She looked around, harried and distraught. There was no sign of a living soul, except that sound .. the sound followed her. The deafening clunk of metal against concrete. The simmering sun was beating down her back, a drop of sweat trickling slowly across her brow .. she wiped it off in disgust. What does this world hold for a woman? A constant agonizing fear, distrust

Anger!

Her first memory haunted her .. the earth kept coming closer, she shrieked, flailed about, screamed .. but it kept coming closer. The fall was never ending and the abyss of this world was as terrifying as the day she was born. She had always been a pale child, fearful, weak

And adored for her weakness ..

The metal clanks on concrete kept coming closer. She could almost feel a presence across the corner .. her grasp on the can of pepper spray grew tighter ..

Pepper spray .. defense mechanism that nature did not or rather could not fathom. And it was adorned by the empowered women of today, a natural response to years of repression. Pepper.

She was running now .. and there was a huffing chase by the metal clank .. All of a sudden, She clamped shut her eyes and pressed the canister of pepper spray at his eyes with all her might.

Nothing. No scream of pain .. no angry yelling.

As if the world came to a standstill, the silence grew all around her ..

And with the whoosh of a sprinkling jet of water, it broke. Happy Holi screamed the young kid, and ran off with his pichkari.

She stood there flustered. In a puddle of water, with a can of pepper spray, and a smile across her face.

There was blood. Dripping slow, steady .. He was petrified, as the stain grew, and the noise .. that deep trembling noise, like a thump on his heart, with each step, each moment .. it was deafening. He woke up with a startle .. sweating .. and tearful. There was a scream, but it was not his voice. He wanted to scream. The pain .. the throbbing pain in his head.

He saw the persian rug, growing red-reddish brown by the minute. But that stain, that was a dream. Was it? He touched his forehead, and it was wet.
Thud.
Thud.

The rug was stained.

His rug.
His blood.
His bullet.
His people.

There was a shatter. And another stone .. the pelting had begun. He looked around for her.

“There is no price that can’t be paid, no sacrifice that can’t be made .. Freedom.”
“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.

“But, I need rice .. bread and salt.”

“Your needs matter not .. for the greater good .. you will have food .. you will have a job .. you will have money .. you will have a life. If you have freedom.”

“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.

“I don’t need freedom.”

“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.

He ran .. ran for his life. Could not recollect what happened after that .. until the persian rug. The rug was stained. His blood. His bullet. His … his daughter. Where is she?

He looked down the shattered glass .. it was an uprising ..

“There is no sacrifice that won’t be made, no price that won’t be paid.”

“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.

Her book was lying on the ground .. outside the window .. covered in foot steps .. red blood stained .. she was shot. She was dead. He could bear it no longer. And he pulled the trigger. The blood dripped down the window .. and the book read

“Who is the president of our country?”
“Ga…i” And blood dripped from his window .. his blood .. her blood .. and the name could be read no further.

The name was erased, but the blood remained.

The rug was stained.

“Freedom” Hailed the crowd.

Contd from here

“But, what does it mean?” She delved deep into my eyes, jiggling the stirrer and the olive in her drink.

“It means ‘Morals First’.” I mumbled what came to my numb mind.

Squeal. Squeal. That giggling sound she makes, when .. whenever .. actually always. Like a steel tip rubbed against a black board.

“Ironic isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

I guess somethings are not for everyone. I hate this place. It’s filthy, stinking and dull. But, it’s so close to my clinic. I am a psychiatrist. Qualified Quack for cuckoos.

“Can you please flit here?” The waiter turned at my call, and squealed.

“I mean the cockroach, not the lady.” He scratched his ear, and pulled out wax, rolled it into a ball and threw it across the bar. Unperturbed.

The thing about this place is, every-time you keep your drink at the counter, the next sip will have a complimentary cockroach – beer battered. It crawled up my pint towards the rim, it’s everest.

“Can you please?”

And a drizzle of insecticide on the bottle as I covered the top with a lid. It smelled like a perfume, as if the scent belonged here.

I took another gulp. She squealed again. I gulped again. The clock struck two. There is another thing about this place, at every gong of a complete hour, you get a shot – on the house. Ain’t it something.

What’s this now? I could feel something near my thigh, a motion .. Bloody roach has climbed up.

Buzz. Buzz.
No, its my phone. But yes, it’s the roach. Saumik. I guess I should go. He pays me by the hour and lies at my face.

“Hello?”
“Doctor, Its Rajan, Saumik Rajan.”
“Ahan?”
“We have an appointment at 3, is it confirmed?”
“Yes of course, Mr. Rajan. I’ll see you there.”
“Sure.” Click.

I downed my waiting shot and lit another joint. They all swarmed in, towards me. Circling, Chanting .. growing.

“Thwack!” I put the 20 dollar bill on the counter and rushed out. “Could you please give this to the lady in black?”

The tissue read “I am sorry it seems so rushed and desperate. But, It is.” And a little smiley face at the bottom. She crushed the tissue, licked it and threw it away.

Friday Evening, 9:00 PM
We left for Chikamagalore, with a song on the lips .. and a sway of the hips .. it was a marvel of a journey .. with card games, fits of sleeps, some sweet and sugary “coffeeteacoffeetea” and loads of fun.

Saturday Morning, 5:30 AM
The hazy morning, half asleep, we reached the stay in Chikamalgolore.

Saturday Afternoon, 12:00
Waterfall – around 20 kms from the stay, a sleepy ride through the mountains, and a short trek to the fall

Saturday Afternoon, 2:00 PM
The water fall, Awesome experience !

Saturday Evening, Sunset View, 5:30 PM
Lush green and the setting sun ..

Saturday Night, 10:00 PM
A chilly night and a campfire !

Sunday, Archaelogical Visit – Belur

“I want you as a glass, never as a mirror.” She fiddled with the olive in her drink. It was drizzling and the breeze carried tricklets of water to her eyes. “Promise me, you will let me see the world through you. You will let me be here.” He was afraid to look up, wondering if it was the rain outside or the pain inside that moist her eyes.

It was never meant to be this way. He could never bear the thought of hurting her, it pained him, to reflect on her actions. He had become the “mirror”.

“Home is not just the ground beneath your feet, it is the people around you. You are not bound by the land, nor the sky, but by the affection, love in our hearts.” She flinched and downed the shot of tequila with an apparent vengeance. There was a sense of restlessness that kept creeping in his head, scenes from years ago, flickering like a candle, about to burn out. He could see in her eyes, the joy of their first meeting, her errant ways and the mischief .. How she would force him out in the rain .. roam around the city wary of an attack, and yet free of all fear .. the way she said “joie de vivre”, in that tainted arabic-mexican-indian mix of accents – on reading his personal diary .. and never understood … Never.

She blinked and his heart skipped a beat. It was her last day. She would be deported back to Syria, her ‘official’ home.

He signed the order with a heavy heart. They were still in love, but their nations had divorced !

It held an appeal to him, a desire, an ambition .. but the words kept coming back to his mind
“Stay low. Keep away. For the higher you go, the lower you come.” His teacher’s words echoed deep.
Mediocrity was dripping from each of the learnings. He felt caught in a web of lies, that grew around him and kept him from going any further .. any higher.
He wanted to scream.
At the top of his lungs.
Let the gust knotting in his stomach unravel.
He felt like he was about to burst.
He wanted to fly.

“Fly you may and fly ahead
For I gave you wings ..”
The words ringing in his head, he jumped off the cliff. At first, his heart started throbbing against his ribs, threatening to spring out .. As he closed his eyes and lunched forward, his mind calmed down. The earth approaching him, seemed to have a pacifying influence on his nerves. He felt in control.
He let out a wild shriek that had been trapped inside, clapped his wings and soared high. It was liberating to feel the wind, drumming against his ears, scorching the eye-lids, cleansing his body and soul. He felt unstoppable. And in a frenzied state of exhiliration, as an expression of freedom, he ventured higher up, eyes clenched in determination, mind numb with ambition.
And it was too late before he realized the wax that held his wings melting away as he closed up to the sun. A state of tranquil resignation set up as he fell down, satisfied for having given his best .. having tried to reach the sun , the final goal !

Icarus was falling to the ground. A failure to the apparent eye, yet a success at heart !

The image has been sourced from wikimedia and is usable under creative commons license

The one to penguin India ..First_salary

The one to Hindustan Times .. From_greed_to_solace

Some of my recent forays .. or more like an attempt to foray into the literary world !

P.S
Credit for the first one to Mohit Jain.

Once upon a time, long long ago ..
Was done a test, in the town of Hithero ..

Here I tell the tale of the test ..
So the questions on me, be put to rest !

—-
There were four blind men who lived in a small village. They generated energy, generally electric. They were dedicated hard-working folks, honest to their work, dedicated to their service and in constant pursuit of truth.
One day, there came an elephant in the village. All the villagers were amazed at the enormity and strength of the beast. The blind men also went to the fest. Upon reaching, they took to different directions across the animal and started to describe.
“It’s like a rope” said the one near the tail.
“No, no, it’s like a tree, definitely like a tree” replied the one touching the feet.
“Oh no, what are you guys talking about, it’s like a fan?” The one near the ear replied.
“I am stuck with fools. It is like a sword.” cried out the one touching the teeth of the elephant.
—

Which of them is true? can you say ..
A rope, A sword, A fan or A Tree ..

It’s all of them or none, be it may ..
As it’s their perception, not reality !

P.S – Inspired by a biased opinion !

Antean looked off the cliff at the setting sun, “One day, I will be a soldier.”

“Never say that again.” Nicol burst out. “Taking up a sword is the final act of desperate men, when all else fails. For all wars are about vengence, and to forsake your life, for another’s cause is utter disdain to god’s gift.”

“Oh, but bravery never goes unseen. A soldier is held in high esteem, in both life and after. And a soldier fights for his own cause, his own faith.” Sara was livid with anger. “A nameless face for life has no worth, you live and you die for the self, a shame to one and all.”

“And a faceless name on a memorial is worthy? I wonder who even remembers the ‘martyrs’, but for their hungry children and their helpless wives. For one’s own faith, one need not fight out, as the war lies within.” Nicol was adamant.

“There are two kinds of men in the world, ones to take up the mantle and live with their heads held high, prepared to fight for their beliefs, And ones who pretend to care not because they dare not .. ” Sara retorted. “You have to take a side, what you will be.”

Antean turned as both the alter-egos awaited with bated breath for his response, and with a contorted smile replied.
“I will be an engineer. For then, I won’t have to decide without data, won’t have to tell without facts, won’t have to bear the fruits of my deeds .. for then it is not my instinct that will count, but my skill. And skill I will acquire for everyone can .. I will be one of the herd.”

Nicol and Sara jumped off the cliff and the soul-less engineer walked off. His results were out. He cleared the JEE ..

In class III, I used to believe that NEWS was the acronym for North, East, West, South. It sounded clever, almost grown-up. It said that NEWS gives the complete picture, it covers all directions and perspectives.
I liked it better than “News is the plural of ‘new’.”, which dawned upon me in due time. This knowledge deglamorized news, yellowed its aura – if I may say so.
This was a time, when news was within its time – when you found about the day, after the day in the nightly news or in the morning newspaper. In front of a discolored screen, came and sat a middle aged balding man, “reading” news. And then came Aaj Tak. Breathtaking, fast-paced “news enactment” ! And it claimed to be sabse tez!
There were – and have been – sprouting distant and near cousins to Aaj Tak, congesting the 24-hour day with as many channels ! Further degradation has been prevalent ever since, what with, today morning, a prominent news channel showing a four blocker screen with equal coverage to Sania-Shoaib-Ayesha menage-a-trois, the IPL tamasha, Inflation-marred common man and the naxal uprising. Mere gossip, fanatical sports, national calamity and plight of the man .. all in a single view !
I wonder how the viewer keeps pace with the changing expression of news-reader and news. So, from now, it is not the news, but the views that I heed to – both mine and of others ..