• The Hero

    A small inconspicuous building in a remote island somewhere in south east asia. that was where he was, with a secret burning deep inside… he had flown here in his private jet,to commemmorate the birth anniversary of the man to whom he owed his current status… without that man, he would have been living a small life, in a small island.. not just him, every kid on the island his age..
    the man, who had literally crash landed into their life ages ago, the only survivor of a plane crash.. though he had been very young, he still remembered how they had brought him to the village..he lay in a semi comatose state for nearly 2 years, forever rambling incoherently, in a language the island people didnt know… sometimes he sat bolt upright, eyes shining with a fire that commanded respect and awe….. the fisherman community of the small island tended to him for all the two years…he remembered the day in august, late 1940s, when the man regained full consciousness.. the first thing he asked was where he was, and seemed to understand the location from the rough drawings that the fisherman drew… he also realised that his co-travellers were dead.. however, he managed to confuse all those who asked him who he was..in spite of his condition, and the fact that he was obligated to the village folk, there was an authority in his tone…
    the next thing he wanted was an english newspaper…the fishermen somehow managed to get the newspaper from the town in the next village… he first got to know about the time period he was unconscious for, from the newspaper date.. it quite obviously shocked him, but there was another news in the newspaper that seemed to shock and delight him simultaneously….he asked the fishermen to get all the newspapers and magazines of the last two years they could get.. after he read them, he cried for a long time, and his tears seemed to have quenched something in him, for after that, the fire rarely glowed in his eyes…
    he didnt answer questions about his origin, and to all those who asked who he was, he claimed that he had forgotten.. he stated that the village was going to be his home.. he started a school, brought books from the nearby towns, and taught all the village children – basic englishand maths and the concepts of freedom and liberty, and how to fight against all forms ofoppression…. the man soon became the village’s hero and when he talked about freedom, the fire in the eyes were briefly back…
    He was one of the many kids the man taught… he later went to college and reached a positionin life, few from his village could even dream of… and when he had come back to convey his gratiude, he came to know the man had died… a man who had gifted a future to many.. a man without a past….that was exactly what he wanted to find out…. and after decades of search, he did, and that was the secret… in a land far away, they had made a movie about his village’s hero… it was called ‘Bose – the forgotten hero’…
    until next time, thank you mr.benegal, for reminding us what we have ungratefully forgotten..

  • Stairway to Heaven

    He was happy, he was going to die… for a long time now, he had been bed ridden, unable to do anything without someone else’s help… he didnt want to be in this state, relying on others for everything, but he didnt have a choice…the past few days, his condition had worsened.. the doctors said he didnt have much time left, but he hardly believed them, they had been saying that for ages now…
    he had come to the conclusion that he was going to die, based on his instinct…but his happiness was not only because he would finally be free of this disgusting existence, but at the thought of reuniting with his friends and relatives, who had died before him… though no one could ever be sure of what lay beyond death, he had a pretty old fashioned notion of what it could be… heaven, where it would be, well, like heaven, with all the angels and Him, of course… and all his friends, and everything good.. he was sure it would be like all the descriptions of paradise ever told… he would sit and talk forever with his friends, crack jokes… he was looking forward to all of it..
    and he died…. and just like all the stories, he walked into the light, and was met at the gates of heaven by a very friendly person, who after several questions and tons of jokes on the people who generally landed up there, and reference checks from a big fat book, concluded that he had indeed been a nice person, and deserved a place in heaven….and with a ‘welcome to heaven’, the gates of heaven were opened to him…
    and soon as he crossed the gates, he felt a wave passing over his mind, and all his memories slipping away…as soon as the wave passed, he realised that he no longer knew who he was….
    until next time, maybe even memories arent forever….
    (idea courtesy: the wife)

  • Work is Worship??

    “Garden City Unguarded!!” screamed the headline, and he couldn’t help but agree. in the past few days, the crime rate in the city was reaching alarming proportions. from common thieves to rapists to murderers , the city had become a haven for miscreants of all sorts… and the public and the media were raising a hue and cry over it, and rightly so…as he looked at the starry sky outside, the high rise buildings and the teeming nightlife, he knew why the city was being targeted for all the crimes – the sheer money that was so obviously and garishly displayed, and the huge percentage of non locals who had made this city their home… and because of that, travelling in the city after dark had become a very risky business…
    he looked at his co-passengers in the bus, his colleagues, all of them belonging to the city, because his organisation believed in employing only the locals, giving them a chance to make money and realise their dreams… the founders of the organisation were veterans in their respective functional areas and all the employees were complete professionals, well trained and devoted to their job..
    he felt a surge of pride, his organisation did set high standards…and he could honestly say that they were doing path breaking stuff… like the cliche went, they were not doing different things, but were indeed doing them differently…
    his organisation was literally giving the software companies and the call centers a run for their money…he remembered that he was initially skeptical about joining, especially the late working hours and night shifts, but after knowing about the vision, work culture etc, he was convinced.. and now the organisation was taking care of the employees’ transportation too, a nice gesture to say they cared…
    as he watched different people getting down, he realised he was himself only a few minutes away from his stop… he was slightly apprehensive today because of the news about the increasing crime rate.. he wondered if the cops were doing something about it… he hoped not, for that would make his and his colleagues’ work slightly difficult….
    until next time, it helps to be organised…

  • Alternate Lives

    He sat outside the court building, scanning the newspaper, and keeping an eye out for potential clients..” India win series”, the massive headline on the sports page read, but he dismissed it with a contemptuous smile… he was no longer interested… he still remembered the times when cricket was his life, but that was a long time ago… these days, he sat outside the courthouse and helped people draft appeals, for a nominal fee. that was how he made a living. on weekends he went fishing, that was something he was good at since the old cricket days…
    he wondered how his friends were doing these days, the old gang… he was still in touch with at least 4 of them. one was a visa consultant these days, waiting outside embassies in mumbai and helping people get the visa power… and having showdowns with underworld gangs while at it…
    another was a bouncer at a popular discotheque in bangalore.. he was much in demand, because it was said that nothing could get past him, he was like a wall, and even the kids who couldnt get past him agreed that he was always technically correct…
    the third guy was a mess. he had a problem with sticking on to any job. he was forever looking for some ‘doosra’ thing to do, and getting into trouble with officials, and girlfriends…
    but the guy who was most successful was the telephone booth operator turned movie star.. he had initially got a phone because he used to regularly get calls from his mom, and since the phone was anyway available, he decided to make some money with it.. and since he was forever asking people “sir ji, mera chance”, he finally landed a movie role, and became a superstar, of course, with blessings from his mom…
    his thoughts were interrupted rudely by a client who was screaming at him, coz the appeal he had drafted had been turned down by the court.. some things never changed..
    but life was a different ball game from cricket..once upon a time, he, along with the visa consultant and the movie star were the three S’s, without whom the Indian cricket team couldnt exist. Between them and the ‘doosra’ guy they had taken indian cricket to its peak, but it was good only as long as it lasted…
    until next time, howzzat??

  • Dance of Life

    ‘Cut’, yelled the choreographer, she winced at what she knew was about to come…. an avalanche of abuse and admonition from the choreographer… once upon a time, she was the most dependable of the ‘extra artists’, the one who would not take a step wrong…. she knew she still was getting it right, but things were different after she had strongly resisted the choreographer’s advances..
    he hadpromised her a prominent role in the movie he was about to make… but like she told him, if she had wanted that route to stardom, she would have done it long ago, instead of slogging out as an extra…a long time ago, she had come to this city of dreams to make it big in bollywood, along with her friend…
    but somewhere, she had missed the bus to stardom, so had her friend..and though she had become an extra, her friend had stated that she would go to a studio only as a star… and to make ends meet, she was now dancing at one of the big dance bars..
    these days, she felt envious of her friend… her friend danced in front of a crowd, who were extremely appreciative of her performances,maybe bordering on being lewd, but unlike choreographers and producers, kept their hands to themselves.. and literally showered money on her..
    she wondered who was better off -she or her friend.. while her friend danced in skimpy clothes in front of a crowd, that was at most a few dozens of people, she danced in skimpy clothes (albeit in the background)in screens that were viewed by millions of people..
    she decided that she would talk to her friend today, about getting work for her also in the place she worked in.. she didnt think it would be a problem, the dance bars always needed more girls..and so, she gave it right back to the choreographer, abused him, and spilled out his antics to everyone in hearing distance… when she was sure that he had lost tremendous face in front of everyone, she slapped him, a parting gift, she told him…
    back in the room, she waited for her friend to return, it would be morning, but she decided to wait up… as soon as her friend walked in, she told her friend that she needed a job…
    “so do i”, said her friend…
    “what do you mean?”, she asked, with a sick feeling..
    “haven’t you read the papers? they are planning to close all the dance bars. i was hoping you could speak to your choreographer..”
    until next time, sometimes getting the steps right aint enough..