(Yeah guys, the thriller that I was talking about. Though this genre isn’t my cup of tea, the process of writing a thriller is exciting. Thank you and yenjoyy..!! )
“The tea has got cold” Sheila set down her cup and waited for the two young men who knelt opposite her, clad in just a jean trouser, to do the same.
The younger man, Khalil wiped the blood over his knifed naked chest, cleared his throat- “We do it for a reason.” His voice was steady, but his hands shuddered and his eyes seemed lifeless. He couldn’t even move to rise.
The other man, Abdul looked down his bloody body, tightened his fists and squalled in wrath- “ Terii m** k**……..” but stopped abruptly and howled with unbearable pain when a knife penetrated him under his foot. Sheila wiped the blood that splashed over her arms and withdrew the knife from his foot. Khalil moved close and embraced his companion, who was squalling with pain.
Sheila tossed the knife to a corner, mounted onto the recliner, rested her head and stared at the only over-head lamp in the dimly lit basement room. She inhaled clamorously and heard her breath oozing out amidst the surrounding mid-night silence. She hurled a glance at the wall clock, crowched down to her socks, whispered to herself – “2am. It’s time” and fetched a piece of metal- A Revolver.
Shabbir Khan looked up the hanging bridge, shrouded in the december mist and darkness. His long over-coat, polished shoes, handsome and dark features always seemed sinister at night. His boots made rhythmic tocs overpowering the mid-night silence, as he briskened along the pavement. His ears and eyes sought for any kind of activity along the street. The street at this time, was dead for the day. His walking stopped when he heard a truck approaching him from behind. He slipped his hand inside his over-coat in search of his holster. The sound of the approaching truck grew and he tightened his grip over the revolver.
Sheela stood from the recliner, exposing a shining black revolver clinging on to her laft palm. She drew a thin pistol-silencer from her pocket and attached it to the revolver. Khalil and Abdul searched for their voices. Sheila hesitated, then raised the pistol with both hands. Being a school teacher and just a normal middle class woman, she’d never imagined she’d do anything of this sort in her life. She took a deep breath and fired, shifted her aim, and fired again. Both their foreheads holed, they thrashed on to the ground, moaning. Abdul lost his breath into history within no time. Khalil, Sheila noticed, was still breathing, rippling the blood formed under his nose. Sheila aimed at his nose and fired another shot and squealed out loud with a combined sense of anger and relief- “This much for killing my innocent husband, you bastards.” She grabbed her phone and her coat and hurried to her car.
“Done madam?” her driver enquired.
“Yes. Hurry. Not home. The other room.” Sheila ordered.
The driver hit the accelerator and propelled the car into motion. Sheila retrieved a letter from her purse ; a suicide note that she had written earlier. She ripped it apart into small bits, lowered the window and let it into the breeze.
The sound of the truck grew bigger on Shabbir. With one hand held tight on his pistol, he threw a casual glance. The truck approached closer and closer, but moved ahead without cooking a fuss. He loosened his grip on the pistol, set his coat right and continued walking. The street returned to its original silence ; he could hear his own breath. A cold breeze whistled along the empty lane. Just then, he heard two thuds from across the street. Having spent his entire life in a country where a gun-shot was a daily norm, he decided it came from a gun shot ; from a gun with a silencer. Within a few seconds, another thud disturbed the calmness around him. “My pals” he whispered restlessly, and drew the pistol from his holster and hurried across the lane in search of the feeble thud. Almost like a flash, a speeding car whizzed past him. He turned around, aimed his pistol at the speeding car, but ceased himself from pulling the trigger. He noticed pieces of paper flying out from the car’s window. He examined the bits of paper and then headed back in search of the bodies of his pals. He was READY for REVENGE.
Sheila jumped out of her bed. She could hear motors in the street and the sounds of human movement in the corridors. Residents of the block were calling out good byes to their school going children. Just then, the door crashed open and a tall man rushed in without a word. A shaft of light from outside made her cover her eyes. But the door was closed immediately and bolted. Before she could evaluate the situation, the tall man caught her by her neck and locked her movement. “ You think you can get away?” he pushed the pistol against her forehead, with a heavy breath he repeated again, louder this time- “ You think you can get away?”
He let a minute pass by, settled his mind and pushed the tip of the pistol against her forehead, inhaled deeply -“ I’m Shabbir Khan by the way” and pulled the trigger. The blood flushed out from her head painting the carpet red.
Revenge- It never ends. Does it?
(Yeah guys, the thriller that I was talking about. Though this genre isn’t my cup of tea, the process of writing a thriller is exciting. Thank you and yenjoyy..!! )
Nowadays, I often run out of topics to write on my blaaag where imaginations are supposed to be rekindled. From the past 2 hours I’ve been sitting, dreaming and wondering about what to write, unsuccessfully though. I wish I’d had an adventurous childhood. I wish I’d thrown a stone on my next-door granny’s window, or burst ‘lakshmi pataki’ (crackers) under my old colony guy- Mr. Eccentric, or atleast had a crush on a 5 year old junior in school….. damn.. nothing Why dint I do anything in my childhood that could be blogged about now? Only if I had known I’d be blogging in my future then, I would have maybe made my childhood adventurous. But it’s okay. Leave alone blogging, I never thought I would even grow up when I was a kid. (Interesting ryt? But the elaboration would put you under immense mental stress where you might end up pulling your hair out of your head. So, sorry.) Anyway, did you just notice how intelligently I penned one full paragraph without actually writing about anything? (Note- No abuses allowed in my comments page.)
About 14 years ago, when my mother was pregnant (carrying my sister), me and my dad used to drop my mother at the doctor for regular check-ups and as my mother enters in, we would trickle out into ‘Vidhyarthi Bhavan’. This hotel by-the-way serves crispy dosas right from my grand father’s ‘chaddi’ days. Any local Bangalorean, especially from the south would tell you. Anyway yeah, I remember the last time I had been there wearing a Jean chaddi (Come on, I was just 8 then). As me and daddy entered the hotel, my dad’s friend Mr. Ravi & family were busy munching on to those red dosas. They spotted me and dad with looks of ‘how-on-earth-is-this-possible’ emanating from their artistic face expressions. They, then dragged their eye-balls linearly, contemplating me top to bottom and exclaimed- “What appa, you and your father have come to eat dosa aa??” I was just 8 and was an amateur in sarcasm, so I just smiled and shut my mouth.
14 years later, last month, me and dad visited the Vidhyarthi Bhavan for the first time since then. The dosas are the same (the best in South Bangalore), the tables are still the same (as old as my grand father), walls have been painted and there is soap (much needed) at the wash-basin. We ordered and filled ourselves with dosas, after which we had to wash our hands with soap to wash away all the oil off our hands so that nobody mistook us for working part-time in a petrol bunk or something. Just as we were leaving, we spotted, guess who – the same Mr. Ravi & family. They spotted us and let out their usual line- “ Ooooo… father and son have come to eat dosa aaa??”
I wasn’t in mood for fun, so I just replied –“ Yessuu. Vonly Masala Dosa.” Anyway, co-incidence… it’s unbelievably amazing sometimes. And any of you want a list of good, old hotels for local food in Bangalore, you know who to ask. If you are lucky enough, you might even find Mr. Ravi & family in any of those places. ;)
Drifting away from food and hotels, lets talk about politics. Man, I’ve decided to stop watching comedy shows on TV and instead, to just watch our politicians talk. We have two specimens here in Karnataka- Mr. Deve Gowda and his son Kumaraswamy. My mother had to rush with a glass of water towards me when she saw me laughing and coughing like a mad dog ; Reason - I was watching Kumaraswamy shedding tears in public in what was supposed to be an emotional speech, just before the by-elections in his constituency. About Mr. Deve Gowda – It’s better I don’t start talking about him here. You’ll find it hard to find the meaning of my words in the bestest of dictionaries. Anyway, in simple he is the most shameless politician I’ve ever come across.
Good-night Mr.Gowda. .. Ooops.. he's already asleep.
Mulling over this never-ending topic called- Indian Politics, it reminds me of Mr. Jaswanth Singh. What BJP has done to Jashwanth Singh by expelling him is nothing but help him boost the sales of his book. For Jashwanth Singh, who is well past his prime in politics, what else did he need? Infact, I too feel itchy to get that book of his.
Ok, enough of boring you for now. Next, I’ll try and write fiction. How abt a thriller huh?? Before you break your jaws falling off your chairs, cool down. I had written a thriller series (of 3 parts) once. If you, by any chance want to read it, here’s the link- On The Highway .
Meanwhile, I’m off to take my mom for shopping. ’Shopping with Women’ - aahaa.. I can write a book on that topic and maybe request BJP for some marketting tips. Anyway, you take care. See you next time.
For a change, I wasn’t kidnapped by the president of America nor was I white-washing the ‘White House’ in my dreams last night. Actually an old couple were blowing steam at me for frightening their grand child. Once I woke up, I sat and wondered why the hell would I frighten a small child? But then I guessed, maybe the child would have pissed on me or something. “Your smile is frightening”, my sister's lines rang in my head and that induced a small pause in my contemplate-the-issue programme. After breakfast, I got down to some serious analysis and that’s when I could picture why these people had tenanted in my dream last night. Conventionally I should have been busy in the US or should have just survived a plane crash. But anyway, back to the analysis- My neighbours have purchased a brand new ‘cradle’. I mean to say, they have a new born baby. So, typically they have called upon their parents from Delhi to help them in changing the baby’s diapers. Apparently, the couples (both senior and junior) were so impressed by me and my name that they decided to name the baby boy as – Arjun. A part of the previous sentence is true and the rest is false. Guess work is left to you.
So, every night when I go to bed I hear the old couples’ voices through my window – “ Arjunnnnnn… luulululu.. lolololooo..” and I’ll be all like- “damn……” Anyway, this was the little scene which acquired wings made of masala and got transformed into some silly dream in my head. Ufffffff…… End Of Story.
Hence Swine-flew….. haha.. jus kidding… Take Care!
If I catch the Swine-flu virus, I’d better be taken to all the terrorist camps and made to cough and sneeze. I get such thoughts, what to do? Can’t help! But on further thought, the terrorists might all drop their guns and start coughing in public. So, I’d rather cough over some less-savvy local criminals. Afterall, we have over 3.11 crore cases pending in the country in trial courts and high courts. Believe that!
“ If pro is the opposite of con, then what is the opposite of progress?” this one caught my eye. Haha…!!
But I actually quite like this present government, It’s prominent cabinet ministers atleast. I liked the concept of the BUDGET this time considering the global financial crisis. What they’ve done is, in simple- Encouraged spending. Decrease in income leads to decrease in spending. The decrease in spending works as a cycle and further decreases income or employment. So yeah, I like it. But the fiscal deficits, which has hit an all time high is where it’s running the risk. But again, the optimistic approach was what impressed me. And by the way, the newly proposed – ‘Direct Tax’, which is open for public debate looks impressive too. It basically spreads the tax base thereby lessening the burden on an individual employee. Presently, the personal income tax in our country is one of the highest in the world. While the finance ministry is cooking something or the other the external affairs is too predictable. In a country like India (it’s stance), what else can you expect? It’s predicatbly predictable.. haha!
Ok sorry, I’ve stretched it too long. I wanted to post something today, started typing with nothing in mind. Here I am, going haywire.
Anyway, I don’t know what else to write right now. In an hour, I’ll be accompanying mom with a ‘Johnson&Johnson baby kit’ to see my new neighbour- Arjun. And yeah, just this doubt- tell me if there'll be something called- "Katrina kaif' ka swayamvar ? Let me know . Till next time- Yenjoyy..!!
(Going through a 50-50 writer's block, whatever that is. Not been able to write freely nowadays. I guess it shows as well. Anyway, pardon me if it's bad. But shtill, as i always say- Yenjoyy :P )
1.55pm, at my place.
I woke up to a brassy thud of my main door one week day. I strained my eye-balls to the corners of the eye to catch the clock but in vain. If you din’t know- laziness finds its nest in me ; I’m lazy in everything except in ‘being lazy’. So the question in hand was- how would I check the time, without actually doing as strenious a thing as lifting-my-head-and-rotating-it-towards-the-clock?
I set out with my analysis-
2 thuds per-day – both by Dad – morning or lunch time? – not morning, I couldn’t smell a Body Spray – so- lunch time – 1.30 to 2 – Dad’s office is 5 mins away - The time is 1.55 pm. I’ve slept for 14 hours – record-breaking stuff. Wow..!!
My phone vibrated like a ghost from under the pillow. – “Hello!” I sounded alert.
“Dude, me Roshan. Where are you?” You Idiot
“I’m in the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) preparing the software part of our project work.”
“That’s great. I’m in NIIT - ‘Networking’ class.” Bullshit
“I’ll meet you in an hour in IISc.” Get lost
“Nope. I’ll meet you in NIIT in an hour.” I announced putting my vocal chords into unnecessary strain.
“Nope. Let the place be Barista.” He finalised.
As I put down the phone, I raised my left hand to fetch the TV remote. Rambo on Star Movies. Perfect! With my slothful right hand I fetched the cold-coffee which I suppose would have been Hot-coffee when it was kept there. Anyway, when people (like my fat neighbouring aunty) ask me questions like- “ Don’t you exercise? How bad?” and stare at me disgustingly, I have a few ready-made words- “ I meditate for 14 hours followed by some finger exercises ( with my TV remote), then my arms ( by moving it to and fro, in and out of my mouth), my neck ( which shuffles repetitively between the TV screen and the coffee mug) and finally my legs ( basically by stretching them).”
Anyway, as the movie was interrupted with commercials of a tooth-paste-with-salt thing, I decided to head to the bathroom in search of my tooth brush.
1.55pm, at Roshan’s place.
“Bah bah black sheep, hav………..” he sang, abrupty paused and sprung out of bed like a clown. He threw a glance at the clock and yawned. “I’ve slept for 16 hours straight. Wow!” he told himself and continued- “ my dream… oh.. my dream… “ he tried to recollect. After 120 seconds, his bulb glowed when he could picture his abruptly ended dream- 3 ghosts with invisible bottoms surrounded him, manufacturing scary faces at him. Just then, a saint entered from nowhere ( like Rajnikanth) chanting- “Omm Sai Baba …. Omm Sai Baba..” He rested his arms over Roshan’s shoulder and adviced- “ My boy, chant a bhajan to praise Baba and he will take care of the ghosts.” Wasting no time, Roshan began- “ Ba-Ba Black sheep…..” and that’s when he woke up.
Anyway, he came back to the real world and retrieved a cup of tea which was placed on his book/tea-stand. He found his phone and dialled-
“Dude, me Roshan. Where are you?” he enquired.
“I’m in the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) preparing the software part of our project work.” Bullshit
“That’s great. I’m in NIIT - ‘Networking’ class.”
“That’s great!” You dumb-head
“I’ll meet you in an hour in IISc.”
“Nope. I’ll meet you in NIIT in an hour.” Get lost
“Nope. Let the place be Barista.”
1 Hour Later
Barista was empty enough at 3 in the afternoon. A few tables were occupied though, with couples trialing each other’s faces. I found a seat, ordered some weird-named coffee and stared at good looking faces indiscriminately. Meanwhile Roshan rushed in hurriedly and sat facing me. He hooked his eye-brow and asked- “ IISc?”
I nodded and copied his hooking-the-eye-brow-thing and shot back- “NIIT?”
He nodded and looked away. Letting a few minutes of silence go by, I looked at him, bounced my eye-brows as if to ask him- “What?” for which he returned a half-closed eye. With all this non-sense, a third eye could easily mistake us for two dons finalising a murder or something. Anyway, another minute of silence passed and I cleared my throat and asked- “ How long?”
“What ‘how long’?”
“Ok. Me 14 hours.” I winked.
“Yup. Me 16 hours.”
“damn…” we lifted our mugs.
“Sometimes we stay up so late that we have our morning coffee just before we go to bed.”
I’m in mood to write total random stuff today. One way to settle a wandering mind.
I ate ‘Khara Bun’. Yeah, and that too five of them since yesterday. (‘Khara’ in kannada means hot/spicy.) There’s a small story behind it though. The peon at my father’s office used brains. While he was going for lunch, my dad handed him 100 bucks and told him to get that much worth of Carbon (Carbon paper). Carbon – Khara Bun… yeah that’s what happened. 100 bucks ; Rs.4 each ; 25 buns ; 5 for me. ;)
After a long gap, saw Sreesanth on TV yesterday. My mind went dashing back to the visuals of the crying Sthree-santh. A 5 year old boy from the neighbourhood got offended when his dad told him to stop crying like Sreesanth. I remember when a dog entered the cricket stadium during the first IPL match, Cyrus Broacha commented- “Apparently, Sreesanth is not the only animal on a cricket field.” Too much man..!!
My hair started forming rings covering my forehead driving my dad into a sense of nostalgia. Reason – I looked like a south indian hero of the ‘black-and-white’ era. Anyway, in an attempt to do something about it, I borrowed a hair-clip from my sister and clipped it on. My sister said I looked like Hema Malini and giggled for an hour. The worst part was when I forgot about the clip and walked to a near-by ‘Grocery Store’. What a doofus I am..right?
I chanced upon this board near my place, snapped it and ……………………………
Want me to introduce you to this decent tailor??
And yeah, Happy Friendship Day to all of you. I noticed that my real friends actually don’t wish me on this day. I kind of like that. I’m tired of artificial people that I’ve been witnessed to in the recent past. It’s like – If you can’t handle your friends in their worst then you don’t deserve them in their best. Simple. I’m lucky to have some genuine friends, to say the least. Note- Roshan not included :P
Since I’ve deviated from my usual fiction thing, I’ll go ahead and do this tag that StepHEN tagged me with. Good mood I’m in.
Where is your cell phone? On my computer table.
Your hair? indisciplined
Work? Uh? Uh.. uh .. uh??
Your sister?The best for me- Archana.
Your favorite thing? Dream :P
Your dream last night? My flight crash landed but I survived.
Your favorite drink? Tea and Pepsi.
Your dream car? Honda CRV.
The room youre in? bedroom
Your fears? Heights.
What do you want to be in 10 years? Can I say James Bond?
Who did you hang out with this weekend? Family
What are you not good at? Fighting.
One of your wish list items? Laptop.
Where you grew up? Namma Bengaluru.
Last thing you did? Missed a call. :P
What are you wearing? T-shirt, Bermuda. :P
What aren't you wearing? Socks. ;)
Your pet? none
Your computer? Yeah, my computer.
Your life? In a phase called- Licking Ice-Cream in HELL.
Your mood? Nice and fresh after a good sleep.
What are you thinking about right now? Thinking about rain and hot coffee.
Your kitchen? Not my department.
Your summer? Mangoes.
Your favorite color? Black.
Last time you laughed? Today choking on to that Khara Bun.
School? Missing it big time.
All you guys, you don’t need my permission to do this one. Go on. See you all with a fiction soon. Tara, the birthday girl wants Roshan back. :P
Many Many Happy Returns Of The Day Tara.
See you all soon. Take care.