Tom was a wasted genius. Everyone thought Tom was a nobody. Nobody even gave Tom much of a thought. And that was how Tom preferred it. He had his mouth organ and that was the best friend he had. The other musical instruments understood him as well, but the mouth organ was something that he had deeply bonded with.
Tom could not speak clearly, and strangely his voice had a rough jarring tone which was deeply unmusical. But his hands did the talking and more than made up for the lack of vocal expression. It did not take him more than a few hours to learn an instrument and a few weeks to master it. But his talent was known to no one. When his father discovered Tom playing the mouth organ he threatened to confiscate it or throw it away in the drain if Tom did not study instead.
Tom was feeling particularly sad as his father had kept up the promise and taken away Tom's beloved mouth organ. It was a week since he had played any music. His hands were itching to play something. He could live easily without talking but not playing music was utmost suffocation for him as that was his only mode of expression. He felt like an addict in search of his weakness. He ran to the music room in his school hoping that it was empty. He could not play if people were around. Luckily the music room was deserted. He looked around for a mouth organ but settled for piano when he could not find it.
As soon as his fingers touched the keys he was a changed person. It was his craziest performance ever. He had never felt this alive before. The music somehow magically conveyed all the frustration that his stammering lips could not. The music itself carried hope to Tom that all was not lost. That he could co exist in the society too. He was not as maladjusted as he thought he was. In the form of his music. he could offer something of value as well. In his haste to play music Tom had forgotten that it was school hours. When he finished, he noticed a bunch of people standing behind him. For the first time in his life, Tom was happy that there was an audience which had witnessed his performance. He hoped his performance had an impact on others as well, as much as it had on him. He smiled at them. The crowd replied with angry stares and hateful gazes. A school exam was going on in the class next door, and it had taken the authorities 15 minutes to knock down the door of the music class. A teacher nearby took Tom by the ears and detained him in the headmaster's room where he got the shouting of his life.
The headmaster felt highly satisfied that he had brought a culprit to book and showed him the right path. His shoutings at Tom also vented out the frustration that he was feeling. For not getting the due recognition that he deserved about the fact that the mayor had shook hands with him.
Tom went away quietly. His hands had stopped itching and he no longer felt the urge to play his mouth organ.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Robbie
There was something intriguing about Robbie. I never knew I wanted to write a story about him. Then one fine day I met him and I told him " Robbie, I am going to write a story about you". The words just came out. there was nothing intentional or unintentional about it. It was the most natural thing in the world. It was as natural as wanting to eat an ice cream when you see someone else eating it and before you know it, your wallet is lighter and your stomach is not.
When i got down to writing the story, I started regretting it. The story involved getting into the head of a person and begin to think like him. This is the most unnatural thing in the world. I wanted to chuck the idea of writing a story and eat ice cream instead.
But my interpretation of Robbie has to be told. Because Robbie being Robbie will never remind me to keep my word about writing a story about him. Or else I would be eating an ice cream right now. By now Robbie might even have forgotten the conversation about me writing a story about him. Some people like Willie would have told their great grand children that somebody wanted to write a story about them. But Robbie would not care. He would already be in the lookout for the next new adventure.
My interpretation can be done and got over with in one simple sentence. Robbie is a Hedonist. His wily, slimy, cunning and dishonest eyes keep looking for the next new instrument of pleasure. He is addicted to addictions. And thats why I dont see a rosy future for him. Already I feel his mind is becoming numb. Numb to control, numb to responsibilities and most dangerously he is becoming numb to emotions like fear. Thats the danger any Hedonist faces in his life. Hedonists can be most found in two locations. Hospitals or prisons. They have a streak of self destruction in them. Hopefully, Robbie wont self destruct. He is a great guy. One of the funniest and the wittiest around. He loves everybody and thus loves no one in particular.
MBA's are the creatures who are achievement seekers. Title, prestige, recognition, fame and money is what drives them. A need to feel superior is inbuilt in them. For Robbie, these qualities are conspicuous by their absence. He seems destined to a life of mediocrity because mediocrity is what he seeks. Mediocrity hardly needs responsibilities and that is what Robbie loves best. He loves a reckless life where the only purpose is to look for the next new adventure.
When i got down to writing the story, I started regretting it. The story involved getting into the head of a person and begin to think like him. This is the most unnatural thing in the world. I wanted to chuck the idea of writing a story and eat ice cream instead.
But my interpretation of Robbie has to be told. Because Robbie being Robbie will never remind me to keep my word about writing a story about him. Or else I would be eating an ice cream right now. By now Robbie might even have forgotten the conversation about me writing a story about him. Some people like Willie would have told their great grand children that somebody wanted to write a story about them. But Robbie would not care. He would already be in the lookout for the next new adventure.
My interpretation can be done and got over with in one simple sentence. Robbie is a Hedonist. His wily, slimy, cunning and dishonest eyes keep looking for the next new instrument of pleasure. He is addicted to addictions. And thats why I dont see a rosy future for him. Already I feel his mind is becoming numb. Numb to control, numb to responsibilities and most dangerously he is becoming numb to emotions like fear. Thats the danger any Hedonist faces in his life. Hedonists can be most found in two locations. Hospitals or prisons. They have a streak of self destruction in them. Hopefully, Robbie wont self destruct. He is a great guy. One of the funniest and the wittiest around. He loves everybody and thus loves no one in particular.
MBA's are the creatures who are achievement seekers. Title, prestige, recognition, fame and money is what drives them. A need to feel superior is inbuilt in them. For Robbie, these qualities are conspicuous by their absence. He seems destined to a life of mediocrity because mediocrity is what he seeks. Mediocrity hardly needs responsibilities and that is what Robbie loves best. He loves a reckless life where the only purpose is to look for the next new adventure.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Kyunki Killer
John was bored. He had not killed anyone for quite a few days now. He killed a couple of cockroaches for fun. It passed his time for a bit but did not give him the rush he seeked. But it did tickle him to see that one of the cockroaches he had smashed was pregnant. The body was cut into two pieces and an egg like thing had erupted in between. The other cockroach he had smashed was almost dead but not quite. It was writhing in what seemed to be intense pain. John took pity on it and killed it instantly.
John always had violent tendencies from quite a young age, but his intense need to kill was just a one month old phenomenon. And in that month, he had killed 7 people. His last victim was a history teacher. He chose a history teacher because he was watching the history channel when the need to kill engulfed him. He switched off the TV, went to a phone booth and invited himself to tea with the nearest history teacher he knew. He walked to the history teacher's home, and saw the history teacher waiting eagerly for him. The history teacher was feeling lonely for a while as he had difficulty making friends. The self invitation from John made him feel that atleast somebody wanted to interact with him. He cordially greeted John and invited him inside. Once inside, John could not wait for the formality to get over. He asked the history teacher whether he had informed anyone else of his coming. When the history teacher answered in the negative, John took out his silencer and shot the history teacher straight in the eye. The history teacher died instantly. John wondered whether he had hit the bull's eye. The bullet had taken a part of the skin along with the eye. John thought to himself that he needed to practice his shooting. He wondered whom to kill next for practice.
A few day's later, When John saw the dying pregnant cockroach, his question was answered. He believed it was a signal from above. John had a weakness for symbolism. His next target would be a pregnant woman. He loaded his silencer and went to a phone booth to call up a single pregnant woman he knew and invite himself over. She was delighted to hear of his self invitation and said she would be waiting for him. She was delighted and happy because she had one more person to whom she could tell about Drake, the guy who had ditched her for someone else. When John arrived and got done with the formalities of greeting, he asked her whether she had informed anyone about his coming. When she answered in the negative, John aimed for the eye and shot her. It was instant death. John ran to her quickly to see if he had got the bull's eye. It was a clean shot. It had hit the eyeballs and nothing else. John was proud of himself.
The killing rejuvenated John and the next morning, he went to work with renewed energy. When he entered the office, he was informed that his boss had called him to his office to brief him about something. In the boss' cabin, his boss, the chief of police said "John, I am assigning you to the serial killer case which is raising a big hue and cry. Your expertise with guns will prove to be a big help in the case."
Once the briefing got over, John felt a huge sense of responsibility on his shoulders. He was on the quest of finding himself. Buddha would have approved.
John always had violent tendencies from quite a young age, but his intense need to kill was just a one month old phenomenon. And in that month, he had killed 7 people. His last victim was a history teacher. He chose a history teacher because he was watching the history channel when the need to kill engulfed him. He switched off the TV, went to a phone booth and invited himself to tea with the nearest history teacher he knew. He walked to the history teacher's home, and saw the history teacher waiting eagerly for him. The history teacher was feeling lonely for a while as he had difficulty making friends. The self invitation from John made him feel that atleast somebody wanted to interact with him. He cordially greeted John and invited him inside. Once inside, John could not wait for the formality to get over. He asked the history teacher whether he had informed anyone else of his coming. When the history teacher answered in the negative, John took out his silencer and shot the history teacher straight in the eye. The history teacher died instantly. John wondered whether he had hit the bull's eye. The bullet had taken a part of the skin along with the eye. John thought to himself that he needed to practice his shooting. He wondered whom to kill next for practice.
A few day's later, When John saw the dying pregnant cockroach, his question was answered. He believed it was a signal from above. John had a weakness for symbolism. His next target would be a pregnant woman. He loaded his silencer and went to a phone booth to call up a single pregnant woman he knew and invite himself over. She was delighted to hear of his self invitation and said she would be waiting for him. She was delighted and happy because she had one more person to whom she could tell about Drake, the guy who had ditched her for someone else. When John arrived and got done with the formalities of greeting, he asked her whether she had informed anyone about his coming. When she answered in the negative, John aimed for the eye and shot her. It was instant death. John ran to her quickly to see if he had got the bull's eye. It was a clean shot. It had hit the eyeballs and nothing else. John was proud of himself.
The killing rejuvenated John and the next morning, he went to work with renewed energy. When he entered the office, he was informed that his boss had called him to his office to brief him about something. In the boss' cabin, his boss, the chief of police said "John, I am assigning you to the serial killer case which is raising a big hue and cry. Your expertise with guns will prove to be a big help in the case."
Once the briefing got over, John felt a huge sense of responsibility on his shoulders. He was on the quest of finding himself. Buddha would have approved.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Smiran's fable
Hi. I am anonymous. U can call me anon. Not because its cooler or anything but because it saves breath. My name is not important. I am a non entity. The story that I have to narrate is not important as well. It does not need to be told nor read. Before you read on an official disclaimer from my side: This story is an useless piece of shit. Discharged and excreted from the deepest recesses of my mind.
The story is about two ants, A and B. A was more important because he had met the queen thrice whereas B had met her once. The more you met the queen, the more your ego would get the boost. So the ants which regularly met the queen thought too much of themselves. They could easily identify the ones who were less important than themselves and the identification factor was pride. If they met or touched someone from the lower castes they would spit at them. This would further inflate their ego whereas the spitted ones would get more deflated. Now A was sick of coming in contact with B regularly. Even though spitting at B made him feel good about himself, the touch itself disgusted him. So he came up with an idea of segregating all the ants which met the queen once or less and placing them in the anthill that was in a waterlogged area. Thus the ants which considered themselves superior would live in the other anthill which was not in the waterlogged area and the chances of the anthill getting immersed in water was next to nothing. When the next rains would come, the waterlogged anthill would get completely immersed in water and hardly few ants would survive. Feeling even more proud of himself, ant A conveyed this idea to the caste minister who updated the details and info about the ants who met the queen. The idea was readily accepted by the caste minister. All the lesser proud ants were circled and thrown into the waterlogged anthill. The lesser proud ants could only hope for a severe drought as this would be the lone way in which all ants could survive. When the monsoons arrived, it flooded like never before. None of the ants in the waterlogged anthill survived.
Moral of the story: Life is unfair.
The story is about two ants, A and B. A was more important because he had met the queen thrice whereas B had met her once. The more you met the queen, the more your ego would get the boost. So the ants which regularly met the queen thought too much of themselves. They could easily identify the ones who were less important than themselves and the identification factor was pride. If they met or touched someone from the lower castes they would spit at them. This would further inflate their ego whereas the spitted ones would get more deflated. Now A was sick of coming in contact with B regularly. Even though spitting at B made him feel good about himself, the touch itself disgusted him. So he came up with an idea of segregating all the ants which met the queen once or less and placing them in the anthill that was in a waterlogged area. Thus the ants which considered themselves superior would live in the other anthill which was not in the waterlogged area and the chances of the anthill getting immersed in water was next to nothing. When the next rains would come, the waterlogged anthill would get completely immersed in water and hardly few ants would survive. Feeling even more proud of himself, ant A conveyed this idea to the caste minister who updated the details and info about the ants who met the queen. The idea was readily accepted by the caste minister. All the lesser proud ants were circled and thrown into the waterlogged anthill. The lesser proud ants could only hope for a severe drought as this would be the lone way in which all ants could survive. When the monsoons arrived, it flooded like never before. None of the ants in the waterlogged anthill survived.
Moral of the story: Life is unfair.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Rhyme till its no longer a crime
I wanted all things
To seem to make some sense,
So we all could be happy, yes,
Instead of tense.
And I made up lies
So that they all fit nice,
And I made this sad world
A par-a-dise
A Bokonon Calypso.
To seem to make some sense,
So we all could be happy, yes,
Instead of tense.
And I made up lies
So that they all fit nice,
And I made this sad world
A par-a-dise
A Bokonon Calypso.
SAB Titled
John was so extremely ordinary that he was "extra"-ordinary. But underneath the guise of overordinariness there was one talent hidden from all. He could judge people's neuroses and delusions with pinpoint accuracy. He had met thousands of people and all of them over the age of 12 had some kind of neurosis. As soon as you reached teenage it seemed you become neurotic. Judging people's neurosis became his favourite hobby. He even collected the zaniest and the craziest of neurosis that he could find. He was always on the lookout for collectibles. The waitress who just served him coffee believed that her son was a reincarnation of Jesus and one day she would be made the chosen one to her son, the messenger of God, the Messiah. John wondered whether this particular neurosis could be a collectible. It was interesting, but on the other hand, it was too common as well to be one. But what the heck. The neurosis made the waitress feel special, otherwise she would have killed herself years ago.
Inspite of his ability to judge the neurosis of others, he could never judge himself. He knew he was neurotic. More so than the average neurotic individual. But what exactly he was neurotic about had somehow eluded him. He could not look inwards. No matter how much he tried. Probably the power lies in my eyes, John wondered. "Probably I need to see people to discern their neuroses". This insight made him immediately find the nearest mirror and then proceeded to look deeply into his own eyes. He desperately wanted to know his own neurosis and gazing deeply into his own eyes seemed to be doing the trick. He was excited and hesitant at the same time to finally discover what he was searching for his whole lifetime. He was going to give himself the taste of his own medicine. And then,finally, truth dawned on him and he discovered his own neurosis. It was something that he had never imagined and it could not have been worse. The truth was that he was deluding himself all along and he never could judge other people's neuroses. It was all a figment of his own imagination. He was as ordinary as ordinary could be.
Inspite of his ability to judge the neurosis of others, he could never judge himself. He knew he was neurotic. More so than the average neurotic individual. But what exactly he was neurotic about had somehow eluded him. He could not look inwards. No matter how much he tried. Probably the power lies in my eyes, John wondered. "Probably I need to see people to discern their neuroses". This insight made him immediately find the nearest mirror and then proceeded to look deeply into his own eyes. He desperately wanted to know his own neurosis and gazing deeply into his own eyes seemed to be doing the trick. He was excited and hesitant at the same time to finally discover what he was searching for his whole lifetime. He was going to give himself the taste of his own medicine. And then,finally, truth dawned on him and he discovered his own neurosis. It was something that he had never imagined and it could not have been worse. The truth was that he was deluding himself all along and he never could judge other people's neuroses. It was all a figment of his own imagination. He was as ordinary as ordinary could be.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Ram Mohan Roy ( 28.01.07 )
He looked up at the warden and said nothing. He said nothing because he had nothing to say. Infact he could not remember the last time he had said something. For him, everything ceased to exist. His last hope had also gone. His only route to escape.
He had wanted to kill himself by wringing his own neck with the bedsheet, but the usually inefficient warden, Mr. Roy, was awake that night. He had meant to be silent that night but a groan had escaped from his throat and this the warden had heard. He could not even die in peace. After that incident, his bedsheet and pillow were taken away and he had to sleep on hard ground. His misery knew no end.
His name was Ram. He was an ordinary guy living an ordinary life. He was an unusually silent person. He talked only to reply and he talked in monosyllables. He had made only one good friend in his life. His friend was Mohan. They both worked as assistant accountants and earned just enough to keep their stomachs filled.
Ram could still remember that fateful night. Inspite of all his efforts to forget, the incident seemed to have been etched in his memory. After another monotonous and dreary day at the office, he had set out to go to Mohan`s home. He rang the bell but no one answered. He pushed the entrance door and it turned out to be unlocked. Inside, he saw his friend lying on the floor, stabbed on his chest. The sight of so much blood unhinged him for a moment but after regaining his senses he rushed to take out the knife from his friend`s chest. This proved to be a mistake, as his fingerprints in the knife would later sentence him to a life in jail. The knife stab had done enough damage on Mohan, he was dead. Ram`s next reaction was to call the police and inform them of the stabbing. After that, he left for his home and as soon as he reached his home, he collapsed on his bed.
It took a month for the city police to trace Ram. The investigating officer was keen to prove his intelligence and worth. Taking Ram`s fingerprints as conclusive proof, he piled up enough evidence to convict Ram of murder of his friend Mohan.
The judiciary was quickly convinced of Ram`s guilt. It took the judge only 3 years to decide that Ram was indeed a murderer. After listening to the public prosecutor about the case, even Ram was unsure about his innocence. It seemed to him that whoever was a better speaker between the defense lawyer and the prosecutor would get the result in his favour. The public prosecutor turned out to be a smooth orator and Ram got a life term. After witnessing this farce called justice, Ram suggested to the judge to punish him with the death penalty instead of the life term. This further confirmed Ram`s guilt in the eyes of all.
In jail, Ram was gifted a special cell all to himself where he could live in solitude. He owed this luxury to the fact that he was a dangerous murderer. In the beginning, he would tell that he was innocent to the only person in his vicinity, the Warden. The Warden would do nothing but nod his head. Eventually even those words faded away and ram stopped speaking at all.
17 years later, it was time for the Warden to retire. In these years he had not failed to notice the agony in Ram`s eyes. Never for a moment had he believed that Ram was a murderer. The Warden was basically a good man. In a gush of sympathy for Ram, he asked Ram whether he could do something for him. Ram wanted nothing but to end the never ending misery and torment that his life had become. Ram asked the Warden to lend him a blade. The Warden instantly understood the implication of the words, yet he agreed for he was a good man. Ram took his life the same day and finally gained the freedom that he was longing for.
The next day, the Warden received a notice stating that prisoner Ram was to be released and his life imprisonment term was to be reduced considering his good and peaceful behaviour.
He had wanted to kill himself by wringing his own neck with the bedsheet, but the usually inefficient warden, Mr. Roy, was awake that night. He had meant to be silent that night but a groan had escaped from his throat and this the warden had heard. He could not even die in peace. After that incident, his bedsheet and pillow were taken away and he had to sleep on hard ground. His misery knew no end.
His name was Ram. He was an ordinary guy living an ordinary life. He was an unusually silent person. He talked only to reply and he talked in monosyllables. He had made only one good friend in his life. His friend was Mohan. They both worked as assistant accountants and earned just enough to keep their stomachs filled.
Ram could still remember that fateful night. Inspite of all his efforts to forget, the incident seemed to have been etched in his memory. After another monotonous and dreary day at the office, he had set out to go to Mohan`s home. He rang the bell but no one answered. He pushed the entrance door and it turned out to be unlocked. Inside, he saw his friend lying on the floor, stabbed on his chest. The sight of so much blood unhinged him for a moment but after regaining his senses he rushed to take out the knife from his friend`s chest. This proved to be a mistake, as his fingerprints in the knife would later sentence him to a life in jail. The knife stab had done enough damage on Mohan, he was dead. Ram`s next reaction was to call the police and inform them of the stabbing. After that, he left for his home and as soon as he reached his home, he collapsed on his bed.
It took a month for the city police to trace Ram. The investigating officer was keen to prove his intelligence and worth. Taking Ram`s fingerprints as conclusive proof, he piled up enough evidence to convict Ram of murder of his friend Mohan.
The judiciary was quickly convinced of Ram`s guilt. It took the judge only 3 years to decide that Ram was indeed a murderer. After listening to the public prosecutor about the case, even Ram was unsure about his innocence. It seemed to him that whoever was a better speaker between the defense lawyer and the prosecutor would get the result in his favour. The public prosecutor turned out to be a smooth orator and Ram got a life term. After witnessing this farce called justice, Ram suggested to the judge to punish him with the death penalty instead of the life term. This further confirmed Ram`s guilt in the eyes of all.
In jail, Ram was gifted a special cell all to himself where he could live in solitude. He owed this luxury to the fact that he was a dangerous murderer. In the beginning, he would tell that he was innocent to the only person in his vicinity, the Warden. The Warden would do nothing but nod his head. Eventually even those words faded away and ram stopped speaking at all.
17 years later, it was time for the Warden to retire. In these years he had not failed to notice the agony in Ram`s eyes. Never for a moment had he believed that Ram was a murderer. The Warden was basically a good man. In a gush of sympathy for Ram, he asked Ram whether he could do something for him. Ram wanted nothing but to end the never ending misery and torment that his life had become. Ram asked the Warden to lend him a blade. The Warden instantly understood the implication of the words, yet he agreed for he was a good man. Ram took his life the same day and finally gained the freedom that he was longing for.
The next day, the Warden received a notice stating that prisoner Ram was to be released and his life imprisonment term was to be reduced considering his good and peaceful behaviour.
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