tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39684149275998735172024-03-14T23:33:25.667+05:30Rekindled Imaginations..!!Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-79374265397524577442010-03-04T22:54:00.000+05:302010-03-04T22:55:22.838+05:30Those small little moments..!!(Sorry, it turned out to be a long post. But couldn't help it. Read it if you are patient enough. No issues otherwise. And it's been a long time. How have you all been, drop in a comment. :) )<br /><br /><font color = #66ccff> <i><b>Present……</b></i><br /><br />I was getting drenched, but for a change I didn’t care. I dragged my foot along the wet mud, got into my grandfather’s old car. Again, for a change, I had the key, so I slid behind the wheel and shut the door after me. The windshield, translucent due to the relentlessly beating rain, showed me a big vehicle parked ahead; a <i>hearse</i>. My grandfather was sleeping in it; it was supposed to be his final journey. The door to my left, made way for my grandmother. She said to me as a tear ran down her cheek- “Follow the hearse to the cemetery.” I put the car onto ignition, clicked the wipers into action and waited to follow the hearse. The wipers danced themselves into wiping the tears off the windshield leaving our eyes craving for company. </font><br /><br /><b><i>Recent Past…..</b></i><br />Firing ‘hate-beams’ over the slices of bread waiting in his breakfast plate, “How can I miss you if you don’t leave…..” my grandfather managed to sing with his broken voice. My grandmother, who stood against the ‘Dressing table’ applying some kind of cream across her face, retaliated by hurling a comb at him. “Thanks for the song, hero!” he waved at me and shoved some more bread into his witty mouth. My grandmother stared at me, and I could notice that fire-balls had replaced eye-balls. So, in an attempt to please her, I said to him- “You are lucky to have such a nice wife, remember.” His mouth was full of bread, so he grunted and coughed. <br /><br />A few minutes passed by, and I made a face expression suggesting it was getting late and we must be moving. <br /><br />“Will you have breakfast, or will you keep painting your face?” he asked grandma. <br /><br /><i>No Reply.</i><br /><br />“We have to get going.”<br /><br /><i>No Reply.</i><br /><br />“Dear, can I bring the breakfast and coffee to you?”<br /><br />“Yes, please.”<br /><br />He stood, winked at me and said- “I’m learning. I’m learning.” <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff> I drove along, following the hearse, across the wet streets on a cloudy afternoon. The rain had reduced to a drizzle; the world around seemed to have muted itself from us; the silence slowly pinched us into reality. As the drizzle trickled out, I put the wipers to rest and turned to my grandmother. <i>Those tears were much harder to wipe out.</i></font><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGnj1V4zLD3efeEaZZb9m9HvH9kGbOncUuodbOCWQQdzqpe97jENuyVHYqv_TgDGzjMC6yzYCtlJJhAewFqbZlKpSufdBEnFR5puZfHfbNfXsuzZ0hwCbISaMoTWdkKTQdqWg2uzm75Sp/s1600-h/175621225_4409314bcb.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGnj1V4zLD3efeEaZZb9m9HvH9kGbOncUuodbOCWQQdzqpe97jENuyVHYqv_TgDGzjMC6yzYCtlJJhAewFqbZlKpSufdBEnFR5puZfHfbNfXsuzZ0hwCbISaMoTWdkKTQdqWg2uzm75Sp/s320/175621225_4409314bcb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444739388073113954" /></a><br /><br />In a few minutes we were ready to leave. My grandfather sat in behind the wheel and blew the horns wildly. I had to rush grandma to the car as she fed my ears with- “What a crazy man your grandfather is!” We got in, and within two blinks, he hit the accelerator and we were cruising along the main-road. <br />“Do you want directions?” grandma enquired as she emptied a bottle of water.<br /><br />“Do you mean, in life?”<br /><br />She chuckled. “No. To the…the..…… never mind.”<br /><br />My grandfather drives his car like in the American movies, where the hero is running against time to save the world from mountain sized gorillas. I observed, when in the car, grandma sits very silent. I recollect grandpa once giving me this advice- “That’s how you keep women silent. The faster you go, the silent they would be.” Though I took the advice, in this case though, it was my grandpa who needed the plastering. My grandma, on the other side, wasn’t the one to shy away. I remember her telling me- she felt much closer to God when she was in grandpa’s car than during her morning prayers. <br /><br />Anyway, as he drove along like a rich, reckless teenager, me and grandma sat quietly. In front of us, a school bus made steady progress. The children in the bus made themselves busy by waving at strangers, and cheering when their bus over-took other vehicles and exchanging high-fives. I saw their expressions change as we proceeded past them; I could hear them boo’ing us. My grandfather disappointed my expectations by not waving out at them. Sometimes I exaggerate his childishness. <br />Anyway, we had to stop for petrol, so we pulled up at a Petrol pump. “This petrol pump is like this car’s own mother. It’s never been fed anywhere else. Ask your grandfather about this, he’ll have something stupid to say about it” my grandma whispered to me. I got down, and as I saw the petrol being pumped into the car, I had a few silly thoughts running through my head. Anyway, once grandpa completed his joke filled conversation with the petrol-guy, we were set to leave. Just about then, the school bus sailed past us, and the children screamed their lungs out cheerfully. <br /><br />The road was empty and that meant that there was nothing stopping grandpa. It took less than a minute to overtake the bus. For those children, it was like their ‘Games’ period being replaced with ‘Moral Science’. This time, my grandfather waved at them. If I was in that bus, I would be so pissed off that I would have frowned and skipped my evening glass of milk. Anyway, my exaggerated assumptions about grandpa proved to be right, and I dint know if I should feel good or bad about it. Just when I thought my grandfather emerged Mr. Victorious, the car started losing pace. In a few seconds, the car coughed itself to the side and grandpa got down for the surgery. He opened the bonnet, mulled over it and later kicked the grill in disgust. I didn’t want to see those school children dancing over the aisles at our pathetic defeat. None the less I could hear the cheer as their bus whizzed past us. I got out and asked grandpa- “You said your car never gives a head-ache?” He didn’t reply, rather he just closed the bonnet, asked me to sit as he slid into his seat. He put the car into ignition and it roared without a glitch. “This is my car. I maintain it. It neither gives a headache nor a typhoid.” He released the clutch, steered the car along the road to his left and headed along. <br /><br />My grandfather is not the greatest person since mankind nor did he intend to be one, but that day he exhibited traces of simple humanity. My grandfather, he gave those children some disappointment, then some thrill but ultimately a little moment of happiness. I thought maybe I was making too much of it, but I just couldn’t resist thinking that way. I began liking him; in fact I liked him a lot. I turned to grandma, and we exchanged a simple smile. That smile, somehow I could never forget. It had a story to tell. <br /><br /><font color= #66ccff> Somewhere along the route, it dawned to me that I was driving my grandfather’s car; the one which never gave a headache; the one which he never let me touch. My grandma, next to me, sat too silent for comfort. As I threaded along, following the hearse, which had my grandfather’s body in it, I was flooded with thoughts aplenty. I craned my neck and saw through the rear view mirror something which was the last thing I wanted to see on that day. It was a school bus approaching from behind, full of children involved in their regular activity of cheering and boo’ing. Call it ‘co-incidence; call it whatever, I hated it. I was worried for my grandma. Even as thoughts ran by and emotions ran high, the school bus steadily moved ahead. The children waved at me and signaled a ‘thumbs-down’. The bus moved ahead, now right parallel to the hearse. I don’t know what went through those young, innocent minds, but I was taken aback. They realized there was a dead body in the van; they lost the smiles on their faces, motioned their hands from head to chest in such a way as to offer a prayer, then turned around and maybe started off another game or so. At that very moment, I turned to my grandmother. Amidst all those tears, she gave me another unforgettable smile. This one had a bigger story to tell.</font>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-70640674029984207842009-12-21T13:06:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.609+05:30Roshan's back..!!I jumped off the plane and found that my parachute wasn’t opening. No, in fact I was just knocking at Roshan’s door. I mean, that’s how it would feel standing there knowing that his mom would open the door. In just a few seconds the door cranked open treating my ears with a few silly noises. I would have been charred to death and instantly evaporated (due to ‘shock’), if it was someone other than his mom at the door. I mean only she had to open the door, at least to piss me off. Anyway, as usual she looked at me as if she had wasted her precious time just to open the door for me. She said- “He’s in the room. Sleeping” and vanished into the kitchen. I entered the hall and I felt this weird thought passing through my brain; I felt like I was playing ‘ball’ with a chimpanzee in an American zoo. Don’t ask for further explanations please. Then I noticed Roshan’s 8 year old brother sleeping on the sofa. I felt like watching a Lion making love with a deer. I mean, I never thought that was possible. <br /><br />Finally I stepped into Roshan’s room and that idiot was sleeping too. I was kissing that chimpanzee by now. As I walked towards him to shake him up, I heard him talking in his sleep- “Sorry ma’am, I didn’t come to school because my grandfather died yesterday……. Oh Last week?? Errrrr… Oh ya, my grandmother died last week……… ohh is it? Then maybe it’s my grandmother’s sister…………” he went on. I thought about the job in hand; how to wake this guy up from sleep? Finally, I grabbed my cell phone and played one of Himesh Reshammia’s nasal growls and Roshan jumped out of his bed like a ghost. He stared at me, rubbed his eyes and said- “Oh, it’s you.”<br /><br />“Yeah. What were you doing in school man? I thought you would be running around trees with that ‘Air Hostess’ girl.” <br /><br />“What to do macha! Last night I was thinking about that day when we begged our School principal for attendance. You remember?”<br /><br />“Yeah. But WE didn’t beg. It was YOU who begged and almost cried.” I reminded him.<br /><br />“Shut up macha. Otherwise, he would have informed our parents about what we did that day.” He reminded me of things I had tried all my life to forget. <br /><br />“Hey, how about we go meet them now? Our school teachers I mean. It’ll be nice after such a long time.”<br /><br />“Get lost. No way.”<br /><br />In ten minutes, we were in his car heading to school; he was driving and I was praying. He took a sharp right turn and my heart almost skidded towards my ribs. He was not a bad driver; he was a terrible driver. Just when I started thanking god that we were just a kilometer away from our destination, he applied brakes and brought the car to a sudden halt. He turned and stared at me with his round eyes. He looked like the male version of Rakhi Sawanth. He behaved like a pressure cooker, as though invisible steam blew out from his ears. I got scared; I got tensed. I recited my last prayers. I tested my lost voice and enquired- “What’s up? What happened?”<br /><br />As though like the whistling of a cooker, he exhaled, hit me on my head and said- “Stupid. It’s Sunday today. The school will be closed.” He was right; I felt silly, I felt ashamed. I felt- like a Superman without powers; like a crow without wings; like James Bond posing without pants. On the other hand, Roshan’s face glowed victoriously, as though he had fought the war and won the princess. <br /><br />Anyway, we just had to roam around the school, literally and head back home. In an hour, we were back at the door of his house waiting for his mom to open. As usual, she never disappoints. She stared hard at me and told Roshan- “One more time I see you wearing that T-shirt, I’ll not let you in.” I knew that was for me. As ever I didn’t care. If I’d cared, by now I would have invited you all for my tenth 'Death Day' celebrations. Anyway, I entered in and Roshan’s brother who had woken up by now was in full action like those dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. As usually he hurled his plastic monkey at me and I dodged it with perfection and grace. But I had enough for the day. I collected my bike’s keys and disappeared from there in 3.2 seconds. <br /><br />“A day spent with Roshan is called a ‘Stupid-day’. It is also known as ‘Everyday’.”Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-29326100527243262522009-12-01T20:03:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.639+05:30P.S- Snow, for me is Grey..!!(I wrote this for Writers Lounge. The theme being 'Winter stories'. It was written with a word limit of 400 words. And for a change, it has no humor. :))<br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>Some kind of a realization dawned. He troubled his old muscles as he glanced up at the somber sky and scratched his chin- “It will only get worse.” His cheeks were sunken and hollow; his eyes depicted poverty. It was Christmas and he was at work; he poked at the far side of the grave with his spade and it split wide open.</font> <br /><br />I love Christmas, more so for the gifts that continues to flow into the next day, my Birthday. Adoring the season’s first snow fall outside my little window, I awaited my tenth birthday. My dad owns a bakery, my mom’s a school teacher. There’s another boy in my home; dad says he’s my brother. My mom's love towards me is infinite. I love her but I hate my dad. For two reasons- he gifts nicer things to my brother; He never talks to mom. Meanwhile, the snowfall intensified and I noticed mom. She sat in a corner, her eyes, as though set deep inside their sockets. I waited for dad as she sat still, dangerously still.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmlmeoizlIbwooMpSFwoR4z7cnESo0yVQdM_e_yFu8FdYIIo-0yzMjZryC4ymfcTut3UFx-4U2ZIDAbVQgZY7omoVyFgdS96XV4yTeA3hWNvVlPLYVXM_r6jK7xAkKhSJPCKK8sk7e7ZOs/s1600/1047301-a8c45ce6-4435-4f5d-9c04-a5fe156e09a3l.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmlmeoizlIbwooMpSFwoR4z7cnESo0yVQdM_e_yFu8FdYIIo-0yzMjZryC4ymfcTut3UFx-4U2ZIDAbVQgZY7omoVyFgdS96XV4yTeA3hWNvVlPLYVXM_r6jK7xAkKhSJPCKK8sk7e7ZOs/s320/1047301-a8c45ce6-4435-4f5d-9c04-a5fe156e09a3l.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409792566446782002" /></a><br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>He cursed the relentless snowfall, which was making his job tougher. But he had to do it, for his living. His face appeared as though it had lived with pain as a constant companion. He leaned over his spade and started to dig again.</font> <br /><br />My mom hadn’t moved an inch, I got tensed. Just then my dad arrived. He surprised me with a hug and hurried towards mom and put his arms over her shoulder. Her head collapsed into his chest. For the first time I noticed a tear drop down my dad’s cheeks. He shook her face vigorously until finally mom moved. That relieved me; the snow outside appeared better now. <br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>He finished his job of digging, covered his face with a scarf against the snow and waited impatiently.</font> <br /><br />Within a minute, I saw my mom burst into tears. My dad hugged her and brought her to me. My mom hugged me tight; she didn’t want them to put me into the coffin. I couldn’t hug her back, I couldn’t say I loved her, I couldn’t even cry. The snow turned grey to my eyes yet again. <br /><br />I had to be taken to the graveyard; the old man was waiting. I made him struggle, but I made his Christmas. My parents, I love them. By the way, my name is Kevin. <br /><br /><br /><b>WORD COUNT = 399</b>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-53168886140387948322009-11-08T20:36:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.662+05:30When I was SULTAN..!!<font color = #66ccff>“Every day I get to hear some or the other forts falling into his hands. I don’t care what you do, Afzal Khan, my friend, I want him dead.” I said with an angry face, loud voice and a wicked smile. </font><br /><br />I was in class 5 when it struck to my parents that they needed to make me Mr. Nice Boy. My mom turned to her colleagues, her Google search, for suggestions. It wouldn’t ‘shock’ me if I’d kissed an electric pole, but it certainly would if her colleagues didn’t have a suggestion to offer or an opinion to share. So, as expected, they sprung into action and suggested a ‘Personality Development’ camp which was to be held far outside the city. Talking about those colleagues, someday I will shoot them and go to jail surely. Anyway, about the camp; we had to camp in for 10 days; we would be woken up at 4 and made to lift our hands and legs; I mean, we were taught yoga. A little of cleaning, praying, eating, sleeping, bhajan-ing fabricated the rest of the day. It was after dinner (at 6.45 pm) that the actual fun began; things like plays and dances. We were split into groups and I fell into a group called ‘Shivaji’. Our group had four guys (including me) and three girls, one of which I would name Miss. Stare, would stare at me at a rate of 30 glances per minute. <font color = #FF0000><i> I didn’t like her.</i></font><br /><br /><font color = #66ccff> “I will bring him dead in 24 hours, Sultan” Afzal Khan, who resembled a skeleton promised, bowing down. “I’ll look forward to it my friend” I patted on his cane-like back and let out an evil look. Miss Stare made a signal to me that I had to leave the stage for Chatrapathi Shivaji to enter. <font color = #FF0000><i> I didn’t like her at all.</i></font></font><br /><br /> “I wand you to read this book gombletely today” our group’s new instructor announced in a Mallu accent and handed over the mini-sized book on Shivaji. We gombletely read the book and waited for him the next day. He examined each of us top to bottom; shameless I say. It took him 2.6 seconds to decide that I should be the villain, The Sultan Of Bijapur. The skeleton guy became Afzal Khan and the other became Shivaji. I objected- “Sir, this Shivaji is just half of me.” He showed us that he had a smile and said- “ You dond worry. Shivaji should be simble.” Miss Stare giggled at me until she learned about her part in the play; she along with another girl had to escort the Sultan of Bijapur ( that’s me) to my chair. I explored options as to how best I could piss her off, but ultimately satisfied myself with a teeth-exhibiting smile. <font color = #FF0000><i> This girl gets on my nerves.</i></font> Anyway, the practice began in full swing. I practiced my dialogues and evil looks outside kitchens, outside toilets, everywhere. Shivaji practiced killing while I and Dr. Skeleton practiced dying. <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff> “Not with me Afzal Khan” Shivaji punctured Afzal’s chest with his cardboard knife, and headed straight to the Sultan Of Bijapur, who was rejoicing with his girls. </font><br /><br />The day had come and it was time for me to enter the dais. I wore someone’s churidhar, had a yellow colored half-moon painted on my forehead, tied a cloth around my waist, pushed my wooden sword through it and walked to my chair with the two girls escorting me. I had to walk like a chess champion, as though I had to think deep about my next step. Doing so, I reached the big chair and sat but immediately jumped out like a spring. That damn sword was poking. So got up, pulled it out and then sat. I could notice even the last row of people laughing like mad dogs. But I was a man, whose heart was made of steel. I sprung up, blasted my dialogues blowing off a few ear-drums thereby killing all the surrounding laughter and restored pin-drop silence in the hall (of around 150 people). Afzal Khan walked in wearing something resembling a frock, but again, a man made of steel wouldn’t giggle, so I grabbed the opportunity to shut up; then continued with my dialogues and exited with ultimate grace. My part was surely a hit, I thought. Only thing remaining for me was to get killed by that tiny little Shivaji. <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff> “How dare you try to kill me” Shivaji tripped my foot, held me with my back resting on his arm and pushed his knife into my chest. That was it; I had kicked the bucket; I was dead.</font> <br /><br />Shivaji was supposed to drop me on to the ground gently but just before he could do that I heard him grasping for breath- “ Hey, oaahhh.. I am not able to hold on…aaaa…” even before he could complete it, let his hands off me and I fell real hard on to the ground. <i> bloody damn idiot.. </i> I wondered what an irony it would create if I got up and killed him. But anyway, the great fall incidentally turned out to be the best part of the play; a blood-pumping action scene. <br /><br />Later as I was exiting the stage, I observed Miss. Stare laughing like she hadn’t for a decade. <font color = #FF0000><i> God, I hated her.</i></font> <br /><br />P.S- Unfortunately, nobody took photographs of the play that day. Leave alone snaps, that damn place did not have a single mirror for me to even see how I looked.<br /><br />P.P.S- My parents' colleagues are still a pestering lot. What to do??Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-61313478116842126772009-11-05T12:53:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.676+05:30My Morning..!!“Monicaaaaaaaaa….. Oh my darling…” RD Burman’s voice trickled through my peaceful ears as the clock struck 7 in the morning. If there was someone who knew how to wake me up, it was my dad. As I struggled through the process of opening my eyes, I noticed my dad standing like a policeman. “Don’t you remember that you have to go give your blood sample for the blood test?” he reminded me. I’m a man of silence and not violence, so woke up and began to make the walk to the bathroom. “Don’t get settled in your white house” another timely reminder. I remained silent and dragged myself into the loo. It was ironical, me being silent. I mean, just before I was woken up, I was having a heated argument with my dad in my dreams. Such a thing is possible only in my dreams, but that’s totally a different issue. Anyway, within fifteen minutes I was ready. By now, my dad was behind the wheel in the car, again Mr. RD Burman’s trumpets going wild. We breezed through the empty roads to the lab. <br /><br />“Sir 420.” The lady behind the counter appealed to me.<br /><br />“What (the hell)?”<br /><br />“Rs. 420 sir.” She smiled. <br /><br />Once I paid, I was escorted into a small cabin where a woman was waiting with a needle (ok, syringe). She began a search operation; where to poke this fellow. Finally, she smiled, I smiled and the blood was sucked. My God, my blood looked the darkest shade of maroon, almost brown. Finished this ‘bloody’ business with another smile and went back to the car. RD Burman never got tired, nor did my dad. Dad hit the accelerator and we were off. If you thought we were heading back home, you just put your leg into the gutter. No, my dad wouldn’t stop unless it was a hotel. He takes me hotels of his college time and puts me through his college stories. It was one such hotel; it was non vegetarian. For the first time I had non-veg for breakfast. It was so spicy that one could spot a waterfall from my eye and nose. Even small kids dint miss a stare. <br /><br />We travelled another 5 kms to have the best tea and then headed home. The lion spotted the deer and was ready to attack. Sorry, I just meant to say that my mom was waiting for me. She literally blew steam into my ears- “Now, who will eat the breakfast that I prepared? Eat the same thing for lunch.” The orders came. So, here I am, the man of silence writing this post in search of some sympathy. I’ve made lunch plans with my friend already. Now how can I go keep my head into the lion’s mouth? Wats the way out?? Let’s see.<br /><br />I actually also wanted to write about a play, that I had acted in, while in school. But I guess long posts are boring. Anyway, I’ll write about it very soon. Guess what, I was killed by Chatrapathi Shivaji in that play. :P<br /><br />(Just this thing. Let me know your opinion. I’ve never written such stuff on my blog until recently. It has always been some fiction story or something. Always thought, such meaningless rants would be boring for people who read it. I actually still feel so. Let me know, if I should rather just write my usual thing or if such writes are okay? )<br /><br />Have a super-duper weekend. Try to do nice things for people who will never find out. Yenjoyyy..!! :- :-)Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-60374074572606071752009-10-03T11:34:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:06:10.030+05:30School Time Reminiscences..!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDeoR_YwPfJHdAd4cbsxEh31HkaMtO78EuKW82WEIWxx77aqstwZYFGHrjYOb-Cy_UW-rNeRgjTdNXdJhyphenhyphen9bVCSqxPNt_l0faSSqyTzipXgRxZdrEm8ecez9jmLcpksBHEK_uORdbanI/s1600-h/cyrusFATHER_DAUGHTER_by_cyrusmuller.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDeoR_YwPfJHdAd4cbsxEh31HkaMtO78EuKW82WEIWxx77aqstwZYFGHrjYOb-Cy_UW-rNeRgjTdNXdJhyphenhyphen9bVCSqxPNt_l0faSSqyTzipXgRxZdrEm8ecez9jmLcpksBHEK_uORdbanI/s320/cyrusFATHER_DAUGHTER_by_cyrusmuller.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388255335360592626" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The fresh, blue, cold water circumferenced by irregular shaped coconut trees; she witnessed an eye candy. The fog appeared as if it sat resting on the water thereby blurring her vision. The boat proceeded steadily as the cold wind stroked through her face which instantly rejuvenated her senses. She stood over the dancing boat and spread her arms wide and almost screamed with a voice of joy but paused when she heard a distant, familiar sound. She opened her eyes and it took a couple of seconds for her to realise that it was her alarm clock that was ringing and the boat, the waters – everything was just a dream. “Oh God, that was such a lovely dream. Why do these mornings come?” she said to herself as she jumped out of the bed to get ready for school.<br /><br />In school, she shared her dream with friends as they all exclaimed at each other. Being a Monday, the day went on; nothing special, just a normal day at school. The regular classes, regular conversations and everything about the day were sailing just about normal until the last period. Just before the final bell rang, the teacher read out the circular announcing a picnic, rather – ‘A Field Trip’ to Hyderabad. It served no surprises as all the students got excited at the mere thought of the trip. And instantly almost all of her friends concluded that they will be part of the picnic almost forgetting that they needed their parents’ consent.<br /><br />Back home, she waited for her father to arrive home as her mom told her to take her father’s permission first. The clock struck 8 when she heard her dad’s car at the gate. She hurried to the gate and welcomed her dad with a wide smile. Once her dad freshened up and returned to the hall, she informed him about the trip (that was scheduled for the coming week,) and how excited she was to go. She went on to say that all her friends were going and hence she too wanted to join them and to not miss out on the fun.<br /><br />Diluting her expectations into disappointment, her dad announced a firm NO to the trip. Her smile vanished and the eyes moistened. An uncontrolled tear ran down her cheeks onto the ground. Her voice seemed to have disappeared. She cleared her throat and enquired with a broken, crying voice- “Why Daddy?” <br />Her dad replied- “You know you have a health problem and you are not old enough to take care of yourself in case you fall ill.”<br /><br />“Our teachers will be there daddy.” She managed to say.<br /><br />“I said no. That’s it. It’s late – 10pm. Go to bed now,” her dad announced and headed into his room.<br />A week later, on the day of the trip, the clock struck 4 in the morning when her dad walked into her room. All her friends were going but she wasn’t allowed to go even after a number of requests. Her dad decided to give her a surprise and woke her up and said- “Go get ready, I’ll take you somewhere.”<br /><br />“Where at this time daddy?” she enquired in a sleepy tone.<br /><br />“Don’t ask anything, go get ready.” He brushed her hair.<br /><br />By 5, they both bid good-bye to her mom and drove along in their car. Within an hour they reached a place by the hill just a small distance away from the city. Her dad held her hand and walked her in as she explored a picturesque lake with a few boats lying empty. They both got into one of them as her dad rowed it into the waters gently.<br /><br />She noticed the fresh, blue, cold water circumferenced by irregular shaped coconut trees. The fog appeared as if it sat resting on the water thereby blurring her vision. The boat proceeded steadily as the cold wind stroked through her face which instantly rejuvenated her senses. She stood over the dancing boat and spread her arms wide and almost screamed with a voice of joy but paused. She realised that it wasn’t a dream this time. She screamed out loud, turned to her dad, hugged him and thanked him for this ‘dream-come-true’ excursion.<br /><br />A dad often knows what his daughter deserves.Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-88221293890063564712009-09-29T12:37:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.727+05:30Spotting the Miskates... oops.. Mistakes..!!Too many things cooking up in my mind nowadays, so no posts, sorry. But I don't want to see drought in my blog. By the way, I had been to Mysore yesterday to witness the Grand Dasara ( as we spell it here in South India) celebrations. So, I conveniently made it an excuse to update the blog.<br /><br /> Horses, a parade, a band, elephants in the backdrop of a Palace, wow! What is it but Grand?? Anyway, apart from it, I had a walk around the city, through exhibitions and other places. I had the camera with me and hence - <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPywgPoaJ2IZ0dzlyLFI3IFIrR1n9s6iikitlWQGrgq-DMfqtR9xlaVCS4qS6xDNHoFtpB752HMkhc9YCm2FziQy1jlDQceuV0AFQjPoNgIfl3HzhWdbVaLLr0Y0GYC2TMIY0HjvuiQ4/s1600-h/DSCF2501.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPywgPoaJ2IZ0dzlyLFI3IFIrR1n9s6iikitlWQGrgq-DMfqtR9xlaVCS4qS6xDNHoFtpB752HMkhc9YCm2FziQy1jlDQceuV0AFQjPoNgIfl3HzhWdbVaLLr0Y0GYC2TMIY0HjvuiQ4/s320/DSCF2501.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386786582463644146" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUefZfSyv03o2jpEkpaAQDIuDsJt2MzdBp8jlWEvhTD1edzv-WlMDwGLV_OJMrwBGK4S8p5BXmKWGjjJ21YcCi4NhUEgWFi1YxxcPbgds2QzG0h8Dgwhpcq1jLlVcxQaT0f08UEFslnwQ/s1600-h/DSCF2496.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUefZfSyv03o2jpEkpaAQDIuDsJt2MzdBp8jlWEvhTD1edzv-WlMDwGLV_OJMrwBGK4S8p5BXmKWGjjJ21YcCi4NhUEgWFi1YxxcPbgds2QzG0h8Dgwhpcq1jLlVcxQaT0f08UEFslnwQ/s320/DSCF2496.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386786979630682466" /></a><br />Time to select your 'Mummies' and 'Daddies' .. They are on sale..!! :P<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPATAykyfFBz0PJJeyo8B4jSQ-1jdkl65eajkELFqPb5b2S18a5f-LFDzfAtfL-aUDzjjBL-hB2hAixxtG9T-8Ha3SMOSGTK-iUn4irkzd9TCVW1xRaErWoT5PEkFTg-7NMcdVtsYoz9w/s1600-h/DSCF2506.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPATAykyfFBz0PJJeyo8B4jSQ-1jdkl65eajkELFqPb5b2S18a5f-LFDzfAtfL-aUDzjjBL-hB2hAixxtG9T-8Ha3SMOSGTK-iUn4irkzd9TCVW1xRaErWoT5PEkFTg-7NMcdVtsYoz9w/s320/DSCF2506.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386787371397743890" /></a><br /><br />Three Cheers to Tourism..!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXPeg3yCbkSEufqXGS75epZG1KzlJTO5s59JFb-sAuKLo2AbBdUGl-TN9A-OLERCN16bcJT0UDlwddTo10LZE1VGV6Jqp1rJcwoOwGkybzBzhP7yZuHNa0l_KEO6GRZLICPBrif9P1t8/s1600-h/DSCF2502.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXPeg3yCbkSEufqXGS75epZG1KzlJTO5s59JFb-sAuKLo2AbBdUGl-TN9A-OLERCN16bcJT0UDlwddTo10LZE1VGV6Jqp1rJcwoOwGkybzBzhP7yZuHNa0l_KEO6GRZLICPBrif9P1t8/s320/DSCF2502.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386788323814441138" /></a><br />Cover your face. Sonia ji will slap you with the same hand. <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsStu1WPWwJuBmnWpXSq61kZ95UlxWeQOOcMRPWVjAdLie13Elx-LjKhGULijuV4V-p8V3E8BQHlQe9vN4uNvlMhpHpUV9Xun4wpJ_Anp1tjdhbW9O4QyTZrimj8pbjSCm2SYACghBbYs/s1600-h/DSCF2509.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsStu1WPWwJuBmnWpXSq61kZ95UlxWeQOOcMRPWVjAdLie13Elx-LjKhGULijuV4V-p8V3E8BQHlQe9vN4uNvlMhpHpUV9Xun4wpJ_Anp1tjdhbW9O4QyTZrimj8pbjSCm2SYACghBbYs/s320/DSCF2509.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386788736329692274" /></a><br />Shaun Pollock would commit suicide if he'd see this.<br /> <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFzQp-1DAst2s6XsYy7ZvIq_AaN593theUgrSR4IRj_gja0B-bh8qdWZlIpO-XqZu7pcIXKnMC1fkysfnXCKtexH65p11-n-yr43aK2FzoJ5od_ZF7olhpSE9io7NqmVkEzt2TmnJvKw/s1600-h/DSCF2503.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJFzQp-1DAst2s6XsYy7ZvIq_AaN593theUgrSR4IRj_gja0B-bh8qdWZlIpO-XqZu7pcIXKnMC1fkysfnXCKtexH65p11-n-yr43aK2FzoJ5od_ZF7olhpSE9io7NqmVkEzt2TmnJvKw/s320/DSCF2503.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386789229515359026" /></a><br />The most "Evergreen" one of all. ;)<br /><br />Edited - added later. A few pics of the Grand Mysore Palace. Couldn't manage to take good pics of the procession. :) <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLvNW5ukMS6tXfBnaw5rFwO6x2f1BSQy8bmBvHmQZ3OC7bcJTnbQCf0RoomQkyWwW4JM8tREN94_Q21XdttTQq8CgpE_To7n1tpG-abtgsHGpNgcLC-o0VhLVF_LA0PiBK2gBm3jQH38/s1600-h/DSCF2551.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLvNW5ukMS6tXfBnaw5rFwO6x2f1BSQy8bmBvHmQZ3OC7bcJTnbQCf0RoomQkyWwW4JM8tREN94_Q21XdttTQq8CgpE_To7n1tpG-abtgsHGpNgcLC-o0VhLVF_LA0PiBK2gBm3jQH38/s320/DSCF2551.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386833581507434114" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4jZUQudXLtbOhhDxrzW2-hPsUlaeLJHLneJIz9COcGS9b6sS7ng8a4uqmevdjzeL0AME57jyh8iDoOu97clpvg6T7SM5vwRN8mIHhs2QIcSIOd4V2IFhso5vyzRFWCtXyMW7VAO0yVo/s1600-h/DSCF2555.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4jZUQudXLtbOhhDxrzW2-hPsUlaeLJHLneJIz9COcGS9b6sS7ng8a4uqmevdjzeL0AME57jyh8iDoOu97clpvg6T7SM5vwRN8mIHhs2QIcSIOd4V2IFhso5vyzRFWCtXyMW7VAO0yVo/s320/DSCF2555.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386834122646077778" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85vDMyG12XEr_qtpunkHDgLcXyW_KdRME2X4ANxpzv_HNmJM4SwMrKmtiWLvodGu4Z1wdp1N_ELmRj5vgEJlz2cI833lZtB4R2whzBLisuE7k4c04iN_cGv5hpqef7y1_hcRUeZui9Eg/s1600-h/DSCF2547.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85vDMyG12XEr_qtpunkHDgLcXyW_KdRME2X4ANxpzv_HNmJM4SwMrKmtiWLvodGu4Z1wdp1N_ELmRj5vgEJlz2cI833lZtB4R2whzBLisuE7k4c04iN_cGv5hpqef7y1_hcRUeZui9Eg/s320/DSCF2547.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386834255140792130" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Until next time, yenjoyyy. :PArjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-79597119922930797472009-09-17T13:22:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.739+05:30Saami... Murugan Saami..!!(On one of those occasions when I give 'logic' and 'reasoning' a complete rest and let my mind free into a world of fun and silliness, such would be the outcome. Disclaimer- All the names and characters used here are only with intentions of evoking humor and nothing else.<br /><br />So for now, just sit back and yenjoyyyyy. :P) <br /><br /><br />Murugan flipped aside his English-daily Newspaper and decided to take a nap under the Banyan tree. He shooed away the silly dog which was licking his shoulder and rested his head on the newspaper, his regular pillow, and stretched his legs. Just when he was about to shut his eyes, as though he’d spotted sunlight during mid-night, he jumped up and observed his assistant Kuppusaami accompanying a foreigner, a white attractive woman heading towards him. “I’m the only person to know English in Vellapatti” Murugan rejoiced. Kuppusaami indicated the need of an English-speaking person through his Gateway-Of-India (his broken teeth, I mean) and Murugan obliged. <br /><br />“Hello Sir. I’m Alicia Morgan from the United Kingdom. I’m here on a survey, and the Indian culture has totally absorbed me.” The woman smiled and extended her hand for a hand-shake. <br /><br />Murugan scratched his head and whispered to Kuppusaami- “Dai Kuppusaami, Murugan weds Morgan, yeppidi da irukku (how does it sound)?” Kuppusaami opened the gates of his Gateway-Of-India all over again. <br />Murugan came back to his senses, wiped and extended his hand after checking if anyone was around and they shook hands. <br /><br />“I’m Murugan. Murugan Saami (Saw-me).” <br /><br />“Good. Where did he see you?” <br /><br />“Ayyo no. I said, my name is Murugan Saami.” he blushed like a girl. <i>Alicia Murugan Saami …... </i> <br /><br />“Oh! Glad to meet you Mr. Murugan.” She clicked a picture of him and the dog.<br /><br />“In Vellapatti, I am thalai (Head). I have nilam (land). I have nariya nariya (abundant) kaasu (money). All Vellapatti ponnus (girls) want to kalyanam (marry) me.”<br /><br />“Sorry Mr. Murugan, but I don’t understand your language.”<br /><br />“Ayyo, it’s vokay. No praablam. In Vellapatti, Subramani Saami married Mumtaz Begum. For them also language praablam. But happy family. 2 children also.”<br /><br />“What?”<br /><br />“Why?” he gave it a thought and continued- “Your father is strict aa?”<br /><br />Alicia turned around and walked away.<br /><br />Edited- <i>Will Be Continued....as different episodes.. :)....</i>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-61502382965524667532009-09-13T19:15:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.751+05:30Mr. Myself..!!Woahh, now I have something better to do on a lazy Sunday evening. Thanks to Inty Swetha aka Pranksygang of <a href="http://pranksygang.blogspot.com/"><font color = #66ccff>‘Devil’s Workshop’</font></a>. Still couldn’t figure out who’s the devil there… lol. Anyway, thanks Swetha for the tag. You made my evening, in the real sense :P Though I’m not that much into doing tags, not due to lack of narcissism, but for the fact that I’ve felt that maybe I’d bore people with my ‘Ramayanam’. If “You already do that” is ready on your lips- congrats ;). <br /><br />Getting to the tag, I’m supposed to write 10 honest things about myself. Should be a cakewalk… Let’s see. <br /><br />1) Contrary to how I project myself in my blog, I’m a far more serious kinda person. The no non-sense types. Most of the fun would be going through inside my head. <br /><br />2) I don’t like people who only let out mouth sympathies and never stand up when needed. I’m glad I’m the opposite. I’ll be there when you need me, maybe not on your Birthday party. The downside though is, many people only USE me.<br /><br />3) School life was the best for me. We had a psychotic class teacher in 10th, which made it that much more thrilling. <br /><br />4) If there’s someone who knows me inside out, it’s my sister. I just give her a glance and she would know what I’m up to. Sometimes, that ain't good, I tell you.. ;). <br /><br />5) In cinema theatres, I hate it when a few childish blokes keep giggling in between a serious scene. That ain’t cool at all. I get all itchy to give them a full quota of whacking and yelling at them to –“Grow up.”<br /><br />6) Appreciation and gratitude are the two most important traits to have as a human being. I constantly remind myself of that and try to fall in line. <br /><br />7) I somehow don’t like pets. I’m scared of dogs btw.. hehe :P<br /><br />8) I get carried away, be it with anything in life. I easily fall into addiction. A big minus point in me. No, I don’t smoke or drink. I’m just too scared to start, for I may not withdraw. <br /><br />9) I’m good at preparing Tea. Opens up a lot of business options for me - <i> chai…chai..chai.. </i> in the railway stations. ;)<br /><br />10) And if you already dint know this, I get weird dreams. I would’ve either luckily survived a flight crash, or would have got kidnapped by an American president. :P <br /><br />Dint turn out to be fun right? Blame the word ‘Honest’.. hehe… And one thing, a big thanks to all you guys who religiously read and leave a comment every single time. <br /><br />Thanks to all you guys-<br />Thanks Sunil for always being there. How can I forget all that support you lent me during those ‘early days’. Thanks Amber- for like literally being here every single day. Thanks Richa, your comments never fail to make me smile. Priyanka, my fan ( :P), thank you for enlightening me on how-important-it-is-to-bunk-classes … hehe.. Thanks fan. Swetha Padakandla, thanks for choosing to read my blog against sleeping in office.. hehe.. just kidding. Dhanyavaadagalu ;). Priya Joyce- Your comments remind me that I’m out of my mind most of the times. Thank you. Tara- You’ve always been there. Thank you. Parul, I so adore you. Thanks for your immense patience and for your lovely words every single time. Really means so much. <br /><br />Arun.. Your words of inspiration have always meant a lot.. Thank u so much brother ;).Harshita.. hehe.. your comments inspire my sense of insanity ;). The Kasabiangirl… . You inspire me n I inspire you ;). Thanks for everything. Bard, my new blogger-mate, thanks and wish to see you often . Inty Swetha, we share a lot of similarities. Come down for the ‘pinch’ challenge.. hehe.. Thanks ra. Misty Rhythm (Neha) – You’ve been coming since such a long time now. I appreciate every bit of your presence. Thank you ;). Thoorika- how can I forget you.. . Thanks da for leaving valid doubts in my comments page.. . The Rat- Thank you. Gr8 to see you here. <br /><br />Stephen aka The Solitary Writer aka Stibu mama... Thanks for being my partner in crime, as you say ;). Lachu, the crazy girl … You’ll not get Roshan, don worry… Thank you. Saif bhaii… wats happening?? Thanks for all the support bro ;). Aanya.. Hieee… Thanks for liking all my crap. Nandini- my sister… :P Thanks chells. Rag, the review guy.. You are gr8 bro… And the appreciation u give me has most often humbled me. Thanks ;). Rohit, thanks bro… Hope to see you here. Saket- Thank You… Your honest comments have always been perceptive. Ria, thanks for coming by ;). Shimmer, be regular ya.. hehe. Thanks. Matangi, always great to see you here. Thanks. Prats, can I forget you.. Thank u so much. <br /><br />Hope I dint miss any name here. If I did, I deserve a whack. Go on. ;)<br /><br />A small memento for all you guys. Take Care. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQl-wVopJhYEMmxLtZWikWClwIFXP-jbPP7FTPSPA_velt1ir2Fq0Odrk5e0Ja0YeU3Jyh3Z-EedNyvdPCcdS61A0k_kJgbe_CaBnJIG9IFrwa1Q8SnqtmiWCQJOQk27flY-rkIHVWwjM/s1600-h/thank+you.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQl-wVopJhYEMmxLtZWikWClwIFXP-jbPP7FTPSPA_velt1ir2Fq0Odrk5e0Ja0YeU3Jyh3Z-EedNyvdPCcdS61A0k_kJgbe_CaBnJIG9IFrwa1Q8SnqtmiWCQJOQk27flY-rkIHVWwjM/s200/thank+you.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381228392772623170" /></a>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-18959528754138320732009-08-25T19:11:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.776+05:30Vindictive Games..!!(Yeah guys, the thriller that I was talking about. Though this genre isn’t my cup of tea, the process of writing a thriller is exciting. Thank you and yenjoyy..!! ) <br /><br />“The tea has got cold” Sheila set down her cup and waited for the two young men who knelt opposite her, clad in just a jean trouser, to do the same. <br />The younger man, Khalil wiped the blood over his knifed naked chest, cleared his throat- “We do it for a reason.” His voice was steady, but his hands shuddered and his eyes seemed lifeless. He couldn’t even move to rise. <br />The other man, Abdul looked down his bloody body, tightened his fists and squalled in wrath- “ Terii m** k**……..” but stopped abruptly and howled with unbearable pain when a knife penetrated him under his foot. Sheila wiped the blood that splashed over her arms and withdrew the knife from his foot. Khalil moved close and embraced his companion, who was squalling with pain. <br />Sheila tossed the knife to a corner, mounted onto the recliner, rested her head and stared at the only over-head lamp in the dimly lit basement room. She inhaled clamorously and heard her breath oozing out amidst the surrounding mid-night silence. She hurled a glance at the wall clock, crowched down to her socks, whispered to herself – “2am. It’s time” and fetched a piece of metal- A Revolver. <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff>Shabbir Khan looked up the hanging bridge, shrouded in the december mist and darkness. His long over-coat, polished shoes, handsome and dark features always seemed sinister at night. His boots made rhythmic <i>tocs</i> overpowering the mid-night silence, as he briskened along the pavement. His ears and eyes sought for any kind of activity along the street. The street at this time, was dead for the day. His walking stopped when he heard a truck approaching him from behind. He slipped his hand inside his over-coat in search of his holster. The sound of the approaching truck grew and he tightened his grip over the revolver. </font><br /><br /><br />Sheela stood from the recliner, exposing a shining black revolver clinging on to her laft palm. She drew a thin pistol-silencer from her pocket and attached it to the revolver. Khalil and Abdul searched for their voices. Sheila hesitated, then raised the pistol with both hands. Being a school teacher and just a normal middle class woman, she’d never imagined she’d do anything of this sort in her life. She took a deep breath and fired, shifted her aim, and fired again. Both their foreheads holed, they thrashed on to the ground, moaning. Abdul lost his breath into history within no time. Khalil, Sheila noticed, was still breathing, rippling the blood formed under his nose. Sheila aimed at his nose and fired another shot and squealed out loud with a combined sense of anger and relief- “This much for killing my innocent husband, you bastards.” She grabbed her phone and her coat and hurried to her car. <br /><br />“Done madam?” her driver enquired.<br /><br />“Yes. Hurry. Not home. The other room.” Sheila ordered. <br /><br />The driver hit the accelerator and propelled the car into motion. Sheila retrieved a letter from her purse ; a suicide note that she had written earlier. She ripped it apart into small bits, lowered the window and let it into the breeze. <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff>The sound of the truck grew bigger on Shabbir. With one hand held tight on his pistol, he threw a casual glance. The truck approached closer and closer, but moved ahead without cooking a fuss. He loosened his grip on the pistol, set his coat right and continued walking. The street returned to its original silence ; he could hear his own breath. A cold breeze whistled along the empty lane. Just then, he heard two thuds from across the street. Having spent his entire life in a country where a gun-shot was a daily norm, he decided it came from a gun shot ; from a gun with a silencer. Within a few seconds, another thud disturbed the calmness around him. “My pals” he whispered restlessly, and drew the pistol from his holster and hurried across the lane in search of the feeble thud. Almost like a flash, a speeding car whizzed past him. He turned around, aimed his pistol at the speeding car, but ceased himself from pulling the trigger. He noticed pieces of paper flying out from the car’s window. He examined the bits of paper and then headed back in search of the bodies of his pals. He was READY for REVENGE.</font><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-MHTVEzKcEw7c6CPuLK8dTN5BrHZTSmWyv8acwve9etyxfnujtYw_jXHjXF3XMI0VkMDTgtsrgiBsioGStxlPEBF5KBt-slmU_yiqJXduPksRi5jKdgz_UZFW12tDfjWIQmegql39-w/s1600-h/1896936-lg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-MHTVEzKcEw7c6CPuLK8dTN5BrHZTSmWyv8acwve9etyxfnujtYw_jXHjXF3XMI0VkMDTgtsrgiBsioGStxlPEBF5KBt-slmU_yiqJXduPksRi5jKdgz_UZFW12tDfjWIQmegql39-w/s320/1896936-lg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373897274151018226" /></a><br /><br />Sheila jumped out of her bed. She could hear motors in the street and the sounds of human movement in the corridors. Residents of the block were calling out good byes to their school going children. Just then, the door crashed open and a tall man rushed in without a word. A shaft of light from outside made her cover her eyes. But the door was closed immediately and bolted. Before she could evaluate the situation, the tall man caught her by her neck and locked her movement. “ You think you can get away?” he pushed the pistol against her forehead, with a heavy breath he repeated again, louder this time- “ You think you can get away?”<br /> He let a minute pass by, settled his mind and pushed the tip of the pistol against her forehead, inhaled deeply -“ I’m Shabbir Khan by the way” and pulled the trigger. The blood flushed out from her head painting the carpet red. <br /><br />Revenge- It never ends. Does it?Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-26395234057769224652009-08-22T17:49:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.796+05:30Another Nothing..!!Nowadays, I often run out of topics to write on my <i>blaaag</i> where <i>imaginations</i> are supposed to be <i>rekindled</i>. From the past 2 hours I’ve been sitting, dreaming and wondering about what to write, unsuccessfully though. I wish I’d had an adventurous childhood. I wish I’d thrown a stone on my next-door granny’s window, or burst ‘lakshmi pataki’ (crackers) under my old colony guy- Mr. Eccentric, or atleast had a crush on a 5 year old junior in school….. <i> damn.. nothing</i> Why dint I do anything in my childhood that could be blogged about now? Only if I had known I’d be blogging in my future then, I would have maybe made my childhood adventurous. But it’s okay. Leave alone blogging, I never thought I would even grow up when I was a kid. (Interesting ryt? But the elaboration would put you under immense mental stress where you might end up pulling your hair out of your head. So, sorry.) Anyway, did you just notice how intelligently I penned one full paragraph without actually writing about anything? (Note- No abuses allowed in my comments page.)<br /><br />About 14 years ago, when my mother was pregnant (carrying my sister), me and my dad used to drop my mother at the doctor for regular check-ups and as my mother enters in, we would trickle out into ‘Vidhyarthi Bhavan’. This hotel by-the-way serves crispy dosas right from my grand father’s ‘chaddi’ days. Any local Bangalorean, especially from the south would tell you. Anyway yeah, I remember the last time I had been there wearing a Jean chaddi (Come on, I was just 8 then). As me and daddy entered the hotel, my dad’s friend Mr. Ravi & family were busy munching on to those red dosas. They spotted me and dad with looks of ‘how-on-earth-is-this-possible’ emanating from their artistic face expressions. They, then dragged their eye-balls linearly, contemplating me top to bottom and exclaimed- “What appa, you and your father have come to eat dosa aa??” I was just 8 and was an amateur in sarcasm, so I just smiled and shut my mouth. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivRaZHcutlFoSVT32MRoxUWvy78tnDQ30KbZcPm7Yim3t4h0bZ-eZFk-HGX9JdW3iuRCYgiS-nCXbbWi7BMtfKWEGjUteTpN5Rs5ZE96EfO6OquOrqDKL-miGO0CYKqzcQ384j3Tyc9ts/s1600-h/3296582775_7626af8012.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivRaZHcutlFoSVT32MRoxUWvy78tnDQ30KbZcPm7Yim3t4h0bZ-eZFk-HGX9JdW3iuRCYgiS-nCXbbWi7BMtfKWEGjUteTpN5Rs5ZE96EfO6OquOrqDKL-miGO0CYKqzcQ384j3Tyc9ts/s400/3296582775_7626af8012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372762722175898594" /></a><br /><br />14 years later, last month, me and dad visited the Vidhyarthi Bhavan for the first time since then. The dosas are the same (the best in South Bangalore), the tables are still the same (as old as my grand father), walls have been painted and there is soap (much needed) at the wash-basin. We ordered and filled ourselves with dosas, after which we had to wash our hands with soap to wash away all the oil off our hands so that nobody mistook us for working part-time in a petrol bunk or something. Just as we were leaving, we spotted, guess who – the same Mr. Ravi & family. They spotted us and let out their usual line- “ Ooooo… father and son have come to eat dosa aaa??”<br />I wasn’t in mood for fun, so I just replied –“ Yessuu. Vonly Masala Dosa.” Anyway, co-incidence… it’s unbelievably amazing sometimes. And any of you want a list of good, old hotels for local food in Bangalore, you know who to ask. If you are lucky enough, you might even find Mr. Ravi & family in any of those places. ;) <br /><br />Drifting away from food and hotels, lets talk about politics. Man, I’ve decided to stop watching comedy shows on TV and instead, to just watch our politicians talk. We have two specimens here in Karnataka- Mr. Deve Gowda and his son Kumaraswamy. My mother had to rush with a glass of water towards me when she saw me laughing and coughing like a mad dog ; Reason - I was watching Kumaraswamy shedding tears in public in what was supposed to be an emotional speech, just before the by-elections in his constituency. About Mr. Deve Gowda – It’s better I don’t start talking about him here. You’ll find it hard to find the meaning of my words in the bestest of dictionaries. Anyway, in simple he is the most shameless politician I’ve ever come across. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIJouDCG6l2F89rBM5SE17stbOXk2_JWOfVsvU2-vbcmfXi2RBoiXLkYcA0E_rtHOy54DQWOCul8PZYeGV5fCnkF59KqJSIQzAw5heAi91nhJa-G1XuL-kh35C8nqYl_H_4Tols_FBt4/s1600-h/premium_black_500.jpg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaIJouDCG6l2F89rBM5SE17stbOXk2_JWOfVsvU2-vbcmfXi2RBoiXLkYcA0E_rtHOy54DQWOCul8PZYeGV5fCnkF59KqJSIQzAw5heAi91nhJa-G1XuL-kh35C8nqYl_H_4Tols_FBt4/s400/premium_black_500.jpg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372761917829564978" /></a><br /><br /><b> Good-night Mr.Gowda. </b> .. Ooops.. he's already asleep. <br /><br /><br />Mulling over this never-ending topic called- Indian Politics, it reminds me of Mr. Jaswanth Singh. What BJP has done to Jashwanth Singh by expelling him is nothing but help him boost the sales of his book. For Jashwanth Singh, who is well past his prime in politics, what else did he need? Infact, I too feel itchy to get that book of his. <br /><br />Ok, enough of boring you for now. Next, I’ll try and write fiction. How abt a thriller huh?? Before you break your jaws falling off your chairs, cool down. I had written a thriller series (of 3 parts) once. If you, by any chance want to read it, here’s the link- <a href="http://arjunchoudary.blogspot.com/search/label/highway%20series"><font color = #66ccff>On The Highway</font></a> . <br />Meanwhile, I’m off to take my mom for shopping. <i>’Shopping with Women’</i> - aahaa.. I can write a book on that topic and maybe request BJP for some marketting tips. Anyway, you take care. See you next time. Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-82560571954325958172009-08-17T16:16:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.893+05:30Haphazardly Random..!!For a change, I wasn’t kidnapped by the president of America nor was I white-washing the ‘White House’ in my dreams last night. Actually an old couple were blowing steam at me for frightening their grand child. Once I woke up, I sat and wondered why the hell would I frighten a small child? But then I guessed, maybe the child would have pissed on me or something. “Your smile is frightening”, my sister's lines rang in my head and that induced a small pause in my contemplate-the-issue programme. After breakfast, I got down to some serious analysis and that’s when I could picture why these people had tenanted in my dream last night. Conventionally I should have been busy in the US or should have just survived a plane crash. But anyway, back to the analysis- My neighbours have purchased a brand new ‘cradle’. I mean to say, they have a new born baby. So, typically they have called upon their parents from Delhi to help them in changing the baby’s diapers. Apparently, the couples (both senior and junior) were so impressed by me and my name that they decided to name the baby boy as – Arjun. A part of the previous sentence is true and the rest is false. Guess work is left to you.<br /><br />So, every night when I go to bed I hear the old couples’ voices through my window – “ Arjunnnnnn… luulululu.. lolololooo..” and I’ll be all like- “damn……” Anyway, this was the little scene which acquired wings made of masala and got transformed into some silly dream in my head. <i>Ufffffff</i>…… End Of Story.<br /><br /><br /><b>Swine Flu..!!</b><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg71nW0LT1NO6Vn7_Iqx2qSZ3C24F4fkfnjQiwsO6h9dmW_GcpcMDccSU-LCe9NJC3G47BkSGssv_IrMtB6HX7StSKmcDk9dGDv0pyPNU2hF3Tiozt_S5ZSd56sDHcx_YeFi3hAkw3IxWc/s1600-h/Image._2_063018B806301664001D375C6525760C.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg71nW0LT1NO6Vn7_Iqx2qSZ3C24F4fkfnjQiwsO6h9dmW_GcpcMDccSU-LCe9NJC3G47BkSGssv_IrMtB6HX7StSKmcDk9dGDv0pyPNU2hF3Tiozt_S5ZSd56sDHcx_YeFi3hAkw3IxWc/s320/Image._2_063018B806301664001D375C6525760C.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370882758208896418" /></a><br /><br />Hence Swine-flew….. haha.. jus kidding… Take Care!<br /><br />If I catch the Swine-flu virus, I’d better be taken to all the terrorist camps and made to cough and sneeze. I get such thoughts, what to do? Can’t help! But on further thought, the terrorists might all drop their guns and start coughing in public. So, I’d rather cough over some less-savvy local criminals. Afterall, we have over 3.11 crore cases pending in the country in trial courts and high courts. Believe that!<br /><br /><br />“ If pro is the opposite of con, then what is the opposite of progress?” this one caught my eye. Haha…!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEuPZlLrUvBDWk806-1l_gNHBwLun68bEviqDJo6khqLr7DbKwPfolClzEUKMbhCb2T8EDnUXZpkwDCLo80yuCG7n8HIbjHDiqh_cyrm16iDCDWYHpNR-iII2PD3maC5KX2l9fIbvXVA/s1600-h/indianpmiw7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmEuPZlLrUvBDWk806-1l_gNHBwLun68bEviqDJo6khqLr7DbKwPfolClzEUKMbhCb2T8EDnUXZpkwDCLo80yuCG7n8HIbjHDiqh_cyrm16iDCDWYHpNR-iII2PD3maC5KX2l9fIbvXVA/s400/indianpmiw7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370883077494867010" /></a><br /><br /> But I actually quite like this present government, It’s prominent cabinet ministers atleast. I liked the concept of the BUDGET this time considering the global financial crisis. What they’ve done is, in simple- Encouraged spending. Decrease in income leads to decrease in spending. The decrease in spending works as a cycle and further decreases income or employment. So yeah, I like it. But the fiscal deficits, which has hit an all time high is where it’s running the risk. But again, the optimistic approach was what impressed me. And by the way, the newly proposed – ‘Direct Tax’, which is open for public debate looks impressive too. It basically spreads the tax base thereby lessening the burden on an individual employee. Presently, the personal income tax in our country is one of the highest in the world. While the finance ministry is cooking something or the other the external affairs is too predictable. In a country like India (it’s stance), what else can you expect? It’s predicatbly predictable.. haha! <br /><br />Ok sorry, I’ve stretched it too long. I wanted to post something today, started typing with nothing in mind. Here I am, going haywire. <br /><br />Anyway, I don’t know what else to write right now. In an hour, I’ll be accompanying mom with a ‘Johnson&Johnson baby kit’ to see my new neighbour- Arjun. And yeah, just this doubt- tell me if there'll be something called- "Katrina kaif' ka swayamvar ? Let me know . Till next time- Yenjoyy..!!<br /><br />Tata, Cheerios..!!<br />ArjunArjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-11196676148587855432009-08-02T20:04:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.914+05:30This, that and a tag..!!I’m in mood to write total random stuff today. One way to settle a wandering mind. <br /><br />I ate ‘Khara Bun’. Yeah, and that too five of them since yesterday. (<i>‘Khara’</i> in kannada means hot/spicy.) There’s a small story behind it though. The peon at my father’s office used brains. While he was going for lunch, my dad handed him 100 bucks and told him to get that much worth of Carbon (Carbon paper). <b>Carbon – Khara Bun</b>… yeah that’s what happened. 100 bucks ; Rs.4 each ; 25 buns ; 5 for me. ;)<br /><br />After a long gap, saw Sreesanth on TV yesterday. My mind went dashing back to the visuals of the crying Sthree-santh. A 5 year old boy from the neighbourhood got offended when his dad told him to stop crying like Sreesanth. I remember when a dog entered the cricket stadium during the first IPL match, Cyrus Broacha commented- “Apparently, Sreesanth is not the only animal on a cricket field.” Too much man..!!<br /><br />My hair started forming rings covering my forehead driving my dad into a sense of nostalgia. Reason – I looked like a south indian hero of the ‘black-and-white’ era. Anyway, in an attempt to do something about it, I borrowed a hair-clip from my sister and clipped it on. My sister said I looked like Hema Malini and giggled for an hour. The worst part was when I forgot about the clip and walked to a near-by ‘Grocery Store’. What a <i>doofus</i> I am..right? <br /><br />I chanced upon this board near my place, snapped it and ……………………………<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILWZasqX54UCV3sqNIjQ0ZApzBI8oH7Ih10av2m-Et3TSaCUaArdpwEJi_VHVus8IwspmgCHhvByoMnqpcRbFbxugL0rReeywrIJ9El_6mvC5VR2o0D7yuIA1hAodnJe3jJ7OSWcMq2k/s1600-h/IMG0018A.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiILWZasqX54UCV3sqNIjQ0ZApzBI8oH7Ih10av2m-Et3TSaCUaArdpwEJi_VHVus8IwspmgCHhvByoMnqpcRbFbxugL0rReeywrIJ9El_6mvC5VR2o0D7yuIA1hAodnJe3jJ7OSWcMq2k/s320/IMG0018A.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365374926220592738" /></a><br /><br /><br />Want me to introduce you to this decent tailor??<br /><br />And yeah, Happy Friendship Day to all of you. I noticed that my real friends actually don’t wish me on this day. I kind of like that. I’m tired of artificial people that I’ve been witnessed to in the recent past. It’s like –<i> If you can’t handle your friends in their worst then you don’t deserve them in their best</i>. Simple. I’m lucky to have some genuine friends, to say the least. Note- Roshan not included :P <br /><br />Since I’ve deviated from my usual fiction thing, I’ll go ahead and do this tag that StepHEN tagged me with. Good mood I’m in. <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff>Where is your cell phone?</font> On my computer table.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Relationship?</font> Single<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your hair?</font> indisciplined<br /><font color = #66ccff>Work?</font> Uh? Uh.. uh .. uh??<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your sister?</font>The best for me- Archana.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your favorite thing?</font> Dream :P<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your dream last night?</font> My flight crash landed but I survived. <br /><font color = #66ccff>Your favorite drink?</font> Tea and Pepsi. <br /><font color = #66ccff>Your dream car? </font>Honda CRV. <br /><font color = #66ccff>The room youre in?</font> bedroom<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your fears?</font> Heights.<br /><font color = #66ccff>What do you want to be in 10 years?</font> Can I say James Bond?<br /><font color = #66ccff>Who did you hang out with this weekend? </font>Family<br /><font color = #66ccff>What are you not good at?</font> Fighting.<br /><font color = #66ccff>One of your wish list items?</font> Laptop.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Where you grew up?</font> Namma Bengaluru.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Last thing you did?</font> Missed a call. :P<br /><font color = #66ccff>What are you wearing?</font> T-shirt, Bermuda. :P<br /><font color = #66ccff>What aren't you wearing?</font> Socks. ;)<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your pet?</font> none<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your computer?</font> Yeah, my computer. <br /><font color = #66ccff>Your life? </font>In a phase called- Licking Ice-Cream in HELL.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your mood?</font> Nice and fresh after a good sleep. <br /><font color = #66ccff>Missing?</font> Happiness.<br /><font color = #66ccff>What are you thinking about right now?</font> Thinking about rain and hot coffee.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your kitchen?</font> Not my department.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your summer?</font> Mangoes.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Your favorite color? </font>Black.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Last time you laughed?</font> Today choking on to that Khara Bun.<br /><font color = #66ccff>School? </font>Missing it big time.<br /><font color = #66ccff>Love? </font>What?? <br /><br />All you guys, you don’t need my permission to do this one. Go on. See you all with a fiction soon. Tara, the birthday girl wants Roshan back. :P<br /><br /> <b>Many Many Happy Returns Of The Day Tara. </b><br /><br />See you all soon. Take care.Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-45211090330980773862009-07-24T01:31:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.925+05:30Kids..... Ouchh..!!I banged my foot on the ground thrice <i>"bang .. bang … bang.."</i> as I saw my neighbor, an old lady with her 8 year old grandson at the door. I drew the latch in ‘action replay’ mode, more so like the way old bollywood couples ran in slow motion before they hugged each other. As I opened the door, a breeze hit me and ‘warning’ alarms went off inside my head. The granny adjusted her glasses and smiled. I spotted her only tooth (well known as Gate Way of India) and recollected that it actually resembled- ‘The Leaning Tower of Pisa’. So many monuments inside the jewel box. Amazing! Anyway, my eyes then shifted to her grandson, who wore blue colored shorts, the size of my hand kerchief. He too had just one tooth visible in the 'Gandhi class' (I mean front row), as he squeezed through in-between my legs into the house.<br /><br />“I’m going to the market now. Can I leave Pintu here for a while?” the granny enquired. <br /><br />Granny always gave me an expression of someone like a modern Mother Teresa or something, and that sent a litre of ‘good will’ into my heart (take note- my weak point), hence I replied- “Go ahead. I will look after Pintu.” I mean, after all, normal human beings can commit blunders. <br /><br />I shut the door and initiated a ‘search operation’ for this boy Pintu. ‘The period of time that Pintu is out of sight’ is directly proportional to ‘Danger’. Could you guess that I love Physics? Good. Anyway, I continued with the ‘search operation’, like a hunter. I rubbed my eyes twice and discovered that Pintu was sitting on my bed, both legs and arms folded and mainly SILENT. I almost saw Swamy Vivekananda in him, when I discovered something below him. I approached him tardily as if I was there to catch a snake. I stared hard at that thing, and realized it was my laptop. I zoomed my eyes towards it and got further horrified when I noticed his blue colored shorts reflecting a darker shade now. <i>“Oh Lord, this guy has no ‘nappy’ and he has pissed on my ‘lappy’,”</i> I screamed inside my head, not in a mood to adore the poetic skills in me.<br /><br />It took me an hour for the entire cleaning process to terminate as Pintu sat and watched ‘Cartoon Network’. God bless the founder of cartoons. “Children are like God” I reminded myself and tried to be Mr.Kind as I went into the kitchen to prepare some ‘corn-flakes’ for my dearest Pintu. I heated the milk, put some ‘Kelloggs corn-flakes’ into the bowl and glanced at Jnr.Danger. He was trying his vandalism skills over today’s newspaper, but that was nothing, so I counted 1 to 10, took a deep breath and stirred the mixture. As and when it was ready, I brought the bowl to the hall but to find that my hero was out-of-sight. The physics equation resounded with echoes somewhere deep inside me. I crawled slowly into my room, but I was too unlucky, couldn’t find him. A few precious seconds wasted, I then walked slowly into the other room, stood at the entrance and scanned through the room but found no one. There was complete silence; life-threatening silence. Like a flash, as though like in the ghost movies, “bhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…” he screamed and jumped from behind the door to the front of me leaving me terrified and cold. I almost had my foot in my mouth for a second. “hahaha… you got scared..” he vanished into the hall. <br /><br />I prayed to god, recited a few ‘mantras’ and proceeded into the hall and sat next to him. “Children are like God..” I controlled myself by repeating it again and again as though like a malfunctioning tape-recorder. In the meanwhile, he trekked over to me, stood over my lap and stared long and hard at my face like a scientist examining viruses. I stuck my tongue down and returned a few silly expressions. After his research he came uncomfortably close to my face and asked- “Anna (brother), why do you have a moustache?” and tried to pluck at it. “Aaaahhhhhh…” I howled, put him over the sofa, stood and shouted at him- “Shut up.” He looked with his eyes opened wide as I went on – “ Fold your hands………. Close your mouth…Don’t open that mouth and don’t move.. Just sit.” I slid next to him, grabbed at the corn-flakes bowl, scooped it with a spoon and held it before his mouth. My dearest of dearest Pintu wouldn’t open his mouth (as his master had instructed) .. <i>damn…</i> “You can open your mouth to eat.,” I said aimlessly. Once he opened his jewel box, I put the spoon into it but my hero wouldn’t close it (the instruction was to only open the mouth, remember). I didn’t cry, nor did I pull the hair off my head but just stared with hooked eye-brows at the ceiling. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjk56i3Io0jg1zg-thtTCJItO2m-fwfjVBQ8htPncbYzidol37wbDE477zZoKo3e9QP6XeHNzJgYLTAVXmMPenrhK1OyZtn7t9vuCDHQjVBaBJC531QQHcNBmaN6cIyR2U0V682ZST3Xpw/s1600-h/wolf.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjk56i3Io0jg1zg-thtTCJItO2m-fwfjVBQ8htPncbYzidol37wbDE477zZoKo3e9QP6XeHNzJgYLTAVXmMPenrhK1OyZtn7t9vuCDHQjVBaBJC531QQHcNBmaN6cIyR2U0V682ZST3Xpw/s320/wolf.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361559110614132962" /></a><br /><br />Just when I thought I needed a trip to the brain doctor, my eyes got filled with the sight of a goddess glowing away through the window holding colorful flowers in her hands, ringing my door bell wanting to introduce me to the staff members up above. No, I just saw Granny. She walked in and said with a tooth-exhibiting smile- “ Hope Pintu didn’t trouble you,” and I almost began to search the number to call the brain doctor but decided to just return a simple smile. She carried Pintu, who was now having his corn-flakes on his own. <i>damn kid..</i><br /> The feeling of subtracting a ton of weight from my heart commenced when she said to her Pintu- “Say bye to anna..” The intelligent boy dropped the bowl of corn-flakes (which landed and splashed straight on my lap) and waved good-bye to me. Granny apologized and left taking away her thunder-like grandson. I headed to the bathroom for part-2 of the cleaning work. My shorts this time.<br /><br />Children are fun and lovely, but man- “Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.”Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-61712084730059013252009-07-02T23:22:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.938+05:30The World- It's magic..!!The buzzing sound of the ceiling fan played a game called ‘anxiety’ amidst the playfield called ‘Silence’ as he laid down, cushioned right below it, circumferenced with ‘Darkness’. The clock ticked revealing an hour, by which he should have been fast asleep ; Dead for the day. An unresistable drop of tear trickled down to his ears, wetting the earphones which were respiring a few emotion-reviving-instrumental-compositions. He wiped the tears off his temples as his eyes transfixed itself glaring at the seemingly-infinite ceiling. He envisioned a hugely built entity, <i><font color = #66ccff>The World</font></i> waging a stern battle against him. <i><font color = #66ccff>The World</font></i> flashed accusations at his face which put him into a straggled stance in between ‘acceptance’ and ‘denial’. He was <i>right</i> or <i>wrong</i>, he couldn’t draw the line. For the moment though, the pain and the anguish in him sought for replacement as the oppressiveness tended to erupt its way out. His mind questioned- “Do I deserve this???” continued as though searching for something- “ God??”. He cleared his throat and heard his voice quiver- “ I’m hurt.” A growing silence (in his head) is all what he got in response. <br /><br /><br />The clock struggled to strike 6, but as it did, he grabbed a chair, dragged it to the window and sat resting his elbows on the frame with his fists supporting his jaws. The sun, his saviour, hadn’t made it’s entry yet. Alongside, he noticed a woman- his neighbour trace a colourful <i>rangoli</i> design over the wet, freshly watered entrance of her house. A distant sound of bells from a nearby temple caught his ears. The wind whistled across the branches, through the leaves to find his face as it slapped a quantum of freshness on his tear-wiped face. He exposed his head out the window, inhaled deeply, walked in and sensed the freshness of his toothpaste. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGVeuG139YQYZ-copzS2KEzVq79cwyNvmzpPE8r70Bd7w-DEpXCc_0EJcyu1vthJ64qRvhER_wFIFrUDkZ311gi4zYPLGdaP5Ae8QbQj9UwtOp9FePDr2H72UKkV2Cg5KYH-c3PFtifNO/s1600-h/tree.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGVeuG139YQYZ-copzS2KEzVq79cwyNvmzpPE8r70Bd7w-DEpXCc_0EJcyu1vthJ64qRvhER_wFIFrUDkZ311gi4zYPLGdaP5Ae8QbQj9UwtOp9FePDr2H72UKkV2Cg5KYH-c3PFtifNO/s320/tree.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353376238851851026" /></a><br /><br /><br />He retrieved his aged, unused bicycle and peddled along the silent street. Just like the good deeds of a silent man, the first rays of the yet-out-of-sight-sun hit the earth tailing off it’s darkness. The pleasant duskiness lured his mind unconsciously into a gallery of nostalgia. He cycled along ; noticed a milk van, an early ‘factory’ bus, the whitish-looking water in the lake and the peeping sun behind the bald trees. <br /><br />He rested the bicycle on it’s stand and headed into a large expanse of greenery. He entered the park and glanced at the merely visible sky through the branches curving out of the tall torsos. He walked along the pathway advancing through the slides and the swings in the children’s play area to his left and a series of benches to his right. He strolled along until he found the bark of a tree and sat over the wet grass resting his back to the unready furniture. Now, the sun well out as it climbed up the tall trees, he could notice a whole lot of people in the park. The joggers began their run while the oldies in the <i>'laughter club'</i> laughed their hearts out. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbOBIoYZnhJQ9D3b89RPilIUIPvfNTQTsAT0m5IsHZDV6KWSS8yxQZ-sWh1bixVEQFp-iffcHdMuItK1t6Q5dzRILXYp0t-PPXLqYMLx9VWuEsKOu73Y_PgDw3AmQVBRK2GmvxH9xuKU7/s1600-h/chair.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbOBIoYZnhJQ9D3b89RPilIUIPvfNTQTsAT0m5IsHZDV6KWSS8yxQZ-sWh1bixVEQFp-iffcHdMuItK1t6Q5dzRILXYp0t-PPXLqYMLx9VWuEsKOu73Y_PgDw3AmQVBRK2GmvxH9xuKU7/s320/chair.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353376618647256274" /></a><br /><br />An hour passed as the bow on his lips switched directions. Though not a complete smile, he was sure his face got broader, his cheeks weighed lighter, his eyes opened wider, he respired deeper but couldn’t figure out why. He’d neither talked to anyone nor did his problem see an end. Only his unconsciousness-self cognized the magic that had bechanced. The very same- <font color = #66ccff>‘The World’</font>, which he had thought was waging a stern battle against him, exhibited it’s face- The face of ‘felicitousness’ ; It’s happy face ; People’s driving force. While all these thoughts wandered through his rekindled mind, a blue-jean, white-sweat-shirt clad old man walked up, sat beside him and threw his old arm over the young shoulder and cleared that little unsettled, what-so-ever feeling that he had. The old man went on in a cheerful tone- <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff><i>“Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up knowing it must run faster than the lion or be killed.<br /><br />Every morning, a lion awakens knowing it must outrun the slowest gazelle or starve to death.<br /><br />It doesn’t matter if you are a lion or a gazelle.<br /><br />When the sun comes up, you’d better be running.”</i></font> <br /><br />An old lady, probably the old man’s wife came by and completed –<br /><br /><font color = #66ccff>“ Once you get into grips with this game, trust me you’ll be one hell of a runner.”</font>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-11063766326448448772009-07-01T23:32:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.947+05:30Over A Cup Of Tea- Prats..!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgletL0rEb5h9x-KC29-2J6umUF-InH38jCJ60Zpfs72F0U3UTYy2l0JJUTwr4bNjQ9ptsaGy-fhHPEWwAolUReL-nIv2jD1hzRtSKmmrVE4W7wU31LR1CKvFrbaaBhiGi-PfbkcZgHRXw/s1600-h/perfect-cup-4-tea.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 293px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgletL0rEb5h9x-KC29-2J6umUF-InH38jCJ60Zpfs72F0U3UTYy2l0JJUTwr4bNjQ9ptsaGy-fhHPEWwAolUReL-nIv2jD1hzRtSKmmrVE4W7wU31LR1CKvFrbaaBhiGi-PfbkcZgHRXw/s320/perfect-cup-4-tea.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353371663136495026" /></a><br /><br />With a sleepy head I dropped in the first vacant seat in the bus, falling asleep even before the bus started and waking up only to notice i had missed my stop and the next two too ! Without a thought i got down at the very next stop the bus halted and weighed my options now - going home by bus or to walk back home ! It was then that i thought of the third option - to meet him, since he lived near by !<br /><br />A call was placed and luckily you agreed to come. Starting with a cup of tea,followed by my non stop blabber, lots of smiles and a lot much of walking, we said Goodbye.<br /><br />And i was glad i <b>overslept</b> a bit ;) <br /><br />(from Arjun- And I was glad u <b>overslept</b> too. Thank you Prats!)<br /><br /><font color = #66ccff>P.S - Hey guys, all of you are welcome to write a post here. Don't wait for me to ask you personally. Anyone of you ; Anyone. I would love it.</font>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-33477893582675808602009-07-01T01:45:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.960+05:30The Evolution of the Snake dance!! - StephenOnce upon a time in blogpur,an incident occurred which was scripted in history.This led to the emergence of a new dance form.It was the time when the humans and the beasts were amongst the best buddies.It was the era of friendship and where cultural civilization was too far .The time period encountered various events which is devoid to today's generation.This hasn't been mentioned in history .<br /> In blogpur, humans and the snake community lived together in harmony.Snakes never hissed and humans never danced.This ancient historic event took place ages ago during the reign of Prince Arjuna,the great ruler of the Choudary kingdom.<br />Prince Arjuna had a special liking for dance and hunting.Dancing and Hunting are not directly related to each other .He was the only person who was skilled with the art of <span style="font-style: italic;">'Nrutya'</span>.He was modest and humble.He was benevolent.His ministry comprised of highly talented ministers like <span style="font-style: italic;">Bahadur Sunil,Vaidya Riya,Intelligent Richa and many more</span>.Snakes were friendly and intelligent unlike humans.<span style="font-style: italic;">Saapo</span>,the president of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Snake community</span> was malicious and was against the humans .He didn't want the humans to mingle with the snakes.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Prince Arjuna,I won't let you rule our dynasty," Saapo</span>,the snake screamed in front of the snake community members.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I'm planning an attack on the humans ,"</span>he added.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"But, great , humans are supposed to be snakes' best friends, aren't they?,"</span> Junior Saapo said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I don't give a damn about it, my target is Prince Arjuna,"</span> Saapo was furious.<br /><br />Meanwhile Prince Arjuna of the Royal Choudary family was getting ready for his dance classes.He bowed down in front of his mother to seek her blessings.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Ammo,me want to develop unity amongst the snake and the humans,"</span> he said to his mother.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Lord Shiva,bless me,"</span> he prayed to god.<br /><br />Saapo overheard all this.<span style="font-style: italic;">"Unity between snake and humans,my foot,"</span> he said.<br />He soon thought for a while and churned out a reason from his wicked mind.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I will see you in Panchayat ,Prince," </span>he gave a wicked smile.<br /><br />The next day Panchayat was called and all biggies of the blog world including Chronic writer,Solitary writer,Busy writer,Pink Orchid and Yem bee Aye were called.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"May I know the reason for the panchayat,"</span>Prince Arjuna asked Saapo.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I don't support your selfish attitude,"</span> Saapo replied.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"What are you talking ,Saapo?</span> make sense," the prince replied.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I don't advocate this idea of yours,"</span> Saapo,the snake replied.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Abhey Langoor ke aulad ," </span>the prince got annoyed.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Why don't you take our snakes with you and teach them the dance ,"</span> Saapo said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"We want justice,"</span> Saapo added.<br /><br />Prince Arjuna didn't have any answer for this question of Saapo.<br />The Panchayati Samiti soon arranged a meeting.<span style="font-style: italic;">Chronic writer,Solitary writer,Busy writer,Pink Orchid </span>and <span style="font-style: italic;">Yem bee Aye </span>attended the meeting.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Well ,what is the appropriate solution guys?,"</span> Chronic writer said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"We should ask Arjuna to teach the Snakes,"</span> Pink Orchid replied.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Naa,wait ,We should have a contest between Arjuna and Saapo,a dance contest,"</span>Solitary Writer said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I second Solitary writer,we should have some sort of dance contest guys,"</span> Yem bee yae smiled.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"But Saapo said snakes don't know dance," </span>Chronic writer said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"He is a liar Chrony,I've seen Saapo doing rain dance many times,"</span> Busy writer said to her team.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"So,there will be a contest between both the parties ,hmm,interesting guys,"</span>Chronic writer giggled.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Who will be our judge?,"</span>Chronic writer added.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Lets call Farah Khan and Saroj Khan,"</span> Busy writer winked.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Naa,lets get some guys from our field,call our techie "Saif","</span> Solitary writer said with a smile.<br />Saif,the techie for the community was called.He was a scientist and his inventions were famous.It is said that few of his inventions were modified by Sir Isaac Newton as at that era there were no provision of Copyright and Patents.<br /><br />Saif was made to get in few bloggers from the 21st century with the help of his time machine. The samitee decided to call Ste,Sandeep Balan,Priyanka and Bharghav.<br />They even called blog fame Leo and Aarthi to host the contest.<br />Both Prince Arjuna and Saapo agreed to the accord and contest dates were announced.<br /><br />A week later the contest started. People from<span style="font-style: italic;"> "Simply me" ,"Conjuring Kreativity","Pragmatic Utopia"," Illusions","More Orangee","Chemerical thoughts"," Where words are thoughts"</span> and many had come to witness this unique event.<br />The dance floor was arranged.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Guys ,its a unique battle between the snakes and the human community," </span>hosts Leo and Aarthi announced.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"We have Sandeep Balan,Ste,Priyanka and Bharghav Saika as our judges for todays contest," </span>Aarthi said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"It's an important event guys,if humans win,then snakes will lose their ability to stand erect and speech.If snakes win,then humans will lose their ability to speak and think," </span>Leo said.<br /><br />Prince Arjun and Saapo looked at each other with anger.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"There will be 2 rounds.Fast songs will be played in the first round and Slow songs will be played in the second round.Each judge will give you 25 points and the game will be decided by the scores out of 200 after end of round 2,"</span> Leo and Aarthi said.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Lets start the show,"</span> the judges said in unison.<br />Prince Arjuna came to dance. He twined his body in all possible directions. He danced for 5 minutes.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Aila,man Arjuna dancing hip hop," </span>Sandeep Balan said to the other judges.<br />The judges were highly impressed with Arjuna's performance.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Arjuna,something was missing daa,I am still finding it out, so I give you 21 out of 25,"</span>Priyanka said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"24 for you da ,no comments simply amazing,"</span> Ste gave him a standing ovation.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"22 for you,as Pri said some elements were missing,"</span> Sandeep Balan said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"14 for you ,no expressions,no entertainment ,no excitement,"</span> Bharghav said to the prince.<br /><br />The hosts next called Saapo ,the snake.<br />The snake was dancing pretty aggresively.He was performing continous movements.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"God,the snake is doing rock and roll,"</span> Bhargav grinned.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"23 for you Saapo,you rock,"</span> Priyanka said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"24 for you,superb expressions and aggresions Saapo,"</span> Ste said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"25 for the cute Saapo,god bless you," </span>Sandeep Balan said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"25 for you.Everything was perfect.Had a perfect feast,"</span> Bharghav said.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"So at the end of the first round Prince Arjuna is 81 and Saapo is 97,"</span> the anchors said and everyone cheered for Saapo.<br /><br />It seemed the human race was about to lose the contest.It would be a humiliating defeat.Everyone from the human community encouraged and cheered for their dance representative Prince Arjun.<br /><br />The second round started and Prince Arjuna came to dance.<br />He was better than the previous round.He performed some dance.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"24 for you ,perfect fete for us,"</span> Priyanka said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"24 ,you were dancing well this time," </span>Ste said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"25,I'm impressed ,"</span> Sandeep Balan said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"25,was a delight for us,I will write a review about this dance of yours,"</span> Bhargav gave him a standing ovation.<br /><br />Saapo was over confident and he slipped while dancing.This reflected in his marks.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"10,Sorry,"</span> Priyanka refused to speak a word.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"11,didn't accept this,"</span> Ste said.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"10,disappointed,"</span> Sandeep said with a straight face.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"10,"</span> Bhargav said.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"So total after round 2 is different.Prince Arjuna gets 179 and Saapo gets 138," </span>the hosts smiled.<br />Prince Arjuna laughed and screamed.Saapo was clearly disappointed.His face exhibited his frown.The snakes lost their ability to sense and stand erect.Prince Arjuna rolled on the floor and gigled.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Snake dance ,Snake dance!,"</span> The judges were stunned.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"And thats how snake dance came into existence," </span>Arjun Choudary, the great great grandson of Prince Arjuna said to his other blogger friends.<br />Arjun Choudary was an expert snake dancer and he used to teach Sandeep Malan sir in his acting school.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Wow!,so you guys created history ,eh!,"</span> the blogger friends said in unison.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Yes,"</span>Arjun said to his friends with pride.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">----------End-----------</span><br /><br />To Arjun,<br />hmm,finally I get to write something for my partner in crime.Partner in crime is what I call him.This is because we both are experts in this field of humour.We love and enjoy writing humour.You rock daa.You are "the humour king" . Hope you write more such beautiful posts and I will be glad to see you back in action.<br /><br />(From Arjun - When you tell a crazy person to go crazy, wat happens? Such a post happens.. hehe :P ... Thanks for writing this piece bro. I've started Snake dancing classes at my place. You can join in if u r rich enuf.. :P )<br /><br />Regards,<br /><a href="http://thesolitarywriter.blogspot.com">The Solitary Writer.</a>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-64706515252002164692009-06-27T13:25:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.975+05:30Arjun - A Memory To Stay Forever!!<span style="font-size:130%;"><em><span style="color:#ff6666;">Hey,<br /><br />I am so glad that ‘Rekindled Imaginations’ is touching the count of 50 very soon…<br /><br />You have been such a great friend, always ready to help whatever problem it may be…</span><br /></em><span style="color:#ffcc33;">Bernard Meltzer once said –</span><br /><em><span style="color:#9999ff;">“A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked.”</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6666;">I am the lucky one because I know that RJ is one such friend to me who knows that I am slightly cracked but still he’ll always be there by my side whenever I need him!<br />I have never been able to express what I feel for someone… I am really sorry for being so inexpressive whenever it comes to express what I feel for my loved ones. No words can do justice to my feelings… I am writing an acrostic for you – Arjun, The Humor King!<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#ff9900;"><span style="color:#ffff99;">A</span>wesome talent resides in you<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">R</span>ekindling the power of imagination<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">J</span>oyous we are in your company<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">U</span>nbound faith in you we have<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">N</span>ever will you let us down<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">T</span>he darkest of times<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">H</span>ave been illuminated by you<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">E</span>ndless be this journey, I pray<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">H</span>appiness and smiles you spread<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">U</span>nbiased opinions you give<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">M</span>any stones and gems are found<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">O</span>n this bed of earth<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">R</span>are are the precious ones like you<br /><br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">K</span>indness your virtue<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">I</span>n you I saw my guardian angel<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">N</span>aïve and simplicity personified<br /><span style="color:#ffff99;">G</span><span style="color:#ff9900;">od</span> bless you!<br /></span><br /><span style="color:#66ffff;">May God be there by your side always… Continue making us laugh…because humor is not everybody’s cup of tea! You are a sweetheart…stay the same always!</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff6666;">Friends Forever,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;color:#cccccc;"><a href="http://peaceencore.blogspot.com/">Artz!</a></span></em></span>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-52445706997193268152009-06-25T06:00:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:52.991+05:30Guest Post- Tara..!![ Tara says this is a piece of crap. Ironically though, it says a lot of nice things about me... hehe... Anyway Tara, thank you so much for writing this and being such a nice friend throughout. It's lovely ;) ]<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7iOhQzbPnLvf_X49fNnW2M3qR50WwOMLMyhq4BCZDZpSexQEBxvKCbtV2uvvbsyCpRqseBiKLwuTJa4V1WoGPgT6nvE2XgPrCWLMaQQEhmb9zt1e0iV9FapDN_lSTEpQyPew9Rs9meZg/s1600-h/15178cf1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7iOhQzbPnLvf_X49fNnW2M3qR50WwOMLMyhq4BCZDZpSexQEBxvKCbtV2uvvbsyCpRqseBiKLwuTJa4V1WoGPgT6nvE2XgPrCWLMaQQEhmb9zt1e0iV9FapDN_lSTEpQyPew9Rs9meZg/s320/15178cf1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351157928283968786" /></a><br /> <i><b>There is this guy I know<br /> who puts up a great show<br /> Funny, witty and friendly is he<br /> As patient as patient could be<br /><br /> Sometimes serious, most times fun<br /> Everything is packed into one<br /><br /> He makes you smile in times of despair<br /> Now that is a quality so rare<br /> Ever ready with a helping hand<br /> If you've fallen, he'll help you stand<br /><br /> He's rekindled imaginations almost fifty times now<br /> And each time he made us go "Wow!"<br /> May he always be there<br /> to wash away the sorrow<br /> And hey Mr.Arjun Choudary!<br /> You better pay me by tomorrow!</b></i>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-68666296151026845202009-06-20T17:04:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:53.011+05:30First Meeting..!!( Hey ppl, jus wanna remind that the stories I write and the characters in them are completely fictional. It applies to all the stories I’ve written till date and so with this post. Please pardon me for the exaggeration (in the posts). Forget logics to enjoy. Enjoy)<br /><br /><font color = #66ccff>7am, at my place.</font><br /><br />“Today is your first day of college. College is a temple for students, you are not supposed to…..” my dad continued as I sat wondering which of my dozen blue coloured jeans should I be wearing. Dad went on, as I ran to the kitchen, had a mini breakfast and promised dad that I would follow all what he said, though I wasn’t sure of what he had said. I hurried to the college with a ‘suffocating to death experience’ in the crowded bus.<br /><br /><font color = #66ccff>7am. Roshan’s place.</font><br /><br />Flouroscent green coloured shirt, which he had bought for Diwali, a navy blue trouser, in front of a mirror, Roshan set his hair and said- “ Wah!” He ran to the white house, to finish his SOS call. “ Stomach upset? On the first day of college? Damn” he shouted at the walls. After duty, he walked back to his dressing table, combed again, flipped the comb away, feeling like a south indian hero, he announced- “Look out girls, I’m coming.” He jumped onto his ‘second-hand’ <i>Scooty</i> and sped to college, realising that his earlier trip to the white house ensured that he would reach college late. <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff>At the classroom, 15 minutes into the first hour.</font><br /><br />I yawned while Roshan entered the corridors like a vagrant, realizing that he was already running late by 15 minutes to the class. As he approached the classroom, he noticed a bald headed professor addressing the class. The professor announced- “Now that I’ve told you about this college and it’s history, I’ll tell you something about myself. I’m Prof. T.H Narayan.” I couldn’t hold back my itchy feel to comment- “T.H Narayan, better known as- Three Hairs Narayan.” Few girls laughed while a few nerds made faces of disgust. Roshan, from the door interrupted and asked in express speed-“Excuse me Saaar, Can I please get in Saaar?” and smiled like Shilpa Shetty. “Why are you late, my boy? This is the first class of your course and you are late?” Prof. T.H Narayan looked worried more so with his zany outfit. Roshan had a readymade answer- “ Tyre puncture Saar” not realising that the excuse was as old as ‘rotten bread’. Prof. Narayan, who was a BP patient, counted 1 to 10 in his mind, exhaled deeply and said out of helplessness- “Get in, but don’t repeat it.”<br /><br />Most girls in the class recognized Roshan and made strange faces at his very sight. He found a seat on the third bench. “Dude, you look like a door-to-door salesman” my mouth was hard to shut. I continued- “ a salesman who sells socks?” looked around and winked- “ or frocks?” but anyway nobody laughed, so I realised it was a PJ and I had to shut up.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3c54fikyI4_J6cJ3qF1W2Cl1ZVBittE3ozWyzmAPw9m17m9w3Du8oGKY7P_1UvcDEYgOsM0z8eUql2eksfgY-MEJ_YgOLH4aMe4h6VfQ7cFS_gLT4FAXp6bykWhmhkp1XKOULqE9zNhA/s1600-h/College+Class.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3c54fikyI4_J6cJ3qF1W2Cl1ZVBittE3ozWyzmAPw9m17m9w3Du8oGKY7P_1UvcDEYgOsM0z8eUql2eksfgY-MEJ_YgOLH4aMe4h6VfQ7cFS_gLT4FAXp6bykWhmhkp1XKOULqE9zNhA/s320/College+Class.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349373294087586962" /></a><br /><br />Roshan sat lost, dreaming about god-knows-what when he received another SOS call to the white house. His stomach started to churn. It was making strange grunting noises. The Professor continued- “Last year, when Mr. Bill Gates was here, I invited him to my house to show my…”<br /><br />“Toilet” Roshan stood up. “Saaar, urgent toilet. Please let me go.”<br /><br />Prof. Narayan counted 1 to 10 in his mind, exhaled deeply and calmly said- “Go. Get lost.” Roshan ran to the loo, while the professor explained to the students as to how the whole chain of his thoughts break if any one student interrupts the whole class. Anyway, after the small lecture, he began again with- “Last year, when Mr. Bill Gates was here, I invited him to my toilet…….that stupid boy….…I am extremely sorry students…Last year, when Mr. Bill Gates was here, I invited him to my house”<br /><br />“Can I come Sir?” Roshan asked sheepishly from the door. “I mean, can I come into the class, Sir?” he repeated. Once again, Prof. Narayan did his counting and cynically allowed him into the class. I couldn’t control my laughter nor my ever rattling mouth- “Fully downloaded uh?” i said and giggled away. Roshan did settle down in his seat but was feeling really uncomfortable. He was doomed to visit the loo all over again now. Prof. Narayan for the third time, again continued- “Last year, when Mr. Bill Gates was here, I invited him to my house to see my house. He knows my wife well because of her involvement in charity work and asked if he could take her along with him to my...”<br /><br />“Toilet” Roshan stood again and said- “Saar, need to go to the toilet again.Urgent toilet Saar”<br /><br />Prof. T.H Narayan who was a BP patient did no longer control himself, he almost pulled off those three hairs that was left in him, grabbed his ink pen, aimed and flung it towards Roshan and ran towards him. <br /><br />Now, I wonder- That same fellow is Roshan, my buddy. ‘Fate’ was drunk when it noticed me, I guess.Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-79349394174066151522009-06-17T20:10:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:53.001+05:30Oh.. Not Again..!!<b>One Sunday evening, on a Black ‘Ford’.</b><br /><br />“Which one of the two routes, Sir?” the driver turned behind.<br /><br />“Which one’s better? The one under construction or the one under repair?” I was interested.<br /><br />“Both equal, Sir. Equally bad.”<br /><br />“Ok. Take us through the road which would make passengers bump into co-passengers.” I winked. <br /><br />Akshata, who was seated beside me, poked me in my ribs. The driver showcased his smile through the rear view mirror. Akshata peered through the window as the sun reached the top of the tallest building. I sat quiet observing her, unaware that I wore a thin smile on my face. She turned to me and said- “You want to tell me something, don’t you?” <br />She had flawless antennae when it came to sensing my emotions. I smiled and enquired the driver- “How far from here? The airport?”<br /><br />“Another 15 minutes, Sir.”<br /><br />“I asked you something mister,” she pinched me on my stomach. <br /><br />“2 long years. I’ll miss you.” I said as she held my hand.<br /><br /><font color = #66ccff> He ran across the street, jumping over dividers and pavements in search of another auto rickshaw. Those fifteen or so drivers, who had turned down the lift, threw glances of amazement- “You…… and … Airport??” He ran, ran and ran. He ran for his life. </font><br /><br />I retrieved the not yet sampled newspaper from the front seat, and read out from the sports column- “Thumping win for India against the fighting Pakistanis.”<br /><br />“I feel like crying.”<br /><br />“Why? Are you a Pakistan supporter?”<br /><br />“No idiot. I’ll be missing you and this place for the next two years. I wish I could stay.”<br /><br />“Oh. Don’t worry, time will fly.” <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff> He, on his mad run, hit a stone, tripped and bumped straight into a tall, thick mustached person. A kind of person who wears khakis and makes a lot of money- A Policeman. After some begging and some ‘wallet shaving’, he continued his run. He ran, ran and ran. He ran for his life. </font><br /><br />Akshata attempted to pull this tried and tested game over me- “That guy, your neighbour. He’s hot man. But I noticed a wedding ring today, did you notice that?” <br /><br />“I don’t notice such things.”<br /><br />“You guys do it when it’s an attractive woman.”<br /><br />“Nonsense.” But true.<br /><br /><font color = #66ccff> He stormed into a florist shop, and selected a nice bunch of red, fresh, water sprinkled flowers. He shoved the flowers inside his jacket and scampered to the bus station in hope to find a bus to the airport. As he waited, he drew the flowers, rehearsed his lines and sneezed as the flowers tickled his nose. Minutes ticked, when he realised this was going to serve him no good and decided to run and run as though avoiding the electric chair. </font><br /><br />Meanwhile I had a secret conversation with the driver, where I told him to retrieve the bouquet from the glove box, as soon as the car comes to a halt outside the airport terminal. Akshata trying to catch our conversation interrupted- “What does the driver want?”<br /><br />“Your phone number.”<br /><br />“Why do I ask you questions?”<br /><br />“No clue.” I twisted my lips. <br /><br /><font color= #66ccff> He was breathing heavily now, one, for the reason that he was running like he had ants in his pants and two, for the reason that the ‘Moment’ had arrived. He put an eye in search of a black ‘Ford’.”</font><br /><br />The car cut across from the main road and headed straight towards a relatively empty airport terminal at this hour. As the car moved closer and closer, Akshata grabbed my palms and rubbed it soothingly mumbling words in a thin voice- “I’ll miss u dear. I don’t wanna go…” <br />The car came to a halt and the driver as instructed, pushed the flower bouquet into my hands and slid out of the car. Akshata looked in amazement, as I held her hand and moved the bouquet gently into her soft palms and said – “ Akshata, I think you know it. I’m madly in love with you. Love you da. Miss you baby.” I saw tears trickling down her cheeks as she grabbed me and hugged me tight with her head resting on my shoulder- “ Love you too da. Love you too.” She wiped her tears. <br /><br />Just then, we heard a knock on the window, and on lowering the glass, we were exposed to a person, with a flower bouquet in his extended arms. He went on to say- “Sorry Akshata, but I love you. Love you, love you, love you.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PYIXu1KU3LuWKqDIxyISE85OsBiv7m4zIxCP2RPgMT19x38D8oQlilY-MKdVTJFPnGtCZil_SZ2zNTc-vWikYNwphG3yWdEF1NBwUcdkv1porz7AbqqP6yKfYK46K4cPYNlP1dl9ZYs/s1600-h/Byron+Triplets+159c.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PYIXu1KU3LuWKqDIxyISE85OsBiv7m4zIxCP2RPgMT19x38D8oQlilY-MKdVTJFPnGtCZil_SZ2zNTc-vWikYNwphG3yWdEF1NBwUcdkv1porz7AbqqP6yKfYK46K4cPYNlP1dl9ZYs/s320/Byron+Triplets+159c.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348306674259917170" /></a><br /><br />I bent down, to investigate the face of this new Mr.Spoilsport and got drowned in shock as my mouth went dry- “ Hey ..r.r.r…. Roshan..”<br /><br />P.S - Okay, people new to this blog may not get the Roshan thing at the end. Apologies ;)Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-81123818429249949432009-06-14T13:23:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:53.025+05:30Ranting it out..!!Of late, I am realizing that I’m grown up and matured. I’ve started noticing social problems and general public’s feckless behaviour. Ok, what good does it do to me noticing apathy all around?? Answer to it would be - <i> Nothing</i> except maybe that I would end up branded as the youngest <i>BP patient</i> or something. This time its not about our government and their exhibition of neglect, but WE… The General Public. Small issues like Public behaviour, manners, etc….. <br /><br />Just this morning, on my regular jogging routine in a park I noticed the same two girls who I guess are in their late twenties. The park is a rectangular one, with a walking track outlining the area. Generally, though not as a rule, people walk in the clock-wise direction. These two special beings, as me and my dad noticed since 3 months or so, walk opposite to the general way of walking thereby causing a break in the flow of many brisk walkers. Again, it’s not a rule that people have to follow the clock-wise cycle, but then if it’s only the RULES that rule you, it is sick. <br /><br />My dad, for once made up his mind to inform them about it and he did so in these exact words- “ Hello… Excuse me… Wouldn’t it be better if you could walk the other way. You are obstructing other brisk walkers and joggers.” One of those girls hit back- “ Thanks for your advice. Mind your business,” after which, ofcourse an argument followed. I mean, how hard would be to say a simple- “ Okay” when an elderly person suggests you something, leave alone following it. Is it fashionable to be sarcastic? “Sarcasm, as long as it is for fun or for yourself is okay. Once you exhibit in public, its no more called ‘sarcasm’ .. Its <i>Arrogance</i>” was one of my point in the argument. Where has manners, simple general behaviour gone?? Is education all about scoring the passing marks or the ‘distinction’ marks? <br /><br />I read an article in yesterday’s papers that it’s more for the fact that Indian people are very badly behaved in public, that they are being targetted in Australia. Right or wrong, I don’t know, but I’m fed up witnessing it here. On the roads, seeing a few people drive, I’ve got ideas of keeping goats as drivers and still it would make no difference. Yes I know, we as Indians in general are not into following traffic rules (reasons plenty.. government neglect, bribery, corruption….etc), but atleast certain basic unsaid things. Not a single second can a person spare on the road. Also in other general places- arguments, fights all around. Maybe the fact that, excess money into the hands of ill-mannered ( or rather, people unaware of a concept called <i>behaviour.. </i> or <i> manners</i>) are making matters worse. You can still be nice to your driver, your servant maid, a co-passenger, a waiter and end up losing nothing.<br /><br />Anyway, thinking deep and worrying would take me where?? .. <i> Nowhere </i>.. And hey guys, I’m the same Arjun if you are still rubbing your eyes. I’ve never written such a post, but this was just long pending. Today’s incident just worked up the needed ‘driving force’. Just a request to all- Behaviour and manners go side by side with your BE, MBA.. so on. Thanks for hearing me out. Have a great Sunday.Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-73436573026175404142009-05-29T20:40:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:53.069+05:30Murder..!!(Okay, this is of a different genre, as 'humour' jumps into the back seat. Basically, leaving footprints all over. Read on.)<br /><br /><font color = #66ccff><b>Room No. 301</b></font><br /><br />He flash opened his eyes, as he heard a distant silencer of an idle motorbike. Turning over on his bed, he craned his head to catch a glimpse through the little window of his dim lit room. Pitch darkness, a far away and the only illuminated street light was all that his eyes could gather. His wrist-watch reminded him that the sun would rise in just about two hours. The sound of the motorbike diminished into silence: a scary silence. Charlie could hear his shaky, heavy breath. He could feel his heart pacing up and down. He closed his eyes to calm himself but in vain, as he heard human movements outside his door in the corridor. He locked his lips tight in trying to mute his breath. He browsed through his pockets for his revolver, with leaking hopes. The revolver was lost the day before, he knew it. <i><b>Three… two…one….</b></i> “Knock knock” his door was knocked. Charlie said to himself, pressing his eyes- <i>“They are here…Help me God…. They are here..” </i><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjV5JMD965kI_hN1eZZcs6dhzYeUuN8S4erbmgB81fig0zYXaR-ZNaeNY283djeRYehwgfQbU8W78k44JfIYGQiJbaFZmHwQbFDBc6mUZvBW3ONg7ac7DYA7AndrCWVk-QER1GMRxzG6v9/s1600-h/ShiningMurder.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjV5JMD965kI_hN1eZZcs6dhzYeUuN8S4erbmgB81fig0zYXaR-ZNaeNY283djeRYehwgfQbU8W78k44JfIYGQiJbaFZmHwQbFDBc6mUZvBW3ONg7ac7DYA7AndrCWVk-QER1GMRxzG6v9/s320/ShiningMurder.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338567561244965074" /></a><br /><br /><br /><font color = #66ccff><b>Room No. 302 ></b></font><br /><br />‘Deal Agreement, Mr. Vinod, VV & Co.’ Mr. Vinod couldn’t believe his eyes scanning through those words in the ‘Agreement papers’. He couldn’t help smiling. As if talking to the dark sky outside his window, he said- “ The sun has already risen in my life. You still have two hours of darkness.” He realised that the sun would be setting back home in India at that point of time, grabbed his cell phone, hit the numbers on them as his lovely wife greeted him on the other side- “Congrats dear. Got the news. I’m preparing sweets.” <br /><br />“Love you dear. What’s a sweet if it’s not you Ani?” his smile almost touched his ears.<br /><br />“ Oh come on ya. Waiting for you. Another 8 hours and you will be here. Just can’t wait baby.”<br /><br />“Yeah. And hey, what’s my kitty doing?”<br /><br />“She’s watching cartoon on tv. Hey can’t you reach here faster than 8 long hours?”<br /><br />“Awee.. Love you baby. I’ll run even in the flight and reach soon. Don’t worry.” He joked as they cut the call.<br /><br />Vinod, stood by the window, the soft carpet beneath him, the sky clearing, as a weak moon showed itself between the rolling red clouds. The silence was broken with a sudden thud on his door. It took him a long ten seconds to realise the sound and then hurried to the door, peeped through the <i>view-finder</i> but found no one. As though his brain was resting, he motioned his hands, reached the latch to open the door not realising that he was about to commit the biggest mistake of his life.<br /><br /><br /><font color = #66ccff><b>Room No. 301</b></font><br /><br />Charlie, who didn’t respond to the door knocks, freezed to discover that the locks were being jimmied using foreign substances. He literally felt his blood rush inside him as he found his head go blank. It took two minutes for the door to be flung opened, thereby exposing two white men wearing black caps, holding a revolver each. They were revolvers fitted with silencers, making them appear longer than normal. Charlie, as a last resort, leapt out of his bed and tried to speed out into the corridor and it took no time for those huge men to grab him and let out a shot. The bullet pierced through his palms as it began colouring the carpet red. Charlie, acting entirely on his reflexes, stood and dragged himself as he covered some distance in trying to break away. Within no time he received another shot, on his shoulder this time, ripping off the upper part of his shirt along with a lump of skin. The uncontrolled running doubled with the gun shot led him crashing straight into another door : Door No. 302. <br /><br />Vinod drew the latch and the door gave way, exposing him straight to the back of a wounded man (Charlie). Standing face-to-face to Charlie were two hugely built white men, with revolvers and sprinkled blood stains on their faces. One of them, with a forceful voice whispered, as he pointed his revolver into Charlie’s chest- “ You think you can get away?? Go to hell” and <i> bhoom</i>. The relatively silent bullet hit Charlie straight on his chest thrusting his body right into Vinod’s arms. Vinod, who, in a state of shock withdrew his hand allowing the body to drop vertically down over the soft carpet. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcT87ukwBWJGpumpEYfgN61q6qvoqq7hyphenhyphen8ie3ekFoaS7ZAyM-2FX43ytYRnT64hg7INjpKJ0_FA94Z52QW5KeUrFs3dxeMnIVInUXsfMCE3QU_OH6rk5yVZL2-PZjxSlCSsjlK2g3UwHx/s1600-h/DPL_Murder_scene_c._1910-40_00185406.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNcT87ukwBWJGpumpEYfgN61q6qvoqq7hyphenhyphen8ie3ekFoaS7ZAyM-2FX43ytYRnT64hg7INjpKJ0_FA94Z52QW5KeUrFs3dxeMnIVInUXsfMCE3QU_OH6rk5yVZL2-PZjxSlCSsjlK2g3UwHx/s320/DPL_Murder_scene_c._1910-40_00185406.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338567777774602738" /></a><br /><br />Mr. Vinod, the Founder of VV & Co., there he was facing straight into two gunmen, fresh murderers. His worst fears came alive as the hand with the revolver raised once again, this time Vinod’s chest the target. “No Evidence, no bullshit please. Sorry” said a voice, as the bullet sped and ripped apart a pure chest. The thud lifted his legs above the ground, dropped identically beside the dead Charlie. The air gushed out of him, the heart stopped as he breathed his last. <br /><br /><i>Certainly the sun was setting back home in India as the sun rose over Vinod’s dead body.</i>Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-17166105267268154452009-05-22T15:40:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:53.079+05:30Midnight Outing..!!<font color = #66ccff>(Guys, writing after a long gap. Lost touch. But anyway (try to) enjoy it :) ) </font><br /><br />“Damn… These mosquitoes….. Dude, I'm not able to sleep at all.” Roshan almost cried.<br /><br />“Think about your ex, think about the day you got your board exam results and the day your neighbour’s dog bit you…..” I went on like a ‘Reality Show’ judge..<br /><br />“Shut up. Oh my god, you just ruined my night’s sleep.” Roshan sat up trying to forget everything that I had told him to recollect. He shook his head and continued- “Okay. Now tell me, how to get rid of these mosquitoes? Man, they come close to my ears and make stupid sounds.”<br /><br />“You’ve got to take revenge on them man. Show them your man-ness.”<br /><br />“But how??” Roshan said, though the ‘how’ was dragged so much that it sounded like a wolf’s howl.<br /><br />I stood and marched to the cupboard to fetch my CD pouch, slipped out an audio CD from it and passed it on to Roshan- “Take this.”<br /><br />“Latest Hits OF Himesh Reshammia?”<br /><br />“Yup. What better way to take revenge on those mosquitoes uh??”<br /><br />He kicked me hard after which he hurt his toe, howled like a wolf again and went back to his bed. I mean, any mad fan of Himesh would have done the same. All was well from my side, as eventually I had ended up irritating him more than those little useless mosquitoes. <br /><br /><font color = #66ccff>An hour later……</font><br /><br />I noticed Roshan sitting against me wearing one of those Shilpa Shetty’s fake IPL smiles. He growled - “You ruined my sleep you idiot.”<br /><br />I returned a girlish smile, which pissed him off even more. He pulled my blanket out as if he was planning to strip me, but just said, rather ordered- “We are going for a ride. Get up.”<br /><br />Cruising at a high speed, there we were, on the streets of Bangalore as the clock struck 2 in the morning. We rode along as the cold breeze tickled our ears, the silence around gave a becalming effect and the blood pressures raised with every turn he took. I yelled at him from the rear seat- “Ride carefully. I almost met god last time I sat behind you.”<br /><br />“You are not on the pavement, so you are safe.” He yelled back.<br /><br />I didn’t actually quite stab him but I was tempted to say – “Go to hell” but again, I was intelligent enough to hold it back realising the irony that it would present considering that I was sitting behind him.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNOwnXYLtvbjb6n2_hX2_EzZSvensBsaN4mRfb8KHmi8BIdLA8lKdCwyhciu5rX6ygPC7m-7OUGtgj-zD5PZLp6_tEnPu2tPARAFtL8-8tdS0JYL1-bxFjjiosmuPHvUfBLAUpCA5jCl01/s1600-h/2094159242_e9cb0cc19c.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNOwnXYLtvbjb6n2_hX2_EzZSvensBsaN4mRfb8KHmi8BIdLA8lKdCwyhciu5rX6ygPC7m-7OUGtgj-zD5PZLp6_tEnPu2tPARAFtL8-8tdS0JYL1-bxFjjiosmuPHvUfBLAUpCA5jCl01/s320/2094159242_e9cb0cc19c.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338180166995174482" /></a><br /><br /><br /> Anyway, finally Roshan spotted the brakes and the bike was brought to rest. I realised that we had tripped 10kms in pursuit of a cigarette. His wafer-thin wallet had enough in it to afford a cigarette for him and a cool-drink for me. He gazed strenuously at me and enquired out of frustration – “When will you grow up?”<br /><br />“I read about the evils of smoking, I gave up smoking.” I smiled.<br /><br />“I read about the evils of smoking, I gave up reading.” He smiled.<br /><br />I returned the stare like I had glasses slipping from the tip of my nose. He continued gazing at me, now like a devil with his face engulfed in smoke. I continued with my cool-drink, staring at the sky as he continued puffing away smoke staring at street dogs. Just as it was getting boring, a girl wearing pants which almost started from her thighs came by and asked Roshan- “What kinda' person are you?”<br /><br />“Who? Me?” Roshan bulged his eyes showing excitement as he hid his tautness.<br /><br />“Yes baby.” She smiled.<br /><br />“I’m basically a diplomatic person.” Roshan replied in a way which reminded me of my class 10, slightly eccentric Maths teacher.<br /><br />“If you think, completing your ‘diploma’ course is what is being ‘diplomatic’ then you are wrong you stupid.” I said clamorously busy staring at ‘nothing’. <br /><br />The girl, an intelligent one I concluded, turned to me and asked me straight- “You want that stuff?” as she dug out a packet of a whitish powder from her bore well sized pocket. Roshan, who was aghast at seeing her with drugs, leapt on to the bike and threw it into ignition and rustled –“ Dude, come over. Fast.” I walked to the bike with one eye fixed to the girl ( like James Bond), said- “ Tell me if that powder doesn’t work, I have a CD of Himesh Reshammia’s latest hits” and off we went as Roshan played with the accelerator putting the lives of street dogs into jeopardy. <br /><br />As we reached home, Roshan went into a mood where he sounded like a retired senior citizen, with his ears being fed with some ‘latest hits’ of those silly mosquitoes. He went on and on with his morality talks, which reminded me of a line – “If electricity comes from electrons does it mean morality comes from morons?” Anyway, that’s when I realised that there are worse things in life than death, spending an evening (sounds better than ‘night’) with Roshan.Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968414927599873517.post-49869407738628392272009-05-20T12:11:00.000+05:302010-01-01T19:01:53.090+05:30Polit(r)ic(k)s..!!( Hey guys, sorry, have been away from blogging. As they say- It's so difficult to be doing nothing coz you never know when you're finished. Anyway, in the meanwhile I thought I would repost a few small quickies that I had written long ago. Would come up with a post soon. hehe ;) .. cya) <br /><br /><i><font color= #66ccff>In a congregation, at a small constituency in rural India.</i></font><br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>Person1</font> - There’s been no supply of tomatoes into our town since last week. What is the matter?<br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>Politician</font>- (smiles) I know. I’ll look into it.<br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>Person2</font>- No supply of eggs too. What about that?<br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>Politician</font>- (smiles)I know. I’lll look into it.<br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>Person3</font>- You haven’t visited our constituency since the day you were elected into power. Now, all of a sudden, what makes you come here?<br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>Politician</font>- (smiles) You people are ‘God’ to me. I’ve come here to seek blessings from you. As you know, elections are coming up. Please vote for me.<br /><br />All the gathered people, with crimson red faces, scanned around themselves in search of anything that could be hurled or pelted.<br /><br /><font color= #66ccff>Politician</font>- (smiles) No tomatoes?? no eggs uh???Arjunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07511656769847730359noreply@blogger.com18