Hello Deer. Meet Headlights.

Why do I write? Or make memes? Or create painstaking hyper-fictitious stories out of my myriad action figures? Or ridicule incompetence in its various forms? Why do I write?

Whenever I see a blank paper (digital or real), a bottle of ink somewhere in the recesses of my head topples and the manic urge takes over - an urge to transliterate all of that onto this waiting sheet.

The result surprises me. It’s sort of like being possessed for those few (or not) minutes and then, standing back and admiring that incongruous piece of art in a post-modern museum.

Blank papers are what you make of them. Some will say they’re all about the potential; others will quip about the deep implications they have on our thoughts and how they’re really mirrors to the subconscious, yada yada.

To me, that paper is a window. To me. Like a deer that strays onto the highway. Waiting to be hit by a rush. And the impending release.

Lost. Sight. Labyrinth.

Lost (August 15)

It was somewhere behind the ketchup bottles and mixer grinder, probably closer to the knife set, soup spoons and the special ‘guest’ tumblers. Though, she could’ve sworn she last saw it in her cupboard drawer, close to her wedding bangles and meagre life savings.

Truth is, her talents were decimated the day she married him.

Sight (August 16)

"The rain monster messed the roads last night. Oh Mr. Whistle Blower is irritated again. What’s that awful smell? Ewww, bad choice of perfume lady! Whoa! Nice spoiler. Urgh. Someone didn’t wash their feet this morning."

As the light turned green, Rex’s scattered attention simultaneously converged to the zebra crossing ahead and the wheelchair behind.

Labyrinth (August 20)

The incredibly enticing aroma continued to flirt with Larry. Like a poltergeist set on teasing him, it evaded him on every turn.
He stared into the new pathway. Surely this was it. Alas! Another dead-end. His anxiety turned into desperation.

Taking pity, the scientist lifted him by his tail and united him with the cheddar.

Take 2

The poisonous words coalesced and floated ahead. Their coarse exterior made them loaded and primed to damage. Twisting and turning, they swiftly approached their destination.

On doing so, they shattered into a million malicious particles and dispersed into every corridor and hallway they could find.

Who would've thought an insult could lead to brain cancer?

Hedonism. Consequences. Escape.

Hedonism (August 9)

He shut the blinds, drenched the towel and tightly wrapped it around his neck.
He brandished the rusty butter knife and licked its end. It shone a muted red from the zero watt bulb overhead. He took a deep breath and smiled into the mirror.
Reopening the stab wound took him to his preferred dimension.

Consequences (August 10)  

Every dawn, he takes a shower and prays to the deity near the kitchen’s switchboard.

He then visits the local shrine and appeases his gods for long hours. As a pre-pubescent teenager, he had sworn lifelong commitment to his religion.

The concrete block that killed him was accidentally dropped by an atheist 8 floors away.

Escape (August 13) 

Two floors down, he felt free. Three later, freedom gave way to panic. He was immediately filled with regret and began yelling into the thick air. Five floors later, he tried to find balance amidst terror, the air now deafening.

As he safely bounced into the thermocol heap, courtesy a passing truck, he breathed again.

Anger. Sin. Kill.

Anger (July 26)

He pressed his pencil as hard as he could into the page and continued writing. The lines were strong enough to cause depressions across the next few pages. 

With his lower lip engaged in a muscle-numbing pout, his eyes darted from his friends outside to his mother who was vacuuming in the kitchen. "Homework first."

Sin (July 27)

He inhaled a remorseful breath. Staring at the marble floor, he caught his own reflection.

He felt a tremor through his body and felt his throat tightening. He looked back at his reflection and whined. His tail curled between his legs, he laid his wet nose against the floor.

Breaking a vase was considered unforgivable.

Kill (July 28)

The rubber felt smooth and satisfying as he tested its elasticity. He stooped to pick up a pebble and blew away the superficial dust.

Nestling the pebble dead centre in the slingshot, he pulled it back and squinted at a sparrow nipping away at its wings.

The pebble slayed both the sparrow and his innocence.

Supernatural. Blue. Stories.

Supernatural (July 22)

Anuja delicately adjusted her infant’s head, as she held him close. She liked feeding him; she liked the control.

Eyes closed, she hummed her favourite tune and gently ran her palm against his head. His body’s warmth matched hers.

His tiny fingers then traced out the letters M, O, R and E on her tummy.

Take 2

The clouds were as much as obstacles as flies against a windscreen. Extending both hands forward, he hurtled ahead – chasing the falling meteor. Just then, he felt his feet being pulled.

His pillow vibrated and he woke up with a start. Probably a message. Squinting his eyes, he saw his inactive phone on his desk.


Blue (July 23)

The magnificent seven are nature’s pride. Always radiant when found, spreading joy is their calling. They spontaneously generate wealth too. Even if only in a manner of speaking.

A picture of contentment, they are. Well, almost.
The unwavering path 6 of them want will never be followed. The third brother will always have other plans.


Stories (July 25)

"There was once a big bad wolf who…"
"No! Not that one. Tell me another one."
"Okay. Once upon a time, there was a frog who lived in…"
"Nooo. That one’s boring!"
"Fine. In your closet right now, Pete – a one-eyed monster with a grumbling tummy – is waiting for me to leave. Good night!"

*Slam!*


Take 2

He ran his fingers delicately on the paper. "55 killed in landslide"
His thumb jerked as he clutched the sheet tightly. "Fuel rates hiked again"
"Freak manhole accident kills mother and her child." He cringed.

As the little bumps fed him the news, he felt glad that he couldn’t see the world around him.

Watch. Charm. Death.

Watch (July 19)

The toddler clutched her heels and giggled uncontrollably. The baby sitter pressed the toy and the oinks evoked peals of laughter, again.

A tasty aroma wafted into the room. She checked her wrist; it'd been 2 minutes since she’d added the masala to the noodles.

When she returned, the toy was missing; the pulse, gone.

Charm (July 20)

Tightly clasping the oval pendant with her left hand, she began writing.

Siddharth had taken his first steps yesterday. Her paycheck was due tomorrow. Vaibhav was opening up about his past flings finally. Her sprained ankle was healing nicely.

"Alright, pens down every one."

She gripped it harder. Maybe she'll graduate on her third attempt.

Death (July 21) 

“Where’s your god now?” the soldier yelled; the shrapnel in his throat barely allowed a wheeze.

He rolled his wheelchair closer to the altar. “Tell me father...”

“Have faith, son.”

The soldier shed a solitary tear. His revolver had the word ‘faith’ inscribed on it. He offered the priest some before taking a healing dose.

Take 2

The veins in her temples throbbed purple. Her lips were at the risk of tearing the way she sustained her screams. She curled her toes and dug her nails into her several catheters.

He delved further between her legs. Within a moment, her scream transferred to the writhing foetus and then, they both went silent.

Take 3

"Beta... get 1 rasgulla for me." 

Rahim darted to the kitchen and obeyed his grandfather, covertly.

"See that pipe near my hips? I’ll give you a prize if you cut it." He smiled, savouring each bite.

As Abdul wheezed his last, the gathered realised they’d waited all this time for naught. The will was final.

Possibility. Indifference. Envy.

Possibility (July 16)

MVPKGU

Behind the counter, in her red SpiceJet skirt, Sejal entered the boarding pass number. "Ms. Suchita Shah. Any baggage?"

“No.”

“She seems nice,” Sejal thought. The cute guy who checked in a few minutes earlier was in 12A. She took a few moments to weigh. “Hmm… Why not?” she concluded.

“Seat number 12B Ma’am.” 


Indifference (July 17) 

Sitting cross legged, she cupped her hand and scooped a handful of gravel and dropped it into a rusty strainer.

She giggled and repeated this amusing trick. The larger pebbles remained while the smaller ones passed through and gleefully landed onto her billowing frock.

The divider at Dharavi junction was this 4 year old’s playground.

Envy (July 18)

"Free on the 2^nd next month?"

"Yeah probably. Why? What’s up?"

"Cool, I've got some tickets. Will let you know about them soon."

"For?"

"Nothing special. I'll ttyl."

 2 weeks and a forgotten phone call later, I was at home and my soon to be ex-friends were at Wankhede watching Sachin lift the World Cup.

Take 2

Outside the station, he fought trying to hail an autorickshaw in this torrid rain.

On landing one, he quickly closed his umbrella and entered it, but not before his back was drenched by the water from the parapet above.

As the auto moved along, he longingly glanced at the sleeping kid in the Hyundai alongside.

Scream. Close. Damage.

Scream (July 13)

He clutched at his bed-sheet; his knuckles were white. 

Excruciating pain was the only way to label his ordeal. Amul learnt that life can be unfair on multiple counts.

As his father lashed his leather belt at his back blaming him instead of his genes, all this mute boy could do was scream with his eyes.

Close (July 14)

The second hand stepped forward, like a soldier. Dependable. The hour hand was the general. Watchful. The minute hand was sluggish. Jerky. Faulty

"Clamp." The attending surgeon ordered. The nurse fetched it. As he sutured the chest, the patient's eyelid flickered. The minute hand was back on track. The new heart had opened a new door. 


Damage (July 15)

Tensions were running high. One ball to go. 

A juicy low full toss; the mighty swing was justified. Ramesh's six won the game and shattered his neighbour's Audi's windscreen.

Livid, the neighbour stormed out and slapped the 11 year old. He wasn't done. With bottled rage, he spat at him. "Did you know you're adopted?"

Monday. Aphrodisiac. Forbidden.

Monday (July 9)

*Whoosh!* Thud* Crack* The time froze at 8:22 am.

Dark circles and migraines, she could handle.
A dismissive boss and long working hours, she could handle.
Loud co-workers and unrealistic deadlines, she could handle.

What she couldn’t handle was why they always, ALWAYS attacked her in unison.

The alarm clock was her first victim today.

Take 2

He woke up with a smile. Landing a job in Mumbai was a dream come true for Subhash.

There were 7 office skyscrapers near his chawl. Most of them jumped from above the 10^th floor. His earnings were fixed - Rs. 100 per body. Business always picked up today.

Just another day at the office.

Take 3

Atrophied muscles. Chapped lips. Sighs of relief. Loads of hugs.

It’d been 4 months since the accident. “Shrewsberry biscuit please” he wheezed. The mind’s desires can be confounding.

20 minutes passed. “Please…” he rasped before giving up.

All the stores were shut. Too bad Manoj decided to wake up from his coma on a Monday.

Take 4

A long belly and hip scratch and a satisfying yawn later, he turned to the other side on his bed. The sun’s rays penetrated his window, but not the thick blanket over his head. He twitched.

What was that? A faint whiff! And off ran Garfield to accost Jon.

Mondays often went downhill after breakfast.


Aphrodisiac (July 11)

Finely powdered. That was the term used. Clutching the pestle, he ground till the mortar’s contents matched the parchment’s requirement.

He emptied the final ingredient into a vessel containing the potion that took him a month to prepare. Finally. He could love again.

The corpse in his cave with the missing jawbone seemed to agree.


Forbidden (July 12)

He locked and unlocked his door, 9 times.

Next, he climbed into his attic and dug out a framed photograph. He took a silk cloth from his bathrobe pocket and cleaned the frame 9 times.

Finally, he flossed his teeth. He stopped after the eighth time for a sneeze.
He flogged himself for this error.

Fire. Mouth. Stars.

Fire (July 6)

11:54 am.

It had reached the eighth floor and was rising rapidly, uncontrollably. The office was evacuated 32 minutes ago. Akshay was at his desk, typing away furiously. Everything around him was getting charred. Yet, like the sky outside, his mind was clear. “The promotion is surely mine,” he smiled.

His deadline was 12.00 pm.

Mouth (July 7)

"Red wala!" "Mujhe blue wala!"

For the last decade, these were the most common requests Naresh received. Kids clamouring outside the local garden for their favourite balloons.

After 10 years, today felt different. As he blew life into the balloon, he took his own away. He collapsed as the balloon floated away towards the skies.

Stars (July 8)

His temples throbbed with rage as he thrust his fists into his hapless brother’s face. "It’s ROUND! It doesn't have 5 pointy ends!" he yelled.

Gopi realised his mistake when his mother nearly ripped his ear out. "The sun IS a bloody star you moron!" Rahul though kept seeing stars for the next few weeks.

Train. Fairy Tale. Mystery.

Train (July 3) 

Take 1

He combed his hair as he always did – parted it with the customary flick towards his temple. Too much oil this time.

He clutched his slingbag; coughed twice to clear his throat. The crowd was getting restless. The 12:55 local arrived and was now Bhimrao's stage. 

Selling colouring books wasn’t really his career choice.

Take 2

The vibe never felt this good this morning. She applied eyeliner and that seductive vermillion lipstick. Generously. She even picked her favourite ghagra choli; you knew she was excited.

She was superstitious too; the 12:55 Bandra was her favourite. No, she couldn’t miss it today. With a quick shave of her stubble, Chandini was ready.

Fairy Tales (July 4)

The sword cut through the veil, revealing the chest. With another stab, the chest gave way – and out fell the golden treasures in all their misshapen glory.

Fresh with victory, he saw his mother mix the treasure in white nectar and ease them onto a vessel destined for him. Cornflakes were Aarav’s favourite breakfast.

Mystery (July 5)

Take 1

Strapped onto the rollercoaster ride, he looked around as the ride teetered uphill, leading to the inevitable free fall. Sitting next to him, his mother smiled her reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay son.”

She handed him a purple box. He opened it. The surgeon never found the clot. The lobotomy sealed the box for good.

Take 2

There was no earthquake. Not even a tremor. The wind nestled itself in his curtains. Conjuring shapes only he could imagine. He reached for the pen, picked a scalpel instead. He adjusted not his notepad, but his patient’s head.

Today, he was going to write a wrong. Today, he was going to rob Anu’s memories. To save her.

Take 3
“Day 92. Like clockwork, he walked in at 3:12 pm, ordered his mochaccino, solved the day’s crossword and left the 22 rupee tip. Yet something was different today. New shoelaces on those ragged Converse shoes?  Maybe a haircut?”

After her accident rendered her a paraplegic, Reema never stopped staring into the mirror.

Secret. Fragile. Lust.

It is refreshing to write when you're given boundaries that set you free. Yep, try analyzing that.

55wordstory is an interesting concept on twitter where every day, based on a single-word theme, I write a 55-word story. It's been 3 days since I've been indulging in this exercise and I must say, it instills a need to write. Every day.

So yeah, I'll post 3 such stories per blog post hereon. Here goes:

Secret (June 30)

His unkempt hair and foul breath could be attributed to his just waking up but it couldn't explain his shame.

He pulled the blanket and shuddered on seeing the body next to his.

That's all it was - a body. Some body he knew. Some body he did. He had saved the body's number as "sfgsrghtfh"

Fragile (July 1)

He wiped the snot off his nose with a shrug of his shoulder. His eyes drooped and met the mud he'd been forced onto.

He wished the distant rustle of leaves was all he could hear, as he helped himself up. The cackling laughter bounced around him, pricking him incessantly. And then, his alarm rang.

Lust (July 2)

The raindrops raced against each other to reach the bottom of the window. With his face against the cold pane, he traced his finger against the drops from his side of the window. His chequered towel was ready.

He twirled his finger around the telephone cord as he breathed into the receiver… "Mmm... Don't stop..."

As my guitar gently screams

"TWANG! AAAAAHHHH!" 


Razia was relentless. She'd learnt the chord only yesterday. She was annoyed that she'd forgotten it so soon. She carefully placed three fingers - one each on the nose, temple and lower lip - and strummed the thighs as hard as she could.


The sound wasn't right. "Press the correct spots. The sound should be pure - crisp." Her teacher would reiterate.


Razia was determined. She bent forward, extending her fretboard ahead - to get a better look at her instrument. The sounds were coming alright - just not the right ones.


She decided give it another crack. Adjusting her pose on the couch, she cracked her knuckles and held her human close, correctly.


She pressed the aforementioned trio of spots; the human winced, waiting for the inevitable. Razia brought her right hand down hard.


Tears hit the floor. That's how she knew she'd gotten it right this time.

Vibrate

"But...but...I swear it happened! Hello?!"

Parikshit's cries fell on deaf ears. The walls around him mocked him. The plug point next to his head jeered at him. "Hiss! Whacko!," it teased. So did the other inmates.

He was 2 years old and had always been on time. Yet, the only thing people associated him with today was false alarms. The cell he was in was designated for hopeless cases like him. But Parikshit was convinced he could be cured. He really did.

As he slowly went to sleep, his SIM wandering over thoughts about his last discharge, the warden slammed his door, waking him out of his reverie.

"P-man!" he bellowed. "Entertain me. Tell me what you thought happened yesterday."

Like clockwork, Parikshit stood up, approached the cell door. 

"I was minding my own business, lost in thought, when I felt my human vibrate!"

He ceased to talk only to let the warden get up after his bout of laughter. "Please... go on." the warden's words pricked him.

P-man went on. "I thought I was conjuring crazy so I ignored it. That's when I felt him vibrate again. And this time, I swear it was no hallucination"

He dropped his pyjamas, reached into his pocket, took his human out and yelled.

 "I SWEAR HE WAS VIBRATING!!"

Swipe

The fourth ring was cut short halfway. "Hello?" the voice was raspy. "Hello. Good evening sir. Is this Mr. Platinum Card last four digits 9110?"

A few moments passed without any exchange. "It is. Who's calling?"

"Good evening sir. My name is Pissflake last four digits 4242 and I'm calling you since you're a customer with Nexus Blink Copses. Can I interest you with an upper class A human?"

Mr. Platinum was now losing his magnetic mind. He had paused a very serious documentary about fishing thefts in debit pools. Being an aquaculture buff, he needed his daily dose of fins and was busy streaming videos online.

"Look Pissflake 4242, I am not interested in any more humans. I have 3 middle class C males and 1 upper-middle class B female. I do not need any more. My needs are adequately fulfilled and the only need I have right now is to end this conversation."

More silence ensued. This was destined to be a short conversation. It was.

Mr. Platinum hung up on Pissflake quite rudely.


Little did he know that Pissflake was no Blink agent. He had just swindled Mr. Platinum to the tune of 6 months off his impending  expiry date.

"You're hired"

"Please take a seat." Amrita did. She was taking no chance this time. She had brought everything she had - every shred of paper and plastic documenting her life.

She had gone to lengths no one else possibly would. Amrita had sat her mother down and asked her to rummage through the past. "What questions was I asked during my Jr. KG interview?" She wanted to be thorough. And that made her the ideal candidate.

The interviewer's uniform and badge intimidated her. She knew she couldn’t afford to stumble. She took a deep breath and braced herself for his question.

"What would you consider is your ideal destination after the next 30 minutes?"

Stymied, she was. It was make-or-brake time. She shut her eyelids and rolled her eyes around, as if searching within herself. And then she opened them.

"I have complete faith in your judgment in deciding my destination for me."

She had hit the proverbial sweet spot. Shivram Ghate turned the meter down.

"Bandra it is!"

Fruits

Sarvesh knew it was inevitable. He'd been screaming himself hoarse for months now, advocating this absurd change. He believed it was just the sort of thing that would bring everyone back from their commercial stupor.


Mudit agreed, raising all 28 phalanges. Phones on sale on a street cart? "What a wonderful thought!" Everyone could get one. Bargaining wars on the horizon. "No more MRP!" He was jubilant.


Sagar shared his elder brother's enthusiam. He was also the more proactive one among the two. When he heard Sarvesh talk on about the 'changes', he cut through the ambiguity, donned his MBA cap and opened a fruit store. Whether it was Sarvesh's sermons or his own orientation that decided this move, it didn't matter.


Boxed products they were now, fruits - replete with instruction manuals, warranties and seals of authenticity.


It was all for naught though. Last Friday, Sarvesh entered Sagar's store, unboxed an apple and found a bug. He subsequently converted to nonvegetarianism and bought a street cart along with 200 kilos of mobile phones.

Mudit wept.

pity the fool

Mukul insisted. He wanted Shriram to sit and watch the goods while he washed his feet in the grimy puddles nestled among the rocks that separated them from the vast sea.

"I'll only be a minute," he left; his flipflops marching on in his wake.

Shriram craned his neck to watch where Mukul ventured while watching the goods with his peripheral vision. The murder of crows circled above Shriram. He was fidgety. A couple of kids nearby appeared to nonchalantly document his every move.

The crows came closer. He clutched the blue plastic cover tightly; he was a stark contrast to the serene scene around him.

Mukul was now relieving himself; Shriram himself was close to a physical breakdown. The phantom fear was completely holding him captive. A sudden breeze and he was convinced the elements had conspired to bare his deepest, darkest secret.

He turned around to see the same 2; the girl was drawing furiously while the boy threw another shifty glance before he dove back into his notebook.

Shriram looked back and found Mukul staring at him point blank.

"Fool! Crows like fish. Didn't I tell you to watch the goods?"

new old

• Isn't it weird that the stupid argument in a bus is more human interaction you've had with a stranger than with a family member?
• How you're closer to a friend abroad than your friend next door.
• How the coffee turns cold on your desk when you brought it in warm, because you were busy staying online instead of in the real world.
• How you've forgotten what your handwriting looks like.
• How "have you seen the news?" means "have you checked the news online?"
• How "keep in touch" as an instruction is solely limited to chat messengers and social networking.
• When was the last time you sent a post card?
• Wrote down a phone number on a piece of paper instead of onto your cell phone?
• When the last paper you held wasn't a bill from some multinational food chain in a mall?
• Sometimes it’s alright to fall in a mall trying to climb an escalator backwards.
• It's ok to board a sardine can of a bus and watch an empty one go by.
• It's ok to drop that coke float outside mcdonalds and order another one.
• Life isn't about getting things right all the time. It's also about deviations from the norm.
• It's about starting in one direction and ending in a completely different one. Like this blog post.

hoo hoo ha ha

We guile the world into thinking we're all intellectuals. We hide behind the facade of long words and difficult pronunciations, but behind that veil, we're every bit as primeval, ready to shed our proverbial clothing and jump into the pool of instinct and impulse.

We are only as smart as we believe ourselves to be. Humans right now are the pinnacle of evolution, yet we don't really know what to fear - ourselves? the potential we have on our hands? the unknown realms?

We've pushed the boundaries and have taken over the mantle of maintaining the planet's balance. As if the planet was falling apart before we showed up.

We're just a twig snap away from jumping on tree branches and reverting to our true selves. Maybe we already are doing that, just in a different fashion.

Maybe we're just a peculiar phase of life on this planet, a result of an anomaly that was as random as you can imagine, like this post.