Writing is simple,but not easy.

September 14, 2014

Missing - 2

Read Missing - 1 here.

Radcliffe School 
Principals Office
Juhu Vile Parle Scheme.
Mumbai –16:30 HRS. -18:30 HRS.

He had never seen Tara Dutta look flustered.It took three years and nine months for Chenthil Kumar,Chief Editor of Ulka Communications,to experience that moment.
He entered into Tara’s half tinted glass cabin noticing her perspire profusely.

'Tara,did you know, horses sweat,men perspire and women glow?'He asked.

Tara Dutta looked up, slowly sliding the rimless glasses above her crease less forehead. The short pixie hair cut was a contrast to her soft white top,the hairstyle was slightly darker, with an espresso tone to the color.The point-cut fringe angled to the right side of her face and made her eyes appear more intense and focused. Her eyes perpetually seemed to ask a counter question without really verbalising it.Questions, which people at work always wanted to know, but would never dare ask. 
Those high arching brows added to her look of slight surprise and continuous interest. Smartly dressed in a soft cotton white top and a beige skirt, with minimal accessories but for a pair of elegant pearl earrings just about making their presence felt. The long tip of the nose pointed towards her boss.

Chenthil,stood at the door expecting a reaction.But it didn’t come from the expected source.After a few uncomfortable moments of silence he broke the ice.

'Err no, just checking if you were ok?'

'Chenthil,I need to excuse myself for a couple of hours, something has come up.'

Chenthil knew she would preempt all questions he could possibly ask.

'The submissions are ready and I’ve looked into the copy you sent  - its ok -I think we can go for print, the meeting with Ismail Associates is taken care of and the
final deck for Dupon Energy is ready -it should be in your inbox as we speak'.

'Perfect as ever,thanks,I will be around when you come back'Chenthil remarked with a hint of disappointment.

'Yes, I will be back, soon' she said.

The ride to Radcliffe was no more than thirty minutes, but today it tested her patience. The counter on the traffic signal snapped her patience.

'Don’t take that road, how many years have you been driving a taxi? Don’t you know which roads to avoid? Come on step on it.' 
The driver looked suspiciously at the woman passenger on his rear view mirror. The kohl had smudged, the short hair fell across her forehead. Tara looked up at the mirror at the same time and saw the driver staring at her. She put on her Prada shades to avoid further contact.
The taxi halted at a singnal as she thought of Shekhar, her grip on the mobile phone tightened. She clenched her teeth without  breaking a single crease on her face. The fights, the nonchalance, the ignorance, each incident floated in her mind one after the other.

The cab started to move again as she flipped through Roohi’s photos on her smart phone. Memories of Roohi’s premature birth, the  subsequent slow development had accentuated the cynicism in her life. Her dream of being the perfect mother had been shattered nine years ago when she learned that Roohi developed "Duodenal Atresia" or a double bubble in the intestines. It was hard for her to take this shock after a near perfect seven month planned pregnancy. Doctors couldn’t convince Tara that it was not her fault.Remarkably,Roohi had caught up with the class,and by the time she turned nine,she was like just any other kid.

Finally, the taxi stopped in front of Radcliffe. Tara paid off the cab and rushed inside. The principals office was a quiet place in spite of so many people in the room. Shekhar turned around and looked at Tara,but before he could say something,Tara took charge.

'Ok,here’s what we do now. Shekhar inform the police. Principal sir can I speak to the class teacher, the helpers, the security guard and the janitors right away?' Both the gentlemen looked at each other.

'We already did that' the principal offered.

'No, I want to talk to them again. We need to form a team and comb the entire school' she said keeping the turmoil inside her tightly capped. As Tara went through the drill of speaking to each staff member it became clear that Roohi was not in the school premises. 

Tara's phone rang and it was Chenthil calling. She disconnected. A text message followed : Check Facebook and see how O&M put up a similar story you edited today'.Tara ignored the message.

'Ok,that's it Tara,I'm going' Shekhar started to briskly walk out of the principals room.
'Wait Shekhar, are you mad? Where will you find her in Juhu? We need to go with the cops be practical' she said.

'Tara,I can't,Its my daughter'. Shekhar walked out of the room to Tara's amazement. It was after a long time that she had seen the other side of Shekhar.

'Ok, Mr. Principal, I'm going too , can you give my mobile number to the police when they find time to get here?' Tara stormed out of the room without waiting for a response. 'Shekhar wait , I'm coming'  she said. Shekhar kept walking without looking back.

'Listen to me Shekhar,lets us first figure out how are we going to cover the area?' she screamed.Shekhar stopped at the Radcliffe exit gate. 
'I will cover the Ville Parle station, and roads number one to seven. You cover eight to thirteen.Iskson temple, Prithvi theater and then finally the beach'he said.

'We should first go to the beach' she said.

'Negative, first the, station.'

'Its more likely she would've wandered over to the beach.'

'Somebody could've kidnapped her and would head to the station'

'Shekhar stop it,don't say that' Tara broke down her long standing composure.

The middle aged couple stood in front of the Radcliffe gate barely holding on to hope.Tara  broke into tears.

Shekhar took Tara's hands off her weeping face and said 'Lets keep calm,think of the best way to do this. I think we should divide the area,why don't you go towards the beach,and  I'll head towards Parla'he said.Tara looked up to Shekhar and nodded without saying a word.

Chenthils incoming call distracted the moment again. The message repeated : Check Facebook.

Shekhar glanced at Tara's cellphone and said 'it just' might be a good idea to post it on Facebook!'

'Facebook?' she said looking up.

'Yes,you know use the power of social media,let people know'

'Yea but the net has enough junkies as well.'

'Well we will have to test our luck, wouldn't we?'

Shekhar and Tara went off in opposite directions, each searching for a common truth, 

Read Missing - 3 here.

“Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.”

September 6, 2014


That missing toothbrush in the holder reminded me you were gone. The night was long.

I searched for the missing face in front of the mirror.The white towel had a remnant strain of your body,the foggy mirror masked your lips.I stood in the shower with moments flowing through my mind.I came out to find the lights were off in the house.It was quiet. The white bedsheet was creaseless. The curtains didn't flow anymore.A sip of Bordeaux floated aimlessly at the bottom of the glass on the side table.

It was over.You were gone. They told me it would sink in slowly- but I had to see it myself.

I reclined on the rocking chair.

It must've been the crowded economy seats perhaps, that you first came across the curtain, and nonchalantly sat next to me.Your eyes betrayed the smile your lips attempted valiantly.The solitary drop of sweat chose to trickle down your calmness. 

Your quivering lips concealed so many stories untold and unheard,just like mine. Though,I must've bored you.I guess I still had the sand in my shoes from that lost childhood.That flight night, you rested on my shoulders, and I stroked your hair, ever so softly hushing your pain away.

And then that moment came,unannounced. As the aircraft plunged into the dark embrace of the startled ocean,I had to make a choice.It was a moment of clarity,a thought so pure that it was almost like  a spontaneous combustion.

I let you go. 

The tip of my fingers still remember your final goodbye.Those screaming eyes frozen in time, as the stars witnessed your presence, and my absence.

Gyanban Thoughts : A short story after a long time. The story is narrated by the dead protagonist however written with twists and that's by design.Some of the inferences are left to the readers imagination.Actually wrote this for the Fiction section for Femina -just simultaneously posting it on the blog as well. Some of the inferences are from current events as you might have guessed.Even the title has a bit of a story to it if you notice carefully.

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

June 15, 2014


Sultan Mastana might not have been his real name,but nobody questioned it.Though he got shot from a distance,the bullets did enough damage to puncture his belly,right shoulder and graze the left temple.He lay on the stretcher unconscious and blood still oozing from the wounds.

‘This is an emergency ward not a film show – please wait outside’Doctor Sneha Malik retorted without looking at the visitors. They obeyed leaving the door ajar.She looked behind her shoulders and saw them peeping inside and said ‘why don’t you get a couple of gunshots and you’ll get a chance to lie on the same bed ok?’ The door closed quietly.

Trying to save the man who was responsible for her  life at the orphanage wasn’t easy

Gyanban Thoughts : a thought on unconditional love,support or  blind faith.

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.

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