Anticlock

The raindrops darted in like arrows. She walked past the lamppost looking back occasionally, he was nowhere to be seen. She closed her eyes controlling the shivers . 

Suddenly  everything around her was calm. A cool wind blew across her face and she opened her eyes. She angled her wrist to see the time.

The dials were moving anti-clockwise ...

Gyanban Thoughts:  Got back to writing after a long gap. Just not getting the time and mood together. This is a shot at micro fiction, originally tried to do  a 55 word fiction but I guess it didn't work that  way.

The Perfect Symmetry

 After a tough day at work Sanjeevani Iyer stopped in front of the elevator door getting ready to go home.

She noticed that the elevator was at the fifteenth floor,that meant a five or seven minute wait. She pressed the down arrow and went  back to fidgeting with the phone.

A few minutes went by and she realized that she hadn't checked where the elevator was.She looked up to find the indicator blank. The elevator display did not show which floor it stopped.She decided to take the staircase ,but the door was locked.She turned around to see the opposite elevator display was blank as well.There was no exit from that floor.All doors were closed and none of the elevators showed any signs of movement.

Sanjeevani frantically dialled a few numbers only to realize that there was no network.The phone switched off automatically.There were five lights on the ceiling and each was switching off one after the other.The darkness in that square corridor grew deeper. She shrieked out loud.And then again.Suddenly she realized in a state of panic that she couldn't hear her voice.

There was no one else on that floor.There was in fact nothing on the floor.It was a perfect symmetry. Sanjeevani had never seen the elevator corridor carefully in all these years.Today she took notice.She noticed that the walls were coming closer, the corridor was shrinking.

She felt claustrophobic,couldn't breathe,couldn't move,shout or scream. It had become like a cage. The walls and the elevator door began closing in on her,while she tried to resist holding up her hands on either side ,but her resistance was no match in front of that massive force. The square tile she stood on had walls on three sides and the shrunk elevator door on the fourth side, each within a touching distance of the other.

And then it happened.

The elevator door opened and then it was a perfect symmetry once again.

Gyanban Thoughts : The title has a deeper meaning and therefore was apt for the story.The title Perfect Symmetry , has some more hidden inside it. Cemetery. The shapes, rectangle,square etc. are all by design in either scenarios isn't it? And that lays the fundamental premise of the story.

Missing - Episode 10

Tete-A-Ten
Read Episode  9










Daruwala’s residence.
Greater Kailash, 
New Delhi.

Fanus Mistry sat down on the carpet near the teak wood bookshelf on the corner of Cyrus’s room. Boman Daruwala had beckoned his son’s only friend in desperation.

There was a poster of a “Blue Morpho”, one of the most beautiful butterflies in the tropical South Americas, just above the bookshelf. With a wingspan of eight inches of rich blue color blended with black and dull brown shades over a porcelain white background made for a stunning visual.

However, what always caught his attention was the little reddish brown caterpillar on the bottom left corner of the poster, with a caption that read “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly”.
Boman Daruwala walked across the room and sat on the deck chair in front of the bookshelf.

“So son, are you going to talk or not?” He asked.

Fanus kept on staring at the poster after momentarily lowering his eyes and said “what do you want to know?”. Boman Daruwala slumped back into the chair.

“Tell me everything, you’ve been his friend for so long, tell me, where is he, where could he possibly go, who else did he meet with, did anyone want to harm him, did he hate someone, speak up and say something Fanus dikra”

Fanus Mistry offered no response.

“What are you drunk or what man? Why are you not sharing anything? Are you hiding something? Is something wrong? Tell me the truth. Tell me now”.

Fanus kept quiet again.

“Dikra, I don’t understand this silence, don’t you want to find your friend? Aren’t you worried? And if you are worried , what are you doing about it? Is there something we need to know? Your aunty and I have run out of ideas - but I’m not able to find what seems to be the problem?”

Fanus looked away without offering a response. Unable to get through to Fanus, Boman Daruwala got agitated.

“Ever since school you both have been friends, you know he is the shy type, he’ll never talk to me, and it turns out you are the same. What is it with you boys? Did you guys have a fight? Tell me,Is it about a girl ? Is there a girl in his life, did she dump him, is he heart broken, is that it, or is it something else, come on speak.Its been two days and we have no clue, no phone call, except for this message” Boman said raising his voice.

“I don’t know uncle Boman” he said.

“Then what do you know,  Boman thundered, dislodging his bifocals momentarily.

“Its not a girl. He said keeping his voice down.

“Its not a girl, what do you mean its not a girl, is it a ...?” Boman stopped as he realized the implication of what Fanus said.

Fanus looked up and reconfirmed his fears ”yes, it is a boy Uncle Boman”

Boman Daruwala rolled over his eyes as realization began to blur with each passing second in the quietness of the room. Boman clutched the armrest of the chair trying to check his emotional outburst.

“So he’s gay - my son is a homosexual, what a cruel joke. We will have the whole community laugh at us. He has shamed us. Let me get hold of him and I will fix him. He needs to get back to his senses.” Boman Daruwala shook his head in anger.
Fanus, expected the reaction and again, chose to remain silent. A few moments later Boman spoke “why didn’t he tell me?” Boman’s lowered his voice down to a whisper.

“He always did, Uncle Boman, he always did, its you who never heard, its you who never saw, its you who never cared to understand him, he just wanted to be loved the way he is, you are so insensitive”. He said.

“What nonsense is this, are you telling me I don’t know my son, are you telling me you know him better than I do,? Give me one good reason why should he be unhappy, I have given him the best of luxuries that my income could provide, he has always enjoyed freedom, he has never had to ask me for anything, how do you even have the audacity to say I am insensitive, what is it that you know and I don’t, how dare you say I don’t understand my child, who can love my son more than me?” said Boman as he stood up from the chair.

“You don’t get it Uncle Boman, do you?”

Fanus Mistry finally looked up and saw the “Blue Morpho” partially peeping out behind

Boman Daruwala and said “no one loves him the way I do, because no knows how much he is hurting right now, just the way I do. Because no one knows him the way I do.”

Sherry Daruwala just walked into the room to catch the last bit of what Fanus had to say.

She didn’t take a step after that. The couple looked at each other in a  momentary lapse of reasoning.

Fanus covered his face to hide the tears. The room was charged with multiple emotions yet not a word was exchanged. The only noise came from the air conditioner vent periodically vibrating.

“And two days earlier, he was …” Fanus couldn’t speak as tears burst out.

Sherry asked “What happened two days earlier? Tell me, tell me now , speak up, what happened to my son?”

“He was raped”

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

Read Episode -11

Image Courtesy : Here

Mailfactor

‘There’s a courier for you Madam’ the office boy said.

‘Huh,me?’ said Valentina raising her eyebrows not expecting any mail that day.

The office boy nodded.

‘From who?’ asked Valentina.

‘Marlon Brando’

‘Yea right - wonder who pulled this prank?' Valentia said getting up from her chair.

The office boy stood with the parcel in his hand.It was a large square box.You could almost fit a small office cabinet inside it.Valentina noticed drops of sweat on the office boy’s forehead and his hands were shaking.  

‘Must be heavy,I’ll take it' Valentina said gesturing at the boy to come near her mahogany office desk.

The office boy gingerly walked close to the desk.Unsure of the boy’s uneasiness Valentina asked ‘what's the problem,why are you hesitant?’. 

The boy stopped walking. ‘You can tell me, don’t be afraid’ Valentina continued.The office boy mumbled something as Valentina craned her neck for an answer.

‘Listen boy, if something’s worrying you , blurt it out, don’t keep it inside.' Valentina urged.

‘Maam the courier man told me the recipient of this parcel will die the moment this is opened.’

Valentina laughed out loud 'and which movie is this scene from ?'

‘No maam he was serious,he also said the recipient will laugh just the way you are doing now’

Regaining her composure Valentina said ‘cowards die a hundred deaths, the brave die only once!

The office boy stood blankly looking at her.

'Listen,what if I dont accept delivery?’she said.

‘He’s gone, and he said,If I keep it, then I will die.The previous 6 recipients of this parcel are dead, you are the 7^th in line.' he said.

‘So how many more to go?’ she asked bemused.

‘You are the last one’. 

Valentina rolled her eyes over with a smirk  and said ‘I now firmly believe that movies can corrupt people's mind! Well if I’m the last one,then so be it – keep it on the table and you can leave’.

The office boy dropped the parcel on the table and hurried out of the office. 

Curious, Valentina pulled the parcel closer and examined it carefully.It was indeed heavy,quite heavy, she had to get up from her chair to pull it closer.She found the cutter in her desk’s upper drawer.

The moment she dug the blade into the top of the parcel,it seemed sticky, as if there was something soft inside the box, like a cake perhaps. As she pulled the cutter back up, a red streak of liquid oozed out. 

It was blood.

Valentina jagged back into her chair instantly.The oscillating air conditioner vent on the ceiling was stuck right in the direction of her forehead.A constant gush of cold air hit her forehead.She clenched her teeth and controlled her shivering hands.

A few seconds passed by and she noticed the blood trickling down from the top of the box on to the mahogany table and then on to the carpet below.Valentina felt paralyzed, her feet were glued to the floor,her hands felt heavy and her heartbeat was erratic.She couldn’t get up from the chair.

Moments later the trickle became a fountain. Slowly the small cut at the top, widened and it appeared to Valentina that the box was opening itself due to the force of the blood oozing from inside.Her face was splattered red and her clothes stained.Her hands stuck to the arm rest and veins near her wrist were bursting out.There was a surge from inside,as if the blood outside connected with the blood inside Valentina’s body.She couldn’t scream,her voice was choked and she found breathing difficult.Just then she heard a knock on the door.

The accountant Robert, her peer, stood outside the door and called out ‘Valentina, where are you?’ There was no response.

‘Ms.Valentina, where are you, Its 6 oclock I need to close the books,if youre’ going to be late then…’  Robert paused as he glanced on a parcel lying on top of the table, unopened. He walked close to the mahogany desk and looked at the top of the box. 

It was addressed to him. 

Surprised  to see his parcel lying at Valentina’s office he frowned and checked if it was opened before. But there was no sign of any damage, the parcel looked intact. Glancing on the sender he thought ‘now who is this Marlon Brando – I don’t know anyone by that name’. Just then the office boy walked in to the room and Robert turned around as if to ask why he was there.

‘Oh I was actually looking for you Robert – I had a courier for you and accidentally kept it at Valentina maam’s office. This office has just too much mail these days'.

‘Ah yes ,I totally agree,we should add some heads in the operations department,I will make a recommendation to senior management’ said Robert pursing his lips.

The office boy looked up and said ‘you just made my day! I will place the parcel at your desk right away, it’s a bit heavy you know’.

Oh really, that’s nice of you - I’ll open it on my desk’ said Robert walking out of the room.

The office boy lowered his head and whispered into the box ‘yup,two heads better than one!’






Gyanban Thoughts  - A horror genre after a long time. The title Mailfactor is a take from the word Malefactor which means a person who commits a crime. Also a famous short story by Anton Chekov by the same name.The fiction here is for you to visualize and feel the chill from seemingly unassuming objects and people in our daily lives.

The Fan Magazine

He ran his fingers through her hair,felt her lips and caressed her nape. His eyes remained focused for the rest of the flight.

It was 6 years since he had fallen in love with her.Everyday,every minute,every second of his existence belonged to her.

Finally that day had come,when he was going to meet her.See her,in person.It was surreal.

He had goose bumps the minute his flight landed in Mumbai International airport.

After clearing customs, he walked to the taxi stand and asked 'Can you take me her residence?'

The cabbie laughed looking at the picture in the magazine and gestured him to hop in.

'You do look familiar - have I seen you somewhere?' the cabbie asked.

'No, not really, I don't frequent Mumbai much' he retorted.

Forty-five minutes down the road,the cab stopped ' this is where you need to get down sir' the cabbie said looking into his rear view mirror.

'But this is not her house' he said.

'I know - but this is where the search begins' the cabbie smirked.

'No no,you don't understand,I don't need to search her - I know where she stays - so please take me there.'he said.

'And why would she meet you?' the cabbie asked.

'What do you mean why- I've known her even before she came here'

'So?'

'So , so that means she will meet me' he said emphatically.

'I mean when did you last meet her?'the cabbie asked.

'Oh - just last Tuesday, we met in a restaurant in New York, had  dinner together.'

'New york eh?'

He nodded.

After a brief pause the cabbie said 'you do know that you are crazy right?'

'Excuse me?'he said narrowing his eyebrows.

'Sulekha Khan is dead since 2001' the cabbie said.

'B-but how can that be, I just …' he trailed off.

'She died on that flight on September 11 - it was in the news - Film-star  Sulekha Khan 's tragic death' the cabbie said.

'Oh but this is impossible - oh what am I going to do now?' he said.

'Well, if you want I can drop you back to the airport' the cabbie offered.

'Err no I will get down here - if this is where I need to begin searching then so be it'

'Hello Mr. this is a cemetery - there is her grave here - that's it' the cabbie said.

'Exactly this is where I need to begin'  he said looking into the rear view mirror.

'You really are crazy - anyway, just pay me fare and do whatever you like.' the cabbie said turning around.

The man had gone.

There was no passenger in the cab…just an old magazine with Sulekha Khan on the cover.

Gyanban Thoughts : If stars go to the stars then why should the poor fan be left behind?

Sleeplessness

I don’t know how I got in here. My innate curiosity would’ve brought me here. Though there were many people in the room, no one seemed bothered to get out. How strange? I saw some distorted, disfigured faces beside me. The one on my left was particularly abstract. The cranium was part open, pink and blue flesh hung loosely. The punctured jaw had glass embedded on one side. The spine poked out from the shoulder. Or was it the collarbone? I couldn’t tell. He was hurting,it, was hurting.

I could stand & keep looking but I had work to do. I had to get out of there. I started walking towards the exit, but the door was locked from outside. I screamed, but no one came, no one heard. I tried climbing up the ceiling vent. Fell down and hurt myself again. I tried breaking the window, that didn’t work either.

Tried calling Jemma, shouted, but she couldn’t hear. I promised I’d be home soon, I promised I’d finish work early,I promised I’d pick up the grocery on the way, I’d promised I’d spend time with her. She must be waiting, expecting. And here I was unable to get out of this room. Claustrophobic I was.

The retina was burning, the liquid had dried up, and the veins bursting. My eyes bled. But I kept them open. The sound was like nails on glass, screeching endlessly. Coming close to me louder, harder, faster. The odor was choking, ripe raisins, rum, peaty, wood fire, all shaken and stirred. It tasted salty, just like sweat, with a hint of blood or wine. My lips had dried, throat parched and that’s all I remember.

And then I found a tag attached to my wrist.

It read, dead on arrival.

I couldn’t sleep that night.

Gyanban Thoughts - its been a  while I ventured into the horror zone.This piece was written for Qyuki publication for a Chetan bhagat initiative called I couldnt sleep that night.The idea was to tell a story in 300 words around that phrase.I ve used all the senses of taste,sight,smell etc. to capture the mood and effect without getting too gory.The other experiment was to rearrange the paragraphs and see if a different story,narration evolved.See if you can spot it.

Handshake

Where is my tie?

Look in the drawer

Ashwin walked close to the Almira,looked into the mirror one last time.

Opened the left half and tugged at the handle of the drawer.

It was dark,he reached out  inside.

There were hankies on left,some buttons in the center, and another hand on the right.




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? 

miRage

There was a stretch of road that screamed of the vast emptiness on either side. A distant horizon was the only guiding light. Winters in the deserts of Rajasthan were particularly unforgiving. No civilization in sight, no habitation, just sand and plenty of time on their hands and some more elements that completed the perfect picture, aptly titled ‘Stranded’.

Just as the sun-set, Mohita and Mallika’s cross country journey sputtered and spattered to a screeching halt.Nothing to look forward and nothing to go back.

‘What do we do now?’Mohita the quieter one spoke out of nervousness.

‘Stop being such a sissy – when I am there, you don’t have to worry about anything’ – the bolder one retorted sharply.

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.

‘Now what?’

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?’

‘Can you help?’ Mallika asserted fearlessly, ignoring his question.

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?’

Mohita nodded.

‘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.

‘Such a jerk that man – didn’t even offer to help.’

‘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.

The night was rich black now, and the crystal twinkles in the sky were even more lucid as if they were trying to tell a story – just that they had no words to express. The old Ambassador started after a few hiccups. 


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.

The man shivered at this madness.He was in a state of shock.His hands froze at the wheels and he jammed the brakes.The car came to a halt.In the frenzy of this madness he saw the rear view mirror.The girl in the back seat was tying herself with a rope around her neck.

‘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.

Mallika then took out the Swiss knife she hid in her pocket and slit her clothes and herself, ever so carefully so as not to rapture the central vein. 


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.

There was silence in the courtroom.

‘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.

The court pronounced him guilty as charged and sentenced him to life imprisonment, ten years of which would be rigorous imprisonment with solitary confinement for six months.

A few days later,two women walked into a small restaurant near Bikaner railway station and ordered for some tea and snacks.The waiter brought two tiny cups of tea in a paper cup and snacks in a newspaper. As the last morsel of the snack went into their mouths an interesting article caught their eye.

“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…”

Gyanban Thoughts - a short twisted thriller  on  organized crime with a touch of madness!

Clawstrophobia

The memories of that night,
a slightly lit hope and smoke
The darkness cloak fighting light,
rubbing hands and a fiery stoke

the flickering faces and those hazel eyes,
the drying water and parching throat,
shivering hope and involuntary fingers
rushing blood and an unfamiliar coat.


Splattered passion and faceless walls,
knocking fear and blind windows,
flighted stairs and grinded hope
Locked life and closed doors.

Pounding skin and a gagged heart,

stretched fear and sweaty calves,

moist nape and clawing mark

choked love and a life halved.

Gyanban Thoughts - This poem, if I may call it so, is written keeping key elements of fear,and love in juxtaposition.This experimental and probably does not confirm to any poetical norms, not that i care or understand much.But the point is that I enjoyed writing it,especially the dark claws and hence the title claws - trophobia. Perhaps someday this will or might be considered for a movie caption or title while using the poem as a narration. And if it doesnt, i ll still feel ok.

image courtesy : here

Wish - The Wishious Cycle!!

Well what I am about to tell you is quite an unbelievable little story.

Just wish it doesn't happen to you.That's all.

It is a story of just one fateful Friday evening, just a few hours really, in a lonely textile industrial estate, far away from mainstream civilization embedded in a small town 50kms off Ahmedabad. The place was mostly secluded except for the passing nomads or gypsies or the occasional tourists who wandered into the town by mistake.

9.15PM, Friday.

The data entry operator, Nehaben regained consciousness on the other corner of the room in the back office. Her eyes scanned the room slowly. The old fan whirred nonchalantly, the files on the tables flipped back and forth, the window pane squeaked every time the cross breeze picked up speed. Coffee cups lay on the table, one of them spilled some coffee and the bill of materials was stained. The computer was switched on and the excel ledger template was open, with the cursor blinking after Rs.2,00,000 on cell AB24.

There were two other men in the room lying unconscious.

The clot on the carpet suggested there was blood.

She tried hard to remember what happened and how she got into this situation but memory seemed to play hide n seek with her.Her head was pounding with pain. As if something had hit her real hard. Feeling extremely thirsty she gingerly got up to look for some water near the pantry. She dragged herself to the water cooler in the adjacent room, and managed to drink some water.

9.20PM

Till a few hours back - accountant Jayeshbhai Patel was having yet another ordinary Friday. But that changed quickly.

He slowly opened his eyes… and saw a blurred wall clock. His head was hurting. He couldn’t remember why or when he had fallen asleep or why his head hurt. He slowly got up holding his head.

He was prone to migraine headaches, and kept a bottle of medication near his cubicle shelf, but today, he just couldn’t find them. Jayeshbhai’s head throbbed even more, typical migraine symptoms and the headache grew worse. Before he could get to the bottom of the issue he needed to take care of his excruciating headache.

He frantically searched cabinets, chest of drawers, desk stand, everywhere, but no luck. He clutched his head as the pain became unbearable, the world was spinning around him.

A bag full of money lay half open in front of him. A lump sum amount which the owners gave to the local MLA before every new project. The owners were shrewd and made sure that their employees were totally dependent on them for survival. The process was simple and that was the key. Not attracting attention. It had worked for years.

It was a simple green duffel bag no more no less. The owners would lock the lower chamber after Jayeshbhai would count the money accurately, double check and seal it inside. There were only two keys – one with the owner and the other with the receiver. It was a bag designed for serving only one purpose – transfer the black money to the MLA’s.

Nehaben would camouflage the bag with textile samples. Jayeshbhai would double-check and account for it and Rajan would deliver it. Being a small town there was practically no escape possible.-well almost.

9.45PM

Jayeshbhai’s headache was unbearable now. As he fumbled and tumbled through the office mess he came across a few tablets lying under the table. He followed the trail and finally found the bottle. He lunged to get the tablets quickly.

Seeing this, the driver Rajan, panicked even more. His eyes widened in horror as he saw Jayeshbhai reach for the tablets. He was trying to say something while struggling to free himself. The knots were so tight that his wrists bled as did his forehead – as if someone had slammed his head on a table. The ruptured veins were ample testimony.

With trembling hands Jayeshbhai popped 3 or 4 tablets while spilling some on the floor. The half filled water jar on the side table helped him wash down the tablets.

As Jayeshbhai regained a bit more consciousness he saw the driver, Rajan, who was supposed to deliver the bag, tied up and gagged. He was bleeding from his right temple and left nostril.

‘What happened to you …who did this to you’? Jayeshbhai asked dumbfounded and slightly groggy.

Rajan was panic stricken; his muffled screams as a result of the gag were getting louder.

‘Sssshhhhh’ – I will remove it – if you tell me the truth’ Jayeshbhai said coldly.

‘Was it Nehaben?’

Rajan was shaking violently, tears rolling down his eyes, which told a story of inexplicable fear.As Jayeshbai moved closer to Rajan , he moved his head so vigorously that the back of the head hit the corner of the table.

He passed out.

Jayeshbhai slapped Rajan’s face repeatedly trying to wake him up.

10.00PM

Just then Nehaben emerged from the pantry.

As she saw it – Jayeshbhai was holding Rajan, there was blood on his shirt and Rajan was bleeding, unconscious and probably dead. She froze for a moment. Her fists clenched the paper weight near the side table.

‘I-I didn’t do it’ Jayeshbhai said stammering.

There was an eerie silence between them. Each doubting the other’s motive and action.

The half opened bag lay in between them screaming for attention. They looked at each other without blinking even for a second. Pressure was building up in anticipation of the next action.

In a swift strike, Nehaben hit the paperweight on Jayeshbhai forehead. He slumped on the table groaning in pain. Nehaben was still shaking as she struggled to calm herself down.

Her only wish was to hijack the bag not kill Jayeshbhai.

She had planned to render Jayeshbhai unconscious switching his medication with Valium sleeping tablets. But something had gone wrong somewhere. As she bent down to arrange the bag, Jayeshbhai regained partial consciousness and hit her with the iron paper punch lying on the table. Nehaben collapsed unconscious on top of the bag.

Jayeshbhai unable to fight his consciousness slumped back to unconsciousness.

11.00PM

Still tied and gagged when Rajan opened his eyes and it was déjà vu.

Everything seemed exactly the same at 6.30PM, 7.30PM, 8.30PM, 9.30PM.and now it was 11.00PM – still no change. His head still hurt, he was tied, and Jayeshbhai and Nehaben lay unconscious in various positions.

How could he be waking up tied every hour and not remember how he got

into that situation.? Why was he tied, and who tied him?

Something was not right.

Slowly some bits n pieces of memory came back to Rajan.

All Rajan wished was to hijack the bag without anyone seeing it.

He had bought some powder from the travelling gypsies, which promised temporary loss of consciousness. That's all he would need to whisk away the bag.

As Jayeshbhai worked on the computer he quietly mixed the powder in his jar and went into the pantry to make sure he poured the rest of it in the water cooler.

Jayeshbhai had unwittingly drank the water from the jar – and immediately felt something was wrong.

He caught him near the water cooler and it led to a scuffle between them.

Rajan freaked out in nervousness and tried to run, forcing his way out.

Jayeshbhai latched on to him and in an effort to bring him down he banged Rajan’s head on the table. Blood rolled down Rajan’s temple and he slipped into unconsciousness. Jayeshbhai tied him up to the leg of the table and gagged his mouth with his handkerchief.

Nehaben had walked in just after that. Seeing Jayeshbhai in the act of hitting Rajan she panicked and started to scream for help. Unable to explain the situation to Nehaben, Jayeshbhai hit her hard and knocked her unconscious.

All Jayeshbhai wanted to do was to hijack the bag while Nehaben was away and the driver Rajan was inside the other room. That way he would face the least resistance to take the bag out.

His only wish was to take the bag and run away not hurt or kill anyone in the process.

But before he realized his plan, the effect of the substance was strong and Jayeshbhai slumped on to the floor hitting his head on the corner of the table.

11.50PM

Jayeshbhai, Nehaben and Rajan breathed their last in that lonely back office.

Such a sad thing isn’t it? Money does things to people.Like it did to Rajan who had come to me at 5PM today.

‘Can you give me some magic potion’Rajan asked.

‘What do you want it for?’

‘Well I can’t tell but I just wish some people to faint for some time, that’s all’.

What Rajan, did not know, was the fact that the powder I gave him, triggered a temporary amnesia and under stress it also magnified violent behavior. It also dried the throat in the process.

So every time they woke up feeling thirsty, they drank the same water, and again went into the effect.

All I needed to do then was to wait till all 3 of them were unconscious or dead.

I have the duffel bag with me, and the key to the secret chamber. I have the money.

I wish Jayeshbhai,Nehaben and Rajan eternal peace.

Gyanban Thoughts - This fictional thriller is inspired by the concept of Cube.The four pillars in this Cube were of Wish,Greed,Heist and Violence. Almost a story in itself - one leading to the other. The central idea being an exit-less loop.

How these 3 characters get entangled in a situation of their own creation. The fourth element, or character if you will, is deliberately kept anonymous.He is the one who narrates the story.

The story is woven around the effects of the dangerous Ketamine drug abuse.Ketamine comes in the form of a powder, pill or more commonly a liquid. The liquid comes in a small pharmaceutical bottle and is usually added to a beverage for consumption.

Behavioural and physical signs and symptoms of ketamine use:

Glassy-eyed stare

* Sharp breathing

* Tremors

* Mania

* Exultation

* Disorientation

* Confusion over simple tasks

The story also hints at the numerous so called ayurveda tents the gypsies put up in every city promising cure for every possible ailment , dream or wish. I had once visited one of these farcical tents and had a lengthy chat with one of the practitioners and learnt the variety of problems people bring up to them.Some of them originally started out as counselors,but then eventually moved into quick fixes for every day problems.

Let us wish for some common sense amongst people!

The Wishious Cycle.

image courtesy :fuller youth institute.