Wild Fire - A Short Story

I

South Asian Games Federation (SAF) village, built to accommodate the athletes participating in the South Asian Games, now houses the most powerful bureaucrats of the city. None becomes powerful without garnering few-to-many enemies along the line. So for the sake of guarding them, there’s always a police patrol in and around the area. At the entrance of the campus, a small police booth was setup, where there’ll be always a police man during the time when those powerful folks pass the gates. Now just near that booth, stood Preethi, waiting for a car sent by her friend to pick her.

She gazed at the busy 100 feet road, taking in the busy traffic that could culminate into pure chaos and pandemonium in a while. It was 8:50 AM. On a different day, she would've been staring at the Oracle E-Business Suite Application, trying to decipher why the Automatic Receipts Generation Program failed for a specific invoice for the umpteenth time. But this was a unique day. When she thought about it, she felt the butterflies flying all around her stomach.

He had messaged the previous night that his chauffeur will pick her at 9 AM sharp. SAF was well known in the city and should be known to most drivers, so she gave that as the pickup point. She came early to the rendezvous so that her garrulous mother doesn't notice the extra excitement in her face. A sudden thought came to her, “What will she think if she finds out? She’ll first inform dad and then a mini mourn session will be orchestrated by her. She’ll tell her usual nonsense about honor, tradition and how my shameful act of giving myself to the guy I like the most has tarnished everything. Crap. Thank god I didn't have to hear her sermons again”. She smiled to herself. She can handle her mother. One problem could be the extreme scenario.

Preethi, at the disastrous age of 23, stood a 5 ft 7 inches, with a round face featuring grey eyes that radiates sensuousness, lips that are pinkish and that when parted displays perfectly arranged teeth. Life was extraordinarily smooth for her with a under graduate degree, a well-paid (She would say that it’s just a perception) job and this latest addition – A guy who’s jobless (He uses a much more euphemistic term called Entrepreneur) but has plenty of the piece of paper that matters the most in life due to a rich grandfather and a ridiculously rich father. Now this new addition is also at a disastrous age of 24.

At 9 AM, an Audi A4 came to a halt in front of her. The chauffeur, a traditional cinematic type, wearing all white uniform, adorned a white cap too, took something from his shirt pocket and looked at it for a second or two. Then his eyes moved around, searching for something, finally settling the gaze upon Preethi. He moved towards her and asked in perfect English, “Are you Ms.Preethi?”

For Preethi, this was the moment when she has to unshackle all her fears and nod her head. What if anyone she knows, sees her getting into an Audi A4? In a cosmopolitan, it won’t set the tongues rolling but one of the many relative setting their gaze on this very much conspicuous Audi A4 is more than enough to pay attention to who gets into it. She knows she’s thinking too much. He used to say that all the time, “Honey, You've got lot many assets from head to toe but thinking is not one of them. So don’t bother doing it”. As if someone gave her a kick to come back from the reverie, she came back to her senses and looked at the driver, nodding her head, said “Of course, I’m Preethi. Shall we get moving? ”

II

The ride to the farm house was majestic to her. She felt like a queen travelling in a chariot to King’s chamber to offer herself. This royal thought sent shivers down her whole body. It’s always better when the human mind behaves like a horse with a blinder. In those cases, what matters, is the destination and not the external factors. In her case, the blinders were sporadic.

It all started going haywire 15 days back. What started as a simple whatsapp chat session, went little complex. It was during that chat, the conversation became so intimate that it ended in a peculiar request from her. “Can you send your picture? I mean I want to see you without clothes”

The next 15 days felt like an eternity. She was enjoying each and every moment of it. He brought out all her hidden fantasies, suppressed feelings. He made her long for him; He made her think only about him; In Short she was completely possessed of his thoughts.

And suddenly her phone sung his favorite song “In the merry month of May”, from the album “Rocky road to Dublin”.

It was her brother.

Again she felt the nervousness. “Did he see me anywhere? Otherwise why will he call now?” She followed the usual routine of disconnecting the call and was thinking whether to dial back or not. 

“If he had seen me, the first thing he’s going to do is call mom and innocently ask about my whereabouts. He’s a momma boy, who is more than candid to her. I don’t understand how he shares everything with her when I don’t share anything. He thinks mom understands him very well but mom can never understand me. For her I’m always an imperfection, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. If he had called her, then I would've got a call from either mom or dad. So it must be something else“.

She dialed his number.

“Hey Arun”

“Hey. Where are you?”

Don’t think. Just be spontaneous when not speaking the truth.

“I… I… am on the way to office.” She stammered but completed the sentence and waited for the reaction from the other side and then continued “Why? Is there a problem?”

“No. Don’t forget to recharge for my number.”

Phew. She can breathe easy now.

Now the smile was back on her face. She must go easy on her imaginations.

“Sure. I’ll” and she cut the call. She hadn't confided to Arun about her relationship. She wasn't sure whether he would understand it. Arun was extreme right and orthodox inside the house and the opposite outside. She wasn't sure which part was the true Arun or did he have anything individual? I can never share anything with him until he has a stable ideology and thought process.

Does she have an ideology? A stable thought process? If she had, would she be ready to bunk office to go to that guy’s farm house? This is all because of the sporadic blinder. She never thought about anything when she decided to spend time with him but from the morning she felt like the blinders were off and she could feel the pressure of the external factors.

III

The car took a left turn on the East Coast Road into a deserted street. Preethi was astonished at the sheer size of the bungalows on both sides of the street. The astonishment was slowly turning to fear the moment she realized the kind of society she has to deal with in case the relationship progresses into a marriage.

“Stop thinking about your future and be in the romantic mood, please” she told herself.

The car stopped in front of the wrought iron gates, which were taller than her. As if sensing the car, the gate swung open automatically to reveal the bungalow inside. She felt like a student entering the examination hall.

The chauffeur stopped the car in front of the double mahogany doors.

“You can go inside, madam” said the Chauffeur, pointing his right hand towards the door.

“Am I really doing this? Having progressive thoughts on virginity is one thing but all those hold true only till the moment when a decision has to be made. How easy it would be if I didn't have to think about this? What if he starts hating me after this? He might think that I’m desperate for this. He was desperate too. But the guys are always afforded the luxury of passing the buck to the girl. But I don’t have that luxury.”

Preethi dialed his number. The familiar voice of him soothed all her apprehensions.

“Hi”

“Hey Preethi. Have you reached?”

“Yes. Are you inside the house?”

“No. I had to check on an important work in office. My work will complete in another 10 minutes. I’ll come after that. I've informed my assistants there. They’ll take good care of you until I come”

“OK. Come soon”

The moment she hung up, she saw a couple come from inside, welcoming her to the house. “Are these two the assistants he was talking about?”

They led her to the spacious hall which had sofas, arranged in an L shape, with one sofa placed adjacent to a staircase and another close to the wall. The cost of each sofa, she guessed, might be her six months’ salary. A glass teapoy had been placed in front of the sofas. She sat in one of the sofa.

“Boss told us that you’re a very special guest. Please tell me anything you want. I’ll get it for you” said the guy and he also introduced the woman as his wife. They both were the caretakers of this farmhouse.

“No. Thank you. Now, I know whom to ask if I need something!”

The last sentence brought a sheepish grin on the assistant’s face. “You can look around the house until boss comes”.

Once they left to look after their errands, Preethi started looking around the bungalow, where she might be living if things fell smooth into place. The grandeur of that hall fascinated her. Coming from a modest background where the home’s roof is touchable with a single jump, the high ceiling, the ceiling fans with lights at the bottom was new and beautiful for her.

“Mom and dad will be astonished to see this house. Mom will be talking about this to all her friends. How big and beautiful the house was and she will talk about this for years to come”

“Once I’m married, I should bring them here often. They’ll have the most unforgettable time of their life living in a bungalow near the beach. We can never buy such a house in our lifetime. Once they come here, they’ll want to come here again and again.”

A sudden unwanted thought came to her. Wait              

IV

“Will Dad and Mum want to come here again and again? How comfortable will they feel in this world? For them, the happiness is being content with what they have. Despite mom’s astonishing remarks about the upper class, she can never mingle with them. Of course dad too feels uncomfortable with upper class society.”

One incident stuck her sharply. When Preethi had invited her friend’s family to her house, her friend’s father took out his Business Card and gave it to her father. He didn't know the etiquette of Business Card exchange. He happily smiled at the card, caressed and felt the material, inhaled the aroma of the card and thrust it into his shirt pocket. Preethi can never forget the disappointment exhibited by her friend’s father. That guy went a notch higher and asked if Preethi’s father possessed any card. Without any embarrassment, her father replied “No. I don’t like using these cards.” That guy looked at her father for a while and left the house. Preethi stopped bringing her friends altogether to her home.

“What if my would-be- father-in-law pulls a business card out of his wallet and look down upon my father because he doesn't have one? How bad of me to put my father in such an embarrassing position”

Economics of the family and the way one person is brought up defines their thoughts, actions, decision making etc. With more sophistication comes the need for more luxury. Preethi, despite a high paying job, belongs to the class that looks at sophistication as a destructive thing in life. She could feel the blinders getting thrown away and all the thoughts collide with each other inside her head. Her head was trying to find its own “God Particle”, not to determine the origin of thoughts but to see if a clear decision making thought was plausible.

Her mind was racing now. “What the hell is happening to me? It’s like a dream; I don’t know where this thought process started but it has pushed me to a confused status. Yes, I was thinking how nice it’ll be for Mom and dad to live here but I know it’s not possible”

“Love, marriage and economic state are interlinked. How much ever he likes me, deep down, he can never understand my thinking. It’s the same for me.”

Her mind was getting some clarity and she felt her mind moving towards a decision.

“It’s easy to sleep with him today but at some point, I've to take a decision; whether he’s the right man for me or not.”

“Until then let’s hold these thoughts; keep them aside; be good friends.”

“I shouldn't drag this. I should call him and inform him that I cannot do it today.”

At that very moment, she heard the sound of a car followed by footsteps and the handsome figure of Harish entered the house. He came straight to her and hugged her with all the comfort he can offer.

“Sorry Honey. I made you wait for a long time, is it? I’m extremely sorry”. And he planted a peck on her cheek. “Shall we go upstairs? I've got to show a lot of things to you”

With all those earlier thoughts taking a back seat, she followed him upstairs. Again the horse blinder analogy came to her mind. She felt the blinders too. With each footstep, she forgot all fears, complications and problems. Now all she had was anticipation and desire to give him the best possible love. He was her jockey; she trusted him to drive her.

The complicated feelings, she had earlier were replaced by pure burning fire inside her. A wildfire. The fire that pushed her to travel to his farm house overtook all the other emotions. She just hoped that she doesn't regret her decision.

She hugged him from behind and went close to his ears and murmured sensuously “I’m all yours!”

A Strange Company

I

The bus had all the signs of total deterioration. The broken chairs with torn cushions, nothing in many places where glass windows should have been present, made the bus look like wizened old man waiting to see his end. The condition of the bus showed the concern that the policy makers had for the people travelling in it. The best part was the so-called “socialism” involved where irrespective of the collar, blue or white; the travelers have to undergo the same comforts or difficulties.

With the ticket price at 33 Rupees, Harish had very less options, in fact no option other than utilizing that bus. The other options were much more expensive. His office transport, 3000 rupees a month, deducted from the monthly salary, did not help the cause. His office broke the myth of “Public sector is bad and privatization is the need of the hour”. “However bad the public sector, we can be still worse” seemed to be the retort from the private players.

Harish ran to the bus stop carrying a laptop backpack, which did not have a laptop in it. All it had was a Tupperware lunch bag with a square shaped lunch box and a spoon, John Grisham’s A Time to Kill for killing the time during the 90 minute travel, a small reminder pad for noting down anything or something important although there was literally nothing important and a ball point pen to write those important things that doesn’t really exist for him.

The first important thing he did was to take the window seat and the next important thing was to close those windows. It’s a usual ritual for many to run to a bus to take the seat close to a window to just close it and stare at whatever is there beyond that transparent material. Harish was no different from the herd and he continued that exciting tradition of closing the window, thereby denying that right to another fellow traveler. The pathetic souls, who were showered with travel sickness, have to just put up with them.

Harish obtained the ticket and held it in his left hand behind his Sony Smart phone. On his lap, John Grisham was showing to him how the 2 white bastards were raping a little 9 year old black girl. Having engrossed into the book, he paid little to no attention to the figure who sat next to him.

II

The co-passenger stared at the book for a while before staring straight ahead when the gaze of the reader turned to him. Harish looked at the person next to him and the first word that crossed his mind was “Weird”. He couldn’t make out the height but must weigh in between 60 and 70 Kilos. 

The most conspicuous feature was the smile on his face. The smile was sandwiched between a moustache that resembled a pencil sketch and a beard that looked heavy on that face. Harish turned his attention to the book. Again he could feel the eyes staring at the book.

He closed it hastily with his index finger becoming the bookmark and looked at the person.

There was no change in the emotion on that face. The smile was still there. He opened the conversation.

“What book are you reading?”

“A Time to Kill by John Grisham”

“Is it good?”

“Yeah. It is till now.”

“So you like stories?” he paused for a while, and then continued “written by some foreign writers?”

Harish stared at him for a moment and answered in the affirmative.

“What is the story about?”

Harish was genuinely irritated now. The last thing he wanted was this conversation with this stranger. But he couldn’t lash out at him. Even though the guy was weird, Harish was little bit sympathetic with him.

“It’s a story of a 9 year old black girl getting raped by two white men in America. The girl’s father decides to take law into his own hands and shoots the 2 white men. What happens to the trial etcetera forms the rest of the story.”

What Harish failed to notice was the reaction of the guy when he uttered the word “rape”. The face that was smiling had all the color drained from his face. His facial features were trying hard to suppress the poignancy emanating from that face. And slowly but steadily the tears started to drop from the eyes of that “Weird” guy.

Harish, with a bewildered look, was wondering what on earth was happening.

“Sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

Then that happened. He shook his head, opened his mouth and started talking.

III

“Sorry. I couldn’t control my emotions on hearing what you just said. No. Nothing’s your fault. What was the age of that kid who got raped? Hah yes, nine, right? An age meant to enjoy the world. You know something? Kids lose their preciousness, beauty, innocence and everything that’s unique to childhood, the moment the elders start showing sympathy. It should never be that.”

The non-stop monologue from the co-passenger was stirring some different emotions within Harish. The delivery of the rhetoric was evoking some heavy feelings, the kind of feelings that were buried deep inside a human heart. 

Harish for the first time that morning did not want to open his mouth. He wanted to listen to what this strange guy had to say. Even though the stranger had not revealed anything, Harish felt that it was like a moment before a storm.

“My life turned upside down because of a rape. It was 10 years back, on a hot summer night; I did the mistake of my lifetime. ”

His voice cracked when he uttered the last sentence.

“I took my wife and 9 year old daughter to a movie. The movie wasn’t great but we had a happy time enjoying each other's company. When I recollect all the events today, it feels like all that happiness was for that dreadful finale.”

He never looked at me. He spoke those words looking straight ahead, with tears rolling down one at a time. Each and every tear was tearing Harish. He felt like crying too. He understood what he’s about to reveal next.

“There were 4, I think. It all happened very fast for me. I shudder to think how slow time would have passed for them. I felt a metal striking the back of my head. I’m not really sure whether it was metal or something else. It struck me hard and everything went black in front of me. When I regained consciousness, what I saw first, was the torn and destroyed dead body of my daughter”.

IV

“Do you have a daughter?”

“No. I’m not married.”

“Then you might never understand what I felt at that moment!”

The truth is Harish could understand what the stranger would’ve gone through. But he didn’t have the guts to say that. Instead he was just shaking his head.

“I felt like killing those bastards but” he paused and looked at Harish, with eyes that didn’t have any trace of anger, “I don’t know who did those heinous crimes.” He pleadingly looked at Harish. The obvious helplessness was evident in his eyes.

“All I remember was silhouettes of them and nothing else.” Then looked at Harish, with eyes peering into the eyes of Harish, “When my anger subsided a little and my thoughts were clear, I decided not be like them”

“Didn’t the police find out who did those crimes?”

The sarcastic smile said everything. Harish felt numb. This man was clearly beaten by everyone.

All that was said after that was just sound and nothing else. He had never met anyone like this stranger. The most surprising part was the sanity the man still possessed, ironically, whom he thought was weird. It would have been totally justified if he had taken the law into his own hands. But he didn’t. Although intellectuals and psychologists might argue that this man would’ve become a vigilante, if he had known the identity of the culprits. But for Harish, none of that mattered. He felt if a human being can abate his emotions even after going through such horrific moments, he’s not just a normal person.

The stranger destroyed the prejudices that were lurking within his conscious. He thought of all the moments in his life when he had pre-judged people; People who unfortunately couldn’t show the face that society likes and loves. Those people had to endure the humiliation he had showered upon them with his judgmental attitude.

When his destination arrived, he stepped down a different person, bidding his good bye to the stranger, who was actually on his way to visit his wife, who is now in a rehabilitation center.

A stranger’s company wasn’t bad after all.

Did he tell his name? hmmm, Does it matter? 

Titleless short story

The hexagonal wall clock showed the time as 11:30 PM. He was waiting for his friend to return home from a party. Sleep was sitting on top of him; seducing him; forcing him to oblige to the inevitable. But who would open the door for him? So he pushed sleep from his head and tried to lift his brows as much as possible, bent his neck up and down, twisted it clock wise and another twist counter clock wise. Now sleep would not disturb him for some time. With that he opened his laptop and started writing a story. He thought long for a title. Since nothing came to his mind, He simply started typing those words.

"I have never told you about my fears. It changes from time to time. When I was a kid, it was darkness. More than the curiosity to reach out into the darkness and find out what is lurking there, the fear that something mysterious and monstrous might reach out and grab me with its hands or whatever it has, was more profound. Nothing allayed that fear. Have I told you that I even had Nocturnal Enuresis? No. I didn't It’s called bed wetting But it was years back. Now my fears have evolved though.
People thought that School would change me. But it didn't It worsened me. The bullying of the kids, condescending looks of those teachers etc made me hate school like anything.
Have they ever pulled your pants inside the classroom? They did that to me.
The person I fear the most in school is V (Let’s call him that). ‘V’ was the son of the head of school. You know how it is, the pampering they give to him, as if the head of school would shower them with bonuses for pampering his son. He always took the role of a gang leader.
I forgot to tell you something. I was aged 12 that time. I feared the very sight of him.
After growing up a little, the fear of human beings started to subside. But a new fear started growing inside me. That’s Sciaphobia. Have you heard of that? It’s called the fear of shadows."

The clock now read 00:15 AM. He was very much satisfied with what he had typed. Now there was no sign of sleep in his eyes. He opened the door to see if there was any sign of his friend. Not a trace. The cold night was extremely still with a graveyard silence. The steady breeze touched his face and again brought sleep in him. He closed his eyes for a second and suddenly opened when he felt someone move in front of him. He felt someone scurried for cover, with a fear of getting caught. He slowly went back inside and bolted the door. He took out his cell phone and dialed his friend. No answer. To take his mind of this, he continued with his story.

“Initially the shadows were causing all kind of problems at night. Just imagine how horrible it would be to walk home from office in the middle of the night. I don’t have a brother to call upon to accompany me, no parent to wait for my arrival, just a friend who gets drunk and sleeps before I come home. Walking those 1000 meters from the bus stop to my home was like walking on a tight rope without anything to balance. That’s when the phobia intensified.

I always felt that someone was following me. I felt that the monster that tried to grab me all those years back, has come back to finish the job it started.

I ask myself ‘Why will anyone follow you?’ I say to kidnap me or rape me. When did man start raping another man? You’re right. The probability is less but who knows what one is capable of doing when he becomes desperate. So when such thoughts creep into my mind, all those years’ fear comes back to haunt me, torture me.

All I need to do is look back. No one would be there. I can breathe easy. But what if someone was really there? So I never did that. The last thing I needed was to give a face to my monster. So I fasten my steps. That was the moment when I looked at the pace of the shadow running with me. I suddenly halted in the middle of the road and just fell down. I tried getting away from the shadow but it kept following me. Taunting and teasing me. I don’t know where I got the guts. I just closed my eyes and hit hard at the shadow. I just got up and ran as fast as I could without opening my eyes. ”

The story was taking shape. The time was almost 00:45 AM and still no sign of his friend. He tried calling him again. He expected the response. No answer. He immersed himself into the story once more. At that moment, there was a slight knock on the door. It wasn't a banging though. It was caressing knock. It looks like someone was studying the door, waiting to break it. He slowly went to the door and kept his ears on the door. This time there was no trace of that sound. He wanted to open the door to allay his apprehensions. So slowly he opened it, inserted his face into the opening and peeked outside. That same cool breeze touched his face and instantly brought the sensation of sleep. His eyes started to doze off. The eye lids acted like a screen that was ready for “curtains down”.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

He suddenly opened his eyes and saw that it was 1 AM and his phone was ringing. It was his friend. He said he’ll be back in an hour. In the background he could hear a women’s voice. It wasn't rocket science. He understood what was happening. So he continued with the story.

“I felt normal only after reaching home. The confines of my home somehow felt secure. I entered the house and bolted the door .I was still panting. At that moment there was rustling on the door. Since my back was to the door, I moved my body 90 degrees and pressed my ear on the door. That faint sound was still there. I thought, had the monster followed me to my house? I turned my body back to the initial posture and was suddenly startled. Again it was just my shadow.

I pressed my ear at the door again, straining myself to grasp the sounds. I heard something.

Footsteps

Footsteps running for cover. They are trying to hide from me.

But why do they have to hide?

I got the answer in another couple of seconds. Strategically, the ideal time to attack the prey is when it’s not expecting it.

Two hands entered through the door and started strangling me. The hands were hairy and it gave the feel of a butcher’s hand. Although the hand was human-like, the nails were not nails. Am I confusing you? It was claws. Can you imagine a monster with a human hand and claws?

I felt its claws tearing into my neck and counting the nerves. I felt the flowing of blood down my stomach to the groin area. I don’t know why. I didn't make any noise. But when its sharp claws cut one of my nerves, I couldn't resist longer. I just shouted as loud as I could. I never knew that I could shout like that.

Suddenly everything stopped, my nerves were still intact. The monstrous hand was nowhere to be seen. It was all happening in my mind. In that instant, I failed to realize that my pants were wet. ”

It was almost 1:45 AM. His friend should be here any moment. He read everything once and was satisfied with the flow.

Bang. Bang. Bang

Someone was banging the door. All the panic that was hidden inside him came back again. He didn't know whether to go to the door or hide somewhere. He decided to confront the monster this time. He slowly went to the door and kept his ear on the door. The monster put its hands out and grabbed his neck. The pain was excruciating from the beginning. Without thinking, he shouted as hard as he could.

Suddenly 2 people grabbed him from behind and made him sit down. 1 person took out a syringe and filled it with medicine. The needle pierced his skin and the sedative started mixing with the blood.

Dr.Arun threw the syringe in the bin and looked at Selva and enquired “Anything new today?”

“No doctor “said Selva looking at a paper. “It’s the same story.”

“Ok. Let him sleep for some time. Keep a close watch on him”

“I’m sorry. I had to stop the story abruptly. You know I was terrified. On that fateful night I had reached home by 11:30 PM and to keep my mind off my fear I started writing. My friend did come back home drunk and he saved me from that monster.

I slept happily that night without any fear. It was probably the first time in my whole life. But the next day when I wake up, I’m in this place. These doctors say that I’m mentally unstable. They also say that I killed my friend that night. It seems I’m recollecting those events again and again.
You know something, I haven’t told them about the monster.

They don’t know the things this monster can accomplish. But I know. It killed my friend. I’ll find that monster and destroy it.

But I don’t know its face, right? How will I identify it?

Simple

I’ll kill everyone who was responsible for creating this monster.

Please don’t tell them my plans. It’s our little secret.

I still couldn't ’think of a title for the story.”

Politico Religious Haunting - My latest Short Story

The mob moved in on him with ferocious venom. All they wanted to do was set precedence. Their mind had already been preoccupied with thousands of thoughts. But the most popular one was "Teach this b*st*rd a lesson!" He was standing on a rectangular stage, which was atleast 3 feet from the ground. The vantage point was more than enough to spot the deluge of people shouting something and approaching his stage. He had no place to escape. He knew the end was inevitable. The approaching crowd stopped in front of his stage. One angry young man, "Vinayakrao" holding an axe, came on to the stage.

Vinayakrao turned to the crowd and shouted "SILENCE".

Like obedient children, there was stunned silence. "How should this traitorous b*st*rd be killed?"

"Let’s lynch him right here" came an instant reply from the second row.

"Let’s cut him to pieces and serve his meat to all his monsters!" came another retort from somewhere in the fifth or sixth row.

Vinayakrao then gazed in his direction and smiled. The smile gave away the intent.

"Ok! Let’s hang him"

Two comrades of Vinayakrao stepped onto the stage. They lashed at him from behind. The force behind the shot instantly knocked him forward and he fell on his face. They carried him to a corner where the stakes and rope were already in place for his execution. They placed the rope around his neck and tightened the noose.

During all this the crowd was shouting some sort of slogans. Initially he couldn't understand the slogan but once the noose tightened, the slogans increased to a fever pitch. Now he understood everything.

Vinayakrao gave his signal. The entire crowd was shouting "Bharat m..."

Kamal woke with a jolt. There was sweat dripping from his temples. He looked around the room. There was no mob, no stakes and no lynching. This dream seems to be incessant, occurring every night. He looked at his wife sleeping peacefully. He couldn't tell her about this dream. He doesn't want to undergo her interrogation. He thought of the man, who was coordinating his execution. He was surprised that he could still feel that man's anger. There was something familiar about that man's name. He tried to remember it but he couldn't. But the familiarity still nagged him.

He looked at the bedside clock. It was 2:30 AM. He got up from the bed and walked to the refrigerator. He could hear his wife and daughter screaming at him for drinking ice cold water. His throat and especially the tonsils have this remarkable quality to make him suffer. They always make sure that severe cold and high fever attack him. The worst part is the mucus, which turns into an awful green. But that was least of his worries at the moment.

He gulped down the water and sat on the dining chair next to the fridge. Again his thoughts turned to the mystery man from the dreams. "I've to talk to someone about this. Sham...or....hmmmm.... Sid....But will they take this seriously? What about a psychiatrist? He might also mock me. But that's a bit secure".

Life is not heaven for political leaders. It becomes hell when that party has a religious ideology. People on the outside have a different perception about the lives of political leaders. Kamal never bothers about those perceptions. He believes in his religion and the welfare of his people takes precedence over any other thing. Anyone who commits blasphemy, or tries to be sacrilegious, deserves according to him decapitation or castration. His party men have been striving hard to prove that they are a better class of "Fanatics" than him. He loves that term "Fanatic". "This is the age of identity, brothers! Good or bad, every individual wants that" he used to say to his fellow comrades. He does have that identity. Good or bad is another question. That identity was bestowed upon him by the corporate media, who loves such characters. People might also use the word "Fanatic", when they refer to him but deep down in their heart, they do love him because he has got what many lack. An Identity.

Kamal went back to his bed with a relief that a visit to the doctor would solve his problem. This time too, the dreams repeated in the same sequence but with an alternate ending. Instead of hanging, they immolated him.

The next morning he dialed his childhood friend, Karamchand, now a popular psychiatrist. The appointment was booked at 2 PM that same day. Finally if there is one man who'll understand what he's going through, then that's Karamchand.

Karamchand's hospital was located in one of the affluent places in the city. Kamal went inside the building which seemed have its roots in the Indo-Islamic architecture. A pishtaq similar to the one in Taj Mahal welcomed him. Kamal did doubt karamchand's religious allegiance. Kamal was pointed to a seat in the waiting area by the beautiful receptionist. The walls in the waiting area were adorned with the pictures of Mahatma Gandhi, Sigmund Freud, Martin Luther King Jr. and Karl Marx.

After 15 minutes, he was asked by that receptionist to follow her to the hospital's inner sanctum. The building was constructed in such a way that there were 2 separate pathways for entry and exit. This enables the much needed privacy of the patients. A door with a leaf-like nameplate greeted him. The area above the midrib contained the doctor's name and the portion below contained this quote.

"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark. The real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."

The door opened to reveal the mid 40 man with a face that Amul would be happy to have in their adverts. "His face hasn't changed at all" thought Kamal.

"Hello My friend. How great to see you. Please sit down"

"Hey Whitey. I'm very good". Whitey was the epithet used by all his friends. Indians have this strange habbit of 

associating fair and white in the same context.

After the pleasantries had been exchanged, kamal explained his problem.

"I'm unable to sleep at night. I'm getting all sorts of dreams"

"What sort of dream?" implored Karamchand.

"I'm... hmmmmm....I end up in a place.......some kind of ground...... its familiar though.... There are people... 

hmmmm... shouting some slogans...... then.... Kill me". He finished the sentence with a kind of stammering that he hadn't felt before.

"Ok. Calm down buddy. How often do you get these Nightmares?"

"Every day for the past 6 months!"

"hmmmm ok. Are you sure it’s just during these last 6 months?"

"Yes"

Karamchand thought for a moment and said "See kamal, these nightmares are believed to be manifestations of our mind. It’s the recollection of events that could have happened some time in your life. You don't have to worry too much about it. We'll start the treatment next week"

"Thank you. But everything was familiar, the place, the crowd and.... hmmmmm... even the executioner." The sweat has again started dripping. "I'm really afraid" he said with a slight tremor in his voice.

"Hey come on. Do not give up. It’s normal in case of almost all human beings. Some accept it and some don't. Your mind is just recollecting something you saw somewhere in your life. It could be real or something you saw in a film.” He paused and said “In the worst case it could be guilt". His face became very serious when he uttered the last sentence.

He continued "Let’s say you did something wrong and the consequence would have been severe to some. You start feeling bad for it and your mind gives the same punishment to you." He paused like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey and laughed aloud "But that's not possible because I know you. I can't imagine you killing someone" and he laughed again.

After that kamal did not comprehend whatever Karamchand said. No one can imagine Kamal killing someone but he knows that’s not true. But how can he admit it?

While walking out of the hospital, he couldn't help but think about the people they had murdered. He usually called it as "Politico religious killings". He tried hard to recollect the name of his executioner. But he couldn't.

He took out his mobile to check the messages and missed calls. There were 2 missed calls from his subordinate. There was a single message from an unknown number. He opened the message and it read:

"We urge you all to celebrate the son of the soil Nathuram 'Vinayakrao' Godse. The man who slayed the Mahatma 'double agent' Gandhi. Today, Jan 30 is the day to celebrate this unsung hero. Jai Hind"

“Stupids. Even in today’s world such morons exist, who doesn't understand the sacrifices of Gandhi” thought Kamal. But something rang in his mind. Something was trying hard to come out of his mind.

Yes.

Yes.

The name is familiar.

Yes. It’s the same name.

He quickly dialed his subordinate.

"I remember a journalist was killed by an unknown group. What's the name of the journalist?" He dare not ask it directly owing to the love and affection of government to put him behind bars. That would be a confession.

After hearing the name, the sweating just increased on his temples.

Changeling

"Why did daddy leave us, Mommy?"

"When you were born, a big box arrived and it contained something called Responsibility. For some people responsibility is the scariest thing in the world!"

I'm not sure if a mother can explain this complicated moment in a better way to her nine year old son. This is a scene from a movie called "Changeling" starring Angelina Jolie and directed by Clint Eastwood. This film was based on real-life events in Los Angeles in 1928, where a young mother (Christine Collins) finds her nine year old son (Walter Collins) missing when she returns home from work. But after 3 months, LAPD finds her missing child and reunites the mother and Child, only to find that the kid is not her son. Then what follows was police power trying to suppress the mother and brands her as "Mentally Unstable". I'll stop the spoilers here. Please do watch this brilliant movie that gave Angelina Jolie an Academy award nomination.

This movie talks about several key issues that were prevalent in 1928. I could relate those issues to even today. This shows how insecure the children are in our society. Be it 1928 or 2012, every kid in our society is at incredible risk. In a society that encourages Nuclear families, a time a child spends alone at home is relatively high compared to our previous generation. On the other hand, we cannot really say that joint families are any better for the security of a child. The physical, emotional and sexual abuse are still predominant in our society. Some might say otherwise too but truth is little hard to digest. When a single working mother, leaves her little kid at home, the risks associated are well-known. The saddest part is that this is not 1928.

The next issue handled beautifully is "Freedom of Speech". People in power never enjoy this. They seem to prefer an authoritarian state of affairs. When Christine Collins persists that the kid rescued by the LAPD is not her kid, the police is ready to believe her. In 1928, the Los Angeles police were ridiculed and criticized severely for their "Take action against cops who don't kill the criminals" approach. So to avoid another media spectacle, the LAPD wants to close everything off the books. Then starts the "She is mentally unstable" story and the manner in which doctors treat the young forlorn mother, shows how insecure every one of us are in front of power. That leaves "Freedom of Speech" in a dark room where freedom gets lost in a corner. This too is an issue that’s happening till today. A blatant use of power was exhibited in Koodangulam Nuclear Plant Protest. Many people who question the authority of powerful bureaucrats often end up losing everything. This particular issue was well captured by an IAS officer P.A.Krishnan in his novel "Tiger Claw Tree" (Puli Naga Kondrai in Tamil).

The next is how such stories unite the masses. This itself is a clear example of how the world perceives authoritarian powers. Almost all the civilizations have fought the oppressing authorities, Whether succeeded in that or not is a separate issue. The story of Christine Collins united the Los Angeles people in protesting against the corrupt and belligerent LAPD. So it really shows that the oppressed will not keep quiet for long. This too is evident today.

The last one is for you to feel when you watch this movie. The last 5 minutes will definitely bring tears to your eyes. You'll feel proud about Christine Collins and her Walter, as though you are the mother feeling proud about your son. I'll definitely stop the spoilers here. Enjoy this amazing movie.

Chennai leads the way for Future

A man with a pudgy face and a clean French beard, wearing a red coloured Royal Challengers Bangalore jersey wouldn’t have expected this kind of reception from the Chennai crowd. He is the owner of UB group and the RCB team. It seems that his products are the popular ones and not he himself. A sporting Chennai crowd sent out jeers when Vijay Mallaya’s face was shown on the mega screen inside Chepauk.

At times it is difficult to understand the Chennai crowd. This was the same crowd which gave Saeed Anwar a standing ovation when he got out after scoring 194. They gave a standing ovation to the Pakistan team after they won a closely fought test match in 1999. Murali Karthik once said during a match that “You’ll never hear them booing any player”. That testimony still stands firm. I haven’t heard any jeers for any player. The most culpable candidates too weren’t given any hostile reception.

Yesterday when the team sheet was read by the announcer, I wondered what would be the reaction for the opponent team players. Much had been fabricated by the media about the emotional draining caused by the world cup success. If it was true, then India’s bowling architect Zaheer Khan should’ve been given an arousing welcome, but that wasn’t the case. His’ was a much subdued one than what Saha received. Some of the cricket purists would argue that the reception is more to do with popularity and not anything else. This could be true but Bravo getting cheers more than Zaheer and Virat Kohli is showing few signs of what is to come in future.

Many columnists concurred with the TRP ratings that over dosage of cricket is the one to be blamed for the nadir that IPL has seen this year. I beg to differ there. An appraisal of the TRP ratings would give us a better view of why the ratings came down. That is a region wise ratings would give us a fair idea of what went wrong and where it went wrong. For example no one would have followed Knight Riders until the Bengal elections got completed and also some would have boycotted IPL because of “NO DADA” factor. They would have realized after some time “Hey Hang on a minute! KKR is playing better without dada”. Chennai on the other hand would not have missed the games played by CSK. So taking all those factors into account would lead us to a conclusion that TRP ratings would get better as your team does well.

Another counter view could be “Why did the first few years have very good ratings?” It was simply because of the excitement and more importantly the curiosity the IPL had created. The common cricket fan was unheard of player auction. They would’ve thought humans will not be auctioned, but no one considers these players as Homo sapiens anymore. The rest of crap that followed the auction, partly implicit and another part explicit by “sugar free Candy” Lalit Modi. So that accounts for the high ratings for the first 2 seasons. But from the moment Lalit’s endeavours became the cynosure, the on-field ratings began to drop.

I feel this is the normal behavior. You’ll see more such acts in the future. Fans will be giving more importance to the match played by their teams and also to some other good matches. But will IPL and BCCI be happy with that revenue alone? No way!

Also, I too have to accept the over dose of cricket. But over dosage is something the fans will come to terms in the coming years. And BCCI will also understand it and will fine tune its commitments.

I feel that the emotional drains, over dosage are important things for the rich and corporate class. But for an ordinary cricket it never is. For an auto driver in Triplicane, an electrician in Arumbakkam, a mechanic in Royapuram, there is no emotional drain. That too because of a tournament success. These are people who will never enjoy a tournament success year in year out solely because the national team plays only bilateral series more often. If there is one thing that can vindicate these players’ exorbitant salaries, that is giving something that’ll generate happiness on the faces of the above said people.

All football fans know how a weekend match can shape up their entire next week. The happiness it generates is unmatchable. Chennai has showed the way for the future. It is up to others to follow or still blabber like Arnab Goswami “How can KKR be important to Gambhir than India”.

I have decided to follow the Chennai crowd. Mallya Booooooooooooooooo……

Do we want to be Nero's Guests?

Last month, I watched a documentary on Vidarbha farmers suicide. It was certainly not for the faint hearted. It did not contain any "Raktha Sarithra"-esque bloody and gory violence but it gives repeated slaps on both sides of our faces.

Farmers committing suicide is not an unusual thing in India. It happens in every state but predominantly in Maharashtra, UP and Andhra Pradesh. This happens due to a variety of reasons. Corporates and Governments are the most illustrious names among that variety. Now I'm not planning to dwell into those farmer issues like Rahul Gandhi is doing recently. My concern is how the majority of us view those issues.

During the BT-Brinjal issue, SWAT (an NGO that I'm part of) had organised an awareness programme on the ill-effects of BT-Brinjal. After the programme, we have to split into groups and campaign against BT. The additional nuisance was to paint your face with a brinjal. Sensing my reluctance to do it, Vivek Muralidharan pulled me and made me do it that day. My experience while campaigning in Anna Tower resulted in some conclusions.

1. No one below the age group of 30 know anything about BT Brinjal or GM foods.

2. I'm part of that same set of people.

All the newspapers ran stories about these GM foods but the participation television media was quite poor until Jairam Ramesh burst into the scene. So now we come to the important part, most of the people under 30 would have known the GM issues if our TV channels had given some sort of importance to it. This could only mean that we're idiots because we relied on some money-hungrey Rajdeep's, Barkha's and Arnab's for Knowledge Transfer. We all agree that our media is irresponsible especially the crap 4 (NDTV,IBN,HT,Times) but our reliance on those people for Justice and other things is very scary. Its not that Rajdeep or Pranoy doesn't know the issues of farmers, Jharia Coal mines' Child labours or the other issues. They know it better than any one. But restraint in reporting it is irritating. They're maintaining their habbit of reporting such news only when Rahul Gandhi comes out to support the farmers or YSR's son fasts for the farmers.

A short description on the title of the article
Nero, a roman emperor invited many to a party in his garden. To entertain his guests, he burnt all the prisoners in his garden. That burning created a illumination in the night and his guests thoroughly enjoyed it. They thought it was a spectacle.


We're the guests of Nero. You,me, Rahul, Pranoy, Barkha, Arnab. We're silently enjoying the spectacle Rahul Gandhi is creating in UP, the coverage our media gave to him, his publicity stunt in getting arrested. We're enjoying everything. Its not just Rahul alone, it includes everyone.

Do we really want to act like Nero's Guests?