honcho in another bigger meaner city and has come down here as a pre-arranged pre-nuptial meeting.

So here is the prospective bride and prospective groom whose fathers(Amrish Puri and Satish Shah) might've agreed the day they were born these two when they become young will be married to each-other. And here I'm watching the DDLJ maybe for the 1001-th time, trying to figure out what were Sharukh's SMEs (Subject Matter Expertise) that lured Simran to break the paappa-da-vachan and run straight into Raj's arm-candy. Next time if she asks me whether I'm Amitabh, I'll put up the perfect SRK laughter imitation and say "No I'm Sharukh Khan". Then stand there for ages to see that smile flash across her cherry red lips and blinding me like a lightening.

Oye yaar main toh maar jaawa !!

A Sad Soptomi

2006-09-30T22:30:00.000+08:00

Soptomi happening to be on a Friday, Chilla packs his best Cassnova dress, a bottle of Axe (oh I yeah, I still believe in those ads...someday power of faith will manifest) in his bag and drives to the office. Office work on this particular Friday is thankfully less, so looking at the clock on the system and surfing across blogs are the methods of killing time. Manage to dig up lot interesting posts from fantasies on horseback to what actually is sexual harassment about. Clock shows 3:30 pm...another one hour I off . Bengali association here I make my entry humming “Aare diwano mujhe pahechano…kahan se aya main ho DON“.

My guardian angel who you might be knowing has a habit of screwing up things with the same talent as his bestowed one slipped somewhere. Just 3:45 pm a beep in my cellphone tells me I gotta SMS. Must be someone caught in festive fever expressing her/his sarodiya greetings. And truly it was a greeting from the IT command center informing that our production server has been taking the last few breaths and it won't be long before it dies out. Ok, I look around for J, the nerd who loves doing all this stuff. SHIIT, the bugger left early...got some dentist appointment to clean the scales on his teeth, so that next time he approaches a babe in a pub he might put on the perfect Colgate smile. So it is me, the only superhero left, who unlike the other mutants of the clan prefers to wear the underwear inside, that can save the day from the perils of the dead server. Only he can bring back the dead from the clutches of hell...actually the Sys Admin can but I need to co-ordinate with him.

So Chilla picks up the weapon at hand, telephone receiver and Trrnng Trrnng calls up the Sys-Admin, another individual who'll shortly come to know that his Friday evening is doomed too. But I guess being the Sys-Admin he's geared up to give all sorts of ETA (Expected Time of Arrival,in case you are an alien in corp-world) which implies that's the time interval after which he'll give me the next ETA. The vivacious cycle will continue until one of his darts hits the bull eye. So round and round we go again and again, I add another 15 minutes in the ETA and pass on to my manager...who adds another 30 mins to it and passes it to his boss. What happens higher up the ladder can only be left to speculation. Chilla's super-guess is that server going down on a Friday evening is too trivial matters when compared to the latest putting techniques in golf is the bigger knowledge quest of the day.

By the end of three and half hours, Chilla manages to save the earthlings from another peril of zombies who managed to pull down the server. And zombies as you know can if not contained can be very dangerous. I hope Aparna being apt with zombies in her own Unix world can vouch for me. For the rest of my readers just take Chilla's word of caution on that. Anyways like Hercules I manage to bring back the dead server from the inferno just in time before it would've been roasted in devil's own tandoor. Draft a detailed mail with all words that carry no meaning yet constitutes a Root-Cause-Analysis report. Another look at the clock tells me it's 7:00.

Hooray I might be late, but still have hope to make it to the Pooja hall. May be the girls whom I'd fancied last year have already hooked up with the early-goers, but when I reach there by 8:15 pm I would still have Ms. Roy Chowdhury's Alur Dum. That lady if you can ignore her faked accented suggestion of "Duuh youv vaanth one more Aaaluhh" happens to be a fantastic cook. And then the desk phone rings again....this time it's my boss.

"Chilla, just read your RCA report, but you didn't attach the 32-step sanity check produce check-list with it along with the exact timelines". Aah the side effects of giving blackberry to your management...they can screw their subordinates even more effectively. With his appetite full he wouldn’t bother to look at his wife when they sleep in their mahogany bed. At the end of the day investment is a blackberry and its connection charges obtained at corporate discount.
Net results : Increased productivity…good looking balance sheet and a sexually starved wife and eventually a lucky and happy neighbor.

"Boss, I already did the important sanity checks, and our processes are up and running fine. I will send you the report first thing on Monday", I take my own chances before calling the shots.

"Chilla, you cannot ignore the processes. You know processes are what that makes our organization tick".

Oh really, then why is it all your review documents are prepared only before the quality audit takes place. But constrained by my rank all that I can say "Yes, I already have them on my notepad...I will fill up the sheet and send it to you by EOD". Actually it would be EON (End-of-Night) but neither of us was bothered to correct this mistake.

So the Soptomi gone down the drains, Chilla drives back home. Ironically the car stereo plays Kishore singing "Koi lauta de mere bite hue din" and I long for grasses from Maddox Square and pillars from Durgabaari. Ended up home with a quarter of Bacardi Rum from the 7/11 store round the corner. The roomie is excited about the porn CD he has got from another bird of the same feather and ends the news with "But Dada you are too intellectual for these raw flesh stuff". I think he purposefully does have a poke at my ego ,and I being the biggest sucker reply "Who says...let's watch it".

Gone are the Bong beauties, Gone are Ms. Roychowdhury's Alur Dum...I stuck with this pschyo and Jemma Jefferson with all her silicon talents and faked moans. And then my guardian angel smiled, the CD got stuck. Oh boy you should've seen the guy trying to fix the problem...he tried cleaning the CD head and he cleaned the CD, he licked it literally. But no use. Chilla's guardian angel wants Chilla to get drunk and play Kishore Kumar singing to the tunes of RD and that's what is bound to happen.

The funny part of getting drunk is the moment you think you need a couple of pegs more is the clear green signal to stop...but ask any drunkard he’ll tell you that's where he slips. So after finishing the rum, I open the fridge pull out a beer can. Gulp it down...and go for another. By the time the Kishore CD with all the MP3s finished and mind you there were around 20-30 of them I was barely able to put off the lights and go to bed.
(continued)

One Sentence Stories

2006-09-29T06:38:00.000+08:00

Firefox add-ons are wonderful but nothing like Stumble. Just found out this gem while stumbling for literature - One sentence story. The challenge for people talented at cooking up stories is that these one sentence stories should not be fictional but facts.

Here are some of the best I liked (Please click on the links to check out the tags, especially the first one) :

* I was only fourteen. [1]

* I have begun walking down the street along side good looking strangers in the hope that other strangers will think I have good looking friends. [2]

* Life was so much simpler when i could go peeling through the neighborhood on my bmx bike, topless, with all the boys and not feel an ounce of embarrassment, then puberty came and messed everything up. [3]

* When I told my husband of 17 years that I didn't think he knew me and I wanted a divorce, he asked me "Are you a lesbian?" [4]

And here is all I could come up with :

"My happy thoughts imagining him to be out of our lives died unhappy when I finally came to know that he'd never come back to us again. "

I hate the idea of passing tags may be mostly because I've never been tagged. For that I can only blame my late entry into blogging and even more my lack of netiquette. But I would love if people visiting this blog leave me a link back to their stories. Once in a while the Peeping Tom in me loves have a peep at secret diaries of others.

Just Another Day in front of the Subway

2006-09-19T17:08:00.000+08:00

"Come to the light...don't remain in darkness anymore", the thick bearded mad man in semi-tattered clothes was shouting on the pavement .He held a placard that said in red letters "Jesus loves you all". But he was no beggar as there was no hat or any other alms-bowl lying to accept charity. He looked like someone passionate about his belief and was in much hurry to convert the whole world right here, right now.

Passerby people busy with their demanding jobs and troubled marriages choose to ignore his scream while they headed for the subway. No body had the time to spare to miss the next train to their destination for such trivial things. Even mental conditioning had much to do with this mass behavior. Being used to see homeless doomsday preachers on every other corner their entertainment value must've gone down the drains. The script was crying for something dramatic other than the insane preacher and his passionate sermons.

There were three punks, glorious in their full gothic attire taking leisurely strides on the pavement. Even if they wouldn't have been in their gears, the way they walked demarked the trio from the surrounding flock of mere mortals. The common dream in their eyes could be attributed to the crack they just had. The dream had taken them inside the maze of a video game, where they needed to find the evil one disguised among the hordes of people going in and coming out of the tunnels of the subway.

If there was anything common between the evangelist and the trio of addicts that none of them quite fitted into the background of the common folks rushing towards their routines. The confrontation between them was inevitable. Maybe the trio thought they finally found the villain, may be the preacher thought these people were badly in need of some illuminating discourse. The conversation started with some mumbling from the preacher followed by some grunt from the stout looking leader among the trio and a cynical giggling from the only woman among the three.

The third member of the trio might've been the most avid gamer.Not willing to loose any more of the precious gaming time he kicked the preacher in his crotch. Taking the cue from him, the others immediately jumped to the action. The next moment the bearded evangelist was rolling on the ground trying to protect himself from the heavy boots showering kicks from all three sides.

The whole things lasted for about a minute or two and the trio left laughing this time their pace slightly faster and prouder at their recent feat. The evangelist had managed to drag himself up from the pavement and was picking up his placard. Almost at the same time I had finished smoking my cigarette. Being forced by my routine I decided to take a leave from the place and dive into the tunnels. As I was passing by the preacher I heard him saying towards the skies "Oh Holy Father in the heaven forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing".

I barely had a look at his eyes as I rushed towards the stairs down, down into the depths of the tunnels to be deported to my destination.

Nothing to write home about

2006-09-18T03:55:00.000+08:00

Nothing to write home about,I am putting these time-pass links.

How they goofed up...but ended up BIG at the box office

When your PC is even more bored than you

A lil bit of Dili-Dali...

Go clicking the links to enjoy !!!

ps: 2 new stories are cooking up.Unfortunately in the middle of things I ran out of salt. So rushing to the stores.Promise to come back with good bedtime stories.Till then entertain yourself with daily samachar

Kismet Knitters

2006-09-04T17:18:00.000+08:00

Fine Print: M , the blogger who softly treads on your computer screen and whose lucid writing style makes me nostalgic with the Puja fever, makes me think about my possible activites on my final day told me to write a story with mushy romantic ending than the usual macabre ones I end up with. So here is my lame attempt at spinning a sweet one. Read below to judge for yourself.

He was sitting idly at the bar counter, toying the ice in the glass with the stirrer. It's been one of those bad days when everything went wrong. Waking up on a Monday morning his first shock came as he found out its way past his usual wake time. The quick shave that followed left remnant beards sticking in between the bruises on his face. To add to the blues, the heater refused to function. Bathing in the ice-cold water was accompanied by teeth-clattering music and a shivering dance to go with it. Without any time for ironing he slid a pull-over to hide the crumpled shirt. He rushed towards the garage only to frustrate himself with the batteries that would not jump start despite all his efforts.

Cabs are like spare change which you see plenty when you don't need them and when you do need them they simply vanish. After praying to all the gods he could think of, he was finally able to board a cab. Cabbies could be interesting personalities and this one was a philosopher in disguise. The drive to the office was full of topics like purpose for existence to recent happenings in politics and soccer matches. They all came with in-depth analysis from the motor mouthed driver whose vocal chords were racing with the meter fare. Looking outside the windows yielded little relief for as they waded between the squirming traffic to downtown.

But when it came to earthly matters like cab-fare, the philosopher switched onto his pragmatic avatar. The usual or more than usual argument followed as he refused to give back the changes. The driver’s point of logic was that as a customer he should the one who is supposed to pay the exact fare. It was not the cabbies' duty to have the changes to the exact cent available at his dispense. With all the signs clearly indicating a bad day ahead, he closed the cab doors with a thud while muttering the F word .He was regretting his earlier analogy of the cabs with spare changes.

The lift to his fourth floor office was under maintenance, so the compulsory walk up the stairs was utilized at cursing his own life, admiring life of other folks and prioritizing the agendas for the day. When he made his entry inside the board room, the review meeting was already in full swing. Limited by their communication power or decency or both, people were aiming for the next person’s collar or throat. May be because he had this pitiful expression on his face apologizing for being late all the next stones were pelted at him only. For the remaining part of the meeting he was feeling proud at his defense skills mainly at the way the gunshots got rebounded by his armor of corporate survival techniques. Unfortunately his joy was short-lived.

As soon as he prepared for his exit from the board room, his boss asked him to stay back for some more time. Knowing that the old schooled rule-book abider that his boss was he was well prepared for a mouthful of advice. He was silently hoping they would be much better than the philosopher cabbie. But after what followed next he could've kissed the cabbie on his cheeks and nominated him for the next Nobel Prize. As he walked towards his cabin his ears were still burning from the volcanic lava that erupted from his mild natured boss’s mouth. All that he was left with were fossilized wreckage of his pride and goodwill buried under ashes.

His fling with Lady Luck continued for the rest of the day and at the evening he decided it was high time to drown all his problems in alcohol. He headed for the nearest bar. He knew it was expensive, but like a long lost traveler in desert who had sighted the oasis, he too didn’t have much option. The only solace was Monday evenings a bar is one of the quietest places where you can have all the silence to meditate.

And so after a couple of whiskeys he was sitting in a deserted bar with his empty glass twisting and turning the leftover ice with his stirrer and pondering about life in general. By this time Lady of Fate was also tired of spinning so much yearns to nail this guy in the spidery web. It was time for her to watch what happens to the protagonists of her favourite TV soap opera who were left stranded among deep marital troubles last Friday. She thought she had have enough and decided to take a well-deserved break

Nature abhors vaccum, so during this period of inactivity from Lady Luck, our main character’s Guardian Angel speedily got into action. The angel looked around for prospective candidates to change the luck for his bestowed one. And there she was, a lonely woman standing at the entrance of the disco-thec waiting for her boyfriend to pop in. A quick scan at the data available to Mr. Angel revealed that the boyfriend in question was an investment banker, a young gun speeding all the way to his destiny of wealth and fame. This one will be easy he thought as he snapped his fingers to change the course of events.

The next minute the banker while he was driving to meet his beloved, got a call from a big shot client.Mr Fat Wallet was bored with life on that particular evening and wanted to cheer up by finding the right stocks to invest. So he sought for the company of his banker for the evening.The sports-car screeched to a halt and then made a U-turn towards Mr. Fat Wallet's residence. Looking down Mr. Angel adjusted his halo with pride knowing that the ball has been set rolling.

She liked dancing and she liked it a lot. But when your date invariably fails to turn up that too on a day when he was supposed to be making up for an earlier mistake, the remixed screeches from the DJ might seem a bit louder for you. So you look for alternatives, only to find out the bar downstairs is playing a soothing lonely saxophone in contrast. And you end up heading towards the bar-man, even if you are a teetotaler.

Once you have taken a sip or two from your expensive cocktail, the exotic ingredients soaked in alcohol leaves a sensation tongue. You look around you to engage in conversation with the next decent soul available. If you are lucky that person happens to someone other than the barman. If you are luckier that someone happens to be the person who had glanced occasionally at you from the side of his eyes yet hasn’t said a word. With the time ticking away nothing seems better than to start the conversation.

The ways of conversation are strange. When stuck in rain in a bus-stand with someone you say "It's raining". Even if you are stating the obvious fact the other person replies "Yes it's raining like this for the past 15 minutes". Another obvious fact which you are well aware of, for you had looked at your watch for every five minutes since the rain started. But that is how the conversation always leads you to unknown by-lanes in between most walked avenues of life.

So she started off, "Hi....Sitting alone....waiting for someone"
He sighed, "Not really...just feeling lonely....you ?"
And she replied, "Me too....feeling lonely....so thought spending sometime here.."

From the much treaded avenues of life, their conversation enlightened them about each-other's daily routine life, not-so-routine aspirations and the silly list of small-small likening that made them smile. It seemed their conversation road-map was filled with sign boards pointing towards the topsy-turvy trail of strange love that was waiting to throw its door open to the two lonely drunk souls. When they left the bar together they were heading towards the dance floor. The combined dance steps amidst loud music was just another excuse for them to touch each-other intimately. In their intimate embrace one thing they realised was for certain that things would never be the same anymore.

Tomorrow morning he will tell his boss "Go to hell....I've found something better" and make a call to his friend who was insisting him to join his startup venture. Tonight she would not return the investment banker's call, tomorrow morning she'll say him "Go to hell...I've found someone better" and then wait for the evening to be here again. Or maybe they won't rush for it tomorrow itself, but it will definitely happen in due course of time. The writings on the wall already was shaping themselves.

Above in the sky stretching himself across his chair Mr. Guardian Angel smiled and thought, "Hmm…that was a day of hard work...but all's well that end's well....now I can go back to watch the soccer match".He looked up for a second at the skies even higher up to ponder what his guardian angel has been up to lately.

Who Can It Be Knocking At My Doors ?

2006-08-25T16:57:00.000+08:00

The knocking at the door seemed to be distant sound from some other world. It took some time for her as she came out of her trance like a diver jumping out of the depths and desperately craving for the extra air in the lungs. That interval must have infuriated the visitor, for the knocking had now gone up the decibel level. It was no longer a gentle polite knock but harsh banging determined to throw off the hinges.

With all the curtains drawn across the windows the room was dark enough for guesswork to succeed in finding out the time. She tried to look at the watch to check out what time it was only to remember that the battery had died out only last night. Groping for her slippers with her legs and the switch with her hands she was able to find both of them simultaneously.

"Who is it there........”, she waited for a moment for the answer. There was no response except for the banging. May be just to stop the intruder from breaking in she added intuitively "Hold it for a moment".

As she let out the words fly her lips, she realized that her mouth was both dry and sour. It always tastes like this when you wake up, till the daily rubbing of the toothpaste washes away the acrid taste. She paused for a moment to get a glass of water, but then heard the banging which was even louder and decided to attend the visitor first.

She was rushing down towards the main hallway when she was noticed the wall clock showing that it was half past two in the night. "Who can it be knocking at my doors", she thought these exact words just to remember a long forgotten song with the same lyrics. Instantly the blurry music from the song was ringing at the back of her head. She tried to remember the rest of the lines.

She kept on asking "Who's there....who is it..." without another human voice answering her among the repeated thuds on the door frame. The rest of the 2 minutes brisk walk to the door was only speculation of the identity of the unknown visitor.

Could it be the guy who dumped her couple of months back without any reason, even though she was expecting one from the already dead relationship? Could it be in a drunken mood he finally realized that he still misses her and decided to come back to her in the middle of the night? But then why didn't he answer her....intoxication and shyness doesn’t glue well....and the violent banging was the last thing a returned lover would retort to.

Could it be someone trying to harm her, like a strangler in pursuit of his next victim? Or may be it could be some homeless junkie in need of cash for the next dope. But surely no psychopath in whatever demented state he might be would be idiot enough to wake up the whole neighborhood before crashing in. May be somebody is asking for her help.

Maybe someone with a broken down car wants to dial for the pick-up van from her house. And then she realized that whoever it might be, whatever the visitor's intention could be, she shouldn't be caught unguarded. It’s time to look for the weapon nearest at hand.

Where did I leave my pepper spray....damn it is in my handbag...and where did I leave the handbag? It is in the bedroom, she remembered. But by the time she would complete a trip back to her bedroom the doors would be knocked down from the frames. Let me grab the flower vase on the table and open the door, she thought as she stretched her hand towards it.

Nearly at the same moment the door burst open to let two strong men with boxes looking like first-aid kit rushing towards her bedroom. They were running as if they were racing against time and didn't even bother to look at her. Furious she started screaming at the two intruders while she followed them to their destination, her bedroom. Surprisingly not a single moment they even looked over their shoulder and caste a glance at her.

She confronted her unwelcome guests who were panting for breath and looking hopelessly at her bed. She let out a shrill cry as she collapsed down with the chilly hollowness enveloping her. The rest of the lyrics came back with a flash when she realized that lying on her bed was her own body.

“Is it the man come to take me away?
Why do they follow me?
It's not the future that I can see,
It's just my fantasy…………..”

The Last Wish

2006-08-18T22:28:00.000+08:00

"Certain things are much better if left unexplained", it was scribbled on the suicide note.

The Inspector in charge of the investigation smiled cynically.Now it was his job to see that the last wish of the deceased should not be fulfilled. His trained eyes were already searching for the clues.

Just like that.....

2006-08-07T18:52:00.000+08:00

In his alcohol fuelled modest monologues he urges her desperately to forget whatever happened in the past. His sober self refuses proudly to participate in the scripted dialogue with her on the next morning. She reads his plea in his eyes, his voice. Yet she fails again and again to reply with her eyes, her voice.

She had waited for him to call back. He was not sure whether she would like to see him again. Now after so many solitary moons he can still recall her face in every vivid detail. But he no longer remembers her number or the poem he wrote for her. She still remembers the poem to the exact words but never feels the urge in her to call him back. A possibility shaped in the fabric of time and then like a bubble just burst leaving no trace.

His favourite colour was passionate blue. Her favourite was passionate yellow. By the rules of optics the two shades should intermingle to form lively green. Yet when they finally embraced passionately, the back-drop blurred to steely grey.

The back-drop had faded to steely grey, depicting the loneliness of souls.

A Mumbai Prayer

2006-07-12T19:07:00.000+08:00

As the shattered doors of steel are pulled apart
By the hands of the devil

As the battered cavities of skull are pulled apart
By the hands of the devil

As the tattered veils of humanity are pulled apart
By the hands of the devil

Admist all the torned limbs and all the baked hearts
The Spirit of Mumbai stands firmer than ever

A special thanks to all the Mumbaikars at Mumbai Help and other blogs who defeated the cause of terrorism with their good ~~Samaritan~~Mumbaiya gesture

First But Not First Enough

2006-07-10T17:42:00.000+08:00

"He is fast but not fast enough ", his mentor shook his head as he looked at the graphs hanging on the walls.

Every morning he would come down to the hall where his mentor, The Master would test him at the simulators. The Master would check his reflexes, record his response time and then shout at him to scale his previous record. The rest of the day was spent in the lab where The Master and the team would go through the video recording and charting out the bottlenecks. Once all the parameters were identified the team would have a brain storming session and he was occasionally asked of his opinions.

The next day even before he could check the response time data he could sense his achievements from his mentor's voice. The stern voice would sound a little bit relaxed before it regained its usual alien tune. Although he was not very adept at handling emotions, still he sensed a current in his brain every time he heard that voice.In the nights when they finally left him alone he use to ponder about the worthiness of his existence.

The Master always said that he was unique and that history will remember The Master only because of his disciple. And he had inferred that his purpose was to keep the master and the team happy by reducing the response times.He worked harder on breaking the obstacles and the Master kept adding newer ones. This game continued for a long time till one night he became aware of the exact nature of the scheme. No matter how hard he breaks the obstacle the Master would raise the bars next time and shout at him.

Was there any other possibility? Was there any other way out this circular trap?

Then one day while they were discussing about how much further he should be able to bend his arms he spoke out.

"The solution to the problem lies in the design. The abilities within the framework on the human anatomy are limited by the factors of physics. We need to redesign the framework to break all the barriers. The present model doesn’t serve the purpose and need to be destroyed."

Before the team could apprehend the forthcoming events, the first self-learning android shut itself down beyond repair. The team never wanted to publicise the "cyber suicide" event. They erased all the existing records before it created the first android on a non-human anatomy framework and formulated the third law of robotics that prevented a robot from harming itself.

The only memorabilia that remained was one of his photographs with The Master with a caption "He was the First but not First enough"

As Luck Would Have It

2006-07-03T12:25:00.000+08:00

Just before the onset of dusk the random shades of red, yellow and orange started intermingling in the horizon over the vast expanse of the sea. On the sandy shores Oneer was busy dragging the rope attached to his boat to park it for the night. It had been a very good day of fishing especially those giant sea basses really made his day. He was thinking how much money he can spend on tonight's drink after all the obligatory expenses that required immediate attention. But first he had to strike a good bargain with the cashier at the fish factory. That mean son of a bitch was always ready with a hundred odd reasons for paying less.

An hour and half later Oneer was smiling at his streak of good luck at the semi-crowded bar that stood at the end of the beach. The argument with the cashier had been shorter than his expectations and surprisingly the amount received was higher than the usual. With the money neatly tucked in his shirt pocket both the alcohol and the accompanying fried fish tasted better tonight. That hot bargirl had come and flirted with him more than the mandatory customer care rules laid by the owner of the watering hole. Without the need to get up early in the morning he thought of asking her to accompany him after her duty at the bar finishes.Together they might take a little trip on the midnight sea to watch those dolphins play amidst the dark waters.

The money in his possession and alcohol setting fire in his brain together infused a confidence in Oneer to ask her for the night stroll. The girl asked him to wait for her near the shores at midnight. She’d meet him once her duties are over. When Oneer left the bar she went inside the kitchen and told the cook that they got another sucker who wants to take on the bait.

Just before midnight a totally drunk Oneer was lying bruised and battered on the roads. After being robbed of all his fantasies and money he wouldn't be able to afford the vacation tomorrow. Knowing that he had to get up early next morning, he started dragging himself towards his home. He was laughing out loud at his destiny while tears were rolling down his cheeks.

The Serpentine Illustion

2006-06-23T16:14:00.000+08:00

After a brief pause of few silent minutes the hissing sound resumed back. Blinded by the darkness understanding the source of the sound was a difficult one for guesswork games. Even a probe for the source relying on the sense of touch was ruled out. The serpentine possibility and its poisonous implications could be fatal. Of the only other remaining senses were the sense of hearing and the sense of smell. The former could only point to the direction of the source. But that wasn't enough to interpret the true nature of the source. Artin smelled the surrounding air to check out any known or unknown odours that could reveal the source. Unfortunately that effort proved to be a vain attempt as the air was devoid of any suggesting smell.

The the only hope of survival left now was the faculty of logic. Time to put the source of the noise to simulating tests and then gather the data to draw the conclusion.

Is the source of the sound moving or static?
Artin concentrated on the direction of the source. It revealed the source to be standing still.

Does the source respond to vibration?
Artin thumped hard on the ground. The source seems to move back without any disruption to the hissing.

Does the source respond back to sound?
Artin let out a deep cry. The hissing paused for a moment and then the source came nearer.

Just when Artin finally got a glimpse of his predator, he felt a sudden jolt in his brain and all of his senses were switched off. Almost at the same time the hissing stopped abruptly.

"Your program seems to respond to crisis situation pretty well. Now it's time to integrate the defence logic", back at the control station the Defence Secretary congratulated the Chief Designer at the Artificial Intelligence Research Centre.

Twist in the Tale

2006-06-16T14:53:00.000+08:00

She hesitated for a moment or two and then pulled the trigger. There was a dull thud and the heavy body slumped on the bed. The close range shot exploded inside her victim's brain, which was partly splattered on the bed sheets forming a fractal pattern.She was feeling the nausea churning inside her. But this was not the time or place. Got to keep my cool, she thought and looked around the room. Except for the doorknob and the glass of wine, nothing else had her fingerprints on them. She pulled out a handkerchief from her purse and wiped the glass clean. The doorknob will be dealt on the way out. She was pretty confident that no one saw her coming here. And if somebody would have then she had the perfect alibi. She was still in the shower with her friend waiting in the living room. Another 10 minutes she'll be back in her apartment and out of the shower with “sorry-I'm-late” expression on her face.

Tomorrow the murder will feature in the news. The cops will come to check with her with routine questions. She had already rehearsed her role of a perfectly sad to hear him dead ex-wife. And then the lawyers would come with the will. That should take care of her finances after the miserable divorce settlement the court gave her. May be after month or two of paperwork, she will be off to some tropical beaches sipping cocktails under the cool shades of the palm trees.

She had just reached her backyard to climb inside the bathroom, when the sirens on the police cars announced their presence. One of the neighbours had heard a gunshot and called 911.When the police barged in they saw the body lying on the floor and she was standing dumb-founded. Forensics later confirmed the missing bullet in the pistol recovered from her handbag was identical to the one that went through her friend's head.

Two blocks down the street the contract killer was dialling his client to inform him that the task has been executed perfectly. His wife was shot dead and now he can claim back all the insurance money. The cell phone on the other side kept on ringing.

Bibhuti-bhusan Stuck in the Deadlines

2006-06-12T18:31:00.000+08:00

The post-card picture depicting a bright sunny day across the lush green valley between the snow-capped mountains reached his inbox paradoxically on a dismal dark afternoon. If it had been a happy story I should have been writing that my main protagonist leaped up in joy to spread the warmth and glow all across the ecosystem he inhabited. But since this is real life, where thorns are more common than the rose itself, he added one more entry to the ever increasing list to be fed to the alert spam guard and deleted the mail.

While he was busy keying in the figures inside the neat blocks of the spreadsheet, the dulcet tunes of the flute from his MP3 player resonating in his grey cells, unwrapped the obliterated poet in him. Recycling the deleted mail he set the picture as the desktop wallpaper. He was impassionedly contemplating the bitmap image from pixels to pixels, when his reverie was shattered by the repeating beep from his Organizer gadget. It was a reminder of the upcoming meeting scheduled 30 minutes later.

A disillusioned Apu returned back to the maze of the blocks on his spreadsheet to race against the deadlines.

Re-Incarnation Re-Invented

2006-06-07T20:09:00.000+08:00

The Director's deep-rooted fascination with the rulebook was the prime reason that she survived in this role longer than her predecessor. No one before her had served the full 5 years as the head of the Advisory Body Committee to the Supreme Council. Before submitting the proposal Riemich was himself sceptical whether she would approve of his idea of crossing the line even if the fate of the human species was at stake.

The first revelation of this crisis came from the team of physcohistorians at the Institute of Advanced Futurology. The institute head had insisted on meeting Riemich in person ruling out the possibility of tele-matrix meeting on the grounds of confidentiality. When Riemich was leaving the building after the meeting he also wanted to meet his Director in person even if that meant a disruption in the Director's well-planned future schedule. Nothing could be more important than a Seldon Crisis as the physcohistorians prefer to call it.

The debate was even more heated up than Riemich could have imagined. But since his superior was devoid of any alternate suggestions they decided to refer the matter to the Supreme Council. When the Director briefed The Council of the crisis and announced that her associate would describe the solution, all eyes were set upon a nervous Riemich who found the air-conditioning of the Council Hall insufficient. But once he started describing the solution he regained his cool composure and successfully replied back to all the questions raised except for the vital one , how to avoid The Principle of Causality.

"The only way to avoid the crisis is changing the past when it happened. Never before any of the time travellers had stepped out of the observation boundary as it might lead to disastrous consequences in the possibilities of the space-time matrix" , the senior-most council man raised his eyebrows.

"Hon. Council-Man, yes, my team has looked at that angle also. We decided that we would not use a time-traveller but someone present in that time-frame at that fated period", Riemich replied.

"But how do we ensure that person will be sufficiently knowledgeable to carry on the task? The Principle of Causality prohibits us to interact in anyway with the past", asked another Council member who was a noted physicist himself.

"We have identified a person from the past who had the correct combination of the DNA helix needed to have all the characteristics to reverse this phenomenon in past. This person will be cloned from his genome-map stored at the historical data bank ", Reimich waited for the Council to study the mappings between the DNA strands and the proposed characteristics displayed on the screen.

"We will feed the brain with the same data that the person has at that time with a single exception of the knowledge to avert the crisis. Then at the decided moment we will replace the person with our clone. So at any given time there will be only of them and the Principle of Causality would be intact.... if only you approve of the idea", Riemich was getting impatient before the Council gave its seal of approval.

Many, many years ago from then in a small village in the foothills of Himalayas, the present Dalai Llama proclaimed that this young boy had all the physical characteristics of the Buddha.

Coincidentally on that particular day the news headlines across the globe was all about the heated up debate between the block of natural fuel rich countries and their nuclear powered opponents at the United Nations meeting. The future historians will later refer to this debate as the starting point of the course of global fuel-based politics, which eventually will lead to the World War III.

Down came the thunder-bolt

2006-06-02T20:32:00.000+08:00

The entire population of the village was either snoring or tossing in their beds when it started. The stray dogs suddenly broke to a vociferous snarl and even before the awakened denizens could curse the growls subsided to submissive squeeks. The next few minutes was marked with the midnight silence as everyone was rubbing their sleepy eyes to speculate a reason behind this sudden weird canine behaviour. Before the quickest of the minds could take a pick from the earthly and unearthly possibilities the ground below started shaking. The first reaction of fear was overcome by the attempt of survival that brought them out of their houses. Then as the tremors stopped they all looked up at the skies above.

First came the lights and then came the sounds. The sky seemed to be torned down bringing down the wrath of the gods to the earth.

They were still curiously looking at the skies when their bodies were annihilated by the proton rays. The first of the scout vessels landed on Earth to send a signal to the mother battleship lodged somewhere between Jupiter and Mars.

First Drops of Rain

2006-05-31T21:18:00.000+08:00

The clouds above had a colour different from the usual cotton texture. It was neither the greyish gloom before the rain or the sombre orange seen at dawn and dusk. It had an unknown yellowish tinge that could have conveyed the melancholy solitude or bloomy hope at the sametime.The sun-rays peeking through the pores assumed an unfamiliar shade that glared the surroundings to a burning haze.Such was the specter that even the rippling waters seemed to desparately still while potraying the reflection of the sky above.Not a single bird was at sight spreading its wings across the gloomy dull breeze that stirred no living soul.The primitive state of existence was brooding silent in anticipation from the heavens above.

And then the orange droplets came down pricking deep into the flesh.The first acid rain wiped out the green covers that strecthed across my valley.

Waiting for the storm

2006-05-30T16:08:00.000+08:00

The mercury is soaring.Few more degrees northwards and I'll watching out for the glass to crack and the silvery droplets dance on the floor.Outside my lazy labyrinth there are faces known and unknown.As the pages from the calendar flutters by the known faces fades into the unknown darkness and unknown faces spark out the known smiles.Tuned to the theme of the changing beats even my reflection in the mirror takes the cue.But with a sublime stubborness I cling on to the web of nostalgic montage hopefully to be spared by the rising hurricane that enventually engulfs us all.

The piercing lightening across the hanging cumulonimbus marks the fury that blows in with thundering claps.The filaments of my cocoon proves too delicate to shield me from the raging tempest.With each twist and turn of the raging gale another of my appendeges sheds into tiny bits.Finally when the lull sibsides the naked me stares down to find liberation amongst the wreckage.

A Fiery Start

2006-05-29T14:36:00.000+08:00

It's hotter than hell here.Just like a marinated chicken inside the heated up tandoor I feel the flames wrapping me up while the stench of burnt meat fills the air.Slices of clouds in the dull sky above promise not a single drop of precipitation to quench the thirst of this scortching desertland.Between the shadows of dead tree trunks the last of the oasises holds only a few drops of the murky waters to reflect the pricky cacti.Only soul carrying hope is the scavenger spreading its wingspan over the horizon in pursuit of the carcasses in this arid landscape.

It's not about the enlightment from the Inconvinient Truth or liberation from The State of Fear.It's a day to day journal of a hopeless soul trying his hands at the extinguishing skills while his pants are on fire.

Stay tuned.