First PersonI waited for my turn patiently as the dentist drilled holes in the teeth of his patients. I tried not to notice the squeals and the ouches but they got me. I have hated dental appointments all my life. I had one when I was a child and the memory is a faint one. I was pulled to the chair and the dentist, that bastard, distracted me with his questions and as I opened my mouth, he started his drill inside my mouth. I felt like the world was going to end. I now understand when the kid in the cabin squeals like a baby seal. I am pretty sure the dentist must not have told him anything about the surprise injections and drills and other forms of torture.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, 27 September 2016
Sunday, 28 August 2016
A story yet unwritten- 'Before Death'
‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’
One day when Anil returned from the shop, he found his father lying on the bed. He shook him, shouted expletives at him but to no avail. It was just him and his father at their house. His mother had died long ago of general neglect. Nobody really expected her to live. She was spiteful in her last years and died a bitter neglected death. All the relatives came running after hearing about the death. Death was important to them. Nothing else could pull them to the town but death. Funerals were a great time to show that one cared deeply and they lasted shorter too, unlike the long bedridden phase where the dying needed to be cared for.
One day when Anil returned from the shop, he found his father lying on the bed. He shook him, shouted expletives at him but to no avail. It was just him and his father at their house. His mother had died long ago of general neglect. Nobody really expected her to live. She was spiteful in her last years and died a bitter neglected death. All the relatives came running after hearing about the death. Death was important to them. Nothing else could pull them to the town but death. Funerals were a great time to show that one cared deeply and they lasted shorter too, unlike the long bedridden phase where the dying needed to be cared for.
Monday, 8 August 2016
Half Baked Story
As she trots with glee on the wall, I see her. She is carefree and smiling. She is smiling without a camera panning across the garden. There is no one looking and she still puts up a show. I am here, minding my own business, in my own garden. Well, not really because where's the fun in that? I am minding everyone else's business and adding it all to my recipe. I am brewing something and it is not a broth. I have this large pan and this large ladle. I lift up the liquid and pour it back down as it bubbles up and boils to perfection.
It isn't perfect though, it is more or less crude. I watch it sometimes, and sometimes I just let it simmer. I watch her as she tiptoes around my cooking. She is carefree and a little careless too. I am concocting stories and I need some spices. The catch (not the brand of masala) is that I have no spices and must get them myself. Well, she is around me and her heels are on my fence. I am not annoyed, I really like guests. She slips from the walls and falls in my garden. She dusts off herself and now the dust is a part of the recipe. I call it fairy dust because it is extremely rare. I do not know why but this garden is usually empty and so are my hands when I go out to get spices. I had knocked on every door and asked every neighbour, some called me a friend and some closed the door on my nose.
This girl though, she stayed and dusted her hands in my cooking. The story got spicier and she leaned in to smell.
"Careful, you will end up in my stories," I warned her with a smile.
She took my advice and that's why this story is half-cooked.
Thursday, 23 June 2016
Dentists don't smile (fictional)
It was a particularly busy day at the clinic. I had just performed a root canal in an upper first molar and I could see from the louvre in my cabin that there were three more patients in the waiting area. At the end of the queue, I saw those eyes. There was restlessness in others’ eyes but she sat as if she had been intimated by the grand planner of things. She was pretty, she was calm. She sat there with a book and I almost knew by instinct that she must be reading Arundhati Roy. Later I found out that she was reading Chetan Bhagat. Lesson: Never judge a reader by her eyes. Just look at the book cover and judge. I asked my receptionist to send in the next patient.
Saturday, 18 June 2016
Sex and love: the two topics
(Fiction)
Sunday, 29 May 2016
The Unequal Love Story
He
used to walk down the street every day and wait in a queue for the
bus. A pair of eyes followed him almost every day. From a window on
the second floor of a building almost in the middle of that street,
she would watch him. It wasn't attraction or obsession. He just
seemed like a curious case to her. She didn't abandon her daily
chores to just sit and wait for him, watch him make his way through
the traffic. It just happened that every afternoon, she had nothing
else to do. He would skillfully evade the unruly cycle rickshaws,
touch every cow sitting on the road and bring his palm to his
forehead as a mark of respect. She smiled when the cow would try to
shoo him away with its tail. He had learned how to evade the tail
too.
Friday, 27 May 2016
What fathers do
It is a hot summer afternoon, a family of three is traveling in a state transport run, rickety, dingy bus. The father sits on the alley seat and the mother on the window. The son sits in father's lap lazily. The paint on the bus is falling apart and its grumpy inner grey is showing through. The passengers keep pouring in and the bus keeps accommodating them. It is going to be an eight hour journey and some people are going to stand for those eight straight hours.
Friday, 20 May 2016
हलकी जलन
तू गुड़िया सुनेहरी, मैं काग़ज़ का पुतला,
तू झोंका हवा का, मैं बारिश का पत्ता.
तू नाव बड़ी सी, मैं नादिया का गोता,
मैं बच्चा अकेला, तू तूफान का झोंका.
मैं तेरी पनाहों का प्यासा मुसाफिर,
तू पलटे, यूँ देखे, औ हंस दे ज़रा फिर.
मैं पीछे हूँ तेरे, तू जाए है आगे,
है मन भी मेरा ये, हवा जैसे भागे.
एक आँधी की आहट मेरे सामने है,
ये तूफान, ये बादल, तुझे जानते हैं.
मैं नाज़ुक ज़रा हूँ, बिखर जाऊँगा,
तू हंसती रहेगी, दहल जाऊँगा।
तेरे सामने झुकते सारे यहाँ हैं,
मेरे प्यार की उतनी कीमत कहाँ है.
तू आगे बढ़ेगी, मैं खुश हूँ उसी में,
तेरे रास्ते पे मैं घुल के बह जाऊँगा.
तू चूमेगी जब अपने जैसे किसी को,
एक हल्का ज़रा सा मैं जल जाऊँगा.
जलूँगा ज़रा सा, सुलगे बिना पर,
मेरी रौशनी में तू दिखेगी चमकती.
बरस के गिरेंगे तेरे नूर पे सब,
बहूँगा अलग से मैं, बन काग़ज़ की कश्ती.
तू झोंका हवा का, मैं बारिश का पत्ता.
तू नाव बड़ी सी, मैं नादिया का गोता,
मैं बच्चा अकेला, तू तूफान का झोंका.
मैं तेरी पनाहों का प्यासा मुसाफिर,
तू पलटे, यूँ देखे, औ हंस दे ज़रा फिर.
मैं पीछे हूँ तेरे, तू जाए है आगे,
है मन भी मेरा ये, हवा जैसे भागे.
एक आँधी की आहट मेरे सामने है,
ये तूफान, ये बादल, तुझे जानते हैं.
मैं नाज़ुक ज़रा हूँ, बिखर जाऊँगा,
तू हंसती रहेगी, दहल जाऊँगा।
तेरे सामने झुकते सारे यहाँ हैं,
मेरे प्यार की उतनी कीमत कहाँ है.
तू आगे बढ़ेगी, मैं खुश हूँ उसी में,
तेरे रास्ते पे मैं घुल के बह जाऊँगा.
तू चूमेगी जब अपने जैसे किसी को,
एक हल्का ज़रा सा मैं जल जाऊँगा.
जलूँगा ज़रा सा, सुलगे बिना पर,
मेरी रौशनी में तू दिखेगी चमकती.
बरस के गिरेंगे तेरे नूर पे सब,
बहूँगा अलग से मैं, बन काग़ज़ की कश्ती.
Tuesday, 2 February 2016
Curtains!
'The curtains don't match,' He said.
'With what?' She wondered out loud.
'With anything!' He nearly shouted.
Saturday, 16 January 2016
A morning in the life of ban-ruled India
Year 2050 - Banistan has won!
Ravi woke up and yawned while stretching himself. A low, humming tone of religious chants coming from the street greeted him. He liked this noise. It drowned everything else and emptied his mind for a day of new experiences. It had become the usual routine since past few years. Ever since India had seceded to Banistan,
Thursday, 19 November 2015
Short Story- Labels
Mr. Baatwaani was rather quiet that day. The newspaper had just arrived and it carried the news of a gruesome murder of a landlord by a begrudging tenant.
‘The tenant Charandas, 21 was sick of landlord Dayanand’s antics’, the story in the newspaper read. ‘Repeated taunts about the tenant’s personal life led to the final screw in the coffin.’
‘Shouldn’t it be nail?’ Baatwaani thought to himself.
‘Who edits these stories?’ Baatwaani now spoke out loud to be audible to nobody and everyone.
‘Who in their right mind would drive a screw in a coffin? What, Are you scared that the dead body will escape?’ Baatwaani was now seriously miffed.
His tenant, David, came down the stairs sheepishly. Holding his phone to his ears, he appeared to be whispering tentative sweet nothings for someone. His girlfriend smiled on the other side as he fumbled into blurting out ‘I love you’ for the first time.
‘What an improper phrase to use!!’ Baatwaani suddenly shouted as a startled David stood frozen.
‘Let’s forget the nails versus screws debate for a moment. Who in their right mind would use the coffin phrase to describe the case of a gruesome murder?’ Baatwaani stared blankly at David and continued his rant.
Realizing that this is nothing related to his business, David returned to his call. If only he were paying attention, he wouldn’t have missed the nervous gulp from the other side.
‘Ok, I have to go now! Thank you for everything.’ His would-be ex-girlfriend said.
‘So, she bailed.’ David smiled to himself. He knew it was over so he offered himself to Mr. Baatwaani by initiating small talk the same way a matador invites a bull.
‘Is it again some annoying news in the paper, uncle?’ David said.
‘Yes, an insensitive piece. It infuriates me.’ Baatwaani said with a fixed gaze on David.
‘I will pay the last three months’ rent as soon as I get a job, uncle’ David blurted.
‘Oh, money is no problem, son.’ Baatwaani replied, ‘I am rich enough to support you. When I found out that you were an orphan, I had to give my room to you. World has been unkind enough to you.’
David began, ‘Thank you unc…’
‘Problem is that you’re a Christian!’ Baatwaani interrupted. ‘I am just glad that you’re not amorous and unhinged like other Christians. I really appreciate you bringing no girlfriends over and I hope you never disappoint me.’
David nodded with clenched teeth.
Baatwaani then went on to unlock his phone with a swiping motion. A bunch of porn videos appeared in the phone’s Gallery. He signaled with his eyes for David to leave. David wasted no time in obliging.
As he made his way out of the filthiest residential area in Gwalior- Gowardhan Colony, David thought back on the happier times when he never felt labelled as a Christian or as an orphan. These words were suddenly his identity after his parents passed away in a plane crash. Relatives divided the property among themselves and sent David off to a boarding school. As the fees stopped coming after tenth standard, David had to drop out and was sent to an orphanage. Due to his good schooling thus far, he could complete the rest of his education with the help of NGOs and government aid.
He was laid off after a brief stint as marketing executive in a private firm. Unemployed, David made Gwalior his home and applied in various companies but to no avail thus far.
‘You’re next!’ The receptionist said as David readied his papers.
The interviewers were sympathetic but, someone else had already been given the job. They didn’t tell David that. David read the guilt in their eyes along with the massive sympathy his life story evoked.
After the interview, one of the interviewers even leaned in to give a hug after the handshake and they ended up doing an awkward shoulder bump.
‘You’re handsome’, the receptionist Angie’s eyes twinkled as David arranged his papers in the waiting area. Life had been kind to David in the looks department.
Next thing, they were sipping coffee in a nearby café.
‘So, what do your parents do?’ The question finally raised its head.
There was an awkward pause.
‘Enough about me, tell me three good things about being a receptionist.’ David said with a courageous smile.
‘In my free time, I work with an NGO for orphans.’ Angie’s hand was on David’s fingers. Slowly caressing it.
He felt a label appear on his forehead.
‘The tenant Charandas, 21 was sick of landlord Dayanand’s antics’, the story in the newspaper read. ‘Repeated taunts about the tenant’s personal life led to the final screw in the coffin.’
‘Shouldn’t it be nail?’ Baatwaani thought to himself.
‘Who edits these stories?’ Baatwaani now spoke out loud to be audible to nobody and everyone.
‘Who in their right mind would drive a screw in a coffin? What, Are you scared that the dead body will escape?’ Baatwaani was now seriously miffed.
His tenant, David, came down the stairs sheepishly. Holding his phone to his ears, he appeared to be whispering tentative sweet nothings for someone. His girlfriend smiled on the other side as he fumbled into blurting out ‘I love you’ for the first time.
‘What an improper phrase to use!!’ Baatwaani suddenly shouted as a startled David stood frozen.
‘Let’s forget the nails versus screws debate for a moment. Who in their right mind would use the coffin phrase to describe the case of a gruesome murder?’ Baatwaani stared blankly at David and continued his rant.
Realizing that this is nothing related to his business, David returned to his call. If only he were paying attention, he wouldn’t have missed the nervous gulp from the other side.
‘Ok, I have to go now! Thank you for everything.’ His would-be ex-girlfriend said.
‘So, she bailed.’ David smiled to himself. He knew it was over so he offered himself to Mr. Baatwaani by initiating small talk the same way a matador invites a bull.
‘Is it again some annoying news in the paper, uncle?’ David said.
‘Yes, an insensitive piece. It infuriates me.’ Baatwaani said with a fixed gaze on David.
‘I will pay the last three months’ rent as soon as I get a job, uncle’ David blurted.
‘Oh, money is no problem, son.’ Baatwaani replied, ‘I am rich enough to support you. When I found out that you were an orphan, I had to give my room to you. World has been unkind enough to you.’
David began, ‘Thank you unc…’
‘Problem is that you’re a Christian!’ Baatwaani interrupted. ‘I am just glad that you’re not amorous and unhinged like other Christians. I really appreciate you bringing no girlfriends over and I hope you never disappoint me.’
David nodded with clenched teeth.
Baatwaani then went on to unlock his phone with a swiping motion. A bunch of porn videos appeared in the phone’s Gallery. He signaled with his eyes for David to leave. David wasted no time in obliging.
As he made his way out of the filthiest residential area in Gwalior- Gowardhan Colony, David thought back on the happier times when he never felt labelled as a Christian or as an orphan. These words were suddenly his identity after his parents passed away in a plane crash. Relatives divided the property among themselves and sent David off to a boarding school. As the fees stopped coming after tenth standard, David had to drop out and was sent to an orphanage. Due to his good schooling thus far, he could complete the rest of his education with the help of NGOs and government aid.
He was laid off after a brief stint as marketing executive in a private firm. Unemployed, David made Gwalior his home and applied in various companies but to no avail thus far.
‘You’re next!’ The receptionist said as David readied his papers.
The interviewers were sympathetic but, someone else had already been given the job. They didn’t tell David that. David read the guilt in their eyes along with the massive sympathy his life story evoked.
After the interview, one of the interviewers even leaned in to give a hug after the handshake and they ended up doing an awkward shoulder bump.
‘You’re handsome’, the receptionist Angie’s eyes twinkled as David arranged his papers in the waiting area. Life had been kind to David in the looks department.
Next thing, they were sipping coffee in a nearby café.
‘So, what do your parents do?’ The question finally raised its head.
There was an awkward pause.
‘Enough about me, tell me three good things about being a receptionist.’ David said with a courageous smile.
‘In my free time, I work with an NGO for orphans.’ Angie’s hand was on David’s fingers. Slowly caressing it.
He felt a label appear on his forehead.
Wednesday, 14 October 2015
Short Story- Middle Class
There is a thin line between politeness and stupidity. Mr. Gupta
never saw it. He wore his pants the old-fashioned way and rode an old
Vespa scooter. He made way for perfect strangers and always used the
indicator on turns. If he were to get a Modi-style suit stitched, his
would read 'middle class' in fine print all over.
He was a regular government office clerk. At 11 am sharp, he would reach office to do absolutely nothing. His life was divided in naps. The nap right before lunch was the main event of the day. The snores would reach across the hall and the agents walking in the gallery would smile to each other taking pride in Guptaji's deep slumber for no reason.
Mrs. Gupta hated Mr. Gupta. Not because of his potbelly or his stupid moustache or his safari suit or his hawai chappals or his holed vest or his... well, you get the drift. Mrs. Gupta hated him because it was the thing to do. Whenever someone smiles too much, or is too docile, it is his near and dear ones' duty to bully him, hate him and pick on him. The law is universal. You can get away with a stupid moustache if you are a jackass. Look at Hitler. You cannot, however, if you wake up early to answer the doorbell for the milkman everyday. Look at Guptaji and his stupid moustache.
So, one day Guptaji was just using the service lane on a busy road in his city. He was looking for a place to park his scooter and go buy the vegetables because that's what Guptajis do after office. No Guptaji wants to return home empty handed to a wife who has been asking for Lauki for two weeks. So, like a good Guptaji, he was on his way to perform his duty after being pestered several times.
He saw a parking spot to his left and took a sharp turn. For the first time in his life, he forgot to use the indicator mostly because it was a one way and he was not expecting a pedestrian to come from the opposite side. A started female of 20 something was looking at him with angry eyes. A 40 something Guptaji had scared a 20 something female and her iPhone had slipped from her hands. She picked up, the screen hadn't cracked because of the revolutionary gorilla glass cover and metallic case about which Guptaji had read in today's Dainik Jaagran while munching Sev-bhujiya and sipping tea. Guptaji had knocked over his Nokia 1100 while reaching for some bhujia and it had fallen from the balcony onto his scooter. The scooter still had a dent.
Anyway, the girl shouted at him.
'Can't you see, idiot?' Dekh ke nahi chala sakte uncle?
Only in India can we call a person uncle and an idiot in the same breath.
Guptaji was relaxed. He was used to shouting. Years of practice from Mrs. Gupta had prepared him for this moment. Suddenly a man stepped out of a SUV and held Guptaji by the collar. A 20 something man was about to beat a 40 something Guptaji, Guptaji simpered and apologised profusely. In his mind, he imagined the man to be a Gujjar owning farms in Haryana and owning real estate business in Noida. Guptaji took pride in being service class and docile and had already planned on calling this guy some filthy names over a cup of tea and samosas with Shrivastavaji.
But for now, the tragedy had to be averted, so Guptaji apologised like one apologises to a criminal. Not out of respect but out of fear. The man took his wife/ girlfriend/ Guptaji-thinks-she-was-a-whore-anyway and sped away after slightly roughing up Guptaji.
Guptaji angrily picked up his glasses from the road and looked at the speeding SUV. The rear windshield of the SUV read in large bold letters- 'GUPTA'S'
Written by - Abhyudaya Shrivastava
All rights reserved.
He was a regular government office clerk. At 11 am sharp, he would reach office to do absolutely nothing. His life was divided in naps. The nap right before lunch was the main event of the day. The snores would reach across the hall and the agents walking in the gallery would smile to each other taking pride in Guptaji's deep slumber for no reason.
Mrs. Gupta hated Mr. Gupta. Not because of his potbelly or his stupid moustache or his safari suit or his hawai chappals or his holed vest or his... well, you get the drift. Mrs. Gupta hated him because it was the thing to do. Whenever someone smiles too much, or is too docile, it is his near and dear ones' duty to bully him, hate him and pick on him. The law is universal. You can get away with a stupid moustache if you are a jackass. Look at Hitler. You cannot, however, if you wake up early to answer the doorbell for the milkman everyday. Look at Guptaji and his stupid moustache.
So, one day Guptaji was just using the service lane on a busy road in his city. He was looking for a place to park his scooter and go buy the vegetables because that's what Guptajis do after office. No Guptaji wants to return home empty handed to a wife who has been asking for Lauki for two weeks. So, like a good Guptaji, he was on his way to perform his duty after being pestered several times.
He saw a parking spot to his left and took a sharp turn. For the first time in his life, he forgot to use the indicator mostly because it was a one way and he was not expecting a pedestrian to come from the opposite side. A started female of 20 something was looking at him with angry eyes. A 40 something Guptaji had scared a 20 something female and her iPhone had slipped from her hands. She picked up, the screen hadn't cracked because of the revolutionary gorilla glass cover and metallic case about which Guptaji had read in today's Dainik Jaagran while munching Sev-bhujiya and sipping tea. Guptaji had knocked over his Nokia 1100 while reaching for some bhujia and it had fallen from the balcony onto his scooter. The scooter still had a dent.
Anyway, the girl shouted at him.
'Can't you see, idiot?' Dekh ke nahi chala sakte uncle?
Only in India can we call a person uncle and an idiot in the same breath.
Guptaji was relaxed. He was used to shouting. Years of practice from Mrs. Gupta had prepared him for this moment. Suddenly a man stepped out of a SUV and held Guptaji by the collar. A 20 something man was about to beat a 40 something Guptaji, Guptaji simpered and apologised profusely. In his mind, he imagined the man to be a Gujjar owning farms in Haryana and owning real estate business in Noida. Guptaji took pride in being service class and docile and had already planned on calling this guy some filthy names over a cup of tea and samosas with Shrivastavaji.
But for now, the tragedy had to be averted, so Guptaji apologised like one apologises to a criminal. Not out of respect but out of fear. The man took his wife/ girlfriend/ Guptaji-thinks-she-was-a-whore-anyway and sped away after slightly roughing up Guptaji.
Guptaji angrily picked up his glasses from the road and looked at the speeding SUV. The rear windshield of the SUV read in large bold letters- 'GUPTA'S'
Written by - Abhyudaya Shrivastava
All rights reserved.
Wednesday, 7 October 2015
Short Story- Gratitude
The first day he alighted from the Suvidha Train, his long term ‘asuvidha‘ began. His pocket was obviously picked as a hospitality gesture by the pickpockets at Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminal. He found that out when he reached in his pocket to pay the roadside drinking water vendor. As he had already drank the water, the vendor was gracious enough to slap him on his temple in lieu of the money.
He thought it was just a bad start and things would get better. He first thought that it was just a coincident that the water-seller was a MarathiManoos. But then slowly things started getting clearer. His sudden realization came about when he tapped one gentleman on the shoulder to ask what the time was. ‘Bhaiya, time kya hua hai?’ he innocently asked. ‘Bhaiya hoga tu!’ pat came the reply. This was when the ambiguity was cleared. It wasn’t just his luck. He was genuinely hated.
He tried to rub away the ‘Bihari‘ tag on his forehead but, it kept creeping up. He had come to the city to make a name for himself. He had read and heard stories. After his father’s death in the village, he had no one to go to. He was almost thankful to his father for never getting him married. ‘One baggage less’, he thought.
Eventually, he soaked in the hatred and locked it inside. With all the money he had, he bought a small stall and started selling tea. Business started picking up. Most of his clients were Bihari day wagers. One morning, he found his stall ransacked and saffron flags all over the street. He felt a small saffron flag-shaped lump in his throat. He sold off whatever was left of his stall. He now had less than half the money he had come with.
Sitting in the unreserved bogie of Suvidha Train, he counted the only four 500-rupee notes he had. A few coins fell from his pocket and rolled to unreachable corners. He stood up, knelt down and found those one-rupee coins and chained them back to his destiny. He even fought with one passenger over the custody of a two-rupee coin. He had to suppress a strange urge to pick up a sharp object and slit the throat of this person. He felt weird about the violence growing in his heart.
A few years later, he was running a successful vada pao shop in a busy market in Patna. His signboard read- ‘MUMBAI VADA PAO’
Saturday, 11 July 2015
Modern Panchtantra- Book 1- The Loss of Facebook Friends- Chapter 1
Chapter 1- The Loss of Facebook Friends
It is the story of a district in twenty-first century India. It had a town of pure beauty but no one had time to notice it. The town had great food which helped keep its denizens' instagram accounts active. #Instalassi #InstaKachori #InstaHouseflyInMyTea were some of the common hashtags originating from the town. The villages in the district had InstaGram Panchayats. The town also had historical monuments but they were mostly used by the denizens as backgrounds for duckface selfies for profile pictures on Facebook accounts. Life ran smoothly everywhere and there was no dearth of social media usernames. It was a happy town.
In that town, lived a merchant by the name of Merch. He had a friend called Goodies. Yes, the town had its own cool Merch and Goodies! I am not making this up! Actually, I am making this up but, whatever. One day, Goodies and Merch were scrolling through Merch's Candy Crush score and they realized that although it was impressive, there were still levels to be unlocked and candies to be crushed.
Goodies said to Merch, 'Hey friend, although you may play Candy Crush and Candy Crush Saga all day and send invitations to all your friends, if you do not use your credit card to buy more points via in-app purchases, you are not doing enough. In life there are many moments when we think we are doing the right thing or the appropriate thing but, the truth is- doing the right thing is not enough. You have to reach out and grab opportunities, bribe your way to the elite rooms, spend more money on things that matter... to others and only then will you be respected... by others.'
This motivational speech opened Merch's eyes. Merch was not someone who was easily convinced. But, today his friend had been able to win cool Merch. Ok, now I am just overdoing this joke. Anyway, so, Merch decided that he had to do something more with his Candy Crush account. He was overcome by a will to reach out inside the guts of his laptop and pull new levels of Candy Crush before they were even launched. He wanted to buy so many lives that he became virtually immortal.
He set out with a few friends to a journey. A journey to reach the city of Facebook and find Candy Crush creators. He knew that he had to become the best before everyone stopped caring about the game. A flashback hit him- he had purchased so many fields and owned so much land that he could produce grain and vegetables for the whole country yet, everyone had stopped giving a hoot. He had cried the day he stopped playing Farm Ville because Candy Crush saga was the new thing. All his land, all his sheep, all his cows- all lost to obscurity. He shuddered! He couldn't let any of that happen to him again.
A servant in his caravan came panting. Merch ordered for the cart to be stopped.
'What is it?' He asked.
'It is bad news, sir! Very bad' The servant said, panting.
'Oh just spit it out!' Merch ordered.
'Sir, your friend, Goodies! He posted something against Modi on twitter and now everyone on social media is slinging mud on him.
'Oh, you mean like insults?' Merch asked.
'No sir, actual mud. Some people wearing the colours of Facebook- ie blue and white came and threw mud on his cart', The sentri said,
'Oh, that's bad!'
'Yes sir, and moreover, the bull which was pulling his cart has refused to move. Apparently, the bull being a descendant of Lord Nandi was a staunch BJP supporter' The servant blurted out.
'Hmm... that's serious. I guess we will have to leave the bull in the jungle then.' Merch said.
'It seems so sir. Goodies sir has lost many Facebook friends too. He is in shambles.' Servant said.
'Well, what did he tweet?' Merch asked.
Servant revealed, 'He had just tweeted - "Modi shouldn't be given Visa" and everyone attacked him'
'Isn't it possible that he was talking about Lalit Modi?' Merch frowned.
'Yes sir, but it is too late for explanations. Salman Khan's latest flick is about to hit theaters. The nation's IQ is at an all time low.' Servant said meekly.
'Oh, I see. Let's leave the bull behind. Let Goodies sit in my cart.' Merch ordered and his orders were carried out.
The bull which was left was not really a bhakt though. He had refused to move because his internet was slow and it was taking forever for him to check-in on Foursquare. As the bull's update- 'Just reached Jungle, hope I don't eaten by a Lion... lol' finally got saved, the whole caravan had gone pretty far leaving him.
The jungle incidentally had free WiFi. Only animals who served the Lion named Sunny had the password. Two jackals- subjects of Sunny Lion were sitting near a pond from which the Bull - Brahma was about to drink water. The news that Sunny was about to come to the same pond reached Jack and Kal- the two jackals.
Jack said, 'I am pretty sure Sunny hasn't yet made the WiFi available for Brahma- the Bull.'
Kal said, 'His deeds remind me this story.'
Jack went, 'I am pretty sure we are characters of someone else's story and this story within a story is going to give me a headache but, go ahead.'
And Kal began...
(To be continued)
It is the story of a district in twenty-first century India. It had a town of pure beauty but no one had time to notice it. The town had great food which helped keep its denizens' instagram accounts active. #Instalassi #InstaKachori #InstaHouseflyInMyTea were some of the common hashtags originating from the town. The villages in the district had InstaGram Panchayats. The town also had historical monuments but they were mostly used by the denizens as backgrounds for duckface selfies for profile pictures on Facebook accounts. Life ran smoothly everywhere and there was no dearth of social media usernames. It was a happy town.
In that town, lived a merchant by the name of Merch. He had a friend called Goodies. Yes, the town had its own cool Merch and Goodies! I am not making this up! Actually, I am making this up but, whatever. One day, Goodies and Merch were scrolling through Merch's Candy Crush score and they realized that although it was impressive, there were still levels to be unlocked and candies to be crushed.
Goodies said to Merch, 'Hey friend, although you may play Candy Crush and Candy Crush Saga all day and send invitations to all your friends, if you do not use your credit card to buy more points via in-app purchases, you are not doing enough. In life there are many moments when we think we are doing the right thing or the appropriate thing but, the truth is- doing the right thing is not enough. You have to reach out and grab opportunities, bribe your way to the elite rooms, spend more money on things that matter... to others and only then will you be respected... by others.'
This motivational speech opened Merch's eyes. Merch was not someone who was easily convinced. But, today his friend had been able to win cool Merch. Ok, now I am just overdoing this joke. Anyway, so, Merch decided that he had to do something more with his Candy Crush account. He was overcome by a will to reach out inside the guts of his laptop and pull new levels of Candy Crush before they were even launched. He wanted to buy so many lives that he became virtually immortal.
He set out with a few friends to a journey. A journey to reach the city of Facebook and find Candy Crush creators. He knew that he had to become the best before everyone stopped caring about the game. A flashback hit him- he had purchased so many fields and owned so much land that he could produce grain and vegetables for the whole country yet, everyone had stopped giving a hoot. He had cried the day he stopped playing Farm Ville because Candy Crush saga was the new thing. All his land, all his sheep, all his cows- all lost to obscurity. He shuddered! He couldn't let any of that happen to him again.
A servant in his caravan came panting. Merch ordered for the cart to be stopped.
'What is it?' He asked.
'It is bad news, sir! Very bad' The servant said, panting.
'Oh just spit it out!' Merch ordered.
'Sir, your friend, Goodies! He posted something against Modi on twitter and now everyone on social media is slinging mud on him.
'Oh, you mean like insults?' Merch asked.
'No sir, actual mud. Some people wearing the colours of Facebook- ie blue and white came and threw mud on his cart', The sentri said,
'Oh, that's bad!'
'Yes sir, and moreover, the bull which was pulling his cart has refused to move. Apparently, the bull being a descendant of Lord Nandi was a staunch BJP supporter' The servant blurted out.
'Hmm... that's serious. I guess we will have to leave the bull in the jungle then.' Merch said.
'It seems so sir. Goodies sir has lost many Facebook friends too. He is in shambles.' Servant said.
'Well, what did he tweet?' Merch asked.
Servant revealed, 'He had just tweeted - "Modi shouldn't be given Visa" and everyone attacked him'
'Isn't it possible that he was talking about Lalit Modi?' Merch frowned.
'Yes sir, but it is too late for explanations. Salman Khan's latest flick is about to hit theaters. The nation's IQ is at an all time low.' Servant said meekly.
'Oh, I see. Let's leave the bull behind. Let Goodies sit in my cart.' Merch ordered and his orders were carried out.
The bull which was left was not really a bhakt though. He had refused to move because his internet was slow and it was taking forever for him to check-in on Foursquare. As the bull's update- 'Just reached Jungle, hope I don't eaten by a Lion... lol' finally got saved, the whole caravan had gone pretty far leaving him.
The jungle incidentally had free WiFi. Only animals who served the Lion named Sunny had the password. Two jackals- subjects of Sunny Lion were sitting near a pond from which the Bull - Brahma was about to drink water. The news that Sunny was about to come to the same pond reached Jack and Kal- the two jackals.
Jack said, 'I am pretty sure Sunny hasn't yet made the WiFi available for Brahma- the Bull.'
Kal said, 'His deeds remind me this story.'
Jack went, 'I am pretty sure we are characters of someone else's story and this story within a story is going to give me a headache but, go ahead.'
And Kal began...
(To be continued)
Wednesday, 8 July 2015
Modern Panchtantra Series- Introduction
The following is the introduction chapter of a series of blogposts in which I would be putting a contemporary twist to the immortal stories of Panchtantra. The tone would be mostly parody or satire or both. Enjoy!
Once upon a time there prospered a big kingdom by the name that roughly translated from Sanskrit meant 'Somewhat Delightful'. Its king, whose name incidentally was King used to bask in its glory. The subjects were happy because they had enough means of entertainment. Corruption flourished in government offices and educational institutes making life easy for everyone. Men with lesser means knew their place in the society and never raised their voices. It was a Utopian society. The only worry, the king, King had was that his three sons Arvind, Kerji and Wal were too honest for their own good.
They would sometimes rebel against their own father and though it was painful for King to watch, he used to beat them with a a cane and use tear gas on them. One day, the king decided that enough was enough and hired a private tutor for the kids. The tutor Vishnu Indra Pratap or VIP was a stickler for norms and ancient culture. People had started calling their culture- VIP culture to pay respect to Vishnu.
Vishnu took it upon himself to set the princes straight in three months. He told King that if he is unable to fulfill his promise, there should be massive punishment for him. The severest punishment in the kingdom was that one was declared honest and no government office was allowed to accept bribe or gifts from one. Vishnu's soul shuddered thinking about the punishment but, he was positive that he could set the princes straight in the stipulated time.
He knew that if he tried to reason with Arvind, Kejri and Wal, they would drag him to their level and defeat him. So, he chose a simpler option. The option of giving sermons by inserting them in boring stories. The best part about it was that he would take no questions. Also, he knew that the kids were about to hit puberty so, he sprinkled some sex and violence in them to retain their attention.
In the posts to follow, we will look at the stories and also learn with the princes.
Introduction
Once upon a time there prospered a big kingdom by the name that roughly translated from Sanskrit meant 'Somewhat Delightful'. Its king, whose name incidentally was King used to bask in its glory. The subjects were happy because they had enough means of entertainment. Corruption flourished in government offices and educational institutes making life easy for everyone. Men with lesser means knew their place in the society and never raised their voices. It was a Utopian society. The only worry, the king, King had was that his three sons Arvind, Kerji and Wal were too honest for their own good.
They would sometimes rebel against their own father and though it was painful for King to watch, he used to beat them with a a cane and use tear gas on them. One day, the king decided that enough was enough and hired a private tutor for the kids. The tutor Vishnu Indra Pratap or VIP was a stickler for norms and ancient culture. People had started calling their culture- VIP culture to pay respect to Vishnu.
Vishnu took it upon himself to set the princes straight in three months. He told King that if he is unable to fulfill his promise, there should be massive punishment for him. The severest punishment in the kingdom was that one was declared honest and no government office was allowed to accept bribe or gifts from one. Vishnu's soul shuddered thinking about the punishment but, he was positive that he could set the princes straight in the stipulated time.
He knew that if he tried to reason with Arvind, Kejri and Wal, they would drag him to their level and defeat him. So, he chose a simpler option. The option of giving sermons by inserting them in boring stories. The best part about it was that he would take no questions. Also, he knew that the kids were about to hit puberty so, he sprinkled some sex and violence in them to retain their attention.
In the posts to follow, we will look at the stories and also learn with the princes.
Wednesday, 24 June 2015
In this weather
In this weather,
I wish we were strangers.
I wish the falling drops,
Erased everything we've ever done.
All the fights,
Even delights,
All the pain,
The little first memories.
I want them all erased clean.
I want to stand under a mango tree,
On a rainy night.
I want you to be sitting,
At a nearby dhaba,
Taking shelter, looking at me.
I want myself to smile,
As you smile at me.
I want the power to go off,
The winds to blow hard.
I want fate to stir the pots once again,
I want the churning to be harder.
I want us to melt together.
In this weather.
Wednesday, 27 May 2015
Tuesday, 19 May 2015
No romance - A short story
The question was always out there. As she would pick up the phone, as she would turn around the corner, as she would turn the leaf of her favourite book. She kept looking at the question and postponing it. He had asked her to start dating. She detested the enthusiasm but hadn't really planned anything for him. She never thought ahead.
'Why do people plan?' She thought it took away all the romance from the moments of life. Ah! The irony! She was always taken to be the least romantic person in the room. She was romantic but in an unromantic way. Romance is a funny word. Its dictionary meaning can never convey the true meaning. A romantic person essentially wants to pursue happiness- eagerly and madly. She was eager and mad in her own way. It made her set certain criteria and rules; and before she could match them with the world's standards of romance, the race had begun. So as an individual, she was romantic but, to the world, and especially to him- she seemed like a crazy cat lady who just wants to be left alone.
He was persuasive- never budged. After a while, the perpetual question turned into a staring contest for him and he couldn't blink. He held the question like a soldier following orders. She eventually said yes. Not because she suddenly fell in love but, because a certain time period had passed. She said yes because it would have been rude not to. She did make sure that she liked him enough to say yes though.
So, what do you get when you put two such people together? One who may or may not be sure but, tries hard (the guy). The other who is unsure and detests trying at all (the girl). You get an arrangement which is only half romantic. One person wants to cuddle, the other likes her space. One wants to kiss, the other likes to talk and see where things go. One has a specific destination and the other doesn't like the idea of sailing with a goal in mind. So, both agreed that they were dating but only one wanted to steer the ship.
He brought her roses, she scoffed at him. He sent romantic letters and she used them as coasters. After a while, he realized that she wasn't into it. He retracted all the red carpets he had rolled out. And as the ocean recedes from the shore, his gestures receded leaving behind nothing but sand. Just sand.
It turned into a relationship with no romance. No one offered to feed the other with the spoon at public places. No one wanted to hold the other's hand while walking. No one tried to steal kisses when the moment seemed right. It bothered him to an extent but not so much. She wasn't even aware that something was amiss. So, it went on.
Then one day, as they were walking together. He turned around, went down on a knee and asked her to marry him. She smiled and asked 'really?' He froze there. He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or playful and also, he didn't know the answer to her 'really?'
They both still stand in that park. Frozen. Not a single finger has moved ever since. People come, watch them and leave. They stand like that in rain. A small puddle of water is formed below their legs. Then as the sun shines, the water recedes and sand is left behind. Just sand.
'Why do people plan?' She thought it took away all the romance from the moments of life. Ah! The irony! She was always taken to be the least romantic person in the room. She was romantic but in an unromantic way. Romance is a funny word. Its dictionary meaning can never convey the true meaning. A romantic person essentially wants to pursue happiness- eagerly and madly. She was eager and mad in her own way. It made her set certain criteria and rules; and before she could match them with the world's standards of romance, the race had begun. So as an individual, she was romantic but, to the world, and especially to him- she seemed like a crazy cat lady who just wants to be left alone.
He was persuasive- never budged. After a while, the perpetual question turned into a staring contest for him and he couldn't blink. He held the question like a soldier following orders. She eventually said yes. Not because she suddenly fell in love but, because a certain time period had passed. She said yes because it would have been rude not to. She did make sure that she liked him enough to say yes though.
So, what do you get when you put two such people together? One who may or may not be sure but, tries hard (the guy). The other who is unsure and detests trying at all (the girl). You get an arrangement which is only half romantic. One person wants to cuddle, the other likes her space. One wants to kiss, the other likes to talk and see where things go. One has a specific destination and the other doesn't like the idea of sailing with a goal in mind. So, both agreed that they were dating but only one wanted to steer the ship.
He brought her roses, she scoffed at him. He sent romantic letters and she used them as coasters. After a while, he realized that she wasn't into it. He retracted all the red carpets he had rolled out. And as the ocean recedes from the shore, his gestures receded leaving behind nothing but sand. Just sand.
It turned into a relationship with no romance. No one offered to feed the other with the spoon at public places. No one wanted to hold the other's hand while walking. No one tried to steal kisses when the moment seemed right. It bothered him to an extent but not so much. She wasn't even aware that something was amiss. So, it went on.
Then one day, as they were walking together. He turned around, went down on a knee and asked her to marry him. She smiled and asked 'really?' He froze there. He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or playful and also, he didn't know the answer to her 'really?'
They both still stand in that park. Frozen. Not a single finger has moved ever since. People come, watch them and leave. They stand like that in rain. A small puddle of water is formed below their legs. Then as the sun shines, the water recedes and sand is left behind. Just sand.
Thursday, 30 April 2015
Defence Mechanism
When an ugly smile pours out,
and fills the cup overflowing.
When you listen to a joke,
and you laugh without knowing.
When the awkward silence,
smothers you dead.
When you cannot remember,
what you just said.
When the fangs come out,
and you want to hide.
Cute paws, cat videos,
and a smile so wide.
When there is nothing to say,
and nothing to do.
When sarcasm is not an option,
but a necessity too.
When you ex-girlfriend,
wants her stuff back.
When you feel hit,
right in the sack.
When your boyfriend thinks,
you like Finding Nemo.
And tells the World, you
know all about him too.
When you want to ask,
for a kiss or hug.
But you know she will pat you,
like a sad little pug.
When you want the career,
to take a U- turn.
But your family wants you,
to earn and earn.
You know that you,
cannot return.
And you know that your last,
was 'the one'.
All those times are when,
right in the chin, you need a kick.
All those time are when you,
feel broken, need a mechanic.
All those times you just,
need to ask yourself-
if you want to keep looking,
in your empty shelf.
Or do you want to pretend,
that you know the answer to it.
Smile is the answer,
use it as you see fit.
But careful, do not let it overflow.
Sprinkle some of that sarcasm over it too.
and fills the cup overflowing.
When you listen to a joke,
and you laugh without knowing.
When the awkward silence,
smothers you dead.
When you cannot remember,
what you just said.
When the fangs come out,
and you want to hide.
Cute paws, cat videos,
and a smile so wide.
When there is nothing to say,
and nothing to do.
When sarcasm is not an option,
but a necessity too.
When you ex-girlfriend,
wants her stuff back.
When you feel hit,
right in the sack.
When your boyfriend thinks,
you like Finding Nemo.
And tells the World, you
know all about him too.
When you want to ask,
for a kiss or hug.
But you know she will pat you,
like a sad little pug.
When you want the career,
to take a U- turn.
But your family wants you,
to earn and earn.
You know that you,
cannot return.
And you know that your last,
was 'the one'.
All those times are when,
right in the chin, you need a kick.
All those time are when you,
feel broken, need a mechanic.
All those times you just,
need to ask yourself-
if you want to keep looking,
in your empty shelf.
Or do you want to pretend,
that you know the answer to it.
Smile is the answer,
use it as you see fit.
But careful, do not let it overflow.
Sprinkle some of that sarcasm over it too.
Tuesday, 28 April 2015
Uneven Earth- A Romance
'If you don't really feel the urge to rest your head on his shoulder, but you just want him around, is it love?' She wondered sitting in her room appearing lost in deep thought. Her head pressed against her thumbs as she leaned forward and tried to find all the answers by deduction and reasoning.
She was jealous of him. 'How could he be so sure of what he wants? I have never been sure of what I want. Event the grandest of my dreams have a hint of fear in them. I am not even sure if I want to sit or lie down right now and he knows that he wants me.' Her thoughts kept her awake. He had made her feel important and she didn't find it comfortable. She was used to being insignificant. A guy would look at her, like her and tell her that he likes her. She would be affable, not play hard to get or anything and the guy will slowly drift away. No harm done. She thought of herself as a milestone in someone else's long road journey. She wasn't headed anywhere. She was scared of change. She thought she was the girl guys would leave behind when they're on their way to better things.
'Let's meet tomorrow' A text appeared on her phone. She typed a response without promising anything. It was him and she was unsure.
The next day, in the evening, they sat and as he looked at her, she melted. His obsession was disarming. Her disheveled hair, her weary eyes, the closely shut lips, none of them had left a gap in the wall that she had constructed around herself. How could he still look at her and not feel even the slightest bit of it? The way he looked at her, it was clear that the wall was invisible to him.
She was mildly annoyed at this persistence. It reeked of a lack of honour. This man was no knight who would just throw her a glance and gallop away when she would turn her gaze away. This man was more of a beggar. He stayed praying for some love. She didn't think highly of such love which needed a vulgar display or expression. More than annoying, it seemed unsightly. There were people around, people who expected a man to be a certain way and a woman to be the other. The man is supposed to chase the woman, court her and win her easily. The woman is supposed to play elusive and rude at the starting and then slowly become a trophy in the man's shelf.
It is another thing that she wasn't herself okay with the conventional role assigned to her gender in these cupid games. She herself took pride in not conforming to the norms set by the people. She would sit cross-legged at restaurants and eat with her fingers but, that didn't mean she didn't care what people thought. Quite to the contrary, she was worried about what everyone thought of her. She cared too much about not letting anyone know that she cared about what they thought, so much so that she pretended not to care. So she was conflicted and her logic was twisted.
We can't assume that he was a simple man either. He was twisted in his own way. He did believe in all things she stood for. He regarded pride as a big virtue and would have played the part of a knight who just walks away when his glance is not returned. He believed in the 'all or none' law. He thought that a girl would either love him or not at all. Love isn't for the unsure. But, he believed in one more thing- he took his decisions not based on words but those unsaid little nothings.
He would have left if she would have turned her gaze away in disgust or pity and not out of a sense of inner turmoil. He wouldn't have held her hand and kissed it with surety if he wasn't sure of the strings he was pulling. He could feel that all this was not comfortable for her and he was there because he knew behind that veil of conflict and fear, there was girl who just was uncomfortable treading on an uncharted territory, regardless of how she felt. He believed in the fact that when we are about to do something of remark, we are the least comfortable. All we need at that moment is someone to believe in us. And he believed in her. It was not about being sure, it was about believing.
So, they were sitting and she asked him- 'I am so unsure of us. I am not even halfway to the point you have reached. I am broken, I haven't known love my whole life. I am never intense enough with my display of affection, I am scared of hurting you. Why do you continue to ask for my hand to hold and kiss? Why don't you ever get tired of me?'
He smiled. He reached out for hand and held it. Her hand which was lying limp in her lap suddenly came to life. He pressed his palm against hers and reaffirmed the familiarity. She still had the same confused expression. He said, 'Of all the hands I have held, not a single one could fit so easily into mine. They took effort. You say words like fear, brokenness and yet, it is only your hand that has the skin that feels comfortable with mine. When I am holding you, I am not waiting to kiss you. When I am kissing you, I am not waiting to hold you tighter. None of my acts with you is a lead up to anything. I talk to you to talk to you, I hold you to hold you and nothing more. There is no rush, all those things happen like I have known you a long time.
There is a rush of the other kind though. The head rush of knowing that I am with the prettiest girl in the World. And the rush gets stronger when I realize that you don't know it yet.
I know you say you're not sure but, when I am about to leave, I see the flutter in your eyes, whenever I mutter a parting thought, I see you cringe just like woman in love. You might not agree with me, you might not even know it but, I have seen you love me. I have seen you grow impatient like a mad lover. The fear of hurting me, the fear of not coming through, the fear of the word 'love' itself - believe me or not, are all good signs. They mean you're headed somewhere.
When I say I want you as my girl, I do not say it without my doubts. I am sure we will fight, I am sure there will be times when you and I will not like to see each other's faces. Love is not about living a smooth life, it is an assurance. When we were brought in this world, we didn't know where to go. In our early years, we were told the basic concepts of love and family and then we realized that there is a place we can call home and there are people we can love. But, there is still a part in all of us who feels alone. It is the deepest sense of self. It is your innermost person who is all alone. It just needs an assurance that there are more people, as alone and as scared as itself. When I see you, I see myself. When I talk to you, the words that come out from your mouth are just the words I want to hear to know that I am not alone.
That is why I have decided to pursue you. I have decided to follow you. You are not a stone lying on the roadside, you are a temple covered in dust. Your heart is the holy shrine I have sought all my life. How am I so sure of it? I am not. But, I believe in you and I know for a fact that you're not as cold as you make yourself look.
I have seen that look in your eyes when you feel unsure and fearful. Only the best kind of people can feel this way. It is the feeling you get when you take someone seriously. I love to be taken seriously by you. I love the way you spare your thoughts for me. Believe me, my dear, what you do for me is much more that what I am doing for you. And that's why I know I want to be with you for a very long time. I am not saying 'forever' because I know the word scares you but, as I said before, it means you give it thought. You have kept me close to your heart somewhere and I am not letting you go easily.
You can spell out all your doubts, all your misgivings, all your confusions. I will hear them, feel them, with you. Until you are sure. And beyond.'
The Earth tilted a little. It was a bit even now.
You can spell out all your doubts, all your misgivings, all your confusions. I will hear them, feel them, with you. Until you are sure. And beyond.'
The Earth tilted a little. It was a bit even now.
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