Terminal

‘Meh!’ He sighed.

Airports no longer fascinated him as they used to. He strolled around the departure lounge seeking a comfortable seat. Since it was still very early in the morning, it was quiet with just a few travellers around. Coming across several rows of vacant seats neatly arranged into two columns with a walk-way in between, he settled down in a corner and pulled out a book from his backpack.

He glanced at the handwritten note on the first page: “So that you don’t fly alone - Love, M”. It brought a smile to his face. Malini was a sweet girl. She had gifted him this book when he met her on his last trip to Delhi. It hasn’t even been a month and here he was, flying to Delhi again. He knew she would be delighted to meet him this time too. Yet he neglected to inform her that he was coming. Perhaps he wasn’t sure he could be bothered to meet up with her this time round.

Already bored of the book, he looked at the time. There was still an hour for his flight. There ought to be a way that all the preprocessing time ranging from check-in to boarding was reduced to reflect that of other transport modes, say a train. Was he the only one to find it weird that one has to arrive 2 hours early at the airport for a flight of one-hour duration, while one needs to arrive at the station just a couple of minutes before the departure of an overnight train?

Adjusting himself on the seat, he looked up briefly to see how many more travellers were now around him. That’s when his eyes instantly singled her out from the incoming crowd. Unmistakable. It was her. He could feel his heart quicken up as he squinted to get a better look at her. How long has it been? 2 years? Perhaps more. Has she changed in anyway? Just as suddenly, a thought occurred to him and he averted his eyes. What if she saw him looking at her? There would be a forced smile of recognition on her face and she would feel obliged to approach him and exchange greetings. He didn’t want to put her in that position. He slid further down in his chair and buried his face in his book.   

After many minutes, or maybe seconds, from the corner of his eye, he followed her footsteps going past him. After what felt like another eternity, he hazarded turning around to see where she was. He had to turn all the way around to look behind him, yet he couldn’t spot her. He returned to his novel and resumed reading. Although he tried to concentrate, running through several lines in the story, the words failed to penetrate beyond his eyes.

Narrowing her eyes, she stared at him. She could just see his side profile, but there was no way she could mistake someone else for him. She knew him too well for that. There he was, sitting at the other end of her row, turning around seemingly in search of something. He held a big book in his hands. Since when did he become such a serious reader? She could barely get him to read a magazine article in those days.

Her eyes searched him further. Has he changed in other ways too? Was there a white strand or two in his hair? She tried to look at his fingers but they were hidden beneath the big book. She turned away, wondering. Should she move away so that he doesn’t spot her? Should she go and say ‘hi’? Was she ready for this? Ready for him? Now, after all these days, all of a sudden?

She couldn’t contain herself any longer and looked in his direction again. The seat was empty now. He had left! She got up  with a jolt, surprising herself and even startling the old man seated next to her. Had she lost him? Again?

Anxiously, she paced around looking for him. After a lot of scanning, she managed to locate him  strolling aimlessly on the other side of the terminal.  A plethora of shops separated them.  She jogged to catch up with him and started walking beside him, looking at him. He noticed her and stopped.

‘How you been?’ she asked, hoping to sound gentle and pleasant.

‘Not bad,’ he drawled in his usual way. Somethings at least hadn’t changed.

‘Hmm.’

‘And you?’ he asked.

‘Fine, I guess.’

They resumed walking.  She had so many things to ask him. And so many more to tell. Yet, none made their way out. She wished she knew what the rules were. Does she limit the conversation to only small-talk? Does she wait for him to ask something? Does she just say ‘bye’ and move on?

‘Where are you headed?’ she asked finally.

‘Delhi. You? Bangalore?’ He responded.

‘Yeah.’

‘Still working for BP?’

‘Yeah.’

They continued walking down the terminal.

Silence made its presence felt. He didn’t want to ask her anything that would be uncomfortable for her. But he had nothing else to converse either. His face turned to look at her more closely. She looked older now, but that only made her more beautiful. During those times, did he ever mention to her that he found her pretty? Perhaps she knew anyway. More and more questions were flooding into his head.  To ignore the raging ones, he tried to focus on making trivial conversation. He started talking about their mutual acquaintances and she joined in enthusiastically. Pretty soon, all of them were covered and the dreaded silence returned.

Then she opened her mouth to say something but no words formed. He couldn’t resist any longer and asked her, ‘Just tell me, was it tough to, you know…’ He grappled for words but only ended up waving his hands about in a weird manner.

Her eyes looked down as she muttered something inaudible. He paused for a bit before he asked again.

‘What was hardest?’ Was he being mean with the questions? Not really. He just wanted to know. A kind of morbid curiosity.

‘What all do you know?’ she shot back, still not looking at him.

‘Phone? Whatsapp, gmail…’ He began listing but stopped as soon as he realised she wasn’t listening. There are so many ways to keep in touch these days. And hence, so many ways to ignore someone. So many ways to exclude someone from one’s life.

She stood unmoving for a while and then stepped over and sat down on a bench, shielding her face with her hands. He didn’t know what to do. Was he to leave or not? Not being able to decide, he looked around, as if someone would spring to his help and advise on the right action. A couple of the  other passengers were staring at them, but silently.

‘Actually, Facebook was hard. I knew your phone number by memory, and I could unblock you on gmail anytime. But by removing on Facebook, I was no longer going to get your updates. I wouldn’t  know what was going on in your life,’ she said very softly, looking up at him

He went closer and stood next to her.

‘Why? Didn’t you ever think of letting me know about all this, about your reasons, a courtesy mail perhaps?’ He was careful not to sound aggrieved. This wasn’t the time to let out any pain. Did he even feel any, anymore?

‘I knew I .. couldn’t,’ she spoke slowly, pausing inappropriately. ‘It was really ... hard to maintain my resolve. I knew that a small comment ... a message from you would have broken me. Couldn’t let that happen. This was the only way I ... could do it.’

He searched her face for guilt. But all he unearthed was sorrow. Despite her ill-disguised attempts to ward the tears away, they were starting to envelope her eyes. She stood up, perhaps for the sake of doing something. She was still looking at the floor. Should he console her? That would be quite ironic given that he had kindled the pain with his questions. Should he place his arm around her like old times? Wasn’t he the everlasting, ever-present emotional support of hers? The confidant to all her troubles and joys? He ceased to be so two and half years ago, he told himself.

So instead, he just managed to mumble, ‘Whatever it takes for a happy married life. As long as you are happy with him…’ His voice trailed off.

She looked at him for a second, perhaps trying to detect sarcasm, and then said, grasping for a steady voice, ‘We .. we separated six months ago. Guess it was never going to work out with him.’

He just stared. He didn't even attempt to find any words in response.

‘And .. and to think, I gave up on you for him,’ she choked.

That was all he needed to hear. He averted his eyes from her and focused on the departure-screen beyond her. His flight number had ‘last-call’ flashing next to it.

‘I have to go now,’ he said and began walking away from her, though still facing her. Her imploring eyes were strangulating him. He turned around and strode to his gate.

Just before turning off his mobile for the takeoff, he searched through his contact list for a name and dialled.

‘Malini? Hi! Guess what? I’m flying to Delhi right now. What are you doing today evening? Let’s meet up at Hauz Khas!’

"I See You"

The screaming was screeching in its tone, yet faint. Distant as a background noise. Like a desperate, final cry before eternal silence could surround him. The silence never arrived. He knew the screaming was just in his mind. But it was more real than anything else. With a harsh gasp, as if he was surfacing above water after almost drowning, he opened his eyes.

Outer reality was calm. There was the ambulance siren, the expected bumpiness of the potholed roads, and the diffused amber street lights. But no noise. No traffic, no honking. The typical 4 AM. Keeping his head rigid, why he knew not, he scanned the interiors of the vehicle. Completely bare. The plank he felt below him was bare metal. A flimsy bedsheet, sourced from their house was all that kept the metallic coldness from seeping into him. Even the pillow supporting his neck was a piece of sponge that usually lay forgotten in a corner of the house. Where was the saline equipment, the oxygen masks, and all those other paraphernalia? Can this be called an ambulance? It was just a discarded shell of one.

The inside was becoming louder again. He knew he was sliding again. Sliding back. At least, this time, he was already lying down.

….

Surreal, yet ordinary. The bed wasn't surrounded by white or blue coats. No frantic discussions were being held above him. Of course, some needles had been poked and some sensors wired up to his chest, but all that kept him company now was the constant beeping behind his head. He could see five curtained chambers on the other side of the big hall. The large desk in centre, perhaps the nurses' station, was where a frantic debate seemed to be taking place.

“B positive, they tested thrice.”

“Medical history says O positive!”

“B positive...”

The beeping behind him had quickened somewhat. What happens if blood of the wrong group if transfused in? The beeping was louder. He had to see what it was about. How many of those machines were there, standing guard over him as robotic sentries? Careful not to disturb the arm that was hooked up, he tried to lift himself slightly to look around. The beeping quickened its pace. He could feel his heart beating faster. Was the beeping quicker because his heart had quickened, or did his heart quicken in response to the faster beep?

It was loud now, like an alarm. Quickly, he sank back, worried that they might come and castigate him for moving. But no one seemed to notice. Clearly, the beeping hadn't reached the stage that summoned attention like it always managed to do in those hospital-based television shows. His arm hooked up to the saline might have moved slightly. The coldness of the liquid seeping into his vein was more stark now. He could feel it flowing in, drop by drop.

….

8 AM. A female battalion in blue strode into view and stood in a line. Another battalion assembled itself from the far unseen corners of the room. The leaders approached each other and exchanged notes. One queen bee handing over responsibility of the hive to another. Allocations were done, and the new battalion moved into their stations. The previous ones gathered their things and, with their chattering taking on a sunny tone, disappeared.

“Bye!”

Daylight, or no daylight, mornings were mornings. The buzz was more. Humans were more. Cleaners abound. Doctors could be sighted. But only one among the five beds on the opposite side of the hall stirred. These five beds were the only ones he could see. And only one among the visible five seemed capable of being conscious at will. The conscious one called out for the busy ward boy with authority and demanded his bed be raised so he could sit up. Clearly, he was a highly experienced comrade. A veteran of an inmate.

….

“Amma! Amma!”

Must be evening visiting hours. Even the visitors had to don the blue hospital gowns and masks over their faces. One per bed. Only one among the 4 unconscious beds received a visitor. A man with distraught eyes.

“Amma! Amma!”

The visitor patiently kept shouting into the unconscious ear. Was it more than a myth that coma patients are capable of hearing?

Another blue-clad visitor walked up to another unconscious bed. She settled comfortably on a stool nearby.

“Attamma, attamma!” She began her intonation too, though more gently than the other one.

Does the same person visit a patient every day or did all relatives take turns? To diligently visit every evening calling out their names, their nicknames, to retrieve them from their distant realities, and awaken their comas.

….

Darkened room simulated the outside night. The far corner of the five visible beds had attracted a gathering: all the nurses and both the doctors. Defibrillators made an appearance. The doctor held them up silently. Everyone stepped back silently. He placed them on the chest silently. He looked up silently. He removed them silently. He repeated the whole process, again silently. Everyone else stayed still. So the histrionics on TV shows when a patient ought to be revived -- the frantic movements, the shouts, the drama – are all perhaps just that. Dramatisation.

The only time the silence was broken was when the doctor announced the time.

….

New morning. A new body in the far corner bed. With a new attendant. With tears shimmering in his eyes, arms folded to avoid wringing, the son listened intently to the doctor. His face unabashedly displayed the pain within. The doctor, trying to be both professional yet sympathetic, focused on the explanation to avoid the emotion. Reluctantly, the attendant walked towards the exit with one final glance at the bed of his sleeping mother.

Presumably as soon as he left, the doctor shouted for the ward boy. He then began to angrily castigate the ward boy for daring to speak with the attendant, and probably giving him false information about the patient.

“NO ONE! No one is allowed to speak to the attendants except doctors. Not even nurses!”

….

“Arrre! Please!! Koi hai?”

Loud pleads in a crass voice broke his sleep. He looked to the source. An old man had replaced one of the unconscious comrades. And old man who was both conscious and seemingly in extreme discomfort.

“Arrre!! Evaranna!”

He kept calling out for anyone and everyone. But no one stirred. The nurses were all happily chatting with each other, the ward boys flirting with the maid, the doctor immersed in a file. The pain-ridden calls emanated, wafted through the room and dissipated through the roof without bothering anyone. How could all of the staff, who were otherwise so attentive, so blatantly ignore him?

Another doctor walked in.

“I'm dying! Bachaoo koi toh!”

Hearing the pleas, the new doctor threw a questioning look at the head nurse.

“That's the patient with the failed liver.”

“Oh! That guy. We could have put him in the ward but he just refuses medication!" 

“How long will the withdrawal last?”

The doctor just shrugged in response.

….

The phone rang in the middle of the night. The head nurse picked it up immediately. Then she walked up to him with a smile.

“Good news! Your room is ready.”

Being wheeled out, it was the first time he got to see the rest of the hospital. 

Glimpses of a day

Another day, the sun wakes up a little later than yesterday, the air exerts a bit more chill today, but the clock is still adamant to alarm at the same time. She curses as she bolts right up on the bed. The covers slide down the smoothness of her skin and she shivers with cold, the coldness of her dreams. Also the thermostat might need to be turned higher. She looks around to locate the source of that annoying screaming buzz of the alarm and brings down her hand swiftly to end it. Of course the ritual will be repeated again tomorrow. But for now, there is silence. Aah, the silence! How easy is it to just grab the pillow and wander back into sleep. Resist the temptation! She bends forward and holds her feet, her legs still stretched out. Hence the curve of her back is now almost horizontal, pressed tightly against her legs, the lower spine pushing against the skin accentuates its presence while the upper half is hidden by the curls of her hair.

...

She is jogging to the tram stop. The pavements are being stocked up by the fresh produce of the day, dripping water all around as they are moved out from the trucks. She sidesteps the workers, the boxes and the puddles with equal ease, without any visible slowing of her pace. The smell wafting from a bakery reminds her of the buttered toast lying abandoned in her kitchenette as she dashed out of the house. As she approaches the junction, she manages to catch sight of the approaching tram. Instantly, the jog turns to a run, and a flash of beautiful mass rushes up the street, coming to a halt just as the tram also does.

...

She looks at the watch. It's just been 20 minutes since she last looked. 3 more hours left to the end of the shift. She glances at the two kids fussing about in the store. Their mother is outside having a puff, perhaps to snatch away a few minutes of relief from her kids. They do seem to be troublesome. They had already picked up a whole lot of packets from the shelves and after giving a glance or two, placed them haphazardly at the nearest available space; only coincidentally would the new shelf belong to the same category as the packet. They had also knocked off a part of one of the displays. Her favourite display, the one that took her a whole shift to build from the basic blocks. Yet she has been sitting there passively, nevertheless, observing them continuously. Hopefully remembering all their actions, because once they leave, she will have to go about and re-shelve all the toys in their rightful places and also restore her master display. For now, though, she is just watching. And hearing her rumbling stomach, complaining about its neglect. Not a morsel today and it is already past lunch-time. Have to wait until the shift ends to get hold of any food. And now, she is just half-way through it. Why am I even doing this? Yeah, it is the usual time of the day for the introspective thoughts. Is it worth it? She gets up to dust away these nagging doubts and busies herself by righting the wrongs, of the kids at least.

...

Her tram is winding its way through the bustling streets. With the shops starting to down the shutters, more people are emerging onto the roads. Despite it being quite dark, there is no sign of any stars appearing in the sky. Maybe some clouds, maybe the bright street lights. She occasionally looks at this scene through the window, as a necessary change from sifting through the library book and her notes, preparing for the assignment tomorrow. She also thinks back to the afternoon. She had to rush to her class directly from the store because the manager delayed her after the shift, discussing his plans for the forthcoming Christmas sale. As a result, she didn't have the luxury to go home or freshen up. She looks at her clothes, crumpled slightly, and aches to be home soon and be able to relax in the shower. Nevertheless, she would have been an artist's delight, especially those dabbling in portraits. Her beautifully-cut face is complemented by the studious look given out by the glasses and the concentration-filled eyes behind them.

...

On the bed, staring at some youtube video, her hand is mechanically feeding her the rice from the little bowl in her lap. Plain rice with a dash of salt and lemon. She was drained of all energy to have been able to cook anything else. Quite a catch-22 this is, sometimes- you need the energy to cook food, but you need the food to gain the energy. She reaches out for the clock to ascertain that the alarm is set, just to be safe in case she dozes off, as she oft does, with the laptop running, the half-empty bowl on the bed, the glasses astray, and the dreams abound.

Just another day after all.

A world in white

The world has transformed. And it is all running in slow motion. The bus is moving forward slowly, slow with circumspection, even though it is not obstructed by the usual traffic. The long queues of cars at the traffic junction are now replaced by just a couple of them. Even those few don't rush through the green light as in regular 'rush hour', but cross gently, as if strolling on a leisurely afternoon. The absence of the usual cacophony of speeding cars is almost unsettling.

A few huddled figures in dark coats can be observed, bent slightly forward, tiptoeing despite their hurry. Dark dots against a vast white background. Seems like everyone else has relented to the serenity and made themselves scarce, so as not to disturb it. All at the same time. Those left behind are trying to be inconspicuous with their quietness and restrained movement.

The flakes are dropping from the sky with the assurance of being preserved after the fall, buffered by those colleagues who have fallen before them. Without any need for urgency, each one is managing to have a decent look around and marvel at how together they have managed to transform this usually drab place into some kind of a pristine beauty. The snow flakes come down gently, perhaps in allegory to the slow moving world around them. Or is it the other way round? Has the world slowed down to mirror the unhurried fall of this snow?

My name is Red

I was walking swiftly. I don't know why though; there was no reason to hurry. The appointment with the doctor was after an hour and that's just the minimum you know. I was also starving, but I walked past the fast-food counters and kept walking. Aah, the irony. They have fast-food centres with the greasy burgers and oily chips in a hospital, where the original cause behind most of the illnesses of its patients is obesity.

Anyway, I was walking, my pace throttled by the crowds in the corridors, when my shirt's sleeve felt wet. Yeah, it was full-sleeves but folded a bit. I looked at it there was a big wet blob. Strange, did the ceilings leak in this hospital too? But then, at that moment, even my arm felt wet. I slowed down and rolled up my sleeve to check. Most of the lower arm was red. Almost dripping. An unusual sort of red really. Almost like a bright red paint that's been diluted. Watery. Damn. What was the cotton doing? Oh, I also had to be careful while moving my hand so as to not let the liquid slip off and mar the squeaky clean floor. Back to the cotton, it had absorbed enough to become a dark red. The surrounding tape, holding it in place, was still there. I had stopped completely by now. I turned around abruptly. The busy people, hurrying behind me had to suddenly stop; they almost bumped into me. They stared at me, I guess expecting me to say something on the lines of 'sorry' or 'excuse me'. But I just stared back defiantly. Then they noticed the bloody hand. With rising levels of alarm, they parted and gave me way.

I started briskly walking back to the blood test centre at the pathology department. Obviously, the nurse didn't do the best job ever and it's only fair that I give her a chance to rectify. The streaming groups of people in the corridors, walking in all possible directions, noticed me coming towards them, noticed the red, and politely got out of my way. I went past the fast-food counters, the main reception area and onto the other side of the hospital. At this moment, I wasn't even bothering to go around the people. I was brazenly jogging and expecting them to get out of the way, which they did. Of course, I still had to go around stretchers on wheels and patients on wheel-chairs.

I turned left. Then right. Left again. The corridors were flying past me now. Thankfully, the direction signs were abundant. Otherwise, people in a hurry like me, would end up going in enough circles to faint. Finally, I reached what I remembered to be the second last corridor to reach the pathology dept. I pushed open the door blocking my way and faced an elderly patient in a wheel chair being pushed by an orderly. But I didn't even hold the door open for them. I rushed around them and turned the final right. Now, I slowed my pace to quick strides and entered the blood test centre. It was just as full as when I had left some minutes ago. But this time, I didn't take a token and wait. That would have been silly. I strode confidently past the waiting room towards the room where the booths are; where the nurses take the blood samples. I could hear murmurs from the other waiting patients. The corner of my eye even gathered a girl nudging her boyfriend/husband/brother/friend-whoever and pointing me out. The couple standing next to the entrance to the other room quickly moved aside on seeing me. As I stepped inside, the nurse standing close to the entrance, presumably the supervisor, looked over at me calmly and made her remarkable observation- "You are bleeding". I grinned. That's what I do when I am somewhat embarrassed. She then looked over her shoulder and shouted, "Angie! Can you please re-bandage this gentleman?" Without waiting for approval from Angie, she pointed me to a chair, with a nurse standing next to it. I guess her name was Angie. I went over. She asked me to keep my arm raised and then proceeded to wipe and clean my arm. She removed the soaked bloody cotton and tapes and wiped more, now around the area from where all the liquid was coming out. The place where another nurse had just poked me a few minutes ago and drawn out bucket-loads of blood. Anyway, this second time, the nurse stuck much larger cotton balls and tapes, and quite firmly too.

With all that done, I was asked to wash my other hand which had also been reddened as I was using it to hold this arm away from people on my way here. The nurses then enquired whether I had also left my bloody marks on the floor anywhere. Anyway, soon after, with my freshly bandaged arm, very clean, smelling of that familiar hospital odour, and with the stained sleeves rolled up, I walked out of there. On my way past the waiting room, I noticed a few more murmurs and 'pointings' towards me by the other waiting patients. Aah, I was the highlight of their morning!

"Lashing"

Dejected is not what she would have called her state of mind. Dejection suggests a cause. Hers is deeper. Doldrums would suit the description of her condition but she didn't like that. The metaphor about a stagnant ship in the middle of the Atlantic somehow did not reflect the despair and melancholy that has been pervading everything about her in these times.

She was in another of her endless supply of pensive moods but the irritation in her eye was distracting her. Finally gathering enough energy she rose, walked over to the mirror and looked at herself. Not really, she avoided looking at all of her face and so moved closer to focus on her mischievous eye. The problem was pretty obvious- a single miscreant black eye-lash had escaped from its position and was poking her eye instead. She carefully pulled it aside. The dissident eye-lash now calmly lay on her thumb. Just then she remembered. It is obviously silly but why deny an opportunity for hope? So she closed her eyes, wished, opened them to look at the gentle eye-lash and softly blew at it. It didn't budge. She was about to try harder when she suddenly recollected that the eye-lash is supposed to be blown away from the palm for the wish to take effect.

Slightly relieved, she placed it on the her palm and repeated the process of wishing with eyes closed. Then she blew at it to send it away into the realms of magic. But again it did not budge. She blew harder. And harder. And even harder. Every attempt increased her anger manifolds. After 4 attempts, she was disgusted with the whole affair and vigorously shook her hand to escape from the clutches of this vicious betrayer. But the eye-lash clung on obstinately. She threw up her hands in anguish and walked off in a huff.

Apparently, it isn't so easy to regain hope ... ;)

Singles needn't starve on Valentine's!

Another story on the same lines as this and this, but with different protagonists. Perhaps better, perhaps worse, but definitely the last of this kind :P ...

All of a sudden, he found himself alone with her. Their mutual friend had deserted them somewhat abruptly. She, that is, the mutual friend, had looked at the time and was alarmed that she might be late for her dinner-date. It was 14th of February after all and she was quite a popular person. Unlike him. With these thoughts running through his head, he turned to her-- the one who was still there. They weren't exactly strangers, but hadn't known each other for the time needed to be called friends either. He looked at her, half expecting her to disappear in an instant as well. On the contrary, she smiled at him and asked, "I'm hungry, want to get something to eat?"

Though she had moved to this city a few weeks ago, she still wasn't completely at ease. Change is a complex thing. The transition from new to routine happens suddenly but imperceptibly. Anyway, right then, she was also being assailed by the hunger pangs. As she asked him the question, she looked around. They were in some unfamiliar part of the city-centre, unfamiliar to her at least. "Err, yeah okay," he stammered. They resumed walking. She assumed he knew where they were going. She considered specifying what kind of food she preferred and ask his choice as well. But she didn't have to.

"You don't eat at those kinds of places, do you?" he asked, pointing out the Burger King up ahead. They had just turned into a main street. Being February, it was a cold and dark evening, shops were closing and many people were scurrying home, or elsewhere. The apparent melancholy had no effect on him. Instead, walking along with her, he was slipping into a buoyant mood. "I try not to, too greasy, you want to?" she asked. "No, no! Just kidding, though I do eat at such places sometimes," he admitted. "Yeah, you don't have to worry about the fat," she reminded him. "And you would rather prefer some rice with lemon instead?" he attempted to tease her. "Definitely," she declared with a grin. He beamed, wanted to continue the talk, but nothing worth-while occurred to him. Suddenly, it did. "What about some Chinese?"

Is it a random suggestion or did he actually remember, she wondered. The answer was obvious when she looked at him. She replied in the affirmative, just to confirm. With that resolved, she expected them to change direction, or walk somewhere decidedly. But they seemed to continue rambling along. "It might be hard to find a decent place anywhere today," he remarked. "Uh oh," she mumbled though she thought of saying, Well, we can at least try!

She didn't seem pleased with his forecast, so he hoped they find a restaurant soon. He was the local among the two. He was supposed to know where to take her, but he wasn't sure. He recollected only that there were a few restaurants up ahead. And soon enough, they chanced upon one. "What about this," she asked. "Have never been here, haven't heard either," was all that he could say. They went in, only to be faced with a long flight of stairs and a longer queue of people waiting. With not even a pretence of hope there, they left immediately. He stepped outside and turned around, just in time to see her walking out of the door as well. The light might have played a part, or maybe the mood created by the ambience inside, he was struck by her looks. Of course he had considered her pretty and even hot, ever since he first saw her, but this time it was something more. That angular face with the heart-warming smile was enhanced by the playful curly hair; some of those dark brown curls were flirting with the forehead. He stood there, rooted for a few seconds, just staring at her. Or was it minutes?

That restaurant did look nice and well decked up, thinking so, she strode ahead with renewed purpose, wanting to find another one. But where was he? Not finding him next to her, she turned around, only to catch him hurrying up to her. She almost asked what had held him up. But the sparkle in his eye distracted her, or was it his glasses? She couldn't say. "There will be a few more ahead," he said reassuringly. But soon, his eyes were looking at something beyond her. Wondering what was so attractive there, she turned around and found an Italian restaurant with no visible waiting customers. With tacit consent, they entered. It looked quite romantic, all the tables were set up for two, with soft lit candles on them, populated by gently conversing couples. The crystal was glittering too. However, the somewhat Italian looking waiter who approached them, turned them away as soon as he learnt they didn't have any reservation. Perhaps it was time to reconcile to the fact that they won't be able to eat at any decent restaurant, she wondered. "These Valentine's day specials! Crazy eh? Every place seemed fully booked," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "Yeah and no one cares about poor single people like us," she complained too. Encouraged, he went on, "And they also pay such exorbitant prices for the same kind of food as any other day, this day is such a fad!" "Hmm," was all that she said in response. She didn't find Valentine's day annoying, at least not as annoying he was making it out to be.

Walking ahead, they came across a vendor selling flowers on the side. They both were observing him and also looking at the flowers as they moved closer to the shack like stall. He latched onto another conversation starter, “Flowers are also a big business on this day, right?” “Yeah and I think I will end up eating some of them if we don’t find any food soon!” she replied. They halted right in front of the stall and gazed at the colourful scented display. She started off soon enough and he tried to keep up. But his looks lingered on the stall. His thoughts were racing, Damn! I should have bought some flowers for her! What was I thinking? In fact, why wasn't I thinking! He contemplated turning around and getting some. But then he feared it would be too deliberate. Perhaps even awkward? Send unintentionally strong signals? It would certainly be incongruous with his on going projection of being a guy who is not the ‘mushy-romantic’ types. While the debate raged on, they were moving farther and farther away from the stall. He wished that time would stand still for a moment and permit him the leisure to decide. Alas, he felt they were too far away now and he could only rue the missed opportunity. He vehemently and silently cursed his absence of mind. It’s no easy task to be all normal and attentive with the girl and, at the same time, come up with ideas and make these instantaneous decisions, he complained in his thoughts, justifying his inaction.

They tried a few more restaurants, mostly Chinese, as they went along. From every one of them, they were quickly thrown out, not literally of course, politely rather, intermingled with some pity sometimes. Finally they found one which seemed to have vacant tables. As they entered, they were greeted by a gust of perfume. The restaurant was going for some kind of a pink decor, everything was pink, various hues of pink. She was sure she even noticed a few pink heart-shaped balloons floating around! An overly grinning waitress came up to them and offered to show them to a table. He looked hesitant. Detecting some uneasiness in him, she asked, "Do you want to eat here?" "Err, can we go somewhere else?" he asked, in almost a pleading tone. She wasn't sure why but they left the restaurant anyway. Once outside, he took a deep breath and explained, "The scents were just too strong in there, almost suffocating!" She laughed and approved the observation, "It was a bit too tacky." "There should be some more on the street ahead," he told her. They continued their search. Meanwhile, she mentally replayed the incident, particularly his discomfort in there. It was amusing. But it also made him more real, and endearing. She barely knew anything about him, apart from what her friend had told her. From her, she had gathered that he was the nice guy types, but would he make interesting company? She hadn't managed to learn much about him on the few occasions they met previously either. Today might be different, she felt.

They were now onto a busy road with a few cars and even a couple of buses passing by. There were a lot more people on the street as well-- mostly couples. He wondered whether they did the right thing by leaving the previous restaurant. This quest for food was just taking too long. He glanced at her, maybe for the millionth time that evening. The cold had made the tip of her nose reddish, reminding him of Christmas and making her look cute at the same time. He tried to remember if he was ever out with anyone prettier than her in vain. They were walking along silently. He had to say something. He always found sustained periods of silence, absence of a continuing conversation, awkward, especially when with a girl. To remedy the situation, he began, "So, did you do anything special on previous few Valentine's?" She paused to think. He was surprised at himself, pleased too, for having veered the conversation towards her and her life rather than general inanity. "I don't know, nothing special last year, before that also, mostly at home," she answered before adding, "And you?" "Nothing spectacular with me either, generally stayed at home like a good sulking single," he answered with a sheepish grin. She smiled and continued, "Yeah, it's not a good day if one is single, like us." He agreed, "All these couply people make us singles feel awkward!" After a few paces, he resumed, "In fact, this might be the first occasion that I am having dinner outside on this day!" She laughed and then reminded him, "But only if we do manage to find some place!"

They continued the walk-talk. Quite a few minutes went by before they came across the next restaurant. It was Chinese again. She sensed this should be it and looked at him expectantly, wondering whether he had anything to say about this one. "I have been here before, it's a nice place," he stated, "Let's see if it's possible to find a table." They went in and, this time, stayed in for some 100 minutes. Despite being forced to follow the expensive Valentine's Day special set menu, they liked the food. During the dinner, though she had no such intention, she ended up talking about her country, the government, her political beliefs and then moved onto things related more directly to her life. Yes, their conversation was mostly about her than him. She wondered a few times whether she was boring him but he kept asking her questions. She easily identified that he was trying to employ the common technique, 'make it all about her so that she finds it interesting'. She didn't mind. Perhaps, he was actually listening. He was definitely looking at her, engrossed. Being showered with attention isn't such a bad thing after all, she reminded herself. Also, in spite of all the focus on her, she managed to learn a few things about him too.

Done with the dinner and the subsequent formalities (they split the bill, he knew she wouldn't let him pay all of it), they stepped outside, into the cold street. He turned to her, wanting to say something, worried that this might be the end of their evening. But say what? She broke through into these extensive discussions within his mind, using her faintly dimpled and slightly toothy smile, and asked, "I promised to meet some people at a nearby bar now, would you like to come?"

words at night late ...

Tick-click, tick-click reinforces the absolute silence. A far away accelerating car can only emphasize the absence of life around. Street-lights reflected by the yet-to-evaporate drizzle are a reminder of the darkness above. The regular cycle of the changing colours, red-amber-green-red, mark not the futility, but the wait for someone, something, with hope that their existence will be acknowledged. The idly lying guitar points to the abandonment , the tall glass facade, to the achievements hollow. The heavy blanket, to the coldness abound, the tapping keyboard, to the thoughts profound.

Tick-click, tick-click, time still passes by...

changing fiction

I came here with full josh to blog about a particular topic and enlighten you all with the revelations. Alas, I hadn't even typed a complete sentence that the facade was removed and I realised that all my enthusiasm was misplaced and that the idea was foggier than Delhi airports on winter mornings. So what do I do instead? ;) .. I write the following. Wonder what such couple of paragraphs of stories are called!

------
It reminded her of that time. Generally on such occasions of remembrance, unfailingly, she pauses. Closes her eyes, sighs, and tries to get back to whatever it is she was distracted from. Not this time though. It had struck like a sudden strong gust of wind, leaving her breathless, metaphorically. She relented and let her mind wander to those bygone times. That glitter in the eye and that sunshine of a smile. Those flirtatious moments with him had always brought out the best in her. Days were amazingly beautiful then, or so it seems now. No matter how much she rationalises, and in spite of all the scepticism that she attempts to imbibe, those times still seem wonderful. He was wonderful. That's what hurt her- 'was'.

The change might have been gradual, but certainly wasn't a smooth curve. She believed it happened in steps. One fine day, she no longer found the conversations charming. And there definitely was a particular party wherein she no longer found his eyes seeking hers, no exchange of smiles across the room. Then on another, she no longer felt admired by him. She also clearly remembers that evening when she was bored and lost, and wanted to speak to someone, but he wasn't the first choice anymore.

Had he felt the change happening to? She didn't know. But she knew that even now he was still there for. Even after all this 'cooling-off' period, he seems always ready to meet her. Or even just to talk to her. She knew that she only had to mention it and he would instantaneously be available and provide companionship. She wondered if he hasn't yet realised that things aren't the same between them anymore. But then, he has to. They no longer talk daily, in fact not even weekly, rarely meet and that too only as part of a group.

She still wanted that guy whose very thought seemed to put a spring in her step. But the person she desired, no longer existed. People change with time. She has. So has he. But she still seeks the one whom she knew in those times. Just exactly as she knew him. Not the new him. She sighed again.
----

para-fiction - title?

She was absolutely uninterested. But she really didn't have much of a choice. Being forced do this favour for her friend, she sat there with a fake smile trying hard to hide her boredom. Her friend was already lost in the 'oh-so-cute' narrations of the guy. This guy was, in fact, the actual reason behind her being subjected to such torture. In short, her friend was interested in this guy and wanted to meet him, so dragged her along to make the rendezvous look less conspicuous. Now, while her friend is continued to be mesmerised by the guy, his attitude and his lofty boastful stories have started to not just bore her but even annoy. And to add to the misery, the friend of the guy, who was supposed to join them, failed to turn up. She had agreed to tag along with her friend on the sole basis of the promise that there would be a fourth person to keep her company while the two soon-to-be love-birds got lost in their own cooing. But that obviously hasn't happened. Now, what is she ought to do? She certainly had no interest in being the third wheel and had tried making up an excuse and leaving, but they stopped her. They said that the fourth person, the missing guy, might turn up any moment. According to her, that moment might never arrive. In fact, now she wasn't even interested in meeting this guy who, by his absence, submitted her to such agony. As she kept getting more frustrated, she realised she was no longer in any mood of making small talk with a stranger and decided there was no point of her waiting anymore. So, she got up and announced her departure with a curt goodbye. She turned around and bumped into someone. Mumbling a sorry, she hurried away. The person looked mystified. After striding away a few paces, she suddenly stopped and turned around to look back. What if the person, that she bumped into, turned out to be the missing friend that she was waiting for all this time? He wasn't. "Not everything happens like in the movies", she reminded herself shaking her head and went home.

ass u me

this started out as random fictional sounding sentences being typed out and ended up as this short story without having to revise anything already typed out.

She looked down. Staring at the fine crack in the wood of the table was her attempt at being inconspicuous; invisible rather. Didn't work. He walked up to her and stood just beyond the other side of the table expecting her to look up. She refused until he actually called out her name. With a fake smile, she acknowledged his arrival. Despite how much she wanted, she couldn't possibly feign surprise or alarm or make an excuse to avoid his company. After all, they had fixed this appointment mutually.

He immediately sat down, initiated the inane pleasantry-exchange and also ordered coffee for both of them, without asking her what she would like. Of course, she always preferred coffee and he knew that, but still, he could have asked her. She might have changed. But obviously, he didn't expect her to have changed. It was these kind of assumptions, that he made, that irked her. What aggravated her most was that, without exception, all of his assumptions were always correct.

They immediately got down to the business at hand. The coffee arrived. Though, she really needed it, she ignored it. She had to prove him wrong, just once. There wouldn't be another opportunity and without that, there would be no closure. She did manage to suppress her temptation and the coffee went cold and lame. However, to add to her intense exasperation, he didn't even notice it! He just went on and on without taking a second to observe how she was doing there. He just assumed she was keeping up with him and was all fine. Of course, as usual , he was right and she was doing just fine. But that didn't help with her point-scoring aspiration at all. If he doesn't even notice that she hasn't drunk her coffee how will he assume that he made a wrong assumption? Nevertheless, in a strange and weird way, this callousness of his got her the closure she desired. If he couldn't even bother to notice his mistake when obvious, though fake, attempts were being made to point it out to him, it no longer mattered if he did indeed commit a mistake, did it? Since, evidently, he wouldn't have cared even if he did. With this realisation, she smiled. He looked up at precisely that moment for her approval and assumed it, because of her smile. Mistakenly.

Her smile evolved into a laugh at the tease that fate is. He was nonplussed. His facial expression remained so as his head crashed into the table widening the crack in the wood. She now proceeded to put on her act of shock and alarm by screaming frantically. He was completely silent, without a heartbeat, having made an assumption, one too many.

The War of Ills

based on an incomplete true story!

The Colonel (Col1): [strides up to his regiment standing at attention and screams] Attention! The day has come. The day that we have been prepared for. The day to show our worth. The day to attain glorious victory in battle and obtain salvation. Today, we shall see real action. Our services have been sought to help a beleaguered nation. So what if we are mercenaries! We still fight for the good and aim to vanquish the evil! And that is what we will do today. Be ready for transportation in 10 minutes! Dismissed!

The first regiment enters the nation to find it in huge turmoil. At their first rendezvous point with the Lieutenant General of the local military:-
Lt. General of local military (LGLM): Colonel.
Col1: General. [they shake hands]
LGLM: We appreciate your quick response. As you might have noticed on your way here, our great nation has been invaded by foreign groups of uncertain origin. It seems to have been quite a covert operation as they have spread themselves around without being noticed. Now, they are creating havoc. Our great nation is under siege. Our forces are being stretched to their limit to overcome this menace. We hope your refined expertise will bolster us and help us defeat these foreign invaders.
Col1: Of course General. You will be pleased to know that our reinforcements will be arriving once every 12 hours.
LGLM: Indeed. Here is a dossier on the current situation. Godspeed!
Col1: Thanks!

Col1 at a strategic meeting with his captains:-
Captain1: The situation is grim, Sir.
Col1: I know.
Captain1: The local armed forces are battered. The invaders have complete hold in many regions.
Col1: I know.
Captain2: However, the local military has tremendously increased its production of soldiers.
Col1: I know.
Captain3: Still, it is not enough. Also, the quality degrades with increased production.
Col1: [snaps] Perhaps, we should focus a bit more on our own strategy! The main concentration of the invaders seems to be here, in this region. [points in the map] The red zone. Our regiment should break up into small units and target these areas. The subsequent regiments will obviously devise their own strategies, depending on the situation then. Now, get to work Captains!
All Captains: [in unison] Yes Sir!

Getting some free time, Col1 leans back and ponders about this nation. It seems to have come to a stand-still. All work and productivity has ceased. But, no holidaying either. The whole nation seems to be waiting, anticipating something to happen. Expecting him and his regiment to make it happen. Though he doesn’t have to interact with the locals directly, he is aware of the responsibility and trust placed on him. He sighs wondering whether his team and the subsequent ones will be sufficient and strong enough for this war.

Captain7 briefing his unit inside their target area in the red zone:-
Captain7: Remember to distinguish between the locals and the foreigners. Try not to harm the locals! Also, focus more on destroying the regeneration capabilities of the enemy rather than killing them individually. Once they are unable to divide and multiply, they are as good as dead. Finally, remind yourself constantly that you have been created solely for this purpose. Now, disperse and attack!

Soldier1 and Soldier2 are back to back and firing in all directions. Suddenly, Soldier2 stops firing:-
Soldier2: Halt! Haaalt! [Soldier1 also stops fire]
Soldier1: What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you are injured. That is impossible.
Soldier2: Of course am not. These parasites can never harm us! But look at who you are shooting! You have killed so many civilians. And also some local soldiers! You are doing more harm than good dude!
Soldier1: Aargh, man! It is so tough to differentiate between them all. They all look almost the same to me!
Soldier2: Focus dude! And why are you not using your sensory visors? Those will help you identify the targets.
Soldier1: Oops, oh yeah! Okay, now let’s get back into the game!
[They start firing again]

A couple of days have passed. Back at the rendezvous point, Colonel of the 7th reinforcement regiment (Col7) arrives and is briefed by Col1:-
Col1: Most of the previous regiments have focussed on the red zone. However, many of the invaders have infiltrated to various parts of the nation via the extensive and intricate transport system.
Col7: Isn’t the local military also spread out all throughout the nation using this transport network?
Col1: Indeed, that is how they function. Their production facilities are spread out somewhat over the nation. Their purification facilities, energising facilities are all in different regions of the nation as well. But, it does not seem to be sufficient. The local military has become weaker by this war and barely able to hold itself together. They need our expertise even in the non-critical areas.
Col7: Okay. My regiment shall disperse itself into the transport network and try spreading as much as they can. Hope the following regiments will do the same too.
Col1: Yeah, I will suggest the same to them too.
Col7: Well then, all the best. [they shake hands and leave]

Soldier1 and Soldier2 are still firing around in the red zone. Suddenly, Soldier1’s rifle goes silent. Soldier1 nudges Soldier2, who also stops firing:-
Soldier2: What’s wrong now?
Soldier1: I ran out of ammunition. [he is white faced]
Soldier2: Uh, oh! Does that mean, this is it?
Soldier1: I guess so.
Soldier2: But how come you finished yours, while I have so much left?
Soldier1: That is due to the aggression my friend. [he smiles weakly]
Soldier2: So, I guess it is good bye then?
Soldier1: Yeah, off I will go. I will get into their transport system and flow towards salvation! The purpose of this life has been achieved! Whoa, I actually feel relieved now!
Soldier2: All right my friend, all the best with your future lives! Adios!
Soldier1: Adios!
[then he leaves by stepping into the transport network and moving with the traffic flow]

After many more days:-
Col7: I think most of the invaders have been destroyed. We are reaching the end of this war.
LGLM: Yes. We have been gathering reports from throughout the nation. The invaders are largely in disarray with just a few pockets of them showing any resistance.
Col12: My regiment has dispersed into small groups and spreading all over the nation, using your extensive transport network obviously, and trying to mop up these remaining few invaders.
LGLM: Yes, yes. All of our soldiers are also doing the same. Let me tell you that our great nation is extremely grateful to you all for your expertise and support in tackling this menace.
Col11: Lt. General, as you know, many of our soldiers still have ammunition left. So, they will stay behind in your nation until they eventually waste away. You can make use of this opportunity by organising training sessions for your military by our soldiers. If our soldiers successfully pass over their expertise to your military, then you might not need us the next time these kind invaders attack your nation.
LGLM: Indeed. That process is already under way in several regions of our great nation. It has been a great pleasure working with you all. [there is a round of salutation and everyone departs]

--- The End ---

[ fill here with music from a war movie of your choice ]

Credits:-
Regiments of the Mercenary army = Tablets of Ciprofloxacin
Local Military = WBCs aka White Blood Cells aka leukocytes
Foreign Invaders = Evil Bacteria & Parasites
'Great' Nation = body of Mythalez
The Red Zone = the stomach area of the 'nation'

Afterword:- This is based on an incomplete true story because the actual story is yet to reach its climax. And, capitals in the alphabet are found in this post because this is a piece of 'literature and was written using a text-editor.

two paragraphs of nothing.

so, she looked up. was it just a draft sneaking in through the door, when opened by someone, or a shiver inside her establishing its presence? she wrung her hand and scanned across the cafe. perhaps he had sneaked in along with the cold air? she sighed at her own silliness. did she actually expect to see him! but then, if not, what was she doing there. ever so often, it feels like her mind has a mind of its own. takes her places she shouldn't go, makes her say things she never thought of saying. perhaps, the mind is recursive, eh? a mind inside a mind inside a mind ....

another cold draft. perhaps, she should pull on her jersey, lying on the table? but then, she wouldn't look as flattering as she does now, with her bare-shoulders and all. the pains for the pleasures. if he is indeed coming, why can't he be on time, she muttered. maybe, she should just go? how fruitful would this meeting be anyway? it wouldn't change a thing. hope is quite a camouflaged drug. brought her all the way here without consent and is not letting her leave either. she bent forward and buried her face in her sweater. and realised that she was wearing her spectacles instead of the contact-lenses. "damn!", she screamed silently. her useless nervousness while leaving for the cafe had made her forget about such a vital thing. there is no point of the waiting now, she concluded. with her frightful appearance, it might even be detrimental. so, in a rush, she got up, clutched her sweater and darted towards the exit. she pushed open the door and held it long enough to let in enough wind to alert everyone of her indecision and then left. the door had no respite though. it had barely closed that it was pulled open by him.

when you have nothing important or useful to say..

okay, i was supposed to be finishing up some long pending tasks, instead i am here, typing out arbitrary stuff, because i don't feel like doing anything else...

some days are meant to have a hopeless feeling about them, for no reason. everything is fine, looks great, but she just didn't feel right. went about the usual tasks, kept up the usual smile, but the mind was doing its own analysis in the background. it came up with two fairly obvious conclusions--- very tired of the routine, and nothing exciting to look forward to.

while i am typing this, i am, in parallel, involved in two different but equally demanding chat conversations, each of which is an attempt at convincing a friend that he should infact go ahead and ask that girl (that he has been infatuated with, for many months/years) out and not worry about the supposed consequences of breaking their existing friendship. naah, i don't seem to be succeeding ... both of them are still too scared, but atleast they accepted that they are deeply interested in their respective girls. sorry for the interruption, we now return.

instead, of going through the day listlessly, and then the week and then months and years, she decided to do some different. perhaps, not very dramatic. certainly not very dramatic, she is incapable of that. she always dreads drawing attention to herself. she even frets if her social circle finds some change in her and remarks about it-- like the other day when she had a slightly fancy haircut inviting a few comments, all positive. but she was extremely uncomfortable that day, even left early in order to not attract any more attention. she preferred to remain inconspicuous. at any party filled with new faces, she would tend to blend into the background unless she is with her close group of friends. thats what surprises her. she is not the traditional introvert. she had concluded at an young age itself that she is slightly weird.

aargh, the chat conversations distracted me for too long and now i don't remember what i was thinking while writing the above paragraph, and certainly no clue on which way to extend it. so it will be abandoned .... let's try something else.

the wind was whizzing past. that made the walk even harder. as it is, walking while absolutely lost in thoughts is not an easy activity. the pace slows down as the thoughts keeping sucking in the consciousness. sometimes, the person might even come to a stand-still and not realise it, like he did. and when he did notice it, he started again with a shake of the head and a shrug of helplessness. in spite of his sudden movement, the blame for the crash lay with the cyclist. he, securely ensconced in his helmet, was distracted by a parade of mini-skirted legs on the pavement and didn't notice the person walking right into his path. both of them collapsed to the ground. the non-cyclist was even entangled with the front wheel. after picking themselves up and scanning for scratches, they looked up to face each other. both smiled sheepishly conveying guilt. obviously, each thought it was his own fault. after a flurry of apologies, they restarted on their perpendicular paths; pushing away the memory of this incident into an abyss in their brains, never to recollect. thus, the cycle did crash into other people and even lamp-posts in the rest of its life-time, the cyclist continued to get distracted ever so often and the non-cyclist did continue to apologise unnecessarily, blaming his absent-mindedness for mistakes he didn't commit.

the BLAH is here !!

My friend, the corrupted Database (unofficially known as srujan in some cliques), also nicknamed 'the original spurious tuple generator', recently suggested to me that i should start a 'blah' cult. The idea immediately caught my fancy. Of course, after our recent revelations (link), the wider world certainly needs be informed of the 'blah philosophy'. However, the main hurdle for spreading this way of thinking is that unlike the major religions that need tomes to state their ideas, this philosophy is quite pithy. In fact, as we know, all its philosophy is contained in one simple sentence: "everything in the universe is just blah".

Yes, yes, I know that there is one minor niggling drawback. The blah philosophy only talks about the universe but not beyond it. But then, in reality, it does encompass all that there is. It is the fault of the language that it has not been able to come up with a word to describe the things beyond the universe. Whatever they might be, they still adhere to being 'blah'.

Doubters might ask, if everything is so clear, will the preachers and followers of the philosophy have any work at all? They do .. of course they do. Every person accepting, refuting or ignoring the philosophy has to come up with his/her own interpretation of 'blah'. Therein lies the primary beauty of the cult. Though, all its members follow the blah philosophy, everyone follows an unique blah, one that is specific to him/her alone. Thus, our cult differs from the other cults and religions in the world, especially in its flexibility and 'customisability' :).

So, followers of blah, unite and spread the glory of the word, across the universe and beyond! And the word is "BLAH" !!

LIVEMORCHA zindabad!!

Okay, there is this popular and supposedly influential petitiononline thing. But then, come on, how much would lending a keyboard-typed-signature to a webpage full of names qualify as a proper protest?? We Indians are used to bandhs, rasta-rokos, rasta-rok'ing' processions, strikes, dharnas and the kind. A protest should be marked by slogan-fest, placards (including both the sense and nonsensical ones), hands raising asynchronously, voices screaming, tv cameras flocking leading to breaking newsy headlines.

And yeah, those in India and interested (meaning having no other work or job or being a fledgling politician) do that too ... But what can the hated (not the antonym of love but as in hat-ed i.e wearing hat), shortsed (same rule as hat'ed), goggles and nike/adidas (reebok is ignored since its owned by adidas :P) wearing, $£€ earning non-resident Indians do to convey their opinion ? How can those 10 hours away frm IST supposed to protest to the Indian govt about their policies or the global food price rise? They need a medium too right? You can't expect them to fly in from California to Kolkatta .. participate in the one-day strange turn-taking-hunger-strike (which I think is not just a medium of protest but a temporary solution for the food price rise :P) and then go back to CA the next day!

Thus, taking these pressing issues into account, Mythalez proudly announces his proposed venture 'livemorcha.in'. As the name suggests, it will be a website where you can live in a morcha, live (the former 'live' is pronounced as leav and the latter as liev). It is the place on the web where you can espouse your support to various political/social causes by choosing to participate in various protests/processions online through your avatar.

Sounds a-maze-ing? How does it work? Every registered user can create his/her avatar (the online presence which is composed of an image that can be modified as per the controller's wishes using silly javascript based options). And any major minor or nonexistent protest that is planned anywhere in the country will entered into the site. And any user who wants, can prod his avatar to join that protest. The user also has the option of choosing or entering his/her own slogans that he/she wants the avatar to scream out while protesting. Ofcourse, the users also have the option of designing their own placards (some traditional templates will be provided to get them started). At this point, you might want to applaud this awesome idea, but are unable to do so because a seemingly niggle seems to be haunting your understanding - how can a virtual image actually protest?

Elementary dear What-son. There will be a webpage (hosted on livemorcha itself) that is created for every protest and remains viewable for the duration of the protest. This webpage is basically a audio-visual stream of the hoards of avatars protesting for that particular cause. The slogans will be shouted .. the avatars will be pushing each other ... falling down .. raising the placards and doing everything else that is expected of them.

The mechanism that will force the recipient and concerned officials to actually be forced to watch this webpage continuously is, as yet, in its final stages and will be announced shortly (is currently undergoing vigorous laboratory trials ... volunteers for acting as the beleaguered officials are invited). Moreover, until this mechanism is released (graduates from the beta stage), livemorcha corporation (CEO/chairman - Mythalez) does undertake that it will place appropriate screens and speakers at the requisite place of protest to relay, live (as in liev), the support of the interested users, via their avatars, to the actual physically present protesters and do its bit to add to the numbers and the decibels of the 'morcha'.

Financial investors for the venture, volunteers for website development and maintenance and users are welcome! Website launch date will be announced shortly!! People are encouraged to actively and vigorously protest against the expected delay .. just to be fit and well practiced.

Instead, it hoped

It caught the glimpse. Just a small flicker which died out in a nano-second. But this minute disturbance in the immense tranquility was sufficient to attract attention. It repositioned half its receptors such that they had the best chance of catching another glimpse. The other half, ofcourse, were on the other side with no way of receiving anything from this end of the universe according to classical physics, unless ofcourse it turned. Or it applied the unsafe quantum technology. But it didn't risk it. Instead, it hoped.

The flicker showed up again. Well, not exactly showed up, rather showed down or any other way you might call the fleeting appearance of darkness amidst a solid sea of near infra-red light. At this hint, it shot out of sight. Out of sight of the unbothered (this word will be added to the english dictionary by the time the events described here actually take place) populace of the planet FrogsinaWell. They never look up. Never ever. Maybe , Evolution could be faulted for not positioning their eyes at the top end of their bodies. However, eyes in the bellies can still look up at the sky provided the body lies on its back. But once again, evolution played the cruel joke of placing their feeding apparatus (cant really call it a mouth - there is no visible single opening) also on their bellies. Thus, all the frogsinaWell always faced the ground. Mainly because, they perpetually feed on the tiny lichen like growth. Aah well, evolution did make this part easy for them anyway. After all, what business do frogsinaWell have with the rest of the universe? Also, Evolution had many other pressing matters to deal with, e.g stamping out the vastly disliked abnormalities like homo-sapiens, than be bothered about FrogsinaWell.

While it was speeding along towards that faint dark spot, it did not bother to match it's path coordinates with the Inter-universal 4-Coordinate Database. Instead, it hoped.

However unlikely it could be, some of the coordinates of its path (actually quite a big bunch of them amounting to 2^(-13)% of its total path approximately) did clash with another, throwing both of them into diametrically opposite times and universes and producing a huge black hole covering the points of collision. The other culprit, which also did not bother to check with the Inter-universal 4-Coordinate Database, was a lowly living being which liked referring to itself as 'mythalez'. Taking another viewpoint, mythalez was not really a culprit because it couldn't have changed its course anyway, because it requires hard work to affect the motion of the chair that you are sitting on if no part of your body touches anything else other than the chair. And mythalez has always been extremely scared of hard work. Actually, hard work was what mythalez was fleeing from at that precise instant. Thus, hard work being unavailable for mythalez, it would have been in no position to change its course even if it was advised of the impending collision by the Inter-universal 4-Coordinate Database.

Must be easy to guess what book I am reading right now!

Yet another day

Looking up at the night sky, which was still bright enough to discern the clouds even as the time was galloping towards midnight, he wondered at the sorry state of his poor heart, at how mercilessly he has been suppressing his never decreasing desire. The unspoken wish has crippled his usual jolly self and made him a lost, miserable wanderer. Of course, neither his countenance nor his outward behaviour ever disclosed a tiny hint of his inner turmoil.

He wondered how long he could go along like this. While everything is seemingly fine, he no longer finds any joy in his activities, in any of his activities. He has easily dissected his condition into the minutest possible pieces and deduced that his want was just a want for love in general and not her in particular. But, since she is the only attractive one in the vicinity for a long time, the want has donned her effervescent face. Furthermore, there is no denying that it was her gorgeous presence and her gregarious interaction that had initiated this whole tasteless issue.

He looked up at the night sky again, sighed at the clouds and turned back. Today didn't feel right for the ultimate jump into eternity either. So he went back to live another day ... yet again.

Savour this piece of fiction for some time as there won't be any posts for the rest of this week :)