Carson grew up amidst cornfields in the remote town of Greeley in central Nebraska. His ancestors had remained corn huskers for generations, content with a simple life amidst humble surroundings. In this remote part of the country, time stood still, and technology had yet to impact people's life the way it did it in bigger metros on the coast. But such modest beginnings didn't dampen Carson's desire to dream big. As a kid, when he would wander out to the fields at night, his gaze would be fixated at the stars and the moon lighting the night sky. Many a times he would stare at the moon for hours and dream of reaching it one day.
In the 70's Neil Armstrong was the person every kid wanted to emulate. Despite having no TV at home, Carson had heard about him from his friends and family and immediately developed an urge to reach the outer space. With great difficulty he learn't to pronounce the word astronaut. According to him, that was the hard part. The easy part was to follow his dream and reach the moon. At nights as his mom would put him to sleep he would often tell her, "When I am on the moon, I am gonna look down upon the earth and see our cornfield. I will come back to Earth and tell you how beautiful our cornfield and house looks from the moon". Like a good mom, she would let Carson nurture his seemingly improbable dream. Sometimes a tear would trickle down her eye and she would say to herself - Son, we have always been corn-huskers, and we shall always remain the same. This is what we were born to do, and this what we would die doing.
But determination is often under-rated. With a resolve of steel and a single minded aim, Carson started working towards his dream at the school. He immediately picked up a liking for science and started excelling in the science projects. By no means was he a prodigy, but he was definitely among the top 10% of his school. He managed to graduate with honors from his high school, but being the only son, he had to make a tough decision to forgo college, for the time being atleast, and till the vast tract of agricultural land owned by his family. At nights he would read science fiction books and secretly pine to study astronomy.
But he continued to nurture his dream and hoped that he would soon be able to go to school full-time and study his field of liking. Buoyed by a few profitable yields on his field he had already started working part time with a community college in Omaha on a degree in Astronomy. If Nature cooperated and gave him some more bountiful yields, he had calculated that he would have enough savings in 4 years to start full time school in Chicago. His family stayed supportive of his initiative and admired his resolve. In winters, when he had nothing to do on the farm, he would travel to Nebraska and study science. Through those cold wintry nights, his dream was kept alive.
However, the mid-west is known for its fickle weather. In winter there are snowstorms and blizzards, while the summers beget Tornadoes and thunderstorm. That is the price people pay for living on the Great Plains. Most people accept the perils of mother nature and continue to go about their daily lives with the faith that they would remain untouched with the grave acts of mother nature. However, one such year, Greeley was caught in a wicked twist of nature. A massive tornado in the month of June, wiped out the entire town and flattened all but the only concrete structure in the city - City Hall. The tornado was reported to be 2 miles wide and packed winds over 130 miles per hour. The town of Greeley suffered severe causalities and was completely destroyed.
Trying to cope with the bereavement of some close family members, Carson lay sleepless on his field. Without a roof, he would stare at the sky all night. At times, when he could get his mind of the tragedy that befell the town, he would look at the Moon. His mind was filled with nostalgia of the days when he would fondly look at the moon and dream of reaching it one day. Today that dream seemed more distant than ever. The best laid plans of men and mice often go awry, and tonite the biggest question facing Carson was not whether he could reach the moon but whether he could ever go back to being a successful corn husker and feed his family.
Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
The Conservative Liberal !
Hari was born in a pretty conservative Tamil Iyer family. Hari's parents were raised up the old fashioned way, and as they firmly held to a lot of their conservative beliefs, it was normal for them to pass it on to their kid. During his younger years, Hari did not know any better than to imitate his family and relatives. So he went to the temple religiously, smeared himself with 3 horizontal lines of holy ash, wore the sacred thread and followed the much cherished customs. Often times, this would be a source of pride for him, cause it would keep his near and dear ones pleased and happy with him.
However, growing up in a cosmopolitan city took its toll, and Hari spent his formative years amidst friends from different backgrounds which invariably gave him a broader perspective of different things in life. Influenced by his foreign educated cousins and friends, Hari were to later grow up breaking a lot of the much cherished family values. Taboo things like meat and alcohol were the first victims, but Hari did a good job keeping his parents unawares of the same. Even when they did become aware of it, they were ready to pardon such feats, as long as Hari performed them without their knowledge....like many parents they prefered to be in denial, than trying to deal with them.
Meat and alcohol were only the precursor to the beginning of Hari's "impious" life. Despite his parents staunch religious beliefs, Hari always nurtured agnostic beliefs. In many ways his parents learnt to become more progressive with age and travel, and came to accept many of Hari's waylay lifestyle and values. At the end of the day all that mattered to them was that their son still loved them and took care of them. In some ways Hari had managed to instill in them very liberal views.
But the word conservative and liberal are more often than not, very loosely applied, and it should never be used in an absolute sense while describing a person. Often our views regarding things in life are very topical, and the same person who is far left on a certain issue might be hard right conservative on something other. Hari's parents were probably no different. They were willing to overlook all of their son's profligate lifestyle in exchange for him being married to someone of the same caste. Like a typical conservative Iyer houseold, they could not imagine their son not being married to anyone other than an Iyer.
But they got the jolt of their lifetime, when years later, Hari came "out of the closest" and confessed his gay preferences to his parents. His dad nearly suffered a stroke and his mom moaned for months. Hari's mom had always fantasised getting him wedded in a wealthy religious Iyer family. An out of caste marriage by itself would have put them in great grief, leave alone the fact that Hari now planned to marry a guy and not a girl. Over the years his parents had managed to accept a lot of Hari's non-traditional behaviour, but nothing could prepare them for something of this magnitude. For 4 years they stayed incommunicado with their only son, almost to a point where they refused to admit his existence.
However, like most things in life, time is always the best healer. It was heart wrenching for their parents to disown their only son and slowly they started preparing themselves for the inevitability. Thanks to media and western influences, there was enough public awareness and acceptance of his kind, and his parents had to finally come to terms with the matter. After 4 years, Hari's parents finally called him to signal a change of heart,
"Hari, I know its been a while. But we finally accept your choice. We respect your gayness
and your decision to marry a guy. That is ok with me. But your mom had 1 question for you"
"Yes dad, put mom on the line, whats the question Ma?"
"Is the guy you are planning to marry a Tamil Iyer?"
.....Speechless, Hari hung up.
However, growing up in a cosmopolitan city took its toll, and Hari spent his formative years amidst friends from different backgrounds which invariably gave him a broader perspective of different things in life. Influenced by his foreign educated cousins and friends, Hari were to later grow up breaking a lot of the much cherished family values. Taboo things like meat and alcohol were the first victims, but Hari did a good job keeping his parents unawares of the same. Even when they did become aware of it, they were ready to pardon such feats, as long as Hari performed them without their knowledge....like many parents they prefered to be in denial, than trying to deal with them.
Meat and alcohol were only the precursor to the beginning of Hari's "impious" life. Despite his parents staunch religious beliefs, Hari always nurtured agnostic beliefs. In many ways his parents learnt to become more progressive with age and travel, and came to accept many of Hari's waylay lifestyle and values. At the end of the day all that mattered to them was that their son still loved them and took care of them. In some ways Hari had managed to instill in them very liberal views.
But the word conservative and liberal are more often than not, very loosely applied, and it should never be used in an absolute sense while describing a person. Often our views regarding things in life are very topical, and the same person who is far left on a certain issue might be hard right conservative on something other. Hari's parents were probably no different. They were willing to overlook all of their son's profligate lifestyle in exchange for him being married to someone of the same caste. Like a typical conservative Iyer houseold, they could not imagine their son not being married to anyone other than an Iyer.
But they got the jolt of their lifetime, when years later, Hari came "out of the closest" and confessed his gay preferences to his parents. His dad nearly suffered a stroke and his mom moaned for months. Hari's mom had always fantasised getting him wedded in a wealthy religious Iyer family. An out of caste marriage by itself would have put them in great grief, leave alone the fact that Hari now planned to marry a guy and not a girl. Over the years his parents had managed to accept a lot of Hari's non-traditional behaviour, but nothing could prepare them for something of this magnitude. For 4 years they stayed incommunicado with their only son, almost to a point where they refused to admit his existence.
However, like most things in life, time is always the best healer. It was heart wrenching for their parents to disown their only son and slowly they started preparing themselves for the inevitability. Thanks to media and western influences, there was enough public awareness and acceptance of his kind, and his parents had to finally come to terms with the matter. After 4 years, Hari's parents finally called him to signal a change of heart,
"Hari, I know its been a while. But we finally accept your choice. We respect your gayness
and your decision to marry a guy. That is ok with me. But your mom had 1 question for you"
"Yes dad, put mom on the line, whats the question Ma?"
"Is the guy you are planning to marry a Tamil Iyer?"
.....Speechless, Hari hung up.
Monday, July 30, 2007
A Vagabond's Tale
Martijn (pronounced Mar-taa-yen) was born in the fisherman community of Vollendham in northern Netherlands. Growing up next to the dikes, he began to appreciate how a country with more than 30% of land below sea level stayed dry. He remembered his elders thanking the atlantic ocean, rather calm in that part of the world as opposed to shores of US Gulf coast, for their sustenance. He also noticed how the sun would set at 10:45 pm at night in summer due to the high latitudal position of his country. Growing up he made a lot of good friends in school, and although he really revelled in their company and his tiny village, he always yearned to travel around the world and see how things were different from home.
Opportunity came his way, as his dad got transferred to southern France, where Martijn was exposed to the terrain of high Pyrennes and Alps. Devoid of such terrain in the dutch countryside, Martijn started learning the variations in weather and eco-system brought by high altitudes. Often times he missed his friends back home in Vollendham, and would try to stay connected to them over phone/mail. But it was a matter of time before he made new friends and started enjoying their camaraderie. As he travelled the new world of Alps, Basque country and high desert of Spain, his ties with his dutch friends loosened while he forged friendship elsewhere. During his adolscent years, he spent a lot of time travelling in Europe and spent at times, months in a different country. He noticed how Northern Italy was cold and wintry, while southern italy enjoyed temperate climates. He enjoyed the moderate weather of the mediteranean countries and learned about the different culture. As he shifted his loyalty from milk(dutch) to wine(french) to capuccino(italian), he also made and lost many friends.
By the time he was in his late teens, his dad had transferred to eastern Europe, and Martijn started studying in Turkey. He saw how the coast maintained a moderate mediterranean climate, while the mountains prevented it to seep inland and as a result some of the high plateaus experienced extreme weather. By now he had started appreciating the vagaries of nature in detail. As much as he had enjoyed travelling and living in new places, he started missing some of his friends from back in Vollendham and the Pyerenes. Often times, due to lack of strong family and friendship ties, he would feel a lonely stranger in a foreign land.
By now he had majored in Geography, and took the opportunity to travel to Eastern europe and also spend 3 months travelling the trans-siberian rail to land as far as eastern Russia, China and Mongolia. During his travel, he made a lot of friends, and learnt some amazing stories about different cultures. His perspective on life was greatly broadened by such encounters with people from different lands. However, at most times his acquaintances were fleeting and the contacts were lost a few months after his travel ended. As he struggled to maintain contact with his good old friends from middle school, he realised that his closest friends were always the once he met the last.
After obtaining a graduate degree from Kazhakastan, Martijn decided to take up a job as a lecturer in Singapore. South east Asia was in stark contrast to Europe - a totally different culture and weather. He learn't about Monsoon, and travelled through dense equitorial jungles in Indonesia & Malaysia. He learnt more about the Muslim & Buddhist culture and started appreciating the differences in cultural beliefs. He finally met his love of life in Vietnam, and against his parents wishes got married. His best phase of life arrived when he got a 5 year contract to teach in India. He was completely dumbfounded by the amazing diversity in the country. He travelled extensively with his wife from the high altitudes of bone chilling Himalayas to the arid scorching Deccan plateau to the rain soaked Konkan coast. 5 years in India had begot umpteen new good friends, but he lamented the loss of relationship with his Southeast Asian friends.
Only in his early 50's did he succumb to the urge of moving to USA. Here he started noticing climatic patterns of hilly east coast, flat central plains, dry high altitude west and the beauty of the pacific coast. He noticed the country to be a melting pot of all cultures, and courtesy his varied background, was able to make friends easily with different ethnic backgrounds. He also noticed political differences between liberal progressive cities and conservative hinterlands. However as his close knit circle of friends migrate elsewhere, Martijn started planning his next move. After his retirement he decided to move south to Latin America and settled in the vibrant city of Rio. He now travelled to the high Andes, the dense Amazon and the frigid antartic like south Chile. His smooth portugueese and spanish tounge got him new friends in this foreign country. At most time he found people hospitabe and soon he had a great circle of trustworthy friends surround him.
However, widowed and kidless, he finally had a strong sense of nostalgia attract him back to the village of Vollendham in Holland. As a septugenerian, he was still able to recognise some of the friends he grew up many moons away. He noticed a vast majority of people in the town lived their entire lives in the same place and hence had made friends for life and almost lived like one big family. People here didn't mind staying ignorant about the outside world, as long as they could spend their leisure time with friends partying and reminiscing on good old days. These folks had grown up together and spent an entire lifetime with each other, and hence fostered bondings as strong as siblings. Sick and feeble, Martijn spend his last few days reflecting back on his wanderlust life and inability to hold on to a strong bunch of faithful companions. It's a pity that a man who made friends in 73 countries, spoke 13 different languages, understood principles of 20+ different religion, experienced temperatures ranging from -60F to 140F, died alone in his own "hometown" !
Opportunity came his way, as his dad got transferred to southern France, where Martijn was exposed to the terrain of high Pyrennes and Alps. Devoid of such terrain in the dutch countryside, Martijn started learning the variations in weather and eco-system brought by high altitudes. Often times he missed his friends back home in Vollendham, and would try to stay connected to them over phone/mail. But it was a matter of time before he made new friends and started enjoying their camaraderie. As he travelled the new world of Alps, Basque country and high desert of Spain, his ties with his dutch friends loosened while he forged friendship elsewhere. During his adolscent years, he spent a lot of time travelling in Europe and spent at times, months in a different country. He noticed how Northern Italy was cold and wintry, while southern italy enjoyed temperate climates. He enjoyed the moderate weather of the mediteranean countries and learned about the different culture. As he shifted his loyalty from milk(dutch) to wine(french) to capuccino(italian), he also made and lost many friends.
By the time he was in his late teens, his dad had transferred to eastern Europe, and Martijn started studying in Turkey. He saw how the coast maintained a moderate mediterranean climate, while the mountains prevented it to seep inland and as a result some of the high plateaus experienced extreme weather. By now he had started appreciating the vagaries of nature in detail. As much as he had enjoyed travelling and living in new places, he started missing some of his friends from back in Vollendham and the Pyerenes. Often times, due to lack of strong family and friendship ties, he would feel a lonely stranger in a foreign land.
By now he had majored in Geography, and took the opportunity to travel to Eastern europe and also spend 3 months travelling the trans-siberian rail to land as far as eastern Russia, China and Mongolia. During his travel, he made a lot of friends, and learnt some amazing stories about different cultures. His perspective on life was greatly broadened by such encounters with people from different lands. However, at most times his acquaintances were fleeting and the contacts were lost a few months after his travel ended. As he struggled to maintain contact with his good old friends from middle school, he realised that his closest friends were always the once he met the last.
After obtaining a graduate degree from Kazhakastan, Martijn decided to take up a job as a lecturer in Singapore. South east Asia was in stark contrast to Europe - a totally different culture and weather. He learn't about Monsoon, and travelled through dense equitorial jungles in Indonesia & Malaysia. He learnt more about the Muslim & Buddhist culture and started appreciating the differences in cultural beliefs. He finally met his love of life in Vietnam, and against his parents wishes got married. His best phase of life arrived when he got a 5 year contract to teach in India. He was completely dumbfounded by the amazing diversity in the country. He travelled extensively with his wife from the high altitudes of bone chilling Himalayas to the arid scorching Deccan plateau to the rain soaked Konkan coast. 5 years in India had begot umpteen new good friends, but he lamented the loss of relationship with his Southeast Asian friends.
Only in his early 50's did he succumb to the urge of moving to USA. Here he started noticing climatic patterns of hilly east coast, flat central plains, dry high altitude west and the beauty of the pacific coast. He noticed the country to be a melting pot of all cultures, and courtesy his varied background, was able to make friends easily with different ethnic backgrounds. He also noticed political differences between liberal progressive cities and conservative hinterlands. However as his close knit circle of friends migrate elsewhere, Martijn started planning his next move. After his retirement he decided to move south to Latin America and settled in the vibrant city of Rio. He now travelled to the high Andes, the dense Amazon and the frigid antartic like south Chile. His smooth portugueese and spanish tounge got him new friends in this foreign country. At most time he found people hospitabe and soon he had a great circle of trustworthy friends surround him.
However, widowed and kidless, he finally had a strong sense of nostalgia attract him back to the village of Vollendham in Holland. As a septugenerian, he was still able to recognise some of the friends he grew up many moons away. He noticed a vast majority of people in the town lived their entire lives in the same place and hence had made friends for life and almost lived like one big family. People here didn't mind staying ignorant about the outside world, as long as they could spend their leisure time with friends partying and reminiscing on good old days. These folks had grown up together and spent an entire lifetime with each other, and hence fostered bondings as strong as siblings. Sick and feeble, Martijn spend his last few days reflecting back on his wanderlust life and inability to hold on to a strong bunch of faithful companions. It's a pity that a man who made friends in 73 countries, spoke 13 different languages, understood principles of 20+ different religion, experienced temperatures ranging from -60F to 140F, died alone in his own "hometown" !
Monday, July 16, 2007
Twisted Ending
Despite having a wicked imagination and uncanny talent, Chris had grown up as a simple
son of a farmer. Bred in a hardworking family of peasants, he was destined to lead a life very similar to his relatives. His talent never shone out while he struggled through his schooling and failed to make the grade for college. He took a modest job to make ends meet, while he secretly pined for fame. As a hardworking millworker in a small midwestern town, his exposure with the outside world was limited to his brief visits to big cities.
However, the internet revolution changed his life forever. Ever since he discovered the world of blogging, Chris dreamed of becoming a writer someday - specifically a short story writer. He had read the Archers & the Henrys of his time and had been inspired by their engrossing unpredictable short stories. Little did he realise, that he was one amongst thousands of such aspiring dreamers, and devoid of some serious effort and talent, he was doomed for failure. Nevertheless, he secretly yearned to abandon his mundane job someday in lure of riches and fame that a publication might beget.
In line with his gut feeling, he decided that all his short stories should have a twisted and totally unpredictable ending. He had come to the conclusion that departure from normal should be the governing norm for his stories and that he should always strive to achieve a shocker ending. So he set out devising convoluted ending and then supplying a story line to match the end. Under such circumstances, his concern was not how to begin a story but how to end it. It would take him days to conjure a unforseeable ending, but on the contrary it would only take him minutes to weave a mighty tale around it. This concept totally ran contrary to the contemporary story tellers who would spend more time on the plot of the story than the mere end. But Chris, had no issues taking on the established pillars of story telling as he churned some really absorbing material for his friends to read.
Every night as he would go to bed, he would think of some wierd endings and evaluate the
feasibility of developing it into a story. Bolstered by a strong peer review, he started
living in the grandiose plans of striking it rich with his idea and would spend many a
nights dreaming about the same. Most of his idle time would be spent day dreaming
situations which would never happen in ordinary life, but yet would give readers vicarious
pleasure when he would put them in print.
It was only a matter of time, before his concept caught the publication industry by surprise. He started with moderate success on some cheap publications, but such novelty was bound to usher in a revolution. His following grew leaps and bounds as people soon welcomed this new concept and started reveling his stories. His books were like popular thriller movies, where one would have no inkling of the end, yet would be prepared for a wicked climax. Most times, people would devour his writings just to reach the end of it, and then spend days reminiscing how every line of the plot set them up for such incredible end.
He soon became the toast of media as his name and astonishing story got splattered all over news. His wealth grew exponentially as he changed ownership from an old tractor to toyota camry, then a low end BMW and ultimately a high end SL Merc. His meteoric rise in the pantheons of literature was only rivalled by the growth in his wealth and stature. While many sulked at his richness, some gave him due credit for revolutionising the concept of story telling.
The day of reckoning finally arrived in July '03, when he was ultimately in a position to buy his first Lamborghini. Despite the ridicule from his friends, he had never stopped dreaming about this day. As he walked around the mustard yellow Lambroghini Murcielago, all those moments started coming back to him. Today was also the day, he had planned on asking his long time companion to spend the remainder of her life with him. It all seemed surreal to a small farm boy growing in rural Wisconsin, but his dreams were about to come true. As he pulled out of the Luxury Car dealers parking lot in Chicago, and stepped on the pedal, a twisted ending was probably the last thing on his mind. Filled with plans of a new beginning, he neglected to stop at the red-light. Alas! the rampaging 18 wheeler coming from the other direction was a little less forgiving, as it not only crushed his dreams but also all of his 206 bones.
The man who flummoxed the entire world with his anti-climatic tale fell prey to the same fate in real life. Its a pity that a short synopsis of his own life, written by a loyal reader, would read very similar to his popular stories themselves, a bit tragically though !
son of a farmer. Bred in a hardworking family of peasants, he was destined to lead a life very similar to his relatives. His talent never shone out while he struggled through his schooling and failed to make the grade for college. He took a modest job to make ends meet, while he secretly pined for fame. As a hardworking millworker in a small midwestern town, his exposure with the outside world was limited to his brief visits to big cities.
However, the internet revolution changed his life forever. Ever since he discovered the world of blogging, Chris dreamed of becoming a writer someday - specifically a short story writer. He had read the Archers & the Henrys of his time and had been inspired by their engrossing unpredictable short stories. Little did he realise, that he was one amongst thousands of such aspiring dreamers, and devoid of some serious effort and talent, he was doomed for failure. Nevertheless, he secretly yearned to abandon his mundane job someday in lure of riches and fame that a publication might beget.
In line with his gut feeling, he decided that all his short stories should have a twisted and totally unpredictable ending. He had come to the conclusion that departure from normal should be the governing norm for his stories and that he should always strive to achieve a shocker ending. So he set out devising convoluted ending and then supplying a story line to match the end. Under such circumstances, his concern was not how to begin a story but how to end it. It would take him days to conjure a unforseeable ending, but on the contrary it would only take him minutes to weave a mighty tale around it. This concept totally ran contrary to the contemporary story tellers who would spend more time on the plot of the story than the mere end. But Chris, had no issues taking on the established pillars of story telling as he churned some really absorbing material for his friends to read.
Every night as he would go to bed, he would think of some wierd endings and evaluate the
feasibility of developing it into a story. Bolstered by a strong peer review, he started
living in the grandiose plans of striking it rich with his idea and would spend many a
nights dreaming about the same. Most of his idle time would be spent day dreaming
situations which would never happen in ordinary life, but yet would give readers vicarious
pleasure when he would put them in print.
It was only a matter of time, before his concept caught the publication industry by surprise. He started with moderate success on some cheap publications, but such novelty was bound to usher in a revolution. His following grew leaps and bounds as people soon welcomed this new concept and started reveling his stories. His books were like popular thriller movies, where one would have no inkling of the end, yet would be prepared for a wicked climax. Most times, people would devour his writings just to reach the end of it, and then spend days reminiscing how every line of the plot set them up for such incredible end.
He soon became the toast of media as his name and astonishing story got splattered all over news. His wealth grew exponentially as he changed ownership from an old tractor to toyota camry, then a low end BMW and ultimately a high end SL Merc. His meteoric rise in the pantheons of literature was only rivalled by the growth in his wealth and stature. While many sulked at his richness, some gave him due credit for revolutionising the concept of story telling.
The day of reckoning finally arrived in July '03, when he was ultimately in a position to buy his first Lamborghini. Despite the ridicule from his friends, he had never stopped dreaming about this day. As he walked around the mustard yellow Lambroghini Murcielago, all those moments started coming back to him. Today was also the day, he had planned on asking his long time companion to spend the remainder of her life with him. It all seemed surreal to a small farm boy growing in rural Wisconsin, but his dreams were about to come true. As he pulled out of the Luxury Car dealers parking lot in Chicago, and stepped on the pedal, a twisted ending was probably the last thing on his mind. Filled with plans of a new beginning, he neglected to stop at the red-light. Alas! the rampaging 18 wheeler coming from the other direction was a little less forgiving, as it not only crushed his dreams but also all of his 206 bones.
The man who flummoxed the entire world with his anti-climatic tale fell prey to the same fate in real life. Its a pity that a short synopsis of his own life, written by a loyal reader, would read very similar to his popular stories themselves, a bit tragically though !
Friday, September 29, 2006
Reflection
My first memory of this world was of me lying in a dingy little ward of a public hospital with tubes sticking all over my body. There lay my wreathed body, motionless and senseless. I could see a group of people clad in white overalls walking around me and discussing primarily in a medical jargon which my atrophying ear failed to decipher. As I looked around at the almost flat cardiograph, I could hear only one statement, "Only a miracle can save him now....."
The status quo was maintained for a while, as I held on to my dear life through tubes and pills. But instead of lapsing into comatose, I actually started feeling better and eventually I was discharged from the hospital. I lived alone on top of a small hill by the brook or so I was told by the person who dropped me to my shack. With every passing day, I started feeling younger, my body was no longer swathed in wrinkles and I started feeling stronger. I took up a job of a cornhusker in the valley, to make ends meet. It was over here that I made some good friends, with whom I would sit after dusk and share stories about our lifes - most of my stories were very brief and current.
It took me 5 years to realise that something was not normal. While my close buddies, were getting weaker and smaller, I was actually getting healthier. Not that I complained, but it stayed beyond my comprehension. But such perceptible changes seldom go unnoticed, as the villagers around me soon noticed this strange phenomena and distanced themselves from me. Over the next 10 years I got younger and younger. My hair started turning from white to grey to blackish. I gained a little height and definitely a lot of weight. My vision improved, but my social life shrunk to a point, as people outcast me from their society and considered me to be some kind of a curse.
Thus, I moved to a different town. But it didnt take many years for my abnormality to surface out and I faced an exile in a short time, in most villages that I moved. Banished to a nomadic existence, I lived my life in solitude. I had pets which would live with me and die, but my health would only get better and better. Many moons ago, when I left the hospital after recovering from a near death experience, someone told me that I was 87. I should have been 147 today, but my new friends think that I am in my late 20's. As I turned fitter and younger with every passed day, I wished someone would give me an inkling of what was in store.
Soon I was a teenager, and I still continued my forced vagabond lifestyle scrouging for food and clothes. I knew the clock was running out on me and soon I would find it hard to fulfill my basic necessities. As my voice turned kiddish, and I grew shorter I had to resort to begging on the streets. Often times as I would sleep on the streets under open skies, I would look up to the stars and wish I could travel to them. I used to think people there were like me, and they wouldn't hate me. But the first ray of sun would jolt me back to reality.
However, things changed one nite, when in an undercover operation, the moral police of the city snatched underprivileged children like yours truly, and placed them in an orphan house. I was 3-1/2 ft tall when I entered the charitable house, and within a year I shrunk to 2 ft. Alarms were raised, doctors and miracle workers were brought in to investigate this phenomenon. But they all resigned to something supernatural as I was finally transferred to an infant nursing home. By now, I had profound memories but no speech. Through my monosyllabic language I tried to communicate with the world and tell my sorry tale, but to no avail.
As I lay tonite in the incubator, chugging volumes of oxygen, I am still unsure whether I would wake up tomorrow morning to see the world. In the middle of all the commotion around me, I hear two doctors standing next to me mutter, " Only a miracle can save him now ....". As I heard this a wry smile spread across my lips.
The status quo was maintained for a while, as I held on to my dear life through tubes and pills. But instead of lapsing into comatose, I actually started feeling better and eventually I was discharged from the hospital. I lived alone on top of a small hill by the brook or so I was told by the person who dropped me to my shack. With every passing day, I started feeling younger, my body was no longer swathed in wrinkles and I started feeling stronger. I took up a job of a cornhusker in the valley, to make ends meet. It was over here that I made some good friends, with whom I would sit after dusk and share stories about our lifes - most of my stories were very brief and current.
It took me 5 years to realise that something was not normal. While my close buddies, were getting weaker and smaller, I was actually getting healthier. Not that I complained, but it stayed beyond my comprehension. But such perceptible changes seldom go unnoticed, as the villagers around me soon noticed this strange phenomena and distanced themselves from me. Over the next 10 years I got younger and younger. My hair started turning from white to grey to blackish. I gained a little height and definitely a lot of weight. My vision improved, but my social life shrunk to a point, as people outcast me from their society and considered me to be some kind of a curse.
Thus, I moved to a different town. But it didnt take many years for my abnormality to surface out and I faced an exile in a short time, in most villages that I moved. Banished to a nomadic existence, I lived my life in solitude. I had pets which would live with me and die, but my health would only get better and better. Many moons ago, when I left the hospital after recovering from a near death experience, someone told me that I was 87. I should have been 147 today, but my new friends think that I am in my late 20's. As I turned fitter and younger with every passed day, I wished someone would give me an inkling of what was in store.
Soon I was a teenager, and I still continued my forced vagabond lifestyle scrouging for food and clothes. I knew the clock was running out on me and soon I would find it hard to fulfill my basic necessities. As my voice turned kiddish, and I grew shorter I had to resort to begging on the streets. Often times as I would sleep on the streets under open skies, I would look up to the stars and wish I could travel to them. I used to think people there were like me, and they wouldn't hate me. But the first ray of sun would jolt me back to reality.
However, things changed one nite, when in an undercover operation, the moral police of the city snatched underprivileged children like yours truly, and placed them in an orphan house. I was 3-1/2 ft tall when I entered the charitable house, and within a year I shrunk to 2 ft. Alarms were raised, doctors and miracle workers were brought in to investigate this phenomenon. But they all resigned to something supernatural as I was finally transferred to an infant nursing home. By now, I had profound memories but no speech. Through my monosyllabic language I tried to communicate with the world and tell my sorry tale, but to no avail.
As I lay tonite in the incubator, chugging volumes of oxygen, I am still unsure whether I would wake up tomorrow morning to see the world. In the middle of all the commotion around me, I hear two doctors standing next to me mutter, " Only a miracle can save him now ....". As I heard this a wry smile spread across my lips.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
The Accusation
Jason's body went cold as he saw, Anita lie in a pool of blood. A weapon lay nearby, a knife. Blood stains all over it, possibly fingerprints on the handle. His hands were smeared with the same blood, his entire body went cold.
"Just stay where you are, you have been caught red handed. You are coming downtown with me, sir, you have some questions to answer", thundered officer Bishop. Jason stood their dumbfounded, not knowing what to do. His initial feeling was to flee the scene, but he stood there, cause he believed he was innocent. He started sobbing loud,
"I didn't kill her. I saw those sons of bit@#es stab her. I tried to save her, but I was too late. Please believe me. I am telling the truth..please officer, please"
"Nice story Pal, but the evidence is all over your jacket and that knife in the corner. I am sure your finger prints are on them"
"No, No, No. This is not happening. Anita was a good friend of mine. Lately, we had some differences, but I would never do this to her. I would never take someone's life....you have to help me officer, you need to catch those goons who did this to her. Officer, I need your help"
"Yeah...Yeah, cut your sob story you jerk. I have dealt with your types. Now if you may stay calm, I need to call up some back up and cordon this area for investigation."
The officer powered his walkie-talkie "LAPD, I need some backup at 26th & Wilshire in Santa Monica. I have an emotionally unstable suspect and a dead victim. Please send back-up immediately. Over"
"So why did you kill her ? She..your girl friend / wife ?"
"...Officer, I am begging you, I did't do this. I was suspicious of the group of guys she was hanging around with and I decided to follow her to this warehouse. I thought she knew those guys, but I was wrong. I could have saved her..I could have saved her...I loved her officer..I loved her", Jason was uncontrollable in his sobbing.
The officer stood there with a callous look, " Hey sissy, you can narrate your sob story behind the bars to your lawyer. I have to arrest you now. So if you please stand still and co-operate, I shall appreciate it"
"No, No..you can't do this to me. I refuse to be implicated in a crime, I haven't commited. I loved Anita, I wanted her to live forever, she brought joy to my life. Officer you are mistaken...you are grossly mistaken. I am innocent"
"..I don't care how much you loved her Mr. Romeo, your Juliet's dead, now I request you to comply, before my back up arrives and I have to start using force."
Historically, Multiple Personality Disorders (MPD) have saved cold-hearted criminals from prosecution. But today, Jason's other-self, Sgt. Bishop was accusing him of a crime which he did not commit ........
"Just stay where you are, you have been caught red handed. You are coming downtown with me, sir, you have some questions to answer", thundered officer Bishop. Jason stood their dumbfounded, not knowing what to do. His initial feeling was to flee the scene, but he stood there, cause he believed he was innocent. He started sobbing loud,
"I didn't kill her. I saw those sons of bit@#es stab her. I tried to save her, but I was too late. Please believe me. I am telling the truth..please officer, please"
"Nice story Pal, but the evidence is all over your jacket and that knife in the corner. I am sure your finger prints are on them"
"No, No, No. This is not happening. Anita was a good friend of mine. Lately, we had some differences, but I would never do this to her. I would never take someone's life....you have to help me officer, you need to catch those goons who did this to her. Officer, I need your help"
"Yeah...Yeah, cut your sob story you jerk. I have dealt with your types. Now if you may stay calm, I need to call up some back up and cordon this area for investigation."
The officer powered his walkie-talkie "LAPD, I need some backup at 26th & Wilshire in Santa Monica. I have an emotionally unstable suspect and a dead victim. Please send back-up immediately. Over"
"So why did you kill her ? She..your girl friend / wife ?"
"...Officer, I am begging you, I did't do this. I was suspicious of the group of guys she was hanging around with and I decided to follow her to this warehouse. I thought she knew those guys, but I was wrong. I could have saved her..I could have saved her...I loved her officer..I loved her", Jason was uncontrollable in his sobbing.
The officer stood there with a callous look, " Hey sissy, you can narrate your sob story behind the bars to your lawyer. I have to arrest you now. So if you please stand still and co-operate, I shall appreciate it"
"No, No..you can't do this to me. I refuse to be implicated in a crime, I haven't commited. I loved Anita, I wanted her to live forever, she brought joy to my life. Officer you are mistaken...you are grossly mistaken. I am innocent"
"..I don't care how much you loved her Mr. Romeo, your Juliet's dead, now I request you to comply, before my back up arrives and I have to start using force."
Historically, Multiple Personality Disorders (MPD) have saved cold-hearted criminals from prosecution. But today, Jason's other-self, Sgt. Bishop was accusing him of a crime which he did not commit ........
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Musical Memory
A picture might be worth 1000 words, but nothing can bring back memories as effectively as music. A picture might remind you about the people and the landscape in the picture, but music can transform past into present and replay all the emotions associated with a setting and more. There are always certain songs which you associate with special events like your first car, your first crush or your first pay raise and then the lyrics of these songs take an altogether different meaning in your life.
"I'll be there for you, When you want me to...."
Tyler, recollected the first time he heard the song on FM while driving with the love of his lifetime through the scenic Sierra Nevada. He had planned the road trip along the scenic route CA-395 the day after Meg accepted his proposal. Things could not have been any better, and the song only accentuated their mutual feelings. Cruising at 70 mph, their humming wafted through the breezy valley as their roadster lapped up miles amidst the snow clad 13,000+ ft mountains. They had heard the song more than 50 times on the trip and from that trip on that song became their love anthem. However, their crooning came to a tragic end when their rear wheel drive fish-tailed on a slippery patch of ice and slammed into an oncoming 18 wheeler. The excellent air-bag safety system and bucket seats fell short in their endeavour, as both the occupants were rushed to the Bishop County hospital in severe condition. After 3 days of battle, Meg surrendered, but Tyler survived, barely.
It took Tyler almost a year to recuperate, physically, from this ghastly accident. But the mental scars were permanent. Without Meg, he felt his life was without a purpose. Before the accident, Tyler was the lead singer for the famous band "Tool". But the accident had taken away his sole inspiration and he could no longer go back to music.
"I'll be there for you, When you want me to...."
...he heard the song as he walked into to the coffeeshop, and he could feel a mental fit besieging him. What was once his favorite song, was now tormenting him.
"I'll be there for you, When you want me to...."
...3 days later he was having dinner with his siblings at the diner, when he heard the song again. Unlike pictures which only bring back good memories, music can very easily bring back bad memories too. Tyler could feel his head explode, as he ran out of the diner with the lyrics to his once upon a time favorite music trailing him.
But when a song tops billboard charts for months, its difficult to avoid hearing it at public places. And every time he heard the song Tyler felt a seizure creeping through his body. Sometimes it would make him throw up, at times it would make him throw sudden tantrums, but mostly it would plunge him into long periods of depression. The song would give him nightmares and on somedays just sleepless nights.
.....Its been 5 years now since, the song debuted at the billboard charts and single-handedly made Tool's first albumn platinum. Many consider it to be the song of the decade, but Tyler wishes he never wrote that song.......
"I'll be there for you, When you want me to...."
Tyler, recollected the first time he heard the song on FM while driving with the love of his lifetime through the scenic Sierra Nevada. He had planned the road trip along the scenic route CA-395 the day after Meg accepted his proposal. Things could not have been any better, and the song only accentuated their mutual feelings. Cruising at 70 mph, their humming wafted through the breezy valley as their roadster lapped up miles amidst the snow clad 13,000+ ft mountains. They had heard the song more than 50 times on the trip and from that trip on that song became their love anthem. However, their crooning came to a tragic end when their rear wheel drive fish-tailed on a slippery patch of ice and slammed into an oncoming 18 wheeler. The excellent air-bag safety system and bucket seats fell short in their endeavour, as both the occupants were rushed to the Bishop County hospital in severe condition. After 3 days of battle, Meg surrendered, but Tyler survived, barely.
It took Tyler almost a year to recuperate, physically, from this ghastly accident. But the mental scars were permanent. Without Meg, he felt his life was without a purpose. Before the accident, Tyler was the lead singer for the famous band "Tool". But the accident had taken away his sole inspiration and he could no longer go back to music.
"I'll be there for you, When you want me to...."
...he heard the song as he walked into to the coffeeshop, and he could feel a mental fit besieging him. What was once his favorite song, was now tormenting him.
"I'll be there for you, When you want me to...."
...3 days later he was having dinner with his siblings at the diner, when he heard the song again. Unlike pictures which only bring back good memories, music can very easily bring back bad memories too. Tyler could feel his head explode, as he ran out of the diner with the lyrics to his once upon a time favorite music trailing him.
But when a song tops billboard charts for months, its difficult to avoid hearing it at public places. And every time he heard the song Tyler felt a seizure creeping through his body. Sometimes it would make him throw up, at times it would make him throw sudden tantrums, but mostly it would plunge him into long periods of depression. The song would give him nightmares and on somedays just sleepless nights.
.....Its been 5 years now since, the song debuted at the billboard charts and single-handedly made Tool's first albumn platinum. Many consider it to be the song of the decade, but Tyler wishes he never wrote that song.......
Monday, March 06, 2006
Inner Voice
People go to coffeeshops for various reasons. Some go to down a latte and immerse themselves at work in a nice cosy atmosphere. Some go to socialise with their friends, to escape work, and exchange gossip. Some go to enjoy a freshly brewed aromatic coffee as they soak in the sunshine and the brilliant weather. I go to the neighbourhood coffeeshop for a different reason - the cute barista !
Through my frequent visits, I had realised that she worked only on Saturday afternoons. She must have been some sort of a trainee or a temporary worker, but I could care less. She served as a brilliant inspiration for my writings.The first time we locked eyes, I observed a twinkle in those hazel eyes, supported by a dazzling smile and a cute dimple. The flowing locks and sharp features left me mesmerised.As she walked by my table, I looked up and smiled, which was promptly returned by a brilliant smile and a "hello". I acknowledged the greeting, but didn't utter a word.
I was not surprised to find her working again the next Saturday. As I dangled my empty cup at the edge of the table, she walked over to me and poured some hot java. There are times when words dont seem to come out at appropriate times, for me, it happens most of the times. Tongue tied, I smiled back at her. But she didn't seem to take offense at my inability to thank her. I would sit hours on such afternoons, observing her work away her charm at her over caffeniated customers.
After a couple of Saturdays, I sensed an increasing urge to ask her out for a dinner or atleast a drink. But a diffrence in culture, accent and more importantly language, hindered my ambitions. By now she had come to realise that I was a regular visitor and always greeted me with her warm smile, coffee, and a few pleasant words. I hope she didn't mistake my inability to hold a conversation with her, as an inability to understand english, which in any case would not be a bad assumption given the multi ethnic composition of this city.
On my 5th saturday visit to the shop, my perseverance almost paid off as I hung on till the shop closed and I was the sole customer left. As I was pretending to be busy at my work and secretly admiring her, she walked up to me and asked me, "So how is the story coming along, sir ?". My fumbling for an appropriate reply was interrupted by the shrill siren of the overflowing coffee machine and the accompanying steam plume. As she got admonished by her supervisor, I was escorted out of the shop by the janitor.
After weeks of introspection, I finally mustered up the guts to walk up to her and tell her how enamoured I was by her beauty. But she masked her inability to decode my language, which for most part was a hand-waving gesture, with a smile and a pat on my arm. In most cases you need courage to ask a girl out. In my case, I need a surgeon, if not a miracle to get my voice back!
Through my frequent visits, I had realised that she worked only on Saturday afternoons. She must have been some sort of a trainee or a temporary worker, but I could care less. She served as a brilliant inspiration for my writings.The first time we locked eyes, I observed a twinkle in those hazel eyes, supported by a dazzling smile and a cute dimple. The flowing locks and sharp features left me mesmerised.As she walked by my table, I looked up and smiled, which was promptly returned by a brilliant smile and a "hello". I acknowledged the greeting, but didn't utter a word.
I was not surprised to find her working again the next Saturday. As I dangled my empty cup at the edge of the table, she walked over to me and poured some hot java. There are times when words dont seem to come out at appropriate times, for me, it happens most of the times. Tongue tied, I smiled back at her. But she didn't seem to take offense at my inability to thank her. I would sit hours on such afternoons, observing her work away her charm at her over caffeniated customers.
After a couple of Saturdays, I sensed an increasing urge to ask her out for a dinner or atleast a drink. But a diffrence in culture, accent and more importantly language, hindered my ambitions. By now she had come to realise that I was a regular visitor and always greeted me with her warm smile, coffee, and a few pleasant words. I hope she didn't mistake my inability to hold a conversation with her, as an inability to understand english, which in any case would not be a bad assumption given the multi ethnic composition of this city.
On my 5th saturday visit to the shop, my perseverance almost paid off as I hung on till the shop closed and I was the sole customer left. As I was pretending to be busy at my work and secretly admiring her, she walked up to me and asked me, "So how is the story coming along, sir ?". My fumbling for an appropriate reply was interrupted by the shrill siren of the overflowing coffee machine and the accompanying steam plume. As she got admonished by her supervisor, I was escorted out of the shop by the janitor.
After weeks of introspection, I finally mustered up the guts to walk up to her and tell her how enamoured I was by her beauty. But she masked her inability to decode my language, which for most part was a hand-waving gesture, with a smile and a pat on my arm. In most cases you need courage to ask a girl out. In my case, I need a surgeon, if not a miracle to get my voice back!
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Reality Check
'He was touted to be the greatest prodigy ever. At the age of 5, he could find the square root of any number less than 100,000 or tell the capital or currency of any country in the world. At 8 he claimed to have understood the theory of relativity. Thus the decline of his intellect at 16 sent shockwaves around the world. Before he got his voting rights, his IQ had fallen to a measly 53. What a shame !!'
Aneesh walked into the kitchen and poured himself some more coffee. He was having tough time getting his thoughts straightened out tonite.
'Bowling the last over of a game is a tough ask in any ODI, but if that ODI turns out to be the World Cup finals, then the stakes don't get any higher. He mopped the sweat of his forehead and tried to stare straight ahead. The stadium had fallen into a deathly silence and his shoulders were laden with the expectations of 1 bn ppl. But what transpired the next minute, shocked the entire sporting world.'
As thoughts flooded his brain, Aneesh thought his head might explode. But he continued....
'He had dated Smita for more than 4 years now. It was a foregone conclusion that their courtship would end in one of those 'they-lived-happily-ever-after endings'. But he would never forget the Valentine's day of 2001. With a diamond ring in one hand, he stood in the portico ringing the doorbell unaware of tragic spate of events that were to unfold.'
Aneesh could now hear various voices in his head. The noise got so loud that he could hardly hear himself think. But he had to go on.....
'Even though he joined as a lowly engineer, people saw a composition of dense management material in him. He knew that his dream Porsche 911 was not far away. 7 years of perseverance and he was closing the deal on the 911 turbo. With a smug smile he sat in his fantasy machine ,but an illegal backing and an unforgiving pick-up truck would shatter not only his dreams but also his bones.'
Aneesh looked at the clock one last time. 2:33 am. He scratched and tore the last page on his letter pad and dunked it into the overflowing trash can. Resigned to failure, he retired to bed. Writing short stories is hard, but tonite it seemed harder....
Aneesh walked into the kitchen and poured himself some more coffee. He was having tough time getting his thoughts straightened out tonite.
'Bowling the last over of a game is a tough ask in any ODI, but if that ODI turns out to be the World Cup finals, then the stakes don't get any higher. He mopped the sweat of his forehead and tried to stare straight ahead. The stadium had fallen into a deathly silence and his shoulders were laden with the expectations of 1 bn ppl. But what transpired the next minute, shocked the entire sporting world.'
As thoughts flooded his brain, Aneesh thought his head might explode. But he continued....
'He had dated Smita for more than 4 years now. It was a foregone conclusion that their courtship would end in one of those 'they-lived-happily-ever-after endings'. But he would never forget the Valentine's day of 2001. With a diamond ring in one hand, he stood in the portico ringing the doorbell unaware of tragic spate of events that were to unfold.'
Aneesh could now hear various voices in his head. The noise got so loud that he could hardly hear himself think. But he had to go on.....
'Even though he joined as a lowly engineer, people saw a composition of dense management material in him. He knew that his dream Porsche 911 was not far away. 7 years of perseverance and he was closing the deal on the 911 turbo. With a smug smile he sat in his fantasy machine ,but an illegal backing and an unforgiving pick-up truck would shatter not only his dreams but also his bones.'
Aneesh looked at the clock one last time. 2:33 am. He scratched and tore the last page on his letter pad and dunked it into the overflowing trash can. Resigned to failure, he retired to bed. Writing short stories is hard, but tonite it seemed harder....
Friday, December 30, 2005
Traffic Lights !
From behind the sheet metal and glass, he observed the people around him. He saw the stooping old lady cross the street at snail's place much to the dismay of all the vehicles turning right. He wondered what the Hummer would have done to the lady, if it weren't illegal to run over the people, especially the really old ones. He saw a 5 year old kid trailing his mom as she pushed the perambulator in which lie her second kid. He felt like screaming to the 5 year old, "Dude hurry up, you don't have for ever to cross the road...can't you see the Hand has stopped flashing." But her mom trudged oblivious to the signs. She was a firm believer of the law that pedesterians have the right of way, but she forgot that a busy road is not a playground for a toddler.
Tic Toc, Tic Toc....the rythmic beat of his indicator reminded him that he was in the left-turn lane only. He glanced over his shoulder. He saw an elderly chinese couple arguing in an animated fashion. The husand seemed to be giving a patient ear, as the lady vented her spleen out (probably in Mandarin). But he was not peeved by their arguement, rather he was irritated that they drove a better car than him - a Lexus. As he looked into his rear view mirror, he saw this pretty girl putting on her lipstick, probably on her way to some hot date, or just a girls gone wild Friday night party. He muttered, "Make up your mind, not your face girl...you are on 4-laned street not in your beauty parlour". But he was having fun observing people around, and he decided that he would write a blog about it when he returns home. He thought observing people and their antics was more amusing than the wild animals he had observed at the zoo recently.
He then stared straight ahead. He saw a handsome looking guy wearing a suit sitting high in his Porsche Cayenne. As he waited for the signal, the man seemed to be fiddling with his blackberry. Damn these bankers and consultants, hot air and heavy head, too much of money, he thought. Then he glanced at the coffee shop at the intersection - Starbucks (no points for guessing). There was this lady in a formal attire, punching vigorously at the keys of her laptop. There were 3 kids doing homework and discussing about their History professor. And then he pitied the scores of other people sitting outsided the shop who had shelved out 4 bucks for a cold tasteless latte. He couldn't agree more with Seinfeld, Starbucks should actually be renamed Fourbucks.
As he kept fiddling with his radio stations, he hit upon a station playing, 'Oceans breathe salty' by Modest Mouse - one of his favourties. As he dabbled with the equaliser to get the best of the song, he heard a shrill honk from behind. His left turn light had turned green. He looked back at the girl who honked him and screamed, 'What's the hurry bit$% ?'.
With one hand on the wheel, and the other on the gear stick, he revved up his car and took a left turn onto the ramp to the 805 freeway. As he effortlessly shifted his gears, he could see the needle in the speedometer reach the max permissible speed in seconds. But alas, he had forgotten to carefully merge into the next lane. The last thing he remembered wast the 18 wheeler big rig nudge him out of his lane, as his car catapulted over the railing and into the ditch. His dream of writing a blog about his observations died when his fuel tank leaked and his car burst into flames.....but someone passing by on the freeway observed it and decided to write about it !!
Tic Toc, Tic Toc....the rythmic beat of his indicator reminded him that he was in the left-turn lane only. He glanced over his shoulder. He saw an elderly chinese couple arguing in an animated fashion. The husand seemed to be giving a patient ear, as the lady vented her spleen out (probably in Mandarin). But he was not peeved by their arguement, rather he was irritated that they drove a better car than him - a Lexus. As he looked into his rear view mirror, he saw this pretty girl putting on her lipstick, probably on her way to some hot date, or just a girls gone wild Friday night party. He muttered, "Make up your mind, not your face girl...you are on 4-laned street not in your beauty parlour". But he was having fun observing people around, and he decided that he would write a blog about it when he returns home. He thought observing people and their antics was more amusing than the wild animals he had observed at the zoo recently.
He then stared straight ahead. He saw a handsome looking guy wearing a suit sitting high in his Porsche Cayenne. As he waited for the signal, the man seemed to be fiddling with his blackberry. Damn these bankers and consultants, hot air and heavy head, too much of money, he thought. Then he glanced at the coffee shop at the intersection - Starbucks (no points for guessing). There was this lady in a formal attire, punching vigorously at the keys of her laptop. There were 3 kids doing homework and discussing about their History professor. And then he pitied the scores of other people sitting outsided the shop who had shelved out 4 bucks for a cold tasteless latte. He couldn't agree more with Seinfeld, Starbucks should actually be renamed Fourbucks.
As he kept fiddling with his radio stations, he hit upon a station playing, 'Oceans breathe salty' by Modest Mouse - one of his favourties. As he dabbled with the equaliser to get the best of the song, he heard a shrill honk from behind. His left turn light had turned green. He looked back at the girl who honked him and screamed, 'What's the hurry bit$% ?'.
With one hand on the wheel, and the other on the gear stick, he revved up his car and took a left turn onto the ramp to the 805 freeway. As he effortlessly shifted his gears, he could see the needle in the speedometer reach the max permissible speed in seconds. But alas, he had forgotten to carefully merge into the next lane. The last thing he remembered wast the 18 wheeler big rig nudge him out of his lane, as his car catapulted over the railing and into the ditch. His dream of writing a blog about his observations died when his fuel tank leaked and his car burst into flames.....but someone passing by on the freeway observed it and decided to write about it !!
Sunday, December 11, 2005
The Dreamcatcher
Growing up, Vikram Sood, never showed any signs of the uncanny ability he possessed which would propel him to be the best contemporary short story teller. To a lot of writers, writing short stories is a tedious process. They brood over their ideas for days, some probably months and when their ideas have finally taken a concrete form, they spend time articulating it in a language which would best convey it to their readers.
This is where Vikram distanced himself apart from his competitors. He possessed this extraordinary ability to dream short stories. He would dream the entire plot at night, and when he would wake up in the morning he would remember every minute detail of his last nights dream. Having slept over the entire plot, it took little effort on Vikram's part to depict his dream in words. Although his compatriots cried sore over this feat of Vikram's and discrerdited him of his success, his readers lapped up every story churned by him with delight.
There was no logical reasoning which could explain this phenomenon. Scientists from all over the world had tried to study Vikram and investigate into his mysterious talent, but all the medical books and knowledge fell short in this endeavour. Vikram, himself wasn't sure how it all began. He was probably 36 when he dreamt his first story and things kept rolling ever since. Today, Vikram turns 40 and he has already published a little over 1000 stories in 4 best selling books.
On his 40th birthday, his agent arranged for a big press gathering at the Sheraton Towers in Mumbai. International media had flown down to this event to take notice of this great talent from India, and spread the word around the world. During the conference Vikram explained in detail his daily routine. Everyday he would go to bed sharp at 10:00 pm. He believes that by midnight he is already latched onto his dream story. The next thing he remembers is getting up at 6 in the morning with his brain brimming with the complete story. A quick wash later, he would dive into his laptop and start typing away his way to glory. On most occassions, he would have the story written by lunch time, and he would be on his way to Marine Drive where he worked as a consultant for Accenture.
Last year alone Vikram or should I say his dreams coughed up 296 great short stories. Vikram later recounted that the other 69 stories that he dreamt that year where too personal to be published. But generally his dreams were not influenced by his personal life or the day to day happenings around him. This meant that he was capable of dreaming stories over a wide genre ranging from mushy gushy love stories to the gory details of a horror story. Some people have greatness thrusted upon them, Vikram surely seemed one of those people.
During the pres conference a journalist from UK quizzed him, "So Mr.Vikram, what's your worst nightmare?"
....pat came the reply "Insomnia".
This is where Vikram distanced himself apart from his competitors. He possessed this extraordinary ability to dream short stories. He would dream the entire plot at night, and when he would wake up in the morning he would remember every minute detail of his last nights dream. Having slept over the entire plot, it took little effort on Vikram's part to depict his dream in words. Although his compatriots cried sore over this feat of Vikram's and discrerdited him of his success, his readers lapped up every story churned by him with delight.
There was no logical reasoning which could explain this phenomenon. Scientists from all over the world had tried to study Vikram and investigate into his mysterious talent, but all the medical books and knowledge fell short in this endeavour. Vikram, himself wasn't sure how it all began. He was probably 36 when he dreamt his first story and things kept rolling ever since. Today, Vikram turns 40 and he has already published a little over 1000 stories in 4 best selling books.
On his 40th birthday, his agent arranged for a big press gathering at the Sheraton Towers in Mumbai. International media had flown down to this event to take notice of this great talent from India, and spread the word around the world. During the conference Vikram explained in detail his daily routine. Everyday he would go to bed sharp at 10:00 pm. He believes that by midnight he is already latched onto his dream story. The next thing he remembers is getting up at 6 in the morning with his brain brimming with the complete story. A quick wash later, he would dive into his laptop and start typing away his way to glory. On most occassions, he would have the story written by lunch time, and he would be on his way to Marine Drive where he worked as a consultant for Accenture.
Last year alone Vikram or should I say his dreams coughed up 296 great short stories. Vikram later recounted that the other 69 stories that he dreamt that year where too personal to be published. But generally his dreams were not influenced by his personal life or the day to day happenings around him. This meant that he was capable of dreaming stories over a wide genre ranging from mushy gushy love stories to the gory details of a horror story. Some people have greatness thrusted upon them, Vikram surely seemed one of those people.
During the pres conference a journalist from UK quizzed him, "So Mr.Vikram, what's your worst nightmare?"
....pat came the reply "Insomnia".
Monday, November 21, 2005
The Guessing Game
The weather was perfect - 72F on a mid-november saturday afternoon, clear skies and plenty of sunshine. I soaked in the warm weather along with a caramel latte, as I sat scribbling on my laptop outside the nearby Starbucks store. Occassionally, I glanced at the cute girl sitting on the adjacent table. The face seemed a tad familiar, but I was unable to connect it to anybody I knew. But my surreptitious glances were soon met with a pretty smile, as she became aware of my leering activities.
Feigning ignorance, I buried myself into my laptop as I started hitting the keys randomly. I was shaken from this act of pretense by a tap on my shoulder and a request "Can I join you for coffee ?". As I looked up at the girl, I fumbled for words, but recovered just in time to blurt, "Sure. It would be a pleasure to have your company". As the girl carefully pulled the wooden chair out and esconced herself in it, she asked, "So Arun, How do you do ?".
" I am doing good, how about you ?"....."Wait a minute, how did you know my name was Arun"
"Well I know a lot of things about you.", she chuckled.
This gave me the creeps. I never recollect meeting this beautiful girl before, and here she is telling me that she knows me very well. I was stunned, and I queried her further, "So what else do you know about me ?"
"Well I know that you write for a leading sports magazine. It might be Sports Illustrated, but I am not sure. I am also guessing that you are a specialist who covers all Monday Night Football games....." and she stopped in time to save me from suffering a minor stroke. In my career as a sports journalist, my photo has never appeared on any of the periodicals that I write. I am a mediocre writer who barely makes ends meet by coughing up one decent article a week. In short there was no way some stranger would have recognised me, and I was left speechless by the accurate biography this beautiful stranger was painting. My only comeback was, " So what would you like to drink"
As I floundered for words, she went on "I read your first draft of Cowboys Vs Eagles game. I think it was better than your final draft". I was clueless. I thought she was probably some staff at Sports Illustrated. But she denied any connections with the Fourth Estate. She continued, " I hope you get some action to write about Vikings Vs Packers game this week. I know both team suck, but I can rely on you to conjure up a nice article."
By this time I was growing frustrated and fast losing the guessing game. I tried connecting her to people of various professions that I encounter. But she rubbished all my suggestions. And just when I pleaded her to end the game, she replied "Actually I am the girl who collects trash at Greivella Apartments. Next time shred your drafts or I would end up reading all of them."
ps: This story is based on a dream I had on Saturday night.
Feigning ignorance, I buried myself into my laptop as I started hitting the keys randomly. I was shaken from this act of pretense by a tap on my shoulder and a request "Can I join you for coffee ?". As I looked up at the girl, I fumbled for words, but recovered just in time to blurt, "Sure. It would be a pleasure to have your company". As the girl carefully pulled the wooden chair out and esconced herself in it, she asked, "So Arun, How do you do ?".
" I am doing good, how about you ?"....."Wait a minute, how did you know my name was Arun"
"Well I know a lot of things about you.", she chuckled.
This gave me the creeps. I never recollect meeting this beautiful girl before, and here she is telling me that she knows me very well. I was stunned, and I queried her further, "So what else do you know about me ?"
"Well I know that you write for a leading sports magazine. It might be Sports Illustrated, but I am not sure. I am also guessing that you are a specialist who covers all Monday Night Football games....." and she stopped in time to save me from suffering a minor stroke. In my career as a sports journalist, my photo has never appeared on any of the periodicals that I write. I am a mediocre writer who barely makes ends meet by coughing up one decent article a week. In short there was no way some stranger would have recognised me, and I was left speechless by the accurate biography this beautiful stranger was painting. My only comeback was, " So what would you like to drink"
As I floundered for words, she went on "I read your first draft of Cowboys Vs Eagles game. I think it was better than your final draft". I was clueless. I thought she was probably some staff at Sports Illustrated. But she denied any connections with the Fourth Estate. She continued, " I hope you get some action to write about Vikings Vs Packers game this week. I know both team suck, but I can rely on you to conjure up a nice article."
By this time I was growing frustrated and fast losing the guessing game. I tried connecting her to people of various professions that I encounter. But she rubbished all my suggestions. And just when I pleaded her to end the game, she replied "Actually I am the girl who collects trash at Greivella Apartments. Next time shred your drafts or I would end up reading all of them."
ps: This story is based on a dream I had on Saturday night.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Hari & the WEST
Hari grew up in a small nondescript town in the outskirts of vellore district in Southern India. But that didnt prevent him from dreaming big. He had seen his california based cousin flash his nike shoes and GAP shirts and heard him talk about 16 laned highways and blonde bombshells. This had instilled a constant yearning for the WEST in Hari's mind.
Hari lived in a small 5 bedroom house shared by 19 close relatives. When Hari was a kid, he would play cricket with his friends in the arid fields behind his house. After a tiring day of game, he and his friends would take a dip in the Vaigai river, without caring for the buffaloes and naked seers swimming nearby. But as he grew up, the lure of the WEST made him detest most of these mundane things which he would otherwise enjoy. He would get peeved at his ever doting relatives and scream for more privacy; He would refuse to take part in the silly game of cricket and surely refrain from taking a dip into the "polluted" river. He had determined that he wouldnt follow the beaten path tread by his relatives and settle in this sleepy town. He had decided he would move to the WEST, strike riches and make a bright future. Before retiring every night, Hari would look at the post card of Manhattan that his uncle provided and dreamt of the land far far away.
But sheer determination and hard work reaped rewards, as Hari got a chance to study in a very prestigious school in Chicago. As Hari's relatives wept at his departure, Hari couln't resist his excitment at this opportunity. Although he experienced a culture shock when he landed in the West, he never felt nostalgic. It was a matter of time before Hari embraced the new place and new culture and started making the most of it. Inspite of a less than moderate stipend from his school, Hari could still afford luxuries which he had only dreamt of back in Vellore. His excellent grades landed him with a plump job in San Francisco as he started enjoying the ostentatious display of wealth that built the golden state of California.
Hari finally found the love of his life and tied the nuptial knot soon after, in a temple in Livermore, CA in a quaint little ceremony marked by absence of his parents and loved ones. With the luxury of a dual income household, Hari could afford a great house overlooking the bay, and also bought a luxury sports car. His kids grew up as American citizens playing baseball instead of cricket and munching Hershey's instead of cadburys. As he changed status from F1-H1-green card-US citizen his riches grew, his lifestyle improved, but somethings remained the same. For instance, Hari had a close knit relationship with a lot of Indians as well as Internationals, but at times of adversity he would always fall back at his Indian colleagues. He would always cherish and long for social gathering of his fellow nationals than any other company.
Once he was satiated by his drive for wealth and fame, Hari took time out to ponder over his looming future and his hectic past. Life had been one long sprint since he moved to his dream land. In his quest to the finish line, he had failed to stop and appreciate the moments of joy that passed him. During periods of deep introspection Hari would ask himself only one question, "Afterall, was it worth anything ?". In moments of solitute he would think of his relatives, the cricket, and the river. Through emails Hari would learn that most of his relatives still stayed in touch with each other and lived contented in absence of a materialistic pursuit. It seemed like life had finally slowed down for Hari, but the pace hurt him rather than healing him.
Finally, nostalgia got better of him, as he decided to return back to his hometown and settle for a laid back style of life. But to his dismay, things had changed more than what he had imagined. His 2 storied wooden house was replaced by a 25 storied skyscraper. The arid field, where he played cricket were turned into concrete jungle. Kids no longer played cricket in the open air, instead they played it on LAN. He could no longer swim in Vaigai as it had turned into a tourist hang out spot, and you had to book 3 months in advance to get a cottage by the lake.
After paying 300 Rs entrance fees, Hari sat next to the lake reading the mail from his son informing of his plans to marry an American, his wife's affair with their chineese neighbour and his daughters move to an independent house with her fiance. As tears streamed down his cheek, his memory jogged him to a time 38 yrs ago when his Uncle first told him about GAP, Nike and the blondes.
ps: A much better post on similar topic could be found here.
Hari lived in a small 5 bedroom house shared by 19 close relatives. When Hari was a kid, he would play cricket with his friends in the arid fields behind his house. After a tiring day of game, he and his friends would take a dip in the Vaigai river, without caring for the buffaloes and naked seers swimming nearby. But as he grew up, the lure of the WEST made him detest most of these mundane things which he would otherwise enjoy. He would get peeved at his ever doting relatives and scream for more privacy; He would refuse to take part in the silly game of cricket and surely refrain from taking a dip into the "polluted" river. He had determined that he wouldnt follow the beaten path tread by his relatives and settle in this sleepy town. He had decided he would move to the WEST, strike riches and make a bright future. Before retiring every night, Hari would look at the post card of Manhattan that his uncle provided and dreamt of the land far far away.
But sheer determination and hard work reaped rewards, as Hari got a chance to study in a very prestigious school in Chicago. As Hari's relatives wept at his departure, Hari couln't resist his excitment at this opportunity. Although he experienced a culture shock when he landed in the West, he never felt nostalgic. It was a matter of time before Hari embraced the new place and new culture and started making the most of it. Inspite of a less than moderate stipend from his school, Hari could still afford luxuries which he had only dreamt of back in Vellore. His excellent grades landed him with a plump job in San Francisco as he started enjoying the ostentatious display of wealth that built the golden state of California.
Hari finally found the love of his life and tied the nuptial knot soon after, in a temple in Livermore, CA in a quaint little ceremony marked by absence of his parents and loved ones. With the luxury of a dual income household, Hari could afford a great house overlooking the bay, and also bought a luxury sports car. His kids grew up as American citizens playing baseball instead of cricket and munching Hershey's instead of cadburys. As he changed status from F1-H1-green card-US citizen his riches grew, his lifestyle improved, but somethings remained the same. For instance, Hari had a close knit relationship with a lot of Indians as well as Internationals, but at times of adversity he would always fall back at his Indian colleagues. He would always cherish and long for social gathering of his fellow nationals than any other company.
Once he was satiated by his drive for wealth and fame, Hari took time out to ponder over his looming future and his hectic past. Life had been one long sprint since he moved to his dream land. In his quest to the finish line, he had failed to stop and appreciate the moments of joy that passed him. During periods of deep introspection Hari would ask himself only one question, "Afterall, was it worth anything ?". In moments of solitute he would think of his relatives, the cricket, and the river. Through emails Hari would learn that most of his relatives still stayed in touch with each other and lived contented in absence of a materialistic pursuit. It seemed like life had finally slowed down for Hari, but the pace hurt him rather than healing him.
Finally, nostalgia got better of him, as he decided to return back to his hometown and settle for a laid back style of life. But to his dismay, things had changed more than what he had imagined. His 2 storied wooden house was replaced by a 25 storied skyscraper. The arid field, where he played cricket were turned into concrete jungle. Kids no longer played cricket in the open air, instead they played it on LAN. He could no longer swim in Vaigai as it had turned into a tourist hang out spot, and you had to book 3 months in advance to get a cottage by the lake.
After paying 300 Rs entrance fees, Hari sat next to the lake reading the mail from his son informing of his plans to marry an American, his wife's affair with their chineese neighbour and his daughters move to an independent house with her fiance. As tears streamed down his cheek, his memory jogged him to a time 38 yrs ago when his Uncle first told him about GAP, Nike and the blondes.
ps: A much better post on similar topic could be found here.
Friday, November 04, 2005
The Dream Job !
"Your 15 years of great service......"
He still remembered his first day in the office. Raghu had graduate Magna Cum Laude from a very prestigious engineering institute and joined this major Auto giant. But his fondest memory of the first day in the company was not about the company itself, but that of another new hire joining the company alongwith him. He still remembered those hazel eyes, those sparkling smiles, and those witty replies. He remembered their first lunch, and their first coffee...he knew he was staring at someone special.
When he graduated from school, Raghu was determined to do a MBA and rise amongst the corporate echleons of the company. But in the weeks that followed, work took a back seat as Raghu concentrated more on wooing his newfound crush than concentrating on his long term ambition. He started living in the glory of his past, while Sudha took advantage of their friendship to further her professional cause.
"I acknowledge your involvement in the Passat project...."
This jogged his memory of those 15 months when he worked closely with Sudha on the new convertible design. They had spent endless hours together, both in the office and out of it, discussing the minute details of car design and philosophy of life. In the end, the project was a huge success, but it left him a trifle disappointed as Sudha lapped up most of the credit for the project. Albeit her promotion to the post of Senior engineer and fat raise, Raghu didnt complain as she was still in the same design group and now under the same roof too. They got married soon after the successful completion of the project.
"....the launch of Toureag was a huge success....."
Toureag the flagship SUV was lauched during Raghu's 7th year at the company. He was one of the several engineers involved in this million dollar project. Sudha meanwhile had made a swift transition to the Marketing division and was incharge of the Touraeg brand. She weilded much more power and influence on most of their projects.
"....in 2002-2003 you worked on the Traction Control Systems...."
Those 2 years had been the most difficult for Raghu. Her excellent performance and exceptional networking skills had gained her admission at the Sloan business school in MIT. He spent those 2 years living alone and contemplating his past. 12 years ago when Raghu had joined the firm he dreamt of exactly the same career path as Sudha. As he pondered over all the lost opportunites and lost talent he still managed to feel happy for Sudha and he relived his ambitions through her.
" .....your toast on the evening of my party ...."
Soon after returning from Sloan, Sudha had been promoted to the post of Chief Financial Officer of this billion dollar company. As Raghu languished amongst the hundreds of engineers who designed some mundane components like brakes for the car, Sudha was accelerating her career making billion dollar agreements with various clients. She was regularly featured in national dailies, while Raghu continued with his non descript style of work wondering where things fell apart. 15 years ago he was the brightest new hire and he dreamt of being the CEO of the company some day. 15 years ago he thought he had met the love of life and wanted to spend the entire life with her. The latter dream came true, but there was no way he would fulfill the former.
He took one last look at the Pink Slip, and a wry smile lit his face as he saw the signature at the bottom of his dismissal letter. It was signed Sudha Murthy, CEO Volkswagen Auto.
He still remembered his first day in the office. Raghu had graduate Magna Cum Laude from a very prestigious engineering institute and joined this major Auto giant. But his fondest memory of the first day in the company was not about the company itself, but that of another new hire joining the company alongwith him. He still remembered those hazel eyes, those sparkling smiles, and those witty replies. He remembered their first lunch, and their first coffee...he knew he was staring at someone special.
When he graduated from school, Raghu was determined to do a MBA and rise amongst the corporate echleons of the company. But in the weeks that followed, work took a back seat as Raghu concentrated more on wooing his newfound crush than concentrating on his long term ambition. He started living in the glory of his past, while Sudha took advantage of their friendship to further her professional cause.
"I acknowledge your involvement in the Passat project...."
This jogged his memory of those 15 months when he worked closely with Sudha on the new convertible design. They had spent endless hours together, both in the office and out of it, discussing the minute details of car design and philosophy of life. In the end, the project was a huge success, but it left him a trifle disappointed as Sudha lapped up most of the credit for the project. Albeit her promotion to the post of Senior engineer and fat raise, Raghu didnt complain as she was still in the same design group and now under the same roof too. They got married soon after the successful completion of the project.
"....the launch of Toureag was a huge success....."
Toureag the flagship SUV was lauched during Raghu's 7th year at the company. He was one of the several engineers involved in this million dollar project. Sudha meanwhile had made a swift transition to the Marketing division and was incharge of the Touraeg brand. She weilded much more power and influence on most of their projects.
"....in 2002-2003 you worked on the Traction Control Systems...."
Those 2 years had been the most difficult for Raghu. Her excellent performance and exceptional networking skills had gained her admission at the Sloan business school in MIT. He spent those 2 years living alone and contemplating his past. 12 years ago when Raghu had joined the firm he dreamt of exactly the same career path as Sudha. As he pondered over all the lost opportunites and lost talent he still managed to feel happy for Sudha and he relived his ambitions through her.
" .....your toast on the evening of my party ...."
Soon after returning from Sloan, Sudha had been promoted to the post of Chief Financial Officer of this billion dollar company. As Raghu languished amongst the hundreds of engineers who designed some mundane components like brakes for the car, Sudha was accelerating her career making billion dollar agreements with various clients. She was regularly featured in national dailies, while Raghu continued with his non descript style of work wondering where things fell apart. 15 years ago he was the brightest new hire and he dreamt of being the CEO of the company some day. 15 years ago he thought he had met the love of life and wanted to spend the entire life with her. The latter dream came true, but there was no way he would fulfill the former.
He took one last look at the Pink Slip, and a wry smile lit his face as he saw the signature at the bottom of his dismissal letter. It was signed Sudha Murthy, CEO Volkswagen Auto.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
DUI (fiction)
"Please pull over", screamed the Cop on top of his wailing siren and flashing lights. I had jumped the STOP sign at the intersection of Custer & Lake, and the ever vigilant Evanston Police had caught me breaking the law. One ginger cosmopolitan too many, and this could actually be a case of Driving Under Influence (DUI). I wanted to pinch myself and believe that this was dream or worse just drop dead, but instead I was greeted by "Sir, Can I see your license and registration please ?". A "flash-light" and "drunken-walk" test later, I blowed into the breath analyser only to be found guilty of drunk driving. The gravity of the situation became clear only when my license was taken away and the cop hauled a cab to send me home.
When I woke up the next morning, my first thought was to dismiss the event as a bad dream, but the ticket that sat on my desk was for real. I deliberated how to broach this subject with my family. My dad would have thrown me into the jail even before the cops could have got a sniff of the events. My mom would have wailed for months, and my friends probably would have made fun of me. So I decided to confess to the only person who I thought would understand me and not reprimand me.
"Grandpa, I have something to tell you", I looked at my grand dad with guilty eyes.
He probably realised that I had some bad news for him and he just stared back at me. He was wearing a brown kurta and a dhoti, 'vibhudi' on his forehead and seemed fresh from a bath.
"You see...I was....I was ..I was caught by a cop yesterday....I was actually drunk...very little though.. when this incident happened...they took away my license and fined me 500$", I stammered.
Grandpa had lived most of his life in India, but had lived long enough in US to know the consequences of DUI. However, he didn't bat an eyelid as he kept staring back at me, waiting for me to finish the story.
"I know, it was very stupid of me....if only I could reverse the time....I would never have done this.....What do I tell mom and dad know....what will happen if our neighbours come to know of this", I started sobbing like a kid.
On normal days, I would have expected Grandpa to put his arms around me and console me, but today I would have been stunned if that had happened (though I desperately wished he would hug me). Grandpa maintained his upright stance on the chair. He looked at me through his glasses, as I lowered my gaze to the Chicago Tribune and the 'dowra of filter kaapi' lying on his table. Still no word from him - but I went on rambling my confession
" ....Will you help me in breaking this news to Daddy.....will you prevent him from taking strict action against me...I swear I will never touch alcohol again in my life....I will drive very carefully.....I shall take up an extra job to compense for my hefty fine.....", my lips trembled and my voice cracked - I couldn't go on any further. Still, grandpa didn't yell at me. He maintained the same stoic expression that he was holding at the beginning of my confession.
" ....Grandpa....Please forgive me....I have commited a huge mistake....please dont scold me.....I know that you are the only person, who will understand me....please grand pa....please forgive me...."
But this time, I didnt look back at him, instead I knelt down to pick up the garland which had fallen from his laminated portrait. Grandpa would have been 86 today, and he surely would not have been happy with what I did yesterday night.
When I woke up the next morning, my first thought was to dismiss the event as a bad dream, but the ticket that sat on my desk was for real. I deliberated how to broach this subject with my family. My dad would have thrown me into the jail even before the cops could have got a sniff of the events. My mom would have wailed for months, and my friends probably would have made fun of me. So I decided to confess to the only person who I thought would understand me and not reprimand me.
"Grandpa, I have something to tell you", I looked at my grand dad with guilty eyes.
He probably realised that I had some bad news for him and he just stared back at me. He was wearing a brown kurta and a dhoti, 'vibhudi' on his forehead and seemed fresh from a bath.
"You see...I was....I was ..I was caught by a cop yesterday....I was actually drunk...very little though.. when this incident happened...they took away my license and fined me 500$", I stammered.
Grandpa had lived most of his life in India, but had lived long enough in US to know the consequences of DUI. However, he didn't bat an eyelid as he kept staring back at me, waiting for me to finish the story.
"I know, it was very stupid of me....if only I could reverse the time....I would never have done this.....What do I tell mom and dad know....what will happen if our neighbours come to know of this", I started sobbing like a kid.
On normal days, I would have expected Grandpa to put his arms around me and console me, but today I would have been stunned if that had happened (though I desperately wished he would hug me). Grandpa maintained his upright stance on the chair. He looked at me through his glasses, as I lowered my gaze to the Chicago Tribune and the 'dowra of filter kaapi' lying on his table. Still no word from him - but I went on rambling my confession
" ....Will you help me in breaking this news to Daddy.....will you prevent him from taking strict action against me...I swear I will never touch alcohol again in my life....I will drive very carefully.....I shall take up an extra job to compense for my hefty fine.....", my lips trembled and my voice cracked - I couldn't go on any further. Still, grandpa didn't yell at me. He maintained the same stoic expression that he was holding at the beginning of my confession.
" ....Grandpa....Please forgive me....I have commited a huge mistake....please dont scold me.....I know that you are the only person, who will understand me....please grand pa....please forgive me...."
But this time, I didnt look back at him, instead I knelt down to pick up the garland which had fallen from his laminated portrait. Grandpa would have been 86 today, and he surely would not have been happy with what I did yesterday night.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
True Lovers (PG13)
"Get up you lazy bitch", screamed Alex from the verandah of his villa overlooking the Pacific at their multimillion dollar house in Rancho Paola Verdes. Tracy never took offense at Alex's harsh language, or rather she had learnt to accept it as a fate. So she let out a moan and rolled to the other side turning her back to the solitary ray of sun penetrating through the orifice in the window. Alex had prepared a breakfast of eggs and milk for her and demanded that she lap it up before they go for their regular Saturday morning exercise at Hahn Recreation Park.
Alex had bumped into Tracy at the parking lot of a local grocery store about 6 years ago. It was an unsually cold day and Tracy was wearing a fur coat, nevertheless she looked really cute. Alex's heart had melted even before Tracy threw a glance at him. They went home together that night, and have never been separated since them. The initial days were typical, a lot of cuddling and mushy-gushy talk. The moment Alex would return home from work, Tracy would leap into his wide shoulders and kiss him passionately. Alex was never a great kisser, and was a little reserved in showing his love and affection, especially in public, but Tracy made no bones about it. They could be spotted together at every cafe, every park and every beach in Southern California and seemed like they could never be separated. However their relationship had been on a slow decline. They still lived together, and Tracy still remained loyal to Alex. Alex had a always been of a garrulous kind, and Tracy would give a patient hearing to all his grievances. But their conversations had been reduced to a minimal, though Alex still did most of the talking. Tracy would laze at home all day long, reflecting on her sweet past while Alex would work his ass off as an investment banker.
The traffic on 405 was light on that Saturday morning, and it took them only 15 minutes to reach the recreation park. During their early years they would get a ball or a frisbee, and spend time exercising in the Park. But things had changed now, and they were happy just to spend time walking along the hills outlining the park. They never had a conversation on these walks, ocassionaly Alex would complain and Tracy would grunt in response.
Sam, adopted by millionaries Smith's, was also a regular visitor to the Park. He had seen Tracy 3 weeks ago, and ever since had nurtured a secret crush on her. He realised that she was going out with Alex, but it didn't take a fortune teller to predict that things were falling apart between her and Alex. Besides he knew that Alex was not of Tracy's kind. Sam visited the park eagerly with the hope that one day Tracy will show up alone, and then he would tell her how much he loved her.
10 patient weeks later his prayer almost came true. As Alex esconced himself by the Park bench to finish up his conference minutes, Tracy was wandering along the Park all alone. Sam ceased this opportunity and approached Tracy. At their first meeting, they didn't exchange any words; it was limited to glances, lustful and amorous from Sam, and plain inquisitive from Tracy's side. No one heard them speak, but there was surely a chemistry developing between them. With the passage of time, the initial friendly exchanges between Sam and Tracy were replaced by lustful moves, the brushing and touching had increased in lieu of Alex's "business on park bench" weekends. One fine day, in a moment of pure ecstacy, Tracy followed Sam to the secluded quarters of the Park behind the densely wooded areas and started making passionate love. Sam succeeded in pleasuring Tracy in a way Alex had never done before, and she was thoroughly enjoying it too, as they made love like animals.
Meanwhile Alex, who had lost sight of Tracy, started yelling and searching for her. It took him over half an over to trace the whereabouts of Tracy. When he finally did make it to the love spot, he was shocked behind words, his face suddenly lost color and his first reaction was to pick up the nearest piece of rock and aim it on Sam's head. Instead, he decided to walk back to the bench and give the 2 German shepherds a moment of privacy.
Alex had bumped into Tracy at the parking lot of a local grocery store about 6 years ago. It was an unsually cold day and Tracy was wearing a fur coat, nevertheless she looked really cute. Alex's heart had melted even before Tracy threw a glance at him. They went home together that night, and have never been separated since them. The initial days were typical, a lot of cuddling and mushy-gushy talk. The moment Alex would return home from work, Tracy would leap into his wide shoulders and kiss him passionately. Alex was never a great kisser, and was a little reserved in showing his love and affection, especially in public, but Tracy made no bones about it. They could be spotted together at every cafe, every park and every beach in Southern California and seemed like they could never be separated. However their relationship had been on a slow decline. They still lived together, and Tracy still remained loyal to Alex. Alex had a always been of a garrulous kind, and Tracy would give a patient hearing to all his grievances. But their conversations had been reduced to a minimal, though Alex still did most of the talking. Tracy would laze at home all day long, reflecting on her sweet past while Alex would work his ass off as an investment banker.
The traffic on 405 was light on that Saturday morning, and it took them only 15 minutes to reach the recreation park. During their early years they would get a ball or a frisbee, and spend time exercising in the Park. But things had changed now, and they were happy just to spend time walking along the hills outlining the park. They never had a conversation on these walks, ocassionaly Alex would complain and Tracy would grunt in response.
Sam, adopted by millionaries Smith's, was also a regular visitor to the Park. He had seen Tracy 3 weeks ago, and ever since had nurtured a secret crush on her. He realised that she was going out with Alex, but it didn't take a fortune teller to predict that things were falling apart between her and Alex. Besides he knew that Alex was not of Tracy's kind. Sam visited the park eagerly with the hope that one day Tracy will show up alone, and then he would tell her how much he loved her.
10 patient weeks later his prayer almost came true. As Alex esconced himself by the Park bench to finish up his conference minutes, Tracy was wandering along the Park all alone. Sam ceased this opportunity and approached Tracy. At their first meeting, they didn't exchange any words; it was limited to glances, lustful and amorous from Sam, and plain inquisitive from Tracy's side. No one heard them speak, but there was surely a chemistry developing between them. With the passage of time, the initial friendly exchanges between Sam and Tracy were replaced by lustful moves, the brushing and touching had increased in lieu of Alex's "business on park bench" weekends. One fine day, in a moment of pure ecstacy, Tracy followed Sam to the secluded quarters of the Park behind the densely wooded areas and started making passionate love. Sam succeeded in pleasuring Tracy in a way Alex had never done before, and she was thoroughly enjoying it too, as they made love like animals.
Meanwhile Alex, who had lost sight of Tracy, started yelling and searching for her. It took him over half an over to trace the whereabouts of Tracy. When he finally did make it to the love spot, he was shocked behind words, his face suddenly lost color and his first reaction was to pick up the nearest piece of rock and aim it on Sam's head. Instead, he decided to walk back to the bench and give the 2 German shepherds a moment of privacy.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
The most handsome guy in the world
At the age of 27, Peter had already risen to the post of an Associate, and was bagging a very fat 6 digit salary. While most of his co-bankers were fast asleep at 7:00 am on a Sunday morning, Peter was cruising on his Porsche 911 to meet his close friends over a breakfast at their usual gathering near Malibu beach, Los Angeles.
"..so was it another 80 hour week for you Mr. Workalcoholic", queried Stacy.
"hmmm, You could say that. Luckily I dont have to work on Sundays" exclaimed Peter.
As Angela served Peter his frenchtoasts, Marietta remarked, "Peter you are so handsome, so rich, and so good at heart. I have probably never met a nicer man than you. Why don't you find a girlfriend and take things a little slow". Angela chuckled under her breath on hearing it, but neverthless added "I dont care about you Peter, but I surely would like to go out with someone driving a Porsche".
"Yeah...you could probably bed any girl in Los Angeles with your wealth and your looks. You don't even have to try, Peter. Just go to a bar one night, instead of your claustrophobic office....", added Matt.
A blushing Peter chipped in, "Would you people stop flattering me and enjoy the nice breakfast Angela has prepared ?".It was hard to be not attracted to the mellifulous voice of Peter, and Gloria and Olivia who were overhearing this conversation from the other room came out to the dining room as soon as they could make it.
Gloria and Olivia, identical twins, were always big fans of Peter. They used to swear that if they were 6-8 years younger, they would have competed to date Peter. They were so enamoured by his character that they used to spend the entire Sunday morning with him listening to the waves crash onto the Malibu rocks and the vehicles whizzing past the Pacific coast highway. Infact they even used to hit on Peter in a very innocuous way.
Marietta even went as far as suggesting that Peter meet her blonde cousin, who was roaming around West Hollywood looking for modelling assignments. Gloria wanted him to date her nephew, while Matt wanted him to meet his sister. As Angela left the room, and refuse to be part of this conversation, others continued on their "Peter beauty bashing" note . Peter remained calm and modest, but he was vastly out numbered by a bunch of people, enamoured by his beauty. The fact that a handsome and wealthy guy like Peter would stay single to this age never ceased to amaze them.
Peter stood 5'4" tall and weighed 200 lbs. He had a big nose, a protruding jaw, a long deep disfiguring scar on his forehead from a terrible childhood accidentand a fast receding hairline. He wore thick glasses and mostly stayed unshaven and unkempt. In short he was far from the Adonis-like, blonde bedding looks potrayed by his friend.....but try explaining this to Stacy, Marietta, Matt, Gloria and Olivia - members of the "Oxnard Blind People's Home", the institution built and maintained by Peter. As they say, beauty does lie in the eye of the beholder !
"..so was it another 80 hour week for you Mr. Workalcoholic", queried Stacy.
"hmmm, You could say that. Luckily I dont have to work on Sundays" exclaimed Peter.
As Angela served Peter his frenchtoasts, Marietta remarked, "Peter you are so handsome, so rich, and so good at heart. I have probably never met a nicer man than you. Why don't you find a girlfriend and take things a little slow". Angela chuckled under her breath on hearing it, but neverthless added "I dont care about you Peter, but I surely would like to go out with someone driving a Porsche".
"Yeah...you could probably bed any girl in Los Angeles with your wealth and your looks. You don't even have to try, Peter. Just go to a bar one night, instead of your claustrophobic office....", added Matt.
A blushing Peter chipped in, "Would you people stop flattering me and enjoy the nice breakfast Angela has prepared ?".It was hard to be not attracted to the mellifulous voice of Peter, and Gloria and Olivia who were overhearing this conversation from the other room came out to the dining room as soon as they could make it.
Gloria and Olivia, identical twins, were always big fans of Peter. They used to swear that if they were 6-8 years younger, they would have competed to date Peter. They were so enamoured by his character that they used to spend the entire Sunday morning with him listening to the waves crash onto the Malibu rocks and the vehicles whizzing past the Pacific coast highway. Infact they even used to hit on Peter in a very innocuous way.
Marietta even went as far as suggesting that Peter meet her blonde cousin, who was roaming around West Hollywood looking for modelling assignments. Gloria wanted him to date her nephew, while Matt wanted him to meet his sister. As Angela left the room, and refuse to be part of this conversation, others continued on their "Peter beauty bashing" note . Peter remained calm and modest, but he was vastly out numbered by a bunch of people, enamoured by his beauty. The fact that a handsome and wealthy guy like Peter would stay single to this age never ceased to amaze them.
Peter stood 5'4" tall and weighed 200 lbs. He had a big nose, a protruding jaw, a long deep disfiguring scar on his forehead from a terrible childhood accidentand a fast receding hairline. He wore thick glasses and mostly stayed unshaven and unkempt. In short he was far from the Adonis-like, blonde bedding looks potrayed by his friend.....but try explaining this to Stacy, Marietta, Matt, Gloria and Olivia - members of the "Oxnard Blind People's Home", the institution built and maintained by Peter. As they say, beauty does lie in the eye of the beholder !
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)