A lot has been happening in my end of the world although I can’t safely say that I have been chronicling it all between late stays at the lab and playing musical rooms during my internship. Nevertheless, I am a strong believer that nocturnal vigilance while a certain I’m-a-cranky-baby-i-need-you-attention-now experiment’s lusty beeps that make you wanna take a sledgehammer to it, could be turned into productive bitch-biting session against all that is wrong with the world and all that could be right.
1. I’m Ogay, you okay? – Last month came as a landmark victory for all the homo/bi/trans sexuals in India, when the Delhi HC decided to amend article 377, making being gay okay! While all the newspapers across the nation churned full front page pictures of homos playing tonsil hockey like there were no tomorrow, the rest of the laity lapped up sob-stories of Celina Jetly’s homo boy-frand and trans make up man (err person?). Closet gays all across the world of fashion and sundry came out to exclaim their eternal love in the open, as your mummy-papa curled up their noses in distaste. During all of this the political parties cry ‘not fair!’ and Lalu Prasad issues sound bytes about how homosexuality “isn’t a part of our culture” and “we must not ape the western countries”, much unaware that Maharajahs getting blow-jobs from boy-servants is a well chronicled fact (or so D tells me , citations needed of course) while a certain eye-flinching caricature of a god man claims that these “diseased” people need to do pranayam to get better (someone please fix that other eye for him, please!). Amidst all of this you are left wondering how vote-bank politics and media footage vultures won’t leave this one million-strong community alone, being hell-bent on criminalizing them for vested interests while hardly knowing much about it at all. I say Peace Ahoy! We could very much do without the clamor against once taking a step towards emancipation of the wronged. If you’re so interested try badgering the government as to why that 26/11 asshole still languishes in AC jails when he should’ve been dispensed with long ago. That might get you more mileage. So thanks, but no thanks.
2. Rape raps- This summer sure has been a bizarre one. You wouldn’t normally get up one morning reading about rape charges against a once-there-now-where? Actor by none other than his very own underage maid! While you’re still dismissing it as an attention stunt, there is news of teary biwis holding press conferences in support and oily public prosecutors getting their 15 seconds of news feed, major news channels interrupt the prime minister’s foreign visit story with “Breaking News” of how the DNA samples of the actor and the swatches from the maid matched! Oh boy, you grumble, of all the silicon-ous women he could have slept with he chose to have “consensual” sex with his bai! Ugh! Dude couldn’t have expected you to make better career choices, but maybe a better choice of bedmates. Ew. Whatever.
3. Fake-book- Rants and raves against Face-book wouldn’t be enough. I’m sure the day wouldn’t be far when one of us decides to sue them for “extreme mental harassment”. Garbage can full of “news” each day on your home page about which fruit/drink/song/condom flavour/previous life nationality represents the various turds you happen to know along the passage of life. Ten to the power a couple million requests to join “mafia wars”, “be my pet” (sounds so predatory), and whatnot while your “friends” poke and throw at each other vampires, baboons, Sheila Dikshit and SS Umare.
In a day and age, when Facebook rules your entire social life and dictates What “type of fungus will thrive in your pubes/ your nasal booger says about you/psychopathic tendencies your child will inherit from you?” and splashes intimate details of your life all over on your ex-lover’s, bosses’, round the corner ganne-wala’s , sexually abusive uncle’s, former-arsonist-now-friend’s walls, I most vehemently implore you to quit quizzing and get a life to further marital harmony, the future of our children,world health, fight against poverty, AIDS, commercialism, global warming , recession etc. Whatever it takes. Thank you.
4. Well the last one doesn’t involve haranguing at all, but much about felicitating Fedex’s reinstatement as the undisputed Lord of all that he surveyed and A-Rod’s performance at the W-finals. Amidst chocolate cravings and down-pour escapings, you felt so lucky to have bustled in to a coffee boutique and have caught the match :D. As a certain Mr. Chops said to me later that evening, “Nothing beats experiencing history live”, I couldn’t agree with him more.
To Roger, may your tribe of gleaming silverware thrive and to you Andy I can only quote Captain Obvious and say "better luck next time".
As they say that no blog is complete without its entry full of complaints and untamed cribs (even if they don’t, I just did), and so this is mine. In the end to quote Oscar Wilde, “This is kick ass”. Have a nice day.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Hum Drum
Poet in a one man band
I’m a poet in a one man band,
I sing my rhymes all along the Strand,
With my fedora and guitar I play on the way,
They tell me I’m not as bad as Phoebe Buffay,
Don’t scare me with wars and soaring rates,
I tell ya I don’t need no band mates,
When the sun is bright and tune not trite,
I know I’ll get that perfect song so right,
When they get sick of the noise and balderdash,
All the junk they play at the college bash,
That’s when they come running to the bard,
And ask me to sing a limerick not so hard,
I’m just a poet in a one man band,
I sing my whims all across the land,
With my fedora and guitar I play on the way,
They clap to my songs and dance and sway,
I’m no Avril Lavigne with videos on mtv,
Nor am I struggling to get a break hopefully,
I just sit on my corner stone away from dog pee,
Singing my songs from last night’s binging spree,
When a londoner tosses me a pence,
I say sir please take this back, no offense,
I don’t play for the money or the fame,
Just as free booting off you ain’t my aim,
Coz I’m a poet in a one man band,
Don’t sell my music to you packaged or canned,
With my fedora and guitar I play on the way,
Entertaining you with my poems night and day…
McJack's McMurder
Rife speculation has spread as to what was the cause of the death of the greatest pop singer in the history of our times; a SHOCKING REVELATION has finally come forward! Michael Jackson’s Body guard who worked with him for 17 years from 86 to 2003 has finally stepped up to tell the world the REAL TRUTH about the life and death of the beleaugured star. A truth so stunning that it leaves you breathless and filled with anger at the injustice of it all. Finally disclosed and brought forward to the public, because we all deserve to know the OTHER SIDE OF MICHAEL JACKSON’S LIFE.
Jackson’s former body guard who spent most of his day at close quarters with the entertainer describes him as “a very quiet and docile person” in reality. Even though Michael was generally nice to his personal staff, there were numerous odd incidents that occurred frequently. Jackson’s former employee is on record saying that the star was often reported missing from his washroom in his Neverland estate house. “He would go in for hours and not come out. We would panic and break open the door to his bathroom only to find him missing.” Endless searches in the midst of the night would find the superstar in deserted parts of the grounds, the gazebo and once even on the roof. “He was stripped naked with strange flourescent tattoos glowing all over his body. We checked his heart beat it was barely there, and a huge sooty black ring surrounded his body.” These sojourns would mostly take place on new moon nights.
Apparently, these instances are surprisingly similar to reported incidents of people who are known to have had contact with the extra-terrestrial. Some of the examples here are of perhaps the most influential people on the planet in their times. The list is considerably long comprising of historical figures like Rasputin and King Henry the VII, and pioneers of pop culture like Kevin (of Backstreet Boys fame), Jimi Hendrix, and Reese Witherspoon. (The Queen is also rumored to be a part of this elite list).Most persons who claim to have ever witnessed or been in communication with the outlandish say that a heart beat of almost 10 beats per minute was often experienced as the body, and more importantly, the brain go in to deep repose after the meeting. The tattoos although have so far been inexplicable.
So does that mean our very own Wacko-Jacko was in correspondence with the galactic-intelligence? While such deduction would seem absurd, but now a shocking new video has come forward with rare backstage footage of the King of pop’s History concert held in Denver. The grainy video, the link to which shall soon be updated, shows fan Zack Spud, 21 then, sneak past the body guards and shoot the star in his dressing room from a slightly open door. Jackson is seen in this footage lying down on the floor convulsing and wrinkled with the same illuminating imprints and a black ring, while the fish in the near by tank seem to float lifelessly. “The reason why I never came forward with this was because the guard found me eventually and smashed my camera. Only very recently I could recover the print, and now after his death it seems only right that people should know about this.”
Martin Bashir, who is well known to have documented Jackson’s life, says that he always felt that “there was something not right with Michael; I would often find his finger nails full of soot, when he would at an average wash his hands 30 times in a day! Back then I was told about this being his compulsive disorder, but it never explained the soot.” When asked if he had ever been with the star on a new moon night? He said, “I was categorically refused dates on some days of the month even when Michael would be doing nothing but staying at home.” Was this because the star did not want anyone to see him in that condition, especially a snooping scribe? Michael knew that if Bashir included this in his documentary it would a catastrophe, so he conveniently chose dates around the new moon night to avoid him. Sometimes he would give an excuse, others he chose to blatantly refuse any reason.
Eccentricities of the legend have been well recorded. His battle with child pornography, cases of molestation and a debt running into millions have all been well known but nothing has ever held as much fascination or controversy as his apparent color change and subsequent facial surgeries. Jackson was diagnosed with vitiligo in the mid 80s, but all of us know that the disease affects the skin in patches of white. But Jackson on the other hand never exhibited it, his skin lightened over time, but smoothly. “He never showed any patchiness or disfigurement. But that was only because his skin lightened artificially, by killing the melanin producing cells in his body.”Says his former body guard. There were always rumors about this doing the rounds even then, but what came as more of astonishment was why Jackson did it. “Many people thought he was doing it because he was ashamed of his black skin. But when I learned the truth it shocked me to my core. It was apparently a side effect of a secret project he was working on with the US government.”
Sources with access to the secret government archives indeed confirm the existence of a black project called Project Firefly. Founded in 1986 the project was funded with the view of communication between the US govt. agencies and extra-terrestrial intelligence. The US government in 1980, after the success of the hit single “Thriller”, contacted Jackson on suspicion that he was the last of a Somalian tribe. This tribe now long vanished, was believed to have supernatural powers to contact the Outer –life forms. While his siblings deny it, it is only because they are under oath to the government. Apparently the Jackson family is given a blanket by the homeland security of category Q, which is only reserved for the Top Secret. Why is the Jackson family provided with Top Secret security? Category Q security for the family of a star, whose fame was nothing but a lore of a bygone era? What threats were potent enough to trigger the government into giving the family such a comprehensive cover?
All the answers lie in the annals of restricted archives of the US govt. On being hunted down, a former agent under this project agreed to shed some light on project Firefly. “Back in the early 80s, of what was a confusing time for the Cold War countries; efforts were already being made to contact the extra-terrestrial, l, to get ahead of the Soviet, with no significant success. Then one day someone found about this Somalian tribe and how the Jackson family was remotely but definitely a part of them. But According to the legend only a male member born on a new moon night would be able to evoke any response from the ‘others’. Which is when enquiries were made into the entire clan and much to everyone’s surprise Michael fit the bill perfectly. Later we also found out how Michael was already practicing it without anyone’s notice.” Former CIA director William Casey’s notice was brought to this but it took nearly 3 more years for clearance and funding of Project Firefly. Once MJ was convinced to be a part of this project, immediately a new spate of experiments was started in a secret location west of Albuquerque, New Mexico. Often side effects of these experiments would include exposure to chemicals and intense radiation. “They had not been able to control Michael’s exposure to the radiation. It was only later that they discovered that his skin cell’s had mutated under the effect. And his cells themselves started killing the melanin.” To the world it was announced that the icon had been diagnosed with vitiligo, but only the govt knew the truth. “It was a stressful time for everyone. Michael was enraged and had wanted to leave the project. But somehow he was convinced not to abandon.” He did not, but the project definitely slowed down.
In the years that followed, Michael dealt with his “disease” in full public spectacle and went on to produce smash hits one after the other. In the year of 1993, Jackson was accused of sexual abuse by Evan Chandler on behalf of his son, Jordan Chandler, 13. Evan is on record saying to the media "If I go through with this, I win big-time. There's no way I lose. I will get everything I want and they will be destroyed forever...Michael's career will be over" The CIA panicked about this charge against the star and went on to make rectifications with fake searches of his Neverland ranch, which included a “strip search” that became crucial validation in the court, even forcing sister La Toya Jackson to retract comments about his paedophilia. Finally the matter was resolved out of court with Jackson paying $22 Million to Chandler.
By the end of the 90s Jackson’s career was flagging. He had not produced a new album in 5 years. Finally in 2001 his new album, Invincible was launched only to be panned by critics and shot down by fans. It was a message for the King that his career was not moving anywhere. Mounting debts, and new charges against him, finally forced the star to return to project Firefly. Most associates of Jackson admit that the Entertainer’s life since the millennium has been mostly unknown to them as to the general public.
Once Michael joined the project Firefly, operation went on with new vigor. In 2002, Jackson’s third child, Prince Michael II was born. The mother of the child was not made known to the world. Former wife Debbie refused to acknowledge the child as her’s and the world was left in askance as to who the real mother was. A former Scientist who was involved in most of the experiments finally revealed that Prince Michael II actually “had no mother. In reality his father only was his mother. We had not lied to the world.” Meaning that Prince II was nothing but a clone of Jackson himself. “There were general worries that Michael’s declining health would stop all future operations of the project, so a directive was given to replicate Michael so that the baby was born on a full moon night, retaining the abilities of his father.” Jackson’s mounting financial worries forced him to agree to this plan, and the government in return promised to keep all his legal issues and debts at bay.
Finally in 2005 driven by his personal demons and psychological traumas, Jackson broke away from the Operation, and sought haven in Bahrain and turned to seek refuge in Islam, even changing his name to Mikhail. The government retaliated by forcing him off the US soil and unleashing his creditors on him, even putting up his Neverland estate on sale.
His apparent closeness to King Hamad Khalifa and his loco disposition that loosened his tongue, strongly threatened the secrecy of this project, and made the agency very wary of the star and his state. It was not until in late 2008 when the singer, threatened the government to come in to the open about its clandestine operations in return for settling his debts and annexation of his estate.
Not believing Jackson to keep his end of the bargain, a plan was hatched to eliminate this potent threat to the agency. “Michael’s credibility was at an all time low. His threatening to reveal all was the final straw. The agency had no more use for him, since they already had Prince Michael. He was nothing but a dangerous liability.” Says a former CIA operative.
On June 25, 2009, Jackson collapsed at his rented mansion in the Los Angeles. Pending confirmation from toxicology reports, he was allegedly administered Demerol shortly before he stopped breathing. Attempts at resuscitating him by his personal physician were unsuccessful.
How the government managed to administer a lethal dosage to him is unknown. Some believe that a poison, Thrombophil, derived from a yellow weed that grows in Carribean was used to render him. It is odorless, tasteless, and colorless. It is almost immediately lethal, producing symptoms resembling those of heart disease. In small doses it can be used as a stimulant. It leaves no toxic trail behind. This poison was oft used during the days of the Cold War to eliminate targets.
What ever maybe the cause, but it would seem that the greatest musical icon of our living memories died a cold death at the hands of the govt and the agency that have long known to be masters at the game of secrecy and treachery. And while the Govt has escaped unscathed, its Pandora’s Box still untouched, a huge price was paid for it. A star, whose light faded just a few days before million of his fans were going to watch him in 50 concerts in the O2 arena. Michael, despite all of his controversies shall be remembered as the moon raker who “moonwalked” into our hearts. RIP.
Monday, July 20, 2009
RENAISSANCE MAN
Lately, though, there have been some changes. The thrill and the challenge associated with thefts seems to be fading away. People don’t just seem to care about thefts anymore. While Mr. Srivastava is nailing some student of his, you can just get in the house, pick up whatever you want and walk away, like a sale in some supermarket. While those rich college kids are boozing in the bar, you can just walk their bikes away and still not get caught. What’s the fun in that? It seems like I am not doing anything of consequence now. Is theft not fashionable as a ‘crime’ anymore? It used to be when the girls in my locality used to drool over every piece of jewellery I got them, now they are tired of it. My life seems to have suddenly lost purpose. I still stand by the egalitarian thing but if it is not exciting, it is a duty, not a passion. How can I justify my acts if I don’t make a goddamn difference anymore. The problem is that rich have gotten too rich too care about some minor thefts. There has to be some other way to do something important.
I woke up with this thought in my mind. Freshened up and got out of the room. People never recognize that I am a thief. If one is dressed well enough, he is automatically thought to belong to the middle class. If, on the other hand, one is shabbily dressed, people will think of him as some laborer or a beggar. They just don’t seem to think that I could be a thief. For them, their world is always perfect, just as they want it to be. That is called paranoia. I had a tea at a road side stall and went to the railway station to catch the local train. I sat there on the bench on the platform, waiting for the next local. A well suited man, with what seemed to be an expensive briefcase came and sat beside me. Here it was, the great leveler of our times. The bench on the platform where a thief and some rich guy shared space!! He lit a cigarette. Didn’t he know you are not supposed to smoke in a railway station? Or was he that rich?
Stranger(extending the packet to me): Do you want one?
Me: No, I don’t smoke.
Stranger(with a smile): A thief who does not smoke. You are very choosy when it comes to selecting vices my friend.
My heart almost stopped. How did he know I was a thief? Was he with the police? I looked around to check if there were any policemen. There were none.
Me: Who are you?
Stranger: Don’t worry. I have better things to do than get a petty thief like you caught.
Should I be relieved or feel insulted?
Me: I don’t get caught. I have never been caught.
Stanger: That’s because you don’t matter.
Me: How do you know I am a thief?
Stranger: That does not matter either.
Me: Who are you to insult me?
Stranger: These are facts you would better face. Your thefts, for whatever reason you do that, have stopped impacting the society. As far as I know, you consider your work to be of prime importance. I ask you, whom are you actually affecting? Look at these people. You don’t have an impact on anyone of them.
Me: Are you saying what I do is useless?
Stranger: Pretty much.
A local train stopped and went away. I could not board it. I had to deal with that moron first.
Me: What I do does have significance. I don’t steal for idiotic reasons. Don’t take me for just another thief. I am good at what I do and I consider it to be necessary
Stranger(looked directly at me): What are you, Robinhood? That’s where your line of thought goes haywire. Look at those guys.
Some men, all dressed in shirts and formal trousers hurriedly boarded a train.
Stranger: See them. How do your thefts ever concern them? What do you think they lack?
He seemed to be talking in puzzles.
Me: I don’t know.
Stranger: Rich form a very small minority, my friend. You have got to look at the larger picture.
Suddenly a train came and stopped right in front of us. Clouds seemed to be gathering around the sun. All I could think was how the sun would soon disappear and how that was a good thing or a bad one. The stranger got up to board the train.
Me: Wait. You were saying something.
Stranger: Yeah. Take my card. Call me. We will talk again. Right now I have to go.
He picked up the briefcase and started walking.
Me: What do you do?
The clouds had covered the sun now. Was it going to rain, or would lightening strike right where I stood. The stranger stopped in his way, turned back and came to me. With no remorse or fear in his eyes, he murmured.
Stranger: I murder people.
With that he was gone. I stood there with the card in my hand. All it had was a phone number. No Name. No address.
I came back to the room in the night. The day had been a nightmare. I had not been able to get my thoughts together. All I had after the day was the card that man gave me. I decided to call him in the morning.
The phone rang for sometime before he picked it up.
Stranger: Come over. The only red house on Nayak steet.
And he hung up!! So I decided to visit him.
The house was situated in probably the most crowded area in the entire locality. Still, it looked dilapidated, as if it had not been used in years. I knocked on the door. It was already open, I went in. The place looked like it was ready to crumble any moment. It smelled of rats and the only thing that signaled any human inhabitation was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter placed on a table. A voice interrupted my analysis of the place.
Stranger: You are here. Sit.
I pulled out a chair which creaked like it was loose in a hundred places. He came, lighted a cigarette and stood in front of me.
Stranger: So why are you here?
Me: You called me.
Stranger(with a wicked smile): I didn’t call you. You called me. You could have chosen not to call me but you did. May I assume that you have recognized the futility of your work and are ready to look beyond?
Me: I told you. I have fun doing what I do. I am not complaining.
Stranger: You are not. Give it some time and you will. Do you remember the people I showed you on the platform? The neatly dressed guys.
Me: Ya I do.
Stranger: The problem with your solution is that it is myopic. You have been a thief for so long now that you seem to think of the world in black and white. The rich and the poor, but what about the other guys?
Me: What other guys?
Stranger: The lost.
Me: Who?
Stranger: People who aspire to be rich and live in the fear of being poor. The guys who are neither here nor there. Those who are so messed up with the trivial that they can’t see the bigger picture. The unchallenged. The lost.
Me(a little apprehensive): So what is it that you intend?
Stranger: I try to wake them up out of their deep slumber. I try to challenge them to prove to themselves that they can still face life. Those people you saw the other day were all white collar employees. They are so consumed with the deadlines, targets and revenues of their employers that they have forgotten about more important things.
He finished the cigarette and then looked me in the eye.
Stranger: What I am saying is that you try to catch fish for people, I make them learn the art of fishing.
I remembered what he had said at the railway station about murdering people. Sure he was joking back then. I felt a sudden chill but decided to ask him anyway.
Me: How do you do all that exactly?
Stranger: Like I told you. I kill people.
The clouds were gathering. It could have rained any moment and burnt everything that existed.
Me: Is this some kind of a joke? What has murder got to do with the bright side of anything?
Stranger: It opens doors to the bright side.
He didn’t seem like a guy who would go on a killing spree. He looked like a man with a plan. What it was, however, was beyond me at that point.
Stranger: There are people who kill politicians, leaders, movie stars for no reason at all. You see, I am not interested in that sort of stuff.
Me: What do you mean?
Stranger: What I mean is you have got to ask the right questions. You see all these criminals these days, the so called criminals. They don’t excite me. What’s the point of killing someone like a politician or an actor who is so easily replaceable?
I felt darkness surrounding me. The sinister clouds swallowed the sun and the angels stopped dancing. He was almost whispering now, that’s all he needed to do.
Stranger: If you want to make an impact, you have to strike where it has the maximum effect. Kill the only teachers in a municipal school or the only guy who wants to run an old age home in the worst suburb of the city. These people, these so called nobodies are so much harder to replace than a filthy politician. Let people suffer. Let them realize the true worth of such people.
Me: How does that accomplish anything?
He came near. I could feel his breath on my nose. His eyes were still unflinching, not a trace of remorse in them.
Stranger: It is easy to fool yourself by believing that by stealing from the rich you have become this Messiah, who, by the way, wastes all this money on whores and useless fucks. You know that’s bullshit. It’s not about egalitarianism with respect to money, anymore. My vision of a perfect world is where people have to face challenges and overcome them. People are fooled into a false sense of security by giving them exactly what they need exactly when they need it. Remove the pillars of society, and you know whom I consider to be the pillars, then people have a challenge at their hands. Let them find alternatives, replacements, solutions to problems they never expect to face. Lets make them learn how to fish. And yeah, you have always wanted excitement, haven’t you? You will get it.
The last doors to fresh air had closed. He made perfect sense. For the first time, I had felt a sense of oneness, a sense of identity with someone. He was now my friend.
Me: What do we do then?
Friend: Kill Mr Srivastava for a start. So many girls in his class get banged by him to pass. As long as he is there, they know all they need to pass is get fucked. Once he is gone, the useless whores will actually have to study.
You had to give it to him. However ridiculous it may have sounded, but he had a plan. I was no longer a thief. I was going to be the man who challenged the world.
Friend: We’ll meet on Sunday. I want to be there to see you reborn.
He was there as he had promised. The first touch of a gun felt as chilling as the thought of killing someone but soon it pervaded my sense of identity. The gun was no longer a foreign object. I had been reborn and reborn with a gun. Through the opening in the wall, a shot was fired and there lay the perverted teacher, dead. The girl beside him squealed like a monkey. Was it the horror of witnessing death or the disappointment of missing a fuck? Whatever it was, she, as my friend said, now had a challenge. She would have to go back and study, prove her worth on paper and not on the bed.
This was it. Take away the luxury of mindless dependence and people lost it. It was the system that ran their lives. Take away the government and these civilized people won’t know where to get their next meal from. This culture of short-sightedness, dependence and taking everything for granted had to be removed. In the days to come, we killed another school teacher, the guy who ran the only medical shop in the whole locality and many more. Find more teachers, learn how to get medicines in case the only guy you know in the field of medicine dies. Cmon, grow up. The sun had set. The vampires were out in the open. Chaos pervaded the city. The sudden deaths had made front page news. Finally there was a recognition of the threat that faced the masses. As the blood escaped the dead bodies, we basked in the glory of our accomplishments.
Friend: Look at all that stupid talk they do. Amidst all this, people are still happy to appear on TV and talk nonsense. It would take sometime to get them working my friend.
Me(with a mock smile): Losers. All they can do is jump up and down in front of the camera. Most of them will go back and hump their wives like nothing ever happened. They need to learn a lesson. They need to wake up.
Friend: Exactly. They seem to have come out of their shells, atleast. That’s some progress. And that’s why our next mission is going to be a big one.
Me: What’s the next mission?
Friend: Remember the white collar guys I showed you. It is time to shatter their dream world. Our forefathers conceived a country full of self dependent people who would create the future of a nation with their enterprise and skill. That dream is long lost, what we have are thousands of young people wasting away their lives in 4x8 cubicles. These assholes have traded their lives for a few thousand and air conditioned rooms. They go through their lives unchallenged, happy with being slaves to employers who don’t even know their first names.
What was he hinting at? I didn’t know. But in him, I trusted.
Friend: Listen up carefully. This time we strike at the heart of this industry which has turned an entire generation into mindless, useless zombies. We blow up the headquarters of DevDomain. The biggest IT organization in the country.
The sun had died and the clouds poured acid. The burning was about to start. A cigarette was lit.
Friend: It’s the start of a revolution. We are going be the renaissance men.
I knew he must have a plan. He always did. Whatever it was, this was going to be our ultimate contribution to mankind. I stepped out of his house and walked into the rain, waiting for the acid to hit me.
Two days passed and it was time for execution. I went to his house. The red house on Nayak street. There seemed to be people working on it. They were plastering the walls and cleaning up the place. I asked them what the matter was and one replied that it was going to be converted into a photo studio. How was it possible? How can they convert someone’s home into a photo studio?
I called him on his number. He didn’t pick up. What the hell was going on? I started going back to my room. I entered a quiet alley and there he was, standing right in the front of me.
Me: What the hell is going on man? Do you know what they are doing to your house?
Friend: They are working on it and it’s not my house.
Me: What?
Friend: I meet you here today to inform you of a recent development.
Me: What is that?
He reached into his pocket and took and took out a cigarette from the pack.
Friend: We set out to challenge people. We have done that. We have given the people enough to act upon recently. In the process, you have outlived your utility.
Me: What does that mean? Hey, are you kidding with me? We were going to..
Friend(cutting me off): We already did that. Don’t you remember? Yesterday night, we sneaked into the underground car parking and planted the bombs. The lousy security guards were no threat at all. We had fun, don’t you remember?
I was getting scared now. When did that happen? I didn’t remember doing any such thing. I reached for the gun and instead got hold of a cigarette packet.
Friend: You smoke too much.
Who was he? What was happening? Cigarettes? I didn’t smoke. How did it get there? He was not a friend. He was a fiend.
Me: What is this? What the fuck is going on?
Fiend: I’ll explain everything. You wanted to do something challenging. Didn’t you? Weren’t you bored of stealing? Didn’t you want to have a greater impact on everything? You asked for it, you got it.
Me: Wh..What?
Fiend: I was everything you thought you were lacking. You created me to do what you thought was more challenging. You just disguised it in the form of social service and employed me to help you along.
Me: This is bullshit. This can’t be true.
The acid drops began to fall. I searched for it again and this time got hold of the gun.
Fiend(smiling): Shoot me.
I looked at him and his eyes still had the sparkle and confidence which was so characteristic of him.
Fiend: Shoot me because anyways I am going to shoot you. You have played your part. You have to die because if you get caught, everything would appear a sham and people would go back to what they were. These things can’t have a face, because if they do, they lose the credibility and purpose.
I shot at him instantly. An old man passing through the alley dropped to the ground in the distance.
Me: O Shit. O Shit!! What the fuck is this!!!
Fiend: You know it. Accept it.
He had the pistol.
Fiend: Run.
And I ran harder than I ever had. Tears welled up in my eyes. Tears of horror. I ran and ran and ran and reached a plateau, a high rise kind of a place. You could see the whole city from there. And there it was, the headquarter of DevDomain shining in the horizon. I hoped what he had said was not true. That nothing was going to happen. He reappeared by my side.
Fiend: Enjoying your last work?
I felt a chill as I hoped nothing would happen.
Fiend: One more minute to go.
Every other sound faded away. I could only hear my heartbeat. A minute passed by. Nothing happened. I looked at him. He looked disgusted.
Fiend: What the …Why didn’t it go off? What the fuck !!
I kept staring at him and realized what I had been doing. What I felt was not remorse or any feeling of guilt. It didn’t feel wrong. Nothing. I just didn’t want to do it any more.
Fiend: We will do it again. Crap!! You and me.
The rain had to stop. I was not in a position to make a judgment, but it had gotten lonely.
Me: No, we won’t.
And I plunged into the depths from the plateau. The last thing I saw was the sun escaping the cover of the clouds.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
fzeee..
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
THE SOHRAB-SULTAN CASE
THE COURT
Judge: Why did you do it Sohrab?
The silence of the courtroom felt piercing. He didn't feel like answering at all. All he wanted to do was get out of there. The judge asked again.
Judge: Why did you become a part of this horrible incident. You know you could have acted wisely.
Sohrab: Because ….
THE BOND
The bike raced through the densely crowded streets. It had been modified to look 'sexy and cool' as he described it. On both sides it had a sticker which said "Death Racer". But this was no fun ride. His heart pounded in his chest as he hurriedly covered the distance to the hospital. Sohrab's accident had been described as 'serious'. He didn't know what exactly the doctor had implied on the phone when he had said that no movement would be possible in Sohrab's right arm. Or may be he did understand it but it was just too horrifying to believe. He cursed himself as he slowed down to let a truck pass. He felt a pang of guilt as he was supposed to reach the hospital as quickly as he could. "How could I care for my own safety at a moment like this", he thought to himself. Of course he had to slow down. Sohrab was in the hospital as a result of an accident and if he hurried and got hit himself, it would not help the situation. He could not, or well, he should not speed. He had to live with this annoying fact for the moment. He reached the hospital and ran to the reception.
Sultan: Which room is Sohrab Menon in?
Receptionist: The fair complexioned boy who had a bike accident?
Sultan: Yes.
Receptionist: Room no 12.
Sultan ran to the room, almost knocked over an old man on the way. Sohrab was sitting on the bed. His left elbow had been thoroughly bandaged. He smiled as Sultan entered.
Sultan: How serious is it? The doctor said you wouldn't be able to move your arm.
Sohrab(smiling): He meant for a week or so. Relax man. You look worse than I do.
Sultan sat on a chair with a thump.
Sultan(irritated): Ya go get hit.
They sat in silence for a while. The nurse came and bandaged Sohrab's knee, which also had taken a hit.
Sultan: So did you tell Uncle and Aunty.
Sohrab: Are you crazy? And you don't tell them either.
Sultan: All right. I'll go ask the doctor if you can be taken back to the hostel.
Sohrab: He told me to stay here for a week.
Sultan: Shit. …Allright man I’ll go talk to him about the medication.
Sultan got up and proceeded towards the door. He paused, turned and looked at Sohrab with a wicked smile.
Sultan: Hey.
Sohrab: Ya
Sultan: If you cant move your right arm for a week, how will you ...you know...
Sohrab: What?
Sultan(smiling): Well….help yourself.
Sohrab: You asshole.
They both laughed out loud. The nurse came running to see what had happened.
Sultan: Nothing Sister. (with a mock serious expression)Can I meet the doctor?
It had been two weeks since the accident now. Sohrab had gotten better rapidly. They both sat on chairs with their feet hanging from the balcony of their hostel room, smoking cigarettes. It was their routine once they were drunk. Another thing which marked such occasions was Pink Floyd music. A popular song "Coming back to life" played as two other guys, Vishal and Sumit lay in the room with vodka bottles in their hands. Sultan got up and looked at them.
Sultan(in a loud voice): Fellow men and…. Sumit. I raise a toast ..to..umm..to Sohrab. The guy recovered like ....(sitting down on the floor) like ..Wolverine.
Sumit got up and sat on a cigarette butt which had still not died out.
Vikram: Dude, we already have had five pegs. The toast is toooo late.
Sultan: The toast is neverrrrr late.
Sultan went to Sohrab and brought him inside the room. All of them stood in a circle except Sumit, who was still sitting.
Sultan: Here's to Sohrab. Wishing you good health for ever man.
Sumit: I feel something.
Sultan: Your ass is on fire, idiot.
They had a good laugh but Sohrab's mood had been grim through out. He went back and sat in the balcony. Sultan noticed it and went to him.
Sultan: Relax. There’s nothing that can be done about it.
Sohrab: I just wanted to…
Sultan: I know man.
Sohrab looked at him and gave out a sigh.
Sultan(looking at him intently): We'll miss you in the..te... team but the doc clearly asked you not to play for a month.
Sohrab: Yeah. Its just that I really wanted to play. You know I love basketball.
Sultan: Still? Umm…you need another peg man.
They both smiled as Sumit searched for a hole in his pants.
THE INCIDENT
The Inter-college sports meet had started. Sohrab hated to watch the games from the sidelines but had to. Sultan, on the other hand, did play. Normally, both of them played two quarters each so that no one got too tired. It worked well for the team too but now Sultan had to play incessantly. It showed on his face and it showed on the team's score. It was the quarter final of the tournament. They had a match with bitter rivals, bitter because their matches almost always ended in a fight between the players. Sohrab cheered the team from the sidelines. Despite putting up a valiant performance, they were loosing. It was the last quarter. The score read 42-34 against them. Sultan scored a majestic 3 pointer the crowd roared. They still had a chance to win. With 5 points between them, it was achievable. People started chanting Sultan’s name. All this celebration did not go down well with an opposition player named Rakesh. In high pressure games, the biggest challenge is to keep the cool and he lost his, right away. He looked at Sohrab sitting on the sidelines.
Rakesh: Seems like you guys have a new cheerleader. What happened boy? Did you go limp?
Sohrab looked at him indignantly. He didn't believe in getting involved in these kinds of things. Rakesh kept mocking him but Sohrab kept his cool. Rakesh's other team mates also joined in jeering him. The referee tried to pull them back but Rakesh didn't budge.
Sohrab(loudly): Fuck off.
Rakesh: O!! you have a cheerleader with an attitude.
Sultan was overhearing all this. Sohrab may have been the one to keep it low, Sultan wasn't. He went up to them.
Sultan: You fucker.
Rakesh: Don't get involved. This doesn't concern you. We are talking to the pretty cheerleader here.
Sultan: Well, he joined this year. You know who did the job before this. Your mom.
Rakesh let out a cry of anger. Sultan took him by the T-Shirt and punched him in the face. Others joined the fight and by the time people were able to break it up, Rakesh was bleeding profusely. Sultan had the expression of a mad man on his face. Sohrab was in a state of shock. He didn't speak, just looked at Sultan and Rakesh with wide eyes.
Sultan(shouting): Nobody talks to him like that. You piece of shit.
He was taken away, so were the others. The game never finished.
Sultan sat in the hostel room, alone. Sohrab came running.
Sohrab(perspiring heavily): Why did you hit him man?
Sultan: He was talking shit to you. These guys can't even play properly man. What's the point of talking trash to you.
Sohrab: Wha..You don't hit people for that. I mean..did you look at him. He was bleeding like hell.
Sultan: He got what he deserved.
Sohrab came and knelt down before Sultan.
Sohrab: Relax. All I am saying is that he was talking trash to me. Even I didn't care much.
Sultan(cutting him off): So are you saying that I overreacted?? Don't say I overreacted.
Sohrab: No....no. Al I am saying is that we need to be cool about these things man. We can't pick up fights for every little thing that happens.
Sultan looked at him. He knew Sohrab was talking sense. He hated it when Sohrab was right but then the guy was always right.
Sultan(calmly): All right. I promise I'll try to keep my cool.
Sumit entered the room, looking aghast.
Sohrab: Hey
Sumit came directly to Sultan.
Sumit: Did you punch Rakesh?
Sultan: Ya. Why?
Sumit: Damnit man. Don't you know. He is friends with Prithvi, the biggest goon in the University. He'll break your bones if Rakesh tells him.
Sultan: Fuck that. We'll see.
Sumit: I am serious. You better look out when you leave the campus.
Sultan: All right man. What's done is done. What can we do now. (with a mock smile) lets see if Mr. Prithvi shows up.
Sohrab: Not everything is a joke man. I told you..
Sultan: Relax. Nothing will happen.
Sohrab(to Sumit): How serious is it?
Sumit: This guy, Prithvi is a 3 time failure man. He has connections even in the police department. People say he broke a bottle on a guy’s head once just for not laughing at his joke.
Sohrab looked at Sultan.
Sultan(in a pleading voice): Relax. Nothing will happen. Now can we go eat?
THE FINAL TEST
That night Sultan recieved a SMS. That was all the sleep he had. In the morning, he showed the message to Sohrab. It left him mortified. The message asked Sultan to meet Prithvi. If he didn't, the message said that Sohrab would never leave the bed again.
Sohrab: This is insane. Can't we call the police?
Sultan: This is UP. What do you expect? We would never escape if I don't meet him.
Sohrab thought for a while.
Sohrab: I'll go with you.
Sultan: Shut up. You won't.
Sohrab: You are not going there alone. Can’t we take guys with us.
Sultan: This is not a street fight. No point escalating the issue. You stay here.
Sohrab lost it. He seldom did.
Sohrab(shouting): Don't fuck with me allright. I am going.
That was the end of the argument.
Prithvi had called them to a flat some distance from their college. They reached there at around 6 in the evening. It looked like a deserted place with not many flats occupied. They reached the flat and rang the bell. Rakesh opened the door. The place reeked of marijuana and alcohol. As they went in, they heard a shout. They looked around to see a haggard looking, unshaven man sitting on a bed. They assumed him to be Prithvi.
Prithvi(shouting): Come here motherfuckers. Rakesh come here.
Rakesh entered the room. Prithvi stared intently at both of them. Sohrab didn’t even feel like matching his gaze.
Prithvi: Which of these is Sultan?
Rakesh pointed at Sultan. Sohrab was almost shaking out of fear.
Prithvi(To Sultan): You son of a bitch. (placed a revolver in front of him) should I blow your balls off.
Even Sultan felt a chill on seeing the revolver. His heart pounded heavily. Sohrab was already perspiring.
Prithvi(shouting): Should I blow your balls off. (slapped Sultan) How did you have the guts to touch Rakesh?
Sultan kept quiet. Blood appeared on the edge of his lip.
Rakesh: He is a motherfucker, bhai. Acts like a don in his college.
Prithvi pointed the gun at Sohrab.
Prithvi: Now you will do exactly as I say or I'll shoot him in the leg.
Sultan nodded. He had to.
Prithvi: Kiss Rakesh's feet.
Sultan did not move. Prithvi slapped Sohrab hard across the face. Sultan, in an instant, was at Rakesh's feet. The dust on the floor seperated as Sultan breathed heavily. He looked at the feet. Sohrab looked at him, his eyes already moist. The revolver pointed at him made sure that he didn't stop perspiring. Sultan kissed the feet and got up quickly. Sultan looked at Sohrab.
Sultan: Come lets go.
Prithvi: Not so soon, motherfuckers. Rakesh what do you want him to do?
Sultan swallowed hard and did what he had never done.
Sultan: I am sorry.
Prithvi: What?
Sultan: I am sorry. Shouldn't have hit Rakesh.
Prithvi smiled.
Prithvi: No you are not. Not yet. You will be sorry. Rakesh did he kiss your feet well.
Rakesh(laughing): Yeah.
Prithvi approached Sultan and whispered in his ear, holding the gun all the while.
Prithvi: Now go kiss his dick.
Sultan lost it.
Sultan(looking straight into Prithvi'e eyes): Fuck off.
Prithvi raised the gun in Sohrab's direction and fired. It hit the wall. Sohrab started sobbing.
Sultan(shouting out of fear): All right. All right. Don't hurt him.
He trembled as he spoke.
Sultan: I will do it. Don't hurt him.
Rakesh: Bhai did you ask him to ....hahaha. Come kiss it fucker.
Sultan went on his knees. His mind had gone numb, he felt a rush of anger and fear, both at the same time.
Rakesh(shouting): Kiss it!!!
As Sultan was about to do that, Prithvi spoke.
Prithvi: What did he tell you about your mother Rakesh? Now isn't this how his mother would kiss it.
Rakesh and Prithvi laughed. That was it. Sultan exploded. In a flash, he got up and punched Prithvi in the face. Prithvi fell to the ground, the revolver fell from his hand. Sultan picked it up.
Sultan(shouting): You son of a bitch. What did you say?
Sohrab was still shaking, partly because of Sultan's unexpected move.
Sohrab: Lets go Sultan.
Sultan was still in a rage, pointing the gun at Prithvi. Rakesh started shouting and in the mayhem a shot went off. Everybody looked, stunned at Sultan. The trigger had gone off without Sultan realizing it. Sultan dropped the gun as Prithvi lay on the ground, hit in the chest. Rakesh ran out of the scene. Sohrab and Sultan were speechless, still not able to believe what had just happened. They were still not able to believe what they saw, their minds went blank as it took some time absorbing the horrifying reality that faced them. His whole life flashed before Sultan, his parents, his college, everything. He knew that in an instant it had all ended. Sohrab stood there staring at Prithvi in his last moments. Suddenly, Sultan ran to the window, peeped out and then came to Sohrab.
Sultan(with bloodshot eyes): Leave. Leave fast.
Sohrab: Bu...but..
Sultan: Leave. I am finished. Rakesh will testify and with the contacts he has, I am done. I won't escape. (shouting) you run Goddamnit.
Sohrab thought about leaving and felt a pang of guilt. He felt helpless. There was no way he could save his friend, he knew it but the realization was unbearable. He couldn’t leave Sultan there. He was fast running out of thoughts. It was not Sultan's fault, he knew it. His belief in Sultan was still unwavering. The only thing he knew was that they had gotten in this together. "And together we stay", he thought. As things went hazy, he found only one way to make the situation less painful. Sultan started looking around in a frenzy, all the while screaming at Sohrab to leave. Suddenly, he heard a shot. Fearing the worst, he turned around. There stood Sohrab with the revolver in his hands. Prithvi's movements had ended. He was now dead. Their minds had gone blank. There was not one thing which Sultan could say to Sohrab at that moment. The silence persisted for a while as Prithvi lay dead and they stood there short of words, even short of expressions. Then Sohrab spoke softly, with a blank expression.
Sohrab: Don't say that I overreacted. We’ll see how it goes.
The gun fell from his hands and he sat down. Sultan came and sat beside him. Tears rolled down their faces
THE COURT
It had not been a long trial. After Rakesh's testimony, there was little doubt left. The judge had sentenced both of them to serve a life sentence each. Their parents could not stop crying as they were taken away by the police. People left the courtroom discussing the motive behind the murder. Some felt it was University politics. Some felt the two boys were just cold blooded. As they were taken away to the prison, only Sohrab and Sultan knew what the motive was and they cherished it as they had all these years.
