Funny Friday Fiction 55: At the doctors

"Now, comes the hard part," the doctor said, "Close your eyes slowly, take a deep breath." 

'God, let this difficult situation pass away,' she prayed silently. 

"Now, slowly open your eyes," the doctor said, "Very slowly let them adjust to the surroundings." 

The doctor took a deep breath, "See your medical bill." 

You are all invited to participate in Funny Friday Flash Fiction 55, just send me a mail from your gmail (or blogger) id to siddhesh AT iamgod DOT in(Obviously replace the capital letters with symbols), and the week you want to publish your post.

Remember, 

There is a funny story to tell in everything. 

Cheers,

Salaam Mumbai

Its been one year since it happened, and whatever happened was not good, yet the spirit on Mumbai is not shaken and Mumbai still stands foiling all the plans of terrorist. Salute to thee the city of lights, still standing erect amidst all plight. Poem written as a tribute to the mumbai city on 26/11/2009 and to that every individual who dropped a shed of tear for the wounded and shaheed Indians.

Their day begins before the sun rise,
The young, the old, the strong and the wise,
Their feet bound to the clock’s tick,
They start each day with a strong kick.
They are the mumbaikars, the busy bee,
Why I salute them you will see.
They always climb the local trains,
In the sun or even in the rains,
They race against time,
And with the clock their feet rhyme.
They are the mumbaikars, the worthy lot,
Living in the city humid and hot.


Every one has his own life,
With arrogant son or over smart wife,
They bear mean bosses or bad teachers,
They avoid the beggars and religion preachers,
They are the mumbaikars, the hard worker,
They love wada pav more than burgers.

Then ten terrorist saw the town,
In a little boat, they came around.
They attacked the city breaking its backbone,
They were happy with the job perfectly done.
The essence of the city was a bit shaken,
The world shook seeing the city weaken.

The police force came to fight the goons,
But the fight they could not stop it soon.
It was raining bullets, which made the city rattle.
The warriors used the 13th century weapons, to fight the 21st century battle.
But finally the warriors won the war,
the terrorist thought their message has reached afar.

Suddenly the city raised its helping hand,
They were ordinary people without a magic wand.
They didn’t need superman to save their soul,
Ordinary people reconstructed the city back to the whole.
The are the mumbaikars, the common men, 


At times they turn to super-men.

All the people big and small,
All the people short and tall,
Today they were neither Muslims nor Hindus,
Neither were they Marathi's, Bhaiyaa's or Mallu’s
Today they were just humans,
Supermen and wonder women.

Setting aside their differences, they helped each other,
Even helping their enemies. They didn’t bother,
On its feet, again, the city rose,
Seeing the site, the terrorist froze.
All the months of planning went in vain,
For the city felt very little pain.


They again wake up before sun-rise,
Join the work with tear in the sad eyes,
For the brothers who had died,
For the orphans and widows who have cried.
I salute to thee: the spirit of Mumbai city,
Yee are proven best, its the terrorist I pity.

The awesome picture of Mumbai:  http://www.andyross.net
Others pictures taken from Google Images, if you hold the copywrite, do inform I will remove them or mention your link.

10 Definite signs to let you know you are in Love

Shahrukh Khan tried his level best to explain the world about love, but come what you may say, for some reason sitting in a cold night watching a falling meteor does not indicate you are in Love, it indicates you are going to fall sick the next day.

I was always a loner in my life, my friends even called me a robot for my lack of emotions and coldblooded selfish nature, but then I do not know how it happened, all of the sudden I felt something strange, and no not the ‘Kuch kuch hota hai’ things, for that you obviously have ENO, no something else, my scheduled changed exponentially, she had nothing to do with the change, it was natural.

Gravity suddenly goes on vacation when people are falling in Love.


So now presenting for the first time ever, the 10 definite signs to let you know you are in Love.

1. You suddenly find yourself spending the Sundays in an Ice cream parlor or a mall.
2. You have no clue what you did in the mall the whole weekend, when you buy nothing, yet you feel good about it.
3. Your speed dial number ‘2’ has changed and the previous person on speed dial number ‘2’ has dropped your top-ten rank by one (I could not configure speed dial number ‘1’ on my Nokia, can you?)
4. The key number ‘2’ on your phone is suddenly shaky for being pressed two often, so is the speaker of your phone red hot and your ear also hot for being called a same number again and again.
5. You really cannot understand how your phone bill increased so much, when you are calling only one person most of the time, and no matter what you talk your conversations always end with ‘I love you’ and ‘I miss you’.
6. All of the sudden your Mom questions about your whereabouts and you tend to give wrong information, although you know that you have not done anything wrong.
7. Your friends start complaining that you are no where to be seen, however you completely know that you are definitely around.
8. You are solving some completely different problem during the Calculus class, and somehow even simple algebra seems hard that time.
9. You suddenly try to be Mr. Perfect with first name ‘Know-it-all’ Perfect.
10. You are sitting idle for hours, you have no plans for even getting out of the bed for the next whole day, yet you smell yourself and decide that you are not smelling good and go and take a bath.

These signs may vary from individual to individual but if you are inhibiting most of the above signs, you are surely bitten by the love bug, if you find these signs in your life consider change is inevitable.

Embrace the change, you may not want to marry in your life, want to practice celibacy, wish to have a live-in, are a gay but for once, try falling in love with someone, try caring for someone else other than you, and yes, try to fall in love, true love, only once.

Its ossum, true story.

Growing up....

So when does a boy turn into a man?? Is it when he experiences puberty changes?? or when he finally learns to wash his own socks???
Well frankly, if we go to the former, a kid of age 10 should me a man while if we assume the later there are 'men' of age 65 who do not know the how the socks smell.

So definitely there isn't any proper measure in which you can say a boy turns into a man, of course the Ranjor ke Rathor have them, with 3 conditions of manhood, normal people don't have any.

Ok so why am I bugged with this question? on a pretty evening, a pretty girl says to me, 'You are such a child'...oh my...

well, seriously am I? I am not sure any more....

I definitely can wash my own socks, I do that once every 2 month... I even cook, when I decide to give myself a treat. I clean my room once every 6 months, but still she says I am such a child.

Oh puh lease...givv me a break...

C'mon, girls eat chocolate like a kid, I have seen girls fall for chocolate like hungry rabid dogs, they are not called such a child, are they???

Just because I mix coke and miranada, I become a child..sheesh. I just simply like miking my fluids thats it. C'mon 'teachers' and 'miranda' is a combination I tried once, never again, but hey 'Teachers' is a mans drink ain't it???

Anyways, I am planning on suing the girl for child abuse, you try coke and miranda combination, it takes like hell....ossum!!!

Double Shots Part Deux

Double shots bar is always popular because of the celebrities we find here. Anyone with money can step in. The normal laws of humanity dissolve after a few double shots.
Previously we witnessed the horrible combination of Hollywood, Bollywood and alcohol. If you missed it, read about it here.

He had second thoughts about the meeting, the moment he had agreed to meet them. He glanced nervously at the door again and again as if calculation the amount of time needed for him to run away.

He was the oldest game show host and today the creative director and the marketing manager of a production channel where coming to meet him.

They entered through the bar hurriedly,
'Sary sary,' said the creative director with the most horrible ascent English, 'I yam the creative director for the Chingalaapa Ingalappa Direct Channel. Dese iz my marketing mainager,' he introduced.

'Hi, you wanted to talk about your new show?' he said putting the most effort to smile artificially.

'Yesh yesh,' said the marketing manager, 'We want you to host it. The game show is nothing like what iz present in India right now. We will be creating the next big sensation after carodpati.'

'Right, so is it a knowledge based game?' he asked politely.

'Kawledge, yes, we have leetle bit of kawledge in the show,' smiled the creative director, 'But it izz mostly creative.'

'Can we run through the pattern?' he asked taking a long shot.

'Yesh yesh,' said the marketing manager, 'We are roping in one of the top brands in India to sponspor us, so money is not a problem.'

'Good good, thats great,' he said, 'Can I see the pattern of the show?'

'Right,' said the creative director grumpily, as if he was relunctant in telling the pattern to the host of the show, 'Leet me arder some drinks first.'

The creative director vanished into the darkness. The marketing manager was smiling shamelessly showing his blackened teeth.

'You see, we have a huge budget for the show. We plan to run the first season for a year,' the manager explained.

'A year!' exclaimed the host, 'You mean nearly sixty episodes?'

'No no, we run it daily, not weekly. We plan on 365 episodes, all runing prime time after Kukurmati ki karmabhari kahani, all days, and special one hour episodes on sunday'

'Daily?' he chocked over his shot, 'So are we going to get so many participants?'
He wondered what the show will be to get so much response to run for 365 days!!!

'Why new participants? We are getting in thirty jobless celebrities, we are making them sign a bond to practically give us the rights to mentally and emotionally torture them in front of national television and broadcast anything they say in the next 365 days to public,' the marketing manager proudly explained.

He gulped a stroung patiyala shot. This is not going good.

'So is this the show where you throw them in a room and give them a task to do?' he asked.
'No no, this is even better than that,' smiled the manager, 'We torture them with complex questions of general knowledge all round the year.'

The last few words where said with so much stress that he chocked over his beer, splat some of it on the face of the manager and coughed for next three minutes.

The creative director returned back with two strong beers in his hands, 'So did you tell him the game?'

'No no, I was waiting for you,' smiled the manager, 'You are senior na.'

The director beamed and gazed at the manager in such a way that he knew who was going to get a nice appraisal soon, 'So where was I,' asked the director, 'Yesh yesh, Murgan yena kundu lasi. Iya waanted to tell you the game shaw.'

'See, we get in aal the jobless celebrities, people from flop films, after day heriorienes, strugglers with one or two serials in their hand...'

'We are also auditioning gays, we need one of them in our game,' interrupted the manager.

'Yes, yes I was coming to that. We also rope in one gay with the team and these people are our participant. We then kidnap...'

'Excuse me? Kidnap?' he asked nervously.

'Yes, Yes, don't interupt. We then kidnap the near and dear person from each participant and keep them in the jungle. Now, we give them tasks to perform every day like eating all the grossiest insects, taking a bath in the mud and also difficult task like brushing and flossing the teeth of a gorilla,' smiled the director.

'Erm...,' he just stared at them.

'Told you we have signed a bond with the people that we can torture them mentally,' said the manager.

'Right,' he said, not understanding where does a quiz master comes in the show, 'So what is my role here?'

'Let me finish,' the director said, 'These task make them earn some money and also gets them a clue to rescue their near ones. We have a central character in the show called Bada Baap, now we have asked Mr. Heighted Bacchan to take up the role, but there is some problem with the dates. The Bada Baap will be coming in once every weekend to monitor our teams performance.

We also have a talent show every saturday, where we make the participants show their talents to the world,' the director explained.

'We have many celebritity judges who will confuse the people with their 'expert' comments on the talent. They are currently undergoing training to be mean and pass comments that will make the contestant loose their moral, dignity and confidence in one line,' smiled the manager shamelessly.

'This show will be running prime time,' continued the director, 'and we want you to host it. You will be given the complete meanest and stupidest script ever that will scare the contestants since day one.'

'Erm... ok, do the contestants know about this game?' he asked, wondering who would sign a bond for such a horrible game.

'No, no, they just believe the game is going to give them publicity. We know that they are going to loose everything they have in just first season,' smiled the director.

'Horri...beautiful show,' he said taking in a strong and large shot, 'What is the signing amount I get?'
'We will make you rich than anyone, we just want you to sign in a contract with us,' said the marketing manager.
'Contract?' nervous about what are the terms.

'Yes, a contract,' the marketing manager gave a evil grin as he removed a legal sheet of paper, 'a contract that says, you will do whatever you are told to do with the contestants mentally for the duration of the show. You will not laugh, not cry on screen for the duration of the show unless it is a special episode during festivals. You will not help any contestant, not run away from the show until told to do so for some publicity stunt. Again, the pattern in the show can change anytime dependent on the populartity and the sponsorers will, do you agree?'

'Hello? where did he go?' asked the director confunded.
The booth was empty.

The next day, newspaper carried two prime news, 'A new and big celebrity game show in production' and 'A unknown drunk celebrity seen running away from double shots bar.'

Einstein: Chapter Two and more...

Einstein is my most ambitious project I am working on since last three years. It tells a story of a family torn apart by a thin wall of time and the only person who has the key to both the generations is having a bad time. Will the eighty year torn family be united in the nick of time? Or do we have to pay the price for trying to tame the time? Only time can tell...

If you missed the first post, you can go through it here. Although I had planned on releasing only one more chapter, but seeing the enthusiasm of you, my friend, am posting the next three chapters. Yes they are lengthly and may feel disconnected with the previous chapters, but remember the book runs on many separate timelines and the fusion of the time lines is what is important in the book.

The distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

-Albert Einstein

---

Two

---

For the last time Ragini Prajapati convinced herself everything was fine. The safety belt tightly gripped her stomach gave her an uneasy feeling.
‘Everything had gone wrong,’ she thought closing her eyes. She murmured the chant of Aum under her breath, hoping at least God will hear her.

Ragini Prajapati was a middle aged woman working for ISRO, Indian Space Research Organization. Her colleagues jokingly said about her that, ‘She was pretty much interested in little green men from mars, than handsome hunk male on earth.’

She had specifically told at the office not to disturb her for the weekend. The past week was a circus, as the first prototype of inter-orbitary satellite system, code name: Sanjay was launched.

‘Sanjay’ was named after the messenger ‘Sanjay’ who relayed the whole Mahabharata to blind king Dashrath.
As the former Sanjay, code name: ‘Sanjay’ would also relay the exact position of all global nuclear weapons. It kept the note of all the exact co-ordinates of the missiles, the trajectory and the position. Every week, it was programmed to relay the data in an encrypted format to its home station. After years of research, months of sleepless nights, access use of coffee machine, finally it was night of celebration.

‘Sanjay’ was in place and was working absolutely as it was supposed to work. The data would start in 48 hrs.

Ragini was the programmer of the whole sub-system. She was the leader of team of five geeks who mastered the complexities of computer programming. Her work was done, now the silicon chip embedded in the system will automatically charge itself by absorbing solar energy.

‘Can’t a woman get a good night’s well deserving rest?’ she muttered under her breath as her peaceful well deserving sleep was broken and she was given a ten second notice to board a private jet that will put her directly on the field.

The last conversation she had on the phone robbed her of the peace of her warm bed.

“What,” she barked on the phone.
“Whoa, sweetheart, you sound like you will kill someone tonight,” the sweet voice was familiar. It was the famous flirt fellow scientist Dr. Nagarajan Swami Kutti.
“Not someone, I’ll kill you,” she barked, “what is it?”

“Whoa, I just called to pass on the message from the director. There is an error on the system,” he said.
“Error?” she was suddenly silent, “Where is Aryan? I mean…” she fumbled, “where is the director?”

She felt it was not an ideal time to disclose her affair with her married boss.
“The director is getting his ass fried, sweetheart,” he said, she sweared under her breath, “he has asked you to check your email for the snapshot.”
Dizzily she walked across her lap top machine and switched it on.

“Another night wasted,” she sighed waiting for the machine to warm up, “and all I wanted was rest.”
A quick cup of instant coffee started boiling in the microwave and she threw her hair behind her back and straightened her blouse in front of her computer.
‘You have 11 new messages’ the email program blinked.
She sighed; the problem must be a large one. Barely half an hour ago, she had checked her email and ensured all messages were read.

Six messages were from a familiar address and remaining five were just garbage.
The email ‘dir.aryan’ was familiar to her. The message was brief.
‘Sorry dear for disturbing you at night, we are knee deep into problem here. Sending the snapshot of the data we received from Sanjay. Please tell me you know something about this. It is nightmare’
She skipped few messages, and glanced at the most recent one,
‘Its circus, we do not know what you comprehend from this. Please for once you say that you goofed in your programming and it is not what I think it is,’
‘Goofed in my programming? Bullshit,’ she murmured downloading the screen shot.
The screen shot was right what it was supposed to be. The radiation of the sun had made a permanent mark on the film. Something below in the corner made her uneasy.

---xxx---

“Ready to land in 10 minutes” the pilots announced.
Old memories played on her eye like a retro film.

It was final exam and she was busy studying on a paper, when every night her mum would pour her some coffee.
“Mamma, you go to sleep,” she said.
“I can’t my baby, how can I sleep when you are awake?” her mother would answer.

Her mother was the sweetest person she ever met. Unlike others her mother did not consider her as a weak girl. At age two her legs parted from her in a polio epidemic. Now only two metal rods supported them and kept her standing.
Unfortunately her father was never a part of her life for a long time. He was busy with his own glorious life. His medals, his papers, his trophies kept him too busy to notice a cripple in the house. He had only one part in her life, and that was his brain. It was no doubt that the girl had inherited her father’s brain, she hated that.

He closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was somewhere else, somewhere, and anywhere… away from space, away from the globe, away from being a nuclear scientist… away. Sadly she knew, she could not go away.

Her brisk brown hair shielded her face and her enormous brain… the brain, just as powerful as her rocket scientist father. When she was in her teens, she was on top charts of every examination she ever had. Her project received global acclamation; big multinational companies offered her bigger jobs. But she rejected all them.

She wanted something close to her mum, close to her land. Dr. Aryan Mehta, was the then field agent of an ISRO project. He chose her on his team.

“Please fasten your seat belts,” the pilot announced.

The plan landed in the private hangar of Master Control Facility (MCF) of ISRO in Hassan, Karnataka.

The Master Control Facility (MCF) is a facility set up by the Indian Space Research Organization (ISRO) in the city of Hassan in the Indian state of Karnataka. Established in 1982, this facility is oldest one responsible for monitoring and controlling the satellites launched by ISRO. Until 2005 this was the only MCF facility in India.
She glanced at her mobile screen. No signal. One of the important features of the facility of Hassan was that it was noise free and encountered less external terrestrial transmission. The 17.2 hectares of land haunted her as it picked up signals from the sky above.
She slowly unbuckled the seat belt picked her laptop case and stepped outside in the chilling breeze.
‘There goes nothing,’ she sighed.

---

Three

---

“C’mon,” Vikraal watched the black screen with a nervous glance.
Something was wrong, Vikraal sensed instantly. It took merely seconds for his new program to crack any AES 128 bit firewall, but his program was running, Two hours, three hours… no output.
A second terminal beeped to life. The email snooping program he had installed on port 995 of the ISRO mainframe. The secure sockets layer (SSL) connection was no longer secure, thanks to his new prototype Code name: Jasoos, namely the spy in Hindi.

The program had snooped yet another email. He cautiously opened the file that was downloaded from the server.
As the program was still in the development stage, usually called the beta stage, it was not actually functional. Yes, it did snoop the email, but not complete. The email packets send and received were copied by his program and relayed to his machine, but it took just a fraction of a nano second to send the email, hence only part of the email was received by him.

He glanced nervously at the file.
‘Its circus, we do not know what you comprehend from this. Please for once you say that you goofed in your programming and it is not what I think it is’

Vikraal was nervous, what if they realized his presence? What if they knew he was there?

We do not know what you comprehend from this?
The director for project Sanjay has email this to the lead programmer. He thinks he hit a bug, but it can be me?
Dark shadows started closing him. He realized he was doomed. What started it all?

It was few months ago when Vikraal was writing a new email snooping program. He had tested it on all secure email servers… Gmail, Yahoo, Hotmail etc were no longer vulnerable from him. Then he started testing it for government sites.

He managed to switch to government accounts, but unfortunately he received nothing. The defense email was masked properly, heavy encryption. The parliament used no email for communication.

Only once he did manage to hit the bull’s eye. He knew it was jackpot instantly. The Indian Space Research Organization was busy developing a series of satellite to track the enemy moment. The more he watched the more he learned. He managed to decode the codes written on the satellite system, he even received the classified data.

He collected everything with him. After having a heap of information his plan was to sell the technology to the highest bidder, earn some million and vanish for the lifetime.

Pakistan would be happy to receive it.

Red China will pay the largest.

Saudi and Israel will gift him an oil well for that.

US? US can make him a lifetime hero. He can vanish in US forever.

But all this was a dream. As the seconds beeped in minutes, minutes into hours, he sensed something was wrong. He was no longer anonymous. They had traced him. There can be emergency tactic team on the way with guns, or maybe some encounter specialist was trailing him? There can be a sniper waiting for him outside to kill with a headshot. They know it and they will stop at nothing to prevent it.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt the chill spreading in his body. Something was to be done, something before it was too late.

Instantly he burned the program into four Digital Video Discs (DVDs) and formatted his hard drive.
The four discs were his insurance from the Government of India, but if the team was to find him, they will search his house, his bank account and his lockers.

The golden words ‘The Dosa Planet,’ embossed on his green work dress suddenly gave a last idea of survival.

---

Four

---

The heater in the fax machine started warming up. The A4 laser print from the fax machine had one photo id, one work description and one important note. ‘Arrest Immediately: National Threat.’
Sub inspector Raghunath Kadam glanced at the picture of Vikrant Malik. The boy was in his twenties. Not older then his own son. What made him the national threat? What made him go wrong against the law? Shaking his head to clear of all thoughts, he loaded his service revolver.

‘God forbid if I have to use this today,’ he thought.
In his twenty years of service, Raghunath Kadam always followed the book. He shot from the service revolver only once in defense shot on the leg of the culprit. Everyday on duty he prayed he would never have to use it. Now aged 54, Raghunath had his retirement due in few years. He had a clean record, which kept him away from the promotions. People who were junior to him were promoted faster than him.
Vikrant Malik: aged 25, national threat. The words echoed in his mind as he drove in the service jeep to the given address. The fax was received from the Intelligence Bureau (IB); he realized that black tuxedoed men would soon enter his police station to take custody of the man.

As they drove to the apartment his personal phone rang.
“Sub inspector Raghunath Kadam?” a gruff voice greeted him online.
“Yes,” Raghunath Kadam said.
“This is agent Aktar Khan from the IB. The person you will arrest today, Vikrant Malik,”
“Yes, we are reaching there,” Raghunath Kadam said.
“Do not make an entry in the book,” Aktar Khan said.
“What?” Raghunath Kadam exclaimed. The IB wanted to eliminate a national threat and wanted to break a dozen laws doing so?
“Excuse me, sir, but I have always followed a strict procedure in my lifetime and I will not arrest anyone without lodging an FIR against him,” Raghunath Kadam said.
“I presumed that, you case history is on my table as we speak. The person you are going to arrest possesses some big national secrets. There will be diplomatic ties broken if those secrets are out, soon the man hunt will begin and there will be half the world’s secret agents looking for our man. If they find a trace in your books, they find your life, your family, your only daughter and your job in jeopardy,” agent Aktar said.
“What…” Raghunath Kadam shook. His family? His only daughter will be in jeopardy? His wife and son were already not taking to him, his only hope for living in jeopardy?

“I knew you would co-operate,” agent Aktar said, “We are coming to collect our package in twenty minutes.”
The line was dead.

Raghunath Kadam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. One law is to be broken today first time in his life.
Slowly and cautiously the team made their way on the fifth floor of the apartment. The door was locked.

“Do we have the arrest warrant?” Raghunath Kadam breathed heavily. Sadly he had guessed the answer.
“No,” the constable said.

He had feared that, “Break open the door,” he ordered.

The constable glanced at him back, waiting for him to speak something else.

“Do it,” Raghunath Kadam huffed.

‘God knows how many more laws I have to break tonight,’ he thought.
Sadly even God had no idea.

---

There ends the preview. The book is on the verge of getting completed, I am looking for a publisher and distributor for the book. If anyone knows any, please let me know.

I apologize to my friends who came back again and again for the next part, idiot that I am, I scheduled it for 1 P.M. instead of A.M. and kept wondering why it isn't published.

I hope you are enjoying and excited as what will happen next? Obviously as you can see, the pace of the novel is very fast and exciting since beginning, I can assure you the speed gets worse as you turn the pages, right from the feminine powepuff girl Ragini, to the master hacker Vikrant.

If you wish to publish this book, you can get back to me.

Einstein: Chapter one

They say death brings with it all the memories of the past. Professor Vidyadhar Prajapati suddenly found this true as he clutched his chest trying to bear the unbearable pain. He wondered what his age should be at the precise moment and to his horror he realized the mistake he had done. His age was a mathematical infinity, a figure that cannot be calculated.

=====================================================================================

Chapter One 

=====================================================================================

The evening sun cast its golden rays on the future software park, Pune. The software professionals hurried home to snuggle up in the beds with their partners.

They were too engrossed to notice the 20 something sole cyclist riding on the street. The rider was famous amongst the software circle as Dosa delivery boy.

He was often seen delivering Dosa on his working scooter keeping the Dosa Planet’s thirty minute guarantee. They all knew him as ‘the Dosa boy’, but hardly knew his real name was Vikrant Malik.

They pitied his working shift and the fact that they earned ten times of what he received, but working only half as much as he did.

Little did they know that the Dosa boy had an IQ of 240 and most of the time he was the cause for their overtime. Even thought Vikrant Malik was a simpleton he had a dark side not known to any, in the murky cyber underground he was Vikraal, the best cyber hacker of the century.

Each of the past centuries was dominated by some technology. The 18th century was the era of great mechanical system accompanying the industrial revolution. The 19th century was the age of the steam engine. In the 20th century the key technology is information systems. Information was available widely and cheaply over the World Wide Web. The dot com burst affected one and all. More and more companies started shifting to the futuristic technology, web. The web grew to a much larger extent that anyone could expect.

As the companies shifted, so did the criminals.

They formed an intelligent new generation of criminals, called hackers. The cyber underground increased exponentially and soon every nook and corner of the web was affected with them. Not all hackers were bad, but all of them were criminals.

Entering into a computer without its owner’s permission was termed as hacking. People who manage to accomplish this task were called the hackers. The people who entered into the machine to cause mayhem and trouble were called crackers.

Vikraal was the God amongst crackers and a cult icon of the cyber underground. Like most viral writers he chose the grossest name in the cyber underground.

Vikraal meant large, strong and heavy in Sanskrit. It suited him the perfectly as a short form of Vikrant and also showed his dominance in the digital world. Even the cyber underground feared his digital signatures. Half of the software industry were fed up with the virus writer Vikraal and had issued a public notice for his whereabouts.

No one knew, for no one was close to him. He was omniscient and omnipresent, yet he was nowhere. All the software hitting the market was cracked by Vikraal.

The software worth ten thousands was made available for free by Vikraal. Vikraal liked his work, in the day time he worked for the Dosa Planet; a small hotel specialized in south Indian delicacies, especially Dosa.

He had a working scooter with a big carrier in its back, where he hid his lap top. He took clients as close to software park as possible. He watched, he waited and he weighed his profit.

He was the high tech peeping tom in the world of software. Despite their big security measures Vikraal had eyes into each and every software company.

Gazing at the hurrying person into the software firm, Vikraal smiled. The person was hurrying to cover-up a recent hack into the main frame of their company’s computer system, caused by Vikraal.

Having random thoughts Vikraal reached his apartment. It was not a celebrated place; the small apartment was not far from the software park and his workplace. He did not care for normal luxuries of life, but the four walls kept him safe from external intrusion, gave him the maximum privacy he needed, and kept him warm. He had designed the interior himself, spending some part of his vast fortune earned by illegal means. It was a one-bedroom kitchen room, where the bedroom was converted into his work room, the living room into the bedroom. Waiting for the computer to warm up, he glanced around his room.

It was not an ideal place to live in, but he hardly cared for luxuries. A large part of his work room was taken by a train of computer monitors neatly placed on a large table. The book shelf resting next to the table was half full. Books that were supposed to be on the shelf were lying face down on the table.

To add to the mess, a bunch of tangled coaxial cables were spread across the room in different corners. His laundry clothes were lying on the router. ‘All this room needs is some cleanliness,’ he thought making a mental note to do this on the weekend. He walked across his notice-board to see the pin-ups for the evening. ‘GRB AES 128’ Smiling at his work tonight, he sat on his terminal. Today was the d-day, months of planning and executing viruses at different levels he had managed to enter the main frame of ISRO research facility. Now only one layer left, the AES 128 bit encrypted password firewall. ‘Rock and roll,’ he thought, turning on his lock breaker program.

It was nothing personal: Poem.

The first person account of Nathuram Godse. This poem is written based on the book, 'Me Nathuram Godse Boltoy' and the Last speech at trail. I do request you to read till the end and then judge the person and poem. Read it with an unbiased mind and then comment.

The day was like any other
Without any worry or any bother

The sun rose to a brighter day,
In the cold of January it was a welcome stay.

Joggin my way across the street,
I saw the pieces of shattered feet.

Families torn apart from their dear,
Happiness in eyes replaced by fear

"This is my land and not your,"
The crowd shouted all night

"Live my region and keep it pure"
They cried with all their might.

The Gods were at war,
The religion killed afar,

I looked into eyes, fear
Mixed into water it rolled as tear.

Standing there I made a choice,
I had a guide as my inner voice,

For all those who died, someone must pay
On second thoughts, I realized there was no other way

If he shed his clothes for the needy
He must also feel their pain, brought by the greedy

I had to choose against my will,
Between my country and a nasty kill

Yes, I killed the Mahatma, to save him the shame,
I saved him from his people who misused his name

It was nothing personal, I hereby say
I chose to walk the deivine way.

Three bullets in his chest closed his episode,
Smiling at me his eyes did close,

It was nothing personal, I still repeat,
I do not celebrate this woeful deed.

Someone had to do it, so i did,
Into his heart the bullets I feed.

It was nothing personal, i will always say,
Until the Lord takes my breath away.

Nostalgia: The Engineering Admissions

The thing about results is, you know they are going to be bad, you know they are coming today.... yet, on the very day you feel the tension at the last moment as you walk the corridor, just like a bride feels when she walks the aisle or a new upcoming model feels like coming on ramp for the first time. And the worst part is, this feeling comes again and again.

The air around me was tensed. As i walked into the room, I felt panic level increasing exponentially. 'This is it,' I thought when I sat on the bench.

Today was the result of HSC examination. After one year of rummaging through different books, filling pockets of many coaching classes, emptying my dad's bank account by thousand's, I had finally managed to write what I learned in one year on a sixteen page booklet in only three hours.
Today was the result of one year of sleepless nights, fun-less days, television less weeks and more than that hopeless studies. Many questions were still unanswered, and the top most one amongst them was "Why are we supposed to learn all this?" Yet, I had managed to 'read', not 'learned' the things by heart.

My name echoed in the hall before hitting my ears. The situation was more emotional than a son leaves his mother for a long, never returning journey to planet mars to escape from his wife. But there were no camera, no lights, only action. Emotions flooded as I walked towards the dais to carry the paper that was supposed to shape my future. The teacher smiled at me, for a moment wondering if she had seen me somewhere before (Although she was my class teacher, she did not had the fate to meet me in her class.),  as she handed my mark sheet and said,


"Congratulations."

I had expected a disco music behind me, maybe a long distant mandir ki ghanta, or even a lighting strike some distant village in Jhumritayala, but this was no movie. This was a real life and not a reel life. I had received a great score, something I coudn't receive in many years. I wanted to jump with joy, shout loudly, but I did none, I simply smiled and walked outside, like a good boy.

When I entered the tensed environment of my house, I felt like entering the movie Sarkar. And just as Amitabh asks Abhishek in the movie, my dad asked me the same thing, 'Ab?' i.e, now what?
I had expected all my worries and tensions to shoo away as soon as I got this great score, little did I know this was just the beginning. I had to bear four big years of mental torture in an asylum, better known as engineering college.

When I received the Maths book for twelfth class, found it heavier than the Bhagwat Gita, this is the book I am going to read my whole life. Little did I know, this is just one of the book of the complete Trouble Shastra, where this was the ‘smallest’ book I was supposed to read for my entire life and this was also the only year where I will actually get a ‘Year’ to study for three hours. After this, only preparation days reduced, exam length was the same. Damm you, evil spirit.

The next few days passed with lot of activity. Running form college to college collecting forms. Finding out the branches that I wanted to go, and then finding out if they were ready to take me.
Patofying your complete khandan to have one representative in every college in the city so that you can see where your number is. Again using all your management skills to manage the level of stress.

In those seven days I ran so much, that if I had run all that in a stretch, today you would find a big golden trophy on my bedside. Also to mention here is, those were the pre-CET days. Life was a much easier then. If there had been any CET back then, I am pretty sure I would never join engineering, I would have taken some other degree, even Arts, but as they say, 'Troubles comes in bundles,' there was no CET to stop me and I got admission EASILY...yeah bad luck also comes in bundles.

That night, on a burning electric torch powered by nippo batteries, I took a vow , that I will never ever study again. Little did I know, the batteries power was less and I had to study every night after that, ironically using the same electric torch.

Statutory Warning: I am an engineer.

Gandhi: A poem

I am not a Gandhi lover but I still am not that big enough to judge weather he was Mahatma or no. If you are a Gandhi Lover, then you should read it till the end, if you are not still you can read it. This poem is written as a tribute to Satyagraha... on September 11/9/2007. A note, to save the world, go through this post.

Once upon a time in a land far far away,
Walked a sage inspiring many on the way,

He held the power of the might,
For he spoke the truth and was always right.

He was slim, he was weak,
He was short, he was sick,

But he crushed the whole empire,
He had only one desire.

He wanted to build a strong nation,
A nation of purity and co-operation,

He wanted the people to fight,
if forced, for their right.


He carried no guns, no swords,
His only weapon were the true words.

He forced truth into the minds of people,
he shed down his own clothes for the weaker.

He was termed Mahatma by the people,
Blessed were they, by the noble speaker.

He taught them power of non-violence, the path of truth,
Blessed were they and hoped for right fruit.

But today his followers are his enemy,
his policies are thrown to dust by his family,

His own adversary was the day.
When his own friends shooed him away.

They stowed his principles in the dust,
His virtues are going to rust,

He won a big battle lost,
but for that his life did he cost.

If non-violence did he teach,
why did the principle did not reach?

Violence is still used by his disciples,
Lies still are told by his peoples.

Mockery happened when his assassin was hanged,
‘Vande Mataram’ did the person who killed the mahatma sang,

If reading these lines you feel the anger boil,
Let me see if you have the power inside,

If cursing me is what you must do,
Then stop following him, this is a cue.

People who term themselves his followers must understand,
do not be his false follower as they pretend.

Understand what he said for your own good,
He would stay awake for you, without food.

I am nobody compared to the divine creation,
For I am just a person, he a father of the nation, my nation.

This does not end here. Poem on Nathuram Gods, schedule in 3 days. Keep following.

Save the world… while you can!!

Sidoscope is now changed to Cafe Sidoscope, where we dish out the science of stupidity with a pint of sarcasm.
The world is in a big mess, and I do not refer fact that daily saas-bahu shows are now busy torturing small kids, no I mean bigger problems are at hand. No, I am talking about a bigger mess, a massive mess.

You see, the grownups, yeah the people who ‘teach’ us, what not to do have ruined our planet beyond repair, so if we let them run this the same way, we will be left with seeing crows in the museum, a leaf will reach the price of gold and human race is going to end soon, and no we do not need terminator to do this, nor any alien, we can do it our self.
So… what can we do? Well, we are the new generation who are pro bloggers, at this moment we hold the key to information across the globe. What we can do is, spread the awareness. Sidoscope for one has completely decided to become a superhero and come up with a ten commandments of saving the world. I know this is very less, but every week in November a list of 10 things to do will be posted on Save the World Saturday.
Preachers don’t practice, is not the thing here, all the things mentioned below are done by me personally and then posted.

I am not just doing them, I am tagging you to do them too, if you are tagged means you have to do at least one, at most all the tasks mentioned below. If every one of us, does every one of the task only one time, we can save the world a few years. The more you spread it, the more it spreads.
Well, its a simple tag and you are getting an award for it…how cool is it?
Rules:

1. Post the link to the main rules on your blog.
2. Post the link to the person who tagged you on your blog.
3. You can entirely choose not to participate, in any case you can still pass on the tag.
4. You can take up any of the 3 task below and still complete the task.
5. Finally, honestly is the best below, based on the number of task you take up, pick up a award and display it on your sidebar.

Lets try becoming a superhero for a change, lets save the world.
So here is the task list.

1. Turn off unneeded lights even when leaving a room for a short time
2. Set your refrigerator temperature at 36 to 38 and your freezer at 0 to 5 .
3. When using an oven, minimize door opening while it is in use; it reduces oven temperature by 25 to 30 every time you open the door.
4. Turn off vehicle engine when waiting at signals.
5. Shut off electrical equipment in the evening when you leave work.
6. Plant trees to shade your home.
7. Copy and print on both sides of paper.
8. Use a ceramic coffee mug instead of a disposable cup.
9. Walk or ride your bike instead of driving, whenever possible.
10. Join a carpool or vanpool to get to work.

I you do the task above, minimum three and maximum all, feel free to proudly boast our achievement…


The Save planet Gadget, if you want to pass it on.


If you finish any 3 tasks above.


If you finish less than 5 and more than 3 tasks.


If you finish less than 9 and more than 5 tasks.


If you complete all the 10 task.

If you are already doing it, did it, then you are a part of green team, you can proudly boast your achievement with the award here. Lets save the world...

My green team are....

Miss Kido |Hary| Sayali Shah | Chatterbox | Neha| Dev | Manju | Roshmi Sinha | Being Pramoda...|RAJI| Govind| Rohini Prasanth |Ekam| Urvashi| Quintessence Of Illusion | Samadrita|  Deeps!!| Tangerine| rimz| scarlet pimpernel| Guria| Aditya|Deeps|Shrinath Vashishtha| Pooja Mahimkar| pra| Sugu| Shruti| Pawan| bharathi subbarayan| SE| Choco| Rane  (The Orchid with All Shades Pink)|Adesh| Mukund Awasthi| Titaxy| oRange *| Kumar Naveen| Rahul  | Ashwini | Pankaja | Aparna Rajesh | Shilpa Garg | Shilpa Sharma

The return of Sid the Kid

55 Fiction is a form of microfiction that refers to the works of fiction limited to a maximum of fifty-five words.

Criteria for 55 Fiction

A literary work will be considered 55 Fiction if it has:

1. Fifty-five words or less ( A non-negotiable rule )  Check, words 55.
   
2. A setting,  Check.
   
3. One or more characters, Check, three characters.
   
4. Some conflict, Check
   
5. A resolution. Check.
   
6. The title of the story is not part of the overall word count, but it still can’t exceed seven words. Check.  

Sid the Kid is my first recurring series of Fiction 55. It tells the tales of a naughty kid, Sid the Kid, all in just 55 words.

She saw Sid the Kid gazing at the balcony. She feared he was upto something. Cautiously she stepped outside keeping her eyes fixed on the balcony... 'What have you kept up there?' she asked him...when she fell into the mud puddle created below the balcony. 'Nothing...' said Sid the Kid walking away.

And yes, Sid the Kid returns.

The world is in total mess, unless we do something about it. Sidoscope is marking this month, November as a salute to mother nature and planet earth. If you wish to contribute to the noble cause, ask me how (No money or donation), the least you can do is try to step forward to save the planet...and keep following.

My Journey in heaven

Story of an honest man, who was stuck in heaven. This poem is purely written for fun and has no relation with any God or Dogma whatsoever . This is NOT borrowed from any dogma has no relation to any Dogma and is not at all said by any God. However, I pray to God that this better be true, or I am doomed.

The day I died I took a free walk,
I was jack and this was my bean stalk,
I walked freely about a yard or seven,
For I was happy I was in heaven.

I jumped, I sighed,
I laughed, I cried,
I saw the land that was clean shaven,
Here I was happy, I had reached heaven.


I looked beneath, down in the hell,
People were swimming in the beer well,
They ate like pig and gaped at the dancing dame,
“What a pity,” I sighed, “what a shame.”

They cheered, they laughed,
They drank until they coughed,
I was happy, I was not there,
I was in heaven with purity everywhere.

I roamed in heaven for the whole day,
Finally in the eve I reached the foods bay.
There he sat, the almighty wise,
Eating food. He had pure eyes.

Food was served in golden plates,
Plain rice with the gravy of dates.
I wanted a treat, but the food was ordinary,
That made me worry.

“Tell me, oh almighty,” I asked the One,
“Why isn’t there a feast, or a treat some?”
the lord smiled and looked at me,
those pure eyes sealed my lips.

Speechless was I when I heard the words,
I started missing a bowl of sweet curds.
Slowly, silently, the almighty answered,
“For two of us here, son, is it an option?”

I was shocked, I was surprised,
Why wasn’t I a little wise?
That night after the plain dinner,
I thought, why wasn’t I not a sinner?

“What a pity,” I thought, “what a shame.”
I was angry, but so lame,
I could have robbed a few, cheated even,
Was I happy ,now, that I was in heaven?

Statuatory warning: This poem has violence.

Thanks Titaxy, Sreya, Sruti, Pooja for the wonderful awards you gave me. I also have a tag pending from Sammy, Rahul thousand apologies for missing out your wall of fame. I will definitely catch with everything soon.