The photograph bunting.

I like decorating my house. More of a DIY thing really. You know, origami stuff, handmade lamps, quilted art and stuff like that… you get it right?

The newest thing I did around the house was to get some family photographs printed and clip them on a string like a bunting. I tied this photograph bunting across the living room window. Just below the fabric bunting I had made and hung some time ago. (Show off alert!) Well, this photograph bunting soon became my most favourite spot around the house. Not just mine, I think it became SSM’s favourite spot too.

These photographs were a reminder of various moments when we were at our happiest. The smiles showed. Each of them had a memory stuck to it. A memory that SSM, Ri and I visited every time we looked at them. Memories that made us smile. Memories that made us forget our present distress.

I got onto the habit of staring at them once every day. But with time, I realised that these photographs looked slightly different every time... So slight was the difference that it could well have been a fragment of my imagination. But I did feel that the smiles and the twinkles in the eye were, maybe, just maybe, minutely less on certain days that others.

And then I realised what it was… the photographs, the memories, the us in our happy past, were actually looking back at us, at our present, our todays. Yes. They, I mean us, trapped in those glossy sheets of paper were actually watching us too. Their happy smiles seemed alive on the days we were happy. On other days, when our days were not too good, our smiles in the photographs somewhere did not reach our eyes. They seemed a little faded, I thought.

It did cross my mind to mention this to SSM, but then I thought against it. I don’t know if he noticed it too, but I did see him glance at the photographs from the corner of his eyes, time to time. When we were in the midst of a conversation or when he was playing candy crush on his phone while I sat with a book.

Well, as days passed, I became totally convinced that the photographs were, well, alive. They looked like regular happy photographs to anyone else who saw them, but when you looked at them every day, you would not miss the miniscule changes in the expressions of our impressions on those photographs.

Life had definitely become stressful and we were really looking forward to a holiday we had planned as soon as Ri finishes the session at school. The stress was building up and the photographs were slowly fading.

Finally, the day for the holiday was here. We were happy and excited after a real long time. And weirdly (may be not) the photographs seems less faded today. We locked up and left the home for a week of serene bliss. And we had a wonderful time. We were happy as can be after a long, long time. It was truly a much needed break. We got back home happier and with more joyful memories.

I did not notice the photograph bunting that evening. But the next morning when we sat for our breakfast, I saw that the photographs had all curled. Really. They were curled and bent. They looked very dull too. I pointed it out to SSM who said that they had probably curled up because of the heat in the city. We agreed that we need to get fresh prints and redo the bunting sometime next weekend.

Two days have passed since then. We have been happy, laughing and basking in the thoughts of the wonderful holiday we just had. We have been having a really good time at home enjoying movies and ice creams.

Today morning was quiet. SSM left for office and Ri is busy reading Chamber of Secrets. I sat at the table and glanced at the photograph bunting. The photographs have gone all straight and stiff again. Not just that, they are not dull anymore. They are as good as new. I called SSM to check if he managed to get new prints and missed telling me. He hadn’t. I go stand in front of the bunting. The smiles are all happy and bright. There is a twinkle in our eyes in there.

Did I imagine it or did the me in that photo just wink?

Published Again!

There was a time when I used to dream about being published. And then Writersmelon happened. They came up with a contest of short stories; I sent in my entry; and I got published. And it seemed wonderful.

And then they cam back with another contest. This time I sent in a last minute entry, without any hope. (Okay some hope, because I had really liked the story I submitted.) (Yeah okay, eye-roll as much as you like. I do enjoy my writing. Hmph!) So, well, this one got selected too and that is how... here I present... JUKEBOX  paparaparaaaaa!

Isn't it a lovely cover?!

Jukebox has a collection of some wonderful stories. Stories that will make you laugh, and cry, and scared, and feel silly, and whole lot of other emotions. It has stories written by some of the best writers I know of. And I know that because all of them write with passion and not with the aim of their writing being included a school textbook.

All the wonderful authors

So now I want you wonderful people to CLICK HERE. and go buy a copy of Jukebox. Buy it for yourself, buy it for gifting, or buy it because you like to buy books as home decor. JUST GO BUY IT!

And enjoy my story. And others too. But mainly mine. And let me know how you like it. :)

How cool is that!

Why I wasn't blogging.

The image was googled

I know. I haven’t been blogging much. And that is because… okay, so it is a weird sort of a thing that happened. Let me tell you about it in detail.

I was walking around the block one evening when I came across a small diversion that I hadn’t noticed earlier. Curious, I took to the lane and it reached a wall. So a blind lane it was. I turned around to get back to my usual path but it wasn’t there. No. Seriously. It just wasn’t there. I just hit a wall again.

Well, obviously, I panicked. I started shouting for help. HELP! But my voice just echoed in the blocked lane. I frantically started looking around for something. Something. I do not know what. Anything, like stones or waste coke cans that I could throw over the wall and get help, or some explosives that could bring the wall down, or a packet of chips because I was hungry. Well anything could have helped, but there was nothing.

I sat down exasperated. I wished I had carried my mobile phone so that I could call someone, or play ‘two dot’ (My current favourite game) but iguess i just had to wait. After what seemed like hours, I finally heard a slight swishing sound. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I could only hope it wasn’t cockroaches. Katasaridaphobia. Any other creature would have been fine. Luckily, it was another creature.

I realised that the swishing wasn’t coming in from ‘my’ lane. Nope. It was somewhere far away, up in the sky. Initially, I noticed a tiny speck. But as it flew closer, I was sure, it was IT. It. Was. A. Hippogriff. Seriously! No kidding.

It landed in ‘my’ lane and before I could understand I was tossed up in the air and I landed with a thud on its back. I clung on for dear life as it flew away with me.

The flight on the hippogriff was AMAZING. It’s one experience that will stay with me forever. Anyway, we flew over oceans and mountains and lands unheard of. (Mainly because I suck at geography. I am sure, you smart guys, would have heard of them.) And we finally reached what seemed to be a castle.

And I was excited because I thought I would be expected to slay dragons and save the handsome prince, but no, that happened only in fairy tales, apparently.

So I was dropped off, literally, at the gates of the castle and then escorted by men in helmets, not bike helmets, stupid, but the Viking kind of helmets. They took me to the guy, who I guessed was the king because they all bowed down to him. I bowed down too because that seemed appropriate.

He then said in a loud booming voice, “Me, the great Gaster Nomos, the lord of the Culinary, have heard from the messengers far and wide, that you, lady, can bake the best caramel, bread pudding ever created. I. NEED. TO. TASTE. IT.”

And that was it! I was guided to the kitchen that was as large as the Kolkata maidan and I had to start baking the pudding. It was ceremonious as music played and people danced around while I was baking it. I then plated it in a gold plate to serve it to Mr. Nomos. I stood there, tensed, hungry butterflies fluttering in my stomach, as I saw him scoop a bite and place it in his mouth. The music stopped, everyone around was quiet. Even the pins refused to drop, lest they might be heard. My heart stopped beating as he closed his eyes, tasted the pudding and then swallowed it down. He then opened his eyes and laughed. A loud wealthy laugh it was. And with him everyone present started laughing too. He called me over and held me warmly in his arms. The music started… the people danced… there was happiness everywhere.

The next day was spent teaching the chefs the recipe. And the next few day I had a holiday of a lifetime in the most beautiful land ever. I was then flown back on the hippogriff. It was kind to me during our return flight. And well, here I am. Blogging again.

And yeah, I wish all of that was true and laziness was not the only reason for me not blogging. But laziness is what it was. And the damn laziness was so bad that I did not even write a birthday post yesterday. I would kick myself in the butt if I was fit enough to do so.

So well, belated birthday wishes to me. This year will see more fun posts here on my blog. Promise.

Also one thing in the story up there was true. I do make the best caramel, bread pudding in the world. :D

See you soon.

The unforgivable curse

Source: 

typographyserved.com

He walked out of the famous tea shop in Dakshinapan holding the packet of his wife's favourite tea. He thought he saw someone familiar as he walked out. He stopped and turned around. Yes, it was K. He enjoyed K's acquaintance. He liked K. K hadn't noticed him yet, but he knew K would be happy to see him. He smiled and stepped forward to call out to K. But then, then he stopped. He paused, he frowned, and then he turned and walked away.

And somewhere far away, in a city that was taken over by dementors, a dark wizard smiled. His Imperius curse had worked. He could control the lives of his followers. He could break them, he could mould their minds, he could keep them away from the ones whom they liked.

Somewhere in Transylvania

So there was a prompt:

A man with a secret. A woman with a gun. A forest in Transylvania.

***

 And here is the story...

From somewhere on the internet

They both ran as fast as they could. They had to reach the forest beyond the boundaries of the castle, which is what the folks of Transylvania had told them. That was their only way to safety.

Both had laughed at the down-town people. “You know vampires really do not exist, right?” they said. But the people had been really serious. The elderly lot had shaken their heads in despair as they watched these two young foreigners jeer at their vampire tales.

“Why are you even here if you don’t believe in them?” they asked.

“To prove that they do not exist,” he answered.

“For the last seven years, we have been visiting places that have strong beliefs on the unnatural. We have stayed at places, people don’t even wish to lay their eyes on. And we have always proved them wrong,” she added.

They planned to stay the night at the castle which was known to have housed the only living vampire. The people had vehemently opposed to the idea but they were pretty sure about it.

“Be careful,” said an old man.

“Don’t worry, I have this,” she replied as she held out her weapon.

He laughed and said, “No gun is gonna save you from ‘em, lady.”

They both smiled, waved to them and walked towards the castle.

“Remember to get away to the forest if he catches you,” someone shouted out from behind.

***

It was almost dark when they reached the castle.

“You want to do it usual way,” he asked, “I will explore this side of the castle, you go that way”

“Alright, Let’s meet here again in the next one hour. I am keeping the sandwiches and a lantern here” she replied.

He nodded his head and then motioning towards the ceiling, added, “Mind those bats.

They both moved their own separate ways. The castle layout was similar to any other medieval castle. They had explored many other castles and forts before and none of them had expected to find anything exceptional here.

And hence, after almost forty minutes of their separate probe and study, she suddenly heard him screaming and shouting out to her. She rushed down to the landing where they were supposed to meet and saw him, in her torch light, running towards her.

“Run,” he shouted and it did not take any moment to start running alongside him towards the castle gate.

They ran with all their might.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Not now! Not now! Just run! Get into the forest,” he gasped.

***

Once they were safely into the forest, deep inside, they stopped.

“What is it?” she wheezed and stared at him with blood shot eyes.

They were both panting.

All of a sudden he started laughing.

“Nothing, nothing,” he continued laughing, “Sweetheart, I just wanted to see if I could give you a scare of your life”

“WHAT! What the hell! I could kill you for that, you bastard” She said almost in tears.

“I am sorry… really, I am,” he said still laughing as he pulled her towards him for an embrace.

As she hugged him, against the torch light, she stared with terror...

... At the two puncture marks on the side of his neck and the blood oozing out from it.

And that was the end!

Except that it is not an ode... (Sourced from the internet)

They had been in college together for a year now. But it was only a fortnight ago that they spoke for the first time. And they instantly connected. They knew immediately that they were made for each other. Their likes, dislikes, interests, everything matched. They both could spend hours talking with each other. Each date was amazing the movies, the restaurants, the parks. They explored the city together. They, as a couple, were the envy of others.

One weekend evening he went to pick her up. She did not look too well. He asked if she was okay as she sat next to him. She nodded. Then she opened her bag, put her hand inside and got out a tiny bottle.

“What’s that,” he asked?

“Got a migraine,” she replied as she started rubbing the contents of the bottle on her forehead.

The screeched the car to halt.

“What happened?” she asked.

“What’s that you are applying?” he exclaimed.

“Balm,” she said with astonishment.

“Get out!” he screamed.

“What the hell! Why?” she shouted, angry and scared.

“I cannot stand the smell of balm. It gives me the worst migraine ever,” he cried as he gestured her to get out of the car.

***

And that was the end!

First Brush On The Canvas.

I am getting published! 

Wow! That seemed way better than what it seemed when I said it in my head!

The cover of our book.

First brush on the canvas. How lovely does that sound. Seriously, people. I am on seventh heaven.

Although it is one little story in a book of fourteen stories, just the thought of my story, in print, in a book, in a bookstore.... OMG, I am hyperventilating again.

Seriously, it is like a dream come true.

And I really want you all to be a part of this dream with me. 

So please click on this link right now and pre order it. Now. Buy it for yourself, buy it as a gift for someone, and buy it because it means a lot to me and to all the other wonderful writers who are a part of this book. You are not going to regret reading this amazing mix of Romance, Comedy and Thrill.

And guess what. Be kind and pre order now to get a lifetime of dreams involving unicorns and cute kittens. Now, who does not want that!?

Though I do not know all the writers personally, I do know one - Abhishek Mukherjee is a very dear friend and a mentor. He was kind enough to proof read my story. Thank you. He is one awesome writer and his story in the book is splendid.

The book has been edited by Priyanka Roy Banerjee and trust me that would have been one hell of a job. Thank you so much, PRB, you are a great friend. She is easily one of the best editors we know of, a great writer and book reviewer too.

And thanks, of course to Writersmelon for giving us, aspiring authors, such a wonderful chance. Check more about them, the book, and the authors here.

But above all, thanks to SSM and RI. They are the ones who don't just bear with my madness but they add on to it. They are the ones who give me my stories. :)

Why are you still waiting?Go on. Click here. Order. Now.

এটা আমি

WB-04 D1473 আমার নম্বর।  আমি একটা হলুদ ট্যাক্সি।  সারা দিন এই শহরে ঘুরে প্যাসেনজার কে ওদের ঠিকানায় নিয়ে যাওয়া আমার কাজ।  বাপ্পাদা আমার চালক, ১০ বছর থেকে। আমাদের একটা সুন্দর সম্পর্ক, আমার আর বাপ্পাদার।

বাপ্পাদার কি খুশি যখন আমাকে প্রথম পেয়েছিলেন । ওনার ওই হাসি আমার এখনো মনের মধ্যে ভেসে আছে।  আমার ও খুব ভালোলেগেছিল।  ট্যাক্সি হয়ে  জন্মেছিলাম যখন, তখন একটা মনের মধ্যে ভয় ছিল যে কিরম হবে  আমার চালক।  বাপ্পাদা কে পেয়ে নিশ্চিন্ত হলাম।

আজ এত বছর পর যখন ভাবি, ভালো লাগে , যে কত কি দেখলাম, উপভোগ করলাম আর শিখলাম ।

নানা রকমের লোক আমার ব্যাক সিটে বসেছে, খুব মজা লাগত ওদের লক্ষ্য করতে। কেউ চুপ করে বসে থাকত, তো কেউ বাপ্পাদার সঙ্গে প্রচুর কথা বলত।  বাপ্পাদাও কথা বলতে খুব পছন্দ করেন। আমি শুনতাম।  বেশি করে রাজনীতি নিয়ে গল্প হত।  কিছু বুঝতাম কিছু বুঝতাম না।

আর কিছু ঝগড়া দেখেছি বাবা ।  কি ঝগড়া করতে পারে লোক জন।  সেইরমই হই হই করার ও প্রচুর লোক দেখেছি। আমিও একটু হেসে ফেলতাম মাঝে মাঝে। কিন্তু আমার বেস্ট লাগত যখন বাচা ছেলে মেয়েরা রোমন্যাস করত আমার ব্যাক সিটে।  আমি প্রথম চুমু থেকে শেষের ব্যথা সবই দেখেছি। আর কিছু কিছু জিনিস তো বলতেও লজ্জা লাগে।

সত্যি বলতে, আমিও একটা রোমন্যাস করে ফেলেছিলাম ।আরে লোকজন বোঝে না যে ট্যাক্সিদের ও ফীলিংস থাকে। আমাদের পাড়াতে ও থাকত।  প্রথম বার দেখেই ভালোবেসে ফেলেছিলাম। ও ও আমার মত একটা ট্যাক্সি। আমি জানতাম যে ও ও আমায় ভালো বাসে। এক দিন রাস্তায় ও আমার সামনে থেকে আসছিল।  আমি আর নিজে কে থামাতে পারলাম না।  ওকে হালকা করে কিস দিয়ে ফেললাম। তার পর বাপ্পাদা আর ওর চালকের মধ্যে যা গালাগাল হলো সে তো বলার কোনো দরকার নেই, কিন্তু ও হেসে ফেলেছিল।

তার পর থেকে ও যখনই আমার দিকে তাকাত, মিষ্টি হেসে দিত। সেই সময় বোধহয় আমার জীবনের বেস্ট টাইম ছিল - ফেব্রুয়ারী মাস ,বাপ্পাদা তখন আমার ড্যাশবোর্ডে নতুন ডেক লাগিয়ে ছিল , আমি প্রেম করছিলাম আর অদ্ভূত ভাবে সেই সময় অনেক প্যাসেনজার আমায় গঙ্গা ধারে এমনি  ড্রাইভ করতে নিয়ে যেত।  বেশ লাগত ওই লং ড্রাইভ গুলো করতে। ফুরফুরে হাওয়া দিত। চারপাশে গাছ পালা। কি যে ভালো লাগত।...

আমাদের রোমন্যাসও অনেক বছর চলল। ট্যাক্সি স্ট্যান্ড এ যখনই ওর পাশে দাড়ানোর চানস পেতাম, খুব জোরে হর্ন দিতাম। ও কি লজ্জা পেত।

কিন্তু প্রায় ৪-৫ বছর হয়েছে ওর সঙ্গে আমার দ্যাখা হয়নি। কোথায় যে গ্যালো জানি না।  মাঝে মাঝে  ভেবে দুঃখ হয়।তার পর ভাবি, সাচ ইস লাইফ।

বাপ্পাদাও আমাকে খুব  যত্ন করে রেখেছে।  ভেবে ছিলাম সারা জীবন এইরমই কেটে যাবে।

কিন্তু কিছু দিন থেকে বাপ্পাদা একটু চিন্তায় আছেন।  সেদিন শুনলাম পান এর দোকানের সাইদুল এর সঙ্গে কথা বলতে। কিসব ওলা উবের বলছিলেন।  বুঝতে পারলাম না।

পরশু দিন ট্যাক্সি স্ট্যান্ডএ দাড়িয়ে ছিলাম।  টিঙ্কুদার ট্যাক্সি আমাকে বলল।  এই ওলা আর উবের না কি নতুন ধরনের ট্যাক্সি। বদ ট্যাক্সি।  এয়ার কন্ডিশন ট্যাক্সি। সেটা চালালে না কি অনেক ভাড়া পাওয়া যায়।

কিন্তু তা নিয়ে বাপ্পাদা যে কেন এত ব্যস্ত বুঝতে পারলাম না।  থাক।

সে কি! আজ শুনলাম বাপ্পাদা না কি ভাবছেন আমাকে আর চালাবেন না! ওই আজকে  গ্যারেজ নিয়ে গেছিলেন আমাকে।  তখন শুনলাম জিগ্গেস করতে যে আমার প্রত্যেক পার্টের দাম কত হবে।  বাপ্পাদা না কি এই বার থেকে উবের চালাবে।

না না এটা ঠিক হচ্ছে না!

বুঝতে পারছি যে আমার বয়েস হয়ে গেছে।  আমি জানতাম যে এক না এক দিন বাপ্পাদা আমায় ছেড়ে দেবেন। কিন্তু এইরম আমার পার্ট গুলো আলাদা আলাদা করে বিক্রি করবেন? কেন?

এটার জন্য আমি কিন্তু রাজি নয়! এইরম ভাগ ভাগ হয়ে অক্কা পেতে আমি চাইছি না! কি করব!

বাপ্পাদা পানের দোকানে গেছে! ওই দেখো সামনে থেকে একটা বড় লরি আসছে! এই সাহসটা কি করব?

করে ফেলি... ব্রেক টাকে তুলে  দিলাম...

শেষ সুর...  আমার সবচে প্রিয়... ট্রামের  ঘন্টা... আর কিছু না...


***


ব্যাকরণ আর বানানের ভুল প্লি ক্ষমা করবেন।

That happy feeling - Thank heavens for lovely friends

When you have had the worse time going on for you for the longest time ever... You just have to wake up one morning and say to yourself - ENOUGH! You have had enough of painful time and now things are going to be just fine. You are going to be alright from now on...

And then, happiness does happen. It works! You have to to just push yourself out of bed and say with confidence that life will be okay.

I did it and I already see it happening. This.

Today I posted this picture of mine on Facebook -

I got a whole lot of lovely comments. And one of them was from my crazy friend - Disha. It said -
I feel i can use this pic for a short story subject, can make so many of them .. its so interesting that .. it is pushing me to write.. so many layers in a single pic. so u might get ur inbox flooded with a series of short stories based on this one pic.

And then an hour later this lovely little tale hit my inbox making me feel extremely special and happy-

***

Freckles, spectacles &  a pretty wedding ring , the only priced possessions she knew she had. This is what set her apart, she believed.

Fickle Fickle grew up loving almost every thing around her. While still she had not hit her teens, she was drawn towards the language and culture of the eastern world. She could knit and sew. She would tame all the stray dogs and could cook fish. 

Fickle Fickle has 2 siblings :Chuckle Trouble and Pale Pigtail. 

Zombies & Tombs was their all time favourite games.The rules of the game were simple. 

Rule #1: Stay away from the Zombie

Rule # 2 : Sit in the tomb, when you don't follow Rule #1 

They would climb the trees, jump in to the lake and eat all the wild berries. Childhood was spent making tents from fishnets, bed covers.. and once she learnt quilting , she had her one if its kind quilted tent. 

The tent was called : The Fickle Fortress 

Years passed by drenched in passion with  the ways of the Eastern World. Fickle Fickle met the Snow Man of the Eastern world. 

Snow Man could draw and sketch. He had a dog who could fetch. He could sing lullabies and was like the Broadway artist who could enthrall a crowd with his breath taking voice.

The Inevitable happened. 

Snowman saw fickle fickle and felt a funny tickle. He knew he wanted her and only her.

But what no one ever knew this about Fickle Fickle was that she was not from this World. She was the Zombie who could put people to tomb. Whoever kissed her pink nails inevitably slid in to their graves. 

Fickle Fickle quilted a pair of mittens , no one dies in this story, as the story was just about a fickle headed miss fickle fickle. 

***

Thanks, Disha - this really made my day! It made me so happy! (In spite of India playing horrible cricket today)

Hatred!

Sourced from somewhere on the internet

She and I, we are sisters, but she has always treated me with disdain. She always wanted what I had. She always got what I had. Either by snatching, bullying, pleading, stealing…. She always got her way.

She was good, nah, better than I was, always, in everything. So they always gave her what she wanted. I was never the one they liked.

If I had a doll, she ensured she had two of those. If I got a book, she had to have it… and others too. It continued through the years – workshops I attended, she got them too… dresses I wore, she got better. She even managed to woo the boy I secretly yearned for.

And then when I was devastated by my miscarriage, It wasn't mere coincidence that she conceived a month later. I knew it wasn't.

And today after all these years, I have got my chance. The revenge I have been waiting for, all these years. Today we are together far away from home. No one knows we are here; it was our little secret – sister secret.

I take out my wand, point it out towards her and scream my favourite word “CRUCIO” … Again and again and again and again… and finally I utter, “Obliviate!” and walk away.

In search of the room on the roof...

She had a bad migraine attack that evening. Her husband, ever so caring, kept asking her how she was feeling and how he could help. 

The migraine was getting worse and as much as she knew that the husband was just being nice, she really wanted him to shut up. His constant asking was hurting her head more. Finally, she couldn't take it any longer and said, “Either shut up or crush my head with a huge rock. That is all you can do to help.”

Next thing she realised was that she was dead. Her ghost was watching over her body, her head crushed with a huge rock. The migraine had killed her, literally.

The police were there in the room. Her husband was pleading – But… but... she asked me to crush her head.

The police took him away and she, rather her ghost, sighed and started her journey towards finding the perfect room on the roof to live in... forever... like she had always wanted.

Tu mere agal bagal hai...

It was a hot summer afternoon. The dusty streets were empty. My car was on a roll. I knew I was speeding but it was okay, there wasn't anyone checking. 

I was driving fast and singing along with the music that blared on my car stereo -  khaali pili khaali pili rokane ka nahi… tera peecha karu toh tokane ka nahi.

Suddenly I saw him walking right in the middle of the road. I hit the brakes hard and the car screeched to a stop inches away from the man.

I tuned down the music; rolled down the windows and yelled at him, “Kyon bey, marne ke liye meri hi gaadi mili thi. Kisi aur ki gaadi ke saamne jaake mar.”

He slowly turned around; looked at me with blood-shot eyes and said, “Ab toh teri gaadi ke saamne hi marunga.”

With that, he got out a pistol, held it against his forehead and pulled the trigger.

The car wind shield was splattered with blood.

M and S.

Source: Internet

M gave an irritated grunt as the half smoked cigarette fell off from his lips. He did not have the money to buy another cigarette. He had been standing outside a grand temple on Ballygung before the priest asked him to move away. “The cigarette disturbed the Gods,” the priest said. He gave an angry look towards the temple now.

The cheque from the publisher had not cleared yet. “Pujo holidays,” they said, when he had called to check on the cheque status. “Damn, Pujos!” he cursed under his breath as he staggered towards the nearest Pujo for a free bhog. The bhog was his only source of nourishment till the cheque cleared.

He suddenly doubted his career as a writer today. Everyone had warned him against quitting his day job as an accountant to pursue a career in writing. But M was determined. He knew he would do well. He was good. He already had a few freelance assignments in hand. He had got a publisher for his book. He was working hard.

The money was difficult to get. It took time. It wasn’t much. It wouldn’t be much till he was established, he knew. He had the patience, the perseverance. But he was getting tired of the poverty and the sniggers he received from the family. He had moved away from his family for some time now.

As M was crossing the street lost in the thoughts of his woes and survival, a big black Mercedes, E Class, Coupe - It could have been a grey Honda City too but that wouldn’t have the same effect as the big black Mercedes - screeched to a stop beside him.

M turned towards the Mercedes and the expression on his face changed magically from rage, to annoyance, to surprise and then to calm. (Had this been a movie I would have included one of the K-serial background music, too, but this isn’t a movie and hence you will have to visualise the expression change.)

What was brilliant was the exact same expression change that S’s (I love saying S’s more than I love writing it. S’s. S’s. S’s. S’s) face underwent. Exactly the same.

S was sitting comfortably reading a business newspaper in his chauffeur driven, above mentioned car. He was an important man. Obviously. All men who travel in a big black Mercedes, E Class, Coupe and read business newspaper are important. And it really had not been too difficult for S to reach the level of importance that he was at. Rather it had not been difficult at all. Because it is not difficult to become a CEO when you father owns the company.

Life was pretty comfortable for S. He had always got everything he had ever wanted. Lavish parties, international vacations, best of cars and gadgets; he had never known scarcity of any kind.

S liked his work too. It was fun to be bossing around and he sure was great at it. He was also efficient and not the stereotype rich lads that you see in movies. He had done immensely well and earned huge profits for the organisation.

Now, going back to the main scene where they both display a vast range of facial expression when their eyes meet – M and S maintained a lasting eye contact before M finally snapped back to reality and crossed the road to let S’s (S’s. S’s) big black Mercedes, E Class, Coupe pass.

I know what you, my dear reader, are thinking... This is again one of those stories of the rich guy and poor guy who were long lost friends and meet up to change each other's lives, or rich guy and poor guy who decide to swap their lives, or oh, yet another rich guy poor guy story… You are right. This was meant to be one of those stories. This is what I had thought when I started writing. But then, fate thought otherwise and before we could decide whether M and S were old friends or had just met, fate killed them.

We may, for our benefit, assume that they both simultaneously met with an accident immediately after the dramatic encounter.

This story should have ended here with both the heroes dead. But I came to an agreement with fate and decided to keep S alive.

So, M died in a car accident and S survived, only if you would call it survival…

Days passed into months and months in to years. (For effect you can image the scene from a Bollywood film where the pages of a wall calendar are torn one by one by an invisible hand, or where the sky changes colours from yellow, to blue, to red, to black in a couple of seconds to depict passage of time.)

But this period, was the worse thing that could have ever happened to S. I sometimes think it would have been better had I not asked fate to let him live.

S could not get the image of M out of his mind. Something had connected him with M that fateful day. He did not know the man, had no idea about his whereabouts, had never seen him before but the face and the look of M haunted him day in and out; every single moment, awake and asleep.

His work suffered tremendously. He no longer enjoyed the partying and the exotic holidays. He started hating his family, his friends. Searching and seeking the mysterious guy – M, became the only objective of S’s life. (S’s)

Poor S, unaware of the fact that M had died just moments after their encounter, did not stop his search for M.

And then one day, as S was walking on Park Street without a purpose or reason he approached a book shop. Absent-mindedly he got in and picked up one of the books from the best-sellers pile.

No sooner had he turned the cover page than he stopped, stunned and stared at the picture of the author. The same face that had haunted him for years, the same face of M, the face as it stared back at him. S lost his balance and sat on the floor, his eyes aghast and his hands trembling. He snapped back to senses as the book fell of his hands.

S rushed to the payment counter and said he wanted the contact details of the author. It was important. It was a matter of life and death. But they couldnt help. They directed S to the publishers.

S rammed the accelerator of his big black Mercedes, E Class, Coupe to arrive at the publishers. (notice the absence of the chauffeur here) But as fate would have it again it's way, the publishers informed him that the author had just vanished from the face of the earth. They had tried all means to trace him but he had just vanished, poof! “It is sad that the author of such a brilliant book had disappeared”, they said.

S sadly stared at the book in his hand walked unsteadily back to his big black Mercedes, E Class, Coupe .

Back home he locked himself in his room and got reading the book right away. A couple of pages through and suddenly, the realisation dawned upon him... this was his book, his story. His hands went cold, beads of perspiration appeared over his brow. This was unreal. This was impossible.

As he read further he could identify every moment of his life that had gone by; every single moment his childhood, his youth, his good days, and even the momentous day when he had collided with M at the Ballygung crossing, yes even that day – described to perfection, the way he had pictured it every day, all these days.

And then he read about the doom - the period when he lost everything, where he lost his peace; his sanity. Every instant was revealed in this book. It scared him like never before. This was worse that what he had been through in the last few years. All this while it had been just the anxiety of finding M. But now, now... he shuddered just thinking what he would read next.

Reading, he reached a point where his meeting with the publisher was mentioned. He was reading about today, about this moment. As he came to the end of the page he took a deep breath and he hesitantly turned to the next page .

Yes, it was about tomorrow, about his future. He read the page and he snapped the book shut. S, tempted as he was, knew that reading further and knowing his future would only cause him acute trauma. But he couldn’t give it up either. He decided that he would take it one day, one page at a time.

Life had change for S now. He would read up a page at the end of the day and live the page the next day. He tried changing what was unfavourable but was unable to do so. The book ruled his life, the way he lived. There were days when he would give in to his temptation and read a page extra but that would only muddle up his day and his thinking.

The only thing that did not change were the thoughts and dreams of M. M’s face wherever he went.

And then one night when he was back in his room, in his bed and as he turned to read what was in store for him the next day. He froze. The page was blank. All the pages in succession were blank. he turned every page frantically. A defective copy; an error; what had happened?

It was quite late else he would have rushed right away to buy a new copy of the book. S decided to go first thing in the morning and buy it.  He went off to bed extremely restless. Something seemed amiss that night. He tossed and turned for a long while before he finally drifted into sleep.

Next morning S woke up -  blank. He knew nothing, understood nothing and recognised nothing. He looked around him and with a daze. He couldn't think. There were no thoughts, no feelings. Everything looked, seemed unfamiliar. Someone in the house spoke to him but all he could see was the lip moving. He understood no word.

He walked out of the house in his pajamas. He roamed around aimlessly.

 Everything seemed uncharacteristic; it was like he had opened his eyes to the world for the first time. The stared blankly at things around as he walked, his ears hurt with the sound around, he did not know what they were. He was confused and he did not know what confused was. He recognised neither hunger nor thirst. As he walked he brushed against his big black Mercedes, E Class, Coupe. But S just felt nothing.

S reached a place which looked like a huge field - the maidan. All green all around. Just that he did not know what field was/ what green was. As he stood there he sensed a presence – the first sensation he had that morning. Someone was talking to him be he could not make out anything of the words that were spoken. He turned and looked.

He looked without any expression at the face of the person – the face of M.

Trapped - A guest post for The Whitescape

I wrote a guest post for The Whitescape’s blog – For the love of words. You, of course, know the blog, right? Come on, the same one that has been kind enough to award me with the wonderful trophies you see on the panel there. à

Anyway, make sure to visit the wonderful blog, read my story and browse through all the awesome posts.

 

Aaaand... Now…  A sneak peek into my story -

A lazy Sunday winter afternoon; soft sunshine; a cozy couch; a warm quilt. That is all that is required for lovely, humdrum, languid siesta. Anything that disturbs such a snooze can be excruciatingly annoying. And this is exactly what happened to Sunny.

Trrrrrrrrring, and Sunny woke up with a start. Muttering curses under his breath; he trudged towards the door to open it. It annoyed him all the more to see no one outside. Scratching his head; groaning, he took a few more steps ahead to check if there was anyone around the vicinity. No one, except a raven cawing its heart out…

CLICK HERE FOR REST OF THE STORY.

Friends

“This post is written for the 110 Creative Challenge Contest, hosted by Thewhitescape“

Theme: Friend

***

Once upon a time, many years ago, they were the best of friends.  Such strong was their bond, that they could have easily been the inspiration for all the cute friendship quotes.

But as we know, good things don’t last forever.

One day, she betrayed him. Things took a very bitter turn. There were tears, heartache and they finally parted ways.

Today, she saw him across the road. He hadn’t noticed her. He was about to cross the road, he would surely see her then.

She did not want that. She couldn’t face him now. She had to walk away.

She turned around, took a step…. Snap! Her sandal broke.

***

I won this one. :D

 

A rainy day

“This post is written for the 110 Creative Challenge Contest, hosted by Thewhitescape“

Theme: Rain

***

She had warm-hearted memories of feasting on mutton at her parent’s house on rainy days like today.

What she loved most was the bone marrow. The struggle to get the marrow out of the bone by tapping it repeatedly on the plate, sucking it, feeling it melt in the mouth... Oh, how she missed it, especially when it rained like this.  

They seldom consumed mutton at her in-laws house. Yet, she had coaxed her husband into buying mutton today.

The cooking had been done with extra zest; the table was laid; it rained persistently.

She held back her tears as she watched her sister-in-law help herself to all the bones.

The broken bridge - A story with two endings.

We were given a picture prompt for the Semifinals of IBL (Indian Bloggers League). I wrote a bedtime story to begin with, but my captains Priyanka and Prashanth thought it was too soft for the semi finals. Hence, I changed the end of the story to make it dark. They thought it was too dark. Sigh! So, well, my stories did not make it.

Finally our team sent out this story written by Ghazala for the semi finals. It is a very nice story. Do read it.

And here, I decided to post both the stories on my blog.

***

The photo prompt:

The story:

Munna stared at the bridge in despair. The bridge had broken and one end of it had collapsed. The bridge was the only way he could go home.

That morning when he had crossed the bridge to get to school, it had been fine. And now... It would soon get dark and the forest were not a safe place to be when dark, he knew. He had heard scary stories about the forest from the villagers. Weird voices could be heard from the forest when he slept at night.

Munna lived with his ma in a tiny village on the outskirts of the forest. It was very small village and Munna had to travel to the next village at the other end of the forest to reach school.

It was a long walk through the forest but he enjoyed it. It would take over an hour for Munna to get to school. Evenings, he would take the same route back and reach his village before it got dark.

It was nice, green and bright. The trees were welcoming. The birds chirped; he would hear foxes and elephants at a distance. But the animals never really disturbed him.

There was a tiny stream that flowed in the middle of the forest. The stream was not very deep but it had a strong current and he had been advised by the villagers not to ever try getting into the stream.

The bridge was what connected the two banks of this stream. It was an old wooden wobbly bridge.

***

Munna was scared and hungry. Darkness was slowly taking over and the otherwise friendly forest now seemed rather frightening. There were noises he had never heard before. There were movements, but he couldn’t notice anything. There were tiny lights glowing around. He was not sure what they were.

He sat down under a tree and gave one last sorrowful glance towards the broken bridge. He then shut his eyes tight; burrowed his face in his hands and started weeping.

“Why are you crying?”

It was a small low voice; almost like a whisper in his ears. Munna looked up startled.

A person. Well, not a person, an apparition.

Yes, an apparition of a man, short and stooped. He had long white hair and a long white beard that hid his mouth. He had had a thin sharp nose and his face was wrinkled like raisins. And his eyes, his eyes were cold as ice.

Who…who are you? Munna mumbled.

“Bhuto. Bhuto is my name,” said the ghoul. “I am the jungle ghost,” he added.

“Gh…gh…ghost.”  Munna stammered with fear.

“Oh, don’t be scared. I am not the bad sort,” said Bhuto. “You look hungry. Would you want to eat something?”

Munna nodded his head in affirmation.

Bhuto then snapped his fingers and lo behold, there appeared a huge plate full of the most delicious food Munna had ever dreamt of. Magical lights appeared on the trees near him to help his see clearly.

There was tandoori chicken and various kebabs; biryani and parathas; mutton kosha and fish curry; rabri and jalebi; gulab jamuns and ice-cream.  

Sceptical and scared as he was, the sight of the scrumptious food couple with his hunger was too much for him. Munna couldn’t help himself but gorge.

Food, they say, breaks all barriers. When Munna couldn’t eat anymore he looked up from his plate and smiled at Bhuto. Bhuto smiled back.

“Now tell me, what is your name and why are you crying?” asked Bhuto.

“My name is Munna. You see that bridge over there? That bridge is the only way I can get home from school. Today, when I was returning from school I saw that it had collapsed at the other end. Now there is no way I can get back home,” Munna ranted in tears again.

“Oh, that broke today when the rabbit started chasing the elephant. The elephant was petrified. Confused, he ran over the bridge. Silly fellow. He knew the bridge wouldn’t take his weight. But he was terrified. The rabbits are quite a menace to the elephants here,” said Bhuto

Munna looked at Bhuto in disbelief and then burst out laughing. “You mixed that up, didn’t you?” Munna asked. “You meant the elephant was chasing the rabbit.”

“No no. The rabbit was chasing the elephant. The rabbits always chase the elephants. They kill them for food. Didn’t you know that?” questioned Bhuto.

Munna shook his head.

“It’s very simple. The rabbits have very strong teeth, right? And they are fast. So all that they do is jump on an elephant and start gnawing on the elephant’s neck. Ten minutes of gnawing, that’s it. The elephant is dead,” said Bhuto.

Munna gaped at him. “That cannot be true,” he whispered.

Bhuto shook his head and said. “But it is true. The fact is that most of you humans do not know the truth of the life around you. For centuries you have all got it wrong.”

“What do you mean we have got it all wrong?” queried Munna doubtfully.

“Okay, tell me, which is the most ferocious animal in this forest?” asked Bhuto.

“The tiger, of course,” replied Munna.

“See, there you’ve got it all wrong. The tiger is the meekest of all animals here. It is the hippopotamus that rules; that maintains harmony in the forest,” said Bhuto.

“What! I do not believe you,” exclaimed Munna.

“Well, you have to. Ghosts. Do. Not. Lie.” said Bhuto sternly.

“But how can a hippopotamus be the most dreaded one. I mean, how is that possible?” Munna asked meekly.

“You will know, with time,” said Bhuto in a cold voice.

Suddenly there was an enormous amount of shuffling around the forest.

“Wha…What’s happening?” Munna cried out.

“The trees, the trees are walking,” replied Bhuto.

Munna turned towards Bhuto, his eyes wide open.

Bhuto smirked. “It’s just another thing that you humans are not aware of.  Oh, just how many things you mortals are blissfully ignorant of. The trees walk around at night. They all do. They have a life, don’t they? They get bored too. So they stroll around and change positions at night. Why else do you think people lose their way in a forest?”

***

Ending One: The bedtime story.

Munna looked around him awestruck as the trees uprooted themselves and moved around. He now believed every word that Bhuto said. He had to.

“I like you Munna,” said Bhuto. “Will you come meet me here sometimes? I get quite lonely here.”

“Sure” said Munna. “I like you too Bhuto.”

“Come let me show you some thing,” saying Bhuto held his hand out to Munna.

As Munna and Bhuto walked around the forest, Munna was amazed to see things he had never ever dreamt of. The animals were prancing about having a glorious time. Melodious music filled the air. As they went ahead deeper into the forest a huge tiger walked up to Munna, rubbed itself against him and purred.

Suddenly they came to a clearing and a loud bellow startled Munna. He was standing face to face with a huge winged hippopotamus. The hippopotamus was whiter than white. It was emitting a soft glow.

“This is Dadhikrakra,” said Bhuto, “the most divine creature of this forest. No humans know of its existence. It protects the forest from all evil and maintains harmony here.”

Bhuto then walked close to Dadhikrakra; placed his palm on its head and whispered something in its ears.

The trees stopped moving. There was a faint glow in the skies. The dawn.

Munna suddenly remembered, “Bhuto, How will I go back home?”

“Dadhikrakra will fly you across the stream,” said Bhuto with a wink.

“Fly!” Munna said gleefully.

Bhuto laughed. “The bridge is not going to be repaired for a while. Till then you can fly to and fro everyday on your way to school and back,” said Bhuto.

“Everyday when you reach the stream; call out my name thrice and whistle this tune – tuuu ruuuu, turu turu tuuuu ruuuuu, turu turu tuuuu ruuuu, turuturu. Dadhikrakra will come to your aid.” Bhuto grinned.

Munna then walked up to Dadhikrakra and mounted him with Bhutos help. “Hold on tightly to his neck,” shouted Bhuto as Dadhikrakra took flight.

                

Munna laughed with delight as he soared up in the skies.

After that, daily Munna would fly on Dadhikrakra back in the forest. He would meet up with Bhuto everyday and chatter with him about everything under the stars. He loved the forest even more now.

Back in the village if anyone ever asked Munna how he managed to reach school while the bridge was broken, he would just smile back and walk off humming - tuuu ruuuu, turu turu tuuuu ruuuuu, turu turu tuuuu ruuuu, turuturu.

***

Ending Two: The dark story.

Munna nodded and looked around him awestruck as the trees uprooted themselves and moved around. He now believed every word that Bhuto said. He had to. Munna did not like all this. It was all too sinister.

“Bhuto, can you help me get back home?” asked Munna in almost a whisper.

“Home. Hahahahaha!” laughed Bhuto, “What is the hurry, let me take you around the forest a little.” 

Munna noticed that Bhuto said that in a menacing voice. Munna was terrified, yet he followed Bhuto as he took him deeper into the forest..

The forest seemed ominous as the trees moved around. There was a constant whisper in the air that sounded like run run run run.  The trees seem to be closing on to him. It was creepy, very creepy.

“I want to go home, Bhuto,” whimpered Munna.

Bhuto stopped and turned towards Munna; his eyes blood shot. “You cannot go home now. You cannot go home ever,” Bhuto bellowed. “You need to sacrifice yourself for the good of this forest. Come here, come closer.” Bhuto stretched his arm towards Munna as he started backing off.

Munna, terrified, began to run. He had to get to the other side of the bridge. Even if that meant he had to jump into the stream, he would. He would take the chance. He was sure he would manage to swim across. He just had to. That was the only way he could escape from this nightmare.

He started running with all his might. Behind him he could hear Bhuto’s evil laughter. He ran between the trees as they moved, where ever he found a clearing. The trees tried to hold him back; his shirt tore off; he was bleeding wherever the trees had scratched him. Yet, he felt that the trees had not trying really hard to stop him.

Dripping in blood and sweat he approached the stream. He was relieved to see it. It did occur to him that finding the way to the stream had been easy. Probably, the trees are trying to guide me, he thought gratefully. Ignoring the broken bridge, he jumped straight into the stream.

No sooner had he jumped did he realise that he was caught in the jaws of a hippopotamus that was lying inside the water. Within seconds, Munna had been gobbled up by the hippopotamus.

Bhuto was standing at the bank of the stream, He winked at the Hippopotamus and said, “I know it, master, I know you love it when I treat you to young boys. And I know you like them better when they have just been well fed.”

The trees swayed away with contentment.

 

***

 

Let me know which ending did you like better.