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Showing posts from 2008

What the Hell is Happening?

I am a journalist no doubt, but even I am losing track of what is happening here. There seems to be nothing but chaos today that is taking a grip of my life. What the hell is happening to me? I was standing right there, with the witness in front of me, when Maher had rushed in. All hell broke loose that moment when he agreed to the fact that he had been a witness to that ghastly act of the play of life that had unfolded that dreaded night. And yet, he is not in the condition to do so, for he is “too weak to be exerted upon”, as the doctors said that day. Maher, in the meantime, was giving a piece of his mind to his subordinates. “What the fucking hell were you doing huh? Sleeping on your asses? This git of a reporter manages to get to the bottom of the matter and identify a witness, and all you give me is that they did not want to talk. What am I supposed to do with you guys now, huh?” I looked at him. He was really pissed off with his subordinates, who, like swatted flies were strewn

The Wintess Awakens-Chapter 7

I woke out of the deep slumber that time had pushed me into, only to gasp for life. “Doctor, doctor!” screamed a voice around me, as I continued to fight against an invisible force that was pulling me away from this world. Why had it not pulled me away earlier was all that rang in my mind like the church bells. “What’s the matter?” rushed in another voice, which like the first one was totally blurred for me, as my sight had been reduced to a blur, and life revealed its true opaque side to me. “He’s hyperventilating.” “Quick, put him on oxygen!” Suddenly, a pair of hands pulled up my head and made me wear a mask; and I could breathe again. The mist in my eyes began to clear up, and I could now see an army of white surrounding me, all looking at me as if I was a curio in an antiques shop. “Can you hear us?” asked a woman, apparently a nurse, as I followed her voice towards her face. I motioned towards her that I could, but somehow I did not have the voice in my mind being followed up by

Me, The Journalist

As I left Maher’s office, I had some doubts about the case, but none about the man. The swine was an absolute no-nonsense guy, and always means business. That’s something, you know, that I appreciate in people, unlike most of us, who shiver at the mere idea of the truth and its gory details coming to the fore. Anyways, I’ll be honest with you. I, Sam Young, am not just any another reporter, who wants to make something big out of herself with a sensational story that garners the first page; no sir, I am sorry to disappoint you about that. I am fresh, and believe in my principles, though everyone around me scoffs them off, saying that this profession of ours does not have room for them. But I, dear readers, am determined to prove to them just how damn wrong they all are, and that they can go screw themselves up. The Daily Star interview was getting me a lot of attention, though I am not sure if the reason for this attention was a saucy photo of me that was put up on my editor’s behest.

Could It be Him?

Again, I was being pulled into the water, as I struggled with the bastard to save myself and get a grip of him at the same time. The fucking currents were so strong that it was nearly impossible for the either of us to keep hold of the rail that had broken down. And yet, he continued to pull at me, even as his own grip was loosening, screaming at me above the deafening current, “I’m going to hell, and you are coming with me.” And soon, he lost grip of me as well, and away he floated into the darkness in that flooded night… I woke up from the slumber that had enveloped me in this summer heat. It had quietly invited me into its laps, promising me comfort and warmth, and continued to do so, till someone had placed his hand on my shoulder. “Sorry I fell asleep,” I spoke, while rubbing my face to awaken myself. “So, what does the report say?” “It’s difficult to ascertain whether she was raped or not. However, some man is responsible for the murder. The autopsy woman thinks that the killer i

Death Visited Me-Chapter 4

I am dead now; but is it? I do not feel dead at all. I seem to be hanging somewhere between life and death; afterlife is something that still eludes me. And so I lay hanging around the place that I once called home; which is still home to me in more ways than one. I can still recall that night, when he had come in. I knew him, of course, and was gladly surprised to see him at that time of the night. “The more, the merrier,” I had privately thought. How foolish of me to even think like that! I still recall bitterly how he had slashed me up as if I were nothing more than a piece of meat. And there I was, struggling in vain to save myself. And he was watching in from outside, as I was being torn apart, being nothing more than the mute spectator like the moths that had fluttered around in my house that night. I was always told that when you see these moths which have the skull pattern formed on their backs, death is sure to visit your house; these moths are the horses that pull the chariot

The Autopsy Woman

I have gotten used to the stench of death in its myriad hues and shades, so nothing surprises me or shocks me now. They are nothing more than a number to me now; in spite of me being a ‘woman’, there is no sensitivity left within me with regards to death now, except for its causes and the timing, if I were to exclude the causes out of my daily routine as well. Everyday I have to see dead bodies, or its remaining parts or its shreds, whatever the cops manage to recover over varying periods of time. The causes of death are several; the motives seem to remain the same, if one were to believe what the cops say. But I do not care anymore; I restrict myself from thinking too much about that. “Here’s the new one,” spoke the coroner, as he shoved up the body up onto the examination table with the help of two other apprentices. Death weighs heavily upon all of us, and so was this body similarly bogged down by the weight of its own decaying mass. The body was horribly disfigured from the abdomen

Victim,Culprit and Witness-Chapter 2

I don’t give a damn to what their names are. They can be Judy or Jack or Germain or whatever goddamn person on this earth, they are still the same to me. They have only three names for me: the victim, the culprit and the witness. The body was lying there, decaying, even as maggots and flies and their larvae were enjoying this unusually large feast of human flesh that had been so generously prepared for them overnight by this unique chef. I was wearing a mask on my face, which was an exercise in futility, for the stench still managed to tickle the sensory organelles within my nose, even as I inspected the lamp with the bloodstains on it, and the mish-mash of her intestines that had been created by the culprit. Only a forensic examination could further evince what was left intact within her; what was stolen from her (if my hunch proves right), and when the murder was committed along with the screenplay of this strange play being enacted in front of me right here today. There a lot of oth
I pray today for the souls of all the victims of the absolute terror unleashed by mindless creatures. May God rest their souls in peace.

An Evening

The afternoon is hot and humid And the soul and body wet With the sweat trickling down my body As I walk along the road, and everything is set In the grand order of things that has been designed By some forces unknown and benign And hear the traffic honk and the people scream As the afternoon passes across, pulling in the evening screen The sun is going down, and evening approaches While people start moving around again,as life enervates On these earlier dead road alleys and pathways That are the lifeline for the world enclosed in this tiny space The temples ring bells, the minarets sound the azaan To all faithful, come one come all Come pay your obeisances to the One God Seek his shelter humbly, for He hates none and forgives all And people mill about, and traffic snarls begin While the crows crow away, and sparrows begin to sing Their voices drowned out in this strange cacophony That the race of humanity causes which is called a din The sun witnesses silently, as it changes its hues

WAR

War These three letters make so much of a difference to life Reversing the order, so that fathers bury sons And widows are made out of wives And children lose fathers for no cause of theirs And lovers lose lovers for no reason And bodies pile up, with no destination Lying within coffins of wood, metal or resin While mothers lose children On both sides of the divide Yet none has the remorse for the other "They did their duty, we are doing ours" Is the common refrain And while the bodies and its parts pile up In planes, in cars and on trains Wrapped in the country's flags, motionless they lie As they are remembered for the first and last time Only to be forgotten forever And in prisons pile up prisoners Who rot away ignored by their own people While feeling uncomfortable when their kin question "why did you ignore my father, my brother, my son?" And tombs are raised To mock the misery of human beings And offer floral tributes on special days While the other d
It has been a long duration since the time that I had last put up something on this blog. I do not know if anyone even wants me to write anything at all, or if anyone eve cares to read what I have written. Anyways, I would still say that it is my fault that I have been unfaithful to something that I had promised I would follow up earnestly. Life has been a bit of a rolling stone, gathering no moss of the type that I always desired. I will try to keep up. I have a couple of ideas in my mind, and hopefully they will turn out into something meaningful. Please pray that I maange to do so.
I had a strange day, but one that was tiring and frustrating at the same time. Everything was going against me, it felt as if I was moving against the tide. I have gone crazy, and feel tired, and feel like curling up in a bed and hide myself from the world. I wish the world was not so cruel as it is. Anyways, I wish everyone Shubho Bijoy and Happy Dussehra, and hope that only good exists in your lives.
It was an interesting day, as I visited some of the most farthest places in my knowledge today. Sitting here in Thiruvananthapuram today, I can only recall the tiresome journey to Radhapuram Taluk in Tirunelveli District, the birthplace of the saint-poet Thiruvalluvar, for some work. How beautiful can a country get? This is a question that often creeps in my mind, as each time I visit a new place, I am left speechless by the sheer magnificence of this nation's dazzle and colours, and it is really an amazing experience to discover the country, its people and places in the land that I proudly call India. Anyways, I shall talk more later about some other issues, when I get back to Hyderabad. Right now, with people sitting on my head, can't say much now, can I???

Murder and Death

And again, it happened. Shrieks filled the air, as the knife went past her body, and blood spurted out of the veins, and splattered all over the walls and the bed and any place that it could find to leave its impact on. The glass curtain that silence often tends to draw over the darkness of night was shattered to an infinite number of pieces, most of which could not even be counted, let alone repair; it had been permanently destroyed, at least for tonight. I was standing outside the house, and had witnessed the knife go through her tender body, and which had started a fountain of blood that had even stained the table lamp that stood by her bed, and had quietly witnessed the gruesome crime being committed. Her shriek sounded as if a spirit was being tortured in hell; maybe it’s the sign of the Angel of Hell stealing your soul, seeking revenge for someone in exchange for their soul. But it was frightening, was the shriek, and the night was witness to all that it had surrounded, but conve

Hyderabad/Secunderabad Diaries

Monsoon time is a strange time for our nation as such. People wait for the rains, and then they also wait for it to go away, due to the widespread problems that it creates evey year. It is highly depressing to see the widespread destruction that the rains have been bringing about in this beautiful nation. And it is still rythmic in nature, having a strange attraction towards it, that has inspired so many of us to write in its honour, to compose songs in praise of it, to sing ballads that remind us of its composure, its fury, its many moods, since time immemorial. Perhaps its due to the fact that the monsoons are like us humans, and has several aspects to its personality like us. And this will go on forever, till either the rains cease to occur on this planet, or till the human beings themselves cease to exist on this planet.  For me, I love this season, and have fallen for it even more after having come to Hyderabad, for the beautiful chill that it has brought about is incomparable. Li

Vande Mataram

“Please sign here, thank you,” said the jailor, visibly amused to see Ram signing the entry register in his jail. “By the way, what have you really come for? To plot another Naxalite strategy?” he remarked caustically, which was replied to by an iron stare by Ram, shutting his mouth and wiping his smile off effectively. The havildar took the register out of hi hand, as another led the way for Ram, who had come to ___bad Jail for the first time. The prisons of this country are a legacy of the Raj that we had suffered under, which they ruefully demonstrate. The walls are dark and desolate, and they emanated a variety of odours which may incite an ordinary frail human being to throw up at its mere recall. There is no natural lighting in these jails, and for a garden or “green space”, they usually have a square meter sized patch that has some wild grass growing on it. But that’s another story unto itself, and of no concern to us. Ram walked behind the havildar, who led him towards the

The Storm

It was raining heavily that night, as if all hell had broken loose, and was heading towards the earth to soak it in its pain, misery, suffering and torment. And it was a bad night, was this one, for reasons one can only feel, but cannot express to himself, herself or anyone else, even to the person who is really close to the person in question. But it was a bad night, and would get only worse. He was standing under the ledge of the window that otherwise allows people from within to look outside, but usually allows everyone to look in normal times: nature, people, animals, everyone and everything that can be conceived of. There was a strange expression on his face, as he was feeling the raindrops fall on his outstretched hand. Why would he do that, one would ask, and what is so special about him doing that? So many people do it, and so frequently that we could ignore it totally. But this guy was different, you see. He could not see at all, so he tried to make up for his lack of the
You only realize the gravity of any situation only when it stares right in your face. That is exactly how I have been feeling today for the whole day. I had been reading a lot about the agrarian crisis in the state of Andhra Pradesh when I was living in Delhi, but the true picture of the severity of the crisis has only now begun to sink in. each day, hundreds of families enter Hyderabad, coming from various parts of the state, hoping to create a better life over the ashes of their previous one, which was sacrificed in the sweltering heat ofthe sun under which they worked on their fields only to get a cropper out of them. Its so depressing to see these families squatting on the pavements, on which they took refuge so that the could clear the debts that they had incurred, and free the piece of land that they loved in spite of the hostility it offered to them. I wish I could do something about it, but I feel so helpless about it.

Hyderabad/Secunderabad Diaries

Another day in Hyderabad, but not a usual one, to say the least. It rained non-stop for 26 hours over Hyderabad. Rainfall is an underestimation; it felt as if the heavens were upset over something and had cried their hearts out. Maybe they were sad about the state of affairs that the city is in today. Maybe they were upset about the loss of the city that was , which is nearly impossible to locate in the glitz and glamour that has come to engulf the quiet sounds of the city, which has blinded the people of this city so much they cannot see they where they are headed too. Maybe that explains the absolute lack of traffic sense that the city's residents exhibit! Anyways, a colleague of mine has gone berserk about the situation of the city. In Paigah, where he puts up, the lower floors are flooded. Within ten minutes he had to rush everything he owned to the first floor, as his landlord had asked him too. Now, he has lost his senses, and is even talking of going back. However, is there

Something in my mind

I have been having a strange time in this city. Its difficult to comprehend most of the times what is happening around me. The language is a bit amusing, and the food is strangely spicy or totally bland. But I have been having a strange time, that I can guarantee to you. Life leads you into directions unknown to us, but it always gives you a route to get diverted from, or gives you a way out of the problems we have to face. However, when you opt for the alternative route, it will be entirely on you-the options, the methods of your means, and the consequences, and everything and anything that can be associated with those roads of life that lie open in front of you. Usually, we humans refuse to accept the consequences of our actions, when we should be refusing the journey's outcome so that we are doing what is truly right for us. But then, we are humans, we are prone to commit mistakes, stumble upon this journey, and walk forward. But do we learn anything? My answer is-probably not.

Hyderabad/Secunderabad Diaries

So, here I am, trying to write something in the name of a blog, when there is really nothing in my mind that I have that i could express. What is it that makes me do so, I do not know; yet, I feel compelled today to let the emptiness of my mind out into the vastness of the cyber world. Anyways, life is moving at a brisk pace in Hyderabad/Secunderabad. I have actually lost all sense of time and day at work; but a colleague of mine said it is normal, so I have reasons of not being afraid. Life is moving forward. I got a roommate, who I should mention, is a lot of fun to hang out with. He's always got some antic up his sleeve. At least I do not get bored due to the loneliness that was there otherwise in this house that I stay in. Its strange, but I get to talk my heart out. Truly, solitary confinement is the worst punishment that any human being can be meted out. Hope to write something good real soon.

The Lost Battle

I feel so strange As I walk past Your grave, that reminds me Of our turbulent past Of how we fought , how we cried Of how we laughed, and how we lied Of all that has been tested and tried In relationships that eventually died Of how we loved, and how we fought And yet after that each other we sought And make up for the heartbreaks we suffered And the misery that on each other we brought And yet, we never said "I love you" "Do you love me too, hon?" Nor we expected anything out of our lives When we'd walk in the field of daffodils Under the bounty of the golden sun And yet, who knew it wasn't to last The manner in which I blasted past The doors without knowing why You hid from me, and spoke all those lies Till the next day, I got a call When I was told, that you were gone As the phone fell out of my hand And I collapsed within, while my heart sank You died of something, I never knew what But I knew one thing-that you are gone And t

KAHAANI KEKTA KE MAHABHARATA KI

I was still reeling from the after effects of watching the great disaster " Tashan ", and thought nothing could match in terms of utter stupidity and nonsense value, but I had underestimated a woman who goes by the name of Ekta Kapoor . Well, yesterday i had seen an episode of the new mental assault launched by her that goes by the name of " Kahaani Hamaarey Mahabharat Ki" (yeah, she did not spare even that!), and by God, did i regret my decision to check it out! I have yet to see something as hysterical as this, and could not believe my eyes when I saw how people were flying about in the action sequences. The serial looks like a bad mish -mash patch up work, a grotesque mixture of "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon" and "300" to say the least. And please, can she not make her directors to get the poor actors to act properly? I mean nothing about them seemed good-their body language, their diction, their dialogue delivery, their expressions-all
A king was once very powerful, and his court wasfamous for being a collection of the wisest men on the whole of this earth. Such was his might that everyone would look at him in respect and awe.One day, a saint passed by his court, and without asking, the king invited him, exhibiting his power and might to the saint. The saint simply smiled, and when he was leaving, wrote something on a chit of paper, and handed it over to the king. "Read it," he said, "when you have nowhere else to go. This is all I have to offer to you." Saying so, he left. A few years hence, bad times fell on the kingdom. Enemies ran over it, and the king was pushed out into ignonimity and despair. In vain he wandered about in the jungles, as he thought of what went wrong with him, and how could his luck run out on him like this. It was then that he realised that he still had that chit of paper with him, and remembered the advice he had received .Excited, he opened up the chit, which read thus,

A short story

Long long ago, there was a king whose wife had delivered a son. He had nothing really different about him, everyone assumed, till he began to speak, and since then they never saw him the same way. For, unlike other kids learning to say ma or baba or any such simple word, he had learnt to say Om.His mother was his only friend, and she was soon to pass away, and she knew that. And so, she went the extra mile to dote on her son, and tried to answer every question that she could, and would smile at those she could not. One day, her son asked a question that struck her like lightning. Innocently like kids, he asked her, "Ma, have you seen God?"The mother did not know what to say. She was having her last moments, and no one was aware of it. But she just smiled and said, " I have not, but they say that those who really try to reach him through hard penances can see God." And saying so, she passed away. Soon the king married again, and in came a hating stepmother, who ill-t