tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90124798161933324182024-03-13T20:08:21.096-07:00The Story BookMy Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-40829225333284165072011-12-12T09:40:00.000-08:002011-12-12T09:40:54.066-08:00Is She, Legend?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Creepers. The world had only creepers. As far as her eyes could see, there were creepers. Green, some olive, some withered, some drowned, decorated with silly delicate flowers. The view she had expected was nothing like the one that surrounded her as she took her first steps out, into the sunlight. The trees had probably been knocked over. Fifty two weeks and the world had changed beyond recognition. Was it real to begin with or had she slipped into a coma while she waited out her time, ten feet under?<br />
<br />
The grass felt real. The breeze felt real. The fraying edge of her jeans tickled. The dew felt real. It all felt real. So did the gun. She hadn't planned this right. Being the last surviving person on a planet sucked.<br />
<br />
Gunshot.</div>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-29094487053079231572011-06-25T03:07:00.000-07:002011-06-25T07:59:38.785-07:00Tiny BulletsThough the sunroof was partially blocked, a few stray raindrops managed to trickle in from time to time. I prayed that this evening held no more surprises for us, but God wouldn’t listen to the pleas of a man like me.<br /><br />The man to my right had his back turned towards me. He peered through the rain splattered glass of our SUV, at the cars that followed. From time to time, he turned his attention to the petite young woman balancing herself on the armrest of the passenger seat and the slippery leather of the backseat. Her sari stayed neatly tucked in on her right side, as she sprayed our closest pursuer with the AK47. Traditional indeed.<br /><br />I remembered her from the old days. She always took the bus to college. She always took the same bus. I had been promoted recently. Pick pocket to delivery boy. This young girl getting a college education was way out of my league, but it never hurt to dream big. To an ordinary passerby, she’d seem like a harmless college student, ears plugged with her favorite music, bobbing her head to what it fed her. What an easy target, weak and pretty. Pretty girls were usually a pickpocket’s favorite. They wore unreasonable shoes. They’d rather lose their money than snap a pair of their precious ‘Jimmy Choo’s. Not Sonali though. She wore cheap shoes. Running shoes of the poor. Not Nike. Not Reebok. She wore shoes that she could afford to break.<br /><br />I heard JT’s car crash into the divider. Score! Four more to go. What a chase! The sound made Karthik uneasy. Never before had a routine meeting turned into death race. It was a rainy day, wasn't it? Just like today. The day Santo met Sonali at the bus stop. The roads flooded later that evening. Oh the deluge! I was overseeing my new pickpocket’s progress. Sonali wasn’t wearing one of her favorite flair skirts that day. She wore a pair of cargos, rolled just above her knees, a yellow t-shirt and carried her black <span style="font-style: italic;">jhola</span>. Her ears plugged. Her head bobbing. The bus stop was nearly deserted. It was just her and Santo. I watched from the opposite side as he slid his clumsy hand inside her bag.<br /><br />A victorious smile spread across his face a little too soon. As he withdrew his hand, she grabbed hold of his wrist and looked at him over her shoulder. He tried to break loose but her scrawny grip refused loosen. The bus crawled up the steep slope. He struck her in the back and she began to fall forward, as the bus was meters away.<br /><br />Sonali sat beside Karthik. Were we finally out of ammunition? Karthik got off the phone with Sanjog. Back up was here. Sonali didn’t have to defend the fort all by her lonesome self now. Karthik put his arm around her as she rested on his shoulder, dozing off. I caught myself staring at them and looked away.<br /><br />That day, at the bus stop, I swore I could have run across the manic monsoon traffic and split open Santo’s head for throwing her in the bus's path. In the nick of time, she regained her balance, spun around and her foot caught Santo at the corner of his jaw. A moment later, she climbed the bus and left. I moved Santo to delivery thereafter. Sonali had been permanently blacklisted on the pickpocket list.<br /><br />We were safe now. JT and Manmohan would we wiped off the map by midnight. Sonali was in the clinic, getting stitches while Karthik and I decided between beer and champagne. Beer it was. “I thought Tiny was bulletproof” he said pausing between gulps, “I keep forgetting that she has a human side too.”<br /><br />“Deepak’s gonna have a ball clearing this mess with the media tomorrow”, I said, desperate to change the topic. He was the last person on this planet I’d want to discuss Sonali with. <span style="font-style: italic;">‘What kind of a nickname was ‘Tiny’ anyway? You don’t name a girl ‘Tiny’, you name the huge, ex-con, bald hulk ‘Tiny’. Doesn’t this moron watch any movies? The lucky b*****d’</span>, I thought to myself. “That’s what we have cops for, isn’t it?” he smiled, but it quickly faded away as he turned his barstool to face me. After he was satisfied that there wasn’t anyone else within earshot, he spoke – “Arjun, I’m tired of being the middle man. I’d like to go into the main production circle. With JT gone, there’s only Titan standing between us and the reigns of Bull Mechanicals & Co. You do understand what I’m driving at here, don’t you?”<br /><br />I raised an eyebrow. ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">How drunk are you, Karthik? How drunk?!</span>’ I wanted to ask him and had it been any other day, I would have, but I decided against rubbing a man in “high spirits” the wrong way given the pumping adrenaline and ease with which bullets flew by our faces. “How do I know that you’re not Titan, sitting here and testing a drunk, microchips’ supplier’s loyalty?” Karthik burst out laughed nearly knocking himself off the barstool, “I’m just messing with your head”. He set his beer mug down and wobbled towards the door yelling something about ‘not keeping the women waiting too long’…<br /><br />I wondered whether Sonali was one of the women he was referring to. ‘<span style="font-style: italic;">No!</span>’ That was the last thing I needed playing on my mind before I went to bed. Sonali was only his bodyguard.<br /><br />Meanwhile, our guardian angel lay down on the roof of the warehouse. It had begun to drizzle but the rain was the least of her worries. She had received disturbing information via satellite. It was, but a matter of time, before chaos ensued.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><i style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">To be contd.</i></span>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-3497943035168945882010-08-13T22:14:00.001-07:002010-08-13T22:46:43.824-07:00Curiosity Killed Science“Oh what a miraculous joy this is,<br />How child, did you survive?<br />How did you escape that house of sin?<br />Where all were burned alive?”<br /><br />The pious woman let me in,<br />And sat me down on a cot,<br />Here, religion cluttered every wall,<br />And carving, plate and pot.<br /><br />I examined myself in the mirror across,<br />My white coat, burned and black,<br />My body coated in bruises and soot,<br />Reminders of the attack…<br /><br />My hunger calmed by broth and bread,<br />My feet not frozen cold,<br />I turned to meet those questioning eyes,<br />And out my story rolled...<br /><br />“Curiosity is the devil’s curse,<br />You won’t hear a scientist say,<br />And I’ve been guilty of this vice,<br />Every single day…”<br /><br />“What better way, to feed it fat,<br />Than join ‘The House’ on the hills,<br />Where people dressed in immaculate white,<br />Enjoyed scientific thrills…”<br /><br />“<span style="font-style: italic;">The visitors</span> we were set to explore,<br />Separating them from their hide,<br />Oh! Disaster, we should’ve foreseen,<br />That lay in wait, inside…”<br /><br />Her face, ashen in disbelief,<br />As I put my words together,<br />Goosebumps rose and never set,<br />It surely wasn’t the weather…<br /><br />“The poisons it spewed, they filled our lungs,<br />And burned our eyes to tears,<br />It tricked our minds, with visions it played,<br />Bringing out our darkest fears…”<br /><br /><br />“Fearful yet stubborn, they refused to leave,<br />This demon they called their find,<br />But I knew better than to wait and watch,<br />So I left it all behind…”<br /><br />“No sooner had I decided to leave,<br />The air itself was ablaze,<br />I flung myself through a window near,<br />The happenings that followed, a haze…”<br /><br />I slept that night, in my mother’s arms,<br />The House, now razed to the ground,<br />The teams, they searched up high, down low,<br />But nothing unusual was found…My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-79288026835903130342010-07-31T06:42:00.000-07:002010-07-31T06:55:48.619-07:00The WaitingShe’d driven her chariot all night.<br />The fog had begun to lift and with it his patience.<br />The faster she drove, the farther she seemed.<br />How time had droned by, every second making its presence felt!<br />Yet, tonight, the seconds seemed longer, (as if it were possible) as her night in pajamas, paced about from boot to hood to boot to hood.<br /><br />In the distance, she caught the stars sneak upon the fog, but her smile beamed brighter than them all.<br />His palms were sweaty, if not from the pacing, then from the clouds conferencing loudly overhead.<br />She nearly flew out her seat, forgoing her wings as her feet kissed the clouds for what might be the last time.<br />He held on to the telescope as tight as a four year old could; peering through the mist and clouds, awaiting the signal from above.<br />As her wings began to lift away from her, a voice boomed through the heavens,<br />“Maybe not in this life either…”<br />And with it, the moment died.<br />Her feet retreated reluctantly, her wings returning, a tear drop escaped her eye and melted into the sea of clouds,<br />As her young love, stood below, soaking in the rain, another life born in vain…My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-47627273984806553552009-02-01T06:58:00.000-08:002009-05-02T23:06:45.208-07:00“Who will save her?”She overheard her father complain in the next room. How could he confide in that creepy excuse of a woman? The joint of weed that she had struggled to roll earlier, sat motionless on the windowsill, yet she felt it move in her direction. Had her mind begun to play tricks on her, even before she took to the drug? Nandini felt the crisp paper under her fingers.<br /><br />She came to her senses, or whatever was left of them, when she began to stumble. Where was she? This wasn’t her friend’s room. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that last glass of vodka before leaving. The road and the street lights around her slowly began to make sense. She was in an alley. She was on her way to the ‘parlor’. “Some parlor that is”, she laughed.<br /><br />Nobody knew why Jonathan’s bungalow was called the parlor. Some thought it sounded ‘gay’, others considered it cool, while the rest didn’t give a damn, as long as they had a safe haven to get high. Too strong. The drug was too strong for a drunk Nandini, but Jonathan’s place was only two blocks away. She would make it.<br /><br />She made it. She did not remember how, she did not remember when, but she made it to Jonathan’s place. The mood was set. Psychedelic trance blared through the speakers, as her ‘friends’ moved to unknown rhythms of their own, swaying, faltering, trying to enjoy themselves.<br /><br />Her hand was empty. Someone asked her if she’d like to try the hookah, but she refused. Where was her joint? Hadn’t she just begun? But she hadn’t. It had been fourteen hours since she left her father yelling and complaining in the other room. He didn’t even realize she was gone. Fourteen hours of a pure, unadulterated high, which would wear off unless she did something about it. “What am I supposed to do?”, she wondered out loud.<br /><br />A dainty hand grabbed hold of her wrist as she began to sway forward. “Time to go home,” she said to Nandini. “No, I’m not finished yet,” she protested, trying to pry her hand free, but the girl wouldn’t listen. She dragged Nandini to a yellow Indica, just outside the gate. Nandini fell asleep on the backseat, as the car engine screamed to life.<br /><br />Nandini woke up in her room, sober. Her skirt reeked of smoke, her kurta reeked of tobacco. Her hair reeked of a combination of everything that must have been smoked at Jonathan’s place. Nandini’s fingers were making their way through the knots in her hair, when her father stormed in. Yet another day began on a bad note.<br /><hr /><br />Seventy-two hours later, Nandini found herself at the gate of Jonathan’s bungalow, again. She had been sober for two days too long, but every problem had a cure. The cure to her being sober was trapped in the paper bag that she was swinging. She ran through the garden and up the stairs, when she saw the girl again. The girl looked at the swinging bag and then, at a swinging Nandini. She stepped forward, Nandini stepped back. She grabbed the bag from Nandini’s hand, and began to run towards the fence. Everytime Nandini got close to her, she seemed to pick up speed. Was she just teasing Nandini?<br /><br />The girl held her hand out over the fence. “NO! Don’t you dare do it, I’ll kill you..” Nandini lunged forward, as the girl emptied the contents on a stinking pile of garbage. The dry, crushed leaves tumbled off banana peels and instant noodle cups. Nandini sat on the lawn crying. Once her sobs reduced to whimpers, the girl helped her up. This time, Nandini did not fight her. There was no point fighting a stubborn freak.<br />A week passed, sober. Nandini sat on a creaking wooden bench, watching the waves crash against the rocky shore. The girl sat at the far end of the bench, keeping a close eye on Nandini. Nandini huffed and buried her face in her bag. “How dare this girl babysit me like this?”, she grumbled to herself. She breathed out loud and began to watch the rocks again. This was boring. Moreover, reality was painful. The thought of being so distant from her ‘perfect-make-believe’ world, for the first time in two years, was frightening. How long could this unknown stranger keep her away from it?<br /><br />Two months passed, and Nandini finally warmed up to the habit of staying sober. She began selling decorative candles again. She began visiting her grandmother at the home for the aged. She began wearing colors other than grey and black. She began singing and laughing and joking, just like three years ago. She owed it all to her new friend. One afternoon, Nandini decided to introduce her to her father, and all hell broke loose again.<br /><br />Nandini’s eyes blinked open with the soft hum of a mosquito in her ear. A freshly lit joint of weed sat motionless on the windowsill, yet she felt it move in her direction. She took a long drag and relaxed, as she heard her father complain in the next room. Her friend rested her head on Nandini’s shoulder.<br /><br />“How do we cope with this new problem that she has brought home? Who will save her from this new imaginary girlfriend that she has created?”, he complained to the psychiatrist.My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-11185170541533493392009-01-06T06:00:00.000-08:002009-01-13T01:53:19.569-08:00The EndGaurav watched as the words disappeared before his eyes. He lifted his finger off “backspace” and stared at the neem tree outside his window. It was a cool winter afternoon. Winter afternoons were never cold in Mumbai. The green leaves swayed gently in the breeze and distracted him from time to time.<br /><br />“If only I could get this one a happy ending,” he wished, looking at the tiny font in dismay. Then it happened. From a dark, distant corner of his mind, came a ray of light; a happy ending. The story had taken over. He could feel it make its way to his fingers. They rested on the keyboard, waiting for his inspiration to take the form of words.<br /><br />“Gaurav,” he heard his bua (father’s sister) yell from the kitchen below, “The dishes won’t do themselves. All the curry has dried along the sides of the plates, get down here and scrubs them immediately, or I will throw your laptop out of the window.”<br /><br />As it came, so it left. He cursed his bua under his breath. He didn’t dare speak out loud. Sometimes, he wished he had been sent to the orphanage, like his sister, Sukriti, after their parents’ passed away. She had received a good education and married into a wonderful NRI family. Unfortunately, she could not take Gaurav with her, but sent her bua money for his education and upkeep, until he was old enough to get a job. What she didn’t know was Gaurav barely got any of the money.<br /><br />The only reason he was allowed to use the laptop she sent him, was because she would chat with him daily. Gaurav, the wonderful brother that he was, never uttered a word to his sister, about his life with his bua’s family. Three years later, he would turn 18. He longed to get a job and move out of this living hell, destiny had flung him into, to burn alone.<br /><br />He sulked and got to work. He heard his bua grumble to her daughter, Prachi, about him not helping out with the chores. He ignored them and began thinking about his story. ‘What was it? That perfect ending!’<br />Prachi barged into the kitchen, “Kyon re? Tere haathon mein mehendi lagi hain kya? Ma ne thoda sa kaam kya karne ke liye bol diya toh zabaan ladata hain, besharam,(Do you have mehendi decorated onto your hands? Mother asked you to do a little housework and you back answered her, you are shameless)” she raised her hand to slap him. Gaurav was accustomed to such treatment. He ducked and watched as her hand knocked off a glass plate, onto the floor. Prachi stared at it, wide eyed. Obviously, this too would be blamed on him.<br /><br />His bua raced into the kitchen and began examining Prachi’s hands, frantically. She threw Gaurav a scornful glance and huffed out the door, with her daughter. He sighed and got back to doing the dishes.<br /><br />Prachi left for her ten day office picnic to Matheran. His bua sat blabbering over the telephone. ‘What a loud mouth she is!’ he thought to himself. After the dishes, Gaurav had to do the laundry, water the garden, walk the dogs, rake the little plot behind the house and heat dinner. All that time, he could only think about the ending. He wondered what it missed. Then, he felt it again. The story, the words, the inspiration, it was returning to him. It was giving him a second chance.<br /><br />His bua entered the kitchen while he was still lost in thought. She absentmindedly stepped on the broken plate that Gaurav had forgotten to clean up. The pieces crunched under her slippers.<br /><br />“Gaurav,” she barked at the poor frightened boy, “who the hell will clean up this mess? Your mother won’t come back to do it, naalaayak!”<br /><br />She went on and on. Gaurav began to collect the pieces that lay at her feet. ‘Why did she have to do this? Every single day was the same – the insults, the abuses, the taunts. Why won’t she let me complete my story?! Goodness, was she loud!’<br /><br />His hand moved swiftly. She stopped yelling. The glass fell from his bleeding palm. The cut was deep. Her’s was deeper. She fell to the ground, as he watched, baffled. She was choking on the kitchen floor.<br /><br />“What have I done!” he gasped. He panicked and glanced around. There was no one. There was no sound.<br /><br />He rushed upstairs and scrambled towards his chair. Gasping for breath, he glanced at the screen, at his story.<br /><br />“Maybe now, you can give me a happy ending…”My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-26488096156147916252008-12-31T23:18:00.001-08:002009-01-06T06:05:27.207-08:00Never AgainArlene passed the florist’s shop and noticed something different. Margret had lilies. She never kept lilies. “Today must be a special day,” she thought and walked ahead.<br /><br />She overheard a conversation between two elderly women walking their dogs, “Violence... these kids” one of them grumbled.<br /><br />“Did these women have anything better to do in life, other than gossip?” she wondered. She reached the campus and found it comparatively empty. It had begun to drizzle. Although she hated the rain, she enjoyed the tiny droplets falling on her forehead, as she crossed the large campus garden.<br /><br />As she climbed up the stairs that led to the principal’s office, she froze. She could almost picture him, in that large heavily decorated office, with leather chairs and bronze vases. She could almost hear him.<br /><br />“Never again shall you dare to venture into the college library.”<br />“Never again shall you see the face of a scholarship.”<br />“Never again will you be considered eligible for student elections.”<br />“Never again shall you dare do what you have done today.”<br /><br />She could almost hear herself, “It was their fault, I swear I didn’t do it” she sobbed.<br />“Oh!”, he barked sarcastically, “I’m sure they must have painted the laboratory too? Afterall, you are the most brilliant student of the university. You couldn’t possibly lie!”<br /><br />“Please believe me,” she had begged, “they thought I would tell on them. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”<br /><br />“Never again shall you set foot in the institution, you juvenile freak! Get out!”<br />The sound of thunder brought her back to reality. He was wrong. Here she was, standing on the very campus she had been kicked off, two years ago. Things however, were different today. Dark clouds gathered overhead. Her shoes were soaked by now. She walked up to the principal’s door and paused. “Should I knock or should I just walk in?” she debated with herself.<br />Finally, she walked in. He was furious, “How dare you!”. She stretched her hand out in his direction.<br /><br />“Never again, eh?” she said, and pulled the trigger.<br /><br /><hr><br />Crappy no? Deal with it.My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-7114358342131455322008-12-30T06:56:00.000-08:002009-01-06T06:05:27.207-08:00Safe Earth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9jBXZhpLAY/SVo6jKi4AOI/AAAAAAAAAQw/jUDbeCFh3dE/s1600-h/LT+-+AH.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_d9jBXZhpLAY/SVo6jKi4AOI/AAAAAAAAAQw/jUDbeCFh3dE/s400/LT+-+AH.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285601488473161954" border="0" /></a><br />The waterfalls poured into the center of the valley. A young fox chased a Callippe Silverspot through the woods. He tried to jump over some mushrooms, but his tiny feet got entangled in a stray root and he spun into a patch of lilies.<br /><br />Rolling onto his back, he absorbed the sight of millions of rays of the sun, trying to make their way to the forest's surface, through the dense mesh of leaves and branches. His ear twitched. A sound, far too familiar to ignore, got him back on his feet.<br /><br />He dashed through the forest, in the direction of the dam, carelessly slipping over some rocks, covered with moss. A flock of birds flew above, casting a huge cloud like shadow ahead. When he reached the dam, he saw his father standing against a wall, calling out to him.<br /><br />He climbed onto the wall and approached his father slowly. The big fox looked beyond the dam, at the rising sun, and took in a deep breath.<br /><br />"The world is such a beautiful place, isn't it?", he asked.<br /><br />"Yes father," he replied, with a twinkle of innocence in his eyes, "thank goodness those humans are extinct!"My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-43257822540523072832008-12-29T10:03:00.000-08:002009-01-06T06:05:27.208-08:00The Engagement<p style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Trevis tripped over some loose wires as he balanced a pitcher of cold beer in his right hand, and the cordless microphone in the other. After a few glances through the crowd, he spotted Belinda standing near the couch with Janice and Beatrice. Missing the glass center piece by inches, he crossed the large living room and stood by her side.<br /><br />“Sweets, my digicam is in the lower left pocket of my coat,” he said, spreading his arms, “could you please fish it out for me, and record what follows.”<br />“Trevis,” she threw her hands up in frustration, “make someone else do it.”<br />“Pretty please,” he begged, “You’ve got good stable hands, I have this gorgeous surprise planned for Jessica, and I want a nice, clear, non-earthquake-effect video of it.”<br /><br />Belinda gave in. It was her best friend’s engagement party, how could she possibly refuse! Even though she knew that he was marrying the non-fictional version of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cruella_de_Vil">Cruella de Vil</a>, she began recording, half-heartedly.<br /><br />Trevis climbed onto the soft beige leather couch that sat pretty in his ‘to-be’ in-laws living room, pitcher still in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, could I please have your attention,” he said, raising the pitcher high for all to see. “DJ, could you stop the music for just a moment? Yes, thank you,” he turned back to the crowd. “I know how this looks, ‘beer in hand’, ‘guy standing on the couch with a microphone’, but no, I’m as sober as sober can be.” A faint wave of laughter ran across the room.<br /><br />“Jessica, darling,” he said pointing the pitcher at a gorgeous woman dressed in a peach micro-mini, “could you come here please, by the couch?”<br />Jessica was already half across the room. Her mother was furious to see Trevis climb onto the couch. The surprise did not matter; it was a very expensive couch.<br />Jessica tugged at the right leg of his pant, “What are you doing?” but Trevis just winked at her and went on. “The reason I’ve stood up on this couch, is so that all you wonderful people in the back don’t miss it. This one’s for you darling” he blew her a kiss. “Two years ago, I met a gorgeous, talented woman at a party, full of life, radiant and adventurous. I wouldn’t be wrong if I said, it was love at first sight. From that very moment, I never stopped falling in love with her.” He watched as couples exchanged glances and smiles.<br /><br />“Two years later, we’ve decided to marry, so that nothing on this planet can ever come between us. As all of you know, the big day is on the 26th of the next month, most of you must have already received your invites. The preparations are underway, and everything is going on as planned,” he paused, “rather, as she planned,” he said, throwing her a little smile.<br /><br />“The car that stands outside below the mango tree; the black Skoda Octavia, that’s supposed to be our wedding car. The only problem is that, I had a tiny accident on my way here, tonight. Fortunately, I am here in one piece, as you can see, hail and hearty and unharmed.” He could tell by Jessica’s face, that she was losing patience.<br /><br />“The bonnet however, wasn’t as lucky, and has taken quite a beating; something that a quick dose of concealer cannot fix,” everybody laughed this time.<br /><br />“When I got here, Jessica took one look at the car and freaked out. I got off, and expected her to run to me, and give me a free check up and shower me with kisses. Instead, I got one of the worst lectures of my life. Sadly, Jessica has the added burden of arranging for a wedding car, at the last minute. I was also lectured for keeping her waiting on ‘her’ important day, and not bothering about all the preparations ‘she’ had spent days over, and how my irresponsibility and lack of punctuality would eventually ruin ‘her’ big day. She conveniently left out a few important questions like, whether I was hurt, or what exactly happened.”<br /><br />Jessica looked up at him and mouthed the words, ‘What the hell!’ but Trevis wouldn’t stop. “She even refused to speak to me or hear me out thereafter. Don’t worry, I’m not here to justify the accident, but yeah, just for the record, it wasn’t my fault,” somebody in the back let out a muffled laugh. “To cut a long story short, all this time, I admired the perfectionist I was in love with, but little did I realize, that Jessica, the woman of my dreams, is a rude, insensitive, pigheaded little b**** who can think of nothing and no one beyond herself and her big plans.”<br /><br />Jessica’s mother signaled the DJ to switch off the microphone, but he pretended that he didn’t notice her.<br />“So here’s to Jessica’s perfect little engagement party, may all you lovely people have a wonderful evening” he said and emptied the pitcher of cold beer on her head, as he stepped down from the couch.<br /><br />Belinda waited a few moments before she hit pause. She was relishing the look on Jessica's face.</span></p>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-27865025203030916522008-12-05T19:42:00.000-08:002009-01-06T06:05:27.208-08:00Her Friend..The alarm rang. She peered lazily at the room, through her left eye. The sun light lit her dressing table and the endless procession of bottles diaplayed on it. The dust danced in the beams of light. She could hear him sing in the kitchen, or was he chatting away with a friend. She couldn’t tell. She didn’t bother.<br /><br />The alarm wouldn’t stop ringing. Why couldn’t he just switch it off for her? He knew she wouldn’t get out of bed if she didn’t do it herself. This was their daily routine. He’d never switch off the alarm, even though he’d always wake up before her. Nature was his alarm.<br /><br />She crawled to the side of the bed. Had this been a weekday, he’d crawl into bed beside, shower her with little kisses till she pushed him away. Those warm eyes would bore into her heart. He was so gentle, so loving. How could she have ever doubted him? How could she have ever doubted his love for her? It was the same, three years ago.<br /><br />She was shocked out of her skin when her mother told her, that he’d be staying with them. She eyed him suspiciously, from head to foot. There wasn’t much to eye. He was weak, skinny and unattractive. She wouldn’t really care whether he stayed for a few months or a few years, but she would have to share her room WITH HIM! Noooooooo!<br /><br />After fiddling with the alarm for some ten seconds, she managed to get it to shut up. He stopped talking. He knew she was up. That’s one of the many things she loved about him, always alert, always observant, always curious.<br /><br />The shower coughed a little spray of muddy water. She stepped out of the way. She could hear him, behind her, in the room, up and about. The first time she saw him, he at quietly in the corner of her living room, waiting for her approval. Her approval didn’t matter at all. No matter how many tantrums she threw, he would still stay, because her mother was the one in charge and the decision was made. She was just a kid. Yet, his eyes looked up to her in expectation, with a silent plea, begging for her approval. The understanding between them was mutual – ‘keep to your side of the room, and there won’t be any bloodshed’.<br /><br />As time passed by, they grew close. Her mother was transferred to Bangalore, but she couldn’t leave. Hunting for another perfect job was close to impossible. After days of ‘mature discussions’ her mother agreed to leave her behind, on one condition. He would stay with her. It was either him, or Bangalore. With a heavy heart, she agreed. If she had put up with for all this time, what’s a few more years?<br /><br />She heard the neighbor’s children giggle in the bathroom next door. The neighbors. They never liked him. They spoke about him, discussed him; they disliked him from the bottom of their hearts. However, they never dared to squeak against him, while her mother was in Mumbai. Once she left, the trouble began. Like her, they too expected him to leave when her mother left for Bangalore. There were meetings, discussions and arguments. Finally, she put her foot down. It was none of their business. Anybody who had a problem with him was free to leave. She even offered to help them find an estate agent, if it would put an end to their bickering. They were never bothered again, except for some scornful looks. She figured that they were just jealous.<br /><br />Through the entire drama, he stayed quiet. He didn’t try to suck up to the neighbors. Neither did he say or do anything to hurt them. He trusted her, and he knew that she would protect him, just like her mother. So what if he didn’t fit in. So what if he was a little different. Everyone is different. Some a little more than others, but in the end, it’s what’s in your heart that matters. His heart was pure gold; always understanding, ever forgiving.<br /><br />The shower refused to start. She opened the door. He was standing there, staring at her, with all that love in his eyes. ‘Wouldn’t it be great if you could fix things too?’ He barked back, wagging his tail. She knew he was laughing.My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-38567682809775773382008-10-27T09:06:00.000-07:002009-01-06T06:05:27.208-08:00Coffee‘Rap, tap-a-rap-tap’, it might have been the nth time she drummed her nails on the coffee table. Untamed strands of her silken hair began to creep out of the grip of her hair clip. She pushed them behind her ear, uneasily. The air conditioner had frozen her exposed toes to numbness. Glancing up again, all around, at the door, at the other tables, all in one look and she turned her attention to the dripping glass of water that sat untouched, at her table.<br /><br />‘I shouldn’t have worn white. It makes me look so fat! Oh! Why did I wear white?!’, she cursed herself.<br /><br />He was five minutes late. She had been fifteen minutes early. The air was cold and heavy, with bitter coffee. The music was slow. She swayed in a daze, to “Gone with the Sin”. ‘What an odd selection!’ she thought to herself.<br /><br />He peered through the tinted glass, like a curious child, at table 16. His spectacles nearly dropped out of his sweaty hands. The anxiety and the excitement was making his head spin.<br /><br />“OK, she’s pretty cute”. He breathed out.<br />“How can you say that? You haven’t even seen her face yet!” His friend nearly pushed him in.<br /><br />“No way, dude!” He struggled back, “I don’t want to meet her. Once she sees me, she won’t ever talk to me again”.<br /><br />“This is stupid.” His friend grunted. “If she was as ugly as a rhino, I could understand, but she looks all right. What will it take to get you to speak to her?!” The argument continued.<br /><br />She wrestled with her watch. ‘06:20pm already’, she gasped. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he had seen her, and walked away, like all the others. The thought crushed her. She didn’t dare call him. Would it be easier to face rejection over the phone, or in person?<br /><br />“Come on man! Just this once, I swear! You know how many times I’ve bailed you out of deeper s***”, he pleaded with his friend, “You owe me this, I won’t ask for anything, ever again.”<br /><br />“What if she asks me questions? What if she talks about the things you wrote, the things she wrote?! And what happens when she finds out that, I’m not you?”, his friend raised his eyebrow.<br /><br />“She’s here for one day. Her flight leaves in another seven to eight hours.” She turned. He dragged his friend to a darker corner. “You do all the talking. She’s shy, she’ll barely squeak!”<br /><br />“You know what! I’m leaving”, his friend got out of his grip. “You cannot do this to her. Don’t do this to her today. Go out, show yourself. She already loves you..”<br /><br />He slumped in a chair, pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his sweat studded forehead. His friend pulled him back on his feet, “You will do just fine.”<br /><br />He smiled, took in a deep breath and walked through the door. He looked at table 16 and stopped dead in his tracks. She wasn’t there.<br /><br />In utter disbelief, he dragged his feet to the chair, where she sat in anticipation for thirty agonizing minutes.<br /><br />Tears rolled down her cheeks as she got into the taxi. Her sister back at home, had been calling her frantically, for the past 10 minutes. Reluctantly, she answered, “Well? How are things so far?” She tried to suppress her tears, but she choked. Her sister understood. ‘He hid, he saw me and hid,” she sobbed into the phone.<br /><br />“Are you sure it was him?”, her sister prayed that she was mistaken.<br />“Oh come on! Maroon t-shirt, Lee-Cooper jeans – that’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”, she blurted out.<br /><br />“Its all right baby, come home. He’s just another jerk.”, her sister consoled her.<br /><br />By this time tomorrow, she would be back at home, preparing for her engagement.My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-40473150720920902362007-12-05T00:30:00.000-08:002007-12-05T01:18:58.863-08:00Happy Anniversary Darling...<span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >Susan and Clyde had been married for ten years now. Today, on their 10th Wedding Anniversary, he gifted her, a gorgeous deep red gown. They had just finished drinking coffee, when he handed her a letter. It was a pretty letter, decorated with glitter and little red hearts.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >Susan unfolded it, and began to read…</span><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" ><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">“My lovely Susan,</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Its been wonderful being married to you for so long. You haven’t changed one bit. You’ve given me the perfect married life I always dreamed of. Every morning, I love to wake up to your beautiful face. You look like such an angel when you are asleep, and such a goddess with those strands of wet hair dancing across your face.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I’ve wished that I could make every moment spent with you, last an eternity. Joe and Merlyn must be a real handful, but you’ve never complained. I wish I could celebrate this day, and you, everyday of my life. You deserve so much more than I’ve managed to give you, or than I ever will. I know I should be giving you so much more time, but being assistant managing director really takes its toll.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">That reminds me, I’ve been promoted to Managing Director now. I wanted to tell you this earlier, but I never got the chance. Do you know when I got the promotion? It was a month ago, when I had gone on the business tour to Japan. I returned a day early, around eleven in the night. The lights had been switched off, so I assumed you’ll were asleep. I unlocked the door and decided to give you a surprise, but when I reached our room, I saw you and Richard in each other’s arms – giggling, laughing away, with that special bottle of champagne your “Aunt Celine” gifted us, while I was away on business. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Believe me, I was devastated, but I decided not to create a scene at that moment. I wouldn’t want the kids to see you and Richard like that. What would we tell them? They adore you Susan, it would really crush them. So I left and spent the night in the hotel down the street. I kept trying to deny the truth that was staring me right in the eye, but I couldn’t. I’ve spent many sleepless nights thereafter. But seeing you and Richard together explained a lot – like why you used to wear that special expensive perfume to Richard’s grocery store, or why you took ages to open the front door when I came home early from work.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I dedicated ten years of my life to you. I know the smartest thing to do would be file for a divorce, but that would tell horribly on the kids. And I couldn’t let that happen. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">So I called Richard over while you were away, and thought I could sort things out. I tried not to lose my mind, but it’s a little difficult after someone you love stabs you in the back, and the person she stabbed you for, is sitting right across the table. So I broke his head with the golf club, the one you gifted me last summer. Ironic isn’t it?! His body is lying in the basement, and I’ll figure something out about it later. Don’t worry darling, he didn’t suffer, and neither shall you. By the way, I poisoned your coffee. I’m sorry, but you’re too beautiful to bludgeon to death.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">I love you,</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Happy Anniversary Darling…”</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >The letter fell out of Susan’s hand. The room began to spin around her. She began to shiver. Blood trickled out her nose as she hit the floor.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >Clyde got up and slipped a suicide note into her hand. He burned the letter on the gas stove. The clock stuck four. He left to pick up the kids from school.</span>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-74387973546947712182007-12-03T07:22:00.000-08:002007-12-03T07:23:30.628-08:00Four Hundred and Seventeen Rose Petals…<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Introduction</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">She looked at him. He looked handsome as ever. He always looked handsome. Her mind began to wander, back in time, to the first time she met him.</span>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-36120021672121629772007-12-03T07:21:00.000-08:002007-12-03T07:22:01.975-08:00Chapter One<span style="font-weight: bold;">Simon ran up to her after the competition, “Congrats! You were great!”, he said, trying to catch his breath. After weeks of practice, his friends – Alfred, Joel, Carl and Fredrick – managed to convince Simon that Gina wouldn’t sever his head, if he spoke to her. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">“I’m sure I was, that’s why I didn’t even manage to win a consolation prize,” she sighed. She didn’t realize that they had started walking down the corridor, together. Suddenly, she spun around and said, “Do I know you?”. He just stood there and stared at her for a second, “How foolish of me!,” he stretched out his right hand, “Simon Russo”. She shook his hand back, rather reluctantly, “Gina Marina”. He was cute, in a very ‘boy next door’ way, a simple cuteness most girls would have easily overlooked. They started walking again, “So you’re Italian”, she said. “Yeah, and you’re”, he seemed to search every corner of his brain to figure out where she came from, but her surname didn’t ring any bells, “very smart”, he said instead. She burst out laughing. He stuck his hands in his pocket and gave her a sheepish embarrassed smiled. He walked her home that day and they chatted all the way. They reached her doorstep. She wished the walk had lasted longer, and by the look on his face, she knew he wished the same.</span>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-53927332211213765172007-12-03T07:19:00.000-08:002007-12-03T07:21:04.108-08:00Chapter Two<span style="font-weight: bold;">“I guess I’ll be seeing you around then”, he said. “I guess you will”, she said and smiled, because she couldn’t think of anything smarter to do at that moment. He began to walk off the porch. She reached out for the doorbell. “You know,” he came running back up, “I’d really like you to have this”, saying so, he pulled out a little white rose. Gina was pleasantly surprised. “I’m sorry,” she looked the other way, to avoid looking into his eyes, “I don’t accept flowers”. Simon raised his eyebrows, “But this is a sad white rose… and if I take it back home, it will shrivel up and die on the way… so maybe you could give it a glass of water.. or something…”, he said and shrugged.<br /><br />Simon knew he was blabbering rubbish, but the expression on her face encouraged him to continue, “...and it doesn’t bite..”. Gina could tell that he was praying with all his heart, that she accept his innocent little gift. She took it, but didn’t thank him. He waved her goodbye, and stepped back. He missed a step, and nearly rolled off the porch. “Are you alright?” Gina asked, more amused, than concerned. “Never been better”, he said, and danced off. Gina unlocked the door and walked in. “Now what do I do with you?” she asked the rose and walked towards the kitchen, giggling away.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gina snapped back to reality, when Carl tapped her on her shoulder, “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”. She just nodded. She didn’t want to speak. She didn’t want to break the silence. The church was so quiet, with such pretty roses; “just the way Simon wanted it…” she thought to herself.</span>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-17392430954311501272007-12-03T07:18:00.000-08:002007-12-03T07:19:24.340-08:00Chapter Three<span style="font-weight: bold;">Her palms were sweaty. The book she held began to slip. She looked at it. It was such a pretty book. The hard cardboard covered in velvet. The words ‘my love’ written artistically in gold. She had bought it just for him; for them. She remembered her 24th birthday party. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">It was a private affair, unlike those disastrous college bashes kids throw these days. It was just close friends and family. Simon came over with a huge pink cake. She thought it was pretty gaudy, but she loved the pink roses on it. She poked him in the stomach playfully, with the cake knife, “And where’s my special rose?”, she was pretty sure he had forgotten. “Oh! Oh dear! I’m so sorry,” he said, and pulled out a lovely red rose. She gave him a tight warm hug. It had been 5 months since he had asked her out. They were terribly in love. Everyday he met her, he’d give her a rose. And everyday, she would keep one petal between the pages of the red velvet book. She wanted to remember every moment she spent with him, forever…</span>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-20067391241773054962007-12-03T07:17:00.000-08:002007-12-03T07:18:21.983-08:00Chapter Four<span style="font-weight: bold;">A child cried somewhere in the back rows of the church, and she looked up at him again. He wasn’t looking at her today. It made her sad.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">“Gina,” Joel whispered in her ear, “he’s here.” She looked up at a huge broad man, flanked by armed bodyguards. He looked at her and smiled, ever so slightly. Her eyes grew red with rage, “how could he” she cried in her heart, “the demon, the wretched demon”.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ricardo Russo, Simon’s father, never approved of Gina. He never approved of anything Simon did or said or chose. Nobody knew why. Maybe he was over protective, maybe he thought his son was too young to make the right decision or maybe he was used to always having things done his way. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ricardo cringed when he learned that Simon had joined the church choir. He was frustrated when he learned that Simon visited the Home for the Aged. He was disappointed when he learned that Simon was teaching the poor at night school. He was furious when he learned that Simon wanted to marry a small town girl, who refused to put her father’s name with her own, ‘just because’ he had left her and her mother to die on the cold streets for a younger woman. He nearly tore his hair off when he learned that Simon kept meeting Gina, against his strict orders, and the flame of their love still burned bright. That flame hurt Ricardo’s eyes, and he decided that something had to be done, to put it out forever.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gina loved to walk along the river bank. Simon loved to do whatever made Gina happy. Simon managed to catch a very bad cold that winter. They were sitting on the park bench and singing “Rudolf the red nosed reindeer…” She was mimicking his nasal voice. He punched her playfully in her tummy, and she pretended to fall off the bench and roll in pain. But Simon had stopped laughing.</span>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-26653909609858471782007-12-03T07:10:00.000-08:002007-12-03T07:17:25.030-08:00Chapter Five<span style="font-weight: bold;">The church bell rang. Gina let out a deep sigh and looked up to see Carl and Fredrick speaking to Reverend Edward. Reverend sighed and left through the right wing of the church. She turned around. Ricardo was standing near the door, with two of his bodyguards. Joel held her hand.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">They rose. Alfred was standing behind Ricardo. Carl and Fredrick joined him. Gina walked towards the coffin, where Simon lay, fast asleep. She touched the red rose in her hand, to his. She tried in vain, to hold back her tears. The bullet had hit his throat; the bullet that was meant for her.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">She stood there for a moment, took a deep breath and turned around. She saw his mother. She was still in shock. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">She began to walk towards the door. Carl closed it without a sound. Fredrick and Alfred opened the bottles. One bodyguard spun around, when the contents of the bottle mixed with the air, but Alfred was too quick for him. Within moments Fredrick and Alfred had dealt with the bodyguards. They lay unconscious on the floor. Ricardo stood petrified, as he stared at death come to him. Gina held on to the book of four hundred and seventeen rose petals, as she pulled the trigger.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Simon paid the price for opposing his father.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Gina paid the price for loving a gangster’s son.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Ricardo paid the price for challenging their love.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE END.</span>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-70161632438091002662007-11-29T06:45:00.000-08:002007-12-01T04:16:47.467-08:00Chapter SixPriyanka gazed blankly out the window, as the traffic whizzed by. The cold December breeze dried the tears of joy on her cheek. Life seldom gifts a professional assassin with something beautiful to look forward to, and Priyanka learned to make the most of these small gifts. Dheeraj had asker her out for dinner, and this time, it wasn’t business.<br /><br />She climbed into bed, and hugged the covers tight. <span style="font-style: italic;">‘First things first’</span>, she thought to herself, and set the alarm for six in the morning. After all, a room full of noisy 5 year olds eagerly awaited Miss Rosy Rhymes’ poetry class.<br /><br /><br />The EndMy Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-50132329302154157402007-11-29T06:41:00.000-08:002007-12-01T03:49:12.360-08:00Chapter FivePriyanka recovered from the shock as quickly at she could. She didn’t even realize that she had fallen down. She scanned the crowds for Farzad. Through the chaos, she saw him dash towards the exit. But she had bigger problems on hand. The skinny guy had fortunately lost her in the crowd. She picked up two bottles off the bar and snuck up to him from behind. He spun around just in time to get a bottle broken right in his face. The alcohol blinded him and his semiautomatic fell, when his hand hit the railing to the dance floor. Priyanka lost no time, and stuck the broken bottle right in his throat. He didn’t scream, he couldn’t. He just bled to death.<br /><br />Priyanka picked up her hand bag and took off towards the exit herself. <span style="font-style: italic;">Where was Farzad?</span> She ran to the parking lot. There he was, drunk as ever, fumbling with his car keys. The parking lot was nearly empty. She walked up to him and tapped him on his right shoulder, “Need some help with that?”<br /><br />Farzad froze. He turned around and starred down the barrel of her Glock 17, “You’ve been fired”. The gunshot echoed through the empty parking lot.<br /><br />The police arrived. They found the body of Farzad Rakunha, right hand man of a dangerous drug lord know as The Sir, lying cold beside his Chevrolet Optra. No one else was found in the parking lot.My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-56105574482392555092007-11-29T06:36:00.000-08:002007-12-01T03:48:45.944-08:00Chapter FourFire & Ice was packed! Crazy music, crazy teenagers – <span style="font-style: italic;">‘Only 21 and above, yeah right!’</span> The bouncer at the entrance nodded his head at her, ever so slightly - Farzad was still there. She walked up to the bar. <span style="font-style: italic;">Where else could Farzad possibly be!</span> She spotted him at the right hand corner, and began to walk towards him.<br /><br />As she neared his seat, the sound of the music began to die down. She could barely hear the screaming occupants of the club. Everyone was lost in their own world. Everyone high. Everyone carefree. Everyone completely unaware.<br /><br />She was just about ten steps away, when it happened. A skinny drunk boy, or so he seemed, of around 25, stumbled his way towards Priyanka. At first, she didn’t notice him. But as he wobbled closed, she could feel his eyes on her. She gasped as the weapon gleaming under his jacket emerged. Gunshots sliced through the air. They missed her, but caught an unsuspecting party goer in the back. Enthusiastic screams now changed to screams of horror and panic. A girl sat petrified on the dance floor, with her boyfriend lying dead in her arms.My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-58105280035487037702007-11-29T06:28:00.000-08:002007-12-01T03:48:16.640-08:00Chapter ThreeShe decided against driving the Swift to Franky's, and jumped into an auto rickshaw instead. She wondered why she had been called in such short notice. As the wind pulled out strands of hair, neatly tucked into her clip, Priyanka imagined the look on Dheeraj’s face when she would walk in. He would glance at his watch and look up at her disapprovingly, even if she was on time. She snapped back to reality when the driver pulled over outside the eatery, with a sudden jerk. ‘Show off’, she mumbled to herself, as she paid him. Franky’s was almost empty. She saw Dheeraj sitting at the last table, his eyes glued to the television set. He looked at his watch, then at her, and nodded his head disapprovingly.<br /><br />She narrowed her eyes, “I think I’m ten minutes early today”. “Whatever makes you feel happy Simi”, he hit back, sarcastically. “Don’t call me that, I’m not Simi”, she hated people calling her Simi. That name took her back to the life that she had left behind. Simi was dead. Now, there was only Priyanka.<br /><br />Dheeraj ignored her tantrum, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. He leaned closer and said, “Sir isn’t too happy with Farzad. Last week’s mix up cost Sir a lot and he doesn’t want to risk goof ups like that again. Farzad’s getting fired, but we haven’t broken the good news to him yet. You’re in charge of his farewell party.” Priyanka was surprised. She banged her fists down on the table, knocking Dheeraj’s empty coffee cup over, “Why isn’t Daisy doing this? This isn’t my job.” Dheeraj looked up sleepily, “Just do it, ok. If Sir loses his head, you’ve had it!”<br /><br />But Priyanka knew something was amiss. Daisy always took care of farewells within the firm. Why was she being asked to do it now?<br /><br />She pulled out her cell phone, “Are you going to tell me or not?”. Dheeraj grabbed the cell phone from her hand, “Fine, Daisy had an accident last night. She’s in City Hospital, go drop by with flowers or something later.” Dheeraj seldom lost his cool, but Priyanka couldn’t blame him. Afterall, Daisy was his ex wife, and he still loved her. But she had only used him as a ladder, and once the ladder wasn't of any more use, she filed for a divorce. This hurt Priyanka all the more, because she loved him. But he was through with love and relationships, especially within the firm or so it seemed.<br /><br />It took Priyanka a while to find her voice, “Where’s Farzad now?”.. Dheeraj didn’t look up, but kept fiddling with his PDA, “Fire & Ice, I confirmed with Manoj. Farzad’s pretty drunk right now.” She got up to leave, “K, I’ll call you back after the “big party” then, take care..”. He mumbled something, and she left.<br /><br />Once she walked out the door, he looked up and whispered, almost to himself, “You take care too, Simi….”My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-4863693562803452132007-11-29T05:55:00.000-08:002007-11-29T06:01:40.855-08:00Chapter TwoPriyanka unlocked the door to her apartment and walked in. The air inside was stale and warm, just the way she liked it. For a school teacher, she did have quite an apartment – two bedrooms, an unreasonably huge kitchen, a dining room and a living room. When they gave it to her, she argued that it was too big, but they didn’t have time for silly matters like that.<br /><br />The living room was dimly lit, and the maroon velvet curtains – thick and heavy. She let herself fall on the sofa and kicked off her sandals. She heard one of them hit something on the tea table. She made a face and didn’t bother to look. Her right hand searched the table randomly, and hit the voice messages button on the telephone.<br /><br />‘You have two new messages’ was followed by an annoying BEEP.<br /><br />‘First Message’ - “Pri!!! Where are you? Your cellphone service sucks! Always unavailable.. Anyway, you won’t believe whom I met today.. Call me when you get back Masterniji, I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you.. Take care.. Muah.”<br /><br />‘Second Message’ – “Simi,” Priyanka’s heart skipped a beat when she heard his voice. The short message continued, “Call me back.”<br /><br />Her exhaustion vanished into thin air. She pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial. It rang twice, and the same deep middle aged male voice answered, “Simi, you’ve got work tonight. Meet me at ‘Franky Phillips’ in 20 minutes. Bring the kit along.”<br /><br />Priyanka ran in to change. She slipped into a pair of worn out jeans and tight T-shirt. ‘Time to look stupid and 16 again’, she laughed in her head, as she put on a dark shade of pink lipstick. She picked up her kit and wiggled into uncomfortably high heels. She ran out, picking up and nearly dropping her handbag and pulled the door behind her. Dheeraj hated to be kept waiting.My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-62993239867290170022007-11-29T05:36:00.000-08:002007-11-29T06:15:55.423-08:00Chapter One“Good morning Miss Rosy Rhymes”, the entire class of 5 year olds chorused, as a lady dressed in a pink traditional salwar kameez walked in. She smiled back at all the broken toothed smiles beaming at her. She was just about to begin, when she heard plastic crackle somewhere in the last row of the class. She walked up to Sagar, who had his face stuffed with Bourbons. She bent down and whispered, “Sagar, recess is after my class, now close your tiffin box, and if we finish ‘Mary had a Little Lamb’ early, then we’ll have an early recess, ok?”. Sagar kept the box away reluctantly, and nodded his head…<br /><br />Priyanka taught poetry to Senior KG kids part time, and that’s how she got her nickname – Miss Rosy Rhymes. She found peace in their singy songy poems, their chirpy voices and their tiny dancing hands. After all, her full time job required her to keep a clear calm head…My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9012479816193332418.post-69391457503154474032007-11-29T04:36:00.000-08:002007-11-29T05:28:12.738-08:00Miss Rosy Rhymes<p style="font-family: verdana;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Introduction</span><br /><br />Its the first time I've tried my hand at writing a short story, or any story for that matter. I hate lengthy introductions, so I'm just gonna throw the story at you.<br /><br />This story is about a girl named Priyanka. She comes from a simple middle class background, and is a teacher by profession. But there is another side to her life, which unfolds as the story progresses..<br /><br />Inspired by "<a href="http://ishsanity.blogspot.com/2007/11/she.html">She...</a>"</span></p>My Foot?http://www.blogger.com/profile/17331474390996701009noreply@blogger.com3