"Bloody Mary", shrieked the lean waitress. "The Cula is here! He's here!', shouting aloud, she ran out of the pub in an alcoholic delirium. Aaya was bit. Dark red blotches of clotted blood were all over her neck. She started in alarm. But it was unheard, as the DJ was in and the music burst open in fruit flavours. Spreading around a thin air of tipsy nonchalance. Aaya felt good. Better. She almost came twice. She was in hunt for the Cula. () It all happened very swiftly. Friends turned into enemies. Strangers turned into beasts. And the weak, turned into dinner. In mere hours, The Hell Yeah! Pub had turned into a scene from From Dusk Til Dawn. Aaya stood tall, on a bar stool, and surveyed what lay in front of her; bloodless corpses, the stench of violence. Almost instinctively, those still standing turned towards her. () She looked down upon them like a Diva. Her stilettos tapped across the bar. Her body wriggled in spurts of orgasmic outbursts. She had become The Second Lady. The one and only. Mistress of the Cula. () Without warning, without the dramatic slo-mo shots one is used to in the movies, arrows began to pour down on them from the heavens. Most of newly turned didn’t have a chance. Heads were split open; lungs, hearts, kidneys, brains, balls—all were ripped out by the arrows. Aaya was whisked away from the scene. But not before one deadly arrow claimed her left arm. () The black cloak of the Cula flung open blinding the light that was peeping through a small hole on the roof. Flutter. Clatter. Humpsk. Phunkt. And Silence. The Cula was gone. So was Aaya. The small hole peeped in again casting a spotlight on the floor. Where dark feathers wafted down like autumn fall. . . () The Aluc stormed the pub--like many times before. But they were too late--like every time before. The Cula had gotten away. They searched for signs of life amongst the undead. They were not to find any. Flype looked heavenwards, his sword by his side, flaming like hell itself. Swiftly, automatically, the 9 member "Aluc" burned down whatever remained of the pub. Then, the pursuit resumed. () They vroomed down Underworld highway No.386. In wolverine packs. Howling with a Machiavelian deceit from random corners. Vroom past one blind spot to the other. The Cula moved in flashes. Like lightning in absolute chaos. And so did Aaya's screams. The Aluc crashed in confusion. Until Flype screeched. And cut open the viel of darkness with his gleaming sword.
Blinding flash of white light.
Me: I'm choking with a poetic urge gurgling up the glottis of my mind. Blip~
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Dé·jà·vu
December 11th, The Pebble Street
I've been here before. I've done it all not so long ago. I know what's going to happen. It's all so predictable.
Our favourite song will start playing in the background. Hear it?
Yes!
Now, do you see that table in the corner?
Hmmm... What about it?
Nothing great, just that they won't let us take it.
But why?
Coz it’s booked and someone special is going to turn up on that one, so they will seat us two tables next to it.
What? What the fuck is wrong with you? We haven't even ordered drinks yet and you talking crap already!
Trust me, I've been here before. And that reminds me; don't be frivolous with the order. Just ask for two Old Monks, I ain't got enough dough for tonight.
Can you ever tell me how much is ‘enough’ for you?
No. But make the order quick n be prepared for the show.
Show? What show?
I don't want to spoil your share of the fun. So wait up...
Is it for real? That's not them? Tell me they are not who I see. What are they doing here?
I told you that you're in for a show. Now be calm. Keep sippin at your drink and not attract their attention.
*sip* *sip*
How did you know they'd be here? I don't get it. What are you up to?
Nothing much. Just settling some old scores. Now, take this, walk up to their table and point it at his back. Nobody will see what you're doin. Trust me.
Are you fuckin crazy? It's loaded! And besides, if you're so sure, why don't you do it yourself?
Because I've seen it happen and it works out fine only if you do it. All I want is that you do as I tell you. Here, go for it!
And what do I do after that?
Ask him to get up and take a walk with you. I'll pay up and follow you guys outside onto the street. Head for the parking lot and force him to drive out with you in his car.
What about the other one?
Leave that to me.
And then?
Wait for me at the crossing. And while you're at it, just give him a subtle reminder or two that he'd be in serious trouble if he resorts to any heroics.
OK, Mr. Nostradamus, what is to be done after that?
*sip* *sip*
Well, I don't remember exactly. Let's order another round and in the meantime, I'll try and piece it all together.
But I heard you say you ain't got enough money?
Can you define 'enough' for me?
No.
So shut up and order another round.
*sip* *sip* *wait* *wait*
Have you figured out the next move?
No, not yet. But why the fuck are you so uneasy? Just enjoy your drink and let me concentrate.
Sorry. Cheers!
*sip* *sip*
Tell you what, this Monk worship is really something. It's just so blissful in the winters. You want another one?
I won't mind.
So where was I?
The next move.
Oh that. Ya, the one we've been talking about all this while?
Yes, what about it. What do you want me to do next?
Well. You don't have to do much.
*sip* *hic*.
Just sit back and enjoy your drink.
*hic*
I guess I got it. You've managed to get high enough to fuck apart one more story to shreds, haven't you? Well guess what, I too have been here before. And I've also done it not so long ago. And it so happens that I knew what was going to happen. The thing is, I was here to pay homage to the Monk & you can never do 'enough' of that, can you?
Now pay up. And don't forget, I’d be waiting for you at the parking lot and not at the crossing...
I've been here before. I've done it all not so long ago. I know what's going to happen. It's all so predictable.
Our favourite song will start playing in the background. Hear it?
Yes!
Now, do you see that table in the corner?
Hmmm... What about it?
Nothing great, just that they won't let us take it.
But why?
Coz it’s booked and someone special is going to turn up on that one, so they will seat us two tables next to it.
What? What the fuck is wrong with you? We haven't even ordered drinks yet and you talking crap already!
Trust me, I've been here before. And that reminds me; don't be frivolous with the order. Just ask for two Old Monks, I ain't got enough dough for tonight.
Can you ever tell me how much is ‘enough’ for you?
No. But make the order quick n be prepared for the show.
Show? What show?
I don't want to spoil your share of the fun. So wait up...
Is it for real? That's not them? Tell me they are not who I see. What are they doing here?
I told you that you're in for a show. Now be calm. Keep sippin at your drink and not attract their attention.
*sip* *sip*
How did you know they'd be here? I don't get it. What are you up to?
Nothing much. Just settling some old scores. Now, take this, walk up to their table and point it at his back. Nobody will see what you're doin. Trust me.
Are you fuckin crazy? It's loaded! And besides, if you're so sure, why don't you do it yourself?
Because I've seen it happen and it works out fine only if you do it. All I want is that you do as I tell you. Here, go for it!
And what do I do after that?
Ask him to get up and take a walk with you. I'll pay up and follow you guys outside onto the street. Head for the parking lot and force him to drive out with you in his car.
What about the other one?
Leave that to me.
And then?
Wait for me at the crossing. And while you're at it, just give him a subtle reminder or two that he'd be in serious trouble if he resorts to any heroics.
OK, Mr. Nostradamus, what is to be done after that?
*sip* *sip*
Well, I don't remember exactly. Let's order another round and in the meantime, I'll try and piece it all together.
But I heard you say you ain't got enough money?
Can you define 'enough' for me?
No.
So shut up and order another round.
*sip* *sip* *wait* *wait*
Have you figured out the next move?
No, not yet. But why the fuck are you so uneasy? Just enjoy your drink and let me concentrate.
Sorry. Cheers!
*sip* *sip*
Tell you what, this Monk worship is really something. It's just so blissful in the winters. You want another one?
I won't mind.
So where was I?
The next move.
Oh that. Ya, the one we've been talking about all this while?
Yes, what about it. What do you want me to do next?
Well. You don't have to do much.
*sip* *hic*.
Just sit back and enjoy your drink.
*hic*
I guess I got it. You've managed to get high enough to fuck apart one more story to shreds, haven't you? Well guess what, I too have been here before. And I've also done it not so long ago. And it so happens that I knew what was going to happen. The thing is, I was here to pay homage to the Monk & you can never do 'enough' of that, can you?
Now pay up. And don't forget, I’d be waiting for you at the parking lot and not at the crossing...
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Lifespan
Darkness gives way to light, light to pain.
A man winces, his eyelids refuse to obey.
‘Too... too much light. And that smell. What is...?’
Shrapnel explodes in mid-air, pellets fly in all directions. Soldiers duck, those who don’t no longer need to. Pieces of sharp metal hang in suspended motion for those who have but a split second to live. Flashes of light, the sound of thunder, blood on the walls, it’s a storm straight out of hell.
‘What just whizzed past my ear? What is this place? Where am I? Who am I?’
A man, ragged, torn, soiled, stands amongst flesh fused with clothes and concrete. He tries very hard to make sense of the world around him. He tries to remember. And secretly wishes he can’t.
‘This doesn’t make sense. This can’t be real. Who are all these people? They look like soldiers. And I look like them. Am I? I have to be. But why isn’t any of this familiar? This piece of metal around my neck, it has a name, it...’
As a battered, beaten soldier stands in the eye of the hurricane reading his dog-tag, an explosion right above him, a little to his right, sends three floors of bricks and bones crashing down on his foot.
‘God no! Damn this! Oh god no! My leg, I can’t feel it. This isn’t happening! It’s NOT happening! I need help. I need to know. That man, he’s still alive. I just need to...’
“Aaaaaaaaahhhh!”
A badly wounded soldier, screaming away his breath, pulls out his crushed leg from under the debris and drags his bloody body towards another. Inch by inch, moment by moment, he draws closer to the inevitable.
“You... you have to help me. You need to tell me where I am, what is all this? Do you know who I am? Who the fuck am I? God please tell me who I am!”
The man being questioned rests his remains against a wall and probes the man in question. His fingers travel the stranger’s body and stop at his hands. He grabs them and brings them closer to his face. He feels touch, he feels warmth, he feels the need to ask.
“My eyes... have you seen my eyes? Have you seen my GODDAMN eyes?”
Pair of eyelids open on one face, a pair of them closes on another. The one legged soldier pushes back on the hollow sockets dripping with blood and pus. He throws up amidst demands of lost goods and a solitary gunshot that ensures the search, need be no more.
“Help. Man down. Help! Please.”
From the smoke emerges a man with blood on his face, and clothes, that isn’t his. He looks into the eyes of the fallen and fakes a smile, his fangs glistening.
“Get yourself together soldier, the war is almost over. We are going ho...”
Startled by a subdued ticking noise, the warrior eyes the wounded suspiciously. In a swift motion he rips apart the suspect’s shirt to discover 4Gs of dynamite strapped to his chest and an LCD display that changes 5 to 4 in the blink of an eye.
“Fuck! God damn you! Traitor! Mother...”
A brother shouts obscenities at another, fumbling with his gun, trying to locate the safety, fearing his own.
“But I can’t be. I’m one of you... Aren’t I?”
Light gives way to darkness, darkness to void.
A man winces, his eyelids refuse to obey.
‘Too... too much light. And that smell. What is...?’
Shrapnel explodes in mid-air, pellets fly in all directions. Soldiers duck, those who don’t no longer need to. Pieces of sharp metal hang in suspended motion for those who have but a split second to live. Flashes of light, the sound of thunder, blood on the walls, it’s a storm straight out of hell.
‘What just whizzed past my ear? What is this place? Where am I? Who am I?’
A man, ragged, torn, soiled, stands amongst flesh fused with clothes and concrete. He tries very hard to make sense of the world around him. He tries to remember. And secretly wishes he can’t.
‘This doesn’t make sense. This can’t be real. Who are all these people? They look like soldiers. And I look like them. Am I? I have to be. But why isn’t any of this familiar? This piece of metal around my neck, it has a name, it...’
As a battered, beaten soldier stands in the eye of the hurricane reading his dog-tag, an explosion right above him, a little to his right, sends three floors of bricks and bones crashing down on his foot.
‘God no! Damn this! Oh god no! My leg, I can’t feel it. This isn’t happening! It’s NOT happening! I need help. I need to know. That man, he’s still alive. I just need to...’
“Aaaaaaaaahhhh!”
A badly wounded soldier, screaming away his breath, pulls out his crushed leg from under the debris and drags his bloody body towards another. Inch by inch, moment by moment, he draws closer to the inevitable.
“You... you have to help me. You need to tell me where I am, what is all this? Do you know who I am? Who the fuck am I? God please tell me who I am!”
The man being questioned rests his remains against a wall and probes the man in question. His fingers travel the stranger’s body and stop at his hands. He grabs them and brings them closer to his face. He feels touch, he feels warmth, he feels the need to ask.
“My eyes... have you seen my eyes? Have you seen my GODDAMN eyes?”
Pair of eyelids open on one face, a pair of them closes on another. The one legged soldier pushes back on the hollow sockets dripping with blood and pus. He throws up amidst demands of lost goods and a solitary gunshot that ensures the search, need be no more.
“Help. Man down. Help! Please.”
From the smoke emerges a man with blood on his face, and clothes, that isn’t his. He looks into the eyes of the fallen and fakes a smile, his fangs glistening.
“Get yourself together soldier, the war is almost over. We are going ho...”
Startled by a subdued ticking noise, the warrior eyes the wounded suspiciously. In a swift motion he rips apart the suspect’s shirt to discover 4Gs of dynamite strapped to his chest and an LCD display that changes 5 to 4 in the blink of an eye.
“Fuck! God damn you! Traitor! Mother...”
A brother shouts obscenities at another, fumbling with his gun, trying to locate the safety, fearing his own.
“But I can’t be. I’m one of you... Aren’t I?”
Light gives way to darkness, darkness to void.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Let the story roll
As new worlds unfold before me
As new faces come to life
I look back at me from a distance
My story's come alive
One last leap is all it needs
As it slowly rolls on by
Nobody move an inch
Let the music be my guide
Soon it'll be all over
Coz the hero's found his way
He's charging ahead towards the end
The story's nearly there
I hear a knock on the door
I think I know who it is
It's too bad for you my hero
This story's got to wait
As new faces come to life
I look back at me from a distance
My story's come alive
One last leap is all it needs
As it slowly rolls on by
Nobody move an inch
Let the music be my guide
Soon it'll be all over
Coz the hero's found his way
He's charging ahead towards the end
The story's nearly there
I hear a knock on the door
I think I know who it is
It's too bad for you my hero
This story's got to wait
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Untitled
every day, to get to my office close to the new friends community centre, I have to ask the auto wallah to turn right from the red light.
‘right?’, he always asks.
my office, at the tribhuvan complex, is situated behind a hole in what used to be a wall before the mcd’s sealing drive. you’re supposed to follow this hole to a beaten path to a gate that leads to a garage cum general store cum lingerie store cum call center cum advertising agency.
the hole is towards the right. towards the left is a proper road that careens off to the community centre – easily a more noted social venue. So when I say left, the man driving the auto is confused. his mind says: ‘what this loose headed spectacled beardman saying? nothing being on right. does beardman be demanding u-turn. isn’t taking a u-turn philosophically inconsistent with the idea of progress’ and so on and so forth.
the man bespoke such and I convinced him that there was no alternative but to turn right. we reached the red light and waited for the traffic coming from the other side to stop. the dancing children who beg around this area started dancing for money. finally, the light went green. the oncoming traffic stopped. the traffic behind us waiting to take the u –turn and cross over into the hole started. however, we realized that we couldn’t. it was the angle maybe, or the rush overtaking us that disallowed us the space to move, or both. we just stayed stuck. the waiting tore on my constitution. if I had a cigarette, I’d smoke it, if I had a bottle of wine, I’d drink it. I was on the verge of considering drugs when the light turned back to red. the oncoming traffic, hitherto building to a manic crescendo, started again. there was traffic behind us again, building up with a ferocity that I hadn’t noticed. then the light turned green again. and the traffic started overtaking us again. we found we were stuck like the last time. after what seemed like forever, the light turned to red again. the autowallah sighed and shut his engine. one of the dancing children, now resting against the light, smiled a quiet knowing smile at us. what had been ten minutes turned to hours to days to weeks to months to years. the auto wallah grew bald and lost his teeth, my clothes grew dirtier, my beard grew larger, my spectacles smudgier. after contemplating suicide for the nth time and a few affairs with interesting passerbys, I started writing.
for jayant, avinash, kingshuk, abhinav, riyazat, deshwal and others who've suffered nfc with me. our office moved friday.
‘right?’, he always asks.
my office, at the tribhuvan complex, is situated behind a hole in what used to be a wall before the mcd’s sealing drive. you’re supposed to follow this hole to a beaten path to a gate that leads to a garage cum general store cum lingerie store cum call center cum advertising agency.
the hole is towards the right. towards the left is a proper road that careens off to the community centre – easily a more noted social venue. So when I say left, the man driving the auto is confused. his mind says: ‘what this loose headed spectacled beardman saying? nothing being on right. does beardman be demanding u-turn. isn’t taking a u-turn philosophically inconsistent with the idea of progress’ and so on and so forth.
the man bespoke such and I convinced him that there was no alternative but to turn right. we reached the red light and waited for the traffic coming from the other side to stop. the dancing children who beg around this area started dancing for money. finally, the light went green. the oncoming traffic stopped. the traffic behind us waiting to take the u –turn and cross over into the hole started. however, we realized that we couldn’t. it was the angle maybe, or the rush overtaking us that disallowed us the space to move, or both. we just stayed stuck. the waiting tore on my constitution. if I had a cigarette, I’d smoke it, if I had a bottle of wine, I’d drink it. I was on the verge of considering drugs when the light turned back to red. the oncoming traffic, hitherto building to a manic crescendo, started again. there was traffic behind us again, building up with a ferocity that I hadn’t noticed. then the light turned green again. and the traffic started overtaking us again. we found we were stuck like the last time. after what seemed like forever, the light turned to red again. the autowallah sighed and shut his engine. one of the dancing children, now resting against the light, smiled a quiet knowing smile at us. what had been ten minutes turned to hours to days to weeks to months to years. the auto wallah grew bald and lost his teeth, my clothes grew dirtier, my beard grew larger, my spectacles smudgier. after contemplating suicide for the nth time and a few affairs with interesting passerbys, I started writing.
for jayant, avinash, kingshuk, abhinav, riyazat, deshwal and others who've suffered nfc with me. our office moved friday.
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