The Collection

A woman..

2010-09-22T13:06:00.001-07:00

I met a woman, a woman you know..
Her words are ringing, ringing now..
Deep within even she doesn't know..
Her true self sheathed, she runs the show..

The world, the UN or the school..
Juss plays a dreamer or the fool?
She wants it,she knows it, she shows it..
She acts,she enacts, she cares, she dares ..

Wiser by the years,she takes a call..
She is a flier, hasn't seen a fall..
Everyone has a different take..
What she thinks real might be fake..

Her brutality of intent, her desire of impact
High sounding words, and echoes do last..
Her innocent dreams, a spell it casts,
Down memory lanes, the dejavu lasts..

Numbed and provoked,i show my cards..
Play the dumb and retracts my steps,
Present to past and back again..
She made her point, i stop the game.

I met a woman, a woman you know..
Her words are ringing, ringing now..
Deep within even she doesn't know..
Her true self sheathed, she runs the show..

No Posts = Recession?

2010-03-19T02:01:00.000-07:00

This comes as an emergency message to all writers of this blog. Why is no one writing?? Is it because of inflation?? Recession?? Procrastination?? Death of a loved one (like Somani??) You are getting sex these days (This is the least probable one for most of the cops members)?? Whats the reason??

Anyway I should share the news from last month

Contra - Chinki- Nisheeth Pandey- has dedicated himself to CAT GD PI STOP Hope he doesn't tell them about his role in UP politics and how he almost got convicted for murder in the episode of "Gangs of Jhansi"

Paps - The drunk saint- Anurag Patra- He has some calls from famous and semi famous B schools but he doesn't give a shit. He rejected an MDI admit last year STOP Peers feel destiny will send him back to MDI

Khan- The doped one- Ambharrish- TAMU is over STOP he got his degree STOP no contact STOP Possibly joined US secret Service STOP enter Headley

Ash- Blabberer- Ashmita - She has the same old Infy placement STOP maybe that is only good for breathing out freely STOP the newbie is writing articles for The Times of India STOP this makes her the only cops member who is making news - Literally STOP she is still in college so god bless her soul and god save Gokhale

Nada- The loser- Lakshminarayan- Was told by his guide that he was in a huge pile of shit when IISc almost terminated his first foreign trip (not to Bangladesh) citing administrative reasons. The same guide raised hell in the administrative office and the trip is still on STOP Guess his life will remain in the grip of other people and he will probably never realize this

Bala- Where the hell is he?- Balasundar- I really don't know why he is still a member of cops STOP he has flouted all rules STOP hasn't even contacted anyone STOP last heard he was a chef in some Myanmarese restaurant in LA STOP Probably his unique style of writing is saving his arse in COPS STOP return back dude

Comrsdes out
Nada

Freedom..

2009-12-20T20:36:00.000-08:00

Freedom

noun

1. the state of being free or at liberty rather than in confinement or under physical restraint

2. exemption from external control, interference, regulation, etc.

3. Philosophy. the power to exercise choice and make decisions without constraint from within or without; autonomy; self-determination.

These definations make me wonder,is there are still any truly free people left..How many of us are truly free,free to do our thing,free to chase illusions,free to dream our dreams,free to love the ones we like and even more free to hate the others.

Freedom in most countries,is bestowed as the very fabric with which modern societies are binded.Yet modern societies are so intricately strangled,the ideals of freedom have been lost.Every moment of our existence is ruled,determined and generalized by a set of rules.

The rules of a family, of a society,of a country,of humans,of nature.There is no denying the fact that we all consiously or unconsioulsy are subservient to the same.

In my search of truly free people, two groups of people have always had me on the edge.

The mad (as in crazy) and the doped (as in drug addicts).

There is lot common between these two sets than what meets the eye on a superficial glance.

Both have there own worlds,live on there terms and are genuine.Its not as if thier worlds are rulesless.Freedom is not the absence of rules,freedom is to choose the rules.People who choose my set of rules are free to live with me. I dare to venture that these people are free from the ultimate bond: the bond of life or death.Doesn't this make them the truly free people.

What i wonder is how the great artists,musicians,painters,singers,dancers and even sportpersons have hovered on and around these categories. Does the absence of restraint,control and rules sets them from the rest of us.Ohh freedom is such an abuser !!

Coming back to our world,people this is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.(ref: FC) You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world.(ref: more FC).

People i am not here to argue.You are free in a democracy,you choose your leaders,you make your celebrities,you dictate your judiciary.You have free markets(ohh no did i say free markets lets save that for some other time),you choose your religions,you are free to change the stations you tune into, the dresses that you wear,the places you go..

People i am here to acquaint your esteemed selves to true freedom.Why do you wanna live in a democracy...coz you are born to it,choose your leaders..what you are some lower class lacking vision,celebrites..arent you one..the dresses,the place,the places all that been offered to you are is just a piece of the complete thing.Every one is being generalized and bought into a same ridiculous delusion.True freedom is what has been dormant in us.We all have been instituionalised.

"Take most people, they're crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they're always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer. I don't even like old cars. I mean they don't even interest me. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake." (REF: TCITR)

Do re read the above paragraph and tell em if you still wanna get that new Veyron or ride a horse.We are so control freak that we miss the whole point that our lifes are being controlled themselves.This is the worst abuse of freedom when you falsely think you are free.

Damn !!

"The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep's throat, for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as his liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act, as the destroyer of liberty. Plainly the sheep and the wolf are not agreed upon a definition of the word liberty..." -- Abraham Lincoln

Freedom will lead to anarchy.So lets have a set of rules to govern us.Lets normalize every one so that order is maintained in society.So some wise people, all through ages have been doing there bit in laying down the limits for us.So we have all these rules that make good things prohibited.The trick is in not knowing that you are a part of the tick.Thats how we been tricked.

Warning: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned- Tyler. (ref: FC again man i lov this movie..)

P.S:Right now i am tryin to capture a mood so that my next blog piece is up.And since that mood is eluding me i had to put of somehting to keep my blog space alive..

Instead of crapping about wots above this you may try to :

For those to whom SPEED means freedom of the soul:--

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OipXkb6fOFc

A path less Trodden

2009-09-27T09:35:00.000-07:00

So, what do I write about after more than a year’s hiatus? Well, it’s going to be another religious blog. But no, this is not going to be just another piece that wants to bash either side for the heck of it. This is what I am writing to myself. To provoke my consciousness, and probably remind me of what I thought of the whole process on this particular day and age, of my swing between atheism and agnosticism. When I say agnosticism, it’s more towards atheism and more about why things are the way they are and about a sense of belonging that is still hard to totally get rid of (I know I don’t make much sense here, but so does religion).

What makes us have such a misplaced trust in religion? Why is it the only area of hope? Most people have placed the argument of a mental satisfaction and sense of calm arising out of religion. But that is because you have trained it in that particular way. Evolution says that even without religion we would think on the same lines and have the same values. (Now, those who say that there is no evolution and that the earth is 6000 years old and all the fossils were planted there can stop reading here. I am not even talking to you. You are beyond hope and I really admire you for your profound dumbness). And no one can answer this better than Dawkins in his god delusion. I have always thought about how we would behave without law and order which he talks about in his book. We are basically ethical beings, who want to protect our gene and this is actually the basis of altruism. Hence, we don’t need religion to be good. Rather, we can use religion to be evil. Like jihad, religious violence, witch-hunting, sati, killing for apostasy and so many other things that make a bottomless list.

You say that god is all-powerful, has the knowledge of the past, the present and the future. But excuse me, what are we doing here with our lives? Richard Dawkins put forward this argument in his book that god can’t be omnipotent and omniscient at the same time. If he is omniscient, he has an all pervading knowledge that makes him realize our future. But at that very moment he ceases to be omnipotent, because he is not potentially changing anything that happens in the future, because he already knows that how it is going to happen due to his omniscience. Even assuming that there is a god and that he is omniscient, what is his purpose in creating life and letting it flourish in all directions, but still knowing everything that is going to happen to them. What is the fun? Unless he is a megalomaniac trying to display his power, this is not a very intelligent thing to do. Or he is so childish that he is playing ‘world’ in his spare time? (Spare time from what?) And to think of it, he does not even have other gods to show off to! Another analogy, under the assumption that there is a god and he is omniscient, is that is he knows all then future and everything that is going to happen, then what is the use of us praying to him? Since, he already has a predetermined course, your prayer is of no consequence in his master-plan. And assuming that your prayer is heeded, why would a god whom you portray as an embodiment of perfection, choose you over someone who is much more deserving, and has worked harder to reach that level. If he does that, I don’t think great of a god who values your devotion to him higher than the hard work required to achieve it. I see a megalomaniacal person on the brink of bigotry. You can ask me, ‘what is the purpose of life?’ It’s mind-blowing and simple. There is no purpose in life. Life was a random chemical accident. Well, not exactly random since statisticians will be quick to point out that randomness is not random. Ok, chemical accident. Probably you were told that you have a greater purpose in life so that you don’t ‘randomly’ kill yourself. I think that life runs for survival and survival runs for life. That’s the perfect couple there.

Throughout our parables and mythology, we have come across gods who are less than perfect. They fight, they kill each other, cheat their enemies, destroy enemy families, are jealous, sometimes cowardly and other such attributes that I would not associate with someone I am supposed to worship. Well, why should I? This also brings us to an interesting aspect. You cannot deny the above mentioned attributes, since they are recorded. You cannot also ask me to neglect such aspects and concentrate on just higher philosophies, because they are based on these basic facts. The whole story of the god’s imperfection, their constant bickering with each other and them trying to propagate their ideology has an uncanny resemblance to contemporary kings. I am greatly persuaded to believe that the great philosophers and writers who wrote down the scriptures merely reflected the persona of the society they were living in. It could be a tribute to the various kings who guided the life and their conquests. Another aspect that points towards this is the morals and the kind of living that pervaded in the society, which is reflected in the books. They just put forward what was best according to them. Though we conveniently neglect theses irregularities and say that times have changed, we still retain the god aspect of it. In reality, we have regressed more into the ritualistic aspect of it.

It s totally not right to base our life on some Stone Age and bronze ages books. Take the Vedas for example. The scholars who have done extensive research on them give an estimated date of 1500 BC for the earliest of them, the Rig Veda. Some other proponents of Out of India Theory date even back by a couple of millennia. And our very own Vedic philologers give an estimate of of 10000 to 15000 BC for them. More the reason to lose faith in these texts, which are nothing but hymns in praise of the celestial Agni, Indra, Vayu, Ashwinis and prescribe methods for animal and other ritualistic sacrifices. I think this is totally unacceptable since what we are doing is precisely praying to nature. Why don’t you guys pray to electricity, magnetism, volcanic eruptions and earthquakes? They are also a part of nature and deserve their rightful status in front of the wind god, fire god, lightning god and rain god. It’s because there was no electricity or magnetism in the minds of the ‘authors’ then. This proves my point right that the texts are contemporary worship manuals. I think most present day pious people will be offended to hear that it contains a whole chapter on soma, which was predominantly known to be psychosomatic. If not that, at least a mind-altering drug. Even conservatively assuming that all they did was produce extreme mental stimulation and high sense of alertness, it can still be associated with banned stimulants like steroids. The Brahmins were said to have used them in their study and temples prepared them on a regular basis. And one theory even talks about the movement of Mesopotamians to India because of the abundance of soma there. So going by today’s standards, I can’t use them. This is just another example to show that these books are contemporary literature and contains what the society believed in.

The Vedas are also said to be sanatana and apurusheya, meaning eternal and not man-made. The explanation is that every time the universe is destroyed and created anew, Brahma hands it over to the next set of people. So in the sense, they don’t have a beginning. So, why doesn’t he make that special appearance once again and solve this problem once and for all. Again, we are said that the Vedic society was virtuous and we are in kali yuga and god does not set foot on this dump anymore, other than to destroy it. Well, going by present day standards, we can’t call them very virtuous. They practiced ritualistic animal sacrifice, used hallucinogens/stimulants, practiced rampant polygamy, polyandry and above all had a flourishing caste system, which people placed in high regard. Religious practitioners (aka rishis) cursed and turned people to stones without any remorse, regret or regulations (supposedly). Kings could take anyone to be their concerts and sex was out in the damn open. The society which considers premarital sex immoral and multiple sexual partners in a lifetime as a great immorality needs to take a peek at the Vedic society that practiced that, before calling them the best of times. The whole point of the above tirade was to question the sanctity of these Bronze Age (Iron gets mentioned only in the later day yajur veda) texts and their dominance of our lives.

Now, what about karma? I don’t have any need to go into the specifics of karma. Why would you want to believe in such a concept? Because you were told to? Imagine your dad keeps beating you all the time, but will not tell you why he is doing that. So, you keep thinking that you are being whacked for something you did wrong, but don’t know what (unless your dad is a weirdo or sadomasochistic bastard). Imagine you become amnesiac sometime in your life. Imagine that you are incarcerated for the rest of your life for some crime you did before you lost your mind. That would be some good ‘purpose of life’, wouldn’t it? Or even imagine a 75 year old man incarcerated for a rape he committed when he was 18. There is no point. That’s the same with karma. It’s stupid to be punished for what you did in your previous birth, even if something like that exists. I rest my case.

P.S. I haven’t capitalized god deliberately. And I have a lot more to write, but not in this one.

Pawns and Kings

2009-09-15T08:41:00.000-07:00

"I don't trust him. We're friends." - Bertolt Brecht

CHAPTER 1: THE WAITING

The Room

Wednesday

The blades of the old fan slowly went rounds. Lefty scratched his stubble every now and then as Miman, looking detached from his surroundings, searched for cigarettes.

Lefty: How long it’s been?

Miman Angrez: Thirty minutes. Would you shut up already?

Lefty: Have you ever noticed something? Every time we order pizzas, they tell you its gonna take forty minutes. But every time it takes forty five, that’s five more minutes. Exactly 5 more minutes, every time.

Miman Angrez: How many times have we ordered pizza before and what’s your point?

Lefty: My point is that when it always takes forty five minutes why don’t the motherfuckers tell us that its gonna take that long. Or may be if they tell us that its gonna take forty five minutes, that mean its gonna take five more, fifty minutes. Now that’s a vicious circle, ain’t it.

Miman Angrez: You know I have never been a fan of your logic. Just chill. Pass me the cigarettes.

Lefty(threw the cigarette pack at Miman): Doesn’t smoking make you feel hungry.

Miman Angrez: On the contrary, it kills my hunger.

Lefty: That’s weird man. I can’t take a smoke now. I mean I’ll die of hunger before that fuck brings me my pizza.

Miman Angrez: Its called dying of starvation.

Lefty(gazes at Miman): Now you are fucking with me.

Miman Angrez: You are talking way too much. Better words make for better conversation, don’t you think.

Lefty: That’s why they call you Angrez man. Yeah but I have never been a fan of your literary skills.

Miman(with a smirk) : Yeah well...

Lefty glanced at Miman in a menacing way. The next time he spoke, he spoke sternly.

Lefty: What?

Miman Angrez: Nothing. Get that remote man. Let’s watch some TV.

Lefty picked up the remote and switched the TV on. The sun was high in the sky and the only sound that seemed to inhabit the place is the guitar on the TV. They stared at the television for some time, no other voices, just the guitar playing. Lefty kept on fidgeting on the sofa and amidst all that guitar invaded silence, the creak of the fan became apparent.

Lefty: Man do they always show this Johnny Cash shit.

Miman Angrez: I like him. He plays the guitar well.

Lefty: Dunno. I never had much ears for guitars.

Miman(Passed Lefty the cigarette): Me neither. You gotta listen to fuckers like Hendrix, that Santana guy and this sunny boy right here. I am telling you, they do get to you man.

Lefty(took a puff): You really like 'em.

Miman Angrez: Ya, I aint shitting you. You can consider me a convert. Did you just smoke? You said you wont.

Lefty: I lied.

Miman Angrez: When will you start keeping your word.

Lefty: I am trying hard. And convert? What convert?

Miman Angrez: To the religion of music.

Lefty: Hmm...answer this.

Miman Angrez: What?

Lefty: Guitar or pizzas?

Miman Angrez: Well that depends.

Lefty: On what?

Miman Angrez: How many pizzas are we talking 'bout here?

A(smiling): Oh, a lot. More than the times I have fucked that afro girl.

Miman Angrez: Well now that ain’t a verified figure, is it?

Lefty: Never thought you would doubt me man. Still, guitar or pizzas?

Miman Angrez: Can't answer that now. I gotta learn to play the guitar first.

Lefty: So are you ?

Miman Angrez: Yeah. I am gonna learn it.

Lefty: Man you are turning into a bum. And anyways, why do you need to learn to play the guitar to answer the question.

Miman Angrez: How can I compare them when I haven’t experienced what playing the guitar feels like.

Lefty: Just to remind you, playing the guitar and eating pizzas are two quite different kinds of experiences. How are you ever gonna compare them.

Miman Angrez: Didn’t you just contradict yourself? But that’s a good argument. Brings me to my next point.

Lefty: Which is ?

Miman Angrez: Satisfaction.

Lefty(smoke leaving his mouth): Explain.

Miman Angrez: You can’t compare things that fall in two different domains. However, you can compare experiences. Now each experience is related with a satisfaction level, that is how satisfied you feel after it. So basically I can relate to something by considering how satisfied I felt doing it. That can help me compare pizzas and guitars.

Lefty: Hmm..may be. But by that reasoning, Johnny wasn’t at fault, was he?

Miman Angrez: How is that?

Lefty: Well he did that shit for the first time. He didn’t know what was gonna happen because he had never 'experienced' it. Ain't it.

Miman Angrez: Thats stretching it a little too far. You can justify anything with that logic. Told you thats why I don’t like your logic.

Lefty: So?

Miman Angrez: So nothing. We cant fuck this up now. V would bloody shoot our asses, you know that.

Lefty: Yeah well, just that its a lot harder to focus on something when you know its possibly unreasonable.

Miman Angrez: There's nothing unreasonable in this.

Lefty: Well, you don’t know.

Miman Angrez: Didn’t know you were such a reasonable man.

The bell rang. Both of them got up. Miman went to open the door.

Lefty: How long did it take?

Miman(looking at the watch): Forty five minutes.

Lefty(smiling lazily): Told you.

Miman opened the door.

Delivery boy: Your pizzas sir. The bill is four fifty.

Miman Angrez: Yeah. Come in.

Delivery Boy entered the room and Miman closed the door behind him.

Lefty took out his wallet as he spoke.

Lefty: So, how long have you been delivering pizzas.

Delivery Boy: Nearly an year now sir.

Miman Angrez: Well that means you are a pro now. Ain't it.

Delivery Boy(with a smile): I guess so.

Miman took out a gun from his jacket and pressed it against Delivery Boy's crotch.

Miman Angrez: Then why did you have to do something that stupid? Why Johnny? A smart delivery guy like you.(raises his voice) Or you ain’t that smart, you are just plain stupid, that's why you got in the middle of that shit.

Johnny: Wh....what? O Shit..shit.

Lefty: Remember the incident at 45th street this weekend? You were a hero, were you not?

Lefty took out a gun and shot Johnny in the leg. He fell to the ground, blood spurting out of his knee. Johnny reached into his pocket as if searching for something.

Miman(Shouting): Take the Goddamn hand out of your pocket. Were you going to call other delivery boys as we stood here watching you do that?

Lefty: Time's up Johnny boy. Guess you had an adventure too much.

Johnny: No..no...

Lefty shot him in the head. In an instant, Johnny's body lay there in a pool of blood, his red T shirt now indistinguishable from its surroundings. Miman came and whispered to Lefty.

Miman Angrez: Fancy a pizza?

Lefty looked around.

Lefty: Here?

Miman Angrez: Yeah. Johnny won’t disturb us.

Lefty looked at Johnny's body then looked at Miman. He swallowed and nodded before he spoke next.

Lefty: Yeah. What the heck.

Miman Angrez: I think we should call V and tell him the fucking job's done.

Lefty: No, we don't call him, not yet. Lets eat.

CHAPTER 2: THE INCIDENT AT 45TH STREET

45th Street

4 days back

Voice: Hello. Hello. Can you hear me?

Johnny: Yes. Sir?

Voice: Ya, what?

Johnny: Am a little nervous.

Voice: Don’t worry. You are working with the state police here, not a bunch of retarded vigilantes. The cops would be there at the scene in seconds. You remember the car, don’t you?

Johnny: Yes sir.

Voice: Gimme the description again.

Johnny: Black Tata Safari. MH 02 DY 5745.

Voice: Good. Just focus. It will be over in a minute. You are not gonna get hurt, I promise you. No one knows your identity except us.

The Sergeant's reassurance didn't go down too well with Johnny but he knew there was no turning back now. He had to trust the police and in their ability to protect him. Five more minutes before the car came by. He had memorized all he had to do. All that he had to speak, but the trembling won't stop. He told himself to calm down. All he had to do was get the driver out of the car, somehow. It would all be over soon and he can go back to delivering pizzas, back to his normal life, he told himself.

Some time went by. He couldn't stop perspiring. He looked around and spotted it. He got on the bike and turned on the engine. Now all he had to do was wait for the car to get near and then bang into it. Why they didn't get a cop to do this was still beyond him. Was it that they didn't want one of them to be the collateral damage? Should he be doing this at all? All this just for some money !!

Voice: Go Johnny go.

The car approached and he drove towards it. Traipsing through the crowded road, he banged into it. The car stopped, throwing him off from the bike and the impact scraped his left knee. It was time for action, he had to forget the pain and get down to business. The voice in his ears urged him to get going.

Johnny: You son of a bitch, are you driving with your eyes closed.

The driver didn’t look the least bit perturbed. He kept on smoking with steely nonchalance.

Driver: Get the fuck out of my way.

Johnny: Motherfucker, you broke my bike. Don't you see where you are going. You are paying for this.

Driver(putting out the cigarette): How much do you want asshole. Tell me.

The driver took a bundle of cash out of a pocket in his jacket. He took out some notes and handed them to Johnny. They were all 500 bills. Johnny hadn't seen that kind of money in his life. He had to focus. He had to get him out of the car. He slapped the notes away.

Johnny: Stop fooling around. You are getting my bike taken care of. You got that punk.

Driver: Fuck off.

He started the engine. Johnny started to panic. Whatever he said, the driver wasn't getting out of the car. His mind stopped working and he did the only thing he could figure out at the moment. He punched the driver in the face knowing very well that he would be carrying a gun for sure and that he might shoot him as well. These were hardened criminals for God's sake. The driver's nose started bleeding, he loked at Johnny, his eyes full of rage as he stepped out of the car. Johnny could see the gun tucked by his jeans, covered by the jacket. His heart was pounding in his chest.

Driver: O Boy, you are gonna pay.

Where were the cops. Where were the fucking cops!!! The driver punched him in the stomach, Johnny felt his breathing stop. His eyes searched for the cops. They were not to be seen. Johnny fell to the ground and the driver forced his bulky frame on him. As he was about to be punched for a second time, a gun came and rested on the driver's head. It was the Sergeant.

Sergeant: Step away from him, move towards the car and raise your hands. NOW!!!

The driver stepped away, still looking with mad eyes at Johnny. The rest of the backup appeared and they started searching the car. The driver was arrested and kilograms of cocaine found in the trunk of the car. The operation had been successful. Sergeant came and patted Johnny's back as he still sat gasping for breath. The Sergeant and an officer cleared the mess and got back in the police van as the driver was handcuffed and thrown at the back of another police car to be taken to the lockup.

Officer: Sergeant?

Sergeant(lighting a cigarette): Yeah?

Officer: I am still wondering why we had to use that kid for the job. Anyone of us cold have done this job.

Sergeant let out a puff, looked around, saw the driver being thrown into the van. Then he turned to the officer.

Sergeant: Now that we have used an ordinary man in our operation, the goons, whoever they are, will come to know of this. And they will come after him.

Officer: Yeah. That’s my point. We endangered this kid's life for God's sake.

Seagent: Didn't I fill you in or are you just so mind numbingly dumb.

The officer was quiet deciding whether to reply or not.

Sergeant: Officer: They should come after him. That’s the plan.

CHAPTER 3: THE GAMEPLAN

Police Headquarters
Same Day

They reached the police headquarters. The driver was locked up, his belongings checked. The Sergeant went to his cabin and sat down with a thump. The tumultuous morning had had its impact on him, so he got himself a coffee. He reclined back on his chair and lifted the photograph from his table. There he was, 9 years old with his father, mother and brother, all laughing with joy. He remembered how him and his brother used to play in the backyard and his mother used to get them snacks. That picture had always remained with him. They ate all of it with dirty hands with a smile on their face as their mother used to give up telling them to go get washed up first. That innocence was long gone and here he was, a caricature of his former self, he thought. The officer entered with a cell phone.:

Officer: So are you going to tell me the reason behind using Johnny, or is it just that you think that all of us here are pussies who wouldn't stand up to a challenge.

The Sergeant looked at him and smiled.

Sergeant: Sit. As I told you, they have to come after Johnny.

Officer: You told me that already,

Sergeant(leaned forward): What we know is that they would find Johnny, what they do not know is what Johnny looks like.

The Sergeant went quiet.

Officer: So?

Sergeant: So an undercover officer will work in Johnny's place. They will come after him and when they think they have got to Johnny, we would have got to them.

Officer: How..how will that officer contact us?

Sergeant: Now you have really got me doubting your intellect officer. Its the 21st century for God's sake. Our guy will always carry a microtransmitter whose receiving end would be with me. If he can’t call me, he can just press the button and I can get his exact location. Does that work for you?

Officer(clearing his throat): Yes Sir. It does, it does.

Sergeant: Go check on the driver. Get as much out of him as you can.

The officer left the room. He came back in barely ten minutes.

Sergeant: So, you got anything for me?

Officer: Bad news.

Sergeant: What?

Officer: Seems like he was wearing a cyanide capsule around his neck. He ate it.

Seagent: What!! Are you kidding me? Didn’t you lock his hands??

Officer: Sir..

Sergeant(shouting): Oh Shut up!!! He was the only lead we had into this thing. What are we going to do, trace the car's registration number? What are we, fucking private detectives !!!!

Sergeant always made him nervous. Officer thought this would be a good time to do it, so he took out the cell phone out of his pocket.

Officer: Sergeant. This guy made a call to some guy, Miman, 10 minutes before we nabbed him..

The Sergeant took the phone from him and checked the call register. He stared at it, scrolling up and down for some time before he spoke.

Sergeant: Hmm..this is not good. We need to find this guy Miman. But ..

Officer: But?

Sergeant: These are ruthless criminals we are dealing with. I am afraid that before we get to Miman, they might get to him. If one of their gang can commit suicide to protect their identity, they would do anything to do the same.

Officer: And he is our only lead into this case as of now.

Sergeant: Who ever runs this will know that this guy is dead. I am praying they don’t know about the call made to Miman. Otherwise for all I know, they will kill him as well. They will do anything to save their own ass, these bastards.

Officer: They will kill one of their own? They would do that to someone of their own kind?

Sergeant: These people don’t work on emotion, officer. We need to find him before that happens othereise for all I know, we are back to square one. And I don't blame them, this is a huge racket. Anybody running this has to be ruthless enough to kill with impunity, even if its one of their own. For all I know, they may even employ one of Miman's closest allies to kill him.

Officer: Will that guy do it?

Sergeant looked out of the window. He seemed to be in deep thought and talked more to himself than to the officer.

Sergeant: He will have to. Search the car. I want all the leads we can find.

The officer left. Sergeant came back to his seat, made sure no one was around, picked up his cellphone and made a call.

Sergeant: Hello Miman. Listen up.

CHAPTER 4: THE PROPOSITION

V's Den

Wednesday

V: We can always play with the boundaries of good and bad, can't we? Man is a selfish thing Lefty. All that you have so far done in your life has been selfish, ain't it. Otherwise why would you do that. Its the same this time round. All I am asking you to do is serve yourself.

Lefty: This is back-stabbing.

V: You seem to lack perspective Lefty. You don't see the larger picture. He is our only weak link. If the damn cops trace him down, we all go down.

Lefty: Why me? I have been working seven years with him.

V: That's exactly why you. He would never suspect you to do it.

Lefty: I don't care. Ask someone else to do it. I won't.

V: Hear me out. Don't you want to know what's in it for you.

Lefty:(with a mock smile): Oh, there's something for me too. You know how to please everyone, don't you. Stop fucking with me V. Stop....

V(interrupting): You can go to Bangkok. Take care of our shit there.

They stared at each other. Lefty had stopped talking. For as long as he can remember, he had been pestering V to send him there. He knew V had played his hand and played it well.

V: So, what do you say?

Lefty: You are a jerk.

V(laughing): No. I am a rational man. And if you think rationally, you would agree to my point. I don't want this either but Miman needs to go. Do it for everybody's sake.

Lefty still kept quiet. His thoughts had been focused on Miman but now Bangkok started to gain space.

V: I know you must be a bit uncertain. Convince yourself. I would make sure you leave the country within minutes of this shit. Just take Miman out along with Johnny. And when you do it, just send me a message that says 'Yes' and you will be on your way to Bangkok before you can realize what happened. Do all the guilt fighting on the plane coz when you land in Bangkok, you wont be able to feel the guilt even if you want to.

Lefty(with a smirk): Is that a promise?

V: You know damn well it is.

Lefty felt a rush of blood. He knew V meant every word he said. On the other hand, he wondered if V would dispense with him too if the need arises. He decided to convince himself and this thought made him fell better as he knew he was half way through the job for accepting it. He nodded, turned and started to leave.

V: And you very well know, I don’t take no for an answer.

Lefty: I know that.

CHAPTER 5: THE HOUR OF RECKONING

The Room

Wednesday

They ate in silence as Cash was replaced by Les Paul on TV. Johnny's body lay there soaked in blood and looked like a work of art from a twisted painter in the barren room.

Miman Angrez: Man I am taking a liking to this cheese burst shit. You are right about his man.

Lefty was hardly speaking now, waiting for his soul to die.

Miman Angrez: Man, from now on, I am sticking to whatever you suggest we eat.

Lefty: You like it?

Miman Angrez: Hell Yeah, I like it.

Lefty: Good. Finally we have something we both like.

Miman Angrez: C’mon, what you talking bout. We already have things we both like.

Lefty: Like what?

Miman pointed to Johnny's dead body.

Miman Angrez(with a smile): Killing punks.

Lefty looked at Johnny's body, stared at the bullet wounds and the mess that he lay in. He pushed the pizza away.

Miman looked at him, amazed.

Miman Angrez: What?

Lefty: What? This aint funny alright.

Miman Angrez: We have pizzas and we didn’t even have to pay the motherfucker. Howz that not good for you?

Lefty: This shit ain’t funny. How can you find humor in this sort of thing. Do you think we are nice people?

Miman Angrez: Chill man chill. Why are you getting so worked up? We have been doing this shit for years. What the fuck is the matter with you today? If I got upset about every man I killed, I would be fucking dead by now.

Lefty stared at him, still breathing heavily. He told himself that he had a job to be completed. He had to keep his emotions in control, not give anything away but fighting himself was harder than he had thought it would be. He wished for some meteorite to hit them and end the whole mess right away. But he knew that eventually he only had one choice. He sat back and picked up the pizza slice.

Miman Angrez(nibbling on a slice): But you do have a valid point. This shit ain’t supposed to be funny. I give you that. But then we have assumed roles which do not allow us to get emotional about all this. I mean your point makes sense from a, say, a salaried guy's point of view. He is supposed to feel bad about killing people, because that's not his fucking job. We, on the other hand, make a living out of this. Guess at some level, everyone has to be indifferent about the consequences of his work. That’s Darwin's rule ain’t it.

Lefty wiped sweat from his forehead.

Lefty: How the fuck did you get into this profession? You should have been some bloody english teacher. Who the fuck is Darwin and what’s his rule?

Miman Angrez: Well he was some big shot philosopher for all I know. What he said was that only the fittest survive. Now fitness in this context might mean indifference. I mean look at the beasts. If the lion starts feeling bad about killing other animals, its gonna die, you know of what.

Lefty: Of starvation.

Miman Angrez: Great man. You are catching up quick.

Lefty kept staring at the table while Miman rambled on.

Lefty: Yeah. yeah you are right. Guess we are all beasts at the end of the day.

Miman Angrez: Yeah, its good to see you agree. Finally.

They both laughed. Miman's laugh hearty, Lefty's forced out. Lefty looked at the gun on the table. It still had 5 bullets. He decided he would use only one. Aim at the head and finish it quick. That way it wont pain, not Miman not himself. He convinced himself that it was natural he would feel a pang of guilt. Him and Miman had been working together for 7 years. He told himself that it was necessary, to survive. To be the fittest.

Miman Angrez: Well. Not exactly.

Lefty: What?

Miman Angrez: We ain’t exactly beasts. I mean that’s what differentiates humans from animals. Animals are like, you know, one man armies. They live for themselves, well mostly. People live with each other.

Lefty felt his hands. They were trembling. He took them out of the view of Miman, under the table. He had to do it.

Miman Angrez: Well, people thrive on the notion of familiarity. We make our own little worlds, within which we kind of care for people, but outside it, others are aliens. Ain’t it? I guess that’s why people are called animals. We may behave in a civilized way as long as surroundings are familiar, but we become beasts when we loose the sense of familiarity. Like you and me here is a familiar thing, this Johnny boy, on the other hand was an alien. And a pretty fucked up alien at that. You get what I am saying? We tread a fine line between being human and beasts.

He is not familiar, he is talking bullshit, Lefty kept telling himself. Kill him and go. Kill him and make a move. Do what you have been told to do. You don’t want your own ass on fire. His thoughts almost choked him. Lefty looked at the gun.

Miman Angrez: Now this is called emotion. You see...

Lefty: Don’t give me that bullshit.

Miman Angrez: What? Ain’t you getting what I am saying?

Lefty got fidgety. Hold it, hold it, don’t give in now, he told himself. He felt his eyes welling up and a feeling of fear followed. He told himself that if he didn’t do it, V was not going to let Miman live anyway. Meanwhile, a police car stopped in front of the building, Sergeant got out of it.

Lefty: Shut up man.

Miman Angrez: No, see.

He knew he was losing his will. He had to kill. He got up in a rage, screaming at the top of his voice.

Lefty: SHUT UP!!! SHUT THE FUCK UPPPP.

They stared at each other. Lefty was panting heavily, still trembling. Miman looked bewildered. They kept gazing into each other's eyes. Lefty searched for an answer to the question he was posed with, whether to be the beast and do as told or be a human and face the consequences but all he found in Miman's eyes was bewilderment. He decided to stop thinking and just do what he had to. Miman was still talking.

B(looking into Lefty's eyes): For example, today, Johnny Was a human, but here we are, two beasts.

Lefty: Yeah well, you are right about that. You are damn right.

Finally, Lefty had made up his mind. He got up and moved around. He took out his cellphone and started typing. Miman kept talking.

Miman Angrez: And you know how beasts are. They are selfish. All they worry about is their own ass. The only question remaining is, that when you know what you have to do and I know what I have to, who is the bigger beast?

Lefty didn't understand what Miman was saying. He looked at him, confused. In a flash, Miman picked up the gun and aimed at Lefty.

Miman Angrez: Guess I am the bigger beast today.

All that Lefty could do was stare at Miman.

Lefty: You knew about it? You didn’t say anything to me.

Miman Angrez: I lied..too.

Lefty: Miman..

The bullet was shot and Lefty was thrown back, blood instantly oozing out of his chest. And he was dead. Miman stood there with the gun in his hands. He wanted to be sure and to do that he fired two more bullets in Lefty's chest, screaming. His lifeless body jerked with the impact. Miman kept looking at his body. The door was thrown open and the Sergeant entered.

Sergeant: FREEZE.

Miman turned around. They stood pointing the guns at each other. Nobody moved for some time, nobody spoke, both panted as sweat dripped down their cheeks and looked more like tears. Then they took their guns down.

Sergeant: You allright?

Miman Angrez: Yeah.

Sergeant entered the room and looked at the two dead bodies lying around. He turned to Miman, still out of breath.

Sergeant: Look at all this mess.

Miman Angrez: Did you make all the arrangements. I can leave India right now, isn't it?

Sergeant looked up at him.

Sergeant: Yeah. Yeah.

Miman Angrez: Ill make a move then.

Sergeant: Yeah I guess its time for you to go.

Miman turned back and started to leave. Three policemen crashed into the place and pointed their guns at him. He realized what had been done.

Miman Angrez: You bastard. You double crossed me.

Sergeant: Dont call me a bastard. That makes you one too. (To the policemen) Arrest him.

Miman was taken away and Sergeant started to inspect the place. Another officer entered the place.

Sergeant: Seal this room. We need to get every detail out of it.

Officer: Yes Sergeant. We lost our undercover, Sir.

Sergeant(looked at his dead body): No plan is perfect, officer. Collateral damage is a given, sometimes its them, sometimes its us.

Officer: He trusted us to be there for him. We failed him.

Sergeant: We did the best we could. No point blaming anyone. Take his body, he shall be buried with all the honor.

Officer: We should keep the media off this for some time.

Seagent: Yeah that would be a good idea. All we have right now is a dead cop, a dead gangster and his cell phone on which it seems, he was typing a message. Some mess this.

Officer: What does the message say?

The Sergeant shrugged unable to make anything of it.

Seagernt: It says 'No'.

APORKALYPSE

2009-09-15T07:13:00.000-07:00

An infection that appears to have lain dormant since the early 1980s seems to have resurfaced. The swine flu known to have originated in Mexico is probably the only export of the country in the last 50 years besides immigrants and drugs. In all of this it is believed that the flu was finally brought to the United States by Miss Piggy, who is known to have had been touring in Mexico. The biggest fall down of this is the death of the beloved icon, Kermit the frog, who contracted the flu from yet another attempt of Miss Piggy to kiss him.
As the world arms itself with tissues, masks, body suits and quarantine chambers, we present to you some schmooze we caught off the air waves and your own guide on what to do and not to in these distressing times.
1) SWINE FLU: GOD’S LATEST PUNISHMENT OF IDOL-WORSHIP
Let’s face it. God doesn’t punish nonbelievers today to the same degree He did in the days of old. Apart from the occasional flood, tornado and plane crash which involve just handfuls of nonbelieving sinners, He has largely put up with the world’s increasing tolerance to homosexuals, abortionists, Indian Idol, American Idol, Taiwan Idol, Jamaican Idol, Galapagodas Idol and Idle worshippers who head bang themselves to lethargy. But no more! The Lord is back with a vengeance.One of God’s favorite conduits for extinguishing evil is swine. This time, the swine are staying alive and killing the devils, a/k/a Mexicans, a/k/a Simon Cowell, a/k/a cultists, a/k/a idol-worshippers.
2) WHINE FLU
In another unrelated phenomena is the emergence and the rampant spread of the whine flu. The whine flu derived from a non threaning but a highly irritating strain of the H@#!N$%* flu. It mostly affects people already suffering from a condition called Idiotica Hypochondriacae. It results in the patient panicking that he or she has the “piggy flu” due to over exposure to Twitter, Pearls Before Swine, Burritos and Barack Obama. Thus adequately choking the public health system and triggering mass hysteria. The WHO have issued a song in public interest “Had Enough” and “Why did I fall for that” asking all the whiners to stay shut and keep that way.
3) ANGELINA FILES PETITION TO ADOPT THE THREE LIL PIGS
Fiji, Sunday: Hollywood Actress Angelina Jolie here today filed an application along with long time partner Brad Pitt to adopt the adorable trio of the “Three lil Pigs”. The three pigs who are Legen…wait for it…dary for their amusing children’s story along with the Big bad Wolf, were ousted from the city by the Public Health office due to the recent swine flu scrare. Miss Jolie who is already known for her willingness to expand her “Rainbow Family” said she wants to do all she can for this humanitarian cause and couldn’t wait to add them to her current collection. The Big Bad Wolf saddened by the impending loss of his chums can be found in the local bars strumming to the tune of “Pigs (three different ones)” by Pink Floyd and drinking himslef unto getting rusticated. ;)

4) HOW TO NOT CATCH THE FLU?
1. Always cover your nose and mouth when you sneeze. Rush and wear a mask if anyone sneezes around you. Special Anniversary Jacko accessory masks available for 100 USD. Extra-special maks for under 5 toddlers featuring Peterpan and Neverland, 75 USD.
2. When in doubt, do as the Lady Macbeth does. Always wash your hands. Before eating. Wash your hands. After eating. Wash your hands. In between while chewing mess-chawal wish you were having a peproni pizza instead. Wash your hands.
3. If you happen to get sick- Stay locked in your room. Put it up as your FB status. Create mass panic. Ensure a 2 week college off. Win the “Most popular person on campus”poll.
4. If you know someone who is sick- Shut them in a glass box. Sell them as a live specimen to AajTak Sansani. Or Sell him to Ramdev Baba for advertising his miraculous cure for the swine flu. Or just turn him over to the pigs. Let them have the last say.
5. Keep aware and recognise any abnormal symptoms. If you are in doubt, go seek professional advice from the Health centre.
5) DO I HAVE THE SWINE FLU? YAHOO! ANSWERS-
1. I’m a 27 yr old participant in a Jungle survivor series. Just the other day I was showering under the waterfall. And now I am sneezing and getting the body chills.Guys is this swine flu?
2. Yesterday at the supermarket we were standing next to a pork chops stand. ZOMG! Do I have swine flu??!!
3. I fell off the bike. My face hit the pavement and now my nose feels all squishy. Could this be swine flu?
4. There was no power here. I was reading this in a dark room with no fan. It was totally hot and I was sweating like a pig. Is that a symptom of swine flu??
6) RELATED STUFF-
1. Research Papers to Read: Pigs Can Fly - A detailed research by Mr. Wodehouse into the evolutionary links between pigs and birds and how their genomes support interchangability of diseases.
2. Music to listen to: Will Smith- Get piggy with it
Pink Floyd- Pigs on the Wing
Pink Floyd- Pigs (three different ones) – dedicated by the Big Bad Wolf
3. Games to play:
i) Pigtionary
ii) Pig pong
7) DOWNLOAD SQUAD GUIDE TO SWINE FLU '09-
And now the only serious business in this entire article- Sites to go to in case you need some REAL information

CDC H1N1 Page -- The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (located in Atlanta, holla!) is a great source for H1N1 information for individuals and communities. The site is frequently updated and links to other world agencies and organizations.

PandemicFlu.gov -- This site is maintained by the US Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) and aggregates information from the CDC, WHO and other organizations.

World Health Organization -- The UN's World Health Organization (WHO) has a dedicated H1N1 site with media information, latest news and official WHO reports.

Food and Agriculture Organization -- Similarly, the UN's FAO is focussed on background information on H1N1, and is monitoring the situation.

“Sometimes I lie awake at night, and ask, 'Where have I gone wrong?' Then a voice says to me, 'This is going to take more than one night.'”- Original Miss Piggy qoute

The design of justice

2009-09-07T11:37:00.000-07:00

By R. Lakshminarayan

Dedicated to Contra (Nisheet Pandey) who can kill the best character in a story with panache.

Synopsis

Every lawsuit is a game. A game of reason where the wheel of justice turns around to quash all evil, while stringently upholding the truth. Some cases are tried at the discretion of a jury. Some lawyers build cases on moral grounds eloquently playing the “race card”. Some lawyers free criminals on the basis of reasonable doubt or insufficient evidence. However, in all cases we believe that justice has been served. In the whole process, we all seem to forget the greater design. The design of Justice. It works on everyone. It waits for the right time. It may not be served immediately but it upholds itself on Judgment day. Still, at the end of the day we still wonder: Is this Just?

Prologue

John William Sweeney opened his suitcase and looked into it with tired eyes. He was fighting this case for his brother, who was charged for murder in the first degree. Nervously, he placed the suitcase on the table and sat down on the chair to meditate. This was a part of his therapy. He moved his head sideways and twitched his neck after a while. The Courtroom was going to be in session in an hour but he liked to get accustomed to his surroundings better. This was his third case and probably his toughest. His brother, Marcus William Sweeney, was the top lawyer of the firm Sweeney, Lewiston and North. Being the named partner of a law firm is not an indicator of hard work and dedication. It requires skills which only a prodigy like Mark could possess.

Marcus William Sweeney was no doubt a legend in his field. He could make the jury shed tears for a rapist with his closing statement, embroiling the accused in a veil of innocence

Mark was not only popular in the District of Massachusetts, but his exploits made him an international figure thanks to the famous Nazi war criminal trial for crimes against humanity of Herman Goering vs. the Republic of Israel in 1967. Astonishingly, Goering was found “not guilty” by the international jury of the World War II tribunal which resulted in public outcry as well as critical acclaim for Mark(Goering was later hunted down and killed by Israeli intelligence: Mossad).

Today, Mark was implicated in the murder of an abusive husband, who had died due to head injuries sustained from a blunt object. What was even more intriguing about this case was that Mark had never been charged with any crime throughout his illustrious career as a lawyer. There were three eyewitnesses to the crime scene. The wife of the deceased was the only direct and strong witness to the crime. The Boston Police Department was not even sure about Mark’s involvement in the crime. In fact, Mark had come forward and surrendered to the police voluntarily. He was neither related to the deceased nor his wife and to assume that he committed the crime with a motive was clearly baseless. The police were seemingly baffled and yet content with the fact that they didn’t have to go on a mad hunt to nail the killer. It was an open and shut case for them but the chief of police confessed to the media that he had never before witnessed an absurd and confusing case as this one.

Chapter I: Mark William Sweeney vs. the State of Massachusetts

John’s mind was speeding into darkness. His largely unsuccessful stint as a lawyer was again under the scanner. It was surprising that the brother of the top lawyer in the United States was the worst at getting clients. Not many knew that his brother Mark had never considered him worthy of anything. When John applied for the position of a legal associate at Sweeney, Lewiston and North, his resume was flung at his face by his own dear brother. Mark had also told him that he could probably defend a rotten pig for inhabiting a junkyard. And yet, here he was, in the district court defending his prolific brother for a murder charge, a charge which could send Mark to the chair of death. John could never understand why his brother Mark had asked him to fight the case. Was Mark playing a trick on him? Even as a child Mark made him feel impotent and weak.

They were brothers of destiny. Looking at them, one would think they are twins. They shared the same birthday but Mark was elder to John by 2 years. Also, Mark was about an inch taller than his younger brother. But people never noticed such subtle differences when they were seen in isolation. The real question in everybody’s mind was “why did Mark Sweeney, the best lawyer in town, choose his distraught and unskilled brother for defending him in a murder trial?” Was this the family reunion of the decade? Did they forget their social differences for the sake of brotherhood?

Chapter 2: The Case

All Rise. Honorable Judge William Madison will preside over the proceedings. Case number 1021: Mr. Mark William Sweeney vs. the State of Massachusetts on the murder in the first degree of Mr. Jason Rodham Rush.

Judge: Am I to understand that the defendant will be represented by Mr. Jonathan William Sweeney?

John: Yes your honor.

Mark (callously): Ditto, Your honor.

Judge: Mr. Mark Sweeney, Let me make this clear to you. You shall not use such words in my court and you shall not resort to any antics or I shall hold you in contempt. Is that clear?

Mark: (smiling deviously) Sure your honor. Since my brother is fighting this case, I just think that he may be far too dumb to even make such comments.

The Judge glared at the defendant with his bloodshot eyes as John still stood with his eyes fixated on his brother. Mark never had any real respect for John but he never expected such harsh words in front of the whole court room infested with media.

Judge: I would also remind the media that they are not to make any noise which could lead to their eviction from the courtroom. I shall now hear from the District attorney.

District Attorney Alan Harper was a seasoned lawyer in his forties. He had lost all his cases against Mark Sweeney and in the course of time, had developed an acute dislike for him and his manipulative tactics. He wouldn’t leave this chance to nail his nemesis. In fact, even before the case was put up, Harper launched himself into the police chief’s office for the case details. This was his redemption, his judgment day.

DA Alan Harper: May I please the court, the defendant is accused of murder in the first degree…

Mark: Your honor, I request you to waive off the reading. The defendant wants to plead not guilty.

Judge: Mr. Mark Sweeney, let your lawyer do the talking. Am I to understand that you feel inadequately represented?

Mark: Your honor, my brother is a moron. He should be sitting in an elementary school right now but I interjected on my behalf as I think Mr. John Sweeney doesn’t even have the balls to stand up without wetting his pants.

Judge (angrily): Sit down Mr. Sweeney. I am warning you.

Mark (smiling): Why are you getting angry? I haven’t even started talking about your sexually deviant wife yet.

Judge (furiously strikes his gavel on the table): Mr. Sweeney, enough! One more word from your mouth and I will hold you in contempt.

Mark (still smiling): Thank You, your Honor for your kind words.

Judge: The Jury shall hear the case at 2 PM in this court. Till then, we are adjourned.

Chapter 3: Lies

As Mark and John made their way out of the courtroom cutting through the media’s glare and questions, John seemed to be in a state of humiliation. They sat in a car and Mark gave a big annoying grin to his brother.

Mark: Johnny, What the hell were you doing in the court? When will you get your ass off the chair?

John: Why did you paint me as an idiot in front of the cameras?

Mark (sarcastically): Oh. Now you are the big personality. Wait a Minute. We are fighting a murder trial here. We are not advertising for ladies lingerie out there.

John (angrily): What gives you the right to make me look like a fool?

Mark: Well, let us rewind here. Why did you have to bang the victim’s wife in the first place? You piece of shit, I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t swinging your bell in married homes.

Flashback (three months before the murder)

(John and Joanna in bed)

John (panting): When is your husband coming home?

Joanna (smoking): He is out washing hotel bathrooms with his dirty hands. I won’t let that dirty pig touch me ever. (Tears welling up on her calm and pale face) He should die. He should die for all eternity.

John: Shh. Shhh… Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I can’t see this beautiful face spoiled by tears. How can this piece of shit treat you like this?

Joanna: He treats me like a whore. He comes in drunk and swings his priced bat at me. He should die. (Bursting into tears of repression)

John: File for divorce. I will fight your case. Let me do it.

Joanna: Divorce. After two years of painful beating is that what I deserve? And then what? He doesn’t have a penny in his social security savings. I will still be a whore in the eyes of the world. (Suddenly her face lights up) I know how to do it. I know how to finish this off. Then we can go to Venezuela. My aunt stays there. Only you can do it. Only if you love me enough.

John: I will do anything for you. That bastard can never touch you again.

Chapter 4: May I please the court

1:55 PM (Present day)

John stood watching the fountain outside the courthouse. This was getting difficult for him. Mark was having lunch at Pencant’e de royale with his associates discussing new clients and making executive decisions. Why did Mark take up the blame? What is he achieving here?

2:00 PM

John: May I please the court. I have already submitted the witness list, your honor. On behalf of my client, I would like to plead not guilty to the charges leveled against him, on the grounds of insufficient evidence.

Mark: Objection, your honor.

Judge (whimsical): What?? You cannot object to your own plea.

Mark: Your honor. Request consultation with my lawyer.

Judge: Granted. Please resolve this issue Mr. Sweeney. The court will not tolerate your stupid antics in future.

(Mark walks up to John and grabs him by the arm.)

Mark: (whispering angrily) what the hell are you doing? Insufficient evidence? I surrendered for god’s sake. Get your act together, will you?

John: (nonchalantly) what? I just thought of raising reasonable doubt in front of the jury.

Mark: We are not playing that trick. I want this my way. You play along or I tell the court how stupid you are.

John: (grudgingly) Ok.

Mark: Your honor. Request for recess.

Judge: Mr. Sweeney. We just had lunch. Why the hell do you want recess now?

DA Alan Harper: Your honor. The defense is playing mute.

Judge: I am not blind Mr. Harper. You don’t need to point out every lunatic step in this case. I shall grant you 10 minutes recess Mr. Sweeney, but I warn you, you are punishing my patience here.

Chapter 5: The right defense

Mark: You stupid screw-up. What the hell do you think we are running here? A chicken factory? I have confessed to the crime, and yet, you want to prove insufficient evidence. Don’t you just get it? Is this what they taught you at your stupid third grade law school?

John: (trembling) I just thought I could play the reasonable doubt card. The jury will love it. We are practically identical twins. I can show them that I could have been the murderer. In law school they always say you don’t need to catch the real criminal. You just have to prove that your client didn’t commit the crime.

Mark: Yeah. Only if I hadn’t gone and confessed, you lousy junkie. (Yelling) WHAT THE HELL DO YOU… (Calms down) You know we are not identical. We are just reflections. The only difference is that your pea sized brain is not even good enough to distinguish between a spoon and a fork. You are a disgrace. Our parents should have drowned you in our backyard pool. Heck, I should have done it. What a fool. Shit. From now on, I am writing your lines. Follow my instructions and words and don’t you dare deviate from them. I have prepared a list of lines which you will use in court. Do you get that, you half bred mongrel? (Yelling) Did you get that?

Flashback (19 years back)

(John and Mark are playing in their room.)

Mark: Hey Johnny. Come on, give me your finger.

(John gives his finger reluctantly)

(SNAP! Mark breaks little John’s finger with anger)

Mark: Never touch my stuff again. You get it? Play with your own shitty toys.

(John starts wailing in pain. He cries for help. He calls his mom incessantly. Suddenly, Mark picks up a razor blade from his pocket and looks at John with a deviant smile and then runs the razor through his own palm thrice. Blood starts dripping from Mark’s hands. John looks in horror and stops crying. Why did Mark hurt himself? As their mother comes running towards them, Mark suddenly hugs John.)

Mark: Mommy. He didn’t do it on purpose, don’t hurt Johnny. He didn’t do it on purpose.

Mother: What did you do Johnny? What happened?

(Mark shows his blood drenched palm with a blunt face. Mom also notices a blood stained razor on the ground)

Mark: Don’t hit him mother. He didn’t do it on purpose.

Mother rushes ahead and slaps John who is unable to understand the turn of events. She then picks up Mark to dress his wounds. While leaving the room with his mother, Mark turns towards John wearing a sly smile on his face. John sits alone with a broken finger and a red face, still unable to conceive what had actually happened.

Chapter 6: Witness

DA Alan Harper: The prosecution calls its first witness, Mr. Engleworth, neighbor of the deceased Mr. Jason Rodham Rush.

Reader: Sir, Please take the stand. Do you solemnly swear in the name of god that thou shall speak the truth no matter what?

Engleworth: I do.

DA Alan Harper: Mr. Engleworth, Will you tell the court how the events transpired on the night of 2^nd December 1990. Please do not miss out any details.

Engleworth: I heard some shrieks at around 10:15 PM. I was taking my nap and I was startled by the noise. I have heard these shrieks before at around the same time. But this time the cry was more painful. It sounded big, you know.

DA Alan Harper: Were these shouts of help coming from the victim Mr. Jason Rush’s house.

Engleworth: Yes. I’m sure about that.

DA Alan Harper: (looking at the jury) Please continue.

Engleworth: I crept to my window and tried to peek into my neighbor’s house. The lights were turned off and I couldn’t see anything. But I heard several thud like sounds, like somebody was being beaten or like someone was being thrashed.

DA Alan Harper: Did you raise an alarm or go to their house to inspect.

Engleworth: No. How could I? I am an old man. I have several prostrate problems. (Turns to face the jury) You see I am on these life saving drugs and I am afraid that I may fall down if I move too much. I just don’t want to strain myself. If I were younger I would have gone to inspect the house myself. Being a world war veteran, I like to have things under my control.

Judge: Mr. Engleworth, don’t recite your stories. Keep your answers specific to the questions.

DA Alan Harper: What else can you tell us Mr. Engleworth?

Engleworth: Well, I waited for long by my window. Then after an hour or so a figure appeared. It was a man. Just like the defendant. Then he sat in his car and drove away.

DA Alan Harper: Did you see the car Mr. Engleworth.

Engleworth: I didn’t have my glasses on so I could not see the number on his plates, but it looked like a Mustang.

DA Alan Harper: Thank You Mr. Engleworth. Defense’s witness.

(John rose from his seat and looked at Mark, who was quietly resting on his chair with a look of amusement on his face.)

John: Mr. Engleworth, The shrieks you heard. Were they the shrieks of a woman in distress?

Engleworth: Yes, as I said I have heard them before but…

John (interrupting): Mr. Engleworth, You said you stood for half an hour by the window. Why didn’t you come out of your house instead?

Engleworth: Like I said I was never sure if I would be able to walk across my …

John (interrupting): Mr. Engleworth, do you realize that if you lie in this court you may be committing perjury. Did the prosecution tell you to render these details or are you making them up yourself.

Engleworth: Well, well, you are a young scoundrel. I am a war veteran Mr. Legal pants, treat me with some respect you imbecile.

John: Mr. Engleworth, How old are you?

Engleworth: I am 85.

John: And you wear glasses, don’t you?

Engleworth: Yes I do.

John: How can you be sure that the person who came out of the house was the defendant and not someone else?

Engleworth: Of course it was him. My garage lights are always on. I could see his…

John: Can you tell whether it was the defendant or me? Can you say for sure Mr. Engleworth?

Mark: Objection your honor?

Judge: You cannot object to your own defense Mr. Mark Sweeney.

John: Can you say for sure that it wasn’t me who exit the house that night.

Engleworth: Well you both look like twins but I am sure it was the other fellow.

DA Alan Harper: Objection your honor. The defense is playing tricks.

Mark: For once I concur with Mr. Harper, your honor. May I speak to my lawyer this instant?

Judge: OK. This is getting ridiculous now. I will adjourn the proceedings. We will start the proceedings tomorrow at 11 AM sharp. And Mr. Mark Sweeney, please consult your lawyer “before” you defend yourself in court. The court is adjourned.

Chapter 7: In the car

Mark: What the hell were you playing there Johnny? I told you not to choose that line of defense. There is no reasonable doubt that I committed the crime. I confessed remember.

John: Confessions are not admissible to the court under section 34...

Mark: Shut up. SHUT UP you piece of shit. Do you want me to go ahead and tell the police that you killed Mr. Rush? Then you would be against me. And I will bring out all your dirty secrets. Do you want me to tell the court, how you used to fuck Mr. Jason Rush’s wife? You want me to tell them, don’t you?

John: Then you would have lied to the court. You would have committed perjury.

Mark: I haven’t even taken the stand yet, you moron, which means I am immune to perjury. The DA will have to reverse the case on you. Plus I will act as their witness if you don’t shut up and listen to me. As I told you, I will choose the path. I will plead the “right to protect an innocent”.

John: Why? So that the press portrays you as a hero?

Mark: No, you rotten sewer hole. I am doing this to save your pathetic ass. Do you understand me Johnny boy?

John: (silent)

Mark: Yes, just as I thought. You never had the balls to pull this off Johnny and you never will have. That is why they call me the justice man of America. I am taking over the case now Johnny. You can watch and learn from the expert. The jury will cry for me. Wait till you see me in action

Flashback (the night of the murder 10:14 PM)

Joanna: He shall come in any moment. I shall cry for help when you start hitting him. This way people will think he is hitting me.

John: Does he really hit you everyday?

Joanna: What do you mean? Where do you think I got these scars from? Shh… shh he is coming.

Mr. Jason Rush enters his house using his key and suddenly the power goes out. John swings the baseball bat on Rush’s head using all the force he can gather. Mr. Rush falls to the floor. He moans and tries to get up. By this time Joanna has started crying for help. John swings again in a fit of impulse. He then keeps swinging till blood sprays from Mr. Rush’s head. Joanna is still crying and John keeps hitting the head till some fragments of brain and skull fly across the room. Then he stops. Joanna stops crying. There is silence. John is suddenly overtaken by remorse and fear. He has never killed a person before. He trembles and drops the bat on the floor.

Joanna: There, you did it. You freed me darling. I don’t have to live in a prison anymore. (Sees John’s pale face) What is it Johnny? You saved me. We can now run away to Venezuela. I have his life insurance cover. No one can stop us now. Why are you worried? I have his will he left the house to me. I have already sold it to some tenants. Look at me Johnny.

John: I have never killed anyone.

Joanna: You did it for my protection. You saved an innocent.

John: But we planned this. We planned the whole murder.

Joanna: I love you Johnny. Do you love me? You didn’t commit a crime. You saved us both. We can live in peace. We are one now.

John: No. No. I killed him. (Starts weeping) I killed a man. Oh god! I killed a man.

After half an hour of self incrimination John starts running towards the door.

John: (with swollen eyes and anxiety) I have to run. Oh my God, I have to run.

Joanna: Johnny, wait. Wait Johnny. I love you Johnny.

John rushes outside to his car and speeds away while Mr. Engleworth watches in amazement and confusion from his window.

Chapter 8: Motive

Mark: Your honor. There is a slight change in the proceedings. I will defend myself. My lawyer will second chair.

Judge: Does the prosecution have an objection? If you have, you may speak now.

DA Alan Harper: None your honor. I am a fan of Mr. Mark Sweeney’s antics. There is nothing better than watching a clown show his tricks.

Judge: You may continue, Mr. Sweeney.

Mark: Thank You, Your Honor.

DA Alan Harper: Prosecution calls Sergeant James Thomas Billow of the Boston Police Department.

(Sgt. Billow takes the stand and the oath)

DA Alan Harper: Sir, What was your hypothesis on inspecting the crime scene?

Sgt. Billow: Well Sir, The fact is that we never knew about the murder before Mr. Sweeney showed up in the morning at the police station.

DA Alan Harper: Well then, what did Mr. Sweeney tell you?

Sgt. Billow: He said he had been driving through that street on the night of 2^nd December 1990. Then he heard some shrieking sounds in the neighborhood and he stepped out of his vehicle in order to inspect the chaos. Then he heard some crying noises again. He identified the house and rushed into it. The door was unlocked which was later confirmed through the wife of the victim. He then picked up a 1986 wood class baseball bat and struck the victim Mr. Rush, on the head, thrice. He also claimed that the victim did not fall unconscious and was also attacking Mr. Sweeney, which compelled him to swing the bat again. This time however, the blow was fatal.

DA Alan Harper: Did Mr. Sweeney tell you precisely what compelled him to commit the crime?

Sgt. Billow: Yes Sir, he did. He said he was protecting an individual from domestic battery. In fact, he pointed out several sections in the law and the bible which justified the use of force to protect innocent people. He also claimed to have no contact with the victim or his wife, prior to this encounter, which made his cause of action legally unprecedented. He claimed that he was doing it to protect the woman, but also intended to render Mr., Rush unconscious so that he could be apprehended by the appropriate authorities. He confessed to the crime quite voluntarily which made it easier for us to investigate the crime scene. The wife of the victim was in shock and could confirm only some parts of the story.

DA Alan Harper: Sergeant Billow, Did you ever ask Mr. Sweeney, why he didn’t call the Police department immediately after the crime.

Sgt. Billow: He claimed that the phone line in the house was dead as was the nearest telephone booth. We confirmed this too.

DA Alan Harper: Sgt. Billow, I am now compelled to ask you, did you ever wonder why Mr. Sweeney didn’t rush to the police station on the night of the murder. In fact, records show that he waited till dawn to construct and justify a decent story. Isn’t that true Sergeant?

Mark: Objection, Speculative.

Judge: Sustained.

DA Alan Harper: Sergeant, did you ask Mr. Sweeney as to why he appeared at the police station only in the morning?

Sgt. Billow: We did Sir. But he said it was a cold chilly night and he was feeling tired. He felt that he could go home and sleep. Since we had his confession anyway, this delay really did not matter to us.

DA Alan Harper: Let me ask you this Sergeant. Do you believe in God?

Sgt. Billow: Yes Sir, I do.

DA Alan Harper: Do you believe this fairytale story Mr. Sweeney told you?

Sgt. Billow: Well Sir, I have to say that we bought Mr. Sweeney’s story completely when we saw the crime scene. But the only thing that came to my mind was fingerprints. I had a doubt at one point when I saw that the bat had no finger prints. I just felt it could be a well planned murder if the assailant was so particular that he left no finger prints. That is precisely why we charged him with murder in the first degree.

DA Alan Harper: You think Mr. Sweeney planned this? (Facing the jury) You mean he didn’t do it to save an innocent soul?

Sgt. Billow: That is what we felt after our investigation.

DA Alan Harper: Thank you Sgt. Billow. Defense’s witness

Mark: Sgt. Billow wasn’t it embarrassing for the Boston police department that they never came to know about the murder in the first place. They only came to know about it after I confessed. Doesn’t that make you feel incompetent, Sgt. Billow?

DA Alan Harper: Objection Your honor, irrelevant.

Judge: Sustained. Sergeant, you need not answer that question.

Mark: Sgt. Billow. How cold was the night of 2^nd December? Just give me a rough idea.

Sgt. Billow: Well it was cold sir. Quite chilly I suppose. We had snow cover in most parts of the city.

Mark: Well in that case, Sgt. Do you wear a coat or a blazer when you feel cold?

DA Alan Harper: Objection your honor. What is the defense trying to achieve here?

Mark: That will be clear very soon your honor.

Sgt. Billow: Well yeah. I do wear a jacket to keep myself warm. In fact we wear boots, woolen trousers, thick caps and gloves to keep …

Mark: In that case, Sergeant. Is it very hard to believe that I might be driving my car wearing a pair of woolen gloves?

Sgt. Billow: Not at all Sir.

Mark: In fact, is it not possible that due to the escalating chain of events, I might have still adorned the gloves while holding the bat?

Sgt. Billow: It is possible sir.

Mark: (looking at the jury) I never thought the DA could stoop to such levels in order to make me look like a paid assassin. Mr. Harper here would have wanted my fingerprints on the bat. It is a crime to even wear gloves now. Please vote for our next presidential candidate Mr. Alan Harper.

(Laughter in the courtroom)

Judge: Order, order. Is that all Mr. Sweeney?

Mark: yes your honor.

DA Alan Harper: The prosecution has no more witnesses your honor.

Chapter 9: Joanna

Mark: The defense calls Mrs. Joanna Rush to the stand.

(Joanna steps to the stand and takes her oath)

Mark: Mrs. Rush, Did your husband abuse you repeatedly?

Joanna: Yes. He used to beat me with his bat after coming home drunk.

Mark: As Mr. Engleworth pointed out, do you cry for help when this happens.

Joanna: (tears) Yes I do. But nobody comes for help.

Mark: Mrs. Rush, on the night of the murder, was your husband beating you?

Joanna: Yes

Mark: Then what happened and I request you to address the court.

Joanna: (pointing to Mark) this man came to my rescue that night. Our door was open and he barged in to calm things down. Then my husband swung his bat at him. In an act of self defense Mr. Mark Sweeney here grabbed the bat and pulled it away from my husband’s control. Then he swung it once at my husband’s head to knock him out. (Now almost sobbing) But my husband did not stop. He lunged at this helpful man and tried to attack him with his fist. (Pause) (Wipes her tears)

Mark: Then what happened?

Joanna: Then Mr. Mark swung his bat again and my husband dropped dead.

Mark: What did you feel after that?

Joanna: I felt free. Mr. Sweeney had liberated me. (To the jury) I had an abusive husband and I was too afraid to complain to the police. He threatened to kill me one night because he felt I was not faithful to him.

Mark: Do you hold any grudge against me Mrs. Joanna?

DA Alan Harper: Objection. Manipulative, your honor.

Judge: Overruled. Answer the question Mrs. Joanna.

Joanna: No. On the contrary I was happy that Mr. Mark came to my rescue. (Facing the jury) I just hope there are people out there who can hear our cries. There are millions of us suffering…

Judge: Mrs. Rush, I understand your emotions but please keep your answers short.

Joanna: Yes, your honor.

Mark: Then what happened?

Joanna: Mr. Mark asked me if I was alright. Then he tried to call 911. But my phone was out of order. Then Mr. Sweeney asked me if there were any phone booths around. I then recalled that there was one at the corner of the 90^th street. As he was leaving the house, I remembered that the phone booth was out of order. Mr. Sweeney then comforted me and told me that everything will be fine. He then left the house.

Mark: Have you ever seen me before, Mrs. Rush? And do address the court.

Joanna: No. Mr. Mark Sweeney came out of nowhere to save me.

Mark: Thank You, Mrs. Rush. Defense rests your honor.

Judge: Would the prosecution like to cross-examine the witness?

DA Alan Harper (nods his head and gets up): Quite a story, I must say Mrs. Rush. First, I would like to extend my congratulations to you for the receipt of your husband’s insurance claim. His death has made you a millionaire I guess.

Mark: Objection. Irrelevant and despicable.

Judge: Sustained.

DA Alan Harper: You say that your husband abused you physically. Why didn’t you register a complaint with the police?

Joanna: I tried. The police refused to file my report.

DA Alan Harper: Oh now you are making stories Mrs. Rush. I suppose you never went to the police.

Mark: Objection. Speculative.

Judge: Sustained.

DA Alan Harper: (with anger) how much did Mr. Sweeney pay you to tell this story Mrs. Rush?

Mark: Objection your honor.

DA Alan Harper (not listening to anything): You come up with a nonsensical false story and you try to defend Mr. Sweeney as your hero. How much did he pay you Mrs. Rush?

(The court is in mayhem. People start whispering simultaneously. There are hushed voices all over)

Mark: Objection your honor.

DA Alan Harper: Don’t you show your sorry face to me Mrs. Rush. The court knows you are lying. Tell me the truth. How much did he pay you?

(More hushed whispers)

Judge: Order, Order. Silence or I will throw all you journalists out.

Joanna: (with determination) Mr. Harper, you never got a beating from my husband. Do tell me when your spouse thrashes you. Then we will talk about the money Mr. Sweeney paid to save your ass.

(The court falls silent)

DA Alan Harper: The prosecution rests your honor.

Judge: Ok. I will have a recess. We shall proceed with your closings after the recess. The court is adjourned.

Chapter 10: Reason

All this time John never understood a word of what was going on. He gaped at the whole thing like a monkey in a bathing suit.

Mark: Well, Johnny that was swell, wasn’t it? Why are you looking at me like a chimp? Ha-ha.

John: How did you build up all this? How did you create this stuff? I never called the police.

Mark: Ha-ha. That my friend is great lawyering. Don’t you get it? That is why I am rich and you are poor. You need to plug the holes Johnny. But I must say the woman you are sleeping with has her brains in the right place. A meeting with her before today’s trial was amazing. You are too dumb to be even seeing her. Without her heart rendering testimony none of this would have happened. The DA must be banging his head on the desk by now. Hah! That sucker.

Flashback (meeting before the trial at Joanna’s residence)

Mark: May I come in Mrs. Rush. I am Marcus Sweeney, the supposed murderer of your husband.

Joanna: Yes. Please do. Sir, I am confused as to why you are standing for the trial? Why are you taking the blame for the murder?

Mark: Well let’s just say that I love Johnny. (Winking) Don’t you? But more than that, Johnny never had the balls to stand up for himself.

Joanna: I am sure you are in my house regarding the case?

Mark: Well yes. But I cannot help but admiring your body Mrs. Rush. It just makes my blood flow in several places

Joanna: (crossing her arms) May we please discuss the trial?

Mark: Sure. First, I heard you got your husband’s insurance claim. Was a hell of a lot of money? What are you going to do with it?

Joanna: I am planning to go to Venezuela to stay with my aunt.

Mark: Is that so? Okay. So Mrs. Rush, I am sure you must have heard about me in the papers. I am a very tough lawyer. I only look at important details. Like, was your phone out of order that night?

Joanna: No. I had severed my phone connection about 2 weeks before the murder.

Mark: Well then the case is open and shut. For your information, the nearest phone booth to your place in 90^th street has been out of order for weeks too. Do you understand what I am trying to imply here?

Joanna: Yes. You are placing yourself in the crime scene and breaking all exit points for the prosecution.

Mark: So intelligent, and yet you sleep with my brother. Come to my place I will show you how the rich live and reproduce.

Joanna: Just tell me what I have to do in the witness stand. I just don’t want Johnny to go to prison.

Chapter 11: Closing statements

DA Alan Harper: Members of the jury. What we witnessed today was not only a trial for prosecuting a murder suspect but also a trial where killing a man was justified as an act of God. It has desensitized the issue of homicide. What kind of a world are we living in? A person who breaks into some home to kill a man and justifies it as an act of goodwill is not only committing a crime against humanity he is also bending the law at his whim. All you 12 people sitting here to pass a judgment on Mr. Mark William Sweeney very well know that this murder was not out of pity, but out of rage. Well the next time I kill someone I will just say that he or she was trying to kill me. Then I will walk across the street to buy an eyewitness. Does the defense think that we are foolish enough to buy his ill constructed story? Well, I am not convinced. Even if the 12 of you are, think about the way this crime was committed. It was cold blooded. The weapon was struck on the victim’s head at least 10 times. What is even more compelling is that Mr. Sweeney claims that he wore gloves to protect himself from the winter. Oh, come on now Mr. Sweeney that is not even close to an excuse. Mr. Sweeney took matters into his own hands. He planned the murder and made a deal with Mrs. Rush. He will refuse it. I mean, won’t we all refuse that we took a small down-payment to finish a convenient job. Murder for money. The wife plans redemption. She gets a top lawyer to iron out the legal wrinkles and goes home with a million dollars. Mr. Sweeney is a cold blooded murderer. We all know what the law dictates under such circumstances. Today, I ask the 12 of you to punish an act which has so blatantly been portrayed as noble. I ask you today to respect that law you uphold and punish this man.

Mark: My brother was 10 years old when he got into a fight. He was fighting a 15 year old large bully and was obviously losing heavily. Both of us were extremely small compared to the bully but in my heart I felt that the two of us could take him. I entered the fight and together we drove the bully away. Members of the jury, that day taught me a lesson. Stand up to injustice. I was moving through the 89^th street that night to reach home early. People like Mr. Harper here, may feel that I wasn’t supposed to be there. But fate made me take that road that night. When I heard the cries of a helpless woman I knew that helping her was the right thing to do. In fact, even the police never did the right thing. They have never even considered coming to Mrs. Rush house to see the extent of abuse her husband was inflicting on her. Well, I was there to help her and so I did. A man died. Yes, a man died. But did he die because of my rage? No. As you all heard Mrs. Rush vouches that I did so to protect myself. If I could have knocked the man unconscious wouldn’t I have done that? I had no prior grudge against Mr. Rush and I am not gaining anything from his death, am I? Don’t you think it’s bizarre that I surrendered myself to the police? A planned murder? I did that because I wanted them to know that I did the right thing. Isn’t it bizarre that Mr. Harper comes up with an excellent urban legend to shame an abused, domestic lady? I say he should be a screenwriter. What a plot, what suspense.

I just wanted to help this innocent lady. How dare the prosecution ask me to not stand for what is right. If a man dies doing the wrong thing I say let him die. If a man is tried for doing the right thing, we all know that something somewhere is very, very wrong. Even if you feel that I did the wrong thing I still believe in what I did. Hell, send me to the electric chair. Even if you let me go free and I see someone in distress I will try and help that person. If the bad guy dies during the struggle I would say, so be it. Mr. Harper feels that I am making an excuse for wearing gloves that night. How low can you stoop Mr. Harper, to convict an innocent man? Please tell the court that our army is full of murderers. Why should they defend our country? They are killing human beings, they should fry in hell. They should be cut into pieces and thrown to the dogs. Oh, how does it matter that the enemy wants us dead? We should never kill. Its inhuman, its wrong to save innocent lives, isn’t that what you think Mr. Harper.

Mr. Harper raised the question of morality here. Let me ask him, how moral is it to beat your wife? We stand here today mourning over a person who abused his wife. How noble is that? I still think the world needs to understand the difference between right and wrong as clearly Mr. Harper, an expert practitioner of this profession, feels that saving an innocent, harried and abused person is still immoral if the oppressor is killed. That is all what matters to him. The death of a violent, abusive, drunk husband, who is not a man enough to keep his wife safe. What a pity. What a pity. Save the oppressor. Let the innocent die in pain. She signed up for it. I am afraid to live in this world of violence where a victim is painted as a conspirator. Where a good deed is painted as a convenient job. I don’t want to live in this world anymore. Please do Mr. Harper a favor. Give him what he wants. Let the victims suffer. Let the rapists rape your daughters. You want to stop them? No. Mr. Harper said you cannot kill an oppressor. He is a human too. Why don’t I offer myself for rape? Please rape me. Kill me. I will not complain. Because I cannot complain can I? Because even after you rape me my oppressor should be let free. He was just having fun. Yes, Mr. Harper. Is this the world you want us to live in? Is this the world?

(Silence as Mark returns to his seat)

Judge: Members of the jury will now be excused to confirm the verdict. Till that time, the court is adjourned.

(In the defendant’s chamber)

Mark: (jubilant) How was I?

John: You lied about our childhood. I was the one who got into the fight to save you. How manipulative can you be?

Mark: Hey, Hey, hey, lets not forget who is on trial here. I took the blame for your doings Johnny boy. If we are to lose today I am going to have my ass fried on a chair.

John: You haven’t done me any favor here. You wanted to be the accused.

Mark: Yes. I wanted to be in jail for your crime. I don’t see where I have become less caring or less brotherly.

Flashback (on the night of the murder 11:10 PM)

John nervously dials a number in a phone booth. His hands are trembling. More than anything he was disgusted with himself as he was calling the one person he hated the most.

Mark: Hello? Who is this? Don’t you know the time mister?

John: Marky, it’s me.

Mark: Oh, Johnny my whining brother. What happened? Let me guess. You are broke and you want money. Well, darling you know I don’t give a shi…

John: (interrupting) Marky, I committed a murder.

Mark: hmmm. That is interesting. Whom did you whack? I hope a homeless guy.

John: I didn’t do it on purpose Marky. You know this married woman I was involved with. I bludgeoned her husband. I was not in my senses Marky. Please get me out of this shit.

(A brief silence looms over the phone)

Mark: So you killed a married man? Hmm. Do one thing. Don’t go to the police. Tell me exactly what happened and I shall do the necessary.

John told him the whole account leaving no detail behind. As the conversation was nearing its end Mark had a distinct smile on his face.

Mark: Kiddo. Go to your home and sleep tight. Your brother Marky has everything under his control.

The next day Mark went to the police station assuming the role of a murderer and narrated all the details to the police chief. John never knew that his brother would do something like this. When John got the news of his brother’s arrest, his heart skipped a beat. Was Marky sacrificing himself for me? Why is he doing this?

Chapter 12: the verdict

Judge: Madam Foreperson, Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?

Madam Foreperson: We have your honor.

Judge: What say you?

Madam Foreperson: In the case of Mr. Marcus William Sweeney vs. the state of Massachusetts, we find the defendant Mr. Marcus William Sweeney, under the charge of murder in the first degree “NOT GUILTY”.

Judge: The court is adjourned. I thank the jury for their services.

Chapter 13: The last conversation

(John is driving the car and Mark is sitting beside him)

Mark: So Johnny. What did you learn today?

John: Try to act over smart and people will love you.

Mark: Shut your beak up. This is what you give me for saving your ass?

John: I didn’t understand one thing Marky. Why did you take the case? In fact why did you implicate yourself?

Mark: Oh Johnny, Johnny boy. You never understand, do you? This is what makes me the best lawyer in town. The true test of a lawyer is when he is asked to defend himself for a crime he has committed. I never had an opportunity like this. The fun, the racing adrenaline, it makes me swoon with amazement. Now I am being hailed as a hero as well. More than that, it was the excitement. To find yourself fighting death against all odds, even after you confess to having committed the crime is breathtaking. My record as a lawyer still stands to be envied. This is my pinnacle. No lawyer could have achieved this. A half breed mongrel like you could never understand this.

John: Well at least, Joanna is happy.

Mark: Ha-ha-ha-ha. Joanna. I still cannot believe that you are in love with a much smarter woman than yourself. You know Johnny that is your problem. You think that whore is a solution to all your failures. Do you really think she loves you? Do you really think she was beaten by her husband? I saw her scars that day. They were 3 years old. Actually, a moron like you could never observe such things.

John: You can call me names Marky, but don’t you dare speak about Joanna like that.

Mark: I will speak about her as I like. That fucking whore nails four or five people at the same time and still she gets a stupid fuck up like you to do her dirty job.

John: (getting angry) I am warning you Marky. Don’t spe…

Mark: Oooh. I am scared now. Who are you gonna call now? Mommy? You know why the whore is going to Venezuela, you numb nut. That is because the United States has no extradition treaty with Venezuela. And you think nailing her every night makes you her soul mate. She is worse than a bitch. But numb nuts like you fall for nymphs like that.

John: (angrily) Mark. Stop talking like that. Or else…

Mark: Or else what. You are going to sell that whore in a market? Well she must have been sold a million times. Probably that is what she does for a living. That fucking whore really got a good deal out of you. How many blowjobs did you get from that slut? Ten? Isn’t that the number of times you swung your bat at poor Mr. Rush.

John: Mark. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.

Mark: You noisy swine. You get enraged for a whore. All she does is fuck with many fools like you. Yeah, she is damn smart. The bitch made you believe that you are in love. That is no surprise since a fucking dunce like you can fall for a fly giving you a lap dance. You know what love is? Why don’t you crawl up to mommy and suck on her boobs. That is love for you, you imbecile. Anyway, at least Joanna would stop supplying milk for a week. That bitch may even open a whore shop for stupid fucking idiots like you.

(John loses himself and draws Mark’s gun from the glove compartment and shoots Mark in the head. The car skids to a stop. Johnny comes out of the car and drags his brother’s dead body on the empty road.)

John: There is your love. (Shoots another bullet at his head). You feel my brotherly love now Marky, you piece of shit (he empties 4 bullets in Mark’s brain but restrains himself from shooting the last bullet).

(After some time John is unable to stand on his feet and he sinks to the ground with remorse and anger. He weeps by his brother’s body.)

John: (with a choked throat) Why Marky, Why. Why couldn’t you just shut up? Why?

Chapter 14: Venezuela

John drives past Joanna’s house and suddenly stops the car. He must see her. They are leaving tonight for Venezuela. He has to take her in his arms. Oh, how he longed to see her. How much this moment had cost him? All he wanted now was a glimpse of the lovely look on her face.

(As he entered the apartment he called out for Joanna. Suddenly Joanna started shrieking and ran from her bedroom naked to embrace John.)

Joanna: Help me Johnny. Help me. This man is trying to rape me.

John: Who?

An old man: Hey. Who the fuck is this?

(John raises the gun and fires a bullet into the man’s head. The old fellow falls in an instant.)

John: (throws away the empty gun) Baby, Who is this fellow? How did he get in here? Come quick pack your bags. We have a flight to catch.

(As he turns to pack his bags, he finds the chief of police uniform on the floor along with the nameplate and his badge.)

John: (startled) Honey, This old man was the chief of police?

(Then another deadly realization dawns upon him.)

John: Joanna, Why didn’t you shout for help before I entered your apartment?

(As he turns around he finds Joanna holding the chief’s gun against his temple.)

Joanna: Your brother was right, you piece of shit. You really are the dumbest, aren’t you? Why did you even come here?

John: But baby, we have to catch the flight. I love you.

Joanna: What didn’t you understand about me? I do this all the time. Every year, a slain husband makes a posthumous payment for my vacation. You were just the means Johnny. You are cute, but you ain’t the brightest.

John: What are you talking about? I love you baby.

Joanna: Keep your love in your pocket, you idiot. I have had many lovers. May their souls rest in peace.

John: Baby, I love you. Why are you doing this? I love you baby.

Joanna: Yeah, and I loved your shoes Johnny. But I have only one ticket.

(And then she pulls the trigger.)

R. Lakshminarayan

Disclaimer: The events and characters in the story are fictitious. Some lines used in the story may not be an accurate representation of actual legal arguments. The author does not vouch for the exact sections in the law quoted above. All matters regarding legal issues cannot be referenced to this story as a legal source.

2009-08-16T10:53:00.001-07:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Announcement 2

2009-08-16T10:48:00.001-07:00

JabberWacky suggested that we put some comic strips on our blog. So I am posting one above. Ill ask all d cops to comment on this. If this is to become a regular feature on copslair, lets have a vote. Nada u can use as many expletives as u want if u dont like it, hell..., even if u like it.

live like a tornado..

2009-08-07T12:25:00.003-07:00

spin a roulette,dance a ballet

run off a cliff,swim up a stream

not to sleep,wake up and dream

turn on the radio,make a video

put it on net,make others fret

hear all the shit,take a break

on the road,get hit and freak

play a game,fire and snow

wanna run but no where to go

take a blow,walk lil slow

bite the dust,go bust

make love to a stranger

wear a mask for the mirror

gate crash a party,screw the hottie

get tharshed,talk trash

pick up a brawl,but still stand tall

back begins to ache,gave more than you can take

jumble the equation,forget the question

mess the situation,gotta escape

start the motor,rumble the engine

use a vein,dope the needle

juss a drop,over the top

hear the thunder,make a blunder

into the night,wrong and right

mere people,lost outta sight

blow the building,razed to ground

buy a yatch,count the stars

hatch a plot,take a shot

getaway in a car,to the nearest bar

be a czar.....

flash your libido

show some bravado

live like a tornado..

flash your libido

show some bravado

live like a tornado..

Hum Drum

2009-07-23T13:17:00.000-07:00

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.

Poet in a one man band

2009-07-23T13:00:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-23T12:19:00.000-07:00

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.

RENAISSANCE MAN

2009-07-20T12:13:00.000-07:00

As far as I can remember, I always wanted to be a thief. The only problem was that I did not know where to start. It always intrigued me in an essential kind of a way. As for other reasons, my father was a petty thief, which pretty much made me a thief by default. Till age seven, I did not know what he did for a living. There were always unanswered questions in my mind. Why did my dad stay away in the nights? Why did he disappear for months and then come back only to disappear after some more time? I still remember the day when I found out that he was a thief. The police dragged him from our home to the police van as I stood there watching. To be honest, I had never been more proud of my dad. For one thing, now I at least knew what he did and I admired it. That was my life changing moment, right there. I don’t know why people scoff at thieves. It takes courage to steal. When you know that society does not accept what you are doing and that on being caught, you can either be pounded or thrown in the jail, you need to have a heart of steel to do that. I just love to steal. Screw your norms and values. I steal not because I need to, it’s because I want to. How many ‘civilized’ people can do that? My guess is not one of them. They are too busy living their mundane lives to realize the thrill, the excitement and the satisfaction that a successful act of theft gives. They just don’t have what it takes. They are too busy labeling things as right or wrong. Speaking of right and wrong, how was theft ever labeled an illegal act, I would never know. Rich guys criminalized theft as, well, they are the people one steals from. I mean you would not enter a laborer’s house to steal. What is there to steal? Nothing. That’s what rich people don’t get. Stealing is the most egalitarian act in the world. Isn’t that what our forefathers wanted? Equal distribution of wealth has always been the pipedream which never materialized. The reason behind that is that there are more rich people in the world that there are thieves. Still they are the ones who live in fear, ironic !!

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.

fzeee..

2009-07-08T07:41:00.000-07:00

it started of as a need for a ride..

places to go and no where to hide..

met her flirtin, wit sumone else...

and those eyes,they felt out of this place..

the curves juss too good to be true..

raisin brows here n there..

all my motions and how they flew..

this silly world,i couldnt care..

a passion to lay my hands on her..

with me lost in a rhyme...

she went by,i chased time..

chased her till i heard her whine..

gullible i woke up next day..

lookin around to catch my prey..

she seemed too hot to handle..

when there were others that posed a try...

fooled 'round door to door

meetin everybody else but her..

they were good but......

didn't have the charm to make the cut..

some days went by

now i have her..

she loves me when i ride her..

craves more more no matter what i give her..

we zoom past the crowd,as they drool..

her high rises and the low cuts all so cool..

the solid rear or the blinding front..

the nasty crowd bears the brunt...

we fuse as single soul..

bend low go high sweep all by..

touch the sky in an orgasmic bout

we make sounds didnt you hear us shout...

it happens day in n day out..

now you will wonder who was she..

well its something someone who drives me...

you may lovingly call it fz.......

THE SOHRAB-SULTAN CASE

2009-07-07T11:10:00.000-07:00

THE COURT

Sohrab and Sultan stood facing the judge. Sohrab had still not answered.

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.

Announcement 1

2009-06-24T06:27:00.000-07:00

This is just a very new idea (not sure if its bad or gud). Lately I have come across some bloggers from VNIT. Some talk about flying pigs (dunno how one cud be interested in that) and some present interpretations of life. There are many more who just don't write anything other than "lol" on their profile. The idea is that we could review some blogs or maybe discuss some features. This way we could exchange ideas or maybe mock other people.

It may seem rather derisive but I would certainly like the reviews to be as subtle as they can be. Let us not slander people just because we do not like to see their faces. This can also help other bloggers to introspect. Although the idea seems to be altruistic and too good to be true, we could experiment with this.

When you are reviewing a blog please be sure that you write down the link and the name of the author. Even if his blogger name is say, "maverick" or "phantom" or "hungry whore", please do mention these details when you write the review

By
R. Lakshminarayan

THE FAREWELL

2009-06-21T11:38:00.000-07:00

Its a great place, Kalaupapa. The sun shines brightly, the green of the surroundings seem to envelop everything and the cool breeze just makes it the perfect place for hiking. As one climbs up, the breeze seems to pick up, thus relieving the hiker of his fatigue somewhat and building the anticipation for the journey that lies ahead. I stood there on the narrow trail as the breeze stroked gently against my face. Nikhil stood some steps in front of me, gulping down water and ofcourse, Saurabh gave me a menacing look as he passed me by, out of his breath. Lazy Fatso.

It had been a lazy morning, as usual. They thought of going to the class several times but decided against it. Nikhil came running as Roshan and Saurabh sat on a bench eating chips and watching other students play football.

Nikhil(still panting and smelling of cigarettes): Guess what.

They waited for Nikhil to say something but he just seemed to pant even more.

Roshan: Speak up fucker. What ??

Nikhil(grabbing the chips pack from Saurabh's hand): There's a new English teacher. Some guy called Geremy Jones.

Saurabh: They got one straight from England.

Nikhil: No, you dumbass. The guy is some Christian, lives near Sadar Bazar.

Roshan: Cool. When do we get to meet this Jones guy.

Nikhil: Right now. His is the next lecture.

Roshan: Damnit. That’s too soon.

The bell rang indicating that lunch time was over. The three of them lay on benches as other students rushed back to their classrooms, no matter what they were doing. In all that chaos, a boy accidentally pushed Roshan. Roshan was infamous for, well, for what was to follow.

Roshan:Can’t you see, you idiot.

Boy: Sorry. I…. I just tumbled.

Roshan(with a mock smile): No, No no no. You will tumble now.

Roshan stood up, took the boy by the collar and punched him in the belly. Students were all too familiar with this, so the boy just ran back to the class, grimacing in pain.

Nikhil: Nice shot, Rocky.

If Nikhil did cigarettes, Roshan did people.

Some locals passed us by. Their faces lit up as they saw us. Well, we were foreigners there and those people didn't meet many. This was the beauty of exploring an unchartered territory. You get to meet people when they least expect it and the reaction that follows is one of the most honest you will ever get to see. Speaking of honest, the expression on Saurabh's face was honest too. It seemed like he would fall over, tumble down and roll back to the bottom any moment now. I asked him if he was OK. "Roshan you bitch.", he said with his hands on his knees, " I am fine." Nikhil lit a cigeratte. "You've got to smoke everywhere, isn't it", I asked him. He looked at me casually as smoke escaped his mouth. "Yeah", he uttered finally. It was great hiking around with friends you had met after 2-3 years. Still a long way lay ahead of us but for once the journey was as good as the destination even though the destination was no ordinary one.

They reached the class 10 minutes late. Mr Jones was already in the class. Nikhil casually asked him if they could come in and they proceeded immediately.

Jones: And who are you three? Did I permit you to come in?

They stopped mid way and looked at the teacher in bewilderment. He was a tall man with a broad moustache. In a shirt and trousers, to them, he looked like a character from the 70's show.

Roshan: I am Roshan. He is Nikhil and he is Saurabh.

Jones: And you two are dumb.

Saurabh(stuttering): No, no sir.

Jones: Then why does he have to speak for you two.

Saurabh: Sir…Sir…

Jones: Go get seated. Don't be late again. We are reading Act 2 of The Tempest. Open to page 83

The lecture went on. Saurabh was already drowsing and Roshan seemed to be in some parallel universe where there was no Shakespeare, never had been. Some time into the class, Nikhil raises his hand.

Jones: Yes Mr. Nikhil.

Nikhill: Sir, according to the text Miranda was Prospero's daughter.

The class laughed. It was obvious, why did he have to ask this.

Jones: Yes, she is.

Nikhil: Sir, reading the dialogues here, I feel Shakespeare hinted on something we are missing. Prospero certainly seems to have some incestual feelings for his daughter.

The class laughed out loud. They knew what was coming. This was not the first time Nikhil had done something like this. The teacher would go mad now and throw him out of the class.

Jones: You are quite correct, Nikhil.

The class fell dead silent.

Jones: Many critics feel the same. Obviously, the case is well open for debate but that is something many experts have also hinted at. Good observation.

The front-benchers chewed on their pencils. For once, they were not in the limelight.

This was all the encouragement Nikhil needed. It became a routine thing, as routine as Saurabh’s sleeping or Roshan’s indifference. If the English classes were spent in this manner, Sunday afternoons were spent at Saurabh’s house as his parents were away all day.

Nikhil: I like Sunday. It’s the only day when you actually experience an afternoon.

Saurabh: We have our term exams in a week and all you can think about are Sunday afternoons.

Roshan(smiling): Let it be Saurabh. He’s got a Shakespearean dick and it works well for him.

Nikihl(lighting a cigarette): Its called literature. Its my ticket to wonderland, away from all this drudgery of our useless lives. People say drugs do the same but I think literature must surely be better.

Roshan: Whatever you say bro. Good that you have a passion and a teacher who acknowledges your talent. I am still finding something I like.

Saurabh: Oh no. You do like things. You do have a passion. Beating others up.

Nikhil and Saurabh laughed out loud. Roshan was indignant.

Roshan: Shut up fatso.

Saurabh: Term exams in a week and school ends in five months. What are we going to do then? I have no ideas.

Roshan: Who needs ideas? We’ll go for engineering, ofcourse. Everyone does that.

The trail seemed to get narrower as we advanced but the surroundings cleared up. The destination was still some way but the view from that place was so exhilarating that nothing else mattered. The whole village of Kalaupapa could be seen and it seemed as if we had crossed the boundaries of the mortal world and now were in wonderland. It was more or less a horizontal way from here now. We kept walking. Saurabh had bruised his right leg and it started bleeding. I just savored in the air while Nikhil sat dressing his wound.

The term exams were over and teachers had started displaying marks. Roshan had picked up a fight with some boys in his locality and had to bunk school as he would have been beaten up the moment he left his house. He was having lunch when Nikhil came running.

Roshan: What’s up bro. (winking) How was Mr. Jones today?

Nikhil was perspiring heavily.

Nikhil: He failed me.

Roshan: What?

Nikhil: He falied me in the English exam.

Roshan: Are you kidding me? I…I mean…come with me.

He took Nikhil to his room. Nikhil was almost in tears now. He gave him some water to drink.

Roshan: He failed you?? How can he fail you? This is bullshit.

Nikhil(with bloodshot eyes): I don’t know. I don’t know.

Nikhil started panting whenever he was too excited or too frightened. Roshan thought this was due to his smoking habit.

Roshan: I’ll go talk to him. This is not right. How can he do that?

Nikhil: But…you shouldn’t go out of the house. You know..

Roshan(cutting him): I know. I don’t care.

Its treacherous when you are trying to hike with an injured fat man along side you. We wanted to reach there before sunset but Saurabh had slowed down considerably. He had to sit down at regular intervals but never once did he suggest abandoning the trip. We could see the top at some distance now and hear the roars. There was no way we were going to give up. So we did the unthinkable. I and Nikhil decided to carry Saurabh as long as we could.

Roshan went straight to Mr Jones house. He welcomed Roshan but Roshan was already in a fit of anger.

Roshan: Why did you fail Nikhil?

Jones: Where is he?

Roshan: That does not matter.

Jones: I didn’t fail him. He failed himself.

Roshan(swallowed hard): You expect to explain this using some philosophy. He was the best in the class, you know that. Still you failed him.

Jones: The boy has potential, Roshan. No on denies that. But he has to be able to reproduce all that talent on paper. He has got insight, the ability to see things the way others don’t. But he has to be able to use that gift.

Roshan: And how does failing him help matters.

Jones: You see. I gave passing marks to many others who are not half as good as him. And I don’t mean to be rude, but that includes you too. But literature is his domain and if he is not performing according to his potential, he is failing himself. May I ask you a question?

Roshan: Yes

Jones: What are you interests?

Roshan: Like?

Jones: Like what do enjoy doing? What are you particularly good at?

Roshan: I don’t know.

Jones: Why not?

Roshan: I don’t know. This isn’t about me. This is about Nikhil.

Jones: Exactly. And that is why he should have been here instead of you. The boy has problems expressing himself. He may be fine with you guys but then you are his friends. The moment he is taken out of his comfort zone, he flounders. He has to be taught to deal with this problem. And if he needs a push, you need direction. You and your friend Saurabh.

Roshan: What does that mean?

Jones: What are your plans for the future, Roshan?

For the first time, Roshan thought that may be coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Roshan: I don’t know. We’ll go for engineering.

Jones: Why exactly?

Roshan: Because that is what you do when you are a maths student.

Roshan heart was pounding in his chest now.

Jones: Let me clear the air for you. The world is not as simple as it seems to you. Engineering is not the panacea to your problems.

Roshan: What do you think we should do then?

Jones: Search yourself. Do you really want to be an engineer? I have seen countless young people throw themselves in to something which neither did they fully understand, nor did they want. And let it be clear that you, Nikhil and Saurabh are different individuals, no matter how good friends you are. Your lives are not going to be everything you think it is going to be. I have talked to other teachers too. Almost all have the same opinion about you as me. Don’t you want to be doing something which you want. Or do you just want to follow the herd. Because if you do that, Nikhil and Saurabh will follow. So yes, in that respect this is not only about you. Its about them also.

For the first time in his life, Roshan was forced to find a flaw with his reasoning. All Roshan could do was nod slightly.

Jones: Chart a life for yourself. Because you know why?

Mr Jones took out a golden bracelet from a drawer.

Jones: You see this. This was given to me by my father. He loved the sea, being a navy officer, said there is nothing in the world like the vast ocean. After he died, all I wanted to do is stand on a sea cliff, high, you know, and hurl it into its depths, because that is where my father’s soul resides. Watch it travel to the sea from there, stand there at the edge of the cliff and feel free. But I never had the money nor the time, because I fell into the same trap in which you are about to fall now. You and Nikhil and Saurabh. Do something particular and not something which everyone else does. The rest will follow. Find your passion before its too late. As for Nikhil, he has a gift which he should be helped to use. I’ll help him do that.

Roshan already had goosebumps on his arms. He just stood, greeted him meekly and left.

It got cooler as we approached our destination. Still we were out of breath from carrying Saurabh. It seemed as if we were climbing Mount Everest. We had to do it. Drained of all our strength, we dropped Saurabh and sat down panting. Fatso dropped with a thump. Nikhil took out a cigarette and I took out my camera. No matter why we were here, this was a nice place for a journalist.

The whole episode was narrated to Nikhil and Saurabh. Over and over and over. Everything Mr Jones had said about them, the bracelet, the sea cliff, about himself. Every time they had a debate over it.

Saurabh: You know what. That’s bullshit. Those who can, do, those who can’t, teach.

Roshan: When was the last time a teacher asked you to find your passion? By the way, do you know what your passion is?

Saurabh: You….you know….Roshan, you know what. He is good. He is good at this stuff. He convinced you that what he did to Nikhil was right. I mean c’mon!! How can he ever defend a thing like that?

Roshan: What is your passion, Saurabh?

Saurabh(shouting): I don’t have a passion. All right. Is that what you want to hear? You were supposed to fight for Nikhil man. Not take sides with the teacher.

Roshan: You know what. May be what he did to Nikhil was excessive. May be failing him was too much. But this is the first time someone has wanted to know what we are made of. Isn’t that something? At least he can see something beyond our marks. At least he acknowledges Nikhil’s talent. The reason I wanted to be an engineer was so that I wouldn’t have to rot here handling my father’s business. But is that reason enough to pursue something?

Saurabh: What are you saying, then?

Roshan(almost shouting): The reason you sleep in school is that you don’t care about English or Hindi or whatever. Why can’t we find something where we wouldn’t want to be asleep. If Nikhil is good at English, why should he become a fucking engineer.

Nikhil had been quiet all this while.

Nikhil: I’ll work on my writing skills……(looking at Roshan)I’ll do that.

The image of the golden bracelet kept coming back to Roshan’s mind. He tried to shrug it away, but it just won’t go. Somehow it had become synonymous with dreams, with aspirations for him. Why was Mr Jones unable to do the one thing which would give him peace. If it was all about choices, it was time they made the right ones.

The hard part was over. The crashing sound can be heard clearly now as we approached the end. It was a special triumph for Saurabh who wasn’t too sure when we had started out. We had put in a fortune for this trip and fought our families but here we were, all three of us. We reached our destination and as the scene before us unfolded, only one word escaped our mouth. ”Wow!!”

Farewell parties are always full of tears. This was the same. But inspite of that, what the three boys felt was a renewed sense of vigor. Nikhil had considerably improved in the pre-board exams and Roshan had long given up the idea of engineering. They met up with Mr Jones.

Jones: So, going to miss school?

All three said yes.

Jones(looking at Roshan, smiling): So what are the plans once board exams get over.

Roshan: I think I am going to pursue Journalism. I thought long and hard about it. I am thinking of applying to the Delhi University. At least, all this blabbering of mine would be put to some use.

Jones: Hmm…Good. And you Saurabh.

Saurabh: I…I think I am going go for an aptitude test.

All of them laughed.

Jones: You did well Nikhil. I am proud of you. Keep going and I am sure you would outscore everyone else in English.

Nikhil(gave a nod): I hope so, Sir.

The party was at its fag end. People started leaving after the photo sessions. Nikhil searched for Mr Jones before he left, found him in a corner talking to some other teachers. Nikhil went up to him.

Nikhil: Sir.

Jones: Yes, Nikhil.

Nikhil: Thank you.

Jones: For what.

Nikhil: For saving our lives.

Jones(smiling): That's putting it a bit too strongly. The pleasure was mine. Best of luck for all your endeavours.

That was the last time when all three of them together met Mr Jones. Eight years from that day, Mr Jones died in a car accident.

It had been shocking when we got the news. He had a huge part to play in what we were today and ofcourse there was no way we were going to leave his wish unfulfilled. We knew what we needed to do so we had traveled to Mr Jones house before this trip to get it. As we stood there, there was only one thing to be seen, the endless water filling up the whole space before our eyes. “This is it. Kalaupapa. The highest sea cliff in the world”, Nikhil said. “The highest. Yes. Mr Jones would have loved this place”, I said with a sigh. “Wow man, we made it. We are finally here”, Saurabh was exultant, for obvious reasons. We stood there for sometime before anyone spoke. “ You do it Nikhil. You should do it.”, I said. Nikhil nodded. I took out the bracelet from my bag and handed it to him. He looked at it and then at the sea as the waves crashed against the rocks. “Thank you Mr Jones and goodbye”, he said. “GoodBye”, I and Saurabh said too. And Nikhil hurled it. We stood following it through its path to the ocean, watched it all the way until we could no longer follow. It had to be this place as we bid farewell to Mr Jones. It had to be this way, just as Mr Jones would have wanted to do it. Mr Jones’ father was, ofcourse, right. There was nothing like the sea.

" The pleasure is all ours, Sir.", Nikhil said staring at the water.

2009-05-31T09:11:00.000-07:00

GLORY

As long as mankind shall continue to bestow more liberal applause on their destroyers than on their benefactors, the thirst of military glory will ever be the vice of exalted characters. ~Edward Gibbon

Year: 2025

Location: No Man’s Land on the Indo-Pak border.

The sun rose in the sky driving away the cold of the night. The barrenness of the desert added to the horror. The silence of the desert can break the spirits of even the bravest. It was dead silent. As the sun’s rays struck his badge with menacing force, the name shined in the emptiness of the place. Vikram Singh Jaiswal. He tried to open his eyes but the left eye won’t open. The eyelid had been covered by dried out blood. He tried to get up but his legs gave away. His body pained as if it was about to explode. I must be already dead, he thought to himself. If not, he was convinced he would die here alone. Just then a voice threatened to shoot if he moved. Despite the threat, it had a reassuring effect on him as now he was not alone. He turned and saw a man sitting some feet from him pointing a gun straight at him. The badge read Joseph Turning.

Joseph: Don’t move or I’ll blast your head off.

Vikram: I can barely move, even if I could, I couldn’t hurt you.

Joseph kept the gun pointed at him. He was still shivering from the cold of the night. Vikram noticed his legs were badly injured too. So there was no way either of them could walk away from that place.

Vikram: Relax. Killing you isn’t the right choice for me now. Besides, we are not under the orders of a commander right now, so we don’t need to kill each other.

Joseph(reluctantly putting his gun down): Did our troops leave us here? Did they think we were dead?

Vikram(shrugging): I am sitting here with you. How can I know that? But that seems to be the case.

Joseph seemed to lose it. He looked around, shouted for help. But nobody appeared.

Vikram: Cool it you moron. They will find us. Stop shouting.

Joseph: Oh now!! Are you going to call help on your fucking mobile.

Vikram: I don’t have one. And if you shout again, I’ll blow your brains out.

They picked up their guns and pointed them at each other. They could have shot but they knew they couldn’t.

Joseph: You Indians dragged us to this war and now I have to die here with an Indian.

Vikram: We dragged you to war. You piece of shit!! Who occupied Pakistan? You or us?

Joseph: Shut the hell up.

They threw their guns to the ground and lay there staring at the sky. Nobody seemed to cross that place. Without food, they knew they would not last long. Vikram pulled out a jerkin from his jacket and drank some water. The English man stared at him.

Vikram: You want some?

Joseph(staring at him): Yeah.

Day 2

They had been there for a day and a third soul had not crossed that place. The sun glowed with all the fury. Occasional winds added to the misery and with dust settled inside the throat, the sensation of thirst became unbearable.

Joseph: We are going to die here, isn’t it?

Vikram kept quiet.

Joseph(shouting): Goddamnit, we are going to die here.

Vikram: Didn’t you choose this when you joined the army?

Joseph: I didn’t choose this.

Vikram: That’s the tragedy of our times. People grow up thinking all would end well even before they have ventured out. You would join the army and grow old retelling the tales of your bravery to your grand children. Isn’t it?

Joseph(irritated): Why not. I just don’t want to resign to my fate the way you have done,

Vikram: O Yeah !! What have I done? What can I do? Can you go and call help. No !!

Joseph: Don’t you want to get out of here?

Vikram: We are at war. We get out of here and one day we might be fighting again and one of us may kill the other.

Joseph: I would like that.

Vikram: So let me kill you now.

Joseph: You don’t see the difference in the two scenarios, do you?

Vikram(after a pause): Either way a life would be ended.

Joseph: That would be an honorable death. (sitting up) that’s the way I always wanted to die if I should, in a battlefield.

Vikram: What do you mean?

Joseph: When you joined the army, you wanted to serve your country and you were not afraid to lay down your life for it if the occasion arose. But isn’t there a way you would have liked to die?

Vikram: I don’t like to think about my death

Joseph: But you do realize that in the army it’s a possibility, always. Well, I do. And when the time came, I would have liked to die staring at the enemy in the eye with a rifle in my hand, pierced by a rain of bullets. Yes, a rain of bullets. That would establish the fact that I was a danger to an array of soldiers who wanted me out of the way. That I did my job well.

Vikram: Pass me the water.

Joseph(reluctantly passing it to him): Don’t drink it all.

Vikram(after gulping down some water): That’s the way all soldiers want to die. You are right. But you have to realize that in the present scenario that is almost an impossibility. We may die here out of starvation or eaten by some animal.

Joseph: I realize that but don’t want to accept it. I want to be found. Live to fight another day or may be live to die a better death.

Vikram(smiling): Amen!!

They lay there for some time. Time seemed to have stopped. They tried to crawl but their legs just didn’t have the strength.

Joseph: I am dying of starvation.

Vikram: Then talk less. A lot of energy is wasted when you keep on blabbering.

Joseph: I can’t even walk far to get some food.

Vikram: What would you find in this place that you can eat?

Joseph: Anything. A scorpion. A snake. Anything.

Vikram: Delicious. I am not that hungry. Not yet.

Joseph: I didn’t say I would share it with you.

Vikram: Then go eat.

They lay there with nowhere to go and nothing to do. It was dark now. The temperature began to drop. It was hard enough to sleep there but with the wounds, the cold seemed to creep into their bones.

Joseph: I‘ll try to sleep.

Vikram kept silent.

Joseph: Would you look out for me if some animal attacks.

Vikam(after a pause): Lets hope they don’t hunt in pairs.

Day 3

It had been two days. They were ready to eat anything that moved. Occasionally they felt someone was moving towards them, but it always turned out to be a mirage. Hope was fast diminishing now. In the high noon, they sat facing each other, trying to nibble at a scorpion’s legs.

Joseph(throwing it away): I can’t eat this shit.

Vikram(still chewing): How can you. You are the great western consumer.

Joseph: What?

Vikram: Dude, you live in a world where even dog food has to be branded. A world where people are told what to eat, what to wear and what to say, by the brands. Or lets say we live in such a world. But you guys started it.

Joseph: You want to justify eating this with that argument!!

Vikram: No, all I am saying is that we eating this here is a direct consequence of consumerism.

Joseph: How?

Vikram: Every action today is a consequence of people chasing a lifestyle, wanting to live a certain way, believing certain things.

Joseph: Like what.

Vikram: Everyday my son gets up, he wants to look like some Bollywood star. Everyday my wife gets up, she wants to wear diamonds. Everyday the Prime Minister gets up, he wants to be remembered as the man who changed to course of history. Same goes for every such person in the world. Your president also wants to go in the history books. Looking after their country’s normal issues doesn’t fit them into the image of a historically important man. So they want to win wars and dominate others so that history remembers them. That’s what they consume. An image obsession. An obsession to be counted as important and powerful.

Joseph: And that’s why there are wars, That’s why guys like us have to fight.

Vikram: We are expected to pay the ultimate price for consumerism. To keep the show going. And if we die here, we won’t ever be mentioned because we won’t matter enough. I won’t have died working for my prime minister’s consumerist desires and you wouldn’t have died working for your president’s. We would have just gone missing. People won’t love to hear our stories.

Joseph: Where does that leave the sense of duty towards our motherlands? If we are fighting for what you say we are fighting for, how do UK and India matter. Are we not fighting for them?

Vikram: We would have been fighting for them if we were real dangers to each other, not just perceived dangers. This is paranoia. Nations live in the fear of being attacked and when that fear gets overwhelming, they attack some other country just to let it out. We are led to believe that we are fighting for our country but in essence, we are just fighting against some country, that’s it.

Joseph: And our deaths? What about the death of soldiers?

Vikram: That is the only thing that gives us a sense of duty. Even if we are part of this huge game show, we have to play our parts well. And a brave death is a reward for doing your goddamn job well. That’s the only solace that lies in this.

Joseph: Like I said, that is what we are being robbed of by dying here.

Vikram: Yes. The rain of bullets is the ultimate prize.

They waited and waited and nobody showed up. Hunger was getting to them now.

Joseph: I can’t stay like this for long.

Vikram: Don’t worry. In some time you would die a totally inconsequential death.

Joseph(staring at him, then after sometime): We may not be found. In all probability, they won’t even search for us. For all you said about consumerism, I still wanted to go back have a Big Mac with my kids. Now that a good death seems impossible, that’s the only image I am clinging on to.

Vikram: I understand.

Joseph(with moist eyes): I would never see them, would I. Isn’t it hard to die when you have all the time in the world to think about it. If we are found, wouldn’t it be a shame that we were lying here all the while war was going on. We wouldn’t have played our parts.

Vikram: If my army finds us, you are doomed. If yours finds us, I am doomed. There’s no way both of us are going to be rescued. They won’t even kill. One of us would be a prisoner of war. I should have died in the war.

Joseph: Did you ever think you would crave for death like this. Its funny, the things war does to men, or the absence of it in our case. I have been robbed of my duty, I don’t want to be robbed of dignity.

Vikram: In that case, all the possibilities are unacceptable to us.

Joseph: This is the worst that can happen to a soldier and destiny picked the two of us.

Vikram(nodding): At least I like the last thing I would have done before I die.

Joseph: What?

Vikram: Make a good friend.

Joseph smiled and gradually they drifted off to sleep.

Day 4:

The end was near. As much as they could have hated it, they were helpless. The men who decide the fates of nations were not in control of their own fate anymore. Their faces had gone pale and death seemed imminent.

Joseph: If you die first, I would shoot myself. I don’t want to die lonely in this desert.

Vikram(thought for a while): Lets do that.

Joseph: Do what?

Vikram’s face had a new vigor. He seemed to have found something.

Vikram(getting up): We don’t have a lot of time at our disposal. There’s only one way we can make some sense out of this hopeless situation.

Joseph: I don’t get you.

Vikram: What were we supposed to do?

Joseph: What?

Vikram: Shoot each other. Lets do that.

Joseph: Are you kidding?

Vikram: We won’t shoot to kill. Shoot at the arm or at the leg. Towards your back lies India’s territory and to my back lies UK’s. We get shots at each other alternately. Keep moving towards my zone between shots and ill keep moving towards yours.

Joseph: Are you out of your mind. This is crazy.

Vikram(shouting): Yes it is. What else can you do? You’ll be dead before this day ends. At least die doing what you were supposed to do. Die doing your duty. This is not a time for reason. This is our only choice at redemption. This is the only way we can liberate ourselves.

Joseph(shouting): Goddamnit. I can’t shoot at you now. You know that.

Vikram: Then rot here to death. Do you have a better idea? Lets hear it, because we don’t have much time, you know.

They sat staring at the ground without a word. An hour passed by. Another hour passed by. Joseph realized there was no other way to avoid an embarrassing death

Joseph: OK lets do it.

Vikram nodded. They picked up their guns and moved back and faced each other. Desperate times need desperate measures. This was a desperate time.

Joseph: Who takes the first shot?

Vikram: You.

Joseph: No

Vikram shot at Joseph’s arm.

Vikram: Now shoot.

Joseph grimaced in pain while both of them crawled back towards their respective finishing lines.

Joseph turned and shot at Vikram’s foot.

Vikram turned over from the impact of the shot. They looked at each other with bloodshot eyes then picked up the guns and prepared to go again. Suddenly there was noise, a thudding noise which seemed to come closer. Figures appeared on the horizon. In a minute or two, they saw their troops running towards them. The troops reached the location and stood pointing their guns at each other with Vikram and Joseph in between them. The troops asked each other to let their beleaguered soldiers go so that there would be no bloodshed. Vikram rested on his knees facing the UK troops and Joseph facing the Indian troops.

They had come to the rescue. Now they can go back. Go back to the world where……A wave passed over Joseph and Vikram. They felt a sudden chill. How could they go back now? Things would never be the same again. Both of them knew it. Fate had been biased against them. Now they had their turn. As they half stood there, both of them realized one thing. Going back was not an option. But there was another option. God had granted them their wish. This was their shot at glory. Then they spoke.

Vikram: Lets play our parts.

Jospeh let out a feeble yes under his breath as both of them positioned their guns straight ahead and fired. They fired in a frenzy that felt so liberating. A smile crossed their face because they knew what was to follow.

And finally, it rained bullets.

pOLLy sAiD...

2009-05-29T23:17:00.001-07:00

So many gurls walkin down the street
Polly is the one ,i would love to meet
Dancing to the sound of her feet
Stoppin even my hearts beat..

On a sunny Sunday noon
Tryin to breeze past the crowd soon
Caught the glimpse of some one in red
Walked a path that i never tread...

Saw Polly and it was end of the line,
The worlds lost in beauty so divine.
Was struck by a bolt of blue..
She turned back n said
"Hello you..."

And Polly said ....
"Hello you..."
And Polly said ....
"Hello you..."
And Polly said ....

The ground beneath my feet started to shake
The sky was falling,lost in dream i never woke
Fumbled something,she was gone
Curse the crowd,this was bad
Lost something that i never had...

Searched for her in streets drunk
Lookin for a diamond in the city's junk
Like dawn after night it shone
Moments later found Polly on hey way bac home

Stopped her cab,said it straight
"I know There is no love in first sight
Whatever it is,it s stronger that Gods might'

She took her time to think about it

And then Polly said
'You are both wrong and right....

and then Polly said
'You are both wrong and right....
and then Polly said
'You are both wrong and right....
'You are both wrong and right....

I asked her for some of her time
Make some mischief and commit a crime..

Polly said....
Polly said....
Polly said....
Polly said....

You know what
Polly said....
Polly said....
Polly said....

i forGive...

2009-05-28T10:47:00.001-07:00

take a break from Snap series

I FORGIVE...

i forgive you, the stars, the sign of sun

under which i was born..

for you might chart this life of mine

but to shine bright i aint gonna burn...

i forgive you my mom dad,

the blood of whom runs in this viens..

for you have shielded all my nightmare

but now my strength is so bare

i forgive you my teacher,

the mind of mine is a image of you

for you taught me ,the what .the how .the who

but for the grind i aint bite the dust..

i forgive you my friend

the embodiment of my ambitions

for you have been behind my back

but now you see things i lack...

i forgive you my gurl

the spirit which entwined my body,my soul

for in your glory i did bask

but you never understood the face behind the mask..

i forgive you God

the creator of me,my care taker

for you have scripted all i am ever.

but when i took over,you had a competitor.

i forgive myself

the me in everything everywhere

for creature of impulse,devoid of form.

but the life i live,has lots to desire...

Snap: the other side

2009-05-17T21:10:00.000-07:00

By R. Lakshminarayan

Hyderabad

(At an utterly useless place called a coffee shop)

1500 hrs

Me: The weather is bad. I thought Hyderabad was a pleasant place.

Contra (Nisheet): u moron, after staying here for two days and ordering water for over two hours in an expensive coffee house all you can think about is the weather?

Me: what? You expect me to discuss my erotic nightfalls with u?

Contra: your conscience doesn’t bother me the least. But come on man, ordering water? I would prefer sneaking into the ladies bathroom to kill time.

Me (laughing loudly): Ok. I just had a question in my mind; what the hell are we doing in this place?

Contra: there is a purpose for our existence, because animals just sleep, drink and fornicate. We have been blessed with the faculty of imagination and reasoning.

Me: Do u think dogs don’t dream about having sex with Carmen Electra?

Contra: On the contrary that is a question of true carnal desires in an animal.Hence, my argument about animals fornicating for no reason holds true.

Me: (murkily) see, now you are behaving like a virgin.

Contra: Ha-ha (condescendingly). Although your exploits with hot chicks is promising and widespread, I can only imagine a sweaty nada reaching for his groin when the real situation arises.

Me: whoa! And you think you are the ideal ladies man who would open the door to the strippers club for a lesbian?

Contra: At least, I accept my shortcomings with a woman.

Me: Don’t you think women are just too busy wondering about their looks all the while. Take for example, that woman, standing near the counter. Look at her ass, the clothes she is wearing would cost nothing more than a weasel in a flea market. Yet she flaunts it as if she was born with her booty. We are just like animals, watching her ass swing to tunes which are primarily non existent.

Contra: Exactly my point, great work in literature has been inspired by women. Our cornerstone of imagination may rest in the assets of a woman, but that also gives us an opportunity to think. A dog on the other hand would think of getting inside her pants.

Me: so you mean to say that our existence is meant for running a doughnut factory.

Contra: yes. That’s the worst way to put it, but our faculty of thought deconvolutes the picture of a woman from a nuclear reactor.

Me: Are u talking about the control rods in the reactor?

Contra: Don’t give me the 10th class science crap. You are just trying to sound intelligent. I want to just make sure you acknowledge this issue more critically. The purpose of any invention is to make sure that the inventor gets a decent fuck.

Me: Yeah? What about the thong? What about robots?

Contra: I really don’t know how to correlate both the questions. They definitely have different explanations. One is related to our sexual desires and the other relates to our la….

Me: (interrupting) if I were you, I would say that a robot doesn’t give a shit about a thong, and females don’t give a crap about robots.

Contra: whoa! Evidently your obsession with women can only indicate that your male chauvinism is revealing its ugly face yet again. I think the only love you have ever experienced is with men. You are a pseudo-gay.

Me: What do you want me to say? See, I only believe that girls can be thought “obstructive”. In fact if we were gals, guys would be thought obstructive.

Contra: I just feel that you cannot control your desire to impress the girl u admire the most. In which case, you would leave no stone unturned to seek sexual gratification. In a way, u would wear your pants inside out, just to impress her. Let me imagine a situation where you are trapped in a jungle. What will be your first reaction?

Me: Sha..

Contra: Wait! Let me complete. You will scratch your balls. That’s all.

Me: what is your point?

Contra: Well, you will never even realize that you are trapped.

Me: Shit! Finally you made sense.

Contra: I know. Wakai (pronounced – wak – e-y i) (Hindi for ‘really’, ‘evidently’)

Me: I think your theory on human beings is flawed on grounds of diversity.

Contra: You referring to the fact that Americans weigh more than their IQ?

Me: Well, it is just that some people have purposes other than just fornication. For example a cook makes good food because he loves food. A Sufi musician sees soul in his music. We just have to admit that the purpose of living is really something which cannot be written down on a piece of paper.

Contra: You are just shitting me now.

Me: Yes, Shit. I thought you would buy that.

Contra: Let us take a practical standpoint. Adam and eve are more than mythical characters. Even though, I was a little cranky about eve doing it with her father, the important thing to realize is that even god wants us to know that sex rocks.
History speaks for itself.

Me: There is something which is anomalous in all this. You have never had sex. Still, you vouch for it. Say you don’t like it. Probably, it’s been too hyped up.

Contra: That’s absurd. The excitement of getting some action makes our life worth living.

Me: But surely you wouldn’t know if you like Disney land unless you see Disney land for yourself.

Contra: Disney land sucks. I would rather watch my gardener scratch his scrotum.

Me: That was a figure of speech you moron.

Contra: I Know. Wakai!

Me: I just mean to say that we read eulogies about sex being the ultimate thing.
Unless we experience the real stuff, we should refrain from commenting on it.

Contra: What about nude ladies?

Me: I have to agree that they turn me on. So it would be apt if we stuck to the zeroth base.

Contra: what in the name of pigeon’s shit is that.

Me: You know. Talking to women. Why is it so difficult?

Contra: It aint so difficult if you stare at their boobs while they are talking. And they think we are good listeners.

Me: Well I am not trying to be chivalrous here, but why don’t gals do so?

Contra: Because we have something which is conveniently far below our waist and we have to zip it up and take care of it when it gets an erection. It’s more like taking care of a baby which will trouble you when it’s raining.

Me: That makes sense. But I still don’t see how men relate more to assets than beauty?

Contra: it’s the rule of compromise. (Grammar not relevant) If she don’t have a good second floor, look at the first floor. Not satisfied, go for the ground floor but have a look at the rear balcony view only. (Winks).

Me: You wink horribly. Anyway, these forms of arguments really tire me. I mean houses? Are we short of creativity here?

Contra: Ok. We could assume them to be like a triple- decker bus and…

Me: (interrupts) a bus!! U would rather compare women with a drug addicted hedgehog.

Contra: What?? Where did a hedgehog come from? You must have sucked at biology or anatomy.

Me: it’s difficult to picturize the analogy but you will be there one day.

Contra: My point is, let us try it out. Let us do something that nature wants us to do.

Me: Ok. You got me. How did u know that I have to take a shit?

Contra: I was talking about us hitting on the same girl.

Me: (changing the subject) Sorry, but If you want to marry me you have to ask more romantically.

Contra: (cynically) would you like to have champagne?

Me: Depends. Have you hidden a ring inside the bottle, and paid the waitress to do a lap dance for me?

Contra: no. I paid a transvestite to hump a camel.

Me: Camels are born humped!

Contra: (brushing the cynicism aside) anyway, look at that chick that just entered the shop. I guess we should ask her out.

Me: Why not? Why don’t we ask her how she got AIDS and herpes together?

Contra: What??

Me: If a hot gal like herself comes alone to a coffee shop, she has the following problems. She is a whore or she has fooled herself into believing that she is a whore or she is a whore and she doesn’t know about it or she is called a whore by guys and nobody goes out with her because she is damaged goods or she was born in a whore house which also did a retail on pretty clothes, or she is married and her boyfriend is nailing a whore or she has some disease in her genitals caused a man whore or she decided to stop whoring around for a while or she is pregnant with a crack baby after whoring around and decided to satisfy her pregnant cravings with a chocolate soufflé or she has AIDS and Herpes together. I would prefer the most optimistic option here.

Contra: The crack whore option is more optimistic.

Me: Come on, now you are reaching out to your sentimental side.

Contra: Wait a minute! I Know her. I saw her at a party in my office.

Me: Your office holds parties? For what? Celebrating their genius of enslaving people for wages that will not even cover your condom insurance?

Contra: No. the boss gets to run his parallel dream playboy mansion. In order to renew his stock he runs a periodic check, reference: “party”, to nail the latest silicon implanted intern.

Me: Now you are getting optimistic and chivalrous.

Contra: What? I just made fun of women.

Me: No. You denigrated your boss. Technically, women were just an accessory in this context and it is socially acceptable to refer to women as objects in a grammatically accurate English sentence.

Contra: I understand your misery. You cannot stand anything in the society. In fact you would love to remove your pants and run around naked just to shake the foundations of the society. But since you are not doing it, I am bound to believe that you still believe in the foundations of a society.

Me: (silent)

Contra: Hey Deepika! How are you (gesturing to a hot chick)?

Gal: Hey Nisheet. Long time yaar. How have you been?

Me: (murmuring) she just met you last weekend. How long does she masturbate thinking about you? I guess not much. That’s why she misses you.

Gal: Excuse me. What was that? Who is this guy?

Contra: He is a friend from Bangalore.

Me: Hello. How are you enjoying the weather?

Gal: It’s a little hot. But had a lot of fun this weekend, shopping with my friends. Then I went to a party yesterday and the DJ was really cool. I gave him my number.

Me: How much do you charge for an hour?

Gal: PARDON?

Contra: oh! No no. he meant to ask you your name.

Me: I know her name. What was it? E-Shit-AA

Contra: no man. Her name is Deepika.

Me: O sorry! Deep-Shit – Ahhhh.

Gal: (squirming with anger) are you a masochist.

Me: I bet you don’t know what it means.

Gal: I know what it means. FYI, it means you are a Sexist.

Me: Whoa! You certainly have daddy issues.

Gal: What does that mean?

Contra: He just meant that you are sexually attracted to your father and you seek guys older than you just because you want to do it with your father. In the process you don’t mind getting pregnant and in fact you want to punish your dad by sleeping with a guy who doesn’t know the difference between a condom vending machine and a urinal. Eventually your dad will find out that you are sleeping with a loser and you will enjoy his misery. But my friend didn’t mean that. He is just a little outspoken.

Gal: Listen! I dint understand what you said, but you are jerks. I cannot stoop down to your level.

Me: I would like you to just honor the stooping down part. I would do the rest.

Contra: he meant that he wouldn’t mind getting a blow job from…

Gal: (Still squirming) (interrupting) shut up! I know what he meant. (Leaves fuming)

Me: Too bad she had a sweet ass.

Contra: Well done. No wonder you can never get laid.

Me: Come on man! You expect me to be nice?

Contra: Ok! Her equally attractive friend is here. Don’t screw up.

Me: (silent)

Contra: Hey Avantika. How are you?

Gal 2: (curiously attractive) Hey!

Me: Her name is hardly horny.

Gal 2: Yeah! My dad knew that. What’s your name?

Me: It’s Lakshminarayan.

Gal 2: Well hard to believe that your parents were sober when they named you. They must not have spotted the Junk in your bush covered groin when you were born.

Me: Kids don’t experience puberty when they are born

Gal 2: Really!! (Condescendingly) Have you reached the age when your pubes appear?
Oh My! I really didn’t know.

Contra: Well we call him nada.

Gal 2: Should have guessed that. So you were ridiculed for your half girlish name in
your childhood?

Me: No I had to just hang out my trunk to shut their mouths.

Gal 2: Let’s hope it doesn’t get stuck in my throat.

Me: I love her.

Gal 2: Hey Nisheet. How about we go for dinner tomorrow.

Me: Great. I would love to join you guys.

Gal 2: I was trying to talk to the man in the room.

Me: My zip is open.

Gal 2: Do you always try to validate your identity like that.

Me: No. Mr. Weiner likes to have fresh hair.

Gal 2: Phew. You are obnoxious.

Me: I am sorry. I didn’t mean to talk like that. I was just …

Gal 2: Ok. I forgive you. So Nisheet, what do you say.

Me: He is Contra.

Gal 2: yeah! Right! And I am your bed partner… in our dreams of course.

Me: I dint make a sexist comment.

Gal 2: Oops I dint know you were making useful conversation. Say Nisheet lets do it today. You free tonight?

Contra: Yes, ye, sure. I will just buy some condoms.

Gal 2: (naughtily) who told you that you are getting lucky tonight?

Contra: Well. It’s not that. I love to see the jealous expressions on the face of my pharmacist when I buy them.

Gal 2: that is what I like about you man. You are so sensitive.

(Nisheet and gal move out)

Me: (to myself) she has to be my future wife.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scene 2

Next day

Same crappy place called a coffee shop

1500 hrs

Me: Hey dog! You humped her left and right I guess?

Contra: No man. She was a whore. She just wanted to make her boyfriend jealous.

Me: I think you should be calling yourself a whore.

Contra: Shit man. But I feel good.

Me: Why? U shaved your balls?

Contra: You wanted her badly. It was evident. She was too smart wasn’t she? She turned you on. You were all over the place. I’m sure you feel high and dry. I’m sure you felt jealous of me. That one moment was just enough for me. That was my victory.

Me: Fuck. You are right. I wanted her. She was damn smart.

Contra: Guess we were wrong about gals after all?

Me: I was right about the whore part though. The whole monologue meant something.

Contra: Give it a rest. We never get what we want. The more we want something, the more we end up losing

Me: You sound like a fucked up Afghani in a refugee camp.

Contra: Well I guess we were right about females.

Me: I think so too. They are all whores.

Contra: So how is the climate of Bangalore…?

The End

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Note: the situation presented above is fictitious. The reader is entitled to make his own observations. No criticism on the quality language will be tolerated as it was assumed to be necessary and is based on actual conversations. The nature of the conversation is unique but is also according to the psyche of two unordinary individuals.

2009-05-06T13:14:00.000-07:00

SNAP

Half the lights were off and almost all cubicles empty. It was half past eight in the night and the only people remaining in the office were guys with deadlines staring at them or those who had nothing better to do in the outside world. Me? Well, I certainly don’t fall in the former category and I like to think that neither do I fall in the latter. In my case, its just that, this was due. Don’t understand that? Well, let me introduce myself. I am the Lord of work-shirkers. If ever there was a man who escaped from work to catch the six o’clock show or, for that matter, to go smoke while ogling at the neighborhood girls, I am the inspiration behind all that. Or, well, to be more realistic, if my Project Manager had the privilege of murdering someone without getting prosecuted, he would make me run circles before finally finishing me off.

So considering all that, I decided to stay back today just to see how it feels. To be honest it was a bit unsettling at first. It seemed like the whole world was passing me by as I sat here stagnated in my office. Another guy packed his bag and left. There was not a whisper to be heard. But gradually, a kind of quiet began to settle in my mind. This was new!! I felt a sense of belonging. I felt like exploring the office as if I was a tourist visiting an old fort. I wanted to see how it feels to have coffee alone at half past eight. I strolled to the coffee machine. It was off. So it was really that late!! I had outlasted the coffee machine today. Deeply satisfied I returned to my desk, packed my bag and left with a sense of triumph. As I stepped outside, I instantly felt the need for a smoke. I pictured myself proudly walking down the lane that leads to my house as lesser mortals sat fixated in front of their TVs in their underpants. Suddenly my phone rang. It was Nada. It feels good when you can brag about how hard you work in front of your friends. As for Nada. I knew he didn’t gave a f*** about all that. I picked up the phone.

Me: Hey, how’ve you been?

Nada: Stop this nonsense you asshole. Where the f*** are you. What’s all this noise?

Oh!!, before we go ahead, let me introduce Nada. First things first, I don’t have the slightest clue why we call him Nada. The name just stuck and I couldn’t care less about the reason behind its inception. He liked it, we liked it, that’s all that matters. He is a bizarre six and a half foot monster who tries to pass off as a likeable guy. Or is it the other way round!! Well, anyways, he is studying at IISc. I met him long before he crossed this realm of what was humanly possible. I mean c’mon, the guy is at IISc. We wasted away our lives in college, me more than him and ended up as two smoke machines who talked about all that never concerned them. As much as I hate to admit it, he was always right about things.

Me(With a smile): I am returning home from work.

Nada: What the f*** were you doing in office so late? Shagging off to some sleazy south Indian porn??

Hmm, didn’t knew the adjective ‘sleazy’ works with porn too. Ever heard of non-sleazy porn?

Me: Just stayed back for the heck of it. You know, should try everything at least once. What’s up with you?

This is how each of our conversations begin these days before we get transformed into two half-sober(half-intoxicated) guys smoking away in that room in the VNIT hostel.

Nada: Dude, hasn’t life become too mundane. Its like all I can remember is slogging my a** 10 hours a day.

Me: At least you are doing something purposeful, something you like. Look at me, its like I have hit a dead-end and there’s no way round it.

Nada(Made his thinking sound): I think its human tendency to get caught up in insignificant details. We miss the larger picture. Just think, even if you were in an MBA school, you would still be whining about the work load and stuff. May be its in our psyche to never get satisfied.

Me: Ya, you are right. But this is totally different. How do you define satisfaction? I think we both understand that our frustration does not root from lack of materialistic pleasures. May be its something much deeper, a longing for some unordinary experience. You know, something part of the larger picture. In that case we ain’t missing the larger picture, or are we?

It had happened. We had again started one of those talks that lead to nothing but gave us some intangible satisfaction. Well, satisfaction is always intangible so the word intangible here adds another level of ‘intangibilty’ to it. Or at least I think so.

I ‘was still strolling on the street outside my office. I felt no hurry to reach home. The cigarette had burned out so I immediately lighted another one.

Nada: I get what you are saying but unordinary experiences are appropriate once in a while as wake up calls from our deep slumber and not as part of our daily routine. May be our lives aren’t boring enough for something unordinary to happen just as yet. May be we aren’t born to lead adventurous lives.

I smiled at the thought.

Me: Ya sure, but routine leads to a certain comfort zone which can be dangerous. Men need doses of adrenaline to keep them on their toes.

I saw this beautiful girl standing some hundred meters from me. She was wearing a T-Shirt and a Jeans, had long hair and was standing near the bus stop as if waiting for a bus or an auto rickshaw. Needless to say, the information had to be passed on.

Me: Dude, the thing I am talking about is this. Now there’s a girl standing some distance from me. If this had been a chance encounter and I had been talking to her rather than you, that would have been exciting.

Nada: I understand. I am going through the exact same thing but don’t jump on her, for God’s sake.

Me(Laughing): Don’t worry. It takes a degree of insanity to do that and I am not drunk enough.

Meanwhile, I kept walking towards her. Obviously, that’s a male tendency (every guy does it, no exceptions).

It was nine o’clock now and the area looked deserted.

Nada: If she talks to you don’t cut the call man. Let me overhear. I promise I won’t make a noise.

The pun in his voice was unmistakable. Still, somehow I hoped it would come true. I was standing at a distance of some feet from her now. When you work in IT and still have no girl friend, you tend to hang on to the tiniest rays of hope.

Me: What would you have done if you were in my place right now? Doesn’t this have the potential to develop into something out of the ordinary?

Nada(Laughing his monster laugh): Dude, I am pretty sure nothing is going to happen. Not now not ever. Its as simple as that.

I heard a vehicle approaching us and wished it was not a bus as it would mean she would go and I would have to go too. I just wanted to stay there for a while talking to Nada as he shattered my confidence into pieces. Suddenly a jeep stopped right in front of us. Two policemen stepped out. They started saying something in Telugu which I did not understand. I didn’t knew if the girl knew Telugu and just stared at them. One of them approached me and to my utter disbelief held me by the shirt. The other one was shouting at the girl who also didn’t seem to understand a word of what he said. Before I knew, we were pushed into the jeep. I hadn’t cut the call and Nada was shouting at the other end. He didn’t understand either what was going on. In all this chaos, one of the policemen turned to me and reprimanded me in Hindi saying that he will teach me a lesson for engaging with prostitutes.

It all made sense in a flash. She was standing there alone on the deserted road in the night. What else it could have been!! What a fool I was not have realized that!!

As they drove us to the police station, I tried to argue my case with the policemen, but they were not in a mood to listen. The call was cut. I thought of calling Nada back but decided against it. How could he have helped me at this moment. I was furious at the girl, furious at myself and somehow furious at Nada. If he hadn’t called me at that time, I wouldn’t be here. In times of despair, one tends to lay the blame on anyone and everyone. Nada was not to be blamed of course, neither was I. I had asked for something unordinary in my life, and had got a spoon full of it.

Our hands were tied and the girl did nothing but sob all the way to the police station. She tried to convince the officers that she was not a prostitute but neither did they understand much Hindi nor did they let her speak much. After all, which whore would actually say she was one. I was stuck there with the policemen, the whore and staring at least a night in prison.

We were locked up in different cells. Nada kept on calling me incessantly but then they confiscated my cell and my wallet and all that was left of me was a ghost of a hapless man scared to death. In situations such as this, the biggest fear one has is of being ostracized. Physical wounds can never hurt as much as psychological ones. Even if I was proved innocent and let free, it would leave me with the fear of being ridiculed.

I heard a woman officer slapping the girl in the next cell. Now the girl had stopped talking. All she did was crying and the more she cried the more she got beaten. I felt a sense of hope that they would let me go free and deal with the whore afterwards. She was now the only one I was furious at. A policeman entered my cell. I could have shit in my pants right there. I did not know what to expect. Would he hit me, or just shout at me. I hoped he would just shout. Its strange how in dire straits, we hope for things which seem inconceivable normally. He slapped me so hard I fell to the floor. Two more knocks and I was rendered unconscious.

In the morning, I was let out of the cell, fined and let off with bitter words. My left eye was swollen and blood had dried under my nose. As I left, I saw the girl sitting in her cell, her face a mess from all the crying and slapping. She stared at the floor, no motion, nothing.

Last night felt like a distant dream. I remembered talking to Nada before the unthinkable happened. Upon reaching my flat, I washed up. As my roommate had gone to visit his parents in Delhi, I was alone. There was just one thing left to do. So I called Nada.

Me: Hey

Nada: What happened? What the f*** happened last night? Did you get into a fight or something?

I told him the whole incident. He was shell shocked.

Nada: What the fuck!! She was a whore. You should have slapped her twice before the policemen lay their hands on her. Are you OK now?

Me: Yes. I asked for it, didn’t I. Something out of the ordinary.

Nada: Relax yaar. It wasn’t your fault, you know that.

Me: Guess God was trying to tell us how blissful our ordinary lives are.

Friends visited and I told and retold them the story. It felt good to hear them say that I was innocent. Somehow, it reassured my faith in myself. It is at times like this that men are most vulnerable, they need someone to believe in them to regain their self esteem. Days passed and the wounds began to heal. I almost forgot about the whole incident. On a Sunday morning, I picked up the newspaper and ran through it quickly. On the local news page, something flashed before my eyes. It seemed unreal. There was the story of this girl who had been taken away by police while she was waiting for her friends on a street some days ago. They had mistaken her for a prostitute and put her behind the bars. A chill ran down my spine as I read the story. She had been mentally unstable since the incident and what I feared the most had happened. She had committed suicide.

I was almost unable to think for some minutes. I felt a rage of anger surging inside. I needed to shout, shout out aloud at the top of my voice wishing my throat would seize. I had been cursing the girl all this time and as it turned out, the real victim of the night was she, not me. Tears surged up, I began to perspire. The only thing I could think of at that time was calling up Nada.

Nada: Hey, what’s up punk.

Me: She committed suicide.

Nada: Who?

Before I could answer, he knew it. For a minute there was silence on both sides. It was the first time we had failed to talk to each other.

When we are little kids we are taught to be considerate, to look out for each other. The truth is, when we face things on which we have no control, it all comes to nothing. Man is said to be a social animal but society to man is only useful as long as he is not threatened. Under threat, we are beasts, our notion of help and social morals dropped at the first sign of danger. Then all we know is that we have to escape, at any cost. That is what I did with that girl. We learn all the crap in schools and life needs just one moment to show what a mockery we have made of ourselves. This is how life, in a snap, can take away the rosy picture we have painted for ourselves and show us how we look when stripped of the fakeness with which we carry ourselves around.

It was the first time Nada had let me talk on for so long and as I told him this, I knew it was instantly true. At last he spoke.

Nada: Out of the ordinary experiences are meant to teach us lessons which we should follow in our ordinary lives. You learnt it, what else can you ask for.

As always, Nada was once again right.

The wrong train

2008-12-24T07:29:00.000-08:00

By R. Lakshminarayan

Prologue

Every situation has some irony associated with it. The irony is either amusing or tragic. Since I travel by train a lot, I believe my responsibility to describe in detail the aspects of travel and the social ethos associated with it, is essential. As they say, ordinary situations create extraordinary circumstances. Again, I wonder whom are people referring to when they use “they”. I liberally assume that “they” refers to a group of cranky village philosophers sitting under a peepul tree delivering random statements with no particular significance. The best thing to do is not to mess with them as they may be wannabe motivational gurus desperate for recognition. My grandmother tells me that it may be their first step towards “shankaracharyadom” of some “new” ancient mutt which will be discovered later by carbon dating and the new TV serial on NBC. However, I should move on with my story about the passenger train “Gondwana express”.

Chapter 1: People

Getting inside a train is an easily forgettable experience. Because, by the time you reach your seat, devious railway agents may already have reserved that seat for three other gentlemen, who on confrontation show pale sweaty faces filled with remorse and exasperation. They realize very soon that until the TT arrives their travelling seat and bed would be the famed Indian railways toilet. After settling on my seat, I invariably look out for the most dangerous traveler – a travelling middle aged lady. The travelling lady usually occupies a lot of space, and it should be noted that I’m not simply trying to pour scorn on obese ladies. It is just that, irrespective of their size, volume, weight, area, and head weight, these ladies carry a great deal of baggage. They probably carry some of their housing bricks with them, just to avoid homesickness.

In fact, given a chance, the lady would hire a carpenter to construct an open wardrobe in the train and shed tears of joy watching her 150 pieces (!!!) of clothing dance with joy in the peaceful wind blowing through the train windows, while other harried passengers would haplessly dash for a place in the already overcrowded bogey, leaving the unluckiest ones to cling on to the ceiling fan like primates.

She would then pull out a mammoth sized lunch carrier from her mountain sized handbag and wait for the train to start. As soon as the train starts to move, she would execute her plan with skillful precision. Out of nowhere, the “she- Houdini” would produce 5 jars of pickles and hand it over to the nearby passengers who hold them with intense curiosity, peeking at the lifelessly floating pieces of vegetables in the sea of oil. Shortly afterwards, she would pass on some of the food to her daughter- in - law who would invariably seat herself at the end of some other coach. Assuming that she is bound by law to not get up from her seat, the travelling lady would play a game of “pass the parcel” with the passengers. By the time the container reaches her daughter – in - law, most of the food is already in the stomachs of vengeance seeking passengers (some of whom are genuinely hungry).

The train is however, not a platform for a one man/woman show. There are other interesting people who unknowingly make their presence obvious. There is always one old man removing his dentures before going to sleep. There is another fellow who would squat like a heron while his friend would lie down like Lord Venkateshwara in his heavenly abode “Vaikuntham”.

Then, there is a first time mother, holding a seemingly claustrophobic baby and adjacent to her seat an experienced mother instructs her confidently on bringing up children the right way, while her 15 year old son is busy gazing at the nonchalant European girl sitting in some other compartment and secretly picturing his own fantasy version of a transcontinental “Romeo and Juliet” with her. There are also some passengers who catch up on their extended afternoon siestas that generally last for days and nights.

Chapter 2: The Setting

This time my compartment had all these characters from the above described social ensemble. The incident I shall narrate involves three compartments in the bogey. In my compartment an old man, two afternoon siesta fellows and two newly met individuals were having a dull time. The two newly met individuals engaged themselves in a dry conversation and alternately assumed the heron and Lord Venkateshwara position, while I sat on the top berth with a magazine as the train chugged through stations. The old man was very particular that his dentures were safe and to ensure its safety he didn’t allow his to eyes wander. It is critical to note here that the two sleeping people made no significant contribution to this setting but I should include them for the sake of completeness and humanity.

The adjacent compartment consisted of the seemingly claustrophobic baby, its mother, the over confident experienced mother and the fantasy driven teenager, all of whom were deeply involved in their social engagements as described in the previous chapter.

The next compartment had the danger woman – the travelling middle aged lady, the European beauty and three disgruntled men.

Chapter 3: The Night

In my compartment the two newly met individuals talked for a long time, exchanging ideas, smiling at each other, posing arguments and twisting their moustaches. They were discussing the outcome of a cricket match between Muscat and Egypt. After a lot of head scratching and moustache twisting, they came to the conclusion that the argument had no significance as Muscat and Egypt probably don’t even have a cricket team (even if they had one, nobody cared as such). The short balding man wore a blue shirt while the other guy sported a French beard and wore horn rimmed glasses. For the sake of simplicity I shall refer to them as “Baldy” and “Frenchie”.

Baldy was a bit younger than frenchie, but frenchie was younger than the old man. As the night descended over the train, the old man made preparations for sleep. The lights were off and everyone assumed sleeping positions as darkness infiltrated the compartment through the windows. After a few moments I heard some strange noises and in moments someone turned on the lights. The old man was up on his feet and Frenchie and Baldy were looking at each other with anger and bewilderment. “Awwyooeh vooeuyyuu? Whaayaay doyeee?” said the old man. It took us time to understand that the incoherency in the old man’s speech was due to the absence of his dentures. After putting them on, he reiterated his words “What is this? What are you doing”? Immediately, both Baldy and Frenchie stood up and shouted “This man is a thief”.

Chapter 4: Confessions

After this development the characters in the train exhibited an unprecedented transformation in their behavior and eagerly took turns to interrogate Baldy and Frenchie separately. The travelling lady was visibly terrified that someone might steal her sandals, which would seem out of context here, but the thought process that goes inside the mind of a travelling woman is so complex that even experienced researchers have often found themselves at sea while analyzing this dangerous traveler. With utmost caution she put her sandals in her purse while people walked all over her luggage frantically, just to catch a glimpse of a thief. The real problem is that thieves usually do not look notorious nor do they have fungus infested faces expressing cruelty. They may even resemble your friendly neighbor- hood spider-man. In fact the spider-man outfit helps these burglars to hide their identities. The important issue at hand was that the thieves were deceptive and, after a lot of thought the old man ordered Baldy and Frenchie to give a brief account of the incident.

Frenchie was conspicuously calm and elegant during his disclosure. “I was reaching for my bag when this gentleman made a dash for my left back-pocket in which I had my black leather wallet.” Suddenly Baldy rose from his seat and exclaimed “Aha, your wallet is in your right back-pocket and your wallet is not black, but brown in color, you liar”. Frenchie gave him a wry smile and said “Oh yes sir, you must be correct; after all I couldn’t keep an eye on it all the time. However, it seems that you were responsible enough to look after it, for me, thank you.” With this he crossed his arms and looked at the confused audience flashing a victorious grin. By this time Baldy had realized that Frenchie had bamboozled him, triggering the sudden outburst of truth from him, which would eventually precipitate his downfall. Baldy nervously explained events which could never possible occur in a train and stuttered so many times that the crowd unanimously felt that Frenchie was a better speaker and had the potential to turn into a politician some day. It was evident that Baldy had technically hammered nails on his own coffin because everyone was convinced that Baldy had made a dash for Frenchie’s wallet. They chained baldy to the upper berth ladder and one exceptionally excited man rushed to the train guards. Soon, the gathering dispersed and people started losing interest in the thief. Slowly Frenchie approached Baldy and whispered to him with supreme confidence “I’m sorry mate, two thieves cannot loot the same train, it just shows that you are an amateur. If you were my apprentice I could have taught you backup measures in case you get caught. You see, the key to burglary is tact, and as you can see I’m a master of this art”.

Moments later, the railway policeman tapped on Frenchie’s shoulder and as Frenchie turned around; his expression underwent a sea of change. Frenchie’s shock revealed rivers of sweat on his face, as soon as he saw the policeman.

Chapter 5: The Culprit

“Mr. Patel, isn’t it? You were the one who stole my gold watch last week from this very train. We were having a wonderful conversation after which, you snatched my watch at night and vanished. That day I was off duty and probably you caught me off guard as well. But, I cannot believe that you would commit the classical mistake of boarding the same train the second time” said the policeman as Frenchie hung his face in shame and disgust. As everyone watched in silence, the policeman released Baldy and frisked Frenchie away to the police compartment. Baldy heaved a sigh of relief and wore a defiant smile accentuating his ultimate victory over Frenchie.

Two hours later we found out that Baldy had just disappeared and the travelling lady’s box of jewels was missing. It is very surprising why no one could point out to the policeman that even Baldy might be a thief. However, the only thing that ran in my mind was the one line Baldy would love to tell Frenchie if they ever met in future- “I may have touched the wrong wallet, but you boarded the wrong train.”

LONG LIVE MEDIOCRITY

2008-06-27T22:45:00.000-07:00

When you just thought that things could never ever get worse, the HRD ministry has proven again that it can surprise you and surpass your wildest imaginations. Here’s the deal. 50% reservations for SC ST and OBC people in the hallowed offices of the IITs. When did anyone hear of such an outrageous act of defiance against the meritorious and the deserving? When you have not yet imagined the full fledged ramifications of the quota system, you see the final nail driven into the coffin of merit.

No points for anyone for guessing the fact that it’s an election gimmick. The elections are near and the government is unstable and they are desperate to use every last arrow in their quiver. But the arrows are not aimed at the enemy, but at self-destruction, at the heart of the country’s future. The UPA is unwittingly removing big chunks off the foundation of our nation. This point is an axiom. I don’t have to prove it. It’s so evident from their clause, which says that the rule can be revoked next year, if it is not filled ‘despite all attempts’. A sure-shot ploy to remove it after the elections next year.

Everybody knows that the IITs have pioneered India’s revolution in the education sector, especially in the IT sector. The brilliant students have no doubt been at the forefront of it. But the great minds behind the innovation have been the professors who have guided and shaped them to endure ordeals of humungous magnitudes. It is so thoroughly a disgrace for them to have comrades who share the prestigious podium by default because of their caste and not their grey-cells. There should be a limiting point for anything. Things should not be dragged infinitely. What is the basis in having the quota for professors? How are they going to justify this? What sense does it make to have a quota in teaching? The reason that everyone should be given equal chance to succeed should stop at the school level. They stretched it and got it into college. Even after providing so many undue chances, does a person still need some bypassing the merit list? If so, I feel that the person is a complete failure, not to have utilized all the opportunities thrown at him all along.

What next? salary to the ‘qualified professors’ for just sitting at home? I think that it would be a better option than to utilize their ‘skills’ and spoil the party. Just sit at home and have the cash. Don’t teach us and worsen our already precarious position. Already we are a nation filled with a huge chunk of mediocre and lazy people who want the government to provide everything free of cost from food, water, electricity to even satellite television and more recently color television. Our country has got a very small number of entrepreneurs and high thinking leaders for the population and intelligence pool that we have, compared to other countries. Does the government want to demean it even more? We are a country constantly in war with ourselves and it is left to the elite few to get back some semblance of sanity into our ravaged lives.

No one cares a dime about the country going to the dogs. It so thoroughly disgusts me to read such farces and gimmicks by the elected officials early in the morning when I open the paper. A very nice cartoon depicting the trust we have on our leaders has appeared in the Times today. A lie-detector fitted on the podium where a politician renders a speech. Aptly captures the mindset of the totally disgruntled reader who is so thoroughly helpless. Waiting for the dawn...

Gimme fuel

2008-06-18T21:41:00.000-07:00

All along the road,
filled with a thousand stones,
I tried to walk through,
without a groan.

But all I could do was,
dream of another cloud,
with a brilliant hold,
on my slipping shroud.

What does it take ,
to tear apart the chains,
that binds me to the memories,
of myriad pains.

What does it take ,
to break the shackles,
to come out free,
and stir up my passion.

What is it that,
I always wanted to do,
but never really got,
the Guts to do.

Break free oh human!
the worlds waiting on the other side.
You need to travel far,
to get onto their ride.

Look at the old man,
who shines the boots.
He Doesn’t really care ,
for the world that snooks.

Look at the mother,
who belongs to the alley.
She breeds her child,
like a million dollar baby.

Look at all the people,
you need to feel their passion.
For it’s this feeling,
that holds up a nation.

Feel from the heart,
look from the eye.
Drown the shame,
that makes you shy.

Let the world stand still,
as you pass them by.
For it’s the passion in you,
that makes you high.

author's note : I have tried to make it sound more like a song than a poem, having little rhyme. My first attempt at that