The first guest story- Rahul Kaushik's...(part 1)

Ahem...my first guest story, from my friend Rahul, and to those who have read 'THE (not just a) walk to remember', aka Thangi :P...so ya, all of u are welcome to send me whatever u've written, if i'm convinced i like it (i will :P), it goes up here...as u guys might notice, there is a marked difference in the writing styles, hope u guys like this change...support him!! :)

THE NOT SO NICE(Road) INCIDENT


The helmet was off.


Everything looks different when riding without a helmet. Everything is clearer, sharper.
Though that didn't help me when it came to my fair share of minor and not-so-minor accidents.
I felt that rush, the exhilirating sense you get only from speed.
The speedometer read 120kmph, a usual for me. I throttled to the end.
My hair whipped around my head fiercely. I could feel it flying behind me.
I could feel the raw power of my 220 beneath me, revving to its max. It hadn't started its groaning yet.
I looked behind me, mirrors were not cool where I belonged. Ashish was right on my tail. As were the others.
His R15 hadn't reached its max. Yet.
I checked my odometer. It read 6102 kms. Good, i thought. 8 more kilometers to go. I smiled.


It was NICE Road, as we called it, and here was where I felt I belonged. Nothing but the clear, open
road to keep you busy. I hung out here with my friends most of the times. No traffic, no cops(well, almost, but nothing my friend couldn't handle because of his extremely influential dad.). Nothing to distract you from bikes except for beer and cigarettes, and the ocassional weed. Yes, it was fun, and this was what we did. Hustle money out of cocky bikers.
We didn't do this just for the money. It was just what we were good at, and we liked it anyways.


Once, we'd even got caught by a bunch of newbie cops who didn't know us from around there.
What we didn't realise was that a very famous actor had apparently just passed away. And they were visibly upset and pissed.
Of course, San got us away. Let me tell you now, HE was an indivisible part of us even though he lacked proper biking skills.


I lurched back to the present from my flash-back as I saw a light moving towards us from the right. I probably should have slowed down,
but it WAS a drag and it was a challenge.
I grinned.
I throttled. So did my wingman, Ashish. The others were right behind him. As we drew close we saw he was a biker on a Pulsar 200. We didn't slow.
We zipped past him before he could figure out what the heck was going on.


But that was where it started to go wrong.


Ashish though a skilled rider had a thing with nerves. Usually the bikers we hustled out of didn't pose enough threat that his nerves showed.
These were no ordinary bikers. We'd heard about these two bikers from up north of Bangalore.
They took their biking seriously. They owned a couple of super bikes too. Only they felt it was more productive to make cash from lesser bikes in Bangalore. And THAT was the reason for our drag. We didn't like to be belittled in our city. So did they. This was the drag Bangalore city had been waiting for.


Ashish, from his nerves didn't cut through the biker from the right so well. He tried to get back his balance a little too quickly.
Newbie mistake.


I never saw it. I heard it.


I whipped my head back at the crunching noise of metal against cement and the squealing of the bike on its side, still moving forward.
I recongnised Ashish's blue black Pulsar immediately.
I crunched on my brakes and when it was slow enough I turned it around and stopped next to Ashish's bike, what remained of it.
Ashish was a bloody mess. Our rivals were already past us long back.
It didn't matter anymore. Nothing did somehow, until I could be sure Ash was going to be okay.


The rest of my group was with us in a second. I couldn't move, somehow. I was shocked beyond words or movement.
4 minutes. This was all supposed to be over in 4 minutes. How had the drag gone so horribly wrong?
I couldn't answer myself. We rushed him to a nearby hospital. So distracted I was that I didn't even notice the name.


A while later we found out Ash was going to be okay. A couple of fractures, bruises. Nothing serious. We'd already called his parents and they were on their way.
Though I myself had been in plenty of accidents before, I somehow blamed myself. I just couldn't bring myself to look into his eyes and see pain or shock. I shuffled in a while after the rest, but there was nothing to fear, Ash was grinning as I went in.

His smiled faded as he saw me. He said uncertainly, as though he didn't know how I'd take it, "I'm sorry, man. I shoulda pulled clear of the biker when I had the chance."

I smiled and said, "Its okay man. Don't beat yourself up over this. Nothing I haven't already done, so I can't really blame you."

He grinned.

And then it was all fine. For a while.



... To be continued

The time i wrote like a chick :P

Sorry, the poem's actually serious stuff..but, Lol, it was all this flowery, i'm-stuck-here-n-need-u kinda feel, that made me title it thus! It all stemmed from a single phrase 'lead-lidded eyes' that a friend induced outta me...so any credit this work's worth goes entirely to her! :P

I watched from my window, as the,

Thing we called life, marched along.

The cresting and falling of tomorrows,

As the yesterdays sang their lullaby song.

Led onward, eyes lead-lidded, I walked,

Pausing not to think where it all went askew.

I smiled and talked, was everyone's friend,

As everyday, deeper in, my soul withdrew.

As I toiled everyday to beat the busy clock,

To resist the vice-like grip of solitude within.

The wind could only be my companion so long,

The sun and clouds had their own games to play and win.

As this world pressed upon my synthetic cocoon,

I yearned to break free and to finally fly,

Just as you came, and were answered,

My life's every how, what and why.

You were the sole reason that justified,

The rusty monotone the world turned out to be.

Unbounded joy, within you I knew,

Funny how contained in you was an infinity.

Now that you're here, the final piece is in place,

Together we shall herd the followers that follow.

As sentients, then specters, shall forever always,

We watch over our kingdom, this earthly hollow.

The New Usual- part 2

Once again, the main story, all my sentiments are in the second part...this is the most intensely i have felt for any of my stories...hope u'll like it...:)

'So wad DID i say?' I asked Karthik.

'A whole lot of stuff. You know for like half an hour, you were knocked out there yesterday. This is what you said..' and he started.

Back in the seedy room, let us travel back in time, and assume we are right at the time and place when I'd been hit the most, and started talking. I began my monologue, looking at all of them in turn...

'You know what? Life...can really suck at times. I mean, have you seen my watchman, the one in the night shift? He talks to himself man...'

The person I was talking to, I think it was Shreesha, looked at me, or at least seemed to.

'Why do you think he does that? When do people talk to themselves? You know when? When they have no one else to turn to, that's when! He sits there, all night in the cold, dank fog, manning the gate, with no one to pass by him, no one to talk to, no one to smile at, no one to be angry at. How does he pass his time? Who does he talk to, as he sits there in the dark, shivering? He does it to support his family, or else they'll starve...and we laugh at him because he talks to himself? WHO ARE WE TO DO THAT??!"

And then i started sobbing, empathizing with the watchman like never before.

'And who are we to say that the police are corrupt and heartless? That honest traffic guy, helped that small, poor girl across the street. He took the pain of stopping traffic for her, he helped her across, he patted her cheek like she was his own daughter...maybe he misses the daughter he has at home, as he stands and works all day? But still he does it, without a protest, and with all honesty. He's paid a pittance for all those hours in the sun, but his daughter's growing up now. She needs more money for school fees, for new clothes, and books. The government gives them nothing...so they turn to us, taking from us what we already have more than enough of...but still we call them names and hate them...why??'

Another of those sobs.

'Look at all of us. Rich, spoilt kids, with nothing lacking. All the opportunities to make the best of life. But here, we are, we're not even ourselves! What are we? This iron curtain of cynicism, of humor, that we've all draped upon us.Shielding our true emotions, so we don't reveal ourselves, don't let anyone come in and hurt us.'

Everyone was looking at me now, some curious, some angry at me for spoiling their trip with my ramblings. I chuckled loudly and continued.

'But then, someone comes along. Someone that pierces through all of that armor of yours, and asks you, Why are you doing this? Who are you trying to defend against? They make you look so foolish, and you love them for it...

Do you know how we're all such lousy people? We look better than we used to, from the outside, but we're rotting from the inside. All of that make-up, that lighting, those touch-ups...everyone of us can look gorgeous. But what about make-up for the soul??...where is that? what am I saying anyway??'

I suddenly fell silent, having abruptly finished saying all that was in my head. Everyone got back to their previous passive positions, and the mood resettled, as if the whole episode had never taken place....

Back at our college ground, everyone sitting around me, looking for my reaction to Karthik's retelling of my words.

'I could actually say all of that only when I was high? Wow' I finally said. 'But I don't think anything I said was wrong, I'm glad it all came out'

'You said some deeply profound words yesterday man' Shreesha said.

'So do I have to get high again for more words of wisdom? I'm never doing weed again, I swear'

'Yeah, yesterday was enough...you've given us plenty to think about...till the next time we do it. And you're coming too, no arguments!' Vinit said.

I made a face, but then said, 'All right what the heck? Maybe this is our new usual then?'...

The New Usual- part 1

The title came into my mind first, n i tried to use it in a poem, realizing later i'd already written a similar one. So i've written a story about all the recent little observations i've been making n the questions that they evoked, giving it a situation to come out...its a slow story, but its been my most satisfying experience..:)

Another lazy weekend. The same old drill; my friends would come in one of their cars, and we'd all go to some mall or bowling alley and hang for a while. After that we'd go for a long drive somewhere or jam a little, and then come back in the evening. All along the way, laughing and joking, making a merry time of it. But over the months I'd grown weary of it, and I was yearning for a change from this shallow, monotonous and uninspired existence. Nonetheless, fact was they were coming in half an hour and I had to be ready. They came, a little late as usual.

My mobile rang. 'Dude get out fast, we're already here! You ready or not?' Vinit's booming voice sounded over the line.

'Yeah I'll be out in two' I answered in a half-tired voice. I told my mom i was leaving and trudged my way out and greeted my friends with pseudo-excitement. We got into the car and got out of my building through the back gate.

That's when I noticed that the watchman at the gate was talking to himself. I turned in my seat to watch him for a while, but he soon went out of view. I sat quietly in my seat, not even bothering to ask where we were going.

'Let's smoke up today man. We've been hearing others talk about it, we've talked about it....let's do it' Karthik, my friend, piped up all of a sudden. Everyone looked at him silently for a few moments. This was a big step for us. We waited with bated breath for someone to speak up.

'Sure, sure'...'ya'..we all agreed in an offhand way, 'big deal'...

Vinit looked at all of us. 'Really? We are? All right I'll call Jimmy, he's supposed to be the guy who's into all this.' He called and spoke for a brief while. 'All right, Jimmy's told us to come to this place near Forum, there's his friend's house where we can do it.' He looked questioningly at us once again.

'Go already man!' I shouted. He laughed and revved the car. At the intersection near my house, there was a traffic police officer. Standing erect and looking all business, he diligently directed the traffic. All of a sudden there came a little girl, running across the street, narrowly missing the speeding vehicles. He stopped her as she passed by him, and admonished her for her recklessness. He then stopped the relentless flow of traffic and gave her a passage, right after he had patted her cheek.

There was a gentle kindness about that gesture, from a man who otherwise looked so formal and upright. I found myself staring at them for as long as I could. Then, as they usually have a tendency to do, the vision went out of sight, to be replaced by a new one.

We got to the place, finding Jimmy there with two other people that we didn't know. But they welcomed us with a brotherly feeling that we did not expect. It seemed like they weren't doing this for the first time. But I'd heard about this happening; when you dope together, introductions are secondary. We went in and sat inside a really small room, piled with books, old unwashed clothes, magazines, and a computer that lay in a corner. There was barely enough room for the six us of, plus the three of them, but we managed. The three of them got to rolling the joints and preparing the bong, while I was left wondering if this was going too fast. That was when Jimmy looked at me, saw the anxiety writ clean on my face, and smiled.

'Chill man, it's okay. It'll be all right in a while anyways...'

We all were silent for the next ten minutes, as the trio got about their job, and soon, the bong was lit up and being passed around. Fifteen minutes, four bong rounds, and three joints later, we all were tripping in various degrees. Since we all were first timers, all we felt was a thoughtlessness, an all-pervasive sense of joy and contentment, as we reclined in our places and looked at the walls. Strobe lights were playing across them, and everything was moving and shimmering, but very slightly. You had to look twice, to see the thing that wasn't actually there.

The other three were just sitting in one place, eyes red and dazed, face void of expression. God only knew what they were experiencing.

Somehow I felt that it was hitting me more than any of the others, and I felt reality slip out of my hands like grains of sand. For a while I was in rem-state, of which I did not remember absolutely anything. All the other times, I vaguely remembered what people were saying and doing.

Vinit was up there in the clouds somewhere. He looked at Shreesha, a huge friend of ours. 'Dude...you're Mount Shreesha...let's mount Shreesha', he slurred, staring at him and simultaneously at nothing.

Karthik was resting his head on Shreesha's shoulders, and grunting every once in a while, and for his part, Shreesha was just staring forward fixedly, not muttering a word, not wavering in his gaze.

All this while, I was busy tickling my own stomach, and trying to get smoke out of my ears, and it seemed to be working. Then we wolfed down some grapes that Vinit had brought, and listened to Shpongle's songs. After an hour, we all got up, feeling suddenly wobbly as we did so. We staggered home, reaching after a seemingly endless drive. And that night I was on edge, but fitfully tired, both at the same time. I slept like a sick dog.

The next day we all met in college, exchanging knowing glances. But there was something in everybody else's eyes. Something like a cross between amusement and confusion. I asked them what it was.

'Dude don't you remember the stuff you said yesterday? You were like, at it man! All that yous said...' Karthik trailed off.

We all decided to bunk the first hour and talk about it. Then Karthik started retelling all that I had said, with others chipping in wherever he faltered. And I listened to him, eyes wide with amazement.

Yesterday, apparently had been just...Radical...

Divine Manor

I'd already written a story by this name once, a while ago. Mainly to put the word 'Phantasmagoria' somewhere :P, and to give words to a scary experience I'd had, but I'd done gross injustice to a potentially good story. Here I am, hopefully to correct it :)...

The wind blew soundlessly over the deadened leaves, causing a slight rustle, as if attempting a salvo at disturbing the quietude of the place.

Father Ancelotti pushed open the gate and walked into the tiny garden that preceded the country home. The bushes were haphazard and the grass looked overgrown and uncared for. At first glance it would seem like the place was deserted, or the owner of the house did not care in the slightest about the place. The father knew what the reason was.

He went up to the porch and knocked on the door, lifting the heavy brass knocker. The door was opened by a short, frail woman of about thirty-five, with waspish tufts of hair, worry lines running across her delicate face. Mrs. Yazzie, the owner of the house. Ever since she and her two kids had shifted into Divine Manor last week, they had not had a single peaceful and uneventful night. Flying vases, banging doors, it had been a week straight out of any horror movie, only it was painfully real for them. Finally, Mrs. Yazzie had resorted to calling the Father, in a bid to exorcise the hostile entity.

As he sat in the living room and she gave him a glass of water, he quietly noted her native Indian features and saw a hint of determination there. The Father marked her as a woman of great strength, and admirable reserves of courage. But even those reserves had failed against the storm she had endured.

'You asked for me' he said in a monotone.

'Yes Father. As I told you over the phone, there have been some things happening in the house ever since I've moved in last week. On the second day after our arrival, we first started hearing the first creaks and thuds in the night. I tried to dismiss as it a common phenomenon in big houses, but later that night, my sons heard a dog bark fiercely outside their rooms. We have no dog Father. I searched the entire house, but there was nothing to be found.'

He merely nodded his head, and gestured to her to continue.

'The next morning, I woke up to find everything in the kitchen thrown around, as though the place had been ransacked. We were really scared, but we put everything back in its place. Then it just started getting worse.

'The wine cellar and the second floor bedroom' she answered.

'All right. I want you and your kids to stay someplace else for tonight. I will be alone in this house for the night and I will try to communicate with the spirit. Can you trust me enough to let me have free run of the house?'

'If you can rid us of it Father, you have my permission to do whatever it takes.'

'I will come at night then' saying so, he got up and placidly walked up to the door. That night he came back again, and noted the all-new appearance the manor had now taken. The house had suddenly seemed to come alive, leaning forward menacingly in the darkness, as if frowning upon him. The turrets at the higher levels looked like live beings, shape-shifting in the slinking shadows. A haunting, dead wind blew through the trees, making melancholic music. Father Ancelotti could feel the presence in the air now. It was strong, and it was violent, but it did not cause a great flutter in the Father's heart. His faith was iron.

He got in and after a brief chat, the Yazzies left the house, handing over the keys to various rooms to the Father. He walked through the house, noting the more disturbing areas. He waited in the second floor bedroom, but nothing significant happened. He knew the spirit would make itself felt very soon. He made his way to the cellar and on the way it started. Lights started flickering, doors started banging open and close. Once he got to the basement, the door shut itself firmly behind him. He knew a confrontation was afoot, and he waited calmly...

WHAM!!

A strong force from behind him pushed him violently towards the wall, and he crashed to the ground. He turned around to see no one. Then the one flickering light in the cellar went out all of a sudden, and a flutter coursed through his heart. Then there was a low, angry growl from a corner that suddenly seemed to come closer, and in a moment, he was acutely aware of the presence standing right next to him, and now he was really scared.

The lights came back on and the Father found himself caught in the vice-like grip of the apparition, with its face now inches away from his. It looked vaguely human, but just as inhuman. Its eyes were blood-red and it had no irises. The nose was long and aquiline. The lips were thin and red, and the teeth sharp and cruel. It was dressed in the robes of the priests of yore, and its long hair hung behind its gaunt face. It spoke and its voice was a reedy rasp.

'Get..out...of...my...house'

And then with a flash, a series of images flashed through Ancelotti's mind. A small room with no windows, full of torture devices...screams of dying and pleading woman and children...a small native Indian boy looking up with big eyes and a begging look...another native mother protecting her young mother against a group of four men...Indians with severed limbs, eyes gouged out, and left bleeding to death...a huge dog tearing limbs off a half-naked girl's corpse...

It was the most gruesome phantasmagoria.

And right then, his mind was flooded by a torrent of information, forced into his brain no doubt by the ghost. The house had been a torture camp during the days of the conquest of this land, and this house had been the site of innumerable violences. All perpetrated and overlooked by the man, the old world priest, whose spirit was now ordering him out. It would never leave this house, it was this house itself now. And it was angry that an Indian family had decided to live here, and it would not permit that. The Father knew there was no fighting this spirit, it was too powerful, too ancient...

Then, in an instant, everything became quiet, the light came back on...and the Father lay trembling on the ground, still absorbed in the images swimming in his head.

By the next week, the Yazzies had vacated Divine Manor, and had lived a peaceful life elsewhere. And Father Ancelotti's body was found hanging from the ceiling in his humble little apartment, with the words, 'I cannot forget it' written on the wall behind him.

Divine Manor would never be occupied until it was demolished. But until then shadows had still fallen across the turrets, the house had come alive every night and the trees went on making that melancholic music...

The Electronics Class, half-asleep poem :P

I wrote this in a half-awake state during today's double electronics class...some of the poetry is blurry, little makes sense, its all contradicting n it seems like alliterations come to me only in sleep :P...but hey, wad the heck? :)...comments, comments ppl...

Maybe you followed the feeling I felt for you,

Or maybe you felt not the same at all,

No don't denounce it yet, let me see through,

See if I can catch those tears before they fall.

No don't cry my princess, don't do that,

That sound is sickening me only more,

Don't remember the days we talked and sat,

While the waves tickled out feet by the shore.

Laugh some more, some more over the phone,

Laugh your scheming laugh some more witch,

I wonder how I have, that trill foregone,

Perhaps that ribbon joining us is beyond any stitch.

I want none but you to stay with me,

But you've outstayed your stay, time to go,

Look at me like that again, smile again please,

Stop mopping around, I don't need you any more.

I want you so close, I should feel your breath,

But this inch between is a ravine too deep,

My arms are around you, but haven't met,

You, both a nightmare and dream of my sleep.

Away, away I shall take you from them all, away,

I'll fling you away from me too,

And though I'll die from missing you everyday,

I swear to no more give a damn about you.

The Express- part 2

The second and final part...i tried to make the emotion in the ending a little stronger, but that would be enforcing something, something that is not characteristic of the entity of this story...or so i feel...

On the way he met Matroo chacha, one of those oldies with an opinion on everything. Every morning, Niranjan watched him take a bath on the ghat on the other side of the tracks. He had a large, grey beard, a wizened, crooked nose and a long, wrinkled face. He walked with a stoop and constantly used to smoke his pipe. He lived with his son and hence had nothing else to do the whole day besides giving unwanted advice to passersby.

‘So, beta? What’s the hurry? You look like you’re going to win the lottery.’ He guffawed at his own joke.

Niranjan’s eyes turned wide as saucers and he drew in a sharp breath. ‘How did you know?’

‘What?’

‘Yes chacha, I bought a lottery ticket with my own money’, he announced proudly. And then added hastily, ‘But please don’t tell my parents! They’ll punish me.’

‘I won’t don’t worry. But arre, you fool! Don’t you know it’s all a scam? No one ever wins; they just collect the money from you and announce an imaginary result. You’ve just wasted your savings. Tch, tch’ He looked at Niranjan disapprovingly.

‘Really?’ He asked, his shoulders suddenly sagging and his smile turned upside down. ‘No!’ he then shouted.

‘If you don’t believe me go home and watch the stupid draw! Now go!’ he said, resuming his puff on his pipe, an evident sign that he wished to speak no more.

Niranjan dragged himself home for the rest of the two miles, glumly considering the old man’s words. Lost in his thoughts, he did not notice his younger sister until she slammed herself into him, giving him a tight hug.

‘Bhaiya! Why are you late today? Mother is worrying, father is angry. Come in fast.’

He mutedly followed her home to an anxious father who first slapped him and then hugged him. His mother just sighed and ran her hand slowly over his face, then getting back to work. He had just been an hour late, but people in the village worried very soon. Unnaturally quiet, he spent the day rushing to school and then coming back to the chores that awaited him at home.

Later that night, when his father switched on the small, grainy black-and-white TV he tuned to the lottery channel. He too had bought a ticket, as always. He watched eagerly, hoping once again that he would win. Niranjan didn’t want to tell him about his ticket though. His father wasn’t a bad man; he just had different rules for himself than from others. Niranjan wouldn’t put it past his father to scold or maybe even beat him for wasting his money, while himself buying a ticket every month. But he supposed that’s what fathers did.

‘-ize money this time is ten lakh rupees! And so the lucky combination is…’ the balls started jumping around in their transparent compartments and one of them quickly rose above the others to stop into the slot. Then another, and another; the announcer reading them out as they came.

‘4..7.. 9..1..8! The lucky number is 47918! All of you check your numbers and may the winner celebrate!’ Then he went on to describe how you could come to their office and collect the prize money.

His father’s loud groan muffled the sharp yelp that escaped Niranjan’s lips. That was his number! He knew it by heart by now. He had won! The old man was wrong, he had won! Struggling to compose himself, he looked down to hide the wide grin painted on his face and set upon finishing his meal stoically. But he couldn’t sleep all night. All kinds of ideas popped into his head about what he could do with that sort of money. But he was very sure about the first thing he would do with his winning ticket…

The next morning he got up later than usual, seeing as he had been awake the whole night anyways. He freshened up and got dressed, picked up his winning stub, and strutted around outside his house, feeling like a king. Evidently overlooking the joy on his son’s face, his father told him to get to work and take the cows. He hurried along the cows at an unaccustomed pace, and pretty soon reached the grazing grounds. Leaving the cows to their business, he put a hand on his brow and tried to look out for the solitary figure on the bathing ghat. He wanted to rub the ticket in stupid Matroo chacha’s face, show him that he was wrong about the lottery.

In about a few minutes, he faintly saw a crooked outline on the ghat, bending over slowly. The sun hadn’t risen yet, so it wasn’t clear. But it couldn’t be anyone else, so Niranjan pocketed the all important piece of paper and dashed towards the distant figure, a sense of vindication pulsating through him. He wouldn’t bother waiting for the express today. Things would change from today. He would be on an express, rather than watch it. Looking neither left nor right, he made his way towards the tracks, the wind whistling through his ears, drowning out every other sound. When he reached his boulder, without a second’s hesitation he leaped high into the air as he joyously bounded across the tracks. That was when another sound, much louder, invaded his ears. He snapped left, and to his horror, saw the express barely two feet away from him. In his excitement, he hadn’t even heard it come. Now it was too late. The yell never left his mouth, and right after the single moment of excruciating, unbelievable, numbing pain, Niranjan saw his vision fade to black. But the last thing he sensed was the loud droning of the train, the relentless shrill scream of the express…

The next day, a newspaper article read: ‘Lottery winner runs into train and gets trampled’

‘Niranjan Vyas, a skinny eight year old from the village of Deverajnagar, was on the top of the world yesterday morning before tragically being run over by the Kalka mail. The driver says the boy had jumped in front of the train, seemingly from nowhere, leaving him no time to even try to stop. It would have been futile anyways, he adds, claiming it looked very much a suicide attempt. Although one cannot understand why the boy would do that, for in Niranjan’s pocket was found a lottery stub which contained the winning numbers of the previous night’s draw, with winnings of a million rupees. His parents are baffled by the turn of events. While his mother and sister is utterly inconsolable, his father is still reason trying to reason with himself as to why his son would do such a thing. ‘I don’t know why he didn’t tell me about the lottery, he’d never hidden anything from me.’ On suggestion of the possibility of a suicide, he got furious about the absurdity of the notion. An expectant reaction from a grieving father.

Matroo Singh, a septuagenarian who claims to have known the boy well says, ‘He was always a restive child. He’d confided in me that he’d bought his ticket in secret, as he hated his father and did not want to share any of the money with him.’ Niranjan’s family labeled the account as sensationalist and refused to give it any credit. Regardless of who’s right or not, it makes for a very complex story, with no theory or motive outlandish enough, and no rational solution in sight. Why would a boy kill himself after winning a million rupees? Or was someone else responsible? What happened that fateful morning? Investigations are on, with only the mute rocks and cows for witnesses. As for a verdict, only time will tell. The whole family is in mourning, and the villagers are consoling them, agreeing that this is a tragedy none of them will ever forget.’

However, by the next month, there was a new lottery winner and many other, more important things were happening in the world. People forgot about Niranjan, but ‘The Express’ still ran along the same tracks, through the same idyllic valley, the god-almighty din still shaking up those same trees and rocks…

The Express- part 1

The Express, my first attempt at anything resembling a short story, and the one closest to my heart. I'd published it first, but redoing it in case anyone missed it the last time :P...It turned out to be rather dark without having any intention to be so. Not much happens in it, to be honest, but it tells a deep story. I've tried to make it more layered, for eg. the unexplained 'relationship' between the schoolmaster and his daughter, i tried to make it gently dark, if that makes any sense...anyways hope you enjoy it...

CROOONN!!!

The train rushed past eight year old Niranjan’s frail figure cutting a sorry outline against the mellow morning light. The sun had just begun its gradual ascent over the hills and it bathed the valley in a soft, orange halo. A slow, silent breeze caressed the shrubs on the incline as if to wake them, and if one heard carefully enough, they would hear cows mooing in the distance.

But day after day, this pristine moment would be routinely shattered by the thundering train. Every day at the same time, the same train would make its way through the valley. Niranjan was in his usual position; on the boulder just beside the tracks. He narrowed his large brown eyes, with a sly grin on his face and tried to take in all the different faces that blurred past him on the train. He didn’t know its name so he just called it ‘The Express’.

It had become sort of a habit with him now and it had all started six months ago. A resident of the village of Devrajanagar, he helped his father by herding the cows of their village. On that eventful morning, he had chased a stray cow right to the train tracks. With a start he realized where he was and his first reaction was to run away. It had been drilled into his head never to go near the railway lines. His mother said they were too dangerous. Until that day, he had only heard of them, heard them and his curiosity had been piqued enough. Ordinarily, if he’d have dared wander up to them he would have received a sound thrashing at home. But on that day he seized this legitimate opportunity to take in the spectacle and with one eye on the cows in the distance, he lingered a while on a big, lopsided boulder resting right beside the parallel lines. As he was gazing curiously at the shiny tracks, an ominous sound rang in the distance. Scared out of his wits and yet rooted in place, he wondered what it was. Soon enough, the first few compartments of the express snaked their way through the winding valley. Niranjan looked on.

It was a whole new world. He saw countless faces within the open windows, mostly bored, some anxious and some curiously taking in the sights. He saw kids, adults and old folk too. There were more people in the train than he had ever seen in his village. Then there were those mysterious compartments where you couldn’t see beyond the dark windows. Niranjan wondered to no end what dwelled within them. But most of all, he gaped at the people standing in the open doorways to the bogeys. How the wind whipped through their hair, flattening their clothes against their body. It was noisy and combined with the engine’s whine, made for a god-almighty din. Add to that the cacophony of the travelers. It was something else entirely. And just like that, in a minute, the train disappeared, leaving behind it the shook up valley gathering its bearings. Niranjan had stared at it, open-mouthed the whole time.

From then on, he came every day. The train was his ticket to a different world, a world he had never seen but wanted to. It took him out of his mundane and idyllic village existence and thrust him amidst a whole plethora of new sights, sounds and smells. He loved it. Some days, he saw familiar faces, people who travelled to and fro often. But mostly, he saw an unending stream of strange and varied looking people that made him wonder how many of them lived outside of his world. He knew barely a handful of persons in the village besides his family. Their neighbor, another farmer who prayed to the gods all the time because he thought they controlled everything, regardless of what he did. The village potter, who had been making nothing but sinister looking figures holding guns ever since his son had died fighting for the army. Everyone reckoned he’d gone right over the edge. The village trader, who sold everyone’s produce to the distributors; with his tobacco lined, toothy yet cunning smile, he was a complete leech. Then there was the graduate schoolmaster who was known to be a principled man. But for some reason, his daughter was scared of him and did not come to the school for days on end, Niranjan noticed. She walked with an awkward gait; her legs spread apart. She was also unnaturally silent and timid around her father.

There were a few others too; the nosy, gossipy ladies and other patronizing old folk with their worldly wisdom, who- truth be told- hadn’t really seen much beyond the horizon. The train was his window to a fantasy. And every single day, come rain or shine, he would walk the three miles from his house just to stand in the same position, at the same time and watch the same train go by. It was a member of his life now, albeit a very, very long and noisy one.

But today, Niranjan wasn’t as wholeheartedly absorbing the spectacle as always. He was thinking about the lottery ticket he had secretly bought with the money he’d saved up. Having not even told his younger sister, he has sneaked out with his ten rupees and bought himself a ticket for a lottery of ten lakh rupees. That was last month, and today was the draw. He innocently believed that he was indeed going to win it. Submerged in his thoughts, he barely noticed the large ‘X’ on the last compartment on the train as it passed him. Busily herding his cows back, he walked with a spring in his step and a confident smile. But then, right at that moment, his heart stopped beating and jumped right into his mouth...