Magic

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?

Maitrimoney

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

‘Yes’

‘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.

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.

Guddu's Story

The hills have eyes.

Its true. I found out that night while walking uphill.

The overnight snow had made the walking path quite   vulnerable. The sharp edges of broken pebbles and rock      chips mixed with mud and snow made for  a walkers            nightmare. Usually,I walked six to eight times everyday quite comfortably.Though towards the end of the day it would get quite tough,but I would still make it to the top.I was not alone.There were others walking as well,and it always gave me support and    encouragement.

I never could understand why we needed to carry the load everyday? They came in all shapes and sizes, some had really bad odor and some loads were simply back breaking.I  tried my best to keep going but every now and then I would stop to take a breather.My master would get wild at me.He whipped me,abused me and kicked between my legs.It hurt. My neck bled when my master clenched his fist.

It was just after sunset and there was no moon in sight.My master never came to see me as he would usually do every night. He would never miss giving me food even if we had a fight early in the day. I was worried for my master today.
I didn’t worry about the stiff winter chill across my face and snowflakes that dotted the skyline. The place soon emptied and I was alone standing under a thick cloud cover and snow fall. I stood at the foot of those hills watched others go by as usual.As it grew colder and windier,at first I hesitated to move from my fixed place, but then I ventured to a nearby shed.

Its then I saw something quite extraordinary. A rock tumbled from the top of the hill and stopped in front of me.It was not an ordinary rock.It had a flat top,as if someone had just sliced the uneven part on top and the bottom firmly gripped into the ground.

Before I could unravel the flat rock mystery,another identical rock came tumbling down. And within minutes a barrage of rocks came rolling down. Was it an earthquake? I don’t know.It was a bit confusing and scary considering that there was no sound in the vicinity.
There was snow everywhere,except on those rocks. As I lifted my eyes,I could see the rocks had formed a path leading on to the hills.I was inexplicably drawn out of my shed and stepped on top of the first rock. Was it trying to show me a way? I set foot on the second rock out of unstoppable curiosity and before I could bat an eyelid,I was walking on top of the rocks at a brisk pace.

This was the same difficult hill I would walk up and down everyday, but today it all          seemed so unfamiliar.For a minute I did  think all of this was a dream, but it wasn’t, even after I had shaken my head three times!
At precisely the two hundred and thirtieth step ,it became clear to me.I saw a red stain on the white snow.It was master.He lay there helpless,hope less,motionless ,and perhaps lifeless.He had been hit by a boulder.

I did consider, albeit quite momentarily, but certainly, leaving him right there and walking back,but I didn’t.I stopped to think.I took a moment to recount my journey on the hill. The steepness never tired me, the mud and snow didn’t slow me,the rock chips didn’t hurt me and moreover,I was not tired anymore either. I managed to wake up my master, and all he said was 'Guddu I knew you would come', I nodded and brought him back to  town.

The hills have eyes I concluded.

Gyanban Thoughts : The story is a narration by a young pony.The inspiration for this fairytale came from a little pony called Guddu,I saw in Kufri. The locals used their mules and ponies to carry people up the hill and back for money. The irony was that neither was the money enough for the master to feed himself and his horses nor was it easy on the pony to carry overweight people up the steep hill.

As a result the masters would whip,kick and shout to keep the ponies moving. The quicker they finished the ride the better chance to earn more money,while the tourists had the   time of their lives.

I realised somebody's joy, was someones pain.

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

Real Dreams

Where dreams are real,

And life is fair,

Where love prevails

And hatred is rare

Where honesty prevails

And self esteem reigns

Where self discipline is first,

And ignorance is a shame.

Where we back each other

And live happily together

Where there is just joy

And and sadness is not a ploy.

Where everyone gets to eat

And no one is alone,

Where everybody Is safe

And they have a home.

Everyone says its just a dream,

And Reality will check.

Is there one who believes?

And not make dreams trapped in checks and balances.

Gyanban Thoughts: As John Lenon said dreaming together makes it a real. We all need to dream together and it will become real.So let live,let love,and if need be,let go. I wish all readers of Gyanban  a very peaceful and dreamy new year. May you all have the courage to make your dreams come true. Happy New Year!

That old story

That old  photograph 

In the album of memories

Woke up old chapters and stories.

That unread letter
lost in-between pages,
touched many bookmarks.

That old perfume

Wrapped around her nape

Danced into dormant senses

That old bridge

She ran across last

Of untouched tears.

That old feeling

Of an aching heart

Choked with helplessness

That old window

Of an uninterrupted fall

Dying life and rising love.

Gyanban Thoughts : at times in life you stand and look back, that unbroken heart,that untold story,that frozen moment in time, just feels like it never went away.And yet you have moved so far away...

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.