Sid-O-Scope

"I thought I was in hell already, what can be worst than this? - Is this the right question to ask while being chased by a bunch of angry tribal warriors?" he asked himself as he pushed through the dense trees, "Stress on 'angry' and super stress on 'tribal'. Their spears are laced with poison that can kill a fat rhino in a shot," he reminded himself, "The fat rhino for lunch was tasty by the way." He was called 'The runner' by anyone unfortunate to know him. Not because the Runner was running from almost every police department in the world. Also not because he had spent most of his life running from the situation. He was a messenger and was very expensive and very exclusive. His clientele included people who had 'few' disagreement with the general law. He delivered goods, messages and items to any location possible with one quality that the regular courier service never offered, no paperwork. It was also one of th...

Seven bullets, seven dead. Trisha counted, did she miss anyone? She scratched her head to think back, she usually got carried away when firing a gun. Let me see, she did count eight when she entered, didn't she? This was Sleepy and here is Jackie, I think this was loopy and this blown up face was Happy... oh poor happy, he had a smile. She starting counting the dead bodies and matching them against the made-up names she had assigned. Yes, there were eight and the Big Bad Wolf is missing, init!!! she concluded. She stood up, brushed her long hair with both her hand. The hair-end looked a bit brittle, need to book an appointment for a Brazilian blow dry, she made a mental note. She loaded a new clip in her gun and cocked the hammer, well let's see, where is this big bad wolfie? She climbed up the stairs of the dance bar. Three girls were curled up in the corner huddling together. They wore skimpy clothes with a bright coloured blouse and matching churidar. Their dre...

Authors note: The following story is a dark humor and not palatable for everyone. The story has an adult shades of gore and graphical description of violence, readers discretion is advised. All characters and places are fictional. If you are someone who is sensitive to these things, read something else. The first thing Sub-Inspector Pandey noticed when he entered the house of Gupta was that the wife was watching the repeat of the famous daily soap. It was middle of the night and the quiet neighborhood in Noida was disturbed by screams of a man, a few minutes back. Sub-Inspector Pandey was in a PCR van nearby and responded to the call. The wife was watching the television show without turning around, Sub-inspector Pandey hesitated at first and then observed, "Oh! So she finally wakes up," he said observing the daily soap, "That is really good. I really didn't like where the story was going and with the female lead in a coma for seven years, the stor...

Nine Bal'ur Badshah groaned as he sat in the sitting room of his ancestral house in Islamabad. He was getting bored of his confinement and wanted to step out. He was holed in this boarded bungalow as a house arrest. He craved fresh air. There was a time where he used to roam the streets of Islamabad like a tiger waiting to pounce, but those were simpler times and he was a simple silver smuggler. He did not get addicted to this new form of business- war. His connections and trade routes and logistic network that was built for the smuggling of silver, came in handy to supply and acquire ammunition. Things that could not be purchased on the radar, items that were not frequently available on the market. Not to mention, unlike silver, arms and ammunition were like drugs, once you have a customer, they would want more and more and more. He was happy to provide. But then as it happens, it was not always easy to acquire items without rustling few feathers and Bal'ur Badshah came in...

For many people, he was the God of cinema, a director, a storyteller and an academy award winner. But for many years his stories didn't click with the audience. The world was changing, he observed to himself in private, and this new generation of millennials was not interested in his stories anymore. He heaved a sigh of relief as his hands rested on the wooden table. He craned his neck to look around, what is this place? He wondered again. Did he expect to travel all the way to India at the age of seventy? He had heard of this place, who didn't? Everybody knew what the 'Double Shots' bar was. A homogeneous bar for the who-who of the industry, useful for networking and getting things done. Where else would you get the hand-rolled Cuban cigars in the crowded lanes of Delhi? He wondered as he leaned in on the high-chair and let out a puff contributing his bit to the smog filling the streets. His agent, an old friend, had called him late night and informed him about t...

When Netherlands Marathi Mandal said they were keen to publish a Marathi Story in their 2016 Diwali Special, it was an honor. Having never written a Marathi story before, it did pose a challenge to reinvent me. Marathi was one of the first languages I read into, it is the language that I think in.Writing in a Diwali special is a big honor itself, as Diwali Special or Diwali Ank as we call them are an integral part of Marathi culture. This is a surrealistic experience of our favotire Runner who as always is keen to run.  Presenting before you, my first story in Marathi- मृत्यापेक्षा जलद .     एक गंमत अशी आहे कि , आयुष्य किती मूल्यवान आहे ह्याचा प्रत्यय सर्वांना ते संपायच्या काही क्षणा आधीच येतो . पण आपण किती संकटात आहे ह्याचा प्रत्यय आला कि आता किती आयुष्य राहिले ह्याचा आभास होतो - असे फालतू विचार नेमेके धावतानाच का येतात , हा प्रश्न त्याला पडला . मुळात एका डोंगराच्या उतारावरून स्वतःचा जीव वाचवत , भयंकर आणि...