Saturday, November 22, 2014

The Battle

And inevitably, it dawned upon me that my enemy was close. I could feel it, breathing down my neck, absolute and inevitable.
I look up and there it is, the monstrosity, staring me in the face. And in a fit of rage I pounce, only to get a response matching, and perhaps surpassing my own vigour.
We wrestle, like mad, rabid dogs, like we were battling for the first time, and the truth could not be farther. We fought, and fought and and we fought some more, until it was all over.
I got up, dusted myself and walked away, ready and perhaps a little bit wiser for the next time. Monday had been dealt with.

Sunday, November 16, 2014


I bought a pen today, from a face so sad,
It made me look at my life, and see the things that I've had.

You could see the pain of sorrow,for her eyes were misty and red,
You would not like to buy anything, but give her a hug instead.

So I bought the pen from her, and so happy she was, oh boy!
And I paid for it, not with money you see, I paid for it, with joy.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Crowning Glory: Life's Game


Read the Previous Chapter here

And Cyrus lay there, engulfed in a sea of thoughts and office supplies. And not that anyone is complaining.Indeed. His life had changed and how.

Cyrus could vividly remember Roohi's sobs when she saw her parents being taken away.
It was for the best. But how do you explain that to a child?
You just take good care of her and hope she forgets, although, this scar will remain with her forever. Hopefully, making her stronger.
Tara Dutta had to resign from her post as CEO, which created a mild media flutter. But as it is with most news, this too faded after its time in the limelight. She now serves her term and one has hope for this woman, who was so driven by her desire to succeed , that it blinded her to what was good and what was bad.
Shekhar has been transferred to a mental asylum, after a brief stint in prison. What promise his career held, and how devastatingly has it crashed. Shekhar's story is a ballad of failed ambitions and broken promises.
As for Mr.Aryan, he was handed over to the Kolkata police and is now paying for his crimes.

Life has been both just and unfair to Roohi. Unfair in the way it has treated her. No one deserves such an unstable childhood. On the other hand though, she always was too young to feel the grief and in that way, it is a saving grace.

What a roller coaster ride has it been! Cyrus had never imagined these people would touch his life in the way that they did.
"Anyways, whatever happens, happens for the best.", was the best possible conclusion that Cyrus could come to.
"Cyrus!!" , Roohi's voice tore through the air, thus ending Cyrus's train of thoughts.
"We made pakoras.", she declared with a triumphant voice. Cyrus smiled at his daughter, and hoped she never ever has to face the ordeal that she did sometime back.
He looked up. Jenny stood in front of him, with a tray of pakoras in hand and a smile on her face. He felt happy that he had a part to play in getting that smile back to where it belongs. And he was sure he would do anything to keep it there.

Thank you for reading our story. If you are new here, Go to the beginning and enjoy this little tale.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

Friday, October 3, 2014

Crowning Glory: Life's Game

Chapter 17

Read the previous chapter here

Jennifer's mind was on overdrive. She had just been privy to some information that had caused butterflies in her tummy and wouldn't give her a minute's rest, until she found answers.
When you are in need of some direction in your life, you turn to people whom you trust.
To Jennifer, it was Cyrus. So naturally, the first thing that she did was to call up Cyrus and asked him to meet. A meeting was arranged where Cyrus was stationed for his trip and soon Jenny was on her way.
There was palpable apprehensiveness, nervousness and fear in the air. Jennifer was about to open up to this man. And no man in her life had stayed after she had done so.
"But maybe this man is different", she thought to herself. "But weren't all of them different?", thoughts and counter thoughts created a fantastic medley leading to Jennifer giving up on thinking, lest she be too stressed out.  She shrugged off these thoughts.
“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.”, she thought, steeling her resolve to get to the bottom of this mystery. This was her destiny, and if her past had to dug up in the process, so be it.
The taxi whizzed to a halt. Her destination, Cyrus's hotel of choosing, was there.
Jenny waited almost too impatiently as Cyrus, who by now had made a habit out of being fashionably late, arrived at long last. Jenny literally leapt at him, this to Cyrus's, and a dozen other people's surprise.

Cyrus: "Whoa! What happened? And why do you look so frazzled?"

Jennifer: "Long story. Can we get some privacy? Let's go up to your room."

Cyrus(chuckling): "A bit early in the night, but sure."

Jennifer: "Oh stop kidding!"

Back in Cyrus's room, they sat down and one could feel the imminent sense of outburst, as Jennifer's face was a canvas of emotions, ready to spurt out in vivid colors.

"Just be quiet and listen.", Jennifer ordered, to which Cyrus readily obeyed.

"Past is what defines us. It is who we were and it decides who we are. And mine is like a big scar on my personality. My past, is ME. It makes me special, it makes me ordinary, it plays a huge part in me being a good human being, and also defines how bad of a person I am. This my story."
"Long ago, when I was too young to tell my age, I was kidnapped from the orphanage where I lived with many other children. I was kidnapped and then given a punishment harsher than death. You see this tattoo, well in flesh trade circles, this would have raised a few eyebrows."
Cyrus stared, dumbfounded and had a lot of questions, as Jennifer continued, "I was now a part of this prostitution ring in Kolkata. Bibiji ,as they called her took care of us, dozen or so girls we were. At least in that location. And as soon as I was the "right age", the nightmare started. I fought it at first, as vehemently as I could, bit a few people.But what was I to do?  The fight in me subsided in the first month. With every man I reluctantly bedded, my protests turned to sobs and my sobs turned to nonchalance, until it was nothing but business.",  Jennifer choked, upon seeing which, Cyrus offered a warm hug.
A glass of water later, she continued, "But one thing you must know about me Cyrus. I never give up. For one and half years, I did offer my body to unknown men, but I was never their toy.I treated myself with dignity and asked the same from them.A bite or two was up it they did not oblige. Within me, burned a fire, and that is what saved me in the end."

"It was a frosty night and I was sent out to do something that is restricted to an exclusive unfortunate. The pretty ones."
"I was to meet with a client in a hotel. It was supposed to be someone famous. And I think it was as lucky a day for him as it turned out to be for me." "As soon as I entered the place, few men blindfolded me and took me to a room. I was supposed to wait for this person there. I looked out of the window and there they were. The men who had accompanied me to this hotel. Escape was not an option. But then, something important happened."
"A fire! The most magnificent of fires broke out from nowhere. And this was my chance. And Cyrus, I ran. I ran till I could not feel my legs. I ran till what I thought I was at the edge of the universe."

Cyrus's face was a sight to behold. This was information that would stump many. And he was no exception.

Want to read on?  Find the next chapter here

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Crowning Glory : Life's Game

Read the previous post here

Chapter 10

"Great ambition is the passion of a great character. Those endowed with it may perform very good or very bad acts. All depends on the principles which direct them. "

If people were the epitome of what their names suggest, Tara wasn't doing a good of it. She looked tired, weary and badly in need of some shut eye. But as it is with most high profile jobs, peace, quiet and rest remain as elusive as ever. The numero uno of Lucky One Media was pacing up and down the whole length of her spacious office, crunching numbers, making decisions all the way.

 In the midst this sea of statistics, came a voice that ripped through the fabric of her thought.
 "Ma'am? Ma'am?", It was her secretary's voice, shaky with the anticipation of a backlash for breaking Tara's train of thought.

 Tara: "What is it?"

 Secretary: "I have a message from Jennifer Joseph, you know, the photo journalist from Marie Claire. She wants another appointment for a photo session at your place."

 "Ufff, not this again....", Tara murmured to herself.

 Tara: "Okay, I'll let you know. You may leave now."

 A clearly intimidated young woman dashed out, and Tara and her thoughts had the room to themselves once again.
 "Why? Why again!?", Tara gazed towards the heavens and shot out an array of questions.
She did hope in all earnestness that Jennifer did not notice her awkward behavior that day. But then, she did gawk at the tattoo for quite a while back then.
"I'm a total crud!", she reprimanded herself.
 It is said that a mind that ponders too much is only better than a mind that ponders too much and is all alone. Tara was in a bad place. She had worries of her own: A past that just wouldn't give up, no one to talk to and to top it off, a big firm to run.
Grave thoughts came to her like mice to cheese, and almost immediately, she imagined the worst. Her world, which she had so painfully pieced together, and to which she was so frantically trying to hold onto, was shattering to pieces. And all because of a few wrong decisions she had taken when she was too young to take any. What sort of a cruel quid pro quo of life was that?

 Questions and more questions with more profound thoughts concocted a cocktail of despair in her mind, and soon enough Tara looked only but a shadow of her confident self that the world knew so well. Depressed and distressed , she slumped to her chair, as thoughts engulfed her...


Shekhar: "Look at all these bundles of joy!"

Tara: "You fit right in..."

Shekhar: "Oh don't be such a snob, this is a big decision, a big HAPPY decision."

Tara: "Which I have agreed to."

Shekhar: "After a great deal of nagging and persuasion that is. Never mind, take a look at this cheeky little so and so! Tugging on my pants!"

Shekhar picked up the little devil that had been shadowing him the minute they had entered the room and put her right on Tara's face.

Shekhar: "Isn't she the cutest thing ever!?"

And it was done. Tara was in a hurry to finish up the paperwork for the adoption. Meeting and whole lot of appointments awaited her at work, and this couldn't  take more time than it already had.
She stood completing the formalities when she saw her husband teaching their would-be daughter how to do the chicken dance.
And at long last, the stiff, grim face eased, and let loose a smile. "Maybe, this is the answer. Maybe, this is my family....", she thought.

Roohi, they called her here at the orphanage.



A cacophony of notifications brought Tara back out of her thoughts. She brought herself back to earth, and steeled her resolve. "No. Not this easily. Not after coming all this way." She decided to allow Jennifer one more appointment, although she had earlier impulsively decided to shun the request, but changed her mind, for that could have led to questions in Jennifer's mind.
Hesitantly, she pressed the intercom and before her resolve could go away, told her secretary, "Give her an appointment for next week .But only for an hour. An hour and no more."

For the next chapter,  click  here

Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at #CelebrateBlogging with us.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Crowning Glory : Life's Game

For the previous chapter see here

Chapter 6:
Shekhar had taken refuge on the sofa in the drawing room. There wasn’t any reason. He just felt stuffy inside that room. Watching his wife as she battled to get something as simple as a good night’s sleep was too much for him. And the fact that he could not help was even worse.  With these train of thoughts, Shekhar dozed off…
A dashing young 23 year old blazes into a group of students.
"Shekhar! Buddy! You did it!", and he hugged his dear friend.
"What happened? What did she say?” inquired Shekhar.
"Yes, yes and a thousand times yes. And I have you to thank for it. Your words are magic! The note that you gave me worked wonders. I memorized every bit of it and she was mesmerized!"
"Congrats bro, now learn a bit of poetry yourself. I won't do this for you again.” Shekhar quipped with a wink.
And all friends had a laugh.
And that sums up Shekhar. At the peak of his writing prowess and able to weave magic with his words. His future was bright and his present was perfect.
He was the editor of the college newsletter, a popular choice amongst his friends and touted to be a good, if not great writer by one and all who read his work.
This was the time when he met Tara, at a friend’s marriage. Swept off his feet by the sari and this firebrand of a girl, he knew in heart that this is the person he wants to spend my life with.
And unlike some stories, Shekhar did get the girl. Everything was fine and life couldn't be better. For a brief period of time, Tara was happy. Shekhar’s laid back charm and simple ways of life helped her to see the good things in life. To stop and smell the roses is what she learned.  She was happy and in love.
It was after this that things took a turn for the worse. But you can only run from your past, you can’t hide from it. And Tara’s past was a devil in its own .Love between the couple was lost and with that all their happiness. While their turmoil steeled Tara and gave her a single minded objective to win in life, the simpleton and easy going Shekhar was lost in this chaos.
The simple little things lost their meaning. Waking up to the sight of your loved one was just, waking up. Having a conversation over food was just eating food in front of a TV now. The magic was gone, and so was Shekhar’s will to live.
He still loved Tara to bits, and was ready to support her in her endeavor. But how he wished that Tara, only once a while, would stop and smile. Just once a while, she would live, laugh and love.
All this took a toll on his career, or whatever was left of it. Three publication disasters and a failed book had brought him down to his knees. What had life come to?  
Shekhar woke up with a start and looked in the direction of the sound. Morning light had flooded the house. It was Roohi, trying to get hold of the fridge magnets again, and knocking down a few things in her exploits. The little minion looked at her dad, gave a squeal of laughter and ran off.
“I’ll be late today. Don’t wait up for dinner.”, Tara emerged out of the bedroom, all proper and ready.
Shekhar acknowledged this with a very indifferent nod  and resumed doting over Roohi.  He smiled. She was the only reason to live, he thought. He felt bad for her too, deprived of a mother's attention and love, what life is that for a child?
He did not want Tara's attention. If only she could give some of it to Roohi. Not that Tara didn't love her. In fact she very much did, and Shekhar knew that. But only if she had the time to express the same.  She was deep into her career. And so single-minded was her devotion, so firm was her resolve that not even her child was significant enough to warrant a few moments of her life. There was nothing Shekhar could do.
Tara had built walls around herself. And no one was allowed inside.

“Should we go straight to office or should I stop at a Restaurant Ma’am?” ,  asked the Driver.
“No, just office.” ,Tara replied as she browsed through her mails. And that was when she saw Jenny’s mail. It read:

“Hi Ma’am,
I’m Jennifer from Marie Claire. If you remember, we talked the other day in your office.
Just wanted to know if coming Sunday is good enough me to visit your place. For the photo-shoot.
Please confirm the same.
Photo Journalist
Marie Claire.”

Tara took a deep breath, and replied. “YES. SUNDAY IS FINE.”

For the next thriller chapter visit here
“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

Saturday, August 30, 2014

The Linear Approach

Point (A) Blog starts here. Or does it? Let me give you an example:

I draw a line segment and name it AB.Now most of us immediately imagine "A" as the point were the line segment starts and "B" a the point where it ends. That pretty much sums it up.

Our perspectives are vaguely limited. Like , very few people will question the whether A and B are singular points on a plane containing a line segment or are they merely two points on an endless line/ Or is this the only line? Or are we talking about a magnified circle.

Before you (rightly) take me to be crazy, I would like to explain. What I meant was: Human beings have a tremendous quality and capacity to question things. The fact that we can question our existence signifies our evolved psyche. Questioning things has brought us where we are, not only in terms of  exploration or science, but also as a society (read all freedom movements.).
But how much of this capability do you really use? We don't triumphantly high five each other after we walk five paces, do we? Why not? Because we are capable of it. It's no big deal. So why is questioning our existence, or finding a deeper meaning so revered?
The fact that we can do it and so many of us do do it suggests that something like this comes naturally to us. The bigger question is : Are we knocking on the right doors?
Most of our theories regarding things that we don't quite understand are, well, brilliant. The genesis of universe, our concept of time are amazingly sensible and detailed. But that's what they are: concepts. What amuses me is our notion of "start and end".Everything we encounter must start and end. We are so obsessed with the idea of genesis and demise of objects that we tend to see things through that very scope. Things that may not essentially follow this rule. Things that perpetually go on, which do not start or end. What we do know is that this universe is a living, breathing entity. It's a dynamic explosion of chain reactions and a mind boggling cocktail of cause and effects. It's just that we are not looking at it correctly.

All I'm trying to say here is that time, the universe and other stuff (well, I don't know everything) could just not be a simple line segment. It could be layers of sheets, universes co-existing and continuing in amazing harmony, with time ebbing and flowing around this beautiful arrangement. For start and end are terms that are merely human. For all we know, our existence is one big, dynamic perpetuality. Confusing? Let me clear this up with an example, go to Point (A)

Thursday, June 5, 2014


My bond with my dad, well, I can't really say that it is the most special , unique relationship, because it is a normal one.
 He knows that I love him and it is the same other way round. It's just hard for us to really show it. But there is this one incident that really signifies what a father-son bond stands for.
I broke my hand, bad, back when I was 13. After one failed manipulation attempt,surgery was imminent.
I remember going into the surgery, a friendly nurse smiling at me, people in scrubs, huge light above me. And once the vial of anesthetic was injected, I remember nothing. I remember nothing except waking up all groggy.
It was a few days after the surgery that the stories of my anesthetic laced frenzy started to surface.People said I woke up crying and was calling out for someone.
I thought I would've called out for mother. To my surprise, I had called out for Baba.
Also, what surprised me more, was the fact that my dad cried before I went into the OT. Dad never cries. Never.
That, to me was a symbol of how deeply emotional our bond was.A father son duo is really not one to show emotions on the surface, and hence can be mistaken to be a brittle one.But what people can't see is that these are two people who carry the weight of responsibilities, and have far too less time to invest in emotions.But the relationship to them is one of understanding. It is a bond stronger than any other, in wonderfully many ways.
And the fact that we don't show emotions too much is indicative of the pillar of the family. One that has been doing it for years, and one who is going to. Sentimental, yet strong and firm. I want be like my Baba. Without a shadow of a doubt.

I am writing about #MyRoleModel as a part of the activity by Gillette India in association with

Friday, May 30, 2014


The first kiss, the first walk in the rain. How much do you really remember of it?
They do define you? For a while, yes. But after a while, the mark a certain life event has left on you, goes.

So the thing is...Wait, why not make this blog an experience too! So what I was saying is,

A life, that's metamorphosed into this cluster of memories that forms a definitive being that is you.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

A Mother Too.

She taught me everything I know and scared dad away whenever he was angry with me.

She worried about what I ate, she kept nagging about it and made me look like fool if I retorted back.

She cuddled me at night, when I was afraid of all the noises the bugs made.

She was killed by those gun people, and taken away, when I was only a cub.

I miss her warmth, her care,her fur; I miss my mother.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

All in God's Work

God: So, how's it going?

Apprentice: Same old same old. Strife, war, peace at places. Nothing out of the ordinary.

God: Hmm, something I expected, but really hoped it wouldn't come to.

Apprentice: Really, you actually don't know the course this world will take?

God: No. I can only observe. I never even knew that human beings would come into existence, let alone their fate. So what I set into motion was a domino effect, a chain of events if you will, culminating into the state of Earth as it is today.

Apprentice: So, you don't have a bearing on what happens everyday?

God: No. But in a way, I'm the biggest causal effect that the universe ever had. So, a major reason of what is happening today is me. But that is because I triggered the genesis of it all.

Apprentice: So are human beings fools to be praying to you, preaching your name?

God: The design of the universe facilitated the emergence of a dominant organism. I never thought it'd be those monkeys, but look where they stand now.Yet, the more profound realities of this universe remain quite unknown to them.They are only at a nascent stage of self-realization.It will take time for them to truly understand what my and their existence means.So if they do not self-destruct, they are in the right path to do so.
So, they shall struggle to know what I truly am, they mistake me for their caretaker and ultimate savior, but time will come when they realize that I'm just a creator, a being, who didn't even expect their existence a few billion years ago. But ultimately, they should get there, ultimately they shall realize that I'm as perplexed, as normal and as 'humane' as they are. Only stronger.

Apprentice: Hmm, food for thought...

God: Enough for today, let's get t work. This universe won't make itself. 

Sunday, April 27, 2014

The Nature of Our Being

"And ladies and gentlemen, it is done. The Final Front have defeated The Reign! The word monarch has fallen.", veteran central T.V. anchor Rajon Gulliver announced.

"This is the end of an era. The class society has been defeated, the slaves rejoice at the Center Arch as we speak. This is landmark news, isn't it Edna?"

Edna, the co-anchor, reciprocated the beaming, glee-filled radiance that his fellow anchor was portraying,
"It definitely is Rajon. It is the day people were waiting for. Liberation from the hierarchical society we are living in. And a hope for a classless world, the far fetched dream of an Utopia that finally seems possible..."

"I'm sorry Edna, I'll have to cut you there, we have the Commander Latheos, live from the Center Arch. Commander, it is over, 20 years of bloody war, and now it is all over."

"Yes, happiest days of our lives! Now we can go forward with Project Regen. A perfect world is
waiting for us!"

"Yes Commander, indeed it is. Say, Commander, just for our young viewers and for the uninitiated,
I doubt there are any, please repeat our grand plans for the ultimate renaissance."

"It will an honour. In search of a classless society and a world where everyone is an equal, we take some drastic but necessary steps. First, we give up all technology, in order to come clean with nature and pay
her our tribute, for we have wronged her. Next, and more importantly, we all take the Red Pill, that will be provided to each person by Final Front representatives. This pill will take us into a deep sleep and we wake up with no memory of this wretched present.We wake as free men, equal men. And then it is done."
"The clocks shall be reset and man shall be reborn.This will be the corner stone of our Utopia,  and we shall call it Earth."

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

True Darkness

I finished filing my work and was ready to leave for home. As soon as I reach the lift, the lights in the building go off.

My hands quiver, and I go numb all over.
Completely blinded, I reached for the wall and made my way through the hallway.Most of my colleagues had left, as it was very late in the day.

There was an eerie feeling to the place.I was nervous, and pensive beyond all limits. I struggle, stagger and somehow, make it to the cubicle.And in the darkness, I could make out the figure a man.It was him. With my shaky hands, I thrust the knife into his chest, and felt the life leave his body. No one cheats on me and gets away.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Deception in Plain Sight

I love to observe people. Stalkeresque as it may sound, it's actually a very interesting exercise. I pride myself on getting the personalities right most of the time.

Appearances however, can be deceptively misleading. This wonderful story depicts how:

"Hey! I know this tea stall that has the best tea you'll ever have! Let's go there today."

"Tea stall? Dude, these are the days of CCDs and Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Brews there are of another level. Besides, those places are unhygienic."

"Come on! Let me tell you, it is the best tea in this whole wild world.The aroma, the taste. It is pure magic. "

"Okay, if you say so."

Both head towards the best tea in town. The tea stall, was a rickety little place. The owner and master tea maker was a very old man, probably in his seventies. with a grumpy look about his face.
The bare essentials were present- a jar full of tea, a jar full of sugar, a little station with gas and a saucepan. It just made the cut.

"Baba, two chai please. The very best of your special type!"

"Bro, this place is in bits and pieces. All tattered and dusty. And the old guy with the hideous look? How do you ever drink tea here?"

"Dude! He can hear you! Have some manners."

"All right all right..."

The tea making process was nothing special, although, one thing stood out of the ordinary. The old tea maker kept adding spoons of sugar into the brew. Quite a lot of spoons.

"That's it! I'm out of here. You could've told me that you liked your tea insanely sweet. That kind of calories is enough to kill a bear!" And he stormed off.

"I'm sorry Baba. He is always like that. But just out of curiosity and I have noticed this too, why do you add so many spoons of sugar?"

The old man did nothing but raise the spoon, and it was all clear.
It had  a big hole in the center.

Monday, April 14, 2014

A Mother After All

A mother's love is like no other . Everyone knows that. But no one knows it better than I do.Here's why:

The Tomb of Leeza is a beautiful place, with a bloodied past. A mother is said to have been buried alive by the King, who then took her son away and gave it to his queen, who was without a child. It is said that the king had the mother's thumbs chopped off and and then had her locked in a small room. Without her thumbs, the mother could never escape. Later, the king built this gigantic tomb around that little chamber, as a remembrance of the mother's 'sacrifice'.
Me and some pals took a trip to the place once.It was beautiful and scenic to a point that you felt as if it was hiding something. The blue sky, the lush green grass, and of course, the huge red soil colored tomb. We explored  the chambers in the tomb and stumbled upon the center room. And it was eerie. Dark, dingy and signs of struggle all over. The place reeked of fear and horror. One felt bad for the poor woman, who had her child taken away and was then buried alive.
Our group decided to take off as the place was creepy to death. One by one we made our way out, but just as I was about to get out (I was the last one.), the stick keeping the door open gave away and the heavy brick door slammed shut.
I shuddered with fear. I was in the tomb, alone. My friends tried hard but could not move the door an inch. They said it would take time to bring help, but I knew that no help would come till tomorrow. I braced myself for a night alone.
Time went by. More than anything, the grim environs was what scared me the most. I kept myself busy with dirt-drawing and sleeping.
It was then, perhaps well past midnight, that I heard a faint cry. I curled up in the deepest corner of the room and kept still. The cries grew louder and louder till a point where I felt scared, but also sorry. I was so moved that I began to cry, not out of fear, but out of pity. The cries subsided to soft sobs. I wished I could console her. I cried myself to sleep.Sun rays woke me up the next morning.I was in the company my friends, who were staring down at me earnestly The local police had helped them to open the door. The horror on their faces was palpable. Something was off. I told them the whole story, but to my surprise, no one made fun of me.
Back home,when I looked at a mirror, I realized why my friends were so grim. My cheeks had blood streaks over them and my hair was frizzy. No,it was't mine. It was as if someone who had bloody hands, had wiped my tears and patted my head.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Ways of Life

*June 15th, 1982*
"Tumko Dekha toh yeh khayal aaya.
The new Jagjit Singh gem set the mood at the Chai shop, when I saw her again.
My word! Isn't she just breathtaking?
She stood at the Bus Depot, flawless, serene, simple. I gawked at her until Mahesh Bhai reminded me that my Irani tea was going cold. But what else could I do? She was beyond any other girl. Mahesh Bhai deduces that either I have Alzheimer's or I'm in love. I too think that the Alzheimer's thing is true, love sounds too crazy.I should talk to her, maybe."

*Dec 28th, 2014*
"Manisha looks in truly positive spirits as she chases down a big butterfly. She is a little princess, with her soft golden locks freely flowing. Her mother would approve, she loved her curls as well.It's a fine day at the park.
I see her in our daughter.
I sit back and listen to some music. Jagjit Singh. And it takes me back...
How I truly miss her, and how I break down at times. But I would never part with those wonderful 20 years we had. Right from the days of the bus depot till the marriage. Those are the days that keep me going. Even after she was diagnosed with leukemia, we had so much love. Some sweet talks, those late night book readings, and love that grew stronger each day.
Yes,love it was. Mahesh Bhai was wrong after all.

Zindagi dhoop, tum ghanaa Sayaa. "

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Fool Metal Jacket

It was a trap! Or was it?
I have been holed up in there for three long days now, cornered and nowhere to go.  I need to go out and get some supplies. And there it was in front of me. Days worth of stuff. How did it come to this?

We were doing good. We had infiltrated most of the area. And our grasp on each sector was growing strong.We had planned this. Thoroughly. Our recces were rigorous and maneuvers were relentlessly practiced. Little did we anticipate what came next.
Somehow, the enemy got to us.All our plans lie in waste. Our intricate underground sub-system had failed us. All my comrades died or went missing. It was the new chemical warfare tactics those scoundrels had been using.  And it's contagious too. Those inhuman bastards sully their own name. Where has the honour in war gone?

And now this. I'm short of supplies and risk has to be taken.I have to take this chance. I have to tread slowly, else I'll be caught.


My tail was caught in the hook!
Can't believe I fell for a rattrap.Once again, cheese is our undoing.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Friday, April 4, 2014


Dangerous wouldn't even begin to describe the situation that he was in.
Minutes ago, he was cozy in his bed, reading Robert Ludlum on a Friday night. When suddenly, he heard these groaning noises that scared the hell out of him. As the noises grew louder and closer, fear took over and he hid inside the closet and waited. He waited till the groans died down.
He sat down and tried to relax, trying to convince himself that nothing was wrong, that it was just a mouse. It is ironic how death strikes you when you least expect it to.
A GROAN reverberated. He stiffened, and shuddered in fear.
This time, it was from inside the closet.


He fixed his glasses. Very nice. Very nice indeed. He patted himself on the back, for the great creepy-pasta he had just written. Small, but packs a punch, he thought. Now he can go and pee. He had been holding it in, in his excitement.
Great stories come in the creepiest of situations. His parents being away and the whole house being dark was the ultimate stage. As he returned from the washroom,  he noticed something weird. The notepad application looked blank. His entire story was gone.
Well, except for one line. As he neared his PC, the line grew clearer, until he could read the line clearly.

'NICE STORY.', it said.


She finished her story amidst the constant  rattling of trees in the monstrous storm outside. Her penchant for darker themes had bested her again. She grew restless. As much as she enjoyed horror stories, she inadvertently became aware of her surroundings once she has written or read one. She put her dairy on the table top and tried to sleep. She tried hard, but to no avail.
The hand stroking her hair made it difficult. Especially 'cause she was alone in the house that night.


He was happy with his layered horror story. This would be a hit in the blogosphere, he thought. Just then, he heard a strange noise coming from the backyard. Amused by how real life can sometime mimic stories, he headed out to check upon the miscreant, probably a mouse. He never came back...

I found this story on his PC, unpublished.Prior to his disappearance, he had gone insane, went on writing weird stories. And he always talked about this figure that stalked him.A figure no one else could see.
We should never have gone to the graveyard that night...

Charlie, if you see this story or stumble upon it on the internet,come back, or give a call man. It's been 8 years now...

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Waltz with the Devil

Hello My Friends,
This is an account of the most peculiar incident to have ever happened to me. And I'm pretty sure, that no other human being would have had an experience like this.
Oh, how rude of me to not introduce myself. I'm.... well, let's just call me Narrator for the time being. Now without further ado, let's begin our story:
The thing about me is that, I'm not like those other perverts. Neither do I lust over the female body, nor do I crave the basic human need, as many of my deranged fellow beings do. No.
I'm just a great admirer of the female form. It's symmetry, it's grace, indeed the Almighty did a fine job. And every time I come across one that has astounding aesthetics, I like to preserve it. I like to glorify the Gods' work. Pay a homage, if you will.
And preserving them in amber was only natural. Brings the best out of them. An envious collection I have. Someday, I may show it to the world.
Anyway, one fine day, your humble narrator was on one of his usual recces, to Jim's bar, albeit a little late in the day. 2 a.m. to be precise. Jim's was the local watering hole and I usually find my goddesses there. I really didn't have much hope for that day really. Firstly, it was very late, and from what I'd heard, Jim just lets the tap run for the regulars.So, if anything, free beer was in the offing. I entered the dimly lit bar, and found no one. But to my surprise, the karaoke machine was playing.It was a grim setting. Even for a cold man like your narrator, the atmosphere was a bit unnerving. That's when I saw her. In the dim neon lights, I could make out, a woman, sitting at the end of the table. And boy, was she pretty. I didn't even think twice before I slid a chair was sitting next to her.

"Hey, come here often?"

"Used to. Just a passing traveler today. What about you?"

"Regular. Got off late from work. Well, a pretty lady like you shouldn't be hanging around so late in the night. Lot of pervs out there."

"Well. A handsome man like you shouldn't either. Ladies are wild these days..."

"Ha ha. I like you. But seriously, aren't you scared? It is really late and this is not exactly a people friendly place..."

"Nah... it's okay. Also, I wouldn't have the pleasure of meeting a man like you if I wasn't a bit adventurous."

"Ha ha.Well put. Excuse me, I'll be back from the loo."


And that friends, was the last of that lady, that your humble narrator saw.
I made the loo excuse to get out of there. That's because something did not feel right. I knew the moves that I make to get a woman to come with me. That night, for the first time, I felt that the moves were being put on me. I was tempted to play along, I really was. But I managed to control my urge, and left. Our little waltz was over.
But the shocking part, my friends, came the next day. I walked into the bar at lunch, to see a bunch of people gawking at the local newspaper. Intrigued, I asked a by stander about all the commotion. He replied, "It's about this woman, who goes around killing men. Yeah, she takes them home, and mutilates them.She was reportedly seen around our town.Stay safe man."

After the crowd cleared, I took the copy in my hand to take a look at this distinguished lady myself.
Well. What do you know....

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

A Writer's Weapons

Yesterday, I came across this very intriguing Japanese folk story.
It was about this person. His neighbours and people across the street were always afraid of him, because of a very peculiar thing that happened every day. As a perplexed neighbour describes, "Every night after the Shyuske returns from the fields, a terrific, blood curdling scream bellows out of his house. Every night at exactly 12. Whenever we ask him about it, he just stares at us in utter silence and with dead cold eyes. We have stopped asking now." . Weird Indeed.
Shyuske's cousin Kintaro visits him one time, and on his first day, he comes across this story from the village people (village people. Really?). That night, after dinner, Kintaro anxiously waited for the clock to strike 12, to understand what really happens to his brother. Precisely at 12, Kintaro saw something very weird. All of a sudden, his brother started making these weird, loud noises standing by the window and after a while he stopped and went to  bed.
The next morning, curious Kintaro asked his brother about the events of the previous night, to which Shyuske smiled and replied, "The last owner of this house told me how this was a bad neighborhood. Most of these people living here are into bad things. They harassed the poor guy a lot. But I have to live here because this is closest place to the fields. So I came up with this plan. They will not fear police, but no one dares to mess with the supernatural."

What a great story. Opinions will vary from school to school but what struck my fancy was Shyuske's intent. He was absolutely clear about what he wanted to do and left no stone unturned to find a way and implement it to the tee. For me, this is very essential to writing. A writer with clear intent writes the cleanest stories. Intent gives purpose and direction to writing. It helps the reader to latch on to your train of thoughts and see things from your perspective.The next story is also very interesting and has actually happened.

There was once a man who chewed paan (beetle leaves) everyday. He would always have a paan in his mouth.And there was one more thing that he'd do.
Everyday, while on his way to work,the man would spit out the remaining paan on a giant stone. He kept doing this for years and gradually the stone turned red from all the paan spit.
One fine day, our protagonist was on his way to work when he saw a huge crowd in front of the stone. To his utter surprise, people were actually worshiping the stone! They thought it was a blessing from some deity. Men were donating wads of money, women had brought their children along to seek blessings of the lord.
The man was bemused. He did not have the heart to reveal the truth.

What this story shows us is, packing is important.It's just not a great concept, but the way you write it, that makes for a good read. What would 'The Fog Horn' be, but only a great idea, if it wasn't for Ray Bradbury's piercing documentary. 'The Raven' would be a drab poem, without Edgar Allan Poe's grim and dark portrayal of themes. The relic that people were worshiping was just a stone, but the red colour made it a reincarnation of god himself. That's how strong proper packaging can be.

So there you go. Intent in writing, and proper portrayal of your intent. Those are two of the greatest of writers' weapons. Armed with these, you can create magic in the greatest theater there is- the human brain.

Oh, and the first story, I just made that up. Wanted to make my intent clear.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Pulp Fiction of a Different Kind

The CashBack
Meher was elated. Finally, it was her turn at the payment counter. She had never expected the line at the Mall to be so long! She cursed her roommate for giving her that cashback slip for the store. "No cashback is worth this!", she thought.
She dumped all her stuff in the counter and waited for the clerk to pack it up.

"That will be 600.", said the clerk.

Meher: "It's okay, I have this 50% cashback slip."

Clerk: "Okay, let me see. I'm sorry Ma'am. This slip seems to have expired. This won't count."

Meher: "What! Hey, this expired just yesterday. Come on, you can make an exception, can't you?"

Clerk: "I'm sorry Ma'am. You have to pay 600/-"

Meher: "Mister, I have been standing in this godforsaken queue for over an hour, waiting for this damn cashback. Hell, I don't even like this top all that much!"

Clerk: "Please calm down ma'am. I'm only stating the rules."

Meher: "You and your dumb rules. I want my cashback!"

Clerk(whispering): "Man, what a cheapo..."

Meher: "What did you say! I'm not giving a bloody buck for this top and I'm talking to the manager! Give me my stuff!"
And with that, Meher marched off to the manager's cabin. She had waited too long to give up on her cashback offer.

The Coupon
Rita was standing in the line. She sighed. It was like wasting five precious minutes of your life! Waiting in a Mall counter line is absolutely the worst kind of boredom. She was brought back to earth by yelling of some kind. Apparently, this lady in the front of the line was going Hail Mary on the poor clerk, all because of a cashback slip.
"Wow, that girl sure does love a good fight, doesn't she?", Rita thought to herself. She wasn't the fighting type.
She took a glance at her purse. It was there. The "Buy One Get One coupon". "I'll show the coupon, but if the guy disagrees, I'm gonna leave.", she thought to herself. After twenty minutes of drama at the counter and then some, finally it was Rita's turn. She put her stuff down and slowly slid forward the coupon towards the clerk.
The clerk took a hard look at the coupon, and then a look at her, and then said, "You may take a second pair of jeans Ma'am."
Rita was glad she didn't have to go through an ordeal like that other girl.Thank God for a valid coupon!

The Bargain
Rahul was exhausted. Today was not going well. As if it isn't bad enough that he is working part-time at this stupid mall, people also yell at him for stuff he can't do anything about!
He couldn't believe that people could fight tooth and nail for a cashback! And all this arguing and reasoning had left him feeling tired.
And now this. A pretty lady, not a loudmouth like the last one, standing in front of her, with a coupon, which was also past it's expiration date.
"Just my luck.", Rahul sighed.
He thought hard, but decided against fighting over it. He let her use the coupon. "The last thing I need is another yelling match.", he thought. He will handle his manager later.

Finally, his shift was over. His TV and bean bag were calling him.A glass of beer, some snacks.Heaven. Then, suddenly;
*Tak Tana Na Na Tandoori Nights Tandoori Nights*
His cellphone rang, breaking his chain of thoughts.It was Riya.

"Hi Jaanu, when are you coming back! I have great news!"

"What is it?"

"GFY Mall has this great offer, 50% discount plus Get One Free offer. It's a total bargain! Come back soon and we'll go. Our two month anniversary is close anyway."


"Did you say something jaan?"

"Na na, I'll see in an hour. Be ready."

Rahul sighed, "Just my luck."

This post is a part of the Shop, only to Save More! Activity by in association with

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Odd Job

I still have nightmares. Some days, I'm stifled with such nauseating feeling, that I almost throw up and I barely eat. I need to get this off my chest so here it goes:

I was 14, young, and had newly discovered that money buys trading cards and other cool stuff.
That summer, me and my pals were gunning for bikes. So all of us were running around the neighborhood, searching for odd jobs. You know, lawns that needed mowing, cars that needed washing, that kind of stuff.
That's when I stumbled upon this poster, about a house on 8th, that needed painting.
"50 bucks for a paint job", it said. I immediately picked up my bike, and stormed down to the place before any of my friends could.
I reached the address to find a little house, weed growing all around. I distinctly remember the house, those curd covered screens, pale yellow window panes, and that weird smell. That hint of a stench that doesn't chase you away, but in retrospect always warned you about a terrifying little secret that lay hidden in it's confines.
I met Mr.Stevens, the owner. Well met will be a strong word. He appeared out of nowhere and scared the shit out of me...
Next few days were routine, Mr.Stevens with is hammer and nail, and me with a bucket of red paint and that huge brush he gave me. The only odd thing about the job was that brilliantly red paint and how Mr.Stevens would never let me leave his sight.Anyways, he was an old man, and the pay was good, so I did not complain. We would talk about baseball and how it took ages to paint a wall. He had his quirks but the old man was just fine.
We got along, I got over the smell, and we did the entire place in a week. And that was the last I saw of him.

Everything was done and dusted and I got on with my life, until that day.
That fine Monday, around 2 weeks after the summer holidays were over, me and the gang noticed a big crowd outside Mr.Steven's house. And there was police. We were too scared to enquire ourselves, and got the hell out of there.
Later I found out, that they had arrested Mr.Stevens for multiple homicide.Police found almost 30 people, all in his basement.
Oh, I almost forgot, on the last day of my job at Mr.Steven's, in my haste, I brought back the paint brush to my place. I had been meaning to return it, but never had the chance. Its still there in our garage. I never could return it, and I never had the courage to see it again.

Why so?

You see, the police report also said that Mr. Stevens killed all those people for a reason.

 He drew their blood, and used it to paint his house.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

A Thousand Words

20th June 2020: It had been 8 years. M was perusing through the photo album, when she came across that photo again. It was a nothing sort of a picture really, except for the earrings.Memories engulfed M as she spiraled into her own thoughts ...

Ryan had always been a bright kid. Good at studies, pretty decent in debates, he was a kid on the right track. His parents loved him and so did his friends.
It wasn't until he was 19 that his parents found out that he was gay, and to them it was nothing. To them the term meant nothing, for doesn't love differentiate. For love is not a disease.
But society is a funny thing. Contrary to popular belief, it is the society that chooses the man and not the opposite. And the man rejected by society is a man without an identity, a man who is not given the right to lead a peaceful life.
A man rejected by the society has no where to go.

20th June 2012: It was M's birthday and F had decided to for go for glory. Ryan was in on it as well, although he seemed a little gloomy. It had been a full year since all the teasing and name-calling had started, but today was his mother's big day, and he was determined to make it special.
The night went very well, and Dad had been declared a success. After the party, Ryan came up to Mom and gifted her a pair of brilliant blue earrings.

"I want you to have it.", he said with a smile.

M's eyes filled with tears.She had always pestered F about those earrings. It was then that in the spur of the moment, Ryan placed the earrings near the half eaten cake and snapped a quick photo. And that was that.

Who knew that this sweet memory would become a remembrance of a time so ghastly.

It was 7 days after M's birthday that they found Ryan hanging from the drawing room ceiling.He gave in.
The society had done its job, getting rid of the incoherent. Getting rid of a bright child , a good son and a soulful human being.

There are so many Ryans out there, so many waiting to be saved. So many, who have a story to say. So many, who just couldn't.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Malay Ahead!

Malaysia. Well, a place that you see so often on telly and a place you so often you think of as "Breathtaking", is a place you will most likely add to your "Must Visit" list.
With the Malaysia tourism ad ingrained into our minds (*High-Fives Malaysian Tourism Board*), its no wonder that everyone has dreamt of some or the other select place to go once they arrive in the land that is "Truly Asia". Below is a list of a few things I would like to do, if the admittedly bold dream of going to this awesome place ever comes true:

Running Around Trees: As an Indian, running around trees comes naturally to me (stereotype much?). So Pahang was definitely a choice. Picturesque tea gardens and awesome Cameronian Tea await anyone who gives these mystical hills a visit. Also, I hear they have some killer scones up there. Absolute Zen.

Beach beach beach!: From the pristine hills of Pahang, we continue our search for the ultimate relaxation. Behold, the Tioman Islands. This place has got the lot- it has volcanic peaks, golden sand beaches, waterfalls, you name it. Such beautiful environs can hardly be given a miss. Definitely on my list.

The Taste Buds Are Next: I'm a foodie.That means pesto sauce runs through my veins. So my next must see Malaysia place is dedicated to my taste buds. Penang is a place for great street food with some of the best Malay food on offer. No reason not to go there. Also, the place is a cultural melting pot, and hence coined as a world heritage site. All the more reason to pay Penang a visit.

Blue hai Pani Pani: Sipadan Island has been touted as the best diving spot in the world and has been coined the phrase "untouched piece of art.". Enough said. (Box checked.)

In search of Nasi Lemak: The foodie in me rears his head again as I head out in search for the perfect Nasi Lemak. Perfect dish hunting provides for hours of fun, wandering around and ultimate bliss when you accidentally bump into this little piece of heaven.

Cave in: Malaysia is blessed with some beautiful, old and grand caves. Be it the Hindu temples of Batu caves with its droves of worshipers or the ancient burial grounds of the Sabahan Caves, adventure is guaranteed. Going to Malaysia and not seeing these caves would be a sin!

All of that and loads of roaming around, food, and amazing people.That about sums up Malaysia for me. The M in Malaysia stands for Merry and that's exactly what I'm going the make there.Cheerio!

I am participating in the MalaysiaJao Blogathon Contest in association with

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Ninth of November

F: "Hi, Ryan.. You there?"

R: "Yeah. Please stop calling, I'm in class and moreover I don't want to talk to you."

F:"Listen Son..."

R:"You'd lost your chance to talk when you left us...So please stop."

F: "I know, but hear me out...take care of Mom."


F:"Take care of Mom and do good in College. Never worry about the money.I have taken care of it."

R: "What are you saying?? You're making me nervous."

F:"Listen...turn on CNN."

R: "Wait.... okay it's on now.What on earth is happening!"

F:"I'm in one of those planes."

R: "Dad... stop kidding. This isn't funny."

F:"I've gotta go. They're taking away our phones. We don't have much time anyway... Listen, be calm and do good in life. And be a better person than your Dad. :) . Okay?"

R: "But Dad.. "

5 minutes later...

R: "k..."

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

The Friend Upstairs

I walk these white halls, following this man, who somehow understands my language.

 My short life has been filled with questions, the most intriguing of them walking right in front of me.

 A man who not just understood my urge for hunger or play, but who also could talk to me.

I do not understand, a moment ago, I was a stones throw away from a speeding vehicle, and now I'm in these serene surroundings, and with this equally quaint man.

 Confused, I asked,"Who are you?", to which the tall,thin man with long hair and similarly long beard smiled and said, "Just a friend."

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.