The Men of Power

It doesn’t matter who we are. Not even our nationality. Irrespective of any factor, at one point of our lives or another, we have criticized politics and politicians. It might have been for corruption, might have been for lack of action, might have been for their choice of clothing. But It has been done and every single one of us enjoyed doing it, either openly or within ourselves.

Why shouldn’t we? Basically politicians are there to perform based on certain expectations we have from them. But, there is a problem. They aren’t.

What if I tell you, that they aren’t the one doing all of it? or any of it in fact.

Let me break it down and begin from the grassroots.

If you look at the social situation around yourself, in the present time or in any period of time since the beginning of the comprehension of time by humanity, society has structured itself in a particular way, as delightfully elucidated by models like Maslow’s hierarchy etc. Civilization works on delegation, from the smallest units such as family to something as massive as a country. You do not have to agree with me. Observe.

In a family, there is always someone who is good at doing certain something that needs to be done. Sometimes the skills overlap, but its mostly person exclusive. Even if its not, certain responsibilities are favored by certain people to be delegated to certain people, even themselves. Like my sister does the cleaning in the house, because she is the most dust intolerant. I like to fill water bottles so I mostly do it. My dad is brilliant with documents so he maintains all our files and documents. My mother does the cooking because she is brilliant at it. And so on. Whenever any one of us is unable to do what they respectively do for whatsoever reason, we do point it out as constructive criticism, and join in with suggestions or help towards fulfilling the same.

Now these are tasks and preferences which we have had a lot of time to develop. An organisation works similarly, just the process of selection of the person responsible differs and so do the people who can make that selection. In a business organisation, such decisions are made mostly by the management or people directly responsible for the growth and improvement of the organisation on a higher scale than an individual employee. The reason behind that is, their performance is evaluated on the basis of the performance of the candidate they hire. The candidate gets paid anyways, and even if they chose to fire him, they incur the cost of the salary combined with the expense of the entire recruitment and separation process. So in short, the candidate is selected by someone who is directly affected by how good the candidate is.

The process gets slightly drawn out when you are dealing with something as massive as government. A government is nothing but an organisation whose responsibility is to govern you. Do you realize what that means?

It means that a government is something that we chose to create because we do not have faith on ourselves to exist as individuals with absolute power over our own lives, excluding natural factors. And the head of the government is someone who oversees and ensures the successful and smooth operation of the government. Someone who is responsible for seeing the big picture and then making the decisions. In our country, that position is held by the Prime Minister.

Now, let us take an example.

Suppose you cook. There are certain problems or hindrances in the process usually, like the gas not igniting in one try, or a drop of oil hitting your hand, or some ingredient spilling over, or some food getting spoiled etc etc. Now imagine, every time such a problem occurs, a person who is observing you, stops your entire process, goes to your father/mother/any other member of the family, brings them to the kitchen and asks them to fix the problem without telling them anything else. Would either of you be able to fulfill your responsibilities, even if you want to do those tasks and are not doing them because you are supposed to?

The answer is no.

Don’t get me wrong. By no means am I telling you to not question authority. If anything, you have every right to do so because you have placed them in that position of power. But just like questioning is your right, supporting and trying to see the truth or vision behind certain actions is your duty, along with creating minimal hindrances on the possible path of growth for which you had elected them in the first place.

Because it is not them who are doing it wrong.

It is you.

Sounds offensive? Here’s why.

For every one of us who sits on their armchairs with just the right idea about what is to be done, without actually doing anything to see it being done other than complain over a cup of tea, we shun our right to deserve anything better than what is there already. For every one of us who doesn’t stand up for what they believe in, rather wait for someone else to do it, we acknowledge our inability to know any better.

For each one of us who says “All politicians are same”, we deserve no different.

Bailkart : The One stop bail app

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Changelog:

v1.3

  1. Now select EMI option for payment and pay when you can.
  2. Material design elements.
  3. Added option to deliver copy of bail to nearest police station.
  4. Twitter and Facebook trend generators added, assuring extremely sympathetic statements for little extra cost.

v1.2

  1. Bribe-on-delivery option added
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v1.1

  1. Assorted bug fixes including one very serious bug where you got the bail after the police arrived.

Our Testimonials

Eternally Popular Ex-CM Balu Yadav:

I wish we had something like this in my time. Would have given me a good two years to ruin my state further. Thanks to BailKart I never had to relive those horrific days again.

Blockbuster Actor Balwan “Bhai” Khan:

BailKart is awesome. Jail? Ain’t nobody got time for that. If it wouldn’t have been for BailKart, it wouldn’t be only my personal loss. The country would have to bear the horror of not having any of my movies for the next 5 years!

CM and leader of ABCDMK “Amma” Bhayalalitha:

I got to know about Bailkart from our esteemed onsite PM Moody ji who referred it to me via Balwan Bhai. But unfortunately it was in BETA at that time and was not working for scams yet. I ensured they got PRIME office space in CHENNAI to sort it out quickly and I got out. Now it’s a mandatory app for all my party members.

Mahakhalnayak Munnabhai a.k.a Baba:

I am glad I could be the source of inspiration behind such a novel effort. We all know how famous people have it hard in India. It was high time someone came up with this. My monthly excursions are a breeze now.

Our latest Clientele, Asatyam Scam’s Ravanlinga Raju and Besahara Pariwar‘s head of the family Scambrato Roy were not available for detailed feedback but they send their regards and have shown interest in further investments in our initiative

Also by us:
BribeKart : To bribe or not to bribe, that is no longer the question
Bailkart Elite: For those, who just can’t ‘settle’


Disclaimer : This is a news and political satire , which may or may not use real names, often in semi-real or mostly fictitious ways. Any resemblance to the truth is purely coincidental, except for all references to politicians and/or celebrities, in which case they are based on real people, but still based almost entirely in fiction.

P.S: This was originally posted by me on reddit, and I received some awesome feedback and comments on this one. I have taken the liberty to include those ideas in the post. Anyone having any objection to that can kindly express the same in the comment section below. We’ll notify our developers 😛

Image Courtesy: http://www.bailbondsadvice.com

Prompt Sunday: Don’t be Evil

Prompt: Describe a weird day at your workplace.

As the door clicked shut behind me, there was no doubt anymore. Something was definitely wrong with today.

First, the bus waiting for me, then the security guard not stopping me to check my card, and now the lights. I am the first one in office everyday and I consider it somewhat of a duty to switch on the lights. Not today. The lights are already waiting for me in their bright glare. I felt a slight chill run down my spine, although it might have been the air conditioning.

I couldn’t shake the feeling. My desk seemed too well arranged. Not a single thing misplaced. My system booted up within 2 minutes, adding to my worries. Something was terribly terribly wrong here.

No tickets. No errors. Everyone was in office and talking in English to each other, instead of their usual Telegu. I was starting to think of running away. It was lunchtime.

I was nearing my limits when I saw that the canteen had north Indian Thali and Bengali Thali. Somebody was playing a joke with me. And I did not find this funny. I decided to skip lunch and have a coffee and a sandwich.

The sandwich was half finished. One more sip of coffee and I would head back to my desk. That was when I saw it.

One can only imagine the amount of media frenzy that would erupt when one of the most premier IT offices in the city becomes airborne and announces global destruction over strategically placed megaphones.

“So they were serious about the notice”, I heard someone say beside me.

It was the security guard from earlier today. “Oh! I believe I haven’t introduced myself. I am Shelby Corba. Content Creator for the guide”

“What guide?” I asked.

“No time for that now. I think we should hitch a lift as soon as possible, before they run this down”, the security guard mentioned while casually trying to switch on what looked like a plastic hand to me.

“What they?”, I asked.

“Oh god! You humans can be so obtuse sometimes. I have to add that to my entry. Anyways, aliens are going to destroy this planet for the construction of a 2.5 light years tall statue of the Galactic President. Didn’t you just hear their announcement?”, said the guy as the plastic hand started frantically waving up and down, gradually gaining speed with a soft whirring sound.

“No, umm.. I was actually getting.. Wait, What? Aliens? What the..? And who are you? What is that hand? what is going on?”, I was totally flustered and lost.

“Can we please keep your quest for eternal knowledge aside for now? When they lived with you, inside your computers, you let them take over your internet, and then your phones, then your cars, your homes, then came the army and everything else. You could not see them then, so no point in getting your panties in a wad about it now. Hold this” he said, matter of factly offering me the waving hand. There seemed to be no option as I grabbed it, vigorously being shaken by my forearm muscles. The ground seemed to turn into steam under us as we rose higher and faster every moment.

It was as if the building was waiting for us to make a move. It turned towards us and started to fire up its thrusters. That was when I saw the Google logo

Film Review: Detective Byomkesh Box-Office

I begin this review confused. I am on a crossroads. Should I support this movie? Or deride it? Well, let me tell you a bit more about me and Byomkesh.

My first encounter with Byomkesh was through the television series on Doordarshan, where the title role was played by Rajit Kapoor. That is how most of you probably remember Byomkesh as well. An artistic, true-to-the-literature portrayal of the truth-seeker planted the seeds of an impression in my head. It was the impression of an ideal detective.

This is the image that comes to my mind when I think of Byomkesh Bakshi

It was much later, somewhere in my teenage, that I came across the “Byomkesh Samagra” by Saradindu Bandhopadhyay, a collection of all the stories of Byomkesh ever written by the great author, in its resplendent Bengali form. I will admit that the “sadhu-bhasha” (archaic form) of the Bengali language did give me headaches initially, but now I know that reading it otherwise would be like listening to recorded music instead of live. I had done that mistake once in the past with Feluda and I was not going to repeat that. I set myself to finish the tome.

The silhouette is how the author visualized him

Then it was the turn of the Bengali films. Although now I am aware that there were movies of Byomkesh stories much before my time, at that point of time it was something new and novel to me. With some anticipation, I watched the movie. And I liked it. I had imagined that no one could come close to the accuracy of the DD1 series, but Anjan Dutta had managed it with Abir as Byomkesh and Saswata “Bob Biswas” Chatterjee as Ajit. The movie looked as good as it felt. I had one more page to add to my treasured Byomkesh scrapbook.

(Special mention: Satyanweshi by Rituparno Ghosh is also an immaculate masterpiece when it comes to the look and feel of Byomkesh, right down to the tone of speaking)

So far so good.

Some years later I stand reinforced in my opinion that Byomkesh Bakshi is the greatest detective work ever. So, you can imagine my thoughts when I heard that a bollywood movie was in the making. To say the least I was defensive. My fear doubled when I heard that they had cast Sushant Singh Rajput, the romantic newcomer for the role. After that, the motion poster arrived with the painful soundtrack. Then, the action packed, scantily clad women laden trailer with Sushant in all his mono-brow glory. I am not saying that I have listed down his characteristic features from the book, but nowhere do I remember Byomkesh to have a mono-brow or look idiotic. I mean, Where were the glasses? Anyways, thanks to my sister’s persistence, I finally got to seeing it.

Here begins the list of spoilers in the shape of warnings. Byomkesh gets slapped to the ground, beaten up, thrown out, kissed, flashed by a topless actress (or singer) and a lot more that challenges your perception of the Literature enthusiast Bengali babu. With a passing mention of “Satyanweshi”, they portray it as if it was something “cool” instead of an ideal which Byomkesh lives upto. It almost felt as if satyawati was added as an afterthought, lest the movie flops and the director doesn’t get to make any movie with her character. For me, the movie doesn’t provide one inspiring “Aha!” moment. From the very onset it feels as if the plot has bitten off more (betel leaves) than it could chew. What made Byomkesh unique was his connection to everyday life, which is missing very conspicuously in this movie. This Byomkesh seems to be a delusionary vagabond who happens upon a case. All in all, it was quite challenging to see it through.

That being said, I enjoyed the movie as a movie. Quick, well paced and without dull moments, the movie gives you what it promises in its trailer- an action packed detective thriller, with more action and filmy dialogues than detection. Not that bad to spend an afternoon over if you are okay with an absolute lack of honest emotions. I mean, that is how you react when your father is confirmed dead?

Sushant, please spare us honest fans. But then again, don’t. I dare not be hypocritical here. Afterall, did I ask any questions when a naked Irene Adler strutted her stuff in front of a Sherlock who happens to use a smartphone to solve some cases at times and a Watson who is a lot more than just a narrator?

You know how they did it right? Because they weren’t pretending to do it right in the first place. They did it their own way. Whereas here is a movie which seemingly calls upon Byomkesh fans and leaves them dead on the box office floor. Now that is one murder mystery that doesn’t need solving.

As pretty as an Airport

A very wise man had once penned, “It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the expression ‘As pretty as an airport.’  To those of you who find the above lines familiar, I raise my non-existent hat. But my personal preferences aside, there is a general perception in the Indian populace that the airport is a great place to be. Of course it is. It is a shopping mall with a runway.

Let me clear it out that my experience of airports has been limited to four flights and three airports, namely the ones at Hyderabad, Ahmadabad, and Bangalore. Me and the one at Kolkata have only exchanged a few looks at each other. If you think that this makes me an inexperienced flyer and that I should not be writing about Airports, you are probably right. Good luck convincing me of that.

If you are from the ever expanding Indian middle class like me, you probably take a cab to the airport. Oh please, lets face it, the flights that we can afford are never at the time when a bus can take you to the airport. So, you are on your cab, about to reach the airport, when your cabby tells you, ” Sir 5 minute se zyada rukne ka parking charges extra lagega“. For the un-initiated, parking charges for a four wheeler can be up to 20% of your ride fare. Suddenly, you are a bollywood hero (or for the dilwales amongst us, the heroine) in a Bollywood flick, picking up your luggage and running out of your cab to meet that beloved who is getting away the moment the cab stops. Get, set, go!

You are dragging your wheeled suitcase up to the gate marked “Departures”, holding the printout of your “makemytrip” ticket and some ID proof in one hand, trying to look for the shortest queue to stand in along with checking the counters for your airline and the gate/status of your flight at the same time. Amid this herculean effort of multitasking, you see the trolley fanatics. There is a particular type of people you will see at airports, whose aim seems to be pushing a trolley. Sometimes their trolleys are so minimally laden that they have to put their children on it to make it look full. And that is for the ones who are bothered. I have seen people carrying their hand bags in a trolley. Kudos to the genes of your forefathers showing through! Both Amitabh Bachhan and Govinda would be so proud to have influenced you with their masterpieces in your tender years.

Once you make it through the gates, congrats! You are in Wonderland. Let the wonders unfurl themselves in front you. But first, you need to check in your luggage. This shouldn’t take long, at least it did not in my case. And wherever it did, old uncles who were after the pretty airlines staff at the counter were responsible. You might even get to see the occasional bargain about the additional luggage fee. We just can’t help it, can’t we? “Bhaiya do kilo ke liye itna?!”

So now you are ready. All tagged and suddenly lighter, you notice people still carrying heavy bags around you. Why? Because hand luggage is not weighed na! *clever wink*

The same clever people can be often seen painfully unloading their bags of laptops, phones, baseball bats, machine guns, mixer grinders etc at the security check. Some just don’t let go of their phones. Can’t blame them. Afterall, “har ek friend zaroori hota hai!” Forget about being groped, we are more worried about whether someone else will pickup our laptop or phone 😛

Anyways, the sentries of wonderland have let you into the inner citadel. Now its your playground. Take selfies, buy coffee that is priced 20-30 times what it costs to make it, and sip it while you look at the amazing architecture of the airport. Have you ever noticed how every airport tries to look like anything but an Airport. I mean, cmon guys, is it really that hard to design an airport without going overboard with the ambient lights and the glass windows and all the gloss? For a service that is supposed to be a waiting place (read:PORT) for your mode of transport to arrive, it seems as if Airports are trying too hard to get you to stay there and sell your kidneys and donate your blood while you are at it. I have seen brands and outlets at Airports which I earlier imagined as fictional. Doesn’t it remind you of that big mall in your city? Then again, maybe they are for the same purpose for which malls exist: time-pass.

Recently, at Bangalore airport, I felt thirsty. Now, in an airport, you would find instructions for things which are as simple as which door to walk in through and which one to walk out through. But when the airport authorities decided to put fountain style drinking water basins, they decided that their efforts to ape what happens in certain “developed nations” are much more important than trying to stay relevant to India. I can bet that even the biggest and most costliest stores and clubs have taps for drinking water, not these abominations which can never fill your mouth with a gulp of water. Why am I so pissed about it? Because I was having a bad headache and was looking for drinking water to have medicine with. I am not asking you to remove them. Just stop trying to make us use them. Put them on the international flight terminals. Isn’t it already enough that we are trying to ape toilet paper when water is more hygienic any day? (Doubt me? try wiping your curry bowl with a piece of paper next time, then eat off it after 12 hours). Trust us, IT and mathematics is not the only thing we are good at, outsourcing some common sense to us could do you a lot of good too.

Yet, out of all the above things, there is nothing that irritates me as much as what I am going to talk about now: The Pretenders. There is a particular breed of people you see at the airports. The mock Ambanis, the pseudo Angelinas, the twitterati glitteratis, the selfie queens and the swag kings. The ones who dress up for a flight as if they are going to skydive into a dinner party or a night club (Sorry, random Punjabi dude on flight 466 to Hyderabad, but wearing gold rimmed black sunglasses for a flight on a perfectly cloudy day seems a tad bit too pretentious, especially while taking a selfie with your equally pretentious group, don’t you think?).

They look as if they are literally trapped in economy class and it is a punishment just to sit next to your puny mortal self. Take my word when I tell you this, these are the ones who are the last to wear their seatbelts and the first to get up the moment the flight lands, as if the pilot is an idiot to have instructed otherwise, the last to switch off their devices and the first to take the flight wali selfie and upload it using the free airport wifi. As if the uncle shoving his butt accross your face along the cramped aisle while oogling the air hostess and the aunty spread out over her seat like butter over naan weren’t enough. One thing you would never find them doing is ordering from the in-flight catering. That is still Uncle-ji’s forte.

Its that easy to follow

No, I do not hate airports. I am just plain confused. Do we really need all that glitz and glamour and overpriced necessities at a place that is supposed to be a transit halt? Did we get this majorly wrong as a species?

Yet, after all the effort and money burnt, we are yet to hear, “as pretty as an Airport”.

Image Courtesy: Google Images

Prompt Sunday: The Bottle Catastrophe

Prompt:- Write about a brief but scary encounter that you had with any one of your school or college faculties.

This happened when I was in class 10 and my exams were ending. You can imagine the relief and relaxation at the back of my head. It was the end of the first big exam of my life after all. Trust me, a student in India needs no additional help to realize how important this particular set of exams is. Anyways, there used to be a place near my school where me and my friends used to wait for everyone to arrive and then leave for our homes on our cycles. My friend Vivek Patel and me used to go on my cycle, with me as the pillion rider as he was healthier (Ya that was my excuse, plus the fact that it was my cycle 😛 ). I had just gone to a nearby shop for a moment and Vivek had gone a little ahead of the group as everyone was leaving when I came back. I started asking everyone where he is. That was when D.K.Pandey sir got there. This is how everything happened after that.

D.K: Which class are you from?

Me: 10D, sir.

(DK jumps and slaps me!!)

D.K:(screaming) “You were playing football on the streets here in school uniform with a bottle? You don’t know anything about discipline? You wait till I get my hands on you in school. I will talk to your class teacher!”

Saying that, he walks away with some of his colleagues who were standing at a distance.

I walked back to my friends who were having a really hard time stifling their laughter and not making one of me. Some of them actually did, pretty brutally. Well, they are friends after all. 🙂

Amidst all of this, you might wonder, why was I slapped? Was I not curious after being humiliated like this in the middle of the road? It didn’t take my friends long to understand that and put it to me in nice and polite words, emphasizing how unlucky I was.

Apparently, I was calling Vivek the same way everyone calls him, “Patel! Patel!”

I am not surprised that to a midget of a person, who is well beyond the physical age of occupational retirement and mental age of social retirement, that sounded like “Bottle! Bottle!”

That was all it took 😛

Cakes

Yummy!! That’s the first word that pops up in my head when I think of these delicious baked portions of heaven. Cakes are something that have been synonymous with celebration in almost everybody’s lives. Be it a wedding, a birthday, a farewell or a team achievement, all we need is a big cake cut into more pieces than visibly possible. There is something about the smell of the cake, fresh from the oven, that infuses some sort of a happiness drug inside me. Let me tell you a bit more about the journey of my relation with cakes.

My tryst with cakes began with a tiny bakery in a small mining town called Mosaboni near Ghatsila in Jharkhand (then Bihar). You see, the entire paternal side of my family lived in Mosaboni back then and most of my uncles were employed with Hindustan Copper Ltd in the Mosaboni Copper mines. It was a mining town with British influences strewn all over in the form of colonial bungalows, golf courses and some of the still intact area names. Weekends for me meant travelling from my home in Kharagpur to Mosaboni and have the time of my life being spoiled as the youngest of almost 20 cousins. I could find more than one taker for a trip to the Bakery, but mostly it was my dad. You may notice that I haven’t mentioned the name of the Bakery.

That is because it will always be the “Bakery” in my head, I never knew it’s name and somehow that is the charm of the place for me. And also that it sold Black Forest cakes. (Ofcourse not authentic ones from Europe, but knowing that name back then, let alone actually selling a cake with that name, is something to be given credit for). That bakery was, is and always will occupy a happy place in my memories.

Next comes Little Sisters, the bakery which was part of a restaurant of the same name.

Unfortunately, neither do I have a picture of the place nor do I have any significant memories to mention. But this was the go to place if you wanted a cake and lived near the IIT campus, atleast until the Cafe Coffee Day opened inside the campus, which in turn opened our doors to the world of walnut brownies and choco-sizzlers, all subsidized to our sheer joy.

Amidst all of this, there used to be the bread sellers on bicycles. I dont know if this was common in where you lived or presently live, but in my locality, every evening a few men used to sell bread loafs and other baked things on bicycles, shouting out “bread! bread!”. You had to call them out to stop them. My mother used to stop him when she needed to buy bread, and as if out of magic, me and my sister would be standing beside her with plates.

(Similar representation)

That meant we wanted pastries, any that he had. If not, then cream rolls. Trust me, it really didn’t matter what the flavor was, in what standards they had been baked or if we were going to grow fatter by having them. Those were the days. Somehow, that pastry still tastes better than the chocolate laden sinful cakes we have now.

That very sister of mine is a great baker now and bakes cakes easier than she makes rotis.

It has been ages since I went to a bakery.

Don’t you think its time?

(Image Courtesy: Tumblr and Blogspot)

Strongest Poison

A few months back, I set out on a perilous journey to ascertain the strongest poison in the world. My quest led me to numerous continents and dimensions. And you would be amazed at what I discovered.

It is Inaction.

Look around you. Do you see that woman who feels unsafe on the streets? It is because you don’t act when you see a guy misbehaving with her or even looking at her lecherously. All it would take is an equally hard stare back, yet you chose inaction. And trust me, if you are a girl and you are reading this, it just has the same meaning for you as for a guy. Along with being on the other side of that lecherous look, you have the power to be on the other side of that hard stare as well. Nothing makes yours any less intimidating. And do you see that man who is scared even to walk behind another woman? The very same reason.

Do you see that unhappy looking kid laden with a bagful of books as if he has the whole world to carry on his shoulders? It is because you won’t act and tell your son that it is alright to hold an easel instead of a pen. It is because you won’t tell your daughter that it is fabulous to dream about seeing yourself behind a camera rather than behind a desk or a cooking gas stove. Dreams are dying because you chose to do nothing. Nobody is asking you to change the world’s perception about this. Change yours, it will be more than enough for your kid. Let us hope you act before you can’t.

And you, kid, do you think your parents or the society is solely responsible for landing you into this 9-to-5 sham of a life? Then you are no more than a partner in crime. Wait, what did I hear? It is for the money? When did I tell you that’s a bad thing. If it’s for the money, then make that your passion. You know what, the last time I checked, earning money is pretty much what the rest of the world wants to do as well. If you are telling me your job just doesn’t pay enough, then get up and act. The world is a goldmine right now, and it has never been easier to find work that you love. The only reason that you are not on your way to fulfilling your dreams is your inaction. So you better get up and start planning before your kid starts blaming you for the same things for which you blame your father.

Inaction will not get you anything. Not even pity.
Every day you do nothing about the things that bother you, you make the world a worse place to be in.
Inaction, the strongest poison, doesn’t kill you.
It gives you a life where you are dead.

So pick up that pen and write.
Gather your strength and fight.
Raise your voice. Or your eyes. Even raising your conscience from the dead will do.
Paint that wall. Crack that code. Submit that project. Go all out for that contract. Tell that girl, or that dude what you think about them, good or bad.

Don’t let inaction kill you.

Prompt Sunday: The Trilogy

Greetings, Readers!

Before I begin, I believe I owe you all an apology. I apologize for the absence of any original post for a long long time. I can make up a lot of excuses and reasons for it, but I never lie to my readers. Actually, you see, I was on a vacation. One that I never had the choice not to take. To Lala Land. But we’ll talk more about that in my next post.

So let’s get on with a prompt post.

Prompt: Write 3 short stories, each of less than 300 words, with each of the following sets of words-
1. Apple, Picnic Basket, Black Cat, Wooden door, Girl with blue ribbons
2. Eggs, Electricity, Room, Paint, New transfer student
3. Jeep, Floating lantern, Creepers, Hay, Man with glasses
Write the three stories in a way that they are somehow linked.

THE TRILOGY

The Nightmare

Something so deeply sinister about rabbit masks.... image from Queen Michelle on Kingdomofstyle. #rabbitgirl

She woke up to a loud ‘thud!’ Somewhere in the house, a wooden door banged shut. That’s strange. Her house didn’t have any. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she realised with a shock that this wasn’t her room. She ran to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. She looked around for a way out, when her eyes fell on the mirror. She saw a girl with blue ribbons in her hair. She was staring back at her.  Nothing made sense. This was not her. The girl smirked at her. She looked around frantically. Apart from the bed and the mirror, there was only one thing in the room- a picnic basket. She dashed to the opposite side of the room and opened the picnic basket, hoping it would have a key, the key to her freedom from this strange nightmare which seemed to have no ending. In the dark, she grasped something furry and soft, and immediately felt a sharp sting on her wrist. She stood up with a jolt, and at the same time, out of the corner of her eye she saw a shape flit across the windowsill. As her face started to itch, she brought her hand up to scratch it and gave out a loud scream. Her hands were turning black and furry. Slowly, she made her way to the mirror. In it, she now saw a black cat, wearing her favourite pendant on its collar: a blood red apple. As she slowly drifted into unconsciousness, she heard the black cat on the windowsill say, “Finally, you’re here”. She wondered when she would see him next. This nightmare seemed eternal.

The Reunion

"Nevertheless, I will Master Jabba now." \><\ "I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat." --Edgar Allen Poe

As he placed the eggs on the shoe rack and knelt down to open his shoes, he felt the tiredness of a long day persistently attempting to take over his senses, a tiredness which was both physical and mental. Being a new transfer student in a city school wasn’t easy, with all the so-called city boys always ready to pick on whoever they can. On top of that he had to work part-time after school to pay his tuition fees. He didn’t blame his parents for not helping him. Who would support their son’s efforts to look for a girl he loved who had left him without a trace after years of being together? He was truly on his own now. As he closed the door to his one room apartment in the suburbs, he looked at her picture on the wall. The paint was starting to peel off around it, but that didn’t dampen the delight that the picture gave him every time. It seemed to soothe his chaffed nerves. He turned on the lights and changed. Without a second thought, he crashed on his bed and within moments, he drifted into sleep.

The sweltering heat woke him up. The electricity was gone again. As his eyes gradually adjusted into the darkness, he sat up on his bed and almost skipped a beat. A perfectly black cat, with fluorescent yellow eyes, was looking back at him, sitting on his table. She must have gotten in through the balcony. Just as he was about to move, the cat jumped and sat down beside him on the bed. He noticed that she had a collar. And the collar had a pendant. Her pendant.

The Prophecy

by Colette Saint Yves, via Flickr

A mercilessly cold desert wind made the traditionally garbed Pandit shiver at the thought of a warm fire. Cursing his lack of options, he wondered about the incongruity of the night. A red moon, hung up like an exhausted floating lantern about to crash from the heavens, made the sand all around look like dried up blood. A jeep came into view in the distance. “Finally!” thought Panditji as he took out a few parchments from his bag. The jeep stopped at a distance and the Imam stepped out, accompanied by a man with glasses who was carrying what looked like a tome. His hair flew into his own face in the wind like dead old creepers, with a few straws of hay sticking out at places.

“Greetings, Pandit. How have you been,” said the Imam they shook hands. “This isn’t a time for small talk, Imam. Let’s cut to the chase. What is the purpose of these nocturnal summons?”, said the Pandit.

“Never the one for pleasantries I see. As you wish, Pandit. You know that the plan is already underway and the subjects are under surveillance. What we require of you, are more recruits”, murmured the Imam.

“People are already suspicious of my intentions. I wouldn’t have come here if I knew this was the purpose”, said the Pandit as he turned to leave but froze when he heard the click.

“You cannot refuse the cause now, Pandit, not after all this time. The battle of Armageddon is almost upon us. We have already made the mistake of assuming everything to be history”, said the Imam.

The pandit collapsed on the ground, looking at the Bible amidst all of them.

“Why did we ever have to figure out that this was a prophecy?”
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Image Courtesy: Pinterest