December 30, 2012
December 23, 2012
Edited to add: Dec 29. Amanat/Damini/Nirbhaya ...she is no more.
December 11, 2012
Isabelle walked out of her hotel room # 23.
She stood for a moment to think about what happened inside.
She had just killed her husband of twenty three years.He lay there in a pool of blood.
Her hands were trembling as she stood under the air conditioner vent.
'I will give my self up - whats the use of living now?'she said.
No sooner did she say this - the duct above opened and sucked her in.
'Isabelle come back' a loud voice screamed from behind.
The doctor's voice echoed in Issac's ears - 'Its acute amnesia - don't take her out of the hospital.' as he drifted back into reality.
A dejected Issac, went back to his ward number 23.He opened his eyes to see the familiar grilled windows and padded cell.
Gyanban Thoughts - Writing a twisted tale after a long time. The number 23 plays a role for some reason.This is an experiment in double twist.First when you think the obvious and then the subtle.The word ward is used here to indicate a mental asylum.
image courtesy : here
November 4, 2012
Gyanban Thoughts : Withdrawal Symptoms was the alternative title I was toying with.Anyways, a post after a long time - had been travelling and almost ran into Sandy.It was in one of the hotels this idea struck me -what if there was another hand inside a drawer - would it freeze time for you?
October 9, 2012
Gyanban Thoughts : and the mystery continues....
image courtesy : here
September 29, 2012
Gyanban Thoughts - A haiku series tied up as a full length poem. The attempt was to draw a parallel with an object and a feeling.Lot of images came to my mind,a comet,hope, light and darkness. Note a faint underlying double entendre with the devil's angle.There s some imagery around the act of making love and the intensity of it all.
September 23, 2012
September 17, 2012
At 14, she was unexplored,untouched,unfelt.The colors of the world were monochrome, sepia or at best a touch of tan.The sun tan was evenly spread,the interruptions were out of the way and the feeling was sublime.
The scuffle graduated into a battle,and the veins revolted in pain.I could take it no longer,but had no one to restrain.I bit the nape,pinned the hands and covered her body with mine.The moment was nigh,and the kill almost done,just then…
September 8, 2012
August 24, 2012
Gyanban Thoughts : A short flash fiction where the hunter becomes the hunted.A simple predictable plot,the focus was in capturing the contrasting moment which transcends from nonchalance to shock.
August 12, 2012
Getting up at 5AM on a Monday morning is not the best situation to be in for a seven year old, for any seven year old if you ask me.I am thirteen now and when I sit down to jot one of the earliest memories of my life, all I can recall are the sights, sounds and smells of those times.
And then the smell of cream biscuits, yes they do have a smell, bourbon has a distinct smell than that of ParleG,which I don’t like much because it does not have any cream, not to forget the drinking chocolate smell, it also left a mark on my life….and my school shirts!
As every morning in my life, Ma walked into the room early and announced ‘Its time to get up and read, how long will you sleep?’
August 5, 2012
Brutal screams and muted walls
falling rains and weeping Gods,
cowardice hands and innocent tears,
empty eyes and an eternal smear,
nameless faces on empty walls,
hiding behind those forgotten halls,
crouch in darkness till the storm fades,
arise they will with new charades,
today a country lit its funeral pyre
burning in shame burning with ire,
light your soul with elan
rise up o fallen man...
Gyanban Thoughts - these few lines are dedicated to the sad turn of events in the Assam and Mangalore moral policing cases. These people who do such a cheap act need to be publicly prosecuted and exposed - so that they live the rest of their lives with a tag/shame of being a coward.
image courtesy: here
August 2, 2012
Broken strings and memories,
Knots join the threaded stories
Layers lie beneath the pain,
Those eyes will never meet again.
The loving touch and tender care,
Loved and left in despair,
Hesitant feet and a stifled tear,
The curling palm and a stinging smear.
A reluctant life passes by,
Times spent,laughter and sigh,
Thirfty love and emotions run dry,
Complete the circle of a sullen goodbye.
Gyanban thoughts - a few lines dedicated to those people who are no longer part of their loved ones,who are separated from their families and friends.Some relationships once broken can never join again,just like borken strings, the knots that force that join will forever remind of what broke those strings.Yet these people will remain hidden in some corner of your heart as they had once touched your life.Some kites will just fly away wth broken strings...
July 25, 2012
The Virar local left at 8:02 AM as usual. The ride was usual but today, the end was going to be fascinating.
Dholavira is a real site discovered only in the late 60's by Mr.J.P.Doshi and is the fifth largest Harrapan site in the Indian subcontinent.It is located in the Rann of Kutch and is visited by flocks of Flamingos every year whose origin is unknown.
The source of information :Archeology.
image courtesy : Here.
July 20, 2012
Mr.and Mrs.Joglekar sat next to each other holding hands on seat 34A and 34B. Mr.Joglekar was next to the window.He touched the window with the back of his fingers.It was cold.
'How much longer?' Mr.Joglekar inquired.
'Its about 15 hours from Bangalore we are only into the sixth hour my dear.'
'I cant wait to see Lake Como'.
'Be patient darling it still will be about two hours from the Milan airport.'
This was the first international holiday for the couple,and they had waited twenty five years to fulfill this long cherished dream.Mrs.Joglekar was a professor in the prestigious Wellington College and she worked hard to keep their life moving through the everyday challenges.
It was her idea to go for this vacation.The choice of destination was Italy. Simply because the place was loaded with history,and they loved the mysticism surrounding the country for its art,culture and tradition perhaps the only match with the Indian civilization for its evolution and brilliance.
First stop was Milan,then to Bellagio, moving to Verona,Venice and then to Rome,Florence,and back to Milan completing the circle.
They arrived in Milan at one thirty in the afternoon local time.
'Where do we go now, have you got the baggage's?'Mr.Joglekar inquired.
'Relax, I have everything, besides most instructions are in English, so its not a problem finding the way out of the airport'
A fresh cool breeze greeted them exiting the automatic glass door.A distant fragrance of pine trees,mixed with some remnant petrol hung around in the air,as they waited for the pre-paid cab arrived.
'Ciao' Luciano greeted them.Dressed in a nice grey suit,shoes polished and shining speck-less.
'Hmm that's a nice perfume'
Luciano looked a bit surprised, commenting on perfumes was perhaps invading his personal space.But Italians are known to be friendly and warm people,and he certainly didn't want that perception to change.
'Grazzie - that's Salvatore Ferragamo'
'Oh is that the best?'
'Well certainly one of the best, there's of course Versace, very close and very expensive.'
Happy with the information Mr.Joglekar and Mrs.Joglekar made themselves comfortable in the Mercedes and set off for Bellagio.The distance between Milan Malpensa airport to Bellagio is roughly two hours depending on the traffic.As the road rushed by, Mr.Joglekar's eyes had a tear threatening to burst out,but Mrs. Joglekar held his hand with a tight reassurance.
'Open the windows please I want to inhale the moment'
Luciano looked from the rear-view mirror and saw Mr.Joglekar's moist eyes.He slowed the car and moved into the extreme right lane meant for slow moving vehicles and opened the windows.
'Are we close to Lake Como?'
'Yes how did you know' Luciano asked Mr.Joglekar.
'Well the water smells fresh and wind in the air has become cooler so I noticed the change - tell me what else do you see?' Mr.Joglekar asked Luciano.
'Err the usual some trees, some houses and the lake of course'
'Well I see the trees are multiple shades of green - like tropical green,moss green, bottle green,pale green, and they re are interspersed with a splash of orange,some red and some lilac thrown in.'
'Ah so you are a poet?'
'No a retired professor - my wife still teaches.'
'This has got to be heaven' Mrs.Joglekar smiled as she set foot on Bellagio.It has long been famous for its setting at the intersection of the three branches of the Y-shaped lake, which is also known as Lario. Just at the tip of the peninsula separating the lake's two southern arms, with the glorious Alps visible across the lake.The view is like a valley and a serene river flowing through it.Just like a pearl in the ocean Bellagio is one beautiful spot on the Lake Como.
'I am hungry can we eat something here?'Mr.Joglekar interrupted.
'Well you could try the 'Splendid cafe - the pasta's are delicious and the buffalo cheese salad is something to pay the extra Euro for.'
'Can you explain there fragrance?'
'Well the pasta is on white sauce,which has a salty and cheesy taste,since some of the sauce is heated,baked at a particular temperature it gets a different flavor like a little smoky perhaps and it is very soft,it melts and then glides down gently and smoothly.The buffalo cheese is a specialty for its quality -its served in huge chunks and tastes like fresh cream and cheese mixed together.It is usually served chilled so it adds to the flavor.And to complete the meal you should have the Chianti wine.'
Mrs.Joglekar's smacked her lips in delight.
'But how do I know it's a good wine - what if I don't like the taste?'
'Ah good question -you see to be eligible for a wine to be called Chianti - it has to go through say 20 rules, if any of the rules of wine making for that region are not followed it cannot be called a good wine, likewise, if all the rules of wine making are followed strictly,since its all about perfection,then it is called a good wine - whether you like the taste or not is immaterial.Taste is something which you culture,mature and develop over the years of wine tasting.You acquire the taste slowly and then you will understand the difference between the quality of grapes, the color of the wine,the fragrance of the cask,and other finer aspects.
Mr.Joglekar was pleasantly surprised and satisfied with the answer.
'Ah - that's because I want to inhale the view ...I want to live every moment, feel every drop of water on my fingers, taste every little bit of cheese and savor the flavor for a lifetime,know every color the trees change and the smell of every blossoming flower....since I really I cant see any of it now.I have lost my eyesight in an accident a few years back.My wife is my only guide and she has a fantastic vocabulary,she explains every little detail and I don't miss seeing them.'
Luciano dropped them in a small motel and gave Mr.Joglekar a warm embrace. Luciano left the couple with a lump in his throat.
July 6, 2012
‘What do we do now?’Mohita the quieter one spoke out of nervousness.
Mallika got out of the car and stretched her arms as if nothing had happened, yawned and looked around with lazy elegance.Mohita followed suit , gingerly alighting the car inhaling the cooling breeze blowing across.
‘Looks like the breeze is picking up speed’ Mohita opined.
Mallika offered silence as an answer.
The sun seemed to be in a hurry to rise elsewhere, and the moon was conspicuous by his absence but the stars made their presence felt, in full glory.In the dying light of the day a distant ray of hope showed itself in the form of two headlights.
‘Ah – see there is civilization – we re not alone’ Mallika announced triumphantly.
‘B-but what if-’
‘Hush’ Mallika gestured wide-eyed.
A white Ambassador with dark tints stopped right beside them. As the window rolled down slowly, Mohita’s heart skipped a beat. There was an uneasy calm in the atmosphere that evening. Mohita looked at her watch - it was precisely six hours since it had all begun.
A man looked out of the window, frowned his thick bushy eyebrows and asked ‘What are you girls doing here?’
There was silence.
Mohita’s heart was racing and her throat parched.
‘What help do you need?’
‘We need a ride to Bikaner’
‘Ah – that is not the direction I am headed to – I can give you a ride till the nearest railway station Deshnok Junction - you are on your own from there’.
The girls looked at each other and then looked back at the man.
‘Open the boot – we have luggage.’ Mallika announced.
Mohita whispered – ‘ask him if he wants money?’
‘We will give him what we have – there’s not much else we can do, can we Mohita?’
‘Give me the keys to the boot’ Mallika asked. The man switched off the car engine and gave her the key.
‘This is heavy I need help’ Mallika shouted from behind the car.She could not lift the suitcase alone.He watched her struggle,but did not get
down, instead egged them to hurry up.
‘Mo – I need some help with the suitcase here’
‘Yes coming –just wait’ .Mohita opened the rear door and stuffed her belongings in the seat and helped Mallika dump the suitcase in the trunk of the car.
‘Men – will always be men’ lets get going fast.
Mallika slammed the boot and went and sat beside the driver's seat while Mohita slipped into the rear seat.
Mohita noticed the man looking at her through the rear-view mirror a number of times and all she could see is two blood shot eyes and a thick bushy eyebrow.
Mallika sat beside him with a clenched fist and one hand holding a metal sipper bottle. About 23 minutes into the ride, the man announced – ‘I think you should roll up the windows – there is a sandstorm up ahead.’
This made Mohita really nervous. The windows shades were pitch dark , with almost zero visibility outside. She thought what if this man was a monster, what if he was some sort of a serial killer – lock up strangers inside the car and rape and kill them? What if…
‘Mohita – didn’t you hear the man – just do as he says’Mallika asserted.
As the windows rolled up it was stuffy inside and a strange pungent odour emanated from the floor of the car . A stale smell, perhaps the first signs of rot setting in somewhere. Mohita was nauseous and immediately took out her deodorant and sprayed it around.
‘What’s that smell’ the man asked.
‘I don’t know - keep driving’ – Mallika replied.
The man looked at her with a frown. He was not used to be treated like that before, not from women certainly. He chose to ignore and drove on.
His head was starting to hurt,probably his blood pressure was high.The mood was tense inside the car as the sandstorm blew sideways swaying the car.
‘How far from the Deshnok railway station?’ Mallika asked.
‘About 20 minutes, but in this weather it might take a bit longer.’
No sooner had the man said this – Mallika’s hands began to shake vigorously as if she had a fit.
She took the metal sipper bottle and banged it on her forehead. Blood splattered out immediately. She took aim and hit the same spot one more time – bang and it was a wide gash because this time the metal cap screws scraped the wound. She let out a loud scream. She wiped her bloodied hands on the dashboard, on the seat and then…. on the man’s shirt.
‘Mallika – here pull the rope quick ’ she hissed. Gone was Mohita’s dainty whispering voice.
Mallika tugged hard at the rope – it almost choked Mohita’s throat. It drained the blood from her face and her eyes were bulging out.The man tried to escape – but the door was jammed. He could not open it.He banged in desperation and screamed for help but nothing went out of the car.
She leaned over and did the same with the gasping Mohita. The man looked on motionless in horror.
‘Now - take this knife and hold it still.’ Mallika spoke in a low trembling voice.
‘No-no, you c-cant do this – are you mad what are you doing please leave me – take whatever you want –the man pleaded.’
Mallika looked at him with a wry smile and said – ‘you will do as I tell you – you will not use your brains lest I scrape it out.’
Mohita lunged from behind and scratched his face with her sharp nails taking out chunks of flesh on the way. The man was ravaged and brutally assaulted.
‘That man…. was me your honor–I shouldn’t be alive’ Baldevsingh Karni recounted the horror he went through in great detail.
‘I am a small town tourist operator from the Nokha village and was on my way to receive a tourist party for the Rajasthan villages tour when I met these ladies mid way you honor’.
The silence in the courtroom was broken by the clapping hands of the prosecutor.
‘That was a master work of art Baldev – you should try your hand in writing horror scripts for Ram Gopal Verma movies you know’ the lawyer said sarcastically.
‘It has all the ingredients of a super hit movie right there. But I am afraid you will have to wait till the next life time – your honor, this man is wasting the courts time in such fictitious misdirecting stories after such incredible amount of evidence against him.’
‘A dead body in the boot of the car – brutally chopped to pieces,face beyond recognition, and dumped in a suitcase , just by using a Swiss knife, which have his fingerprints and blood stains. As if this was not enough, he cooks up a story about two women assaulting him in the middle of no where. He also claims the women hurt themselves before inflicting pain on him – how odd is that?’
‘You have got to believe me sir – they did that deliberately to insure their protection in the event anyone else saw them ,the police chowk was just ahead of the Deshnok Railway station -as we were approaching town,– they could present themselves as victims.’ Baldev pleaded to be believed.
‘Why would some stranger suddenly want to hurt you – and that too a man of your size?
‘Where’s the motive? And more importantly where is the evidence?’
‘Your honor this is an open-shut case of a greedy tour operator who killed a man brutally in cold blood and wanted to pass on the blame ,but he got caught in his own story.’
‘That’s not true – why would I do that? What was my motive for killing somebody?’
‘Ah so now you do agree that there might be a chance that you were somewhere in the whole scheme of things and the woman story was all bogus- at least one point is proven here you honor.’
‘The motive was money – the police found a huge amount of cash in the back seat of the car – tightly rolled into bundles of thousand rupee notes - talk about a healthy tip eh Baldev?’
Baldev’s jaw dropped – he was helpless he had no defense left.
“Shyam Singh Rathore, 40,divorced, looking for a suitable companion, homely, yet smart, traditional and modern can take care of home and assist in family business. Interested parties please post a picture and send bio data to Bikaner Times,PO Box number 2311 Bikaner - 334001.”
Just then,one of the girl’s phone rang –a lawyer like voice on the other end of the line spoke - ‘my darlings,we have a new case…”
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