ZOMBIECALYPSE

These days, ghosts and zombies are the most popular creatures around and they seem to be having a lot of fun at the expense of human beings in television and who knows may be in real life too (for all those believers out there). Piqued by this trend, one celebrity took it upon himself to turn the tables on zombies. That man is none other than Donald Trump, who is possibly one of the greatest (pun highly intended) Presidential candidates in the history of America. He devised a novel idea wherein a group of people will have to work together and in the process play some games with a tied up zombie. I wonder why he has the urge to deal with another zombie. I thought he was already having fun with Jeb Bush.

The creative team has designed a great concept to bring this idea to fruition. They did extensive research to come up with an exciting list of celebrities to join Mr.Trump in this endeavor. They have set up a huge room with several artifacts and props. This is the room where all the celebrities have been locked up for this fun act. On one corner of the room, a blood thirsty zombie is chained to the wall. Now all these distinct personalities have to find a way to coexist and work together and escape from the room. Every 10 minutes, the chain will be loosened a little and the zombie will be one step closer to its prey. The group has 60 minutes before they are toast. They must solve a series of puzzles and find clues around the room that will ultimately lead them to the key to exit the room.

Now without further ado, let me reveal to you that list of crack pots who are locked together in that room. Of course there is the incomparable Mr.Trump. He is joined by his Presidential rival Hillary Clinton, Korean numero uno Kim Jong-un, Mr. James Bond, “Mocking Jay” Jennifer Lawrence and the one and only Thalaivar Rajinikanth.

Let us get right into the action where the participants are engaged in a heated debate as to what the plan of action should be. Well, except for Rajinikanth who is sitting quietly in a corner and enjoying a cigar. Kim Jon-Un tries to approach him to make an alliance.

KJU: Hello sir, I am not sure who you are but you seem very familiar. I will have a tough time understanding these idiots. I think we should team up. Do you know English?

Rajni: Kanna… I can talk English, I can walk English, I can laugh English!

Clinton: Who is this guy?

Trump: Is he Mexican?

KJU: Don’t know. But he is very famous in Japan.

Bond: Are you guys kidding me? He is Rajini freaking Kanth. He can do things even I can’t do.

Bond regrets making the statement instantly as the ladies in the room immediately turn their attention to Rajini who blushes in his trademark style. But Jennifer realizes that they have a job to do, so she tries to bring the discussion back on track.

Jen: Well guys, I have quite a bit of experience in games like this. So here is my 2 cents. We should work as a team and never turn on each other. That is exactly what the zombie wants. We should be very quick and resourceful as we don’t have much time. We have already wasted quite a bit trying to know each other.

They hear the first gong. The zombie’s first chain is released. It starts to stir.

Trump: Well, look here lady, whoever you are. I think you didn’t get the memo. I am the one who always runs the show. And it is a real shame that you only have 2 cents to offer. I, on the other hand, have billions of dollars to waste.

Clinton: You are already doing that by running for President.

Trump: You will have to eat your words very soon. The first thing I will do after I become President is deport this Zombie.

Rajini: You don’t have to do that. If you go and talk to that zombie for 10 minutes, I am sure it will leave the country.

Everybody lets out a chuckle as they wait for Rajini to say something else but he goes back to his cigar.

Clinton: I certainly don’t agree with this. We must find a way to give this zombie a legal path to citizenship.

Bond: You are “Hillary”ous.

Donald Trump: Come on, She is ugly!

Hillary rushes to slap Trump but is pacified by Jennifer.

Another gong sounds and the zombie’s chain is loosened a little more. It starts to move forward.

Trump looks to Kim Jon-Un to get some support for his deportation proposal.

KJU: Between you becoming President and this zombie eating my brains, I would certainly prefer the latter. At least I get the satisfaction of seeing the zombie feasting on all of you idiots, especially you.

Bond: Guys, we are losing focus. So,Katiniss Everdeen… what do you think we should all do?

Trump: She is ugly.

Bond: Are you blind?

Clinton: He is Trump.

Jennifer gives him the finger.

Clinton: We need to come up with a detailed plan to neutralize this zombie. Let us discuss some ideas.

Bond: Well, there is no time for that. The zombie already has a detailed plan of eating your brains and burping your eye balls out in the next hour.

They hear the third gong go. The zombie claws its way a little further.

Jen: Enough of talk, guys. Let us look around the room. We should see our first clue somewhere.

KJU: Got it, got it. I found a note on the trash can at the corner.

He hands it over to Jennifer who reads it out loud. “You can find your next clue perched on an item whose name sounds like the capital of Libya.”   

Jen: Does anyone know the capital of Libya? Make it quick guys.

Trump: Is it in Mexico?

Clinton: Oh God…. What is with you and Mexico! I think it is Benghazi.

Jen: We are looking for the capital, not the only city you know. How about you James? You must have had some adventure in Libya.

Bond: We are doing our next film there. But I haven’t read the script yet. God damn it!

KJU: Come on Trump and Hillary. One of you should know the answer. Didn’t you guys bomb that place?

Trump: No, but I intend to. After I am done with Pyongyang!

Jen: You are all good for nothing. Let us apply reverse psychology here. What all do we have in the room? A couch, two chairs, a telephone, a radio, a TV, a safe, a tripod stand and a camera! I got it. It is Tripoli.

The fourth gong echoes across the room. The zombie has a smile on its face now.

Bond rushes to the tripod stand and presses on the camera perched on top of it. It opens up and there is a small piece of paper inside it.

Bond: Well done Jen. But we are running out of time. We must act fast. Now let us see what our next clue is.  “Solve the cross-word puzzle in the newspaper. 14 across is your next clue.”

Jen: Oh God. We are doomed. You guys can’t even solve one clue. How can I expect you to solve an entire cross-word puzzle?

Rajini: Ha ha… chellam... Why fear when Rajini is here! this is jujubi for me. Here... take it!

Everyone looks at him shell shocked as a mesmerized Jen takes the newspaper from Rajini who lights up another cigar.

Jen: You are a genius. Okay… what is the clue in 14 across! It says “NEWS”.

Bond: Well, it has to be related to either the radio or the TV.

KJU rushes to switch on the radio. They hear nothing but the fifth gong. The zombie is halfway across the room now and looks to have picked a favorite. Hillary switches on the television.

They see a documentary about the World War II playing on TV.

Clinton: What the hell is that supposed to mean?

KJU: Can we watch it? I don’t really know much about World War II.

Trump: Sure. You can see what your fate will be if you ever go to war against us.

KJU: I can nuke your ass off any time.

Bond: Shut up you clowns. Let us think what does this mean? The clue must be in the video.

Jen: Look at this. I found this note under the TV stand. It says: “This is your last clue. What is playing on the TV will lead you to the key that will unlock the front door of this room. Good luck to you and bon appetit to the zombie.”

Trump: Did you look under the TV thoroughly? May be the key is there as well!

Clinton: Why don’t you check your pocket? Even a rabbit will have more IQ than you.

KJU: Let us think where can we find a key? Must be somewhere obvious. Aha… Got it! It should be inside that safe.

Bond: Brilliant. Now all we need is the combination. And it is somehow connected to World War II.

Jen: It could be the year the war started.

Clinton: Or the year it ended!

KJU: Good job. Does anyone know these dates?

Clinton: I know it started in 1939. I think it lasted for 4 or 5 years.

Bond: Yes, it ended in 1945.I remember that from the script. Let us go and try both. One should work.

Jen: Yes, and let us get the hell out of here.

At that very moment, they hear the final gong. The zombie is fully free and is standing near the safe with a wide grin on its face and a twinkle in its eyes.

Jen: Oh God. We are doomed. Bond, do something. You always find a way out of these impossible situations. If you get me out of this, maybe we can do dinner tonight.

Bond: I wish. But do you really believe all that you see in my movies?

There is complete panic in the room as the zombie is inches away from its favorite prey and no prizes for guessing that: Mr. Trump. I think it likes his hair.

Suddenly they hear a loud thud and the door is broken into half. Rick and Daryl from “The Walking dead” enter the room. Daryl puts an arrow through the zombie’s skull while Rick blows its brain with a bullet. They shake hands with Rajinikanth.

Rajini: Kanna, I could have finished this game in 5 minutes. But I wanted to have some fun and see what you guys do. But I was pretty sure you will mess it up. So I had my Plan B. Anyways, I had a great time. And if you want to have some more fun, you can tie Mr.Trump up and play this game once again. Merry Christmas folks!”

Rajini walks out with Rick and Daryl as the others look at each other in bewilderment.

     

ODDS ARE EVEN

With the new ODD-EVEN rule now implemented in Delhi, people have been panicking and scrambling to find ways to continue driving freely everywhere which even includes a whooping 0.1 km drive to their neighbors' houses. But our very own Smarty pants, Mr. Cheeky Chuck has cracked the Kejriwal code and come up with an idea of driving to the office everyday without being fined and is all set to make his modest contribution towards keeping Delhi's pollution levels intact.

                                                                                                                                               A CARTOON BY RAJ.

THE DRIED BRUSH

He had been standing there staring at that painting for more than half an hour now. There was something in it that kindled his intrigue. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. No! He couldn’t take his mind off it. It consumed him. The strokes weren’t firm at places highlighting the imperfections; not the painting’s but of the man in it. That made the painting vulnerable yet absolute. The way the man was looking at a stray dog in the painting seemed to convey so many thoughts and emotions that he lost his way inside. Those eyes conveyed so much yet revealed so little! At that moment, his thoughts raced back to a painting that turned his life upside down. A painting that broke him! No! A painting that liberated him!

She had never seen anybody so transfixed in front of a painting. She was happy at the thought that someone was so much into her painting but at the same time perplexed and anxious as to what was going through his mind. All day she had felt disappointed that her best work had gone largely unappreciated, even worse unnoticed, and then here was a man who seemed to be having a long conversation with it. Good or bad… she wanted to be a part of it. “Hello Sir… You seem to be fascinated by this painting. My name is Anna. I drew it and it is one of my personal favorites. I would be glad to help you with any questions you may have about this painting.”

He looked at her befuddled. “There are really no questions to ask.”

His voice was still and she could not sense any emotional undercurrent.  “Oh... very well. So are you interested in purchasing it?”

“I am not that kind.” His answer took her by surprise and she found his tone exceedingly irritating.

“What kind are you? The one who neither has admiration or appreciation for a good painting nor respect for an artist?”

He smiled at her. “Well… if that was the case, I would have bought your painting already!”

His reply stung like truth. He was like the inner voice she had always had. How can you fix a price tag on something that is invaluable? How can you sell something that cannot and should not be sold?

“He is quite a paradox, isn’t he? And one hell of a puzzle! So dubiously deceptive yet subtly provocative!” Her thoughts were broken by his shrill voice again that echoed against the walls.

“How is that so? Do tell.” She was intrigued by his intellect and wanted to just listen. Could he see more in the painting than she had when she brought it to life? She could not digest the idea that this man could probably know and feel the picture more than her. Doesn’t that make the painting his? She was lost in a sea of thought when she heard his shrill voice echo again. This time through her mind and slowly into her heart!

“The man’s eyes are incisive but tender. His heart holds a great grief but his mind rises above it. He is a burdened man who has seen lot of pain and endured a deep loss but he knows his misery is far from over. His death would neither be quick nor easy. His body can withstand more agony but his soul has given up. He is a wise man yet has had his share of foolish acts. He is a good man now but has not been one always. His conscience writhes in remorse for a dark act that he can neither forget nor live with. But still in one dark corner deep inside, he relishes it albeit for a short while until guilt takes over and he despises himself again. He looks at the world with abandon. Age and the wisdom that comes along with it have sharpened his intellect and softened his soul. His hatred is gone and he loathes no one no more. Now he has only sympathy as he sits there watching people go past him looking so happy yet feeling so miserable inside. He smiles at himself, scorns his past, ponders his future and awaits his end. And all these moods have blended in so perfectly in this master piece of yours.” He spoke with so much happiness and passion that only a true artist could feel when he recognizes another’s work of genius.

She listened in rapturous awe to this stranger paint a picture so vivid yet so deep and mystifying about this painting of hers. She couldn’t believe that someone could understand and appreciate her painting as much or even better than her. Who is this man?

He went on not once taking his eye off the painting. “How fertile can one’s imagination be? To create a face with so much emotion! Or, perhaps, this is not a figment of your imagination but a real person… someone whom you have seen and observed several times… a mysterious stranger who kindled your curiosity so much that you couldn’t stop thinking what was beneath those deceptive eyes and opaque face… Is he happy? Is he sad? Is he a beggar who just sits on the street in hope of alms for his next meal or is he a philosopher who just loves watching people?  Well... you just can’t know. So you capture him with your brush and present that intrigue in his eyes to the world.”

A stunned silence ensued. After making her fly among the clouds with his profuse flattery he had brought her crashing to the ground by suggesting that it had nothing to do with her imagination. That made her furious. “So how do you think the conception of this painting originally happened? A fiction of my imagination or a blatant replica of an unsuspecting stranger’s visage?”

He could sense the condescension in her tone. “I would say that you have seen this man. And he has disturbed you deeply!”

“How could you possibly say that? How would you know?” She was astonished by his confidence.

He stroked his beard gingerly. “The dog! There is something different about its expression. You have added emotion to its eyes. As if it is communicating with the man. Its facial strokes are much more defined and firm as opposed to the fragile strokes that have defined the man’s features. That shows disconnect between the real and the virtual!”

She sat down dejected. But then how could she have known that what she was about to hear next would forever change her life.

The man went on with his mesmerizing voice. “But a beautiful disconnect. Which is what makes this painting so unique! It transcends boundaries and renders a meaning so surreal that makes the painting a well that will never dry up. You can infer infinite meaning from the man’s eyes and every one will see it differently every time she looks at it. Look here. I am very sorry if I managed to offend you. I didn’t mean to belittle your work by any means. The fact that you painted a man you had observed doesn’t in anyway reduce the greatness of your work. In fact it makes it even more magnificent. You can imagine just about anything in your canvas of dreams. But to paint something that is so real is a gift. And trust me… the most important thing is not for others to realize the greatness of your work. It’s you who should realize that. Nothing else matters. Let me tell you a story. My story!

My father was a sculptor. A masterful craftsman! Each and every one of his creations adorn some of the the best temples in and around here. He was a very pious and devout man. So was my mother. I grew up amidst sculptures and in temples. There was God all around me. But was he really? I couldn’t tell. My father believed so. My mother told me so. There was a huge temple in front of our house. Almost all its sculptures were my father’s handiwork. I used to sit hours in front of a golden sculpture which everyone worshipped with hands folded. I recited slokas with my eyes fixated on this golden sculpture which returned my curious glances with a never changing cold stare. There was something about that gaze that I could not understand. I was not able to understand or appreciate God in the same way everyone else around me did so easily and so faithfully. I felt something was wrong with me.

I did many things during my childhood. Things that I was told to! But only one thing satiated my senses. Drawing anything that came in front of my eyes or to my mind! I grew up to be a painter. My father was a proud man. He said art was in our blood and it was God’s gift. I immersed my days and nights into drawing my mind and my thoughts. I painted them with my heart. Feelings transformed into colors. Every artist waits for his best work to take fruition. I was no exception. Every time I took the brush, a fire raged in my heart to outbest my previous work. Everybody seeks perfection. Nobody attains it. But I was tireless in my quest. I created some of my life’s best works and I had almost transcended into a different world. A world of my dreams brought to life on the canvas.

My father brought me back to reality. He came to me with a very unique request. He wanted me to paint that golden sculpture. He felt it was his master piece and wanted me to recreate it. He had never asked me anything before and I could see how much this meant to him. Unfortunately the sculpture didn’t mean anything to me. It haunted me and I had always wanted to run away from it as far as I could. But my father meant the world to me. I couldn’t say no to him.

I halfheartedly took it up. It was childhood all over again. I would sit for hours staring at that sculpture trying to feel it. You have to understand something completely before you can paint it on canvass. But those eyes… that silent yet deep gaze… they consumed me. That is the one thing I was never able to understand. I painted for a year. Yes. One full year! When I finally looked at my painting… I saw the sculpture. But there was something different. The cold stare was replaced by a gentle look. A vulnerable, earthly, human look! It was the same God… but the difference was that he was talking to me.  I understood the meaning of God for the first time: Not in the way I was told… not in the way I had read… but in the way I had always wanted to… in the way I had always felt. Finally I had a faith that was my own!  I locked myself up in my room and stared at this painting for hours together. My eyes finally met with God’s and they talked… for hours… for days!    

This painting… which I took up so reluctantly… which I had no intention of completing… which I never understood while I was drawing it… it changed my life. It was my masterpiece. It was my revelation. It was my salvation. I was so content… so blissful… so complete… I realized I could never paint anything better. My brush’s journey was fulfilled and so was my tryst with it. I never painted again.

It doesn’t matter how your painting comes to life. What it means to you is more important to what it means to the world. Truth is not absolute. It never is. It is personal. It may mean the world to me but yet nothing to you. That painting liberated me. This painting defines you. Let it guide you!”

He reached for his pocket and took out a brush. It was worn out and had dried paint in its bristles. He gave it to her and smiled. No words were spoken. She knew what it meant. He walked away a happy man. She walked away a proud woman with a renewed purpose!

                                                                                                              - A SHORT STORY BY RAJ

BEING A FATHER

Being a parent is one of the best if not the best feeling in this world and I am sure a lot of you would be nodding your heads right now. For others who are basking in their bachelorhood days or the honeymoon phase, enjoy it to the fullest before you get ready for another adventure. Before you start speculating, let me clear the air. This piece is not going to be a comparison of these phases of life. It is not a debate as to whether one should marry or not, have kids early or travel the world before you decide to. Anyways, I hope you won’t be making such important life decisions after reading my blog.

This is a reflection of some of my magical experiences of being a brand new father. Very recently, the first love of my life gave birth to my second love. I had not really put much thought into what it takes to be a father. I knew I could never be fully ready, but I thought I would do just fine. (Well the verdict is not out on that yet, by the way). But the feeling had not really sunk in. I was ecstatic of course, but I didn’t know what to expect. But when it happened, something inside me changed. When the nurse placed Maya in my arms for the first time and I looked at her as she was trying to open her eyes to look at the world, I knew I was ready.

I had never held a baby before. Well, maybe once or twice but not for more than a few minutes. But holding her came naturally. Putting her to sleep was challenging but a lot of fun. Losing sleep in the middle of the night was not annoying. And despite having little sleep, my wife and I always looked forward to being woken up by her early in the morning. That is because the moment she opens her eyes and looks at us, she will give us such a big smile that will brighten the entire day for us. 

And oh… how can I forget? Diapers! That’s the good stuff. We can get into beat the clock challenges on changing diapers now. And our little one is mighty naughty. Here is something that will happen very frequently. I will see the yellow line turn blue on her diaper. Aha…. She has peed. So I will decide to change her diaper. She will wait for me to open and remove the diaper and then will spray me just in time before I put on a new one, thus wetting everything in the process. What a smart ass! Literally! And then she will give me her happy beaming smile. Mission accomplished for her, I guess.

We all had so many lovely little incidents with our cute prankster and there is never a dull moment with her. Here is another incident from one fun evening where I was alone with her. Normally we spend some quality time and have a lot of fun together. This was one of those days when she decided to play Miss Crank Pot. Here is the outline of my plan for the evening. My wife had just fed her before going out. That would mean it would normally take at least an hour (normally two) for her to get hungry again. I thought I would play with her for a while and then put her to sleep. And if she got hungry, I thought I would feed her a bottle. I know a lot of people grinning. You are right. When have our plans ever worked? Especially when we have such a strong veto authority around!

As soon as I put her on the bed, she started shifting uncomfortably. A gentle moan soon turned into a moderate wail. I turned on the swinging toy hanging above. A lion, sheep, duck and bear followed each other happily in a merry-go-round. Miss Maya was not impressed. The wail persisted and slowly started turning into a full blown cry. Not to worry. I got this. Or so I thought. It was time for Plan B. I decided to try and put her to sleep. I took her in my arms and put her over my shoulder. The scream stopped. I started pacing around the room. After 10 minutes I decide to check if she has fallen asleep. Nope. She was quietly staring at me. What else have you got? I decide to throw a lullaby into the mix. Now you must consider the fact that I am person who hesitates to even sing in the bathroom to put the situation in perspective.

She seems to give me a chance for a while as she patiently listens to a song. She doesn’t cry but she is more awake now. I refrain from testing her patience any further. Twenty minutes gone. My shoulder starts to hurt a little. I decide to put her down and see if she wants to play. The minute I put her on the bed, she starts yelling and screaming with full intensity. Okay, I still got this. May be she is hungry. But she just drank her milk half an hour ago. Not the time to be rational. So I try to feed her. She kicks and shrieks but still manages to drink half the bottle. She doesn’t want to drink any more. But she is still crying. I again put her on my shoulder and the yelling stops again. I like the sentiment that she loves her daddy very much. But try explaining that to my shoulder.

I decide to walk around again with her in my arms. I swing her, rock her and try all my tricks to see if she will sleep again. Another 15 minutes go by. Her eyelids start batting and she seems to be ready to fall asleep when my phone vibrates. Damn! She is wide awake again. The clock is set back to zero. I decide to give it one more go and start pacing again. Another 20 minutes go by and my shoulder is hurting real bad. And madam is still looking around and trying to memorize the layout of her house. Now I start talking to her. I tell her how much I love her, call her all the sweet names and explain to her that I have tried all the options and that she should consider her father’s plight and go to sleep. I hear many of you go: “Yeah right: As if she is going to understand a single word!” I agree but the craziest things happen. The big lady she is, Maya listened very patiently and exactly when I finished, she said: “huuuu”. That is a yes in her language I assume. That is because she went to sleep in the next 5 minutes.

I cuddled and caressed her a little more and when she seemed to be in deep sleep, I put her on the bed. Then something changed and I wanted more of her. So I took her out of the bed, sat down and put her in my arms so that I can watch her sleep. As I looked at her sleeping blissfully in my arms, I noticed the corners of her lips held together oh so slightly. And as time passed by, the invisible glue slowly gave in and the lips started to part slowly as if she is smiling at you gently. I was so tempted to plant a kiss on her blood rose cheek but I dreaded waking her up. I mulled on it for a while and in the end, greed took over and I kissed her with trepidation. She stirred as I trembled in anxiety. And then she gave me an even bigger smile with her eyes closed. My heart skipped a beat. She then turned around as if she wanted me to kiss her on the other cheek. What a sweet little bonus! And then she slept like a doll for the next two hours.

I will stop for now before I go rambling on into eternity. I am sure I will have a tale to tell every day. All these memories will be transfixed in my heart drive, ready to be flashed back into my mind and played back through the lens of my eyes. I am pretty sure I will be pressing the rewind button a lot. 

AMMA-TAKKAR

As you all know, the whole of Tamil Nadu was devastated by severe floods accentuated by the El Nino phenomenon which caused unprecedented damage to life. But the thousands of millimeters of rainfall brought out kilometers of humanity as citizens came out in hordes to help in any and every possible way. But politicians by and far maintained their notorious reputation, making use of this situation for publicity and political agendas. One such example was the sticker controversy where some ruling party cadres were forcing NGOs and other relief workers to paste stickers of the Chief Minister, Amma Jayalalitha on relief materials. This is just one instance and it does not mean that other parties are devoid of such non-sense. I am sure this act would be bested by an even more ridiculous one.

Meanwhile, after this went viral in social media and other platforms, there was a lot of public outrage against this sticker controversy. That meant that party men could no longer do this sycophantic gesture easily or openly. But they had already printed out lots of stickers in advance and there was a lot of worry in the camp as to how they could use up all of them. One man who had heard about Cheeky Chuck (he obviously did not do his research) immediately suggested hiring him as a consultant to provide them with a solution to this sticky(er) issue.

Cheeky Chuck was on to it in a flash. He promised the Sticker team Chief that he would produce results in 48 hours. He quickly got stock of some stickers and headed out into the streets.

A man was coming out of a hotel with a packet of hot dosa, idli, sambar and some fresh chutney. He had searched far and wide to find a hotel that was open and was relieved that finally his prayer had been answered. He was in a hurry to take the food back to his family when he was interrupted by our Cheeky Chuck.

Chuck: What do you have there, my friend?

Man: Oh… I have some hot food. Finally found a hotel that is open.

Chuck: Excellent. Let us see what size you have. Here you go. Go on. Put this sticker on your food packet. And enjoy your meal with your amma and our amma!

Man: You idiot. This is not a flood relief food packet. I paid money for this, you dumbass!

Chuck: We also paid money to print this sticker. So you better put it on or else face the consequences.

No points for guessing what happened next. Cheeky Chuck tried his charm on a few more passers-by without much luck. By noon, he came back with his jaw slightly rearranged. 

Chuck’s mind voice: Damn it, I haven’t been able to dispose a single sticker yet today. Come on Chuck… you are better than this. Ahaa…. I have got a brilliant idea.

He took out his cell phone and made a call to Mr. Suresh Narayanan, the newly appointed Managing Director of Nestle India.

Chuck: Good morning Sir. This is Cheeky Chuck speaking.

Mr.Narayanan: I am sorry I don’t know you.

Chuck: Not an issue. I know you very well. And I have an excellent business proposal for you. You should start a Free Maggi Sticker campaign. We have a lot of Amma stickers left from our Flood Relief effort. You see… we are very generous folks. So we are willing to give it to you for a nominal price.  This initiative will make your publicity ratings soar. You can also donate some Maggi for Chennai flood relief as well to show your humanitarian side and earn more brownie points.

Mr.Narayanan: Mr.Chuck. As great as your idea is, it has just been days since I took this job. I don’t want to enter record books as the fastest fired Managing Director. And we have already had enough publicity due to our “Lead in India” Maggi campaign.

Chuck was disappointed as he heard the phone click.

Chuck’s mind voice: So close. Never mind. Over to Plan B!

He quickly picked up his phone and called up the Sticker team chief.

Chief: Mr.Chuck. I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon. Are you done already?

Chuck: All in good time Sir. All in good time! I just had a light bulb moment. I am thinking of approaching our national leaders in this regard. I just wanted to let you know that I have plans of contacting Mr.Modi and Mr.Rahul Gandhi.

Chief: Good thought my friend. We have already taken care of Mr.Modi. When he visited our Chief Minister, we loaded his helicopter with lots of Amma stickers. I am sure he will be able to leverage those for making designer kurtas for his foreign trips.

Chuck: Bravo Sir. Okay, let me touch base with Mr.Rahul Gandhi then.

Rahul Gandhi’s phone rang as he was in the middle of some deep reflection.

Chuck: Mr.Rahul, sorry to disturb you at this ungodly hour.

Rahul looked at his watch. It was 1 in the afternoon. “It is okay. I was just finishing up a thought. By the way, who are you?”

Chuck: I am Cheeky Chuck. Big fan! I am calling you with a killer proposal to motivate your party men and to rekindle the spirits of youngsters in your party.

Rahul: Go on. I am all ears. Although I have come up with a killer speech to do exactly that!

Chuck: Trust me Sir, this is way better. We have a lot of stickers left from the Amma flood relief exercise. We are willing to offer those to you. You can do some Photoshop to replace Amma with your Maa, Soniaji and then you can make custom shirts and hand flags for all your party members. That will be a terrific gesture to pump up your folks.

Rahul: Sounds great indeed Mr.Chuck. Sign me up for 1 lakh stickers.

Chuck: Err… do you still have so many people in your party? Oops… none of my business. You will receive the stickers in a week. Thank you for your business.

Chuck’s mind voice: 1 lakh sold. 1 more lakh to go! Now it is time for the master stroke.

Chuck dialed a number and had a serious conversation for ten minutes. After he hung up, he sprinted back home with a huge smile on his face.

In the evening, as he is sipping tea lying on the couch, Chuck gets a call from the Sticker team head who is bubbling with anger.

Chuck: Mr.Chief. You don’t seem to be in a very happy mood. And that too after I made quick work of all those 2 lakh stickers! And what can I tell you about that masterstroke. Pure genius!

Chief: Is it? Do enlighten me!

Chuck: Oh… I just called the Flood Control Commission Chairman. I noticed that he had sent a letter to the Government asking if you guys had planned any precautionary measures in case such floods were to hit again in the future. But you guys had ignored that and never sent a response. You should not be so irresponsible. So I corrected that for you. I called him and told that we have extensive plans if floods were to come again. I told him we have 1 lakh Amma stickers ready and waiting for such an event. He did sound pretty impressed.

Chief: Oh, he sure was. He just called me and gave me an earful. He said he will be sending over his team to confiscate all the stickers.

Chuck: Even better. I didn’t expect him to take delivery so soon. How much is he paying? And how much is my commission?

Chief: Well, he slapped a fine of Rs.10 lakhs on us for our negligence and arrogance. As for your payment, if you just answer your door-bell, my men are waiting outside to pay in full and some more. Oh btw… don’t worry about the hospital charges. We will foot the bill as a token of our appreciation for your efforts.

P.S: A kind request to all you guys. I am pretty sure I have incurred the wrath of all our political biggies who will by now be out for my blood. I can hear a few of you mumbling "As if they don't have anything better to do". But trust me: they really don't. ;) So please save me (and Cheeky Chuck) from their wrath. :P

WEATHERING THE STORM

As I sit gingerly on my wobbly chair which threatens to dismantle at any moment and give me a crash course, I can see the winter’s first snow decorating the trees in virgin white. The sky is soft grey whereas everything else down below is sparkling white. Snow has covered every ounce of space and matter with its crispy flakes except for one autumn tree which somehow is still managing to find a way to showcase its bright orange autumn leaves. I intend to sit here for a while and see how this battle unfolds.

A note of caution to anyone who is brave enough to read my ramblings: The beauty outside is really distracting me and hence my writing might not be very coherent. I hear some of you go: when has it ever been! Anyways… it has been half an hour and the orange tree is still showing off. Wind has come to its aid and is blowing away the snow that is still determined to conquer the last remnant of color. I am still rooting for the tree as a dash of orange in this ocean of white seems so invigorating.

Time seems to stand still as I witness beauty unfold itself in front of me in breath-taking fashion. I start to reflect. Something I haven’t done in a while. The last time I penned down my thoughts was more than two years ago. I wrote a piece about memories and the importance of keeping them alive and sharing them. I made a promise to let the ink in my pen go dry, only to turn around and break that promise.

The snow storm that is unraveling outside my little window reminds me of life itself. Our life is filled with a myriad moments we don’t find time to sit back and relish. So many things happen in so little time and if we don’t take the time to reflect, we lose those moments in the whirlwind of time. It is a shame because a lot of those moments are priceless and we would love to cherish and crystallize them in some form or the other. But we keep running all the time. We don’t know the destination. We don’t know the path we ought to take. And in the end, we don’t even know where we started. We just keep running in the direction of the light, not looking back for once and not being able to see forward in the dark. In reality, we are running so fast that we miss the scenery on the way.

This mad run is reminiscent of my life for the last two years. There have been several magical moments which have filled my heart with unimaginable joy. Life has never been better. But then I have never had the time to relax, sit back and run those memories from my mind through the lens of my eyes on to the projector in my heart, push pause, rewind and play again. It may not seem like a big thing but if you think about it, ten years down the line I might have a hard time recounting these amazing memories. I don’t want them to fade away in the continuum of time. I want to immortalize them through the camera of my mind or the canvas of my pen.

I feel like that lonely tree trying to battle the massive army of snow. It is trying so hard not to lose its color, to stand out and not to be overshadowed like everything else around. It is very similar to our struggles in life. We run around doing things that we are supposed to do but ignore the things that we like to do. We go through the motions in our day, brushing through the little joys that it offers, never really freezing ourselves in the moment to enjoy them. Our days are filled with so many beautiful little specs of joy, but we don’t allow ourselves ample time to treasure them.

As I see the lonely tree still proudly displaying its bright orange, I am filled with a desire to ask more from life and give more to it and those around me. Stillness can help clear the clouds inside our mind and see beauty and greatness in the smallest of things. The snow will clear soon. The tree will still be there and so will be the blood orange leaves. If only we are still there to admire it!

On a completely different note, I got to replace this damn chair.  

FRESH AIR

You may all be wondering what the hell happened to me and where did I disappear? No? At least some of you, I hope! Well, if you are flummoxed and are thinking what the hell is he talking about… then never mind… I will fill you in either ways! About 3 months ago, I had stopped writing! Why? I wish there is an easy answer to it. Well… I wish there there is even an answer to it!

Has this ever happened to you? You have a favorite pen which you are mighty fond of.Not a day goes by for you without writing something with it; no matter how poetic or meaningless it is that you write. But then one day you stop writing and leave the pen alone. You no longer feel like opening your heart to it and sharing your life with it. You ingore it and soon enough you are caught in a quagmire of your own worries and issues that you forget its existence. But then, as all good things that come to an end do, they haunt you! They remind you of what you had once which has ceased to be yours now and suddenly fill your heart with a desperate longing to revert time and go back to them once more. In a mad rush, you run with complete abandon! There it is... where you left it ages ago. Your pulse is high and your heart is racing. You feel it... caress it... a momentary bliss! But wait a minute... something is wrong! The pen is not reciprocating. It is so cold. You can’t feel its pulse. Its ink has dried up. It can’t feel your blood any more. You had left it to die!

This pen could be anything. A thought, an idea, a friend, a hobby, a passion, a loved one! It may even be cocaine but that would be something I am not advising you to go back to! But the point is once you stop something… you will be startled to see how remarkably fast we move on (well... this wouldn’t apply to cocaine either)… how quickly the passion dies… but subconsciously there is an unknown pain and sorrow that keeps haunting you! But you never feel like rekindling that spark. It is a very difficult space to be and it seems so tough to come out of that coma. We start getting comfortable in this new normal only to realize much later that it is not the normal but the ordinary. But in reality, getting out of this vaccuum is pretty easy; all you need is a tiny flash spurred by a touch of madness. That is the conundrum of the paradox but once you realize it, the air around you will feel so fresh and full of life.

The word “memory” when used in “singular” has a mechanical (even robotic) tone to it. You immediately think of a storage device, the computer and so on and so forth. Make it plural, “memories”, everything changes and the word takes on a completely different meaning. There is a human element and a personal touch that get ingrained into it. Your mind screens a little movie of all the beautiful moments that have defined your life and lightened up your time on this earth and you relive those memories with a faint smile in your heart and a bright twinkle in your eyes. Strange isn’t it… how these two words are almost the same but invoke reactions that are light years apart from each other. Now if you are wondering what I am trying to say here, please don’t strain yourself. I myself haven’t a clue! I am writing after a while, so consider it “ring rust”!

 Before you decide that you have had enough, let me try to put some clarity to my random thoughts. At the end of the day… every day… when I look around me… when I look out… when I look in… I see so many things… a million feelings race through my heart…  a  zillion thoughts fill my mind…  so much beauty around… so much pain underneath… I don’t want all of this to just fade away when the sun sets. I don’t want them to be locked in some never to be accessed again “memory” either. These are memories I want to experience again and again, share with all of you, come back to them and laugh and cry and think. So while my pen is still fresh, I have decided to open myself again to its magic! My apologies it took so long!

FROZEN BLOOD - THE CONCLUSION

Read Part 1 here

“I would rather remain single all my life rather than marrying in such a treacherous family like yours!” Aditya’s parting words had killed Sumitra’s soul. She woke up every night remembering them; terrified by their callousness. “I believed you when you said your father had not stolen the money in his factory. I believed you, didn’t I? And now he has the tenacity to cheat my father with this fake money. You know I would have married you even if you had told me that you could not give the dowry my dad asked for. You broke my heart Sumitra! I loved you so much.” Aditya had tears in eyes while Sumitra had tears in her heart.  How could he be so vicious? The tormenting image of Aditya leaving her minutes before their marriage slowly gave way to the more devastating visual of her father sitting lifeless in the middle of the house. “My little girl… I want to ask you only one thing. You believe your father, right?” He asked with imploring eyes which rained tears seeing his daughter nod vigorously and collapse on his lap. He whispered softly in her ears: “That’s all this old man wanted to hear my child! That’s all!” That was his last whisper.

The four men were talking in low voices. Raghav went a little closer and positioned himself behind a banyan tree. The man who was speaking animatedly was the man who Raghav had trusted the most. “Kishorilal sahib.. It was a master stroke to have the currency serial numbers included in the house pledge agreement. Poor Ramcharan didn’t even know such a thing existed when he signed the papers. You easily matched those to what you had withdrawn from the bank that morning and we did the rest to frame him for giving us fake money as dowry!” Aditya was bragging away. “Actually Ambarish uncle set it up nicely.. What an act it was! Getting his own money robbed and framing it on Ramcharan just days before the marriage. And then we could play the fake dowry money drama to completely crush him. It was all too easy!” Raghav wanted to strangle him right away. But he stopped himself. He was not ready.

Ambarish who was silent all this while spoke slowly and frigidly. “You just had to break the man.. And then he killed himself. I was really annoyed when your father decided to get you married to that Sumitra. I only got my element back when you explained me your master plan. I must say... I couldn’t have asked for a better son-in-law. I have had my eyes on that palatial house of Ramcharan for a long long time. That is certainly worth a killing. Now we get that free of cost and I get to keep his gratuity and pension as a souvenir!”  Aditya interjected. “Let us not forget how important a role my dear friend Ajeesh has played here. And not to forget his sexy but lethal car! Honestly, I liked Sumitra. I feel a little sad for her.” They all burst into laughter. Kishorilal was still perturbed.  “We still have that problem with the house. You can’t just take it!” Aditya dismissed that nonchalantly. “That I am going to take care of without beating a sweat, Sir!” His wicked smile brought solace to the others.

Raghav could not bear to hear a word more as his blood was at its boiling point. He returned home to see Sumitra sitting lifeless in the middle of the house. Just like father. He caressed her head, she turned away. He held her hand gently. He couldn’t feel her pulse, but her pain flowed through him. She couldn’t feel his touch but the glitter in his eyes meant that the wait was over. Finally the echoes that pound her ears would soon stop. “They are here. I saw them. After three months, they have come out from hiding. They feel fear no more. The time has come. We have waited long enough.” His eyes were spitting fire. That moment they heard the door open!

The air inside the house was filled up with lethal venom as familiar evil made its way in. “Ahh.. here we are! Take a look at our catch. The trophy for our master plan! It was easier than I expected. I didn’t really think that we could get rid of that Raghav so easily. We didn’t have to do anything. The guy killed himself. What a shame!”  Aditya sounded a little disappointed.

“You haven’t felt too much pain boy, have you? When the only two people you ever cared for in your life are no more, you easily tend to question the reason for your existence. And don’t forget, he had the impossible task of paying up for both the money his father had borrowed from Kishorilal and also the money that was purportedly stolen from my factory!” Ambarish was methodically stone cold in his inference.

Aditya’s best friend Ajeesh made his presence felt. “That is why it was so important to make it look like Sumitra had also killed herself. If Raghav had known that we had planned that, he would have certainly come after us for vengeance. You all should thank me for volunteering to do your dirty work.”

“Don’t get too arrogant boy. You were not supposed to come to this village again. You were the perfect stranger under whose car a dejected Sumitra willingly ended her life. Your act is over, remember. If anyone sees you with us, then we could be in trouble. And by the way, you didn’t do it for charity, son!” Kishorilal was fuming.  

Aditya patted Kishorilal on the back. “Relax! no one can do anything now. It is now time for the final act. I am going to make people believe that I am still so smitten by Sumitra’s love and that I can’t live without her. I buy this house from Kishorilalji and I spend a year mourning Sumitra’s death. That much time is enough for people to forget about wars. Then Ambarish uncle will persuade me to marry his daughter and I will reluctantly give in with a heavy heart. And then the bride and groom will live happily ever after! In this very house! Kishorilalji gets Ramcharan’s gratuity while Ajeesh gets the stolen factory money. How about that for a plan? Sounds fair, isn’t it!”

Thunderous claps applauded his deviously ingenious plan. A ghastly silence ensued as they looked at each other totally befuddled. Raghav and Sumitra had just welcomed their prey. An unknown fear gripped them. Aditya broke the silence. “Oh.. Come on.. That’s just the wind beating against the windows. What is with you guys? Has the dark night gotten to your nerves? Now don’t tell me that Sumitra’s spirit is waiting inside to haunt me. I wouldn’t mind a little bit of romance anyways!” His evil laugh echoed back from the walls in Ramcharan’s voice. An eerie chill engulfed the souls of the sinners!

“Bhaiyya… you can take care of the others.. but this one is mine! A few months ago, in this very house, he had promised me that very soon he is going to entrust me with his life. Now I am just going to take what is already mine. Nothing much has changed, has it?” Sumitra winked at Raghav who saw the rare twinkle in his sister’s eyes. “Sure my dear.. give him all the romance he is yearning for!”

After 2 hours of drinking and some heavy duty gambling, the three of them bid good bye and good luck to Aditya who was completely sloshed. He went straight to the bed. He heard the door bolt behind him!

                                                                                                                  - A SHORT STORY BY RAJ

FROZEN BLOOD - THE BEGINNING

Read the Conclusion here

It had been one hell of a day for Raghav. Three months ago, he would not have imagined his life would take such a turn. He writhed in agony. How much did his heart and soul yearn to roll those three months back! He would kill for that. Yes he would. Kill! He was walking back after another fruitless day. With every passing day of ineptitude and futility, his vengeance simmered and its rumble matched the sky’s thunder. It was a dark night and the lack of stars in the sky was synonymous to the lack of compassion in his heart. Compassion is for the weak; hope is for the meek he thought. The bolt of lightning gave him God’s consent. 

Sumitra was pale and her pulse was frantic! This house which had flooded her mind with myriad memories of bliss now seemed alien. The windows were closed yet a macabre chillness engulfed her. She could hear a scream and it was the pain from a wronged soul. The loyal walls echoed the scream to a deafening resonance. It was their homage to their master! She had lost track of time and place. She was not in control of herself anymore. She would wander aimlessly around the house all day desperately searching for happiness which she felt was permanently buried inside those walls three months ago. She heard footsteps but they were not approaching her. They were leaving her forever and she hysterically ran behind them. They led her to that dreaded well!

It was a hellish night and the streets were deserted. The wind was lashing ruthlessly and even the burliest of trees were feeling rickety but Raghav was emotionless and resolute. Nature had nothing to destroy in a man who had been ripped apart by fate. That moment, a thunder bolt struck with vicious intensity, and in that split second flash he saw the silhouette of the car that had rendered his life meaningless. He could still see frozen blood in its tire tracks. Standing near the car were four men, each of them deserved a death as cruel as life was for him!

Sumitra stared into the well with a distracted glare in her eyes. For the first time, she actually realized how deep it was. There was an invisible chill from deep inside that was more forceful than gravity as she tried to hold her own. Suddenly she felt a touch and turned around with a start. It was her father. She smiled at him. He smiled back. Ironically the smile on his lips blended perfectly with the pain in her heart. She crumbled on his shoulders. He took the position of the well bucket and implored her to let him go. Tears rolled down his cheeks along with a lifetime of memories. He “My girl.. I want to give you something before I leave.” He opened his hands and offered his heart. It was then she noticed the hole in his chest. She shrieked and released the rope. The bucket splashed against the water and deposited a few drops of blood on her face. Her soul trembled at the reverberating echo. She ran inside terrified.

Ramcharan was a simple man who had lived a life of principle, simplicity and happiness. He lost his wife early and from then on his life revolved around Raghav and Sumitra. He worked all his life in the textile mill run by the local big shot Ambarish and his sons. A sad predicament to a man who was born in a well off business family! But bad luck and a wastrel uncle spelled doom and by the time he had reached his adolescence there was nothing left but for their ancestral house. But he was a very content man and found peace with his fate and happiness blossomed in the form of his adorable children. He watched them grow up to be fine individuals. While Raghav became a clerk in the bank, Sumitra took up teaching the little village kids in the local school. With just a few months for his retirement, the only thing that worried Ramcharan was Sumitra’s marriage. That was when Aditya came into their lives.

Aditya was a rich lad who was the charming and capable son of the local landlord. It took him only 2 visits to the local school to lose his heart to the lovely and caring school teacher. Ramcharan knew that Aditya’s family was beyond their means or status but Aditya’s personality and his sincere love for Sumitra sowed seeds of hope in Ramcharan’s heart. As he had expected, it wasn’t easy as Aditya’s father turned out to be the typical haughty landlord and put a huge prize tag for his precious son. His life long savings would only cover half of it and he reluctantly looked at this house as it gently smiled back at him. He immediately went to his old friend Kishorilal who happily lent him money on the house at a minimal interest rate. He was really surprised and overwhelmed by the rare benevolence of his miserly friend. He was going to retire and a lump sum awaited for him in a few months which he felt should be enough to recover the pledged house soon. Or so he thought!

                                                                                                                         TO BE CONCLUDED….