Samaira – A work of fictioN!

This is one of my worst posts I know!


 

It was still dawn when I stepped out of the cab and walked towards the entry gate of the Delhi airport. The early morning February air was pleasantly cold.

I was travelling to Bengaluru to attend a college friend’s wedding. It had been four years since we graduated from the same college. This wedding was also going to be a reunion of our batch mates. But what I didn’t know was that the reunion would begin much ahead of time; right in the queue in front of the airline counter.

I was almost sure it was she. Same height! Same long hair! Same complexion! Curiosity had my eyes glued to her. And then about 60-odd seconds later, when she turned, she proved me right. My ex-girlfriend stood two places ahead of me in that queue. We had never met after the college farewell.

She scanned the airport, clearly looking for somebody. Her searching eyes passed over me. Just passed. She never noticed me. Or maybe she did and had decided to ignore me…I never knew.

A few minutes later, as I leaned back and closed my eyes in the waiting area, aware of her presence within a few yards, memories of the year 2012 pulled me in. The college farewell, the tears, the smiles, the promises floated back to me. But in the midst of them all, I stumbled upon that well avoided part of my mental book of memories which I had dreaded ever since the college farewell.

The breakup!I_Love_You_2.jpg

Well, it wasn’t really a breakup, I reminded myself. I had dumped her cruelly.

An involuntary sigh escaped me as the despair of 2012 started seeping in once again. I had, by now, accepted the fact that I had acted like a self centered, attention seeking, and egoistic pig. And I hadn’t yet apologized for my mistakes, owing to my male pride.

But now, when the only girl for whom my heart had fluttered was sitting yards away from me, a sheer sense of shamefulness engulfed me.

Samaira, I think this is the right time for us to…to walk towards our own goals”, I had whispered to her in the farewell.

“What do you mean?”

“I think we should move on. I mean, I no longer want this relationship. My life goals are different. And you don’t fit in there!”

And like the perfect pervert I was, I had expected her to fall down on her knees, to beg me to stay, to shed tears for me.

But, like the sensible girl she’d always been, she had turned towards me with the words, “I won’t be able to live without you! The rest is your choice.”

I had walked off, never to return.

But every conscious moment of my life had been spent thinking about her voice, her smell, her talks, her secrets, her habits…about her!

And today, after 4 long years, she was finally right in front of me. She had never operated her facebook, her whatsapp or any other social media application since that fateful year. Yet, here she was, her eyes glued to her smart phone as she kept pushing her bangs off her face.

She hated bangs and had always avoided getting “flicks” during a haircut, I remembered. But times change, and so do people, I thought.

A black clad young fellow entered the area and almost blocked my view of her as he leaned down to whisper something over her shoulder. She shook her head and went back to typing on her phone as the man occupied the seat beside her. An ardent desire to punch him in the face rose in me as he pulled her close and held her by the shoulders while she rested her head on his shoulder.

It struck me harder than an act of blasphemy would strike a priest; harder than the apple struck Newton (whereby he gave whacky formulae to the world); harder than Cabrera’s bat struck the ball, as he leaned down to kiss her. With a frown scrunching up my dark circles to look darker, I watched on as she kissed him back and went back to her phone.

She had moved on. I had not.

The stark reality was harder than what I had imagined. I still loved her, but she didn’t. She had moved on!

They stuck together like Munchkin county Cows throughout the journey. I tried hard not to look, but failed terribly.

Once in Bengaluru and into the hotel I was booked on, I decided to push away thoughts of Samaira and the guy and enjoy the wedding.

We, my batch mates and I, had decided to meet up at Ahana’s place – a resident of Bengaluru itself.

For a minute, amongst hugs and handshakes, I had completely forgotten about Sam. But then, I saw the black clad fellow from the airport there. He was dressed up in a jeans and a shirt and was walking straight towards me.

“Rohan! My brother!” he greeted me. I looked on, completely perplexed, as he took my hands in his. I never knew him…did I?

I looked around for Samaira, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Rohan? You recognized me right?” he asked, noting my baffled glances.

“Rohan!” he shook me repeatedly by the hand, and amongst the buzz of reunion I did something that I probably shouldn’t have.

Wham!

I punched him in the face. Right on his nose.

He took a step back. The hall grew silent. Every eye was on me. I looked around at those faces that I had known so well and then at the one standing in front of me. I wanted to apologize but a surge of emotions refrained me from doing so.

I staggered back a step or two, heading for the door. Heading out of the silent mob of stares and accusing glances. My eyes met Riya’s, Samaira’s best friend. They were glowing with rebuke. Why? Just because I had left Samaira for no particular reason? I wanted to yell out that Sam was happy, and that she should mind her own business.

But I walked off silently. Outside the building, a pleasant breeze cooled my brow. Digging my hands into my pant pockets, I walked on aimlessly into the ignominious darkness of an alley.

I couldn’t digest the fact that she didn’t whine for me, that she didn’t try to contact me. Maybe it was my “male ego”, as she used say long ago.

“Rohan!” I heard a distant voice. A woman’s voice. I turned around to find Riya standing at the alleyway entrance.

“Riya? Is that you…?” I asked, mentally wincing at my stupid question.

“No, this is Sam’s ghost reporting!” she yelled back. Lame!

“What do you want?” I fired.

“Your blood!” she retorted. Super lame!

I jogged back to her, unwillingly.

She looked me in the eye, “You punched Yash.”

A look of horror crept up my face as my feet grew cold. It was Yash!

He had been Sam’s neighbor and our batch mate and a good friend of mine for the couple of years he had been in our college. After a student exchange program, we had never met. Moreover, his clean shaved face and the fit built was nowhere near what he used to be years ago.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, “but it’s none of your business.”

The fact that Yash was with Sam was even harder to digest.

“Were you born a defaulter? I wish you wouldn’t have entered our lives in the first place Rohan! Do you have any idea about the amount of hate I currently carry for you!?” she looked at me, apparently expecting an answer.

I felt sick and a deep knot tightened in my stomach.

“You never even turned up at her funeral…” she almost whispered. I was a bit surprised to find tears welling up in her dark eyes.

“Funeral? Whose funeral?” I questioned.

She turned to hide her tears as a male voice replied, “Sam’s funeral.”

Yash stood behind her, a few drops of red staining the region below his nose which had been blood wiped off hastily.

“Sam’s funeral? What are you guys talking about?”

It was probably a mistake because at that very instant Riya turned at around said something under her breath and I was positive that her look alone could kill.

“Rohan…we need to talk”.

5 minutes later, the mild afternoon sun found us sitting in the Home Town Café with three untouched lattes kept on the table before us.

“Ok so I’m going against Riya and telling you something that I guess you need to know,” Yash said, breaking the awkward silence.

I nodded.

“Rohan, you remember the college farewell?” he started.

“Who wouldn’t,” Riya sliced in.

“You remember you went off to Delhi after the farewell, right?” Yash continued.

“Of course he does, you douche bag!” Riya interrupted again.

“You know what Sam did after that?”

I shook my head.

“She boarded a plane to come to you to Delhi. She wanted to see you for the last time,” Riya said, her voice still cold.

“But she never came to me…” I said, slowly.

“She never reached you Rohan,” Yash continued, “Remember the 2012 plane crash near Rohra?”

I shook my head again, my throat going dry.

“Do you live in a wild life sanction or don’t you have TV and a newspaper subscription?” Riya questioned, her tone cold enough to freeze steam into pointed icicles.

“Sam was on that plane,” Yash stated.

“She…did she die?” my voice croaked, my throat was dry and even the slightest effort to talk hurt in my stomach.

“No, not right away,” Riya answered, “She got a back injury. Her spinal cord was adversely affected and she went into abdominal coma for a few weeks. The doctors said that the operation involved could kill her.”

I was silent. The whole world seemed to be silent as Yash continued, “Sam had made friends with a girl in the plane. Her name’s Aanchal. She was with her master as a maid. When the plane crashed, the master died. And Aanchal was kept in the same hospital as Sam. For weeks no one came to take her responsibility. According to Sam, Aanchal was an orphan.”

I nodded again.

“Aanchal’s face was distorted. Completely. Sam knew that she was dying and so she requested her parents to adopt Aanchal as their own daughter,” Yash stopped to take a breath.

“Wait Yash, he ought to know Sam’s word,” turning to me Riya continued, “She said she had no will to stay alive after losing you. She asked Uncle to get Aanchal’s face done up. She wished Aanchal would have HER face. And she gave up her eyes to Aanchal. Aanchal has taken her place now…”

“You mean…the girl I saw you with was Aanchal?” I questioned, cautious not to meet Riya’s stare.

“Yes,” Yash replied.

“Rohan, do even feel a tiny bit of guilt residing in you? Why…why did you leave her in the first place? Were you tired of her? You had used her to the highest level possible and found her useless? Was it the reason?” Riya bombarded me with questions, half of which were lost in a jumble of words within my brain.

I wanted to yell at her to stop. I wanted to tell her how much I had loved Sam, how much I longed for her right then. I opened my mouth but no words came out. I couldn’t make sense of anything for a while

Sam was dead, and this was the hardest of blows I had had this week. Sam died on the way to meet ME.

I’d never see her again. All because of me!

“Can I …meet Anchal?” I whispered.

“No Rohan. You took away Sam from us. This is her second chance to life and we can’t let you spoil that,” Riya hissed before getting up to leave.

“Being a man is ok. But being a beast is not. Pride is ok, Rohan, ego is just not! Grow up man,” Yash said, before leaving.

Grow up…maybe I had to.

 

 

 

The Love Triangle – A piece of Fiction

Sorry for being absent for such long stretches…my exams are on!

This is a piece of fiction. No pun intended.


In the middle of the flight, Kiara woke up to go to the washroom. When she returned, she was too lazy to push her way into the middle seat. And with Rishaan readily offering to shift seats, the seating arrangement changed. With 20 minutes still remaining for the flight to land, a sleep starved Kiara took another power nap, this time holding Rishaan’s right hand more firmly. Rishaan’s other hand, though, nervously moved to touch Diya’s. Her heart skipped a beat. Diya pulled her hand away. But a defiant Rishaan held her wrist again, this time firmly and more reassuringly. The changing behavioral dynamics between the three perhaps gave out a foreboding of what was to come in Goa.

When the flight landed at the Dabolim Airport, Rishaan felt uncanny…his excitement seemed replaced by an unknown fear that he found very difficult to decipher.

 

Trying to shrug off the feeling, he turned to the girls, who were talking nineteen to the dozen, with a forced smile, “The cab’s waiting girls!”

“Kia…you may share the backseat with Rishaan…” Diya said in a soft tone.

“Don’t be stupid! The trip is an hour long…nearly 30 kilometers before we reach Colva. You better go to the back seat,” Rishaan said, eyeing her adoringly.

Diya nodded, climbing up beside Kiara. Rolling down the window, she let the cool air hit her face as the taxi sped on. The presence of Kiara, her best friend, who had so kindly agreed to accompany her to Goa for the fashion fest she had to attend, bugged her somehow. She was guilty of the fact that sooner or later Kiara would realize what a ditcher Rishaan was. She was surprised Kiara hadn’t yet noticed that Rishaan was not THE guy! She counted the days before she could leave this place.

She had tried her best not to include Rishaan, but since Kiara was the only companion she had – and no way Kiara would say no to Rishaan – Diya had no choice left but to go with duo. The duo that was soon to split – evidently.

Beside her, Kiara was lost in her own thoughts – too preoccupied to notice the taxi coming to a halt in the drive way of a beautiful resort. The signboard read Baywatch Beach Resort.

“Er-Kiara?” Rishaan turned to them rather awkwardly, “I’ve got some arrangements to see to …so I was wondering if you girls could pass the time somewhere…on the beach maybe? It’d just take me a couple of hours! I mean, yeah…I know you must be tired after the journey…”

“Ahan, no problem at all darling! See you at 4 then!” Kiara replied, her eyes shining brighter than the summer sun.

 

After arranging with the manager to get the two rooms they had booked previously decorated as per his directions, he took seat in one of the plush chairs placed in the lobby.

He ran a troubled hand through his already messy black bush of hair. He was doing it finally! He was going to propose Diya today…finally! Just the thought of her petite figure in his arms made adrenaline rush through his blood. The wait was going to get over!

But before that, he had a task much more difficult and heart wrenching in hand. He had to break up with Kiara. No matter how much he had waited for this day, now that he was facing it he realized how difficult it was going to be. In the end, Kiara and Rishaan were best friends and he couldn’t hurt her. But involuntarily, he will have to!

He couldn’t decide weather to rejoice for getting the love of his life, or to grieve on losing one of the best girlfriends aka friends he had.

And then there was this gut feeling that something was going to turn out wrong – terribly wrong.

 

A couple of hours later, the room with the lighter décor found Rishaan and Kiara sitting opposite each other, on an inverted chair and the bed respectively. Both had an uncomfortable look on their face. Kiara’s gloom was what mystified him. Did she get a hint of what was to come?

“Kiara, you know you’re more like a best friend to me. In every…” he started but was cut short by her.

“Rishaan. I need to talk to you.”

“To me?” Rishaan stuttered.

“Yes, who else?” her tone was not soft. For the first time, her bubbly chirpiness seemed to leave her. He could see she was sweating profusely and the heat had nothing to do with it.

“Rishaan,” she began, “You know we’ve shared some of the best times ever together. I know how much you love me honey, and trust me, each and every moment I’ve spent with you has been a memory cherished! But…”

“But?” he prompted.

“I think…I think I’ve fallen for somebody else…”

That came as a sharp blow to his unsuspecting mind.

“Rishaan, that person…I can’t describe you what it is! There’s a wide difference between liking and loving, and now this difference is crystal clear to me,” she continued, “I think I’ve got my soul mate. A single touch of that person makes my heart yelp in joy and…and a single word of appreciation by that person is like all honorary words I can imagine! Whenever I look at my love…I fight this terrible dilemma to go and get wrapped in a tight hug or stay put! It’s terribly beautiful Rishaan! It’s like I can literally hear my heart thudding in my chest when I am with that person…like I can feel the bells in my head ring loudly and then there’s this blinding lighting where the whole world vanishes and it’s just me and my love…” she was on her feet now, her words jumbling up and her cheeks pink.

“Kiara!” he said softly, “It’s ok! I understand.” He did a short war dance of victory in his mind and said, “You never felt this way with me?”

She shook her head.

“You want to go to that person…I mean you want to leave me?”

She nodded, “Rishaan you’ll always be my best friend trust me!”

He nodded back, “It’s ok. You may go Kiara. Your happiness is my first preference. But who’s he…?”

Her long lashes touched her bright red cheeks as she fixed her gaze on his shoes. An involuntary smile lifted her lips as she said, “Diya. She’s the one!”

His eyes grew bigger than saucers as he jumped up to his feet, “Can- can you repeat your words!”

“Diya,” she said, looking up to meet his gaze, “Rishaan, please don’t tell her anything. I don’t want to spoil our friendship!”

“Kiara Dhawan! Are you out of your mind? Did you…did you just say you love a GIRL!” he couldn’t digest it. No – never in a millions years would he be able to face it. He had kissed a lesbian! He had shared his drinks, his food and clothes with a lesbian. Was this a nightmare?

With the shock of his life yet to seep in completely, he took slow steps towards the lobby. He’d left Kiara alone in the room. And she had made no attempts to stop him. This was not what he had anticipated – not in the least! Kiara was not straight. His girlfriend wasn’t really his GIRL friend.

His phone rang breaking through the thousand questions swirling in his mind.

Mechanically, he picked it up.

“Rishaan?” a voice spoke form the other end, the sound was like chocolate to his ears, “Where are you?”

He’d completely forgotten about Diya. He had left her waiting in the other room.

With his mind going crazy with Kiara’s confession, he walked to the other room – the richly decorated one.

Taking one unstable step inside, he saw that Diya was seated on the bed with red silk covers. Her hands lay calmly on her lap and her perfectly straight hair was pulled back into a loose bun. Her serene form gave him the break he needed.

“Diya?” he whispered, walking up to her and resting his fickle minded self beside her.

“Where had you vanished?”

“I…well…I have been betrayed traumatically!” he said.

“How?” Diya asked, cautiously.

He reached out to hold her hand, which she allowed him to do. He moved closer and whispered in a husky voice, “You are looking gorgeous in this outfit.”

Her spine straightened as he inched closer.

“Do you know what love’s like?” he whispered. Now his thighs touched hers, his hand went around her waist to pull her closer. She gave the first signs of resistance by pulling herself away from him.

“Rishaan!” she exclaimed as he held her firmly by the wrist.

The dim lightings hid the tears in his eyes. They were tears of …what? Rishaan never knew. Maybe rejection from Kiara. Or was it just because of the fact that his girlfriend was a lesbian? “Ex-girlfriend,” he corrected himself.

“Sorry?” Diya said.

“Diya, a single touch of yours make my heart yelp in joy and a single word of appreciation by you is like all honorary words I can imagine!” he said, repeating Kiara’s words, “Whenever I look at you…I fight this terrible dilemma to go and get wrapped in a tight hug or stay put! It’s terribly beautiful Diya…love is terribly beautiful!”

“Rishaan,” she cried, jumping up to her feet. “Are you nuts?”

“In your love!”

“Stop it! I don’t love you Rishaan and I never will!”

“But why? Answer me Diya! I’ve seen it! You’re more comfortable with me than your childhood friend Kiara! You prefer sitting beside me than with Kiara. Isn’t that enough proof that you love me? Listen to your heart Diya!”

“I am! I am listening to my heart! And it says it’s already somebody else’s!”

“Whose?” he asked, on his feet now.

With the sudden intensity of an overinflated balloon, she burst, “Kiara’s! I love her. HER not you, you self centered brat! And you want to know why I avoid her? Because every time she’s near me I feel like tangling my arms around hers. She’s like a deprived piece of heaven to me. I just can’t tell her about my true feelings …because she’s …ah Rishaan just leave me alone! You’ve heard enough already. And for heaven’s sake…don’t open your busted mouth in front of her.”

He let go of her hand and took a step back, as if she was a contagious disease.

He slumped down on the red sheets. His face was emotionless at this point. His eyes were a window to his dilapidated soul. Was this real? Was she really saying this?

He couldn’t believe for a moment that this wasn’t a fairy tale. Was this some kind of a gross joke planned by Diya and Kiara as a revenge of what they had suspected he had been doing!?

He sat helpless as she left the room. He was strangled in Goa with a couple of girls who weren’t really girls. He had come here, looking for passion, love and a promising future. But he was going to leave with a broken heart, a shocked mind and a non- trusting soul.


 

Comments please!

 

A short wishlist : By her To him

This piece of fiction has no significance as such.
It is the feelings of a girl who wants to hold on but has to let go of her love…


A short wishlist !
I wish you don’t forget me. I wish you remember those sweet memories we made and those stupid fights we had. I  wish you remember the cute meals we’d had together and sweet situations we’d experienced together.  You’re fatherly scolding to study and my teacherly scolding to eat properly . You’re protectiveness and my jealousy. Hope you remember them.
I wish you keep my gifts safe so that years later when you’re old n married you can boast that you had a girlfriend once who was not really hot but cared.
I wish you never forget wat I did was true love and that even when we’re 50 yrs old I’d be sitting alone in the verandah of my house drinking coffee from the mug u gave.
I wish you remember that even today I find you to be the most attractive guy in the world . You are charming :* .
I wish that you forgive my mistakes. M too immature I know. But you ain’t.
I wish that one day you be as famous as bill gates and then I get a chance to work for you. Don’t worry I won’t let u recognise me or interfere in your life.
I wish you live happily no matter where you are  because even today your pain is mine.
No I don’t love you. I don’t care for you. But there are lingering feelings in my heart that keep me from hating you.
I remember once you said that if we broke up..you’d keep buying gifts for my birthday n on my marriage you’ll post them with intrest. But lemme tell u u won’t be able to do that …coz i’d never get married.
I wish that if someone says my name you smile n say I miss her. No I don’t want any importance …just a small place in your heart.
I wish you are always safe and successful.  Keep smiling.
As a best frnd …A girl comes n goes like the new moon…so don’t fret or cry over it. Heart breaks are a part of life. Every night there’s one but the next morning is new!  So watever happens…remember that life goes on 😚 yolo!

Offerings to God – a work of fiction!

Again, I wrote this when I was 14 – for a community magazine! 

Yay! This is my 50th post!


“And this year he bought me this beautiful diamond necklace. Isn’t it stunning? It’s worth five lakhs! And this sari is bought directly from the mill of Kanchi. Isn’t it…..” I tuned out of the conversation as my wife chatted away happily to observe my surroundings. The auspicious statue of goddess Durga was kept on the pedestal and looked as divine as anything. The holy priest was chanting away, there was an announcement that the aarti would begin in a few minutes and all along, in the background, was the general buzz of people chatting, children playing and chairs being pushed. All around there were hundreds of people settling down on the red chairs and waiting for the aarti to begin. The mandap was getting more and more suffocating as devotees piled in. Making my way around the elderly people already settled in the chairs, I got out of there to take a breath of fresh air.

Once outside, I stood below the banyan tree and took in a deep breath. My nostrils tingled, but not because of the air, I realized. It was the whiff of fresh, hot cutlets! I looked around at the numerous stalls of food and other crafts lining the mandap and spotted the source of this aroma. Tucked away in the corner of the line was a little stall with a huge crowd of hungry men. The board on top of the stall announced the sale of various varieties of cutlets and other fried stuff. To be frank, I’m a big foodie. The policy I followed was ‘live to eat’ and now that I had spied the food stall no one could have stopped me from going there. I was on my way when my cell phone beeped, declaring the arrival of a new message. I opened my inbox. A smile played on my lips as my son, Deb’s, face smiled up at me. He was currently posted in the US and sent me a recent snap of himself every week, on demand of his mother. I was going through our fond memories in my head, when I reached the stall. A young boy stood there, serving the people. I ordered a plate of mutton cutlet. As I was waiting for my order to be delivered, the young boy’s face struck me as a familiar one. He was no older than my son, I noticed. Neatly dressed but his clothes looked of a poor quality. As I looked on my iphone screen and once again saw my son’s face, it came to me! This young boy, who now stood here, serving me, was none other than Deb’s childhood best friend! The boy who now sold cutlets was, at one time, a topper in his class.

“Dulal?” I called out and was rewarded as the boy turned round.

“Yes, sir” he saw me and did a double take, “Mr. Chatterjee! Do sit down sir.” He offered me a stool, which I politely declined.

“It’s been a long time son. How are you doing?”

He excused himself as her mother, I assumed, replaced him. Once in a quieter place, he asked jovially about Deb.

“He’s posted in the US. But son, what about you? I mean you are such a talented young man…..anyway, how’s Mr. Sen doing?”

His face took on a sad smile and his eyes had a forlorn look, “Sir, he passed way as soon as you got a transfer to Delhi.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” His father was their family’s soul bread earner. His death explained the poor state they were in.

He nodded his bent head, and then looked up with a new smile, “Now I’m supporting the business!”

“That’s great news! So since when have you being doing this, I mean managing the business?”I still couldn’t believe that this capable boy was making cutlets in a stall!

“Well, I dropped school when I was in 10th so that’s probably from when.”

“Oh!” was all I could say.

“But…” he gave a sigh, “it is tough to keep up with the rising rates. I….we don’t know what will happen now,” suddenly he looked a lot older and wiser than his 25 yrs, “So we had no other options but to do what we can and that’s cooking!” His face brightened a little as he added, “We’ve got our own small dhaba in the outskirts. And it is quite popular now. So we make enough money to keep us going.” He gave a light shrug. “Just a minute sir, I think your order is ready.” He ran out towards his stall.

I sat there in a state of stunned speechlessness. The boy had said all that in perfect English, his manner groomed. The sun shone directly on me as I continued staring at nothing. The aarti had started inside. Loud bells were clanging, the drum beating steadily, rhythmically, through the opening of the flap of the tent, I could see my wife standing amongst her friends, the light rays of the sun shining off her necklace on which I had spent lakhs, but all it did was glitter in the sunshine. I looked down, at my shoes made of pure Italian leather over which I had spent thousands, but all it did was cover my feet which even a few hundred rupees shoe could. My eyes went to my wrist, which had on a limited edition watch worth a few hundred dollars, but it was something that showed me the same time as that displayed by a 100 rupee watch.

I thought of it in a different way now. I could buy all the luxuries of the world with my money, so couldn’t I educate this young man? Only if I would have! My son being an average student was today in the US so it was worth contemplating what this fellow could have done with proper provisions!1231701_467516106680694_842569904_n

I tilted my head up to see the beautiful mandap decorated to look like a castle and I noticed the vigor with which the Durga Pooja was being celebrated. Surely, hundreds of thousands of rupees would have gone over all this. And hundreds of thousands of people would have donated. I took in the large crowd standing in the mandap and realized what a big community we were. Couldn’t we spend a little of the funds for a good cause? Couldn’t we part take in the development of our country, and uplift our community? And I’m sure that this step would cost us nothing more than a few thousands but would bring about happiness on many people’s faces, would brighten a lot of futures.

A new realization dawned upon me. I became a changed person that day. My outlook was different now. And all I wanted to do now was to put this idea into action and bring about a change. To spread this refreshed conscience. And to eat my cutlets before they got cold…….  🙂


Ps: I won’t be blogging for about 10 days from now!! So long! Until then – a hearty cheery smile and stay blessed ❤

Do leave comments!!

Destiny – a work of fiction!

I was 12 yrs old back then when I wrote this! It was a piece I wrote to be featured in a local community magazine! 


“Haven’t I told you a hundred times that I am NOT MADE OUT OF ACTOR STUFF? Don’t you just get it, mom? I’m a director. A DIRECTOR

“So you’re saying you can’t even fulfill one dream of mine.”

“It’s not about that. I mean I don’t act and never will. WOULD you spare me?”

“Vanessa, dear, everyone’s destined to be something as you are to be an actress. Believe me…….” But she’s cut off when Vanessa’s phone rings

Mumbling something about it being past her to talk to her mom she walks out to attend the call.

“Vanessa, just get to the studio, hurry!” an anxious voice urges.

Once in the studio room, she looks around at the grim faces of her crew. One of them comes forward and speaks almost inaudibly, “Sabrina’s met with an accident. Broken a leg.”

It was enough to freeze Vanessa to a state of shock. What did he mean by that? Sabrina was their protagonist! And tonight was the inter college competition! And she was the director! The first play directed by Vanessa!  Was her career going to end before it ever started?

 “Now what?” someone asked.

“It’s all over.”

“Think of the money we’ve spent!”

“The actress can’t be substituted at the last moment, I mean…”

“Nothing doing. Vanessa you’re our new lead role. Just get prepared.” This last opinion snapped her out of her frozen state. This was said by their principle, Dan Grimoire.

“NO WAY. I can’t ….” Vanessa started but was cut off.

“I didn’t ask you, I ordered. What’s the problem? I mean, you have the looks, you’re the director so you know the dialogues, and that’s all you need. I won’t take a no. Do it or we’ll be disqualified. Think about it, you’ll lose a chance to show your skills and so will your co-artists here.”

She stared at him. Chewing her lower lip she thought of the odd coincidence, in the morning she had a fight about not acting and here she was, on the verge of accepting to do so. Well, but could she do it? What if she screwed it up? Then again her mother, being a psychic, had predicted that she would be an actress….. No way, what was she thinking? She wanted to be a director and she was. But if she didn’t act, she won’t be, as Dan had threatened.

She nods her head and then says, “But I’m not responsible if it doesn’t turn out to be good.”

The producer agrees, asking, “I hope you don’t have a stage fright.”

Shaking her head, she walks away to get her costume together.

Finally, the time comes to show her skills. She walks on the stage to take her position. The curtain rises, she takes a deep breath, repeating in her mind again and again, “Don’t overdo it. Don’t overdo it. Don’t…

Once she starts, she doesn’t stop. As it is she knew the dialogues by heart. All she had to do was be expressive. And just then she noticed her mother sitting in the audience, nevertheless, she kept up her acting thinking, yeah mom you won! But am I good?

Once all that was over, she went backstage. Her cheeks pink under the rough. But before she could do anything other than sip water, she was pushed on stage again. On the stage, every lead actress from all the plays acted today were lined up. By the talks, it appeared to be something about some silly award that she was sure she was not going to win.

“Really, now I know how hard it is to act. I vow never to be rude to the artists again.” she muttered under her breath.

“And the award for the best actress goes to….” the host announced dramatically, “Miss Vanessa Maguire!”

It took a moment for Vanessa to realize that her name was being called out.  Ok, she thought, all this is getting pretty dramatic. Was she hallucinating or did she really get an award for the unprepared acting which she thought was horrible? Looking at her mother’s eyes that screamed ‘I told you’, the latter one was probably the truth. And these people were not fools that meant her acting was not horrible, she told herself.

She walked forward to receive her prize and smiled at the audience. She raised her trophy, and looked at her mother with a tear trailing down her cheek and mouthed the words ‘ for you’. Yes, she thought secretly, you were right mom, everyone is destined to be something and that something for me’s this.

Responsibility – A work of fiction!

Written originally for a school presentation ! 


“Any complaints?”

“Oh come on Anya. You know your work is flawless! I just don’t understand why you’re stuck up with this boutique. You should go for one of those big fashion chains…” Namita, a daily customer of the boutique, babbled, picking up her delivery and proceeding to pay.

The bright smile on Anya’s pretty little, twenty nine year old face shrunk a bit as she averted her gaze. Why bring up this topic, she winced inwardly, deciding not to answer her.

“Answer me!” Namita prodded, “Do you want me to help you with your CV?”

“Uh-no,” Anya replied, “I had done this, years ago. They say I need a degree in Designing and Arts to qualify for a seat…”

She paused for that to sink in before perking up her expression and returning the change.

“And why, in the lord’s name, did you not go for it when you were younger?”

“Ah-a long story!” Anya replied, her face blushing.

“I love long stories,” Namita answered with a grin, making herself comfortable on the plastic chair.

With a sigh, Anya took her seat behind the counter, her elbow resting on the counter top, “Dates back to when I completed my 12th with a 95% in physics. I dreamt of going in for NIFT entrances, you know National Institute of Fashion Tech.”

Namita nodded for her to go on.

“And so, I revealed my wishes to Mum and Dad. Dad, being the typical traditional fellow he is, immediately objected claiming I was born to be an engineer.

On the other hand, being the typical rebel I am, told him what I thought of his great idea f making me an engineer.

Daily there were squabbles and finally we decided I’d appear for both the entrance exams.

In my opinion, both my exams went off well. The condition was I’d opt for the subject I score better in. I passed JEE with a placement in one of the best colleges. Dad was overjoyed. But I waited for my NIFT results…which never came. I never lost hopes, but when months passed and it was time for me to start with my engineering, I had to give in. Seems like I failed. I did my engineering. It was tough. I’m a B.Tech.  in computer software. My husband’s the MD if an IT company. But I can’t work with him. You know why?”

Namita shook her head.

“Because I’m an engineer without any knowledge of engineering! I mean I can’t program a simple thing because when I sit to do it, my head spins and I fell like ripping my skull apart!” Anya paused to take a breath and continued, “What do you suggest I do? I tried whatever was needed but…well now it’s too late to ponder over that!”

There was a chime at the door. Anya stood up as a man in his mid thirties entered the boutique.

“Mrs. Anya Tiwari?” he announced looking at the two ladies.

“That’d be me…” Anya said, “Tiwari’s my maiden name,” she gave in the way of an explanation to Namita’s inquiring look.

“Nice to meet you madam. I’m Tarun Halat and I’m here to give you this,” he said, fishing an envelope out of his bag.

“What’s this?” she asked, turning the big thing in her hands.

“Well, well, well! You see ma’am my father, Late Mr. Arvind Halat was a postman,” he waited for her reaction, when none came, he continued, “About ten years ago, he won a lottery of half a crore through those stupid games we see at TV stations. Well they’re not so stupid after all! Ok, so to talk of the envelope, he brought a new house and stuff and left his old coop locked up. Recently he passed away and we got the opportunity of sifting through his belongings. Inside his cubbyhole, we found a whole bag of undelivered letters dating back to the day he resigned. As the irresponsible man he was, he forgot all about these. But we decided to turn them in to the rightful owners…so here it is. We went to your home on the Prithvi Road, your parents told me I’d find you here…”

“Oh,” Anya whispered, reading the address on the envelope having a NIFT seal. Peeling off the seal, she slid out a worksheet along with a letter.

Tarun and Namita waited patiently as Anya read and re read the contents. Her eyes watered as she looked up to the two of them. Tears welled up those beautiful black eyes as she repeated the printed lines in her mind…

…having secured a merit position in the NIFT entrance exam, you are bestowed with the privilege of selecting the institute of your choice…
Reply within a period of ten days…

“Why have you brought this to me…” she whispered.

“Pardon?” Tarun said, leaning in to her better.

“WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT THIS STUPID THING TO ME…” she yelled, tossing the envelope by his feet, “You realize what this is? You want me to cry all over again? You to make me REGRET?”

“Ma’am,” he tried to cut her.

“If only you had brought it ten years back…if only…” she whispered, stumbling on her chair and turning her face in an unsuccessful attempt to hide her tears.

“I’m sorry, from my father’s side…” he began.

With a jerk, she looked straight at him, “YOUR FATHER SPOILT MY LIFE MR. TARUN HALAT. GET LOST! I DON’T WANNA SEE YOUR FACE…” she hissed.

Later on in the day, she realized she was wrong in scolding him. He had helped her and she had been ungrateful. But she had to vent out her feelings…no?believe9

Ten years, ten long years she had lived the life of shameful failure, had believed she’d FAILED not just in the entrance exam but in her life! A life of low self esteem, dismay, and uselessness is something worth crying after…

And all this at the cost of a man’s irresponsibility?

Contemplable eh?

Savior – A piece of Fiction!

When I was 11, I was obsessed with action.


Millions of people fought years ago and died years ago. Millions of people did that for us years ago. Many of them became famous as freedom fighters. Bhagat Singh, Lal Bhadur Shastri, and Rani LakshmiBai were some of them. But there were some who never came to be known by us, some who were dedicated to the people, worked for the people but were not by the people. And I know about such a man, a man whose death still haunts me. Maybe because he died because of me.

It took place years ago, when I was just 18 and the whole of India was fighting for freedom. A time when the Indians killed Britishers on sight and the British too did its share of kidnapping Indian women and children. And I too was a woman, a helpless woman whom they had kidnapped. I was thrown into a ship and that was when it started….

Previously, two of their captives had disappeared and the Brits believed that they were rescued. So this time they had put us in the upper deck where only the whites could enter. I looked around at the three other people in the room. One, a kid of about seven, was lying on the bed and looked unconscious to me, another was a woman looking out of the window and the third occupant-a woman -was sitting on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, and sobbing pitifully. I went to her and put my arms around her to comfort her. But when I tried to speak, I couldn’t. It was hard to choke back tears at this point but I held on. At this precise minute, the door opened and a white man entered the room.

I saw the other two women around me shiver (ok, I was scared too) as the man entered the room. He strode directly towards the kid on the bed, his face determined. Was he going to kill us or were we being handed back to our families in exchange of something? I had no idea what was in store for me. I stared as the man heaved the kid on his shoulder and motioned for us to follow. Noticing a gun in his hand, we complied. Once outside he took us through winding passages in the ship. As time passed, the passages started growing deserted.

After a few minutes, the route he took was totally empty. On a sudden impulse I asked the man, “You’re going to kill us?” as soon as the words were out, I wished I had never spoken .The man stopped and turned towards me. His face sturdy but not cruel. “No” he said in a deep voice. “I’m not going to kill you, or even hurt you, as a matter of fact. But promise me that as soon as I let you out, you’d never turn around or speak to anybody about me. Once you’re out I don’t exist, ok?”

We nodded and I was about to speak when a man’s voice boomed from the rear, “You traitor!”

We all turned around to face a burly Brit. The next thing I knew was that I was being pulled from behind. We were all running and shots rang from behind us. The man led us to a door that opened into a dark hollow. He led us through the narrow path and after about fifteen minutes walk he stopped. We saw a thin streak of light behind us and knew they were not far away. The man brought his mouth near my ears and whispered, “Lead the women and kid through and take the first left. I’ll handle the bastards. Just hurry and don’t make a noise.” I could clearly hear his labored breathing and was reluctant to leave him. How I came to trust him, I don’t know but whatsoever, I followed his orders. Moving cautiously in the dark, I suddenly noticed a light ahead. Moving towards it, I noticed that it was the turning, lit by a lantern. It forked into two, and I took the left and suddenly stopped short as I heard the fire of a bullet. Looking behind me I saw the tension on the other women’s faces too. The one who now carried the child looked on the verge of tears. My own breath was held and after what seemed like ages the voices of the men went away. After what seemed like an eternity, I started walking again but not towards the exit but towards him.

Making my way through the dark with the lantern, I finally heard someone breathing heavily and my leg hit something. Bending down I realized it was none other than the man. Placing the lantern down I noticed his bleeding stomach and knew that he was shot. I was so frantic that all I could do was ask why?

And to this monosyllable he answered, “I lost my loved one in their hands and didn’t want your lovers to experience the same. I knew it was wrong, that we’re wrong. It was the least I could do.” And with that he left the world but his memories never left me. Many wouldn’t consider this meeting as being a friendly one but for me that single meeting was enough and I knew that he was my friend, my savior…….

A Villain with a Heart

I wrote it when I was 11 !!


My eyes misted as I clapped for my son who marched up the stage to accept his medal. I was really proud for the deeds my son had done as a military commander for the country but the cause of my tears was the memory of a friend, Jackhans_7507

Jack was an excellent shooter and a famous (in the underworld) personality. How did we meet? Well, he saved my life.

It was a chilly morning of December when I was walking down the Eve Street, unaware of the danger in store. The locality was deserted and except me there were only a couple of other peoplea young man and an old womanon the street. Everything was quiet when suddenly a shot rang out, shattering the stillness. In an instant the young man had his gun out, aimed at the old women. The woman, surprisingly, lost her limpness and ran for cover behind a wall (and she too had a gun) – she turned out to be a man. I shrieked as someone grabbed me from behind and blindfolded me. I was carried in, perhaps, a car to some musty place, which turned out to be the dungeons of the Webster House. My blinds were removed but my hands and feet were securely tied and then I was thrown in one of the
cells.

Sweat poured through my body, all sorts of thoughts passing my mind. I looked around myself and found to my surprise that there were a dozen more people in the vault, all unconscious. They were all VIPs (except a couple of girls who were simple citizens like me)relations of different ministers whom I knew by faces .For a minute I felt honored to meet such people but then again the thoughts of the gangsters filled my head. Otherwise, the room vault was completely bare and was illuminated by the glow of the only light bulb present there. I tried to wriggle out of my bonds but they were tied quite professionally. At that moment the metallic door opened to reveal a lot of rogues.

They were all dressed in black and were carrying AK-47s in their shoulder holsters. I got scared when they started towards me but they didn’t even seem to notice me and passed on. They carried the unconscious figures of the VIPs out one by one and closed the door. Now there were only three of us left in the cell- the two, partially conscious, girls and myself. Once they were fully recovered I tried to talk them into telling me what the whole affair was about but they were too scared to utter a single word.

After a few hours of silence, there came a grating sound and the door opened. In came a man, closing the door behind him. He was dressed fully in black like all other thugs; he advanced towards me with a sharp knife gleaming in his hand. I screamed with fright assuming that he was planning to kill me. The man gave me a sharp look with a finger on his lips; I understood that I had to be quiet. When he came a little closer, I gasped in recognition- he was none other than the underworld face whose picture was on the wanted list of criminals on the papers, famous by the name of the Jackal.

He walked up to me with the sharp blade, and with one stroke of his arm…

I closed my eyes, waiting for death to come but instead I felt the grips of ropes loosen around my wrists. I slowly reopened my eyes and gazed at him who was setting the other girls free. My mind still wasn’t ready to accept what was happening, I was sure that he was going to assassinate me but my heart opposed it as his eyes showed concern though he appeared to be ruthless.

The man motioned us all to sit and said, “The doors are heavily guarded at present. It’ll be easier to get out at noon, the guards at that shift are easier to handle.” I sat close to him and asked in a hesitating manner, “Aren’t you the-“

“Jackal, yeah!” he said interrupting me. I sat quietly waiting for an explanation but when none came I again inquired, “What’s going on here and how come you saving lives instead destroying…I…please, no offence or anything intended.”

“None taken. And about your question, the whole thing’s this- these people are an international group of terrorists, want money and their dangerous fellas set free from the clutches of the police. They’re holding important people as hostages. And about why I’m helpin’ you’ll- it’s a long story but in short” he sighed “my sister, the only one I’ve ever had to call a family, was abducted and was brutally murdered by a group of outlaws”, for a moment his eyes were filled with misery and sorrow but in no time, he regained his ruthless attitude and resumed, “I can’t see innocent children and women killed and I came forward. And my reputation helped me to gain the terrorists trust, so here I am.”

“So you mean to say that you entered as a terrorist but are actually working for the government?”

“Not. For. The government.” He said this slowly yet furiously. “I told you how much I cared for my sister Laura. When she was in danger I was not there to save her; and I find… peace on saving the innocent. And the government is actually after me, ‘cause I’m a wanted criminal, am I not?”

A criminal saving women and children, weird.

I sat for a while, looking at the man and then extended my hand, “I’m Jane Maria Christie.” He gave a quick two fingered salute saying, “Jack Sullivan”

After a sleepy hour or so, Jack stood up, asking us to do the same. “Now, follow me and remember-if there are any shootouts, stick to the ground. Clear?” We all nodded.

With gesturing to be quiet, he moved out of the door with all of us tailing him. After turning a corner we followed him at a brisk pace towards the door, but Jack came to an abrupt stop and to our horror, we were face to face with one of the assassins.

He, at first ignored our expression and gave Jack a friendly smile and extended his palm, asking for a pass. From Jack’s expression it was clear that he wasn’t expecting anything of this sort. When Jack was unable to provide him with what he wanted, his expression became grave. He looked first at Jack and then at us, and at once took out his gun. Then there was quite a lot of shooting between a few terrorists and Jack. As instructed, we went down on our bellies and crawled all the way to the door.

“Run, run for your lives, go to gate 4, hurry” came the orders from the wounded Jack as he was still blocking the door so that the terrorists couldn’t follow us. Unwillingly, we left him to fight for himself and ran out. Whatsoever, we were being followed by a couple of gangsters. Once outside, we saw that the atmosphere was tense as if preparing for a war. We saw on a city map displayed on a board that gate 4 was a military base and was not too far from where we were standing. We ran at top speed, stopping only once to catch our breath. We finally reached the base (where one of my companions fainted out of tiredness) where noticing our conditions, we were carried inside.

In a week, we came to know that the terrorists were under control-all because of our army-and the VIPs were located.

The next morning’s paper showed that several of the gangsters were found dead on the door of the Webster House (I knew it was Jack’s work). It also explained that the army men were under cover, patrolling the city (like the old woman who turned out to be a man) and it even revealed that the Jackal was found dead too, outside the dungeons.

Every one still thinks that he was a companion of the terrorists. No one knows the truth about the daring hero. Now, 20 yrs have passed but the incident is still fresh in my mind. I’m really happy to think that I got a chance to know such a great person who gave up his life just for three citizens whom he didn’t even know. This was not exactly a friendly meeting but to me he would always be a friend-a savior.

There are many villains in this world, but this one was different …he was a villain with a heart.