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Sauvik's Blog : Dream Peddler
Wednesday, 26 June 2013
Street Food
The Five Haunts
"Fear is the reason why we are here."
That rhymed.
As much as I love to make such instant quotes, today I am here to write about the five things that scare me the most:
1. Deadlines
To be frank, this the scariest entity that I have come across in my life. And it keeps coming back over and over again! True that, without a deadline, you cannot achieve targets on time and, you will have no sense of managing your day well, but what happens at the end of the day is: only because of deadlines, we run away from our commitments, and try to finish only the night before the exam, the day before the final presentation and the moment before the final call.
That is exactly what scares me the most. Because I feel that a human mind is wired to work the most under pressure situations. But what many of us miss is the fact that to cope up with the impending pressure which will come only the day before the deadline, our brain - our lovely, scumbag brain, commands us to stop working on the other days. This is true for most of the population of the world- at least for engineers like me!
Therefore, my hatred for deadlines still stays strong. And my fear for the same stays even stronger.
2. Rituals
Yes, I will start my discussion on this with marriages. As much as I love the union of two souls bound by the sacred means, I fear the rituals surrounding the same. Because when it comes to rituals, relatives often pull off things which usually make no sense. Why would they cook this before that? Why would they make us eat that before this? Why this cosmetic treatment right before the marriage? Why would they make the groom as well as the bride feel like a Mongolian (the haldi ritual) right before the D-day? Seriously, rituals are scary. And as much as they used to be the means of nifty funny incidents for the guests of a ceremony, they become the reason for some of the most embarrassing experiences when a person is at the receiving end.
I have been subjected to a lot many rituals. No, the marriage part is yet to come, but I was subjected to Annaprashan ceremony ( infant being force-fed rice for the first time in front of drooling cousins and stiffening elders) , the Thread ceremony ( the adolescent hipster look attained with a shaven head, a sacred thread around the shoulders and the body , pierced ears and saffron 'wraps'- the worst part of it was that the person subjected to this would not eat a single delicacy from the grand feast at night) and let me tell you, the rituals make me nauseous.
Apart from the cultural rituals, there are social rituals as well. You get into a decent college run by the Government, and your mother makes it a point to follow the daily ritual of bragging in front of the neighbors. You get placed from campus with a decent package and your father makes it a point to follow the daily ritual of bragging the same in front of his colleagues. The worst part of these episodes- exaggeration. Yes, our parents tend to exaggerate things to such extents that at times it becomes difficult to even remember what they had claimed I was , the last time.
There are certain rituals that even we follow. The ritual to stay up late at night watching movies on your laptop, the ritual to update your Facebook status at least once a day, the ritual to call your gf/bf three (?) times a day, and the ritual to post tweets throughout the day.
Apart from the usual humiliating experience, the reason why rituals scare me the most is- what will happen if one day I am asked to come out of them all of a sudden?
3. Epiphanies
When God made humans, he himself wasn't sure what he had done. My belief is He was probably high when He created us humans- high up in the skies. I know that was a bad one. Anyway, when He ended up making the most perfect creation of His, He decided to put in an ability in them. That ability was- to think. And with thinking, comes a thought-process. With thought processes, comes an epiphany. And they always come unannounced. They'll come at such a point of time when you would be performing a crucial task- taking a decision, taking chances, taking a dump etc. And when epiphanies arrive, they just have to change to you. A while back you'd be thinking of taking a step to improve your performance appraisal, and the next moment you are gleefully drafting away your resignation letter. Most of the time , epiphanies give you a rush to do something unimaginable; but the moment you have done that, *poof* it goes away, leaving you wondering- 'What do I do now? Why didn't I think through to the end of this?' and that's why, I fear epiphanies a lot. They have the power to turn our world upside down.
4. Algorithms
Algorithms are a logical outlining of a solution to a problem. This fear of mine is completely concerned with my studies. I guess you, my dear reader, might yawn a bit on this one, so I'll keep this short. As much as easy and harmless algorithms appear to be, trust me, for a computer engineer , they are the reason we still bribe the Gods. A code is implemented based on an algorithm, so when after writing thousands of lines of code, you test it and see that the output is as messed up as the curry you cooked last night, you wonder what went wrong even after the algorithm seemed to give the correct output. Naturally, days pass until when you are about to smash your head on your computer screen, you realize that the second-last step in your algorithm is the root cause of all the troubles. Bloody Red-Bull!
5. Misunderstandings
A fight was going on over the phone call. She threatened she would hang up, but she wouldn't do that because she respects you; you continue with your rants because you think you are right and she is acting all wrong. This continues for the next twenty minutes until suddenly the call drops and when you try to dial it again, it won't get connected to her and you conclude that she did it on purpose. She on the other side thinks the same, and a cycle repeats.
At many points in life, we jump to conclusions. Before letting the other person finish, we conclude something that wasn't what he meant at the first place. As it so happens, misunderstandings crop up. They relish the destruction that they bring with them. Their roles are especially damaging in relationships- with your partner, your parents , your friends, and your siblings. I have seen many cases where mere misunderstandings resulted in permanent disconnect between two people. Safe to say that this is one of the most feared things by me in life.
To conclude, we all have different reasons to worry, different conclusions to draw and different means to forget and forgive. Facing our fears is important, not because beyond fears there's win (I just translated that Hindi punchline to sound original), but indeed that would solve many problems in life.
On a happier note, if you take the first letter of each of the five fears in order as they are, then you will find what I love the most. Could you see what that is? *winks and plays Gifted Hands by Lynyrd Skynyrd in the background*
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Tuesday, 25 June 2013
Candidness
Thunderbolts reprove,
Amassed mist wail timidly,
Tears drip like white pearls.
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Sayantini's Blog : Another Part of Me
Sunday, 23 June 2013
How I Lost It
So I was beastly drunk the night before and I was beastly hungover throughout the day, and as I was on the second last home bound train, her texts started pouring in. It was a deluge and I felt like killing Alexander Graham Bell.
Now she was in her forties, was a teacher or something somewhere, and she writes poetry, and like 99.999% self-professed poets who fart out nuggets of their creativity on Facebook, she should die.
Now she was on friendly terms with our editor-in-chief, a fact which made me despise our editor-in-chief, but I needed the money and I needed the honey. Ergo, I had to edit her submission, on the rape and brutal murder of two women in a downtown neighbourhood.
By the time I reached home it was quite late and even our neighbor had fallen asleep after beating the shit out of his wife, which was a regular routine. My head felt like Gaza Strip and I had to edit her write-up.
It began with “My heart bleeds in severe agony to depict the desolation that surrounds the homestead of Miss __ and Miss ___ today.” And it ended with “and thus, their parents, their pets (one had a cute spaniel and the other a bright parrot who has lost her voice and can’t sing anymore after the grueling ordeal that had befell her mistress), their dearest friends and their neighbours lie in agony, no hope at hand, no shoulder to cry on”. In-between these two, there stretched an endless ocean of pure, unadulterated textual torture inflicted on the mind, the psyche and the intellect. My headache went up a few notches, I felt pukish, I wanted to die.
As I was going through the three thousand and fifty nine words of relentless bashing of sanity and intellect, my headache kept on increasing beyond reckoning. After a point of time, my brain, at least those portions of it which perform the functions of reading and recognition of written language, built a cocoon around it. That’s the most natural reaction of self-preservation, imbibed through centuries and generations of torture. The words slipped by my eyes and my eyes slipped by the words, without any impact. My mind took its flight to distant lands and times, to the realm of the absurd and beyond. I thought of my childhood, my grandmother, of Archimedes, of Sourav Ganguly, and Popeye the Sailor-man. I fought with the Spartans, rode with Chengis Khan and I flew with the Wright brothers and et cetera.
After fifteen minutes of delirium, the weight of reality brought me crushing down headfirst into the sewer of disgusting mutilation of Shakespeare’s language. I realized that I hadn’t edited a single letter of it, and I couldn’t get myself to do it. The deadline was approaching in steady paces and I knew that it was impossible for me to survive the whooshing sound it would make as it passes by, because I was neck deep in debt and had two months of rent due. I looked up at the merciless clock. It was half an hour to midnight, by which I need to mail off the edited version. The clock hands were mocking me like anything. I focused on the intolerable words and they sat on my brain like the heaviest rocks ever. I fought for five more minutes and could not get beyond three sentences, each consisting of fifty words of which at least forty would be something like ‘flabbergasted’, ‘maladroit’, ‘paradigmatic’, ‘puisilence’, ‘atavistic’, ‘jejune’ and so on. Each of these words would jut out like the rock of Gibraltar and conspire to penetrate through my medulla oblongata.
It was then that I felt like Sisyphus, and I smiled. Finally, I was losing and I had nothing to do but give up. Pending laundry and electricity and grocer’s bills ceased to matter. I switched on my phone and saw fifteen text messages from the writer of the masterpiece which had slain me. I cleaned my inbox without bothering to go through any of the unread texts. I texted her, saying that she should give up writing for the sake and in the name of humanity. I texted the girl I had a massive crush on since my University days but could never get the gumption to confess. Last I heard, she married a stockbroker and is expecting in a few months. I was invited to their wedding two years back. She looked wonderful in a red saree. I told her how much I have always loved her, and switched the phone off once again. I had one little thing to take care of. I mailed my resignation letter comprising of four words broken in two sentences. The last sentence was “I quit.” The second word of the first sentence was “You” and it was followed by a mark of exclamation.
Next, I went to the window and rolled up the curtain. The moon was shining big and bright. I remembered a midnight family picnic in a forest watchtower. My dad had a moustache back then and even my mom was happy. The moon was as big and bright back then. Outside, a couple of dogs were sleeping in peace. I did not feel envious. I lit a cigarette. Then I moved away from the window, opened my drawer, took out my pistol and loaded it.
"This post has been published by Atindriyo Chakraborty as a part of IBL; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored byWriteupCafe. Join us at our Official Website and Facebook page"
Now she was in her forties, was a teacher or something somewhere, and she writes poetry, and like 99.999% self-professed poets who fart out nuggets of their creativity on Facebook, she should die.
Now she was on friendly terms with our editor-in-chief, a fact which made me despise our editor-in-chief, but I needed the money and I needed the honey. Ergo, I had to edit her submission, on the rape and brutal murder of two women in a downtown neighbourhood.
By the time I reached home it was quite late and even our neighbor had fallen asleep after beating the shit out of his wife, which was a regular routine. My head felt like Gaza Strip and I had to edit her write-up.
It began with “My heart bleeds in severe agony to depict the desolation that surrounds the homestead of Miss __ and Miss ___ today.” And it ended with “and thus, their parents, their pets (one had a cute spaniel and the other a bright parrot who has lost her voice and can’t sing anymore after the grueling ordeal that had befell her mistress), their dearest friends and their neighbours lie in agony, no hope at hand, no shoulder to cry on”. In-between these two, there stretched an endless ocean of pure, unadulterated textual torture inflicted on the mind, the psyche and the intellect. My headache went up a few notches, I felt pukish, I wanted to die.
As I was going through the three thousand and fifty nine words of relentless bashing of sanity and intellect, my headache kept on increasing beyond reckoning. After a point of time, my brain, at least those portions of it which perform the functions of reading and recognition of written language, built a cocoon around it. That’s the most natural reaction of self-preservation, imbibed through centuries and generations of torture. The words slipped by my eyes and my eyes slipped by the words, without any impact. My mind took its flight to distant lands and times, to the realm of the absurd and beyond. I thought of my childhood, my grandmother, of Archimedes, of Sourav Ganguly, and Popeye the Sailor-man. I fought with the Spartans, rode with Chengis Khan and I flew with the Wright brothers and et cetera.
After fifteen minutes of delirium, the weight of reality brought me crushing down headfirst into the sewer of disgusting mutilation of Shakespeare’s language. I realized that I hadn’t edited a single letter of it, and I couldn’t get myself to do it. The deadline was approaching in steady paces and I knew that it was impossible for me to survive the whooshing sound it would make as it passes by, because I was neck deep in debt and had two months of rent due. I looked up at the merciless clock. It was half an hour to midnight, by which I need to mail off the edited version. The clock hands were mocking me like anything. I focused on the intolerable words and they sat on my brain like the heaviest rocks ever. I fought for five more minutes and could not get beyond three sentences, each consisting of fifty words of which at least forty would be something like ‘flabbergasted’, ‘maladroit’, ‘paradigmatic’, ‘puisilence’, ‘atavistic’, ‘jejune’ and so on. Each of these words would jut out like the rock of Gibraltar and conspire to penetrate through my medulla oblongata.
It was then that I felt like Sisyphus, and I smiled. Finally, I was losing and I had nothing to do but give up. Pending laundry and electricity and grocer’s bills ceased to matter. I switched on my phone and saw fifteen text messages from the writer of the masterpiece which had slain me. I cleaned my inbox without bothering to go through any of the unread texts. I texted her, saying that she should give up writing for the sake and in the name of humanity. I texted the girl I had a massive crush on since my University days but could never get the gumption to confess. Last I heard, she married a stockbroker and is expecting in a few months. I was invited to their wedding two years back. She looked wonderful in a red saree. I told her how much I have always loved her, and switched the phone off once again. I had one little thing to take care of. I mailed my resignation letter comprising of four words broken in two sentences. The last sentence was “I quit.” The second word of the first sentence was “You” and it was followed by a mark of exclamation.
Next, I went to the window and rolled up the curtain. The moon was shining big and bright. I remembered a midnight family picnic in a forest watchtower. My dad had a moustache back then and even my mom was happy. The moon was as big and bright back then. Outside, a couple of dogs were sleeping in peace. I did not feel envious. I lit a cigarette. Then I moved away from the window, opened my drawer, took out my pistol and loaded it.
----------------------------
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Atindriyo's Blog : Barbaric, Mystical, Bored
Wednesday, 19 June 2013
Anniversary of Disgust
As the sun goes down, burying itself deep into the west.
I struggle today, and just today, to bear the murderous unrest.
I shake my head vigorously and clasp my hands tight.
But today I just cannot overcome the dread, the fright.
Darkness prevails in this room where I scornfully lie.
And all that I can think of are different ways to die.
I am all teary-eyed, but all that I manage is to sulk.
It feels as if my soul is being auctioned in bulk.
No, this is not the way I am, this is not the usual me.
I never let the situation decide how it is going to be.
But, I see the sun go down and bury in the west.
And I remember the eve before my fourth grade English test.
I wanted him to show me again how to write that letter.
But he, my own uncle, found molesting me an option better.
"This post has been published by Mohit Jain as a part of IBL; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored byWriteupCafe. Join us at our Official Website and Facebook page"
I struggle today, and just today, to bear the murderous unrest.
I shake my head vigorously and clasp my hands tight.
But today I just cannot overcome the dread, the fright.
Darkness prevails in this room where I scornfully lie.
And all that I can think of are different ways to die.
I am all teary-eyed, but all that I manage is to sulk.
It feels as if my soul is being auctioned in bulk.
No, this is not the way I am, this is not the usual me.
I never let the situation decide how it is going to be.
But, I see the sun go down and bury in the west.
And I remember the eve before my fourth grade English test.
I wanted him to show me again how to write that letter.
But he, my own uncle, found molesting me an option better.
-----------------------------------
"This post has been published by Mohit Jain as a part of IBL; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored byWriteupCafe. Join us at our Official Website and Facebook page"
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Mohit's Blog : Simply Mohit
The Girl I Last Kissed
The background trance music was loud and unsettling. I felt cramped and crammed from within. It seemed like the party was touching its prime. Men and women in bizarre green masks held each other and danced in slow motions. For some reason, my head was on a constant throb. It was like there was a bomb inside ticking. There was a friend with me, which one I could not be sure. He whipped a tall glass of powder green liquid from a passing waitress and handed it to me with a wink. I dropped the glass on seeing baby reptiles crawling out onto my right hand. Walls of the room were also lined with reptile cages. I could not see much in the dimly lit room except these traps that were illuminated in dark green shade.
A strange numbness that comes after millions of needle pricks on your body took over me. I fell down to my knee almost hugging the fake marble floor. My eyes carried me to across the room, where I saw her. She seemed calm, at home with everything. Her white dress was long and covered her slim body well. Our eyes met and she smiled. Did she remember me from last night?
I wanted to go to her, to touch her, to talk to her but she turned away and I lost her. Sitting on the floor, I wept like a teenager who had been freshly dumped. I wanted my friend to help me and to my utter distraught, he was nowhere. In his place, a person in a giant lizard costume stood. I screamed my loudest and woke up to early morning sweat.
Aircon was breathing life into my dead bedroom. I pulled away the sheet to allow my sweat to dry. My fists were knotted and my nails had dug into my palms. I sat up, shrugged off a nightmare so real that my reality had seemed like a distant dream. Last night…
Last night flashed before me, when I had met her for the first time. Since then her visage had never left me for a moment. Some faces live with you, forever. I was at ‘Someplace else’, a hangout for guys like me, who would rather be someplace else then currently where they were in their life. A live band was doing their bit at performing covers of English classics. The only part, I had liked in the entire gig was their song selection. ‘Please don’t go’ floated around. Unlike the original, a woman sang the song. I had not cared to turn away from my drink on the deck of the bar to check who was singer at helm.
The dance floor was spilling over with scantily clad women, wrapped around their men friends, mostly colleagues. There was this woman; I had spotted some half an hour before who had my total attention. Yet, I pretend concentrated on the glass shelves opposite me over the bar filled with show cased bottles, mostly wine. I caught my reflection on the mirror frame that bordered it. One could safely call me good looking, if one liked curly hair and down slanted mouth. I wore a formal shirt, open to expose a toned chest. I am six feet plus and carried myself in ‘cotton world’ pants and dark work ties. A voice trainer at Wipro, I had girls coming onto me, for both professional and personal support, which I provided depending on my whims and moods.
I had kind of surprised myself by getting worked up over a girl, a strange girl at that. Never in my entire twenty eight years did my wild side go ballistic, like it was the John of the Jungle over a random girl. Her black kameez looked like it was made by a tailor, who knew all her curves intimately. Her neck line was a deep ‘v’ exposed by her chiffon dupatta that was hugging her neck closely. The tan on her skin seemed from a recent holiday by the sea. Her eyes were set wide apart, giving the impression that she was easy to surprise. Her mouth was arresting, small and full like a ripe plum.
Like she read my mind, she came straight to the counter beside me and leaned over. She had ordered a Bacardi and insisted on freshly squeezed orange juice to go with it. I could not help smirking and then our eyes met. I had a embarrassed smile to offer and she smiled like we were friends. I saw a slight flicker of recognition or was that my drunken imagination. I allowed myself to hold her gaze more than it was socially decent. She did not seem to mind.
‘You work for Wipro, right?’ She asked.
‘We know each other?’ I came forward as the music was loud and also because I wanted to know if she was wearing any perfume. I liked what my nose picked out but could not place it. It was lemony and very appetizing.
‘Nope, I have seen you at the Wipro café’.
‘You work for Wipro too?’
‘Heck no again, I am next door. We hop over to Wipro’s café during break for awesome pakoda and amazing guys’. She talked naturally and puckered up her mouth in a way that was a cross between a pout and a pucker when I spoke.
‘Thanks that I take as a compliment’. I was animated. She was served her drink. Wonder how the bartender managed freshly squeezed orange juice at that hour. He threw a smile at her and placed her glass neatly on the counter over a napkin.
‘The other day, I saw you getting out of the elevator. You were sand witched like a burger’.
‘Funny but how do you mean?’ I was seriously getting drawn to this one. She turned around and waved at some people sitting around a table to a corner to our left. I put two and two together; she was with a gang of friends and had come over to order a drink. She probably had jealous boyfriend somewhere out there and that should have held me back. It did zilch to my ardor.
‘Those two girls you were with were soft and round. You were like this beef in between’. She looked at me without any amusement in her beautiful eyes and rested her mouth gently on the glass ring to sip her exotic drink.
‘You are a babe, aren’t you’? My breathing was irregular and I was feeling a little high. I had an urge to drink what she was drinking, to go where she was going and to be with her, generally.
‘Babe? I am just an admirer; you have in your closet’. She was flirting. I turned around to check, if anyone was keeping an eye on her and when I found that her gang had left the table, I leaned over and kissed her. Her pulpy mouth opened in shock reaction, giving me a false sense of response and killed me further.
‘I am sorry, something came over me’, I apologized, ready to accept all the dirt. She stepped away from me. A man came between us. He was short with a face that looked like a rotten potato.
‘You guys know each other’? He asked her casually. He obviously was not a very aware person.
‘Yes’, she covered her alarm better than me. One could easily tell, her friend was rich from the way he dressed, not taking into account the thick gold chain around his fat neck.
‘Good, in that case, let’s invite him for our anniversary. Take his number, will you?’ He patted her lower back, collected his Johnny walker and excused himself within a minute.
‘Your number please, Ashim would like to invite you for a party’, her eyes were casted down and she looked like she had just lost something very precious.
‘Give me a miss call, that way I get to store your number’. I suggested.
I dictated and she dialed my number. I gave her time in between to press the required buttons. She disconnected soon as my phone responded. I wanted to ask her name to store her number but she was out of there.
I saw her again only in my early morning dream. I took a shower and walked to the café, downstairs for coffee and sandwich. It was here, I received a call from a Sub inspector, park street branch police station. He asked me to come straight over. He needed me with respect to an investigating of a young model’s suicide that took place last night. She was all of twenty four and was engaged to be married. I was on the list of suspects. Mine was the last number dialed on Ms Rabia Khan’s cell phone.
"This post has been published by Ghazala Hossain as a part of IBL; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored byWriteupCafe. Join us at our Official Website and Facebook page"
A strange numbness that comes after millions of needle pricks on your body took over me. I fell down to my knee almost hugging the fake marble floor. My eyes carried me to across the room, where I saw her. She seemed calm, at home with everything. Her white dress was long and covered her slim body well. Our eyes met and she smiled. Did she remember me from last night?
I wanted to go to her, to touch her, to talk to her but she turned away and I lost her. Sitting on the floor, I wept like a teenager who had been freshly dumped. I wanted my friend to help me and to my utter distraught, he was nowhere. In his place, a person in a giant lizard costume stood. I screamed my loudest and woke up to early morning sweat.
Aircon was breathing life into my dead bedroom. I pulled away the sheet to allow my sweat to dry. My fists were knotted and my nails had dug into my palms. I sat up, shrugged off a nightmare so real that my reality had seemed like a distant dream. Last night…
Last night flashed before me, when I had met her for the first time. Since then her visage had never left me for a moment. Some faces live with you, forever. I was at ‘Someplace else’, a hangout for guys like me, who would rather be someplace else then currently where they were in their life. A live band was doing their bit at performing covers of English classics. The only part, I had liked in the entire gig was their song selection. ‘Please don’t go’ floated around. Unlike the original, a woman sang the song. I had not cared to turn away from my drink on the deck of the bar to check who was singer at helm.
The dance floor was spilling over with scantily clad women, wrapped around their men friends, mostly colleagues. There was this woman; I had spotted some half an hour before who had my total attention. Yet, I pretend concentrated on the glass shelves opposite me over the bar filled with show cased bottles, mostly wine. I caught my reflection on the mirror frame that bordered it. One could safely call me good looking, if one liked curly hair and down slanted mouth. I wore a formal shirt, open to expose a toned chest. I am six feet plus and carried myself in ‘cotton world’ pants and dark work ties. A voice trainer at Wipro, I had girls coming onto me, for both professional and personal support, which I provided depending on my whims and moods.
I had kind of surprised myself by getting worked up over a girl, a strange girl at that. Never in my entire twenty eight years did my wild side go ballistic, like it was the John of the Jungle over a random girl. Her black kameez looked like it was made by a tailor, who knew all her curves intimately. Her neck line was a deep ‘v’ exposed by her chiffon dupatta that was hugging her neck closely. The tan on her skin seemed from a recent holiday by the sea. Her eyes were set wide apart, giving the impression that she was easy to surprise. Her mouth was arresting, small and full like a ripe plum.
Like she read my mind, she came straight to the counter beside me and leaned over. She had ordered a Bacardi and insisted on freshly squeezed orange juice to go with it. I could not help smirking and then our eyes met. I had a embarrassed smile to offer and she smiled like we were friends. I saw a slight flicker of recognition or was that my drunken imagination. I allowed myself to hold her gaze more than it was socially decent. She did not seem to mind.
‘You work for Wipro, right?’ She asked.
‘We know each other?’ I came forward as the music was loud and also because I wanted to know if she was wearing any perfume. I liked what my nose picked out but could not place it. It was lemony and very appetizing.
‘Nope, I have seen you at the Wipro café’.
‘You work for Wipro too?’
‘Heck no again, I am next door. We hop over to Wipro’s café during break for awesome pakoda and amazing guys’. She talked naturally and puckered up her mouth in a way that was a cross between a pout and a pucker when I spoke.
‘Thanks that I take as a compliment’. I was animated. She was served her drink. Wonder how the bartender managed freshly squeezed orange juice at that hour. He threw a smile at her and placed her glass neatly on the counter over a napkin.
‘The other day, I saw you getting out of the elevator. You were sand witched like a burger’.
‘Funny but how do you mean?’ I was seriously getting drawn to this one. She turned around and waved at some people sitting around a table to a corner to our left. I put two and two together; she was with a gang of friends and had come over to order a drink. She probably had jealous boyfriend somewhere out there and that should have held me back. It did zilch to my ardor.
‘Those two girls you were with were soft and round. You were like this beef in between’. She looked at me without any amusement in her beautiful eyes and rested her mouth gently on the glass ring to sip her exotic drink.
‘You are a babe, aren’t you’? My breathing was irregular and I was feeling a little high. I had an urge to drink what she was drinking, to go where she was going and to be with her, generally.
‘Babe? I am just an admirer; you have in your closet’. She was flirting. I turned around to check, if anyone was keeping an eye on her and when I found that her gang had left the table, I leaned over and kissed her. Her pulpy mouth opened in shock reaction, giving me a false sense of response and killed me further.
‘I am sorry, something came over me’, I apologized, ready to accept all the dirt. She stepped away from me. A man came between us. He was short with a face that looked like a rotten potato.
‘You guys know each other’? He asked her casually. He obviously was not a very aware person.
‘Yes’, she covered her alarm better than me. One could easily tell, her friend was rich from the way he dressed, not taking into account the thick gold chain around his fat neck.
‘Good, in that case, let’s invite him for our anniversary. Take his number, will you?’ He patted her lower back, collected his Johnny walker and excused himself within a minute.
‘Your number please, Ashim would like to invite you for a party’, her eyes were casted down and she looked like she had just lost something very precious.
‘Give me a miss call, that way I get to store your number’. I suggested.
I dictated and she dialed my number. I gave her time in between to press the required buttons. She disconnected soon as my phone responded. I wanted to ask her name to store her number but she was out of there.
I saw her again only in my early morning dream. I took a shower and walked to the café, downstairs for coffee and sandwich. It was here, I received a call from a Sub inspector, park street branch police station. He asked me to come straight over. He needed me with respect to an investigating of a young model’s suicide that took place last night. She was all of twenty four and was engaged to be married. I was on the list of suspects. Mine was the last number dialed on Ms Rabia Khan’s cell phone.
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Tuesday, 18 June 2013
The Dream Worker
Trrrrrrrrring! Bumba woke up with a start. Muttering curses under his breath; he trudged towards the door to open it. He was all the more annoyed when saw no one outside. Scratching his head and groaning, he took a few more steps ahead to check if there was anyone around the vicinity.
Suddenly he noticed a small red box near the door. Funny it should be there. Nobody ever gifted him anything. Anyway, he picked it up and opened it.
Zooooop! He was sucked into the box the moment he opened it, sucked him in like a vacuum cleaner; as if he was nothing but a whiff of smoke.
Bumba felt himself being drawn in at lightning speed. Everything seems to be whizzing past him in a crazy motion. It seemed like hours before he landed on a firm ground with a slight thud. It took him some time to get a hold on himself.
This was most mystifying place, ever imagined. All kinds of colours splattered all around. Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, Malachite, Gamboge, Razzmatazz, Xanadu and other colours he didn’t even know, existed. Wow, this looked fascinating. He was standing in front of a huge banner that read Dream Merchants Workshop. There were humans and non human things all around him; all of them chattering excitedly.
Everyone - the sponge, the banana, the bottle, the ice-cream, the pizza slices, the trees, and the people - everyone seemed to be in an animated conversation with each other. Some, like him, seemed lost.
All the little things around had grown huge in size, while the huge ones had shrunk; bringing everyone to more or less the same height.
There were stalls and booths everywhere – beautiful dreams, scary dreams, funny dreams, regular dreams, food dreams – the banners on various stalls said.
He noticed a tiny booth in a corner. ‘May I help you,’ it read. There was quite a mob around that booth. Someone was shouting, “First timers, this way; all the first timers come on here.”
Bumba walked up there and stood amongst the crowd of beings. A monstrous looking creature was addressing them. He had one big eye, one big mouth and one big ear on the top of his head. He looked quite cute.
“You all, I presume are first timers here”, he said. The crow standing next to Bumba gave him a smile and a wink.
The monster continued, “Welcome to the dream merchant’s workshop. You all have been handpicked by the dream merchant to be a part of a dream tonight. You will be given options to choose whose dream you wish to be; and what dream. You can give your name and pick up your options from that trapezium stall over there”
From the crowd a zombie raised his hand.
“Yes?” asked the monster.
“Who is the dream merchant?” questioned zombie.
“That cannot be revealed, for security reasons,” said the monster.
Now Bumba raised his hand and asked, “Why have I been chosen, or for that matter, anyone here?”
The monster shrugged. “The dream merchant has his weird ways. He chants something called Eena Meena Myna Mo and selects the dream-workers. It is some superior spiritual stuff,” he said. “It is beyond anyone’s understanding here.”
“Wow, I had no idea such a place existed,” exclaimed Bumba to the elf near him.
She grinned, “I had heard about it, but this is my first time too. It is sure going to be fun,” she said and walked off to collect her options.
Bumba was about to do the same when a huge bottle of cola walked up to him and asked, “Hi, would you care for a chocolate?”
“Sure,” replied Bumba with a smile.
“Gee, thanks mate. This little guy here is quite a handful. Take good care of him,” said the bottle quickly, as he shoved a little bar of chocolate towards Bumba.
Bumba stared in bewilderment as the chocolate gave him a sheepish grin. Before Bumba could protest the bottle had scooted off in the crowd.
“You and I will make a good pair,” said the chocolate as he stuck his gooey hand into Bumba’s arm staining his shirt.
“Hmm,” grunted Bumba with scorn and started walking where the options were being distributed. The chocolate trudged behind him.
Bumba was given four choices: His friend - Bappi, the jamun tree from the back yard, the neighbour’s cat - Billi, his bicycle. He thought for a while and decided to go for Billi. It was just a random choice.
Now there are two things everyone should know:
1. Cats believe in dreams. No, they really believe in it like it is real. Everything that happens in a cat’s dream is, according to the cat, lived by it in its sleeping hours. Hence it is extremely dangerous to fool around in a cats dream.
2. Cats love chocolates. Every single cat in the world loves chocolates. But they are allergic to it. Chocolates drive cats crazy. Crazy to the point of infinity. They can do unspeakable things when they are high on chocolates. Things you and I wouldn’t even think of in our wildest dreams.
Unfortunately, Bumba was unaware of these two rules and so was the bar of chocolate.
They next went to the booth that read Regular Dreams. Bumba really was not ready for any more adventure He wanted a simple lazy dream where he did not have to do much running around.
They were given their dream and also a few instructions. He was told that once his choice wakes up from sleep he will be transported back to his house outside the red box.
So they started preparing themselves for the night. Bumba and the chocolate started building up a dream for Billi.
That night back home when Billi fell asleep, Bumba and the chocolate whiffed in to her mind and started off with the dream.
Billi was lying by the fireplace cuddled up with a ball of wool. Bumba was sitting on the arm-chair with a book and staring at Billi. Billi purred; walked up to Bumba and rubbed her back against his leg. She then skipped up and curled up on Bumba’s lap.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. Pushing Billi aside, Bumba got up to answer the door. Someone handed over a box and a chocolate bar to him. As he turned back he noticed Billi sitting on his arm chair. Annoyed, he caught her by the scruff and threw her away on the floor.
This infuriated Billi. The arm-chair had been nice and cosy. She looked at Bumba with a hiss and snarl. He was sitting on the chair again biting into the chocolate bar. She leaped up on him and hit him hard on his face with her paw. The chocolate bar fell off from his hand. Before he could pick it up again Billi jumped on it and gobbled it up….
The chocolate high in the dream had triggered Billi senses. With a big yawn, Billi stretched and woke up. That immediately transported Bumba and chocolate away from the dream merchant’s workshop to the real world.
But the damage was done. Billi was twitchy with the dream she had. She could feel the chocolate taste in her mouth. She also continued to feel angry towards Bumba; rather, she was quite livid.
Next morning when Bappi dropped in to Bumba’s house for a morning cup of tea; Bumba was nowhere to be seen.
Instead Bappi noticed a cat curled up on the armchair. The cat looked at him as she licked some chocolate off her paws.
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