The Story-Teller

Once upon a time, there lived a mysterious story-teller in London. Nobody knew where he was from, where he lived. All they knew was that he was gifted. He used to tell such stories that provoked the imagination of his audience. Some of his stories were out-of-this-world, while some used to be ordinary. No matter how his stories were, his audience always waited for more. He loved his audience and for them, he made sure that he was never short of a story. Almost everyday he came up with a new and different story.

Once, when he finished recounting one of the best tales he had ever told, a rich old man from the audience walked up to him and asked him a very peculiar question.

'You have been telling so many different stories, but you never told us your own story. I have a feeling that your own story would surpass all your tales.'

The story-teller was intrigued by his question and asked him to accompany him to his home, on one condition that he would keep mum all throughout. He agreed. After walking listlessly for two hours, the annoyed old man was stumped to find out that they had reached the same place from where they had started. At last, vexed, he broke his lull. He irritably inquired from the story-teller about what was going on, but all he got in return, was a sad smile, that had more weight than even the best of his stories. The story-teller's poignant circumstances dawned upon the old man and he couldn't say a word in response.

The story-teller whispered, 'You know why do I tell so many stories? It is the only way I can keep myself away from my own story.'

The old man was turned speechless. His wet eyes didn't allow him to speak immediately. He took out a thousand pound note from his wallet and handed it over to the story-teller, saying, 'it's for your own story, please accept this as a token of appreciation. I was so right that your own story would surpass all your tales.'

The story-teller hesitantly accepted, bowed in gratitude and whisked off, while the old man slowly walked off with a tearful smile.

Three hours later, in a countryside situated fifty miles from London, the story-teller knocked on the door of a villa and was greeted by a beautiful woman. He kissed her and said, 'honey, I told the best story today. Look, the audience loved it so much that I managed to collect one thousand pounds.' The woman kissed him back this time.

The Last Book

26th May, 1987

The blood reports came today. The doctor was hesitant, he asked the nurse to undertake the tough task. She was kind; she didn't let me feel bad. She related to me about how she had enjoyed reading my first book which her husband had gifted her on their first anniversary. The moment she was gone, the sinking feeling haunted me from within.

Two months left to live. It's actually two months left to die. Out of billions of people out there, the epitome of benevolence chose me. How lucky do I feel? Ha!

God's an asshole. He likes to see me bleed. After getting me close to life, he chooses to take that away from me. But, I won't let that happen. I won't let this bloody leukemia crush my dreams. I'm going to finish the four plots that I've in my mind within the next two months - I'm going to have the most satisfying death ever.

10th June, 1987

Tonight will be a good night. It has turned out to be better than what I could imagine. I named it 'The Last Messiah'.

Last 14 days were spent in an entirely different world. I am baffled that I never felt tired, even without sleep and without rest, with continuously degrading health. I've never felt so passionate before. With the next dawn, I'll begin writing the next book, the title already encircling my mind, 'The Dawn of Death'. Good night, for now.

18th June, 1987

I am barfing blood. Fuck! It's blood. Gosh, I'm scared.

I couldn't write since the last three hours, I'm feeling terrible, nausea is making me feel sick. I should see my Doc, now.

26th June, 1987

'When death comes, life becomes.' This is how I ended my second book. I feel blessed. I think I have done justice to the plot. I will sleep for a day now. My sagging body can't carry my weight anymore. Death, you've one month of wait, after that I'm all yours!

28th June, 1987

I'm going to begin my third book now. I am frail but thrilled. It's about Zana, our two years of togetherness and how it transformed into three years of my loneliness.

30th June, 1987

Fuck you God! Fuck you. I can't sit anymore, I feel nauseous all the time. How would I complete my book! It's not even a third. I'm tired of this sickness. I can't tolerate it. My nurse came to meet me, she said that there is no hope left - as if, there was, one month back.

8th July, 1987

Slowly and steadily, I've tamed my body. I realized that if I smoke before writing, I don't feel nauseous.

I'm half-way through my novel and this is the first time it's happening that I'm crying while writing. Every memory that gets translated through my pen, arouses immense grief within me. I sometimes hate this desolation and try to find a companion in the protagonist of my book. But most of the time, I find myself struggling to get over my past. Zana, I can't believe that I still am mad about you, after what you've done to me.

14th July, 1987

Doctor visited here today. He came not to inquire about my health, but to convince me to agree to his proposal. He said that since it's a hopeless case, he wants to try some experimental therapy on me. I instantly complied. How satisfying does it feel to be of somebody's help? At least, the doctor would remain grateful to me for life, and my death.

15th July, 1987

I went to the hospital. It was a big machine; they had wrapped it around my skull. I felt light, as if my head was floating in the air. The doctor injected a serum-like liquid into me, which hurt but at the same time, made me feel glad that I was still alive. Life gives you pain, death liberates you. I've to wait for 3 days to hear from my doctor about the effect of the experimental treatment.

I could not write today, since the doctor advised absolute bed-rest for the entire day. I read Zaqeer Alam's new book, all the while, which was a metaphorical note about a bird which has no wings. I found it interesting. I wanted to call Zaqeer to congratulate him, for two reasons, but I couldn't speak at all. The treatment paralyzed my upper body.

18th July, 1987

Finished. I finished my third book. Zana, you're going to read this someday and cry in my memory! Ah, I am hoping for too much. She is happy, with Zaqeer. Last week, Shaila told me that Zana is pregnant. Pregnant, she is! What a life she must be having? I'm so ... so happy for her. Who am I kidding? I feel like killing her.

19th July, 1987

I've begun my last book, titled 'The Last Book'. It's about a book that a writer writes and how his life gets affected by it. It's going to be the best book that I've ever written. Here's the first line: 'Life, a question with many answers, becomes an answer the moment it ends.'

19th July, 1987

I had three blood tests today. The doctor said that after the last treatment, there has been a significant rise in my platelets count. He sounded dumbstruck. It seemed that the experimental methodology worked. I don't know why but I'm feeling really nervous. Now that I'm prepared to embrace death, I am again shown the light of life.

23rd July, 1987

Blood tests after blood tests after blood tests. I'm in the hospital. There is not a single moment when my arms don't have a syringe puncturing them, sucking blood. However, I'm feeling better. Doctor says that my chances are improving, from null to 20%. I've been asked to adhere to a very strict diet, which comprises of juices of all the inedible vegetables found on earth. I don't know how bad my situation is, but I could observe some hope in the faces of the doctor and nurses.

I've not been able to write much in the last few days, other than the first few pages of 'The Last Book'. There is so much activity in the hospital ward all the time, of doctors and nurses, trying to carry out the experiment. I am waiting to go back and complete my ultimate piece.

26th July, 1987

I was to die today. Seems like God forgot to fulfill his sadistic wish. I'm eager to see how long is this extension going to stay?

27th July, 1987

Life is so strange. Doctor said that now my chances of becoming completely fit is 50% and my life has been extended by at least 6 months. The experiment carried out on me became a breakthrough in the medical history. In just 10 days of treatment, my platelets have drastically increased and my pale face has gained back its original color. I'm feeling really bizarre. I can do so many things now and I've no idea what do I want to do. The last book isn't actually my last book.

7th August, 1987

I've resumed writing. Doctors advised me not to, but I couldn't resist. I couldn't do justice to my ambitions to complete it before any mishap happens. However, I'm facing a block. The flow isn't coming. I miss my passion.

12th August, 1987

I'm the luckiest man alive. From 0 days left, to 3 years left, in less than 2 weeks. I've become a case study for the medical science fraternity. I can't explain how grateful am I to the entire fleet of doctors and nurses who brought me back to life. I cried in the arms of my doctor today. Those were the tears of joy, of getting a new life or of avoiding death, I don't know what.

14th August, 1987

It's independence day. I hoisted the Crescent on my roof, before going to the Masjid for thanking the Almighty. I have taken a break from writing my last book. It's time to jest, in life.

25th August, 1987

I'm worried. I've not been able to write a word since the last 11 days. Thoughts come to a standstill when I sit to write, and I stare blankly at the screen. It's for the first time, that I'm facing such a block, especially after being in such a good touch.

3rd September, 1987

I'm annoyed with myself. I can't write. I've tried everything, from reading, to hand-writing, to sketching, to music but I can't write. I can't write at all.

5th September, 1987

My health is on the rise. Doctor says, if it continues similarly, I'll be back to normal within 2 months.

11th September, 1987

I saw Zana today, at the grocery store. She was with Zaqeer. I don't know why I turn speechless every time I see her with him. My eyes couldn't move away from her belly, where I had once imagined that my child would reside. Her eyes seemed to be crying out to me that she loved him madly, he was the guy she had always dreamt of being with, he was her guy, her husband, the father of her child, the protector of her soul and the lover of her dreams. I felt alienated. I ran back to my car, despite the fact that our eyes crossed and Zana came forward to greet me with Zaqeer. I could not face her. I can never face her.

19th September, 1987

I've not left my house since the last eight days. I've a fear. I don't know what is that fear, but I fear it. I don't want to meet anyone. Neither am I able to do anything. In the last eight days, I've written just one paragraph besides a thousand crushed pages. I bloody can't write!

Every time I sit to write, Zana doesn't leave my mind. She stays there, mocking at my helplessness, screaming out loud that Zaqeer deserves all the applause, all the happiness and all the love, for he is a better writer, a better lover and a better husband.

28th September, 1987

I'm hungry. Refrigerator stinks with the stale food. The floor, full of crumpled sheets, has no space to place my feet on. The bed smells of my tears and sweat mixed together, my eyes can't see anything other than a dark spot. 'The Last Book' is stuck at a point, moving ahead from where, was a child's play for me, once upon a time. Not anymore, it seems...Even this pen is nnn...ot... work..g! F........

30th September, 1987

I've never craved for death more. Why didn't I die earlier? Why did I allow them to experiment with my body? How contented I was with myself...with no expectations and just passion! Why? Why did I've to call it 'the last book'? Why did Zana have to come across me? Why couldn't she just have stayed at home with her ugly baby inside? Why did she marry that scoundrel? Wasn't my love good enough? If I get a chance to see her again, I'm going to kill her. I feel like taking this knife, and slitting her throat brutally like this ...........Zana........Za........

Pakistan Times

2nd October, 1987

Rizwan Ahmed, a noted Pakistani novelist and celebrated leukemia-survivor, was found dead in his house on 1st November morning. His throat had been slit and he died of severe bleeding. His dead body was found lying amongst the crumpled papers by his maid, Shaila, who immediately reported it to Ahmed's neighbours and thereby the police. From the post-mortem report, it has been established that Ahmed committed a suicide. It's ironical that a person who could defeat a deadly disease like leukemia and was an inspiration for many cancer-patients committed such a terrible act. In Ahmed's room, three completed manuscripts of books titled, 'The Last Messiah', 'The Dawn of Death' and 'Love, Served with Hatred' were found. Publishers have started bidding on them. Police official, Karim Qadir during an exclusive press conference disclosed that Ahmed seemed to have been plotting his suicide since a long time, since he even started writing a book called 'The Last Book', with the dedication, 'this book is dedicated to my dead body, so that it sleeps in peace.' However, Ahmed couldn't complete the book and committed suicide in between the process of writing. Police officials have refrained from giving any other information to the press.

P.S. It's a pure work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person 'dead' is purely co-incidental.

P.S. Thanks to Abhilasha Kumar for unknowingly inspiring me to experiment with diary form of story-telling.

The Queen of Venice

This story has never been documented in words, recited in verses or shared in speech to any person living or dead whosoever, just because of the sheer sexual nature of the content in it. Readers discretion advised.

Around two years ago, I started writing a novel, just to let my imagination flow, and I used to publish it on my blog, chapter by chapter. Having been a widely unread blogger for over one year, it was my first-and-the-last attempt to tell to the world that it's not that I blog because I'm idle, but because I love writing and can make you engrossed in a story.

After finishing the novel, experiencing over 5000 hits and 250 comments within one month, I was at my life's most enchanting period - the period of utmost creative joy. It was during that time that this girl with the profile-name 'queenofvenice' visited my blog and read my entire work. But unlike others, she had a different take on it - completely different.

'Your work was like-able but I hated you totally. If there was the word slut for a man, you would be that. I wonder how could people give you so much attention.'

I was thoroughly entertained and a little bit confused. I liked being called a 'man-slut'. It was the rarest of compliments that one could have ever received in life. Not that I loved it for the very feel of it but it actually gave me a better opinion of myself, as far as women were concerned. That was so because my experience in this field was painfully limited.

Did she confuse me with any of the characters, or has my presence as a writer been so insipid? I showed it to my friends, one of them got outraged and started typing rubbish, when I stopped and asked him to let me reply.

I began, 'Thank you. It was a pleasure getting attention from you. I didn't know that I could ever be complimented for such a cause. Thanks again.'

Within an hour, she replied, 'I was not giving you attention! I was just letting you know what your status is.'

'I can't understand the reason behind the immense hatred in you. If it's my novel that's the reason, let me remind you that everything there is fictitious.' I immediately replied.

'And I would not like being called a slut in public, so shoot each of your anger-shots at me at the given id - harsh@gmail.com.' I turned flirtatious. Her audacity being the reason for my audacity.

A moment later, queenofvenice@gmail.com sent me an add request. As always, being a god-gifted wimp, I couldn't dare to start the chat. She took the initiative.

queenofvenice: It's 2 o' clock at night. I'm not too fond of talking to guys at night, and more so your kind - tch tch.

me: Neither am I. I never talk to guys, especially at this time.

'Thank God, for giving me a sense of humour.' I thought.

queenofvenice: You asshole! What do you think you're?

I felt insulted. I wanted to block her then and forever. But I was new to attention and I liked it. However, my self-respect asked my timid self to rebel. I could not tolerate the bull-shit.

me: Wait a minute. Who the fuck are you?

I was suspicious that this would be a gag that one of my hostel-friends would be playing with me, at the middle of the night.

queenofvenice: I'm a hardcore feminist. And I'm against every person who considers woman as a sex-object.

The doubt that the Queen of Venice might be residing in my hostel almost faded. My worldly hostel-friends would never have tried to act as feminists in their entire life, not even for a gag's sake, leave alone being a hardcore one. I tried to search her id on social networking websites, and ultimately I could find her on Orkut. Yes, those were the days of Orkut. Her name was Shambhavi and she seemed to be pretty. Another reason to talk. I read the conversation once again.

me: Wait a minute. Where have I talked about women as sex-objects in my novel?

queenofvenice: You've not but your feelings were visible all throughout your piece of shit.

me(sarcastically): Oh really, then what made you lick that piece of shit in its entirety?

queenofvenice: You wrote it well. Engrossing, but full of shit.

me: So, you like shit?

queenofvenice: I hate asses, like you!

Curious!

me: Who're you? I mean where are you from, what do you do?

queenofvenice: I'm Shambhavi, from Stephen's. I kick asses of asses.

me: That's a good way to contribute to the society. BTW, nice name.

I was flirting outrageously for the second time in my life. The first time was when I was seven, when I received a tight slap on my cheek in reciprocation which eventually made me a wimp.

queenofvenice: Indeed. So, how many people have you slept with?

Shocker! Totally unexpected question! I got a little frenzied.

me: Is it a part of your hardcore feminist survey?

queenofvenice: No, it isn't. Answer me.

I thought of playing a gimmick.

me: Ummm...one...two....three...four-five...umm....in total 24.

queenofvenice: Bloody slut! I knew you would be so. When did you lose it?

me(trying to act innocent): What are you talking about?

queenofvenice: Your stupid mind, you sucker.

Pretty brash, I must say. But pretty different. Plus, two pretty eyes were icing on the cake. How could I not take her abuses? A moment of flirtation, a quantum leap of satisfaction.

It took me a while to think of the most imperfect age to lose 'it'.

me: I lost that, when I was...17.

queenofvenice: To whom?

me: To JEE! :P

queenofvenice: Asshole. Would you like to meet me?

Now that was weird. Firstly, she hates me. Secondly, she abuses me. Thirdly, she wants to meet me. I was dead nervous. She seemed to be one of 'those' kinds, if you get 'bonded' to what I mean.

me: Not now. I'm sleepy.

queenofvenice: Tomorrow?

me: But why? I mean why do you want to meet me? You hate me. You are a hardcore feminist and as you've realized, I am a misogynist. And lastly, you think that I'm a slut.

queenofvenice: That's why.

me: You're acting like one.

queenofvenice: I'm not. I'm not acting.

I read the last line twice. My jaws fell down and my eyes were transfixed to the computer screen. I was shivering. I couldn't reply.

queenofvenice: Check out my pictures. [hyperlink]

I clicked on the hyperlink. Her pictures opened. They were equally brash as her talks had been. I was scandalized.

queenofvenice: How do you find them?

I could not type. I was too dumbstruck to read what she was saying.

queenofvenice: Do you like them?

Still, I couldn't type a word.

me(unconsciously): They were good.

When I saw what I wrote, I lost my mind. This was so not me. I couldn't believe I could get swayed away by all that non-sense.

me(back to senses): Who am I kidding? They were complete shit.

queenofvenice: Now don't use my method of seduction.

me: Fuck off!

queenofvenice: Wait a minute. Who the fuck are you to say that to me?

I had no answer. I thought for a moment. Who am I? I got the answer.

me: I'm a hardcore feminist. And I'm against every person who considers woman as a sex-object.

And thus, I used the block feature of google talk for the first and the last time.

P.S. Thanks for reading. Comments would be welcome.

The Wait

There he was, standing with a jute bag in his right hand; bleary-eyed, as if they had seen a lifetime gone in front of them. His left hand held onto a round pebble, which he kept turning and tossing in his palm. His anxiousness was quite evident from his feet, which seemed to be hesitantly approaching me. I stood where I was. It was a long wait for me. My feet were caught in a fix, in a dilemma of whether I should move ahead or turn back. Why should I meet him? Because he was my father. Or because he killed my mother.

Memories of my childhood flashed before me. How dear was he to me? My parents seemed to be the best gift God could bestow upon me. But I don’t know when their love for each other turned into hate. Pretending to be asleep, I used to overhear their altercations, some of which ended in screams and groans, of both kinds. The next day, mother would be bruised, with bloody scars on her face, which when questioned, she would be quick with her reply, ‘Ask your Dad,’ to which he kept mum. When one winter morning, I found a blood-stained dead body of the most familiar woman in my life, my life’s course changed forever. My father was sitting just next to her clay, holding a bloody knife in his hand, with face as numb as his life and tears as dry as his face. I could not believe the sight. Screaming, I scrambled out on the road, bare-footed and my outcry called the neighbours around. Two days later, I was with my maternal grandmother and my father was nothing more than a stain in my memory. My curiosity could not subside though. I wanted to ask him, ‘Why did you kill my mother? What wrong had she done to you?’ but I had no other choice other than to wait.

The wait took its time. Twenty years later, when I saw him standing ten meters away from me at the Jail gate, with eyes seeking compassion, I felt numb. I was so full of hatred against him all these years that I never ever bothered to know how he was, whether he was alive or had he shared my mother’s grave. But that day, I don’t know what took me there. Perhaps, I was searching for the answer to my question. The answer whose wait seemed to be killing me from within.

The faint recollection of his face seemed to exactly match the features of the man who was standing in front of me. Only wrinkles distorted them a bit. As he neared me, his hair shone in the sun, most of them had turned grey. He looked withered and tortured. The beard seemed to be years old but the lips still had the same softness that they carried when lullabies came from them. He took another step, the sun lit up his tired face, a pool of tears stood on the edge of his eye-lid, as though they had waited for me all the while to trickle down.

One foot away from me, his feet came to a stand-still. It seemed like he wanted me to reciprocate. I stared at him blankly. He tried to smile, but could not succeed. Out of courtesy, I smiled back just to make him feel easy, but didn’t realize that his pool of tears induced some wetness on my face too. He held my hands into his, his rough fingers seemed to be telling me how tough all these years had been for him. Suddenly, a pulse of hatred overtook me. The image of blood-stained corpse of my mother in my mind gave me a collapse. Shivering, I got rid of his hands, while my ears went red in vehemence, and in a fit of anger, I shouted, ‘Why did you kill my mother? What wrong had she done to you?’

‘She killed your mother.’ He said, lifted his right hand and shot himself from inside the jute bag.

Two minutes later, my right hand held his rough fingers while my left-hand was clung to a round pebble tightly, with no movements at all. My face was as numb as his 'death' and tears, as dry as his face, twenty years ago. The wait was finally over.

P.S. Please comment, I would really value it.

Phew!

This short-story will remind you of the first few stories of Graffiti - with the trademark of being strangely unexpected. Hope you enjoy.

11 am
I was on a bus, when suddenly it screeched to a halt. The last three hours had been tiresome, since the seat took all the happiness from my bottom. All the while, my long legs tried to find some space below the seats in front, but my knees didn't get a chance to make a perfect 180 degrees. In the past hours, I found my shelter in my newly purchased SLR camera worth 400 pounds(32k rupees), which diverted my mind from cursing the Megabus - UK's Intercity Cheap Travel Coaches for being so uncomfortable. But finally, the driver did apply brakes! Phew!

The legs found a reason to celebrate. Taking my lovely gadget with me, I climbed down the mini-stairs of the Mega-bus. It was the Manchester bus station.

"The bus will stay here for just 15 minutes. Please get back as soon as possible." The driver announced.

The sky-scrapers around attracted my attention and my fingers came into action to get that perfect 'click'. My legs heaved a sigh of relaxation and my neck got quite a few chances to exercise.

'Click, click, click.' The sound buzzed my ears and flashes pierced the foggy morning. The sexy gadget taught a tyro like me into how to be good at snapping great photographs, after all, it was just a matter of sleek observation and the right technique.

The camera searched around with the help of my eyes to find the things of its desire. The beauty of nature mesmerized me. My eyes looked around when someone beautiful called me. Yes, it was nature's call. My bladder needed a trash bin to purge out its trapped emotions. I rushed to the nearest loo, whose way turned out to be more complicated than Mahabharata's labyrinth.

11:10 am
I kept the camera over the flush and did the not-quite-describable-thing, being lost in thinking about what extraordinary I can snap in the loo(no pun intended!). Lost, with eyes wandering here and there, I came out, washed my hands and tried to retrace my path back to the bus.

11:12 am
My lost eyes found themselves back - fully functioning - after seeing an old lady holding her small grand-daughter's index finger and walking with her. The scene of both of them walking at the same pace moved this amateur photographer and I looked for my cam.

"Cam! Oh shit, cam!" I exclaimed. My feet started moonwalk and then my body turned like a top to get to the long forgotten 'flush' as soon as possible.

11:13 am
Giving tough competition to Usain Bolt's speed record, slipping and skidding all throughout, I reached the loo, but alas everything that had been kept over that 'flush' was brushed off.

A wave of dread danced over my body, my eyes tried to come out of my skull and my heartbeat echoed in my hollow body. I searched around for a while but with no achievements on my side. I looked at my watch. It was 11:14 am.

11:14 am
I rushed towards the bus, hoping to stop it for sometime and then get along with the mission-search-my-cam. The knees which were fighting with boredom for the last three hours burnt more calories in those two minutes than the past three days. But, when things go wrong, it goes on and on. Oops! I forgot my way back.

11: 15 am
Gathering help from all around, from mothers to daughters, grandfathers to grandsons, I finally managed to reach the bus stop. I could see the bus just leaving the stand. I rushed towards it, when my eyes saw something which literally paralyzed my feet. I saw the person who was sitting by my side clicking my photo with my own camera.

Enervated, with no-one around to take hold of that decoy with my SLR, I lost control of my body, toppled and fell on the ground. My heart-thumping resonated with the ground and I could see my sweat bathing the asphalt road. My eyelids dropped down to let the grand view of my own struggle fade away and suddenly, my eyes opened.

7 am
What painted my retina was nothing short of a shock - a pleasant shock to be particular! I could hear my heart beating at the same pace, the pillow being completely sweat-laden and my eyes seeing a decade old fan running at a speed of slow-ballet dancer.

"Phew!" I exclaimed loudly and heaved a brassy outcry marking an abnormal yet the most comforting sigh of relief.
"What happened?" My roommate Sunny asked out of the blues.
"Phew! I had a nightmare! A real nightmare .... phew!" I exclaimed. I was happy as a clam.
"What was it?" He asked.
"Oh! You know, yesterday my Dad got me an SLR, and today I dreamt that someone has stolen it, gosh! It made my blood run cold. Huff!" I said spookily. I was still catching up with my breaths.

"Woah! An SLR cam, that's so cool dude!" Sunny said.
"Yes, it is! Anyway, tell me when did you reach here?"
"Oh! I got here just two minutes ago. Leave everything aside, come on, show me your cam first."
"Yes sure, it's awesome. I bet you'll love it."

I opened my cupboard and looked for my camera. Here and there. Hither and thither. Left to right. Top to bottom. This time my blood didn't run cold, rather it freezed!

P.S. Thanks for reading. This story is what is the essence of Graffiti - last line twists.

The Bet

30th June, 2009
Scene 1
'Ding dong! Tunn...tunn...tunn...' The sound struck Shrey's ears. It was the Royal Cathedral's bell that just told him that it was three o' clock in the afternoon.

He was at the Buchannan Bus Station, Glasgow and had a bus to catch at 3.40 pm for Edinburgh. Punctuality was in his genes. He reached the bus station an hour before the bus was going to leave. He hoped to find someone, after all, two of his friends Rohit and Farhan were also going along with him to Edinburgh.

Even after cross-checking his bag for the necessary goods more than a dozen times, he kept checking the stuff inside from time to time. He had everything in there, right from shaving kit, clothes, laptop, chargers to foodstuff packed as neatly as a newly-wed bride's room, just one thing was missing - the bus ticket. He was not worried though, since he delegated that responsibility to Rohit a week ago and gave him 30 pounds in total to book tickets for whole of the journey.

Scene 2 - The Bet
3.10 pm. He kept his bag on the ground and suddenly, somebody tapped his shoulders. It was Rohit.

"Hey bro! As always you're here before me! What do you do by coming so early?" Rohit asked.
"I just have a look around. After all, there is so much to see here." Shrey said with a naughty smile.
"Aha! I see. So much to see. Now I got the reason." Rohit said.
"Leave the reasons aside, give me the change. I gave you 30 pounds for the ticket, you must have got something left?"
"Oh! Tickets...I delegated that task to Farhan. He was going to the station that day."
"Dude! I intentionally asked you to do that! How could you give it to Farhan? He's such a disorganized person, he'll pack everything up in the last hour and I am damn sure, that he'll miss the ticket." Shrey said irritably.
"You can never be so sure buddy!"

"I can always be if that guy is Farhan. He holds the record of losing his things maximum number of times. Don't you remember that he lost his wallet during the last trip to Inverness? And not to forget the two mobile-phones, of which one was worth 80 pounds. 80 pounds - have you any bloody idea what that amount means? I can feed myself for two weeks with that money. Farhan! Freaking careless and now even phone-less!" Shrey exploded his hate for the species called 'careless people' in one go.

"But still, I don't think he could be so silly as to forget taking tickets with him for the journey. I bet he won't forget. 5 pounds is my bid!"

"I too bet - that he'll definitely forget! I bet my 10 pounds rather that he'll forget the ticket and would come with his irritating smile as if it were saying - 'this was the one last time bro, from the next time there will be no mistakes.'"

"Done! I am going to be richer by 10 pounds." Rohit said.

"You're being overconfident, just wait for 10 minutes; we'll all know who gets richer!" Shrey said looking at his watch, it was 3.20 pm now, just ten minutes to go when the boarding for the bus starts.

"By the way, I suppose you'd told him about all the journey details - 3.40 bus, then Evening ride to the Holyrood Hill in Edinburgh and all. At any cost, I fear that he'll even be able to reach here on time." Shrey said in an indifferent tone.

"Yes. I explained him everything. You got to have faith."

Scene 3
The talk paused for a while when the bus came into the stance and the passengers were asked to keep their baggage in the luggage box. Rohit kept standing with his light bag tightly hugging his backbone while Shrey took his delicately-arranged heavy bag with utmost care and cautiously kept it in the luggage-box. Meanwhile, the passengers lined up in a queue for boarding. The duo with no ticket, and no clue of Farhan the-ticket-wala anywhere, exercised their ciliary muscles in the meanwhile by dilating their eye-balls to filter the-ticket-wala in the crowd around. They could not trace him.

"Damn! Now Farhan is boiling my blood!" Shrey is agitated.

"He knows about buses, much more infact, since his last mobile phone was lost in the bus only. Still there are 10 minutes to go. He'll come with the ticket. He'll not let me lose the bet." Rohit is calm and composed.

3.30 pm. The boarding started. The two sets of eyes - one being more agitated than ever before and the other having just forgotten its principle of calm-sutra; were frantically searching around the crowd. Of thousand bright-skinned people in the bus station, finding someone who was of a tanned-texture was not a difficult task, but that tanned texture to be that of Farhan seemed impossible.

"Man, this bet is not taking us anywhere. We both are losing. Losing 30 pounds each. He has even forgotten to come. You were right! That bloody careless forgot even about the journey." Rohit echoed Shrey's skepticism. Shrey's blood pressure shot in rage.

3.36 pm. The entry had started and the queue now contained just a dozen homo sapiens. There was no hint of where our hero Farhan was!

The four eyes were tired of analyzing every tanned face they observed, so the eyes went back to their original seats.

Scene 4
A minute passed, when suddenly, Rohit screamed, "Oh my gosh! He has made it. That too with the bus-ticket." Farhan was painting their retina. He was at some distance, hopping towards them with a tortoise-smile on his face and a rabbit's jump wobbling his body. He held a paper in his hand - just a paper - no luggage, no bags, nothing at all.

"Here is your 10 pounds bro! You win the bet! But that creepo had given me a nightmare in broad daylight. Losing 10 pounds feels at least better than losing 30 pounds...huh!" Shrey sounded relieved despite losing the bet and now Rohit's wallet was heavier with 10 new golden coins making victorious music as they went inside.

The Countdown
3.37 pm.
The hip-hopper jumped all through the way and greeted the duo. The duo dislodged themselves from the queue for the time being - it didn't matter them much since they were standing last in the queue.

"Hey buddies! What are you people doing here? At the bus station?" Farhan said in a cheerful tone.
"Don't pretend! Your smile isn't going to win our hearts." Shrey remarked. Farhan stood confused.
"Where is your luggage? Aren't you carrying along any bags or clothes?" Rohit said with his face taking the most bizarre form of his lifetime.

3.38 pm
"Bag, luggage...what for?" Farhan looked puzzled.
"Stop kidding bro! I am already fed-up with you. Isn't it the ticket that you're holding in your hand?" Shrey said, a bit irritated this time.
"Yeah, it is, so?" Farhan said.
"So what? Board the bus! Give me the ticket..." Rohit said and snatched the ticket from Farhan's hand.
"What the fuck? What the heck is it?" Rohit was flabbergasted. Shrey peeped in.

3.39 pm
"What kind of joke is it? You have brought 'Angels and Demons' movie ticket out here...where is the bus ticket...to Edinburgh...today's journey ticket?" Shrey asked in a tone that showed he had started losing his temper.
"Wait a minute! What date is it today?" Farhan asked. His eyes were trying to find a shelter outside his skull.
"30th June."
"Oh fuck!" Farhan exclaimed horridly. The phrase turned quite a few heads nearby.

3.40 pm
"You left the ticket at home, don't you?" Shrey charged. Farhan stared at him with a blank face.
"Damn! I lost the bet!" Rohit exclaimed before Farhan could speak a word. He handed a twenty pounds note to Shrey. Shrey looked happy though losing 30 pounds for the ticket was tickling his angry heart.
"Bet? What bet?" Farhan asked, rather to himself in a nonplussed tone.
"Damn you! How could you forget the ticket? 30 pounds in vain." Rohit screamed at Farhan. His irritation at losing the bet did a sleek task of increasing his anger every other second.
"I forgot the tickets. But I can't understand why are you people crying for 30 pounds. The money you gave me is still with me. 'I forgot the tickets' - by this phrase - I mean that I forgot to book the tickets. I'm really sorry for that! It's all my mistake..."

3.41 pm
Instead of being anguished, the faces of Rohit and Shrey lightened. A close-up smile sparked the surrounding, and they both simultaneously hugged Farhan side by side. The sudden uplift in their feelings-storehouse came from the fact that their 30 pounds was still safe and it shot their miser ego to a higher state. All the while, Farhan was a bit baffled at their reaction.

"So, what are you doing here then at the bus station?" Rohit asked being pleased with himself as well as with everybody else.
"I just came back after watching the movie 'Angels and Demons' through bus number 118 and as soon I deboarded from the bus, I saw you two standing here in the queue. So, here I am with the ticket."

Scene 5 : The Climax
"The queue for the bus! Oh shit!" Shrey exclaimed in horror. He turned to the side and all his dark-brown eyes could see was air replacing the space which Megabus occupied moments ago.

"My air-bag! Oh shit! It had my laptop." Shrey held his head in his hands and cried like a three years old child. He was busy remembering his beloved bag, about how the air bag would be enjoying the breeze between Glasgow to Edinburgh, which he was supposed to enjoy.

The Rohit-Farhan duo left no stones unturned at laughing on The Epitome of Carefulness's miraculous transformation into an object of ridicule.

"What was the bet you were talking about?" Farhan spoke intentionally to lighten Shrey's mood by changing the topic.

"Oh yeah! The bet! So, tell me Shrey who won the bet?" Rohit asked. Shrey didn't respond. He was sitting with his head resting upon his palms and his eyes concentrating on the mosaic tiles of the ground. Meanwhile, Farhan went behind Shrey to do something - something pre-planned.

"Screw you both!" Shrey screamed and just then something appeared from beneath his chair. Something which he had been missing with all his heart, which he had arranged with so much patience, something that was supposedly enjoying the breeze between Glasgow to Edinburgh. It was an air-bag with the name 'Shrey Saxena' imprinted on it and there was a paper pinned to its upper cover. Shrey jumped in joy, the joy he had never ever experienced before in his so-called organized life, and in that moment of elation he picked that special paper, which said -

Megabus - Glasgow to Edinburgh
Booking number - P8715384
Date of Journey - 30th June, 2009
Time of Journey - 4:40 pm

And in the bottom, a handwritten note saying -

"Now tell us, who won the bet?"

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

P.S. This one was supposed to go somewhere, but it went somewhere else, and am glad it did because it has become better than it would have been otherwise.
P.S. This is emphasizing human nature - the basic pride that we feel if we're good at something makes us underestimate every other person who is not as good as us, but the reality is every person can be as good as we are in anything if we just give them time and chance.
P.S. Here friends plan this trickery to make a situation where the most organized guy is suffering the most while the most casual guy has enjoyed the most.

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!