Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Corruption, Terrorism and Injustice- Recap 2010

Every year on the calender has something to say to the coming year, 2009 was lay-off without a PF or employee benefit and cried on the shoulder of 2010, who apparently was outsourced from some of the very cheap outsourcing markets. The result, 2010 was in good mood and had faith, he will succeed. Well, he did, mostly.

Now, that 2010 is leaving for the day, he looks back and has no other thing to say, 'OMG, I cannot believe I survived that...'

2010 began optimistically, promising a good deal for India and the world altogether. The nearly depressed and hopeless 2009 parted very sadly with no jobs, no money and no sense but 2010 came with the motto, 'Yes we can.' 

Now 2010 was a good lobbyist and he did try to rectify things, for one thing, 2010 did try to do some justice to the prolong judgment of Bhopal Gas tragedy, Babri Masjid Demolition and even the smaller trials of Arushi Murder case as well as Jessica Murder.

But then, 2010 also was worried at every stage of the verdict as it was dancing on the razor edge of the blade. It took deep breath every minute the verdict was delayed, but thankfully, unlike its ancestors 1993, there were no riots and no confusion. Infact the result was so confusing, that it took a while for people to understand it. Still, the result was out.

2010 also saw the rise of common man, with corrupt politicians had to run for cover as Arnab from Times Now charged over them like a wild berserk bull. So what if Kalmadi gave a very new and fresh meaning to the word 'World-class' and at the same time, Raja had to admit himself in hospital, but frankly Raja, this hospital crap we used to do in third standard when we did not complete out homework. Also with top brass of Indian army grabbing the land of martyrs of Kargil was the most cold-blooded shame 2010 saw.

Molester Rathod had a different story to tell, as his smile on the face outside the courtroom immediately vanished, as the media decided to skin him alive. He might get away soon, but I hope, he has a lot of savings because once the trial is over, he will need lot of money to leave the country and settle in the jungles of south-Africa.

Talking about South-Africa, Kalmadi did make the CWG teams feel like home, by putting a live snake in the room of South-African players, he fell short of Kangaroo or Australian players were in for a treat.

Never before in the history of India was the whole republic desperate for an American citizen, not it was not the President of the United States but two people, Warren Anderson, the Chairman of UCIL and David Headley. The former was protected by the corporate laws of the two countries, while the later was hoping this country would never catch him.

2010 has some bad memories with it too, like the very beloved German Bakery was destroyed at the beginning of the year, hoping that tourist in India would stop coming. Well, that hope was not spend wisely and nothing happened.

2010 has some good memories to share too, with India Inc. making its mark on the global level, with the fastest economy to come out of recession. The president of United States coming to India with prospect of getting some jobs in US and ofcourse, despite all corruption, successful completion of CWG 2010, well almost.

As always, year 2010 is giving something to its successor, this time, the baby 2011 has a big leak to fix in. Wikileaks has been added in English Dictionary as a word forever.

All in all 2010 acted in a wonderful way to empower humans and discredit politicians, hope that 2011 helps this cause and empowers human lives more than big shots. All that only time can tell,

Still, about 2011 we can say one thing, its good its not 2012.

Thats it I guess, last post of this year, see you next year.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Many a man who falls in love with a dimple make the mistake of marrying the whole girl

If you have been following this blog (in a not so stalking way) you know that I have been very voicing my opinion of how life is not fair for men  and leaking God cables while making this mans world.

Since the beginning of time, thats 6 billion years ago in fact, many a men have been fallen into the unsuspecting trap, which can be scientifically dubbed as the The New Marriage bride effect aka Lady Gaga Syndrome aka also known as Cleoptra Syndrome in ancient times and in the brief period of 2001 to 2004 was known as Rakhi Sawant hallucination. The Lady Gaga Syndrome says that, you see the woman all dressed up and looking gorgeous and hot in the marriage in front of all the random strangers and distant relatives who come to your marriage to hog free food. And then, once you are done with your marriage and take her on the honey moon, the first thing that the girl does is, removes the makeup and comes in front of you in true sense. Now I am not saying that the girl without makeup is not hot, but its just that, we should get what we signed up for in the first place isn't it?

Marriage is the combination of two biggest enemies in adult male life, Ladies and Government and for sentimental purposes, girls involve God in between too. 

"Oh we have married in front of God, don't mess or God will get angry," There should be a (*) on the marriage certificate, *Marriage validity subject the time-line of make up wearing time. When I suggested to the local marriage register office, they kicked me out. Damm you, government bouncers.

So to get to the bottom of this problem (and also to distant myself from the average favorite sitcoms of Indian television, like Rakhi Ka insaaf, Big Boss and Kaun Banega Carodepati)  I decided to investigate the issue (which according to my GF is how I waste time the whole day and don't pay attention to her... paah... girlfriends, right?)

It all began in the older days when the human-kind depended on the good old sun for light. Many a men fell for the beautiful damsels walking by and looking beautiful. Then one day, a man rose and he took a vow, let us double chances of seeing pretty girls... and he invented fire.

"This way," he told to the blokes, "We can see them at night too... beat that, you God... ha ha."

His teasing did not go in vain, for God had foreseen this coming and had already prepared to give his share of joke long back in advance. The female kind was not prepared for this new concept and could not cope up with this. And thus we became entitled to the single most horrible curse hitting the mankind. You choose in the light and see them in the dark and that too without makeup.

The ancient people did try to warn us in fairy tales like Cinderella. Dance all you want with her prince charming, but as the clock strikes 12, the makeup will wear off leaving you wonder why the ugly sisters are called ugly.

It is really very convenient that the makeup, making the girl beautiful, should wear off just after the commitment. Its like, they dress up pretty awesome to go on a quest and finally when they get a dude for commitment. Whoosh, off goes the awesome dresses and in comes the regular gown. Now, the girl will dress up only for going to parties or marriage. Not fair is it?

Think of it this way, what does a woman do when she goes out? She puts on make-up, but what does she do when she comes back home? She washes it off. Its a conspiracy, you see, the world should see how beautiful she is, but the person who signs the commitment bond does not have the right to see her?

Since the beginning of time many a men have fallen to the The New Marriage bride effect, it has been called by many names so far and will be called by many names for the days to come. But maybe someday, in a distant world, someone will remember that a lone idiot discovered the primary symptoms and devised a algorithm in simple English without any mathematics attached to it which helped the humanity for endless time. Till that time, I should go and watch Two and the Half Men.

Picture courtsey: My lovely friend Swatilekha who generously gifted her picture to the post (although she will kill me on reading the tag line below). Photographed by amazing Sanhita, who couldn't miss the chance of laughing out loud at the pic.

P.s. Picture is just meant for symbolic purpose and has no relation with the post.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Vicky Leaks

"Hey what is this Wikileaks," asked Vicky wiping his leaking nose with a hankerchief.
 "I am sure it is not a overgrown baby who still needs diapers," I replied, super busy pounding some terrorist in Dust II (those who are mere mortals, I am talking about Dust II Map in Counter Strike, oh and fyi 78-79 is the score), "Or in this case a handkerchief," I spoke softly, lest he blows his nose on me.
"What!" he exclaimed.
"What?" I asked.
"Is it something related to Wikipedia?" he asked, "I saw the founder of Wikipedia asking for donation..."
"I am pretty sure Jimmy Wales has nothing to do with Julian Assange, in-fact I am pretty sure, no one in the whole world would want to do anything with Julian Assange," I quipped pounded a well-place grenade in front of the escaping terrorist.
"Infact, Wikipedia has posted a disclaimer on Wikileaks page that they have nothing to do with Wikileaks,'' I replied, displaying my sheer knowledge of spending endless hours reading the only site that is not blocked by the zealots IT team.
"I did not get time to check the wikileaks, did you see," he asked.
"Are you suggesting, I have a lot of free time?" I asked, looking for a way to tackle, four terrorist with a smoke bomb.
"Considering the fact that its 9 o'Clock in the morning and instead of rushing to office, you are busy playing Counter strike for last two days..." he summarized, "You do have a lot of free time."
"Its 9 o'Clock," I exclaimed and was killed brutally killed by four terrorist. As the background music played to computers victory, I ran outside to turn on television.

Wikileaks has leaked so much into our daily lives. Any person in pajama comes up and judges if Julian Assange should be hanged,
"You know," the first wise man spoke proudly as if he was the president of united states, "That Julian guy, he is very bad man."
"Who?" the second wise man questioned.
"The founder of Wikileaks na?" the third wise man blurted, "I heard he is a computer hacker."
"Oh, it is?" first wise man replied, "Obviously he is, how could he get so much documents?"
"Arey but I hear he was hacker a long time back, isn't he?" the second wise man defended, "Its all in the past."
"Hacker or no," the first wise man spoke, "He should be hanged."
"Yes," the third wise men supported, "It is not good to leak the story to the world. What if there is world war III? How will we protect ourself?"
"Yes yes," the second wise man switched tracks, "You know sometimes its good to be Chinese, you can ban any site you want..."
Now the three wise man never knew how it will be to live in a country that will ban google, but I could not stay there long to find out.

The worst hit me at the best moment, just as I was about to destroy pigs with Angry Birds on my android, he announced.
"See this wiki leaks is going to spread like virus," he came behind me, "What if tomorrow someone leaks my 2nd standard mark-sheet? I have told my son, I came first in school. I don't want him to know I flunked in 2nd standard."

Oh well... I was tempted on texting this to Julian, but then I knew Asange would be in some other trouble at the moment to worry about mine. It is not that you take panga with the largest and strongest country in the world and get away with it, do you? I just hope, when the chip falls, the Wikileaks team gets a cable from the state government, else how would we know?

P.s. My view on Wikileaks, is that it should be there. I hate society from the bottom of my heart, but then its just narcissist in me.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Short Story: Terrorist

Republishing this story to pay Homage to 26/11. This was written on the day of trial of Kasab. If you have not read it before, hope you enjoy it, if you have read it before, hope you understand it.

Foreword: I am writing a Short Story after a long time, it is based on the backdrop of 26/11 and the events that follow. Hope you like it.

His forehead was completely covered in sweat as he sat in the court clutching the collar of his cape. The cold metal of the gun touched his chest inside the cape, sending a spine chilling shiver in his body. The last three weeks where the most difficult in his life. No, getting the gun was not hard, he got one local, hand made gun illegally and cheap too. But the real task started after getting the gun. Learning to use it was harder than he had thought, his thumb pained of the mark the recoil of the gun had caused.

But the pain was nothing. God knows he had to do it, there was no other way. He could see it clearly now. 
He was following up the trial for the last 369 days watching the 296 witnesses retell the horror in front of the blind lady of justice. He studied the layout of the criminal court very well, so that he could execute the plan perfectly. 
Today was the last day of the trial, last day for him to complete the task of God. He closed his eyes and prayed one final time, after today he won't be able to pray again. This was Jihad, his final act.
The authorities would arrest him, he knew, he had no escape, he did not wish to escape. Why would he escape? for whom? Everything he owned, everyone he loved had left him, left him to feel the guilt everyday.
The History of Terrorism: From Antiquity to al QaedaThe judge ordered the court to silence and spoke to the open court about the 'act of war' and that the infiltrator cannot be 'spared.' Then the judge proceeded to read out the crimes under which the man was convicted on five counts of murder, conspiracy to murder, waging war against the country, abetting murder and committing terrorist activities under the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act. 166 people were killed in the carnage. The man was also awarded life imprisonment on five other counts including attempt to murder, criminal conspiracy and under the Explosive Substances Act.
Slowly he closed the eyes in the court room. The judge had spoke, after a year of silence the dead could now rest in peace.
He walked out of the courtroom in silence, the moment he was waiting for was very near. The cold touch of the barrel on his chest demanded blood.
'Son, is the judgement done?' an old lady was sitting outside the court.
'Yes, he is to be hanged.' 
'Lord be praised,' the old lady spoke with tears in her eyes, 'He finally gets punished for his deeds.'
'Yes,' he replied silently, 'He deserves to die.'
'Who are we to say what he deserves or not,' the old lady said, 'All we can do is judge his deeds according to the laws of the society.'
Inside Terrorism'He didn't obey any law or any rule before killing the 166 innocent people, why should we do so? This compassion of ours is the result our weak system is failing,' he said.
The old lady simply smiled, 'The fact, that, despite him killing 166 innocent people, we give him a fair trial shows that our system still is in place and we do not follow the jungle law.'
'He killed my wife and my kid,' he said with bitter mouth.
'And so he did to my own son,' she said, 'But I do not want him dead as a revenge. I want him punished because it is the right thing to do. What he has done to your family is wrong, but that doesn't justify you doing the same to him. He killed them and he gave the reason of his own, you will kill him with the reason of your own, what is the difference between both of you?'
He simply stared at her, unable to speak.
'Son, you have a lot of time to live, don't live mourning over the dead, instead use your life building good stuff so people will remember them as they were. What is death but a mere moment, your wife is still with you in your memories, in your thought. Don't tarnish them with the deed you will repent forever. The man who did this deed should be punished by law.'
'But... look at this, it took one year for them to pronounce the law. Then he will appeal in the Supreme Court, according to our law, anyone can appeal for his pardon to the president. This process may take years, he will rot in prison till then.'
'Son, our system is made of people, not machines. I agree there are flaws and delays in the system, but eventually, the good thing gets done. The system does not forget nor forgives. People do escape the clutches of law many times, but trust me, eventually everyone pays his price in the system.'
'Why are you still here then? Did you come here for a year just to watch the trial?' he asked with bitter mouth.
'No, I came to tell the young boy, who is now guilty, that I forgive him. My son was the same age as he was, I just hope, he can forgive himself for what he has done. I have no regrets now, my son was the only means of support for me in my old-age but I am not going to mourn over his death and ruin my life. No. My son died a hero's death and for that I won't let anyone tarnish his memory. I will live for my boy and hope that he has attained heaven and is waiting for me soon,' she smiled.
She asked him to support her as she got up and she whispered close to him, 
'Don't go down the path the boy has gone, there is no return from there. Don't spoil your families memory by marking your soul with his blood. What is done is done, you won't find peace this way. Let go of all prejudice holding you together and start afresh in the loving memory of your wife. I hope you do not lose your way in between,' she smiled and limping walked away.
Epilogue: In a shocking twist of the convicted terrorist trial, the police found a local made revolver thrown in the trash just few meters away. 
He now leads a happy life and he did opened a old-age home for the elderly in the name of his wife. The house supports the old whose sons are far off in the army or lost in the natural disaster.
Across the road from his old age home, the old woman smiled and walked away in a limp. A few distance apart she vanished into thin air.

Authors Note: The above story reflects the sentiment of the victims family, the unnamed 'He' is the one man who vowed to end the terrorist with his own hand. If we look into history, new terrorist are born this way. Terrorist is a person who causes the act of terror, the reason behind the act is immaterial, the act matters. We all hold grudges against something and at some part of the time, over a period of time, this anger consumes us causing another terrorist. If you like this story, vow to kill the terrorist in you and tell others to follow, the soon we let go the prejudice, the sooner the world will be a better place.

Fact: The trial mentioned in the above story is exact as the trial of lone gunman of 26/11, Kasab, even the judgement given by the Special court judge  M L Tahaliyani is exact with some parts modified, but not tampered, for the fiction story.

The characters are entirely fictional.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Ayodhya: The tale of a mind.

“If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a month.”-Theodore Roosevelt

His grand-father was kicked out from Punjab (Pakistan) in India at the age of 10. The orphan than learned to earn his wages in India and finally started his family in the greatest democracy of all time. The happy family had some issues, had to leave their complete property behind and no proper education, getting a permanent wager was difficult. But he did manage to get a job as a waiter in a restaurant and on that salary, managed a family of four.

His father was the eldest son and was a businessman. He had opened a small shop of catering in the town. The shop used to cater to all the local functions of all the religions. The Special Biryani made in the shop was the talk of the town for years.

All was well, until, until the fated day when the country burned and with it, burned his childhood. He was one year old, but he knew exactly why his grandmother was crying hysterically. He understood why he never saw his mother again and he knew, life would never be same again.

He had some vague memory of the night. That night, Mother and Father had not returned from the shop. His grandfather was seeing the Doordarshan news. Suddenly there was an uproar in the market. No one knew what had happened and grandfather tuned in the television news. There were pictures of train burning all over the news. He would later learn that someone had burned a train full of Hindu activist.

His grandfather quickly lowered the volume of the television and switched off all the light. They all sat in the darkness. No one moved, it was the dreaded time.

After an hour or was it after six hours, no one can tell. There was banging on the door,

"Anna," his father yelled, "Anna, open the door." he shouted frantically.

His grandmother was agile, she quickly opened the door and let his father inside. Oh, the scene was horrible. His father was all poured in blood, his white shirt was smeared in blood. In his arms rested his mother, dead and covered in blood.

He spoke to no one as he came inside and finally after the funeral he became mute forever. Every morning his father used to hold hands and pray.

His whole life changed after that. People cursed him as he walked, becoming a Hindu had become a crime in India. His father loved him very much and everyday his father used to kiss on his forehead and look at him with tears in the eyes.

But the venom was injected, the temple of Lord Rama was destroyed to build a Mosque and when they decided to correct it, it was a problem. The venom injected in his childhood was to erupt someday, so what he assisted some people burn some Muslims, they had to pay for what they did to his community, his mother.

Today was his final mission, the lathi in his hand was for the enemy. The devil had launched jihad on his Punyabhoomi, he had to destroy it, revenge his mother.

One final blessings of his father and he would set off on the final mission. His father was old now, burdened with time.

“You see the devil everyday,” he replied, “Today, I am going to defeat the evil,”

His father simply gazed at him, he shed one drop of tear and lifted his backpack to leave.

Suddenly he heard the words that were lost seventeen years ago suddenly came to life.

“That evening, when I was in the market closing our shop. A mob of hooligans entered the market with swords and started slicing the members of our community. We all got scared and started running hither and tether. They called us traitors, impure. That day was the day of the evil…,”

He turned back, his father was staring blankly at the floor, “Your mother was killed in the crowd and I could not save her, but I was determined to give her a proper funeral and not let her body for the dogs. I was bringing her back to the house, when he attacked. He carried a sword in his hand.

His eyes met mine and I knew his intention. I knew, he would attack me and I had 30 secs to choose. I picked up a trishul fallen on the ground and sliced him before he could attack. He fell down in front of me.

As I was running away from the place, carrying your mother, I looked at the fallen man’s hand and he held a picture. It was the picture of his wife and a child. The child was just a year old and was smiling. So horrified I was of what I did, I collapsed besides the man, my legs shaking.

I was unable to move. The burden of my deed was on me but then I heard them, a mob coming towards me. I froze stiff, pretended to be dead. They came over us,

“Are they one of us?” one of them ask.

“One looks like us… yes, he is with us,” another replied, “Seems he took two of them with him.”

“Is he…” another exclaimed, “Oh dear, his wife was killed yesterday, they just have a child of a year old.”

“Don’t worry Allah will look after the child, lets go,”

So horrified I was with the consequences of the deeds, I searched his wallet and thinking about nothing, I went to the dead mans house, carrying your mother’s body with me.

The house was dark and I knocked on the door, carrying your dead Mother. An old Muslim woman opened the door and she shrieked, looking at me. The horror was behind me, a mob was walking towards us. She immediately took me inside and asked me to hide in the bathroom. The kind woman had sheltered a enemy with her, but she had mistook, the mob was not one of them, they were people from our community.

When I emerged from the bathroom, I saw only blood in the house. There was your mother lying in blood and there was the old kind woman, who had sheltered a stranger and amidst the blood, a small child crawled towards me. I did not know what to do, I had come to see to it that the child was fine and here it was in my arms.”

He looked at his father,

“In an instant I made a decision, funeral for your mother was less important than saving the childs life. I left your mother with the old woman and brought that child home. I promised, nothing would happen to him and also, the child will remind me of the devil I saw that day in me. The devil who made me kill the man that day, the devil who prompted the man to lift the sword that day. It was the devil who drank the blood of the two ladies who lay in that room, but, the devil did not discriminate between the religion. He killed everyone.”

“But where is the child?” he asked, thinking the father has turned delusional, there was no child in the house.

His father looked up at his son and smiled, “The child is you. I am your criminal, for I killed your father. If you need any revenge, I am your culprit.”

It all came back to him. The crawl in the blood, the man with the corpse, everything. The whole world stood still and he revolved unable to bear it.

The backpack in his hand collapsed and his legs gave away.

अस्तो मा सद् गमय तमसो मा ज्योतिर्गमय मृत्योन् मा अमृतं गमय्

Facts and Note:

Repressed memory is a theoretical concept used to describe a significant memory, usually of a traumatic nature, that has become unavailable for recall; also called motivated forgetting in which a subject blocks out painful or traumatic times in one's life. Usually when we see something traumatic in the childhood, our mind represses the memory with an alternate version of the whole event this is called Repressed Memory.

The story is entirely fictional and has no relation with living or the dead. I was analyzing a physiological profile of a child trapped into the mess in 1992 riots and weaved a fictional story around it.

Images are from Ramayana 3392 A.D. a Futuristic tale of Ramayana.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Short Story: Me, Myself and The World

The moment I have been waiting for has finally arrived. This is a small step for me, but a giant leap for mankind. Today I have reached for the moon, this one level will give me a exponential leap into the future. After the relentless effort for last 25 years, I have finally completed the greatest machine of all time. A single pull of lever and the most amazing invention of humanity since fire will go online.

 I take the last pill for the day. The vitamin and calcium pills I have been talking for last five years have kept me mobile. They are created from extracts from the plant and animals. They do not create access fat in the body and simply give it enough nutrition to keep me running 25 hours a day. My own invention.

I have to do it now, if only I had an assistant or a guinea pig to test this machine, but I had found no one to match my IQ of 190. No worries, I will test it myself.

Gist of the story:

The greatest scientist in the world with the IQ of 190 builds an invention that can change the world. Can it change the world for good or bad?
A story that will change the complete paradigm of the world.

After dinner, I enter the machine and finally pull the level. Here it goes....

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Where am I? Was I successful? I look around, if I was successful, I had just traveled through a worm hole into the future. Is this the future? I don't see anything around, only debris, miles and miles of debris. Dust on the street.
Where am I?

'You are 7 secs late,' he walked towards me and I shrieked, he looked just like me, but a bit older, was that me from the future.
'Yes, I am you from the future,' he replied as if reading my mind, 'I know what you are thinking now. I was thinking the same, a few years ago.'

He walked towards me with tears in his eyes and smiled, 'Hello.'

'What happened here?' I asked.
'The world as you know it, has been destroyed,' he replied, 'Would you like to join me for dinner?'
'Dinner?' I exclaimed,'Dinner?'
'Yes, dinner, come. After this happened,  I got bored, I had nothing to do,' he replied, 'So I learned farming, growing vegetables. I also learned cooking from the websites.'
'Websites? I thought the world has ended,' I asked.
'The internet is still there, only static content left though,' he beamed, 'That is how I am learn things, I never learned. Eric Schmidt was right, internet is the thing we created that we never understood.'
'Have potato...' he offered.
'No, it will contain fat,' I replied.
'Eat it,' he replies, 'Don't be so worry wart, enjoy a little.'
'What has happened to you... I mean me,' I exclaimed.
'Life is not about chasing a dream relentlessly, but about chasing the dream while also enjoying the natures creation. Look at me, I studied, I studied, I explored and I studied. But what has led me? I spend the last forty years alone here in this debris.'

I look outside the window and see a space craft standing there.

'It is the exact copy of Apollo 11, only perfected the design, it is now, a one maned space shuttle that can go on without refilling or stop for 20 light years, took me 40 years to build it. I had decided to leave the planet and explore the universe and find some aliens,' he sipped pumpkin juice, 'But then, I learned about religion and spirituality. And I realized I needed to punish myself.'
'Oh...' I dejected at the thought of religion.
'Then I knew my time jump experiment and I decided to wait for you.' he explained, 'You now hold the very key to stop the total annihilation of humanity.'
'Me?' I spurted out the pumpkin juice on the table.
'Yes, you.' he said, coldly, 'Once you go back now, the time machine won't work. You will go nuts trying to mend it, remembering its design, replacing parts. It won't start and you will decide to use anti-matter to fuel the exhaust. The anti-matter is the key to destruction. It will be an uncontrolled chain reaction that will destroy everything in sight releasing photon ions.'
'Stop it.' He said, 'Stop yourself from making the blunder I made. That is the only way to save the planet.'
We finally parted to my time machine which stood there silently.
'I am helping you start this only once, after this it won't start.'
I entered the cubicle and waited for his signal. He was glancing at his stop watch and replied,
'Go now.'

Blink. Blink. Blink.

A soft and distant words hit my ears, 'Save the planet.'
I was back, I was successful. I was the first person to travel through time, the Neil Armstrong of time travel. They would name courses for me, they will write thesis on my experiment.

The machine that carried me to the future stood there alone. I should call the university and show them the travel. What if I travel back in time and see the big bang? Yes that would be wonderful, I should carry a camera with me this time.

I configure the machine to the time and I press the lever.

Blink. Blink. Bluss. Nothing.

Oh damm, the machine has failed. I should start it before showing it to the university. What has gone wrong? Oh no, I should start it at any cost...


P.s. Should it continue?
P.p.s I have added the gist box to the post for those who want to know the gist of the post before reading it. Did you like it?

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

The Sword-Smith

'A sword is an extension of ones arm. It is the part of the warriors body. Do not think of the sword as a mere tool, for every tool is weapon if you hold it right,' the aged teacher spoke as he wielded the two swords in his arm, 'Do not think of these two as different, they are different parts of the same thought. The thought that drives the arm into motion is the same thought that drives the two blades in both your arms. They swing together in uniform motion like gears in a well oiled machines, like two brothers in the duel, both fighting back-to-back watching for each other.'

'You were always an excellent tutor,' the man sitting high up on front chair spoke softly, 'But you did not lend me the sword-smith scroll. As the royal holiness, I am entitled to master the scroll.'

'The sword-smith scroll was written many years before the royal blood line began and was passed down from generation to generation with a pact that it cannot be passed on by force or power. The scroll chooses its successor, not its master. I have told you this many times before.'

'The ten people who surround you now, some of them are your students. They are ordered to kill their master to death, won't you spare them some last words?'

The old man smiled enigmatically, 'The true master holds nothing back from life, in doing so, he is always prepared to face his death.'

The men hesitated a bit, they were the imperial guards of the king and their duty lay serving the order of royal dynasty. They could not raise hands on their old teacher, who was nearing hundred but they could not defy the king as well.

'I have the best imperial swords specially casted for them,' the king boasted proudly, 'All you have is the rusty swords.'

'These men carry the swords and a hope that they manage to kill me in one shot, for they know, if I survive, they will face the wraith ten times that what they can inflict on me, take your best shot boys.'

A bright solar light blinded the eyes of the king and he used his hands to shield them,

'It is the fear that holds men back, fear of failing, fear of responsibility. A true master has no fear, his destiny is intervened with his sword since his inception. The destiny of a sword lies in blood, for the sword demands blood. The destiny of the hand wielding the sword also is automatically tied to the sword for he has to cut through the flesh to bathe the sword into the blood. No force is necessarily for inflicting maximum damage to your opponent, a fine stroke like the brush of a painter is enough to paint the complete picture red. Do not spare me boys for I am old...'

The king opened his eyes and was shocked to see the old master standing in his front. He tilted his head to see all the fallen imperial guards on the ground, no one dead but all unconscious.

'You.... did... not kill them?' the king asked.
'No, for the sword does not die, it is mere passed on from one master to another. The hand that wields the sword dies and the person who carves this destiny into the sword....'

With a single swish, he sliced the head of the king, as the whole podium watched open mouthed,

'...is a true sword-smith.'

P.s. The post has metamorphic and symbolical references. This style of writing was adopted my John Milton, Victor Hugo who used their stories to pass on secret messages under the nose of the church.

Did you check out Holy Cow yet? Shame on you if you didn't.

Saturday, July 10, 2010


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 12; the twelfth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

I wish, I was dead.

No-one in the history of human civilization was in such a big mess. I mean no one.

On my left is Shankar, the Godfather, the uncrowned ruler of the dirty streets of Mumbai. He fights for greed, for the right to rule. He is holding a desert eagle Mark XIX with a .44 Magnum catridge, fully loaded and safety latch unlocked.

On my right is Mahadev, the jewel on the crown of Mumbai Police Encounter Squad. The unquestioned top-brass encounter specialist of the special crimes unit. He fights for law, for the justice and against crime. He is pointing a semi-automatic Smith & Wesson MP 9 with a .45 ACP bullet, the trigger partially depressed and ready to be pressed completely.

In Summary: On my left stands a man who can blast off my skull and on my right is a man who can make a see-through hole in my thick skull, unless, I come up with some efficient solution in the next 60 seconds.

They both are surprisingly silent and are simply staring at each other.

Time has froze to help me make my decision, but which is it? I look around bedazzled at the frozen people around me, I hold the key position in sorting this mess and bringing things back to normal.

I feared that to things become normal, someone has to die. I am completely responsible for today standoff, it was my mistake that it has come to this now.

Shankar and Mahadev were twins born to the same parents. Their parents were victims of a collateral damage in a bank heist and then were raised by their elder brother, Mahesh, my father.

They carried an unspoken feud between them since their parents died, both very young when the tragedy happened and both tried to cope up with the loss in different ways.

They finally parted ways with the death of their elder brother, who died under mysterious circumstances, three years ago. Mahadev blames Shankar for the death and wants revenge. Shankar believes that the corrupt police officers killed his brother.

'Your uncle represents the sins of humanity,' my mother had explained me, 'It is the sins that is driving them and making them work, Shankar is motivated by greed and vengeance, while Mahadev is motivated by anger. You stand the key to where they are standing today and you alone hold the pivot on which this balance of the good and evil rest.'

'But I don't want to choose between them, I do not know what to do.'

I do not know what to do.

'You killed your own brother,' Mahadev replied. 'I am repeating again and again, I did not kill him, but you, thanks to your meddling, you have killed almost all of my men,'

Shankar shouted, 'And for that you die.'

'Stop it you two,' I meddled in, 'No one dies here today...'

'What is there to stop? Crime never stops, the cities are drowning in crime. The world is sinking under its weight, we are not pushing the guilty because they are innocent until proven wrong, this is the biggest flaw of the system. My parents were killed in one such crime spree, so were his, but he has moved on it seems....,'

Mahadev replied angrily. 'Crime will never cease to exist, crime is as old as the society itself. It is the pathetic attempt of people like you who try to tame the wild world. Criminals run the street, unchecked by any, but they stand by honor, respect and many other things you people will never understand. Our parents died because they were poor, they were law abiding citizens. They were nobody and hence they had to die. Crime has to pay to the society, but the society was forced on us, we never wanted to be the part of your society' 

The moment is close, I sense it. I now now, what to do, but the question is, am I capable of doing it?

After my father died, Uncle Mahadev took me and my mother under his care. He raised me as his own son, and never ever forced his dark empire on me. I was to choose the way I want. Uncle Shankar wanted a mole in his crime world, and I agreed. The deal was, Uncle Mahadev would not get hurt. I now know whom to address first...

'Uncle Shankar, I sense your heart, I know you are angry and it is the right response for the crimes, but... I know, in your heart, it is not the anger that drives you....' I could sense it working, the hand on the trigger shivered. '...it is hope that motivates you. Hope that the streets will be clean of all the crimes. Hope that justice will prevail. Right now, you don't want him dead out of justice, you want him dead out of revenge. You have taught me uncle, revenge does not pay. Justice is more than revenge,'

The spirit that had taken over the mind slowly vanishes, bright sunshine peeps out of the clouds.

'So that is your wish then,' Mahadev answered, 'You choose him over me?'

'No, I choose, the family, our family,' I play a big gamble hoping for my life, 'We all are family. There was someone who went the road, you went, uncle. He drifted away from the family and walked the coals, he never shared his dark secrets with you or anyone and that grief consumed him....'

The hand twitched. '... he could not live the dual life, the life in fear, the life of greed.'

Both of them are looking at me now. '...He was my father, your elder brother. He was not killed, he committed suicide'

The truth that split upon a family, was finally out there in the air. I think I succeeded in preventing my own death today.

'He committed suicide?' uncle Shankar asked. 'Yes, he lived a double life, one that was deeply rooted in the crime world. He hated it. His last dying wish was you too forgetting your feud and coming back together.'

I handed over the sad document I carried with me for last three years, the final testimony of my father. It was over hopefully. My father's last dying wish was fulfilled. The twins spoke nothing, simply turned and walked away. But as they walked out of the door I could hear a distant click of a bullet getting loaded into the barrel.

P.s. To be continued?

P.p.s. My second graphic entry from a new cartoon blog. Its funny and not as long as this one. Read it.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Short Story: The memory that leaked!!!!

A tribute to those who got a closure after twenty six years, maybe the closure was not what we all expected but now at-least you don't have to keep waiting.

Destiny wanted him to die, he had some other plans.

His hands shivered as he flipped the television remote. Every channel was flashing the same news, Indian Judiciary sold, India bends to America, CEO runs off in Government plane. Slowly he closed him eyes and took a deep breath.

The morning newspaper he remembered was kept on the rack, he struggled to get up from his rocking chair. He was old now, with his bones given up the strength  

His grandson was sleeping peacefully in his bed. He remembered his sleep on the midnight of third Dec 1984.

The pressure cooker whistled in the kitchen and his heart skipped a beat, it was nothing, just his daughter-in-law cooking rice. It was like this since last 26 years. The dreaded whistle which robbed him of his childhood. 
His heart would jump every time he heard a whistle.

The siren whistle came from the factory near their house, it woke up the whole area. They all gather outside the door to see what is wrong.

It was his neighbor who first complaint of itching in his eyes and before he could rub them, they were gone, poof, before he was taken to the hospital.

His father had come running outside the door, pulled him in his arms, 'Inside now,' he growled.

How scared he was that day, he had thought something he had gone had fallen into his fathers hand.

'But I want to see,' shouted the brother.
'Get inside NOW,' father scolded, 'Do not argue.'

He stared at me and he ran inside, not wanting a punishment. His brother however was now old and wanted to disobey his father.

'He ran off in the darkness,' father said coming in the house to his mother, refer to my brother, 'Won't listen to me. What can we do?' 
Mother firmly shut the windows and kept wet cloth on the hinges, 'What can we do? Just pray?'
Father was tuning the 'All India Radio' to try to listen to the news.

'What if he doesn't return?' father said still looking at the door, hoping to hear the knock, 'I should go and drag him inside.'

'No, don't,' mother said nervously, 'He will take shelter somewhere. Someone will take him inside the house.'

The dreaded hours they spend inside the house, each minute seemed like hours. What has happened? He did not know. Mother and father did not know anything at all.

Was something wrong? where was his brother? There was a lot of hustle and bustle outside the door, initially it was police siren who announced on the loud speaker, 

'Please do not leave house, stay indoor and bolt shut your doors'

Then there was a cry of wail outside where people shouting, 'Leave this place,'
'Its God wraith.'

Why were they outside running off? Why were we sitting in there? There was no grocery in the house, but mom said nothing, they just sat there. 

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours. and finally at day break, there was another police siren, 'EVERYTHING IS NORMAL' they shouted.

Dad slowly got out and rushed him and his mother to hospital. There were thousands of people there, some vomiting, some were breathing hard as if someone was smoldering them. They were not admitted in the bed, but were lying there on the ground in the hall.

His father immediately contacted doctor uncle, he was their neighbor, and doctor quickly opened my eyes, 'Do you feel any itching?' doctor asked.
'Good boy, here is a toffee,' doctor smiled and checked the eyes of his father and mother.

Doctor uncle then told him and mother to sit in the office and he went out with father to search for his brother.

He finally managed to get up and walk towards the rack. The photo frame of his older brother was there hanging.

'If only you had listened brother,' he said softly picking up the paper, 'If only.'

'This should give you some closure,' he thought and the dam of tears that was build over the time for last twenty six broke and he cried.

Authors note: The characters are completely fictional and the story is based on account of a survivor. The narration of the events is, as is, and only modification is done to add story effect to the narration.

The story is purely written as a tribute to those who lost their kins in the disaster. Please do not comment on the politics of the issue.

Saturday, June 5, 2010


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 11; the eleventh edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

He stood there on the grave of his best friend, holding a piece of paper in his hands. The piece was paper was the echo of his friend last words on earth. A single tear rolled on his chin and went for a free fall onto the mud with a splash.

Eighteen years ago, location: A walking path in an unknown forest

They were teens, 18-19 year old and wore pure white robes and were arguing furiously.
 'You know it,' the 18 year old, Dhuri was talking.
 'I do not,' his friend, Aju said.
 'You do...,' Dhuri said, 'I know guruji took you aside and taught you the way.'
 Aju kept mum, the fact that Dhuri knew about his secret scared him. Guruji had warned him of the threats.

‘We are best friends Aju, tell me,' Dhuri said.
 'It's hidden,' Aju finally said.
 'Fine then, if you do not want to tell me, I am no longer your friend,' Dhuri walked away onto the dusty

Aju watched his friend disappear into a distance. Some part inside him knew this would be the last time they would meet as friends.

A single tear rolled on his chin and went for a free fall onto the mud with a splash.

Seventeen years Eight month ago, location: Agatyasram

The house of hermit Agatya was known as the oldest ashrams present in modern India. The ashram was older than planet earth itself; it was the ashram where Guru Bhrahaspati trained the Gods. This ashram contains all the keys to unlock the nature, all the secrets of nature that man has been trying to learn so hard.

It was followed by the strict hidden protocol and code of governance and protected by the powerful nature. The path to the Ashram was tricky and confusing and no one could reach there without getting lost. People did find it when they were in trouble and despair, and they would be treated inside using the oldest medicine known to man. They would try to return back but would never succeed.

Aju and Dhuri were the students of the same ashram. Both were born during the Saturn-Jupiter Conjunction, a powerful union of two most powerful planets, one known for his good, the other known for his bad. They were born on 31st day in the month of January 1981 with a time difference of forty seconds between their births.

The forty seconds may have made the difference.

'It is time Aju,' Guruji had said to him after the class of Hatha Yoga, 'You learn the true nature of Agatyasram.'

Aju simply followed his master, 'As you know this ashram was established by the Deva-guru Bhrahaspati himself. Agatya was the guard of Deva-guru and this ashram. When the first attack on the ashram was made by Shukracharya and his little army of Demi-Gods it was Agatya who protected the Deva-guru.

Pleased with his service and dedication, Deva-guru offered him a role, an immortal role to protect the last secret on earth. Agatya was gifted a boon that his soul will break the cycle of life and death and will be reincarnated again and again.

In his lifetime, the Agatya chooses his next successor, the next Agatya, who has to prove his worth and dedication just like the first Agatya did. If he passes the test, he is deemed fit to know the secret.'

'What secret guruji?' Aju asked innocently.

'You will know soon, son,' the old sage smiled, 'for the next Agatya has come down with us.'

'Who?' Aju asked.

'Here begins the journey to the crown of the first Agatya.'

The sage opened the wooden door, beyond which a dark realm was spread which invited the teenager into nothingness.

Four Years ago, location: A distant cave beyond the veils of humanity

He was lying there for a year, or was it, for two years. He really had lost the track of time. Since childhood Dhuri always was smart kid in his class. People shunned him for being born to the poorest family in the village and his entire life became a race. A race against everything. He adored the magic of science, of Chemistry, of maths. He enjoyed the miracles of wavelength and the magic they produced in his tiny hands.

He knew God had sent him down to do great things, he simply knew it.

When he was invited at the Ashram, he unlocked some of the deadliest secrets hidden in the bowels of earth below the lowest foundation of the hut. He was caught reading scrolls in the dark caves under the lowest foundation of the ashram.

But before they could throw him out he knew the exact procedure to make the Brahmastra, he knew the unbeatable army strategy of Chakravyuva, and he had all of it into his memory. Using the information and knowledge he had waged a war against everything in the world.... and won.

But there was one fight, he could not win, the fight against time. He was still bound to the laws of the world; his body was getting old and wearing. He knew Agatya had beaten him at this war, he was immortal.

His quest for immortality had made him land in the cave away from the human habitat some one-two years ago, beaten and badly bruised. He was waiting for the right time, when the planets would line up and heal him.

Today was his lucky day.

Six Years ago, location: A walking path in an unknown forest

'So you return,' Aju said waiting in the path of Dhuri.

'I had to, my friend,' Dhuri smiled, 'You know something which I want.'

'I have given you my answer long back. Now I suggest you leave, for you cannot find the ashram anymore.'

'Oh yes I can, you know, it’s not miracle after all, it’s all in a pattern. I have been studying it for quite some time now and I know the way back. The only thing is, you stand in my way and I do not want to hurt you.'

'There are far more worst thing that death, my friend,' Aju smiled, 'if you want the test of strength, so be it.'

The show of strength was enormous. The fight shook the very foundation of planet earth.

Huge Tidal waves splashed on the shores of the lands, the land shook and shivered and developed a crack in the middle.

Animals ran hitter and titter. Dogs howled for days on end.

The battle lasted for years on end and finally after 547 days Agatya pinned Dhuri on the ground.

'I think it is time you left,' Aju said and vanished leaving Dhuri shaken and without support.

Yesterday, location: A small hut at edge of the forest.

Birds where always the Ashrams messenger, when Dhuri saw the note he knew, the ashram wanted him. The messenger was a crow, indicating a dark message. Trembling he read the note, it was scrawled upon by his friend,


Fearing the worst he dashed into the forest, towards the ashram he had so despised. He ran without thinking, without waiting and ran into the heart of the forest into the open clearing hidden from the eyes of normal people... in the ashram.

There he was lying beaten and bruised fallen on the ground, his old friend, Aju now Agatya.

'Aju' Dhuri knelt down besides his friend who was smiling.

'You came back Dhuri,' Aju smiled, 'It is time I have to leave.'

'I am sorry, I am sorry,' Dhuri said and closed his eyes, unable to hold his tears.

'I will return, my friend, I will return. Take care of the Ashram, till then, will you?' Aju said.

'Why? Why me?' Dhuri said.

'Because now you know...' Aju handed a note in his hand.

'The answer,' said Aju and slowly closed his eyes. His head resting in his best friends lap.

He learned of the demi-gods who were waiting till their war ended. They wanted Agatya to be tired of the fight, he, Dhuri, had killed his friend. It was his punishment.

Dhuri was indirectly responsible for his friends Death.

Slowly he stood up. Should he see the answer, his friend gave on his death bed? Did he deserve to know it now? No, he did not; it was a punishment, an enduring punishment till his last breath.

He would never see the answer.


Dhuri wiped the tear from his eyes watched the pyre burn. The Agatya was resting at peace, while a new Agatya would come soon. It was his duty to protect the Ashram now, to become Agatya till the new one returns.

He glanced at the crumbled paper in his hands, no, he won't read the answer. He did not want to become immortal anymore. He would spend his life defending the ashram, waiting for his friend to return.

He threw the scrawled paper near the pyre hoping it would get burned. A new Agatya was ready to die for the ashram, only this time he did not know it yet, he was the chosen one.

The scrawled piece of paper unfolded itself to revealed the last words of Aju,

'You are Agatya'

People born under the influence of Saturn-Jupiter conjunction exhibit rare properties. Napoleon was born under one and so was Hitler. The date of saturn-jupiter conjunction is guessed and may be erroneous.

The Agatyasram is modelled on the description of Bhrahaspati Ashram of the puranas.

Back-story for Agatya is completely fictitious.

Due to the shortened length of Blog, I have edited a lot in the story and ended it quickly so you don't get bored with elongated story, do guess and assume the missing parts.

If you still did not understand then read the part of what Guruji said on identifying the Agatya and how does he become one and then read the journey of Dhuri. :)

P.P.s. Don't hide your comments, bring them on in large numbers, the more the merrier. Like it, not like it, did not understand it all of them...c'mon

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

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Have you read my book yet?
An epic adventure across space and time