Voices In My Head

Black and White

2012-02-11T12:39:00.001+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 24; the Twenty-Fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is BLACK AND WHITE.

“Do you misshim, dad?”

My 18 yearold son asked as I stood still looking straight at my father’s grave. Thedarkness before the dawn had engulfed the graveyard, a cold breeze lingeredaround as the shouts of a crow filled the air.

“Why do wealways come so early in the morning dad, cant we at least wait for the sunrise?”

“Dad?”

His words orthe crows’ shouts, I was deaf to all the sounds around me, standing at the footof the grave I looked at the tree that stood at the other end of the grave.

“Do you misshim, dad?”

“Ah?”

“Do you misshim?”

I smiled asI put my arms around his shoulder, looking at the grave for a brief moment Iturned to him,

“I grew upmissing him.”

“I don’tunderstand?”

“My father,he was with this company which made him travel all around the country sellingsome sort of electronic boards. He would visit us once in six months, stay fora week and then leave again to travel the country.”

“Wow! I wishI can score a job like that, it would be one exciting affair.”

“I agree,when I was around 10 all I did was dream of travelling like him, not just Indiabut travelling the world would be a dream job.”

“Man, grandda sure had an awesome job.”

I smiled asI let the words float around in my head, nodding with a soft voice I spoke

“He was myhero then.”

Noticing myeyes well up, Sid spoke

“You reallydo miss him.”

“Ah. I don’tbelieve that.”

“Look atyour eyes dad you are about to weep like a girl, come on.”

I smirked athis comment and turned towards the grave

“I am notsad because I miss him, I am sad because I never had him.”

“Trust medad, having someone always overlooking you is over hyped.”

“Smart, butnot quite enough to push me away.”

“Well it wasworth a try.”

I turnedaway from Sid and stared at the grave, letting my silence take over theconversation.

“Oh, pleasedon’t be so serious dad; you know I was just joking.”

“Humor, oneof my many traits you have inherited. I know Sid.” I smiled at him andcontinued

“I justremembered something.”

“Waves of memoriesgushing in your head” he tried to mimic my voice

“Drops ofmemories trickling in”

“Which oneis your favorite?”

“There weretoo few for me to choose a favorite, but there was one day that he spent withme I will never forget.”

“I think Iwas twelve when I decided that I wanted to grow up to become India’s premierleg spin bowler. I spent a good chunk of my free time bowling at a single wicketin a playground near my house.”

“All byyourself?”

“Yes, all by myself. I wanted to be thedefinition of dedication. I would run to the ground right after lunch andpractice till the sun went down. Thatday was also like no other I reached the ground, hammered the wicket andstarted bowling. Almost an hour hadpassed when an elegant white car stopped near the ground, I couldn’t control myjoy when I saw appa walk out the car.

He shouted as he walked towards me ‘I thinkyou are missing a batsman, cricket usually has a batsman.’

“Ya but there is no batsman who has the gutsto face my spin”

“Smart, but not quite enough to push meaway.”

“I didn’t bring a bat, appa”

“Well I brought one with me; now give me yourbest”

You know, I bowled my best that day; hecouldn’t hit a single shot. I got him out at least 50 times that evening. Eachtime he got out, he would nod his head in respect and commend my ability tospin the ball. Leg spin, goggly, flipper, I surprised him with all my tricks.He finally gave up and asked me to bat.

He bowled one loose ball after another I hitthem all out of the park. I had him running all around. Finally tired he walkedup to me and said

“I am just glad I got to play with the bestcricketer I have ever seen.”

It was the first time he had ever played withme and I turned out to be better than him, my hero, my appa.

We walked back to car and he drove me to anice-cream parlour nearby, I remember I took a chocolate ice-cream and heordered a butter scotch. I never understood the reason for other flavours whenthere was chocolate and I shook my head in disapproval as he ordered butterscotch.

“Appa, I am going to grow up to be the bestbowler in India.”

“With the way you play, you will be the bestin the world.”

Nothing could stop me I thought; I had hisblessings after all.

I smiled at him and spoke as we watched thesun go down the horizon

“I am so happy you came, appa”

“Nice”

"Nice?"

“Butwhat happened to the whole dream of becoming the best cricketer?”

“Well I turned 18 one day and realized therewere far more interesting balls around than the cricket ball.”

“Oh good God, did my dad just say that? Didyou just say that, and I thought I was the cool teenager here.”

“Don’t tell your mom I said that”

We both broke into laughter looking at eachother and shaking our heads.

“Can we go now dad please, it is so coldhere.”

“Giveme just ten minutes you go wait in the car.”

“Okay”

As he walked away he stopped for a second andturned back to me and spoke

“Thanks dad for sharing that special day ofyour life.”

“Well…”

“After listening to your story I am just gladI have a lot more than one such day to tell my kids about.”

“The day one can never forget in our life.”

I smiled as he walked away, I was proud ofhim. I was proud of myself, the greatest gift I had given myself and to him wasthe time I had spent with him.

As he walked away I turned towards the grave,standing by the side I looked down at the grave, the words ‘The Day I willnever forget’ bounced in my head.

I remember that day like it was yesterday, Iwas 28 when one day appa called me up at 4 in the morning. Thoughts of meetinghim or not waged a battle in my head, pulling myself up from the bed I decidedto meet him. I called him to ask him where he was only to be shocked tolearn that he was waiting for me near my mother’s grave. The mindis always fast to think negative and fill imagination with images that promptworry and fear in the heart.

Getting down from the car I walked past theunguarded gate to enter the graveyard, the dark of the night and the fear of the unknown prompted me to look back to check if someone walked behind me, findingmy way using a torch light I walked to the grave to be welcomed by sounds ofshoveling. My worst nightmares looked to have come true when I saw appa down inthe hole digging it deeper.

“Appa, what are you doing?” I asked with fearlaced in my voice

“Oh, you are here. Come here give me a hand.”

“Everything okay? What are you doing?”

“You know all those movies that have the samedialogue, 6 by 3 is all one needs at the end, none of them tell you howdeep the hole should be. I am always confused.”

“I think we should leave appa, I think youare stressed.”

“Stressed? I have always been stressed.”

“Where is the guard, how did they let you diga hole here?”

“The guard, don’t worry about him I boughthis day and sent him away.”

“What’s happening appa, you are starting toscare me.”

“I wanted us to be alone here. I wanted totalk to you.”

“We could talked at home, we could talked onthe road but here?”

“I have been stressed for a long time my son,tired and stressed. I feel heavy filled with guilt. I need to confess today.”

“Guilt I can understand but here…”

“Let me finish, let me talk.”

“I have been tired from the day you wereborn. I was not made to be a father, heck! I was not made to be a husband either.I hardly remember your childhood…”

“Well you were not around much to remember…”

“Yes, travelling around the country away fromthe two of you. I confess I used to feel a sense of relief every time I walkedaway from the house but the guilt of feeling relief would tear me apart. Ihated you both for filling me up with guilt.”

“I didn’t know you called me here to insultme and my mother at her grave. You were never my father you will never be one.”

I turned away in disgust to walk when hecalled out

“Wait, listen to me I need to confess today.Listen to me, you owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Just listen to me, come here, whose grave isthis?”

“That is my mother’s grave even you knowthat.”

“How did she die?”

“You know how, she had complications with herhealth, one of those rare moments when we both spent

days together.”

“She didn’t die of complications son, Ikilled her.”

“Stop talking, just shut up.”

“Listen to me, I killed her, I killed herslowly and painfully.”

“The only reason stopping me from slappingyou is that fact that you are my father. I am leaving now.”

“Wait listen to me, let me tell you a story. Wait a second let me tell you a story."

"When I married your mom she was very young, 23 or 24 I think. Full of dreams,filled with energy, her smile captured my imagination. We had an arrangedmarriage but we still managed to go around, movies, hotels, parks. I alwaysheld her hand, soft fingers that curled against mine, she was my angel.”

"I meant the world to her, her mornings her whole day was dedicated to me. Everything looked so perfect then."

“After we got married, her priorities lookedto be changing slowly. She started spending all her time caring for my mother,who fell sick, slowly fights sprouted in our marriage. A kid might easethe tensions your mother tricked me one ill night. You were born and after thather world was just you. I was suddenly not important anymore.”

“Youdisgust me appa…”

“Attention I wanted attention all I cared wasabout my feelings. I told you I was not meant to be a father or a husband.”

“I started to travel; I fell in love with mytraveling. I fell in love with the ladies around me, I left you both toyourselves, but as the days passed suddenly you felt the need for me; she feltthe need for me. How could I come back and forgive her, Iwanted her to feel the same dejection I felt. I let you grow fatherless and herage husband-less.”

“I killed her I know and now the guilt eatsme from inside. “

I stood looking down at my mother’s grave, Iwas too disgusted to look at my father. His words played in my head, the effectof his words filled my eyes to set rolling drops of tears down my cheeks.Rubbing my tears I tried to control more from flowing.

“And I was a fool to think of you as my herogrowing up.”

“Don’t tell me that, don’t give me any beliefthat I was a father to you for even a single day.”

“Do you know which is the day I hate themost, the day I came down to play cricket with you when you were young. The dayI smiled, the day I laughed with you, the day I felt proud of you, the day Ifelt like a father to you. I hated myself for letting in those foreign emotionsinto my heart, I hated that day for making me feel guilty when I walked awayfrom you.”

“How many do you think would come looking foryou if I killed you now, son.”

“Don’t you dare call me son and don’t eventhink of it, at least a hundred will come to hunt you down.”

“How many do you think will come looking forme if you killed me now.”

“Your silence answers my question, I laughedat those fools out there back in those days and today I die alone in my tears.”

“Do you know who lies in that grave?”

“No I don’t.”

“Rose, your mother’s best friend, I used tovisit her once every month. I was her world, with her eyes always looking forme and her hands entangled in mine, she spent her life making me happy.”

“Now I know why she killed herself.”

“I murdered her but she brought it uponherself.”

“Don’t be shocked, the strength one gets whenyour life is at stake when all hope is lost is amazing. She was alone andlooked depressed to others so nobody suspected a thing.”

“We had it all till one day she asked me tomarry her.”

“Marriage I tell you don’t ever get one, butyou here, you are ready to get married in a few days now.”

“How is your girl friend?”

“That is none of your business.”

“This is the reason I called you here, don’tget married son, you are my blood, my genes and you can never be a good husbandto anyone.”

“That is not true, you are not my father Ican hardly recognize you.”

“I was the same when I was your age, you willturn out exactly like me, a lousy husband and a nonexistent father. You can tryall you want but you will never be happy married to her.”

“I am not you.” I shouted out in anger

“Shout all you want but the blood that flowsremains the same. You will end up killing that girl like I killed your motherand Rossy aunty.”

“I am not you.” I shouted out in anger and in the fit of extreme rage that filled my head I hit his legs hard with the shovel that lay on the ground.

Clenching his teeth he fell to his knees,blood oozed out of his knee caps but he managed to smile at me,

“You think you are different but you are the sameas me.”

I had lost control over my actions, years ofanger along with the words he spoke brought a gush of hatred in me, with a hardswing to his head I brought him down to the ground.

As his head hit the ground he mumbled softly

“You think you are different I know you aretoo, I know you will not grow up to be like me.”

I fell to my knees as a sense of fear grippedmy heart, as I went close he managed to speak again

“The day that I spent with you cherish itplease, I wanted to let you take my life, I owed it to you.”

In silence I pushed him down the hole he haddug, as I buried him under the mud I started to feel what he had meant earlier,the strength one finds when your life is at stake can leave one surprisedwondering if we had it in there all along.

Therays of the rising sun slowly started to hit the ground, I stood by a treesapling that looked to be planted only that day, I watched the sun rise tobring in a new day, the light that spread around cleared any darkness that wasleft of the night away.

“Thank you for coming, my son” his last wordsechoed in my head as I walked away from the grave.

“What took you so long dad?”

“Nothing I just remembered something.”

“Another special day?”

I smiled and sat silent behind the steering wheel.

“Can I ask you something dad?”

“Ya sure.”

“What do you think every time you come hereand stand in front of the grave? How do you feel?”

“It just reminds me of the fact that a person's life can have shades of both black and white, it is the balance in them that isthe secret to a happy life.”

“Wow! You should write a book dad.”

I smiled as I turned to him

“And to answer your second question, I feel adeep desire to be a better father.”

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Novel Idea

2011-07-04T22:21:00.004+05:30

Chapter 1

The soft banging of the window tried to wake me up; a cold wave of breeze slid in through the open window, and filled up the room along with the blanket of darkness that the night had brought with it.

My toe poked around the foot of the bed in search of a blanket; a thin film of the cold breeze began to settle down on the soft cotton of the pajama that sheltered my legs.

The sheets that covered the bed grew colder with each gush of breeze that entered the room.

On finding a blanket lying orphan, I pulled it over my head and lay still within the walls of the blanket.

The blanket has always had reassuring warmth to it, as a kid growing up I have always felt safe hiding in the darkness of the blanket.

Within the walls of the blanket it felt like a comfortable world, the familiar sounds of my breathing, the rhythmic beats of my heart, all reassuring me that I was still alive, the fear of monsters eating me alive, fell asleep within those blanket walls.

The silence of the night speaks out loud, I always believe.

Moving around and yet keeping the silence intact is an art.

The rustle of the leaves or a soft sigh are mighty enough to butcher the silence that envelope surroundings.

“Could you close the window Sid?” Sanjana asked as she tried to hug the blanket tighter.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I looked around the room. My eyes felt comfortable, they chose not to blink profusely. A sense of comfort seemed to settle down in my heart.

Something had changed enough in the room to bring a feeling of calm to my soul.

The darkness that had engulfed the room was new to me. I sat silent looking straight at the wall.

There was a soothing feeling to the darkness of the night, no phones vibrating, no questions of trust to defend, no demands to respond, no bright lights hurting, no traffic to hold me back.

Alone with just my voice filling up my head, thoughts taking birth in my heart trying to talk its way into my head, blissful the feeling brought waves of happiness to my heart.
How I had longed for those moments solitary with just the voices in my head for company and the dark of the night for comfort.

Fascinated I have always been by the effect night has had on everyone, the shadow devoid darkness that covers the streets, the fear it brings within, the feeling of time starting to slow down in those dark nights. My friend, my companion, she shares my secrets, asks no questions and has always listened to my thoughts.

As I searched for the light switch I glanced out of the window to notice the street light that lit my room every night had blown out giving way to the new guest, the darkness in my room.

I pulled my hand away from the switch and walked in the lightless room. Stretching out my arms I tried to hug her, my legs hopped in hope of a dance, romancing the darkness, the thought had my lips part a little to make way for a smile on my face.

I stood holding the railing of the window and looked straight out at the blown out street light.

I had spent hours on my terrace looking at the trembling yellow light the bulb put out every night. Many a minutes I had spent dreaming of hurling a stone at the flickering bulb.

The sly flickering light always slid past my thick curtains and danced in my room, waking me up on numerous occasions.

The street lights ruin the essence of the night, I have always felt.

Arms crossed I turned and stood looking at Sanjana.

There seemed to be a hint of a smile on her face, her sparkling eyes now shut, soft fair cheeks resting on the fluffy pillow, she looked peaceful in her sleep.

Love at first sight it was for me, the word beauty for once had fallen short of describing her smile.

“Why did she keep the window open on such a cold winter night?” I shook my head.

Walking away from the window I looked at Sanjana.

On my knees I sat looking at her, her baby pink shirt missing a button revealed to the world her fair bosoms. I bent down to place a soft kiss on them, played my fingers on them gently, moving from one to another. Softly pressing with the tips of my finger on them, I bent down for another kiss.

Aware of my presence, turning away from me, she spoke

“Not now Sid, I have an important meeting tomorrow morning.”

Back in the bed, I struggled to go back to sleep. Desperate for a warm touch, I turned to Sanjana, but my brain tried to communicate the importance of her meeting to my confused heart.

Turning and tossing in my bed, my eyes adamant to close shut; I finally got up and sat on my bed.

A sip of water may be I thought, pushing myself off the bed. I walked out of the room slowly towards the dining table.

Seven years it had been living together but we were yet to master the art of keeping a water bottle close to our bed.

As I picked up the bottle and let a gulp of the cold water hit my throat, I stood motion less trying to feel the cold water make its way to my stomach. Little joys of life, I felt every time the drops of water hit my dry throat. Small gulp after another I tried to feel the cold water gush past my throat,

“Best drink ever” the words echoed in my head as I put back the empty bottle.

A trip to the terrace felt apt, walking up the stairs, I smiled. The silence around was an infant too, taking birth with the death of Sheeba.

Sheeba the street dog that roamed the roads in the dark of the night, howling with all her might and barking at anything that moved, chasing a car or scratching the iron gate, every step of Sheeba irritated me.

Sheeba was found life less in the gutter early morning, a hard rock smashing her head. Watching her lying dead in her pool of blood, it brought a smile to my face.

“The death of that dog will bring me peace.” I had once spoken to my wife’s shock.

She loved Sheeba and fed her regularly.

A hero she was, to have chased down a masked man trying to enter a neighbor’s house one night.

Loved by all, her death had shocked the neighborhood.

“A psycho, he will die a painful death.” My wife had gutted out her disgust at the dinner table.

Smile I controlled from playing on my face.

Sitting on the parapet wall, I looked at the empty street. I smiled, my day had finally arrived. The darkness filled up the street and the silence of the night roamed the streets with no Sheeba to break it down.

Getting up from the parapet wall I walked towards the line of flower pots that decorated the terrace wall. Walking past them with my fingers rubbing the coarse surface, I stopped at a pot filled with broken pieces of plastic mugs. Reaching beneath the pile of the broken plastic, I pulled out my cigarette packet.

Back to my position on the parapet wall with my legs facing the ground 30 feet below, I sat holding a cigarette between my fingers. How I longed for a puff, the desperate feeling to drag in a cloud of smoke into my lungs, I could hardy explain to Sanjana.

Letting out a cloud of smoke I felt at peace.

I never understood the fear in my heart I had for Sanjana, was it out of love? I wondered.

Hiding from the world, fear of getting caught playing bright in my head, I smoked my cigarettes in the dark of the night.

“King, But I smoke a King”, I spoke out loud the brand name but couldn’t help smile at the irony.

Lifting my head up I looked at the night sky, the moonless sky with sparkling white dots spread all across, not new but the view always left me amazed.

I often thought “Could there be someone sitting in one of those sparkling dots, looking up at their sky, and thinking

“Is there someone out there? Are we alone?”

“We always live our lives at eye level, never for a second looking up to may be something bigger than us.” The thought in my head had been there for long.

Pulling my thoughts back to the ground I pulled a last drag at my cigarette.

Carefully dispatching the cigarette butt deep into the mud that filled the flower pot, I turned to look at my neighbor Zoya’s house.

The lights turned out, but the window open, I could see her curtain swaying to the steady waves of breeze.

“My love and my love both think alike.” I smiled looking at the open window.

Jimmy

2010-12-17T20:13:00.003+05:30

Inspiration for me has been the biggest motivation. I once read a story that inspired me so much that I had to write a tribute to it, the story below titled Jimmy is a tribute to 'Mohiniattam' a story by The Fool.

A piece of land by the road side, a field once but now a playground, a green blanket of grass for the cows of the village sit touching the compound walls of Muthanna’s home.

A retired forest officer Muthanna was once the king of the jungle that spread across kilometers of land surrounding Bagamandala. Two well built forest guards always by his side, his trusty gun in his tight grip, the neatly ironed bright green uniform covering his wide frame, a thick moustache symbolizing his pride, watching Muthanna walk the streets of Bagamandala fascinated me.

Muthanna was a man who could send a shiver down anyone’s spine with just one glare, the tigers in the mountains, the elephants in the jungle roamed in fear of Muthanna, I always imagined.

One summer when I was ten, postman Ponappa had told me the story of Muthanna slaying a tiger with his bare hands.

"He encountered the beast on his way back to the forest office from his routine inspection, the animal had gone rogue with attempts of killing humans. Muthanna got out of his jeep stared at the tiger, he pulled out his gun and threw it down on the ground and said “I will give you a fair fight at life. He pounced on the tiger bringing it down with several blows. He took a nail from one of its claws as a trophy and hung it around his neck with a gold chain and walked away without a scratch."

After Ponappa left that day, inspired by Muthanna’s courage I had spent many a days walking around our small estate in search of a worthy contender to battle and spent glorious hours holding a small bug looking at it and saying

“I will give you a fair fight at life.”

Muthanna now retired spent much of his time staying indoors or working in his small coffee farm. A contrast to his glorious past, wearing a dhoti and a white mud covered vest, walked around his farm with a stick in his hand. His wife Kamalamma a school teacher at the Government middle school had a few years before she retired as well. Devoid of kids and no relatives close by, their time was mostly spent with just the two fighting or alone by themselves.

Muthanna having lost all his power, his gun and his kingdom had gotten crankier with each passing year. Every single act of his wife irritated him; the salt never seemed to be enough in the food and the sugar always too much in the coffee. She could try hard but could hardly meet his expectations, she was forbidden from the garden which he maintained with utmost care.

“My plants will die if they look at your face.” He always shouted at his wife.

His wife having to deal with his temper spent a lot of her time praying to lord Bagandeshwara for relief from her irritated husband.

Everyone feared Muthanna, anything could tick him off and nobody wanted to come in his way of furry. His trips to the market always ended with him shouting and threatening to kill one or two. Shopkeepers on seeing him on the streets would jump into a prayer hoping he would not enter their shop.

His smiles had faded, the lines on his forehead increased, stubble on his chin and an aging body, Muthanna was no more the man the jungle beasts had once feared.

Along with his wife the children in the playground by his house also faced the wrath of his anger almost everyday. Although having lost several of their cricket balls to Muthanna the kids still took their chance by coming to the ground every evening.

The sight of the playing kids angered Muthanna, their speeding cricket balls could damage his well groomed coffee plants, dirty his white washed compound wall or break the glass of his windows. A stick in his hand ready to whack any kid who dare enter the compounds of his house, he sat on his door steps sipping his evening coffee but keeping a watchful eye on the kids playing in the ground every evening.

Gowri a four year old dog had littered at the corner of the ground about three months back and three grown up puppies roamed the ground in playful mood. One of the three always strayed away from his mother to find his way to Muthanna’s compound.

Jet black shiny coat covering his body, a white patch on his chest, white on his two front paws making him look like he were wearing a pair of gloves and a small white patch at the end of his black tail like a jasmine blooming from the end of a branch, ‘Jimmy’ he was affectionately called by the boys in the play ground.

Kamalamma on a few occasions had fed the dog a piece of dosa which tempted him to walk towards the compound wall. She had once mentioned of bringing home Jimmy, but Muthanna was in no mood to listen to her demands. He had walked out of the room leaving her alone and heart broken.

Everyday morning standing near the compound wall Jimmy would wait for a while for a piece of dosa. Never had he once wandered in the evening, the boys playing in the ground gave me enough attention to keep him occupied. But one evening he dared to enter the compound walls of Muthanna’s house.

Sitting and sipping his evening coffee Muthanna almost missed the dog enter his expanse. Jimmy walked up to him and barked with affection, startled by the sudden shrill noise Muthanna reached for his cane and without a second thought chased away the dog swinging the cane furiously in the air. Jimmy in fear ran away but he was a excited too of the action that had his heart racing faster.

The next evening he walked up to Muthanna again and the same treatment stood waiting for him. A few days passed but his determination didn’t fail, is it the biscuit in my hand or the smell of my coffee, Muthanna couldn’t point a finger at the dog’s attempt to come back to him every evening.

Jimmy like every evening for the past 10 days walked up to Muthanna one day, dark clouds had filled up the blue sky the sun was forced to disappeared behind a dark cloud that roared in furry, soft gray light covered Bagamandala, thunder and a lighting passed by every minute warning of the heavy rains about to lash on the sleepy village. Muthanna looked at the dog, he stood surprised staring at his wagging tail and his energetic bark. Panting with his tongue rolled out he sat erect on his four legs looking at Muthanna with sparkling eyes and no sign of fear.

Muthanna curious, picked up a piece of biscuit and threw it in the air, Jimmy jumped and caught it before it could land on the ground. Excited by his lightning-quick reaction Muthanna threw another piece at the dog, and this time he jumped even higher in the air to catch it.

Realizing that he was holding the empty coffee glass all this time and had run out of biscuits, he walked into the kitchen to wash his glass. Standing by a cement sink he washed the glass and turned around to get a piece of biscuit. Surprised he stood looking at Jimmy who had followed him in. The dog looked at him with his ears bent, a tilt in his head and his eyes fixed at him.

The clouds in the sky roared and the children in the ground shouted with joy when the first drops of rain hit the ground. Muthanna reached down to the dog and smiled.

He petted him for a few minutes before giving him another piece of biscuit.

“Jimmy you want another one?” he asked the dog.

Jimmy barked in response to earn another piece of biscuit.

They walked out to the front yard, a drizzle of rain welcomed them both. Jimmy jumped out on the ground with his mouth wide open at the sky, running around in circles trying to catch the drops of rain in his mouth. Muthanna stood for a few minutes smiling and watching him, not in any mood to control him self he joined Jimmy, running behind him trying to catch him. Excited, Jimmy joined in the game of ‘catch’ with Muthanna and ran around faster. The walls of the compound, the air in the front yard, his dear coffee plants and the cold iron gates all heard the sound of Muthanna’s laughter for the first time in many years.

Kamalamma running back from school was surpised to hear the sound of laughter echoing of her compounds walls, she reached the gate and stood shocked looking at her husband laughing and running behind a dog. Her prayers were finally answered, in shock she stood but a smile took birth on her face, her brow relaxed from the tension it covered, her shoulders felt light as she watched her husband smile.

She stood there quite not wanting the moment to end, fearing her presence might anger her husband.

Muthanna realizing his wife’s entry stopped his game and looked at her with a smile, he smiled at her and called Jimmy at once. Kamalamma could hardly remember the last time Muthanna had smiled. She smiled at him and stood looking at the two play as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Jimmy tore away from Muthanna and ran towards her. He pushed at her leg with his nose and nibbled on her toe calling for her attention. She bent down and placed a kiss on his forehead, he barked at her excited.

Muthanna walked up to her and smiled

"I will make some coffee for you come lets go in before it starts to rain heavy."

Kamalamma had never imagined such a day would come in her life. The dark clouds in her life seemed to have parted away and the smile of the bright sun glowed on her face.

As they walked into the house they stopped and turned to see Jimmy following them in, Muthanna bent down patted his head and smiled at him. He was about to go in when a cricket ball bounced into the compound, terrified kids lined up near the gate with no hope of getting their ball back.

Tossing the ball in the air and catching it, Muthanna walked up to them, following him close stood Jimmy looking at the kids.

He threw the ball back to the kids and said

“I will give you all a fair fight at life.”

Not understanding what he had said but happy to have the ball back the kids ran shouting out in joy. The clouds rumbled and a steady fall of rain touched the ground.

Muthanna smiled and stood at the gate watching the kids run back into the streets leading to the market as lights on the streets lit up and slowly walked out the cloudy evening welcoming the moon lit night.

Good Bye

2010-08-07T00:33:00.002+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 13; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

"I am sorry Mr. Ragavan, but we have tried our level best." the doctor patted my shoulder, as I sat hiding my face with my hand.

"I suggest you spend the night with her, we really can't predict the night ahead." he walked away leaving me alone with my tears that rolled down my cheeks.

I sat there for a few minutes with wet eyes, the time spent with her over the last 35 years flashed in a series of colourful images in my head.

I looked at the empty corridors of the hospital, the cold metal chairs, each of them have a story of misery to tell, I thought for a moment.

I pushed myself off the chair with all the strength I had and walked into the room.

The squeak of the door opening, woke her up, her hands were stretched along her body. Tubes with pins poked into her skin, she lay on the bed with a calm expression on her face. I walked across the room to close the window and ward off the cold breeze that crept in. Her tired eyes looked at me as I walked up to her, a hint of smile seemed to play on her face as I reached closer to her. I sat by her side finding it hard to control my tears, she looked at me, with the little strength she had, she lifted her palm and tried to pat mine. An effort to comfort me from the thoughts of losing her. The tears gushed out of my eyes as I saw her trying to make me feel better even at this physical state.

I bent down and kissed her forehead, she seemed to push herself close to me to say

"Don't worry Raaghu, nothing will happen. You just stay by my side tonight."

I kissed her again and replied "I am always by your side Lakshmi."

"I want to sit up a little." she requested.

I held her and helped her sit up with her back resting against a pillow. As I helped her, I looked at her finding it hard to accept that once a strong women now lay on the bed finding it hard to sit up. I held her for a second more making her feel comfortable of my support, I placed my palm softly on top of hers and sat looking at it in silence for a few minutes.

"Final good bye." she broke the silence with her soft voice finding it hard to breathe.

"Please don't say such things." I spoke out at once.

She smiled and tried to hold my fingers with hers, looking at them she spoke

"Do you remember our first good bye."

"How can I forget." I held her hand a little firm.

"Those magical days I remember them like it was yesterday...

"Ragavan you are late again, our student has not been able to use the typewriter for the last one hour. Can you please check?"

I was a typewriter mechanic and you a student. Although we lived in the small town of Madikeri, I had never seen you before that day. You sat on the stool with your head down writing something in your hand book. Not looking up even for a second as I walked up to you. I opened up the typewriter and you just moved away a little.

"You remember?" I asked her with a teasing smile

She smiled back, "I didn't feel the need to look at the mechanic" she spoke softly trying to tease me back.

"This smile Lakshmi, 35 years have passed but it has the same effect on me."

"That day, I can never forget that smile...

I kept trying to look at your face but your eyes had it down not interested to look towards me.

Finally you turned, those jet black eyes, soft cheeks with a blanket of a pink glow over them, curls that fell elegantly over your shoulder and then came those two, those soft lips parting into the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I think I stood silent for minutes just looking at you type.

"I had to tell you a hundred times the typewriter was okay, but you still insisted on staying near it."

"Near you." I patted her palm and smiled.

I finally walked away but kept turning back to see if you would smile at me one more time, I had reached almost the door and was about to step out when you looked up, waved Goodbye and smiled at me one more time.

"I remember I reached my cycle and jumped in the air with my fist held up high excited that you smiled at me."

She looked at me, I held her palm and we both broke into soft laughs trying to re-live the past moments of sheer joy.

"Nikhil is at home?" she asked with her soft voice.

"Yes, I asked him to take Arnav home, he has school tomorrow morning."

She nodded and sat silent for a minute looking at the blanket that covered her pale body.

"School. You remember Nikhil's first day at school." she asked me trying to pull herself up a little

"Oh yes, he could never say Goodbye to you." I replied helping her sit up.

"The crying, the words...

"Amma promise amma, I will go from tomorrow." he pleaded with you.

Plump, fair boy, those same black eyes of yours, red cheeks that tempted everyone to kiss them. A green cap and a napkin pinned to his...

what was it, a superman t-shirt?

That Mickey mouse bag on his soft shoulders and big fat tears in his eyes.

He just wouldn't leave you, the teacher literally dragged him away and he came running out of the class to you crying,

"Amma promise amma, I will go from tomorrow."

The teacher then lifted him off to the class room and shut the door and I had to pull you away from the window.

"Four hours I tried to console you but your tears wouldn't stop." I patted her palm

"I felt like I was breaking a piece of my heart away." she replied looking into my eyes.

I smiled away

"You remember, the airport when he was flying away to The States for higher studies."

He had walked into the Check-in counter, we were supposed to leave but you insisted on staying for a few more minutes. You stood there like you had near that window on his first day of school, and suddenly he came running out of the Check-In counter to you, hugged you and said

"Amma promise amma, I will go from tomorrow."

We both broke into soft laughs as she spoke

"He then said Good bye and I stood there waving to him with tears in my eyes but a smile on my face."

"Arnav is exactly like Nikhil" she concluded.

"His birthday is next month, he was asking if we'll buy him a red car."

She smiled and spoke

"His birthday...

The day we saw him on his first birthday when we went to visit them in Bangalore. Nikhil walked up to us and put him in my arms, those big eyes looking straight at us, trying to recognize us, those soft cheeks as fair as milk, that small nose and pink lips. He was a prince, the cutest baby. His tiny fingers and his small hands trying to hold your finger and Nikhil, he was so happy.

Arnav, the last five years he has added new energy to our lives.

"You buy him a red car tomorrow Raaghu, and tell him its from me. I may not be here next mon..."

"Please lakshmi" I cut her before she could complete her sentence.

She smiled,

"Raaghu as I sit here and think back at the last 35 years, the time spent, the laughs, the smiles, the tears that flowed. All the images that flash before my eyes, I see you by my side sharing them all with me." she spoke with a smile on her face but her eyes full.

"Lakshmi, Lakshmi" I kissed her forehead finding it hard to control my own overflowing emotions.

"Raaghu I don't know what will happen tomorrow, tonight might be my final Goodbye. I want you by my side." she tried to lean on me.

I pushed myself to her side and allowed her head to rest on my shoulder and spoke

"I am going no where Lakshmi, I am by your side. You take rest, we'll talk tomorrow morning. Nothing will happen Lakshmi." I kissed her head.

She smiled a little and lifted her head to look at me.

I got up and helped her back to sleep on the bed, I sat by her side with my palm holding hers.

"Raaghu thank you." she spoke softly

"What for?" I asked a little surprised.

"For making my life a beautiful one. If I leave tonight I bid Goodbye to all with a smile on my face but you all remember to send me off with one on your face. I have lived a very happy life Raaghu." she smiled

"Lakshmi, nothing will happen." I bent down and kissed her forehead still trying to console and conceal myself from the harsh truth that stood in front of me.

"Smile for me once, please Raaghu."

I looked at her and smiled, bent down and kissed her cheeks.

"Sleep now Lakshmi, take rest please."

She closed her eyes with a smile on her face. I got up from the bed and switched off the lights. Darkness engulfed the room for a minute, but the full moon light finding its way in through the glass window pushed out the darkness.

I walked back to the bed and sat there for an hour looking at her face in the pale blue light.

Till date she has looked the most beautiful to me, not a single moment could I think of feeling sad or depressed, she was always there by my side consoling me back to my happy self.

Looking at her lying on the bed, a moment of helplessness hit me, desperate i felt. She lay in pain, nothing could I do but just watch time take her away from me with each passing minute. Tears rushed down my eyes and I held her hand tight. A strong gush of sadness hit me and I suddenly felt empty like I had lost everything in life.

I looked at her face, she lay in front of me with a hint of a smile and no sign of pain on her face.

With trembling hands I tried to feel her pulse but found none. I wanted to shout out and cry in pain but her last words played in my head.

I called out for the doctor, but sat there holding her hand knowing that she had left us all.

I looked at her, bent down and placed one last kiss on her forehead and sat by her side with her last words echoing in my head but tears rolling down my cheeks.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Stars of Bagamandala

2010-07-30T23:10:00.008+05:30

"Chetimani, Chetimani, come quickly." the conductor shouted.

"Bagamandala 8 Kms" read the mile stone.

"Bagamandala" the voice sang out in my head. I was going back to my roots, to my village, after a long gap of 10 years.

Bagamandala, a small village in the far end of Coorg district is the place I spent most of my childhood with my grandparents.

Tall green mountains in the background, sparkling waters of river Kaveri cutting across, green paddy fields on one side of the road and rich coffee plantations on the other. I often tell my friends in Bangalore how Mother Nature has been too kind to the people of Bagamandala.

I lowered the window, and immediately a strong gush of cold wind hurried in and slid into my shirt. It seemed to hug me, the chill that it left felt familiar; it whisked past my ear and seemed to whisper

"Welcome back home."

The bus stop in front of the Bhagandeshwara temple forms the centre of the village. A road runs to its right and turns into a stretch of small shops, coffee curing works, few houses and a small hotel.

I got down from the bus and started to walk, I turned around constantly to see if I could spot a familiar face.

On reaching my grandparents house, I stood silent, lost in time looking at the house, not a brick seemed to have changed place since I had last visited.

A small iron gate opened into the front yard, where sat the Tulsi plant decked with flowers and a few incense sticks, surrounded by lush green plants with colorful flowers smiling, a few coffee plants that bordered the compound wall and overlooking them stood strong a mango tree.

"Sidhartha" a voice called me from behind.

I turned around to see an old man pushing his bicycle towards me, the khaki uniform and the letters in his worn out bag reminded me that it was Postman Ponappa.

"Siddhartha, look at you how tall you have grown." he patted my back.

"Do you remember me." he asked with a heartfelt smile and care in his eyes hidden behind those smudged thick glasses.

"How can I forget you anna, how can I forget those letters you brought to me."

"You remember." he smiled

"Look at you, you have grown taller than your father. I remember when you were seven or eight..." he took me back in time.

Postman Ponappa is the only postman to have served the village for more than 30 years. He would often come home to deliver letters or register posts. Once when he had found me bored and restless, counting days to go back to my friends in Bangalore, he had introduced me to letters and into my life walked in names that I had fondly called ‘Pen-Pals’.

Addresses with black and white photos found in Tinkle comics became my friends. One in the Middle East, two in Europe. I would sit looking at the road, waiting for Ponappa to come riding on his cycle with my letters.

I would run into my room, sit at the table and feel like a grown up to have received a letter addressed exclusively to me. The next two days were often spent in writing back a reply, getting up from my desk only to ask Ajja a few spellings or requesting for his copy of the dictionary.

"Ajja must be waiting go on in, I will come later. You have to tell me everything about Bangalore." he smiled and walked away pushing his old cycle.

I bent down and touched my grandfather's feet, ajji stood near the table wiping away a tear filled with joy. I hugged her, she pulled me down and kissed me on my forehead.

"Look at him Radho, he has grown taller than me." ajja spoke with pride in his voice.

Ajji affectionately brushed my hair and spoke

"Go take a bath, I will keep break-fast ready."

Hot steaming idly with cocunut chutney sat still on the banana leaf waiting for me. Seeing Ajji holding a jar of 'Midi Opinkai' (mango pickle) brought an instant smile on my face.

Steaming hot coffee in a dented steel cup added extra joy to my break-fast.

I sat on the floor cross legged. The break-fast slipped past in world politics, Kannada authors, Bangalore and a few times ajji forcing more idly onto my leaf.

The hands of the clock had come together to welcome a new afternoon. I looked out of the window. The mighty Sun struggled hard to break free from the thick clouds that had covered it, the fog had cleared and now visible was the majestic mountain that sat facing the village center, a pleasant chill filled the air, the road invited me out for a stroll.

"Going out for a walk, will be back in half an hour." I shouted out

"Don't forget to take the 'Kodae' " ajji shouted back.

I entered the road bare handed, walked along the line of shops, the smell of coffee from the curing works at the end of the street filled the air, Kaveri Darshini, the only hotel in Bagamandala was packed with tourists. I walked further ahead and stopped at "Aghora Provision Stores".

Rajanna stood across the counter handing out a pack of beedi to a costumer. He looked to have changed a little, slightly on the fatter side but people often preferred to call it prosperity than fat.

"Mathe Rajanna vishasha?" (So Rajanna, what’s new at your end?)

"Siddhartha!" he let out a loud cry.

‘When, what and how’ covered the next ten minutes. He invited me into the store and forced me on his chair while he sat on a pile of rice sacks.

Rajanna had once visited Bangalore five years back. He left the store to his younger brother and landed in Bangalore with bags on his shoulders and a dream in his eyes. A desire to live in the big city, a strange fascination for Bangalore pulled him to the city.

I will never forget that day I ran into him.

I parked my bike outside an abandoned bus stop and ran under it to take shelter from the heavy rain that lashed with no mercy. A human like figure sat crouched with his head hiding between his legs. A soft sob was all I could hear, but when the sob turned into a cry. I walked up to the guy, patted his shoulder and was about to talk to him when he jumped to a side, turned to me and shouted out with trembling folded hands,

"Sir, I don't have anything. Please don't hit me sir." he pleaded with tears flowing from his fear filled eyes onto his dirt laden cheeks.

It took me a few minutes to realize it was Rajanna, robbed off all his belongings, no food for three days, beaten up by cops, chased by dogs, he roamed the streets of Bangalore not knowing where to go. The people, the traffic, the smoke filled air had choked him into a shock.

He hugged me tight outside a restaurant after our lunch and cried on my shoulder for one last time.

I waved good-bye to him at the bus stop the next day, I stood there for a few minutes reminding myself of the promise made to him; his story would stay a safe secret with me for the rest of my life.

"Please come home for lunch." he held my hands and requested me getting up from the pile of sack he was sitting on.

"Tomorrow for sure, today I have to visit the temple." I slid away.

Bhagandeshwara temple built in the 16th century by architects and masons from Kerala, had a huge open air corridor that ran around the main temple complex.

The speciality of the temple was that the idol of lord Bhangandeshwara is taken around in procession thrice a day, accompanied with dhol, 'chande' (a type of drum) and 'Valaga' (a type of Shehnai).

Rama Shastri a vetran pojari of the temple had the honor of carrying lord Bhagandeshwara on his head. As a young kid I looked at him with awe, his concentration, his strength amazed me. I would almost everyday tell my grandmother that I wanted to grow up to be like Rama Shastri.

Rama Shastri is a kind hearted man but is also famous for his volcano like anger. When walking on the streets, people seeing Rama Shastri approaching them would step aside immediately, bend a little and and wish him with folded hands. With one hand holding a bronze tumbler filled with water from the river and the other swinging swiftly by his side, he would walk past the people nodding his head and not stopping for a second to exchange pleasantries.

On one of those lucky days when huge groups of tourists entering the temple coincided with the idol procession, Rama Shastri would walk briskly with both his hands swinging by his sides and balancing the heavy idol on his head. He would suddenly jump, hop on one leg but manage to keep the idol stable on his head. A loud gasp followed by an expression of pure surprise often played on the tourists' face. I would look at all of them with a proud smile on my face.

I would try to keep pace with him swinging my hands to match his action but also manage to keep a safe distance from him. On reaching the main door of the temple he would stop, with folded hands he would shout out

"Bhaganda Bhaganda Bhagandeshwara." I always thought that his shouts were so loud that it would compel Lord Shiva to look down and smile at Rama Shastri.

It was almost two when I walked back home. I silently made my way to the bed room, and fell asleep on the soft mattress.

I was rudely awakened two hours later by voices coming from the living room. I pulled myself up from the bed and walked into the living room to hear ajja say

"His son was never interested; he is now an American citizen. He will not come back. Now all the secrets, all the knowledge will burn to ashes with him."

"It is a sad day, we have lost a great soul." Rama Shastri shook his head.

On seeing me walk into the room, Ajja turned to me and broke the news immediately

"Karei Gadhae Chikayya is no more."

I stood silent trying to picture him in my head. The last time I had heard about him was when ajja and called me up two years ago to tell me Karei Gadhae Chikayya had turned 80.

Karei Gadhae Chikayya or often addressed to as Ayya was a brilliant man. He was a dear friend of Ajja and an excellent doctor in his own right. He was a genius at identifying the medicinal qualities of a plant, an art, a science that was not documented anywhere but was passed on from generations from father to son.

People from around 20 nearby villages visited him for remedies and advice on their health problems. He never said 'No' and treated them all for free. Nobody had ever seen him frown or sulk, he was often heard saying "I have a hundred problems in life but my lips don't know them, they just smile."

"His son will reach by tomorrow afternoon." one of our neighbors entered the room.

"Last month I had called him and had warned him of Ayya's deteriorating health." Ajja fumed.

"Ayya died without getting to see his son or his grand daughter's face. Could there be a greater curse." Rama Shastri lamented.

"The bus is here." An other guy entered the room.

I stood silent with folded hands looking at the stream of people who had arrived to pay their respect to Ayya. Almost three hundred had arrived and more were expected, I walked into the veranda to see Ayya's body surrounded by his family. Tears made their way down their cheeks, people sobbed finding it hard to accept the loss. I bent down to touch Ayya's feet, a calm expression with the hint of a smile looked to have settled on his face.

"He was adamant, never agreed to visit a hospital." an old man shared with a group of people.

"He never wanted the English medicine in his blood." another from the group spoke.

"Ayya, ayya, ayya." a man ran to his body crying like a child, few tried to pull him away from the body.

The affection, the honest tears, the genuine sadness around me, made me feel proud of Ayya. So many people he had touched, a life of absolute brilliance he had led.

I turned away from the people and stood looking at his farm, I had spent many a days playing on the trees, hiding away from the neem juice Ayya wanted me to drink.

I walked away from the house and entered the farm.

Cardamom plants along with coffee filled the 20 acre area. Various vegetables and a few trees like the jack fruit, mango, sapota (chiku), and areca nut stood scattered in the farm. The centre was filled with medicinal plants that had a special place in the farm and in his heart.

Almost every summer that I had spent in Bagamandala he had brought me a special jack fruit from his farm. On seeing him walking towards our house, I would run towards Ajji singing

"Chikayya bandhru, halasu thandhru." (Chikayya is coming, jack fruit he is brining)

The sun had dived into the horizon, darkness slowly started to engulf the area. I sat under a jack fruit tree and looked up at the tree; small unripe fruits filled the tree. I lay down with both my arms folded behind my head. The clouds parted ways and out came a full moon. Stars bright and dull appeared to fill the dark empty sky. The silence that surrounded the place felt peaceful, I closed my eyes for a minute and memories of Ayya and my summers spent in Bagamandala flooded my head.

I opened my eyes, a bright star to my right caught my attention, the star looked new to the sky, it sparkled and seemed to smile at me.

I smiled at the star and said to myself

"That has to be Ayya, the brightest star of Bagamandala."

Orphan

2010-06-10T19:26:00.007+05:30

To people who are new to 55 Fiction. It is a genre of fiction writing using only 55 words. A story with only 55 words in it.

Here is my third offering in this genre titled 'Orphan'

Lying naked on the bed she looked at him, they had kissed, fondled; he had forced love onto her. She never smiled nor was she shy. Happiness had travelled miles from her. Orphaned she lay beside him.

There was a knock on the door; she knew there stood another lover waiting to buy her.

Stories from the Kal Bench

2010-04-15T18:41:00.013+05:30

Touching the Sky

Far away from the bustling traffic of Bangalore, deep in the heart of Nandini Layout, sat a huge piece of land which was cut into two by a green fence. On one side lay lush green grass with well grown bushes strategically planted on them. A small board stood between them all, threatening people “Stay away from the grass.”

Around it ran a wide cement path, on it were a few benches parked beside well grown trees; which acted as resting points to the walkers and joggers who thronged the place. Beside the lush green lawn, within the circular pathway was a small clearing which served as the laughter club’s workout arena. Retired fathers and in service homemakers tried to laugh away their frowns every evening.

The other part of the land was a stark contrast, with light brown ground, loose mud, no hint of grass anywhere; it wore the look of barren. Most of its mornings and evenings were spent hosting numerous cricket matches, the afternoons though was mostly in company of the hot sun, the light breeze and the occasional rain.

Both the pieces of land had in common, the people and their laughs and watching it all, across the road sat silent in the company of a tree whose name nobody knew, our Kal Bench.

Ashwin and me were first to arrive, we sat waiting for the other two to join us. Now 17, all of us had spent most of our evenings on the Kal bench. Sharing our heart breaks, rejoicing each other’s success, exchanging amma made sweets, resting after hard fought cricket matches and on those rare lonely courageous late nights sharing a cigarette. Kal bench our adda stood witness to many our emotions from our normal middle class life.

"Where is Pradeepa?" Krishna joined us excited.

Ashwin and I both looked towards the empty road mumbling "He'll be here in a minute."

The three of us sat waiting with curiosity for Pradeepa to come join us. Pradeepa had acquired almost star status by becoming the first guy among the people we knew to have traveled in an aero plane. His father's Ltc had covered their family trip to Mumbai.

Metallic golden Top Gear cycle skid to a forced halt.

"Oh Pradeepa" we welcomed him.

Well combed hair wearing a faded red t-shirt and a proud smile, Pradeepa walked up to us and stood facing the bench.

"How was the trip?"

"Which aero plane?"

"How many hours did it take?"

We pounded him with questions.

"Oh it was beautiful." he punched the air softly

"Jet and it took almost 1hour and some twenty-thirty minutes." he spoke like it meant nothing to him. Just brushing dirt off his shoulder.

But we hung onto to his words amazed.

"Tell us everything in detail." Krishna commanded

"Oh you want the details, uh?" Pradeepa started out

"The journey has no words; the experience was better than I had imagined. First we sat in our seats..."

"Was there a cute girl in the seat beside yours?" Ashwin interrupted.

"No maga some uncle sat next to me." Pradeepa lamented.

"Continue" Krishna gestured with his hands.

"So then three air hostess walked in and stood in the passage between the two rows of seats. They started explaining things but it looked like they were doing P.T exercises. But I tell you, each one was more beautiful than the other, and I couldn't decide who was the most pretty..."

"Were they like sexy-beautiful or beautiful-beautiful?" Ashwin cut him again with his unique terms.

"They were beautiful loafer." I hit him softly on his head.

"Yes they were beautiful Ashwin, now continuing. We all strapped our seat belts, the plane hit the run way, a few seconds and it was off the ground. It took off at some 200 or 250 kms speed, full high speed. First it was like full inclined." he explained with his outstretched palm. "Then it slowly became straight"

"I removed my belt and looked out of the window. We passed over the clouds, all I could see the was the blue everywhere. I looked down and the roads looked like thin lines and the vehicles were almost invisible, the buildings mere dots."

We listened patiently to everything he said, opening our mouths only to utter a soft "wow".

"Twenty minutes later, they announced, 'It is now safe to remove the seat belts.' I had like removed them five minutes into the flight. What safe, bloody." he let out a soft laugh, and we smiled trying to imagine, what would have happened if they had found out he had removed the seat belt before the announcement.

'They can't throw him out or stop the flight, it’s not a bus. May be they would have shouted at him.' I thought to myself.

"The captain then welcomed us and told the height at which the plane was flying and the temperature outside. The temperature outside was some -30 degrees. I thought to myself, if the door blows open no need to worry about the parachute, we'll freeze to death in seconds anyway." Pradeepa laughed out and we joined him with a soft clap.

"Was there free food, chocolates?" Krishna asked interested

"Oh Pepsi, the air hostess served me Pepsi."

"Lucky bastard." Ashwin let out his feelings loud

"Oh free Pepsi!" Krishna spoke confirming the theory that free stuff be it small or big is always welcomed with joy.

"Not just that Ashwin, she also smiled at me like six times. Not just a smile, a beautiful smile." Pradeepa patted on Ashwin's shoulder with a teasing grin.

"Was the smile like sexy-beautiful or beautiful-beautiful?" Krishna mocked Ashwin, bringing an instant wave of laughter.

"Ha ha, very funny." Ashwin tried to take the high ground.

"She even gave her address to pass it on to you Ashwin." I tried to join in.

"Ya, but Siddharth stole it from me." Pradeepa betrayed me.

"Bloody perv, Sid" Ashwin tried to trip me in further.

"Look who is talking." the three of us blurted out.

"I'll tell you all something, but I am quite sure you'll not believe it." Pradeepa spoke with confidence.

"No we'll believe you, come on maga." we tried justifying feeling a little offended.

"Guess who I met on the flight?"

"I don't know." I gave up without a try

"Karishma Kapoor." Ashwin grinned.

"Close but not very close." Pradeepa motivated.

"We give up." Krishna spoke on behalf of us.

"Hrithik Roshan." he spoke to our surprise.

"Hrithik Roshan." Krishna repeated out loud

Kaho Na Pyar Hai had released couple months back and Hrithik Roshan was our new Demi God. He had taken up most of our wall space and stood frozen alongside Madhuri Dixit, Kajol, Karishma and Sachin. All of us behind closed door secretly tried copying his dance moves but ended up with only a sprained ankle.

"Did you talk to him? Did you get his autograph, photo?" were all we cared.

"No maga, he was sitting in the front end. Surrounded by his people, we were not allowed near him." Pradeepa spoke dejected.

"Hey but you got to see him." Krishna tried to lift the spirits.

"Hrithik Roshan." Ashwin repeated his name a couple times and shook his head in disbelief.

Our conversation suddenly stopped on seeing Shilpa jog towards us. Soft fingers clenched into a fist, sparkling eyes which looked to have a star studded in them, pink glow on her cheeks, straight silky hair tied into a pony, she was the one that would make anyone look up to the heaven and say "Job well done". She ran past us as if we didn't exist in her world. None of us had the guts to walk up to her and talk to her.

We sat there looking at her run away, like we had for the last one year.

Silence engulfed us for a few minutes; minutes were spent deep in thought and some in imagination. I turned away trying to bring myself back to the reality.

The Sun clearly tired of all the travelling around the sky had now silently slid into the horizon. The sky a soft orange and red now was slowly turning grey. The thunder of laughs from the park was heard no more, joggers and walkers made their way out of the park and onto the road.

Most of the cricket matches had reached a fighting finish, kids walked back to their homes with some still swinging their bats' in air. Some lamenting their choice of play in the lost match walked with slow pace, shaking their heads.

"Pradeepa" his younger sister came looking for him.

He ran up to her to enquire her visit.

The three of us sat silent looking at the people walking out of the park. Our heads suddenly turned skywards on hearing a loud sound. A white dot with wings darted across the grey sky; we looked at it with just one single thought in our head,

"When will I get to touch the sky?"

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Story dedicated to those insignificant nothings, those ordinary moments of life whose beauty most of us have turned blind to. Those evenings spent with friends discussing anything but important.

Glossary

Maga: A Kannada slang equivalent to "dude".

Kal Bench: A mixture of Kannada and English words meaning a "Stone bench".

Stars of Bagamandala - A Nibble

2010-03-15T18:32:00.006+05:30

“Bagamandala” the voice sang out in my head. I was going back to my roots, to my village after a long gap to 10 years.

Bagamandala a small village in the far end of Coorg district is the place I spent most of my childhood, with my grandparents.

Tall green mountains in the background, sparkling waters of river Kaveri cutting across, green paddy fields on one side of the road and rich coffee plants on the other

Hot steaming idly with coconut chutney sat still on the banana leaf waiting for me. Seeing ajji holding the jar of ‘midi opinkai’ (mango pickle) brought an instant smile on my face.

Steaming hot coffee in a dented steel tumbler added an extra joy to the break-fast.

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Stars of Bagamandala is my entry to Katha Sagar (A story writing contest)

Do drop in at http://www.indimag.com/2010/03/14/stars-of-bagamandala/ to read further and rate the story for what it is worth.

Time Travel

2010-03-06T01:54:00.005+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 8; the eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

"Time Machine, a device that has caught the imagination of the people for decades. One could go ahead in time, or back if one desired." I thought aloud sitting on my bed.

"Where is my bike key?" my elder brother ransacked the cupboards.

"If you had a time machine you could have gone back in time and..."

"Stop bugging me and help me find the key." he cut me. Every jeans pocket was checked and then was flung onto the bed, a huge pile of clothes sat comfortably on the bed, while my brother searched desperately for the bike key.

"Don't just sit there, help me or get out of the room." he pushed me away.

Sitting on the compound wall I looked around the road, my next door neighbor a fellow engineering student was busy on his mobile. The old couple who live a couple houses across where out sitting in their front yard sipping tea. A cricket match was in progress down the street, and just a few yards away five year olds played making weird sounds.

There was a sudden burst of a thought in my head and before the dust could settle my legs had sprang into action and I was across the road walking towards the old couple.

"Time Travel, eh" Swaminathan, the old man sipped his tea.

"Yes, so where do you think you would like to go if you could time travel." I sat back on the wooden chair that squeaked each time I changed my position.

"Radho where would like to go" he smiled at is wife and continued

"I would like to back to the 60s, back to black shining bike. Riding in the Agumbe ghats." he sat back.

"So you used to ride your bike a lot." I encouraged him forward.

"Radho you remember that overtake I did once" he asked his wife with bright eyes and a smile.

"How can I forget that." his wife replied turning to hand me a cup of tea.

"What happened?" I asked eager

"I would like to go back to that day, if I could time travel."

We were riding back from Agumbe; rain lashed on us, visibility was a clear zero. Radho held onto me tight, her face trying to hide behind my back. We were young, we were stupid, we rode in that heavy rain with a song in the heart.

I touched her shivering palm, the warmth I felt on her palm on that cold day will never leave me.

"What are you doing?" she interrupted and brought us back.

"I am just trying to hold my wife's hand" Swaminathan sir replied back

"Is there anything wrong with that young man?" he asked looking at me

"No sir, please continue with the story."

Now that I think, I was a maniac on that bike.

Riding in the ghats I countered corners with great speeds and seldom used the brakes.

Then came two lorries trying to overtake each other. I waited for them to tussle for a little time. Patience was running low, and there looked to be no space to overtake the lorries. Before my brain could realize, I had accelerated and was right between the two lorries. She shouted out in panic and hugged me tight. A few seconds and I had overtaken the two lorries cutting them right in the middle.

"Given a chance, I would go back to that exact moment when she hugged me tight." he looked at his wife.

He held her hand and tapped on the back of her palm gently.

"Those were the days, my son. We would silently escape into a theater without letting anyone back in the house know of it."

"Do you remember 'Abhi na jaao chhodkar'. he asked turning to his wife.

"I can never forget any of those days." she replied back.

Her wrinkled face was red with uncontrollable blushes. She got up and asked if we wanted another cup of tea. We both nodded 'No'. She walked away quickly from us with a bright smile on her face, and I mostly I saw a happy tear in her eyes.

"Swami, walking?" his friends interrupted us.

"Yes coming" he got and left with his walking stick and left me back a smile on my face.

I walked out to the road and stood there for a moment watching the kids play.

I walked up to them and asked them all

"Where would you like to go, if you could time travel?"

"Time travel?" they thought for a second and asked

"Anywhere we want?"

"Anywhere you want, it's a time machine it can take you anywhere you want."

One cute, chubby boy replied

"Jurassic Park."

Everyone shouted out their approval with joy and suddenly started moving and making growing.

"Watch out for that dino, anna" a kid screamed at him

"What dino, I looked at the empty road."

"We are in the Jurassic Park, look at all the dinos" another girl with a cute skirt and a mini mouse t-shirt pointed out to the empty road.

I growled out loud, lifted my arms and walked like a zombie.

"Run everyone the T-Rex is coming at us." the chubby kid shouted out

"Run to the base ship." another shouted out pointed to the parked auto.

I suddenly started running excited, a kid stopped me and said

"Anna you are the T-Rex why are you running away."

They all laughed, while I smiled and said

"No see the T-Rex is back there." and pointed to my neighbor still busy on his mobile.

They laughed again and some clapped with joy.

"Run quickly to the base ship." I shouted out and we all ran towards the auto.

Once inside the base ship I turned to them and asked

"Where are we going now?"

The chubby kid replied

"Remember it's a time machine. It can take you anywhere you want."

The evening slipped away with smiles and laughter. We traveled to meet bala Hanuman, Mickey Mouse and the gang, while busy with our time travel we also bumped into aliens and Superman.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Power cut Paliya

2010-03-04T11:25:00.004+05:30

Sultan Paliya a small village located a hundred kilometers away from Bangalore was fondly called 'Power cut Paliya'. Electricity being a rare visitor to the village, people had got used to living with darkness as their companion for most parts of their lives.

Summer was upon them and water seemed to play hide and seek too. The taps ran dry, the streams where once water gushed with fierce force now played host to cricket matches.

The spirits of the people though seemed to soar high with each passing day, there looked to be excitement in the air, smile on their faces and a purpose in their walk.

The small village was getting ready to host the wedding of Chitakala or Chitae (Butterfly) as she was mostly called, Saraswathamma was bright and smiling and rejoicing the attention her daughter got from everyone. Her father, Mahadevappa, though looked to have taken the tender for frowns, for his face bore nothing more than a tense frown.

Everyone from the village has gathered at Mahadevappa's house, the women helped with the food preparations while the men walked in and out following the orders of Mahadevappa.

Shanbag the village head, Borelinga the man with most acres of coconut fields and vegetable farm sent bags of rice, pulses, wheat and vegetables to show their support.

Shanbag took personal interest on such occasions and would put aside all his work and mostly spend all the time with the bride's father.

There was a constant movement of people from Shanbag's house to Mahadevappa's house, utensils, carpets and bed sheets made their way into Mahadevappa's house.

"Don't waste water" both Mahadevappa and Shanbag kept shouting at the rest.

Aslam the leader among the young boys of the Paliya had taken the responsibility of setting up the pandal and the decorations.

When they were eight year olds, all they did was catch butterfly in the open fields, in the green bushes covered with flowers of bright colours. Chitrakala who couldn't see the sight of a free flying butterfly now captured and forced into a cage silently would free the captured butterfly. Aslam once caught her in the act, and thus took birth her nick name Chitae, and a promise by Aslam and all the boys that none of them ever would hunt a butterfly.

"Pull that string, tight..." Aslam shouted out to his friends.

"Aslam, are you going to pick up Pradeepa?" Mahadevappa interrupted.

"Yes, the bus is at six, we are all going" he smiled.

A group of six waited for Pradeepa at the bus stop. The Tumkur bound bus was scheduled to stop for a few seconds at Sultan Paliya.

Pradeepa the elder brother of Chitae was a dear friend of Aslam and was once the leader of all the young men of the village. He was the fastest swimmer in the village, and the strongest among all, he was every fathers' wish and every kids' role model. But one dull day he left his warm village to take up an office boy job at one of the Tech-Parks in the city.

"Pradeepa!" they all hugged in unison. Broad smiles followed by a pat on Pradeepa's back, ended with handshakes and a few hugs.

Mahadevappa smiled for a split second seeing his son, but the frowns and the shouts were immediately back.

Pradeepa gathered all his friends to a side and asked them to update him on the situation.

Chitrakala ran out to the backyard trying to get herself away from her teasing friends, she looked like a strawberry, red with blushes on her cheeks. The backyard had turned into a make-shift kitchen, Saraswathamma and some women of the village were busy cooking, cutting and cleaning. The soft 'clung' sound of the utensils filled the air and danced with the sweet aroma of the spices.

Seeing Chitrakala enter the backyard, the women smiled and started teasing

"Chitae, see we are preparing peda, we heard it is his favorite."

"Hope you know how to make them?" another added and they all laughed.

"Come sit, have a taste" Saraswathamma moved towards her

"No I still have to get my mehandi done" Chitae ran away realizing, being with her friends is far more comfortable than with the elderly.

"She is looking so beautiful..." the conversations continued among the women.

"Tavarura bitu, avna manege hontae, namana nee maribyada..." (You are now leaving the house you grew up in and are moving to your husband's house, but don't forget us.)

Folk songs grew louder as Chitrakala hugged each of her friends with tear filled eyes. Mahadevappa tried hard to control his tears as he blessed his daughter and his son-in-law.

Aslam and the boys were still busy decorating Shanbag's, old white Ambassador, almost every bride in the village traveled to her new house in Shanbag's Ambassador.

The old car with bald tires, rusted edges and faded paint was a proud possession of Shanbag. He would often ride to his fields in the car. Siting proud holding the steering wheel with one hand, the other hand out of the window to wave at the people, Shanbag and his old car commanded respect from the people.

The villagers on the road would stand aside and watch the car ride away in a cloud of dust and smile, they were all equally proud of the car.

The colour lights across the house and the pandal suddenly went off, when the bride and the groom were about to enter the car.

Someone in the crowd shouted

"Chitae is taking away the colour and the light from the house."

Some laughed, some frowned, but the village danced and bid fond farewell to Chitae.

What If

2010-02-06T08:32:00.005+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 7; the seventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

It's been five years now and all that remains with me are the memories of the time spent with her. She took off to US one day to study and I got busy with my work, never once we found time to catch up, 'does she still remember me?' I ask often myself.

Some say 'Day Dreaming' is injurious to health, but I can't stop myself from dream, what would have happened? How would my life be? What?

What if I had the strength to tell her how much I love her, when I had the chance?

...............................................

What If...

'Wait' pretty much seems to be the name of our relationship, 'coming late' a fond nick name we have stamped our relationship.

Pallavi Mishra, jet black eyes I can't stop looking into, smooth black curls I can't stop playing with, soft warm palm I can't stop holding. Beauty personified I often tell my friends.

"One more coffee please" I called out to the waiter.

An hour had passed and two coffees' were down in her wait.

I walked away from the table to get another cigarette. Ten minutes later I walked back to the table to find her sipping the coffee I had ordered.

"You are late" she said putting down the coffee

"Oh, yes madam, just an F.Y.I. that was supposed to my third coffee for the hour" I said pointing at the cup.

"You've been waiting for an hour?"

"Not an hour..."

"Okay not an hour so I am not very late"

"... I was going to say 'not an hour', but more like an hour and twenty minutes."

"I am so sorry, never will I come late again" she smiled

"So guess I'll be paying the bill today" she took another sip of the coffee.

'Strange' is the name my friends have christened our relation. Fights are an unknown entity, one of us is always late, and most times she ends up paying the bill, paying the bill with a smile.

What If...

"Feeling a little scared a little nervous, excitement also now n then. How r u doing?" read the message on my phone.

"Wear another gold ring" Ajji (grandmother) pushed the ring into my finger.

"Another gold chain" my aunt tried to push her luck.

"No" I stood firm.

"Where are going, the groom should not leave the room." mom shouted out.

"Just taking a leak mom" I shouted back.

Ten rings and she finally answered the call.

"Hi" I said sounding nervous

"Hi" her reply with the same nervous tone.

"So what you doing?" she asked

"Getting all ready to marry you, I guess"

"Not the time to be sarcastic, ass. Oh shit, I hope my mom didn't hear me"

"Hope my ajji didn't hear you" I laughed

"Oh yes I can't take another five hour lecture on 'how to be a good wife'.

"I hope you remember everything, your test starts from today" I laughed

"Ass"

What If...

"Did you take the bag" I shouted out to mom.

"Yes, just relax" mom replied back

"Where is my wifey?"

"Right behind you, hubby" Pallavi slowly walked to my side.

"Slowly and careful, I'll hold your hand" I held her as she slowly sat in the car.

Tensed and nervous I stepped on the accelerator, hospital was a good 7 kilometers away and I could sense the pain Pallavi was going through.

Broke several red signals and crossed all the speed limits, Pallavi tried hard to keep a smile on her face and ajji tried hard to irritate me with her back seat driving.

Forced Pallavi onto a wheel chair and pushed her through the hospital corridor, she started to let out low cries of pain and I started to shout out for the doctor.

"Relax, take deep breathes, nothing to worry" the doctor tried to calm

"Thank you doctor" I replied

"I was talking to your wife" a sharp reply that brought a smile on Pallavi's face.

A nurse took over from me and pushed away Pallavi, while I stood back with mom, ajji and dad.

"Have you thought of a name?" ajji asked

"No ajji, not able to decide" I replied still standing in the corridor looking out for the nurse or the doctor.

"If it is a boy then 'Ramalinga Kishore Swamy' will be the best choice..."

"Who is Ramalinga Kish... whatever that was" I asked a little irritated.

"You don't remember your grandfather's name, do you even remember my name" she asked surprised and angry.

"Oh, yes I do remember his name I used to call him Ram ajja and not Ramalinga Kish..."

"Its a girl" the nurse interrupted

"Subbamma!" ajji let out a cry

"What?" mom and I asked in unison

"Your daughter is reincarnation of my mother, you have to name her Subbamma. Last night she had come in my dreams and had told me she would..."

"Ajji not now, and I am not naming her Subbamma" I stopped her and walked away smiling to meet my little angel.

"Oh, she has the same eyes, the same lips, didn't I tell you she was a reincarnation of my mother" ajji kissed my daughter

"Amma, I think we need to go home and take some rest" my mom finally spoke to my relief.

Mom, dad and ajji walked out of the room leaving us three behind.

Pallavi finally laughed and said

"I am not naming my daughter 'Subbamma'.

She continued

"Your family sometimes I feel are crazy" she laughed again

I was about to reply when I was interrupted by Pallavi's parents.

"Where is my angel" Pallavi's dad came in almost running

"I am here dad" Pallavi replied

"I was talking to my granddaughter" reply brought a smile onto my face

Pallavi's mother lifted the baby and almost cried, she took some time to console herself and finally spoke

"She has the same eyes, the same lips, I am telling you she looks exactly like my mother, and I think 'Sita Lakshmi' is the best choice."

I couldn't control myself from laughing and I whispered into Pallavi's ear,

"Looks like your family is on the same train too."

..........................................................

If only I had the strength to tell her, 'how much I love her' I told myself and was about to walk out of my room when, my mobile screen turned on and I picked it up to read a message from an unknown number

"Hi ass, Pallu here. Just landed. wanna talk to you, wanna meet you too. what say? same coffee house at 6 :) "

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Bagamandala Diary

2010-01-21T17:32:00.010+05:30

Bagamandala a small village in the far end of Coorg was where I was born and spent a significant amount of my childhood. Like an island surrounded by water on all sides, Bagamandala is a small cluster of houses surrounded by thick forest and tall mountains on all it's sides; often covered with thick mist Bagamandala looks like a large white dot on a dark green paper.

With sparkling waters of river Kaveri, paddy fields now cut down to brown and rich green vegetation spread generously all over the village, Bagamandala is a delight to the eye.

A bunch of shops, a few hotels, a coffee curing works and an old temple form the centre of the village. Facing them all stands my grandfather's house.

Solar Eclipse

I entered the verandah to be greeted with mantras coming from the pooja room. My grandfather's strong voice and the familiar shlokas told me 'I was home'.

A warm smile on my grandmother's face, loud cheer from my little cousins and a proud pat on the back from my uncle all welcomed me in unison.

The breakfast was a quick affair with the solar eclipse starting at 11:00 we had to finish eating before 9:00.

I walked out to the verandah after filling in on grand mom's upma to my hearts fill. I stood in the verandah looking at the accolades my grandfather had received over several years placed proudly on the crumbling verandha wall. The latest a recognition and an award from Kannada Sahitya Parishat caught my eye, grandfather joined me with the morning newspapers, Deccan Herald, Praja Vani (Kannada news daily), and Shakthi (Local news daily).

'So you have gone back to Deccan Herald or Drunken Herald like you used to call it' I asked with a chuckle

'He has improved a lot over the past year' he handed me the paper

'I changed backed to The Hindu from Times' I added as I took the paper from his hand.

Grand dad is a big fan of The Hindu but the sad part is the local news agency has no tie up with the paper hence he is struck with Deccan Herald the only newspaper that is available in the village. He takes reading newspapers very seriously, spends almost two hours a day reading the newspapers.

A phone from an old friend of my grandfather interrupted our talk and I walked out to the back yard to see my cousins climbing the mango tree and grand mom urging them not to; I went straight to my room and fell asleep on the inviting warm bed.

I was rudely awakened by my cousins shouting

'Come anna (elder brother) see the solar eclipse, come quickly'

I ran out shouting 'Idiots don't look at the sun its dangerous' but was surprised to see my cousins and grand mom looking into a wide vessel filled with dirty looking water.

'What is this?' I asked still a little surprised

'Its cow dung mixed with water. You can see the image of the sun in this water very clearly, this is how people looked at solar eclipse before the safety glasses and telescope' grand mom replied with a proud smile

'Seriously you can see the eclipse' I peeped into the vessel to witness quite a spectacular sight. The radiant sun hiding behind a dark black circle and different shades of yellow circling the dark spot.

'Don't look up' grand dad came running out warning us all

'We won't' we shouted back and stood there silent spellbound by the beautiful sight.

Nishani

A trek to Nishani mountain one of the tallest in Coorg was planned by Ashoka mava (Uncle), the challenge was to sneak out without getting caught by my cousins; the eight kilometers trek was not something five year olds could handle.

A short drive to Venu anna's (Uncle's best friend) home was the first task of the day. Venu anna who runs a home stay often takes his foreign guests on trek to Nishani.

With a heavy bag which my uncle transferred onto my shoulders smoothly calling me 'young blood', we were off to conquer Nishani.

Steep muddy and rocky pathways were our first obstacle, with our speeds reaching new lows with each step I knew the road ahead was no rosy path I had imagined it to be.

A kilometre walk and the muddy pathway gave way to light green grass lands; two feet tall grass covered the whole area. With no exact pathway ahead and thick forests on both sides of the grassland, fear took birth deep down in my stomach.

Elephant droppings and a rare tiger paw mark just made things worse. I stayed right behind the pack and let Venu anna lead us forward.

We stopped mid way to rest and I stood looking at the tall mountains that stood majestic with different shades of green running all over them. Far away a road running around a mountain and a moving white speck on it, may be a bus, villages and houses away from sight, the strong silence broken by a small bird chirping and leaves rustling. Standing there a wonderful feeling of peace and serenity hugged me tight.

'You see that mountain tip there, behind that tall mountain' Vennu anna interrupted

'That one far away' I pointed at the tip

'Yes, that is Nishani' he spoke to my shock

We had not even come half the distance I was already panting, my legs were shouting out with pain and my shoulders had given up all hope.

The sights around were a visual delight, we walked through tall grass, cut through strong wines and climbed slippery rocks. Half way through and we came across a make-shift shelter built by Venu anna, the small shelter was a cabin like structure built with wooden poles, dried leaves and hay. It also housed a bench built with thin branches tied together and four strong branches as it's legs.

'Afternoon lunch' my stomach grumbled. Out from the bag on my shoulder came a packet of Maggie a small vessel and a bottle of water. A stove was built by Venu anna with rocks placed on top of each other. I was instructed to find some dry wood for fire and I quickly walked to the nearest tree which had a few branches lying near its roots.

Maggie had never tasted better and tea was just water with a flavour but we relished it like never before.

With strong determination to climb to the top first and an immense ego to not let myself down in the eyes of Venu anna and Ashoka mama I walked with swift pace stopping only to take pictures and then moving to take my place ahead of the pack. Venu anna confirming elephants and other wild animals come out in the open only after sun down killed my fear and boasted my spirit and confidence.

An hour later and I led the pack and put a small distance difference between me and the two. Venu anna and Ashok mama stopping to light up their bedi and pipe also helped me take a bigger lead.

Our last stop and I could see the peak clearly it lay only a few more minutes away and I was anxious to stand on top of the impressive peak. I ran towards the peak leaving behind the two.

I stepped onto the peak and ran around shouting with joy. A sense of achievement and a flavour of victory danced with me.

It took me a couple of minutes to catch my breath. I was joined by my uncle and Venu anna at the top. My uncle pulled out his pipe while Venu anna lit another bedi. We sat on the edge of the mountain looking down at the thick forests, the mountain peaks, small dots that the villages had taken shape.

A strong cold wind roared on the top of the peak, Ashok mava let out a cloud of smoke and said

'May be if we are really quite, we can mostly hear the Gods talk'

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I am someone who is against adding pictures to an essay or short story but if anyone is interested in viewing the pictures from the trek then please click on the below link, it will take you to my facebook album.

Nishani

Mahalaksmi Canteen

2010-01-11T17:34:00.010+05:30

A standard routine they say is good to have and mine starts off with an early morning jog.

Sun yet to wake up from his deep slumber; a canopy of darkness still engulfed the road; a bus here and an auto there, footpath filled with brisk morning walkers trying to burn away extra calories and the worry that came free with the calories.

A couple of kilometres jog and I reach my destination 'Mahalaksmi Canteen'.

Sitting quietly on a bustling busy main road, Mahalaksmi Canteen is home to some of the best masala dosas and idly vadas in Bangalore. As I walk in panting and sweating the owner Shiva anna (elder brother) sits pretty in the cash counter waiting with a smile, I stand leaning against the counter looking at the clean kitchen getting ready for another busy day.

'Two minutes Tejas, they are getting the chatni ready'

'No its okay uncle, i'll wait' I reply and walk towards a table.

The wooden chairs with granite slab tables and the sweet aroma of coffee lingering in the air, have all stood the test of time. I look at the watch and then at the entrance

'Sridhar Bhat, will be here anytime' I tell myself.

Sridhar Bhat a middle aged Kannada author, well a budding author spends his day working at the printing press next door, his early mornings and late evenings are mostly spent in the canteen sipping coffee and trying to write his book. Getting rejected by most of the publishing house has not dampened his spirits, he still dreams of becoming a successful author some day. Shiva anna and I believe strongly that someday his book will see the light of the day.

'Gunda, one coffee' Sridhar walks in, he takes a seat in front of me and pushes a couple of sheets towards me.

'My latest short story' he smiles.

I start reading it out loud enough to be heard by Shiva anna at the cash counter. I finish both the sheets and look up to face an eager expression on Sridhar's face

'Its good, I actually like this the most'

'Super Sridhar' Shiva anna shouts from the counter

'Three more stories and I will have enough for the book' Sridhar smiles

We get up to see if our coffee is ready, Sridhar walks towards Shiva anna to explain he is still yet to get his salary and will pay the money he owes in a few days time. Shiva anna and I both know the money will never come, being an unsuccessful writer and working at a printing press doesn't pay much to lead even a decent life.

I turn to face the hot coffee waiting for me in a steel tumbler. Ask any South Indian and he will tell you 'Coffee runs in our blood'. Having the perfect coffee is a dream many strive to achieve. A brand of coffee powder used for years and no other will do, filtered first to get a dark decoction (brewed coffee) with the right amount of milk and sugar, finally poured into a steel tumbler to get a good looking froth and relished at least six times a day. Any mention of 'black coffee' is frowned upon in most houses.

Sridhar still looks to be chatting with Shiva anna, I pick up my glass and walk back to the table to relish my morning coffee.

I look at my watch 6:45, instantly turn to the entrance hoping she will come by today.

Tablet Thima with his bulging belly touching the table is busy sorting out his tablets, I haven't really had any conversations with him but took the liberty of christening him the nick name 'Tablet Thima'; four tablets of different colours washed down with water and he is ready to have his idly and coffee.

'Tejas dosa ready' Shiva anna calls out

My mother often comments 'All your jogging efforts are lost when you bite into that oily masala dosa'

I quietly reply 'The only reason I jog is so that I can have the dosa peacefully'

I tear into the oily masala dosa with my eyes still fixed to the entrance. I drop down to have a look at the chatni and she enters the canteen.

Wearing a red salwar with her dhupata falling gently over her delicate shoulders, a pink glow on her cheeks and a ever so beautiful smile anchored by deep dimples on her face, she walks past me to the counter.

She visits the canteen a few times in a week to get a parcel of idly vada. Each time she walks past me I try to talk to her but stand silent mesmerised by her smile.

I quietly put away the bowl of chatni to Tablet Thima's table and walk towards the counter to get another bowl of chatni. Every time I walk towards the counter I tell myself

'Just say hi, just hi, nothing more nothing less. Just hi'.

Words get struck in my throat and my efforts to flash a 'super cool guy' smile results in a combination of stupid smile, grin and uncontrollable blushes. I look away from her and say

'Gunda one chatni'

'Already finished your chatni' Gunda laughs and I try to tell him off with a stern look but my blushes stay strong.

She smilies almost every time Gunda laughs and I ask myself 'Is she smiling at me, does she know of my desperate crush on her?'

I come back to the table and let out a sigh 'If only I had the guts to talk to her.' Pretty much everyone in the canteen knows of my crush, Shiva anna is grinning at the cash counter, Gunda is laughing, Tablet Thima looks up to see my plight while Sridhar stands there sympathising with me.

She picks up her parcel and walks past me.

But today she suddenly stopped a few feet away, walked back to my table and smiled

'Hi, I am Shilpa.'

I stammered, stood up immediately, tried to manage a word that sounded like 'Hi', I extended my arm to shake her extended arm but suddenly noticed it was covered with oil. I quickly pulled back my right and shook her hand with my left only to realise I had chatni all over my left which I had now passed onto her soft warm palm.

She took a step forward and wiped the chatni onto to my shirt with a soft laugh and sat down in the chair across the table.

'Gunda one coffee' I shouted out

'Come and take it' he shouted back

Shiva anna immediately gestured Gunda to delivery the coffee to the table. She smiled and looked to have stolen a few of my blushes onto to her cheeks

'The dosa looks yummy'

'It sure is, have a bite please' I pushed the plate towards her

Gunda's laugh was silenced, Shiva anna's grin looked to have widened and Sridhar was all smiles.

Tablet Thima suddenly moved towards our table and asked with couple of giggles

'Want a bowl of chatni, there is one extra on my table.'

Story of a Life - (Blog-a-ton 6)

2010-01-07T12:03:00.016+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 6; the fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

As I sit and think about my life, I can't stop ask myself

'What went wrong?'

A race you are taking part in not a run in the park, my mom kept reminding me. I kept telling her

'I am not part of any race' and chose to walk but little did I know, unwillingly and unknowingly I was part of the race. The people I had started out with were far ahead out of sight. I look around the rocks at the bottom I sit on, there seems to nobody around. A sense of loneliness engulfs me.

I can still hear mom downstairs on phone with another psychiatrist, the last two had the same thing to say

"Study harder, put in more effort"

All I told them both was

"How much harder?"

I hold my pencil and look down at my marks sheet; Pass reads one subject out of the six. I change the 8/100 to 80/100. The marks sheet does look better now.

"was I this bad always?"

The answer is a hopeless yes. I even hold a record for not having passed a single exam in high school; I was pushed to the next year with dad begging and principal sympathising. It was a miracle I passed my board exam.

"If I was so bad, then why did I agree to take up engineering?"

I just didn't know what else to do, everyone was running after engineering I moved where the herd moved. Dad also wanted me to do engineering, he readily agreed to pay the hefty fee.

'Life seems less complicated when you have people to blame your failures on.'

I knew what I was bad at, but just didn't know what I was good at.

"Is that the worst curse" I often ask myself.

There is a small laugh each time I think, a laugh at myself, a laugh at the irony that I always wanted to stand apart from the crowd, wanted to do things bigger and better than all the other jokers out there.

I write with my pencil on the marks sheet

'BIGGER N BETTER'

I smirk "I have stood apart for sure. Nobody has failed engineering as many times as I have."

'I am in love with the subjects, that is the reason I am studying it over and over again' I laugh each time my relatives ask me 'why are you failing?'

I walk away from them with a fake laugh bursting on my face and trying hard to hold back a tear ready to flow from my eye.

Out of irritation I pick up a book and throw at the fan making a squeaking sound.

Even a small flutter of the curtain irritates me now. I clench my fist, grind my teeth and punch the walls, sometimes I shout out to dark empty corners of my room. I avoid mirrors, but each time I look at my image I ask myself

'have I lost my mind, am I still sane?'

Frustration, Irritation and Anger seem to have become my companions over the past couple of years. I now run another race; a race to get away from the trio.

I hear mom requesting dad to keep his voice low. She fears I might kill myself due to depression, but the truth is I don't have the guts to take my life. I have tried I confess, each time I held the blade or was up on the terrace I just couldn't take the final step. I came running back telling myself

"Not bad dude, you even failed at this. Now thats consistency."

"Oh is that what he keeps telling you, let him die. The amount of shame he has put us through, if I were in his place I would have killed myself." dad's voice echos in my room.

I throw away the pencil, tear up the marks sheet and turn to my computer to get away from it all, to travel to a far away world.

A world where the Voices in my Head makes me feel better about myself.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Interview

2010-01-05T16:49:00.009+05:30

The word recession had not yet become a household name, but it looked to be heading towards becoming one. Jobs were suddenly drying up; the much hyped campus interview fizzled out without even one company turning up to pick us fine graduates.

I had my school friend Rohit to thank for fixing me up with an Interview in his office.

I looked at the clock 11:20. A man in his late thirties sat at the front desk, doubling as the watchman and the receptionist. He had already stripped check my bag to see if I was carrying any bomb. Disappointed that I was carrying none, he showed me to the waiting area.

'Hey Sid!' came a voice from behind me

I knew it was Rohit. I turned around to see him holding a mug of coffee. I was delighted to see him in jeans and t-shirt, which meant there was no strict dressing rules.

'Where is your HR?' impatient I asked

Before he could answer, a lady in short hair with a odd looking pair of jeans and a bright red t-shirt called out

'Siddharth Bhat'

'Ya here' I said and walked towards her. Rohit walked out with the coffee to blow his lungs up with smoke.

I sat in a room with the AC turned to full blast, with a temperature outside a cool 25 degrees this AC just made me shiver.

'Anitha, the HR Manager' she extended her arm

'Nice to meet you Anitha, Siddharth here' I shook here arm thinking if it was okay to say 'nice to meet you' having just spent a few seconds with her.

'So before we run you through all the tests, I want to have a small chat with you' she said, making it seem like I had walked into a cafe and we were just friends ready to gossip.

'Oh yes, sure. Where do you want me to start?'

'Tell me something about yourself' she asked and sat back

It felt like a counselling session. I searched my brain for words and tried to patch sentences. Started with college and ended saying

'Now that I have finished college I am looking forward to work with a well structured organization' I let the last line hang in the air for a while, hoping it would make an impression.

'Your resume looks good' she pulled herself up

'But I see you have not mentioned excel in your soft skills list. Are you comfortable with excel?'

I had never worked on excel, never thought I would need it.

'Excel will be new to me, but it looks like the other Microsoft applications. So I am sure I can pick it up in a couple of days' I said hoping my amateur excel skills wouldn't cost me the job.

A cold silence engulfed the room, there was no change in expression on her face but she nodded to everything I had to say.

'We will run you through a couple of tests and if you clear them. The Project head will take the last round of interview with me.

Run a couple of tests, I felt like a lab monkey. My stupid brain started imagining all sorts of scene from me running on a thread mill with tubes inserted to me, to her asking me for my urine sample.

I tried to clear my head as I walked out to another room. This one was smaller with computers lined up to the wall.

She handed me a piece of paper and said there were two questions I was required to answer. She walked out saying I had twenty minutes.

I looked at the sheet

"In not more than 10 sentences write about one of your strength and weakness."

Could the question get any more stupid? What is my strength?

I thought for a minute and moved on to the next question

"Where do you see yourself five years from now?"

'Married with two kids, wife pregnant with the third.' 'And also mostly not in this company'

I sat blank for a couple minutes, lost all hope of scoring the job.

I read the question again, I wanted this job more than anything else. Desperation took over and out came lines I honestly didn't know I had them in my brain.

Anitha came in and gestured 'twenty minutes up'. She moved towards my paper and I begged her for few more minutes. A scene straight from an exam hall; took me a minute to realize I was in an interview and not my semester exam. I dropped my pen and handed her the paper with a stupid smile pasted on my face.

She moved towards a computer with a stern expression on her face. Moving away from the computer, she spoke

'The technical round comprises of two excel tests. Open the file and do as mentioned in the two excel sheets'

I kept silent for a second thinking if I had heard her right. Excel? I just spent five minutes explaining I don't know excel. Confused I spoke

'Excel?'

'Yes. Most of our work around here involves excel.'

'Why the hell are you still going ahead with the interview?' I thought to myself.

'You have a hard twenty minutes' she walked out

I sat there thinking I want to finish this test, just to watch the expression on her face.

I pulled out my cell phone and sent a msg to Rohit asking his help.

"dude use d help option it pretty much has everything" came his reply

There times when I feel like the dumbest guy and this was one such classic example.

With new found confidence I attacked those excel sheets. Ten minutes I was done with it; help clearly the most underrated option in any software, it pretty much had everything.

Anitha tried hard but she couldn't hide the expression of surprise and I tried hard to have a proud smile on my face.

She took me back to the cold room, she called it the conference room. Any client meeting in that room would surly end with the client catching a bad cold. Or maybe the company's strategy was, give us the project or we will drop the temperature further down.

We sat waiting for the "head of projects" or "the projects head", the designation sounded more like one made up for the interview.

'Shama' Anitha introduced her without adding the head of projects title to her name.

'So Siddharth, Rohit was just talking about you now'

'Oh he was' I smiled hoping he had pushed my case.

'Your academics looks great. Any sports you played in college?'

'Yes I did. I played cricket for my college and university. I captained both the teams' I said stressing on the word captain, hoping they would look at it as a leadership skill.

She nodded and moved

'Your tests look good and I see you have completed your excel tests without any prior knowledge of excel'

I smiled, but thought if they were going to accuse me for cheating on the tests. Will they throw me out for using help? Should I tell them I used help?

Before I could speak, Shama continued

"So it is pretty obvious you used the help section.'

I smiled again, thoughts of apologising and leaving the room kept bouncing in my head.

'Which is good. It shows you can take control of a situation with no prior knowledge of it'

I looked up to see, if the Gods were smiling down. I could have never thought of anything on those lines.

I realised I had to talk, all I had done was smile and nod.

'Thank you. I believe kites rise against the wind.' I said, not realising the heights of dumbness I had reached with that line. Shama and Anitha tried hard to control their laughter and I had the stupid smile back on my face.

The rest of the interview was pretty simple. It was all talk about college, my life, my parents, my friends and pretty much anything and everything to do with me. The only things they didn't ask were, what colour underwear I was wearing and what brand of soap I preferred.

I stood outside holding an offer letter. Rohit looked at me and said

'That help line is nothing. You know what I am doing right now?'

'Smoking a cigarette.'

'No. I am de-stressing my brain to come with strategies to encounter a possible problem that is sure to come up in future.'

Malnad Diary

2009-12-30T10:11:00.021+05:30

Brahma Katae a small village in the heart of Malnad, with just about ten houses scattered around a radius of about five kilometers was truly one of the most remote places I had ever set foot on. A small house lay in the lap of dense forest and huge mountains. The house mostly surrounded by coffee plants, areca nut trees, orange trees and paddy fields was going to be my home for the next couple of days. My friend's uncle and aunt welcomed me a stranger, with enough warmth to make me feel at home within a few seconds. There was sincerity in their actions and innocence in their expressions.

I stood in front of the house with folded arms looking at the dark clouds; slight chill in the air had me rubbing my palms for warmth. A monkey screeched, the dog ran out to chase away the monkey, a bird sang at a far away distance, the areca nut tree bent but stood strong to face the wrath of the wind. The weather was magnificent, and rain could only make things better. Uncle came out; he stood there with me for a few minutes looking at the sky. A small prayer he muttered, requesting the rain God to pass away, requesting the Sun God to come out of his hiding. A loud thunder had him running towards his paddy fields cursing the weather, cursing the Gods; things could only get worse for him.

A young girl came out to greet me, looking at her a song from an old Kannada film started to play out loud in my head. I have a habit of adding own words to the original song and humming it with the original tune, and this song had a few added to it. She asked me a couple of questions, I answered them looking at her light black eyes, each time they blinked the song in my head got louder and louder.

"Malanada henna mai-chanda, aa nadae-chanda, aa nudi-chanda, mana sothu na ketae" (Rough translation: O beautiful girl of Malnad, your mesmerizing walk, your talk has stolen my heart and I seem to have walked into a mess having lost my heart to you)

A trek to a near mountain was planned the next day, excited with the idea we took off to scale unseen heights, to witness the beauty of the land, where Mother Nature seemed to have been generous with a wide variety of trees and plants. To be honest, I was excited about the chance to walk beside the Malnad girl, maybe I could talk to her, a few laughs we could share; if lucky get to know her better.

A muddy road with coffee plantations on both sides led us down to a vast area of paddy fields. Across the cut paddy fields sat the mountain 'Kal Gopura'.

Small streams we jumped, soft land of the paddy field we stepped on. The cold dew touched our feet, it brought with it a tickling sense; everything around looked spectacular, there was a smile on my face, I looked down to see my feet and the wet ground. I jumped immediately and kicked my feet in air, made sounds that could scare the monkeys from the forest; two blood sucking leaches were relishing my blood on my feet. Before I could do my dance and shout more, the Malnad girl bent down and gently pulled away the leaches, she looked at me and let out a soft laughter and all I could do was flash a stupid smile. Words failed me, her laughter echoed in my head and the stupid smile was pasted firm on my face.

Uncontrollable panting yet a strong determination to reach the top kept my friend and me going, he led the pack from the front while I hung at the back and between us, was the Malnad girl, her elder sister and our car driver.

There have been only a few moments in my short life where I have enjoyed the company of silence; standing on the top of that mountain was one such moment. Lush green forest stretched across majestic mountains and at the foot of the mountains light green paddy fields ran till the eye could see. The word beautiful fell short to describe Malnad and its people.

My friend walked up to me and asked 'so, whats your scene?'

All I did was sang my song softly.

I heard a soft laughter at the end of the song; I turned around to see nobody standing at the top other than us.

Did she hear it or was it my own head?

Still remains a mystery.

A New Direction

2009-12-30T09:53:00.002+05:30

There is a book that I carry with me always, it is 'The Writer's Nightmare' by R.K Narayan, a collection of selected personal essays by the great author. Reading the book, I have often thought; Can I write such essays?
After a long period of thinking, I have come to the conclusion. Only way to find out, is by giving it a try. After weeks of forced break from the internet, I return to give my blog 'Voices in my Head' a new direction; Personal Essays is the future of 'Voices in my Head'.

As the author of this blog, I am excited and looking forward to writing such essays. I hope my fellow blog readers will enjoy them as much as they have enjoyed the short stories.

Dream

2009-12-10T23:55:00.014+05:30

His two year old son was still asleep on the tattered rug that covered the cold ground. His wife sat beside him as he washed his face near a broken water pipeline. Murgan and his family had got used to living on the pavement. The sun was yet to rise, the road was already bustling with joggers and morning walkers. With swift and a steady pace they moved. They talked, they laughed, as Murgan sat and watched them with silence as his companion.

Murgan got up to leave; he looked at his son still asleep on the pavement; he stood still for a second staring at his son. His son's face reminded him every day of the dream he came to the city a year back with. A dream to provide a better life to his family, a dream to power his son with knowledge, a dream to break away from poverty, a dream to become a taxi driver.

He hands his wife a crumpled five rupee note and few coins, and puts away a dull looking ten rupee note along with some shiny coins in his pocket. They take the place in his pocket beside his prized possession, the driver's license; he got done before leaving his village.

He walks towards his work place with the same pace as the people around him. The driving school, where he cleans the cars; the taxi stand where he washes the vehicles, were all waiting for him.

Mathre makes a final inspection of the car to make sure it is ready for the first student of the day. Mathre calls out Murgan to clean the front window once more. Murgan goes to work without a protest. Mathre is a "very good man" Murgan often tells his wife. Mathre a driving instructor at the school, frequently takes Murgan out on drives and teaches him to drive the car around the city.

"Don't tell anyone, about our drives" Mathre cautions Murgan every time.

The fear of getting fired from his job, if the authorities found out, haunts him but never stops him from teaching Murgan to drive.

"I spoke to another taxi owner. He is not coming down from five thousand" Mathre speaks looking at Murgan

"Sir, I have only two thousand eight hundred. I don't know what I will do for the rest of the money. You are my only hope sir, try and get it down sir"

"Some owners are demanding a deposit of eight and ten thousand too. I have told you before, I will try my level best to reduce it, and rest is up to Him"

"Him, no sir, it is up to Her, Lakshmi Devi, when will she look at us?" Murgan replies with a smile.

"I think there is one fellow who can help you. I not very sure, I will not make any promises to you, I will talk to him next week, let’s see"

"Sir, ready to go?" Payal asked with a smile.

She was Mathre's first student of the day. She had walked the couple hundred meters from her swanky apartment to the driving school. She looked at Murgan and gave a short smile; he washed her dad's car along with her neighbor’s cars in the apartment.

"Yes madam, please come the car is ready" Mathre called out Payal.

She climbed into the driver's seat, and started the engine, which let out a loud noise scaring away the dogs sleeping near the car. She slowly drove out the car onto the road; there was a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eyes. She had woken up, bright and eager early in the morning for the past ten days, to fulfill her dream to learn driving, her dream to drive a car to college. Her dad had sent a signal by sending her to driving class she thought.

But he kept saying "Next year", like he had for the past couple of years.

The low hum of the ceiling fan coupled with the sounds of T.V filled up the living room. Uday sat on the floor playing with his badly damaged toy car. He made different types of sounds from his mouth, but immediately stopped when his mother gave me a warning glance. There was a knock on the door and he ran to find his father, Mathre, at the door. He jumped on him shouting

"Papa is back, papa is home"

Exhaustion filled Mathre called out for glass water. His wife had already run into the kitchen to get him one.

"Papa, remote control car" Uday pestered him

"Papa, please red color remote control car, Suraj and Ram have the same one, Papa please" he continued

"Next month" Mathre said keeping down the empty glass

"You have been saying this for the last six months" Uday softly banged his fist on his father's thigh

"How many times should I tell you not to disturb me when I am watching the news. Radha can't you take care of him" he shouted at his wife and Uday

Uday ran into the bedroom with tears in his eyes. The news channel was not tuned to, his mother serial was still playing out loud. He knew if he had stayed in the room it would just anger his dad more.

Uday bent down and reached under the shaking wooden cot. He hid the empty box of the remote control car, the box his friend had lent him for a week. A shiny red car adored the front of the box. He wiped his tears and then wiped the box with his shirt. His friend had let him drive the car once, a small round around two papaya trees. With big bright eyes and a huge smile on his face, he had run back home to tell his dad about the car and a request to buy him one.

Six months had passed, the request had now turned into a dream; a dream to own a shiny red car.

"Next month my dad will buy me the car" he kept telling his friends, he kept telling himself.

A shiny red car came to a screeching halt in front of the driving school, and out walked Payal with a box of sweets. The smile had not faded one bit from the moment her dad had gifted her keys to her new car. A sense of disbelief still surrounded her, her mobile kept buzzing; "Congratulations" kept popping on the screen, bringing more energy to the all ready bright smile.

"Sir. Sweets my new car" she extended the box of sweets to Mathre

"Oh, thanks madam and Congratulations. Remember to drive slow the first thousand kilometers, the engine has to get settled"

"Yes sir, I will keep that in my mind. You are leaving very early today?"

"Yes, it’s my son's birthday today. So I was thinking of taking him to the beach" he smiled

"I came here to thank you for your help and patience in teaching me to drive, and I think I have a small gift for your son" she walked to the back seat of her car

"No please, I have done my job. The sweets are enough"

"It’s for your son sir, you have to accept it" she forced the plastic cover into his hand

Inside the cover was a box with the words "Remote Control" on it. He smiled at her and thanked her, he thought he should say 'No' to the gift and return it back, but deep down in his heart he harbored a dream of giving his son that box one day.

They spoke for few more minutes about the car, he clutched onto the cover tighter and tighter with each passing minute. She was about to leave when she said

"I couldn't find Murgan today morning. Can you please tell him to clean my car along with dad's car from tomorrow."

"I don't think he can do that"

"Why?"

"He is now a taxi driver, madam"

All in a Day's Work

2009-12-04T00:12:00.005+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 5; the fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

One week old in the office and I still had no idea, what the word 'work' exactly meant. Five full days had passed by sitting in front of the computer and staring at the screen. The only time I touched the mouse was when I changed the wallpaper. Calvin n Hobbs, Garfield, Football stars and Cricketing Gods had all graced my screen in the span of five days.

I attended team meetings everyday, people around me spoke of issues, schedules and strategies, but I had all my focus on Sohini. She was the most beautiful in the office, her smile, her dimples and her sparkling black eyes, they all demanded an attention of their own. The lunch hour spent with her, and it was the only thing that made me come back to office.

All team meetings took place in the conference room, with the AC switched on to full blast always, I called it the 'cold room'. One hour in the room and one can experience the Arctic region sitting in the heart of Bangalore.

I zipped up my jacket and walked into the conference room for the third meeting of the day. Entering the room I realized I should have brought with me a bottle of brandy and a muffler to survive the two hour meeting. My neighbours in office Nanditha and Kavitha sat together in the room. Kavitha's three year old kid choosing to eat his one dinner with his grand mom instead of her, still looked like a hot topic of discussion in the room. They didn't discuss much in the room, they saved the best and the rest for lunch. Lunch was their chance to exchange their household issues and then have some sympathy showered at them from the rest.

Somnath, our system admin was busy hooking up the projector. Somnath joins Rohit and me for smoke after lunch often. He is twenty four but speaks like a fifty year old most times. He never gives up on an opportunity to make a fool of himself. Rohit and I had burst into laughter, when he pulled out a condom from his purse and announced

“I am always ready and I like to play safe”

He had a line with which all his stories started with, and over the past week I had learnt that all the stories that start with “Pata hai Tuje” were a creation of his imagination which he tried to pass off as real life experience. We never called his bluff on his face, the stories were definite fakes but they were quite entertaining at the same time. Be it him stealing mangoes from his neighbour’s compound when he was seven and then jumping over a ten feet tall wall, or ending up kissing a girl on a full moon night when he was just ten. They all made us smile. He was nice guy, who just craved for attention from people around him. He pretty much had an ordinary life and a very ordinary childhood, but deep in his head he lived an extraordinary life filed with adventure, twists, beautiful girls, and people looking up to him as a hero.

The first half hour of the meeting was spent with everyone agreeing the project was behind schedule. The second half was spent discussing, why was the project behind schedule. The next forty odd minutes were spent explaining the repercussions of the behind schedule project. The last fifteen minutes was spent planning the next meeting, to come with strategies to put the project back on schedule.

It was lunch already, I had earned my salary by just nodding my head. The salary felt more like an award for surviving the meeting and the cold room.

Sohini and me walked up a couple of floors to reach the cafeteria. I wanted to take the lift, but she felt the stairs were healthy. Rohit skipped lunch to get a 'I am sorry card' to his angry girl friend. At times like these, Hallmark say sorry better than us.

We entered the cafeteria and all the guys in the cafeteria had their eyes fixed on Sohini. She stood ahead of me in the lunch queue, we didn’t speak much. She was concentrating on the dishes that were laid out on the table.

We sat at the table, opposite to each other. I was surprised to see her plate with only little food scattered around.

“Why you look surprised?” she caught me staring at her plate

“Surprised, me?”

“I am on diet, and zip your mouth. I don’t want to hear any comments.”

“I was not going to make one” I replied immediately. Girls just jump to all kinds of conclusions. Passing a nasty comment had not occurred to me at all, but now that she mentioned, it was all I could think off. It was a test in self control to stop myself from uttering out all the stupid comments that came flooding in my head. Times like this, makes me feel my brain is my only enemy.

I looked down at my plate trying to figure out the different vegetables used in the sabzi. As we ate our chapathi made out of rubber, I spoke to change the mood

“I think heroines are better at handling all the fan attention and the crazy fans.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, even when she was not a heroine she would have got stared at by men all the time, and have crazy guys running around her.”

She laughed out loud, and spoke

“You know what. You are actually very sweet. So you thought of it, when all the guys around were staring at me.”

“Kind of, but no, even in college everyone stared at Isha and I used to think about it.”

“Isha is your girlfriend?” she asked tearing out her chapatti like a tiger tearing out a piece meat.

“No. She is a friend. She is actually my friend’s girl friend.”

“So you never stared at Isha?”

I smiled, bent my head down to pick up a piece of pickle and replied

“Not much”

“You stare at me?” she asked with her eyes fixed on me

I smiled. I couldn’t look directly into her eyes. I turned away and replied

“Not much”

She broke into a light laughter and punched my arm softly and said

“Ass”

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Waiting with a father

2009-12-03T13:29:00.021+05:30

The Bangalore Metropolitan Transport Corporation is the life line of Bangalore city. We don't have local trains nor do we have metros yet. The B.M.T.C has served the people for a long time and has taken the burden of the city's ever growing population on its shoulders.

They offer a variety of services from the clean expensive AC buses (Volvo) to the cheap crowed smelly buses. Of which the black board bus, which is a branch of the crowded smelly bus are the ones I have chosen to travel in. The other branches are the Red board and the Pushpak.

Getting hold of a monthly pass was not as easy as I thought it would be. I had to get a photo I.D card which almost looks like a pan card, with all my vital details on it.

Kempe Gowda bus stop, the main bus stop of Bangalore city, hosted the head office of B.M.T.C where the photo I.D cards were issued.

I walked up the stairs to the office on the second floor of the B.M.T.C main building. As I entered the office I came across one of the longest queue I had ever seen. It stretched from one end of the room to another diagonally, but it was not a straight line. The queue looked like a snake or the letter 'M'. I stood in the queue cursing my rotten luck and the B.M.T.C authorities. I wished if I could get such passes online, instead of wasting my time in the queue.

The snake queue moved at snail pace. People were visibly bored. Some were busy on their mobiles explaining how long the queue was, some were playing on their mobiles and some tried to read a newspaper.

One old man who looked to be in his early sixties stood in front of me, he had grey hair, his facial skin had developed wrinkles and he stood with his shoulders bent. He was trying to figure out the various options on his, what looked like a new mobile phone. He kept pressing the menu button and then the back button; he clearly had no clue as to how the mobile worked. He gently turned back and gave me a warm smile. I smiled back with the thoughts of helping the old man with his mobile bouncing around in my head. It took me almost ten minutes to decide to plunge into the cause of helping the old man with his mobile.

"Hello, my name is Nikhil. Do you need any help with the mobile?" I asked

"That's very kind of you, young man. I am as confused as a kid in a mathematics class" he replied with a chuckle and handed me over his mobile

I took hold of the mobile and navigated through it with the confidence and speed of a race car driver in a track. I started explaining, how he could send instant messages to anyone in any part of the world, with his mobile. He was visibly surprised by a simple feature of the mobile. He listened to every piece of information I gave with child like innocence and student like concentration, and quickly jotted down the steps to send a sms, in his hand book.

"Are you ready to send a sms" I asked

He nodded his head and replied

"I want to send a sms to my son who is in The States"

He typed out a small message with his shivering hands and pressed the send button with all the might he had.

I smiled and said

"Uncle you don't have to press the button that hard"

With wet eyes and a soft smile he replied

"I was hoping if I pressed hard it would reach him faster"

I just didn't know what to say to that, I quickly managed to change the topic

"Uncle, I like your number it ends with 007, quite fancy"

"Oh, James Bond, never thought about that, it's nice, have you seen Dr No?"

"Dr No, is it a Bond movie?"

"The first Bond movie kid, Sean Connery an excellent actor, wonderful movie, you must watch"

"Oh, I know Sean Connery, he was in 'The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen', he is good, but I think Pierce Brosnan was the best Bond"

He looked at me smiled and said

"How can you call him the best without having seen the best"

I stood silent for a second, and then we both broke into light laugh.

He looked ahead at the people standing in the queue and said

"This queue is surly going to take a hit at my one o'clock lunch"

"Your wife must be waiting for you at home" I added with a smile

"She is waiting up there for me" he pointed at the heavens up above

"Oh, I am so sorry..."

He cut me

"Don't be, she lead a very beautiful life" he smiled

I nodded my head in understanding and smiled back

"The only thing that's waiting for me back home is my T.V" he added with a chuckle

We stood quite in the queue for few more minutes, and then he spoke

"I like to travel in the bus, the variety of people you get to meet and observe are beyond one's imagination."

I nodded, but I had not yet experienced the bus enough to agree or disagree with him.

We were almost near the I.D card booth when he said

"I like emails and now this instant messaging service, some say they are impersonal, but it's nice they reach faster than the letter."

He continued

"Why are you smiling, is it because I am the first old man you have met to have said this. Letters are fine but now we have to change with the changing world."

He reached into his walled and pulled out a worn out piece of paper, and handed it to me. It was an old letter, dated 26 April 1986, exactly two days before I was born. He took the letter from my hand and said

"This is the first letter my son sent from the States, he is now settled there with two kids, they email me, I have never met them, but they have promised to visit next year."

I looked at him, with the fact that this old man has been living in the city alone with his only kid thousands of miles away, just settling in.

He looked down at the letter and said

"The only thing emails don't give is the feel. I can still feel my son's touch in this letter"

Silence took over my words, but luckily for me we had reached the end of the queue. We parted ways with a short good bye, as he moved towards the senior citizen's booth.

The letter still remained in my head.

One small paragraph that I noticed in the letter played continuously in my head.

"My studies are going........................

......................................Appa, I miss you a lot, can't wait to come back home.

Irony

2009-11-28T13:00:00.011+05:30

The below story was selected as one of BlogAdda's Tangy Tuesday pick. Recognition in any form feels great, and this one along with the fellow blogger's comments has been the sweetest of them all.

Lying on the hospital bed, he looked at his injured leg. It had been ten days and there still lingered a pain in the leg.

He looked around the room, filled with low vibrating noise coming from an old air cooler. There was a plastic cover with fruits in it, some tablets and bottles lay scattered on the side table near his bed. The room looked clean, he was quite happy with the job the hospital maid did every morning.
He let his head fall back on the pillow. All his thoughts were about his pregnant wife going through labor at that very moment, in the same hospital. There was small a prayer in his heart to Goddess Laxmi, asking her for blessings of wealth and health to his family.
The door opened and in came his mother and the nurse. The nurse held a needle, he had always been afraid of the needles. His mother sensing his fear still alive, walked to his side and held his hand like she had for the last thirty years. He felt safe each time she held his hand. There was certain warmth to it, and a reassurance of support for a lifetime.
The nurse smiled and rubbed his arm with cotton, after the injection. Over the past ten days, he wondered how he could thank the nurse for all the care, all the affection she had showered him with. The nurse walked out, telling his mom, she could give him lunch.
His mother ran out of the room and came back with his younger sister holding a Tiffin box. His sister walked up to him, and rubbed his forehead. She tried to fix his messy hair with her hand, but felt it was not enough. She pulled out a comb from the drawer and spent the next fifteen minutes, making him look handsome. He enjoyed his sister's attention, he could never think of a world without her.
His mother helped him get up and sit back on the bed. She opened the lunch box. There was a smile on his face, when he saw some of his favorite dishes filled up the Tiffin box. His sister had toiled in the kitchen to prepare all his favorites.
His pregnant wife had cooked all his favorites for the past nine days, and his sister had taken over the morning his wife went into labor.
His mother fed him small pieces of chapatti. His sister filled a glass with fruit juice for him.
Both his sister's and his mother's tired eyes had affection in them for him and kindness in their touch.
From birth to the present day, his mother had been taking care of all his needs, his demands, and not a day could he remember, when he felt not cared for or ignored.
The nurse came running in and his face immediately was filled with dejection and sadness, when she said

"Your wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Congratulations!"

The Living Dead

2009-11-25T00:12:00.006+05:30

The plan was drawn, the task was explained. Ten years of training would be put to test in the next few days. They were the chosen ones for the holy task. Twenty years of their existence in this world and all they had gathered was hatred. All they listened to was hatred. Sixty years had passed and they still carried the wounds. The pain, the hate was passed down generation to generation. The pain the hate recruited chosen ones all over the world. Young men surrendered their heart. Little did they know, they had surrendered their brains too.

The young men walked out of the makeshift base camp near the border, to the training area. Guns of different caliber waited to be picked up from the table. The cold hands picked up the metal. Guns were not new to them, they grew up playing with them, they grew up sleeping with it. Special guns , hand grenades were imported from the West and Europe, their biggest enemies. Money the paper creation, had given birth to traitors all over the West and Europe.

One last prayer was said before they left. The destroyers prayed to the Creator, to help them destroy His creations. They climbed onto a boat and took off with just the words of their leader in their minds. Thousands of miles of journey was covered without a single thought, without getting caught. Thousands of paper pieces had again given birth to traitors in the foreign land they entered into.

The young men climbed off the boat and walked out of the harbor into the main road. They looked around the foreign land, they looked at the people around. The people wore the same clothes they wore, they looked the same color, they looked the same type, but the young men were taught to find differences in these similar kind of people. The young men stopped a taxi and took it to their planned destination. The driver smiled at them and spoke a few words with his passengers. The young men understood the language, it was no different from their own, but they never smiled back at the driver. On reaching the destination, the young men walked away from the taxi, telling the driver to keep the change. The driver, drove away in his taxi excited to have received extra money, he drove to the nearest toy store to buy his five year old a doll for her birthday the next day. But little did he know of the return gift the young men and left behind in the taxi.

The young men walked into a railway station. The security was relishing a cup of tea, his uniform had got him for free from a small child selling tea on the platform. The young men stood in the platform waiting for the right moment. There was no doubt in their mind, there was no thought in their mind, their minds were filled with voices, commands, hate of their leaders who now sat thousands of miles away, with their television sets switched on.

A five year old stood smiling with her mother, she was excited about her birthday the next day. She stood with the thousand others who waited for the train along with the young men. Nobody noticed the young men, nobody saw anything different in them, they looked like their very own.

A button was pressed and in an instant the platform turned into a graveyard.

The whole world watched the scene on their television screen. The rulers announced compensation in terms of lifeless paper pieces. The protectors carried away the blood stained body, they were recruited to protect. The country changed the channel, worried if they had missed any important scenes of their daily television serial. The leaders hiding thousands of miles away, celebrated the bravery of the young men and thanked the Creator for answering their prayers.
While the people who had lost their dear ones, stood on the blood stained railway platform asking the Creator, the rulers, the protectors, when will all this end?

Evening Breeze

2009-11-23T12:29:00.004+05:30

The below post titled 'Evening Breeze' is a small glimpse at the bigger things that I am planning and hoping to paint. Please do give it a read and let me know of your honest opinions.

The bus stop looked surprisingly empty compared to the morning madness that had engulfed the place. The conductors and drivers looked tired but not frustrated like they were in the morning bus. Everyone waited for the bus, but there was a lazy stride in everyone’s walk. The benches on the platforms were occupied to capacity. Boys selling variety of masala nuts and Kannada evening news daily seemed to be making brisk business.

The evening news daily fascinates me; it carries the news and events of the present day, while the morning news paper carries the news and events of the day past. I have always wondered which would be better choice of getting the news.
Newspapers over the past years have gained a lot of my respect. Even with Television taking up the main role and news channels evolving every day. Newspapers still find a place in homes. A fascination we have with words and sentences was definitely built on strong foundation.
One of the kids walked up to me asked if I wanted to buy a newspaper. I looked at the newspaper in his hand ‘This Evening’ was the name of the paper in Kannada. The headlines shouted out the political instability in the state. I waved ‘No’ at him. Politics has never quite interested me. The whole system of appointing able citizens to govern the land has gone on to read appointing leaders to rule over us.

A bus slowly started approaching the platform. Sighting the bus meters away I started to make my move and swiftly walked towards the likely position the bus would stop.
My early sighting of the bus seemed to have yielded fine result when I scored a window seat. The bus quickly filled up. There was enough space for everyone. The people standing also had the luxury to change positions if they wished. It looked like paradise compared to the morning bus.

The bus slowly moved out of the bus stand and entered the road. The bus even though looks dull with its faded blue colour yet there is something majestic about the machine. Sitting in the seat and looking down at all the vehicles was a completely new experience to me, there was a certain amount of joy to it as well.

The conductor looked to be having it easy. He had change for every hundred rupee note that made an appearance in the bus. There was no smile on his face but there were no frowns either. After making sure everyone had a ticket or a pass he walked towards the driver’s seat and stood there chatting with the driver. Their conversation mainly focused on a fellow conductor, a colleague.
The work place of the driver and conductor was so very different from my cubicle and the AC rooms, but we did share one common interest; bitching about a fellow colleague.

The bus moved slowly thanks to the thousands of vehicles that were heading back home. Every signal that we had passed looked to have considerable amount of traffic jam. I looked around the bus to see everyone busy lost in their own thoughts. A mobile phone played a radio station, loud enough to be heard in the entire bus. The noise from the vehicles outside tried to fight it out with the sounds from the radio, but music seemed to prevail over the noise in some parts of the bus.
The music comprised of Kannada and Hindi to please everyone. The RJ seemed to have same enthusiasm she did in the morning show. She read out requests and dedications for a song, sent to her from all over the city.
A song describing a girl’s beautiful smile, her eyes, had me thinking of Sohini again. How I wished if she would talk to me again. Her name brought a smile on my face, and my mind could do nothing but picture her beautiful smile.
I was rudely brought back by the next song which talked of the loneliness of a heart broken guy. I turned to look out of the window, trying to block myself from the song.

November had just begun and winter had started to rise. There was a cold breeze that made me pull my jacket closer to the body. It was a cloudy evening, but I couldn't much see the sky in the dark. Light orange street lights lit up the road. An orange glow covered the air near the lights and few insects flew near them mesmerised by the light.
The bus happened to come across an empty road and started to accelerate to speeds of thirty and forty. Bikes zipped past the bus and were lost from sight within seconds. The driver tried to pick up more speed, but the engine revolted back with warning noises.

It came to a screeching halt to a red signal that ordered the vehicles to stop. A countdown board near the signal lights told us exactly how many seconds were left for the light to turn green. Hundred seconds left, the vehicles stood quite, thirty seconds left, the life was back. Bikes, cars accelerated, engines roared ready to unleash the fury.
Ten seconds left, honking from all the vehicles took over the roar from the engines. As the countdown moved towards zero, the honking amplified. Zero and green, the vehicles zoomed away and raced each other on the empty road. The bus slowly accelerated, before it could pick up speed, it came to a stop at a bus stand.

A young couple got onto the bus at the stop. The girl was lucky to get a seat in the front section of the bus, while the boy didn’t have the same luck. He stood holding onto the handle of the bus.
His eyes looked to be fixed on the girl and didn’t for a minute look around. The girl often turned back to smile at him, and communicated with him using her hand. His smile looked to tear open his cheeks, each time the girl turned to look at him.
At the next stop, the woman sitting next to the girl got down and the boy immediately jumped to the empty seat. They both seemed to smile at each other again and the boy quietly put his arm around her shoulder. They spoke softly and the girl broke into light laughter every time the boy said something. After a round of laughter and smile, she softly laid her head on the boy’s shoulder and he affectionately bent his head and touched her head with his. The cold breeze, the music in the bus and a partly filled bus, everything looked to be perfect for the young couple.

A middle aged woman stepped into the bus in the next stop. There looked to be no vacant seat for her and being a little on the heavier side, she certainly was in no mood to stand in the bus. She glanced around and spotted the young couple.
She clearly didn’t agree with the boy occupying the ladies seat, and ordered him to vacate the seat specially reserved for ladies. He had no case to argue and knew very well even if he did, it would only make things worse. He got up from the seat reluctantly and walked back to his old position with a dejected face. He stood holding onto a handle with a gloomy expression, but the smile was instantly back when the girl turned at him and started with her hand gestures again. I looked away with a slight smile on my face. There was a strange sense of happiness for the couple in my heart.

A young man walked into the bus in the next stop. He looked restless and kept changing his positions. His heavy sighs to the song playing from the mobile radio made me have doubts that he didn’t quite enjoy that music. My doubts were confirmed when he pulled out his mobile phone and started to play songs of his liking.
Now there were two mobile phones playing two different kinds of music.
Kannada and Hindi lyrics, drums, guitar, dhols, and flute got mixed and out came a sound that was clearly unpleasant to hear.
Nobody looked to object to the harsh sound that was forced upon us. I kept silent as well, but cursed the new arrival to the bus for bringing the music with him that spoilt the atmosphere in the bus.
He didn’t look to enjoy the music he played either. He kept jumping onto the next track and never stayed more than a minute on one song, which made it all the more frustrating for me to sit and listen to it. I got up from my seat and walked towards the rear door, there was one last stop before my stop. I stood near the door looking at the empty foot board. I felt an urge to try standing on the foot board with my head hanging out a little, but I stood near the door, still a little afraid to try the foot board.
I got down in my stop and walked away feeling quite relieved that the evening breeze was much enjoyable compared to the morning chaos.