Decoding life in fifteen minutes.

It was a long tiring day. I slept through most of it, but then emotions can tire you more than any form of physical exercise can. I made a drink, a real strong one, after a long long time. It was nice and effective. I felt like cooking something. I have always liked it; today was different. It was a feeling that you get when you pursue a hobby long forgotten: stamp collecting, maintaining scrap books, coins collecting, playing stapu, thinking uch neech ka paapda, seeing birds ( i wonder where the delhi sparrows have gone, i haven’t seen them for a decade now, and i used to see them everyday ) , spinning tops, etc, etc etc.
I was in the kitchen, and it felt like meeting an old friend. You talk apprehensively to start with, you try to check his or her facial emotions just to get a feel of where its going, dole out a random joke ( which has never made you laugh, but it has certainly made others laugh), see where he or she is looking, listen to what he or she is saying, laugh on a joke you normally would not have, and then immerse in the conversation. It was amazing. The whole experience was very uncordial to start with, but then I got used to it, and then I was rolling the dice. The result : A hot nice smelling chicken biryani. There is nothing more you can ask of an old forgotten friend.

Friends are nice but then only ten minutes were to go, and if no action were to be taken, the moment would have been lost. Some would say, c’mon, you could ve done it the next day, but then, it would have been tomorrow and not today.

We ran..until we found a rickshaw…what timing god!

It ran..until we were there..the shop.

We all started again: the rickshaw, me, the bottle, him, smiles.

We reached.

“How much?” “Twenty.”

“Are you sure?” “Saahab its night time”

Silence.

“Ok, ask for any amount and you will get it”

Silence.

“I am serious, ask for any amount, and believe me for a second..You will get it”

Silence.

“I am serious. Just ask.”

“100?”

The note came out and moved to who wanted it.

He could have asked for a thousand, and he could have still remained at twenty. He could have earned two times more, and he could have earned a heart.

He chose tomorrow, and he could have chosen life.

The Walk Talks

Rohit woke up after a marathon sleep of sixteen hours. He needed to smoke. He got up from the bed, pulled out a sweat shirt, put it on, had a quick splash of water on his rugged face and moved out of his apartment, into the street.
The panwala shop, which was the destination, was about two hundred metres and one red light away. He started walking. He had nothing to think about, or that was what he preferred to do while walking. Only the things that formed the present, provided by his eyes and ears, were allowed to have a place in his brain RAM. So what was there now? The clumsy yellow coloured house on his left, a blue van on the road to his right, a black coloured motorcycle on the same road, a couple of kids in school uniform and with heavy school bags walking in his front and a distant traffic policemen on the red light. That was quite a long list of characters. Although the road had loads of other vehicles honking and moving but there is so much that two eyes can see and shortlist, and about the honking vehicles, in the fight of eyes and ears, the usual winner is the pair of eyes only.
He started thinking as he was walking with these characters to play with. ‘What if these kids turn around, face me and start dancing on Beedi Jalaai Le in perfect Bipasha Basu style? And the traffic policeman comes running from the red light, watches the dance, pulls out a ten rupee note, waves it over the kids’ heads and gives it to them. And the car pulls on the reverse gear and crashes into the bike, the biker is jumped out of his seat and falls on the roof of the car and starts clapping for the kids’ performance.’
The scene looked brilliant but there was not the usual smile on Rohit’s face which used to come after the complete picture in mind. Something was missing. Was he able to find out the missing link? ‘Villain! There is no villain in the story at the moment.’ But he could not think of one. He kept walking. He almost reached the redlight to cross the road behind the school kids. They were still dancing in his head.
The kids turned around. The car stopped, so did the bike. The carwala came out, the biker put the bike on a side stand. All of them pulled out something from their bags or their pockets.
They had pistols in their hands. They all frowned simultaneously and shot 2 bullets each.
Someone from the clumsy house put a bucket of water on Rohit’s body.
The End.

The Next Step.

Aasmaan ke paar shayad, aur koi aasmaan hoga,
Parvaton ke paar shayad aur koi ek jahan hoga.

When a kite starts flying, it does not know that its flight can be short lived. It looks at the sun ..And it crashes down.

Coming Back to Life

Where were you when I was hurt and helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me

I watch that watch tower everyday at night. I sit at 11 in the night after having dinner and generally get up around 3 in the morning. At 1 30 sharp, there is a dong, when there is not a single reason for such a noise and even more strangely, there comes out a man, who must be in his 40s, with an overcoat and a hat, which is a bit too big for his body because I have never been able to see his face properly, except the long chin, which is perhaps the longest I have seen in my life. But he never gives a second to make a sketch in your mind for future reference, he runs and runs like the wind which was here last summer and has never been seen again.

While you were hanging yourself on someone else’s words
Dying to believe in what you heard

How did I start following this practice which has now become almost a ritual? I will be frank. I am mad. I know there are not many like me who agree to the fact but I do not mind agreeing that at times, which is like 16 hours out of every day, I am uncontrollable even to me, forget anyone else. Till the time sun is out, it makes me jealous and fills me with that hate that I am not able to sit down easily, I start feeling uncomfortable and then the whole hospital is after me, even my wardmates. No, I don’t want to kill anyone, its just between me and the sun. One day I am gonna show this world who can shine more. But I know that was not what you wanted to know. It is around 8 that sun sets completely and I am at ease. I walk out. I make a crosscheck that it is not fooling me. So I walk here and there. Some of the time I run too. In fact most of times I am just running around to check every corner of the town. And then when I become tired, I sit before the watch tower.

I was staring straight into the shining sun

My becoming like this is a story in itself and don’t call that being mad, its not those 16 hours remember. And no mad likes that three letter word. You want to hear it? Even if you don’t, just shut up and continue reading. I was 10 if I remember correctly. I had no mother, no father. I was alone in this big world. I did not mind that. I went to school. I had friends. To be frank, there were very few, or perhaps none. I did not like human beings.
Lost in thought and lost in time
While the seeds of lifeand the seeds of change were planted
Anyone who asked me about my parents, I used to hit him hard either with a stone or an empty bottle, but nothing less. This made me change a few schools, 13 in 5 years. I started hating human beings, they are good for nothing. The headmaster of the new school was a nice guy though. He took care of me. But when I had my 16th birthday, he wanted me to be admitted to a hospital. I hit him with an iron rod. I don’t know what happened of him afterwards. I liked staring straight into the shining sun.

Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime
I took a heavenly ride through our silence

The anecdote of the death of my parents has been a nice thing to tell whenever I am to meet new people which are primarily journalists and TV reporters. I show them lots of things. They are generally fond of my music collection which goes on from nirvana to floyd, from metallica to ghulam ali and from gnr to jagjit singh. They like my writings too, especially the Wonderfool Tonight and Shweet Shweet Memories – I.
They are after me to write its second part and I promise them that they won’t have to wait much. Then the initial question is repeated,

I knew the moment had arrived

then I make them read The Sadman Enters. They stare at me for a second and run and run like the wind which was here last summer and has never been seen again.

For killing the past and coming back to life
And headed straight..into the shining sun

Untold Dream

I am dying.

I remember my walking to Central Park and playing bridge with some of my agemates. I remember children playing frisbee, damaging the ever so beautiful grass.

I see everybody around me. Everyone has tears rolling over.
I can see the white light. I can see the flashback of all those moments I always thought were not that valuable. I feel like crying. I do not want to go. Can I be out of this place for a second? I do not want to be what I am at this moment. My eyes do not seem to be friends anymore. The colours are fading.

We are going on a picnic tommorrow morning. I have packed my bag with all the chips, frooties, eclairs and chewing gums. This time I will make the biggest sandcastle ever. I will not share my goodies with anyone. I am also taking my favorite video game with me. I remember when I was 31, I used to play cricket on weekends with my son. And everyone in the colony was so jealous. I still do that but now its my dad who helps me out with my batting skills. I still have not touched my holiday homework, I plan to do that when I return tommorrow evening. Dad says if I finish getting 1st position in my 3rd standard, he will present me with my first set of Gijoes. I am in love with them, though I don’t have any of my own. I still remember playing with Anu in Esselworld every month which was followed by a movie and a romantic dinner. I wish I could write everything down and tell the world, but its so much better, dying an untold story.
I will die, I must die… again.