Story of a well

Once upon a time in Kabul, there lived two kids. Arif and Ehsan. Arif was on the heavier side while Ehsan was slender. Once bored of their monotonous summer holidays, they decided to play football in an empty field in the neighbourhood. There was an old well in the field, which fed the locality's water tank. One of Ehsan's sky-high shot accidentally entered into the well. For a moment, they both became perplexed. But, they both knew that it was not a deep well and they knew how to swim. Without wasting a moment, both of them jumped in.

The cold water kissed their heat-tormented bodies and they relished in the newly discovered swimming pool. They kicked the ball, played water polo with it, and finally, after an hour of refreshing break from the scorching summer heat, they decided to climb up using the iron-holders fixed alongside the old well's wall. Eshan, good with high-shots, kicked the football out in one go and started climbing up. Arif followed.

When Arif stepped on the third iron-holder, he couldn't get a good hold for his big foot. He twitched it and gave the holder a little jerk, only to find it coming off and experiencing a free fall into the well. The shriek, 'Ehsaaa....aan', was soon muted by the cold water gushing in Arif's open mouth. Ehsan upon hearing the shriek became worried and quickly looked below. He saw Arif lying in the bed of water with his body submerged, while his hands and mouth struggling for breath. 

'I'm coming Arif, just be there.' Ehsan shouted and started climbing up faster than before. 

'I'm waiting.' Arif said panting, hoping Ehsan to bring someone to help him come out of the well. Soon Ehsan disappeared outside the well and that left Arif all alone, with only his heavy breaths as his companion.

The lull, the dim light, the cold, the disappearance of Ehsan and his loud heartbeats began to scare him. He once again shouted, 'Ehsan, are you there?' to which there was no response. He battled his fear by pacifying himself that Ehsan might have gone to call his father or elder brother to help him out. 

Suddenly, a splash occurred just a few centimeters away from him. Ehsan was back! And a moment later, the football came flying in and hit Arif on his head.

Puzzled, before Arif could ask what was happening, Ehsan replied, 'Sorry, the ball went really far, that's why I took so much time to bring it back. Let's restart the game.'

Choice

Once upon a time, there lived an 18 year old young boy named George. He played amazing saxophone. And he was prodigious in football as well.

Once, owing to his gift in both of these fields, he got a rare opportunity to play in the National Football League and at the same time, he got a prestigious opportunity to tour with The Eagles, of Hotel California fame, across States.

Unfortunately, both the events had exactly the same schedule. Choosing between two things in which he was gifted, that he equally loved, turned out to be pretty tough for him. After a lot of introspection, he decided to skip football for the sake of saxophone. His football friends came down to his place, trying to convince him how good playing in NFL could be for him; it could shoot him to fame, get him the best girls out there and shower money in his pockets like never before. He argued that even sax could offer that, to some extent. They tried convincing him once again, throwing different reasons from the box, some even out-of-the-box. But he remained adamant. He kept sitting on the tall black stool, holding his golden saxophone in his hand, tapping a complicated rhythm on its lustrous surface.

Ethan, a football friend at last questioned him, 'Why saxophone over football?'

He closed his eyes, smiled and replied, 'I can play it with my eyes closed,' and begun the melody, that was to be later known as 'Careless Whisper'.

P.S. Work of fiction.

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.

What's your dream?

We were friends, the kind of friends who can be called as best friends. We studied together, sat together in classes and even ate together on occasions. She made it clear to all our classmates that we were nothing more than 'best' friends - to prevent any kind of misunderstandings - but nevertheless we did share a special chemistry.

She was sincere, smart and beautiful; God bestowed her everything a girl could desire. While me, I was just a naive and immature kiddo', as she used to address me. Sitting by her side, I could not find anything more important than adoring her. She didn't notice it, and even if she noticed it, she didn't give it much attention. Perhaps, she had become used to such stares once in a while courtesy to her being only one of the few good-looking girls that my college(IIT Delhi) possessed.

She was a dreamer, with big ambitions for her small-yet-exceptionally-sharp brain. Small in comparison to the big-box-of-mud affixed over my neck by the Almighty and sharp which was quite evident by the streak of her academic achievements ranging from medals in International Olympiads to scholarships from foreign universities.

While, I was still struggling to find a place under my feet - to find my ambition for life. I often found myself busy finding my 'purpose of life' instead of studying before the examinations, thus letting mediocrity overshadow every aspect of my personality. God only knows how we managed to become best friends - it was due to our common interest in dramatics, I guess!

Once, we were sitting in the library and as always, she was helping me in fighting with books when Samarth, a batchmate of ours, came towards our table. He had been a good friend to her, and so to me.

"Hey Deeksha, can I borrow a minute from you? I want to talk about something in private." Samarth said.
"What's so private that you want to hide from Harsh? If you wish then say it in front of him or I am not interested to hear."
"Okay, please don't get angry. This may seem odd but if I don't commit it to you, I would become a maniac for sure. Deeksha, I like you, in fact, I love you. This feeling has captivated me ever since we first talked. I am crazy about you." He said shyly.

I didn't know why but I felt choked from inside, as though someone had cut my tongue and flushed my brain with chloroform. In a fit of blankness, I realized that I too was crazy about her - madly crazy - and I just could not afford to lose her.

"What's your dream?" Deeksha asked, in a serene tone, showing no particular reaction at all.
"Oh...yeah...obviously, my dream is to be with you always." He stammered nervously. I was dumbfounded seeing what she was upto.

"Samarth, I really respect your feelings for me. But you're not the kind of guy I would want in my life. I'm sorry." She said calmly. He didn't say a word and left the place.

"What? What was that?" I asked, puzzled.
"What?"
"How could you be so cool all throughout? And, how could you judge a guy with just one question? You're strange." I said.

"For me, a goal-less lover is the category I detest the most. I want somebody who is clear about his dream - his aim in life - because I believe that one can't understand what love means if one has not experienced it for himself - for his ambitions and his dreams. The kind of love which Samarth had for me would not last long, since it was mere infatuation. His only ambition was to get me and the day he succeeds in that, I would lose importance in his life because he will become dream-less and complacent with himself." She said.

I was lost in her words. Her every word did a silent work of crushing my dream of someday conveying my feelings to her. 'I was just a mediocre for her!' My inner voice yelled inside me.

Months went by, my fondness for her grew exponentially while my self-confidence plunged down, because in the meantime, she rejected four more proposals as they could not satisfy her ideology. The thought, 'I was not good enough for her!' pervaded my mind all the while.

Three months later
"Hey, I got selected for the International Photonics Conference to be held in Germany. I would be leaving on the next Sunday for two weeks. The best part is that the institute is funding me for the trip." She announced to a group of friends, me included in the group.

"Wow, cheers!" Everyone in the group reciprocated, but not me. I was definitely happy for her but inwardly I knew that I would miss her, miss her like hell. But, I was no-one to take more importance in her life than her dreams and her ambitions. 'Best friends' is a silly term to categorize the people who are important to you but not very special to you.

Time for her to go came soon. I went to the airport to see her off and bid her a goodbye hug with a tearful smile, which said more than what my words could. She seemed happy and smiled back in the usual way saying, "I'll miss you kiddo'."

"I'll miss you too." I managed to mumble.
"Promise me that you'll study hard." She said pulling my ears.

I promised her without reflecting on her words being completely lost in her eyes. How could she not notice that I like her? It had been more than five months of our friendship and it seemed like a lifetime of my fondness for her.

The two weeks passed like months and her thoughts clouded my mind all throughout. My feelings for her didn't know how to apply brakes. I was in love with her, though I knew that I had nothing in myself to complement even a trace of her talent, intelligence or beauty. I was a goal-less lover, after all!
She came back having rocked the international conference with her brilliant presentation on Quantum Optics. I was more than proud of her. The moment she reached the institute, she called me, "Hey kiddo', am back! I so much want to meet you."

"Hey, you know what I am so proud of you! I have so many stories to relate. I am in the library, trying to battle with the books but with no success on my side. Where are you? I'm waiting for you here. Come soon, otherwise I'll kill you!" I said in my seemingly excited voice.

Ten minutes later
"Hel..looooo!" She said and tapped my shoulders from behind.
"Hey! I missed you like hell." I exclaimed and hugged her heaving a great sigh of relief.
"I missed you too. You know what? I've realized something!" She said calmly.
"What?"
"That I love you." She whispered into my ears. I was flabbergasted. My feet started trembling. My heartbeat rose up. Sweat mixed with tears suddenly adorned my cheeks.

Taking a deep breath in, I gathered myself a little and could utter just one question, "What's your dream?"

"My dream," she whispered, "is to make you dream!"

P.S. This story is pure work of fiction, it bears no resemblance to anyone I know or you know. It has been written just to emphasize one thought that I had.

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.