Lady of the Night

Ravi knew not what he was doing. That had been pretty apparent for a while now. His vision was blurring around the edges, his hands shaking like an aspen in the breeze and his eyes starting like jelly out of their sockets. The world looked pretty screwy to his sozzled brain at that point and he was trying hard not to notice the way the bartender seemed to be transforming into conjoined triplets right in front of him. He took one more comforting sip from his glass and soaked gratefully in the resultant glow.

"Why izz liiife shuch a bitchhh man?"

"Pardon sir?"

"Why izz liife such a bitch?"

"Ah...I don't know sir."

"You happy with yours?"

"Reasonably enough, though I do want a new cocktail shaker. This one leaks."

"It does, does it?"

"Yes sir."

"So does life maaannnn! Remember that!"

"Sure sir."

Ravi downed the remaining alcohol as the barkeep returned to cleaning his precious glasses. The warmth flared up for a second into a blazing inferno before settling down into something more user-friendly. He ordered a refill from the friendly barkeep and turned back to staring morosely at the people partying behind him.

It was a normal average Friday night at a normal average trendy disc where normal average people dressed to the nines and literally drowning in make-up were letting it all go normally and averagely. And Ravi was cutting a lone sorry figure at the bar counter as the normal average stag guy who had tagged along with a bunch of couples and ended up paying through his teeth for entry. Is this worth it, he wondered for the umpteenth time as the couples of his party got down to serious hot and heavy stuff on the dance floor, is it really worth the pain and humiliation of being the only lonely bugger in this entire joint while Vikas keeps on groping Malti like it's no one's business? And god knows what John and Seema were doing alone in that corner! What a sorry sorry existence this is, Ravi concluded as the Sukhbir and Leena started making out openly barely three feet away from him. It was Friday night, he was drunk of his ass and there was no one to share this new-found vim and vigour with. Might as well call it a day and go play bridge with his grandfather and his retired chums like he normally did. Better than this irritating crap.

The barkeep, ministering angel that he was, chose this exact cue to enter with the refill. Ravi turned back to the counter with a grateful sigh and proceeded to lift the glass. I say proceeded, for a lilting feminine voice halted him in his tracks.

"Hi! Do you have the time?"

The glass stopped scant inches from his lips. He turned to where the voice came from and his jaw immediately dropped. The voice belonged to a very nice face with just the right shade of lipstick and oodles of glossy black hair flowing down it. The very nice face was in turn attached to a very very nice body that promised a lot beneath the deep-cut red-hot dress it was covered by. He gawked and gulped like a fish out of water, but those legs just wouldn't end. So he yanked his gaze right back to her eyes and tried not to look down too much.

"Excuse me? Hello!"

"Ah...glug!"

"Pardon?"

"Gah!"

"You'll have to speak up! It is too noisy in here!"

Ravi leaned in and almost burst a gasket at the vista that opened up in front of him. That was a really low-cut dress! 

"Ten to midnight."

"What?"

"Ten to midnight!"

"Twelve?"

"No ten!"

"Ah! Glad we got that straight."

"Me too...hic!"

"Bless you."

"Thanks."

If there had been a rope Ravi would have hung himself with it by now. Not that he had the slightest chance in hell of doing anything productive with this bombshell, but he could have certainly done without the whiskey hiccups at this stage. He hurriedly put down his drink and pushed it aside. 

"Crazy party hunh!"

"Puh...puh...party?" Ravi stuttered, shocked that this heavenly angel still wanted to talk to him.

"Yeah. Aren't you Rashmi's friend?"

"No."

"Funny. I thought you looked familiar."

"No wait...I know her... no, I mean...as in, I would love to know her."

"Really?" she replied, her eyes twinkling like twin sapphires.

"Why not? Any friend of yours is a friend of mine."

"How sweet! I almost find myself believing that crap."

"Crap? Er...crap? What crap? I see no crap. I speak the truth in the deepest truest sense of the word!"

"So if I tell you right now that I am going to continue talking to you even though I so obviously don't know you, then would you persist in befriending Rashmi?"

"Who's Rashmi anyway?"

"That woman right there, in the canary yellow dress."

"The pudgy one with frizzy hair?"

"Yeah that's the one, though the operative word is healthy and not pudgy."

"Um...I'm sure she is a wonderful lady..."

"But you wouldn't touch her with a barge pole."

"I would like to avoid that if you don't mind."

"That's quite all right. She is a bitch anyway!"

The woman proceeded to take the stool next to him. His drunken mind might have been playing tricks on him, but he thought she sidled a wee bit closer towards him too. He took the chance and leaned even closer towards her. She smiled playfully at that and leaned in even more closer herself.

"I'll tell you a little secret," she whispered, her hot breath sending chills down his spine.

"Ugh!" he replied eruditely.

"I think you are cute."

Ravi immediately crossed his fingers behind his back and clutched the wooden counter-top harder. This seemed too good to be true.

"And I know you find me cute too", she continued, running a finger teasingly down his shirt-front.

"Ungh ungh."

Her lips were almost touching his ear now. He tried not to shiver.

"So what do you think about leaving this joint and having our very own private party?"

Ravi couldn't stop a shiver going up and down his entire body at that. This was straight out of Naughty America! There had to be a catch!

Of course she chose that very moment to send her tongue exploring down his ear lobe. From that point on he was lost. He wanted her, no matter how much it cost.

"Ten thousand bucks honey and I'm all yours all night long!"

The rosy haze abated for a bit, enabling cold logic and calm reasoning to prevail for a bit. The testosterone still raged in the background, but even it knew enough to back off when such matters were concerned. Here's what cool calm logic came up with –

• Pro – She is HOT!

     Con – He didn’t have ten thousand.

• Pro – She is so HOT!

     Con – He had no chance in hell of borrowing any more money from anyone else.

• Pro – HOT!

     Con – AIDS

• Pro – HOT!

     Con – Empty meaningless fake sex

• Pro – HOT HOT HOT!

     Con...Oh why do I even bother!

So here was Ravi, drunk, broke, lonely, depressed and oh so very horny! And here was the answer to all his problems nibbling at his ear lobe; mere currency notes separating him from more decadent pleasures. He had to have her. He had to!

“Um...couldn’t you be mine all night long for a little bit lower?”

The nibbling stopped immediately. She drew back and looked a little less warmly at him.

“I’m not cheap bub! Do you see all this?” she said, running a haughty hand up and down her body, “You think this is worth anything less?”

“Err...no, of course not, I didn’t want to offend you...but ten thousand is a bit steep...”

“Steep...why you little...this is Grade A top class stuff in front of you and you are haggling?”

The rosy haze had decidedly abated by now. There seemed to be a bit too much blush on her right cheek now, but she was still quite quite hot.

“This is not haggling...er...sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

“Bella.”

“Bella?”

“Yeah, Bella.”

“That your real name?”

“Of course not! I won’t go around telling johns my real name!”

“Fair enough. Why did you choose Bella then?”

“Why not? Seems like the in-thing these days. Exotic sounding too.”

“True true...so anyway Bella, I’m not haggling. Like you said, I’m cute and you are definitely very very attractive. I’m just trying to get us together with minimum fuss.”

“So fork over ten thousand then. I won’t make any fuss whatsoever.”

“But shouldn’t you give me a concession, seeing that you find me cute and all?”

“What crap! I tell that to every client. You’re no different buddy.”

The haze was vanishing faster now. Not only did she have too much blush on both cheeks, her lipstick was too loud and her dress was definitely too damn low to be called anything else but slutty. But boy was that cleavage amazing!

“Ok ok, no need to get personal. Let’s get down to brass tacks then.”

“Fine.”

“You want ten thousand.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t have ten thousand.”

“How much do you have then?”

“Five, max.”

“Final?”

“Anything more and I’d have to sell my house.”

She bit her lip as she mulled over the offer. She was definitely not looking that attractive anymore. The hair was obviously a wig and the legs were propped up by six-inch heels. All that glitters is not gold; though it might it be silicone, he mused as he caught another glimpse of her bosom. Still, he had nothing better to do and silicone would definitely be a new experience. He was about open his mouth to seek confirmation this point when he caught her looking at something behind him. Further enquiry revealed a forty-something balding man in a shiny disco shirt whose protruding belly seemed to have a life of its own as he indulged in some eccentric dance moves. A heavy gold chain around his neck completed the ensemble and it was at this accessory that the erstwhile sex-bomb was staring hungrily.

“How much do you think that chain is worth?” she said almost dreamily.

“I don’t know, but looks quite expensive.”

“More than 10k right?”

“Much more. You don’t know how expensive gold is these days.”

“Yeah, expensive...”

She got up in a trance and began to move towards the chap. Ravi looked stupidly at this for a bit, before he jerked back to reality and grabbed her hand.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

The woman wrinkled her nose at him and immediately freed herself from his grasp. She began to move away again.

“Hey wait! What happened to our deal?”

She turned around at that and shot back at him,

“Deal? What deal? Whose deal? I remember no deal!”

“But...but...ten thousand...”

“You mean five thousand right, you cheap bastard!”

“I can make it six if you want. But that’s all I can do.”

“Oh how flattering! So much money for little ‘ol me?”

“Er...yes.”

“Well here’s what you can do with all your money!” she growled, making some innovatively rude hand gestures and stomping off.

He stared flabbergasted at her retreating back as she made her way through the throng. His gonads were crying out in anguish, but there was nothing he could do to assuage their pain. He could only continue watching dumbly as she engaged her new prey and began cosying up to him within no time at all. This ladies and gentlemen, he thought as he turned back to the bar, has to be the biggest, stupidest and most bloody miserable cock-block of all time. He settled his tab, downed his remaining drink and stumbled hurriedly out of the disc just as Vikas led a giggling Seema into another dark corner. Obviously, no one noticed his exit.

Ode to Slartibartfast

Oh Slartibartfast, such majesty in thy name,

Such magic, such awe, so far from being lame,

How you regaled me with your triumphs and tribulations,

Your fjords, futile causes and funky ululations!

No whale alongside, yet I fall from the sky,

Caught up, as always, no matter how I try,

What is H2G2, how the hell does it make sense,

What is Magrathea bereft of your majestic presence!

Wikkit was stymied, the Earth saved yet again,

Award were won, signatures not at all vain,

Blessed be your grey hair, may you live forever still,

May Africa have fjords and the Vogons foot the bill! 

Cricket and I

I'd be lying if I say that I'm the biggest cricket fan in the world. Men and women greater and geekier than I exist who can probably give you ball-by-ball commentary of five-year old matches. Neither do I have cricketing equipment and accessories nor a book collection. Heck I don't even own a bat! But I was raised on a steady diet of our national pastime and it is hard for that mania to not permeate into my system. I might not now Sachin's average verbatim, but I still remember him tonking Warne all over Sharjah with crystal-clear clarity. I might not have been the staunchest Kumble supporter, but my heart soared with immense pride when I saw him come out to bowl in the West Indies with a broken jaw. And Dhoni! Oh Dhoni! That final emphatic helicopter shot will live with me forever. Ganguly and his shirt, Dravid and Laxman in Eden Gardens, Zaheer firing in yorkers on debut, Sehwag creaming South Africa to all corners of the park....and these are just the Indian memories. I'm an Indian after all. Please excuse the bias. But there are other moments too that live on in my memory. Shoaib Akhtar bowling Sachin first ball, Lance Klusener and that heartbreak of a semi-final, Brett Lee and Dale Steyn tearing into batsmen like rampant bulls, Brian Lara and the impossible 400, Javed Miandad and that improbable six...I'm not someone you'd look at and see great passion for the game. But I live it just the same.

And what about the greats, those yesteryear gladiators that weaved magic before the advent of television? What of the Don, Fred Trueman, Bodyline, the three Ws, Lillee-Thommo, Lindwall-Miller, Roberts-Garner-Holding-Marshall, Prasanna-Bedi-Venkataraghavan-Chandrashekhar, Kapil Dev, Ian Botham, Gary Sobers, Sunil Gavaskar, Viv Richards...too many names to count, too many feats to remember. But I try. I try my best. Only if you know the past can you live the present and look forward to the future. I just try and learn whatever, whenever.

It's a tough time to be an Indian cricket fan though. Nothing seems to be going right at any level whatsoever. BCCI boffins are running around like a coop of headless chicken, the national team looks like hungover adolescents and even my idol can't seem to shake off the shackles of another looming milestone. Glitzy auctions come, glitzy auctions go. Chock-a-block schedules, ad spots, TV shows, online coverage, webcasts, merchandise, franchise and advertise till your nose bleeds. Might as well drop money from those bigg-o blimps floating over the stadia and let it be the free-for-all it is supposed to be. Needless to say that I'm picking only on the negatives here. There are many positives also, biggest being the exposure and money that other unheralded Indian and foreign cricketers get. But that somehow gets lost in the gold frenzy surrounding Indian cricket.

I am not anti-IPL. I am not anti-BCCI either. I just want some answers. I want to feel my heart racing again when I see Sachin facing Brett Lee, instead of letting out a deep sigh and getting back to work. I want to believe again like I used to do in the nineties, even though we used to lose more often than not. And I definitely don't want to say "Oh no, not again!” We didn't kick bite and scratch all the way to the summit just to tumble down the slope. Time to dig in hard with that pick-axe and hold on for dear life. Time to see that fire again in Dhoni's eyes.

A Monkey with a Camera

What happens when you give a monkey a glittery shiny thingamajig with too many buttons and picture modes than he can possibly need? Well he'll first cackle like a mad goose and jump around for dramatic effect, post which he will buckle down to the gargantuan, nay fantastical task of capturing the whole of this mind-bogglingly ginormous cosmos through his puny camera lens onto an even punier memory card with space not worth spitting on. And while success in this mad caper is bound to be illusory, it does leave said primate with too many images than he can shake a stick at.

The next step, of course, is the uploading. The monkey might dither; he might dawdle or downright shamelessly dodge this holy task, but do it he must. Who knows, he'll justify, there might be a gem in all this rubbish that his friends would go gaga over. And isn't it the task of each and every human to 'preserve for prosperity', to imprint ephemeral beauty indelibly onto cyberspace for future generations to peruse and photoshop? So he will hitch up his shorts, arrange assorted savouries and sweets picturesquely around his person and start on his quest. And what a quest it is, full of twists and hijinks, careful sorting and ruthless cropping, faithful tagging and dreadful despairing as the pixels just keep on mounting. But he is a conscientious monkey, so he ignores his failing eyes and flaring bladder and plods on patiently, weathering the barrage as best as possible. And thus, after much huffing and puffing and calorie intake, journey's end is achieved and the worthy primate collapses back on his bed with a grateful sigh. He did it. He gosh-darn did it. He was extremely tardy and not at all gracious about it, but better late than never eh? He can finally look forward to some much-needed unstinted peace. A rosy future beckons, he thinks as he drifts off to sleep, a pixel-free future...

But the evil never ends. Those buttons still sparkle in the cursed werelight, enticing unwary travellers into the pits of hell. The wanderlust is brewing again in our dear friend and it'd only be a matter of time before his fingers once again curl familiarly around the devil contraption. God help this poor soul then. 

Banker Loafer Lazy Guy

Deep contemplations are few and far between in these snap-crackle-pop times we live in. So are deep satisfying defecations, but that is a discussion for another day. Relaxing holidays seem a myth too, what with the hustle-bustle of planning and going and doing stuff and blowing money and coming back home with a god-awful hangover and sleep deprivation. It is thus with barely-concealed glee that I embrace this lazy weekday afternoon where I am sitting at home in my shorts and doing absolutely positively nothing. Manna from heaven.

Epiphanies about the mysteries of life and the inner machinations of the universe are still not forthcoming, so I'll delve a bit instead on my life. Ostensibly a Banker, Intrinsically a Loafer, and Aspirationally a Lazy Guy. So I go to work every day while every fibre of my being is telling me to go to the Pyramids instead, or the Louvre, or any of the million other wondrous beauteous places this planet abounds in. Then there is that tiny voice in the back of my head which keeps wondering about how life would have been so peaceful without all these hassles and everything else concerning hopes, dreams, ambitions, actualities, practicalities and any other crap. Quite a beguiling voice this one, especially when there are a million and one things buzzing around in my head, but I'm sure I'm not the only one with this affliction. When you are going off the deep end, you do wonder how things could have been so much more different.

So I go to work, enjoy the weekends and holidays and try to maintain a positive bank balance. Nothing unusual; no rocket science or mumbo jumbo involved whatsoever, quite a good life actually. The Banker banks, the Loafer loafs and the Lazy Guy lolls around till someone kicks him off the bed; all of them satisfied with the cosy little niches they have carved out for themselves. But the restlessness is still there, a perpetual pin-prick that refuses to let me be really at peace. I'm probably too young for that anyway. This is the age to live and learn, shake things up, precipitate chaos, destroy effigies, erect monstrosities. This is the age to live wild and free like a feckless Energizer bunny. This is the age to eschew order, decry stability and denounce rationality. Life is but one; to do less with it would be downright disrespectful. 

So I sit and type while a soaring crescendo builds steadily behind my ears, like the raging roar of frothing water as you are pushed inexorably towards the edge of the waterfall. I might survive, I might not. But gosh it's going to be one hell of a ride! 

I can hear some teeth chattering behind me. There are gonna be some changes in the trinity methinks.

Primal Scream

Scream. That's the only thing to do when nothing in this topsy-turvy screwed up globe that we live on makes sense. Inflate your lungs till they are bursting, wait for a heartbeat or two and let loose. And I do mean LET LOOSE. Make birds skitter off in alarm from their perches. Make little children cry in terror. Make grown men and women shake and swoon as your ululation jangles their fragile nerves. Make no bones about the fact that you are bloody pissed off with the state of affairs and are not going to take it lying down any more.

Why do this, you ask. Why purposely call attention to your insignificant inconsequential existence and invite ridicule, you reason. Wouldn't it be wiser to write a strongly worded anonymous letter of protest highlighting the very same concerns? It'd be definitely be more discreet, yet allow you great artistic and literary freedom. Why charge at something like a mad bull when you can instead be a flitting gazelle?...Well gazelles certainly have their strong points, but invulnerability to vicious eviscerations by blood-thirsty carnivores is certainly not one of them. The latter in fact seem to delight in crunching on the former's bones and try to do so at the earliest opportunity. A mad bull however is a different proposition altogether. You don't know why it is mad, who made it mad and what it will do once it is mad. It might trample you under its hooves, gore you with its big pointy horns or very well throw a tight wad of slimy smelly cud right at your face. All carefully thought-out strategems seem flimsy once you spot the fire coming out of its nostrils and the sheer craziness in its eyes. It is at this point that most carnivores stop and think about where life is leading them and whether they really want to go there, after which they pounce on the nearest gazelle.

So this convoluted piece of Serengeti history that I am brandishing around as a sparkling insight from the heavens has in short one moot point to make - stand apart. Dare, innovate and create and go absolutely bonkers by the end of it. People should remember you long after you passed by and messed with their heads. Ensure that at each milestone of your life there are some bystanders who take pride in remembering that they were there at those fundamental stages in your life. And I do say pride in the strictest and truest sense of the word. Malarkey just for the sake of making an impact is just that - malarkey. You don't want people remembering you for the wrong reasons. Next thing you know they start weeding out the black sheep, and you definitely wouldn't want to be there then.

I haven't said much once you see beyond all this verbiage. Nothing revolutionary or earth-shattering in the slightest. It's just a long-winded mnemonic, a note to self to flare and flare brightly before the wick runs out. No more getting stuck to routines and schedules and the warm cozy confines of domestication. Time to cut loose and raise some hell. Should be fun.

Hope

I dream of stars in the velveteen sky,

And the sands drifting in the desert dry,

I yearn for the numbing cold atop snowy peaks,

And the quiescence of briny creeks.

I dream of the life I once knew,

Of joys, sorrows and lessons new,

I mourn what gave light and joy,

What's now forlorn, a broken toy.

I dream of colossi, of titans, of greatness,

That ever eludes, teases, the slightest caress,

I reach in vain for that last shred of faith,

But it's long gone now, a forgotten wraith.

I dream of the road that beckons ahead,

And the heartbreaks to which I'll be led,

I trudge on though, I try to stay strong,

'Cause maybe, just maybe, I might be wrong...

One more, barkeep

One more, barkeep,

Of that fiery amber liquid,

That rich smoky nectar,

Oh how I yearn for thy warmth!

One more, barkeep,

For I have friends to meet,

Magical places to be,

And fair maidens to woo!

One more, barkeep,

For this night is young,

The morn far far away,

And good times await!

One more, barkeep,

The way home is too long,

The hearth’s cold and unlit,

And the heart a little empty!

One more, barkeep,

I want to cut loose, go mad, break free,

Live like I’ve never lived,

I’m just too sick of tomorrows!

One more, barkeep,

Just one more…

Atonement

The rain poured steadily over his head as he peered across the road. The streets were waterlogged as always, so he stuck to the little bit of pavement that was protecting him from the rising water. Even if some deluded adventurer had turned up into that narrow street at that ungodly hour, he'd have walked past him without even blinking. His face was covered in a thick stubble and his head by a worn out felt cap. His drab sodden clothes seemed to blend seamlessly into the background till he became a part of it himself. It was only his eyes that showed any sign of life, but the growing cataracts were robbing him of even that one brief spark of vitality. Gnarled hands wrinkled with age stuck out of his frayed sleeves as he held on tightly to a nearby lamp post, so tight in fact that his knuckles were white with the strain. He was an old man, a tired man, a man who shouldn't have been out there shivering in the incessant downpour; but he was beyond these irritants now. He was beyond everything. Only one thing was left for him to do on this earth and then maybe, just maybe, he might go peacefully into the twilight.

The house across the street remained stoic in its silence, its facade almost completely wreathed in shadows. The exception was the single lit window on the first floor and this was where his eyes were fixated. He longed to shout, scream, do something, anything to attract the attention of the person behind it, but he knew he couldn't. There was just too much pain, too many heartbreaks, too many fights and arguments that separated them. He might as well have been on another planet for whatever good it was doing him standing there in the rain, yet leaving his solitary vigil wasn't even an option. He had gone through too much to get here and he'd be damned if he'd leave without seeing her.

Would she even remember him now, he thought. She was too young when he'd left. He'd probably be a hazy smudge in her impressionable brain that had been painted over with riotous chaotic colours by his wife and relatives. There had been an elder son too, but he'd died two years back in a car accident. He tried to imagine what that must have been like for her, being left alone in this world by the two men she would have wanted to count on most of all, but that just made him sink further into his paroxysm of guilt. His wife would have soldiered on like always, something he still remembered with great affection. She'd been a strong woman, but most of all a good woman, and he cursed that night when he'd left her and his children.

But he was a different man then, secure in his own immortality, supercilious of domesticity. He'd married against his will and resented it fiercely, even after having kids. He had felt cloistered, fettered, a prisoner of circumstances. He had big dreams, places to be, women to meet; instead he was leading a dull boring job while his wife kept the hearth warm. He tried to bottle up his frustrations, but that made them only worse, especially when he started drinking. His wife had borne the marks for days afterwards. Not that he felt any remorse. He was getting back at the world in his own petty way, showing once again how small a man he really was. Of course this was all wisdom in hindsight. He thought himself infallible in those old days. Now he just tossed and turned on his sweat-soaked sheets as the nightmares kept haunting him.

He took a hurried look at his cheap wristwatch and was relieved to find it still working. He could have kept it inside, but then he'd have kept fishing it out again and again to check the time. He'd never ever felt this nervous in his life, not even that night when he'd packed that one suitcase and left everything behind - family, friends, job, everything. He hadn't even lingered to take one last look at his kids. They were encumbrances to him, shackles that were always holding him back, stifling his spirit and ambition. He'd wanted to be a free man, not a responsible one; a famous adventurer, not a drab domesticated drone; a denizen of the world, not the dirty little outpost of civilization that was his home. This was the start of the rest of his life. Not once he'd thought of what would befall his wife and kids in his absence. He just didn't care. This was what he'd always wanted and he'd be damned if anyone stopped him.

Yet here he was now, getting drenched outside his daughter's window and with nothing to show for his defiance. No one remembered him and certainly no one cared about him. He was just a shapeless wraith drifting soundlessly through the streets, an after-image at best in the minds of people that he came across. He'd have been bitter about it once, maybe ranted and raved about it; but now it just washed off him like the other insults and ignominies heaped upon him by the world. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, except that lit window and the shadow behind it.

The rain was starting to peter off. A rosy blush across the horizon presaged the arrival of dawn. He looked hopefully towards the window. She should be done with her studies by now. Soon she would come out for her morning jog before turning in to sleep. She would then hop into the call centre cab in the evening and work the night shift till early morning. Today had been her off day, which was why she'd been home studying for her entrances. She didn't seem to have many friends, at least he hadn't seen any as he stood there on his previous vigils. He'd been looking at that lit window for a while now, but had never managed to work up the courage to go and ring the bell. Time and time again he'd made it to the doorstep, but he'd always faltered at the last instant and scurried back like a scalded dog. But he was firm in his resolve today, for he knew now he didn't have much time left. The blood was coming up more and more frequently and already his breath was rattling in his chest. He lived in constant pain, but he bore it stoically. One more penance he had to undergo for his atonement.

His reverie was disturbed by the sound of the door opening. A slim young girl stepped out into the street in jogging clothes, earphones firmly ensconced in her ears. His fingers trembled as he watched her do some light stretching in preparation for her run. His legs seized up and refused to move, but he stiffened his resolve and put a hesitant step forward, then another, and then another. She seemed completely oblivious as he came near her. Before his will could falter again, he hurriedly crossed the last few feet and stood in front of her.

She looked questioningly at him. It felt as if a giant hand was squeezing all the breath out of him. Sweat broke out on his clammy hands as he reached inside to take out something. She took an alarmed step back and raised her hands almost in self-defence, then lowered them quizzically as he took out an envelope and thrust it towards her.

"What is this? Who are you?" 

He tried to say something, anything, beg for forgiveness, tell her that he regretted every single day that he hadn't seen her, implore her to admit him once again into her life, to let things go back to the way they used to be; but the words never came out. His tongue stayed stuck to the roof of his mouth and his hands shook even more.

"Hello? Are you all right?"

His whole body was shaking now. He tried to speak again, but all that came out was an incomprehensible gurgling. He looked imploringly at her, hoping against hope that she could recognize even a smidgen of the emotions welling inside him; but she stared back at him in the same quizzical manner. A single teardrop rolled down his cheek as he looked helplessly at the only person in the world that mattered to him.

"Uncle? Are you ok? Do you need some help?"

Her concerned tone completely broke him. He flung the envelope at her feet and ran away as fast as he could. He could her hear her shouting after him, but he her out as the tears started flowing freely down his face. Never once did he falter. Never once did he think of looking back. He just ran and ran and soon vanished from her sight.

She picked up the envelope at her feet and saw that it addressed to her. She opened it hesitantly, only to be shocked by the fat sheaf of 500 rupee notes staring back at her. Along with that was a letter written in a very hurried hand, as if the writer had too much to say and too little time to say it. The sun broke out from the gloom of the night as she started reading it. 

"Dear Seema. I'm your father..."

Musings of a Travelling Minstrel

The amber skies look respledent from my window, a perfect backdrop for Ra as he descends once again into the Maut, only to be reborn in all his glory the next morning; one more step in the eternal cycle of life and death, of the cleansing of the past as we embrace a new tomorrow. It's not merely a function of revolution and rotation that has been incontrvertibly proven. Nothing is as simple, or rather as mundane as that.

We are not mute automatons who function within the narrow confines of algortihms. We soar with the eagles in the skies; we descend into the chaos of the teeming oceans; we exult in vistas and panaroma, look ever further towards new horizons; we dance, we sing, we feel, we believe. Life is a glorious all-consuming psychedelic trip, a polychromous trance that intoxicates and exhilarates. It is lover, friend, teacher, philosopher, loving parent, hateful enemy. It is the trees, the mountains, the rivers, the streets, the foods, the flowers, the music, the people, the cultures, the religions, the philosphies. It is an overwhelming melieu that I never ever weary of.

I might be exaggerating. I might be delusional. Who knows? As I sit and look out towards those towering buildings, teeming streets, cars, bikes, buses and monorails, I'm not saddened by the realities behind this polished veneer. There must be pain true, but there would also be hope, a fire burning inside the stomach, a dream in starry eyes. Life is an adventure, a tragedy, a comedy, a romance; it is maddening and unpredictable, torturous and excruciating. But it is also entrancing, enchanting, entrapping, endearing, elevating, enticing. It is an eternal dance in tune with the most exquisite celestial melodies. It is a boon to one and all, no matter how you end up living it.

I'll try and hold on to this feeling. A tough job obviously, for downs are inevitable, but maybe I'd remember and derive some hope from this. It's too beautiful an emotion to waste.