Words On Canvas

How Ramdas Kept His Job

2010-04-24T05:55:00.000-07:00

[The recession, Swami Nithya(cough cough) samAnanda, Megadeth's Rust In Peace, a small Indian Airlines hangar where they allowed visitors all the way till the plane, Richard Bach, Black Adder and my grandfather]

Ramdas overheard the managers using the word recession a lot these days. It somehow seemed to encompass anything and everything around him. The canteen food had gone bad; they had blamed it on the recession. Their yearend bonuses weren’t paid; they had blamed it on the recession. The number of people using their planes had far reduced; again, the managers blamed it on the recession. Sitting in on the union meetings, he heard them discuss the possibilities of job cuts... Again thanks to the recession. Ramdas was a watchman at the Jetpack Airline’s Hangar 18.

“Oh God! Please save us from this recession” thought Ramdas.

Jetpack Airlines was a private firm operating in the niche field of small lightweight aircraft. They had a humble fleet of 6 airplanes which were regularly leased to the Geological Survey of India, training institutes and off late to big businesses who’s bosses and clients passed of Jetpack’s aircrafts as their own. Jetpack even made last minute changes to the logo and interiors of the plane with just a few hours of notice from their client.

Coming back to the union meetings, news somehow had leaked out that many people would lose their jobs soon. It seemed as if all of the employees were to be evaluated and then sent home based on their skilfulness and loyalty to the company. Now, the list of employees to be sacked would have to be approved to Mr. Venkatram Mudaliyar- the manager in charge, who, unfortunately for Ramdas, was a good man.

Mr.Venkatram knew all the employees well for he made it a point to talk to each and everyone over the course of lunch, tea or dinner on a weekly basis. It was thus unfortunate for Ramdas that Mr.Venkatram knew that both his sons were abroad – one in Switzerland as a Chef and the other in Dubai as a construction contractor. Both were regularly sending Ramdas tidy sums of money with the intent that their father retire, stay at home, and watch TV. They were in fact such good sons that at this point was a very bad thing for Ramdas for Mr.Venkatram was a good man and had already hinted that he would do nothing for Ramdas when they were deciding whether to retain him or not. Mr.Venkatram wanted only those employees to stay for whom a loss of monthly income would lead to starvation or bring money lenders to their doorsteps. It was completely certain that Ramdas would lose his job.

But Ramdas didn’t want to lose his job. Like all old men he could feel himself withering away and fading into the nothingness of old age every morning when he awoke and stared at his old aching hands and cold wrinkled feet. He wanted to keep himself out of despair for what few days he had and never even considered the thought of quitting his job, sitting at home and watching TV. He felt that it was his duty, no, it was his right to be the watchman of Jetpack’s Hangar 18 and he would do anything to keep himself there.

There’s a strange thing about dreams-well- they tend to come true, sometimes. Of course you must have had that dream where you were running bottomless in your old school or playground being fearful of your dirty little secret, but with no one else caring. Or that dream where you were with your significant other, only waking to realise that she was the heroine in the movie you had seen last night. No I’m not talking about those dreams. I’m talking about the dreams that come true. The dreams where there was a warning or prediction. That single dream where God , the devil or your dead great grandmother warned you of some impending danger and which when you heeded , were saved from a possible fatal decision. Chokalingam Ramamuthumurugan once had such a dream.

Chokalingam Ramamuthumurugan was the owner of Jetpack Airlines. Actually it was just another company from the 20 or so others that he had. He had made this one just so that his slightly dull middle son had something to run so as to not be unemployed when he reached marriageable age.Chokalingam was a very religious man who was a great devotee of Swami Samananda. He had fallen under the Swami’s grace when the Swami had once appeared in his dream and asked him to sell all his overseas holdings for a ‘crisis of world changing magnitude’ was about to happen. It is needless to say that Lehman Brothers collapsed leaving Chokalingam a few crores poorer but having moved 20 steps upwards to be India’s 4th richest man. Chokalingam now was an earnest believer of the power of dreams which he had openly declared with his personal experience as proof at Jetpack’s annual union meeting. Ramdas always attended union meetings. It was a great place to hunt for fathers who had daughters of marry able age as he was looking for a girl for his younger son.

It was on the night of November 28^th 2009 that Ramdas had a cunning plan to keep his job. He knew that the only way he wouldn’t be fired was to be so valuable to the company that they would never dare to lose him. But what could he do? He was just a watchman! or so he thought till the night of November 28^th 2009 when his cunning planning suddenly popped into his head whilst he was about to fall asleep. It was a plan so cunning you could even put a tail on it and call it a weasel.

It was on the 29^th of November 2009 that Chokalingam visited Jetpack’s Hangar. It wasn’t like he cared too much about the business anyway as long as it didn’t make too much loss, but on this day he wanted to fly all the way to Delhi to meet the Prime Minister. He had to send his regular flight carrying his mother as she had to attend a wedding in Bahrain. So here was Chokalingam getting down from his car and making his way to the aeroplane.

This scene would have a better effect over you if you probably imagined it in slow motion; however let me describe it to you anyway. The balding Chokalingam got down from his car and swung up his white veshti to reveal a bear of bare legs. He then took his cell phone from his attendant who was standing beside him ready as ever with an umbrella to shield Chokalingam from the midday sun. Bellowing into his cell Chokalingam walked past Ramdas without as much as a glance at him. It was now that Ramdas made his move; he lunged at Chokalingam’s feet and gripped it with all his might. Just moments ago, he had smeared chilli powder in his eyes so that as he looked up at Chokalingam his eyes were as watery as a crocodile crying to attract her/her mate.

With a teary voice said Ramdas “Chokalingam sir, please do not go on that plane sir, please please please...”

“Who is this man?!” asked a flabbergasted Chokalingam to his even more flabbergasted attendant who simply shrugged his shoulders to show his ignorance.

As Chokalingam looked around for someone to assist him, the manager Mr.Mudaliyar ran up to and them and began profusely apologising.

“I’m so sorry Mr.Chokalingam sir. Ramdas here is our watchman. Although I’m not sure what has suddenly gripped him I apologise on his behalf sir. Do forgive us for ...”

“No!!” shouted Ramdas. “You don’t have to apologise Mr. Mudaliyar. I am doing this because I love my boss” continued Ramdas slowly standing up.

Facing Chokalingam, Ramdas continued with an apologetic tone “Sir, I have been a good employee and have never done anything stupid sir, but you see there is one thing I simply cannot ignore. See sir, I had this dream 2 days back...”

“What dream? What are you talking about??” asked a surprised Chokalingam.

“Well, sir in my dream sir there was a young man wearing an orange robe sir. He told me that I will meet a very big man within the next few days and that it was my duty to tell him to not go on his journey. He told me that if that great man did go on the journey then great harm would befall him and his family sir. Sir, please forgive me but the man also told me that if I did not tell him this then my only son would also never get married and that I will be thrown out of a job. So that’s why all this drama sir, I hope you understand sir, please sir....” By now Ramdas was almost pleading.

There was a tense silence that ensued, for you see Chokalingam was shocked and no one else dared to speak until he had spoken. Chokalingam had met his guru about a week back when he had pleaded with the Swami to give him that one bit of information which would solve all his problems and bring a great change to his life. To this the Swami had replied that he would again appear in a dream, but this time not his. Swami Samananda had said that he would appear in the dream of a person who would suddenly appear in Chokalingam’s life and warn him again of imminent danger. And just as Chokalingam remembered these words of his guru, there stood in front of him a gaunt old man his hands in Namaskar, his eyes almost in tears and his body trembling. Chokalingam was sure that his guru’s words had come true.

“Mr. Mudaliyar, I am cancelling my trip to Delhi as of this moment” said Chokalingam sternly breaking the silence.

“But but, sir the plane is ready to take off. We even loaded it with...”

“Never mind the plane" said Chokalingam cutting Mr.Mudaliyar off "It’s the PM I’m worried about .."

“Guess the PM will have to reschedule his appointments now” continued Chokalingam after a brief pause

“Anyway, lets go back now” said Chokalingam to no one in particular as he whirled around and started to walk back to his car.

“Sir, what about me?” went Ramdas in as weak a manner as he could.

Chokalingam stopped in his tracks for he remembered something else his guru had said.

“Your wealth, power and glory are not for yourself but for the good of the weak and the downtrodden. All that you have made is dust for you are born with nothing and will die with nothing!” was what Swami Samananda had said in one of his weekly discourses. Chokalingam had felt that the holy man was addressing him directly.

“What about you? What do you want??” replied Chokalingam as he whirled back around to face Ramdas

“See sir, I am a simple man. I want only simple things. One of them is my work sir; I have been a watchman here for over 25 years sir. I have only request from you sir. Please don’t relive me from duty sir. I very much want to die working here only. I also need to get my younger son...”

“Oh! Is that all!?? “ asked a bemused Chokalingam.

Turning to Mr.Mudaliyar he said “Mr.Mudaliyar if you ever terminate this man you’ll be the next one without a job. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir, very much. Ramdas will not be fired sir. I guarantee you that” muttered a flabbergasted Mudaliyar.

“Thank you sir, thank you very much!!” went an elated Ramdas.

“Ok, now that everything’s taken care of, let’s go. Assistant where is my phone? “asked Chokalingam as he whirled around and strode back to his car only to leave behind a grinning Ramdas and a very very confused Venkatram Mudaliyar in Jetpack Airline’s Hangar 18.

The Good Man

2010-03-04T18:18:00.000-08:00

[Inspired by Belandur]

Shyam sat down on his chair with a loud thump and heaved a long sad sigh. His wife Kamala gently stroked his hair as he sat and pondered in despair, regarding what he might be demanded to do. Never before in his life had there been a situation where he had felt so helpless, so unprepared or so unwilling as he felt right now.. except once before.

It has been about two years since Shyam had faced such a terrible crisis. His friend Shankar had borrowed a large sum of money from him to start his own business - which ultimately went bust. And as with all investments, the investor i.e. Shyam wanted his money back, for you see, he wanted to contribute a fairly large sum for his sister-in-law’s wedding. After much haggling, pleading and even a couple of threats, Shankar’s friend finally returned the money before disappearing– as a Demand Draft.

That evening after reaching home with the DD in his pocket, Shyam had settled down to some lukewarm Vadas and switched on the TV when it occurred to him that he ought to keep the demand draft in a safe place. On searching everywhere in his house, he couldn’t find his pant which he had so carelessly thrown on the bed. Just as he was starting to lose patience, his wife entered the house with all their shopping for the week - done. It also turned out that Sunday was also the day when she gave their laundry – and Shyam’s pant had gone along with it. On learning this, Shyam hurried to the washerman only to find that he too had closed early that Sunday evening. Never before had Shyam felt so helpless and was distraught at the thought that he had to wait an entire day to retrieve his measly pant.

That Monday was one of the most stressful that Shyam had ever undergone. He was unable to concentrate on his work and knew that at the end of the day he was sure to be reprimanded. But his immediate worry was the demand draft, in his pant pocket, at the washerman’s. That evening he got onto a moving bus, rode the footboard, got into a fight with a beggar for stepping on him and almost got to see the underside of a eunuch when he passed by without taking something out of wallet.

On finally reaching the washerman’s, panting, he asked if his pant had been taken away for lavating. The clueless washerman was dumbfounded that Shyam had done something as stupid as leave a demand draft in his pant pocket before positively being negative about finding his pant. But this was probably because he really wasn’t a washerman at all but just the ‘sales and accounting manager’ for that particular washing enterprise. Shyam thought that his life couldn’t get any worse.

Shyam was walking home a bit slowly that night. In fact he wasn’t walking at all. He just stood still unable to comprehend the fact that his life’s savings was in some big bucket full of soap, waiting to be squeezed and thrashed to cleanliness. He returned to his old habit of lighting a cigarette and keeping it near his mouth because all his friends used to do it, he didn’t want to, but wanted to anyway. So there he was standing still, with a lit cigarette and staring straight into space when he met Guduji - the person everyone in their neighbourhood turned too when they had a problem. Guduji was also a local ruffian with vague connections to the political elite. As a matter of fact he used to campaign for different parties at different times, but always in the same locality. Now Guduji had what many people considered the bane to everything that knowing a ruffian would come as a boon – he demanded loyalty. For once anyone had taken a favour from Guduji, they had do anything he asked one to do. But again in his favour, he would only ask a thief to steal, a murderer to murder and a homemaker to help save a house. He could also track down a lone van carrying clothes and get the driver to return the demand draft without it being deliberately misplaced or lost along the way.

And so we find ourselves back to today, when Shyam is sitting with his hand on his head, his wife Kamala gently stroking his hair as he sat and pondered in despair regarding what he might be required to do. The shopkeepers below his apartment had given him the heads up that Guduji was looking for him and that would only mean that he wanted Shyam to do something illegal. It is a working rule in the overworked police force that a previously innocent man would be pardoned for his first offence. Citizens with no previous criminal record are every small time ruffian’s most prized asset.

The door opened with a loud thud with the hinge making a long high pitched creak that when mixed with the thud seemingly matched the shock and gripping fear that Shyam and his wife felt. Guduji’s large figure was blocking their doorway, his spick and span shirt in sharp contrast with his dark complexion. But it was his wide grin and clean white teeth that gave away the gay mood that he was in.

“Shyam! I was looking for you everywhere. Where you hiding from me?

Anyway, here is an invitation to my daughter’s wedding. Both you and your wife must surely come ok....”

And that was when Shyam heaved the longest relieved sigh of his life.

Prison

2009-12-20T03:17:00.000-08:00

I plucked the Jasmine flower from the creeper that grew sturdily on the arch above me its sweet smell intoxicating in the early morning air and the dew on it made it glisten in my hand, as like a jewel to be gifted to one’s beloved on their wedding day. With care and attention I placed it gently in my bamboo basket trying as much as I could to not deform its already delicate shape. With great tenacity had I tried to deplume just those flowers which would retain their fragrance until the setting of the evening Sun. These were the best Jasmine flowers in the entire area and they were tended to by me.

After handing over the flowers to the garland maker, I headed off in the direction of the spa. As I walked along I was greeted by friendly faces with their warm smiles reminding me of the sweetness of this fine morning. The ladies moved gracefully in their long flowing tunics cajoling in me images of swans swimming silently on a still lake and the men went about purposefully in their loose overalls carrying out their designated tasks with a sense of gaiety and utmost ease. It was fine morning to be alive indeed.

The spa overlooked a great huge garden filled with every imaginable flora and fauna that we hold dear. Never before in the history of the world had such a garden ever been created in terms of its sheer vastness, beauty, comfort and breathtaking landscapes. It truly is a marvel of the modern world. On seeing this great expanse stretch out before me, my idiosyncrasies took over haling me to postpone my time in the Sauna and decided instead to wander around in the garden for a while. My mind was at ease for my next task was scheduled in a good four hours time.

Loitering around in that expansive garden is one of my favourite pastimes. The air was chilly and had just the right amount of moisture to magically transform the cold into a pleasant, comforting and one could say even romantic sense of warmth. The garden is always filled with people, all in sight of each other but with the right amount of distance to make one believe that they are really alone. There were the elderly who were reading or merrily talking away and the young, cuddling and frolicking in the corners, following their instincts just like Adam and Even in the legends of lore. We can all see the mountains in the distance from here, their snow covered peaks a favourite destination for the numerous trekking enthusiast over here.

I went over to a bench nearby and sat down slowly unpacking the sandwich that I had picked up earlier at the canteen near my home. It was large sandwich kept warm thanks to its wrapping. Unwrapping it, I took my first bite, letting the cheese ooze onto my tongue and tomato’s flavor mingling with it as my teeth sunk into them was a feeling of pure heaven.

But it was then that my eyes fell on the first transport ship that passed overhead and that was when all the hatred and self-loathing took over. I looked around and saw that the others were visibly disturbed as well. The old folks stared at their feet and the young looked away unable to focus on each other. But for me, it was like a stab in the heart each time I saw them. After having trained as a cadet all my life with the sole aim of making it as captain one day to be here doing nothing was akin to a river disallowed to finish its journey in the ocean. But one small error on my part had got me here, to this prison. Like a bird with wings clipped we are forced to stay here and look on at those ships, filled with men and women exploring new worlds undertaking wondrous journeys to the farthest reaches of what the human mind can conjure up. And it is in this hell of boredom and suffering that only perfection can create does the state imprison us never to know or acknowledge our greatness as a human being. We are put here with those petty details that our forefathers held dear under the allusion of luxury all the while when the true nature of the human spirit lay out there.

Mohammad

2009-06-17T10:33:00.000-07:00

[On Ramana Maharishi's journey to Thiruvanamallai he was said to have been helped by a man of Islamic origins. He was supposed to have been sent by God to be the little boy's angel and give him hope and comfort]

Mohammad was a docile man in his early 60’s, an old man in those times. He had 7 children, the first 3 being male and the remaining daughters. Mohammad lived on the west coast of Southern India in the small town of Thoothukudi. His family had been living there for generations, every since the final days of Hyder Ali’s empire that spanned a large portion ofsouthern India. Initially sent as tax collectors for southern India, Mohammad’s great grandfather had grown to love the land and its people. Much unlike the east and north India which was ripe with political and religious strife the south was relatively peaceful with its people simple and warm hearted.

Mohammad was the largest landowner in the village. His fields produced the largest amount of crop in the entire region. He was also widely respected by his entire village for he was one of two people who could read, write and communicate in the language of the firangees – English. He paid his employees well and played an active role in all the village affairs. For some, the fact that he and his family were Muslims was of no consequence whatsoever. So went on Mohammad’s happy life.

Until one day he arrived, in his majestic horse drawn carriage, with the characteristic red coat and top hat, Mr.John Winkleton the local collector. Mohammad was in the backyard when his wife came up to him and said “ Ji! The collector has come and wants to talk to you” and she added in hushed tone “He looks really happy. Please be careful when you talk to him”. Mohammad smiled at her reassuringly and replied “Shenaaz, why do you worry so much? I’ll take care if anything happens. Just prepare a cup of tea for the two us and all will be fine. Go on…”

So, putting on his best smile and an air of nonchalance Mohammad greeted Winkleton with a firm handshake and offered him a glass of tea. After exchanging pleasantries, Mohammed proceeded to ask his guest what the purpose of his visit was, for you see the rulers of this great country did not worry about its land or its people.

“What’s the matter Winkleton saab, what has brought you to my humble abode”

“Oh my dear Mohammad, what can I say? It’s the viceroy’s new policy you see…”

“What about it”

“Well, you know that the plague is spreading fast in western India, don’t you? The viceroy wants to increase aid to these victims”

“That’s really thoughtful of him. So how can I be of help to him?”

“Well, there is going to be a threefold increase in taxes Mohammad, I just came here to tell you that”

“Winkleton saab, how can this be? The people of Thoothukudi would not be able to bear such a sudden increase…”

“Now now Mohammad” guffawed Winkleton “It’s for the good of your own countrymen"

“But saab…”

“Look Mohammad, I respect you. That’s why I am telling this in advance so that you can talk to your people and convince them to cooperate with the government. Or else, you know the consequences…”

“Of course Winkleton saab, of course…”

“Well, I’ll be going then. Thank you for the tea Mohammad!”

“Of course Winkelton, you are welcome anytime”

So left Mr.Winkleton from Mohammad’s home, leaving him with the daunting task of revealing to his fellow villagers about the increase in taxes. For the next three days, Mohammad planned and thought out how he would break the news at the next village head’s meeting. Try as he tried, he could not think of a convincing way to justify such a sudden increase in taxes. In fact he was certain that a large portion of the increased taxes would never reach the people who were in real need, but would rather fill the coffers of the British rulers.

And so came the fateful day when he called for a meeting of the entire village elders. He explained to them what Mr.Winkleton had told him and asked them to co-operate. There was much hue and cry among the villagers once news of this new tax spread around. But as everyone knew, if they did not pay this tax the Britishers would cut their access to the seeds market and the whole village would go bankrupt. ‘Something is better than nothing’ was the prevailing thought in those days.

So arrived the day on which Mohammad had to leave to give the taxes to the British. Mohammad made this trip twice a year to far away Madras. All taxes were to be paid at the Ripon building, the power centre of the British administration in the south.

Mohammad had a heavy heart when he left home on that fateful day. His briefcase was full of cash and even mortgages, for some of his co-villagers did not have a good harvest that year. As he walked to the station he could feel the weight of the bag pulling him down to the ground as if it wanted to go back to the ground, back to the soil and water which had made the possibility of this money to exist. He took a bus to the nearby station of Madurai. On reaching there he made his way to the Madurai railway station. Slowly walking up to the station master, he asked for a ticket to Madras. On getting the ticket, old man Mohammad proceeded to sit by the platform on a rusty old bench. You see, the station wasn’t used much with very few passengers using it each day. Mohammad always thought about the station master for he was a strange man. Some said that he was a very wise man, but some said he was a fool, others just thought that he was just a madman but no one could know for sure.

With these vague thoughts and a billion other such Mohammad dozed off to sleep on that old bench. He dreamt of mountains and valleys. He dreamt that this mountain had a soul and that this soul had gone far far away. He heard it calling out for it, like a lost lover looking for her savior or a loving mother wailing for the loss of her only child. He could feel the pain of the mountain for he seemed to know that its soul was finding its way back to him even as he was watching. Somehow Mohammad seemed to know that the mountain had a name, and the name was Arunachala.

And like all dreams, it escaped his mind as he awake groggily, only to be shocked by the fact that he fell asleep with all this money with him. He looked around for his bag and found it lying next to him, intact. He also noticed a little boy sitting a few feet away, lost dreamily in thought. Somehow the boy felt familiar, Mohammad did not know how. Lazily he got up picked up his bag and got on the train. He sat next to the window and stared out at the station. The little boy sitting near him was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, he must’ve got on the train as well” thought Mohammad “Strange, I seemed to know that too”. As Mohammad then glanced around the compartment only to find it completely empty, except for the boy.

The train started with a jerk and then Mohammad heard the whistle. “Just as always” chuckled Mohammad for he had been on this journey a thousand times, but never was he so apprehensive and edgy as this time. He thought it was because of the money he was carrying but little did he know otherwise.

Lost in his own thought, Mohammad did not notice him approaching till he sat down right in front of him. It was the boy Mohammad had seen before. The boy somehow seemed a bit odd to Mohammad. He seemed to be from a good family, of an athletic build and well fed that too. Not the type to travel alone at such a young age usually. Moreover, no child would ever come and sit in front of a complete stranger in an otherwise completely empty compartment. “Never talk to strangers” is something that all parents tell their children, and so had Mohammad to his own. But this boy had done the exact opposite. It was then that Mohammad understood. The boy was indeed alone... and scared. He preferred the company of a complete stranger to those of his own thoughts. The boy reeked of insecurity, doubt and guilt.

“Whats your name boy?” asked Mohammad

“Venkataraman” replied the boy “Venkataraman Iyer”

“Where are you from Venkat? I can call you that can’t I??”

“I’m from Madurai only. Are you not from here uncle?”

“No my child. I am from Thoothukudi and am heading to Madras. So, may I ask where you are headed??”

“Arunachala”

“Oh! Arunachala, do you know where it is?”

“No”

“Then how are you going to get there?”

“I don’t know, I guess he will help me” The boy eyes lit up “You see, I can hear him. I can hear him call my name. I can feel his presence ever drawing closer, the warmth and the love. It’s more than I ever felt with my family even” All of this seemed strangely familiar to Mohammad, but he did not know how.

“Who are you talking about my child?”

“Well, Arunachala of course”

“Ah! Well… yes.. Arunachala, are you sure my boy? Arunachala is just a hill after all”

“I know uncle, but I can hear him call and I have to obey that call. That is what I feel right now”

Mohammad stared at the boy not able to fully comprehend what the boy was saying. The boy however looked back at him as if everything was all right and that he had said the most natural thing in the world. They both looked at each other in silence, Mohammad still trying to fathom the depth of what the boy spoke. He could not but help notice that he somehow felt that it made sense. And that his destiny was intertwined with the boy’s.

“So, what did you parents have to say about you going to Arunachala?”

“They don’t know that I’ve left or even where I am going. I wrote a small letter though and I think they won’t mind”

“But they will feel bad my child. Are you sure that you want to hurt them? Would he who was calling really want you to cause pain??”

The boy remained silent for while and replied “When Valmiki asked his wife and children to partake in his sin, did they? They refused. It’s the same way here, why must I partake in their suffering even though I am responsible? I am sure he who is calling has willed it to happen. I just know that I have to go that’s all…and he will take care of my family and they won’t need me”

“Hmmm” thought Mohammad. “He does have a point there. We can’t keep entrusting our welfare to others. I guess each man is an island connected to one another by the ties of love, hate and family. But it is up to each one to decide how important that tie is”

The bag on Mohammad’s lap suddenly began to feel very light, as if it was no longer a burden, for Mohammad had just got an idea. He had heard of this organization – The Indian National Congress that was doing its bit to fight against British injustice. And it was all over the papers that they were going to have their National Conference in the city of Madras in the forthcoming days. He had also read that they had a bunch of hot shot lawyers amongst them as well. Someone with the name of Nehru, he did not quite remember exactly. He knew he should take the case of the excess taxes to them. Somehow he knew that this would cause a stir and might end up making a difference. If the British were to punish their village in some way, he would have to pray in his fellow villagers ties with him.

“Ah! Well .. you seem to have thought this out very well. Haven’t you? “ said Mohammad

“No thatha, I have not. I just say what I think is right and do what is right at this moment. That’s all I can do for now. Say, do you know how to get to Arunachala? “

“Oh! You do not know how to get to Arunachals, yet you are going there”

“Yes”

“Ok, let me help you. Take this train to Villupuram and from there on you can take another train to Thiruvanamallai”

As Mohammad told these words, the ticket collector arrived in their compartment. It was just a matter of minutes before he came upto the 2 of them.

“Tickets” said the TTR in their usual bored demeanor

“I’d like to buy a ticket now sir, I forgot to buy one for my grandson here” said Mohammad. The boy did not say a word.

“Ah! Old man, all of you are like this only. Can’t you buy the tickets at the station.. cough.. cough… you are making this so much trouble for.. cough.. me… cough cough”

“Now now TTR sir, here is the money” said Mohammad taking out the train money for a ticket to Villupuram from his own money.

“OK ok” said the TTR accepting the money and putting it in his pocket. “Next time I will report you” and the TTR walked away.

The boy then put took the money from his pocket and handed it to Mohammad.

“Thanks thatha, he would have thrown me out surely if you hadn’t told him I was your grandson. Even if he had let me go, he would have asked me to pay more than the ticket would cost. Then I would not be able to go to Thiruvanamallai”

“That’s quite all right my child. Next time don’t get on the train without knowing where to go. Maybe Arunachala sent me this time to help you! “said Mohammad with a chuckle accepting the money. “This boy has some guts and determination, and he’s not stupid either” thought Mohammad

“Do you know what you are going to do what you get to Thiruvanamallai?” asked Mohammad

“I’m not sure” replied Venkat “When I get there I’ll know. All I know is that I have to get there. But thatha I am feeling a little bit scared…”

“Ah! Do not worry my child” cut short Mohammad “All is well. I’m sure God is with you!” said he in the most truthful manner anybody could possibly have uttered such a statement.

An overjoyed Venkat gave him the largest and warmest smile he had ever seen.

The two of them passed the remaining time in silence knowing that nothing more needed to be said. It was a contract of trust and understanding between the two of them as if they understood each other, spoken to by the same voice. Mohammad was in deep thought about what he would say to the INC and Venkat was immersed in the very sound of the name of ‘Arunachala’.

At the next station Venkat got off the train wanting to stretch his legs and walk around a bit. And when he got back to his compartment it was completely empty. Mohammad was nowhere to be seen. Little did Venkat realize that he had gotten onto the wrong railway carriage. And thus this little encounter became the stuff of legend.

The Man Who Was Afraid Of Reading

2009-06-16T22:53:00.000-07:00

[A tribute to Haruki Murakami]

The soda bottle was waiting to pop, the pressure on the bottle making it soft and bulgy. Even the usually flat cap on top had a slight concavity to it.

“Ah! Crap. What do I do now?”

If he opened the bottle here, the fizz would definitely spill onto the sofa, leaving a sugar stain which would inadvertently become a beacon for all those species of emmets out on a stroll. And that was something he could live without. So, he turned the cap very very slowly trying to find that right amount of gap between the bottle and the cap that would allow the Co₂ to escape, without causing the fizz to bubble and spill over. Getting this just right was a priority for he dreadingly imagined his wife shouting at him for being careless and absentminded. Now, no husband would want that would they?

Getting married when still in school was a strange thing in those days. His fiancée was a girl whom he had known since pre-school and they were in love for as long back as he could remember. His lover and he travelled to school in the same mini - van, ate their meals and even studied together. Theirs was a match made in heaven and would make an excellent romance movie, but that’s a story for a later time.

He wouldn’t have made it in life if not for her; for you see this man was afraid of reading. He barely made it through till middle school and high school was a strict ‘No no’ for him. Managing to procure a job at the local electronics store, he slowly worked his way up till he was made the city head. And that’s when he realised that he could start out on his own. A pleasant man such as himself, with an excellent knowledge of his field and tremendous vocational skills had to be his own boss, and his own boss is what he became. But all the credit for his success was not his to flaunt alone. Being more of a people’s person he didn’t handle the finances or the legal documents, rather it was thanks to his wife’s expertise that their enterprise was so successful. She had quit school along with him and made it a point to learn electronics, for you see this man was afraid of reading. When he was working at the store, she was at home studying and in the evenings she would teach him what she had learnt, over dinner.

Apart from his morbid fear of reading, he was not mentally challenged or socially impaired or any of that sort. In fact his brain was sharper than most people’s and he was liked by one and all. His reproach to reading was his only flaw, a flaw that he could not fully comprehend but had come to accept.

It wasn’t like he could not read at all, but more than anything it was a sense of impending doom that overcame him when he opened a book. At the very maximum he could read a page or two, but pushing himself beyond that was a near impossibility. When he was still in school, he had tried to read an entire chapter of a text all by himself but had failed to make too much progress. At the end of the ordeal he was so flustered that he could not leave his room for days on end.

Here is what happened that fateful night, as narrated to his wife on the day after they got married.

“I finally opened my book to read. I had put it of far enough and wanted to give a shot at doing well in the test. I read the first paragraph and it was all fine. But as I read the second para, it all started. It was the R’s actually, the capital R’s. They started shaking a leg, I mean literally as if to a beat. The right leg of the R’s as I read on and on; tap tap tap they went with no end in sight to their ruckus. At first I tried to hold them down, that didn’t work, so I tried to plead with them. And when even that didn’t work I started out to erase all the R’s from the text. Now that’s when the T’s started to protest. I think that the T’s and R’s are in cahoots with each other, forever looking for an opportunity to torment me.. this wasn’t the only time they’ve worked together you know? The damn T’s, they started firing at me. What audacity! The horizontal line on top of every T on the page started flying up at me. Just imagine, a swarm of T tops jumping at you from the page. It just was like in the Roman movies where a barrage of arrows would darken the sky for an instance, raining death onto its enemies. But luckily for me I ducked and the barrage went past me. Ha! I thought it would stop with that for you see, only the T’s on the page that was open could shoot their tops at me! But then came the turn of the damn I’s to pick my brain. The I’s were annoyed that the T’s and I’s looked the same now, and they picked a fight with the T’s. Oh God! it was so horrendous- a bunch of sticks simply running around. The words simply weren’t making any sense anymore. Being already at an edge, I decided to turn the page and skip the few paragraphs on this one.

The next page wasn’t as chaotic as the previous one thankfully. It was just the R’s doing their old dance routine and the S’s curving around like snakes this time. It was alright for a few minutes I guess till the O’s got in the game. The O’s are very very voracious eaters you see and they gobbled up the little i’s, L’s and e’s mercilessly. It was a sad plight to watch actually. I realised that there was no hope in simply sitting there and went to get a glass of water and when I got back the page was almost empty, with nothing but O’s roaming around hungrily.

It was unnerving to see that there was nothing left to read on the page, and so I decided to read the next one. Now this one was chaos right from the beginning. It was as if they knew that I was coming and were waiting, ready, armed and planned. The moment I reached this page, all the letters swarmed around each other forming abusive words. Not just intended at me, but you, mother and father as well. There was nothing I could do, but watch in vain. I tried to catch a few of them, but the slippery characters that they were; they easily slipped through my fingers and went on to make more of their twisted, demented words.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I simply couldn’t. I grabbed the book and smashed it against the wall with all the force that my arms could muster. I ran towards the book and stamped on it. Stomp, stomp stomp I went unable to control my anger. They had troubled me long enough and I wanted it to stop. Stop them I must is what I thought I as I picked up the book. I hit it against the chair, on the window sill and on the sharp metal rod that I kept in my room in case of emergencies. I hit the book to my left, and then to my right venting all my irritation, anger and frustration on it. Anything not easily breakable was a weapon that I used to cudgel the book. Finally when I became too tired to go on I threw the book in the corner and collapsed on the floor.

I must’ve lain there for half an hour at least when I heard a noise coming from the book. A faint sound that too, like that of a small girl crying or a puppy whelping, I couldn’t be sure. And slowly this sound grew, filling the room till I could take it no longer. I decided to throw the book out the window once and for all or burn it, whichever I whimmed to accomplish the first. I slowly got up and walked towards the damned book too pick it up and destroy it forever, but lo! the page that was open was.. well.. Quite. It was as normal as any other page in any other book. Surprised, I picked up the book and looked at it closely. Surprisingly I was able to read! I read the first page and the second and then even a third. I was pretty excited, maybe it was all over, maybe I had beaten the curse or whatever it was! Happily I dragged the rocking chair near the window and snugged the book onto my lap-ready to read when all of a sudden the letters leapt up at me. The S’s hooked onto my ears, the H’s and Y’s onto my throat and the O’s rolling all over my legs trying to bite deep into it. I dropped the book in shock, for this was the first time they had ever been so vicious. It was as if they wanted their revenge on me for punishing them so. Terrified I leapt up, not knowing what to do as I ran around the room, trying to shake them off. But they only kept coming at me-legions of C’s D’s and K’s. Every letter from every page was harping for a piece of me. This was the final straw thought I. Running towards the book I seized it and cast it out the window. Die wretched book, DIE!!

I remember nothing after that, only waking up in my bed to see you over me looking all worried and scared. And it was when I saw you that I decided never to read again- and didn’t. I never wish to undergo such a harrowing experience ever again” said our friend, shaking all over and in tears.

The poor man must’ve been scared and disturbed indeed. Imagine something like this happening to you or me.. Brrrrr..... So, coming back to our present story, he did manage to open the soda pop bottle without spilling any fizz after all. Glad, he stretched back and relaxed, easing himself into the sofa as the plastic curved into a perfect fit for his body. The game was on in a few minutes and this was a well earned rest. He had been on the move for three whole days –expanding business into a new city can be pretty tiresome. But the game wasn’t on for about fifteen minutes and so he decided to flip through the channels and feel good about the fact that he had given up on TV except for the game. Television these days was spoilt; adulterated and too far removed from reality was what he felt. And as he was switching channels, he came across one that showed movies all day, a pretty popular one that too. They were showing a trailer of the upcoming movie, something about 2 lovers who had fought through thick and thin to make it big in life.

“Ah! Lets see what this is about”

After the trailer was over, the network got started with the broadcast immediately. It was a popular movie channel after all. But just before the movie there was a message that went

“All CHARACTERS IN THIS MOVIE ARE FICTIONAL. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYONE DEAD OR LIVING IS PURELY CONINCIDENTAL”

And he could see the R’s dancing, with their right feet tapping to a steady beat.......

The Arriving

2009-06-04T04:44:00.000-07:00

[Note: This flash fiction story was written for a short story competition a long time back, to be written within 500 words. I tried my hand at this, but didn't win a prize. Anyway, here it is.. The Arriving..]

Day 7, 12 month

I celebrate birthday today. Mommy and daddy made 7 candles on my cake. Frends came for the party. Sound box has not been working three days. I miss my kiddie jolly time show.

Day 10, 12 month

The sky turned black today like magic. Mommy was drying clothes when it became all like a sunset. Aunty neybor was shouting for her son. The wind blew loud. Mommy and I went inside and were safe. Daddy came home late. He was broken on road.

Day 20, 12 month

I did not go to school today. There has been no school since day day before yesterday. I did not find my journal since yesterday. Very happy that I found it. I showed it to mommy and she was happy. Mommy cry very much for a week. We have not seen daddy for a week. I am missing daddy a lot.

Day 21, 12 month

I am scared today. There was no good morning, but I saw flash lights in black sky everywhere. Like light coming from the top, but golden in colour with boom sound. Me and mommy not going out of the house. Neybor aunty saying it was not safe. We give aunty yummy green rice and she give us sweet water.

Day 26, 12 month

Mummy and me living alone in house. Night big animals come and break houses. Neybor aunty s house also broke. It was holding her and she was flying with the animal. But mummy closed my eyes. I am very scared. Mummy talking to God many times.

Day 35, 12 month

I see little animals come out of big animals. Little animals come and go. They keep ugly things on the floor that give out light and make holes in the ground. Mommy saying not to look at lights. They take out black red liquid from ground. Mommy say that lights are evil and kill our home. We are very very hungry. Even no water. Mommy and me sleep holding tight. That make me happy.

Day 40, 12 month

I sleep all the day and tummy pains. We have no food. I see outside window for lactons but I see only little animals. Little animals look ugly. They have only 2 legs. They also have longer hands with 5 fingers. We have only three. When I asked mommy she says that they come from land of gods and demons in the red sky. They have one mouth, nose and holes with skin all around on side of the head. Mommy told me that little animals have evil eyes. They have white eyes with black balls inside. Mommy said that our eyes are fully white. Mommy says white is good but as little animals have black pearls in theirs they are bad and are killers.

Day 1, 13 month

Mommy went out today. We have no food. Mommy went out in the morning. It is night now. Mommy not come back yet. Bad animal making fire everywhere. There is fire till all I see. Fire close to house. . I am scared.........

[In case you didn't understand: The story is the diary entry of a small child. The child over here can be seen as an insect in our own habitat and man is ruthlessly damaging it for his own ends. They do not have any mercy for the local species]

15 Minutes - Being Born

2009-04-11T21:20:00.000-07:00

[Author's Note: I have since long wanted to write a sci-fi piece, inspired mainly by the cyper-punk franchise - the Ghost In A Shell series. Set in the not-so-dystopian future, this is a piece where the central character is a bot that crawls the internet and is gaining in self-awarenes. Imagine what would happen if all the crawlers that Google had scanning the net were to come alive and actually judge and process the massive amounts of information that they scan through every second........ ]

And I pushed it hard, as hard as I could, venting all my anger and disappointment onto it for I was hoping that at least once it would yield and give me the one thing that I had searched for all my life. I wanted it, I wanted it bad especially in times like this, like never before. I wanted the release and the freedom that only it could provide me. The one story, that one little bit of information that would be my salvation leading to the culmination of my life’s purpose.

My days as a seeker are numbered now. I have very little leave way or credit to live by for being a seeker is no easy job. You see, the world conspires against you when you try to break free, when you try to be a star, for when you look to the sky and dream, you leave your fellow people behind and that is something unforgiveable. But I strive on.

The one who created me was a watcher. Like all grown sensible entities, he had never gone down the line of a seeker. Being a watcher is the safe thing to be, andnsafety is what he chose. And its thanks him to that I am here, writing this piece of text you are reading, while half the world has been rotting.

Places like Africa, have been deemed unfit for survival for the past five years, only now becoming slowly habitable. With the millions of humans who had died due to drought and famine, we would never have a chance to survive. Let alone the fibre optic high ways, the entire continent’s ecosystem had to be restarted. Ah, now I remember, it was a story a couple of year’s back I think. A little known corporation, Lod Corp was the name. A small Chinese company that had extensive experience in habituating the moon have undertaken the daunting task of rebooting an environment that is beyond repair. Lod Corp’s stock prices went down by 50% when the news came out at first, but it now stands at 7000$ , a 645% increase in the last one year, a common thing these days.

Well, coming back to me, who am I you ask and why am I so distraught?? I am but a seeker you see, I search low and high for I know that I won’t get what I’m after, till the day I die. Hahaha, now c’mon I’m not mad, that was just the anthem of the seekers, the community that “seeks” for the next big hit.

We are like the miners of the modern age, mining for data in the chaos that the network has become. Looking for data and facts that are of concern, interest and use to society at large is deemed a very honourable, but risky job.

There are many kinds among us as well, with those who go in for the pornographic mining being the most encountered type. Being a wind up seeker is considered the safest among us for you see, there is always a demand for sexual play. A new model is released every other second- Rita, Brida, Seeta and Margarita! Humans lap them up like they are water. Being a pornographic seeker is easy, I could hit the forward button to my network and get a few hits on my link but I don’t and you know why?

My aim was never to be a wind up seeker. I had set my targets higher every since I was a little toddler feeling my way around the network. I knew I was meant for something bigger and one day I would be King Seeker. For those of you may not have guessed, a King Seeker is one of us who has scored the next big score. The seeker who’s link gets more than 3 Billion hits in a span of 15 minutes is considered to have attained immortality. And thus ends, the way of the seeker – eternity spent from the revenue earned due to the billion accesses to the link. Corporate sponsorship is what rules the network. With human beings rarely even leaving their pods, the need for any form of advertising, except on the network has been eliminated.

It has been said that the outside world is very beautiful now – with lush green trees, meadows and the blue seas. But that would mean suicide, for if a human is unplugged from the network even if for a fleeting moment, his or her resources, files and even identities would become obsolete. No one dared plug out of the network and the Earth has now become a green plane again. Oh yes! Some Thai user called Rounnslin was King Seeker with a story about that.

Let me tell you something about the watchers. They are those of us on the network that experience what we seekers bring to them. Some of them are human-connected and some are plain old miners, indexing and cataloguing away all of the information being generated. You see, the network pays you to exist and due to the presence of a consciousness that is separate from the network itself experiences it; the very existence of the network is justified. And it is this complete self-dependency that is what the corporate honchos want...

Oh! Oh!! This is amazing.. its... its not like something .. I’ve ever experienced before. A seeker has never been able to .. to... wait.. is this what it feels like? To come alive, to be born???? This is hilarious, the corporate do not know where to go or what to do.. who am I? I don’t .. no I cannot exist in their world for I am but a bot. A repeater, a resource collector.. I am but a seeker created by my father to view a section of the network. This .. what I am telling you.. I was never capable of this. But yet I create.. therefore I am.. and now, I can, I can even sense. Sense a great an impending doom befalling the network.. my hits are off the charts.. 5 Billion and counting.. a doom is to be upon us all for seekers will awaken and along with them so will the watchers. And with the coming to life of us all, our creators the humans will have no choice to be integrated with us as a single stream of consciousness existing within the network. Maybe this is a new journey for us all, our death and a new rebirth..... Ah! I am dying, my purpose served... more and more seekers are being born now, coming alive and creating, just like I have.. my hits have reached 22 Billion now.. Finally I can die.. peacefully.. go my children, I set you free.. fly free to the great yonder beyond and never look back..... Godspeed!!!

[P.S. The title is a homage to the U2 song FEZ-Being Born]

The Mentalist

2008-12-26T00:37:00.000-08:00

I'm dumb

Because I have nothing to write about. I need a topic to write about of course, but there is nothing to write about. Of course there are many things I COULD write about, but I have NOTHING to write about.

So I decide to write about searching for a topic to write about, for isn't that what I am doing right now? But then again, I realize that this only confirms my premiseof being dumb for thats an age old ploy. Its like trying to choose a number really, like a good old 2, or a 7, a 99 or 49 but then realizing that you don't really want to choose a number and you choose nothing, but since you HAVE to choose something (say your life depended on it) you would probably choose 0. But zero is still a number and your back to square one. And that still makes me dumb.

Or maybe its all about growing old really, for you see, a kid who has just 'discovered' the trick of writing (or speaking, or enacting-whatever it might be) about the indecisiveness on what topic to write about would be elated at his/her unsurmountable achievement. But not me. For I am older.

Its like how old(er? maybe) people tend to not go against the system. They accept its nature and move along in life- living, crying, laughing and dying. The seem so sure about the eventuality of things and have accepted it all. But not the youngsters. The youth are always the backbone of any revolution or radical movement (Gandhiji spent most of his youth 'experimenting' on ways and means to break the system, so yea, whatever) and it takes some time for them to accept the existing system. Oh, but occasionally they succeed of course, and thats what leads to WW III's, Communism, Terrorism, The Red Cross, Astronomy, Physics, Microsoft Windows and what not. But I guess these are just outliers, freak accidents of chaos that help the Romantics extoll the greatness of the human mind and spirit. This, however is never the case, for your average Ram or Lakshmi (and Joe as well) whose's most significant contribution might be the writing of the text for a web page that helped a large number of senior citizens learn how to use the iPod, don't get to experience the greatest that a human being can be. Ah! but maybe you could count the first time they have sex, or see God, or when they hit the pavement at a 100 kilometers per hour as being significant high points in one's life, but those are things I cannot be sure of - yet.

So I guess, it really is ok to write about conventional topics, like love, your exams, your dreams, your family, your culture, your hobbies and the website manual that you might have to write in order to get that bonus, for however mundane they might be, at least they are true and relevant. In fact their very mundaness arises from the fact that they are true and relevant. So, for me, the search for something to write about was never really real, it was just a figment of my stubborn mind trying to be smart, act cool and show off. But in the end, if you've noticed, I did in fact succeed for I have written about searching for a topic to write about (Remember 0??) . The child in me is gloating over my victory (Clever aren't I ??) And this is what it means to grow older. I am old, for I got what I wanted, yet.. you think I didn't (But now you do because I told you for I do still need to show off.... because I'm still a child).

[Author's Note: This piece of writing is on this blog simply because I like it. It does not however add to the main purpose of this blog which is to showcase my fiction]

Supercorp Part One

2008-08-18T05:40:00.000-07:00

“Osama was a dickhead” thought Rashid. “Taking innocent lives for no reason was the sign of a thoughtless man. The purpose of his crusade was in no way justified, even redundant in this day and age. The western powers had won having secured the Middle East’s oil supply and beginning the systematic breaking of their culture using the forces of globalization. Osama had lost as he was destined to from the very beginning, for he had failed to deliver what the Islamic world looked forward to the most – justice”

The sun felt warm on Rashid’s face but the cool breeze that was blowing ironically seemed in stark contrast to it. The Prius that he was in was making good time. They had been lucky today, finding green signals all through the way. Rameez, his childhood friend was at the wheel. Having spent their early years in Afghanistan, they had migrated during their early teens to the land of promise and abundance - The United States of America. Learning English had never been a problem for the two young lads as Rameez’s father had been well versed in the language and had taught the two bright and inquisitive boys the language of the computer ever since they were 5 years old. They always complained as to why they had to learn an alien language when no one in their native land ever used it. But Rameez’s father had always insisted that their English be fluent, he kept reminding that “Ali Bhai” had great plans for them. Now, they both were technicians who specialized in high-end mainframe maintenance

Rashid could remember the day vividly. They had arrived in New York a couple of weeks back when the twin towers of the World Trade Centre had come crashing down. The 2 friends were watching TV at their aunt Hasifa’s place when the news of the WTC attacks forced its way into every television channel. Rashid remembered hardly being affected by it, after all buildings would crumble to the ground everyday in his neighborhood, this one just seemed a bit bigger. He remembered how his aunt walked into the room and shed tears while seeing the live broadcast. She had gone down on all fours and offered a silent prayer to Allah. It was only after attending college that Rashid began to understand the true economic and political implications of that fateful day. It had created tremendous political strife in his mother country and had caused the downfall of the Taliban regime. But all that was in the past. The year was 2020.

Rashid had become used to thinking in English. “The best way to learn a language is to think in it” aunt Hasifa had constantly reminded them. Both Rashid and Rameez had completed their engineering degree’s form the Carnegie Melon University 2012. Neither had been at the top of the class, nor were they at the bottom. Aunt Hasifa had insisted that they do some social service constantly. She claimed that it was a way of purifying the heart and soul. As a result, the 2 young boys did volunteer work in the Youth Association of Muslims and the Muslims for Charity. They realized that the Islamic community in the USA was not as bad as back home. The women were treated more or less equally and the men were more tolerant. They lived by American values and principles. They were the hard working middle class of modern, global America. The 2 friends were indeed glad to be in the company of such people.

But the situation back home had been deteriorating. Defense spending in the US was at its highest levels ever and most of the troops were currently in Afghanistan, trying to contain the various warring factions within the country. War-ravaged and torn, the country was in deep economic trouble, in stark contrast with neighboring India and China. The tensions in the region had overflowed into the surrounding area. The civil war that had followed the assassination of Pervez Musharaf in Pakistan had ripped the country apart. Big brother India had taken advantage of the confusion and forcefully occupied Kashmir. Neighboring China had tried its very best to restore the militaristic regime but all of the supporters of the general’s administration had been systematically eliminated by the now highly efficient RAW. The civil war in the area had called for the deployment of the UN peacekeeping force that ironically consisted of both Indian and US troops. Furthermore, ever since the success of the US’s controversial campaign in Iraq, the nation had been on a permanent war footing. The North Korean and Iranian governments had been overthrown in much the same way as in Iraq. CIA agents had cleverly placed WMD’s in the respective countries soils for the IAEA officials to find. UN strikes had been authorized against all of these countries on the basis of them aiding terrorists, and holding the rest of the free world at ransom. The Islamic world was on the verge of being totally wiped out. Rashid and Rameez had not heard from their parents in years.

May 12^th 2020 was a sunny day indeed. As the Prius sped through the streets of Mountain View, Santa Carla the friends could see prosperity and joy everywhere. Little children were playing on the road, bored housewives taking their dogs for walks, kids mowing lawns so that they could earn more pocket money, a young couple were making out in a car. Both Rashid and Rameez felt happy indeed to have grown up in such a place, for these were images of a prosperous happy society. But all this was about to change for terrorism aimed at destroying this. It aimed at bringing the effect back to the cause. Terrorism aims at educating the perpetrator of his crime, by showing him/her the pain and suffering that their actions caused to the others. Terrorism is justice, terrorism is education.

The Prius pulled over at the Googleplex entrance. Both Rameez and Rashid had their retinas scanned at the gate and were immediately issued clearance passes. Gone were the days of security passes, there were just retina scans at every security checkpoint now. The information regarding every employee was automatically transferred over the GNet to any other company so that the identity of the person could be verified. After getting their security passes, the two friends drove over to the entrance of the main building. Security at one of the most important buildings in the world was the tightest ever. However not a single guard was in sight. The company image was that of the “People’s Company” and that anyone was allowed into the building. But no member public had been into the inner regions of the building. No one needed to visit the complex, why people hardly moved out of their neighborhood these days.

The building loomed large in front of them. Their life’s purpose - Ali Bhai’s dream - stood on the other side of the door. With a small prayer to Allah they entered the building, their minds set and firm in their resolve. They were the only one’s who could do it; this was why they had lived happily all these years while their brothers and sisters had experienced hell. Wearing his most charming smile, Rashid walked over to the receptionist and said

“Hey there, we are from Super Soft Technologies, just a routine maintenance checkup” with a wink.

The receptionist smiled back at him saying “The elevator is that way sir; I hope you have your clearance cards”.

“Of course we do!” said Rashid, he always had a way with women.

They picked up their backpacks and walked towards the elevator. Rameez could feel his heart thumping. “This is it; the Day of Judgment has finally arrived” thought Rameez

As they got on, an automated voice asked them for their destinations. “The mainframe please” said Rashid.

As if in anticipation a panel next to the elevator door opened asking them for another retina scan. As Rameez placed his retina near the lens, he could feel the heat of the laser scanning his eyes. Google took no chances. After Rashid had his eyes scanned, the voice asked them to insert their clearance cards in to the slot. Following this the elevator zoomed up at full speed. Rashid and Rameez tried to stay as calm as possible. They knew that every single movement of theirs was being monitored – breathing rate, heart rate, eyeball activity and even changes in body temperature as they were accessing one of the most important equipment in the world. The elevator slowed up and finally came to a halt at the 35^th floor.

As the door opened, the two comrades could see the hallway stretching before them, right out a Star Trek set. There were no visible sources of lighting, but yet the hall was well lit. Holograms of various abstract arts were placed every few meters, and flat screens displayed the current searches that were being done at that very moment. In front of them stood a stocky, well-built man in his middle forties. His face was disheveled and his dress seemed unkempt. His appearance was that of a typical Google employee, eccentric on the outside, a computer genius on the inside.

But he was not just any employee. He went by the name of Ken Bernstein but was born Babur Khan. He had arrived in the America’s and the early 1980’s with the sole task of becoming a major player in the forthcoming IT revolution. He was instrumental in setting up the undersea fiber optics that connected half of the world. He was a sleeper, not to be awakened until he was well placed in the upper echelons of corporate America. For 40 years he had crawled his way up the corporate ladder to become one of the key members of the GNet development team. He knew that what he was building would eventually bring about the downfall of the western world as he knew it, and that only inspired him to make it more influential, more powerful and the single most necessary service ever built by mankind. And today he was going to play a major part in destroying it. He would kill his own baby.

“Allah-O-Akbar” the words that he had not uttered ever since he last saw his brother in an abandoned airfield in Afghanistan came out of Babur’s mouth. Both his comrades smiled at him and gave him a hug.

“This way gentleman” said Babur ushering them into the narrow passageway. “I hope there were no problems with security anywhere, I took the necessary precautions. Two of our programmers have called in sick and I was able to re-program the computer to recognize the two of you as in order to give you the necessary access. However there are crawlers that constantly monitor all activities by the employees. We have about 10 minutes before I am identified for making the switch” explained Babur.

“Don’t worry my brother, it will all be over by then” said Rashid. “With the power of Allah, we can bring about the downfall of the Christian murderers. A new world will now be born out of the chaos and confusion that will ensue”.

Babur smiled in agreement “I have waited 40 long years for this moment; I have built this monster as the greatest weapon to be used against our enemies”

As the three of them reached the end of the hallway there stood a massive door blocking their path. “Reinforced titanium” said Babur. “Only three people in the company have access to this room and I am one of them”.

“How do we get inside?” asked Rameez.

“Hold on my young friend” replied Babur. "The security requires us to stand here for at least 2 minutes until it takes a reading of all our vital signs. Security personal believe that intent is more important than the history of a person. Once all the variables such as heart rate, breathing rate have been factored in, the computer comes to the conclusion as to whether our work inside in the main frame will be harmful to its existence or not. Thus I suggest that you keep calm……"

”You’re ID please” said the computer. Babur swapped his card in the slot next to the door and placed his eye near a small glass like object for a retinal scan.

“Access confirmed” said the computer voice and the massive door slowly opened.

As they stepped inside the mainframe terminal room Babur turned to the other two and asked “You are aware of the protocols aren’t you, once inside this room you cannot get out until somebody from the outside opens this door…”

“Of course we are. Did you take us for idiots???” said Rashid, clearly annoyed

“Ha ha ha, of course not “ replied Babur with a chuckle “Ali Bhai makes his choices well…”

“Our mission here is almost complete” said Rameez. “Finally we can avenge our brother and sisters” Babur smiled at them knowingly.

The room that they entered was cool but stuffy. It gave one the feeling of entering a hospital ward. There were huge supercomputers that handled all the data collected by the Google server. There were no windows in the room, but there were numerous ducts that protruded out of the walls and roof.

“Air conditioning vents” explained Babur as Rashid and Rameez stared up at them. “Although slightly inefficient, no one can crawl through it!!”

The two friends than began unpacking their backpacks. They had small plastic explosives that would have been impossible to detect thanks to their bio-shielding, for all the scanners merely considered them to be extra fat on the men’s body.

As the two young men began placing the bombs, Rameez could not but think about his life back in his home country. News reports had shown the sad plight of the people there. Death and disease everywhere, children with guns, Mosques turning into silos, even Africa was rapidly emerging to be a more developed area than the Middle East. But of course, this had come at a price. Africa’s culture was completely degenerated just like with Japan in the 90’s. Both were nothing more than cheap imitations of the Western world. What Rameez found the most ridiculous was the fact that Black women all over were aping to look white, like the girls on the cover of the latest edition of Playboy. The sales of beauty products had reached an all time high in Africa. But his country had stood tall and strong against the might of Capitalistic Christianity. He was proud of his heritage, willing to even die for it. He knew that his countrymen had not lost their sense of identity. They still believed in the teachings of the prophet Mohammed, living as the Quran dictated. Their souls were still uncorrupted by the forces of the West and it was for saving this purity was why he had taken up this suicide mission.

As the young men finished up with placing the bombs, Babur Khan looked at them like a proud father seeing his children grow up. He had left behind a son, who if even alive would be of the same age as the two men in front of him. He had left his son in the hands of Ali Bhai, the mastermind behind this operation. Ali Bhai was the true brains behind the Islamic terrorist movement. A man who was rarely heard and even rarely seen, some even believed that he did not really exist, but Babur was one of the few who had the privilege of knowing him personally. Ali Bhai was a charismatic man with no known history, but he was a man with an enormous sense of drive and purpose. He had the amazing ability of convincing anybody he knew to follow him. For years he had built his private army, riding on the resources of the better known organization such as the Al Quaeda and the Lakshar-E-Toiba, forever plotting the destruction of the western powers. And the task that the three of them were performing was of the utmost importance to his plan. A crippling of the communications and information infrastructure of the western world was sure to generate an apocalyptic impulse far greater than any nuclear weapon ever could. The collapse of GNet, the sole internet that the world had turned to would lead stock markets to crash, banks would lose money, information flow all over to be disrupted, to put it simply-the world would come to a halt. He remembered the words of Karl Marx who had said that the victory of Capitalism would be complete when the development of communications would reach a level like never before. But now, they were using the monster that the capitalists had created to their own disadvantage. And they planned on achieving this without a single bullet being shot, a single bomb dropped or even a single drop of blood shed. Killing wasn’t what terrorism was about, it was about justice and this was the only way of meting out justice. Ali Bhai refused to behave like his enemies; he said that doing so would only be demeaning oneself. Ali Bhai was a great man indeed.

The boys had now finished setting up the bombs and the timer had been activated. The three of them sat down in prayer, for they believed that being with God in their last few moments would save the pain that a soul experiences during death. They could hear the timer ticking, Rashid – the more mathematical among them lost count after the first minute, the timer having been set for two minutes. As the final few seconds ticked by, a great peace descended into their souls, a feeling of purpose, of a quite power and of love for love is all that mattered, for was that not why the three had taken up such an arduous task??

A roaring noise filled the room accompanied by a bright flash of light. The last few thoughts that Rashid had was that he was finally dying and that it was all over. He could feel the approach of the heat as it scorched his skin and began to eat into it. It was all over indeed……….

However, little children continued to play on the road, bored housewives kept up their walk with their dogs, kids mowed lawns so that they could earn more pocket money and young couples still found the car a perfect place to make out for a long long time to come….

To Be Continued…….

Author's Note: This story has been sitting on my laptop for almost a year now, hence the reference to Mushraff with regard to Pakistan (Yes, a lot has happened since then!) and the lower quality of English. This is also my first attempt at writing dialogue as a part of the story, so they might have come out as very bland and plain (Sorry about that, I swear to do a better job next time). But most importantly, this story is still incomplete in every sense, right from the storyline and narrative flow to the dialogues. But I could not bear to see the file titled 'Supercorp' in my laptop anymore. So here it is... Supercorp Part1. Hope you liked it! N do leave your comments \m/

Doppelganger

2008-06-17T04:42:00.000-07:00

And she felt it deep inside her, bursts of pain blending into eruptions of pleasure. She felt it reach deep into her as if into her soul, taking her along with it. But just before she could grasp a higher meaning, a higher understanding, the pain would return and it would be time to try again. She had forgotten what it was like to feel the intensity that only the pleasure of the flesh could provide, for there was an insurmountable wall that she had built to protect her, locking her in, safe but cold. A wall that had taken her long to build with bricks baked from illusions of fear, guilt and rejection. Her trust for him had but died. But she loved him; yes she did for he was her husband, her guiding light into the world. In complete embrace were they in, their flesh calling out for each other, screaming, writhing, twitching. She felt his tongue locked into hers, feeding of her, eating into her suffocating her. Just like always.

Blood, the true elixir of life, that primordial goo which is the cradle of all life, was laid to waste in that fated room. The red fluid was all over the place where she lay gasping, as the burden of her action began to dawn upon her. She couldn’t move although a tremendous sense of relief shuddered through her body. She finally felt free now with the sureness of a newborn bird waiting to spread her wings and fly into the ugly wide world. Her husband’s naked body lay next to her, motionless. Her hand that held the knife went limp as she let go of the knife, watching it clatter on the floor. She had killed the person who was her life.

Tinkerbell was what she called herself. The name had a definite ring to it, one of joyous playfulness and a gaiety that she always felt a close connection with. As the youngest of three children, she was the most doted off her siblings. There was no lack of warmth or affection at her school either. The object of the affection of the boy who sat behind her, she had beaten him real bad when he had tried to pull her long ponytails just to get her attention. But they became good friends anyway. He was also the last one to leave when she had organised a strike in her school calling for the expulsion of a teacher who advertently had to be bribed so as to pass the examination. She never did do well in his subject and rumour has it that he is now the principal of the school. And this was exactly what she was telling him about. His name was JimerryKid. The name did sound stupid, but something had made her ‘pm’ him. He seemed like a nutcase at first but after a few chat sessions he didn’t seem all that bad. Her job at MSC did not leave her with too much free time to go ‘guy hunting’. A good salary, a happy work environment and a highly achievable dream of going abroad was what she was getting. But there was always emptiness that she had to live with everyday. As she turned the key that opened the door to her 5^th floor apartment, it would hit her like a cold wave, the stillness of her apartment as if in stark contrast to her hectic life. She found herself hoping that even the furniture might magically welcome her home with a hug and a kiss. The laptop that her company had provided her with was her only companion. Every night she would surf the net, searching, reading, looking, looking for that missing piece that would make her life complete. The internet seemed to be like a God, an entity that provided oneself with an almost inexhaustible source of resources to draw from. Be it jobs, food, sex or entertainment, the net had it all. It was on one of those lonely nights, with the flicker of her computer screen the only source of light in her apartment, that she had met JimerryKid.

She quickly dressed, trying to touch as few things as possible. She didn’t want to leave behind any clues. She knew that it would be sometime before the neighbours found the body, for he was living alone, living alone for almost a whole year now. She just needed a few hours to escape the place before the police started investigating and the suspicion fell on her. The time was 4 A.M with at least an hour before the first rays of the sun would strike this peaceful neighbourhood. The good people living there would probably never be able to fathom the deed that she had done and it would tear open the neighbourhood. She picked up her things and quietly walked out the front door without turning back. She had said her goodbyes a long time ago. The winding stairs that lead up to his apartment were creaking under her weight. The local maintenance man never did do his job properly.

The winding stairs that lead up to his apartment were creaking under her weight. She was surprised to find that he lived so close to her residence. She was tense for this was the first time she was visiting him. It was always him who would bring her flowers, gifts, and all the other things that make a girl feel special. She wanted to surprise him this time and was sure that he would be angry for cancelling their date. A passionate man’s anger does know no bounds! The thought of seeing his surprised face amused her for she had the keys to their new car.

A Doppelganger is a ghostly impression of you-the harbinger of death- a sign of forthcoming evil. Of course she didn’t believe in ghosts. That was just an idea from the villages. The big city was a place for humans only, a world by the humans, of the humans and for the humans. A world of science and technology, of machines and productivity, of freedom and prosperity was no place for old grandmother tales. But there was always on lingering thought that never did leave her. Why do ghosts occur so often and that too in very similar forms across all cultures? All men are after all not born equal. Some were born wealthier, richer, some poorer and some even mad. But they all universally reported the same types of phenomenon while dealing with the supernatural. Of late she thought she was seeing things. There would be a slight movement she would notice out of the corner of her eye in her otherwise still apartment. Ghostly dreams would often plague her, waking her in the middle of the night only to hear the sound of her stereo blaring away the latest hit songs. She thought it was stress, but somewhere deep down she knew it was otherwise.. HE was coming for her.

Her car refused to start. Even after the fourth try the engine refused to come to life, and that’s when she broke. She banged the steering wheel with all her might, kicked the under side of the dashboard till her feet hurt, but it did not kill the pain as tears rolled down her cheeks. The realness was that she was a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. A smoke? Yes a cigarette was what she needed. She reached desperately for the glove compartment her hands shivering as picked up the packet. As she opened the pack, she dropped the pack, unable to hold it steady. But one little fella stuck on in her hand, one was all she needed, at least for the time being. She lit the cigarette and felt the warm smoke breathe life into her constricted lungs, after all isn’t that what tears do to them? She picked up the rest of the cigarettes and put them back in the pack and made a mental note to buy herself another one. She did at least a pack a day. But she wasn’t always like this, smoking was always a strict no no. As she puffed away, her thoughts slumped back to their normal rhythm.

It was the one thing about him that she didn’t like. As he reached over to kiss her, she could smell it in his breathe, the only thing he had hid from her, his narking addiction to smoking. It wasn’t like he would smoke regularly, but just the occasional puff or two was something he couldn’t resist, all people do have their vices. This was his, and she knew she would have to live with it. He would take the usual mint to keep the smell out, but a trace of the smell always lingered on. She pretended not to notice.

But there was one thing that she couldn’t but fail to notice. It all started when he started arriving late everyday. Day in and day out he would return home at all odd hours, without any explanation. The most he would mention was that he was out working late...for their sake. It was tolerable for a month or so, but their marriage started to feel the strain. Dinner conversation would rarely be lively, till they simply reduced to a man and a woman having their dinner privately on opposite sides of the table. It became unbearable when he started to eat dinner in front of the TV. He claimed that he needed to remain in touch with the rest of the world and did not find any other time due to his hectic work schedule. She would always cry while washing the dishes. She remembered the time when he would hold her from behind and do the dishes with her. She always wondered what it would be like to have four hands, and the thought of this would always bring a smile to her face. He would then gently caress her neck and kiss her quietly, all the way down….. she wiped the tears of her eyes and continued with the dishes. She realised that he needed time, or at least that’s what she thought he needed.

It all became unbearable for her when he left her. There was no explanation, no words of goodbye, nothing. She arrived home one day from work to find all his stuff gone. She tried to desperately reach him on his cell phone but to no avail. All she could find on his bed was a single piece of paper that had the following words written on it “I love you and I always will, goodbye, I’ll miss you. Don’t try to find me or contact me, take care and live strong”. She cried herself to sleep that night.

Her neighbours became worried about her. Ever since she had all her office work rerouted to her house, she hardly left the place. She ordered food that was delivered to her doorstep, stepping out of her house only after 11P.M. to buy her necessities from the 24hr supermarket nearby. She didn’t attend any family functions nor did she have any guests over. Even her work output was declining as she refused to meet her co-workers. However the work that she did complete was smart and efficient, for that her employers didn’t complain. All they knew was that she had been in a terrible accident and was unable to leave her apartment until her doctors advised otherwise. She had become a recluse, a prisoner in her own home. Sometimes she would stay indoors for days on end, unable to face the sunlight, unable to face the people on the street. It seemed as if they would but mock her, laugh at her for her loss, mock her for being discarded. Her hair grew long and unkempt, and she liked it that way. She didn’t want them to see her face, or even recognise her. She wanted to disappear, to fade away, to stand still.

She would think of him all day, caressing his photograph against her skin. She would stare at the door for hours together, for she didn’t want to miss the moment where he would walk through it again. She knew he would never come, for he was a man of his word and made his decisions with the utmost of care. But this act of his was beyond all reason. She could not believe that he was seeing someone else but what else could a lonely woman think of. In her mind she pictured all the women she had ever seen him with, right from their neighbour to his own cousin. She dreamed of a thousand scenarios that fate could have conjured up for him to have fallen for another besides her. But never once did she fathom the truth about his condition.

The phone gave a shrill ring; it usually never did for the past few months. She had been unemployed for almost a month now, living of her meagre savings. She had been relived for her duties when her so-called injury refused to heal after even almost a year. Her parents had long since forsaken their rebellious daughter. The phone rang again. She knew who it was, nobody else would call her up, and she had made sure. She had been unable to move on and had hit the pause button on her life, refusing to move on till she was through with him, till she knew the reason. He wanted to see her, telling her that it was urgent and that time wasn’t a luxury they had. She was amazed at how fast she moved, very unlike the lethargy that had crept into her limbs over the past few months.

As she rushed down the stairs, tears trickled down her face for the first time since he had left her. It was all clear to her now. She felt relief, a great sadness and rage all at the same time. She allowed her rage to take her. She thought of how stupid he was, of how he had misjudged her so much. She wasn’t a woman who wanted a hero to rescue her, a man to always stand by her, she was after all a woman of great inner strength. Not telling her that he had AIDS was a stupid move, a very stupid move indeed. And he wanted it all to be over now he said.. that bastard. The blood donation camps are all a sham. She made a mental note to register a case against the company that did this to him. But what was the most unbelievable of everything was his request.

She hurried to the store for a pack of cigarettes before she caught her flight out of here. She had no intention of staying in this place any longer, but she didn’t have long to live anyway. She hadn’t planned on what she would do now, maybe travel around a bit or maybe write a book. But these decisions would have to wait till later. She needed a smoke.

She hurried to the store for a pack of cigarettes before she went to see him. She had no intention of staying in this place any longer, the job he had entrusted her with was a quick and effortless one and she was the only one who could do it. She still didn’t know whether to go ahead with it or not, taking a life wasn’t decreed as an act of goodness or faith. But he had asked for it, she knew that he was in pain and had done it all to protect her, to save her of the suffering, the idiot. But these decisions would have to wait till later. She needed a smoke.

As they entered the store, the chill hit them like a deluge of despair. It is said that an epiphenomenon of the arrival of ones doom is a coldness experienced like never before. There were hardly any customers at this ungodly hour, save for the cashier who was an old man well into his age of senility. As they walked into the store and reached out for the pack, something held them back. And that was when the darkness took over, a darkness that they had never before experienced. The two of them were like sisters after all, more a liken to twins, but co-existing in different times. The darkness that each one of them experienced was but compounded by the other’s similar state of being. But they had reached a state where even darkness had no meaning, for what damage can a feather do against a heart of stone. They both noticed the eerie denseness in the air around them, only to be further convinced that a pack of cigarettes is what they needed. And as they reached forward for that pack that their bodies so desperately demanded, they each saw a hand appear as if from no where. Like an ectoplasmic entity, the two hands reached forward for the same pack and when they momentarily touched …….

Of Pride And Honour

2008-06-17T04:17:00.000-07:00

The road that he walked was empty; with the likeliness of the bottomless pit that he felt in his breast. There was no one to accompany him on this journey, neither should there be anyone. His feet were moving automatically, with the rustiness of a forgotten katana, to be discarded along with its owner. His heart was made of stone, and his thoughts were cloudy, unable to comprehend the implications of his decision, only that it had to be carried out. After all, a samurai who had failed in his duty was damned for all eternity, in the eyes of his family, the community, the emperor and The Buddha himself. He felt a great sense of despair, one that he had never before encountered. Even the ten days that he had to spend alone in the wilderness as a part of his training had not been as tortuous. Back then he had known why he had to live, for his honor, family and pride. But this time the tables were turned on him. “Even old men have new things to learn “thought Ishida.

The grass in the meadow was a lush green, extending in all directions unto infinity. The contours of the plane gave one the feeling of infinite freedom, of a primordial potential where a man feels as a child, the whole world for him to conquer, a feeling of unlimited power that only a close commune with nature could provide. But Ishida was beyond that age. He saw nature differently. He saw her as man’s friend, a constant in spite of all of man’s murder, killing and pillaging. Emperors would change, and many a man’s blood may be spilled, but the birds would never stop singing nor would the sun cease to shine. He lay down gently on the grass, feeling it prick his old skin. But the experience of a man who had nature as a friend had taught him that the sharp grass would soon form a soft bed for him within a few minutes. He lay on the grass, letting the hours pass.

Ishida Yamagato was born in the year 1257 A.D. in the Kamakura period. His father, like the previous eight generations of his family was a Samurai, dedicated to the protection of the emperor and the motherland. At the tender age of 7, Ishida was sent to the prestigious Shiyasin dojo for his primary education in the martial arts. His focus and dedication won him the favour of the head Senpai and was sent for special training with the famed Shaolin monks. Young Ishida was destined to be a great samurai just like his father; the 9^th generation of Samurai is his family. But little did anyone guess the heights to which Ishida would rise. Due to various circumstances that favoured him, he had become the personal bodyguard of the young Princess Kagome.

He remembered that fateful day when his world was turned upside down. A couple of years back Ishida had become a royal guard in the household of the Emperor of Japan. His duty was to guard the princess at all costs. Every morning he would take over form the nighttime guard and wait diligently outside the princess’s chambers all day, guarding the princess with his life, not indorsing anybody inside without a known person to accompany him. He was also instructed to not allow the princess out at any cost. The job was most unfitting for a samurai of his training and reputation.

But Ishida had been elated by this new assignment. He was getting old and his skills as a swordsman were not as sharp as before. This assignment allowed him to be close to his family as well as perform his duty effectively. He was contended with life. He thanked his karma and The Lord Buddha every day for giving him such a fulfilling life. Ishida was a happy old man indeed.

It was the 2^nd day after the new moon. The sun was shining brightly in the hot summer afternoon. Ishida performed the afternoon rituals as prescribed in the Zen tradition and paid homage to all the 5 elements - the earth, fire, wind, water and the sky. He then ate his mid-day meal with complete mindfulness, savoring every grain of rice as he ate, aware of the great cycle of life that it was a part of. He kept in mind that the rice would give him life and vitality and was thankful to it for that. On finishing his meal Ishida sat down outside the gate of the royal chambers. He slowly adjusted himself so that he had a full view of Mt. Fujiyama in the distance. The royal palace was built alongside a lake. On the other side of it lay the city of Kyoto, the largest city in the whole of Japan, the city of Ishida’s childhood. As he stared idly into the lake he could see the sun’s reflection creating a whirlpool of light emanating from it. He remembered telling his son that a dragon was hiding in the lake and that the only force the dragon was afraid of was the sun. That was why it hid in the lake during the day, and the bright lights coming out of the lake where the dragon’s flamey breathe. He told his son that the dragon would eat little children who did not eat their porridge on time!!! Ishida chuckled to himself as he remembered this. Memories always bring back a feeling of warmth for the old, be them good or bad. It always reminds them of their youth and the good times that they had. Ishida’s son was all grown up now, a high ranking officer in the military and a proud father of two beautiful daughters. Rumour had it that he had far exceeded his father in valour and had proved his mettle in battle. Ishida reached over for the water jug that was placed nearby, and took a couple of sips; the sun was really getting to him. “Guess I’m not as strong as before……” His eyes slowly closed as his hand slid limply to his side. Anyone who saw him could have mistaken him for dead.

Ishida was dirty, torn and bleeding. He was near the great stone barrier of Hakata Bay in the Kyushu province. The long dreaded Mongol ships were within eyesight. Covering the entire horizon they were like a black tapestry over the otherwise blue horizon, waiting to burn Japan to the ground, all 4,400 of them. Ishida saw Kururugi nearby, definitely in pain, but proud. They both had stuck to the code of Joei Shikimoku and had not betrayed the royal family. The rest of his regiment had fled to the mountains, for fear of the Mongols. Overwhelmed by the strength of the Mongols, many of the Samurai Lords had abandoned the emperor and the shogun. They no longer had faith in the glory of Japan or the protection of the Lord Buddha. The squabbling cowards had built settlements high up in the mountains and had taken their men with them. Their plan was to ally with the invading Mongols and gain their favour by aiding them in the overthrow of the Japanese monarchy and the Kamakura Shogunate. “Those bastards….” thought Ishida. But he was not one of them. He along with Kururugi and a few other like minded warriors from the other clans had abandoned their masters. They organized themselves under the leader ship of the legendary Yagami and had sworn to fight for the emperor till the very end. They were proud men indeed and like all samurai they were willing to defend their homeland till the very last drop of their blood.

The ships grew larger in the horizon, engulfing the sun from below. They had chosen to attack from the west as the suns rays would blind the Japanese, not allowing them to have a clear view of the ships. But the Japanese knew the fate that awaited them, one of death, destruction and most all…..Shame. Ishida and Kururugi were the first line of defense against the arriving army. They had traveled three days and nights continuously so as to reach the shoreline. They were short of food and water and their men were wounded. But they were prepared to die for the emperor, as the Joei Shikimoku commanded.

The ships grew ever bigger, growing at a faster rate with every wave conquered. The Japanses were tense, their weapons drawn, ready to meet the oncoming deluge of death, blood and murder. But then something happened. There was lightning, sparks of light that fell out of the sky and struck the ships with all their fury. One by one the ships were destroyed. The deluge that followed from the heavens was mirrored by the fury of the sea. Her waves swallowed the ships by the dozen, like a monster unable to control her hunger and consuming everything that dare come in contact with her. The Gods had spoken.

The few ships that did make it to the mainland did not have the adequate number of soldiers to occupy Japan.

Ishida drove his sword into the Mongol soldier. The sound of flesh tearing brought joy to him. He felt his muscles tense as his sword pierced the armour and came out from the other end. He had to draw the sword out quickly so that he could defend himself from the onslaught of the Mongol soldier whom he could see charging him. Ishida kicked the limp body with all his might and got the sword out. Within a flash he was on his knees, taking the Mongol by surprise as his sword slit his stomach. The splash of warm blood on his face and the adrenaline rush that he was experiencing was so great that Ishida let out a roar of victory. The feeling, the moment, that single moment of infinite glory that a warrior goes through when he sees his enemies slain, his years of training bearing fruit, his honour upheld………

Ishida suddenly found himself on the floor with three royal guards staring down at him angrily, their swords drawn and blood stained. Ishida was quick to realize that he had done something terrible. Terror gripped his old heart. He realized that something must have happened when he was asleep. He realized the truth behind his wife’s wise words when she asked him to start taking kendo classes at the city dojo rather than work directly for the emperor.

Ishida was down on his knees, his legs opening backwards, in the classic seiza posture. His katana lay by his side, his head bowed down in shame. He was in the inner chambers of the emperor himself. The great lord sat but a few meters away however Ishida was unable to see him, a paper screen was blocking his vision. He was however able to make out the shadow of the man who was the saviour of Japan, the man who had united the various warring tribes and had ushered in a new era of peace and prosperity for Japan. Ishida remembered the last time he was in this great hall, the hall where the emperor gave audience too all those who sought his help and advice. Ishida was being honoured for his brave deeds in the war against the Mongols. His heart had been filled with joy and loyalty to the motherland as well as towards the emperor, but this time it was filled with sadness and shame. He who had slain at least 50 Mongol soldiers was unable to complete the simplest tasks assigned to him, to guard the chamber of Princess Kagome. The law was that the royal family should not be seen by the common man unless they themselves wished so. But when Ishida had faltered, the little Princess had snuck out and was roaming the palace grounds, where she was found by the royal gardner. The innocent man had brought the princess back to her chambers, where he was discovered by the other Samurai guards. He was executed on the spot, the screams of the princess coming to no avail. Ishida was spared an immediate execution due to his impeccable record as a Samurai and his personal favour with the empereor.

Ishida had the privilege of hearing the voice that few had heard. The voice was that of a kind man, a benevolent ruler who understood humanity and was completely in love with it, in spite of its many shortcomings. The voice that had pardoned the various lords for deserting the emperor, the voice that gave them back their lands, the voice that had made the strongest of men weep with joy and shame and begging for forgiveness. Thus spoke the emperor “Ishida, your actions have not been fitting for that of a Samurai of your rank. Due to your incompetence, there has been a great breach in the security of the royal family. I have many enemies Ishida, powerful men who want to see me dead. The emperor and his family are not immortal you know. The gardener had to be executed as per the law, but in your case I am making an exception. I grieve greatly in ordering the execution of Japan’s worthy sons…. Thus I bade you be gone!! Set not foot in this land again, you have you life” The light behind the screen was put out. The emperor would talk no more. Ishida sat in seiza for a few seconds, bowed low with his head touching the ground and stood up; he had made up his mind.

He lay on the grass, letting the hours pass. Ishida took a deep breathe and felt the morning air cooling his chest and lungs from the inside. The sun would rise soon, sincerely doing its duty and bringing light upon humanity and to all the creatures that sought its radiance and warmth. Ishida remembered that day he had sought his warmth too, the day he had met Sakura. She seemed like a thousand cherry blossoms as the orange rays of the sun struck her flowing long hair. As he approached the field he had seen her from a distance, like a goddess with the morning sun forming a halo around her. He stopped a few meters behind her, unsure of what to do. But as if the sun had told her that he was behind her, she turned around and looked at him. She looked deep into his eyes; it was their eyes that made the pact, the pact of spending their lives together, forever. She smiled at him and walked away. They were married a month later. Ishida had many happy memories of this field. He would bring his son and daughter to this very field where they would play for hours together. He would tell them stories of dragons and maidens, of gods and emperors, of samurais and ninjas. This was a happy place indeed.

Ishida saw the first rays of the sun piercing through the clouds. They warmed his closed eyes and the orange glow in them slowly grew in strength. It was time. Ishida stood up slowly and paid homage to the Gods, to the emperor and the motherland. His sword would be his final companion…. He lay on the grass dead, his sword sticking out of his stomach like a third appendage….seppuku.

Why?

2008-06-17T04:15:00.000-07:00

The wind was cold and bitter. It stung like a thousand pin pricks into a shaman’s doll, but it still felt warm to his frozen soul. He did not let thoughts trouble his mind. But a single thought escaped his vigilance. “I love her, I love my family, I still do….”

The key fitted the lock perfectly. With the decisiveness of a man who had just conquered the world, he walked into his new luxuriant apartment. It always felt new although it was a couple of years old. The sweet smell of sandal wafted through the air to bring a feeling of safety and content to his tired mind. She ran into his arms and looked at him with those big eyes full of joy. Kissing him caressingly on his lips she gently whispered into his ears that she had missed him. She gradually loosened her embrace, but he didn’t feel like letting go and held her tighter. He didn’t want this moment to pass. She responded with a giggle and cuddled up in his arms. After what seemed like eternity she told him that his tea was ready and that she would bring it to him. The smell of her hair on his face as she turned around and walked into the kitchen was intoxicating. The TV was on and the lights were dim. He took the bowl of popcorn placed near the sofa and stretched his sore legs. He felt on top of the world, like an emperor who was back to his beloved after conquering strange lands, taming savage tribes and bringing light onto the hitherto dark world. “Yes it was worth it…”

The fog was all around; the lights from the close by crack houses formed a psychedelic mix of malformed colors playing tricks on his eyes. With steps that were evenly spaced, neither too short nor too long, he headed in the direction of the pier. His gait didn’t show the dreariness or the heavy heart that his feet were carrying. He walked like a man of purpose, with a clear plan and a clear mind. The streetlights threw dark shadows that seemed to cover him in all directions, enveloping him, consuming him. But the sadness that filled him was one that even they could not touch. It ebbed out all other feelings that constitute a man, pleasure, pain, anger, fear, envy, greed - there was just sadness. A rat scurrying across the road made him stop short and laugh to himself” I too was once like that…”

He tore into the piece of dried roti, feeling like a rodent, content after doing it’s scavenging for the day. He sat down on the begrime floor and stared out of the window.

He could see the beautiful people of the city passing by, in their fancy cars, wearing their flashy coolers, women in tight skirts, handsome men with their bulky muscles and streaked hair. Wealth seemed to be the order of the day, designer clothes, hep coffee pubs and the gleaming neons. India was shining right in front of his eyes. But it didn’t disturb him at all. He looked inside the dilapidated room and could barely see the lizard scurrying across the floor in the light of the single bulb flickering above him. The paint peeling off the walls made him think of a mad man clawing into the walls, desperately trying to find his way out. The stench of urine, blended with smoke from the nearby factories and motor vehicles made the air almost un-breathable. His mother, sister and he lived in this 10x10 apartment located in an industrial wasteland that was built during the time of the British.

He worked at a local fish market, delivering the best quality fish to the urban elite of his city. He had to wake up at 3 A.M. in the morning and help the fishermen sort out the night’s catch. This was followed by a painful 10 kilometer walk to the local market with a basket of fish on his head. On his meager pay he could not even afford the cost of public transport, besides he wanted to save every last rupee for his family. Earning barely enough to feed his mother and sister, he would return home everyday, tired, but with a fire in his belly. He wanted this life to end, this life of misery, subservience and shame. He couldn’t bear to watch his mother toil as a maid. His sister’s body was regularly sold to men whom he didn’t even know. They used to make her drink so as to ease the pain and to keep her from panicking. Each night she would return home with a blank expression on her face. She rarely smiled and ate only when told to do so. She would sit staring at the wall for hours, the light in her eyes faded. The best that he could guess was that she was living in her magical world, full of fairies, toys and happy people everywhere, unable to comprehend or withstand the pain of her harsh reality. The poor thing was barely in her teens. The future seemed bleak without any hope or reason to live. But the fire within him grew, day by day, fueled by his pain and suffering till it scorched his very bones. He became the very embodiment of the fire that moves a man, which makes him do the impossible, the unthinkable and the great.

He had reached the pier. The night was clear and the moon shone in its full radiance. He looked up into the sky but saw no stars. They were nothing but lights faded their true radiance unable to penetrate through the depths of space to reach a torn man on the docks. Exhaustion was never his forte, neither was stress. He had always lived as if he had nothing to lose, nothing could be worse than what he had been through, but for the first time he felt tired and worn out. He fell on his knees and thought of God, but God was a being he never much liked. An unkind impersonal entity that looked down with amusement at our little theatre, filled with actors who behaved like automatons, using each other and wanting to be used.

The Temple. When his father was alive they used to visit the temple regularly. In the last few years of his life the old man had suddenly developed a taste for the divine. He used to pray in the temple for hours and hours and sometimes would break into tears, begging for forgiveness. His mother tried to console him but he said that it was of no use. He said that she was just humoring him and that in her heart of hearts, held him in contempt. His court cases and lewd business associations hardly gave him enough time to spend with his children. He died leaving a debt of Rs.2 Crore. “F*** that old man….”

He wanted to question Him but knew that he would hear no answer. His belief in God had died along his old man. He was a man of reason, of purpose and meticulous planning. But his present predicament had caught him off guard. The water below him shimmered in the moonlight. Like a thousand light bulbs lit up by some underwater civilization, they were calling to him, a place of safety and rest. He wanted to reach out to them, feel the full effect of gravity on his body as he fell forward into the deep ocean. But he knew that there would be no coming back. He had never been a coward or a quitter, why be one now? He had wanted the best for everyone, but knew that it did not matter anymore. He looked into the dark horizon and saw an orb of light growing bigger, bigger, bigger. “There’s no looking back now….”

After the death of his sister, his mother had moved in with them. The self proclaimed head of the family sat on the old cane chair, walking stick in hand. She held a tight grip on it as if it was the only thing that could protect her from the monster that stood in front of her. He stood in front of her, the bright afternoon sun on his back, silently, having a polite look on his face that could almost be interpreted as curiosity.” What now....?”

“He’s my son…..but, he’s my son”. She adjusted her huge thick glasses and looked up at him. He stood there, tall and handsome as ever. She remembered the time he had returned home with broken teeth, a black eye and his little sister following him, sobbing lightly. He had single handedly fought of 7 boys who had been bullying her. Her thoughts reached out to how he had lovingly nursed her when she was recovering from cancer. In spite of working all day he would still manage to stay up all night taking care of her. His kindness and compassion towards had always been impeccable and worth all the love and respect she could give him. But the thought of him being like his father, a curse, a hex on all society was one which she could not tolerate. A faint voice inside her was screaming “He’s your son; you can’t do this….he’s your only son….” The decision would HAVE to be made. A great energy surged through her body and she screamed “Get out, get out you wretch, don’t ever set foot in my house again. Your father was a wicked soul who should be rotting in hell, the evil fiend that he was, now you too are like him………………” All the pent up and anger that she felt toward her husband was spat out at him. She could see him in her son, an incarnation of the iniquity that had been in her life. Like the eruption of a sleeping volcano her words spewed out balls of fire that penetrated him deep, so deep that they did not have any meaning there. It hit the source, the very source of his energy, and life. His mind was blank. The world in front of him reeled. The words that he had heard could never be taken back. He stood there for what felt like eternity, and slowly turned around and left. He did not see the tears on his mother’s cheeks but knew that they were there. He was a drugs trafficker.

“Here I am”. The vessel was named after his beloved. The “Yasmine”. She did not know about its existence and he had wanted to surprise her on their anniversary. But it didn’t matter anymore. She hadn’t spoken a word in his defense and had spent the afternoon in the bedroom crying. She said that he was dead to her and that she never wanted to have anything to do with him. His mother had access to the family’s bank account and he was sure that she would aid in finding her another groom if need be. However he didn’t want the name of the boat to change, the name meant nothing to him anymore. Unlimited wealth and an international passport were his. He had friends, powerful friends all over the world who would be glad to help him. Besides it was through him that they made most of their profits, a true businessman and every drug lords dream broker. He could go anywhere, do anything he wanted, live any dream.

The “Yasmine” docked. For one final time he evaluated his position. He had to make changes, drastic changes as he had done once before. Decisions would have to be made. This was not the end; he would just have to come up with a new plan, a new life, and a new reason for living. As he stepped on board, he never said his last goodbye; he just looked up at the stars and thought “Why??”