The Pendulum

Time - 1 am.
Sunday night, 5 days before the majors exam.
The location - Room no. xx, 'Arbit' Hostel, IIT Delhi.

Our protagonist, Mr. Anuj Modi had just turned off his laptop and he was endowed with an irritated look on his face.

Mr.Modi took his specs off, massaged his eyeballs with his courtesy-to-the-keyboard calloused fingertips and heaved a loud sigh. The loud machine gun noise owing its origin to a computer game called Counter Strike buzzed his ears, his irritation climbed the charts and he popped his head to have an 'annoyed' look at his roommate. His roommate was meditating at the screen in front of him, eyes wide open rather than being closed while meditation and the hands in synergy with the brain for executing the reflex. The machine gun voice continued to buzz the surroundings. Our protagonist's face was busy in climbing Mt. Annoyance; the summit seeming endless.

He saw his watch. It was 1:10 am, the date was 26th April and his irritation reached neared the summit. He looked around. For something. He was searching something. He unfurled his bedsheet but still he could not locate that thing. Peeved completely, he bent down and there it lay - his mobile phone - switched off. He switched it on, it had over two dozen missed calls of his girlfriend Isha.

He lay there wondering, "She might be asleep till now! Shit man, I wasted my last six hours over the internet...killing time...doing nothing."

He switched off the lights and shouted at his roommate, "Creepo! Put your headphones on. I am sleeping."

His voice, subdued by the machine-gun's noise, could not break that yogi's concentration spell. He screamed, "Bloody creepo! Shut down your speakers!"

This time, the scream made the difference, the amplification of machine gun's noise now went directly into creepo's ears through noise isolating headphones.

Mr. Modi 'tried' to sleep. 'Tried', but didn't quite succeed. He was feeling annoyed with himself. He twisted and turned over his small bed intermittently, the room was quite hot and he was feeling sultry. Thoughts started wandering. Not here and there, but only at one point i.e. academics. The insurmountable academic pressure struck his mind with a great force. He could not sleep. He opened his eyes. He realized that his closed eyes were giving him more torture than every other thing in this universe. He pressed a button on his mobile phone. The time had run, run quite rapidly, as it was 1:40 am then.

He checked his mobile-phone inbox, it contained her sweet messages, the first one saying, "I love you thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much, muahh! <3"

He went through the other messages, his heart could feel a tickle, he wanted to talk to her - desperately. The dilemma of not-to-disturb-her-while-sleeping and uncontrollable-desire-to-talk-to-her played simultaneously with his mind. Finally he gave in. He pressed the green button.

Rings went by. First, second, third...fourteenth...to finally, "The number you are trying to reach is not responding at the moment. Kindly try after sometime."

He was sad as well as happy. Sad because he could not talk despite his great urge, and happy because he was not guilty of disturbing her sleep.

He chose to give his insomniac mind yet another tryst with sleep. He shut his eyelids and took a deep breath in. With the deep breath in, the same stressing thoughts regarding academics knocked his mind again. He was irritated, much more this time. Suddenly, something tickled his ears and his eyes were amazed - it was his mobile-phone, with 'Isha Calling' flashing the blue-lighted screen.

"Hi bacha. How are you? I thought you were sleeping!" Anuj said.
"I was in the loo when you called. I could not sleep. I was worried about you. Are you OK? What happened to your mobile...I was trying it for the last three hours and it was switched off! Where were you?"
"Oh! Don't remind me of the past hours!" Anuj said, his expressions were seemingly anguished.
"What? Is there anything wrong?"
"My whole life is bloody wrong. The majors are just 5 days ahead and what am I doing? Sitting over net, chatting and posting random things around. My entire syllabus is yet to be touched, I have hardly attended a lecture in the last couple of weeks and bloody me, I am sitting for hours on the net!" Anuj reached the peak of annoyance, but it was no big achievement to celebrate.
"Baby, still you've ample time, you can repair every error. C'mon cheer up!"
"How can I cheer up? I want to throw my laptop out of my window!" Anuj said seeing his newly purchased laptop lying on his table.
"Discipline yourself rather breaking your laptop. Everything can be put back into place, just organize yourself. Go to sleep!" Isha said.
"I am not getting sleep! I am so irritated at myself. I am going nowhere. I am stagnating, doing nothing constructive, not even doing the primary job for which I came here i.e. studying. I don't know what pushes me to log in my facebook account and keep refreshing my wall without any reason. Tell you something, I am going to be a big failure in my life. You chose the wrong guy! I am warning you, leave me now, I would not like seeing you with a failure in your future." His tone became more and more disgusted and self-condescending.
"Hey baby, c'mon! This attitude won't help. And don't dare abusing yourself. You might not care about yourself but I care about you. It's just a phase, it will pass. Struggle always requires patience. C'mon, we'll just plan your coming week now and everything will seem easy to you." Isha said patiently.
"Nothing is easy, because I am taking it as too easy. I am going to fail in my exams."
"Shut up! Don't dare say a word! It had been 5 minutes listening to all your non-sense. Now listen to me. First, move out of your room. Get out JUST NOW! Get yourself some fresh air. C'mon, lazy bones, shed your laziness. Stand up or I'll cut the phone!" Isha said didactically.

Heaving a huge sigh, Anuj got up, went outside his room staring at his absorbed-in-counter-strike roommate with patronizing eyes.

"I have become like everyone else - idle with nothing to do. Academics is sucking big-time and there is nothing else to flaunt upon. I hate myself."
"Chill, c'mon tell me are you out of your hostel?" Isha asked patiently.
"Ya."
"Can you see the moon?" Isha asked.
"Yes, I can."
"Look at it carefully. Can you see two faintly-dark spots on the right side of the moon?" Isha asked. She was adept in lightening his mood.
"Yeah! There are a few more spots, but they seem merged to the original one. "
"Good, now try to locate the Big Dipper and the Orion!" Isha said.
"Located."
"Just join the handle of the Big Dipper to the three collinear stars of Orion, what figure do you get?"
"Hmm, wait let me try it! Hmm...I can't get it...just a little hint, please?" Anuj asked, he was finding it difficult to figure out what was it.
"No hints! You're an IITian, the so-called cream of the nation, let me see how fast your mind works! Your real standard is going to be revealed!" Isha said.
"I got it...It is like a a coca-cola bottle with coke leaking towards a well."
"Nopes buddy, so this is the brain which you people flaunt? Can't even guess a single figure."
"Don't challenge my brain! This time I got it, it is like a Rhino with a spoon-like tail."
"Hmmmm." Isha said slowly.
"Bingo! I told you don't challenge my brain. Loser!"
"Hmm." Isha said in a contemplative tone.
"What 'hmm'?" Anuj said in wonder.
"I was just wondering how wonderfully you use your so-called sharp brain for manufacturing complex shapes out of no shapes at all." Isha said.
"What do you mean?"
"Dumbo! I mean, there was no shape, I gave it just for timepass. I made a fool out of you, in short!"
"Oh! I can see you smiling - that shrewd smile of yours." Anuj said. He was not annoyed with this little game which Isha played with him, rather he relished it. After all, his mood was rekindled.
"Hmm. Aren't you too smiling honey?" Isha said. She definitely rejuvenated his mood.
"Yes I am. Feeling much better after a smile." Anuj liked the free fall from the summit of Mt. Annoyance.
"Now, let us plan everything. Just see how easy things become when you work on a time-table."
"Cool. But first I should do something about internet. It has become an obsession for me." He was looking at his situation from a non-annoyed angle for the first time.
"Can I give you an advice?" Isha said with a genuineness in her voice.
"Yeah, sure. Say!"
"Discard your LAN-cable for the next two weeks. You give it to some friend of yours to lock it in his cupboard and then you'll never get a chance to pursue your obsession of internet."
"Hmm, sound advice! I will implement it."
"No 'will'. You are going to implement it 'now'. Go back to your hostel, c'mon."
"I am feeling nice out here, the breeze is so soothing, I'll go in sometime and do it. I promise." Anuj tried to sound convincing.
"Breaking promises is one of your hobbies."
"Not this time. I'll do it as soon as I enter my room. Happy? The weather is so romantic, leave all these things for a while, let us talk about something else baby." Anuj's happiness wanted to take some other course.
"Hmm, the lover back in action...all thanks to me!" Isha said.

The talk continued for yet another hour. The content of the talk became a bit more private and privacy is not the genre that I want to touch upon. After one hour, Anuj felt that the lover inside him was sagging and was desperate to give the fatigued backbone a relaxed sleep. He bid a bye to Isha with all kinds of buttering and polishing making him the most romantic guy of the hour. He disconnected his call just at the corner near his hostel and had a look at his mobile for time. It was 4 am, not quite surprising for him. Time flows like wind while talking to one's girlfriend. He was feeling happy, excited and his mood was calm rather a bit on the naughty side. He considered himself lucky to have Isha as his girlfriend.

He reached his hostel after strolling through the breezy IIT-D campus for the last two hours. He entered his room, his gaming-maniac roommate was sleeping, with the same concentration as he had about three hours back.

He turned on the lights. He could see the laptop on his table, with the LAN cable connecting his laptop to the mighty internet hub. The talk about discarding the LAN cable crossed his mind. He moved his right hand towards the LAN cable. Suddenly, his hand froze, something within him stopped him. "Let me check my mails and notifications for one last time", came the inner voice. It was like God speaking from within him.

He opened the lid of the laptop and pressed the power button. He logged into facebook as well as gmail account and checked his wall and mails. There was no increment in notifications, messages or mails still he kept refreshing those pages. Time passed, he forgot his backache and droopy eyes, 'the one last time' continued for the next three hours until he was transported to a dream state with his cheek getting the imprints of the keyboard below.

Our protagonist was awakened by his room-mate at 4 pm the next day, who despite feeding his fingers to the laptop last night for a longer time than Mr.Modi, attended all the lectures the next day, while our Mr.Modi was making rhino with spoon-like tails out of the stars scintillating in his dreams the whole day.

P.S. The LAN wire never got unplugged and the rest is history.

P.S. It's a true story.
P.S. I got an idea for a sci-fi short-story, the next one will be the one.

Twist

SCENE 1
"Madam, that's your bill." The waiter said to Radhika, quite obsequiously. The waiter went away. The bill was quite moderate - 1200 rupees, which after all was not much for her six-figured salary-fed bank account.

Radhika. Cheerful, bubbly and talkative. She can be dropped in category of the people who know how to make themselves happy. And that's really a big thing to do!

"Thanks." Radhika said in a highly enthusiastic tone. She sought for her purse. Here. There. Right. Left. Below the table. On the table. Alas, it was not there. Ding! The torch inside her mind lighted up suddenly. 'Oh yeah, I left it in my car'.

"I left my purse in my car. I am just coming." She said to the waiter. Before the waiter could respond, she was out there - on road. Her eyes wandered. Here. There. Right. Left. The eyes stopped wandering, rather got affixed. Affixed to the tow-truck. Her car was exquisitely hanging on it. Her eyes now seemed to pop out of the skull. She looked slightly better than the villain of Scary Movie. The popping eyes transformed into a fountain, a fountain of tears, tears of helplessness. Tragic, her situation was.

Sometimes, some day comes when you are forced to think that it was better to be in the pre-historic times rather than the modern world. Dinosaurs seem much less troublemakers than the tow-truck.

A dozen frantic breaths taken. Eyes were restored to their garage. Ciliary muscles heaved a sigh of relief. Her footsteps automatically retraced the path on which she came outside. She was back at the counter of the restaurant. The fountain's after-effects still visible on her reddened cheek.

"I am sorry. I've no money right now. My car has been towed away. And my mobile as well as purse were in it. Can I pay the bill tomorrow?" Radhika asked the waiter.

"I am sorry madam, but we have no provisions like these. Can't you ask some acquaintance of yours to pay the bill?" The waiter said what he was supposed to do.

"I don't have my mobile, and my memory for numbers is slightly better than nuts. I remember just my car-plate and mobile number." She said, laughing at herself. Finally she was back to her ground state. The waiter didn't reciprocate.

"Madam, my boss is very particular about the bills. At the end of the day, he wants no errors in the business." The waiter said, his tone crossing the servile limit.

"You can keep my watch for the time being. I'll see what I can do. By the way, it is a costly watch - Titan - my brother gifted it to me. That too last to last birthday. You know he is such a lovely brother..." She flew with her effervescence and forgot the key-point of the hour.

"Madam, it is not funny. It is not a time to crack jokes. I've other customers to attend to. " The waiter interrupted her.

"Take my watch for the time being. It's really costly. See there is a hologram too!" Radhika was unperturbed. She was busy adoring her wrist watch.

"We don't accept payment in kinds. Either you give the money or otherwise I'll have my boss take over." The waiter said in a slightly annoyed tone. Radhika glanced at him angrily.

"Get your boss! I can't help...just call your boss. I'll talk to him directly." She ordered. The waiter walked away to the office briskly. Two minutes went by, Radhika started reading the menu again, her mind busy in fixing the evitable turmoil that had crept in because of the last conversation. Meanwhile, a young fellow emerged out of the office and started coming towards her table.

SCENE 2
"Hello Ma'm." He said as he reached in the field of view of the lady of the hour.

"Ishan! Hey! How are you? So long time! How are you...what are you doing here...?" She said having just a glimpse of the guy. Her effervescence was back. Ishan Mehra - her long lost classmate of the school-days was standing in front of him. Tall, dark and handsome. An executive coat and an elite tie brought an elegant man in him. Memories of school days came flooding back.

"Hey, Radhika...you! Where had you been?"

"First tell me, where had 'you' been? You disappeared just after the boards, no contacts with any of your friends..." She said in an excited tone.

"Oh! I had been suffering from a major knee injury. I had to run to US for medical check-ups after the examinations. It took me three months to get back to my perfect health and when I returned, my parents shifted to Jammu and you know how difficult it is to stay in touch with all scattered across different states of this country. Leave all those things. Tell me, how had you been?"

"Oh me! I am doing fine. Currently am working with The Times of India, Delhi as the assistant editor. And today I had this six-hours field work taking interviews of the local MLAs of Vikaspuri and Pitampura Constituency. I hate this job of taking interviews of the uneducated, muddleheaded politicians. I took this career to address the issue of poverty and child-labour, to make the voices of the deprived ones to be heard and see what I am assigned to do - to take interviews of the corrupt-to-the-core MLAs." Radhika, as always, spoke more than what she was asked about.

"Nothing is easy. I didn't realize that journalism can be such a painstaking job." Ishan commented.

"They treat us like machines. I get up at 5 o clock, have a light breakfast and run to work. My days run on coffees and sometimes even a cup of coffee misses my fate. Today too, surviving the tedious work on just two slices of bread in the morning seemed to hard for my appetite. Those politicians treat us from media like servants, they don't even ask us for water. Therefore I am here, this was the only elite restaurant that I could find to kill my hunger in the suburbs."

"So welcome to Ishan - the garden restaurant." Ishan smiled.

"ISHAN! Oh! I realize now, how silly am I? This is your restaurant..I see...hmm! So you are the hard-headed boss who is very particular about bills that your waiter was talking about!" Radhika poked him.

"What? He called me hard-headed? I am going to see him." Ishan reacted.

"Now certainly you're a hard headed boss. I was just kidding yaar, chill!" She tried to clear up the matter.

"I am OK. But these waiters have certainly become over-smart. They need to be taught a lesson. Anyways, leave that. I think there was some thing related to the bill for which I was asked to see you."

"Yeah. I left my purse in my car and curse my luck, it got towed. My hapless situation sought no mercy from your waiter, who kept pestering me to pay the bill howsoever. Haven't they been taught some courtesy?" Her lost irritation flushed back into her mind.

"Has he misbehaved? Just say me yes, and I'll fire him now." Ishan was in wrath. He just needed a reason to execute his merciless plans.

"No, not exactly. He did what he should have done, but he lacked the polish in his voice. Anyways, leave it. It is a trifle matter. You say how is everybody at home?"

"It is not a trifle matter. He needs to know courtesy. I'll take care of him, don't worry." He said.

"You don't need to hamper that poor fellow's livelihood, he'll learn with time. And I am dead sure that he won't encounter a customer as bizarre as me - with car towed and incredibly bad memory for numbers." Radhika said and smiled.

"You need not worry for today's mishappening. I'll help you with the car thing and this bill of yours - here it goes." Ishan took the bill from the table, crushed it and threw it in the dustbin across the room - a perfect throw.

"Hey that's not fair. You can't be so generous. I'll return the money to you, I don't like exploiting friendship in the matter of money." She said, sounding quite convincing.

"I won't take the money. This is the first time I got an opportunity to host a friend at my own restaurant."

"I don't like this way. Friendship and money need to be kept on two different shelves."

"OK. If you insist, you rather owe me a treat. I would prefer a treat than getting the cash back." Ishan said. It was a nice offer, gratifying at both the ends.

"Done. Both are happy that way. I'll tell you the date and place as soon as I get my car back. My whole schedule and mobile are waiting there."

"Oh yeah, come. The tow station is nearby, and I know the guy there - the in-charge of the tow cars."

"Hmm, Mr.Famous...?" Her face assumed the shape of a question mark with her smile creating a bowl below that question mark.

"Yeah, certainly famous. After all I hold a record for maximum number of car-towing in this area." He smiled quite boastfully.

"You haven't changed. Ishan - the troublemaker. C'mon, let us go. We have to get my car." Radhika said and they both packed up. He instructed his manager something about work, took his car keys and went out escorting the lady. The waiter was stunned to see his monotonous boss in such a lively mood. The company of a good-looking woman can even transform Hitler into Gandhi, so his boss was no exception. The waiter escorted his boss and his guest towards the gate and wished the Madam, "Thank you Ma'm. Keep visiting."

"Yeah, I'll. Thanks!" Radhika said. She was more or less pleased with the waiter and she asked Ishan to give him a tip of 20 Rupees, which he reluctantly gave.

"Was he the one who misbehaved with you? Why you asked me to give him the tip?" Ishan was not quite happy with everything around.

"He did not misbehave, firstly. And, I think he did a prompt job and deserved a tip."

The talks continued. They went ahead, Ishan helped her get the car back and their next meet - after all she owed him a treat - was scheduled somewhere in the next week.

SCENE 3
One week went by. Their talks increased. The mobile phones played the role of unofficial match-makers. Interestingly, Radhika Paul was Ishan's crush right from the early schooldays. This serendipitous meeting fostered some tender feelings in him. The fondness was not one sided - but rather lingered over the other side too. After all they both were single, and supposedly ready to mingle. The Sunday's lunch was quite a big thing to look forward to for both of them.

Sunday, 1 pm, Ambience Restaurant
"Hey Radhika. What's up?"

"Nothing special. You tell."

"Just was looking forward to this lunch...no hidden meanings though."

"Hmmm, it would have been better if you didn't mention that last phrase of yours - 'no hidden meanings'. It pokes me to think about what hidden meanings can be lying there."

"Hmm...I think it is the time to change the topic...hmm...let me suggest...that fan...oh no!...how about these sets of cutlery...really nice they are, aren't they?"

"Yeah they are. They would look even better if I smash one of them up your head. Flirting with a school-friend, that is what silly people like you are upto. You are messing with the wrong girl. I am smart enough to understand everything, ain't I?"She started lolling with a naughty smile on her face.

"Very. Smarter than what I had presumed." He said genuinely.

"So how was your week? What special did you do this week, other than looking forward for this lunch, of course." Radhika switched her talk-engine on.

"Hmm. Nothing quite special..."

"You mean nothing quite special other than that, aren't you?" She taunted.

"Now you are flirting...!" Ishan struck the bull's eye.

"Hmm, so should I change the topic now...hmm...rather you continue...what after that 'nothing quite special'?"

"Right. So, last monday, I summoned that waiter of yours and I instantly fired him. I cannot withstand people who are discourteous to ladies." Ishan said proudly expecting an appreciative expression from the lady, but she was on the other side of road - being completely stunned.

"That waiter was not discourteous to me. He did what any waiter would have done. I feel sorry for him. And sorry for you too, that you could not take a fair decision."

"Hey, you are taking it too personally. I did what seemed right to me. He is not even faintly related to you, why are you so much bothered about him?"

"It is not about being related or not. It's about being righteous. You were not right in that case. We, simply because we constitute the higher class of the society, cannot exploit the less resourceful ones. We rather need to take care of them, protect them and be just to them."

"Oh! Cheer up yaar, it is a trifle matter. He'll get another job. They are not as innocent as you think them to be. C'mon tell me what do you want to eat?" Ishan said in an indifferent tone.

"You don't even feel anything...do you?"

"What? A waiter has become more important than every other thing...Forget it yaar."

"I am not one of the waiters of yours. I can't forget it. I feel disgusted with you."

"I am sorry. I'll get him reinstated, promise. Now, please cheer up. C'mon let us place the order."

"I don't feel like eating. I need to leave, I'm not feeling well."

She stood up and went away. Ishan remained seated on his chair; lost in thoughts, trying to enforce discipline on his tear glands.

"What's your order sir?" A waiter came to his table and brought him back to the present.

"Nothing. I think I'll leave." He said and stood up.

"Is it about the ambience of The Ambience that's bothering you sir? No...then is it about this particular table? We can arrange a seat for you on the terrace if you wish. There is a great view up there. No...then...Has any of our staff erred, Sir?" The waiter pestered him, but with servitude.

"It is I who erred." Ishan said. He took out an envelope from inside his coat and pulled something out from it. That something was enough to make the waiter understand what had happened. Placing that something in the flower vase on the table, Ishan left the place.

The flower vase on the table was embellished with a red rose now and its fragrance added charm to the ambience of the 'Ambience'.

SCENE 4 - The same day.
Ishan went out in search of the waiter he fired. The grief in him metamorphosed into guilt. He understood the pain it brings to lose something after he himself lost someone - a friend or someone he hoped could be more than just a friend.

He straightaway called his manager, "Mr. Prasad. Tell me the name of that waiter we fired the last monday. His name, address, everything - be fast."

"Yes sir, anything urgent?" The manager asked.

"Just give it to me. I have some important work."

"Yes sir, note the address. It is - Ramsharan, near Bus Station, one of the small cottage near the temple. There is no fixed address, he used to say that people know him there. You can ask people around there."

"Thanks Prasad. Catch up with you later, bye." Ishan disconnected the phone. He rushed the car to the given address.

Sixty minutes later
Ishan could feel something playing with his nose. Open drains, heaps of garbage and buffaloes filling the potholes of the jerky road with their paste-like crap. This was the first time that his Honda Accord stepped in such a slum.

He stopped the car on the way carefully away from all the buffaloes, stepped outside in haste and BOOM.

"Oh damn!" He shrieked loudly and jumped in air, people around started laughing.

His shiny black shoes were sprinkled with sparkles of sea-green colour of the divine dung he accidentally stepped upon. Done with a dozen strokes of wiping it on the nearby grass, he went on to fulfill the mission that brought him to such a wonderland - a world he didn't even know existed in the city he was living in.

Seeing a pan-shop at far distance, he walked ahead.

"Hello, you have any idea where Ramsharan - the waiter at the Ishan restaurant lives?" Ishan asked the petite pan-wala. The pan-wala glanced him from up to down. Never before had he seen such a gentleman at his pan-shop.

"Hello, I'm talking to you. Do you know where Ramsharan lives?" Ishan shouted.

"Umm..Aha...Who? Ramsharan, ya, he used to live here, but last week some sick boss of his fired him on no pretence. He had nothing to sustain his house or his ailing mother, he left without informing anyone the same night. It was only the next day when we came to know that he had been fired."

"Didn't you people search for him?" Ishan sounded worried.

"Who cares nowadays sir? People come and go, no one is a friend in today's world sir. You know, time has gone so bad, that everybody can turn out to be a foe. Just think of his boss, Ramsharan used to praise him for offering more money than any other waitering job in the city everytime he came at my shop and now see, he only kicked his ass. You want a pan sir, my shop is famous all across this area."

"No thanks!" Ishan was lost somewhere in his thoughts.

"Where is his native place? You've any idea?" Ishan suddenly interrogated.

"Yes sir, his native place is Chakradharpur, near Agra in UP. But he was not quite attached to that place. His uncles captured all the small fields he was to inherit by blackmailing his sick father. You see, no one can be trusted nowadays."

"Hmm. Chakradharpur in UP." Ishan said. Tired, with sunset's light filtering through his goggles to finally strike his eyes, he decided to return back. His nose was by now adapted to the smell which was heinous sometimes earlier. He went back to his car and drove back home, being lost in thoughts all the way. He was feeling the guilt.

Scene 5
"I've always thought about me. Me, my feelings, my friends, my ambition or my employees. But today I realized that this whole world is much bigger than 'my' own little world. There are problems, difficulties and hardships everywhere around - hardships which could even bury the chances to sustain oneself. My eyes had always remained closed to these, they shunned every bad sight by finding some alternative, every heinous thing was covered with some beautiful mask and every good thing was treated as if it is destined to be mine. But, life is too hard to avoid every single bad thing and take every single good thing. Today, I was shaken to realize that 'If I am unable to do anything good, even then I've an opportunity to make this world a better place to live by doing nothing bad.'

My heart aches to think that this subtle realization came after hurting Radhika's feelings and ruining Ramsharan's life. But, certainly something touched me - touched me deep within. I don't deserve to be called an able boss or a good friend - I did the thing which she despised the most and did not even feel sorry for it.

Radhika, I promise you that I'll reinstate Ramsharan respectfully and seek his forgiveness in front of everyone, including you. And then you'll never feel disgusted with me. I promise..."

He dropped his pen, closed his diary and wiped his wet eyes. Suddenly, the phone-bell buzzed his ears.

"Hi Ishan, this is Radhika. I am sorry for the outburst today. I overreacted. You know, I can't stand any injustice to the poor ones, and I could not stop myself that time. I shouldn't have left the table, I am so sorry."

"Your reaction was apt. I've been an unkind indifferent brat all the while. You just opened my eyes. You need not feel sorry. I deserve a punishment. You know, I went to that waiters' place, he left his home the day I fired him - all because he had no money to sustain himself for yet another month. He had an old mother to take care of and bloody me ruined his life. With every information I came to find about him, the more my guilt increased...I am not worthy to be called his boss...actually I am not worthy of anything...I don't deserve to be your friend even...I don't deserve..." Ishan became agitated.

"Don't curse yourself. It's no use now. It's good that you realized your mistake."

"I am not worthy to be your friend. I won't be comfortable talking to you until I win back my self-respect. And that'll be when he forgives me in front of you. I promise to you Radhika that I'll find him and respectfully welcome him back in my restaurant. I'll call you soon...don't call me...I'll call you soon!" Ishan was distraught with grief as well as hope at the same time.

"You're taking too much to your heart buddy..." Radhika said, but there was no response. The phone was disconnected a minute earlier.

SCENE 6
Two weeks passed by. He went in search of Ramsharan to his native place Chakradharpur, where his uncles declined to know anybody with his name. His struggle began and he searched for some of Ramsharan's friends but alas, the struggle seemed to have no end. Ramsharan was missing. He even considered the option of lodging a missing report at the police station but he dropped the plan thinking it might cause Ramsharan further trouble. Meanwhile, Radhika called sometimes but Ishan didn't reciprocate, didn't even pick-up the phone after seeing her number flashing. He stuck to his words. Radhika stopped calling, the friendship chose the path of destiny.

He ran across all the past employers of Ramsharan, all his past dwellings but no Ramsharan anywhere. Days passed, months passed. It was tough for him. His patience did not surrender though his ways to trace Ramsharan encountered a full stop. His daily life made everything a memory, but the guilt and the promise to Radhika seemed to haunt him from time to time. He was not successful in fulfilling his promise. His self-respect waited for its saviour to appear out of nowhere. But, miracles are not that easy to happen.

Six months later
24th May
It was hot outside. Delhi's summer, you know how torturous it can be. Ishan was sitting in the air-conditioned chamber in his office. Suddenly his secretary called, "Sir, someone named R.S.Sharma has come to see you. He tells that he has to thank you for something."

"R.S.Sharma. I don't know anybody with that name. Anyways, send him in." Ishan sat back on his easy chair thinking about who this strange guy was.

"Hello sir. Remember me?" R.S.Sharma said. Ishan looked at and was turned into a statue. Ramsharan was standing in front of him in an executive suit, giving competition to Ishan himself.

"Oh yeah, Ramsharan. Be seated. How had you been...oh my God! Is that really you? I can't believe it. I searched you frantically over the entire city in the last six months to... well...to seek your forgiveness. Will you forgive me Ramsharan?"

"Forgiveness, sir why are you seeking forgiveness, rather I owe you a thank you. Sir, you would not believe what happened the day you fired me. You gave me a month's salary. Having postponed my mother's cataract operation for over one year, I immediately took her to the city hospital with the money I got plus some money which I had. Upon reaching the hospital, I could see all the doctors rushing towards the emergency ward. There was one emergency case of a child and they needed an O+ blood group, and fortunately I had the same blood group. I voluntarily offered my blood and the life of that child was saved. The father of that child turned out to be Mr. Ramjas Jhaveri, the famous fabric tycoon. He became so grateful to me that he offered me a job at his Bangalore apparel unit as the assistant unit manager. I vacated my house without telling anyone in my locality since they would all feel jealous and I slipped away to Bangalore with my mother, who also underwent a successful cataract operation. I worked hard and now I have been promoted to the post of project manager of DenMan - Denim Manufacturing Unit of Jhaveri's Apparels in Gurgaon. My mother keeps on telling me that you have played a role of Messiah in disguise for me. You changed the course of my fate. I want to thank you from the core of my heart. If you hadn't fired me that day, then I would still be cleaning up the tables at one of your restaurants and my life would have never changed."

"I....." Ishan's tongue was paralyzed. With nothing, nothing at all, for his mind to believe, he sat in front of Ramsharan looking depressingly dumb. He had exhausted his sweat glands and fatigued his body to seek his forgiveness and now this guy was thanking him.

After practicing dumbness for another two minutes, Ishan gathered himself and spoke up, "I am amazed...so much amazed. Huh...oh my God! I can't believe it...I need to pinch myself. Is it really happening...oh...huh! Oh"

"Are you all right sir?" Ramsharan asked courteously.

"Oh yeah. I am. Oops! I even forgot to ask you something. So tell me, what do you want to have - tea or a coffee?"

"Sir, sorry I won't have anything. My mother is waiting down there in the taxi. I would rather leave. Thanks again!" Ramsharan stood up, shook hands with Ishan and went forward towards the door.

"Thanks Mr. Sharma, you don't know that you have liberated me from my guilt. Thanks a lot. Be in touch. Take my visiting card." Ishan said. He in-turn gave his own visiting card to Ishan. and bid him a bye with a smile. As soon as Ramsharan left the room, Ishan dropped himself in the couch gasping for breath. He was excited as well as puzzled. His heartbeat was sinusoidal and the breath pattern was pulsating. Heaving a huge sigh, he took out his mobile phone and searched for Radhika's number.

'Radhika would be thrilled to know what has just happened. My self-respect, oh, it never needed to leave me. Shit man, I never really needed to punish me like that! Oh! The way this world works is bizarre, really bizarre.'

Finally, his promise to Radhika was in a way going to be fulfilled - after all he was forgiven, apparently. Though he had absolutely no talks to her since his last talk - six months ago, he inwardly missed her all the while. Radhika's number was in front of him - on his mobile screen, the empty mobile screen was waiting so desperately to display the phrase 'Calling...Radhika' but Ishan felt a bit awkward, courtesy to him not responding to her missed calls earlier. But his amazement at what had just happened shredded away all his uneasiness in a moment. He knew that now it was the time when his days of missing her were going to be over.

Taking a deep breath in, he dialled Radhika's number. He had a smile adorning his face - a happy and expectant smile, a satisfied and contented smile, a hopeful and naughty smile. The phone rung about nine times and then the answering machine said in Radhika's ultra-excited voice, "Hi. I am out of the country - in Switzerland. With Piyush - on our honeymoon. Will be back on 24th June. Please drop your message after the beep. Beep."

Ishan had a smile adorning his face - a frozen and shocked smile, a shattered and screwed smile, a paralyzed and dumbstruck smile. With the beep, his entire life had been 'beep'-ed forever. His breath-pattern was no more pulsating and his heartbeat was no more a sinusoidal one - rather it became a straight line with slope zero.

P.S. It was just a mild heart-attack. Ishan's Ishan-restaurant-delicacy-fed-heart was too fragile to absorb two shocks in a single hour. Ishan was definitely right, "The way this world works is bizarre, really bizarre."

P.S. Certainly a long one, but worth reading, I can assure you. This is for those who read P.S. before reading the story.
P.S. Imagination started catching speed, it takes some time to sharpen one's axe after-all. The flow is back, the writer's block is over and it's an euphoric sensation!

Climax

SCENE I

"This is perhaps the most intriguing case FBI has ever encountered." Ron said to Brown. Both of them were very able officers of FBI. Ron Crick was senior to Steve Brown, despite the two being very close friends on a personal level.

"Certainly. Three murders, three different locations at the same time, and with the same revolver. It’s frigging impossible!" Brown exclaimed in wonder. The complication of the case could put anybody thoughtful.

"Call Francis. I am assigning this case to him."

"How could... I mean how could you assign that case to a tyro like him? He has been with us for just 10 days, though he did make an impression, but handing over such a delicate case to him...wouldn't it create an issue?" Brown said, doubting Ron's decision with great disbelief.

"Francis is sheer genius. Haven't you seen the brilliance he exhibited in the last case - Linda Carey's murder mystery? That case was hanging for about 3 months, and that guy solved the thing in just one hour and that too in his mind. No paper, no evidences ... just in his mind. This is what you call genius!"

"Yeah, he did the impossible, but still! This one is not that easy nut to crack. We haven't encountered such a complicated case like this ever before. What about the authorities? Won't they question your decision if you give such a big case to a beginner?" Brown was worried.

"Francis won't give them enough time to question my decision. Two days at max and the job is done! That's what Francis is all about! Call him in my chamber." Ron said.

SCENE II

God forbid for his name not being Sherlock Holmes. Even Sherlock Holmes would have tough time competing with him. He solved 15 cases - eight of which were pending for over two months - in just 10 days. His genius proved to be a matter of envy for all his colleagues, not even sparing the senior officials like Brown. Just 10 days of joining the FBI, Francis Dawson had shown his mettle across the branches in the country.

"Good Morning Sir... I mean Sirs." A voice of grave baritone came from the throat of a short bespectacled young-fellow standing near the ottoman. He had just entered the room making no noise, neither footsteps nor the door's creak. His attire was nothing spectacular, with crumpled pants, a furry blazer and dishevelled hair giving his appearance a tinge of mystery.

"Mornin' Francis. How you doin'? Come have a seat. So, are you enjoying your work here?" Ron asked in a pleasant voice. He signalled the secretary for a coffee.

"Yes Sir, the work culture is very good. Some of the pending cases were really mind-boggling but I enjoyed every bit of time I spent with them. Especially in the last couple of cases, they seemed really challenging to me. It took me almost one day to solve them." Francis exclaimed expressing the amount of difficulty the last two cases posed for him.

"That case was pending for more than two months, anyway, leave all those past glories. I've a new case for you! Certainly far more challenging than the previous one." Ron said. Brown looked towards him with a doubtful face.

"That's quite interesting. What it is about?" Francis said. His face shone and eyes sparkled, his curiosity quite evident from his face.

"First have a coffee, Dawson." Ron said seeing his secretary coming with a tray of coffee with three mugs.

"How do you do it Mr. Dawson?" Brown suddenly broke his long spell of silence.

"Do what, Mr. Brown?" Francis looked into Brown's eyes with a questioning look.

"Solve mysteries. Your sheer genius in the cases you've been. You are a matter of envy for many." Brown said, definitely envied.

"A matter of pride, isn't it what you mean Brown?" Ron stared at Brown sternly. Francis remained indifferent to Ron.

"It's nothing genius sir. I just think from a criminal's perspective. If I had been the criminal what I would have done to accomplish that task with utmost perfection? After studying the crime-site, you need just around 15-20 minutes of mind-work for the execution of the crime in your head and you're done. It's simple...actually very simple." Francis said in a humble tone.

SCENE III

"So coming to the point. Yesterday, three murders took place at three different places - Wimpole Street, Mall road and Ormond Garden Area at around 5:30 pm in the evening - all at almost the same time. The forensic expert analyzed the bodies and what he has come out with has blown our minds. The murderer shot three 21.9 mm flat-point bullets in each of the body. All those bullets bear exactly the same dent which predicts that all of the three murders have been carried out by the same revolver. But how? How could it happen at around the same time? The places are almost two hours away from each other even if we use the fastest transportation means." Ron said. He looked towards Francis in hope and anticipation to note what the genius' response was.

Francis was silent. He did not respond at all. His eyes were resting upon the window, his fingers juggling the small paper-weight that was there on the table and his face blank.

"I told you Mr.Crick that you can't blindly trust anybody. See, he too is confused, rather he's struggling. Is this what you call genius?" Brown seized the open opportunity to criticize the maven. Francis was not affected at all.

"Just give him some time Brown. Keep your gibber inside your throat." Ron rebuked irritably.

"I..." Brown was interrupted by Ron's index finger on his lips.

The pause continued. Two minutes passed. None of them spoke. Brown, irritated at both of them, stood up and walked away from the room.

A dozen multiples of two-minutes passed. The lull prevailed. Ron's faith in Francis didn't depreciate. Francis' eyes were still resting upon the window, his fingers however stopped the juggling task and his expression was moving towards the brighter side. Suddenly, he exclaimed, "I solved it!"

Bewildered Ron could utter just one word, "How?"

Francis, with a childlike excitement, answered ...

TO BE CONTINUED...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was what Zafar read in the weekly magazine MEDLEY's story-section. With bubbling anger and rising impatience for the long wait he would have to do for the next week's issue, he threw the magazine in the hearth and went to sleep.

P.S. Wanna kill me, isn't it?

P.S. If I had continued to solve that mystery, the story would be in the category of 'yet another thriller', but now it's graffiti - unique and different. I regard this one as my most innovative creation.

Love Story

Once upon a time in the small town of Muzaffarnagar.
Manu never expected that one day his obsession for books would teach him so much in just one day.

12th April, 2009
"I am leaving this town on 12th April evening forever. My Father has decided to send me to Delhi for graduation. I didn't have the courage to tell you about all this personally since I know that I would never be able to conceal my emotions and I would end up hurting you in some way.

Before I leave this place, I want to let you know how important are you for me. There have been moments of fun, of joy and even of fights in between us and when I look back to those moments, I cherish every second that I spent with you. Your mere presence in my life has touched it to the core. You are the only person with whom I can share my feelings without any second thought. I don't know whether you have the same feelings for me or not, but before I leave this town, I must tell what you mean to me. People say that you hear bells ringing when you fall in love, but for me I can just hear one thing and that is my heart throbbing every time you are near me. I love you and will always love you come what may. Through this beautiful book 'Love Story', I wish to begin another beautiful love story.

I will be waiting for your reply till 12th. If you don't have feelings for me, then for my sake don't reply to this letter. It is always better to be hopeful for something rather than being heart-broken for life. I promise that I will never bother you again.

Always yours,
Kiran
6th April"

16 years old Manu was startled. This letter fell out of his newly purchased second-hand Eric Segal's 'Love Story' while he was juggling the book in air.

He turned the first page of the book, the name was Samridhi Kakkar, City College dated 8th April '09. Eyes were stirred with amazement - just seven days old book found in a second-hand bookstall. He felt responsible for something - The Chosen One for helping in the initiation of someone's beautiful love story.

"This Samridhi must haven't skimmed through the book, the letter in particular. I must try to reach out to her and hand this to her. It is a matter of love, after all. And I 'definitely' know what love means!" He thought.

At the college
The next five hours were difficult time for Manu. He straightaway went to the City College which was closed, 12th April being a Sunday. However, the office was open and there was just one staff who was too preoccupied in making a syrup out of the betel leaves in his mouth.

Manu enquired, "Bhaiya, can you give me the address of someone named Samridhi Kakkar in your institute."

The staff spat making a red heart-shape on the stained yellow wall and rebuked, "How could I give somebody's residential address to any stranger? Kuch chai paani, kuch bhi nahin, aa jaate hain log."

Manu, took out 20 rupees note from his pocket and handed to the guy. "Bhaiya it's important. Please hurry up." Manu said in quite a disgusted tone.

The staff slid the note in his shirt pocket and began to search through the register cursorily.

"What name did you say? Kakkar?" The staff asked in a garbled tone balancing a tablespoonful of the red syrup in his mouth. He was adept in this task of balancing.

"Yes, please hurry." Manu said, he wanted to finish off this responsibility as quickly as possible.

"If you are in so much haste, then do it yourself." The staff chided gulping another triangle of betel in his blood-red mouth.

Manu went towards the register, searched frantically and two minutes later he had a piece of paper adorned with the address - "Samridhi Kakkar, Sahni's girl's hostel, Cavalry lane."

He rushed to the place as quickly as he could.

At the Hostel's reception
"Can you call Samridhi Kakkar?" Manu asked.
"Samridhi, Room no. A-16, please come to reception." The guard announced.

Exactly 3 minutes, 34 seconds later
A good looking young girl of the age-group of 19-21 came to the reception.

"Hi, I am Manu Ujjwal. I purchased this book today at the Nalanda Bookstores. It bears your name." Manu went forward and said.

"Hi. Yeah, I sold that book a couple of days ago, even without reading it. So what brings you here?" Samridhi said, quite courteously.

"Why did you sell it? I heard it's a good book." Manu said, ignoring Samridhi's last question completely. He was still unable to initiate a talk about the letter.

"The start of the book - it was like 'What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died. That she was beautiful and brilliant.' I hate sad love stories." She said quite glibly.

"Where did you get this book from?" Manu asked.

"A friend of mine gifted it to me. Why are you asking me so many questions?"

"I found this in your book. I am sorry that I read it, it is quite personal." Manu said handing over the letter - the love letter to Samridhi.

She was puzzled. She read through it, her eyes were wet and her voice broke. She wiped her tears, gathered herself and said, "Thank you so much. You don't know what it means to me. I love Kiran from the last two years but never could convey my feelings to him. I was afraid that he does not like me. But, you have saved me from a sin. Thank you, thank you brother."

Manu smiled. The 16 years old had found a sister in her.

At Kiran's Place
"Come with me, I want you to meet Kiran. You are a Messiah for us." Samridhi said and took Manu with her towards a house on the parallel road. Reaching the fences, she called, "Kiran" when a handsome young lad came out.

"Hi Sam, how are you?" He smiled towards both of them as he moved out of his portico.

Samridhi ran forward and hugged him tightly. Kiran was confused with this sudden public display of affection and something more.

"You dumbass, where are you going without me? And why the hell were you afraid of telling me personally. If it were not Manu, I would have lost you forever. Thank him."

"What the hell are you talking about? I am going, what non sense. And who is he? Stop kidding Sam. April fool's day has long been gone!" Kiran shrieked quite irritably and pushed her out of his hug-field. Manu was bewildered. His newly awaken sister-safeguarding feeling haunted his mind, yet he was too stunned to react to Kiran's creepy behaviour.

"You know everything." Samridhi was nonplussed with his annoyance.

"What thing? What are you talking about?" Kiran said.

"Thank you Kiran, you made me feel so special! I love you too." Samridhi said.

"I like you too but isn't it quite a bizarre way to propose? I would have loved if you did it in a much serene way. And what feeling special are you talking about?" Kiran was very badly confused.

Samridhi took out the letter from the book and handed it over to Kiran. Kiran's eyes rushed through the letter. His face was transformed into a living sweat source. He frantically pulled his cellphone out, and stared at the date - 12th April and time - 3.30 pm. His eyes were transfixed to the letter, which was all wet after having a bath of sweat and tears together.

The Long Run
Holding his tears as well as the letter he started running frantically. Sam and Manu were perplexed. They followed him like wild dogs after a piece of meat. After five minutes of marathon, Kiran neared a house where a short-and-cute girl with bags in her hand had just boarded a rickshaw. He ran towards the rickshaw and shouted, "Kiran!"

The girl turned back, her eyes filled with tears of joy and a zillion-dollars smile on her face clearly showing that she is happiest one out there in this world. The marathon runner reached his finished line when his sweaty T-shirt struck against his Kiran's bosom and he heaved a cry of joy and the other Kiran echoed.

Samridhi tear grands also became active, but with a gracious smile embellishing her beautiful face. She was feeling really happy for Kiran - both of them, and now she really felt that what it is to be in love.

5 Minutes Later
"Kiran? You both are Kiran?" Manu asked, with a childlike curiosity.

"Yes." The Kirans replied with a smile worth millions.

"Thank Manu. If you are together, then it's because of him." Sam said after wiping out every form of liquid from her face.

"Thank you. How did the book reach you?" The lady Kiran asked seeing Eric Segal's Love Story in Manu's hand .

"Let me explain", Lord Kiran began, "You gifted me this book with the letter inside and I passed it on to Samridhi the next day on her birthday without even opening it."

The lady Kiran was disappointed but the joy of togetherness overpowered the trifle disappointment.

"And then when I read the first line - 'What you can say about a twenty-five-year-old woman who died?' I got detested. I hate sad love stories. I sold it to a second hand bookstore without even knowing that there was something inside it." Samridhi continued the story.

"And that's when the Messiah came!" Manu laughed out.

All about love
And then there was lull. A two minutes long pause.

"Thank you Sam for being pleasant all throughout. I am sorry that I ran so suddenly without giving you any hint. I just could not wait after reading that letter. I hope you didn't mind how I behaved to you even though you liked me." Lord Kiran said graciously breaking the enigmatic silence.

"That's no problem. I cannot express how happy I am for you two. And regarding my liking for you, clearly, she loves you more than me." Samridhi said with a tearful smile. And all three of them hugged, finally squeezing the young Messiah between them.

"I hate sad love stories." Samridhi's often repeated phrase echoed in Manu's mind.

"Clearly, Samridhi loves Kiran more than anybody else." Manu realized. Manu now 'definitely' knew what love meant.

P.S. Love is not measured by what you can 'give' for its sake, it is what you can 'give up' for its sake - Harsh.

Shorter Story : That 'THING' called love

Week I
"Don't ask about my past!" She said.

He didn't ask. He thought there must have been something quite distressing that might have happened to her, so he shouldn't ask. Curiosity multiplied as seconds ticked away. However, he kept his curiosity to himself.

He was a nice guy(and stupid too), the kind of guys who can be classified as an endangered species nowadays. It was their first talk. She asked his number ~ through net on that day itself after an hour long chat. He did not notice her experience ~ 15000 scraps and a dozen of flirty testimonials, rather was just awed with her choice of words and spontaneity(an euphemism for experience!).

He was in Delhi and she was in Bangalore. Distance was no obstruction since phone lines are always ready to be burnt ~ thanks to reliance on Reliance.

She called him. She started flirting with him. His handsome Orkut pic attracted all those polishing words. He was enjoying every bit of it - it was the first time in his life that it happened the reverse way. Quite a naive(and stupid) guy!

Week II
"I like you." She said. He felt perhaps this is what is called love.

"I like you too." He said with a flattered smile embellishing his cute face.

Talks increased. Even wildest experiences were not spared. He spread his life like an open book in front of her. She listened to him with her chat engine on. He was too gullible(and stupid too) to take a note of it. Plus, she did not tell a thing about her so-called past.

Week III
Thoughts about her clouded his stupid mind. She was good looking and she liked him. What more could he desire. He liked her too. His obsessive thoughts were given a break when she called.

"We both like each other. Why not go to another level?" She started. He was startled. Things had been made easy for him. He did not need to take an initiative. He just needed to say a simple word 'Yes'. He did it.

"Yes, I am ready." He said glibly(and quite stupidly).

"I love you!" She shot the wonderful phrase to his heart. It pierced through creating a wound of joy and he was ecstatic. Everything was so sudden for him. Like all of it had been already written by the Creator himself. He felt grateful to everything around him. Exhaling his long held breath, he said it himself - for the first time in his stupid life.

"I love you too." He said, quite shyly(and stupidly).

Week IV
She was happy. She asked him to mail his snaps. He mailed them. She showed them to her friends. He was looking really handsome. Friends were jealous, she could smell them burning. Her love(oh really, love?) stayed beautiful the whole week. He was all happy, swimming in the sea of love, with her as his lovely partner ~ as lovely as a piranha! Phone bills catapulted to the ceiling... he was relishing even this thing! Stupid!

Her scraps increased from 15000 to 17000. He was not its cause however. He didn't know about it at all since he had been too busy trying different swimming strokes in that algal sea of love. He trusted her. I told you he was too naive(and stupid too).

Week V
Something had gone wrong. He was too stupid to know what was it. There had been no arguments or anything whatsoever. But things were not smooth. He was still swimming though, he found in himself a good swimmer.

There were no calls or message. It was two days now. He was worried. He tried her phone, it was switched off. He switched on his laptop, logged on Orkut - his professional match-maker. He checked her scrapbook. She was talking to someone new...and somewhat more handsome than him, as his profile pic displayed. He checked Mr.Handsome's scrapbook where she had scribbled -

"Don't ask about my past!"

He (stupidly)realized that he had been swimming with a shark. He drowned surviving a brutal attack but now he was no more naive and neither stupid.

P.S. Dedicated to all the nice(and stupid) guys. The world needs your courtesy in the gatekeeping of hotels and department stores- your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile is not required to please the sharks out here.

Aliyah

Somewhere around 1987
"The seconds hand ticked away passing cross 2:23 am of night. There was an abominable lull around when some footsteps tried to break it through. A bag in hand, footsteps as silent as the lull emerged through the darkness with a veil as dark as darkness concealing the light within. The door was unbolted and the footsteps now had the liberty to make noise on the newly built asphalt road of Sonamura, a tiny town of Tripura. Aliyah hurried her footsteps near the street corner at the local chowk to prevent any unwanted encounters and turned to catch that one last glimpse of the house that crafted her childhood."

'Umar, go and bring me a kg of sugar.' Umar's mother screamed from the kitchen.

'Umar, are you even listening?' The pitch of the voice increased and shook the man-in-need from his visibly mesmerizing concentration spell.

'Yes Ma!' Umar screamed in his partially occupied voice.

'Go get a kg of sugar and don't loiter around unnecessary. Plenty of studies to be completed.'

The 15 years old lad got up, hiding the second-hand book with its yellow pages and tattered cover beneath the bundle of the newspapers. If his mother knew about his hobby of reading novels hidden inside his course books, all his novels would be metamorphosed into a heap of ash in a single second. He took a jute bag in his hand and went to fulfill his mother wishes - of bringing her a kg of sugar.

'What would have prompted Aliyah to leave her home? Was she an orphan? Were her guardians mistreating her? Was she eloping with someone? What would happen...will she be able to escape?' Questions encompassing diverse possibilities piqued his thoughts during his short journey to the market. Five minutes of pondering and he was back with a kg of sugar, enthusiastically ready to carry on with his novel.

He searched for the bundle of newspapers. Oh! They were not present. He searched frantically around everywhere in the room but he could not trace even a single bit of it.

'Ma, what happened to the papers - the newspapers?' Umar was confused.

'I sold it. The whole bundle. The paperwala gave 30 rupees for that - 4.5 kilos in total.' Umar's mother reassured him with a smile.

Woah! Umar was frenzied. He could not even react in front of his Ma, since it would make his secret hobby quite obvious and attract fatal beatings. And regarding the book, the only thing he remembered other than its thickness and the shade of the yellow pages it contained, was the name of the author - Tareeq Habeeb, which was mentioned after the acknowledgments in the beginning of the novel. The tattered cover and the withered initial few pages being the reason for the misfortunes.

'Curse my luck! With 50 rupees a month as pocket money what more can I expect? A second-hand book in a condition a bit better than rags! And that too lost. Damn!' Umar was agitated.

Days passed, weeks passed, months passed. But the enigma of the story of Aliyah never left his mind. It had become his regular habit of going through every book at every book-store that came across him, in search of that long lost book of his. He found every other book written by Habeeb in the bookshop but Aliyah never turned up.

His nights would end up in predicting what might have happened to Aliyah and his day would begin with reasons why she left her home.

Somewhere around 2008

Months passed, years passed, decades past. School passed, college passed and now he was in job.
The 15 years old lad was now a well known journalist in 'The Chronicle'. His hobby of reading novels landed him in the career of writing. With occupation and preoccupation, his obsession with Aliyah was by now subdued, but his subconscious mind still traced back the reasons of her leaving the home. His habit of checking every book-store still persisted - less frequent though as he never found the same book.

One day, his boss came up to him and asked, 'There is a literary festival going on at the Sahitya Academy. This is the list of the authors I want you to take personal interviews. You need to be there in half an hour.'

He took the list and his eyes fell out of his skull with just a sight at the first name. Tareeq Habeeb it was. Memories of long forgotten Aliyah struck his mind with a great force. His obsession was renewed and that too with a new spirit. His only unfulfilled desire had been fulfilled.

Reaching the Sahitya Academy, Umar made himself comfortable in the green room where he was allotted just 15 minutes to interview the author Habeeb. Tareeq Habeeb - 92 years old with just one teeth surviving in his mouth and beautifully crafted wooden stick supporting his fragile body entered the green room. Umar stood in reverence and helped the author to place his bony body up on the chair. He was so thin that even a blow of air from mouth could shatter him into pieces.

'Hello Sir. It's a great pleasure meeting you. I have been intrigued by one of your novel for decades!' Umar began.

'Oh really! That's the first time I am receiving such a praise. I hope you have been intrigued in a positive sense.' He laughed in his jerky and wobbly style giving his body a full throttle shake.

'Definitely sir, I started one of your novels, I don't remember the title though but yeah I remember the character in it. It was Aliyah. She leaves her home at night and runs away. What a start sir, what a marvelous start! I had such a misfortune that I could not read more than one page of that novel of yours. I searched for that book around and around but I could not get that.'

'Oh that's The Death of Honour. That has not been quite successful at the market. Its sale dropped in the second month after publishing and I had to withdraw it back from the market.' Habeeb said with another of that saucy wobble.

'It had a wonderful start though! I would be grateful if you could tell me what happened later. I have been waiting for this day for decades. Please tell me the story of Aliyah...what happened to her?'

'Oh Aliyah! She was just a minor character in the novel. Actually, all that description of Aliyah was a part of the dream of the main character of the novel - Abdul. She had a role of just two pages until Abdul's dream finishes with the painful sound of his alarm clock.' Habeeb said with another wobble giving a full stop to his statement. It looked as if he was getting an electric shock. Umar was flabbergasted. He experienced another kind of shock - which does not shake oneself rather makes one static!

P.S. This interview ended with just the above conversation and Umar spoiled the subsequent Q-A sessions too. Umar's boss became really disappointed with his inefficiency. However, his disappointment took its time and vanished two months later when Umar Taufeeq's novel titled 'The Story of Aliyah' was nominated for the Man Bookers' Prize in 2009.

P.S. It's a total work of fiction.

Hell Ride

"100 rupiya," the serious faced autowala brashly. The fare-meters in the Delhi autos are placed just for display, as we all know, there is no point any auto-wala would agree on the metered-rate.

With just two seconds of mind-dwindling Anoushka with her friend Swati boarded the auto. She was going towards Vasant Vihar for the first time in her three years long stay in Delhi. So she had no idea what's the ideal fare for the distance while the autowala too was looking gratified(in a unique way) having encountered zero tryst with bargaining.

Her friend-cum-roommate Swati had to fill up the JNU entrance test form and Anoushka was more than eager to accompany her, after all it gave her an evident break from the irksome books of History, whose exams were waiting around the corner with a sly smile.

"It's so very sultry. Summers came so soon," Swati switched on her loudspeaker.
"Really," Anoushka said staring at the meter affixed in the auto quite curiously.

She switched on the meter, without the notice of the autowala, and whispered to Swati, "This way we would be able to bargain for the fare for the return journey, since we would come to know the exact fare for the place."

Swati, quite indifferent to Anoushka's smartness replied quite audibly, "We are wise enough not to be fooled by these dumbass auto-drivers."

"Madamji, have you read the newspaper today?" The autowala suddenly found a thing called tongue hiding in his mouth.

"No, not exactly. What's so special about it?" Swati said.

"Zaroor iski photo nikli hogi!" Anoushka remarked in a very low volume and both of them sparked into a wild laughter.

"Madam, it is nothing to laugh about. Since you have boarded my auto, it is my duty to make you aware about something. A week ago, a dead body of a woman was found in the ridge in Kamla Nagar area. The body was traced and it was found out that it was the dead body of a student of DU itself."

Their laughter had taken a U-turn and went back to its place of hiding.

"So what is so special about it in 'today's' newspaper?" Swati said in a grave tone. The sudden advent of a portable newschannel in the form of autowala seemed quite bizarre to them.

"The murderer was caught. It was an auto-wala." The autowala said. The noises of the crowd around came to a standstill for the bubbly duo. They were not only looking serious but also smelling so! ... being sweat drenched.

"The murderer was a licensed auto-driver and the girl boarded his auto late at night from the railway station. The girl didn't know the way where she was to go and that bastard took her near a secluded place, took all her money and tried to assault her. And when she resisted, he did the unmentionable and finally strangled her."

The meter was clicking with time and was at 21.70 rupees, but their eyes were completely unaware the meter. Their eyes were paralyzed, throat parched and breaths uneven. Taken aback with elements of fear as well as rage at the same time, their eyes kept staring at point of no focus.

"Bhaiya, ab bas bhi karo! We are not interested in knowing all this." Anoushka said irritably.

"Ok Madamji, but just reflect upon the condition. You girls sit in an auto and affix your phone up on your ears, having no idea where the auto-driver is taking you. He might divert from the way while you remain lost in having those lovey-dovey talks with your boyfriends and what-not? What do you expect out of us uneducated auto-drivers if you girls wear mini and micros and sit on the back seat of the auto? You two are cultured few, with decent robes but think about those chicks from your own universities who have nothing more than a small piece of rag to cover themselves up! They actually instigate any crime - the victim is only the convict!"

"Haan, bhaiya! You are right! Can you drive a little faster?" Anoushka urged to bring on this question session to an end. The meter had just crossed the thirty rupees mark, still some distance to go.

"Sure madamji. What I want to advise you is to be alert. Know your way and check whether the auto-wala is talking to someone over the mobile phone or not, because any evil cannot be performed single-handedly. Carefully note the number plate before you board the auto and if the autowala looks suspicious then just get down as and when possible."

"We are getting late bhaiya! Can't you speed up a bit?" Swati asked, this time a bit sternly.

"There is this short cut here, it will take just five minutes to go." The auto-wala said and drifted the auto towards the short cut. Innumerable trees on both the sides, numerable dogs - with face like wolves around - and not a single vehicle was all the four beautiful eyes could see. It was a boulevard of abnormal lull with the noise of auto buzzing around.

The eyes of the duo were appalled with danger. The sudden movement of the autowala 's right hand caught Anoushka's attention and what he took out of his pocket boiled up more than a litre of her blood.

It was not a dagger, nor a revolver neither anything that could harm anyone. It was just a simple mobile-phone, the thing which helps you disturb your bf/gf during their sleep! The duo were horrified to the maximum.

"Stop! I said 'stop'! Will you stop it!" Anoushka screamed out at her maximum volume pervading through all the lull and mystic stillness. The auto was braked after a much noisy screech of the tyre!

"What happened madamji?" The autowala asked quite genuinely.

"Take your 100 bucks and get lost otherwise I will call the police." Swati lost her temper this time.

"What did I do? What mistake did I commit! I just made you aware!" The autowala pleaded.

"Just get lost." Both of them screamed and turned back and forged ahead as fast as they could towards the main road. The autowala moved back to his auto. He pushed the crispy 100 rupees note in his shirt pocket. He saw the meter stagnating at 45 rupees. He did nothing unusual. He just restarted it and rode past them leaving them in a sea of dust behind the auto, with their heartbeat still struggling to get back to the normal with frequent step-ups due to the barking of the wolf-like-dogs. But nevertheless, they were happy to see that the main road was now quite visible near the horizon.

1 hour later
At JNU

Swati bought the newspaper and after much exploration she found a news about an auto-driver headlined, "Auto-driver or a Hell-rider", with an excerpt from it quoted below:

Professionally, he is not a criminal but he has a special expertise in relating the criminal activities in explicit details. Seven cases against this unknown auto-driver have been registered. A story teller with great precision, he convinces girls that there exists some imaginary auto driver who is less of a driver and more of a rapist, and in the midway the passengers are convinced that the criminal is the driver himself ... passengers entrapped in fear pay him the full fare and run away to get rid of his company ... Most of the victims are college going girls...especially the outspoken and the over-stylish ones...Beware!

Swati shrieked, "Dumbass!"

P.S. Inspired from a true incidence.
P.S. If you don't comment, I will give you a hell ride!
P.S. The advices that the auto-wala gave are still universal. It has not yet happened but no wonder it may. Crime can resurface anytime anywhere. Just be alert!