Khooni Kabristan ki Jung

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any living soul could be because the author has a twisted mind. However, those should not be taken seriously at all *wink*

YogiMan looked around into the eerie silence. This was his only chance - to escape from the Khooni Kabristan - where he had been kept captive for the last two years by Takla Shaitan - the most dangerous of all evil wizards, the only one who had learnt the art of necromancy from the Lich King himself.


Today, Takla Shaitan was busy partying in the beaches of Pattaya, and YogiMan was making plans for his escape. The only obstacle now was Zingalo - Takla Shaitan's trusted servant and the gatekeeper to the Kabristan. He was slimy, evil and crafty, with a fetish for weird smells. But YogiMan knew Zingalo's pulse - his mortal fear of cats. And that's what will help him escape today. YogiMan had already sent SOS messages to Puss In Boots and Dobby the House-Elf. They would have already taken care of Zingalo. Now all YogiMan had to do was sneak out.


He ran towards the big mettallic gates. Suddenly there was huge roar and darkness all over. And a manic laughter. "Buddy, you thought you will escape? I can easily get another prey but this is wrong timing" - Takla Shaitan's massive head loomed over him. YogiMan felt as if his knees will crumble. But then he remembered.

The Sword of Gryffindor presents itself to any worthy Gryffindor in time of need. He closed his eyes. And felt the sword's hilt in his hands. He slashed at Takla Shaitan.

And Suddenly there was light. YogiMan could see his home. He was running towards his family and there was happiness all around.

End of Story

And I am going back to Calcutta! :)

Bechu babu?

A group of CA aspirants sit in a tutorial deeply engrossed in solving complex accounting problems. Their tuition Sir intermittently cracks witty one-liners that lead to loud guffaws and hoots from the entire bunch.

Have you ever seen geeks laughing? They take even laughing pretty seriously.

Then, the Sir asks the class - 'Do you think there is any other profession which requires such skill and sharpness of the mind?'
Not knowing that this was a rhetorical question, one poor soul replies, 'Umm.. MBA?'
'Aha' Sir exclaims and the whole class jumps. 'Bechu Babu banoge? Tie lagakar sabun bechoge?' (Do you wanna become a 'Bechu Babu'? Wear a tie and sell soaps?)

Years later, I have understood the irony in those words. Yes, I was part of that geeky gang of students. And today I wear a tie and sell, well.. not soap, but banking products.

Everything you hear (and laugh) about a Sales Job is actually frigging true - evil bosses, ungodly targets, wicked clients, sad life.. and the fact that you start hating your job from day one.

You do a good deal, your boss takes the credit. Your boss fucks up bigtime, you face the shit. You meet your targets and are told you should have exceeded expectations. The Hot Chic gets accolades for merely existing. One more Hot Chic joins office, your workload doubles. And Boss seems happier than usual.

Look pretty, talk smooth, lick asses of everyone around you, keep brain dead for most of the times, and use it only to contrive new wicked ways of projecting what a brilliant salesman you are.

But then once you are in Sales (and did not have the sense to run away within a month of joining the job), you will realize that you crippled for life and are now good-for-nothing-else. You cannot do a desk-job anymore (too boring!), you cannot do anything intellectual (Umm.. what?), your only hope is to reach a level where you can start giving shit instead of taking it. It isn't tough if you have the talent, or if you are a hot chic (refer above).

But what's with all the glory then?

I will conclude with one of the shadiest jokes I have ever heard. It goes something like this:

When the judge asked the plaintiff, "My dear lady, why did you do nothing when the defendant raped you again and again over several days? Do you think you could have done something about it - told someone, raised an alarm?", the young lady giggled nervously and whispered "Yes - But I was enjoying it".

Sharm hi Bhartiya Purush ka.. umm.. Gahana hai?

I am so totally against discrimination of any sorts. I know you must be thinking if I wasn't awesome enough already, but yeah, this is how I am.

I have always wondered why it is ok for men in India to roam around clad only in vests and lungis while women have to be covered from head to toe. Ok, this may have changed today - that is, I have seen chics in clothes that ideally should be worn by toddlers.. but yeah, that is restricted to Mumbai / Gurgaon / Bangalore and maybe 10 other cities? Men, on the other hand, get away with a lot of things.

Anyway, what prompted this post was this - We had gone to this new multiplex to catch a movie. And I had to use the men's room to take a leak. When I entered the place, I was amazed at the decor - it matched that of a five-star hotel loo I had once used. Brilliant lighting, modern fittings, amazing colour combinations and no separators / dividers between the stalls. Wait a second - no dividers? Only a bevy of pans placed next to each other!

So I just had to go there, whip my thing out, do what I was meant to do, with all and sundry free to stare? Forget the hyginene bit for a moment (I mean what if droplets get splattered and land on the hand/body of the guy standing next to me?), even otherwise, why was it okay for men to be nude in public? And noone other than me seemed to be bothered in the least. I rushed into one of the cubicles and did my thing - but this episode left me scarred for life.

Maybe I am more shy than most other men. But, there are some things that are meant to be private. Anyway.

Decoding the mind of a Serial Cribber

I always believe in doing good to others. In fact, at times, I even surprise myself by being this amazingly generous guy who would go out of his way to help the losers of the world. This Diwali, in line with my awesomeness, I help you petty mortals understand more about the Cribbo psyche. Frankly, there are too many poseurs around, and we need to make people understand more about us, so that they can tell between an amateur cribber and a seasoned one. So, here we go:

We crib. Therefore we are - Asking us "Why do you crib / why are you cribbing?" is like asking us an existential question (Why do you live / breathe?). It's the way we are. Deal with it.

Don't worry, we are normal - We don't need a reason to crib. We really don't. It could be something as life-shattering as getting ditched by three girlfriends in a row to something as trivial as your friend lighting one extra candle on your birthday cake. It could be the weather, the neighbor, job, boss, you, me, movie, cricket, more of anything, less of anything, how things are boringly perfect.

We don't need your sympathy - No, not even your empathy.

We don't like competition - I was once enthralling my co-interns with some of my choicest cribs when this lady butted in. She didn't look the cribbing type - but then I have never been so wrong about anyone in my whole life. What followed was a nasty game of oneupmanship between us "Our mess food sucks - our mess food sucks even more; we have n loser profs - we have n+1 loser profs; there are no hot chicks in office - there is a greater dearth of hot guys". Goes without saying, I shall hate her forever.

Cribbing takes style - It's an art. You need to keep it interesting and novel. Sadly, no one notices the hard work we put in. Sad losers.

I am done with my Good Deed for the year. Sigh, it was tough.

Happy Diwali

Wishing everyone a very Happy Diwali :)

A Neighbours' Nightmare

Nothing else could have spoiled the mood any worse than it did. It was all we could expect from her when everything was going so well. We had just gotten into the party spirit when Simple, as clumsy as always, managed to get her dupatta entangled with the table-lamp which in turn fell on the table with the water-jars - thus spraying water all over the switch-board and off went the room into darkness. And although Mr. Raichand hastily called the electrician, with everyone stepping on each others’ toes, nudging each others’ arms and patting each others’ wives in the dark, the party was surely not in shape.

It was a party in celebration of the Raichands adding a Pomeranian to their already long list of pets. They took pride in the ownership of two of the most irritating cats, one smart-ass parrot and one Labrador which would stare at you with its sinister looking eyes wide open and the menacing canines bared. It was only last month when they organized a puja (followed by cocktail dinner) on the birthday of Chink, the Labrador. Everybody looked forward to the Raichands’ parties but this one turned into a nice little hullabaloo.

And of course the one to feel all the more worse was Simple. She kept making sighs of grief and remorse and when she apologized to Mrs. Raichand for the eighth time, the latter really meant when she said “It’s OKAY Simple”.

***********

It was typical of Simple. She managed to have an extraordinary number of accidents, always. She was the type of girl who would coax you into letting her do your chores and then spoil them for you. She would run madly across the road, almost causing a traffic hitch, to just say ‘Good Morning’ to you. She would ring you in the middle of night to apologize for a mistake she’d done weeks earlier. But there was something about her which restrained everyone’s ire at her irksome acts. Perhaps, it was the feeling of guilt which showed through her deep and immaculate apologies. Often a time she had broken into hysterical tears at being playing the spoilsport.

So in a way no one really resented her acts. Mrs. Raichand never complained, not even when Simple broke her favourite hibiscus pot nor when she sprayed tomato ketchup on her new sari. The hag next door, who barked at kids for storming into her lawn, never fussed when Simple broke her crockery. So everything moved smoothly, at least apparently, with Simple being ever so ham-fisted and the neighbours being ever so understanding.

But I guess I knew Simple a little too well. And, so I could see things which others couldn't. And I was shocked to know that Simple knew that I know too.

*********

We were sitting in the park that day when Simple pointed towards the road and announced mischievously, "Watch". It was Mrs. Raichand coming with a heavy packet in one hand and holding the chain of the Pomeranian with the other, the puppy trying its best to break loose. Apparently, she had taken her pet on a stroll and had shopped on the way. While I still tried to make out what Simple wanted me to look at, she darted briskly towards the duo. She was just one step from them when she stumbled, one gracious fall and Simple was lying in the lap of Mrs. Raichand, the latter slumped flat on the footpath. The peaches in the packet had sprawled on the path and the Pomeranian had dashed into the road swarming with vehicles.

“Dilbert, Oh my God!!!!!!” yelled Mrs. Raichand in fright. The vehicles skidded to a halt, Dilbert gazed about in horror and Simple had already assumed an expression of utmost remorse. The lady fetched her pet quickly, didn’t look twice at the peaches and hurried home with Simple following her with tear-streaked cheeks and long explanations. However, she did turn and wink at me. 

Women!!!

*********

Jab main chota bachcha tha

One good thing about Diwali is the annual household-cleaning that we do. This time, I was home for Diwali in time for the safai exactly after 5 years. And I was given the task of cleaning my cupboard which hasn't been opened all this while (partly because I had forbidden everyone from even so much as touching my precious books). I got all nostalgic flipping through my comic book collection (I suspected some of the books were missing but noone would take the blame), the Harry Potter books, the random children's magazines I used to hoard (ever heard of Champak and Gokulam?). In particular, I was (hell.. I am) quite fond of my Nagaraj comics, yes, the ones with amazing titles like Thodanga ki Maut and Pratishodh ki Jwala. Sigh! Those were the days, when Super Commando Dhruva could solve almost any problems on earth and when I learnt that Chacha Chaudhary's mind ran faster than a computer before I learnt what a computer was.

A lot has changed since then:
* Kids no longer read comics and they no longer play Ludo or Snake/Ladders
* They don't have to wait for Sunday morning to watch cartoon shows (Talespin, Jungle Book and Ducktales.. I can still watch them if given a chance). Actually my kid cousins don't watch cartoons at all. They prefer watching serials on Colours and Star Plus with their moms
* Definition of bigadna has changed from this to this

Not that I am the same anymore. I have become as careless and useless as was ever possible. Imagine, I kept thinking that I had booked my tickets from Bombay to Calcutta for evening. And then at 11 in the night the day before, I realize that I had actually booked tickets for morning 7 AM and not evening 7 PM! What followed was total chaos and a lot of snide taanaas from wifey and family.

Anyway.

Main Sasural Nahi Jaungi

Act I Scene I:
I come out of my bedroom into the drawing room after hours of mugging (being the geeky muggu that I was) and find the women of the house deeply engrossed in watching the TV. The actress in the TV soap being shown is doing a real bad job of crying. I let out a chuckle commenting on her bad acting. Instantly, I get indignant looks from everyone else in the room. I soon realize that the third husband of the female protagonist in the serial had died a sudden tragic death. Since I want dinner afterall, I try my best to look apologetic.

Act I Scene II:
Two of my very close friends in college are having a fight. Since I have always prided myself on my grey cells, I decide to act as the mediator. I approach them with a snooty 'Comeon you two, tell me what's the matter, I shall resolve it for you guys' look. Turns out they are fighting over the plot of some saas-bahu serial and that they were supporting the wife and the other woman in some guy's life respectively. Before you can write them off as losers, lemme tell you that one of these guys was the class topper. I contemplate for a moment 'Kya yahi hai iske itne brilliant hone ka raaz?', then discard the idea as bad and run from the scene.

Act II Scene I:
Office. Lunch table. I have occupied less than 5 seconds of airtime in the last half an hour of nonsensical chit-chat. This isn't usually the case. When it comes to boss-bashing or cribbing, I am usually most vocal. But today's topic for discussion is reality shows, Rakhi Ka Swayamvar, Jungle-bachao something, Agle Pichle Janam ki kahani and some such shit.

Act II Scene II:
Sonia and me are having dinner. The wife in the serial on TV expects the husband in the serial to do something. The husband forgets. The wife lets go of ganga, jamuna and saraswati from her eyes (overdose of glycerine I suspect). Sonia empathizes with the wife. I say, 'He just forgot. No big deal'. Oops. Too Late.
My name got added to the long and damned list of 'Insensitive Husbands of the World'.

Act I was 5 years back. And TV serials are still showing the same old crap. However, I am excited. The premiere of Rakhi Ka Insaaf looked promising. And Channel V is coming up with these verry innovative and shadiest shows ever. TV and me have a long way to go.

Why I am such a Fashion disaster!

People have called me shy, smart, handsome (ahem), cute (ewwww), cribbesh (whatever!) and loads of other things. Noone, though, has ever called me well-dressed. I mean, noone ever?

Ok - I mean I don't fancy branded clothes, don't buy trendy attire, I prefer loose baggy pleated trousers and simple plain shirts, I have like 5 pairs of jeans but all shades of blue, I rarely buy round-neck T-shirts and don't wear the ones I do buy. But still. I am not your Govinda or Tushar Kapoor you know.

I don't wear accessories - watches, bracelets, jewellery (argh), or even fancy belts. I have a pair of chappals in the era where even men wear sandals. I don't deserve a good phone because I keep dropping it and treat it like trash. So, I have gotten myself this cheap and sturdy phone this time. And I really don't mind.

Well, to be honest, I don't care a damn about clothes or what I am wearing. As long it's me, c'mon, everything should be just fine (ok, ok, stop sniggering). I mean why would I ever bother? Duh. But I was forced to contemplate on this topic when they started discussing dressing styles a few days back at office. I mean I don't even have a style! Not that I should should have. Does it really matter? Am I one of those  lousily dressed bankers? Is this why my boss hates me? Gosh! I mean, is it really important?

Well, but then again, I am lost when I think of what my dressing style should be like? The cool dude inspired by Super-Man who flashes his undies to all and sundry? Or the metrosexual who wears branded clothes and earrings and carries a man-purse? Or the Shilpa-Shetty-Fan-Club-Member who wears body-tight tees inspite of being all skin and bones? I can be the banker - but then I already am. Just that I don't wear expensive watches and branded shoes! I can be the rapper with my loose clothing - but I will never get a tatoo or wear that hideous cap. I don't even have a proper hairstyle.

Maybe all this isn't for me you know. I don't really have to stand out with my dressing style. I should be content with the 'Aww... you ARE well-dresssed you know' comments that this blog would get me *wicked grin*

Why Blogging is bad for health

You spend hours trying to think of a good topic to write.
When you do get a good topic, you spend more hours actually writing it.
Then you hopelessly visit your blog every hour to check if anyone has read and commented on the blog.
You are disillusioned to find that most people don't give a rat's ass for the sorry shit you have posted.
You derive consolation from the fact that at least random spammers are posting meaningless messages on your comments window.
You swear that next time you will write this hugely popular blog *dreamy eyes*
You spend hours trying to think of a good topic to write.

You see - this a vicious circle!

Anyway, random updates as of now:

* Sonia is happy that the building kids have started calling her 'Didi' now. They had apparenly gotten a good telling-off after they called her 'Aunty'. She, however, conveniently ignores the tone in which they say 'Hi Didi' everytime she passes by and how they burst into mad giggles soon afterwards.

* We will be off to Calcutta for Diwali. And for 15 good days. Bliss.

* Khichdi was timepass. And Anjana Anjani was pure atrocity on the senses. Sonia in particular did not like the close-ups of Piggy Chop's disfigured lips.

* I have noticed of late that other commuters don't get as many wrinkles on their shirts as I do - after travelling in a crowded train that is. Maybe I am doing something wrong. Maybe my standing posture isn't right. I have tried noticing how the other guys stand - haven't been able to spot a difference yet. I shall continue my research though.

The Return of Randomness

* I don't think I told you guys about my amazing new laptop. Yes, the old laptop simply crashed. The keypad had stopped working a long time back - now the hard disk too called it quits. The new lappy has a cam as well - I video-chatted for the first time in my life! Yes, being technologically-backward ensures that you get these weird kicks out of things others would call pretty ordinary.

* Work at office is getting more excrutiating by the hour. Yes, yes, we all hate our work but can one really hate his work as much as I do? To add to my woes, many among my office junta have started reading my blog - so I can't even write nasty stuff about work anymore.

* Once in a while, something will happen that will make you regret missing out on some very important event or action in life. Watching Dabangg was one such moment. It made me regret how I never could learn to bajao a shrill ceeti in childhood. Dabangg had many such scenes where normal mortals would errupt in an euphoria of ceetis and cat-calls. But I forget that multiplex-going-sophisticated-Mumbaikars aren't so mortal as Malancha-cinema-going-Calcutta-based-kanjoos-Marus. Btw, read Greatbong's awesome review here.

* Throwing caution to the air, I must tell you all about how my colleague noticed that someone from senior management at work doesn't fit into his chair anymore. She also demonstrated how parts of his body hang precariously over the sides of the chair - and how the chair makes squeaking noices every time he sits on it as if crying for mercy. We suspect that the chair is secretly replaced every night as it is not possible for any chair to sustain all the weight for two days in a row.

* TV serials are my new-found-love. This certainly deserves a blog on its own. Will come up with something soon.

Love, Pain and Little Malice

Another shortie - had written this before college. I like reading it even now, though must confess there is hardly anything original or literary about this story. This was one of my first attempts at writing 'episodes', as I call them.

Prologue

Raina read the note again. On it was scribbled ‘I shall be back early’. “Idiot”, she muttered under her breath. She hated it when Priya went out without her. She hated it all the more when Priya went out with Raj.

Early that day Priya had annoyed Raina for no reason at all.

“You are not leaving me alone again!!! You know how I hate….” Raina had complained vehemently...
“Trust Raina to spoil her chum’s date. Don’t be a sissy, Ray. And I promise I’ll be back early. Now tell me how’z this?” she held her new silk top by herself
“Splendid (Absolutely ludicrous!!)”
“Should I couple it with the lace skirt?”
“Yeah, that’d be the right thing to do (Bet you couldn’t think of anything gaudier).”

Priya donned the dress quickly and stood in the posture of a mannequin displaying an outfit.
“How do I look???”
“Like a blue-eyed angel (with uncommonly long legs!!!)”



One


I am Raina. Priya calls me Ray. She is my best friend. Yes, she is. It's strange how we have absolutely nothing in common and yet we are best-friends. What if she annoys me a lot? What if she does everything that I hate? She is precious to me. She’s the only friend I have.

She says I’m sentimental. She thinks so because I cry at others’ pains, laugh when others do. But then why would I not feel my own pain, not realize my own happiness? Priya has to remind me, “Cheer up, it’s your birthday”.

She loves frolicking around with her silly friends and fussing over unimportant matters like what to wear, how to wear, what not to wear and how not to wear. She’s so full of puerile thoughts and confined energies, so it becomes more than obvious that she would disapprove of the coy and quiet nature of mine.

Can one envy her best friend? I do. I envy Priya on everything she has. She always scores above me. She gets everything she wants. And she’s so feminine in her looks. I wish I had blue eyes like her. She has all the qualities of a poet’s muse and as Raj always says, has the most beautiful legs in the world.

And talking of me, I hate my frizzy hair, my broken chin and convince myself as much I may against it I cannot possibly fail to notice the ugly marks on my face. Yes I am that way- ugly and distasteful. And of course Priya takes all the pain to remind me every now and then that I am no good. She loves pulling my not-so-beautiful-legs.

I had a perfect antipathy for boys. They are rowdy, self-willed and unruly. But that was until I met Raj. He’s the only guy I’ve met who sends my heart ringing. He too reciprocated my feelings, I thought he did. And I poured my passion out in a letter. But I never gave it to him. For I knew Priya loves him too.

So here too Priya scored. I love her, no mistaking that. But I also hate her, for being my best-friend.


Two


If you ever call a girl ‘sexy’ and she would look back at you thoroughly offended, you know she’s Raina. She typically hates what other girls love to do. What she loves is being snuggled up in the cozy comforts of her bed with a none-so-interesting book and criticizing everything that I do. I’m Priya by the way.
 She gets annoyed at the slightest and I love annoying her. I hide the novel she’s been so deeply immersed in only to return it back after she has brought the whole house to shambles looking for it. She hates loud music and I take particular care to put on a jazz record every time I find her complacent. More often than not I curse her and blame her for highly fictitious crimes and pillage her cupboard throwing all her precious books out of the window. And once I took her for an adult movie saying it was a cartoon film with the temptation of seeing her go to pieces in the hall but to no avail; she sat through the entire film with her eyes shut tightly (I couldn’t even coax her to open her eyes during the Interval!!!).

It’s not that she is completely innocent. She bores me to death by narrating the story of the latest novel she’s read. More so because her novels are hardly interesting and she tells a story rather badly. But she relishes the experience of reciting her stories to me as (she says) I am a very good listener. I let out occasional oohs, aahs & omigoshes and other sorts of murmurs which seem to have a perfect timing and they encourage her all the more. I must learn to keep shut.

The other day I was on one of my small ransacks of her cupboard when I laid my hands upon her ‘Diary’. Ray is among those fools who take all the pain to record their unimportant experiences in a diary. I was delighted!!!! I thought I would definitely find something in the diary to taunt Ray upon, some guilty secret of hers. I still remember how I flinched upon sighting a letter folded neatly between two pages with ‘Raj’ written somewhere in it. I was naturally curious to read through it. And it was pretty well that I did for as things turned out, it did matter much!!!!

Raj is the guy I’m madly in love with. You are the luckiest person on earth if you have a guy like Raj who loves you, adores you, cares for you……… but I would swap him for a friend like Ray ANYDAY :)

Epilogue


Raina simply stared lost for words.

Then all of a sudden Priya sprung to her feet and declared, trying to sound cheerful, “You know something? Daniel has asked me for dinner tonight. Yes, that cute-looking albino guy”, she continued without looking at Raina, “Now no need to make faces, I’ll return early, I promise. Tell me what to wear? How is the Blue-Dress?” she suddenly turned, smiling.
“Splendid!!” was all that Raina said in spite of herself… She would go away to Brazil where her dad had ready a list of suitable grooms, she thought.
Priya slipped into the dress and chortled, “How do I look?”
“Like a blue-eyed angel”, replied Raina, “with the most beautiful legs” she added as an afterthought.

Lo Aaj Main Kahta Hoon

Ok, so, I love bollywood! And continuing in the same line of thought as this post of mine, I will list down the 5 most amazingly fantastic memories I have of old-school Bollywood:

1. Tumne jo li angdayi hai - Mr. India was a movie that the kids thoroughly enjoyed. Sci-fi was an unexploited genre in Hindi cinema. The unadulterated comedy struck a chord with each person in the audience. However, one song, one wet and stormy night, a gyrating Sridevi, Kaate Nahi Kat te - and many among the kids spent several sleepless nights!

Years later, Raveena tried to create the same magic, but not quite.

2. Pyaar dosti hai - The only KJo movie that I don't mind watching again and again. With Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, the Archies came to India. Skirts got shorter, college-life was redefined, Kajol's one eyebrow became a pair of eyebrows, precocious kids came to dominate Hindi cinema, and I finally realized that I have to have to hate Shahrukh Khan.

(C'mon guys, this one is really after a long time - and not even nasty!)

3. Mausi chakki peesing - Sholay was not a movie. It was a piece of art. Every frame was perfect, every character chiseled out of storyteller's finest imagination, every dialogue legendary. The only possible flaw in the whole movie was that it could inspire someone to remake the movie years later, to a disastrous effect.

4. We love Maneka Gandhi - I am no pet-lover. But I used to love when movies had these wonderful multi-purpose pets. Pigeons as carriers of love-messages, Dogs as faithful friends, Monkeys as entertainers, Deepak Tijori and (recently) Udai Chopra as sidekicks.

5. Kya bolta re tu? - As anyone who has seen my drunken dancing would know, I dig chaalu Bollywood music. By 'chaalu' I mean songs that run thus -
Humein Tomtom se ja rahe the, tumhein cycle se aana tha
Aati kya Khandala?
Unchi hai building, lift teri band hai
Meri Pant bhi sexy
Hai Huku Hai Huku
A aa ee, o oo oo, mera dil na todo

Are you surprised to see that most of these songs had Karishma Kapoor? :) Miss that era!

Happy Birthday to me (Ah, well, belated) :)

First birthday after marriage, first surprise 12'o clock party ever (Sonia was the host as well as the only guest), mom-made laddoos, a decent day at work (suprisingly!), this b'day wasn't so bad!

Soon

A short story I had written a while back - abusive language has been used, so please read no further if you think you may find it offensive

CHAPTER FOUR

 

The car bolted ahead at breakneck speed… his heart pounding in his head, he could still hear her pleading... crying… Oh, how he hated that bitch!!! He crushed the accelerator…

A rickshaw appeared on the road ahead, steadily growing from a minuscule dot to a larger mass… he doesn’t care, does he???...he rushed forward in a mad frenzy… the auto steered leftward just in time… He didn’t stop; perfectly aware that the auto must have stood there, the driver looking back at him in towering rage… he doesn’t give a damn…

There was something on the road ahead… a cat… he doesn’t care… he heard the bloodcurdling shriek as the cat was crushed under the wheels of his Corolla… he was crying now… I hate her, I hate that bitch… he felt no remorse, no guilt, no pain… are you happy, now???

The car screeched to a halt… tears were rolling down his cheeks… he wasn’t like this before… he had killed something… and he felt no remorse… You are beautiful, Adi … he clenched his teeth… he wasn’t human anymore…

And he threw himself forward, crashing through the windscreen onto the bonnet… fell on the road and lay there writhing in pain… are you happy, now???

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

“But you know I had nothing to do with this” Aditya was livid…

“I have my restrictions Aditya...” Mr. Bose replied curtly.

“Look, you know that I wasn’t involved in the project… I had told YOU everything… as soon as I came to know!!! ”

“You never informed the management, Aditya” said Mr. Bose coolly, “You should have done that. They think you are with the crooks.”

“I told YOU, for God’s sake…”

“My hands are tied… you know how it…”

“Don’t do this to me…” Aditya slammed his fist on the table and stood up. He looked at the man sitting on the other side of the table, so plainly unperturbed by what had happened, something which was going to ruin Aditya’s career.

“Look Aniket, I have always considered you to be my friend… I need your help” Aditya was trying hard to maintain his calm. “You can’t do this to me…”

Aniket didn’t reply for a few moments. He wasn’t looking Aditya in the eyes … But when he spoke, a lot of the stiffness had gone.

“Yes, we have always been friends, Aditya. And I have always liked you” He got up now but still looked away from Aditya, “You have been a good employee but if I may add, you have also been somewhat foolish.”

Aditya opened his mouth but said nothing. Aniket was moving around the table towards him. He looked into Aditya’s eyes now, “I know that you are in serious trouble. Your foolishness will not only cost you your job… it may cost you a lot more…”

Aniket was face-to-face with Aditya now…  

“I like you, Aditya,” Aniket placed his hand on Aditya’s shoulder and smiled, “And I want to help you… but you have to help me too” Aniket gripped his shoulder hard and placed his second hand on Aditya’s waist.

Aditya couldn’t understand what Aniket was saying but his shoulder was beginning to hurt. He instinctively wrenched his shoulder free and stared into the funny expression in Aniket’s eyes… “What can…?”

“You are beautiful, Adi … more beautiful than you know…” his hand was now sliding down Aditya’s waist…

Aditya shook himself free and moved away from Aniket.

“What do…???” he was incoherent with rage…  “You are crazy…”

Aniket gulped and said, “Aditya, I really want to help you… I’ll get you out of trouble in no time. Everything will be all right.”

“You…  you…” Aditya fumbled with words, shocked. Aniket had been his only ray of hope.

"No one would ever know,” Aniket seemed to return to his cold self now, “I understand that you have a wife and a kid… but what transpires between us…”

“Nothing transpires between us, you understand, nothing…”

“Aditya, you are not thinking with your mind now” Aniket warned coldly…

“Bastard, you…  …” Aditya found that he was now dumb with rage… he flew out of the cabin, not realizing that he was crying. Aniket had been his only ray of hope. He was, now, doomed.

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

“This is the second time in a month, Mr. Roy” the Principal spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, “Needless to say, we do not tolerate such behavior in our school.”

“I am extremely sorry, Mrs. Xavier,” Aditya replied genuinely, “I assure you that this would not happen again.”

Something about his pleading tone made Mrs. Xavier smile in an understanding sort of way.

“Mr. Roy, Nishant has always been one of our brighter students. Frankly, his deterioration has alarmed rather than surprise us. And, now, he has started attacking his classmates. I don’t know if I should say this, but such changes are often the consequences of… … domestic problems. I hope you understand”

“Yes, Mrs. Xavier” Aditya replied bitterly.

“Our counselor has given up. From what she could make out, Nishant is really disturbed about something.”

Aditya knew what it was. He had to do something about it, soon.

“Domestic problems are not something we can wish away, Mr. Roy. But we need to take care of our children’s future too. Whatever it is that Nishant is going through, it is taking a heavy toll on his performance in school, on his behavior, attitude, everything.”

Aditya gave a short nod. He was feeling ashamed of himself. His problems were ruining his kid’s future.

“Children get influenced easily, Mr. Roy. They do not have the ability to analyze – to judge what is right and what is wrong. At times, the child’s mind may get scarred beyond repair. As a well-wisher, I don’t want Nishant to head that way.”

“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Xavier. I’ll do the needful, I assure you. Thank you so much.”

Aditya came out feeling distraught. He will have to talk to her, to make her understand. It was about his son… her son… their son.

He got into his Corolla and drove towards his office.

  

CHAPTER THREE

Aditya was still shaking. He parked the car in the garage and rushed towards the elevator. He had to do something. They can’t do this to him. He was innocent, after all…

He had always thought Aniket to be his friend. That bastard… he spat in the aisle. The guard glared at him for a second and then looked away. He got into the elevator.

… he felt like banging his head against the elevator wall.

He got off on the second floor and entered his apartment, the door being ajar.

Nishant was playing with his toy-car in a corner of the living-room. He looked up at him and then returned to playing without as much as a reaction. Aditya remembered what the Principal had told him. He’ll have to take to Shreya.

He went into the bedroom. Shreya was looking out of the window. She must have seen him drive into the garage. Yet she pretended as if he was a non-entity. Aditya looked around. The bed-sheets were in shambles. He had been here again, Aditya gritted his teeth.

“Shreya,” he tried to sound normal, “I’d been to Nishant’s school today.”

“Did you go to our lawyer?” asked Shreya.

“Shreya, for heaven’s sake…”

Shreya looked at him. She appeared to be in a state of delirium. 

“He told me!!!! You don’t want to free me… do you? You want me to serve you for the rest of my life…” Shreya was shrieking now.

“You are my wife, goddamit…”

“Wife… hah… I’m a slave, Aditya… your slave… tending to your needs, your son’s needs…”

“Isn’t he your son too…?” Aditya felt veins in his temple throb madly.

“Son… something I never wanted… saddled with marriage and a son when I had ambitions. I sacrificed my career…”

“Haven’t I made you happy in the past six years, Shreya? And you give me this in return…”

“Happy…? No, you don’t make me happy, Aditya… Your son doesn’t make me happy… Pete makes me happy, Aditya. Pete makes me happy. He understands my needs, my feelings…”

“He is using you…Shreya. Why don’t you understand??” Aditya was now yelling too.

“The thought of going away makes me happy… to go away from you… your son…”

  

Aditya could hold it no more. He slapped Shreya hard across the face. She fell onto the bed, whining. Aditya saw Nishant in the doorway and felt a pang of guilt.

“Shreya,” Aditya was crying as he sat on the bed, “We need to think for our son… we are spoiling his… why don’t you understand??”

Shreya gripped him with both hands, tears rolling down her cheeks… “Free me Aditya, free me… I want to live a life… I love Pete and he loves me…”

“Don’t you love me???? Don’t you love Nishant????”

“No” Shreya shrieked. “I never loved you… I was a slave in this house… I want divorce, Aditya…”

“Shreya, you are mad…”  Aditya was trying hard again to control his anger, “Don’t you realize that our son needs you…?”

“I have been tending to all your needs for six years, Aditya… Give me what I want…” Shreya was pleading hard…

“You are out of your mind, Shreya…” Aditya’s heart was burning. He felt something was choking him up. Suddenly, he stood up.

“Did I ever ask you for anything? I’ve always been a slave in this house…”

“You cheated on me, you bitch!!!” Aditya roared. He pulled her up with both his hands, “You make it sound like you have suffered… but I am ready to forgive… for our son…”

“No… I want to be happy, Aditya. I want to be happy…” Shreya clung to his shirt…

Aditya whacked her hard across the face again and pushed her backwards. She collided with the table and crumbled onto the floor, sobbing hysterically…

“Are you happy, now…? If you meet that bastard once more, I’ll kill both of you… perhaps, that would make you happy…” He rushed out of the bedroom and found Nishant cowering in a corner of the living-room.

His heart skipped a beat, his mind numb with rage, “Nishant, come here. Come to papa…” He realized that his voice quivered, and his eyes were moist.

Nishant walked up to him hesitatingly, too afraid to disobey. Aditya took him up in arms and marched out of the apartment. He rang the doorbell of their neighbor Mrs. Pundit. The door opened…

“Disha, will you look after Nishant for a while?” Aditya blurted…

Disha nodded, a thousand questions swarming in her eyes.

“Thank you…” and Aditya flew down the stairs. His heart was throbbing wildly… He got into his car and drew out of the building, not knowing where he was going, not knowing what he would do, just knowing that he wanted to go away from here, as far away as possible…

 

CHAPTER FIVE

  

Shards of glass sunk into his skin, blood trickling down his face and sides, Aditya walked over to the spot where the cat lay on the road. The scene was menacing… 

Aditya felt sick in the stomach. He thought he was going to throw up…

He gingerly picked up what remained of the cat’s body… and swaggered to a side of the road… he placed the cat on the ground and covered it with mud, leaves and stones…

And then he sank into the ground, crying like a kid. He lay there for several minutes… the pain in his heart unbearable… the flood in his eyes unstoppable…

I’ll not let my son suffer… I’ll secure his future… He sat up with great difficulty… I don’t care what happens to her, I don’t care what happens to me, I care only about Nishant… He stood up… I’ll get out of trouble… and we’ll go away… away from this madness…

A passing car stopped where he stood. “Are you all right?” the lady driving the car asked apprehensively.

Aditya nodded and started walking towards his car… Everything would be all right, soon.

Phata Poster, Nikla Hero

Ok, maybe not quite a Hero. This is what I am referring to - but then, I had asked for it!

So, any learnings?
No Sir -just let me nurse the wounds (mainly to my pride) - will be back soon!

*evil laughter with appropriate sound-effects in the background*


PS: This masochistic brainwave was an inspiration from Mini.. err.. Maini.

Tu bhi Disco, Main bhi Disco

Ok, so the off-site happened (they call it the Business Meet), and it wasn't all that bad. For three days, we were parceled to this luxury hotel in Goa where we had marathon presentations (which were boring to the point that you almost strangle yourself), team activities (read 'physical torture'), and random conversations with bosses where you are repeatedly reminded how fortunate you are to be part of this elite gang! However, to redeem it somewhat, met so many new people, gulped gallons of free daaru, and treated myself to the luxuries that such a hotel could offer (err... only the free ones!).

I shall not forget:

* how the DJ was playing my favouritest songs like I am a Disco Dancer, 1-2-3, Jumma Chumma and many more. 

* how, after maroing three Long-Islands and a couple of shots (I could barely stand), I realized that I will be called on to the stage for receiving an award (They obviously couldn't let me know earlier!) And then you have kamine friends who suggest that you have another shot to soothe nerves. I didn't trip and fall, I didn't do anything stupid either - but people complained that I was dead serious when receiving the award!

 * how I ran for my life after seeing my naked boss coming out of the sauna (accidentally, instead of entering the showers, I came out of the wrong door into the corridor. And I was wearing only a towel!)

* how we had a fight with the irritating  lifeguard at the beach - who gave us fake excuses like "there are snakes in the sea" to send us away after nightfall.

* how I couldn't sleep at night (even after being completely drunk) because my room-mate was snoring loud enough to wake up Kumbhakarna. 

* how, during the physical activity session, a Bong from Calcutta and a Sardar from Delhi broke into a fight. Watching the show from the sidelines was pure bliss.

* how there were hot, skimpily-clad, firang chics on the dance floor. But, as a poor desperate soul from Chennai got to know the hard way, they were reserved only for senior management.