Past...

Not exactly a manuscript,but it sure looked old and worn out.It smelled of bad memories.

She opened the journal.

Oct 3 1925

I dont like ma.She keeps beating me.Baba keeps beating her.I dont like Ronu.He throws stones at me.I ran away from school today and sat near the pond.Some ducks came and pecked at my toes.Some were on the branches and singing.

I like the birds.

They talk to me.

Oct 9 1925

Today Ronu threw my lunch in school.The dog ate it up.I dont like him.He went and told everyone that Baba meets some other woman.I dont know.Ma was telling him about it the other day and he threw a bottle at her.Baba does not talk to me.I went by the pond again.The birds seem to be happy.It rained today.I am going to get muri for them tomorrow.

***

The handwriting was clear ,like the hand of someone who was sure with words.She had picked it up at the Sunday market in Daryaganj, planning to tear away the written pages and make her own journal out of it.Now, here she was, reading it like the work of a great scribe.The light from her bedroom lamp created strange shadows .The words seemed faded at places, a strained memory .What would have been a few yellow pages in the bin had suddenly become a secret peek into someone's life.It was like looking into your neighbour's house at night.Not that it mattered.She was liking this.It was like a story she kept at some hidden corner in her mind.

It sounded like a known story.

It sounded like her story.

She turned a few pages this time.A little over a month passed in the journal.

***

November 12, 1925

Today Monai mama brought jilipi but did not give me.He told ma that she cannot stay at this house forever. He said she is married to baba and should stay with him.Ma started crying.I dont like Monai mama . He reminds me of Santosh Sir.He slapped me when I told him that baba tore my copy.I went to the pond again.

The ducks were there.

They said they will tell me something in a few days.

***

She flicked away the tears that were on her cheek like careless whispers.She did not care about being sad.She wanted to know who this girl was.She did not like suspense.She hated it.Infact she hated it more than she hated her father.She turned to the last written page.

***

February 13,1926

I told Ma that I was leaving.She laughed at me when I said the birds at the pond told me I could stay with them.I dont care.I like them.They said they would wait on the terrace for me when the moon came out.They would show me how to fly.I see the moon.I am going to meet them.I can hear them calling me.

Bye Bye Diary.

I am going to fly.

***

The page quivered like it was made of water.She looked at her dresser mirror.A little girl wearing a white frock looked back at her.She held the same journal.She put pen to paper and wrote something in her journal.A word formed in the journal outside the mirror.

COME.

She got up from the bed, and headed towards the stairs."I will be back", she told her mom and headed towards the open stairs.

She never came back.

Of passing time...

Alo! I have been around and I have been about, but yeah I haven't been close to blogging for some time now. It sometimes is amusing, like someone on a bus, to watch the world go by you, talking back, occasionally talking "black", but talking mostly.I did the same, watching all of you coming over, liking what I wrote, disliking it, thinking that I was totally whack and the types.
I liked all of it. Really!!:)

And what have I been up to? I have been a part of a weekend night out where we talked in and out about real ghost stories, and quite a bit of reading. There has been writing too, two stories actually, but they will be coming up later in the blog. There was another thing that I wanted to talk about to all those guys who read the gibberish from time to time. A lot of you probably think that I am some strange demented guy who eats frogs and lurks around alleys with a laptop, turning happy children stories and rhymes into works of horror. Sorry to disappoint, but then, however much I wish, I am not exactly a person fitting the above picture. I am just another guy, going clackety-clackety in my office and trying to fight out the mean world. Why I like horror is another story.
Everyone loves romance. Everyone loves mush. Everyone always hopes that there would be this killer place where there would be tons of dough and lavish cars and life would be like "Cribs". But alas, that's not the case it seems. There is always an anti thesis to everything good that has existed or will ever exist. There will always be the shadow behind your door at night waiting to jump at you. There will always be the wisp of air that brushes your cheek when you least expect it. There will always be the times when your hands turn cold and you don't know why. Mostly you would choose to ignore it, or turn it into a goth poem saying

"when the dark night lay weeping
I felt Satan's breath upon my shoulders..."

Maybe I shouldn't do poetry because I suck at it. But stories which make the hair at the back of your neck stand up, that I would do. As for the purists, I love the nursery rhymes and stories as much as anyone else. My intention remains honest; making tales that make you do a little more than just grin. And also do tales that would make you fall off laughing. I would do tales.

And I would do them just for you.

Sach tagged me to do a tag which seems interesting.She wanted me to do the tag under the pretext of trying to know"Just what kind of books do weirdos read". I will pretend to ignore it and do the tag instead!!:)

She wanted me to quote some favourite lines from some of the books I have read. I am doing a Stephen King special here because he remains my favourite author. Here are a few quotes:

IT:
"You cant be careful on a skateboard man!"
"In vain he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts" - Bill Denborough at various stages in It.
"The magic exists" - Stephen King, Dedication to IT
"You don't f**k around with the infinite."

Pet Semetary (the latest)
"Sometimes, dead is bettah" - Jud Crandall

"The soil of a man's heart is stonier [...] A man grows what he can... and he tends it" - Jud Crandall, Chapter 22 (near end) .

Needful Things(my first Stephen King novel)

"The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool."

Christine

"If being a kid is about learning how to live, then being a grown-up is about learning how to die."


Misery

"Can I? Yeah. You bet I can. There's a million things in this world I can't do. Couldn't hit a curveball, even back in high school. Can't fix a leaky faucet. Can't roller skate or make a F-chord on the guitar that sounds like anything but shit. I have tried twice to be married and couldn't do it either time. But if you want me to take you away, to scare you or involve you or make you cry or grin, yeah. I can. I can bring it to you and keep bringing it until you holler uncle. I am able. I can." - Paul Sheldon, Misery Part 2, chapter 4.

That's that, a list of quotes that I could find. The tag is open for everyone.This is one last that goes out to all the people who think that my writings are "weird".Its in the words of Mr. King himself:

"People think that I must be a very strange person.This is not correct.I have the heart of a small boy.It is in a glass jar on my desk..."

Laters.

Growing up...

A chair.Or maybe a table.Could also have been that China vase on the corner.

He looked like furniture.

He sat there, his eyes like grey stones staring into nothingness.He felt wasted.

The door opened and a man with too much on his mind walked in."Son?",he almost whispered."Johnny"??

A weak grin came on his face, a flickering candle in a full gale."Yes Pa," he said.

"You doin sugar again huh??Temme son!!"

"No Pa.."weaker still.

"Now you lyin to your ol' pa like that?Temme you lyin' son!"

"No Pa.."voice like a floating dead leaf.

"You wanna talk to me, you open your mouth son!!I am tellin' you...Just...OPEN YOUR MOUTH!!"

With a heavy heart he turned his back to his son and left in a tearful hurry.And then he heard the most awful sound that he had come to hate in the last few years; that laugh.

Ha ha ha...

Thought...

The front looked inviting.The door was slightly ajar, just enough place for the house to breathe.Alice stepped in.

The walls were papered with pictures of people caught at various emotional pit stops.There was one with his hands out as if he was about to fall.You could make out the grey sky spreading in front of him.Maybe he was falling.Falling off.

Another one with a grin.He looked like he had been asked to smile.His smile did not look happy though.More like someone who had accepted his fate and fare, whatever it might be.Another one frowning, probably wondering what the photographer was up to.Yet another getting out of the frame, and probably pushed back to pose.Alice stared at them, with a flickering thought.Then it came to her and she knew.There was something common in all the pictures.How did she miss?

They wore hats.All of them.

Her thoughts skittered away as she heard footsteps approaching the room.The man who walked in wore a black coat and a brand new hat.He walked with a slight stoop and carried a stick. His ears looked thin and the lobes seemed almost not to exist.Alice thought they looked like a rabbit's.

"Lookin at the pictures I see?", he said with amazing grace. The words seemed to perform a little dance routine before they reached Alice.

"Yes sir.They look...intresting...if I might add", Alice fumbled.

He nodded slightly. A grin appeared, like a rabbit out of the magician's hat.He winked knowingly and asked her,

"Wouldn't you like to know why they call me the Mad Hatter?"

Snap back to reality...

Ahoy, me smashin pumpkins. I am back into the emotionless hyperspace called office and I am loving my job.From my last post, I have learnt lessons.One, a piece of work could be humorous, happening or horrendously horrifying according to the interpretation of the reader.Two, a piece of work's ego could completely be altered by the light one sees it in.Three, and the most interesting, I do have a clear-cut alter ego!:)
I had been on a ten day voyage which took me to the ports of Mumbai and Bokaro, with a little stopover at the Indian capital.The initial 3 day sojourn to Mumbai was an eye-opener to say the least.Hail you Mumbaikars for living in one of the most amazing cities in the world. I fell in love with the place so much so that I am actually contemplating moving my base to the City of Dreams.And yes, vada pav has the potential to replace the oh-so-stylish pizza globally!!
Next up was Bokaro. Flew back to Delhi and caught a 22 hour long journey to the Steel City. The occasion? India's favourite single episode soap: the wedding!!
It began like Planet Of The Apes in reverse. My relatives, their relatives and anyone who was relatively related eyed me with discovering wonder. I, like a lost prophet, trudged to find someone who would care to understand my long haired, shaggy look philosophy of life. Finding no success, I settled down to the soothing confines of my Ipod Shuffle. More whispers, more disapproving glares. I suddenly realised how it feels to be a turtle in an aquarium.
Like totally.
The acquisition of the occasion was a 7.1 MP camera bought to capture memories of the carnage(what?don't you have emotions??I say phbbbhht!! :P ). I thought of putting up a few pictures and let some of you feel the blissful emotions of matrimony and then decided that it wouldn't go too well with the flavor of my post.The final goodbye of the occasion was my paternal grandma saying "I want to see you up next" or some such. And I realised that being part of a reality show could actually be much worse than I thought.

The return journey was marred by a catastrophe of epic proportions.
I got my cellphone stolen.
Its gone.
Contacts.Pics. Music. Games.Wallpapers.Contacts.Messages.Contacts.

I.am.devastated.Sigh.

Life has resumed with a 1300 rupees cellphone (I double checked to make sure it wasn't a dummy or a transistor they were peddling). Whether the creative workshop in Mumbai has influenced my writing will be told by you guys. The highlights of the weekend gone-by have been FIR at Old Delhi Railway Station, hardcore metal mayhem at Independence Rock, mental assault by landlord over non-payment of rent(now cleared) and pestering by the United Nations over giving up world dominance. So I made up the last one.Yes.
Will write something better when I get my bearings right. You have the option of dismissing this as a filler.Also the tags shall be done in the near future.

Laters.

P.S.- Glad that most of you guys liked my dedication to Heath. After that post, my vision has cleared up. Indeed, chaos is the key...

Hope...

His eyelids seem to weigh a lifetime.It would take him more than willpower to get them open.

"I am dead.And this is my life after death", he said aloud. With this thought ringing in his head, he opened his eyes.A bright light, with the power of a thousand needles pierced his eyes.He lifted a hand and shielded it.The world, a world he believed no longer existed, came into focus.

"No you aint.Thats just the Operating Light over your head and nothing heavenly."

"I am not??"

"Nope!! you tried real hard though. Jumping in front of a car wasn't wise.Should ave tried a highrise maybe.You know..."

"Shut up for a second will you??How are you feeling?"This time the second guy spoke.Both of them had been the only people in his field of vision since he had opened his eyes.The one talking seemed to be in command.The other, though a little frail, looked more angelic.

"Oh me?I feel fine...never been better...dont know..there is some sort of a disconnect that I cant figure..."

"There is NO disconnect", this time a little more curt."just rest a while and you will be fine...and yeah you are alive...so (*thinking*) thank God!!yeah why not?Thank GOD!"

"um ok...I guess I will.Thanks guys."

The Talking Guy's face broke into a grin."Ah its ok. You could always thank later.Everyone does.Well, most do.Maybe not most...but ah, for now, rest, ok?We will meet you again.We will leave now."

With these words they walked out of the Operation Theatre.As soon as they stepped out, the frail guy burst out, "You think its funny??Its not always funny!!You really need to understand that!!"

Talking Guy's face remained contorted with that grin.

"Why so serious?", he said and dug into his pocket.Took out a cigerette and lighted it.As wisps of smoke curled from his lips, he turned to the Frail Guy, grin in place.He looked up and said;

"Dont you think its easier to fool people when they are dead?"

Me-Wanna/Be...

Allo, whadup?Things have been sort of a whirlwind of late and as a result, I did not get time to write much on the blog.No, actually I was kidnapped by Martians and was tested for terrestrial tolerance to martian bullshit. Not really, I mean you wouldn't want to talk about Your experience of being a part of the Indian contingent to the International Summit of Polka Dotted Umbrella Users, would you?

Okay Smartypants, I did not know what to write.There, I SAID IT!!

Looking at my previous posts,one must have definitely got the point that this blog is the result of a software bot malfunction.So, I thought, I might try to add a little bit of the human aspirational (inspirational, respirational??) value to it.Most of you guys who have cared to glance through the previous clog of words must have noticed that I am indeed a part of a Radio Station. But, ah, the bittersweet irony of life, I am not a jock. I am someone who pretends to be creative and also pretends to be extremely good at clacking the keyboard at brain-numbing speeds.But yes I have had my moments of glory behind the Microphone.That's the saga that I thought could deserve a little narration.

There was this jock(read Radio Jockey) who had to go on a leave for the marriage of some estranged cousin in Ranchi( often mentioned in association with the likes of the mentally deranged).As a result she recorded her show for a good week and left. The only problem that arose was the execution of live traffic updates from the studio.And who better to save the day than me;The saviour of the greedy (um needy??) and ill-begotten (downtrodden was it??).I was to do four traffic updates in two hours for a period of five days.That's when the catastrophe finally decide to rear its ugly head.

The On-Air console(read Radio Jockey remote control) resembles a badly drawn industrial township map by a fifth grader.It has a huge cache of brightly coloured buttons and a lot of twiddly faders which just go up and down and not sideways.The only buttons that I was asked to handle was a red button which was "OFF" and a yellow which was "ON".There was also this fader which was supposed to be pulled down after I had done talking and then push the red button which would switch the Microphone off.In the studio, on one of those days, I was struck by a bolt of creative lightning.I decided that the Fader in question was not of much consequence.So I put it up and let it be there.The rest of the job was done by the red button and yellow button.

What a discovery!!Less confusion, better and supreme control!!I was the master of the NASA-esque console!!Better still, in my own little cosmos, I was a friggin RJ!!

And then it happened.Between the traffic updates, listeners call up and tell you where the traffic jams are. So as soon as I finished an update, I lunged towards the telos kept at the side of the studio.All was going good. Till the I-am-listening-radio-in-car angel called up.

Me:"Radio *beep* bataiye jam kahan laga hai??"

C:"Maine aapka traffic update suna...mujhe song dedication karna hai."

(Lord help me NOT to shoot this guy dead over the phone.)

Me:"Sorry only traffic updates...please traffic update bataiye."

C:"Wo to nahi tha...magar...."

By this time I was about to go to the next caller.As I was about to disconnect his call and take the next, he said the words.My blood froze and the studio clock stopped ticking.My brains zzzed for some time and fused.

"Gaane ke upar aapki aawaz arahi hai..."

I looked at the console.The fader was up just as I had left it all the time.Only one thing was different this time.The yellow button glowed, glowed with the devil inside it.

THE MIC WAS ON!!

I reached the Red button which seemed a gazillion miles away and pressed it.The microphone was silent.A little vein at the side of my head throbbed merrily.I stepped out of the studio,praying the world had come to an end.Seemed it hadn't. But thankfully enough, no one had noticed. Slowly, very slowly, the world that I knew, came back into focus. It was intact.

Not even a nick.

Most people often decide that being an RJ is probably the next easiest thing to being a security guard. All you need to have is speech, comprehensive possibility of differentiating between a baboon and a banana and voila!!You are an RJ!!One and a half years later, I still hope to be one, THAT when I am on the inside. My idea is not to deter goals or crash hopes.All I would say is being an RJ is tough.Maybe not as tough as being an aeronautical engineer but tough nonetheless. With that, my dear reader, I rest my case.

(P.S.-It is indeed heartening to see that a lot of you guys seem to like what I write.More cases of twisted humor and horror coming soon.Keep reading!!)

Laters.

:)