The cliff seemed just too big. It could house a 40 storey building, may be 45. There was no way he was going up and doing this. He was standing there peacefully, why would he give his heart a faint chance of an attack by going up there and jumping. He was sure this is not happening and he is going back. He turned around and started walking away. The image of the scene just would not go from his mind. So what if it is just water at the bottom. So what if everyone says that he will be fine. No chance. He started running. But the cliff continued to attract. His speed increased, the image became even clearer. He stopped. Turned around. Saw the cliff once again. Alright. A blank mind. The fastest sprint of his life. Twenty minutes and he was there, at the top of it.

But I feel I’m growing older
And the songs that I have sung
Echo in the distance
Like the sound
Of a windmill goin’ ’round
I guess I’ll always be
A soldier of fortune

The world had never looked more encouraging. Large mountains in front, greeting him with respect. The river flowing below, saluting him in honour. The blue sky above, smiling at his charm. The strong breeze gave him a strong hug. He looked at the river again. The fear was beginning to rise again. But he was not giving it another life. Eyes closed. One. Two. Three. Jump.

Many times I’ve been a traveller
I looked for something new
In days of old
When nights were cold
I wandered without you
But those days I thougt my eyes
Had seen you standing near
Though blindness is confusing
It shows that you’re not here

He opened his eyes. It felt like magic. His body was freely falling down. For a few seconds that felt like a lifetime, he felt like air. Flowing freely without any weight attached. For a moment he spread his arms and swayed like a bird. The mountains around seemed a canvas where he was the brush. For those moments, he had no past, no future, he was the present. He felt nature. He screamed like never before. Not out of fear this time. But of ecstasy. He touched the river, went down for a few seconds, came up, went down again. He was just going with the flow. He shrieked again. There were tears in his eyes. Something was patting him on his back. He had found the courage to go up but not to see backwards. The force increased. He felt pain on the left side of his chest. The scream was of pain this time. He just gave it away. It wasn’t clear, but he could see, before it became dark. Seemed like a dolphin. Seemed like a friend he had never found.

Now I feel I’m growing older
And the songs that I have sung
Echo in the distance
Like the sound
Of a windmill goin’ ’round
I guess I’ll always be
A soldier of fortune
I can hear the sound
Of a windmill goin’ ’round
I guess I’ll always be
A soldier of fortune

Tum jo aage badhe aaj, kuchh aur apni manzil ko jaanenge,
Tum jo jee liye apni hasrat, kuchh aur tumhe sarhayenge,
Zindagi ko do ek mauka, woh shayad kuchh jaanti hai,
Jeeti hai roz tumhaare jaison ko, kuchh aashiqon ko toh woh pehchaanti hai.

‘There is a bomb threat in Vasant Kunj. People are advised to be out of their homes.’

A group of humans rushes out. The second batch of ants gets squashed. The team leader survives with serious injuries. Emergency meeting is announced. Project team gathers. One minute mourning for the accidental deaths. Project plan gets revised. Third team becomes larger with aggressive performance targets. It begins its march with black bands on their arms behind a more experienced team lead. The digging resumes.

‘The bomb scare was a hoax. People are advised to get back to their homes.

Raju fell in love. For the first time.
She was there in the market. He had come to fetch some eggs. He took a dozen from the trusted Mohan Lal Kiryana Store, recounted them, turned around while recounting again, bumped into her.
The eggs fell down. Both of them were down, picking up the lucky unbroken ones from the ocean of transparent and yellow liquids. He tried looking at her, but she was looking at him already, he blushed and quickly went back on picking up his potential omelettes.
‘I am sorry’, she sounded like a princess.
‘Its a pleasure..I I I mean, its Ok’
They got up. ‘This is for you’, Raju squeaked. One future half fry gifted.
‘Thanks’. She smiled and turned away. Raju stood there, looking at her, remembering her, her voice, that lucky egg in her purse now.
‘Turn around, Turn around, Turn around.. Now!’.
She did take a 130 degree turn. That wonderful smile again. Raju blushed. Her smile got bigger, a small paper got dropped. She ran towards a waiting auto rickshaw and disappeared.
‘She forgot her paper’, he thought to himself.
He went ahead and picked it up. It had a phone number and a name, Rani. ‘This must be one of her friend’s number’, his thoughts had taken a new plane altogether. But the smell of the paper was mesmerizing. ‘It is either Rexona or Hamam’, he blushed again. It smelled of freshness, it smelled of those beautiful eggs, it smelled of her.

He went home polished the two remaining eggs with rosewater, kissed them and then set out to make two half fries of them. He could imagine her doing the same with that token of love he had given her. The scene flashed back in his mind several dozen times. His smile size increased with each repeat telecast. The half fry could no longer be called that. It had turned black from the bottom and brown from above. Raju finally smelled the burn, but did not frown or panic. Just so smoothly and effortlessly closed the knob. He kissed his favorite fork and knife and savored each bit of those monumental memories. Delicious.
He could not sleep. He was restless. He was smiling. He was frowning. Oh, he was definitely in love.

Sardi, khaansi na malaria huaaaaaa, yeh gaya yaaron isko Love, Love, Love, Loveria huaa..

After days of pain and ponder, he decided to call up on that number, her friend, Rani.

‘Is that Rani?’
‘Yes, who is this?’
‘Actually, Rani you don’t know me but I know a friend of yours.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Do you have a friend who recently cooked an egg?’
‘What kind of crap is this?’
‘I mean one egg. I think it must be a half fry but it can be boiled as well, depends on your friend’s taste actually.’
‘Listen mister, whoever you are. Stop dialing random numbers and trying your luck with girls. And for heaven’s sake, think of something more interesting than eggs. Will you?’
Bang!

There were two pearl like tears in Raju’s eyes. His heart was broken. He felt like an egg that comes out of the refrigerator with excitement but falls down on the floor into pieces by someone’s buttery hands. The result – a high potential rounded personality becomes useless, smelly and gets treated like garbage. He put his head down on the dining table and cried endlessly.

Tring Tring. Tring Tring.

‘Hello.’
‘Hell..sob sob..llo’
‘This is Rani, is that the egg person?’
‘I am sorry Rani..sob sob..I did not mean that. I am not that kind of person.’
‘Actually I am sorry, I mistook you for the everyday stalkers that keep troubling.’
‘You don’t need to be sorry Rani. I can understand. You can keep the phone down now and I won’t disturb you again.’
‘I wanted to tell you that I made an omellete of it.’
‘Of the phone you mean?’
‘Of that one egg stupid.’
‘Really? But why did she gave the egg to you?’
‘Who, she? I am Rani, you gifted that egg to me.’

Blush. Blush. Blush.
Raju was speechless.

Bahaaron fool barsaao, mera mehboob aaya hai..

‘Hello…Hello. You there? Hello.’
‘Yeah..actually, actually..I thought..’, Raju managed to squeak again.
‘Firstly, can I know your name please?’
Blush. Smile. Blush.
‘Raju’
‘Raju, I had dropped that number for you that day.’
‘Oh Rani, you are so sweet.’
‘Raju, you are even sweeter.
When you did not call up for a couple of days, I even thought of looking for you in the market again. But your present did not let me do that.’
‘You mean that egg?’
‘Yes’
‘But how?’
‘I got loose motions because of it.’

Smiles. Blushes. ‘Really Rani?’ ‘Yes, Raju’ ‘That naughty Mohan Lal! Don’t worry, we will have the chicken out it’ ‘I love you Raju’ ‘I love you Rani’

Raja ko rani se pyaar ho gaya
Pehli nazar mein pehla pyaar ho gaya
Dil jigar dono ghaayal hue
Teere nazar dil ke paar ho gaya

Reema was just ten years old. Maturity had knocked her doors slightly early. She was the fifth girl to her biological parents, who used to travel 480 kilometers, every time, to pray for a son. Reema, just like her sisters, was clearly not the answer to their prayers. One half lit night, she was left off at the mandir’s stairs. If it wasn’t for this Krishna devotee, Maa, Reema might have died there itself – walkless, nameless. Everything started afresh. Just that Maa was deaf.
They would interact by drawing things. When other girls would cry their hearts out for a sweet, Reema would fill the whole board drawing her wish. She would go to school, come back and paint for her mother, the lessons from the day. She would also draw her evening walk to Maa every night. Their whole house had become a whiteboard. It was a new graffiti everyday. At times it would reflect joy, at times sorrow. But it would always be full of colours, thoughts and conversations.

On the advice of a school teacher, Reema enrolled for a local music class. She realized she was good at singing. She would start singing and everyone else practicing in the class would start humming along with her. When she would practice at home, birds that she had never seen in valley would bunch around on the window and stare at her. Music brought peace to her soul and to the ones around. But it also meant less conversations with Maa and more confrontations. She could never write to her how she sang that day. The magic she used to experience in music was inexplainable through any piece of writing or drawing. For her, it was a new found meaning of life, for her mother it was their biggest enemy.

That evening, Reema, as usual, came back from her evening walk, cleared her room’s floor sat for the evening practice, closed her eyes and started singing. The birds were nowhere to be seen. There was a loud streak of lightening and it started raining heavily. There was a storm. But she was in a different world. The noise became louder. It was becoming difficult for her to hear her own voice. She increased her own volume. Maa had come in the room to check if her room was properly closed. Reema with her closed eyes and did not notice her. She sat alongside a wall and started seeing Reema sing. The thunder increased, so did Reema’s loudness. She was in a spell. Nature and she were in a fierce battle. There was big lightening this time and Reema shrieked in retaliation.

Silence.
She opened her mouth but could not hear herself. Neither the thunder. She opened her eyes and saw a clear sky with pouring eyes of her mother.

He put on the car stereo and called her up. She would be on the local train at this point of hour. This was their way of spending some additional quality time together – listening to music together while traveling separately. Starting with Eagles, moving to Bob Dylan, then to Guns n Roses, then Floyd, then to Mohit Chauhan, the playlist was one of the very few they would enjoy. The choice of playlist would tell her what kind of mood he was in. He could always imagine her reaction to the choice and the expression that would have come out when the first song started. It was like having a wonderful conversation everyday without seeing each other, without even talking; only that there were just a handful of such conversations to choose from, just as many as the playlists. But today he played Deep Purple.

She texted. ‘Is everything ok?? Reply only when the signal is red.’

‘I love you!’

‘Even I love you sweetheart! But tell me, is everything alright?’

‘How much time it would take you to reach?’

Beatles.

’15 mins. Why don’t you tell me what has happened?’

‘See you at the bench near the coffee wala.’

Black Sabbath and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan did the honours before he took the ticket from the parking boy. As he started walking towards Central Park, it started pouring heavily. People rushed out of the park from all possible exits. As if the stage had been vacated for the big performance to begin. He continued to walk till he reached the bench. Even the coffee wala was nowhere to be seen. His vibrant blue shirt amongst the shining green grass towered by dark clouds sprinkling shining droplets – an amazing romance of colours. He spread his arms wide and looked straight up in the skies. There was a strong thunder, acknowledging his arrival. He closed his eyes, his eyelids also getting a chance to bath themselves in those moments of magic. He was drenched and using those wet eyelids as a big screen, he started remembering the beautiful snapshots of his life. There was a smile on his face that said it all. He put his earphones back. The call had not ended and he knew that.

‘You there Anjali?’

‘Turn around Vikram’

That beautiful face in a bright yellow suit. She completed the jigsaw so gracefully. His arms closed around her. They stood there for a minute and a half – smiling radiantly – until she made his arms spread out once again. She played Robert Miles on her phone and moved behind him, her arms over his arms, her palms over his palms. They could sense the unity of their souls – that were dancing to the same music, the same rhythm. Their eyes were closed and remained so until the song ended. There was a sudden end to the rain, as if it had completed her part. The clouds drifted apart, there was sunshine and a dazzling rainbow. She removed their earphones, came in front of him and sat on one knee.

‘Would you marry me Vikram?’

He smiled. ‘Again?’

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.

Wonderfool Tonight
May 25, 2006

It’s late in the evening; she’s wondering what clothes to wear.
She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair.

I walked in the gloomy restaurant. I have always liked these kind of places, dark and intriguing. I was alone for the first time to have dinner in my life, so it was supposed to be one interesting experience. Just as I sat down, I had my glass of water, my head moving in the direction of the emptying glass, rising ever so slowly, pausing just when it was absolute perpendicular to my face. I saw her. I was stunned.

We go to a party and everyone turns to see
This beautiful lady that’s walking around with me.

It is amazing what effect can music have to a particular setting. You move out of your room, see the trees, watch the swinging leaves, come back to lay down on your bed. With absolutely everything same, if you have Fable by Robert Miles playing, you will keep enjoying the dancing leaves for ages. The same is with light, the absence of it has such a magical effect at times, and at times even the abundance of it falls short from providing that special aura. Even a small change in the angle the beam is coming from, can be detrimental in the overall impact of any scene.

Eric Clapton was the company I was looking for I realized just as it started. They say three is a crowd so the candle light floating in a glass of water among rose petals made us four, the candle, clapton, me and the so wonderful she. Though we had a couple of chairs and the same number of tables between us, I could clearly see her sparkling face, shining from the light being showered by the candle. The milky face, the watery eyes, the waving smile, the glossy lips. The darkness all around her face was just enough to make her the most magnificient piece of beauty I have ever come across.

I feel wonderful because I see
The love light in your eyes.
And the wonder of it all
Is that you just don’t realize how much I love you.

Waiters can be irritating at times, especially at those moments when you have much more important errands to cater to. A couple of them standing at my head, one with the bar menu and one with the food menu, I asked for a glass of water, much to their surprise, and to reduce the visible tension on my face.
She started looking at the menu, we almost drank water in resonance. She looked at me, the moment of my life, she blushed, I reciprocated, we smiled and then she was again at the menu. I thought of standing and going to her, ‘Can I join you?’ I decided other wise, to wait for her to do the same. She was also feeling the heat I guessed.
She stood, looked around, baby , noone is looking, walked towards me, looked so excited, I was trembling, smiled for an instance, spread her arms, I am not doing that to start with,
…that was the last time I saw her.

There was a kid in her arms and a husband accompanying him.

It’s time to go home now and I’ve got an aching head,
So I give her the car keys and she helps me to bed.
And then I tell her, as I turn out the light,
I say, “My darling, you were wonderful tonight.
Oh my darling, you were wonderful tonight.”

Two quick beer and I was back home.
Oh my darling, you were wonderful tonight.
Edit this entry.
3 comments to “Wonderfool Tonight”

1.

[…] 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 […]
by The Higher World » Blog Archive » Coming Back to Life July 23, 2006 at 5:39 am edit comment

Chinese Checkers
May 30, 2006

I was walking down the lake side yesterday, when I came across this strange child sitting right next to the lamp post. He was having a one rupee coin in one hand and a hammer in the other. There was a candle lit too just next to him. The whole scene was so weird that I could not walkby. I just stood there watching. The hammer was not being used to hit anything, he gently swayed it along his cheeks. He kept tossing the one rupee coin and scratching the candle after every fall. He was poor, perhaps not eaten anything for a couple of days. He did not look like a beggar though. He did not look anywhere else the three things he had. The lake provided the perfect background the whole scene had. You should have been there Connor. Do you find something interesting in this till now or shall I tell you something more?

I was there the other day Rohit and unlike you, as soon as i saw all this i called up Sam, Cornell, Natalie and Jacob and we all sat next to him repeating every action he was performing, within a minute he left the scene, now do u find this inetersting or not ?

Was that you Connor? Ok there was a person with a big hat and a black overcoat, that must be you as his was the face I could not have a look at. So it was you and your friends. I was there, I watched you people and that was the part which I was about to tell you next. Since you know all about it, I ll tell you about the part which you are not aware of. When you people left, you had left all your coins, the child came again, picked up the coins and started laughing, he kept doing it for about 10 minutes, then shrieked as if in some pain and then started crying. I initially wanted to go and just check what is wrong, but I just could not move, there was a sudden darkness, with all the candles extingushing in a flash. There was a strange sound of a whistle, and the child started laughing again. Then there was a strange voice, which seemed more like a howl than a human voice. Now is that interesting or you have something better?

Why did you do it? Because it was incomprehensible, erasing the event, destroying the stage and killing the actors is no solution to satiate your curiosity. You have outgrown your normal self, you have found the keys to your subconscience, you are now capable of memorizing Act I as Act II, but how long will you continue like this, how long will you fool yourself, Rohit you know that i know that who made the strange sound, who howled and whose human voice was it in the end. Why did you do it ?

Ok I know who did all this and you know that too. But what you do not know and did not answer was how did the candles go off. Even if you people did all that, just think of the child, he was so innocent. Your joke ended his life Connor. Do you know that too? I never wanted to tell you this but I took his body and buried it in a peaceful place, you would have never noticed as you were too engrossed with your subconscious, satiating each other at the cost of someone’s life. How many such lives you have taken Connor, I remember burying ten of them.?

See i told you , you are now capable of memorizing Act I as Act II, Rohit you are sick, you have to get over this before i have to bury the eleventh kid.

5 comments to “Chinese Checkers”

how i wished u changed the end a little…a broken dream is far more painful than death…or was death related in some way to something else…will have to go thru other posts to fugure out
by tomar June 20, 2006 at 3:33 pm edit comment

Keep Commenting.

Acting the Act
October 25, 2006

I was here in the evening too. The big curtains are still there, the stage hidden behind them must be waiting, for the foot taps to vibrate it, for the artistes to come and start their chores, creating magic, those moves, those thumping dialogues, that hysteric dance on trance, and for the audience to stand, to stand and to clap in unison, a few tears rolling over, some babies silent out of shock and some like me waiting to be there, there on that very stage waiting for the people to go and be the god, myself.
Shhhhhhhh….There is not much time in hand. Lights off. Oh, I ‘ll have to do it myself. Wait…K, now it seems nice. Pitch dark. The audience waiting for the curtains to open, there are butterflies flying around in my small stomach. I should not feel nervous. Open the curtains, slowly. Do it fast, the audience might lose its patience. There is noone to do that too. I ‘ ll run myself again. Here they go, moving apart, just like when a wave ends it offense on the beach, they part away, unknowingly, swift and silent. There should be a follower moving as I move to the centre of the stage, but there is noone to control it. There should be that rear panel lights when I move back in the second scene and the babies helping all the time with different colours of rainbow, which is visible only when u show your back towards the sun and see the rain. But there is noone. But I am here. I can be on the lights. Who will act then? Do we really need someone? Yes we do. Isn’t that why we started all of this? Hmm…Lets drop the idea of lights then. Yes, that can be done, anyway noone is watching.
Lets start the show. Lets start the music. It can’t be. Can we have a round of applause from the audience? This audience is absent when it is supposed to witness the greatest of actors performing in the rarest of rare performances. I’ ll clap myself to begin with. But I ‘ ll need them as I go by, for those sighs and those smiles, those laughters, those whistles, those tears, those shocks, those fears and for that final applause. So I must act as the audience first, that is most important. But isn’t that what I have been doing all my life?

Posted by Harry

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6 Responses to “Acting the Act”

mind blowing…amazingly ended