Those 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. :) )

Present……

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 hearse. 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.

Recent Past…..
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.

A few minutes passed by, and I made a face expression suggesting it was getting late and we must be moving.

“Will you have breakfast, or will you keep painting your face?” he asked grandma.

No Reply.

“We have to get going.”

No Reply.

“Dear, can I bring the breakfast and coffee to you?”

“Yes, please.”

He stood, winked at me and said- “I’m learning. I’m learning.”

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. Those tears were much harder to wipe out.



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.
“Do you want directions?” grandma enquired as she emptied a bottle of water.

“Do you mean, in life?”

She chuckled. “No. To the…the..…… never mind.”

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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

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.

Roshan'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.

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.”

“Yeah. What were you doing in school man? I thought you would be running around trees with that ‘Air Hostess’ girl.”

“What to do macha! Last night I was thinking about that day when we begged our School principal for attendance. You remember?”

“Yeah. But WE didn’t beg. It was YOU who begged and almost cried.” I reminded him.

“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.

“Hey, how about we go meet them now? Our school teachers I mean. It’ll be nice after such a long time.”

“Get lost. No way.”

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?”

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.

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.

“A day spent with Roshan is called a ‘Stupid-day’. It is also known as ‘Everyday’.”

P.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. :))

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.

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.



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.

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.

He finished his job of digging, covered his face with a scarf against the snow and waited impatiently.

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.

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.


WORD COUNT = 399

Vindictive 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..!! )

“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.
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.
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.
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.

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 tocs 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.


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.

“Done madam?” her driver enquired.

“Yes. Hurry. Not home. The other room.” Sheila ordered.

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.

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.



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?”
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.

Revenge- It never ends. Does it?

Kids..... Ouchh..!!

I banged my foot on the ground thrice "bang .. bang … bang.." 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.

“I’m going to the market now. Can I leave Pintu here for a while?” the granny enquired.

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.

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. “Oh Lord, this guy has no ‘nappy’ and he has pissed on my ‘lappy’,” I screamed inside my head, not in a mood to adore the poetic skills in me.

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.

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) .. damn… “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.



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. damn kid..
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.

Children are fun and lovely, but man- “Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.”

The 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, The World waging a stern battle against him. The World flashed accusations at his face which put him into a straggled stance in between ‘acceptance’ and ‘denial’. He was right or wrong, 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.


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 rangoli 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.




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.

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 'laughter club' laughed their hearts out.



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- ‘The World’, 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-

“Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up knowing it must run faster than the lion or be killed.

Every morning, a lion awakens knowing it must outrun the slowest gazelle or starve to death.

It doesn’t matter if you are a lion or a gazelle.

When the sun comes up, you’d better be running.”

An old lady, probably the old man’s wife came by and completed –

“ Once you get into grips with this game, trust me you’ll be one hell of a runner.”

First 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)

7am, at my place.

“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.

7am. Roshan’s place.

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’ Scooty and sped to college, realising that his earlier trip to the white house ensured that he would reach college late.

At the classroom, 15 minutes into the first hour.

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.”

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.



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…”

“Toilet” Roshan stood up. “Saaar, urgent toilet. Please let me go.”

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”

“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...”

“Toilet” Roshan stood again and said- “Saar, need to go to the toilet again.Urgent toilet Saar”

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.

Now, I wonder- That same fellow is Roshan, my buddy. ‘Fate’ was drunk when it noticed me, I guess.

Oh.. Not Again..!!

One Sunday evening, on a Black ‘Ford’.

“Which one of the two routes, Sir?” the driver turned behind.

“Which one’s better? The one under construction or the one under repair?” I was interested.

“Both equal, Sir. Equally bad.”

“Ok. Take us through the road which would make passengers bump into co-passengers.” I winked.

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?”
She had flawless antennae when it came to sensing my emotions. I smiled and enquired the driver- “How far from here? The airport?”

“Another 15 minutes, Sir.”

“I asked you something mister,” she pinched me on my stomach.

“2 long years. I’ll miss you.” I said as she held my hand.

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.

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.”

“I feel like crying.”

“Why? Are you a Pakistan supporter?”

“No idiot. I’ll be missing you and this place for the next two years. I wish I could stay.”

“Oh. Don’t worry, time will fly.”

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.

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?”

“I don’t notice such things.”

“You guys do it when it’s an attractive woman.”

“Nonsense.” But true.

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.

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?”

“Your phone number.”

“Why do I ask you questions?”

“No clue.” I twisted my lips.

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’.”

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…”
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.

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.”



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..”

P.S - Okay, people new to this blog may not get the Roshan thing at the end. Apologies ;)

Midnight Outing..!!

(Guys, writing after a long gap. Lost touch. But anyway (try to) enjoy it :) )

“Damn… These mosquitoes….. Dude, I'm not able to sleep at all.” Roshan almost cried.

“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..

“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.”

“You’ve got to take revenge on them man. Show them your man-ness.”

“But how??” Roshan said, though the ‘how’ was dragged so much that it sounded like a wolf’s howl.

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.”

“Latest Hits OF Himesh Reshammia?”

“Yup. What better way to take revenge on those mosquitoes uh??”

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.

An hour later……

I noticed Roshan sitting against me wearing one of those Shilpa Shetty’s fake IPL smiles. He growled - “You ruined my sleep you idiot.”

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.”

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.”

“You are not on the pavement, so you are safe.” He yelled back.

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.




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?”

“I read about the evils of smoking, I gave up smoking.” I smiled.

“I read about the evils of smoking, I gave up reading.” He smiled.

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?”

“Who? Me?” Roshan bulged his eyes showing excitement as he hid his tautness.

“Yes baby.” She smiled.

“I’m basically a diplomatic person.” Roshan replied in a way which reminded me of my class 10, slightly eccentric Maths teacher.

“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’.

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.

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.

A Rendezvous, Unique and Special..!!

(I've posted this on WL, dint want to post it here, but then this is one of my personal favourites. I loved writing this. Again, an attempt made trying to drift from humour..!! Thank You.)

Darkness engulfed the horizon, enveloped with dull red clouds throwing an impression as though the stars were hibernating behind the red blanket when a small thunder erupted, and the first drop of rain raced on its descent, as it splashed on Mr. Aravind’s forehead. Withdrawing his legs from his recliner, he stood right there in his small garden and threw a pale stare at the red sky which was beginning to cry. He snatched his glasses and his half sampled novel from the rain, and headed back to the door into his simple little home for dinner. His cook, a man in his sixties, the only other person who lived with Aravind, rushed to him to inform- “Sir. You have a call on your phone. It’s from London.” He passed the phone and evaporated into the kitchen.

“London? Shriya! Who else would it be? I don’t know anyone from there. And Shriya would never call, she vowed to never call me again. What the hell is this call for?” he began to disturb his mind. “ Or, maybe it’s Mr. Singh, Shriya’s only family friend and a mentor.” He thought. He unwillingly drew the receiver into his ears and said- “Hello.”

“Hello Aravind. I’m Mr. Singh calling from London.”

“Oh, Mr. Singh! What made you to be reminded of me all of a sudden?”

“Aravind….” With a small pause surrounded by the sounds of heavy breath, he continued- “ Shriya.”

“What about Shriya? She’s gone. It’s been 10 years since our divorce Mr. Singh. What about her now? What’s her problem? Tell her that she doesn't deserve me anymore.”

“Sorry, but she is actually dead Aravind. Last night. Called to inform you that.”
Aravind felt a cold shiver run through his body. He dropped himself onto his bed and mustered his voice and said-“ Okay.”

“One more thing, Aravind.”

“What?”

“She has a kid, a boy of 9 years old. And more importantly” he paused and continued-“He’s your child too.”

For a moment there was a silence across both sides of the globe. Aravind was stunned beyond speech.
“Aravind, are you still there? Hello.”

“Yeah. What on earth are you talking about?”

“I know you must be shocked by this Aravind. But it’s true. It came to light just after you both separated. Shriya insisted in not letting you know about it. But now, I feel, after being her only confidant, it’s my duty to tell you about this.”

“Okay.”

“ Aravind. She’d never had too many known people around here. What I mean to say is- would you like to keep the boy with you Aravind?” Mr. Singh asked shakily.

“Mr. Singh, I’m just hating myself, her and you for this situation. Why should I believe you that he’s my son? Even if I do, I’m not responsible…………..” He stopped without saying anything further. “No thanks Mr. Singh.” He said and cut the line.

One week later, at the Bangalore International airport.


Aravind was pacing back and forth in the Arrivals’ Lounge of the airport waiting for his son’s arrival. After a hard battle between his mind and his heart, he had finally called Mr.Singh to convey his agreement to guard his own son. And here he was, in the airport waiting for his son’s arrival. He was told by Mr. Singh that the boy was never informed about Aravind as his father. “I’ll take care of that. You don’t tell him anything.” He had ordered, replying to Mr. Singh.
The announcement was made that the Air India flight from London had just landed. A crowd began to form around the exit area. And suddenly Aravind felt nervous. He had been too distracted to allow himself to think what he might feel when he would actually see his son in flesh and blood.

He noticed that people began coming out into the exit area as he began craning his head to catch a glimpse of his son. A minute later, he noticed a young lady of ‘Air India’ approaching, along with a small boy, holding his hands, towards the exit area where Aravind was waiting. Aravind approached her, confirmed her that he was that Mr. Aravind and the lady obliged, kissed the little boy on his cheek and walked back. Now, suddenly, the two of them were on their own. Aravind, glanced down the boy. Does he look anything like me, he thought.

“Thank you, Sir, for offering me to stay with you awhile.” He said in a cute, British accent.

Aravind felt his blood rushing. He had just heard his son’s voice. “Yes my dear.” He smiled and tried to carry the little boy but in vain and said with a smile- “oops..You are a strong boy! What’s your name?”

“Sorry sir, forgot to tell you. I’m Aryan.”

Aravind couldn’t help a smile as he clasped the boy’s luggage bag with one hand and held the boy’s, his son’s, little hand with the other and began to walk to the parking bay.

“How far is the Taj Mahal from here, Sir? Can you take me there?” the little boy asked.

Aravind couldn’t control a smile as his eyes began to become moist, said- “ Surely. I’ll take you to all the famous places in India. Alright?”

“Thank You, Sir.”

They reached their car, put the luggage behind and took the front seats. As they were about to leave, the little boy asked- “ Sir, Singh uncle told me, you were my mother’s best friend? She was my best friend too.”

Aravind controlled himself, held his palms on the boy’s little cheeks and said- “ I liked her a lot, Aryan.” He smiled as a drop trickled down his eyes.

“Sir, can I catch some sleep here? I’m sleepy. Would you mind, Sir?” he said again with his cute British accent.

Aravind couldn’t control it anymore, he grabbed and hugged the little boy tightly, kissed him on his forehead, then on both his cheeks and said- “Aryan. Dear, I’m not ‘Sir’. Call me ‘Daddy’”


They headed home, drawing a lovely picture of their rekindled future.

Midnight Utopia..!!

“Sonaaaaliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii………………” I screamed as the clock struck 3 in the morning, in my hostel room.

Sensing that I was still asleep, Roshan brought a jug full of water and poured it on me. Drowned with water and shock, I tried to sit, trying to catch my breath and thoughts as the water entered my nostrils. That bastard could have just sprinkled water on me.

“Oh God! What kind of a mad ass are you?” Roshan asked restlessly feeling helpless about me- the enigma.

“Same to you.” I smiled and blasted- “Go get the towel you stupid.”

As he passed the towel to me, he said with ineffable restlessness- “ You literally kill me with your dreams everyday. How many tonnes of crap do you have loaded into that useless head of yours?”

I was recollecting my dream without even renting out an ear to his ‘woe blabbering’. I said interrupting him- “ Okay listen to my dream” and began with the unvarnished version of the mid-night crap-

The sky encircled me with dark, gray clouds. I clad a white shirt with a white dhoti in a pukka South Indian village style. A tall, black guy stood facing me around 10 metres from me with a stare, a forest of a moustache and a knife in his hand. With his other hand, he held my girlfriend, Sonali's throat. I looked at my slippers and then at the sky, removed my sunglasses and flipped it aside. The first drop of rain reached my forehead, which ignited my show of bravery and man-ness. With a tough look on my face I lifted my right leg as if to show him my thighs. Then I lifted my right hand and slapped hard on my right thigh and just as I slapped the thigh, a loud thunder broke out and the downpour began. With that, the guy trembled with fear, released the girl and ran for his life. Sonali ran to me and hugged me and was about to kiss when the director hurriedly shouted- “CUT. Take Okay.”

I added to Roshan, who was with his ears open to my preposterous dream story, cleaning all the excess water on the floor after he had poured it on me- “ Dude, the damn director. I was reminded of our guru, Navjot Singh Sidhu’s saying- “ The ball missed the bat just like a kiss in an Indian movie.”



‘Crap-disinterested Mr. Roshan enquired- “ And you shouted Sonaaliii for that?”

“No, you stupid.” I continued- “ That’s after another scene in the movie.”

“Fuck You.”

“Thank You.”

Unlike Roshan, I was excited, so I continued- “ And you know what? I won the Indian equivalent of ‘The Oscars’ – ‘The Bhaskars’ for this role. You ever got such a dream in you lifetime?”

“Thank God. No.”

Roshan, in pursuit of time-pass, asked out of curiosity- “ What was that next part which made you shout so loud like Tarzan?”

I smiled and started-

I paid 100 bucks for a bunch of flowers, which costs just 50 bucks and began to run to the railway station. Though there were taxis all around, I had to confine myself to running. My sweat and tears merged confusingly as I sped across the city like a thief who stole flowers. My informers (a bunch of comedians) had informed me that Sonali’s dad (the villain by the way) was taking her away from me to an unknown place. The train began it’s movement as I reached the station entrance. I dint care to buy a platform ticket but ran, jumping around like Jackie Chan. The train was speeding away from the platform when I spotted Sonali from the train extending a hand towards me with tears flowing through her like a waterfall. I ran and ran, but the train was faster and I couldn’t reach her. Now my 100 bucks worth flowers and my life was totally wasted. So I waited for the next train to enter the platform, and as it came along, I jumped in front of it shouting out loud- “ Sonaaaliiiiiiiiiiii…..”

It was 6 in the morning now, Roshan scratched his head after listening to my story and walked into the bathroom to get ready for college. Then it was my turn, and then we headed to college, where I narrated this story to a bunch of guys who all scratched their heads later and then I headed back home and fell asleep.

At 3 AM, the next morning, I shouted with roof-threatening levels of sound- “Yeahhhhhhhh..!!! I won ‘The Bhaskars’ …. Yeahhhh..!!” which made Roshan waste another jug of water.

Heavy Party..!!

Me and Roshan, after a brain storming session filled with arguments came to the conclusion that we should also include a greeting card along with a birthday present (a monster gorilla) to his neighbour’s kid- Nikil a.k.a Dangerous Darling, on his birthday. We bought a Birthday card on which I was about to write the regular- ‘ With Love from……’ when Roshan interrupted in a way they interrupted marriages in movies. He said to me- “ Even pharmacists are clueless about your hand writing. Give it to me, I’ll write.” A lady standing beside giggled trying to look at the ceiling. I’m basically dust-proof, rain-proof and insult-proof. So, I just walked away. Anyway, after all that non-sense, we entered the party hall, which actually looked like more non-sense. Nikil ran to us and we wished him and presented him the gift and the card & in return he gave us Birthday caps (cones) and paper trumpets (we call it pee-pee). I blew hard with it and all the kids followed suit, which made me close my ears and made their parents’ BP levels rise. People who knew me well enough, in a weird way could conveniently establish the relation between- Parents’ BP levels and me. That didn’t make me any prouder, but as I said, I was insult-proof.

Anyway, they served us a ‘Welcome Drink’. Holding the drink we found a seat for ourselves. While I could finish a glass of juice in 4 seconds, Roshan takes 4 minutes. He’s like a lazy senior citizen. Meanwhile one known ‘aunty’, who was extra-large in size came by and said to me with a wicked, disgusting smile- “ You have gained weight. You were so good looking.” The happiest person on earth at that point of time, Roshan replied- “ Aunty, I have a six pack. Did I tell you? ”
Aunty smiled and looked at me waiting for a reply. I thought about many replies but said- “ He has a six pack. I have a family-pack.” She laughed but wasn’t amazed. Who cares?



Then, dinner was ready for me and I was ready for dinner. My plate got so jam-packed that I couldn’t even see the plate. I found a seat to hog on to the stuff on my plate. Meanwhile the kids put color papers and some scrap on my head and took snaps. They loved me like hell. I was reminded of the joke- “I have just returned from a children's party. I'm one of the survivors.” Roshan dint find any girl, so he sat quiet. He suddenly went to a two year old kid and started talking- “ chu chu chu… chu chu chu…” and I began to wonder who was two year old. Meanwhile that extra-large aunty came by along with her daughter. She pointed at me and told her daughter- “ Go ask him if that is a basket ball or his tummy.” They both giggled. They themselves were extra large and that tested my ‘insult-proofing.’ It was time to show my ‘man-ness’. I looked out for Roshan for company but he had already found a girl and was talking some crap like how much he liked ice-creams.

Anyway, I walked to that aunty and her daughter. The children just started singing- “ Humpty Dumpty…” I asked aunty curiously- “ Aunty, do you measure your weight in a weighing machine or a Richter scale?” and sang along “Humpty Dumty sat on a wall…” with the kids.

Gesticulating A Bribe..!!

The clock struck 7 when I woke up. I opened the main door, walked into the lawn with a yawn. I stood there and stretched trying for a peek at the rising sun. As I did that I noticed some object, thin like a cane, white in color with the sun in the background hurling towards me. Anything that’s hurling towards me was danger, of course. I wondered if it was a terrorist attack or if it was my ex- girl friend’s handy work. I pushed the panic button and went on a mission- Run-for-your-life. I turned around to run, but before I could gather any further thoughts or paces, it hit me on the back of my head and rebounded on to the ground. I dint fall and die at once. So, I looked around cautiously and then contemplated the object. I almost kicked myself when I observed that it was the newspaper, rolled and launched by my paper guy. I grabbed the newspaper and walked to the raised compound wall to find the paper guy. He stood with his bicycle wearing a straight face maybe wanting to kill me in real. I made an inverted hook with my eye-brow and gave him a hard long stare like a 1972 villain. It would have looked more poignant if someone flashed a red-light on my face. But anyway, he stood silent and made continuous movements with his head, looking at me for a second and looking at the ground for another second. I got a feeling he was run by a malfunctioned battery or something. Before I could say anything, he said sorry and escaped.

I went back in to the lawn, jumped onto the recliner. I unfolded the newspaper to see who died, who did a fraud, who kissed Rakhi Sawanth and to check the humour column (I mean, our politicians’ statements). The headline “ Seat belts compulsory for four-wheelers- Traffic Police” caught my eye. I live in a city where a day without a traffic jam is like a burger without the bun. I mean, the maximum speed I could achieve was about 30 kms/hr. All that a seat belt could do is to hold you back for a second thought in case you felt like running away getting mad of traffic. For me, seat belts in a city made no sense. On the other hand, there’s no such rule on a highway, where it at least made some sense. As the joke goes- “ If you can’t tighten your brakes, you make your horn louder” our government follows suit. They don’t repair roads but they impose a helmet rule (for instance). And this one- “ You are invited for lunch tomorrow. By the way it’s your funeral tonight.” I’m talking about the rosy post-dated cheque the government offers to the dead person’s family.


Anyway, I walked back inside, showered, readied myself to leave for a friend’s marriage function and left. I drove my car along at 20 kms/hr without a seat belt and with no prizes for guessing at all, a traffic police inspector spotted & stopped me. “Oh these idiotic pot bellies..” I said to myself and pulled up the car by the pavement. “Bring your Driving license and Insurance papers here,” he demanded. I searched for my license card and found it. I examined the web-cam-captured-photo on my License card and got irritated all over again. I looked like one of those Arab terrorists after being captured & tortured. When I found the insurance papers, I was amazed to realize that my car was insured while I was not. But anyway I was still a student. So, with both the documents I walked up to that damn inspector. He examined them and said to me as if he was so hurt by my bad behavior- “ You look to be educated and decent. Why do you break the rules?” Man, if he deduced that I look decent by looking at that photo, he should immediately be shown to a neurologist. Anyway, he almost cried at me and asked-“ Why sir? Why? No seat belt?” I tried to remember the last instance when my own parents got so worried about me. I couldn’t even remember.

He then finally, like as if he lost speech, told me- “500 rupees sir.”

“What the f……” I controlled myself before I could say that word and continued-“ What? How much? Why?”

He said bluntly- “That’s the fine. No seat belt, illegal number plate and the tinted glass is too dark.”
Crap. These idiots come up with something or the other. I wanted to say to him –“ I’m not educated nor decent. Will you give me a concession?” But I dint. It’s better not to mess with these ‘drum bellies’. I said- “ I have just 100 rupees with me” though I had much more.

“No Sir. The fine is 500 rupees”, he said.

It looked like a silly game when I repeated my sentence for another 5 to 6 times, he too repeated his sentence that many times. But then, after few more repetitions in different tones, the deal was done. 100 rupees. For a fact, I’m very talented. But the point is, this was a bribe, not a fine. The actual fine would have also just come up to around 200 bucks, not 500, but one just couldn’t argue with these traffic inspectors. More you argue, more the fine would grow.

Meanwhile, as I searched for the 100 bucks, a beggar came by and begged for money. I digged out Rs110 and passed it to the beggar and told him to keep 10 bucks and pass the rest to the police guy. He did so promptly.
Before the policeman could realize my heartfelt gesture, I escaped from there just like my paper guy.

14, 40, 86 and dead. Still a Social Servant..!!

My age was 14. I was known for my social service.

Class 9, section ‘A’, 3:30 pm, History class. What fed our ears were- occasional snores, whispered gossips and somewhere in the background the voice of our teacher who was somewhere in a battlefield in or around the 1900’s. Sitting next to me on my left was the school captain. He was staring at his pen with his chin on the bench since more than ten minutes now. I whispered to him- “What did you have for lunch?” Dint get a reply. I bent forward to look at his face. To my astonishment he was sleeping and that too with half an eye open, like a devil. I realised history was better, so opened my ears for some history lessons. Only then I realized that ma’am was actually dictating notes. So, bad luck. I then, looked to the guy on my right, Roshan. He was smiling but sleeping. Weird guy, really. I imagined a bash on his silly face. It felt nice. Then, I scanned around my surrounding benches only to find a few more of such sleeping Einsteins and a few irksome faces giving me a stare as if they saw my face after 500 years. I couldn’t sleep while the sun was out, that was my main problem. Also, I felt bad for the teacher. But mainly, I was known as the guy who had a golden heart.
I took a deep breath, bashed on Roshan’s smiling, sleeping face and immediately stood up and said loud- “ Ma’am I have a doubt.” Roshan looked clueless.

This move was like pouring ice-cold water on sleeping people. Everyone woke up in astonishment. “WTF? Arjun has a doubt?” was the line doing the rounds. A few pinched on my back. “He doubted history? Oh my god!” were also making rounds. Ma’am was almost about to shed tears of joy, but controlled herself and asked- “What’s that doubt, my boy?”

There were [(61*2)+2] eyeballs gaping at me. I looked at my watch, it was about 10seconds for the bell. On the other hand I dint want to disappoint my fans (classmates).

While everyone wondered what could be that mystery behind history that I was about to ask, I looked at ma’am, smiled and asked- “ When is Sports day?” Trrnnggggg.. The bell rang. There was a huge roar in the class and everyone laughed with words like- jackass, stupid, dumbo,…etc emanating from here and there. Ma’am was staring at me with a weird expression as if she had just spotted the joker in a circus and finally said in disgust- “ What stupid bunch of guys these are!” and left the class. Poor lady, she would say nothing worse.
Everyone packed their bags, and while leaving they all said to me- “ Thanks macha, for waking us up. Thanks for the social service.” I thought of giving them flowers but just said- “ That’s my pleasure. Now get lost.”



My age was 40. I was known for social service.

4pm. Me, my mom and my wife. A saree showroom.

For the first time in my life, I was reminded of the fact that I too was just a normal human being and I too make mistakes. I mean, I just couldn’t believe that I was there for saree shopping with two women. I was sitting in the waiting hall since two hours now, while the dangerous duo of ‘daughter-in-law and mother-in-law’ were selecting sarees to purchase. There were two more middle-class gentlemen to my left who also wore expressions of helplessness, waiting for their wives I suppose. I dint know them personally, but we had similar problems at this point of time. That meant we could be friends with just as much as a snap of the finger. Anyway, I stood up and asked them- “ Shall we go have a cup of coffee?” They looked at me as if I said- “ You are released from Central Jail.” We introduced ourselves and left for coffee. We had a nice cup of coffee and a plate of samosas and I paid for it. By the time we strolled back to the showroom, we were like friends forever. The guy at the billing counter was watching the cricket match in his small little portable TV. I requested him to turn his TV slightly towards us and he did so without a word. I bought three cups of flavoured ‘American Corn’ and we all ate while we watched the match. Just as we thought we were enjoying this, my lady parade arrived after purchasing 3 sarees. I said to the gentlemen- “It was nice meeting you, but I’m happy to say I’m the luckiest. I’m the first one to leave” and smiled. They fell to my feet and with tears flowing from their eyes and said- “I can never forget this favour of yours for my lifetime, Sir. I’ll build a temple in your name.” No, they actually dint say that. They just said- “ Thank You Sir. It was a pleasure meeting you. And yeah! Thanks for the social service.”


My age was 86. I was known for social service.

On a hospital bed. Breathing heavily. Lost into thoughts.

After all the ups and downs in life I went back to my native village to spend the rest of my life. My son was one useless human being. One thing he dint do is- kick me out of his house mainly because I came out before he would do it. So, here in my village, the news had spread that I had written a ‘will’ which says- all my property and the fields would go to the farmers of my locality after I die. Every morning, when I sat outside my small house reading a newspaper, I used to be greeted by the farmers passing by with– “Good Morning babuji.” But it sounded more like- “When will you die babuji?”
I also had read somewhere that- “When you've told someone that you've left them a legacy the only decent thing to do is to die at once.”

So here I was, lying in a hospital bed as weak as a dog’s tail and coughing away long and hard. With every minute my breath became shorter, my coughs became louder. Suddenly, I felt the air rushing out of me, I coughed loudly and forcefully and that was my last breath.

Now here I am, dead in the coffin. A farmer came by, spread a garland on my body, came close and cried softly- “ Though you died so late, you left us all with a future and happiness. Thank you babuji.” Though he sounded real, I would have slapped him if I was alive. He continued- “ We farmers will always remember your social service.”
So, my next destination is Heaven, of course. Looking forward for some social service there.


(Now, I hope you don’t have hearts made of stones. So, don’t abuse me for this totally senseless piece of crap. That way, you too would be a social servant ;) )

10 seconds later......

“I love rain” I screamed and looked up at the rain and the sky, releasing my hands from the brake.

10 seconds later…..

I saw myself sleeping on the road as if using the pavement as a pillow. A few metres away, the motorbike was sleeping with oil leaking out. Behind it was my friend Roshan, the poor soul who was seated behind me. He too laid flat on his tummy with his hands stretched. It looked as if he was taking blessings from the road divider. We discovered that we were lucky enough to be spared with just minor bruises here and there.

Maintaining my posture, I shouted loudly- “ I love rain.”

He greeted me with stones and said- “ You and your stupid rain.”

“Sorry, the bike slipped and I couldn’t control.”

“Did you bribe to get your driving license?”

“Who said I have one?” I replied with a smile.

Anyway, before any trucks could run over us, we got up, lifted, started the bike and left. On his orders, I slipped to the back seat. It was me who had insisted on this ‘outing-when-it’s-raining’ concept. Hence I was the abuse receiver. Anyway, we continued. The ride was silent for a while.



I was loosing patience, so asked- “ Where are we heading to? Coffee Day right?”

“We would have been traveling to hell if a truck or something was behind us when we fell.” He corrected “sorry, when you made us fall.” He looked restless and said- “ We are heading straight to home where you will order for pizzas.”

“ Anything if you are paying.”

“I’m not paying. Who the hell needed this ride when it’s raining? It’s such a pain in the ass to ride on wet roads. You are paying. I hate rain.”

“Are you from Mars?”

I never get replies for such queries. Anyway, we rode along with silence. I felt like I was dancing. I mean, the way he rides the bike is above atrocious. If this guy had a driving license, what else could be more insulting for mother India?

Anyway,I was getting bored. To my left I saw a temple and asked him – “ Shall we go meet the god?”

“Shut up. One more word, and you will be on your journey to meet god in person.”

I found that line funny- Meet god in person..!! In a weird way, I actually feel much closer to god when he’s riding than when I go to a temple. I basically resemble Gandhi-ji and I follow - "No violence. Only Silence.”, so dint tell him about my feelings.

After 15 minutes, we almost reached home, and he was turning the bike into the street in Rajnikanth style.
And I shouted- “Hey.. Hey...Look out you, ass....”

10 seconds later………….

I found myself sleeping on the road with the pavement as my pillow. A few metres away, the bike was sleeping with the remaining oil leaking out. And Roshan was again taking blessings from the road divider.

Super Raman

The door bell rang at 6 in the morning. I came out of a wonderful dream where in I was riding a bike in Switzerland. I got up and dragged myself to the door to open it. A bell ring was far out of range to wake up my mom and my sister, so I had to open the door. I opened it and it was our car cleaner. He ordered- “ Give the car keys.” I wanted to ask him – “When did u become the owner of my car?” but I spared him and simply passed the keys. He washed the car talking to someone over his cell phone. They spend rs.4000 change on a cell phone when they don’t know how to manage their family for the next meal.

Anyway, I finished my morning activities and went to the gate. He was still cleaning the car wearing an innocent face. He looked at me and said cheerfully- “ What sir? You’ve lost weight..!!”
I checked if anyone had heard that and giggled. No one. I said-“ I’ve stopped eating.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I bought a cell phone. I don’t have any money left.”

Mad fellow, dint understand that and said- “really?”

“ See if you can get me a job.”

“ Come on sir, you must be joking.”

“ Thank God! You have a brain.”

He laughed. He said-“ That movie that I was telling you about last week has now released. Tamil movie. I heard it is super.”

“The movie is super or the movie’s name is super?”

He laughed as if to say- what kind of a dumb ass you are and said-“ Not the name. The movie is super. It’s name is- Billa.”

“Shall we go?”
It's fun sometimes. Away from the expensive multiplexes, silent crowds and all that. 'Watch a mass movie along with the masses'. Sit in an uncomfortable chair, without air conditioning and enjoy the charged atmosphere. I don't mind it once in a while, you see.

“What? You and me?” he asked as if he got an electric shock.

“No. You and my spirit.”

“Ha ha. Sure Sir. We shall go to the Lido theatre.”

“Okay boss.”

“ I’ll come back here in one hour” he said and walked back with a spring in his step.

I entered my home and by now my mom was awake. I told her that I’m going to a movie with ‘Raman’. She asked- “ The car cleaner?”
I said “yes” and quickly walked away to my room. My sister was there and she asked-“ Did your girl friend dump you or what?” and giggled.

I stared at her and said- “ Shut up and go sleep.”

She again giggled and walked away. I got ready. Raman came 5 mins earlier to the fixed time. I got my bike and we started and left. On the way, from behind he asked me over my shoulders-“ Sir, do you have a girl friend?”

“ You know Bipasha Basu?” I asked seriously.

“Yeah. So?”

“I recently broke up with her. I’m seeing my colleague now.” Poor guy dint know I was full of bullshit.

We reached the theatre and it was one of those old style theatres and there was a long queue for the tickets. I said-“ Go fast and stand in the queue.”

“You don’t worry, Sir” he said and walked straight into the theatre’s office room. Meanwhile I parked my bike, returned and stood near the entrance. After a while he came and I ordered him- “ Go fast. Stand in the queue.”

He drew out two tickets from his pocket and showed it to me and said- “ I know the ticket counter guy here.”
I looked at him and wanted to say something witty but refrained. We entered the theatre and he started laughing out loud all of a sudden.
“Now, what happened?” I asked.

“ You broke up with Bipasha Basu??? Hahahaha… Nice joke.”

Oh my god. I should have simply stayed at home.

The movie began and then came the moment where the Hero of the movie arrives and all the other heroes in the theatre whistles. I too put my fingers under my tongue and blew a loud whistle. Raman looked at me in astonishment just like a proud father would look at his son and said –“ Super sir. Super.”
I winked.

After the movie we went to a restaurant. He ate as much as I could have in two days. Of course he knew I was going to pay the bill. Over lunch he asked- “ How was the movie, Sir?”

“Super” I said in his language trying to please him.It wasn’t bad actually. Though I don’t understand tamil much, I know that much that their movies are technically very sound. In fact, far better than bollywood. I conveyed that to Raman and he became blissful as if he had directed that movie or something.

Anyway, after a day of very different kind of fun (for me) we reached home. Just as he was about to leave, he asked-“ Sir, can you lend me rs.1000? I need it, Sir. You can deduct it from my salary.”

I’m a wonderful human being, just if you dint know. More so, I was in good mood. So I counted out the amount and passed it to him.

Now after a month, I realize that that was the last time I met him. He never turned up to work after that. I pictured him spilling all that money in a bar or on a new cell phone. Now, my mom gives me lessons on crap like not to get carried away and so on. My sister keeps pestering me with queries like - “ Remember if you had given rs.1000 to your ex-girl friend by any chance?? Just askin man…She too never came back...” ( I had spent more than 1000 bucks on that bitch. That’s a different matter)

Anyway, I still keep saying- “ I’m a wonderful human being. I helped a poor guy.”On hearing this, one of my friend broke his jaw when he fell down from his chair laughing at me.

Meet The Gods

Me and another three of my friends were recently on a trip to meet the gods of Tirupathi. Though I am not much into prayers and temples kind of stuff, I had no other option but to go with them. One of them, Vikram ( aka Flirt Ram) called me the previous day and said- " You are coming with us to Tirupathi tomorrow. The bus is at 8pm and the tickets are booked. See you at the bus stand" without even letting me reply. Well, those were orders issued by those assholes or rather politely known as friends. I wanted to express my due rights as a citizen of India, so called him back to say -'Screw you. I'm not coming to tirupathi n all'. Dialled his number, the caller tune sang - " All I want to say is they don't really care about us" . He picked up the phone and just as I was about to speak, he said -" Shut up. You are coming." he cut the phone. He deserved a tight bash on his nose.

Our exams had just finished the day before and hence I could guess why these guys wanted to go to Tirupathi. These fantastic friends of mine would go there after every semister exams and drop their exam 'hall-tickets' in the hundi and pray for good results. I used to laugh at it like hell when I had first heard of that, then got used to it, and now I am helpless about it. Man, in India they bribe even God.

Anyway, we met at the bus stand the next day, I gave Vikram one final chance before a nose bash, then left to meet Lord Venkateshwara. We talked all night in the bus and every once in an hour we got an unknown - "Sshhhh..." from behind, which we as irresponsible students dint care for. We reached the place early in the morning and Mr. Vikram guided us to the cottage as if he was a tour guide of that place. Then came the most interesting part- Breakfast. All had 6 items each along with a coffee. When the bill came , all had vanished into the 'hand wash' area leaving me alone. See..?? I went to the restroom, gave the bill to Vikram and said- "You are paying the bill. Thank You." though the 'thank-you' sounded more like 'Fuck You'.

Next we had to go the temple to as I call it -'meeting Lord Venkateshwara'. They dint like me saying that but hell, they wanted me to pay the bill. Screw them. It was a wait of more than 6 hours. I could have watched four english movies in 6 hours, I wondered. Anyway, out of that 6 hours, I slept for 3 hours. The remaining time, I was tackling all the Mr. and Mrs. Pushers. For me, this wait was more about the wonderful laddoo that they give as prasadam. Finally, we met God, they bribed him with their hall-tickets and fell to his feet. I collected and ate the laddoo. There was laddoo in the ghee instead of ghee in the laddoo. I loved it. The three of them had a glow on their faces as if they had already passed with distinctions in the exams. Anyway, it was eleven, so went back to the room, played cards and slept.

Next day was for little sight-seeing. The places were okay, but not really interesting to mention. After lunch, Mr. Vikram bribed Mr.Somebody and got a few extra laddoos for which I had no objection and we descended the hill into the city of Tirupathi. It was 3pm and our bus tickets were for the 11pm bus. We were strolling across a street, a street of half a kilometer having six cinema theatres in it. Now that Lord Venkateshwara will take care of their results, we could watch a movie. The temptations were such. All the six theatres were playing Telugu movies. Two of we four knowing telugu, we watched a movie called 'Ready'(not Reddy). I had to pay for the tickets, obviously. The movie was fun, though I had a torrid time translating those scenes and dialogues to them. Again a few "Sshhh..'s....." from behind. But we hadn't changed into responsible students even after a meeting with God. Anyway, we had dinner in a 3 star hotel when we came to know it was Vikram's treat and then left back to Bangalore, watching the dubbed version of 'Dhoom' in telugu in the bus. More serious the movie became the more we laughed. Anyway, we reached Bangalore early morning. The next few weeks of vacations went on with movies, girl friends and theme parks.

3 months later, came our results. The two guys failed in 2 subjects each. Mr. Vikram failed in four. I, as always, managed with a first class.

" Jai Lord Venkateshwara"

P.S- This is partly fiction. I wrote it when I was in my laziest best. So, don't contemplate too much if it sounded dull. If any of you three guys read this, I hope this is enough for you not to invite me for your next trip to 'Meet The God'. For others, congrats for surviving through the post. Thank You ( This 'thank you' only means- Thank You)

Love In Those Salad Days

(Here’s another fiction. Me as Mr.V’, a Software Professional traveling back to his home town after nearly ten years to meet all his relatives, childhood friends and eventually his (ex)girlfriend. )





My car’s speedo read 120 kms/hr. Cricket commentary running on my car radio. Heaviest rainfall of the season lashing and literally beating down. I was driving back to my hometown after a gap of 10 years.

“India, batting first are yet to lose a wicket with 2 runs on the board after the completion of 1 over.” the commentator announced.

Well, it has been ten years since I last visited my town, ten years since I visited my relatives, ten years since I watched a movie in one of those movie tents and ten long years since I met my girlfriend. She is married now but I can’t somehow muster to say ‘ex-girlfriend’. But wait, none of us could express it to one another , so it was more a kind of vandalism(on my part atleast). Every time I made up my mind to express my love I would put it off with the fear of losing her even as a friend, which eventually landed me into a mess in my life. What foolish people we were……!! Nowadays I get paranoid about her with questions such as -if she had ever loved me or if she ever had such feelings for me. I had always had this assumption that she loved me as much as I did. It definitely appeared so.

“India score 60 for the loss of 2 wickets after 10 overs.” The rain was incessantly pouring down. My car’s wipers were wiping in full swing. Still zooming away I was……………

I still can’t forget the day of her marriage. I sort of repent attending the wedding. It was such a painful thing to be there. How could she not realize my love. I just couldn’t accept that it was a mistake on my part not to convey my love. But why didn’t she do the same??. Anyways, I never visited nor talked to her after that. I realized that my worst fears had come true. Amidst all this I also had this filmi feeling that she should stay happy wherever she was and I should never tell her about my feelings that were towards her.

“India score 140 after the completion of 25 overs with the loss of 3 wickets.” Not bad, I thought. Still raining………….

All the fun we had together, all the wonderful sweets she used to prepare for me, all the never-ending conversations we had, all secret meetings during festivals and all the stares we exchanged during classes, oh how can I forget all those feelings of inchoate love. She had an unforgettable winsome smile. What’s heartening is that there was this innocence in our relationship. I realize that now after I witnessed so many break ups in my present place, a city. Life’s different in a city. And I’m not spared too in the change of lifestyles. SIMPLE and COMPLICATED are two words to describe life in a village/town and a city respectively.
Anyway, I was ambivalent if I have to meet her after a long gap or not. And moreover the main difference of now she being married. I was on tenterhooks. I actually wasn’t really looking forward to it.

“India score 270 for 8 after their quota of 50 overs. Target set is 271.” The score’s ‘okey-dokey’ I said to myself. The rain reduced to a drizzle now…….

I now entered my town, came across my primary school building, which hadn’t changed an iota since my school days. With the dilemma of whether to meet her or not and after more than 2 hours of ‘mind contemplation’ I concluded that I would pass by the street where she stays and if I find her I would talk to her or else ‘forget it’. It was hard cheese for me. I entered the street and proceeded dead slow, recognized her home and had a glance over it and even passed it after finding no one. Just when I thought she wasn’t there, I heard a loud female voice calling me by name. I looked back, it was her hurrying towards me from her small garden. I stopped and got down my car. She came running, she looked so excited to see me after almost a decade, she almost hugged me when she suddenly came back to senses and enquired- “ How are you? Where had you been all these days? I’m so happy to see you today….”
With few more of such enquiries and not so realistic replies from both sides, I decided I must move on. I get quite sensitive and emotional during such circumstances.
I had a nettlesome feel in me which I experienced for the first time in my life. A feel of pain and happiness at the same time. Pain that she wasn’t mine and happiness for she was settled happily.
I said – “I have to leave now. I’ll see you some other time.” rather bluntly and got back into my car.

“India lose the match convincingly. Life becomes very difficult for them after this disastrous series. ” said the commentator. How is my life different , I thought…

Just as I brought the car to ignition, she came close to me and asked rather softly – “On the day of my marriage I observed you being so dull and depressed. And when I came to talk to you, your face and body totally drenched in the rain, why did you just go away? ”

My answer was simple- “It wasn’t only the rain which had drenched my face that day…”