Tuesday, 24 September 2013


                The training was hard, the life harder and the mission impossible. He loved a woman and wanted her, and they promised him many like her, waiting for him in paradise.  The AK 47’s and the explosive ammunition, evoked his fire prowess and hardened his resolve.  Mumbai was maximum city, a city of dreams. He would ensure that the city was awake that night, so that he owned all the dreams that belonged there.  He was a broker of death, a trader of dreams.  The city would be painted red, and then he would ride the rainbow of death to paradise.  He was the lone wolf, the tiger prawn among the shrimps, assigned to devour the cadavers the night brought out.  Two of his brothers had already lit the inferno of death on the lifeline of the city.  The others ensconced  in a five star, sent up enough smoke to mask the remaining in the skies.  The circular dome of power which resembled a space ship was his target.  He had to travel in his RDX suit in that space ship to reach his virgins.
                She stood blocking his way in that deserted street, carrying her unsold roses, all white, none of them red. He was the knight in armour and she stood staring at him, clutching the white roses close to her heart.  It was her eyes that took him back to the journey that began in the sleepy valley of deodar trees. The same eyes that were forbidden to look at him, the eyes that had set him out to seek more to redeem one was now piercing his heart.   As his gaze bore down on her, she didn’t quiver, the shivers were his.  Her eyes didn’t flinch but his heart did a somersault.  He felt that Dante could not have expressed it better of a paradise regained. One for all suddenly made more sense than all for one. He laid the guns at her feet and she placed the white roses in his hand. Farewell to arms was in fact a welcome to her arms.
                  As they walked hand in hand, the guns and roses sinking slowly in the waters, smoke clouding the sky and sirens wailing for the dead, he looked back at the edifice that would have been his tomb. It was safe for now. Later when they counted the dead, he would be alive in her arms.  They would never look for the one that got away!

Monday, 9 September 2013

The Deadly Mirror

Exercise in Creative Writing : To write a small piece of strikingly similar characteristics in a relationship, where certain characteristics or actions of the partner is a mirror image of the self and strikes a chord in the other persons mind revealing a side that they identify as their own.

He watched her cut the apples.  She seemed to take her time in going through the motions with the serrated edge of the knife.  She appeared to be in a trance staring fixedly at the glint of the knife, barely mumbling a response to his pointed question.  It was as if the shine of the steel in her hand had transformed her to an apparition that caressed his memory creating a familiar outline.  The motions of the blade in her hand had an eerie similarity to a practiced rhythm that was second nature to him.  The slow passage started from the top, curving inwards and emerging out from the bottom effortlessly, dismembering and slicing into parts, what was once a whole.  He could see himself in the same trance, his eyes glazed but sharp and shining, and the grip on the knife strong yet loose, the smile on his face a fixed but lopsided grimace.  It was as if his passion for wielding the knife was mirrored in her motions and he wondered if the apple was just a substitute, and his vision an unintended glimpse of their alter ego.

Monday, 13 May 2013

In Defence of Pappu!

             When you are deciding the future of a billion people in a nation where the mind is full of fear, and you have to choose between pappu and pheku where would you put your money or whatever is left of it? Detractors of pappu have made a big song and dance about the lack of experience saying Pappu cant dance saala, but I would remind them of the wise words of perceptive prognosis from the angry -once young- man who offered you sweets to proclaim Pappu pass ho gaya!
            Pheku can project himself and his apparition in 3D and Imax 3D all day, but pray what will happen if pheku has to solve our boundary disputes or even go and get the marines back from Italy to stand extended trial in our esteemed court. He can’t even discuss the weather in a conference on climate control. He doesn’t have a visa!!! A Master Card may be, but no VISA! Our long forgotten patriot brethren on foreign soil will emerge like a phoenix to deny him that with a flash flood of signatures.  After all, they have been following the entire progress of pheku on twitter and facebook and with their brilliant intellectual capabilities have been able to denounce the few million desi’s who could have been easily misled due to their native ignorance.  And the guardians of our nation’s conscience who religiously take part in our Independence Day parades on Fifth Avenue and watch our nation’s progress on the television will ensure that the ignorant natives are set right.
And do we need such a leader who is domestically sequestered while his entire cabinet is globe trotting? We have long suffered in silence at a silent PM, now do we need to feel sorry for a Home Alone PM?
            But the clincher for Pappu is in our filmy history. When the pheku rattles out facts and figures, thumping his chest and thundering, Mere state main development hain, progress hain, investments hain, Mere paas experience hai, tumhare paas kya hai, all pappu has to say to elicit a collective sigh from the billions and make them bite the ballot is to reply “Mere Paas Maa hain”.

Sunday, 5 May 2013

The Recalcitrant Star

          I wish I could recreate the magic of her fingers ploughing through my hair, my loyal strands parting ways to ensconce her slender digits, the embrace of the tuft extending to my arms that held her legs, as I rested my chin in the cradle of her lap. She refused to be embarrassed by the moon making a full appearance and staring shamelessly at the wanton display of amour, or the stars mischievously winking at each other enjoying the spectacle. We had shut out the universe, seeking refuge in each other’s irises, content in the world that had formed in the circle of our arms.
           The stem cut through the dark waters and the foxle dipped menacingly lower spraying my senses with ice cold water, snapping me out of my reverie and washing away the magical moment that never belonged to me. The miles that my ship left behind the port seemed, but a lazy drift, compared to the distance that we had sailed apart in the last couple of months.  My voyage now had a destination, my path a charted course.  I was a brilliant navigator and my eternal friends, the stars never failed me.  But how did they fail me at my birth? How is it that I failed to chart their path, which would have convinced her parents, that the stars never foretold any calamity that would befall them? It would be sacrilegious to even assume that the stars would not stand us in good stead, because they were my only true friends? Many a time, they had held my hand and guided me to safety when the miracles of technology had failed me. Many a nights we have spent in each others company, talking about the weather and the swells of the oceans.  
            But how were we to know that we would be such great friends when I was born.  How were they to know that my mother had heralded my arrival and that they should rally around to welcome their future friend? It is not their fault.  I looked at them now, resplendent in their golden coats, seeking guidance for my current voyage, forgiving them for their betrayal in my search for a soul mate. I winked back at them, my eyelids forcing out a tear drop in its effort, my weak smile engaged in replacing memories with thoughts of a new port.

Wednesday, 1 May 2013



This was an exercise conducted at the write club. The assignment was to create a dialogue between two people with a time lag, i.e., the conversation is not in real time.  For this the following scenario was created.  NASA sometime in the future has selected a teenager from one of the colleges to participate in its manned mission to the moon, as an observer.  The teenager is allowed to communicate with one friend on earth  at a designated time every day, by sending a short message.  He will only receive the reply from his friend at the same time the next day. So there is a waiting period associated with the reply after the message is sent.  Here is what I wrote…..

Sent: 1200 hrs Day 1
Dude, Its amazing out here, I am literally on the moon! The journey was cool and the Space Station is kick ass man – just out of this world. I am having a ball out here, never gonna come back man! Just lovin it!!! How’s college dude? Must be boring without me ..

Received: 1200 hrs Day 2
You lucky dude! I should have put my name on that entry form…anyways happy for you! Enjoy your time there buddy. College sucks as usual. BTW Meena was asking about you.

Sent:1200 hrs Day 3
Meena asked about me!! Dude, all these days, waiting at the parking lot, canteen, the library (oh, I hate that place) for a word with her and she asks about me now!! And dude, you know better than to slip in a statement like that so innocently. What did she ask?

Received: 1200 hrs Day 4
Hey, Chill Man. Actually, she had been noticing us following her around.  So when she saw me alone, inquired if you were keeping well. I am surprised how she didn’t know about your selection for the moon mission. She didn’t have change for her library dues and so I helped her out. She will return the money tomorrow.

Sent: 1200 hrs Day 5
What!!! You got friendly with her? She is meeting you tom?? Bro, you know how much I like her, don’t you? Talk to her about me dude! Man, this space station is getting on my nerves. I can’t keep the times these people want me to, for everything. Dude, message me as soon as you get back.  I don’t think I can sleep tonight.

Received: 1200 hrs Day 6
Chill, Pal.  Don’t get excited and fall off the space station, it is a long way down! We had coffee today at the canteen.  She is not the snob that we thought she was, in fact, very down to earth!  You are the one on the moon!! Just kiddin! Do you know, she is a big fan of Shah Rukh Khan. Will be catching a SRK movie tomorrow.

Sent: 1200 hrs Day 7
Hey!! Catch a SRK movie?? Who?? You, She or you both?? Buddy you cant do this to me! This space station sucks. I am gonna ask them for a parachute. I have to get out of this place. Buddy I can’t take it anymore here. Need to be there!

Received: 1200 hrs Day 8
Relax Mate. Enjoy your time there. The movie sucked, she watched SRK and I watched her. Boy, I proposed to her after the movie and she said YES!!! Sorry Buddy, I was also crazy for her. You have the moon ride to be proud of, let me have my moon on earth, yeah man, she means the moon to me!!! Meet you when you are down to earth, till then take care…..

Thursday, 10 January 2013

Savage Kshetra - An Aman ki Aasha Presentation!


Once again the barbarians have struck.  While the case of Lt Saurabh Kalia is still rankling the conscience of the nation (i sincerely hope it does) and a grieving father doggedly pursues justice for his son, two more brave hearts have been savagely mutilated by the Pakistani soldiers. And what do we do? Condemn it, offer platitudes, and go about organising the next season of Surkshetra, a song and dance show with the Pakistanis!

Pakistani singers and cricketers come to India. We roll out the red carpet, make them win competitions, take some of them in IPL, give them movies, pay them loads of money. They happily make their money here, go back to Pakistan, and pay their taxes to their government from the money they made here. Their government then pay their army from the taxes who then in turn mutilate our soldiers.  So are we indirectly sponsoring the mutilation of our soldiers??????

It is not therefore surprising when Pakistani think tanks have openly proclaimed India as a soft nation and too scared to act in the face of any provocation.  We are a peace loving society, with peace loving intellectuals, who make a living out of peace shows and peace talks and would strive hard to mute any talk of a response in equal measure. We would therefore sacrifice any number of dispensable soldiers and offer their heads for the Pakistani soldiers to indulge in a game of football as long as it does not affect our dance and cricket shows.