Writing is simple,but not easy.

March 23, 2014

Cleaverly Done!

Switching off the television in the kitchen Chef Gomez said ‘I just knew it, he is the killer.’

‘It’s a bizarre case isn’t it – I mean what kind of sick man chops body parts and keeps them in freezer?’asked his apprentice Sandy.

‘Exactly, this is a cruel,cruel world – I just knew it from the moment they aired this on television – he was,he was the man’.

‘Yea right, and how were you so sure?’ Sandy asked.

‘Well, he shows the classic symptoms’ Chef Gomez said pulling out the cleaver from the knife box to chop the meat.

‘O yeah? Like what?’ Sandy asked.
‘Ah the usual, troubled childhood, alcoholic parents, abuse, innocent looking etc. .’ Chef Gomez rattled off while slamming the cleaver on the cutting board splitting the rib eye into two.

‘Disagree, Sanchez was saving up to send his parents for a holiday, and he had a rather normal childhood’.

‘That’s an assumption Sandy – he even forgot his pug’s birthday, wouldn’t give him a bath for weeks and not even take him out for a walk in the evening’ Chef Gomez said wiping off the faint reminiscent blood, off the meat with his white gloves.

‘Oh Come on, it was minus temperature for most part of the season' said Sandy looking at the cutting board.

‘No, no you don’t understand these serial killers,you're too naive,they just appear to be normal, but they don’t do normal things, they do bad things, oh terrible things they do and then just forget about it’ emphasized Chef Gomez and shaped the cut perfectly.

‘I think you are reading too much into it, the trial is still on, and the prosecution still does not have motive proven’ argued Sandy.

‘They like to kill, have no feelings, cold, cold blood and no no feelings, they trap or seduce the victim, and then corner them before unleashing hell’ Chef Gomez slammed the cleaver one more time. This time the spoons fell off the hook.

Just then, the wall clock chimed at the top of the hour.
‘Guess the jury is out on this one – and I should head home.’

‘Sandy wait, why don’t you show me what you learnt today, like how to cut the rib eye perfectly?’

‘Err Chef its six o clock, can we do this tomorrow? ‘Sandy said looking at the clock.

‘You can check in anytime you like but you can never leave, welcome to hotel California' Chef Gomez sang loudly waving the cleaver like an orchestra conductor &ampstarted dancing to the tune while chopping the meat pieces with razor sharp precision and speed.

Sandy broke into a nervous smile. 

Sandy took a step back without turning his head, and suddenly Chef Gomez stopped singing, the cleaver had stuck into the cutting board, he slowly turned his face towards Sandy and said ‘what’s the hassle kiddo, chopping meat is fun, come here and listen to the music of the chop, the sound of steel ripping through air, slicing through flesh and hitting wood, poetry I say’.

Sandy wiped his sweaty palms on the cape. ‘You mean we cut the meat now?’

‘That’s right, now stand close to me, give me your hand and I will teach you poetry’.
‘Come closer, here hold my hand’ said Chef Gomez pulling him closer. Sandy turned his head to notice the exit door was latched. Chef Gomez grabbed his hand and pulled him closer.

‘That’s good, now first lose the fear of failure –feel the power of the cleaver, watch the meat carefully, notice the soft pink parts from the dark red ones, know exactly where to strike and then let yourself go,let me show you one more time’.

Sandy noticed the blood splattered cape Chef Gomez hung from his neck and blood stains looked fresh. He glanced down the pocket to see four chopped fingers inside.

Gyanban Thoughts : Just another crazy story idea which originated on the weekend spent on the kitchen table! I wanted this to be a longer story but held myself back to give a slight edginess to it.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

March 22, 2014


She never looked back, fighting her way through a snowstorm.He watched her go away into the rocky snowy mountains from the window near the fireplace.

The cold could not bite her will & the fire didn’t burn his ego.

Expectations can clear or blur reality as love blinds you from the outside and the inside.

Gyanban Thoughts: A short 55 word fiction on philosophy of love and life.Sometimes a small gesture can go on to mend a broken sentiment or sometimes even a broken heart.But more often than not, it doesn't happen.It is important to realize that moment when we chose to put on the blinkers,because that moment goes on to re write the history of your life.

March 4, 2014


Call it magic, or call it you.
Call it tragic, or call it you.
Call it love,or call it you.
Call it hate,or call it you.

Call it life,with you.
Call it strife, without you.
Call it anger,losing you.
Call it pain,forgetting you.

Call it hunger,of loving you.
Call it tears,of missing you.
Call it heart,of my body.
Call it soul,of my universe.

Call it rain,or clouds hiding you,
Call it sunshine,or warmth in you.
Call it sky,or earth watching you.
Call it anything,nothing misses you.

Just call it magic, 
or just me and you.

Gyanban Thoughts - inexplicable and yet self explanatory - that's what magic is all about it just happens, isn't it?

February 18, 2014


‘Is this your first time Shambhunath Das?’Jagan asked raising his bifocals.


‘Hmm, and you want a first timer?’

‘oh of course’

‘Ok good here are the photos take a pick’

’This one’

‘Hmm good choice - she is Maitri, brand new, just registered’

‘ok - what else do you want?’

‘Errm fair skin,well endowed,convent educated,knows computers..’

‘Maitri fits the bill,you sure you have the money,will you be able to provide for her?’

‘Yes I do,all my savings are in place and I will take care of her’

‘Please deposit Rs.50,000’ Jagan said readjusting his bifocals.

Six months later Jagan Sahay closed his matrimonial shop and eloped with Maitri Das.

Gyanban Thoughts - Sometimes when I read the matrimonial columns in the Sunday times I am appalled by the commoditising of a sensitive bond such as marriage.With such materialization comes crime.Frauds and cheats take advantage of ignorant people.This story comes with a twist in the end and clues lies in between conversations. The title of the story is quite apt, and I enjoyed writing this piece.

January 23, 2014

Indelible India

Where we get fairness in a tube
and Taj Mahal is a lube,
Where  Balaji wines,
and Ganpati dines.

Where Bheem is a cartoon
and Lakshmi is a bai
Where Maula is found in malls
And Christ in stalls.

Where Akbar royally travels
and Spice is really a jet
Where corruption is a skill
and tears come on the will.

Where paroles are like a remote control
and people fight for channels.
Where reality shows drag and drift
and supreme justice is done in a lift.

Where mothers buy traditions
and fathers kill girls.
Where death is on every page
and rape has a blind spot.

Where support is not a family
and payers are alarmed
Where reliance is broken
and brothers in arms.

Where there is democracy in shouting
and silence in candles.
Where News anchors manufacture consent
and reality is conspicuous by its absence.

Where Chinese food is Indian
and Parathas are called wraps
Where butter is on a billboard
and water dries in taps.

Where movies escape reality
and your library is Facebook
Where deadlines can wait
and yet updates cannot be late.

Where opinions are cheap
and onions priced high
Where nominations are inherited
and inheritance is discredited.

Where Shivaji is the Boss
and Parvati is found in a cafe
Where God used to play cricket
and priests only collect tickets.

Where honking is a birth right
and road rage is a given
Where torching busses is a regular sight
and empty glasses start a fight.

Where science touches Mars
and originality is lost in scars,
Where you sleep peacefully at night
and the soldier is ready to fight.

Where scams are common wealth
and toilets promote public health
Where you crib and bitch , scream shit.
and yet you do nothing about it.

Gyanban Thoughts : India is a land of paradoxes and irony and we shout scream, discuss and debate...but like me, most of us do nothing about it. So if I am not going to do anything about the way my country is being run, then I give up the right to crib about how it is run and who runs it.I give up the right to feel frustrated,because this is the life I chose no one forced.and if one day I cant take it anymore, then I will do something about it and earn the right to question the system.

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